#hand tape a cassette or burn a cd

[sweet-frank-iero-bitch]

I think if anyone ever made me a mixtape I would marry them.

[angryasiandyk3]

cd / physical media collector sevika headcanons ! 💿🎸☆*:.｡. ⤵️

☆ sevika enjoys a variety of physical media ! in her car she has a million cds scattered around and a compartment of old cassettes

☆ isha chooses a new cd every day for them to jam out to in the car

☆ everytime jinx tries to connect to aux sevika slaps her hand away

☆ she naturally taps her foot and drums to the beat of the music on the steering wheel or her thighs

☆ she refuses to stream music, mostly because she hates paying the monthly subscriptions and it’s more convenient her for to choose from her collection

☆ sevika is someone likes a variety of genres, anything from classic rock to early 2000’s pop- she just appreciates good music

☆ sevika’s go-tos are middle aged dad rock i.e metallica, pearl jam, primus, van halen, iron maiden etc.

☆ she listened to a lot of old-school punk and hardcore when she was younger i.e the slits, anthrax, lunachicks, social distortion, bad religion, rancid, and some local bands

☆ sevika’s guilty pleasure is pop akin to destiny’s child, salt n pepa, sade, mariah carey, and brittany spears..

☆ between her old cds, cassettes, and vhs tapes she can’t help but hold onto, it makes moving a huge pain in the ass

☆ sevika also enjoys reading, but her hectic lifestyle hasn’t always allowed her the liberty to have time to decompress and read a book

☆ eventually she learns to feel less guilt for allowing herself rest, and she makes time for herself to read before bed

☆ she’s not someone who amasses a lot of physical possessions, but she does enjoy keeping physical media because of the memories she has associated with it

☆ a lot of it reminds her of her youth- she had a very turbulent upbringing, but the music takes her back when things were a bit more simple & less jaded

☆ it makes her recall when she painstakingly recorded her own cassettes and when she would buy shitty cds from local shows as a young punk

☆ jinx & isha burn cds with songs that remind them of sevika, complete with their signature doodles and artwork on the disks and cases of course

☆ sevika is unaccustomed to receiving a lot of gifts, especially ones that are so personal- the fact that her girls would make something so thoughtful means more to her than she lets on

☆ when they present their gift to sevika, she traps them in a strong hug and holds them for a long time, a bit too overcome for words

☆ she listens to their cds when she’s by herself in the car, the windows rolled down as she thinks of them fondly

☆*:.｡. thank you for reading these !! I hope you enjoyed and I’d love to hear any thoughts and other hcs you have 😼 also posted this to my twt @/sxrxndipitous if you wanna follow me there love you guys

[elliecore4eva]

Running in Circles

Pairing : Ellie Williams x Fem! Reader

genre: angst/fluff/ slight smut

Minors DNI

Summary : slow-burn, deeply emotional, and immersive story with all the "Ellie-core" elements—grunge, angst, messy love, and fleeting moments of warmth. Expect complicated feelings, intense bonding, and a dynamic that teeters between comfort and chaos.

based on the request by @wwefan2002

PART TWO: MIXTAPES & MISUNDERSTANDINGS

A week passes, then two. You settle into Tommy’s place, learning the rhythm of the house—the way the floors creak in the morning, the way the kitchen always smells like coffee and something fried, the way Ellie moves like she owns the place even though she barely lifts a finger to help.

She’s frustrating. Sarcastic. Always acting like she knows something you don’t.

And yet, you keep finding yourself in her orbit.

It’s the music, mostly. She plays it all the time—on that beat-up radio, on an old CD player she keeps in her room, on cassette tapes she hoards like treasure. You start recognizing the songs she plays the most. Nirvana, Pearl Jam, The Smashing Pumpkins. The kind of stuff that makes you feel like you should be staring out of a car window while it rains.

One afternoon, you’re flipping through the pile of CDs on the coffee table when Ellie walks in, shaking rain out of her hair.

“The hell are you doin’?” she asks, kicking off her boots.

“Judging your taste.”

She scoffs, walking past you to the fridge.

“Yeah? Lemme guess—you’re into, like, Britney Spears or some shit.”

You glare at her. “First of all, rude. Second of all, no. I like good music.”

Ellie shuts the fridge, a beer in hand. “Uh-huh. Like what?”

You hesitate. You don’t have an answer, not really. You never had anyone to introduce you to the “right” bands, the underground stuff, the classics. The closest thing you had was whatever played on the radio when you were shuffled from one place to the next.

Ellie must see something on your face because she huffs out a laugh, shaking her head. “Jesus. You’re hopeless.”

She disappears down the hall, and you think that’s the end of it—until she comes back a minute later and tosses something at you.

A cassette tape.

You barely catch it, turning it over in your hands. The label is smudged, but you can still make out the words written in messy black ink: For the Clueless.

“What is this?”

Ellie leans against the doorframe, taking a swig of her beer. “Your education.”

You narrow your eyes at her, but she just smirks.

That night, you listen to the tape in bed, headphones on, volume low so Tommy doesn’t yell at you. The first song is "Mayonnaise" by The Smashing Pumpkins, and you don’t know what it is about the way Billy Corgan sings—half-haunted, half-hopeful—but it makes your throat tight.

You fall asleep to it.

The next day, you throw the tape at Ellie’s head.

She dodges it easily, laughing as it lands on the couch beside her. “Wow. Ungrateful much?”

You cross your arms. “I don’t need a musical education from you.”

“Yeah?” She grins, leaning forward. “Then name one good band.”

You open your mouth, then close it. Scowl.

Ellie smirks. “That’s what I thought.”

You hate her. You really do.

Except that night, when you can’t sleep, you rewind the tape and listen to it again.

And again.

Somewhere along the way, things shift.

It’s subtle. Barely there.

Ellie starts leaving tapes in your room without saying anything. You start listening to them without complaining.

She starts sitting closer to you on the porch at night. You start waiting up for her when she’s late.

Neither of you talk about it.

But you feel it.

You feel it in the way she bumps your shoulder when you’re standing too close.

You feel it in the way she watches you when she thinks you don’t notice. You feel it in the way your heart stumbles whenever she says your name.

It’s dangerous. It’s stupid.

You don’t stop.

Reblogs, likes, comments and follows are greatly appreciated.

[fandomsnstuff]

@taznovembercelebration

Day 3: bakery au/playlist

Kravitz gives Taako a gift and gets invited to a party

Read it on AO3

Kravitz stands pressed against the brick wall outside the bakery, out of view of the large stretch of front windows. He drums his fingers on the plastic case in his hands.

This is. Insane. Taako's working. He's almost always been working when they see each other. What on Earth made him think that making him a mixtape in cd form, cassette form, and spotify form (just in case he doesn't have a way to play the other two) would be appropriate?

Sure, they see each other every day when Kravitz comes in for a sweet treat. And Taako flirts with him over the counter every time, and loiters around the little table he sits at by the window to talk to him more. Then of course there was that time they ran into each other at the grocery store and stood in the aisle talking for at least 30 minutes. And the time they ran into each other at the movies and went for dinner and a walk after. Then Taako gave him his number the next day when he came in for a danish, and they text almost every day. Taako even joked that they were meant to be when they found out that Kravitz's old college roommate is his brother in law.

But a mixtape? What is this, 1986?

But here he is, with an hour and a half of music he carefully curated for Taako in three different forms. At this point he can't not give it to him.

He takes a deep breath and walks into the bakery. The bell above the door jingles and Taako doesn't even look up from where he's loading some fresh cookies into the display. "I was wondering how long you were gonna stand out there."

Kravitz freezes. "You could see-"

"Sure could." Taako comes up and leans against the counter, smiling smugly. "Whatcha got there?"

Kravitz hides the tape and cd behind his back, his face burning. "Nothing."

"Doesn't look like nothing." Kravitz takes a very sudden interest in the wall behind Taako. "Tell you what," Taako says, drawing Kravitz's eyes back to him like a magnet, "I'll trade you. You show me what made you stand outside my place of business for 10 minutes, and I give you one of my new ginger molasses cookies, on the house."

Kravitz eyes the cookies in question. They do look good, perfect picturesque cracks on top, sugar on the outside glistening like crystal. And Taako's cookies are always perfectly crunchy on the edges and soft in the middle.

"They just came out of the oven," he says tauntingly, "still warm."

The unfortunate thing is that Kravitz can be bought. Especially with baked goods. "I, um," his heart is still racing, but he approaches the counter, "this is so dumb, but I," he laughs, embarrassed, and presents the gifts, "I made you a mixtape? You mentioned that you've been listening to the same music when you bake since you started working here, and maybe you want to, but I just thought you might like… another option." Taako's very good at keeping his composure, but his eyebrows have raised. Kravitz hopes that's good surprised and not incredulous, bad surprised. "I didn't know what you have to play music so, uh, yeah."

A beat of silence passes, then Taako barks a laugh. He picks up the cassette and flips it over, reading the tracks. "Hozier, ACDC, Taylor Swift," his voice rises in pitch as he reads out the artists, "My Chemical Romance, Ed Sheeran, The Backstreet Boys, Nickleback-" he cackles, "you're a freak, Krav, this fucks."

Kravitz laughs. "You said you like variety."

"Well I've certainly got it now." He puts the tape down and walks back to the display, grabbing a paper bag and a pair of tongs. "I think I owe you two cookies for this."

"You don't have to-"

"Too late!" He packages up two ginger cookies and hands the bag over to him. "No take-backsies."

"Thank you." He takes his treat and sits at his table by the window, watching Taako as he takes his new music into the back, and a moment later the song playing over the speakers stops and Take Me to Church starts.

Taako isn't able to stop and talk to him a lot, he putters around, filling the display case, cleaning, helping other people who come in. When Kravitz is on his way out, Taako calls out, "hey, Krav!" He turns, and Taako says, "do you want to go to a party?"

"Like, in general?"

"No, I'm- there's going to be a party this weekend. With my friends. Barold will be there. Do you want to come?"

"Oh," other than Barry, he hasn't met Taako's friends, "I wouldn't want to intrude on your friends."

"Well," Taako scoffs and crosses his arms, "it's my birthday party so I can do whatever I want and they can deal."

Kravitz's eyes widen. "It's your birthday? I had no idea-"

"You wouldn't. Anyway, you in?"

"Yeah, yes, for sure."

"Cool. I'll text you."

Taako texts him later that day with an address and a time for the coming Saturday. He asks if he should bring anything, and Taako's response of "just your handsome self" makes his heart do somersaults. He considers getting Taako a gift, but he made him a mixtape. Maybe he already considers that his gift. He thinks about bringing wine, but he knows Taako's pretty particular about his wine pairings. The idea of flowers goes straight out the window, that'd be too much.

He follows Taako's instructions and just brings himself. There's food and desserts set out, including a cake that's been pre-cut so people can just grab and go. He asks Taako, "no candles?"

He snorts. "Trust me, you don't want to hear these fuckers sing."

The party itself is… fine. Taako's friends are welcoming, and include him in conversation and games. But there's a history and camaraderie here that he's very clearly not a part of. Of course it's Taako's party, so he can do what he wants, but Kravitz feels like he shouldn't be here.

Taako sticks around in his general vicinity for the most part, which Kravitz is grateful for. It reminds him that he was actually invited. But at some point Taako gets dragged off to do god knows what, and Kravitz takes the opportunity to step outside.

The cool night air is refreshing. He takes a deep breath and sits in one of the patio chairs. A minute later, the sliding door opens and Barry steps out. He sits in the chair next to him, "you okay, bud?"

He shrugs. "Yeah." Barry gives him a sympathetic look that somehow makes him want to spill his guts. Kravitz sighs, "it's just- I'm glad that Taako invited me, but it just feels like- everybody's nice and all, but you've known each other for so long, maybe it'd have been better if his birthday party was just his closest friends, you know?"

Barry snorts. "Sorry, I'm not laughing at you, but," he chuckles and shakes his head, "do you know how Taako normally celebrates his birthday?"

His brow furrows. "He has a party? Has all his friends come and give him presents?"

"No. He lets Lup buy him dinner and that's it. He never wants a party or cake. I'm not even allowed to know where they're going for dinner." He leans in close and lowers his voice, "this party didn't exist until he invited you to it."

"Then…" he looks back through the glass of the sliding door, where Taako's scrambling to get out of Magnus's arms like an indignant cat while Merle loudly sings Happy Birthday, "why?"

Barry looks a little smug. "I have a few ideas."

"Like what?"

He shrugs and stands, clapping a hand on Kravitz's shoulder. "I'll see you in there."

"Wha- Barry!"

But he's already gone back inside.

The Monday after the party, Kravitz is sitting at his table in the bakery, daydreaming out the window when a slice of confetti cake is set down in front of him. Taako sits across from him with his own slice of confetti cake that has a purple candle sticking out of it. He takes a lighter out of his pocket and seem to light and blow out the candle in one go. He picks up the fork on his plate and digs into the cake. Kravitz picks up his own fork and tentatively takes a bite.

"I hear Barold spilled the party beans to you," Taako says after a long silence. He's deconstructing the layers of cake with his fork.

"Party beans?" Kravitz says eloquently.

Taako huffs. "Party beans! The beans about the party!" He slumps back in his chair, and scoops a lump of icing into his mouth.

Kravitz doesn't know what to say, so he says nothing. They both pick at their cake in silence as Green Day serenades them through the speakers.

"I just never really saw the point," Taako says eventually. "For our entire lives, our birthday was just another day, because we had no money to make a big deal about it. Then we got some money and a couple of friends, and we could make a whole shindig about it. Lup loved it, I didn't really care. I liked planning it for Lup, but I just didn't need it for me. I let her take me to dinner because she insists on doing something."

Kravitz takes a moment, then says, "you deserve to be celebrated, Taako."

"I know," he snaps. "A birthday party's just too much."

"But you love getting attention." He shrugs, still slumped in his seat. Kravitz says, "so why the party now?"

"I wanted to spend time with you, doofus. And a birthday party was the first thing that came to my idiot brain."

"Oh." Kravitz stabs at his cake. "You don't need to throw a party to get me to spend time with you." Taako stays low in his seat, looking at his decimated piece of cake. "Can I take you to dinner?"

Taako finally sits up. "As long as you don't tell the waiters it's my birthday. I've been subjected to too many sparklers and stupid hats."

Kravitz laughs. "I think I can manage that."

[homosexualisopod]

Music used to live in our homes. You'd find 5 abandoned MP3 players and about as many ipods living in any of your junk drawers, all weird shapes with songs somebody took the time to curate on some free MP3 downloader website and rename by hand. The shelves would be spilling over with CD cases all stacked haphazardly and your favourite CD lived in the tray of your boombox that took four big ass D-cell batteries that you dared your siblings or friends to lick when it was time to change them out. You'd burn music onto a CD from the computer with the BBL and the barely functioning disk tray that you had to manually pull and push and then you'd scrawl something stupid on it in sharpie and play it until it inevitably got covered in scratches from being loved so well and living unprotected. You'd dig up a cassette tape from an old hair metal band hidden in the basement or the attic or the back of a closet and discover a whole new universe the moment you wound that puppy up and put it in the tray on the front of that boombox. Radios were anything from a piece of furniture with 6 other functions to a little handheld clear plastic freak that you had to hold just right to pick up a radio signal playing your favourite song at the time. You used to be able to touch music and let it know you loved it.

[tunein-rambleon]

DAMN THE MAN! SAVE THE EMPIRE!

Rex Manning Day is this week, so here's my Damn the Man, Save The Empire mix tape tracklist.

Some songs are featured on the movie soundtrack or mentioned in dialogue, others are nostalgic choices of my own from the time, tie into the plot, or are symbolic of one of the characters, but overall I really just wanted to capture the essence of the film and its authenticity.

Cannonball - The Breeders

Light My Fire - The Doors (not 90s, but quoted by Lucas)

Only Happy When It Rains - Garbage

Cut Your Hair - Pavement

When I Come Around - Green Day

Dream All Day - The Posies

Til I Hear It From You - Gin Blossoms

Trapped In A Box - No Doubt

Smells Like Teen Spirit - Nirvana

Transitions - Beastie Boys

Happy Now? - No Doubt

Seether - Veruca Salt

Allison Road - Gin Blossoms

Ridiculous Thoughts - The Cranberries

Hurt - Nine Inch Nails

Hand in My Pocket - Alanis Morissette

Bright As Yellow - The Innocence Mission

I Can't Stop Smiling - Velocity Girl

Circle of Friends - Better Than Ezra

I Will Always - The Cranberries

The Day I Tried To Live - Soundgarden

Sugarhigh - Coyote Shivers (the rooftop concert)

In case you don't have the capabilities to record cassettes or burn CDs, here it is in playlist form on apple music. Hope you enjoy!

[fallenasleepyetagain]

Competing - Blue/Nightmare Fic

Media: UTMV/UTAU

Genres: Human AU, normal multiverse, homoerotic chess game, flirting or threats? who knows!

Characters: King Nightmare, Blue, Dream (mentioned), Ink (mentioned)

Pairing(s): Nightmare/Blue

CW/TW: Threats, Nightmare vaguely taking about his Evil Plans™️

Word Count: 1434

Read it on ao3!

"Have a seat."

Nightmare sat on the opposite side of the large living room from the main entrance. The room was large, and if Blue was there for any other reason, it would've felt homey.

The living room contained a multitude of different activities scattered around the place. There was a large fireplace on the far wall, large and ornate, no fire burning in it at the moment. The floor was a dark wood, but there was a variety of teal and black carpets around the room, specifically around the couches and chairs.

The walls were filled to the brim with tall, wooden bookshelves. On most of them, there were rows and rows of books, as to be expected. Large books with damaged spines and withering covers were located at the top, out of reach, and out of danger. On the lower shelves were magazines and books clearly deemed less important by Nightmare.

On others were rows and rows of video game cartridges, as well as music CDs and cassettes. If Blue had to guess, there were also VHS tapes and recordings of TV shows and movies, but he wasn't close enough to see the exact filmography Nightmare had.

Wherever there weren't book shelves, there were small tables with unfinished projects and board games on them. There were some whittling projects scattered about, as well as a board game with an obvious loser who wasn't willing to throw in the towel.

All of that pales in comparison to, truly, what was the star of the show. On the left side of the room was a beautiful and ornate chess table, built from a dark marble with silver accents.

The pieces were likely hand carved, no two pawns looked the same despite the similar shaping to them. One side was made from a dark metal of some kind, decorated with teal and blue gemstones, the other set being a light silver with orange and white gems.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Nightmare said as Blue stared down at the chess set.

For a moment, Blue forgot where he was, what the stakes were. He nodded, fidgeting with his scarf.

"Shall we play, then?"

"What?"

Nightmare gestured for Blue to sit on the opposing side of the chess table: the side with the silver pieces. He obliged, although his body tensing as he sits down, the bottom half of his face hidden in his scarf.

"Have you ever played chess before, Blue?"

There was some hesitation; Blue's eyes darted to the board, the beautiful chess pieces, before back up at Nightmare. "...Yes. Not recently, but I have. I know the rules."

"Oh wonderful, I was worried that I'd have to teach you. That'd be a lot less fun," Nightmare hummed as he ran his thumb across his nails. "I get to skip to why you're here, which is preferable."

"I'm here to negotiate Dream and Ink's freedom." Blue said, his teeth grinding together. He knew a diplomatic conversation was the only way to succeed. Fighting Nightmare and his gang on his own was out of the question, and he couldn't rely on stealth to free his friends.

Not when Nightmare could hear the quickening of his heartbeat.

"But that's so boring, don't you think?" Nightmare fidgeted with the rook on the far left of the chess board. "We could have an intellectual back and forth, and with you I always do adore it, but this will just be a whole lot more fun."

"I- I mean...I guess so."

"So glad we're on the same page. Now, let me tell you about the stakes of the little game we are about to play."

Fidgeting with his rook, Nightmare allowed the suspense to build for a moment. "It's simple, really. We're playing for Dream and Ink's freedom.

"You win, and you all get to go home! No fights, no stakes, you just get to leave this castle untouched." He sat back in his chair, a sly smile on his face. "We end in a draw, and you take their place. Dream and Ink will be forced out of this universe, and you stay with me."

Nightmare leaned against the table, getting as close to Blue as physics allowed him. "If I win, on the other hand, then you'll never see them again."

"What? What do you mean?" Blue's hand gripped the arms of the chair, his fingers twitching, ready to summon his sword. "You'll kill me?"

"Oh, no no no, you misunderstand. I have uses, for the both of them, you see. And they cannot fulfill those roles until I've got all of you in the palm of my hand."

"And what about me?"

"What about you?"

"They have..." Blue ground his teeth, "uses. I don't?"

"No." Nightmare answered simply, smiling at him. "You're incredibly handsome though and that alone makes me want to keep you."

A shiver of discomfort shot through Blue's spine.

"So, shall we play then? I'll let you make the first move."

"Okay."

Blue looked down at the pieces, there were only a few options for what he could choose as a first move. All of the pawns; he could start with a queen's gambit, and the two knights.

What was Nightmare expecting him to do? Do something classic? Something unexpected? Was something truly unexpected if someone was expecting that was what you're going to do?

"Take as much time as you need."

The knight on the left side of the board reached his hand and he placed it down in front of his pawns.

"Oh, I knew you would make this fun."

Each and every turn was agony. Barely any actual words were spoken, just small hums and the occasional curse word. Blue's heart was pounding the entire time, trying desperately to get into Nightmare's head, and to play unpredictable enough that Nightmare couldn't get into his.

Nightmare's poker face never changed, even as Blue would capture his pieces. Just the softest, saccharine smile on his lips.

"Checkmate."

With ringing in his ears and his heart threatening to leap right out of his chest, Blue glanced down at the board. His throat was dry and he gripped down on his thighs.

"What?" Nightmare looked genuinely shocked. His eyes widened slightly as he scanned the chess board, working through each and every possible move with the remaining pieces on the board. "...Would you look at that. It appears that you've mated me. Congratulations."

Suddenly, Blue felt like his life was on the line. Nightmare stood up, slowly walking to the other side of the board. His nails tapping against the edge of the board.

A shutter left Blue's body as Nightmare got closer, his eyes squeezing shut. He was expecting pain, a fight, something, but it never came. Instead, Nightmare placed a small, shiny key in his hands, his lips close to Blue's ear.

"This was fun. We should do it again sometime." Nightmare said softly, his hand gently caressing Blue's reddening cheeks. He paused after taking a few steps. "Go get your friends. No one will stop you."

"Wait-!" Blue staggered to his feet, clutching the key to his chest. "You were going easy on me, weren't you?"

"Was I?" Nightmare glanced back, a smirk on his face. "Come to me again some time. We'll play again, and maybe you'll know."

Blue watched as Nightmare sauntered away, heart fluttering in his chest. As terrifying as it was, knowing Dream and Ink, and his own livelihood were on the line, it was thrilling.

Thrilling. Exhilarating. No one had ever looked at him the way Nightmare had during their game. Even though Nightmare often referred to him as "mortal," Blue felt as if they were on equal footing.

Is this what Sherlock felt like when he came across foes who could keep up with him?

Nightmare's thought process was a mystery to him, and something deep within Blue's mind wanted to solve it. Nightmare had such power, such control over his magic, his abilities. Blue was almost jealous.

To know Nightmare's mind, every square inch of how his brain works, every part of Nightmare's body-

With a shake of his head, Blue turned on his heel and sprinted to the dungeon. He couldn't be thinking about Nightmare, not when Dream was his best friend.

But...perhaps...in the middle of the night, when Ink and Dream were fast asleep, he could escape to the castle, and play once more. Challenge Nightmare's wits with his own.

As his hands placed the key into the lock of the cell, he knew that he had to come back.

Shit.

[cru5h-cascades]

LORE-fi Bag: Corrine's Journal (Part 2)

Part 2 baybeee

I should have written this in part 1 but I'm skipping around in these journal entries. I'm just writing the more story relevant entries.

August 29, 2015

Em's birthday was yesterday so as a gift I helped him get his name legally changed. Surprisingly enough he got both his first name AND last name changed. I guess he just wants to distance himself from his shitty dad as much as possible. I wouldn't blame him. But he was pretty happy after he got the paperwork done. After that we went out for an ice cream cake and I gave Em two other presents: a walkman and a tape deck. Em's also pretty interested in the ancient tech I have around the house so I figured maybe he'd probably like those too. I showed him the blank cassette tapes I have and told him he can use the tape deck to burn music onto those so he can listen to them on the walkman. He really likes that thing...

January 1, 2016

I gave Em a music box last night. I guess you could call it a late xmas present. He loves it. He played before he went to sleep after midnight. His childlike soul strikes again.

I can't help but notice Em's little mannerisms. How curious he gets about new things I bring into the house that I find while I'm out. How he has the tendency to sleep on me sometimes while we're watching TV on the couch late at night, among other things. If my parents met him they'd probably tell him to grow up or something like that. To me, those little things about him are kind of cute. He's a silly lil' guy. It's like having a big ol' cat in the house. And I like that.

May 13, 2016

So the Regina Spektor CDs I ordered came in yesterday and, as usual, Em wanted to know what was on the CDs. He played my copy of Far all. Night. He played the song Eet on that album an unholy amount of times. Oh Em... what am I going to do with you?

July 10, 2017

Em and I are gonna try making music together. I'm not really sure why it's taken me this long to make a song again. It's been a few years since I wrote Balloon Flowers and I had fun writing it. About time I started working on new music. Who knows. Maybe we could get famous off of our music. That'd be pretty cool.

But then again... Em's dad is still alive, at least as far as him and I know. If we got famous he'd probably find out. And I don't want to even consider what could happen if he did. From what Em told me about him that guy is literally the devil but instead of a pitchfork in hand he's got a beer bottle. He's probably not too happy about his son running away from home. If we do get famous... I just hope that he stays the hell away from Em.

August 4, 2017

Em's been pulling all nighters every now and then for weeks now, trying to make music. Honestly, the music he makes is pretty cool. I haven't even figured out how to make music like he does on my own. I'm jealous of him lol. But it's fine. As long as we're making music together I'm happy. But I really wonder... why does he keep staying up late to learn music stuff? Is it just to impress me? I guess that's just another "emi-isim" of his.

April 14, 2018

Em and I found this huge flower field today. I've never seen that many flowers out in the wild. It was incredible. Em brought his sketchbook and charcoal pencils and did an impressive drawing of one of the flowers we found over there. Is there anything this man can't do?

November 5, 2021

BIG NEWS. THIS ONE LADY WHO WORKS AT ONE OF THE THEATERS IN TOWN IS ORGANIZING AN EVENT HAPPENING NEXT MONTH AND WHILE AT WORK SHE CAME UP TO ME AND OFFERED ME A SPOT IN THE CONCERT. I SAID YES RIGHT THEN AND THERE. AAAAH!!! SO EXCITED!!! I NEED TO START PRACTICING FOR THE CONCERT!!!

December 10, 2021

Today's the day!! What might possibly be my big break! Em's out of the apartment right now. He said he'd be there in the theater before we start performing. Em's been acting... weird lately. Like he's planning something. Before he left he told me he had a surprise for me but I had to wait until the concert was over to get it. Goddamnit don't make me wait, Em! Well, I'm sure whatever he's got planned, it's going to be absolutely incredible. Em knows me too well. I hope he likes the concert. I wish both of us could be up there. Em deserves it. For everything he's done for me. I couldn't even imagine what life would have been like if I hadn't found him out on the streets that one day. But one thing's for sure... he's made my life so much better than how it was when I lived in Greensburg. He made me feel more free than I've ever felt before. I feel like I could die happy just knowing that I let Em into my life and we raised each other up. Gotta love Emio...

Ah! I need to start getting ready for the concert! I'll write a little bit more later. I can't wait to see what Em has in store for me!

[saragargan]

I’ll Be Frankenstein, You Be the Monster -4

masterlist

While you head upstairs to change, Michael clears the plates and washes them in the sink. He felt stuffed, quite literally. He was grateful for what you’d done, of course, but the organs inside of him felt wrong. Like they weren’t quite the same size as what he’d had his entire life. He’d get used to it, he supposed. Not like he had much of a choice.

 Michael was in awe of you. You’d remained so calm in the face of what he’d brought to you. Anyone else would have screamed, ran away or fainted. Probably all three. He knew he must've been a terrible sight, yet you hadn’t hesitated. You’d taken him in, fixed him as much as he could be, and committed several jailable offenses to do so.

 Deciding to wait for you outside, Michael steps onto the porch. The thermostat outside reads nearly 80, but he shivers. He supposed his body had too much going on to regulate his body temperature, but the constant cold was a little irritating. The only time he’d felt warm was last night, when he’d dragged you down into his bed and buried himself in your arms. Your skin had been burning hot against his, but he relished in your warmth.

 Michael steps back inside to grab a sweatshirt off the back of the door. Admittedly, he felt a little ashamed of what he’d done. He doubted the last thing you wanted was to cuddle up to a (former) corpse, and he knew he couldn’t have smelled too great. But you hadn’t complained or shied from his touch. You’d let him hold you, invade your personal space. It made him feel something he wasn’t quite sure how to deal with.

 He hears your footsteps on the stairs, and once again leaves his apartment. When you reach the bottom of the stairs, he almost doesn’t recognize you.

 Your dark hair is pulled back out of your face, and the black makeup usually present on your eyes is gone. You wear a simple black t-shirt and a pair of jeans, a tattered pair of converse on your feet.

 Michael stares.

 “What?” You ask nervously.

 “You’re wearing jeans.” He’s decided that was the most shocking thing about your new appearance. Your lips part into a smile, and you laugh.

 “Well yeah. I do own normal clothes, you know.”

 You start across the lawn, not headed for your car, but for the garage. Michael follows you like a shadow. Lifting the garage door, he’s shocked to find another car inside. A black Pontiac, not unlike the one his father used to drive.

 “Figured this was a little more low-key than the hearse.” You say before climbing into the driver’s seat.

 “Only a little.” Michael says, and you give him a sarcastic smirk.

 The car roars to life in a satisfying way, the engine idling repetitively. Michael climbs into the passenger seat, the interior of the car all too familiar. The major difference between your car and his father’s was that yours didn’t smell like it had a decade’s worth of cigarette smoke imbued in the cloth.

 You push a cassette back into the tape player -most people had moved onto CDs at this point- and a band he’d never heard of starts to play.

 You’re both silent for the drive, nothing but the sound of your music and the wind. The windows of the car were heavily tinted, and Michael kept his cracked only enough to allow a breeze. You however, had the window fully down and Michael can’t help but sneak glances at you. The way the afternoon sun warmed your skin, strands of your hair that had come loose and flew about your face in the wind. The way your hands gripped the steering wheel, your fingers keeping pace with the guitar riffs on the song, or occasionally the drums.

 By the time you pull into the parking lot for the butcher shop, you’ve swapped out the tape for another. The music was strange, but it wasn’t all too bad. Michael even found himself enjoying it. You park the car, turning off the engine.

 “I assume you’re staying here?” You ask, and Michael nods.

 “Alright. I’ll try to be quick.”

 You exit the car, the door shutting heavily behind you. As you cross the parking lot, Michael can’t help but notice the way your jeans hug your ass, and heat blooms across his face once again.

 He’d never really felt this way about anyone before. Sure there had been flings in the past. But they never meant more to him than a distraction. But you were different. Even before you’d put him back together and literally brought him back from the dead, just the sight of you made his heart beat faster. He hadn’t known what to do about it then, and he certainly didn’t now.

 Oh, how he longed to touch you. To cup your cheek in his hands, press his lips to yours. To hold you close in the dark of the night, tangled together in a sweet, intimate embrace. He wanted you to want him, to beg for his touch, to lace your fingers into his hair and pull him closer.

 Lost in his romantic musings, Michael doesn’t notice your approach until the car sways after you open the trunk. He hears the unmistakable sound of ice being poured into a cooler, and then the trunk slams shut.

 When you climb back into the driver's seat, your nose wrinkles.

 “Mike, when we get home you      really     need to take a shower.”

 Heat blooms across his cheeks for what seems like the millionth time today, and he feels the sudden urge to hide.

 “Sorry…” He hates himself at that moment. Here he’d been, daydreaming about making love to you, only for you to get in the car and point out that he smells like a corpse. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

 Your hand falls to his forearm, squeezing gently.

 “Aw, don’t take it to heart Mikey.” Despite himself, a thrill goes through him at the nickname.

 “I mean…” You begin, your tone taking on a hint of mischief. “You’re having a hard time standing for extended periods of time, so you’ll probably need a little help…”

 You trail off as the meaning behind your words sink into Michael’s brain. He turns to stare at you, incredulous. You offer him a sweet smile, and Michael has to look away, cheeks aflame. He hears you laugh lightly as you turn over the engine, and can’t decide if you were teasing or not. You’d never been cruel like that before, and he couldn’t imagine you’d start now, but…you couldn’t be serious?

 Suddenly, a black bag is thrust into his lap. Your cassette tape storage.

 “Pick something to listen to.”

 Michael shuffles around in the tape bag, surprised when he finds bands that are popular enough for him to know. When he finally selects a tape, he hands it to you, and as you swap it out, you inspect his selection, a smile tugging at your lips. The album art had a ghoulish creature emerging from a tree, the background was blue and a full moon shone in the sky.

 “Interesting choice.”

 As you drive home, Michael barely hears the music that plays. His thoughts are confused. There’s a part of him that believes you, that believes you were genuine, that maybe you could feel the same about him. The other part of him can’t believe you, can’t imagine you’d want him, undead or not and he finds himself resentful at the possibility that you had been intentionally cruel just now .

 Lost in thought, he’s pulled back to reality by the sensation of something touching his leg, and looks down to see your black-painted fingernails resting on his thigh. He looks up at you, but your eyes are fixed on the road in front you. However, you seem to sense his gaze, because your mouth curls up at the corners, and your hand squeezes him slightly. Michael shivers, and the sensation goes straight to his lap, making him blush yet again. Your hand moves from his thigh to his arm, pulling his hand from his sweatshirt pocket and entwining your fingers with his.

 You stay like that for most of the drive, except for moments when you needed both hands, or flipped the cassette over. Every time, you offer your hand again, and Michael gladly takes it, enjoying your warmth and the feeling of your skin against his.

 By the time you pull into the driveway he’s run through about a dozen impossible fantasies of what was going to happen when you got home. Each one more unlikely than the last, more indulgent and more filthy than the one before.

 You pull the cooler out of the trunk and head upstairs while Michael exits the car, moving to the porch and leaning heavily against one of the columns. He knew there was no way he was making it up those stairs on his own, so he just waited for you to come back down.  

 After a few minutes, you descend the staircase, crossing the lawn and closing the trunk on your car. You stop to roll the windows up, Michael’s eyes tracing your form as you crawl inside the car to get the passenger window. Then you start towards him, and when you reach him you offer your arm.

 “Ready?” You ask, eyes indicating the stairs.

 It’s a bigger struggle than he initially thought it would be. It takes nearly ten minutes for him to ascend the stairs, leaning into you for support. At one point you’d offered to carry him, but he declined. Not because he doubted you could, but because he was determined to do it (somewhat) on his own.

 When the two of you finally reach the landing, Michael feels as though he may pass out, and lets you guide him into your apartment, easing him onto the couch.

   Michael had never been in your apartment before, and takes the opportunity to observe his surroundings as you leave to unpack the cooler. He’s not entirely surprised to find your apartment is decorated like a haunted house, but there’s nothing tacky about it. Each piece seemed to have been carefully placed, complimenting the pieces around it. It was busy, but not cluttered.

 It was comforting. It was      you    . Strange and unique and beautiful. He felt as though he’d stepped into a private corner of your mind. The way people decorated their homes was so telling of their character.

 He didn’t really want to think about how his apartment      wasn’t     decorated, and only had the basics. The closest thing he had to decoration was the sunburst clock on the wall behind his television.

 “Michael.”

 Your voice interrupts his thoughts, and he turns to find you waiting in the doorway. You hold your hand out to him.

 “C’mon.”

     Oh. Right.  

 Michael takes your hand and pulls himself up from your extremely comfortable couch. Heart pounding, he lets you lead him down the hallway.

 You turn on the bathroom light, and he’s not surprised in the least that it’s decorated to match the rest of the apartment. The shower is a massive corner unit, with more than one showerhead, a tub at the bottom, and a place to sit. Letting go of his hand, you pull the shower curtain across the rail and turn on the water. Michael lingers in the doorway, unsure of what to do.

 With your back still to him, you pull your shirt up over your head. You let it fall to the ground, then pop the button on your jeans, shimmying them down your legs. The fabric pools at your feet, and you step out of them as you turn to face him.

 Michael isn’t sure if the reason his head is swimming is because he’s been standing too long, or the sight of you standing there in your underwear, looking at him expectantly.

 “Come here.” You command him, voice soft. Compelled by the half-lidded look on your face, Michael moves forward without even realizing he was moving his feet. His hands automatically reach out to hold your hips, and then he freezes, eyes flicking up to yours and wondering if that was too far.

 But you smile encouragingly at him, and push the sweatshirt off his shoulders. Your fingers find their way under the hem of his shirt, and you start to take that off too, but Michael’s hands flash to your wrists.

 “W-wait..” Suddenly remembering the horrific state of his body, Michael feels nervous.

 “It’s okay.” You whisper, reassuring him. Michael swallows, releasing your wrists. As you pull the shirt over his head, his eyes close.

 When your hands move to his pants, he jumps, and he can hear you laugh under your breath again. He lets you undress him, fighting the urge to cover himself. Then your hands are taking his, placing them on your hips. Michael opens his eyes when your hand presses against his cheek.

 You gaze up at him heatedly, and he doesn’t need you to say it out loud to know that you were inviting him to finish undressing you.

 Michael hooks his fingers under the band of your panties, and pushes them down your thighs as far as he can reach. He’s got an image in his head, of pulling them down to your ankles as he goes to his knees, pressing his lips to your stomach, exploring further down, hoisting your leg over his shoulder and tasting you…

 But he’s certain if he were to go to his knees right now, he wouldn’t be able to get back up.

 Instead, you wiggle your hips enough that they fall the rest of the way down, and Michael’s hands move to your back. He undoes each of the hooks on your bra one by one, and then slides it off your shoulders, down your arms. It joins the rest of the clothes on the floor.

 You pull your hair out of its updo and it falls down, framing your face. Then you turn and step into the shower, disappearing behind the curtain. Taking a deep breath, Michael follows you.

[aquoteamusetheword]

The Music of My Life

“Music can heal the wounds which medicine cannot touch.” ~ Debasish Mridha

I remember when I fell in love with music, rock music. It was when my very cool uncle Lynn returned home from Vietnam. He had a reel-to-reel tape deck and giant headphones (hence the picture). This is when I first heard Iron Butterfly, King Crimson, Yes, Led Zeppelin, Warm, to name a few… I was hooked.

My Mom and stepdad loved music too. Our road trips always included loud signing with the windows down. I will never forget the Christmas when I received my first stereo. I still know my first two vinyl albums; Supertramp ‘Breakfast in America’ (a favorite even today) and John Lennon / Yoko Ono ‘Milk & Honey’.

Many Friday and Saturday nights were spent playing bumper pool in my friend Stephen's basement. We had a car 8 track player wired to a set of speakers. The only 8 track we had was Bad Company ‘Burning Sky’, I still know every word to every song.

Eventually, we purchased a CD player for the house. My mind was blown when I listened to the full digital recording that was Dire Straits ‘Brother in Arms’, I am sure our neighbors enjoyed it too.

In the event that someone under the age of thirty-five is reading this, I have some explaining to do. Here is a brief history of pre recorded music in my lifetime. In my early childhood vinyl LPs were what we listened to at home. The only option for the car was the 8 Track. If you don’t know what an 8 Track tape is, imagine a case twice as wide and twice as tall as your iPhone. It made up for its clunkiness by pausing and changing tracks in the middle of every other song (usually during the best part of the song). Finally, cassettes arrived, they were roughly half the size, played on both sides and you could record LPs on to them (I know the technology is overwhelming). CDs ushered in the digital age.

Believe it or not, we used to hear a song we liked on the radio, actually drive to the music store, browse the CDs, find the one with the song on it, pay $12.99 (if it was on sale), hope the rest of the songs were good, spend and hour recording it on to cassette so that we could listen to it in the car, this was a far cry from “Alexa, shuffle the hits of the eighties…”

I worked at Musicland when I was in college. After school, my first 'real' job was to manage the one in Brookwood Village in Birmingham. This store was the number one Jazz and Classical location in the entire 2000 store chain. We played it every morning and I learned to love these genres as well. David Sanborn ‘Straight to the Heart’, David Lanz ‘Cristofori’s Dream’ and Nigel Kennedy ‘Vivaldi’s Four Seasons’ are all still in my rotation.

It was here that I met the sweetest older man, Stan. He walked the mall a few times a week and he knew and loved classical music like no one else I have ever known. He was in the middle of the long and arduous task of buying CDs to replace his LPs as they were being released. I had his list and anytime a we received one of the recordings on CD, I would give him a call. We often had lunch in the food court, he taught me about classical composers, I taught him about Stevie Ray Vaughn.

Stan stopped walking the mall. I left two messages about new arrivals and he didn’t show. I was concerned and missed my friend. A few days later a man entered the store and asked for me, I introduced myself. He told me that he was Stan’s son and that his father had passed away. I never even knew that he had cancer. I will never forget the next words from his mouth…” my dad wanted me to tell you how much he appreciated your talks and you calling him, and he wanted you to have this.” He handed me an LP wrapped in brown paper. We embraced, he departed. I went to the back, shed a tear and unwrapped a pristine copy of ‘Meet the Beatles’ on Apple records, still in cellophane. I have never even had it appraised, to me it is priceless.

“Sing to the LORD a new song, for he has done marvelous things” ~Psalm 98:1

[red-garden]

Put it in thumb drives, print it out, burn cds, tape it, IM BEGGING YOU!!!!!!!! Greedy assholes can trash shit whenever they feel like it, if you can’t hold it in your hands YOU DONT OWN IT!!!!!!!! Get a cd player, dvd player, cassette player, invest in physical media, build a library you can share with others!

If you haven’t started already, start archiving/downloading everything. Save it to an external hard drive if you’re able. Collecting physical media is also a good idea, if you’re able.

Download your own/your favorite fanfics. Save as much as you can from online sources/digital libraries. Recipes, tutorials, history, LGBTQ media, etc. It has been claimed, though I can’t find the exact source if true, that some materials about the Revolutionary War were deleted from the Library of Congress.

It’s always better to be safe than sorry and save and preserve what you can. Remember that cloud storage also is not always reliable!

Library of Congress - millions of books, films and video, audio recordings, photographs, newspapers, maps, manuscripts.

Internet Archive - millions of free texts, movies, software, music, websites, and more. Has been taken offline multiple times because of cyber attacks last month, it has recently started archiving again.

Anna's Archive - 'largest truly open library in human history.’

Queer Liberation Library - queer literature and resources. Does require applying for a library membership to browse and borrow from their collection.

List of art resources - list of art resources complied on tumblr back in 2019. Not sure if all links are still operational now, but the few I clicked on seemed to work.

Alexis Amber - TikToker who is an archivist who's whole page is about archiving. She has a database extensively recording the events of Hurricane Katrina.

I'll be adding more to this list, if anyone else wants to add anything feel free!

[fordcrownvictoria]

Album Review: Winter in the Belly of a Snake | 25th Anniversay Edition by Venetian Snares

When Winter in the Belly of a Snake by Venetian Snares was quietly released in 2000, few anticipated the ripple effect it would leave on the ambient-noise underground. The album, elusive in both distribution and tone, became a cult classic almost overnight—though "overnight" in the slow-burning world of experimental music meant several years of whispered reverence on forums, cassette trades, and dimly lit art collectives. Now, 25 years later, its reemergence—still scarce, still shadowy, and now priced at nearly $200 on collector markets—feels less like a reissue and more like an archaeological event.

From the first few seconds of the opener, “Solstice Meridian,” listeners are dropped into a sonic environment that feels glacial, yet pregnant with quiet violence—like walking across a frozen lake and hearing cracks deep below. Venetian Snares doesn't compose songs in the traditional sense; instead, they construct ecosystems, often centered around droning analog textures, granular synthesis, and fragments of tape-decayed field recordings. The 25th anniversary edition doesn’t try to remaster the original grit out of the album—a wise decision. The hiss remains. The tape warble remains. What’s added, subtly, is spatial fidelity: a deeper dynamic range that lets you feel the distance between sounds. On “Feral Light Through Frozen Glass,” what once sounded like a haunted tape loop now emerges like a memory flickering behind layers of ice and time. The bonus track, “Kharma Reflux (Uncut),” is 17 minutes of pure dread and beauty, showcasing how ahead of its time Venetian Shades truly was.

Emotionally, the album still carries the weight of its title. Winter in the Belly of a Snake is about discomfort, containment, and transformation. The metaphor is grotesque and intimate: winter not as a season, but as a hibernating stasis inside something ancient and cold. Even a quarter-century later, it evokes the same haunted inwardness—perfect for sleepless nights and post-apocalyptic dawns.

That brings us to the price: $200, if you can find it. This isn’t just about scarcity, though the original pressing was limited to 117 numbered copies, hand-assembled by the artist with wax-sealed envelopes and burned onto black polycarbonate CD-Rs. It’s about myth. Venetian Snares never toured, never gave interviews, and seemed to vanish not long after this release. The album isn’t just music—it’s an artifact of a vanished world, one before Bandcamp, before algorithmic recommendation. Every listen feels like a séance.

Is it worth $200? That depends. If you're a collector of esoteric ambient, then yes—it’s a Rosetta Stone. If you're a casual listener curious about "weird noise stuff," you're better off streaming the bootleg rips on YouTube (assuming they stay up). But for those who’ve lived with this album—who’ve grown alongside its frigid introspection—the price isn’t for the music alone. It’s for the time capsule. It’s for the ritual.

Rating: 9.5/10 — An icy masterpiece that feels more alive 25 years later than ever before.

[kendrarichardsdesign]

February 16 2025 Invitations

Big week with lots happening. On Monday Eric and I met with Ian (Alex forgot) and talked about what was going on with the design team because there wasn't enough time to meet the Friday before. We talked about the die-cut invitation and how there isn't intention or reasoning behind doing it die-cut. We also were told previously that the invitations needed to go out March 1st, but was clarified that it was March 21st which helped the stress a little bit. We didn't want to nail ourselves to an idea before exploring until something had reason and felt right.

On Wednesday after our presentation/pizza party, we were catching up on work and listening to music. Most of the class had gone home at this point. We put on Chappell Roan and were having a great time. Kyah remembered they had a cassette tape and we were looking at the design of it. We turned the speaker off and were playing the cassette.

We were like "Wow isn't this awesome" it was nice to interact with and open up. Then we thought that these should be the invitations. Eventually, we decided cassettes wouldn't work (who still has a cassette player other than audiophile nerds or collectors?). We thought a CD and jewel case would be more applicable.

Kennedy remembered we have a giant box of cd inserts in the classroom, so we looked through it.

We thought about buying our own CDs (Doug has about 100 blanks) and sourcing Jewel Cases second hand (asking around, thrifting, and Facebook marketplace). The sustainability aspect fits well with the ethos of the brand. The design would have all the necessary information in the invite, so people without time or a cd player would be able to retain all of the important information. I was thinking we could burn a mixtape of all of our favourite songs. Maybe also having some voice lines in there to get people excited about our personal work.

We brought that concept into Friday, and after giving the presentation about analog > digital we met as design + illustration + Doug + some stragglers. The CD concept was brought up and people were really liking it. Alex said he really didn't like it based on vibes. The idea and excitement didn't really go anywhere after that. I find it hard to try and convince people that an idea is good and it's easier to start over with a new idea. I should get better at this.

We decided to make the invitation a fold-out poster (that people can hang in their living rooms heheh). We are working on thumbnails and ideating rn, and the Friday after the break we plan to have the invitation ready to be critiqued.

The fold-out poster could tie in with the cd inserts and with the magazine concept (fold-out magazines) to keep our options open.

[darkwavedreams]

𝖙𝖜𝖔 𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖐𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖑

it wasn’t just camp. it was two weeks of silence.

no walkman. no cassette tapes. no headphones. no music.

she had begged—pleaded—to bring them. she had promised she wouldn’t listen when she was supposed to be doing activities, wouldn’t “isolate” herself, wouldn’t make a scene.

but karen just smiled, pressed a hand to her cheek, and said, “you don’t need to hide behind that stuff. this is your chance to connect with real people.” as if music wasn’t real. as if it wasn’t the only thing that ever truly understood her.

so shelley had packed in silence, slipping her headphones into her bag anyway, just in case. but karen checked. and by the time shelley was at camp, watching her duffel bag disappear into the cabin, she already knew she had lost. no music.

just her own thoughts, screaming too loud inside her head.

but that rule? it was only for her.

it wasn’t long before she heard it—the unmistakable tinny sound of cheap CD players, of pop songs spilling from speakers, of girls lying on their bunks singing along to girly country like they hadn’t smuggled their entire collections in their duffels.

"i love this song!" one of them squealed, kicking her feet in the air. "oh my god, me too. we should make a playlist when we get back!" the laughter, the bonding, the effortless normalcy of it all.

and shelley? she had nothing.

not a single note of the music that made her feel whole, not even a single song to drown out the suffocating reality that she didn’t belong here. so she bit her tongue. curled up on her bunk. tried not to listen. but silence wasn’t silence. silence was isolation. and silence was a punishment.

her mother called it a chance. a chance to build character. a chance to make friends. a chance to stop being so… different. but it was something supposed to "fix" her.

"you’ll love it," karen had said, pressing a kiss to her forehead before driving off, before leaving her standing there with her duffel bag in the dust. "you just have to try."

but shelley knew. she knew the second she saw the other girls—preppy, blonde-highlighted, still stuck somewhere between middle school and high school, all bony elbows and flat chests and bubblegum giggles—that there would be no “trying.” there was no space for her here.

she should have hidden. kept her head down. but she wanted—needed—to carve out some kind of space for herself. something small, something her own.

so, she took out a ball of black yarn and spent the evening weaving it between the slats of the bunk above hers, draping it over the edges of her bed, knotting it carefully until it looked like a spiderweb. intricate. delicate. hers.

they noticed, of course. they always noticed.

"oh my god, what is this? a haunted house?" one of them snickered, her voice a sugary poison. "jesus, you’re such a freak."

"i think it’s kinda cool," one girl muttered, but the others shot her a look, and she fell silent.

shelley ignored them. she had gotten good at that.

but later—after dinner, after dark, after she had stepped out of the bathroom, everything destroyed.

the yarn was gone. ripped down, torn apart, erased.

they had taken her scissors, her tape, her string, everything.

the bunk was just a bunk now. plain, empty, like she had never touched it.

shelley’s hands clenched. she swallowed hard, burning, shaking, something ugly and unbearable swelling in her chest.

she turned to find them watching. standing there waiting—smiling, sneering, knowing.

and the next day, when she went for a shower? they lunged.

the door slammed open before she could even brace herself, the burst of air hitting her damp skin as she stumbled back, arms yanking the towel tighter around herself, but it was too late.

gasps. shrieks. laughter.

"oh my god, look at her—"

"ugh, she’s like, fully grown.""

"she's so weird, why does she look like that?"

"shut the door, shut the door!" one of them shrieked between giggles, like it was her fault.

but they didn’t. they let it hang open. they let her choke on the moment, on the wrongness of it all.

because that’s what it was, wasn’t it?

she wasn’t like them. she wasn’t small, wasn’t bony, wasn’t still waiting for her body to catch up to her mind. she was already there. her hips, her thighs, the fullness of her chest—she couldn’t hide it, couldn’t shrink herself down to match them.

so they turned it against her.

not just because she was different. but because she was something they weren’t yet, something they didn’t understand, something they didn’t have.

so they laughed. they pointed. they mocked.

and shelley just—stood.

arms locked, breath stuck, towel gripped so tight her nails dug into her own skin, burning with rage, shame, confusion, helplessness.

she didn’t cry. she didn’t scream. she didn’t move.

she just let them look. let them gawk, let them get their fill, let them have their sick little victory.

because fighting back wouldn’t change anything.

because she already knew—she was never going to belong here.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖞𝖔𝖙𝖊

in the middle of the week, they were driven out even deeper into the desert—far from the cabins, from the rigid schedules, from the fluorescent-lit hallways where she had spent two weeks suffocating.

the counselors called it a special experience. a bonding moment. but for shelley, it was just another night of not belonging.

they laid out their sleeping bags in the dirt, the sky stretched wide and endless above them, black velvet scattered with stars. the other girls giggled in hushed voices, whispered secrets and inside jokes, passing around flashlights like they were passing around their own piece of belonging.

shelley kept to herself. she always did. but she didn’t sleep.

her mind refused to quiet. the night felt too alive—something humming beneath her skin, something keeping her tethered to wakefulness. so she lay on her back and watched the stars.

they burned, infinite and bright, and she swore she could see them moving.

a streak of silver—a shooting star. then another. and another.

she gazed up, mesmerized. she had so many things to wish for.

the desert air was cool against her skin, and just when she thought sleep might take her, a sound broke the silence.

the coyotes.

one voice at first—low, distant, drifting through the night like a spell. then another. and another. soft at first, then rising, a chorus of lonesome voices spilling into the night like a hymn. not eerie. not frightening. just… beautiful. a song not meant for human ears, but gifted to her anyway.

somewhere in the distance, the coyotes began to sing again—low and lonesome, rising and falling in eerie, beautiful waves. it wasn’t unsettling. it was… soothing. like something ancient and knowing. like something speaking to her in a language she almost understood.

her body grew heavy, her eyelids drooping, her breath evening out.

and just as she began to drift—

something moved.

soft. light. careful. curious.

the press of a warm nose against her temple, the faintest brush of fur against her skin.

the coyote.

it was real. it was here.

shelley didn’t stir, her body too deep in sleep to react. but the animal—small, silent, golden-eyed in the moonlight—stood over her, sniffing, watching.

and then—it nudged its nose into her hair.

gently, almost playfully, it found the ribbon tied at the back of her head—one of the last remnants of her mother’s rules, of the girl she was supposed to be.

the knot was loose. it didn’t take much.

with a final nudge, the ribbon slipped free.

it fluttered down, black against the pale sand.

the coyote lingered for a moment, watching as if making sure its work was done.

then, just as silently as it came, it disappeared back into the night.

by morning, shelley woke up with her hair wild and loose, her ribbon lost to the desert. she reached up, fingers threading through tangled strands, confused for only a moment before remembering the dream.

except, it hadn’t been a dream at all.

and when she rose from her sleeping bag, stretching in the pale dawn, she didn’t look for the ribbon. she left it behind.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖇𝖆𝖙 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖗𝖆𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘

she learned to move like a ghost. to keep her footsteps light, her presence even lighter. to be silent, unnoticed, just another shadow in the background.

every small act of autonomy felt like a risk. even using the bathroom had become a game of strategy—when to go, when the cabin was empty, when no one would be there to giggle behind cupped hands or lock the stall door from the outside, trapping her inside like some pathetic joke. she waited until she couldn’t, until her body screamed in protest. it wasn’t worth it. none of it was worth it.

but the talent show?

that was different. because they had chosen to be there, but so had she.

it wasn’t about them anymore. it was about her voice, the song, the thing inside her that refused to be erased, no matter how much they tried.

she stood at the edge of the stage, waiting for her turn, pulse hammering in her throat, hands clenched so tight the nails bit into her palms. they were going to stare. they were going to whisper.

but she was going to sing anyway. she had to do this for herself.

she took a breath, stepped forward—

and then—

chaos.

a scream. then another.

the girls in the front row shrieking, scrambling, knocking over chairs in a desperate frenzy to escape.

shelley’s heart slammed into her ribs—what the hell?

then she saw it.

the bat.

small and black, its wings slicing through the air, confused, trapped under the too-bright fluorescents, looping wildly in circles above them.

pandemonium.

one girl actually ducked under a table, sobbing hysterically. another shrieked, flapping her arms uselessly, like she was the one with wings. the camp counselors were already scrambling, yelling, grabbing towels, trying to force the thing out.

but shelley?

she smiled.

while the others screamed, she just stood there, watching, breathless, mesmerized.

because for the first time all summer, she wasn’t the thing people were afraid of.

because it felt like a sign.

a quiet message from the universe, just for her.

"you don’t belong here. but neither do i."

the bat circled once more, faster now, disoriented, before finally finding its way back out the window. gone in an instant.

but she had seen it.

and in that moment, she wasn’t afraid anymore.

she stepped up to the microphone.

and she sang.

[dangergrindz]

Transcript 007

Date: [REDACTED]

Time: 9:30 AM

Location: Love Blood's base, Zone 1

*Danger Grind, Mist Fist, Scene Princess, and Boy Wonderful are entering the building, it smells like smoke and sounds like destruction*

Boy Wonderful: so this is where my buddies are? If Love is actually kidnapping people and not just strange, why was I spared?

Danger Grind: dunno, maybe she likes you

Boy Wonderful: shes older than me!

Scene Princess: uhh... why are two BLI body bags just laying here?

*the four all stare in confusion, they enter a hallway. Mist Fist places several stickers around the halls. They find a door thats wide open, revealing a room with Violent Vixen destroying music instruments and Violet Vixen with a wagon full of CDs, Vinyl Records, and Cassette Tapes, putting the destroyed instruments in*

Violet Vixen: When's the next burning?

Violent Vixen: Tonight. Madeline is capturing more music rebels, if we're lucky, we may even get the big ones.

Violet Vixen: Speaking of which, I set up an indoctrination room, I put Patrick Stumph and Alex Kendall in it.

Violent Vixen: good, good, it'll be nice to have more allies. By the way, what did you do with Stumph's little "amputation"?

Violet Vixen: found a hook, put it in as his new hand. Will make things easier for us.

*Grind, Mist, Scene, and Boy are in shock, they look in the room across, finding Mr Benzedrine and Tealquoise strapped to chairs in front of a screen. Boy Wonderful releases them, only to notice their eyes are both yellow*

Boy Wonderful: Hey, Teal, Benz, you know me?

*they do not respond*

Boy Wonderful: Teeeeaaaaal.... Beeeeenz....

*he waves his hand in front of their faces, angering them, leading them to attacking him*

Boy Wonderful: FUCK! AGH! SHIT! GRIND... IF I DIE, MAKE BRIDGET A KILLJOY! PLEASE!

Danger Grind: NOOO!

*the eyes of Mr Benzedrine and Tealquoise suddenly go back to normal, they both gasp in shock as Boy Wonderful is dead*

Mr Benzedrine: No... no no no no!

Tealquoise: He was so young... what have we done???

Mist Fist: *looks at them knowingly*

Danger Grind: Where are the others?

Mr. Benzedrine: I think I know.

*the group exit the room, finding the containment room, where Laserdisc Lass, Vanilla Kick, Mr Sandman, Horseshoe Crab, and Donnie The Catcher are being held, the group releases them and runs into the room where the Vixen sisters are*

Violent Vixen: There's been a breach. Violet, press the button

*Violet Vixen presses a button on a speaker, Tealquoise and Mr Benzedrine go evil again. Violent turns a camera on*

Laserdisc Lass: You may record that, but we know the truth. You aren't killjoys! You're BLI Spies! I read all about Operation Rat A Tat, and I'm here to thwart it!

*Tealquoise attacks her, but Scene Princess holds her back, as Benzedrine tries attacking Horseshoe Crab, but Mr Sandman holds him back*

Violent Vixen: If you don't want to die, you'll join us. We can order them around.

Scene Princess: We'll never join you!

Violent Vixen: Then I guess you'll die.

*the Vixen sisters pull out Rayguns*

Danger Grind: Try all you want... but there's an iconic phrase I knew since I was young, and it's—

*Violet and Violent shoot at them, the group all collapse as they are shot, even Benzedrine and Tealquoise are shot*

This is not the end...

[ijustwantedtobeoneofthestrokesuk]

Streaming Of Another World

The Internet

Those disastrous years for EMI look like a lifetime away now, but the industry could have made it easier for themselves then, now they are milking it, and failing the artists…

Welcome to the streaming era.

In 2021, despite the COVID-19 pandemic, the recorded music industry brought in £5.2 billion to the UK, mostly due to streaming as the live industry struggled to survive with venues forced to close (we’ll come on to that later). However, the streaming deals that were initially agreed are now outdated. They were based on, the alternative to music being ‘free’. Streaming has become the biggest revenue in the music industry yet 98.6% of artists make $11 a month from Spotify. 

Despite Napster being shut down in 2001, the internet turned the music industry into the Wild West. At the time, it felt like the dawn of true independence, musicians had the tools to do it themselves, they were liberated. Unfortunately, in reality, that wasn’t the case. The music business is a business, run by business people who make money from creatives. It always has been and it always will. For a moment, they had lost control but they made sure they were ready for the future.  

The business people have always taken advantage of the artists. Always. They have dished out bad contracts and ensured the artist needed them, when, let's be honest, without the creative there would be no industry. It has been like this for decades, but artists (such as Taylor Swift) have used their power to expose them.  

As file-sharing had become normalised the music industry didn’t know what to do, it was unprepared, it was caught out, suddenly the money that had been flowing in wasn’t. Music was free, the internet had won. 

The initial issue with MP3s was that they were on your computer, which at the time was a sizeable device. Do you really want to sit at the computer to listen to an album you’ve just downloaded from Kazaa while crossing your figures that you hadn’t accidentally downloaded porn or a virus with the album? If you had the resources you could burn them to a CD. 

In the early ‘90’s mini-discs arrived however they took a few years to become popular, it was essentially a hybrid between the cassette and the CD. For a brief moment, albums were sold on mini-disc however the majority were blank so you could create your own tapes, either recording from a CD or creating your own mixtape. As technology developed these were essentially the next step into MP3 players as you could transfer music from your MP3 collection on your computer onto the mini-disc. 

Apple was big news in America however they were still pretty niche in the UK in the early 2000’s, the MacBook was seen as something for creatives but iTunes was their first major way into global domination.  In January 2001 the first edition of iTunes was released as a platform to organise your music library on your computer. You could import MP3s that you had illegally downloaded as well as rip CDs. You could create playlists, it wasn’t unique, there were plenty of other platforms out there but Apple had plans. 

Just months after Apple had launched iTunes they released the iPod, not the first MP3 player on the market (they had been available since the ‘90’s) but the best. Like everything Apple does, the iPod was design-led, focussing on simplicity. It was innovative and a game-changer for Apple and a revolution that shaped the music industry. For those too young to remember life before streaming, you won’t understand how mad it felt that you could have your music collection on a device the size of your hand. 

Users required iTunes so that they could easily add music from their computer to the portable device. The first version held one thousand songs, each year a new iPod launched, with a bigger capacity (as well as smaller devices and the iPod Shuffle) then, with technological advances new features were introduced.  

To try to find a solution to illegal file-sharing the iTunes Store was launched in April 2003 where listeners could buy MP3s which would automatically go into the iTunes Library, ready to be exported to an iPod or ripped onto a CD. For the first time, you were paying for the music, not music on a physical product like a CD or vinyl, it was a file, just the music. You were buying the art, not the product! 

In 2007 Apple launched the first iPhone and the iPod Touch. This was the first iPod that had access to WiFi so that users could use the device to browse the internet, watch videos on YouTube and download music directly from the iTunes Store.  

Napster crushed the music business when the industry was at its peak in 1999 and it had a tough time as piracy drained its piggy bank in the 2000’s, the first signs of recovery came in 2014. Bands who signed record deals in the mid-2000’s were the last to enjoy getting advances but, by the time they were ready to capitalise on the success of building up a fanbase, there was no money left to continue. 

Something had to change. After decades of businesspeople exploiting artists, there was an opportunity for that to no longer be the case. Obviously, that didn’t happen. Streaming deals could have been made to ensure that the people making the music were rewarded for their work. With an industry on its knees, labels, who run the industry made sure it was them who would not only benefit, they became shareholders in Spotify too, it was win-win for them. 

Tom Atkin (The Paddingtons) “File sharing made it exciting for the kids but it was annoying if you were trying to release an album. It stopped us from carrying on and it changed the whole industry, nowadays people don’t make money from record deals. Spotify isn’t the solution, it still doesn’t feel fair. 

It’s harder to be a musician now. There’s so many people doing it, it’s easy access to make music, you can be a star from your bedroom but it’s harder to make money, you’ve got to tour your arse off and sell merch” 

Major labels, who relied on a guaranteed income from heritage acts struggled to find a work-around in the peer-to-peer era, which meant their budgets to support and nurture new acts was limited, shortening the time an artist had to ‘make it’ or get dropped.  

Without the years of piracy, we wouldn’t have gotten to where we are today. Streaming is the perfected version of peer-to-peer platforms, users have access to all the content they are after, at their convenience, at its best quality, without the potential virus’ killing the computer. It’s what Napster dreamed of, but the record labels didn’t want to accept this was the future until it was too late. 

Tahita Bulmer (New Young Pony Club) “It's good that there is an option that artists can benefit from now. In our day, all your fans just downloaded your albums off Limewire and so all your money went down the drain and you couldn't make another album, because no one was taking any notice of streaming.” 

Today Spotify is available in over 170 countries, musicians can get discovered in new territories without touring while the listener can stumble across something they wouldn’t have done when they were paying for a CD. It has changed music from being a luxury product to a utility. Artists used to release albums every couple of years, some are now releasing multiple albums a year to get more streams. Spotify encourages artists to create more but then that distracts them from touring where the real money is at. 

Daniel Ek developed Spotify to fix the music industry, as a legal way for music to exist online, it saved the industry but the system has been created for those at the top. Without the artists, the platforms wouldn’t exist but they aren’t being supported. 

The Swedish entrepreneur has always had a taste for technology, he was paid €5000 by a client to build his first website, aged 14 and €10,000 by a second client. A year later he was turned down for a job at Google, he tried to prove them wrong by building a better search engine, which was harder than expected but he continued to pave a way into technology in Sweden where high-speed internet was readily available in the early 2000’s. 

After selling his online marketing business for $1 million in 2006 he planned for early retirement (aged 23) however, he didn’t take much of a break. In 2002 he already had the idea of creating a streaming version of Napster but didn’t have the resources.

With $1 million in his pocket and the music industry in a chaotic state, he started work on Spotify in Stockholm with Martin Lorentzon in April 2006. The initial version was ‘invite only’ and the take-up was challenging as they tried to convince labels that the business model worked. After 2 years of negotiations, trials and a fair few millions spent on licensing agreements, the first major player in music streaming was ready. The music industry was wary of online technology as they were still in court with peer-to-peer platforms so Daniel spent time meeting all the major labels and big independents face-to-face. Early meetings were positive, he thought agreements would be signed up within 6 months but that turned into 2 years. He not only got the deal makers using the product but their kids and colleagues, once they were hooked he knew he’d have them onboard. It was becoming a fight Daniel couldn’t afford to lose, both he and Martin had invested €10 million of their own money and employed 50 members of staff. The pressure was on. 

The initial plan was to go worldwide from day 1 but after 2 years of resistance from labels they focussed on the territory they knew the best first, Europe. Streaming was an entirely new concept for the user, they were targeting a generation who grew up with music being ‘free’ thanks to Napster so Spotify cleverly got them on board with a freemium version with ads (that make just 10% of their revenue), the goal was to upgrade them to the £9.99 a month version (still cheaper than one CD) with additional features and no ads. 

Conquering Europe took some more time to build trust and perfect the platform before Spotify would launch in America in 2011, a year after Napsters’ Sean Parker invested $15m for a 5% stake. That year Spotify also hooked up with Facebook, allowing Facebook users to listen to music with friends on Facebook via Spotify.  

The freemium version helped Spotify dominate the market as it was the first streaming platform to take off. 

In 2018 they made €5.2 billion but paid out €3.9 billion in fees. Their payouts to artists have been controversial, Taylor Swift removed her catalog from Spotify in 2014 for 3 years while Adele’s initial release of her album 25 in 2015 wasn’t available on streaming platforms. Streaming services started to strike exclusive details with artists to entice users. When Sean Parker was asked his thoughts on why artists like Taylor and Adele did not want to be included on the free version of Spotify in the early days, his response questioned whether it was the artist not wanting it or the artist speaking on behalf of the label. Artists want as many people as possible to hear their music, the label want to earn as much money as possible… 

In October 2018 Spotify introduced podcasts to their library, by the end of year their users grew by 175%!  

Each quarter Spotify collects all subscriber revenue into one pot, takes 34% for themselves (to cover costs) then distributes the remaining 52% to the record label and 14% to the rights owner, it’s up to them to dish it out to the artists however the current agreements in place benefit the hitmakers such as Drake who, between 2010 and 2019 had 28 billion streams, the most by any artist on Spotify.   

By 2017 87% of music listened to on Spotify was by artists on the 3 major labels as well as Merlin who represent smaller labels. 2 of the 3 major record labels have over 6% of shares in Spotify, Universal (3.5%) and Sony Music Entertainment (2.85%). 

In February 2022 Spotify was valued at $32.29 billion, yet the majority of artists that create content for the platform to succeed are struggling. 

Spotify has 30% of the market, Apple have 25% while Amazon have 12%, YouTue 9% and Pandora have just 5% whilst 19% of the market includes Tidal and smaller platforms.  

For a competitor to come along now and make a dint in Spotify’s global dominance it will need to be 10 times better. It took Apple Music 4 years to launch in America after Spotify and another 4 years before it overtook Spotify for users in the US but Apple had done a lot of the groundwork as people were already using their products (MacBook, iPod, iPhone and iTunes where they are market leaders, particularly in America). 

Gordon Raphael (Producer) “Streaming is fun when you don’t wanna hook up your hard drive and play your iTunes library. Obviously, Spotify sucks, politically and economically for artists. I think they really have their head way up their ____ !!  I love that we can make songs and show them to the world the next day… or make our own videos and say whatever we want (in a way, there's still way too much warped puritanical censorship for my taste. Weird when violence is ok, but sensuality or nudity is banned! haha….”  

Apple Music launched in 2015 following their acquisition of Beats Electronics in the previous year. The platform shares similar features to Spotify but with Apple’s iconic no fuss layout. Along with albums and playlists it also has radio stations that broadcast live to over 200 countries 24/7. A year after launching it added video content to the platform including music videos and exclusive interviews with artists as well as live concerts.    

Then there is TIDAL… It was initially launched in October 2014 by Norwegian company, Aspiro. The service pre-dates Apply Music however it comes 6 years after Spotify launched. Streaming is the most convenient way to listen to music but with convenience, you sacrifice the sound quality of a CD.  

From the very start, that was TIDAL’s USP and they used it to entice subscribers. There’s two packages for TIDAL but both were paid for. Their standard package was priced the same as Spotify’s however they also had a $19.99 option with CD quality sound. Although it comes across as progressive, the demand for higher quality sound was low when streaming music is often from a phone with cheap headphones.  

6 months later TIDAL was given a relaunch to a mass market after being acquired by Jay-Z’s Project Panther Bidco Ltd for $56.2 million. The focus remained on the sound quality but they also took the opportunity to fight against Spotify’s payouts. TIDAL became branded as a platform for the artists, by the artists when they hosted a cringe-worthy press conference and the downfall began.  

The first artist-owned streaming platform had investors including power couple Jay-Z and Beyonce, Kanye West, Rihanna, Madonna, Daft Punk and more who all stood on stage at the launch event, empowered that they are supporting the creatives who are struggling from Spotify’s payouts. The idea sounded great but it came across as embarrassing as the people on stage weren’t the artists struggling, they were established multi-millionaires. 

To help increase subscribers artists who had invested in TIDAL started releasing music exclusively on their platform. This began with Kanye West’s The Life Of Pablo in February 2016. For an album to chart in the Billboard 200 sale/streaming numbers need to be sent to Nielsen, which didn’t happen until weeks later when the album was released across all streaming platforms which seems odd, unless they had something to hide. Fellow stakeholder Beyonce released Lemonade in April 2016 exclusively on TIDAL and in June 2017 Jay-Z released 4:44 exclusively on the platform. 

Norwegian newspaper, ​​Dagens Næringsliv discovered a hard drive that showed TIDAL had inflated the amount of subscribers they had and the number of streams The Life Of Pablo had, which would result in Kanye receiving more money from streams that he didn’t legitimately have, this impacted small artists whose payouts would be minimised by this. TIDAL rejected this however, they have always been reluctant to share data unless it has been positive and even then, the numbers haven’t added up. 

In March 2021 financial technology company Square became majority shareholders when they invested $297 million in the streaming service and Jay-Z became a board member. 

NEXT CHAPTER