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musicblogwales · 3 years

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Q&A: Gwenifer Raymond Pre-Tour Interview

Music Blog Wales are really honoured to have spoken exclusively with Welsh virtuoso guitar player Gwenifer Raymond before she embark’s out on her brand new UK tour, huge thanks to Gwenifer for agreeing to chat with us and all the best with the upcoming tour dates.

Raymond began playing guitar at the age of eight shortly after having been first exposed to punk and grunge. After years of playing around the Welsh valleys in various punk outfits she began listening more to pre-war blues musicians as well as Appalachian folk players, eventually leading into the guitar players of the American Primitive genre.

She released her sophomore LP ‘Strange Lights Over Garth Mountain’ at the end of 2020 to rapturous response. Her debut ‘You Never Were Much Of A Dancer’ emerged on Tompkins Square to the same response in 2018. She has found herself equally embraced by fans of old-west and equally, by left field/experimental audiences. Appearances throughout the UK and the EU as well as the US marks her out as one to watch.

Q: What part of Wales do you hail from and how has it geographically had an effect on your music?

Gwenifer: I'm originally from a village called Taff’s Well, so just north of Cardiff and at the tip of the Rhondda at the foot of the Garth mountain. I do think landscape can shape music quite a lot, and especially instrumental music. I think my own compositions have something of a folk horror element to them,which seems to me to reflect the overgrown, dark and witchy woods that I recall exploring quite a bit when I was growing up. I think perhaps that lends it somewhat more of the enclosed and gothic mood, as opposed to a more open and pastoral scene that you often hear in guitar songs.

Q: Your going on a UK tour this week, are you ready?

Gwenifer: Yeah I think so. It's been a while since playing a lot of shows on the trot, but I'm excited to be getting back to it. I find when I play the same set over a string of nights the music tends to find itself and evolve a little, so it's often where songs really find their feet. Given that I've not really toured this album properly, and a number of those tracks had never been gigged prior to recording it, it'll be really interesting to hear what happens to them. Q: How will you select songs for your live set?

Gwenifer: I usually choose my sets pretty selfishly along the lines of what I want to play. Invariably it'll be mostly the newest stuff with a few older tracks thrown in. Of course I try to pick tracks that will give the set as a whole a natural and engaging pace and dynamic. The big caveat to all of this of course is tuning: I play in a number of different guitar tunings, and nothing stops a set in its tracks more than spending five minutes tuning your guitar - of course this is unavoidable, but I do try to group tunes together in order to minimise it. Q: Your latest Album is 'Strange Lights......' where and how was it recorded?

Gwenifer: This was recorded in isolation in my basement flat in central Brighton. I was booked in to record in a studio, but of course COVID put a stop to that- so instead I dropped the money I would have spent on the studio on some new mic’s and recorded it myself. I actually did it over a week's worth of evenings (whilst working my day job remotely from home during the day),recording a song or two per night. I spent the following week mixing, so it all came together pretty quickly in the end. Q: Do you have any tips and tricks for the avid home recording artist?

Gwenifer: Learn your neighbours' laundry schedule so you can avoid the rumbling of their washing machine. Beyond that, yeah just find the quietest and most comfortable spot you can in your home, invest in as decent a microphone as you can reasonably afford and just spend time playing with it; placement etc. Also, obviously most people don't have a fully audio-treated room to record in, but you can do a lot by hanging duvets etc. around you in order to absorb reflections. It's just practice really, training your ears to recognise what sounds good,what doesn't and what minor adjustments can be made to turn one into the other.

Q: In your own words how would you describe the music you produce?

Gwenifer: I guess it's just solo compositional guitar, with a gothic folk edge and twinges of early American blues, heavily informed by the alternating thumb technique predominantly used by early folk and Delta blues guitarist players. Q: Do you have any new music in the pipeline?

Gwenifer: I always do, but I'm a very slow writer. I live with a piece a long time before I consider it 'done'. Right now that's as true as ever and I'm working on some stuff which I may even start slipping into sets on upcoming tours. Q: What is your biggest inspiration for writing and staying creatively focused?

Gwenifer: It's listening to other music I suppose - any other sort of music really.To be honest I don't listen to a lot of solo guitar these days so I tend to be inspired by music completely unlike my own. I'm not sure if I'm creatively 'focused' exactly. Perhaps more creatively unfocused but ever so often a song falls out. I don't think there's a solid or consistent methodology that can be relied on for this sort of thing, it's whatever the little devil on your shoulder convinces you to do.

Just about anybody with an interest in the new school of American primitive will tell you that Welsh guitarist Gwenifer Raymond is one of its most promising proponents. “I’ve been blown away by Gwenifer Raymond,” says Jeff Conklin.

Josh Rosenthal agrees: “She’s just a fascinating person—a great example of somebody taking the raw elements [of the style] and making them more personal.” - BandCamp Daily

"Its intricate folk melody is Welsh and Celtic in style but American Old West in practice. The rhythmic patterns mimic the swift dynamics of a fiddle with a country twang. Western music was originally influenced by traditional folk music from England, Wales, Scotland, and Ireland; Raymond’s seamless crossover grows from these historically intersecting roots." - Stereogum

UK TOUR DATES

August 27 - Ara Deg Festival – Bangor

September 03 – Larmer Tree Festival – Dorset

September 04 – Maverick Festival – Suffolk

September 07 – Cathedral Quarter Arts Festival – Belfast

September 11 – Down At The Abbey Festival – Reading

September 18 – The Castle Hotel – Manchester

September 19 – The Continental – Preston

September 20 – The Musician – Leicester

September 21 – The Crescent – York

September 22 – Brudenell Social Club – Leeds

September 23 – The Old Cinema Launderette – Durham

September 24 – Café #9 – Sheffield

October 29 – Toy Museum – Brighton

November 12 – King’s Place London Jazz Festival

November 13 – The Wight Bear – Bournemouth

November 14 – MAST – Southampton

Watch: Sometimes There's Blood

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PfLJvXNeY-M

Bleeding Finger Blues

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1pAm0uqkXAI

Full web & label links Weblinks*

https://www.facebook.com/gweniferraymondmusic/

https://gweniferraymond.com/

#Gwenifer Raymond #Interview #Pomona #strange lights over Garth Mountain

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jazznoisehere · 4 years

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Gwenifer Raymond: Strange Lights Over Garth Mountain (Tompkins Square, 2020)

Design: Darryl Norsen Photography: Casey Raymond, Jinnwoo

#gwenifer raymond #strange lights over garth mountain #darryl norsen #casey raymond #jinnwoo #album covers #graphic design #photography #folk

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aquariumdrunkard · 3 years

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Gwenifer Raymond :: The Aquarium Drunkard Interview

Gwenifer Raymond is a virtuoso guitar player, born in Wales but extraordinarily adept in the American Primitive tradition, which she learned from Stefan Grossman tab books, John Hurt records and a guitar teacher who introduced her to John Fahey. Her latest album, Strange Lights Over Garth Mountain, is steeped in folk and blues, but imbued with a bit of Welsh folkloric strangeness, which she distinguishes from other UK traditions for its violence and its dark humor.

#gwenifer raymond

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harshr · 3 years

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20 records I enjoyed very much in 2020

EDDINGTON AGAIN - Damani6 Soul/pop; the hook from the chorus in "!ndica" was stuck in my head for weeks. AUSTRA - Hirudin Synth/pop; I actually didn't like this record very much when I first heard it, but it grew on me immensely. I've been a fan of Austra forever and it's great to hear her expand her sonic palette. TYLER CHILDERS - Long Violent History Appalachin country/folk/bluegrass; I remain steadfastly ignorant of Tyler's standard pop/country material, but this EP of (mostly) instrumental fiddle music is fantastic, even without the social commentary context that elevates it even further. CINDER WELL - No Summer Irish/PNW dark folk; eternally grateful I got a chance to see this material performed live last fall. CRYSTAL GEOMETRY - Senestre Hard techno/industrial; I rarely expect a full-length album in this genre to be so good, but CG delivers. DEAD LORD - Surrender Straight-up Thin Lizzy worship; it doesn't make sense, but this band is way better than they have any right to be. MAENAD VEYL - Reassessment Dark techno/industrial; emotionally complex and satisfying in a way that most techno is not. MAJESTOLUXE - Secondary Sanctions Synth/industrial; heavy, dark, and brooding in the best possible way. MORWAN - Zola-Zemlya Slavic post-punk; this is what I always hoped Molchat Doma would sound like. HATARI - Neyslutrans Icelandic industrial; honestly, the full album is kind of a mess overall, but the good songs are GREAT. HOUSE OF HARM - Vicious Pastimes New romantic/synth; total goth comfort food with hooks for days. GWENIFER RAYMOND - Strange Lights Over Garth Mountain Welsh goth does American Primitive solo guitar ala John Fahey. Her first album was superb, but she shows far more range on this one, working solely with her own original material. SANGRE DE MUERDAGO - Xuntas Galician folk; a new Sangre de Muerdago album is pretty much guaranteed to make my year-end list. SAULT - Rise / Black Is Soul/pop/everything; the two definitive albums of 2020. SEVDALIZA - Shabrang Pop/experimental; this record goes places. Also, some of the more inventive use of autotune I've heard in a long while. SIXTH JUNE - Trust Synth/goth/pop; my spouse asks "Is this Enya?" every time I put this on and I consider that to be extremely high praise. STATUES - Holocene Norrland indierock. There were a few other quality indie/noiserock releases this year (Bully, Spunsugar, Radula), but my friends Statues earn top status. UNCONSCIOUS - Regnum Novum Techno/EBM/industrial; much like the Maenad Veyl record, there's an emotional depth here that I find absent in other similar works. VEDAN KOLOD - Wild Games Russian folk; the cover art got my attention and then the actual music blew me away. Vedan Kolod's brooding dark folk is precisely my thing. ZALIVA-D - Immorality Mutant techno from Beijing; there is nothing else in the world that sounds like Zaliva-D and I love it.

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madamhatter · 3 years

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Cue a certain g̶r̶e̶m̶l̶i̶n Avenger walking to Sophie and lying down, resting his head on her lap. Did he ask permission? Nope.

Underneath a canopy of wild and untamed flora, there was the spellcaster perched on the edge of a ledge. Dirtied brown boots still and unswinging, despite the large drop below them. Scarred palms flat and spread across the cool granite flooring, nestled between her legs. A quiet head raised towards the ‘Sun.’

She was on the second tier that was greatly separated from the first floor - a fall could lead to certain human death! ..if they were human, of course - with a wide and spacious view. Unearthed in this very room seemed to have been a land torn from a temperate forest of the British Isles or France, or perhaps it was a gift of Demeter herself.

Fortunately enough, a mouse like herself knows how to tuck herself away in this labyrinth of greenery.

Cascading down the wall below her, some centimeters from her hovering feet, were drooping and weeping wisterias - shell-shaped with blushing purples at their ends. A mourning kind of flora, their caretaker would say, only that tends to be hung up over most everything.

Prickled leaves curve in the air with healthy vivid shades of green, brilliant redbuds in their most peak shade as the light hits against their petals, the scarlet red bean's vines swallow whole most of the walls of the terrarium as they rise over six meters high. Behemoths of the miraculous garth, some could imagine the verdure supports and suspends themself. Their astonishing size and height lend to their illusion, after all.

An egotistical kind of flora, their caretaker would say, one that tends to forget their roots. Their rapacious appetite for sunlight made them swallow the trellises whole, never to be seen again. Only whispers and rumors of the beginnings of such a strange place were they remembered.

A choir of sea daises and golden bells surround the base of the wall, youthful and stretched with their petals in the air, buds raised high to the light. There are already other plots of flowers and growing bushes that stretch out across the first floor -- most are yet to be completed projects with small wooden poles designating new spots to plant flowers.

A deep breath into her lungs, Sophie raises her head as the shadow masks over her now muted golden-copper hairs and already faint brown eyes. She balls her hands into fists, looking up to the ceiling. A completely glass ceiling with faint white trims that were almost hard to spot separating each of the windows.

Raising her hand to the sky, the rays break between her fingertips. She stretches out her fingers, reaching a bit before. Before she frowns to herself. Not at all warm. Nothing kindles. All it is is pestering with its glare. It isn’t the real thing, after all.

It is a part of this illusion - the illusion of normalcy upon a mountain top swarmed by an endless blizzard while the outside world decays and it rains soot and fire across the endless sea of bodies of whom were once living everyday, ordinary life. Like Lettie, like Martha-

"....!”

A shadow at the corner of her eye, Sophie almost goes to turn her head to face the intruder in her greenhouse.

Flicking her hands back at an incredible speed, the Hatter straightens her posture. Unceremoniously, and out of habit, Angra Mainyu reveals himself with little word and adjusts himself to his liking. His head on top of her lap, his back facing towards her, with his arms crossed as if already lost in some thought of his own.

A small frown settles on her face, considering if she should scold him - it was some fragment of normalcy, a mask of uprightness and forwardness, that would like to return. Inside that mind of her’s, however, there simply isn’t enough energy to play along with their usual schemes.

Being near him is, however, tranquil.

It’s already strange enough. She glances away and returns to looking towards the ceiling, both of her hands now on either side of her. Thinking things like that is only going to worsen things and I cannot let that happen. Not to him, especially not for him. Not if I can’t help it.

Her hand, hesitant, barely traces over the ghost liner’s shoulder. Greeting death’s cold skin is the lukewarm touch of life. A glacial meeting that could shiver down her hand, but she resists. The warmth at the edge of her fingers dissipating the longer her touch explores.

Humorous how the vague imitation of living can feel much more real that a world swarmed by life itself. To reason why, the Hatter will not, and she’d rather escort such thoughts back to its familiar space: into the corner of her head where all other kinds of her self would go and lay to waste. It isn’t wise to meddle with such troublesome thoughts, she tells herself. Down the curve of his shoulder, her finger follows another of the many inked images across his skin. She hadn’t need to look - the map is already committed to her memory.

Long-forgotten history that’d remain permanent for what has come and what shall come - after all, evilness does not and will not existing until humanity ceases. After all, who better to feed the beast than the hypocrisy that is humankind - its creator and its prey?

What would it hiss to me if they could speak? What would be revealed if they had the chance to breathe out a past of being the world’s witness and observer for over a thousands and thousands of years?

Her hand cups over his shoulder, thumb stroking, as if playing a soft ballad upon a lyre - each line upon his skin able to make a melody like no other. But all that comes to her mind is more questions, more hangs-ups, and more conflict. It is not a song of peace but a song of displacement - it a song that plays on even in these moments she should cherish.

Especially when it’s not going to last. That terrible gnawing feeling inside, oh, why must you return? It is all temporary, after all. It was once like this and will return again. Why revert? Why must this irritation of a feeling resurface again? I’ll outgrow my usefulness by the time is all over, of course. That is how it is. Hell, this is just pushing back the inevitable once the world returns to normal.

Sophie’s hand releases him, her knuckles brushing against his skin, before she gives a quiet glance downwards. Tufts of untameable black comes to focus with that quite neatly tied bow is facing towards her - but his face is turned towards the greenhouse, immersed in as much silence as herself. Though, it would be unwise to say their thoughts were aligned in that moment.

Tracing down the edge of his brow with her thumb, her hand continues to comb through his hair. Playing with the ends of his hair, kneading against his scalp, everything at a painfully lethargic rate. As if she is committing every second to a memory. To a memory she knows will sooner fade and disappear the moment it is all over, the moment that normalcy resumes, and the moment her usefulness here is up.

Every uproar in the Chaldea kitchen while trying to appear meals with endless filter of complaints from Angra. Every stolen bite of her food and drink from Angra whenever they hooked arms and explored the cities and towns of peaceful worlds. Every sudden swing of his arms around him, jolting her still, while his manical cackle while he sprints across the base and even across gorgeous scenery of land and lakes. Every random and sudden shove from his hand while offering her a single white rose - under his breath he complains of something, mentioning he’d do it once, but continues to make habit of it. Every shared hum and song while he laid or sat across the bed or table, his eyes following her as she paced herself like a hurricane across her work. Every share of unfiltered snickering and laughter while hiding behind some unfortunately cramped corners, trying not to get caught.

Anytime she felt a little something more and more, and felt even more and more than a no one, would soon end.

From the start, the eldest daughter was fated for nothingness and misfortune. And, in the end, it will remain the same - for everything she could imagine in her heart and in her hands would fade away. Like it always does.

But it couldn’t stop her from this ‘weed’ growing inside of her. This ‘weed’ that dared want to persist in spite of the odds, in spite of all that would be inevitable, in spite of all that she knows will happen.

That pesky ‘weed’ with a name she cannot say, the name she refuses to say. Or else it’d go all wrong.

For a little longer, Angra, I wish you’ll play along a bit more. Just until you finally get your fill of entertainment. Just until you have no use of me no more. Just until you can’t find any worth in me. Just like everyone else. Just don’t go. (Not yet). I’m sorry for feeling this way.

#( verse: night air ; silver traces ; boundless breadth ; betwixt self and unknown | master )#( checkbooks inquiries and much ; answered asks )#despairfiles #depression tw #[ heehoo introspection time ]

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dustedmagazine · 3 years

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A Year in the Life of a Mole: Arthur Krumins’ 2020

What a ridiculous year to try to sum up. The effects of the pandemic continue to be devastating to so many, both the virus itself and the isolation and weirdness of life with its effects. Time became a different element, and left the usual ways I counted the days to one side, in favor of a new routine. As I luckily worked from home, and tried to be a good parent to my one year old for most of the rest of my waking hours, the days took on a new rhythm.

I used to listen to a lot of new music on my hour-plus bus commutes to and from work. But now, I listen to it as background music with my work day at home, and more subdued old favorites in the early morning hours taking care of the baby for the morning shift. As well, because of all the changes and shifting realities I found myself turning to more calming and mostly instrumental works, although tempered with the occasional blast of cathartic noise or a pulse that inspires movement.

I paid more attention to pieces of music that create a sense of direction or flow, as they build on the particular highlights of each smaller moment they contain. I think in a sense, this was the year I truly entered middle age, for the good (reserving judgement a little more) and the bad (more aches and pains and an absolute need for coffee). Some records grew on me that initially seemed too sweet or even tempered to be true favorites. There’s also the pleasure in coming back to things that initially seemed interesting, but that I had left to one side in the course of the year.

Here’s the albums I ended up counting on, occasionally spurring me to write reviews, and often causing me to find a moment to be quietly thankful that they exist.

Records I listened to on the bus pre-shutdown, and that helped pull me through the work week:

youtube

Gil Scott-Heron and Makaya McCraven — We’re New Again (XL Recordings)

Earth Cult — NATCH 11 (Black Dirt Studios)

Jeff Parker — Suite for Max Brown (International Anthem)

The Giving Shapes — Earth Leaps Up (Elsewhere Music)

Settling into pandemic life, and letting my headspace get blasted and then soothed:

Temple of the Roses by Ash Brooks

Ash Brooks — Temple of the Roses (Flower Room)

Tough Age - Which Way Am I? (Mint)

White Poppy — Sound Meditation Vol 2 (Self-released)

Rootless — Docile Cobras (Flower Room)

Joan Shelley — Live at the Bomhard (No Quarter)

Matt Lajoie — Everlasting Spring (Flower Room)

Keeping me grounded as the pandemic just goes on and on:

Between No Things by Suso Sáiz & Suzanne Kraft

Suso Sáiz & Suzanne Kraft — Between No Things (Music from Memory)

Carlos Niño & Miguel Atwood-Ferguson — Chicago Waves (International Anthem)

Bessie Jones and the Georgia Sea Island Singers — Get in Union (Alan Lomax Archive)

North Americans — Roped In (Third Man)

I came to revisit things that I overlooked, or caught on to albums towards the end of the year reading the writing of others and now intend to keep listening to:

Strange Lights Over Garth Mountain by Gwenifer Raymond

Gwenifer Raymond — Strange Lights Over Garth Mountain (Tompkins Square)

Lisa/Liza — Shelter of a Song (Orindal)

Arthur Russell — Sketches for World of Echo: June 25, 1984 live at Ei (Audika)

Brother Theotis Taylor — s/t (Mississippi)

Benny Yurco — You Are My Dreams (PIAPTK)

Qu’ran Shaheed — Process (Preference)

Spencer Cullum’s Coin Collection — s/t (YK)

Nathan Salsburg — Landwerk No. 2 (No Quarter)

Allysen Callery — Ghost Folk (cosirecords)

Gordon Koang — Unity (Music in Exile)

Arthur Krumins

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bigskydreaming · 4 years

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The Regents’ Deck

Bit of a worldbuilding extra for my fic By Lost Ways....nothing you need to know to understand the fic and its all information that unfolds over the first ten chapters anyway, so no real plot spoilers here. But I do love me some worldbuilding and I know other people do too, so figured some people might like to have it laid out here.

So this is the official Regents’ Deck talked about in that fic, with the exception of the Joker card of course. I’ve filled in the official Regent titles that have been revealed thus far in the prologue, but the other bit is the part that doesn’t really come up in active discussion until certain characters like Bruce and Roy enter the picture with a more scientific approach to things.

Because while the Regents embody and represent symbolic and metaphysical forces through their magic.....they also all each represent and embody a physical force as well. And this is where the magic system of this world really comes in: the use of feathers (the link to the divine energy of Mother Sky in this world, other than the Regents themselves) to channel and manipulate various physical forces.

Of course, there’s a bit more to it than just waving a bunch of feathers around, but the feathers are always a necessary ingredient, and the core key to unlocking various powers or spells. Swan feathers create anti-gravity effects while ostrich feathers ground things, tanager feathers amplify heat while tern feathers drain it away, etc.

Which is why a particularly ingenious archer, like say, Roy Harper, can be a total bad-ass in this world, even moreso than usual. After all, Roy was known for being the one who created most of his own weapons and trick arrows in the main DC Earth, and when you apply that ingenuity to a feather-based magic system via say, the fletchings on arrows......you get a whole lot of fun stuff, like lightning arrows and frost arrows that act like liquid nitrogen, silencer arrows and arrows that break apart the bonds holding things together.

BUT.

The real trick, for those who have devoted significant parts of their lives to unlocking the secrets of their world’s magic, like Roy.....comes from when you figure out how to COMBINE certain types of feathers....and the physical forces they represent....to get combo effects.

And that’s how you end up with an archer like Roy who has arrows that have a strange combination of feathers that don’t make sense to most other people at first glance.....but let him do things like fire arrows around corners, and arrows that pass through walls intangibly until they reach their target, or seemingly wipe something entirely out of existence.

So yeah. I had a lot of fun writing Roy in this, lol, due to this particular magic system.

And of course, the Regents are the exceptions to this, as they don’t use feathers to channel their abilities.....as they are in essence walking nuclear reactors tapped directly into the forces they represent, for as long as they’re Regent. Thus using the various magics associated with their Regency is as simple as thinking for them - BUT the flip side is that they can’t use or tap into the power of any other Regencies, even via feathers.

(There are a couple other exceptions to this magic system too, in the sense of characters who use magic that’s completely outside the system....but that’s because the planet Sky is not the only world created in this cosmos, and certain visitors from other worlds still show up, with powers/magic stemming from the worlds of their birth. For instance, Kory’s powers here are fueled by what she calls soulfire, and are tied to the goddess figure of her homeworld, and Atlanteans live beneath the sea in a giant caldera in one of the uppermost mountain ranges in the world....but originally came from another world, a water world, and thus Garth uses a totally different magic system as well.)

But anyway, this is the Regents’ Deck and the physical forces each card corresponds to, just if anyone wants to refer back to it when reading the fic.......although, just FYI, a key part of the story involves the fact that the modern day characters in the fic have some incorrect ideas about the Deck and the Regents. For instance, below is the order the Deck is usually ordered in when not shuffled for a reading.....people think this is the order the Regents are supposed to go in, to make sense with the scientific discoveries they’ve made over the centuries, and how they correspond to the various Regents.

There’s just a couple problems with this order.....as in things that break the mold/don’t make sense according to the in-universe understanding of it.

The big one is the Mockingbird.....the Mockingbird Regent pretty clearly breaks the pattern and always has, as far as anyone knows. It doesn’t seem to fit anywhere...its placed where it is, just because that’s kinda what people have decided is their best guess for it, based on the powers it bestows and unlocks via mockingbird feathers.....but the thing is, as is stated outright in her title and description itself.....the Mockingbird Regent is never as she seems....and never has been. People have had a totally incorrect understanding of her and the forces she embodies pretty much since day one....but whether or not that’s by design, and if so, by whose.....*no spoilers*

(I will say though that the Mockingbird Regent is Stephanie Brown, and that’s not really a spoiler, so much as a reassurance that I haven’t forgotten about her - or Duke - just because I don’t have them listed as Robins in the summary).

There’s also some minor confusion/incorrect assumptions about the Raven and Ibis Regents and their roles and what they represent/embody, but that’s not hugely crucial to the story.

The other big thing though, is that a couple of characters like Roy and Bruce, have figured out through their various experiments with magic and their scientific studies of it.....there’s something else about the Deck that doesn’t make sense. Two of the cards, in their expert opinions....are missing their true opposite numbers. Something that can only be explained in their minds by the notion that there might be two cards - and thus two whole Regents - that are missing from the Deck.

How that could possibly happen and what it means IS going to be important to the story however...and it suggests that there’s a couple more types of feathers out there with their own unique magical properties just waiting to be discovered. Or rediscovered as the case may be.

(They’re actually not quite right. There are actually THREE Regents and their corresponding cards that are missing from the Deck. I mention this only because I’m actually reeeeeally interested in seeing if anyone can figure out from this what they are - as in, what forces they’re meant to represent/which cards are missing their true opposites. I know the world so well in my own head that I just honestly have no idea how obvious or not it is, so I’m genuinely curious. I think one should be fairly obvious, but the other two, maybe not).

Anyway, so here’s the Regents’ Deck, as its currently understood in-universe, with the above-mentioned ‘mistakes’.

Sparrow - Space (reduction) Seagull - Space (propagation) Hummingbird - Time (reduction) Crane - Time (propagation)

Magpie - Quantity (reduction) Kingfisher - Quantity (propagation) Robin - Regent of Change and New Beginnings - Entropy (reduction) Vulture - Entropy (propagation)

Eagle - Weak Nuclear Force (reduction) Shrike - Regent of Bindings & Battle - Strong Nuclear Force (propagation) Swan - Gravity (reduction) Ostrich - Gravity (propagation)

Hawk - Electromagnetism (reduction) Dove - Electromagnetism (propagation) Tern - Regent of Winter and Woes - Thermodynamics (reduction) Tanager - Thermodynamics (propagation)

Cardinal - Light (propagation) Mockingbird - Regent of Lies and Tall Tales Owl - Regent of Secrets and Silence - Sound (reduction) Canary - Regent of Speech and Song - Sound (propagation)

Crow - Regent of Death and Deception - Consciousness (reduction) Rook - Consciousness (propagation) Raven - Regent of Midnight and Mysteries - Knowledge (reduction) Ibis - Knowledge (propagation)

#by lost ways

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diarrheaofthekeyboard · 3 years

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Favorite 2020 Records

Moon Hooch - Life on Other Planets

Lucy in Blue - In Flight

Stephane Wrembel - The Django Experiment V

Stone Temple Pilots - Perdida

12 Ensemble - Death and the Maiden

Billy Martin & Wil Blades - Shimmy

Bobby Previte - Music from the Early 21st Century

Tiny Peloton - Burnout Tactics

Shabaka & the Ancestors - We are Sent Here by History

Mercy Choir - Corinthian

Laurence Juber - The Fab 4th

Phish - Sigma Oasis

Snarky Puppy - Live at Royal Albert Hall

Fiona Apple - Fetch the Bolt Cutters

Car Seat Headrest - Making a Door Less Open

Slift - Ummon

Tommy Emmanuel - Best of Tommysongs

Lettuce - Resonate

Steve Earle & the Dukes - Ghosts of West Virginia

Ohmme - Fantasize Your Ghost

Adrien Moignard Trio - and Guests

Norah Jones - Pick Me Up Off the Floor

Franck Wolf - Acoustic Five

Brad Mehldau - Suite: April 2020

Neil Young - Homegrown

Khruangbin - Mordechai

Redman, Mehldau, McBride, Blade - RoundAgain

The Jayhawks - XOXO

Caspian - On Circles

Xuefei Yang - Sketches of China

Bill Frisell - Valentine

The Lemon Twigs - Songs for the General Public

Gyda Valtysdottir - Epicycle II

All Them Witches - Nothing as the Ideal

Lang Lang - Bach Goldberg Variations

The Flaming Lips - American Head

Oh Sees - Protean Threat

El Ten Eleven - Tautology

Rodrigo y Gabriela - Mettavolution Live

Tom Petty - Wildflowers and all the Rest

Gorillaz - Song Machine, Season 1

Kaki King - Modern Yesterdays

Vulfpeck - The Joy of Music, The Job of Real Estate

Strangelight - Adult Themes

Cory Wong - The Striped Album

Gwenifer Raymond - Strange Lights over Garth Mountain

Doctor Lo Faber - Songs and Stories, Vol 1.

Charles Mingus - @Bremen 1964/1975

Yazz Ahmed - Polyhymnia Remixed

The Jimi Hendrix Experience - Live in Maui

King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard - Chunky Shrapnel / K.G. / Live in San Francisco ’16

Scapa Flow - In Our Time

Pat Metheny - From This Place

Black Pumas - Black Pumas

Robin Guthrie & Harold Budd - Another Flower

Paul McCartney - III

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nova-flashpan · 5 years

Text

Nightshift at Bunker

It was unseasonably cold in Kings canyon that night. The chilled air bristled past, sweeping through the island with a mournful whistling wind that mingled with the rhythmic chorus of the syndicate grunts at work. Large flood lights pierced the darkness, casting strange, ominous shadows.

Bunker seemed to loom over Duger as he worked. He felt as though the structure and its mountain surroundings were peeking over his shoulder, silently judging his progress. His nerves began to manifest in his hands with a tremble that made his welding go off track, leaving a nasty scorch mark in the concrete. Doing a quick survey, he decided it was okay to calm himself the only way he knew how. He took one of the cigars from his pouch and lit it with the welding torch still ablaze.

“C’mon Duger, if you’re going to smoke that crap you could at least do it somewhere I don’t have to smell it.” Alex growled, smacking Duger upside the head.

Duger flinched and rubbed the back of his helmet on instinct, as if he had actually felt the impact. “I can’t help it man, I smoke when I’m nervous. This place gives me the Heebie-jeebies.”

Alex took a stack of energy ammo from his pack and began to restock the supply bin. He gave a mean chuckle. “You’re nervous, huh? Scared of the canyon at night? You should be, with the wildlife on the loose now you’re not on top of the food chain anymore. Some of those things would make a quick dinner out of a little pissant like you.” Alex punctuated his sentence by sealing the supply bin with a pneumatic hiss.

Duger felt bile rise in the back of his throat. I’m not cut out for this, he thought. He steadied himself against the rail and ignored Alex’s torment as much as he could, forcing himself to focus on the welding.

“Alex, quit your jabbering and go help them put in the doors up the hill. Duger, don’t screw up that weld, you know they like to have things put back into place carefully.” Clowa called from the cargo truck.

Alex gave a dutiful nod and hurried up the hill. Duger liked watching how fast he broke to authority. He might be a sadist, but he’s a sadist who can take orders. Duger finished his work quickly on that thought. better to work while the cats busy. As he stood up, he tried his best to rub the scorch mark out of the concrete with his boot.

“I know I just warned you to be careful, but you don’t have to be that anal about it. When we’re finished cleanup’s gonna come for the dried blood and stuff, they’ll buff it out for you.” Clowa said.

“Oh, uh thanks commander.” Duger said.

She rolled her eyes. “Loosen up kid, you’re on the night shift. Its supposed to be easy if you do it right.”

Duger gave a dutiful nod like Alex had done and moved to the next set of railing. Their work continued uninterrupted except for the occasional screech of a flyer or the ring of far off gunfire. Duger found it oddly comforting. Each pop was like a reminder to his fearful core that there wasn’t anything to worry about. They weren’t the prey in the canyon, they where the hunters.

“That’s the problem with the “work hard, play hard” Motto. Everyone gets on board with the play hard part, but when it comes to the work they flake out. Then the people who really work hard are stuck picking up all the slack.” Will said speaking in between mouthfuls of orange dusted chips.

He sat on the balcony’s edge dangling his legs over and swinging them like a child in the breeze. Garth squatted near him patching up a whole in the shack’s wall.

“Uh huh that’s a real shame.” Garth said.

“It’s more than a shame! It’s a Damned travesty is what it is. Hell, we would probably get done with our work in half the time if the slackers would pick up their feet a little.” Will said crumpling the bag and tossing it into the water below.

Duger walked over and plucked the bag from the water without thinking.

Garth turned. “You don’t have to do that Dug. Will’s a big boy and he should learn to pick up his own shit.” He said punching Will in the arm.

“It’s ok I don’t mind that much.” Duger said turning back embarrassed.

“Yeah see he don’t mind. He doesn’t complain he just gets the job done.” Will said with a shit eating grin.

“Willie you’re a prick, you Know that.” Garth said.

Their banter was cut short as a series of pops range behind the mountain. The workers stopped, they all noted how long the gunfire had gone on. It wasn’t unusual to hear a shot or two in quick succession, but this was continuing fire. Then came the long rips of fully automatic fire and the steady thumping of light machine guns. Duger jumped at the sound of a much bigger bang, the distinctive blast of a grenade.

Clowa growled and grabbed her radio. “What’s with the fireworks people? Is appropriate force a term you all forgot about?”

The radio was silent. She went down the bands switching from one to the next in quick succession. Each had a distinctive static click as it connected, but there was silence. No matter what she threatened the other end did not reply back. Half way through the list she paused as the radio connected right away. The little speaker projected the vrooming fire of a devotion on full blast and the screaming of a man on his last leg.

“This is commander Clowa report in! What’s the situation?” She yelled into the receiver, a sliver of fear leaking into her tone.

The devotion fire stopped as the magazine spent its last breath. There was a scream and the sound of crunching armor and bone. Then a static hiss as the signal was lost. Clowa stared at the radio wondering if she had really just heard the end of a whole platoon. Her thoughts were interrupted as another signal connected and the panicked voice of Alex picked up.

“The lights are going out! Somethings coming!”

Clowa turned to see it with her own eyes. The lights of artillery flickered and then where snuffed. The dark flood spread, and containment was swallowed into the inky blackness as well. The light glow that had appeared around the mountain went out with a mechanical clank as the floodlights on the other side went out.

The grunts moved quickly without orders, it was clear that the shit had hit the fan, and no one was going to sit around and wait to be told to gear up. Will made a beeline for the closed container ditching his issued rifle for the devotion that sat inside. Duger followed suit picking up a peacekeeper and adding attachments that he could find in the restocking stash. The momentum of the work stopped the terror from fully sinking in, so he rode it like a wave.

Clowa worked through their ranks checking their weapons and dolling out attachments and grenades. They were scared but she couldn’t allow chaos to go unchecked. Better to act as if she still had everything in hand, give them a foundation to work from. She held her face plain and hoped they couldn’t see the nervous twitch in her eye. She had them form around the bunker’s entrance, creating a fallback if things escalated.

“Alex do you have confirmation on the enemy? What are we fighting here?” Clowa asked in a hushed tone into the radio.

“No, we’ve had limited visual contact. I can’t Identify who, but they’re individuals in Black armor. They’re blending into the dark, using the shadows to hide. I think they might be special ops or something.” Alex said.

Clowa’s brow furrowed. She had thought it was wildlife at first, an invasion of the more aggressive outland species. That bone crunching, she had heard made more sense for animals. She shivered at the thought of the kind of person who would do that.

“Hold your position and give me any updates on their movement. I’m gonna call the Calvary in for this.” She said.

Clowa entered the syndicate main line and tried to connect. She only heard static. She could feel the eyes of the grunts on her, their hope resting on her like the weight of a sinking ship. I need to keep control, need to keep everyone together, she thought. She sent an outbound signal.

“This is commander Clowa of the 19th restocking crew requesting immediate evac. We have hostiles surrounding us. Over.”

There was static and then a different sound, not quite breathing, but the idle fidgeting of another presence. She knew someone or something had heard her. She pressed the button to speak again when a growling metallic “No” pierced through the static.

Clowa did a double take. did I really just here that? She thought. No, surely it was a trick of the static. Her mind finding a voice amongst the white noise. It felt real though. She tried to resend the signal only to find that the radio was no longer working. That “No” had meant it.

The grunts turned to hill as screams and gunfire sang from the top. Duggar felt his intestines pretzel themselves in his gut as he recognized one of the voices of agony. In his lower moments he had wondered what it would be like to hear Alex scream in pain. He knew now and wished he never had.

“Fall back Fall back!” Clowa screamed the last of nerves giving way.

The soldiers flooded into the narrow passageways of bunker. Clowa waited at the entrance for a moment, hoping to see a few of her men escape from the hilltop. She was instead met with a wave of dark armored soldiers running and leaping with inhuman speed. Clowa was able to close the doors just in time as the wave crashed into bunker.

The men leapt back as the swarm continued to batter against the door. Sending body after body crashing against the plated steel. The slamming slowed and finally stopped as the swarm realized it could not push into the structure. The mass of soldiers stood still now, as if they, or it, were thinking.

“Alex?” Duger whispered as he peered through the bullet proof glass.

Alex was there at the forefront his armor and skin turned an ashen black. His eyes gave an eerie glow and he wore a wide snarling smile that was anything but friendly. He noticed that they were all Grunts, all fellow soldiers. He recognized many of them. They had been his colleges, some had even been his friends.

The swarm took a collective step back and two separated from its ranks and stepped forward. They grabbed both halves off the door and began to push opposite directions. At first there was nothing. Then another pair joined and then another. And the door began to make a creaking sound as the lock began to break.

“Hold the door!” Clowa yelled as she braced one of the sides trying to stop its movement.

The other men rushed in and pushed along side her. Duger stood there being and feeling completely helpless. The eyes of the shadow men outside seemed to lock on his every time he looked.

“Duger God dammit help us!” Will shouted.

Duger snapped out of it and grabbed his welding torch. He set the torch to its highest setting praying that it was hot enough for the reinforced material. The weld was sloppy, but it held fusing the two halves of the door together.

Will clapped him on the shoulder as they stepped back. “I knew yah had it in you little guy.”

The others joined in whooping and cheering, taking the little victory in stride. Clowa didn’t join them, she stood at the door still wrestling with a feeling that there was something else off. As she scanned the now still swarm it came to her.

“Weren’t there more of them?” She asked.

Her question was answered by a shrieking crash from further in the facility. Hearts sank and stomachs dropped as they remembered the other entrance. It may have been locked, but that wasn’t enough anymore.

They were overtaken in moments. The narrow hallways gave them a slight advantage, but there was no beating their sheer numbers. As the fighting went on the lights where knocked out and the canyon sat in complete darkness.

Duger was the last man standing. He had torn the devotion from Will’s cold dead hands and was now blasting away. The lasers where the only source of light. The Blue blots of plasma seemed almost holy to him and he could not help but chuckle, wondering if that’s why it had been given that name.

Then the clip ran dry and he was in the godless dark. He shrank back into the corner slipping in someone else’s blood. He should have died as soon as the clip ran out, but instead he was left with the cruel fate of waiting for death hopelessly. He wept there in the dark, wishing they would just do it. He knew they were still there, he could hear them ripping apart armor and breaking bones.

Then just before madness fully grasped him, he felt a cold metal hand grab his face in the darkness. Suddenly he feared death again, for some reason he felt that death by this hand would be worse somehow. He began to sputter pleading for his life between racking sobs.

There was a deep metallic voice that spoke calmly and coolly, though he felt an immeasurable anger deep in its tones.

“Why do you cry little meat sack? Are you afraid I’m going to hurt you? I could never, not too something as pitiful as you. No. no. There’s no sport in that.”

Duger’s crying slowed. Maybe he had been wrong about the dark. It was ok. He was going to be ok. The voice wouldn’t hurt him, and everything would be alright. The metal hand left his face.

“I certainly wouldn’t hurt you.” The voice reassured, then it gave a sinister chuckle. “However, I can’t speak for them.”

They swarmed him now Striking and tearing. The last thing he heard as he left the mortal coil was the clank of metal feet. The metal hands picked through the remains of Clowa in the dark and wrapped around a control key card.

“Now the reel fun can begin.”

(This was written as a sort of prelude to the new apex legends Halloween event. I’m sure there will be an in game explanation for how the game mode happens, but I thought it would be fun to do something on the spookier side.)

#apex legends #apex art #apex lore #apex fanart #scifi #short story #spooktober #mild violence #spookie

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rottenappleheart · 5 years

Photo

My current bookshelves, more or less in the actual order they appear! Deets below the cut. ( I really want to know what people believe about me based on what’s on these shelves...)

Top Left:

Richard Adams: Watership Down

Katherine Addison: The Goblin Emperor x2 (1 copy is signed)

Elizabeth Alder: The King’s Shadow

Svetlana Alexievich: The Unwomanly Face Of War

Hans Christian Andersen: Fairy Tales

Laurie Halse Anderson: Speak

K.A. Applegate: Animorphs: The Hork-Bajir Chronicles, Animorphs: The Andalite Chronicles

Kang Chol-hwan: The Aquariums Of Pyongyang

Margaret Atwood: Cat’s Eye

Lundy Bancroft: Why Does He Do That? Inside The Minds Of Angry And Controlling Men

Brooke Barker: Sad Animal Facts

J.M. Barrie: Peter Pan (illustrated by Trina Schart Hyman)

Peter S. Beagle: Giant Bones, The Last Unicorn x2 (1 copy illustrated by Peter B. Gillis)

Robert Jackson Bennet: City Of Stairs, City Of Blades, City Of Miracles

Allan Bérubé : Coming Out Under Fire: The History Of Gay Men And Women In World War II

Carol Birch: Jamrach’s Menagerie

Isabella Bird: A Lady’s Life In The Rocky Mountains

Pierre Boulle: The Bridge Over The River Kwai

Ray Bradbury: The Martian Chronicles

Paul Brickhill: The Great Escape

Bonus: my grandpa’s mug from the FBI, a picture book of sloth wisdom

Second Left:

Gillian Bradshaw: The Beacon At Alexandria, The Wolf Hunt

Assorted Brontës: The Tenant Of Wildfell Hall, Agnes Grey, Villette, Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, Shirley, The Professor

Lily Brooks-Dalton: Good Morning, Midnight

Allie Brosch: Hyperbole And A Half

Carol Rifka Brunt: Tell The Wolves I’m Home

Bill Buford: Heat

Lois McMaster Bujold: The Curse Of Chalion, Cordelia’s Honor

Joseph Campbell: The Hero With A Thousand Faces

Novella Carpenter: Farm City

Susanna Clarke: Jonathan Strange And Mr. Norrell

Susann Cokal: Breath And Bones

C.J. Cherryh: Rider At The Gate, Cloud’s Rider, Rusalka, Chernovog

Bonus: two Willow Tree figures and my ABRA-CA-FUCK-YOU cross-stitch

Third Left:

C.J. Cherryh: Alternate Realities, Foreigner, Invader, Inheritor, Precursor, Defender, Explorer

Henry Chancellor: Colditz: The Definitive Story

Evan Dahm: Rice Boy

Ellen Datlow & Terri Windling: The Year’s Best Fantasy And Horror (#16)

Tiffany DeBartolo: How To Kill A Rock Star

Gavin DeBecker: The Gift Of Fear

Tom DeHaven: Sunburn Lake

Charles DeLint: Dreams Underfoot

Seth Dickinson: The Traitor Baru Cormorant

Carole Nelson Douglas: Exiles Of The Rynth

Arthur Conan Doyle: The Lost World

Brendan Duffy: House Of Echoes

William Faulkner: The Sound And The Fury, Flags In The Dust, Selected Short Stories

Elizabeth Warnock Fernea: Guests Of The Sheik

M.K. Fisher: How To Cook A Wolf

Fannie Flagg: Fried Green Tomatoes At The Whistle Stop Cafe

Fourth Left:

James Gurney: Dinotopia

Gillian Flynn: Sharp Objects

Anker Frankoni: Mexican Eskimo

Charles Frazier: Cold Mountain

Nancy Garden: Annie On My Mind

Maeve Gilmore: A World Away

William Goldman: The Princess Bride

Nicola Griffith: Ammonite

Marie Haskell: The Princess Curse

Frank Herbert: Dune

Victor Hugo: Les Miserables

Shirley Jackson: We Have Always Lived In The Castle

Mira Jacob: The Sleepwalker’s Guide To Dancing

Paulette Jiles: Enemy Woman

Susan Kay: Phantom

Brian Jacques: Martin The Warrior, Mossflower, The Outcast Of Redwall, Mariel Of Redwall, Pearls Of Lutra, Salamandastron

Stephen King: Duma Key, Rose Madder, Hearts In Atlantis

Bottom Left:

Stephen King: The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon, The Gunslinger x2, The Drawing Of The Three, The Waste Lands, Wizard And Glass, Wolves Of The Calla, Song Of Susannah, The Dark Tower, Lisey’s Story

Andrew Lang: The Green-, Olive-, Yellow-, Orange-, Red-, Pink-, and Grey Fairy Books

Rudyard Kipling: The Jungle Books

Jon Krakauer: Into Thin Air

Ursula K. LeGuin: The Left Hand Of Darkness

Madeline L’Engle: A Wind In The Door, A Swiftly Tilting Planet

Gail Carson Levine: Ella Enchanted

C.S. Lewis: Til We Have Faces, Out Of The Silent Planet

Lois Lowry: The Giver

James W. Loewen: Lies My Teacher Told Me: Everything Your American History Textbook Got Wrong

George MacDonald: The Light Princess & Other Stories, The Princess And The Goblin, At The Back Of The North Wind

Helen MacDonald: H Is For Hawk

Top Right:

Marie Manilla: The Patron Saint Of Ugly

Yann Martel: Life Of Pi

Gavin Maxwell: Ring Of Bright Water

Bernadette McCaughrean: Peter Pan In Scarlet

Patricia McKillip: The Forgotten Beasts Of Eld

Robin McKinley: The Hero And The Crown, The Blue Sword, Spindle’s End, Rose Daughter

Water M. Miller Jr.: A Canticle For Leibowitz

Herman Melville: Moby Dick x2 (1 copy is abridged and illustrated for children)

China Miéville: The Scar

Rand Miller: Myst: The Book Of Ti’Ana, Myst: The Book Of Atrus, Myst: The Book Of D’Ni

Hayao Miyazaki: Nausicaa Of The Valley Of The Wind, The Art Of Nausicaa, The Art Of Castle In The Sky

Elizabeth Moon: Remnant Population

Lady Murasaki: The Tale Of Genji

Audrey Nieffenegger: The Time-Traveler’s Wife

Bonus: “but you are not weak” embroidery, hand-painted page from H Is For Hawk

Second Right:

Sena Jeter Naslund: Ahab’s Wife: Or, The Star-Gazer

Patrick Ness: The Knife Of Never Letting Go, The Ask And The Answer, Monsters Of Men

Garth Nix: Sabriel

Naomi Novik: Temeraire, Throne Of Jade, Black Powder War, Empire Of Ivory

Ann Patchett: Bel Canto

Mervyn Peake: Gormenghast

Julie Ann Peters: Far From Xanadu

Patrick O’Brian: Master And Commander, Post Captain, HMS Surprise, The Mauritius Command, Desolation Island, The Fortune Of War, The Far Side Of The World

Bonus: pottery my dead friend made, pottery I made, slab of picture jasper, my “Fun Things To Believe In” cross-stitch

Third Right:

Edgar Allen Poe: Stories

Phillip Pullman: The Golden Compass

Lawrence Raab: The Collector Of Cold Weather

Erich Marie Remarque: All Quiet On The Western Front

Mary Renault: The Charioteer x2 (1 first edition)

Alistair Reynolds: Revelation Space, Redemption Ark, Diamond Dogs, Turquoise Days

David L. Robbins: War Of The Rats, The End Of War, Last Citadel

Mary Doria Russell: The Sparrow, Doc

Karen Russell: Swamplandia!

Alexander Afanasyev: Russian Fairy Tales

Louis Sachar: Holes

J.D. Salinger: The Catcher In The Rye

Sarah N.B.: It Begins In A Garden

William Shakespeare: Hamlet, Othello, King Lear, Macbeth

Mary Shelley: Frankenstein

Gene Stratton Porter: A Girl Of The Limberlost

Alexander Solzhenitsyn: One Day In The Life Of Ivan Denisovich

Caitlin Starling: The Luminous Dead

Noelle Stevenson: Nimona

Fourth Right:

Bram Stoker: Dracula x2 (1 illustrated by Becky Cloonan)

Elizabeth Kostova: The Historian

J.R.R. Tolkien: The Hobbit, The Fellowship Of The Ring, The Two Towers (x2), The Return Of The King, The Silmarillion, Unfinished Tales

Elizabeth Whalen Turner: The Thief, The Queen Of Attolia

Catherynne M. Valente: Deathless, The Orphan’s Tales: In the Night Garden, The Orphan’s Tales: In The Cities Of Coin And Spice

Sheldon Vanauken: A Severe Mercy

Brian K. Vaughn: Saga (#1)

Tillie Walden: On A Sunbeam

Jen Wang: The Prince And The Dressmaker

Helene Wecker: The Golem And The Jinni

Elizabeth Wein: Code Name Verity

T.H. White: The Once And Future King

Simon Winchester: The Professor And The Madman

Bottom Right:

Gary Trudeau: The Doonesbury Chronicles

Adam Edgerton: Rediscovering Adak

Walt Whitman: Leaves Of Grass

Jane Yolen: Twelve Impossible Things Before Breakfast

Daniel Woodrell: Winter’s Bone

Patricia C. Wrede: Dealing With Dragons, Calling On Dragons, Searching For Dragons

Malcolm York: Mervyn Peake: My Eyes Mint Gold

Bonus: assorted DVDs and 1 lonely VHS tape, any manga I didn’t purge, plus some children’s books and self-published comics by high school friends

#books books books #the misc bits used to be more evenly distributed across all shelves but story has started to go mountain climbing #so the lower shelves are 'faced' to the edge of the shelf now #it's... not helping that much

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nuage-s-den · 5 years

Note

Oooh shit I got so many Birdflash songs.....buuutttt I think I will say Sloppy Seconds by Watsky? somethin bout these lyrics makes me feel somethin birdflash: “It's September in my kitchen in a Christmas sweater / Sipping cold coffee on the phone with damaged goods / And there is not a single place that I would rather be / I'm fucked up just like you are, and you're fucked up just like me”

Thank you so much for the suggestion! Here’s what my mind pictured as I listened to the song, I hope you like it. :)

Wally was a hoarder.

A mountain of cardboard boxes containing many and varied objects filled his attic, and he loved to go through them when he felt like visiting the past.

A mess of strange knick-knacks surrounded him as he sat cross-legged on the floor. Wally was carefully examining a dishevelled yellow hoodie which he was pretty sure he could not fit anymore. The cloth looked like one of those homemade ugly Christmas sweaters, with a duckling patchworked on the front and whose eyes seemed to resent him. There was a big stain splashed over the patchwork, and it took a lick for Wally to recognize the faint taste of pizza. He was a true detective, that one.

Fumbling into the pockets, he found a wrinkled picture of him and his best friend singing.

Ah yes, now he remembered.

If there was one rule that existed among the Titans, it was that no one could miss the “special Birthday nights.” Each month, the Titans would take one night off of their duties to reunite and celebrate the months’ babies. The team always looked forward these nights, as it allowed them to act their ages and not worry about the world ending at any moment. Sometimes the group would gather around the couch, stuff their mouths with pizza and watch movies until they fell asleep. Other times they would go to the beach and make a giant bond fire.

And yes, once they were old enough, they would share a couple of drinks.

Wally, while his metabolism did not allow him to get drunk, loved to observe his teammates and friends’ behaviour change when downing one too many drinks. The people of Atlantis were always hit first, and he suspected it might have been due to their different body structure. The first time they saw Garth succumb to the alcohol had been a shock to the younger team. It happened in the span of a blink; one second Garth was talking to Roy with a beer in his hand and the next he was lying on the floor completely unconscious.

There was someone Wally loved to observe in these parties the most: Dick Grayson.

Dick was his best friend and, at least in Wally’s mind, a dictionary didn’t have enough words to describe his personality. Confident, a born leader, a bit bossy, playful, flexible, annoying, loud, discreet, sneaky, touchy, people pleaser, pretty, charming, sometimes distant, experienced, a bit fucked up (but who wasn’t nowadays?)… However “shy” was not a word that came to anyone’s mind when thinking of the Dick Grayson.

And yet, when given time to stir with some alcohol, Dick would unintentionally shed his persona and become a completely different person. At that point, most of the team were way too wasted to even notice the change, but Wally easily picked on the way his best friend’s shoulders stood closer to his ears. He noticed how Dick sat a little farther from the group and observed the others instead of doing some wicked backflips while Roy attempted to toss popcorn in his mouth, which was what Roy kept suggesting they do. At first, Wally thought Dick was uncomfortable or unsure on how to act around drunk friends, but Dick always denied it when Wally pointed this out, and he would claim that he was just tired or use some other lie.

Not only was his body language different, but the way he looked at Wally betrayed how he felt toward the speedster. While they usually acted oblivious to their feelings for each other, they both longed for a deeper connection but were too afraid to take the next step. The two of them were often seen playfully flirt each other, gaining loud annoyed groans from the rest of the team. These nights weren’t any exceptions. Sitting next to each other a little closer than usual, leaning into the other’s personal space enough that they could smell the alcohol in the other’s breath, Wally loved to tease his best friend. Instead of using witty, smart-mouthed replies to his flirt, Dick’s cheeks would turn rosy, and his voice would stutter over simple words.

One night, however, Wally had to step in to help his best friend who was stuck in an embarrassing situation.

Donna and Kori had announced they never had gone karaoke and requested this to be the main event of the December Birthday night. Wally could still recall the matching sweaters they had made for the night, ugly birds on flashy hoodies that they had put together one late morning in the Tower’s kitchen. It took them three pots of coffee to get the darn things done before the evening, and they were ridiculously proud of it. To the others? It was a painful eyesore.

While it took a couple drinks for most of them to go full on and singing off-key multiple hits and indie songs alike, Dick skillfully redirected any attention he was given by requesting encores and suggesting other people do duets. Even though it worked for most of the night, the girls managed to finally corner him and forced him to stand in front of everyone, mic on hands and all eyes set on him.

“Uhm,” the former Robin started, “I’m not sure this is-”

Roy, his voice hoarse from yelling too much while interpreting The 12 Days of Christmas, interrupted him. “Go get them, Dickie!“

Standing awkwardly rigid in the light, Dick looked like a terrified deer hypnotized in the headlights. His mouth felt dry, and he wasn’t sure if his friends would believe him if he blamed it on the couple drinks he had. One of his hands fumbled with the poofy bird on his sweater. Then, his ears caught on the piano notes announcing the beginning of the song. Previously beating with aggressivity against his chest, his heart decided to suddenly stop as the lyrics flashed in front of his wide blue eyes. Petrified, Dick was confident his pale skin betrayed his lack of oxygen intake.

At the same time, Wally felt a pang in his chest and wanted to get his best friend out of the stage and hug the fear away from his slim body. Wally felt torn between following his instinct or listening to the intellectual part of his brain cautioning him that it would make their friends suspicious of something. But as Dick was standing there, looking like a complete stranger, weren’t their friends already realizing something was off with their leader?

They were already thirty seconds into the song before Wally acted. Before anyone could say anything, the speedster began to read the lyrics aloud. His tone and rhythm were off as he adjusted to the beat of the song, standing up proudly as all eyes were now set on him. Grabbing a second microphone, Wally walked to his best friend’s side whose eyes openly reflected his confusion. Wally smiled at him, keeping eye contact and catching in an embrace to press him close against his body. He felt Dick’s muscles relax, felt him breathe again until he was finally able to mumble some of the words out. Some of their friends began cheering, and quickly everyone joined in singing.

Among the cacophony and inattention, Dick pulled himself closer to Wally, his hand holding onto the ugly duckling sweater, and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. One kiss that the speedster would later learn had opened the door for many more to come.

#birdflash #DickWally #WallyDick #Titans #Teen Titans #Young Justice #Nightwing #Kidflash #Wally West #Dick Grayson #otp: let's grow old together #Kibbles writes #play with kibbles #Ask Kibbles stuffs!

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