#my notion of cool seems to be stuck in the 90s

[flygonscales]

Hey so a while ago I mentioned I had a new fursona called Samael; well here he is!

This sounds crazy but he actually came to me in a dream (feel free to skip the dream summary lmao) (no really, it was one of those really vivid lucid ones, and there was a secret dragon society in a pseudo medieval world, and dragons could shapeshift into humans (through some kind of convoluted ritual) and there were dragon hunters (just reskinned witch hunts to be honest), and though they were called dragons, most of them were wyverns (basically rathalos and rathian), but I was a super special cool one that I remember thinking of as like destruction wyvern rathalos (mainly colour scheme) and malzeno (4 legs and the vampire beak thing), i was in the dream and was a chosen one type thing called a Vampyre (look i might just be edgy and cringe), (and no one had noticed up until then? Even though my parents were raths and I was a 4 legged elder dragon thing?). It wasn’t fully medieval because later on in the dream I got my hands on a boltgun (based on faint memories of the yellow one in dr who (42?, look up dr who boltgun and you’ll see what I mean)) . When I woke up it wrote out a full summary of what I dreamed and it’s really long, I might have to try and make a coherent setting/lore out of it, and I drew out my first design for Samael. (Might post that sometime too)

I really want to make fursuit parts but I���m trying to save money at the moment, I keep telling myself I can do stuff like that after my exams lol.

[bubblesandgutz]

Every Record I Own - Day 834: Minutemen The Punch Line

Minutemen are one of my favorite bands of all time. But it didn't start out that way.

The San Pedro trio were active from 1980 to 1985. Consisting of best friends D. Boon and Mike Watt on guitar and bass (respectively) and joined by George Hurley on drums, Minutemen churned out hundreds of songs in their half-decade lifespan. Though they were very much a part of the American punk scene (and the first band after Black Flag to have records out on the seminal SST label), their sound was much stranger and more complex than their peers. The "punk" label certainly applied to their politics, their DIY spirit, and their short, jarring, adrenalized songs. But the three chord fury, sloganeering, and speed-centric template that typified early '80s punk was noticeably absent.

Somehow, Minutemen had developed a bit of a following in my hometown of Kailua, Hawaii in the early '90s. All the skaters and punk kids at my high school were into them. Granted, this maybe meant eight people total were fans, but those eight people were all in agreement that Minutemen were A BIG DEAL. So I did what every freshmen looking to fit in with the cool upperclassmen did... I listened to their music. I got the Project: Mersh Vol. 1 compilation that combined the first two Minutemen albums---The Punch Line and What Makes a Man Start Fires---and dove into their music over a Christmas break vacation to visit my grandparents in Colorado.

It was a lot of driving, and Project: Mersh Vol. 1 was one of the only CDs I had with me on the trip. Had I heard the music prior, I would've undoubtedly left the CD at home and picked something a little more in line with my then-current notion of punk---something like Minor Threat or Bad Religion. But I was stuck with Minutemen and I had to learn to make sense of it.

The songs on The Punch Line are short. Only two of its eighteen tracks are longer than a minute. There isn't much in terms of conventional song structures. No big catchy choruses. None of the meaty hooks of hardcore. The guitar-playing is jangly and sparse instead of thick and aggressive. The vocals seem more spoken than sung or shouted. There were moments that seemed a bit more in line with my idea of punk---the uptempo "Games" and "No Parade," for instance---but those moments were fleeting, and they almost inevitably segued into some strange, seemingly disjointed bass and drum jam with some vaguely political monologue on top. I didn't get it.

But I stuck with it, initially out of a lack of other musical options and later out of a mixture of curiosity and tribalism. After all, the cool kids liked it, so there must be something to latch onto there, right? And while that might sound like an embarrassing admission, it really shaped my relationship to music.

Pop music is crafted to be instantly appealing, but it also tends to be very shallow. It's music designed to appeal to as many people as possible, and in order to do that, it has to resonate with people who aren't particularly adventurous. I often think of music as another language, and pop music is essentially the communication-equivalent of a platitude. It's obvious and its meaning has been washed out from over-saturation. But something like Minutemen? It was far less obvious. You had to sit with it. It was more like a private conversation with a fascinating stranger. Maybe at first you had no idea what they were even trying to say, but the more you listened, the more you wanted to hear.

I'm not even embarrassed to admit that I stuck with Minutemen because the cool kids liked them. There were artists they loved that I never bonded with. But Minutemen contained some particular mystery and magic that kept me coming back. I've owned The Punch Line for nearly 32 years, and every time I listen to it, I feel a bit more connected to it. Hell, it's hard to even hear the dissonant skronk I initially gleaned from this album. This, as far as I'm concerned, is the what punk sounds like.

[speakyskelly-1999]

okay so i finally get to watch more sailor moon

but before then

i also started both kotaro lives alone and revolutionary girl utena

i'm just gonna combine a mini review of them here cos i've only seen 4 epidoes of utena and 2 oh kotaro and i'll just get them out my head quickly

oh and minor spoilers for both i guess

i lied

nah i'm just kiddeing this shouldn't be too long

utena first

so like it very much is what if we did avant guarde sailor moon with more lesbians. i already new some bits about it (for example the fact that pearl and rosequartz/pink diamonds relationship was based off of utena and anthy) but yea it's really cool. falling under the scope of left field magical girl (this also includes like kill la kill and little witch acadimia in my mind) it's very good. it's one of thoes shows that, cos some of it is up for interpritation, i had to double check some stuff on the wiki as to not confuse myself with the previous notions i had (like checking if two characters are the same or legit different people) which meant i got some minor spoilers but it's nothing i can't deal with. i'm very curious to see where it goes/how it gets to some rough stuff i know. i love the animation. like, and this goes for like sailor moon and cardcaptor sakura. it's really nice going back and watching the 90s style of anime. very satisfying. the music in the show wasn't what i was expecting but is a banger (i litterally have the appocolyse song stuck in my head while writing this). i really like utena as a protagonist. i love her drive and ferce sence of justice and the fact that she was like 'i respect this prince so mush imma become a prince' yas home girl wear that boys uniform and slay. anthy is interesting. she's very intreging, as she's meant to be, and i'm curious to see more of her personality as we've not seen to much of it yet due to her always trying to conform to what others want of her. nanami is a bitch and i love her. like in the same way people like regina geroge and hether. she;s such a bitch. i cannot wait to see where she goes (i'm ignoring her obsession with her brother. tbf it's very much one sided to the point where her brother just don't really seem to notice to berating her if she gets in his way but yea). then there are other characters. anthy's fience when the shows starts is an arse and is in the like the first two episodes and i don't wanna see more of him but i might have ot put up with him. nanami's borther, i don't remember his name, has a thing for utena and has decided to try and manipulate her. it's not working for him. micky is nice, genuinly thought he was a girl for a really long time, he's just oretty sweet so far. and that's it really. there's the animal side kick monkey. he's cute. 8/10 anime so far

err so yea

kotaro lives alone

so one of my friends said it was just really wholesome and cute while my other friend said that they couldn't watch past the fist episode due to the weird vibes. they're both right. it's a cute aime about a 4 year old boy who lives alone in an appartment block and the other tenant's become his family. why he lives alone... i don't exactly know yet and from the sounds of it why he either chose or had to live alone won't really be explored fully. like theres hints of what he endured (hell the show is rated a 12 which the tag of child abuse on it on netflix). the friend who has seen it won't tell me cos they're very none spoilery but i also have an incling that it would be talked about in that much detail. hell kotaro's neighbours won't ask him about it properly due to the fact that it could be quite unsetting for him to talk about/not really knowing how to bring it up. but asides from that it is very cute. the fact that he's able to get his family from his neighbours is great. the guy who lives next to him is his surragate dad, the woman next door again is becoming his mother figure, and the yakuza looking dude downstairs is his creepy uncle. every family needs a creepy uncle. (okay but in all seriousness he's not actually like creepy creepy, he has a kid of his own which he can't see cos i'm assuming previous gang affiliation so kotaro is like a suragate son for him but he goes too all in with it). it's only 10 episodes so i'm quite excited to see where it goes. okay but like the one thing that bug/urks me (and it's not the darker undertones of the show) it's kotaros eyes. idk why they're not even that creepy. and it's not like i'm not use to unusual eyes in anime and cartoons. my brain just really dons't like how his eyes are done. like this neighbour, who's like his dad, has a similar thing going on but without the pupils and that's whatever to me. it's kotaros eyes shape and stuff with the pupils that unnerves me so. i hate that it does so. 7/10

[avian-writes]

The day we kept moving forward

The Days Pt. 3

Word count: 2166

content warning: depression

The carpet was my new home. I had no desire to be anywhere else; not the bathtub where I could just lay in the cheap acrylic, not the closet where I could curl up in the familiar atmosphere I grew up with, not even my bed where I could spread my limbs out like a starfish.

    The floor was my current sanctuary and I didn’t want to get up anytime soon. Not even when the doorbell continuously rang. I heard one of my roommates begrudgingly leave his room to answer. There was murmuring before my bedroom door crept open.

    “Jake? You awake, buddy?”

    I groaned into the dirty carpet and he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. A bag was dropped to the ground and crossed legs appeared in my line of sight. I tilted my head just enough to look Darian in the eye. “What is it?”

    “I’m supposed to be helping you with your math, remember?”

    “Can’t that wait until tomorrow? Or the day after? Or before finals?”

“Definitely not. Come on, what’s up?”

    I rolled over onto my back, nearly smacking my head right into a metal bed leg. “I’m tired. So. Freaking. Tired. No, scratch that, I’m exhausted.” My body decided to send my sentence to irony by making me yawn.

    “Exhausted?” Darian pulled out his phone and checked the time. “What have you done today?”

    “Woke up, got up, then immediately went back to sleep here.”

    “Jake, you’ve gotta get up.”

    “No I don’t. Math can wait.”

    Darian groaned and leaned back against my desk, staring off out the window. I kept my eyes trained on the ceiling while contemplating my whole existence. It was getting easier and easier to just, do nothing these days.

    He scooted across the floor so he could lay on his back, head to head. “How about we go on another expedition? Will you get up off the floor for that?”

    “Are you seriously asking me that after the last two times?”

He shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “We made it out alive didn’t we?”

“My ear drums didn’t. We nearly didn’t the first time either,” I countered. Our first little excursion still haunted me and probably still would until the day I died. Which would be soon if I had my way or the app did.

“Maybe this time will be different.” But I could tell by the tone of his voice that he didn’t believe what he was saying either. “To be honest, it feels like we should do one again. At least one more.”

    I stayed quiet for a moment. I knew he was right; it was like we didn’t have any other choice. Something kept pulling us back to that damn app. Some might say it was a correlation of how kids these days were always on their phones and couldn’t go one day without them.

    Good thing that, at the ripe old ages of 21 and 22, we weren’t kids.

    I took the phone from him and slid open the app. The same three choices appeared and I took a deep breath before tapping anomaly.

    Manifest what you want

    “What do we want this time?”

    “A reason to do this stupid game again.” I closed my eyes and waited. I wasn’t being sarcastic with my request. I really wanted a purpose for doing this and possibly subjecting us to more horror.

There was a tap on my shoulder and I opened my eyes to the GPS on his phone screen. I didn’t recognize the area but I could tell it was on the outskirts of Statesboro, surrounded by greenery. Great, another void location.

I quickly packed my normal bag: portable charger, water, pocket knife, flashlight, and granola bars. We got into Darian’s car and we followed the GPS in reserved silence. The only sound was the gentle hum of the engine and I prayed it wasn’t a sign of what was to come.

My eyes pleaded for sleep despite the tens of hours I had gotten the past couple days. It seemed all I did lately was work and sleep. No time was spent awake in the daylight; I was simply too tired to deal with anything not demanded of me. Food wasn’t even a priority anymore.

The coords took us as far as a gravel lot in the more rural area of the city. We parked and piled out, looking at each other in what I could feel was apprehensive fear. Why were we doing this again?

But before I could openly ask my concerns, Darian shrugged and started towards the woods. I got a sudden flashback to our first trip and swallowed hard. Quickly catching up to him, I kept close and within hitting distance of my best friend.

As we trampled through the brush, tall dark figures with no definite shape loomed in my peripheral vision. I snapped my head towards them but they disappeared into the trees. A shiver ran down my spine despite the burning sun in the afternoon sky.

“Still tired?”

“Extremely. I feel like I’m about to keel over.” I flexed my hands and my knuckles popped, a relieved feeling I wish the rest of me would follow.

“Have you had your medicine today?” Darian asked knowingly.

I simply nodded and reached for his phone. He handed it over and I zoomed in on the GPS. We weren’t that far away. Luckily, Randonautica wasn’t leading us to our deaths this time.

At least I hoped so.

I nudged him. “How’s your medicine going?”

“Ehhhh...”

“Dude. You’re supposed to be taking it every day.”

He shrugged and stared down at his phone. “I forget some days is all. Or I wake up too late.”

“Do you set your alarm?”

“Alarms don’t wake me up, remember?”

“I will drive over to your apartment and force you to take your meds, so help me.”

“You couldn’t even get up off the floor today.”

I stuck my tongue out at him and leaned over to check the GPS. The red dot was in the midst of fog on the screen. It didn’t even look like we were supposed to be in a forest, but we were for sure walking right towards it.

“What do we do if something happens again?”

“Run? What else?”

“We got knives.”

“If you want to try stabbing a supernatural entity, be my guest.”

“Listen you-”

Beep!

Darian caught my arm and pulled me back from stepping right off into a stream. I stumbled back from the riverbank and glanced at the GPS.

We had hit the coordinates. All they led to was a rushing river in the middle of the woods. Not the worst thing, definitely the most interesting find we’d gotten so far. I knelt next to the water and gently touched the top, the stream changing course to flow right over my fingers.

    It wasn’t until then that I noticed the ever growing silence since we had entered the woods; no birds singing, no insects chirping, no crunching of leaves underneath our feet. Nothing.

    SNAP

    I spun around on my heel. Right behind us was a neat pile of river rocks that definitely hadn’t been there before. I shared a shaky look with Darian and a silent notion was agreed between us. We weren’t going back the way we came.

    Shadowy figures returned to the corner of my eye and I glanced towards them. Rather than disappear, I could’ve sworn one darted into the underbrush. Leaves rustled with no sound and I took a step back, blindly reaching behind me for Darian.

    “I’m right here,” he said as he obediently grabbed my hand. He gazed at the river for a moment with a strained expression. “We need to go upstream to get back to the road.”

    “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

    Darian looked up at the sun, shielding his eyes in the afternoon bright. “We came from the North, the river’s coming from that way.”

    “Why don’t we get across and climb up the hill.”

    “It’s 90 degrees, we can’t climb it.”

    “So you propose we swim?”

    “No, I propose we walk.”

    “Through the river.”

    Darian nodded, already looking like he regretted this entire expedition. “Through the river.”

    Multiple viewed thoughts battled in my mind, all debating the pros and cons of being idiotic enough to either walk through the storming river or traverse back into the haunted forest. Neither was particularly pleasing and listening to Darian’s ideas had already gotten us into one tight spot today already.

    But a small pile of rocks scared me enough to agree.

    Luckily we were both wearing shorts. We took off our shoes and placed them in our bags. Then he carefully stepped into the river and held my elbow as I followed. The water was gliding fast past and I wobbled on my feet. I treaded the tiny waves for a bit before letting go of Darian and stood on my own.

    Which proved to be a horrendous idea. As soon as I moved, the river kicked up and beat against my legs. I pushed them to cut through the force and instantly all the willpower was sucked out of me.

    I trudged against the ever flowing current as it pushed back ten times as hard. I felt like a football player throwing all their weight against those training dummies on the field. My shoulders hurt and my legs grew tired with every feeble step I took.

    I looked to my right and my eyes widened. Darian was walking through the water as if he was on dry land, just strolling along with no hint of the frustration or torment I felt. He went at a slow pace to keep up with me but besides that, he was completely fine.

    I opened my mouth to voice my frustration, but no sound came out. I gingerly touched my neck and tried to speak. My throat strained and closed in on itself, tightening with my feeble attempts to say anything.

    I shut up and waved my hands towards Darian frantically, but he didn’t seem to notice my plight. He simply continued his casual journey up the river. I tried walking over to him but as soon as I turned my feet sideways, the water cranked up a notch at my ankles and nearly knocked me to my knees.

    Breathing uneven and panicked, my body heated up in a cool contrast to the cold water overtaking my legs. Even though the stream was only knee-high, my entire body cooled down to the same temperature and I shivered in the 85 degree heat.

    The dark figures returned and overstayed their welcome as I suffered in the river. Growing darkness in my vision as every bit of strength I had mustered quickly depleted from my body. Time was irrelevant as fear gripped my heart the more I spoke silent pleas for help.

    My feet started to sink and my heart pounded against my ribcage. I floundered forward and reached for Darian, but he didn’t notice. Or couldn’t.

    We had hit the end of the stream and the edge of the woods. The car and consequently freedom wasn’t far away. If only I could break free.

    Darian started to step onto the bank, turning to me when I didn’t follow. “Jake? You coming?”

    I shook my head and tried lifting my foot, only for it to be dragged back down. My ankles were now sunk into the rocks at the bottom of the stream, piling around my scarred skin like a bonfire.

    Suddenly aware of the danger surrounding us, he grabbed both of my wrists and pulled on them. Pain shot through my arms but I couldn’t yell it out. The stream pulled just as hard and I was in a tug of war for my life.

    Darian gripped my hands so tight his knuckles creeped white around the edges. He yanked one more time and it was like the river finally deemed us worthy to be let go of its clutches. I lurched forward and into his shaking arms, my elbows dipping into the water.

    He immediately grappled for the rest of me and, together, we scrambled onto the shore. Our shoes kicked up dirt behind us as he pulled me onto dry land. I dug my gnarled fingers into the soil, breathing heavily.

    Coughing, I looked up at Darian and choked out, “Thanks.” The word felt like molasses on my tongue.

    “No problem,” was his only response. He then took my hand and started rushing further up the river and away from the figures leering out of the trees towards us.

    We held hands all the way back through the dense woods and back to the car. Darian reluctantly let go to fish his keys out of his pocket and we slid into the front seats. As we drove home barefooted, I took out my knife and held it open on my lap.

[thatpinkbetch]

Hi! Im new to mha and got into it mostly from tiktok. And before i knew anything abt the series they made it seem like bkdk/ shipping was very controversial? And then i started watching the series and immediately saw why the bkdk ship is so popular. From what i saw on there, some mha ships are v creepy, (adult/minor) tho its definitely the minority bc i got on here to browse tags and accounts & its all nice! Tiktok makes it seem like shipping bkdk/ mha ships are weird. I love ur blog btw!

Hi! Oh my goodness I'm so glad you joined and you seem to be having a good time!! I'm also really glad that you were able to see right through those early biases!! You've got a good head on your shoulders 😊😊😊

Yeah, there are plenty of people that seem stuck on Bakugou's line from the first episode/chapter, but it takes ignoring quite a bit of canon and some misinterpretation to still think of him as just a bully by the time you've caught up. A lot of people who hate Bakugou and Midoriya's relationship seem to like to simplify it, along with...everything, really. For bkdk shippers, the complexity is really one of our favorite parts! I found it so fun to experience the journey of going from hating Bakugou and not wanting them near each other, to loving Bakugou, and then wanting them to be friends, and then seeing them as soulmates - platonic or romantic! Watching Bakugou change, coming upon multiple realizations over time as I watched Midoriya and figured out how they truly felt about each other...their relationship is so well written!! I really think Horikoshi is a genius, because i went on my own journey watching theirs ☺☺☺

I've been into bnha for 2 years now and I've had a bkdk side blog for a year and a half, and I do think shipping bkdk used to be much more controversial, and we used to receive quite a bit of backlash, but with the past 90 or so manga chapters many manga readers have been forced to see what these two mean to each other. I genuinely can't wait for season five to happen because then the anime watchers will get to experience it too!! (Season 5 will definitely be game changing I promise 😁😁😁). I've said it before and I'll say it again, but bakudeku shippers are in it for the long run!!! It's all about the slow burn! But that's what makes it so beautiful, is the time and effort put into it, from both Horikoshi and the boys themselves.

Abxkfnskxjoaod I'm sorry this ended up becoming a small love letter to Bakudeku sndkgjekfjsk 💖💖💖

There are...definitely spaces in this fandom I try to avoid, though that can definitely be said about any fandom! But yes, I have blocked a couple people over adult/minor ships, but you're right, it does seem to be a minority! I did make a post a while ago but to anybody still reading, let this be a reminder that i don't support adult/minor ships or shipping or anyone who supports that. No discourse, just block me.

But yeah tumblr is all about who you choose to follow, and if you find the right people, the experience can be incredible!!! I've met some amazing people in this fandom, and I've found bkdks to be some of the most supportive and loving people! Like I said, bkdks are in it for the long run. They love depth and complexity and growth!! I'm so happy you've been able to prove Tiktok wrong! 😁😁 it's always important to be wary of people who criticize "obsessive" fandoms and people who enjoy queer ships/content as simply fetishizing, because they're often ridiculing neurodivergent people for their hyperfixations and actual queer people who just want to see themselves in the media they consume 😞

Tumblr gets a lot of flack from other social media sites but those sites have their own problems that they seem to ignore and instead call us weirdos 🤔 there are problems here, but i feel the insinuation that a lot of the shipping is adult/minor is an easy jab to delegitimize us, because the show is about students going to school! So it's very easy to believe that a lot of the shipping might be like that, when in actuality, the biggest ships are of the same age! I said I've blocked some people over adult/minor ships, but really it's only been maybe 3 people max? I just think it's so awesome that you were able to take those preconceived notions, check them out for yourself, and dismiss them as invalid! It's a very important trait to have, and not many people online exercise that ability!!

Abxivnskfnekcks oh gosh this went on so long!!! You inspired me 💖💖💖 thank you so much for sending this ask!!! It made me so happy to read 😭😭😭 again I'm really glad you've been having a good time and that you like my blog 🥺🥺 I hope you like to stick around and interact, because you sound really cool and smart!!! Have a lovely day/night/life!!! 💖💖💖💖💖💖

[tgaoe]

“do you love me?” “only partly”

-a review of the Aubrey and the Three Amigos tour opener in Kansas City-

In the late 90s, in my early teens, I began attending concerts, almost exclusively Christian rock bands. Music, bands, and seeing bands play music, dominated my life. In the days, weeks, months leading up to an anticipated show, after school, before my parents got home, I would play a band’s CD—a live one if available—loud, and “perform” it in full alone in my room with a flashlight for a microphone, lip-synching, giving shout-outs to imagined fans, dancing around maniacally until pouring sweat. Last Sunday at the Sprint Center in Kansas City, for the 15,000 people attending the twice-postponed first date of a massive world tour, pop-rap superstar Drake Aubrey Graham—a grown man five months younger than me—did the exact same thing. Last Sunday night, I watched Drake do over an hour of Drake karaoke. It was adorable. It was Drake at his Drakiest, coasting on charm, giving minimal effort, getting away with it.

I love Drake. I love more Drake songs than I love songs by any other artist, by far. My meticulous Drake playlist, post-Scorpion, contains 96 tracks and lasts six hours and 32 minutes. If statistics equaled favoritism then Drake would be my all-time favorite artist. That said, Drake would likely not even make a list of my twenty favorite rappers, let alone general artists. But I love Drake still, and I think about him and enjoy his music disproportionately to how much the man and his work actually mean to me.  

I love Drake because he, or rather the character he plays—who is not actually a character, but is really him—is simple, but in a complicated meta way that circles around and in on itself. See, Drake is dork. He presents as hard, cool, svelte, smooth, but he knows he is actually a dork, we know he is actually a dork, we know he knows he is actually a dork, and he knows we know he knows he is actually a dork, and all of us together have this tacit agreement to accept this false narrative, to enjoy it because doing so validates the way we sing along in our cars alone to songs to which we cannot relate at all. Drake’s existence as a pop star makes it okay, in theory, for me, a 32-year-old white man who teaches elementary school—the dorkiest of dorks, to rap along with Ice Cube’s “It Was a Good Day” in my car on the way home from school, to pretend to be Cube, as long as I leave out certain words when I do it. Drake makes us feel like this is okay to do because it is what he does on the most massive scale. Drake is a theater kid playing a famous rapper, who also just happened to become the most famous rapper.

Drake’s show on Sunday manifested this idea. Tickets cost as much as $250. Mine cost $151.62 after convenience fees. This single performance netted Drake an estimated $2.25 million—I repeat, two million two hundred and fifty American dollars--and yet this man had the gall to perform without a band, without even a visible DJ. It was just Aubrey out there onstage—except during his three—THREE—extended breaks over the 100 minute set, one of which ate up a full 20 minutes while openers Migos sleepwalked through a surprise encore featuring several more of their dreary triplet trap tunes, sapping the energy from the arena until Drake finally, finally reemerged to begin “Blue Tint,” without Future of course. Well, Future’s voice was there, on recording, while Drake shouted over it.

Drake’s voice was also present on the backing recordings. In fact, earlier I posited the notion the evening was Drake doing Drake karaoke. That was not technically accurate. Karaoke tracks exclude missing lead vocals to make room for the amateurs’ interpretations. What Drake did on Sunday was more akin to what I used to do in my bedroom as a teenager, belting along with CDs. The backing tracks at this show were not backing tracks at all. No, they were the original album tracks, with all Drake’s original recorded rapping intact. Drake would rap over his recorded self roughly 40% of the time. The other 60% he would emphasize certain words, talk to the crowd, dance around the massive stage, generally act as a hypeman for himself.

I have seen dozens of large-scale touring rap shows, and I have developed certain guidelines for what makes a good one. First, and most importantly, an arena-touring rapper needs a solid live band, even if that band plays along with backing tracks. Organic instrumentation makes shows feel raw, real, vital in the moment, like something could go wrong. Last year I saw Chance the Rapper play for a crowd of 40,000, and even though his voice was shot due presumably to an asthmatic episode, the show was fun and good because his band played the music right there onstage.

A real, talented DJ can also suffice as long as the rapper(s) also meet the second guideline I will get to. A DJ that visibly flips records and scratches and mixes in real time can fill the void of a live band. Run the Jewels did this both times I saw them, and they are a titanic live act. Many others have made this work for me as well; Eminem, Wiz Khalifa, and, to an extent, Kendrick Lamar, whose monumental roadshow last summer deserves its own multi-thousand-word writeup.

Second guideline: rappers need to rap live with minimal backing vocal tracks, and along with that they need to be the only vocalists onstage and also know how to use a microphone. I have seen so many rappers scream into their mics with no regard for how torturous doing so sounds to the audience, and have three anonymous buddies onstage doing the same thing. I saw Odd Future twice and they were absolutely disastrous, a cacophony so intolerable that I left their Coachella set before they allowed Frank Ocean his allotted two songs. In hindsight I regret this given what and who Frank became, but that is a digression.

Third, live rappers need to be consummate, energetic entertainers, need to at least seem like they are happy to be there rapping for you. The Migos, who opened for Drake, were the antithesis of this. They had a live DJ(✓), but they moped around the stage oblivious of the audience, like they were at the supermarket perusing tv dinners. I am happy to report, however, that Drake met this third expectation, that, by sheer force of Drakery, because of Drake’s inherent Drakeness, the absence of a live band and the extensive use of backing tracks did not much matter. Drake’s show by its very nature was an exception that proved those first two rules.

Drake live is dork supreme, the epitome of his metacharacter. He triumphs as the sole presence on a huge stage in the center of a hockey arena in front of 30,000 eyes, fully living out the teenage bedroom fantasy of performing on a huge stage in the center of a hockey arena in front of 30,000 eyes. That he barely bothered to actually rap is rendered charming by the fact that the Drake we know on record is absolutely the kind of person who would do that, and it is why we love him. Walking out of the show, rushing back to my car to beat the throngs so I could commence the three-hour night drive home, I had the most bizarre feeling: I was satisfied by a total lack of satisfaction.

An early highlight of Drake’s set was a surprising rendition of If You’re Reading This relative deep cut “Know Yourself.” When the beat cut out before the chorus, the tension hung in the air, and then that massive EDM-like drop hit and the pit crowd went wild, as did Drake, galloping across the stage like a madman. The feeling was electric, screaming along with thousands of other people, RUNNIN. THROUGH THE. SIX. WITH MY WOES.

I wish Drake had done more songs from that era. He played 40 songs, but only one or two each from his first four LPs. He sounded best on hard rap tracks—“Free Smoke,” “Energy,” “Gyalchester,” new classic “Nonstop”—and worst on anything that required him to sing, because apparently Drake cannot sing live, even with autotune, to nobody’s surprise. The only time he audibly sung came during an anemic cover of Michael Jackson’s “Rock With You,” tacked onto the end of “Don’t Matter to Me,” naturally, and he sang it in a bizarre whisper. Drake cannot sing! Who knew!

Watching the crowd lose it for the hits was lovely, as was how Drake absorbed the love and fed it back to the crowd. He may have been acting—he was a professional actor first, after all—but Drake seemed genuinely surprised, or relieved perhaps, that the crowed enjoyed the show.  He saved the monster radio jams for the backhalf of the show, the finale lead-up a suite of unimpeachable chart-toppers; “One Dance,” “Hotline Bling”—including the video’s doofy dancing, which wasn’t that different than the rest of Drake’s dancing, “Fake Love,” “Nice For What”—which may go down as Drake’s greatest pop song, and “In My Feelings.” Arranging those five songs in succession is such a vaunt, a reminder why we all paid so much to be there, why we stuck it out through an interminable hour of Migos.

And then came the fake closer, “I’m Upset.” Look, I love “I’m Upset.” It is hilarious, unintentionally—but maybe not? —and that makes it great. But “I’m Upset” is not a closer, even if everyone present assumes an encore or three is inevitable. Drake mugged his way through the grievance anthem, left the stage, and came back out a minute later to bid us goodnight with what I assume would be a couple more tracks.

The opening synth lines of “God’s Plan” kicked it. The crowd roared. Drake opened his arms in full Jesus Christ/Scott Stapp pose. I could see the finale in my mind. We would all sing along with this jubilant new classic—she say do you love me I tell her only partly I only love my bed and my momma I'm sorry, hahahaha so funny and perfect and petty, so Drake—and then that four-to-the-floor kick/snare would start, each and every one of us suddenly awash in a wave of euphoria as Drake sent us out the doors with “Hold On, We’re Going Home,” quite possibly the greatest pop song of the last decade, an ecstatic moment we would all remember forever, a story to share with our progeny when Drake wins his third Oscar twenty years from now.

But no.

That did not happen.

We got silly to “God’s Plan”—see Drake=God in this equation, and I guess this was church?—and then… the show ended.

Drake and/or his keepers made the confounding, inexcusable decision not to play “Hold On, We’re Going Home.” Of the $151.62 I spent on the ticket, I would say roughly $102. 35 was to see that one song. I do not understand this choice, even a little, especially during a set that featured 16 songs from Scorpion, a record with but four great songs—well, five if we ironically include “I’m Upset.” Okay, six because “Mob Ties” is stupid but a grower. Yet, Drake subbed any of 10 mediocre Scorpion cuts in place of “Hold On.” Come to think of it, he also did not play “Marvins Room.” Or “Passionfruit.” Or “Best I Ever Had,” “Shot For Me,” “Take Care,” “Furthest Thing,” “Legend,” “No Tellin’,” “Back to Back,” “Right Hand,” “Portland,” or “Blem.” Drake had the audacity to karaoke 40 of his own songs and not one of those songs was the song “Feel No Ways.” Hey, Drake, guess what. I’m upset. With you. About this. But not really. But kind of. Eh.

The truth. The truth is that I knew how this show would go, that Drake would lip-sync or not even bother to lip-sync. I knew I would not be satisfied, because satisfaction is not what Drake is for. I knew that Drake could not possibly play all 96 songs of his that I enjoy. I knew he would favor the more recent material because that material is what is getting him paid right now. I knew the cheapest t-shirts would cost $45. I knew that the Migos would suck. I knew all this, but I still chose to pay to be there. I almost always go to shows to be present during them, enjoy them as they’re happening. But with Drake it was different. I paid to be there, not so much to see Drake, but to have seen Drake, to have actively participated in the summer of the year 2018.

A couple nights ago my girlfriend and I were chatting with some her neighbors on their porch, enjoying chilly mason jar margaritas after a long day of oppressive humidity. The conversation inevitably drifted to the topic of recent concerts, as most conversations which include me tend to do since I am unable to speak with a modicum of clarity about much else. The neighbors’ seventh-grade daughter heard me mention that I had recently seen Drake. “Drake… the rapper?” she said, giving me an incredulous look. Rather than dispute this child’s narrow genre classification, I said something like yep, that’s the one. This is all to say, I am now a person who has seen Drake, envy of middle school girls everywhere.

[theolddarkmachine]

Sheith Secret Santa

Dedicated to: @takashiroganeofficial for @sheithsecretsanta

Prompt: Keith is a dead man, roaming the living, looking for someone to love. Shiro is that person, 50 years later (in the 2040’s. I like the idea of 90s Keith).

Death caught Keith quickly. So quickly, in fact, that he hadn’t even realized what had happened to him until he’d woken to the sound of police sirens and the sight of his body being carted away in a black body bag. There had to be some sick cosmic joke in there somewhere about how his life had been ended nearly exactly when he’d finally decided to start living. Even more sickly comical about the whole ordeal was that he was now stuck forever at the age of 23 in a hand cut crop top that read:

Flower Sniffin Kitty Pettin Baby Kissin Corporate Rock Whores

He was certain there was some sort of symbolism to be found in the Nirvana shirt that life, death and every other philosophical concept in between just could not resist. Maybe if he wasn’t dead, he would have even found the humor. Be that as it may, he found himself on the business end of a panic attack. At least, as much of a panic attack as he could have when he didn’t even need to breathe anymore.

AO3 

I AM SO SORRY THIS IS AFTER ACTUAL CHRISTMAS! It ended up being a LOT longer than originally planned. (The original notes for this thing had been like 4.5k words on its own D:) I did send you a PDF version that is all pretty with a personalized note, but in case you see this version first, I really hope you like this and this was the type of thing you had been hoping for. Also, MERRY belated CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!  

********************************

1994

10...

9...

8...

Keith didn’t even know why he bothered with the party, knowing full well it would just end up a sea of bodies colliding together, melting into euphoric chaos fueled by the ecstasy that was still dissolving on their tongues. His own tab had long since worn off, leaving him sweaty and nauseous as he tried to fight his way through the crush of dancers on the floor. All he wanted now, was a fucking cigarette.

And to get away from the mouth breather that had left a trail of heat on the back of his neck that seemed to linger.

7...

6...

5...

Rubbing his palm over the wet, sticky sweat that had collected at the collar of his red, leather jacket, Keith attempted to wipe away the phantom tickle that had made his skin crawl. His elbow found the soft space between someone’s ribcage and hip as he pushed against the stream of partygoers that all tried to get to the center most point of the club at the exact moment it became 1995. The gleam of a street light through the ever open club doors signaled his salvation as he drew closer, shoving a hand deep into the front pocket of his acid wash jeans in search of the zippo that was tucked there. Cool metal brushed his finger tips as he finally broke free of the crowd, the horde that had been around him falling away and replaced by the biting cold of the outdoors. His first breath outside of the stuffy club froze his lungs with the sharp bite of near metallic air, causing him pause as he fumbled to pull the lighter free of his jeans and the pack of cigarettes from his jacket.

While everyone else was mere moments from celebrating the start of a brand new year, and some archaic notion of a brand new start, Keith was moments from finally getting his next nicotine fix.

There was something almost poetic about the way he was starting 1995 the same way he’d spent the entirety of his 1994: alone with red leather hugging his shoulders and a cigarette dangling from his lips. This was how he liked it. Alone, he wouldn’t need to worry about the ever cloying sense that he was about to lose something. Alone, there was no one to be disappointed in him when he inevitably fucked up. Alone, he didn’t need to pretend like everyone didn’t just leave in the end.

4...

3...

2...

Grasping the Zippo between his middle and forefingers, he tapped the pack of Marlboro Slims against his palm, shaking a stick free of its cardboard prison before tucking the box back into his pocket. Thrusting the filter between his teeth and ignoring the way his hand trembled slightly with the brisk night air, he flicked the flint wheel and watched the blinding spark as it lit the tip of the cigarette. Inhaling, he dragged the smoke deep into his lungs, holding it there as its burn cleansed him of the anxieties the crowd had dredged up in his chest. It felt almost if all the tension in his limbs was pulled out by that single puff of carcinogenic smog, replaced by nothing other than the calming effects of the nicotine that laced the paper lining of the stick.

Grey tendrils danced upwards into the starless night sky as Keith exhaled, the smoke evaporating as the frozen air blew the opaque fog away. Taking another drag and blowing it up into the sky, he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged the corner of his mouth upwards as the distant pops of fireworks and cheers alerted him to the start of the next year of his life.

Maybe this year, he would actually do something with it. The thought was a small bubble of hope hidden amongst the anxious fumes swirling within his gut. For just a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what he could do with his next year. He could stop hiding behind the dead end job at the comic store and actually pursue his own career as an artist. He could return his dad’s phone calls from time-to-time. He could find someone that would be more than just a warm body.

Keith imagined himself finally being truly happy as he looked up into the inky darkness that stretched above him, illuminated by nothing but the faint glow of the lights from the city below.

Maybe, just maybe, Keith would allow himself to be a cliché and say that this year was going to be his year.

1...

***

Death caught Keith quickly. So quickly, in fact, that he hadn’t even realized what had happened to him until he’d woken to the sound of police sirens and the sight of his body being carted away in a black body bag. There had to be some sick cosmic joke in there somewhere about how his life had been ended nearly exactly when he’d finally decided to start living. Even more sickly comical about the whole ordeal was that he was now stuck forever at the age of 23 in a hand cut crop top that read:

Flower Sniffin Kitty Pettin Baby Kissin Corporate Rock Whores

He was certain there was some sort of symbolism to be found in the Nirvana shirt that life, death and every other philosophical concept in between just could not resist. Maybe if he wasn’t dead, he would have even found the humor. Be that as it may, he found himself on the business end of a panic attack. At least, as much of a panic attack as he could have when he didn’t even need to breathe anymore.

A strange hollowness had spread through his chest as he’d watched his body get wheeled away while he stood there on the sidewalk, surrounded by strangers. One girl in particular had sobbed mercilessly as if she’d known the young man she’d discovered face down on the concrete. If he had been alive, he would have told her that her false sympathies weren’t appreciated. Biting back against the aching void that had sucked out his major organs, he walked right up to her, focusing on the fat tears that rolled down her cheeks in a vain attempt to root himself to something to keep from floating away.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Keith asked, saying the words straight into the woman’s ear as she ran a bare forearm under her nose and leaving a thin trail of snot and tears over her skin. A small part of him had expected— no, hoped for— her to turn to him with a vehement gaze and tell him to fuck off.

Someone died, you asshole. (Yeah, me.)

Where’s your heart, you bastard? (In my chest that just got carted away by police.)

There’s a special place in Hell for you. (I think I might already be there.)

Keith would have taken any of the above options, already prepared with the snarking remarks that would serve as his salvation. Anything would have sufficed to prove that he wasn’t walking free of his body that was now being driven away in the back of an ambulance. Of course, they never came, his words and questions lost to the living as he trailed anyone within the vicinity, babbling everything from his opinions on President Bill Clinton to Sir-Mix-A-Lot lyrics in an effort to get anyone to pay him any mind.

It wasn’t until the crowd had dispersed, the excitement of the new year and death wearing off quickly, that Keith was left with nothing but the black hole trapped in his ribcage and the silent streets. Solitude had always been something he’d yearned for, sought out even. But as it was forced upon him in the form of his own untimely demise, Keith realized for the first time he didn’t want to be alone at all.

Typical.

His feet began to carry him before he even realized he’d begun to move, one stepping in front of the other as he worried the meat of his cheek between his teeth. Where there should have been the sharp sting of his canine in the soft flesh, he was only met with a strange pressure as if his mouth had been numbed with novocaine.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath as he crossed his arms over his chest in some vain attempt to hold it together. A suffocating lump had grown in his throat with each step that carried him away from the alley his body had been discovered in just outside of the club. If only he’d just stayed at that damn party instead of going outside for a cigarette.

You should quit that, son, those things will kill ya.

A small sob tore from his lips as his dad’s voice echoed in the silence of the street. Keith wondered if his father would think of those exact same words when the police finally contacted him to tell him the news. That damn kid, he could almost hear him say through sobs that sounded suspiciously like his own.

Keith wasn’t even sure where he was walking anymore, his vision clouded by the tears that had begun to race down his cheeks. What did the dead even do when they got left behind? Would he meet other lost souls? Was there some kind of support group for ghosts?

Was he a ghost?

What was the politically correct term for what he was?

His own thoughts grew more and more absurd as he blindly walked, trying to convince himself that he could feel the night air cooling the hot tear tracks on his cheeks.

Where am I even supposed to go?

Almost as soon as he had the thought, the ground dropped from under him, the blurred city falling away into pitch black as he was sucked into a vacuum. Panic ate away at the void behind his sternum as he screamed into the void.

I’m not ready to leave!

Then, as quickly as it had disappeared, the world came back as he was dropped onto the carpeted floor of a familiar apartment. His apartment. License plates and stolen street signs stared down at him while old comic books and scraps of paper littered the floor. The carelessly sketched eyes of random passersby watched him as he pushed himself off the ground, ignoring the way his arms shook with the residual fear that had filled him.

Keith didn’t understand what was happening, but he understood enough to know he wasn’t ready to be done just yet. When he was alive, he’d been apathetic to his future, certain he’d always have more time. More time to try harder, more time to do things, just, more time. His apartment was deafeningly quiet as he shuffled his way to his bedroom, eyeing the sparse bedding of the queen size mattress that lay on a box spring on the floor. He was suddenly very tired. All of his limbs felt as if they were weighted with concrete as he fell down onto the mattress, rolling over the thin red comforter and pressing his face into his pillow. Even the feeling of the down felt muted as he nuzzled into the black pillowcase.

Maybe, he would fall asleep and wake up to find it was all a dream. One of those that involved waking several times, each more violent than the last as your body revolted against the weightless feeling of falling. Keith would probably wake up in a few hours, hungover, confused and craving his his morning cigarette, unable to even recall the dream of dying.

His eyelids began to flutter shut as if they were pulled downwards by weights.

That’s it, he thought as darkness fell over him. It must all just be a dream.

***

2040

Hover cars. Every single good scifi movie that Keith had grown up watching had promised him hover cars. Being able to make it long enough to see how the future had really panned out had been one of the only things Keith had been looking forward to about being a disembodied spirit tied to the living world. Dammit he wanted hover cars, holograms coming from phones and blade runners. As far as he could tell, the only thing the movies got right were how small the phones seemed to get, and how clinical and shiny everything began to feel.

In the years since he’d died, Keith had watched the city he’d grown to love age from a gritty, worn landscape to a commercialized backdrop for the overly paid. Ten years after his death, the club that had served as a marker for his murder scene was torn down and replaced by a diner, which changed hands several times over, before finally landing on the chic restaurant that served way too small portions. His favorite cafe with the crappy lighting, the stuffy poetry readings and impeccable espressos had hung in there for awhile, only meeting its end ten years ago when it was bought out by a chain with bright artificial lights and free wifi.

Everything always seemed to hinge on there being free wifi.

Even the streets seemed cleaner, losing the grime and dirt that had made it so appealing in the first place. What was even the point of living in a city without the vague concern of tetanus lurking around every corner?

Granted, he was already dead and didn’t actually need to fear the jaw locking infection like the living that did actually live.

Rolling his eyes at the thought, Keith turned his attention from the cars that still required wheels whizzing past the cafe window to the young woman sitting on a stool and glaring down at what looked like a particularly tough calculus problem.

There were three rules that Keith had learned abut his afterlife shortly after realizing that he wasn’t, in fact, dreaming.

The first, no matter what he did, the living could not notice him. No amount of screaming, whining, touching or rude hand gestures would get someone to actually see him standing before them.

The second, he could not move anything. After a particularly nasty fit, he’d tried his best to recreate Poltergeist, only to discover that no, he could not bend any silverware.

The third, and most important, was that he could still explore the city within three blocks any way of his apartment. Any further and he would find himself momentarily tossed into a black void as he was sucked back to his apartment and dropped on his ass. Though it had been wildly inconvenient in its set parameters at first, his ability to travel had been the only thing to keep him sane. Frequenting the shops and cafes within his radius, Keith would watch the people that came and went, creating elaborate backstories for the regulars he grew to know through their one-sided interactions.

His current favorite regular, was a girl named Katie that could be found almost every morning at his cafe, doing the homework she’d put off the night before. Katie would always be at the window bar, sat on a stool with a line between her eyebrows as she would mutter to herself about whatever advanced mathematical theory she was working through at the time. That habit of talking to herself had been what had drawn him to her in the first place. While she muttered under her breath, Keith would answer and allow himself the simple pleasure of holding a conversation with someone, albeit one where his own voice went unheard.

“But would x equal 5.37?”

“Nope, Katie, you and I both know it would equal 2.98. You’re forgetting the basics.”

“How could I forget that theorem, it’s so basic.”

“It’s okay, we all make mistakes.”

It wouldn’t be until she had finished her cinnamon latte and butterscotch scone, that she would pack up her things, sling her bag over her shoulder and leave, never hearing Keith’s goodbyes.

Then, he would close his eyes, and will himself through the crushing darkness and back to his apartment. Normally, he would busy himself with whoever occupied his previous home, partaking in whatever day-to-day activities they found suitable. On this occasion, however, he had nothing to look forward to other than the silence of the empty apartment. The previous tenant, Mildred, had passed away a month earlier in her sleep with her cat Princess curled against her leg.

Keith had liked Mildred. If he was being honest, she had been the only tenant since he’d died that he had liked. She had a habit of talking to herself, an old woman’s habit to fill the quiet of her apartment, and it gave him a sense that he wasn’t the only lonely soul there. Near the end, he could have sworn she had even been able to hear him from time-to-time, pausing as if taking his comment into consideration before continuing her conversation with herself and Princess.

Of course, maybe that should have been some sort of sign.

Her death had been the first thing to make him feel anything since his own, sending a flare into the gasoline of his despair that filled his otherwise hollowed self with flames, and a small, brighter spark of hope. Keith knew it was selfish of him to hope that Mildred would join him in whatever this in-between was, but hope he did as he sat at the vintage dining room table with Princess at his side as they watched the medics cart her body away. The disappointment only added fuel to the blaze behind his sternum as the family that never bothered to visit her came to cart her belongings and Princess away.

It was inevitable that the complex would fill the vacant apartment. They always had. So it shouldn’t had surprised him when he appeared in the living room with a faint pop to see the door wide open and boxes littering the otherwise empty area. Be that as it may, a small, startled sound buried itself into the base of his throat as his gaze roamed over the leather couch that sat almost exactly where Mildred’s floral printed one had sat.

Surrounding it was a barrage of cardboard and plastic containers, each marked with scribbled handwriting denoting what was inside.

Movies. Books. Clothes. Records.

Keith knelt down beside the latter, tracing the messy lettering with a trembling finger. Even in the 90s, records had been outdated. Hadn’t this new person ever heard of a CD?

“Oh, hello.”

Two words was all it took to effectively turn Keith’s purgatory upside down. Not even two words. One confused sound and a greeting.

Oh, hello.

If he had a beating heart, it probably would have stopped altogether with the shock. With the speed and ferocity that may have snapped his neck otherwise, Keith’s head whipped to face the kind and pleasantly deep voice that had just spoken.

Don’t get your hopes up, he had enough time to think to himself as he focused on the speaker. They’re most likely talking to a neighbor. Or the landlord. Or—

Keith never got to finish his thought as the man in the doorway spoke again.

“So, do you like records?”

***

Tenants had come and gone at his apartment, each perfectly oblivious to their new and dead roommate. Not that Keith hadn’t tried. He had once even attempted recreating the entirety of Beetlejuice, only to discover that he couldn’t transform into one of Tim Burton’s creatures. At the time, he would have done anything for one of them to acknowledge his existence just for the validation of it all. But now, as he held the grey satin gaze of the stranger in the doorway, all Keith could hear in his head was the sound of crickets and a record scratch.

With a box clutched in his hands, the man was nothing but squared lines, broad shoulders and a soft smile as he waited patiently for Keith’s response. One hand flashed silver around the corner of the box he held, catching the light and contrasting with the dullness of his flesh hand. Tracing his gaze over the pinked skin of a scar that ran over the bridge of the newcomer’s nose, he wondered if the scar and the hand had come from the same catalyst. He also wondered how it only seemed to add to the attractive nature of his face.

Because, wow. What an attractive face it was.

“I know they’re old school, but I can’t help but feel like they really got music right back then,” he continued, oblivious to the fact that Keith hadn’t actually answered him. “I’m your new neighbor, by the way. Takashi Shirogane, but call me Shiro.”

Takashi Shirogane.

Shiro.

He was unlike any person he’d seen in either life or afterlife, standing there in the doorway like some kind of wide shouldered angel sent from the heavens as their apology for his existence. Standing without thought, Keith nodded as if that was acknowledgement enough before supplying his own name in a stupor.

“Keith.”

If it hadn’t been he first real interaction he’d had in about 50 years, he may have tacked on something else as way of an introduction. I’m Keith and I like shitty sci-fi movies, comic books, and your face, maybe. Instead, he stood there silently, mouth slightly agape as the man walked further into the room, box still in his stupidly large hands.

“Keith,” Shiro repeated, giving his name life and turning it into something completely new. On his tongue, it sounded musical. “Well nice to meet you, Keith. The landlord did say my neighbor was really friendly and would probably offer to help out. I’m glad to see he wasn’t just saying that.”

The words Shiro was speaking should have raised some sort of alarm bells in his mind as he closed the space between them, lifting the box out towards Keith in some sort of offering. Keith knew, deep down, that he should be backing away from whatever strange fluke this was. No one should be able to see him, and yet he Shiro stood, cardboard box outstretched to him and smiling.

Instead of warnings signs and sirens, Keith only heard two syllables repeated over and over in his mind.

Shiro. Shiro. Shiro.

Dumbfounded and struck silent, he just looked at the newcomer with his kind eyes and kinder face.

“Mind taking this box for me?”

Then, Shiro dropped the box and Keith lunged for it with some sort of left over reflexes from his living days, only to see the cardboard pass straight through his hands. And just like that, the moment shattered into a million little shards of glass. Silence fell over the living room as he stared down at the box, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to catch it and yet feeling betrayed by it all the same. Whatever semblance of hope he had felt had disappeared with the thud of the box and its contents as the sound dissipated into the room.

Slowly, he dragged his gaze from the package and up towards the silver eyes that were now turned to steel as Shiro stared at him. Expecting to see confusion, concern, or even fear, Keith was instead met with hardened understanding as Shiro’s mouth set into a straight line and he stepped back, carefully folding his arms over his chest.

“Oh.” The single utterance was a bullet through water, sending crashing waves through the quiet.

It was, admittedly, not the response he expected.

Yelling would have been his first thought, followed by the threat of Ghostbusters and exorcisms. Maybe even a prayer or some holy water. Really, Keith had been prepared for just about anything other than that.

“So did you die here?”

And that.

“What?” Keith’s voice was colored a murky shade of confusion and overall stupefaction as he stared at Shiro as he continued to talk, the words pointed more towards himself than to Keith. Somehow, it made him feel better.

“I specifically asked the landlord if anyone had died here, and he said no.”

“Well, he lied,” Keith said matter-of-factly, mildly aware of the way his response caused the newcomer’s shoulders to tense slightly beneath the plaid of his shirt. “But I didn’t die here. Mildred did.”

A sound mixed between exasperated sigh and a growl worked its way out of Shiro as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his metal thumb and forefinger, eyes screwing tightly shut. As if that would change the situation.

“There’s two of you?”

“No.” The word was bitten off and small as it fell from Keith’s tongue, the sharpness of it forcing Shiro’s eyes open as he fixed his silvery gaze on him and forcing Keith to look away.

“It’s just me. Mildred didn’t stick around.” Even to his own ears, he sounded hurt.

“Well there’s a bright side.” Though the words were blunt, they were softened as Shiro spoke, the meaning somehow less bitter when he said it that way. Almost as if the fortune wasn’t his own.

“You know, you’re taking this exceptionally well. The whole, ghost thing,” Keith said, masking his curiosity with a veil of his own patented sarcasm as he gestured to himself. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought that this was somehow a dream. The only flaw in that logic was that he hadn’t actually been able to sleep since that first night. Apparently, he wasn’t even allowed that luxury anymore.

“You start to take ghost things well when you’ve been dealing with it as long as I have,” he said, voice edging close to bitter while his eyes sparkled with the dry humor of an inside joke that Keith wasn’t invited to understand. A thick quiet shoved itself into the space between them and spread itself over the room as he held Shiro’s stare. Crossing his arms over his chest, he settled back into a defensive stance as he waited, his new roommate’s tone leaving no room for the questions he wanted desperately to ask.

How can you see me?

How can you hear me?

Do you know why I’m here?

A breathy sigh broke through the din of Keith’s thoughts as Shiro finally broke the gaze, a sheepish pink coloring the high rise of his cheekbones as he rubbed the back of his neck with his metallic hand.

“Look, I know there really isn’t anything you can do about it,” he said, voice apologetic as he looked up through long lashes as he offered him a small peace offering in the form of a starlit smile. “Obviously you can’t just up and leave. But I have three conditions for you.”

As if Keith had a choice on if he could stay or not. He bit his tongue instead of saying as much, waiting for Shiro to list his rules. With each point, he lifted one flesh colored finger.

“One, you don’t try any funny business. Two, you don’t touch me. Three, you let me help you move on.”

They were an odd grouping of rules that only served to further pique his curiosity. The first, he could agree to because what kind of funny business could he even get up to?

The second, he could agree to because, well, ghost.

And the third, he could agree to if only because it wasn’t something worth disagreeing with.

“You’re welcome to try,” Keith said with a shrug to veil his discomfort as he agreed to the final point. “But I’ve given up on that venture. You learn after 50 years to stop waiting for those supposed pearly gates.”

Or their darker, hotter counterpart.

“Good. Glad we got that out of the way,” Shiro said, offering Keith another smile, this one easy as if a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. “Now, I’m going to go test out that shower of ours.”

Ours. The word sent a strange sensation fluttering through his chest and if Keith hadn’t known better, he would have thought that maybe, just maybe, his heart had skipped a beat.

Without any other preamble, the newcomer made his way towards the bedroom behind Keith. Keeping his eyes on his destination, he brought a hand up only to drop it onto the top of the ghost’s shoulder. Where his palm should have passed straight through him, it made solid contact, the heat of his skin blazing over the bone. His eyes widened as he stared down at his broad hand as it folded over his shoulder. Another jolt rammed itself into his chest, as if his unmoving heart was trying to break through it.

The contact only lasted for a moment before Shiro pulled away, his fingers brushing at the collar of his jacket as he went, but it was enough to send his world off kilter for the second time that day. Everything fell away as Shiro disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Keith to stare down at the space on his shoulder that still burned from the touch.

It was the first time since he’d died that he’d felt any kind of warmth.

***

If Keith's life wasn't some kind of cosmic joke, he might have adjusted to Shiro better. He probably wouldn't be caught staring as often as he did. And he definitely wouldn't have been rendered speechless as many times as he had been when Shiro directed a question towards him.

Most importantly, he wouldn't have found himself longing for the heat of Shiro's touch each time he was pinned beneath his mercury stare.

Admittedly, Keith hadn't realized how earnestly had craved any form of touch until his reluctant roommate had dealt his winning hand. With all his cards laid out between them, Shiro had effectively won the game before Keith had even been aware they were playing one.

Of course, how could they not be?

Even without truly feeling for nearly 50 years before that death blow dealt by a well placed palm, Keith knew there was something heavy laying itself over both of their shoulders. Once upon a time, he might have called it fate.

Now, he knew better than to let his hopes get that high.

Shiro had made his rules abundantly clear in the same clinically nice way that a doctor delivered bad news. It was kind enough to soften the blow of an otherwise fatal realization.

Don't touch me.

The because you're dead was nestled gently between the tissue paper softness of his voice.

So, in an attempt at self preservation, Keith did the one thing he was good at.

He threw his walls up to keep Shiro and any implications his ability to see him meant. It didn’t matter that the stunningly handsome man always said good morning to him whenever he stumbled out to fill his coffee. (With three sugars. Not that Keith was counting.)

It didn’t matter that Shiro always asked if there was anything Keith wanted to watch while he worked on a crossword puzzle on his tablet. (With his nose scrunching up whenever he reached a particularly hard word. Not that Keith was paying that close of attention.)

It didn’t matter that he always asked Keith about what music he liked when he had been alive, right before heading to his shower where he listened to some annoyingly synthetic music that was supposed to pass as pop. (With his own very awful singing accompanying it. Not that Keith was listening.)

What did matter was that, even though Shiro had made a point of keeping physical distance between them, he was still sending shockwaves through Keith’s system. While his existence remained numbed, a strange sensation had begun to fizzle and crack inside his ribcage, much like a burgeoning lightning storm. The small shocks were a constant reminder that something was different, and there was no doubt what that something was.

With a sigh, Keith curled further in on himself on the couch, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at whatever nonsense Shiro had left on the TV before he went to work that morning. It seemed that people still enjoyed watching strangers forced to live together. Though, admittedly, he remembered the Real World being a little less about fighting and fucking than it seemed to be now.

The sound of the door scraping open dragged his violet gaze from the television set and towards the entrance. Today, Shiro wore a light blue button up that turned his eyes a particular shade of steel, which found him almost as soon as he turned around. A friendly smiled upturned the corners of his lips as he looked over Keith.

“Hey there,” he said, flicking the deadlock quickly behind him before he made his way into the room. “Have a good day?”

This question was a near daily occurrence. Some nicety that Shiro seemed to deem necessary for their coexistence. Keith’s answering grunt and shrug was also a daily occurrence.

“I did too,” he continued as he walked into the kitchen, the sound of the fridge opening signaling his afternoon water bottle. Because Shiro was a man of habit. A healthy one, at that.

“Do anything exciting?” Another nicety. Another shrug. The response earned him a sigh as Shiro made his way around the couch. His appraising look was a new part of their routine as storm filled eyes dragged heated lines up Keith’s body as he looked over him. In their depths, there was a question.

Watching the internal battle that flashed across his face in a hundred infinitesimal movements in a mere matter of seconds, Keith saw the exact moment Shiro found his answer.

Carefully, he set the bottle down on the coffee table before dropping himself onto the couch, arm landing on the leather back behind Keith’s head as if the pose was completely natural. Even muted, he could still feel the heat the rolled off of Shiro in waves. Lightning split the spaces between his ribs as he bit back a needy moan and the urge to push closer into the warmth.

Shiro and the feeling that he seemed to be cultivating were entirely too close for comfort.

“What are you doing?” Keith asked, tone bordering on hostile to mask the truth he didn’t even want to admit to himself. That he didn’t want to be numb anymore. It was Shiro’s turn to shrug as he made a noncommittal sound low in his throat, instead shooting him a sly smile.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” he started, arm seemingly forgotten where it rest behind Keith’s head. Once again, Keith found himself surprised by what he said. Eyes narrowing in skepticism, he crossed his arms over his chest like a shield.

“Doesn’t this violate one of your rules?” He said in a classic show of deflection, flicking his gaze towards the offending arm that was grazing the hair at the nape of his neck. Shiro, to his credit, swallowed a chuckle.

“Touché,” he said lightly with a shrug. “Rules were meant to be broken though. And I want to learn more about you.”

Honesty colored his words a soft shade as his eyes sparkled with nothing but earnest truth. If Keith was being truthful, he’d admit that it landed a fatal strike against his defenses, leaving him bleeding out before the man as he awaited a reply. A stronger person would have denied him. Told him there was nothing to know and disappear, if only because that was the only good thing about being a spirit.

It seemed, he was not a stronger person.

A smile cracked Shiro’s features in two when he noticed Keith’s acquiescence in the form of his shoulders relaxing and his head nodding quickly.

“What do you want to know?” Keith asked, ignoring the way his words shook at the ends. The same weight he’d noticed when they met seemed to come crashing down around them like shards of glass, punched through by a brass knuckled fist.

“Anything you’re willing to tell me.”

With another look filled with skepticism and a twist of intrigue, Keith started to tell Shiro anything and everything he could think of. He told him all about the way the city had been made of dust and grime, sex and drugs, and had been a living thing of its own. Had told him about how different things had been some fifty years beforehand. Told him about the artwork that had littered the walls of the very same apartment they sat in, painting him a picture of what it had looked like when he had been the tenant.

Behind his sternum, the crackling sensation continued to grow until it felt like electricity writhing behind the bone, but he kept talking, finding himself unable to stop. Shiro listened with rapt attention, continuing to shoot out random questions whenever it seemed Keith was slowing down and seemingly forgetting his own rule.

Soon, he was leaning into the ghost’s space, his head landing squarely on Keith’s bony shoulder as he sunk deep into the couch, listening to everything he said. It wasn’t until Shiro’s small hums of reply waned that his own words began to digress until silence filled the room, punctuated only by the living man’s steady breathing.

“Shiro?” He asked carefully, looking down over the top of his nose at the top of his head. The only reply was the sound of a small snore. Heat spread through him like a wildfire, burning its way through his numb veins until he was filled with blaze and smoke as the realization hit him.

Somehow Shiro had managed to fall asleep on Keith, with his head nestled in the crook between his shoulder and neck. And Keith?

For the first time in nearly 50 years, Keith felt alive.

***

They didn’t flirt.

At least, Keith didn’t think they did.

Ever since The Night, as Keith had taken to privately calling it, they had settled into a much more familiar routine. Every morning, they would both leave. Keith, to have his daily people watching escapades, and Shiro, to go work like a well adjusted adult.

Every evening, they would have dinner together.

Or rather, Shiro would have dinner, and Keith would grill him on the intricacies of his day and what his meal tasted like.

Then, they would end up wrapped up in each other on the couch, watching TV until Shiro went to bed. It was comfortable. Hell, it was almost normal. But if there was anything Keith was certain of, it was that they didn’t flirt.

That didn’t explain why there was a note attached to the fridge in sloppy script that read:

make sure ur home at a normal time ;)

It had mocked him when he’d returned from the cafe, staring back at him with its black and white face. Something about it seemed smug, almost as if it was aware of the inner turmoil it was causing. Damn note.

Even now it seemed to be saying that it knew just how the starburst in his chest was burning its way through him slowly, filling his hollow chest with soot and ash. On one hand, he was happy to have something there.

On the other, it was a far from pleasant feeling.

Brows pulling together in concentration, Keith continued to stare at the note, gaze tracing the dark ink as he memorized the exact way Shiro’s letters curved and bent. He was sure there was something poetic and romantic about the fact he noticed the way the second arch of Shiro’s m’s had a sharp point as opposed to a smoothed curve like the first.

Really, it was just sad. As sad as being a ghost pining for the first literal warm body to come along could be.

Possibly sadder.

He was certain Shiro didn’t mean anything by the note. The dot of the smile’s eye must have been pulled long by a stray marking, turning it into a wink. Most likely, he had only wanted to make sure Keith was home on time for dinner.

Maybe, he’d finally given in to his request for some French fries.

“You’re thinking very loudly.”

Maybe, he was also trying to prove that ghosts can be given a heart attack.

Turning swiftly on his heel, he was met with silver twinkling back at him in the form of Shiro’s eyes as he leant against the doorway, attempting— and failing— to hide the smile caused by the sound Keith made. If he didn’t know better, he would think he saw that very silver gaze travel its way up and down his body in a languid line before finally settling back on his on jeweled one.

A subtle shudder fluttered itself down his back.

Good thing he knew better.

“I’m glad you saw my note,” he continued, not bothering to move from where he stood.

“Kind of hard not to, it’s the first thing to get added to this fridge since Mildred’s photos of Princess,” Keith retorted, injecting enough sourness to hide the fact he’d been surprised. Eyes rolling upwards towards the ceiling, Shiro pushed himself away from the doorway, closing the distance between them in two long strides.

“You always go for sarcasm,” he said, voice soft as cashmere and eyes hard as silver. Heat rolled off of him in waves, adding to the thick air that was pushing against Keith’s skin.

“It’s a necessity when you wear red leather and a crop top.” The quip was accessorized with a sharp grin as he meant back against the fridge at his back, only slightly aware of the way his body melted into the metal. Shiro drew another line, more deliberate this time so that Keith could feel the weight of it stretching over him.

They didn’t flirt.

“Well its a good look on you.” He said it so earnestly, like he wasn’t aware that it had opened a writhing pit where his lungs had once worked.

“The leather or the sarcasm?”

Leaning down, Shiro braced his forearm against the freezer just above Keith’s head. This close, he could see the dark flecks speckling Shiro’s eyes, turning them into inverted skies.

“What if I said both?”

They didn’t flirt.

“I’d say that has to be some sort of breech in our agreement.” Electricity began to spark in the space between them as they held each other’s gazes. It was the kind of force that brewed between two volatile chemicals before igniting into a destructive reaction.

“I told you, rules were meant to be broken,” Shiro said softly, his breath dancing over the bridge of Keith’s nose. It was such a subtle sensation that he shouldn’t have noticed it or even felt the tickle as it smoothed over his skin. The feeling was enough to remind him of the truth in their reality, no matter whatever it felt like.

He was dead, and Shiro was very much alive.

Clearing his throat of the stone that had grown in its base, Keith did the one thing he knew would work to his advantage. He changed the subject.

“So what was so important it warranted a note?”

Pausing ever so slightly, Shiro searched Keith’s mauve eyes before finally sighing and pushing away.

Keith had prepared himself for a great many possibilities in what Shiro was going to say. Had already searched through their past interactions and growing familiarity for any hint as to what the living man had in store for him.

What he hadn’t prepared for, was what Shiro said next.

“I think I might know how to help you move on.”

The response was a bomb, breaking open his chest cavity before he began to shower it in bullets. Suddenly, Keith was in the middle of a war being waged by the conflicting emotions battling inside his chest.

“My grandma is visiting in a couple weeks, and she knows a bit about spirits.”

Shiro’s words faded into the dull drone of jet engines as Keith stared down at the rubble, preparing himself for the next airstrike. He had always known that this was coming. It had been a part of the plan all along, hadn’t it? Standing before him, tempest in his eyes and promise outstretched in his palms, Shiro had stuck to his word. He was going to help Keith move on.

Shouldn’t he be happier about it?

Instead of this cloying sense of dread that was shaking the hollowness of his insides, shouldn’t there be elation? Shouldn’t there be the same feeling he got when he looked at the sea of silver crashing like an unruly tide in the depths of Shiro’s eyes?

The deafening hum of Shiro’s voice continued to roar in his ears, imitating the sound of blood as he tried to decipher the words he was saying while desperately fighting against the darkness that was seeping into every corner of his being.

I’m not ready.

It was a sudden realization almost as violent as the first bomb Shiro had dropped.

I’m not ready.

Why wasn’t he ready?

What a stupid question. Keith knew exactly why he wasn’t ready, and the reason was still talking before him, offering him everything he thought that Keith wanted, unaware that that would keep him from what he truly desired.

Without much thought, and without pause, he found himself pushing forward and closing the distance between their bodies, crashing their chests together as he wrapped his arms around Shiro’s neck. Anchoring himself with the taller man, Keith caught his mouth in a hard kiss that would most likely bruise Shiro with the only physical proof that he was there.

It was proof that Shiro was alive and that Keith existed.

That realization only made him hungrier as he opened his mouth into the kiss.

I’m not ready.

Shiro was stone against him, his arms frozen in an aborted gesture as if he was about to wrap them around Keith to hold him close. Nipping gently at his bottom lip, Keith made a feral sound as he tried to say the words that were tying themselves into knots in his head.

I’m not ready.

Licking a stripe along the flesh he’d just abused, Keith pled his wordless pleas.

Don’t make me go. I’m not ready.

With a sigh, Shiro responded with his own wordless answer. Wrapping his arms securely around his waist, the living man pushed back into the contact, swiping his tongue behind Keith’s teeth. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he heard his own thoughts echoed in the action.

I’m not ready either.

A growl tore its way passed Keith’s tongue, only to be captured by Shiro’s mouth as they stumbled backwards out of the kitchen. His elbow passed through wall as they knocked into it, Shiro letting out a small, surprised huff at the impact. Refusing to break their contact, Shiro only pressed further into Keith as they tripped clumsily across the living room and through the doorway of the bedroom. Shiro’s hand traveled up Keith’s back, tracking burning lines over their path before they settled at his neck, fingers twisting roughly in his hair.

Gasping into the touch, he pulled away just long enough to look into Shiro’s darkened eyes. Their teeth clicked together as he surged forward again, ignoring his own strangled moan as the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed.

It felt like Shiro was everywhere and nowhere at once as he lowered Keith onto the mattress. Several different feelings and emotions swirled through him like a raging tornado, ripping apart what was left of him on this earth, only to piece it together piece by painful piece. Bliss and anguish culminated together until all his senses were overcome, leaving him overtly aware of everything, and nothing at all. All that he knew was that Shiro was there, and so was he. It was confusing, and exhilarating, and overwhelming all at once.

But wasn’t that what it had meant to be alive?

All too soon, Shiro pulled away, looking down at him from where he hovered above Keith, eyes filled with a question and concern. His fingers were gentle as they ghosted over the peak of his cheekbone.

“Keith,” he breathed. From the way the corners of his mouth twitched downward, it was obvious there was so much he wanted to say. Looking up at him through dark bangs, Keith offered him a weak smile in hopes that it would convey that he understood.

I’m not ready.

Quickly, Shiro rolled onto his side, using the momentum to pull Keith toward him and into his side. A small sound of surprise tickled his skin where the ghost was pulled against him as he dropped a kiss to the top of his head.

“I don’t want you to go either,” he said into the dark tendrils of Keith’s hair. “If you aren’t ready to move on, I won’t force you.”

The words were said so softly that had he not felt the way Shiro’s breath had stirred his hair, he might not have thought he said anything at all. Silence settled around them after that, wrapping itself around them with its warm heaviness as Keith let Shiro’s statement bury itself into that space on the left of his chest, deep beneath the bone. He didn’t want to go. Not yet.

He wasn’t ready.

Laying there, pressed into Shiro’s chest and listening to him breathe, his lids began to grow heavy. Warmth spread through his body as his limbs felt heavy with a weight they’d been missing for quite some time. Keeping time by the steady beat of Shiro’s breath, Keith found himself slipping deep into a long forgotten darkness.

For the first time since the night Keith died, he slept.

***

If there was anything Keith had learned since meeting Shiro, it was that he somehow dredged up all those pesky feelings he had lost when he’d died. Most times, that was okay. The past couple of weeks, he was happy to find the space behind his sternum so full and warm that he could just about feel the beat of a heart there. Each morning since The Night of the Make Out— “Do we really need to call it something, Keith?”— he’d woken to find himself wrapped tightly in Shiro’s strong hold with the feeling of complete contentment coursing through his veins like blood. Every morning, he felt more alive than he ever had when he’d actually been.

Yes, those feelings, he was okay with.

The nervous feeling that had him twitching as he sat at Shiro’s dining room table, on the other hand, he was not.

It’ll be fine, Shiro had assured him right before he’d run out the door to get his grandmother. You don’t have to go if you aren’t ready.

He’d repeated the sentiment in many different ways the past few days since the feeling had reared its ugly head, but that didn’t stop the staticky flutter behind his belly button as he waited. Keith knew Shiro wouldn’t make him do something he didn’t want to, and yet he felt like there was something drawing nearer. It was the kind of feeling that would raise the hair on arms and send a trickle of unease down spines.

Admittedly, he should have phased over to his cafe, or down to the old club, or really anywhere else. But phasing had gotten harder in the past couple of days, and he was worried he wouldn’t be able to come back home. Besides, he hadn’t really had a reason to leave recently anyway.

The corner of his mouth turned upwards into a crooked grin as he thought of the silvery eyes that had so quickly become synonymous with home. Shiro was the reason for many things.

And now, he was the reason he was still in the dining room, waiting for the woman who could very well send him away from all he ever loved.

Love.

Scoffing at the word, Keith shook his head, turning his eyes down to the grain of the table top. It was funny to think it took dying and being trapped in the same apartment for 50 years for him to find it.

Lost deep in his thoughts, Keith didn’t hear the door as it opened. He didn’t hear Shiro’s bright voice as he spoke excitedly to his grandmother. He hadn’t even realized anyone else was in the apartment until it was already too late.

“Takashi, you’ve done very well for yourself.”

The new voice beat through the wall of his thoughts, startling him with its familiarity. Gaze snapping up from where he’d been tracing shapes into the wood, Keith found its source standing in the doorway of the kitchen as Shiro had busied himself getting a water bottle. She was a small thing, short but not hunched with age like he had seen. Her hair was a spectacular white that she wore piled on top of her head. The woman’s almond shaped eyes were lined with former laughter as she looked around the kitchen, dark stare passing over him without pause. As it passed over him, looking through him in a way he’d nearly forgotten thanks to Shiro, he was hit by a single, crushing realization.

Keith knew this woman.

In the distance, he heard a scream that ripped through all his senses. Dark spots began to eat away at his vision, blinding him as he felt a black hole opening itself behind his belly button. With a swirling rush, he grew lightheaded as the screaming grew louder.

No, he thought in a panic, trying to grasp at anything to tether him to the world. Keith felt his fingers phased through the table as everything fell away. He only had enough time for one last thought before he was plunged into darkness.

Shiro.

*

It was fucking cold, outside. But dammit, Keith deserved that cigarette. Was owed it by every celestial being that had made him believe that going out for New Years was a good idea. Taking another drag, he let himself idly wonder what the inside of the club had looked like now that it was the first minute of 1995.

Probably a lot like it had the minute prior.

A harsh laugh escaped him in a rush of fogged breath and noxious smoke as he rolled the cigarette between his fingers.

Tomorrow, he would start his life as a better person. But right now, he was going to allow himself to be a bitter asshole for just another night. Besides, it wasn’t actually tomorrow until he woke up.

It was there, red jacket pulled around himself to hide his bare midriff from the biting cold with a burning cigarette expertly balanced between his fingers, that he heard it.

A scream.

But it wasn’t the same kind of scream that had filled the night just a moment prior. This one was full of terror. It was the kind of scream that he’d heard in Nightmare on Elm Street and in the Jason movies, not the kind reserved for the start of a new year.

Attention snapping towards the sound, Keith dropped the burning cherry to the ground, not bothering to smother it beneath his foot before he took off running to the darkened alley beside the club.

The first thing he noticed, was the woman backed against the wall, her almond eyes widened in fear. Her hair that had been piled on top of her head in an approximation of a bun, had been knocked loose, strands of it falling around her face. Before her stood a hulking man in all black.

From where he stood, Keith couldn’t make out any of the man’s features, but he knew one thing for sure.

He had a knife.

The woman screamed again, tears falling down her face as she tried to shove her bag towards the man.

“Just take it,” she cried.

If the man had any intentions of replying, they were lost as Keith ran towards him, lowering himself just enough to catch the mugger in his side with his shoulder. The force of it knocked the breath out of him, but it managed to throw the man off balance. Staggering a few steps away from the woman with a grunt, Keith shot a quick look over his shoulder.

“Run!” He cried, looking away just as he saw her nod and take off away from the alley.

The problem was, he didn’t look away quick enough.

A single, driving lance of pain shot through his back, rocketing towards the front of his chest and sending shockwaves through the rest of his body. It was indescribable in its sharpness, his flesh and bone giving way to the knife that the man had driven into his body. A slick warmth began to soak through his shirt and rush down in rivulets. Tears stung the corners of his eyes as the man ripped the knife back out, the sudden emptiness of the wound almost hurting more than when it had been plunged in.

His grip fell away from the man as he pushed against him with a snarl.

“Not so tough now, are you?” His voice was filled with gravel as he shoved Keith to the ground.

Paralyzed with pain as he struggled to breathe around the heaviness that had begun to fill his lungs, Keith tried to watch the man as he stalked off, following after the woman.

Not yet, he thought as he tried to push himself up, only to find he couldn’t move his arms. Please. Not yet.

The ground offered some relief as it numbed the otherwise searing pain that was radiating from his back. It had seeped into every corner of his body until he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Darkness ate away at his vision as he tried desperately to move. Even just to lift as hand, or make a sound to call out for help.

Everything melted away, eaten away by the black as he fought for consciousness. A single, repeated mantra lulled him gently into the darkness.

This year was going to be his year.

*

Keith was dead. And he had died for the elderly woman seated just in the other room.

More specifically, he had died for Shiro’s grandmother.

He remembered that night with perfect clarity now, having relived it in real time. Standing outside of that club, Keith had promised himself that he would finally start living, and then he had died saving someone so that they could ultimately do just that. It was a harrowing realization that left him gasping for breaths he didn’t even need to take.

The woman from the alley had gotten away. She had lived her life to the fullest. Had raised a child, had had grandchildren. That woman he had saved had lived. And in doing so, she had saved him.

Tears cascaded down Keith’s face as he sat at the dining table, the steady hum of voices from the living room serving as a backdrop as he bit back deep sobs.

Low in his gut, he felt the black hole swirling as it began to implode in on itself, its gravity pulling gently at the edges of his being as it attempted to pull him into it. Shiro had said that his grandmother might know how to help him move on, but what he hadn’t realized was that she had been the key all along.

Because, she had lived.

And in turn, so had he.

When he had been alive, Keith had never lived a fulfilled life. He had shut himself away from everyone, keeping to himself with some notion that it was better that way. That no matter what, people just disappeared in the end anyway. Why bother with people, or jobs, or anything when it was so easy for it to be lost? Life had passed him by easily, leaving him yet another one of millions that never did anything.

Then he died. And then he met Shiro.

Then, everything changed.

Keith hadn’t even fully realized how much the living man had changed him. How he had so thoroughly become a part of Keith that he wasn’t even sure where he started and Shiro ended. In the months since he’d moved into the apartment, Shiro had become so wholly a part of his existence and for the first time in his life, Keith had been happy.

Truly happy.

A strange lightness was beginning to spread through Keith where the black hole was tugging at him. It was a weightless feeling that only made him cry harder, because, in some form of another cosmic joke, everything was being taken from him just as he found it again.

First, it had been his drive to finally live.

Now, it was Shiro.

“Not yet,” he ground out through his gritted teeth as he fought against the vacant sensation in his gut. “Please. I can’t go yet.”

Minutes— or maybe it was hours, it all felt the same— passed as he fought against the strange tug deep within him that had frozen him there at the dining table when Shiro finally came in.

“Keith?” His voice was faraway. It sounded so much further than just the other side of the table. Another heaving sob tore from his lips as he tried to reply. He watched as Shiro rushed towards him, falling to his knees before him, mouth opening and closing around words that were lost to him as he tried to remember every line of Shiro’s face.

It isn’t fair, he thought as he forced his hand to move. It shook as he reached toward the man before him, fingers barely brushing over the the slightly raised edge of scar. I finally felt alive.

“Keith,” Shiro said again, his voice louder as he reached towards the ghost, ignoring the way his own face had been wet by tears. “Don’t leave. Not yet.”

“I can’t,” he croaked, watching as his own skin began to fade where it had been pressed to Shiro’s. He was certain there had to be some kind of symbolism hidden in the imagery of it all. Too bad it was lost on him.

The lightness had spread throughout him completely now. There was only one thing left tethering him to this world, and he was looking down at him with watery eyes.

“Keith,” Shiro repeated, voice brusque with tears. It wasn’t fair, and they deserved more time. Keith deserved more. Shiro deserved more. But life was cruel, and death was crueler.

This is it, he thought as he leant toward Shiro, his cheek landing against the bone of Shiro’s shoulder as he pushed up to meet him.

“Tell your grandmother thank you,” he managed to whisper as he became weightless.

“Keith.” Shiro’s voice was so distant now. It was time.

“Keith!”

A feeling he could only describe as freedom rushed through his body as he felt Shiro’s arms wrap around him.

For the final time in his life, Keith smiled.

Then, he was gone.

***

For Shiro, life went on. Though less exciting now that he officially lived alone, his world continued to spin and he continued to live. Every once and a while, he would catch the glimpse of unruly black hair out of the corner of his eye. Would sometime see the flash of violet in someone’s gaze.

Sometimes, he’d even hear husky laughter echoing off the walls of his apartment.

If he allowed himself to be selfish, he’d admit that he missed Keith desperately. After he had disappeared— no, moved on— Shiro had wallowed in the pain of his chest as it imploded on itself. It was a brilliant star, going supernova and leaving a blackhole in its place. Even now, he still felt the vestiges of the dark space chilling the space inside his ribcage. The only solace he got, was that Keith had finally found the peace that he deserved.

It was bittersweet, even if the sweetness of it was lost to him.

Shiro wasn’t even quite sure why he ended up at the cafe on the day that he did. Up until that point, he’d blatantly avoided the coffee shop that he knew Keith had liked to frequent. Yet somehow, he found himself walking through the door, bell dinging above him as he pushed himself into the cafe.

All in all, it wasn’t anything special. Just another Starbucks sitting on another city corner. But the familiar espresso machines and coffee related items weren’t what caught his eye.

Tucked into the back corner of the coffeeshop, was a mop of black hair and a red leather jacket. Heart beating its shape into the bone of his ribs, Shiro couldn’t tear his gaze away from the man that looked all too much like him. As if he could feel his stare, the stranger looked up with his face made of sharp angles and violet eyes, effectively stealing his breath away.

As if pulled by an invisible string, Shiro found himself walking towards the stranger and his all too familiar face.

“Hi,” he said as soon as he’d reached it, voice held up by a wisp of air that he wasn’t even entirely sure the other man would hear. “I’m Shiro.”

Regarding him with those hardened jewel eyes, a moment passed before the man smiled at him. With a curt nod as he understood something deeper than just his name, he uttered one syllable in acknowledgement.

“Keith.”

***

[foslad]

Almost Too Good (A Chris Evans Story): Part 18

A/N: I made an entirely separate post detailing my excuses as to why this took so long and my thoughts and feelings about this chapter, so check it out if you wish! Otherwise, HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO YOU ALL <3

--------------------------------

‘Uh, I’ll be brief with my speech. Partly because I don’t like giving speeches; mostly because we have to give the studio space back in twenty-five minutes…’ Ben announced to a low hum of laughter before continuing.

‘…So as most of you are aware, this hasn’t been the easiest year for me, by a long shot, and I just wanted all of you to know that your hard work and commitment to this project has been the sole reason I was able to get out of bed every morning and not feel like I was the world’s biggest loser.’

My face fell into a sympathetic frown, along with the rest of the cast and crew, as I held my solo cup close to my chest and watched on as THE Ben Affleck poured his heart out to us atop a chair.

‘This project has been my baby for a long time and I’m stoked to see it come alive with the help of all of you. So,’ He raised his cup in a toast and we all followed suit, ‘cheers to The Eyes Of Nobody and its future endeavors! No matter what the outcome, it’s been a pleasure rocking with you guys!’

A round of claps and woo’s greeted Ben as he stepped down from the chair and we all engaged in a sip of cheap wine bought with the left-over change from the extended budget from the production company.

Well that was it. It was mid-November and the movie was officially wrapped.

As everyone began to mingle around the makeshift wrap party, I clocked eyes with Ben’s accountant Michael and shot him a wink as he made his way over to me; solo cup in hand. He and I had become “close buddies” as Ben liked to call it, since he had convinced himself that his “matchmaking skills” were out of this world…  

‘What the hell am I supposed to do now!?’ He declared dramatically, taking a big glug of the wine.

Rolling my eyes, I raised an eyebrow at him. ‘You could try, oh I don’t knoooowww, going on a date?’ I teased, leaning in to poke his chest, only for him to shoot me a sheepish look whilst extending his glug of the wine to an outright chug.

Michael and Chris’ brother Scott had been in constant contact via text since I’d introduced them all those weeks ago yet neither had grown a pair big enough to take it to the next level; each expecting the other to kick start it.

‘Hush up.’ He croaked before looking around glumly at the now closed set. ‘So, lay it on me, when are you back off to the Big Apple? And more importantly, when can I come visit?’

I paused for thought, unable to give him an exact answer.

90% of myself couldn’t wait to get back home; to gladly settle back into routine and all that jazz. I couldn’t physically remember the last time I had sat down and watched a movie or taken time for myself to browse through shops and online for new and exciting clothing pieces or even walked through Central Park as a daily reminder of just how lucky I was. At this point I had even gone so far as to start up a Pinterest page, pinning different recipes I wanted to try out when I finally had the time.

I felt a little foreign to myself and of course, like a true New Yorker, I blamed LA for that.

But naturally there was a remaining 10% that, despite being small in number, weighed me down like an anchor…

‘Soon, I guess… I haven’t had the time to discuss it with my assistant yet.’ I blagged.

Thankfully, something I had grown to notice, and was therefore extremely thankful, about Michael was that he had a short attention span. Instead of paying attention to my answer, he decided to indulge in some good ol’ fashioned gossip instead.

‘I’m even losing Ben to it, you know…’

‘To what, New York?’ I asked, suddenly intrigued.

‘Mhmm.’ He nodded, lifting his cup high and finishing off his wine. ‘Between you and me, I think that his little tete-a-tete with that SNL producer is more than just a passing fling. He’s spending the holidays with Jen and the kids, but he’ll be flying back and forth in-between... If you know what I’m saying…’

Oh, the holidays… My favourite time of year! Even the thought of it brought a warm and cosy sensation to my heart. We were a week away from Thanksgiving and I was delighted to have the holiday period completely signed off to nothing but family, laughter, fun and above all else, food…

As a few crew members around us began to pack away the last few fragments of the set, Michael turned and asked, ‘Please tell me your coming to the actual wrap party at Roamers?’

I smiled wide and shook my head. ‘Nope! I have a prior engagement I’m afraid.’

He raised his eye brows sarcastically. ‘Is this “engagement” six foot, with a body like an athlete on his way to the Olympics?’

I smiled even wider. ‘It suuuuure is. I’m teaching him how to make stuffing, the right way, for his Thanksgiving meal with his family.’

‘Sounds like a bucket of fun,’ He jested, ‘and let me guess, the turkey’s not the only thing getting stuf-’

I clapped my hand over his mouth and light-heartedly glared at him. ‘Nuh uh uh, none of that, thank you very much.’

‘Lots of that…’ He whispered when I removed my hand. I rolled my eyes but admittedly, I was still grinning ear to ear as I sipped the last of my wine.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t floating on Cloud 9 right now. What happened after the night of Gracey’s wedding was like something out of a movie. It was as though I was living out some sort of glorious fantasy that never went away, even when I pinched myself.

-

Chris and I had travelled back to LA together the day after my sister’s wedding and I was convinced my happiness was enough to cure world peace.

As I sat on the flight, next to a dozing Chris, gazing out at the orange and yellow hue that had begun to court the pale blue sky, signalling dusk, it occurred to me that I was truly smiling.

And my smile only grew wider when I realised that there was so many reasons as to why I could be smiling right now.

I was heading back to finish off a project that made me feel fulfilled in my acting career; my assistant Amy had informed me that she would be coming back to work full time in the new year (but was now capable of helping me long distance in the meantime), my family were all radiating with joy and love after such a magical weekend and Chris and I were finally pushing forward to bigger and better things.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, I began to feel like the old Adrian again. There was no sadness in me, there were no worries; hell, there wasn’t even any fear anymore.

Just pure contentment.

The view of the sunset from the plane seemed extra spectacular that day. I even took a notion and snapped a try-hard “hipster” picture for my currently dormant Instagram that hadn’t been shown any TLC in almost two years. I cornily captioned it;

When you have every reason in the world to smile; it’s kinda cool when it smiles back at you.

-

‘No! What part of gently fold it in registers in your brain as mix it into oblivion!?’ I reprimanded, yanking the spoon out of Chris’ hand and bopping him out of the way with my hip. From my peripheral, I could see the outline of Scott double back in laughter as he watched Chris and I try to navigate the kitchen together with a beer in hand from the island.

Observing me stir the mixture, Chris’ voice began to raise in protest. ‘You’re doing exactly what I did!’

‘No, I’m not! I’m “gently”, GENTLLLYYYYYYY, folding it in!’

‘Looks pretty fucking similar to me!’ He argued, taking a swig of his beer and shooting Scott a playful look.

‘Uhhh, who’s the teacher and who’s the learner here Evans!?’ I replied, tipping the delicious substance out onto a baking tray.

‘I’m just sayin’!’ He held his hands up in innocence as I placed the tray into the pre-heated oven and picked up my own beer for a smug swig. ‘Well, wait until you taste it, then you’ll see why we “fold”!’

As we waited for the goodness to cook, the boys decided to take the time to grill me on a certain topic that, in general, I had been trying to avoid in my everyday life; so as to not psyche myself out.

‘How’s the training for your Justice League audition coming along?’ Scott asked, after being let in on my little secret a couple of weeks ago and then promptly made to swear to keep silent about it.

Today marked exactly one week after I had received the call from my agent Magda to tell me all systems were ago as far as the audition and truthfully, I was still trying to mentally wrap my mind around it all, never mind even think of the physicality involved.

‘I mean, I gym twice a week, like always, if that’s what you’re asking?’ I hadn’t taken any measures out of my daily routine to prepare…Why should I? I wasn’t even going to get the role for crying out loud!

‘For how long? What do you do when you’re there? You got a trainer?’ Chris questioned intensively.

‘Whoa, whoa, whoa slow down. I do my own thing, like I’ve always done.’ I replied casually.

‘You reckon that’s enough? You feel fit and strong?’ He crossed his arms and eyed me closely.

‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.’ I responded defensively. Okay, so I’ve only ever taken to the gym to be able to justify eating whatever I want, but whatever! They didn’t need to know that!

‘Cool.’ Chris stuck his bottom lip out slightly and nodded. There was a solid twenty second silence as he took one last determined swig of beer before laying the bottle down with a bit of force onto the countertop. ‘You. Me. Pull up competition. Right now.’

With that declaration, he pushed himself away from the counter and began to make his way to the glass door that led to his backyard.

‘What!?’ I called after him, shooting Scott a ‘is he for real!?’ look.

‘You heard me!’ His voice trailed off as he exited out of the door.

The sky was starting to get dark but Chris’ garden was well lit. I begrudgingly trailed after him as he walked past his pool and over to the tall oak tree situated towards the side of his garages.

The tree was thick and strong; with Chris reaching up and placing all his weight on it to see if it would hold up. ‘Alright, seems sturdy enough.’ He deduced as he jumped back down.

Standing under it, I gazed up in intimidation. ‘I can’t even reach it’- was my first excuse.

It took all of two seconds for Chris to bend down behind me and wrap his biceps around my knees, swooping me up with ease so that I was eye level with the branch.

‘But what if I fall!?’ - came the second excuse.

‘Well then we’ll scrap the competition and I’ll just stay here to catch you in case you do fall.’ He countered once again. ‘C’mon, grab the branch.’

‘What if it cuts my hands?’ - marked my last feeble attempt. Now that I was closer, the branch did seem a little old and sharp…ish.

‘Just grab the damn branch Warner!’ He ordered, using his strength to give my body a little jolt upwards.

‘Okay, okay!’ Reaching out and wrapping my hands around it, taking a few seconds to secure my grip firmly.

‘You got it? Am I good to let go?’ He slowly let go and lingered for a second to check I wasn’t going anywhere before stepping away. I hung there like a moron, my legs flailing slightly like a child as I tried to keep my balance in check. Chris stepped towards me again and laid his hands on my legs.

‘Knees together and then lift and cross your feet behind your back.’ He ordered. I could already feel the burn in my arms as I followed his instructions and I hadn’t even started yet.

Once he was happy with my posture and positioning, he glared up. ‘I want ten pull ups.’

Okay, that’s not too bad… Ten should be okay…

Harnessing every piece of strength that I’d gathered from lifting light dumbbells for the past nine years, I raised myself up towards the branch and lifted my chin over it.

‘One.’ Chris called out.

Easing myself back down, I felt a sense of achievement. Alright! My first ever pull up! Go Adrian!

Nine more, not so bad…

The next time I felt the burn even more, but I managed it at least. ‘Two.’

When I eased myself down the second time, my arms began to feel the ache a hell of a lot more than they already did.

Mustering the strength for the third one was not so easy. I could feel myself starting to laugh at my own pathetic excuse for upper body strength, but the laughing only made my stomach hurt more and thus caused me to use up more energy.

‘Still two.’ Chris counted, doing his best not to laugh alongside Scott, who had long lost it. Clearly, I was the entertainment for the evening.

My legs had become undone slightly in hopes of helping me complete my fitness mission.

‘Nope! Keep your legs crossed at the back or I won’t count it!’ Chris’ arms were now folded as he started to stare up at me smugly.

‘It’s hard!’ I whined.

‘What? I thought you said you were “up to date” with this training?’ He used the bunny ear gesture to quote me directly before crossing his arms again.

I frowned but refused to give in. Gathering all my strength, I started up once more; unfortunately vocalising every piece of pain I felt - But I made it!

‘Three.’

‘Ohhhhh my God.’ I panted. Why was this so hard???

‘I’ll compromise at five. Get to five and we’ll call it even.’ Chris bargained, leaning back against the tree.

Two more agonising pull ups, which took what felt like hours to complete, followed. Chris moved forward and stepped under me, lightly wrapping his arms around my legs again. ‘Okay, drop down.’

Delighted to be rid of the pain, I let go and slid down into his grip. Chris clenched a little tighter just before my feet hit the ground so that I was now eye level with him. His eyes screamed in triumph as he waited for me to admit that I wasn’t “up to date” with my “training” at all.

Instead however, I simply let out a deep breath through my nose and wrapped my arms around his neck. ‘If you weren’t so cute, I’d be very pissed right now.’

‘Blegh.’ Scott declared before heading back inside to check on the oven.

‘Pissed at what? The fact you have the upper body strength of a kitten?’ Chris inquired as he turned his attention backed to me and lifted his eyebrow in self-satisfaction.

I shot him an unimpressed look in return before pulling away.

With a light chuckle, he lightly wrapped his arm around my shoulder as we trudged back into the house. ‘I was just trying to show you that “fitness” and “strength” are actually two very different things. It’s not about waiting to get the role and then starting training; you gotta show them what you’re made of from the off! Stay ahead of the competition, if you will.’ He squeezed me lightly, causing me to look up at him.

‘You could really slam this audition if you put your mind to it, you know.’

I smiled softly, recalling a similar pep talk I’d received from Ben a couple of weeks ago. I could feel myself light up inside at how supportive he was being; even if that “support” meant that my arms felt like they were about to fall off any second.

‘You should work on your weight lifting and think about getting yourself a trainer.’ Chris advised as he made his way over to the sink to pour me a glass of water whilst Scott declared that there was five minutes left on the timer.

‘Can I hire you?’ I asked half joking, half not.

‘No can-do kiddo, I have my own training to do. Infinity War is coming up and Poppa don’t get in shape as easily as he used to.’

‘Suuuure,’ I teased, gladly accepting the water, ‘because you look so terrrrible right now.’

‘Well, I certainly don’t look like Captain America that’s for sure.’ He replied before sighing and gazing over at the oven. ‘I mean, if we’re being real, I prooooobably shouldn’t even be eating stuffing right now either.’

I squeaked at his blasphemous tone. ‘Stuffing is always okay!’ I walked over and placed my hands on his cheeks and squeezed so his lips puffed up to attention. ‘Stuffing is good for the soul! Say it with me! Stuuuffing is good for the souuul.’

‘Preach it girl!’ Cried Scott from his position at the fridge, as he retrieved three more beers.

No more than ten minutes later, I arrogantly watched on as the two boys went to indulgence heaven and back as they tucked into my creation. I took great pleasure in scolding Chris on how the flavours and different textures of the stuffing would’ve been destroyed had he continued to mash them to death like he had been.

The tail end of dinner took a turn when Scott notified us of the text he had received from one of his roommates. One of them had left their keys at home and with Scott being the only one left in LA this late in the upcoming holiday season, it inevitably made him the only one to be able to help. So, we bid him goodbye as we continued to gorge on stuffing.

-

After binging three episodes of a new series we’d discovered on Netflix, I sat on Chris’ bed, on top of the covers, and glanced through my emails.

All were mostly worked-related; one was about maintenance that needed to be done to my apartment back in New York and then one, I noticed, seemed to catch my eye for the right kind of reason.

After reading it through, a small smile spread across my face and I found myself calling out to Chris in his en-suite.

‘Did you get the email about the Fashion Awards?’ We’d been invited, as representatives of Gucci, to present one of the awards at the ceremony.

‘Oh, yeah, Jake mentioned something about an awards thing. In England, right?’

‘Mhmm! Would you wanna do it?’ It wasn’t compulsory or in our contract to have to do such events, so I felt like I already knew his answer before he even spoke.

‘Eh.’ Chris shrugged before waving it off and walking back into the bathroom; signalling that he wasn’t even interested, never mind entertaining it.

I nodded and smiled, albeit a little sadly, as I pretended to agree with him.

It was the third thing we’d turned down in the space of a month.

The first being an Elle pictorial spread that had been in the works for weeks due to the popularity of our commercial, 2.5 million views and counting at this point. Chris had decided at the last minute, however, that it would just bring unwanted attention to us and that I should just do it by myself.

But of course, they weren’t interested in just me.

The second was an invite to the launch of Gucci’s new Fall Collection. Off the bat I knew that kind of thing wasn’t Chris’ cup of tea, although I had half-hoped he might’ve been swayed with the knowledge of how much that kind of thing means to me and that we could get away with going together because we were still technically “co-workers”. Alas, I attended that one alone.

The Fashion Awards made it a trio and to say it was a little disheartening, was an understatement.

Obviously, I wasn’t completely clueless. I knew deep down he was just trying to protect and preserve what we had. We’d still managed to evade being public knowledge and that was something Chris was passionate about keeping for as long as possible.

Unlike our early days, nearly every evening was spent at Chris’; which was totally fine! Spending time with him was so beyond fulfilling and I was so lucky to have him! It was night’s like tonight, cooking and chilling together, that really brought a special warmth to my heart.

But I’d be lying if I said we weren’t lacking in most aspects outside of that. There were no dates, no dinners out, no movie trips. I wasn’t even allowed to walk Dodger with him. Something as simple as walking down the street and holding hands or going to the grocery store were also out of the question.

Menial tasks that I ached to do.

And I knew he had done them in the past. A quick google search would should him going on dates or holding hands with past lady friends…

But I knew that kind of thinking was toxic. I had become good at steering away from stupid thoughts like that after the promise I had made to Chris to just trust him.

I didn’t doubt Chris or his feelings, it was just the way things were that made it harder for me to adjust to. I wasn’t as big of a “celebrity” (nor did I ever wish to be) as Chris and, up until we started dating, could happily walk around and go about my business without having anybody give a shit. Even outside of my relationship, I was still able to do that. Stupid little things like fashion award shows and clothing launches, I’ll admit, were still fun little ventures to me that meant a different kind of night out to the usual routine.

But of course, I knew that as soon as Chris and I did become public knowledge, I could probably wave that goodbye. Still…

I hadn’t realised I’d been staring into space until the bathroom light clicked off and Chris emerged, zipping up a jacket and grabbing a cap from the side.

‘Alright, I’ll be back soon. Just gonna take Dodger out real quick.’ He informed me as he bent down to give me a parting kiss. I watched intently as he attached the leash to the dog’s collar.

‘Can I come?’ I chanced. It was dark out and already gone 10:30pm, I doubt paparazzi patrolled his street at this time of night on the off chance he might walk out of his door. Besides, in the one in a million chance that they might be, the picture would be too dark anyway; surely.

I just wanted to hold his hand. Outside. That’s it. That’s all I needed.

He struggled to form words as he tried to figure out a way of gently letting me down that didn’t just involve an outright ‘no’.

‘Please? I hate being here on my own...’ I begged, knowing full well it was probably going to make him feel a little guilty. Sure, I wasn’t being wholly honest but even I could see that the truth seemed slightly embarrassing and needy.

A small frown appeared on his face as he made his way back over to me; leaning down again to kiss my cheek. ‘I’m only gonna be gone ten minutes, Adrian, I promise!’

He had paused for my reaction, but Dodger’s light whimpering pressured me into reluctantly nodding my head.

‘…Okay.’ I whispered, allowing him to lean forward for one last peck.

Chris wasn’t stupid. He probably knew deep down that my request was deeper than just a fear of being alone.

-

To Chris’ credit, the front door sounded not ten minutes later and a content Dodger trotted down the hallway and into the bedroom; closely followed by his owner.

I picked up the remote and turned down the volume on the random World’s Wildest Police Chases episode I was watching and looked over as Chris entered the bedroom. Smiling, I scooted over and made room for him in the bed.

As he undressed, I decided to break the slightly awkward silence by asking if we could watch Conan tonight. I was happy to see a smile appear across his face as he crawled under the covers next to me.

‘You don’t have to keep asking Adrian, we watch it every night.’

We continued the silence, although now a little more content, as we listened to Zac Efron talk to Conan about the upcoming Baywatch reboot he was shooting on a low volume. We were half-way through the interview when Chris finally spoke up.

‘I feel bad about earlier.’

‘Don’t! It’s okay,’ I reached over and rubbed his cheek affectionately, ‘I understand why you said no.’

A minute or so passed, I had returned my attention back to the screen, when he spoke again.

‘Listen, I was gonna ask you a little closer to the time, but I guess now is a good a time as any.’ Chris sat up and cleared his throat a little. ‘Every year, around New Year’s, Downey throws this fundraiser for a charity of choice. It changes every year.’ He rambled.

I listened intently, but I’d be lying if I said my eyes weren’t widening by the second.

‘Anyways, there’s no red-carpet bullshit but people still dress up and it’s for a good cause, so I try and make it every year.’

‘That’s nice of you.’ I replied, although my tone was willing him to continue.

‘Would you, maybe, wanna go… with me… this year?’

My lips trembled as I fought back a big, fat, beaming smile.

‘Sure.’ I replied as casually as I could, but it was obvious he could see right through me. ‘I should be free.’

He grinned at me as we returned our eyes to the screen but within seconds, I had turned back and smacked my lips against his. Forgoing Conan for the night, I decided to show him just how I grateful I was for his suggestion.

----------

If you read this one through, YOU ARE A GOD! THANK YOU! New chapter SOON!! Special shout out to mrs-captain-evans and elphabathropp for playing a huge part in my return to writing! I’m sorry I suck but I love you for caring!! <3 

[reactingtosomething]

Reacting to X-Men: The Dark Phoenix Saga (1994)

The Living Embodiment of “Bitch, You Thought”

The Setup: Caroline Siede is a TV and film critic whose work has appeared in The AV Club, Quartz, The Mary Sue, and Vox, among others; an occasional theatre and film director, including of a web series Kris wrote; a superhero enthusiast in general and an X-Men superfan in particular; and to our great honor and everlasting vague surprise, a friend of Reacting to Something.

Kris remembered from this (excellent) X-Men: Apocalypse tweet storm that Caroline’s favorite fictional character ever is Jean Grey. Somewhere between then and the news that Jessica Chastain might join Sophie Turner, Jennifer Lawrence, et al. in X-Men: Dark Phoenix, he learned that Miri is also a big X-Men fan. And Miri is the only RtS regular who didn’t work on that web series, so this two-part Guest Reaction on X-Men cartoons basically had to happen.

Spoilers ahead, I guess?, for a decades-old story that practically redefined its medium and is on track for its third screen adaptation in our lifetimes. Post-chat notes and comics trivia from Kris in italics.

MIRI: Hi! This is Miri

CAROLINE: Hello!

MIRI: Ready?

CAROLINE: I am!

MIRI: Excellent!

My first instinct is to talk about [X-Men: The Animated Series], then [X-Men: Evolution], then some general yelling about how the two compare. What do you think?

CAROLINE: That sounds perfect to me!

MIRI: Awesome. Shall we be chronological about it?

(Secret motive: I have many feelings about the fashions in the Animated Series that I cannot contain for much longer)

CAROLINE: Ahaha. Well let's go for it then!

Had you seen any of the series before?

MIRI: None. At least not that I recall--there may have been reruns that I don’t remember at some point.

And did you watch it all the way through?

I was super interested by the story structure. It has seasons, but each season is a collection of 4ish episode stories. Was there a narrative for the whole season, or not really?

CAROLINE: Not at all. It was a big part of my young childhood but only in the sense that I watched it on TV a lot and loved the characters. I doubt I even cared about or followed the plots.

MIRI: Gotcha

CAROLINE: Again, I'm not exactly an expert. But I believe the storytelling arcs were pretty self-contained with character stuff bleeding over across the seasons

But this Dark Phoenix arc was of course a direct follow-up to the earlier Phoenix arc

MIRI: Cool. Seems like a similar structure to early seasons of Doctor Who

Yes, let’s talk about Phoenix/Dark Phoenix

First of all, I think it’s safe to say that Dark Phoenix is the living embodiment of “Bitch, you thought” memes

CAROLINE: Ha! I also just want to throw it out there that Jean Grey is my all-time favorite superhero

And yes, Dark Phoenix is an (insane) badass

MIRI: I had never seen a version where the Phoenix is a separate entity rather than a part of Jean that had been walled off inside of her

CAROLINE: Although I do believe that's the comic book origin story

I think TAS is fairly close to comic book canon

But the "internal" Dark Phoenix thing seems to have become the movie and TV norm now

KRIS: Though in general I don’t think of myself as a stickler for comics canon -- having come to comics, I think like many millennials, through various 90s cartoons -- this Phoenix thing does bum me out, partly for how big a deal the Phoenix Force is to the Marvel universe at large, along with characters like the Shi’ar who were introduced in that story. The Avengers vs. X-Men event that spun into 2012′s very successful Marvel NOW! relaunch (one of the things that made recent Marvel comics accessible to relatively casual readers like me) was built around the Avengers trying to permanently end the existential threat of the Phoenix.

MIRI: Interesting. My deep love of the X-men comes solely from the Evolution cartoon. I have no true history knowledge

(Don’t @ me, twitter)

CAROLINE: I'm kind of in the same boat with TAS although I do own a massive encyclopedia of X-Men comic book trivia

MIRI: I hope that sits proudly on your coffee table

CAROLINE: Of course! But I think with everything from character design to storylines, TAS pulled pretty directly from the comics

K: The character designs are specifically the Chris Claremont/Jim Lee era of “Blue Team” and “Gold Team,” recently re-invoked in two of the many X-Men titles spinning out of the recent Inhumans vs. X-Men crossover

(The Phoenix stories are from an earlier, Lee-less Claremont run.)

MIRI: I DEFINITELY want to discuss costumes at some point

CAROLINE: Agreed! But one other thing that really struck me about the Dark Phoenix is just how epic in scope it is.

MIRI: The structure does also feel more comic book-y to me--stories told over a few issues, then a new story,e tc

Oh yes, let’s definitely stay on her for now

Yeah, I was shocked to end up IN SPACE

K: The Shi’ar are pretty wild

CAROLINE: I think that's an element of comic book storytelling that doesn't really get adapted onto the big screen 

I mean obviously the MCU is massive

But their crossovers are a huge event

Whereas comic books (and cartoons) can just get epic whenever they feel like it

This one went from a sexy pirate story to a massive interstellar gladiator battle.

K: I don’t know Caroline super well, but I feel confident saying that Space is one of her Top 5 Favorite Things

MIRI: Sidebar: Katherine Janeway and Jean Grey are into the same types of romance novels/holodramas, pass it on

But to your actual point--I was really surprised when they defeated Dark Phoenix at the end of the third episode. I thought the whole thing was going to be an earthbound mutant battle, and then suddenly there’s a space empress!

I like that freedom, which is definitely not a part of most of the film/tv versions.

CAROLINE: Yeah! The stories can literally go anyway. It's really fun to watch. 

We even get a little Thor cameo

Albeit briefly

MIRI: Right!

That kind of reminder that it’s all out there and connected is nice, and in this format doesn’t overburden the story

CAROLINE: But I also think the Dark Phoenix arc does a good job grounding all that craziness in character drama

MIRI: Overall yes, but I don’t entirely buy the motivations of the (Dark) Phoenix

They lose me a little with the fact that Jean and Phoenix are both super great/good beings, but combined they’re evil

Like, there are also exhilarating happy emotions. Why isn’t she eating ice cream and having orgasms and looking at puppy gifs online?

CAROLINE: I agree that the plotting is messy as hell, but I always love stories about strong women being afraid of their own power. So I'm kind of willing to overlook how little sense it makes

MIRI: Fair! And the emotional ties within the Xmen work very nicely

CAROLINE: I think that was far and away what I cared about most

The Hellfire Club got a little boring after a while

But I love watching the X-Men be friends

Which I think TAS does really well

MIRI: I actually thought the whole “Kill me Logan, while I’m in control enough to let you” think worked a bit better in X3, but obviously it had this to build off of

Yes, I liked the friend dynamics! I’m a huge sucker for characters actually liking each other

CAROLINE: Umm, I reject the notion that anything about X3 worked on any level.

MIRI: hahahahahahahha

That is your right!

And I wouldn’t ever want to have to defend my point, because that movie is a shitshow

K: I certainly won’t defend it on a storytelling level, BUT I actually still think the set piece at the Grey house holds up pretty well as a standalone-ish thing (my objection to this version of the Phoenix still holds), not least because The Last Stand has one of the best Marvel movie soundtracks, composed by John Powell. The geography of the house is also used in more interesting ways than most action set piece locations.

CAROLINE: I loved little things like Rogue leaving Scott and Jean alone as soon as they got romantic

MIRI: Wolverine and Scott even seem to care about each other while they’re both in love with Jean, which is very mature

CAROLINE: The relationships (at least among the X-Men) feel lived in and real

MIRI: I didn’t want to love this Rogue because I am deeply committed to loving the Evolutions Rogue, but I found her super charming

She’s just always ready to be enthusiastically upset

She  cannonballed into Apocalypse’s calf and it was surprisingly effective!

CAROLINE: She's a huge standout of TAS for me

MIRI: Also she can just fly all the time, apparently? I love it

CAROLINE: I love Lenore Zann's voice acting

Yeah she's basically Superman

But she also can't touch anyone

It's a little weird but it's SUPER fun to watch

K: Rogue’s mutant ability is life-force/memory/power absorption (as also seen in the movies and in X-Men: Evolution), which is usually temporary. In the comics, the one time it stuck was when she got in a fight with Carol Danvers, at the time Ms. Marvel, and absorbed Carol’s powers of super strength and flight. (Carol later picked up additional, “cosmic”-level powers and went through several codename changes.)

MIRI: Is it possible for me to love her voice but hate her accent? Because that’s where I am

CAROLINE: Sure! Although I love both. And her and Gambit together are aces

MIRI: I liked her dropping him into the lake

And ‘What is this, catch the x-men day?’ (I'm misquoting, but that moment)

CAROLINE: It's an incredibly different characterization than the one we got on the films

K: I think this is from the first Phoenix Saga, but I couldn’t pass it up

MIRI: VERY

CAROLINE: *in the films

But I enjoy both

MIRI: Yeah, I think the adultness is a factor here, though certainly not all of it

CAROLINE: For sure! I guess this is really the only major X-Men series not to have a "teen" element

MIRI: It actually made me kind of uncomfortable that none of them were kids. Which is weird, but I��m SO used to the Xavier Institute version of it all

CAROLINE: They do have Jubilee running around sometimes

She's a POV teen in the premiere

But for the most parts they're just kind of The Avengers or something

MIRI: I’m not opposed to that. I was just legitimately shocked for a minute

CAROLINE: Overall I was surprised by how *adult* the whole series felt

Obviously it's aimed at kids

But it's complex and mature and about adulthood

I feel like a lot of kids shows kind of try to talk down to their audience?

But this one doesn't for the most part?

MIRI: Wow, that’s a really interesting point. I can’t think of any kid shows now that have primarily adult casts

Except the Wildkratts, which I am probably spelling wrong but is quality educational programing

CAROLINE: A LOT of stuff happens in this arc. And while there's a lot of hand-holding in terms, it also goes pretty deep

Including exploring the nature of a relationship between two older leaders dedicated to their people

Which, just, isn't what you would think of as kids fair

MIRI: I also like their look at relative morality in the face of a terrible decision

CAROLINE: (Also I meant to say there's a lot of hand-holding in terms of plot BTWs)

MIRI: Scott wants to save Jean, of course! And that’s The Right Thing to do, but everyone involved wants to do the right thing

CAROLINE: Yeah! A very adult conflict

MIRI: And they’re not really demonized for being willing to sacrifice Jean to save billions

Honestly, I think the Empress is in the right. I also think I would make the same decisions as Scott

K: Empress Lilandra is the character Jessica Chastain is reportedly in talks to play in Fox’s forthcoming Dark Phoenix movie

CAROLINE: It's a weird mix of mature thoughtfulness that's also super stilted and dated.

MIRI: That’s a perfectdescription

CAROLINE: Because I do think it feels like a pretty stitled series, especially to modern eyes

MIRI: Very

We expect a lot more realism in our storytelling now

CAROLINE: Not just the 90s aesthetic, but the actual storytelling

For sure.

MIRI: And economy of storytelling

CAROLINE: Although there is that here too sometimes. It's hard to pin down 

Also I was legitimately so touched when the X-Men all gave of themselves to save Jean

MIRI: Team as family gets me every time

CAROLINE: That's some great team storytelling right there

MIRI: And they worked together nicely

CAROLINE: And the kind of stuff X-Men does best

MIRI: They all get their moment, but the team work is always present

Also I like that Rogue can and does pick up every single one of the X-Men in this episode

CAROLINE: Ha! I love her so much

I really love all of them. I think the characters are all super vibrant

At least in the X-Men

I was super bored by the Hellfire Club

MIRI: I honestly could not tell you who any of those people were if it weren’t for the more recent men movies

they were boring and not distinctly drawn

(In a character sense, not an animation sense)

CAROLINE: Agreed

I remembered the Hellfire Club being super cool but now I'm not sure if they're better in other episodes or if I was just easily won over as a child

MIRI: I could definietly see them being better in episodes where they’re the focus

CAROLINE: Changing topics: Wolverine saying, "Where's that blasted salami" is maybe the best X-Men moment of all time

MIRI: I liked Emma’s little fuck you about Phoenix being the new queen

Hahahahahaha that was good

I would argue that his claws are way too spaced out for neat, even slices

CAROLINE: There's something weird going on there for sure

MIRI: Maybe really near the knuckles?

CAROLINE: Maybe he has secret salami powers too

MIRI: I’m going down a dark path of thinking about how much grossness is brought into his body when he retracts the claws after fighting or slicing salami

I mean I know he heals so it’s fine

But ew

CAROLINE: Oh god

MIRI: Right?

CAROLINE: Dark times

MIRI: I’m sorry

CAROLINE: Dark Phoenix times

MIRI: hahahahahhahaa

Nice

CAROLINE: I think the only voice actor I really didn't like is Scott's

MIRI: I could not deal with Xavier’s

CAROLINE: Which is a bummer because he carries a lot of this arc

MIRI: It weirded me out

CAROLINE: Yeah Xavier isn't great either

But it's hard to compare to Patrick Stewart

MIRI: It’s very unfair of me to expect it

I know this

CAROLINE: Who is so throughly Professor X in my head

MIRI: Yeah, between TNG and X-men, he looms damn large in my formative genre culture landscape

M: TNG = Star Trek: The Next Generation, which I was basically raised on

K: Caroline is also a huge Star Trek fan, and last year wrote a Vox explainer/viewing guide for the uninitiated.

CAROLINE: Totally

Should we talk costumes?

MIRI: Yes!

CAROLINE: They're the best

MIRI: First of all, it’s a fun metric on cultural shifts because at least 75% of these guys would be read as gay in the present day

Jean’s mask at the end is really stupid looking and I loved it SO MUCH

That and Wolverine’s mask were just so classic/iconic looking

CAROLINE: Well to be fair that's not her normal outfit in the series 

MIRI: Right, it was her super early costume, right?

CAROLINE: She was giving us a little Marvel Girl throwback

Yeah

MIRI: Ohhhhh I totally forgot she was Marvel Girl!

K: Not to be confused with Ms. Marvel, the codename Carol Danvers took in the 70s, and has since been adopted by Kamala Khan. (Carol, an Air Force pilot to be played by Brie Larson in the MCU, is currently Captain Marvel to the superhero community, but Colonel Danvers to the US government. Although maybe Larson’s Carol will just be a Captain Danvers, to avoid general audience confusion?)

CAROLINE: But her regular costume is also kind of ridiculous 

K: That’s not a bunch of skin showing, it’s just a confusingly flesh-toned bodysuit. I always liked the crystal (?) in her headband thing though.

M: This isn’t even her “regular” costume but it is something that could not be ignored.

K: It’s not her Phoenix costume but it’s what she wears for most of the series

They LOVED their headgear on TAS

MIRI: Which is presumably why she doesn’t have a hero name, right?

CAROLINE: I believe so

K: I tried to find an official answer, but didn’t dig up anything from a publishing perspective. Story-wise, it didn’t have anything to do with either (the first) Captain or Ms. Marvel. As far as I can tell, Jean first stopped using the codename Marvel Girl when she started calling herself Phoenix, and then some time post-Dark Phoenix, she decided to go by her civilian name. Maybe just because it had been a while since they were really writing her as a “girl”?

MIRI: I liked all of their dark head covering headband things that didn’t cover their faces or hair, but did cover the rest of the head

I don’t know what to call them

CAROLINE: It's a true X-Men staple

And it's so weird to see Gambit without his

MIRI: Like, when I think about it too much I have logic questions. But I love them and don’t want them changed at all

CAROLINE: The costumes are also all straight out of the comics.

K: Mostly designed by Jim Lee in the late 80s, possibly explaining all the shoulder pads. For better or worse (as an admitted non-expert, I think a bit of both), Lee is one of the most influential artists and publishers in the medium, and currently one of the top folks at DC.

MIRI: Storm’s earrings are killer

CAROLINE: Really everything about Storm is amazing

Another voice performance I love

MIRI: Yes! I loved her narration of her powers

CAROLINE: Haha! Same

So dramatic

Arguably too much so but it totally works

MIRI: Yes! I sat there thinking that I should be annoyed by it, but I just wanted more

I did not love that Rogue’s costume was apparently so shrink-wrapped on that I think I could see her internal organs

CAROLINE: I mean it is but I'm just so into her whole design

I really forgot how much I loved her on this series

MIRI: Yes, the design of the costume is great!

The mullet-ness of the white in her hair is not a styling choice I would make, but she’s free to do her

CAROLINE: Oh also Jean's Phoenix hair is AMAZING

MIRI: I also really liked the space aesthetics

CAROLINE: Keep the powers just for that!

MIRI: Ooh, yes! Both the updo and the big loose look

The guys’ lips were all the same color as the rest of their faces and once I noticed it I couldn’t stop noticing it

CAROLINE: Ha!

I will say, as much as I love many other iterations of the X-Men, these will always be the iconic X-Men looks for me

As I think they are for many people

MIRI: That makes total sense! They’re not entirely for me, but they definitely did resonate

Before the MCU became such a thing, these looks were a lot of the merchandise you saw

And they are just so distinctive

CAROLINE: I LOVE seeing people cosplay in these looks

It brings me such joy

MIRI: I like that they have commonalities without all being in the same exact uniform

Omg, yes!

Even without this era being A Thing for me, I can think of multiple killer Rogue cosplays I’ve taken notice of with this look

CAROLINE: Okay so should we start talking about an era of the X-Men that is a little more iconic for you?

MIRI: Sounds good! But first, I want to say that I feel like you shouldn’t power wash the ancient hieroglyphics tablet nd that was uncool even for villains to do

Also I need a gif of Dark Phoenix saying “I admit nothing”

(Dark Phoenix, Mother of Dragons, the unburnt, breaker of chains, Khaleesi of the great grass sea)

CAROLINE: I need so many GIFs

Mostly the salami one 

In Part 2, Miri and Caroline turn to X-Men: Evolution.

X-Men: The Animated Series is streaming on Hulu.

You can follow Caroline on Twitter, and support her on Patreon.

You can also follow us on Twitter, where we mostly retweet critics (including Caroline), screenwriters, and general pop culture reporting. 

For now we leave you with perhaps the greatest superhero opening titles [Kanye] OF ALL TIME [/Kanye].

[vithyahairandmakeup]

Bullying...

I have briefly mentioned experiencing bullying before, but after hearing about an incident in Netherlands of a young Tamil boy who took his life due to bullying, and receiving an email from a girl yesterday about similar issues she is facing, I thought I will write a blog about my thoughts on this, in the hope that this may create a ray of hope for anyone out there who feels what I felt many years ago.

I grew up in a refugee camp to begin with, and since my parents didn’t speak German, I was not able to pick up the language very quickly, so I went to kindergarten and was picked on for not knowing German. Not just by fellow kids, but also the teachers, who isolated me and never included me in anything. When I started primary school, I was picked on immediately. We didn’t have school Uniforms in Germany, and my parents couldn’t afford to dress me in nice things, so I was picked on for my dress code, not speaking German, and for being coloured. Germany in the 90s was extremely racist. I was called names just because of my skin tone. 

In my last year at primary school, I used to get beaten up during break, I used to go home with bruises, and my mum believed every story I told her. My parents were never even aware of what went on at school.

When I started high school, things got better, only to then be told that we are moving to England. I hated the high school system here. Yes we had Uniforms, and the teachers had a lot more control over students and waited at the bus stops until every student got on, but that never stopped the bullies. I had to sit at the front of every class due to my language barrier (yep, I spoke no word of English at the age of 14), and the so called ‘cool’ kids sitting at the back used to chuck paper at me when the teacher wasn’t looking. On one occasion I had chewing gum chucked at me, which got caught in my hair, and I waited to use the bathroom, to cry in the cubicle because I couldn’t get it out of my hair.

I was teased for the way I looked, for having a hairy upper lip, for the way I dressed, for the way I spoke, for not being academically smart. Naturally I had no friends either. Not in Kindergarten, not in Primary school, and not during High School either. The only person I became friends with was also being bullied, so we were both always picked on. 

I genuinely believed that Uni will change everything, but it didn’t. I moved out, and initially made friends with the people I lived with, but very soon they made their own friends from their courses and I was left on my own again. I tried really hard to make friends in my course, but I really struggled. I hated having group work or a lab partner, as I was always the last person to be selected. No one wanted to work with me. 

I still managed to make a few friends who I am still close with to this day. But man, making friends during those days just wasn’t easy for me.

I was depressed, miserable, and just super insecure. I had the odd person I hung out with, or was desperate to have a boyfriend because I thought at least that way I won’t be lonely, but to no luck. Things never seemed to work out for me very well. (And when you are this vulnerable and lonely, you do attract the wrong kind of guys, so please please do not make the same mistake. It is better to be on your own, than wind up with a psycho boyfriend who will make you fell much worse about yourself than any of those bullies at school.)

I didn’t tell anyone about it, and I didn’t talk to a therapist either. In fact none of my family members knew about it, and the teachers/lecturers weren’t aware either. Do you know what I did about it? I learned to not care about them. I figured that a few years down the line none of these people are going to matter. I took a vow that I will make something of my life, and that I will be happy, content, successful, and achieve my goals. I used to want those things, just so I can have people begging to be my friend.

Well today that doesn’t influence my decisions of course. Today I have learned to do things on my own, to be independent, and to run my own business. I achieved all the things I set out to achieve, and whoever stuck by me through this painful and long journey, are the ones I really regard as friends and who really matter to me. To me, my parents and my cousins are still my number ones, and every one else I meet along the journey come and go, and I am content with that. People who want to be friends with you because of success or fame, are never really real friends. Trust me!!! 

I have considered taking my life numerous times during those awful years. I used to think no one would even notice if I am gone, and that I would probably enrich their lives by killing myself. I am telling you, I have never crossed paths with any of these bullies since leaving school, and I am glad that I never took my life for their satisfaction. Bullies make you believe that something is wrong with you, when in reality something is wrong with them. They are the miserable and unhappy ones, and they get their notion of happiness by making others suffer. It is their way of coping, their way of surviving. It is not your fault. In fact be the better person and feel sorry for them, if you are not able to do so, then just ignore them.

I could write an entire essay of what you could do to those mean bullies, but stooping to their level is never wise. We don’t know what they are going through nor why they are so bitter and unhappy. They must be fighting their own battles at home. Who cares? It is not your problem. You are loved, you have a beautiful family, and you have a roof over your head and cooked food on the table, stay strong and put up with it until you can make active choices. Yes you could change schools, or jobs, or stop being friends with the person that constantly picks on you. But does that solve the problem? It deals with the symptoms not the source. How we react to these situations is dealing with the source of the problem. Just ignore them, and don’t change. Be the same kind person you want to be. 

You would think bullying only happens in schools, but no it happens at work, it happens in relationships, it even happens amongst family members. We can never get away from a bully. They are everywhere, and around us. But we have the power to do something about it. To make choices that allow us to stay away from such people. Or remove ourselves from these situations. The first step is to talk to a loved one, confide in them, and let them help you. If you don’t, then there are professionals you can talk to at school or even at work to make them aware of this. 

I once had a staff member bully me at work for over a year. Since I became an expert at being bullied, I just noted down everything; anything he said or did. I never encouraged him, nor reacted to his behaviour. (Even though I used to cry at home, or in the bathrooms), and then after about six months of collecting evidence, I wrote a huge letter to HR, filed a formal complaint, and after a few interviews he was sacked. And I worked happily ever after!

Even now, I sometimes get cyberbullies. I even have some family members who bully me. I deal with it every day.

Why should you suffer for someone else? Why does the other person matter more than you? Why is it ok to feel sad, irrelevant, and lonely? Why?

No one has that right or that kind of power over you. So don’t let them!

Just use me as an example. I was bullied most of my life, and  today I regard myself as a successful and independent woman. I am also about to leave my family and friends and move to another country where I am not going to know anyone and start from scratch. I got those bullies to thank! I became tough and strong because of them. 

So get up, dust off, and LIVE!!! Life gets better. I promise!!!

[smokeybrandreviews]

Go Woke Go Broke

I am a fan of great stories. I adore brilliant, unique, art. I adore when both are integral to a creation be it film, comic, book, short story, light novel, fan fiction; Whatever. I find the ability to build worlds in almost any capacity, incredible. I’m also an older Millennial; Part of the tweener, X/Y, Oregon Trail generation. Born in the 80s, raised in the 90s, and came of age in the early 00s.We played until the street lights caught us, my first game system was an NES, and all my Saturday morning cartoons were sans Disney, toy commercials. I got an honorable mention once at a science fair and my parents were unimpressed so Participation Trophies were a joke to me and i learned how to deal with bullies by dealing with bullies. I had to worry about gangs shooting up my school, not that lone, weird kid in a trench coat. I’m all about representation but i understand that if you want people to look like you on film, you’d better find a way to make that film in white ass Hollywood. Basically, i have sense whereas most Millennials born after 89, do not. I need to make that distinction because we are about to get into some sh*t.

The merit and value of representation or visibility in mainstream media is dependent on the quality of said portrayal in the cultural zeitgeist. I’m a giant black dude who lives in America so representation for me basically begins and ends with a thug persona. As a black person in general, watching actors who look like me get passed over in roles that are uplifting and enriching to the culture like Hurricane or Ali for very specific, very demeaning, very marginalization, stereotypes, is disgusting. Black people, however excellent they are, never win for anything other than the magical Negro, uplifting slave, or non-threatening service person. Hidden Figures is an amazing tale of the trio of black women who saved NASA during the height of the space race. It was nominated for three Oscars and won none. Mahershala Ali did win an Oscar for best supporting actor portraying Juan, a drug dealer. Another movie he was in won several Oscars as well, Green Book. Ali plays Dr. Don Shirley characterized by the magical negro trope. I can go on and on. Denzel Washington got his second Oscar for Training day playing a corrupt ass cop when he turned in a much better, far more emotional performance, in Hurricane the year before. His first? Glory, where he played a former slave. A few years later? Snubbed for Philadelphia. Washington played, deftly i might add, a lawyer named Joe Milller who had to reconcile his own prejudices bout what it meant to have AIDS. Dude wasn’t even nominated. Tom Hanks won, though. See that pattern?

I don’t like Steven Universe. I don’t think it’s a very good show but because it has a massive fanbase among the LBGTQ community, it’s bullet proof from criticism. Nah, i’m about to go in. I adore Rebecca Sugar and i commend her creativity. My favorite episodes of Adventure Time are often attribute to her in some way, wither s0rt direction story boarding, or song writing. Marceline wouldn’t be Marcy with Sugar and i’ll always love her for that. That said, Steven Universe is melodramatic trash that uses pandering as a crutch. I don’t have a problem with the gays or whatever getting their visibility, but there are ways to do it without coming across as plagiarized drivel. Euphoria immediately comes to mind. Universe wears it’s anime inspirations on it’s sleeve. Sugar is a massive fan of Sailor Moon and you see, just, SO much of that in this show. Entire scenes and plot points are directly lifted from Usagi’s epic adventure but, because of the nostalgia goggles, cats are blinded to the straight-up theft. I’m not. That lack of originality is hindrance to the message. I mean, not really, i guess, because people love this show but it’s hard for me to acknowledge anything genuine about it because i know it is all a fraud. Hell, Land of the Lustrous, a manga by the name of Hoseki no Kuni, bares more than a striking similarity to Universe and came out a full year before Steven first bared his belly gem! Guess what Lustrous is? A manga! Guess who loves anime and manga? Sugar! Guess who has built a career on Sailor Moon images and Fan art? Sugar! Hell, Lustrous does a better job of LBGTQ representation by accident. Seriously, check that sh*t out. It’s an excellent narrative that doesn’t pander to the SJW crowd. It just tells it’s story about gem girls and space monsters. Sh*t is dope.

Where i feel the most sting, however, is in the US comic industry. All of this PC wokeness is in direct contrast to creative storytelling, for the most part. Marvel is hilariously guilty of this sh*t. I was on board when they decided to turn carol Danvers into Captain Marvel, effectively retiring her leotard costume and pretending kike it never happened. Fine. I liked that design but i get how impractical is was. The homage to Mar-Vell in her current duds is cool, too. I was one of the few that waited before running to judgment as Bendis race-bent Spider-Man into Miles Morales and then gender bent Iron Man into Riri Williams. Riri is a sh*t character in her own right but the outrage was more about her gender and race which made the criticism seem neckbeard nerd rage. Even then, i stuck around. Hell, when that Mockingbird run dropped and was literally a feminist manifesto, i let it ride because it was cleverly written and, foe the most part, i am kind of a feminist. More Equalist but there are feminist undertones in there. More recently, however, we got this New Warriors book and this is where i have to draw the line. Snowflake and Safe pace? Token non-binary hero? Marvel used to be at the forefront of this sh*t. They had gay superheroes in the 70s. They got married in the 80s. They addressed AIDS in the 90s and muslim bigotry in the 00s. Marvel was always crazy social conscious. That was one of their story telling staples and they delivered those messages with a light but firm touch.

F*ck, dude, the X-Men are an allegory for black people and the Civil Rights movement! Magneto and Professor X are literally caricatures of Malcom X and Dr. King.  mainstream comic, broaching the subject of discrimination, camouflaged in the vibrant arto f superhuman clashes, sold to white kids across America, during the f*cking 60s? Are you serious? That sh*t changes minds. That sh*t starts a conversation. That sh*t is status quo changing! Snowflake and Safespace? F*cking really? This is your social discourse now? Disrespectful parody of a marginalizing slur and already absurd concept derived by weenies? This isn’t even satire, it’s outright disrespect. I think safespaces are detrimental to proper, healthy, discourse or that the notion of those who stand up to offense are snowflakes who “need to get a sense of humor”, but for real? The fact that cats just tacked on the one is non-binary just outright exposes the true intent. This sh*t is pandering, straight up. It’s non representation It’s not progress. It’s disrespectful Woke point grabbing. It’s superficial lip-service being played to those that feel like their label isn’t getting enough media scrutiny. I think all of these new genders or whatever are stupid but i’m an old person. Some kid might identify with being non-binary or whatever and THIS sh8t is what they have to look forward to seeing. You can’t be serious.

Now, the whole reason i’m writing this, the entire reason i was even thing king about this subject, is because of Late Night with Lily Singh. Singh is a comedy Youtuber who has crossed over into the mainstream. I, personally, don’t find her funny, but i understand how important her success is in the world. Singh is, if you haven’t deduced by her name, a Desi woman. She’s a Canadian of Punjabi descent and she’s making moves. Ma is one of the most popular channels on the platform and, indeed, i first came across her through another cat i follow. Even though i personally do not enjoy her content, the breadth of what she has accomplished does not elude me. Singh is a powerhouse and should be recognized as such. However, her actual, on-air, late night talk show is f*cking dog sh*t. Singh is not geared for that. Like, at all. Her jokes are bad, her monologues are delivered with a clumsy anxiousness that belies the energetic skit-maker from her Youtube channel, and she is the worst interviewer on television! Her guests are often visibly bewildered. Watching James Corden interview someone is off-putting, dude does his best impression of graham Norton, but Seeing Singh just assault her guests with mediocrity is textbook cringe. Why the f*ck was she put into this very public position, thrown to the wolves, doomed to fail?

Her show is bad, man, but when you say so, the PC Police come out to beat your sh*t in. Singh is Indian, female, and bisexually; The three biggest spaces on the Marginalized bingo board. Being brown, or queer, or prone to vaginas gets you them woke points whenever you create anything but to have all three at once? Boy, you bulletproof! Saying anything remotely resembling criticism gets you cancelled on the grounds of sexism, homophobia or just plain classic racism, all the while, her show i literal sh*t! Singh, herself, is often racist and sexist throughout her “comedy” skits! I’m not one to subscribe to white people being discriminated against. A a black dude with a firm grasp of history, i personally believe white people should just take it when a minority goes after them because they never have a problem taking from everyone else. Goose/gander, you know what i’m saying? That said, there’s an art, a nuance, to that racial observation. Singh does not deliver her content with that deft touch. She’s built a career on malicious caricatures of the whites and the penises, which would be fine if there was a message in her satire, but there’s not. It’s base and uninspired.

You can build a career on that type of content. Dave Chappelle’s entire career is that type of content and he’s one of the greatest comedians to ever comedy. The difference between his material and Singh’s is that Chappelle says something. Chappelle hits you in the gut and forces you to look within. His sh*t is actually profound. Lily Singh is not. She’s skews closer to that trainwreck, Nicole Arbour, than she does Eddie Murphy. She’s more Amy Schumer than Wanda Sykes and that sh*t is on full display with her terrible, terrible, talk show. I read somewhere that it might be getting cancelled soon and my first thought was, “It’s not cancelled now?” If i am aware that Singh’s content is pedestrian, surely the studio knew it was. I mean, the ratings of her show are abysmal. She even found her way into a race controversy as a female, lesbian, Desi on TV! Then it dawned on me; This wasn’t true representation This was NBC casing Woke points. They never believed in this show, rather, wanted to use Singh as a sounding board. She’s a trophy for a network trying to court that meek, 90s baby, everyone-is-special, “Muh anxiety”, crowd. It didn’t work and Singh’s show is getting shelved, as it should, but it’s f*cked up that this is what representation at the corporate level looks like. This sh*t is tokenism, plain and simple

Representation is great. I want all of us to be seen. People around the world judge our various cultures based on what our entertainment contributes to the cultural zeitgeist of the world. Mot blacks aren’t gang-bangers, rappers, or dug dealers. Most Muslims aren’t terrorists. hell, most Muslims aren’t even of middle eastern descent! Islam is the largest religion in the world. You’re more likely to meat an south Asian with a Koran than an Iranian with a suicide belt. Gays aren’t going to turn you, Women don’t have vagina dentata, and the handicapped are more resilient than you think. Don’t pander. Don’t token. This game of playing for Woke points in the media and arts needs to stop. All of this faux outrage by mostly rich, white, people on behalf of the people their privilege marginalizes, needs to stop. Patting yourself on the back because you’re book has a Sudanese, paraplegic, lesbian, lead is not being progressive, it’s masturbatory at best. Approach your project with a sense of levity, common sense, and, more than anything, respect. Is what you deem “representation” a good look for whatever class you’re trying to champion? Or is it just a means to stroke your ego and push your politics? Are you Brad Pitt or are you Kathleen Kennedy? Is what you want to show us going to do more bad than good?

At the end of the day, create what you ant to create, just be conscious of how you create. Evaluate your message. Make sure it’ something that needs to be said. Something that, when said, can’t be ignored. Make the message profound and the representation enriching. Make that sh*t count because doing so in an effort to appear the Wokest, just trivializes everything you are attempting to do.

[smokeybrand]

Go Woke Go Broke

I am a fan of great stories. I adore brilliant, unique, art. I adore when both are integral to a creation be it film, comic, book, short story, light novel, fan fiction; Whatever. I find the ability to build worlds in almost any capacity, incredible. I’m also an older Millennial; Part of the tweener, X/Y, Oregon Trail generation. Born in the 80s, raised in the 90s, and came of age in the early 00s.We played until the street lights caught us, my first game system was an NES, and all my Saturday morning cartoons were sans Disney, toy commercials. I got an honorable mention once at a science fair and my parents were unimpressed so Participation Trophies were a joke to me and i learned how to deal with bullies by dealing with bullies. I had to worry about gangs shooting up my school, not that lone, weird kid in a trench coat. I’m all about representation but i understand that if you want people to look like you on film, you’d better find a way to make that film in white ass Hollywood. Basically, i have sense whereas most Millennials born after 89, do not. I need to make that distinction because we are about to get into some sh*t.

The merit and value of representation or visibility in mainstream media is dependent on the quality of said portrayal in the cultural zeitgeist. I’m a giant black dude who lives in America so representation for me basically begins and ends with a thug persona. As a black person in general, watching actors who look like me get passed over in roles that are uplifting and enriching to the culture like Hurricane or Ali for very specific, very demeaning, very marginalization, stereotypes, is disgusting. Black people, however excellent they are, never win for anything other than the magical Negro, uplifting slave, or non-threatening service person. Hidden Figures is an amazing tale of the trio of black women who saved NASA during the height of the space race. It was nominated for three Oscars and won none. Mahershala Ali did win an Oscar for best supporting actor portraying Juan, a drug dealer. Another movie he was in won several Oscars as well, Green Book. Ali plays Dr. Don Shirley characterized by the magical negro trope. I can go on and on. Denzel Washington got his second Oscar for Training day playing a corrupt ass cop when he turned in a much better, far more emotional performance, in Hurricane the year before. His first? Glory, where he played a former slave. A few years later? Snubbed for Philadelphia. Washington played, deftly i might add, a lawyer named Joe Milller who had to reconcile his own prejudices bout what it meant to have AIDS. Dude wasn’t even nominated. Tom Hanks won, though. See that pattern?

I don’t like Steven Universe. I don’t think it’s a very good show but because it has a massive fanbase among the LBGTQ community, it’s bullet proof from criticism. Nah, i’m about to go in. I adore Rebecca Sugar and i commend her creativity. My favorite episodes of Adventure Time are often attribute to her in some way, wither s0rt direction story boarding, or song writing. Marceline wouldn’t be Marcy with Sugar and i’ll always love her for that. That said, Steven Universe is melodramatic trash that uses pandering as a crutch. I don’t have a problem with the gays or whatever getting their visibility, but there are ways to do it without coming across as plagiarized drivel. Euphoria immediately comes to mind. Universe wears it’s anime inspirations on it’s sleeve. Sugar is a massive fan of Sailor Moon and you see, just, SO much of that in this show. Entire scenes and plot points are directly lifted from Usagi’s epic adventure but, because of the nostalgia goggles, cats are blinded to the straight-up theft. I’m not. That lack of originality is hindrance to the message. I mean, not really, i guess, because people love this show but it’s hard for me to acknowledge anything genuine about it because i know it is all a fraud. Hell, Land of the Lustrous, a manga by the name of Hoseki no Kuni, bares more than a striking similarity to Universe and came out a full year before Steven first bared his belly gem! Guess what Lustrous is? A manga! Guess who loves anime and manga? Sugar! Guess who has built a career on Sailor Moon images and Fan art? Sugar! Hell, Lustrous does a better job of LBGTQ representation by accident. Seriously, check that sh*t out. It’s an excellent narrative that doesn’t pander to the SJW crowd. It just tells it’s story about gem girls and space monsters. Sh*t is dope.

Where i feel the most sting, however, is in the US comic industry. All of this PC wokeness is in direct contrast to creative storytelling, for the most part. Marvel is hilariously guilty of this sh*t. I was on board when they decided to turn carol Danvers into Captain Marvel, effectively retiring her leotard costume and pretending kike it never happened. Fine. I liked that design but i get how impractical is was. The homage to Mar-Vell in her current duds is cool, too. I was one of the few that waited before running to judgment as Bendis race-bent Spider-Man into Miles Morales and then gender bent Iron Man into Riri Williams. Riri is a sh*t character in her own right but the outrage was more about her gender and race which made the criticism seem neckbeard nerd rage. Even then, i stuck around. Hell, when that Mockingbird run dropped and was literally a feminist manifesto, i let it ride because it was cleverly written and, foe the most part, i am kind of a feminist. More Equalist but there are feminist undertones in there. More recently, however, we got this New Warriors book and this is where i have to draw the line. Snowflake and Safe pace? Token non-binary hero? Marvel used to be at the forefront of this sh*t. They had gay superheroes in the 70s. They got married in the 80s. They addressed AIDS in the 90s and muslim bigotry in the 00s. Marvel was always crazy social conscious. That was one of their story telling staples and they delivered those messages with a light but firm touch.

F*ck, dude, the X-Men are an allegory for black people and the Civil Rights movement! Magneto and Professor X are literally caricatures of Malcom X and Dr. King.  mainstream comic, broaching the subject of discrimination, camouflaged in the vibrant arto f superhuman clashes, sold to white kids across America, during the f*cking 60s? Are you serious? That sh*t changes minds. That sh*t starts a conversation. That sh*t is status quo changing! Snowflake and Safespace? F*cking really? This is your social discourse now? Disrespectful parody of a marginalizing slur and already absurd concept derived by weenies? This isn’t even satire, it’s outright disrespect. I think safespaces are detrimental to proper, healthy, discourse or that the notion of those who stand up to offense are snowflakes who “need to get a sense of humor”, but for real? The fact that cats just tacked on the one is non-binary just outright exposes the true intent. This sh*t is pandering, straight up. It’s non representation It’s not progress. It’s disrespectful Woke point grabbing. It’s superficial lip-service being played to those that feel like their label isn’t getting enough media scrutiny. I think all of these new genders or whatever are stupid but i’m an old person. Some kid might identify with being non-binary or whatever and THIS sh8t is what they have to look forward to seeing. You can’t be serious.

Now, the whole reason i’m writing this, the entire reason i was even thing king about this subject, is because of Late Night with Lily Singh. Singh is a comedy Youtuber who has crossed over into the mainstream. I, personally, don’t find her funny, but i understand how important her success is in the world. Singh is, if you haven’t deduced by her name, a Desi woman. She’s a Canadian of Punjabi descent and she’s making moves. Ma is one of the most popular channels on the platform and, indeed, i first came across her through another cat i follow. Even though i personally do not enjoy her content, the breadth of what she has accomplished does not elude me. Singh is a powerhouse and should be recognized as such. However, her actual, on-air, late night talk show is f*cking dog sh*t. Singh is not geared for that. Like, at all. Her jokes are bad, her monologues are delivered with a clumsy anxiousness that belies the energetic skit-maker from her Youtube channel, and she is the worst interviewer on television! Her guests are often visibly bewildered. Watching James Corden interview someone is off-putting, dude does his best impression of graham Norton, but Seeing Singh just assault her guests with mediocrity is textbook cringe. Why the f*ck was she put into this very public position, thrown to the wolves, doomed to fail?

Her show is bad, man, but when you say so, the PC Police come out to beat your sh*t in. Singh is Indian, female, and bisexually; The three biggest spaces on the Marginalized bingo board. Being brown, or queer, or prone to vaginas gets you them woke points whenever you create anything but to have all three at once? Boy, you bulletproof! Saying anything remotely resembling criticism gets you cancelled on the grounds of sexism, homophobia or just plain classic racism, all the while, her show i literal sh*t! Singh, herself, is often racist and sexist throughout her “comedy” skits! I’m not one to subscribe to white people being discriminated against. A a black dude with a firm grasp of history, i personally believe white people should just take it when a minority goes after them because they never have a problem taking from everyone else. Goose/gander, you know what i’m saying? That said, there’s an art, a nuance, to that racial observation. Singh does not deliver her content with that deft touch. She’s built a career on malicious caricatures of the whites and the penises, which would be fine if there was a message in her satire, but there’s not. It’s base and uninspired.

You can build a career on that type of content. Dave Chappelle’s entire career is that type of content and he’s one of the greatest comedians to ever comedy. The difference between his material and Singh’s is that Chappelle says something. Chappelle hits you in the gut and forces you to look within. His sh*t is actually profound. Lily Singh is not. She’s skews closer to that trainwreck, Nicole Arbour, than she does Eddie Murphy. She’s more Amy Schumer than Wanda Sykes and that sh*t is on full display with her terrible, terrible, talk show. I read somewhere that it might be getting cancelled soon and my first thought was, “It’s not cancelled now?” If i am aware that Singh’s content is pedestrian, surely the studio knew it was. I mean, the ratings of her show are abysmal. She even found her way into a race controversy as a female, lesbian, Desi on TV! Then it dawned on me; This wasn’t true representation This was NBC casing Woke points. They never believed in this show, rather, wanted to use Singh as a sounding board. She’s a trophy for a network trying to court that meek, 90s baby, everyone-is-special, “Muh anxiety”, crowd. It didn’t work and Singh’s show is getting shelved, as it should, but it’s f*cked up that this is what representation at the corporate level looks like. This sh*t is tokenism, plain and simple

Representation is great. I want all of us to be seen. People around the world judge our various cultures based on what our entertainment contributes to the cultural zeitgeist of the world. Mot blacks aren’t gang-bangers, rappers, or dug dealers. Most Muslims aren’t terrorists. hell, most Muslims aren’t even of middle eastern descent! Islam is the largest religion in the world. You’re more likely to meat an south Asian with a Koran than an Iranian with a suicide belt. Gays aren’t going to turn you, Women don’t have vagina dentata, and the handicapped are more resilient than you think. Don’t pander. Don’t token. This game of playing for Woke points in the media and arts needs to stop. All of this faux outrage by mostly rich, white, people on behalf of the people their privilege marginalizes, needs to stop. Patting yourself on the back because you’re book has a Sudanese, paraplegic, lesbian, lead is not being progressive, it’s masturbatory at best. Approach your project with a sense of levity, common sense, and, more than anything, respect. Is what you deem “representation” a good look for whatever class you’re trying to champion? Or is it just a means to stroke your ego and push your politics? Are you Brad Pitt or are you Kathleen Kennedy? Is what you want to show us going to do more bad than good?

At the end of the day, create what you ant to create, just be conscious of how you create. Evaluate your message. Make sure it’ something that needs to be said. Something that, when said, can’t be ignored. Make the message profound and the representation enriching. Make that sh*t count because doing so in an effort to appear the Wokest, just trivializes everything you are attempting to do.

[godofindecision-blog]

not a whole lot happened today, but it wasn’t a particularly bad day either. pretty relaxing as a whole. i wasn’t stressing out about anything in particular, and got all the mail packed and ready to go, didn’t think negatively about anyone really. so we are making good progress!

i ate a few pieces of chocolate earlier because I was too hungry to wait for dinner, but that was it. everything else I ate wasn’t particularly awful for me. although as a result of being hungry I overate just a tiny little bit, but I was at least aware that I was getting full sooner than usual, so it wasn’t that bad. i think portion control has always been a big issue for me, since I pretty much always skip breakfast (often lunch as well) and then eat an entire elephant at dinner. but i’ve been opting for more healthy choices like eating fruit, seaweed snacks, popcorn, and yogurt and stuff. basically if it’s bread, sugary, or fried (like potato chips, I fucking love chips) i make a point of not eating so much of it, or just avoid it all together if possible (once I start, i cannot be stopped by mere mortals). overly processed foods that are said to be not awful for you like some cereals, I just don’t bother with anymore because honestly it’s too full of carbs and shit to really be that beneficial.

i’ve cut pop, juice, and pretty much all sugary beverages out of my diet over the past 4 or so years. it’s probably one of the best decisions I’ve made for myself. and honestly the reason why this was possible was because I bought myself a set of contigo water bottles. the actual brand is not relevant (but contigos are particularly wonderful inventions). but anyways, it solved the issue I previously had with water bottles in that when I’d suck the water out, it would deflate, and then get my tongue or whatever pinched in the little nozzle (because I was a kid and retarded, and I guess that fear of getting my tongue pinched on water bottles carried over from my childhood). it just made drinking water from a water bottle more effort than it seemed worth. and also in my elementary school, it was sort of a meme (if memes were even a thing back in the late 90′s/ very early 2000′s) to use those gatorade bottles as your default water bottle after you finished the juice (or whatever gatorade actually is, sugar water?) and it had that twist mechanism that opens the nozzle upon twisting and then people would suck some air out, creating a vacuum and sticking their tongue in the nozzle and getting it stuck so they can hang the bottle from just the tip of their tongue. idk why people did it, but i basically did as the romans did for most of my youth. 

but yeah, contigos were something honestly completely unknown to me before I started dating my first. she had a contigo and i thought it was cool (of course, i thought everything she had or did was cool being my first and all i was head over heels for her). she initiated me into the world of ergonomic water bottles. and so i decided to buy one and drink water out of it regularly due to not having to worry about getting my tongue pinched. so i guess i have her to thank for that and i still use contigos and drink water from them regularly many years later, and for the forseeable future.

anyways, I’m happy that i’m starting to adopt a healthier lifestyle. it may not feel like it has a huge impact right now, but i feel like the effects act like compound interest over time. save early and watch your savings get enormous by the time you’re 50 or something. so taking care of one’s health should be treated with the same amount of respect as the notion of saving for retirement.

but yeah, 3 good thing that happened today:

1) I woke up feeling relatively normal, not sad, angry, anxious, etc. no negative emotions taking control of me the moment i wake up is just an amazing feeling

2) I rolled the final elite furniture piece to complete my set (ump45) much earlier than i had expected, and i also got the 3 star limited drop, completing my main task for the event (and she’s voiced by Megumin!!!)

3) I packed up all my mail, and ate relatively healthy today, so taking care of business feels satisfying. tomorrow will be another good day.

[fashiontrendin-blog]

The Cult of Supreme: Everything I Learned From the Kids in Line

https://fashion-trendin.com/the-cult-of-supreme-everything-i-learned-from-the-kids-in-line/

The Cult of Supreme: Everything I Learned From the Kids in Line

W

hy do people love Supreme so much? I’m not asking because I’m against the hype — I’m generally pro-hype when it comes to streetwear — I’m more so asking in amazement. Even if you’re not a fan of the brand, its success is arguably impossible to miss. Take its recent New York Post cover takeover as evidence; newsstands sold out of copies within hours, defying the notion that print is dead.

In my eyes, defiance, or perhaps rebellion, is so much of what Supreme is about. According to its website, the brand opened its doors in 1994 as a hub for skaters, but eventually grew to cater to other counterculture movements, like “punks,” “hip-hop heads,” and downtown kids.

Supreme’s business strategy reflects its unorthodox roots. The brand’s decision to release product in highly controlled limited releases (a.k.a. “drops”) strays far from the traditional retail approach. And while most brands seek to maximize their target audiences to in turn maximize profit, Supreme doesn’t seem too worried about losing customers along the way. In fact, I’ll take this moment to share that I am currently blocked by Supreme on Instagram. Sadly there’s no juicy explanation; I can’t for the life of me recall what provoked this. Nevertheless, since I’m not an internet troll or a spewer of hate speech, this act proves my point: Supreme doesn’t give a fuck about rules or the status quo. And to be honest, it’s working: The only two Supreme pieces I own were purchased after I was blocked.

“At the core of Supreme’s power to drive demand for its products is its ability to cultivate a community,” Business of Fashion wrote of the Supreme phenomenon. “It’s the critical ingredient that turns drops into rituals, and T-shirts into trophies.”

I’m increasingly intrigued by Supreme, and have no doubt I share this sentiment with the customers who line up down the block every week in the hope of buying something from one of its highly anticipated drops, in which certain pieces sell out in minutes. Through denying people access and defying traditional rules of retail, Supreme has created a loyal customer base that is hooked on the chase.

To gain a better understanding of how Supreme has established such unfailing prominence, I decided to speak to its biggest fans right at their mecca: the Supreme Soho store, minutes before the next drop. Continue below for the five most striking things I learned from those keeping the hype alive.

1. Supreme Isn’t Shy About Playing Hard to Get

“Supreme has always been a thing that you have to know. They don’t spend any money on advertising, they don’t do photoshoots and exposés — maybe every once in a while in a skate magazine or something raunchy like that — but they don’t really publicize the brand at all. You kinda have to know the brand to know what’s going on. The fact that it isn’t so publicized is what [brings] a lot of people here. Even though you have to wait in these stupid long lines, it was almost like a privilege to do so because you know people didn’t know about it and people aren’t able to do it. Even though more and more people know about Supreme, that ‘people aren’t able to do it’ aspect is very heavy. There’s still such a demand because it’s still such a privilege to go in there and shop. They’ve turned it into a real thing; it’s an honor to get that spot, it’s coveted just to be able to go in there and buy the items.” – Andre, @solestreetsneakerco, 35

“Shopping wise it’s okay, but sometimes the workers inside assume you’re a reseller and sometimes don’t give customers stuff.” – Tony, 26

2. Further, Customer Service Seems Not to Be of Much Concern

“You gotta figure 80% of the line is tourists and this a thing. People come on vacation and one of the things on their checklist is ‘visit the Supreme store.’ The coveted item of Supreme is a box logo tee. A plain T-shirt with the logo on it; it’s the simplest thing and nobody understands why it goes for so much money. [Ed note: Supreme box logo T-shirts are not sold on the Supreme site; if you want to purchase from a reseller it will put you back anywhere between $650 and $2000.] It’s just because it’s that core item. These tourists don’t know much, so 800 people walk through that door on a regular day and 450 of them ask for a box logo T-shirt, which is never there. So I know [the employees] get frustrated working there and having to deal with it all the time, so they’re a little brash. That is what Supreme is. I wouldn’t want to walk in there and have employees that are like ‘Hey, welcome to Supreme! How may I help you?’ That’s not what this place is, that’s not what this place has ever been. The employees sorta act the way they act.” – Andre, @solestreetsneakerco, 35

“I don’t really like going into the store, they’re kind of rude to you. When I was younger, I was very naive and scared, but you get used to it. They’re not nice to most customers that go there, but they recognize that almost every single person goes there multiple times a week and [the employees] realize they’re just buying the same thing to sell. So, it’s understandable.” – Edison, 19

“They’re not nice, but they’re really cool. I admire them. They have personality. No other store can have an employee like this; if employee had this attitude at other stores they’d get fired. They’re dope, they’re special.” – Lox, @iamyourshoes, 21

3. Some Customers Have Turned Shopping at Supreme Into a Business

“It’s a business. I mean, I am a fan as well, that’s what started the whole thing, but it’s primarily a business at this point for me. I was always interested in sneakers, one of my first jobs was at FootAction. I wanted to be a manager, I caught the bug, it stuck. The first time I discovered Supreme was when they released a [Nike] Dunk Low, I think it was 2010-ish, maybe 2009. It was only available at Supreme and I wanted it of course because I was interested in the sneaker aspect of it. So that was my first time coming down here and finding out where the place was. Once I discovered the sneaker and I went in the store and saw everything, I started doing more research. At the same time, my son is kind of into skateboarding and knew about the brand and he thought it was cool that I had something Supreme. I started coming down here a bit more often and following more of the stuff they were releasing. At first it was just for me, but then it started growing. I was always able to sell sneakers casually; buy two pairs or three pairs to help pay for my pair of it. That started growing coinciding with me finding out about Supreme.

Then Complex did a documentary that I was involved with a couple years ago and that blew me up… When it aired, [Supreme was] banning me [from] buying [anything but] size XLs. There were times when I’d go in there and be like ‘Can I get that black t-shirt?’ they’d be like ‘Nah it’s sold out,’ then three guys behind me got the black T-shirt in their hand. I had to eat shit for a while to get back in good graces. But that [documentary] took me from 5,000 followers to 50,000 followers. It legitimized me in the eyes of a lot of buyers, it did more good than bad in the long run. – Andre @solestreetsneakerco, 35

“Nothing, I just like the money.” [Ed note: In response to “why do you like Supreme?”] – Jalen, 18

“I would honestly say [I own] upwards of 400 pieces. It’s like moving inventory. For a while in high school I was working for Grailed (I was a moderator), that was my thing, collecting old Supreme, early 2000s/90s Supreme. But that’s a big part of it, keeping some stuff, selling some stuff — I have some stuff in my house that hopefully in a couple of years will be worth something.” – Edison, 19

“When I was in high school, I used to wear skate shoes like Nike SBs, and I wanted to wear Supreme and the SBs together because that was the trend, so that’s how I got started. What I don’t like, I’ll sell; if I like stuff, I’ll keep it myself. Like, see this bag? [Points at camo Supreme duffle bag.] It’s 2005, no one has it. This is a very rare bag, but if I wanna resell it’ll probably go for $500. But I like keeping stuff for myself. “ – Tony, 26

“We usually resell so that we can get more stuff. I like to buy the bags, the tees, the sweatpants, and the decks also.” – Ericson, 16

4. …While Others Truly Cherish the Sentimentality

“There’s kids like [Jalen] now who come and buy everything, so I gotta go and figure out how to get it. I go in and just buy stuff for myself. The brand has always been cool, even in 2006, this shit was always known as the dope brand.” – Jimmy, 28

“I like the culture around it… that you have to wake up early to try to get everything, how many people you can meet on the line — it’s really cool. It’s in New York and most times in New York you don’t get a collection of people standing around waiting for one thing because everybody’s so busy.” – Gregory, 17

5. Regardless, Many Customers Aren’t Ashamed to Admit That They’re In It for the Hype

“I thought it was a cool brand — I thought cool people had the brand. I was pretty into Odd Future at the time too; Tyler, the Creator is very cool and he wears Supreme. Then a lot of kids at my middle school and high school wore it too, so it kinda pushed me further into wearing it.” – Edison, 19

“I started shopping at Supreme three and a half years ago. I got into it from my boy. He told me ‘Yo, just stop by, come with us to Supreme.’ We used to camp out from like Monday to Thursday.” – Zane, 25

“Just the limited quantity and how you have to line up and everything.” [In response to “Why do you like Supreme?”] – Max, 14

“Through the vibe.” [In response to “How did you discover Supreme?”]  – Miguel, 13

“This is the second time I went, the first time was two days ago — but I obviously know what it is. Everyone is hyping it up.” – Alexis, 15

“I just find it super trendy and I love the idea of items you can purchase online that are hella limited and once they’re gone they’re gone. It’s really an indescribable feeling, like you’re one of the few that were able to get this.” – Zach, 17

Photos by Louisiana Mei Gelpi.

[farrelldistributing]

Written by Taylor Cameron / Farrell Distributing

A few years back, San Francisco wine writer, Jon Bonne, released a very influential book called The New California Wine. In his book, Bonne discussed the cyclical nature of wine styles throughout history of California viticulture. In the mid 1990s, many winemakers were chasing ratings & scores from specific wine publications. It can be argued that some wines, mainly from the Napa Valley, were being engineered for a certain palate. While many of these wines can be quite enjoyable, they were typically harvested as late as possible, inoculated with “super yeasts” that can survive in a high alcohol environment, and aged exclusively in new oak barriques. In Bonne’s book he discusses how these practices homogenize the wines and covers up the sense of place that can make a wine truly unique. The good news is that there are a growing number of new producers (and some old) that are searching out cool growing climates and pursuing balance, nuance and terroir. These new California wines are typically higher in acidity and lower in alcohol making them more expressive and fresh than their predecessors.

So what the hell does this have to do with Spain and Portugal you may be asking…I’ll answer that question in a moment. I’ve always considered myself to have a fairly comprehensive understanding of the major wine regions of the world. However, for the past few years I’ve been immersed in wines mainly from France and Italy and have shamefully over looked some of the progression happening in both Spain and Portugal. After a recent tour of the Iberian Peninsula with Ole Imports and Obrigado Vinhos, I am fully aware that same “new California” philosophy of balance and freshness has been simultaneously developing in pockets throughout both countries. With the exception of Galicia, the wet northwestern corner of Spain, there is no shortage of sun and heat during the day making it relatively easy to make big wines that play well on the international wine market of the late 90s and early 2000s. Priorat, in the northeastern corner of Spain, was hardly a house hold name until Alvaro Palacios and crew started receiving huge scores from the press. This led to a proliferation of new D.O.s, such as Terra Alta and Montsant, that were known for powerful red wines. It was in the D.O. of Montsant where I realized that I needed to completely rethink my preconceived notions of what Spanish wine is capable of:

(Picture on the left shows the master minds behind Orto Vins demonstrating biodynamic preparation 500. At Orto Vins, all vineyard work and biodynamic preparations are carried out by hand.)

Montsant is located in the northeastern highland of Spain (or Catalunya depending on who you ask). This relatively young D.O. is often compared to the neighboring Priorat. While the climate, elevation and aspect of the regions are similar, it is the soil types that set the two D.O.s apart. Priorat is famous for its “licorella” slate soils while Montsant is focused on decomposed granitic soil. My experience with the wines of Montsant up until this point had been very one sided. The wine I tasted in the US market had big, fruit driven profiles with high alcohol and often a very apparent presence of new oak. This being my frame of reference, I was completely blown away by the wines of Orto Vins. Joan Assens oversees the viticultural aspects at Orto Vins. He worked closely with Alvaro Palacio for over a decade finally moving onto focus on his passion for biodynamic projects and wines of balance and terroir. Joan’s knowledge and passion for biodynamics are unparalleled. I fully realize that this mode of thinking doesn’t work for everyone but for Orto Vins it seems to be the perfect fit. The proof is in the bottle and I upon first taste I knew we were in for a entertaining and thought-provoking afternoon. Every wine we tasted had a sense of grace and balance. We are still talking about a pretty warm zone here where alcohol levels range from 13.5%-14.5%, but I never perceived them has hot or over blown, but quite the opposite. I was reminded by the entry level wines of cru Beaujolais from a warm vintage while the higher end single cru bottlings took me to Cornas. Instead of being one note Orto Vins has a wide depth of flavor that is centered around a striking minerality and lively acidity. I was also surprised by the purity of the wines. Often times hardcore biodynamic wines can end up on the funkier end of the spectrum bit Orto Vins were pure, stable and focused.

(At Orto Vins, all vineyard work and biodynamic preparations are carried out by hand.)

(Winemaker, Rodri Mendez, walking the group through a truly memorable tasting despite the intermittent rain at Forjas del Salnes in Rias Baixas.)

On the opposite side of the country, in the Rias Baixas sub zone of Val do Salnes, we find at once a tribute to generations past and one of the most relevant and forward leaning producers by the name of Forjas del Salnes. Lets orient ourselves quickly…This estate is located in the northwestern corner of Spain known as Galicia. Some call this part of the country “green” Spain because it receives about 8 times the amount of rain than the rest of the country. The proximity to the Atlantic ocean also moderates temperature creating a long cool growing season. Within Galicia we have the Rias Baixas D.O. which is then broken down into five sub regions. Val do Salnes is the closest sub region to the ocean and therefore the coolest in temperature. Up until the mid 1970’s both indigenous red and white varieties were grown about equally. Reds can be hard to ripen in this climate but the wines were happily consumed by the local population. When the demand for the white variety, Albariño, began to grow globally, many Galician producers abandoned the local red varietals. Albariño was easier to grow and commanded higher prices so it was an easy choice many farmers.

(Picture on left shows home base for Forjas del Salnes is the historic Finca Genoveva located less than one kilometer from the Atlantic. Here we look over the ancient albarino vineyard some of which dates back to 1820.)

Now we cut to Forjas del Salnes and the current proprietor, Rodrigo Mendez. Rodrigo is keeping many of the local red and whites alive in his vineyards. Working closely with the famed Raul Perez, Rodrigo farms some very extreme vineyard sites. He works as naturally as possible in the vineyard and the winery which is a glorified garage. One block of Albariño is located just 20 meters above the high tide mark on the Atlantic coast. The salinity and minerality found in the white wines is unforgettable. Pick your favorite Chablis producer and add in an extreme Atlantic influence and you have the whites of Forjas. Rodrigo’s reds come from Caino, Loureiro (not to be confused with the white variety in Vinho Verde) and Espadeiro. These reds blew my mind. It’s as simple as that. They are reminiscent of top tier Cab Franc from the Loire valley while being completely unique at the same time. The minerality, refreshing acidity and raspberry and black pepper notes were truly impressive. Forjas del Salnes is setting trends by respecting the past and should be recognized for it. This property deserves to be in the same conversation as Clos Rougeard from Saumur-Champigny and Ravenneau from Chablis.

(Picture on the left shows Biodynamic Prep 500 consists of burying manure inside of a cow horn before mixing with water and applying to the vineyard. This practice promotes vitality and balance.)

Next time we will cross into Portugal for “The New Iberian Peninsula Part 2” where we will discuss the polarizing soil types of the Douro and the effects whole cluster fermentation has on thick skinned native grape varieties. We’ll also explore the world of Arinto. Stay tuned!

Taylor Bio –  He was first introduced to the world of fine wine by family members who had just returned from a sabbatical in Australia. After graduating from UVM he made the snowboarder’s pilgrimage to Lake Tahoe. With Tahoe as a home base, Taylor started exploring the west coast wine regions from Santa Barbara to Napa and even into the Willamette Valley and eastern Washington. During this time Taylor jumped into the deep end of the Wine and Spirit Education Trust which he stuck with all the way through the Diploma program. Next stop was Seattle where Taylor received a crash course in distribution and small production old world wines at a boutique importer. After five years on the west coast it was time to head back east. Taylor took a job with the esteemed Michael Skurnik Wines where the next four years he “pounded the pavement” in Manhattan and worked with some of the city’s most exciting restaurants.  Taylor is now back in Vermont and is applying his studies, experiences and vision to the fine wine portfolio at FDC.

[house-for-musicians-blog]

RAW HOUSE #7: Hell Mask - Hypnogogic Chambers

“Raw House” is a series of interviews exploring, discovering and presenting new and unknown artist on the Bandcamp platform. Each interview is an insight and deep-dive into one particular artist chosen randomly though the selection of members of the House for /Mu/sicians Facebook group. Consider joining if you’re an artist yourself! Enjoy this interview!

Dungeon Synth is one of those genres that popped up to me quite recently. However the aesthetic immediately caught my attention as something more than just a mix of occult and cheesy sounding synths. It struck me as something much, much deeper - the presence of everlasting chaos, darkness and heavy stone walls surrounding you from all sides. From such place far from time comes a tiny, yet quickly expanding DS act Hell Mask. On today’s Raw House - Hell Mask and I talk about Dungeon Synth community, things occult and why California is not a good place for DS music because of too much sun.

Listen while reading to the Hell Mask’s newest release entitled “The Beauty of Being Nobody”

The Beauty of Being Nobody by Hell Mask

I. ASTRAL PLANE PROJECTION

RAW HOUSE: I want to start with your newest release „The Beauty of Being Nobody”. Quite an extraordinary album title. One thing to mention in an instance of this release is the fact of putting on this record elements not only of Dungeon Synth but also other stylistics. Why have you decided to change Hell Mask a little bit?

HELL MASK: I chose to change up the formula a bit because I was exploring other genres while making TBOBN. It originally was going to be strictly Dungeon Synth but i honestly was losing steam and felt that what I was making at the time was really stale. So that’s why I added a different sound to the album.

RAW HOUSE: I want to explore that subject a bit deeper. I have rarely heard of going outside as a DS act. Do you feel that difference in the music provided made the newest release more varied? Has it made you more aware of that genre's faults?

HELL MASK: I think so, it gave me more options, also it gave me a break from focusing too much on writing a Dungeon Synth album. At the time i was stuck with where i wanted the album to go. So I'm happy that I did move out of the genre a bit.

RAW HOUSE: To me the Dungeon Synth community was really far away from my eye. I just got more aware of it's existence maybe half a year ago when some of those releases started popping out here and there. How did you got into that community of people?

HELL MASK: Actually DS has been booming lately. I'm positive that majority of people discovered Dungeon Synth through the DS General threads on /mu/. That's how i discovered the genre.

RAW HOUSE: And are you satisfied with the people you have met over that time?

HELL MASK: I've met a some pretty awesome people. Like Einhorn, Nebulosa and Chaucerian Myth. I think those guys are pumping in a fresh sound into the community.

RAW HOUSE: It seems like DS community is really quite sterile.

HELL MASK: There's a lot of hate when it comes to experimentation. I was in a group where they literally talked shit on newbie artists. Einhorn got a lot of hate because he added a Harsh noise element to the Dungeon Synth formula. I think his stuff is amazing. its brings new life to an already stale genre.

RAW HOUSE: What made you most fascinated about Dungeon Synth? How did it come to the decision that you want to make that kind of music?

HELL MASK: Dungeon Synth is a beautiful genre. Every time I listen to it I get sent into this headspace where I can pretend I'm a knight riding off to war or a wizard leading his party into the dark depths of a dungeon. I decided to start making DS because I connected with the music. My goal is to make people experience what I experienced when I first listened to DS.

RAW HOUSE: „The Beauty of Being Nobody”, in my eyes, has a beautiful dissonance. Not only in the terms of the genre switching but also the length of the tracks. At the very beginning the first few tracks doesn't extend to two minutes in length but „Cosmic Sleep” is an extremely long track in comparison. How did you decided on making these tracks a reality? Are you concerned with the length of your music?

HELL MASK: No, I'm not concerned with the length of a track. When I write and record I do it until I’m satisfied with what I hear. be it short or long. "Cosmic Sleep" was just something I got carried away with. I had an image of a wizard astral projecting himself into the astral plane. While recording I tried to translate that mental image into music.

RAW HOUSE: Are these sort of vivid imaginations the key point of reference when it comes to making your music?

HELL MASK: Definitely! When I start a new project I usually sit in silence in front my of my computer and wait until some weird thought or image bobs up from my subconscious mind. Then i take that idea and let it dictate where the album goes.

RAW HOUSE: What I have heard in Hell Mask was always a form of a story hidden behind that very dense stylistic which always made me wonder – is presenting a story important for you? And if yes – what kind of a story? Because, for example, in „In The Shadow of Morgoth” I can clearly hear very heavy high fantasy vibe while on your newest – a mix of future and distant past.

HELL MASK:  ITSOM was the only album inspired from an outside source, I was reading some Lord of the Rings and got inspired to make a Tolkien themed album, but albums like “Walls of Night” and “Pestis Cruento” have was entirely mood driven. i wanted to create an atmosphere for the listener. Hopefully the listener can create their own fantasy story while listening to my music. TBOBN had a theme/feeling of transitioning to a new place.

RAW HOUSE: One of the most common misconceptions about the Dungeon Synth music is that, and I quote because I truly find this amazing in a way, „DS is a genre made especially for those old 80s RPGs”. Now do you agree with that notion or are you trying to distance yourself from that tendency? Why?

HELL MASK: I wasn't born in 80's but I've played really good 90's Dungeon Crawler RPG's like Wizardry and Eye of The Beholder. The music had a special, mystical quality. i try to keep that charm in my music but i do want to try to push away from that image.

RAW HOUSE: Many of the people who I have encountered within the DS community seems to mix their personal life and that mystical persona quite well on their project. How big of an importance for you is presenting yourself as this sort of dark monk like on the pictures you have send me? Is is all an act or is there something from that persona that directly influences your life?

HELL MASK:  When I first started out with this project I never wanted to show my face, but now I want to create an alter ego and finally put a face to the music, er, well a mask [laughs]. It's definitely not an act. I would like to build up an image for my project.

RAW HOUSE: I also have to mention the cover art. Especially on your latest release which is quite easily one of the weirder cover arts I have seen from the Bandcamp people. How images for your covers are developed? What inspired you in terms of making the latest cover art?

HELL MASK:  My good friend Andrius Šatas created the album covers for "Walls of Night" and "In The Shadow of Morgoth". The latest album was just me fooling around in GIMP and trying to see if i can come up with cool looking art. I think it fits the mood of the album quiet well in my opinion.

II. CULTS AND GRIMOIRES

RAW HOUSE: You are pretty consistent when it comes to releasing music. It seems you get out something once per each month. How do you manage to keep up making music? What helps you?

HELL MASK:  It’s just the urge to put something out there for someone to discover. If someone likes my work they can have albums to sort through and enjoy. It's like the internet is a dungeon and hopefully someone will stumble upon my treasures.

RAW HOUSE: Has it been hard for you to start your music project? Why? Why not?

HELL MASK: No it wasn't that hard. For years I never set a goal for my musical endeavors but when I started Hell Mask I wanted to make damn sure I followed through with what I created.  And so far I am really happy with how things turned out.

RAW HOUSE: You originate from Corona, California. It's a very weird place for a music like appear in such a strange place. Is there a scene for people like you to explore?

HELL MASK:  No there's no Dungeon Synth scene here in Southern California. The music scene here is mainly indie/garage rock.

RAW HOUSE: Has California been good for you as a musician? Do you think there is a place for such type of music in there?

HELL MASK: Well usually DS is associated with cold winds and cold places. California is warm and sunny [laughs]. I know most people here wouldn't dig the music I make.

RAW HOUSE: What are you listening to right now? What would you personally recommend?

HELL MASK:  I'm going through a Swans/Boards of Canada phase right now. For Swans I'd recommend “The Glowing Man” album, I think its pretty accessible. For Boards of Canada I'd recommend “The Campfire Headphase”, it's an easy listening experience and its very comfy.

RAW HOUSE: What's your stance on the things occult? Do you find them interesting when they are visible in real life i.e. cults? If so – which of these are most interesting to you?

HELL MASK:  I'm always browsing /x/ Paranormal. I love all things hidden and obscure. I love reading about cults and grimoires. It's interesting.

RAW HOUSE: Since you’ve started your project a few months ago – what do you feel you need to improve from your output? What are the things that you feel would make your releases even more enjoyable?

HELL MASK: I should start making physicals like cassettes and CD's. I've had a few people say they'd love a physical copy of my albums.

RAW HOUSE: Finally - what’s in store for Hell Mask in the not too distant future?

HELL MASK: Expect a concept album!

Interview conducted on 21st of April, 2017 For more Hell Mask’s music go to: https://cruduxcruo.bandcamp.com/