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dustedmagazine · 4 years

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Dust, Volume 6, Number 3

Matthew Shipp and Nate Wooley

We shoehorn another Dust into the end of a wintery month, putting politics, a global pandemic, bad weather and the final season of Better Call Saul aside to concentrate on the ever overwhelming flow of new music. This month spans the usual gamut of obscure but worthy genres, from free jazz to crunk to extreme noise to yet another take on Pachebel’s Canon. The clear star this month, though, is Matthew Shipp, who gets two slots for two different collaborations, and so commands our cover image. Writers include Bill Meyer, Jennifer Kelly, Ray Garraty, Ian Mathers, Justin Cober-Lake and Jonathan Shaw.

Lao Dan / Paul Flaherty / Randall Colbourne / Damon Smith — Live at Willimantic Records (Family Vineyard)

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It’s a long way from China to Connecticut. But this quartet bridges the distance so masterfully, you would not know that it’s not only the first time they’ve played together; it’s the first time that alto saxophonist, bamboo flute, and suona player Lao Dan played in the United States. The musicians bring a combination of deep knowledge and fresh potential to the encounter. Saxophonist Paul Flaherty and drummer Randall Colbourne have been playing together for decades, keeping the free jazz torch lit in times and places around New England where no one else knew what the fuck they were doing, let alone appreciated the fact that they were doing it. Lao Dan may be half their age, but since he’s spent his musical career playing in China’s major cities, he knows the experience of playing in an uncomprehending environment just as well. When he plays alto, he certainly sounds well acquainted with the conventions of free jazz, matching Flaherty’s growls and cries with aplomb. And while the moments when he plays traditional Chinese instruments sound distanced from free jazz convention, he finds space and rhythmic footing to make real contributions within the fertile matrix of force and rhythm laid out by Flaherty, Colbourne, and double bassist Damon Smith (at the time a Massachusetts resident, since relocated to St. Louis).

Bill Meyer

demitasse — Perfect Life (Bedlamb)

Perfect Life by demitasse

demitasse is the quiet alter-ago of Buttercup’s Erik Sanden and Joe Reyes. Though there are a couple of lo-fi rockers here, the main tenor is tremulous, emotive and rather lovely, with spider silk melodies that look wispy but turn out to have a fair amount of tensile strength. Take for instance, “Coming Out Wrong Again,” a gently delivered slip of a song framed in the barest frame of strumming, in a well-weathered voice with creaks in the corners. And yet, as it rolls on diffidently, the tune picks up momentum, and the chorus wreathes the title phrase in harmonies in a way that might remind you of Carissa’s Wierd or its successor Grand Archives. Which is to say, in a way that seems inevitable and right. In the more amplified parts, the singer picks up a bit of Jonathan Richman’s whimsied warble and drums kick through scratchier, more aggressive guitar playing. “Free Solo (for Alex Honnold)” (yes the rock climber) is perhaps the brashest and less constrained of these cuts, imbued with the muffled mania of its title character and approaching Chad VanGaalen’s whacked out tunefulness. The title cut, like most of the album, celebrates small lapidary moments – the singer’s dad cutting his hair— and their weight in memory. There’s a resonance to the smallest sounds here, and a significance in elliptical lines. demitasse is a small cup of wonder, just sitting there on the kitchen table in the midst of life itself.

Jennifer Kelly

Duke Deuce — Memphis Massacre 2 (Quality Control Music)

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After the viral hit “Crunk Ain’t Dead” Tennessee rapper Duke Deuce dropped a full tape which got endorsed by Lil Jon, Project Pat and Juicy J. These Dirty South legends jumped on the remix of “Crunk Ain’t Dead”, a song that is literally supposed to slaughter strip clubs all the way up from Memphis to Canadian border. Crunk’s been leading zombie-ish life, being if not fully then almost dead for years. It’s hard to predict if Memphis Massacre 2 will spur a wave of neocrunk but even if it won’t, it will remain a gutsy punch to the soft rap belly. The slower songs on the tape, like “Trap Blues”, are weaker efforts as they are lost among same-y Southern rap ballads.

Ray Garraty

Arto Lindsay / Ken Vandermark / Joe McPhee / Phil Sudderberg—Largest Afternoon (Corbett Vs. Dempsey)

Largest Afternoon by Lindsay/Vandermark/McPhee/Sudderberg

After decades of frequent partnership, Joe McPhee and Ken Vandermark have attained the level where they are being recruited for dream teams. Astral Spirits recently released Invitation to a Dream, a specially commissioned meeting between the two multi-horn players and pedal steel guitarist Susan Alcorn. And now comes Largest Afternoon, by a quartet comprising McPhee, Vandermark, drummer Phil Sudderberg (Marker, Spirits Having Fun, Vibrating Skull Trio) and guitarist Arto Lindsay (DNA, Ambitious Lovers, his own bad self) at the behest of the record label / art gallery, Corbett Vs. Dempsey. If you’re hoping for a combination of free jazz and Brazilian pop, keep your dancing shoes in their box; this CD documents a first-time, no-net encounter. On the rare occasions when Lindsay opens his mouth, it’s to emit strangled phonemes; by comparison, his utterances with DNA seem positively Dylan-esque. But if you want to hear feedback squaring off against soulful reed-song, valve-pops peppering amp-coughs and interactions between percussion, strings, and wind that verge on the tectonic, Largest Afternoon will make your day.

Bill Meyer

Jason McMahon — Odd West (Shinkoyo)

Odd West by Jason McMahon

Odd West delivers extremely soft focus (bordering on new-age-y) instrumentals plus effected vocals from a one-time Skeletons mainstay. The main instrument is acoustic guitar, pristinely recorded and glossed with a radiant glow. McMahon, a jazz-trained guitarist, learned to finger pick for this record, and there’s something a bit studied about these cascading bouts of iridescent sound, a bit too perfect, a bit too glassy and calm. “Ambisinistrous” ebbs and flows in minor key fret flurries, McMahon all alone with the guitar and sounding rather good at it. “Sunshine for Locksmith” floats “lahs” and “ahs” and lullaby “wooh-ooh-oohs” over its placid surface, tilting golden dust-moted rays onto all natural motifs until it seems too good to be real. By the end, I’d give a lot for a string squeak or even a stray false note. It’s like the old descriptions of heaven in Sunday school, too pretty to seem like somewhere you’d want to live.

Jennifer Kelly

Donovan Quinn — Absalom (Soft Abuse)

Absalom by Donovan Quinn

Donovan Quinn has been a mainstay of the Bay Area’s hand-made, lo-fi folk-psych-rock scene for almost two decades through the Skygreen Leopards with Glenn Donaldson, in New Bums with Ben Chasny (who also plays here) , in the one-off Fuckaroos with Sonny Smith and Kelley Stoltz and on his own in the 13th Month. Regardless of project, you can count on him for hazily soft-focus not-quite-rock, not-quite folk songs, that drone like VU outtakes wreathed in patchouli smoke, edgeless and adrift and whispery. That’s more or less what he’s doing here, with a variety of SF-adjacent talent in tow, not just Chasny and Elisa Ambrogio but Papercuts Jason Quever and underground songwriters Eric Amerman and Michael Tapscott. But it’s Quinn’s show, really, with Quinn’s soft unhurried voice, his loosely coalescing arrangements of guitar fuzz, drums and chamber strings, his subtly off center way with lyrics. “Satanic Summer Nights,” sings urgently of “a game with no rules,” but it’s not quite that; rather it’s a game where the rules are buried like power lines under enveloping clouds of free-form smoke, feeding structure and electricity into what seems like a passing daydream.

Jennifer Kelly

Matthew Shipp String Trio — Symbolic Reality (Rogue Art)

Pianist Matthew Shipp, bassist William Parker, and violist Mat Maneri have a lengthy shared history, but Symbolic Reality is their first recording as a trio in 20 years. In its early years, this combo was the chamber music outlier of Shipp’s constellation of ensembles. But now the classical and jazz elements mix in his music like the eggs, flour and milk in your best cake batter. While it’s true that Maneri’s microtonal bowing still sets this apart from any other Shipp group, giving the music a unique pungency, the viola’s lack of auditory bulk is at least as important in defining the group sound. The presence of a third musician who is neither loud and nor chord-oriented induces Shipp to throttle back his attack a bit, which makes Parker’s foundational architecture stand out in bold relief; and the vinegary slurs in Maneri’s playing elicit a blues feeling that doesn’t often come to the fore in Shipp’s playing.

Bill Meyer

Matthew Shipp and Nate Wooley — What If? (Rogue Art)

Pianist Matthew Shipp and trumpet player Nate Wooley know how to surprise, creating both compositions and tones that get to weird places. The two have worked together before, but recent release What If? marks their first work as a duo. Shipp provided the composition, but it's clearly a two-man answer to the question. The artists touch on some more typical jazz modes, trading leads or letting Wooley play a melody over Shipp's broad chords. More intriguingly, they feed off each other's moods. Wooley doesn't shy from abrasive sounds, and on cuts like “Ktu,” Shipp matches his grating approach. “The Angle” plays with jittery space; Shipp's chords largely traded in for flutters that go with Wooley's reserved blips. Highlight “Space Junk” puts all the musicality and the enjoyment of the odd together. The duo plays a few moments that sound trad, then go for something avant, then turn somewhere new as ideas and moods run away from them. At times Wooley sounds like he wants to soundtrack a casual night out, and at times he wants to smash it; both of them find the whole enterprise entertaining. The “What if?” question remains open-ended, but the answer comes very specifically from these two artists, and it's more than sufficient for whatever's been asked.

Justin Cober-Lake

Sightless Pit — Grave of a Dog (Thrill Jockey)

Grave of a Dog by Sightless Pit

Sightless Pit is a collaboration among three significant names in contemporary heavy music: Lee Buford, of the Body; Dylan Walker, singer for Full of Hell; and Kristin Hayter, who records under the name Lingua Ignota. Made over two years at Machines with Magnets, the songs were shaped, executed and revised whenever one or two of the artists could get to the studio. It’s thus a sort of experiment in asynchronously generated music. Grave of a Dog (an unfortunate title) is likely best appreciated with that unconventional approach in mind —n ot a set of songs by a band so much as an ongoing, sonically mediated conversation among like-minded creators. Not surprisingly, the record really lights up whenever Hayter’s remarkable vocals move into the music’s foreground. She’s an unusual talent, with a big voice that can do drama, intimacy and lunacy to equal effect, and a compositional intelligence that grooves with Sightless Pit’s sound-collaging sensibility. “Kingscorpse” is a stirring combination of melody and power electronics, and the record’s solemn, fragile closer “Love Is Dead, All Love Is Dead” lets Hayter show off the full range of what she can do with her instrument.

Jonathan Shaw

Solar Woodroach — 7 Perversions on Pachelbel’s Canon (Nilamox)

7 Perversions on Pachelbel's Canon by Solar Woodroach

From the start of “How the West Was Won,” most music fans would be able to identify (if not necessarily name) the source material Solar Woodroach uses here even without the album title. Yes, Pachelbel’s Canon in D, one of the most overexposed pieces of music ever used, is getting dug up and sent shuffling our way again, this time from some enigmatic figure or figures known as Solar Woodroach. The best clue there, it must be said, is that the label is listed as “Nilamox,” also the name of whatever ex-Severed Heads man Tom Ellard is doing these days. But Ellard, or whoever, has more than just necromancy on their minds during these 7 Perversions; sometimes stretching and smearing the composition past the point of immediate recognition. But whether it’s the slow-motion glow of “Decomposition in D,” the mini-swarm of synthesized voice bits in “The Canonisation of St. Pachelbel,” or the eventual return of something like the original in the closing “The Pachelbel Spirit,” 7 Perversions proves, perversely enough, both that our takes on the Canon (or canon?) could be more inventive, and that there might be more life left in those standards than we give them credit for after an umpteenth listen. It’s a cheekily satisfying listen, maybe especially if (whisper it) you still enjoy the old Canon a bit too.

Ian Mathers

Rafael Toral / Mars Williams / Tim Daisy — Elevation (Relay)

Rafael Toral / Mars Williams / Tim Daisy :: Elevation :: (relay 027) by Relay Recordings

Interstellar Space. My Goals Beyond. Other Planes of There. The list of outward-bound jazz records that invite the listener to draw a bead on the furthest cosmic reaches is a long one, and despite the relative humility of its title, Elevation makes a similar request. The album’s three tracks are all named after cloud formations, and even in their most subdued moments the three musicians involved treat gravity as a negotiable notion, not an immutable law. Portuguese electronic musician Rafael Toral joined up with Chicagoans Mars Williams and Tim Daisy for just one day, during which they played one concert in a suburban library and the recording session yielded this CD. Daisy’s a highly accommodating drummer, and much of his playing on this record disperses beats and tones like a spray of cloud-born moisture. Williams balances incendiary blowing guided by the anything goes spirit he nurtures in Extraordinary Popular Delusions with little instrument forays that infuse this music with the spirit of A-list types like Sun Ra’s Arkestra and the Art Ensemble of Chicago. And Toral draws pure electricity into flashes and stretched bolts that illuminate “Stratus,” “Cirrus” and “Altostratus” from without and within. Keep your eyes and ears on the sky.

Bill Meyer

Tribe — Hometown: Detroit Sessions 1990-2014 (Strut)

Hometown: Detroit Sessions 1990-2014 by Tribe

This disc collects post-break-up material from the long-running Detroit cultural collective Tribe, a pan-arts organization led by saxophonist Wendell Harrison and trombonist Phil Ranelin. During its 1970s heyday, the Tribe organization put out jazz records, published monthly magazine covering black culture, collaborated with dance and theater groups and taught music in Detroit schools. This collection picks up after Ranelin moved to Los Angeles and the Tribe name had been retired. Still Harrison continued to preside over multidisciplinary creative coalition, tapping into a vibrant Detroit scene for Afro-centric visual arts, theater, dance, music and literature. Handclapped, percussive “Juba,” for instance, documents Tribe’s connections to modern dance; you can intuit movement in its chanted, panted, grunted and foot-stomped rhythms. The two spoken word pieces, “Marcus Garvey” and “Ode to Black Mothers,” showcase the works of Mbiyu Chui, a poet, pastor and founder of the Black Christian Nationalist Movement. The music, too, is very, very good, from the swaggering big band swing of “Wide and Blue,” to the smouldery sleek piano grooves of “Hometown” (Harrison’s wife Pamela Wise on keys) to the Afro-Caribbean polyrhythms that animate “Ode to Black Mothers.” Detroit was in about as bad a state as a city can be during the period this music was recorded, but art and pride and resilience run through every track.

Jennifer Kelly

Various Artists — Back from the Canigo: Garage Punks Vs Freakbeat Mods Perpignan 1989-1999 (Staubgold)

Back from the Canigó: Garage Punks Vs Freakbeat Mods Perpignan 1989-1999 by Various Artists

Perpignan is the southernmost French city, nestled in a curve of the Mediterranean just before it turns south into Spain. It also the unlikely headquarters of a Gallic garage rock scene centered around the Limiñanas, but incorporating another dozen or so bands represented on this compilation. (The Limiñanas themselves are absent, just to be clear.) The two oldest bands — Les Gardiens du Canigou and the Ugly Things — are the most vital, both rough-rocking outfits fond of wheedling organ fills and much indebted to the Troggs. “Baby I Don’t Want to Drive” from the Ugly Things has the grit and swagger of Wimple Witch’s “Save My Soul,” while Les Gardiens turn in a truly unhinged live cover of “Gloria.” Some of the younger bands follow this example closely. The Vox Men and The Feedback, for instance, pursue the exact same sort of screaming hedonism. However, others diverge. Beach Bitches take a day-glo, 1960s garage energy into joke-y surfy directions; their “Walking in the Jungle,” intersperses novelty record animal cries with banging drums and blasts of molten guitar. Les Buissons bustles and blares with a fully-orchestrated sound, James Brown doing battle with a community marching band and flop-haired psychedelia in “Buissons Theme I.” The whole comp is immensely enjoyable in a what-decade-is-it-anyway manner. It’s probably not what you picture when people say, “south of France,” but it rocks pretty hard.

Jennifer Kelly

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magicalbuffalotransformerman · 3 years

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urban legend wrestle time

[i have a big brain, goddamn. alright, let's do this. basically: autobot!rocketjumper and supercannibal!bonecrusher have a brawl, and then they reconcile and fuck on the mountain. not very creative, but it's fun. enjoy. also: i explicitly wrote the bit where they fuck. so. watch out. for that. yeah. oh, right: this is non-canon towards the current events in the bone gang. don't worry.]

[On a snowy night in the Canadian Rockies, stationed in an Autobot outpost, a bored Rocketjumper stares out the open window. The sole weapons expert (or the most famous one) that resides within this outpost, Ironhide, strolls up the stairs with two cubes of Energon.]

Ironhide: Hey. How'zit goin' up here?

A!RJ: Have you heard the rumors, that Bonecrusher still functions?

Ironhide: Please don' tell me you wan' t' hunt 'im down.

A!RJ: Sorry, dude. Studying the abnormal weather patterns out here has got my processor all numbed, and I don't want to waste the weather today. Is one of those cubes for me, by any chance?

Ironhide: Yea, I'm jus' gonna leave it in th' fridge.

A!RJ: Oh no, don't worry about it, Ironhide. I'm topped up already.

[She gets off of the couch, and sits in the windowframe.]

Ironhide: Y' could always tell me t' get outta the way, y'know.

A!RJ: Nah, I might as well give him an advantage. See you later!

[She hops out of the window.]

Ironhide, facepalming with a free hand: Primus, give m' strength.

[starving. nobody around. twitchy monster. self-hate incarnate. scream to assert dominance? no. new scent... r o҉ ́c̕ k e͟ ̡t j u ̨m ͘p e͠ r͠ . looking for a spar or a fight. three miles away̡̨͟. get to the cave and wait.]

[Rocketjumper scales her way up the slippery slopes of the mountainside. She thinks about searching in some of the caves, presuming that that's where Bonecrusher would hide first, if he were sane. If he IS sane. She didn't believe that the rumors were true at first, but upon looking up, three miles away... a trail of snow is being kicked up by a Buffalo MPV. She starts a sprint, and transforms, maneuvering around any imperfections in the mountain below her.]

[THERE SHE IS. s̴̴̷̸̨t̕͢͢omp on the gas. drive through t̷̀h̡͢͏͝e̷̛͠ cave systems. lose her in there.]

[Mnnnyyeeerrrr... She's focused on slicing Bonecrusher up into a little pile of ground chicken. Rocketjumper isn't sure if Bonecrusher is still sane. He seems so, maneuvering into the cave ahead. Maybe he thinks he can lose her in there. We'll see. She might not even fit in there.]

[echoes of engines. an hour later. in the cave, at the deepest part of the mou͞nt̡ain above. C͟H̨́͟͟K̵̵̨̛͢-̵̛͘͡C̵̛H̵̶̛̀͜K̛͡-̵̵̀͞͏C̴҉H̸̕͞K͞. she won't follow. too narrow. hide in a cove in case.]

[Rocketjumper activates her echolocation systems, and honks her horn. A fury of noise rumbles throughout the cave, until... Five miles down, there lies the legend himself. The opening above him seems thin. He can't escape from anywhere else. She sees this as the perfect time to strike, transforming and going for a ride.]

[what was that? a horn? what's she think she's gonna do with a horn from 5 miles above? wait... INCOMING. prepare claws. lose to the instincts. k̵ i͏͜͠ l l͢ ̧̕.]

[Rocketjumper uses one of her blades as well as her feet to slow down, once she arrives at the opening. Seeing as... yeah, no, that won't fit her thicc ass, she chooses to kick this obstacle so that it opens wider.]

[shesc͘o͢m̷̀͡i҉n͘gdowns̸̷̛͘h͏̵̡e̴̛͞ś̛͞c͞͏omingdow͞҉n̴͢s̸͢ǹa̵͟R̷̶̕͜Ļ̧҉̛́Ś̸͝Ǹ͢͠Ą̵͡R̷̛̀͟͢Ĺ̶͘̕S̵͜͢͢͡N̡̛A͏̷̡̛҉R҉̛Ļ͟]

[Hmm. A snarl? She decides to bait Bonecrusher into chasing her back up the 5-mile-long slippy slide she just endured, with her boot.]

[F͏͡O҉Ò̶̶͟͟Ţ̸͡-̸̨͝B̨̢͡Į̸͟T̸̀È̡̧͠-̴̴͢B̴̸͏̢́I҉̧̕҉T҉͜͞͝E̸̸͝͞͠-҉̵̢͜B͜͟Ì̶̵Ţ̴́́E҉̵-͏̶̵̢B̸̛I͢͟T̷̛̀͜E̛̕͜͝-̵̵S̷̶͟͟͢Ĺ̡̢A҉͟S̵̸H̸̵͠-҉̷̴S̵̨͜͜L̶̢A̵̷̛͢S̴̨͜͟͠H͘͝-̸͜Ś҉̨L҉̸̴̧͠A͟͜͝S̵̕͝H̶]

[Ohp, that got him riled up. She begins her ascent, with a very ballistic cannibal hot on her tail.]

[Once she reaches the cave mouth, she slides on her feet a bit, and waits for Bonecrusher to come rolling out, roaring like a rabid wolf.]

[iG̕K̡͠J́D̛̕NSGSLg͞lhld... s͡hh҉.͡m. hhh. h. cool it. slowly now. click the mine claws.]

[That's not what she gets, however, and she's fine with it.]

A!RJ: So, you still function. How's it going, midget?

BC: h̩̟̖̼̬͜h̰͙̭̺̻̯͇̲h̡͉͎ͅ.̡̟̖͖̯̮̩.҉͙̜̖̜͈̯͉͕́ͅ.̭̦̣̙̯͎̰͡ͅ ҉̯ͅh͍̟̗͈͖̘͞h͈̪̩̭͙̜̀͞h҉̼͓͓̤̥͡.̡̼̝̤̰̮̼̩͎.̴͏̦̣̖.͏̱͔̹̩̮̖̳͇̗͟ ̳̹̖̝̬͘̕͢b̡͈̭̱̪͙͎͞e͏̨̨̘̦͔͍̰͉t̨҉̨̰̱̙͎͎̯̟͖ͅr̹͍̝̗̙͍̗a̩̣̣y̷̮̰͈̠̱͝a͖̻̺͚̼l̝̮̪͡ͅ ̙̩̯́͠s̠̩͉̗̝̜̣̩͜͢͞t̬̭̮̰͖̕a̗͎̜̣͙͢͡͝r̦̲͍͢͟͝i̷̹̰̖n̴͕͔͢g͚͕͇̥̹͈ͅ ̢҉͇̯̗͙̲̮̘m̷̤̺͉͟͡e̶̤͓̗͝ ̛͉̳̯͞d̛͕͈̮͉̠̼̥͕o̸͓͍̲̠͇̝̣̤w҉͈̟̞̠̤̞̗n̨͎̹̤̺.͉ ͜͏̦̼̙̠̟y̷̥̹̬̯̳͝͠o̙͈̬̹̩̫͢u҉͏̛͖̯ͅ'͍͍͓̕͘v̫̬͉͢è͈͙̳̤͕̙͖̱͘ ̮̳̝́ņ̳͘͡o̖̖̬̣̜̖̦͘ͅt̤̝̯͖͕͖͘͡ ̨̘̝͙̳̤̻͙̭̀c̢̖͓͎̣͓h̺̞̮̭̜̻̱͡o̷̙̞̫̯̞s̝͙̫̦̲̟͚̝͘͡e̴̹̺̱̻̬̜n̙͉͎̜̠ ͇̻̙̳͙̫̝̜̮a̖̭͡ ̵͖̭ͅg̬͈̺͕͔̹͔o̟̗̺̳͍͘ơ͙͕d̨͞҉̗̘̯͉̺ ̧̖͖̭͔̠d͙͇́a͚͞y̸̩̳͈ ̩̗̣̟̯̘̺̜t̴̢҉͓̞̹̭o̪̗̱̜͠ ̛͈̟̯͈̯́á̫̫̺̤̼g̟̘̭̭̰̥̱͈͝͡i̢̹̰͇̬̗̱̭͕͡t҉̺̘̟̤̭̤͝ͅa̞͘ţ̷̺͚̟̪͉̻̜͜ͅę̩̮̘ ̼̮̬̯̗m̸̬͇͓̻̞é͉̀͠.̵̸͎͔̩͈

[Oh, did I mention his voice box is fucked up from her blade slicing through it, back in Antarctica? My apologies. He can even barely speak Cybertronian at this rate.]

A!RJ: Sorry, what was that? I can't hear you all the way down there.

BC: ģ̷è̢̕t̛͢t̀͜͏i̴҉͢ņ̧͞ǵ̢̡̨ ͠͝c͏ớ͞c̸̴̢̛k̕y̡͢҉,̕͢͞͡͏ ̴̸͢͟͞a͏҉̴̕r̛͢e̷̶̛̕͜ ̧͢ẁ͠e̸͝?̢̢͠

A!RJ: I still remember when you tried to take on Prime, you know. Watched it through his optics with a special optical camera system. If you couldn't kill that prick, then what chance do you have against me?

BC: i̴̡̕͡ ͘҉̢́w̷̴̧o̴n̢͘d̸̷̡èr͟͢ ͠͠w͏̴҉͝h͘͢a̵̢t̸͏̴͜ ̷̡͢y̨̛o̶̢̡͝ú̶̷̷́ ̢t҉҉̛͡a̷̛͡͡҉s͢͡t́͢͠e̡͢͝ ͟͞l̢͘͝í̷̶͘k̕͟͠e̸̢̛͞͞.̷̀̕͠

[r̷͠͞͡u͏͡s͘͠h̢̛̀̀́]

[Oh, here he comes. She blocks his first mine claw attack, yet fails to realize that he tackled her like he did Optimus. He gets some good flesh wounds (and removes some skin chunks) in through her armor, before she knocks him down into the snow.]

A!RJ: Hey, at least y-

[S̶̨͟T̶̷̷̴͟Ŕ̛̀̕͝ÍK̶̷̷͢͠E͘͝N̶̶͠Ò̀̕͜W̨͝͠͏͢]

[He managed to catch Rocketjumper during an attempt at a monologue, digging his digits into her abs. She retaliates by trying to stab him.]

[ḑ̛̛͡o̴͜҉d̸̨̨͠͝g̨̀è̡a̵̛ń̷̢͟͠d̵̢c̢͘͜ò̶̡͜͠ų̴̡̛ņ͜͞͞t̸̸͘̕e͟r̴̛͜͞͝]

[She misses. He swings at her face, ripping her mask (and a bit of her cheek) off. She's not prepared for the fury of a bot scorned, as it seems.]

[̷̵͞t̴̶͟͝h̨̕͝͡͞e̡͏̡b̧̡́͢o̵̶͏o̷͢b̸̨͝҉ş̛͘ḩ҉̧̛u͏̢̡͜͜r͟͜͡t̵́̀͜t̀͞h̷̵̕e̷͞҉m͝͞͏o̸̸̕͘͝s͢͞͞͝t͏̡̛͟]͜͠

[HE'S TRYING TO RIP HER TITS OFF. Foul move, as he comes to realize, when an equally foul sword chops into him like a lumberjack's axe into a tree.]

[̕͢d̶̸ì̴̛̕͟ḑ̛i̷͏s҉̵̷̧͜a̶̢͜͞͠y͢͠i͏́c̸̷̢͢ớ̵u͘͏l͏̡d̴̶̢̧̕d̵͏i͟҉̡e̡͝͠͠e̸̕͢͠͞e͢ę̧̨͝]̵̵͠

[He's not reacted to that, and he instead goes for the eyes, knocking Rocketjumper into the snow.]

BC: i̡̕͘͜͡ ̴̨͟҉w̵͟͏̵̕ó̴̡ń̢̛͡͏d̵͠͝e̴̶̛̕ŗ̶̛͝ ̡̢̧͡w̡͜h҉͡ą̧͞͡͏t҉̷ ͠ì̸̷͟͢t̵̴͞'҉̷̨̛͠s̷̢̡͢͏ ̧́͞l̕͡i̷̶̷͠k͢͝e͜͜͝҉ ̶͢͢͠b̵̢͞҉e̴͠i̴̷̡̛͟ǹ̢͠g҉̴ ̨̡͞b̶͘҉l̸̴͢͏i̡͢ǹ̴̵͡d̶̴̛͞.̵̸̸͝

A!RJ: GET OFF OF ME, YOU LITTLE SHIT.

[She delivers a mighty boot into Bonecrusher's back, and knocks him a good couple dozens of feet down the mountain. She gets up onto her feet, and wipes her swords clean of energon.]

[.̛.͏.̶]

[She's waiting for a response.]

[...r҉.eco̷̕͝ncKỊ̡̜̲̹̙͓͟͜L̢͏̞̲͓̦́̕L̛͖̞͇̳͈̺̲͜͠]

[He charges, and swipes near Rocketjumper's face, just enough to give her some good scars, maybe even blind her. She decides to stop playing fair with him, and sends a blade through his spine.]

[̴͞N̵̴̕Ò͏͝Ņ̸͜O̴͜Ǹ̨̕͝͝O͠҉N̕O͢N̛O҉͡҉̷N̸̛͠Ơ̸̢͟N҉͝O͟͠͏͡Ņ̵͠҉O̧͘͟͜N̸͢͡O͞͏N͢͏̀O̴̕҉]̧҉

[He manages to get up from this, digging his mine claw deep into Rocketjumper's chest to help him get some footing, before knocking her over and holding onto his own legs to continue moving.]

A!RJ: [Coughing up a bit of energon.] What the fuck? WHY ARE YOU STILL STANDING UP?

[She uses a rocket tube to send some high-heat destruction point-blank. She scores a direct hit...]

[...and it didn't affect Bonecrusher in the slightest. He pounces onto Rocketjumper. (Hey, did you know that these bots' pupils change shape into hearts when they see a loved one? That's what's going on here. One of his eyes has got a cat pupil, and the other is a heart. He's also got a death grip around her ribs.)]

BC: ŕ̕.̡ ̴r̸͘͞ock̸ì̧è͟͡.͏̡̀ í.҉͢..̢̡̕

A!RJ: [spits some energon into his face] So what? Stop being sappy and kill me already.

BC: N̷͢O̷̷̢͞.͡͏͟ i ͢͠w͢͡a̵͝nt́͢ ҉t̷́͢o̶ ̡̨͞rę̕c̵ǫ̸n͠c̷̕ile͢.̡̛

A!RJ: Wouldn't've expected this from any other rabid beast, to be honest... well. You've got me down, but not out.

BC: ...jųs̢t͟ ҉l̶̨͡i̸ḱ̷̡e͟͢͡ ̷old̷̡͠ ̴̛t͢͏i̡͠͞m͜es̡?

A!RJ: Ah, fuck it. Nobody else has been bold enough to give me a pounding, and it's been kinda painful the last couple of months. I haven't even been able to touch myself, because everyone's been giving me tasks. This shit is exhausting, dude.

[She's given a cute-yet-menacing smile by Bonecrusher, as he descends and gets inbetween her thighs, delicately moving past her armor skirt and sport shorts. She adjusts herself so that she's more comfortable.]

A!RJ: What kinda monster possessed you to keep your sanity in the first place, anyway?

BC: were͢ ̨you t͝r͞ying͢ to̕ g̸o f̨o̷r̶ ͏m͢y p͘roc͞esso̴r̸?̶ ̸be̢c̕a̕u̸se ͝y͞o͝ư m͠i͞s͏s͞e̢d̨,̡ ͏if͝ sơ.͘ ҉o͟ţh̵e͝ŕwi͠se͟, ͏i d̷u̢n͢ņo.̸

A!RJ: Hmm. I've got some lube in a backpocket if you wanna get to the nitty gritty, 'less you're alright with foreplay.

BC: oơh,̴ l̕úbe?̢ ̕s҉ur͏ȩ!̢

A!RJ: Alright, hold on a minute.

[She reaches into a backpocket, feeling around. She feels the bottle almost immediately, and pulls it out, pulling her pocket inside out. She hands it over to Bonecrusher, and fixes her pocket.]

[rubadub. rubadub. apply it everywhere. maximum slippy. perfect. entry sequence.]

[Feeling Bonecrusher's dick back inside of her after 4 years of impleasure has got her going. She begins purring like a cat, while Bonecrusher starts out gentle with her. He's... gotten a lot bigger than she remembers.]

A!RJ: H-hoogh,,, this feels fucking surreal.

[Bonecrusher is keeping down some noises of his own. Very disturbing-sounding noises, but pleasurable noises nonetheless.]

BC: it'̶s.͡.̨.̶ be҉eǹ ̢s̸o͜ ̢l͟o̶n̢g͢ si̕nce ̢w͠e la͜st fu̸c͠k͟ed.̵ i̕ ̀ca̛n̶'t. ̨th͝in̛k ̸s̷t̵r̀ài͞ght.

A!RJ: Well... got any top-hhgnnm,,, topics for discussion? Or are you not into fuck-versations anym-nn..n...more?

BC: no̧t͢ ͘s̴u̵r̨e. i d̵o ̡mi̸s̴s th͡e͜ f̕em̸b-̷g̡͢h̴̢go̴o̸͜ḩ͟g̨͟h̕̕h͜.̛͏̷..̸͡ ͠..͠.à-̡a͘n̨d̢ the͘ g̨r̴ump͏, ͟and͞ ever̢y̷on̕e e̕lse̷. ͘i'̨m̶ ́gl͝a̵d m̡ar̨r̕o͘w̷b͝-͘ ̸ḩ̷̵͘͡Á͜A̴͟G͏͏̕͜g̸̨͟͝͠ḩ̴.͏̵.͘͞-mmm͏b̧e͡r t̕ried̷ ͢his͡ b̨est͢ ̶to h͜el͞p̡ mé ͟ou̵t.̛ ͏i̛ w̵ońd͘e̢r̨ wher͜e ̴th̛ę ҉p̛oor bu̧g̶ger is- ̷s̵͜s̶s̵͠h̴̕̕͡h̶͞i̴̸͘t̶͠.̨͏̨.͝͠͡.̡̨.́

A!RJ: heh... Yeah. Marrowbomber. I haven't seen that guy since I first got to the base. Kinda wish the Autobots didn't k- hhh.h... kidnap me, but hey. I got to let out some frustration, and that's always fun.

BC: on̴ly̢ ḱin͠da?

A!RJ: ...Yeah. Brainw- mm.... brainwashing has that kinda effect on you sometime, y-y,.y,y,,, y-know?

BC: g͠o͝d daM͠ni̶t.͡ ìt fe͞èls ͢ļiķe̵ yo̵u̡'r̕e̴ ̀t̸ryna m̛ilk me҉ o̶v̶er ̷he͡r͏e.̛

A!RJ: And what's so wrong about that?

BC: y̢ou̴ ̸̴mi̡̨n̷͜d ̵͞i̵͏f̢͜ ҉͠i.̷͠.̸̨.͝͝?̴͢

A!RJ: What's stopping you?

BC: h̴͢͠h͢͟͢h͟.͞.̧.́.͢

[With that thought, Bonecrusher lets loose a good ol' torrent of cum, right then and there. Did you know that cum glows in the dark?]

A!RJ: Oohohhoh.... [giggle]

BC: [accelerated twitching, and a ferocious SNAP.]

A!RJ: ...Was that your spine?

BC: i ̡can̴ f̛e͢el ̨my͝ ̶le̷g͜s͠ ͡a͡gain.̀ ̶g҉od be dam̴ned.̧

A!RJ: Hey, uhm... You wanna come live with me in the outpost a couple miles away, Boney?

BC: ...i͞'̧d̛ l̸o͡v͝e͡ t̡ó.

[And so, with that, Rocketjumper and her ex-husband head back to the outpost, with a... very confused Ironhide ahead.]

[Knock knock.]

Ironhide: C'm'in.

[Rocketjumper opens the door. Ironhide looks over, and raises an eyebrow.]

Ironhide: What happened t' you?

A!RJ: Well, I found Bonecrusher. He's still alive, and he's... well, he's right here.

[in comes the cannibal.]

BC: ir̢onh̀i̴de̡.͠ h͠av͡e͠n͝'t͜ ͞s̶e̷e҉ǹ ̀yòu͠ ͡sinc҉e 200͞7҉, ͡m̀y͡ guý. ̶h͘ow'̕s i҉t g̢o͞in͏g?

Ironhide: ...Uh. I've been alright. You?

BC: to ͏p̵u҉t̷ i͢t ͢l̨i͠ghtly.̢.͠. a ̧mílli̧o͘n̸ th̢in͟gs̕ ha͞ve happenéd.͘

[and that's all your getting. have a good rest of your day, i'm going to bleach my mind. i do hope you enjoyed this, to be honest, i haven't explicitly wrote nsfw in a little bit.]

#nsfw: sex #nsfw: blood #nsfw: injuries #cannibalcrusher vs autojumper except they reconcile and fuck in the mountain #autobot!rocketjumper #uncontrolled!bonecrusher #ironhide #whoops! i forgor :skull: that w*ndigo is culturally inappropriate! my apologies!

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