#robust verse

[balsa-margarita]

Happy to announce I am back on my bullshit once again! Weeee!

(Sorry, this is not a new series, only a oneshot.)

[not-poignant]

Birthday Spotlight - Crielle ferch Fnwy

[18 April - Aries]

Crielle ferch Fnwy is the matriarch of the An Fnwy estate, a beautiful, evil Machiavellian supervillain who has been manipulating the Seelie Court and her family for tens of thousands of years, while giving the appearance of being a perfectly loving Seelie fae who only cares about truth and justice.

Mother of Gwyn ap Nudd, and aunt of Efnisien ap Wledig, Crielle is actually only rarely seen in stories, but has an explosive impact regardless, due to the trauma she inflicts or causes others to inflict on our main characters.

‘You’re not mine. You may have stolen from our family legacy, you may have parasitised our reputation, you may have even exploited and ruined the things about our appearance that make us – not you – beautiful. But you are not, you have never been mine. If you felt a short, sharp shock when you came into the world, my darling, it was my hands around your throat while your father tried to pull me off you. ‘Imagine, if you will, my dear, reprehensible thing. Imagine the first time you came back to me after we sent you away to play with Efnisien. Oh you were only twelve or thirteen? What a lovely idea that was. And Efnisien had you for hours. I told him to use knives. He liked them so, and he didn’t think he’d be allowed. So precious. And I heard the distant echo of your screams like a faint, familiar melody all throughout my day. A time when they stopped because he gagged you perhaps? Or your voice gave out? Tsk. He is – was – so crude. But still...effective. And do you remember? Oh, my creature, imagine it... ‘You came home hours later, hours after Efnisien. You were broken and cut and bleeding and so, so ruined. And you stumbled into the house, and there I was waiting for you. Breathless, actually. And you stared at me as though I would – what? – tell you that Efnisien had crossed a line, gone too far? Do you remember what I did?’ ‘You smiled at me,’ Gwyn said, his voice rough and rusty.

Game Theory

Game Theory: Introduced as the manipulative, evil, and cruel mother of the King, Crielle starts off with Cinderella stepmother vibes, until you realise that Gwyn's her only son and she can't stand him, favouring his cousin Efnisien instead. A torturer, abuser, schemer, and conniving Machiavellian figure, she ultimately has been puppeting the Seelie Court for thousands of years, and is the cause of Gwyn attaining, and then losing, his Kingship.

It's safe to say that Crielle has never been the Most Valued Player of any story.

The Court of Five Thrones: While Crielle only has a very brief appearance in this story, her presence is felt throughout. We find out more about her feelings towards Gwyn, through journals he discovers in her house after her murder at Augus' hands.

The Drawn Bead: In a story that explores Gwyn's first love, Crielle is there as a forbidding, tormenting figure, ruling Gwyn's life with an invisible, oppressive kind of terror.

The Curse: The only story which features Crielle's perspective, we see her as a child, a teenager, an adult, and learn about her dangerous proclivities, how her family did and didn't deal with them, and the depth of her love for a select few people, a love that she gave to Gwyn right up until the moment he was born.

Fae Tales – Alternative Perspectives: Crielle is only here briefly, but we see more of her dialogue with Gwyn, and more of Augus' perspective about her.

Underline the Black: Crielle here emerges as a cruel villain to Efnisien, in a flipped/reversed narrative where Gwyn is her beloved child, and Efnisien is nothing more than a neglected science experiment. Efnisien's life is at the mercy of Crielle's whims, and she puts him first in Hillview (an institution) to put him out of sight and out of mind, but as soon as he causes too much trouble for her, she won't hesitate to strike him down.

The Spoils of the Spoiled: In which Crielle even in the human world as a human herself proves that she can be just as evil as ever. Ruler of the household, torturer of Gwyn (and later, we learn, Efnisien), and clearly involved in corruption and organised crime, Crielle lives her best life in this story until Gwyn tries to legally emancipate himself from the family.

Falling Falling Stars: In the follow up to The Spoils of the Spoiled, Efnisien - previously thought of as the beloved and protected 'adopted' child of Crielle's - reveals over time the verbal, emotional, physical, and sexual abuse he suffered at her hands through therapy sessions with Dr Gary. Over time, we realise that no one is safe from her influence.

Crielle is very 'classically' beautiful, with blonde hair that has a slight wave in it, that generally falls down to her shoulders. She has azure eyes, a shade of blue almost never found among humans (even when she's human). She wears only enough make-up to accentuate her eyes and perfect lips, and maintains a very 'natural' effect to her beauty. It looks effortless and perfect enough that many who are experienced with beauty routines know she puts a lot of time into her appearance.

Crielle is asexual, sex repulsed, and aromantic.

Crielle is common fae, and while she's affected by the curse that Olphix cast upon the family, I like to think she'd still be pretty awful.

Born into a family in which some members are predisposed to sociopathic behaviour, Crielle was one of the worst and was not encouraged by her parents to be the way she is. Many people assume that she was abused into her evilness, but she wasn't.

To me, the concept or alienness of someone who is as evil as Crielle simply because she was 'born that way' is very fascinating to me.

Incredibly intelligent and perceptive, her few weaknesses are around the (few) people she loves and the way she will indulge them, as well as anything that threatens her reputation.

In Game Theory, when we finally realise that she is at the centre of Gwyn's devotion, standing there watching his humiliation, reacting in disgust to being called 'Mama' in a moment of vulnerability from her own son.

In Falling Falling Stars, Efnisien calls Crielle, and it becomes quickly clear that she holds no love in her heart for Efnisien when she calls him a 'ghost' and reminds him that ghosts are very easy to kill, making it clear she still wants him dead, and only inertia/disinterest is keeping her from following through because she'd already killed him once.

Always really fucking evil and irredeemable.

Frankly dies a lot.

Always a bit of a mad chemist. In Fae Tales she is a literal chemist and inventor of many different poisons. This has carried over even in to her human incarnations where in the Spoils universe she uses her knowledge of science to cultivate, create, or acquire poisons and viruses and bacteria to insert into Gwyn's food. And carries even more strongly into the Underline universe, where she runs one of the most successful synthetic hormone companies in Australia.

Visibly stunning.

Cares a great deal about reputation.

Usually loves Efnisien. Underline is the first series that has flipped the narrative so that Gwyn is beloved and Efnisien is loathed.

Kind of disdains her husband, who has no power over her.

Crielle is a real figure in Welsh mythology, though she was never meant to be an evil figure. Nor is she Gwyn's mother in the mythology. A sign of just how intensely I've bastardised everything for my own purposes.

She is good friends with the Ratcatcher of Hameln.

I wanted Crielle to be an example of how you can't expect that someone perfectly beautiful is a good person. I also really wanted to write a woman villain. I felt like a lot of woman villains at the time that I was seeing or reading were often written as petty or just in ways that made them somehow 'weak.' The appeal of Crielle is that she's an extremely effective villain and the only thing that stops her is her death (with the exception of Falling Falling Stars).

Despite how awful she is, I really love her! I'd write her more, but she's too strong and powerful lmao and she ruins my character's lives too much.

Crielle's colours for me have always been cream, yellow, white and blue. It's hard to imagine her wearing anything else.

‘How perfectly disgusting,’ Crielle purred. ‘A little worm has learned how to use the phone. I thought I had a caterpillar once, that would turn into the most beautiful butterfly, but it turns out the only thing my sister’s loins are good for, are despicable little worms.’ ‘D-Do you hate me now?’ Efnisien whispered. Crielle laughed lightly. ‘Oh, oh, my darling, I don’t hate you.’ A moment of hope, strong and bright, a sudden dawn inside of him. ‘I feel nothing for you. As far as I recall, I killed my nephew, and you are nothing more than a ghost.’

Falling Falling Stars

[letters-to-rosie]

click to read the fic!

[coquelicoq]

reading apollinaire in concentrated doses is so trippy. like. that's how i write poems too dude. did i just hardcore imprint on this guy in 2010 and then almost completely forget about it or what

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The housing crisis considered as an income crisis

I'll be in TUCSON, AZ from November 8-10: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

A paradox: in 1970, everyday Americans found it relatively easy to afford a house, and the average American house cost 5.9x the average American income. In 2024, Americans find it nearly impossible to afford a house, and the average American house costs…5.9x the average American income.

Feels like a puzzler, right? Can it really be true that the average American house is as affordable to the average American earner as it was in 1970? It is true, as you can see from Blair Fix's latest open access research report, "The American Housing Crisis: A Theft, Not a Shortage":

https://economicsfromthetopdown.com/2024/10/23/the-american-housing-crisis-a-theft-not-a-shortage/

Fix also points out that is even more true of rents than it is of house prices. The ratio of rent to average income has actually fallen slightly since 1970. Rents are also, in some mathematical sense, "affordable."

Now, those of you who are well-versed in statistical card-palming will likely have a pretty good idea of the statistical artifact at the root of this paradox: the word "average." If you remember your seventh grade math, you'll recall that "average" has more than one meaning. Sure, there's the most common one: add several values together, then divide the total by the number of values you added. For example, a nonzero number of people have one or zero arms, so the average human has slightly fewer than two arms.

That average is called the "mean." The mean US wage is pretty robust: $73,242/year:

https://fred.stlouisfed.org/series/A792RC0Q052SBEA/1000

But the majority of Americans are not earning anything like $73k/year. Since the Reagan years, the number of Americans living in poverty and extreme poverty has climbed and climbed. And while their declining income sure drags down that average, it's dragged way, way, way up by another group of Americans – the ultra-rich.

You see, as Fix writes, back in the Reagan years, America initiated an experiment in redistribution. Reagan enacted policies that moved most of the nation's wealth from the great majority of working people to a tiny minority of people who ended up owning pretty much everything. Throw their income into the mix, and the average American's income is sufficient to finance the average American home, with plenty to spare.

In other words, this isn't an "average human has fewer than two arms" situation, it's more like a "Spiders Georg" situation. Spiders Georg is a Tumblr meme about a guy who eats 10,000 spiders every day and is thus single-handedly responsible for the (false) statistic that the average human eats two spiders a week:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spiders_Georg

The American rich – Reagan's progeny – are the Spiders Georg of house prices. By hoarding the great mass of American national wealth, they create a statistical mirage of affordable housing.

Now, that's interesting, but where Fix goes next with this is even more fascinating. If the average price of housing (relative to average income) has stayed fixed since 1970, then it follows that the price of housing isn't being driven up by a problem with supply. Rather, these numbers suggest that America has enough housing, it's just that (most) Americans don't have enough money.

If that's true – and I have a couple of quibbles, which I'll get to in a sec – then the most common prescription for solving American housing (building more of it) is somewhat beside the point. For Fix, using public funds to subsidize cheaper housing is like using public funds to pay for food stamps for working people whose wages are too low to keep them from starving. Sure, we should do that: no one should be without a home and no one should be hungry. But if working people can't afford shelter and food, then we have a wage problem, not a supply problem.

Fix – as ever – has a well-thought through, painstakingly documented "sources and methods" page to back up his conclusions:

https://economicsfromthetopdown.com/2024/10/23/the-american-housing-crisis-a-theft-not-a-shortage/#sources-and-methods

And while Fix acknowledges that reversing the mass transfer of wealth from working people to their bosses (and their bosses' idle offspring) is a big lift, he rightly wants to keep the question of wages (rather than housing supply) front and center in our debate about why so many of us are finding it hard to keep a a roof over our heads. We need progressive taxation, higher minimum wages, protection from medical and education debt, and hell, why not a job guarantee?

https://pluralistic.net/2020/06/25/canada-reads/#tcherneva

I love Fix's work, and this report is no exception. He does it all in his spare time. Some nice progressive think tank should give him a grant so he can do (a lot) more of it.

That all said, I do have a quibble with his conclusion about the adequacy of the American housing supply. In California, we have a shortage of 3-4 million homes, a number arrived at through the relatively robust method of adding up the number of California families that would like to have their own homes and subtracting the number of homes available near those families:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/California_housing_shortage

How to explain the discrepancy? One possibility is that the price of housing is artificially low, because more than 181,000 people are homeless here. Hundreds of thousands of more people are living in overcrowded housing, with multiple families inhabiting spaces intended for just one (or even a single person). If all of those people were competing for housing, the price might rise even higher.

Think of the people who have given up looking for work – because they're not in the workforce, wages go up. If they were competing in the labor market, wages would fall. Maybe all those people would prefer to have a job, but they're missing from the statistics.

That's one theory. Another is that we're getting tripped up on averages again here. California does have some towns with many vacancies, extra supply that is pushing down prices; it's also got many places with far more people who want to live there than there are homes for. It's possible that there's enough supply on average across the states, but – as we've seen – averages are deceptive.

Ultimately, I think both things can be true: we have a wage problem and we have (many, localized) supply problems. Both of these problems deserve our attention, and neither is acceptable in a civilized society.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/24/i-dream-of-gini/#mean-ole-mr-median

[indie-ttrpg-of-the-week]

Wyrdwood wand

this is a wizard game with an alien invasion plotline in it

Touchstones: Wizard School media, Lovecraftian Mythos, Studio Ghibli, Chuubo, Final Fantasy Tactics, Sports Anime

Genre: Wizard School tactics Game

What is this game?:  Wyrdwood Wand is a tactics game heavily inspired by D&D 4e, where players play as young (usually) mages growing up and studying in the prestigious [citation needed] Wyrdwood academy

How's the gameplay?: Wyrdwood Wand is heavily based on D&D 4e, its a crunchy tactics game with really fun and intuitive character creation which splits up characters between their party role, and the nature of their magic, one giving you broad strokes of a role, and the other cementing it's specifics, if you're familiar with how 4e plays you're familiar with how this game plays, and if you're familiar with 5e there's a little bit of a learning curve but it's still a pretty easy to learn game, Wyrdwood also features a fairly robust roleplaying system, that has a clean split between tactical and goofy spells, meaning characters can have silly spell options without having to break their spell bank

What's the setting (If any) like?: Wyrdwood is set in the world of Gliss, a setting with quite a bit of interesting lore and tidbits, but for now all you need to know is that Gliss is currently recovering from a massive war against an alien species known as the Wix, the world got kinda screwed by this invasion, population is small at around 300 million humans, towns are small, and technology hasn't quite reached the height it did before the war, think your stereotypical ghibli setting, but with more aliens and cthulhus. the Wyrdwood verse also has something called "Destiny", a mysterious force protecting humans from deadly blows, this is something that's mostly a gameplay term but it bleeds over into lore sometimes. Oh right I forgot to mention, in this world hats are incredibly important, if you don't wear one, good luck casting spells!

What's the tone?: Wyrdwood's wand is mostly fairly lighthearted, it can touch on topics of warfare and imperialism, but its a silly world full of goblins that can turn any object into a gun, and nigh-immortal reptilian orbs

Session length: Fairly long, 3-4 hours is not uncommon

Number of Players: 3+, 5 is recommended

Malleability: Wyrdwood's mechanics are actually not very tied into its setting, if your setting is primarily consisting of spellcasters you could run it in Wyrdwood probably

Resources: As wyrdwood is a fairly new, obscure, and in development game there's not too many resources, there's a google spreadsheet that works wonders, a few scattered bits of homebrew, and other such things

I REALLY like wyrdwood, its lighthearted and silly aesthetic combined with genuinely fun gameplay and character creation sell you into its world where really weird shit happens casually and where hats are vital for spellcasting.

[khalidistan]

It seems like every year I end up writing an iteration of the same idea. But here I am! Writing it again! If you haven’t seen the tweet that sparked this conversation, I’ve screenshotted the tweet and artwork below. It’ll help inform this discussion. Full piece under the cut.

It would help to check out my essay from 2021 about the emasculation of Abdul Ali from Squid Game, since both pieces share similar references.

Maryam Khalid writes “Orientalist notions of the masculinity of the ‘Eastern’ male as uncivilized also inherently ascribe primitiveness, ineptness and a certain amount of weakness to the barbarized ‘other.’” Those doomed to the mythical Orient are automatically placed lower in masculinity than their white and colonial counterparts.

The reason for this emasculation is to defang them, to ensure they can never attain the same power conferred by white masculinity and to maintain racial purity: “This feminizing divests the male body of its virility and thus compromises its power not only to penetrate and reproduce its own nation (our women), but to contaminate the other's nation (their women) as well” (Puar, 99).

To be South Asian is to be pathologically queer, irrespective of the one’s true sexual orientation. “The Orient becomes a living tableau of queerness” by virtue of being from the Orient (Said, 103). There is already a robust amount of artwork depicting Pavitr with tons of gold jewelry and piercings, which to the West are typically feminine accessories. This essentially reduces Pavitr to a stereotype of South Asian culture.

Fanworks use the bejeweled, indulgent, exotic, and sultry attitude as a short-hand for their perception of South Asia. They are “caricatures stripped from movies like Disney’s Aladdin, the Arcana or people’s sexual fantasies about our men,” as allahrakhi writes in her essay on fandom's reception of Claude von Riegan from Fire Emblem: Three Houses, a character similarly mischaracterized by virtue of his brown identity.

Puar describes that the (implied white) nation defines “upright, domesticatable queernesses that mimic and recenter liberal subjecthood, and out-of-control, untetherable queernesses” (47). Nonwhite queerness is “untetherable,” leaving white queerness as “domesticatable.” This inability to engage brown queerness forces brown queer people to assimilate into white queerness.

In fandom’s and society’s mind, there is no such thing as a queer South Asian without them discarding their brown identity and adopting white queer practices, behaviors, and aesthetics. Queer South Asians are “either liberated (and the United States and Europe are often the scene of this liberation) or can only have an irrational, pathological sexuality of queerness” (Puar, 13).

Which brings us to the recent depictions of Pavitr in fanworks, stripping him of his masculinities to render him as a vapid, neutered, and yes, whitewashed queer boy, completely unrecognizable from the source material.

Interestingly, this reduced masculinity co-exists, paradoxically, with the idea that men from the Orient are simultaneously aggressive, belligerent, and violent. Elgin Brunner writes: “Such a framing—the association of the enemy with barbarism, as opposed to the self, which is civilized—includes two, often simultaneous, moves, that is: the ‘hypermasculinization’ of the enemy on the one hand, and his ‘effeminization’ on the other… The very same opponent is, by virtue of being categorized as a cowardly barbarian, rendered effeminate.”

The flip side of the effeminate brown man is the hypermasculine brown man, which can be seen through Miguel, one of Across the Spider-Verse’s antagonists. Both instances of brown masculinity confiscate personhood from characters who would have otherwise offered rich, nuanced, interesting perspectives to the story and to the audience.

It would be myopic of me to not mention the implicit genderings of other nonwhite ethnicities in this discussion. Brown men hold a unique positionality to other nonwhite men in a racial triangulation I’d like to examine further in another essay for the future. Brown men can either be gendered the way that East Asians are (feminine, asexual, neutered, timid, obedient) or the way that Black people are (hypersexual, predatory, dangerous, aggressive). Both misgenderings are in opposition to the “ideal” male gender, which is of course, the white man. This fallacy is why we see Hobie depicted as cruel, mean, and irritated in the exact same artwork from earlier.

Many people in this artist’s quoted replies have accused the artist of being white. I have seen some criticisms of the backlash, that people shouldn’t assume the artist’s ethnicity. I think both opinions miss the point: anyone can be orientalist. Membership within a nonwhite ethnic identity does not absolve the individual of perpetuating orientalist or racist depictions of characters of color.

As Edward Saïd said, “Everyone who writes about the Orient must locate himself vis-a-vis the Orient” (Orientalism, 20). That is to say, if you write and depict the Orient and people from the Orient, you have to consider your positionality in relation to the Orient. Naturally, this would mean that white people should always be cognizant of their depictions of Orientals. But East Asians can also orientalize, whether it is other ethnic groups like South Asians; or self-orientalization. Similar can be said for South Asians who self-orientalize.

Khalid writes “Gendered identities do not exist independently of other factors, and must be viewed as intertwined with, for example, race or ethnicity if we are to understand the hierarchical organization of identities.” There is no examination of gender without an accompanying racial context. And Pavitr’s emasculation in fandom certainly requires a critical eye for both race and gender, lest we repeat the same dehumanizing characterizations of him in further fanworks.

Works Consulted:

Brunner, E. M. (2008). Consoling display of strength or emotional overstrain? the gendered framing of the early “War on terrorism” in transatlantic comparison. Global Society, 22(2), 217–251. https://doi.org/10.1080/13600820801887223

Khalid, M. (2011). Gender, orientalism and representations of the ‘other’ in the War on Terror. Global Change, Peace & Security, 23(1), 15–29. https://doi.org/10.1080/14781158.2011.540092

Puar J. K. (2007). Terrorist Assemblages: homonationalism in queer times. Duke University Press.

Said, E. W. (1994). Orientalism. 25th anniversary edition. With a new preface by the author. New York, Vintage Books.

[spottedsnake]

if i’m being totally honest, i didn’t initially like this part of chapter 39, but it’s really grown on me after some more thought and shrue’s expansion on the idea.

to me it felt like an unnecessary simplification of the complex ethical questions that the podcast asks about the practice of sacrifice and how it fits into the world it’s built. “sacrifice is bad because it doesn’t work” is a less interesting claim to explore than “sacrifice is bad because of the moral implications of having a system that is designed to kill you if you step outside of the preconceived societal boundaries, even though it is significantly beneficial in some aspects of life.”

but looking back on this scene, i don’t really think that’s a fair assessment. what the slag executive is pointing to in this instance is that the practices of sacrifice and sainthood in the silt verses world have created an economic environment based on dangerous and unsustainable shortcuts.

the police force uses the cloak in order to reduce personnel costs without reducing workload. instead of developing more robust energy infrastructure, both the peninsula and the linger straits rely on the saint electric for their energy. even in this same episode there’s a saint of creativity created and used by a university, a place supposed to be where people are taught to think critically for themselves! and there’s a lot more examples of companies and individuals taking shortcuts like this because, well, that’s what they’re incentivized to do.

who is going to spend the time and money to develop better skills and technology when all you have to do is throw a person into the killing machine and you get the same if not better outcome?

if we suppose that the linger straits and the peninsula follow our own world’s pattern of economic and demographic development, they experienced a population boom during a period of technological advancement, decreasing the negative consequences of repeated sacrifices and forced sainthoods. now that their economies have somewhat stabilized, it’s reasonable to assume they had a corresponding drop in birth rate, changing the broad cost-benefit analysis of having an economy that runs on literal flesh and blood.

not to mention that now, the companies are experiencing diminishing and even negative returns. and being that they have tossed out every other tool in the toolbox, they are going to hammer this problem until they force it to be a nail. will a sacrifice for every floor of a building help its stability? maybe not, but it’ll probably be profitable. more sacrifices might help in the short term, but it’s not going to change the fact that capitalism relies on exponential growth, and their society cannot support that. any business that stops their worship to focus on other methods is probably not only angering a now very powerful god, but also severely handicapping themselves in the competitive market. so every corporation keeps throwing more resources and lives into a growing sinkhole, just to try to survive.

“we don’t know how to stop” is a very apt description of the current state of the silt verses economy, and also the problem that shrue and paige are answering. kill your gods; learn what you have lost and what you have abandoned.

[le-trash-prince]

Fic Rec: do me a favor (and break my nose) by Thursday Fire

Fandom: Pit Babe Pairing: KimKenta Length: 7,978 words Rating: Mature

Summary: In which Kim accidentally acquires Kenta, and finds he’s got more on his hands than he anticipates.

trashprince notes: D/s verse in which Kim resolves to take care of Kenta after Tony’s death. This is only a couple of weeks old, but I’ve already lost track of how many times I’ve read it. Mind the tags.

Excerpt:

Kenta makes it three days. Only three days, before the panic sets in and he starts freaking out that he’ll die in Tony’s house, alone and with no one likely to find the body for weeks. Three days before the anxiety becomes so overwhelming that he’s able to convince himself to use his phone. Babe’s order didn’t say he couldn’t use the phone, Kenta tells himself. He just told him to go to Tony’s, and stay there, and he’s done that. He was good, he did what he was told, he hasn’t broken any rules. His phone is on the kitchen counter; Kenta stares at it until he feels as though his insides are liquifying, and then snatches it up and dials with trembling fingers. It rings and rings, a thin tinny noise that still sounds more robust than Kenta feels.  There’s no answer. He rings again. No answer. Rings again, no answer, again and again, until his hands are shaking so much he can hardly dial, fingers slipping all over the screen. And then just when he thinks no one will ever answer it, the ringing stops. “Hi,” Kim says. “Babe’s busy right now, but I can help, if you need it?”

[tearlessrainart]

I have made. a chart. (click through for fullsize to actually read it)

Ironically I did not like The Last Jedi at all, but the fathiers caught my imagination because I will glom on to any fantasy horse-adjacent creature you put in front of me no matter how weirdly utilized or poorly thought out it is. I've been reworking their visual design a little to make them less uncanny valley cgi and make them into something that fills the same aesthetic/cultural niche as a fancy sport horse, but it also bothered me that they were all the same color and not at all designed like a domestic animal even though they pretty clearly are. I get why they didn't spend time and budget on coloring them all uniquely for the approximately five minutes of screentime they had, but it was a waste of potential and also there's no way an animal bred entirely by ostentatious rich people with too much money and time on their hands doesn't have a robust community of color breeders and dubiously ethical halter lines and the general kind of fuckery you see with any animal that's been kept by humans for a while.

I primarily based their genetics on horses, but I also borrowed some from goats and sheep, took the piebald patterns mainly from deer, and made some of it up entirely (though outside the alchemy stuff I tried to keep everything plausible and cohesive). There are also genes horses have that fathiers don't, so it's not a direct 1:1 in either direction. This also isn't a comprehensive list of Every Possible Color Fathiers Come In, but rather all the color genes that can interact with each other in various ways. You can probably create some absolutely batshit-looking animals with this chart as well as very understated, mundane ones.

At some point I'll expand further on the very specific headcanons about ancient Sith and the history of fathiers overall that tie into all this (most of it is rooted in Old Republic era EU stuff since I don't really touch the disney-verse outside of stealing their creatures and I'm mainly in the SWTOR corner of the fandom), but that's one for my lore/oc blog. You can probably extrapolate the important bits just from reading through the chart if it interests you.

[painted-bees]

Hi!! Can I ask what happens at the festival? Do people recognize her music?

By this point, Raf and Magritte had composed a fair few tracks together, for fun. Most of it having been written and recorded during their year on Cortes Island. And so, they put together a setlist of these songs and rehearsed them as a three part band, which included Cortes.

This would be the first time Cortes accompanied them on stage (Raf insisted, just having Cortes involved does a lot to soothe his Anxieties), but Raf and Magritte had played together for shows prior to this...however, it had only ever been for very, very small venues, and under obscure ever-changing band names, without Raf himself ever explicitly having to identify himself to his audience. He had always been...rather covert.

Now, as part of his deal for getting Margie on the stage, his end of the bargain was to allow his name and likeness be used as a way of drawing in more attendees. He figured (and prefered) that he may as well do it as a bandmate to Magritte. And so, it was Stampy Ptarmigans ft. Rafael Ephrem. Just one band from a rather robust lineup of bands that would be playing during the weekend of the festival.

Being on stage, and everything around it, isn't difficult for Raf. One thing he kinda loathes to admit is that a part of him really does miss playing for large crowds. He likes putting on his stage persona and playing to an audience--he gets to be someone who doesn't really exist, playing for people who don't really exist. On stage, with the lights, it's hard to make out individual faces and expressions much of the time, and the people in the audience can be who ever he imagines them to be. It is like his life is a cartoon where he is simply a cartoon character playing to a cartoon audience, and all of it is within the realm of his control. When he was growing up, and as a teenager--being on stage in the middle of a live preformance was when he felt the safest.

But right before, and especially right after, was always the worst...the most uncomfortable. The scariest.

However, compared to what he was use to, rehearsals and the moments leading up to the show were quite different when Magritte and Cortes occupied the space where his parents/managers would have been. A lot of the energy he would have spent worrying about (and preemptively bracing for) the inevitable fallout of a less-than-perfect preformance was instead spent vibing with Cortes and assuring Magritte that they're just here to have a good time and have fun playing their silly little tunes same as they always have, and that folks in the audience are gonna enjoy it. After all, back when they first started meeting for their weekly jam sessions, one of the first tenants they agreed on was that they'd only play music together for as long as it was fun. They wouldn't be here, preparing to walk on stage together, if it wasn't fun to do so.

Thankfully, jitters aside, Magritte was eager and excited as always to just play music...and under such energizing circumstances! The lights, the VOLUME!! It's a lot more than she was use to, and despite her nerves, she couldn't stop smiling--so much that the muscles in her face hurt.

And it was fun. Their set list was an hour long, everything went well, and they had a blast playing. There had been a moment where Magritte skipped an entire verse of a song, and some clever improvisation was required to keep things moving forward in a way that felt pleasing and natural. But after the show, Magritte would cite that moment as her favorite part. Which is...more than a little refreshing from Raf's perspective, since those kinds of mistakes would usually mean a scathing lecture lasting into the earliest hours of the morning, followed by stricter hours of practise during the following weeks/months until the next major show.

But no. After the show, Magritte was on cloud 9, and would ride that high for months. The three of them would be remembered fondly by the audience, exactly the way they had hoped, with Raf's preformance being wholly overshadowed by his other two band members (especially the ""Icelandic"" one with the otherworldly vocals) and Magritte's Stampy Ptarmigans youtube channel enjoyed a healthy influx of enthusiastic new subscribers.

Certainly, there might have been people in the audience who recognized her from youtube and MySpace. But mostly, it was a fresh new audience hearing her work for the first time. And a lot of them decided they didn't want it to be the last time they'd ever hear her music.

All in all, a positive experience..! And certainly not the last of its kind to be enjoyed by our trio♡

[lavendergaaayze]

I've been thinking a lot about The Alchemy lately. One of the many, many things I love about Tay is how many different angles we can view songs from.

I have been toying with the idea that this song is about her preparing for her last beard with the ogre. miss ma'am loves to break records and she can do so with the heteronormative society and a big ol' distraction. there are a lot of meathead references in here too but just like So High School, i don't think it's positive or endearing.

this happens every few lifetimes

with so much death and rebirth in her work, I interpreted this as every bearding situation being a lifetime and now we're starting a new lifetime

these chemicals hit me like white wine

which chemicals? likely, the Forget Him medication from Fortnight MV. this can be the promise of success, this can be entering back into the closet; but essentially there had to have been an BIG incentive or push. and even moreso, it was something Tay really had to swallow but was not her choice--it was prescribed by the ward. and this "Forget Him drug" could bring forth Taylor Swift The Brand. Taylor Swift The Brand comes with a manic high, a hunger for success, a desire to push through whatever she needs to overcome. there's probably lots of spite in there too.

in addition, wine drunk is super different! wine brings a warm carelessness. personally, wine makes me feel like i'm a bad bitch and life isn't that serious.

what if i told you i'm back?

the hospital was a drag

worst sleep that i ever had

they let her out of the hospital, but only when she was medicated. she's "fixed"!

i circled you on the map

a TK reference because so many dummies said he put HER on the map (fucking as if). this is one of her little jabs at him saying, "nah, bro. i put YOU in the spotlight"

(note that these 4 lines feel like a conversation with someone that you're trying to prove something to)

i haven't come around in so long

but i'm coming back so strong

she hasn't had an in-your-face PR relationship for years. so this is her giving herself a little boost. i haven't done this in a while, but i can do this and i can do it even better than before. i feel this especially because it's right before the chorus where she goes:

so when i touch down

call the amateurs and cut 'em from the team

ditch the clowns, get the crown

another jab at her beards and at TK's sad attempts to get others to put him on the map. MH is an amateur, he did not lead Taylor to the success she was looking for. TK had no luck liking baddies instagram pictures to weasel his way into the industry. but who did that? Taylor Alison Swift: The Mastermind. note how she's focused on the crown, not the actual "muse"

Baby, I'm the one to beat

'Cause the sign on your heart

Said it's still reserved for me

i took this as a line to her fans. so many people tune in to the big headlines because we, as a society, have a weakness to be fascinated by/addicted to the drama. especially taylor swift drama! our hearts are still reserved for any juicy tea she might have

honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy?

this feels like an act of acceptance and a little defeat. don't forget, taylor is still on those chemicals that hit her like white wine. so she succumbs to the fact that the world's biggest pop star and an award-winning NFL player would definitely make for lots of success. this is why she came back, to come out on top. i've seen others comment on the fact that she uses alchemy instead of chemistry. (they have the same end rhyme and the same syllables so alchemy was very intentional.) they're making gold out of robust situations, they're not sharing energy with one another.

hey, you, what if i told you we're cool?

that child's play back in school

is forgiven under my rule

i haven't come around in so long

but i'm making a comeback to where i belong

this next verse reminds me of the structure of the first verse. the first 3 lines feel like a sense of defending actions to someone else while the last two feel like another act of self-perseverance and having to hype herself up.

he jokes that, "it's heroin, but this time with an 'e'"

i really can't see this as anything other than a jab at the meathead. those illiterate tweets of his surfaced and we all found out he really is an idiot.

this line does confuse the hell out of me otherwise. if anyone has any thoughts i would love to hear!

where's the trophy? he just comes runnin' over to me

i know a lot of people find this endearing saying he chose her over the trophy. but i think it's Taylor asking "where's the trophy?" with her eyes on the prize still. and the dummy loses sight of what they are actually after

she's "high" on those Forget Him drugs throughout this whole song because she finishes the song with the same two lines she opened with.

but, yet, here we are again: swiffers thinking she's being cutesy with some dude but in reality this is about her and her success.

this song all feels like work. i don't know if anyone else played the alchemist game where you start with the most basic materials and have to make all kinds of substances, eventually getting to gold. and, man, was it challenging. just like i can imagine it's challenging to make this dirtbag into a "glamorous gentleman."

anyway! this was way more in depth than i thought it was going to be but i hope this leads to more confidence to post more OC! thanks for the read <3

[justforbooks]

Odyssey by Stephen Fry

The last in Fry’s four-book retelling of the Greek myths is relatable and full of humour

Not long ago, Elon Musk took a break from predicting civil war to offer his followers on X a book recommendation. “Can’t recommend the Iliad enough!” he tweeted. “Best as Penguin audiobook on 1.25 speed.” He accompanied this with a screenshot of the Penguin edition of The Odyssey. Erich Auerbach, thou shouldst be living at this hour.

Still, one way or another, Homer’s great poems have fulfilled the injunction to be news that stays news. Scholars of the original Greek, or partisans of Emily Wilson’s acclaimed recent verse translations, might roll their eyes at the injunction to speed-listen to an audiobook version. But one of the great virtues of myth is that it is robust to being reimagined: The Odyssey gives us Ulysses in one direction, and The Wind in the Willows or Watership Down in another.

And for practically as long as we’ve had the written word, we’ve had simplified retellings of the classical myths suitable for children and tech billionaires. Stephen Fry’s chatty and urbane but slyly erudite prose retellings fit right into this tradition. His Odyssey – which was preceded by Mythos, Heroes and Troy – brings a four-book sequence satisfyingly to a close.

Stylistically, Fry mostly eschews epic grandeur for the immediacy and relatability of modern idiom. The tone is spry rather than stately, and full of humour. Cassandra – wailing fruitlessly in the background all the way from Troy – is largely played for laughs; and when Agamemnon finally makes it home, the King of Men sounds for all the world like a red-trousered bon vivant back from the golf club after a bit too long at the 19th hole:

“Well, well, well! My darling, you grow ever more beautiful. The treasure ships are not far behind. The things you see! […] What’s that you say? A bath? Oh, my dear darling wife, there is only one thing I have been looking forward to more. And that can follow the bath, eh, eh?! Or maybe can be included in the bath, what?”

If he’d listened to Cassandra, he’d know what was included in the bath, but hey-ho.

Nor, though, does Fry altogether ignore the story’s pathos and poetry. There’s moving material about the easy love between father and sons – Odysseus is pierced at having missed out on Telemachus’s childhood – and here and there Fry’s default whimsy gives way to graver passages of writing. “A salt-caked, sun-burned, wind-scoured man lies face-down and naked on a beach. Sandflies skip on the scarred skin of his back.” Penelope, waiting on Ithaca, “strained her eyes towards the bar of haze that separated the blue of the empty sea from the blue of the empty sky”.

It’s not quite, or not only, a children’s book. The language gets fruity here and there – when Odysseus reveals himself to the suitors, he sounds positively Tarantinoesque: “He asked me who the hell I thought I was. I’ll tell you who I think I am. I think I am Odysseus of Ithaca, come back from the dead to revenge myself upon you. You fucking animals.” And the sexual violence is, if downplayed, not entirely absent (though perhaps to avoid muddying the moral clarity of the story for his younger readers, Fry omits Telemachus’s massacre of the maidservants).

There’s a lot of action in the footnotes, where Fry discusses lexicology or pronunciation, digresses on modern parallels, editorialises, or floats pet theories. He notes that Odysseus’s arrival on the Phaeacian coastline on a plank of his shattered raft may be “the first ever description of surfing in all literature”. He muses on why Hera is always “cow-eyed”, and notes that “cows (to us) are rarely imperious in aspect in the way Hera manifestly was, but perhaps this is a failure of observation on our part”. He argues, with reference to Beatrix Potter’s The Tale of the Flopsy Bunnies and the name of the island Cos, that the lotus eaters are actually munching lettuce. He has Athena accusing Zeus of planning to “usher in an age without treaties, promises, honour or law”, and adds in a glum footnote: “A plan that finally has come into being in every detail it would seem … ”

This is a book with a theory, too. It completes a historic arc that has taken us from gods and titans, through demigod heroes, to the deeds of mortals in whose affairs the gods meddle freely – and it points to an era in which men, in a substantially disenchanted world, will find their own way. The trial of Orestes, in Fry’s account, is something like the thematic heart of the book. In it, Princess Erigone argues for “a new order” where “we are to reconstitute the world according to reason and sense, rather than impulse and bloodlust”, and the wise Athena “is the only god we need”. How’s that working out? Ask Elon Musk, I guess.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[goldeneyedgirl]

@sonyawix Alas, my exile was self-imposed until I wrote something. Even Whumptober didn't produce anything worthy of seeing (gave me some future ficlet ideas that will be fun though). I do not deserve tumblr-time when I apparently decided to just not write at all during 2024.

So I skipped ahead and started on this year's Ficmas offerings instead (now is the time to make your demands), and I always make sure I have some new Anathema for you! We have a little scene from Ch 3ish, for the second 'official' meeting of the Cullens.

Adding Demon Jasper and Feral Jasper/Mary-Alice to the upcoming list. Honestly, I was not expecting Demon Jasper to make a blip on anyone's radar, I am delighted people enjoyed that verse. And I love that My Nonsense (anything involving Mary-Alice) sparks joy for anyone.

So I offer up this part of Anathema, and hope it sparks joy. One thing I am loving about Anathema is that the first half pretty much outlined itself. We love fics that have direction and aspiration.

I always love hearing from you, Sonya, thank you for the message <3

Notes: This was an experimental scene to fix the pacing of the first meeting vs the Cullens getting involved with the Brandons. I wanted to establish that Edward and Alice will have a rapport in this fic, and to set more of the scene of how the Cullens do end up in cahoots with the rest of the Council. And to lay a lot of groundwork for Alice getting to know the Cullens as individuals.

There's a fairly robust few scenes between the first meeting and this that I'm not happy with yet. Even these parts are extremely rough. I've also been doing a lot of research into supernatural creatures and cryptids around North America to try and work on world-building a little more (some of this is a throwback to the OG draft of Afterglow which was fun). So any details that don't entirely match up have been noted and will be fixed when this gets posted on AO3.

--

The second time we officially run into the Cullens is more than three weeks later. And it goes about as well as anything else in my life does as the unluckiest person to ever live.

This is one excursion that I am allowed out of the house for - other than taking Dulcie's purse to her at the salon, and riding my bike to pick up Chinese food for dinner, I have been house-bound. It's almost as if Freddie - and Sue, for that matter - are certain that if I am not under full supervision, I'll run away to the Cullen house to join them all in whatever debauchery vampires get up to all day.

Which, from Dulcie's gossip, seems to be mostly work at the hospital for Dr Cullen, and going to high school for the 'kids'. Very scandalous. But despite me pointing out that I didn't know (precisely, yet) where the Cullen house is and that sneaking around both Forks Hospital and the high school were only going to draw the attention of gossips and probably Charlie Swan in an official capacity, Freddie kept both eyes on me.

I was going a little stir-crazy - not only had I been on house arrest, we'd only had one 'client', and he'd just been placed in cold storage whilst private preparations were made. So when Charlie summoned us all to the backwoods for a meeting, I wasn't complaining. Even tramping through the mud of the woods to have a secret clandestine meeting was better than cleaning or sitting around the apartment.

But no one was expecting Charlie Swan to be standing in our clearing with three figures. Three figures that nearly had me running back to the car. Lamia. Freddie's hand clamped down on my shoulder firmly; not to be cruel, but to protect me - showing any kind of aversion to a lot of the creatures that passed through was dangerous. It provoked some of them to strike. And lamia loved young girls.

"These three were passing through," Charlie Swan said uncomfortably. "Left a mess in Port Angeles."

"Very gracious of Mister Swan to introduce us." The tallest was over six feet, with waist-length dark hair. But like all old Lamia - and there were more than you'd think, honestly - she was unnaturally thin, her skin bleached, like she'd been forgotten in the sun for too long. Her hair looked sharp and brittle, like fine wire. And as she spoke, a serpentine hiss caught on the tails of her words. The only spark of colour was the dried-blood colour of her eyes and sockets - even her lips and tongue were stained black. Her fingernails were unnaturally long and looked more like bone than anything resembling keratin.

"What kind of mess?" Harry Clearwater said flatly. He wasn't subtle; he'd brought a shotgun.

The two younger Lamia looked down, as if regretful.

"We fed." The words are simple but every adult around me visibly recoils. I'm kind of numb to it - maybe it would be more horrific if I was older.

But the way that the Lamia speaks - almost smugly, as if to intentionally upset everyone here - annoys me beyond explanation. Odds are that anyone they fed on was young enough to have a mom and dad waiting at home for them, worried. That they wouldn't even get simple news that they were gone - they'd have to wait weeks for DNA testing to confirm who this bony old bitch had torn into.

"You need to go." Everyone swings around to look at me, and I'm kind of surprised I spoke as well. My words sound polite but firm, and there's a distinct undercurrent there I barely recognize in myself. I don't think I've ever spoken that way to anyone in my life.

"Excuse me, child?" Her eyes narrow.

//

I can see it happening as if it's in slow-motion; Harry lifting the shotgun, one of the younger Lamia reaching out for him with a look that meant someone was going to die; Charlie Swan had his service weapon out and I just… stepped forward and shoved the monster backwards.

It was gross, honestly. Between their age and their powers, their clothing is essentially a second flesh-covered skin that crackles under my hands. Their actual skin is so thin that I could feel, for that split second, all their organs churning. The smell of blood was overpowering, and I just wanted her to break into a million pieces.

Except...

//

"That was the most disgusting thing I have ever lived through," I half-shrieked as I made my way back to the meeting place. Sue followed with the flashlight, offering platitudes. "Why do these creatures always decide to be disgusting around me? I'm not going to be able to salvage any of those clothes."

"She could have killed you, Alice. You should have left her alone." Sue's words aren't convincing; the look on her face when I had stepped forward meant she saw imminent death was coming for both Harry and Charlie before I intervened.

"Well, she succeeded in murdering that pair of jeans," I said crankily, turning into the clearing. "…Oh."

The Cullens had shown up, and none of them looked happy.

And of course, I was now wearing a pair of flannel pyjama bottoms with bleach stains and an oversized Newtons Outfitters hoodie, with my hair scraped off my face from my impromptu water-bottle hair wash. I looked like I'd just rolled out of bed, and the Cullens looked like they'd stepped out of the pages of Vogue.

Jasper lingered just behind the bigger one - Emmett, I think I'd heard someone call him. He nodded at me when I met his gaze, and it was almost like he … relaxed somehow.

I was mostly embarrassed that I looked like this in front of him. He was wearing the softest looking black sweater I had ever seen, and immaculate jeans. My jeans were soaking in a bait bucket full of salt and vinegar, and would still be thrown in the garbage.

Just once, I wanted to look less like a grubby schoolgirl in front of him. Them. Not being swallowed up by thrift store winter coats or rejected clothing stashed in the car for incidents like this.

This absolutely wouldn't be an issue if I went to school. I'd be able to wear all the cute outfits I'd been planning in front of him - them - and look vaguely normal.

"We heard there was a meeting," Dr Cullen began. "We weren't notified."

"You weren't invited," Billy Black shot back firmly. "Your role is to keep us informed if others of your kind are in the area. The rest of our business doesn't involve you."

Freddie looked warily between the Council and the Cullens. "We gather as necessity dictates, and which parties are required," he said neutrally. "This was not a meeting that required your presence."

"Can we know what the meeting was about?" The red-headed boy stepped forward with the kind of confidence that belied his apparent age. "It would be helpful if we knew what was in the area."

Silence.

"We keep the area safe for the residents. We get a lot of things passing through," Charlie Swan said finally.

"But it would be immensely helpful if we knew exactly what we were dealing with - especially if injuries present at the hospital," Dr Cullen said earnestly.

I made a face - I remembered the absolute panic at Forks Hospital when the Nezhit had blown through a few years back. Having someone in the know dealing with the hospitalisations wouldn't be the worst idea…

…Who was I kidding, I was willing to make any argument if it meant I might be able to have a conversation with Jasper where I wasn't wearing glorified pyjamas, probably reeking of vomit. I definitely needed to stash more toiletries in the back of the car from now on.

I slunk towards a nearby boulder to take a seat, Freddie looking over to make sure I didn't stray too far. I knew there would be a lecture about my actions with the Lamia when I got home - even if I was preventing at least two gruesome murders, the rule was that I observed silently.

"Injuries are typically very low," Sue Clearwater said in a no-nonsense tone. "We manage fine."

"But didn't you just say that she was nearly harmed?" Mrs Cullen gestured at me. "Sweetheart, what happened?"

I scowled. "Lamia," I said, and Emmett Cullen let out a chuckle at the sound of loathing in my voice. "Did you know that the young ones don't so much as spit venom, but kind of projectile vomit when startled? And their venom is more along the lines of 'caustic rotting human tissue smoothie'? It was chunky."

"That is disgusting," the blonde girl said sharply.

"It was. And I was covered in it," I said, jumping when I heard a rumble coming from my left. Jasper; he looked pissed. Was he growling again?

"Why were you anywhere near them?" he asked, in that rough voice that sounded like it wasn't used very often, his eyes piercing through me.

"Easy, Jas," Emmett turned to look at his brother.

"She was going for Harry's throat," I said. "I just gave her a shove."

"You shoved a Lamia?" Dr Cullen looked at me with bewilderment.

"I'm not allowed to carry a weapon," I replied. Both Dr and Mrs Cullen looked taken aback.

"We need to be present at these meetings," Jasper said abruptly. "For protection."

"Protection?" Harry Clearwater sneered. "From you?"

"We'd be happy to help," Mrs Cullen tried again, and the blonde girl scoffed.

"We're faster and stronger than most other creatures," the redhead said - Edward? That might have been his name.

"I mean…" Charlie Swan looked at my uncle. "Not many things we come across will try and negotiate with a local coven. It could encourage a lot of them to move on sooner."

"We don't need a voice in these meetings unless they directly involve us," Dr Cullen continued. I was watching the negotiations without drawing attention to the fact that Jasper was moving closer to me, leaning against the other end of the rock I was perched on - and honestly, trying not to giggle at how unsubtle he was being. "We simply want to make sure that none of you come to harm doing your duties."

"I really don't think this is necessary." Sue looked angry and was talking in that short, clipped way she did before she was about to blow - I remembered what happened when Seth and his friends tried to make s'mores with a cut gasline when Seth was, like, eight.

"A Lamia could have killed any of you before anyone could react. You could have been scraping Alice's remains off the rock," Edward shot back.

"Where did they go, anyway?" I asked, forgetting my plan to avoid drawing attention to the fact that Jasper was only three feet away from me - and that was a generous estimate.

"Alice, come over here," Freddie insisted, and I pretended not to hear him.

"They didn't stick around," Charlie Swan said shortly. My gaze fell to the shotgun in Harry's hands.

"We were downwind," Emmett winked at me.

"They won't return - they're heading up to Canada," Edward added before his gaze fell towards Jasper. "No."

"They attacked her," Jasper said, looking at his brother with a flat gaze. "They moved to attack the whole group."

"And they killed some kids in Port Angeles," I volunteered. "Probably teenage girls."

"Someone is going to have to check the bodies to make sure we don't have a fresh Lamia on the rise," Freddie said tiredly. "Charlie, if you put in the request for I.Ding for me tonight, I can drive up tomorrow."

"They're murdering children?" the blonde stepped to the front, her gaze hard.

"There are two parallel species of Lamia," Freddie said, trying to catch my attention. Jasper hadn't attempted to move any closer but was surreptitiously watching me. I wasn't budging; this was the closest I had been to Jasper Cullen since he arrived and I was curious about so many things - and enjoying the fact that he seemed to be just as curious of me. "You can tell the difference based on the presence of scaling surrounding the cheekbones and feet. One hunts men, the other prefers young people, usually girls."

"Three girls, around fourteen," Charlie Swan confirmed grimly. "I.Ding them will be difficult, so we shouldn't have any issue getting that approved, Fred."

"Rose," Edward said warningly and she sneered at him, tucking herself next to Emmett.

I looked over at Jasper then, to find him watching me carefully.

"They didn't hurt you?" he asked softly. I shook my head.

"We'll protect you." He looks away when he says that, back at the group.

It's not an offer now; it's a firm insistence - the kind of tone that doesn't accept arguments or compromise. Who was he before he joined the Cullens? He didn't look that much older than me, really; like… all the Cullens, really, he physically looked young but there was age and time in the way they carried themselves, the way they spoke, the look in their eyes. Every single one of them looked a little bit haunted, honestly.

Edward looked exasperated but was watching me carefully. He was strange in a genuinely interesting way.

Jasper looked back over at me as Dr Cullen tried to soften the new requirement for their continued presence at any public meetings with Sue and Charlie.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked over at my uncle, who didn't look happy.

"Come on, Alice," Freddie said, and he sounded more tired than annoyed. "It's time to go. We'll discuss this with the Cullens later."

[i-mean-technically]

I like to imagine after the Earth is cyberformed and the war has ended, Optimus introducing humanity to the rest of the galactic counsel as Cybertronians' long lost sibling. Every other race is just stareing at an eldritch techno-organic species that is closely related to the immortal metal giants that have destroyed untold numbers of planets and races in a war that's lasted longer than most recorded history and getting really scared. Then they find out that Cybertronians came from the garden planet and humans come from the chaotic death world that drifts through space and consumes uninhabited planets (kinda like G1 unicron) and they want to cry. Imagine finding out that the worst person you know has an evil twin and the two of them get along great together. If its the kind of verse where Autobots and Decepticons made peace, then you better believe Megatron will be enjoying himself. The only things standing in the way of Cybertronian universal domination was their low numbers, lack of resources and division between their people, none of which can stop the joint Cybertron-Earth forces.

You. You get me.

It's years later and things are going great.

The Cybertronian Civil War is over, Cybertron is being slowly restored and the Cybertronian people have a place they can call home now. Optimus heads the cybertronian faction against his will (there was a vote and it was basically unanimous). Earth 2.0 is doing awesome, and the former squishy humans are now pretty robust techno organic horrors that now have access to SPACE and all the problems that come with it.

We're thrilled. Living the dream here.

Now, everyone is ready to rejoin the wider inter-galactic community bc the humans are getting twitchy and can only be gently directed for so long before Optimus has to take off the leash and let them go feral.

But Optimus is a Smart Cookie ok.

He's political about it. Especially bc he knows that us little assholes love a good fight, and some people literally live to argue.

So the joint forces of Cybertron and Earth present their case to the Intergalactic Congress of Species on why they should be a part of the wider community and get the benefits of that.

The Council takes one look at them and goes "FUCK no" and we all know that humans love being told that they can't do something. Such spiteful little creatures we are <3

So what do we do? We start our own intergalactic government. So far it has two species, maybe three.

But everyone is absolutely Terrified of these weird little monstrosities born from the Chaos Bringer and have the literal walking embodiment of their planet, another Chaos God but less "kill devour consume", walking around like a tourist.

Primus Lite enjoys caramel lattes with hot sauce and burnt marshmallows. He's an easy guy to get along with.

We're just Vibin' man

[dustedmagazine]

Guided By Voices — Strut of Kings (GBV Inc.)

Photo by Ellen Qbertplaya

In an interview following the announcement of the new Guided By Voices record, Strut of Kings, Robert Pollard explained why it would, uncharacteristically, be the group’s only release this year: “I just wanted to give this one a little more time to sink in with the fans. Give them some breathing space.” Take Pollard at his word: Strut of Kings is worth the focus and, speaking of space, it’ll take up as much as your speakers allow.

Back in 2018, I wrote that Space Gun (also that year’s only GBV album) was “a protein-rich re-entry point from which to backtrack through the post-millennium catalog…with triumphant blends of sweeping rhythm guitar, ascending lead riffs and rolling rhythm sections.” Six years and 13 albums later, I’ll say the same of Strut of Kings, only more so. As on Space Gun, Pollard is backed by Bobby Bare Jr., Doug Gillard, Mark Shue, and Kevin March, but here they play with a stormier ambition that adds an extra potency to the songs. This isn’t angry music, exactly, but it is noticeably heavier and sounds off with a harder-rocking urgency.

On the edgier end of things come ornery, ear-ringing slugfests like “Olympus Cock In Radiana” and “Cavemen Running Naked.” The first of which heaves around thick, fuzzy guitar arpeggios over a dogged stomp with the bare menace of early Black Sabbath. The second evokes both Queens of the Stone Age with its brute force drumming and taut, meaty riffs and Thin Lizzy with its buzzy, glamorous bursts of guitar. Sequenced between those two and yet darker is “Leaving Umbrella.” The track, slow, sheer and draped with cymbal crashes and sliding walls of distortion, finds Pollard wallowing in a psychedelic, fantastical fog, like a long lost David Bowie album for Southern Lord.

Ill-tempered bangers aside, Strut of Kings is, like so much of Pollard’s vast catalog, at its best in rich, punchy, power pop mode. One of Pollard’s great strengths as a vocalist is delivering even his hardest-to-parse lines with the conviction of confessional poetry. As the sparkling strum and thrust of “Fictional Environment Dream” is lifted by sustained electronic keys, “trying to sell me/on such same primitive tools/programming fever dreams/with the fools/let them expel me” might as well be Matthew Sweet lamenting “I’m sick of myself when I look at you.” It’s one of several moments when the musical ambition and vigor of this album crosses into more radiant, but no less powerful territory. Take, for instance, the long, elegiac build of “Bit Of A Crunch,” from clean, picked guitar to a robust, sunbreak-after-rain stadium balladry close to Oasis’ ragged, golden “Don’t Go Away.” Perhaps the record’s most potent blend of beauty and brawn, however, is “Serene King.” At the bridge, while Pollard raps towards his jet plane takeoff on the final refrain, a rapid series of single guitar notes shoot up from the bullying rumble of bass, drums and blasting, third-rail rhythm chords, taking the song from fist-pumping to something like transcendent.

Chalk it up to the explosive instrumentals, but the lyrics, often the most beguiling aspect of a Guided By Voices record, aren’t the most memorable part of Strut of Kings. One verse, though, from the album closer “Bicycle Garden,” stands out: “Though all the roses are dying/the old nest climbing with ivy/is lively.” What better way to describe Pollard’s indefatigable musical career than in terms of voracious regeneration. With this latest liveliness, Pollard and company continue that relentless growth. And remember, they’re leaving the breathing space for you: no one said they needed it.

Alex Johnson