#I HAVE ALL THE AUDIO STRAIGHT FROM THE SOURCE! IT WAS ME I RIPPED THAT!! :))))

[mychapel-004]

I think the most interesting and under-explored part of gf canon is the formation of the blind eye and I'm tired of pretending it isn't: a long post

Because hear me out here, if we really take a look at the timing of the only concrete source we have (mcgucket's video diaries), it doesn't... line up at all?

The clear implication here is that he started making the diaries after the first portal incident on January 18th 1983, so this would be our "day one"

"For the past year I have been working as an assistant for a visiting researcher... But something went wrong. I decided to quit the project, but I lie awake each night, haunted by the thoughts of what I've done... Test subject one: Fiddleford."

But this makes no sense. We know from J3 that the memory gun was actually invented after a series of traumatic events with Ford, months before he left the project. Further, the timeline the video diaries set up of the blind eye show that he began to deteriorate and founded the blind eye on day 22, which would be February 9th, but in J3 the blind eye is already a full blown cult by then.

In addition, where is he in this video? we know from TBOB that he isn't on good terms with his wife after Christmas of 1982 and he likely didn't leave GF after the portal incident, but he was living with Ford up until this so where is this room? If he had somewhere else to stay, why only stay there now?

Now, realistically the answer here is that the lore was changed and slightly retconned between the writing of this episode and the publishing of the book (which alex discusses in some of the commentary for this episode when discussing fidd's character), but I think a more interesting theory to solve this contradiction can be found in the source material.

If we play this all completely straight, there are two options here, both involving Fiddleford lying in his diaries. this isn't entirely new to the series, unreliable narration is a big theme, especially in Journal 3 and TBOB. the only real explanations are that:

A) Fiddleford was lying about this being the first time he used the gun, meaning this video diary takes place after the portal incident.

B) Fiddleford was lying about leaving the project, and was filming these diaries while still working with Ford.

Now, either of them is plausible, but ultimately Fiddleford is a scientist. He has dedicated his life to engineering, and it seems to be his lifelong passion considering it's one of the only character traits that he continues to practice after losing his mind. Would a man who is this talented, this dedicated, really lie about testing results in a video diary he chose to make?

If he had used the gun before, any kind of result he is trying to observe would be ruined. It would be a pointless venture, since we know for a fact that by the time he leaves the project he has used the gun on himself, Ford and other civillians multiple times. It's a complete failure of the scientific method, and I don't think it makes sense for the character we know, the man who quadruple checks his own calculations just to be sure they're right.

However, the other explanation feels like something he might do. We know he invents the gun after the Gremloblin incident likely sometime in August, and seems to use it immediately as evidenced by J3, on both himself and Ford. We know from the audio commentary that for Fidd, the memory gun is very much an addiction, it's something that he uses to curb his anxiety and appear like a better partner, to try and keep himself together until the project is over. But ultimately, he's known something is wrong with the project for a long time, and Ford mentions his tendency towards self destructive anxiety when Fidd rips out his own hair after Ford reveals the tip of the weirdness iceberg to him.

All this to say, I think it's far more realistic for Fiddleford to lie about leaving the project rather than his results. He knows that something is wrong, that he should leave and be with his family, and on the other side of that we know that Bill is using this anxiety to whisper into Ford's ear that Fidd is unreliable and will leave. He's been through a severely traumatic event with the Gremloblin, trapped for days in his worst nightmares, to the point where he is prepared to cause himself potential brain damage to un-see it.

But despite all of it, he doesn't leave. He is determined to stay, maybe out of loyalty, maybe out of fear for Ford's safety, maybe he needs the money from the project for his family. He has a wife and son who need him and we know that he feels guilt for his treatment towards them, he even cites them as his sole reason for backing out of using the gun immediately before he does it anyway, and uses it on Ford to cover his mistakes up. Fiddleford is a man who is wracked by anxiety and shame and is such a bad way by this point that he is absolutely willing to self-destruct and lie to just get through this project.

I think he absolutely would start documenting his use of the memory gun, even if that meant lying that he had followed his instincts and left the project when he should have done. After all, he says himself that he wants to use this gun on a wider scale as a therapy tool, assuming the gun doesn't turn his brain to mush, surely the tapes of his initial testing will need to be peer-reviewed? He's presenting the reality he wishes was true, the one where he is brave and stands on his principles and doesn't fall into step beside Ford on his path to destruction.

So, where does this leave the timeline?

Finding exact dates is difficult, mostly because the only concrete numbers in J3 are few and far between, but we do have the dates of the tapes to go off as follows. This isn't concrete but it's a fun way to recontextualise the events of J3:

Day 1:

First usage of the gun, followed by it being used on Ford

Sometime after the Gremloblin incident, Fidd's arm is either healed or on the mend from the incident as his cast is gone, so likely towards the end of August.

Note on the cast: It could also be gone as a result of him removing it too early, he doesn't seem to take a lot of time to recover from the incident before he gets back to work in fear of disappointing Ford.

The room he is in is likely his bedroom in the Shack, or whatever location he initially uses to form the blind eye, maybe a room in the museum? The "probability of failure" graph in the back is the same one that he shows Ford the night before the Portal test, albeit a bigger version, meaning he has likely been tracking the output results for a while.

Day 5:

Still exhibiting postive results, no deterioration yet.

Day 22:

First signs of mental deterioration

First mention of the blind eye, Fidd draws the symbol onto a notebook but it is already scribbled in the background over a diagram of the portal. The blind eye symbol is first mentioned in J3, when Fidd hands it to the carny who becomes the eventual leader of the cult, so this diary likely takes place after he has begun using it on other people.

Official formation of the blind eye as a group to help people forget traumatic memories.

His room in the shack is in a state of disarray, his plants are dead and there are handprints in oil or ink on the walls. Notably, he seems to be connecting the idea of a single eye and the portal despite not being aware of Bill at this point, which I'll touch upon later.

The carnival is likely in September according to the timeline by @fordtato

Day 74:

Slight physical deterioration, more physical anxiety

It seems that Fidd has been regularly using the memory gun at this point, to erase even minorly distressing images from his head, and his anxiety has taken a nosedive. Likely explanation is that this diary is after the bunker, where he had another severely traumatic experience (kidnapped by a shapeshifter and reduced to mute from anxiety) and seemed to become obsessed with doomsday planning. During the bunker arc he also used the gun on multiple workmen and Ford once again.

Likely takes place in October/November

His room is a complete mess by now, with the walls covered in papers and "Help Me" scrawled on the walls.

At this point in J3, Ford has made his deal with Bill and is allowing him to possess his body whenever he pleases. Bill has also sucessfully driven a divide between the other two by making Ford doubt that Fidd will be able to make it to the end of the project, and Ford describes his frustration with him.

According to Ford, Fidd is just as agitated and nervous before the portal test as he was during the Gremloblin attack, and obsessively checks and rechecks his calculations, causing Ford to worry for his resolve.

In between this diary and the next are the stolen pages from J3 that are in TBOB, which give us slight insight into Fiddleford during this time but not much. We see that he tries multiple times to reach out to him the only way that Fidd knows how, through invention and creation, with the snowglobe and the six-fingered gloves. Ford, however, treats them carelessly as a result of his increased attention to his muse. At the same time, he tries to visit home but is kicked out by Emma-May after he forgets to get her a Christmas gift. This is played as an example of his connection with Ford, him remembering two gifts for the man and none for his wife, but if he really is suffering from his use of the gun at this time, the forgetfulness makes even more sense and his argument with his family means he doesn't have a support system outside of Ford who is paying all of his attention to the project. After this, Fiddleford is more reclusive than ever as he spends early January compiling a thesis for Ford to publish

Day 189

Physical deterioration is in full effect and he can't hide the result of his addiction any more, even just to keep up appearances.

His arm is broken, likely due to the car accident he mentions accidentally causing, but its the same arm he broke during the Gremloblin attack and could be a result of him taking his cast off too early for it to have healed right in the first place which could explain why he wears it for so long.

Significant mental decline as he has started exhibiting signs of brain damage or swelling (decreased vocabulary, forgetfulness, loss of motor functions) however, he is seemingly lucid enough to question if the memory gun is causing negative side effects.

There are actually bottles visible in the back of the room, possbly referencing the addiction metaphor being used here

This would take place after the portal test, likely late January. Ford is at the height of his paranoia, Fiddleford has left the shack and taken every trace of his research with him except his college picture with Ford, and the blind eye is a fully established and seemingly self-governing cult.

Day 273

At this point, Fidd has relocated to a motel and is seemingly completely mentally gone, ripping out his hair and developing his hunched posture. This likely takes place after the blind eye takes his memories, or he continues erasing them himself. It's possible that the blind eye continues visiting him and taking his memories even after he is ejected as a member, or at least until they forget who he is after using the gun on themselves too many times.

It appears to be snowing outside? Which doesn't line up with either the canon timeline or this timeline, so potentially the days on the video diaries could be incorrect assuming he isn't filming them every day, or has lost so much of his mind by this point that he isn't labelling them right and has lost track of time

The final two entries are a similar story, serving only to show us the end of his decline and him eventually becoming fully homeless, retreating to the junkyard he lives in for the next 28 years (jesus, he really deserved that mansion).

Ultimately though, this timeline asks a lot of interesting character questions.

Why did Ford not realise how bad Fiddleford's decline was becoming? Maybe a mix of circumstances, he was falling deeper into his worship of Bill at the time, to the extent that he was regularly being possessed and judging by the lack of journal entries at the time, very pre-occupied. We also know that Fidd used the gun on him at least twice in canon, and possibly used it more than we know in order to convince Ford he was okay.

If Fiddleford was erasing parts of Ford's memory, did Bill know? Personally, I feel that Bill was aware but knew that ultimately it would serve him. Fiddleford, without ever encountering Bill at this point, created the blind eye symbol which is eerily close to Bill's symbolism, how would he know that when we know Ford is possessive of his muse and doesn't share anything with Fidd about it? How does Ford have visions of Fidd in a red cloak without ever knowing that the cult and Fidd are directly connected? My thoughts are that Bill, who we know has erased Ford's memory himself before when he stole the journal pages we see in TBOB, was using most of this as fodder to drive a divide between the two, mentally creating associations in both of their minds so they stop trusting the other. Chess but with troubled gay men.

All in all I think Fiddleford's decline is such an interesting way to approach a theme of addiction, particularly a high-functioning addiction. If this really is how things played out, we know that throughout his use of the gun and even 30 years later when he is considered a write-off, the one thing he maintains is his engineering prowess and his smarts. It makes sense that even when actively using the gun and hiding it from Ford he would be able to keep up in terms of building the portal, especially when we know he secretly hired workers. It's also a great example of someone drawing others into their addiction, even if it was unintentional and he didn't believe they would be hurt in the long run.

I feel like sometimes there's a lil bit of a push to see Fidd as a naive or morally good character even through his mistakes and to demonise Ford in response, but ultimately both of them are very morally grey and have their own vices that they develop and grow from.

Anyway, interested in this idea?

Well, good news if you are or my condolences if you hate it and want me dead, this is also an au I'm working on and writing at the moment! My fic link is below, the introduction is up right now and the next chapter will be coming out tomorrow with updates every few days now I've finally gotten this post out. The tag for this fic is 'Geiger counter au', hopefully I'll be able to get out some other headcanons I have for this idea because it's been floating around in my head since J3 came out.

Thank you for reading!

[fatguarddog]

Disclaimer: This audio is intended for audiences of 18+ only 🔞 If you like my content, please consider giving me a tip

A commission for @transmasctransfat who won my recent audio raffle! A researcher on an alien planet tests out a strange substance as a possible food source, only to discover its addictive and fattening qualities... 🧪

If you're interested in a commission, find more info here

Transcript under cut

Research Log - Day 15

I’ve now spent just over two weeks searching the mystery planet for signs of life. My rations will last me another two, but I fear if I don’t find a safe source of food soon then the mission will have to go on hold.

Luckily, today I may have found a promising lead. I’ve discovered a thick, syrupy substance that seems to form near the purple vegetation to the east. It has a pleasant smell to it and the few tests I’ve been able to complete suggest that it’s safe for human consumption. I’ve collected a flask of the substance and am going to try a small mouthful of it now.

[Gulp] Hmmm… sweet to taste and a little smokey too… almost like Earth honey with a kick of something different… [gulp] Oh, I didn’t mean to have more, I… I… I feel so hot under my suit… oh god, my suit! 

I appear to be rapidly swelling as a result of ingesting the alien substance. My belly has puffed up into a round orb with no immediate signs of stopping, I can see and feel my limbs and rear growing larger as well. It feels oddly… pleasant… so relaxing and warm. Why, I could just… [gulp, gulp, gulp… belch!] Ahhhh, so delicious… Mmmm my suit has gotten so tight around me, I’m pudgy and bloated all over, I can hear it ripping to pieces, but I almost want it to… I want to feel fatter and fatter as the syrup courses through me…

My belly has torn out through the zipper, I look like an absolute cow with how fat I’ve swollen up, but I find myself craving that sweet syrup to fill me even more. Perhaps I can get one of the droids to roll me back there tomorrow so I can drink it straight from the source… just sit there and swell enjoying this incredible heat in my fattened up body.

[7grandmel]

Todays rip: 29/04/2024

slider has swag

Season 8 No Album Release (Read More) Slider (Super Mario 64) (OST Version) - Mario & Sonic at the Rio 2016 Olympic Games

Ripped by Mitchell

So, it's been more than a week since it happened: the glorious 4/20 event of SiIvaGunner Season 8. Are we all in agreement that it was fucking amazing?

Look, I love the olden internet days and all what Unregistered Hypercam 2 brought as much as anyone else, those anthems of YouTube's earliest beginnings as heard in rips like Unregistered CyberSpace 4-5: Arrow of 2009 are well worth remembering - but the truth is, that I was just a bit too young to get to experience it all in a way that I can tangibly recall. My age was still in the single digits during the Dreamscape's reign - but in contrast, I remember every little bit of how MLG and Montage Parodies rose in popularity, and how they eventually fell out of style. And like I said back in we are number one but with outdated memes over it, it was as if they died out right as SiIvaGunner itself was taking off, like the torch was being passed from one to the other. All these years later, I presume even the SiIvaGunner team themselves were getting nostalgic for the sheer chaos of it all - and so, the age of MLG was celebrated for a day straight on the 20th of April, 2024.

It was a fantastic day across the board, and it was really hard to pick just one rip from it to feature on here. It featured everything from the typical Snoop Dogg rips a la Ganja Man 9: Hash Blunt Hash (Shorty's Stage), to genuinely excellent melodyswaps using songs featured in MLG parodies, to rips not even prominently featuring music, spoofing MLG edits more directly in a genuinely super nostalgic way. In the end, I had to go with slider has swag, just for it being the most whollistic rip choice possible - a cacophany of noise using all corners of MLG, and in said noisiness perfectly encapsulating the ""appeal"" montage parodies had back during their prime. That, and just like with slideless, I feel like there's just something special about Slider rips in particular - they've been around for so long, posted with both such frequency and such enduring quality, that a meme getting Slider'd feels as if its being inaugurated into the SiIvaGunner Hall of Fame. Seeing my beloved MLG get that very same treatment felt like a prophecy come true, a story in the making since the very beginning of SiIvaGunner, realized at last.

But, okay - what exactly IS slider has swag? It was maybe a bit wrong of me to describe it as just noise, because it does have a throughline carrying its melody from start to finish - Smoke Weed Everyday, that is. This isn't a meme medley that changes sources with every half measure of the song a la Memey Hell - rather, other MLG-related sources instead play like accents onto the base melody, little flourishes that make the rip feel more complete. The rip would've been a great listen with JUST the main melody edits, the pitchshifting on Snoop's vocals are fantastic as-is, but each little flourish just adds more than the last. I think a big reason why it works so well is because of how Slider as a track is composed of a lot of call-and-response segments: The melody plays one segment of four or five notes in a steady rhythm followed by a pause, and within said pause the music leaves just enough room for a different melody cue to "respond" to the lead melody. My favorite example of how that's used in slider has swag in particular has to be the airhorns at 0:25 - Snoop's pitch-shifted vocals are met with the infamous airhorn sample which is ALSO pitch-shifted into the aforementioned response melody, and the two sources keep playing off one another for the rest of the segment.

All your other, uh, "MLG Favorites" are here and accounted for as well, I love the hitmarker sounds as the melody starts up at the very beginning, and how the responses before the airhorn segment are just small audio clips like "NICE MEME", "Mom get the camera" and more - it lets the rip add in just about every part of MLG possible incredibly seamlessly. Perhaps most seamlessly is when Slider's melody changes midway through to a slightly less upbeat segment, as it does in the original track, only here being paired with Enya's Only Time - a song you may not recognize by name, but one that was used CONSTANTLY for shitposts about characters dying in MLG compilations, the theme song of all "RIP in Pepperonis" and "liek if u cri evrytim :(" comments all over the internet. And hey, Semi-Charmed All Star - All Star itself even makes it into the rip, taking over Snoop's lead melody duty toward the end of the rip before it loops, along with everyone's favorite Darude Sandstorm. The list goes on - you're surely getting how much fun of a listen this rip is by this point, right?

And like, I know MLG stuff isn't for everyone - there's a reason it all died out, and I'm sure many viewed this event as to be taken purely ironically. But shit, I dunno, sometimes loud DOES equal funny - and though my perspective may be tinted by nostalgia, Montage Parodies are undeniably a part of internet history, a brief but nonetheless HUGE part of online culture, and one that we need to acknowledge happened no matter its obnoxiousness. They weren't all funny, sure - but rips like slider has swag don't feel like they're made to remind us of how terrible things were, but rather how much fun they all COULD be when done right. Not that SiIvaGunner is spearheading an MLG revival per se - but the entire event gave me a ton of nostalgia for something I only recently realized that I was missing. Nice meme indeed, Mitchell - and I suppose that with THIS. IS. SOLEANNA., we've now come full circle on your rips, in paying tribute to all corners of the internet's shitposting history.

[rosetheex-editor]

[Begin transcript audio.]

[Rhythmic metallic banging is immediately heard. These noises continue for an extended period of time]

[Distant, but apparent footsteps approach, until the banging is suddenly stopped and replaced with a more muted, thudded noise]

?: What?

[Voice identified: Rose.]

?: Would you mind not slamming your head into my hand. I am trying to prevent you from further damaging your forehead.

[Voice unidentifiable.]

[The thudding stops.]

R: Dude. Move your hand please?

?: Your forehead is bleeding. I see no reason to allow you to continue this self-destructive behavior.

R: Reason one. Gets me out of the mall fast.

?: Death is not an escape. That is a coward’s way out. You are better than that.

R: Debatable. But I'll hear you out.

?: Glad to hear it. What is that, a metal implant in there? How much can you feel there?

R: In my head?

?: Your forehead in general. Showfall sometimes half-asses implants.

R: It's from the doctor's. But to answer your question, the nerves in my forehead… And like top of my head in general are dead because Mai was a dumbass. You could rip my hair out and I wouldn't feel shit.

?: I see. Very interesting.

[There is a momentary pause.]

?: I am sorry about your arm. Was it your dominant one?

R: Yeah um… Yeah.

?: Shame. You know, I was taught to be ambidextrous. I can try and help with some basic exercises, if you would like.

R: Uh sure… So how are you?

?: I survive. Do you have a pen and paper with you?

R: I uh… Yeah?

?: Good. We can start with the training then. Your handwriting was semi-cursive, correct?

[Rustling of papers]

?: Start with a simple “O“

R: Ok?

[More papers rustling, seemingly as Rose draws what W asked.]

?: Good. Now can you try an “R”

[Rose does the same thing.]

?: Good. It probably feels weird not being able to hold the paper down, so try and use the flat end of your palm, or the bottom of your wrist, to make sure the paper doesn’t drag.

[Rose can be heard doing that as well.]

?: You should work on straight lines, yours are a bit sloppy. Hesitate less, move quickly and with intention.

R: Why are we doing this now? Like… Why today?

?: I would like to imagine that keeping you occupied will prevent self harm in the future. It is a trick I learned myself. Practicing this will help your mind above water.

R: Dude… Why me? Why are you helping me?

?: Why not. I can stop if you would prefer.

R: No it's fine… Just confused is all.

?: I too yearn for answers. But sometimes life is unfair. Sometimes the truth is obscured, and we must depend on ourselves to fill in the blanks. But in all honesty, I am slowly accepting this reality. The confusion of it all. Does that make sense?

R: Yeah… Yeah kinda.

?: Good. You always had a knack for understanding others. Never lose that. It is a trait I wish I had possessed many years ago.

R: Yeah uh… Can I ask you something?

?: Truth is the currency of tomorrow. Ask away.

R: Have you ever wished for a different life? One where things weren't so difficult? Where those you love are alive…

[Papers are put away.]

?: I would not be human if I did not hope for betterment. But I do not know what I would do if I ever achieved it. I feel it is part of our human condition. To want more. But do not allow that to blind you to what is truly important. Is that answer satisfactory?

R: Yeah… Yeah um it is.

?: Good. Keep at it then. Keep yourself sane. Is there anything else you would like to discuss, or can I trust you to not deface your forehead any longer?

R: Actually one thing… You like the concept of time?

?: Oh yes, I find it fascinating. Especially when put in terms of how the mind perceives it. Depending on your perspective, time can be fast, fluid, like water, or it can hit you all at once, like a brick. It marches forward towards eternity, but as it does so, never once have I felt left behind. I have had good times, and bad times, but there is always a time to be had. I learn, I grow, I mature, I die. Life repeats. It is a source of comfort.

R: Hm… Interesting, there have been times I have felt… Left behind, I have to remind myself time waits for no one… To keep going, or try… The concept of eternal time has always fascinated me.

?: Mechanical hands are the ruler of everything. You must learn to continue on, no matter what. Go slow if you would like, but never stop.

R: Yeah… God I've been saying that alot.

?: You are tired. Get some rest. Continue practicing handwriting. Survive. I will be where you would expect. Oh, and probably turn off the recording device on your phone.

[Footsteps echo in the opposite direction.]

R: Showfall I hate you so much.

[End transcript.]

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS Animate Kuji B Prize Tokuten Drama CD [Reiji・Kanato・Subaru]

Original title: B賞ドラマCD (カナト・レイジ・スバル)

Source: Diabolik Lovers Animate Kuji Tokuten Drama CD [CD not owned by me]

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Katsuyuki Konishi, Kaji Yuki & Takashi Kondou

Translator’s note: Reiji suffering hours never end in the Sakamaki manor. Honestly, for how serious and low-key boring his HDB route is, Reiji is by far the most entertaining character in the early era tokuten CDs. He’s the only character who is actually trying to keep everything together but chaos just breaks loose every time lol.

→  LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

Subaru enters the kitchen.

*Thud*

*Rustle rustle rustle*

Subaru: ...!? The fuck’s goin’ on in here...?

*Rustle rustle*

Subaru: ...Ah, fuck! ...Where am I supposed to walk...!?

Kanato: Subaru, is that you? 

Subaru: Uwaah...!? Kanato! Where the fuck did you just crawl out of...!? ーー Or rather, what are you doin’?

Kanato: Can’t you see? ...I’m looking for sweets!

Subaru: Haah...? Didn’t you have a cake of some sorts for dinner just earlier? 

*Rustle rustle*

Kanato: ...I’m hungry...but I can’t find anything to snack on...Uu...Even though I’m starving...So why...? Uu...Sob...

Subaru: Argh...Geezー Shut the fuck up...I only came here to fetch a drink! Oi! Did you happen to across a bottle of mineral water?

Kanato: Don’t ask me. Look for that yourself.

Subaru: I can’t because you flipped the whole damn kitchen upside down!

Kanato: I can’t help you if I don’t know myself. ...Right, Teddy? I wonder why he’d lash out at me like that when I clearly said I don’t know? When he could make an effort to search for it himself, he just takes out his anger on me instead...That guy should just drop dead already.

Subaru: Che...! This is such a pain in the ass!

*Thud*

Kanato: Hm...I wonder why he’s there losing his cool in the corner by himself. Right, Teddy?

Subaru: Che...!

*Rustle rustle*

Subaru: Haah...Ugh...Huh? ...Tsk.

*Rustle rustle*

Kanato: Ah! Found something!

*Rustle rustle*

Kanato: Oh...Crackers? ー Ugh.

He chucks them to the side.

Subaru: What’s the problem? You were searching for food, right?

Kanato: You really don’t understand, do you? I’m looking for sugary treats. I finally found something, but it turned out to be these bland-tasting crackers...Haah...Are the people in this house trying to starve me to death!?

Subaru: Ahー Everything has to be loaded with sugar for you, doesn’t it? Hm...?

Subaru walks over to the counter.

Subaru: The fuck’s this? A small container and a bottle...? There seems to be some sort of white powder inside? Sugar, maybe?

Kanato: ...!! Give that to me!!

Kanato snatches the bottle away from Subaru.

*Rustle rustle*

Subaru: ...Uwah!? ...Oi, aren’t those the crackers you tossed away earlier?

*Rustle rustle*

Subaru: ...? D-Don’t tell me...!?

Kanato rips open the crackers and starts pouring the sugar on top.

Kanato: If I do this...Then the crackers will become sweet...Fufufu~ 

Subaru: No, wait! I said it might be sugar! But what if it’s something entirely different...?

Kanato: Haahn...

*Munch munch*

Subaru: Listen to me!!

Kanato continues eating.

Subaru: ...How is it?

Kanato: Fufu, it’s sweet...~

Subaru: Which means...It really was just plain sugar? The fuck. There wasn’t a label on it, so I thought that maybe Reiji left one of his shady concoctions laying ‘round. ーー In that case, I guess the liquid in this bottle is just plain old water as well. 

He opens the bottle.

Subaru: It’s transluscent and has no scent so...It should be fine, right?

*Gulp gulp*

Subaru: Haah...

Reiji enters the kitchen.

Reiji: What are the two of you doing in here this late at niーー 

Subaru: Che...Geh, Reiji!?

Reiji: Ah...What happened in here!? 

Kanato: ...

*Munch*

Kanato: I was only looking for some sweets.

Reiji: Ah, geez! I’ve told you before that your snacks are in the shelf over there in the back, haven’t I!? Your searching method is to blame here! ...Wait, Kanato...What is that you’re holding in your hand?

Kanato: I poured all of this sugar over the crackers and ate them. ...Fufu, it made them at least somewhat palatable, right, Teddy?

Reiji: All of it...!?

Subaru: Oi...Did we make a mistake?

Reiji: ...Why do you people always put everything in your mouth straight away!? That medicine is still in its testing phase, so I cannot predict the effeーー

*Cling*

Subaru: ...!? Ugh...

Kanato: Uu...

Subaru: My headーー!

Kanato: ...It hurts...! It feels like my head’s splitting in two...!!

Subaru: ...Aaaargh...!!

Reiji: ...And that’s exactly why I keep on telling you lot not to eat everything you see...

*Thud*

Reiji: ...?

Kanato: Ehehe~ Such lovely weather we’re having today~! It’s like Mr. Sun is smiling brightly at us~!

Reiji: K-Kanato...?

Subaru: Yeah, mate! On days like these, I just want to go for a nice, long run!

Reiji: Subaru!?

Kanato: Ooh~? Rei-pyon, didn’t see you there! ...What’s wrong~? Why are you making that strange face?

Subaru: Kanato! Rei-rei’s face always looks weird, remember? You shouldn’t tell him straight-up though.

Reiji: R-Rei...pyon? Rei-rei!? 

( Is this the medicine taking effect...? )

Subaru: Rei-rei! If you keep on making those troubled expressions, you’re only going to get even more wrinkles, you know? If somethin’ is weighin’ heavy on your mind, why don’t you join me outside for a round of soccer?

Reiji: ...I have no worries! I refuse to play soccer as well!

Kanato: Rather than playing soccer, why don’t you join me and Teddy and bask in the sunlight~? I’m sure it’ll be a blast!

Subaru: No! A healthy mind in a healthy body is key! You should play some soccer as well, Kanato. Ah! I guess the more, the merrier, right? I’ll go call the other guys as well! Hehe~!

Subaru runs towards the door.

Reiji: Ah...! Subaru! Halt!

Reiji stops him just in time.

*Rustle*

Reiji: ...Either way, we have to sort out this situation first. If you insist on playing soccer, please wait till later.

( If I let the other brothers see these two in their current state, things will only get even more troublesome. For now, it is most important to get a good grasp on the situation. )

I’ll start with you, Kanato.

Kanato: What’s wrong, Rei-pyon~?

Reiji: ...! ...Please stop using that disgusting nickname at once.

Kanato: Eeeeh~?

Reiji: ...

Kanato: Ehehe~ 

Reiji: I suppose I should retrieve the drug first and foremost. ...Kanato, please hand me those snacks.

Kanato: Eh...?

Reiji: ( I suppose he is still reluctant to hand over his sugary treats. However, the usual Kanato would most likely throw a tantrum here. I suppose I should push him to the very limit. )

Kanato. Hurry up and give them to me. I’m confiscating these! 

Reiji snatches the crackers from his hand.

Kanato: ...Ah! ...Uu.

Reiji: ( ...!? He’s not getting mad!? )

Kanato: Uu...Hic...Rei-pyon...I’m so sorry. Will you give me back my sweets if I promise I’ll be good...?

Reiji: Ah...N-No...I did not want an apology from you or anything...Here.

*Rustle*

Kanato: Ah~! Thank you, Rei-pyon!

Reiji: But like I said, no more of that nickname! ーー Well then, how about Subaru?

Subaru: Hah...Hah!!

Reiji: ( ...He’s doing sit-ups...!? )

I take my eyes off you for two seconds and what are you doing now!?

Subaru: Can’t you tell? Sit-ups! Nothin’ feels better than movin’ your body! 

Reiji: ( The drug affected him in this way, huh...? )

What happened to your usual self, Subaru? While it is more than fine you decided to stop destroying everything in your sight, this is creepy on a whole new level. 

Subaru: Hm? Taking out your anger on other things isn’t good, you know? If you’re got any worries, I’ll listen to you, okay? Come on, tell me!

Reiji: ...

 Subaru continues to do his sit-ups in the background.

Reiji: I didn’t think I’d ever hear those words coming from you...

( If I have to try and reason with them any longer, I will surely lose my mind. While I am still not certain about the exact effects, I should prioritize getting started on an antidote of some sorts. )

Kanato: Rei-pyon? Is something bothering you? Want some sweets?

Reiji: No, thank you. 

Subaru: Then want to go for a run? You’ll feel reborn afterwards!

Reiji: I am fine! ...Either way, I shall prepare an antidote at once, so just drink that!

*TIMESKIP*

Kanato: Uu...Sob...I’m hungry...Uu...

Subaru: I don’t remember leavin’ my room and comin’ here at all...Although I’m strangely exhausted for some reason? ...I wonder why?

Reiji: Haah...

Subaru: ...Hah? The fuck’s with that face, Reiji? You look like an old geezer.

Kanato: He is older than us, so of course he does, Subaru. Fufufu~

Reiji: ...Who do you think is to blame for that?

Subaru: ...Aah?

Kanato: Say, is dinner ready yet? Did you not hear me when I said I’m hungry earlier!?

Subaru: Ahー I could go for some food as well.

Reiji: Aah, god, I know! Fine! Whatever you do, don’t touch any of the bottles theーー

Subaru: Tsk...I’m thirsty as well. ...Oh! There’s a bottle right here!

*Gulp*

Reiji: ...Ah.

ーー THE END ーー

[somerandomgonk20]

Okay so! NERDY RAMBLE POST LETS GO 

(about like audio stuff, major geek out post)

this is all for archival purposes btw, its a live recording of a niche album from a niche artist (I'm not even sure this is the studio release i think its more ripped straight from the soundboard, I think there's two Mi Sei Appraso’s and i know for a fact i cant find one so I, well went out of my way to make sure I'd always have this one

This is an MP3 a little LQ side render so i can shove it on Tumblr.

I got the ‘original’ recording down at about 48khz though tbh I'd guess the recording OG is probably resting A couple notches lower ((i mean the 90′s indie venues it was probs recorded onto tape lets be real and i mean the slight hiss and general sound supports that, (not to say cassette cant sound fucking great when it wants too mind you) but you know those warm tones, the slightly tinny high ends. classic cassette hallmarks))

CONTACT ME IF YOU WANT THE ALBUM FR idk its just gonna be sat around otherwise, full lossless version is about 270MB i mean its more for personal use but whatever. (im also saving more standard MP3 forms sitting at about 70mb total) 

there's only one upload of the album i can find anywhere, and with jason molina dead and the official archives that got put up are sadly not as supported or atleast under maint? maybe... anyways a whole heap of stuff is partially lost and youtube uploads are sketch as fuck for long term upkeep. srs doubt on longevity, there was a very brief vinyl pressing but oml that was over 30 years ago and small batch, actually not to mention this doesnt seem to be the album release as much as a proto live performance so maybe its even rarer tbh tbh though worth mentioning what drove me to this is being unable to get the offical album anywhere as the YouTube upload was taken down so rip oh yeah, the small popularity boom he had seems to be largely faded. but welp welp. audio stuff is fun

(thankfully because these are indie gigs in the 90's most of them seem saved to HQ cassette Reels but it means theres a little more room for my inexperience and screw ups and honestly means i dont have to save it to the absolute maximum file quality to match recording quality [i mean i still did but sue me] anyways, fun time c: o yea yea)

idk im just proud of myself, tinkering with audio always makes me smile. this isnt really for anybody as much as i just, like talking about this stuff. 

oh ya only fair, Source i grabbed these from:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CO1VKARclM4

RIP jason 16/3/13

[lifewithdavefarts]

DaveFarts - Episode 11 “VoiceFarting” [Episode List] Tim and Adam are hanging out on... Liscord, playing some stuff together, waiting for Dave to join them for a game. When Adam unexpectedly has to leave however, Dave decides to do some… microphone testing.

VoiceFarting

“I’m going in as a mage ‘cause you fuckers can’t cast for shit” I heard Adam say right into my ears.

This was one of our usual game nights. We’d voice chat on Liscord on our own server and all that stuff. Adam was being, for the lack of a better term, kind of bitchy, ‘cause he thinks as himself as the most skilled gamer around even though we’re always reviving his ass. In the end it’s all in good fun of course, but we’d all happily mute him during a match if we could.

“Yes, Adam. Have fun with the ‘easy mode’ character.” I said, deliberately baiting him.

“Listen here you little shit” he immediately blurted “I can accept that you’re gay but I’m not going to accept the fact that you’re a scrub.” he said, obviously joking, though he did take skills seriously during a match.

“Yeah yeah but I’m the one using the axe, fighting enemies face-to-face like a man.” I kept teasing him. “How’s going up there? Still casting light arrows from your safe space?” I cackled.

“Excuse me???” his icon lighting up, the audio clipping “Why don’t we check your stats instead? Too afraid of looking like the scrub you are??? I literally made no mistakes last time.”

“Of course you didn’t: the chance of making mistakes is like 0% when you stand still and far from the battle.”

There was a moment of silence, then I heard Adam’s breath into the mic “You know I know where you live, right?”

I laughed but before I could continue this very deep and mature battle of wits, we both heard the sound notifying us that our bud Dave joined the voice chat. Now, whenever Dave joins, we usually hear every sound except for his voice, so we were ready to have our ears busted because of the noi-

“Hey noobs!” Dave greeted us, with a voice that was instead crystal clear.

“What the hell” both me and Adam said, our avatars lighting up at the same time.

“I see you noticed that you can now hear my beautiful voice perfectly.” he bragged, and rightfully so.

Normally we could hear his PC’s fans, what was going on down the street, cars passing by, atoms crashing into each others… farts. But now it was just Dave with his now-soothing voice calling us names.

“Are you finished?” Adam said.

But there was no response from Dave.

“Did he finally die?” Adam continued.

I heard a faint sigh of relief from Dave and then he went “Yeah, now I’m finished.”

I kind of suspected what happened but I didn’t say a word.

“Wait. You didn’t hear a thing?” Dave asked, puzzled.

Both me and Adam shrugged as if he could see us, but then said that no, we didn’t.

My detective skills told me that my gassy straight bud ripped one of his classic loud farts, but the new microphone had that “background noise reduction” feature (which my friend seriously needed) so it didn’t register his ass-blast as the old one usually did, so much so that Dave’s frequent farts would eventually turn into white noise for the rest of us. But now, his new headset was actually worth the price and all we could hear was indeed his voice.

“Can we just get into the game befo-“ Adam blurted, but was cut off mid-sentence by a loud, ear-piercing sound coming from Dave, though that wasn’t him speaking or screaming.

My fartbro really didn’t want us to miss what his ass is capable of, so we were both startled by a powerful, audio-clipping fart that completely overwhelmed our voice begging him to stop. And he did stop, but only after like 12 seconds. The rip was followed by the sound of Dave re-adjusting his microphone and laughing. “Hopefully you heard that now.” he chuckled.

I did hear it. I was very familiar with it. Truth is that Dave farting during our game sessions wasn’t anything new however. Even I was used to it, though that did pitch a tent in my shorts. I started wondering whether Dave was in jeans, shorts or boxers. Probably the latter, and shirtless, given that it was a warm evening. I tried to not to let my usual simp-ness over my bro take over me but apparently it was already too late, as I didn’t even notice Adam begin pissed off about an unwanted phone call.

“I’m sorry guys, I gotta take this one.” he said, annoyed. “Do not wait for me. Cya tomorrow I guess.”

And logged off, another sound notifying us that he went into the terrible real world realm.

“Alone at last, bro.” Dave said, in a flirty tone, just as Adam left.

I laughed and mindlessly switched to a different, this time single-player game as we needed at least 3 guys to play, one of those brutal action games that I suck at but I have to beat.

Dave did the same, with a similar game, and we both started gaming on our own but keeping each other company, like we usually do, occasionally exchanging opinions on what we were playing and so on.

“It’s probably his ex-girlfriend” Dave said.

“Yeah. I figured.” I simply answered.

Adam wasn’t really talkative about his personal stuff like me or even Dave, so neither us really knew what was going on. But if our bud didn’t want us to know, not fully know at least, then we respect this decision.

After a couple of more minutes of silence, I heard some sounds coming from Dave. Not a fart, this time though.

“Did you say something?” I asked.

I heard some muffled noises and then Dave’s voice, lower than usual though “I’m just messing with the settings here. I feel like sometimes the volume gets messed up.” and he was right.

“Yeah the audio is kind of low now.” I warned him.

I heard some more noises (keyboard tapping, mouse clicking, etc.) and then I heard him speak again.

Or, to be more precise, he did make a sound with his mouth, though those weren’t words; a loud belch, actually, right into my ears. Dave was more of a farter, but he wasn’t new to wild, incredible burps. I honestly prefer the more disgusting butt explosion, but I still tip my hat at my bro being a masterful air-bender from both ends.

“Yes, I did hear that.” I said, anticipating his question.

He laughed. “Thank you.” he answered, belching both word with care.

A couples of minutes of silence followed, with just me and Dave occasionally chatting but overall trying to be focused on our respective games. My straight bro was however not done with the “testing”.

“Are you hearing this bro?” he suddenly asked, trying not to laugh.

“No…?” I was puzzled.

“Wait. Let me just…”

I heard Dave removing his headset and as it got farther away from his head, a familiar sound got louder and louder instead, until it became unbearable.

“Are you hearing this now?” he shouted, though I could heard him over that sound.

The sound of yet another loud blast of gas, so loud it was glitching the audio. It was long and proud, dry as some of his best rips, and it just wouldn’t stop. The boss I was fighting somehow felt how distracted I was and one-shotted me with a swipe of his flaming sword but I couldn’t even hear any in-game sound ‘cause my straight gassy bro was basically farting right into my ears, albeit indirectly.

I instinctively reached for the pitched tent between my legs as the fart kept going strong and loud, so loud in fact that I had to lower the volume ‘cause my hears were starting to hurt.

After a grand total of 18 seconds, I once again heard Dave putting his headphones back on his head, wondering whether they were radioactive or melting at this point, due to all that poisonous gas.

“I gotta say… the sound quality is pretty spot-on. What headset are you using?” I joked.

Dave chuckled. “The same as yours actually. Thanks for the advice.”

We kept chatting a bit more as if he wasn’t a gassy teasing bastard but since he *is* a gassy teasing bastard I once again heard him, with no warning nor request from me, removing his headphones again and putting them (I assume) closer to the source of his underwear-clad ass.

Unsurprisingly, yet another manly, loud rip blasted through my own headphones right into my eardrums, renewing the hard-on I had only moments before. It sounded like a motorcycle passing by and I could only imagine how badly the stench was in Dave’s room. Lasting around 11 seconds, this time it got dangerously wet-ish towards the end, which I found hilarious but also made me rightfully worried about my bro maybe going a bit too far even for both of our standards.

“Dude.” I said, laughing a bit “You might want to go easy. That sounded risky.”

Dave, being the chill guy he is, just laughed about it. “Don’t worry, dude. I’m an expert.” and he ripped a short toot that was so loud I could even hear it without the microphone going straight into his butt this time.

We then kept gaming a bit more on our own. Dying over and over to that same boss made me think about how chill Dave was being -as usual- about my kink. I mean don’t get me wrong he always farted a lot while voice chatting but this time it was different, as he was now aware of my fetish. And, as always, I really appreciated that, just as I appreciated yet another thunderous blast, one that actually startled me, making me lose YET AGAIN.

“FUCK!” I blurted.

As the fart kept going, Dave moved the microphone closer to his face (but I still could hear the fart going) just to laugh at my gaming skills, completely aware however that his farts were a huge distraction on its own. He then planted the microphone once again in front of his butt and the blast went loud and proud.

“It’s just too easy.” he then chuckled, after finishing ripping that monstrous fart.

It was. I had to pause the game for a couple of minutes to calm down, the tent between my legs going harder and harder. Was Dave aware of this part as well? Of course he was, but he didn’t care. It was just a game for him, and he was constantly proving me how much of a pro gamer he was.

I hope he never gets nerfed.

End of Episode 11

[skaruresonic]

I am a hater and therefore have no soul. Let's do this.

Okay, so for context, I heard about an online altar to Sally before, and assumed it was a small Geocities site or something, but I'm looking at it for the very first time and goddamn, is it really messing with me. People are like. Actually posting stuff to it as though Sally were real.

Folks rag on and on about the Holocaust poem - deservedly - but the fans in here warped songs and Scripture and fucking Kaddish in order to make the words somehow apply to Sally, and it's like welp no wonder nobody raised an eyebrow at Penders' horribly misappropriated Holocaust poem at the time. Monkey see, monkey do.

The most hilarious part is, literally the first thing you see on the site is the disclaimer stating that Sally didn't actually die. She's not dead! Guess all the melodramatics were for nothing xP Anyway, onto the breakdown: ---

This first post is an original fan poem written from Nicole's perspective. Honestly, it's not all that bad since it's a fan work and not a ripoff of copyrighted material or a bastardization of actual religious Scripture, and the sentiment of a grieving character writing a memorial poem is a nice concept in and of itself. Maybe if more of the messages were like this, the memorial wouldn't be quite as Yikes as it becomes later on down the line. Really giving me huge unrequited Sallicole vibes, though, especially with all that talk about Nicole wishing she had lips to kiss Sally's cold corpse mouth with. Liiiiiiittle bit creepy imo, but whatever. YMMV. "But I knew you better than some who called you their love/Though I was always at your side/I was rarely noticed" And, uhhh, yeah. It sounds like Sally really didn't treat Nicole all that great...

---

This is just a direct message from a fan grieving the character. And you know what, I'm not gonna rag on this one because it's actually pretty earnest and it'd be meanspirited to dissect it just for being an honest reflection of a fan's feelings.

It's succinct, it's not melodramatic or overwrought, it doesn't plagiarize anything. I can respect that. Moving on.

---

Even her enemies lost something? (cue the part where my diaphragm starts heaving from nascent laughter)

---

Apparently this is to be sung to the tune of "Smells Like Teen Spirit." ...Lol.

---

Another song ripoff. Celine Dion.

---

why does this remind me of the scene in Gilmore Girls where Lorelei starts singing "have I ever told you that you are my heeerooo" to Rory after finding out her love interests trashed a house while fighting over her, and why am I laughing about it

---

Mariah Carey song lyrics. Not even ripped off, just straight-up plagiarized lmao.

---

O...kay. Gettin a little weird here, fellas

---

---

Wasn't Brave New World like, some sort of sci-fi dystopian novel?

---

Apparently this comes from a Sailor Moon audio CD. No comment.

---

All of this is so overwrought that my eyes just kinda glazed over but I am vaguely wondering why Sally's hands would look "deathly-pale" if she has brown fur? kinda racist if you ask me /jk

---

Motherfuckers can't even cite the sources they're ripping off in order to make their squirrel waifu seem divinely blessed correctly. smh

---

Okay, so this is where I start to have to get serious and try to drill down to the bedrock of this stuff, because it gets really culturally appropriative really fast.

While I won't pretend to have anything more than the barest passing familiarity with The Tibetan Book of the Dead, from my extremely limited understanding of its general principles, it's not so much a religious text a la biblical scripture as it is a set of instructions read to a dead person, after death but before rebirth, on how to proceed through the various bardos and help them understand what they're experiencing. The experimental film Enter the Void explores the concept.

Tibetan Book of the Dead - World History Encyclopedia

As a matter of fact, it seems the earliest versions of what became The Tibetan Book of the Dead weren't written; the bardos were instead drawn as mandalas. Apparently the text itself wasn't written until the 8th century AD, though its teachings were transmitted orally, and not translated into English until the 20th century. Make of that information what you will.

It's weird because when I copy-pasted this exact quote into Google, the first result that popped up was the Sally cybershrine, followed by a Tumblr blog. So. Idk if they were copying from some old edition or what - probably - but that's not the point. My point is, I had a funny feeling they chose this quote due to a combination of Sounding Deep and for including the phrase "O nobly born," which obviously would refer to Sally being a princess. Unsurprisingly, while the poster may have assumed (as I did) that "O nobly born" means what it says on the tin, in this context, it's not actually addressing nobility as in royalty, but the "daughters and sons" of the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, who in this case would encompass everyone and everything that has ever lived:

Heart Wisdom - Ep. 82 – Respect for All - Jack Kornfield

Oh, Nobly Born, you who are the son or daughter of the Buddha, (insightcolorado.org)

So, score one point for missing the point, I guess? Even outside of that, uhhh. Nobility being used as a narrative device or a stand-in for an audience for a religious tract is... actually pretty common, and not just in Buddhist texts, but in Vedic texts like The Upanishads, and even in Welsh Christian texts like the eagle that proselytizes to a pagan Arthur in the 13th-century poem The Dialogue of Arthur and the Eagle. Remember, kids: don't show your entire ass online. Knowledge is power.

---

The only word in this prayer was changed from Yis'rael (Israel) to Mobius.

Necessary context:

Oseh Shalom | Michael Schachter

Oseh Shalom: A Prayer for Peace - Judaism 101 (JewFAQ)

I sincerely hope whoever changed the lyric is Jewish themselves, because if not, then that shit is just as Fucking Yikes as Penders appropriating the Holocaust poem. Yeah, no, this is starting to depress me. I came here looking for a quick laugh but now it's becoming a serious soul search into myself and my responsibilities as a person to respect the cultures of my fellow human beings over, like. Fictional blue hedgehogs. I'm thinking about how gross it'd be if someone misappropriated Skaruręʔkyéha·ʔ practices to express their grief over a fictional character that didn't even canonically die.

I feel so uncomfortable right now wtf is wrong with Sally diehards man

--- ...Anyway. That's why, for a much-needed palate-cleanser after that awful fucking taste in my mouth... Grateful Dead lyrics! Yay!

---

Not sure what a Velveteen Rabbit reference is doing here but okay. I like the implication that Sonic and/or Sally fans have loved all of Sally's hair off with the presence of this quote, though.

---

Which is more hilarious, the idea that Penders was ever "great," the idea that he killed Sally off for money, or the fact that Sally never actually died, you goofballs? ...Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, wasn't it Sega who ultimately had a hand in bringing Sally back? ...So why does everyone lambast them for not including her in a game? Why do Archie fans reach straight to "fuck Sega" when they already slapped Penders down and revived her for your ungrateful asses?

fuck me, dude, can't say thanks for anything you're given huh

---

Yeah so more use of literary quotes out-of-context to make our shrine sound Erudite and Deep.

I have a hunch this one is supposed to allude to Sally's love for Sonic or something, but the poem in its full context is about how bereavement can have a stranglehold on people.

--- Okay, so because Tumblr is saying I'm nearing my 30-image limit for this reblog, I may have to continue this tomorrow, because apparently, a funeral song?? For Princess Diana?? Was plagiarized for this shrine???? bruh.

But, before we wrap this up, have my absolute favorite, most poignant, 10/10 part of the shrine would horribly appropriate real-world religions for sake of a fictional chipmunk again:

Reblog if you, too, are weird and perverse and other fans' mommies tell them not to play with you

I remember the early days of the Sonic fandumb on the internet. i remember all the online shrines to sally as well as the nasty earth vs Mobius squabbles as well as the "all sonic games after Sonic 3 and knuckles sux" crowd

The online Sally shrine is so funny to me lol

I normally wouldn't advocate laughing at other peoples passionate emotional response to fictional media, but there's an exception to every rule lol

[batarella]

The Commander - Part 12 (Arkham Knight x Reader)

We’ve reached the point where the events take place in the Arkham Knight video game!!! I found these more difficult since I wanted to stay true to the source material. The timing isn’t perfect but I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY.

WORDS: 3239 WARNINGS: BATMAN ARKHAM KNIGHT SPOILERS, ARKHAM KNIGHT AUDIO LOGS SPOILERS, VIOLENCE, JASON FLUFF, AND A LIL ASS GRAB

Masterlist

THE COMMANDER - MASTERLIST

-----

The Arkham Knight to Ace Chemicals.

Deathstroke to Stagg Airships.

And Deadshot, the Militia Commander, to the abandoned Killinger’s Department Store. The Arkham Knight Headquarters.

Five trucks and two choppers surround the building. Crates for the weapons were being unloaded, drones being dropped off by the helicopters, some driving off into the tunnels and the rest through the main entrance.

The Commander held a gun to a police officer’s forehead, who was on his knees, his hands behind his head, and was trembling. Five others lined up beside him. They were found in the mall before any of the soldiers got there.

“Call off your reinforcements. Now.”

They looked up at the Commander’s chilling white mask, at the red gun optics where an eye hole was supposed to be. She looked positively terrifying. The police officer gulped, then lowered his hands to pick up his radio.

“What kind of army are you?” the officer beside him asked. The Commander pointed the gun at him. “You be quiet.”

He saw this as a chance. Instead of a radio, the officer quickly pulled out his pistol and fired at the Commander. Everyone else flinched at the gunshot.

The officer dropped his gun, then his whole body fell to the floor. His blood leaked out of the bullet hole right out where his nose was supposed to be, and smoke came out of the second pistol the Commander quickly pulled out before the officer had even moved.

She pointed the two guns at the remaining cops.

“Any of you want to do it?”

The one in the middle swallowed hard, finally thinking it right to pick up his radio.

“Commissioner, this is Officer Chang.”

A ball of sweat poured out when the commander clicked the trigger.

“Call off reinforcements to Killinger’s Department Store.”

He turned the radio off, then threw it to the ground.

“All your weapons. On the ground,” the commander ordered. All of them did as told. “Sergeant. Make sure they don’t escape. Anyone see us?”

“None so far. We’re good to go.”

“Get all the trucks out of here. Make sure no one finds us.”

Cameras. They should be here. Somewhere.

Even with the building abandoned, she could feel some where staring at her.

At the far end, on a street light. Deadshot raised her arm and pulled on the gun on her wrist. The optics on her eye flashed its signature. The camera exploded and the lights flashed red, yellow, and green at the same time.

There was another one. By the building across them. Her optics picked up the movement and she fired at it before it could fully turn at her direction.

The last one could be ignored. It was ten stories up, by a skyscraper. It only barely got a glimpse of the entrance to the shopping mall.

But she wasn’t taking the chance.

From such a distance, Deadshot raised her arm and fired from ten stories down, right at the almost microscopic security camera installed at an office ceiling.

The glass window blew up and there was a flash of light coming from the building, until her optics detected nothing more than just ceiling bulbs.

Done. It was safe.

She watched the officer’s dead body being taken away. He had a family. A daughter like Zoe. A niece like Y/N. They were waiting for him to come home.

The Commander walked over to the entrance. Sentry guns were being placed, her men marched to the elevators and some passed through the tunnels. She pressed the communicator on her ear.

“Knight. We have the base.”

“Batman is in Ace Chemicals. He’s about to go after Crane. Did they get Barbara Gordon?”

She looked over to the final truck unloading by the entrance. A red-haired woman confined to a wheelchair was being wheeled down to the elevators. She was gagged, laying unconscious while she was taken to the undergrounds.

“Arrived just now. What do we do with her?”

“Just keep her in the base. Crane and I will get there as soon as we can.”

“Copy.” The gates were being pulled down and the lights switched off. The Commander walked into the elevator with the captive.

He said Barbara Gordon worked for Batman, that she was a crucial part in his operations, and that he used to know her when he was still working with Batman.

“Keep her alive,” she said, as the elevator pried open and Barbara was wheeled into the underground base, into a secluded room which she thought used to be a large clothing store. Its window was overlooking most of the base, and she could see what went on outside.

How many innocent people has she hurt? How much guilt did she have to push back her whole life?

“Clear everything. This will be the control room for the drones and the communicators. Take Gordon to the back.”

She went with them to the offices, and just then, the generators turned on. They left Barbara in one of the rooms.

“Knight. Are you here?”

“I’ll come up in a few minutes.”

She told Lieutenant Whitman to wait in front of the closed door, walking back outside where the computers were being set up just outside.

Scarecrow walked in, just as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. He looked at her, head to toe.

“Commander…”

“Crane…” she snarled. She took a seat at the center of the long table and pulled up the camera footage of outside the mall.

No one was outside, and the entrance remained dark. The tunnels were closed, and the Batman was nowhere to be seen. She sees Jason pull up in his motorcycle by the entrance, hiding it behind a dumpster.

“Commander,” she heard her comms buffer while watching the Knight with his hand up to his ear. “I’m at the base.”

“Just walk in to the elevator. What happened at Ace Chemicals?”

“Batman blew the whole place down. But we got what we needed.”

“Good job,” she smirked. “I’m looking at you right now from the control room. I’ve destroyed every other camera and installed new ones from all over the command points and watchtowers going online.”

Jason looked around, finding the camera and looking straight at it.

“Everything looking good?”

“Yes,” she said. “Looking good indeed. That ass looks phenomenal.”

The Knight chuckled under his visor as she watched him walk into the mall. “I’m coming down.”

“You know where to find us.”

She turned her communicators off, then glared at the sergeant looking at her funny. He quickly looked away.

Finally, this was where it all came to be. The bases were all online. On the screen newly set up in front of her, she brought up the live footage from the serpent drones flying above the three islands. Everything was in place.

But one of their bomb mines in Miagani set off an alert.

“A bomb has been hacked, Lieutenant. Send the drones to the coordinates.”

“Yes sir,” her comms spoke into her ear. Tapping onto the controls, she sent a serpent drone to hover above the scene.

And fucking hell, was it something she didn’t expect.

It wasn’t a car. Batman had a fucking tank. Bigger than any of their drones, and so much more than any of them expected.

She sent every drone close to the location to ambush the Batmobile. “Open fire.”

The drones fired their missiles. Rattlers, Diamondbacks, Mambas, and even a Boa, all firing at him. One by one, a drone went offline, and she wanted to rip her hair out from her scalp. “Why did no one tell me about his fucking tank?”

The Batmobile just went on and on, and it fired a 60mm canon right at a Boa, blowing it up after just two shots. She could only watch on, locking onto five different drones and clearing the ambush without so much as a dent. When every drone went offline, the bomb mine hacked, the Commander fell back to her chair.

She suddenly didn’t feel so good.

The Knight came up to the control rooms. He took more time down the elevator than Batman did blowing up all those drones. “Commander.”

“Knight.” She stood up. “Gordon’s in that room.”

He didn’t say anything, and the Commander realized he was looking at her new suit. “Nice job with the HQ.” Jason walked over to the back. “Where’s Crane?”

“He went in there with Barbara.”

“That son of a- Get the hell away from her!” He screamed at Scarecrow just as he swung the door open. Crane shot up, but he took his time.

“Soon, you won't be able to choose who lives or dies from your own doings, Knight.”

“I said get out.”

“Crane,” the Commander said. She walked over and grabbed him by the arm, but Scarecrow shook it off. “Remember what we talked about, Commander…”

He left the room. Commander Y/N looked over to Jason.

“Commander. Can you leave us?”

She looked at him, then at Barbara. Nodding, she left the room, but kept her ear close to the door.

“He’s gone. Did he hurt you?”

“Spare me the good cop, bad cop routine.”

So he cares about her. Fair enough.

He talked about Batman, the same things she’s already known about how he was betrayed, how he kept talking to the Joker hoping it would give him enough time to come rescue him. How he never did.

But then she heard his visor turn up, then it was Jason’s unfiltered voice, screaming at the captive.

The Commander kept at the door.

“Jason, we can fix it.”

“I can fix it! I know now what to do. I take all this pain. All this blackness. And I put it all in a bullet. And I put it right between Bruce’s eyes.”

His voice was breaking as he spoke. She wanted to go after him. But Scarecrow’s boney hand touched her shoulder. She flinched away.

“She’s ready. Be at the undergrounds in fifteen minutes.”

The Commander just watched Crane barge into the door, calling for the Knight to prepare the Cloudburst.

“Someone put a gag on her. Anyone hurts her, they’re a dead man.”

She was the only one nearby. The Commander walked in, took a gag from her pockets and placed it on Barbara’s mouth.

“You’ll be okay,” she whispered to her. Gordon stopped struggling, and a soldier came in bearing a gun.

“Watch over her,” the Knight ordered. At the control center, Scarecrow took a seat. And he brought the camera logged into the Cloudburst up on the screen. “Ten minutes, Knight.”

He nodded at Scarecrow, and the Commander trailed behind him as they headed for the elevators to the undergrounds. The one that lead to a tunnel up to the streets in Founder’s.

The cop’s blood was still probably spilling on the streets. How many people did she hurt by killing him?

Jason pressed the button, and the elevator roared in a twitching buzz.

His silence only pained her. She wanted to hold him tight, but if he wanted that, he would’ve pulled her close himself. Jason inched himself to the corner, his arms shielding his chest. He didn’t want to be bothered.

Nothing has meant more to him than putting an end to Batman’s reign over Gotham.

But what happens then?

What happens to Jason after he’s done what he wanted? When he has Gotham under his feet, when all else has been destroyed?

Y/N watched the walls outside the elevator move up, until suddenly there was a loud crash and the whole thing stopped moving, the lights dimmed out and the noise from the gears came to a halt.

Jason cursed every swear word he knew. “These fucking generators. They’re all over the place.”

“It should be fixed in a few minutes. Don’t worry.” The Commander leaned against the wall. “Are you alright?”

No. He wasn’t. Since they arrived at Gotham the dark cloud over his head just grew darker and stronger, knowing his path to kill the Bat was coming to a close. The Commander stood right beside him and brushed her arm against his larger one.

“Take that thing off. It’s only me.”

Jason pushed the button, then his hand immediately wiped the tears that had been sitting on his cheek. Y/N fell ill, taking off her own mask and pushing her shoulder against Jason’s.

“Talk to me.”

He faced her. “You already know everything.”

“But you’ve never told me yourself. I only had to find out.”

“I’ve told you enough.”

“No,” she said, taking his face. “I don’t think you have.”

He no longer flinched when she did that. Instead, the corners of his mouth curved up, taking her hand and squeezing it. He pulled it away from his face, but kept running his thumb over her fingers.

“I waited for him to come for me. Even after so many months. I never lost hope. But Joker…” he choked. “He just kept beating that hope out of me. He kept me in an abandoned wing at Arkham. No one ever found me. He paid one of the guards to let him in, beat me with a crowbar, tied me to the ceiling, strapped me to a chair, called all his friends to help torture me, did this to my face..”

She laid her head on his shoulder. “I went in there a boy with so much wonder to look at in the world. And when I came out, I was nothing. Emptied out. I only knew anger. I hated everyone around me. And there was nothing I wanted more than to kill him.”

The Commander looked up at him, and he craned his head down so his face was nearer to hers.

“I think I would’ve gone clinically insane without you.”

A kiss to the lips. Already he’d calmed.

“How ‘bout you? How are you holding up?” he asked.

“I’m trying not to think about him. For tonight, at least.”

“You know you can just sit back if you like-“

“I’m fine. I can rest after I take out the Cloudburst.”

He shuffled his arms and took his hand away from hers. “I was meaning to talk to you about that.”

“What about?

“I should be the one to go out there. I want to take him by myself.”

“We talked about this,” she said. “I can blow a tank.”

“And I know you're going to say you’re so much better than me at it.”

“I’m not saying that.”

“With what just happened, with you, your uncle, it’s better if you stay upstairs.”

She just looked annoyed by then. “Jason, I’m taking the Cloudburst.” Jason didn’t answer and kept his head craned down. The Commander scoffed. “You’re not paying me more than a million dollars tonight just to stay behind at the control room.”

“Fine,” he stood in front of her. “Five Cobra drones will be at your escort and I’ll come along in a Serpent when the time comes, or if you need any help. Also, I forgot to give you these.”

He pulled out an earpiece. “This communicator only links to mine. It’s a second one. We have our main, which Batman probably has access to. And this. He wouldn’t be looking for it. Not even Crane knows about it.”

She took it and placed it on her ear. “I’ll be fine.”

“Be careful out there.” His voice was soft.

He wasn’t talking to the Commander. He was talking to Y/N.

Jason slowly held her hips, pulled her close and finally managed a small smile. He kissed her, harder as if saying goodbye. She hugged his neck and leaned in even closer.

At the midst of a city wide apocalypse, she was his only light. And it was true. If not for her, he’d be so engulfed in his own darkness, there’d be no escape, not even if he wanted to climb out of it.

After he kills Batman, he’ll need her more than anything else. He’ll need something to level his ground, to bring out the humanity still left in him.

She knew first hand what it was like killing someone she had a terrible grudge on. It wasn’t the same as killing someone you never knew. It ruins you, drags you to every circle of hell until there’s no where else to go. She had to climb out of that deep pit by herself. And it wasn’t an easy task.

It was partly the reason why she couldn’t bring herself to go to Arkham.

When you thought your life would be a much lighter weight to carry, it only adds to the pain. Jason didn’t need to be told that.

The elevator finally started up, then the lights turned on. He slightly pulled away, leaning his forehead against hers for as long as he could. The Commander held the side of his face and closed her eyes.

“By the way,” he whispered. “I love the new suit.”

His hand grabbed her ass. She jumped up, playfully pushing his arm away. Her laughter was the last thing he heard when the doors pushed open and they pulled away.

The Knight flashed his visor back on. It was there.

She was ready.

The Cloudburst. The beautiful monstrosity that was Scarecrow’s most beloved weapon. The Nimbus Tech was in place right at the front, and it had the much of the toxin, enough to drown a person before they’d even get a glimpse of their fear. The front flashed a dark blue, much like the eyes on the Arkham Knight’s visor, and the gun optics, the Commander couldn’t help but revel in it.

It was the best tank she’ll ever get to man in her life. And she’s been through quite a number.

The gates slowly rolled up, and a soldier stepped out the hatch. It was time. She took one look at Jason, even through the visor.

She wasn’t afraid. She knew she wasn’t going to die tonight.

But she should’ve told him she loved him. Even for the just the slightest chance she might not come back. He deserved to know.

So she had to come back. For him. She still had so much to look forward to. A life outside the militia. A life with Jason. And she had to make sure he’ll be okay. That he wouldn’t have to claw himself out of the darkness, that she’d be there to hold him up. He needed her. Just as much as she needed him.

‘Breathe in. Breathe out.’

She closed her eyes, then climbed up to the hatch.

The gate was fully open, and the five Cobra Drones have been driven out the tunnels. The Commander closed the hatch, settled herself in, and pulled on the lever.

‘Always breathe. Don’t let the world touch your focus, Deadshot.’

Y/N looked onto her scope, still after so many tries. Floyd kneeled down next to her, and brought her hand further out closer to the muzzle. She knew she should have just hit the birds.

At the pull of the trigger, her eyes closed shut. She didn’t want to look. She waited for Floyd’s hand on her shoulder again, or another piece of advice that only did so much to help.

‘Bullseye,’ her uncle said. And she shot up in the air and cried in joy.

It was steak night, tonight. That was what Floyd promised.

-----

THE COMMANDER - MASTERLIST

----

  Taglist: everyartistwas-firstanamateur  @sarcasmismyfirstlove @damned-queen-of-gotham @idkmanicantenglish @wunderstell @birdy-bat-riya @get-loki@everyday-imfangirling @comic-nerd-dc @multifandoms916 @icequeen208@offendedfishnoises @egdolan @xemiefx @arkhamtoddler @elsenthal@mythicbitchx @supremehaunter @ burning-alive  @lucy-roo

[poorlytunedukulele]

Day 6 - Triad

The triad is a rhetorical form whereby objects are grouped together in threes, with a heading indicating the point of likeness; for example, "Three things not easily restrained, the flow of a torrent, the flight of an arrow, and the tongue of a fool."

The Flow of a Torrent

“Azra.”

The Arcstrider looked up.  Andal met her eyes and saw the confusion there.  He gestured at the report he was writing.  “You’re distracting me,” he explained.

Azra nodded and turned to look back out the Jumpship window.  Andal went back to his report.  It was quiet for a minute, but soon the rhythmic thumping edged back into his awareness.  He cast a glance sidelong at his packmate.  She was sitting stiffly in her chair, eyes locked on the stars outside.  Her leg jiggled up and down in a frantic beat.

He cleared his throat and the shaking stopped.  It wasn’t thirty seconds before it was replaced by a different noise- the sound of a knife popping free from its sheath and then sliding back home repeatedly.

“Jax,” he commanded in exasperation.  “Sit still.”

She complied, lips pressed into a thin line, hands balled in fists on her knees.

Then the cockpit speakers crackled.  “Whoa,” Andal’s Ghost announced.  “Nav’s gone offline.  Radio’s on the fritz, too.” Andal looked at his projection.  It skipped and stuttered.

“Azra?”  Barring some crazy solar flare, the closest probable source of electromagnetic interference was the Arcstrider sitting shotgun.

The young Hunter stood abruptly and strode back towards the cargo hold.  The speakers quieted.  Andal’s projection flickered once more and returned to normal.

He abandoned it and poked his head into the cargo hold instead.  Azra was pacing back and forth, barely making it five steps one direction before she was forced to turn around.  She was fiddling with the straps on her forearm guards and grimacing.

“You alright?” he asked.

“Has it always been so small back here?” Azra asked in response.  There was anxiousness plain in her voice.

“What’s the problem?”

She looked dismayed now.  “We transmatted straight here.  I was still in Super.”  She had been, he realized.  There hadn’t been the usual time to calm down and take stock- their retreat had been more of an escape.  “Things looked pretty bad there at the end,” the Arstrider continued.  “I... went too deep, probably.”

It was easy to forget sometimes that for all the power she had, she was still young.  Sometimes control could only be gained through patience and time.  He reached for her hand-

She jerked back violently, hands up clear in the air, tense.  Her eyes were blue-white with Arc Light.  The hairs on Andal’s arms stood on end.

“That’s not smart,” Azra said.  “That’s really- I’m fine.  Really.  I just need to…”  She tightened the straps on her guards again and grimaced.  “I’m gonna… chill.  Over there.”  She gestured to the back of the cargo hold.

“Punch it,” Andal called over his shoulder.  He felt the ship accelerate as Charin obeyed.  Andal turned back to the Arcstrider, who’d taken several steps backward.   “Alright, kid, we’ll be in Camp in five minutes.”

“I’m okay, really,” she said.  She sounded like she meant it, at least.  “Just antsy.  Can't just turn off the Arc like that.”

“If you say so.”

The Flight of an Arrow

“Tevis!”

The Nightstalker hissed and turned his aim elsewhere.  But there was nowhere else to shoot.  The refugees from the caravan they’d been guarding were just too close.  The foliage was too thick overhead to let a Shadowshot through, the brush off the trail too dense.  He couldn’t even shoot at what he’d aimed at; there were too many people nearby.

Tevis, apparently, hadn’t prepared himself to wait.  He’d seen the Captain and pulled his Bow on instinct.  The shriek of the unspent death in his hands was audible over Shiro and Cayde’s gunfire, rising in pitch even as his head whipped around, desperately looking for an avenue of escape.

There just wasn’t one.  Andal reached the Nightstalker just as he gave up and took the metaphorical bullet.  The Void weapon disappeared from his hands and he fell into a crouch, head tucked in, hands in white-knuckled fists against his ribcage.  Andal himself had eaten Shadowshots before; he knew they could hurt like hell.

The refugees were panicking, even though the Captain and its crew were already dead.  They jostled dangerously close to the Nightstalker.  A concerned woman reached out a hand-

“Don’t touch him,” Andal snapped.  “Cayde, Shiro, get the civilians out of here.  We’ll catch up.”

Shiro was beside them in an instant, like magic, appraising Tevis.  He made brief eye contact with Andal, nodded, and turned back around, issuing orders to the cluster of Humans.

Andal put a tentative hand on the Nighstalker’s shoulder, jerking back with a hiss when Void ripped up his arm like icewater in his veins.  He shook the offended limb and settled into a kneeling position beside his comrade.  Every muscle in Tevis’s body was locked tight.

It was only when the frantic chatter of the refugees faded that Tevis let out the breath he was holding.  It came out a long, raspy squeak.

“Breathe,” Andal soothed.  “You’ve got this.  Just breathe.”

Tevis’s breath hitched, his shoulders shook, but he made no more noise.  He relaxed slowly, by degrees, letting a knee sink to the ground to steady himself, unclenching his hands, letting his shoulder slump.

Finally, Tevis opened his eyes.  “Close,” he panted.  “That was too close.”

He made to stand, shaky.  Andal helped him to his feet, relieved to not feel even a tingle of Void on his skin.  Tevis had things under control.

The two stood a moment as the Nightstalker checked his guns.  Andal only moved when Tevis shouldered the strap of his rifle and gestured.  “Dusk’s not too far off,” the elder Hunter reminded.

“Miles to go before we sleep,” Andal replied.

The Tongue of a Fool

“Cayde.”

“Whaaaaat?” the Gunslinger drawled in fake offense.

Andal pinched the bridge of his nose.  “You really need to learn when to shut up sometimes.”

“Just call ‘em as I see ‘em, bud,” Cayde said easily.  “And wow, it is hard to not see you.  Did you come that big, or you got platforms in your shoes?”

He was speaking to the Exo that loomed over them.  The Titan must have stood at almost 7 feet, though Andal would guess that his armor did add a few inches.  He planted his hands on their table, causing the wood to creak under his weight.  “Do you want to repeat what you just said to my face?”  The Titan even sounded menacing, low and growly.

“I said,” Cayde leaned forward, uncowed, “that’s the most ridiculous-looking helmet I’ve ever seen in my life.  You’re not gonna have any luck wooing that lady with that ugly thing on your head.”

Andal cast a glance back to the table their interloper had been sitting at.  True enough, there was a female Warlock sitting there, face halfway between relief and concern.  Andal nodded at her.  She abandoned her seat and made for the back door.

Cayde just rambled on.  “Though maybe it’s because what you got under it’s uglier.  Hey Andal, bet you a hundred glimmer this guy’s ugly as a Thrall’s butt.  No!  Two hundred.”

Andal sighed and looked mournfully at his drink.  Cayde had obviously seen the Warlock getting uncomfortable with the Titan’s advances, yet instead of checking in with the Warlock or talking to the Titan like a normal person, he’d decided to crow out an insult at a volume the whole bar could hear.

“You owe me a drink,” he accused his Exo companion.  “I’ve barely started this one.”

The Titan drew himself up to his full impressive height, rolling his shoulders.  Cayde reached for a knife.

TYPE: Transcript. DESCRIPTION: Conversation. PARTIES: Two [2]. One [1] Guardian-type, Class Hunter, designate Cayde-6 [c6]; One [1] Guardian-type, Class Hunter, designate Andal Brask [ab] ASSOCIATIONS; Brask, Andal; Cayde-6; The Last City [Earth] //AUDIO UNAVAILABLE// //TRANSCRIPT FOLLOWS.../

[c6:01]: Beautiful night.

[ab:01]: Shut up, Cayde.

[c6:02]: No, really.  Air’s practically balmy.

[ab:02]: I’m sure I’d appreciate it much more if I weren’t in a gutter.  And if I weren’t bleeding internally.

[c6:03]: Hey, isn’t your blood supposed to be internal?

[ab:03]: You realize the hell our Ghosts are going to give us when they get here?  I think we interrupted Charin’s gossip session.

[c6:04]: I saw that guy make like five passes at her.  Wasn’t taking her ‘no’s like he should.

[ab:04]: So you find a way to distract him so she can leave.

[c6:05]: I did!

[ab:05]: Without starting a brawl that leaves us bleeding in the gutter.

[c6:06]: Ah, but where’s the fun in that?

[ab:06]: I hate you so much sometimes.

[c6:07]: You love me and you know it.  I bring excitement into your life.

[ab:07]: I think I lost a tooth.

[c6:08]: Stop moping about that and start moping about the two hundred Glimmer you owe me.

[Silence]

[ab:08]: That guy was pretty ugly, wasn’t he?

[c6:09]: Thrall-butt was too kind, really.

[ab:09]: Fine, you can have your Glimmer.  But you owe me that drink.

[c6:10]: Laaaaaaame.

Whoops it’s 1,500 words this time.  Though I guess it’s a three-in-one, so each one’s 500, so it kind of counts?  Success!

Ao3 Linky

[doorbloggr]

Thursday 6/5/21: Masters of Musical Mashups

I do not consider myself a musically minded person, but I feel I enjoy music as a past time more than the average joe. When I engage with audio entertainment, I do so with my soul, to the point where songs I have nostalgia for can move me to tears.

Sorry for using K-On for mood-setting imagery again, but its a cute and fun aesthetic.

But before I meander too much off-topic, today's on-topic is specifically about music derived from existing media. Parody is the immediate word that comes to mind, but the type of derivative musical masterpieces I wanna highlight in this blog post goes a bit deeper than that.

The internet is an amazing place (maybe I should retitle this blog series to that string of words), and I've been exposed to many smaller or otherwise hidden musical talents that I would not have encountered in everyday life. Today let's discuss two musical talents from YouTube who have made it their mission to incinerate existing music in a grand inferno, and rebirth a new sound, like a radiant phoenix. The masters of mashups.

High Quality Videogame Rips: SiIvaGunner

SiIvaGunner (spelt s-i-i-v-a-g-u-n-n-e-r) is a videogame OST ripping channel. It owes it name to fellow videogame rip channel GilvaSunner, (g-i-l-v-a-s-u-n-n-e-r), who in turn pays homage to original videogame ripping channel Silvagunner (s-i-l-v-a-g-u-n-n-e-r).

Confusing names aside, the purpose of a videogame rip channel is to provide audio acquired directly from a videogame's files in order to fully enjoy the original soundtrack (OST) in its purest form. There are hundreds of such channels on YouTube, but SiIvaGunner has been set apart from the rest by the specific ripping skillset of its community. Take a listen to this:

SiIvaGunner songs are a fun bait-and-switch type entertainment, where the bit usually involves using the thumbnail and title of a video game song, but the artist has used the sound font of that game to construct a completely different tune.

A lot of the time, this is as simple as using a Mario soundfont to play notes of a TV show theme (as above), but sometimes, it can go further. Many of SiIvaGunner's most popular hits involve just straight remixes of mainstream music mashed up with videogame tunes.

And sometimes, the musician will go one more step, and sentence mix lyrics from the videogame song or mainstream song to make a song of entirely new meaning.

SiIvaGunner is not one artist, there is an entire community of musical artists who contribute their pieces to this channel. The channel uploads often double digits of videos daily, so if I've intrigued you at all, please check the channel out!

A World of Mouth: Neil Cicierega

Neil Cicierega is an internet legend. He has been creating online entertainment for almost two decades. Particularly credits include his Potter Puppet Pals series, and his own original music under the name "Lemon Demon", with works such as The Ultimate Showdown and Two Trucks.

Given his aptitude in comedy and musical talent, it is not surprising that Neil jumped into the parody/remixing scene. But whereas other parody artists and remixers simply created their own altered versions of popular music, Neil Cicierega created something on entire other level.

Neil has recently released his fourth album in the Mouth series, a collection of mashup music that transforms popular mainstream music into something new and fantastic. Neil will take the vocals from one song and transplant it into the instrumentals of another song. Often this contrast is used for comedic effect, but in my opinion, many of the songs he's remixed sound catchier and more fun than the originals.

The namesake of his series, Smash Mouth, feature heavily in a number of his songs. Given the meme-able nature of Smash Mouth, thanks to Shrek, the Mouth series is known across the internet for its fun parodic nature.

Smash Mouth is far from the only source Neil Cicierega uses. Source music is taken from all genres of popular 20th and 21st century hits. Neil has a musical ear where he can perfectly match any lyrics with their instrumental soulmate. The pairing needn't be songs of the same genre however, and some of his most fun music comes from combining music from polar opposite genres.

Using the vocals from AC/DC's Back in Black with the instruments from Vanessa Carlton's A Thousand Miles sounds like a pair that shouldn't work. But Neil knows his rhythm and it goes off. And while Neil is a master of putting hard-ass lyrics to a softer song, that doesn't mean he can't go in the other direction. Below is Spongerock, a mashup of the Spongebob theme song and Queen's We Will Rock You.

Some of Neil's remixes aren't mashups at all, but rather a transformation of a song into something silly, bizarre and barely recognisable from the original. The prime example being Bustin.

Neil Cicierega posts his original music on Spotify, and his Mouth series can be found on his Soundcloud. Fans have uploaded most of the Mouth series to Youtube, and if you have a spare few hours (or want to consume it over a few days), a fan has compiled all of his albums into one long video, The Mouth Experience:

I've given my readers plenty of good music to listen to today, so if you do enjoy yourselves or have already experienced these musical geniuses before, be sure to let me know and spread the word.

[sibyl-of-space]

Final Fantasy IX ~ Melodies and Memories

"Jesters of the Moon"

There are a lot of very good video games in the world, but it takes some luck and circumstance outside of a game's control for one to reach me at just the right time(s) and place(s) in my life that it has a tangible impact on who I am -- who I want to be. One that carves out a space for itself in my soul that will never be removed or replaced.

I've just finished playing Final Fantasy IX for the first time, and there's no doubt in my mind that such is the case here.

(Continued below readmore.)

I drew this art last year, when I was mourning my attachment to an old favorite game that I just don't feel the same way about anymore: Majora's Mask. I wanted to draw something that captured my feelings about it, because sometimes art is the best way to talk about something when the words don't want to come.

Why is "Jesters of the Moon," the name of a random song in the Final Fantasy IX soundtrack, plastered in the middle of this Majora's Mask fanart? Especially considering I hadn't even played Final Fantasy IX yet when I drew this?

The reason is exactly that "luck and circumstance" that allowed me to fall so uniquely in love with the game.

"Mt. Gulug"

In 2008, someone on YouTube uploaded a Majora's Mask parody-slash-let's-play series called "Majora's Mask: The Things Which Were Taken Out." The series has since become unlisted and won't be linked here out of respect for the creator who probably doesn't want things they said and made in 2008 being spread all over the internet, but because of Unregistered Hypercam 2 reasons, the series inserted other background music over the video and didn't record the actual game audio.

I didn't recognize any of the music, but I watched these parody videos on repeat because in addition to being funny (...at the time, in my mind, at least), I really really loved the music. It got to the point where I would sometimes be playing Majora's Mask and get disappointed when I approached Goht and the Mt. Gulug theme wasn't playing in the background.

I had forgotten about these videos for a really long time in the interim, but I remembered them at some point when I was thinking about Majora's Mask and I found them again. The creator had cited the Final Fantasy IX soundtrack for virtually all of the background music used in the videos, and I realized that despite knowing literally nothing about the game, I had become really fond of - and weirdly nostalgic for - the songs from it that I now recognized.

So I looked up "Jesters of the Moon" and played it on repeat while I drew out my feelings in colored marker. A few months later, I realized that my backwards compatible PS3 can also play PS1 games, and eBay had FFIX for PS1 at a good price. I had nothing to lose by ordering it and seeing what the source of all that fantastic music was like.

"Vamo Alla Flamenco"

I started my playthrough knowing nothing about what to expect from the game. I'd never played a Final Fantasy game before and my overall JRPG experience has been mostly limited to Tales of, Persona, and more recently, mainline Shin Megami Tensei. The only things I knew about Final Fantasy were a) the Tidus laughing scene, and b) Sephiroth. IX seemed like it had vibes I would enjoy, but beyond that I knew nothing about what the experience would be. So I approached it with a "let's have fun and see how it goes" attitude, naming my party members the first silly thing that came to mind, ending up with "Swaggy," "OwO," "Bitchin," "Gunz," and "SWOOORD" to start with.

(For the record I do not regret those names whatsoever.)

I was immediately struck by how differently the game uses music in comparison to all of my previous JRPG experiences. This was not a game where the composer was given a list of theme songs that were slapped on top of a mostly completed game-- this was a game constructed with the soundtrack in mind as a part of the writing process.

The opening act plays almost like an opera (side note, yes I know one of the other FF's has a literal opera, I haven't played that one): you traverse the same locations from different perspectives as different characters, introducing the cast with lighthearted humor and dramatic irony out the wazoo. While you traverse the city as OwO, OwO's theme is playing in the background, coloring your perspective of the city and the narrative. When you switch to Gunz patrolling around the castle, Gunz's theme accompanies your movement and informs his character and mission. I am so accustomed to "location themes" being the norm in virtually all video games that experiencing character and/or narrative themes as BGM instead while I bumble around town changed my entire perspective on what music in games can do and be.

The operatic feeling is definitely intentional, because the game uses a play-within-a-game narrative device to hit you over the head with its themes in a way that is somehow poignant and artful while also being extremely blatant. That is a hard balance to strike, but it manages. The whole game is like that: it is completely straightforward and tells you exactly what it's about at heart, but it does it beautifully.

At any rate, I was enamored with this intro and had a very fun time, but I wasn't obsessed or anything and ended up putting it down. I spent several months on the first half of disk 1 with weeks passing between play sessions. I liked the game plenty, but life stuff happened and I decided to get obsessed with Dai Gyakuten Saiban and Ghost Trick for a while. No regrettis.

It was already clear, though, that FFIX was going to be special to me. My compositions for my team's game in the Global Game Jam in 2021 were directly inspired by FFIX's opera-like intro. I wrote two character themes for our game that would serve as background music when you play as the two protagonists, coloring your journey differently even when moving in the same spaces. I was intentionally trying to mimic the way music is used in FFIX as an exercise. The themes I wrote are definitely some of my strongest work so far.

(You can check out the game here if you want, I promise it is significantly shorter than Final Fantasy IX.)

"Melodies of Life"

Music caused me to pick up FFIX the first time, and music caused me to return to it. After months of not touching or really thinking about it, just earlier this week I was inspired to play it again, because - again - I listened to the right song at the right time.

I was again mourning the loss of something, in this case a friendship, for reasons I'm not going to share here. I had already heard the song "Melodies of Life" because it came up when I was looking up FFIX songs to reblog on Tumblr a few months ago, and I decided to listen to it again. Even without knowing the game context, the song itself really spoke to me in that moment: "a voice from the past, joining yours and mine, adding up the layers of harmony" - it kind of made me feel at peace with the fact that I had a lot of positive memories of that friendship and I could keep those at heart while also moving on in the present. ...I'm also a sucker for music metaphors, so there is that.

I was really moved by this song, cheesy as it is, and I was also definitely in the mood for a distraction. Picking up FFIX again felt like the best move.

It was, and my life is forever changed.

The game never stopped being beautiful and funny and touching, and the soundtrack never ceased to amaze. I recognized concepts I've seen in other games but never had I seen them used so artfully. I adored the fantasy world and non-human cast, I found myself enticed by random encounter for the first time because it made me feel like I had to struggle to survive a difficult journey. Music, gameplay, visuals, and story felt like one cohesive work of art for the entire duration.

Life circumstances got me to play the game again, but the game itself was so captivating and wonderful that I binged the entire rest of it - disks 2-4 - in less than a week. Everything else that the game had to say, it told me itself, in its own context, and I was ready to listen.

"You're Not Alone!"

This is going to make me sound like an emotionally-stunted twenty-something, but it has been years since a work of media has got me to have a really good cry. I used to cry playing games all the time as a kid but recently I'll find myself getting emotional, sure, often tearing up, but getting completely red-faced and snot-nosed because I physically cannot contain the emotions being evoked by a work? Years. I can't honestly tell you the last time it happened with certainty.

I feel like an emotional band-aid has been ripped off. I was f*cking sobbing during the entire duration of the "You're Not Alone!" sequence. It didn't matter that what was happening was obviously coming from a mile away, because the delivery was so raw and emotional and human!!! A whole game's worth of Swaggy punching first and asking questions later to save his friends, being Protag McProtag endangering himself for others in any and all circumstances, for the payoff of all of his friends forcing him to stop being such a primadonna and let them help him for once. It's true, too! He relies on them just as much as they rely on him! And the game doesn't just tell you this, no, it lets you try to solo all these fights and waits until you realize how boned you are until they come bail you out.

When Bitchin showed up with her "looks like you need a hand" I wanted to straight up yell at my tv. YES I DO!!! YES I DO NEED YOU BITCHIN!!!!! THANK YOU!!!!!!! I half knew that SWOOORD was going to heal me before I got truly KO-ed but I had been unmercifully wiped in "unwinnable" battles before in this game, so I legit thought I might have to re-do that whole part of the game again, and I was so relieved and thankful when she showed up and healed me.

This moment exemplifies everything that I adore about this game. It doesn't just tell you its story. It shows it to you, it sings it to you, and it and lets you play it out and feel it for yourself.

"Game Over"

This song is all too familiar to me. Gizamaluke's Grotto was very unforgiving for a first-time Final Fantasy player, especially one who didn't happen to pick up Big on the way for a fourth party member early on.

I hadn't heard the piano part in a few months, though, because when I picked the game back up I started just mashing to reload before it got to that point any time we wiped. I didn't hear it again until the game was truly over, this time for good.

I let it play for a while. Not too long, because I have a CRT TV and didn't want "The End" to get burned in. But a while. Enough to meditate on what I'd just experienced, and how I was feeling about it.

There's so much more to say about the game, far more than I could put in a blog post. But I don't think I need to describe these thoughts in words. I can do what the game did, and use music, use art, use stories, use metaphors, and use symbols to communicate what I mean; and hope that someone else is able and willing to listen.

And although a written record of my thoughts likely won't be preserved for all that long, maybe the feelings and the memories will be, so long as they have been shared.

[paperbagwriter]

Room on Fire

Run, Run, Run. I could catch a glimpse of The Velvet Underground playing in the background. I’m standing alone in a limbo, both a state and a space. There’s nothing but sickening white infinity between me and the empty space around me. I’m standing in suspense. Beads of sweat breaking out of my skin and crawling down my body. I’m naked and dumb, my cock hanging out, my bare butt out in the open. Suddenly, before I can even process what’s happening, everything escalates. It lights out. Like the last beat of a dying man’s heart, everything disappears, and falls into a sudden, blinding darkness.

My brain lined up another thought to send into the cabinet as I think about getting a move on. I need to run. Then another thought comes in ‘what if I find nothing and I would just run forever, confused and scared, don’t even know how to fucking escape.’ Then another thought comes in, then another, then another, then another. The line has been broken, and now thoughts are just flooding into the small cabinet until it breaks too, I’m on the verge of madness. My body freezes in fear. I’m sweating profusely, but I’m not wet at all. Though, I can feel the sweat crawling down my back, through the crack of my butt, to the tip of my toes. There’s nothing in here. There’s nothing in here, not even a breath of wind.  Every drop of sweat marks every second I’m here, but as it drops, it makes no sound whatsoever when they touch the ground. I just realized that I am indeed standing up straight but I cannot feel the ground beneath my feet. My limp and stiffen body is floating still in the middle of nothing and nowhere. It’s very dark here I can’t make anything out with my eyes. My ear is the only thing giving me hints of my whereabouts. Here is a place near an audio source, perhaps a radio or something, as I still can hear Lou Reed’s guitar subtly playing in the background even after it went dark. ‘I sold my soul, must be saved. Gonna take a walk down to Union Square. You never know who you’re gonna find there’, he sings as he’s getting started.

The beast announced its presence in the dark. Something breaks the silence. I’m not sure what it is. Then it becomes clear that it is the sound of grinding teeth. It constantly grinds its teeth harder until I can no longer tell the difference in volume. I decided to pick the scattered pieces of myself and stand up to the fear. The desire to run, among the thousands of thing in my mind, feels more urgent. I try my hardest to move. I clench and tighten every muscle in my body as I try to make a movement. As I struggle for a so much as a little tick in my finger, the grinding sound stops. My mind goes blank as my thoughts scattered everywhere in little pieces. 20 years of living and this is as scared as I’ve ever been. I can feel the beast’s hunger and its desire as if it’s my own, terrified is just isn’t the right word to describe the fear I feel right now. I don’t want to die here and I’ve got to get out of here. My blank mind carries on without even gathering itself back. I’m acting purely on my primal instinct to survive here. I forced my body to move, I need to move, I don’t care if I ripped all of my muscles. I scream at the top of my lung as I push myself but I don’t hear my voice. Then suddenly I can feel my body move. I’m falling down. There’s no ground beneath me so I just keep falling.

The beast is waiting for me at the bottom, I’m sure of it. While I’m stuck in this infinite falling motion, I feel a gush of air passing me by. The beast is moving. It’s trying to find me but apparently it missed my just by some inch. The slipstream suggests that the beast moves incredibly fast. Right now it’s still running around the place trying to find me. I notice that even though the beast moves around so much, it never leaves my proximity. It knows I’m here but it doesn’t know where exactly. The desperation in the beast’s search for me looks less like a hunt for prey than a search for itself the longer it goes. It keeps moving and moving and moving in great speed. The sound of it grinding its teeth grows in speed every time it moves. Along with the droning sound of Lou Reed’s guitar, all of this – this place, the state I’m in, the darkness, and the beast, set the stage for a play being played perfectly down to every wretched moment. I’m in a place where somewhere is synonymous to nowhere. Here is a place, a physically non-existent place where depression and despair are the rules only I can reach. I am the only witness to this place’s existence. This place is the only witness to my existence. This place is what makes me a human but it can no longer hold the weight of being a human.

The beast got me.

I’m running in the street. Buck naked. Tongue out. Popping eyes. Itchy nipples. High fever. Laughing out loud, my eyes locked on to the man under fire. I run as fast as I can. Tears are running down my face but I can’t feel any sadness in me, only manic euphoria. I’m running as fast as I can. I’m desperate. I want to save that man from me. I have to save that man from being me. I want to see my kids, my wife. I want to go up there somewhere among the stars where my mother is.  I’m running as fast as I can to that man. No, I’m running faster than I’m capable of. Too late. The man succumbs to the fire. There are only pain and madness that will suffocate him to death after that. I stopped in my step to watch the scene. The fire burning before my eyes, I never remembered it being this painless and reassuring. ‘Let me in the fire’ I say under my breath, desperately to the man. I move my feet again as I’m trying to catch the fire, the very same fire that sent me to the path that leads to here after I lost that ‘humanity’ everybody demanded of themselves and of others. But just before I jump, the cops got me. “Son of a bitch” one of them calls me, among other curses. “Why do we have to save bastards like these, huh? We should just let ‘em die. That’ll do the world more good.”

“Alright on your feet, you sad fuck.” The other orders me. “You ain’t going nowhere yet, ya hear me? Not up there, nor down there. You’re going to wait for it while getting your junkie ass fucked.”

[sugaxjpg]

02 | blank check; m

⤷ “Let me get this right, okay? You threw my name in as your fake girlfriend because you needed to prove yourself to your empty-headed friends, and now you need to fix it. Still,” you paused, raising your eyebrows, “your way of fixing is not to disclose it as a lie, but to cover it up with an even bigger and riskier one. Is that correct?”

⤷ PART 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 |Co-written with @pantaemonium

✓ Couple: Jungkook x Reader | Fuckboy!AU & FakeDating!AU

✓ Filed under: smut, tragic comebacks

✓ Words:  8,048

Author’s Note: Hello, everyone! Before anything else, Laura and I would like to thank you all for the overwhelming support we’ve received for part one. We are beyond thrilled that you guys are liking this series as much as we are!! Without further ado, let’s get down to business (to defend the huns).

“There is no way in hell I’m wearing this, you hear me?” you screamed against the phone for the third time in less than ten seconds. A high-pitched ding indicated the audio had been sent, and that was your signal to toss the device aside. Jungkook would not listen to it, like he had not listened to the other ten voice messages you had blessed his chatroom with.

The last message you had received from him had been short and dry, more of a user’s guide than a text. It exhibited his advanced SAT vocabulary and his outstanding talent to be concise. Lambda Kappa Pi. 11pm. Say you’re my girl and they’ll get you in. Good luck with the dress.

My girl, as if there was a dimension out of the multiverse you had been thrown into in which you would say such nonsense. My girl, your brain echoed, this time in his voice, that you imagined would be hoarse and whiny during sex. No, no, that was not an image you wanted in your mind.

“Hey, I’m Jungkook’s girl,” you spoke as you imagined yourself babbling at the entrance of the frat house, clad in that skin-tight little red dress. Imagination is a very powerful weapon to use against oneself, and it immediately transfigured you into a Legally Blonde character, one of the sweethearts from Delta Nu but with no rich daddy, no fake tanning, and no equilibrium to stand over the sky-challenging high-heels he had sent along with the dress.

You’d look far more like a clown that had just ran away from the circus, that’s for sure.

You clenched your jaw at the absurdity of that idea, ignoring the butterflies that begun dancing in your stomach. His girl. Stupid ass. You would never do something like th—

—Ding!

In a reflex, you practically threw yourself on your bed to reach for your phone, chest bubbling up with the ridiculous excuses that he could have sent back to you. Instead, however, what you were met with was a simple series of condescending texts:

Jungkook’s only neuron said: u’ll look great bby

Jungkook’s only neuron said: im getting heated just thinkin of u in that ;)

You said: You prick

You said: That dress doesn’t even cover my ass properly

Jungkook’s only neuron said: that was what i was hopin for

You groaned out loud as your eyes read his message, mind working faster than the quick progression of your thumbs against the screen — you better be ready for me to ruin you with the favor I have stored up, then, you texted back.

Jungkook’s response arrived all too soon. There was no physical time to toss the phone back onto the bed, to try the diminutive piece of clothing on and see if there was a way your boobs could survive without suffocating. As the notification blared through the speaker, you imagined him, expecting your reply by the phone, biting his nails. In your imagination, he was nervous, at least a bit; but Jungkook and his cohorts did not know nervousness, at least not when confronted to tests of women. They followed all those ludicrous bro-code-or-whatever-they-called-it rules; and making girls wait for their replies was in the book.

“Ruin or be ruined, that’s the world we live in,” you read out loud, trying to find in between the words Jungkook’s personal trademark. Unexpectedly, there was no baby. No typos. No superfluous exhibition of his very pompous personality. Had he asked for help? Perhaps Namjoon, the only one in the frat house with a functional brain. Maybe Yoongi, but it sounded way too contained to his taste.

“Quote your sources next time,” you typed rapidly, grinning all the way. “See you later, bby.”

Now Jungkook’s Only Neuron could type and ruminate over your odd response all he wanted. There would be no more texts until the party — except perhaps a picture or two of you in that dress, blurry and terribly illuminated. The ire of the gods would fall upon him when he tried to zoom in into your boobs only to find pixels. A taste of his own medicine, that was what you called this cruel stratagem.

Now, there were only a limited number of things which could count as social humiliation for you. As mentioned aforetime, failing a ridiculously easy class or exposing your underwear were near the top of the list, alongside some awfully personal experiences, but you never thought there would be something to top all your expectations. Turns out that 90’s movies make a so called “makeover” to be something great and empowering when, in reality, it had to be the spiritual equivalent of intestinal cramps in the middle of a road trip. And yes, you had been through that. No further comment.

Maybe the movie director of your life was sadistic. Maybe that experience was karma for ruining poor Jungkook’s mental health earlier that day. Whatever it was, it was the new number one on your list of social humiliation. You could not claim you hadn’t gotten anything out of that night — but experiences make you grow, right?

You knew you had fucked up the second you walked up to the fraternity house — that stupidly large, greek-like mansion that pulsated under the progression of the awfully loud music — and saw a pair of underwear on the grass, lost amidst a sea of bottles and beer cans. And then a bra. And then an used cond— Jesus Christ! Were those kids acting out Animal Planet? There were limits. There had to be. Goodbye to your long lost purity.

To top it all off, it was cold. Not nice, chilly cold, but winter-is-here kind of Game of Thrones bullshit. The wind was like cold daggers against your skin, piercing your naked legs as you moved closer to the entrance door, benumbing your senses to the fullest extent. Whatever it was that you had in store for Jungkook, it had to be equally torturous to that walk of shame — the night had not even started, and you were already constructing an escape plan.

“Hey,” you said as you stopped in front of two athletes, crossing your arms before your figure — thank God for your common sense, since the leather jacket you wore both covered your insanely tight boobs and gave you a bit of heat. You wouldn’t have started a conversation with them if not absolutely necessary and, in that case, they were blocking the passage. “Excuse me, please.”

One of them turned to you with arched eyebrows, looking you up and down, “You seem familiar,” he mumbled, infecting the atmosphere with a terrible scent of alcohol. To be fair, you thought you knew him too, but did not want to get into friendly terms with any of them. “Whatcha’ doing here?”

Hell, here goes nothing, “Jungkook called me here.”

“Jungkook, who?” The other one — the travel-sized counterpart — laughed, hitting his friend’s shoulder in his drunken haze. “We know no Jungkook.”

They were still blocking the entrance, and you were not in the mood to commence an arrogant dissertation on why they did know the Jungkook you were referring to, and why was their ruse so evident. Shivering inside the leather jacket, you tried to find a way around the words he wanted so desperately to hear. “I am his friend,” you said.

The smaller of the two scoffed. “Jungkook has no friends.”

“I thought you knew no Jungkook,” you smirked, devilishly, but the brainless pair would not subside in their efforts to rip a confession out of your — literal — cold body. “For fucks sake. I am his girl. Jungkook’s. The one that gets to fuck him every night while you two try to resist the homoerotic dynamics you have seen yourselves trapped into. Now let me in, Tweedledee.”

“A straight-up bitch. Hot.” They murmured as you made your way into the hall. Inside, a myriad of bodies crammed the room, pressed against one another. Girls in short dresses and stressed boys trying to get their attention roamed around, red cup in hand. Their scent was sweetly rancid, a mixture of alcohol, sweat and pheromones you would not be able to stand for long without a drink in your hand.

No. Wait. Probably wouldn’t be the wisest of ideas to be intoxicated while pretending to be someone else’s girlfriend for the night. You got awfully sincere when you had alcohol, and the last thing you needed was to ruin your saved favor, especially after going through all the trouble you did. Next step would not be to drink away your disgust, as compelling as that seemed to be, but to find out your pathetically inadequate fake boyfriend.

Taking a deep breath, you skirted the overabundance of bodies as you made your way past the main living room, finding solace in a somewhat calm corner of the ambient. You leaned your back against the asperous wall, taking your phone out of your purse. Numb, your thumbs cried under the effort of unlocking the device and moving to his contact — that arrogant smile on that nauseatingly perfect display picture — to type your impatient messages:

You said: Hey, loser

You said: I’m here already

You said: Where can I find you?

You waited for a few seconds to see if he would get online, but nothing appeared on your screen. For a moment your mind wandered towards the possibility of it all being a prank, after all: to get you, a serious and stuff girl, in that outrageously small piece of red fabric would be a huge joke on itself, even more if he managed to show it off to his friends. If that was the case, you would transfer colleges. Not to be overdramatic or anything.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think I told you to wear a jacket, baby girl.”

The second you raised your gaze, you came to regret your reckless decision — not in the cutesy, hesitant manner you were feeling aforetime, but in the this-was-a-horrible-idea-and-my-life-is-over type of shit. Not because you were in any sort of danger, but because you accepted the fact that you had absolutely no way to control yourself near the sheer sexual temptation that was Jeon Jungkook. Not like that.

In all his glory, the idiot looked the best he ever did. With his black hair slightly disheveled, parted almost in the middle, and eyes gleaming under the neon lights of the frat house, he looked like he had just stepped out of a photoshoot for Men’s Health. His team’s jacket — blue and white, with the symbol of your college — had its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the veins in his forearms; unbuttoned so it presented you with the v-cut shirt he wore underneath, grey. You could see the outlines of his fucking abs with that crap. Muscle pig. It was absurd. He should take it off.  

And of course, there were those fucking thighs. But you would not allow your gaze to fall under his waistline just yet. Yet.

A hum from his part interrupted your momentaneous fall into inferno, making you realize how quickly your heart started to beat. “You’re lucky you’re hot as fuck,” Jungkook acknowledged, his own eyes falling to your form, eyebrows slightly arched. “I always knew I had good taste for girlfriends.”

The silence between you was bubbling with an unspoken tension. Sexual, Cosmopolitan would have defined it as purely sexual. "Ten Easy Tips to Know if your Crush Wants you Too," or something of the sort would had been plastered all over the cover, where a barely-legal model would have judged you with doe-like eyes.

Jungkook's roseate tongue came out to wet his lips, to fill the void words had left behind with a heavy sigh. You wondered what those lips tasted like. Had you been asked to guess, you would have said cherry, or strawberry — although you were certain he had been drinking beer or, worse, cheap tequila shots.

The faux courage that had been motioning your body forward ever since you abandoned the dorms was now slipping in between your fingers as you reached for the hem of his jacket. "You look—" you started, but your mind went blank in a maelstrom of adjectives, amongst which you found barely no insults.

"—smoking hot?" Jungkook ventured. He was not mistaken, but still you scoffed. It the quintessence of your being, the endless sarcasm; you could not just abandon the truth of your nature for a boyfriend. A fake one, to top it all.

"I was going to say stereotyped, but hot also fits. I guess," index pressed against his chest, you leaned forward reducing the space between your bodies to naught. Air escaped in between his teeth when your lips caressed his ear with your murmurations. "What now, baby?" you mumbled, oblivious to his fingers as they traveled up your arm in a tender caress.

"Honestly?" the impish gleam of his eyes was a bad omen or, at least, the indication that you were not prepared in the slightest for what was to come. "I want to kiss the hell out of you, but not here."

For a second, you allowed yourself to forget that it was all an act. Without a second thought, you found yourself biting your lower lip in sheer desire. Lucky you, the boy would most likely think that was part of the fake love, and not your raging hormones coming out to say hello. “I would very much like that, yes,” you purred out against his skin, pressing your chest against his own. His heart was beating fast, but yours was no different. “Where to?”

Jungkook seemed to take a second to calm his nerves, clearing his mind from the impulses that flashed within his needs — if he were to be sincere, you two could forget that plan and just have a private place for yourselves, but there was a protocol to follow, his reputation at stake.  “Couch,” that word came out in a serpentine whisper, muffled as if had been verbalized miles underneath the sea. Against your waist, his palm held your skin in an almost protective manner — yet, both of you were holding back now.

You hummed in agreement. His scent was intoxicating you, the heat of his body was monopolizing your most logical of conceptualizations. “Take me whenever you need me,” you agreed as one of your hands slid down his chest — jesus, those fucking abs — and towards his own hand. You intertwined his fingers in his, loving that position a bit more than you probably should. “Should we?”

If he had said something in return, you did not hear it. Before you could control yourself any further, the boy was already guiding you past the chaotic ocean of exhilarated bodies, holding down to your hand as if it was his own version of salvation. Jungkook was lucky he was hot — very fucking hot, at that — otherwise you would have cracked another joke or two about how eager he appeared to be. Still, you were certain it would backfire.

“I see you want to put up a show,” was what you said instead, accompanying his harsh movements as the two of you arrived upon the center of the room — the heart of the party, if you could say that. From your peripheral vision, you could see splashes of blue and white moving around, signaling that more of his teammates were around. Classic show off. “Want everyone watching.”

“You have no clue, babe.” Jungkook turned around just in time so he could see the glimpses of lust coruscating inside your eyes. Bedroom eyes. Cute. “I want that jacket off.”

“No deal,” you told him promptly. With a groan, the boy threw himself on a beige couch nearby, sitting somewhat close to where another two jocks conversed vigorously, waving their red cups in the air like they were not half full. It was only a matter of seconds before they saw the two of you — more precisely you — and his pretty spectacle would finally begin. “Why do you want to expose your girlfriend like this?”

It was no problem. He could take it off himself.

As a response, Jungkook simply placed his hands on his thighs, signaling you that it would be your seat for the night — seems like you would be sitting in his lap, after all. “Come here, baby,” he requested. Okay, you would be lying through your teeth if you said that the place did not appear to be as inviting as possible. “Let me have a taste of you.”

To hell with it. If you were going to act it out, you might as well put up a show, and calm down your raging hormones as you did so.

And fuck, there were some things that 90s movies could never prepare you for. There was no scene, no soundtrack, no music video able to distract you from how firm his legs were as you sat down on top of them, dress slightly moving up your thighs. There was no director, no storyline that could guide your hands around his neck as you tilted your head and closed your eyes, falling to the absolute misery that was Jeon Jungkook. There was nothing in the entire world that could have made you pull away.

What a terrible fucking idea.

Jungkook groaned as soon as your lips met, quick to set the pace as a quick, needy, sloppy kiss. His hands, before so vacillating, now had traveled to your ass, where he squeezed your flesh, making you press down your hips against his, not letting it go for a second. You melted against his kiss, allowing yourself to sigh and moan against his mouth as his tongue encountered yours. Lacking places to hold onto, your hands moved to his cheeks, then to his hair, intertwining in his black locks and pulling on them.

Okay, there were things you regretted. You thought there was nothing capable of topping the preposterous plan of pretending to be Jungkook’s girlfriend, but that was because you had not reached that point of the night just yet. Because you had still not pulled away just enough so you could speak, caressing his lips with your own, speaking in a voice so filled with lust that you were surprised yourself. “Is that all you can do, kiddo?” you provoked him. “Come on, Jeon, is this how you treat your girl?”

He smirked. “Believe me, princess, there’s nothing I’d love more than treat you the way you deserve. Anything for you. But, you see, the audience is waiting and, as much as I would love to fuck you raw in this couch, I’d rather give the show I promised, and then renegotiate the initial clauses of our little contract,” then, a small pause, “if you are interested, of course.”

The boy was an idiot, or so you had thought: Jeon Jungkook, the dumbass that lets his dick make every essential decision, and doesn’t grasp even half of the references you throw at him. Apparently, that was not the case, and his intelligence was extensive only when he had to protect his pride and bring to term an important business. In other words, he wasn’t dumb, he wa just a selfish little prick.

Fingers sauntering up your thigh, Jungkook murmured in-between delicate kisses, and it made it impossible for you to deliver a witty remark. Every few words he would stop to taste your flesh with the tip of his tongue, and then nip it with his teeth. Lost in the feverish reverie of his tender caresses, you abandoned yourself to the feel of his kisses as his lips marked the path towards your jaw, your cheek. With a sigh falling from your swollen lips, you hoped to express the thirst he had incited, but he merely watched your reaction, diverted. Motherfucker. He knew what he was doing.

“For now,” he said against your ear, marking each word with a tap of his finger against your thigh. “This will have to do.” His thumb slid past the hem of your skirt and fuck, how you wished he were to continue his journey towards your underwear. There had been no specifications about that matter, but you had added your distinctive touch to the outfit. Jungkook did not know yet, but he would have loved to take that off you.

“I really think you can step up your game, Jungkook.” You looked around, biting your lips. None of the players around you were particularly interested in your little affair. Short skirts and exhibitionism were the daily bread of all those jocks. Luckily, that night no one had pulled out their dicks to measure them or start a peeing contest. Perhaps later in the night, when alcohol run freely through their bloodstream, eliminating their inhibition — or what was left of it, anyways. “This show of yours will impress no one.”

As if motioned by the fuel of a good challenge, Jungkook pounced over your lips. His touch was no longer delicate, contained, or meticulous, as it was before. Earlier, all he had wanted was to create a beautiful painting in which you, a girl that would have never had any interest for the jock in the class, was head over heels for him. He cared not about his audience, not anymore, as he could not bring himself to think of the friends he was supposed to impress. His only and most primal desire was to prove himself, to erase the disdainful sneer tainting those lips that were like nectar against his tongue.

You threw yourself off his lap and leaned your back against the arm of the sofa, being trapped between it and his large figure. In the impetus of his sudden adoration, you lost your hold on reality and allowed for him to overtake you, pressing his chest against your own. Jungkook’s hand in the small of your back cushioned your descents to the inferno of his hips pressed against yours, hands exploring your waist, and the curve of your breasts over the tight dress.

It was getting more and more difficult to come to your senses when all you could feel were his palms against your breasts, only to go down to your ass a second later. Your dress was being pulled upwards, your heart overtaken by the intoxicated by rhythm of the song as one of his legs moved in between yours, pressing down on your core — gradually at first, but then strong enough for you to moan loudly against his mouth. This kid was playing with fire. You loved it.

You were out of breath and out of mind when a voice called from the outside world, that universe of flashing comets and red asters circulating around your sweltering bodies. “Hey kid! Jungkook!” the unknown timbre insisted further and, before you could recognize it, Jungkook had pushed himself away from you to smile at a stranger. Whoever it was, you wanted him killed for interrupting your search for nirvana. “You know we have rooms for that kind of unholy shit. Leave all the exhibitionism for Jimin, he loves it.”

With a smirk, his victory became plastered across his douchebag face, “I got carried away, sorry,” Jungkook explained, lips shining with the remnants of your gloss. His hand was still against your waist, but he showed no shame when he winked in your direction, purposefully following your eyes as they grew darker — he was loving it. “Tastes like heaven, y’know?”

The other guy, whose name you could not quite recall, simply rolled his eyes at the out-of-character sentence, “Whatever you say, dude,” he mumbled underneath the music, unaffected by show you two had put up. Instead, his gaze seemed to be a bit lost in the remanent liquid that dwelled on the bottom of his red cup — poor kid was completely wasted. “Uh, by the way, before I forget. Namjoon has been looking for you for like two hours or whatever. He says, and I quote, that he wants to see it or he won’t believe it.”

Jungkook’s smile grew by a few millimeters, finding in that sentence the opportunity he needed. He didn’t need half of your GPA to understand what his friend was referring to, “Yeah, sure thing, man,” he answered. You were amazed how casually he was acting for someone who still had one hand holding tightly to your ass, but you could not claim you did not like it. In fact, he could strip you naked for all you cared, fake boyfriend or not. “Where is he, by the way?”

Chewing on his words for a second, the guy paused. His chocolate-colored eyes got lost in the horizon and, at last, you came to understand that he must have consumed something other than alcohol — hey, no judgement, you were not precisely the morally superior person in that conversation. “He was at the game room with the dudes. I don’t know if they’re still there.”

“Perfect,” Jungkook exclaimed, his palm squeezing your ass once again. Only then did you notice that, in the meantime, his shirt had rolled up a bit. Now you totally could see those abs you have always dreamt about and, good lord, they were even better than what you imagined. If you were not acting then, you would have cursed out his unnamed friend for interrupting that slack of paradise — but hell, the ghostly sensation of his lips on yours still got the best of you. Fucking prick. He was too powerful. “Thanks, Tae. You didn’t see anything.”

Tae… Taehyung. Oh, now you remembered. The kid who got high and ate pizza from the bottom of the pool in freshman year. Disgusting and slightly worrisome. You thought some memories could be left forgotten.

Taehyung suspired. “I did, though,” only then did his gaze navigate back to you, lingering on your face for a couple more seconds than necessary. You didn’t know if it were the drugs acting up, or if he was examining your artificially naive expression. “Hot choice of panties, by the way. Your ass looks great in lacy black. Cheers to that.”

“You have really good taste, buddy.” With a radiant smile, you agreed. Past the blur of weed and alcohol, Taehyung replicated the gesture, and raised his red cup in a giddy toast. Whether he was lauding the glorious roundness of your ass, or the intricate beauty of your one and only pair of expensive panties, you did not care. There was no use for shame within those walls, especially when your ass was indeed hot confined within the soft lace. “Imaginary cheers to that.”

It was a moment of amicable comradery, even though Taehyung was one shot away from becoming the buffon of the party. Around your waist, Jungkook’s fingers tightened but, before you could turn around to face his predictable displeasure, the moment ended, and you were presented with a luciferous smile.

“Noted. Thank you dude, see you around.” Jungkook screamed over the loud bass of a terrible remix of a very popular song you wished was shorter. The constant chit-chat developing around did not help communicate but, luckily, you were not required to hold a challenging conversation that night. With a peck in the lips and a light squeeze of your ass, Jungkook prompted you to move. It was strangely loving — for a jock, at least.

Once anew, he guided you through the crowd, a hand in your waist and the other buried deep in one of the pockets of his jacket. The picture was magazine-worthy. One of those blurry shots, taken with a Polaroid, that could had made it into the cover of an Indie album — even if Jungkook could have starred in an Abercrombie & Fitch ad, jacket and all.

“Where is that fucking game room?” The question felt extremely bitter against your tongue when you had to wipe someone else’s sweat off your arm. The party was heating up, and not in the good way. “Please tell me it isn’t some Fifty Shades of Grey shit.”

“Didn’t picture you as one of those.” Jungkook let go of your waist to interwine his fingers in yours. It was calming, the chilliness of his hand against your sweltering skin. “But no, here we never watched that. The dudes are, you know, more into anal compilations and shit like that— not me!” He rushed to say, hands up in a gesture of defeat. “Baby Jesus wouldn’t not approve.”

That was, by far, the weirdest conversation you’ve had in a long time.

“Pity, now that I thought we would make a great pair.” You sighed. “I guess I’ll have to find another hot dude to watch my kinky porn with.”

“I— sweet lord.” With shaky hands he massaged his cheeks. You were exhausting, even for him. Good. “We’ll discuss that later.” Jungkook opened one of the doors in the hallway, leading into a big space that was, precisely, only meant to game. “Now we have business to do.”

Biting down on your lower lip, you took a couple steps into the large area, absorbing its details. The first thing you noticed, as your company closed the door behind you two, was that it was soundproof — finally, a blessing for the night. As the excruciating buzzing in your ears still lingered, your hearing started to focus on the diverse conversations that dwelled beyond those closed doors. From what you could notice, there had to be around fifteen people in there — stereotypical jocks and cheerleaders, if you were to be quite honest — and they were mostly segregated into two smaller groups. One of which, you recognized, had the individual you two had been looking for.

Now, Kim Namjoon was a specimen of his own kind. You had no idea what kind of satanic pact had he resorted to, but it had been good enough to gift him the brain of a Harvard professor and the body of a professional athlete — all wrapped up in that team jacket, which suited him so dangerously well. You would be lying through clenched teeth if you were to say you had not checked him out at least once or twice during your shared Advanced Literature classes — but that was a secret that would be buried with you. Again, he was still one of those fraternity types, and blowing up their egos was as easy as blowing other, less christian areas.  

Again, you would be lying if you said you had not considered that either.

Jungkook’s arm found the curvature of your waist once again, making you fall back into your usual acting state. Next to you, the boy was smiling freely — not in a sympathetic manner, but in a I’m-getting-good-sex-tonight kind of smile. He could keep dreaming, for all you cared. “What’s up, Kim?” he cheered, guiding you around the grey couch. Considerably large, it was surrounded by two armchairs, forming a square-like shape in the center of the room. On the wall next to it, a baseball game was silenced on the LED screen. “Thought I wouldn’t see you tonight.”

Namjoon had his elbows resting on a marble table, seating on one of the tall benches that surrounded it. You were surprised he had even found empty space in there, since all you could see was a pandemonium of empty bottles and pizza boxes. “I should be one one saying that, Jeon.” The other jock smiled just as freely, exposing those dimples you had always found unbearably cute. He did not look at you for a second. “You are not one to vanish during a party. Did you get laid or something?”

“See, Namjoon, your friend Jungkook is trying to get laid tonight, but let’s see how that goes, right honey?” You butted in, to Namjoon’s dismay. Very delicately, like the Disney princess you were not. You sat on the couch, paying no mind to the many diverse types of stains dotting it. Kim Namjoon was not going to ignore you, like you were a nothing but a pretty decoration Jungkook carried around to show off — especially not when you could beat his non-existent genius ass any day during a debate. “Hi, Namjoon. Didn’t see you in class last Wednesday.”

“Hangover.” He explained, taking a bite off a chewy slice of cheese pizza. “I have to confess I am surprised. I thought you were joking when you said you two were—”

“—dating, yes. I’m a married man now, Namjoon. No more getting laid with just anybody.” Jungkook flopped by your side. His hand went immediately towards your naked knee, and there it stayed. Very subtle.

“What do you guys talk about?” Namjoon pried, impertinently. In his timbre you could perceive a hint of disbelief, and it was understandable. He had seen you in action, going after your debate opponents like a shark in bloody waters. Jungkook was, compared to the you he had witnessed, a kindergartener in nappies, and he simply couldn’t comprehend how the two of you could work together — or even compliment each other, honestly.

“Volleyball.” Jungkook said, with an enthusiasm that made your wry smile pathetic. “She loves volleyball.”

Namjoon crackled at the unexpectedly joyful response. “Never seen her in a game.”

“I’m more of a theoretical fan of — of the sports.” Eyes disappearing into the fakest smile, you tried to escape the trap Jungkook had thrown you into. Namjoon was correct. You had not set foot in a court ever since high-school, and even back then you had only done so because it was mandatory. “I have watched Haikyuu at least thrice. I’m an expert.”

“She’ll come to the next one.” Jungkook kissed your cheek, interrupting your excused before it was too late. The touch of his petal-like lips was, at the very least, pleasant. “We made a deal. She wears my jacket and I use the shortest pants I own for the game.”

Namjoon chuckled at the idea, still skeptical. You knew he would be a hard one to convince, since he usually saw through your bullshit — both in debates and in real life.  “Yeah, right,” was all that he managed to say, still dodging your gaze. Oh, you saw what he was doing. Sneaky motherfucker. Sly little snake. By avoiding you and focusing on your fake boyfriend, he was both pressing on the one easier to slip on the lie, and annoying you. He knew how you got when you were hot-headed and that was, once again, a recipe for disaster. “In all seriousness, weeaboo anime aside, what do you… theoretically like about volleyball?”

No eye contact still. Fair. Two could play that game.  

“Physics,” you answered within a heartbeat, almost surprising yourself by how naturally that  response came from in between your lips. Not necessarily a lie, too. But that was a long story. “I told you this already. Volleyball can be explained with high school-level of mechanics. Energy and work, force, projectile motion… You know the deal.”

Namjoon hummed, watching closely the line of cheese that dripped down his pizza. “Yeah, I know the deal,” he told you. He had not bought it. “And I know you know it too. My question is,” he paused, looking up to point at Jungkook. “Does he?”

Well, you just had to know it would backfire like that. Still, you barely had time to feel panic starting to germinate in your throat before Jungkook interrupted the conversation with flawless grace, “Not much, that is why she’s teaching me,” perfect. Simple. Fail proof. You could barely believe that the single neuron that inhabited his mind managed to make a synapsis with itself and come up with that. “Yo, man, why are you so defensive all of a sudden? You’re making my girl uncomfortable.”

My girl. You hated how much you liked that.

His friend hesitated for a second, chewing slowly on the piece of food. It didn’t seem like it was any good. In the very least, it was cold. “Yeah. My bad, dude. Bad week,” Namjoon was quick to apologize, which you did not believe for an instant. He was smarter than that, more arrogant than someone that would so fast admit to his own fault. “Guess I just can’t believe you managed to get a girl like Y/N. Life sucks sometimes.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you were the one who asked it, even if both of you were thinking it. It was your turn to try and not to get defensive, but it was getting harder and harder by the second. You crossed your legs, which induced for your red dress to slip up your legs. Namjoon followed the movement, and then his gaze was stuck. Oh. Maybe there was another reason for his lack of eye contact. “Don’t tell me that the great captain Kim Namjoon is suddenly jealous.”

He shrugged. “Call it whatever you want. But you do look hotter than ninety-five percent of the chicks I’ve seen all year,” and then, his next sentences were directed straight at Jungkook. “I don’t know if you had the chance to see it already, man, but she has a great taste for underwear.”

Ninety-five was a good percentile, but you were indeed hot in that dress. Namjoon trembled, almost imperceptibly, when you slid your legs over Jungkook’s lap, to cuddle against his chest. In all honesty, the posture was not comfortable, not in that dress. Had you been back in the dorm, in your PJ’s, the tale would have been completely different; but Namjoon’s expression was a poem — a terrible one, at that — and that was enough satisfaction for the moment.

When you sighed, Namjoon replicated it, in a long-drawled, cheese-scented exhalation. The sound he emitted was pitiful, but it helped you comprehend fully the frustration the poor boy was submitted to, and the ultimate reason behind his pizza binge. His was a severe case of blue balls, and you were the one and only cause it. Cute.

“Namjoon, if you really want to address my exquisite taste in underwear, you can tell me directly,” you said. A thread of cheese remained in precarious equilibrium in between his lower lip and his hand, as he struggled for once to follow your words. The genius had short-circuited over lacy panties and the grossest kind of PDA. Another achievement unlocked in the marvelous experience that was college. It would look beautiful in your curriculum, right beside your volunteer work. “Jungkook is more used to seeing me without it. He wouldn’t understand our fantastic taste.”

“Babe,” Jungkook whined, caressing your thigh to make you cognizant of his presence. “I do love your underwear—”

“—Scattered all over your bedroom.” You whispered in the most impish little voice. By the glance he returned, Jungkook had loved the image. Maybe it was just your imagination, maybe you were in character and your discerning was altered, but you could have sworn his dick had twitched at the thought. Interesting.

To drown his sorrow, Namjoon took yet another slice of pizza. The boy could eat. He was still munching his previous victim, and it was making you hungry. Jungkook was very hot and all, but he had not offered to get you a drink or something to eat. Chivalry was, indeed, dead. “Let me ask you a question, Y/N,” Namjoon murmured in-between greasy bites. “It’ll be easy. I promise.”

“I’m all ears.”

“What is it, exactly, what made you fall for our ace?” Namjoon inquired. It was an unexpected question. A cheerleader could have asked the same, waiting you to offer a bland response in the trite language all popular girls had long mastered like: his big, big eyes; his toothpaste commercial worthy smile, the humongous size of his — not his brain, that was for certain.

But it was not a cheerleader the one to make the question, but Namjoon. Out of all the athletes in the house, Namjoon was the only one you had ever exchanged more than a few words with. Interesting words. The kind that — put together in a coherent sentence — form conversation two functional adults can take pleasure in. “Does he read Whitman to make you sleep?” He pressed further.

Before you could think twice, the words were already departing from your lips. “He rants about your pep-talks, that’s enough to have me snoring in seconds.”

He scoffed. “Nice comeback, it’s a pity that you’ve been avoiding my question like the plague,” Namjoon said in what appeared to be a groan, patience starting to run thin. At last, he appeared to have finished eating his horniness away, for he dropped the last slice of pizza back in the box. “Let me rephrase that, then—”

Next to you, Jungkook fumbled on his seat. “—Namjoon, bro, that’s enough,” he said firmly, almost an order. From the way Namjoon’s eyebrows moved together into a frown, you could tell that such serious demeanor was also uncommon amongst his group of friends. Jungkook was only serious in two situations: during games, and when his white knight complex had been activated. You would guess that was the latter. “I know it’s hard to believe, all right? Even I don’t buy it sometimes. But this is exactly why we didn’t tell you guys earlier, I knew you’d have a blast interrogating my girlfriend. And this is not cool, alright? It’s not cool that you’re over here talking about her underwear and acting like you’d be a total catch compared to me. Fuck that shit, dude, don’t ruin the night for us just because you got some jealousy stuck up your ass.”

Silence. The other boy took a second, then two, to chew what was left on his mouth, closely analyzing his friend. You could see the wheels moving inside Namjoon’s brain and — unlike Jungkook — he had more than one synapsis to make. “Hey, fair enough,” he said. And then he started smiling. Actually smiling. Putting-the-Cheshire-Cat-To-Shame kind of smile. “What has gotten into you tonight, uh? Jesus. I’m just fucking with you, didn’t think you’d get this overprotective. That’s some serious shit you’ve gotten yourself into, Jeon.”

Jungkook seemed to take an instant to fully digest the unforeseen change of demeanor, then joined his friend in his laugh. “Bro, what the fuck? You were annoying as hell,” he was clearly puzzled, even if you could see sheer alleviation in that smile. Oh, honey. He was not acting over there, was he? Poor kid really took that to heart. “Get outta here with that interrogation bullshit, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Look at that, you already know one famous victorian character,” Namjoon sarcastically celebrated, turning back at you — still living in the apex of confusion. You should have stayed home and read a book, where men are predictable and fraternity athletes as just a ghost in your memory. “You’ve been a positive influence so far, Y/N, props to that. I’ve been trying to get him to at least watch the movies for ages.”

“He only agreed to watch it once I explained Iron Man featured in it.” Taking advantage of your fake-girlfriend privileges, you slid your hand under Jungkook’s shirt. Fingers dawdling over his warm skin, you delighted in the sensation of his muscles quivering under your touch. It would not be noticeable to Namjoon — although he was particularly sharp that night. Words encompassing your feathery caresses, you murmured into his ear. “I’m thirsty, babe.”

Namjoon looked away when you nuzzled Jungkook’s neck, to bury his jealousy under another pile of cheese.

“Do you want some beer?” Jungkook blinked twice, trying to decipher the sudden change in the inflections of your voice. It was no longer playful, teasing, but dripping something he could have only categorised as desire. Jungkook was dense, enough to miss the a very evident innuendo by a mile. “I can go get you something.”

“No, not that.” Your fingers treaded an undiscovered path towards the lines of his hips, and the hem of his pants. His brain had missed the memo, but his dick was extremely eager to catch up, and was now constricted against his belt. The moment he rose from the couch, the boner would be exposed, and it would give him the perfect opportunity to drag you away from the room and towards his bedroom. “Jungkook… Let’s go.”

“I need to go to the bathroom first.” He excused himself to Namjoon, who had decided to embrace his solitude by hugging the pizza box and returning his attention to the baseball game. His team was losing. Big night for Kim Namjoon.

Jungkook pecked your lips and scurried from below your body. The room was cold now that he had left, and Namjoon was not willing to talk.

“So… pizza, huh?” you said, fixing your clothes. The last thing our brave captain needed was to take another glimpse at your ass.

Namjoon stared into the screen, absorbed by the little figures moving around. It was hard to believe that someone like him could he find baseball so entrancing. “So…Jungkook, huh?”

There it was. Jealousy, in its rawest form. He would never be so explicit in front of Jungkook, they were friends after all, but with you Namjoon could say whatever thoughts crossed his mind. “You know Jungkook isn’t as stupid as he wants all of campus to believe. He might not be a genius like you, but he is smart. He’s just a little bit caught up in the popularity game,” you said. The words leaving your mouth surprised you. Kind words for Jeon Jungkook, what a night to be alive. “Don’t be so surprised, Namjoon.”

The baseball game was no longer as relevant, for Namjoon deigned to look at you. Browns knitted in incredulity, he dropped the last slice of pizza and cleaned his hands in the team jacket. Symbolically, it was not a good thing, but he was probably overdosing on cheese. “I’m not surprised. Maybe you like him, after all.”

“Maybe I do.” You confessed with a quick wink and a guilty smile. “He gives good head, too.”

“That’s too much information.” Namjoon was nauseated, but he would never say it aloud. There was also the possibility that it was not nausea the grimace transfiguring his cute face, but jealousy. “You should go get your boyfriend, though, I think he got lost in his own reflection or something.”

Just like Namjoon had suggested, you followed Jungkook’s trail towards the bathroom. Trail, as in asking the couples making out in the hallway where the bathroom was. The first pair had not responded you, they were too busy sucking each other’s tongues to even form a coherent sentence. Titty in hand, the man in the second pair of lovers, explained where to find the bathroom — that was also known as the knocking shop.

To be fair, you knocked, but the music was too loud and the sound too timid. When you received no indication from Jungkook, you opened the door. At first you could not see past the outrageously pink sink. It was horrifyingly ugly. Jungkook rested against it, his forehead was pressed against the mirror, his warm exhalations creating beautiful designs over the reflective surface. One of his hands gripped tightly the sink, the veins of his arms visible, like rivers you had loved to explore through your fingertips. His other hand was trapped within the confines of his jeans, pressed against his dick. With every sigh and every moan, he would roll his hips against his hand, fucking himself into oblivion. All signs of arrogance vanished from his features when he was about to cum. Vulnerability looked so pretty on him.

You wished there was a joke you could crack, even if to yourself, that could serve as a coping mechanism to whatever the fuck you were being presented with. Still, nothing came out of your lips besides a loud, slightly horrified:

“What the actual fuck, Jungkook?”

[zrtranscripts]

Season 8, Mission 30: Lady In Red

Last Stand

~

JODY MARSH: This is seriously not good! Sam, is there anything left of the Undaunted?

SAM YAO: Just sinking wreckage. No sign of more lifeboats. The cliff face next to the wreck has completely sheared off. The red fungus underneath is-is pulsing. Mor Island must be bursting with the stuff. Shona, the skincoats and the V-types are converging on the town. A few V-types are sticking by the boulder, guarding it.

MORAG BROWN: Those bloody Reids. That family's become nothing but trouble.

JODY MARSH: Sam, are you seeing this? We're still by East Loch. There's clumps of red fungus sprouting out of the countryside around us.

SAM YAO: It's coming through the soil all over the isle. The fungus is shifting in the earth, like you saw in that cave, Five. Like what made the rockslide on the cliff path. The islanders in town are all barricaded into their homes. That won't protect them long.

PAULA COHEN: Nothing's going to protect any of us long. If we can't move the boulder blocking that geyser, the silver mud won't spread. Nothing will stop the fungus. Frances, any ideas from Dearg?

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Uh, we need something to move the boulder. A bomb or a powerful source of traction.

JODY MARSH: Morag. Callum's old drilling equipment, it's still on the island, right?

MORAG BROWN: Aye, Jody. Rusting on a beach. You think we can use it for this?

JODY MARSH: It's our best bet for moving a big rock. We've got to be fast. Once those V-types have hit the town, anyone left who's still resisting the red fungus is as good as gone. Morag, lead us to that beach. Paula, Five, keep your weapons out. Run!

~

MORAG BROWN: There's the equipment, just up the beach. A few rusty diggers and a tractor with a whacking great drill in the front.

SAM YAO: Guys, Shona and the other eight skincoats, they're ignoring the townspeople. She's giving a speech. I've got audio.

SHONA REID: The red god wakes. We are its shepherds! And we rise with it!

[crowd cheers]

SAM YAO: The skincoats are around Shona in a ring. They're drinking something. Oh, don't tell me... it was accelerant. Lots of it. There's, there's wreaths of fungus ripping out of them and coming from the ground under them, exploding from the cracks in the pavement. Shona's clapping.

MORAG BROWN: She's lost her mind. How-how do we get this big tractor thing started?

JODY MARSH: No idea. Paula, Morag, work it out. Meet us by the geyser. Five, we're going to distract the V-types guarding the boulder, pull them away.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Jody, I'm hooked into Sam's feeds. The fungus is sprouting everywhere on Mor. Where it's densest, it's forming fruiting bodies. It's going to release spores, go airborne.

JODY MARSH: And since we're all already infected, it's going to push us into zombiedom really fast. Guys, get that equipment hot-wired now. Five, with me. To the boulder, run!

~

JODY MARSH: Sam, Five and I just shot past the boulder. There's a bunch of V-types chasing us.

SAM YAO: Morag got the drill tractor started. She and Paula are roaring towards you.

AMELIA SPENS: Sam, it's Amelia. I'm near Gaisgeach ruins with Janine and a few marines from the Undaunted. Had to flee the coast to avoid V-types. Janine's still out. I'm seeing red spores in the air. Tell me there's a plan.

SAM YAO: Stand by, Amelia. Jody, I see the tractor coming over a hill. It's going to hit the boulder head on!

[tractor crashes into boulder]

FRANCES DEMSPEY: The tractor rammed the boulder, pushed it aside! The V-types are pulling back to town. The geyser's unblocked!

SAM YAO: Nothing's happening.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Oh no! The rain's died down in that part of the isle. The storm's moving too fast. The tides have calmed around that blowhole's inlet and the whirlwinds are past East Loch. Even if the geyser does spurt, the silver mud won't be sucked into the storm!

JODY MARSH: Five, do you feel that burning in your lungs? The spores! [coughs] No! No! We are not losing to her! We need another option! [coughs]

FRANCES DEMPSEY: The eye of the storm's approaching town. There's a blowhole there big enough for our needs, but it was sealed by the locals. They built a museum around it.

AMELIA SPENS: Then we need to unseal it. My marines salvaged what they could from the Undaunted. We have explosives. Also, my Armani dress.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Explosives might be enough to open the blowhole in town, but you have to do it before the winds blow the bulk of that storm past the museum. You guys need to meet Amelia at Gaisgeach fast. Run!

~

SAM YAO: Jody, Five, you're approaching the ruins. Watch out. The ground's splitting open left and right, creating fissures of fungus. Oh, [coughs] it's definitely in the air. Keep sleeves over your mouths.

JODY MARSH: I see Janine and Amelia huddled by that collapsed wall, marines with them. Janine's trying to stand.

JANINE DE LUCA: Miss Marsh, the Prime Minister informs me this is no time to be sleeping on the job.

PAULA COHEN: Janine, it's Paula. Morag and I are still in the tractor. The collision damaged the engine. Janine, if you start moving, you'll burn out fast.

JANINE DE LUCA: Unfortunately, Doctor, duty is not a matter of convenience. Marines. [marines come to attention] Present Miss Marsh your explosives.

AMELIA SPENS: Oh yes, obey her orders in a snap! Bloody military. Oh God, there's fungus growing on my fingertips. I refuse this, I simply refuse!

SAM YAO: Problem, guys. The town square's basically a red fungus forest. The stuff's everywhere. Shona's in the middle of it. The fungus is growing over her. She's half submerged by a mountain of it. Oh, that's awful.

JODY MARSH: We can't risk more fungus exposure. We need a path through that stuff.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: The fungus doesn't respond well to being frozen! It doesn't die, but it's inhibited. If you had some of the chemicals from the ice bridge left...

AMELIA SPENS: There's a storehouse near the remains of the ice bridge on the Mor side. My forces may have fished several containers out of the sea and hidden them there. The Undaunted had far too little space for loot.

SAM YAO: I'm closest to that area, guys. I can reach that storehouse fastest.

JODY MARSH: Sam, go. Five, meet Sam at the storehouse. Make sure he gets the chemicals safely to us. Oh. Sorry, Janine.

JANINE DE LUCA: My orders precisely, Miss Marsh. Five, Miss Marsh and I will rendezvous with Dr. Cohen and evacuate any townspeople we can. We will meet you at the town.

AMELIA SPENS: I think... I'm feeling dizzy, Janine. I think I'd better stay here. The marines can cover me. God, there's fungus on my hands, my arms! Oh, I can feel it pulsing in my head! Five, for God's sake, hurry! For your Prime Minister, run!

~

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Five, that wooden shack is the storehouse. Sam's already inside.

[door creaks open and shut]

SAM YAO: Five! Five, over here! I found a container of the freezy chemical. Uh, can you carry it? [coughs] No, I'm okay. It's just a headache.

[door opens]

RORY: Sam. Sam, is that you?

SAM YAO: Frances, Rory just came in here. Rory from the shop. He's leaning on the doorway. Rory, are you okay? Look, step out of the shadows, eh?

RORY: Can you feel the tide in your head, the way it pulls? Help me, Sam.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Sam, careful! He could be turning.

RORY: I need help, Sam. The skincoats stabbed me. I'm bleeding. Please.

SAM YAO: Uh, Five, I'll-I'll check him for wounds. Rory, it's okay.

RORY: I was just out walking. I saw you. So did she. She's got so many eyes!

[RORY and SAM YAO struggle]

SAM YAO: Rory, get off. Five, gun down. You'll hit us both.

RORY: The whole island's throbbing in my head, but she's the loudest. She says I have to, Sam. She says drink up!

[liquid splashes]

SAM YAO: Five, stay back! Rory's not hurt. There's fungus growing on him. That was accelerant he poured on me. Oh God! Some went in my eyes. Five, run! Take that container to Janine. [coughs] I can feel it inside me, Five! Get away. You can't help me. You have to stop Shona. Tell Paula and Maxine – tell them they're my – tell them I'm sorry! Just run! Go!

~

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Five, you're almost at the town. The fungus creates a hive mind for V-types. The more of it people have in their blood, the more it's linking them. Shona's piggybacking on that connection to control people! Like poor Rory. Sam's still in that shack. I've... I've lost him on comms!

JODY MARSH: Five, Janine and I are over here behind the boulder. There's the town square just ahead. We can't evacuate anyone. Fungus is covering buildings, streets, flowing out of pits in the ground. Shona's outside the museum with a line of V-types. She's half enveloped in fungus. It's rising around her like a cloak.

JANINE DE LUCA: The geyser is in the museum forecourt just behind the gates. We must get past Miss Reid.

JODY MARSH: Preferably with deadly force.

JANINE DE LUCA: Abel's priority must be to save, Miss Marsh, never to destroy. Though in this case, I would not begrudge that outcome.

JODY MARSH: Janine fixed the tractor.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Morag's charging the tractor into town, straight at Shona! Paula's on the back, pouring a petrol can over the side. Morag, don't wind the window down.

MORAG BROWN: [coughs] Shona Reid! Your ma was the kindest woman I ever knew, and she'd be ashamed of you 10 ways for this!

JANINE DE LUCA: The fungus is dragging Miss Reid out of the tractor's path like a tide. V-types are charging it. Paula is lighting the petrol. Burning fungus, that is our distraction!

SHONA REID: Morag Brown, I have had enough of your prattling tongue.

JANINE DE LUCA: Five, give me the container. The fungus dislikes my blood. I will run ahead through the square, lay down a path of ice. You and Jody follow with the explosives. The V-types are swarming the tractor, pulling Morag and Paula out! We can only save them and Mr. Yao through victory. Head for the museum! Run!

~

FRANCES DEMPSEY: That's it, Five. Follow Janine. Stay on the ice path she's pouring on the fungus. You're halfway to the museum. Shona's seen you!

SHONA REID: I am the red god's favorite, Five. It'll take the world, but my isle will be paradise first! My blood has the perfect balance of silver to delay our union. It can embrace, not subsume, so I can savor it.

JODY MARSH: Five, there's a crowd coming after us. V-types. Townspeople half-turned. There's Paula and Morag, fungus growing on them!

SHONA REID: It's letting me steer them, Five. I'm better with people. My puppets find weapons tricky when they're turning, but they all have teeth.

JODY MARSH: You go ahead, Five. Take the explosives. I'll keep them back.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Jody, you can't kill the townspeople, and V-types are indestructible!

JODY MARSH: An arrow to the leg will still slow them, and maybe she'll feel it. [bowstring stretches, arrow whips through air] The half-turned townsfolk are up front. If I slow them, it'll trip the rest. If I don't, they'll overtake us. Go, Five! Follow the ice path! I'll buy you as long as I can. Run!

~

FRANCES DEMSPEY: You're almost there, Five. The geyser's in the museum forecourt under the roped off gazebo. Hurry, the eye of the storm is passing!

DUNCAN MACALLAN: Hello, Five. It's Shona here. You're a clever, stubborn mind. That's why I kept this body in reserve.

[DUNCAN MACALLAN and Runner Five struggle]

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Five, get up! Get him off you! Jody's too far to help. I can't see Janine on comms. Does anyone copy? The chief just tackled Five!

DUNCAN MACALLAN: This one killed your friend by accident, Five. He cried over it. But he still served me. I was the only one bold enough to lead. He'd cry now, if I let him.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: There's fungus all over him. He's turning V-type fast! [gunshot, metal crumples] He crushed your gun like nothing. Five, he's going to bite. Get up! [zombie splatters] Oh my God! Janine, you caved the chief's skull with a mace!

JANINE DE LUCA: Apologies for the delay, Five. Had to borrow a weapon from the museum. Rather heavy for everyday use.

JODY MARSH: Five, I'm falling back your way! The mob's inches behind me. Throw those explosives at the geyser.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Good throw, Five. The chief's gone full V-type. He's getting back up. Everyone, get away from the museum before the explosives blow. Run!

~

JANINE DE LUCA: Five, get down. We're beyond the square. The explosives – [shouts]

[explosion, water rushes]

FRANCES DEMPSEY: That did it! The museum blowhole's open. It's erupting with silver.

JODY MARSH: Five, Janine, Shona's mob is running from the geyser. There are no whirlwinds hitting the town square. I don't see Paula or Morag. Janine isn't breathing. Janine, get up! Frances, there's just drizzle, no silver rain! Why isn't it - ? [thunder rolls, rain pours, JODY MARSH shudders]

FRANCES DEMSPEY: The rain's falling! Gleaming silver... it's beautiful. The fungus is wilting wherever it touches, turning to ash. The V-types are dropping dead!

[JANINE DE LUCA gasps]

JODY MARSH: Janine! She's breathing!

FRANCES DEMPSEY: It must be the rain! It's soaking her in the material her nanites are made from. If there's enough, they can use it to reproduce, repair her!

PAULA COHEN: Jody, Five. It was in my head, the fungus, and then it just... faded. Morag's unconscious. Oh no, Janine!

FRANCES DEMPSEY: You need to get as much silver into her system as you can. Jody, I've spotted Shona. The fungus is all melted away from her. She's fleeing town towards the cliffs.

PAULA COHEN: Jody, Five, go after her. It's okay, I've got Janine. Make sure Shona doesn't get away. Run!

~

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Five, Jody, Shona's just ahead of you along the cliffs.

JODY MARSH: Stop right there, Shona. I've got an arrow aimed at your back.

SHONA REID: Look at that sunset. It's peeking through the clouds. Gorgeous. Are you going to shoot me?

JODY MARSH: I should. You deserve it.

SHONA REID: Go on, then. Go on, then! It was mine! Do you understand? I was going to be powerful. I was going to rise with the island. I was going to last forever! It chose me. It was mine. I was going to see my mum. It promised me.

JODY MARSH: We don't kill the powerless at Abel. It's not what Ellie or Tom would have wanted. Five, grab her. She's under arrest.

SHONA REID: You can't arrest me. I'm part of the land. [runs away]

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Oh my God. She threw herself over the cliff. She's hit the rocks below. She's... gone.

SAM YAO: Five? Jody? It's Sam. I'm okay. The fungus in me just died. I felt it die. I uh... I think I know where the Edda is. While the fungus was in me, I could feel all these memories, feel some of Shona's thoughts. There's something major hidden in a cave near Gaisgeach. Amelia felt it, too. She's heading there with her marines. You better join them, make sure this is for real. Run!

~

FRANCES DEMPSEY: You're at the ruins, Five. Looks like everyone's gathered there. Morag, Paula, Janine, Sam, Amelia and her troops. Silver rain's sweeping over the archipelago. The fungus is dying everywhere. Anyone who hadn't turned full V-type is recovering.

JANINE DE LUCA: Runner Five, Mr. Yao alerted us to the Edda situation.

PAULA COHEN: Janine's vitals are stable, Five. The nanites are healing her fast, now they're in good numbers.

JANINE DE LUCA: I owe you my life, Five. I owe all of you. Thank you. Our losses here were not in vain. We have wiped out the fungus in the Far Hebrides, and we have the Edda.

MORAG BROWN: Aye, it was in that cave over yonder. Bloody well hidden, too.

JANINE DE LUCA: We will remember the fallen, Five. Tom and Ellie will not be forgotten. Nor will the laird.

SAM YAO: It's kind of wonderful, isn't it? The silver rain, the sunset poking through the clouds. I think... I think they'd have liked this.

JODY MARSH: The people here are safe, Sam. We're safe. That's what would have made them happy.

AMELIA SPENS: Yes, yes, et cetera. The important thing is we have the Edda. [paper rustles] And about time, too. Now we can get back to the mainland, work out how to wipe out all the V-types and assorted zoms forever, and have a nice comfortable... oh.

SAM YAO: Oh? Oh, what? Amelia, what's written in there?

AMELIA SPENS: Ah. Well, obviously I now have more familiarity with Old Norse than I ever desired to have, and if I'm reading this correctly, I think we may have a problem.

[thunder rolls]

~

[vapormaison]

Best of 2019 Future Funk Release 1/4: Toyama’s Love Island by Skule Toyama

A common argument I get into on audiophile and vinyl forums — that by virtue of interest and venue tend to skew boomer (who isn’t on discord now? Answer: Your grandpa.) — often revolves around the raison d’être of pressing future funk. In an earlier piece, I gave my opinion on the subject — but I didn’t really evidence the critique by many opposing audiophiles. As far as they’re concerned, I might as well be collecting Funko Pops — that is to say that these presses aren’t worthy of serious hi-fi consideration and are merely collector’s items. To their credit, when posting about my experiences with the genre, most of these aged audiophiles scratch their head not at the anime art on the box nor at the picture disks (usually reviled by the old-heads)— but at the oft-digital source itself.  These guys are the ostensibly cool uncles with the dope music collection, after all.

While they often are a wealth of information on the analog format, and voracious consumers of early City Pop — a genre beloved by audiophiles, — forums like this tend to create feedback loops of retrograde understanding. Their enjoyment of all things analog turns them into intense luddites, often to the point where I question why they are interfacing with a computer in the first place, that dreaded source for the perceived decline of their hi-fi culture.

I’ve more or less given up on the prospect of turning them around on the subject of future funk. However, this summer, on a thread where we review recent vinyl purchases and upload lossless rips, I made a rather pedestrian post about how much I enjoyed Skule Toyama’s latest release — Toyama’s Love Island. And to my complete and utter surprise, my vinyl-to-digital rip of “Sunset Hasn’t Come Yet” brought all the boys to the yard. While I got my usual peanut gallery of “lol future funk, lol vaporwave, buy jazz” posts, its turns out more than a few Joe Boomers with vintage, $10k-valued Sansui stereo sets could vibe with this too. You know, the purely purists of the pure.

This caused me to consider for a time precisely why Toyama Love Island whispered to these boomers I share a particular corner of internet space with. What about it warmed the heart of these old men so cold to cold media? It obviously had to be something more than the mastering or the press itself. Most of these guys had been engaged in serious listening to absolute titans in their craft for forty plus years now. Many had studio experience themselves. Even now, I don’t have a really good answer. The best one I can supply is this: the warmth that emanates from Toyama Love Island can melt even the iciest heart. Cliche? No doubt. Apropos? Of course.

PART 1: THE MUSIC

Intro warms us up with a minute-long evergreen bit. By whom and what from— I genuinely don’t know (perhaps that’s the appeal for me personally, the mystery but also the universality)— but the punch line certainly feels nostalgic, and the horns do too.

Have a Good Time fronts the funk after a minute-long intro track. It’s an absolutely fantastic true open because of its principal horn loop that absolutely claws into your cerebral cortex and takes root there. Between listens, I found myself humming it while brewing a pot of coffee. While it’s not my favorite of the tracks on the album, its pure energy and catchiness is a master class on how future funk albums should inject you with an uncut hit of unapologetic brass funk within the first couple minutes.

Electricity takes the initial energy of Have a Good Time and subtly ratchets up the vibe with clever layering and a sweet progression. While my initial take on my first listen was that the bass was too muted (a slight boost from the hi-fi set of your choice can obviously erase that distinction quickly!) — I warmed to the mix after hearing how well it meshed with the following track.

Love Island serves as a sort of kinetic climax to the first quarter of the album and a great midpoint for the A-side, but the treble feels just slightly compressed and off-balance on the wax here. After fiddling with EQ and my pre-amp settings on the second listen, the track came through vastly better. My suggestion is to subtract here and there if you have a Japanese-built set that tends to run bright. After doing so on the 2nd listen, Love Island began to shine — and the distorted loops that seemed discordant on my initial listen were brought back into a more complimentary role with the rest of the piece.

Midnight Mall is my absolute favorite of the album because it just unabashedly brings the boogie with a pure, slap-worthy bass, crisp midrange from the intermittent horn flares, and absolutely atmospheric vocal compliments. Although Love Island is a strong title track, so to speak — I really do think Midnight Mall is the true baby-maker banger of 2019. For peak enjoyment, boost the bass a little on your stereo, add mood lighting and engage in the wholesome romantic activity (impassioned stares, hand-holding) of your choice.

Sunset Hasn’t Come Yet is the boomer whisperer. My guess regarding what makes this track appeal so authentically to the boomer crowd is the strength of its arrangement. You get a comfy arrangement throughout, a bass twang that sounds like its straight outta Miami Vice coupled with very moody Japanese vocals. For a future funk record, this feels like the track most in sync with its roots, creating a very authentic, fun sound.

Marsala’s effortless sonic transition from Sunset Hasn’t Come Yet’s stage is definitely a highlight of this album’s pretty flawless composition and arrangement. It feels very much like a palette cleanser for the album’s first half, and is perfect for an LP format — as you feel this transition writ large by the very nature of the format. The blaring synths feel like they would meld into place effortlessly with a Michael Mann-directed denouement to a period action-psych drama.

Flying Star is a soft reset to the album from a vibe standpoint, and is competent at what it does in the overall scope of the album. My only significant criticism of Skule Toyama’s output — which is somewhat present here — is that they don’t really let the vocals carry enough water. While exquisitely layered in relation to the rest of the piece, I want to hear the vocals take up a sort of primary mantle in the soundstage in a track like this. We get it in Flying Star’s middle third, but it does feel like a sort of pointless delay in gratification. A track like this has a chance to capture the listener and bring them into the sonic space. It comes just short of doing that.

Sailor Moon Rock manages to decimate that previous criticism by running at me and grabbing the tempo by the collar with an absolutely fire set of loops and immediately accelerate. I love it for that, and is definitely the B-side’s strongest composition. We get some no-doubt nasty guitar riffs and some iconic SFX that really bring this track together and make a B-side banger exemplar, reason enough to flip the wax.

Keep On Going brings us closest to a synth-wave composition that we get in the entire album on the track’s first third, but finds its funk at the ideal moment. It definitely succeeds in fleshing out of the B-side, and creates its niche on the project subtly but at the same time, at the risk of seeming hyperbolic — brilliantly.

Do Me definitely feels the most “Nu-Disco” of both the side and the overall album. It’s definitely one of those tracks that you can both happily wait for in the queue and then just revel in — knowing that while the record nears its conclusion, you get a track that just would not at all be out of place in a Shibuya nightclub circa 1979 or weave its way into a Haruki Murakami novel.

Outro is a perfect closing for the album, but I question the utility of making it the penultimate track instead with the inclusion of the bonus track. That said, it’s impossible not to vibe with the arrangement and layering of this piece. My hope is that when I die and arrive at the pearly gates (admission pending), St. Peter (recently taking up a hobby in DJing to pass eternity) will have a special edition pressing of that will have this as the final track on the wax.

Live Now! is definitely the track I feel coolest about. A good piece on the whole, just feels a bit out of step with the rest of the project. But I’m never going to look the gift horse in the mouth when it comes to the prospect of additional music, so a welcome addition nonetheless.

PART 2: VINYL EXPERIENCE

I really like the Toyama Love Island purple wax. This seemingly benign statement is no doubt going to incur a chorus of audiophiles in that forum criticizing me for this. Vinyl is not designed — as much as some will tell you, to be a perfectly neutral hi-res medium. There is natural warmth, scratchiness, minor distortion — et cetera. It also features natural imperfections that develop over time — like any piece of physical media. What’s more, some perceived hiccups on the overall master might actually be caused by a slight offset or error in the press, a common and natural occurrence when dealing with physical media like this. That’s why graphic equalizers were so prominent in vinyl hi-fi set in its late 1970s/early 1980s heyday. This is just an aspect of the vinyl experience.

Toyama’s Love Island features, in my view, a few of these imperfections. But these imperfections are nothing major — a quick re-equalization (oxymoronic, but I’m sure you know what I’m getting at here) a little fiddling around with the pre-amp here and there — these are natural to any experience and remind me why I became fascinated with the hobby in the first place — to maximize an audio experience. If every indie press gave that to me out of the box, well, what’s the point of the system that I own? It exists to provide a platform for a rich, diverse, and vibrant sonic experience. But the platter is just decorative without real warmth coming from the music, and Toyama’s Love Island brings that in droves.

My Pet Flamingo has a long (in vaporwave measurements, obviously) history of putting out quality physicals. Toyama’s Love Island builds upon this with a big’ol brick and a heaping slab of mortar. I’m also a big fan of MFP’s visuals. I’m not sure who they use to make the sleeves, but I think they’re generally constructed well, and the cover images that grace them never feel compressed or feature much in the way of artifacts. When you become deeply intimate with a vinyl sleeve, you start to notice these things — and I’ve never had this inkling when fingering a Flamingo release, so kudos to the label’s curation.

The mix feels exceptionally bright on my current system, and that has been a consistent point of curiosity with My Pet Flamingo releases. My guess is whatever they test their masters on is engineered by a British/American company not named “KEF” — think Cambridge, Wharfedale, McIntosh, etc — or a damper sounding Japanese unit like Technics or Yamaha. Again — I don’t see this as a problem, just a note to those running more traditional Japanese (80s Harman, Sansui, TEAC) or Nordic systems (B&O, Blaupunkt) that tend towards that end of the spectrum.

With obvious digital and analog appeal, Toyama’s Love Island is the closest thing to a “holistic” future funk release that I can think of — which makes me wonder why Skule Toyama’s hasn’t blown up yet. Only a matter of time, I’d guess — especially after earning a nod from this little outfit, I’d hope.