#My Melody Backgrounds (Horizontal)

[sanrio-my-beloved]

by my Melody on Twitter – Shared by mymelodyange1 (Tumblr)

Reblogged 09/08/24

Good Morning !

[corvidstoneage]

Ronin pt. 1

TW: Graphic violence.

This short story takes place in my "Peninsula" world a couple weeks after the fall of the second age. It follows a young Sklann warrior and is intended to showcase the Sklann culture and traditions I didn't get to explore much because my players decided to create a shadow army and destroy the world. go figure.

The Sklann culture doesn't deal with gender in the same way as we're accustomed to but I don't have the language finished yet so apologies for the weirdness with pronouns.

Hopefully I have enough material to make a series of sorts out of this. Again, this is unedited. Enjoy!

My legs burned as I crested the top of yet another hill, my clan’s menuki sitting heavily in the pouch on my right hip, my sword seeming much lighter on the left. It seemed like I had been walking for months since I left home, though it had only been that morning.

I started down the next hill with a sigh and tried to shake the memory. Early that morning a rider had come barreling through our gates. Most of the family was out in the fields trying to salvage what they could from the ash storms of the week before. So it was me and my cousin Emry who were at the house to hear about the incoming army.

“An army of shadows” he had said, his horse shuffling nervously as he spoke. “They don’t feel pain and they don’t bleed. They’ve slaughtered my clan and taken our menuki.”

I flinched at that. A clan’s menuki collection was one of the most important things it had. Another Sklann wouldn’t take menuki even in the worst times of war. Menuki were literally family, dead family sure, but still family.

I scarcely heard the rest of what he said before running towards the family temple checking my sword as I went. I knew it was there, it was always there, but it made me feel a little better to check. A single sword wouldn’t do much against an army but carrying a spear and armor everywhere wasn’t exactly practical.

I slid off my sandals as I ran up the stairs and through the beautifully carved archway, the cold stone oddly calming on my bare feet. Behind me I could hear Emry blowing the horn to call the rest of the family home.

Before me were the massive set of wooden drawers containing my clan’s menuki. Each tiny drawer was inscribed with the name of the person it contained. Most of them were still empty. Our clan wasn’t that old. One day my own name would be on one of those drawers and my own menuki would be within, my spirit and experience bound within it.

I lit the braziers to either side of the drawers and drew my sword. It glittered in the firelight as I placed it on the low table in front of the drawers and began to sing my clan’s war song.

The melody, simple and strong, started from my own lips and echoed in my grandmother’s menuki in the hilt of my sword, soon grew to an almost deafening volume as the rest of the stones joined in.

The horn in the background trailed off and I soon heard Emry’s voice join the melody as another sword joined mine on the table. We glanced at eachother for a moment before I began the descant, Emry continuing the melody beneath.

It would be both of our first actual combat and I thanked our ancestors, both in my heart and in the music, that we would have eachother and the will of our ancestors to aid us.

Emry finished the melody and began to sing the descant with me, our voices raised over the humming of the menuki. We sang of blood and war, we sang of the family we fought to protect and the family that had fought to protect us, and most importantly, we sang of the peace to follow the battle.

The humming rose and fell and I felt the ages old magic wrap around and through me, the rest of the world seeming to fall away. I reached out for my sword, held it horizontally in front of me, and sighed as I felt the spell complete, binding me to my menuki and my grandmother’s menuki to me.

As the music died away I sheathed my sword and turned to the doorway, reaching for Emry’s hand as I did. A brief squeeze assured me that I wouldn’t be alone physically and my grandmother stepping into my bones from her menuki assured me I wouldn’t be alone spiritually either.

Together we stepped out of the temple and into chaos. Emry’s parent group was armed with spears and shields and was struggling to close the gates as a group of people seeming to seeth with dark mist piled over eachother in an attempt to get in.

Looking up I saw several of Emry’s younger siblings on the roof of the house looking scared. They all had their bows but couldn’t get a good angle through the gate without hitting their parents.

Grabbing a spear and skjoldor from the side of the house, I ran to help defend the gate. Emry took the position to my left and as the youngest members of the shield wall we maneuvered to the left flank where the more experienced warriors would be covering us with their shields.

As we got into position the gates slammed open and one of the people outside lunged forward; unnaturally clawed hands lunging for Tauri, one of Emry’s parents. ddey were immediately struck in the left side with a spear but seemed not to care, running up the spearhead until ddey slammed into the cross piece and the point jutted grotesquely out their back. ddey stuck there then, eyes hungry and claws scrabbling at the spear shaft, still trying to overrun our shield wall.

Tauri shoved forward and the horrible thing that used to be a person stumbled backwards, dark smoke curling from the gaping spear wound, and was replaced by several more similar creatures.

We fought there for what felt like both hours and at the same time less than a minute. I stabbed and cut with my spear and shoved them away from Emry as best I could with my shield in the cramped confines of the shield wall but gradually we were pushed back under the onslaught.

We had only moved maybe ten feet back when Emry suddenly stumbled and fell. I looked down and saw blood. A lot of blood. I froze there looking at my best friend in horror.

“Stop just staring and help me up! My knee’s cut but I can still fight”

I jolted into action, dropping the spear and covering Emry with my shield as I pulled ddem to ddeir feet.

“Kids! Go guard the temple! They cannot be allowed to get the menuki.”

I didn’t know who said it but I grabbed Emry’s hand, my shield and spear forgotten in the dirt, and ran for the temple.

[aaronafgash]

10 NEW SONGS - 3/8/24

Happy Friday, y’all. It’s been a week. I currently have COVID, so if I write like shit today, let’s just blame it on that!

1. eternal sunshine - Ariana Grande

Say what you will about the woman, but my lord, can she make a catchy ass pop song. Max Martin’s bouncy, colorful production pairs perfectly with Ariana’s falsetto flows - I can’t stop listening to this one. Bonus points for the little chime we get after she sings “you played me like Atari” - I love when a beat plays off of a lyric like that.

2. the boy is mine - Ariana Grande

Pretty much all of the above notes apply to this song as well. Written as a sort of follow up / sequel to her popular “fantasize”, Ariana has called this an elevated version of a “bad girl anthem.” Which is fine, until you realize that this is the “boy” in question. All that being said … song slaps. 

3. bye - Ariana Grande

I have no further Ariana thoughts. This song is also pretty good. This is a rough week for new music outside of this album. See above!

4. Run Your Mouth - The Marías

The Marías make consistently excellent music, and this single continues that tradition. As soon as that bassline kicks in, it’s clear that this is a bop. 

5. Tegami - Mei Semones

I’ve written about Mei Semones before. I will continue to write about Mei Semones. Her voice is so gentle and that jazzy, string-backed production has me hooked - as soon as she comes to a tiny shithole venue in Chicago, my ass is THERE!

6. And U Know It - KYLE

KYLE catches some flak in the hip-hop world but dude just consistently pumps out fun, catchy pop-rap. He sounds great flowing over faster, uptempo beats, and he can hold a good enough melody to carry his own hooks. This song does everything I want from a KYLE song - fast-paced, packed full of energy. I appreciate the inclusion of some brass as well!

7. Neva Beta - KYLE

Almost an interlude-type track, but again catchy as hell. See above as all points apply. I apologize for lamely including multiple songs from the same album but this week is tough!

8. Husk - Hannah Frances

A beautiful, quiet track that slowly grows more and more over the course of 5 minutes, starting with an acoustic guitar and lead vocals and eventually introducing background harmonies, strings, a harp, a piano, and a wall of voices big enough to be a choir. This is gorgeous. I had never heard of Hannah Frances before, but shoutout Steve for the recommendation. She's the type of artist I’d hear as an indie opener and think “oh shit! I need to listen to her music.”

9. Let Love Flow On - Sonya Spence

As stated, I caught the ol’ COVID bug this week and have been consequently lying horizontally while I watch critically acclaimed Oscar-nominated films on my iPad. Immediately after I finished American Fiction, I ran to Spotify to find the song that played during the wedding scene. I’ve listened to this about one million times since Tuesday - pure bliss. I hope it continues to be heard and recognized for the gem that it is as more and more people watch the movie.

10. Crying, Laughing, Loving, Lying - Labi Siffre

I loved a lot of the music from Holdovers as well, and this was a standout. Another older song that I hope gets more recognition now that it’s been used in an excellent movie. 

[theprecuresystem]

[Image 1 Image ID: A memeboard, which is a meme-based moodboard, featuring eight memes, two as a first row, two more as a second row, a horizontal meme taking up both the third and fourth rows on the left side, two more memes on the third row, and one final meme on the fourth row. From left to right, then top to bottom, they are as follows: A black and white spiral background with a confused-looking Cure Yell from HUGtto Precure overlayed on top, white text reads "...where did you all come from..." and faded grey text repeats "Do not Copy" along a diagonal. A cospix photo of a large group of cosplayers dressed as different Precure characters from different seasons, two people cosplaying as Cure Rhythm and Cure Melody from Suite Precure are holding a banner reading "Precure Army" in yellow text over a blue heart with wings. A silhouette of a person's head facing toward the left, edited so that many Precure characters from different seasons can be seen as though looking through translucent glass. The "Car Salesman Slaps Car" meme, edited so that the car is shown as a brain, black text reads "Car Salesman: *slaps roof of brain* this baby can hold so many precures in it*. A 2D image of a brain on white background, with pink text reading "brrrr *printing noises*" and an image of Cure Wonderful from Wonderful Precure, pointing forwards and facing only slightly right of the screen itself, white text subtitles her, reading "If you don't listen, you won't get a treat!" below it. A 3D printer with a red arrow and red text reading "my brain", accompanied by the shrugging kaomoji. An Expectation VS Reality meme - the Expectation portion showing Nono Hana from HUGtto Precure waking elegantly as sunbeams shine through her window as she stretches with white text above her reading "Expectation", the Reality portions shows Nono Hana from HUGtto Precure looking exasperated and laying sprawled on the floor, her bed is on it's side with the mattress and blanket falling off, onto the floor. Lastly is an image from Smile Precure, Hoshizora Miyuki making a peace sign over one of her eyes as she smiles, The fairy Candy sits atop her head, Aoki Reika, Hino Akane, and Midorikawa Nao holding up peace signs as they smile, Akaoni is in the back of the image, holding up two peace signs, but his face has been replaced by a black circle with white-outlined black text reading "Another Fucking New Precure", white text underneath reading "That One Guy Who's Always Photobombing".]

[Image 2 Image ID: A banner where the background is one from the Steven Universe cartoon, showing a rocky, tall terrain on the right side, with an ocean stretching out throughout the rest of the background, except for where the horizon becomes sky. Overlayed on top of this is yellow text on pink translucent rectangles reading "This blog is a safe space for pro-shippers, anti-antis, factkin, fujin, and non-traumagenic systems. DNI if any of these are in your DNI.". A render of Steven Universe in a pink varsity jacket and light blue shirt with yellow star from the cartoon "Steven Universe: Future" is overlayed on the right side.]

A memeboard for a system that has every main Precure from the Pretty Cure franchise and Cure Echo in it, with themes of exasperation at the amount of precures and bemusement over how hers brain can do that.

Mod Haze

[melodyhardin]

Virtual Textbook 2

The Principles of Design:

Unity and Variety

Unity - When everything is in complete similarity and likeness to eachother. 

Variety - When personalization and uniqueness are the subject. 

      2.   Balance - When all forces are in harmony and equal eachother out. 

      3.  Emphasis and Subordination

Emphasis - The point the viewer’s attention is being drawn to (in the design). 

Subordination - The (usually background) blurred focus points in which the viewer’s  attention is not being drawn to. 

      4. Directional Forces - Imaginary or real linear shapes that provide a guideline for the eye to see around. 

      5. Repetition and Rhythm 

Repetition - The process in which something appears multiple times and provides harmony to the design. 

Rhythm - The pattern or routine of several subjects bringing a steady melody to the piece. 

      6.  Scale and Proportions 

Scale - The relativity in dimensions of one subject to the other. 

Proportions - The measurement-based connection of segments to their undivided original.

Where I see these principles in my life: 

I see unity in my community of dance and theater, especially, when we put on an intricate production. I see variety in the unique difference of stories told in all of the books in a bookstore. 

I see balance in my life when I make time for physical, mental, and spiritual health. 

Is see emphasis in my life when I look someone in the eyes, my focus is brought onto their iris. I see subordination in my life when I think of all of the small creatures in the ocean that the human eye can’t possibly see, but they make a significant difference. 

I see directional forces in my life when I am in my car and I see all the different signs and lanes. 

I see repetition in my life through my daily routines, such as my skincare routines and workout or stretching routines. I see rhythm in my life when I practice piano and can feel the balance between the notes. 

I see a scale in my life when I see the difference between my toy-breed dog and his 7-foot bean bag bed. I see proportion in my life as I can watch my little brother grow from a baby to the ten-year-old he is now.

Writing and Looking

Fransico Goya, Bullfight: The Agility and Daring of Juanito Apinani. Page 76.

This etched artwork contains several series of horizontal lines, shadowing in immense proportions, opposing angles, a double focus point, an illusion of the impossible, a rhythm between horizontal lines and background characters, and a bold black border.

Connecting Art to Your World

The color blue has intricately affected my life in many ways. When I was younger a wine cabinet fell on my leg and I had to wear a cast. I remember at one point my cast was light blue and it went all the way up to my knee. I remember I was having a hard day and my dad took me to the movies (just the two of us), and ever since I've always remembered that blue cast. Blue is also the color of my eyes, which everyone went crazy over when I was younger. My eyes have always been one of my favorite features, and the natural beauty of the color blue just adds to the effect. The value and beauty behind blue are very meaningful to me, which is why, if my life were a color scheme I would be blue.

Artist's Choice

The music notes in this piece symbolize my name "Melody!"

melodyhardin

Group 3 - Photography 

Portraiture -

Unfortunately, (after research) I am unaware of who the model is. However, the amazing photographer who took this portrait is Alessio Albi. The meaning behind this portrait is to capture the brave essence of this young woman. The portrait is focusing on the young face of the girl. As well as the interesting, young, and adventurous blue eyes.

Landscape -

This was taken by Mike Mezeul at Half-Dome in Yosemite, California (USA). 

Still Life - 

This is a still life by Garreth Paul, with the subject of the photo being: oranges in a unique blue fruit bowl. The oranges are included in this photograph to being a sense of light and shape to the photo. This photo was taken in specific lighting making the oranges bring a pop of unique color to the photo. The message of this photo is to make the viewer appreciate the appearance and beauty of the ordinary orange in a new way. 

[ererokii]

Tsuki || Shouto Todoroki

Shouto Todoroki x Fem! Reader

Tsuki means Moon in Japanese

Warnings: light cursing

Word Count: 2237

Synopsis: It’s time for you to walk down the aisle and Shouto reminisces your relationship beforehand.

Taglist: @shoutogepi @shoutosteakettle @shoutodoki @sugacookiies @burnedbyshoto @kingtamakimurder @pixxiesdust @fryingpanitachi

➺ Note: This is for the @bnhabookclub bingo event! The prompt is Wedding Vows

Bingo Masterlist

Todoroki Shouto adored you. Everyone could see it. There was no doubt in his mind that he wanted you to be his for the rest of his life. He jumped at any opportunity that was given to him to make advances in your relationship.

Shouto stared into his reflection as he quietly fixed the bow tie of his suit. He tugged at the hem of the suit as he fixed the cufflinks on his undershirt.

“Todoroki!” Midoryia peeked his head through the door. “Are you almost ready? The ceremony is supposed to start soon.”

Shouto briefly nodded and pushed back a strand of hair that fell out of place. “Yeah. Just fixing myself. Do I look fine?” He turned around and held his arms out horizontally for emphasis.

He wore a dark grey suit that complimented his right side but somehow made his right side pop out in color. His hair was slicked back except for the hairs that were too stubborn to stay in place, falling in front of his face.

“You look great as always! But hurry up, I don’t know how much longer Kirishima can hold Bakugo down!”

From the outside, you could hear Bakugo’s yelling and the sound of explosions. Not too loud but loud enough.

A sweatdrop fell from Midoryia’s face as he stepped back. “Yeah we should get going before he somehow explodes this place”

“Right behind you.”

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

“What if he lied and says no? What if this is some sort of game there are cameras secretly hidden so he can laugh in my face?!”

You paced back and forth, hands twitching by your sides as your dress dragged behind you. “What if he doesn’t love me?!”

“Y/N!” Jirou yelled that snapped you out of your panic, your head lifting quickly to meet her expression. “What?” You whispered meekly.

“Y/N honey” Momo places a hand on your elbow, a smile on her features. “You’re overreacting. Shouto loves you. Everyone can see it. I bet even strangers can see the love he has for you radiating off his body. There’s nothing to worry about. Plus he isn’t the type of man to joke about things like this.”

“He would be an idiot to say no! You have that boy wrapped around your finger! Tsu stop moving I can’t fix it” Mina grunted as she stood on her tiptoes, pushing the blue headpiece into her green hair. There! Perfect!”

You stopped in front of the full-body mirror, hands resting on your hips. The lace of the long sleeve ran it’s way down until it reached your forearm, the trim wrapping around with delicate patterns. Your back was exposed as the lace began again at the small of your back, flowing out as it trailed behind you. The dress hugged your curves, making you a walking statue of beauty. Your hair was in a low braided bun, strands of hair framing your face. A crown-like headpiece circled your head as your veil effortlessly enclosed around your body, making you look ethereal.

You teared up and began to fan your face. “Here they come” you choked out as you let your head hang back, a way to keep your tears at bay. “Aw Y/N” Ochako cooed as they came to surround you, wrapping their arms around your body but cautious of your dress and makeup.

“There’s no need to cry! You look so amazing! Every other bride out there in this world wishes they look as good as you!” Hagakure reassured, running her hand up and down your exposed back. “You look so beautiful. Shouto is one lucky man.”

The room erupted in agreement as a knock silenced all you.

You cleared your throat and fanned your face once more before speaking up, “Who is it?” you called and took a step towards the door.

“It’s Kirishima! It’s going to start right now so we all need to get paired up.”

Soon. Soon you would be walking down the aisle, holding the flowers tight to your chest to calm your nerves. Soon you would be saying your words of love to the man you were to spend the rest of your life with. Soon you would be leaving this place with your husband.

At the thought of leaving this place as Shouto Todoroki’s wife brought a smile to your face. You looked down at the carpeted floor as you gently kicked at it with the tip of your shoe. You were ready to start the next beautiful chapter with him. You remembered him acting strangely the day he asked you to be his on your fourth anniversary. He was a bit quieter like he reverted to his old school ways.

“Hello earth to Y/N? Did we lose her already?!” A hand waved in front of your face as a hand tapped itself on your shoulder.

Your head lifted quickly in shock, your eyes blown open as your mouth was parted. “What?!”

An amused giggle left Momo’s lips as she opened the door wider, allowing the rest of your bridesmaids to exit the room. “Don’t worry Y/N-San. It’ll be okay. We’ll all be up there!” she flashed you one of her charming smiles before exiting the room, leaving you by yourself.

You looked up at the ceiling as you let out your final breath, grabbing the flowers from the table and held it close to your chest. The music started playing, signaling everyone that you were to come soon. The beautiful melody filled your ears and it warmed the depths of your heart, the rhythm making your heartbeat join in sync.

You followed behind whoever was in front of you. It was hard to remember who was paired up with his groomsmen. Mina, who was in front of you, looked over her shoulder as her arm was interlocked with Kirishima’s arm. “It’s okay Y/N! It’ll be alright!”

Kirishima nodded in agreement. “It’s unmanly to be nervous! I bet Todoroki isn’t nervous at all!”

“Will the both of you shut up?!” Bakugo snapped as he fully turned around, dragging Hagakure in the process. “I want to get this shit over with but we can’t if you guys keep fucking talking!!”

Before you could retort back the doors swung open, allowing the first couple to walk through. Ochako and Izuku walked arm in arm together down the aisle, both showing their best smiles as your maid of honor and Shouto’s best man.

With space in between, each couple walked down in coordination before splitting up at the front.

You let out a deep breath as you clutched your hand to your chest. “This is it..” you whispered and let one foot move before moving the other, walking forward to a new chapter in your life.

As you made your appearance everyone stood up, Shouto’s head perking up at the sight of you, his mouth parting slightly. “Wow...” he whispered breathlessly as if you took his heart away from him again.

At the sight of your form walking closer and closer, he couldn’t help but drown in your appearance. You were beyond this world, something he couldn’t describe.

You walking down the aisle made him reminisce about how he got here. How he went from someone who didn’t need friends in his time in high school to having an almost wife by his side.

He remembered your first date. To be honest, he didn’t even know it was a date till you departed ways, asking for another one. Course he didn’t say anything about it but kept it to himself, lost in his thoughts.

The next dates after that were better than the first. The first being way too awkward that you did most of the talking. He noticed your form get closer and closer to him as you guys walked in the street, feeling the outline of your hand brush against his.

Your first kiss was… something to say the least. Your heads were angled weird as you bumped noses, emitting a noise from you and a soft smile to display upon his face.

Another date turned into another, then another, till it turned into your first anniversary. Your hardships only brought you guys closer, stronger to each other.

Your first fight tore him apart. He was being too distant as you said. He would come at late hours of the night and would leave first thing in the morning. You understood that he was a Pro-Hero, knew that he would be called whenever needed. You felt as if you weren’t needed and voiced your concerns.

One thing turned to another as he labeled you as clingy, not understanding, and whiny. You labeled him as distant, uncaring, and an emotionless bastard. The fight ended rather quickly when he saw your tears spewing out of your eyes as you whispered your insecurities to him. Right there he devoted any of his free time to you.

Yet here you were approaching him as he held his hand out for you to grab. Your smaller hand was engulfed by his bigger ones, leading you up the small steps to meet him at the top.

Your smile greeted him as he placed a kiss to your knuckles, placing your hand down by your side.

The voice of the Officiant, who was to wed you both was drowned out in the background. All Shouto could do was stare at you. His eyes drank in your figure as he slowly traced your form with his sight. To the way your hair was put in place to the flowing veil that covered your back, hiding you from the world. To the lace hugging your curves just right.

He snapped out of his trance when you took his hands in yours, facing him completely. Your lips moved that felt like an illusion to him. Your sweet voice filled the entire room as you declared your love for him. Your eyes gleamed with delight as your mouth was tugged up in a carefree smile, your hands twitching and squeezing with every word spoken.

Your eyes swelled up with tears as one of his hand reached to your face and gently wiped them away, his thumb rubbing the apple of your cheek gently.

“I promise to love you every day with my whole being Shouto. I promise to give my all to you through thick and thin. I love you Shouto.” You choked back a sob as you brought one of your hands to your mouth, covering it.

Shouto reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a white folded piece of paper. He unfolded it, fixing its creases as he stared down at his writing. “I had something pre-written down but,” he folded it again and placed it back inside. “I rather say what I feel right now.”

He let out a deep breath, “Y/N,” he began and lifted his head to meet your gaze. “No words can describe how much you mean to me. You’ve given me so many opportunities to prove myself that I was good enough for you. You were always there for me despite knowing what happened to me. You listened to me. You are my shoulder to cry on. As you are here for me, I promise to be there for you even though I know I’ll mess up.”

He grabbed both of your hands and held them to his chest. “You are my everything. You are my moon. You shined so brightly when I was in a dark place. In the dark, you showed me that there was something else out there that I couldn’t see. I promise to love, protect, and cherish you until I die and even until after that. My moon, I love you so much.”

He finished as your tears were openly flowing, your shoulders shaking as you shook your head.

“Todoroki Shouto, do you take Y/LN Y/N as your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do.”

“Y/LN Y/N, do you take Todoroki Shouto as your lawfully wedded husband!”

“Yes!” You cried out and gripped Shouto’s hands tighter, your makeup messing up slightly. Shouto could only smile at your messy appearance but to him, you were beautiful. Full of emotion. Full of love.

“I now pronounce you Man and Wife. You may kiss the br-“

Shouto wrapped a hand around your waist and brought you flushed against his chest, one of his hands cradling your cheek and he placed his lips on yours, sealing your bond of an ultimate form of love.

Cheers boomed throughout the place, sobs erupting from your bridesmaids.

“They’re just!! So cute!!” Mina sobbed into her arm as Tsu rubbed her back gently.

“Todoroki-Kun and Y/N-San are cute!! I can’t wait to babysit their kids!!” Momo wailed out as she shook her flowers, the petals falling off everywhere.

“That’s so manly!!” Kirishima wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, Midoryia reprimanding Bakugo for making a smart comment.

“This was a beautiful ceremony Kacchan! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Bakugo grunted and looked away from everyone, a small smile forming at his lips. Even though he wouldn’t say it, he was happy for both of you.

You pulled away and leaned your forehead against Shouto’s, your lips ghosting his as you bring your left hand to stroke his cheek. “I love you, Shou.”

He placed his hand on top of yours, leaning into your touch.

“And I you, my love.”

[mxvladdy]

A Break- Chapter 5

Oh lord this took too long and ‘bout killed me. I hope my edits are good! 

It’s a biggen so it’s all under the cut! 

Hope y’all like it! I know it was long over do :/

He dreams of dragons. A swirling blur of purples, reds, and yellows. His mindscape was a rich profusion of colors. Two become sharper standing out in the sea of hues. His father’s dragon emerges from the mass. The great black dragon floats ethereally around him, judging him. But, unlike the years spent under his father's tutelage, all he got were stern looks and cold words of praise. Now, he can feel a warm sense of- pride. Was his father finally proud of him? How? Of what? Next to him, another dragon appears. His mother’s dragon wove around the long form of his father. Black and pearly pink twisting and revolve hypnotically around his body. They radiated peace, and rest. An urge to join them began to overwhelm him. A break sounded nice. He deserved one, didn’t he?

When was the last time he had felt this at peace? There were a few times perhaps in recent memories. A blurry face comes to mind. A sweet smile and a laugh that is so warm and bright. He remembers the feel of soft fingers scratching along his goatee. He felt at peace then, safe and loved. It gives him pause- the urge to slip away waning. His paternal dragon stops its coiling, eyes locking with his partner. He pulls backs, separating from his mate. His mother’s dragon chirps, drifting closer and closer, she tries to touch her son. Her whiskers mere inches from his floating hand. Obsidian claws stop her from touching her eldest. His father’s dragon huffs once in warning, shaking its great head. His mother snaps at the claw, stubborn in her convictions. She wanted her son back, safe within her clutches in the afterlife. Had he not gone through enough? From the clan to his own penances? She had been so close to getting her youngest back years ago. Yet she had been robbed then too.

She wouldn’t be denied twice.

Hanzo watches helplessly as the two beasts argue in a language he does not know. He is torn between a want to be here with them, and the warm thoughts trickling slowly back into his mind. The pearlescent dragon rears back with a cry of anguish, nostrils flaring at whatever the black dragon had said. She makes eye contact with him once more. The dragon’s eyes were the same color as his mother's before she turned from him leaving his line of sight. His father gave him one last look filled with, pride? Before disappearing too. He shouts for them, crying out for his mother. To not be left alone again. But they were silent in the void. Not even in death was he good enough.

He floats again, or lays? He truly cannot tell what axis or plane he was on. But he could still feel. He felt cold and so so tired. Where were his dragons? If his parents were here surely his dragons must be too. He calls for them, but he gets no answer. The seal on his arm was horribly quiet.

He can do nothing but drift now.

He hears things sometimes, a soft sweet voice reading to him. Other times it’s a smooth accented voice walking him through something they were about to do. Hallucinations or reality he couldn’t tell. They get stronger though. Soon he begins to feel a warmth on his face. Like he was basking in the heat of the summer sun. Other times it’s the brush of something cool and wet on his neck and arms. The fingers were too smooth to be human but dexterous like them. They were humming, the tinny and augmented drone familiar. Hanzo knew that melody, he knew that voice, but he just couldn’t place it. Hanzo listens for a while, floating on the melody before it too disappears. They leave him, only an incisive beeping echoing in his head for company.

His dragons come to him after what felt like an eternity. Akuma approaches first, his massive body colliding with Hanzo’s. The archer clings to the great beast burying his face into the fur. Hanzo cares little for the claws puncturing his skin and scratching him as Akuma clicks and coos in delight. Ibuki wraps herself around them both, quiet but vibrating with relief. Hanzo opens his mouth to speak. His throat clicks, dry and inflamed. Something is choking him.

No-rest. We will get you out soon. Out? He stiffens in their warm embrace. He didn't want out. It was nice here, quiet. He didn't feel pain or much of anything in here. He could stay like this... No. Akuma nips his cheek in aggravation. Family, they need you. She needs you-

It comes back to him hard and fast. His last kiss with you before leaving for the terminal. The video before bed. Him whispering goodnight to your sleeping face ending the call before turning in himself. To the security breach and his fight. He needs to get back. If his parents left him here then he should wake up. Why wasn't he waking up? We will protect. His dragons nuzzle him once more before they push away returning to the great beyond, promising to take care of you while he gets stronger. Their determination fuels him to fight, to survive.

He trains his mind to pick up on the noises and touches happening around him while he waits. He picks up the tick of a clock and the sound of waves by his side. Their constant background noise soothing and grounding. Genji comes daily to hum and chat in their native tongue. He spoke of idle, sweet little things. The weather, who was on kitchen duty that evening, the training schedule. He sounded so hopeful every time he visited. Like his big brother was going to wake up at any moment and respond. After Genji came Mei and Ana. The two mostly acted like he was with them and discussed whatever book they were reading while waiting on him. They would come in the evenings and read passages aloud for him. It was a welcomed break from the monotony of silence. Ana came more often than Mei. He could smell the tea she would bring in when she sat by his side reading aloud in Arabic. Ah- her favorite book of poetry. She never translated this book for him, but between her cadences and phrasing, she wove the beauty of the verses nonetheless.

Ana was interrupted today though. Midway through a verse, she stopped. Her tongue stumbling over itself uncharacteristically. Hanzo felt her shift and rise without another word. He recognized Baptiste and Angela's voices talking to her, their voices low and hurried. He hears Ana laugh gently and the door to his room snaps shut.  His doctors bustle around him for a moment though he senses another person in the room with them. Odd- unless his brother came back. No, much too quiet to be him. Angie and Baptiste leave quickly, their check-up done, leaving him alone with the new visitor.

"Hey, Hanz." A soft voice brushes his cheek. "How are you today?" Hanzo’s heart hurts. How did- when did you come here. He wanted to be angry, to yell at you for coming to such a dangerous place. He wanted to hunt down whoever found you and throttle them. This was putting you in harm’s way. Yet, at the same time, he wished he could see you. He wished he could tell you how much he missed you and that he was there. Instead, floats in his own subconscious. “I-Angie says that you might hear me. Something about your brain scans?” You squeeze his hand with a light chuckle. You trail off distracting yourself by rubbing soothing patterns in his palm. “If-if you can, know that I know. Not everything, your brother has been so kind to me.” You squeeze his hand, bordering on almost uncomfortable. “But I need to hear the things he said from you. So-so get better soon, please? I miss you.” Now more than ever he wishes he could comfort you. Why hadn't he just swallowed his pride early? This could have been avoided. He hoped at least.

The rest of your visit passes too quickly for his liking. The scant bit of privacy he had with you was filled with your tender voice and gentle touches. He felt your fingers brush along his smooth jaw, stroking it like you did whenever you would lounge in bed sweaty but happy after a lengthy reunion. The kisses you placed on his brow were just as sweet too. You only left after one of the doctors came in to force you out to get dinner and stretch.

You poke at the warm meal Ana had plated for you in the mess hall. The steaming rice and tomato covered lentils sitting comfortably in your stomach. “Eat, dear. Then I think it’s best if you take a nap. When was the last time you slept horizontally?” Ana winks at you over her shoulder stirring a pot filled with browning onions and spices. The elderly medic had lost count of the number of times she had walked in on you sleeping in the chairs in the medical wing.

“I’m fine-really.” You smile rubbing at your sore neck. The hospital chairs here were soft, sure, but not meant for daily sleeping. Ana snorts but doesn’t say anything more on the matter. Instead, she distracts your haggard mind with recipes and tea ideas, sprinkling in little stores of her childhood. You find yourself relaxing more and more; the time between when you wanted to get back to Hanzo’s side and since you sat down for dinner growing longer and longer in between. You yawn widely, failing to cover it with your mouth with your hand. “Shit- sorry.” You flush. The other woman waves it off.

“It’s fine sweetheart. Just means my food and company did its job.” She smiles collecting both of your dishes to place them in the sink. “Come-let me escort you to your room.”

“You really aren’t going to let me go back huh?”

“Not a chance child. He isn’t going anywhere trust me.” She grips the back of your shirt to lead you in the opposite direction of the ICU. You scowl but follow along, dragging your feet along a little in the process.

You had been offered Hanzo’s room when you landed last week. It had been untouched since he had been transferred to the Ilios base. But you couldn’t, it felt almost rude to. He hadn’t consented to any of this. It just felt wrong. His room was what you had always imagined. Clean and tidy, the few items he had well loved and maintained. Some looked pricy, but most were homey little things that must have reminded him of Japan. You ask to stay in a vacant room but still find yourself in his room from time to time, dusting his heavy bookshelf or to vacuum his rug and shake the linens out. You only broke down once in his room, but it was enough for you to never want to go back in there. Not until Hanzo was back living in it. While mopping one day you stumbled across a little box, it was your box, the old thing was filled with letters. The creases in the paper thin and tearing from constantly being opened and reread over and over again. The trinkets you had sent him over the years were worn, but clean. The metal pins and coins shiny and discolored from fingers rubbing them lovingly. You put the box back where you found it and leave. Athena could clean from now on.

Genji and Angie had discussed a lot with you since you took up residence. You were grateful for their updates and check-ins. Baptiste even gave you some reading about what to expect when Hanzo is up and going through physical therapy. He emphasized that the longer he was in the ICU the longer recovery could be. “But don’t stress,” He pats your hand warmly. “That man is as stubborn as an Ox. He’ll bounce back in no time!”

You hope so. From the bits Genji told you after they found him...it had been- disparaging. The road had been rocky, though they wouldn’t disclose all the details to you. The first few weeks were touch and go before Angie finally could sign off on putting him under medically. She spoke as simply as she could but it was still a lot for you. But she was certain he would pull through, and that as soon as he could breathe on his own again she would begin the process of waking him up.

How long that would take no one knew.

You met quite a few interesting characters while you sat vigil by his bedside. Mei is a riot. The plucky young scientist is a delightful conversationalist and had many stories about Hanzo. When she talked about him you could immediately understand why they were friends. Both mathematically minded and sentimental to a fault.

Satya was more pensive when she visited at first, but warmed up to you gradually over talks of your business. Her eyes lit up when you told her your struggles with tin designs. “Let me design some for you. Your tins are wonderfully shaped, but ultimately boring.” She looks down at Hanzo’s resting form. She strokes his head lightly. The stubble growing on his crown had been recently washed. Baptist came in earlier to remove the stitches around his temporal lobe.  “I’ll send you some designs tonight.” She nods curtly before leaving you alone again. Over the next few weeks, you gradually met the rest of the agents. Whether it be them coming to say hello and check up on their comrade or in the kitchen, welcoming you to a warm meal, and thousands of questions about how you met.

It wasn’t until the second month of your stay did you meet Hanzo’s dragons. It was late, later than any of the medical staff would advise you to stay up. But, you could only stay away from work for so long and it was finally quiet. You were working by Hanzo’s side, the beeping of his monitor lulling you into a trance while you read over your spreadsheets. At first, you didn’t notice, the rhythmic beeping of his machinery was white noise to you at this point. The first few hitches you missed, too preoccupied with moving numbers and shipments around. The skips steadily grew faster and more erratic, it pulls your focus from your screen. “Hanzo?” You toss your laptop to the side, ready to buzz for help. He doesn’t move, not even a flicker behind his eyelids. Nothing was out of place until you touched him. His arm is warm underneath your fingers. Too warm, near scorching. You yelp in pain falling back at a sudden blinding light that erupts from his tattoo. The room fills with a blaze of blue and gold, the energy of the blast knocks you to the floor. You scream as two massive dragons irrupt from him. They swirl around the tiny space, scleraless eyes scan the room for something.

That something just happened to be you. Two sets of eyes lock with yours. Large fanged jaws open wide, hackles raised. You sit frozen in awe and terror. Were they going to kill you? No-surely not. Genji said they would recognize you-hypothetically. They were an extension of their master's souls. The two lunge for you, three-clawed feet open wide like birds of prey. Squeezing your eyes shut you wait for the impact of scales and teeth.

Two small projectiles collide with you. The force of which knocks the air from you. “Oph!” You wheeze arms wrapping instinctively around the squirming warm creatures clinging to your chest. Two thin dry tongues flick out and tickle your jaw and cheeks.

“I heard a scream! Are you-” Genji burst in looking about frantically, his wakizashi drawn and at the ready. Angie and Baptist barge in behind him, both armed as well. “Oh.” Genji gasps, his sword drops limply to his side. “Aniki.” You look up from your prone position, still dazed and confused by the now tiny blue dragons nestled on your stomach.

“Are you alright?” Genji asks, helping you up back to your feet and righting your upturned chair. His eyes never leave the two spirits in your hands. You nod meekly. “Come, let’s give them room to work.” He takes one last look at his brother and the doctors before leading you out with him. “What happened?” He asks in the hallway eyeing the two blue dragons now wrapped around your upper body. He punches in the code for his room and lets you in.

“I-I don’t know.” The larger of the two dragons chirps as it loses its grip on your sweater. You scoop it up to nuzzle your neck like you would an infant. It coos, wrapping its fluffy tail around your wrist. The slimmer smaller one squawks indignantly, jealous of its partner's attention. It too nuzzles at your neck, draping itself around you like a scarf. “One minute I was balancing my checkbooks, and the next I heard the heart monitor going crazy. Then these two jump me.” You glanze up at Genji. He looks so hopeful. A small sigh of relief escapes him. “Is this good?”

Genji sighs heavily and flops onto his bed. He rubs at the synthetic skin of his chin thoughtfully. He points at the two dragons. “Look at how translucent they are. It takes a lot of energy to summon them to our realm.” You clutch at the squirming reptiles taking a good look at them. The two look at you with large innocent eyes. What he said was true. You could see your hands through their bodies. Their scales were dull and lacked the luster of Genji’s dragon. The larger one’s left antler was chipped and flaking onto the floor. The smaller one was very thin and hollow looking. Genji sighs looking miffed. “My best bet is they told Hanzo you're here and he sent them out to look after you. Which is sweet, but foolish. Summoning when we are mentally or physically weak could kill us if we are not careful.” He drags his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“What happens now?”

He shrugs. “I can’t say. It’s up to him now. But, I believe this is a good sign.” Genji reaches out and scratches behind one of the dragon's ears. “Thank you for coming out to us.” He speaks directly to the dragons, bowing his head low in respect. They preen, clicking and cooing in delight. Genji’s little dragon appears shortly after jumping into the fray of blue and gold.  You sit in the cyborg’s cozy room watching Hanzo’s dragons play. For the first time in ages your chest cliches with something other than fear.

It takes another 3 weeks for Hanzo to open his eyes. Of course, he had to do it the one night you decided to sleep in a bed. Your back had been pleading for days for a normal night's rest. It felt like your head had barely hit your pillow before his two dragons woke you. Tiny claws kneading your stomach and chest. They were solid and heavy. Their scales are bright and iridescent. The larger one, Akuma bumps your face hard with his antlers. Huge, arching healthy antlers. He trills at you expectantly.  

Genji beats you to the medical ward by seconds. His exhaust vents pumping steam out like a geyser. He speaks quickly, his words fast and agitated. He switches languages rapidly, getting more and more agitated at the blank look the assistant barring the door gives him. He is getting flustered and quickly. His green lights blazed brighter and brighter with agitated arm gestures.

“Genji-Genji!” You rest a gentle hand on his cold shoulder. He rounds on you blindly, eyes electric. The hairs on your arm begins to rise as his dragon begins to awaken just under the surface. His temper cools when he recognizes just who was trying to calm him. You glance over to the trembling medical assistant. “Come- we’ve waited this long. They will get us when it’s safe to.” You assure your friend. Genji nods jerkily, taking your offered hand. He follows you down the hall back to his room. You were both tense and vibrating with nervous energy.

You lead Genji to his room, much like he did weeks ago. Punching in his room code you collapse onto the mountain of pillows he had on the floor for a chair the moment the door closed. You hug his pillows close, trying to quell the butterflies in your stomach “He’s up.” Genji spoke in awe. You crane your neck to look as Genji paces around you. His tone was tight but hopeful. “He’s up- He’s ok.” He smiles down at you, his face the brightest you had ever seen it. He wipes at his eyes and exhales a curse of joy. Dropping down next to you, he sits cross-legged by your side.

“Yes-” It was all you could manage to say. You squeeze his knee in reassurance, your own eyes prickling around the corners. Hot tears threatening to overflow. You didn’t want to admit it to him, to anyone, but you had started to lose hope. How many times had you sat there painstakingly etching each and every angle and blemish on Hanzo’s unconscious face into your memory, just in case it was to be your last time with him? How many nights had you held your breath, eyes locked with the complex monitors and pumps looking for something, hitch in his breath, or a twitch of a finger. Something to tell you he was still there. A wave of guilt washes over you just thinking of how he had woken up alone, how you weren’t there for him.

It’s not like he knew you were here, but it hurt your heart regardless. Doubt hits you. Would he even want you here? He clearly had no intentions of telling about this part of him. He had his crew to support him, and his brother here. “What are you going to say?” Genji asks gently. You feel his warm human hand land on top of yours giving you a comforting squeeze.

“What are you planning to say?” You parrot.

Genji thinks on it for a second, biting the synthetic skin of his lower lip. “Ugh- that’s why I asked you first! I don’t know if I want to punch him for making us all worry, or hug him.”

“I wish I had an answer too.” You confess. “I don’t even know if I should go see him.”

“What!” Genji gasps. “You have to! He’ll be so happy to see you.”

“Genji,” You roll on to your side. “I’m not even supposed to be here.” You nestle into the multicolored pillows rubbing at your eyes wearily. “Maybe it would be best if I went back home. Give him some space to recover. Give whatever this is time.” Your conversation partner goes quiet. His dark eyes, so expressive like his brothers bore into you. It wasn’t judgment. Nothing of the sort. It was understanding and flickers of sympathy.

“Do you want to leave?” He asks. No. Deep down you didn’t, but the high of hearing Hanzo's condition was slowly being replaced with the reality of the situation. The reality of what now? You shrug hiding your face in your arms too ashamed to admit. He lets you stew for a moment. “My brother-” He starts slowly. “My brother is many things, he is prideful and arrogant. Sometimes to the point of being unbearable to deal with. He can be as immovable as a mountain, as you might say bullheaded. ” Genji chuckles. “But, he is incredibly patient, I never noticed it as a child…but now, it’s a trait I envy.” He rubs at his eyes thinking back to the box he found in his brother’s room, the hidden pictures of you and him. He had never seen his brother so relaxed before. He would do anything to keep seeing that smile on his brother’s face. “I guess what I’m trying to say is,” Genji continues. “ just please try to see him once? If you're able to talk to him, do. I can tell you’re special to him, he will do what it takes to make this work.”

You bob your head in understanding, working to swallow around the lump growing in your throat. “I’m scared.” You admit timidly. Genji gives you a gentle pat on the leg.

“It is a scary situation, but trust me when I say you have nothing to fear from Hanzo.”

Genji leaves you at that, you both decided that when they were given that all clear to see Hanzo he should go first. He tries to object, but it was merely a formality. You could see how desperate he was to go. You spend your time waiting in his room, with his dragon Mizuki and her siblings. They could tell you were in distress and tried their hardest to comfort you. Their warm bodies blanket yours, their purring helping drift you off to sleep.

A sharp knock wakes you and your three dragons. They all perk up, ears all twitching towards the door. Akuma growls low in his throat. You open the door to Angie. She beams at you, hand hovering mid-knock. “Ah good! Sorry if you were resting.Hanzo was asking for you.” She steps back to let you out. Mizuki yips shrilly and leaps at the doctor. She catches them gracefully and strokes their head. “You can visit briefly. I am still monitoring him.”

“Right- thank you Angie.” You turn to go.

Angie stops you with a firm hand on your shoulders. “His larynx and trachea are still healing. Talking on his end is strictly forbidden, understand?” You nod. “I’m keeping him for observation for the next week- you are welcome to visit whenever he is feeling up to it.” With that she gives your shoulders a firm clap and lets you go. You walk slowly to the medbay, Hanzo’s dragons quiet and contemplative on your shoulders. For all your anxiety your mind was completely blank. Where would you even start? Knocking softly on the door to Hanzo's private room you enter.

The sigh of relief that escapes is loud in the open space. He turns to watch you from his inclined position on his hospital bed. He looks better. The tubes and wires helping him breathe and heal had been condensed down to just a heart monitor, IV drip, and oxygen. You take in the muted colors of healing bruises on his face and chest. He hardly looked like himself though. His face was clean shaven from surgery and his hair buzz cut short. It wasn’t him, but it didn’t matter. The fire was still there behind his dark eyes. They still screamed strength and perseverance. It was the same look that had attracted you from the start.

Hanzo regards you heavily, his expression gives nothing away as you come to sit by him. His fiery eyes flicker for a moment when he notices the unshed tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. He opens his mouth to speak and winces. Each breath felt like fire in his lungs. Hanzo rubs at his bandaged neck in agony. “You know you’re not allowed to talk.” You chastise him rushing up to grab his water and straw. He waves it away with a frown and sinks back into the thin pillows of his bed. You sit back down, playing with the metal straw between your fingers. “We have a lot to talk about huh?” You ask to break the silence. Hanzo huffs at the understatement of the century. He rubs his sweaty palms across the sheets covering the stumps of his legs. You watch him, he always rubbed at his knees when he was nervous. You reached for his hand not filled with wires and tubes, but stopped. Hanzo grabs your hand before you could pull it back. His large hand covering yours, he was so warm and safe. “I’m sorry.” You can feel yourself falling apart at the seams. A mix of relief and anxiety creating an indescribable feeling in you.

Damn, what were you even apologizing for? Knowing his secret? Learning about the Shimada clan without his consent, especially since he made it clear he had no intentions of telling you himself. Genji hadn’t told you everything, but it was enough to add fuel to the fire of nightly rants with his dragons. You wipe at your face hating how hot your skin felt with tears. Hanzo tugs at your hand to get your attention. “Wha-” He grunts pointing to the side table by the door and mimes writing on his palm. His com and phone sat innocently alongside his gold ribbon and a few get-well cards and dried flowers, all gifted to him by the team. He takes the phone from you eagerly and opens up to his notes app. He writes out something quickly and trusts it at you without hesitation.

I love you, I’m sorry

What little resolve you had left breaks at his admission. You pepper his waxy skin with tear streaked kisses “I love you too- truly.” You whisper into the bandages on his skull. The strong smell of antiseptics not deterring you in the least bit. He catches a stray kiss and turns back to his screen with vigor.

I know I have much to explain, secrets that I’ve held for too long and for no reason. You were never at fault for any of this, I trust you implicitly I have for a while.  

Hanzo swallows thickly, thumbs hovering over the keyboard while you read in silence.

I know I have damaged what trust you must have had in me. If this is too much, if you deem this unsalvageable… I cannot blame- I would never blame you for wanting to step back. If you desire a clean break.

“Hanzo-” He wouldn’t-

But, if you are willing to give me a chance- I will give you everything. If you are willing to wait…

He looks to you waiting. You would either stay or leave, it was up to you. You read and reread his words, both of you trying to ignore the uptick on his heart monitor. You click the phone off and put it on the windowsill. Breathing deeply you stare blindly out the window. You don’t answer with words. Truthfully you think you had any that would express what you felt in that moment. Instead, you take his hand in both of yours. You kiss along his knuckles, brushing your lips along each scar you see, both old and new alike. You knew them all by heart. They had been a calendar of sorts, the mending of torn skin and removal of stitches, your anchor. They were what kept you going on the hardest nights, they kept you knowing that the wait was worth it. You couldn’t think of stopping now, fear be damned. “I’ll be here as long as you need.”

The smile that graces his face was well worth the wait.

[konohagakurekakashi]

The bustling sakaba tent was not their usual haunt, but a substitute, seeing as their waterhole of choice closed at a ‘respectable’ hour. It was a poor substitute, really. The table was sticky and in direct view of the entrance. The Hocchiku flute melody playing in the background was obnoxiously off-key and the chairs were plenty unforgiving on his back that was still grieving the eight hours he spent doubled over village cadastral plans. Said back should be in the horizontal position, supported by a futon and his well-worn comforter; but Tsunade-sama was never known to be swayed when her mind was up and made. By now their afterhours night-cap was routine, irrespective of how late the workday ended and with half of the village /still/ reduced to a crater, late nights and early mornings were the new norm.  It was almost as commonplace as the exasperated growl rumbling across from him, aah..almost.

“Something wrong, Hokage-sama?”

The Jōnin drawled in question, raising his glass higher to take a few experimental sniffs of his drink. He noted faint tinges of citrus, coconut and egg-white cream, a drink you could easily identify with a touristy village like Yugakure. Really, Kakashi just settled for the little umbrella.

“…If I recall my history correctly, members of the Senju clan don’t actually possess a Kekkei Genkai that can set people on fire just by staring at them…”

@senjutsunade

Tempers, Teal Drinks, and Tenuous Ties

[Note: I was bored, @konohagakurekakashi and this is revenge for Bunta.]

Her eye couldn't stop twitching. It was an abomination. Something that should not exist. Something that definitely should not be in the hands of the ridiculous jonin she had come to (unwillingly) rely on, in recent months.

Her eyes trailed from the mocking teal drink, complete with a stupid pink umbrella in it to the lone smug eye looking back at her and her scowl worsened. She wanted to shove that umbrella somewhere....that required a medics skill.

He. Was. Embarrassing. Her.

Her foot tapped, indicating her tolerance was evaporating. She drained the cup of sake before her but the bitterness of it only drew her attention back to the contrast - the abomination.

She was so badly tempted to grab it from his hand and splash it on Kakashi's annoying face (yes despite the mask the face was still annoying darn it).

She tried to express her annoyance through words but only a growl came out.

[passionate-reply]

This week on Great Albums: most 80s enthusiasts are well aware of the Buggles’ “Video Killed the Radio Star,” famous for being the first music video ever played on MTV. But when’s the last time you actually listened to the whole song? Chances are, it’s better than you remember. And the rest of this album is a masterpiece, too. FInd out more by watching the video, or reading the transcript, below the break:

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! Today, I’ll be looking at the 1979 debut album of the Buggles, The Age of Plastic. If you know anything about the pop landscape of the 1980s, you’ll know that MTV played a key role, codifying the “music video” format and aestheticizing the music industry like never before, not to mention introducing a plethora of British electronic acts to American audiences for the first (and sometimes only) time. The Buggles were one of the many synth-pop bands that scored a crossover hit chiefly from the exposure that heavy rotation on MTV won for them, but at the same time, their legacy is intertwined with MTV’s much more deeply. The Buggles’ clip for their single “Video Killed the Radio Star” has the distinction of being the very first ever played on MTV, during its 1981 launch.

Music: “Video Killed the Radio Star”

I’ve done my fair share of videos where I talk about artists who are brushed into the “one hit wonder” bin in America, and I usually find myself saying that their big hit isn’t that outstanding compared to the rest of their work, or the album it appears on. But in the case of “Video Killed the Radio Star,” I have to say, I think this track is a veritable masterpiece. It’s a shame that it’s become so inextricably linked with MTV, and its place in history overshadows its ability to stand on its own as a great work of art. It’s a song that feels very familiar, because it’s used so often as a sort of jingle for this era of music history, but every time I go back and listen to it in full, it blows me away. The song was, of course, not written with the intent of being about MTV--it’s about how the advent of television doomed radio dramas back in the 1950s, and was chosen by MTV in a bit of amusing irony.

But “Video Killed the Radio Star” is so much more than that post facto smug joke. It’s delicately wistful and nostalgic, with the crisp, soprano backing vocals of Linda Jardim providing a nod to 50s pop, but also very firm and powerful, once you add in that despondent piano. It’s the part that’s usually cut in the “jingle-ificiation” of the song for B-roll, but also the piece that really makes the composition tick--it’s the contrast between the brash and childlike optimism represented by Jardim, and the rest of the melody coming in to remind us of how those hopes are dashed as we come to adulthood, and we grow to see the world we lived in as children collapse upon itself. This all comes together to make the song utterly compelling to listen to in full, despite how pithy and trivial its oft-repeated hook has become.

While “Video Killed the Radio Star” was the single that managed the most mainstream success, the rest of the album features tracks that resemble it, in their sense of cinematic narrative and fascination with nostalgic retro-futurism. It’s not quite a concept album, but it still has an impressive amount of thematic consistency, and its tracks’ resonance only seems to increase when considered alongside one another.

Music: “Johnny on the Monorail”

Stark and plaintive, “Johnny on the Monorail” closes out the album on a moody, introspective note. Those bright backing vocals return, this time adding in some scatting, in a more overt reference to 50s doo-wop. Its high-tech mass transit theme calls to mind Kraftwerk’s seminal “Trans-Europe Express” from a few years earlier--but where they had used heavy, hyper-physical percussion to portray the workings of the machine itself, the Buggles’ hymn to the train focuses on the internality of its human occupants. The train is a socially-charged space here, but one filled with awkwardness and tepid, partial connections to other people. It’s a perfect microcosm of a sterilized future world that separates man from physical actions, like walking, as well as from his fellow man. This emphasis on the human, emotional toll of high technology is a constant throughout the album, even on its lone “love song.”

Music: “I Love You, Miss Robot”

In “I Love You, Miss Robot,” the age-old myth of romance between human and machine serves the role it always does: satirizing the transactional or objectifying nature of “modern” relationships, and the perversity of our attempts to fill our needs for companionship with things instead of people. The composition is, fittingly, quite hollow and languid, centered around a simple bass guitar riff while electronically-distorted vocals flit around like ghosts. Despite Trevor Horn’s reputation for orchestral, baroque pop, there’s actually a surprising amount of driving, rock guitar on this album too. It’s most prominent on the track “Clean, Clean!”, which is certainly a major sonic contrast with “I Love You, Miss Robot”! “Clean, Clean!” actually directly follows it in the tracklisting, albeit broken up by the flip to side two, if you’re listening on vinyl.

Music: “Clean, Clean!”

Despite its rough-edged aesthetics and driving rhythm, “Clean, Clean!” maintains the sense of high-concept narrative that pervades The Age of Plastic, showing us a glimpse into a brutal war. But, set against the haunting sense of distance and sterility embodied by tracks like “Johnny on the Monorail,” “Clean, Clean!” ultimately feels quite different thematically as well, with its soldiers inhaling diesel fumes and struggling to “keep the fighting clean.” Both sonically and lyrically, its feel is a bit less atompunk, and more dieselpunk--and, for once, the linguistic allusion to “punk music” is also relevant here!

The cover of The Age of Plastic features a headshot of Buggles frontman Trevor Horn, rendered in lurid primary colours. Combined with the tight horizontal lines of the background, and the digital-looking typeface used to render the name of the band, it seems to be an image culled from some futuristic display screen, fitting the album’s aforementioned science fiction themes. Looking back on it now, of course, there’s a certain retro feel to these now-outdated ideas about computer displays. It’s a reminder that for as much as this album was, in its own time, looking backward to Midcentury ideas about the future, and embracing a certain retro-futurism, it’s now aged into being “retro” itself, in a world where much of contemporary culture looks back at the 1980s with hope and wonder.

The title, “The Age of Plastic,” calls to mind not only a world of futuristic super-materials, but also the negative connotations of plastic: fakeness, disposability, and malleability to the point of having no fixed identity. In that sense, Horn’s technicolour visage can be read as the image of that plastic-age hominid, formed anew by evolving technology and an increasingly cold and alienating culture.

If you’re familiar with Western pop, the odds that you’ve already heard a lot of other work by Trevor Horn is extremely high. For as much as “Video Killed the Radio Star” has gone down in history as a gimmicky number, Horn’s fingerprints run all throughout popular music, from a stint as the frontman of progressive rock outfit Yes, to producing hit songs for artists like ABC, Frankie Goes to Hollywood, the Pet Shop Boys, and Seal. My personal favourite project of his, though, is probably his sample-heavy, avant-garde work as a member of the Art of Noise. A lot of people don’t know that there was actually also a second Buggles album, 1981’s Adventures in Modern Recording. I’ve met few people who would argue that it’s quite as good as The Age of Plastic, but if you’re interested in more of this sound, you might as well give it a shot! Lead single “I Am a Camera” even managed to chart minorly in several markets.

Music: “I Am a Camera”

My favourite track on The Age of Plastic is its opener, the pseudo-title track, “Living in the Plastic Age.” Moreso than any of the other tracks, it really draws its strength from its narrative, with clever lyricism that really rewards a close listen. It captures a day in the life of a businessman in a soulless, corporatized future, going through the motions despite a nagging notion that the corporate grind is no path to true fulfillment. The song’s frantic pacing portrays that ceaseless, hectic sense of stress, and its soaring refrain is one of the album’s highest points of drama. I can’t think of a better summation of the album’s overarching themes. That’s all for today, thanks for listening!

Music: “Living in the Plastic Age”

[ducktracy]

184. the woods are full of cuckoos (1937)

release date: december 4th, 1937

series: merrie melodies

director: frank tashlin

starring: mel blanc (owlcott, walter finchell, milton squirrel, wendell howl, fox, raven mcquandry), tedd pierce (ben birdie, tizzie fish, andy bovine), sara berner (polly gillette, canary livingstone)

this cartoon gets the honorable award of possibly being the most dated warner bros. shorts in its vast repertoire of cartoons. not to worry! this will be a fun cartoon to unpack—i love delving into the shorts that involve extensive research. learning something new is something that‘s very rewarding to me, and i hope it is to you, too!

a giant ode to the short lived radio program community sing (lasting from 1936-1937), the short chronicles a woodland radio show hosted by a variety of caricatured animals putting on various acts.

iris in to the ringing of a bell. a pudgy, bespectacled owl rings it as he stands illuminated by the moonlight, preaching to all of the woodland critters, ready to start the show. he introduces himself as “owlcott”, a take on commentator alexander woollcott. he “blandly announces” (his words, not mine) the introduction of the master of ceremonies, ben birdie--a bird caricature of radio personality ben bernie, “the old maestro”.

birdie’s caricature is not new to audience’s eyes. the caricature, along with a handful of others, is reused from friz freleng’s the coocoo nut grove from 1936, a short that is very similar in vein to this one. tedd pierce provides birdie’s suave, velvety vocals as he introduces the program, only to be interrupted by the nasally cries of mel blanc. out pops walter finchell, a caricature of bernie’s faux-enemy walter winchell, both of whom carrying a notorious (and fake) feud in the radio-verse. it was common for winchell to interrupt the smooth-talking bernie, either throwing pranks or remarks his way, to which bernie dismissed every time. indeed, a signature tashlin upshot angle reveals finchell dropping an egg on top of birdie, who blocks it nonchalantly with a handy umbrella.

art loomer’s backgrounds for the cartoon are absolutely gorgeous. they’re vibrant in color, very lush and painterly, but remain playful and sophisticated at the same time. they certainly serve as a highlight to the short. and, as always, carl stalling’s scores are a blast to hear--his sardonic, wah-wah rendition of “cause my baby says it’s so” is a jolly juxtaposition to the prior score of “love is on the air tonight”, the latter being the song’s cartoon debut. it would be reused in cartoons such as the daffy doc, whereas “cause my baby says its so” was heard previously in rover’s rival.

birdie introduces a clever squirrel caricature of milton berle, whose routine gets interrupted by a little parrot named polly. polly is a take on eileen barton’s character, little jolly gillette, who was portrayed as the daughter of the show’s sponsor. polly and milton go through their act together, polly bluntly (yet innocently) announcing “my daddy says ya gotta let me sing ‘cause he’s a sponsor!” you can listen to real recordings of their banter here!

volney white’s animation of milton and polly is lively and jovial, constantly moving. milton energetically introduces us to our next star, pointing in the wrong direction and fixing it last second as he gestures towards a bird caricature of country singer wendell hall.

even if viewers don’t recognize the bird’s counterpart, they will most certainly recognize his voice--mel uses his foghorn leghorn voice for wendell “howl”. of course, foghorn wouldn’t debut for another 9 years, but that’s another story. the animation of the raucous bird is fun to watch as he extends his neck and wraps it around in coils around the microphone stand. random? yes, but fun nevertheless.

perhaps even more commendable is the staggering crowd shot that succeeds wendell’s scenes. the crowd is mirrored horizontally, but that doesn’t lessen the blow from how claustrophobic it is. wendell asks the audience to get out their songbooks and turn to page “22... no, page 44. uh, no, uh, page 28. uh, 42, uh, 36, uh, 45...” 

wendell is transformed from an entertainer to an auctioneer, spitting out numbers at rapid pace as his crowd frantically tears through their songbooks. finally, he concedes. “oh, never mind. we won’t use the books.” off screen, the crowd roars in unison: “OH YES WE WILL!” with that, wendell is generously showered with a barrage of books, buried in the pile of rejected papers. the timing of the scene is comedically sharp and energetic, one of the more entertaining acts of the cartoon.

now, for the real song number, lead by goat and bear caricatures of billy jones and ernie hare (would a rabbit caricature be too on the nose?) respectively, animated by volney white. they march out onto the stage--er, tree trunk--and open the curtains to reveal a sing-along to the eponymous song. thus, the camera pans into the lyrics as everybody bursts into the all-too-earworm-causing song number. 

as the crowd, ben birdie and walter finchell all lend their voices to the song, a fox caricature of fred allen sings “swanee river”, clashing with the unity of everybody else. in a nod to friz freleng’s toy town hall where the same routine was executed, a little bunny excitedly coos “ohhhh, mr. allen! you’re singing the wrong sooooong!” the fox bursts into everybody’s favorite Mel Blanc Yell as he repeats a frequent ‘30s catchphrase: “WHY DON’T SOMEBODY TELL ME THESE THINGS!?”

featured in the song is a seemingly interminable cast of celebrity caricatures, all introduced as the camera pans across the screen, each lending their voice to part of the song. some puns require more effort than others (dick powell as “dick fowl” rolls off the tongue better than al jolson as “al goatson”). caricatures include: 

eddie cantor as eddie gander, sophie tucker as sophie turkey, w.c. fields as w.c. fieldmouse, dick powell as dick fowl, fats waller as fats swallow, deanna durbin as deanna terrapin, irvin s. cobb as irvin s. frog, fred macmurray as fred mcfurry, bing crosby as bing crowsby, al jolson as al goatson, ruby keeler as ruby squealer, lanny ross as lanny hoss, grace moore as grace moose, and finally lily pons as lily swans.

speaking of grace and lily, they’re both highlighted as they fight to out-perform each other, seeing who can sing the highest note. tashlin pulls of a rather intriguing camera move: as the pan settles on the two of them, the background changes. it’s a subtle maneuver, but smart thinking nonetheless--especially since the camera extends into a vertical pan. as both women fight to sing the highest note, their necks extend, both of them scaling high into the night sky, harmonizing on one final shrill note. they both crumple back into the stands, exhausted by their efforts. some fun exaggerated animation for sure--one wonders how much further this would have been pushed had this been tashlin’s second stint at WB rather than his first. his speed often rivaled, if not out-performed, tex avery’s.

birdie and finchell have a brief interstitial together before making way for a raven caricature of haven macquarrie (raven mcquandry). his sequence is almost jarringly short, but full of fun drawings and poses--the pose of him standing curtly with his arms crossed is awfully reminiscent of izzy ellis’ work under tashlin and later bob clampett in the mid ‘40s. mcquandry asks “do YOU wanna be an actor?”, parotting the name of his real life counterpart’s show so do you want to be an actor? the audience shouts “NO!” in unison, causing mcquandry to do a take and shrug dubiously. though the scene is only a few short seconds, the animation brings forth some much needed vitality.

next is a penguin caricature of joe penner, singing a hilariously out-of-tune rendition of “my green fedora”. the animation is reused from the cartoon of the same name (notice how he doesn’t have penguin feet!), which was also used in toy town hall. not a complaint, but more an observation--this is by far the most humorous performance of the song yet, sung by blanc rather than tommy bond.

another fun scene with some vivacious animation is a sequence featuring a mule caricature of martha raye (dubbed moutha bray), singing a cover of “how could you?”, which has been featured as an underscore in cartoons such as porky’s badtime story and its later remake, tick tock tuckered. raye’s large mouth served as prime material for caricatures, as we see here. the animation is snappy, fun, and vivid--she finishes her song by “swallowing” the camera, an old trick that beckons memories of the harman and ising cartoons of animation past. 

an interesting trend in the ‘30s WB cartoons is the trend of playing with the iris, whether it was the closing iris out or an iris in between transitions. tex avery would consistently play with the final iris out on his cartoons, whereas directors such as friz freleng and bob clampett would use one as a transition between scenes. here, tashlin uses the “swallow the camera” technique as a segue for an iris in, tedd pierce’s falsetto squeaking “hello folksies!” as we’re introduced to a fish caricature of tizzie lish, a character played by bill comstock on al pearce and his gang.

though tizzie has long faded into obscurity (as has the entire community sing radio show), it’s still quite easy to appreciate pierce’s vocals and mannerisms as he portrays the character. it’s always a joy to hear him doing voices for cartoons--he’s never been my favorite writer on the crew, but he was an excellent talent as a voice actor. his squeaky deliveries, matter of fact deliveries “mix them up... are you mixing? my friends say i’m a good mixer. are you? or aren’t you?” as tizzie haphazardly dumps food items and their respective utensils into a bowl and prepares the meal are nothing short of hilarious. the timing is very well executed and can be appreciated regardless of background knowledge.

after humming a pitchy rendition of “the lady in red” while waiting for her concoction to bake in the waffle iron, tizzie removes the homemade waffle and discards it, instructing the audience “now take the ‘wiffle’ out and eat the iron. you must have iron in your system. or should you?” thus concludes tizzie’s act, certainly heightened in hilarity by pierce’s vocals and timing.

for the final act, ben birdie introduces a possum caricature of louella parsons, the host of the radio program hollywood hotel, which served as a way to advertise upcoming movies by featuring guest stars enacting some of the scenes. here, we have caricatures of jack benny (as jack bunny, the first of his many reoccurrences), mary livingstone (canary livingstone), and andy devine (andy bovine).

tedd pierce voices andy bovine, whose voice burlusqued not only in this cartoon, but to a greater extent in friz freleng’s my little buckeroo not even a year later. devine, a western star, was notorious for his scratchy, shrill voice which was rife for comedic opportunity. indeed, this scene here with pierce’s vocals is nothing short of hilarious: 

the trio chronicle the prodigal’s return, in which bunny and canary coo over their baby son. out of the bassinet pops incongruously large bovine, who shrieks “HOWDY MAAAA! HI PAAAA!”, the sheer volume of his voice enough to blow both of his parents away and out of the scene. and, with that, the scene ends, red curtains colorized from porky’s romance marking the sequence’s end. short, sweet, to the point, and hilarious.

ending right where the cartoon began, the owl caricature of alexander woollcott bids us farewell, the iris closing in on the bell he rings as he exclaims that all is well.

like so many other cartoons i’ve reviewed, this is one that i slowly warmed up to upon rewatching it and typing out the review for myself. i didn’t entirely dislike the cartoon upon my first watch, but it’s undeniably dated and deserves its title as possibly the most dated cartoon. without further research, some of the jokes and caricatures (if not all of them) are difficult to appreciate. the animation has bursts of energy throughout the short, the highlights being the scenes featuring raven mcquarry and moutha bray, but otherwise remains relatively simple and conservative. tashlin does incorporate a few intriguing camera angles throughout the cartoon, but many other entries of his are far more cinematic.

however, despite all of that, this cartoon is not without its bonuses: art loomer’s backgrounds are stunningly gorgeous and rich, and as someone who loves the lush, painterly backgrounds of the 1930s, this is heaven to me. and, as i mentioned previously, tedd pierce’s scenes are great--the tizzie fish and andy bovine sequences are undeniable comedic highlights.

so, if you’re willing to dedicate time to put in the research for this cartoon, you’ll find it’s quite fascinating! i’m certain this was a much bigger gut-buster in 1937 than it is in 2020, but even then, this is a good cartoon for people such as myself who love to learn more information and seek out facts. as a result, i’d recommend it to people who fall into that category. if you’re just someone who wants a good laugh and a leisurely watch, there are more interesting cartoons that lie ahead. you won’t miss much by skipping it.

with that said, here’s the link!

[allsassnoclass]

Prompt: 28, 10 and Lashton

You said lashton in an art gallery.  I said Off-Screen circa 2017 (aka Luke’s Utah Era).  this might feel a little out of context, because it is. the theoretical prequel that I'm writing would explain more of the surrounding circumstance, but the most important thing to note is that Luke moved in with Ashton in Utah after the end of the SLFL tour.  This takes place in January of 2017.

lashton: “Where are all of my hoodies? Did you borrow literally every single one of my hoodies?” + art gallery

The last guest has left when Luke arrives, the gallery technically beginning to close for the night.  Ashton is tired, all of the frantic energy from the past few months building up to this evening of schmoozing and revealing the deepest parts of his soul to be judged by the art community, and he feels empty now that it has passed.  There’s a glass of some sort of fancy alcohol in his hand, but he hasn’t had the chance to drink it all night, and his suit feels like it doesn’t fit his shoulders correctly.  It’s been bothering him, but he’s been too focused on smiling genially and making nice with every single person who passed through the doors to look at his art to do anything about it.

The sound of the main doors opening is loud in the quiet of the space, and Ashton tenses where he’s talking to the owner of the gallery.  He relaxes once he sees that it’s not another art snob or a random person who got lost, but Luke.  He stands at the threshold awkwardly, fiddling with the hem of one of Ashton’s college hoodies, beanie stuffed unceremoniously over his hair.  It’s getting longer, and he’s been letting it curl more instead of spending hours styling it and trying to get it to sit right.

He looks just as breathtaking as ever, and Ashton is almost overwhelmed with how lucky he feels to be one of the only people to see famous rockstar Luke Hemmings with his guard completely down.

“Luke,” he sighs, relief too obvious.  Luke just smiles and wanders, stopping short when something in a painting catches his eye.

“Friend of yours?” the gallery owner asks, and Ashton turns his attention back to her.  It’s too easy to forget that anyone else exists the moment Luke enters a room.  Ashton needs to get a grip.

“Yeah, that’s my housemate.  Do you mind if we look around for a bit?  He couldn’t make the normal gallery times.”

He logistically could have, because Luke doesn’t have responsibilities here in Utah, but Ashton knows that the idea of him having to look nice, be in a crowd of people, and possibly be recognized almost sent him into a panic attack.

“Sure.  I’m locking up by 10, though, so be out before then.”

Ashton thanks her profusely, and the look she gives him is a bit too knowing for his taste.  Still, she heads towards the back with an artistic grace, and Ashton joins Luke where he’s staring at one of Ashton’s paintings.

“Hi,” he says quietly.  Luke leans into him in a practiced move, shoulders brushing together.  Luke has always been familiar and comfortable, despite how little they see each other.

Ashton knows he should feel bad that Luke felt so lost in LA that he had to come all the way to Utah and Ashton to try and find himself, but selfishly he’s glad.  For a few months, he gets Luke to himself, curled up on his couch and eating at his kitchen island instead of off traveling the world and meeting adoring fans.  Besides, having Luke here helps.  Ashton can’t take care of another person if he’s drunk every night, and meals are easier to prepare when there are two people to eat them.  It’s easier to fall asleep if someone else is breathing slowly next to him.  It’s easier to keep the loneliness at bay with Luke stepping into the gaps in his life.

“Was it a good showing?” Luke asks.

“It was,” he replies, resisting the urge to do something inappropriate like pull Luke closer and tuck his face into his neck just to breathe him in.  “I even sold a few paintings.”

“You did?” Luke lights up.  “Ashton, that’s amazing!  Which ones?  Wait, I want to see them all anyway.  Walk me through them as we go.”

Ashton does, trying his best to remember the thought process and inspiration behind each of the paintings hanging in the gallery.  For the earlier works it’s easier, because objects inside are more defined and they have clearer stories.  For recent creations featuring bold strokes and swirls of color and more ambiguous shapes, the inspirations shift towards ideas.  Some of them he created while drunk, and he has to check the title cards to figure out what he was going for, because while drunk Ashton isn’t good for much, he at least always writes titles in his notes app when he paints.

His professors made him include some of those works, saying that a few are profound and mesmerizing and probably your best work.  It makes Ashton feel like he can’t create anything if he doesn’t have a few drinks in him.  It’s a mindset he’s trying to move away from, but it’s hard.  At least he has endless inspiration with Luke in the house.

Luke looks at a piece entitled Longing for a few minutes, and Ashton prays that he doesn’t ask who or what he was longing for while painting it.

“Come on,” he says when the swirl of blues and purples (with just that shimmer of gold to represent the person of desire, possibly forming a hazy constellation of Luke to anyone who knows what to look for) becomes too much.  “I want to show you the synesthesia section.”

“Section” is a generous term, because it’s actually just four paintings on the same wall.  He has many more paintings for various songs and albums back home, most of them on smaller canvases he can get from the craft store, but there are a few songs that evoke such strong, beautiful visuals that he had to paint them properly.

The first painting has a primarily blue background, mixing with black in short strokes by the edges.  Traveling diagonally across the canvas are an assortment of other colors, mostly yellows and reds until they meet strokes of white in the middle.  The paint is thick, creating textured mountains where the colors meet, and that’s Ashton’s favorite part about painting, really.  He’s not very good at 3D forms, but paint never lays completely flat.  He likes how dynamic it is because of it.

“Gravity,” Luke croons as he looks, “is working against me.”

Ashton loves hearing him sing.  He was worried for those first few weeks Luke came to him, because he rarely heard it, but now he can count on random melodies filling the house at all hours.

“John Mayer makes nice songs to look at,” he says.  Luke smiles at him, then they move on to the next one.

This painting has a bit more variety in color.  Ashton remembers mixing them on his pallet, unbothered by the streaks it caused in the brush strokes, knowing that it was necessary to capture what the song makes him see.  A dark background gives way to a curve of reds, purples, pinks, blues, ending in some greens and yellows and a hint of orange.  He splattered white and black on afterwards, just a little bit near the middle of the curve, and Luke leans forward to see all the small dots.

“This one really does look like ‘Karma Police,’” Luke says.  “Even I can see it.”  He straightens and gives Ashton another grin, and he knows that he can’t capture that smile in a painting (he’s tried, so many times), but he still wants to attempt it again.

“I can’t believe how talented you are,” Luke says.  “It’s almost unfair.”

“Thanks,” he says, ducking his head.  Luke nudges him with his elbow and moves on to the next painting.  This one follows a similar pattern to the other two, a dark background with color in the middle, but it’s messier.  Blue and purple feature the most, but there are hints of orange and yellow, and white overtakes the painting in peaked chunks and thin streaks.

“You’d think that for a Prince song, there’d be a bit more purple,” Luke says, tilting his head.

“Maybe he should have written more purple songs, then,” Ashton shrugs.  “‘Joy in Repetition’ has more blue.”

“Wait, is “Purple Rain” even purple?” Luke asks, alarmed.

“Yes, that one fits the title.”  Luke looks reassured at that, and they continue to the last painting.  Ashton feels nerves clench in his stomach.

He didn’t submit any of his photographs or colored pencil sketches of Luke, not even the really good one of Luke sleeping in his bed with an arm over his face that Ashton drew one night when the insomnia was hitting him hard, but this painting could be just as damning.  It’s different from the other three because it’s slightly bigger and oriented differently, vertical instead of horizontal.  The background is also based in white instead of black, primarily creating a pale blue to match the cautious optimism of the song.  More blue meets with seafoam green, peach, and white in the middle, dripping down the canvas until all the colors fade into just the green.  The lines of this one are smoother, blended together evenly, but there are bursts of gold in the middle and near a few edges that he bought a specific brand of metallic paint for.  Ashton watches as Luke’s eyes trace the painting before he turns to the name card.

“Luke?” he asks when a few moments have gone by with him completely frozen.

“Really?” Luke asks, voice cracking.  “This is what you see?”

“Yeah,” Ashton says.  He knew he was going to end up painting the song as soon as he first heard Luke’s voice singing about tasting the ocean.  “It’s mostly “Outer Space,” but I incorporated some of what I saw for “Carry On” at the bottom.”

“Oh,” Luke says, then turns and tucks himself into a hug, squeezing Ashton tight enough that he feels short of breath.  Ashton wraps his arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer and letting Luke cuddle into him in a way that he’s almost getting too big for.

“I take it you like it?” he asks, just to be sure.  Luke nods, and when he does finally pull away he swipes at his eyes with the sleeve of Ashton’s sweatshirt.

“Can I buy it?” he asks.

“Luke, you can have it for free.”  Luke shakes his head vigorously.

“No, you’ve already given me too much.  I want to buy it from you.  You should be paid for your art.”

“Okay,” Ashton says quietly.  Luke’s eyes are still fixed on the painting, and Ashton comes back to slide a hand around his waist again.  “We can negotiate a price later.”  He presses a kiss to Luke’s temple, because that’s something he can get away with still.

“Don’t try to give me a discount.  I’ve already stolen your food and half your clothes.”

“Speaking of,” Ashon says, “I’m absolutely positive that this hoodie was the last one in my closet.  Where are all my hoodies?  Did you borrow literally every single one of my hoodies?”

“Yeah,” Luke says sheepishly.  “They’re comfortable.  They smell like you.”

Luke is going to kill him like this.  Ashton can’t even be upset, because what a way to go, but things like that are not helping him keep a lid on how absolutely head-over-heels he is.

“I’d be more upset if you didn’t look so good in them,” Ashton says before he can stop himself.  Luke’s breathing stutters, but he doesn’t do anything besides lean a little closer.  Ashton’s heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest.

“Come on,” Luke says.  “I still want to see the rest of your pieces, then we can go home.”

Home, Ashton repeats to himself.  Luke thinks of your house as his home.

They wander their way through the last few canvases, then stop briefly in the photograph and colored pencil room before stepping out onto the street.  Their hands brush as they walk, and Ashton wonders if he can get away with grabbing Luke’s.  This night feels significant in so many ways.  Something has shifted, and he’s not sure if it has to do with his art career or the man beside him.  He wants it to be both so badly he aches with it.

When they have two more blocks to go before reaching the house, Luke reaches over and threads their fingers together.

A/N: I don’t have synesthesia, but the first three song paintings really exist and can be found here. the one for os/co was made up by me.

[sanrio-my-beloved]

By My Melody on Twitter – Shared by mymelodyange1 (Tumblr)

Reblogged 09/14/24

[thesunlounge]

Reviews 370: Coyote

I have been mostly absent as of late due to the pressures of completing my PhD studies, but now that the work there is finishing, I am trying to return to regular reviewing. And for months and months now, one of the records I’ve most wanted to discuss has been Coyote’s Buzzard Country, released last year on their home station Is it Balearic? Recordings. In fact, my delay has been so extreme that, not only has Coyote released an accompanying Buzzard Country Remixes 12”—which I will cover here as well—they have also dropped the incredible Return to Life 12”, and even announced a new 2xLP slated for the summer called The Mystery Light. But better late than never, and there is no way I can pass up the chance to at last write in depth about the music of Timm Sure and Ampo. I say “at last” because, despite the fact that I consider Coyote amongst my very favorite recording artists, you would be forgiven for not knowing that by scanning the Sun Lounge archives. Though I’ve had opportunity to discuss their work here and there via remixes (such as on Blank & Jones’ Relax: The Sunset Sessions 2 and Joe Morris’ Cloud Nine 12”), by some strange turn of fate, Coyote has released no vinyl of their own since this blog’s inception...something that only changed very recently. Indeed, prior to 2020, the last time the duo put out solo works on wax was their stunning 2016 run, which included the Song Dogs LP, the Fight the Future 12” on Clandestino, and the seventh EP in their long running self-titled series on Is It Balearic? Which is not to say they weren’t active, and in fact, Timm Sure and Ampo delivered a really great set of digital singles and EPs in collaboration with Music for Dreams, and additionally, they remained active with remix and DJ work. As well, Buzzard Country was due quite a bit earlier than 2020, but was unfortunately plagued by production delays. To at last get to the point, this is all a roundabout way of saying that I am really excited to have plenty of Coyote to write about now and in the future, so that I can finally pay proper tribute to this foundational duo of the modern balearic beat. 

As I’ve explored the balearic soundworld, Ampo and Timm Sure have always been beacons of light guiding me on my path, whether through their eclectic productions as Coyote, through the curation of Is It Balearic?, Über, and the Magic Wand edit series, or through their mixes and DJ sets, which are typically loaded with unheard treasures that lean towards the trippier and dubbier ends of the chill out spectrum. And it is this tendency towards the psychoactive that most endears me to Coyote, for the duo have always championed an authentic balearic spirit, one that foregrounds the music’s connections to the hippie hedonist heydays of Ibiza, to the second summer of love, and to a spirit of ecstatic abandon, one that is equally imbued with a magical sense of melancholy…of a feeling of being in paradise, but knowing it can’t last…as if the moments of revelatory magic—of wild nights dancing and sunrise comedowns—are tempered in real-time with senses of longing and regret. Which brings me finally to Buzzard Country, Coyote’s fifth full-length LP and a pitch-perfect encapsulation of their signature mixture of wistful melodic nostalgia and daydream seaside grooving. Across the album, baggy beats morph between downbeat disco, stoner dub, and world exotica while bottom heavy basslines work the body. Echoing vocal samples thread around hand drums tapestries, emotional washes of synthesis flow over radiant piano chords, and at crucial moments, the exotica guitar flourishes of longtime collaborator Saro Tribastone carry the mind away to lands of faraway fantasy. As for the Buzzard Country Remixes 12”, the A-side is given over to the Hardway Brothers, who brilliantly transform the album’s “Sun Culture” into varying landscapes of ultra deep Chain Reaction style dub wizardry. Then on the B-side, Woolfy vs. Projections and Max Essa respectively flip album stand outs “Shimmer Dub” and “Ranura de Marihuana” into their own specific strains of equatorial dancefloor euphoria, with each remix pushing the mind, body, and spirit towards maximal beach boogie mania. 

Coyote - Buzzard Country (Is It Balearic? Recordings, 2020) “Soaring” begins with buzzard calls and hovering breaths of synthesis evoking a new dawn. Ripples form in the ether via bubbling squarewave synth leads, and pulsating dub bass sits beneath a blanket of sighing strings. The carrion calls continue streaking through the mix and celestial pianos rain down while echoing playfully across the spectrum. Plucked bass electronics bounce in counterpoint and hesitate woodwind glimmers call to mind flashing laser lights beneath a beautiful sea surface…almost as if a flute has been transmuted into a rapid fire fractal vibration. At times the strings back away, leaving layers of rainbow colored ocean ambiance to flutter and dance, all before ending with white noise delay oscillations that mimic the swell of ocean waves. Then in “Soft Top Saab,” an echo-soaked voice muses on the sunrise, with chills running down the spine as the solar affirmations are increasingly surrounded by space age string synths, and by Sara Tribastone’s mystical guitar filigrees. Reversing melodies enter the spectrum and swell the heart while shakers and tambourines hold a gentle beat. Tribastone’s guitar serenades softly overhead, with plucked textures of synthetic wood and stone dancing in the background. Further delay-laced pianos fade into view, with the track ebbing and flowing…growing and receding…and sometimes backing down into understated back and forth between guitar and piano, wherein harmonious brass layers and swells of spectral space glitter moving at the periphery. The result is a conversational interchange between seaside melancholy and romantic nostalgia, one which is eventually superseded by cosmic flutters, soft six string dances, and the spoken spells of a reggae mystic, who gives thanks to the sun, and its bounty of restorative light.

Dusty acoustic guitars and sunrise vapors introduce “Shimmer Dub,” while dancing dub bass portends the first real taste of a groove. A rocking hypno-rhythm comes into focus and laid back snares guide the infectious glide, while tablas roll overhead and evocative vocal layers thread through the mix. Steel pan synths are seen through the titular shimmer and wavering wavefronts of blurred melody wash over everything, until the mix drops down into a haze of stoned exotica comprised of a minimalist pallet of tabla rhythms, bleary-eyed pads, and thrilling vocal incantations…the effect like awakening on the shores of some faraway ocean paradise, with visages of desert caravan rituals preceding in the distance. The dubbed out groove eventually resurges, with passages given over to extended echo percussion experiments and the fragile songs of tropical idiophones. Feminine vocals glow like some intoxicating gas of multi-hued magic, and springy basslines guide the body while hi-hats and snare work through a psychedelic skank. Smoldering currents of ether move through the stereo field and moments of subtle intensity erupt from the horizontal vibe out…with airy woodwinds shrouded in static, claps cracking, and hand drums creating webs of groove mesmerism. And as the beat starts to vaporize, echo oscillations set the air aflame amidst fantasy orchestrations.

“Ranura de Marihuana” bathes in echo acoustic guitars that seem beamed in from some distant past…these evocations of classical folk music futurized via layers of fx. An ecstatic scream washes the mix clean, and a four-to-the-floor kick drum emerges to pound in the void, while overhead, Flamenco-indebted guitars spin webs of magic and reverberating vocals call to the spirits of sea and sky….sometimes whispering, other times shrieking wildly into the night. Sub-earthen bass movements are felt more than head, with exotic dub lines moving far beneath the surface. Bongos and congas pop and nervous shaker patterns lead the downbeat disco strut, while guitars work through further Mediterranean hooks and Iberian flourishes. A moment is given over to heavy bass and kaleidoscopic hand percussion–with scatting vocals, reverberating snaps, and lost souls wailing in desperation–and when the groove snaps back, there are touches of tango kissing the preceding, which bring to mind a rose-in-mouth glide across some dark and mysterious dancefloor, wherein spindly psych folk guitar melodies work the mind and airy drum rhythmics entrance the body. The kick climbs back towards dancefloor strength, with desert mystic percussions moving all around the mix and vocals morphing though fever dream echo layers. Elements from across the track refract through oscillating delay machines, and touches of rave haunt the rhythms, especially as subsonic basslines and subdued breakbeats work together.

A single piano note brings light to the darkness in “Sun Culture” and layers of radiance rain down in the form of heart-melting piano chordscapes, with some of that Screamadelica soul bliss suffusing the progressions. Warming pads envelope everything and deep dub pulses walk down white sand beaches, with shakers and lysergic breaths giving shape to the groove. Hi-hats, snare taps, and beachside bongos enter and buzzing guitar notes give off waves of golden light while overhead, liquids drip from the roofs of ocean cliff caverns. The single piano note continues to glow while souflul chords hold the mind in a state of psychedelic rapture, and space age ethers blind all vision as they spread outwards, then recede. Coyote move the track progressively towards a state of horizontal bliss, with almost everything washing away except the summery piano incantations, which are so soaked in reverb as to generate billowing cloudforms with every single note. Hushed rhythms return and hand drums take on a slight sense of urgency while pads generate layers of oceanic warmth, resulting in an audial invitation to greet the rising sun, and a naturalistic tribute to crashing waves and drifting clouds.

Intergalactic pads breath in “Dos Canas,” with tones wispy and suffused with inner light. Palm-muting electric guitars dance like bubbles through the ocean blue, and a touch of kosmische ambiance is soon tempered by bulbous dub basslines and splayed out layers of percussion, wherein the mechanic and organic merge seamlessly. Electroid sketches and seed shakers move in time as a slow and low balearic skank emerges, with glorious tones of brass pulsing overhead before ascending to the heavens on currents of humid tropical air. Hand drums circle the mix as the heavy atmospheres recede, leaving vaporous rhythms and golden synth strands to intertwine. Heartwarming chords give off mirage shimmers as the dub bass works its way back in, bringing with it further layers of world drum delirium. Soft sirens pan before giving way to more of the ascendent brass synthesis, and hisses of white noise add layers of subtle psychotropia. Snares are blasted into bursts of desert sand and all throughout the mix, various strands of melody and harmony are caught within oscillating delay cycles…progressively distorting and roaring into the ether. Shakers and 16th note hi-hats lead the groove while bongos and idiophones dance playfully against the snare and kick, until it all breaks down into an ambient outro of serene static, sighing strings, and layers of phasing rainbow light.

“Feedback Valley” closes the show with synth incantations portending the glow of a glorious sunrise, while shakers generate an infectious shuffle. Tribastone and his acoustic guitar explore Flamenco landscapes and a four-four kick drums hits against the body while layers of synthesis radiate compelling colorations. Babbling voices ride a serpentine synth sequence and touches of acid bass move in support, with cut-off filters opening as the snare drops, creating a head-nodding and body bopping groove that lifts the spirit towards the sky. The sequential electronics are so effective as they bob and weave through the mix, creating an effortless vibe of beach dance perfection…of hands-in-the-air euphoria and the abandonment of all worry or fear. Additional touches of six string sunshine push the mind every towards the shores of Ibiza and during a breakdown into burning delay feedback, synthesizers filter into solar squelch and guitars drift towards psychedelic delirium. A slow yet anthemic snare roll calls to mind big room trance as it brings the groove back into focus, now with 3D synth snaps firing in the left ear as the ever-present sequence reduces to a calming purr. Tribastone continues letting loose threads of sunshine lysergia and points of synthetic light swell into magnificent globes of blinding incandenscence. And towards the end, an echo-shrouded choir of the sea sings beneath a brief guitar fantasia before it all washes away in a scream of oscillation.

Coyote - Buzzard Country Remixes (Is It Balearic? Recordings, 2021) The Hardway Brothers take “Sun Culture” into ultra-deep territory across two versions on the A-side, with the first being the very aptly named “Balearic Channel Remix”…which is of course a reference to the work of Mark Ernestus and Moritz von Oswald. Underground warehouse kick drums pound beneath hissing space fluids, as a low down Chain Reaction-style groove emerges, though with its eyes locked on a melting sunset panorama. Liquiform chords flow into cold industrial caverns and string synths suffuse the reverberating spaces with splashes of sunshine, while sub bass motions vibrate the soul. Shadowy tracers flit across the sky and DMT vibrato waves squiggle at hyperspeed, yet their effect is blunted and muted. Claustrophobic clouds fade in then out while melodic piano chordstrokes reflect in strange ways off of glowing walls of stone, their effect like gemstones glimmering underwater, yet with their luster sanded away by the march of time. Muted dub chords are caught in crackling delay chains and the deep kicks and jacking bass never relent in their heads down, hands-in-the-air stomp. Snares are reduced to a whisper and shaker patterns cause head-bobbing hypnotism as funky chords bring touches of liquid fusion grooving…only as if proceeding in the middle of a dub techno fever dream. Insectoid chitters move in from all corners of the mix, sawing sirens swirl into screams of feedback, and all the while, drum circle flourishes are shattered into a web echoing delirium.

Next comes Sun Culture “(Hardway Brothers Meet Monkton Uptown),” which sees the bass going even deeper somehow, as growling riddims menace the mind and rattle the ribcage. We soon find ourselves in another subaquatic dub techno dopamine dream, wherein kick, snare and hi-hat lock in for maximal hypnotic effect. Sometimes the bass guitar of Duncan Gray seems to take on a post-punk drug chug edge, and at some point, the rhythms pull away, leaving chopped up voices to decay into the void. Bassline and beats return and streaks of feedback sing softly over everything, while fogs of seafoam move at the outer edges of the stereo field. Clouds of solar static are seen from millions of miles away and traces of flamboyant fuzz guitar are submerged into a pooling vortex of deep dub delirium, emerging stretched out and mutated into currents of neon starshine. Gray's melodic basslines serenade through the underground club grooves, those funky chords return to sing their 70s fusion songs within layers of sighing feedback, and increasingly, the mix is overwhelmed by distorted blasts of drug-induced haze. Abstracted voices filter from one ear to the other…their unintelligible spells of esoteric mystery pushing the mind ever further towards astral activation. And towards the ends, the original tracks Primal Scream-style piano chord structures can just be heard amidst feedback fires, delay detritus, and morphing vocal abstractions.

In the Woolfy vs Projections mix of “Shimmer Dub,” the original track’s hand percussions intermingle with gurgling rhythmic fluids…the effect like wandering upon some tribal jungle ceremonial. Big blasts of downer synth bass are soaked in reverb, repetitive synth pulses tickle the mind, and pillowy arpeggios flow into view while those familiar synthetic steel drums shine in the sunlight. Fingers roll across myriad skins as the kick drum drops away, leaving the mind to swim in a world of equatorial energy. Then, as the bass drum resumes–with shakers never relenting–a new bassline emerges, bringing with it a heavy touch of wiggling squiggling Italo boogie. The vibe is hesitant…anxious even…with a persistent refusal to lock in, and as bass bursts grow in intensity, the rest of the mix begins reverberating into a balearic dreamscape. Following a delirious pause, the track explodes into flamboyant disco funk perfection, as sweltering chord hazes melt from the sky and bouncing basslines join an infectious and tropically tinged body groove. Chords scat, virtual marimbas dance, synthetic steel pans shimmer across the spectrum, and swells of white light synthesis overwhelm the mind...the whole thing as massive a groove as there could possibly be. Touches of electro kiss the rhythms and futuristic synth riffs fire as we back down into a swinging breakbeat, with rapid keyboard riffs locking into heady funk cycles and stadium-sized tom tom fills splaying out across the stereo field. Guitar licks are soaked in sunshine as they lead a dubwise swing, and as we explode once more into the block rocking groove, double time shakers and hats push the vibe towards dance party mania…all as coral-colored leads rush through star ocean fx clouds.

Max Essa’s take on “Ranura de Marihuana” sees a four-four kick smacking with infectious disco dance energy and hand percussion flowing all around. A snare crack introduces another groove indebted to Italo boogie, with big bottomed synth basslines accentuating the vibes of beach dance euphoria. Shakers spread into sandy clouds of atmosphere and heatwave pads sweat and squelch as starlight arppegios race across the sky. The vibe of Ibizan melancholia is here perfected, causing body and soul to merge in hedonistic ecstasy, and though the track resembles one of Essa’s characteristic blue ocean dancefloor cruisers, its a little slower and baggier than usual, which fits completely with Coyote’s zoner stoner vibe. Seascape pianos bring a peaktime fee and at certain moments, the groove momentarily recedes, only to rush back in on an infectious snare crack. Ivory melodies are increasingly strange and psychotropic as they flutter across the mix, with decaying vibration tails carried away on an aqueous breeze. The radiant piano chords and vocalizations from the original swim into the stereo field as Essa barrels down into a heavy bassline stomp, with every pulling away aside from smeared out voices and 70s prog rock pads that evoke a string orchestra tuning to the sounds of the stars. Further clap cracks bring back layers of equatorial euphoria and the vocals are used to incredible effect, with echoing snippets repurposed as anthemic hooks. Pianos continue their alien dance over relaxed disco rhythms and snapping funk basslines, and as we move towards the end, claps and basslines fire rapidly as vocals morph through slapback oscillations…all before dropping into one last expanse of seaside dancefloor magic, with dub disco beats, infectious world percussion rolls, and a pleading voices diffusing towards a gorgeous sunset horizon.

(images from my personal copies)

[miss-m-winks]

Huevember days 15 and 16. First is The Great Gate of Kiev, final movement of Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition (specifically played by a brass group my dad is in) and then second is Indigo Archer from the homestuck bandcamp.

(Image description)

First: purple on a dark background. All brass instruments, so most of the shapes are triangular swoops. The trumpet melodies flare out and up, the lower brass is fainter broad sweeping shapes. Here and there the cymbal crashes like a splashy bit of fireworks. In the middle of this song, there’s a quiet section where all the instruments mimic the sounds of overlapping bells. Faded spiraling forms layered on top of each other like a fan made of springs. And then it returns to the bright fanfare melody, this time with lots more tall vertical motion and more cymbal splashes so it really looks like a series of fireworks launching into the sky.

Second: indigo on a black background, but the glow effects still make it look a bit pink in some spots. It’s all synthesized music, but the main melodic parts sound like brass and strings so 5eh have similar shapes. Petal-like swoops and stripy curls, sweeping around in rounded patterns. Some fainter less solid curling forms as there are almost vocal sounding lines that soar into the picture. Most of the background rhythmic parts sound like streaks of rain. There are laser-like noises that periodically come in over the rest of the song, like bright horizontal streaks shooting out of a flared shape. Fittingly, they end up looking like arrows.

(End description)

[newsiegirlscout]

Day-Glow Sonata

If you thought I was dead, you must be sorely disappointed! Presenting: a rare-pair so rare there is only one person who ships it, and that is me!! Bonus points for finding the five songs referenced throughout.

If there was one thing Dressy Killman had learned from her years at Jerome Horwitz, it’s that even what you thought was concrete had the possibility to change at a second. As a result, she’d learned to always live in the present. When there was no real rhyme or rhythm to what would happen one moment, they’d loved, and they’d laughed, and they’d seen that it was good.

But when they’d finally graduated the sixth grade, and her mother had presented her happily with the admission letter for McCracken Middle, the school of the arts, Dressy had cried.

Then, one day near the end of eighth grade, she’d locked eyes with one misbegotten member looking even lonelier than she was, somehow. Dressy approached the table and asked if the spot were free, and the ginger smiled and patted the stool next to her. From that day forth, Dressy and Other Sophie were inseparable, both inside and outside of the arts classroom. 

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For weeks, the two had chatted aimlessly about nothing in subsistence, Dressy carrying on most of the conversation and Other Sophie nodding or shaking her head in response.While to some, it seemed as if she talked little, the truth was, Other Sophie said quite a bit if you knew how to listen. 

“Did you catch that new episode of All the Single Ladies?” Dressy asked excitedly, echoing it with a melody of the last two words, “Who do you think is going to win? My chocolate coins are on Lad Myrabill--the ladies always go for the British accent, and she and him are so cute together!”

Other Sophie smiled and shook her head slightly. Withdrawing her phone, she brought up her photo album and tapped on the cast, zooming in on a man in the background with curly brown hair and thick glasses. 

“Nooo,” Dressy scoffed playfully, “No way, he’s just barely hanging on, and you know she had like three extra carnations last season!”

The ginger scrolled to a screenshot of the bachelorette gazing at the man while on a date with another, then to a side-by-side comparison with the girl giggling at a similar lopsided smile from each of the men. Dressy raised an eyebrow, and Other Sophie grinned and continued with half a dozen more of her comparisons and details, ending with a screenshot of a scientific journal with two lines highlighted.

“Of a selection of otherwise-identical men, women in the study generally found brown-haired men the most handsome, followed by black-haired men, red-headed men, and lastly, blonde men.”

“Women typically find ‘nerdier’ men cuter and more attractive than others.”

Dressy looked up, and Other Sophie adjusted her glasses intentionally with a cute laugh. 

The hipster gave her classmate a friendly punch in the shoulder. 

“Well, we’ll see who’s right about that at the end of the quarter….nerd.” 

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Other Sophie was right. Of course she was. 

Dressy herself had gotten little sleep the night before, and the last week had been more than a little difficult when she couldn’t find the focus for anything, but her thoughts still ran a mile a minute. Long story short, it wasn’t exactly easy to put aside your own problems to work on Shakespeare’s, especially when a new dilemma surfaced every few minutes to block out everything else like a LightNote pop-up reminding you to log in. 

Art, though? Art was easy, and she did her best to stay upbeat, if just for that forty minutes. That said, the day after the finale had been a day when she reminded herself she should have known better than to try and deceive a girl who saw everything quietly. 

When Other Sophie saw her, her green eyes widened with compassion and she slid her phone across the table, putting her hand on her shoulder. The current image was a screenshot of passive-aggressive fanart depicting Lad Myrabill and the Single Lady herself hand-in-hand. The timid girl hummed a note of question when Dressy looked up, and she shook her head.

“No, this week has just been really arduous--arduous!” she said, echoing herself in song with a wheezing chuckle, “I mean, I guess it sorta has to do with MyraBelle, but also not really?”

Other Sophie, from some hidden pocket of her bookbag or another, took out a hairbrush emblazoned with a lavender star and Dressy, without any real idea of the events, turned around as her friend brushed her disheveled curls out with gentle, tranquilizing strokes. A few minutes later, she received a tap on the shoulder and looked back to be handed a glittery purple pen. A sheet of notebook paper was slid down to her, an array of dots present. While Other Sophie softly clipped a bow ornamented with musical notes into Dressy’s hair, the hipster tapped her pen against the paper reflexively a few times before connecting two of the dots down from the top. 

Her friend leaned over and vertically connected the box to the top corner, but when Dressy connected the upper two dots, trying to close the box, Other Sophie kept the horizontal upper chain going. Finally, Dressy managed to chase her into a corner and neatly initial a box, only to look back and see that, in her convoluted pursuit, she’d managed to capture four other boxes, as compared to Other Sophie’s three….and there were no more profitable moves to be made. 

“Oh my gosh! I’m victorious--victorious!” she cheered. Other Sophie gave her a hug

And the world

Stopped.

Somehow, in the lanky girl’s embrace, there was more love and comfort and hope than there was in the gauziest of arias, the sweetest chirp of morning larks, and all Dressy could think was that she wanted to stop, to step away, but at the same time, to live in this moment forever, to never break away again, to be with Other Sophie forever and wake up next to her and watch the sun sparkle off her hair and sing and make breakfast for her and--

The bell rang, and the chagrined choralist broke apart and gave her best friendly smile to Other Sophie, her face almost as red as her hair. 

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The sleepover was a bad decision to begin with, but as anyone who’d attended Melvin Sneedly Elementary could tell you, even when the smartest could be kind of an idiot sometimes.

It became a worse decision at the fact that it was at Jessica’s house, and that even her slight discomfort at Other Sophie’s invitation of Dressy couldn’t deter her enthusiasm for the inevitable probability of Truth or Dare. Somehow during the night, she had scooted over a little too close to her friend; Sophie One raised an eyebrow, but if she noticed anything out-of-odds, she didn’t say a word. 

The twelve-ounce bottle spun, and the capped end came to rest a few inches to Jessica’s right, the flipped end between Dressy and Sophie One. The prima donna flicked the bottle with one neatly-manicured fingernail, only to have it skew a few inches to her left. Sighing, she leaned down and adjusted the bottle’s position for a minute longer than necessary before sighing and physically pointing the bottle’s capped end to herself.

“Okay, weird hippie girl--truth, or darr?” she said exasperatedly. 

“I’ll tell the truth…” she sang back warily. 

“Tell me, who’s been fooling you!” Jessica demanded with malicious delight, “Who do you like?”

Dressy rolled her eyes, “That can’t be original. You must have asked that a million times.”

“Like, I asssssssssk…..but no one ever answers, or, at least not, honestly.” 

“How can you tell?”

“‘Cuuuuuuz, they act like it’s no big deal if they answer, and then they get all red and really quiet all of a sudden, and they ask stupid questions to keep stalling.”

Dressy giggled. “Alright, then. I actually--actually!--don’t mind questions like this, since love is really a beautiful thing that I don’t think anyone should be embarrassed about. I don’t really have a crush, so give me a second to think--”

And as she mentally flipped through all the prettiest girls in her classes, somehow, like a LightNote log-in notice, her thoughts sprang to purple glittery gel pens, to lavender stars and musical-noted bows, to freckles and red-rimmed glasses, to mint-colored jumpers and warm embraces and the scent of peaches in spring and.

She was crimson, trying hard, maybe too hard, to avoid Other Sophie’s confused gaze and focusing intently on the bottle and cursing how a twelve-ounce Spite could lead to all this. 

“Oh no.” she whispered.

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George and Harold would know what to do. George and Harold always knew what to do, somehow--from finding a solution to the crocobat infestations to navigating the Doom Dome, even when their ideas were wrong, they ended up working anyway. 

Therefore, running halfway across Piqua to find the fail-safe wingmen made perfect sense. 

Still only a few inches taller than many half her age, she vaulted the fence guarding the entrance between the Beard and Hutchins yards only to stumble, get caught halfway over, kick her way back across, and fall rather painfully to the yard, the gate swinging open lazily in the slight Spring breeze behind her. She stood up and dusted herself off, looking….for what? For two teenage boys to be sitting in a treehouse drawing comics and laughing over acronyms adding up to bathroom jokes? For the firefly-lit lantern to still be blazing in the window while the same two boys, heading into high school, invited her up the rope ladder and gave her a cookie shaped like a dinosaur? 

But she looked up, and the lantern still glowed in the dim evening light, the misfits of her elementary-school career shadowed against the treehouse walls, yelling and laughing at whatever mishaps on their gaming tablet were causing each other so much contorted concentration. 

Everything stays, right where you left it, after all.

She had planned to knock on the floor of their treehouse to at least give some warning, but she tripped on the second rung of the rope ladder, which ended up toppling their lantern into George’s very startled hands. 

“Speak, friend, and enter.” he said, looking out and offering his hand to the girl, “Oh, hey, Dressy! It’s been forever!”

“Uh….need some help?” Harold asked, appearing behind him in an instant as he saw her foot snarled.

“I’ve just been ensnared--ensnared!” she sang, reaching for the higher ladder rungs and pulling herself free, “Can I come in?”

The blond rubbed his neck sheepishly. “Well, uh, we only have the two Switch controllers….”

“It’s fine, I was actually wondering if you might be able to help me with something?” she asked, not sure how they would have deduced her wanting to play video games when she had only realized they’d had them a minute ago.

“As long as it’s not homework”, George said with an air of finality, “We’ll do our best, as varied a scale as that may be.”

“For example”, Harold continued, “If you need help with finding the funniest way to exact revenge on someone? We’re your guys. Seeing what happens when you microwave soap? We’re also your guys.”

“Figuring out how to clean that microwave?” George countered, “We’re kinda your guys.”

“My mom is getting a new microwave.”

“I owe you a Hot Pocket.”

“Guys, guys!” Dressy called, “There’s a girl.��

The duo of discord looked at each other as a quacking sound of confusion was heard. 

“A girl I like.” 

The two grinned and looked at each other with big eyes. 

“Awwwwwwww,” they chorused.

“What’s her name?”

“Is she nice?”

“Can she do anything? Like knitting, or air guitar, or baking?”

“Is she a vampire?”

“Does she like music?”

She held out her hand to halt them.

“It’s….Other Sophie”, she admitted with a blush and fidgeting with the glitter pen in her pocket, “And, I was wondering how I could get her to like me as much as I like her?”

George sat down patted a spot on the floor near him and his friend. 

“I’m gonna be honest, Dressy, love is kind of whack and you can’t do a thing about it, but I think I can get something together if you tell us a little more about her.”

*******************************************************************************************

They’d listened thoughtfully, until at last she finished and George started tossing a baseball into the air and thinking. 

“Alright, I have an idea, and, I’m not sure if it will work.” he said, “And if it doesn’t, I don’t know what to say other than that it will be worth it and she’ll probably like it a lot; but there’s no opt-out because, well, most of my and Harold’s plans are a one-in-a-million shot and you have to be a crazy bastard to think about doing them, but for these crazy bastards, you always get results, and those results always lead to something.” 

And he detailed his ploy emphatically, gesticulating and diagramming along the way and ending with rummaging through their drawing desk for a minute or two before retrieving a set of two softly-glowing jelly bracelets, both in verdant green. He handed them both to her and took her hand. 

“The second one’s for Other Sophie.” he said with a crooked smile, “Good luck.”

*******************************************************************************************

Piqua had only a single karaoke soda bar to its name, but it couldn’t be said that Alpacapella was down on its luck by any means. Of all the forever-surprisingly intricate performances it had seen, most of them from any single artist were from Dressy Killman; therefore, it was no surprise to anyone when she walked in and stood against the upper-level ornate gate, watching the others from above and rubbing a quarter reflexively between her fingers. 

The bar was vibrant with energy, and her heart pounded against her chest as the lyrics to the last song (Judging by the few scattered lines she consciously heard and the melody she was tapping her hands along to, Dressy identified it as “All the Things She Said”) faded out, replaced by the applause of the other patrons.

For a few fleeting seconds, she thought of leaving, letting everything stay the same when all she could taste is the moment, and all she could see is her light….

But sooner or later, it’s over, after all. And besides, in all her years, she’d never once turned down a show. 

The hipster slid down the spiraling staircase, and the group of hesitating kids and teenagers alike in the line quickly made way for her as she took a deep breath and moved up to the stage. All at once, she caught a glimpse of a duo thumbs-up and the lights dimmed. The bar gasped quietly, and the opening verse softly cued in, gentle and slow. 

Her bracelet glowed.

Her breath hitched in her throat.

Another band, the same color as her own, lit up and she calmed.

“This is for the girl who always makes me feel bubbly when I see her.” she said, for once being patient enough to wait for the lyrical verses. The white text lettered in on-screen, but she didn’t see it.

“I’ve been awake for awhile now,

You’ve got me feeling like a child now

‘Cause every time I see your bubbly face,

I start to feel just a bit displaced.”

********************************************************************

At the balcony, Jessica signaled for her signature Shirley Temple. 

“Other Sophie” she said suddenly, “Look, I haven’t seen you in for-evarr, so here’s some advice--have I mentioned yet that you’re totally and completely helpless when it comes to looking for detail? Like, Sophie One? Sophie One picked up that cameo in Comet’s Magical Battle Against Evil, AND she totally remembers how many cherries are in a good drink. But you? You wouldn’t know someone liked you if they stood up and sang your favorite song.”

Sophie One nodded, but gave her friend an apologetic smile.

Conveniently, this was exactly the same time the lights dimmed and Dressy began her serenade. Other Sophie flushed a cherry-blossom pink, but it didn’t take much attention to detail to see the sparkle in her eyes and the hearts practically fluttering around her head.

*******************************************************************************************

“It starts in my toes, and I crinkle my nose

Wherever it goes, I always know

That you make me smile, 

Please, stay for a while now

Just take your time, wherever you go.” 

Dressy had heard the lyrics to this song a hundred times, and definitely not because Other Sophie had once texted her one star-dappled evening that she loved that song. With what little impromptu rhyming and syllabic attention she had, she decided to change the next verse ever-so-slightly, just to see if Other Sophie picked up on it.

“You don’t have to say another word,

I understand everything I’ve heard,

You saved me once when I was done for-or,

You give me feelings that I adore.”

*******************************************************************************************

Jessica gasped, and Other Sophie shrugged off the inevitable question.

“Oh. My. Harrrr, you have to go down there!” she squealed, “That is the cutest thing, and I’m telling you now, if you don’t go see her, I’m marrying you two.”

She had already left halfway through the sentence.

*******************************************************************************************

The glow of her wrist reflected off the beads around her neck, and sure, she’d known Dressy had a lovely voice, but this, this was a serenade Other Sophie wanted to listen to forever and never look back, and all she could think was all that she wanted to leave, to clap politely at the end and play dumb like Dressy was no more than her best friend, but at the same time, to live in this moment forever, to never break away again, to be with Dressy and wake up next to her and watch her play crosswords and listen to her sing in the kitchen and make breakfast for her and--

She was blushing, and Dressy was blushing, and all at once, she was on stage next to her and the chorus started and the lovesick look in Dressy’s eyes hugged her close and told her she didn’t have to do a thing if she didn’t want to, but the ginger cleared her throat, ready, at least, to be with her sensational angel for this minute.

“And it starts in my toes, makes me crinkle my nose,

Wherever it goes, I always know,

That you’ll make me smile, 

Please, stay for a while now,

Just take your time, wherever you go.”

Dressy held up her hand and Other Sophie gave a last nod and laced her fingers with hers, the jelly bracelets glowing against one another. The song cut short, and the world fell back to the hipster, convinced that they could not just be friends, that her companion would forever act wary by her side and speak of her gesture in hushed giggles, that just once, nothing had gone right--

And Other Sophie twirled her back and kissed her with a soft “mwah!” and the world stopped.

[kyotakumrau]

2018.05.14 sukekiyo at CLUB CITTA’ 逆襲の嬲り地獄 -漆黒の儀-

Usually sukekiyo brings rain, but today we got quite a hot and sunny day. Tough luck for a crowd adorned in black, but I’m not going to complain, I prefer it over rain ;)

I had to rush a bit as I mixed up the time (dir door time is always a quarter past…), but my number wasn’t good anyway so no much stress. At the entry came a nice surprise - we received a memorial ticket (picture ticket). I really hope they will keep that for all shows!

BGM was MUSE’s ‘Absolution’, like the whole album?

There was a white curtain in front of the stage, but I could see that they kept the previous stage setting. The curtain was used for the vizualizations and stayed up the whole performance. Depending on the footage and lights they used sometimes curtain wasn’t visible at all or became a wall of colors and everything in between 😁

The theater beep sounded few minutes after 6, there was a usual announcement and second beep and it started.

00 SE video - woman wearing heels 01 kisses 02 黝いヒステリア 03 グニャ結論。そして血眼。 04 襞謳 05 死霊のアリアナ 06 nine melted fiction 07 艶 08 首吊り遊具 -session- 09 されど道連れ 10 こうも違うモノなのか、要するに -session- 11 マニエリスムな冷たい葬列者 12 dunes 13 vandal 14 12時20分金輪際 15 純朴、無垢であろうが 16 anima -session- 17 new song 18 嬲り

First thing I noticed - Mika’s hair got so short! He was wearing a black shirt with a nun. Takumi had his hair in little braids and tied up. Yuchi was wearing DUMMY items. utA’s hair is a bit over shoulders, he had a black stripe painted over his eyes and wore white DUMMY crew shirt.

Kyo was wearing a red-white-black jacket with leather harness over it first, but he took it off soon (after 2~3 songs?). Underneath he wore the white DUMMY crew shirt with suspenders, wrap skirt (from the last Madaraningen collection) over skinny jeans. He had a long leather ring on one hand and GUCCI lion ring on the other. He’s back to blond, had slightly styled hair.

I adore so much the visualizations they prepare for each song! Mika is a genius ♡ kisses started with simple purple srripes, their number slowly increasing. Aoguroi hysteria had lyrics on the screen, white font on black background, randomly scattered over the screen. When Kyo was singing one verse it changed colour to red.

With this song I accutely felt that crowd is not much into moving tonight, except random people here and there. But later on there was much more movement, I think it was vandal that got the most of energy!

It was either Gunya ketsuron or hidauta that got vertical and horizontal lines on the screen that looked a bit like bars, there were few times when Kyo looked lile he was going to grab them but it was just an optical illusion.

For Ariana Kyo took over Yuchi’s chaos pad, it looked like he had fun with it, Kyo also came to stand behind Yuchi during nine, as Yuchi came to the front of the stage (but staying on the right side). I really liked seeing interactions between everyone. I remember seeing Yuchi and Takumi playing facing each other while headbanging (I think that was nine as well). utA has his own 'moves’ on stage, each moment he was not playing he would raise his arm or make his trademark face.

The intro for Kubitsuri was a bit longer, it’s played by Takumi on keyboard, the melody didn’t change much but there was just that slight bit and Kyo put his hands together like in a prayer. It was just a moment but it had an atmosphere of a funeral march.

As I said my number wasn’t that good this day, but I could go to the middle and there was still space as no one was pushing. So I had plenty of space for dancing and thanks to that Saredo was amazing.

Koumo chigau mono was followed by the same [idea of] session as before, like song continues with piano and Kyo’s singing. But I just feel it’s getting more heartbreaking each time. I can’t listen to the recorded song as it feels unfinished.

The piano was abruptly broken by the sudden guitars and it led us to Mannierism. Kyo used his stand with microphone and camera so we could watch the projection on a huge screen behind the scene. It wrenched your heart out and left it lying on the floor. Lovingly.

I loved everything about the next block of songs, including clapping during dunes, the energy just increased suddenly and as I wrote before I didn’t feel lonely moving anymore 😁 and even if Kyo didn’t walk to the sides of the stage he was moving around his 'area’, dancing himself and looking at fans, one by one.

Junboku has this power to it, to be able to bring you to tears but at the same time you will go crazy as the beat increases, changing and changing again. It’s a masterpiece and today everything about it was spot on. 貴方は私を捨てるでしょう？

And anima. At concerts they play 'extended version’, this song also continues with a piano accompanying Kyo. And there were tears.

So the new song came at a tough spot as everyone was very emotional after anima. It’s a middle tempo song, Takumi on piano, there was a quiet moment that build the tension?. It has a warm feeling, like it can feel you with light. Lie so beautiful it’s scary.

And with Naburi came the end, but it’s always a splendid one. The credit roll appeared again on the curtain/screen and with the end Kyo softly told us 'oyasumi’ and band left the stage.

We tried staying and continue clapping but it doesn’t work everytime😂