#-the different associations and stuff have their music on top volume

[irritablepoe]

i couldn't care less about carnival.

[9haharharley1]

It's just really funny to me to think that Sephiroth doesn't have any music taste whatsoever because of the way he was raised. Like his exposure to music comes exclusively from other people, but he can't connect with it all.

The scientists listed to classical music exclusively if they listened to it all while he was in growing up in the labs, and I think he would have negative associations with it.

Then along comes Genesis with his indie music, and we all know he owns every copy and has seen every version ever of Loveless, which includes at least 2 different musical adaptations that he adores, probably one more than the other, and he's gonna force his friends to listen to them whether they like it or not.

Angeal probably doesn't have much of a preference for what he listens to, but it probably leans more towards classic rock and what would be the equivalent of 80's/dad rock. Sephiroth can vibe with that. He starts leaning more towards Angeal's tastes without really noticing it, but he can't quite connect to it.

Then Zack enters the picture, and he brings with him the top 40 pop songs and alternative punk. Stuff like late 90s/early 00's mix. It's still not right. Their voices sound a little too whiney, but their words paint a picture and resonate with the feelings Sephiroth has never been able to convey.

It's not until one day he runs into Zack in the Firsts' cafeteria, separate from the other levels of SOLDIER and infantry, and he's sitting with this tiny little thing. He can't be much older than 15. He's definitely not in the SOLDIER program, and he's wearing the infantry uniform with helmet on the table next to his food (far superior than the slop they feed infantry and troopers), and there's a little music player on the table between them. The volume is low, the words indistinguishable, but he's never heard such angry sounding music before. Curious, he walks over and sits across from Zack and the tiny trooper.

The little blond jumps and stutters over a quick salute, Zack gives him a cheery greeting and tells the little thing to relax.

"What is that?" Sephiroth asks, and he points to the portable radio.

Zack raises an eyebrow at him. "What, you've never seen a radio before?" He's teasing, but Sephiroth ignores it.

"I know that," he says, and his curiosity raises as he tries to make out the words to the song playing. "What is the music? I've never heard it."

"I-It's metal," the tiny blond speaks up through his nerves, and Sephiroth's gaze goes to him. The boy squeaks, his face goes red, but Sephiroth appreciates that he manages to hold his gaze.

"What's metal?"

The blonde's eyes widen, but before he can explain, Zack says simply, "It's angry growling into a microphone."

If the scowl his friend is giving him means anything, then Zack is only teasing again, probably over this same subject they've probably talked about before.

"It's not that simple, Zack, and you know it."

Zack grins at him, nudging his shoulder. "Do enlighten us then, oh wise chocobo!"

The boy practically squawks (or maybe warks) indignantly, and Sephiroth has to fight back a grin at the mental image. He manages to keep a straight face, as bright blue eyes turn back to him, a hint of a scowl still on a lightly tanned face.

Sephiroth does not at all expect what the boy has to sat.

"Metal is like... it's like when life sucks and you feel alone and empty. You put on some metal, and life is better because..." he pauses, looking down at his plate. "Because someone else knows that pain and the rage you're going through... ya know?"

There is silence between the three of them as Sephiroth takes a moment to digest that explanation.

Zack throws a dramatic arm around his friend. "Aw, my music is like that, too!"

His friend ducks under the arm. "No, your music is for when you're feeling sad and alone, and you don't know what to do with all those big emotions you feel constantly."

"Ouch, Cloud," Zack laughs. "I don't know if I should be insulted or flattered!"

The newly dubbed Cloud shrugs. "There's nothing wrong with it. Your music is fine. It's just not what I need to hear sometimes."

At last, Sephiroth speaks up. "I... think I know what you mean..." he says softly. Zack and Cloud end their rough housing, staring at him with wide eyes almost as though they had forgotten he was there. "About the pain and... rage."

He reaches across the table for the little radio, the song on it ending and segueing to a new one. He turns up the volume, aware of the eyes on him as he listens.

He listens to the soft opening chords, the added percussions. The quiet build of tension as it all rises together in sync.

Then, there is an explosion of noise, and Sephiroth can feel his blood pulse as the cafeteria is filled with the sound of heavy drums and guitars screaming in rhythm with the beat of his heart.

Their judging eyes watching me

It's all I've ever known

When I try to open up my heart

I am ridiculed and torn apart

Your damn jokes I'll never get to hear

Behind my back at my expense

There's something inside me

And I know it's good, I'm not evil

Just misunderstood

Do you see me now?

Do you hear me now?

You will know my name

Sephiroth listens to the song, unaware of how his breathing has picked up as he states down at the radio in his hands, unaware of Zack and Cloud's eyes on him. He listens to the words, listens to the drums and the guitars, internalizing the feeling of the music moving through him like it never has before, the singer's voice growling in his ears.

He doesn't look up again until the song ends and another is starting, still heavy, pulsing in time with his blood in his veins, and there is something so alive in the music he's never resonated with before. He's aware of the concerned furrow to Zack's brow, but his eyes meet Cloud's, and he notices the small smile on the younger man's lips.

Like he knows what Sephiroth is feeling.

Like he's felt it himself.

"You didn't break my friend with your angry music, did you, Cloud?" Zack asks, half-joking, half-worried.

Cloud just smiles, knowing and smug, and still holds Sephiroth's gaze. He props his elbow on the table to prop his cheek on his fist.

"It makes for excellent workout music, too," he states knowingly.

Sephiroth gives him a tiny smile back, maybe a touch feral as his heart beats in time with the bass. "Can you give me some recommendations?"

---

Maybe I'll clean this up and post it to AO3...

The explanation of metal is from a line in the movie Deathgasm.

The song is You Will Know My Name by Arch Enemy.

I want to write short thing where my faves listen to metal, go off on their boss Aggretsuko style at a company thing, and make-out sloppy style at a concert with a bunch of strangers cheering them on from a moshpit five feet away

[ahxiang]

mkay i dont get why autistic ppl usually have headphones/gen

it might be bc i have hearing loss so everything is quiet but rlly is there a reason?/nm

there is! tysm for asking, kind anon. also ty for using tone indicators! it makes me happy to see ppl use them bc while i personally can usually tell when ppl on the internet are joking or genuine, they do help me fully understand and most importantly i love using tone indicators bc it alleviates my anxiety of being misinterpreted. anyway, to the question at hand!

to understand the headphones thing we have to go back to that concept i spoke abt earlier abt autism being a Too Much Disorder. once again, the scientific definition of the autism spectrum is a range of neurodevelopmental conditions generally characterized by difficulties in social interactions and communication, repetitive behaviors, intense interests, and unusual responses to sensory stimuli. the thing about autistic brains is that they are essentially wired differently, causing some advantages and disadvantages. the disadvantages include issues with interpreting and organizing stimuli, as well as our senses being heightened. (which can be both a disadvantage and advantage)

because of the nature of the autism spectrum, our difficulties with sensory input plus our heightened senses make us very susceptible to something called sensory overload. this is when we get so overwhelmed by stimuli that we begin to freak out, be uncomfortable and/or in pain, and sometimes completely shut down. the stereotypical autistic meltdown you see of a little boy crying and screaming in public is usually caused by the sensory overload of all the sounds, movement, lights, and other stimuli in the environment. much like when wyw freaked out when she witnessed her client's death, being overstimulated can lead to the same distress.

on top of this, some autistic people, like my ex-gf for example, have something called misophonia. it is a disorder of decreased tolerance to specific sounds or their associated stimuli. it's a more specific and intense sensory issue that deals exclusively with sounds. for my ex-gf, the sound of chewing was a Bad Sound. even just seeing ppl eat on tv with the sound muted distressed her bc her brain supplied the sound. certain percussion was bad for her too and she couldn't listen to music she loved as her misphonia got worse.

some autistic ppl without misophonia, like me, don't necessarily have specific sounds that are bad even when just reminded of their existence. but we are more sensitive to bad sounds or volume of sounds. y'know how everyone hates nails on a chalkboard? many autistic ppl feel that way about a plethora of sounds. like i don't like the sound of silverware being used on glass or porcelain, so i use plastic whenever possible. but it can also be about how loud sounds are. like when wyw covered her ears and became distressed when a leafblower was turned on nearby. it can also just be abt the amount of sounds, too. lots of autistic ppl hate being in public because of the sheer number of overlapping noises. it’s not necessarily that the noises are bad or loud, but that there are so many that they overwhelm us. 

and the worst part of it all is that these bad sounds, volumes, or amounts can change. one day i might be totally fine hearing silver cutlery and another day i might feel like i'm dying when i do. sometimes i'll be fine hearing sounds in public, but then i start getting sensory overload because of the amount of noise and sounds/volumes that were okay just a minute ago become worse and worse. for example, today i was taking things out of my storage unit to move into my new apartment. i was completely fine with the jingling of the keys, the rumbling of the storage unit door, and the light clanging of my furniture against each other. but then the cart i used to haul stuff back to my car made the most horrendous noises and suddenly everything was awful. i clamped my hands over my ears while pushing the cart and almost had a meltdown when i returned to close the door and it made loud, metal noises. i was fine one minute and the next i was overwhelmed and suddenly nothing was okay.

so! a preventive measure autistic ppl take so they don't go into sensory overload is using headphones. usually they're noise cancelling headphones but some people also like to play music or soothing sounds. so wyw wears headphones whenever she’s outside or in public and, correct me if i’m misremembering, plays whale sounds to soothe herself. i personally don't use headphones cause i can't afford noise cancelling ones, but earbuds playing music work pretty well! sometimes i have the issue of them not blocking out sounds well enough so when i play music it’s overwhelming, but they work well enough. now, i know headphones were your question, but this concept applies to other senses as well!! it’s sensory overload, not audio overload after all. autistic ppl can often be sensitive to light, especially rapidly changing ones or artificial ones. personally, i wear sunglasses outside even when it’s cloudy because i get very overwhelmed by sunlight. if not, i squint too much and then it’s a safety hazard, especially when i drive. so i’m always using sunglasses. some autistic people wear gloves in public to avoid touching Bad Textures, some of us actively avoid certain foods, etc, etc. 

so yeah! hope that helped and as always remember that autism is a spectrum that causes different people to experience different symptoms in different ways!

[from-the-dark-past]

Interview with Anders Ohlin in The Black Metal Murders: English translation

Translator’s note: Black metal-morden (English: The Black Metal Murders) is a radio documentary from 2017 produced by Radio Sweden (download). It’s about Mayhem and the Norwegian black metal scene in the ‘90s and contains interviews with Jørn “Necrobutcher” Stubberud, Kjetil Manheim, Eirik “Messiah” Norheim and Anders Ohlin (Pelle Ohlin’s younger brother). 

Here, I’ve translated the parts where Anders Ohlin speaks into English (from Swedish). I’ve added time-stamps and short descriptions for the different sections of the interview. 

I am working on translating the interviews with Necrobutcher, Manheim and Messiah and will post them soon. 

1:51 - 6:35 [Talking about him and Pelle getting into extreme metal]

Anders: We’d started listening to hard rock and it was… We’d, like, worked through all of those… Judas Priest and Iron Maiden. 

Narrator: It’s the mid-1980s in Västerhaninge, a suburb of Stockholm. Pelle Ohlin lives here. He plays in the extreme metal band Morbid and his stage name is Dead. Pelle has introduced his five-years-younger brother to hard rock. Together, they’ve worked through all of the main bands. 

Anders: And you, like, hungered for this… This Other. 

Narrator: The ‘Other’ that younger brother Anders is talking about is extreme metal; music that is faster, darker and harder. A progression of hard rock. Music that isn’t easy to get your hands on at this time. Anders is in his early teens and has gotten his first girlfriend. 

Anders: It was my first relationship and it was super-exciting, and I was at her house, she lived in Jordbro, which is, like, the neighbouring suburb. 

Narrator: Anders’ girlfriend’s older sister has an LP that Anders simply must show his older brother Pelle. 

Anders: It was, like, you knew it was good music, and it was that Destruction record. 

Narrator: Anders sees the German death metal band Destruction’s cover and it’s enough for him to understand that this must be good music. [...] 

Anders: This. This here isn’t Judas Priest and it isn’t Iron Maiden; it’s something else. I’ve got show this fucking record to Pelle. 

Narrator: Anders nags [his girlfriend’s older sister] to borrow the LP. He’s allowed to, but only for the day, so he bikes home in the rain from Jordbro to Västerhaninge as quickly as he can. 

Anders: And it was like [excited noise], like a cartoon; the evil wolf, their eyes bulge out and we both ran -- because we hadn’t heard the LP, only seen the cover -- ran to the record player och then Mom walks up and is like: ‘Stop! You’re forbidden from using the gramophone.’ And it was like, fucking hell, is it going to die here and then we explained to Mom -- ‘This is an extreme record and we’ve borrowed it for the day and it’s going back tomorrow,’ -- and Mom was super-harsh and was like: ‘It doesn’t matter. [...]’ And then we started negotiating and agreed that we could record the LP onto cassette [because you don’t need volume for that]. So, it was on full-blast the entire night and we recorded it and stood bent over the record scratches and were like,‘Shit, this is good stuff’. 

Narrator: Pelles hard rock style stands out against the usual sweatpant-Bagheera-jacket [style], not least the music. 

Anders: The ideals that existed at that time were that you were supposed to look like Arnold Schwarzenegger, which neither he nor I did [laughs]. You were supposed to be handsome and cool and have some fucking helipad on your head. 

Translator’s note: Anders is talking about a flat-top haircut commonly referred to as a ‘helikopterplattafrisyr’ -- helipad haircut -- in Sweden. Think H.R. Haldeman. I’m not sure what the English term for this haircut is. 

Narrator: Anders and Pelle are apart of a small subculture; extreme metal, with subgenres such as trash metal, death metal and black metal, which provokes with its satanic and morbid symbols. Pelle’s band Morbid pushes the limits of what music can sound like. With his stage-name Dead, Pelle sings on the demo December Moon. The new subculture is not embraced by the adult world. 

Anders: Like, we faced this fucking cultural oppression as hardrockers. It was that time-period… And especially if you wanted to do something that was worse than hard rock; it was completely judged. 

14:52 - 15:53 [Talking about Pelle being bullied] 

Anders: He was beaten at school and to such an extent that he actually died for a while, or however you put it. 

Narrator: There’s an explanation to Pelle’s obsession with death. At 13, he was bullied at school and once, he was beaten so badly that his spleen burst. Pelle’s brother Anders Ohlin tells the story.

Anders: He was beaten to death and had some near-death experience as he was laying in the hospital and he kept coming back to that all the time, and I think you can see that as some sort of theme in his songs too. Like, it’s always about the fact that he was actually there and touched something that he doesn’t know what it is, and that was the engine in all that. He was definitely [at the bottom of the pecking order] at school, precisely because he was a bit… He had his special... his special style and was, like, uncompromising, and that was what singled him out, I’d say, markedly from other teenagers. 

18:07 - 18:30 [Talking about Pelle’s depression]

Anders: He would neglect to eat, just to get a cassette tape out or arrange a gig somewhere. 

Narrator: Anders Ohlin, Pelle’s brother. 

Anders: To be a bit harsh, I think that the others gave up at some point. And that’s my personal interpretation. That he suddenly turns around and notices that he hasn’t got the gang with him. And I think that destroyed him. 

21:50 - 22:30 [Talking about Pelle’s suicide] 

Anders: At first, I was actually really pissed at him… Or, like, angry, enraged. I thought that he’d abandoned us -- which he has. That it was so shitty of him; to just take off and leave this big fucking abscess to the rest of us that just kept growing and growing as the years passed. 

Narrator: Christmases become especially painful for the Ohlin family, because that was the time Pelle usually came home. 

Anders: No one felt good on Christmas Eve. It was like a fucking ghost all Christmas. Brutal. So, I remember that I couldn’t celebrate Christmas at all for a very long time. 

1:06:39 - 1:09:31 [Talking about how he and Pelle’s Swedish friends remember him and his life today]

Anders: All of his Swedish friends see him as this exuberantly happy guy that spews ideas and is funny and has a sense of humor and stuff. Then, it’s like a line is drawn when he goes to Norway and they see him as introverted and mysterious and, like, difficult. And that’s two opposite images. 

Narrator: The Pelle Myth is associated with a lot of darkness and death but that’s not how his brother Anders and Pelle’s Swedish friends remember him.  

Anders: I think that’s been the devastating part, but it, like, helped him build… strengthen that myth. It’s hard being that funny dude and saying that you’re, like, Satan. It’s hard, it becomes, like, silly. 

Narrator: Anders is often reminded of Pelle. Usually because of happy memories but also because of that image that he is fighting to remove; the image that Øystein took of Pelle’s corpse which spread because it became the album cover of a Mayhem bootleg, Dawn of the Black Hearts. The image lives its own life on the internet. 

Anders: It’s difficult. It’s very difficult. 

Narrator: Pelle’s fans often want to become Facebook friends with Anders; he receives 3-5 friend requests per day. Sometimes, the people sending the friend requests have themselves shared the image on their social channels. 

Anders: You say you want to be my friend yet you have an image of my brother from when he’s just killed himself and like… body parts all over the wall. Would you think it was okay if I had an image of your brother like that? ‘What,’ they excuse themselves. ‘Oh, fuck, I’d forgotten that I had that image, that’s… Of course, I’ll remove it and I’m ashamed.’ 

Narrator: When Anders asks people to remove the image, most do. 

Anders: I’m terrified for when my children will start to Google those images… Øystein’s parents inherited the rights after Øystein died and [Øystein’s dad] has destroyed the images and I’ve received the rights, gotten to take over the rights from Øystein’s dad, so if anyone uses them in any form is printed media, I can sue the shit out of them. 

Narrator: It’s a small comfort every time one of Pelle’s fans tells Anders how much Pelle means. 

Anders: Most often, they have some story. They tell me how they’ve had a tough period in life and how they’ve, like, really been at a crossroads or something and feel that they received guidance from Pelle’s music. That warms -- That makes you happy. That really warms your heart. 

Narrator: Pelle’s grave is well-visited and every now and then, there’s a handwritten letter or a box of snus by it. 

[sinkix]

♡ Haikyuu!!│Boys as your Roommate HC’s Pt.2│Ft. Kuroo, Bokuto, Kenma & Kageyama ♡

Since the last one did well I decided to do another 2am shit-post consisting of my bby HQ bois as your roommate so I’m v sorry if it’s messy and seems like rambling but honestly what did u expect. <(￣︶￣)> The more I write these the more I just want to summon satan and make them come to life man I love them sm.

You can find Pt. 1 here

E N J O Y ~ <3

◃:✮.❃⭒ ◃:✮.❃⭒ ◃:✮.❃⭒ ◃:✮.❃⭒

Kuroo:

So. Damn. Annoying

But in like, the best way possible??

Constantly teases and irritates you while cooking or when it’s your turn to do the chores.

“(Y/N)-kuuun I think you missed a spot”

Proceeds to show swabbed finger with the tiniest speck of dust on it with the biggest shit eating grin he can muster

You have constant competitions who can clean more thoroughly and rip into each other as a result.

I mean there’s worse things to compete over I suppose??

He likes to make it a habit of waking you up by throwing his HUGE ASS BODY ON TO THE BED IF YOU OVERSLEEP.

WHOLE BED JUST CREAKS AND DIPS UNDER HIS WEIGHT.

Wraps his arm around you and gives amazing cuddles tho so its worth it

Borderline suffocating you though just so you get up.

Also, don’t wake Kuroo when he’s had only a few hours rest

just, don’t. If you value your safety.

Last time you tried to haul him out of bed in this state he threw a pillow at you and BITCH WENT TO GRAB THE ALARM CLOCK NEXT but u dashed out the room before he could lob it. 

Speaking of which, pillow fights. 

so many.

 Y’all are always throwing random stuff at each other just to startle one another

You both make a conscious effort NOT to aim for the head though so I guess its ok???

The aroma of coffee always greets you in the morning and it’s become hella comforting since you’ve just come to associate that smell with him.

His bed head is 1000x more extreme in the morning which you tease him relentlessly for and def has bags under his eyes but it looks cute.

sleep deprivation but make it chic.

He is much more of a night owl i’m making it canon idc - however usually has to sleep early due to club activities starting first thing in the morning.

He wakes up especially early because he knows he not only has to haul himself up at an ungodly hour but Kenma as well since he NEVER gets up on time otherwise.

Kenma lives a few blocks down from you guys and you often kick it as a three.

Sometimes he stays over just to save the extra effort of Kuroo going to his place.

It’s always v chill with the three of you as you get on really well and just play mario kart till 2am.

which again, big mistake. They end up nearly being late to practise so it’s kinda counter productive lmao

worth it though.

Kuroo is a salty loser js and will definitely wave his arms in front of you or shove his ass in your face to block the screen so he can overtake you.

Sometimes forces you to go on early morning runs with him but it’s actually really nice since you watch the sunrise together while sitting for a water break in an empty field

Almost poetic if it wasn’t for the constant teasing and bickering like an old married couple.

Kenma is VERY thankful you have become his new victim for those morning run routines.

Bokuto:

SCREAMS FROM THE ROOFTOPS EVERY DAY

MY GOD

Actually pretty quiet in the morning?? Like the lil owl is just waking up so he usually just mumbles a good-morning and rubs his eyes its so damn cute

Usually pretty good about getting up on time but some days he needs a kick up the backside to get him out of bed.

He fully made you drag him out of the covers once before he was even willing to entertain the idea of getting up.

those 30 seconds felt like a 30 minute workout since he is so HEAVY.

I feel sorry for the neighbours on that day tbh

“Bokuto-san wake up.” 

“NNNgg-aaagGGHHHHH AGGAAASHIII”

“It’s (Y/N) you dumbass G E T U P”

You aren’t safe for long though because ONCE HE’S AWAKE HOMEBOY IS RARING TO GO.

Frequently makes y’all pancakes for breakfast with a frilly pink ‘best chef’ apron on and it’s fucking hysterical. 

actually has several aprons and one of them has a stock image of abs printed onto the front.

Pancakes is the only thing Bokuto is competent at so don’t expect anything else without the kitchen combusting

His pancakes are SO damn good tho like bitch who taught you to flip like dat.

Does a lil shimmy with his body and throws it back each time he flips so it basically aggregates as a performance too since hes so extra

One time the pancake landed on the floor and he was in emo mode for a whole day LMAOOO

boy was spiking while mourning the fallen soldier.

Akaashi was so confused as to why he walked into practise in such a solemn mood.

had to stifle his laughter once you told him the reason.

For some reason you have this tradition to play board games on a Friday night

Obvs you have to let him win and be a cocky ass bc otherwise he will be sad until the next morning.

sis will be in a slump while brushing his teeth over losing a game of monopoly.

Doesn’t expect you to come to practise with him but is always grinning like a dork the whole way there when you accompany him.

His game is always A1 on those days so Akaashi is eternally grateful.

Often tries to make you go to the gym with him SINCE Y’ALL BEST BELIEVE BOKUTO BABY AIN’T SKIPPIN LEG DAY.

Actually a really good workout partner though, he’s so hype and encouraging.

Grocery shopping is a nightmare, y’all come back with 3x as much as what was on the list while Bokuto just looks really sheepish and guilty like a dog who shredded up the sofa.

Kageyama:

Your conversations are very minimal at first until he adjusts to living with you.

Hella private with his living space and his bedroom

You always suspected he’s got some like weird alien cult meeting from Fiji going on in there with how shady he acts sometimes.

After a while though he’s pretty chill and doesn’t mind TOO much when you invade his personal space or go through his stuff.

I’d still be careful though an angry Kags is not a pleasant one.

He’s a minimalist, so if you ever get decorating done it’s usually you that takes the reigns since as long as it’s got a roof, a stove, a bathroom and a bed he could literally not give a fuck.

Unexpectedly easy to please over the smallest things, make a meal for him after a long day of practise and it’ll be hard for him to contain an appreciative smile.

Do NOT pull him up on it though bc he will get defensive 

just embrace it bro you won’t see it often.

V good at getting up on time and hella quiet in the morning when going about his routine, it’s easy to forget he’s in the house a times so at least he’s considerate.

Honestly doesn’t care whether you come to practise or not it makes no difference to him. Though the closer you both get he will sometimes wait for the moment you walk through the door and mentally slap himself for doing so.

Sometimes plays music in his room but it’s always really quiet and hard to decipher unless you press your ear up against the door.

The boi plays some BOPS though which is really surprising???

Usually takes charge of stuff like grocery shopping, cleaning etc. 

Control freak™️ here to assist your household services. 

He’s pretty dense though with these matters and needs some guidance at times lmao

Will not get the item on your list unless you CLEARLY SPECIFY AND INCLUDE THE WHOLE DAMN TITLE OF THE ITEM

You’re surprised he doesn’t request you illustrate the fucking bar code.

In the end you sometimes end up caving and just either going with him or going in his place.

Once he warms up to you y’all like cracking little jokes at each other and pulling one another’s leg.

if you get up even the slightest bit late he’ll just throw a lil “good afternoon” with a smirk on his face.

Sometimes he will come and chill with you on the couch to binge watch shows and it’s just a really relaxed atmosphere.

has really good taste in movies and series??

Honestly just a hella respectful roommate as long as you respect him and his privacy in return.

You once stuck his knee-pads in the washing machine on a high temp and they came out ready to fit a 6 year old.

You still suspect he holds a grudge to this day.

He also tried to give them to Hinata and never have you seen him more genuinely offended lmao.

Kenma:

The pair of you always end up oversleeping and it’s a genuine problem ur the definition of a disaster duo.

If it wasn’t for Kuroo strolling into your sleeping quarters most mornings you guys would sleep till the suns ready to set again.

Bless up Kuroo.

Constant video game marathons and y’all always compete to top each others time

It’s basically just the speed-run side of YouTube but under one roof.

Cannot and will not cook he is too LAZY for that.

Only thing he will do is stick an apple pie in the oven.

He’s courteous though he leaves you like,,, a 1/8th slice

smh.

You mostly get take-out or you’re the one that ends up cooking.

Veeryyyyy quiet, only noise in the household is the occasional snicker or lil conversation.

he has such a soothing voice hnnnnnnnnnggggg

The only time it’s remotely loud is when you play video games but even then the volume is quite low.

You usually end up crashing in his room from playing games till the crack of dawn and Kuroo frequently scolds the two of you.

you don’t listen though lmao.

For some reason you both end up in a hugging position when you wake up and neither of you have addressed it.

Except for the sus side eye look Kuroo gives the pair of you when he finds you like this.

He knows if he mentions it you’ll both infiltrate his apartment and choke him out with a console cable lololol.

You order most of your groceries online bc Kenma’s social anxiety will skyrocket and not allow him to be in a store full of more than 10 people, poor bby.

It works out for you too since why tf go there when you can have it delivered to your door.

You often binge watch anime together and he has GREAT taste mind you.

You made him watch a romance anime once and he secretly enjoyed it.

Since then he will very awkwardly request to watch them occasionally and you can’t help but smile.

The only time you clean is when you have to, like bins brimming with trash before you decide to take them out.

You accidentally broke his fav controller once and he didn’t talk to you for a week LMAO.

Still handed you one to play split-screen though so you knew he wasn’t entirely resentful.

[irwingiggling]

westbrook | pt. 7

gang!ashton; gang!5sos

[pt. 1] [pt. 2] [pt. 3] [pt. 4] [pt. 5] [pt. 6]

[Image credit: @not-grey-enough]

A/N: Heyy guys so I’m back. My last year of university was so crazy and stressful until suddenly it wasn’t because all my classes were moved online and a bunch of assignments/finals became optional or cancelled completely. Just found out today my graduation is officially cancelled. It feels like there was so much build up and anticipation for the final year but now it’s become literally the most anticlimactic experience of my life lmao.. Anyways, now I’m at home, with a bunch of free time on my hands, which means I can continue this story! I hope you guys enjoy, and please feel free to leave me any comments or if you literally wanna talk about anything, just send me a message! :)

Summary: In which Ashton is one of the leaders of the Westbrook Dragons, a gang who often feuds with the Vipers for control of the streets. After hearing of her estranged father’s death, Marina comes to Westbrook to fix up his house and sell it. Coming from a privileged neighborhood, the last thing Marina expects is to move in next door to a gang’s hideout.

Word Count: 2,400+

Rating: PG-13

Marina locked the front door of the house behind her and made her way down the steps towards Ashton, who was leaning against the front of an old red chevy truck.

After the whole break-in fiasco, they had taken a couple weeks to heal both mentally and physically. The boys had helped Marina repaint the exterior of the house, which had been graffitied pretty badly by Parson's goon before he broke in that night. She felt closer to the whole gang, not just Ashton. Now the house was finished again - for good this time - and Marina and Ashton had re-listed the house with another realtor - one without any gang associations.

Ashton spent most nights at the house since he'd essentially moved in after the break-in, but sometimes business would cause him to stay back at his apartment, where he'd work late into the night, and Marina wouldn’t see him until the next day. It was on one of those days that Ashton had called Marina and asked her out on a date, after he was done with work. They'd been boyfriend and girlfriend for a while now, but while they spent a fair bit of time together, they didn't get the chance to go on actual dates very often.

"Wow, I didn't know you owned anything other than a motorcycle," Marina observed dryly, eyebrows raising as she walked up to Ashton.

Ashton laughed, patting the hood. "Nah, I work on this one in my spare time. She gives me trouble sometimes, but we work through it."

Marina chuckled at his response as she walked over to the passenger door. She was about to grab the handle but Ashton beat her to it, opening the door and gesturing for her to step inside with a little bow.

"Why thank you, sir," she replied, teasingly blowing him a kiss.

As she settled into the passenger seat, her gaze floated over the interior. Sure, the leather was cracked and the wooden dashboard had a variety of chips and gouges, but it had character. Marina found herself appreciating it, a lot more now than if she had seen it a couple months ago.

Ashton noticed her watchful eye, and quickly spoke up. "I know it's not your Range Rover, but-

"It's perfect," she smiled, leaning forwards to run her fingers over the dashboard.

He gave her a small nod and smiled, turning the keys and causing the engine to roar to life.

She looked over at the door, thinking that the air running through her hair would be perfect right about now, but instead she stared perplexedly at the wood panelling. Absent were the normal switches for the windows.

"It's this one," Ashton said, reaching across her lap to touch the spinning handle. In this close proximity, she noticed that his usual smell of leather and cigarettes had gained a new underlying hint of sandalwood and another undeterminable scent. The fact that he'd put on a little bit of cologne for their date made the outer corners of her lips tweak up into a smile.

"What?" Ashton asked, once he'd resumed his normal position, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

"Nothing," she smiled, shaking her head. "I just think you're adorable."

He giggled - full-out giggled - and readjusted his grip on the steering wheel. "Now that's not something I get often."

They both laughed, and then sat in comfortable silence for a little while.

"Can I turn on the music?" Marina asked, as they turned down a quiet country road.

"Sure. But I have to warn you, the radio only picks up one station and it's all country, all the time."

Marina laughed and turned the volume dial up. The sound of a twangy guitar and southern accent immediately filled the cabin. She looked over to Ashton again and smiled, putting her arm out the window and moving it along to the beat, wind whipping through her fingertips.

---

They drove until Marina had no idea where they were. Eventually Ashton pulled off the gravel road, the truck chugging along merrily until he cut the engine and it sputtered to a stop in a field of tall grass. Marina looked around at the tall stalks growing wild, swinging freely in the wind. They had to be the only ones around for miles.

"Ashton where are we?" she asked in slight confusion. He hadn't told her what the plan was for their date, but she assumed it would be at a restaurant in town somewhere.

"Our date," he replied with a smile, pocketing the keys and jumping out of the truck.

Marina chuckled lightly, and opened the door, stepping out of the passenger side. She followed Ashton to the back of the truck, and watched as he pulled the tailgate down to reveal an array of blankets and pillows, with a picnic basket in the middle.

"Voila," he gestured to the setup, leaning casually against the side of the truck.

Marina couldn't help the smile on her face. "Aww this is cute," she cooed, "You've really outdone yourself, Ash."

He looked over at her and smiled, taking her hand to help her up into the back of the truck.

"It's beautiful out here," Marina said as she looked around. The sun was just beginning to set, casting a faint orangey-purple hue over everything it touched.

"I know right. I come here to think sometimes, and I think it's so peaceful. I wanted to show it to you."

"Well thank you for sharing it, I really appreciate it."

"I know there's some stuff you don't know about me yet, I know I can be guarded, but I want you to know that I'm really trying to let you in."

The conversation flowed easily between the two of them, even the pauses were comfortable. After one particularly longer silence, Ashton spoke up in a slightly different tone.

"Sometimes I can't.... sleep," he confessed quietly, staring off into the distance, eyes closing slightly in reflex as the setting sun poured out towards them.

Marina looked up at him, raising her head off his chest. "Why not?" she asked gently, lacing their fingers together.

He leaned down to rest his cheek on the top of her head, and was silent for a little while. She rubbed gentle circles into the scarred skin on the palm of his hand.

"I've just been thinking a lot… especially recently."

"What about?" she asked.

He let out a small sigh, a puff of air that reverberated off her ear.

"You don't have to tell me, if you don't want."

His other arm snaked around from its casual position resting against the side of the truck, to pull her closer to him. He was silent for a little while longer. "About you," he said softly. "About… us." She was still, kept silent, waiting to see if he would elaborate. She could hear the smile in his voice but it was tinged with something else.

She felt him shake his head. "I'm not a good person, Mar."

"Yes, you-"

"I sell people coke. I get people addicted to it and ruin their lives. I'm like, shittiest person of the year. I profit off other people's misery, just to give them an escape from reality for a couple hours -  do you know how much that eats me up inside all the time? But this is the only thing I have, the only thing I'm any good at. And I can't just stop, the boys rely on me running all of this. What would they do? They need the money for their families just like I need it for mine. And the thought that…" he trailed off, looking away into the fields.

After a few moments of silence, he spoke up again. "It's different now.  I always knew I'd be able to take care of myself, but I forgot about the fact that maybe one day I'd want to share my life with someone else. Someone who deserved better. And now I'm thinking maybe I made the wrong choice, but at the same time I can't abandon the Dragons, they're my brothers."

"Have you talked to them about this?"

"No," he shook his head. "There's never really time, when we're all together. And I don't wanna… they look to me for advice, how can I just bail on them? And what would I even do?" he sighed. "This is all I know."

"You're good at a lot of things, Ash. You're an incredible businessman, and leader. That can transfer into a lot of different areas, if you ever need it to."

"You think?" he asked. She reach a hand up to brush softly against his cheek. She'd never seen this side of him, so vulnerable, almost insecure.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," he said after a moment, clearing his throat and shifting position, covering himself back up again.

"No, hey don't be sorry," she said, turning over to look him in the eyes, trying to convey the sincerity of her words. "It's important to talk about this kind of stuff. I really appreciate you opening up to me."

He gave her a soft smile and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'm so glad I have you," he said, snuggling further against her.

"Me too," she whispered softly.

"I love you," she said, looking out into the field of glowing, golden grass. She looked up at him. He was watching her, blinking through weary, tear-filled eyes, a glimmer of hope shimmering beneath the surface.

"I love you too," he said softly, breathing deeply into her hair and closing his eyes. "So fucking much."

"And you're not a bad person, Ash. You're a good person who fell into bad circumstances. You have such a good heart, deep down in there," she said, poking his chest gently. "I know hiding it is the only way to survive in this town. But I've seen it, I know it exists."

---

Ashton slept over that night, and in the morning Marina awoke to the other side of the bed empty. Confused, she sat up, and saw a note on the bedside table.

I woke up early and you looked so adorable I didn't wanna wake you. I'm just next door with the guys, come over when you're awake :) - Ash

Marina looked out the window, watching the guys chatting away and working on their motorcycles in the driveway. She didn't want to be too quick to rush down there, they looked like they were having a great time just chatting, listening to some classic rock music, and tinkering away on their cars and motorcycles. Marina smiled. The Dragons truly were like a brotherhood. A couple minutes later, a black suv pulled up, parking across the driveway. Marina supposed someone was coming to pick up a delivery. The boys must have assumed that too, as the three of them continued on, with Calum putting down his wrench and casually making his way towards the vehicle. Suddenly, four people in police uniforms and bulletproof vests jumped out. Calum took a couple steps backwards, surprised. He yelled something to the guys, who immediately dropped what they're doing.

Marina couldn't hear exactly what was going on, but two of the officers advanced quickly down the driveway, the other two standing guard near the vehicle in case reinforcements were needed. Marina's heart thudded in her throat. What was going on?!

The police officer yelled something again, and Ashton moved to place both hands behind his head, demonstrating that he wasn't armed and wouldn't put up a fight. Marina saw the reflection of stainless steel from one of the officer's pockets and each of the two officers grabbed one of Ashton's hands, pulling them down behind his back and clamping the cuffs on.

Marina flew outside to the porch, hands grasping the newly stained wood banister, the same one that Ashton had placed his bouquet of flowers near what now felt like a lifetime ago. It took everything in her not to run down the stairs and demand to know what was going on, try to pull Ashton away from the officers, but she knew she couldn't. As far as everyone else in town knew, she had nothing to do with the Westbrook Dragons.

From her new vantage point she could see and hear the unfolding events even better. One voice stuck out on the driveway, the loud and booming one of the police officer who was leading Ashton away.

"Ashton Irwin, you are under arrest for assault causing bodily harm. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to contact a lawyer. Anything you say may be used against you in the court of law."

No no no no. All that was running through Marina's mind in that moment was sheer panic and shock. She tried to call out to him but her voice got stuck in her throat and instead she made a funny, wheezing sound, as if she'd just been punched in the stomach.

One of the officers opened the door to the police car, and the other two led Ashton over. At this moment Ashton scanned his surroundings, turning back towards the house. His eyes locked with hers, dark with defeat but also an underlying defiance. He communicated wordlessly with her, trying to give her a reassuring look that everything would be alright. But he only had seconds before the officer pushed his head down into the car, and slammed the door shut. Then she could only see his silhouette and the black bars across the window. The remaining officers climbed into the suv, gravel crunching underneath the vehicle's tires as it left the driveway, turning onto the main road.

Marina waited until it was safe and the car was just a speck in the distance, then she ran down the stairs to the three boys remaining in the driveway, her rapid footfalls quickly closing the space between them.

"Is he gonna be ok? What's going on?" she asked, tears already streaming down her face.

Both Luke and Michael put their arms around her instantly. She buried her face in the sleeve of Luke's leather jacket.

"Looks like Parsons snitched," Calum said, crossing his arms, face stony.

[randomvarious]

Arthur Lyman Group - “Taboo” Shaken Not Stirred Song released in 1958. Compilation released in 1996. Exotica / Lounge / Experimental

So, there was this big Polynesian cultural boom in the U.S. in the late 50s and early 60s. Wanna know why? World War II vets. All those guys who were stationed in the South Pacific brought back with them a real appreciation for a bunch of different aspects of island culture. And some of those things really managed to permeate American culture, too, after about a decade. Hawaiian shirts, tiki bars, and surfing were some of the biggest examples. And on the musical front, a bunch of surf rock songs were implementing that wavy reverb sound that we all tend to naturally associate with images of Hawaii (listen from about the 25-second mark to the 40-second mark on this one if you’re not sure what I’m talking about). On top of that, in that timespan, Hawaii was campaigning to become a state and then became one, so that also probably sparked some added interest from non-Hawaiians in a formerly-exotic-and-now-suddenly-American culture. You can just picture the black-and-white newscasts with bullet-point-listed graphics with headings like “Who Are Hawaiians and What Do They Do for Fun?”

This sudden popular wave of Americanized Polynesian culture would prove fortuitous for the music genre known as exotica, too. Though mostly thought of as novelty, it still managed to sell really well. Exotica wasn’t purely Polynesian or Hawaiian though, and it probably still would’ve existed without as much American interest as it ended up garnering. It had a much broader scope, basically representing any sound thought to have come from the tropics, whether they actually did or not. And the genre’s king ended up being a Hawaiian guy named Arthur Lyman. 

Lyman’s music represented a mix of cool jazz and tropical sounds. And although many critics dismissed his tunes as inauthentic and kitsch, he was truly a master of both the vibraphone and marimba. Most vibes and marimba players were two-mallet guys, but Lyman managed to be a four-mallet guy, sporting a pair of mallets in each hand, that, when held right, could manifest the loveliest combinations of ringing, reverberating chords.

Look at him feeling it on this slow number:

Lyman would begin his career in Martin Denny’s band, the man who was known as the father of exotica (he’s not actually the father of the genre, though. That title should belong to Les Baxter). But soon after joining Denny, Lyman would leave and start his own band and thus become Denny’s fiercest competitor. In 1958, Lyman released his spectacular debut album, Taboo, which sold something like two million copies and hit #4 on the US Billboard charts. Contained on that album is, naturally, its title track.

What boggles my mind is how Taboo ended up selling millions of copies. I mean, it’s a weird album, and I like weird stuff, but you have to wonder what kind of vibe a significant chunk of Americans were on in the late 50s to make such a weird album like this go to #4 in the country. That’s a pretty remarkable achievement for any album, much less one that sounds as strange as this one does..But maybe Americans really just couldn’t get enough of the sounds of the tropics. I dunno.

Regardless, “Taboo” ended up being one of Lyman’s most celebrated songs. It’s exotica and it’s lounge and it’s in distinct parts. Some parts sound tailored to the cosmopolitan and open-minded, hipster-leaning frat brother type and the other to the unhygienic, bongo-obsessed, beatnik slob  You could play it in a swanky bachelor pad or in a starving artist’s hovel. Both settings were somehow appropriate. Made for taking in a nice cocktail or, alternatively, a nice cocktail of inexpensive street drugs. Your choice.

A fun fact about this song is if you listen closely, you can hear those corrugated bamboo sticks passing from the left ear to the right ear and back again. And that’s not because of the mixing. This was the pre-stereo, high-fidelity days. The musicians are literally running back and forth across the stage to play their instrument into different mics to yield a surround sound feeling. And the overall sound quality and acoustics on this are absolutely pristine for 1950s recordings, thanks to Lyman being allowed to record in Harry Kaiser’s aluminum dome auditorium in Honolulu for free.

Although the glut of Lyman’s catalogue would be celebrated for how his chilly  vibraphone rode over tropical rhythms, “Taboo” stands out for the bongo sessions, the flute, and just its overall unpredictability. The verse-chorus-verse formula is not something that typically suited Lyman well, unless he was recording covers (check out this sweet, subdued version of “Sunny,” for example). Here, we start with something almost conventional-sounding as Lyman and his band toy with volume by starting out soft and getting increasingly louder and more dramatic. Then we head for a sharp transition to tribal and furious bongo slaps and taps, which is then followed by a sedate section of breathy, snake charmer’s flute work. And of course, there’s bird calls and other whooping animal noises mixed in. It wouldn’t be an Arthur Lyman original without those. Those are all human-generated sounds, by the way.

Still confused as to how this was ever remotely popular and managed to garner such mass appeal though. It appears that despite how ordinary and white picket fence-y America seemed to be at the time, and contrary to what history often tells us, the 1950s were actually quite a wild and weird time for a lot of folks.

The first song off the first album from this god of exotica.

[crystalnet]

Pop Music in Ghibli

If you mention Ghibli and soundtracks in the same breath to most people, the first thing they will likely think of is Joe Hisaishi-senpai’s prodigious and immaculate compositions, BUT it occurred to me recently that there’s actually a great amount of pop music showing up in a handful of some of my very favorite Ghibli films. They’re more rare compared to the instrumental tracks, sure, but in that way it might be even be more impactful-- especially for plebeians without an ear for vocal-less music-- when they do show up. Click through as I explore pop music in 5 Ghibli classics. 

#1- The Wind Rises: ‘ "Hikōki-gumo" (ひこうき雲) by Yumi Matsutoya

Okay so hearing this song on a recent viewing of this film was the whole impetus for writing this. By hugely influential and popular song-writer Yumi Matsutoya, this closing-credits track drops just in time for a full fatality against the viewers’ emotional fortitude- if it remains in tact at all by that point. Between the bittersweet lyrics-- which corresponds beautifully with a plot point from the end of the film-- a righteous hammond organ part and this heart-breaking melody, it all just becomes a bit too much, in a great way. 

Mrs. Matsutoya here is outright indecent towards our emotions here. And I love it. In addition to that, the track counts as only one of a few instances of a pop song in a Ghibli joint serving as the closing track. So uh yeah, go down a rabbit hole of Matsutoya’s music if you wanna explore the wonderful world of vintage J-pop/city pop etc., and you will not be disappoint. Also, this isn’t even the first time one of her songs was used... her debut in Ghibli occured 2 decades earlier in....

#2- Kiki’s Delivery Service: ‘I’m Gonna Fly”- Sydney Forester

Okay, so this is not another Matsutoya song. But in the original Disney release of Kiki, this song stood in for what was in the Japanese release a rather different, rockabilly-pop song from one of Matsutoya’s early albums ‘Rouge no Dengon‘, and this has since been corrected on subsequent releases. Tonally they are pretty different, but they both share a level of charm. This English replacement is way cornier though, but I imagine whichever one you grow up with will be the superior and preferable dose of nostalgia. I’m tainted by living with the original 90s English version for so long, that I get really thrown off in the first 20 minutes if, mid-maiden voyage, Kiki turns on her radio to Matsutoya instead of this funny little stand-in.

Speaking of Kiki’s radio, this is one of only TWO instances I’m aware of in which the pop song is diegetic within the film-- meaning it actually comes from a source within the actual world of the movie-- at least sort of (it’s that kinda pseudo-diegesis where the volume of the song makes it clear that it can’t actually be coming from her little radio). This song just really has a kind of saccharine horse-girl charm which I love and I feel like it matches the movie’s atmosphere pretty well despite being modern sounding, whereas Kiki’s world seems to be vaguely set in a version of the.... 50′s where dirigibles never went away? Never really thought about it actually. 

But yeah, these weird contract-based one-off recording artist concoctions are always kinda fun. They remind me of weird tracks from the Detective Conan opening themes where you just wonder about how and why they come about. Ultimately though, Disney probably made a good choice. The song occurs early enough in the film that it might do some work towards dissuading any reservations younger viewer-- or their parents-- might have after wading into such a then-exotic animated film such as this. It gently reassures one that despite appearances, this film CAN be a movie for English-speaking Americans. Plus I mean this lady’s voice actually rocks. I feel like it helped sell the movie to my older Jewel-listening sisters when we were kids and for that I’m grateful~

#3- Only Yesterday: “Omoide No Nagisa”- The Wild Ones  (and much much more)

Okay so Only Yesterday is stuffed to the brim with tons of pop music and other cultural ephemera, far too much for me to parse through now (maybe deserving of its own deep-dive post) but I’ll focus on one that shows up early in the movie.

(This isn’t full track, for some reason the only full version on youtube will not embed: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MRlKvOiXgjo

This track plays during one of the early memoir-esque narration-heavy flashback scenes. It’s before we are fully thrust into those more washed-out, impressionistic coming-of-age sequences, and are being lead gently into that world by way of recollection from the now adult protagonist. She is remembering the craze in 1966 around “group-sounds”, a genre in Japan that was clearly partly indebted to the British Invasion happening on the other side of the world. 

I like the song a lot because I can hear the Beatles, Kinks and Monkeys etc., but it has it’s own really unique flair on top of that influence. I hear smokey curry and coffee shops. Fuzzy bunny-eared television signals. I think of young fresh-faced Japanese Boomers experiencing a newly technicolor world of pop-culture. The echo on the mic pick-ups whirs in my mind pulling me back toward a “simpler time”. 

The appearance of this song early on is a tip-off to the unfurling of a particularly globally-minded and varied soundtrack in this film which continues to surprise throughout the runtime-- it is my second favorite Ghibli soundtrack after ‘Totoro’ by far and that usually has to do with the incredible Bulgarian choir music that appears, but stuff like this Wild Ones track is just great too. Whether the male-lead/love-interest is playing that Bulgarian “peasant music” via his Toyota’s cassette player or we are getting a history lesson in early J-pop/rock, it’s all particularly tasty. There’s even a couple appearances from music from Japanese children’s television.

A lot of the referencing is nigh impossible for this westerner to parse, but all of it--save for one track-- is pretty ace. That one let-down for me is yet another pop song in the form of the ending credit-sequence track, a Japanese cover of ‘The Rose’. I think Bette Midler is just not a tasty association for an American of my ilk and so even if the rendition is tasteful, and the ending scene is beautiful, it remains the only time I’m let down sonically in the movie. 

Before I move on, it’s worth mentioning that the movie itself may be named after an American film OR a song by the Carpenters. I can’t be sure, but I kinda wish they actually used this Carpenters track to close the film instead of ‘The Rose’ but maybe it was a licensing issue. Anyhow. Perfect movie. 

#4- Whisper of the Hear: “Take Me Home, Country Roads”- John Denver/Olivia Newton John/Various

Okay so the way this song factors into the movie is way different than anything else we’ve discussed so far. I’ll embed the Olivia Newton-John rendition that the film opens with as opposed to the Japanese version that plays in the ending, because uh, as cute as it is, the vocalist (who I think is just the main-character’s voice actress?) is pitchy as hell (maybe in a twee, intentional way?) 

But so yeah, this song is a big part of an initial and reoccurring plot-point in the film which has the young protag. translating the American song into Japanese with her school friends. It’s a slightly illegible plot-point if you watch the English dub, but it basically comes across. According to Wiki, the producer of the film’s daughter actually supplied her lyrics which Mr. Hayao himself supplemented, which is just too cute. In the film, her version is called ‘Concrete Roads’ which has some nice thematic resonance with a lot of the angst that shows up in ‘Pom Poko’ regarding the suburban developments which sprawled out from Tokyo and other major Japanese cities throughout the 20th cent., encroaching on that same beautiful countryside that John Denver was initially sending up.

In a climactic scene, the protag. nervously but triumphantly sings the song along with her magic-boy boyfriend and his grampa’s grampa-friends, and uh yeah it’s cute as heck. 

The film is based on a manga, and though I’m too lazy to research this much, I assume the manga was the first to introduce the concept of centering so much of the story around a relatively benign country-pop tune such as this. But I mean, the choral arrangement in the intro of Newton-John’s is kinda emotional as hell. Mountain-momma indeed. 

#5- My Neighbor Totoro: Ending Theme- I don’t know...

Alright we’ll end with a sampling from the best of the best. I’m not gonna force too much “research” for this ‘cause like, I don’t know man, I just don’t wanna do anything that would remotely threaten to extinguish the magic. And I refuse to ever listen to the abomination that is the Disney re-dub. But I understand they re-recorded these tracks for that. Which, like, why? I’m also assuming the songs were pretty faithful translations of original Japanese tracks, because they’re just too good to have just been created for the western release. Like Hisaishi has to be behind those kalimbas and synth-lines. The lady’s voice basically sounds like my mom to me(?) and the dusty patina on her vocal-track alone kinda makes me wanna weep. 

And I kinda hate when people just joylessly parrot internet meme terms, but this song is what I would be unable to not describe as a “bop”. I mean the drums alone rip. 

This song has a sister-track in the form of an introductory credit-sequence song which accompanies a ridiculously cute visualizer, and they’re both just perfect matches for the joyful, innocent and exuberant nature of the film itself. Elsewhere on the OST, this is basically the last time that I’m aware of Hisaishi using synthesizers and it’s just glorious. Get this man on drum-machines and synths again! So uh yeah, I mean it’s all just great. What else could I say? Best soundtrack of all time period. Full stop. The end. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ok that’s that. Keep in mind, there’s like a small hanful of Ghibli I still haven’t seen so there could be some major instance I’m missing but uh, maybe I’ll update if one day I find out there’s a straight up Utada Hikaru song in ‘Princess Kaguya’. Oh and uh yeah there’s this one in ‘When Marnie Was There’ by one Priscilla Ahn . It’s like a b-side of the Kiki song but not as good as that makes it sound like it’d be. But it’s horse-girl-core as hell. So uh yeah.

see ya space cowboy~

[jungcupid-archive]

i dare you (to never let me go)

pairing: jungkook x jimin               jungkook x taehyung (subplot)

summary: and after all that had passed, jungkook would always be pulled back to jimin. he didn’t know why, maybe it was fate (or maybe it was his 9-year-old daughter).

chapter: 4/?

+

    “Mina!” Jungkook sang as he closed the front door, “I’m home and I’m ready to party!”

     Jungkook felt terrible about leaving Mina alone for so long, not to mention extremely anxious, so he planned to spend as much time as possible with Mina for the rest of her birthday. Hopefully, she’d be up for Cheesy Cheesecakes today.

     “Daddy!” Mina exclaimed from the living room, she came running to the door and Jungkook crouched down to receive her hug. “I missed you!”

      Jungkook kissed the top of Mina’s head and murmured a quiet “I missed you too” into her hair. He took a look at her watery eyes and gave her a soft smile.

      “Did you read the letter?” Mina nodded and her eyes glinted in a fashion Jungkook had never seen before. Without saying anything, she reached for his hand and tugged his fist open.

     “This is so pretty,” Mina said absentmindedly while stroking the silver ring on Jungkook’s finger. He’d taken to wearing the wedding ring around a chain on his neck now so that it was closer to his heart, but he’d never quite found it in himself to take off that particular ring.

     Suddenly, Mina’s gaze sharpened and she looked up from Jungkook’s hand and into his eyes, “Is this your engagement ring?”

     Jungkook tried not to frown, Mina had never asked about his ring before. He thought back to the letter and wondered exactly what Taehyung had told her. “No, sweetheart, it’s from an old friend of mine.”

     “Really? Who? You don’t really have any friends here,” Mina cocked her head to the side inquisitively and Jungkook couldn’t help but think that she was asking a question she already knew the answer to. He stood up and slipped off his shoes, taking long steps towards the stairs with Mina patiently walking beside him.

     “What did your Daddy tell you?” Jungkook asked suspiciously, tickling Mina’s side. She swatted him away while giggling.

     “You know I’m not going to tell you! Come on, talk to me Daddy! You weren’t here all day,” Mina tugged on Jungkook’s arm as they climbed up the stairs. Jungkook scoffed, wondering if Mina had been taking online guilt-tripping classes lately.

     “Fine, he was just a friend from somewhere else. We knew each other when were in high school… and in University.” Jungkook came to a stop at the top of the stairs and looked at his fingers, he twisted the ring a couple of times and then caught himself, letting his hand fall back down. He wasn’t ready to talk to this Jimin about that Jimin. Not yet, anyways.

     When they arrived in his bedroom, Mina started tugging on his hand again, “Then where was he from? And you can’t not tell me, it’s my birthday!”

     “Well,” Jungkook picked Mina up and put her on the chair next to his mirror, “that’s the thing. I don’t know. Let’s leave it at that, okay?” Jungkook quickly changed out of his clothes and ran a hand through his hair to let it run wild again. God, he hated styling it for work. He always looked so old.

      “Now, as I recall, I still owe someone a trip to Cheesy Cheesecakes!” Jungkook smiled slyly and picked Mina up, feigning a groan as he did. “You’re getting too tall to carry, Min-ah.”

     “Maybe you’re just out of shape,” Mina shot back, sticking out her tongue. “Daddy, we’ll go to Cheesy Cheesecakes later tonight. Right now, I want to dance!”

      Jungkook held Mina with one arm and pulled out his phone to check the time with the other. It was only 12:30. Once they’d reached the bottom of the stairs, Jungkook put her down and bowed, “As you wish m’lady. Go down, I’ll be there soon. I’ve just got to call Grandma, okay?”

     He picked up the phone and dialed, holding it to his ear as he watched Mina open the door to the basement and skip down the stairs.

     9 years old, huh? Maybe he was getting old.

 -

     Mina was already prancing and spinning around when Jungkook ended his call and joined her in their at-home studio. When Mina had first started dancing, Jungkook had decided to create a space for her where she could practice. The basement was perfect, seeing as no one used it. He’d had the flooring done and had placed a large glass mirror on one wall. The installation had cost him most of his good-quality paints, some luxury brand clothes he’d gotten as gifts back in University and about one third of his gold jewelry but seeing Mina’s face light up at the sight of her very own practice studio was priceless.

      He remembered the day after everything had been installed. Jungkook had whipped out his cheap acrylics and with Mina’s help, had decorated the walls with random doodles and words. It felt less empty to have pieces of themselves on the walls.

     Mina was bopping along to the music without a care in the world. No matter how many times he saw her, Mina never failed to impress him with how talented she was despite her young age. She moved with the grace of a seasoned professional and knew so many different styles of dance that it was getting hard for Jungkook to keep track of them all.

     Jungkook hadn’t been crazy about dance himself until University. Until Jimin. Jimin had taught him how to move with the music instead of to the music, he’d realized how relaxing it was. How good it felt to be caught up in a routine. When Mina had showed some interest in dance, Jungkook had enrolled her into ballet classes. Somehow, she mastered the basics and went on to learn some more advanced stuff in just under a year. After that, he put her in any class she wanted. She’d done jazz, quickstep, ballroom, lyrical, and so many more. Currently, she was enrolled in hip-hop, which she was picking up just as fast as she’d picked up the other styles.

     Mina never took off her tutu from ballet, though. She always wore it in every class she attended despite getting reprimanded several times for arriving in inappropriate attire. She wore it over sweatpants and shorts and tights and jeans, in fact, she was wearing it right now.

     Jungkook crept behind her and picked her up swiftly, swinging her from side to side and making her laugh uncontrollably. She fought her way to the ground and began striking poses to the beat that had Jungkook throwing back his head to laugh at. The music was loud, almost overpowering. Mina had set it to the highest possible volume, but it had never bothered the two of them.

     They danced together for so long that eventually, Jungkook had to turn the music down and force Mina to take a break. He rolled her a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and got on for himself. They sat down with their backs to the mirror and Jungkook rolled the bottle up and down his legs, eyes closing in satisfaction at the DIY massage. Mina tapped on Jungkook’s knee and he opened his eyes, looking at her.

     “Let’s play a game!”

     “Are you serious?” Jungkook laughed. He poured a tiny amount of cold water into his hand and gently rubbed Mina’s face with it, wiping her sweat clean. She dried her face with her sleeve and nodded.

     “Yeah! But, like, a low-energy one because you’re old and tired,” Mina shrugged her shoulders when Jungkook, offended, put a hand to his chest. “I only tell the truth.”

     Jungkook pressed his water bottle to his neck one last time and then placed it beside him, “Alright, what do you want to play with this old and tired man?”

     “A word game! We learned it at school. So basically, I say something and you have to say the first thing that pops into your mind when you hear it, okay?”

     Jungkook, confused (but not that confused, because he never really understood kids’ games anyways), nodded, “Okay, shoot.”

     “Dance!”

     “Tired.”

     “Cake!”

     “Cheese.”

     “Mina!”

     “Love.”

     Mina poked Jungkook’s belly, “Don’t be a sap. Um, art!”

     “Feeling.”

     “Jimin!”

     “Park.” Jungkook paused, turning to look at Mina.

      “Park Jimin? Who’s that?” Mina asked innocently. Jungkook groaned internally and reprimanded himself for being so stupid. “Daddy?”

     “It’s… that’s not what I meant, um. I meant park as in a playground? Because your name is Jimin, right? And you always go to the park-”

     “Not that often.”

     “Well, yeah, but you do go so-”

     “The best grandma in the entire world has arrived, my babies,” a voice called from the stairs. They both turned to look at Hyejung coming down the stairs with a box in her hand. “Happy birthday, Mina!”

     Jungkook thanked the gods for his mother and her impeccable timing. Mina ran to Hyejung and gasped when she saw the box.

     “A Cheesy Cheesecake?!” She shrieked in delight and threw her arms around Hyejung. Jungkook smiled at her in greeting and was met with a raised eyebrow. Clearly, she’d heard some of their conversation. Jungkook shook his head and waved a hand dismissively, getting up from his position. Mina seemed to be telling Hyejung something and when they pulled apart, Hyejung had a sly look on her face.

     She beckoned Jungkook over, took a sniff of his shirt and instantly recoiled.

     “It’s like you’re a pre-teen all over again, do you even put on deodorant?” Hyejung asked, handing him the cake box.

     “Of course I do! We’ve been dancing for 2 hours, mom, what did you expect?” Jungkook huffed, leading the two of them upstairs.

     “I expected you to have bathed before I arrived so as not to hinder my sensory experience in your household. Did you know associating bad smells with certain places make you not want to go there anymore?” Hyejung gestured to Mina to go to the kitchen and then turned back to Jungkook, “Go take a shower.”

     Jungkook nearly laughed in disbelief, “You’re kidding, right? Where are you pulling these facts from? I demand to see proof – mom! Stop walking away!”

     “If I see you before it’s been a full hour, I’m sending you back,” Hyejung called over her shoulder. She disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Jungkook to trudge up the stairs.

     “That’s a waste of water,” he muttered uselessly, but headed to his room to grab a towel and some clothes nonetheless.

 -

     “The curious case of Park Jimin is what I call it,” Mina declared, shoving another piece of Cheesecake in her mouth. She was sitting on top of the island, her feet on the stool and the cake on her lap. She couldn’t believe her Daddy refused to talk about Park Jimin so intently, all her efforts were going down the drain! Mina looked at her Grandma, who seemed to still be processing the information she’d just been bombarded with.

     “We need to find him, grandma. Do you think we can?” Mina felt helpless. How was she supposed to find a man who didn’t want to be found? She violently put another piece of cake into her mouth.

     “Mina, slow down,” Hyejung warned with wary eyes, “And I’m not sure. It’s been many years since I last spoke to him and he was never clear about his past. I can only think of one way to try, but it’s a longshot.”

      She thought for a minute with her eyes closed and then opened them back up, looking straight at Mina, “Alright, we need to find a way to get your daddy to leave. Can you do that?”

      Mina’s fingers tingled with excitement and she straightened up, a chaotic grin planting itself on her face. “Oh yeah, don’t worry about that.”

     “Tomorrow?”

     “Tomorrow.”

     Mina scanned the counter for the phone and grabbed it from its position, placing her cake to the side. She had a call to make.

     Jungkook couldn’t stop thinking about Park Jimin.

     Losing a best friend was painful enough on its own but thinking that you were over it and then being reminded of said best friend only to find that you were not, in fact, over it was a different kind of painful.

     Jungkook towel-dried his wet hair and looked at himself in the mirror. He had noticeable dark circles under his eyes and a few wrinkles were visible near the corners of his mouth. Although his skin still looked young, he couldn’t help but think it was a trick. One of those “look too closely and you’ll see what’s really underneath the exterior” illusions. Jungkook felt tired. Period. He’d been so caught up at the office lately and keeping up with the energy of a 9-year-old was no easy feat. It was Mina’s birthday today, though, and Jungkook wanted to be there for her. Especially because of his absence in the morning.

     Jungkook briefly let himself wonder where Jimin was right now. Whether or not he had a family of his own, if he was worried about getting old and examining the lines on his face, if he thought about Jungkook from time to time. Before his mind could take him any further, Jungkook snapped out of it. His daughter would have his undivided attention today, not anybody else. He hung his towel to dry and slipped out of the bathroom.

     As soon as Jungkook reached downstairs, he groaned. “Mom! You’re not supposed to let her have dessert before dinner! You know she gets too full and doesn’t eat her dinner and then it takes forever to get her to sleep because she’s too high on sugar.”

     Hyejung checked her watch and nodded in approval, “One hour and two minutes. Good job.”

     “Mother,” Jungkook said reproachfully. Hyejung just shrugged.

     “I tried to stop her.”

     “No you didn’t!” Mina exclaimed, scandalized. Jungkook tugged the box out of her hands only to find there was only one piece left about an inch wide. He sighed and silently accepted his future of having to a wrestle a slightly crazed Mina into bed.

     After discussing why Hyejung had brought the cake (“I picked it up on my way here because I love my granddaughter.”) and why she’d allowed Mina to eat all of it (“It’s her birthday, of course I’m letting her eat it all. You not getting any is an added bonus.”), Jungkook flicked Mina on the forehead and sat down on a stool next to his mother.

     “You know,” Hyejung started in a tone Jungkook hadn’t heard a lot of since high school, “Mina’s 9 now.”

     Jungkook, knowing what was about to come next, replied, “Contrary to popular belief, I do know how to count.”

     Hyejung twisted Jungkook’s earlobe without looking at him and continued speaking, ignoring his cries of pain, “Maybe it’s time you get out there again. Start dating.”

     Jungkook rubbed his poor ear and looked to Mina for sympathy, she snorted and made a move towards the cake again. Traitor.

     “Mom, you know I don’t want that.”

     “I think you do.”

     “You can’t possibly know what goes on in my head-”

     “When your father left us, I started dating someone else within a week.”

     Jungkook held back from rolling his eyes, “Okay, first of all, you got divorced. Do I have to bring up why you got divorced in front of my daughter for you to come to your senses?” Jungkook’s father had left his mother because his mother, as it turned out, had “fallen in love” with another man. Jungkook’s father found out and a week after he left them, Hyejung started dating the other man. A week after that, they broke up. So sue Jungkook for not taking relationship advice from his mother seriously.

     He’d never blamed his mom for driving his father away, though. He’d always been a major dick.

     Hyejung cleared her throat, “I would like if you refrained from doing so.” Jungkook raised his eyebrow in a that’s-what-I-thought kind of way.

     “You’ve got a date tomorrow.” Jungkook whipped his head up to look at Mina. She licked her fork clean, placed it in the box and slid across the island to sit right in front of Jungkook. Her expression was nonchalant, bored, even.

     “How… what?” Jungkook asked, dumbfounded. He was too afraid to address how Mina even knew what a date was. “Since when do you set me up on dates?”

     Mina grinned devilishly and ruffled Jungkook’s hair like he was some sort of puppy, “Since Jisung from school told me that his mom thought you were really cute!”

     Jungkook felt like the 9-year-old instead of Mina, being talked to like this. He tugged Mina’s hand away from his hair and looked at her, squinting suspiciously. 

     “Did Jisung ask you out or something?”

     “Daddy! Not the point! Also, ew! The point is that you’re going on a date with his mom tomorrow, deal?” Jungkook didn’t know what to do. In the span of a minute or so, he’d learned that not only did Mina know what a date was but, she’d started playing cupid for him. Maybe it wasn’t that hard to believe, considering what he, himself, had known when he was her age. The school field was more educational than any teacher at that age.

      Maybe he should talk to her teacher about the students in her class…

    Jungkook sighed. Or maybe, that was his crazy parent brain talking. Exposure from the outside world was always good, he knew that, he just didn’t want Mina learning anything that was inaccurate, inappropriate or inconsiderate. Ah yes, the three ‘in’s.

     It’s not that Jungkook was uncomfortable with the idea that Mina was growing up, he just… didn’t want it to happen. He wanted Mina to be his kid forever. She never asked about her real parents, was never impolite and always came to him to talk about things she couldn’t talk to anybody else about. Jungkook would obviously tell Mina about her parents if she wanted that, and he’d respect her privacy and need for space when the time came, but he didn’t want her to grow apart from him.

     Maybe it was selfish, but he thought he could afford to be a little selfish when it came to his daughter.

     “So, you set me up. On a date. Tomorrow.”

     “Yup. I called Jisung and you and his mom are supposed to meet at that coffee place near the school tomorrow at 10 in the morning. So get some sleep! Big day tomorrow!” Mina’s eyes sparkled with something more than excitement.

     Jungkook felt a little blindsided and could only murmur something about “…birthday… stay up… party… only 4 o’clock…” as Hyejung pushed him away, telling him to go to bed.

     “I’ll get her ready for bed when it’s time. And I’ll lock up before I go,” Hyejung assured him.

     Jungkook shook his head, wondering if this was some alternate universe, but obliged and went to brush his teeth nonetheless.

     He couldn’t do this. He just couldn’t. Starting out with someone new like this after all these years, it just didn’t feel right. He didn’t know how to protest, though. He didn’t have anything to do tomorrow and saying that he wanted to spend the day with his daughter would earn him a tiny fist in his arm and a bruised ego after being called different variations of “lame”. He felt nowhere near ready, but he couldn’t let Mina down.

     As soon as Jungkook had finished brushing his teeth, he practically threw his bedroom door wide open and melted underneath his sheets. Exhaustion took over in a matter of seconds, pulling at his eyelids in a way he’d been restraining them from doing for the past month. Sleep took him before he knew it.

 -

     “So, that was the plan?”

     “Yeah! Now you have to tell me your plan.”

     Hyejung nodded and pulled Mina into her side, sinking into the couch to get more comfortable.

     “Okay, sweetheart, here’s the deal…”

 -

     The next morning, Mina and Hyejung were bent on herding Jungkook out of the house as quick as they could.

     “Mother, at least let me put my socks on!” Jungkook was struggling to sit on the edge of his bed as Mina pushed him from behind and Hyejung nagged him about being late from in front of him. His voice was reaching an indignant squeak.

     Hyejung had arrived at exactly 8:30 AM and had proceeded knock for 2 minutes straight on Jungkook’s door to wake him up. He’d opened his door with murder evident in his bleary eyes and had been promptly tossed into the bathroom, a towel and some clothes thrown in right after him. Then, for the final touch, Mina had popped up from nowhere and had given him a little wave before closing the door and yelling at him to put on some cologne.

     They were insane, Jungkook decided as he finally pulled his left sock on and speed-walked out the room. Certifiably insane.

     “Come on, daddy! You can’t let Jisung down! Or his dad. His dad is probably more important not to let down, okay let’s go!” Mina shoved Jungkook out the door as soon as he’d put his shoes on and Jungkook looked at her and his mother standing in the doorway.

     “You really want me gone that fast?” Jungkook asked, trying not to wince at the faint ringing of truth in his voice.

     Hyejung’s eyes crinkled in amusement, but her lips remained flat. She waved her hands airily, “Nonsense, we just want you to have fun.”

     “Good luck!” Mina yelled happily, then she promptly shut the door. Jungkook felt like he was going to throw up. He hadn’t been on a date since Taehyung passed. That was… a lot of time. Yet it didn’t feel like enough. He squared his shoulders, re-tucked his shirt into his jeans and began walking to the coffee shop. Just a few hours, he’d get through this. For Mina.

+

[reddielibrary]

My lonely heart calls

Prompt: “Listen, I know I originally came over here to talk about the noise but OMG you are so high right now like how are you even standing so no objections because I’m taking care of you until you’re sober" AU

Written by: Alexis | @quixoticquest

Word count: 3903

*click title to read on ao3

The eighties had not been a fun time for Eddie Kaspbrak. In fact, he preferred to forget the decade altogether. The local top forty radio station begged to differ, though, and wouldn’t you know, that’s what most people wanted to listen to when he was chauffeuring them around in a limousine. Jackson, Collins, Benatar and Gabriel all competing to make Eddie relive the worst years of his life. His only reprieve came at home, in the privacy of his apartment, where he was free to listen to whatever he wanted, eat cereal for dinner, and turn in at nine thirty promptly.

Unless it was Thursday night.

Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down Letting the days go by, water flowing underground Into the blue again, after the money's gone Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground

Eddie groaned, throwing himself back against his couch. It had been like this for three weeks now. Like clockwork. Every Thursday, about an hour after he got home, the music would start in the next apartment over. Some eighties-loving sociopath and his endless collection of synth-saturated music that had come out when Eddie was a kid.

The only reason he hadn’t complained yet was because he was new to the apartment complex. Eddie had gained a reputation at his old place for being the overbearing neighbor, and he hadn’t even realized until he’d called the landlord over a party full of people not even five years younger than him. He wondered what kind of crusty curmudgeon he’d turned into, at the ripe old age of twenty-four - also, why wasn’t he getting invited to parties like that?

This time, though, it was personal. There was no reason to be blasting music, no matter what awful decade, on a weeknight. Noise curfew wasn’t in effect for another few hours, but Eddie had time to kill, and he couldn’t hear Seinfeld.

He marched himself over to the adjacent apartment, fists balled and ready for knocking. Here, the Talking Heads’s redundant lyrics were louder than ever.

Same as it ever was Same as it ever was Same as it ever was Same as it-

Eddie pounded on the door, just hard enough to drown out the words, but not the thumping bass. By the end of it, his knuckles ached as he cradled his hand to his chest, but the distinct sound of approaching footsteps could be heard from inside, so he had succeeded either way.

The door swung open, and a full frontal barrage of music hit Eddie square in the face - right alongside a thick cloud of earthy musk.

“Hey, neighbor, what can I do ya for?” the tenant drawled, just loud enough to be heard as he pushed his glasses up with the back of his hand.

And you may ask yourself Where does that highway go to? And you may ask yourself Am I right? Am I wrong? And you may say to yourself,

"My God! What have I done?" Eddie wondered.

His mother’s voice came screeching from some dark corner of his mind. WEED?! In my house?! Not that this was Eddie’s house, or even his apartment, or that he had ever touched the stuff. More likely than anything, he’d be dead if Sonia Kaspbrak had caught him high, stoned, or otherwise.

“Are you okay?” Eddie pronounced over the song, feeling his priorities shift from angry neighbor to medic. Just the sight of the guy - red-rimmed eyes magnified by dorky specs, leaning dangerously in the doorway - was enough to have all Eddie’s deeply ingrained warning bells going off.

“Better than ever, now that you’re here. Finally it’s a party.” Neighbor dude grinned so wide Eddie thought his cheeks might split open. “Do you want to come in? I’ve got some chips and Fanta - ooh, sorry, Orange Crush. Hope that’s not a dealbreaker.”

“Thanks very much.” Eddie barrelled past without much ceremony - thinking maybe he shouldn’t be so eager to act like he owned the place, but he had been invited inside after all.

Better yet, he could turn down the music himself.

“I’m Richie,” the stoned idiot stated as he shuffled down the front hall, while Eddie searched for a stereo. “I think I helped you bring in a box of baking supplies when you moved in.”

“Oh yeah, I remember.” Eventually Eddie pulled his shirt collar when the skunky stench became a bit too much. “I’m Eddie.”

“Nice to meetcha proper, Eddie. Glad to put a face to a KitchenAid mixer to a name.”

Eddie eventually found the big stereo system behind the couch, complete with speakers and a big honking volume dial that he used to turn the music down far enough that he could barely hear the Huey Lewis song that came on next.

“Hey hey hey! What are you doing?” Richie demanded, landing hard enough on the couch to send it teetering in Eddie’s direction for a single, terrifying moment. “You can’t just waltz into a man’s home and turn off his music! Didn’t your mama teach you manners?”

“It’s too loud,” Eddie answered, feeling himself slow his words as he stared down those bloodshot eyes (as if he was talking to a non-English speaker, and not a stoner). “That’s why I came over here, to ask if you’d turn it down.”

“Well I don’t have to turn it off. Noise curfew isn’t until ten.”

Eddie sighed, and reached for the dial again. He cranked the song as loud as he dared.

Don't need money, don't take fame Don't need no credit card to ride this train It's strong and it's sudden and it's cruel sometimes But it might just save your life That's the power of love

“Is that okay?” he asked.

“I can live with that.” Richie flopped away to lie on his back, humming along to the instrumental section. “Hey, do you want to smoke?”

“No,” Eddie said immediately - which made him realize his next order of business.

“Actually,” he went on, rounding the couch in search of paraphernalia, “where’s your, uh, blunt? Joint? Bong?”

“Uhhhhh.” Richie stared at him for a couple seconds, and finally pointed over toward the window at the back of the apartment. “My bowl is over there.”

“Thanks.”

The glass tube didn’t look anything like what Eddie was used to from pot (not that he had very much experience), but there was definitely marijuana in it, smoldering remnants releasing dank smoke into the evening air. Eddie opened the window wider, dumped out the contents of the bowl onto the fire escape, and pocketed the thing.

Eddie’s experience with marijuana began and ended catching a whiff of it off certain students in college. He knew sometimes his friend Bill smoked, but other than that Eddie had, and wanted, nothing to do with it.

He had, however, helped his friends through drunken stupors and hangovers on many occasions. This couldn’t be that different, right? They were both drugs. He’d just stay to make sure Richie didn’t drown in his own vomit or anything.

“I don’t think you should smoke anymore tonight,” Eddie said as he rounded the couch again.

“Is that so?” he asked, a smirk curling into one corner of his mouth.

“Yes. You’re high as a kite, I don’t want you to go overboard.”

Richie snorted hard enough to sound like it hurt, and rolled toward the floor, laughing like a hyena. Eddie stood watching, bewildered.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll stay in me quarters, captain,” Richie answered when he had recovered, taking on some kind of pirate voice as he saluted Eddie. “Won’t be goin’ overboard this time, I’ll keep me sea legs alright.”

“...Okay,” Eddie uttered, deciding he was better off not unpacking that one. Instead, he sank into the recliner next to the couch. Both pieces of furniture did a pretty good job of framing the tiny area that constituted the den.

“Do you want to watch TV?” Eddie asked. “Seinfeld is on.”

Before Richie could answer, The Power of Love gave way to a new song: chant, and a guitar solo ripping right on after. The toked idiot scrambled to sit.

Love is like a bomb, baby, c'mon get it on Livin' like a lover with a radar phone Lookin' like a tramp, like a video vamp

“Demolition woman, can I be your man?” Richie screeched in a tone matching the singer’s, echoing himself as he air guitared with more soul than Eddie could ever dream of having.

“I hate this song,” he grumbled to himself, thinking Richie wouldn’t hear over his own rock fantasy, and the actual track.

He was wrong.

Richie gasped. “This song’s awesome!”

“The singer sounds like he’s whining,” Eddie griped, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut.

“Joe Elliott is singing his heart out. And it’s about sex, which is like, arguably more awesome than the song itself.”

I'm hot, sticky sweet From my head to my feet, yeah

“Sticky sweet from my head to my feet,” Eddie repeated dully. “How moving.”

Not to mention, Eddie wasn’t all that interested in sex with a woman to begin with, demolition or otherwise.

Richie waved his comments away with his hands, only to twist over the edge of the couch. He managed to reach the stereo, and skipped to the next song.

I've been hearing your heartbeat inside of me I keep your photo right beside my bed Livin' in a world of fantasies I can't get you out of my head

“Oh.” Eddie sat back in his chair, arms crossed. “I don’t mind Whitney Houston.”

“Don’t mind.” Richie huffed dramatically. “Is there anything you like or do you judge everything on a scale of how much you hate it?”

“I just don’t like eighties music, okay?” Eddie stated. “It’s not my thing. I like what’s popular now. Whitney’s best stuff came out this decade.”

“Well what is it? Not a fan of synthesizer stuff? Don’t like rock in general? You more of a nineties divas kind of guy?”

“No, it’s just not my thing. I guess bad associations and stuff.”

Richie tilted his head, propped up on his hand, on the armrest. “What kinds of associations?”

Eddie scoffed. “That’s a whole decade’s worth of explanation.”

“Well we got time to kill,” Richie replied, sweeping his arms around the empty apartment in a grand gesture. “Just try to keep it under a decade, I got work tomorrow.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, tonguing at his cheek to avoid a smile. Was he really about to unload on a stoned stranger why he didn’t like a particular type of music?

I get so emotional, baby Every time I think of you I get so emotional, baby Ain't it shocking what love can do?

Well, he was high off his ass. Maybe he wouldn’t remember.

“I guess I just don’t like the eighties in general,” Eddie explained, shifting to tuck his legs closer. “My mom was kind of a bitch, and I got bullied a lot. So whenever I hear any of these songs I just remember long car rides to the doctors or getting yelled at, or hiding from assholes at the arcade. Soundtrack to the worst years of my life.”

“Dude, I feel,” Richie said, a hand flying out to put on top of Eddie’s. He short-circuited for a second, and yanked his hand back to tuck under his chin. “But that’s why I like the music! It distracted me from the shit going on in my life.”

Richie jumped up on the couch, sneakers and all. Eddie jolted upright when he heard a dangerous creak of springs.

“If I was getting reamed out by my folks, or dealing with pea brain jocks at school, I knew I could always go to my room and turn on the radio at the end of the day.” Richie moved back and forth to the beat, probably stuck in some memory of being twelve and jumping up and down on his bed. “Queen, and Bowie, and Journey, and Bon Jovi raving about the underdog. It’s not all sex and love, my friend, it’s about finding your voice and powering through!”

He dove behind the couch hard enough to shake a couple shelves, and Eddie rushed to his feet to see if Richie had killed himself. But he was fine, skipping through the songs until he found what he was looking for. A rhythmic baseline resounded from the speakers.

“Ice Ice Baby?” Eddie asked after a moment, lip curled in disdain.

Richie shot to his feet. “You’re really pushing it.” He began to bob his head, mumbling along to the song, and Eddie realized he was an idiot.

Pressure! pushing down on me Pressing down on you, no man ask for Under pressure, that burns a building down Splits a family in two Puts people on streets

Richie babbled the interlude of gibberish with the singer, snapping his fingers to the beat as he gently herded Eddie back around the couch. It took him a second to realize the stoned jackass was trying to dance with him.

“No, Richie, that’s okay-”

“It's the terror of knowing what the world is about,” Richie sang, just about cornering Eddie at the coffee table. “Watching some good friends screaming ‘Let me out!’ Pray tomorrow gets me higher-”

“I pray tomorrow gets you sober,” Eddie proclaimed. Richie didn’t seem to hear him though. He was just about back to his bum-bum-bums and dee-da-dos.

The beat was pretty catchy, Eddie decided. Which was the case with a lot of eighties music, whether he liked it or not. There was a reason Vanilla Ice had sampled the bassline.

It couldn’t hurt, he also decided, if he nodded a little to the music. Richie seemed to like that, and mirrored Eddie’s awkward movements with a lot more gesticulation.

Even as he wondered whether or not he should be letting Richie move around so much, Eddie felt himself relax enough to move a little more, as much as he allowed himself without shaking the foundation. If he forgot all his obligations for a second, and his crummy childhood, then it was easy to get lost.

Can't we give ourselves one more chance?

“Why can't we give love that one more chance?” Richie caterwauled.

Why can't we give love, give love, give love, give love Give love, give love, give love, give love, give love?

They danced like dumbasses with no rhythm for as long as it took several more tracks to play on the stereo. Richie knew the words better than Eddie could ever hope to, and his voice wasn’t that great, but Eddie was happy to let him wear himself out all the same.

Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go faded out to nothing, the next song came in with a familiar voice, humming and ad libbing to the beat.

“Whitney!” Richie cried with his arms cast wide. “Your favorite!”

Eddie panted, catching his breath. “She’s not my-”

“Clock strikes upon the hour, and the sun begins to fade,” Richie crooned, singing into his fist like there was a microphone. He did a very good job matching the voices each time, even Whitney Houston’s velvety cadence. “Still enough time to figure out how to chase my blues away!”

He hopped up on the table for his performance, and this time Eddie didn’t try to stop him. Richie kicked magazines every which way as he shimmied and shook, singing his heart out.

Oh, I wanna dance with somebody I wanna feel the heat with somebody Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody-

Suddenly Richie thrust the pantomimed microphone up to Eddie’s lips. He was just lost enough in the music to open his mouth in time.

“With somebody who loves me!” Eddie exclaimed, watching as Richie grinned at him, eyes shining behind his glasses.

A second later, the microphone was cast away so that Richie could jump off the table, grabbing Eddie’s hands in exchange. Twisting to and fro, heads thrown back, to the tune of a bangin’ good song.

Doncha wanna dance with me baby? Doncha wanna dance with me boy? Hey doncha wanna dance with me baby?

“What the hell is going on?”

Eddie froze, tripping over his own feet in the process. There was another stranger standing at the foot of the front hall, keys in one hand, looking at them like they’d become a two-headed dancing monstrosity.

“Stanley! Come join us! Dance your fucking heart out!” Richie kept on rocking, but Eddie shuffled away, flushing on his neck as if he’d been caught doing something much worse.

Stanley, Edde figured, huffed, and put his things down to march into the den. “It’s almost noise curfew, Richie. You’re done for the night.” He turned the stereo off completely, much to Richie’s anguish - and, actually, a little bit to Eddie’s.

“Sorry, who are you?” Stanley asked Eddie, looking absolutely unamused.

“Oh - I’m your neighbor,” Eddie offered, wiping a bit of sweat from his hairline.

“Oh yeah. I think we’ve seen each other in the mail room.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Why are you jumping around my apartment though?”

“Uh.” Eddie glanced at Richie - only to find him slumped on the couch, already knocked out. Leaving him all alone to deal with the annoyed roommate.

“He was high,” Eddie tried, motioning to the snoozing lump that had once been a dancing, screaming idiot. “I came to ask him to turn down the music, but I didn’t want him to get hurt or pass out or throw up or anything, so I stuck around.”

“What?” Stanley’s brows furrowed together. “He’s not drunk. He’s high, he’s fine.”

Eddie felt his shoulders drop. “Oh.”

“He eats some crap and listens to his music really loud and eventually tuckers himself out.” Stanley sent an accusatory glance in Richie’s direction. “He’s not really supposed to of course, but I don’t care and as long as he does it when I’m not around then I don’t have to get in trouble for it.”

“Oh,” Eddie repeated. Only to realize something and add, “Okay, but he was jumping around and acting like an idiot, singing and shit. You sure he didn’t drink too?”

Stanley snorted. “That’s just how he is. I think he gets nostalgic or something when he’s high. I got him some eighties hits CDs for his birthday so he’d stay off my CD shelf.”

One more “Oh,” out of Eddie. His gaze drifted to Richie - absolutely out cold on the couch. Safe and sound, apparently. In no immediate danger due to his substance abuse. Eddie felt his neck warm again.

“That was nice of you, though,” Stanley mentioned, plucking Richie’s glasses off his face to fold up and set on the coffee table. “And if he plays his music too loud, don’t hesitate to come over and tell him to cut it out.”

“Thanks,” Eddie murmured.

“Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I wasn’t really planning on guests tonight...”

“Right.” Eager to get out of Stanley’s hair, Eddie hurried for the front door, offering a quick goodbye before seeing himself out. His own apartment was just a short walk away, and soon he was back in his own home.

His own, utterly silent home.

He didn’t realize until he started undressing for the night that he still had the bowl, when it fell out of the pocket of his jeans.

***

Eddie didn’t get a moment to himself until almost noon, when he found ten minutes between rides to grab a coffee, and sit in a normal chair for a second. If he wasn’t inclined to get promoted soon, he would have dropped chauffeuring weeks ago.

The tinny ringtone of his Nokia sounded in his pocket, and he hurried to answer without spilling his coffee.

“H’llo?” Eddie asked, taking a sip afterward.

“Hey! It’s Richie.”

Eddie managed to swallow before he spit his drink all over the window in front of him.

“How the hell did you get my number?”

“The landlord gave it to me. I told him you borrowed something from me and I needed to get in touch with you soon to get it back.”

“I didn’t borrow-” Eddie clammed up, and remembered the glass tube tucked away in his sock drawer, where he had put it in fear of the landlord doing random apartment checks for some reason.

“Oh, yeah. I’ll bring it back after work. Sorry, I forgot I had it.”

“No problem, no problem. I’ve got a spare laying around somewhere.”

“Oh. Neat.”

There was a beat of silence. Eddie heard Richie cough and sigh dramatically on the other end.

“I had fun last night,” he finally said, while Eddie rubbed his lip raw with his teeth. “I hope Stan didn’t scare you too much. And if he didn’t, maybe you’d want to come over and learn to like eighties music again. We could dance too, if you’re into that. It’s kind of cool to do stuff with someone else, and not just sit there by myself with the stereo going.”

“That sounds like fun,” Eddie said honestly - even if he was a little embarrassed Richie remembered everything after all. Weed really wasn’t alcohol at all, huh.

“And I won’t smoke. I’m not sure I dance better either way, but I guess we’ll find out.”

“Actually…” Eddie glanced around the tiny coffee shop - as if anyone gave a shit who he was, or what he was saying.

Nevertheless, he kept his voice low. “It’s not something I want to make a habit of, but if you were being serious when you offered, I’d like to try it.”

“Smoking pot?” Richie asked after a second.

“Yeah. You seem to know what you’re doing. Maybe just...ventilate the area better.”

“Yeah, okay. We could do it on the fire escape if you’re nervous. I know for a fact that the landlord goes out for bingo Sunday nights, so…”

“Sounds good.”

“Why the sudden interest?”

“Oh I don’t know,” Eddie murmured, feeling warmth creep into his cheeks as he traced the lid of his coffee cup. As if he were a flustered teenager again. “I think I could afford to mellow out a bit. Just for one night, maybe. And learn a thing or two about what it’s like.”

Richie laughed on the other end. “I can jive with that.”

For once, Eddie let the smile twitch onto his face. “Great.”

There was a little more silence, where he couldn’t think of what else to say. Luckily, his pager saved him, letting him know he was off on his next drive.

“Gotta go. Talk to you later, alright?”

“Sure thing.”

Eddie hung up, threw out the rest of his coffee, and drove off to meet his next ride.

“Any music preferences?” he asked, glancing into the rearview mirror as he navigated.

“The local station’s fine.”

Eddie flicked on the radio, turning the volume up so his passengers could hear.

Cause love's such an old fashioned word And love dares you to care for The people on the edge of the night And love dares you to change our way of Caring about ourselves This is our last dance This is our last dance This is ourselves

That suddenly familiar bassline came in, bringing Eddie back to the night before. Not his mother’s car, or the arcade. Just Richie’s haphazard dance moves, and the coffee table.

Eddie smiled. Maybe eighties music wasn’t so bad.

[moonbelt]

strange hearts | 01

↳ hanahaki disease au | college au | reverse friends-with-benefits au

⇢ pairing: chanyeol | reader

⇢ genre: angst + sexual themes

⇢ word count: 4.977

⇢ description: maybe it was futile from the beginning to try and distance love from hate, hooking up from falling in love, but you didn’t know this. but you can’t say didn’t care... not with the dire explosions setting off in your chest.

If there is anything you hated more than losers, it is losers that have no idea when to quit.

And mind, you are not a sore loser — you just like to pride himself on your ability to know when to give up. However, you do hate losing, and if there was anything you hated more than losing, it's losing to Park Chanyeol; the worst person, in your opinion as a non-sore-loser, to lose to.

You push the keg back and will yourself to drain the contents faster than Chanyeol ever could.

Now, you are not that much a firm participant in religion but, at times like this, you find yourself pleading with a higher power for aide because you absolutely do not want to see the smug smirk that would — most definitely — be on Chanyeol’s face if he won. He won't, not if you can help it, but it’s the principle of the thing. There are a lot of things you do not acknowledge in your vocabulary. Losing to Chanyeol is one of them.

"Come on, __!" Your friend-in-arms, Baekhyun, yells over the bass pump of the music. "It’s just a few measly ounces, you can do it!"

In another life, you would have accepted Baekhyun’s somewhat half-assed encouragement with a grain of salt, but in this situation, it takes all of you — which really isn’t a lot — to not spit the beer back up on his face. You shot him an incredulous look from the corners of your eyes. It is not a few measly ounces. Your nose is dying because of the amount of fizz pressure you have been in-taking and your throat is one second away from gargling. However, you cannot lose to Chanyeol, not again.

And yes, you will admit. You hate beer and it will never be your drink of choice. You’d rather much have this competition with any other form of alcohol. Heck, even fucking whiskey. But Chanyeol decided on the match and by association, you aren’t going to whimper out now. You made the decision to attend this stupid house party that one of, admittedly few, mutual friends were hosting, and you’d rather fake an arm injury than lose to him.

Chanyeol had suggested the challenge and although you quite vehemently hate beer, you couldn't find it within yourself to decline. Chanyeol has the uncanny ability to bring out the worst competitive streak in you. You know this.

And that is why you are here now, a small table separating the two of you from each other, chugging back the keg of beer like your life depends on it. Through the prickling of tears in your eyes, you see as Chanyeol tips the container back, even more, to drain the last of the liquid contents that he would need to win.

You force your mouth open more and hope your lungs wouldn't choke on it. You are the one that accepted this farce of a competition and you would be damned if you humiliate yourself in front of everyone in attendance. Although you’ll be honest, there is not really anyone in this party that you are afraid of embarrassing himself in front of.

Jongdae, the host of this party and also by happenstance one of Chanyeol’s closest friends, chortles out. "Looks like we're about to have our winner!"

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

Tears are threatening to fall down your face, and it is taking all of you to not restrict your airways and cut the intake of the drink to your throat because you can. not. breathe. Before you realize it, you drag the edge of the keg away from your lips and collapse to the floor, spurting out coughs incessantly. Shit, you’ve gone and lost. There is still a considerable amount of liquid left in the container if the spots in your blurry vision aren’t failing you.

By the sheer volume of cheers and clapping, anyone would think someone just got crowned a Guinness World Record holder or something. No, it’s just a dumb beer drinking king. And the title has been stripped away from your lungs and handed on a bronze platter to Chanyeol. Fuck.

Baekhyun was by your side in an instant, frantically pounding your back as he tries to stop you from choking on liquid-air and coughing out in distress. "You almost had him, you know. But it's not like it matters anyway, it's a stupid challenge."

Yeah, it is stupid. But that's not how Chanyeol is going to see it. Nope. You know better than anyone else that he is going to rub it in your face as another title that he has which you lack. You look down to your shirt and see the large brown stain that has started to form on the top and center of your shirt. Ah, you are beginning to regret coming out.

Come out, Baekhyun had said, it’d be fun!

You groan as you stand up and excuse yourself from everyone to use the bathroom. You make extra sure to not make any form of eye contact with Chanyeol because who knows the kind of shit he’s planning. You don’t think you can handle that all-knowing smirk that would be gracing his cute face.

Wait, cute? You are definitely drunker than you think. You only ever think these thoughts when you are inebriated. Now, you really are regretting leaving the comfort of your apartment.

You’re tempted to chuck your shoe at him and give him a black eye or something; you have pretty stellar aim if you do say so yourself. Not that it would do much damage anyways. Chanyeol has been working out. You noticed. With biceps like the ones he has, plus his semi-good hand-eye coordination, he could flick the shoe—

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Stop thinking about the biceps, goddammit, you reprimand yourself.

The bathroom is somewhere at the back of the house and it takes a while to get there. People keep giving you a snide look like they’re laughing at you. You bite the inside of your cheek to restrain yourself from flinging colorful words their way. You absolutely despise losers that don't know when to quit. Sadly, you happen to be that idiot-loser in this case and it grates on your nerves. If only your lungs had more firepower, maybe then you wouldn't be a sore loser. Ugh.

The bathroom is empty, which is luck in and of itself. But for a second, you entice the idea of saying “screw it,” and walking around with the stain on your shirt as a badge of honor. However, you feel the beginnings of a sticky night, courtesy of the horrendous splatter on your chest, and decide against it.

It’s when you’ve doused a hand-towel in water and squeezed out the excess that someone else knocks on the door of the bathroom. You sigh to himself in mild annoyance. "Someone's in here."

"Yeah, I know," the person outside scoffs. "Open up."

You’ll recognize that voice even if you were six feet under. The voice that has been plaguing your mind with no end for too long a time. The source of your pain in the last few weeks. An infestation that has blossomed deep in your bones when you thought it not possible.

"Excuse you? I'm not opening the door for the resident manwhore on campus. Keep your whoring ways away from me,” You deadpan.

Chanyeol does not find offense in your words. Maybe he should, but he's heard them as often as the wind blows around campus. It’s his unasked title. He snorts to himself a little before he tests the bathroom door's handle. Once he finds out that it is — in fact — unlocked, he jacks the thing open and for a minute, you swear he could've broken the damned thing. What with his huge biceps and all.

You stare at him through the mirror, wondering for the nth time why the one person you can't stand has to have a face like that. One chiseled out of wet dreams and soft nights. Weird combination but he makes it work.

"Are you sure about that?" Chanyeol asks, but despite his question, you can see the thrill of excitement thrumming in his eyes. He loves this. This push and pull relationship you have going on with him.

"It's not right to try and hook up with someone you just defeated," you roll your eyes, dragging the damp towel cloth against the top of your shirt in an effort to rid the stain out.

"Sore loser."

You are not that much of a vulgar person, but Chanyeol brings out the different shades of you, however many shadows of grey they may be. "Fuck you."

He grins, and it makes his already attractive face prettier. "Wouldn’t you like to do that."

You and Chanyeol have a strange relationship. Well, as weird as it can be to have your supposed arch-rival perpetually suggesting to have mindless, supposedly no-strings-attached one night stands every chance he got. You suppose it’s no longer a “one-night stand” with the number of times you have enabled it to happen, but one kissing dare led to another. You learned that neither of you have self-control. Which is why you have this win-or-lose deal going on with him. It's a stupid arrangement and maybe the two of you just lack the brain cells to decipher that. But you decided that for every pseudo-competition that you lose in, you will do whatever Chanyeol asked… within reason of course.

The same goes for Chanyeol. Although, you seem to be losing way more than him these days. You swear that Chanyeol keeps choosing the particular stuff that you suck at and like a fool, you keep trying to prove yourself to him. For what? You don’t know. At this point, you are too far gone to care. The only way you can rationalize hooking up with him is by these competitions. Otherwise, you swear you will run mad.

You did not plan on doing anything with him tonight though, especially not now that you’re in a sour mood. It’s throwing you off.

"What are you doing here?" You ask as Chanyeol shuts the door and locks it for good measure.

Usually, Jongdae’s bathroom door never quite locks properly and you haven’t attended his parties long enough to deduct the specific way to get it to do your bidding. Figures that Chanyeol has that nailed down already. Perfect McPerfect, this guy.

"Are you mad that I won?"

"No."

"Your eyebrows tend to spaz when you lie."

You drop the damp towel into the sink and huff out an exasperated breath. You shouldn't be angry over something so insignificant as a beer drinking contest and you are not mad. You know you aren’t. Okay, maybe you are… a little bit. A tiny bit. Very minuscule. Barely even there.

You shake your head to try and remove the befuddled thoughts, sighing into your chest. "What do you want?"

"You?" Chanyeol pushes away from the door and in the too-small bathroom, it doesn’t take much to reach you. You try to act like his words don’t affect you, but the increasing rate of how hard and loud your heart is pounding says otherwise.

Scoffing, you raise a slightly wet hand to keep Chanyeol at arms breadth, but it does nothing to deter Chanyeol. Your hand lands almost softly against his chest and you manage to string out your next words. "That doesn't work on me, you know this."

Chanyeol nods his head, undeterred. "Still."

“I thought you started dating someone last week? What was their name, again? Madeline?”

“You’re keeping tabs on me?” Chanyeol’s eyebrows raise infinitely higher, flying close to his hairline in shock.

You don’t answer, instead, you dragged your hand away from his body. Close contact with Chanyeol is always bad because it makes your insides heat up. Like an inferno that you can't douse out no matter how many times you drink water. You know this because you have tried.

Picking up the discarded towel, you go back to scrubbing at your chest. You want Chanyeol gone. These past few months, with Chanyeol sticking to you like glue, but not actually wanting you, has been royally screwing with your head. You know Chanyeol doesn’t want much from you. He wants a warm body. Perhaps he just wants someone else to fuck other than the numerous amounts of people that fall into his lap at his every whim. And you are fine with that. Or at least, you thought you were. Until the flowers started.

Chanyeol isn’t going to leave, so you need to take matters into your own hands. “Look, I know we decided on this sexual favor thing, but you have a girlfriend and I don’t want to be a cheater by association—”

“I’m not dating Madeline.”

You grunt.

“Okay, okay!” Chanyeol lifts his arms in surrender. “We hooked up a few times but that was it. I swear. Did Baekhyun tell you this? I bet he did. But that’s beside the point—”

“What is the point?” You halt your movements and stare at him. “Is there even a point?”

The smirk on Chanyeol’s lips falters a bit before slipping off completely. “You’re angry at me. More than usual. It’s weird.”

“I’m drunk.”

Your chest is beginning to hurt. You can feel it, the steady building of pressure. The first night it happened, you thought you were being delusional, but it was impossible to continue thinking that way when you’d woken up alone on the bathroom floor and the torn flower petals had still been there. Painting the floor and serving as a physical proof that your body was going through something that you did not understand. The process is draining and leaves you woozy and in constant pain. Like a perpetual hangover.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Chanyeol closes his eyes for a moment. “I’ll talk to you later then? When you’re… less angry at me?”

“I’m not angry at you.”

“You seem like it. But that’s whatever. You’re not in the mood, I respect that. But if you want us to cancel this thing we have, you’re going to have to say it.”

This thing, whatever it was, is the only saving grace you have. Over the past months in which your feelings began to blossom bigger than you could handle, pretending to hate Chanyeol became your only solace. It was the only thing that was normal. You had never in a billion years thought that you would be in this situation. Falling for someone that so clearly didn’t want it. Chanyeol is nice, you would give him that, but he doesn’t want a relationship. Least of all one with you. He’s proclaimed time and time again how relationships just aren’t for him. In all the years that you’ve known him, he’s never dated anyone. Not even once. There was a time that you genuinely believed that you could be the anomaly in Chanyeol’s dating ways. But now, you aren’t sure if you ever even stood a chance.

You lick your lower lip. “It’s okay,” you lie.

Chanyeol places a hand on your shoulder and a flash of adrenaline zips through your veins as his deft hands squeeze your shoulder. God, how you want to run your hands through his hair. Push him against the wall and kiss him so bad; he would have no idea what hit him. But the repercussions of spending a night with Chanyeol is always that your bed feels so much colder when he is gone.

You sucked in a breath that is intensified in the quiet bathroom. After a beat, you turn your gaze upwards, praying for strength that you’re pretty sure you do not have. Your eyes connect through the mirror, and your body coils with wanting. Despite Chanyeol’s willingness to leave you alone, there is nothing permissive about the way he is looking at you. Deep brown eyes glinting with the promise of fulfilling everything you desire and more but not enough. You clear your throat and drop your gaze. Chanyeol’s hand on your shoulder is burning through the fabric and searing your skin. Being around Chanyeol in close proximity keeps the flowers at bay but it does nothing for the suffocation you feel in your heart.

Chanyeol waits for a second, perhaps wondering if you would change your mind, and then he is gone. Out the bathroom door and back into the party. You wait for the door to shut.

You collapse onto the counter, your heart beating a million pumps a second. The feeling is coming. It’s wreaking havoc in your stomach and burning up everything in its path. You cough once and the splatter of blood that shows up on your palm should be alarming, but you’re used to it. You cough again and the overwhelming scent of deeply intoxicating aromas and the sensation of flowers flattening your insides prompts you to open your mouth wider, but the flowers just keep coming. They tear at the edges of your mouth, scratching every available area as they projectile out.

Your mind is dizzy. Alcohol and vomiting come hand in hand, yes, so you should be used to this feeling, but you can never get used to this. You bend over the toilet seat, closing your eyes as tight as they would go as you cough and spurt out frazzled forms of purple hyacinths. They mar the white marble countertop and then spill onto the floor as your frame crumples to the ground.

You hate this feeling of regret. Just as the beautiful flowers are ripping up your insides, the regret is also tearing you apart. Perhaps if you were more strong-willed you wouldn’t have fallen for someone that wasn’t in your safe bubble. The saddest part, at least to you, is that the torn-up shreds of the hyacinths are indeed beautiful. Terribly so. Any other day and in any other situation, you’d be glad to receive them. But not now. Not like this. Not with it growing in your chest.

Your mind flitters back to Chanyeol. To how no matter how much he wants your body, that’s all he would ever want. Maybe that’s why you have resigned yourself to this game of pretending to hate him with every fiber of your being. You take one look at the flowers splattered around you. Even in your teary-eyed state, you know that you are not doing a good job of extracting your feelings for Chanyeol out of the equation. And it is killing you.

You rest your head on the edge of the toilet seat to gather your bearings. This isn’t as bad as the one you had a few days ago. Conveniently after Baekhyun had told you that Chanyeol was seeing someone, although now it has been proven false at the time you didn’t know that. The second Baekhyun had left your apartment your chest had exploded. The flowers visit in erratic and bloody bursts, you’re not sure what exactly sets them off. Maybe there’s a switch you just haven’t found yet.

Someone knocks on the door, more forcefully than when Chanyeol did it and yells. “Are you taking a fucking shit?”

You can barely think straight let alone give them an answer, but you push yourself up on your feet. Your body feels like molten jelly and your bones are swimming. Ripping a section of toilet paper, you begin the process of meticulously wiping traces of your disarray. Your throat hurts, it feels like you’ve consumed hundreds of sandpapers and it hurts to swallow but you can't let anyone see this.

You’re not sure if other people have gone through what you are going through. You googled a few keywords and got a few answers but you’re not sure how accurate the answers are. After all, this thing your experiencing is something that should have caused a national panic, right? So why was every article acting like this was a part of life that everyone had so kindly left out during life orientation? Unless it didn’t happen to everyone and you’re just one of the few anomalies. You flush down the last of the flower petals. The sink is wiped off every trace of blood and flowery monstrosity that you produced. You twist the faucet and wash your hands under cold water before you wash your mouth.

One in, one out. You take three measly breaths to calm yourself. You can't go back out there looking very much like the train wreck you feel. Tonight is supposed to be fun. You’re not going to ruin Jongdae’s party and you’re not going to make Baekhyun worried about you. You look at yourself in the mirror and stretch a smile onto your lips. It looks weird, strained. But it will have to do, you don’t have the energy to conjure up something better.

Once you get out of the bathroom, the guy that has been waiting outside shoots you a gnarly sneer. What-fucking-ever, you want to say, but you bite your tongue and walk past him. Finding Baekhyun is easy, his laughter is loud and high-pitched. You follow the sound until you reach the front of the house, exactly where you left him before. Only he is more, way more, drunk than before. You’ve sobered up considerably, which is good because it’s always a bad idea when the two of you are drunk together. And by the looks of it, you’re going to have to heave Baekhyun back to his apartment. Ugh.

“You’re back!” Baekhyun’s voice is loud and he abandons his attention from the Uno game he’s playing and focuses on you, albeit blurry. “What took you so long?”

It hurts to talk but you force your mouth open anyway. “Remind me to never drink beer again.”

“Remind yourself to stop agreeing to Chanyeol’s competitions. He wins… one hundred and forty percent of the time.”

“That’s untrue.”

Baekhyun furrows his eyebrows at you. He is a cohesive drunk; can have fluid conversations for hours while inebriated but won’t remember jack shit in the morning. “Tell that to the stain on your shirt.”

You look down. “Fuck.”

The stain is marginally reduced but there’s a huge wet spot replacing the sticky liquid. Either way, it draws more attention to you than you wanted. You hadn’t thought this far ahead, clearly.

“Oh, wait,” Baekhyun blurts before he plays his card. “Don’t you have a midterm tomorrow? I promised we’d only be here for a few hours… We should go, right?”

It’s obvious that Baekhyun really doesn’t want to leave this party. Not now when he just passed the fine line of being drunk. He’d dragged you out in an attempt to ease your nerves. Also, he might have lied that he was taking you to a late-night study session at the library. And he was right, this party has eased your nerves about the exam. But in its stead, it instilled the fear of something else.

You shake your head at Baekhyun. “Nah, you stay. You can get ride back with one of your other friends.”

“Really?” He looks up at you with stars in his eyes. Yeah, he’s a goner.

“Yeah. Text me when you get home.”

“Same goes for you.”

You don’t need to be told twice, you want out of this party. Forget the fact that you have a midterm in a few hours. You don’t want to run into Chanyeol again today. You’re not sure the flowers nesting in your body will be able to take it. And for your sanity, you don’t want to test out that hypothesis.

You’re late.

Ten minutes late, your wristwatch kindly lets you know as you stand outside the gray double doors that lead to the lecture hall. Fuck, you knew you shouldn’t have gone to the party. Better yet, you shouldn’t have allowed Baekhyun to persuade you. Now, you’re late and have a raging headache to boot. Fantastic, really.

You push open the doors as silently as you can and hope your breathing doesn’t disturb anyone. The whole room is filled, and you watch, sadly, as the girl occupying your unassigned assigned seat listens with rapt attention to what your professor is saying. Fuck. Your eyes scan around looking for a seat to slink into and then your eyes slither unto him.

He is staring at you and he is smiling like he expected this. Probably did. And the killing part? There’s an empty seat next to him. As if from some alternate reality he predicted you’d be late. When you don’t move, he waves his arms in front of him. Perhaps he thinks you have yet to notice him, but you have noticed him, you just can't sit next to him. But do you have any other options? No.

Chanyeol uses a finger to point at the empty seat, he does the motion repeatedly. He’s really trying to get your attention and not only yours but everybody in the bloody lecture hall as well. You swallow your fears and start moving to where he is.

You’ve never had to sit down next to Chanyeol in class before. Sure, you’ve always known he was in the same class as you but you never talked to him in it. He had never made a point of talking to you in class before either. You don’t know where this change is coming from and you’re at a profound loss on whether you like it or not.

His body is swallowed by a black hoodie and his hair lands in poufy bouffant waves across his forehead. You wonder how he’s functioning at high maintenance after drinking that much beer last night, but you don’t ask. Instead, you slide into the seat next to him and pull your backpack into your lap.

“I saved you a seat,” he says once you’ve settled.

“I see that.” You nod your head a little. “May I ask why?”

“Why?” Chanyeol scrunches up his nose like he didn’t ever think about that. “No reason. You’re usually early to class so the fact that I came before you was a red flag. Also, Baekhyun might have warned me that you had a killer hangover.”

You scoff, your hangover was nothing compared to what Baekhyun was currently nursing. “And who’s fault is that?”

Chanyeol twists the edge of his lips into a wry smile like maybe he’s regretting saving you a seat. And although sitting next to him isn’t your first priority, you have manners.

“Thank you… for the seat.”

He shrugs, happy with your show of gratitude. “No problem.” After a moment, he adds. “Good luck.”

You nod but don’t say anything back to him. You’re not even sure what exactly to say. You’ve met Chanyeol at parties, in libraries, at your apartment, at his, but never in class. Class was barricaded zone that you never crossed paths on. The professor has started moving row by row to hand the exam sheet, you pull out your pencil and bite your lip in anticipation.

You are not going to fail this class. You studied for weeks for this particular test and one night out is not going to forfeit all your hard-worked cramming. You take a deep breath but perhaps you underestimated how close you are to Chanyeol because all that floods your mind is his scent. It’s painfully distinct; vanilla and cinnamon wrapped into one. You’d asked him one night when you’d stayed over at his place what shampoo he used, he refused to tell you. You found out then that Chanyeol likes himself distinct, it’s his MO.

Oh no, here you are barely five minutes into the process of taking your midterm and all your mind can latch onto and think about is him.

You stare at the big whiteboard in front of you. More than ever, the sense of you being irrevocably displaced is settling into your bones. Your main goal is to not fail this Psychology class, but you might be failing at something else. Something larger. Bigger than your whole-body mass in gold, its weighing on your heart and constricting your airways. You struggle to wheeze in a breath. This isn’t what you expected when you woke up this morning.

“Are you free after this?”

“What?” You stutter out, your eyes squinting at his question.

“Are you,” he slows down. “F r e e? After the exam, I mean.”

“Why?”

Chanyeol’s seat is the first on the row and so, the professor hands him the bundle of sheets to pass on. He takes his copy and puts it on his desk. As Chanyeol places the rest of the papers in your awaiting hands, however, he stalls and waits for the professor to walk a good distance away before he answers.

“I realized yesterday that you genuinely think I just want to fuck you.”

“Oh my God,” you whisper, horrified. A girl in the row in front of you whips her head back and shoots you a steely glare. You raise your hands confused all the same as her. WHAT in the world is Chanyeol talking about? Especially right now.

You are more shocked than humanly necessary, but you manage to pass the rest of the sheets to the person next to you, not taking your eyes off Chanyeol and trying your damn hardest to decipher what the heck is happening.

Chanyeol clears his throat, acting as if you didn’t say anything to interrupt him. “And I will like to change that.”

“How?” You ask, not sure if you want to hear his answer or get on with the test. Neither of the options seem like good bets to you at the moment.

“__,” he sighs your name exasperatedly as if there is something you are clearly not getting. “I would like to be your friend.”

a/n; i knowwww i said i would never again do a series after whiplash but ..... im a goner lmaoo. i hope you love this and i hope i was able to properly write something that you liked >.< so pleasee tell me what you think about this! 

⇢ masterlist

©️ 2018 kai, high-on-food

[audreysjensens-blog]

central pines - chapter five - i don’t bite [elodie davis x reader]

“I’d like that.”

A quiet silence fell between the two of you then; You were fixated on a piece of Elodie’s hair that had fallen down and onto her temple. Tentatively, you reached out and tucked it behind her ear, feeling her suck in a quick breath at your proximity. You hadn’t even realized that you were holding your breath until it came out in a quiet whoosh, and the two of you locked eyes again.

The two of you were so close. One pull of your hand on the back of her neck, and-

“Hey, El?”

Mr. Davis stuck his head in from around the corner, visibly causing the tension in the room to go up significantly (at least, as far as you could tell on Elodie’s behalf) and making you stand and walk to your respective side of the room, pretending to look busy. You probably should’ve warned Elodie that she’d have to sign some stuff before her dad left, but you were… preoccupied, if the faint blush on your cheeks had anything to say about it.

“They need you to sign some stuff at the front office, if you’re not too busy,” he said, looking at you expectantly. You sat down at your desk, giving an affirmative nod, and effectively started rearranging the paper clips that folded at the edge of your untouched desktop calendar.

Elodie looked to you again, giving you a timid, half-nervous and half-gracious grin, and started to follow her father out of the room.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” Elodie piped up, all watery-ness gone from her voice in the minutes that she’d had to collect herself. “Don’t leave without me!”

She did a little half salute at that, immediately retracting into herself and starting to walk backwards out of the door’s frame. You grinned and saluted back, propping your legs up on your chair and spinning slowly back around.

You were having a problem.

Sure, you really, really liked Elodie, and judging by the fact that you’d both been fighting tension since the second you met each other, she at least liked being around you too. Or, maybe, that was a product of only being around John for the past times she’d been able to associate Central Pines with anyone. But there was obviously a reason that she was here, and that reason was weighing heavily on her; you could tell by the fact that even thinking about her friends back home and her situation had made her start crying. You’d been the same way when you’d arrived, and it had taken a while before you even had your own head on straight, let alone enough to start making friends and reaching out to old, calming hobbies like your playlist creations and your little clothing rituals (you had an obsession with Joann Fabrics’s iron-on patch clearance rack). The point was, you couldn’t jeopardize Elodie’s treatment. She was here to get better and treat this place like a pit stop leading back to her life, and you had no business interfering in that process. No matter how much you wanted to.

The second that you heard their footsteps dissipate down the hallway, you stood up and tinkered with the old speaker that sat atop your desk, looking to fill the quiet void, fresh with the abrupt end of your moral quandary, with at least some sort of music. You settled on Casual Acquaintances by The Growlers, adjusting the volume of the pleasant and summery guitar strums fill the room enough for you to hear, but not to disturb others, and focused on the small task at hand, which was changing your coffee-stained pants.

The door was still open, but that was the way it had to be. The open-door policy meant less privacy, but you’d gotten used to it.

You pulled your top out of where it had been tucked in, replacing it in your closet with a different sweater, and tucking your jean jacket over the back of your desk chair. You unbuttoned and pulled off your slacks and tossed them into the laundry hamper, making a mental note to use a shitload of Tide pens to take the stain out before it set.

You stood in front of your closet for a second in your black lace bra and underwear (a small victory of Central Pines was that you could keep the clothing that actually made your ass feel like you still lived in the city) before choosing a plaid skirt, shimmying into the fabric and thanking your lucky stars for built-in shorts and pockets. Yeah, they weren’t the most beautiful pants, but damn it were they comfy.

You stood in the frame for a second, mentally trying to figure out a top combination that wouldn’t make you look like a second-grader had picked out your clothes, and were reaching for your sweater on the taller shelf when you heard the footsteps in the doorway quickly reappear.

Elodie walked in with purpose, turning the corner and moving to her bed. “Sorry, I just forgot my phone,” she mumbled, and quickly cut herself off when she saw you standing there without a shirt. It took a second for her cheeks to heat up and for her to slap her hands over her eyes.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” she cried out, peeking beneath her palms to grab her phone and move out of the door’s frame. You stood, still clutching your sweater, and made a half laugh before speaking.

“Elodie, it’s okay. I’m not gonna bite.”

Elodie removed her hands from her eyes (there was no possible way that her day could get any worse) and tried with all the strength in the world not to look at anything else of yours besides your eyes.

“I’m super sorry, I just forgot my phone, and they have to input the counselor’s contacts-“ Elodie’s ramblings were cut off by you walking towards her and placing a finger on her chin.

“It’s okay. Just an accident.”

Elodie breathed out again, panicking and internally screeching at the close contact she had to you, and scurrying out of the room before she could cause any more damage.

You watched her go, white sweater still balled up in your hands, a light flush over your cheeks at the fact that your roommate had just seen you changing. Your new roommate. The one who you had just sworn not to develop romantic feelings for.

Fuck.

[stephaniapelleti-blog]

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[momestuck]

Let’s read Hiveswap Friendsim - volume 5

Eight friends carefully placed in glass jars, and our protagonist is on to their next conquest. So who do we have today?

This time, we have Polypa with olive blood - compare with Nepeta - and Zebruh with indigo blood, the first time we have a repeated blood colour in the game so far, same as Equius.

Going off their looks, I think Polypa is gonna be a Fighting type, and Zebruh is probably some kinda chef...

Polypa

Polypa’s another creation of Ayshah U. Farah. Come to think of it, Ayshah Ufarah would work as a troll name...

We’re walking through the city, and we find a bunch of people fleeing a night market. And then we meet... this person!

I’ve definitely heard this BGM somewhere else in the Homestuck soundtrack... think this is a slightly different mix though. I can’t remember which track off the top of my head ><

Anyway, yellow eyes... two circles... not sure of significance. The major cult/secret organisation we know about in Homestuck canon is that of the Signless/Sufferer (see: ancestors), so that’s something.

She asks us to pretend to be on a date with her.

So her typing quirk is... a markdown list?

We get the choice of playing along or ‘letting the purrbeast out of the bag’, and well... I’m definitely down for troll black bloc shenanigans here.

We ask a few questions, and we learn the commotion is because a highblood troll was killed... and our new friend was the assassin! She’s not got a problem with defying the ‘natural order’. I like her already.

Polypa changes out of her disguise - which includes a filled in notch on her horn, as well as the fake blood colour - and her chatbox changes colour accordingly.

She asks us to pick a hideout. Well, we have a number of friends with hives... but no, it’s either to hide in an apartment or get ‘soft serve grubcream’ and a movie.

The movie sounds amusing, let’s do that one first.

We find a troll mall. Unlike an Earth mall, it’s fully automated.

...’grubcream’ was our idea, though!

Sadly there doesn’t seem to be any background drawn for the mall. There is one for the movie theatre though...

Not having to watch trailers? Wow, that makes up for all the dystopian elements of this world. When do we move?

Polypa, it turns out, has opinions on movies (and she’s read the book). The movie features a Jadeblood in the standard ‘female love interest’ role, in a love triangle with a blue- and bronzeblood, and consequently a bunch of hemospectrum class stuff. Sadly we don’t get a massively long troll movie title joke.

Polypa drops that she used to run a relationship advice blog. But a bunch of trolls broke into her hive, killed her lusus, and left her for dead... she was saved by ‘some teal’ who...

Will we meet this katana-wielding nerd?

Someone tells us off for talking in the theatre and that we should get a room if we want to be all pale. (For those not familiar with Homestuck, ‘pale’ relationships between moirails are non-reproductive relationships, involving emotional support and checking the other’s violent impulses.) We get to see a papping...

So, trolls will go on moirail dates, I guess.

Outside the theatre, Polypa starts freaking out over her partner in crime who was caught by the authorities.

So what do we do when a troll starts freaking out? We play moirail...

And she’s into it and accepts us as her future assassin partner! ...as bait, but still.

So that’s the good end. Now the other routes.

If we don’t play along at first...

...she bugs out.

If we hide in an apartment building (do some trolls not have hives?)... ah, that’s answered. Apparently lowblood trolls get a rental market from ‘hivestems’.

Accordingly, she’s happy to break into one of the apartments. We kick in a door...

This time, unfortunately, we get the news that her contact has been culled sooner. Polypa explains a little about assassin work on Alternia...

Apparently the troll she killed was a seadweller - so a properly high highblood. To kill him, she had to go to some lengths...

The protagonist, needy asshole that they are, takes the opportunity to make an overture as partner. She’s like... lolno

Unfortunately, we can’t finish this discussion, because the occupants of the apartment return. There’s a cute meta joke...

Why is it so bad? Because the guy who lives here is friends with...

...a subjugglator. (If you haven’t read Homestuck, that’s a purple-blooded troll, highest among all land trolls, follower of the Insane Clown Posse-themed religion, and generally very powerful and violent.)

We get away, and it’s mentioned that the subjugglator is the burgundyblood troll’s matesprit, but Polypa’s had about enough of our bullshit plans.

And that’s that. “At least your ass didn’t kill her”, indeed!

I think there may be some kind of John Wick joke here with Polypa? I don’t know, but I wish we could have gotten more time with her.

Zebruh

Now, Zebruh. Zebruh is written by Cee L. Kyle.

We go to the ‘larger, more McMansion-style hives’ part of the city.

The music involves... a xylophone I think? This guy’s quirk seems to be emojis representing the different quadrants associated with what he’s saying. First hearts for a kind comment, then diamonds for an offer to help us.

Auspisticism - a three-way relationship in which a troll third troll mediates conflicts between two other trolls. Though why it’s relevant here I’m not sure.

Then he insults us, and it’s spades. I feel like an Oblivion NPC.

He goes back to hearts to ask us what colour our blood is. Is he gonna keep cycling quadrants constantly? We get our first choice: lie and say it’s a high blood colour, or tell the truth.

Let’s see what happens if we tell the truth...

We get hearts again, and he starts leaning into hitting on us.

Again, I don’t really understand how this is spades. And this...

Wouldn’t this be hearts? I thought I understood quadrants but I guess not!

He invites us back to his hive (diamonds), and we learn that apparently the day is ‘flushed affirmation day’, during which a lot of trolls go about with their matesprits.

This guy's really horny huh. We misunderstand, and remark that we’d be happy to share, and he’s like... yeah I’m totally poly.

I find it interesting how blood caste in this world is taking on a similar role to gender in ours - ‘one dick poly’ and all that.

And this guy’s basically a troll Nice Guy(TM)/chaser fuck.

Like did a trans woman write this? wow lol

This is pretty on the nose lol.

We meet Zebruh’s lusus, which is... a zebra.

As we explore his hive, we see most of the ‘guests’ have been made to work to keep the mansion clean. But oh, this is just how ethical he is...

We get the choice of staying in Zebruh’s little slave colony, ahem, “sanctuary from the harsh injustices of the outside world”... or going out on a date with him. Frankly, neither option seems hugely appealing! But let’s stay in for now.

Noticing that spades come out pretty much whenever he negs us. And maybe clubs come out when he says something reassuring after the neg? No quadrant marker for straight up boasting:

They’ve done a very good job of making this guy skincrawlingly awful.

Anyway our decision hardly mattered, and we’re going out anyway.

We ask him what he’s about and we get some stuttering about ‘social justice and oppression and stuff’ follow by a ‘get on my level’ neg. Yeah... this is razor sharp lol.

Then he hits on us and we have to get him to explain quadrants.

We tell him we just want to be friends. Of course, he’s still very pushy.

Even the narrator comments on how hypocritical he’s being.

We get word of a culling, and Zebruh gets ready to leave. The protagonist has enough of a backbone to object to him not telling anyone...

And then, omfg...

And after we escape...

So yeah, “actually one of the most incisive critiques of scene-leftism comes from the homestuck tie in visual novel...” guess it’s a matter of Know Your Audience, huh.

And then he hits on us again.

The narrator manages to keep saying no, extolling the benefits of friendship...

So I guess that’s how we gain a matesprit matesprit “friend”. We also promise to be an ally for lowblood rights, which is to say, ourselves.

Eeesh. I wonder how much Polypa charges to take out a hit on this guy?

And in the background, the drones are busy culling the lowblood concert. Yeah.

On the nose, sure, but I think this was pretty fucking on point.

Unfortunately, we still have more branches to explore.

First, if we pretend to be a highblood around Zebruh.

“I only want to fuck people I have social power over.” (And yes, that is how heterosexuality works...)

What if we actually ask to go out?

If we ask to go out, he decides he’d rather stay in. I see how it is.

So I’m not sure they’re going to just put us in a rape scene, but they’re definitely making it look like it at this point.

That is, of course, the point he wanted to make.

Ha. That’s a pretty good metaphor, considering the trident is the symbol of the ruling class...

The danger of being quite this on the nose is that those targeted by the critique can shrug and say ‘well I’m not that bad...’

Anyway, we get concerned about one of the ‘guests’, who is clearly sick.

And before long...

A__ and E___ saw some of this text and both of them went ‘eurrgggh’ and shuddered, so this is pretty apt lol.

Honestly I’m only screenshotting about half of this. Honestly they should have led with this guy... this is pointed in a way most of the others aren’t.

Then he starts blaming us for denying the agency of the malnourished troll we saw earlier, and ranting about how he’s oppressed for not getting his quadrants filled. Maybe we can add incel to the list.

So if you’ve read far enough into Homestuck, you’d have met Kankri, who represents a similar critique... but rather misses the mark, and tends to read in a ‘punching down’ rather than ‘punching up’ way, I think. This, however, is spot on.

Oof.

The zebra kicks us out in the end.

So yeah. Huh. Frankly I’m happier with this outcome than the one where we have to be “friends” with Zebruh. Pretty sure this ending’s coming either way!

I would have liked a bit more time with Polypa, but Zebruh is extremely on point, so respect for this episode for that. (And tbh I’m getting some anxiety about whether, and to what degree, I might be a person like Zebruh. But that’s not for this blog.)

[paulngxk]

[Post-Production] 1. Film Scoring Episode

Post-production is a nightmare.

Editing is hard, and I really had to put my audio production skills to the test in a real-world scenario. It's also my first time mixing for a podcast, and I quickly realised that the way you would mix a podcast vs a music mix is very different.

In a podcast, emphasis is placed on making sure that it's radio ready, sounds soothing and warm to the ears while maintaining that nice full and rich sound that you'd stereotypically associate with that radio voice. There was also the element of vocal character and creative editing.

That was primarily the creative direction that I was going for, but I soon realised that I was very far from that personal goal of a podcast with a high production value.

There were a couple of things: inconsistencies in recordings, volume balance, a lack of audience retention, boring vocal tones, shaky voice (with my existential fear audible), and tons of other issues to handle on top of it.

I have plenty of learning points from this post-production experience, and I needed to take these stuff into consideration in order to improve production quality of future content.

Bad and boring introduction segment

An example of inconsistencies in recording

Boring VO, not something that has audience retention

[rugbyquit5-blog]

A Beginner’s Guide to Nightcore

Illustrations by Toma Vagner

The definition of nightcore, as coined by the original Norwegian duo of the same name, is as follows: “We are the core of the night, so you’ll dance all night long.”

That’s the exact kind of hyperactive madness nightcore embodies. High-octane and high-pitched, this somewhat contentious subgenre of electronic music (also commonly known as nxc) ranks among the headiest, fastest, most deliriously fun forms of club music. Its strong anime aesthetic, too, which initially came about from this imagery being used as artwork befitting the high-pitched vocals, has fueled its resurgent popularity, especially among parts of queer club culture, as evidenced by the proliferation of queer artists, labels, and club nights incorporating the genre. Given that many unfamiliar with the genre might associate the nightcore aesthetic with middle-aged white men, due to its originators and initial popularity within this demographic, this prominence amongst queer scenes offers a certain pertinent subversion to that norm.

Originating in the early 2000s, Nightcore, comprised of Thomas S. Nilsen and Steffen Ojala Søderholm, was influenced in particular by the pitch-shifted vocals incorporated by German hardcore group Scooter and a desire to capture this dancefloor euphoria elicited by the upbeat atmosphere of happy hardcore. The Norwegian producers actually began by making original music in this style before going on to remix Eurodance and trance tracks by upping the pitch and speed, which became the essential parameters for nightcore. The duo’s popularity, and the genre they’d created, only grew from there, before experiencing a second wind of prominence during the mid-2010s when nightcore edits expanded to encompass genres outside of dance music, such as hip-hop and pop, and producers such as Ryan Hemsworth and PC Music’s Danny L Harle and A.G. Cook drew influence from the nightcore scene.

Most nightcore artists traffic in distorted edits of tracks—mostly Top 40, J-pop, and K-pop—sped up to 160+ BPM, with vocals so cartoonishly high-pitched they could easily come from a starry-eyed anime idol (hence the artwork). It’s not all remixing, though: recent trends in electro and dance have played a role as well, infusing the nightcore template with borrowed elements from PC Music-style future-pop, happy hardcore, EDM, and trance. Across Bandcamp, nightcore’s heady concoction of candied vocals, buoyant melodies, and breakneck pace has manifested in a similarly diverse array of recordings. Here are some artists who channel the nightcore aesthetic in their own distinct styles.

Laura Les

A previous collaborator with PC Music signee umru, as well as fellow nightcore pioneer 99jakes, Chicago’s Laura Les encapsulates the off-kilter cuteness guiding nightcore’s club aesthetic. Her sonic worlds contain an ever-enticing, invariably eclectic array of distorted vocals, chaotic tempos, and fluid rhythms; unsurprisingly, Big Summer Jams 2018 is flush with skittering beats, jaunty melodies, and a stellar collection of collaborators (including Girls Ritual, Dylan Brady, Yung Skrrt, and 99jakes). Closing track “livin my best life!” particularly captures a bubbly, kaleidoscopic club atmosphere, offering over nine minutes of sugar-coated bliss.

EIDOLON

From start to finish, EIDOLON’s Limbo EP takes the listener on a bouncy and bizarre sonic adventure. Halfway between a tween-curated party playlist and a hardcore rave soundtrack, EIDOLON splices cute, jaunty anthems with dark, distorted beats and heavy, foreboding basslines. A fusion of breaks, blissful oscillations and frantic beats, the Orlando DJ and producer’s style is pretty aptly summed up by the spectral cuteness of the album artwork, depicting Casper the Friendly Ghost surrounded by balloons.

Cool Teens

A San Francisco-based EDM project staunchly steeped in nightcore’s uptempo, sugar-rush norms, Cool Teens craft shrill vocals and stuttering melodies into the stuff of sparkling sonic highs. That said, their latest album Prisma is more dreamy-sounding than most nightcore records, with honeyed, melodic synths and a tendency toward velvety electro-pop bliss as opposed to the harsher happy hardcore beats of much nightcore. Their mixes for prominent netlabel and radio station datafruits—who showcase “the world’s strangest electronic sounds”—are also worth checking out.

Eric Taxxon

As stated in his bio, Eric Taxxon, an artist producing a wide-ranging wealth of electronic soundscapes, makes “music for different moods” and, incorporated within his extensive discography, nightcore happens to be one of them. Majesty sees the Californian producer channeling the frenetic essence of the genre, lacing it with plunderphonics. (The album artwork befittingly features a pastel-toned unicorn landscape.) This is a frenetic cacophony of jittering vocals and accelerating rhythms that spiral into shimmering, fragmented chaos.

Fluffie

On the more experimental side, Fluffie’s Cute Girls pulses with hypnotic resonance; the album feels a lot like being in a trippy fairground where everything’s distorted in a beautifully unsettling way. A heady fusion of blissed-out trance synths, whispered vocals, celestial melodies, and swelling club beats, the Glasgow-based artist, DJ, and producer channels high-speed nightcore euphoria by bringing together equal parts dreamy haze and a nightmarish onslaught of hardcore noise, as on the heavy crash of  “Crunch” and resonant, hard-hitting beats of “Mush.”

PHILTH HAUS

LA based performance artist and producer PHILTH HAUS crafts eerie, experimental soundscapes that build with stuttering beats and shrill, alien-like vocals. With the shortest track on ROCO 1.0 spanning a little over eight minutes, each of the tracks writhes with layers of shuddering, piercing instrumentation. While PHILTH HAUS’s work is more experimental in nature than the general nightcore ambiance, there’s a similar erratic vitality to the fluctuating tone of their creations; ‘O1’ growls ominously into existence before rising into a glistening discord of distorted noise and convulsive vocals. Delivering fitful outbursts of dark, deconstructed pop alongside moments of celestial, melodic harmony they elicit a particular kind of mesmerising rapture.

Frank JavCee

Making music for the meme-loving, raised-on-the-Internet generation, Frank JavCee’s music is a ridiculous delight which is apt for the innate element of silliness within nightcore. Serving up video game soundtrack-esque electronica alongside a healthy dose of parodic absurdity, encompassed particularly within his lyrics and overarching sense of playfulness, the L.A. producer’s Volume One features a nightcore edit of his own track “Never Sleep,” which speeds up the track to a frantic pace and pitches up the vocals into warbling anime-idol territory. ‘SugarRush Happy Hardcore’ has a particular oscillating frenzy to the beats that feels like being transported to a world of trippy, unsettling cheeriness.

-Kezia Cochrane

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Source: https://daily.bandcamp.com/2019/01/11/nightcore-list/