#epic bass line

[bluelizardlives]

Trying to explain to BL that Kajagoogoo is a real band name, Nick Beggs invented a version of the instrument he's holding, and the front man is Howard Jones, not Howard Johnson, even though his jacket says "HoJo" on the back.

[newwave-lesbian]

back on my 80s j-pop/city pop/fusion finding flawless albums and am ascending...

[rabbitsinwonderland]

actually speaking of qbomb I think my favourite is build a giant robot out of trash because I am a whore for scream-y songs (see lullaby by pinkshift)

[famouslysleepy]

I’m a little too obsessed with the Cyclops’s parts in the cyclops saga of Epic: the musical

I just find myself skipping everyone else just to listen to him and his brothers sing over and over a little too much throughout the day idk something about whatever is going on with the voice effects for him is just candy to my brain

[cersworld]

When you end up being stood up and alone on your eighteenth birthday, it becomes apparent that there's a need for change. Change that may, or may not, involve the cute, wannabe-rockstar you end up having your birthday dinner with after your friends are a no-show.

SUPERSTAR LINE-UP! y/n l/n as 'miss IT girl', beomgyu choi as 'the loser, new kid', kai huening as 'the cute-ass drummer', yeonjun choi as 'epic frontman', taehyun kang as 'bass and brains', soobin choi as 'sick (literally, not figuratively) pianist', and more!

yejun lim (oc) as 'the dirtbag ex', sooji kim (oc) as 'y/n wannabe' and more!

SETTING THE SCENE! high school romance, coming-of-age, comedy, angst.

TAGLIST! tba.

TW! none for now?

cast! leading lad(ie)s ...and others

let the show begin!

episode 1 — oh the woes of teenagehood

episode 2 — classist actions

episode 3 — hate speech is not tolerated! unless...

episode 4 — introduction of the male lead (derogatory)

episode 5 — he's all that (who is lying to him?)

episode 6 — eat with the snails: a study if garbage disposal

episode 7 — tba.

—

[d1s1ntegrated]

i’ve been listening to this song on repeat and can’t get shiggy out of my head. can you please write something along these lines, cause oh my god would this be so hot🥵

porn star dancing shigaraki pov x stripper reader

summary: dabi drags shigaraki to a "titty bar" for his 21st birthday, because "being a virgin at 21 is like a dog who's never had a biscuit". 

cw: quirkless au! dabi and shiggy are best friends, drinking, strip club setting, shiggy's pov, alt!reader, oral virginity loss, language, nudity, oral (male rec), groping, whining, pining, slightsub!tomura, virgin!tomura, slightlydom!reader, teasing, private lap dance, happy ending lol, handjob, headshoving, dirty talk, basically just shiggy being an epic simp loser. wc: ~4230 words

this is from tomura's pov. i felt it would convey his sluttiness best :)

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

"GET OFF THE GAME, DUMBASS. WE'RE GOING OUT". dabi's voice shouts from down the hall. i sigh and roll my eyes, yanking my headset off my head. usually, i'd ignore him, but i knew he wouldn't leave me alone today. i tried not to make a big deal about it, but he's been making a stink about my birthday for months now, as if drinking legally at a bar would feel any different than drinking illegally in my room. but, hell, if it gets him to shut up, i guess.

i groan and stretch myself out of my gaming chair, giving my prized possession a solemn goodbye, and trod out of my room. dabi is waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall. "there you are, freak. you ready to go get wasted with a bunch of topless bitches?" he looks me up and down, smiling sadistically. i shrug, and he pats my shoulder.

"come on, lets get trashed." i know i can't argue with him, so i follow him out the door, thinking about how badly i'd rather go back to my room and play league. whatever.

---------------------------------------------------- the club is sketchy, to say the least. a dark grey exterior with no windows, just one neon sign above that reads "the silk iris" in flashy pink lettering. at least it's not named some weird shit like "vixen den".

i suck air in through my teeth as dabi lights a cigarette next to me. "can we go home?" i say miserably next to him. he chuckles, taking a long drag.

"fuck no, shigs. we're goin' in, and i'm gonna tell those pretty girlies in there that it's your birthday" he flashes his teeth at me and instead of a smile, i see a predator baring its fangs in warning. fuck my life. i try to beg him not to, but he's unreceptive.

"please, dabi, i'll go in, fine, but dont tell them shit, please" i clasp my hands together and shake them at him, as if im praying. but if dabi was a god, he was a cruel and evil one, who doesn't answer prayers.

"fine fine, shigaraki. i'll be nice, i promise." he curls his lips and tosses the finished cigarette to the ground, crushing the filter under his boot. he grabs my shoulder and guides me with an iron grip to the door. "lets go!" he slaps my back hard and i grimace. no going back now.

the door pushes open and immediately, the smell of heavy smoke and cheap cologne rushes my sinuses. theres another door between the club and the entrance, and a part of me wishes i could just sit in the lobby all night. but dabi whips his id out, and i reluctantly follow. we flash them at the bouncer, who nods and grins wide when he sees mine. "happy birthday man. have fun". his voice is gruff and deep, his body towering over mine. i force a slight smile, and nod "thanks" before begrudgingly going through the door.

the lights are low, thank god. deep reds and purples accent the darkly-painted walls, and the carpet is patterned with some vampiric-looking textile, and i study it intently. the music is so loud, the bass shakes my eardrums, and i groan. if i'm gonna be here all night, i'm gonna need a drink. dabi knows this already, and he drags me over to the bar and nods to an empty stool. i slink onto the worn leather and he yanks my hood off my head before he sits next to me. i grumble but he ignores me, and flags down the bartender.

a tall, slender girl in a very tiny bikini top struts over, big pearly smile on her face. her red hair curls gently around her face, and she greets us with a very peppy voice. "hi boys! what can i get for ya?"

dabi eyes the girl up and down and leans back in his seat a bit, giant smirk plastered to his face. his piercings tug at his lips as he answers, "hey doll. it's actually my buddy's birthday today," he claps my shoulder again and i shrink into myself, "what do you recommend?"

the girl claps her hands together and jumps a bit. "happy birthday sweetheart!" those teeth smile at me again, somehow wider than last time. she turns back to dabi and asks, "is this his first time?"

dabi answers with a bellowing laugh, "ohhh yeah. shig's gonna turn into a man tonight" he nudges me and i force out a laugh.

"well, shig," the bartender drags my name out sleazily, "i have just the thing for you." she trots away from us for a few moments, returning with a shot glass full of a bright green substance. "you like fruity drinks?" she asks and nods at me. i shrug and reply "i'm not sure". she lets out a high-pitched giggle and looks to dabi.

"and for you?""whatever's on tap, sweetheart. and a shot of jameson." his voice is low and he's still grinning. she returns half a second later with a tall beer glass, and a little shot of whiskey. she nods at us and says as she tends to another customer now, "ill start a tab for you boys."

i hesitantly pick up the shot glass and dabi picks his up with me. he raises his brows and laughs. "take the shot, pussy". he clinks his glass against mine and i take a deep breath as we take the first shot. it goes down surprisingly easy, much easier than the cheap whiskeys and vodkas i'm used to. its...actually fucking delicious. the bartender notices us and claps. she brings me another one a minute later and i take it fearlessly, the liquid shooting down to my core, warming me up. "thats a green tea shot, love. just in case you wanna order some more" she winks at me as she slides another shot to dabi, "my shift ends in about 5 minutes, so you'll have to order them yourself from now on! happy birthday, sweetie!" i smile at her, feeling my nerves slowly melting away. i thank her and turn to dabi.

"this isn't so bad" i give him a thumbs-up, and he returns it. he picks up the tiny glass and shoots it back, chasing it with the remainder of his beer. he blinks away the burn and shakes his head. "bartender was cute, eh?" he stifles a belch into his fist and claps my back again. "lets go, emo boy." i slide off the stool and follow him.

he leads me to a couple of seats near the stage. i did my best to avoid looking before, but now it was right in front of me. a couple of girls, about six or seven, were twirling around poles, walking up and down the stage, as men greedily shove their hands to touch them, stroke their legs, grab their asses. some shove dollar bills into their waistbands, others hand them bigger bills: tens, twenties, even some fifties. i scoff and take a seat next to dabi, who's already got his wallet out. he hands me a wad of ones, and i sigh.

"i'm not gonna shove my hands into some poor girls panties," i say to him. he glares at me and rolls his eyes. "the more you shove in there, the closer you get to having it, shig. its like buying pussy, bro. come on, just watch." he stands and leans over the stage as a short blonde crawls over, and he beckons her with a finger. he slides his hand over her barely-clothed tits and shoves a couple bills between them. she blows a kiss at him and stands, spinning around a pole and waving at a few of the men before the girls rotate. this goes on for a few minutes, and i feel myself growing uncomfortable with myself.

i grit my teeth and stand next to dabi, and do my best to entice one of the girls over to me. however, once the girl comes over to me, i panic, and end up just handing her a few of the bills in my hand. i wave and immediately smack myself in the face. stupid idiot, what the fuck was that? dabi notices my folly and laughs at me and shakes his head.

"you dumbass, what the hell was THAT?" he raises his voice over the music and i purse my lips.

"i dont know" i say quietly. my head is spinning from the alcohol. i groan and sit back in my seat, afraid to embarrass myself further. suddenly, the music quiets down, and a voice rings through the speaker, announcing a solo act. "please welcome the beautiful, the terrifying, the eat-your-heart-out....calypso!" the group of men cheer as they hear the name. i look confused as the lights switch to a deep sanguine red, and the music switches over from the bass-boosted r&b and rap to metal. a few of the men get up and go to the bar, but watch as they order drinks.

dabi gets up and i call out for him, but he raises a hand and says, "im getting drinks, dude chill! you'll be fine for two minutes!!" the lights brighten again as a girl comes onto the stage. she, like the others, is dressed scantily, but...differently. my eyes widen as she approaches further. she grabs one of the poles and swings her leg around it, and i can't peel my eyes away. her thigh grips the metal, her fishnets so tight against her, i can see the soft skin poking through the holes. the material stretches thin over her ass, which is plump, with only a tiny g-string to cover it. she drops to the floor and lays on her back, her tits spreading in the top as men grab at her, and she slaps them away. they cheer and lay the bills onto the stage, and she gradually grabs the money, shoving it down her top herself.

dabi returns and hands me another shot. i swiftly take it, not taking my eyes off the dancer on the stage. she wraps her hands around another pole and spins a few times before dropping back down, onto her knees this time. i bite my lip and dabi nudges me with his elbow.

"you like that one, shiggy?" he shouts over the heavy guitar solo. i nod slowly and watch her intently. he chuckles beside me and nods. calypso gets to the edge of the stage and i smack the rest of the ones i have in my hand right next to her tall, chunky boots. she notices me and stares down at me and licks her lips, and i feel myself melt. she bends over slowly and grabs the cash, and drags her long fingernail up my neck and jaw. i gulp as she winks at me and whispers something, but i cant hear her over the music.

i feel myself twitch in my pants. i smile weakly up at her and she turns away, collecting the rest of the money on the wooden floor. she then slowly grabs one of the strings of her top and pulls it, slowly unraveling the knot. she spins around as she pulls the top off completely, and tosses it haphazardly in my direction. i scramble up from my seat and grasp at it, unable to control my impulses. i greedily fist it and shove it into my hoodie pocket, hoping she doesn't notice who took it. i fling back in my seat and dabi high fives me.

"WOOOOO! ATTA BOY!" he shouts at me and downs the rest of his glass. i look back up to calypso on the stage, spinning around another pole sleazily. her movements are fluid and flawless, and i swallow the excess drool in my mouth as i watch her. the way her tits look, her supple curves, the jiggle of her ass against the metal and wood as she dances around the stage. none of the other women on the stage before had gotten my attention, but...she did. i cover my lap with my hands and spread my legs to hide the raging hard-on against my tight jeans.

the song ends after an excruciating few minutes and i let out the breath i didnt know i was holding. as she exists the stage, she drags a clawed hand against the mirror wall at the back of the stage. the whole crowd cheers, a few of the men going so far as to shout her name out. the next solo act comes out and i stand up, deciding to hide in the bathroom for a second. fuck, this doesnt look odd or anything.

i tap dabi's shoulder and tell him "i gotta piss, i'll be back" and he just nods as he stares intently at the next dancer.

i rush into the bathroom and slam the door behind me, locking the stall. i sigh and press myself against the shoddy stall door and yank the top i shoved into my pocket out. i press it to my face and inhale. my cock jumps in my pants as i do so, and i stifle a moan. it smells so sweet, and spicy, and just so fucking good. i palm at the front of my jeans as i inhale. fuck, her tits were in here. fuck. i rub my thumb over the soft material, imagining how it rubbed against her nipples, how the strings tugged at the weight of her tits. i shudder and shake my head, shoving the top back into my pocket. not here. i'll have all the time in the world to get off once i'm home, i remind myself. don't be the guy that jerks it in the public bathroom.

i gather myself as best as possible, splashing water on my face before exiting the bathroom. i shiver at the cold on my feverish face and push the heavy door open to see dabi standing outside, grinning maniacally.

"guess what, birthday bitch?" he tilts his head at me and chuckles. i stare with genuine fear as he points to one of the doors across from me.

"you see those doors, buddy?" i nod my head. "you know what's behind those doors?" i shake my head. the third door to the right opens and a man exits, looking absolutely blown away. a girl in a tight white bikini exists after him, looking distracted. fuck.

"dabi, nonononono, i do NOT want a private dance, nonono please" i tug at his jacket and he shakes me off.

"too bad, buddy. you're gettin' one." i whimper out in fear and clench my jaw. "come on, dumbass. youre 21 now. and youre still a virgin. it's kinda sad. at least get the experience of a lap dance, my god."

"dabi, i do not want a lap dance, i want to go-"

"shigaraki, a virgin at 21 is like a puppy who's never had a biscuit before. now go. second door. have fun!" he laughs evilly again and saunters off to the bar again, leaving me to my own devices.

i could run right now, or...

or i could man up and go get a fucking lap dance.

in private.

with a girl.

fuck it, i say to myself and go up to the second door. i take a deep breath and turn the knob, entering slowly. its empty.

what the fuck?

i take a seat on the giant plush....couch? futon? bed thing? i'm not quite sure, but it wraps around the room in a U-shape. the walls are made of all mirrors, with a sound system laid into the wall, and speakers next to the ceiling. i sit in the middle of the leather seats and scratch my neck anxiously. either dabi set me up real good, or...

a knock at the door startles me out of my thought and i look up. the door swings open and swiftly shuts. i recognize the body...the face...calypso walks in and raises her brows at me. every bit of my drunkenness dissipates at the sight.

"you're the birthday boy, huh? that's convenient. can i get my top back?" she says, her voice low and drawn out. she stares down at me and my eyes feel like they're going to fall out of my head. she's wearing something different now: a tight red top with a thong, pulled up around her hips, accentuating her curves. her boots are frighteningly large, thick leather straps and buckles crossing over her calves and thighs.

i fumble over my words as i pull the top out of my pocket, "i, how did you kn- i'm sorry" i wince at my own voice, and she laughs.

"giant mirror. the look on your face. i'm not dumb" she leans in and whispers the last lines into my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.

"oh...okay" i choke out. "sorry" i repeat, and she stands.

"good boy" she nods, and presses a button on the stereo. "porn star dancing" begins to play. i bite my lip and look up at her nervously. she traces my jaw with her nail, just like she did earlier, and climbs into my lap.

"do you want a lap dance, pretty boy?" her voice is sweet and sultry in my ears. i grip her thighs instinctively as she grinds into me slightly and i nod furiously. any intention i had of resisting is gone, as i glance at her ass in the mirror across from us. her thighs are warm and plush, and as she stands back up, i have to stifle my whimper. she turns around and bends over, giving me the perfect view of her ass. i reach out to grab it, and she turns around.

"ah ah, no touching yet, pretty boy." i exhale hard at the way the nickname rolls off her tongue. she continues to bend and sway in front of me, and my desperation grows. my saliva builds rapidly at the sight of her supple body teasing me, and i swallow hard again.

she brings herself back to face me, pushing her soft tits against me. they smell the same as her top, soft and spicy and sweet. i moan and plant a kiss to the flesh and she lets out a soft "hmm". i take this as an okay to touch her, and i bring my hand down hard on her ass, gripping it tightly. she gasps and flashes her wild eyes at me. she sits fully in my lap, grinding her ass against me, bouncing and bending on me.

i cant help but harden back up, my cock beating against it's jean prison again. my breath quickens as she slides off, and suddenly drags a hand to my upper thigh, squeezing it hard. i gasp at the touch and she laughs, a sickeningly seductive smile painting her beautiful face. my eyes roll back as she palms the front of my jeans.

wait.

i look to her now as she licks her lips and bites her lip. she drops down to her knees, her eyes glassy and half-shut as she stares up at me. i look at her in the mirror again, seeing her boots pressing against her plump ass again. i groan and push my hair back, and she fiddles with the front of my pants.

"your friend out there said you were a virgin, is that right?" she draws out, wicked and teasing. i nod and my cheeks flush with embarrassment. "you want me to fix that?" she questions nonchalantly as she pops the button of my jeans.

"wait, what?" i stumble, and she chuckles softly.

"i don't do this for everyone, you know." she points a cruel finger at me, "but when i saw how desperate you got out there, i honestly wondered if i could break you. thank god your friend asked me for the dance, otherwise i'd have to come find you myself" she laughs lowly, and i shiver.

i cant find the words, so i just nod furiously. she smiles up at me and unzips the front of my jeans. i help her by pushing down my boxers, letting my cock spring free. she gives a soft surprised look, and i furrow my brows.

"you're much bigger than i expected" she whispers, and wraps a hand lazily around my shaft. if i wasn't so turned on right now, i might take that offensively. but as she wraps her pouty lips around the tip, i throw my head back, ignoring any cues that this might not be a part of the lap dance.

her tongue swirls luridly around my tip, causing me to gasp. i'm already overstimulated, my cock twitching and jumping at her touch. she takes me deeper down her throat until her nose buries into my skin, and she lets out a low hum against the throbbing appendage. as i moan, she wraps her hand back around, sliding it alongside where she sucks me off, the doubled sensation causing my hips to buck up. she giggles around my dick as she sucks it, and i tangle my pale fingers into her hair. its so soft, just like the rest of her. she moans softly at the sensation of me pulling it, and i whimper. she pulls off of me with a gentle "pop" and i groan.

"you sound so fucking pathetic, pretty boy" she whispers.

"t-tomura. call me tomura" i choke out in rushed breath, and she nods.

"tomura. pretty name for a pretty boy" she nods, and i cant help but moan again at how she says my name. she brings my cock back into her mouth and drags her tongue all the way up, wrapping her soft fingers around my balls and squeezing gently. my body feels like its on fire and i start to feel myself breaking.

"ah-ah, ha, fuck" my breaths tangle with the mantra of swears and incoherent noises spilling from my mouth. i make no effort to stifle myself, there's no point. i grip her hair harder and she presses her teeth ever so slightly into the flesh of my cock, and i tremble. the sensations are driving me wild, and i completely lose control. i watch as her mouth slides up and down, her spit dripping down my length, tangling with the mess of precum already spilling from me.

"hnng, fuck, agh, ah ah, ah, i'm gonna" i whimper out, and she only looks up at me, not stopping. her grip on my balls tightens as i twitch inside her warm mouth, and the sight sends me over the edge.

"god, FUCK, fuck, ah, fuck, i'm cumming, oh fuck, i'm cumming" i pant out, and shove her head all the way down as my cock sputters. she chokes slightly around me as i feel the thick ribbons shoot down her tight throat. i whimper and moan out unapologetically, and she keeps sucking even after i finish, sending volts of electricity through my entire body. she pulls off of me sloppily, a string of drool and cum dripping from her lips. i twitch as the aftershock rumbles through me, feeling the alcohol (and blood) rush back to my head. my breathing staggered. she wipes her mouth with the bottom of my hoodie, and stands.

"you did such a good job, tomura" her voice is slightly raspy as she praises me, and strokes my face. i smile weakly up at her.

"th-thank you, calypso" i breathe out, and she returns the soft smile.

"happy birthday, pretty boy" she turns the music down and heads for the door.

"wait" i bleat out, and she turns, "can we...can i see you again?" she laughs with an exhale, and grins.

"come back next weekend." she replies, and my heart seizes. i nod and look at the floor.

"can i have your number?" i ask quietly.

she chuckles and shakes her head no.

"do you want...the top back?" i hand it to her, and she shakes her head.

"consider it your birthday present." and she walks out the door before i can respond. i shove the top back in my pocket and fix my clothes, checking myself in the mirror before exiting a couple minutes after her.

as always, dabi is standing across from the door, unlit cigarette hanging from his lip. "how'd it go, buddy?" he chortles, and i look up at him.

"we're coming back next weekend" i say, and without another word, i head out the front doors. the bouncer nods at us as we exit, and dabi follows behind with a "fuck yes!".

when we return home, i fling myself into my bed and yank the top out of my pocket. i examine every speck of glitter, the tag, everything. i slip the padding out of it, just for shits, and notice in thin black ink:

"your lucky day.

XXX-XXX-XXXX."

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

hope u enjoyed! i finished this at 3:50am and poured my whole ass heart into it. i had a lot of fun writing this :D

lmk if i should write more from shigs pov, or if a reader pov would be better, i tried to be experimental ;-;

thank u for the request as always!!

xoxo

[greenorangevioletgrass]

fever pitch (b.b) - prologue

soundtrack: mastermind - taylor swift pairing: footballer!bradley x popstar!reader synopsis: Bradley shoots his shot in public, but will he fumble when he meets you in person? warnings: language, drinking, meet cute notes: my first series in a while! this is shamelessly based on the epic Taylor Swift/Travis Kelce saga currently happening rn, and combine that with my innate love of football (the kicking kind, not the NFL kind) and... voila! I hope you enjoy this. Let me know what you think in the comments, reblogs, and asks. Happy reading! <3 ✨I do not have a taglist. Please follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass and turn on the notification to get the latest update on my fics✨

Soccer Sensation Bradley Bradshaw Fails To Shoot His Shoot With Y/N At Her Concert?

Arsenal captain Bradley Bradshaw may be among his club’s top scorers this season, but even he misses a chance in romance like the rest of us.

The 29-year-old athlete spoke about his missed opportunity with the multi-platinum songstress Y/N while speaking to his former teammate Héctor Bellerín on the latter’s podcast, “More Than A Footballer”, earlier this week.

When asked about any fun stuff he did last weekend, Bradshaw replied,

“I went to the Y/N concert at Wembley [Stadium]... it was awesome. It was pouring rain, but it was amazing. I don’t remember Wembley ever being that electric aside from, like, cup finals. She was sensational.”

Bellerín nods in agreement, having heard great things about the famed singer-songwriter’s live concerts.

Unprompted, the American midfielder then continued,

“If you’ve heard about the tour, there’s this tradition of trading friendship bracelets. And I actually made one with my number on it, hoping I could give it to her after the show…”

The Cockney-raised Spaniard cackled in surprise and teased him, “But she didn’t wanna see you, bruv? [That is] legend!”

“No hard feelings!” Bradshaw raised his hands in defense over the Zoom call. “She needed to dry off and get warm. Gotta make sure she stays healthy, protect those vocal cords. But yeah, I was a bit bummed out about it.”

Bellerín laughed and jokingly addressed the camera, “Y/N, if you’re watching, give my boy a chance, will you?”

Mononymous pop sensation Y/N is hot off of her Kaleidoscope North American Tour, which wrapped in September. Her six-show run at Wembley Stadium this November officially kicks off the European leg of her sold-out tour. 

Will they be the next pop royalty and conquer the stadiums with their own crafts, or will this fizzle out as this week’s viral anecdote? The ball is in your court, Y/N.

Y/N’s representatives have not responded for comment.

***

Your Miu Miu heels click and clack against the ground. The pavement gleams after the rain and glistens under the streetlights. Everywhere you look, your eyes hurt. Down, and you worry about slipping into a puddle and falling on your ass. Forward, and a million camera flashes are ready to give you an aneurysm.

All in the name of reporting your night off of work, performing live in front of 90,000 people in a stadium.

In other words, all in a day’s work.

There’s a moment of reprieve, when the silvery white blitzes disappear into the dim tangerine lighting of the lobby. The flight down the stairs is so dark, you’re seeing green. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust, but as soon as they do, the thumping bass line of some dance music hits your ears. Clashing perfumes doused on the dancing, dressed-up bodies that you have to weave through.

You are seriously regretting your girl friends’ invite to a night out. You could’ve just had them over to your hotel, open a bunch of red wine, and you would’ve still had a blast. But no. You had to say yes to going to the Cuckoo Club with Lacey, Amara, and Jo.

And this evening is making you feel quite cuckoo.

There’s champagne at your booth and you’re much too eager to take a glass and start a toast. “Cheers, bitches!” you yell over the music, clinking your glass against theirs before downing the whole thing in one go.

It’s nowhere near enough.

There’s not enough buzz to dull the assault to your senses—not even after the three glasses of wine at dinner earlier. Everything is still too loud, too bright, too crowded, too… much.

“Hey!” you nudge Amara, who is sitting right next to you. “Let’s do shots!”

She turns to you, eyes widening at the slightest. “I thought you wanted to take it easy tonight!” 

“Changed my mind,” you shrug, as you get up to the bar.

While you make your way through the crowd on the dance floor, Bradley Bradshaw looks up from his booth and does a double-take at the girl who just walked by. Even in a high-end club full of the well-dressed and well-heeled, people still get starstruck. And why wouldn’t they? You’re about as famous as an iPhone. 

His eyes widen and immediately whips out his phone to shoot a text to his oldest and most trusted friend Natasha Trace.

‘Dude, I’m in the club and Y/N just walked in. What do I do??’

Natasha thankfully texts back almost immediately. Then again, maybe being a Communications Director for a major company requires her to be a good texter. ‘Wdym what do you do? Just go talk to her.’

‘You were supposed to introduce us!’ Bradley replies, eyes darting between his phone and you at the bar, conflicted.

Natasha is a mutual friend of yours, too, and when the Bracelet-gate clip went viral, she laughed in his face for a full 5 minutes before deciding to set the two of you up. But the schedule never really aligned, so he hasn’t got a chance to see you. Not even after he went to your concert with a friendship bracelet and a dream.

And now, seeing you here in the same room at the same time as him…

‘What do you want me to do, get down there and do it for you?’

‘...Can you?’

He senses the judgment even as the three dots appear on his screen. 

‘Stop being a pussy, Bradshaw. Let me Netflix and chill with my gf in peace.’

Bradley scoffs, half-annoyed and half-fond. ‘Asshole. Have fun.’

The dance floor clears up, just enough to see that you’re right there. Leaning against the bar in your dress like a dirty daydream, talking to the bartender, and he couldn’t just let you go without a word. He thought about it, and he simply couldn’t.

“Oi, where are you off to?” His teammate Martin hollers, while the others watch him make his way to the bar in determined strides.

He squeezes past patrons across this jungle of a club, hoping to God that somebody hasn’t beaten him to talk to you yet, or you haven’t ducked out completely. Oh fuck. You’re still there, though. Good. You’re still at the bar, still glimmering under the mirrorball. Just a tap on the shoulder away. You can do it, Bradshaw…

“Excuse me, I—”

You feel the hand on your shoulder just as you turn and stand up, and in a flurry of miscoordination, looks up just as the other person moves in.

In a stroke of dumb luck, Bradley feels the top of your head slamming up against his nose and he groans in pain. “Ohh!”

“Shit! Oh my God…” you gasp, reaching out to the man in front of you. He’s tall, very tall, and you can’t quite see his face with his massive hand clutching his nose. “I’m so sorry…”

“No, it’s okay. My bad…” It really doesn’t seem like it, so he lets go of his nose and smiles sheepishly. Gosh, he must’ve looked stupid right now.

But you see it differently. What you see is a dashing man in a sleek tieless navy suit and a well-groomed mustache, straight out of a Cinemascope flick, ever so handsome despite his reddened nose from the way you just accidentally headbutted him. “No, that was totally mine. Are you okay?”

Your eyes are crystal clear even in the dim light, the concern is palpable in your gaze—and rightly so. It’s just that he’d take the headbutt any day, if it means he can look at your beautiful face. “I’m… I’m swell. Y/N, right?”

There’s a shift in your gaze. First, alert—you’re assessing how much of a potential threat this person is, whether they’re gonna be weird about you— and then it relaxes. Not a threat. Then a slightest hint of mischief, like she wants to know what kind of dynamics they would have. “Have we met?”

And boy, can he.

“We haven’t, actually. But I went to your show at Wembley earlier this week. You were amazing.” He offers a handshake. “Bradley Bradshaw.”

You didn’t quite catch his name over the blaring music, although you shake his hand anyway. “Sorry?” 

He leans into your ear, “I’m Bradley Bradshaw.”

You don’t know which one makes your heart skip, the sudden close proximity, the warmth of his timbre, or the whiff of his perfume.

“Right. Nice to meet you, Bradley Bradshaw.” You accept his handshake, hoping he doesn’t see how flustered you are in the strobing purple light.

“Likewise.” He nods with a smile. “And may I just say… you look stunning.”

“What, this old thing?” You brush down the art nouveau-inspired Balmain dress on your body. You’re just being modest, of course; you know you’re dressed to the nines. You have never been much into facial hair, but somehow that mustache suits him very well. “You don’t look so bad yourself. You remind me of a… young Robert Mitchum. Or Paul Newman— or one of those Golden Age leading men.”

His face lights up. It’s hardly the first time he received that kind of compliment, but when it came from you, it feels… different. It feels special. It makes him just a little bolder. “Yeah? Maybe after a few drinks, I’ll be quoting lines from Butch Cassidy. Or would you prefer Cat On A Hot Tin Roof?”

This piques your interest. A man of culture, it seems. But of course, you can’t be too sure. “I’m more of a Paris Blues kinda gal, I’m afraid.”

Gosh, you don’t swoon so easily and he likes you so much for that. “Makes sense.”

“How so?”

“It’s a good underrated musical movie, for the musically gifted… And Sidney Poitier was just fantastic in that.”

“Huh.” You raise your eyebrows. You honestly thought he was just spouting the famous titles. But the fact that he has likely seen this hidden gem might just mean he’s really into it. “Aren’t you full of surprises.”

He leans in to speak in your ear yet again. “If you stick with me for a bit, I might show you another surprise or two.”

The music drowns out your racing heart just barely, and the bartender places a whole set of tequila shots on the bar top, and it snaps you out of your reverie for a moment. 

“Wanna get some air?”

He seems surprised, but of course he wasn’t gonna throw away this shot. “Sure. Why not?”

You instruct the bartender to send the shots to your booth, not even spending ten seconds to ponder staying in this deafening hell hole. Not when this man looks like peace. Perhaps an undercurrent of mystery underneath, but his whole demeanor is as calm and comforting as those old-school movies you put on to fall asleep. At the same time, something about this person pulls you in, it’s almost magnetic, and you can’t help wanting to see this through.

[kalpakita]

⚜ AMC IWTV ⚜ - Season 1

* interview & bts link list *

SDCC Jul 21 ※Ententaiment Weekly ※TV-insider -HU extra SDCC Jul 23 ※Panel ※Screen Rant ※Collider ※ComicBook ※amc "Midnight Snacks" +extra w. Bailey ※Paley Center team on zoom ※SAG bits ※IFC Centre (only some transcript)

Season 1 : Oct 2 - Nov 6

AMC: ※Behind the Scenes ※Cast Diaries 1-4 5-7 ※Ep Insiders w. Rolin Jones ※Obsessed with the vampire ※Bailey Bass BTS vlog per episode TV-insider/studio w. Jacob & Sam ※The Root w. Jacob ※Epic love story ※IWTV trivia ※Ep1 final scene ※Raising Claudia ※Fight scene ※AV Club Q&A ※io9 Childhood media 🎤 ※In Creative Company w. Sam ※Pride w. Jacob & Sam, Bailey ※Xfinity w. Jacob & Sam ※ComicBook w. Jacob & Sam (orig. is gone) ※theGrio w. Jacob ※TV, I say w. Jacob ※Young Hollywood w. Jacob ※Rotten Tomatoes w. Jacob, Sam & Bailey ※Brief Take w. Sam ※Karen Hunter show w. Jacob

📝 AMC talk: ※Eric Bogosian Daniel ※Mara LePere-Schloop Production design ※Howard Berger Fx & make-up ※Bailey Bass Claudia ※Sam Reid Lestat ※Carol Cutshall Costume ※Assad Zaman "Rashid" ※Jacob Anderson Louis ※Rolin Jones EP and writer ※Reddit AMA w. Jacob & Sam ※Nov issue of SFX magazine (x) magazine/ photo shoot ※Shön -Sam ※FOXES -Jacob ※Vmagazine -Jacob

🎧 ※AMC podcast: YT or Spot hosted by Naomi Ekperigin ※Season 1 OST: YT or Spot composed by Daniel Hart

📱 ※iwtv writers room at twit: 🧵‣BTS ‣Q&A 01 ‣Q&A 02 ※Carol Cutshall's insta ※S1 still photos of Alfonso Bresciani ※S1 set design of Pixoloid ※Light design BTS Shapers of Light ※"Come to Me" Sheet music + gettyimages from events

2023, between seasons:

※GoldDerby w. director Levan Akin ※GoldDerby w. composer Daniel Hart ※AP w. Jacob & Sam back on set ※HeyUGuys & ※beforethelights w. Jacob 📝 ※Howard Berger on SFX makeup (tw gore) ※Below the Line w. composer Daniel Hart ※EW w. Sam ※NYP w. Jacob ※Big Issue w. Jacob ※Attitude w. Jacob & Sam

MORE LISTS:

S2 interviews listed by Ari vamp.house crafted by @rustingways Influences & refs by @la-femme-au-collier-vert

[museqmeg]

When the animation is accurate to piano proficiency and the score tells a compelling story 🤌

*cracks knuckles*

It's time to put my music degree and 20+ years of performing to fandom use. I'm gonna deep-dive into a music analysis of "Duet" and the care Orange put into animating musicianship.

Let's first look at the animation!

Nai and Vash are both correctly playing the notes heard and in the correct form. Here's an interview with Trigun Stampede's composer, Tatsuya Kato!

Kato:

"For Knives - There are multiple scenes in this anime where Knives is playing the piano. In those piano scenes we had an actual pianist play the piano, and filmed them using multiple cameras to create the motion data. His piece combines his beautiful frailty with his huge ambitions and powers. His touching yet fierce impression is expressed through the duality of the minimal music that uses both orchestral and digital sounds quite boldly. Also, the melody of the plants’ song is based on Knives’ theme motif, which allows it to make the son an epic expression of tragedy and destiny."

-- from the Bernardelli Times Extra of the Trigun Stampede BluRay

Let's look at the score for "Duet."

The piece is composed in a minor, starting with Nai on the treble clef staves. The tone is hopeful in its theme despite the minor key, and we get a prelude to the plant theme.

When Vash joins in on the bass clef staves, the tempo is more than doubled and we hear an "agitation" in Nai's lines. Vash is also a few octaves below Nai, miles away in pitch. Sound like their story?

Looking at Vash's upper staff--while Nai is "on" the beat, Vash is off the beat (see highlighted figure). Their melodic lines are also ascending & descending away from each other in contrary motion. The rhythmic figures &melodic movement is causing the dissonance you hear.

This continues throughout the piece, each of the brother's hands becoming their voices and ideals clashing. That auditory dissonance created in the music showcases their struggle. Nai's part is more frantic and urgent, whereas Vash is holding steady with the bass line chords.

I like to think of Vash's sustained bass line as a motif to the steadfastness of his beliefs and ideals. Being true to himself.

"I'm Vash the Stampede."

As the piece goes on, both right hands of the brothers swap the rhythmic dissonance. Nai now on the off beats and Vash on the beat. Nai's repetitive figure on the subdivided 8th notes holds that tension, while his left hand is having the argument with Vash's right hand.

What's also interesting is that while sitting side-by-side for the duet, the hands closest to each other are the ones having the "conversation." There's a small parallel octave moment where they are as close as can be, physically & musically.

The outside hands are the dissonance.

Something else to note on the swapping of beat placement--the twins are both changing the meter within the meter from common to duple with the figures & subdivision.

It all comes to a head with an accelerando & both brothers playing forte.

(Brahms Symphony No. 1 anyone?)

During the climax of the piece, Nai is reduced down to the triplet moving line. It's frantic and desperate. Like fear and running.

(Check out Shubert's "Erlkönig" to learn more about these types of motifs.)

Meanwhile, Vash is pounding out the bass line and the plant theme.

"Duet" comes to an abrupt end with no tonal resolution; ending on the dominant chord. The sudden ending is also breaking up the phrasing, leaving the listener jarred and expecting more. Unresolved. And that's truly where we're at with Trigun Stampede.

My interpretation of "Duet" is that it's much like a tone poem, telling the story of two brothers. Vash and Nai's story isn't finished, and I'm guessing that "Duet" is an unfinished piece as well.

My personal predictions is that, if Tatsuya Kato is the composer for Trigun Stargaze, we're going to hear "Duet" become a complete musical composition that resolves the story and conflict between two brothers.

If you'd like to learn play "Duet" and analyze the score, here's a pretty good transcription on MuseScore:

[impala-dreamer]

A Simple Kinda Man

Dean’s a pretty simple man. He likes the things he likes and you can rarely get him to change his mind about it. 

He loves classic rock. Epic guitar solos that pour from the speakers and carry you away. Deep, pulsing, intricate bass lines that rock you to your core. Drums that block everything out. Lyrics that paint a picture so clear you can see it with your eyes closed. He rarely voluntarily listens to any music made after 1984, but will tolerate it if you’re driving - those are the rules, after all. And good luck getting him to admit he wiped away a tear listening to that Taylor Swift song you blasted from your room the other night. It won’t happen. Ever.

Dean loves a home-cooked meal, especially if it ends with pie. He doesn’t hate cake, but he finds the frosting too obtrusively sweet. He likes apple pie because it’s warm and tart with just a hint of sweetness hiding behind the biting cinnamon. He likes a rich, flakey crust that you can only get by using real, full-fat butter. Low-fat and calorie-free are not words he is familiar with and actively avoids when roaming the aisles at the grocery store. If he’s gonna eat, he’s gonna enjoy it, cholesterol be damned. He’d happily take a greasy double bacon cheeseburger over even the fanciest offering at a steakhouse and prefers his fries shoestring and deep-fried-orange, thank you very much. He picks his whiskey based on dollar amount not years aged. He’ll eat pizza cold and right off the floor if he has to. He’s not picky, but he likes what he likes. 

He pretends not to care about looks, but he’s been known to mess with his hair in the mirror for way longer than necessary, and he’s once or twice been caught with whitening strips clogging up his mouth. He prefers comfort over fashion but he damned sure knows how to find a tee that’s just a little too tight in all the right places, a pair of jeans that hugs his ass just so. He’s well aware how that deep burgundy flannel shirt brings out the freckles on his cheek and the green of his irises. He’s no fool. He knows he’s handsome; knows when he grins just so his dimples could ignite a fire in a thousand hearts. 

He loves kids but he tries not to think about it too much. Sure, whenever a stroller passes, he sneaks a peek at the tyke inside and wonders what it would be like if your DNA and his got squished into a little human, but he lets it go. As he tells himself: “Mars ain’t the kinda place to raise a kid”, and neither is the Bunker or the life he leads. 

He finds comfort in small touches- fingers grazing over the backs of knuckles, hugs lingering a moment too long. He falls asleep now to the sound of your breath, the slowing, gentle rise and fall as you run around in dreamland beside him. The warmth you emit under the blankets is enough to sustain him through tomorrow and the next day, and he wonders how he survived all those years sleeping alone. 

He’ll never tell you that, though. 

He loves you deeply but he’ll never say the words. 

He’ll prove it to you in a thousand different ways. In tender kisses and dreamy smiles. In whispered secrets and unwavering trust. He’ll protect you with his last breath. Give up his very soul to make you happy. But don’t ask him to admit it. Don’t force him to say the words out loud. It’s too much for him to handle. He’s battled monsters since he was a child, saved the world more times than he can remember, but the idea that you might not love him back, say the words in return… It’s too much, too terrifying a thought for him to risk. So he’ll tell you in the little ways. The simple ways.

He’s rough but sweet. His hands are big but warm and gentle. He’s a killer. He’s a genius. He’s stubborn. He’s ridiculous. He’s unfunny. He’s adorable. He’s beautiful. He’s kind. He’s miraculous. He’s inspiring. He is a holy unnatural, amazingly flawed, perfectly damaged, horribly broken man.

He’s Dean Winchester. 

And you wouldn’t want him any other way. 

For @deanwinchesterswitch and all the true Dean Girls out there.

[xinfinityl0ve17]

KOZI (MALICE MIZER) ASTAN - 2005 Vol.21

Translated by my cousin (corrections are always welcome)

Malice Mizer: MALICE (MALEVOLENCE) AND MIZERE (TRAGEDY)

A comprehensive biography of this band, which is second only to X-Japan in importance within J-Rock or Visual Kei, would be too extensive. Here, we will focus on the period starting with Gackt's entry into the band.

Malice Mizer was founded in August 1992 by Mana and Közi (Kouji). After several line-up changes, the band consisted of: Gackt (vocals, piano), Mana (guitar, keyboards), Közi (guitar, violin), Kami (drums), and Yu-ki (bass) starting in August 1995.

Shortly thereafter, the group released their second album, "Voyage (sans retour)," marking a first step toward superstardom. The musicians' popularity steadily increased, attracting the attention of major record labels. Thus in 1997, MM signed with Columbia in Japan. Their first single, "Bel Air kuhaku no toki no naka de," was released followed by TV appearances and radio shows as well as the famous concert at Nihon Budokan.

In 1998, "Merveilles" was released. Malice Mizer was at the peak of their career, embodying everything associated with superstardom. Fan displays overshadowed anything conceivable, and Gackt could undoubtedly be referred to as the most popular Japanese show star at the time. The concerts were elaborate events, with costumes and staging that surpassed everything seen before. However, the fractures within the band were unmistakable. While Gackt seemed to thrive in the J-Pop Olympus the remaining members were striving for artistic quality. Disputes ensued, resulting in Gackt leaving the band in January 1999. As if that weren’t enough, drummer Kami passed away later that year due to an arterial brain hemorrhage. Following Kami's death, on September 21 1999 the band decided to take a hiatus.

Their fourth album, "bara no seidō," was released in August 2000 under an indie label, Midi:NetteM+M which was the newly established label owned by the band. The album "bara no seidō" is an epic work, heavily influenced by German classical music. Choral passages and long instrumental sections elevate this work to classic status. The trio of Mana, Közi, and Yu-ki experimented on this album without a fixed singer or drummer. This is undoubtedly the most impressive and monumental work by MM, although its reception from the audience could have been better. Perhaps under this impression, the band decided to recruit a new singer, Klaha, in August 2000. The sound shifted towards an epic and darker rock sound. With Klaha, MM returned to catchy melodies, though they were far removed from the J-Pop of the Gackt years. In my opinion, this is the best, albeit temporarily concluding, chapter of the group.

A few singles were released afterward. The last tour took place in July 2001, after which the band disbanded. Klaha began his solo career, Közi is currently active as a solo artist and as a member of Eve Of Destiny, while Mana has become a well-known figure in Japan with his own fashion line and Gothic Lolita shops. He continues to be active as a musician in his band MDM. Yu-ki is no longer prominently involved in music.

It’s also essential to look into the successor bands of Malice Mizer. I can't find anything appealing in Gackt and Klaha's solo works. I really enjoy Eve Of Destiny, as well as everything Mana releases to the public. EOD is an industrial goth band; Mana is much heavier but also more classical in orientation. Közi's solo work sounds very relaxed and somewhat French, although he writes in English.

I have met Közi several times and found him to be a somewhat shy and introverted man. However, he is a very nice guy. But that’s just a side note. What fascinates me is the band's fluctuating musical trajectory. By the time Gackt joined, the typical "growing pains" of any group had settled, and a first creative peak was reached with Gackt. The time with Gackt was the commercially most successful period, and the concerts were a dream visual event. The costumes changed multiple times during the show, and the staging would be compared to German theatrical productions.

Part 2

Groups like Rammstein would turn green with envy. Musically i find Gackt quite uninteresting. He knew how to present himself well in the spotlight but that’s about it. Gackt after Malice Mizer is nothing more than slimy, sweet-and-sour J-Pop. A nod to Herr Rohlen. Artistically an MM album like "bara no seido" is much more impressive. Some elements remind me that both Mana and Közi are great admirers of the German composer Bach. This influence is unmistakable. These influences, combined with Közi's and Mana's magnificent guitar playing, elevate "bara no seido" to a masterpiece for this group. The musicality of Malice Mizer is one of the outstanding characteristics of the Japanese band. The range of instruments spans from the standard instruments of a rock band to very European instruments such as clavichord, spinet, violin, or accordion. One might think that nothing catchy could emerge from this, but that is precisely one of the band's strengths.

Each song is assigned a style and a color. Mana represents the color blue, in which his clothing is designed. Mana is an imposing figure who can only be described as beautiful. When I first saw a video by MM, I thought the guitarist looked quite good. Not to mention, the guitarist is a male. In Japanese tradition, it is not so unusual for a man to appear feminine. Mana gives few interviews and hardly speaks in public, yet he is the creative mind behind Malice Mizer. He has perfected the Gothic Lolita style and can be understood as the counterpart to Gackt. Gackt does not wear white makeup and is considered by a large part of the female MM fans to be the quintessential fairy tale prince.

Közi represents the color red. He appears quite androgynous as an MM member. At the same time, he is aloof, reserved, and doll like fragile. Kami represents the color purple and Yu-ki represents yellow and/or orange. Noteworthy about him is his occasionally drawn-on occasionally real beard. Klaha’s color is either black or white. He later takes on Gackt's role but is much more masculine and less boyish than Gackt.

The look of this group. Malice Mizer seems to change costumes like others change underwear. It’s incredible how tastefully and stylishly Malice Mizer dressed and presented themselves. The staging on stage and in the videos is trendsetting and has not been achieved by any group known to me before or since. The transition from a metal band to a VK group and ultimately to a heavily Gothic-influenced act is marked by significant breaks. Yet, one can always recognize Malice Mizer's typical sound. For anyone who is now curious, I strongly recommend checking out the live DVDs or the group’s videos. Personally, I really enjoy the videos and music from the time with Klaha. The videos with Gackt are more colorful, vibrant and playful. I can recommend all DVDs from Malice Mizer.

The End

[doomandgloomfromthetomb]

Sister Ray In The 70s

Something special to close out the year — SISTER RAY IN THE 70s! This custom-made Doom & Gloom compilation gathers together a whole lot of "Sister Ray," as performed by Lou Reed and his various bands between 1972 and 1980. One hour, 47 minutes. More ding-dongs than Hostess. Would make a great quadruple LP bootleg, if you ask me.

Everyone’s favorite transgressive-in-many-more-ways-than-one Velvet Underground epic wasn't exactly a standard during this time. But when Lou wanted to let everyone (including himself) off the leash for a bit, he'd break "Sister Ray" out as a vehicle for some unholy/unhinged jams/vamps/raveups ... and judging by what we've got here, he really enjoyed doing so. This is gnarly stuff, shameless, harrowing and totally fun. Not for the faint of heart — but none of you are faint of heart, right?!

"Sister Ray" (Leicester University, Oct. 14, 1972)

A roar rises up from the crowd when Lou announces: "This is the sad, sad story of Sister Ray." With the Tots grooving behind him, it starts off in a mellow mode — which is good, because it allows Lou to really sing, making sure to annunciate every nasty lyric. Soon, everyone’s cooking (for the down five).

"Sister Ray" (Kansas City, May 2, 1973)

The short-lived Moogy Klingman-led lineup gives "Sister Ray" a cartoony, streetwalking funk strut, hooting and hollering behind Lou. Extra props to the drummer (known only as Chocolate), who taps out the appropriate beat during the "Who is that knocking?" section. "RIGHT!!!!" Lou exclaims approvingly.

"Sister Ray" (Buffalo, Dec. 8, 1973)

As far as I know, this is the only recording of the Rock & Roll Animal band tackling "Sister Ray," but it's a 20+-minute doozy. Of course, it takes about 10 minutes for Lou to enter the scene — lord only knows what he was getting up to backstage. Despite a wonky mix that occasionally is overtaken by pummeling drums and bass, it's a vicious listen. I like that it all comes to a pretty definitive conclusion before Lou realizes he hasn't sung the concluding verse and revs things for a final ride ride.

"Sister Ray" (Stockholm, May 14, 1974)

This one starts at a blinding white light/white heat pace, everyone riding a locked-groove riff for as long as they can. Guitarist Danny Weis is off the chain here, reveling in both chicken scratch funk and insane feedback. Lou's tambourine accents make me think of On The Corner's infernal sleigh bells, and his "CooooouLLLLDDDNnnnnt hiiiiIIIIIIIIITTTTTttttt iiiIIIIITTTTTtttttt siiiiiIIIIIIIIIdewaaaaaayyyys" vocalizations towards the end are wicked.

"Sister Ray" (Boston, October 29, 1976)

Lou had Doug Yule, an actual member of the Velvet Underground, in his band in 1975, but for some reason, "Sister Ray" wasn't played that year. But she was back in action in '76 — and in Boston, we get to hear a key "Ray" ingredient we haven't heard much of so far: Lou's skronked out guitar work. It's as if he walked past the old Boston Tea Party on the Fenway that afternoon and thought, "Ohhhh yeah, I used to really shred!" And shred he does, dueling mightily and furiously with sax man Marty Fogel. I'll also recommend this video of "Sister Ray" from a week later, which doesn't feature any six-string pyrotechnics but is awesome nonetheless.

"Sister Ray" (Lund, March 26, 1977)

With Michael Fonfara's icy electric keys mixed way up and Michael Suchorsky's locked-in drums, this almost sounds more like "Kicks" than "Sister Ray." I think that's Lou on distorto guitar there at the beginning, but he mainly focuses on delivering his whiplash vocals as the song progresses. Fogel starts to get pretty loose towards the middle, though I wish he'd cut loose even more — and I definitely wish there was a tape of Don Cherry sitting in on "Sister Ray" from around this era! The car crash ending is a blast, too.

"Sister Ray" (New York City, May 21, 1978)

"Sister Ray" takes no prisoners! This one from one of the many Bottom Line sets Lou and the Everyman Band played in 1978 is a tense slow-burner, sometimes dropping down to a whisper, Lou adding profane/profound asides and stopping to tell an old Warhol story. "Andy said, 'Make sure you do the song that's got suckin' on my ding-dong on it.' I said, 'Oh, why? Social commentary?'" Also fun: the band seems to be having a long disagreement about where the changes of this three-chord boogie are. Come on, Moose! (Sadly, this is one of the more lo-fi documents included here — where, oh where, is my Take No Prisoners: The Complete Recordings boxed set?!)

"Sister Ray" (London, April 10, 1979)

One of the weirder "Sister Ray"s I've come across — though that might be partly the fault of the cavernous acoustics we're dealing with. There's a long solo guitar extravaganza (Chuck Hammer, I presume?) to kick things off, and then a monomaniacal/mechanical beat from Suchorsky, the crowd clapping along, Lou hollering over the top; it almost has a Suicide vibe? Then there's a terrifying drone-metal dirge coda ... Chaos! But that's what "Sister Ray" is all about, right?

"Sister Ray" (Avellino, June 16, 1980)

Lou's insane 1970s had ended and the sober 1980s loomed (Loum-ed?) before him. But he wasn't done with "Sister Ray." Or maybe "Sister Ray" wasn't done with him. Fittingly, this version feels a little bit exhausted, some flop-sweat, some out-of-gas fumes. "Give me some rhythm — FUCK!" Lou yells at the gang early on. But it still rocks, don't worry. My favorite part is Fonfara's wildly inappropriate synth solo. Mainline located!

📷: Lars Jonsson, Copenhagen May 1974 (via weaponsetc)

[izzabela]

Howdy 🤠 I hope you’re having a good day! Love your work. Could you do a fic where Johnny finds the fem reader crying because she got broken up with by her first girlfriend? He comforts her and gives her some relationship advice. Maybe throw in a line like “I just thought I was capable of being loved.” Some good angst/comfort please and thank you.

The Other Woman - Johnny x fem!reader

in which you get dumped during a epic party

a/n: omG thank you for reading my shit!

ship[s]: johnny x bi!fem!reader

warning(s): bits of angst, fluff, comfort, post-story, friends to lovers(ish)

You were supposed to be taking a break from training and sparring under Liu Kang.

You were supposed to be having fun with your friends at Johnny's mansion to celebrate his latest movie hit.

You were supposed to be confident in your girlfriend and yourself, that your bond wouldn't break like some do in those cheesy Hallmark films.

Instead, you were upstairs, tucked away in an extra room in Johnny's house, sniffling into a pillow you hugged close to your chest.

Your pretty, black satin dress was wrinkled as you were balled up in the corner of the room. You could feel the music's bass bump through the ceiling and vibrate through the floor of the bedroom.

No one was upstairs, since Johnny had put up a gate and a "DO NOT ENTER" sign over the ceiling edge for his guests. You, though, were the exception.

You were good friend with Mr. Carlton. Formerly a set-partner in his old movie, Flesh Pits, you two kept in touch after wrapping the movie.

At the time, you were dating a cute little barista girl at the local cafè in the studios of Hollywood, so Johnny knew to back off the flirty advances with you.

You were by his side when he fought Kenshi, trained alongside him, Thunder Lad, and Razor Rang, helped him out of Shang Tsung's lab, and every other event that happened during the timeline fiasco.

With everything that happened, it brought you two closer as friends, and you integrated well with the other men. You also met many other allies, women like Ashrah, Princess Kitana, Mileena and Tanya, and more women that aided you in you quest to stop the Titan.

You should have realized that being gone for an unforseen amount of time, leaving no texts, leaving no note, being with both handsome and ravishing women, would definitely send your girlfriend over the edge. When you came back, you though everything was going good.

That text on your phone proved you wrong tenfold.

To put it simply, she broke up with you claiming you lost your priorities. Claiming you didn't put her first, claiming you were unreachable, claiming, claiming, and claiming.

Worst of all, she claimed you were too much for her. You had too many responsibilities, which took you away from her.

"Tch," you scoff as you read the messages. Unfortunately, she wasn't entirely wrong.

After the events of Titan Shang Tsung, Johnny recruited you as his assistant director for the new series he was making (he actually shoved unedited garble on paper into your hands, saying you had to look over it).

Unironically, he named it "Mortal Kombat", and this was a task given to him by Liu Kang in order to introduce the world to... well, the world.

You were also sent on joint missions with the OIA. As one of Liu Kang's champions, the weight to protect the entirety of Earthrealm was huge and heavy.

You were sent on missions for weeks on end, and if you were unlucky enough, months. It was an inconvenience to many people, the most to your girlfriend.

New tears reclaimed your old ones, traversing down the dried stains on your cheeks as the reality of your situation begins to settle.

You're officially single- and if I dare say, it isn't your fault.

As you keep crying into your pillow, you don't notice the door behind you open, muffled steps on the plush carpet as you feel a slight weight on the floor.

Your head is up from the pillow, and your bleary eyes see a figure with pink over his eyes and a pink scarf around his neck. A warm arm hooks you into his chest and you take a whiff of the cologne.

Ah, it's Johnny.

You take a deep inhale, breathing in the pricey cologne, before another wave of tears leave your eyes. Johnny's in a slight fit on what to do, but he lets you claw at his back as you hug him and wail.

"Good thing I sound-proofed my rooms," Johnny griped a bit, which earns him a shove on his shoulder.

"Ow! H-hey! What's the big dealy-o?" You get up and out of his embrace, finding your phone across the room and opening it to your messages. You then toss the phone to him, and he begins to read where the break-up text begins.

"I..." he's breathless at the sight. His eyes dart up and down as he scrolls, trying to find any pretense for what could have caused this.

Unfortunately, no answers come from the texts as he hands your phone back. He takes the star-shaped shades off his face, placing them up on his head as he tosses the feather boa to the ground.

"Wanna sit and chat about it?" he inquired, sitting on the bed and patting a space next to him. You waddle to him, pillow clutched in your arms as you plop down next to him.

"I mean, I should have seen this coming," you sniffled, wiping snot off your nose. Crying into that pillow grossly accumulated the secretions from your nostrils, and it caked up at your nose.

"Good God, woman." He takes his button-up off and hands it to you as a makeshift tissue. "At least wipe."

You offer a small "sorry" before obliterating your eardrums with the roughest blow of your nose. Thankfully, Johnny's got a white tank underneath, meaning his incredible figure is out.

You can't focus on that, though, since your life just got the latest installment update. After blowing your nose, you continue to rant.

"I knew I was busy. Hell, she knew I got busy," you wipe your eyes gently with a clean spot of his shirt.

As mentioned before, you had the full plate of protecting the whole realm. However, as a normal human being, your girlfriend had her own problems, issues, and tasks to take on.

Just as you needed her, she needed you, but you weren't there.

"I know I can be a lot. Fuck, I did my best to keep it all down for her. And yet, I can't control it."

When you're overwhelmed, you find it a bit harder to open up to those around you- even your loved ones. You promised your (now ex) girlfriend you'd work on it, get better, but your chance was gone in the blink of an eye.

Johnny, for once, is quiet, with the only noise being the music bumping from the floor below you two. He's got a sympathetic frown on his face- it's clear he's been here before.

"I just.... I just though that I'd get it right for once," you murmur quietly.

You had shit luck with love. It wasn't that they were complete assholes, some of your exes were wonderful people. It's just that, you were a bit harder to get to.

As mentioned before, you wee hard to each when overwhelmed. However, in general, you were hard to reach period. You kept to yourself, despite the people you called friends. You were incredibly independent, to the point that you never opened up about how you truly felt.

In short, a really stubborn doormat- people walking over you (with a couple of pricks on the bottom of their feet).

"I thought that maybe, she'd get me. With how things were going, I really thought I was capable of..." your breath hitches as you mutter out the rest of your sentence.

"I thought that with all that I am, all that I have, I was capable of being loved."

Another wave of emotion comes over you, and the rest of your resolve breaks as your eyes overflow with fresh tears. The saltiness is in your mouth, and you can't help but choke on taste of it.

The bed is suddenly lighter, and Johnny is on his knees in front of you, both hands on yours as he declares a fact you didn't know about yourself.

"If you were hard to love," he begins, "You wouldn't have me, Ken-doll, Raiden, or Razor-rang by your side."

His hazel eyes stare into your colored ones, trying to touch your soul with his words. However, you look away as little baby tears fell from your eyes again.

He forces you to look at him, a firm (yet gentle) grip on the back of your head as he pressed your forehead on his.

"If you were hard to love, you wouldn't even have those shit-ass exes of yours!"

You let out a gargled chuckle, slightly choking on the snot and spit that was fresh in your mouth and nose. As fucked as it sounded, he was right.

You were capable of being loved, you had many friends to prove it. By the elder gods, you were friends with others not from Earth. You remember your letters with Kitana and Mileena, the spars with Tanya and Li Mei, not to mention the late night walks at the Academy with Ashrah.

You remind yourself of the meals you shared with Kung Lao, whether you won or lost bets was unimportant. You recall the chores you did with Raiden during the slow day back at the Academy, you even reminisce on the days Kenshi scolded you for training too hard.

Of course, you can't forget your best friend, Johnny. You think back to the days Johnny treated you to lunch after your scene-wraps during Flesh Pits. Memories of some birthdays spent with Johnny, even little pick-me-up dates where he'd cheer you up with karaoke or bar-hopping.

You were able to be loved, those people were just cowards. They didn't give all of them for you the way you gave your whole self to them.

Finally calming down, you realize how close you were to Johnny. You could see the shine in his eyes, despite the evident darkness in the room. You could feel his warm, ragged breath on your face as the faintest scent of alcohol whiffed into your nose.

You also note the delicate features of his face: the slight rough skin texture, healed scars from the battles he had endured, even a couple of freckles around his nose.

Was he always this handsome?

You smile and pull away from him, standing up and stretching your body of any kinks or aches it felt while curled up as you were. Concealed in the darkness was Johnny's pink cheeks from how close you two were.

"Thanks, Carlton," you tease him, dropping a bit of his government name. He scoffs, but he gets up as well, making eye contact with you as he searches your face for a sign of any more discomfort.

"Johnny," you groan, "I'm alright now, really."

Johnny takes your hand in his, fingers intertwining as he brings the back of your hand to his mouth. He kisses it, his warm lips making you turn a bit pink in the dark.

"Just remember, you've got so much more than what that bitch had to offer," Johnny says with a confident straight-forwardness.

You look at the door and back at Johnny, and he begins to lead you to it. However, you tug his hand right before he opens it, which makes him pause and stare at you again.

"What? Nervous?" he taunts. You laugh, shaking your head as you let go of his hand to straighten your dress and wipe away any hints of sadness.

You booty-bump Johnny out of the door's way, flicking your hair in his face as you turn to him with your signature, radiant smile.

"Not sure you can handle this much boom, Cage." You wink at him, flinging the door open as you allow the deafening music to envelope you again.

He smirks.

"You're on, pretty girl."

==================

thank you so much for the request! this was actually a lot of fun to write, despite me restarting this fic two times in my drafts

if you guys haven't noticed, i've been calling Kung Lao "razor-rang" because of a little HC of mine due to Johnny's love of nicknames

hope yall enjoyed, and i'll see yall in the next fic!

[thy-valhallen]

Batfam Voices as Instruments

Batfam voices as instruments bc i think of things very musically and it struck me others don't

Bruce: bass guitar. he's low and deep and when he speaks, you feel it in your eardrums, straight into your jaw. his words are like injections into your skull, feel intense and impossible to ignore-- but he has softer moments, too. quiet, gentle plucking of strings, the careful, slow strums of a man who plays only for the ears who will know what the notes will mean

Alfred: viola. slightly deeper than a violin, but mostly just warmer. a voice you hear and want to hum along to, a voice that sits in your ears before it sinks into your chest. it's gentle and sways with grace across strings and notes, it plays a harmony that supports and compliments, that is a steady through-line for everything that surrounds it

Dick: trumpet. brassy and loud and present and fuck do you KNOW when he's in the room. he's so bright and warm and MEANT to be heard. you hear him in your heart, every time he speaks, feel it deep in every vein like he's writing gospel into your DNA. and usually it's jazzy, it's excitement and riffs and improv and leaping off the page and doing cartwheels across a music staff-- but he's just as capable of whispersoft confessions of heartbreak and loss in D minor, can let loose a lament of all he's lost in an elegy of epic proportions

Barbara: harp. a challenging instrument to understand and play, and one she plays with ease. she is plucking strings with careful fingertips, strums across them all with a single hand. she's a melody that glides past your ears, a song that doesn't sink in-- if you're not paying attention to the hooks that latch into your brain. she is careful compositions and sweeping songs arranged for each audience with care. yet when she feels wrath, she shreds herself to make sure you feel it-- she takes scissors to her own strings to cut deeper than the song could alone

Jason: cello. deep and contemplative, with a sort of vibration that bites into your bones from the moment he opens his mouth. waxing poetic is his native tone, and it sounds like a bow dancing across strings and fingers traversing the frets like they were made for it, a soothing melody that could be a lullaby. when fury comes, the sound alone is so sharp where it's settled into your joints that you can't fight back; it's vicious strokes across the strings that shred the bow's hairs without care, wrath in every pull like it's a sword. he can settle into the orchestra or he can sweep them all offstage to stand alone against the conductor that dared to direct him

Cass: marimba. light and soft and so very deliberate. all those bars close together, and each hit with precision, because when Cass speaks, each sound and syllable is effort and choice and control. she is range and gentle dancing note to note and a sound that settles on your skin like a gentle rain, clinging and soft and so very present. to hear it is to hear if a storm could sing and serenaded the sky it calls home. she is echoing in an empty room until she fills it herself (i think of this specifically)

Tim: piano. it's all about the force put into it-- he can be the most careful, calculated guy in the room, playing with all the rigor and rigid professionalism of a NY Symphonic pianist. but the real Tim is the one who's fingers flutter playfully over the keys, who's voice cracks from laughter and sleep deprivation and stress, who trembles between octaves as his fingers tire but makes the leap anyway. he is clear ringing notes in a crowded room and rambling words like a glissando back and forth across the ivories, he is a song quiet enough to fall to the background but a complex and delicate tune if you care to listen

Steph: drum kit. she is all intensity and living in the moment and sharp impacts and a beat that never stops, never waits for the rest. she can get lost to the rest of the voices in a room, but you'll never shake that she's in your head, that her voice is there and present and presses against the base of your skull like it wants to worm straight in. she's rhythm and motion and changing things up just to do it; her voice hops from the snares to the bass to the snares and back to bass and never lets you think between notes, she's moving so fast, because it's all her, nothing she ever has to question, even if she makes you question with every slam on the cymbal

Damian: violin. he is careful in his every motion, ever meticulous with all he does; he lives in fear of being out of tune, of off-key notes for a long time, and so each one is practiced and known to the point of monotony. but over time, he thaws and the notes become more loose, more free-- he speaks less like his eyes are glued to the page, furiously tracking each note he'll play and more like the natural he is-- he becomes sharper in a different way than the rest of him, notes out of place that jut from the rest and it's okay that they do, a hum of songs that don't follow classic melodies and don't feel the need to. don't mistake it though-- his voice has always been as regal and pointed as the rest of him was raised to be, and his voice grabs both your ear and your eyes, dragging you to look at him, for him to be seen and noticed and given attention

Duke: saxophone. he is deep and rich and resonating. his voice is emotion and expression and honesty. his voice sits on your tongue because hearing him makes you want to speak, want to talk and chat and ramble with him, to reply to his melody with any harmony to match. he is a voice meant to be heard by many, who may not stand out in a room naturally but makes himself stand out by the passion in his voice. he is a slow, experimental hand that plays notes with hesitance until the rhythm hits him and suddenly, it's a melody of energy and power and a presence that he doesn't even know he has

[marimayscarlett]

'Herzeleid' turns 29 today 💿🎶

Rammstein's first album 'Herzeleid' was released on the 25th of September in 1995, 29 years from today.

The album was recorded in Stockholm, Sweden, partly at Polar Studios (built for ABBA back then), mostly for bass, drums and some guitar tracks, and partly at the private studio of Jacob Hellner and Carl-Michael Herlöfsson, the producers of this album, where the main recording of the guitars as well as Till's singing took place. The band actually wanted to have Greg Hunter as a producer, yet he wasn't that thrilled as he visited one of the band's practices and reportedly fell asleep during it.

A famous and integral part of the album is of course the song "Du riechst so gut" - for this song, the band wished for a special effect for the line "Der Wahnsinn...", is it should sound like it would come from a telephone line. To achieve that, one of the band members went out to a Stockholm subway, wearing nothing but a white t-shirt, suspenders, boots, and shorts. From the subway, he called the studio and repeated the line "Der Wahnsinn" over and over again in different intonations. As a result, a worried passer-by called the police, reporting a man shouting German phrases into a phone.

The first mix of the album was done by Hellner and Herlöfsson as well, and Richard was present as the only band member during this mixing. He wasn't satisfied with the result, and called the rest of the band, the management and the label Motor Music. It was collectively decided that they needed a new person for mixing the sound, and as a result, a second mixing session took place in Hamburg at the Chateau du Pape studios, together with the producer Ronald Prent. For each song, several mixing version were produced, and each of the versions were discussed by the band.

In total, 18 songs were procuded in 6 weeks. The seven songs which didn't make it on the album are most likely: Feuerräder, Jeder lacht, Schwarzes Glas, Wilder Wein, Alter Mann, Sadist and an untitled instrumental.

The album was firstly released with a "Riech!" ("Smell!") box, which contained the album (sometimes also the single "Du riechst so gut", sometimes only the single), a small bottle of Calvin Klein's "Obession" as well as several promotion sheets with a epic 'description' of the band and their style (read it here in the rammwiki article).

The album cover of "Herzeleid" sparked heated discussions. Flake said in an interview that newspapers had accused the band members of portraying themselves as "members of a master race" (german: Herrenmenschen) on the front cover. The band firmly rejected this allegation. But the band itself wasn't exactly thrilled with the cover either. Richard said in an interview that the cover looked like an advertisement for gay porn. The band had the photos for the cover taken in a parking lot without thinking about the result.

Alternative covers for the North America version as well as the XXV Anniversary Version, as well as the polish version in cassette form:

More various facts:

The Rammstein menhir was an additional promotional item, which was send out about 50 times to selected record stores to be used as a presentation spot for the albums. It's to this day one of the rarest Rammstein items, eventhough it has been sold over ebay several times.

When "Herzeleid" was released in 1995, it only reached number 99 in the German charts. It was only after "Sehnsucht" was released two years later that "Herzeleid" reached its highest chart position at number 6.

The first album after the album release was held on the 13th of october 1995 in Zurich, Switzerland, which marked the 9th concert in their Herzeleid tour and the first Rammstein concert outside of Germany.

On some early pressings of "Herzeleid", the words "Schulhof" and "töten" in the song "Weisses Fleisch" are censored by beeps.

The track "Wollt ihr das Bett in Flammen sehen" contains samples from the PC game "Doom". A scream from the game character and the shotgun being fired can be heard.

In the chorus of the track “Heirate mich”, Till Lindemann sings the syllables "Hei, Hei, Hei". This was interpreted by some critics as "Heil, Heil, Heil" and therefore as a right-wing extremist and national socialist message. The band defends itself against this interpretation.

Sources: rammwiki, radiobob

[fanfoolishness]

Lightweight(s)

The Bad Batch's first ever night out on the town, early on in their careers. Fluff, silliness, alcohol, general shenanigans and boys being boys. ~4200 words, somehow!

---

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” said Hunter, casting a wary eye at the entrance of 79’s.  Booming music spilled out onto the platform, waves of synth-funk and pounding bass already half-deafening.  The neon lights made his tongue prickle with the taste of ozone.

“Hey, how often do we get to shore up on Coruscant?” Wrecker asked, shoulder-checking him on his way out of the cab.  “C’mon.  The regs are always goin’ on about this place.  I wanna see what the big deal is!”

”The big deal is alcohol, of course,” said Tech.  He folded his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow at the garish neon and the clusters of clones in off-duty blues and standard issue armor milling about.  “And the chance to imbibe it aggressively.  I’ve heard some of the tales that come out of this place, too, and things don’t always end well.  I suggest we take a more moderate approach, given none of us has ever had the chance to drink before.”

“We’ll be fine, Tech,” Crosshair said, adjusting his toothpick.  “We’re defective, remember?  I’m sure we could drink these regs under the table.”

”Don’t get cocky,” said Hunter, though he had to admit he was curious.  “It’s not a contest.”  

They’d just come off their fifth ever mission, riding high on how they’d managed to pit two tactical droids and their armies against each other with epic results, and he thought of the medals they’d been awarded for it.  He’d stowed his safely in his bunk on the Marauder until he could figure out what to do with it, but every time he glanced at it, he couldn’t help but feel a fierce pride.  They did deserve to blow off some steam after that.

Wrecker led the way into the bar, more than a few clones turning and staring at him — then at the rest of them as they filed through.  Too tall, too short, too broad, too skinny.  Though they were wearing their blues, there was still no hope of blending in.  A few stared at Tech’s goggles and Crosshair’s silver hair in particular; most were smart enough to avert their gaze at Wrecker’s bulk, given Wrecker would happily give them a shove if they mouthed off.  

Hunter watched the other clones’ faces carefully, ready in case anything started, but they made it to the bartender without incident.  Under the pounding music, he thought he heard a few whispers, but nothing major.

The clone behind the bar tilted his head, giving them an appraising look.  “Ninety-nines?” he ventured, his face impassive.

”What gave it away?” Wrecker laughed.  

“Problem?” Crosshair drawled, leaning over Wrecker’s shoulder.

”No problem.  Money’s money,” the bartender said with a shrug.  “What’ll it be?”

The four of them looked at each other.  They hadn’t gotten that far.

”Four harvest brews,” Tech said.  The bartender nodded and turned away.  Tech leaned in close to them to be heard.  “It’s a reasonable first drink.  Lower proof, known to be easy to drink.  I suggest we see how that goes and proceed from there.”

 “Did you research the menu ahead of time?” Hunter asked, already knowing the answer.

”What do you think I was doing in the cab?”

”Lower proof,” Wrecker said.  “Does that mean it’s for lightweights?  ‘Cause I’m no lightweight.”

“We’d noticed,” said Crosshair.

”Careful, Wrecker.  Don’t let it go to your head.”

The bartender returned with four large glasses of foamy amber ale and Hunter reached for his credits.  The Republic didn’t pay much, but they had nothing else to spend it on.  Why not this? 

The bartender held up a hand.  “Want to start a tab?”

”Yeah!” Wrecker said before Hunter could stop.  

“All right, sure,” Hunter said, feeling only slightly uneasy.

They took their drinks to a far corner of the bar, where a bunch of regs clustered around a table lined with two sets of glasses.  Hunter watched curiously as one tossed a small light ball into the air, bouncing it off the table until it clattered against the opposite side’s glasses harmlessly.  He groaned, the clones beside him shoving him and telling him to get it together.

”I propose a toast.  It’s traditional.”

”All right, what do you think?” Hunter asked Tech.

”To Clone Force Ninety-Nine,” Tech said, raising his glass high.  

“To the Bad Batch!” Wrecker crowed, clinking his glass enthusiastically.

”To the Bad Batch,” they echoed, raising their glasses.  They each took a drink.

”Phawww,” Hunter groaned, his nose wrinkling, sticking his tongue out.  The ale was bitter and malty, with an odd sour note.  It clung to the inside of his mouth, and he wished they had some ration bars on hand to cut the taste.  “This is beer?  It’s horrible.”

”I dunno, I kind of like it,” said Wrecker, taking a huge drink.  He coughed and sputtered.  “Maybe I don’t like it that much.”

”Perhaps it’s an acquired taste,” said Tech, looking less than pleased with his drink.  He took another sip, grimacing slightly.  “Or perhaps the intoxicating effects make up for the musty flavor.”

”I think it’s fine,” said Crosshair, drinking a quarter of his glass in one go.  He stifled a cough by chewing frantically on his toothpick, and Hunter rolled his eyes.

”So we just… sit here?  Drinking?” Wrecker asked, doing just that.  He looked puzzled.  “That’s really what people do here?”

”I suppose,” Hunter said.  “You put it like that, it really doesn’t sound like much.”  He tried his beer again, bracing himself, but it wasn’t as bad the second time around now that he knew what to expect.  

“Well, we could always play a game,” Crosshair said slyly, glancing at the regs clustered around their table.  “You know we could destroy them.”

”You don’t even know what they’re playing,” Tech admonished.  He adjusted his goggles.  “Then again, the rules do appear to be exceedingly simple.  Throw the ball into the other team’s cup, they take a drink.  The more intoxicated they become, the less able they are to throw accurately at the other team’s cups. It’s basic enough for even the wildly intoxicated to grasp.  I suspect the wild intoxication is the point.”

”That sounds like a recipe for a fight to break out,” Hunter said, a dozen different incidents of fights they’d had with regs sober coming to mind.  “C’mon lads, forget them.  We’re celebrating kicking ass together, who needs the regs?” He raised his glass again.  “Wrecker!  You nailed Plan Forty-two.  That was one helluva bomb!”

Wrecker laughed, taking another swig.  “Yes it was!  I almost thought I wasn’t gonna have enough chargers ‘til Tech helped me rig those downed droids to blow.  That was awesome!”

”The ensuing explosion was nothing short of tremendous,” Tech agreed.  “Truly inspired!  I was happy to assist.”

”Well, what about Cross’s ricochet taking out half of ‘em before they even got going?” Wrecker said, clapping Crosshair hard between the shoulders.  Crosshair nearly choked on his toothpick and took another drink, his cheeks flushing faintly reddish.

”It was easy,” he said, but Hunter knew he was pleased.  

“Easy nothing.  It was one for the books,” Hunter said, and Crosshair gave him a faint, surprised grin.

”Don’t forget Hunter’s planning,” Tech mentioned.  “We’d never have gotten that trap laid without his enhanced senses.”

“All part of the job,” Hunter said warmly.  Huh.  He felt a little warm all over, come to think of it.  

Wrecker drained the last of his glass, and not to be outdone, Crosshair did the same with his.  “I don’t feel anything,” Wrecker said, disappointed.

”Me neither,” said Crosshair, though Hunter thought his voice sounded a little different, even accounting for the loud music.  His face looked more flushed, his cheeks uncharacteristically ruddy.  Tech was giving him an appraising look.

”It is not instantaneous,” Tech said.  “Perhaps you should give it a moment before —“

”Another round!” Wrecker said, getting up to his feet.  “C’mon, Cross, let’s try something different.”

”You’re on,” said Crosshair, following as Wrecker parted a way through the crowd with his massive shoulders.  

Hunter turned back to Tech.  “I have a bad feeling about this….”

---

Bad feeling?  What bad feeling? 

Hunter snaked an arm over Tech’s shoulders, gripping his arm hard.  “Ahhh, glad we came out tonight,” he said.  He felt pleasantly warm and more than a little giddy, and everything was just funny.  “Just a couple bad batchers out on the town!”

”You could hardly call Coruscant a town,” Tech corrected, his cheeks pink and his goggles slightly askew.  Instead of leaning away from Hunter’s hug, he completed it, his arm draped loosely around Hunter’s waist.  With his other hand he gesticulated dramatically.  “It is an ecumenopolis with the city structure covering all natural features entirely except for a sliver of the planet’s tallest peak, which has been preserved as a —“

”Tech, Tech, Tech,” Wrecker said, draining his second drink and then patting him on the shoulder.  “Drink more.  Smart less.”

”Shots?” Crosshair asked, elbowing a reg out of the way as he came back to the table.  He had four tiny glasses balanced in his hands, each filled with blazing layers of red and pink and yellow liquid.  “They call it a Kamino Sunrise.  79’s special.”  

“We are already exhibiting sufficient signs of intoxication,” Tech pointed out, letting go of Hunter.  He’d drawn the word sufficient out far longer than he needed to, enunciating each syllable.  He held out his hand, tapping his palm as he counted.  “Slurred speech, jovial attitudes, and an expansive broadening of our normal personalities.  Trying these shots may put us over the line from tipsy to — what do the regs call it — wasted.”

”Live a little, Tech,” said Crosshair.  He slammed the shots down on the table save one, a bit of liquid spilling over the rims.  “Come on.  We live or die like men.”

”What does that even mean?” Wrecker roared, laughing and swiping one of the glasses.  “Hurry up!”

“I am living!  But I am also not eager to completely obliterate my exceptional critical thinking skills,” Tech said defensively.  “However, in the interest of brotherly camaraderie, I will try this shot against my better judgment.”

Tech and Hunter picked up their shot glasses, and Hunter gave Tech a look of Well, here goes nothing.  They clinked their glasses together.

”To… to…what are we toasting this time?” Wrecker asked. 

“Uh….”  They stared around at each other, Crosshair nibbling his toothpick, Tech staring off into the distance, Hunter’s mind a complete blank.  He stifled a giggle.

”To Lula!” Wrecker announced.  

Hunter met his brothers’ eyes, and they nodded, roaring, “To Lula!’

They slugged back their drinks, and Hunter had time only to perceive burning sugar spicy sweet before he’d gulped the thing down.  A wobble passed through his legs almost instantly, traveling like a wave from his head down, making everything glow.

“Uh, Cross?  What was in these?”

“I dunno.  I’m not a barkeep,” Crosshair said, weaving slightly where he stood.  He caught sight of the regs at their table and grinned.  “C’mon.  Let’s get ‘em.”

---

The battle was fierce.

The regs had been less than welcoming.  But with Wrecker looming and cracking his knuckles, Crosshair glowering, and Hunter’s relaxed shrug to say you may as well make it easy on yourselves, the regs had relented and given them a go.  (Tech, for his part, had simply shaken his head and rolled his eyes at the whole idea.)

Hunter figured they were sorely regretting it now.  They’d added this round to their tab (hope we brought enough credits!), which had gone a long way towards the regs playing with them.  And like Tech had said, the game was easy.  But it turned out bouncing the ball before it landed in a cup meant the other team had to drink double.  So did calling which cup the ball was going to land in before tossing it.  Absurdly, the effects stacked if both things were accomplished.

Which made Crosshair even more deadly than usual.  

He sidled up to the table, toothpick jutting from his mouth, looming over the playing field like a vengeful Venator.  Hunter could swear one of the regs, a shiny by the looks of him, was actually shaking.  He nursed an ale, keeping watch on the situation.  Funny how the beer seemed to taste a lot better now than it had in the beginning.  He took another drink, grinning.

Crosshair was merciless, especially with Wrecker egging him on.  It was hard not to.  Hunter couldn’t help but whoop with both of them as Crosshair scored hit after hit.  Even Tech whistled once or twice, one of those shrieking whistles with two fingers hooked into his mouth.  

It was a massacre.  Occasionally the other team managed to land a shot, but they were pretty damn gone and they missed far more often than they succeeded.  The few times they did land a shot, Crosshair gamely took a drink each time.  He started slurring his calls, but his aim was as good as ever.

“Cup six, two bounces.”

“One bounce, spin off the rim of cup two, it’ll land in four.  Trust me.”

“Two bounces off the wall, back onto the table, it’ll hop into three --”

“Cup nine from ten feet back, come on, give me some room--”

The regs on the other end of the table groaned.  “Come on!  Someone else has gotta take a turn!  He’s cheating!”

Crosshair drew himself up to his full height, instantly incandescent with rage, his eyes snapping.  He spat his toothpick to the floor, raising his fists.  Oh kriff -- Hunter had time to think before he jumped out in front of his brother, pushing him back with a hand on his chest.  Crosshair staggered into Tech, who managed to catch him before he fell.

“No he’s not,” Hunter bellowed, whirling to face the regs.  He glared at them, showing his teeth.  He’d learned pretty early on with the skull tattoo it was a good way to scare people off, and two of the regs took a step back, sweating.  “But if you’re a bunch of cowards who can’t handle it when someone’s better than you --” He puffed out his chest, crossing his arms.

“Hey!” Wrecker cried, leaning heavily on Hunter’s shoulder.  “Hey Hunter.  Why can’t we all just -- just get along?”  He hiccuped, grabbing one of the cups off the table and taking a drink.  “These guys ain’t so bad.  They’re tiny.  And they suck at ale pong.  But maybe we should all be friends.”

Hunter snorted, looking up at his brother.  “Now I know you’re drunk.”

“Not drunk!  Just…” Wrecker searched for the word.

“Just drunk?” Tech supplied helpfully.

“Yeah!  That’s it, drunk!”

Hunter buried his face in his hands.

Crosshair shoved past him, jerking a finger at the regs.  “This isn’t over,” he snarled.  He went to lean a hand on the table but missed, and promptly crashed to the ground in a pile of long flailing legs.  The regs erupted in laughter.

Tech was bending down, helping Crosshair back up to his feet.  Wrecker let go of Hunter and leaned down, elbowing Tech out of the way and hauling Crosshair up so fast he nearly fell over again.  “Hey, little brother!” Wrecker said loudly.  “You all right?”

“I’m fine, I just -- I must’ve --” Crosshair slurred.  His face suddenly looked pale, and he gripped Wrecker’s arm hard.  “Ooh.  Dizzy.”

“Let’s get you to sit down,” Tech said.  “I tried to warn you.”

“Shut up, Tech --”

“Listen to him, Crosshair,” said Hunter.  “Don’t make me pull rank.”  Crosshair glared, but the fight was going out of him.

They shambled their way back to a free table.  Crosshair was very definitely wobbling.  Wrecker was steady, but he was loudly singing something ridiculous.  Some pop song from the bar?  Hunter focused, or tried to.  Everything was coming through muzzy and muted.  His senses had never been so dull in his life, and he wondered vaguely if this was what normal clones felt like all the time.  

Hunter pulled up a seat at the table, peering at Crosshair.  Wrecker was still humming off-key under his breath.  Tech had disappeared.  Where had he gone to?  Hunter pulled his gaze away from Crosshair, glassy-eyed and pale, and saw Tech over at the bar.  

“Oh he’d better not be getting another round,” Hunter muttered, thinking of Crosshair.  Although he felt fine, if a little wavy around the edges.  Maybe he’d get one more beer before they headed out, ride this feeling a little further…  Nah, that probably wasn’t the best move right now.

“See ya,” Wrecker said suddenly, getting to his feet and taking Crosshair with him.

“What?  Where are you going?” Hunter called after them.

“He’s gonna upchuck!” said Wrecker cheerfully, bustling a tilting Crosshair off into the crowd. “Wanna come?”

Hunter groaned, torn between following them and waiting for Tech.  He got to his feet, wending his way through the crowd until he found Tech at the bar, having an argument with the bartender.

“I’ve calculated our tab, and you have been wildly undercharging us!” Tech accused.  “It’s highly suspicious --”

“It’s half-price night!” the bartender protested.  “Don’t you remember me telling you when you came in?”

“No,” Hunter said.  He leaned in.  “Tech, what gives?  If they want to charge us less, who cares?”

Tech opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again.  He pursed his lips.  “Well.  I suppose it’s his prerogative.”  

“Look, we’d better settle up.  Whatever it is we owe you,” Hunter said heavily.  The bartender gave him a price and he paid it, wondering what was going on with the pricing, but not caring enough to find out.

“Have a good night guys, all right?” the bartender said.  “And here’s some water for the way home.  You’ll need it.”  He slid several bottles of water over to them and Tech and Hunter gathered them up.

“You just had to bring up math, didn’t you?” 

“It doesn’t make any sense.  There is no special, Hunter.  I saw others close their tabs at the normal rate.”

“Maybe he charges less for defective clones.  Credit error in our favor, right?”  

“It’s ridiculous, but -- Ah.  Where did Wrecker and Crosshair go?”

“I think Crosshair overdid it,” said Hunter.  “They’re off to the ‘fresher.  Let’s go find ‘em.”

They found Wrecker guarding the far stall in the busy restroom.  Crosshair was slumped against the wall of the stall, cradling the toilet with one arm.  

“Yikes,” said Hunter.

“I did warn you,” said Tech.

“He’s taking it like a champ,” said Wrecker proudly, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.  “Hey!  You guys brought another round?  I could go for somethin’ else!”

“It’s just water.  And you’re in the bathroom,” said Tech in disgust.

“Aww, man!”

Hunter crept into the stall, crouching beside Crosshair, who had leaned his head against the wall with his eyes closed.  The stall smelled of sick and sweat, nearly enough to turn his own stomach.  “Cross.  You all right?”

Crosshair cracked open one eye and glared blearily at him.  “At least no one had to hold my hair back,” he muttered. 

Hunter bristled.  “Oh, you are such a little --”  Then he grinned.  “Yeah, I think you’ll be all right.  Come on.  Ready to get out of here?”

Crosshair closed his eyes, wincing, then swallowed.  “Eurgh… another minute.”  

Hunter hurried out of the stall, slamming the door shut behind him.

---

They finally made it out twenty minutes later, after Crosshair swore he was done puking.  He was still wobbly on his feet but the glassy look in his eyes had faded.  Wrecker was steering him through the crowd, clearing a path with his vast arms.  Tech followed them, chattering to himself about inefficient business practices, while Hunter brought up the rear.  The crowd had started to thin out by now and it was noticeably less jam-packed and quieter.  Time to get a move on.

There was a lull in the music, and his ears pricked at a conversation carried through an empty pocket in the center of the room.  It was the bartender, talking to someone.  Hunter paused, listening, keeping his gaze averted so as not to alert the bartender he was being listened to.  

“Damn, I’m glad I followed my instinct with those ninety-nines.”

”What do you mean?”

”Well, they may have been defective, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know a shiny when I see one.  Gave ‘em the shiny special.”

“Isn’t that where you only serve ‘em half strength of what they ordered?”

“Yeah.  The brainy one almost figured it out, but the leader called him off.  Can you imagine how messed up those clones would have got if I’d let ‘em have the full-strength stuff?  Bunch of lightweights.”

”Kriff.”

”Yeah.  Poor bastards.  Shinies always overdo it.”

Hunter swallowed. They’d been drinking half of what they thought they had?  Crap.  That was embarrassing.  Shiny special, indeed.

He caught up to the others as they squeezed out through the front door and into the stale night air, finally free of the music that had been dully pounding in the background for hours.  Tech turned back to him.  “I’ve called a taxi.  Should be here in twenty.  I suggest we find a spot to sit down -- far from the edge of this platform, judging by the way our reflexes have been affected.”

“My reflexes are fine,” said Hunter, reaching for his knife to show off.  His hand hit fabric and he remembered he’d left his vibroblade with his armor back on the ship.  He gave Tech a flustered grin.  “Okay, fair point.”

They found a spot to sit against the wall, well away from the plummeting empty space at the edge of the platform.  For a moment, they were quiet, leaning back against the wall and sipping the water the bartender had sent them off with.  Hunter shook his head.  That clone had had their number, all right, as embarrassing it was to admit.  He wondered if he should tell the others, but he kept quiet, his senses slowly coming back to him.

Speeders whizzed by in the dark, flashes of multicolored lights zigging against the blue-black void and the neon across the shaft.  Their engines were bright little hums pressing against his eardrums.  He could feel their wind against his hair, the closest thing to real wind one could find this far down.  He watched them go, on and on, entranced.

Hunter looked over at his brothers.  They all looked drowsy, eyes heavy, faint smiles on their faces.  Tech yawned, leaning against him, head drifting to Hunter’s shoulder.  Hunter adjusted, making it easier for Tech to lean on him.  Beside Tech was Crosshair, his face slack and unfocused, his cheeks flushed, arm slung around Wrecker’s shoulders.  Wrecker was still humming, a cheery little nonsense tune.

“Not a bad night, lads, all in all,” said Hunter.

“It was certainly experimental.  We shall be better prepared next time.”

“You were over prepared!  I coulda kept going.”

“And we all might have blacked out if we’d tried to keep up with you.”

“Don’t fight,” Crosshair mumbled.  “Fun night.”

“Even if you puked your guts out!  Ha, good thing I got you in there in time.”  Wrecker looked way too pleased with himself.  Hunter would have gently smacked him if Tech wasn’t in the way, burrowing further into Hunter to get comfortable, his goggles digging into Hunter’s shoulder.

Crosshair shifted, giving Wrecker something like a hug.  “Wrecker, you’re the best,” he mumbled.  “Had to tell you.”

“Me?  Thanks, Crosshair!” Wrecker said, clearly delighted.

“Best… brother.  ‘Cept when you hog Lula.  Miss her,” Crosshair continued, closing his eyes, sounding half-asleep already.  “Best brother.  ‘Cept Tech.  Or Hunter.  Way better than those regs,” he rambled.

“I am clearly the best brother,” Tech announced, his face still jammed in Hunter’s sleeve.

“Nuh-uh!  He said I was the best first!”

“He said I was the best last,” Hunter countered.  “Beat that!”

“You are all… absurd.  Yes.  That is the word.”

“You’re just jealous!”

“All you… best.  Best brothers…”

“Aww, I think I like cuddly Cross!”

”I suggest we do not tell him of this in the morning.  He appears to have avoided alcohol poisoning, but not by much.  He may blackout and not remember.”

”Not tell him?  Are you kidding? I’m gonna tell him every day!”

Hunter chuckled to himself, taking a drink of his water and trying to get comfortable against the wall until their taxi came.  He watched the speeders zipping back and forth, his brothers arguing at his side, and he thought there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

---

Morning on the Havoc Marauder.

”Am I dead?”

”You are not dead.  You are merely hungover.”

”I think I’m dead.”

”Have some water.  Again, I must assure you, you are not dead.”

”Hunter, am I dead?”

”No.  Listen to Tech.  Drink some water.”

”But —“ 

“That’s an order.”

”Fine.  Also, I hate you both.”

”Sure.”

”I find that unlikely.”

”Wrecker.  Am I dead?”

”You better not be.  I’d be pissed.”

“Aw.  You’d miss me.”

”Yeah, I mean, probably.”

”I hate you too.”

”Love you, Crossie.”

”Don’t call me that — uggh.  My head…”

“Just take it easy, Crosshair.  It’s a while back to Kamino.  Sleep up, take your pain pills, and drink some water.  …lightweight.”

”I am not!”

The ship filled with laughter, and Crosshair took his pain pills, scowling fiercely enough to kill.