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bluegarners · 2 years ago

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Bad Things Happen Bingo: Distress Call (Dick Grayson)

The radio is playing one of those new pop-songs that Dick can’t keep up with. It’s a fun, quick paced song, full of electronic instruments and auto-tuned voices that sound ridiculously young, and the lyrics are lamenting about a breakup, or maybe some sort of lost love. It’s standard, typical outlet store music that he’s sure minimum wage workers rage at whenever they hear it, but Dick doesn’t mind it. He doesn’t have a preference when it comes to music, though most of the songs on his playlist tend to be rock, so he taps his fingers along the steering wheel to its beat, humming the chorus and following the rhythm.

The backroads behind highways are always dark, an inky depth to its long pathways that makes driving them at night almost peaceful. Dick likes to think of it as space travel, a quiet trip through the cosmos, passing through black-holes and asteroid belts. He has the LEDs on for his headlights, these backroads hardly ever trafficked through, and the scenery consists solely of himself, the car, a seemingly endless road, and acres and acres of woodland mixed with the busy noises of thousands of cars on the distant highway.

Taking backroads always added another thirty minutes or so to his commute from Bludhaven to Gotham, but Dick appreciated the scenic route. It was a nice change of pace compared to the loud and bustling cities he traveled between, and the stillness of the forest would always pleasantly haunt him. He’s been a city boy his entire life, and even when traveling with Haly did the ringmaster only ever lead them to populated cities and towns for good turnouts to their shows. So, even though the city is a comforting familiarity, the muffled world of forgotten streets and old oaks is an eerie, well loved feeling that Dick enjoys whenever he can.

The song changes to a commercial break, an old woman with the voice of an aged smoker speaking into the mic, and Dick’s eyes stay lazily trained on the road ahead of him. He looks in his rear-view mirror, glancing behind the turn he just took, and slowly pushes against the accelerator. He’s careful about his speeds on backroads, a much less maintained area than the highways, but because the chances of running into anyone else is pretty low, Dick lets his lead-foot guide him. He’s reaching around sixty-five mph when the radio begins to whine, a screechy static overwhelming the woman’s voice as she announces the next song.

Muttering to himself about bad reception, Dick fiddles with a knob on his dash, flicking over to the next radio station. He only gets a few snappy catches of some kind of horn before that, too, turns into whirring static, oscillating frequencies mutilating the sound. Frustrated, Dick scrolls through each station, waiting to hear some kind of recognizable rhythm, eyes flickering back and forth between the station numbers and the blank road before him, straight and unchanging. Finally, something catches his ear, a melodic voice weeping about some past memory, and Dick brightens, turning his attention to his dash as he narrows in on the exact frequency. It takes barely a second, mindlessly tuning into the station and catching the tail ends of an old, crooning ballad, but when Dick looks up, two small beacons of light are staring right at him, flashing in his irises.

He doesn’t have time to even yell, both hands white knuckling the steering wheel as he swerves, tires howling against broken asphalt and headlights cutting through seething darkness. His knees lock, right foot tight against the break, and he feels the exact moment centripetal force wins over as his seatbelt tears into his shoulder and his weight is thrown forwards, whiplash snapping his forehead into the steering wheel in milliseconds.

The world becomes a mess of white light and gray leather after that, rolling, rolling, rolling, and somewhere amidst the chaos, Dick sees a wash of brilliant color kaleidoscope in his vision. Finally, the world jerks to a stop, his head lolling forwards, and Dick is faintly aware of the mess of red, blinking light and flaring pain. He still can’t see straight and there’s a loud ringing in his ears, like he finally knows what a dog whistle sounds like, and, weirdly, the kaleidoscope begins to fade in the corners of his vision. He blinks and the colors only fade further, melding together in a slush of hazy, static gray.

Stay awake, half of his mind screams at him. Stay awake!

But between one blink and the next, the world winks out and Dick slumps soundlessly into the noise.

x x x

Bruce is stacking dishes when he feels his phone faintly buzz. He ignores it, paying attention to the task at hand, and accepts the glass dish handed to him, drying it with a slightly damp towel. Damian is to his left, also drying, and somewhere in the dining room, Alfred is putting away the placemats and various untouched silverware. The evening is still in their gentle routine, somehow even smaller than it usually is.

Dick had not made it in time for dinner.

It had put his youngest son into a foul mood, the boy especially quiet and dutifully putting away the last of the dishes into their appropriate cabinets. Bruce hadn’t said anything, knowing those kinds of platitudes only served to further sour the young boy’s mood, but, secretly, Bruce had also been disappointed in his eldest’s no show. It was unlike Dick to be late, at least without warning, and Bruce noticed Alfred’s muted demeanor at having to store away the uneaten portions of food.

Dick was supposed to come sometime in the late evening, traveling towards Gotham after getting off of work, but after waiting an additional hour for him to show, Alfred had sighed and set aside some food on another plate, encouraging the others to eat. “I’m sure Master Dick won’t mind,” Alfred had said, even as his mouth dipped. “Go on, the food will get cold.”

That had been almost two hours ago, the meal having taken an hour to get through if only for the unspoken agreement to stall for the young man. Now, the process of cleaning was also almost done, Bruce shelving the last drinking glass and Damian setting their drying cloths onto a rack. Outside, night had fully settled, pitch and obsidian.

“Has he called you?” Damian asks, face disinterested but hands twitching at his sides.

Bruce shakes his head, pulling out his phone. There’s a new notification for a voicemail. Confusion pokes at his brow though when he sees its sender. “I must have missed it,” he mutters, thumbing the screen as he clicks on the message. “He left a voicemail.”

Holding the phone to his ear, Bruce leans back against the counter, Damian’s eyes fixed on his face. There’s nothing for a moment, just a strange, almost static cling in the frequency, before Dick begins to speak.

“Hey, Bruce.” His voice is raspy, like he’s speaking with sandpaper in his throat. “There’s no reception out here. Can you believe that?” Hysteria slides into the end of his question, desperate laughter tumbling out. Immediately, Bruce is straightening, eyes finding his youngest son’s in a message that says, Something’s wrong.

“I’ll get the car,” Damian says, rushing out of the kitchen. The urgency is unsaid, but the weight in the room is suddenly tangible between Bruce’s fingers like hot, sticky molasses. He feels his head pulse in time with the molten air, sweat dripping into the crease in his collar.

“I tried calling 911,” Dick continues, and Bruce’s heart falters in his chest, “but it didn’t go through. Tried calling you, too, but it’s not working out too great. At least you’ve got your voicemail set up.” There’s another dry laugh as Bruce fumbles around the kitchen, yanking together all the medical supplies from under the sink. Alfred walks in then, surprise flickering onto his face at the sight, and Bruce mouths, Dick’s hurt.

“I crashed my car.” Bruce wills his arms not to shake as he hands some of the supplies over to Alfred, the older man taking a moment to firmly squeeze his shoulder before swiftly exiting. “There was a deer in the road and I wasn’t– doesn’t matter much right now. I… The car flipped. I can’t get out of my seat and I’m pretty sure I broke my left arm. I hit my head on the steering wheel, too.”

Damian runs back into the kitchen, brows pinched and jaw clenched tightly. He waits for something, anything, but Bruce is firmly blocking every other noise except for the one directly in his ear.

“I passed out for a while. I think it’s been a little over an hour. Maybe more. I’m-I’m hurt, B.” Dick breathes in deeply, air snagging in his throat as his voice catches. “Can you come get me?”

The message ends there, an abrupt silence that makes Bruce want to hurl his phone across the room. He needs to keep his head though, so instead he shoves the device back into his pocket, marching after Damian as the boy turns on his heel and leads them out to the garage, where he has already started their largest, most inconspicuous vehicle. It’s their choice of transportation when the situation isn’t Batman related, fully stocked with communicators, spare medical supplies, various necessities, and, most importantly, access to the Cave.

“I’ve found him, Master Bruce.” Alfred’s voice takes on a slightly tinny quality through the car’s speakers, a map with markers flashing onto the dashboard screen. “Follow the directions I’ve laid out for you. You’ll reach him in less than ten minutes.”

Less than ten minutes, Bruce repeats in his head, tires screeching as they tear out from the driveway and out of Wayne property. He was that close?

Damian must be thinking the same thing, scowl deepening as he checks and re-checks over the supplies they have. Bandages, QuickClot, water, adrenaline, sutures, sewing kit, alcohol, tape, tourniquets, hydrogen peroxide. Bandaids, eyepatches, defibulators, safety pins, cold packs, hand warmers. Splints, braces, cotton balls, baster, saline solution, towelettes. Check, re-check, double check. Bruce’s fingers are going numb.

“Master Dick will be on your left,” Alfred interrupts, collectively cool and away from the potency. “Begin to slow, you’re approaching his marker quickly. I’ve prepared a gurney and an IV for when–”

“There!” Damian suddenly shouts, shoving forwards in his seat as he points desperately at the dull shine of a grand marquis in the headlights. “He’s there!”

They can’t get out fast enough, both Waynes launching themselves out of the car and to the overturned vehicle.

“Dick?” Bruce calls, sliding to his knees to peer into the driver’s seat. “Dick?”

The windows are cracked, spiderweb fractures covering the entirety of the left side of the vehicle, and Bruce curses. He can’t see his son through the breakage, and by the lack of response, his eldest is most likely unconscious. Damian is breathing hard next to him and when he sees that there’s no way to get to his brother, he runs back to their car, returning with a glass breaker in hand.

Bruce takes it, throwing over his shoulder, “Stabilizers next.”

Damian is gone again and Bruce hastily shoves on some gloves, the intensity in which he does so enough to make his world shrink to a pinprick. The white LEDs from the car they came in, combined with the flashing red hazards from Dick’s car, is nearly enough to overwhelm him, the sound of his own breathing irritating to listen to. Picking the breaker back up, Bruce strikes at the bottom corner of the window, careful to not be too forceful lest the glass shatter inwards and break on his son’s face. A hole opens up, tiny shards sprinkling the cool grass, and Bruce shoves a few gloved fingers into the opening, pulling the glass outwards onto the ground. He’s careful not to spread it, mindful of his own vulnerable knees, and Damian returns with the stabilizers, heading to the front of the car and pushing the wedges beneath the windshield and hood.

“Is he awake yet?” the boy asks, hovering.

Bruce doesn’t answer, continuing to widen the hole, when a soft groan emerges from the car.

“Richard?” Damian lowers himself next to Bruce, peeking into the dark car. “Richard, can you hear me?”

There’s another groan in response, a little louder this time.

“Where are you injured?” Damian continues to question, unable to do anything else as Bruce pulls away the last of the glass. “Are you bleeding?”

“Flashlight,” Bruce mumbles, holding out a hand expectedly as one is placed in his palm. “He said his left arm is broken. Probably a concussion too, which means-”

“On it.” And Damian is gone again, rushing back to the car.

“B?”

“I’m here.” Shuffling as close as he dares, Bruce shines the flashlight to the floor, avoiding his eldest’s eyes. “I’m here, Dick. You’re okay.”

“M’ head hurts,” Dick slurs, face bright red and gaze unfocused.

“We’re going to get you out soon.” A neck brace is suddenly beside him, Damian clutching other supplies in his hands. “But you need to be still. Do not move.”

“Can’t,” Dick chuckles, cringing as his eyes slide shut again. “I’m hurt, B.”

“I know, I know, chum. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to unlock your car and open up this door. Damian–”

“Dami’s here?”

“Yes, he’s here, and when I open this door, I’m going to put this brace around your neck. After that, I’m going to hold you, okay? I’m going to hold you and Damian is going to undo your seatbelt so we can get you out, okay? Do you understand, Dick? You need to be as still as possible. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Dick croaks out, a grimace smothered on his face as tears squeeze past his clenched eyelids. “I got it.”

Hurrying but still so, so cautious, Bruce feels around for the side door lock, fumbling with the buttons. A stray piece of glass scrapes against the underside of his forearm, but the sting is hardly felt as he hears the latches unlock. Holding his breath, Bruce extracts his arm, praying for the door to not be stuck, and releases it when the handle moves without issue.

“I’m going to open the door now,” he says, bracing a hand against the metal. “Say something if it hurts you.”

Dick hums in response, eyes still firmly shut, and Bruce slowly edges open the door, meeting only slight resistance as the frame scrapes against the dirt. Picking up the flashlight, Damian shines it around the inside of the vehicle, illuminating the deployed airbags, toppled water bottles, and other personal items strewn about the cabin. There’s no dripping blood though, nor obvious splattered fluids. The chaos is contained to material destruction and Damian relaxes fractionally. Finally having pried the door open wide enough, Bruce reaches for the brace.

“Dick?” A hum. “I’m going to put the neck brace on you now. You need to be still. I know you’re in pain, we’re going to help you with that soon, but do not move. It’s going to be okay.”

Dick just hums again and Bruce grimaces, knowing his son is drifting back to the edge of unconsciousness.

“Damian.” The boy is immediately at his side. “Crawl in here- watch the glass- and hold his chin steady.”

Slowly, Bruce slides the plastic chin piece beneath Dick’s jaw, the movement awkward with so many people in such a cramped place. Dick has fully passed out again, the bloodrush to his head likely having been too much to keep him aware for long, and Bruce is silently grateful for it. As Damian adjusts his grip to hold the underside of the brace, Bruce reaches around and delicately connects the other side of the brace to wrap around the back of Dick’s neck. He hears the small clicks as Damian adjusts the chin strap to sit tighter beneath his older brother’s jaw and breathes out.

“Done?” he asks, hand lingering over the straps.

“Yeah.”

Grunting, Bruce moves to the side as Damian crawls back out, grabbing the seat belt cutter and opening the latches on the prepared backboard. Double checking, Damian looks over to Bruce for confirmation. Satisfied, Bruce braces himself against Dick’s shoulders, securing his sides and supporting as much as his body with his own as possible. “Go.”

Quickly, Damian reaches around his father’s broad back, pulling first at the cross belt. “Cutting,” he announces, sawing through the polyester with ease.

Bruce tenses, pressing only lightly against his eldest so he doesn’t fall forward. “Clear.”

Moving forwards again, Damian reaches for the lap belt, re-checking his father’s position. “Cutting,” he says again, the woven nylon tearing apart at his hand.

Dick’s weight fully rests against Bruce’s chest, and slowly, with Damian’s help, they maneuver him as cautiously as possible out of the wrecked car, placing him gently onto the backboard and strapping him in. Relieved that the worst of the ordeal is over, Bruce rests on the balls of his feet for a moment, taking in the flushed and slightly bloodied face of his son.

There’s a cut just below his hairline, a goose egg swelling to an awful proportion, sickly purple blotting the area and disappearing into thick, dark hair. Looking at his son’s left arm, Bruce determines it to be just dislocated rather than broken. Not wanting to mess with it until they have better access to medical equipment, Bruce places the arm in a sling, allowing Damian to tape an ice pack over the worst of the swelling. Further than that, Dick’s injuries mainly seem to consist of various bruises and a few minor lacerations. Later, they’ll have to scan for internal bleeding or other closed injuries they missed, but for now, Dick doesn’t seem to be in any critical state. The seatbelt and airbags did their job and Bruce has never been more thankful for his persistence in car safety.

Sighing, Bruce looks up and meets Damian’s significantly less pinched face. The long night had come to an end.

“Let’s go home."

#tw: injury #tw: car crash #dick grayson #damian wayne #bruce wayne #sorry to those of you who are actually medically trained- i did my research but i am not a nurse or doctor ksdjfksdj #bthb card #distress call

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slam-dunkrai · 2 years ago

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🎶✨when you get this, list 5 songs you like to listen to, publish. then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (positivity is cool)🎶✨

I get another opportunity to do this; cheers! :> Gonna leave the floor open for this one because I've tagged enough people in things lately so go ahead and do this if you wanna. In any case, five songs that (as far as I can tell) I've not spoken about on this blog yet:

#1, black midi - Reggae: Shocking, I know. Still. I think this is one of the more accessible cuts from their debut, yet there's some irresistible quality about it that's unravelled over time -- by early black midi standards, it's almost slick until it combusts near the end. This is almost the Greepster at his most scrutable, as far as Schlagenheim goes; he walks a fine line between "David Byrne-ish herky jerky post-punk frontman" and "human clarinet" throughout that album and it's nowhere more pronounced than the midsection here. It's certainly one of his more quotable moments. Elsewhere you get an impressive noise rock riff near the end of the song, but the highlight of the whole thing, the bit that ties it together, is one of Morgan Simpson's tightest grooves (and that's a high compliment; he's the beating heart of one of my favourite bands, an absolute force of nature of a drummer, and utterly bewildering to watch live).

#2, David Thomas Broughton - Unmarked Grave: I'm surprised to find I haven't talked about this one yet! The Complete Guide to Insufficiency is a very dear favourite of mine, as a big fan of miserable avant-folk. It's an album that spends much of its run-time deliberately, self-reflexively obscuring something, whether it's in sparse lyrical imagery, tape experiments that break up a song mid-runtime, or through building repetition. This is about as transparent as things get; by far the most melodic song on the album, and what a melody it is. There's no illusion about what's going on here: you can deduce half of it from the title, and the rest is painted for you in literal and painstaking detail for four and a half minutes. It's an awfully clear picture of mourning -- for the self, and for what hasn't and can never be complete -- before the tape loops, layers and layers of the chorus, and a guitar ringing like a bell for the next four minutes leave it to fade out like a dream.

#3, Autechre - Pen Expers: This one sounds like weird, twisting architecture! It's very cool, and on some days I'd call it therapeutic. I'm not equipped to talk much about Autechre in an analytical way, but there's an itch for weird electronic music in my brain that they scratch in various ways. Confield is also an album I hold very dear.

#4, Laura Nyro - Eli's Comin': This is from an album I discovered fairly recently, but god, what a voice! A slow build until it bursts into colour, bouncing all over the place with absolute glee and moving like a hand grenade in midflight. I think the genius in this song is that there's almost something sinister about it, something that Nyro seems to knowingly evoke but never quite make explicit — there's undoubtedly a sense of urgency about it, and I think she manages to turn it on its head to make it so damn fun and playful in a knowing way where it doesn't lose its bite, like a nursery rhyme about some jerk who thinks he's hot shit instead of the plague. But I'm rambling; moving on.

#5, Ornette Coleman - Civilization Day: One of the greatest four-pieces ever assembled in the history of jazz or otherwise (Coleman, Don Cherry, Charlie Haden, Billy Higgins) at arguably the peak of their powers, with some added pieces around them. Some seriously stunning dueling horn solos from Cherry and Coleman on trumpet and sax respectively, backed up by an equally impressive rhythm section featuring a bassline so potent it could stun an elephant. Even as someone who tends to be averse to drum solos, Higgins's near the end is just a stellar added bonus at the end there. As forward-thinking as any great science fiction, from an album fully deserving of its title.

#posts about squiggly air #asks #music asks

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thinking1bee · 4 years ago

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Dance One Shot

Requested by Anonymous

Pairings: Kara Danvers x Reader

Tags: DJ!Reader, Concert, Humor, Fluff, Childhood Friends

Everything Taglist: @sammy90682 @nobody13 @owloftheshadows @captain-josslett @camslightstories @worldovart @finleyfray @acertainredhead @sammm9068

The thing about being a DJ was that the kind of music that you liked to create was severely underrated. Most people thought of it as beeps and bloops, random, nonsensical noises that shouldn’t even be classified as music. So far, your favorite description of it was ‘the sounds of transformers having sex.’ That one still made you giggle. It was a pretty creative description indeed.

What started as making sounds on your computer and soundboards, turned into regularly performing concerts with your own unique setup. One thing that you liked about your concerts was that it contained two things. Your music, which was intuitive, and interactive lights that flashed to the beat of the song. Eventually, you pushed it further, striving to break the mold, and make it even more fun. You created your own electronic drum set that played a different noise every time you hit the pads with drumsticks. It was nothing too complicated, just a setup of of several pads, all chest height when you stood, and all surrounding you in the shape of a crescent moon. Every time you hit the pad, a sound would play, and different colored lights would flash. That was how you programmed it all, and because you loved the lights, you got drumsticks that lit up too. You loved what you did, and you loved that other people loved it too.

Another thing you liked to do was wear a helmet. You wanted people to like your music, not you necessarily. Their focus should be what they listened to and not the person who was behind it. Sure, artists should always get credit for their work, that wasn’t the statement that you were trying to make. It was that you didn’t need to be seen in order for your music to be heard. No one truly knew what you looked like, and they still showed up to your concerts. There were a couple other artists who did the same thing you did, like Marshmello and Daft Punk.

Your mask, which functioned more as a helmet, fully encompassed your head. It honestly was a matte black motorcycle helmet that was splattered with different paint. You chose neon colors that glowed vibrantly in the black light that illuminated the stage, and then to add some more personality, you lined the contours and edges of the helmet with flashing, adhesive LED lights. Sometimes from the crowd, you looked like a dancing head with drumsticks that flew across the drum set. There would be lasers that danced in the sky, and the crowd was known to bring glow sticks. In short, it would turn into a rave.

You were preparing for a concert now, checking your equipment and sound systems, and as the crowd began to file in, you disappeared back into your assigned stage room to grab your helmet. You were in National City, your hometown, which you haven’t been in for a while now. It felt natural to be back home because you missed it. It was towards the end of your tour around America, and it felt good to end it here, where all your friends and family were. You grabbed your helmet and broke out the paint supplies that you had to touch it up really quick. You added more splatters and made sure that the tinted visor was clean so that you would be able to see out of it.

You were just putting the finishing touches on it when a knock came on the door. The stage manager popped his head inside and looked at you.

“Five minutes,” he said before leaving and closing the door behind himself.

Five minutes. That was just enough time to put the helmet on and position yourself on the stage. When you left, you took several deep breaths, your nerves rattling around inside of you, and anxious energy fueling your every step. It didn’t matter how long you did this, or how many concerts you performed. You always got nervous. You flexed your fingers repeatedly as you took your position behind your drum set, and to ease the jitters, you grabbed your drumsticks and twirled them between your fingers.

It was a cool night. The wind gently blew around you, offering some reprieve on your warm and sweaty skin. You looked up to see the waning moon, usually bright and luminous, but not so much so because of the tint on your visor. You took a deep breath as a voice came over the loud speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you’ve asked for them and they delivered! Here to play the last of their tour in their hometown of National City, I introduce, Lazer Beatz!”

The crowd went wild as the lasers and colorful lights switched on to dance hypnotically in the night air. You raised your drumsticks over your head, watching as they lit up colorfully in your grip. The crowd screamed as they began to chant your name.

“Lazer Beatz! Lazer Beatz! Lazer Beatz!”

You smiled, bringing the sticks down hard on the pads, watching as the lights and sounds caused everyone to go haywire. You hyped the crowd, only producing a few sounds at a time, watching as the resulting kaleidoscope of colors washed the cheering bodies in front of you. You did that for a few minutes more, using the moment to loosen your shoulders and neck before you actually started playing.

You started with a simple beat and then began to add more sounds until you were twisting and turning, hitting all the drum pads in an impressive display of rhythm and fluidity. As a result, the crowd was washed in a variety of blues, greens, pinks, and other colors. Slowly, the nervousness inside of you dissipated, and it was replaced with excited energy as the song really got going. The crowd jumped to the beat of it, pumping their arms up and down as they waved their glow sticks.

You laughed as you looked at them all. Your drumsticks were still a flurry of movement before you, and you looked out into the crowd again. Your eyes took in the faces of the front row before halting, your breath coming out in a gasp when you saw someone that you didn’t expect to see ever again. Kara Danvers. There she was, in the front row surrounded by others that looked to be her friends. You watched with your mouth open, as she danced to your music, her blonde hair bouncing around her as she jumped with the crowd, and even with the multitude of colorful lights that flashed around everyone, you could still see her beautiful clear, blue eyes, as bright and deep as sapphires, staring straight at you with excitement. You hadn’t seen her since you both graduated high school together. She stayed in National City to go to college, whereas you left. National City was great, but you didn’t want to stay there forever. You wanted to get out and see the world. You ended up going to an international university to get a degree in music theory and composition, and well, the rest was history.

Seeing her now, brought back all the fond memories that you had of her and your friendship with her.

*** You were 17 when one day, Kara decided to drag you out of your house and forced you to stargaze with her. It was something she did often, which surprised you because you wondered if she ever got tired of looking at the same old stars night after night. She would respond with no of course, because to her, it was like staring at tiny, little miracles. How could someone be tired of that?

Kara was the true miracle, though if you complimented her in any way, she would deny it. She was a beautiful person, inside and out. She treated everyone with kindness and her smile could light up any room she was in. She was naturally funny, and riveting. You swore that sometimes, she was too good to be true. It was no wonder that you developed a crush as you spent more time with her. You couldn’t help but look at her fondly as she gazed at the night sky with wonder.

“I hope you know that I’ll always want to be in your life,” she murmured softly, and you felt your heart almost leap out of your chest through you mouth.

You felt the same way, no matter how she chose to be with you. Either as a best friend, or even something else if she should ever want it, you were happy to just be with her, to bask in everything that was Kara Danvers.

*** You still remembered that moment, clear as the night sky above you, and you blinked. There she was, and you still couldn’t believe it. This was happening, and she was gorgeous, the time aging her beautifully, spectacularly. You had to see her up close, and you stepped on a pedal below your drum set to loop the music so that you could run to the edge of the stage. As you did so, the crowd screamed, cheering wildly. Kara seemed to realize that you were approaching her and she stopped jumping, her eyes growing wide in shock especially when you held out your hand. She knew it was an offer to get on stage with you, and her friends cheered her on excitedly. You wanted them all up there with her, so one by one, you pulled them all up, her and her friends, until they all joined you on stage.

You laughed at their silliness. They were enjoying themselves as they laughed and shook their glow sticks. As you were about to run back to your place and grab your drumsticks, a soft grip on your shoulder stopped you, and you turned to face your childhood friend. Kara. She was breathing heavily, her hair sweaty but her eyes bright and her perfect smile even brighter. She was just as you remembered her. Flawless.

“Thank you so much for this!” she yelled over the music. “I’ve been a huge fan of yours for years now!”

It was now or never, and she watched, her breath hitching, as you began to take off your helmet. Shock morphed into recognition when your face was finally revealed to the world.

“I’ve been a huge fan of yours too,” you replied back to her.

“Y/n?”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled from your chest at her reaction. Her eyes were comically wide, and her mouth hung open. Kara was at a complete lost for words, confused sounds tumbling from her lips as she tried to make sense of what was happening. You winked at her, put the helmet back on, and went back to your drum set. Picking up the sticks, you kept playing the moment you ended the loop. Kara joined you at your side to watch you play, and she shook her head slowly, still trying to gather that her best friend from high school was Lazer Beatz, the DJ whose music she loved so very much.

“Can we hang out soon?” she asked you and you nodded.

You already planned to spend more time with her after the concert.

*** You, Kara, and her friends were back in your stage room, eating snacks and drinking water after the concert ended.

“So how do you know Lazer Beatz?” Winn asked. He was dressed in yellow and pink neon clothing and had a multitude of glow sticks adorning his body. He, too, was covered in sweat but he was still excited. He bounced up and down with energy and you smiled politely at him.

“We went to high school together,” Kara answered. “Oh! Where are my manners? Y/n, this is Winn, Lena, Nia, and of course you remember Alex.”

You waved at Kara’s older sister, who waved back, before continuing with the introductions.

“Then there’s Brainy, J’onn, and Kelly. Everyone this is Y/n.”

“Hi, Y/n!” they all said in unison and you laughed, waving back.

“Did you guys all like the concert?”

“Pshhh, yeah!” Nia said, her face in playful disbelief that you would even ask that.

You smiled, satisfied that they all enjoyed themselves. Kara took your hand and pulled you further away from her friends to speak with you privately.

“If you’re not doing anything after this, maybe we can go get a coffee or something? Just to catch up?”

You blushed, your eyes ducking shyly as you chuckled. It was like someone had read your diary and granted all your wishes at the same time, and you nibbled your lip as you looked at her. She really wanted this, or else she wouldn’t have asked, you knew that. So, you smiled and nodded.

“Yeah?” she asked as her hopes grew.

“Yeah,” you said, your smile growing.

Kara laughed, happy that you said yes, and when she turned around to face her friends, they all whirled around to face the opposite direction, all of them pretending like they weren’t just eavesdropping. It was like someone screamed ‘act normal!’ and they were all doing ridiculous things that made the situation anything but. Alex and Kelly pretended to be deep in a conversation. Brainy grabbed a glow stick from Winn and started to talk about all the chemical properties that made them glow. Nia’s eyes were glazed over in boredom, but she made a show of listening to the explanation. J’onn and Winn started talking about video games while Lena pretended to take a phone call. The whole situation was hilarious, and you couldn’t stop yourself from wheezing with laughter. Kara smirked, love and adoration rolling off from her in waves at her friends, but her expression was one of annoyance.

“I know you guys were listening!”

#supergirl fanfic #kara danvers x reader #reader insert #dj #concert #light show #humor #fluff #childhood friends #superfriends

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luuurien · 3 years ago

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Charli XCX - CRASH

(Dance Pop, Synthpop, Electropop)

CRASH is a sloppy, borderline unlistenable collection of dime-a-dozen pop that does nothing to flatter Charli XCX's artistry. It's boring, it's repetitive, it's devoid of anything worthwhile, and it's not only such a downgrade from her previous work but a complete failure in itself.

☆

I didn't realize music could annoy me this much. Seriously, I don't think a project has aggravated me this much in a long time. Her final album her contract with Asylum seems more like an easy out than a tended-to sendoff, it's both her most accessible album to date and her most mind-numbing batch of songs to date. She poorly rips off classic pop sounds and shabbily tries her hand at the new revival sound that has, for better or worse, taken over the entirety of mainstream pop. Nearly every song here is a complete failure on every front: it's poorly produced and lacks any of the depth and color of her past work, there's little if any shape to the song structures that run from verse to chorus to repeated verse without a care in the world, her voice doesn't work at all for these overly-polished instrumentals. There's seemingly no particular goal in mind when it comes to CRASH: it wants to be both a revival album and a copy of its peers, and neither road bodes well for her. Whether she's pulling from modern electropop or trying her hand at some classic 2-step and new jack swing, the production on CRASH is a major cause of the album's complete inability to pull you in. It's so dry and lifeless, there's no personality to anything here. And that's mainly because she's working with producers who have little personality: she gets UK's premier electronic bore Digital Farm Animals to make the most stock 2-step beat in years with Beg for You, Daniel Lopatin of Oneohtrix Point Never fame continues his hot streak of producing some of this year's worst pop with the reanimated corpse of new jack swing he shabbily constructs on the title track, a goofy electric guitar solo with absolutely zero purpose thrown in at the end to do nothing but make things even less interesting than they already were. Dopamine singlehandedly makes the album three times worse with his cheesy emulation of euro-house on the personality-devoid Used to Know Me, a prime example of how to not care a single bit about the adding excitement music you make. A.G. Cook, who's had a hand in Charli's best work for years now, only pops in for two songs he gets co-producer credit for: not that Charli's music can't succeed without him there for it, but when she embraced the style of turbulent electropop he helped pioneer it was leagues better than this. And her voice sounds worse than ever on the too clean for their own good instrumentals: her voice blares robotically in the chorus of New Shapes and her attempt at clean-cut balladry with Move Me are not to her benefit at all. CRASH goes from boring to irritating in the matter of a few listens, and that's mostly due to the fact that there's not a thing to note about the album across all 34 minutes. Her awkward pre-chorus on Move Me is so gated and shapeless it barely feels like a person is singing them, Good Ones is a decent bit of fun but only because it ups the drama a little bit and has the closest thing here to a dynamic song structure, there's just nothing special to say about CRASH. It's why the especially bad songs here, the messy and cluttered last half of Lightning and Yuck's stiff disco groove, the hilariously poor use of Rina Sawayama on Beg for You, there's at least one head-scratching aspect to every song here. It'd be easy to write CRASH off as another boring mainstream pop effort if it wasn't already obvious that Charli can do so much more than this: it's not like she hasn't done plain pop well before! Think 1999, or Unlock It, or claws or Boom Clap if we want to reach further back into her discography. It's boring because she didn't want to do something more interesting this time around, and CRASH absolutely falls apart as a result. Listening to CRASH in full one more time wouldn't reveal a single new thing about any of these songs: there's nothing to come back to unless you're interested in hearing the same tired chorus performed time and time again. There's not a second of CRASH that's worth coming back to, nothing fun or engrossing about it and leaving you absolutely drained in the exact opposite way good pop should make you feel. It's boring in a way that turns sour quickly, and it doesn't have even a drop of the longevity the rest of Charli's work possesses. I'm not surprised that the final song on CRASH asks us to not "think twice about it," because every song is ten times worse when you actually try and listen to it proper.

#charli xcx #crash #asylum #atlantic #warner #contemporary r&b #dance #dance pop #electronic #electropop #pop #r&b #synthpop #2022 #2/10

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ecto-american · 4 years ago

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The Bachelor

Phic Phight oneshot for @skellagirl: To help raise money for education, Vlad lets a date with himself be auctioned off. To his surprise, Harriet was quite a persistent bidder, and to his bigger surprise...he actually had a good time. Vlad/Harriet

On FFN and AO3

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"I don't need help getting a date, Jack," Vlad told him shortly. Why did he even come over to FentonWorks? He couldn't even remember why. At least he had some coffee to sip on. If Jack was actually good for anything, it was brewing good coffee.

"Oh come on, V-man! It's not like that! It's to raise money for education!" Jack tried to persuade as he was pouring himself his own cup. Vlad made a small face at the idea. "There's going to be lots of bachelors up there with ya, it won't be just you!"

"I don't think so." He had much better things to do than be paraded around.

"Please Vlad?" Jack nearly begged.

"You know, Vlad, you'd be quite the crowd-drawer," Maddie finally spoke up. Vlad glanced over at her. She was focused on some ectoplasmic samples that were on the counter, dangerously close to some chicken that was marinating for dinner. Mental note; do NOT stay for dinner tonight. "You're likely Amity Park's most sought after bachelor." She looked over her shoulder at him, and with a clearly fake smile, she added, "It'd be really good for you to have a nice woman who's interested in you."

Vlad frowned at her emphasis. He took another drink. It would look good if he showed up for appearances, got it over with and wowed some whatever woman into helping his media image. Election season was coming up, and he was up against the ex-mayor. Doing something for the children would definitely boost him.

"...It is for charity," he said slowly. "And after all, a man like me could fetch for a nice price."

"Of course!" Jack boomed excitedly. "You were voted sexiest billionaire by Cosmopolitan this year!" Oh god, why the hell did Jack know that? And say that? "Trust me, the crowd'll got mad for you!"

Vlad forced a smile.

"I cannot wait."

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He really could have waited. Friday night had come, and he found himself very reluctantly walking around the Casper High gym, looking at all the silent auction items up on display on cheap collapsable tables. Vlad mentally thanked himself for making sure Daniel would be too busy all night with Skulker to even have the time to come around to laugh at him.

Ugh, nothing really that good was around up for auction in here. Except for him, obviously. He could tell who was a bachelor for auction just by seeing who else was way overdressed to be standing around in a public high school on a Friday night, and Vlad already knew that he was the best option. He spied another one of these men as the individual picked his nose and wiped it on one of the tables. Vlad made a grossed out face. Easily, the best option.

He glanced around more, boredly trying to waste another twenty minutes before he had to go to the auditorium for the bachelor auctioning. This was the worst. Why did he agree to this? His eyes scanned for any familiar face.

"Harriet!" Vlad instantly recognized the journalist. She turned to face him, giving a small smile and wave when she realized who it was. He took a few steps over towards her. "What are you doing here?"

"My niece goes to Casper High," she replied. "So I decided to come around." She nodded her head at the silent auction she was seemingly considering. It was a high end camera bundle, including not just a high end camera but extra lenses, batteries, the case, the whole works honestly, donated by a local electronics store. "Check it out. Maybe even buy a date so that my mother stops asking me about when I'm getting married," she lightly joked. Vlad chuckled.

"You should consider just buying me," Vlad half-joked back. "I'm by far your best option." Harriet gave a hum as she raised an eyebrow.

"Oh really?" she inquired. Vlad motioned to himself as if it was obvious, flashing a smile.

"Of course. Self made billionaire, tech industry pioneer, scientist, mayor of this fine city, and that's just the beginning," he bragged. She lightly shook her head with a smirk.

"Part time Dairy King worker that somehow caught the ice cream machine on fire, Skunk Punks lead singer whose voice cracked every time he sung anything and guitarist who couldn't play guitar," she listed off. Vlad rolled his eyes with a frown. "Idiot who kept sticking his head into the lab equipment machines and lost his eyebrows for six months. Skater wanna-be that broke both of his ankles trying to do tricks on the campus fountain." Vlad scowled.

"You can stop now," he complained. Harriet laughed.

"Oh, I almost need to buy you purely so that I can remind you that you're not all that and a bag of chips," she replied. "And I can finally corner you into an actual interview. You keep pushing me off." She faked a pout. "It's almost like you don't wanna be around me."

"Don't you have to be nosy somewhere else?" he asked.

"Hmm, not tonight." She glanced up at the clock on the wall. "I should go find a seat for the auction. You should probably get up on stage, make yourself look all nice and presentable."

Vlad rolled his eyes, waving her off.

"I need to use the restroom first," he replied. "You head on out."

"See up on the stage. Too bad this isn't Chippendales," she joked. Vlad felt his cheeks flush, and he glared at her. She walked off. Vlad glanced down at the camera bundle she had been eying. He glanced at the auction sheet, and he could tell by the handwriting that she had put in a bid that he knew somebody would eventually counter-offer. Vlad wrote his auctioning number down, and a bid he knew nobody would go over before he made his way to the auditorium.

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Finally, it was his turn. They put him last, which he completely understood. Always save the best for last. He nearly had dozed off in boredom in his seat while everybody else was auctioned off for barely a hundred dollars.

"We'll start the bidding, as always, at fifty dollars," the overly enthusiastic host said. Vlad mentally scoffed. He was definitely worth more than that. Ugh, this was the last time he did anything to help children. Fuck those little brats. "Fifty-five!"

A bunch of the auction fans shot up in the air. Vlad smiled in satisfaction.

"Oh wow! Okay, well how about sixty-five?" None of the hands went down. "Seventy-five." Two hands went down. "Eighty-five?" Three more hands reluctantly went down. "A hundred?" Most of the hands kept on standing. "Well!" the host chuckled, before directing his attention to Vlad. "You sure are a popular fella!"

No shit. He was a billionaire.

"Let's jump up a bit! One hundred fifty!" Finally, a good amount of the hands went down, leaving only a handful up. "One hundred seventy-five!" No hands down. "Two hundred!" A few reluctantly went down, leaving only four. "Okay, okay! How about-"

"Three hundred!" one of the women called out. The auctioneer looked surprised.

"Oh! Oh um. Okay! Does anybody wanna go higher than three hundred?" he asked.

"Three twenty-five!" Harriet's voice was instantly recognized by Vlad, and he stared in surprise.

"Three-fifty!" the first woman rebutted. Vlad studied her, only to quickly notice that this was a woman he really hadn't ever met before.

"Three seventy five!" Harriet wasted no time putting in her counter offer.

"Four hundred!"

"Four twenty five!"

"Four fifty!"

Vlad watched Harriet as the reporter's jaw clenched. She was staring at the competition with a hard stare.

"Five hundred!" she finally spoke. The other woman studied her, before giving a defeated sigh.

"No counter offer," the unfamiliar lady finally spoke. The auctioneer grinned, pointing to Harriet.

"Well! Looks like our highest prize of the night goes to bidder number seventy-four!"

Harriet met Vlad's eye, and she smiled. He smiled back.

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"So," Vlad asked, giving a coy smile. "You sure were an insistent bidder." Harriet flushed.

"I did it for the schools," she argued. "My niece goes to Casper High, remember?"

"Oh, I mean, if you did it just to help the schools," Vlad lightly teased. "Then we don't have to go out on the date." Harriet scoffed.

"No way, dude. I spent five-hundred dollars on you, and I'm going to get my money's worth." She poked him in the chest. "Which also means that you're buying me dinner, and some nice wine." Vlad rolled his eyes.

"Alright, alright," he reluctantly agreed. "What time shall I pick you up?" Harriet smiled.

"Uh, depends. When are you free? Tomorrow around seven? Ah, who am I kidding." She smirked at him. "You're probably free whenever. What else do you got going on? Be honest."

Vlad flushed red, scowling.

"Okay, I do happen to be free tomorrow night, but normally I'm not!" he insisted. Harriet snorted. "So you need to make sure you check with me before you schedule something."

"You got nothing," she teased in a sing-song voice.

"Oh? And what do you do?" Vlad challenged. She hummed.

"Well, typically on Mondays I visit my grandmother, Wednesday is girls' night with my friends, Thursdays I have my yoga class, and on the weekends I normally get friends with friends or co-workers, go hike, short trip. Whatever I feel like," she replied without missing a beat. Vlad hated Jack for convincing him to do this stupid auction. "And of course, several days a week I go to the gym."

"I go to the gym too," Vlad insisted. Harriet raised an eyebrow at him. "I do! I'm in excellent shape."

"Are you going to the gym, or do you use a home gym in your mansion?" she pressed. Vlad didn't reply. "Thought so. Guess we're on tomorrow at seven?"

"...Tomorrow at seven."

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Vlad had opted to simply drive himself in one of his flashy, yet more modest cars. It was honestly kind of hard to go to many places in a limo anyway, and not very intimate when there was an unintentional third party hanging out in the car. Harriet had texted him her address earlier, and he showed up right on time, pulling his car up to the curb of her house. A gentleman was never late, after all.

He parked, not bothering to lock his doors as he stepped up to her house. It was a typical small home in a decent little neighborhood. Not one that Vlad could ever imagine himself living in however, but it was cute. He stood at her front door. He exhaled harshly, mentally preparing himself.

He'd be lying to himself if he said that he wasn't nervous. It was one thing to date a new woman he had just met, but this was Harriet. She knew him when he was still a broke college student that worked part time at Dairy King and was in that terrible punk band with Jack.

Vlad rang her doorbell. He absentmindedly wondered if he'd have to wait on her for long, but thankfully, Harriet answered the door fairly quickly.

"Hey! Look at you!" she greeted cheerfully. Vlad knew he flushed a bit at the compliment, which made him...feel weird. That never happened before. "You really cleaned up for me." Okay now he had to roll his eyes a little. Vlad was in a nicer suit compared to normal, with a darker shirt collar and cufflinks, more polished shoes and the like.

"Ah, I'm nothing compared to how lovely you look this evening," he returned the compliment, and he could see Harriet's cheeks brighten a bit under her porch's poor lighting. They had texted each other about their plans, and so she had dressed appropriately for the five star restaurant; a black dress with dark green detailing that came to her knees, matching shoes and her hair done up. She had a formal black jacket over her arm, as well as a clutch handbag. "Are you ready?"

"Uh, one second!" Harriet turned to her door, checking to ensure it was locked. Once she did so, she turned, slipping her arm into his. "Now I am."

"Well, off we go," he smiled. "I think you'll like where we're going. It has the most divine sushi in Amity Park."

"I can't wait," Harriet replied. "I love sushi. Remember that campus sushi bar?"

"Absolutely," he replied. He walked her down the porch to his car. "Maddie worked there. She used to sneak us huge takeout boxes of leftovers."

"Oh I nearly forgot about that," Harriet laughed. "I'd help her smuggle out the boxes in my backpack."

"And you got soy sauce all over your bag four times," he chuckled. Harriet grumbled.

"Yeah, I had to re-print my final paper," she complained. "And eventually get a new bag that didn't smell like sushi all the time."

Vlad opened the car door for her. She slipped her arm out, giving him a thanks as she slipped inside.

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Naturally, he had made a reservation for the best seat in the house; a table in a more private area of the place, indoors but near a large window that had a good view of the beautiful landscaping in their limited yard-area.

After giving his car to the valet and getting seated, Vlad glanced at the menu, immediately spying his favorite, rock shrimp tempura. However he looked around to see what else was available. Hmm, he was somewhat in the mood for BBQ Unagi…

"What do you normally get?" Harriet questioned as she looked over her options.

"...Know what? Since this is your first time, maybe we should just get morimoto omakase," Vlad suggested. He gently pushed her menu down so that he could look at it, and he pointed to the option. Harriet scanned the description. Essentially a dish with a little bit of everything.

"Ooo, that sounds good," Harriet mused.

"It's delicious, and it pairs well with white wine," Vlad told her. She smiled.

"Let's get that then," she agreed.

When the waiter came by, they ordered just that. Quickly, the waiter had come back to bring them the bottle of white wine, pouring them their first glass for them before leaving the bottle at Vlad's request. They each took a sip.

"Mmm, this is pretty good," Harriet spoke first. "I typically just get a red wine."

"I do too," Vlad replied. "But white wine goes well with fish." Harriet gave a surprised hum before taking another drink. "You probably know too much about me though. Tell me about your work. Amity News." She nodded.

"Yeah, I'm one of the main news anchors," she replied.

"Oh trust me, I know. I get to watch you tell me the news every day, it's a highlight of the day," Vlad complimented. Harriet rolled her eyes with a flush.

"Alright, cheesehead," she teased. "But yeah, I really love it. When I was younger I really enjoyed investigative journalism, since it let me go all over, but I'm really liking being in one place. Though I occasionally go out on the scene, but it's kinda dangerous to cover ghost fights here. And what we have Lance for."

Vlad snorted. He knew the news man too well. He was, as the kids called it, a meme at this point. He knew Daniel and his friends constantly posted these memes of Lance Thunder on social media, making fun of his on the scene appearances.

"What do you make of all these ghosts?" Vlad questioned. Harriet shrugged.

"Well, they certainly exist. Honestly thought Jack was stupid to try and build that one ghost portal in college. Even though. Ugh, Jack is such a buffoon sometimes," Harriet grumbled. "I still haven't forgiven him for costing me my job in Milwaukee, especially since I used him as a reliable source. Ugh!" She stopped herself to finish off her glass of wine. She exhaled deeply as she put the glass down, half-smiling apologetically. "Sorry. I know he's your friend."

"No, no no," Vlad replied eagerly. "I understand. After all, it was my home he destroyed, remember?" Harriet nodded.

"He had to have done thousands in damage," she said sympathetically. "Especially to your library. Oh, and it was a beautiful library too."

"It was one of my favorite rooms in that house," Vlad sighed. "I rebuilt the room, but it just wasn't ever quite the same. My new library, however, it's simply gorgeous."

"Oh?" Harriet questioned. Vlad took it as a sign to continue.

"It's a two story library, for once, like a true two story library. The lighting is fantastic, but also on a dimmer so the mood can be truly set," he began to describe. "I managed to slowly rebuild my collection of the classics, and there's a wood burning fireplace. Oh and of course, my favorite, the small reading nook with the most comfortable chair you will ever sit in next to a huge window. It's simply perfect."

"Oh, I would probably sit in that nook and read forever," Harriet sighed dreamily. Vlad smiled, picking up the bottle of wine with a raised eyebrow. Harriet picked her glass up, holding it for him to pour her some more. He did so, before refilling his own glass. She took another long sip of her drink.

"I would more often, but unfortunately, it's also the cat's favorite spot, and I can never bring myself to move her," he confessed. Harriet beamed.

"Vlad! You never told me you had a cat!" she exclaimed. "What's his name?" Vlad felt a cold sweat hit him. Wait.

"Maggie," he lied. "When I adopted her, that was what they called her, and it didn't feel right to change it." Harriet nodded understandingly. She set her glass of wine down to dig through her clutch, and she pulled her phone out.

"I have the most handsome little guy, his name's Taggy. Short for Maytag," she said. She showed Vlad her phone, exposing a picture of a grey and white cat stretched out in a cat hammock near a window. But that name...

"...Maytag? As in the company?"

Harriet flushed a bit.

"When I moved into my first apartment, his previous owners had left him, and so my old roommate and I began calling him Maytag after the refrigerator, since he came with the apartment, and we put food in him," she explained. "Then my roommate got married, and her husband's cats didn't get along with Taggy, so I just kept him, and he's moved six times with me since then." Vlad cracked a smile.

"Mad-ggie's name has kind of devolved into me just calling her Princess," he admitted. "I've bought so many luxury cat things for her and beds, the drinking fountain water bowl, wet food, the best vet in all of Illinois. Only the finest."

"I do the same for Taggy, much as I can afford. He's my special guy."

The waiter shyly interrupted them, bringing them each a huge plate of food. Harriet eyed hers hungrily, thanking him cheerfully.

"Oh, this does delicious," Harriet beamed. She took her chopsticks, and grabbed a bite. Vlad took another sip of wine before he did the same. "It tastes great too!"

"You think I'd steer you wrong?" Vlad lightly bragged.

"Who knows," Harriet shrugged. She gave a sly smirk. "You're the one who steered us all so wrong that you got the van stuck in a snowbank." Vlad glared at her, making her burst into snickers.

They ate in silence for a few moments, savoring their meal. Harriet took another long drink of her wine, and Vlad refilled it for her. She gave a smile.

"Thank you," she said. "Do you like your food?"

"Very much so, it's delicious," he replied. "How's yours?"

"Great, I never had such delicious food!" She ate another chopstick full of food. "I guess this is how five star dining is, huh? I made a good date investment. But next time I gotta take you to a diner."

"Oh?" Vlad raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I get the feeling that you eat too fancy," she explained. "Sometimes you just need the greasiest burger and saltiest fries that you wash down with cheap soda."

"Hmm, wouldn't you prefer I take you to a five star steakhouse?" he questioned.

"You can take me there on our third date," Harriet replied. Vlad raised his eyebrow again. "But for date too, I think you need a greasy burger."

"Third date?" he echoed. He took a drink of his wine, finishing it off.

"Yeah, I think you'll wanna take me out again," Harriet hummed. She reached for the wine to refill his glass for him.

"Thank you, dear. But really?"

"Absolutely, I'm a catch," she replied. "I've travelled the world, I'm very educated, financially stable, have my own house, am very pretty." She jokingly flipped her hair.

"Ah, I'd say you're more of a beauty than just very pretty," Vlad mused. Harriet smiled.

"Aww, thank you cheesehead," she replied. "But yes. So naturally, I think you're not going to be able to resist asking me to accompany you out again. I did you a favor by bidding on you, actually."

"We'll see how the night ends, and who's wanting a second date more," Vlad said. "I mean, yes you are quite a catch, but I think you're forgetting who was voted as sexiest billionaire by Cosmopolitan magazine." Harriet nearly choked on her wine from laughter.

"Oh my god, you read Cosmo?" she giggled. Vlad flushed red.

"N-no, I was told this," he insisted. "When I got voted as such." Harriet had to put her chopsticks down, covering her mouth as she tried to contain her laughter. Vlad slammed back the rest of his wine, refilling his own cup.

"Oh man, you really haven't changed all that much." She took a deep breath to get her laughter under control. "Same ol' cute Vlad." This peaked his interest.

"You thought I was cute?" he asked. Harriet flushed, picking her chopsticks back up to continue eating.

"Eh, kinda. In that nerdy sorta way," she confessed. "I tried getting your attention a few times, but you never seemed too interested. You were always really distracted by that portal project."

More like distracted by Maddie, as she was a huge reason why he was so interested in helping with the proto portal project. Remembering the woman of his dreams made him pause. He suddenly felt guilty that he was out on a date. And Maddie's college best friend of all people!

Of course, he had dated here and there. Maddie was, unfortunately, married, so he knew that rationally he had to somewhat try and move on. But nobody had ever truly clicked with him, or made him feel like she had. His mind was often distracted by her the entire time but...until now he had actually forgotten about Maddie.

"Ah yeah, I was...really focused on school," he half-lied, taking another bite of food.

"I could tell. Nerd," she jibbed. "Even now I can tell you're super busy with all your business stuff."

"Not as busy as you'd think, but also yes," Vlad corrected. "I have a lot of meetings to attend and business decisions to make, but I at least get a lot of help and feedback."

"That's true," Harriet said. "But I'm glad we're able to do something now. Even if we just never got around to it back then." She poked at one of her foods with her chopstick before taking the bite. "I mean, I've been kind of all over too. I don't think anything would have even worked out had we even tried something."

"Ah, yes. I remember Maddie mentioning that you were never in one place for more than two months for a long time," Vlad said.

"Yup!" she confirmed. "That's investigative journalism for ya. Takes you all over. But I really liked it. I'm glad I had that opportunity, and that I did it. Don't regret a bit of it."

"Business too," he agreed. "Especially when you're starting an empire. I don't think I was truly home for months at a time, I was going from place to place to oversee offices being built and products being made. Seeing how progress is being made on research. It was a busy first fifteen years or so. I don't think I was truly relaxing and enjoying what I'd made until the past six years or so."

"Yeah, I remember reading about your progress," she said. "Fascinating story. You had such amazing charisma to get all these companies to go with your plans." Vlad felt a bit of a nervous wave hit him, but he didn't show it, or really even have to reply. Harriet had already moved on. "Ugh, this was so good. I can't believe I was able to eat all of this."

Her plate was empty, and he had just taken his last bite.

"Would you like dessert?" he asked. She shook her head no.

"Nah, I'm good. I've eaten enough," she replied. Vlad just nodded, and he called their water over.

Instead of waiting to get a receipt book from the waiter, he simply handed him his credit card. Vlad never checked the bill when he went out to eat. The price tag never bothered him.

The waiter accepted it, soon coming back for Vlad to sign. Vlad quickly did, and for his trouble, he also handed the young man five hundred dollar bills as a tip. It made him nearly tear up and stutter as he thanked him, but quite honestly, it was more to show off to Harriet his generosity more than any genuine kindness, which, judging by her expression, absolutely worked.

Vlad gave him a half smile and waved him off, and the pair collected their things to leave, heading towards the front of the restaurant arm in arm.

"You know, the night's still young," Vlad mused. He opened the door for her, and Harriet slipped through.

"Thank you," she replied. "But oh? You don't have work?"

"Nothing that can't be rearranged," he replied. "Do you?" Harriet smiled.

"Nope, I have tomorrow off. So what are you thinking?" she asked. Vlad glanced at his watch. Hell, it was only ten-thirty.

"Have you ever been to the Amity Park Country Club?" he questioned. She nodded.

"Oh yeah. I've been there as a guest twice, for interviews," she explained. She glanced at her phone. "Doesn't it close soon though?" Vlad chuckled.

"On midnights on the weekends," he replied.

"Hmm, okay," Harriet agreed. "But we won't stay too long."

Vlad went up to the valet, informing him of his car make and model, and the young man nodded, jogging off to fetch it.

"My dear, I'm a high priority member. They'll stay open for me," he insisted. Harriet rolled her eyes.

"The workers wanna go home too, Vlad," she reminded him. "We should be respectful of their time and leave when it closes."

Vlad resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He was above having to follow those kinds of petty rules. When you had billions in the bank, you could easily just toss a few thousand out to make workers let you stay past the closing time with no issues. He had never heard a single complaint after he flashed a few thousand, a drop in the bucket for him. But what Harriet wanted, she would get. He supposed, anyway. After a few dates, she'd likely just begin agreeing with him and allow him to bend the rules for her.

After a few dates? Vlad thought on it. Yeah...after a few dates.

"Whatever you wish," he replied.

His car pulled up, and Vlad immediately opened the car door for her.

------------------------------------------------------------

"And it just kind turned into a semi-permanent offer until I got kinda homesick," Harriet finished her story off as she hit another ball with the golf club. Vlad hummed lightly as her ball went off towards somewhere in the dark. "But it was amazing. I'd love to return to China sometime. Kinda unfortunately, Amity Park doesn't really cover international news like that. It's very local only."

"Maybe you should just come with me next time I go," Vlad offered. He grabbed another golf ball from their large bucket of them, setting it on the tee before lining himself up. With an experienced swing, he hit the ball, and it flew off. "To China, I mean. I go there about twice a year or so for business. Sometimes more."

"Ugh, that'd be awesome," Harriet agreed. She leaned over to pick up her drink, a pink margarita, that was resting on the tables that were set up near the driving range. Her jacket and clutch were on the table too, her heels tucked under the table. Vlad had also folded his suit jacket neatly to rest next to hers, allowing himself to also unbutton and roll his sleeves up to his elbows, and the top two buttons of his shirt. He also had his own drink, a rum and coke, that sat near hers. "I can show you all the local spots from my time there."

"Hm, that would be very nice," Vlad mused. He hit another ball. He was somewhat glad that Harriet had talked him out of doing the full course. While he didn't care (and Harriet very much did) that it would have taken far past closing time to finish a game, it was much more relaxing to just do this. Especially with nobody else being around. "I typically do only business."

"Oh boo, that's boring," Harriet said. She already had another ball on her tee, and she wacked it again. The ball went soaring. "What's the point of all your money if you're not enjoying yourself and your life?"

Vlad didn't reply. He focused on another swing. The ball stayed close to the ground, quickly rolling on and on and on before he couldn't see where it went anymore.

"You were married before, weren't you?" Vlad questioned. Harriet snorted.

"Oh, we're already at the 'let's talk about our exes' part of the relationship?" she teased. Vlad chuckled, grabbing another ball. "Eh, for about seven years. Nothing bad happened, we just realized that we weren't really as compatible as we thought. I enjoyed traveling the world and being out, and he was a big homebody that hated planes and trains. Started to realize that I wanted a family one day, he preferred it to be just us. We didn't see each other that much cause I would go cover stories all over, and it just felt like we'd be happier. So we just kind of had a mutual divorce."

"I can understand that," Vlad replied. He lightly tapped his ball twice before swinging the club as hard as he could. The ball straight up disappeared in a blink of an eye.

"So what's your excuse for never having a girlfriend before?" Harriet questioned. Vlad was grateful about the lighting, as he knew that his face was dark red. "Too busy with work, too nerdy, what?"

"I've had a girlfriend before!" he argued. "I've dated women plenty before. Don't you remember Stacy?"

"Nope," Harriet replied. She hit another ball.

"Yes you do!" he insisted. He took a break from swinging, leaning on his club. "I was with her for four years! Out of all the women I dated she was the one the papers and articles talked about the most. Don't you remember all the rumors swirling around about why we hadn't gotten married already?"

"Hmm, must have been a figment of your imagination," Harriet replied, and he exhaled dramatically. He finally noticed the shit-eatting grin, and that she was just pulling his leg. She giggled, grabbing another golf ball. She tossed it up into the air, catching it before putting it on the tee. "Okay, okay. So why didn't you?"

"Why didn't I what?" Vlad questioned. He took a step towards their table, grabbing his drink. He needed it right about now.

"Marry Stacy," Harriet clarified.

"Eh, it just wasn't really meant to be," he dismissed simply. He took a long gulp of his drink, sighing softly when he finished.

"Oh?" Harriet pressed. He frowned. He should have known that she was going to be nosy about it. Typical journalist.

"...I could tell that we didn't really like each other all that much," he confessed. "We were just both lonely. We would go places together but never actually be together. We lived together but never saw each other outside of bedtime, though towards the end, she began to just sleep in a separate room since our schedules would be so different. We talked about getting married on and off, but...I don't know when it clicked for me that this just wasn't what I truly wanted. I wanted a wife and children that I spent time with and that I loved being with. So we just kind of broke up, and she moved out."

Harriet nodded understandingly.

"At least you realized it before children potentially got involved," she said. "I'm glad I divorced with no children. I'd hate to put them through something like that."

"Agreed," Vlad replied. He picked up another golf ball. Instead of bending over to put it on the ground, he lazily dropped it and hit the ball on the bounce. "How many would you want?"

"Hm? What? Kids?" Harriet questioned. Vlad gave a 'mhm' noise to confirm. "At least two. A boy and a girl. What about you?"

"As many as possible," he said. He got another ball. "I always wanted a big family."

"Hmm, well I'm not a clown car," Harriet replied. "Regardless of how often I'd let a clown like you in." Vlad rolled his eyes. "Besides, you have Jasmine and Danny right? Maddie and Jack's kids?"

"Yeah, they're my godchildren," Vlad confirmed. He reached over for another quick sip of his drink. "I bought Jasmine her car. When Daniel gets his license I'll be getting him one too. And of course, paying for college. I have a few other godchildren too, same deal. I've gotten them all a car and paid for college. Can't let them have any of that dreadful student loan debt."

"Aw, you're just a big ol' softie," Harriet teased. "I'm not a billionaire, so I can't really do the same, but I'm pitching in to help my sister get my niece a decent used car next year. By the time her little brother's getting a car, I'll likely be doing the same."

"You're looking for cars for her?" Vlad mused. "I can get her one." Harriet shook her head.

"No, that's not necessary," she replied. "It's a lot to ask."

"Nonsense, I have the money to spare," he persisted. "A decent used car. Children don't need brand new ones, they're still learning." Harriet bit her lower lip as she pondered the offer.

"We'll discuss it another time with my sister," she said. Vlad nodded in agreement. He grabbed a ball. Their bucket was nearly empty now.

"I understand," he replied. Harriet picked up one of the last balls. She tossed it up in the air and swung her bat. She missed, but she quickly was able to redeem herself by hitting it on the third bounce. "I just hate to see children go without. That's why I was auctioned off, afterall. For the sake of the kids." Harriet gave a skeptical hum, getting another ball. "...Well, you know, if we're going to go out again, I need to make a good first impression on your family."

"That's better," Harriet replied. "If we're going to hang out more like this, we need to be open and honest with each other."

Vlad picked up the last ball. He stared at it for a moment, and he put it on Harriet's tee for her. She shot him a thankful smile, and she wacked the ball into the night.

"There'll be more, right?" Vlad asked.

"Well, if you're free next Friday, we can go see a show," Harriet suggested. She went back to the table, slipping into her heels again. She downed the last bit of her drink. "Local theater's opening weekend is soon."

Next weekend was terrible. Vlad had so much to do that following week that he'd have to spend all weekend preparing for. Many meetings, lots of documents to read and write and revise. Moving anything around would be an absolute headache.

But it could be moved around.

"Sounds lovely," he agreed. He finished off his drink before rolling his sleeves down again. He slipped his jacket back on. "Ready to head home?"

"We have to take the cups and clubs back up to the office," she said, nodding at the country club. Vlad made a face, and he began to protest, but a Look from Harriet made him shut up.

"Alright, alright," he sighed. Harriet grabbed their cups, and he took their clubs.

------------------------------------------------------------

"Next Friday, right?" Harriet asked as they took the final step up onto her porch.

"Yes, I'll call you tomorrow to organize a proper time," Vlad told her. He paused as he suddenly remembered. "One second."

He did a half-jog back to his car, opening the backseat and pulling out a basket. As he returned to the door, it became clear as to what it was. It was the camera bundle she had been bid on at the auction, and she stared at it.

"Here, I had noticed you bid on it. I wanted to make sure you got it," he explained, handing it out to her.

"You bought that?" she questioned.

"Yes, I knew that you'd be outbid. So I just made sure that you could get it," he replied. Harriet smiled warmly, accepting it.

"Thank you," she said. She set it on one of the porch chairs for now. "This was honestly such a great night. Gotta admit, I was kinda skeptical, but you really impressed me."

"Of course, didn't you say yourself that you made a good investment," he joked. Harriet snickered.

"Yeah, but I think even I surprised myself," she said. "I thought I was just going to buy a nice, fancy one dinner, but I'm pretty sure I actually did buy somebody that I'm going to be introducing to my mom." She gestured to her front door. "Did you wanna come inside for a bit? Pretty sure you're too tired to make the long drive home."

"I don't live too far," Vlad replied. "It's about twenty minutes, I can easily get home."

"Oh?" Harriet lightly pressed. "You sure you're not too tired though? Don't need a coffee or anything? Or want to take a nap before you go?"

It finally clicked.

"Ah, you know, I think I would like to rest a bit before I go," he agreed. Harriet smiled, turning to unlock her door. Vlad grabbed the camera basket for her, and they went inside.

#phic phight 2021 #harriet chin #vlad masters #the bachelor #my phics #phics

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mattbflatt-loves-starset · 3 years ago

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UNFINISHED: STARSET’s Hidden Gem

With their new album releasing just half a day ago, STARSET has added a bunch of new songs to their collection of beautiful work, all of which I love so dearly. From the singles released, you can really tell that this album is going to be an absolute banger. Their creativity seems to have no end, and this album release has been anticipated by their audience for literal months now. In this blog post, I am going to dissect one track in particular, which I feel is a hidden gem. It’s a track that hasn’t been talked about a lot, and I think it deserves some more love. Without further ado, let us dissect this track, which is actually NOT from the album released today… get bamboozled.

Did I get ya? Well I hope I did, unfortunately I actually haven’t had a chance to listen to the new album HORIZONS yet, so that’ll have to wait. The hidden gem I am referencing comes from their album VESSELS. This is the track that concludes the whole album, called “Everglow”. There is a lot to this specific track that is underappreciated, so if you’ve made it this far, take a seat, grab a snack and drink of your choice, and relax as we take this song apart and reveal the magic that lies underneath.

To start things off, here’s a fun fact. Everglow is STARSET’s longest released song to date, having a runtime of 7:56. It’s almost an eight minute song! This makes room for a lot of goodness, and within this time, there are multiple sections that each sound distinct in their own way. We’ll call the first 1:46 of the song section one, which is a calm, purely electronic section with lead vocals. The very first virtual instrument, or synthesizer used already fits the title of the song, as it feels like wisps of light flickering in the dark, almost like fireflies. Dustin stays in his low-mid register as he sings in this section, which creates a very calm and almost sad feeling to start the song. The percussion is soft and not intrusive, and it disappears when Dustin first sings the word Everglow. This makes way for other synthesizers, which are fast, but also very quiet. They remind me of bugs or small creatures just darting around. In fact, this whole song gives me a foreign world kinda vibe. Like, you’re stranded on a planet in some unknown solar system, and this first section is just you observing all the crazy looking, bioluminescent wildlife. Something neat to also note in this section is how the pulse is felt. Almost the whole section feels like a nebular waltz, with a pulse that can be thought of in three. Boom tick tick, boom tick tick… just try saying those words out loud while listening. This is briefly turned on its head at 1:25, when these rising, almost surging synthesizers come in with a pulse that feels like it’s in two. What’s interesting is that the tempo of the song is exactly the same, the feeling just becomes more driving and uneasy, given this new idea of a “subdivision” or division of the beat in two instead of the waltz-like three. The three feeling returns at 1:34, when you hear the word Everglow again, as it is still in that waltz-like feeling. It’s a brief idea, but it’s also one that draws lots of attention.

This post is far from over! I was sick this week, but I’m finally feeling better, so if you read this far, stay tuned for the updates I will be posting later today! I have yet to talk about the remaining sections of Everglow, those being section 2: continued electronic music and building of motives, section 2.5: bridging the gap between the two halves of the song, section 3: the intense rock section, and finally section 4: the epic cinematic orchestral conclusion to both the song and the album! Thank you for reading this far!

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cno-inbminor · 5 years ago

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request: “for akaashi (fluff preferably) based on la la lost you by niki?” for anon

a/n: this ended up being a mix of angst and fluff, mainly bc the song itself is pretty bittersweet. i tried my best, i hope anon still likes this though!

genre: angst, fluff, gn!reader.

warnings: mentions/implications of sex and alcohol

song in reference: la la lost you - niki

Akaashi Keiji was one of the kindest souls to ever grace your life.

You distinctly remember the first night you met him. You and your friends had gone out to a bar in Koreatown on a warm October night. Bokuto, who was dating one of said friends, had invited his own to join. “The more the merrier!” He had howled and you had playfully rolled your eyes at him, but you were curious. On multiple occasions, he had spoken of his best friend and roommate who seemed endlessly busy and “never had time for fun”, and how much he wanted for you all to meet him. This was the one night that he would show, as he had just completed a massive project and felt that he deserved a night out.

Your fingers had been swirling the straw in your rum and coke when Bokuto’s eyes lit up at the person who had walked through the door. “Yo, Akaashi!” He had yelled, waving his arm around so flamboyantly that no one would miss it. And Akaashi Keiji had appeared.

He was ethereal.

LA was a hub for fashion, full of beauties walking down Sunset Boulevard as if it was their own runway. Yet this man before you was dressed in nothing but black, ripped skinny jeans, a black button down over a grey V-neck t-shirt, and you felt that he had stolen the show. His hair had been stylishly disheveled, but even the dim lights of the bar couldn’t hide the color of his eyes. Cobalt blue had stared into your own – you could’ve sworn he was looking right into your soul, but the contact was short-lived as Bokuto stood and pulled him in for a bro hug. The tiny smile on his face had conveyed that he was content in being here, and he left to go get a drink from the bar.

When he returned, the only available seat was across from you. One by one, Bokuto rattled off your names, to which you all had either waved or shook his hand. You settled for the latter with your brightest smile, and when sparks of electricity coursed through your vein at the contact, you did your best to hide its effects on you. Perhaps he had felt the same, but you’ll never know now.

It had been a fun night. Your nerves were getting the best of you, going through your drinks a little faster than usual. On your third glass of rum and coke, Akaashi had taken the liberty of getting a glass of water for you, even ordering a couple of appetizers for the table. “You never buy me food!” Bokuto had cried out while stealing some of the kimchi fries.

“Idiot, who does most of the cooking at home?”

“Okay, maybe, but still! What’s the occasion?”

“I’m expecting a big bonus after this project,” Akaashi had pointed out, though perhaps the tips of his ears were pinked. “Take advantage of my generosity, it doesn’t happen very often.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say. You’re always nice, and you know it.”

Akaashi had purposefully placed the basket of onion rings in front of you, gesturing for you to take the first one. The rest of your friends had curiously watched the interaction, their knowing grins widening when Akaashi watched you intently bite into the fried appetizer and smiled when you expressed your approval.

Akaashi had been the one to take care of you that night, though you were adamant in walking around first to sober up. He had no problem driving, only a couple of beers in his system, but you wanted to ensure that it was completely safe for him. At the time, you also just really wanted some pastries from the nearby bakery and Asian bakeries were practically heaven -- nothing could convince you otherwise. With little inhibitions, you had taken the plunge and linked arms with him, practically dragging him in the right direction. You had missed the blush on his cheeks, and to most others, you two looked like any other couple enjoying the night.

He had indulged in your rambling and broken thoughts, carrying on an easy conversation with you. He had even paid for the slice of a chocolate Swiss roll cake you wanted, getting a cappuccino to-go for himself.

“You have to let me pay you back,” you had grumbled in the passenger seat of his car: a dark grey, modest Toyota Corolla that was a few years old, added to the picture you were trying to paint of him. “Even if you’re expecting a bonus, I wanna make it up to you.”

“Take my number then,” he replied without missing a beat, his eyes bored into his phone while typing out your address into the navigation app. “Or Venmo, but I can’t guarantee that I won’t try to return it to you.”

“So I have to make excuses to see you then,” you mumbled under your breath. But Akaashi must have the hearing of a bat, because right after you had said those words, he had chuckled and looked over at you with a twinkle in his eyes.

“You don’t need to.”

And thus began a wonderful three-year relationship.

You honestly wish it had been a more painful break-up. Perhaps it would’ve made you miss him less.

Akaashi had been watching you sleep, your naked body wrapped in his sheets and his finger lightly tracing circles on your arm. The action must have woken you up, your body stirring and eyelids fighting exhaustion. Akaashi’s heart melted at the smile you offered him – as much as you had referred to him as an angel, he felt that nothing was more beautiful than the sight before him shrouded in the rays of the California sun. “Good morning, love,” he cooed.

“G’morning, Keiji,” you mumbled and snuggled into him. His arms wrapped around your waist and he planted a kiss on your nose, causing you to giggle. If he could have you here for eternity, he’d trade over his soul in a heartbeat. “What’s our plan for today?” You sleepily asked.

“I can make some breakfast, if you’d like. Or we can go get some dim sum?” He proposed.

“Hmmm, as good as dim sum sounds, I want to make breakfast for you, y’know. A little thank you for last night.”

“Enjoyed it that much?” He smirked, eyes drinking in the number of love bites he had left on your body.

“Don’t get cocky,” you teased, booping his nose with a finger before you rolled out of bed. Akaashi appreciatively watched the scene before him, especially as you bent over to pick up the button down he wore the night before and discarded on the ground. You rifled through his drawers to grab some clean underwear you purposefully left there, sliding it on before leaving for the kitchen.

About twenty minutes later, Akaashi had wrapped his arms around you from behind, watching you flip pancakes. His chin rested on your shoulder and his lips occasionally left kisses on your neck. The sinking of lead in his heart began to grow heavier, even as you handed him a plate, butter and syrup already put on just the way he liked it. It wasn’t until you were almost done eating when he had broached the topic.

“They’re giving me a promotion.”

You had paused in sipping your coffee. “Keiji, that’s amazing! You’ve been working so hard for this, I’m so proud of you!”

“I know, it’s great to finally be acknowledged. But…they want me to move. To New York City.”

“Oh.”

Akaashi gnawed on his bottom lip in anxiety, watching all the emotions process on your face. He watched you struggle to find the right words, and his heart dropped when you mustered the best supportive smile you could.

“Let’s make the most of the time we have left then.”

In those few months, Akaashi began to understand the different measurements of time. No longer was it measured in just seconds and minutes. Akaashi began to measure it in the number of days he could still hold your hand, the number of times he could pull you in a hug, the moments when you would lean over the back of his chair to observe his work. How many more kisses could he leave on your cheek? How many more smiles would he see in person before they were just in an electronic screen?

In all fairness, the two of you had tried to make it work. But with his promotion, he had been busier than ever, completing projects, building rapport with his new team, getting used to the city. Coupled with your own hectic life, a 3-hour time difference was just enough to drive a nail into the coffin. There was no fighting, no screaming. Just calm acceptance that perhaps, this wasn’t going to work out.

“I’m so sorry,” he had whispered over the phone, nearly on the verge of tears.

“It’s okay,” you had softly replied and Akaashi wanted to explode. To you, there was nothing he could do wrong. Everything was always okay with you when it came to him, and for once, he wanted you to tell him it wasn’t. He didn’t have the gall to voice his frustration – after all, wasn’t it his fault anyways? “Keiji, just…let me know if you ever need anything, okay? I’m here for you.”

“You’re too good to me,” and that was his way of acknowledging you. The phone call ended with gentle goodbyes, yet it took every cell in his body to not fling the phone against his apartment wall.

5 months later, you find yourself driving down Highway 1 on a fall afternoon. Though it’s full of curves and loops, the journey is freeing and calming with the view of the ocean right by you. There is serenity in the waves that crashes against the cliffs, and nothing is more beautiful than a California sunset. Even though the wind often howls over the sea and blows your hair into a disarray, you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Your hands steer your car into a resting spot and shift the gear into park. The keys leave the ignition and you collapse into the back of your seat, eyes turning to appreciate the view in front of you. Just like the many other days since, your mind drifts to thoughts of Akaashi.

Does he regret breaking it off? Does he miss you as much as you do him? Does he wish that he had fought harder for your relationship?

You almost laugh to yourself – Akaashi had always loved driving to places with you, one hand on your thigh and the other on the steering wheel. The number of times he had taken you to the Malibu beach to watch the sunsets was astronomical in your three years. Yet he had traded it all for the shadowy undergrounds of the New York subways, his car sold to help with moving expenses, and walking through the crowded streets. The closest he would ever get to driving was sitting in taxis, but stuck in traffic with a stranger was, perhaps, less than ideal for him. New York City is charming in its own way, you agree. But LA was different, and LA was where it had all begun for you two.

Akaashi often gets tagged in pictures with other women, their grins wide and skin glinting from the flash of the camera. Whether they’re co-workers or new partners in his life, you can’t help but wish for his happiness. There was little reason to be bitter, to hope that he experiences the pain of missing what he lost. You only wished that New York City had truly welcomed him into its embrace, treating him with the same love you had given. After all, it was very unlikely that he would ever return to the city of angels. Your inner demons would become solely yours to deal with, nothing for him to worry about any longer.

And for the first time in months, you felt at peace. You were ready to take the leap and regain the last piece of closure. Fishing your phone from the cupholder, you felt lucky that you still had a couple of bars of signal – it’s not too late in New York, and Akaashi would most likely still be awake. Your thumb taps and scrolls across your screen until you find his number, hesitating slightly before hitting the call button. Too nervous to hold the phone to your ear, you turn on the speaker and hear the dial tones echo in your car.

There’s a pause, a click, a rustle of papers, then, “—hello?”

A small smile graces your complexion, your eyes catching the view of the sun setting over the horizon of the ocean. The pang in your heart was akin to the feeling of missing a platonic friend rather than an ex-boyfriend. You were healing.

“Hey, Keiji. How are you doing?”

fin

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#hq #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #haikyuu x reader #akaashi x reader #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi fluff #akaashi angst #akaashi #keiji #akaashi keiji #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #akaashi x you #haikyuu x you

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dekuscrybaby · 4 years ago

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dancing bachata with him

pairing(s): iwaizumi x reader, nishinoya x reader, bokuto x reader, yamaguchi x reader, tendou x reader, oikawa x reader (all separate)

requested: no; just self-indulgent writing and i wanted a reason to listen to bachata

word count: 2.6k+ words

warnings: slight manga spoiler (timeskip)!! wrote this as gn as i could, but thought of a f!reader when i wrote it, sorry if i offend anyone. dancing gets steamy and suggestive. mentions and implications of sex, not proofread at all

a/n: i added some songs that i felt vibed with the character so feel free to listen to them if you want. gets repetitive at one point. this is also my second time trying to post this so uhhhhh apologies

iwaizumi:

the birthday boy!!

so this man, i just know he knows how to dance bachata

i mean he went to uni in california, there’s a ton of hispanics and latinos there bro

i know for a fact he befriended one of them and by default, he was dragged to a party at one point

which is exactly where you are right now

you and iwa were invited to a mutual friend’s little sisters quince

so, you’re both sitting at a table as the music is roaring through the sound system

the moment iwa hears romeo santo’s voice begin to ring through the room, he’s instantly standing up, stretching his hand to you

propuesta indecente or odio vibe mega hard with this man

“let’s go”

“go where?” you asked, not really expecting iwaizumi to be into dancing

“dance, of course. unless you don’t want to?” a nervous expression was on his face now.

“you know how to dance to this type of music?”

“of course i do, i’m what you call cultured”

so you take his hand and walk onto the dance floor with him

you kinda know the basics of the dance style so you’re not too nervous when you get into your own space of the dance floor

he put his hands in front of his body, a hint for you take them as he slowly began to lead you in the dance

you both kept your distance at first and you couldn’t help but admire the sensual way his body was moving

you both moved in accordance to the songs beat before he pulled a quick on you

he intertwined your fingers on one hand and allowed his other hand to travel down your waist

feeling extra confident in himself, he pulled you into his body and slotted one of his thighs between your own

not stopping your movements whatsoever

“wasn’t that awfully smooth of you, mr. iwaizumi?”

“you already know it. gotta keep you on your toes, no?”

to which you laugh at bc being with him is already a treat in itself

definitely has you wrap both your arms around his neck so you can be closer

he has one arm hanging lowly your waist while the other sneakily settles onto your upper thigh

very smooth and touchy man

iwa makes sure to hold you so incredibly close while smoothly maneuvers you both across your little spot on the floor

he definitely spins you when he finds it necessary

would for sure end up kissing you during a song

maybe a cheesy ass dip at the end, even if doesn’t seem to fit the song

all in all, 1000000/10 dance partner

would let him maneuver me any way he wants

nishinoya:

this is gonna be so self-indulgent so apologizes beforehand

so, in my head, noya travels the world a lot

and he’s a latin/hispanic king in the eyes of many so yes he’s visited various of these countries. you go along with him too ofc

and yes, he can dance bachata and various other dance styles

unlike iwa, he’s a lot intimate about this bc he’s the ultimate simp

he’d do anything to have your body pressed tightly against his own

especially if you’re wearing something irresistible

also unlike iwa, he vibes best with prince royce bc in my head they’re both like more upbeat and wholesome? idk if that makes sense but it does in my head

def incondicional or darte un beso vibes

BUT if he’s feeling frisky that night, definitely see te robaré

mans would not ask you if you want to dance

he’d DRAG you out to dance

strong believer that it’d be a good first for your relationship bucket list

“yuu, where are we going?”

“to dance, duh.”

“you didn’t even ask me though…”

“don’t have to! i know you’ll love it.”

“love what?”

“this.” he instantly pulls you into his body, wide smirk on his face

there’s virtually no space between you two

can’t even slip a piece of paper between you two

your breath hitches at the close proximity, you can feel his breath against the shell of your ear

who knew noya could be this smooth?

your mind is definitely thinking of other activities but you come back to earth when he begins to dance to the beat

one, two, three, (four)

he makes sure to keep you in beat

while also making sure he can feel every ridge of your body on his own

your arms are wrapped loosely around his neck

has his around your waist

he likes sneaking playful gropes in your ass or even waist if he wants to be more innocent

mans is touchy touchy, that’s the way to describe him easily

LOVES to spin you and also loves to be spun

your full body is in motion with this man and you’re not going in just one direction, you’re moving every which way (very organized tho)

sneaks in kisses between spins

also an amazing partner and bc i am an extra simp for this libero i rate him a 10000000/10

bokuto:

also an honorary member of the hispanic/latino community

very very cultured man

he plays pro volleyball so he’s bound to travel to other countries

honestly, he’s never practiced bachata with a partner

he has seen people do it though so he has a very general idea of how to dance it

bokuto is currently on an away game on a different country and he flew you out

simp, you know?

you guys went to a club, destress a little and just let loose

definitely vibes with monchy & alexandria bc the vibes are immaculate, especially on hoje en blanco and dos locos

anything that’s fast-paced and all-around energetic is perfect for mr. bokuto

also does not ask you to dance

but instead of just dragging you, he pleads for you with his eyes

puppy dogs before glancing between you and the pile of bodies dancing

you HAVE to take the hint or else he’ll be really bummed out

bokuto: 🥺👀🥺

you: ???

bokuto, in bold: 🥺👀🥺

you sigh at this, “kou, would you like to go dance?”

”i thought you’d never ask, babe! c’mon let’s go!” he’s literally beaming

you’re dragged away right after that

similarly to noya, he loves having your body pressed to his

but bc he’s not as experienced, he keeps you at a safe distance so he doesn’t accidentally step on you or something

that changes once he gets more confident

or when he sees a couple do something he wants to try with you

also loves to spin you

loves pressing your back to his chest and dancing like that for a bit before spinning you back around so he can see your pretty face

holding onto your hips and helping guide them just the way he likes

loves pressing his thigh between your own, might make you come closer so he can feel you better

also likes groping you, with consent ofc

sometimes he gets too distracted with the way you’re moving that he loses count of the beat and ends up messing up

part of the distraction would come from him smooching you anytime he please which makes you guys stumble a few times

that’s okay though

he makes up for his mistakes in energy and enthusiasm

how would i rank this man? hmm

1000/10 very fun to be around so he’s a very fun dance partner

yamaguchi:

hate to say it but mans does not know how to dance bachata

sorry yamaguchi stans, just had to to say

man works in electronics!!!

hardly goes out as it is

but you eventually get him to leave the house every once in a while

one of those times being rn, at a co-worker’s party

you honestly can’t remember what it’s for but there’s loud music playing

also gives me prince royce vibes but like,,, early prince royce, ya dig?

i’m talking corazón sin cara and even soy el mismo bc bro y’all are soft

you’d have to take the lead with him for the first few minutes of the song

maybe seconds bc he’s a quick learner, especially if he’s observing

this man is the only one who’d actually ask you to dance before even trying to drag you out of your seat

he looks at you with these cute eyes bc man is love in with you

“do you wanna go dance? this song looks like fun.”

“ashi, do you know how to dance this type of song?”

“well, no, but i want to try with you. do you want to?”

who are you to say no?

so unlike the other three, he’s a lot sweeter and maybe even shy while you’re dancing

idk if y’all know but he’s basically a little kid trying to dance with you

you guys keep like an arms distance and probably do not get much closer

you guys do move your arms around and bring them a tad bit closer to spice things up

but otherwise, you guys won’t get too close, especially bc this is his first time dancing bro bachata

lots of soft gazes

he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world and that shit’s cute

loves complimenting you as you’re both dancing

all in all it’s just a pure moment, nothing too spicy for the first time around or second for that matter

10/10 dance partner, learns quickly but still not too confident in himself

tendou:

KING!! HE IS THE MAN IVE BEEN SIMPING OVER FOR A WHILE

cheeky mf would be so good at this

does he know how to dance it?

but he’s the fastest learner and also very very sensual with these sort of thing so he’s amazing

idk what he does as a profession but he’s still the same person from high school, just a tad more professional in the workplace

gives me the fattest aventura vibes (if you haven’t realized i don’t know much about bachata, murder me)

obsesión and el malo vibe or maybe even los infieles

very similar to iwaizumi and his way of dancing bachata

but less smooth and more cheeky

very very cheeky

“baby, let’s go dance”

“yeah, give me a min-“

you do not get a minute, his big hand is already instantly wrapping around your arm to pull you up

“tori, do you even know how to dance to this?”

he laughs, “no, i’m smooth but not that smooth.”

you’re left a little confused but the moment he pulls you in tightly, your worries disappear

“just follow my lead,” he whispers in a seductive voice

he places on hand on your waist and the other holding yours just at your waist level

he instantly slots his thigh between your own and leads you guys through your spot on the floor

loves when you pop your hip to the beat

as every moment passes, he pulls you closer and closer

to the point where all you can breathe is his cologne and the alcohol in his breath

might lean down to press a few teasing kisses to your neck

mans might even grind his crotch down on your thigh

he wants to leave you as flustered as possible

was this a plan for him to take you back home so he could ravage your body? maybe, but he won’t admit, that’s the fun in it

also loves to spin you but he does it outward so he can catch a full look of how you’re dressed

bites his lip when he sees you enjoying himself

ceo of dirty compliments in your ear as you’re both dancing

LOVES LOVES LOVES seeing your flustered face as you guys are so so so close

he’d for sure try and start a makeout session in the middle of the song

something about the passionate atmosphere between all the couples, really gets him going

also sneaks in gropes along with the grinding

once he realizes how much he loves dancing to this music, he wants to go out and do it more

rate for this man?

100000000000/10 broke the scale plenty of times

i want to be his dance partner, please 😔😔

oikawa:

HE LIVES IN ARGENTINA

HE KNOWS ALL ABOUT ARGENTINIAN CULTURE AND AND OTHER HISPANIC/LATIN COUNTRIES

YOU CANNOT CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE

anyway, he takes you guys to a bar as well

you’re visiting him so he has to show you the best parts of the country and this is the end of your day

the spanish music blaring through the speakers gets him in such a great mood bc he wants to have his own little spanish opera moment with you

also gives me aventura vibes but the lighter more romantic music of it

very playful with it

def un beso and dile al amor or even ella y yo if he wants to get spicy with it (even if it’s like a mix of reggaetón and bachata, maybe pop, idk i’m whitewashed 😔)

“my love, do you want to go and dance with me? i love this song.”

“since when do you dance, tooru?” you tease him

“i’ve been a cultured man since i’ve landed in this beautiful country”

“really now?”

“yeah, would you like a demonstration, y/n/n?”

YOU CANNOT SAY NO TO HIM

especially not when he’s looking down at you with this smug grin on his face

does things to you, ngl

he pulls you up and instantly wraps an arm around your waist as he leads you towards the dance floor

he knows how to dance so he instantly rests his hand on your lower back

takes the lead without telling you, you have to have faith him and his skills

sways you both PERFECTLY in beat

his other hand is at his side but he is not stuff at all

his body is loose with it, just the way it should be

asks you to wrap your arms around his neck maybe even asks you to hold onto his cheek and give him a smooch

has you giggling the entire time bc he’s such a dork but he’s your dork

SPANISH SPANISH SPANISH

he sings the lyrics to you in such a quiet voice just for you two to hear

he has an accent when he’s singing bc it’s like his third language but it’s still the cutest thing ever

also loves praising you in spanish or even giving you spanish nicknames

“te miras tan hermosa, bailando conmigo así, mi amor.”

you either know what it means or you don’t

if you do, you’ll blush and come up with an equally cute spanish compliment

“gracias, mi rey. te vas tan chulo debajo de esta luz.” (thank you, my king. you look so good/cool underneath this lighting)

or you don’t have a clue what he said but he said in such a low tone that you assume he said something nice

“i said that you look so gorgeous, dancing with me like this, my love.” he laughs at the lost expression on your face

his laugh is contagious so you end up laughing as well before leaning in to connect your lips, as the song begins to dwindle down

also enjoys twirling you about when it’s appropriate, adds in to the giggly fun part of him as a dance partner

now, i’m not a simp for oikawa but i would simp for him over him if he offered to be my dance partner

i rate him a 100000/10 for a dance partner

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sunshine-shitposts · 3 years ago

Text

Twenty Second

Sunnie takes Dio out to dinner, unusually happy for some reason, and they enjoy good food together. Pure fluff.

TW: some drankin

Nights in the suite were usually lazy, with Sunnie either gaming or watching movies with Dio. He enjoyed their time together, and watching her slowly open up was quite rewarding.

Tonight, however, she was in her room.

He didn't question it as he read a particularly interesting book Sunnie had given him: The Elegant Universe, which discussed something called string theory. It was incredibly well-written, and he was about to turn another page when he heard her hum brightly as she opened and shut her bedroom door. She began walking down the hallway, some nonsense tune she'd invariably made up floating through the air.

She sounded like she was in a good mood.

She then stood in front of him, grinning widely and twirling the blue carabiner that she had her keys on with her finger, her other hand fisted on her hip.

"I'm in a good mood!" Sunnie said happily.

Ah, so she was.

"So," she continued, bouncing on her heels, "You should get dressed. We're going to my favorite sushi place."

"We are?" He asked, an eyebrow quirked upwards.

She nodded. "We are!"

And that was how Dio, dressed in a soft black button-up shirt (the first few buttons undone, of course), black slacks, and some new shiny shoes he'd purchased, was in the shotgun seat in Sunnie's oddly spacious little blue car.

The music in the car, in contrast with the heavy rock music he'd heard her playing in her room from time to time, was bright—some infectious dance tune that had her head bobbing and body swaying in time with the beat as she drove, smiling excitedly as she softly chanted "soosh, soosh, soosh" at various intervals. Dio wondered what exactly it was that had made her so happy, but chuckled amusedly as she bounced in her seat and pulled off onto a ramp heading north, and the music changed to something lower tempo, but still electronic. She hummed along with it, and a little while into the song, she began to giggle.

"Aaaaaah, here it comes, here it comes!!" She wiggled, and began singing with the music, "I promise to build a new world for us twoooo, with youuuu in the middle…"

And then the song exploded into bright, excited pulsing and drums, and she danced in her seat accordingly, grinning widely the entire time. He was impressed with her apparent skill at seat dancing while driving, he had to admit, but seeing her express her happiness so openly and so genuinely brought a smile to his face as well.

Fifteen minutes later or so, she'd pulled off the highway and onto a street that led them to what appeared to be a group of stores that were predominantly Asian, with a large grocery store that seemed Asian in nature as well. There were at least two dim sum restaurants that he could see, what looked like a small Korean bank, among other things like salons and cell phone stores. Sunnie took a left and drove to the outer section of the shops and neatly parked the car.

"We're here!" She chirped, shutting the car off and unbuckling herself, getting out of the car.

"A nice and easy drive," Dio remarked, exiting the car as well.

"Ever been to a revolving sushi place before?" She asked, shutting her car door.

Dio followed her as she trotted excitedly across the parking lot and through the light autumn rain to a door beneath a lit sign that said 'Kitsune' with a cute brushstroke fox next to it. "I have not, little bird," he hummed, "What's the occasion, if I may ask?"

"Oh, I got the courage to shut Vinh out of my bank account today," she laughed, face absolutely beaming, "so the meal's on me!"

He looked at her with a sly smile on his face. Good for her.

They reached the door, which Sunnie pushed open and they walked through, but not before Dio caught various people who were milling about in front of the stores and restaurants gawking at him–good, he always did love a little ego boost. The young man in all black at the front welcomed them and Sunnie happily gave her name ("Green, party of two, booth reservation!") and an employee came up to receive them and guide them through the restaurant.

It was dimly, yet warmly lit, the wood stained beautifully and the seats padded with dark leather, and, to his mild surprise, a winding conveyor belt throughout the main room. On the belt, plates with sushi covered by clear domes snaked their way around the room at a casual pace. Most of the seats were bar-style, but Dio saw, as they walked, several booth tables tucked away towards what seemed to be the beginning of the conveyor line.

The waitress sat them down at one of the booths and placed two drink menus on the table.

"Hi there, m'names Marissa, and I'll be helpin' you tonight!" She said in a sugary sweet voice, "Have y'all been here before?"

"I have," Sunnie smiled back as Dio inspected the moving plates with interest, "I'll explain it to him."

The waitress nodded. "I'll be back in a second for your drink orders!"

As she turned and left, Sunnie patted the table happily, turning his attention from the plates making their way past them to the small woman across from him. "So! Figure out what you wanna drink–"

"I already know what I want, my dear. Explain to me how this," he pointed his clawed finger up and twirled it around in a few circles, "works."

"Oh! Well, here's the revolving part of 'revolving sushi'," she said, gesturing to the moving sushi plates, "They're under these domes, see, but all you gotta do is grab the plate right here, under this little spot–" she reached up and grabbed a plate with her thumb under a semi-circle cutout on the dome, and the dome easily lifted up and she pulled the plate away and to the table, sliding it to Dio. "When we're done with it, we slide it into this spot down here," she pointed at a slot at the base of where the table met the wall, "and it tallies up the cost based on the number of plates. Simple?"

"Delightfully so," he responded, taking a pair of chopsticks out of their paper packaging, "Do you want one of these…" he looked down at the sushi in front of him and tilted his head.

"Kappamaki," Sunnie told him, getting her own chopsticks as well, "It's just a cucumber roll, nice and refreshing. But you can have those, I have a little ritual to carry out first…" she sat up on her knees and looked at a touch screen, scrolling through options and making a selection, "I always start out with niku udon. You make the selection on here and it comes to you on the linear conveyor belt above the sushi one. They have things like karaage, ramen, and you can also order specific sushi if they keep vanishing by the time they get to you, but since we're near the front of the line, that won't be a problem."

Dio picked up his first piece of kappamaki and popped it in his mouth, the bright crunch of the cucumber just as refreshing as Sunnie had said it would be.

"Is it good?" She asked, eyes sparkling, and he nodded.

"It is indeed," he responded, reaching for a shallow dish and pouring some soy sauce for himself, "If all of the choices are of this quality, tonight will surely be a feast."

Sunnie laughed. "No worries there, big guy, they're all really good, from what I know."

Marissa came back around and took their drink orders—Sunnie ordered a lemonade, and Dio opted for 'an entire bottle of your most expensive sake', and when Sunnie shot him a glare, he added sweetly, 'to celebrate'—and by the time their drinks arrived, Sunnie's niku udon had zoomed towards them on the linear conveyor belt. It was in a smallish stoneware bowl with handles and a second bowl on top, which she unclipped and removed to reveal a savory-looking broth filled with thick noodles, thinly sliced beef, scallions, and what Sunnie said was a 'kamaboko slice'. Dio smiled as she said an excited, "jaa, itadakima～su!" and immediately began digging into her dish, and he poured himself his first glass.

"So," Dio asked, sipping the sake, "Is this a date?"

She choked a bit on her udon, and he laughed as she swallowed, her face red and brows furrowed.

"Asshole!!!" She gestured accusingly at him with her chopsticks, "That noodle nearly went up my nose! Fuck you!!"

"You can take your time answering, dear, I don't mind."

"It's not that!! It's—you say things that throw me off!!"

He grinned smugly. "I do?"

She slammed her elbow on the table and pointed right at him, rising on her knees to stare him down closer. "Don't be a little shit. You know you do," she growled, narrowing her eyes at him.

His grin only widened, and his canines glinted in the low light.

"See??" She slapped the table, pointing again with eyes burning just as bright as her blush, "See??? You DO know!!!"

Dio laughed again, eating the second piece of kappamaki. "I do."

Sunnie sat back in her seat, leveling him with an intense glare before slurping down more udon and tearing almost viciously into a piece of beef, grumbling to herself.

"...So, is it a date or not?"

"No!!"

"If you say so."

"It's just to celebrate, and you're my friend. So I brought you," she stated, slurping up more noodles.

"Why not ask your other friends? You've said that you miss them," he asked, not taking his eyes off her as he pulled another plate of sushi without even glancing at the type.

Sunnie paused, brows furrowing in thought. "It's… I mean, it's just that you're basically the first person I can really share my whole life with." He raised an eyebrow, smirking, and she flushed again. "Not like that, Dio. Like… you know what's going on in my life. A lot of them don't, because I don't want to involve them. I don't have to hide that from you."

"You don't have to hide anything from me, Sunshine. Not your scars, not your bruises, not your Stand," he said softly, "Though at this point, I feel like it's in your nature to hide."

She stared at him blankly, tapping the end of her chopsticks on the table for a few seconds before breathing in, looking at her bowl, and slowly breathing out. "...You're not wrong." She slurped up the last noodles in her bowl, picking it up and draining the broth. "I've had to hide parts of myself my entire life. You know, 'don't tell people about what you can do, Sunnie. They wouldn't understand. People might try to hurt you'—remember, we're in the south. I'm not sure how much you know about things down here, but we've got an oddly high number of megachurches, especially in this area. There are plenty of people out there who, if they knew, would probably want to try to exorcise me. Not to mention, my parents worked for years to be able to adopt me. I overheard them a few times; they were scared I'd be taken by like, the government or something. I couldn't put them through something like that."

Dio watched her like a hawk as she reached up and grabbed a plate of three pieces of sushi before they passed by. "I didn't grow up with a Stand, actually," he said, pouring a little more sake into his cup, "I've never considered the implications of having such abilities from birth. It must have been hard to navigate, as a child."

Sunnie shifted in her seat, popping a piece of nigiri in her mouth and chewing for a moment before swallowing. "I mean, yeah, sort of. When you're a kid, imaginary friends aren't that weird, and the shit you say gets written off as you being over-imaginative. I only started understanding Windy's power and that no one else could actually see her when I was like, four, and by the time I was five, I knew to keep her hush-hush. I felt like a freak. Like in some way, I could never truly get to know anybody." After taking a long sip of lemonade, she sighed. "It's kind of alienating, y'know. There was always something that I would know but I couldn't say. I couldn't really be honest with my classmates."

"Was keeping such a big secret from them difficult for you?"

She shrugged. "I read a lot of comic books as a kid. Superheroes and stuff, y'know? And a lot of them had to keep secrets too. I always thought Superman's design was a bit basic, but I figured that if a country bumpkin journalist nerd could grow up without people knowing he could fly and shoot lasers from his eyes, I could do it too, so to speak."

He figured that made sense. As they took a few minutes to eat, he found himself looking back up at her over and over, before another question made its way out of his mouth before he could stop it.

"So," he broke the silence, an interested twinkle in his eye, "Tell me, aside from your spectacular secret keeping, how did you handle being a child with superhuman abilities?"

Sunnie, who was sipping her lemonade from a straw, nearly choked on her drink with snorting laughter. "Fuck, dude are you kidding? I was a menace!!" She grinned widely, snickering to herself. "So I have these family members, right? They call themselves Catholic, but they're this… like, really extreme…? I don't know how to describe it, but fuck I hate them. Except for one, she's kinda crazy in a good way. Anyways, so like," she settled back in her seat, absolutely beaming as she recalled the past events, "Carrie Anne, who's like my dad's cousin or something, she likes to pinch your cheeks and baby talk you and be weird and shit, so one time when we were staying over at their place when I was, like, six, I had Windy start to move things here and there. Small but noticeable, you know? A picture frame turned backwards, some flowers on the other side of the table. It drove her nuts. She rushed us out and cut the reunion short so she could try to get an exorcism or something."

Dio let loose a deep laugh. "Was it just them that you bothered?"

"Fuck no! Imagine, you're a wild child with the ability to not only control wind, but to also pull the sickest pranks of all time. That's exactly what you gotta do!" Her eyes sparkled mischievously. "At that point, it's an obligation. Rolling pencils off desks, tripping people I didn't like, just small little ways to make things fun and amusing for myself."

He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and resting his chin on the top of his interlocked fingers. "Just small?"

"I mean, I did lose control a couple of times. Once when I was in second grade, some third graders made fun of one of my friends, so I climbed on top of the giant cement tube on the playground and waited to ambush them when they walked through it. We got into a fight, three guys against me, and after scrapping a bit with them, I blew them all off of me when the teachers ran up to separate us. It wasn't that bad, but it just sort of… happened."

"Heat of the moment?"

"Yeah." She ate another piece of sushi, chewing it thoughtfully before swallowing. "No one got hurt. Well, besides their pride. A girl a whole year younger than them took them all on. It was the talk of our grades for like a week. They didn't talk shit after that, though." She looked at him curiously, her head tilting to the side. "I know you're like, evil vampire man and all, but have you ever done anything dumb with The World?"

He hummed, eyes narrowing mirthfully as he took another sip of sake. "I once scared a French man shitless by repeatedly moving him down the stairs in stopped time when he'd try to ascend."

She barked out a laugh. "No one should hold that against you. He was French."

Dio chuckled, shaking his head.

The rest of the dinner was spent with good food and good company. Finally feeling full, Sunnie chose plain cheesecake as a dessert, and Dio indulged in some as well, at his companion's insistence. After the bill was paid (Sunnie's eyes bugging when she saw the price of the sake, then sighing and telling him 'You're lucky my job pays well, asshole'), they left the restaurant and drove back, the remaining sake in a brown paper bag that Dio happily carried. The return trip was spent conversing as well, music playing in the background and the occasional bout of Sunnie spitting frustrated curses towards particularly poor drivers.

When she crossed the threshold into their shared suite, Sunnie happily kicked off her shoes and took off her hoodie. "That was a fucking good meal," she hummed, satisfied.

"Indeed it was," he agreed, taking his shoes off as well and mussing his hair, "Here, little bird," he added, holding the bag with the sake out towards her. She looked at him and then the bag, surprised.

"Oh?"

"A gift," he continued, "A celebration of your new slice of freedom."

Her eyes met his again and her expression was blank for a moment before her face soured comically. "So you had me buy my own gift, basically."

"Yes," he chuckled as she took the bag from him, rolling her eyes.

"Welp. It's the thought, I guess. I'm gonna drink some of it, then." Placing her backpack on the hook she'd installed, she swept off to the bar. "You want a glass, big guy?"

"No thank you, dear," he responded, sitting by his favorite arm of the sofa and grabbing The Elegant Universe back up, opening to his bookmark, "I've had my fill for tonight."

"Right-o," she signaled, getting a small cup and heading towards the sofa as well, "How d'ya like that book, by the way?"

"It's quite fascinating, if I'm to be honest," he said, shooting her a dazzling smile, "Greene has a fantastic way with words."

"He does!! He's a lot like Carl Sagan, in that sense," Sunnie grinned back, pouring herself a bit of the sake and downing it easily, eyebrows raising. "Wow, smooth. But like, Greene is able to speak about complex scientific concepts in a very accessible way. It's something I strive for, especially when I was a STEM teacher. You can't introduce people to the wonders of science if they can't understand what the fuck you're saying."

"I suppose not," Dio nodded, "Is there any reason why you chose this book in particular for me, though?"

She shrugged, a sheepish look on her face. "I mean, you are from an alternate dimension. I thought it might interest you."

He considered her explanation for a moment, then tilted his head, amber eyes glittering with appreciation. "You thought correctly."

The next hour and a half was spent discussing various scientific topics as Sunnie made her way through some of the sake, relaxing more and more as time progressed. Her cheeks were beginning to become rosy, the tip of her nose a cute pink, and her words were blurring slightly into each other—but only a bit.

"See, so that's like, what I've always wanted to do," she stated matter-of-factly, chomping down on another sea salt and vinegar chip. "It's dumb but I wanna do it."

Dio shook his head as he looked up, shoulders shaking lightly with laughter. "Navel bacterial cultures," he said, amused, and she immediately puffed up to defend herself.

"It's interesting!! Everyone's belly button microflora is different!!" She thought for a second, and her eyes lit up. "Probably their ass cracks, too!!!"

Dio let out a deep and resounding belly laugh. "Darling," he said once he caught his breath, "I don't know how many willing volunteers you would get for a swab of their ass crack."

"I could do it if I paid 'em," she said indignantly, a smile on her face nonetheless, "Money. S'the great motivator."

"That's true," he hummed, laying back against the corner of the sofa. There was a comfortable silence for a minute between them before Sunnie spoke again.

"Happy fuckin' birthday to me," she mumbled happily as she took another long swig of the sake, finishing her cup, and Dio's eyes shot up to her, surprised.

Birthday? Did he hear correctly?

"It's been an insane journey around the sun this round, but I'm in a better place now, I think," she continued, eyes unfocused, "Better job, I'm away from that shitbag… Yeah, I'd say I'm doin' pretty well."

"Why didn't you say it was your birthday before, Sunshine?" Dio asked, confused. She just laughed warmly and waved her hand dismissively.

"Naaaw, well it isn't much of a big deal, is it," she responded, getting up to pour herself a glass of chilled vanilla rum. "Just another rotation around our closest star, another year on this complicated ball of rock… time passes. I get older. That's just how it is."

She walked back over to the sofa and took a drink of her rum before plopping back down.

"Hey, Dio," she looked at him expectantly, "Can we watch a movie?"

He regarded her for a quick moment before nodding. "Of course, darling."

"A horror movie?"

"Anything you wish."

She grinned and turned the TV on, pulling out her phone and switching to one of her apps. "Good, 'cause I have a good one. It's called Coherence. I mean, it's not horror horror, but it's a thriller. Horror themes. Sci-fi, too. It's an excellent low budget film." Her phone connected to the casting device, and Windy popped out, switching the lights off before returning into Sunnie. Dio was mildly surprised, however, when Sunnie scooted right up against him, snuggling into his side as she took another few gulps of rum. The movie began to load, and she looked up at him, cheeks flush from drink and contentedness. "Thanks, man. Tonight's been great."

Strange woman.

"It's always my pleasure, Sunshine," he replied, smiling. She hummed and turned to the TV, settling comfortably against Dio, who huffed a small laugh and brought his arm around her as the movie began to play.

The Twenty Second of October.

He'd make note of it.

#ANOTHER ONE UP HOLY SHIIIIIIIIIIIT #JESUS FUCKING CHRIST I'M ON A ROLL #AHAHAHAHAHAJAJBGKDHSHF #SunnieD #my writing #sunnie writes

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azpartygirlz · 3 years ago

Video

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Monday, November 1st, 2021

UNIFORM

with Portrayal of Guilt, Body Void, and REALIZE at Valley Bar (info/tix)

What if the antihero in your favorite film or book had no chance to repent, reconcile, or redeem himself? There’s no victim to rescue. There’s no evil to thwart. There’s no tyranny to turnover. Instead of saving the day against his better judgment, he just walks a Sisyphean circle of existential malaise doomed to repeat yesterday’s vices without the promise of a better tomorrow. Rather than tell this story on the screen or on the page, Uniform tell it on their fourth full-length album, Shame. The trio – Michael Berdan (vocals), Ben Greenberg (guitar, production), and Mike Sharp (drums) – strain struggle through an industrialized mill of grating guitars, warped electronics, war-torn percussion, and demonically catchy vocalizations.

“Thematically, the album is like a classic hard-boiled paperback novel without a case,” says Berdan. “It focuses on the static state of an antihero as he mulls over his life in the interim between major events, just existing in the world. At the time we were making the record, I was reading books by Raymond Chandler, James Ellroy, and Dashiell Hammet and strangely found myself identifying with the internal dialogues of characters like Sam Spade and Philip Marlowe.”

The lead-up to this moment proved just as intriguing as any of those characters’ exploits. Born in 2013, Uniform bulldozed a path to the forefront of underground music. Following Perfect World (2015) and Wake in Fright (2017), the group’s third offering, The Long Walk (2018), represented a critical high watermark. Pitchfork christened it “their most unified—and most deranged—record to date,” and The Line of Best Fit crowned them “vanguards within the genre.” In addition to touring with the likes of Deafheaven and Boris, they joined forces with The Body for a pair of collaborative albums – Mental Wounds Not Healing (2018) and Everything That Dies Someday Comes Back (2019) – as well as the live release, Live at the End of the World (2020). When it came time to pen Shame, Berdan made a conscious decision to include lyrics, marking a first.

“I wanted my words to carry a degree of weight on this record,” he says. “Books and cinema have always been integral to my life, and that is often because of how I relate to the themes and characters therein. I am naturally shy and terrified of being misunderstood. This time around, I endeavored to trudge through those fears in order to explicitly articulate what goes on in a dreary corner of my inner life. To put it plainly: I was in a dark place. It was the culmination of years of thinking everyone in the world was wrong, but me. I realized that I couldn’t control the attitudes and behaviors of other people, but it was my responsibility to look inward and fix what was there. I had to articulate what was going on in my heart, my head, and my soul. As I set about the task of writing everything down, I experienced exorcism. If I wanted any kind of reprieve, I had to let go of the narrative that the demons in the back of my head had been constantly whispering to me. For years I held onto my lyrics like personal diary entries. Now is the time for a different approach.”

This record marks the debut of Mike Sharp on drums, adding a natural fire to the engine. His presence grinds down their metallic industrial edge with a live percussive maelstrom. Once again, Greenberg assumed production duties behind the board at Strange Weather. Building on the approach from their last LP, the band perfected the powerful hybrid of digital and analog, electronic and acoustic, synthetic and actual that has become their hallmark. In another first, Mixing duties were not handled by Greenberg, but rather handed off to the inimitable Randall Dunn at his studio Circular Ruin. Of this decision Greenberg says, “On ‘The Long Walk’ we took a big step in adding live drums and guitar amplifiers. It was a stylistic departure but it had actually been the plan for years, we were just waiting for the right time to execute. The next logical step with ‘Shame’ was to hand off the Mix phase of production. An alternate set of ears in the Mastering phase is crucial to gaining a wider perspective and creating a powerful end result, I wanted to find a similar constructive collaboration but earlier in the process. Randall was the obvious choice, he has long been a teacher and mentor to me; Berdan, Sharp, and I have some all-time favorite records bearing his name. Randall and I have also worked in the control room together many times before - the Mandy OST, and co-Producing the recent Algiers LP ‘There Is No Year’ for example - so we already had an established workflow and shared aesthetics.”

The opener “Delco” fuses guttural distortion to haunting chants buttressed by muscular percussion. Short for “Delaware County,” the track reflects on Berdan’s upbringing in a suburb west of Philadelphia and “how beatings and bullying by these local hellraisers taught (him) how to keep his guard up and navigate a violent world.” Elsewhere, the jagged thrashing of “Dispatches” nods to “Alan Moore’s Batman: The Killing Joke and how thin the margin between personal stability and total collapse is.” Neck-snapping riffs kick “Life in Remission” into high gear as a spiteful scream spirals towards oblivion.

“The song is about people I’ve been close to who passed away and how I’ve become numb to death. A lot of these songs have to do with an internal dialogue and overwhelming sense of fear, uselessness, and dread constantly whispering at me, ‘You’re not good enough. Give up and join those you’ve seen disappear and die.’”

The near eight-minute “I Am The Cancer” closes the record, as Berdan adopts the perspective of “The Judge” from Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridien, going so far as to crib his proclamation, “God is war; war endures”. In many ways, the title track “Shame” cements the core of the album with unhinged instrumentation and a brutal bark.

“It’s about self-medication not working anymore,” he admits. “This person is so tortured by internal ghosts from the past. He winds up pouring alcohol on his grief and guilt until he’s drowning. It was partially inspired by a Twilight Zone episode called Night of the Meek about a drunk, helpless department store Santa Claus who wants to make a difference, but feels incapable of doing so. That story has a happy ending. We’ll see about this one.”

It may not be pretty, but Uniform’s story is most definitely real. “All I can say is, I’m glad this exists,” Berdan leaves off. “It felt like something we needed to create. Just completing it is enough for me.”

#uniform #sacred bones #portrayal of guilt #body void #realize #relapse records #industrial #industrial metal

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sinceileftyoublog · 4 years ago

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Wobbly Interview: Going for Happy

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Thurston Moore Ensemble/Negativland band member Jon Leidecker has been releasing electronic music under the moniker Wobbly for over two decades now. In Chicago experimental label Hausu Mountain, he seems to have found kindred spirits, matching his far out idiosyncrasies. 2019′s Monitress and its follow-up, Popular Monitress, which came out earlier this month, are albums about and by machines, as Leidecker ran his music into pitch trackers and synth apps on his phones and tablets, embracing the errors and randomness that were produced along the way. While the source material on Monitress was mostly improvised, the songs on Popular Monitress are more structured and composed, resulting in songs like “Authenticated Krell”, which follows a comparatively clean synth arpeggio before being enveloped by texture, or “Lent Foot”, where the various instruments trail each other. It’s remarkable just how familiar certain sounds are even if not traditionally instrumental ones, like the typewriter clacks of “Illiac Ergodos 7!” or the zooming notes of the thumping title track. Blurring the lines between what’s instrument and what’s not, and even further, what’s composed music and what’s not, Popular Monitress is a defining statement for both Leidecker and Hausu.

I was able to ask Leidecker about various songs on the album and their inspirations. Read his answers below!

Since I Left You: You chose to write more structured songs this time around before running them through the pitch tracker. Do those nuggets of recognizable structures make the final product all the more disorienting?

Jon Leidecker: Hopefully! On both albums, the main thing is keeping the focus on just how live those pitch trackers are. It’s Monitress as long as you can hear how they’re listening. For years, it was strictly a piece for live performance--I needed to be improvising myself, and able to respond instantly, to really underline just how spontaneous the machine responses are. So the first record tried to keep more of that sense of flow. Large stretches of it are simply baked down from stereo recordings of concerts & radio performances of it. Overdubbing more layers of trackers seemed legal, as long all the voices were following that one original sound.

Of course, when you play a tune, something composed or even quantized, it definitely becomes easier to hear what they’re doing. The exact same code running on each phone will respond in very different ways to the same source audio, and you get a chorus of individual voices. They play a lot of wrong notes, but oddly, if you feed the trackers lots of consonant, major chords, it stops being dissonance, and you can tell they’re going for happy. You hear these weird things, trying to sing in unison, and..the result is just pure delight. Weirdly emotional! What’s a mistake? What’s music?

SILY: How did you come up with the song titles? For instance, is there anything particularly Appalachian about "Appalachian Gendy"?

JL: They’re mostly mashed up references to landmark works in the field of generative & algorithmic composition, from the 50’s up to the early 90’s. The recent push of stories on AI musical tools seems to be about automation and labor-saving, but the field of how to develop tools for more creative ends goes back all the way to Bebe and Louis Barron going to the Macy Conferences on Cybernetics and designing their first self-oscillating feedback circuit.

So while my tracks aren’t really in the musical style of the works they reference--something like “Appalachian Gendy”, which sprung up a fantasy Spiegel/Xenakis tribute, got paired to that stompdown track, and once it did, I added a solo on iGendyn.

SILY: To what extent is your music here inspired by the inner workings of the brain?

JL: Once you get a grip on just how simply neurons and synapses interact, how reassuringly physical thinking is, the electronic music I’ve always found most inspiring often involve feedback systems, self-playing devices, generative music, things that learn rather than settle. Music that helps you model thought. The whole East Coast/West Coast 60’s divide in synth design boiled down to Moog reducing your options until you could easily dial in what you already know you want, and Buchla designing uncertainty machines to be networked together until they approach the complexity of an unknown brain.

SILY: "Synaptic Padberg" and "Every Piano" have moments of recognizable instruments as opposed to alien instruments (strings and piano, respectively). Was that just a product of the errors/randomness of the music-making, or purposeful?

JL: It's supposed to sound orchestral, so I hit my Mellotron and Chamberlin apps pretty hard with this piece. Not like anything remains plausibly real once they're getting hammered by the trackers. That is a real grand piano, however: me playing the tune at SnowGhost Music in Montana. Brett Allen deserves an engineering credit, but I also wanted the first listen to make you wonder.

SILY: There's almost a funky rhythm to "Motown Electronium". Do you envision folks dancing to this record?

JL: Would have been plain wrong to put that title on an unworthy beat. What would a room full of people dancing to this even be like? Maybe in Baltimore.

SILY: Do you think "Training Lullaby" is what a computer trying to write a lullaby would sound like?

JL: Not that relaxing, is it? That’s ten seconds pulled from a five minute live improvisation, just a little burst of fury in the middle. Which I’ve heard enough now that I can sing along to it; so now, for me, it is calming.

I finally had to admit to myself that I’m a fan of the OpenAI Jukebox stuff. It’s right at that stage where their results are still primitive enough to remain a little mysterious. All the context and relationships intrinsic to what humans call music is irrelevant to those GANs. They don’t need culture to make music, they just need waveforms. What does it tell us that simple pattern analysis and brute number crunching on a large enough data set can produce those sounds? They’re training us. I have twelve hours of their Soundcloud dump ripped to my phone, and I play it a lot, though I wouldn’t play it for anyone under four. Can definitely sing along to some of the weirder ones by now.

SILY: How did you approach the order of tracks on the record? I'm struck by, for instance, the chaos of "Grossi Polyphony" following the comparative lull of "Every Piano".

JL: Just trying to show the range, and keep the surprises coming. Perpetual variety becomes monotony so quickly, so there is a very careful balancing act to play between shorter and longer tracks. I like a record where on first listen, any new section that begins, you feel like there are no guarantees how long it’ll last, eight seconds or eight minutes. Even things that sound like they should be songs: no guarantees. I still remember the first time I heard The Faust Tapes as a teenager.

SILY: Did you actually use musical dice to write "Wurfelspiel"?

JL: “Wurfelspiel” is just name-dropping Mozart’s generative piece--again, a real piano, but no musical dice involved.

SILY: The beats towards the end of the album--the pseudo hip-hop of "Cope By Design", techno of "Dusthorn Sawpipe", krautrock of "Help Desk"--seem to me to be far more propulsive than anything else here. Do you see a connection between those tracks?

JL: The album hits you with all these miniatures in the middle to keep things moving, and those three are the last little barrage of them before the shift into the final stretch with the longer, more hypnotic pieces. Can be tough to sequence an album when you’ve got so many short tracks, but it’s also total freedom.

SILY: How did you like getting the Hausu Mountain album art treatment?

JL: Totally family. All the Monitress packaging has always been iPhone panorama mode artifacts, visual glitches not entirely unlike what my phone’s trackers do to what they hear. I gave one of those images to [Hausu Mountain co-founder Max Allison] to work with the cover of the first Monitress, and he sent back this image, saying, “Here’s the initial stage: Your photo reduced to color blocks I’ll carefully render out later.” So when the second hyper-detailed one came back in a more proper Hausu style, they already seemed like a sequence, and this second one was already in place, so it all clicked. Any version of Monitress, the music is different, but it’s always the same piece. I’m really happy they asked me for something. [Label co-founder Doug Kaplan] and Max are just coming from the good place.

SILY: Are you doing any live streams or socially distant shows any time soon?

JL: Multi-location live streams are a blast. The time modulation inherent in all streaming is deeply psychedelic. The kind of listening you have to do when you know that the relationship of sounds together in time is different for each musician involved? I’m learning utterly new tricks, and it’s astonishing just how live the result is. I sat in on a live stream with Thurston Moore Group a few months ago, the four of them in London, and me hooked up to an amp not far from where I normally am when I play with them. And everyone agreed: It felt like I was there, right up until the instant I quit the app.

I’ve been pre-recording some home live sets for Hausu, Curious Music and High Zero Foundation. Negativland is putting together an hour long performance with Sue-C for the Ann Arbor Film Festival in late March. I finished an album mostly recorded outdoors with my old friend Cheryl E. Leonard for Gilgongo, and we’re going to try to a few outdoor concerts, too.

SILY: What else are you currently working on/what's next?

JL: The second album with Sagan, with Blevin Blectum & J Lesser, is coming out in late April. That one took 14 years to finish. There’s a trio record with Thomas Dimuzio and Anla Courtis coming out on Oscarson. Doing a revision of the last episode of my podcast on sampling music, Variations, to incorporate that OpenAI music. Some Negativland releases tying together the last two albums. There are about four of five other albums that might be done, though it takes time to be sure.

SILY: Anything you've been listening to, reading, or watching lately?

JL: This month has been Maryanne Amacher’s collected writings, Keeping Together in Time by William H. McNeill, Ministry For The Future by Kim Stanley Robinson, important even with happy ending. Interview with Karl Friston - Of Woodlice And Men. Listening to a lot of “Blue” Gene Tyranny, Xenakis & Lang Elliott, and last week every Ghédalia Tazartès album in reverse chronological order. I don’t care what anybody says: That guy’s immortal.

SILY: Anything I didn't ask about you want to say?

JL: Thank you for your questions!

Popular Monitress by Wobbly

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