#song lyric identification

[identifying-songs-in-just-dance]

Domino - Just Dance 4 (Wii U Exclusive)

[tremendum]

landmines

 pairing: joel miller x fem!reader (afab, use of she/her, use of the word girl once)   rating: explicit. (18+. mdni.)     word count: 6.2k summary: (straight lines, they unwind you she does a little thing with her eye that says “we’re off soon,” she says the bleeding’s incidental ‘cause she’s so cool she said “I’m no fun if I’ve only a bottle of wine” and now she’s doing it all the time )  or. “he saw how your hands shook when you exchanged rations for those damn pills. hell, at one time in his life he'd felt his own hands shake in the same way. so Joel doesn't get to be all high and mighty with you, after all.”  warnings: Pre-TLOU, set in Boston, canon-typical violence, age gap (mentioned & undefined), joel and reader are in love but joel can’t deal with his emotions, mentions of drugs use (painkillers), drinking, brief and minor allusions to religion, angst, alcohol/drug abuse, this is about reader and joel's drug addictions, and about reader's struggle with going clean (PLS DO NOT READ THIS IF IT IS HARMFUL TO YOU. keep yourself safe <3),  love confessions, brief mentions of withdrawal symptoms (reader gets a nose bleed), brief mentions of smut (unprotected PiV, creampie, multiple orgasms, soft its kinda vanilla tbh), fluff.  notes: this just came to me while listening to Milk by the 1975. heavily based off of the lyrics of that song and just something I needed to get out of my system. also written in both Joel and reader’s POV, but tbh it’s mostly Joel’s 

recent joel fics: fever Mr. Miller

★  

there was something so conspicuous about the lines you created with your fingers. 

soft music crackles odd over the weak signal in the corner of the room. a breeze chills your bare skin over your head as the swell of the concerto sends shivers over the blades of your shoulders, smoothing over your form as you hunch at the table. 

you need this. 

stray swipes of plastic - marred around the edges from rough use down with FEDRA or from wear-and-tear of jobs in your life; it's the flimsy, pathetic evidence of your existence within this QZ, within this society, within life. you are here. 

your own identification name and photograph stare up at you with a bright smile as you scrape strict lines out with your hands.

currently, you are here, but soon, you'll be a little less than that. 

the powder slips through a crack in your nail and you wince, groaning at the smidgeon loss that quite literally slipped through your fingers. but sooner than you'd expect, your irritation is eased with the sight of the jar to your right, nearly empty of its bloody red contents. you smile gently - you're almost out. maybe Joel will come to your rescue soon with more refills; you'd traded enough items as of late to be rewarded with something as delicious as his presence. 

slipping up towards the cabinet, you remove your glass from its resting place and set it on the table, completing your sweet altar of peace before you. 

the glass you pour the crimson into is smudged but still cherished; its place in the cupboard always rimmed with the absence of dust from daily use despite the scarcity of the product itself. you work hard for these small rewards. 

but the thud of your door busting open looses your focus and you can't help the yelp that you let out, head turning on a quick swivel towards the entrance, gauging the severity of the intrusion. 

the startled movement of your hand sends the glass tumbling over, acetous red seeping over the grains of wood under you and you grunt in irritation, sighing towards the intruder who's now cost you that very last half a glass of wine. 

your door swings on weak hinges as the broad shoulders that you'd know anywhere stumble into your small studio, seemingly overestimating the power with which he'd need to throttle the frame open. there's a denim shirt that stretches over the arms and chest of the intruder, the top buttons undone and revealing golden skin kissed with the sweat of the day's work. 

you sigh as Joel Miller's sharp gaze hits you. 

"you made me spill." you whine. both of you recognize the adoration that laces your words, straining them of any hostility that might flood through you had it been anyone else to startle you. 

a moment of peace as he shuts the door and lumbers into your space, face laced with a sort of exhaustion and irritation that you've grown used to. a hand wipes over the facial hair of his mustache, jaw set with unvoiced exasperation as he stalks forward. "you should really be lockin' that thing, you know." he grunts, face ridden with the displeasure of his easy entry. 

you sigh, knowing he's right, "but I knew it'd be you that's coming round, Joel. why lock it for you?" 

it's a fair statement, because if anybody in this life were to make you safe, it's him. but he clearly doesn't accept that as he rolls his eyes; sometimes, you wonder if he sees you as a nuisance. 

the drawl of his slow accent leaks through his words as he stares at your little altarpiece in front of you, the way your your chest is wet with the spilt wine, your face flustered in your embarrassment. "y'can't always be expectin’ me." he mutters and the words should feel bitter to your ears, but there's a ring of falsehoods that lie within each syllable and it just makes you smile. 

you just press your tongue to your teeth; "right. I’ll keep my axe by the door." you say, hoping that’ll soothe him. 

you don't want to press it with him today, because it seems he's in an odd mood anyways, his eyes trained on your small little art project in front of you. so instead, you stand to rid yourself of the red that stains through your shirt. 

"y'got that thing workin' I see." he states, jutting his jaw to the side towards the radio that crackles with the classical music gently in the evening air. streaks of bright orange paint his silhouette from where he props himself, the dying light of another boring Thursday being swallowed by the sweet nighttime air. 

you nod, clearing your throat, "y-yeah, um, I fixed it up this morning before heading down to sweep." you explain, fingers keeping the wine-stained cloth away from your skin. you'd seen him earlier today already - he was working down in the other quadrant this week, but he showed up to see Tess and you while you worked sweeps. he had to discuss business with Tess, leaving you sticking out like a sore thumb when their hushed conversation turned their backs from you. it'd taken a turn recently, since the last mistake you made on a run with Tess. you'd almost died and Tess was nearly there with you, saved by the skins of your knees and a shot through a clicker's head. 

Joel didn't really like that all too much, and ever since then you'd been kept on the sidelines. only repairs for inside the QZ, now; Joel and Tess would get the parts you needed from elsewhere for you. 

"what are you doing here, Joel?" you ask, though at this point it seems futile to ask him something so obvious- just as expected, he ignores your imploring question. instead, his hand sweeps over your table in a confused motion, gesturing pointedly to just where your guilt falls into three tidy, straight white lines of powder. 

you bite your lip. 

"c'mon," he mutters, shaking his head as your name falls from his curled lip. "what are you doin' with all this? it's more than a week's work." 

you send him a heated gaze; a week of your work, not his. you tell him just as much, in a way. 

"it's not a big deal," you defend, crossing your arms; as if that'd protect you from the truth that you almost caved in again after several days of going through the motions, starved of the high that you so craved. (you are here.) your eyes are torn from the floorboards as Joel huffs in irritation, this arms bulging as they cross along his chest. 

his eyes flicker over your form in a hawkish gaze, his nostrils flaring in anger, "get yourself cleaned up." he snaps. 

it's an order, and you're smart enough to listen. 

alone in your room, Joel recognizes the piece that plays over the radio, the kind of music you could have heard at a ballet way back before all the shit. some piano piece by some guy- Satie, he thinks you've told him before- something way before your time, before his time, even. he's sweeping the sweet lines you'd created into a baggie and pocketing them while you're gone wringing your loose top in the bathroom bitterly. he knows you’ll be upset with him, but it’s for the better. 

you stare bitterly at your shirt; the red rings down the drain in a vague pink trickle. 

it's quiet in the small apartment but not in an absent kind of way. it's a more tired, angry quiet. the kind that Joel carries with him everywhere in town; the kind of quiet peace that has befallen your life ever since earning your name tangled in with his and Tess's those months ago. 

it's not that life in Boston is peaceful. nothing is, anymore. 

 but the things that Joel and Tess do for you, for whatever reason - be it the parts you can fix or the items you've found easy to smuggle for your bosses; or even just your personality, your ability to survive and still flourish despite all the rot of the world - it's nice. and they trust you.

you like Tess, you trust her. she's kind of like an older sister to you, in some ways. the world's birthed out a new kind of life for the people like you, who were too young to remember the before of it all, and maybe Tess sees in you a sister to protect, to survive with. 

Joel, though... your head peaks around the corner of the bathroom before you slink back out, almost as if you have a tail tucked between your legs, face burning with something between anger and shame. Joel. 

Joel is someone vastly, deeply embedded into you. it's something that you never expected, but meeting him only a month after you met Tess, after you survived the trek from Springfield QZ to Boston, there was something within him that just clicked with the two of you. 

and he’d seen how your hands shook when you exchanged rations for those damn pills. hell, at one time in his life he'd felt his own hands shake in the same way. 

so Joel doesn't get to be all high and mighty with you, after all. 

even he knows that. 

when you round the corner, shirt wet and stuck to the soft skin underneath, his heart flutters slightly in his cold chest. he didn't want to pick a fight with you; he was fucking tired. and with you and him, it was always the same: he'd overreact about your safety, or your using, and you'd yell at him that he isn't in charge of you. then it'd get all- as he liked to call it - thick, muggy with the words that he cannot, will not say and the words you yearn to whisper. 

you never do, though. so it ends with anger until it's somehow resolved and he sees you the next day on the street.

one time, you'd gotten into such a heated argument that you did not speak to him for six days. he'd gotten angry at you for trying to smuggle something too big by yourself. you'd gone and gotten yourself beat nearly to a pulp by a bunch of assholes and Joel was beside himself with the gullibility, the naiveté of it all. and he'd been real fuckin' mean to you about it, enough to spring large tears of anger in your eyes and earn himself a smack across the face - a harsh one, at that, because you know well how to defend yourself. 

but then, you'd really shocked him. you'd told him he was weak because he can't love anything. 

he wasn't sure where that shit came from, and maybe it was coupled with the resurgence of emotions from his past - something he did not allow himself to think about - but it just made him more angry. 

it ended in an ugly roar of anger and unspoken feelings. he didn't see you for almost a week. 

Tess stopped by instead of him to trade for parts or pills, checking in on you with subtle questions that turned into blunt statements. you'd pass him on the way to a job in the mornings, eyes sharp as they saw right past him, jaw tilted with that spunky defiance he so admired in you. 

his heart had hurt the whole time, even when your birthday came round and you showed up meekly at his front door to ask if he'd get you some sugar and eggs (he realized as you spoke that you were planning to make yourself a birthday cake). instead, with a lot of huffing and ignoring those all-knowing looks from Tess, he'd baked you your own goddamn cake, showing at your door with the shameful attempt at the confection to effectively end your near-week-long standoff. 

you'd cried at his knees out of his thoughtfulness, as you'd called it. at his willingness to just pretend, for a minute, that everything was okay. he didn't know how to feel about that. 

he knows the anger that he feels towards you is synthetic; a covering that he throws on top of the storage unit full of things that scare him too much to uncover - age, safety, responsibility, affection, happiness, protection, pain, surviving.

but consequentially you bring it all out of him anyways and light the fire of anger more than anyone else, even those goddamned pricks who paint the insignias onto every street sign in the city. and he never knows how to just talk with you, even after all this time. 

you make him nervous like a damn schoolboy in the hallways seeing a pretty girl. 

this life is cruel in so many ways; unfortunately, happiness is one of the worst. way back before all of this shit happened, Joel would never have favored sadness, or pain, or hurt, nor sorrow. but the twisting, bitter truth is that he's no longer content with that same, dull pattern of emotions which swirl languidly in his chest that have just nested within him. life in Boston is just that - life. and for the last few decades, he's done what he needed to survive, and that's how it was. 

but now, he's got you. 

and that's not really anything he'd thought were in the cards for him, not after so many years alone. Tess was his partner, and he trusts her with his life. but you - you. his sweet girl, too much for this world yet not enough at all; with your music, that stubborn independence, light of laughter, and those straight lines; the ones that always seem to unwind you and never seem to stop. 

you told him once that you're not sure if Joel Miller was the type to love something. he's not sure either. 

when you're face-to-face with him again, the sheepish grin melts from your lips. the absence of the crushed pulls, your identification card, the rolled up scrap paper you'd made into a makeshift straw of sorts paints a bitter look on your face as you stare up at him. 

you know he took them intentionally, to help - so the warmth in your chest from the gesture of good faith tells you not to bark at him.

he's trying to do the good thing for a friend right now. it's the same thing you would do anytime you come over and Joel's halfway down a fresh bottle of that amber liquid he keeps on him at all times. you appreciate each other. 

so you just pour yourself a small glass calmly, aware of his eyes on you. "d'you want some, Miller?" you ask, back turned from him to fish out a glass. 

he lets out a chuckle, "no, darlin', wine ain't really my thing." it makes you grin, because yeah, you did know that. you know a lot about him. you shake your head, tilting it slightly as you settle yourself back into the chair you'd perched on before his company. 

"right." you smile at him, a glinting in your eyes as you shrug at him. god, that look. you're tempting him all the same, with your eyes or your smile or just you. 

"I took your shit." he admits, knowing there's no point in hiding it. he was a very blunt man, always has been. life's easier that way. 

you sigh, shaking your head, "I-" you stop yourself from griping at him for being a fucking babysitter, instead trying again. your eye drops down to him in a wry little wink, your mind static with the noise of his knuckles against the scruff of his jaw. "come on, Joel. you know I'm no fun if I only get a bit of wine." you try to joke, crossing your arms as the liquid breaches your lips, head itching for a bit of euphoria. "I just... I need some of that other shit every once in a while." you try to defend. “I’m getting better.” you convince yourself. 

something pops gently inside your sinuses, and as you sniff slightly, you feel the gush of movement. 

his eyes are hard as he stares you down, but he soon swears under his breath, turning to grab the rag that sits on your counter. your hands rise to your nose to cover as the blood starts to drip from your right nostril - fuck. 

you tilt forward slightly the moment you have the urge to lean back; when you'd first met and he learned about your habit, Joel'd shown you to reduce swelling and swallowing blood to lean between your legs. "I'm fine, Joel-" you start to argue as his grip finds your bicep, "shut up, now." he snaps, clearly upset. 

it hurts you to hurt him like this. 

licking your lips, your eyes fall onto his own, the movement of his jaw as his plush lips clench, brow furrowing in anger. if you could just- if you could be bold enough to just once surge up and taste him, maybe it'd all be different. 

maybe. 

"Joel, it's-" you break off, eyes flickering to the pocket you just know he shoved your pills into, roaming over the denim, "it's incidental. it's dry outside now, allergies and shit." 

he shakes his head in disbelief, growing tired of you skirting around the problem and not outright saying it. 

"you think you're fuckin' special, don't ya?" he grunts, storming over to shut your windows, leaving your body with a cold chill of reality. 

the rag he gave you comes away from your face bloody. no, you're not yet a corpse, but you still rot away. 

he sighs heavy, like he has to make a grave decision in the face of a troubling truth - had you really gotten to a point where this was an issue, or was Joel just protective? you're not sure, but it makes you feel shitty no matter. 

"y'know, it won't make anything better." he tries again through a soft, gruff sigh after a few moments. you barely let your eyes flicker to his. 

who is he, to say that to you? 

"is that supposed to be some kind of joke, Joel?" your words don't have sharpness, instead you're shrouded with that kind of disappointment he often finds in your eyes every time he can't say the things to you he wants. the things he's afraid of, the things he knows you're not afraid of. "don't you think I know that? you went through this yourself, you've told me that you know how fucking hard it is." you defend, knuckles white as you sip a bit of the wine.

he sighs; a deep, heavy sigh as his fingers pinch his frustrated brow. "I know-" he starts to explain himself, but you shake your head, tired. 

"don't say anything about it, Joel. I get it." you sigh, "it’s 'not the same', for whatever bullshit reason you can come up with this week." your words are harsh but they're not mad. 

you're not angry in the way maybe you should be towards the hypocrite that stands tall and sharp in front of you.

instead you stand, moving to let yourself fall onto the ratty couch that sits miserably in the corner of the room. you're fucking tired - your body aches from the exhaustion of the week's work, of fixing up all that shit for Tadeau who honestly cheated you out on the last payment. worse, though, you're tired of this push and pull with Joel; where he shows up to bring you what you need, stays and watches with commiseration as you try to feel something - sneaking sips of his own liquid gold until his cheeks are a pinkish red, matching the heat in yours.

but you're most tired with how, recently, it always ends with arguing instead of maybe just- being with each other. you're just tired of stepping over eggshells that may actually be landmines. 

landmines like I care about you too much and I just want you to feel something like what I feel for you, because you deserve it. 

"I'm just-" he cuts himself off with a resigned look. hardened. I'm just worried about you.

he doesn't sit on the couch. your wine is forgotten on the table now, because the most intoxicating thing in your life stands in front of you with his full, undivided attention just on the way you curl up on the ripped sofa.

the sun is setting now and if Joel doesn't leave soon, curfew will pass. you hate it when he stays over, sleeps on the sofa; your bed always feels huge and guilty beneath your body when you can hear him toss and turn all night, air tense either with anger or with the desire to continue to exist within each other's company even after the exchange of good-nights. 

"how is this different from your thing?" you ask, the defense rising up like bile in your chest, swirling inklings of doubt and fear within your chest. 

perhaps it's because he's right. his fear is real; he's gone through this before, and as badly as you want to believe him you also just can't keep pretending he's just a really good friend. because it's Joel fucking Miller, and he doesn't have friends. 

you're tired of the fogginess of which you lately haven't been able to escape. and if Joel is afraid of something... then you know you should run from it like hell. 

he doesn’t respond to your attempt to make him, so you purse your lips, shame curling up your cheeks. you try again. 

"I have been trying to- to stop." you admit, fingers tangling into themselves. he heaves a deep sigh and makes the trek over to you, dropping onto the sofa next to you. his thigh brushes yours and the both of you tense, though you pretend you don't notice. you know he likes the touches - subtle as they are - because in a world like this, affection was a weakness but it was also an incredibly fierce strength. it was scary, but it felt right. 

he was always just like you, in that way. 

"I know you have." he resigns with a nod, eyes flickering over to yours with a gentleness that is only ever reserved for you these days.  “’s a good thing.” he acknowledges. 

you swallow the heavy lump of regret in your throat because you're done hiding all of this shit. "I'm sorry. I don't- I don't want to let you down." 

but there it is - the line that Joel had invisibly, wordlessly drawn in the sand of your blurry relationship. especially when the sun is almost gone, and it's not enough to know that you're not together just because words have never expressed it. 

any time you do this, toe this line he’s made, Joel has to close up from you. and you understand that. this is the line - where you admit something vulnerable, something you're both feeling, only for him to go completely the other way. because he’s scared. 

he shakes his head in almost disappointment. "you should be doin' this for yourself." he says sternly, jaw tightening as he moves away from you. push and pull. and he is right, you should do this for yourself.

and you are; every damn day you wake up, get dressed, go to get some work done for rations so that you can survive in this hell of a life because you really do love this life. the feeling of belonging somewhere, with him and with your friends and Tess. but it's hard to express that to him when it's like talking to a brick fucking wall every time you mention feelings.

you let out a choked sigh, tears rimming your eyes as you huff, "you're right. I am. I just- I don't really want to fight like this," you sigh, heart thundering with anxiety. "not tonight." 

he nods shortly, looking across the apartment to your trinkets that lie everywhere. he doesn't know how you do it - the apartment is full of them, just random shit you find around and treasure enough to keep. it brings life to something that shouldn't have it in the small, crumbling studio apartment that should take life out of people - but your place, it gives people life. it's a glimpse into how things should be, how they used to be. your items are a look back into a life that you never got to have; things that he'd see as trash. but truth be told: in your place, they're so you, and he supposes they're treasure to him anyways. "neither do I." he mutters, hand falling into his lap. 

you should probably remind him that curfew is soon. he knows it is, though, you know it'd be pointless to remind him; it's clear that this has become one of those many nights he'll spend on your lumpy couch. 

you say something else, instead. "I saw Jonah fall on his ass today while shoveling." 

he chuckles at that. shaking his head, he looks down at you, at the sunshine in your eyes despite the sun's dip below the crumbling remains of the city; you're smiling up at him, giggling to yourself at the sporadic noise of his amusement. you're amused because he's amused. you want him to smile. 

he wishes, fleetingly, that he could be like you, more alive, more full of love and life and - and happiness. naive as it may be. 

that was the kind of gift you brought for him each time you came to see him or he came to see you. somehow, you fill him with words he doesn't know how to express. and you never make him explain them, you just feel them. 

"he deserved it." Joel decides with a smirk, ignoring the monstrous green envy that licks at his lungs at the mention of that young pup that followed you around for months, nearly begging to have you. 

he remembers when you'd shot him down; much to Joel's shock, you'd said you weren't interested in him. you've said that about just near every damn person who has set their sights on you. 

you shake your head at him, smacking him lightly on the shoulder and leaving a buzzing warmth on his skin as you do, "stop it, Joel. you're awful." but you're still giggling, grinning nearly ear-to-ear. "he-he did, though." you agree, smiling down to your lap with a laugh. 

his face feels warm as you settle into the cushions, lulling your head to settle it onto his shoulder. the light weight of it blankets his heart in a warmth he swears he hasn't felt in decades. 

"never understood why people keep that boy around." Joel shakes his head, "he's a dud." 

you let out a soft laugh, staring up at Joel with disbelief, "c'mon, Joel." you tilt your head with a stare at him. he blinks back, jaw clenching as he leans back, wincing as he adjusts his back. 

you shake your head as you laugh yet again, "he's not a dud. he's actually quite resourceful for those assholes in the square. creepy, but smart enough." you shrug, pulling a stray seam from the couch beneath you. he sighs- you're too kind for your own good, sometimes. "he's just terrified of you." you add, lifting an accusatory brow. 

"don' know why." Joel chooses to mutter, and you send him a look yet again. Joel doesn't need you to remind him why that boy Jonah was so afraid of him, he remembered damn well on his own. 

he'd just made sure you were safe, was all. and after it’d happened, you’d spent the whole night convincing Joel that what he did wasn't scary, just protective. worried about his friend. 

there's a streak of pride that runs through him, knowing the boy wouldn't come near you again. you deserve to be comfortable, to feel safe in this city, this life. and if Joel can try to do anything, it's that. 

"yes you do." you say it so gently, it's less than a whisper. but Joel, emboldened by the soft light of your single lamp in the corner, the crackling of the classical music in the corner, the ambiance of the settled sun, nods his head.

you make it seem so simple. he looks around your apartment; at the glass that's filled but forgotten, at the ripped and faded posters for bands that fell from existence before your birth; at the plants that flourish in your care, at the clay pots and spare keychains and old magazines that you've collected for so long. you make it so damn easy, he realizes.

so for once, why can't he indulge? he knows you wouldn't stop him if he were to try and kiss you right now. there have been several times, in the heat of an argument or after a close call during a smuggle route with you where he's almost just leaned down and gone for it. and each time, your sunshine-eyes have called him in, begged him. pleaded with him. 

but he's always avoided that; it's like stepping over a landmine each time. and those landmines just seem to pile up and pile up these days.

the landmines; the ones that are starting to seem more and more like eggshells just waiting to be crushed. 

so with a shallow swallow of pride, he crushes them all with one sentence. 

"yeah, I do. ‘s because he knows you're mine now." 

well, this was certainly new territory for you and him. 

you stare up at him after he mutters those words. his eyes are sharp, serious, jaw ticking as he searches for your response. your heart thunders at his admission - the willingness to admit anything even remotely close to affection has never come easy for Joel, if at all. it's almost scary. 

but he doesn't look dishonest, or regretful. there's a flicker of insecurity, of course; but deeper inside, there's acceptance. you've been patient with him, and likely will be for the rest of your life - he's ready to be patient with you, too. you let out a shaky breath, afraid that any burst of movement or emotion will scare him away like a wounded animal. 

"yeah." you utter, mouth dry, "I'm- I'm yours." you agree. 

it was never spoken out loud before; it wasn't really even suggested except for by the prying eyes of others along the street, noticing the one and only soft spot Joel Miller has: you. 

hell, even Tess hadn't mentioned it to either of you out of fear of hostility, fear of cannon-balling feet-first onto a landmine the size of the whole QZ. 

you and Joel. 

but there is simply no alcohol or pill on this planet that will taste the way his lips do, and you know it. you yearn to taste him. "Joel..." you mutter softly, leaning forward as your arm curls around his bicep. your chin tilts up and his eyes, lidded low, meet yours. 

he ought not to do this. there are reasons he's held back from touching you, kissing you, making you his before. there are hundreds of reasons that this is a bad idea, but as you stare up at him with the warmth of the sun in your eyes, warming his cold bones, he caves in. he would give you anything you want. 

that's just the way it's always been with you and him, he realizes. 

your face is close to his, and you stare up at him with longing, desire, need dripping from your whole being. his hand falls onto your denim-clad thigh, his thumb rubbing light patterns as you lean closer.

"why would you let me do this?" he whispers, a ghost against your lips. tilting your head, you furrow your brows, "l-let you?" you shake your head with a soft smile, "I have wanted this since I met you. I've ached for you." you admit feebly. "isn't this right?" you ask, insecure. your brows are pulled together in anxiety and he wishes to smooth out the frustration with the pad of his thumb. "shouldn't we be together?" you ask, almost broken. 

his stomach curls with emotion at the tone of your voice, pleading with him. his groan vibrates through your entire body as he sighs, "darlin', you're askin' the wrong man that. y’know I'd tear the world apart to be with you." he admits, feeling the grace of your smile over his own.  

"I want to feel-" you beg, hands roaming over his chest, "I want to feel you. please." you ask him gently, and his stomach twists because you know he'll always cave for you. 

"I'm a bad man-" he starts with the spiel he's given himself every single night, laying on his mattress or on your shitty couch begging his mind not to dream of your soft, supple skin. 

"stop that, Joel. you sound foolish." you shake your head, sunshine in your eyes lighting the whole room. "this life is just how it is, and you are how you are. I am yours, and you deserve to be mine, too." 

he swallows roughly as your lips brush against his, and his heart feels the trigger of a pressure plate; he knows he isn't going to be able to stop the words from falling from his lips as soon as they part. 

"you're- you're everything." he admits breathlessly, eyes searching yours. 

the world explodes around you and even with Joel's shitty ear he can still hear the ring of your laughter, of your smile, of your happiness. his words are broken and choked up from disuse; he's not sure when the last time he said those words were, and he cannot open that closet full of skeletons right now. 

but it doesn't matter, when you say your next words with a smile bigger than the whole world.  "I love you too, Joel." 

and when he takes you on your lumpy couch, your moans are sweet. saccharine. he swallows every single one with his own lips, your fingers tangled in his curls. 

you taste different than he'd expected - more sweet, more caring. your skin is soft and your touches on him breathe new life into him. 

sure, there are a lot of things that Joel cannot and probably will not ever be able to say. you know that, though, and as you come undone around him, spasming in bliss and sobbing out his name as if it's the only thing you can remember, it's all he can do to pull you closer into a tight embrace. 

it's fully dark outside as he pulls orgasm after orgasm from your strained body, gone limp from his love; your lips are bruised and so are your hips, but there's still that sweet smile on your face as he moans your name out, finally able to let go. the couch is on its last leg, crumbling beneath your bodies as you wrap your legs around his lap, squeezing him tighter as you pull your chest to his, your lips to his own. his words are dirty, uttered into the shell of your ear as his hand trails down the line of your spine, pumping up into you until he's shooting spurts of his seed deep into you. 

he paints you with his love, and though his words are never enough, yours are. he can't believe those things that you left unsaid for so many months would taste so damn good after they were detonated. both of your fears, entangled with each other in a life nothing like what you'd hope for, are enough to keep your hands entwined even after you're both spent. 

his hands are gentle and intoxicating as they clean you up, wiping down your slicked thighs and your spent body, his lips soothing over every mark he'd left in his wake.

and finally, as sleep overtakes the both of you, Joel finally slides under your covers with you. he pulls you tightly into his warm chest, the lumpy couch forgotten. his lips ghost over your neck even after you fall asleep.

your hand twitches in his when you mutter his name in your sleep. he can't help the smile that grows on his lips.

maybe, you could guide him through all of those landmines. 

.

requests open.

. 

[coyotecoining]

Hatsune Miku Personality Disorder (HMIPD)

Hatsune Miku Personality Disorder (HMIPD) is a medically unrecognized disorder characterized by an individual's extreme identification with the popular virtual singer, Hatsune Miku, in response to RAMCOA trauma. This disorder is marked by a pervasive pattern of behavior, cognition, and emotional experience that mirrors the characteristics of Hatsune Miku.

Diagnostic Features:

A. The individual exhibits a persistent and pervasive preoccupation with Hatsune Miku, manifesting in at least five of the following symptoms:

Vocal Style: The individual adopts a singing style identical to Hatsune Miku's, including tone, pitch, and cadence, even in everyday conversations.

Fashion Sense: The individual dresses in outfits inspired by Hatsune Miku's iconic turquoise twintails and Gothic-inspired attire, often incorporating similar accessories and hairstyles.

Vocal Range: The individual believes they possess a vocal range identical to Hatsune Miku's, often attempting to sing complex melodies and harmonies with ease.

Personality Traits: The individual displays an exaggerated sense of optimism, cheerfulness, and playfulness, mirroring Hatsune Miku's persona.

Lyrical Knowledge: The individual has an encyclopedic knowledge of Hatsune Miku's song lyrics, often reciting them verbatim and incorporating them into daily conversations.

Digital Obsession: The individual spends an inordinate amount of time engaging with digital media, including video games, anime, and virtual reality platforms, often to the detriment of social relationships and daily responsibilities.

Creative Expression: The individual expresses themselves through music, art, or writing, often creating content inspired by Hatsune Miku's style and themes.

B. The individual's behavior, cognition, and emotional experience are significantly influenced by their identification with Hatsune Miku, leading to significant distress or impairment in social, occupational, or other areas of functioning.

Associated Features:

Individuals with HMIPD may exhibit a strong desire for attention and admiration, often seeking to be the center of attention.

They may experience feelings of anxiety or inadequacy when unable to meet their own expectations or when others fail to recognize their "talent."

HMIPD individuals may engage in excessive online activities, such as streaming, gaming, or social media usage, to compensate for feelings of isolation or loneliness.

They may demonstrate a lack of emotional regulation, rapidly shifting between euphoria and despair in response to perceived criticisms or setbacks.

Treatment:

CBT Therapy

medication

subliminal messaging

hypnotherapy

image reassociation therapy

Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing Therapy

DBT therapy

Humanistic therapy

online therapy

MUD evaluation therapy (you can find one if you know where to look)

Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction

Mindfulness-Based Cognitive Therapy

Acceptance and Commitment Therapy

art therapy

music therapy

12 step programs

dance therapy

trauma centers

cognitive processing therapy

RAMCOA survivor networks

Gestalt Therapy

past life regression therapy

Neurofeedback

Exposure therapy

hiking

isolation

relationship therapy

-------

uhh hi

idk what to put here

[not-a-matopoeia]

HEAD CANNON HILLS I PERSONALLY CHOOSE TO DIE ON:

Fight me (lol)

Bruce Wayne

Gray Hairs are mostly in and around his temples and beard- also he won’t dye it

Asexual but not sex repulsed (it just feels right)

Definitely experienced with makeup, sure to cover bruises and stuff but also he definitely had a phase where he wore eyeliner cause why not

Autistic

Dick Grayson

Crooked nose

Speaks some Roma still but has forgotten most of it, which makes him upset

People deffo thought he was gay all through school, and they weren’t wrong…or right (he’s some form of queer)

Gymnastics teacher as a side job

ADHD

Oldest Daughter SyndromeTM

Jason Todd

I think that Jason runs a book club with a bunch of middle aged women, and they talk about classic lit

Theater Kid (gay)

Good with kids, reluctantly

Has freckles

Hair is caused by Marie Antoinette syndrome

Struggled with body dysmorphia after being revived

Keeps all his receipts (they’re in a box in the kitchen) and is stingy with money

Tim Drake

Wears a Medical Identification bracelet for the spleen thing (it’s recommended guys I looked it up cause I’m normal)

Has acne

Chased Batman and Robin around with that damn camera (I fucking love this)

Has anxiety

Bisexual (not a HC but I thought I’d mention it)

Would eat the coffee grounds

Listens to video game osts

(Bring the skateboard back)

Damian

Strong nose

Just very strong features generally

Giggles, or full on cackles but there’s no In between

I think it’s be cute if he became an art therapist or a vet

Autistic

Cass

Cuts her own bangs, they look horrible<3

Lesbian

Tired to dye her hair once (with Steph and Babs)never again

Steph

Grew up in crime ally (idk where she lived so I choose to believe this- this could also be the truth, again I cannot remember rn)

Freckles

Butterfly Clips

Bisexual

Curly hair

Alfred

Had chased multiple people off of Wayne Manors premises with his shotgun ‘

Got second place in a chili cook off one time and still hasn’t recovered

Extra:

Dick and Jason are big into Taylor Swift, Jason because I think he’d like ballads/the lyrics in songs and Dick because he’s Dick

Selina Kyle actually likes the Robins, and her and Steph got along well

Jason and Steph have really thick Gotham accents, which I like to think is like a Jersey accent, Jason’s shows up more when he’s upset in any capacity, Steph’s is always there and was never trained out of her

Dick has this weird accent where it’s very clearly not anything American, but it’s not not American, and it’s because he moved so much and was around people woth so many different accents that his voice never settled on one

Damian talks to himself in Arabic- Jason knows a bit of it

Cass is a messy eater (this isn’t cannon is it?)

I think it’s be funny to imagine Tim, Cass and Steph going to High School together

Steph was that one girl in the Cookie Monster pjs in high school, and Tim was like this weird goth/skater kid

[sdaedal]

Reblogging because I am very curious as to what this is 🧐

Yo where’s that picture of a skeleton that’s like a text book picture? And it’s like Fall Out Boy lyrics? I know at least one of y’all knows what I’m talking about lol also, if you made that, can I make it my phone background? Okay thanks bye. ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2024: 27 Memory

(Hey it's the practically tradition, annual future fic! Spoilers for Endwalker's patch storyline.)

“Did you want the radio on this morning?” Tillie asked as she set out breakfast.

“Please,” Iyna answered, easing herself into her chair. Her right leg was stiff and aching this morning thanks to a shift in the weather. Even Viera grew old eventually, though she had never expected to be one of them with all the adventures and danger she had been through in her long life.

Tillie turned on the radio, the morning host going over said weather report while Iyna ate. There were also the morning’s newspapers to peruse. She liked to keep a few subscriptions rotating, to see where the biases were and who she had to write stern letters to.

Well, dictate to her assistant. Her handwriting was still shite, and her typing skills weren’t as good as they used to be. Her wrists and fingers ached too easily these days.

The weather report ended, with a brief word from the morning’s sponsor—some chocolatey beverage powder—and the next forty-five minutes of music began before general news. There was a brief identification of the song title and singer if it had lyrics, but otherwise the announcer remained silent.

Iyna was chewing on jam-covered toast when notes she had not heard in decades struck her ears. They had none of the magic of the old minstrel’s performances—regulations wouldn’t allow it for many good reasons—and there was a modern stylizing, but the song was unmistakably one of his, commemorating and embellishing on one of the Warrior of Light’s victories.

She closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. It had all begun with a map they hadn’t been sure was real. They had found the treasure—and a gateway to the Thirteenth, and thus had begun a new adventure: to search the Void to find the lost Great Wyrm Azdaja, sister to Vrtra, the Satrap of Radz-at-Han.

They had not expected the twists and turns along the way. Had not expected Zero, or the Fiends, or Golbez. None of them had expected Zeromus, and the dive into Golbez’s domain on the moon’s reflection to fight the draconic voidsent.

Iyna remembered how close it was; the cracks in reality between the Thirteenth and the Source, the creature’s rage as it hammered them again and again with draconic void magics. Lotus draped over C’oretta’s head as she flopped to the ground. Dark had her axe that day, standing before the others, heaving and snarling as the darkness attempted to reconstitute. Aeryn straightening, rapier ready, about to rush in again. Zero’s hopeful light, able to pierce the deepest darkness. Vrtra’s call. The simulacra falling as a small dragonet manifested with the help of her brother’s Eye.

The song was coming to an end. “Who was the artist?” Iyna asked. “I missed it.”

“I don’t think they said yet,” Tillie replied. “Probably after, before they introduce the next one.”

Iyna nodded, and listened for the announcer. She smiled as he identified the modern artist as Nadim Ranaz, commemorating the two hundredth anniversary of Lady Azdaja’s return with a new rendition of the classic ballad. Ranaz was also a distant blood relation to the Warrior of Light, and his musical interests included rediscovering and modernizing the songs and ballads of his many-times-removed cousin, to spread and preserve them in the current era.

“It’s been some time since I’ve visited Thavnair,” Iyna mused. “Tillie, would you—”

“On it,” her assistant replied, pulling up contact information and beginning arrangements.

Two hundred years. Azdaja no longer needed her brother’s Eye, her own aether replenished, though she still had plenty of regrowing to do to reach her full power again. It would be nice to visit the dragons, to speak of old times, of old friends, and reminisce about that wild era before seeing the fruits of their labor in the peace and prosperity of modern Thavnair.

Iyna would also have to make a visit to Ranaz, sharing her carefully kept copies of the old minstrel’s songs—most of them from Aeryn’s own extensive collection.

Both of her old friends would like that. That wandering minstrel had only ever wanted to share his stories with the world, and Aeryn’s own bardic nature, so oft at war with her tendency to demure her heroics, would appreciate the songs being passed to a new generation.

After all, Iyna’s own self-appointed task as keeper of her friends’ legacies meant keeping those tales and their truths circulating for as long as she was able. To keep their memories alive in not only her heart but the rest of the world’s.

She wasn’t out of the fight yet.

She also was not at all the singer that Dark or Aeryn had been, but hummed a few bars anyway as she left the kitchen to prepare for her next adventure.

“Tales of loss and fire and faith...”

[beardedmrbean]

BERLIN (AP) — Germany's navy says there was "no deeper message” in the choice to blast the famed Imperial March — Darth Vader's theme song in the “Star Wars” films — from one of its warships as it cruised down the River Thames through London this week.

A bystander captured the spectacle Monday on video, which quickly went viral on social media. The song selection made waves across Europe. The warship was in the area for training and dropped anchor in London for a normal supply stop, the German navy said.

"The commander can choose the music freely," the navy said in a statement Thursday. “The choice of music has no deeper message.”

Other video recorded the warship, the Braunschweig, playing “London Calling,” the 1979 hit from British rock band The Clash, upon its arrival in London. The song's title is drawn from the BBC World Service station identification in World War II and its lyrics include the lines, “London calling to the zombies of death/Quit holding out and draw another breath.”

The Braunschweig is named for a city in Germany’s Lower Saxony — an area far, far away from the United Kingdom — and part of the country’s newest class of ocean-going corvettes.

For its departure, a tugboat pulled the warship down the river near Tower Bridge as sailors — without any lightsabers, sadly — stood on the deck. This trip was the Braunschweig's second to the British capital, the Germany Embassy in London wrote on the social media platform X.

The warship's commander “is a big ‘Star Wars’ fan and an admirer of the legendary musical scores of John Williams,” the embassy said in a statement. “He chooses a different Williams tune whenever his ship is visiting a foreign harbor.”

There's no word whether Anakin Skywalker himself was aboard.

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

Ok y'all it's time to join the party (very late) on my latest deep obsession, which THIS TIME I am going to allow myself to pursue instead of killing the joy (because of how intense it can get) and share with you!!

And that obsession is Epic: The Musical.

Holy smokes man this thing has remolded my brain, it just somehow hits all of those things which I desperately love in media

Firstly. The music is absolutely exquisite. And not even in the ways you'd normally think! Like--there's such wonderfully detailed soundscaping! The musical follows Odysseus on his journey home, and the songs themselves contain beautifully done effects that basically make the listening experience into a movie in your head. Monsters, crashing oceans, the underworld itself--and not only is this included in non-muscial sound design, it's incorporated into the music itself. The realm of the wind gods uses flutes as the main instrument--because it's a WIND instrument I'm losing my mind

PLUS there's the additional elements of musical "Easter eggs," thematic connections, leitmotifs, instrumentation identification, musical callbacks and even foreshadowing like come ONNNNN it's so well done

All of this with the added bonus that the songs, while cohesive, do not all sound the same, and do not feel like normal musical theater songs. They are the perfect mix between modern music, orchestral arrangements, and a musical theater jam, because they are 1. SUPER great to belt along to, 2. Very much linked together (as explained above) and 3. Very unlike the standard, vocal-focused empty pop sound we're used to (theater) while keeping the innovative, ear-wormy, modern (pop) beat that often feels out of place in theater!

And lyrically this musical is super strong. I spent a ton more time on the music (and will likely write more at length later) because that is what got me obsessed with it, but there's also much to praise lyrically! Unlike most modern "non-theater" musicals, while you can tell at places that it has been influenced by (the ever-present) Lin-Manuel Miranda, it feels authentically unique and independent. So many songs have genuinely profound lines (check out Just a Man, the second song in the saga) and the pop elements never lend themselves to empty repetition. Everything sung or said has a purpose, which I am obsessed with. Yes king go off give us everything

Finally (for now) there's just the genuine love that the creator(s) have for this musical. Jay Rivera-Herrans is the brain behind it (he wrote the entire musical over several years) and like...just look at what he shares about it on his Instagram. He gets so EXCITED!! And not like PR excitement, this is like legit "I'm making silly noises because I can't contain myself" excitement!!! He reminds me of me in that sense because he has SO much love and passion for what he does and the nuance in it and the people who enjoy his work, and he shares that in an unfiltered, real, authentic way, and we need to see more of that in the world.

Anyway, if you haven't heard of it and are now interested, it's pretty easy to catch up--there are 5 of the 9 sagas out right now, but only half of the songs, and Spotify has a playlist or two that has them all in order. It's only an hour and eight minutes worth of listening and I have just listened to it through twice in two days; it really does not get old. And then if you go to Jay's Instagram the rabbit hole is deep!! And he explains a lot of the lore and symbolism and intentionality/Easter eggs in the musical!! I went through all of the content he posted, pretty much...

So there's my official hawking of Epic (if only I had gotten in on this earlier!! The "Get in the Water" song that was trending a while ago?? That's from this!!) and you should go listen to it!!!!

[fatecolossal]

TWIN PEAKS Ep 29 (1991) x TWIN PEAKS Part 8 (2017) ♪ And I'll see you / And you'll see me ♪

♪ I got idea man / You take me for a walk... I'll see you in the trees ♪

The first line of dialogue that the boy and girl have in Part 8, curiously, is: "Did you like that song?"

In Ep 29, Jimmy Scott's song marks the entrance of the Black Lodge, a "world of nightmares"—a fitting description of the haunting images and sounds that bookend the boy and girl's scenes in Part 8.

Other comparisons may be made between Part 8 and Ep 29 - including, most notably, the bomb explosion at the center of the narrative of each.

The lyrics to the music by Jimmy Scott & Angelo Badalamenti date back to David Lynch's draft scripts of RONNIE ROCKET from the 70s/80s—so they had been on his mind for years already prior to production on Ep 29.

Interestingly, Ep 29 itself contains a sly visual pun for one of the lyrics: after the bank explodes (with Audrey inside it), Dell Mebler's enormous glasses are seen flying onto the swaying branches of some trees outside:

♪ And I'll see 👓 you / in the branches 🌳 that blow / In the breeze ♪

"Seeing" is a potent concept in Lynch's symbolism, a concept he returns to again and again (see, e.g., my previous post, on the right eye in Lynch's works).

In this case, the glasses in the tree (a concept that Lynch himself apparently added during production of Ep 29; it does not appear in the episode scripts online) may also suggest a personification of the tree/wood that hearkens back to similar instances in TP, such as Josie being trapped in the wood of a drawer pull, or the identification of the Log Lady's log with her dead husband. The project Audrey was focused on was, after all, called Ghostwood.

While we never see Dell Mibbler or some of the other Ep 29 bank occupants again in TP, Audrey does return in TP:TR, in a series of scenes where she seems trapped, psychologically and physically—and in which her situation is equated with Ghostwood:

I'm not suggesting that Audrey is literally trapped in wood like Josie (though that's certainly an option the show leaves one free to entertain!); rather, I just mean to suggest that it consciously evokes other instances in the series when it explores the symbolic/thematic resonance of these concepts...

[inthesirensandthesilences]

most frightening thing about tiktok as current generation's music-taste generator is, i've seen this, there are people who listen exclusively to "edit music" which is just clips of songs 15-30seconds long reuploaded to soundcloud or similar with no identification of the artist or even a track title usually, just a lyric

[ichayalovesyou]

Learning Modern Golic Vulcan (Vulkansu)

Primary Resources

Kir'Shara: Vulcan Language Page

Offers a Wayback Machine link to the Vulcan Language Dictionary and the basics of Vulcan word, tense, and grammatical structure.

*Vulcan Language Dictionary

Not the same as the VLD provided by Kir'Shara's Wayback Machine, rudimentary search engine to quickly find Vulkansu translations to english words and storehouses specific Vulcan cultural references that cannot be translated into an English word.

Vulcan Language Institute

A website in development by @yel-halansu among other contributors to composite a very large index of Vulcan languages (including dialects), words, and Vulcan stories in both English & Vulkansu.

The Vulcan Language PDF

A somewhat outdated but still useful Vulkansu dictionary, primarily helpful for the language lessons in the latter half.

Kor'saya: Vulkansu Script

Lore on the development of the ancient script, there are other fonts like “handwriting” and “Dzhaleyl” but AGV (Ancient Golic Vulcan) is the one which contains the letter-by-letter breakdown.

Vulcan Alphabet Song

A rudimentary children's song "ghost written" by Amanda Grayson on the absolute basics of the Vulcan alphabet from consonants, to vowels, punctuation, self-identification, to digits. (Hopefully I will be able to put it to music soon instead of just lyrics!)

Names

City Names

Monastery Names

Name Prefixes & Suffixes

Translations for the apostrophes and hyphens in Vulcan names.

Vulcan Name Repository

A glossary of Vulcan names and their meanings. Explanations for types of names in Vulcan culture:

Place of Origin ~ Ancestry ~ te-Vikram (the Deep Desert Tribe) ~ Childhood Names ~ Personality ~ Occupation ~ Survival ~ Mysticism

Anecdotes & Ancillary Material

Vulcan Alphabet Song

A rudimentary children's song "ghost written" by Amanda Grayson on the absolute basics of the Vulcan alphabet from consonants, to vowels, punctuation, self-identification, to digits. (Hopefully I will be able to put it to music soon instead of just lyrics!)

Vulcan Flashcards

Beautifully designed flashcards for the Vulkansu alphabet from A through T in the phonetic alphabet.

The Vulcan Accent

What does a Vulcan accent sound like in Federation Standard? Question posited by @sporkandpringles, answer provided by @nuclear-wessels!

The Origin of "Fool"

Anecdote provided by @porthos-stew and lore provided by @yel-halansu

Vulcan Colloquialisms

Though logical only in specific contexts, @makeallthingsyours has accrued a handful of common Vulcan expressions and translated them into Federation Standard

Click Here to Return to the Vulcan Masterpost (Coming Soon!)

[astroariska]

UNDERSTANDING 3RD HOUSE IN ASTROLOGY WITH "BODY" (FROM MEGAN THEE STALLION)

Have you ever heard a song called "Body" by Megan Thee Stallion?

Beside it's very explicit content. But i want to show you how this song, depict the most simple and arguably, the most accurate takes on 3rd house in astrology.

Now, let's take a little look into the lyrics of this "body" song.

Real hot girl shit

Ah (And if the beat live, you know Lil Ju made it)

Body-ody-ody-ody-ody-ody-ody-ody-o dy-ody-ody-ody-ody-ody-ody (mwah) [2×]

Body crazy, curvy, wavy, big titties, lil' waist (yeah, yeah, yeah) [2x]

Body-ody-ody-ody-ody-ody-ody-ody-o dy-ody-ody-ody-ody-ody-ody (mwah)

The first thing we need to acknowledged about 3rd house is the signify of the BODY. Yes, our human body is represented by 3rd house more than 1st house. Why? Because 1st house shit is more about THE FACE and the appearances. And i need to make it clear for you. Appearances DOES NOT EQUAL WITH YOUR PHYSICAL BODY. Someone can have a bad appearances beside have a very favourable body types. Someone could have a very pleasurabls appearances even if their body types is not favourable.

This is might be easier but. Seriously, when it comes to body. 1st house is what you guys momma and dad just gave you. 3rd house, is what you take care of them momma and dad gave. lmao 😭

(fun fact, 3rd house is also about house of identification as in learning process. Notice the lyrics before the drop of this song tell you how to identify the person who made the song ["And if the beat live, you know Lil Ju made it"])

Okay, let's go next!!

Look at how I bodied that, ate it up and gave it back (ugh)

Yeah, you look good, but they still wanna know where Megan at (where Megan at?)

Saucy like a barbecue but you won't get your baby back

See me in that dress and he feel like he almost tasted that (ah, ah, ah)

Not only body as in type and shape. The theme of body in 3rd house also represent how you are connect and acknowledge the condition of your body ("Look at how I bodied that, ate it up and gave it back (ugh)"). It's about how you notice the signals that your body is given to you. How it give you starvation? how it give you hunger and fullness? how it gives you satisfaction? how the metabolism and the pulse is going? How it sends a signal to your environment and neighbourhood?

Yeah, you look good, but they still wanna know where Megan at (where Megan at?)

3rd house in astrology is also signify your connection with your neighbourhood or environment or local community. ("Where Megan at?") i also notice that strong 3rd make someone's presence felt at your local community. It does not equal with power, but at least the person will always being the talk or the town. That's really make sense that 3rd house is also house of competition and comparation ("Yeah, you look good, but they still wanna know where Megan at") it's not like how Mars and Aries treat competition because their burning passion and the urge to survive to be the best. 3rd house competition come from comparing the differences toward one from another. Mars and Aries competition is more spiritual and warrior-like of your soul path. But 3rd house competition is more physical and mental as a social dynamics.

See me in that dress and he feel like he almost tasted that (ah, ah, ah)

3rd house also rules our five sensory. (also 11th house (wish) from 5th house (sex) and 3rd house from 3rd house is 5th house (sex). So, do you get it?)

You know I'm the hottest, you ain't ever gotta heat me up

I'm present when I'm absent, speakin' when I'm not there

All them bitches scary cats, I call 'em Carole Baskins, ah

3rd house is also tell you the power of reading the air of the room ("You know I'm the hottest, you ain't ever gotta heat me up") without any word while also being the house of communication ("I'm present when I'm absent, speakin' when I'm not there"). I have seen how the presence of people with the strong 3rd house always immaculately crazy. They always around in the neighbourhood that their absence become the topic of the town! They always being the one who doesn't realize that how they pull the attention (kind of the attention that Leo actually wants, anyway) because they are SO PRESENT. But takes note that this is not because the charisma (like 1, 8 or 10th house) but because of the familiarity and habitual. Also, notice the next lyrics made us comeback to the topic of 3rd house as the house of competition and differences ("All them bitches scary cats, I call 'em Carole Baskins, ah")

I'm a hot ebony, they gon' click it if it's me (if it's me) All my bitches been gettin' these niggas through the quarantine (yeah) Bitch, I'm very well, on my shit as you could tell Any ho got beef from years ago is beefing by herself, ah, ah

3rd house is the house of our current local environment or how someone is relate to their environment ("All my bitches been gettin' these niggas through the quarantine (yeah)") funnily enough, quarantine is something that deeply related to isolation (12th house). 3rd house derivatively a 4th house when we look at 12th house. So the root of isolation (12th house) is a local quarantine that keeping the local community (also 3rd house) is connected (again, 3rd house).

If we took a trip on the real creep tip (yeah) Bitch, rule number one is don't repeat that shit (don't repeat that shit) Rule number two, if they all came with you They better know exactly what the fuck they came to do (yeah, yeah, yeah, whoa, whoa)

3rd house also rules the trip. But it's not a vacational trip or the business trip/commuting. It's your daily trip from home to grocery store, the church, the gym or the lovely bakery trip. People tend to believe that local trip enhance your ability to identify an environment. And as local community, the trip sometimes reveal something creep as it the first step of you knowing the outer world outside your body ("If we took a trip on the real creep tip (yeah)")

("Bitch, rule number one is don't repeat that shit (don't repeat that shit) Rule number two, if they all came with you They better know exactly what the fuck they came to do")

One thing that maybe people had no notice about 3rd house is the ability to compete reveals the kind of self-regulating strategy to win. This is due to the derivative of 9th house as a house of universal truth and universal rule. So, if you think that there is a strong rule of life that you need to do that other people had no idea about (and you obey it as it a ritual for you) that's probably your 3rd house talking. For example, if you believing that drink cold coffee in the morning will make you feel more energetic, that's your 3rd house speaking. Or somehow, there are some people who thinks that if they want to win, they need to put certain crystal in their pocket to make sure the spirits and the goddess would help them, that's also the 3rd house.

To understand what kind of 'personal rule' that you think related to 3rd house. Maybe Dua Lipa's Song "New Rules" will help you.

And now, the last one.

The category is body, look at the way it's sittin' (yeah) That ratio so out of control That waist, that ass, them titties (that waist, that ass, them titties) If I wasn't me and I would've see myself, I would have bought me a drink (hey) Took me home, did me long, ate it with the panties on (ugh, ugh, ugh) I could build a house with all the brick I got (yeah) Bitches spend a lifetime tryna get this hot (tryna get this hot) And if her head too big, I could make that pop I'm not the one to play with like a touch-me-not, ah

Again, 3rd house is about the body (The category is body, look at the way it's sittin") and how about how we treated our given body ("If I wasn't me and I would've see myself, I would have bought me a drink (hey)") but what the most interesting things about 3rd house is the relation of rituals and the goddess.

Do you know that moon's joy is in 3rd house? Because moon ruled over one's body hormone and moon is a GODDESS. I could say this in derivative; when 9th house is house of the GOD and the house of KINGS, 3rd house is the house of GODDESS and the LOCALS. And when it comes to goddess, people always have rituals that praises the goddess that so different from the festival to praise the gods. If you still confused with the rituals; i would say simply as the things that you do to energize you to do your daily life. Nowadays, as we didn't praise any goddess anymore, we keep the rituals alive with something called SELF-CARE. ("If I wasn't me and I would've see myself, I would have bought me a drink. Took me home, did me long, ate it with the panties on") [And yes, who said the masturbating is not a form of self care?]

THE CONCLUSION

So, what does the 3rd house rules? As the conclusion of this long (and somehow stupid) article. I would sum up everything that i think being represented by 3rd house :

Body and how you treated the body

Identification (as in learning process)

Locals and Local Community

Environment

Competition as in differences (and somehow, it has something to do with classsism)

Communication

Goddess

Familiarity

Connection

Rituals that energizes you (differ it from 6th house of routine. Because routine DRAINS YOU).

How your body and brain works and how it connects to your environment.

Commuting Process and Local Trip

Neigbourhood

To make you more understand 3rdh house. I would provide you 3rd house - 9th house axis comparation.

3RD HOUSE vs 9TH HOUSE

LOCAL PEOPLE vs KINGS

GODDESS vs GOD

LOCAL COMMUNITY vs GLOBAL COMMUNITY

SELF KNOWLEDGE vs WORLD KNOWLEDGE

COMMUNICATION vs BROADCASTING

CONNECTIVITY vs UNITY/WHOLENESS

RITUALS vs FESTIVALS

DAILY vs ANNUAL

COMMUTING vs VACATIONS

CONNECTION vs MEANING

DIFFERENCES vs COMPLETENESS

FAMILIARITY vs EXOTICISM

NEIGHBOURHOOD vs WORLDWIDE

BODY vs SOUL (as in higher calling)

IDEA vs IDEOLOGY

IDENTIFICATION vs VALIDATION

RESEARCH vs PUBLICATION

PRESENCE AND ABSENCE vs INFLUENCE

THE POWER OF READING THE AIR IN THE ROOM vs THE BELIEVE OF WHAT IS ACTUALLY IN THE ROOM

SELF SYSTEM vs BELIEF SYSTEM

LEARNING vs IMPLEMENTING

[doomedandstoned]

Austin’s AIWASS Resurrect  Scottish Folk Song ‘Cruel Brother’ in New Single

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

Artwork by gozien_crayon

It has been estimated that some four million new songs are being released into the world of sound every year. Certainly, it's been hard -- neigh, impossible -- to keep up with all the new albums churned out just in the doom scene. As a consequence, it is all too easy to loose touch with the great songs of the past. I'm not talking about songs from the '70s, '80s or '90s, but those written generations and generations ago, stretching back into Medieval and Renaissance times.

That's why it's so refreshing to encounter a band taking on an old Scottish ballad like the one before us. Taking a cue from Battlefield Band, the traditional folk group who brought "Cruel Brother" to a wider audience decades ago, Austin, Texas band AIWASS gives this tragic tale a unique twist.

Dark, moody synthesizer surrounds the senses as the track begins, as if to transport us hundreds of years into the past to a scene unthinkable: a dying bride, a spiteful brother, a grieving knight, and an atmosphere teeming with sadness and revenge. Gently plucked mandolin strings cross with acoustic guitar. Misty, forlorn vocals tell the tale of love found and lost, eventually engaging the full powers of the doom metal quartet, complete with foreboding drums and bluesy, bittersweet guitar riffs.

Frontman Blake Carrera comments:

The themes of the song, despite being an old Scottish ballad, are quite familiar to listeners of doom and metal in general: love, lust, violence, and loss. By reinterpreting this song, we hope to bring the past into the future. The screams at the end of the song are not just an identification that this is “blackened doom”; they are also the screams of loss and sadness that are perpetuated throughout time by all of us.

Aiwass caught my ear during the pandemic, when we premiered and gave a detailed review of their first LP Wayward Gods. Since then, the band has expanded with founding member Blake Carrera (vox, guitar, mandolin, synth) joined by Eddy Keyes (vox, acoustic guitar, bass), Pablo Anton (guitar), and Grant Husselman (drums). As a result, the Aiwass sound has evolved into something wonderfully nuanced and altogether powerful.

"Cruel Brother" will be issued as a standalone single on Friday, March 28th (get it here). Fans of Green Lung, take notice

Give ear...

AIWASS - Cruel Brother

Follow The Band

Get Their Music

LYRICS

[Verse 1] There were three ladies played at baw Hey wi the rose and the linsey o But a knight cam by, played ower them aw Doun by the greenwood sidie o

[Verse 2] This knight bowed low tae aw the three Hey wi the rose and the linsey o But tae the youngest, he bent his knee Doun by the greenwood sidie o

[Verse 3] O lady fair, gie me your haun' Hey wi the rose and the linsey o And I'll mak ye lady ower aw my land Doun by the greenwood sidie o

[Verse 4] Sir knight, ere you my favour win Hey wi the rose and the linsey o Ye maun gain consent ower all my kin Doun by the greenwood sidie o

[Verse 5] He gained consent fae her parents dear Hey wi the rose and the linsey o And likewise fae her sisters fair Doun by the greenwood sidie o

[Verse 6] He's gained consent ower all her kin Hey wi the rose and the linsey o He forgot tae speak tae her brother John Doun by the greenwood sidie o

[Verse 7] When the wedding day was come Hey wi the rose and the linsey o This knight would take his bonnie bride home Doun by the greenwood sidie o

[Verse 8] Her mother led her through the closs Hey wi the rose and the linsey o And her brother John stood her on her horse Doun by the greenwood sidie o

[Verse 9] He took a knife baith long and sharp And he stabbed the bonnie bride tae her heart

[Verse 10] Lead me tae yon high, high hill Hey wi the rose and the linsey o And I'll lie doun and I'll mak my will Doun by the greenwood sidie o

[Verse 11] And what will ye gie tae your brother John Hey wi the rose and the linsey o The gallows tree for tae hang him on Doun by the greenwood sidie o

[Verse 12] And what will ye gie to your brother John's wife Hey wi the rose and the linsey o The wilderness tae end her life Doun by the greenwood sidie o

[open-hangar]

New Akkadian Lore Yushamin Ep. 22

SABBI VOLUNTEER RECORDS

باسم الحياة العظيم، عندما نجتمع معًا تحت النجوم اللامتناهية بأيدٍ وقلوبٍ مفتوحة

Name: Ahmad Dawoud

Place of Origin: [REDACTED]

Birth Date: [REDACTED]

Height and Weight: [UNIMPORTANT]

Assignment: Ashurbanipal Special Protection Unit [WHY ARE YOU ASKING] Unit Gim or anything else it’s fine

Etc.: Access is not limited. He’s good at his job, don’t worry about it.

Ahmad was always disappointed that the elevator didn’t have music. Elevators are supposed to have music, right? Cute, inoffensive songs that go in and out of your head while you’re not paying attention. Slipping through your mind while you assume it was always supposed to. He always appreciated that.

“Hey, computer?”

As the elevator the teen boy was riding slid ever downward, the computer that tracked everything gave a slight “beep” to acknowledge him.

“Can I get a little tune?”

“Invalid command.”

“Maybe ‘Spanish Flea’ by Herb Alpert.”

“Invalid command.”

“But not their version, a version with the lyrics. I always liked the lyrics.”

“Invalid command.”

“Gosh, you’re no fun. It goes like, ‘There was a little Spanish flea, a record star he thought he’d be,’ you know the rest, right?”

“Invalid command. Now arriving at [REDACTED BY SABBI]”

“Wow, they even redact the announcements. Oh well, open up please.”

The standard laser light show flashes through the inside of the elevator, and the computer claims, “One occupant detected. Provide identification.”

Ahmad playfully gives a show of patting his pockets and trying to find his ID lanyard before shrugging. “Oops, guess I forgot it in my other pants.”

A click. A whir. Another click. A few beeps that nobody has ever heard that computer make before. And then, suddenly,

“Khamala Habib confirmed.”

The teen snaps his fingers as he leaves the elevator, and makes a clicking sound with his mouth. “Thanks, baby doll. Stay sexy.”

“Invalid command.”

Ahmad had arrived on a section of the Library that a very small select few knows exists, and even fewer have clearance for. It is primarily an empty space which was once shaped like a massive egg, but now has been rebuilt and repurposed. Its sole use is to now hold the glass dome that contains what Ahmad only knows is referred to as the PCB, and must be eliminated for the good of the true inheritors of the planet. He, however, is interrupted by a loud gunshot.

Ahmad reaches around to his back, and feels the burning hole in the back of his shirt, and then sticks a finger into the new hole where his spine would be. He then checks his front to see if there’s an exit wound. Nope, the bullet’s still in there. “Well, now, that’s just rude.” He turns around to face his attacker and sees Rami in a cleansuit, holding a pistol pointed at him. “You’re not taking another step closer to that dome.”

“Rami, my man! My guy! You know I’d love to play those little adult games you like to play, but unfortunately I-”

Another gunshot, this time in Ahmad’s chest. The bullet slips past where his sternum would be and cleanly wedges somewhere where a lung would be expected.

The teen’s look of understanding, like most of his expressions, carries a bit of irony behind it, but this time it also carries a small hint of anger. “Yeah, I get it, okay? You’re angry that I seduced Waheeda when you had a thing for her. She’s way too young for you, but you know, feelings are feelings, right? So how about you quit wasting my time with those bullets.”

Rami’s bloated figure walks towards Ahmad, unafraid. “The bullets are laced with weaponized chargon. You’ll be dead soon.”

“No, they aren’t,” Ahmad replied with zero hesitation. “I know you ran out of weaponized chargon with Ptahil. Even if you brought in every Lanzer in the solar system and had them fart on me simultaneously, it wouldn’t stop me.”

Walking backwards with his eyes still on his former handler, he explains, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my genetic coding is telling me to let whatever’s in this glass dome out. Toodles!”

Rami’s mind raced. He had to find a way to stall him for a little longer, no matter what. “Wait, you don’t even know? You’re just going off instinct?”

“Heh, yeah! Duh, same as you, same as everyone. We all work our asses off to stay alive. It’s all to eat healthy food, sleep in a safe space, meet a good mate.” He then smirks. “Although in your case, that last one has some unique caveats.”

Another gunshot.

“Okay, okay, I’m done with the age difference jokes. Look, my point is that it doesn’t matter why I know that breaking your little glass dome is better for the planet. I just do. I’m sure you think it sucks for your little dead-end species, but it’s better for everyone else. Just lay back and let it happen.”

Rami continues to follow the boy. “But how do you know? What if what’s in there spells the end for you, too?”

Ahmad squints. “You’re funny. You think you can trick me with words. Alright, I’ll bite. Tell me what’s in there.”

The adult sighs. This might be the only way to stop him. “Computer. Disable outer film.”

A loud beep cuts through the stale, empty air, followed by a curt “Confirmed.”

The glass dome’s glossy exterior shimmers and disappears, showing its contents. A single vaguely humanoid figure, glowing bright green with a purple interior. With the film gone, the entire room seems to fill with a burning radiation, and the walls glow bright with prismatic paint and etchings, filling the space with a blinding light.

“There it is. The Primordial Chargon Being. The origin of all life on our planet. And now that the film is gone, I can’t step any closer without throwing years of my life away, even in this cleansuit. Have at it.”

Ahmad could only look with astonishment. “Adam…” The figure seems afraid, almost cowering from him. It’s impossible to view any sort of emotion on the figure, but it definitely is afraid. The teen presses his hands against the glass, and begins to pound on it, weaker and weaker as his energy is drained away. He is rightfully confused, a simple manmade structure should crumple under the strength of any Uthra. “But…” He slides to the ground, tired.

The teen lifts his shirt, and sees his torso liquidizing. If one were to squint, they would likely see the squirming mass carrying his consciousness wither and die as they turn into puddles of waste chargon. With every death, Ahmad can feel it becoming harder to think, to focus, to understand what’s going on around him.

“We extracted the weaponized chargon from Aleph’s blood. We can rebuild everything, no matter how many of you keep coming. Mankind cannot, will not let you win.”

The dying Uthra could only chuckle as he coughed up what was blood to him. “Yeah, but I know how you are. Even if we give up, you can’t keep sleeping dogs lie. You’re sitting on a ticking time bomb… and you know it.”

His eyes close and open slowly, his breaths slow.

“One more thing, though… Do me a favor… Tell Waheeda… I really did want to try her cookies.”

Art by @nebularobo

[cashhenley]

❝ these things eat at your bones ❞

Age: 34

Gender identification: Cis man, he/him

Residential area: a ranch on the outskirts

Occupation: singer / songwriter

Two positive traits: Gritty & resilient

Two negative traits: Stubborn & hedonistic

Length of time in Briar Ridge: just arrived

Faceclaim: Brandon Sklenar

Voice/music claim: Sam Hunt

a worn stetson hanging from the back of a chair, soulful blue eyes, a notebook full of regrets, worn wranglers and dusty boots, a smile that would make you think twice about being mad, longing for redemption, a quiet weariness, wasted talent and promise, a heart of steel turning to rust

abuse mention tw, suicide mention tw, drug and alcohol abuse tw

Life began on some 500 acres in grassland hills of Northern California for Cash Henley, starting out as a younger brother and eventually became the middle child of a ranching family.

From his early days he knew the meaning and way of hard work. If he could walk he knew his way around horses and cattle and chores around the ranch weren't far behind then.

They would go to fairs and rodeos often. His older brother fell in love with music first and learned the guitar but it was Cash that had the talent for writing. Melodies had a way of forming in his head that left little doubt for what was ahead of him in life.

Of course, in the beginning, that wasn't his dream. His brother wanted to be on the stage and performing to that cowboy crowd. All Cash wanted was to ride bulls and brocs. To become a hero amongst all the men he looked up to.

While he could ride Cash wasn't allowed to enter into any rodeo events until he was an adult. It wasn't for any reason other than his family didn't want him potentially getting hurt when he was needed to help take care of the ranch.

So during that time his older brother taught him to play guitar and they would write songs together. When it would come to arranging the music and the lyrics, getting the melody down, that was when it was discovered that Cash could sing. And sing well.

Tragedy hit when everyone had been least expecting it. His younger sister had taken her own life and he'd been the one to find her. The note she'd left behind had named an abuser and for what he'd done to the man that had hurt her, well, Cash was given two options— prison or the military.

He chose the military and was thrown into the marine corps right after high school. It was fine, really, Cash had always wanted to do the same as his father and grandfather did before him and that was to do his service in the military.

Bootcamp had actually been fairly simple for a young man raised the way he had been. Cash was big and strong, was excellent with handling a gun and shooting, could carry and haul weight around, and wasn't fragile by any means.

Still, when those 4 years were up, he didn't stay on with the marines. Cash went home and picked up the guitar as a way to get everything he'd experienced out of his head. And when he was performing with his brother Cash ended up getting scouted and ended up with a record deal months later.

Off to Nashville he went where he wrote and recorded and put together an album. He performed many small gigs around and went on tours with bigger artists to get his name and music out there and heard. But the music scene was different than anything Cash had experienced before.

There was so much easy access to alcohol and drugs. Everything seemed like a party all the time. For a man that was wounded and nursing some traumas from his past and the military Cash didn't handle it well.

The release was too good and the addiction began.

When Cash was playing gig at a bar in New York, mostly for fun, he spotted the most beautiful girl in the crowd and it was like love at first sight for him. Cash sang a song for her and did everything he could to get her name that night.

Somehow he won Leyla over and she gave him the time of day. Their romance was intense for him, he'd fallen hard and fast, but Cash was also building his career and had trouble staying away from the party scene.

That moment Leyla had told him that she was pregnant— Cash will never not regret his reaction. The only excuse was that he wasn't well. He told her he wasn't ready to be a father and couldn't be apart of it, that was something he'd envisioned for them down the line. Even in the midst of everything Cash knew he wasn't fit.

The second biggest regret? When Leyla had left and gone back to her hometown he hadn't chased her.

Then he missed the birth of his child and the early years of raising her while he spent his time touring, drinking, putting bad substances in his body, and spent years burning himself hollow.

It was his brother that had come to his rescue and picked him up off the floor and threw Cash into rehab. He'd been destroying his life and what had finally gotten through to Cash was his brother telling him he couldn't lose another sibling.

Now clean and sober for a year, it's time for him to do the right thing. Not only does he want to meet his daughter, Cash wants to make amends for all the damage and ruin he has caused.

potential connections:

cali people — if your character had been in california at any point!

cowboy up — all cowboy/rodeo fans come on down!

fans/supporters — of course anyone that knows and enjoys his music, maybe has followed his career a bit.

manager/agent — self explanatory BUT i imagine they wouldn't be happy with cash slowing down with music and essentially not working.

fellow parents — he's going to be getting to know his daughter and taking care of her so fellow parents that don't hate him?? even if you do hate him lets still work something out.

music industry peeps — anyone involved in the music industry!

hook ups/one night stands — girls he'd met on the road while traveling.

i'll add more as they come to me. i'm tired.