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viviennevermillion · 1 year

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Sharing a tent with him ♡

author's notes: set during vargas camp. unfortunately i never found a full translation of the second one so if anything here contradicts canon, just roll with it. spontaneously writing this at 10pm after vowing i'm gonna go to bed early today so i can go to work earlier. oops. also picsart gold is making me go off with the headers so I'm making these for literally every character because i have no life. contains: malleus draconia x gn!fae!reader, cuddling warnings: none

Malleus, as always, is happy to go on a trip outside of Night Raven College; especially if he gets to share the experience with you and in this case Lilia as well. To be honest, you weren't exactly excited about spending your days in the woods near the creepy dwarf mine, engaging in sports and camping activities; but the presence of a certain fae prince made you look forward to it at least a little.

That feeling only multiplied when Vargas announced the students would be sharing tents in groups of 2-3 people and Kalim and Cater excitedly asked Lilia to have a Pop Music Club sleepover. "I'm sorry you two, but I think I'll have to decline. I'm sure Malleus-" "I'll share a tent with Malleus", you blurted out and the dragon fairy raised an eyebrow at you but immediately shot you an amused grin. "You seem quite eager", Malleus put his hands on his hips and smiled at you, "very well. I'll allow it. Just be sure you won't be frightened halfway through." You could tell he was joking and Lilia chuckled at Malleus's obvious excitement about the matter.

Malleus absolutely adored the fact that you wanted to be close to him and spend time with him; that you even felt comfortable enough to fall asleep around him. He sucked up every piece of evidence for that like a sponge, already craving the next instance of you expressing how much you valued him as a companion.

You let out a long sigh after Malleus broke the tent pole for the third time by hitting it too hard with the hammer. "Here let me be so courteous as to help you", you teased and put the pole into the ground, firmly hitting it with the hammer a few times until you felt that it was firmly stuck in the ground. "So, what do we do now?", Malleus seemed at a loss, trying to inspect the instructions on the information sheet Vargas had given you, "why do they explain these things in pictures? Why not put words too? I have no idea what this means." You could see him pouting and took the sheet from him with a laugh. "Be glad you'll never have to put furniture together yourself because that's just like this but worse", you sighed and inspected the pieces for the tent, "okay so....uh....I think this big thingy goes onto the pole and then we....uh-" You tried building the tent and helplessly watched the pole tip over and your "tent" sink to the ground. "You know, on second thought, maybe we should just sit down and wait until Vargas does it himself", you gestured awkwardly and sat down on a tree trunk.

"Oh but we are supposed to do it ourselves. After all we won't be able to understand the feelings of humans once they experience the joys of camping after all the hard work it takes to prepare it", Malleus smiled. "You're too eager for your own good", you took a deep breath. "You were the one who wanted to share a tent with me so badly", he grinned and it was clear he was relishing in the fact that you hadn't hesitated even a second to suggest pairing up with him for this trip. "You're making me sound desperate", you shook your head in disappointment and Malleus chuckled, reaching out his hand to you.

"I'm sure this is going to turn out to be quite pleasant if we commit to it. Once we're finished with our work we can be proud of the result. It might not be perfect but it'll be ours and we can share it for the next few days like a temporary home for just the two of us-" His words made your heart flutter and you took his hand and got up. "How could I say no when you put it like that?", you sighed and continued trying to build the tent.

You enjoyed a nice evening with Malleus and the other students; grilling marshmallows over the campfire and listening to the others talking about experiences they had with camping so far. There were fireflies surrounding you, nothing too unusual for being around Malleus, and the atmosphere was a peaceful one that made both of you feel happy and content.

The two of you were the last ones at the campfire, watching the embers as well as the stars above. You rested your head on Malleus's shoulder as a shooting star passed the night sky. Malleus leaned his head against yours and closed his eyes, a peaceful smile on his face as well. Malleus put out the fire and the two of you went to bed, turned to each other in your sleeping bags.

You watched curiously as Malleus pulled out something from his backpack. It was an enchanted lamp, shaped like a rose. Small, soft lights were dancing across the petals, bouncing off the ceiling of the tent. "These are quite popular in Briar Valley. I thought you might like it, so I brought it along", he smiled and put it somewhere where both of you could look at it. The conversation about the lamp evolved into a quiet talk about Briar Valley; Malleus telling you all sorts of stories about his homeland and mentioning a variety of places he was going to show you if you wanted to visit. He spoke with fondness until both of your words had turned to mere whispers.

If you don't pull the good old "I'm so cold" trick to try and be closer to him, he definitely will.

Malleus was amused at how almost dramatic you were about it. "It's so icy in this tent... I'm going to freeze to death....whatever shall I do?", you sighed with a sorrowful expression on your face and Malleus looked at you seriously. "I could make a fire to warm-" "GOD NO", you gestured wildly as you felt Malleus's fire magic manifesting within the tent. He put the flame out just as fast as it had appeared. He seemed to ponder the predicament further, then smirking at you. "Of course...you could always come closer if you dare", he teased, "I won't mind." "You don't have to tell me that", you smirked back.

That was how you ended up snuggled against Malleus in his sleeping bag, your own sleeping bag long discarded to the side. You had your head rested on his chest and your arms wrapped tightly around him. "This is a strange feeling....but not unpleasant. I like it", Malleus mused and absentmindedly started drawing circles on your shoulders, "although something tells me you had intended for this all along." He smiled as you confirmed his suspicion, a little flustered from the fact that he had seen through you. "There's no need to shy away from me", he clarified, "you need only ask. I don't mind being close to you." He breathed out and closed his eyes, leaning his cheek against your forehead.

The two of you remained silent for a while, until you weren't even sure if he was still awake. "Malleus?", you whispered; a quiet "hmm?" signaling that he wasn't asleep. You hesitated for a moment, your fingertips running up and down his arm. "I just wanted to say...", you took a deep breath, "I've really grown to treasure your presence in my life... You've become very important to me and being around you....well....makes me happy. I'm glad to have met you. I hope you know that." You could hear Malleus's heart beating faster against your ear and you felt him trying to pull you even closer.

"That means quite a lot to me", he whispered back, his lips grazing your forehead as he spoke, making you wish he'd just press a kiss to your skin already, "I feel the same about you. Thank you for being part of my life." You squeezed him gently in your embrace, making him smile.

You remained silent for a few moments, thinking about what you should say next. "You know.... I've spent all my life going from place to place; meeting all kinds of people and experiencing the brief but meaningful moments that life among humans had to offer, but I never really stuck around anywhere. There was nothing that I felt could capture my interest forever; just a century even. The people I met were just as fleeting as my time spent with them. I never had any reason to settle down", you whispered and took his hand into yours, running your thumb across his soft skin, "but now that I've met Lilia, Silver, Sebek and especially you, for the first time I'm certain I want to stay. Do you think there might be place for me in Briar Valley?"

Malleus was awestruck, his eyes widening with every word you spoke. Surprise made him incapable of even replying for a minute. His heart fluttered and there was a feeling of warmth and love in his chest that he didn't even know he craved this much but that henever wanted to miss out on again. You really wanted to stay...with him...as if it was the most self-evident thing possible.

Malleus's expression turned into a soft smile eventually and he squeezed your hand back. "I'm sure that could be arranged", he whispered with an adoration in his voice that was hard not to pick up on, "got anything in mind already?" You closed your eyes, focusing on his chest rising and falling and the soft sound of his breathing. You knew what you wanted. But you didn't dare say it yet. "We'll see." Malleus nodded. Perhaps you could be a guard. Or an attendant. Or an advisor. Or perhaps...the idea he undoubtedly liked the most: You could stand at his side, watching over the country alongside him; forever united in the love you felt for one another.

"Yes. We'll see", he confirmed and wrapped his arms tighter around you; the dreams you two shared remaining unspoken for now. But Malleus knew just as well as you did where he wanted to take the bond you had. Just say the word and I'm yours, he thought, falling asleep with you in his arms and a peaceful smile on his face.

#twisted wonderland #malleus draconia x you #malleus x reader #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #malleus x y/n #malleus x you #malleus draconia headcanons #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader

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doodlebug-aboo · 2 years

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Steve doesn’t like to admit it, but he likes to snoop. He’s a nosy guy. Anytime he’s in someone’s house for the first time, he snoops through their bathroom when he’s in there. He lies to himself and says it’s to be prepared for anything. Figure out where they keep the painkillers, the first aid kit, the extra toilet paper, the towels, but really he’s just curious. He always has been. He never snoops around when the person is there, but he can never decide if that’s better or worse.

The first time Steve is allowed into Eddie’s room, when he isn’t fighting for his life against creatures from the Upside Down that is, Eddie’s words catch him off guard.

“Get your snooping done now, man. There’s a lot of shit to sift through.”

He doesn’t ask how Eddie knows he likes to snoop, but he takes the opportunity after getting express permission while Eddie leaves to grab them some drinks from the kitchen. There is a lot of stuff, like Eddie said, but not in a way that’s messy. Steve wouldn’t call his room messy, just maybe a little crowded. In the best way possible, though. It looks lived in. Like a lot of love went into creating this space just the way Eddie likes it. It’s comforting.

The one place Steve pays the closest attention to is the small desk, littered with crumpled papers, notebooks, maps of fantasy worlds Steve has never heard of, pens and pencils, dice, you name it. Looking through the papers, Steve sees most of them are notes about a new campaign he knows Eddie has been working on for the kids. Steve knows Eddie’s been pouring over it endlessly because Will is visiting for the whole summer and the kids begged Eddie to write a campaign and play with them, and Eddie wants to make it the best possible game for the kid.

When Eddie comes back into the room, Steve stops his snooping and sits on the edge of the bed.

Steve takes a look at Eddie’s desk every time he’s in his room, now. He likes to see what Eddie is working on, likes to be able to ask him about it and watch his face light up as he starts to talk about something he’s passionate about.

One day, Steve walks into Eddie’s room and sees the amount of crumpled notebook paper seems to have multiplied drastically. He normally wouldn’t un-crumple any of the thrown away ideas and stick to the ones currently being worked on, but the magnitude of papers littering the floor nags at his curiosity too much to leave them be. So he picks up a few of the balls of paper and smooths them out best he could to read what they say.

Most of the papers are filled with a litany of crossed-out words and phrases, sometimes whole paragraphs of text. After looking at each paper, Steve realizes they’re song lyrics. He knew Eddie wrote music for his band, but he still hadn’t heard any of their music. Not for lack of wanting to, simply because Eddie told him he’ll invite Steve to one of their shows when he’s comfortable. It hurt Steve a bit to know Eddie still wasn’t comfortable enough to show him his original music, but he also knows that music is much more sacred to Eddie than it’s ever been to himself.

The lyrics really stand out to Steve, though, and he tries to wrap his head around them. It looks like Eddie is struggling with one song in particular he wants to write, because the lyrics are similar but different on every page. It’s a song about someone, it looks like, and it almost sounds like a love song, but not the kind of pop-style love song Steve is accustomed to, of course.

Steve knows not every love song has to be about one person in particular, but he feels like he knows who Eddie is writing about. It’s on the tip of his tongue. He knows Eddie is writing about one specific person. Too many times are the lyrics hyper-specific, but those are always the ones that are crossed out. Many mentions of brown eyes, the way they style their hair, their lips. Comments about hands, necks. There’s even a long paragraph entirely crossed out detailing moments they’ve shared, and it sounds eerily familiar.

It’s a lyric on the last paper Steve grabbed from the floor that makes the realization hit him like a truck.

Matching scars across our skin

Can’t believe you let me in

There’s something crossed out so intensely Steve can’t read it, but he can read the lines right below it.

If you’re the king, I’ll let you reign

But loving you’s a losing game

Steve knows, immediately, who the song is about, and before he even has time to react to this new knowledge, Eddie is walking through the door to his room again.

As soon as his eyes land on Steve, he freezes. “You weren’t supposed to see those, Harrington.”

But Steve is looking at him with awe in his eyes. “Are you writing a song about me, Munson?” He means for it to come out more teasing, but his voice is soft. Almost shy.

Eddie pulls a chunk of his hair forward to cover his face, looking down and anywhere other than Steve. “Don’t be ridiculous. Me? Writing a song about King Steve?”

Steve smirks a little and walks closer to Eddie. Not too close, he doesn’t want to scare him away. There’s also a small seed of worry sitting in the back of his brain waiting to sprout that maybe, just maybe, he’s wrong about this. But he really hopes he’s right. “You know, you only bring out the King Steve shit when you’re too afraid to say what you’re really thinking.”

Eddie’s eyes widen and he looks at Steve in shock. “You… noticed something that specific?”

Steve just shrugs, closing the distance between them a little more, only about a foot and a half separating them now. “I notice a lot of things about you, Munson.”

Steve sees Eddie’s shoulders relax slightly from where they raised up closer to his ears. “If you’re just saying all this to pull a prank on me or something, that’s really fucked up, Steve.”

Steve quickly shakes his head. “I’m not. I promise I’m not, Eds. I would never.”

Eddie seems to be thinking really hard for a long moment, once again looking away from Steve. He fidgets with his rings a bit, spinning one slowly on one of his fingers. Steve’s eyes track the movement. Finally, Eddie looks at him again. “Fuck it.”

Eddie closes the distance between them, grabs Steve’s cheeks in both of his hands, and slams their lips together. It’s not a graceful kiss by any means, and not exactly what Steve had imagined their first kiss would be like. If he had imagined it before, which he definitely didn’t do, especially not every day. But regardless, it’s still one of the best kisses Steve’s ever had, and he’s had a lot. Everything about it is just so Eddie, he can’t even describe it. The gentle, almost shy hesitation he can feel mixed with the desperation of a man on his death bed. Steve wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist before they pull back, smiling at each other.

Eddie’s grin is almost blinding as his eyes scan over Steve’s face. “I’m almost finished with the final version of the song… you should come see us when we’re ready to play it.”

Steve’s eyes light up. “You mean I get to finally go see Corroded Coffin perform live?”

Eddie laughs. “Yes, that’s what I mean. I’ll let you know when we’ll play it for the first time. I’m not the singer, so you’ll have to hear Gareth singing about you, but at least you’ll know the lyrics are mine.”

Steve smiles, pressing a much softer and gentler kiss to his lips. “You’re more of a sap than I thought you’d be.”

“Oh, shut it, big boy.”

#steddie #bug writes #just a little thing i thought of and needed to get out there #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve likes to snoop!!#but eddie does too so its okay #i just really needed to write something about steve finding eddies lyrics #specifically lyrics about him!!!#also jesus i am not a songwriter please dont judge the lyrics too harshly i tried

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murmurlilies · 2 months

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Less about OCs, but I'm interested to know what your process is like when creating a piece as detailed as that one you posted for Valentine's Day. How do you go about it? And do you happen to do time-lapse videos?

hmm can't say I can give an explanation that's terribly interesting or satisfying lol... I'm almost entirely self-taught, so "process" is a very loose and nebulous concept for me, and it changes from piece to piece. the one common thread among my works is that they all involve obscene amounts of trial and error. I don't have any recent time-lapses because I never think to record them, but if I did you would definitely see how often I feel the need to adjust and redo every little thing.

for the Valentine's Day piece, because it was a "remake" I had the benefit of a much more solid foundation than usual to start out with. however you can still see where I ended up deviating from the sketch phase - most obvious being her pose, the design of her hair, and the details of her sandals. (there were also meant to be candles on the dresser, but I forgot and didn't feel like adding them back in later and so I decided a vague suggestion of candlelight was enough lmao)

anyways, compared to everything else, sketching and linework are fairly straightforward and come most easily to me. there really isn't much to say, just scribble some messy lines and then whittle away at and draw over them till they magically become less messy!

when it comes to coloring and shading, things get a lot weirder and more complicated. this is where my process tends to vary the most, because it really depends on the mood of the piece. for this one I wanted something dark and seductive, so I covered the whole image in a layer of burgundy red, then painted the "lighting" on top across several Overlay layers. additional shadow details were brushed in on Multiply layers using deep purple instead of straight black, but ultimately I didn't want them to be too dark, as that initial layer of red was meant to serve as the primary "shadow" of the piece.

this is also usually where I decide which lines I want to "color" with clipping masks, which can either make certain elements pop or feel softer. it sorta brings the whole image together, giving it a much more painterly look overall. from there all that's left is to keep making adjustments and adding little details - the glittery effect on her dress was one of the last things I added, I thought it looked really nice!

...ok now take everything I just said and throw it all in a blender. because even though it might sound fairly orderly, the truth is I'm constantly making changes to all stages of my works, even the earliest ones, all the way to the end. I'll still be making adjustments to the linework and such after I've already put so much effort into the lights and shading! it's not the most efficient way of doing things... but again, trial and error. my perfectionism gets the better of me...

anyways I apologize if NONE of this made any sense, like I said I never had any formal training in art, so I'm not very good at teaching or explaining it!! at the end of the day my process is less about what makes logical sense and more about finding what feels right in a given moment. at the very least I hope it was a fun read lmao 🥳

#evayo asks #evayo art #glassborn #ocs #fun fact: i had no idea what to put in those dialogue bubbles till like an hour before upload LMAO... she could've been saying anything 🙊

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watcher-with-burned-wings · 2 months

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Wake Me Up, Let This Be A Dream

(A twist on session 7 of Secret Life)

Years have passed since the beginning of the end. It had all started with mythical creatures appearing out of thin air. Manticores and griffins appeared in the forests. Selkies, sirens, and sea monsters ruled the seas. Unicorns appeared along with other mythical animals, but these myths were not the downfall of humanity. Among these creatures, giants resided, ruling above every other creature.

The monstrous humanoids started decimating the human population. At first, few people were killed, as not many giants existed. As giants multiplied, whole communities seemed to disappear after a few giants had passed through the area. Anyone's guess was whether they were eaten, crushed, or disappeared. Countries were falling quickly as the populations were decimated. Granted, giants were still few compared to humans by the time the human population was nearly extinct.

The governments of the world had tried to destroy them with military power, but the most powerful creatures were immune to the bullets and bombs. Any attempt failed, only making the mythical beasts more aggressive. Soon all the remaining governments fell into the hands of giants. They were the rulers of the world now.

When the world first ended, many giants were feral, consuming whole cities of people and destroying everything in their path. But this was short-lived, many gained sense and started communicating and talking with humans. Only a few retained the feral mindset. Some even tried to compromise with the world's governments before resorting to destroying them after the attacks. Many giants decided to settle in small groups and built large houses to live with one another. Many of these groups were secluded to only their members but used trained griffins to send messages to other groups. Soon small societies popped up as giants began bartering and trading for essentials with other groups.

With the new species appearing, the natural world changed around as well. All trees now stood as tall as the great redwoods and continued to grow taller. Besides trees, plants became larger as well. Cites were quickly being overgrown by these new exotic plants. New magical rocks also appear to spring up in canyons and bluffs. Fresh water became scarce and hard to come by with the new creatures. Weather patterns have changed as well. Summer has heated up to exceptional levels. Winter temperatures have plummeted deep into the negatives. Fall and Spring can change instantly from warm sunny days to bone-chilling, frostbiting days. With all the odds stacked against them, nearly all humans have gone extinct, with a few exceptions…

=============

A blue-haired human male dashed through the large colorful leaves and bushes, hopping over log-sized twigs that fell from the large tree around him. His blue jacket wrapped tightly around his waist, leaving him in a once-white tee shirt with a blue heart. His jeans were dirty and ripped in several places. In his arms, he carried large bird feathers. An aggravated screech sounded from behind closed him. A creature with an eagle’s head and a lion's body bound through the foliage. Large, feathered wings propelled the creature forward, but the monster was missing several feathers, making it hard to fly. The guy didn’t even look back as he bolted towards his goal.

Anger chirps and caws continued to chase down the human. The human continued dodging and ducking swipes the massive paws of the exotic beast delivered. Leading the creature down towards a seemingly dead end, trapped between a couple of saplings and a large, towering boulder. The human spun around to face the angered lionbird. Slowly, it prowled forward, claws flexing as it backed the blue-haired guy into the rock. Just as the creature pounced, the human dived into a small hole dug between the roots of one of the saplings. The guy shouted as he dove, “Now Grian!”

A red sweater-wearing sandy-blond haired man sprang from the top of the rock, holding a crossbow loaded with purple stone-tipped arrows. Firing the arrow, he hit the beast mid-air in the back leg. The fabled icon cried out in fury and pain as electric poison sunk into its body, causing it to bite at the arrow and favor its back leg.

The new human called out, “Cleo it’s poisoned! You can go for the kill!” He shouted.

A red-haired, green-skinned woman with a black stone sword dropped out of the branches of one of the trees, landing square on the creature's back. She used the momentum of the fall to stab the sword deep into the neck of the griffin. The creature screamed as she pulled the sword through its neck and she slid off the side, pulling the blade down with her. She pulled the sword out of the griffin as the wound bubbled and spread. The griffin fell dead a few seconds later due to the poison and wither coursing through its body and the neck wound.

Cleo sheathed her blade and called out, “Scott! You good?”

Said person pulled himself from the hole, brushing himself off, grumbling, “Next time I’m shooting the shot with my bow and Grian is baiting.” He shoved his feathers he grabbed into his backpack and then pulled out a knife. He started removing the feathers of the griffin’s wing.

Having just slid down from the boulder, Grian squawked in offense. “Hey! I hit it, didn’t I? You should have said something sooner!” He put his hands on his hips. “And you need to be bait Scott, you’re the only one fast enough to outrun those things.” Scott rolled his eyes and grumpily plucked the griffin.

Cleo chimed in as she knelt to assist Scott. “I kinda agree with Scott, Grian.” A smirk played on her lips. “He is a better quick shot than you.” Grian made an offended noise. “But you are right, you are the only one who can outrun them, Scott.” Cleo pointed out.

Scott sighed, “I know but I’m tired of fighting to survive every day.” He gathers up the feathers and turns to his friends' worried expressions. He quickly amends. “I want to live, not just survive. For the last few years, it has been a struggle to stay warm during winter and find food. We were lucky to discover that the new stones made killing these things easy.” He gestures to the dead griffin. He slips on his hoodie and picks up his full pack. Then he began walking towards their home.

Cleo mimicked his actions, throwing on her pack filled with feathers and falling in step with him. “I know we aren’t living a glamorous life like you are used to, but we are alive.” The women comforted him. “After those berries that turned me green, we were glad to be alive. So, let’s be grateful for what we have.” She suggested.

Scott sighed defeated, “You’re right Cleo. Thank you.” He said with a smile.

“Hey! You guys left me!” Grian squawked as he ran up to them, carrying a bunch of fur. The duo looked over at their short friend and giggled a bit.

“Sorry, G. Didn’t mean to, it just got in my head.” Scott apologized as they headed towards their current base.

Together, they walked in relative silence. Occasionally, they will discuss what other preparations they need to get or set up before winter sets in. Taking care to avoid predators, they arrived at their setup at sunset. Even though it would have been an hour’s walk, Scott and Cleo were not taking any chances to be caught by surprise. Whenever they saw something out of place, they hid beneath roots, behind rocks, or under large leaves.

Their camp was built beneath the roots of one of the many large trees. The roots were tightly woven together making a great defense to keep out predators. There were gaps between the roots allowing entrance from all angles. This was perfect whenever they were chased down by something that could kill them. The gaps allowed sunlight to seep in during the days which was a bonus.

Scott slipped into the knitted roots, followed closely by Grian and Cleo. Inside, a fire pit was dug out in the center, and embers glowed faintly from an early morning fire. A cooking pot rested beside them; remains of breakfast were evident in the pot. Encircling the fire pit were their three sleeping bags and a miscellaneous survival bag. Preserved food, water bottles, and first aid supplies filled the bag in case of an emergency. A pile of twigs, the size of logs to them, were gathered in the corner of the heaven. Overall, a safe place to live. But life in an apocalyptical world is never that simple.

After he set his pack down, Scott walked over to the embers, stoking them with a stick, and blew on them to reignite the flames. Mimicking Scott, Cleo sets her bag down and grabs two branches. She brought them over to the fire pit as Scott got a small flame going. While the other two were working with the fire, Grian gathered the material they collected from the griffin and got to work on crafting gear to withstand the winter chill.

The blond started by using the fur he collected. He had enough fur to craft mittens and boots. He used fabled spider thread to stitch it together, and as treads, he used exotic mushroom bits that were comfortable and similar to rubber, so it was waterproof. Next, he moved to creating cloaks. He retrieved the feathers out of Cleo’s and Scott’s bag and laid them out into three groups. Each group is going to be turned into a cloak. He grabbed more spider strings and began stitching them together. Griffin feathers were perfect for cloaks because they were insulating and waterproof.

Once the fire was going, Scott grabbed some ingredients from their food rations and began cooking dinner. He decided to grab some dried boar meat, strange purple peas, green carrots, and light blue leaves that felt frosty to the touch. He grabbed a water bottle after a last-minute thought. He grabbed the pot and poured some of the water in, rubbing the remains of their breakfast into the water to clean it somewhat, and then poured it out. He set the, now clean, pot in the fire, then placed the rest of the water in the pot and tossed in the other ingredients.

While Scott cooked dinner and Grian made the winter gear, Cleo brought up some important topics while taking inventory of their weapons and sharpening them.

She was wiping off her sword with a leaf when she inquired, “We all agree we can’t stay here for the winter, correct?”

Scott hummed as he stirred the stew he was making. “Agreed. The ground will soon freeze here, leaving us vulnerable to hypothermia even with our sleeping bags and gear. It would be better if we could find a tree hole like last year.” Grian piped in.

“Nah, I nearly slipped off the icy bark multiple times.” Pulling his makeshift wooden needle through another stitch, he added, “Though I agree we need to leave. We’re gonna get snowed in here. Plus, there isn’t water for a good two hours from here. We can’t be making that trip constantly.”

Cleo nodded, now sharpening the clean sword. “So what direction are we heading? We can’t go North again. It’s much too dangerous with all the yeti that come from hibernation.” She remembered, causing a shiver to go down the two guys' spines. Both will never forget the near-death encounter with one of their first year.

Grian frowned as he looked up. “We can’t head west either.” The blue-haired male and redhead looked at the blond confused. He explains, “On the news, I remember them saying tar pits have appeared in that direction. I know it’s been ages, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

Scott nodded in agreement. “So southeast it is.” He stated the others agreed with him. “We’ll head out in the morning. We don’t have much time before winter.” He took the soup off the fire, filled three bowls, and passed them out.

They ate in comfortable silence, enjoying each other's company. They were quite a rag-tag group of people. An architect, rockstar, and teacher. All very different, but all survivors. After dinner, Scott cleaned up and packed while Cleo prepared their weapons. Grian added the finishing touches to the cloaks. Then all of them settled into their sleeping bags to sleep.

The trio headed southeast early the next morning as the sun rose above the horizon. Scott shouldered his pack, the pot tied onto it as well. His new cloak was tightly wrapped around his shoulders, the morning chill nipping at the bare skin of his face. Grian trailed beside him, heaving along his pack and the emergency bag. His face was half hidden in the collar of his sweater, holding his cloak tightly to his chest to keep it closed. Cleo took charge, leading the way. On her person, she carried her pack along with extra weapons.

They traveled for nearly two days before they found something interesting. As they headed in their chosen direction, the large forestry began to thin out. What was even odder was that more hostile creatures seemed to thin out as well. Realizing this, the group exchanged glances before continuing onwards. With every step they took, everything began to paint a picture. A large imprint in the dirt, crushed bushes, and tree stumps without a tree present. Flattened bushes and grass seemed to become normal the farther south they when.

Scott was getting bad vibes from the area. He admitted his reluctance to continue going forward with the group. Both Grian and Cleo agreed, but Grian pointed out they didn’t have much of a choice. Winter was coming too fast, and they couldn’t backtrack. They were running low on water and food. Going back would only spell trouble for them. Scott agreed with Grian’s assessment of the issue, so they all continued, but with caution.

The feeling didn’t leave Scott if only increased as they traveled.

It was one of the coldest days of the year when the trio stumbled upon a large wooden wall. They all cautiously advanced towards the structure, not sure what to make of it. On closer inspection, the wall was made of large planks, identical to the wooden fence humans had in their backyards. There was a human-sized hole in one of the nearby planks.

Cleo turned to them, “I’m going in.” Grian quickly grabbed her arm.

“Like you are! We don’t even know what's behind there!” He viciously argued. “It blocked off for a reason.” Cleo spit back.

“But what choice do we have? We can’t go back! If only one of us goes in, the other two can escape.” While Cleo and Grian had a heated discussion, Scott snuck over to the hole.

Crouching down, Scott peeked into the crack, not prepared for what he saw. A house. A ginormous house stood looming over him. He stumbled back in awe and shock, falling onto his butt. Finally, Cleo and Grian took notice and rushed over to him.

“Scott! Are you okay!? What happened? What did you see?” Cleo fretted over him, double-checking him for injuries, as he was the youngest of the group. The red sweater-wearing mischief maker nodded in agreement.

“I-I-” Scott stuttered for a moment as he collected himself, “It was a house. A…a very large house…” Cleo raised an eyebrow with confusion.

“A house? What do you mean Scott? Explain.” She demanded him, picking him up from the floor. Grian stood back, giving the younger boy a stern look.

Swallowing hard, Scott tried to explain. “I think could be a giant den, but it looks just like a normal human house!” Scott grabbed both of his companions’ hands and dragged him over to the niche in the fence. “It’s easier to show than explain.”

They all crouched, the blue-haired boy doing it first, his friends mimicking him quickly. Grian gasped and laughed in disbelief. Cleo muttered a quiet, “No way…”

The house itself was more of a cottage. It was quite small, and the siding was wooden but had some technological advances. The roof was constructed out of stone and wood with a chimney coming out of it. The whole house was painted dark, almost black, purple, and grey, giving a sharp contrast to the bright pink and red of the garden that sat nestled in the space between the fence and the house.

A bright pink brick path cut through the garden, with red bricks outlining it. Garden beds were sectioned out, the path acting as a barrier. Many plants had blackened and withered; colored leaves scattered around their bases, branches barren. There were a few exemptions, a still-green pine-like bush, and a few stubborn flowers.

Standing up, Scott crawled through the gap, tossing his bag through first. Cleo and Grian grabbed him by the ankles. “What do you think you're doing!? Are you nuts!?” Cleo shrieked.

“You can’t possibly be thinking of us going in there, do you?” Grian added, a bit frantic.

Scott kicked away their hands and asked, “What choice do we have? We either go through here to continue our journey,” Scott looks back over his shoulder with a grin, “Or we are set for winter, living off the giants.” Cleo and Grian shared a nervous look before letting the younger boy go.

Scott finished climbing through a brushed himself off, glancing back to see Cleo making the trip next. Grian commented, “I hope you are sure about this Scott.” He quickly army crawled through once Cleo got out.

Scott nodded. “I am sure. We can check it out, if we think it's too dangerous, we can grab some food and water then leave.” He explained his logic.

Cleo slowly nodded, “I see. That makes sense. Giants need mountains of food to survive so it’s only inevitable for them to have food lying around.”

Grian added, “And gallons of water somewhere. Which we need desperately.”

Scott grinned, “Plus, think of how warm it will be?” He pulled his cloak tighter around his body. “The giants will have fires or something to keep their house warm, in turn, we will be warm.”

Cleo sighs, defeated. “Fine. We’ll check it out,” She stressed, “But! If there is any sign of danger, we are leaving.”

Both guys silently celebrated, then picked up their packs, heading into the looming shriveled-up dead plants of the flower bed. Cleo sighed and shook her head, following the two numbskulls to prevent them from causing any trouble.

=============================

Traveling through the garden was uneventful except for a close call with a sphinx. The trio hid underneath a few loose leaves and waited for it to pass before continuing onto the house. When they reached the side of the house, they quickly discovered a hole in the siding, leading underneath the house. From there, they managed to shimmy up a pipe, cross a support beam, and avoid live red stone wires using some skilled parkour and teamwork to get into the wall of the house.

Cleo and Scott gave one last tug, helping Grian up through the clean-cut hole where the wires lead into and spread throughout the house. The three of them glance around, pausing momentarily to get their bearings. Before they could leave, the vibration of giant footsteps shook the wall they inhabited. Cleo instinctually crouched down, seeming to be getting ready to spring into action at the drop of a hat. Grian froze like a deer in headlights, looking like he was about to leap back down the hole they just arrived through. Scott felt his heart beating rapidly in his chest, trying to leap out of his chest. He held his breath, stiff as a board till the footsteps faded away. The group collectively breathed a sigh of relief. They quickly gathered their stuff and scurried in the opposite direction of the footsteps.

After traversing the walls, they finally settled into a corridor that seemed to have a lesser giant presence. Grian heavily flopped onto the floor next to his pack, going limp against the board acting as the floor, grumbling, “I hope this was worth it. I’m exhausted and sore.”

Scott looked up at him from digging around in his pack and tried to reassure him. “It’ll get better from here on out. It was just a pain to get in here.” He pulled out his sleeping bag and laid it out on the floor. “We won’t have to move anymore so we can make a proper bed at some point. And once we get a layout of the house, we can find a better space to call home.”

Cleo viciously shushed them, whisper-shouting. “Keep your voice down you two, we don’t want to alert the giants to our position.” She warily eyed the walls around them, like a giant would burst through any second. Scott rolled his eyes but lowered his voice.

“Tomorrow we will explore deeper into the interior of the house, find a water source, and get more food rations. Those are our top priorities.” He pulled out the meager food rations they had left and passed them around to the two. Grian sat up from his sprawled-out position, accepting the food and plan without any comments.

Cleo took the food before hesitantly questioning, “What if one of us gets caught by a giant? Then what?”

The question honestly catches Scott off guard. He always knew it was a possibility in the back of his mind, but he never planned for it to happen to any of them. The blue-haired male pressed his lips together as he contemplated the answer. Logically, it would be best for the others to escape while they had the chance. But Scott knew deep down neither of them would abandon each other.

He sighs heavily, “Look Cleo, we both know the logical answer, but we also know that we won’t follow through with it.” He gives her a tired smile, feeling Grian observing the conversation silently. “It’s been a long day. Let’s sleep on it and we can discuss it in the morning.”

The redhead huffed but gave an equally tired smile. “Fine, okay yeah. We’ll figure this out when were aren’t dead on our feet and our brains are mush.” The rest of the night they spent in heavy silence.

The small red-sweater fiend fell asleep first, snuggled deep into his sleeping bag, snoring softly. Cleo was quick to follow, her arms tucked under her chin as she lay on her stomach, passed out cold, drool dripping down her chin. The only one still awake was Scott. He tossed and turned for hours, Cleo’s question echoing through his mind. With a frustrated sigh, he got up from his sleeping bag.

The ex-rockstar went to his pack, changing his shirt and slipping on his favorite jean jacket. Then he grabbed his bow and quiver, glancing over to the other two frequently in case they get woken up. As he was about to stand up, he decided to grab his knife as a precaution. He stood up, making a silent promise that he was just going to go on a quick walk and then be right back.

With a light bounce in his step, Scott set off down the corridor toward where most of the noise seemed to be coming from. Going on walks or runs always cleared his head if he had trouble sleeping. This would be no different.

The beginning of the corridor was normal, dark, empty, and chilly. He still was alert in case, but it didn’t seem like anything was there. As he went deeper, he noticed there was a soft glow emitting from farther down the hallway, as well as warmth coming from the source. He bit the inside of his cheek, debating if he should check it out or not. Knowing it was stupid, he continued onward.

As he approached the light, the wall warmed up, making Scott melt slightly. The heat felt good against his icy skin. Along with the heat, he could hear faint murmurs getting louder, causing him to slow his pace down and be more careful. The murmurs soon turned into voices, that turned into loud booming voices. Soon he recognized that he was heading toward where the inhabitants of the house were. The closer he got, the lighter his footsteps got. He turned the corner to where the heat and light were the brightest. He was relieved that the way was empty, but he did find a crack in the wall.

Now that he was close enough, he could understand what the giants were saying. Mindful not to make a sound, the blue-haired boy crept closer to the hole in the wall. He crouched down, kneeling beside the opening, preparing himself. He peered out and made an audible gasp at what he saw.

From his position, Scott could tell it was a living room area. A large yellow couch sat in the center of the room in front of the cobblestone fireplace, which had a nice large blazing fire in it, heating the surroundings. The walls were decorated with shelves of pants and paintings. On each end of the couch, lamps powered by red stone sat. A bookshelf filled with books was pressed into one corner of the room. But none of those things caught Scott’s attention.

It was the giants themselves. Two giants sat on the couch, chatting to one another. One seemed to be female and the other male.

The female sat facing towards the wall where Scott was hiding. She had reddish-orange braided hair, with mismatching-colored eyes. One a dark green, the other a bright red. A pair of deer ears and antlers sprung from her head as well. He was wearing a red T-shirt and black overalls. The man sitting beside her laughed at something she said, allowing Scott to see his face.

The guy had a yellow mark, like a scar around one of his reddish-brown eyes. In his brown hair, two yellow demon horns poked out as he moved his head. Glancing at him more, the small human notices a demon tail lazily swaying near the floor. Black spiked bracelets were on both his wrists, as well as a black sleeveless leather jacket resting on him, and a shirt with a yellow “i” underneath it.

Scrambling back, Scott couldn’t believe his eyes. His back hit the other wall harshly, but he couldn’t care less as he tried to get his breathing under control. Tears threatened his eyes as he closed his eyes, his heartbeat deafening in his ears. He grabbed his pants to ground himself. ‘No, no.’ He thinks to himself. ‘Those can’t be them. Gem and Impulse died the day the outbreak happened.’

Covering his mouth, Scott opened his eyes, trying to muffle his sobs, eyes locked to the grainy wooden broad. His body trembled as he remembered it. He wished he could have been there for his bandmates. Movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention. His eyes widened in terror as he noticed Gem look-alike moved slightly to the left…and was certainly looking directly at him.

The teal-haired human scrambled backward, away from the hole, away from the imposters. He clambered to his legs and booked it down the dark corridor. Hot fat tears dripped down his chin as ran, calling himself a coward for not protecting his old friends, practically family. The survivor bumped into several walls; his vision blurred from the water in his eyes. He hardly noticed the chill growing as he ran.

He finally slowed down when the tears slowed down, and his cheeks were icy from the cold in the air. Wiping his eyes and then closing them, he took a very deep breath, to calm his racing heart. Once his heart was beating normally, Scott opened his eyes and headed back to Cleo and Grian, convincing himself that he was just tired and imagining his friends.

When he reached the small camp they had, Scott put his bow gear away then his knife. After putting his gear away, he climbed into his sleeping bag. He glanced at his current friends. Both Grian and Cleo were knocked out cold. Grian was still snoring away, and Cleo had rolled onto her side. He watched his friends sleeping peacefully before relaxing, deciding that he should just focus on the present instead of the past.

With that, Scott got comfortable and drifted off into a deep sleep.

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During a temporary intermission, Scott stepped out from backstage onto the street for a quick breather. Brushing his hand through his hair, stressing over the night’s events. Gem collapsed suddenly during their last song. Impulse had caught her before her head could hit the floor. They called an intermission even though Gem had woken up a few moments after she passed out, claiming she was fine.

Due to Impulse’s and Scott’s insistence, they got a venue nurse to check her out. Impulse noticed Scott was stressing out by pacing around, so he told the guitar player to go take a breather to calm down. Reluctantly, he listened to the drummer but had him promise to tell him what the doctor said. Said drummer grinned, nodded then shoved him out the door, telling him that everything would be alright.

So here he was now, standing outside a backstage door on the unusually warm September night. Sighing, he headed down the street, pulling up the hood of his blue zip-up hoodie to avoid attention. Drunk concertgoers stumbled out of the bar, laughing, and giggling around him as headed down the street. His original plan was to walk around the block and return backstage to check on Gem.

His walk was doing its job as he slowly started to calm down after turning the first corner. He started to think more rationally now that he was calmer and could face the diagnosis. Turning the corner to the street that would lead him back to the concert, he was met by a gaggle of girls, who recognized him. Resigning himself to his fate, he pulled out a pen and started signing autographs.

Once the girls were taken care of, he made his way back to the alleyway. As he was about to enter backstage, the guitar player was startled by the sounds cracking around him. He spotted cracks growing up the side of the monstrous building. He couldn’t get a clear view from where he stood, but a noticeable dent in the domed roof had started to bugle out. He backpedaled away, knowing he was in a dangerous position, Scott ran for the alley exit.

With a loud crash, debris came raining down from the once-pristine concert hall. The cyanette made it out of the alley just in time as the concert hall's walls collapsed. Dust and screams filled the surrounding area. He spun around, trying to see what was happening, shielding his eyes from the cloud of debris threatening to blind him.

Coughing harshly, Scott stumbled out of the dust cloud, using his shirt as a mask as he guided other blinded spectators. Once on a clear street, he glanced back towards the concert hall. A sudden terror stuck through him as he spotted something out of a fairy tale. A monstrous giant was standing in the middle of the venue where he and his friends were just playing minutes ago.

The back was facing Scott, a wave of messy hair trailed down the back and it had something growing from its head. He couldn’t get a good look at the giant before more chaos broke out. The survivors of the building collapse sprinted out of the rubble, covered in dust and dirt.

Realization struck Scott like a lightning bolt. Gem and Impulse. They were still in there. They could be trapped under the rubble. The first instinct he had was to run back to get Gem and Impulse. He started running towards the venue as people ran away from the giant. Before he had a chance to go farther, a female police officer snagged his shoulder dragging him away as he kicked and fought.

Just as Scott was getting desperate, another giant grew from the rubble. This one grew into a sitting position. Taking advantage of the rock star’s momentary shock, the officer dragged him farther away, pulling him toward the subway tunnels. From there, she ushered him towards a group large group of people who were all survivors of the incident.

She then explained that they would be evacuated when the next train came, this being the fastest and safest way to get them all out without issues. The guitar player tuned her out, staring at the stairs, hoping that any minute his friends would be carried or come walking down them. Many people whispered and murmured, clearly anxious about the situation.

Suddenly the whole station shook, and the fluorescent lights swayed from where they were hung. The officer quickly grabbed her radio, pressing it up to her mouth. The station shook again, some dust falling from the ceiling, making the crowd cry out in fear. The cyanette flinched as a thunderous thump came from above them. She informed the crowd that the giants were on the move.

She looked grim and panicked as she shouted over another footstep that the two were heading towards the station. The cries of the terrified people echoed off the walls of the subway station. Scott’s blood felt like ice in his veins as he felt the ground shake harder, all the oxygen was stuck out of his lungs as panic consumed him.

A cheer and the screeching of wheels knocked him out of the all-consuming panic that overcame him. The subway train pulled into the station, opening all its doors. The crowd quickly swarmed into the small tram. The officer tried to do crowd control, but everyone was in a panic. Scott kept looking over to the stairs, and then to the train. Biting the bullet and praying to Aeor, the teal-haired boy slipped up the stairwell, ignoring the call of the officer, leading to the ground level. The ground around him shook with the weight of the giant as it came closer.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he was met with a startling sight. Buildings were toppled and cars were wrecked. In front of him, the giants were walking together, taking off building tops, seeming looking for something. One of the giants spotted him, making him step backward. His foot slipped on a step, making him fall down the stairs partly.

He groaned, pain echoing through his body. Thunderous hurried footsteps pounded toward him, causing him to force himself up. A loud creaking sound caught Scott’s attention as he glanced up. A part of the office building above him broke off and hurled towards him. He covered his head with his arms and then blacked out. But before, he swore he heard Gem call out his name…

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

Scott jolted up in his sleeping bag with a gasp, looking around frantically before realizing where he was. He grabbed his chest, doing quiet breathing exercises before he relaxed fully. Once calmed down, he noted that Cleo and Grian were already up. They both were looking at him with concern from where they stood.

Cleo was the first to speak, “Scott bud, you good?” Her voice echoed the worry in her body language. All he could do was nod as he stood up stiffly. He moved around robotically. She paused in stuffing her pack.

Grian huffed, “Scott, we all know you are not okay. So what’s wrong?” Scott scowled, hating that Grian could see through him. He packed in silence for a few more minutes while his friends patiently waited for him to respond.

He finally sighed, “It was just a memory.” he said softly. “The day the apocalypse started; my bandmates were in the concert hall when it started.” He viewed Cleo’s and Grian's reactions. Cleo looked sympathetic told him and murmured, “Oh Scott…”

Grian had a similar expression. The ex-rockstar simply shook his head. “It’s in the past, no need for sympathy. We all lost someone so it's water under the bridge.” He hefted the pack onto his shoulder. Grian and Cleo shared a concerned look before looking back at him.

Cleo spoke up, “We are here if you ever need to talk Scott, death isn’t something that can be taken lightly.” She walked over and gently patted his shoulder. “We got your back bud.”

Grian came up onto his other side and nodded. “Yeah, if you wanna talk, we're here to listen.” Scott scoffed at them but smiled slightly at their comfort.

“Thank guys, I appreciate it.” He gives each of them a quick hug before stepping back. “Now let's get going, we need to find water and food.” He turns around before they can respond, heading down the path from the night before.

The others quickly caught up to him. The three of them chatted quietly as they walked through the wooden corridors. The farther they traveled, the quieter they became till they were silent. The sound of creatures moving became clearer as they headed towards the giant's living quarters. As Scott examined the walls around them, he realized that they were closing in on where he was spotted last night.

A pit of dread grew in the cyanette’s stomach as the hole from last night seemed bigger last night. Grian slowly approached and grimaced as he stepped in something sticky. He pulled his foot out easily, making Scott breathe a sigh of relief. The dirty blond walked across the sticky spot without trouble. Cloe followed next, then Scott. He glanced out of the hole but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

Traveling deeper into the house, they soon smelled something delicious. They all perked up as they knew they were getting closer to the kitchen. Grian blushed as his stomach rumbled loudly, making Scott and Cleo silently chuckle. With a pep in their step, they sped up, knowing they were close to their goal.

The voices of the giants became clear and loud, letting them know they were in the right place. The trio slowed their pace. Grian looked nervous and anxious. Cleo looked determined, pressing her lips into a thin line. Scott’s blood rushed through his ears, but he felt an odd calm flood his system. He pressed his ear against the wall, curious what the giants were talking about.

“Are you even sure this is gonna work?” A feminine voice asked, skepticism in her voice. A masculine voice replied, “Of course! I made it, didn’t I?” A smug voice answered. “You say that now.” The female voice countered as she seemingly left the room as her voice got farther away.

Scott felt the tension leave his shoulders as the male voice gets farther away as well. He turns to his found family and whispers, “They left, we’re in the clear.” Cloe nodded but said, “Still we need to find a way in and out quickly because we don’t know how long.” Scott nodded in agreement. Grian frowned a bit but nodded as well.

They explored more of the wall, getting increasingly nervous when they thought they found a loose board, but it was glued over or something was blocking the entrance. It was later in the day when they finally found a perfectly round hole in the wall, looking like it was drilled. Cleo was hesitant to use it, but when Scott’s and Grian’s stomachs groaned, along with her own, she relented.

Grian peeked out first, not seeing anything unusual, he ushered for Cleo and Scott. When Scott stepped out, the breath was knocked out of him. The kitchen around them was so large but beautiful. Flowers were painted along the cabinets; pink trim gave life to the bland wooden counters. A black and white checker floor covered the area below them. But what caught his attention was the paintings hung on the walls. They were landscape paintings, of a beach, a meadow, and a forest. He shook his head, to stop getting distracted.

Looking over, Cleo and Grian seemed to be in awe as well, except they were looking at something else. The guitar player’s jaw dropped as they spotted what they were staring at. On the counter, a large cake sat. Drool pooled in Scott’s mouth as it was decorated with berries and white and pink frosting. Swallowing, Scott also noticed a fruit bowl next to the cake.

Grian took a step towards the cake before Cleo grabbed his shoulder. She whispered to him furiously, “We can’t. It’ll be too noticeable.” Grian whispered back, “Come on, one berry.” He begged. Cleo brazenly shook her head. “No. Too dangerous.” Scott couldn’t help but agree with Cloe’s sentiment.

“The fruit bowl could be good.” He points it out. Cleo looked over to Scott and nodded. “Yeah, that seems more reasonable.” Grian crossed his arms but reluctantly agreed. Scott headed towards the fruit bowl, having to walk around the edge of the cake. Cleo and Grian followed behind him.

They all froze as a quiet click was heard. Scott glanced around trying to find the sort of noise. It was only when he looked down, he realized he had stepped on a mechanical button. He felt the blood drain from his face as he hopped off in a panic, turning to his friends.

“Run! It’s a-“He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as his feet are suddenly pulled out from under him, making him yelp. Two more cries follow as well. He felt himself get pulled unwillingly to a metal circle, his friends joining him shortly after. He looked down at his shoes, his eyes widening in panic. They were coated in metal flakes, making them magnetized.

Realization hit Scott, the sticky stuff. It was glue. And they walked through it. And it was filled with these metal flakes. Cloe was trying to pull herself off the magnet, while Grian struggled violently. Scott began trying to get his shoes off to escape but giant footsteps made his blood go cold.

Scott’s breathing picked up as the Impulse-looking one entered the kitchen and cheered loudly, making all the humans flinch harshly. “Gem! I caught him! And two others.” Scott covered his ears with the loud voice, tears threatening to escape his eyes. It’s not them. It can’t be.

His breathing picked up as the giant came closer to them. His struggles got more desperate to get his shoes off. A scream rang through his ears, and it took him a moment to realize that it came from him as Impulse-look alike reached for him. The horned giant seemed taken aback by his sudden cry, pausing in his advances. His friends were shouting and yelling at the giant to leave him alone.

The Gem-look-alike came into the room. She walked over and frowned then scolded the horned giant. “You idiot, you’re scaring him. Don’t just try to grab him.” She crouched down and in a very soft voice, “Hey there Scott, can you count to five for me?” The ex-guitarist couldn’t help but close his eyes and picture Gem holding his hand, rubbing circles on his back as he calmed down from a panic attack. He quietly counted to five, taking deep breaths as he did.

Opening his eyes again, he was considerably calmer, but his heart rate spiked as he saw the giant smiling down at him. “There you go. It’s okay, we’re not going to hurt you.” She reassured them. Cleo spit. “Yeah right! And how do you know Scott? Let him alone!” Cloe struggled hard.

Scott croaked, “You can’t be them. They died the day of the outbreak.” Tears rolled down his cheeks as he lay on his back, trapped. Both his friends and giants looked at him. The deer giant frowned, “Oh Scott, no. I am Gem and that still is Impulse. We just look a little different and bigger.” Gem tried soothing Scott by touching him.

He flinched away from the large hand, sobbing, “Let us go then, please.” He begged, adrenaline and fear blocking out the hunger and thirst he felt. “Please Gem.” Both Gem and Impulse shared an uneasy look before Gem sadly shook her head.

“I’m sorry, but we can’t in good conscious.” She said softly, making Scott’s throat close with terror. “You three look like you are about to drop dead in a day. You are all so skinny and it’s scary.” She explained, as Impulse carried in a fish tank-looking thing but built for a human.

Scott didn’t have it in him to shout or yell as she gently pried him off the magnet and placed him into the tank. She did this with Grian and Cleo as well. Grian shrieked and tried to bite her as she picked him up. Cleo glared but didn’t do much, not wanting to cause them to get angry.

Gem looked at them sadly. “This will be only temporary.” She comforted. “We just need to humanify the house and get you guys healthy.” Scott glared at her through tear-filled eyes, through gritted teeth he mutters, “I hate you. I hate both of you. You are not them.” Shock then hurt filled Gem’s eye but she replied, “You know you don’t, you just need to get used to us like this.”

Impulse looked hurt as well as he added, “I’m sorry for scaring you all. But it’s true, this is only temporary. I hope you’ll trust us soon as well.” He carried the enclosure over to a table and placed it down gently. The walking made the humans flinch harshly. Impulse apologized softly then turned away. Impulse and Gem left the room after that, saying that they were giving them space to adjust.

Scott bushed his hand through the plush carpet bottom of the tank, glaring at it like it had wronged him. He immediately took off his shoes and chucked them at the glass around them with a frustrated cry. He watched them bounce off the glass onto the floor. He wiped his eyes and examined their temporary home.

There was a little kitchen area in one corner, it had a fridge, sink, and oven. Another was a walled-off room with a door labeled ‘bathroom’. The room the three of them seemed to be in was a living room of some sort, it had a couch, coffee table, and loveseat. Looking over to the last side of the tank, it was also walled off but with two doors. Both were labeled ‘Bedrooms’ in fancy bold letters.

Grian shrieked, “How did they know that we were here!? We were so careful.” He threw up his arms in frustration as he flopped onto the loveseat. Scott’s stomach churned with guilt because he caused this. Cloe scowled at him. “Get off there, we are not entertaining them with thinking we’re comfortable.” Grian huffed, “What’s the point? We might as well take advantage of this situation.”

Scott walked to the miniature kitchen and looked through the cupboards, to get away from the arguing of the other two and through curiosity. He was pleasantly surprised to find that they were filled with grains and dried fruit. He looked in another and found plates, cups, and silverware. He took three cups hesitantly and walked over to the faucet, filling them will water.

Once all three cups were filled, he walked back to the other two, who had stopped arguing when he turned on the water. He handed each of them a cup and said, “Here, we need it. I don’t care if it’s dosed or poisoned, we will die of dehydration if we don’t.” Grian eagerly down his cup, while Cleo cautiously sniffed it before sipping it. Scott slowly drained his cup. The water felt nice on his dry throat.

Cleo finished her cup and sighed. “That helped clear my head.” She looked at Grian. “I’m sorry, I suppose you’re right. We can rest up and regain our energy for a while then we can escape in due time.” She walked to the kitchen, placed her cup in the sink, and grabbed dried fruit for each of them, passing them to Scott and Grian.

Scott nodded and whispered, “I’m sorry, it’s my fault we’re in this mess.” He took a small bite of his fruit. Grian shook his head, swallowing as he did. “Don’t blame yourself, it was bound to happen eventually. We’re just lucky it was your old friends.” Grian happily munched on his dried fruit. Cloe gently hugged him.

“Don’t blame yourself kiddo, we all agreed to go into the house,” Cleo reassured. “So don’t blame this completely on yourself.” Scott sighed and replied, “Okay…” He still felt guilty for not telling them he was seen last night but decided to change the conversation.

Scott walked to one of the rooms and looked back at them. “I’m gonna take a nap. I’m exhausted. Wake me up if they come back.” He said before opening the door and closing the door behind him. The bedroom was simple, a bed and a wardrobe were the only two thing decorating the room.

The cyan-haired boy climbed into the bed and curled up in the sheets. Tears pooled in his eyes as he buried his face into the pillows, hiccupping softly as he thought of how Gem and Impulse could do this to him. Sobs escaped him as he dragged Cleo and Grian into this mess as well. It was all his fault. He soon cried himself to exhaustion, his unconscious consuming him. His last thoughts before he fell unconscious were “I’m sorry everyone.”

#dangthatsalongname #scott smajor #smajor1995 #smajor #alternate universe #mcyt #geminitay #zombiecleo #life series #secret life #session 7 #giant/tiny #giants #fanfic #long post #long reads

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vellichorom · 3 months

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i feel like this is an obvious question based on what you've said abt tsp,exe in previous moments, but is it malware of some sort?

what im asking is: if you were to download the stanley parable.exe onto your computer, would the game (or ig thierry) do typical creepypasta virus game things like encrypting your files, getting a hold of your personal info, putting pop-ups on your screen that either multiply or dont close whenever you try to close them, manually crash/turn off/restart your computer, or other adjacent things?

as a matter of fact, it does ~

are the ".exe" genre of games considered malware ??? i mean, i know of ones that could be but... curious;

now, i of course welcome my beloved @tomiechu's input as well here if they have anything to add, but the way i see it;

your personal information & files are safe! most of the odd happenings occur within the game & tucked in its own files; the worst you may have to worry about is your storage space getting filled brimming, or the occasional bug or buggy pop up. it's one of those things you have to consciously go & find in your computer more than it is in your face, methink.

what is it that's taking up that storage space? well, the game's a bit heftier & bloated than the original game would be, & while its files are getting moved around, altered, & deleted all the time ( due to thierry actively updating the thing ), you're likely to find a couple of his digital footprints, a few notes & to do lists, stuff like that. among other things... a couple audio clips dated back to the skip button period, a thorough, drawn chart of rosemary's anatomy, a few notes meant to be scattered in the office that have nothing to do with the in-game lore... et cetera.

in-game, the gameplay is relatively normal - as much you'd probably expect from the base game, but wow... there's a LOT of endings to this thing, isn't there? & the game is liable to freeze & pause in certain rooms & areas, textures of red may seem to flicker in in random spots & may stay there, depending. there IS an occasional jumpscare in the form of some horrific bug - perhaps like the sound of grinding or the visage of a character without a face, but nothing the game should have pre-programmed; nothing with a record it should have ever been. fans of the game ( in this world ) are truly puzzled.

there were once reports of players being able to find traces of old viscera on the compactor plates, or outright walking in on something they shouldn't have. theories have sprung up that The Stanley Parable is actually meant to be more of a horror game beyond mere psychological play, but not everyone can agree on this. any of these reports sent back to the developer OR his accounts are met with radio silence or being told they're just screwing around.

things like that, you know! relatively " tame, " but not things that should be or happen. thierry can't make heads or tails of it either.

ah well.

#anonymous #inbox #TSP blogging #TSP.exe #IT'S HERE WE LEAN MORE INTO THE DOT EXE RENDITION OF IT I SUPPOSE #god i sound like i'm setting up an arg i hate it /silly #BUT YEAH. GAME'S HAUNTED & FUCKED #also this takes place in a world where This Is TSP there isn't another one this one happens to contend with #this is THE one but it's fucked up for some people #with also mysterious roots attached & only one known developer #THAT BEING. the narrator #even if he says he's taken help from others he's the only credit

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aggravateddurian · 7 months

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SubSurf: My Cyberpunk SF/Fantasy Universe I've been working on for just over 8 years now...

SubSurf is a near-future cyberpunk urban fantasy universe, set in alternate universe. In this universe, a fantastical element known as 'Etherite' has propelled science and technology. Etherite has also fundamentally affected the development of humans. New species of flora and fauna have popped up across the world.

You might recognise them from fantasy, maybe like those seen in DnD, Skyrim or Shadowrun, but different in their own ways, the consequence of the circumstances of their creation.

Before we begin, let's check the news...

Florida man strikes again!

Now, some of this might sound like a TTRPG sourcebook, and that's because I started this project as a TTRPG, and back then my cyberpunk of choice was Shadowrun (I am a glutton for punishment).

Part 1: What is a Subsurfer?

The term 'subsurfer' started appearing in slang around 2025. The term referred to mercenaries and punks who used the disused Los Angeles Subsurface Transit (LAST) Network tunnels during the Third Continental War (also known as the First Intercorporate War) to traverse the city.

It also had the connotation of being associated with underground culture (e.g. punk) culture. It is therefore accurate to state that the term 'subsurfer' is synonymous with the term 'cyberpunk.'

Part 2: The Subsurfer Life

Subsurfer Archetypes

A list of the typical roles or specialties of mercenaries in the 2080s.

Street Warrior

The Street Warrior is the ur-archetypical Subsurfer. The first Street Warriors were the Baywood Ronin, a crew of subsurfers who revolted against a corp-backed gang in Baywood, on the south side of Morro City, in 2028. Prior to that, without a unified term, Street Warriors were often referred to as gunslingers, street ninja, cyber ninja, street samurai, cyber knights and a thousand other variations, some of which survive today as self-applied designations of a particular speciality in combat.

Street Warriors are the muscle of a mercenary crew. They specialise in the very delicate art of applying firepower or force to targets, making physical holes in things, knocking teeth out and any other number of combat-related tasks. Depending on the speciality, they can range from agile, acrobatic shinobi types to the generic ‘operator’ with an assault rifle, breachers who specialise in explosives and CQB combat with shotguns, all the way to brute force muscly chrome-heads decked from head to toe in subdermal nanoweave armour and equipped with a pair of tech-fists capable of punching clean through tank armour.

Warpers

The Warper is a specialist in psionic warfare. Etherite warps reality, and some beings with large etherite presence in their body, due to genetic predilection to naturally accumulating it in their bodies (and not getting horrible cancer or mutations in the process) or because a corp decided to ‘accidentally’ drop an airship’s worth of etherite dust into the river and your poor family (who can’t afford water filters) had to drink etherite-laced water for the formative years of your life.

Nobody is born ‘magic,’ you develop it. Warpers are powerful force multipliers or gamechangers on the battlefields of the 2080s, and one that corporations and the military rarely employ, because they’re prone to etherwrack, a condition that’s not unlike Violent Cybertech Dysmorphic Psychosis (VCDP, or borg-rage, the final, and often terminal stage of CDP). This means that almost every Warper’s a subsurfer. A subsurfer with the ability to warp space and reality, granting them capabilities on par with some of the most advanced cyberware.

Codecasters

Codecasting is the ‘lite’ version of webcrawling, in that their work exclusively takes place in meatspace. Their weapon of choice is the WANDeck (sometimes just called a ‘wand’), either a small, PDA or phone-sized device they wear on their hip, or in recent years, a neural implant attached to a pair of wireless transceivers mounted on the user’s temples, or inside their optical implants. The codecaster uses a set (deck) of pre-built programs to wirelessly (but sometimes, surface crawling as well) penetrate enemy nets and distribute (cast) their pre-coded attacks on their enemies. This has effects ranging from causing their optical implants to reset, to triggering critical system failures in their enemies, or underclocking an enemy’s control limit to induce borg-rage.

Anybody with a WANDeck and cursory web knowledge can become a codecaster, but the best codecasters have custom rigs, sometimes even backpack rigs, or significantly chrome their own bodies (on par with the most advanced webcrawlers), and code their own programs.

Webcrawlers

Webcrawlers, sometimes called ‘spiders’ (particularly corporate or government operatives), are network specialists who engage in the riskiest, but most rewarding way of accessing the net… connecting your physical body to the net and directly interfacing with it. Webcrawlers are often chromed in unique, often lifechanging and permanent ways, to achieve this. This technology has only existed in the last forty years. Prior to this, webcrawlers ‘ran on the web’ by entering the net through a deck (now called a LANDeck, or simply a spider deck), often worn on their hip or forearm, which contained their programs and other advanced tools for interfacing with the web.

In the 2040s, the cybertech firm MacroComm, the grandfather of the modern webcrawling profession, developed neurodecks, which allowed crawlers to ditch the deck (though many prefer the added layer of protection the deck’s ICE system provides) and directly interface with the web. Today, most webcrawlers are the latter type, who have neurodecks implanted directly into their brains. Some webcrawlers accessorise their neurodecks, including datavols (data volumes, essentially expandable storage devices) to store programs and viruses, and some even have branched into the world of codecasting, augmenting their neurodecks with caster transceivers.

Techies

Techies are specialists in a range of technical fields, ranging from car repair to advanced surgery. They are an essential part of any merc crew, even if they don’t go out into the field and get shot at daily. Most techies specialise in weapons systems, vehicles, or drones, and build a repertoire of contacts, resources, and knowledge to become highly skilled in their field. Those who choose the field of drone ops, vehicle operations (e.g., becoming a professional wheelman or pilot) or medicine undergo extensive training for years, often starting their career working for a gov or corp before they go out on the streets.

The most famous and well-known techies are cybertechs and cybersurgeons (sometimes corrupted to cygeons), the specialists in cyberware maintenance and modification, and implantation and removal of cyberware, respectively. The best comparison is the difference between an electronics technician and an electrician.

Fixers

In a world where crime is just about the only way to make a living in the neon-choked streets of the dark future, it makes sense that someone who is a combination between logistics specialist, organised crime boss, mercenary commander, arms dealer, contract lawyer and celebrity agent is one of the most important professions. Meet the fixer, a logistical master who uses their contacts and connections to arrange jobs for mercenaries, or even for non-mercs, sometimes fixers are employed by bands or media crews to arrange logistics or gigs. Sometimes, they cover up ‘unfortunate accidents’ for corps, others, they’re arranging the shipment of arms through restricted zones, and other times, they’re helping negotiate deals between rival gangs.

The job of the fixer is highly rewarding, but fraught with risk. Fixers are one of the most dangerous subsurfer jobs there is. Betraying a crew for a leg up on another lead could lead to the crew (or a survivor) hunting you down and giving you a lead injection to the back of the head. Organising and executing a hit on a corp could lead to said corp ‘paying you a visit,’ working with gangs could lead to rival gangs doing what gangs normally do, but to you. Piss off a band you organised locations and gigs for, they might destroy your reputation… and the less said about what happens if you decide to fuck an journo, the better.

I'm going to post additional lore over the next few days. Next will explain what Crystal City is, and why living there is worse than living in San Fran or LA, as well as the variants of humanity (and inhumanity) that exist in the world of SubSurf.

#cyberpunk #urban fantasy #original fiction #subsurf universe #lore post #worldbuilding #it's taken me 8 years to be comfortable enough to post any of this

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oraclekleo · 2 years

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Jackson Wang (GOT7 / Solo) Relationship Role Analysis based on Tarot Reading

Hello and welcome!

I’m Kleo and I’m here to present some k-pop related tarot readings to you.

Disclaimer:

I would like to state that all these readings have a purely entertainment nature and their purpose is to bring some fun into my and hopefully yours lives. I have never ever met any of the idols / actors / celebrities in my readings, I don’t know them personally. Tarot reading isn’t an exact science and I can never guarantee any of it. Most of it is my intuition mixed with fantasy. Don’t take these readings seriously and don’t base any important decisions on tarot readings only, use your common sense.

If you wish to request a tarot reading, please read the pinned post on my profile first to see the instructions on how to request. I only do readings for idols / actors / celebrities of 18 years of age or older. Requests for readings including younger people will be automatically dismissed. If you feel uncomfortable with these tarot readings, do not engage in reading my posts. Thank you for understanding.

Reading Info:

Reading Type: Single - Couple

Requested: Yes - No

Deck: E. A. Poe

Spread: Relationship Role

Questions:

Friend

Boyfriend

Lover

Husband

One-Night-Stand

Full Name: Wang Ka Yee

Stage Name: Jackson

Group: GOT7 / Solo

Jackson Wang

(Jackson - Solo / GOT7)

Deck: E. A. Poe

Spread: Relationship Role

Friend - 9 of Cups, Knight of Swords

Jackson is likely to be very popular among his friends. He’s both literally glowing with a good mood and spreading happiness and also a fun, witty and daring companion to have. He’s likely to be a perfect wing man to his friends when they need to impress a stranger, as well as a protective knight who will walk his drunk friend home just to make sure they arrive safe and sound.

Boyfriend - Ace of Wands, Ace of Cups

Now take how great a friend Jackson is and multiply it with 10 to get how excellent a boyfriend he becomes when in love. Jackson is both a sensitive, romantic and loving boyfriend coming to the date with a bunch of flowers, as well as a passionate, creative and enthusiastic boyfriend coming up with the most unique places to go or things to do on dates. His partner will never feel neglected or bored, ever. Jackson will send sweet loving texts as well as silly memes. He’s the perfect boyfriend. Period.

Lover - 3 of Cups, 10 of Wands

I’m starting to get a bit bored describing Jackson, to be honest. Anyway! For Jackson his lover is the priority #1. He’s a passionate lover with stamina like a racing horse and he will probably go all night till his partner is worn out. At the same time, he wants to have fun. Jackson is a playful and lighthearted kind of lover, he likes to goof around a lot. He’s probably going to spice up the bedroom routine with many ideas now and then, be them toys, costumes or role-plays.

Husband - II The High Priestess, XVI The Tower

When it comes to marriage, Jackson might not make for the best of husbands. Marriage is something very serious for him and he knows it would mean a major change of lifestyle for him. It’s possible his subconscious mind is trying to discourage him from taking such a step now.

One-Night-Stand - 4 of Cups, XVIII The Moon

Let’s not be naive. Jackson is likely to experience a one night stand now and then. Not that he would seek them but sometimes when he hasn’t been in a relationship for a while, he might feel bored and tense and he simply needs to let out the steam. Random lover for one night is a solution. However, it’s likely Jackson will keep those a secret. He might not be ashamed but he definitely won’t brag about it.

Thank you for reading!

Hit the Like 💖

Comment! 💬

Repost! 🔁

Follow for more! 💌

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flu-szn-archived · 2 years

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“ ✼ . UR SO S!CK ㅤ ╱ ㅤ. ㅤsee how joyousness embraces even the overflow of sorrows wild! how even rigid desperation kindles on the loving breast of hope so mild.

2011 - 2013 ... / ... the cover years.

the band's musical beginnings can best be described as hasty. they played fast, and they played hard. playing small bars around corey and devin's college towns before any of them were old enough to drink, so s!ck depended on the hurried tempos of pop & punk rock to secure the attention of the patrons. most often, blink-182, good charlotte, green day, and paramore were on their setlists.

the release of their first ep it's flu season only solidified their reputation as the "fastest college band in new england". although the members hate the sound of their slightly out-of-tune instruments and uncoached vocals, the ep is beloved among fans as the purest form of the band's artistry.

2013 - 2016 ... / ... the viral years.

as the band began to gain traction online through their posted song covers and small gigs, a family friend of emery's placed her in contact with denver owens. a rising talent manager, owens jumped at the opportunity to represent the independent band. through his contacts, they managed to land recording sessions with actual producers.

their next projects sickness/health & ur so sick! landed them air time on radio stations in the northeastern united states. best described as "fast but with depth", the band expanded their artistic signature with established roles. with devin on drums, kian on rhymthic guitar, emery on keyboard, and corey as the lead vocalist & guitarist, the band created their own sound, borrowing from their influences while sprinkling in alternative rock elements of the '90s.

closed captions is usually referred to as the band's breakthrough album. initially being released relatively quietly to the band's small fanbase, after being picked up by a national radio station, the album quickly multiplied the band's presence. with a noticeably more mature subject matter (& vocal lessons!), the album is the most pivotal release in the band's discography.

2017 - present ... / ... the endemic years.

the band's current era is most defined by their signing to apricus culture in 2016, five years after their formation. professional grade writers, producers, and management have allowed the four members to focus totally on their artistic input into their music. their three most recent releases each reveal the label's impact on their brand.

serotonin!, their first release after signing is the "reformation" of the roles of the band. namely, devin was given a greater leading role, being moved from drums to electric guitar in order to give her more solo time within their songs. with emery now at drums, it was clear the band was looking to shake up the public perception of their creative outputs.

blister blues, their second release after signing is a return to their pop and punk-rock roots. departing from the more classic rock feel of their previous album, this album utilized the band's new resources to its advantage with stellar production and some of the band's best songwriting.

oh, romeo, their third and most recent release after signing is the group's most experimental album in their discography. the album brilliantly picks up where closed captions left off in terms of delivery and writing. as their most critically successful album, the alternative nature of this release features some of their most vulnerable lyrics. having two full songs led by emery and kian (who rarely have solos much less lead songs) is one of the defining traits of this album, easily making it a fan favorite.

#✼⠀.⠀[⠀⠀DISCOGRAPHY⠀⠀]⠀⠀...⠀/⠀...#aes!ocnet #deluxeocnet #fake kpop band #fake kpop group #fictional idol community #fictional idol group #fictional idol oc #fictional kpop community #fictional kpop group #idol au #idol oc #kpop oc

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futurebird · 10 months

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From the letters of Sigourney LaPlace, Observations on that Remarkable Girl, former Slave and Wizardess, Haddy Freemen

I’ve only witnessed that most famous of her powers once. I do not think I wish to see it again. People think that it’s just that she can move very fast— but it is so much more than that. She is able to whisper “stop” to a falling chestnut and there it shall hang in the air. She is able to move as she pleases in the moments between moments- and, in so doing, through a kind of superpositioning she can fill the air with flickering copies of herself.

She does, of course, loathe to use that power, especially when she cannot contrive to do so unobserved. Once, while on that long mission, she took me into her confidence, speaking more freely of her magic than ever she had previously.  “For all that I can do, I can only ever do one thing at a time.” She said, holding up a single finger as if “one thing” would never be enough. And I think this was meant as an apology or explanation for our failure to defeat the enemy earlier that day.

So, when she seems to multiply herself and be in more than one place at the same time, it is but an illusion. She is, in reality, flickering between multiple positions. I ventured to ask, since she was speaking so freely “Do you need to travel the distance between places over and over when you—“ and she nodded wearily. “You imagine correctly. My magic seems effortless? To practice it is tedious. To be in two places? I must walk between locations in the gaps between moments thousands of times!”

She went on “It is exhausting! I’m certain I age normally while making these transverses. I get hungry and tired. It may take days or weeks to do a task— I do not know if it is good to sleep in the space between moments— I fear I might someday simply never wake again— and then what happens to you? to the universe? what happens to time if I fail to restore it?” She looked so distraught it was only later that the hubris behind such a statement would become clear to me and chill my very soul.

Though she claimed to age when she holds time frozen, I do not know if this is true due to another thing she told me. Perhaps those of you who have observed her magic have felt, a peculiar breeze, perhaps you have heard popping & cracking sounds in the air? And if the magic acted on your flesh you may have felt the cold phantom fingers that seemed to guide your actions, slow your perilous fall, or stay the blade of the enemy from your skin? She told me something of the causes of these effects:

She claims in the space between moments the very air is like a pudding, when she moves through it she must part it, shape it. She can, for example, mould and pile the air in a room so that it is on one side, then, when she lets time flow freely again the air will seek equilibrium causing a great thunderclap, knocking everyone over! Mostly she takes no special care with the air, though her passage through it leaves gaps and pockets of high and low pressure. These are what you feel and hear.

Because of this, I do *not* think that she ages in the space between moments. Clearly, all chemical processes are halted. (I really must ask her what fire is like in her domain— then I might be able to reassure her about this issue of “aging” which has made her hesitant to use her powers unless “absolutely unavoidable” of late. We all love her wonderful magic and it is a shame that we see it so infrequently these days.) I will let you know how this goes in my next letter.

 -Sigourney LaPlace

#story #freeze time #fiction #civil war #slavery #alternative history #letter

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ramblinganthropologist · 7 months

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Writober 2023 8 - Toad

Summary: So... do krogan look like toads or turtles?

(this is stupid and set during ME1)

---

Nothing like surviving a shootout with krogan Battlemasters to make you really appreciate being alive.

Also, nothing like surviving a shootout with krogan Battlemasters to make absolutely everything fucking hurt.

“I see you broke another rib, Commander.”

“Sure feels like it, Doctor.”

At that moment, Alistair was out of armor and on one of the beds in the med bay. Above him, Chakwas was scanning him with her ever-so useful x-ray machine, checking to see if he had broken something.

Judging by the look on her face… looks like he had to add to his total.

“Once again, the compression caused a fracture.” Her tone was matter of fact as she put the scanner aside. “Actually, it caused three.”

Three at once? That had to be a record for him…

He would’ve smiled, but everything fucking hurt so he just lay there. “Joker’s going to be disappointed I’m pulling ahead in the broken rib leader board.”

It wasn’t exactly a big match – just himself and his pilot. Between the man’s brittle bone disease and his binder, it was neck and neck. Or should he say rib and rib? Whatever was the right term, he was pretty sure he was currently winning.

What did he win from it? Nothing but broken ribs and the pride he was a fucking mess.

“Commander, I once again have to recommend top surgery for you. You’ve broken your ribs far too many times.” She paused. “But I know your answer – you don’t have the down time needed to recover from the procedure.”

Alistair nodded, wincing. “That and the whole Saren Arterius teaming up with the Reapers to destroy the universe thing. It’s kind of putting a hitch in my plans.”

Not that he had been actively planning to get top surgery at that point. What with his Alliance duties, he didn’t really have the time needed to sit and let his chest heal. Now that he was facing the possible death of everyone he knew and cared about, he had even less time.

Also, he was kind of leading a ship now. Who didn’t love responsibility?

“Yes, I would think that may cause a problem.” Was that a quirk of a smile on Chakwas’ lips as she shook her head. “Please remove your shirt and binder and I can get started fixing your ribs.”

That made the man make a face almost jokingly as he struggled to sit up. “Come on, you know I only wear sports bras when I have the armor on, binders and active duty are a no-go.”

Besides, he was usually in armor for more than 8 hours, and binders kind of had a time limit.

At any rate, Alistair winced as he managed to peel off his shirt and the aforementioned sports bra. Topless, he lay back down, resisting the urge to glare at his chest as he did. Damn thing always caused him problems, even if he didn’t facture in the dysphoria.

“As always, stay still while it’s working and try not to jump up when they pop back into place.” Beside him, the good doctor was setting up the program. “It should take about an hour due to the fact one is cracked in two places.”

Two places – that was a multiplier. He was definitely ahead now.

Alistair nodded as he laid back, closing his eyes to block out the lights from the lab. Nobody would be coming in – he was the only idiot who got hurt on missions on a regular basis. So he had nothing to do but just listen to machines beep as they fixed his ribs.

At least until he heard someone settle in to his left.

“How many did you break this time?” Bo sounded almost amused as she ripped open her bag of chicken nuggets to replenish her energy after using her biotics. “Joker’s sulking in the cockpit because he thinks you beat him.”

He would’ve shrugged – but again, couldn’t move. “I got a double break multiplier, so… add 6 to my total.”

His adoptive sister let out a low whistle before she commenced the KT carnage on her dinosaur shaped nuggets. “You’re ahead by 3. We’ll be lucky if he doesn’t’ throw himself against the wall to catch up.”

Nah – Joker hated getting his ribs fixed almost as much as Alistair did. Neither of them were exactly looking for intentional breaks. This was more a tally of their bad luck and bad genetics than self-harm.

At least it was for him. He couldn’t speak for Joker, but he was pretty sure he knew the man well enough to figure they were on the same page.

“I’m still amazed you didn’t break more after that guy slammed you into the wall.” Bo was still munching. “You bounced like a superball.”

Alistair winced at the memory – the battlemaster had tossed him like a rag doll. “That makes two of us. I got off lucky with just three ribs.”

“Next time, just dodge the nice toad with the assault rifle.”

Bo’s voice was flat there. She was starting an old argument between them, one that would probably never have much of a conclusion. They were entrenched in their sides to say the least in what was probably the dumbest argument they both refused to let go.

“They don’t look anything like toads.” Alistair shook his head. “Besides, they can tuck into their humps. They’re more like turtles.”

That made his sister snort, as it often did. “Turtles don’t pack heat.”

“Toads aren’t exactly packing biotics either, Bo.”

Another snort. “They might on Tuchanka.”

Yeah, he was pretty sure there were no biotic toads on Tuchanka, partially because he was pretty sure they only existed on Earth and Earth-created settlements. He’d never seen a toad anywhere else – weird alien frogs sure, but not toads.

“When you see an alien toad, you let me know.” He rolled his eyes as he winced. The familiar popping had begun, letting him know that soon he would be shifting into the healing process after the reconstruction.

This was his least favorite part – it made his bones itchy.

“We don’t because they evolved into krogan. Tuchanka made them develop biotics and killer trigger fingers.” Bo sounded so sincere and serious in her spurious assessment of the krogan evolutionary process that he almost believed it for a second.

He would’ve said more, but a heavy footstep entered the room.

“Shepard, the turian said you would be in here.” Wrex sounded impatient. “How long are you going to lie there?”

Thank the Lord he hadn’t showed up earlier…

At the same time, Alistair blushed at the thought the krogan was seeing him without his shirt on. He doubted Wrex cared – no gender in his species had breasts after all – but it was still embarrassing to be caught with his shirt off.

“He’s got three ribs to heal, Wrex.” Bo was digging into her bag of nuggets. “The big guy bounced him against a wall.”

“You’re lucky he didn’t shatter your bones.” Wrex didn’t sound impressed. “When does this finish?”

Oh… judging by how itchy his ribs were… probably about 15 minutes.

At least he managed to open an eye. Just like he thought, Wrex wasn’t impressed at the sight of the Normandy’s commanding officer flat on his ass in the med bay. At least he wasn’t staring – though that might be due to species difference.

“We’re halfway through. I can’t move until then.” He winced as his rib popped into place. “Did you have a chance to check the armor we brought back?”

Might as well have the meeting here… with his tits out… life or death required sacrifices sometimes.

At least that seemed to satisfy the krogan. “He was from a small clan, one of their few Battlemasters. Now that he’s a smear on the wall, they’ll fold.”

He nodded to Bo. “The headbutt wasn’t bad, Shepard.”

Bo beamed as she finished off her nuggets. “Just needs a bit more work and I’ll be knocking you guys on your asses in no time.”

Right, that was just what they needed – a krogan in human form. He would’ve groaned, but that would have just hurt his healing ribs. Instead, Alistair just mentally sighed and hoped she didn’t break her neck.

Maybe he would order her a stronger helmet or neck protection… she didn’t have a krogan’s hump after all.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” There was a hint of challenge there – Wrex probably wanted to face off with her. If he didn’t know his sister was a lesbian, he would’ve wondered if there was something other than battle love between them.

Thank the Lord – he wouldn’t want to walk in on that.

“Also, what’s a toad?”

Oh, fuck.

Alistair felt his face color as he realized he perhaps hadn’t gotten as lucky as he thought with their conversation. He would’ve apologized immediately, but a large pop caused him to yelp with pain. He saw stars for a moment – healing took no prisoners.

“It’s a type of…” Bo turned to him. “Is a toad a frog, or is it its own thing?”

Through his teeth, he managed to grumble. “Sub-class of frog. One on land, one on water.”

He had needed to look that up two years prior for this very argument, so it came to him easily. He would’ve said more, but… oww.

“Is it vicious?” Wrex sounded interested. “Some of you humans keep calling me a toad when they think I can’t hear them. I might as well know what it is before I start cracking skulls.”

Fuck, he was going to need to talk to the crew if it was happening on the Normandy… but that would come after he was able to put his shirt on.

“You can get high if you lick some of them.” Bo had looked that up too. “Some get big as fuck too, I saw one the size of a dog once on deployment.”

Wrex snorted. “You humans compare everything to those ‘dog’ things.”

True – there was even a TV show about it that was popular on the Citadel. Alistair didn’t exactly watch it – he had the unfair advantage of knowing what a dog was after all – but he had watched in when he had worked at the nursing home in his late teens.

“We got a lot of them, what can I say.” Bo snickered. “And if Al was up to it, he’d probably be telling you he’ll talk to the crew so you don’t have to break any skulls.”

“But that’s the best part.” Wrex almost sounded disappointed. “Can’t we space him and make you the CO?”

Gee, didn’t he feel the love… then again, Bo and Wrex got along well with such a short amount of time. Maybe it was only natural that he would prefer his favorite Shepard to get the top position on the Normandy.

“Fuck no, I don’t want the responsibility or the paperwork.”

In the end, that was what it had come down to – Bo balking at the amount of paperwork she would have to do. Well, that and Anderson recommending him. He would’ve taken the responsibility either way, but still.

“Yeah, I guess he’s got his purpose.” Wrex looked bored as he stood. “Once you can sit up, we have more to discuss, Shepard.”

Alistair resisted the urge to nod as he felt the program reach its final course. “I’ll see you soon, Wrex.”

And then the krogan was gone, leaving him with itchy ribs and a clearly pleased sister. She was unbearable smug in that moment as she leaned over, arm on her knee and her head in her chin like she had just won an award.

“See? I’m not alone with the toad thing.”

He had to resist the urge to groan. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re a sore loser.”

No, he was just sore thank you very much. At least once he was healed he could put his shirt back on and ignore this argument ever existed. It be back to work chasing Saren and the geth in the hopes of saving the galaxy, krogan included.

…

And if you asked him, they were all insane. Krogans clearly looked more like turtles or tortoises. His crew was fucking blind. Maybe he should ask Chakwas to administer vision tests…

#writober 2023 #ramblinganthropologist's writing #Alistair Shepard #Bo Peep Shepard #Wrex heard the entire argument he just doesn't care

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dustedmagazine · 1 year

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Dust Volume 9, Number 2

Joanna Mattrey

This month’s Dust comes as winter withers, as shirt-sleeves days alternate with last ditch blizzards, as the grey gives way to watery patches of sunlight. We find, as always, a bit of solace in the music that comes our way, this month including improvised jazz from Portugal, side projects from indie mainstays, pristine indie pop and blistering noisy metal. Bill Meyer, Tim Clarke, Ray Garraty, Chris Liberato, Jonathan Shaw, Jim Marks, Ian Mathers, Andrew Forell, Bryon Hayes and Jennifer Kelly contributed.

The Attic — Love Ghosts (No Business)

Love Ghosts by The Attic - Rodrigo Amado / Gonçalo Almeida / Onno Govaert

Portuguese tenor saxophonist Rodrigo Amado is a reliably robust improviser, but a chief pleasure of his work in The Attic is how relaxed he sounds. The trio, which also includes bassist Gonçalo Almeida and drummer Onno Govaert, has the patience to let a performance wander and pause, and the purposefulness to reward your attention by getting you to a destination as appealing as the views you caught along the way. Govaert’s cymbal surges carry Almeida and Amado through some probing exchanges, their lines twisting and curling around each other, but even when they pull the strands taut, there’s room to savor the rich complexity of their tones and they unencumbered logic of their ideas.

Bill Meyer

David Brewis — The Soft Struggles (Daylight Saving)

The Soft Struggles by David Brewis

David Brewis of Field Music’s prior solo outings have been released under his School of Language moniker. The Soft Struggles is the first album under his own name, the distinction being that this is a much more mellow affair than his usual Prince-indebted funky guitar-pop. The best points of comparison here are probably Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks and Nick Drake’s Bryter Layter, the stately, elegant songs enriched by strings, woodwinds and upright bass. When it works it’s beautiful, such as waltz-time single “Surface Noise,” and “When You First Meet,” which features Eve Cole on vocals. “Start Over,” in contrast, feels self-consciously saccharine and stiffly well mannered. There’s no denying this is an interesting and compelling new direction for Brewis, but one that needs a bit more wearing in before it’s burnished to its best.

Tim Clarke

Chasmdweller — Blood Vortex (self-released)

Blood Vortex by Chasmdweller

These Canadian gutter freaks play old school death metal and get it right. It’s not too fast but also not slow enough to let the doom to slip in. It’s dirty but not too much. There is also nothing new. The cover art is excellent, but the vocalist lacks English; he makes a single guttural sound throughout the whole CD. Is he even human? It sounds as if he’s an entity from hell. With this type of music that only makes it better.

Ray Garraty

CVS — Ad Hoc (Feeding Tube)

AD HOC by CVS

Who can resist a little corporate trolling when your mailing address is in Barcelona and the surnames of your combo’s members are Cunningham, Volt and Serra? With luck, they’ll be able to construct the covers of future releases from defied cease and desist letters. Shenanigans aside, the three musicians make a sound you may want to hear more of. Mark Cunningham (Mars, Blood Quartet) takes his processed trumpet sound into more amorphous territory with assistance from Pablo Volt’s looped trumpet and Andy Serra’s guitars and tenor saxophone. Each of the tape’s six tracks stakes out an eerie vibe, which gets less comfortable as the sounds recede multiply; this is the acid bath you won’t be able to refuse.

Bill Meyer

Dignan Porch — Electric Threads (Repeating Cloud)

Electric Threads by DIGNAN PORCH

On Dignan Porch’s fourth LP, Joe Walsh brings his blurry bedroom psych-pop into sharper focus. Since arriving on the scene in 2010, his mostly home-recorded, mostly solo project has often been accused of having a muddled sound and songs that aren’t distinct enough. The kind of music that “you half remember liking when it was playing in a friend's car,” as one reviewer put it, but which fails to leave a lasting impression. This isn’t an issue on Electric Threads. The album’s ten songs — a mix of chuggers and janglers, squawking motorik fuzzouts and one distinctly Lennon-esque ditty — are easily Walsh’s most immediate to date, sailing on their big hummable melodies and plentiful, vaguely sad hooks. Electric threads, besides being the title of the album, is also a good phrase to describe the lead guitar and organ lines, irresistible whenever they surface. Like on the title track, for instance, where a quivering light beam of a riff, evoking Only Life-era Feelies, periodically rises out of the mix and hovers there for a few moments before deferring to the crunchy rhythm action below. This brings up one small bone to pick: at times it feels like Walsh is holding the reins a little too tightly on his otherwise brilliant guitar work, and not letting it drift to the places it feels like it wants to go to. Because when he does cut his playing a little slack on closer “Ancestral Trail,” the album reaches its most gorgeous high note.

Chris Liberato

Isolant — Drain (Sentient Ruin Laboratories)

Drain by ISOLANT

Isolant’s new mini-LP Drain features a hybrid of doom and industrial metal that may have you flashing on Godflesh, c. Streetcleaner — or, depending on your ears and the depth of your catalog, on Justin Broadrick’s earlier, underappreciated band Head of David. That’s a good thing, and so is the fact that Isolant’s founding member Max Furst is a little less isolated, having recruited vocalist Mattia Alagna and noisenik Miguel Souto into the project. The songs on Drain are piercing and crunching mechanisms of misery, and Alagna adds a layer of organic dread with his growls and groans (he sounds almost as bummed out on Drain as he did on Abominion, the most recent LP from Bay Area crusty doomsters Abstracter). There are also some strangely Goth, dark-romantic passages; see the second half of “Death Pulse” and the rumbling, foreboding tonality of “Lamentation.” Isolant is at its best, though, when the band lets Furst’s guitar create its heaviest textures. Opening track “The End Begins Me” is a steamroller, flirting with melody even as an implacable sense of dread squeezes the life out of the song.

Jonathan Shaw

Isik Kural — Peaches (RVNG Intl.)

peaches by Isik Kural

Last year, Isik Kural, a Turkish sound designer and musician based in Glasgow, released the gauzy, loop-based synth-pop full-length in february. This new ep presents some of the instrumental tracks from in february with the vocals removed (mostly) and found sounds pared back. The resulting lean quarter-hour of music, by chance, provides an antidote to the tragedy currently unfolding in Kural’s homeland. The beauty of that land is well captured by the video for a live version (recorded in a field in northern Turkiye) of the track “lo si aspetta,” in which birdsong and other environmental sounds blend with what seem like the plucks of a stringed instrument over keyboard effects. Fitting together like a suite, the tracks have distinct touches, such as the frog-like glitches in the title track and the Andean string sounds in “montevideo” with a neat slide at the halfway point. Gentle and thoughtful, peaches offers a welcome respite and a fresh perspective on Kural’s work.

Jim Marks

Lantana — Elemental (Cipsela)

Elemental by Lantana

Everyone in this Portuguese sextet is female, and if you’re thinking one should refrain from commenting upon their gender homogeneity, think twice; Joëlle Léandre’s liner notes celebrate the fact. Maria Radich’s dynamic vocals may steer the listener’s associations towards symbols and ceremonies, but be sure to listen to the folks stirring the sounds that swirl around her. The electronically enhanced three-strings, one-trumpet line-up unravels the melodic implications of her post-linguistic forays and weaves them into a multihued sonic cloak. Aughts-era freak-folk followers who wonder where cellist Helena Espvall went after Espers disbanded, wonder no more; she’s now well situated in Lisbon’s improvised music scene.

Bill Meyer

Joanna Mattrey & Steven Long — Strider (Dear Life Records)

Strider by Joanna Mattrey & Steven Long

This long-standing duo’s first full recording together began with the idea to make ambient songs, avoiding the longer and less structured approach taken with some ambient music. Mattrey (credited with the Stroh violin and field recordings) and Long (credited with “Organ, Stove, Barometer, Synth, Short-wave Radio”) have succeeded in one sense, with each of these eight pieces sticking to the melodic yet static framework they were aiming for. But if you’re thinking of Eno’s “it must be ignorable as it is interesting” dictum then much of Strider might not count as ambient, because if anything it’s a little too attention grabbing. The horn on the Stroh’s violin gives the string lines here a plangent, piercing (and yeah, faintly old-timey) quality and Mattrey is unafraid to explore its harsher ranges. Whether it’s paired with an icy river breaking up (“Eyes”), echoing synth beeps (“Retro”) or what sounds a bit like an attempt to replicate an ambulance siren (“Host”) the results are an unusually compelling mix of meditative focus and the aural equivalent of a smack upside the head. Ambient, then, specifically for anyone worried the genre is at risk of lapsing into wallpaper pleasantries.

Ian Mathers

Mal Sed / Scy1e— Mal Sed / Scy1e (Weird Ear)

Mal Sed / Scy1e by Mal Sed / Scy1e

Settle down and stop worrying about your influences. That’s the message of this project, whose circuitous production process is inseparable from its sounds. Peter Lamons, whose recording handle is Mal Sed, bought some Giuseppe Ielasi from Weird Ear proprietor Raub Roy, and then shared his own sounds inspired by Ielasi’s chopped and glued treatment of grooves. Roy liked what he heard enough to reactivate the label and make a cassette. When the proposed cover art came in, its design instigated him to make some music of his own, and the project became a split release. Mal Sed’s rhythms are a bit more fluid and less crammed-together than Ielasi’s, but his wheels still bump at each corner. Roy, who tags himself Scy1e when he hits record, matches Mal Sed’s peg-legged beats and raises him several barrages of squelchy electronics. Niches have cracks, and there’s no telling how deep they go.

Bill Meyer

Pacific Walker — Pacific Walker (Bluesanct)

Pacific Walker by Pacific Walker

Pacific Walker is the new project from the respawned creative partnership of Michael James Tapscott and Isaac Edwards, who previously recorded as Odawas. For this venture, they’ve enlisted the services of Raphi Gottesman, who drums in Tapscott’s folk-rock outfit China. This sounds nothing like either of those projects, rooting itself instead in drones, field recordings and guitar arpeggios. The A side of the cassette comprises one long multi-part piece entitled “Mycelium Ab Astris Ad Astra,” a patchwork panoply of throat singing, astral ambient atmosphere and dusky desert melodies. Over on the other side, the trio offer up poignant frescoes of twilit synths, guitars and samples that gallivant through the outer reaches of the human psyche. Odawas aficionados will miss Tapscott’s fluid lyricism and upper register vocal range, as there’s not a word sung here. Fret not, sonic adventurers; Pacific Walker are after those parts of your brain that are amenable to unexplored sonic phenomena. Open your ears and let them inside.

Bryon Hayes

Ivo Perelman / Matthew Shipp — Fruition (ESP-Disk’)

Fruition by Ivo Perelman/Matthew Shipp

While the title implies some sort of culmination, don’t think for a minute that these guys are done with each other. This is their 18th duo recording, and while a full accounting of their trios and quartets will have to wait for another review, suffice to say that the next one, a CD with North Carolinian drummer Jeff Cosgrove, has already been announced. Tenor saxophonist Ivo Perelman and pianist Matthew Shipp have become each other’s most enduring partners, and their rapport is undeniable. Shipp knows exactly when and where to place a stone in the harmonic foundation that his partner needs to formulate and elaborate upon his imploring melodies, and the quavers in Perelman’s ascending queries accentuate the gothic bleakness of the pianist’s heavy chords and ruminative asides. Do you need this one? That all depends on how unacquainted or acquisitionist you are. If you need them all, well, you already have it, right? If you haven’t heard them at all, and you are open to cosmically inclined improvised music, Fruition is an excellent point of entry.

Bill Meyer

Santa Muerte — Eslabón (Hyperdub)

Eslabón EP by Santa Muerte

As Santa Muerte (Our Lady of Holy Death), Houston-based Mexican producer Panch Briones makes bass heavy club music grounded in the culture and mythology of his homeland. The title of his debut EP for Hyperdub, Eslabón translates as “link” and the four tracks make explicit his cross-cultural influences with a mix of IDM and traditional beats under effervescent synths, snatches of µ-Ziq influenced melody and indigenous spoken word samples. The music skips lightly, radiating concentric circles of euphoria across a surface beneath which you hear the bustling tension of living within two worlds. Briones works plenty into these short pieces and leaves you looking forward to what he might do in a longer format.

Andrew Forell

Philip Selway — Strange Dance (Bella Union)

Strange Dance by Philip Selway

Strange Dance is the third solo album by Radiohead drummer Philip Selway. While previous albums Familial and Weatherhouse were pleasant enough, they suffered from feeling a little safe and pedestrian, especially compared to Radiohead’s more adventurous work. On Strange Dance, Selway is branching out, collaborating and taking more risks. At best, on singles “Check for Signs of Life” and “Picking Up Pieces,” Selway explores possibilities with growing confidence. On the latter in particular, intricate rhythmic beds are buffeted by swooping strings and dissonant guitar lines from Portishead’s Adrian Utley. At its weakest, such as “The Other Side,” major-key piano melodies unfold sweetly but predictably. However, the main issue with Strange Dance is Selway’s lyrics, which frequently lapse into platitudes.

Tim Clarke

Shame — Food for Worms (Dead Oceans)

youtube

Food for Thought continues a run of albums on which all the elements seem to be in place but never quite gel. Charismatic front man? Check. Bruising rhythm section? Yes. A couple of exciting guitar slingers? Sure. A zeitgeisty sound? OK. Decent songs? Some. So, what’s the problem? Three albums in and Shame seem unsure who they are. They’ve devolved into The Libertines redux without the cocksure attitude that made them kind of fun for five minutes. There’s plenty of earnest belting but the overall tone of Charlie Steen’s sometimes terrific delivery is irritability, and rest of band hit enough highs to make the missteps more noticeable. “Alibis” for instance, burns with righteous fury but the petulance of “Yankees” and sanctimony of “Adderall” grate. “The Fall of Paul” harnesses the band’s energy and dynamism to great effect but is followed by the meandering “Burning by Design” which sucks the air out of the room before attempting to resuscitate itself at the end. Food for Thought is disappointing, there’s enough here to pique the interest but not to sustain it.

Andrew Forell

Sluice — Radial Gate (Ruination)

Radial Gate by Sluice

Justin Morris’ songs as Sluice start spare and pick up weight as finger-picked precision gives way to the rich sustaining drone of string, the howl of untrammeled feedback. This second album from the North Carolina based musician starts in a tremble of immanence as tape hiss shushes and banjo notes tangle in the distance. Bowed notes waft in, glimmering like the bright line in the east when the sun’s just about to rise. This intro piece “Ostern” assembles all the sounds that Morris will incorporate in a humming cloud of sensation. Later, he will separate them out and surround them with space. In “Centurion,” for instance, where his warm spoke-sung delivery sounds a bit like Bill Callahan, as a guitar jangle sidles up into the foreground. Drums clatter in, a violin saws up out of white space, and finally pedal-screeching guitar builds up like a giant wave in previously serene water. It’s indie-folk, sure, but tapped into strong, unruly undercurrents. Or what about the existential inquiry that is “Fourth of” where memories of hot summers past and present cleave together in layers, and swimming hole becomes a metaphor for the connection of all things. (“I am the rock, I am the eddy, I am my roommates in love, I am blackberry jelly, I am the weir, I am the spillway.”) Morris enlists a whole orchestra’s full of capable player to flesh his songs out with mournful arcs of pedal steel, surging tides of stringed instruments and warm communal singing. Hold on for the end with “New Leices” grows from lyric interior musing to bright harmonized concord. Really lovely, this, like acoustic Akron/Family but simpler.

Jennifer Kelly

Son of Dribble — Son of Drib Against the Wind (Minimum Table Stacks)

Son of Drib Against the Wind by Son of Dribble

New Jersey’s Minimum Table Stacks has a sixth sense about which arcane or overlooked sonic gems deserve the vinyl reissue treatment. Take Son of Drib Against the Wind, for instance. It originally took shape as a limited run cassette, self-released by Columbus, Ohio trio-turned-quartet Son of Dribble in mid-2022. The band’s fuzzy yet morose Velvets-meets-Joy Division garage rock clamor practically screams out for a wider audience and a more robust pressing, so it’s great that the label took the bait. Vocalist Andy Clager, with his handsome blend of Jonathan Richman baritone and Julian Casablancas croon, is the perfect front man. You’re not sure what he’s singing about, but you know it’s poignant. For added effect, the band tips its hat to an eclectic assortment of genres. Doo wop harmonies, proto-punk stomp, and arty synths all make an appearance. It’s as if Son of Dribble are the smarter, edgier, and grumpier cousins to fellow Columbusites Kneeling in Piss. Clager and crew picked the better band name, at least.

Bryon Hayes

Spiral Joy Band — In the River (Feeding Tube Records)

In The River by Spiral Joy Band

There are certain varieties of drone music that give credence to the notion that music is always out there somewhere, and humans don’t make it up, they just get to turn the cosmic tap on and off. Patrick Best and Mikel Dimmick are both members of Pelt, so it goes without saying that they are already well practiced at operating the tap. But since Pelt can go for years without a gig, they’ve sometimes run a side hustle in similarly expansive sound named the Spiral Joy Band. The two quarter-hour examples of said endeavor that can be heard on this LP come from a time, about a dozen years ago, when they both lived near Madison, Wisconsin, and had the empathetic assistance of a third string scraper named Troy Schafer. The combination of violin, viola, and harmonium guarantees access to a continuous, pulsing expanse of rich aural texture, which they show no compunction about cashing in. Locked grooves at the end of each side make this the record of choice when you don’t know if you’re going to be awake by the end of the side, but you know how you’re going to want to feel when you wake up.

Bill Meyer

Spitting Image — Full Sun (Slovenly)

SPITTING IMAGE "Full Sun" LP by SPITTING IMAGE

“Black Box” careens around the corners on car-crash riffs, drums spiking out of the infinitesimal pause between one hurtling phrase and another. Shouted lyrics slash in and out of the mix. At one point, late in the cut (which is only a minute and a half long so not that late), two people shout the title at each other. It is hard not to picture them, separated by inches, screaming in each other’s faces. This cut, and the harder, faster ones like “Spirit Trouble Flash” have a good bit of Big Black’s punk ferocity, a little of Shellac’s uncompromising angularity, though less complicated, more garage punk than noise art. Spitting Image, out of Reno, Nevada, have been around for a little more than a decade, grinding out an underground, basement show existence with, before this, just a handful of EPs, singles and one cassette release to show for it. This first full-length sounds, to me, a lot like the Xetas, which is to say it bangs pretty hard, until it doesn’t. The last three songs are disconcertingly down-tempo, lyrical and pensive, and I’m not sure that works, but the rest is pretty good.

Jennifer Kelly

Tanukichan — Gizmo (Company)

GIZMO by Tanukichan

Tanukichan lays translucent, ethereal textures over buzz saw bass and rupturing drums, in an ice cream swirl of indulgence and crunch. “Don’t Give Up” vibrates like a mirage on heat-soaked asphalt, tremulous, idealized and gut-shocked with an underpinning rock and roll roar. Gizmo is the second soft-focus shoegaze pop album from Oakland’s Hannah van Loon, following Sundays in 2018. It takes its name from her pandemic pup, and, like the first, enlists the support of her friend Chaz Bear, better known as Toro & Moi. Some cuts play up the dreamy sweetness of van Loon’s murmuring soprano; others turn up the wrenching abrasion of rock sounds. “Thin Air” pairs van Loon with Enumclaw, another Oakland artist with a wry, slant on indie anthemry. These are lullabies buzzing with enough TNT to blow down buildings. More of this, please.

Jennifer Kelly

Tithe — Inverse Rapture (Profound Lore)

Inverse Rapture by TITHE

This reviewer is unsure how an “inverse rapture” might work: will the sinners go to heaven? Will the believers be left behind? In either case, count me out — but count me in for more music from Tithe. The grim gang in the Portland-based band generates a convincingly pissed-off hybridization of grind and black/death, and the resulting songs are as unhinged as you might expect. The gloriously filthy guitar tone is best appreciated when Tithe slows to a trot, or a menacing shamble, as they do in passages of seven-minute-long “Killing Tree.” Still, the short songs have the greatest impact; “Demon” and “Pseudologia Fantastica” clock in well under three minutes, which may be the ideal length for this sort of whirling, battering chaos. Yikes. Beyond the religious symbolics of the band’s name and most of the song titles, it’s hard to say what all shouting and howling concern. One imagines it’s the usual stuff: Christianity is oppressively awful; in its name, people do lots of horrible things to one another; thus, evil and violence (symbolic or otherwise) are the only adequate responses. So why not let the Christian Rapture go off as originally planned? The True Believers will exit the earthball, and the rest of us can hang around and do our thing. Which will likely include turning this record up even louder.

Jonathan Shaw

Ulthar — Anthronomicon (20 Buck Spin)

Anthronomicon by Ulthar

Fewer things seem riper for black/death musical fixation than H. P. Lovecraft’s fiction and cultural profile. His supernatural imaginary is suffused by the Empire of Slime, an accretion of repulsive, tentacular forms, sanity-shredding powers, and by his mandarin, aristocratic aesthetic sensibilities. Bay Area band Ulthar has embraced the fixation across their recorded output, which has now spread — like a cosmic fungus — onto two new paired LPs, Helionomicon and Anthronomicon, for about 70 total minutes of involuted black/death. By any measure, that’s a whole lot of Ulthar. Anthronomicon is the better LP of the pair, full of spurting pseudopodia and corkscrews of sound, and also imbued with an aggro, blackened hostility. “Saccades,” named for a variety of rapid eye movement, is a strong example of the record’s vibe. The nod to REM sleep evokes the surrealism just underneath the band’s noise and bluster. Check out the riff that emerges around the 2:20 mark; it’s brief lived, but it snaps the song into focus, sending it into the headlong tumble that dominates its second half, during which whirling chaos struggles with downhill momentum. It’s an exciting song.

Jonathan Shaw

Ed Williams — Decomposition Study (Insub)

Decomposition study by ED WILLIAMS

Do you suppose that the old saying that too many cooks spoil the soup was first uttered by a chef who didn’t want to take questions or orders? Composer Ed Williams takes a different approach on Decomposition Study, one that admits multiple inputs from the distant past as well as the moment of performance. He devised a canon in a form favored 600 years ago by composers of madrigals and handed it to two musicians playing upon one arciorgano, a sixteenth century, bellows—operated organ with two keyboards. As they played the piece, four more musicians intervened at will, and Williams mixed the results, which were projected through a cube speaker. Clearly, there’s still some hierarchy shaping the results, but also a degree of democracy rarely heard in classical pieces for organ. While the antique keyboard’s gentle voices bring a whiff of older times, the performance’s exploration of tonal extremes and clashes feels more in tune with the past half century of psychedelic musical pursuits. Sign up for the novelty, stay for the disorientation.

Bill Meyer

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