#optimized grooves

[ask-hesse]

Welcome back! How have you been?

[munson-blurbs]

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: News from an old friend had you wondering if Eddie's sour mood had turned downright destructive. (4.9k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, misunderstanding, coming out, vandalism, parental conflict, poverty, jealousy, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter seven: offense and defense

Your version of a truce came in the form of wallpaper panels and a bucket of glue. 

You’d placed it on top of the canvas sheets that would protect the floor from any spills, though it wasn’t as if that was presentable, either. Still, you would be grateful for the splash of color rather than the stripped down walls that only highlighted the motel’s defeated aesthetic. 

Like lipstick on a pig, your cynicism taunted, but one that you’ve stuck on a spit to roast. 

Your fingernail picked at a small groove in the desk’s wood as if digging a hole to bury your anxiety. Despite the police sirens blaring in the distance, all you could hear was the sound of the mailbox clanging shut, trapping your acceptance letter and effectively sealing your fate. 

Your breathing sped up and sent your heartbeat into your ears, inching you towards a point of no return where the world became hazy. Suddenly, Eddie’s mood was irrelevant; you just needed a distraction, even if that meant contending with his strangely defensive attitude. 

But when eleven o’clock rolled around, a full hour into your shift. there was still no sign of him. You’d give him another thirty minutes before you knocked on his door; he had a job to finish, after all. 

That was all it was: ensuring he earned his keep, preventing him from becoming the deeply feared charity case.

In the end, there was no need to intrude on him. Eddie shuffled through the lobby not even fifteen minutes later, seemingly without the intention of stopping to greet you. He looked straight ahead as though any eye contact would burn his retinas from the inside out. His tattooed arms were on full display in a black tank top, the holes cut down nearly to the waist. A chain hung off the side of his jeans, gleaming even in the harsh lighting. The whole outfit was a far cry from the sweatpants he’d donned during the wallpaper removal.

“Eddie?”

He stopped but still refused to glance in your direction. There was no use ignoring the confusion in your voice; he didn’t even bother waiting for the formality of a question. “Y-Yeah, I, um…I gotta run some errands.” His teeth dug into the inside of his cheek at his pitiful excuse. 

Errands just before midnight? He certainly wasn’t dressed to make a last-minute dash to the corner bodega, nor would that take all night.

He was lying; that much was obvious. What evaded you was why. Was he embarrassed about his outburst at Eisen’s? Angry at you for freezing him out during the ride home?

“What about the wallpaper?”

“Oh. Right.” He softly chuckled, the kind that someone gives when they’ve been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Tomorrow, I promise.”

He didn’t stick around for further questioning, letting in a cool evening breeze when he barreled out the front door. 

Aggravation clenched your fists. His lackadaisical approach to work was infuriating enough, but the way he’d attempted to sneak past you had you seething. Did he truly believe he could camouflage himself and walk out unnoticed?

The untouched wallpapering materials mocked you, taunted your optimism. Or perhaps it was naivety. You’d all but told him to piss off last night, yet you expected him to flounce into the lobby, eager to work alongside you–and only you–for the next few hours? The thought alone was so pathetic that you were glad no one else had been around to witness it.

You hoisted the panels and glue back to the supply closet, gripping them with palms slick from embarrassment and frustration. Tonight could have been an opportunity to clear the air about the Ben fiasco and resume your usual lighthearted conversations. His brusque laughter didn’t showcase the subtle dimples that pressed from the corners of his mouth into his cheeks, so unlike the genuine smiles that reached his eyes. Those warm eyes like chocolate chips on a summer day, except they melted you with each foray into his past, each glimpse into what made him, him.

Without them, the night was stagnant.

Amy’s Cafe was a favorite among the student population, especially during finals week. The coffee was usually burnt or weak, but it was cheap and conveniently located near campus, so it stayed afloat. Overworked baristas slid filled-to-the-brim mugs and to-go styrofoam cups to the edge of the counter, hissing espresso machines punctuating the pop music that was piped through the sound system. Exactly the kind of music Eddie would hate.

Eddie. He must have had an extensive errand list, because he still hadn’t returned when your shift ended. Your chest ached with a sadness that burned hotter than your curiosity. You no longer cared what he was up to, just that he preferred it to spending time with you.

Ben already sat at a small table when you arrived, the steam from his cup rising up and fogging his wire-rimmed glasses. He offered you a weary smile, one wrought with fatigue and a nervousness you couldn’t quite place. 

It wasn’t until you plopped into the seat across from him, careful not to spill your own coffee, that you noticed the gray crescents below his eyes that weren’t there on Sunday. Stubble coated his cheeks and chin, more five o’clock shadow than beard, and you were hard-pressed to remember a time he’d seemed this disheveled. 

“You look like shit.”

He raised his brows as he blew on his tea, sending tiny ripples through the citrusy-mint blend. “You sure know how to flatter a guy.”

Between the usual end-of-semester stress and whatever issues were simmering between you and Eddie, you lacked the patience to beat around the bush. “Seriously,” you insisted, “what’s wrong?”

Ben’s sigh held immeasurable weight, and you quickly understood why. “Eisen’s was vandalized last night,” he said quietly. 

“What?!” Your blood ran cold. The mental image of the always-pristine shop abruptly destroyed marred your psyche. 

He nodded. “Yeah. We empty the register at night and put the cash in a safe, so they didn’t get any of that,” he explained, a small consolation. “But they smashed the windows and graffitied the place. All of the shelves, our whole inventory…covered in it.” 

“Is everyone…is your family okay?” If the alarm had sounded and Uncle Mo or Aunt Tam came running in…if the intruder was carrying a weapon…

“We’re fine,” Ben assured you. “I mean, we’re all pretty shook up, but no one’s hurt.” His bottom teeth scraped along his upper lip. “I swept up most of the broken glass after the cops left, but it’s gonna take a while to scrub off the spray paint.”

“I can help,” you volunteered without hesitation. “I can swing by on Thursday afternoon.” There were no formal classes this week; you just had to drop off your paper and then you could go to the shop. 

“Thanks.” Ben kept his attention focused on his mug, dunking the bag aimlessly through the hot liquid. “Um, was your, uh, boyfriend with you last night?” When you wrinkled your nose, he elaborated. “That Eddie guy. He’s your boyfriend, right?”

You shook your head and tried to ignore the internal fluttering spurred on by the thought of Eddie being your boyfriend. “No. He just works for us.” Thirty-six hours ago, you would have referred to him as a friend, but you didn’t know if that was still true. 

Ben cocked an eyebrow. “You sure? Because he seemed pretty…” He searched for the right word, “...territorial over you.”

Territorial. As if you belonged to him. The notion was almost humorous, considering his desperation to avoid you at all costs. If you were his property, he must be a very hands-off landlord. 

“It’s not like that. He just gets competitive.” You filled Ben in on the wasp nest saga, even managing to pull a few chuckles out of him. 

“Okay, fine.” Something in Ben’s tone informed you that he didn’t quite believe you, but he pressed on, both of you well-aware that your love life wasn’t the most urgent issue. “But was he around last night? Hanging the wallpaper or something?”

He wasn’t. You wished more than anything that you could offer an alibi, but you didn’t have a clue where he was. 

It’s a big city; there were millions of places he could go besides Eisen’s. And yet you couldn’t name a single one, your throat bone-dry despite just taking a sip of coffee. 

“N-No, but he wouldn’t—”

“I’m not saying he did,” Ben interjected, firmly but not unkindly. “It’s just, I dunno, a little suspicious that this guy comes to our shop for the first time, hates my guts for some reason, and then the place gets destroyed the next day.” 

There was no denying how strange it was, especially coupled with his poorly explained absence. Something inside you insisted that it wasn’t Eddie, and you clung onto that hope. 

“I’ll talk to him tonight.” Bitterness churned in your stomach and crept up your throat, and you knew it wasn’t from the coffee. Was there anything about the way he’d been dressed that provided insight into his whereabouts? Anything he’d mentioned in passing?

Despite scouring the depths of your brain, you came up empty.

Ben exhaled and squeezed his eyes shut like he was actively trying to forget the memory of the break-in. “Everything was completely smashed. Like someone took a baseball bat to it or something.”

You flashed back to last week when Eddie went after the wasp’s nest with Phyllis’s bat. Did he ask her to borrow it again?

Stop it, you silently scolded yourself. It couldn’t have been Eddie. He might be hotheaded, but that didn’t mean he would destroy Eisen’s. 

Except he had trashed that hotel room because the manager issued a noise complaint. He’d seemed proud of it, laughing as he retold the story, like he’d carried out some meticulously crafted revenge plot. 

Shit. 

“You’re sure there’s nothing going on between you two?” Ben asked again, ripping open another sugar packet and dumping it into his drink. 

“Positive.” Certainly not now when you were barely on speaking terms.You didn’t have time for a relationship; school and work kept you sufficiently busy. 

Not that you wanted anything going on with Eddie. What would you even do together–go on dates at six AM after your shift? Hold hands across the lobby desk? Steal kisses in the supply closet? The two of you making out amongst piles of linens and a rusty toolbox? Your fingers tangled in his hair and your lips pressed to his; his hands gripping your waist and tugging you impossibly close? You couldn’t allow yourself to even consider it a possibility, to allow yourself to want it.

You noticed Ben giving you a wry smile, like he knew something you didn’t, and you snapped back into reality to volley a question back to him. “What about you? Meet any cute girls in dental school?” 

His unexpected cloudiness didn’t match your breezy, teasing tone. “No cute girls.” He paused, mulling over his words for a while before talking again, so softly you could barely hear him over the muzak playing over the café’s sound system. “There were some cute guys, though.”

The admission hung in the air for a moment while you slowly absorbed it. Cute guys, not girls. So Ben was—

A soft throat clearing grabbed your attention; he was anxiously awaiting your response. 

Reaching your hand across the Formica table, you draped your fingers over his and left them there. “How did you…know?” You winced at your own awkwardness. “Sorry, I meant, like, is this something you figured out recently? Or did you know back when we were kids?”

Ben laughed lightly, his shoulders sagging with relief. The worry of rejection left his eyes as he spoke. “Part of me always knew, I think. I just didn’t have a word for it.” He sighed, his breath trembling with residual nerves. “It’s not like we grew up talking about these things.”

He was right; you couldn’t recall a single time that his parents or yours discussed non-heterosexual romantic relationships. A man and a woman get married and have babies. The end. No mention of when two men or two women love one another. 

“Have you told your parents?”

“No.” His voice caught, throat blocked with emotion, and he cleared it again. “I wanted to wait until I finished school and got my own place. Y’know…just in case.”

He didn’t have to finish his sentence. 

“Would they really do that?”

He shrugged, his shoulders once again bearing the weight of the unknown. “I don’t think they’d kick me out,” he admitted, “but they’d definitely be disappointed. Like they did something wrong.”

“You know you can always stay with me if you need,” you said. “I’ll set aside a room for you.” Far away from Eddie’s, you added silently.

Ben’s smile was tight but genuine. “After all of these years, nothing’s changed.” He let out a hoarse laugh. “Does it get exhausting, being the best person ever?”

He was joking, trying his best to shift to a lighter tone, but the accuracy of his question had you temporarily reeling. You weren’t the best person ever, but it was exhausting constantly trying to be. He must have sensed that he grazed a nerve, his eyes softening as he leaned in. “You okay?”

You nodded, your head suddenly acquiring the heft of a boulder. The sound of the mailbox clanging shut and sealing your fate reverberated in your ears. And then Eddie had seen, had cleaned your smudged mascara so warmly that your skin simmered at his touch. Those same fingers might have grasped a can of spray paint or and wielded a bat with the intention of ravaging an innocent business. 

“You always were a terrible liar.” Ben said. He knew you too well, a blessing and a curse. “C’mon—a secret for a secret.”

His permission had your own confession slipping from where it had been tucked away and spilling into the conversation. “I’m majoring in psychology and I’m going to study social work at NYU.” When Ben offered you a confused look, you humbly elaborated. “And, I mean, I know it’s not the same thing as your situation, but I haven’t told my parents about it either.”

The shame burned you, flames nipping at your neck. 

Ben drummed his fingers against the mug’s handle, his nails making a soft cling. “The motel…” he trailed off, mutual understanding replacing the rest of his words. 

Neither of you said anything else for a while, only taking small sips of coffee until you mustered up the energy to speak again. 

“I don’t think they’d kick me out either,” you said, “but that might not matter. Without me to take over, they’d have to sell the place anyway.”

Ben thought for a moment. A teardrop of coffee trickled down the lip to the base, staining the white porcelain with a hazel streak. “Whatever happens, I’m here for you.” It was his turn to hold your hand, enveloping it in the comfort that can only come from a lifelong friend. “And if worse comes to worst, you can always bunk with me. As long as Eddie won’t mind,” he added with a mischievous edge. 

You rolled your eyes as the heaviness evaporated. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Am I?” He raised his brows. “You didn’t see the look on his face when I hugged you. I thought he was gonna knock me into tomorrow.”

“Whatever,” you said evenly, swiftly pivoting the subject to his own romantic endeavors. But the image of Eddie getting upset when Ben hugged you tugged at your mind for the rest of the conversation. You’d initially thought he was irritated about Ben encroaching on his job, but the hug came well before the offer to help. 

Trying to figure out Eddie Munson, you realized, was like jamming a puzzle piece where it didn’t belong. He would remain an enigma until you found the right spot. 

Afternoon bled into night, the overcast skies resulting in a noticeable absence of stars. Rain had been threatening to fall all day, but the humidity still bogged down the clouds when Eddie walked into the lobby at ten-thirty.

“Hey,” he said, raising one hand in an enthusiastic half-wave. His eyes met yours for only a second before pulling away. “I’ll just grab the paper from the supply closet.”

You tossed him the key and he caught it, clenching it in his palm. He smiled, victoriously but fleetingly once he realized it wasn’t being returned. Defeated, he trudged over to the closet. You normally would have followed and helped, but you were held down by what you knew–what you might know, you reminded yourself.

“You, uh, didn’t set up,” he said, shaking out the drop cloth and positioning it against the molding.

“Didn’t know if you had another secret errand to run.” The retort left your lips before you could stop it, and you pinched them together in a belated attempt to quell your anger. 

Eddie bristled, his brush halfway in the vat of glue, but he quickly composed himself and got back to work. You focused your attention on your essay, scanning it for the millionth time in search of misplaced commas or missing words. 

Perfect. It needed to be perfect. 

Silence once again overtook the motel lobby, broken only by the sounds of Eddie slicing the wallpaper at the edges, not bothering to measure before adhering it to the exposed plaster, and the outside traffic. 

You were comfortable with the prolonged quiet, though admittedly less so than before Eddie arrived a few weeks ago, but it must have gnawed at him. He started humming after only fifteen minutes, an unfamiliar tune, smooth in some places and staccato in others. 

“Are you still mad at me or something?”

You loathed the way his voice startled you, your mind too deeply buried in your paper. It caused you to look up and lock eyes with him. His question was wrought with frustration, though you couldn’t tell if it was directed at you or at his own inability to decipher the situation. 

“No.” Yes. 

Eddie sighed and continued working. “Well, if you change your mind, just know that I’m sorry.”

His apology brought back memories of his previous attempt—though ‘attempt’ might be overstating it, and you didn’t want to bite back your response. “It isn’t me you need to apologize to.”

He didn’t bother turning to you when he spoke. “You’re talking about that Bill guy?”

“Ben,” you corrected him, willing yourself to unclench your jaw, “and yes. You were rude to him for no reason.” You pushed aside Ben’s explanation, an improbability in itself. 

“I had a reason.” Venom dripped from each word. “Trust me, I could’ve done worse things than hurt his feelings.” 

And as his grip tightened around the brush, one bluish vein bulging in his forearm, you remembered how gleeful he’d admitted to trashing the hotel. How Ben had said that Eisen’s looked as though someone took a baseball bat to it.

“The store was vandalized last night.” 

All of the oxygen in the room evaporated. Eddie’s unamused chuckle, low in his throat, fissured the silent tension and made it palpable. Real. “And you think I did it.”

“I never said that.” 

But you and he both knew that you didn’t have to; the slight tremor in your voice giving away your true intentions. Even if you weren’t outright accusing him, your tone had too much bite to be conversational.

He threw the brush to the ground and it landed against the cloth with an audible thud. “Whatever.” Another grim laugh, each step towards the desk had your heart sinking further into your chest. “Y’know, I’ve already had a pretty shitty week, and I thought talking to you could turn it around. Should’ve known better.” He wiped his palms on his blue jeans and procured a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, lighting one and taking a long drag. 

You could only imagine the restraint it took for him not to exhale a cloud of smoke directly in your face.

It was a replay of the situation with Izzy’s mother, the assumptions that steeled you against her before you’d ever met and had you painting her as a neglectful parent. Her palpable worry was a slap across your face, and you felt that same sting now with Eddie.

Ruined it. With one stupid comment, you’d obliterated all of the trust built between you. 

“Excuse me, but I have a very busy evening ahead of me,” he said, pointing the cigarette in your direction like an accusation of his own. “I’m supposed to commit arson in fifteen minutes, and if I have time, I might just murder someone.”

No doubt you were at the top of his list.

The realization of your mistake released an anchor of guilt down your stomach. You should have trusted your instincts, should have immediately eschewed any notion that he was the culprit.

You hated yourself for even considering it a possibility, let alone a probability.

“For a sophisticated city girl, you sure remind me of the small-town pricks I grew up with,” Eddie continued, spittle gathering at the corner of his lips. Rage burned in his eyes. “Guess none of those textbooks taught you how to ask questions, huh? Like, ‘Eddie, where were you last night?’ That might’ve been a good start.”

His words were submerged in a poisonous vitriol, purposefully launched with the intent to maim. And yet they weren't inherently aimed at you. Not all of them, anyway. 

In that moment, you were everyone who had ever accused him of a crime he hadn’t committed. You were the security guards who ‘kept an eye’ on him when he went shopping, the middle-aged women who scowled and clutched their pearls at his tattoos, the people in his hometown who wrote him off as a devil-worshiping freak. 

Guilty until proven innocent. 

The fingers on your left hand slotted between the gaps on your right and pressed into your palm, a distraction from the lump forming in your throat. Crying was not an option, it exposed your vulnerability and opened you up to further ridicule. The only thing worse than Eddie using your tears against you was if he took pity on you; there was no way you could handle that level of humiliation. 

“Eddie, I—” 

You’d finally found your footing in the conversation, and it was promptly clipped. “Just assumed that I was off breaking and entering. A little blue collar crime is nothing new for trailer trash like me, right?” He shook his head in faux disbelief. “Is this how you’re gonna treat your clients?”

That final comment was a lit match that ignited a powderkeg within you, and since you refused to shed a single tear, it exploded in the only other way possible.

“You,” you jabbed your finger into his chest, no longer caring about whatever professional boundaries you might be crossing. Those had flown out the window once he’d purposely dredged up your insecurities. “You are the one who bailed on your job with the lamest excuse I’d ever heard and expected me not to get suspicious.” Your heart beat double-time, pumping raw anger in lieu of blood. “And you are the one who bragged about trashing a hotel room when the manager had the audacity to enforce a rule.” 

Eddie took a small step back, your biting reply an arrow to the gut. Perhaps even he felt it, too; the way he’d taken his tirade over the line. Gray flakes fell from his cigarette and onto the desk, the ashy clump having grown too heavy for gravity. 

You weren’t done, despite his apparent surrender. “You’re not my client. And I’m not Nancy Drew, so don’t act like I’m responsible for solving your bullshit mysteries.”

His nostrils flared as he regained his composure. “Asking a question isn’t—” a door creaking open and subsequent irritated footsteps halted his retort. Both of you broke eye contact to watch as Phyllis padded up the hallway and into the lobby. Irritation accentuated her smeared-lipstick frown, and she pulled her robe across her body, tugging on the belt in frustration. 

“I don’t know what this little lovers’ quarrel is about,” she hissed through clenched teeth, dragging an arthritic finger between you and Eddie, “but it’s killing the mood. So if you could wrap it up, we’d greatly appreciate it.”

You nearly choked on your tongue, and pink splotches decorated Eddie’s stubbled cheeks. 

“We’re not—”

“It isn’t—”

But Phyllis had already stalked back to her room, never one to keep a gentleman caller waiting. 

Neither you nor Eddie said a word for a few seconds, the heat of embarrassment still nipping at your bodies. A lovers’ quarrel? Phyllis clearly had a convoluted sense of romance if she thought you and Eddie were lovers. 

Eddie shattered the silence first, mumbling something nearly unintelligible about needing an ashtray. The dam that restrained your snarkiness had apparently buckled and burst, because when he turned to leave, his back to you, you called out, “see how easy it is to tell me where you’re going?”

He stopped, the cigarette between his fingers now ash down to the filter, but he didn’t turn around. His voice was low in his throat, a slight tremor as he spoke. “That’s real rich, coming from the person whose parents think she’s going to school for hospitality.”

That was low, but unlike his comment about accusing your future clients, this one was true. There was nothing you could say in response, no rebuttal would suffice. You hated the way words stilled in your chest, wishing you could fling insult after insult about his failed music career, but you were simply too tired.

You managed to stave off your tears until he had fully rounded the corner, burying your head in your hands to muffle your sobs. Pathetic. That’s what you were: a pathetic mess, bold enough to start an argument but too cowardly to finish it. And so there you stood, elbows digging into the wooden desktop until splinters pierced your skin, the distance between you and Eddie growing with each passing second.

Holding your own with other guests was usually second-nature for you, but other guests weren’t Eddie. They weren’t hanging around the lobby and asking you about your hopes and dreams. They weren’t willingly offering up their most vulnerable selves just to reassure you. They weren’t tagging along on errands and turning ordinary subway rides into small adventures.

They also weren’t sneaking around and making watered-down excuses, then painting you as the bad guy for doubting their intentions.

Half of you ached to apologize; the other half wanted to toss him and his trash bag luggage to the curb and not look back.

Warm tears slid down the slope of your nose until you tasted their salt on your lips. Stopping them seemed an impossible task, your mind hovering above your body like a separate entity altogether. Your breaths were jagged and uneven, an irregular pattern of shallow inhales and strained exhales. 

There was no sense in throwing yourself a pity party, not when you got yourself into this mess. If you were going to wallow in your own misery, you could at least be productive while you cried. 

Eddie had barely started the re-wallpapering, so cleaning up was not a daunting task. You rolled the paper back around the tube, keeping it tightly wound for easier transport. It was clunky; you had to adjust it twice in the short distance to the closet, but you managed to get it there with it unraveling. 

A gentle scrape across the desk made you peek out from behind the closet door, your red-stained, swollen eyes landing on Eddie once again. An unlit cigarette dangled from his lower lip, his fingers clenched around the jet-black lighter you hadn’t noticed he’d left behind.

He saw you, too, his lips forming a tense smile. 

“Forgot this,” he said, holding up the lighter with a little shake. The jaded lines of his face softened when he clocked your tear-streaked cheeks, and that minor show of sympathy had you eager to crawl beneath a rock. 

You waited for him to say something, anything, but he just let his gaze fall to where you were twisting the lid back onto the glue. Tucking the cigarette behind his ear and covering it with a curtain of curls, he hoisted the bucket and brought it back to the supply closet.

“Thanks.” It was safe yet genuine, not an invitation for a conversation nor a dismissal. 

Eddie shrugged. “S’fine,” he lisped, the cigarette placed back between his lips as he lit it. “Needed to clean up anyway.”

Optimism—whatever you could muster up of it—rattled against your ribcage like a prisoner yearning for freedom. If he cared about cleaning up, maybe that meant he was going to finish the job another time. You didn’t dare ask him, only nodding your head in acknowledgment. 

Friends fight, right? Your nagging need for reassurance poised the question on the tip of your tongue, but your fear of looking desperate anchored it there. I didn’t ruin everything, did I?

The flick of the lighter sparked a flame, Eddie’s hand protectively cupped around it. “Well, um, g’night,” he said, giving an awkward half-wave. 

“Good night.” Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow. But you didn’t manage that addendum, and Eddie retreated to his room. 

When you slept that morning, you dreamt that he turned back around. 

--

taglist (now closed ♥):

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[icyg4l]

Hello beautiful people. As you all are aware, it is officially Pride Month. I hope all of the fellow queer folk on here have a beautiful month filled with adventure, excitement and positivity. I have a channeled message for those who identify as a member of the LGBTQ+ community.

In a world filled with those who want to eliminate you, make it your mission to shove the love down your throat as much as you can. Be your biggest supporter, especially during this month. Would you rather live a life self-loathing? Or would you rather walk down the street with your shoulders back and your head held high? It is a hater's job to critique and judge, not yours. It is also your job to protect yourself. Arm yourself with knowledge of your rights; arm yourself with heavy-fisted hands for attacks of character; arm yourself with the gift of optimism to foresee the changes that await you; arm your body with the overwhelming urge to groove to your favorite song; lastly, arm yourself with contraceptives and Narcan to avoid locking eyes with fate. Everything you do is already heavily politicized, so make the choice to live your life with care and intention, darling.

[frownyalfred]

Completely off topic ? Ish but how do you meal prep? Followed for batfam but also love your gym and fitness talk? How exactly do you work out? I want to start going to the gym but I don't know how to get a membership and how to use all the machines?

I usually do meal prep Sunday nights. I prep a meal that can be used for lunch and/or dinner, and then some breakfast items I can grab and go with. I do a high protein meal prep so it takes some thought but I’ve gotten into a good groove the last few years.

Working out is a little trickier. I started out going maybe once a week, and slowly started going more over time to build a routine. Now it’s habit, since I like to get moving in some way every day. I do weightlifting with cardio days and yoga in between, though recently I’ve been doing more yoga since it’s lower impact.

Most gyms will do an intro/trial membership and will be happy to show you around! A lot of them also do intro to the machines as a free session, which I highly recommend. If you’re brave enough, you can also go up to people (in between sets) and ask them how the machine works — I’ve done this before, and usually they have good tips on form. And they might spot you!

I use the Strong app for keeping track of my lifts. It also has videos and diagrams of proper form with instructions. I track my food intake on a calorie app to try and optimize for my goals, but that can be triggering for some people.

If you’re afab, weightlifting especially is such a good habit to get into. You feel better, you feel stronger, and you aren’t as likely to get stuck in a weight loss/gain cycle. I lost 40+ lbs and countless inches around my waist and chest, but recently my focus has been more on what my body can do and what it looks like, and less on how much the scale reads. I eat the foods I like and have room for treats because you need to eat to fuel exercise! It’s so different from eating the tiniest possible and hitting cardio endlessly.

[mister-ious]

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley at the Gym headcanons:

Nsfw mdni thx

Fuuuuuckkkkk Ghost at the gym getting pumped and his muscles bulging out of his fitted black tee, flexing and stretching while he lifts and pushes. He would grunt and groan at the very last few reps of his sets and he’d try to keep his face from contorting, just letting his eyes squint and keeping a little frown or pursing his lips.

Ghost’s tee would be damp with sweat and would cling to every groove and crevice of his muscles like a fucking glove. And fuuuck his scent.. He’d smell sooo good. Just the thought of his musk just emanating from his dirty post-gym clothing makes me feral… putting me back in a primitive state its not even funny bro.

He’d probably spend just over an hour working out. He also probably prefers calisthenics over weights for the convenience, so he’d know all these tricks, AND it would one of the reasons why he’s able to soundlessly slither around and through environments: excellent balance.

And when he does use weights, he’s more likely to use equipment like a benchpress/leg-presssince it would train both limbs at the same time so that it’s more efficient—minmaxing gym routine.

When he’s not able to go to the gym he’d workout at home/at the barracks using whatever furniture is available. If he’s at the barracks, Soap would probably join him if Soap randomly witnesses it.

Also if he’s using the gym at the military he’d put on a black surgical mask, but, if he’s not and is using a normal gym he’d go mask-off.

Ghost wouldn’t be super lean since he doesn’t give that much of a fuck about his diet. Like, he’d care about getting all of his nutrients but he wouldn’t be much of a protein fiend. He’s a big muscular man, not an instagram gym influencer.

Like that popular hc, he wouldn’t listen to music at the gym BUUUT i feel like he would keep a pair of headphones on to muffle the outside noise. He wants total silence while working out, like a weirdo. Ghost would also carry those gallon sized water bottles with him to the gym.

After his workout, he’d take an agonising cold shower—he’d poker-face through it though as if it was a normal temperature-d shower. He’d take around 25 minutes since he’s a big man with big limbs and a big body to clean. Usually, Ghost would exercise in the early hours of the morning so after his workout, he’d eat.

Ghost would probably make something Huge. Maybe a pot of slop: anything he could get his hands on in his pantry and fridge and just plopped them in a pot on some heat. Or something like a girthy breakfast burrito.

Fuuuck it’d also be nice if Ghost happened to have taken an interest in rock-climbing. I think he’d like it since there are probably similar drills to rock-climbing in his military training. So fucking hot to imagine him just scanning this wall and immediately finding the most optimal way to climb to the top. You’ll see his biceps flex and his triceps form dimples fuck

Reader-insert/nsfw part:

There would be some times where he’d get extremely horny after gym and would immediately rush back home. His cock erect, creating a tent in his sweats as he drives. He couldn’t wait so he’d pullover to some indoor parking lot and palm his swollen dick, slowly taking off his pants and briefs. He pumps his hand slowly up and down his thick length, imagining you in between his legs, kneeling down and looking up at him with those big eyes of yours.

He’d shudder at the thought of it. His dick twitching in his hand as he fucks it faster. Shaky sighs turn into grunts, grunts turn into groans, and groans turn into growls. Fuck, he’s so close.

“Fuck, love,” he hisses, thrusting into his hand as he tightens his grip.

“Ah..!” He spurts opaque ribbons onto his steering wheel and pants, gasping and writhing in his seat as his cock spasms out the last few drops, gushing down to his balls.

“Fuck.”

[i-am-the-oyster]

ALBUMS

Where's The Beef?

According to the man himself, Paul can bash out a song in the time it takes Linda to whip up a soyasome supper. But is this necessarily a good thing?

By Chris Ingham. Illustration by Richard Camps.

Paul McCartney

Flaming Pie PARLOPHONE

McCartney sans band again. Self-penned, played and produced, apart from contributions by Jeff Lynne, Ringo Starr, Steve Miller and son James McCartney.

I'VE STOPPED TRYING TO JUSTIFY LOVING solo McCartney. Of course some of the work of the last 27 years has been slack and misjudged. Yes, his trust in stream-of-consciousness and the inspiration of the moment ("If you're working too hard on something, it probably means its not very good") has left a catalogue with at least as much eccentric, cavalier material as substantial. But if you respond to someone, you respond. A lot of minor McCartney means as much to me as the major. The aloof will sigh; we expect more from a pop giant.

But there is more - the gargantuan Liverpool Oratorio has its moments, his minimalist-impressionist chamber piano piece A Leaf is a charmer, the forthcoming Standing Stones symphony is an intriguing prospect - it's just that these days, pop is only part of what he does. In pop, he's changed the world already, he's had his purple patch, and he hasn't had another genius to run his new songs by for quite a while; that can do things to a man's quality control.

However, though less spectacularly ambitious than the serious work, there is much to be enjoyed here. The indisputable melodic flair, the uplifting, doe-eyed optimism, the daft rockers, all here on Flaming Pie, an album in the McCartney tradition of pretty good, nudging upper middle. If you're hip to him, that's all you'll need.

Though not reaching the coherent, miraculous heights of Band On The Run (1973), it's miles better than the interminable live albums or his last, the heart-sinkingly ordinary Off The Ground ('93). Better, too, than the aberration of Give My Regards To Broad Street ('84) and the not-as-bad-as-you've-heard Press To Play ('86). So, it's probably on a par with Flowers In The Dirt ('89) which, though lauded at the time as a major return to form (prompted, no doubt, by the red herrings that were the awkward McCartney-McManus collaborations), now seems no better/no worse than the slick, unfailingly tunesome Tug Of War ('82) or Pipes Of Peace ('83).

What noses Flaming Pie ahead of the pack, however, is a return to the engaging home-made quality of his earliest solo work. Back in do-it-your-self, down-home primitive miniaturist mode, back on deep-groove drums and bluesy guitar, there are echoes of McCartney (1970) and Ram (1971) here, and it all has an authentic ring of auteur about it. It's not that Beatley, but it's very McCartney.

Some of it is positively reckless, there's a determination to follow the mood, have a laugh, see what happens. Three songs here are little more than jams. Flaming Pie was a self-imposed challenge to finish a track with Jeff Lynne in four hours (like you do). Funny, surreal lyrics, a cracking 3 Legs-type vocal, a thunderous Why Don't We Do It In The Road/Don't Bring Me Down groove and some hilarious, cack-handed barrel-house piano; this is the track I'm playing visitors.

Ringo and Paul lock into a super-taut, muscled riff on Really Love You and McCartney makes up the song as he goes (like Mumbo from Wild Life but with words); mad, indulgent, but kind of happening. Only the duet with Steve Miller on a slinky Texas 12-bar palls. Two minutes of this good-vibe, one-take blues would have been a treat, four minutes feels like eight.

Interspersing this japery is good and OK Macca fare made better, perhaps, by co-producer Jeff Lynne's ear for detail on over half the tracks. There are no obvious ELO/Wilbury mannerisms and, oddly, the ones that sound most like Lynne don't involve him (both the strangely sinister If You Wanna and lightweight, damnably catchy Young Boy - the one he completed in a couple of hours while Linda was tinkering in the kitchen - feature orchestras of acoustic guitars), though the dry-as-a-bone sound and upfront vocals elsewhere betray Lynne's welcome presence.

Track Listing

The Song We Were Singing

The World Tonight

Somedays

If You Wanna

Young Boy

Calico Skies Flaming Pie

Heaven On A Sunday

Used To Be Bad Souvenir

Little Willo w

Really Love You Beautiful Night

Great Day

The Song We Were Singing is a vivid evocation of an evening with friends in the '60s; the sweet, hazy vocal, the trippy twang of the guitar, the struggle to make "...discuss the vast intricacies of life" scan, the soaring, singalong chorus all combine to give the track an enchanting, stoned elegance. Heaven On A Sunday is prime, dreamy Macca with gorgeously textured sound. It also features his son's debut as Dad trades his Oo You guitar licks with 20-year-old James McCartney's Dave Gilmour ones. Souvenir is an oddball beauty; a soulful, lazy thing with a surprise guitar-riff-from-hell and a psychedelic fade. This is all very encouraging, Lynne appears to have helped McCartney sound more like himself, somehow. To be continued, hopefully.

There are three finger-pickin' solo numbers. Calico Skies is an earnest little love song which develops into an anti-war prayer. Somedays is a portentous song of doubt, always threatening to mean something, beautifully decorated by George Martin's arrangement. Great Day manages to allude metrically to the Vincent Youmans's 1930 standard of the same title and melodically to McCartney's own Big Barn Bed in a sweet, throwaway piece of unfeasible optimism. They ain't Blackbird, but they're fine.

It must be noted that the man's singing is a marvel. The grey-around-the-edges folk-balladeering of Calico Skies, the falsetto blues-croon of Heaven On A Sunday, the deliriously uninhibited rock-shriek of Really Love You re-confirm that McCartney's vocal-style range is without equal in pop. Sinatra's pipes had virtually cracked at 55. What is this guy on?

"No sleepless nights over this one," he told Steve Miller. What with the serious stuff people keep asking him to write, who can blame him? Making this will have been a holiday by comparison.

The World's Greatest Living Melodist crown must lay heavy; here McCartney is sporting his Eccentric Primitive Miniaturist colours. Flaming Pie is a fine reminder of how much they suit him.

Paul McCartney talks to Chris Ingham live from his car somewhere in the great British countryside.

Flaming Pie. Pleased with it?

Yeah, like it a lot actually. It's always good when you're proud of what you've done, because when you're not you're always moaning at the record company about how they don't put posters up, or how they don t get plays and all that. But I sort of don't care. Even if radio doesn't take to it, posters don't get put up and people don't say the right things, I've got a feeling that because I like it, I don't give a shit. I'm not sure that's 100 per cent true but the feeling's there. It feels good. I'm comfortable; there's a lot to be said for that.

Don't you feel like this after each new record?

No, not really. You always enjoy like having a new baby, as it were, but this one feels a bit special. It's like Anthology, people would ask, "Are you worried? Should you have done it? Is it right to do Free As A Bird?" I would say to them, listen, once The Beatles and George Martin have signed off on it, I always get a great feeling that it doesn't really matter what anyone thinks, we're a sufficiently cool enough gang of dudes, it's a question of sod the rest of them. I always used to get that feeling on Beatles albums; hey, it's The Beatles, we all like it, that's a pretty strong opinion.

It's not as easy to get that on my solo records because it's mainly me. I don't have the strength of the Woolwich around me. But on this one, there wasn't much pressure because the record people said, "We don't actually need a record from you for a while, so l started making music just for my own fun.

I think I've given the Anthology a decent interval, my stuff is suddenly ready, asked Linda if she had any photos, she had a great little selection, banged it together and it all suddenly seemed to work and it was, "Oh, there you go.

And I've told the marketing guys, "I don't want any sweat on this record, I don't care if you don't come up with a good idea, we're just gonna have a laugh." It's funny, they don't know where you're coming from, they re so used to that 'gotta get it right, get the right image desperation. Whereas I'm saying it'd be nice, but it's only a record. It really does cool things down.

One big thing with The Beatles, once in the early days we broke down on the motorway going back up to Liverpool in the severe winter, somewhere. One of us said, "Oh, what are we going to do now?" and another said, "Well, something'll happen." And it sounded so naive, we all laughed, "Yeah, something'll happen." Immediately a lorry came up and said, "Wanna lift, lads?" We all piled in. I'm a great believer in that "something'll happen" syndrome. It's like if you allow that space, that bit of peace in your mind, something sort of comes in to fill it. It's all very metaphysical.

You've said, "Songwriting's like the thumb in the mouth." It's interesting that through a worrying time with Linda being ill, you've made an upbeat kind of record. Is there a connection?

Yes, I think there is. When you have a major problem like that, it focuses what's important. I know everyone says that but it really does. For me, my family comes first, and a close second is music and working. I think it stopped me pissing around. I might have made a record and thought, Oh that's OK. But with that and having just done Anthology I thought, No I'm gonna make sure I'm happy with every song on this album. I don't want to waste time. I think that's the main force. If you're just breezing along you can think, Aah I've got forever, it's all great - you can find yourself wasting time. And also having looked at The Beatles albums and running your finger down the tracklist and it's Nowhere Man, Here There And Everywhere, Taxman, bang, bang, bang, every single one is a song you remember. I thought, I'm gonna make an album like that. I sorted a lot of songs and didn't bother with things I was in doubt about. So the whole episode focused me up quite a bit.

You've admitted in the past to feeling daunted by the Beatles' achievements, yet all this full-on Beatlosity of the past 18 months or so seems to have spurred you on.

Yeah well, the sort of plan was to take a holiday. But I'd just be sitting around with my acoustic, writing a song in a power cut in America, played it to a few people and it's "Ooh yeah, that's a good 'un." So I started stockpiling a few with nothing in mind, stuck 'em on a cassette and called them New Songs. Suddenly I had a lot of them. Called Steve Miller, who I'd known and played with once in the '60s after a Beatle session which was aborted because of, ahem, business differences. God, I've just come across a big field full of sheep here. Amazing. But I digress... I'd say to Steve, "look we don't need to get into heavy breathing, let's just knock it off", the way we did that track of his, My Dark Hour. He'd invited me up to his studio in Sun Valley, Idaho, did a track. Returned the hospitality, knocked off a couple more.

You're working with Jeff Lynne again. He'd passed the Free As A Bird test then?

Yeah, that was the audition (laughs). He was sort of George's boyfriend, if you know what I mean, and, you know, you don't want to tread on people's toes. But I'd enjoyed working with him and found him really easy to get on with, we always had a laugh. And I said, "Do you want to come over for a couple of weeks?" He said, "Well, you can't do much in a couple of weeks." I said, "Well, we can do a couple of tracks and mix 'em.."

What was the dynamic between you and Jeff?

I'd show him the song. And then first of all we'd bang it down with a couple of acoustics so we'd have a wash to go against, instead of a click track. It's an old Beatle trick, really. Everything used to have two acoustics, at least. It was mainly me and John showing the guys the song. That's one of Jeff's production tricks, too. I can't think where he got it. A lot of people when I mentioned working with Jeff their eyebrows raised, and I picked up what they meant was he's going to make an ELO of you. I actually had that worry with Free As A Bird. But then I thought, No, we'd worked around it, and even though it was a Jeff Lynne-type production I still thought it sounded very like The Beatles. So I had a chat with him and I said, "I don't want to get into your recognisable sound." He was actually a little bit surprised, I don't think he thinks he has a sound (in surprised Brummie voice), "What do you mean?" He's a very innocent kind of bloke. I said, "If I feel we re getting into a bit of a Jeff Lynne formula, let's find a trick to get round it, subvert it." He was quite into it, actually.

John Lennon said in the late '70s that if The Beatles were still making records, they'd sound like ELO.

Yeah, it was important to Jeff to meet John and have him say, "Oh I love some of those ELO tracks." I liked them, too. It's a bit like Oasis. Anyone who gives such an obvious tribute to you, you either hate it or you love it, and I love it. They're taking our style and proliferating it, if that's the word. ELO were good, you know, pity about the haircut. (Pause) I'm only kidding about the haircut, you'd better put in brackets - he'd kill me. He's still got it.

Given Ringo's and George Martin's cameos, George Harrison remains conspicuous by his continued absence. Is it difficult, given your history and the reported 'artistic tension' on the Free As A Bird/Real Love sessions, to contemplate a Harrison/McCartney collaboration?

I don't know really. To tell you the truth, when I was working with John, it was so, I don't know, so full, you never had a minute, so if working with George never really came up, I got in the habit of not working with him, I never really learned how to do it. When we did Free As A Bird there were one or two little bits of tension, but it was actually cool for the record. For instance, I had a couple of ideas that he didn't like, and he was right. I'm the first one to accept that. So that was OK. We did then say that we might work together but the truth is, after Real Love I think George had some business problems. Er, it didn't do a lot for his moods over the last couple of years. He's been having a bit of a hard time, actually, he's not been that easy to get on with. I've rung him and maybe he hasn't rung back. No big deal. But when I ring Ringo, he rings back immediately, we're quite close that way. You know, I'll write George a letter and he might not reply to it. I don't think he means not to reply to it but it makes me wonder whether he actually wants to do it or not. And if you're not sure, you back off a little. But I love him, he's a lovely guy and I would love to do it. It'd be fun, he's good.

[deanscutsandbruises]

Task Force 141 as Led Zeppelin Songs (based mostly on vibes and 10% lyrics)

Soap- Ramble On (Whole Lotta Love was my first thought but I think this fits him better, optimistic and courageous)

Ghost- In the Light (a bit unnerving/ intimidating but overall has an interesting message. The lyrics, "And if you feel that you can't go on and your will is sinking low. Just believe and you can't go wrong" and "I know how it feels cause I have slipped through the very depths of my soul")

Gaz- Heartbreaker (this one is pretty straightforward 😅 Gaz is a looker and the groove is funky and he's the first one I pictured. He's similar to Price to me though so Kashmir could also apply to him tbh)

Price- Kashmir (I wanted to give Price my favorite song, Since I've Been Loving You, since he's my personal favorite but the lyrics of this song really work for him. "All I see turns to brown as the sun burns the ground. And my eyes fill with sand as I scan this wasted land." And "pilot of the storm that leaves no trace")

Laswell- Communication Breakdown (This honestly just made me giggle, Kate is the liason between the 141 and pretty much everyone else and "communication breakdown" is her whole goddamn job)

Nik- Dazed and Confused (this was based 100% on vibes alone, couldn't help but picture him scream singing this in the heli 😂)

Farrah- Ten Years Gone (I really struggled to find one that suited Farrah and almost picked Kashmir for her, but the "rivers always reach the sea" reminded me of Palestine and Urzikstan is so similar to it that I couldn't help but chose that for her. It's also such a similar balance of optimism and realism that matches her so well. plus "in the midst i think of you and how it used to be" makes me think of Hadir)

Alex- That's the Way (like Nik this was mostly vibes. This one is more gentle and subdued in tune, but the lyrics are a gut punch. Alex is CIA, the switch he makes to Farrahs side is done mostly on instinct and his personal moral code. He's kinda the antithesis to this song honestly, it's almost his transition from CIA dutiful agent to being a member of a rebellion)

(I honestly wanted to give Soap and Gaz all the horny songs. I also might do this again with Linkin Park....or maybe just the divorced dad music genre in general 🤔)

[bonkquartz]

a hat in time au; what if the conductor fought dj grooves instead?

just a sketch for an animation meme i wanna make. gave grooves more stars on his jacket and also a little, idk what it's called but it's like, a stitch? on the open part of his jacket at the bottom (i don't know how to explain it but i thought it looked cool). his trousers have diamonds on the side.

conductor looks a bit more casual here, he is wearing a blazer tucked into his belt, loose tie, holding his hat in his hand. he's also wearing trousers that have two pockets like the ones in cargo pants. his trousers are tucked into his boots which have some belts on them. maybe he has the dead bird studio logo on the back of his blazer and on the chest pocket?

i hope these designs look cool, i think they look cool !!

extra sketch + my opinions on the intended boss in botb under the cut [long scroll]

extra:

little beady eyes poking out

ofc it's plausible that both characters could be the actual intended boss, and there's evidence for both, but i wanna explain my idea on things !!

at first i was conflicted because at the start it shows that the conductor has 3 time pieces while dj grooves has 2. this led me to think that the conductor has to be the winner because he has two to give for his levels and then one final one to give for his award ceremony, while dj grooves only has two to give for his levels. but i realised recently that the conductor actually gives away one of his time pieces before you even get to any of their levels, which would mean that both of them have 2 time pieces each for their levels, and my original theory is false !!! so now i am completely convinced that it is MR. GROOVES HIMSELF who is the intended villain (i know that there probably isn't an actual 'intended' boss, this is just headcanoning really and i'm completely fine with others thinking differently to my headcanon).

first off, it's a plot twist i personally love. he's such a kind and chill guy, how could he turn on us like this ?! i LOVE it. i think that all of those continuous losses really can take a toll on him, especially because he DID win once. it must've felt amazing, but it means the failure afterwords would be all that more upsetting. i believe all of this really affected him. i mean, how couldn't it? it seems obvious that it'd negatively impact anyone's mind. i feel like it festered inside of him, as a large mass of hatred and despair; he couldn't take it, what good is it being a filmmaker if you aren't even good at it? when he finally started considering the idea of quitting, the perfect solution fell into his lap - a girl approached him, speaking of mysterious hourglasses with time-shifting abilities, about how they're the optimal fix for problems such as theirs, speaking about the fame he could have - the power he could wield.

and then he had it. the annual bird movie award was right in his flippers. it was his, all his. but he didn't do it alone. he had produced a new star. was it because of her that he won? a familiar feeling of jealousy encapsulated him. she had to go.

but he failed, he failed to dispose of her, and there were so many witnesses to his failure.

his moon penguins, they were like a family to him, and they saw him like this. even the conductor was there, helping the girl. why? why did it turn out this way? all he wanted was to feel proud of himself, he wanted to feel like he deserved the admiration he got from his fellow moon penguins, he wanted to make them proud.

WHY did this turn into a fanfic??? but anyways, i wanted to give an insight into how i believe he felt during the whole thing, and i guess a fanfic was the best way to do that????????? but um, actual reasons that convince me:

- the hitbox is always dj grooves' - it's more interesting to me story-wise, personally - in hat kid's diary, she seems shocked by the betrayal and like someone else pointed out, i feel like she would have seen the conductor betraying her coming, so that wouldn't be shocking, but dj grooves being the boss would be shocking to her. after all, he's been so nice to her from the start!! - dj grooves is one of my favourite characters.... - he isn't majorly featured in any subsequent chapters - could show that he feels too guilty !! - in the concept game he was always going to be the villain - he gets his own storybook (i think it's in the dlcs?), the conductor doesn't. the main bosses all have their own storybooks i think.

probably more but i have to sleep away !!!

[magicwhiskers29]

Today on 'Whiskers tells you all to play Wandersong'!

IT'S RAVING ABOUT LEITMOTIFS TIME!!

First, and (not actually the first you hear, but shhh) the Bard's motif! First heard in The Bard, the motif appears across the OST in any track titled 'The Bard and [...}', which usually opens any new act on a familiar note! And then! And then! When it plays in other tracks, such as Even the Tiniest Bugs, or I'm going with you!, it really hits you because you recognise it, and it's so full of hope and optimism, and everything the Bard stands for, even when facing the end of the world

Actually, first of all, the hero motif! It's the joint ideas of the sword seen in the prologue and that concept of wanting to make a difference. It's I Wanna be a Hero and I'm Going With You! just as much as it's The Sword and Lightning Strike, and it's that dichotomy that defines some of the most interesting themes and points of conflict in the game. (Also its use in King of Hearts will never not be my favourite thing)

Okay, and maybe not actually so much a leitmotif as a theme that gets frequently remixed, but... Miriam's motif/theme! First heard in, well... Miriam, there are variations of it starting with She's Mine, and then My Friend Miriam, where the track begins to change tone with the game. It's the contrast to the Bard's theme that remains (usually -- there is, of course, an exception) joyful and optimistic, where you can really feel that Miriam's resolve isn't quite made of the same kinds of things. Miriam matches the game's tone, where the Bard tends to oppose it and keep fighting.

To finish out the trio, Audrey does have her own individual motif as well. (Jeez, Audrey, how come the devs gave you two motifs, huh?) First heard later in Lightning Strike, followed by in Audrey's interlude music of Thunderstorm (Slightly different, actually, but I think it counts), and then again in most of Audrey's music, such as Collapse and Audrey. It's very fanfare-y, which is pretty fitting for how she likes to present herself. It's pretty classically 'cool', and you can just feel her pride and smugness in it. I do think it's interesting how the dragging out of the intro starts to bring it down as the game progresses too. It's not just the Bard and Miriam who are getting worn out (physically and mentally), by the journey.

And then all the minor motifs! There are... a lot. There are many act-specific motifs, or motifs for more minor characters. To list off a few interesting ones:

The Dream King! Starts in The Dream King as sleepy and calm, very Act 1, if you will, but gets progressively darker, sort of matching Miriam's theme, in that regard, with tracks like Out of Order

The Coffee Pirates theme! A classic for Act Three! Very fun, and gets used in a variety of contexts from a slower ship theme in The Lady Arabica, to a group sing-a-long fun time in Sailing with Coffee Pirates, to a sombre farewell in Sail into the Sunset

ALL THREE CHISMEST MOTIFS! So, there's the town theme in... Chismest, which reoccurs for a more mischievous variant in Subterfuge for plotting! Now... This is technically just part of the Order March, but I wanted to talk about it anyway

And then the Happy Kid theme heard in Happy Kid and another track which I'll get to in a moment.

And, of course, the track that the chapter is built around both thematically and literally, the Order March -- showing up again in The Baron, to bring things back to where they started for the end of the main section of the Act (Very Chismest, what with its circular layout, where you always end up back at the Factory), and for a bit of a groove in Please Hold. And possibly my favourite Act opener: ACT 4: March of the Happy Factory. It starts as a sort of strange-sounding start for the first time you hear Happy Kid's theme, before devolving into a chaotic run, very reminiscent of the Factory's ironically chaotic music, and finishing on a sombre note of the Order March once more.

If you couldn't tell, I have an immense appreciation for Act Four's music specifally, haha.

And then! HALA'S MOTIF! This one's more subtle, since you hear the origin of the motif after your first time hearing it in something else (Somewhat similar to the Hero motif, intriguing...), and it's in Hala, and also Mean Spirit where it really brings the emotion into the latter. It matches Mohabumi's soundfont very well, and it's a cool little detail in Mean Spirit!

And finally... It's small, but I'm basically legally obligated to talk about the Heart motif :) First in the very silly Heart Fairy, and repurposed masterfully for the much more dramatic King of Hearts, where the emotional stakes are much higher. It doesn't appear much, but it's usage is very efficient, and very effective

So yeah. This game has very good music and everyone should play it. (I'm not beating the obssessed with leitmotif allegations today whoops)

[formulaphoe]

the lowdown on formula 1 tyres

image source: fueler store

formula 1 tyres may seem like a simple piece of rubber, but they are a marvel of engineering and strategy. let's dive into how these crucial components work and why they play such a vital role in the high-stakes game of motorsport.

the basics: types of tyres

image source: f1

in formula 1, tyres aren't just tyres; they're tailored for specific conditions and purposes. pirelli, the official tyre supplier since 2011, provides several types for teams to choose from, each designed to perform under different circumstances.

soft tyres: these are the quickest, but wear our fast. perfect for qualifying sessions when teams aim for pole position (or p18 if they're sauber).

medium tyres: a good balance between speed and durability, these tyres are often used in the race's middle phases.

hard tyres: designed for longevity, these can withstand more laps, but sacrifice some grip and speed.

intermediate and wet tyres: essential for rainy conditions, these tyres have grooves that channel water away, helping to maintain grip on slick surfaces.

pirelli regularly updates these compounds based on feedback and performance, so teams have to adapt their strategies accordingly.

the science behind the grip

image source: autosport

the grip of a tyre is influenced by various factors, including its compound, temperature, and pressure. the rubber used in f1 tyres has a unique blend that provides the necessary grip and durability. the rubber's flexibility allows it to deform and maintain contact with the track, which is crucial for effective braking and cornering.

temperature matters

tyres need to reach a specific operating temperature to perform at their best. for example, soft tires can provide optimal grip once they reach about 90° celsius. teams use tyre blankets to heat the tyres before they hit the track, ensuring they're ready to go right from the start. if the tyres are too cold, they won't grip the surface properly, which can lead to poor performance and potentially dangerous conditions.

pressure and performance

tyre pressure is another critical aspect. if the pressure is too low, it can cause excessive wear and affect handling. conversely, too high a pressure can lead to a loss of grip. teams closely monitor tyre pressure through advanced mapping techniques to ensure optimal performance during races.

strategy: when to pit?

image source: fast company

the timing of pit stops is crucial in f1 racing. deciding when to change tyres can make or break a race. teams analyze factors, including tyre wear, track position, and competitor strategies. a well-timed pit stop can mean the difference between winning and losing, making tyre strategy a key component of race tactics.

teams also conduct tyre tests before races to gather data. these tests help teams understand how different compounds behave on specific circuits, allowing for better race-day decisions.

the role of technology

image source: microsoft tech community

the development of f1 tyres isn't just about rubber; it involves sophisticated engineering and simulation. teams use computer models to predict tyre behaviour under different conditions. this data-driven approach helps engineers design better tyres that cater to the needs of their specific cars and driving styles.

real-time data

during a race, teams gather real-time data to adjust their strategies on the fly. engineers monitor the performance of the tyres through telemetry, which tracks parameters like temperature, pressure, and wear. this information allows them to advise drivers on when to push the limits and when to conserve tyres.

the future of f1 tyres

image source: williams racing

looking ahead, the world of f1 tyres is bound to evolve further. as sustainability becomes a focal point in motorsport, there's an ongoing effort to develop more eco-friendly compounds without compromising performance. pirelli is already exploring options that incorporate sustainable materials, ensuring that f1 keeps up with global trends.

sources

seymour, mike. "f1 tyres explained: the beginner's guide to formula 1 tyres." formula 1, 9 apr. 2023, www.formula1.com/en/latest/article/the-beginners-guide-to-formula-1-tyres.61SvF0Kfg29UR2SPhakDqd

straw, edd. "how f1's tyre test will work - and why it matters." the race, 2 july 2021, www.the-race.com/formula1/how-f1s-tyre-test-will-work-and-why-it-matters/

bhambwani, rupesh n. "demystifying formula 1 tyres: a comprehensive guide." medium, 17 sept. 2023, www.medium.com/formula-one-forever/demystifying-formula-1-tyres-a-comprehensive-guide-b990d17fe849

vogel, jonathan. "tech explained: formula 1 tyre model development." racecar engineering, 27 sept. 2021, www.racecar-engineering.com/articles/tech-explained-formula-1-tyre-model-development/

"tire pressure mapping by f1 teams - why and how." interface force measurements, 10 nov. 2022, https://interfaceforce.co.uk/tire-pressure-mapping-by-f1-teams-why-and-how-2/

"f1 tires." pirelli, 2019, www.pirelli.com/tires/en-us/motorsport/f1/tires

cortina, miguel. "here's how pirelli chooses the tires for each formula 1 race." motortrend, 17 may 2023, www.motortrend.com/features/how-pirelli-chooses-its-tires-for-a-formula-1-grand-prix/

if any errors or typos are noticed, PLS PLS point them out via comment, ask, or dm. if there is a specific topic you would like me to cover, send in an ask and i'll look into it!

[cherry-bomb-ships]

Hey guyyyyysss so I am posting this just to get some constructive criticism, this is my first time trying to record vocals with a mic that isn't my phone and I would love some second opinions! You guys might know by now that I've been wanting to make vocal covers of Splatoon songs with lyrics I've written for a while now, and this is my first venture into doing so! Fair warning I'm not incredibly proud of this final result and there's definitely gonna be some stuff I'm gonna re record once I can (my voice is done for today tho lol), but I figured I'd put it out there any way to get some feedback and advice. If you are wanting to leave some feedback, please read below the cut as I might have already said something you might comment on (I'm also putting the lyrics down below the cut). Any comments, asks, or even reblogs with constructive criticism are encouraged, it's the whole reason I'm posting!

First of all the biggest thing I do not like: my vocals for Marina 💀 I already know they sound way too tired and soft, and once I have the chance I'll re-record them with a LOT more energy

That being said, I don't think I mind how Pearl's vocals came out! There are some parts that I wanna go back and re-do, but overall I am happy with them!

Another thing on Marina's parts is they definitely got a bit muffled and compressed during recording - I did her parts first, when I was still figuring out the optimal setup to record in the first place, and it definitely shows!! 💀💀 That'll definitely get fixed when I go back and re-record as well!

That's all I've got to say for now, as promised, below are the lyrics since I know some parts are a bit muffled! That's something that will get fixed next go-around

[Marina] I'll start movin' now if you're only a move away [Pearl] Pearl and Marina! Here we come, we're Off the Hook! [Marina] I'll say, it's so strange, music makes me feel this way [Pearl] Y'all ready for this?! Wanna start up this party? You know where to look! Cuz we keep it fresh where the rest get cooked Not off the chain, Off the Hook Here come those girls The hottest in Inkopolis 'Rina movin' grooves and Pearl's on the mic! Now time to fry 'em Can't stop what we're cookin' up! Freshest in the club, now give us some love! Now ya understand, with my mic in hand, there aint't a band that lands close to this jam! Wake up, we rockin' the Square! Come on, kiddin' squids, get your fins in the air! There's no problem with changing your mind, you're mine now. [Marina] Whoa, we could be the stars Me and you now We could rule this party Then take our bow There's no question You'll start ruling the world! Or, we could run away Late in the night Your hands on my body Just hold me tight And you'll be there Right where you belong!

[timmyrx2000]

“TRY AND CATCH ME, DIPPER!”

Wendy boldly stretches her single to a double even if its a close call as she blasts past Dipper ready to catch the ball. Art by @turquoisespace35 It's part of an AU where, during their free time, Dipper, Mabel, Pacifica, and Wendy form a baseball team to try and get Dipper and Pacifica out of their shells. Wendy and Mabel try to boost Dipper's confidence by getting him to give playing baseball a shot.

Wendy is the undisputed Queen of the Diamond, even back when she played for the Gravity Falls Little League Team and it seems she's still got her fire which makes her the perfect coach (with Mabel by her side as her assistant coach) for Dipper and Pacifica. But not only is Wendy a pro in her on right, she's also the coolest person Dipper knows, so who better to push and inspire him to his best on the diamond?

Wendy never fails to take a chance as basking in her nostalgia whenever she remembers the days of playing on their Little League Baseball Team, how she'd grown so much as a player from the day she tried out as a Rookie to eventually becoming the team's captain. She'd also been the only girl to even try out for the team which made her being part of the team even more special. Girls have always been allowed to join Little League Baseball teams but it was rare they ever did but Wendy didn't let that stop her. She'd always been a risk taker and she didn't mind jumping into the deep end of joining a Baseball team no matter what anyone else said. It's one of the things that made her stand out the most during her time on the team and even now. She wasn't just a free spirit but more like a poltergeist ready to spread mayhem on the diamond the moment her cleats touched the grass. Her boldness was always her defining trait, always pushing the limits to see what she could get away with in her games, even if it meant getting thrown out at base a few times. It was what gave playing Baseball that extra thrill and spice that she always carried with her and now does so too with Dipper, Mabel, and Pacifica. Now with her cleats back on the diamond, she's itching to bring back that same flare she had and pass it on to them. Dipper, on the other hand, has always been quiet and calculating and was never much for taking risks. He'd always rather stay in his comfort zone and get lost in his interests rather than getting out there. In fact, that's what made his time adjusting to Gravity Falls more challenging. It's also why Dipper never bothered to explore playing Baseball, though he did find the scientific aspects of it appealing like how physics and statistics played a huge role in the game. Even being pushed to play Baseball by itself was already a huge risk that Dipper was unsure of taking. It wouldn't be until he realized it was his opportunity to let loose that he began to enjoy the game, even if he still refuses to admit it. In fact, Dipper's improvement as a player has been stunning with him proving to be quite a flexible player with quite a talent for strategy. He's even found his groove on the mound with some pretty impressive pitching work. However, he has never fully gotten over playing safe. He often loses himself overthinking many situations in the game: the probability of being able to steal a base, the speed he needs to outrun the attempt of the infielders defending base, even trying to figure out the scientifically and mathematically best point where he can slide. It sometimes gets to him and just adds to his frustration at himself when he's unable to pull off the optimal play he's thought off cause he was too caught up overthinking his play.

Wendy and Dipper approach baseball from 2 opposite ends of the spectrum but that's just become a way for them to build up their relationship on the team. In fact, the whole point of getting Dipper and Pacifica to play was for Wendy and Mabel to break them out of their shells. Dipper never fails to impress Wendy with his keen sense of observation and strategy, able to plot out  ways to sneak a win against their opponents. But its Wendy's guts and boldness that solidifies her as Dipper's idol on the Diamond. Even during practice and pick-up games within the team, Wendy constantly takes risks on her plays, most specially stretching her runs from singles to doubles or even triples if she could. It's a power move that always gets Dipper especially when he's playing to defend the base. Blasting past him, she'd playfully tease him "TRY AND GET ME, DIPPER!" despite knowing how close the throw to Dipper would be as she passed him. It may be amazing for Dipper, but to a pro like Wendy, its just her way of having fun.

As the season progresses, Dipper learns from Wendy not to take the game too seriously. It's Baseball! It's supposed to be fun and wild. Dipper slowly begins to learn to take risks in their games too, especially plotting how to best mess up the other team when they least expect it. But Dipper's not the only one learning new moves! Wendy's also grown to admire Dipper's skills for strategy and observation on the field and, just like in her days in Little League, Wendy's learned to be less reckless in her risks and to build on being strategic in her mischief. Together, Wendy and Dipper make one heck of a duo, dishing out unexpected and unpredictable plays that push their team through the ranks. But most importantly, they make the game worth playing: A game of wits and a game of risk, 2 parts of their personalities that they've grown so much and will carry as a life-long lesson.

[umgeorge]

george russell is interviewed during the press conference, saudi arabia - march 6, 2024 (transcript under the cut)

Interviewer: "George, why don't we start with you? Mercedes were difficult to read at the pre-season test, and it feels they were a little bit difficult to read at the first race weekend, as well. What conclusions did you draw from the Bahrain Grand Prix?" George: "I think the conclusions we drew were the car has potential. I think when we saw the pace on FP2, that was genuine. Lewis and I had P1 and P2. I think probably not everybody turned up, but we were genuinely fast. And then in the race we had some really big cooling issues that caught us by surprise, and we know there's at least a fifteen second loss just in the battery and the power, and probably more after you consider the effect it had on the tires. And just an extra couple of seconds in stint one, when I had Checo beind me, would have been pretty handy, so I think we'd have been in the fight for P2, for the podium, with Checo and Carlos, but definitely we didn't show our true potential." Interviewer: "Were those cooling issues a simple miscalculation, or something that actually needs a fix?" George: "I think it was definitely a miscalculation. It would have been quite straightforward to just open the bodywork very slightly and make things much easier, but we don't know how we fell into that place… Sorry, I'm just distracted by Charles walking in." [laughs] Interviewer: "Charles. Welcome!" Leclerc: "Sorry." George: "Yeah, lost my groove now. [laughs] No, but we don't really understand why, because we didn't change anything from testing-in FP2, as well-and it suddenly caught us out on Saturday, so I'm sure it'll be better this weekend." Interviewer: "I was gonna say, are you worried about it this weekend? George: "We need to get on top of it, and we've got some tests tomorrow to try and understand further what happened." Interviewer: "Alright. Thank you, George." [time jump] Journalist: "Nelson Valkenburg, Viaplay, for George: F1 media, everybody, is obsessed with the possibility of is Max going to Mercedes. How would you feel if a driver who had some choice words for you a year ago would join the team?" George: [laughs] "Yeah, I think… As I said last week in Bahrain, this is my third season now alongside Lewis, greatest driver of all time, and I feel like I've done a pretty good job alongside him, so whoever were to line up alongside me next year or the years to come, I welcome anybody, welcome the challenge. You always wanna go against the best, but ultimately, for me, just focused on myself. I believe in myself, I believe I can beat anybody on the grid, and you just got to have that mentality, so as I said, having Lewis as my benchmark for the last couple of years has been a pretty good benchmark, for sure." [time jump]

Journalist: "But what chance, George? What chance is Max Verstappen really going to Mercedes? From the inside, could you see it happening? 'Cause it would be perobably the biggest story since your current teammate signed for Ferrari." George: "I think any team want to have the best driver line-up possible and right now Max is the best driver on the grid, so if any team had a chance to sign Max they would 100% be taking it. So I think the question's more on the other side, on his side, and on Red Bull's side. Obviously so much going on there. We don't know what truly's going on behind closed doors and ultimately it's none of our business right now. Yeah, I guess it would be exciting." [time jump] (NOT SHOWN:) Journalist: "David Croft, Sky Sports F1. You all did 57 laps. Everyone did 57 laps, apart from those that were lapped, on Saturday in Bahrain. You all went into the race optimistic, I'm sure, because it was the first race of the season. How was your optimism levels at the checkered flag? That's to all of you." George: "I think after three days of testing everybody knows Bahrain pretty well. It all panned out as we probably expected, but obviously we all hope that the field tightens up a little bit right at the front. But the fight behind Max, I think, is really, really tight and it's gonna be quite exciting, between ourselves, Ferrari, Aston, and McLaren." [time jump] (NOT SHOWN:) Journalist: "Diego Mejia, Fox Sports Mexico. Both Charles and George, about the issues you had with the cooling, with the brakes and the power unit, is that a worry here? Was it probably the changing conditions in Bahrain that caused that, that we had probably the lowest temperature before the race started and then it was increasing over the race weekend?" George: "Yeah, similar to Charles, it was definitely a bit of an odd one for us, but we're confident we're on top of it and won't face the same issue this weekend."

[centrally-unplanned]

Serial fiction works totally fine for me (though multi-chapter release is ideal), I very much enjoy the process of thinking about what will come next, rereading key chapters the latest update provokes memories of, etc. Its in some ways irreplaceably better than just a complete novel.

I do not have the same perspective on most video games; its such a drag to get back into a game after being away for a while. The Last Sovereign just had a update and that game's level of hyper-detailed, low-guidance, number-crunchy optimization of quests is just a brain state it takes time to acclimate to, you know? You have to get into the flow of like yes this is where every NPC I have ever talked to is located so I can remember that dialogue they said that one time that is suddenly relevant. But if the updates are serial then by the time I get back into that groove fully I am almost done!

Game-specific ofc, I have no problem with silly gatcha mobile games or w/e in this regards. And obviously niche RPGmaker game The Last Sovereign is released serially because that is the only way it could sustainable get made at all, so no foul. Just clearly how my brain works.

[kiastirling-fanfic]

Tranquil Week Day 3: Dissent

A tranquil who works in the Wonders of Thedas engages in some minor workplace rebellion. (Nestor is not a canonical tranquil character)

Read it on Ao3 Here or find the full text below the cut

Rating: G Wordcount: 703 C/w: retail

@tranquilweek

The Wonders of Thedas was loud.

Not in volume. Its patrons generally kept to quietly appreciative commentary or salacious whispers for some of the more specialized merchandise, and its proprietors were likewise unlikely to raise their voices.

Though the Wonders of Thedas run largely by the Tranquil who enchanted its artifacts, it was not they who decided its decor and public image, nor was it determined by the Chantry. Some decades past, when Orlais ruled over Ferelden, its nobles took offense to the drab nature of the Tranquil and the shop they ran, and while the shop continued its functions the overseer of Denerim commissioned artisans to update and formalize its appearance.

The Wonders of Thedas was one of few buildings in Denerim to still display Orlesian architectural influence after the successful rebellion that saw King Maric set upon the throne, and though the Orlesian nobles who had overseen it were long since ousted, those who took up the duty in their absence continued the trend.

Nestor had been Tranquil for 3 years now, and he had no feelings as all Tranquil did, but that did not mean he lacked opinions. And he was of the opinion that the Wonders of Thedas’ design was loud.

When he voiced this, his fellows did not understand, though he did not expect them to. He had been particular as a mage, too.

The graceful swooping and brilliant colors of Orlesian design had never suited his tastes when he had feelings, and it was his now objective opinion that he had always been correct. The contrasting colors made it difficult for his eyes to focus on certain parts of the store, something that was undesirable when their goal was to showcase and sell the work of the enchanting Tranquil and fund the Circle.

Nevermind the dust that collected in each ill-advised nook and cranny. The amount of time spent dusting each crevice was excessive, time that could be better spent on any other task. By Nestor’s estimation, they could have one more Tranquil working on enchanting for at least four hours a day if there were less extraneous cleaning to be done.

He brought his observations to the mage and templar who oversaw the Wonders, including his sketches of how to remodel the building to suit Fereldan architecture, built to withstand the weather and without the proclivity to collect dust and dirt in all manner of places, but Nestor was dismissed quickly and told to continue servicing the customers. This was not his job.

Nestor disagreed. Optimizing the Wonders was precisely his job, and interacting with the clientele was apt to dissuade them from making a purchase given how the average Fereldan viewed mages and the Tranquil especially. But he knew that his words held no sway.

So Nestor no longer used words in his effort to fix the Wonders.

It started small. One night, when he was left alone to finish closing the shop, Nestor found a knife, and he used it. He started by carving the many nooks and making them less sharp and easier to clean. When no one commented for days afterward, he decided to take it to mean that his corrections were unnoticed or else were tacitly approved.

So he acquired better tools from the workshop and he smoothed all the filigree and flattened each surface that collected dust in their grooves, and still no one commented on it. As if he were the only one who ever noticed those bits of decor at all.

Nestor thought that boldness was considered among the things a Tranquil could not have; not an emotion per se but something under the purview of Valor perhaps.

And yet he grew bolder all the same.

He grew more skilled in his renovations by the day, and never was he taken off the closing shift of the night. It was only when he acquired paint and covered the colors that had hurt his eyes so that anyone seemed to take notice at all.

The mage proprietor blamed the templar. The templar blamed the mage. Both stewed, but never took their arguments above a whisper.

Nestor found the new Wonders of Thedas was not so loud at all now.