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kiritella · 4 years

Text

Pairings: Jason x Reader, Dad!Bucky x Reader(plc), Anna x Reader(plc), Bucky x Anna

Words: 2.7k-ish

Warnings: This episode contains spoilers! Also, Torture, blood, violence.

Series: A New Maybe

Masterlist || Series Masterlist

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Your scream cuts through him like someone shot shards of glass at him and they’ve embedded deep inside him. He chokes, tears flooding from his eyes. Blood slips from the corner of your lips, spilling in a thin line down to your chin, leaving a crimson stain as it drips to the concrete floor. Your eyes shimmer in oceans of fear, swallowing you whole and he draws against the ropes holding him down as he begs for your life. He screams, but the thick glass between him and you keeps his voice from being heard. It makes him wonder how your anguish can be so well heard on his ears, yet not a single plea from his lips can reach you.

A figure stands taunt behind you, strung up like a rod with his arms crossed over his chest, his back unnaturally straight. His eyes are empty sockets and for a moment, Jason wonders if he is even alive, but the sinister grin creeping on his thin, cracked lips proves his hopes incorrect. His hand grips your shoulder, the claws of his fingers dig into your skin and you scream. And so does Jason. He jerks in the metal chair he is bound to as the man draws closer to you, his lips hovering the shell of your ear and you flinch away, gasping, straining, but you are too exhausted. The bruises littering your face and arms turn Jason’s stomach and he’s ready to puke, and the blood staining your pale-white blouse and your jeans throw his mind over the edge. How could anyone do that to someone?

There is a flint of metal in the harsh white light of the hollow warehouse, and with it, Jason’s heart carves its way out of his chest. He hollers your name with broken determination, his wrists burning from the ropes as he fights to get free. And finally, his bindings snap. His feet carry him, but the faster he runs, the farther away you get, and time is quickly turning against him.

The man behind you twists the blade in his hand, his fingers brushing along its edge with reverence. His face morphs and his teeth become sharp like a canine’s, and he smiles at you. It is twisted and sick, and his breath smells like rotting meat. You crane to get away from him, but the binds on your wrist and ankles keep you from going too far. The edge of his knife traces along your cheek and you freeze, horror filling every ounce of you.

When he speaks, a thousand voices cry out from him, “My sweet, little thing. My pet. Won’t you look me in the eyes?”

You look away, tears falling in continuous streams from your eyes, and his knife slips from your cheek. He frowns, and his claw-like hand rests on your thigh.

“I am sorry then, my love,” he whispers and leans in. He kisses your cheek and it burns your skin like acid, “But I have to do this.”

His knife pierces your back, and then again. Your eyes snap wide in shock, your pain echoing from your lips in a violent scream, and Jason’s voice follows suit. It’s bitter and ugly, his tears burning in hot streaks down his face and he is still running, but you’re too far away. He’s too late, isn’t he?

The man cups your cheek, his empty sockets looking into your pained eyes, and he frowns. He nearly looks hurt and scared, but he did this to you. How can he have sympathy or fear of his own actions? The ropes are quickly cut on your wrists and ankles, his blade still plenty sharp despite your blood dripping from it. The man stands and walks away as you fall sideways.

The floor shifts down and Jason loses his balance, falling forward until he is right next to you and the room steadies again. He catches you, your knees hadn’t even touched the ground and now you are in his arms. Blood spills from your back and stains his hands as he frantically pulls you into him.

“Nonono, Baby? Love? Somebody help me!” he chokes and turns you over so he can see your face, your lovely face now filled with so much anguish and fear. What did he do?

“Jason?” Your voice is a whisper, broken and filled with so much pain and he cries.

“It’s me, it’s me, I’m here. You’re gonna be fine, don’t worry, it’s—it’s not that bad, we’re gonna be fine,” he says and presses against your back to stop the bleeding, but there’s so much, there’s too much.

“Why didn’t you come for me?” you ask and your voice cracks.

Jason’s eyes snap back to yours and he’s never seen you so pale, and his lip quivers, “I did, I came, I’m here. You know I’d never leave you behind.”

Your lips begin to tremble and your eyes fill with dread, “Am I gonna die?”

Jason’s heart stops and he pulls you into him, tucking your head in his neck, pushing harder on your bleeding back, “No! No, Baby, you’re not gonna die. I’m here, you’re going to be fine,” he soothes in your ear, rocking the two of you back and forth. “We’re going to be fine. It’s you and me, remember? We’ll get out of here, and-and I’ll get you a hamster and you can call it pebbles, just like you wanted, yeah? We’ll go get ice cream from your favorite diner and you can make fun of my milk-stash, the-then I’ll ask you out. We never got to go on our first date. I was gonna take you to that Italian bistro a couple blocks from school. How’s that sound?”

He waits for your reply, but his heart sinks when he is left with silence, “Love?” He shifts and you fall limp in his arms, “Oh God, nonono. Please? Please no.”

Your eyes are closed peacefully, your face so white, and your lips part as your head falls back, “Wake up,” he begs and chokes as he taps your face, “Wake up baby, you’ve gotta wake up.”

You remain motionless, and his eyes burn with new tears, panic taking hold of his heart as he shakes your limp body, screaming, “Wake Up!”

---

His eyes snap open with a start and he flies out of his bed, but he trips and falls to the floor with a thud. Jason’s legs are still tangled in the blankets as he struggles to breathe, his heart hammering and yet it aches as if someone has beaten into his chest and ripped it out. Hot tears stream down his face as sobs wreak havoc in his chest and he can’t breathe. His stomach twists as he recalls the man beating you, stabbing you, your body falling limp in his arms, your pale face, and how you wouldn’t wake up.

Jason’s hands shake as he struggles to sit up, fighting against the tightening of his lungs as he grabs his phone and scrambles out of his bedroom.

You wouldn’t wake up.

---

You’re sleeping peacefully, well, you were sleeping peacefully until your phone starts ringing. Who the hell is up and calling you at...3:28 in the morning?! You sit up slowly and snatch your phone from your nightstand, and through your blurry, woke-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night eyes, you see Jason’s face lit up on the screen.

“I swear you better have a good rea—” you stop the second you hear him sob and you toss your blankets off your legs, sitting up straight and dropping your teasing tone, “Jason, what’s wrong? Where are you?”

“I’m sorry, I know it’s late,” he starts, and his words are choked, nearly broken and your heart aches, “I just...could you come outside? Please?”

You are out of your bed in a second, grabbing your tank-top and throwing it on, “Where are you? I’m gonna come pick you up.” You tiptoe out of your room and past the bedroom where Anna and Bucky are sleeping.

“I’m outside your apartment.”

“You’re what?” you whisper-shout, putting your mom’s keys back on the counter and walking to the front door, unlocking it, and pulling it open. Sure enough, you see him down the stairs in the parking lot, leaning against one of the lamp posts, and you rush down the stairs, limping slightly as you are still healing from your injuries from Seth.

He meets you at the bottom and before you can even begin to voice your worries about the tears streaming down his face and the sob that leaves his chest, he takes you into a bone-crushing hug. His face hides in your neck and his hands hold you tight against him.

Worry floods your chest and you hold onto him, steadying him when it feels like he is about to fall, “Jason, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

He clings to you tighter and his fingers claw at you as if you are going to disappear any moment as he takes a shaking breath.

“Jason?”

“You wouldn’t wake up,” he whispers hoarsely, his chest finally settling as he lifts out of your shoulder to look at you. His eyes are red and glazed over in tears, and he keeps you close, his hold firm, “I had you and you died, and couldn’t do anything and I can’t breathe. I can’t—I can’t—”

“Hey-hey, it’s okay. I’m alright, you don’t need to worry, it was a dream. I’m right here,” you soothe, cupping his face and wiping away the stray tears, but he shakes his head minusculely.

“But you weren’t,” he says and his fingers trace over the almost faded bruise on your neck as they move to cradle your head, “This time it was a nightmare, but last time? You were kidnapped and I couldn’t do anything. Do you have any idea what it was like when your mom called me?”

You remain frozen because in reality, what could you possibly say? He had been avoiding the topic since The Incident. You swallow the lump in your throat as he continues, twining your fingers around his wrists as his thumb sweeps across your cheek.

“Imagine someone telling you the person they love has been taken by a schizophrenic idiot.”

You gasp and stare up at him with wide eyes, and his lips twitch upward into a smile, but only for a moment. Love?

“I was with you just a little bit before. If I had stayed longer—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” you interrupt, narrowing your eyes at him and gripping his wrists firmly despite your own bandaged wrist, “If you tell me you’ve been blaming yourself this whole time, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Jason quirks a small smile. “You’ve always been too forgiving.”

“And you’ve always been too quick to blame yourself,” you say, and lean in closer to him, wrapping your arms around him as he does the same to you, “None of what happened was your fault, Jason. You did everything right.”

He remains silent, and you hug him tighter and stay like that until the tension eases. Jason’s breaths become steady and he no longer clings to you like you’re something about to be destroyed. Instead, he holds you in his arms, his fingers drawing patterns on your back as he rests his head on your shoulder. You stay nuzzled in his neck, even breaths making you seem calm, when in fact, you might be freaking out.

“Did you admit you love me?” you whisper and for a moment, he tenses, but then relaxes.

“Ya can’t tell me it wasn’t obvious by now,” he teases, “We’ve been dancing around each other for years.”

“Yeah, but we’ve never actually said anything.”

“It wasn’t the right time.”

“And now is?”

Jason pulls out of your embrace, but he doesn’t go far, his lips pressing to your forehead in a kiss and your eyes flutter closed at the feeling. Butterflies erupt in your stomach and you’re pretty sure your heart is no longer in your chest but in the palms of his hands. It is funny how quickly he can own your body and soul.

“Do what you will with what I said, I’m not in any rush,” he murmurs against your skin, “I’ve waited this long, I’m not opposed to waiting longer.”

You smile and look up to meet his eyes, and no matter how deep you look, you only find the truth. He’ll wait as long as you need him too, and that both excites and terrifies you.

Jason tucks some of your hair behind your ear, a grin making its way on his lips as he takes in your disarrayed look, “You look kinda cute all messy and sleepy…”

Your cheeks become burning hot as you punch his shoulder with your good hand. He laughs as you turn and hide your face and he tuts softly, tugging your arm until you look at him.

“C’mon, you know I only do it to see you blush.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who woke me up at three a.m., so technically this face is your fault,” you tease and he cringes slightly.

“Yeah, sorry about that…”

“Don’t be,” you say, taking his hand in yours, “Any time, any place, you call me, understand?”

Jason nods with a smothered grin and you roll your eyes, “Yeah, yeah, I know, it was cheesy, don’t go rubbing it in my face.”

“Nah, it was sweet.”

“Don’t go ruining my reputation,” you warn, crossing your arms, but a smirk peeks out of your threatening facade.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jason chuckles and you stare at each other a moment before he sighs, “I should probably go.”

“Yeah, no, that’s not happening,” you say flatly and grab his hand, tugging him up the stairs to your apartment.

“Wait, isn’t Barnes staying the night?”

“Yup.”

Jason pulls you to a stop before you can open the front door, “If he wakes up and sees me here, I’m dead and we both know it.”

“He’s not gonna kill you, promise.”

Jason groans and lets you lead him into the apartment and when you walk inside, you notice a set of pillows and blankets are already set on the couch, and just before you can question why…

“Hello, Jason,” a deep voice says right behind you two, and you both squeak in surprise, jumping around to see Bucky’s figure standing so close you can feel his body heat radiating off of him.

“Hello, sir,” Jason stutters out, “I’m sorry about the intrusion, I can leave now if—”

“No need,” Bucky interrupts, “You’re welcome to stay the night. I’ll take you back to your place in the morning so you can get ready for school and drop the two of you off before I head into work.”

“Thank you. Again I’m really sorry about this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bucky says and nods, then looks down at your intertwined fingers and inwardly scowls, okay, maybe he lets it into reality a little bit just to scare the kid. Jason swallows thickly as Bucky stares him down and you shift awkwardly until Bucky looks to you, pressing a kiss to your forehead and walking back to his room.

“Separate bedrooms, you two.”

“Yes, Sir,” Jason says back before looking back to you, reluctantly letting your hand fall from his grasp, “I should let you get back to sleep.” You nod slowly, chewing at the corner of your lip, and Jason tuts softly. “You’re worried.”

You shrug, “Will you be able to sleep tonight? I can stay up with you if you need me to, I’m not—”

“I’ll be okay,” Jason interrupts, “Promise, and if something does happen, you’re right down the hall, so I can come and get you, okay?”

“Okay,” you say hesitantly and back away, walking back to your room, “Well, you know where everything is, so if you need anything, just take it.”

Jason mutters a “thanks” before you vanish into your own room, the quiet click of your door echoing of your exit and he sits on the couch. He knows he probably won’t get much sleep tonight, but he lays down anyway, tossing the blanket over his legs before pulling out his phone. He shoots his mom a text and eventually, his breathing steadies into something resembling sleep, though restless, was enough to pass the time until morning.

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theangrypokemaniac · 4 years

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Since I rant enough about the wizening Ma and Pa received in Sinnoh it's only right to wreak bloody rhetorical vengeance elsewhere:

However harsh it may be, I'm glad Takeshi Shudo isn't alive to witness the hateful desecration of his legacy.

...

In a universe where no one's allowed to age, why are the modern Jessie and James so withered and decrepit?

Dragon Ball has been on for more than three decades. Its stars were permitted to grow up, because the head can cope with the opportunities this offers.

Yet Goku, Krillin, Bulma et al bear a greater similarity to their younger selves than these gurning invertebrates do to Team Rocket, wearing a papery approximation of their skin.

Akira Toriyama is actually concerned about his life's work, still coming up with interesting concepts, brand-new characters, and most importantly, values his audience by keeping to the established canon.

If a Dragon Ball fan reads this, I am so jealous of you.

Consider yourselves fortunate not to have seen the thing you loved the most pulverised and the resulting glutinous mass moulded back into makeshift sloppy cadavers.

Look at the state of that man! That's a good picture these days!

Why have the eyelid lines turned into upside down bags?

And why has she collected her lashes for this particular screen shot?

On eyes with a strangely feline slant...

Has she had a face lift?

Get yer money back on that one, love.

And why has he marks under his eyes and round his flapping gob to add the hint of exhaustion?

And why don't her lips reach the edge of her mouth anymore?

And why must he display Beaver Toof, as if he's only got six pegs left?

Giving it to him but not her implies she's lost the lot, needing to gum objects for a result.

And why do her low-slung ears consist only of lobe?

And why can you see his featureless lugs? Why does his barnet stand outwards in tentacles like he's taken to wearing a floppy Starmie?

What's that's meant to be, purple dreadlocks?

And why is her hairline curved and absolutely straight, like a bad wig, apart from the perfunctory bits to the side, which I guarantee won't alter their position throughout the run?

Hair used to move about, now by law there's a set pattern which cannot change. Stamp that life out immediately.

And what's that flaccid growth between his weary peepers? Is that meant to be fringe?

PFFFT!!!

And why are her digits just as thick and oblong as his?

It ain't fingers. It's trotters.

And why's he got a back to his throat, but she hasn't?

And why are we forced to witness it? You can see all the way to his dangler!

The great gaping pink cave looks like the end of Looney Tunes when Porky Pig pops up and stammers: "That's all folks!"

Remember a lack of Beaver Toof? And triangular mouths?

Remember when Meowth was a cheeky, spirited little cat, not a middle-aged human midget, an emaciated wreck bored of it all?

Remember when it wasn't deemed necessary to expose us to internal organs?

And when James was a handsome, hysterically camp dandy, not a creepy, snot-ridden science dweeb?

And when Jessie was a beautiful, stylish young girl, hot-tempered but loyal, not a sullen, cold, reptilian, Botoxed-to-the-gills gorgon?

Remember when Team Rocket were fun? And attractive?

Remember when they had joy in their hearts in spite of their poverty? And vim? And hope?

Remember them acting with flair and imagination?

Remember when their schemes had variety?

Remember when they had more than a single disguise per era?

Remember when they had many occupations? And were good at them?

Remember when they'd have a go at everything and weren't reduced to flipping condemned meat in a grotty burger van FOR THREE YEARS?!

Remember when those in charge didn't despise them, when they got happy endings?

Remember split screens? And face faults? And background tones? And purple streaks down your cheeks?

Remember big, bright open eyes, not shrunken, sagging and empty holes afflicted by glaucoma?

Remember when Jessie had eyelashes?

Remember when Pokémon was an anime?

And when James had a fringe, not a bent swelling like a balloon animal?

And when the artist could be arsed to draw Meowth's Charm properly?

Remember when the voices weren't nails down a blackboard?

When Meowth didn't sound like a wedge of coal grinding beneath an oil-deprived door?

When Jessie's dulcet tones had a wider range that just screechy, and weren't reminiscent of a cacophonous banshee clawing her way from a bog, using her own mug as a shovel?

When James speaking didn't suggest he was at best, suffering sinus difficulties, and at worst, constantly battling to swallow his own sick from looking at her?

Mind you, I'm grateful the 4Kids cast are no longer here. They deserve better, and their presence would only validate the crude bastardisations.

Every time the guttural howls reach my poor ears a chill runs through my system, and reminds me of The Pokémon Company sacking the real dub crew in preference for a job done on the cheap.

Remember speed lines? And Pokéball-throwing animation?

Remember a new motto performance in each installment, not the same stock footage reused again and again?

Remember when it rhymed?

It shows.

Remember remembering it?

Remember when Team Rocket would walk down the street in their uniforms and no one took a blind bit of notice despite the organisation operating there?

And they didn't fanny about in one scabby polyester costume every minute they were travelling, even when NO ONE KNOWS WHO THEY ARE?

Since Unova, whilst confronting Ash and this era's soon-to-be-forgotten companions, you get this exchange:

Moron-Of-The-Week: "Who are Team Rocket?"

Ash: "They're bad guys who steal other people's Pokémon."

EVERY SINGLE BLOODY TIME!!!

WORD-FOR-WORD IDENTICAL!!!

The writers have such deep appreciation for their work they're sending in cut-and-paste scripts.

Remember blasting off when something blew up, not an explosion from nowhere, or giving it the slip with a jet pack, or abduction by a Care Bear?

Remember when the eyebrows matched the hair?

Remember when he wore it long?

Remember blue shock? And sweat drop? And hammerspace? And comedy violence?

Remember her jagged hairline? And it being RED!!!

Remember proper highlights to it, rather than the odd white lump now and again, as if sweating like a pig, or their heads are infested with giant space ticks?

Remember when they were in all the episodes? And were main characters? And on the introduction sequence?

Remember when Jessie and James used to hug? And hold hands?

And bicker as only a couple can, but you knew they'd never cope alone?

Remember when they'd fly into each other's arms under the flimsiest pretext?

Remember when they meant more to one another than just being a pair of unconnected and disembodied wraiths coincidentally walking down the same road?

And they had more than civil interactions?

Remember when she loved him as much as he loved her?

And no one else could ever take his place?

And canon wasn't infected with the ruinous depiction of her as a hard, heartless bitch barely tolerating him until someone 'better' came along, at which point she'd fuck off without a backwards glance?

'Better', as in a scabby, satchel-mouthed, gormless cretin, just to add surly insult to merciless injury.

Never has such a life-long and hardcore defender of the faith flipped into an ardent Rumishipper as I did after that episode, once I'd swept up the fragments of my soul.

Remember when they were sympathetic?

Remember when they showed human warmth?

Remember when they cared about each other?

Remember when they weren't just a jangling, distorted mess of half-recollected traits?

Remember when they weren't really evil?

Remember Rocketshipping? That was a thing once, believe it or not.

Remember when they had a conscience?

Remember when actually wicked characters turned up, and Team Rocket ALWAYS sided with Ash, rather than the nauseating spectacle of suddenly being best buds with the Boss?

Remember when they had contact with the Twerps?

Remember when Team Rocket and the Twerps loved each other in secret and would endanger themselves to save their 'enemies'?

Everything that was once good and winning about them was sucked out, degree by degree, to leave the corpse, hollow and dead, strung up on wires as a grim marionette.

I'm sure most who see this will vehemently disagree, that I'm completely wrong, that THEY like them.

Yes, you like this three, but you don't like Team Rocket. This is not them. You have yours, and I have mine, but let's not pretend they are the same.

Why, if there is no difference, would I be so hostile, when they meant so much too me?

Did you ever wonder where the original fans went, why they all departed en masse? It's not because they 'moved on' or 'matured'.

They didn't leave Pokémon. Pokémon left them.

As the makers rely so heavily on repetition (sorry, nostalgia) they arrogantly expect us to still be here, having blithely welcomed our memories minced and our canon ripped up or ripped off, apparently.

We're intended to put up with watching them lay waste to ťhe series's body, clinging on for when a rotting bone is pulled up now and again and waved at us, before they chuck it aside to continue the dismemberment.

It's been eaten from the inside out, explaining the facial collapse. Behold the beauty on show:

You see what I mean, don't you?

Don't you? No, because otherwise you'd say the same.

How anyone feels able to describe three deformed freaks as 'hot' or 'cute' I will never comprehend.

The uniform collar protrudes like a solid pipe, emphasising the pencil necks.

It gives the impression of wrinkled, leathery tortoises peering out of their shells to secure a tasty lettuce treat.

Is that pretty? No.

Is it so surprising I don't care for my favourites to resemble melted waxwork skeletons of their own dæmonic counterparts?

S&M is a most fitting name, for this is torture.

In the film Death Becomes Her, Meryl Streep and Goldie Hawn vie for the attention of Bruce Willis, both taking a serum giving everlasting youth and slimness.

The catch is it confers immortality, but not invulnerability, so when pushed down the stairs Meryl survives but is dead, her neck broken, thus she's zipped up in the morgue fridge.

When Goldie is shot with a canon she too rises, internal organs blown out.

The rest of the adventure involves the pair losing the war against time, patching up and painting over peeling grey skin, holding onto loose limbs as their bodies fall apart.

This obviously is the case here. The trio lapped the potion up at the close of Sinnoh, experienced a fatal accident and are now steadily crumbling to mush before us.

According to grave-diggers the head always goes first, so there you are then.

I have a suspicion that Giovanni lured all three to his crypt, experimenting on them to engineer his ultimate super soldier, which explains their flat, plastic appearance. Those since Unova began are the cyborgs, the real ones locked in his cellar.

You may notice I have about the lowest opinion possible of the current writing team, as they deserve.

Why should I have any respect for vindictive halfwits like this, who hate Team Rocket so much they're going out of their way to distort and uglify them, expressing the resentment in celluloid?

Jessie, James and Meowth lost their only defender in Takeshi Shudo. From that point they descended from loveable, hapless tragic figures to self-parodies (Hoenn) whiney, irritating divs dumping one another at every interval (Sinnoh), robotic, amoral scum (Unova and Kalos) and now physically repulsive minor additions (Alola and Galar). Is that trajectory all accidental?

It not that it's a new 'style' (for want of a better word), as were that the case, this hideousness would apply to the entire cast, but it's only done to Team Rocket. How could that be unless motivated by malice?

Given the sub thesps are obliged to prostrate themselves in the dust, begging fans to make their appreciation known, it smacks of desperation.

They wouldn't need to ask that were the trio treated as an integral component. They must sense the objections and are thus drumming up support to avoid the dole queue.

Are those in charge so resentful of their presence it manifests in mutilating them, keen to do anything that may alienate the fanbase, so at the first sign of a dip in popularity they can leap upon it as the perfect excuse to write Team Rocket out?

Why be surprised? These are imbeciles who reject their own canon at the close of every generation, so why care about someone else's?

If people have to harangue the writers with grovelling praise of their retcons, rehashes and all-round twatting about, butter 'em up sufficiently, with the implied threat of deserting the franchise should Team Rocket be ejected, taking their purses too, all so the smug, avaricious berks deign to put the trio in the next generation, that proves they don't want them, so how can what they write for their characters be objectively of any worth?

Team Rocket would've departed by now, were there not a palpable worry their absence might ring the death knell of the whole thing, turning off the financial tap, which is what matters.

Therefore they are retained, grudgingly, and only so long as the clamour continues at its current decibel level. If that drops it's over, and don't expect a romantic resolution. Why should pleasing you be a concern when you're to leave with them?

Ask yourself: how much of your devotion is based on what they are right now, and how much is from who they used to be?

How long can they live off past glories?

The offences done in Unova and Kalos were bad enough, but remarkably Game Freak found further depths to plumb, therefore it can only get worse.

I have of course retained the loveliest for last:

Be still, my beating heart.

No, really, be still. Stop infact.

Planet of the Apes.

#Team Rocket #Jessie #James #Meowth #Alola #GIFS

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spectrumscribe · 6 years

Note

Okay, I just thought of this since I only actually got around to watching the other rottmnt episodes yesterday but like since they look like they'd love it (well at least Raph and Mikey) maybe have the turts spend a night with April dressing up all cute and like putting on makeup and nail polish (Maybe with them wearing old big clothes April found or owns? Or after acquiring a whole bunch of clothes through whatever means). (Mikey and Raph just really loved dressing up and I loved it too)

this one was too cute a prompt to pass on. and congrats on joining the brand new rottmnt fandom! we’re growing in numbers with every day that the proper release date draws closer. :3c

“It’s making my eyes itchy.”

“Shh, you look great. Now- keep holding still, I have tocurl them.”

“Is it gonna hurt?”

“Not if you hold still.”

“Those look like they’re going to hurt me.”

“They won’t, promise.”

“You sure?”

“I’ve used them on myself, Leo. They don’t hurt.”

Leo’s lips stay in a bracing grimace though, rigid all overwith tension as April gently curls the fake eyelashes. She giggles at howscared her friend is, considering that Leo walks around with a giant sword mostdays and has faced plenty scarier than makeup tools. He’s a total dork, justlike Mikey, who is watching the process with wide eyes; leaning on his armsover the side of the bed, looking up at the both of them.

“Soooo… does ithurt?” he asks, poking Leo’s leg.

“Nnnnooo…?” Leo says slowly, blinking as April takes awaythe curler. He’s still grimacing. “Still super itchy, though.” He blinks rapidly,testing out the lashes. “God, how do humans livewith hair on their faces like this?”

“Haha, you look so weird, Leo. I wanna go next.”

“I think I might stick with eyeliner, April,” Leo says,touching the tips of the lashes. April smacks his hand away before he canunstick the glue.

“Take a look before you decide,” April says, holding up acircular desk mirror. Leo takes the mirror from her, examining himself in it ashe turns his head side to side. The thick black eyelashes stand out against thestreaks of red markings on his face, accentuated further by the eyeliner they’dalready applied earlier; before April convinced Leo to give eyelashes a go.

“I look… soweird,” Leo says after a moment. “Turtles really aren’t supposed to have hairon their faces. It’s… kinda a nice-weird, though? Itchy, but nice.”

“My turn,” Mikeyproclaims, clambering onto the bed and shoving Leo out of the way. He percheson the comforter with an expectant expression, eager as anything. Leo grumblesand unscrunches himself from between Mikey and the wall, climbing off the endof the bed and getting some space.

“Can I have the reallythick ones? They’re glittery,” Mikey asks, pointing at the costume eyelashesApril saved from Halloween one year. “If I’m gonna have itchy eyes, I wanna getmy money’s worth out of things.”

“Sure thing, hon,” April says, opening the packet. Mikey isless fidgety than Leo had been, probably by virtue of having seen his bigbrother go through the experience first. April’s started to realize that aslong as at least one of the brothers has done something before the rest, theother three will gladly follow lead. Even if whatever they’re doing is a badidea.

They also, sometimes, feel more comfortable doing somethingafter April’s done it first. That factmakes a strange squishy spot of warmth in her chest. Her relationship with thebrothers has really started to feel closer the past months; easy andcomfortable.

April doesn’t have any blood siblings, so in a way, it’s beena novel experience having the brothers in her life. More and more, they… feellike actual little brothers to her. Sitting here in her room, her small makeup bagspread across the bed and having spent the past half hour delicately painting eachother’s faces- it feels familial and warm in a way, like they’ve doneit a hundred times before. And that’s proof enough of how close April’s gottenwith the brothers.

The appreciative noises Mikey makes to himself when he getsthe mirror, after the job is done, makes April smile fondly. “I feel like abird of paradise,” Mikey says, fluttering his new eyelashes.

“You definitely look like one,” Leo says from the floor,having moved into the same spot Mikey had been. He laughs when Mikey winksexaggeratedly, still showing off his new look.

April uncurls her legs, sighing in relief as blood flowsback into. “Aight, I’ve been sitting too long. Up, up. I gotta check if theother two haven’t made the microwave sentient yet anyway.”

Her friends do as she asks, getting out of the way andfollowing April from her room. There’s no smoke coming from the kitchen, orsounds of laser blasts, which April is steadily becoming familiar with viafriendship with Donnie- but there isthe sound of someone lecturing someone else with a frustrated tone.

“Do you see this? It’s a vegetable. You have a mouthful ofcanines. You don’t like vegetables.Carnivores do not eat carrots.”

Mayhem’s crickety voice responds with a rolling chirp.

“You. Are a carnivore. I aman omnivore. I eat carrots. You eat meat. I saw you inhale fivehamburgers in one sitting just last week. Go steal someone’s fastfood and leave my carrots alone.”

“Oh my gosh,” Mikey giggles. Leo is laughing into his palm,and April feels herself grinning. As they come into the kitchen, Donnie isstanding in front of the counter with his hands on his hips, sans his battleshell in a rare instance of vulnerability limited to only specificcircumstances. IE: spending time with his family and April in a safe setting.

Mayhem sitting in front of the scowling turtle, tailflicking back and forth playfully as they give an innocent look. There’s acollection of chewed on and spat back out carrots littering the counter aroundtheir paws.

“Are you berating my pet, Donnie? Seriously?” April laughs.

“They keep stealing the snacks,” Donnie accuses flatly,pointing at Mayhem. “They are. A thief.”

“Ohhh, and such a cutelittle thief,” April coos, coming over and petting Mayhem. They purr like alittle engine, chirping as she squishes their cheeks and scratches their big ears.

“You’re biased,” Donnie scoffs.

“They do keep my feet warm at night,” April admits happily.Leo and Mikey both ignore Donnie’s disgust with the veggie snatcher, joiningApril in giving Mayhem the attention they’ve probably been trying to get.

“Guys?” Raph asks from the next room over. “Hey, there’s afew good movies on Netflix and I dunno which-” Raph’s shell scrapes the wall ashe tries to squeeze through the doorway, and he cringes and cuts off. “Oh,shit, shit- April, I’m really sorry.”

April sees the damage done, a deep gouge into the whiteframe along with a few other smaller scratches. She just sighs, picking upMayhem and cradling the strange little creature. “It’s alright, Raph. It’snothing my cousins haven’t done already- or me, too, actually. I got up to someserious shenanigans as a kid.”

“I either bump my head or I hit the wall; your home is so tiny,April,” Raph complains, though he still looks deeply apologetic. April noticedfrom the get-go how careful her large friend has been in her home. Despite the excitementabout April’s parents being away for the weekend and the five of them gettingto hang out here, April suspects Raph is actually fairly uncomfortable movingaround in such a small, breakable space. Thus, his expression of regret and howhe’s holding all his limbs close to himself.

“It’s cool, no worries. They probably won’t even noticeanother scratch,” April promises, handing Raph Mayhem for a cuddle. Now thatthe two of them have gotten warmed up to one another, they get along just fine.After the third time Mayhem attacked Raph- back when the little creature firstcame to them- they’d come up with the hypothesis that Mayhem was mistaking Raphfor the big muscly monster guys that’d been chasing them. Some treats, a calmspace, and Raph sitting down instead of standing over them fixed that easily.

Mayhem purrs contently in Raph’s arms, easing the slightdiscomfort that’d been in his expression. Donnie, through the conversation, hasdrafted his two younger siblings for busboy services, and is sending all theirmovie snacks into the living room.

“Nice lashes,” Raph says to Mikey and Leo as they pass.

“Nice hat,” they chorus back, and Raph grins, still pleasedwith his wide sunhat. When the brothers had first arrived, they’d stumbledacross the bags of clothing donations April’s parents have been collecting fora community event. Raph, for obvious reasons, hadn’t fit a single piece ofclothing.

While the other three had been playing dress up, and while Aprilhurriedly bullshitted an essay so they could really start the fun, Raph had saton the couch and tried not to act too disappointed about being left out. Donnie,who’d been sporting a nice work jumpsuit and ill-fitting rain boots at thetime, was the one who fixed that.

“It suits you,” he’d said with purposeful kindness, placingthe sunhat on his brother’s head. It hadn’t been a beat later and Mikey and Leooffered the wealth of chunky necklaces in addition; finding a way to includetheir oldest brother in the dress up game.

Raph put the necklaces back in the end, but hasn’t takenthat hat off since it was put on his head. April has a feeling she’ll just giveit to him permanently, because Raph keeps touching its brim with a happy littlegrin.

“Can we watch this one?” Mikey asks, selecting an animatedmovie from the trending section. “It dropped like, yesterday, and I didn’t geta chance to watch it yet.”

“I saw the trailer, it looks decent,” Leo says, floppingonto the couch next to Mikey. April takes the third cushion of couch, while Donnietakes the loveseat. Raph sits on the floor, leaning carefully against the armof Donnie’s chair, so he doesn’t rip the fabric of it.

“What’s it about?” Raph asks.

“The future and robots and a generic rebel girl,” Donnie replies.“From the looks of things, at least. It’s pretty obvious from the title card.”

“What? I sent you a link, Don,” Leo says, vaguelydisgruntled. “You didn’t watch it?”

Donnie shrugs. “You send me a lot of links, Leon. I can’tclick on them all and keep up with myprojects.”

Mikey pats Leo’s shoulder as his brother sulks momentarily. “I’lljust play the trailer right now for everyone, ‘n’ then we can decide if wewanna watch.”

“No!” Donnie abruptlyshouts, lunging at Mayhem on the coffee table. He unsuccessfully picks them upand drops them on the floor in order to save the carrots, as Mayhem canteleport and tends to ignore people trying to put them where they don’t want tobe.

The trailer starts playing as Donnie tries again to shooMayhem off his carrots, only for the creature to teleport out of reach and landin April’s lap. Purring and holding a baby carrot in their mouth. Donniemutters, “I give up,” and slumps into his loveseat as his brother laugh at him.

“You are a very bad baby,” April tells them seriously, thoughshe’s smiling indulgently. They just chirrup in a distinctly unrepentant wayand spits their chewed carrot on the carpet. She’ll have to clean that uplater.

April scritches their ears with a roll of her eyes, settlinginto the squish of being on the couch with Leo and Mikey; ready for the nexthalf of their hangout night.

Commission info & Kofi link.

#Request Night #rottmnt #leonardo #April O'Neil #michelangelo #donatello #raphael #team as family #My writing #yay for adopted sibs playing dress up with each other :DDD #me and my sibs do fashion shows every time we get a bunch of new clothes and try them on we get home #its a lot of fun #also i like the idea of the brothers not really giving a hoot about masculinity or femininity in this version #they seem like people who are comfortable with themselves and however they present their gender and sexuality #like my 13yr old sister and her friends!#anyway thanks again for the fun prompt #rosepetalthings

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drogonthronedestroyer · 5 years

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Game of Groans..or at least season 8 was...

Episode 3

Truth…ish…...

“This Red Woman…”

“Kinvara.”

“She…brought Daenerys back from the dead?”

“Why do you look so surprised?” Jon could no longer look at him, instead he turned his attention to Drogon, immediately wishing he had not, for nothing he saw there told him he was wrong, but he could not look back now. Only listen. “Are you not living proof that those murdered by the blades of treachery can stand tall and wreak revenge once again?” He crossed his arms over his chest. His breath misting in the cold air. “You hung them, didn’t you? The men who killed you?”

Jon once again felt his knees weaken. He could not believe what he was hearing, for how could it be true? The evidence was before his eyes, yet why had no one else in the kingdom heard of it? Not Bran, neither by his visions or by the constant flow of news from abroad which his council would discuss and deliberate? Sansa? Although she would get her news from Kings Landing, or from merchants who had crossed the Narrow Sea. Surely, someone would have known? It seemed impossible. No one would fail to see a dragon and talk of it, for they would be well remembered in Mereen, not to mention the other cities Daenerys had liberated. But then, everyone knew Drogon had survived. Jon himself suspected he would have gone east, to the great grasslands where there would be sheep and goats for him to feast upon, with no one to deny him. Someone could have sent news of a sighting back to Westeros, but it would not be seen as unusual that the dragon had returned to the land he knew best. The land he most probably considered his home. As for the rest…that could have been kept secret, particularly in a land thankful for the freedom they now enjoyed. If indeed it were true.

Truth. The longer he stood in the arc of Drogon’s stare he could not deny it. This boy. This man, was his son.

“What is your name?” his voice cracked hoarsely. Yet he dare not move towards him. Not yet.

“Torrhen.” His expression was thoughtful now, and he didn’t make a move either. Tormund barked gruffly.

“Torrhen Targaryen? She certainly was bloody mad to give you a name like that!”

“I believe,” Torrhen countered smoothly, not even flinching, “it is a Stark name.” His unsettling gaze remained fixed on Jon who swallowed with some difficulty. Time was passing, half the day done.

“What do you know of the Starks?” he asked brusquely, feeling a shiver despite the weight of his cloak. The sun had been gradually withdrawing, the sky turning grey. Grey as ash.

“Everything.”

Jon no longer doubted. The cold, hard truth was staring him in the face. By the time he had discovered his true lineage in the crypt all those many years ago, the seed had already been sown. From that day on, no matter how much he loved her, he had forced himself to resist every temptation, and there were many. It had been easy for her. Her ancestors had been marrying their own blood for centuries. But he had been raised a Stark. He would always, no matter what, be a Stark. Even had he ruled. Only by then, his enforced denial was too late. Tears tore at the back of his throat. She could have had children. She did have children. She had been carrying his child when he slid a blade into her heart. He had not only killed her; he had killed his own child. All three of them, it seemed, had been raised from the dead. “And what do you want?” He found it hard to speak, for this was his son. This…stranger…was his very own flesh and blood.

“I want what is mine.” Torrhen may as well have been discussing the weather, his words calm and measured. “Well, what is yours really. So, I came here first, to see you, to see if things have changed in all these years. She asked me to do that. To find you. To seek you out when I was old enough, and find out if you still lived. Begged me, in fact, for all that you were to each other. She forgave you, in her way, even though she never understood. Never understood how you could contemplate killing her as you held her so very closely, professing your undying love.” His eyes glinted like shards of emerald glass. “Only, it wasn’t your love that was undying, was it father? It was hers.” A heartbeat passed. Then another, before a burst of laughter gusted past him like a gale, whistling across his ears.

“You?” Tormund bellowed. “You skinny, milk-sour streak of shit? What are you going to do? Ride that monster down to King’s Landing and what? Sit down with the king and drink that piss they call wine whilst you ask very nicely if you can have the throne?”

“There is no throne.” Jon’s voice was deathly calm. Torrhen had moved a little closer and Jon could now see the silver clasp at his neck. It was one he had seen many times before, had even held its cool weight in his hands. Three dragon heads. She wore it, always.

“A throne doesn’t make a king.” As he heard those words, Jon began to realise that his son, their son, held a wisdom and composure beyond his years. Tormund’s words and his blustering manner did nothing to discomfort him. He had come for a purpose, it seemed, and nothing they could say would divert him from that path. “That’s a mistake far too many have made. The fabled Iron Throne became more important than those who sat upon it, or aspired to. It is a damn shame they didn’t destroy the thing as soon as my grand-father’s throat was cut, for the throne itself became evil personified. But then, I hear the Lannisters always did like their symbols of grandeur, especially if they saw it as a way to inspire fear. The Kingslayer even replaced his missing hand with one of gold, no baser metal would do, oh no, not for him! They say the Lannisters shit gold, well for certain, the Kingslayer wiped his arse with it!” Torrhen turned slowly and walked over to Drogon, once again reaching out his hand to stroke the animal affectionately, as Jon used to do with Ghost. “It took a greater sacrifice to end that tyranny. That was her true destiny.”

Tormund stared at Jon, his blue eyes wide and blazing. “Are you listening to this shit? Tell him!”

Jon looked back at his friend sadly. Tell him what? That destiny was death’s handmaiden? His next words came with difficulty. He doubted he could stop him, but he could try…

“Even if all of this is true, it makes no difference,” he sighed. “The name Targaryen will never be welcome in the capital. You would be imprisoned before you could draw breath.” He flicked a glance over the slim, fur-clad shoulder. “And he won’t be able to help you. He could cause some damage, probably, but as for clearing your path…”

He didn’t expect the laughter. Torrhen appeared slow to anger and he had cause for anger. Even for revenge. But here stood a man, a boy, who preferred to reason to revenge. Or so it seemed.

“I would indeed be a stupid man if I thought I could fly in there, announce myself to the council and expect peace to prevail! Even if I could persuade you to come south with me and testify to my right! Even if none of the lords there show the barest spark of interest in ruling the kingdom, having seen where that leads. Why has your brother remained king for so many years? The throne poisoned the very act of Kingship. Perhaps your brother was such an attractive proposition to them exactly because he needed no such visible trappings of power.”

“You could be lying!” Tormund growled. “Maybe the red witch enchanted the dragon to let you ride him and you are no more than some whore’s bastard!” He didn’t see Jon flinch at the word but Torrhen caught it and inclined his head.

“He knows I am not.”

Jon took a hesitant step forwards, half raised his hand, his eyes fixed on the silver clasp.

“That was hers.” Torrhen reached up and touched it with tender affection.

“It was.”

“Three dragons. She had it fashioned herself. But now…” Jon looked over at Drogon who was eerily quiet, as if listening attentively to every word, waiting for the slightest sign of something he didn’t care for. The merest hint of a threat to his new…master.

“Oh, this was never about that, not really” Torrhen smiled affably. “Kinvara told me. My mother was mistaken. Three dragons, yes. But not the ones she believed. Her destiny was to put a Targaryen on the throne, which she will still fulfil. She sealed it by meeting you. We… are the three dragons.”

“I take it back! You are her son!” Tormund chuckled roughly. “And just as fucking mad as she was!”

“You may think so.” Torrhen replied stiffly, for the first time showing a glimpse of irritation at the big man’s constant denial of him. Drogon sensed his change of mood and the spiny head came up, eyes glittering dangerously. “But this is my destiny.”

“Where have I heard that before?” Tormund grumbled under his breath as Jon shook his head sadly.

“You are right. Daenerys conquered King’s Landing. She won the Iron Throne, the right to rule,” he was consciously aware of Drogon’s burning stare, “and she lost herself in the process. The very fight to get there corrupted her, step by step, in small decisions she had to make along the way. She didn’t see it at the time, not even when it was too late, that her path had turned her into something she would never have wanted to be.” He felt himself growing angry, an emotion fuelled by hurt. A ripping, gut wrenching pain which tore him apart deep down inside. “Besides, she had the Unsullied. A Dothraki hoard at her back. Three dragons.” He looked at Drogon again pointedly. No matter that he was still a magnificent beast, larger than he had been, and no doubt still capable of inflicting catastrophic damage, one man and one beast could not conquer the world alone. “Go back to Mereen and forget this. Do not become your mother. Go. Live the life she should have had.”

“Or take your dragon south and let them capture you, kill it, and throw your bony arse into a dank stone cell.” Tormund was grinning, enjoying Jon’s dismissal of this foreign upstart, no matter who he said he was. He was only to happy to chime in and words belittle this audacious sprat’s ambitions. Which was harder than it appeared for Torrhen stood his ground, continuing to address all his words to Jon. To converse with the man who was his father.

“I have the element of surprise,” Torrhen remarked blandly. “If you try to send ravens south, we will burn them. I can be at Winterfell well before any message you could send! If I have to, I can burn my way down the country before Bran the Broken even blinks! Don’t you think King’s Landing will remember? Don’t you think they will cower in fear at the mere thought of a dragon’s shadow flying over their rooftops?” For the first time, Jon felt the burn of grudging admiration for he saw a confidence that he, for one, had never possessed. “No. I don’t need to go with an army! Not now.” The words rang out across the crisp, clear air. “I go with my birth right and insist that I am given what is mine in peace!”

Fear took place of pain deep down in Jon’s gut. Now, he sounded like Dany. Like Dany just before his world went mad. Confident. The confidence of a madman?

“When a Targaryen is born, the Gods flip a coin…”

Varys word’s echoed in his ear. Could he stand by and see another life lost to the futile pursuit of power. He stepped forward, barely the space of a hand between him and his son. Their eyes connected, the dark meeting the light. He wanted to reach out. To touch his son. Too curl his fingers around his arm and feel the flesh that was born of his flesh. But he dare not. All he could do was try to reason with him, try to prevent another life being needlessly thrown away.

“It won’t be that…”

Torrhen smiled brightly, interrupting Jon’s attempt to dismiss his plans.

“Are you are about to tell me that it won’t be easy? That your brother will see my intentions? That with his all seeing gaze he will be expecting me? That he will spirit himself into Drogon so that he can neutralise the threat and capture us both? If so, you may be wildly overestimating his ability,” he scoffed. “Yes, he can control other beings but let us consider, what exactly is his count so far?” Torrhen raised one hand, counting with his fingers. “His own wolf. Hardly a challenge to take the mind of a loyal dog. Ravens, not particularly known for their overt intelligence but what does he do when he takes over them? Fly around spying! Useful. For him. But who knows how much of what he sees he actually chooses to divulge. Drogon could take out a flock of crows in one breath! Would he die, I wonder, if the crows he had warged into were burnt to a crisp?” He stepped away from Jon, beginning to pace around in a lazy circle. “Then there was his manservant. Hodor? Well, I rest my case…the man was feeble minded.” He flung one arm out then, pointing to Drogon. “You cannot tell me that any of those compare with taking control of him?”

Jon frowned in astonishment at how much the boy knew! He tried hard to remember exactly what he had told Dany that she had passed on to their son. He didn’t recall telling her anything about Hodor, their lack witted manservant from Winterfell. What had Hodor to do with anything anyway? The last Jon had seen of him was at Winterfell, years ago, carrying Bran around in his arms when he was a child. Although…there was something Sam had said. Something about showing Bran and Hodor through the wall, many years ago, aiding him in his quest to find the Three Eyed Raven. There had been no time back when they waited for the dead to attack, no time for Bran to tell him everything and certainly less for him to tell Dany anything he did. He just didn’t understand. What was worse, Torrhen sensed his confusion and his smile grew broader.

“How do you know all this?” Jon asked gruffly. “The Red Woman?”

Torrhen shrugged lightly, before letting out a heavy, resigned sigh.

“No.” His lips hardened into a thin, unimpressed line and he stopped pacing. Lifting his head, he gave a deep resigned sigh. “I’ve read the books.” His gaze flitted from Jon to Tormund and back. “And seen the show.”

Da da daaaaaaaaaaa! Final ep coming up - and unlike season 8 it won't leave you deflated!

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airadam · 4 years

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Episode 133 : The Struggle Continues

"Why you think Bobby and Huey P were heat holding?"

- Toki Wright

It's been a very up and down month, which I imagine isn't at all a unique experience. This episode reflects some of that, marking the eleventh birthday of the podcast while also recognising the incredible Black Lives Matter street protests that have been taking place over the last few weeks. The selection takes that as the main theme, and I think it's a solid mix that you'll enjoy - and one where almost everyone will learn one new track at least.

By the way, today would be a good day to arrest the murderers who killed Breonna Taylor.

Twitter : @airadam13

Twitch : @airadam13

Playlist/Notes

Cappadonna : Splish Splash

I'd been thinking about doing that little doubles manipulation and scratch on a mixtape for about twenty years - no exaggeration! Cappadonna blew everyone away with his debut on Ghostface's "Winter Warz", and his debut LP "The Pillage" was highly anticipated by Wu fans. I think it's reasonable to say it maybe didn't live up to the outsized expectations, but there were a few standouts and for me, this was one of them. Only a short track, but Tru Master's beat is solid and Cappa knows what to do with it.

Jay Dee : Fuck The Police (Instrumental)

Love this beat, Dilla had these drums banging right through the speakers. This 2001 single-only release is a classic in Dilla's catalogue, written after suffering one of many incidents of police harassment in his hometown of Detroit. It was slated for the long-shelved "The Diary" album, but MCA records didn't want the heat and so it got the release as a 12" on Up Above Records. A must-have, in my opinion!

N.W.A : Fuck Tha Police

The iconic anthem. This is the track that got a group of young (Eazy-E, at 25, was the oldest) Black men from Compton and Los Angeles onto the radar of the FBI, and into an indelible place in music history. I've only played Ice Cube's verse here, as I wanted to blend into the next cut which carries on in the same sonic vein. I figure every listener already knows this track well, or should be putting "listen to Straight Outta Compton" on their homework lists immediately!

B.Dolan ft. Toki Wright, Jasiri X, and Sage Francis : Film The Police

I only stumbled upon this one this month, and it's so perfectly fitting that there's no way it was getting left out of the selection. Just because of the length (it's around six minutes long, as is the NWA track before), I omitted Jasiri X's verse, but of course it's on the full version on the "House of Bees, Vol. 2" album. Dolan is an MC out of Rhode Island, while Toki Wright is from Minneapolis - home of the late George Floyd. This is a great re-working of "Fuck The Police" in an era-appropriate way; while almost all of us walk around with pocket video cameras today, the Rodney King tape was notable not for the violence, but the fact it was recorded.

EPMD : Give The People (Remix)

The original version of this track as heard on "Business As Usual" lifts the groove from the O'Jays "Give The People What They Want" heavily, but this version de-emphasises it and piles in enough other samples to give a lawyer a heart attack! I personally prefer this mix, which is a bit less obvious (and harder to find). Lyrically, the track is primarily about the difficulties Hip-Hop had finding acceptance in the era in which it was recorded, but with a sprinkling of the wider politics in there, and the perfect title, I thought it was a good one to go with.

The P Brothers : Across The Planet (Instrumental)

This track turned up for me while undertaking my vinyl digitisation project, and with The P Brothers, the quality is always going to be there. The veteran Nottingham crew are responsible for some of the most uncompromising material ever to emerge from these shores, and this track is no exception. The vocal version on the 12" single features Imam T.H.U.G on the mic, with a heavy Cappo track on the flip. The Akala sample I laid over the top came from his brilliant two-part IG Live session which you can find here and here.

Above The Law : Freedom Of Speech

The 1990 "Livin' Like Hustlers" LP is arguably one of the greatest "gangsta" albums of the era, and some of that was because they comfortably covered different topics and sounds without it ever sounding forced. Uptempo here - by modern standards - Cold 187um and KMG (RIP) ride a classic Myra Barnes sample (it's out there, I'm not snitching) and talk about the atmosphere of censorship that was around Hip-Hop, as well as the role of parents. Definitely check the album if you don't already know it.

Saigon : Shok TV

Dug this DJ Shok-produced cut out from its place on "The Best of Saigon, Pt. 2" to take a position in this month's selection, "Hill Street Blues" sample and all! Saigon has always had a social/political streak in his content, coming from a very street perspective, which I think comes across in this very short track. A 2003 recording, this preceded his long-awaited debut LP by eight years - when you listen to both, you can hear how he refined his style without drastically changing it.

Apple Juice Kid : Protest

A fitting pick from an album about a very different revolution, in Egypt in 2011 - seems an age ago already. The "Beats of a Revolution" album is still available on Bandcamp, and as a free download you really can't go wrong.

Anderson .Paak : Lockdown

Big new single that captures so much of what's been going on this year. The Black Lives Matter protests and the violent reply of the state would have been incredibly significant on their own, but at the same time as the coronavirus pandemic...your grandchildren will be asking you about what it was like to survive these times. This timely track is one where it's worth seeing the video as well.

Mobb Deep : U.S.A. (Aiight Then)

It's been three years since Prodigy passed so I totally wanted to drop one of his records here - my first thought was "Real Power Is People", but in the end this quasi-unity track from "Murda Muzik" was a better sonic fit. It's actually got a little bit of a club feel to it without pandering, and was definitely a welcome inclusion on the LP. This was also a single release with "Spread Love" on the flip, which is pretty much the other end of the goodwill spectrum, don't be fooled by the title...

Sampa The Great : Final Form

"The Return" is a wicked album with an array of styles, but this was the first track many would have heard - Sampa stamping her authority on a beat based around the same break as Ghostface's "Be Easy". Silentjay is on production, taking that sample as a base but building out from there, and Sampa gets very busy with it.

X-Vandals : A Poem For Black Boys

I happened across the "The War of Art" album when I got it from one of the crew in Spanish Harlem at a Tools of War park jam a good few years back! It's taken me a while to find just the right spot for one of their tracks, but this is perfect. The production is courtesy of Johnny "Juice" Rosado (who did scratches for Public Enemy for many years), and the bulk of the vocal is a sample he laid in - the voice and words of the poet Nikki Giovanni, with a dark and sardonic poem of resistance.

Ta'Raach : Yeah! (Instrumental)

It's been a long, long time since I played the vocal version on the show, so I think it's fair enough to drop Ta'Raach's ill instrumental here! If you see a copy of the 12", definitely pick it up.

Public Enemy : State Of The Union (STFU)

Unless I'm very much mistaken, this new single is the first beat DJ Premier has ever done for Public Enemy - two iconic forces combining at last! It should be obvious for anyone who knows about PE at all that conscious and rebel music has been their lane from the very start, and so this is very much in keeping with their long and storied history. Chuck D may be very much an elder statesman but that voice and that message are as raw as ever! You don't need to go to the usual download sites to get this one - go straight to the Public Enemy website for the real.

Waajeed ft. Tiombe Lockhart : The Overtaking

Detroit comes to the selection a second time (after Ta'Raach) with the ominous opening track from the excellent "The War LP". It grinds along with almost a slow dark metal vibe, and Tiombe Lockhart creeps in and out as the voice of the people.

DJ Vadim ft. Phi-Life Cypher : Ghetto Rebels

I had completely forgotten about this one, and I don't know how, because this is killer. The basslines (there are several, at different points) will have your system under pressure, then Phi-Life just drown you in a lyrical tidal wave. It's unusual to hear Hip-Hop coming from a Rasta perspective, but you can definitely hear it in their words. DJ Vadim's "U.S.S.R. The Art of Listening" features some very serious production, and is available used for a very reasonable price either as a download or on the used market on CD.

Gang Starr : Riot Akt

Tucked away on the back half of "The Ownerz", the last Gang Starr LP to be released during Guru's lifetime, we find this dose of reality. Guru's message of focusing on the real threats and drawing together to protect the community may have been written in 2003, but is 100% on the nose right now. Everything down to the militarised police, tear gas, and corruption are the things that have been the case for years, but in the last few months we've seen them in HD and on social media.

Enes Suleman : Lo Quiero Todo (Instrumental)

From the instrumental version of the "StreetSoul", the Spanish producer out of France comes with a banging beat - check the original LP release to hear it with the featured MC Drako on the track.

The Impressions : We're A Winner

An uplifting, motivational song to close the month, and one which was an anthem of the Civil Rights movement of the 1960s. This pre-dates tracks like James Brown's "Say It Loud", and was a trailblazer in being as straightforward a statement of Black pride and the righteousness of the struggle as it is. Curtis Mayfield, the frontman of The Impressions, wrote this track after the concept came to him in a dream. When it came time to record, the group brought a live audience into the studio to give it extra flavour - I think you'll agree, it really adds something. This was a big single that was also the title track to the first of two 1968 albums by The Impressions, and deserves to be heard in full here.

Please remember to support the artists you like! The purpose of putting the podcast out and providing the full tracklist is to try and give some light, so do use the songs on each episode as a starting point to search out more material. If you have Spotify in your country it's a great way to explore, but otherwise there's always Youtube and the like. Seeing your favourite artists live is the best way to put money in their pockets, and buy the vinyl/CDs/downloads of the stuff you like the most!

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