#subsonic eye

[fyeahcindie]

Listen/purchase: Performative by Subsonic Eye

The new album from Singapore’s Subsonic Eye is up on Topshelf Records YT, Spotify, and Bandcamp.  =D

Let’s hear a couple tracks!  The rocker Performative opens the album with a hypnotic vocal, and What I Meant is jangly indie guitar pop:

So far after hearing 5 songs, it seems like they’ve continued their gradual evolution in style towards indie pop/rock. Very pleasing!  =D

Nur Wahidah-voc/synth, Daniel Borces-gtr, Jared Lim-gtr (also in Sobs), Sam Venditti-bass (also in CURB), Lucas Tee-drums  

The band is ready to tour:

Sep 30 Esplanade Annexe Studio Singapore, Singapore

Oct 10 The Trunk Space Phoenix, AZ

Oct 11 Knitting Factory NoHo North Hollywood, CA

Oct 13 Bottom of the Hill San Francisco, CA

Oct 14 Little Haus Portland, OR

Oct 15 The Vera Project Seattle, WA

Oct 20 The Sanctuary Detroit Hamtramck, MI

Oct 22 Baby's All Right - Brooklyn Brooklyn, NY

Oct 24 Johnny Brenda's Philadelphia, PA

Links: Topshelf Records YT,  Bandcamp,  YouTube,  Middle Class Cigars YouTube,  SoundCloud,  Instagram,  Spotify

[cintade90]

Subsonic Eye - Not Linear

[angelnext]

yearning by subsonic eye

[kkv-main]

KKV Neighborhood #189 Disc Review - 2023.10.24

シンガポール・インディの重要バンドが歌う自然との断絶、そして再接続

Subsonic Eye『All Around You』review by 管梓(エイプリルブルー)

[ned-ed]

Record of the Day 10/25

Today's recommendation is Yearning by Subsonic Eye

[valaquenta]

Subsonic Eye - J-O-B

[abductionradiation]

Singaporean five piece Subsonic Eye will be releasing their fourth full-length All Around You on September 13 via Topshelf Records. The first single lifted from the record is "Yearning," a hazy pop song spanning just under 4 minutes long. There's an undeniable warmth to this single, with Subsonic Eye further embracing the idea that nature is all around us. Subsonic Eye nestles a thread of nostalgia in the track's layers, crafting a bed of sound that submerges listeners in a comforting embrace. "Yearning" has a familiarity that'll have you reminiscing about distant memories.

All Around You by Subsonic Eye

On her state of mind while making the "Yearning" music video, Subsonic Eye's Nur Wahidah writes,

"In the past few years, opening my mind up to the little things around me allowed me to get closer with nature and myself. I felt like as I learnt more about my relationship with nature, the love I felt for my loved ones grew deeper (and vice versa). I feel that my love for nature (and myself) started to parallel the love I have for my loved ones! Every day I thank all the trees around me for reminding me of the love I am capable of receiving and giving. Some days it is particularly beautiful out and it cocoons me in a familiar warmth."

Connect with Subsonic Eye:

Twitter | Instagram

[sunriseinorbit]

everyone listen NOW

[charliemwrites]

Sniff, sniff…. Woof.

Content: Voyeurism

“Johnny? Johnny, baby, come here!”

Your big wolf boy comes bounding in from the living room as you shut the front door, immediately rearing up to sniff at your neck and face and hands. Satisfied, he licks your cheek and drops down again.

“Alright, listen up, handsome.” You grab his cheeks, scritching along his jaw and grinning as his big blue eyes go dopey. “My sister and her husband are going to stay the night. You are going to be a polite boy because you love me and don’t want to give my sister anything to talk shit about. Yes?”

A sneeze that he (for once) aims away from you. You laugh, drop a kiss between his eyes.

“Good talk.”

As usual, he follows you through the house as you shed clothes and shoes and bags. You ramble about the grocery store and your day, mostly just to get it out so your headspace can be clear for the evening. Helps to have a little (relatively) listener following at your heels.

He camps out in the bathroom while you shower, licking the glass door until you scold him - per usual. And again when he tries to lick the clean water off your leg. Only starts getting restless and grumpy when he sees you change into “outside” clothes rather than pjs.

You groan as he tries to herd you away from your own closet. Must be mixed with a shepherding dog because he’s a damn pushy jerk.

“Enough, bud,” you sigh. “Look, I don’t wanna go much either. But it’ll be worse if I don’t.”

He mouths off at you, a new thing he’s started up that reminds you of a husky. Maybe you should get one of those doggy DNA tests.

“I know I know,” you coo, shimmying into a pair of pants that your sister won’t be able to tease makes your ass look flat. “I’d rather snuggle up and watch 90s vampire movies too. But I already said I’d go and this means I’ll be able to skip seeing her on her birthday.”

More grumbles, but at least he climbs up on the bed to pout. You finish dressing and head for the vanity - no way you can go out with your sister without makeup.

As you pass, you roll him over to scratch his belly - politely ignoring his reaction. God, you really need to get him in for a neutering. If you catch him humping one more pillow—

When it’s time to go, you drop down to give him one last hug.

“Be good, baby. I’ll be home soon with some new friends. I love you.”

—

After dinner, your sister’s husband suggests a bar. And, of course, it’s a sports bar. Man can’t go more than an hour or two without.

You and your sister chat while his eyes stayed glued to the screens. Well, she chats. You mostly just provide the audience she constantly craves, the validation she always needs.

At some point your excuse yourself to order another drink, weaving between the patrons and sighing at a chance to let your face rest for a moment. While you’re waiting, someone brushes up close behind you, startles you.

“Och, sorry, hen. Madhouse in here.”

You blink, tilt your head back to see a gorgeous pair of blue eyes shining down at you. Takes your breath away.

“Oh! Um, no problem, I get it.”

You try to scoot as much as you can - but it really is packed, especially at the bar - and the man takes the opportunity to occupy any free space you have.

Not that you’re complaining. He’s got the type of face they put on magazines with hooks like “sexiest man alive.” A killer grin as he winks down at you, arm bracing on the bar.

“Buy ya a drink for bein’ so rude?”

You’ve barely gotten the start of, “oh it’s alright,” out before he’s signaling the bartender. His stature and presence gets him instant service though, so you let it go, fidgeting restlessly.

Even his voice sounds like a sin worth committing. He’s too attractive. Too handsome to not know it; and definitely too handsome to be chatting you up and ordering you a drink.

“You here with anyone?” he asks with an edge that makes your spine prickle. Yet you almost feel like you imagine it. His tone is normal, his expression hasn’t changed and yet. Something subsonic in the timbre of his voice, maybe.

“My sister and her husband,” you reply.

“No husband of your own?”

You try to laugh, it comes out strained and awkward. “Ah, the only man in my life has four legs.”

Instead of looking annoyed by the brush off, his eyes spark.

“Dog?”

“Yup!” And okay, alarms in your head aside, you’re always happy to talk about Johnny. He’s a safe topic. You fish your phone out of your back pocket and show him your lock screen.

The man takes a quick look at the screen, an odd, private smile flicking across his face. There and then gone, before those intense eyes are locked on you again.

“He friendly?”

You laugh a bit, perk up as the bartender returns with your drink. “Not with men. Thanks for buying!”

as you turn to go, he grabs your hip. Not hard, or even too low. But you gasp quietly, the heat of his palm searing through your clothes.

“Name’s soap, by the way.”

Infinitely more nervous now, you stutter out your own and then retreat to your sister and her husband.

Spend the rest of the night pretending not to watch Soap. He doesn’t return the courtesy, eyes trained on you, lurking around the bar. So visible it seems to only you. Something about the way the light catches his eyes reminds you of when Johnny senses a threat. When he gets low and growly, hair standing on end, eyes focused.

Soap looks like he’s hunting you.

Thankfully, your sister complains about the noise after an hour or so and the three of you leave. You’re relieved to be going home.

As you step inside, you call for Johnny again.

“Wait, who the hell is Johnny?” your sister’s husband asks, an odd look on his face. “You’re living with someone?”

You snort a bit. Does he seriously not remember you talking about your dog?

“Yeah,” you joke, “he’s the love of my life, my one and only—”

You hear the clack of the doggy door and call out again. Johnny trots in panting.

“Did you just come in from a run?” you chuckle, putting a hand out in greeting.

He comes right up to you, presses his nose to the spot where “Soap” grabbed you and snuffles.

“I know, I smell wrong,” you soothe.

He grumbles and licks at your shirt, but you gently nudge him away, turning as your sister scoffs.

“You still do that thing where you talk to them like people?” She asks. “Don’t you think that’s… childish?”

“Johnny’s basically a person in a human body,” you reply, laughing. “You’ll see.”

“Dogs shouldn’t have human names,” her husband pipes up, reaching for Johnny.

“No, wait—”

Johnny snaps just shy of his fingers and puts himself bodily between you two.

“Easy!” you yelp, hooking your hand in his collar. “Sorry, I meant to warn you - Johnny’s shy with men.”

“He almost took my bloody hand off!”

“He’s just protective. Johnny, heel.”

He stops snarling, but plants himself at your feet right there, eyes sharply trained on your brother in law. Your sister snorts.

“How are you supposed to get men back here, then?”

You jump as Johnny barks, a full deep one that your rarely ever hear. Your sister startles too, then scowls.

“I don’t,” you answer, shaking your head. “Anyway, let me just get the sheets for the spare room and we can call it a night.”

Johnny stays close at your heels the entire time, though you swear he throws a nasty glance back at your sister’s husband.

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

[howi99]

A Knight second chance 9

Blake: *glaring daggers at Jaune*

Ren: ... Jaune, what did you do?

Jaune: *shrug* I stated the obvious. *Point to the cat ears* It's not like she even TRIED hiding her identity. *Doing a little wave at her, with a smile*

Blake: *looking furious*

Ren: ... But why the antagonisms?

Jaune: If i told you it keeps her from thinking about running away from here, you'd believe me?

Ren: ... Does it have anything to do with what happened at the docks?

Jaune: ... No?

___________________________________________

Team RWBY: *arriving at the docks after Blake was "forced" to explained her backstory to her team*

Blake: What the-

Jaune: *speaking with one of the White Fang which is already in handcuffs* Oh don't get me wrong, i don't like the SDC one bit, but-

Ruby: *perplexed to see her friend here* Jaune?

Jaune: *turning to see them* Oh, hey gang!

Yang: *looking at the bunch of White Fangs being arrested by the police* What... Happened here?

Jaune: *shrug* They tried stealing a shipment of Dust. And hey, i'm the first person to say that the SDC suck-

Weiss: Hey!

Jaune: *smiling* Weiss, your father is the main reason why Vacuo is dirt poor. And they refuse to send dust to Menagerie.

Weiss: *pointing at the faunus on the ground* Because of them!

Blake: *frowning at Weiss*

Weiss: *rolling her eyes* The terrorist, not the faunus.

Jaune: *taking a pamphlet from his pocket* Actually, the embargo debuted BEFORE the White Fang was even a thing. So it's totally because of segregation, Weiss.

Weiss: B-but-

Jaune: *cuting her with a smile* Anyway, that's not important for now. What's important is that the situation was de-escalated and that nobody was hurt.

Blake: How!?

Jaune: ... I called the authorities? *Shaking his head* Blake, they are civilians, not trained soldiers. Heck, it wasn't even hard to explain to them that if they cooperated, they wouldn't be tried as terrorists, but as thieves.

Black: *who had a "perfect" speach ready* Uh!?

Grunt: ... He also knocked out most of our heavy hitters while WALKING to them with a smile. And we were shooting him! So uh... Yeah, we aren't dealing with that.

Yang: That's badass.... *Smirk* And frightening.

Jaune: *Sigh* It also hurts like a bitch. *Chuckle* I wouldn't recommend it. *Picking up one of the guns* The only reason it worked was because they were using subsonic ammunitions of 9mm.

Grunt: *sigh* The guy, Roman, said it was for discretion. If it wasn't of that, we would have been fine.

___________________________________________

Ren: You did steal her moment, no?

Jaune: *shrug* Meh, it's not like that's going to be the last time... Also, duck.

Ren: *perplexed* Duck? *Get hit behind the head by a creampie Blake tried to throw at Jaune* !?

Silence in the cafeteria

Nora: *jumping on the table* I'LL AVENGE YOU! *Throwing a fish at Yang by mistake* Oops...

Yang: *her semblance activating with a grin* FOOD WAR!!!

___________________________________________

Velvet: *under a table with Coco and Russel* You want Coco expertise?

Russel: Yeah!

Coco: ... Your team did bully V, why should i help you?

Velvet: *frowning* Coco, Russel's a good guy. And even the rest of his team aren't really that bad. *Sigh* Cardin was mainly angry because the white fang kept attacking his mother's store.

Coco: ... *Sigh* You are too good, V. *Looking at Russel* What do you want?

Russel: W-well, i-

Dove: *taking cover* Oh, hi you Velvet. You were still interested in coming to the arcade with us?

Velvet: *smiling* Hey Dove and yes! But i was wondering if my team could come?

Dove: Don't see why not. *Cardin falls next to him* Hey big guy, Velvet wants to know if she can bring her friends with her to the arcades?

Cardin: *shaking off the food from his head* Uh? *Looking at Velvet with a slight blush* Oh uh, yeah, sure. *Picking up a plate as a shield, going back into the melee*

Dove: *looking for a "weapon", picking up a breadstick and following his leader*

Coco: uh... They do seem a lot nicer. *Looking back at Russel* So back to my help.

Russel: *picking up invitations to a nice restaurant from his pocket* W-well i was planning to ask my girlfriend out, but i don't really have anything nice to wear and-

Coco: Say less, i'll help you out.

Russel: *smiling* Thank you! Now if you excuse me *picking food for the fight* My team needs me! *Leave the cover to follow his friends*

Coco: ... By the way, the big guy totally has a crush on you.

Velvet: Pfft, Cardin? That's ridiculous!

Coco: Uh-huh, if you say so.

[pareidoliaonthemove]

Vocal Chords

Virgil tried to work a finger into the collar that dug into the flesh of his neck. A sharp smack knocked his hand away, his own fingers slapping his jaw. “Ow!”

“Cut that out, kiddo.” Grandma was unrepentant, and started fussing with the collar, ensuring it sat to her satisfaction, before finally grasping the tie and reseating it firmly against his throat.

“Gah!” Virgil choked. “Can’t breathe, Grandma!”

“You can breathe fine, kid. I don’t know. You never used to complain when you had to dress up for piano recitals.”

A rasping sound had Virgil glaring at Scott. “Don’t you start. If you’d only listened when we told you to wait, you’d not have caught that cold, you wouldn’t have developed laryngitis, and I wouldn’t be here doing your job for you.”

Scott held up his hands defensively, before signing “Sorry”.

Virgil’s glare didn’t let up.

“I still don’t know why you couldn’t do it. We had enough recordings of you practising that you could have just lipsinced to it.”

“Because everytime Scott practised his speech, Gordon played his ‘subsonic’ sound effects in the next room. When they were played back, all you could hear was ghost noises, explosions and fart noises.” Kayo wasn’t even trying to pretend she wasn’t finding this amusing.

Virgil turned his attention to John. “And don’t you think for one second that the speed with which you ‘came down’ with the laryngitis isn’t suspicious. I don’t know what you've blackmailed Grandma with, but I will find out.”

Grandma sighed. “There’s no blackmail, Virgil dear. John just spends too much time in orbit, and his immune system isn’t up to spec.”

Virgil turned a dark look at John. “I am so revising your allowable flight hours,” he growled.

John shrugged and gave Virgil a look that was so clearly an ‘I dare you’ with promises of retribution that even Kayo stepped away from the line of fire.

The sound from the crowd hidden behind the curtain swelled to a roar, and Virgil paled and gulped.

“Why can’t you do it, Scott?” He asked, eyes a little wild. “You can sign and a translator can speak?”

Scott frowned. “We’ve been over this, Virgil,” he signed. “Just having a Tracy on stage isn’t enough, it needs to be a Tracy’s voice.”

Virgil’s shoulders fell. “Why can’t Grandma do it?”

“Wrong image, kiddo. This is about the future. Having some old fossil banging on about the future isn’t going to work.”

“You’re not old Grandma,” Virgil mumbled.

“You’re a good boy, Virgil. But yes I am, the hint is in the title: ‘Grandma’.” She tapped the underneath of his chin to lift his head. “I’m old enough to qualify for a new title: ‘Great-Grandma’.”

“Gordon wanted to do it,” Virgil was clutching at straws. “He even re-wrote the speech…”

John poked him sharply in the ribs, before signing, “He was going to announce the re-working of all aerospace and astrospace manufacturing facilities into marine engineering facilities. By this time tomorrow we’d be lucky to have the shirts on our backs!”

Scott pushed him back. “Gordon has a public profile that … isn’t compatible with this arena.” There was an apologetic expression on his face.

“It will be okay, Virgil. The teleprompter is there, just read off what it says. I’ll be right next to you there. We’re skipping the live Q&A in favour of a virtual one. The MC is making my apologies, and explaining the laryngitis. The stagelights are set to hide the audience. You won’t see them. Just go out there, and read what the teleprompter says.”

While Virgil was focused on Scott’s hands, Grandma had been rubbing soothing circles on Virgil’s back. And somewhere, amongst all that, without Virgil realising it, he was now standing on the edge of the stage, right by the curtain.

Virgil started as the huge yawning space between him and the podium stretched out into infinity. Somewhere, over the sound of the MCs slick professional patter setting out the agenda for the day he could hear the sounding of rustling, people moving, the occasional cough, the sound of breathing. Oh, god, he could hear them breathing. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t…

A soft chime sounded in his discreet earpiece. “Thunderbird Two, standby.” It was EOS, and the use of the callsign had Virgil’s breathing evening out, and his spine straightening.

“Thunderbird Two, deploy.”

And with Scott leading the way, and acknowledging the audience, Virgil Tracy – Thunderbird Two – stepped onto the stage.

Notes:

Work has been eating both all my time, and apparently, all my brain. But I’ve finally got a piece written for Febuwhump!

The standard disclaimers, I do not own Thunderbirds, either the Original Series, the Movies (both Supermarionation and Live Action), or the Thunderbirds Are Go Series. (Although I do own copies on DVD.)

I do not do this for money, but for my own (in)sanity and entertainment.

[gnomewithalaptop]

Breakfast at Timothy's

Pairings: Bart Allen/Tim Drake

Summary: Bart stops by Tim's apartment to make him breakfast. Shenanigans (and feelings) ensue.

@/sapphicdick requested timbart! Posted as part of the DC Gotcha for Gaza Twitter event -- requests are still open for another four days, so please click on the link and check it out if you'd like to donate!

--

It is nearing half past nine in the morning when Tim opens his front door to find Bart Allen doing his level best to vibrate through a cardboard box of Splenda packets.

“Hiya, Timmy!” Bart says. As if on cue, several sugar packets vibrate through the bottom of the box and land on top of his shoes. Or maybe there’s just a hole somewhere. Impossible to tell really.

All he knows is it’s way too early for this.

Oblivious to Tim’s mental anguish, Bart cranes his neck to see around him into the apartment beyond. Except it’s Bart, so what that really means is he leans his whole body forward, shoulders oddly stiff in that particular way that means he’s trying his best not to vibrate out of his shoes. “So…” he says expectantly, “you gonna let me in, or what?”

Tim blinks muzzily, one hand still on the door. Then, for lack of anything to say, he bends over and checks the bottom of Bart’s box for any Splenda-packet-sized holes.

Vaguely dubious, Bart pokes him in the calf with the toe of his sneaker. “Uh. Are you okay? Are you having a stroke?”

There are no holes in Bart’s box. Tim goes back to his original hypothesis of Bart just being a morning person and straightens up. Makes sure to keep a firm hand on the door. “It’s just…” He rubs at one eye, yawning. “It’s really early, Bart.”

Infuriatingly, Bart flashes him a smile. “Oh, good,” he says, shifting the box to one side. “I was worried for a second.”

“Cool. Well, uh. Thanks for stopping by.” Tim makes to close the door, only for Bart to catch it with the toe of his sneaker, smile flickering into something more determined. Tim barely has time to react before he’s ducking under his arm at subsonic speeds; the tracest flicker of lightning later, and he’s already in the entryway taking off his shoes.

Somehow, the Splenda box has ended up awkwardly cradled in Tim’s arms.

“That’swhyI’mhereactually,” Bart says from the ground. He’s undoing his laces at normal speed for some reason, that determined, half-set expression Tim glimpsed earlier evaporated into mile-a-minute chatter like it’d never been there in the first place. “We haven’t seen you in ages, and Cassiesaysyou’vebeenweird about team meals ever since Batman got lost in time and came back to life or whatever so IjustfiguredI’dkilltwobirdswithonestone and make you breakfast!”

Tim blinks down at the box in his hands, brain still chugging along at half speed. Down on the floor, Bart, unbothered, has gotten started on his other sneaker. The laces on this one are a different color than the ones on the floor. Purple polka-dots to his right foot’s traffic-cone orange.

After a couple more seconds’ buffer time, something finally connects long enough in Tim’s brain to form a coherent thought. “…You know how to cook?”

Bart pauses for a beat, just long enough to give Tim a withering look through his fringe. “I’m sorry,” he says haughtily, “between the two of us, which one has actual, real-life experience being an adult with a job?” He thinks for a second, lips pursed in mock consideration, before removing his sneaker with a flourish. “Oh, wait! That’s right: me.”

A smear of lightning later, and he’s on his feet, sneakers lined up neatly against the wall. “Where’s your kitchen?”

Tim points, mutely, and before he can lower his arm again, Bart’s already blinking into the kitchen in a smear of yellow-gold lightning.

For a second, Tim just stares down at the Splenda packets, alone in the dim lighting of his entryway. This has to constitute cruel and unusual punishment; humans just weren’t meant to be up this early on a Saturday.

As if on cue, Bart blurs back into the foyer. “Hey, Tim,” he says, his socked feet squeaking against the hardwood floors, “where do you keep your electric stand mixer?”

Tim blinks. “I don’t… have one?” he offers weakly. Then, abruptly, his brain switches on again, and he shoves the sugar packets back into Bart’s arms. “Hey, wait a minute, your year as the Flash definitely doesn’t count—I mean, was it even technically you that experienced it—?”

“Okay, one, it absolutely counts, don’t talk like you know how the speed force works, and two—” Bart sticks his tongue out at him, shifting the box to his hip again, “—you have like a bajillion dollars and still don’t own a stand mixer, so your opinion matters even less to me.”

“You don’t get to act like you know how appliances work. I’m not the one who washed Speedy’s glue arrows and broke the washing machine.”

“Sorry, I can’t hear you to, Monsieur Mixer-less.”

It is at this point that Tim makes the executive decision to give up. He strides into the kitchen. “What do you even need an electric mixer for anyways?” he calls over his shoulder as he grabs a Zesti out of the fridge door. “Aren’t we just doing eggs or something?”

Another blink, and Bart’s dumping out the box of Splenda on the kitchen island. “No, because we’re not boring. We’re making Sugar-Blasted Brunch Casserole, as seen in Episode 211 of the hit Disney series Sick Life of Jack and Brody.”

That… takes a second to register. “Um,” Tim says blankly, and does his best not to stare at the avalanche of Splenda packets spilling onto his tile floor. “…What?”

Bart, meanwhile, continues to charge forward, unabated. “I even made sure to bring fake sugar sowecankeepinlinewithyourBat-diet!” he says, gesticulating wildly with one hand as he goes through every single one of Tim’s cabinets at lightning speed. A blink, and there are half a dozen eggs cracked open and with yolks and whites separated neatly between two glass mixing bowls.

Tim resists the urge to sit down, and just scruffs a hand through his hair, trying to track Bart’s movements through the kitchen as his speed ramps back down to just past human-normal. It’s a bit like trying to track the blades of a jet engine.

It’s… odd. Bart’s always had a bit of a hyperactive streak, but this single-minded intensity is new. Tim’s not sure what to make of it.

[Continue on AO3]