recoloured this old warmup to repost cause I had it on my mind.

If Clark is going to be in earth 19 (gotham by gaslight universe) (they're publishing more gbg and clark is going to be there), then listen to me listen to me, he needs to be a cowboy. Superman needs to be a cowboy in the big city. I am SOO serious about this. I am on my knees, DC, let me write for you, I would add so many themes about modern technology versus traditional knowledge and sprinkle in some anticolonialism PLEASE.

You could have a cute little Daily Planet that has to struggle against yellow journalism in a smoky little backroom & setting their own type, a la The Truth. You could have gentlemen's clubs. You could have a brutal war against unions in the streets and one lone titan of industry giving into their demands. You could have the exact same 3 batkids from the movie, there's literally nothing to improve on there. You could have Clark tear down a barbed wire fence with his bare hands, in a futile attempt to unravel colonialist ideas of private land ownership. Imagine the alien knows more about the earth, the real earth, than the knight in his city does. Imagine the American dream failing Clark, who has to go back east to the big city, failing Bruce, who lost his parents, failing everyone over and over until they decide to build something without it. In an era of rampant exploitation, what do real heroes look like?

Or you can make the justice league fight big steampunk robots ig I'm excited either way.

Trump and his are sitting on people's money in Citibank and they're still in half of the other two large Banks and have some kind of presence in small Banks they're cleared out of the other Banks and people are moving their money and they're trying to prevent it and it's making it worse the banks for the problem the big bangs and small bags trumpsters and Dan are trying to steal money and saying they're transferring it everybody is transferring is on the phone with the bank. So they getting fired and they're getting arrested. Huge numbers of people.

And yeah Trumpstrrs in Danner constantly bothering our son about money. Was seeking them on special warrant but they're getting clobbered by a lot of people, you're a massive lawsuits against them from the bank and they have to kill them he's trying to starting another war against the banks by trumpsters and Dan and they're going to kill it's going to be huge numbers in the afternoon and I'll be cleaned out

Thor Freya

Trumpsters ran off to United Kingdom and tried to commandeer the inspection service got their asses handed to them so they're building up a huge Forest and they're going to invade and BGA won't budge our son aaid we got to figure it out. He said no I don't kind of dawned on him he's going after Tommy f and his main stuff he's got an idea what to do. Trump's force is huge compared to BGA. They pulled half of it out took the hardware with him.

They left the other see it are moving. And the queen evacuated in the max. Huge forces moved out of Trump's way because the trumpsters forced to so big. The max had a force of about 350 octillion the well-armed well-trained and the holding the place and bja had a force of 400 octillion. Trump's force is 4,000 until. It's on too more of them are gathering there will be probably 10,000 octillion $20,000 octillion in reserve Trump wants to take it thinks it's a good staging point the sun says they're probably on Iceland there is a high-powered weapon there and Trump knows about it a trumpsters do Trump's dead and the only thing is there's a big bass on the ground and it's the clones so they're getting ready for a major offensive and they're calling up the $20,000 octillion and setting up a bigger reserve if Trump if Trump is fail this will be a big blow to them

Thor Freya

We are my husband and you whistle while you work and bja and Max are out

Hera

Zues

So we here we're going to get hurt and oh that's a lot of people so decide to get out of the way and let bully boy handle it he's a suicidal prick boy is he deserves this s***

Bja

We moved in to take over and fooled you there's no 50 mi hole you a hole

Dave stager

Oh no another fake hole well you certainly aren't you're a real a hole

Bja

Very funny you're dead you and your brother or nephew or whatever

Stager

Hey Dave I got something for you it's like 200 billion dollars no 20 and guess what it's right where you want it right on your head it's coming out of the wire shortly

Daniel

What the f*** do you all work for him

Stager

No. But I do and we're opening the lawsuit on you now Dave stager and we're not in death threats that you're issuing against our son and other people and we haven't recorded we're also we should have lawsuit on Jerry Chasse senior even though he's gone people don't know he's gone he died a long time ago our son said get rid of him and he died then a whole bunch of you died in the lawsuit you're going to get killed and we mean it and the rest you will die you're such a huge prick and you say stuff and issue stuff that you may or may not mean and we have to answer it with lethal Force and we're going to

Bitol and Goddess Wife

And we hear you you're this incessant loser we're not a computer we're not your people you said to us we're going to hit you we're coming by to hit you now

Olympus

Victoria Died (and then some other things happened and we all got a bit distracted sorry about that Victoria)

.

A Death by Dying / Lost Cat Podcast crossover fic, because I think the Lost Cat narrator and Obituary Writer deserve to meet each other

.

[Lost Cat Narrator]

They say you have to go far away to realise what you had close by all along. They never did say exactly how far though…

[LCN]

“You need a holiday,” said Bojana.

  “What.” I said, because it’s quite an odd topic to spring on a person like that.

  “You need a holiday,” she said again. “I’ve booked us the plane tickets already.”

  I didn’t say “what” again, because you can overdo these things. “I have work.”

  “Your podcast?” Bojana asked, and she sounded unfairly incredulous.

  “And make music,” I added. “And-”

  Bojana stopped me. “You can do all that in America.”

  America? I thought to myself. “America?” I asked out loud, with more emphasis. “I’m not going to America.”

  “Yes you are,” Bojana said, and like that, it was sorted. We were off to America.

    *

  [LCN]

    The sign cheerfully welcomed us to the small town of Crestfall, Idaho, and informed us that it had been 5 days since the last unexplained death.

“That isn’t very reassuring,” I said.

“It’ll be a local joke,” said Bojana, but she didn’t sound very sure. Unexplained deaths, it seems, are an international uniting factor. Fun!

We stayed staring at the sign for a few more moments, in case any more unexplained deaths happened whilst we were watching. And one did, technically, although we didn’t actually get to see anyone die, which was disappointing. A man pushed past us, felt tip in hand, and carefully crossed out the number 5 and replaced it with a 0.

      He turned to us and frowned. “You’re new.”

This felt accusatory.

      Bojana said: “Did you kill them?”, because Bojana is good at cutting to the point, whereas I am more used to using enough words to make a story seem long enough to be worth it.

The man didn’t answer, which was definitely worrying, because you would think it is easy to say whether or not you’re a murderer. He had a firm, steady gaze, the kind that seems to have an internal monologue behind it, just on the edge of hearing. An internal monologue that might have sounded something like:

*

[Obituary Writer]

Victoria was dead, to begin with.

She was dead afterwards too, but I think misquoting famous literature always helps set the mood.

Victoria was dead, to begin with, and when I went to update Crestfall’s Unexplained Deaths Board, there were two strangers there, staring at it. You can always tell who’s new here, because for some reason they all react to the Unexplained Deaths Board with the same concern.

        I turned to them after changing the number, and introduced myself.

“I am the modest and handsomely dressed Obituary Writer of this little town called Crestfall. You must be new here, I can show you around if you want?”

      I also took a moment to adjust my stance so that they could both hopefully see the enamel pin on my lapel, which is in the shape of a typewriter and coloured with the bisexual flag colours, because they both seemed friendly, and you never know.

      The woman looked at me suspiciously. “Did you kill them?” she asked. Her eyes bore into me like she was trying to read the truth of my very soul, like if she just looked hard enough all the secrets of Victoria’s death would be laid out before her. It was the kind of stare that you can hear the internal monologue behind. An internal monologue, that might sound something like…

(the sound of howling wind. In the distance, a crow caws)

    Only joking. It’s impossible to hear other people’s internal monologues, no matter what Dan the Fake Tarot Man who lives on the edge of town claims.

A crying shame.

      “You’re taking a long time to answer that,” the man pointed out.

      “I am merely investigating Victoria’s death,” I replied, sounding suitably serious about the whole matter. “If you would like, I can show you my current notes?”

    The man frowned. “Why is an obituary writer investigating a death?” he muttered, more like he was speaking to himself than to me. However-

    “Obituary Writer,” I corrected him.

  A slight pause.  “Yes? That’s what I said.”

  “You called me an obituary writer, but I am the Obituary Writer."  Ugh. Tourists.

        The man and I held each other’s gazes. He seemed to be having an internal discussion with himself, perhaps even an argument.

Again - it really is a shame we cannot hear the thoughts and motives of others, don’t you think?

The silence stretched out long and sharp. I shifted. His eyes flicked down to my enamel badge. I looked slightly past his left ear. He looked up to a spot between my eyebrows.

      "I’m Bojana,” said Bojana. “Can we see your notes?”

*

[LCN]

Currently, my life does not have a motto, but if it did, I might decide on “never follow someone back to their house when they have already talked, at length, about murder.”

      “We’re going to die,” I whispered to Bojana.

    “We might not be,“ she whispered back, unhelpfully. "Besides, we’re on holiday. Lighten up a bit.”

      “Whilst searching for my cat, I have found all manner of things,” I whispered, although it was louder this time, and so more like a murmur. “Some of those things have been death, and some have been worse still, although I won’t go into those, since we are on holiday. The point is - I have no wish to be killed again.”

      “You two aren’t very quiet whisperers,” the Obituary Writer called back, stopping in front of a door and rooting around in his pockets for a key.

“Besides, I’m not a murderer, and I find that accusation slightly offensive.”

      Beckoning us to follow, he pushed the door open and disappeared inside.

I must admit: the house fit his whole aesthetic exactly. The curtains were a deep red, the carpets thick and shaggy, and there was, naturally, a typewriter, rather than a computer, left out on the dark oak table. There was another little pride flag in a skull-shaped mug, and on one wall hung a cork board that was covered in notes and red string.

“The house at Land’s End” read one note, which connected to another that said “The end of Land’s House???”, with three question marks, which is far too many for any normal person to use. Clearly, this job had put the Obituary Writer under large amounts of stress.

  I went to read further when -

  (the meow of a man-eating cat)

  - my thoughts were interrupted.

  He has a cat?

“You have a cat?” Bojana asked before I could. Damn.

  *

  [Obituary Writer]

The One Who Hunts wound himself between the man’s legs, purring.

“Three, actually. The One Who Hunts, The One Who Glares, and The One Who Sulks. They don’t eat people.”

      My two guests didn’t take that last sentence quite how I thought they would. The man stopped his idle scratching between The One Who Hunts’ ears. Bojana took half a step towards the door.

  “Okay, usually,” she began, “you don’t need to reassure someone that your cats won’t eat them.”

  “But I like to reassure people.”

    Bojana frowned. “I don’t feel reassured.” She looked over at her friend. “Do you feel reassured?”

      “I got eaten by cats once, whilst searching for my own,” the man said, with a dramatic stare into the middle distance. “They ate my right hand and my left foot, then they ate my nose and my tongue. My ribs were gnawed and my heart-”

      “Dude,” interrupted Bojana. “We’re on holiday, remember?”

      The man held up his hands apologetically but I was keen to hear more. If he had truly been eaten alive by cats, then I, the Obituary Writer, wanted to write him a damn good obituary. And with all due respect to Victoria, who was a much loved member of the community and will be sorely missed by all - this was the most interesting thing to happen all week.

“No please,” I said, “go on. I might even write you an obituary.”

    The man smiled- no- grinned. 

“Well then. How about I tell you, over a glass of wine?”

  *

(the narrator begins his song. It’s bittersweet, about missing cats, lost friends, and returning home at last)

  *

  [LCN]

When I finished telling my story, the Obituary Writer thought for a long time.

A long, long time.

“I think,” he said, at last, “you should meet my friend.”

  *

  [LCN]

Bojana said: “Dude.”

  I said: “I know.”

  Bojana repeated again: “Dude.”, a little more firmly.

  I said: “I know.”

      She pinched her arm. “Am I dreaming? I don’t think my imagination is good enough to make this up.”

      “We’re going, on the insistence of someone who may well be a murderer, to see the Angel of Death, who is not, as it were, a metaphor, and who is, unlike her sibling, the Angel of Life, quite a nice person, apparently.”

      Bojana sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that,” she said sadly.

       “If this all turns out not to be a metaphor,” I took a deep breath, “I’d just like to say-”

      “I’m not going to kill you,” someone interrupted with a voice like light refracted in glass.

      We screamed, Bojana grabbing my shoulder and me grabbing her arm. When we realised what we had done, we stayed like that anyway, because sometimes the comfort of having another person is worth more than pretending to be cool.

The woman was beautiful in the way that wildflowers growing up and out of a sheep’s skull are beautiful. She was pale and almost translucent, with a pair of great wings of bone folded against her back. Her eyes were old and sad, and her dress fluttered in the breeze like moth wings.

The Angel of Death.

      Bojana opened and shut her mouth a few times, trying and failing to find the words. “…dude,” she whispered at last, awe-struck. And then, slightly more worried - “Are you going to kill us?”

      The Angel cocked her head at us curiously. “I just said I wasn’t. Besides, I do not kill people. Only Life kills people.”

      I asked: “Can I use that line in my podcast?” and Bojana trod on my foot to get me to shut up.

      The Angel ignored both of us, which was probably for the best. “Why have you come to see me?” she asked instead.

        “Your friend is concerned about my friend,” Bojana said. “It was the bit about getting eaten by cats, I think.”

      In the trees, a raven cried out. “Woeful are the lost and woeful are the found! Caw!”

You know, I never realised American ravens were so eloquent.

      “They didn’t kill you though,” asked the Angel, in a way that wasn’t a question.

      “I got better.”

      “You bled out all over our nice carpet,” Bojana muttered.

      The Angel of Death didn’t say anything and that was an answer enough.

      “My cat is lost, and I miss it,” I began. “My search for it has lasted many years now, because I know that it isn’t dead. I have found people playing at being monsters and monsters playing at being people and I have found everyone else, who just sort of exist in the middle of those two states. I have been to strange places through strange portals and I have been to strange places like America, and, despite all, of this my cat is still lost.”

        The wind blew through the trees, a dog barked in the distance, the world turned on and on. My cat, wherever it is, meowed.

      The Angel looked at us with her sad eyes. “Why do you search for something forever out of reach, ignoring those around you? Your cat will return - all lost cats must show up somewhere.”

In a flurry of feathers, a raven settled on her shoulder. The light glinted off its eyes and I saw they were not eyes at all, but buttons. It cawed again as the Angel fed it a berry.

“Listen please: in life, death. In death, life. Enjoy it. Live a full, good life. It will make the wine taste better” She frowned for a moment. “Another person said those words before me, but I like them. Sometimes, it’s nice to have someone else tell you about what you already know.”

      And then she was gone, fading away like smoke spreading out into the night sky.

      Bojana let out a long, quiet whistle. “Do you think she’s single?”

RANDOM REVIEW #2: ANY GIVEN SUNDAY (1999)

“This game has got to be about more than winning. You’re part of something.”  Any Given Sunday (1999), directed by Oliver Stone and featuring Jamie Foxx, Dennis Quaid, Cameron Diaz, Al Pacino, LL Cool J, James Woods, and Matthew Modine, is my favourite sports movie of all time. Of all time.

I’m not betraying my favourite sport by saying this. The Mighty Ducks is a kid’s movie. It’s okay, but it’s not a timeless classic. I don’t like the Slap Shot series, Sudden Death is fun but silly, and the Goon movies were a missed opportunity. The only truly good scene in Goon is the diner scene where Liev Schreiber tells Seann William Scott: “Don’t go trying to be a hockey player. You’ll get your heart ripped out.”

  Such is the sad circumstance of the hockey enforcer. They all want to play, not just fight. Here’s a link to a video in which the most feared fighter in the history of the NHL, Bob Probert, explains that he wanted to be “an offensive threat...like Bobby Orr,” not a fighter: https://youtu.be/4sbxejbMH4g?t=118 Heartbreaking. But not unusual.

Donald Brashear, Marty McSorley, Tie Domi, Stu “The Grim Reaper” Grimson, Frazer McLaren: they all had hockey skills. But they were told they had to fight to remain on the roster, so they fought. As Schreiber says in the film: “You know they just want you to bleed, right?”  If the players don’t bleed, they don’t get to stay on the team. So they fight, and they pay dearly for it later. Many former fighters have CTE or other head injuries that make day-to-day life difficult. The makers of Goon should have taken that scene and run with it. I was so disappointed they didn’t, especially given what happened right around the time the film came out, with the tragic suicides of Wade Belak, Derek Boogaard, and Rick Rypien, all enforcers, all dead in a single summer. So Hollywood hasn’t even made a good hockey movie, let alone a great one. Baseball has a shitload of good films, probably because the slower pace of play makes it easier to film. Moneyball has a terrific home run scene, Rookie of the Year does too. Angels in the Outfield was a big favourite of mine when I was a kid, plus all the Major League films, and Bull Durham. 

Football has two good movies: The Program (1993) and Rudy (1993).    

And football has one masterpiece. The one I am writing about today.

A young Oliver Stone trying not to die in Vietnam. ^ Now, I know Stone is laughed at these days, given his nutty conspiracy theories and shitty behaviour and the marked decline in the quality of his films (although 2012’s Savages was underrated). I know Stone is about as subtle as a sledgehammer, but do you want a football movie to be subtle? Baseball, sure. It’s a game of fine distinctions, but football? Football is war. And war is about steamrolling the enemy, distinctions be damned, which is why Any Given Sunday is such an amazing sports film. I love the way it shows the dark side of football. In fact, the film is so dark that the NFL withdrew their support and cooperation, forcing Stone to create a fictitious league and team to portray what he wanted to portray.

This is not to say the movie is fresh or original. Quite the opposite. Any Given Sunday has every single sports film cliché you can think of. But precisely because it tries to stuff every single cliché into its runtime, the finished product is not a cliched mess so much as a rich tapestry, a dense cinema verite depiction of the dizzying highs and depressing lows of a professional sports team as it wins, loses, parties, and staggers its way through a difficult season.  Cliché #1: The aging quarterback playing his final year, trying to win one last championship. (Dennis Quaid) 

Sample dialog: Dennis Quaid (lying in a hospital bed severely injured): Don’t give up on me coach. Al Pacino: You’re like a son to me. I’ll never give up on you. ^ I know this sounds awful. But it’s actually fuckin’ great. Cliché #2: The arrogant upstart new player who likes hip hop and won’t respect the old regime. (Jamie Foxx) 

Cliché #3: The walking wounded veteran who could die if he gets hit one more time. Coincidentally, he needs just one more tackle to make his million-dollar bonus for the season. (Lawrence Taylor) 

Cliché #4: The female executive in a man’s world who must assert herself aggressively in order to win the grudging respect of her knuckle-dragging male colleagues (Cameron Diaz). Diaz is fantastic in the role, though she should have had more screen time, given that the main conflict in the film is very much about the new generation, as represented by her and Jamie Foxx, trying to replace the old generation, represented by Al Pacino, Dennis Quaid, Jim Brown, and Lawrence Taylor. Some people think Diaz’s character is too calculating, but here’s the thing: she’s right. Too many sports GMs shell out millions for the player an individual used to be, not the player he presently is. “I am not resigning a 39-year old QB, no matter how good he was,” she tells Pacino’s coach character, and you know what? She’s right. The Leafs’ David Clarkson signing is proof positive of the perils of signing a player based on past performance, not current capability. Diaz’s character is the living embodiment of the question: do you want to win, or do you want to be loyal? Cuz sometimes you can’t do both.

Cliché #5: The team doctor who won’t sacrifice his ethics for the good of the team (Matthew Modine).

Cliché #6: The team doctor who will sacrifice his ethics for the good of the team (James Woods) 

Cliché #7: The grizzled, thrice-divorced coach who has sacrificed everything for his football team, to the detriment of his social and familial life, who must give a stirring speech at some point in the film (Al Pacino…who goes out there and gives the all-time greatest sports movie “we must win this game” speech) 

Cliché #8: The assistant or associate coach who takes a parental interest in his players, playing the good cop to the head coach’s bad cop (former NFL star Jim Brown). 

Best quote: “Who wants to be thinking about blitzes and crossblocks when you’re holding your grandkids in your arms? That’s why I wanna coach high school. Kids don’t know nothing. They just wanna play.” 

Cliché #9: The player who can’t stop doing drugs (L.L. Cool J).

Okay, so the first thing that needs to be talked about is Al Pacino’s legendary locker room speech.  Now, it’s the coach’s job to rile up and inspire the players. But eloquence alone won’t do it. If you use certain big words, you lose them (remember Brian Burke being endlessly mocked by the Toronto media for using the word “truculent?”). The coach must deliver the message in a language the players understand, while still making victory sound lofty and aspirational. This is not an easy thing to accomplish. One of my favourite inspirational lines was spoken by “Iron” Mike Keenan to the New York Rangers before Game 7 against the Vancouver Canucks in 1994. “Win tonight, and we’ll walk together forever.” Oooh that’s gorgeous. But Pacino’s speech is right up there with it. 

“You know, when you get old in life…things get taken from you. That’s parta life. But you only learn that when you start losin’ stuff. You find out…life’s this game of inches. So’s football. In either game – life or football – the margin for error is so small. I mean…one half a step too late or too early and you don’t quite make it…one half second too slow, too fast, you don’t quite catch it. The inches we need are everywhere around us. They’re in every break of the game, every minute, every second. On this team, we fight for that inch. We claw with our fingernails for that inch. Because we know when we add up all those inches that’s gonna make the fuckin difference between winnin’ and losin’! Between livin’ and dyin’!” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m_iKg7nutNY  Somehow, against all odds, Any Given Sunday succeeds. It is the Cinderella run of sports movies. You root for the film as you watch it. The dressing room scenes are incredible…the Black players listen to the newest hip hop while a trio of lunkhead white dudes headbang and scream “Hetfield is God.” There is a shower scene where a linebacker, tired of being teased about the size of his penis, tosses his pet alligator into the showers where it terrorizes his tormentors. There is a scene where a halfback has horrible diarrhea, but he’s hooked up to an IV so the doctor (Matthew Modine) has to follow him into the toilet cubicle, crinkling his nose as the player evacuates his bowels. There is a scene where someone loses an eye (the only scene in the film where Stone’s over-the-top approach misses the mark). There are scenes that discuss concussions (which is why the NFL refused to cooperate for the film), where Lawrence Taylor has to sign a waiver absolving the team of responsibility if he is hurt or paralyzed or killed. I wonder how purists and old school football fans reacted to the news that Oliver Stone was making a football film. If they even knew who he was (not totally unlikely…Stone made a string of jingoistic war movies in the 1980s) they probably thought the heavy hands of Oliver would ruin the film, take the poetry out of every play. But the actual football is filmed perfectly. The camera gets nice and low for the tackles. It flies the arcs of perfect spiral passes. It shows the chaos of a defensive line barreling down the field. When Al Pacino asked quarterback Dan Marino (fresh off his own Hollywood experience acting in Ace Ventura: Pet Detective) what it was like to be an NFL QB, Marino said: “Imagine standing on a highway with traffic roaring at you while trying to read Hamlet.” A great explanation. Shoulda made the movie. So the football itself is fabulously done. Much better than what Cameron Crowe did in the few football scenes in Jerry Maguire. The Program had some great football, as did Rudy, but neither come close to the heights of Any Given Sunday. In one of the film’s best scenes, Jamie Foxx insists that his white coaches have routinely placed him in situations where he was doomed to fail or prone to injury, and we believe him because white coaches have been doing that to Black players for decades. Quarterback Doug Williams, who led his Washington Redskins team to a Superbowl victory in 1987, was frequently referred to by even liberal media outlets as a “Black quarterback,” instead of just “quarterback,” as if his skin colour necessitated a qualification. Even now, in 2021, the majority of quarterbacks are white, although the gap is gradually closing. The 2020 season saw the highest number of starting Black quarterbacks, with 10 out of a possible 32.  Quarterback is the most cerebral position on the field, and for a long time there was a racist belief that Black men couldn’t do the job. Foxx’s character is a composite of many of the different Black quarterbacks who came of age in the 1990s, fighting for playing time against white QBs beloved by their fan base, fawned over in hagiographic Sports Illustrated profiles, and protected by the good ol’ boys club of team executives and coaching staff. Foxx’s character isn’t demoted because he can’t play the game. He wins several crucial games for his team en route to the playoffs. He’s demoted because he listens to hip hop in the dressing room, because he recorded a rap song and shot a video for it, and because he’s cocky. Yes, the scene where he asks out Cameron Diaz is sexist, as if her power only comes from her sexuality, not her intelligence and business acumen, but it’s meant to show how overly confident Foxx is, not that he’s a sexist prick. Any Given Sunday isn’t a single issue film. It’s basically an omni-protest piece. It gleefully shows football’s dark side, and there is no director better than Oliver Stone for muck-raking. He’s in full-on investigative journalist mode in Any Given Sunday, showing how and why players play through serious brain injuries. How because they are given opiates, often leading to debilitating addictions (this happens in all contact sports...Colorado Avalanche player Marek Svatos overdosed on heroin a few years after retiring from injuries). As to why, Stone gives two reasons. One, team doctors are paid by the team, not the players, therefore their decisions will benefit the team, not the players. And two, the players themselves are encouraged to underreport injuries and play through them because stats are incentivized. James Woods unethical doctor argues with Modine’s idealistic one because an MRI the latter called for a player to have costs the team $20k. But the player in question, Lawrence Taylor, plays anyway because his contract is stat incentivized and if he makes on more tackle he gets a million dollars. Incentivizing stats leads to players playing hurt. And although I loathe this term, a lazy go-to for film critics, Stone really does give an unflinching account of how this shit happens and why. When Williams is inevitably hurt and lying prone on the field, he woozily warns the paramedics who are placing him on a stretcher to “be careful…I’m worth a million dollars.” It’s tragic, yet you’re happy for him. The film really makes you care about these guys.  Thanks to the smartly written script, the viewer knows that Williams has four kids, and you’re pleased he made his bonus because, in all likelihood, after he retires, his injuries will prevent him from any kind of gainful employment (naturally, they give the TV analyst jobs to retired white players, unless Williams can somehow land the coveted token Black guy gig). Stone is not above fan service, a populist at heart, and he stuffs the film with former and then-current NFL players, a miraculous stunt given the fact that the NFL revoked their cooperation. Personally, I think this was a good thing because it meant Stone didn’t have to compromise (the league wanted editorial say on all issues pertaining to the league…meaning they would have cut the best storyline, which is the playing hurt one). It also meant that they had to rename the team and the league. While I’m sure this took away from the realism for some fans, I’m cool with it. It also allowed the moviemakers to name the team the Sharks, a perfect name for this roving band of predatory capitalist sports executives. In another example of fan service, the call-girl Pacino’s quintessential lonely workaholic character rents a girlfriend experience from is none other than Elizabeth Berkley of Showgirls, who had been unfairly blacklisted after the titular Verhoven/Esterhaz venture, a movie my wife showed me one day while I was dopesick, which I became so transfixed and mesmerized by that I forgot I was. As mentioned above, the only misstep in the film is one of the offshoots of the Playing Hurt arc, where a player loses an eye on the field. Not because he gets poked, but because he gets hit so hard his eye simply falls out. A medic runs onto the field and puts the white globe on ice. Stone cast a player with a glass eye in order to achieve this effect. No CGI! Still, the scene is unconvincing, a tad too over-the-top. But this is Oliver Stone. At least Any Given Sunday’s sole over-the-top moment is a throwaway scene lasting all of thirty seconds. It easily could have been a secondary plot-line in which government officials try to sneak a Cuban football prodigy out of Castro’s communist stronghold but the player is brutally murdered the morning the officials arrive at his apartment to escort him to the private plane. Or else the team GM is revealed to be a massive international cocaine dealer. Or the tight end is one half of a serial killer couple. The film follows its own advice, focusing more on the players growth, particularly Beamon’s (Foxx). The anonymity of the title, Any Given Sunday, elevates the game, not the players. Thank God, the movie doesn’t force Beamon to assimilate into Pacino’s mold. He buys into the team-first philosophy without renouncing his idiosyncratic POV or his fierce individuality. This is a triumph. One of my biggest problems with sports is the flattening effect it can have on creative individuals. Players take media training in order to sound as alike as possible during media interviews, a long row of stoic giants spouting cliches. It’s boring. Which is why media latch onto a loudmouth, even while they scold him for it. All sports are dying for an intelligent mouthpiece who can explain his motivations in a succinct, sound-bite-friendly, manner. Sports are entertainment. As much as I love Sidney Crosby, in my heart I have to go with Alexander Ovechkin because Ovechkin is far more thrilling, both on and off the ice. Unlike almost every other NHL star before him, all of whom were forced to kneel and kiss Don Cherry’s Rock Em Sock Em ring, Ovechkin defiantly told the media he simply did not care about Cherry or Cherry’s disgusting parental reaction to one of Ovie’s more creative goal celebrations (called a “celly” in the biz). On the play in question, Ovechkin scored the goal, then dropped his stick and mimed warming his hands over it, as if his stick were on fire. As cheesy as the celebration appeared to the naked eye, it’s both a funny and accurate notion. Ovechkin was the hottest scorer in the league for many years and his stick was on fire, metaphorically speaking. The only celly I can think of that matches up in terms of creativity and entertainment value came from Teemu Selanne in 1993, who scored a beauty of a goal, threw one of his gloves straight up into the air, then pumped his stick like a shotgun while “shooting” his glove. Of course, Cherry took exception to it. Cherry’s favourite goal celebration features Bobby Orr putting his head down and refraining from raising his hands over his head. Cherry’s idea of an appropriate goal celly is no celly at all. This from a man who claims “we’ve got to sell our game.” But when an arrogant player shows up and he’s not white, he’s in for a shitload of bad press. Foxx’s Beamon illustrates this beautifully when he yells at Pacino after Pacino cuts him for an older QB who has lost four games this season. “Don’t play that racism card with me,” Pacino warns. “Okay…okay…” Foxx nods, “Maybe it’s not racism. Maybe it’s ‘placism’…as in…a brother got to know his place.”

Here is the original theatrical trailer, featuring Garbage’s classic “Push It.”

Above Lawrence Taylor begs Matthew Modine for Cortazone.  There’s also a great scene where Pacino is trying to figure out where he has gone wrong and Diaz just looks at him. “You got old,” she says simply. No enterprise is more cruel to an aging human being than sports. And this movie makes football a big giant corporate machine that chews players up and spits them out, injured and drug addicted, after four or five years. Those who play for a decade are lucky. This is still how the NFL works. And the NHL is increasingly becoming a young man’s game. Experience matters less and less.

When I started watching hockey in the 90s, players regularly competed into their late 30s. Not so anymore. Players peak at 23-24 now, and are often out of the league by age 35. Thornton and Chelois are exceptions, not the rule. After more than two hours, Any Given Sunday finally lurches across the finish line, bravely refusing to give its viewers a traditional happy ending, in the great tradition of underdog sports films like Rocky and Rudy. The bombshell dropped by Pacino’s character at the end feels less surprising than inevitable, but by now the movie has explored so much of professional sports' seedy underbelly that you're glad it's over. The film is great but exhausting. Stone seems to be advancing the notion that the sport itself is pure, but the people in it are corrupt. If money weren’t involved, the game would be played for its own sake.

I agree with this. People playing pond hockey are engaging in wholesome fun, not necessarily practicing to make a professional league. Commerce corrupts the purity of the game, and the extent to which it corrupts is directly proportional to how badly the individual in question needs the commerce. Of course, the sport is highly racialized, with people in positions of authority white, and those being told what to do with their bodies Black.

Any Given Sunday is an important film, but it never sacrifices entertainment for the sake of moralizing. That it pulls off such a strong moralistic stance is a testament to the actors, who are all incredible, and the material, which is among the strongest of Stone’s career.

He never really made a great movie after this one. So check it out sometime.

Cinnamon and Carrots

For: @jostenlovesminyard for the Winter Fellow Exy Junkies fic exchange ☃️

Word count: 1.4k

Read on Ao3 

As Andrew applied ice to Neil’s ankle, he felt the man shiver. 

“Fuck,” Neil whimpered as goosebumps covered his skin. 

Andrew swallowed hard and moved away from the couch, intensely focused on the need to light the fire. 

✨Wanna read the rest of my stuff?

--

“Again!” Andrew heard the man say. He’d been trying to stand on his snowboard for two days now, but every time he started down the hill, he’d fall face first into the snow. As much as Andrew liked to think himself a good instructor, this Josten guy was a lost cause. 

He had showed up yesterday looking ridiculous in an offensive, head to toe, orange outfit saying he didn’t need any help. He’d taken in the short hill and the steady board and waved a dismissive hand at Andrew. “Pff I got this.” He didn’t, though. Sure, he had some instincts, but the lack of technique had him overcorrecting his posture and eating buckets of snow. Andrew thought better to intervene before Carrots killed himself.

So now Andrew sighed and helped the redhead with his gear, touching him lightly on the back of the knees and lower back to correct his stance. As Neil positioned himself to brave the mountain yet again, he grinned at Andrew and said “Hundredth time is a charm,” winking before sliding downhill. 

Down he went, one, two, three feet, finally able to keep his ass off the snow. Minyard heard a little whoop and watched as the dork pumped a fist into the sky and dragged himself to the lift. As he got closer, his smile widened and, before he was out of the moving cart, said “Again!” To which Andrew responded with a snort.

Carrots’ joy was short-lived, though, and he grunted as his feet got tangled moving out of the lift. The redhead fell to the snow in slow motion, ending in a heap of limbs and curses. Andrew moved closer checking for injuries, but Neil dismissed him with an “I'm fine.”

“You're limping.” The instructor remarked.

“It's nothing. 'Been falling all day, one tiny bump won’t kill me.” Neil tried to sound convincing but failed miserably when he had to put weight on his right foot. 

“C’mon, I’m taking you to the nurse’s.”

“I'm goo-“ He started before hissing painfully. “Shit, fine. But no nurse, just help me get to my cabin, ok?”

When they finally reached the cabin -which, now that he’d seen it, sounded like an overstatement- he helped Neil inside and propped him on the couch near the fireplace. It only took Andrew one quick look to have a complete tour of the place. The kitchen was separated from the living room by a rickety counter and the bed was located a few steps away, near a window (was that a plastic bag on the last panel?). Turning back to Carrots, Andrew asked “You're here alone?”

Andrew guided Carrots all the torturous way to his cabin, holding him by the waist, while the other man’s arm rested around his neck. This close it was hard not to notice how blue his eyes were, or the sharp contrast between his dark lashes and the tiny snowflakes that hung from them. Josten’s lips were slightly parted and his breaths looked like short plumes of smoke in the cold air. Neil smiled, probably sensing he was being watched and Andrew tripped on a tree root. Minyard looked up at the sky in silent prayer, how much longer until the damn cabin?

“Yeah, my friend couldn’t come.”

“Probably for the best,” Andrew murmured, removing his coat and immediately regretting it. How did Neil sleep in this freezing ass cabin?

“I'll take off your boots. Gotta check that ankle.” Andrew said, but waited for confirmation before kneeling next to Neil and getting hold of his boots. He took them off gently and removed Josten’s right sock. Neil's skin felt colder compared to his warm hands and he could see goosebumps forming where his fingers had touched. As Andrew slowly massaged the ankle, he heard Neil take a deep breath.

“Hurt?”

“Just a bit,” Neil answered with a grimace.

“It's not broken.” Andrew stated, carefully placing Neil’s foot back on the couch.

“Told ya,” Neil said and removed his wet coat and gloves.

“But you need to keep off your feet for a while, or you’ll make it worse.”  Andrew added and went to the kitchen to get some ice.

“Don't you dare,” Neil said in warning, eyeing the cold pack. "I still can’t feel my face from all the snow.” 

“You'll live.” 

As Andrew applied ice to Neil’s ankle, he felt the man shiver. 

“Fuck,” Neil whimpered as goosebumps covered his skin. 

Andrew swallowed thickly and moved away from the couch, focusing too hard on the need to light the fire.  

“Drew…”

“Andrew,” He corrected.

“Andrew,” Neil repeated, managing to sound, at the same time, mocking and infuriatingly sweet. “Can you get me that blanket?” He asked, straining to get to the blanket on the chair next to the couch, but falling short a few inches. Minyard did not notice how that made Neil’s pullover hike up his waist. Nope. Didn’t even glance at the marked v line leading into his pants. 

“Andr-“ Before Neil finished speaking, Andrew threw the blanket over to him, hitting the guy in the face. “Why, thank you.” He heard the redhead snicker as he headed to the kitchen again, hating the whole open plan situation.

He rummaged the fridge trying to find something edible and cursed at the emptiness of it. The cupboards were no better, but at least he found some cinnamon tea. No sugar. What kind of living hell was this? 

Andrew just growled and focused on making tea.

"I should drag your ass back to my apartment." Andrew muttered under his breath.

"Whad'ya say?" Neil asked from the couch.

When Andrew came back with the hot mug of tea, Neil smiled and scooched over, holding the blanket up for him. Minyard hesitated, but sat down and offered Josten the mug. As Neil gripped the cup, Andrew noticed the scars on his fingers and on the back of his hands. It wasn't his business, so he didn't say anything, but the question must have shown in his eyes, because Neil said “Matt thought it would be fun to deep fry a turkey for thanksgiving.” 

“Were you trying to die?” Andrew asked incredulously.

“It was just some light burns.” Neil shrugged and laughed as he remembered something. “Matt lost both his eyebrows. Dan was so pissed.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Two years.” He answered and sipped at his tea. "Ugh. This tastes like balls!" Neil complained, sticking his tongue out. Andrew hurriedly took the cup from his hands and set it on the floor. The heat at his neck and cheeks was purely due to Carrots' ungratefulness.

“Matt is…” Andrew prompted, burying himself under the blanket.

“My brother. Sort of. We grew up together. Our parents were never around so we took care of each other.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It was, is.”

Andrew raised a questioning brow and Neil rested his head on Andrew’s shoulder.

“He's getting married next weekend. Everything will change.”

“Is this bad?” Andrew said, stroking Neil’s curls absentmindedly.

“I dunno,” He sighed and continued. “Do you have brothers?”

“One, a twin.”

“Cool, and where is he?”

“College. Wants to be a doctor or whatever.”

“And your parents?”

“Dad coaches snowboard athletes and mom’s a sports doctor.”

“They work here?” Neil asked. When Andrew hummed in response, he added. “Is that why you stayed in freeze-your-ass-land?”

“I like the peace and quiet.” Andrew eyed Neil pointedly, but the redhead only laughed quietly and sighed as he leaned into Andrew’s touch.

Realizing what he was doing, Minyard pulled his hand away.

“Sorry.”

“Nah, that feels good,” Neil’s eyes were soft as he stared at Andrew. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

“Don't look at me like that.”

“Why not?” Neil said, eyes fixed on Andrew’s lips.

Andrew’s throat was suddenly very dry.

“Can I kiss you, instructor?”

Andrew’s mouth moved, but no sound came out. Neil cocked his head, his stupid blue eyes teasing, and Andrew gave the barest of nods. Neil closed the distance between them.

The kiss was soft. Their lips touched lightly for a moment until Neil’s tongue teased Andrew's lower lip and he opened his mouth, tasting Josten’s cinnamon breath. Allowing Josten to taste him. It was a slow kiss. Like they were trying to savor the moment, commit it to memory. Neil’s hand cupped Andrew’s face and he hummed, which made Neil smile and brush kisses along Andrew’s jaw and neck. Stopping just under his ear, Neil pulled back just enough to lock his blue gaze on Andrew. Minyard had never used the word “mesmerized" in his life, but at that moment, it made sense.

“Instructor?” Neil whispered, and Andrew was very aware of every contact point between them.

“Mmm?” Was all Andrew could utter and Neil's grin was devilish.

“Again.”

--

Thanks for reading! 😁

Maybe let me know what you think?

Reblogs are appreciated 🥺

Please I wanna know more about your thoughts on Dan x mc relationship. I know its been age since ILITW ended but this is a hill I will die on. Like, I didn't romance anyone else on this book. If I couldn't have him then I didn't want anybody else, 🤧

oKAY, we’re going for it

This is the first time I’ve ever put an answer to an ask under a read more. That should really tell you something about me and about what you’re about to be subjected to.

I would like to start this off by saying that I couldn’t care less about when it ended because it is ALWAYS It Lives hours on my blog and that’s never gonna change. But let’s get into this:

I completely understand why Dan wasn’t an LI. It’s not the same case as with, say, Noah, who’s such a prominent character in the book they could’ve easily added him. Even though Dan’s influence is strong in the series - seeing how his absence brought the group together when they worked to save him - the actual Dan was in a coma for a sizable portion of the book, which would’ve frustrated his romancers to no end. This is why if you look up fan made Dan x MC content, most of it takes place after the events of the book (not including the epilogue), not during them, because at that point, there wasn’t much to go on.

I think that if ILitW had had a sequel that wasn’t an anthology, so a second book with the same MC focused on the same group (which obviously can’t happen because of all the possible combinations of deceased/survivors in book 1), Dan could’ve been made an actual LI in that second book, or maybe players would’ve gotten the first romantic dialogue at the end of book 1 if PB knew they were gonna commit to giving him a route in the sequel. The seeds are all there in the first book, from how close they were in their backstory to how that closeness seemed to linger ten years later even though they’d barely spoken during that time. Dan admitted to never talking to people about his struggles because he was worried people would think differently of him, but with a little bit of encouragement from MC, he opened up to them, which shows a very strong bond between them, which could easily turn romantic in his hypothetical route. I mean, he’d known Stacy for as long as he’d known MC, had interacted more with her since she was the only one who kept in touch with him out of the group and was concerned about his well-being, and yet it was MC he trusted with his feelings.

Also, like I said earlier, the way he spoke of them when they were kids in his scene suggests (to me, at least) that, after Jane, Dan was the one MC was closest to out of everyone in the group. And when, after not speaking to MC for ages, they show up at the orientation he’s attending and tell him they went solely because they knew he’d be there and they missed him, he thought they were joking, but was genuinely happy when they told him they were serious because he felt the same way, which shows that even though they had a falling out that lasted a decade, they easily fell back into a familiar friendly rhythm after just a minute together. Now, as much as I love this ship, I’m not really entirely sold on the idea of Dan having had a crush on MC since they were eight and having it last well into their senior year of high school, but I believe that their easy bond would’ve been a major factor in him developing that crush, and maybe it would’ve already existed by the time the orientation scene took place, only strengthening when they got to actually spend time together when they properly reunited.

But giving it some thought, I doubt he and MC would be a couple right away. I mean, Dan’s been through a lot, and he probably wouldn’t be in the right place to be in a relationship as soon as everything ended, even if he started healing after what happened in the cave. It’s possible that he and MC would’ve mutually acknowledged their feelings to each other so they’d know they were reciprocated but not actually acting on them for a while, just until Dan feels like he’s in a better place to do the relationship and get it right, because I can’t imagine him disregarding that just because he wants to be with MC so bad and then the relationship falling apart because it was too soon, too hasty, and MC would for sure understand that they’d need to take their time to make it work out. 

I feel like even before they got together, MC would be good at reading Dan’s moods when he has off days, knowing when he needs company or someone to talk to and when he just needs space, and they don’t take offense to Dan not being in the mood to talk sometimes because they’d understand that even though Redfield is gone, that doesn’t mean that he’d just go back to what he was like before the PTSD and everything else happened. Dan does the same in return, since he knows MC went through more than their fair share of bad stuff, but he’d also have to learn to navigate that, like I said in my other ask, there would be times when MC might wake up from a nightmare and he’d try to comfort them and find that MC somehow looks even more freaked out and then it dawns on him that MC might be having a flashback of when a dirt monster wore his face in their room and he’d have to talk them down and tell them it’s him.

Moving AWAY FROM THE ANSGT, an established, dating Dan and MC would be such a cute couple. If it happened in-game, the “define the relationship” talk would end with them kissing while the overhead achievement banner reads “Dynamic Duo” (guess why). I feel like it would be a chill relationship in the sense that they didn’t go straight from acquaintances to lovers, since they had a lot of history together being friends for a long time before dating, so they’d be so at ease with each other’s presence and so used to it that they wouldn’t need to be like some of the couples in their high school who’d need to always have their hands all over each other or constantly making out for you to tell they’re in love, because they could do the most low-key stuff and still be happy together.

They’re probably actual relationship goals. Dan would make such a caring boyfriend, always making small gestures that make MC smile, a real Pinterest-type boyfriend. You ever see those pictures of football players running to kiss their partners on the stands? Yeah, that’d be him, because you know MC would show up to every single game and be his personal cheerleader.

MC would probably get along well with Dan’s parents, too, since I bet his mom would be really grateful that Dan’s got someone close to him he can open up to and who makes him so happy. He and MC would probably have stay-in dates where they just cuddle up close and watch Star Trek while Dan’s cat is curled up and purring between them, and Dan’s mom probably makes them mac and cheese because MC missed her cooking from when they would all go to the Pierces’ for lunch. And when they do their stay-in dates at MC’s place instead, MC always pretends to get upset when their cat wants to be on Dan’s lap instead of theirs, but really they love it because, hello, cute boy being cute with animals? They fall deeper in love with him every time. Also, imagine some time later, MC and Dan’s cats having kittens and then they’re trying to co-parent a couple of furry little babies. No, seriously, imagine Dan sitting on the floor while a bunch of tiny kittens try to climb all over him. Get that mental image in there.

At this point I have written a lot about how much I love Dan and I am fully aware that I’m rambling BUT I JUST THOUGHT OF MORE. Okay, you know the iconic Dan x MC Captain Incredible team up? Imagine Dan and MC slaying every single couples’ costume contest ever. They coordinate that stuff so well that they just own Halloween and nobody stands a chance. I mean, I did say they were goals, didn’t I?

And then of course there’s MC being so completely supportive of him when he starts seriously thinking about pursuing psychology as a career to help people cope with trauma. I mean, they know how complicated his own journey was and they are so proud of him for choosing to dedicate his life to that, since his caring nature is one of their favorite things about him. They probably help him prepare for his exams by setting up study dates to keep him motivated and working so he can make his career happen, and he’s just as supportive when it comes to whatever MC chooses to do.

Oookay, not that I don’t have lots of feelings about this, you know, ‘cause I really just went on and on about how I feel about Dan off the top of my head without any organization whatsoever, but I deadass thought “hey, this is a very long response” and put it through a word count and it is, no joke, over 1.4k words, so I really should stop talking now because people are gonna forget that my brand was supposed to be stanning Andy x MC, but the gist of it is Dan x MC is an amazing pairing, even it It Lives in the Woods didn’t explore the romantic potential there.

Clone Catastrophe

AN: sorry that this took so long dude. everything got in the way. lol. I hope you like it though.

**

**

an: bold is for tom italic is for dan (clones)

Danny landed in the alleyway behind an old apartment building set for demolition later in the year. There was a chill in the air and he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was following him but when he looked around nothing was there. He even used his ghost vision but when he felt that something was wrong, something usually was so he was more tense than usual and with good reason. He wasn’t in the best side of Amity anyway. Danny grabbed his backpack from behind the dumpster and shoved the half-full thermos in, planning on emptying it as soon as he got the chance. He started walking home, nothing special. His feet slammed onto the ground in that lazy way, making more noise with his steps without looking meaningful.

He didn’t make it four blocks before he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. He narrowed his eyes and made a sharp turn into the corner store he was about to pass. He walked down the first aisle pretending to look around. He watched the mirrors of the corner store no one else but the cashier at the register. He looked through the window, pretending to check out the cases of energy drink with outrageous prices taped on them. He moved away and to another aisle, doing his best to avoid the mirrors. He waited for a second, not seeing anything outside before grabbing some chips and water, purchasing with some change and walked out.

He kept walking home. Amity Park may be protected by Phantom from ghosts, but petty criminals are the police’s territory, doesn’t mean he can’t handle himself but you never know. His ghost sense wasn’t going off so he knew it wasn’t a ghost trying to get the jump on him for one of his buddies he sucked up into the thermos, he wasn’t scared, just wary of what could happen.

He knew someone was following him when he heard a trash can scrape against the ground. No cat can make it move a solid half a foot in one direction while making one sound. No stay animal this side of Amity Park could. He stopped where he was and looked around quickly before jogging to the nearest alley he could find. He crouched behind the dumpster. Whoever it was wouldn’t want to lose sight of him, especially if they knew what he was capable of. So he waited for a moment when he heard the footsteps. He counted them for no reason but waited till whoever it was, was close enough for him to grab.

He jumped out from his hiding place and grabbed the collar of the person, shoving them against the dumpster.

“Why. Are. You. Following. Me?” He asked, his eyes flashed that natural green, slightly illuminating what he was seeing. His grip loosened and his eyes went wide when he realized who he was staring at. It was him...or at least, someone who looked exactly like him minus the eye color. Instead of his icy bright blue, they were solid grey.

Danny was taken by surprise when he was pulled back and the tingling feeling of pain in his nose but he regained his composure. Putting his hand to his nose he looked up from his slouched position. He had to be seeing double.

“Don’t touch him.” The new one snarled.

“Who are you?” Danny asked. The first one stepped forward.

“We’re clones. Vlad Masters created us to defeat you, but we didn’t come out the way he wanted.” The first one said.

Danny was frozen in shock. His mind flashed back to Dani and everything they went through. Danny stood up and pinched his nose. Glaring at the second one. He knew that what they were saying was the only explanation for what he was seeing but he didn’t understand why they searched him out but he knew the responsibility he had to take since they managed to find him. 

“Follow me.”

Danny walked them to his house, sneaking them into his room through the roof. They sat on his bed, side by side. He watched from his bathroom mirror as he washed the blood off his face. He walked out wiping his face with a towel.

"Vlad is going to come looking for you." He said.

The clones were silent.

"Do you have names?"

The first clone shook his head. He looked like Danny's human form while the other was his phantom form.

"The machine must have miscalculated and read the DNA sample as two different sets. That's probably why you guys are separated. What's up with the powers?"

"Split. I have offense, he has defence." The second one said in a much harsher tone.

"Okay. Are you stable? No melting, no pain or unexplained power surges?" He asked. They looked at each other completely in sync.

"Only when we got out."

"All of the power in Vlad's lab went out and the machines nearly blew it up entirely."

Danny was silent for a moment. Trying to make sense of what was happening. When he found Dani, she wasn't stable due to Vlad's DNA. If the two in front of him have any of Vlad's DNA mixed with theirs he has to find a way to stabilize them.

"Okay. I got all I could find on clones and a book or two from the ghost zone-"

"Wait? How do you get material from the Ghost Zone?" Danny asked. Jazz has never been in the ghost zone up until this point.

"I have connections." Jazz said with a slight smirk but continued with what she was saying.

"It seems like there is some lore about clones and their capabilities but its for full ghosts. So I guess this stuff only applies to you." She said holding up the old and kinda ghastly looking Ghost Zone books. "and these apply to you." she said holding up the human books and looking at the human clone.

"Is that a copy of Star Wars the Clone Wars?" Danny asked. Jazz waved him off and plopped the books on his bed before taking a seat.

"How are we gonna hide them from Mom and Dad?" Danny asked.

"We only need to hide one of them. The other one should be fine if he can act enough like you if he sees Mom and Dad. Then again, I don't even think they would notice if there were two of you in the same room."

"That's fair. We need to give them names though."

"How about Dan and Tom?" Jazz suggested.

Danny looked at the clones to get a reaction. They seemed fine with it. Just shrugging.

“Maybe we can hide them in the ghost zone? I’m sure frostbite will be able to help them better than we can.” Danny suggested.

“If they are anything like Dani was, then they probably need something to stabilize them. Ectoplasmic exposure might help?” Jazz suggested.

“Is there anything you aren’t telling us? Maybe forgetting?” Jazz asked, looking up from her book again.

They were silent for a second. Dan spoke up.

“Vlad said we wouldn’t be able to hold our forms for very long due to the mistakes in our DNA and just let us be, I guess till we eventually turned into goop.”

“Why did you guys leave then?” Jazz asked.

“We don’t want to die.” Dan said.

“Good doesn’t matter sometimes.” A UFC 243 Preview

Joey

September 30th

You ever have a show that's kind of not good but it also kind of doesn't matter? BEHOLD UFC 243! This card is....not good. It also doesn’t really even matter if it is or isn’t good. While UFC 242 was not "good" on paper, it at least featured a lot of fights in a good division. This is a lower level ESPN+ card without those top two fights and with Holm-Rocky off. Thankfully cards are judged as a whole and so Israel Adesanya-Robert Whittaker and Daniel Hooker-Al Iaquinta really do buoy it up to moderately acceptable level. IF ANYTHING, it doesn't matter. Really truthfully it doesn't matter. This show is all about the scene and the story of Australia getting its second ever stadium show headlined by an Aussie and a Kiwi in a major main event. It's a moment in time and sports are all about moments. The UFC has done little to promote this (or boost the card up) mostly because they've already sold close to 40,000 tickets with a week to go. Also I think they realized that Robert Whittaker is abysmal at fight promotion and there's not much you can do with him. Either way we got plenty to talk about here including a killer title unification bout.

Fights: 11

Debuts: Bruno Silva, Brad Riddell, Jamie Mullarkey, Zarah Fairn Dos Santos, Maki Pitolo, Justin Tafa, Yorgan de Castro

Fight Changes/Injury Cancellations: 2 (Holly Holm vs Rocky Pennington CANCELLED/Max Holloway vs Alexander Volkanovski CANCELLED)

Headliners (fighters who have either main evented or co-main evented shows in the UFC): 5 (Israel Adesanya, Robert Whittaker, Al Iaquinta, Dan Hooker, Tai Tuivasa)

Fighters On Losing Streaks in the UFC: 1 (Tai Tuivasa)

Fighters On Winning Streaks in the UFC: 3 (Robert Whittaker, Israel Adesanya, Dhiego Lima)

Main Card Record Since Jan 1st 2017 (in the UFC): 23-9

Robert Whittaker- 3-0 Israel Adesanya- 6-0 Al Iaquinta- 5-1 Dan Hooker- 2-2 Tai Tuivasa- 3-2 Sergey Spivak- 0-1 Luke Jumeau- 2-1 Dhiego Lima- 2-2

Fights By Weight Class (yearly number here):

Welterweight-  3 (58) Heavyweight- 2 (29) Lightweight- 2 (64) Women’s Featherweight- 1 (8) Women’s Flyweight- 1 (30) Middleweight-  1 (36) Bantamweight- 1 (51)

Light Heavyweight- (37) Women’s Bantamweight-  (18) Featherweight- (48) Women’s Strawweight- (24) Flyweight-   (14)

2019 Number Tracker

Debuting Fighters (32-52-1)-  Bruno Silva, Brad Riddell, Jamie Mullarkey, Zarah Fairn Dos Santos, Maki Pitolo, Justin Tafa, Yorgan de Castro

Short Notice Fighters (27-35)-

Second Fight (49-32)- Rostem Akman, Callan Potter, Sergey Spivak

Cage Corrosion (Fighters who have not fought within a year of the date of the fight) (20-33-1)- Robert Whittaker, Luke Jumeau

Undefeated Fighters (33-35-2)- Israel Adesanya, Justin Tafa, Yorgan de Castro

Fighters with at least four fights in the UFC with 0 wins over competition still in the organization (11-8)-

Weight Class Jumpers (Fighters competing outside of the weight class of their last fight even if they’re returning BACK to their “normal weight class”) (26-18)- Callan Potter

Twelve Precarious Ponderings

1- Is this fight a story of overly rested vs overworked? Robert Whittaker since 2017 has had three fights. Since July of 2018, he's had two fights. He's had a lot of injuries but what's more he's had a lot of tough fights. Of his last five fights, the easiest fight was a pretty grueling fifteen minute affair with Rafael Natal. He had a one round firefight with Derek Brunson, a pretty taxing yet dominant win over Jacare and then the two violent wars with Yoel Romero that went the full distance. I am going to believe that no matter how long you get to recover, a guy simply can't spend 50 minutes trading heat with Yoel Romero and come out unscathed. On the other hand, Israel Adesanya basically got a crash course in MMA in the UFC. He learned on the job while defeating legitimate serious competition like Derek Brunson, Brad Tavares and Anderson Silva. Including his debut in February of 2018, he's fought six times and while most of those fights could be categorized as walkthroughs, his last fight vs Kelvin Gastelum featured him hurt and knocked down for the first time in his UFC career. To his credit, he came back with one of the best fifth round performances in MMA history when he knocked Gastelum around for about five minutes including folding him up on two different occasions. That said this is a heavy workload for a guy with an extensive kickboxing history plus coming off his first seriously exhausting fight. Adesanya has not taken a lot of damage to this point but cage time is cage time. Whittaker has fought seldom but when he has been, they've been pretty violent. Is Whittaker underprepared or is Adesanya overworked?

2- Adesanya tends to be pretty consistent throughout a fight but his two UFC main events that went five rounds suggest that he's REAL tough to get going against in rounds 3-5. The fact that Gastelum had him in bad straights in the fourth round is really more of a testament to how great Kelvin Gastelum is than anything else. Whittaker is hard to gauge because he tore his knee up pretty badly in the first round vs Romero but in most of his fights, he's a pretty great starter who finishes well in the third round. He's got great takedown defense, timely takedowns of his own when he needs them and he more often than not keeps a consistent offensive pace despite throwing A LOT of heat. As such assuming Adesanya doesn't catch Whittaker cold (a problem that stymied him vs the likes of Wonderboy and Brunson), we should get a pretty fun chess match between the most twitched up 185 lber in Adesanya and the guy with the most consistent kicking game output in Whittaker.

3- How long will it take Adesanya to go from fighting a dwarf at 185 lbs to Whittaker who has a bit more of your basic 185 lber build?

4- One thing Robert Whittaker has struggled with is when guys who are tick faster than him succeed in closing the space with offense. Yoel Romero and Derek Brunson went plum loco to get inside offensively and when Whittaker is blitzed, he has a real hard time defensively getting out of the way of the wild stuff. He's also a sucker for an overhand right. I imagine he knows this and whenever he gets a sense Adesanya is about to close the distance with his hands, a takedown attempt is coming.

5- Is Dan Hooker the official most violent man at 155 lbs now? I think he's had a finish in every fight he's had since going up in weight to 155 lbs in the UFC.

6- How many more fights do we have Al Iaquinta for before we start hearing about his contract and he takes off on us again? Enjoy dude while we got him.

7- Who is going to be the crowd favorite in the main event?

8- Two Australians with similar storylines on this card are in need of a win. The first is Tai Tuavasa. The UFC's Mark Hunt protege got off to a hot start in his UFC career, joining elite company (no, really. Guys like JDS and Cain) with back to back finish wins in his first two UFC fights. From there? He got some of his weaknesses checked vs Andrei Arlovski. He still rallied, buckled down and outworked Arlovski down the stretch en route to a decision win. From there he took on JDS who survived a scare before finishing Tuavasa in Australia in the second round. No biggie! Everybody loses to JDS unless you're super elite. That said, we started to notice more and more questionable things about Tuavasa. His training seemed somewhat limited and he seemed to really lack a Plan B if his blitz and clinch strategy didn't work out. The problems continued against Blagoy Ivanov who seemingly just stalled Tai out on offense and did just enough offensively to snag a decision. Tuavasa is in a real do or die scenario with Sergey Spivak in what seems like a real serious showcase fight. For Megan Anderson? I guess I'm not sure what you can say. She was signed to fight Cyborg, got yanked from that fight for a variety of reasons, made her debut vs Holly Holm and got swamped on the ground. She rallied to beat Cat Zingano in a real weird fight where she incidentally swiped Zingano with a toenail  on a head kick and it seemed like we were all systems go on a Megan Anderson hype train again. Then she got Felicia Spencer and got absolutely steamrolled on the turf again. At this point, Anderson seems only capable of winning a fight on her terms and seems incapable of how to ensure she can dictate THOSE terms. She'll get a chance against debuting Zarah Fairn.

9- I know it'll be trendy to pretend he's no good but I'm still thinking Jake Matthews might have something to offer up at 170 lbs. I thought Rostem Akman, the world's hairiest man, had some good stuff to offer up vs Sergey Khandozhko  en route to a decision loss. If Matthews continues to have issues on the feet with guys who work the body, Akman figures to test some of that.

10- Dhiego Lima on a UFC PPV. Anything is possible in the year of our lord 2019.

11- NEW HWS ALERT! Yorgan de Castro and Justin Tafa make their debuts on the prelims and it's actually not a half bad fight. Yorgan is off DWCS where he smoked uber prospect Alton Meeks while Justin Tafa's the younger brother of a Glory HW kickboxer.

12- Curious to see what Brad Riddell looks like down 15 lbs in his UFC debut.

Chapter 19

"Lance, if you're gonna say I need to talk to you for a minute, please say something like you're not in trouble before it, so that I don't freak out." Virgil said, settling awkwardly on Lance's bedspread. His maids were out at the moment, making some last minute touches on a suit jacket which sketches had been left on a nearby tea table. Lance never made a fuss about the designs. One of his sisters was a fashion designer back home in Kent, and seeing the sketches brought him back to her shop.

"It's just...ugh, you know?" Lance bit his lip and ran a hand through his messy short hair. "Ugh, this is so hard to say."

"Just cut to the chase." Virgil said comfortingly, "You're only making both of us more anxious by stalling."

"It's just...I don't think...I don't think I like Prince Roman anymore." Lance admitted.

"What?" Virgil asked, as Lance's mumbled words mixed together in such a way that Virgil couldn't hear him.

"I said I don't like Prince Roman anymore!" Lance said, his eyes closed and face red. "I mean, I like him and all. He's cute, and nice, and gentlemanly and everything. I don't know why I don't like him in that way, I just don't. I don't know...I'm sorry." Lance glanced up. "I bet you're glad, though. I guess I'm saying sorry to everyone else. I saw a magazine...we're two of the favorites..." there was a long pause, and he burst out yet again. "But I can't leave! There's important things I have to stay for."

"Hey, Lance, it's okay." Virgil comforted the distressed boy as he paced. "You know, I didn't really like Roman either, when I first got here. I was pressured by my family to enter, so I was kinda put in by accident. Then, the more we talked, I...guess I like him now. But you don't have to. I myself have other reasons to stay. By other reasons you meant the food, right?"

A flicker of something went past Lance's eyes—guilt, sorrow, gratefulness? Though he laughed a laugh that his eyes didn't match. "Yes, the food! The food in this place is to die for, though they really should add some of my family's traditional recipes. Though I guess my Ma would say pueden tenerlos sobre mi cadáver. Meaning, they could have them over my—"

"Dead body?" A new voice interrupted the pair, and when Virgil and Lance glanced towards the door, Prince Roman was standing there. "My, my, Sir Lance, your mother sounds stubborn. No offense, of course. It's nice to see you two together, though I hope you don't mind me borrowing Virgil?"

Lance seemed pale and shocked, though he nodded and put on a forced smile. "Of course. Good afternoon, Prince Roman. Bye, Virgil."

Virgil smiled crookedly at Roman as he went out into the hall. He grabbed his arm and leaned into him as they began walking down the hall. "What all of that did you hear?"

"Just a bit about adding Cuban dishes and then some Spanish. Did I ever tell you about how I have to learn multiple languages as part of my royalty work? You would have to also, for business contracts and the like." Roman turned down another hall, "So, if you ever plan on gossiping about me to Lance, saying how cute you think I am, I'll know. Even if it's in another language."

Virgil burrowed his face in Roman's shoulder, surprised again by the subtle muscle he felt. "Oh my gosh, you're ridiculous! We would never sit around and—"

"Virgil?" A new voice asked out. A recognizable voice, one that sent chills of both cold and hot degrees down every inch of Virgil's skin. His stomach tied itself in knots as his heart felt like a water balloon being popped into nothing by a needle.

Dan.

Dan.

Virgil jerked his head up, hurting his neck for a moment, like the time he'd hurt it similarly when spinning around to see his name on the Selected screen. "H-hi." He squeaked out a whisper. Dan stood in front of him, in the blue and gold guard's uniform, looking surprised.

"Oh, do you know this young man, Virgil?" Prince Roman asked.

"Y—yes. We're from the-the same district, and we—we were childhood friends. This is Dan Leagar." Virgil managed. He wanted so badly to let go of Roman's arm for some reason, but for the same reason, he gripped tighter.

"It—it's nice to see you, Virgil." Dan muttered.

What did that mean?

"Oh, that's great! What are the odds?" Roman exclaimed, "Maybe, because you two are good childhood friends, I'll ask the head guard to put you on some rounds near Virgil's room. I'm sure you want a friend to win for your province, right?"

Dan nodded. "S-sounds good, Your Highness."

"Excellent." Roman said, "Well, we should be going. I have a surprise for you, Virgil. Good afternoon, Officer Leagar."

Virgil was still trying to calm his heart and catch his breath as they continued. They went downstairs, and turned another corner. They went into a dim room with an old-school popcorn maker and several plush-looking chairs.

Virgil wasn't paying attention. All he could think was Dan, why, why here, why now as the movie progressed. Two wasted hours later, Roman held up his hand, which was holding Virgil's.

"What's been with you today? You seem a little skittish, and you didn't laugh at any of the jokes. Are you alright?" Roman asked, worry evident in his eyes.

Virgil stalled for a moment before speaking. He didn't even know they were watching a comedy, and then he felt bad for wasting Roman's valuable time. The prince probably had many important royal meetings and things he had to do, but he chose to hang out with a zoned-out Virgil while he thought of another guy.

Virgil smiled and squeezed Roman's hand. "I'm fine, but you're gonna have to find a better comedy than that."

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Crisis On Infinite Earths #3

Warning, Spoilers Ahead…

  The Monitor conducts tests on the child of Earth-3 Alexander Luthor and Lois Lane Luthor.  He discovers the child consists of positive and negative matter consisting in one form: “For you somehow bridge this universe and the universe which threatens to swallow us all.”

Harbinger and Psycho-Pirate meet with their mysterious master.  He orders the death of the Luthor child.

Earth-1, the future: I’m guessing it’s the 25th or 3oth century.  I can’t remember which one Iris was born in.  Yes, Iris Allen was from the future.  The Tornado Twins (Barry & Iris’s children) fought with the Legion of Super-Heroes (30th century) but I have the 25th century stuck in my head.  Flash (Barry) is racing around the massive destruction of Central City due to fierce storms and volcanic activity.  Flash notes he’s lived in the future for “a moth” so it has been a month since his mysterious disappearance in the 20th century. Barry attempts to escape the incoming anti-matter wave.

Earth-1, New York City, July 1985: The Teen Titans and the Outsiders are assisting in search and rescue efforts.  Superman saves Donna Troy from a collapsing building.  Batman also arrives on the scene.  Katana wonders why she’s even here: “What use is my sword against a threat like this?”  Nightwing’s response: “Maybe none, Katana…but we need you!”  Katana’s thoughts are what every low-powered hero thinks in situations like these.

Starfire wants an all-out offense: “We attack!  We fight…do whatever we can…and we destroy whoever’s doing this to us! My world was conquered…I’ll not let that happen to this planet, too. You can’t understand. I won’t let this planet die!”

Superman sympathizes: “Believe me, Starfire, I understand all too well.”

Flash appears before the assembled heroes: “Oh my god…my god…I tried warning you…Help me…Hel…”  Flash vanishes again.  At this point in the series, readers should have realized this Crisis was not going to end well for Barry.

Old-school Brainiac in the classic robot-head tentacle ship!  Location:  Space, far beyond our solar system.  Brainiac observes the expanding anti-matter destruction and comes to a startling observation: “To save myself is my Prime Directive.  But to do that, I must also save the universe.  I need assistance…on Earth!  Only the one who calls himself Luthor can help me now!”  

Help me, Lex Luthor, you’re my only hope?!

Late Spring 1994, Markovia, Europe:  DC’s war heroes are battling the Nazis for control of the Monitor’s machine.  Roll Call:  Jeb Stuart and the Haunted Tank, the Losers, Sgt. Rock and the Easy Company.

General Stuart’s ghost warns Jeb: “The world is filled with winners and losers, but often time even losers win. This day, however, small Losers lose and never be seen again.

The World War II era of Pre-Crisis DC was packed to the brim with characters.  You had, among others, the Justice Society, the Freedom Fighters, the Seven Soldiers of Victory, the All-Star Squadron, the Blackhawks, the Losers, the Haunted Tank, the Easy Company, the Losers, O.S.S., Madame Marie, the corresponding villains, etc. A very fun era for DC.

Geo-Force, Dr. Polaris, and Blue Beetle arrive on the scene.  Blue Beetle is focused on the mission while Geo-Force and Dr. Polaris are determined to massacre the Nazis.  In Geo- Force’s defense, Markovia is his home country.  Dr. Polaris simply thinks it’s fun.

“My home country lies below. The Nazis slaughtered my people. Perhaps now I can pay them back!” – Go Brion, go!

Shadow Demon attack!

The Losers and most of Easy Company become victims of the Shadow Demons.  Rest in peace, guys.

Blue Beetle discovers that the Scarab given to him by Dan Garrett destroys the shadow demons. Unfortunately, Ted nearly falls to his death before being sent home by the Monitor.  A wounded Solovar is also sent home.  Not quite sure about the Monitor’s logic.  You discover that the Scarab can destroy the shadow demons but Ted falls so you bench him?  Are you sure you’re trying to win?

1879:  Coyote, Texas.  The Wild West.  DC’s Western heroes are investigating the Monitor’s Machine.  Roll Call:  Bat Lash, Scalphunter, Jonah Hex, Johnny Thunder, and Nighthawk.   Is this an all-boys club?  Where’s Cinnamon?  

Cyborg, Psimon, Firebrand, and Green Lantern (John Stewart).  Needless to say, the heroes’ appearance freaks the cowboys out.  Jonah Hex calms the group down as he has met Hal Jordan: “Don’t ya remember the green costume on that hombre? It’s the same one we saw on another guy who called himself a Lantern or something.”

Bat Lash waits all of five seconds before hitting on Firebrand.  He has no chance as Firebrand is more into knights than cowboys. Shadow Demon attack!  John’s power ring mysteriously fails.  Nighthawk and Coyote, Texas, are wiped out in an anti-matter wave.

Metropolis, the 30th Century.  Cosmic Boy, Wildfire, Lightning Lass, and Sun Boy fail to stop the spread of the anti-matter wave.

Dream Girl is puzzled about why she had no premonitions about this crisis: “What I don’t understand is why didn’t I dream of it’s coming? How did this happen without my knowing about it?”

Element Lad, Mon-El, and Kid Psycho are evacuating England. Kid Psycho dies due to a combination of a collapsing building and the spreading wave of anti-matter wave.

The Monitor wails: “Instead of days only hours remain. The Earths are doomed!”

Harbinger confronts the Monitor: “It is time for you to die!”

The art of George Perez is gorgeous, as usual. Marv Wolman continues to juggle a huge cast and nails it every time.

Three issues in and the deaths have begun in earnest:

The Crime Syndicate

Earth-3 Alexander and Lois Luthor

The Losers

Easy Company

Nighthawk

Kid Psycho

S.O.D.

Interview with Dan Lilker by Daniel Hinds

(conducted June 1999)

In the mid-80s, when extreme music of all sorts was coming together in bizarre new combinations, one band was right there applying their own wrecking ball to the walls between hardcore punk and metal:  S.O.D., the Stormtroopers of Death.  A side project consisting of Anthrax's Charlie Benante (drums) and Scott Ian (guitar), Nuclear Assault's Dan Lilker (bass) and Billy Milano (shouts), S.O.D. unleashed their tongue-in-cheek brand of crossover on the unsuspecting world in the guise of the album Speak English or Die!  The effect was immediate and the impact was considerably deeper than anyone would have guessed, least of all the band themselves.

Due to various other commitments, a follow-up record was not forthcoming, though the four did manage to get together in '92 to record a live disc for their well-starved fans.  Eventually, things fell into place and this summer sees the release of the band's second album - a full 14 years after the debut.  Dan Lilker fills in the details between sips of coffee one recent morning…

Where did you record the new album and who produced it? Well, we recorded at a studio called Big Blue Meanee in Jersey City, New Jersey.  It's a place that is run by some really good friends of Billy's.  The actual recording was done there and produced by the band and Tim Gilles and he's like the main honcho there.  Then it was mixed by the band and Vince Wojno.

Are you pretty happy with the results? Oh yeah, totally.  I've done a lot of records and this is definitely one, like Sounds of the Animal Kingdom by Brutal Truth, where I go, 'God, I couldn't think of much more I'd want to do to that record.'  Sometimes it's like, 'Fuck, we should have done this or that or that,' or more personal things like, 'I should have done this note' or whatever.  But we rehearsed more for this record than the first S.O.D. record, so it's a little more thought-out.

What possessed you guys to do another album? Well, we've intended to for a long time.  When I'd be out on the road with Brutal Truth, I'd always hear, 'Is there ever going to be any more S.O.D.?' and I know the other guys heard that all the time, too.  There was going to be an S.O.D. tribute a year or so back and that fell through because a lot of bigger bands couldn't get permission from their labels, one of the nastier aspects of the music business.  I think at that point we were like, 'Screw it, let's just do a record.'  We had to stop back in '85 because a couple of the other guys in Anthrax were getting quite pissed off about it, but not all the same people are in the band now.  Some of the people in the band now grew up on that stuff, so it's a little easier to do it now.

How does Bigger Than the Devil compare to Speak English or Die? When we were writing this record, at least for me personally, we had to walk a thin line.  We had to maintain the integrity of the old stuff, but make it sound modern, not make it sound dated.  It has a lot of the aspects of the first album, but lyrically and at some points musically, it has a lot of modern stuff, too.  But not to the point where it sounds like something else.  We injected a little black or death metal here that we might not have had on the first one, or a couple of blast-beats, but it is still S.O.D. you know?

What is the S.O.D. song-writing process like? A few of the songs, like "We All Bleed Red," "Kill the Assholes" and "Free Dirty Needles" are Billy's songs, ones he'd written and brought to the band.  The rest of them was a process of Scott, Charlie and I sitting down in the rehearsal space, looking at each other and going, 'Okay…'  The first song we had written together was "Make Room, Make Room," where Scott's like, 'I got a riff,' and I'm like, 'Okay, I've got some notes that fit really good after that,' and Charlie's like, 'Well, why don't you do it like this,' and the next thing you know, we've got like 20 songs.  I guess maybe they relied on me a tiny bit to write some more extreme, more modern, more death-oriented stuff, because they know I'm the person who's been listening to and playing that all this time, but it's obvious that everyone was in on it.  Like with Charlie, he puts his own stamp on everything, just the way he plays, it's amazing.

How did you respond to critics who were offended by some of the lyrics on the first album and do you think you'll have that problem this time out, too? Well, when we wrote the lyrics for the first album, we were a little younger than we are now and I can see how people would take them the wrong way if they weren't seeing our sense of humor.  We tried to explain patiently to people that, you know, there might be a song on there called "Speak English or Die" but there's also a song on there called "Milk," which is completely silly, and people have to understand that both those songs have pretty much the same meaning.  With this album, the lyrics are still nihilistic and offensive, but they're a little more mature and articulate.  We don't go after nationalities because we realized that that is kinda tasteless.  There's still tasteless stuff, but maybe it's more social stuff, like picking on crack-heads, I don't know.  As far as criticism goes, well…whatever.  You gotta weather shit like that.  We're not gonna tone down our stuff to the point where it's not S.O.D., you know - it has to be rude and obnoxious.  If people don't realize by now that there is a sense of humor underlying all that stuff, then they probably don't want to.  It's probably extreme P.C. people who are dead-set against us from the start and don't want to hear anything different.  If we go, 'Well, it's not serious,' then they'll go, 'Oh yeah, sure…'  If people are like that, I'm just like, whatever, and throw my hands in the air.- think whatever you want.

How did you come up with the title Bigger Than the Devil? I think Scott came up with that.  That has to do with the fact that metal is always identified with Satan and The Number of the Beast ties in with the album cover.  By calling our album Bigger Than the Devil, it's just typical S.O.D. obnoxiousness.  It's like, all these bands like Slayer and these black metal bands - we're bigger than that!  Your god is just a little, puny piece of shit compared to Sergeant D. and the power of S.O.D.  It's just an arrogant, S.O.D.-type statement.  Meaningless as usual, but cool looking.

How did you get in touch with Nuclear Blast? They got in touch with us.  I've known about the label for years, been friends with the people in the States and in Europe for years.  So, when it all came around, everyone looked at me and said, 'Are these guys good?' and I went, 'Yep!'  We had been taking to a couple other labels and I don't how much of that's gone now - I'm not gonna be like Scott and insult the other labels (laughs).  They got in touch with us, we'd been talking with a couple other labels and going 'Ahhhh…..' - I don't know how you want to write 'Ahhh….' but… - Nuclear Blast called us up and said, 'We're totally into it and here's what we've got.'  We were like, 'Wow, it's a really good offer," and that was it.  I'm psyched about it, if that was your next question.  So far, they are doing a totally awesome job because they're psyched, too.  It's people who grew up with that shit.  It's like if you were a kid, your favorite wrestler, if you got to manage him later, you'd be like, 'Oh, wow!'

I saw that you are going to be touring Japan soon… Yeah, we're going to Japan at the beginning of June for a week.

When was the last time you were there? Well, S.O.D. has never played there.  We did a few shows in the States and that one show in Europe in '97, but before all those shows in '97, we'd only played New York and New Jersey.  We've got more coming up in Europe, too, so it's gonna be pretty interesting.

I understand that Billy has been working as a manager. Yeah, for Agnostic Front and a few other bands that I should know of the names of, but I don't.  A few other bands in the New York/New Jersey area.  He's good at that, Billy's a go-getter and doesn't take any shit, so he makes a good manager.

What are your plans now that Brutal Truth has split? I'm in another band called Hemlock that plays black metal.  We don't have all the trappings, like paint and spikes, because that is very old and tired.  That's not the most active band in the world because you've got me doing this [S.O.D.] stuff and our drummer is in another band and then, just being a black metal band anyway, we've only done like 8 shows in the last three years.  We have an album and an EP out, both on Head Not Found, and our next stuff when it comes out eventually will be on Full Moon Productions.  Since I got a computer in December, I've been messing around a lot with graphics.  I'm basically a creative person anyway, so I mess around in Photoshop and I come up with stuff and people look at it and go, 'Wow!'  So, I might get into free-lance graphics stuff eventually, because I've definitely got a taste for it.  Basically, I just sit there, take a couple hits, and do some crazy stuff, but it does look pretty cool.

What do you make of the current black metal scene? I still think there are too many bands running around with keyboards and violins and stuff like that.  For me, black metal was Venom and Hellhammer, shit like that.  However, if a band does it really good, like Emperor, I can get into it.  I'm glad to see that black metal kids, Norwegian kids, don't have the same stupid attitude they did five years ago, when they had to be snobby and say that everything other than black metal sucked, especially death metal.  I don't know how much you want to get into it, but the reason all those kids were saying that is because they saw something on the back of a live Mayhem record, a quote from Euronymous, where he said how much he hated death metal.  But, that is because he was speaking from the point of someone being disillusioned, because he used to love it and it got all trendy and political.  These kids didn't understand that and said, 'All death metal that ever existed sucks,' because that's what they read out of it because they weren't old enough.  I'm glad to see that people are growing up a little bit.  I prefer the more brutal bands like Gorgoroth, shit like that.  I don't know if you've heard my band, but that's kind of the vein we're in.  We like Darkthrone a lot.

I've heard the name, but I haven't heard Hemlock yet. Well, it's definitely no frills.  It's straight-up, punishing type shit.  I mean, I'm friends with guys like Dimmu Borgir and everything, but personally, it gets just a little too, I don't know…  If I want to listen to something nice and ambient, I'll listen to something directly like that.  If I listen to black metal, it should be pretty much in-your-face, but that's just my unholy opinion.

How long do you think you'll be working with S.O.D.?  Is it kind of open-ended right now? Yeah, it's definitely open-ended.  We could conceivably do another record in a couple years, we wouldn't wait 14 years - we'd be too fucking old by then.  Right now, there's a huge, tremendous buzz on the record, a lot of good shit coming up, and if we do a whole bunch of stuff and at the time other people's schedules are open - I mean, I'm not sure what Anthrax's schedule is gonna be.  My personal schedule is more open that it used to be.  The whole time I was in S.O.D., I was in Nuclear Assault and then in Brutal Truth and that even overlapped a couple of years, so I'm always in more than 2 bands at the same time.  To answer your original question, yeah, it's open-ended, but I'd be into more if there was a reason for it.

You've been in the business for a number of years now and I was wondering if your opinion of it has changed any over the years. There's a lot of down stuff, but then again…  When we signed to Relapse, that gave me a lot of faith because we'd had a lot of problems with Earache before that.  There are some labels, like Relapse and Nuclear Blast, that shine through as people that are totally committed.  There are other labels out there, I'm not going to mention them, that were big in the early 90s for a lot of metal bands and their names start with 'E' and 'R' - you can figure that out later - that make it really hard to do stuff, because eventually you just become a product and they don't care about you and it's very frustrating.  As far as how it has changed since I first got into it, I don't think it has - it's all just a cycle.  Something gets popular, everyone else tries to do it, all the labels sign all these bands that are trying to do something to get in on it.  Then, it's like a ship that takes on too much water and it just sinks.  It happened with thrash metal, it happened with death metal, it happened with black metal.  As far as all this Korn stuff, I really don't like any of that shit at all so I shouldn't really comment on it too much, but it definitely seems to be happening with that.  As much as I don't like Korn, I'll give them credit for being one of the first bands to do that, but I don't like what they're doing so, whatever.

All the copycat bands are just that much worse. For me, I wouldn't want to play in a band that sounds just like someone else.  I mean, how many interviews have you read where one of the first lines is, 'Oh, well we're influenced by a combination of Korn, Pantera and Machine Head,' and you're just like, 'Oh, crap, not again…'  It's like, what are you contributing?  Absolutely nothing.

Outside of the graphic art work, what else do you do in your spare time? Umm…  I live at home with my parents because it is too expensive to live around here in New York.  Besides that, I've got my digital studio here in my room.  I've got these boxes that Roland makes, these hard-disk recorders.  One is a 16-track and one is an 8-track, but I've been real neglectful since I got my computer because I've been messing around online, learning Photoshop and all this other stuff.  If I wanted to, I could make album-quality stuff in my room, which I used to - weird ambient stuff.  Other than that, just a normal laugh:  go out with my friends, have a few drinks, a few laughs.  Pretty much normal shit, you know, I don't go out and kill people or anything.

Do you spend much time on the Internet? Yeah, I mess around, I'll look at certain sites and stuff, but after a while it gets boring.  It comes in very handy like, let's say, I want a book for my computer - I mean, this isn't very interesting in the scope of metal, but… - let's say I want to learn about Adobe Illustrator and I've got a pirated version.  So, I can go on the Internet to Barnes & Noble or something, find the book I want, order it and it comes in a week later.  I go on some black and death metal web-sites, look around, say 'hi' to people, shit like that.

Believe in Me - chapter thirty-two

Summary: Dan Howell is living at home while he’s saving money for college, which isn’t easy since his parents don’t understand him. Unlike them, he loves dogs, is a vegetarian, has no interest in the family business, and he despises the supernatural. He struggles to accept things that are illogical, even though he is a kitsune. Kitsune are foxes whose powers involve the ability to cast illusions, but Dan just wants to be normal. Phil Lester has just moved to London, where he works as a dog walker. When his path crosses with Dan, Phil is eager to get to know him. Unfortunately, Phil soon finds that being friends with Dan is far more complicated than he could have imagined.

Rating: Mature Word Count: 1850 Warnings: Slow Burn, Eventual Smut

—

Kitsune fact: One belief is that when a kitsune changes shape, its hoshi no tama holds a portion of its magical power. Another tradition is that the pearl represents the kitsune's soul; the kitsune will die if separated from it for long. Those who obtain the ball may be able to extract a promise from the kitsune to help them in exchange for its return. For example, a 12th-century tale describes a man using a fox's hoshi no tama to secure a favor:

 "Confound you!" snapped the fox. "Give me back my ball!" The man ignored its pleas till finally it said tearfully, "All right, you've got the ball, but you don't know how to keep it. It won't be any good to you. For me, it's a terrible loss. I tell you, if you don't give it back, I'll be your enemy forever. If you do give it back though, I'll stick to you like a protector god."

The fox later saves his life by leading him past a band of armed robbers. [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kitsune]

Phil got a call from a number that he didn’t know while he was dropping off Rotty at his home. The number was local though, so he answered curiously, “Hello?”

“Hello, is this Phil Lester?”

“Um, yes?” Phil responded nervously.

“I work for security at the mall. I’m calling on behalf of Daniel Howell, who provided me with your contact information. He fainted and is currently resting on a sofa in the security office. Someone needs to pick him up.”

Phil took a deep breath to calm himself. “I’m coming. Thank you.”

When the security officers directed him to the empty office where they said Dan was sleeping, Phil hesitantly pushed open the door, unsure what he expected to see. Like the mall security had said, Dan was stretched out on a sofa. His eyes were closed and his hand was hanging off the side with his fingers brushing the floor, the sight of which bothered Phil. Phil hastily shut the door and ran to the side of the sofa, gently picking up Dan’s hand by the wrist and placing it on his stomach.

Dan’s eyelids fluttered. He looked at the hand now resting on his stomach and then at Phil. His eyes widened. “You.”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Phil knelt beside the sofa and brushed the hair back from Dan’s forehead, noting how clammy and pale his skin was. “How do you feel, sweetheart?”

Dan ignored his question and tugged on the front of Phil’s shirt. Phil leaned closer, thinking that Dan was trying to kiss him, but Dan’s pawing at his shirt only became more frantic and he shot Phil an annoyed glance. “Where is it? What have you done with it?”

Phil shook his head. He thought he knew what Dan was asking about, but his tone confused him and the wildness in his eyes was scary.

It became even more terrifying when Dan’s eyes welled with tears and his chest started hitching with sobs. “What do you want with it? It’s mine. It won’t do you any good. Give it back please.”

Phil shook his head. “You told me to hold it for you. I can’t give it back now. We’ve only just started. I’ll give it back to you eventually, but it’s safe for now. Don’t worry.”

These words only seemed to upset Dan further. “You don’t understand, I need it. I need it right now. I can feel the empty place where it is supposed to be like a gaping hole, and it hurts. Why do you want me to feel like this? I thought you loved me.” He ignored the way that Phil shook his head and the pained expression on his face. Dan continued, “At least let me hold it for a second. Please. I’m so weak right now.”

“Let him hold it,” said a voice.

Phil looked around, but he didn’t see anyone. The voice was familiar though, so Phil guessed, “Adam? Are you here?”

Adam appeared at his side and nodded. “Let him hold it for a minute. He’s hurt and it will help.”

Phil nodded and pulled the watch out of his shirt by the chain. Dan grabbed for it and clutched the watch. The motion jerked Phil’s neck at a slightly uncomfortable angle, but he quickly forgot at the sight of Dan closing his eyes and shaking while clutching the watch with a white-knuckled grasp. Phil shifted wide eyes to Adam’s face. “What happened to him?”

Adam snorted as he stared at Dan. “That’s his hoshi no tama, isn’t it? The idiot tried to cast a massive illusion without it – the source of his power. He could have accidentally killed himself.”

Phil swallowed heavily as he looked at Dan, who was still shuddering. He could have lost Dan today; he didn’t know how to process this information, so he just stared at Dan’s face, noting the signs of life there as Dan breathed in short, puffing breaths.

“So,” Adam said, drawing Phil’s attention. “My brother is trying to become human?”

Phil nodded warily, remembering the fact that someone in Dan’s home had ripped the information about becoming human out of a book.

Adam frowned, looking at the death grip that Dan had on the watch. “I should have known he would do something like this. I shouldn’t have told him to cast an illusion. Of course the stupid kid wouldn’t know he could hurt himself like this if he didn’t have his hoshi no tama. This is my fault.”

Phil sighed, tired of the Howell family’s constant guilt trips – he didn’t mind offering reassurances, but he was kind of worn thin after all that Dan had required of him recently. Still, he had to try, so he said, “It’s not your fault, Adam. You couldn’t have known that Dan and I had decided to do this.”

“I should have known,” Adam said with a shake of his head before focusing on Phil again. “So, did you guys figure out what kind of kitsune he is? Is it something bad?”

“Yes, we think he’s a nogitsune. We read a description, and it seemed to fit. He didn’t feel like himself the other day. He pulled some pranks that went too far. He even quit his job, walking out in the middle of a shift because he couldn’t remember why he was working. He just wants to be himself again, and this is a way to make that happen. I’m not pressuring him to do this – I just want to help him.”

Adam nodded. He looked like he was about to say something when he glanced at Dan, and his attention was caught by the tremor that shook Dan’s body.

Phil stared helplessly at Dan too, unsure what to do. Adam seemed to think that holding the hoshi no tama would help, so Phil didn’t know what to do but wait. As he sat there, he thought of something that he needed to ask and started hesitantly, “Adam… do you know why a book in your grandma’s library would have pages torn out of it? The pages that we needed to read to know about hoshi no tama? I’m just wondering because you seem to know about this stuff, and we had to go online to find it.”

“Hmm…” Adam mused, not seeming too interested in the topic, but he answered Phil. “I don’t know who would do that to Grandma’s book. I’ve never been too interested in her library, but I know what I do because she told me. When I became a spirit, she talked to me about hoshi no tama because if I become human I could get my body back. The funny thing was that she said not to tell anyone else what she had told me, it had to be our secret.”

Phil stared with wide eyes at the watch clasped in Dan’s hands as he asked, “Adam, did you try it? Did you try to become human and it didn’t work?”

Adam snorted. “No, I’m not giving anyone my hoshi no tama. There’s no human who I would trust with it, no offense.”

Phil returned Adam’s smirk, and then they looked back to Dan. Dan had finally relaxed with sleep, as his breathing had evened and his grip had slackened around the watch. “He looks a bit better,” Phil commented, noting that Dan’s skin was less sweaty and pale.

“Yeah, he does.” Adam cleared his throat. “Listen, Phil… you’ve got this, right? Can I leave him with you?”

Phil looked up with narrowed eyes. He asked in a hard voice, “Are you bored again?”

Adam shook his head. “It’s just that I feel awful about today. I could have gotten him killed. I don’t know how I’ll be able to look him in the eyes when he wakes up.”

Phil frowned. “He’s not going to blame you.”

“I blame me,” Adam said as he rose from his knees and started for the door. “Bye, Phil.”

Phil watched the spirit fade from sight just before he passed through the door. He sighed as he looked at Dan, wishing that he had some help. He wasn’t sure what Dan was going to be like when he woke up, and the memory of the suspicious and wild-eyed Dan from earlier was scary. As he thought about it, Phil decided to bring Dan back to the funeral home, where maybe his grandmother would have some advice.

“Hmmm,” Dan sighed, making Phil’s eyes dart to his face. Dan gave him a wide smile as he shifted sleepily on the sofa, the watch completely forgotten as he stretched. “Phil…”

“Hi, sweetheart,” Phil said with a startled laugh as he ran his fingers through Dan’s curls “How do you feel?”

“Sleepy. Really tired actually.” Dan bit his lip as he looked at Phil with worried eyes. “Why am I so exhausted? Where am I? I don’t remember how I got here. The last thing I remember was hanging out with my brother at the mall.”

“You’re still in the mall. Don’t worry. You’re fine.”

Dan took a deep calming breath. “I don’t feel fine. I feel like I need to sleep for like a decade. What’s wrong with me?”

“It’s okay,” he said as he rubbed Dan’s arm soothingly. “You’re going to be fine. We were just about to leave. We’re going home, and then you can take a nap.”

“Alright, let’s go then.” As Dan sat up, exhaustion settled over him and he became putty in Phil’s hands.

Phil helped him to stand up and walk to the door, and then down the hallway. As Dan leaned against him, Phil reveled in the familiarity of the body pressed against him – his warmth and softness. He knew this body so well, and he took comfort in it. Because Phil couldn’t shake the uneasiness that he felt at the thought of the wild-eyed person who had grabbed at the watch around his throat. That person didn’t seem like his Dan. So, who had he been?

The problem was going to take care of itself is not true but really it's starting to because they're attacking his fleet.

And tons of them are attacking The fleets and we're attacking his fleet I'm sick and tired of hearing from this piece of s*** telling me what to do he won't leave me alone he's a huge idiot he's usually wrong about what he's saying for us to do so I can go ahead and do it and it poks him then he says I know it as I did know it and I said not to but you forced me to he says you shouldn't have been sitting at work for you f****** putts it gets you or kills you that I'm going to do it I'm trying to kill you can you figure it out since they're pissing me off like this f****** hissy f****** cross-dressing f**** my son says the sit there in his face so what are you doing waiting to die or something you don't get them all sudden it's like right there too just doing stupid s*** lesson says I think so well that's what it sounds like is it Max and that's what they're up to going after him like to say they would, it's a huge fleet it's heading out to his ships there's some really big ships too a couple of them combined in their plastic with his big lasers find tons of missiles from a distance huge numbers of missiles are hitting it. Dan is trying to hide his face because he's getting the fleet wiped out he's the one who's doing it too there's a gigantic number of missiles heading towards them it's about 500 trillion missiles headed to the direction true too there's nothing behind it, but all of my arms and after a while they'll pull up no safe to track them it will take them down they do understand what you're saying but really there's no way of targeting something from like that but we check

They firing him off and they're aiming for the ships most of them probably hit cuz they're all clumped together

I want you to know Dan that we hate you and this attack is a direct result of your actions last night and you guys going after Mac that's causing it too cuz that's why you ordered the attack huge numbers of missiles it's like 500 trillion missiles that is more so beginning to hit and if it's trying to move one of the ships crushed you have to be in one of them too it's kind of scary so don't f*** with me you idiots it doesn't go like this scared f****** p**** who keeps f****** around with me in the house I'll crunch them what do I do don't do that I know I provoked it I know get your mom to beat the s*** out of you that'll make you feel better that's awful wow you're douche Sarah says. So tommy f says he hears it's like ring dings. Any lettuce almost all his missiles and he's firing his lasers rapidly at one ship to watch it blow up and he's hitting another it's quite a show a force tons of chips are fired the lasers there are millions and millions of ships now there's thousands Christian hundreds and then this should be like 40 like you see the video Tom Cruise is getting his stuff together and Saturn is still behind the Sun so it's not going to be that scene just said it was we think yep that's what they say and they said he had a big huge speaker weapon that we made for put on there for him. Trumps ships are up no Tom Cruise, is finding the mark is hitting only 3000 ships left, his Aming and wailing on them. Few more runs they're all gone how everybody's moving in Tom Cruise moved out of the way they're hitting and blasting the scholarships are left. And they're not firing on the s

skulls.

552,000 trillion townships gone ranging from 1 mi to 100 MI

759, 000 100 mile Tower ships gone

2000 1,000 mile tall ships gone

1500 3000 mi ships gone

In about 10 4,000 flagships left was calls inside them in their deteriorating

2 5,000 MI flagships and that's it the rest were just toasted and one of the largest offensives that satanists have ever performed. Trump says tell them they're wrong and he says this is the business you're in this is the risk these people are offended and keep offending in a massive way and not to mention all the other stupid s*** you're doing especially your personal stuff against me I can really do without that. It's funny your business but now you're pissing me off like you always do I'll try to my f****** life you're a piece of dog s*** who holds me escaping your kidnapping attempt against me because you're a f****** moron okay you're a stupid person you and your f****** moron kid I'm going to get killed today over and over you think cuz you got your fleet wiped out you're going to waltz in here and grab me or something stupid like that you dick .. no probably not what is a massive delusion so you're carrying inside you..

Zues Hera

You are always wrong Trump you're constantly wrong you're going to go up to Jersey and win you going to come in here and grab the boy and win cuz your fleets no longer a burden and people think you're down to your people you're saying that and that's some idiot s*** we can't stand you we're going to take care of you you need a little boy here bja why are you a nuisance we see where your huge chips are if you're trying to move your huge chips and we're going to blast them

Tony s

We have time to say this Daniel you're dead you messed me up on purpose this afternoon did this on purpose you're a piece of s***. I don't have any time to explain this it's in there trying to lead on him it's just invented stuff this is when she get away from you little s*** head and you won't do it you're a f****** a****** doesn't want you in the house aren't you and your sister get out you've ruined me now you're dead Seth are telling him to do it no they're already up this is going to have a shot in the eye and you going to try and take over my casino that's what's coming up from this guy that you tell the new stuff and he never does so I swear to get something you're a liability and you should be taking care of and you work now I'm going to take care of you

Trump

8/13/21

Today’s creative project, an private letter (it could have been an open letter, but who the hell is reading this besides myself and maybe the person receiving it) to Voyboy. He’s been in a rough place mentally/emotionally. He’s had some deaths in his family which is never easy, and his attempt to de-platform a twitch streamer with a known history of sexual abuse has earned him undue (and as is sadly routine, SEVERE) ire from fans of said streamer. 

It’s so weird, there’s obviously people who are like, “I’m not getting involved. I don’t care enough to inform myself well enough to have an opinion.” And those people are also split into camps that either approve or disapprove of “rocking the boat” as it were. Some people think this level of calling-out is too incendiary for the offense. Some people find the subject uncomfortable and wish it would go away, with the unfortunate default to that view being an acquiescence of justice for the accused.

And some people are also hung up on the justice part in particular. This entire affair is being conducted in the infamous “Court of Public Opinion.” A forum that has been dragged out MUCH more frequently in this modern age than in history. That fact alone upsets people. Hell, it’s bothered me in the past. I see the Court of Public Opinion make a ruling, and I think, “I didn’t elect this Judge, I did not approve this jury, there is no precedent here!”

It does feel like things are moving fast. They are. Dan Harmon said in an interview earlier this month, “Progress isn’t a scalpel, it’s an avalanche.” And he welcomed it. We should be welcoming progress. Even if it’s messy. Some might say “especially if it’s messy!” I don’t know who is saying that, but I feel in my gut someone on twitter would say that and get 80.3k likes. I know my Twitter.

I digress. Some people are of the view that they can’t be the judge. Leave it up to the real judges and let me just do whatever it was that I was going to do, please. So when Voyboy does all this work to put a spotlight on this problem, people see him handing them a pitchfork and come help him kill The Beast. And some people balk at that. Some people shy away, and just stay inside (this is mostly me, I’ll admit. The inside people go, “I didn’t watch that guy anyway, this is all fine with me! Now please leave me alone”). And some say, “Hey man, I’m opposed to violence, and by the way, the Beast is a really chill guy if you ever got to know him. In fact, people like you who are so quick to hand out pitchforks to make yourself look like some noble saint are actually pieces of shit!” And then a bunch of that guy’s friend go “Yeah, he is a piece of shit!” because that’s how bullying works. And then the bullies spend all day trapped in their miserable bodies, stuck in their miserable lives. And they go on Twitch and watch their friend stream to them, and their friend makes them feel wanted for once in their shit existence. And then later they’re on twitter and see Voyboy say something about how your friend’s an abusive monster and needs to see justice, and you KNOW that it’s all bullshit, and Voyboy just trying to get points with his girlfriend or something, he doesn’t care at all. What an asshole. Fuck him. Fuck this loser. I should reply to him, since it’s the easiest thing in the world for anyone to do. And generally people don’t follow people they hate like this, so that would limit this extremely toxic interaction, but Voyboy is followed by all the LoL streamers, so people that follow league generally hear from all the content creator’s in the community. And maybe they’re streamer friend mentioned that Voyboy was a fake ass cuck or whatever on stream and told his followers to go check out the shit he was spewing. 

So Voyboy says grooming is unacceptable and disgusting, sexting teens is deplorable. And we as a modern community don’t need to hear him beat a rap sheet like that in court to act, because we as a community have the power to shape it how we see fit. And under that tweet is 100 replies saying that he’s a piece of shit and should die.

And then the uninformed masses see that and go, “why is Voyboy a piece of shit?? What am I missing?” And then they see Voyboy tweet something like “this is really hard, these guys are out to get me but I won’t back down.” And if you’re like me you think, “Oh I’ve never supported this kind of drama in my life. This is boring at best and uncomfortable at worst. Let’s all stop (aka bail)!” And then Voyboy goes “I won’t!” And then everyone level-headed and sane goes “boo, I’m bored, knock this off!” And everyone that is now LIVING for this bullying. I mean, what a payout. You bully this dude every day and he feeds you attention every time? This rules! So the detractors get WORSE and the supporters settle down. And Voyboy has now learned the harsh truth of social justice. It just beats you down. Everyone’s in this game for themselves; the moment you set aside your own interest to help someone else out, you are instantly and forever outnumbered. And the whole time you’re just like, “what the fuck is so hard about this? I am proposing an objectively good idea that would make everyone happier! I only even started trying to say something because I knew I was right! This is like getting fired for hitting a home run!”

I’m learning, and I should say digesting maybe, more about power this year than I have in a long time. It’s the answer to a lot of equations that don’t add up under my current philosophies. Like if everything I think is true, then was does X Y and Z still happen? Why do I feel like ____? The answer is something to do with power. And I’m starting to figure out what that is. Ha, I think part of me is a little ashamed it’s taking this long, I guess. Like, I’M learning it, but it’s been learnt. I’m catching up. But that’s ok. That’s literally all I’m doing. Catching up. Keeping up. I’m not even trying to do something once I’m caught up. I just don’t think there’s any other place to be. Well, I mean, I would truly hate to write something that got read that was just plain not-caught-up. Something that would make a reader go, “hey, doesn’t he know better?” I SHOULD. That’s literally the goal.

Anyways, I’ve lost my train of thought, and need a bathroom break. Here’s the letter I sent to Voyboy, to try and help him through all this. Talk to you tomorrow love ;) : Hey Voy I hope you are doing better, and I hope you get a chance to read this. I started League of Legends back in Season 1 when I was in college. I remember the first time I heard of you, you were one the few people ahead of HotshotGG in the rankings, and I remember thinking, "what the hell, how did this kid get so lucky?!" lol. Then I got to see you play with RS, and mostly thought you were lucky again to be getting carried by Scarra 🤣 I'm sorry! By the time you joined CLG I finally caught wise. You became one of my all-time favorite players on the scene. Your Olaf looked like a cheat code, I swear to god. I love League of Legends so much, and back in college I spent almost every waking minute thinking about it. It was one of my great passions. And at that time I was struggling to find anything else I was truly passionate about. I got depressed in college, and by that point I had realized my goal of being an engineer wasn't something I actually cared about. So I dropped out. I was in a truly dark place. I felt like life had left me behind and that I was worthless. I still had League, but League couldn't give me what I needed. I have this distinct memory from one of my last games in Season 4 where some Ranked Soloqueue bs was making my blood boil out of my body. I literally had to stand up and walk around outside after the game. I was pissed, but I knew the real reason was because I just wasn't good enough. That was the moment I realized I was never going to get to walk the path of Voyboy or Doublelift, I was not going to be one of the great ones that League would pick up and give them an opportunity to do something great. I would need to find something of my own.

After that League stopped being as fun for me. I knew I had to do something else with my life and League was only holding me back. All my friends I knew through League started to feel less like my friends. So I quit. After almost 4 years nonstop. And the years after that only looked worse. I was still depressed, still struggling desperately to find my way, and now the thing that brought me the most joy in the world was long gone from my life.

Five years went by and over that time I moved, got a real job, and somehow became a real adult. Life was still hard work, but I was now ready for it. I bought myself a real gaming computer after using crummy laptops my entire life. And once I realized I could finally see LoL at something other than the lowest graphics setting, I decided to download it again. I don't need to tell you that coming back 5 years away made League feel like a completely new game. I might as well have been playing Dota for all I knew. And I felt terrible. I felt like the person that used to play this game was dead; I had no memory left in my fingers. "Well, it was worth a shot," I said.

And then I found your videos on youtube. "Hey I know him!" After just two games, it all came rushing back to me. Your games, your stream reignited my love for League of Legends. And now I'm healthier. Now I can play for a bit and return to a life I that I care equally about. I learned how to love League AND love myself; and the entire time, you were there. The Kid, with his million-watt smile, raising the bar.

I can't say I see the exact same circumstances with what you've been going through lately. I just know what that cloud can feel like. And maybe it's similar, feeling like League and the other parts of your life are at odds with each other right now. And the further away the game gets, the more you see the cracks appear. Hateful kids and useless trolls come to this game not for the experience, but to talk crap and feed their ego. It's so sad that our society still needs to work so hard to treat sexual abuse with the weight that it deserves. But I think because of that, it only highlights that you're doing work that's worth doing.

I don't know what you're planning on doing next, but no matter what it is, I'll support you. I don't know what it's worth, but you're genuinely one of my favorite people. You're worthy of love, you're worthy of happiness. You've worked hard, you've put your heart into making League of Legends a community something to be proud of. I've seen it time and time again. And it won't be for nothing, I swear.

Cya nerd, be well. Thanks

okay, so here’s a commission I wrote for @novaspeaks! they requested some egobang with roller coasters and some panic attacks, so HERE WE GO.

(psst, if you like what ya see, consider commissioning me!)

Being back home was a good time for Dan. He took it to relax after months of Grumping and touring, and to spend some well-deserved time with his family.

Having Arin there didn’t change it by much, but it did occupy most of the family time he had hoped for.

“Yo, babe, we should go to an amusement park.” Arin poked Dan in the side as they laid opposite each other in Dan’s childhood room. Dan looked away from his phone to focus on Arin, whose eyes were wide with wonder.

“You mean the place with all the death traps and the few kiddie rides that still go way too fast to be considered child-friendly?”

“Exactly.”

“I think not.” Dan goes back to scrolling through Instagram before he’s interrupted by Arin draping himself over him.

“But Daaaan,” he whined, “We’ve been here for like, 3 days, and we’ve done nothing fun.” Dan cocks an eyebrow at him. “Sex doesn’t count.”

“Wow, so sex with me isn’t fun anymore?” Dan spoke with feign offense.

“It’s always fun, but it’s not Six Flags fun.” Arin waggles his eyebrows at him. Dan sighs as he puts his phone beside his head and begins to pet his boyfriend’s hair. Arin leaned into the touch and Dan sighed again. He couldn’t just deny Arin of some fun.

“Alright, we’ll go.” Arin’s smile widens and he leans forward to plant a kiss on Dan’s lips.

“Yay! Thank you, Danny.”

“But, we’ll go tomorrow. That way we have extra time for you to do some extra…” Dan rolls over and he’s on top of Arin, looking down at him with a heated look, “Convincing.”

“Damn, I thought my good looks would be enough, now I gotta put my blowjob skills to the test, too?” They both laugh and Dan kisses Arin.

“You most definitely do. Now let’s get started, because my family’s gonna be home soon, and I’m sure Avi doesn’t want to catch his son and his boyfriend making sweet love.”

“Wow, it’s just like being teenagers again.”

“Or like being a 22 year old virgin, sure.” Dan snickers, and Arin pulls him closer.

“We’re wasting precious convincing time. Now kiss me, you fucking idiot.” Dan giggles against Arin’s lips, and the hand that slides into the back of his pants has his giggle turning into a nervous moan. Another kiss to his neck and Dan’s mind slips away as the touches grow more desperate. 

… 

Arin wakes Dan up at 5 in the morning. 

“Dude, the park opens in a few hours, let’s go out and get breakfast beforehand.” Dan groans into his pillow as Arin shakes him awake.

“Arin, it’s like, too early in the morning.”

“It’s just early enough, now get your skinny ass up or I’m leaving you here.” Dan turns his head to the side, seeing that Arin’s in the process of dressing himself. God, was he this dedicated to going to some stupid park?

“Fuck, fine, I’m awake.” Dan yawns, climbing out of bed and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“There’s my special boy,” Arin lifts up Dan’s chin and kisses him softly.

“Gross, you gonna kiss me with my morning breath?”

“You have to deal with my gross everything, I’m sure I can stomach your 5 am dragon breath.” Dan flips him off as he stumbles his way to the bathroom. Arin follows closely behind him, buttoning up his red flannel as Dan steps inside the bathroom and grabs for his toothbrush.

“So, we’re gonna hit up the little waffle house right off the highway, and then we’ll make our way to Six Flags.” Dan nods sleepily as he squeezes toothpaste onto the brush, running it under the water and watching through the mirror as Arin messes with the buttons on his shirt. Arin meets his eyes in the mirror and winks, causing Dan to blush as he continues to brush his teeth.

“You should hop in the shower, too.” Arin nods his head over to the tub, and he gives him a knowing glance.

“Arin, we’re not fucking in the bathroom.” Arin frowns, “At least, not the bathroom here.”

“Are you telling me you’re down to pound in the waffle house bathroom?”

“No, Arin, I’m not.” Dan places his toothbrush down and turns to face Arin, leaning back against the sink, “I’d rather not risk getting arrested in New Jersey, of all places.”

“Even when the risk involves fucking me?”

“Especially if the risk involves fucking you.” Dan ruffles Arin’s hair and shoves him out the bathroom, “Now if you excuse me, I’m gonna take you up on that shower offer.” He shuts the door in Arin’s face, and he can practically feel Arin’s pouting through the door. 

… 

“So, what do we go on first?” Dan asks as they make it through the entrance, Arin’s arm linked with his own.

Arin smiles wickedly at him, and points.

“We go there.” Dan follows Arin’s finger and his blood runs cold at the sight. The rollercoaster was insanely high up, and looking at it just drew intense fear to Dan’s entire body.

“Ha, ha ha.” Dan laughed weakly, “That’s funny, now how about we go on something that doesn’t look like threatening and deadly?”

“Daniel, please, we have to go on it. Sources tell me it’s the tallest one in the world.”

“I refuse to believe that that world’s tallest anything would be in Jersey, of all places.” Arin holds up a finger as he pulls out his phone and hands it to him.

“Read for yourself.” Dan looks over the text of the article Arin has pulled up. Lo and behold, the tallest rollercoaster was in fact in Jersey.

And it was, in fact, the very one that Arin’s trying to get him on.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“Dan, I heard about it like, forever ago, and I wanted to go on it. But I really don’t want to do it alone.” Arin frowns at Dan, giving him a pleading look as Dan looks between Arin and the coaster. On one hand, Dan liked living and breathing and running from the few things in his life that he found frightening. On the other….he didn’t want to let Arin ride this suicide machine by himself.

“Alright, alright,” Arin squeezes Dan’s hand, “But only because I can’t let you die alone.”

“That’s very noble, Daniel,” Arin begins to pull Dan in the direction of the coaster, “and if you die, I’ll make sure to let the fans know that you definitely didn’t die screaming like a little girl.”

“Wow, that’ll make me a legend for sure.” Arin kisses his cheek.

“Hell yeah it will. Now come on, I wanna get there before the line gets ridiculous.” Arin pulls Dan along, and Dan hopes for a long line.

…

Much to Dan’s dismay, there had been very few people in the line. Arin dragged Dan to the ride’s entrance, and a disgruntled teen looks them up and down, scoffing as they noticed Arin holding Dan’s hand.

“Brother’s got you trying out the big kid rides, huh?” they say, smiling at Dan. Dan recognizes this tone. They’re flirting and before Dan can reply, Arin kisses his cheek.

“My boyfriend and I are trying out the big kid rides, thank you very much.” Arin responded. The teen rolls their eyes and unlocks the chain, pulling it aside as Dan and Arin make their way to an empty ride car. Smack dab in the middle, it’s the safest in Dan’s opinion.

“So, you excited?” Arin bounces in his seat as more people board.

“Pumped.” Dan responds weakly. He was less than excited to be on a rollercoaster, let alone the fucking tallest one in the world. He can’t believe he agreed to this. He could get off now, leave Arin to experience this on his own, he could-

The rail locks on him, and he can’t move. Fuck.

The teen who hit on him proceeds to rattle off rules and safety procedures, and then the car is moving. The ride is slow, god, Dan hates this, it’s so slow, and with Dan’s knowledge of rollercoasters, the slowness is always quickly accompanied by unnerving speeds.

The ride up goes on forever, it seems, and Dan grabs for Arin’s hand. He looks around, fuck; he can see the entire park now. He can see the parking lot, god how fucking high up are they? He can spot his own car, fuck, he needs this to end now, he can’t, he can’t, he fucking can’t.

“It’s gonna be okay, Dan, it’ll be over before you know it.” Arin speaks in a reassuring tone, but Dan can’t believe him. They’re so high, the ride could break and the fall down could kill them instantly. His hold on Arin’s hand gets tighter as they reach what he believes is the top. He looks down, and he can barely see people, his vision is blurry, and the ride halts.

“We’re going to die.” Dan whispers, waiting for the drop. He closes his eyes, and waits.

He waits.

He keeps waiting.

Now he’s waiting for an entire minute. The ride’s been moving, but in short bursts, and they haven’t moved from the top. The other passengers begin to complain.

“Arin….why aren’t we dropping?” Dan whispers.

“I...I have no idea, it should have gone by now.” Arin’s just as confused as everyone else.

The ride keeps moving and halting, and it’s becoming aggravating to Dan until a static voice comes through a mini speaker off to the side.

“I’m sorry, folks, we seem to be experiencing some technical difficulties. As it’s very early on in the day, our technician isn’t here yet, so you might be stuck here for a while,” the whole car whines at this, “We’re really sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Oh my fucking God.” Dan whispers, voice full of fear. They’re stuck on a fucking rollercoaster. They’re fucking stuck on the world’s tallest rollercoaster. They could fucking die up here, Dan got a death grip on Arin’s hand now.

“Hey, hey, Dan, dude you alright?” Arin pulls his hand from Dan’s grip, and Dan’s eyes begin to well up with tears. “Babe, wait, what’s wrong?”

“We’re stuck!” Dan cries. The other passengers look back and roll their eyes. Of course no one wants to watch an adult like him cry, especially because of a stupid thing like this.

“I know, but we’re gonna get out soon.”

“How soon is soon, Arin? Fucking hours from now, the ride could easily explode in that time.” Dan’s not making any sense, he knows this, but he’s panicking and he doesn’t care.

“Soon is definitely a few hours, but you gotta have patience, Dan.” Arin’s voice is quiet and calm. He’s attempting to calm Dan down, but Dan’s not responding well.

“I can’t fucking believe you had me get on this stupid fucking ride just so we can get stuck on the fucking top.” Dan babbles, tears streaking down his face.

Arin places his hand in Dan’s hair and begins to pet him, stroking the strands slowly. Dan shakes from his touch, but he leans in anyway.

“Breathe, Dan, breathe,” Arin coos, “I know that we’re in an unfortunate situation, but we’re going to come out of it safely.” Dan continues to cry, but this time he’s quieter. He searches for Arin’s spare hand, which he happily gives him. “We’re safe; I promise you that we’re safe.”

Dan’s breath begins to even out, and Arin takes his hand off the top of his head. “How do you feel?”

“Terrified.” Dan speaks normally.

“Well that’s pretty fucking obvious,” Arin chuckles, “But do you still feel like you’re in panic mode?” Dan shrugs. “That’s a maybe, that’s better than yes.” Dan shrugs again.

“God, this is an awful start to a day.” Dan mutters.

“It could be worse. You could wake up murdered or something.”

“Arin, no one wakes up murdered.”

“That’s what the government wants you to think, but people wake up dead before they die.” Dan sighs, chuckling. Arin’s not making sense, but he never does and he’s grateful for that during moments like this.

“Another worse way would be to like, wake up buried alive.” Arin cringes.

“Eww, don’t even get me started. Like, coffin buried or just straight up surrounded by raw dirt?”

“Raw dirt, they didn’t even give you the satisfaction of having a coffin to protect you.”

“Damn, they must fucking hate you if they want maggots and shit crawling on you,” Arin shivers in disgust, “God, the very thought just makes me want to vom.”

“Please don’t vom on here, you could jinx the ride and you’ll end up falling faster than your vomit. I refuse to get coated in your gross stomach fluids just because you thought about being buried alive.”

“It’s a noble sacrifice.” Arin holds his fist above his heart and Dan rolls his eyes.

“Me getting on this stupid ride was a noble sacrifice, you barfing and me getting covered in it is the fuckin’ devil’s work.” Arin giggled, and Dan followed along with him. God, he’d nearly forgotten where they were in this moment. Talking with Arin always calmed him down, it always gave him a sense of security that he rarely had with anyone he’d dated before. It was nice, pleasant, it was all those stupidly cliché adjectives that couples used to describe times together.

“Our technician has just arrived and is currently working on getting the ride moving again. We appreciate your patience and apologize once more.” The speaker blares. Dan’s nerves are on end again. He’s still going to have to come down...they’re going to have to fall all the way down.

“We got this, Dan.” Arin takes his hand in his and smiles at him. Dan glances at their entwined hands and takes a deep breath.

He could do this.

They could do this.

“If we die, I hope that Suzy knows to let the lovelies know we died valiantly.” Dan tells Arin after several minutes of attempting to calm his racing thoughts.

“Of course, she’ll rep us well.” Arin responds, staring ahead. Dan stares with him, waiting patiently for the ride to begin and for their descent to near death to begin as well.

“Unfortunately, there seems to be a jam in the ride, so we’ll be reversing the cars to bring you back down. We’re sorry that you won’t be able to ride today.” Dan practically feels the tension fall off of both his and Arin’s shoulders as the car begins to reverse. The other passengers are complaining, but Dan stays quiet as he rubs at Arin’s palm with his thumb.

“Thank God we don’t have to do that.” Arin breathes a sigh of relief once they reach the bottom. Dan shoves him playfully as they exit their car.

“You were the most excited to be on there, what changed your mind?” Dan questioned as they walked back to the crowded areas of the park.

“Well, you did.” Arin says simply, throwing his arm around Dan’s shoulder, “You changed my mind about a lot of things.” Dan’s face turned a bright shade of red.

“Arin, that’s...” Dan’s a little breathless at his words, “probably one of the gayest things you’ve said to me.” Arin kissed his temple before he responded.

“That, and seeing you cry like a child made me pity you.” Dan punched Arin in the side, causing him to double over.

“Fuck you, dude” he giggles, snorting. Arin giggles along with him, and then kisses him on the cheek.

“We can do that later, babygirl. For now, let’s enjoy the rest of our day, shall we?”

“Of course, Big Cat.” Dan leans his head on Arin’s shoulder, and they walk together, reveling in the atmosphere of the park and of each other.

aftg gift exchange!

@callron hi i’m your person! i have no idea if this is what you wanted but it’s what i wrote so i hope you like it!! i tried to focus on neil since you said you love him (i also love him), plus renison. (also: i use v minimal japanese in this but in case anyone comes for me, just kno i’ve been studying it for six years. i still make mistakes all the time though lol)

ok please enjoy!! @aftgexchange

By all accounts, it was not a game meant for winning.

It was not a death match. They were not playing a nemesis, or even a friendly rival. They were not playing anyone they knew. It was a Japanese team from Fukuoka touring the States for practice, or fun, or murder. They were one of the first official college Exy teams on record, and had sent an astonishingly high percentage of their players to the Olympics. Kevin had nearly cried when Jeremy told him they shredded USC.

Simply, they were out of the Foxes’ league.

They would have stood a chance, Neil thought, with Andrew in goal, but Andrew was currently out of commission. No one was quite sure how he’d done it, but the monster had somehow managed to contract pneumonia. He was over the worst of it and had returned from the hospital, but still refused any drugs beyond those that were absolutely necessary. Wymack nearly blew a gasket the last time Andrew opened his mouth to complain about being sick. It hadn’t been pretty.

So Andrew was on house arrest, or Fox Tower arrest. Renee had filled in seamlessly during the local scrimmages scheduled that week, but Neil could tell the team had silently come to terms with the fact that their match against Fukuoka would be, in all likelihood, a wreck.

It was not a game meant for winning.

Even so, Neil began to feel his usual nerves in the hours before the match, though there was nothing at stake other than the Foxes’ largely nonexistent dignity. The game wasn’t even going to be broadcasted. From a spectator’s perspective, Neil figured, if you were going to watch your team get slaughtered, it might as well be by another team you knew. Losing to strangers was just embarrassing. And you couldn’t say, Oh, next time. At this point, the only thing keeping the Foxes in the game at all was their determination, as always, to put up a good fight. Wymack had little to say during their pre-game meeting—mumbled something or other about pyrrhic victory—and set Dan on them instead.

“If we can do anything,” she said, “we can make them remember what it cost.”

Renee nodded and said sensibly, “When you put down a dog, the dog still bites.”

For a moment the Foxes stood frozen, then glanced around at each other, all wearing the same expression: Did she really just say that? Am I nuts?

Allison was the first to recover. “Renee, sweetest, we’ll work on your analogies. Dan, don’t worry. We’ll give ’em hell.”

“Do the Japanese have hell?” asked Nicky.

“I will box your ears,” said Kevin evenly, though the question hadn’t been directed at him.

“Do it after the match, Queen Elizabeth,” said Dan. “Okay. We all know our jobs. Renee: don’t even worry about what happens past half-court. Backliners: work extra hard. Neil: dance. Kevin—” He shot her a vicious look, but she didn’t back down. “Don’t overwork your left hand. It’s not worth it.”

Wymack made a noise of agreement. Kevin bristled but said nothing.

“If you need to get mad, get mad. Fuck it, you should already be mad—this is plain unfair. They’re three times our size. There’s no stakes in terms of our actual season, so if you need to punch someone, just make sure I don’t beat you to it.”

Appreciative laughter.

“I know our hopes aren’t high,” Dan said, “especially after hearing what they did to Kevin’s idol—”

Several people said several different things at once. Dan powered through.

“—but I still think we have a chance offensively. Defense: every pass you guys intercept, every shot you block will be a victory, and it’ll make victory against the blockheads in our league that much easier. Neil, Kevin: I want three goals each from you.”

“And?” Neil said, knowing what had to be coming.

“And,” Dan continued, “I know threats of extra drills and runs don’t scare you, you masochistic bastards, so if you don’t score enough, you’ll take turns in goal during our next scrimmage and let Renee and the monster laugh all they like.”

Neil’s jaw dropped. Nicky hooted. Wymack was grinning.

“That’s how it’s going to be?” said Kevin. He sounded riled, which, Neil realized, was probably exactly what Dan wanted.

She smiled. “That’s how it’s going to be.”

“Goddamn,” muttered Matt.

“Keep it together, Boyd,” said Allison.

Dan clapped once, and suddenly everyone was back at attention. “Alright, you heathens! I think it’s time we light this thing. We have nothing to lose, so let’s play like it. Hell—let’s make this the one game Andrew actually wishes he’d played. Renee, have I told you recently I adore you?”

“I adore you too, Dan.”

“Lovely. Coach?”

Wymack stood. “Dan Wilds, you’re a phenomenon. Strikers, that was no joke she just pulled. Three goals apiece. Get out there.”

Neil was going to have to ask Andrew about basic goalkeeping strategy.

The team from Fukuoka emerged onto the court at the same time, carrying their helmets under their arms as though to mirror the Foxes. They were called Hakuchō, the Swans. (“Their mascot is a swan? Isn’t that a little…underwhelming?” “Underwhelming? Have you ever met a swan?” “Have I ever met a swan?” “They’re vicious! They don’t give a shit whether you live or die!” “Are you implying that a swan has tried to kill you?” “Listen, those fuckers come out of nowhere.” “Are we all hearing this? Confirmation of Nicky Hemmick’s near-death-by-swan experience?” “DAN, ALLISON’S BEING MEAN TO ME!”) They looked impeccably prepared; their drills were immaculate. There was a certain quiet about them, too, the kind that came from confidence, not from lack of volume. The thought arose suddenly in Neil’s head: I want us to be that good.

He glanced at Kevin, who was grim with anticipation. Neil knew he felt the same.

Warmups went by fast. Neil listened to the Swans talk to each other, getting a feel for the easy, even sound of the Japanese language when it wasn’t coming out of the mouth of a mob boss. It was a stark contrast to all the languages he knew, which seemed to lean more heavily on consonants. Japanese sounded open-mouthed. He was listening to them rattle off calls and signals when familiar laughter caught his attention.

Neil looked around. Who—?

It was Kevin. He was a few meters from Neil, doing stretches he had made up for his left arm, but he had completely abandoned them and was now leaning on his racquet, stifling laughter. There were also two Swans nearby, looking bewildered. To Neil’s surprise, Kevin caught his breath and spoke to them.

He had completely forgotten Kevin spoke Japanese.

How did I forget something like that?

Neil was about to grab Kevin and get him away from the poor Swans, but unexpectedly, they began to laugh, too. He caught one word that sounded like English: pudding.

From near the goal, Allison said loudly, “I can’t believe it! The queen bitch is making friends!”

From near the Vixens, Aaron said, “Is he dying?”

Katelyn said, giggling, “Aaron.”

A whistle blew, and Kevin and the two Swans left for their respective sides of the court with a last grin. Neil jogged a few paces to catch up with him.

“What was that all about?” he asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Kevin said, then snickered. “God, I can’t even look at you.”

“Me?” Neil ran a self-conscious hand through his hair. The week before, he had run out of shampoo and, out of desperation, used some from an unlabeled travel bottle, discovering a split-second too late that it was old hair dye. He managed to scrub out most of it before it took, but his roots were still tinged brown. Allison had lent him some of her fancy princess shampoo in the meantime (“vegan, of course”), and now he smelled like mint and coconut. (Somehow, it didn’t exude the same kind of power on him as it did on Allison.) But he had thought the team was over teasing him about that.

“Strikers, get to your positions!”

That was Dan—she had lost the coin toss. They put on their helmets and hustled.

“It’s alright,” Neil heard Matt say. “This is still a game, folks! We can’t get discouraged.”

“Yeah,” said Nicky. “Instead, just think of how shitfaced Kevin’s going to get tonight and how funny it’ll be when he drunk dials Jeremy.”

Even Renee laughed at that one.

The whistle blew.

First half was a fiasco. Dan was ready to kill Aaron, who had maybe never cared less about the score of a game, but she stayed furiously silent during their halftime meeting. Matt was breathing hard; he had been running almost as much as the strikers. Allison had undone the numerous braids Renee used to keep her short hair out of her face and now combed her fingers through the waves of it. Renee did not speak or move the whole time, except to drink. She was conserving her energy.

Neil had scored two goals. Kevin had scored one. They were down three.

“Three,” Wymack said upon their entrance, “is not fucking bad.”

“It’s not good,” Kevin shot back.

“Whose fault is that?” said Allison.

“Everyone’s,” Matt said forcefully, before Kevin and Allison could get to each other’s throats. “That’s why it’s called a team.”

“Boyd’s right,” said Wymack. “There’s not enough incentive here. I was pessimistic before, and that was a mistake on my part, but I really think we can put a dent in these guys’ ego. There might not be any camera crews or flashing lights, but I’ve seen the reporters. They’re watching you. They’d be stupid not to.”

Aaron muttered something unintelligible. Neil and Dan glared at him.

“Look,” Wymack continued, “they’re everything we knew they’d be. They’re strong, they’re fast, there’s a fucking million of them. Defense, you’re doing great, but I need more from you. Aaron Michael Minyard, do not test me.”

Aaron scowled.

“Renee,” said Wymack, “I know you can give me more. I’ve watched you work for years now, and I can tell when you’re holding back.”

Renee allowed herself a small smile. It occurred to Neil that maybe she had been waiting for this—for the rest of her teammates to wake up.

Wymack looked around at them. “That goes for all of you. Where’s your effort? Neil, I know how fast you are. Kevin—one goal? Really?”

Kevin flushed angrily and opened his mouth.

“No!” Wymack interrupted. “Offense, you are where our win lies. Don’t just stand there looking surly. Show these assholes you’re the team that’s come out on top, time and time again. Knock them over the head with it. So what they’re incredible? They’re not expecting a challenge. And so far, you’re not giving them one.”

Neil knew he was right. Dan looked ashamed.

Wymack sighed. “You’ve played this game before, Foxes. You’ve played this exact game. How many damn times, I’ve lost count. Don’t make me start thinking you’ve gotten soft.” After a moment, he sneered. “How come no one’s thrown a punch yet?”

Allison grinned wolfishly. She was re-braiding Renee’s hair with deft, confident fingers. “Great point, Coach. Hemmick, don’t let them walk on you.”

Nicky looked startled to be addressed. “Hey, I’m a lover.”

Neil suddenly felt more awake. “No, Nicky,” he said, “she’s right. Their number four—”

“Kobayashi,” said Kevin.

They stared at him.

He shrugged. “That’s what it says on her jersey.”

Neil turned back to Nicky. “She’s taking advantage of your delayed left turn. Your weight’s not evenly distributed. I’m not saying fix it right now,” he added quickly, “I’m just saying don’t let her use it.”

“Switch spots with me,” Matt suggested. “You’ll have to pay closer attention to Renee but I’ll bet the advantages compile. We’ll see if we can trip them up.”

Nicky clicked his tongue. “Carpe fucking diem.”

Dan finally spoke. “Maybe we can turn this into a good thing,” she said thoughtfully. “They were wary of us at first, or at least our reputation, but now they think we’re no hot shit. They’re too good to let their guard down completely, but if we come out hard and fast maybe we can rip a hole in it.”

Neil nodded. “They won’t know what hit them. If they’re too shocked to respond for even just a minute, we can own the rest of the game.”

Kevin raised an eyebrow. “Well, we can,” he said pointedly, then glanced from Aaron to Allison and Renee.

Allison stiffened. “Yes, Highness?”

Neil said, “Kevin” at the same time Renee said, “Allie.”

“No fighting,” said Dan. “Defense is pulling their weight, and if they need help, I can always fill in. They’ve certainly blocked more shots on goal than we’ve made at this point.”

Warning whistle. The Foxes started putting their helmets back on.

“Now’s the time,” said Wymack. “They’re not invincible. Win it right now or go home and tell Andrew how lousy you are without him.”

Everyone groaned.

Wymack grinned. “That’s my Foxes.”

By all accounts, it was not a game meant for winning. But when had the Foxes ever listened to anyone else’s account?

It was not an important game. It didn’t determine their spot in a bracket. The only people who watched it live were there in person. Their opponent was an elite team from Japan whose business it was to slaughter anyone they were put up against. The reporters made sure to put all of it in their columns—maybe the USC Trojans had a rough day, or maybe the PSU Foxes got lucky for the thousandth time in a row. But there was nothing in it for them, and they still tried their damnedest.

And the Foxes still won.

That Renee Walker, one of the journalists said to another, shaking her head. I’m stunned.

I know, said the other. And we thought Minyard was scary.

Neil’s head was a blur by the time the buzzer screamed at him to stop running. He felt like he had been playing against USC again—it was ridiculously unfair how good these people were while still being so sportsmanlike. He was mad that he couldn’t be mad at them. They were so courteous. How could someone be courteous while ramming you into the floor with an Exy racquet?

Needless to say, no one threw any punches.

The Foxes got better every passing moment of the second half, but so did Fukuoka. Neil had been right: they returned to the game with just enough force to shake their opponent’s ground without blowing themselves out. And the Swans retaliated. Just as he began to recognize some of their strategy calls, they stopped using them. Kevin wasn’t playing like he was bored anymore. Aaron wasn’t playing with one eye shut.

And Renee. God, had she woken up. She was a queen on her throne and her soldiers let no one usurp her.

The final score was 8-7, and the last goal was Neil’s.

It was like waking up from a dream. He could see his teammates yelling something to him but the stadium was so loud he couldn’t hear them. He leaned on his racquet for a moment, then ran for the congregation at half-court. Kevin came up behind him and smacked him on the shoulder so hard he tripped. Dan’s laughter cut through the commotion.

“Kevin!”

“Sorry!”

Kevin helped him to his feet and ruffled his half-dyed hair. Neil swatted Kevin’s hand away, grinning, and then they were shoving each other around and then they were at half-court, and Matt was practically suffocating him, and he could hear Katelyn calling after Aaron and Wymack saying, “Natalie Renee Walker!” Matt released him to hug Nicky and he was immediately seized by Dan, who said, “Neil, you devil!” and let him go just in time for them to see Allison grab Renee’s face, pull her from the throng of Foxes, and kiss her full on the mouth. Unless he was much mistaken, the cheering intensified.

When Allison pulled away, Renee looked more flustered and more pleased than Neil had ever seen her, but she also looked like she was about to faint. Breathlessly, she said, “Allie, I love you—but I’m never playing like that again.”

Allison laughed and swept Renee off her feet.

Behind them, Nicky was laughing at Kevin’s expression so hard Neil thought he might fall over. Kevin looked dumbfounded.

“You, uh…okay?” Neil asked him.

All Kevin could say was, “Wow.”

“Nicky,” said Matt, “are you breathing?”

Nicky managed, “He had no fucking idea.”

They lined up for handshakes (Allison almost carried Renee through), then began to head back to the locker rooms. Neil was following Matt in to hear Wymack and get changed when someone called his number.

“Ten! Short boy!”

Neil whirled around to see Swan four, one of the starting strikers, jogging over to him. Kobayashi, Kevin had called her. She offered him a quick bow of the head and said, in lightly accented English, “Sorry for laughing at you, Josten. Before the game started.”

“That’s what that was about?” he said. “I don’t mind. I know I look ridiculous.”

“We have a word for that in Japan,” she said. “Purin-atama. It means ‘pudding-head.’ In Japan pudding comes with chocolate on top and vanilla on bottom, like your hair. But usually we do it on purpose. That’s what is funny.”

Neil grinned. It was funny. “Thanks for telling me. I’ve been called worse names.”

“Your team is amazing,” Kobayashi said. “I’m so surprised we lost! And you’re really fast.”

“Kevin is better,” he said, then clarified, “Number two.”

“Oh, he is good. When I sat on the bench I just watched him. His Japanese is pretty good, too. I was surprised he speaks.”

Neil almost said, I was, too, but caught himself. “He doesn’t use it much. I’m not sure he likes it.”

“Really? If he teaches me some drills I can teach him some curse words. He seems interested enough.”

Kobayashi glanced over his head, and Neil followed her gaze. Kevin was indeed watching them, not surreptitiously at all. His frown disappeared when he saw them looking back.

“Come on, kid!” he called, feigning nonchalance.

“Looks like they need me,” Neil said. “Good game, Kobayashi.”

“Otsukaresama,” she said with a smile and a nod. “Maybe I’ll see you soon, Ten. My team says we want to meet that infamous goalkeeper of yours.”

Neil laughed. “Oh, him.”

“Yes, him. They tell us you two are—what’s the polite way to say? ‘Involved’? Where is he, anyway?”

“He’s in bed with a bad cold because he refuses to take his medicine.”

Kobayashi smirked. “He’ll be in bed with more than that when we’re through with him.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Until next time?”

“Count on it.”

She gave him a two-fingered salute and returned to her Swans. And Neil returned to his Foxes.