#without them asking about it or anything. And Etho just keeps going. god damn it Etho I feel so bad for them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

oh-snapperss · 2 years

Note

11 and 29 for the ask meme? :3c

11. What work took you the longest to write?

Can You See Me! It took me maybe a month of actual writing, but I had thought about it for months beforehand:)

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

i'm putting this under a cut for shipping and just so this doesn't look super long:)

Ao3 Wrapped Ask Game

right. still here? CYSM enjoyers, i'm so sorry to bring this back on you.

Months from now, they will arrive back on Earth, with Etho heavily leaning on Bdubs. It takes time, but Etho learns to walk with his new prosthetic. Bdubs stays with him to help him learn–or that’s the excuse Bdubs gives.

(Months from now, Beef will drop Etho off on earth alone, and Etho will sign on with a crew, instead of taking a solo run. Bdubs will go on with Tango and Beef, and life will return to what it was before those damned solar flares ruined Etho’s ship.)

Bdubs will sleep on the floor next to Etho’s bed, but it won’t be long before Etho insists he share, after all “wouldn’t want you getting sick from the cold, fragile flower!”

And Bdubs will snap that he’s not fragile and he actually loves the uncarpeted floor, thank you very much, and yet he will clamber in next to Etho, albeit as far as possible on the other side of the bed.

Neither of them say anything when they wake up curled into each other as if they’re still…

(Etho never takes out his braid, and he refuses to tell the story of how he lost his leg. His new captain, a tall creeper alien named Doc, asks him once. Etho just smiles, pain in his eyes, and says, “Another day, maybe.”

Bdubs never removes his braid, even when Tango points out it’s been months and he’s not corresponded with Etho at all. He just tells Tango to leave it be, and twists the braid with a distant look in his eyes.)

Etho starts walking smoother, leaning on Bdubs less and less as the days fly by. Neither of them make a move to move on, though. They just wait, relearning the other’s daily routines, and falling into them as if the last five years never happened.

(Etho never can look at space the same, but something in him can’t stop going. He travels and travels, and he doesn’t stop, even when exhaustion sets in, and he finds himself gazing at the edge of the known universe.

It’s not impressive, honestly.

Bdubs doesn’t stray as far out, but he finds solace in his crew. As time goes by, he finally unravels his braid, and lets himself love others without fear of losing again.

He never can find another Etho, and he realizes he never will. It’s far too late to go back on his refusal, though, and he can’t quite regret saying no.)

There’s a festival almost a year after they land back on Earth. A celebration of another year gone, another year of peace. The last time Bdubs was on planet for it, he’d stayed in, and stared at the dust collecting on the windows as he listened to the crowd outside cheer and dance and finally release the lanterns to the sky at midnight.

This year, he and Etho go out—it’s awkward at first, remembering the times past when they’d kissed and flirted and… and Etho had asked Bdubs to braid his hair. It’s not long before they fall into a comfortable silence, though, as Etho hangs on to Bdubs’ arm and they wander around the festival.

And at midnight they send a single lantern into the air together.

(Bdubs isn’t on the planet for the festival again. He, Beef, and Tango play their card game, Bdubs loses, yells at Beef to stop slipping cards up his sleeve, and at midnight he slips to his room to look out at the stars.

He wonders if Etho is looking, too.

Etho doesn’t realize it’s the new year. He’s too far away for it to really matter, anyway.)

One night, Bdubs flips on ancient speakers he found god-knows-where, and plays a familiar tune on them. He brings Etho to his still-unsteady feet, and pulls him to the center of the room.

Before, Etho would always lead them, with Bdubs pressed against his chest and arms wrapped tightly around him to keep him from tripping over his own feet. This time, Bdubs leads them, and while it’s a much clumsier and probably stupid looking sway, Etho is perfectly happy to lean on Bdubs and press his forehead into Bdubs’s shoulder.

It’s Bdubs who takes Etho’s head between his hands, drawing him near and pressing his lips against Etho’s, basking in how Etho’s arms tighten before kissing him back.

And Bdubs knows, he knows he made the right choice, knows Etho loves him, always has and always will, and he knows they don’t need to see the universe together when his universe is right there, contained in Etho.

(And Etho, as he stares at the universe, realizes how insignificant it all was, in the end. He wonders why it let Bdubs save him, when they can’t be together anyway.

He turns away from the cosmos, spirit empty.

And Bdubs turns to his friends, and he finally wins that fucking card game, and he laughs in elation, but can’t help but feel rage towards the universe for this.

What a sick sense of humor, to let him win only when he’s already lost by his own doing.)

And which ending here is true?

Well, dear reader, that is a question only the universe knows the answer to.

And the universe said I love you

(The universe said I am indifferent)

And the universe said you have played the game well

(The universe said you played the game)

And the universe said everything you need is within you

(It said everything you need is beyond what I can give)

And the universe said you are stronger than you know

(The universe said you are only the player)

And the universe said you are the daylight

(You are the night)

And the universe said you are the night

(You are the daylight)

And the universe said the darkness you fight is within you

(The darkness cannot always be fought)

And the universe said the light you seek is within you

(The light you seek is gone now, because of your own discontent)

And the universe said you are not alone

(The universe lied)

#laurie thoughts #ask game #ashsoka

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melon-wing · 4 years

Text

Dread Part 2

[Pirate AU Masterlist] There are trigger warnings in the tags, but they might be a little spoiler-y. Just be warned. Pirates ain’t the nicest people. ~~

Doc sat in his cabin on board behind a massive wooden desk covered in countless maps. He needed to plan their next route, calculate in all of the navy’s and other pirate’s routes and be prepared in case anything went wrong. He loved this part of his pirate life just as much as the fighting and plundering. Nothing was better than seeing one of his well thought out plans come to fruition.

He made a thoughtful noise as he picked up the document one of his spies had leaked to him, containing the planned routes of the navy’s ships, staring at one line in particular on the map. He knew he shouldn’t… But maybe he could plan a course that would accidentally pass their route. He would probably be able to arrange a stop to refill their resources in the same port as they did. And then Doc would be able to see him again.

Rushed steps ran up to his cabin and the door was flung open, hitting the wall behind it hard. Doc didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. There was only one person on board daring enough to make an entrance like that into the Captain’s cabin.

“Ren. I hope you have a good explanation this time. And no, Etho being mean to you doesn’t count.”

When there was no answer Doc finally looked up. He froze at the expression on Ren’s face. It looked pained. He obviously was the bearer of bad news and a face like that couldn’t mean a lot of things.

“Ren? Did something happen to one of our crew?”

Ren shook his head, walking up to the desk, a piece of paper clenched in his hands.

“We got a message from one of our allies. He says word’s going around that Bdubs has Captain Doc’s little pet in his possession.”

Doc frowned at that, turning his head to look at the basket in the corner of his cabin, where two small foxes were resting, both peacefully asleep.

“Well as you can see that is nonsense. Hans and-”

“Doc…” Ren sounded exasperated, like Doc was making this hard for him on purpose. “Not your foxes. Bdubs has captured Lieutenant Grian.”

Doc felt like he couldn’t breathe for a second, his blood running cold, emotions welling up inside him he wasn’t ready to feel yet. So he did the only thing that seemed right at the moment and pushed those thoughts aside, closing his heart off. His gaze darkened as he glared at Ren, eyes practically glowing.

“And why would I care? It’s the navy’s problem. Not mine. They formed him into their little star to look good on posters. They painted a target onto his back, not me. If they can’t take care of their own, good riddance. One dog less to worry about.”

“But it’s Grian…”

Doc stood up, slamming his hands onto the table. Maps went flying everywhere and his foxes awoke, running up to him while making worried sounds.

“He isn’t different from all the others. He is our enemy.”

“Doc… I don’t think Bdubs captured him to get back at the navy. He is boasting about owning your pet. He knows there’s something going on between the two of you. He knows you enough to tell.”

Doc balled his hands into fists, throwing a deadly glare at Ren, who at least had the decency to flinch a little.

“There is nothing going on between me and that Lieutenant. I asked him to join because he is an amazing fighter and we could use him in our crew. And as far as I remember he declined and called me and the whole crew a few choice words. So no, there are no feelings involved and I’m not going to endanger all of your lives for that one idiot.”

Ren looked like he wanted to protest, but when Doc kept glaring at him he nodded, giving him a lazy salute and turning around. When the door was almost closed, Doc could hear his voice drifting over.

“You should know the crew would be willing to fight for him…”

Doc took a few calming breaths. He wouldn’t act out. He was fine. Everything was alright. Why would he care about Grian? Why should he?

Sure he was intrigued by Grian. He had been the first person to beat him in a fight after all. But that was all there was. The crew was his family. He couldn’t risk their lives, no matter what Ren might think wise. The navy would already be on their way with an armada. They didn’t take kindly to stunts like that. Even Bdubs couldn’t keep a Lieutenant captive for too long. He just hoped that Bdubs wouldn’t decide Grian was more trouble than he was worth.

An image flashed through Doc’s mind, of Grian’s dead body, bloody and broken being thrown over the side of a ship to sink into the depth of the ocean, getting lost in the endless depth…

Doc groaned, letting his head fall onto the desk. What was he supposed to do?

Grian didn’t know how much time had passed since they had thrown him into a cell below deck. The only light was coming from a small lantern hanging outside of his cell next to the guard’s post. It must have been five days at least, going by the times they had given him something to eat and how often the person guarding him had changed.

It was annoying to be under surveillance at all times. What did they think he could do? He might be a good soldier, but he couldn’t perform wonders. They were in the middle of the ocean on course god knows were. By the way the boat rocked they were going pretty fast. Jumping over board to flee would be a death sentence for him. His hands and legs were chained together and on top of that his shoulder wound felt like it had become infected. Fleeing would be suicide.

Maybe it would be better, to just jump and swart Bdubs plans. Without any hostage there would be no trap. That way Grian could at least save one last life before he died. Even if it was the life of a stinking pirate. Well… If he died to save a pirate, Doc might not be his worst option. But he’d rather not die at all. Damn! That’s what he got for almost changing his opinion on pirates. He got thrown into their mess.

The door to the cell area opened and the guard sitting in front of his cell jumped up. That could mean only one thing: The captain was honouring them with his presence. Grian slowly stood up from his rack, chains rattling as he did. He tried to stand as straight and proud as he could considering his circumstances.

Bdubs walked up to the cell, sending the guard away with a wave of his hand, looking Grian up and down, a grin appearing on his face.

“You know… I get it. Doc does have a pretty good taste. Pretty being the key word. You really are nice on the eyes, Lieutenant”, Bdubs drawled out the last word mockingly and Grian just glared at him.

“You’d make a fine pirate. If you weren’t his lover, I’d recruit you.”

“I’d rather die than become a damn pirate. You are all animals.”

Bdubs laughed at his angered reply. “Oh poor Doc.” Bdubs eyes lost all trace of humour and he looked coldly at Grian. “He doesn’t know how to properly train a pet, I see. But I don’t like rebellious little kids, navy boy.”

“Yeah I noticed. Your type are little slimy ass-kissers. How’s that snake Keralis?”

A shot rang out. Grian could feel the bullet flying past his face, leaving a tiny bleeding scratch on his cheek. But he didn’t flinch. He just stayed there, trying to look as unimpressed as possible, even though his heart was beating like crazy. Bdubs wouldn’t kill him. He needed him after all.

“Don’t you ever dare to talk about Keralis like that or you’ll regret the day you decided to join the navy.”

Grian shrugged, eyes darkening, holding his chin up high. “There’s not a moment I’m not regretting that day, so don’t worry, you can’t really make it any worse.”

He knew his dismissive attitude was angering Bdubs and that it was possibly the worst idea he could have. But it made him feel like he had at least a sliver of control left in this situation. If he would just bow down and let everything happen to him… He couldn’t bare that thought.

“So tell me, high and mighty Captain Bdubs. What makes you think the navy will let you get away with this? They must be on your trail by now. They’ll sink your ship for what you’ve done. Before this week is over they’ll have you hanging.”

He thought reminding Bdubs of the navy would make him even angrier and maybe in his anger he’d give Grian some information. But no, the anger faded from Bdubs’ face and he chuckled a little.

“Oh. You still think the navy will save you? That is cute, boy. You really trust them. But they won’t. You see… They are just as easily controlled as everybody else. If enough money passes from one hand to another they’ll look for you everywhere but here. And they want Doc’s head just as badly as I do. So if they have to sacrifice you for it, so be it.”

“You are lying!”

“Nobody will come for you, Grian. Nobody will save you. We are just waiting for the main character of this tragedy to arrive and then your life will end.”

Grian balled his hands into fists. He shouldn’t believe anything coming out of Bdubs mouth right now, but he couldn’t help the uncertainty rising inside him. What if it was really true? What if the navy wasn’t coming to save him? Should he really hope on Doc trying to save him? But if Doc came, he would surely die…

“He won’t come. Whatever you heard about me and him? It’s wrong. We are fighting constantly.”

Bdubs just shrugged, still smiling. “Oh, but Grian… Did you forget? That is not what you told Keralis. From what he told me both of you sound like you have one fucking huge crush and are to scared to admit it. I also heard about the two of you sharing a dance in the neutral zone. Really cute. Like in some cheesy romance novel, isn’t it? He might not come running as fast as I hoped, but we can wait a little.”

Bdubs took out a key, opening the door to Grian’s cell. Grian threw a calculating glance towards it. His hands and legs were still chained together, so running probably was a bad idea. And he had no clue where they were at the moment. Could he overpower Bdubs and get his crew to drop him off somewhere? Probably not. And Bdubs wouldn’t make a very cooperative hostage. Damn. He hated being so helpless.

The only thing he could do was stand his ground. He stayed were he was, looking up at Bdubs out of defiant eyes as the Pirate Captain walked up to him. A hand grabbed his chin, forcing his head back.

“So Grian, what do you say about making this a little more… interesting?” Bdubs voice was dark and Grian didn’t like where this was going. No matter what would happen, nothing that guy deemed interesting would mean anything remotely good for Grian.

“You are going to kill me anyway. Don’t think I’m going to play your games just to make this more entertaining.”

Bdubs chuckled and his fingers dug painfully into Grian’s skin, sure to leave marks later. "That wasn't a question, dear. You are in no position to refuse any offer, because depending on your behaviour your death might be more or less painful. So you'd better do what I tell you to. If I tell you to jump, you do. So now-" Grian spat into Bdubs face, silencing him abruptly. For a second Grian got the satisfaction of seeing Bdubs’ surprised face. That guy probably wasn't used to defiance. But after that second of shock was over, Grian almost regretted doing it. Bdubs hand left his chin, to grab him by the neck, slamming him painfully against the wooden wall behind him. The hand was pressing down hard and Grian gasped for breath. He tried to pull the hand off, his fingers uselessly scratching at the arm holding him. Tears were starting to fill his eyes as he kept gasping and struggling. "You really shouldn't make me angry", Bdubs whispered, but Grian could barely hear over the sound of his own heartbeat ringing in his ears. His vision started fading, his legs buckling below him. Just when he thought he was about to pass out, the pressure was gone. Grian fell to the floor, gasping for air and coughing harshly. A boot was pressed under his chin, the threat clear and so Grian slowly raised his head, to look up at Bdubs, staring at him out of teary eyes. The angry face on Bdubs turned into one of pure delight. "Well, well, Grian, who would have thought, you could look even more pretty? So can we talk like civilized people now... pet?" Grian felt disgusted at that title. Nobody, not even Doc, ever talked that degrading to him. He took a deep breath and then smiled. "Kiss my ass, pirate." His head snapped back hard, as Bdubs kicked his chin. All he could hear was a ringing sound in his ears and his whole skull seemed to hurt. Before he could recover, a boot already pressed down painfully on his chest, forcing him to stay on the floor. "You’re really starting to piss me of, navy boy. And you are going to regret it. You only make me want to break you even more, leave nothing but an empty shell for Doc to find. He'll be devastated, knowing that I broke his little toy."

"He won't come...", Grian spat back, glaring at Bdubs, "He isn't dumb enough to fall for the trap of a second rate pirate. You'll never manage to beat him."

Bdubs glared at him and then the foot left as Bdubs walked back to the cell door. Grian dared to heave a sigh of relieve, slowly raising himself into a sitting position. That relief only lasted for a few seconds when Bdubs left the cell and shouted an order through the hallway.

"Prepare the prisoner for a whipping. Make sure everyone can watch."

Grian's heart sank, but he had known that resistance would end in pain for him. He had made his decision and he wouldn't back down now. He was a proud member of the navy.

When two pirates came to get him, he struggled and fought with renewed vigour. He managed to land a few hits and scratches, but a blow to the head left him feeling dizzy and gave them an opportunity to grab him. He was pulled up onto the deck, blinking as the sunlight hit his eyes. He only had a few seconds to take in their surroundings. They were in the middle of the ocean. Not even a bit of land in sight. Fleeing was out of the question then. He was manhandled towards the mast, his face being pressed against the wood. They unchained his hands, but the body holding him against the mast was unrelenting, not letting him get away. And only a few seconds later he was chained to the mast, his arms seemingly hugging the wood, with no room to move. There was the sound of hollering and amused whistles. Grian turned his head to the side, glaring at them. Pirates. They were all the same after all, vile and evil.

Someone was walking up to him, gently caressing his back and then a body was pressing up against him, making him tense in anticipation of what might happen next.

"I hope this makes you change your mind on how to behave while you are our guest, Lieutenant... Oh and please. Do scream. It makes this far more entertaining", Bdubs’ voice growled into his ear, before letting go of him.

Grian tried to brace himself for what was about to come, grinding his teeth together, not ready to give his captors the pleasure of hearing him scream. The first hit still seemed to come out of nowhere, stinging like hell even through the fabric of the shirt Grian was wearing – why they let him keep it on, letting it soften the blows, he didn't understand. Another hit followed, just as strong as the last one, making Grian flinch, his hands trying to grasp something to hold onto, but unable to find anything. He could bear this. This wasn't the first time he had been whipped and it probably wouldn't be the last time.

"I might stop if you beg, boy."

Grian just huffed at that. "My captain hits harder than you."

There was a pause between the hits, as if Bdubs hadn't expected those words, but he didn't say anything about it, only making a thoughtful sound and then continuing. Hit after hit rained upon his back and Grian was almost relieved when he noticed that the strength of the hits seemed to decrease. Bdubs had to be getting tired. Grian had managed to hold in his screams until now, but he was already breathing hard. His whole back felt like it was on fire and he was pretty sure his shirt must have been ruined by now. Finally, the hits stopped and Grian took in a deep breath.

"Your turn, darling."

Grian could hear a delighted giggle and his blood froze as he could hear shuffling.

"Make him beg. Do it for me."

The whip came cracking down again, with so much more strength than all of the hits before. The strength was so unexpected that Grian didn't manage to hold back, a scream tearing itself from his throat.

"Well... You already made our little navy boy sing after one hit. I know why I love you, darling."

Grian was gasping for air, trying to calm down, but Keralis didn’t give him the time. Two more hits followed in quick succession and he whimpered, his legs beginning to shake. “Oh, I’m gonna make you drop down and beg, Lieutenant”, Keralis delighted voice accompanied another hit. There was no real break in between hits. Sure, Bdubs had been unrelenting and hitting hard, just like all the other whippings Grian had been used too. But this? This was on another level.

He could feel tears running down his face and after another few hits his legs finally gave in as he sank to his knees. He could hear laughter all around him, voices cheering Keralis on.

He was pretty sure, there was blood running down his back now. His wrists were also burning from him tugging so much on the bindings.

It just went on and on, hit after hit. It felt like hours passed and the hits still didn’t stop or become softer. Suddenly through the haze of tears a face appeared in front of him. Someone grabbed his chin as another hit struck him.

“That look suits you, Grian. So what do you say. You want more?”

Another hit. Grian shook his head.

“You know. You can make this stop.”

The whip cracked against his back again, he could feel his skin splitting apart.

“Sto… se...”

Bdubs chuckled darkly, caressing the side off his face in mock gentleness as another hit made Grian scream. “What was that, pet?”

“Please… No more. Please stop”, his voice was barely above a whisper, but it seemed to be enough. There was a pause in the whipping, but Grian couldn’t focus properly to listen to Keralis’ movement and didn’t know whether he had stepped away completely or not.

“That is a good pet. It really isn’t that hard to behave.”

Grian averted his eyes in shame, but apparently that was the wrong move, the fingers digging painfully into his skin.

"Look at me, pet. Or we'll need to start all over again."

The whip was back at his back, not hitting, but tracing down his skin, underlining the threat. Grian's eyes practically snapped back to Bdubs, who was grinning in satisfaction, his touch becoming gentle once more.

"I wonder why Doc had so many problems controlling you. It isn't that hard... I guess he was always too soft. If I wouldn't kill him anyways, he should thank me for training you to become so obedient."

Grian was shaking. His heart was beating frantically as Bdubs got closer and suddenly there were lips on his. His shaking only grew stronger. He didn't want this. Images of Doc flashed in front of his mind. Doc laughing at him, Doc teasing him and flirting playfully with him. Determination struck Grian once more and without hesitation he bit down on the tongue entering his mouth. Hard. Bdubs Screamed and pulled back, blood running down the corner of his mouth. Grian grinned weakly at the hateful glare.

"Seems like I might have underestimated you. But we still have a few days together, pet. And believe me after that stunt, I only want to break you even more", Bdubs growled in a threatening voice, wiping the blood from his face. He turned away to his crew. "Leave him tied to the mast. We’ll continue later. Oh, and get rid of his shirt. Make sure it reaches Captain Doc. I bet he'll be happy about such a nice present."

#🍉 stories #pirate au #I am so sorry my dear readers #It's getting a little dark #tw: violence #tw: blood #tw: whipping #tw: non-consensual kissing

194 notes · View notes

mentallyinwalmart · 5 years

Note

"It’s 1AM and I’m studying for finals and you’re my roommate’s friend who just crawled through my window." Cressworth

HI LET ME PREFACE THIS WITH: THIS IS THE GREATEST ASK I COULDVE I M A G I N E D

I owe you my life for giving me the opportunity to write something so fun, anon ❤️😍💓🤪🥰💛

Okay, here we go…

—

‘What are the differences between ethos, pathos, and logos’

I read the flash card again, hoping this time it triggers some memory. But it doesn’t. I look at the clock on Ileana’s desk and curse.

One fifteen am. One fifteen am and Ileana still isn’t back from Daci’s.

As if on queu, my phone buzzes on my desk. I cross the room and read the message from my roomate, explaining that she will not be returning this evening. I sigh, dropping my phone back on the desk.

I love Daci, and I love illy even more. But tonight I could’ve used someone to help me with studying for this damned English final.

I could cut a man up and stitch his corpse back together in my sleep, but apparently I can’t pass a fucking Literature 201 class.

Rustling outside my window calls my attention, but I don’t bother crossing the room. Ileana and I live on the first floor, and it’s common for us to hear the skittering of small animals on these warm spring nights when we leave the windows open.

I turn back to the notecards abaondoned on my desk, scooping them back. I flip the one that had me stumped to the back of the pile and pull up the next card.

‘What are the principle stages of the hero’s journey?’

I throw the card on the floor with a loud curse,

“God damnit!”

I collapse into my desk chair, leaning back as I bury my face in my hands. This is my fault, I got myself into this situation by half assing my final essay and making it so that, unless I get an A on this final, I’ll get a B in the class. And there goes grad school.

I groan.

But suddenly, my problems seem a lot less pressing as I hear a scratching at the window above Ileana’s bed. Someone is visible, sillouhetted in moonlight, trying to Jimmy the screen off the frame.

Someone was trying to break in.

My heart races as I scramble for something, anything, that might be used as a weapon. I grab my forensic textbook off of the desk and hold it up, edging towards the window.

The screen is off, and someone is half through the window.

“One more move and I’ll call the police.”

I flip on the switch that lights Ileana’s half of our room.

The unidentifiable figure gasps and momentarily loses grip on the frame, falling straight into Ileana’s bed below the sill. I cross the room in an instant, book raised and ready to strike, but then I catch sight of who is lying in my roomates bed.

“Thomas?!” I demand, staring down at my roomate’s girlfriend’s brother who is sprawled across Ileana’s bed. Book still held high, I brave another question. “What the HELL are you doing coming through the window?”

“I can explain!” He sits up, but flinches as I adjust my grip on the book, “please put down the book?”

He looks me up and down, taking in my pajama shorts and thin t shirt. I give him a whithering look before lowering the book, but still hold on to it tightly in case he makes any quick moves.

“You had better start talking Cresswell.”

“Right! Sorry!” He says, returning his eyes to my face, “well I’m not allowed in the girls halls after nine, and it’s well after nine.” He gestures to the clock. “Ileana was supposed to be in tonight, I was just going to slip in, then go up to the fourth floor to Daci’s room to help her study.”

He speaks so mater-of-factly, as if this is simple and I am a fool for not putting it together myself. I realize this is clearly not the first time and my jaw drops.

“You-You’ve done this before?!” I sputter, dropping the book in my shock.

“I— well, yes.” He says, sheepishly looking at the floor.

I smack my forehead with my palm and turn away from him.

“But only when you weren’t home!” He says, “I really didn’t know you’d be here, I thought the light on was Ileana.”

I laugh, wether from fatigue or the fact that the events of the last five minutes are truly unbeliebavle I’m not sure.

“Really, Audrey Rose, I’m so sorry.” He stumbles over his words, righting himself on the mattress before running a hand through his touseled hair. “I’ll just, I’ll just be going.” He gets up and moves towards my door, but I put a hand on his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

“I really wouldn’t” I say, and he raises an eyebrow, “Ileana is spending the night at your sisters, so I’m assuming they aren’t going to want to be interrupted by anyone. Least of all you.”

“Ah Jeez.” He says, scratching the nape of his neck. “I’m sorry, I should’ve texted her.” I raise my brows, shooting him a look, “right! I shouldn’t have come in your window at all.”

But I can’t help but laugh once more. If this is any omen of what my day will be like tomorrow, I do not have high hopes for my exam.

“It’s fine, Thomas.” I say, shaking my head. “The adrenaline rush will keep me up way better than the coffee I was drinking so maybe I owe you a thank you.”

For the first time, he surveys my side of the room, taking in my desk covered in open books, highlighters, and pens, flash cards scattered across the floor like confetti.

“Big test?” He raises an eyebrow and I fight the urge to kick him out on the spot. But I swallow my annoyance and meet his gaze.

“Yea. Literature Analysis 201 with Domhoff. Damn class is going to ruin my 4.0”

His next words shock me and I can’t help but widen my eyes as he speaks,

“Want some help studying?”

I pause, contemplating. True enough, I had just wished that I had someone to study with, but it wasn’t my roomates girlfriends brother I had had in mind. But then again, beggars can’t be choosers.

“Alright.” I say, shrugging as I stoop to pick up the cards.

When I stand back up, he’s rolled Ileana’s chair over to my desk, and is pouring over my marked up study guide.

“Wow.” He says, “For someone who sets the curve in forensics, you are really bad at English.”

I smack him on the arm and he raises his hands in surrender. But a question plays at my mind.

“You’re in my forensics lecture?”

He look— almost hurt. But quickly covers his expression with a grin.

“Have been since last quarter. Thanks for noticing.”

I feel a flush cover my cheeks.

“Sorry.” I mumble as I thumb through the cards, but to my surprise, he laughs.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s a 200 person lecture and we sit on opposite ends of the hall. I only noticed you because I saw your schedule on the mirror one day” he points to my mirror by the door and I scowl. “Right” He says “sorry, I’ll stop reminding you how often I’ve snuck through your room.”

For the sake of my GPA, I do not let myself get bogged down with the question of how often he was in my room without my knowledge. Instead, I offer him the stack of flash cards.

He quizzes me, taking out the cards I got correctly, and then making me write out the definitions of the cards I didn’t get correct. Then he tests me again and we repeat this system until I have gotten them all.

“But how am I supposed to remember all this tomorrow? It’s in my short term memory now, but what about in five hours when I have my exam?”

He glances at the clock and I can see surprise cross his face as he realizes it’s three am.

“Christ Audrey Rose, you should sleep, especially if your test is at eight.”

I open my mouth to protest but he shakes his head.

“How about this,” he offers, “to pay you back for nearly startling you to death, I’ll meet you in the dining hall at six thirty and we can review for an hour before you have to walk to class.”

I weigh my options, but decide that as annoying, and mildly invasive he was, he had offered good advice for remembering things.

I nod, and extend a hand. He takes it and we shake.

“See you bright and early then Thomas.” I say with a grin.

He returns my grin with one of his own.

“Guess some good can come from home invasion!”

I scowl at him,

“Don’t even think you’re off the hook for that.” I say, but he still grins, standing up and bowing ridiculously in my direction.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He says, moving towards the window, “but you can dream of me.”

“Why you little—”

But before I can get my insult out, he’s hopped out the window and vanished from view.

I sigh as I reattach the screen before crawling into my own bed. Despite my objection, he somehow managed to get into my head, because I do dream of him.

—

again, thank you SOOO much for the ask. I loved this prompt so much :) I actually have another Cressworth College AU coming out soon, so keep your eyes peeled for that

tag list: @city-of-fae @beasnotebook @schmlip-scribble @lizziehatter @shaewony @nish247 @queenofdorkville

let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future fics!!

#stalking jack the ripper #cressworth #thomas cresswell #audrey rose #cressworth au #cressworth college au #sjtr #sjtr fanfiction #cressworth fic #sjtr ask #my inbox is open!!#hpd #Hunting Prince Dracula #efh #escaping from houdini

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gabolange · 7 years

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A few thoughts on writing.

There's a sign that's been making the rounds at recent marches in support of women's rights and climate science: I can't believe we're still protesting this shit. It means: God, I thought we'd gotten past this.

That sense of dumbfounded disappointment has been my primary response to the kerfuffle about smut these last few days--a conversation I have stayed out of primarily because it's about my writing or at least writing like mine. It seems a little bit strange to join an argument that sits so close to home. It isn't really my nature to comment, either; these last few weeks, I have insisted over and over that my preferred way of engaging with fandom is to write my stories and let the chips fall where they may.

But...God, I thought we'd gotten past this.

Some background: I've been writing in online fandom since about 1998. In all that time, I have only once before written anything rated M or higher and, to be honest, it wasn't very good. My purview has always been complex canon-compliant character studies. Mercy of the Fallen (four conversations set in 6.04, rated PG) is much more my usual style. Indeed, given the makeup of most fandoms, my character studies filled a rare niche--the stuff I wanted to read that no one else was writing.

But then I found myself falling madly in love with the Turners and, in lifelong fandom fashion, reading all the fic. The thing that no one else was writing was the stuff there had always been a glut of: smut. So, when @pellucidthings gave me a challenge to write something different, I figured hey, why not?

And here we are.

A caveat before I go on. The tenet of fandom I most abide and most appreciate is "Don't Like, Don't Read," which means two things: first, no one is ever obliged to read or write things they don't like. And second, no one is entitled to tell other people what they should like, read, or write.

I will never ever tell you what to like, read, or write.

But some of the critiques floating around right now transcend what we like or don’t. Some of them make arguments that feel really contrary to the things I love most about the broader fandom experience and this show in particular: creativity, feminism, and women’s agency. So I want to talk about that.

There have been a couple themes in the responses to all of this, so I will attempt to tackle them as such.

The first and least interesting is the idea that within fic we should protect the characters or maintain the image their creator intended. On one hand, one of the fun challenges of writing fanfic is to see if we can maintain the characters' voices, build on their settings, or extrapolate from what we see on screen to write bigger or different stories.

On the other hand, fanfiction comes from a place of transformative play and the desire to answer the question what happens if? If you want to answer the question What happens if Shelagh leaves the convent for Trixie instead of Patrick? it is no more concerning than if you ask What happens if you extend the scene for another five minutes? or What happens if Poplar is invaded by aliens? The answers to these questions can be equally transformative and provide equal insight into the characters, which is to say a great deal or none at all; the details are in the execution.

The second theme is that of the ability to separate the characters from the actors. When I was a young thing, I learned that Carrie Fisher had struggled with hard drugs while filming The Empire Strikes Back and I was utterly heartbroken. Princess Leia was my hero and in my eyes, the actions of the actress diminished the character.

But as I grew up, I came to love Carrie Fisher as an important spokesperson for mental illness awareness and for the need for young women to not give a fuck about what other people think of them. Princess Leia is still my childhood hero; Carrie Fisher is one of my adult ones. They are different entities that occupy different--and equally beloved--places in my life.

If the actors and characters run too close in your head for you to be comfortable with fanfic that puts the characters in mature situations, that's yours to deal with. I choose to leave the fourth wall in place because my experience has shown me just how different the actors and their characters can be and why keeping them separate matters so much.

The last theme is what I have struggled most with and the thing that has left me astonished and voiceless.

And that is the idea that these characters are too pure to write smut about and that if we do we are tainting or disrespecting them (and, perhaps, ourselves). It is deeply problematic in the context of modern feminism and it is deeply problematic in the context of Call the Midwife.

Call the Midwife is a show that we all love because it gives agency to a diverse set of women in a time and place where women often lacked agency. The show's strongest episodes highlight the value of female agency even in the face of cultural criticism and the dire consequences when women's agency is suppressed. Shelagh's story--especially the parts where she stops being Sister Bernadette to marry a man and then later decides that the family life she wanted is inadequate for her to be fulfilled and so goes back to work--is one of my favorite demonstrations of the theme of agency. But there are so many others: we see the need for women to control their own health care, the need for women to have access to safe divorce, the need for women to respect other women's choices even when they don't understand them (in the S6 FGM episode, among countless examples).

We see the importance of women's sexual agency more and more. Women who have babies out of wedlock are shunned; they lose their jobs, they lose their homes, they lose their standing in the community. The men don't. Women who want not to have children are finally, by the end of 1962, allowed to seek birth control without their partners' consent. The men have been buying it at the barber for years.

This is a show about all the ways women gain the opportunity to control their destinies, including their sexual destinies. Implying that Shelagh is somehow lessened as a character because she might have sexual desires or that we might want to explore them in our writing is fundamentally contrary to the ethos and point of the show.

And more than that, the idea that any woman can be judged on the basis of her sexuality flies in the face of the feminism that this show is built on. Shelagh is not better or more as a character or a woman because she waited until she was married to have sex. Did she wait? Oh, probably. But the notion of purity or chastity as a defining characteristic in what makes a woman desirable is, candidly, really gross. We have been fighting for years to ensure we and our daughters are defined by and loved for our values, our character, our accomplishments, our humor, our loves. How, when, and whether a woman has sex can tell you about her choices and motivations, but it doesn't tell you a damn thing about her desirability or her value.

This line of criticism implies--or says outright--that we shouldn't write stories about Patrick and Shelagh having sex (in wedlock or not) because it's disrespectful and disrupts the purity of the characters. They are too good, too moral to be besmirched by explicit sex. But that argument only holds if you think sex is immoral or if discussion of sex or sexuality is somehow condemning.

If that’s the point anyone is trying to make, if we are here to debate whether women should express their sexuality or if we should be writing about these topics, the only thing I have to say is: God, I thought we'd gotten past this.

Your mileage may vary, as we used to say. I still think you should write, read, and love the things that make you happy--because that’s the whole point of this beautiful, diverse fandom endeavor. I know I will.

#feminism #fandom #call the midwife #agency #why smut matters #turnadette

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meltedmagazine · 7 years

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AN INTERVIEW WITH THE FUNS

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The Funs itself was a positive result of a time of negativity. Do your songs reflect this? Are they aimed towards creating a positive attitude?

To me The Funs is about creating positivity from a dark place. It’s obvious if you pay attention to what’s going on in our music. My lyrics very much reflect what is currently happening in my life and documents our evolutionary time line. The Funs started in a depressed and desperate state. I was limp and basically walking around with no skin. You know, being 21? My immediate family is densely touched with mental illness of the schizophrenic variety. I had to get the fuck out of that head space to make it. I had to reprogram the path ways in my brain. You can hear it in those earliest recordings because they’re blown out, hardly listenable, trashy and lyrics are raw and biting, and as we climb out of that hole, the lyrics get more hopeful and the tones start to get a little softer. There are these glimpses of the sun and flashes of it getting better.

In the beginning it was me and Philip vs the world, surviving, but now we’ve carved a place for ourselves and we’re really happy and healthy. We’re keeping the shadows in check. I think you see it in our newest stuff that we can breathe now and that we fought for it. We started out as a two piece. I get really sick of calling it that, a two piece I mean. Philip and I have always played together because we are lifers. This is it. Whatever form it takes we’re not stopping. I just get tired of getting labeled anything really even though that’s what has to happen. But to answer your question yes I am positive person that is riding the REAL into the pink and blue sunset. Every day I work for it and it comes out in the songs.

How has creating music allowed you to channel negative energy and/or escape it?

Music has been the motivator for getting healthy. Philip and I were living in Chicago and we were both working 24-7 to live in a crappy apartment in Pilsen for $800 dollars a month that only had heat in the kitchen. We practiced at 16th and Western. We lived in that practice space when we got bed bugs, drinking orange juice and eating Vienna sausages. I ate them because my Grandma gave them to me as a kid. Philip wouldn’t eat ‘em. Anyway, it wasn’t sustainable. It was a joke. We were working to live and living to play and barely getting by. I will forever be beholden to Chicago’s basements because they made me who I am today but those spaces and those shows are ephemeral. They’re like a cactus flower that blooms one night and is gone. Change is constant and I was constantly trying to figure out how the hell I could play very loud, punishingly scary, pretty sounds and capture it or record it and keep it going full steam.

Philip always talked about his Grandpa’s place in the country and how it was this huge old house and how we could move there and clean it up and play music and tour and take care of each other. Music motivated me to move into a hoarded, abandoned, funeral home, in New Douglas IL. That’s the truth. This was four years ago about now. I don’t know how in the hell we did it looking back. It was nuts. We loaded up our mish mash pawn shop gear into a caprice classic (also Grandpa’s) and we broke down before we got out of Chicago’s city limits, so we rented a U haul and got to work. Skin to the bone work. Head to the wall work. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you work. There was a petrified squirrel in the toilet. Mouse shit and bird seed. It took years to get it livable but we started making noise immediately. We got to know our neighbors and to be accepted. I just kept telling myself it was worth it because I’d have the space and opportunity to sustain my visual and performing practice. That’s it. That’s everything. It was all inspired by playing music with Philip every day because that is what I am meant to do. Now after cleaning out an insanely, hoarded, filthy, house and basically rebuilding the whole damn thing room by room, we have something really beautiful and I can walk downstairs and pick up a guitar and press record and it’s everything to me. I’m able to share this exquisite space we made. We call it Rose Raft. It’s a place of peace, music, and making. We are officially opening as an artist and musicians residency next year. It’s all escape. It’s all healing.

How has the Chicago DIY music scene that you're a part of affected and influenced you as a band?

As I said earlier, Chicago basements and DIY spaces made me. The ethos and ethics that uphold those spaces and their fleeting moments’ drive my being. I can let go and share. It makes me feel so present and alive like how the 1st winter night can cut your face. Chicago will beat you down as a city. Make you feel beat.

And what do those shows, the kind where audience and band are almost in total sync, feeding off of each other, creating a coexisting mass of energy, mean to you? Do they happen often?

Life is suffering but to me those shows are about feeling outside of that. Maybe, for some people, at those kinda shows, it’s about being seen, or getting fucked up, or getting fucked and that’s fine we’re all coping but for me it’s the two or ten kids that are really feeling it. Sometimes it’s a whole room. The lucky nights where the energy electrifies the air and it feels like lightning might strike you down. That’s when the room becomes a wave and people crash and break on you. They form a wall holding each other back so you aren’t smashed completely. People throwing themselves into sound blindly like being raptured. We are playing that emotion and hurling it back, and it tugs, and pulls, washing in, and out like tides. It’s mouth to mouth. It’s fucking beautiful and you can’t do that on a stage. It’s just not the same. It’s a whole different production. You can’t have the barriers and the body guards and green rooms and the separation. You have to be sacred and talk to people face to face. You can’t do that at Pitchfork. Not really. And it doesn’t last forever ya know? I’m grateful to have played one show like that, in my lifetime, but Chicago has spoiled me, to my very bones. It’s given me many extraordinary shows. The music there is brave and fascinating, and it carried me home. It’s my heart away from heart. I have to live the country life now to keep from going crazy but I bleed in Chicago. Those shows are endangered wild beasts that I long to visit.

You guys seem to stick pretty close to the definition of a pure DIY band. Releasing your music on cassettes, playing in people's basements, music before money, etc. Is this mentality an important aspect of creating music? Do you believe making music this way is the most fulfilling way and will lead to ultimate personal success?

Without a doubt yes this is the only path I could have taken to self-actualization. Let me be clear though. Money is not Evil. Greed is what sucks. We all need money to be alive in America in 2016. Being in a band is a privilege that I do not take for granted. A lot of bands do and it’s boring. It makes me fucking gag. You need money to be in a freaking band. It’s why rich dude bro rock jock types get to be heard over everyone else all the time. We know this. It’s boring. But still, the reality is you need money to be in an American band. You need $$$ for a van, to fix a van, to fix a van again, to gas a van, to fix your ancient guitar, to have an amp, to repair your sweet shitty amp. Bands are fucking expensive that’s why it’s a huge god damn privilege to play music. I have to get paid to play music in order to function and I’m clear about that but the real important thing is, and what makes a big difference creatively is that money is not what motivates me to make. Real deal DIY shows take care of touring bands financially and spiritually better than a rock promoter does 9 times out of 10. Writing something that takes me to the other side and makes me feel light is what makes me feel complete always. Finishing an album is the reward. Connecting to other humans in a real and personal way is the incentive, even if they are few and far between. Not fans, not likes, not getting rich. There’s meaning in the work. It’s worth it. I like to share what I have had the opportunity to create. I take nothing for granted. There are lots of different paths you can take. There are suits, and loafers, dinners, jet fueled planes and billboards, twix bars, red bull, chevy cars, and hard rock hotels using “cool” bands to overtly and subliminally manipulate millennials into buying shit. Don’t get lost. There are several potential sources of dopamine out there. There are choices. I’m an atheist that doesn’t believe in the afterlife. I keep death in my pocket. You’ve got to. You’ve got to ask yourself the hard questions and be honest. How do want to spend your time on this momentary spark amongst black dust and diamonds? Every second counts. Who do you want to spend those seconds talking to?

DIY has been sold to home depot. I don’t mean to sound jaded. It’s just really tough to keep things pure. A band is business plain and simple. You are selling yourself. You are pushing a product. You’re creating an image and people are selling it. I’m mindful about what I sell but it’s impossible to play out in the world and not compromise something at least a bit. The bigger things get, the messier it gets, and that’s all. I got to be careful and protect my freak flag in the sand. I’ve done stuff for a paycheck so I could buy a guitar and plant a garden. McDonald’s was the best job I ever had in some ways. I’ve done worse. The facts are in and we live in a consumer driven capitalist country that benefits and functions from the oppression of vulnerable peoples. You’d have to live in Canada in the woods, and grow all your own food, and make all your own clothes, and play the banjo, and bathe in waterfalls to stay totally pure. I eat McDonald’s sometimes, but I’m trying. I’m trying to do right with what I’ve got and what I can create. We’re making everything out of nothing. It’s all I can do not to pop. Art is culture. Music is our most basic beauty. To sing a song and connect and express is vividly significant. Too many bands are too busy trying to do nothing but sell shit and aren’t giving anything back. The idea of a commercial rock band grosses me out. I’m more successful than I ever thought I could crawl out of. I’m grateful for my life. I get to have it because my parents made castles out of wreckage. So now, I’ve built a home that I can share with others based in music, art, and love. I’m consistently creating passionate work that I’m fulfilled by and it meets the tall standards I’ve set for myself. I’m only ever competing with myself because this is not a cool contest to me. It’s no joke. It’s my life and it’s meant to be shared. Music is powerful. It can create change and bind us or it can blankly distribute junk food. I’ve found my voice so I’m able to help others to find theirs. That’s what really charges my batteries the most, to give opportunities to those without the resources, exposure, spotlight or strength. I’m looking in the holes and throwing down ropes. It’s as pure as it can be. It’s a dream inside a dream. It makes me fucking gleeful. I feel splendor every day. Sanctuary.

Do you feel like people these days are lacking a part of the music listening experience when they use stuff like itunes and spotify? Is physicality in music important to you?

YES PHYSICAL MUSIC IS IMPORTANT TO ME. IT IS ART. We make everything that goes into our albums, it’s like the organic produce of merchandise if organic actually meant anything still and……yes, hello world, buy local, buy direct, not direct tv, but hey ya know amazon is really really really fucking convenient. And CGI sucks! Stop it already all the time. Make it real with your fingerprints I say. It’s more interesting and nourishing like fresh baked bread from your friend. Maybe put down the 3D printer and forge something with your hands? Let me see your hammer blows.

I don’t listen to itunes or Spotify but it’s not because I’m too cool. I’m just being honest. It depends on how you want to consume, and how much, and where. It makes sense for most people to use it. I don’t really listen to a whole lot of music. I’d rather be playing or writing. Philip plays a lot of records and I enjoy that. Sometimes. Records are beautiful. But you know they are petroleum based so fuck it all to hell. You can’t win. You got to be you and figure it out. I blast Vivaldi when I clean the house. Our van has a tape deck and it’s lovely to drive at night smelling cow shit and listening to a band that made something special just for you. It feels like a gorgeous secret. It makes my life.

I get why people do stuff, it’s convenient. It’s the same reason I go to Walmart sometimes because I’m broke and I want something and it’s okay, I can still buy stuff straight from artist’s hands and I make a decided effort to do so regularly because hello?! It makes the world less shitty. People want things immediately. I’m guilty too. We are raised for it now. Instant gratification. You have to learn to play an instrument. You have to write a song. Practice a song. Write the lyrics. Record it decently. You have to mix that shit. Then master it. If you can manage to access all that. Then you got to get it out into the world one way or another. All that shit takes time and money. It’s crazy to put in all that time and work and then have the expectation that it must instantaneously exist on the internet for free. I had to rehab a totally fucked up house, rearrange my brain, and barrow a 4 track, to get to place where I can do that and sustain myself in a healthy way. You can find yours. It is possible. It’s not easy. Nothing worth having is. I’m so grateful to be able perform, record, and tour and not compromise myself or my work. That is very rare thing for an artist.

Is there an artist/song/album that makes you feel a heavy dose of nostalgia?

I just listened to Summerteeth and it made me super nostalgic because Philip and I used to drive around and listen to it as kissin’ teenagers, in love out in the cornfields. And Jeff Tweedy cut his teeth not far from where we are now and I think he has kept it about as real as you can. The Breeders of course for always and forever. Little Fury and Off You take me away to a bliss-state. Flock of Seagull’s Space age love song reminds of me of the day I fell in love with Philip forever walking around lost and alone in downtown Chicago with giant headphones. Everything looked grey. Grey sky. Grey buildings. Grey concrete. But I felt a rainbow in my chest like a divinizing, dowsing rod pulling me along. That’s what music and love can do. I can’t really listen to Neutral Milk Hotel anymore because it makes me too sad. My older brother died when I was 19 and NMH, Nirvana, and Sonic Youth and Beck all remind me of him. There’s a lot. He gave me so much. He showed me another planet.

what's it like being a musician/band in the 21st century?

Big question. OK. You know it’s weird to be a band now but it’s weird as it ever was I’m sure. It’s weird to exist. Derealization is fucked. Anyway, I know I love to tour pretty city to gritty city via interweb connects. I’ve figured out how to do that well. I camp and touch a redwood if I’m near one. I hug a person and shake hands when I see them. Now is a good time to be alive even though there’s climate change and Trump. There’s always something: war, terror, Reagan, nukes, neoliberals, crusades, famine witch hunts, plagues, divorces. The Big music industry is inherently flawed, sex obsessed, exploiting as the day is long. It’s in its nature. It’s in our basest nature. Luckily one can exist outside of it. If you try hard enough. Bullshit consumerism and main stream media blows. These systems prevent musicians from financially benefiting from their designs even if they are popular. You’re encouraged to sell guitar center and start a clothing line. It’s a machine and there’s a lot of people in line getting paid before the laborer. There’s no quick fix. It’s always been difficult for artists to make money from original work. Who cares? You can’t give up. You got to be relentless. Besides, it’s romantic to be a starving artist. I say fuck that. Find a way to feed yourself. Build a bridge out of tooth picks if you have to. It takes Disney channel talent and trash bag full of four leaf clovers to “make it” and what is it worth? It’s like hitting the ultra-mega million. It takes Michael Jordan riding a unicorn crying One Direction’s tears. America’s tastes are constantly regurgitating and changing like a hungry monster in a Miyazaki film. I understand that we live like kings on a red white and blue hamster wheel. The world is relatively at peace right now, historically speaking, with 7+billion people. It’s a miracle. That can change at any moment. We are talking about trans issues in politics in America. I’ll take that. There’s some good stuff out there within the horror show. You got to fight for it. That’s what art is and art gets dissolved in industry like pop rocks in a can of coke.

I have hope that we will keep evolving toward symbiotic peace in a world where everyone has the choice to create and not just work to live. Most people are working to live. I’m grateful to be the age I am, 30 yrs. because I grew up not having the internet and then having it. So, I feel like I see it for what it is…An insane tool. It’s mind blowing. My freedoms are obscene. It’s all in what you choose to learn and what you choose to connect to. My childhood was cell phone free and I read a lot and ran around in circles outside. I watched MTV and VH1 until it morphed into road rules. I dug in dirt for fun. I still do. I like to sweat to accomplish a goal. It’s remarkable when labor is a choice.

Discovering music as teenager felt magically powerful and holy. Like a whisper in a church. I think that’s harder now to feel like that but it still exists and always will in a world I want to live in. I love science and technology. It’s thrilling. Things are happening the only way they can. I don’t long for the past. The good old days don’t exist. The past is never better. I wouldn’t go back if you paid me. But being in a band in a constant wash of media bombardment with PR campaigns and competitive sports can wear me down sometimes. Still, I don’t lose sight of what matters. I won’t let myself be jaded. That shit is sad. If you’re jaded you’ve givin’ up so try something else Sound Guy. Never be bitter. You have a choice, so use it. Be mindful. Facebook can be a sad hole so make good habits. Reach out. I channel all that shit into making work and into real time connection. I check myself regularly. Skate and make art. I keep my fire lit and light house burning. Don’t get put out by the drool.

LISTEN TO THE FUNS HERE

interview by AL SMITH

#melted #melted magazine #the funs #music #chicago #interview #band #art

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