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undeadorion · 3 months ago

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Fall to be Free

Chapter 1 — The Door

Fandoms: Ghost (the band), original characters

Word count: 5,010

Warnings: cults, satanism, brief descriptions of abuse

So I wrote the most self indulgent thing. I AU’ed Ghost into my own world with my OCs. Because I had to.

The world is the setting of a comic I’ve been working on (I’ve had the characters for like 20 years). The basic concept is that it’s the late 90s in a slightly sci-fi-ish version of our world. And people with special abilities are common place. So the Papas (who are each their own person, not played by Tobias in this world but still a band) have some very special powers.

Dane drags Crawford to a small Ghost show at a record shop, and Crawford gets the Cirice treatment. Totally on accident and by chance.

Crawford followed Dane towards whatever the other had in mind. Dane hadn’t exactly explained what they were doing. A lot of rambling, a mention of making a “few stops” before hitting their usual bar. The fact that they were out at 3 in the afternoon left Crawford suspicious that these few stops would not be quick. He was more irritated that Dane thought he had to be sly to get Crawford to go anywhere with him than being simply outright. “Hey, let’s hit the record store for a while” is so much easier to say than the ten minute lead up he got instead.

Because the record store was exactly where Dane led him. Crawford didn’t even realize that’s where they were until Dane was opening the door. He should have recognized it, he was here nearly every week, but the street was usually rather quiet. It was a hole-in-the wall sort of place, the door tucked away in an alcove so shadowed it looked like the service entrance for the restaurant around the corner on the more main road. Except today the street was teaming with people. A large bus dominated the parking spaces across the street, the sort of private affair with fancy cloth seats. Every other parking spot was filled as well, with people hangout out between and around the cars, on the sidewalks, even in the street.

There were quite a few among the loiterers in black and white face paint. Metal heads, he thought, just as the pounding bass from inside the store hit his ears. The dread hit him that Dane was trying to drag him into some sort of concert. But Dane wasn’t into metal of any kind, not even in the slightest. Was the show just a coincidence?

“You can wait out here if you want,” Dane was saying, the door only open a crack. “There’s a shit ton of people in there, and I know how you feel about that sort of thing.” As he spoke, he pulled the door open a bit more.

Crawford cocked his head to the side as he could hear the music better. It had a clarity he wasn’t expecting. The singer was neither screaming nor growling, and their voice easily lifted above the instruments. He couldn’t pick out the actual lyrics with all the noise on the street, but he could hear enough that it made him curious why this music had attracted the crowd gathered outside.

Inside wasn’t any better. People crushed in shoulder to shoulder, making the already poorly ventilated store hot and damp. There was just enough space at the back to squeeze between the writhing crowd and the rack of CDs and records. People trod on his boots and knocked into him, but he just shoved them back into the crowd and they didn’t seem to notice.

When Dane finally stopped at section of cassettes (it’s all his car could play), Crawford was able to catch his breath. It was an awkward corner where people hadn’t quite squeezed into. At the other side of the store, he could see the band that was the cause for such chaos. It couldn’t even really be called a band, really. It was just three people. The singer flanked by two men in masks, one with a guitar and the other a bass. The singer was almost entirely monochromatic in stark blacks and whites, except for the small portions of visible skin. Black hair, black jacket, white shirt, and his face painted vaguely to resemble a skull with bold geometric shapes. He spoke to the audience with a thick accent, something about it being his first time, only to clarify he meant in this city. This transitioned into the next song somehow, a very different style than the last. He was still wrapping his head around the tonal shift, when the singer pulled out something from his pocket, the yellow object standing out starkly against his white gloved hand.

The sound of a kazoo floated out over the music, leaving Crawford completely and utterly baffled. Even more confusing was the reaction of the crowd. They screamed and howled as if it was the best thing they’d ever seen. Even though Crawford could only see them from behind, there were marks of it being a more hardcore crowd. A lot of black clothes and metal spikes, and patches as crudely sewn as his own. One guy bellowed “HAIL SATAN!” from somewhere in the crowd. All in response to a man playing a kazoo in the middle of a song that used the word “zombie” a lot.

He turned to Dane to ask how much longer he would be, only to find the other not even looking at the tapes. Sure, he hand his hands on them, but he was half turned so he could look over his shoulder at the man on stage. Whatever harsh words were on Crawford’s tongue died immediately. He’d never seen his friend make such an expression. It almost like Dane were in pain, a deep and unspeakable pain, but softer. Even in the poor lighting of the alcove, his eyes glistened as if threatening to shed tears. With a heavy sigh, he rolled his eyes.

Dane wasn’t exactly a brave person. He often needed a chaperone to do anything even remotely social. The idea of squeezing into a small record shop full of devil worshiping metal fans wasn’t something he could do alone. And Dane knew Crawford wouldn’t willingly walk into such a situation either. But it was obvious this was some band that Dane liked enough to even take a risk on it.

“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?” Crawford growled, before grabbing Dane by the shoulder and shoving him toward the crowd. He let out a yelp of protest before he disappeared into the crush of bodies. He’d be fine. Probably.

But before Crawford could step back to the safety of the alcove, someone bumped into him from behind. Half a step forward was all it took before he was also absorbed into the crowd. The zombie kazoo song had ended and everyone was jostling for the singers attention, shouting responses to questions Crawford couldn’t hear. It seemed that his every attempt to push back toward safety cause the crowd to surge and push him deeper. In desperation, his fingers clawed toward painted faces and studded leather. But no one seemed aware of him, enraptured in whatever was being said.

No, the music had started up again. Softly at first. A few bass notes dropped and a stillness rippled through the crowd. Just for a moment, everyone hushed in anticipation. As the instruments started in earnest, the stillness broke and everyone crushed even closer.

Suddenly, open space.

Crawford froze, hands gripping some sort of rail. He was at an edge of the crowd. But he was still trapped. Before he could even begin to think of which way was out, he realized it wasn’t just any rail. All he registered in the song was the word “rumble” before his eyes focused on the shiny black shoes mere inches from his hands. Black shoes, white spats, black pants. Slowly, he lifted his gaze from the shoes, expecting to see the singer looking out over the whole crowd. But instead, he found himself staring directly into that painted face. No, not just his face. He wasn’t addressing the front row. He was staring directly into the man’s mis-matched eyes.

“I can see the scars inside you.”

It was just a line from the song, but somehow it felt as if the man were speaking to him and only him. His gaze unwavering. A gloved hand gesturing as if to say “this is about you, only you. No one else.”

Crawford felt something in his chest. His heart pounding like a caged bird desperate to escape. No longer aware of the sweaty bodies crushing against him. Barely aware of the music. It was just him and the man who was so recently wielding a kazoo.

Even as he saw nothing but that starkly painted face, he had the oddest sensation he was standing in a hallway. A hallway lined with doors of different styles. Some had windows, some even stood open. He had the sense they could all be opened with just a touch. Except one. The one directly in front of him. He knew, the way one knows things in dreams, that it had always just been an empty wall. That this wasn’t a place where a door was, despite being the only stretch of blank wall in the entire corridor. But now…now there were cracks in the paint. He reached out a hand, his fingers brushing the cracked and peeling paint. Pieces fell away, larger than such a gentle touch should have caused. They cracks grew, spreading the cascade of old, dry paint and rust. There stood a door. A massive, metal door held shut with a rusted iron lock. Scratched into the metal was a large symbol, off center and crooked. Newer than the door itself, but the lines still starting to rust. Two intersecting lines, with an incomplete circle around the point where they crossed. Above it, something else was scratched into the metal. Words of some sort? He ran his fingers over them, but before he could begin to make them out an elbow jabbed him in the ribs.

The dream? Illusion? Hallucination? burst like a bubble. In that split second of awareness, he could have sworn there was a blue glow in the man’s white eye. Maybe it was just the lights glinting. He was also aware that he hadn’t just reached out in the dream. The singer had dropped to one knee and was gripping Crawford’s hand firmly. But that vanished as quickly as the strange dream, as a young woman had been the one to bruise his ribs in an attempt to offer her own hand to the singer.

As Crawford stumbled back, dazed, he swore he saw fury in the man’s face, his dark upper lip curling into a snarl as the young woman waggled her long painted nails at him, begging for him to hold her hand, too. It was a fleeting moment as she was quickly ignored, the singer smoothly moving back to his feet to continue the song as if nothing had happened. It was the same song, still. Surely he had stared at that illusory door for longer than it would take to finish a song, but he had the sense it hadn’t even been the length of an entire verse.

He could feel the memory of the door fading, like trying to hold water in his hands, the way dreams fade so very fast. No, this was different. Usually he could hold on to a piece or two, but it was as if the memory were being sucked away down a drain as he desperately tried to hold on to some piece of it. He let the crowd push and pull him, drifting like a rudderless boat on the water, as he tried to remember what he’d seen. A door where there wasn’t a door? That didn’t make sense. A message? Scratches? A symbol of some sort? He felt as if it were staring him in the face but he couldn’t place it. Like a shape taunting him from the corner of his vision that wasn’t there when he turned.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Dane’s voice cut through the noise as his fingers dug into Crawford’s arm.

“What?” was all Crawford could manage.

Dane managed to pull them both the rest of the way through the crowd and into the safety of the alcove once more.

“How the hell did you get all the way up there?!” Dane managed to sound giddy and devastated at the same time. “And to be chosen like that…” He let out a whimpering sigh that was probably meant to be exaggerated or sarcastic, but even Crawford could see the envy in it.

“What’s the big deal? I tripped. He probably thought I was reaching for him or something.”

“No!” Dane scolded. “It’s a whole thing. He only does it to one person per show! Not only cause what the song is about but it’s what happened in the music video. Papa picks one person to sing to like they’ve been chosen as someone special. Half the people in that crowd would trade vital organs to have been in your place.”

“So it’s just an act? It’s not like some mind control shit?” He still couldn’t shake that vague memory of doors.

“It’s ALL an act,” Dane said with a scoff, as if it should be obvious. “Papa Emeritus III, the anti-pope of a satanic cult using music to overthrow governments and take over the world.” He let out a chuckle as if it were ridiculous to even consider something like that were real. “It’s all a schtick, but it’s pretty fucking hot.”

“If you’re into that sort of thing.” He glanced back to the stage and could have sworn the singer was watching him over the heads of everyone else. No, it couldn’t be.

“Hell yeah,” Dane said, wistfully as he watched the singer. “I’d let that man break me in half and I’d thank him for it.” He started detailing things he’d do for the singer, with increasing lewdness. But Crawford barely heard a word of it. He had the unsettling sense that every time the singer cast his gaze across the crowd, it lingered on himself. And not just for a brief moment. For entire lines of a song, it felt. That was impossible. He was a nobody and he didn’t even care about this band, so why would he even suspect a thing like that?

“What’s that symbol?” He asked, so suddenly he wasn’t entirely sure for a moment where the curiosity came from.

“What symbol?” Dane said, shaken out of his perverse musings.

“This!” Crawford grabbed the sleeve of a man’s jacket. On his shoulder was a sort of upside down cross symbol that struck Crawford like a punch to the gut.

“Fuck off!” The man to whom the jacket belonged, jerked his arm away from Crawford.

“That’s just one of the band’s logos,” Dane said with a shrug, obviously not seeing anything deeper in it.

Was that why it was familiar? Because now Crawford could see it was everywhere in the shop. On patches and necklaces and mingled into the promotional artwork hung on the walls. He shook his head as if he could shake off the weird feeling that it was important somehow.

———

The rest of the show was only a few more songs. Needing time to think, Crawford convinced Dane he’d be fine and to actually go enjoy himself. What he really wanted to do was slip outside for a smoke. But something told him to stay there. That he was missing something. He wasn’t the sort to give a shit about celebrities, and this guy wasn’t even proper famous. Half a step above a basement show where no one cared about who the band was as long as they played something decent. So why the hell did he feel like the singer was actively watching him? It wasn’t necessarily a feeling of paranoia, but something twisted in his gut. Why couldn’t Jackie be here? She’d knock some sense into him and call him a paranoid idiot for it.

Finally, the singer went into some ramble about orgasms as a lead up to a song about a clock. At least that’s as far as Crawford could tell. He wasn’t paying very close attention, trying to shake off the feeling he was being watched and the relief that he could leave this surreal experience behind him.

As the singer said his goodbyes, bowing and blowing kisses to the crowd, Dane staggered out of the loosening crowd. He was a sweaty mess, shaking slightly from exertion, but looking like he was having the time of his life. “Thanks, man,” Dane said with such genuine gratitude it seemed like he might cry. “I mean it, I really, really mean it.” He leaned on Crawford in a sort of half hug. Crawford suspected it was mostly to keep from falling over.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here,” he said, an arm across Dane’s back to guide him towards the door. But he didn’t get two steps before bumping into a wall of black. A wall of black topped in silver.

Two figures dressed like the musicians who had been on stage stood before them, stock still and facing them. These two definitely hadn’t been the ones on stage, both considerably wider in a way that suggested pure muscle.

“You mind making room, assholes?” Crawford growled. He tried to step to the side, only to be met with another masked man. Both he and Dane staggered, stepping back to find another way only to discover another three behind three behind them. Six in total, boxing them in. All six facing them, and letting everyone else flow around them.

Rough, strong hands grabbed them from all sides, half dragging them through the dispersing crowd. No one seemed to take notice of this, chatting and celebrating amongst themselves. Ignoring Crawford and Dane’s shouts of protest as the masked goons forced them toward the back of the record shop.

The fresh air should have been a welcome relief as they passed into the narrow alley out back, but all Crawford felt was a rising terror. Especially as he saw where they were headed. The singer stood there, talking with the two masked men from the stage as they packed up their instruments. He held a cigarette in his gloved fingers, looking as casual as if they were all just friends and there weren’t six men dragging people out to be presented to him.

“Oh, there you are,” the man with the painted face said, his voice just as accented as it had been on stage. Maybe that part wasn’t an act.

“What’s the meaning of this!?” Crawford demanded, trying to pull free of the men who held him, but their grip didn’t budge.

“Papa…” Dane breathed out. “It’s an honor…”

“You, my friend,” the singer said, pointing with his cigarette toward Crawford, “Have quite the gift. And you can’t even see it.”

“What the fuck’re you talking about?” Crawford growled. If the man behind him weren’t so tall, he could have nailed him in the balls with the heel of his boot to make him let go. He doubted a blow to the shins or knees would even be felt.

“That little song of mine, it’s…well, it’s mostly metaphor. A bit of exaggeration. But like with all forms of art, some parts of it are completely true.” A faint smile played over his lips as he regarded the two held captive before him. “The part that’s true is I can see into people’s hearts. Truly.”

“Fuckin’ exo…” Crawford didn’t care that people had abilities that he’d never have access to, but he hated when they acted like they were somehow special. Exos, phenoms, moxies, specials, metahumans, whatever term was used, it didn’t mean they were extra ordinary. Some people could do advanced calculus in their heads, some people could paint, some people can create fire with their bare hands. It didn’t make them special.

“Do you often speak of yourself with such derision?”

“I’m not a fuckin’ exo,” Crawford snapped. “He is,” he nodded to Dane. His friend who could change shape at all, but usually just turned into some sort of dog.

Dane was about to say something, but the singer placed a single gloved finger on Dane’s lips and he fell utterly silent. “Oh yes, I am aware of this,” he said, leaning closer to Dane’s face. “And so very eager.” His voice dropped to just above a whisper, “If you’re a good boy, you might have a chance to show your appreciation for your Papa…” he leaned closer still, his painted lips brushing Dane’s ear as he whispered something Crawford couldn’t hear.

Swallowing hard, Dane nodded, his face completely flushed. “Y-yes, Papa…” his voice trembled as he spoke.

“But you,” he turned back to Crawford. “I can tell simple devotion is not in your…” he gestured vaguely with the cigarette. “…nature, as it were.”

“Get to the point, old man.” The more he spoke, and at this distance in the natural light, Crawford could more clearly tell the age beneath the makeup. The stark black and white did a lot of work to mask it, but there were deep lines in his face, especially around his eyes. From the back of the record shop, Crawford would have placed the man closer to his own age of 26. But at this distance it was obvious he was more than double that age.

The man gave a slight nod as if it were a statement of fact and not an insult. He took a slow drag off his cigarette before continuing. “You remember the door, do you not?”

Crawford was barely aware of Dane asking “what door?” as he felt the floor drop out from under his feet. The memory had almost completely faded, and now rushed back with shocking clarity.

“Ah, now you do remember. These doors you see, they’re all those things that make you, well, you.” As the man spoke, Crawford had the sense of walking side by side with him along that corridor of doors. “You have a lot of anger in here, do you not? But it is not without reason. Oh…” As if the man were peeking into a room that Crawford could not see into. “You are quite the talented musician yourself, Crawford Stone.” Hearing the man speak his name without even a vague introduction made it fell all too real, like the wind had been knocked out of his lungs. “Let us hope you do not take my job, huh?”

A sound emanated from the masked men at the joke. A sarcastic sort of laughter. It was the first sound any of the had made and it lasted only a moment.

“But that is not what we are here for, no.” He stepped closer, his back rigid and yet only coming up to about Crawford’s chin. Fingers grazed that chin, such a gentle touch yet forcing Crawford to look down into the man’s eyes. There were no stage lights here, yet there was that strange blue glint in the white eye. “No, we are here for a very special door.”

In a sudden breathless flash the scene was as real as the alley. He and the man stood before the metal door marked inexplicably with a crude version of the band’s inverted cross logo. “This door!” the man exclaimed, gesturing to it with both hands. “Well, the door is not special. It is the thing behind this ugly thing that is special.”

“Why is it here?” Crawford’s head swam with questions. In a way he understood what he was seeing. There weren’t really any doors. It was just a way to see what was inside his head. But why would one of them be so hidden and locked? Why would he forget it so easily when he knew the things in the other rooms so well.

“Someone put it here, of course.” The man ran his fingers over the carved symbol. His gloves were no longer, but skin tight black leather with gold claw-like nails attached. “By someone not exactly in our church, but affiliated perhaps. Someone who knew we would be the ones who might save you, my friend.”

As the man pressed his whole had to the door, Crawford felt a stabbing pain in his head. He dropped to his knees and the whole corridor shook. The man jerked his hand back, eyes sweeping the space. “So that is why…” His fingers tapped his chin as he surveyed the door. “This will be no easy task to undo.”

“I don’t think you should be touching it,” Crawford growled, his head still throbbing.”

The man shook his head, clicking his tongue. “Sometimes, if a man is shot in the head or in the chest, he can live with that bullet inside of him. The body covers it. Encapsulates it. That is what you have done.”

“I didn’t do this. You did.”

“The door you did not do, nor the lock. But hiding it, resisting it, that is you. Well, mostly you. The door, it whispers ‘forget about me, don’t look at me’ and you were very good at doing that. So good you will slowly forget if you are not looking directly at it.”

Crawford started to protest, but the man interrupted him. “Stop talking and listen. I showed you this door, and what is written upon it. Within the hour, you forgot even the symbol carved into it. Even now you fight to get away, to not even speak of it. But it is not fear that keeps you away, it is something else. It is…a twisted obedience. But not to me or mine…” He was watching Crawford’s face with those mismatched eyes, studying him intently. “To he who hurt you so deeply. He who gave you so many scars…” His fingers brushed first the scar under his right eye. A gift from his step father, landing a back-handed slap across his face so hard it knocked him flat on his back. The gems of his ring gouging a chunk of flesh from under his eye. He’d only been sixteen.

The man’s finger trailed down to his lower lip next. Another scar from the same source. He’d come home one afternoon with his lip pierced, in a fit of rebellion against his step father. The man had used a knife to forcibly remove it, instead of just removing it properly. Anyone so much as asking about those scars would have had Crawford biting their heads off. But as the man’s gloved fingers caressed the scars, it was like something inside him broke. There was a tenderness in that touch that he hadn’t felt in so long.

Slowly he dropped to his knees, everything in him feeling so very heavy. As he looked up to the man before him, blurry through tears he refused to let fall, he felt no judgement for this. “He did this?” he asked, his voice softer than he expected.

“It would seem he had it done,” the man said, stepping back and turning his attention back to the door. “I thought my own father a real motherfucker sometimes. But this…this is a cruelness only a righteous man can dream up.”

“Why…” was all Crawford could manage before his voice gave out.

“Greed. Hubris. Pride, perhaps. I’ve not had the…pleasure,” the word dripping with sarcasm, “of seeing much of this father of yours was like, just the rage you feel for him.”

Crawford shook his head, trying to get his thoughts straight. “No, why…why do you care?” He had never asked the question so earnestly. This man was the frontman of a moderately popular band. Crawford wasn’t even a fan, but he’d still been singled out.

“Because of this.” He ran a clawed fingertip along the barely legible words that accompanied the cross symbol.

“I can’t read it,” Crawford admitted.

The man looked at him, seemingly with concern, before his shoulders relaxed. “Ah…” as if he understood. He read over the words again, then nodded. “Well, essentially, it’s a sort of ‘If found, return to the Ministry’ message.” He thought for a moment, the turned away from the door. “It is much too complicated to fix here.”

Crawford became aware of the alley around him once again. It was like the lights coming on after a movie. Like the physical setting had stopped being important but still there while wrapped up in the big glowing screen. He was no longer being held by the large masked man, instead on his knees, slumped against the singer’s shoulder as if he’d fallen asleep.

Straightening up, dazed, he looked around for his companion. Why hadn’t he said anything. The deep strumming of an instrument caught his attention. Dane was standing around with a few of the masked men, with one of their instruments in hand. He was showing off what his long, slender fingers could achieve on the bass, working through some surprisingly complex riffs. Crawford hadn’t heard Dane play since they’d been in high school, foolishly planning to start a band of their own. Apparently he’d still been practicing.

“We have a small church here in the city,” the singer held up a business card before tucking it in the pocket of Crawford’s jeans. His arm was still under Crawford’s arm and across his back. “I want you to visit them. They will be expecting you.”

“What—“

“I will be paying your city one more visit, in a few weeks, before I return to my home. You will be going with me, then we can fix what is inside that head of yours.”

“What—“

“Have your things packed when I return.”

“I can’t leave the city!” he protested, finally.

“Oh, we won’t be leaving the city, we’ll be leaving the country.”

Crawford was left scrambling to his feet, trying to protest, but the man walked away to gather his minions.

“Be good, my little pet,” he said to Dane, caressing his cheek. “And you might get to come with.” One of the masked men caught the bass as it slipped from Dane’s hands. Before either of them could utter a word, the man and his followers slipped back into the record store’s back door, taking their instruments and other equipment with them.

“I don’t think that cult thing is an act…” was all Crawford managed to say, as Dane just stared at the closed door as if he wanted to chase after them.

#the band ghost #ghost the band #ghost band au #my writing #crawford #dane #self indulgent fic #papa terzo #tumblr on ipad is a little bitch #it kept pasting in the whole story #twice #and it won't let you edit more than a paragraph at a time #fuck you tumblr #orion ghost posting

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edge-oftheworld · 28 days ago

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albums and activism part 3: blood on the drums by ashton irwin

I was debating whether to include this here and so early on, but blood on the drums seemed the best album to use to illustrate an important point: you can't do any activism if you're dead.

and this is a 5sos blog anyway sorry for nothing but white men to this point

I'm going to go through track by track and discuss how each song talks about mental health and why this is important. Figure we probably need less of an introduction to ashton, but the historical activism on his/the band's part is going to be woven into it. This is dark, even for one of my posts. There will be mentions of self harm, suicide, domestic violence, and addiction below the cut, so please stop reading if you need to; I'll post a reblog of this with the rest of the songs on this album once that section is over which you can skip to once it's up.

but if you can stomach it I’m also proud of this analysis please read it lol

Straight to your heart: this is an excellent introduction to the album to me, because it's an upbeat pop song about love, but if you listen carefully you get a glimpse into darker topics running through the whole song. The album is the same: it's fun and an excellent listen, but it also delves into some really important subject matter regarding all things mental health.

Straight to your heart's bridge, barely 2 minutes into the 'thorns' side of blood on the drums, is where we start to hear 'you kill my loneliness' followed by 'if I'm not with you I'm better off dead'. This prompts a new hearing of the chorus, and what is meant by 'you'll be my hero here in the dark, saving my mind from ticking'. What exactly does the protagonist need a hero to save him from? He's talking about death 2 minutes into the album. And we'll touch on this later but first, I want to draw a parallel between this and 5sos in general. A pop/rock band who write generally upbeat songs with excellent instrumentation and vocals and lyrics that are sadder the more you listen to them (it's no surprise that this is the genre of song Ashton has gotten good at writing). I think that we forget that it hasn't always been normal, but they've been pioneers at starting discussions about mental health in the mainstream music sphere for almost a decade now; especially Ashton and Michael in the early days. They've been honest and vulnerable, sharing their own experiences with things not everyone understands or has compassion about, with the world, for the sake of us fans.

I think it's time we talked about how we can make sure we're being compassionate towards them as well, as well as towards ourselves and each other.

Break up: I do this weirdly morbid thing with this groovy banger where yes, it's a song about cheating, an imaginary scenario for a lot of us and something we've been hurt by for a lot of us too. But it can also be listened to as a story illustrating an important (and terrible) intersection of men's and women's mental health (in a heteronormative society, though neither position is unique to men or unique to women, there is just unfortunately one type of scenario that dominates statistically, and that is men's violence against women (but also against trans, genderqueer and other marginalised groups)). 'In my imagination, the heaven I'm building, you two come together but you don't leave here with him' aside from jealousy, what's another reason you might really want someone you care about to break up (right now) with their significant other and be with you instead?

Here, the concept of a lover being a hero and a lifeline is reversed. The love interest is empowered with the autonomy to decide when to break up with their current lover, while the protagonist tells them what they want as well; but also empowers them with the corrective experience that being in love can be fun. They don't have to feel small and worthless. The protagonist finds hope in the fact that 'you say I'm not like him'. Maybe they're just horny but maybe it's that abuse takes many forms, but has a common impact on the self esteem of the party being abused. Here, the cheating can be read as a way to take that back, a way to feel empowered again to make the difficult decision to 'break up... be with [the protagonist] now' where they might otherwise feel trapped.

I definitely don't think this is the intent of the song--but I also love the idea that when deciding who to blame or even demonise, things aren't always what they seem.

Blood on the drums: the whole concept behind this, getting blood on your instrument (drums) because you’re giving it your all, is brutal and evokes a certain kind of dark imagery in of itself. It reminds me of the old ‘play me til your fingers bleed’ (you ruin me, the veronicas, referring to guitar), a self-destructive kind of passion, which calls back to the concept of ‘working your fingers down to the bone’ as an image of striving and often exploitation. Blood on the drums (song) tells of feeling trapped and waking up and realising the worst of it was a dream but living with the memory of your own subconscious torment still. It speaks of the insecurity of uncertainty when there’s a lot on the line because you’ve invested everything in this endeavour (will I stand or will I fall; will I ever learn to fly, will I make it out alive?) surrounded by the disbelief of others who insinuate that success is impossible.

But hard work does pay off, sometimes, and that can be said of creating art, of activism, of recovery. Sometimes the blood on the drums is necessary, the blood, sweat and tears you put into something are worth it in the long run, a sacrifice that’s more of a multiplying investment. And for those of us who have the ‘bad dream’ of a trauma background to recover from and brains we have to work to work with, survival doesn’t come naturally, I hope you do give it your all. I hope you do learn to understand the difference between the blood from a life-saving surgery and the blood from another injury that’s unnecessary suffering. I hope you learn to channel your urges towards the latter towards the former. Both in yourself and in society. Sometimes blood on the drums means triumph. This is also an album of triumph.

I did briefly want to touch on the concept of guardrailing and the dignity of risk as alluded to in the second verse. I’ll let you research these terms on your own, but I hope you know that you have the right to autonomy to decide what risks to take and you have the right to work yourself as hard as you choose to (but no one has the right to force you to. sometimes it’s satisfying and ends up being the road of least harm to push yourself. Learn to identify that. Learn to just not listen to the haters. And to have boundaries and where oppression can’t be escaped, find ways to take autonomy over yourself as much as possible in ways that are, in the long run, healing—even if they don’t look like it in the moment or to the outsider. If you’ve been anywhere in this fandom the last 5 years or so, you’ve heard about the value of trusting your own intuition). Let this tune convince you you can have the thrilling and worthwhile life you dream of.

anyway did I mention I really love this song? and album?

I see the angels: I think this is a song about religion and finding the holy in the mundane, including and especially yourself. it plays off Christian themes such as glory following suffering (ie I’ve learned to fly with both hands tied). do you see an angel in yourself after all you’ve been through?

‘I don’t see the light but I see the angels’ implies that the protagonist hasn’t found the light of enlightenment and salvation that Makes Everything All Better people like to stereotype. It’s not all fixed. Everything isn’t all better. There’s no ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ but there are angels all the way there. And the song nuts out a bunch of the trials along the way. Trials we go through surrounded by angels if we look for them. Angels that might just be within us; we might be the angels that we need for ourselves first and foremost, but also for each other. It’s a beautiful song of resilience through really dark times. It pairs perfectly with blood on the drums (song). It’s worth it do go through hard things. If you love it let it kill you.

(And it means it’s really sweet how ashton called luke ‘a real life angel’ for his birthday last year and then made a post just to tag calum as an angel in his life recently too, I get the impression it’s a really high compliment to him, and we’re really blessed to get to see this song of discovering there’s an angel in yourself and live it alongside him.) Some people don’t know how it feels. They don’t see the angels. But a few more of us do, thanks to this song.

tw suicide and self harm for the following paragraph

there was a tumblr trend from maybe 10 years ago of referring to people with self harm scars as angels. I think it came from a viral post that may or may not be around, popular enough to pop up on my pinterest feed at the time (I could probably find it in a few hours if I tried, I haven’t). the viral post from sometime in the 2010s in the peak of the ‘if you have one of these 3 mental illnesses that are the only mental illnesses that exist you’re too soft and gentle for the world and can never do any wrong’ was an explanation of the really sweet and tragic worldview of a child whose teenage relative had died of suicide (framed as going back to heaven). here’s my message to all the angels reading this. I believe heaven is real. but don’t return (yourself) to heaven before your time. there are angels all around you and we want to make your stay on earth including all the hard and painful things as liveable and enjoyable and satisfying as possible. this is what we do activism for. it’s also what we build friendships for. cherish the angels in your life past, present and future.

There’s a lot more than just 3 mental illnesses and the mental health movement of the 2010s has been criticised for only covering those that are already the least stigmatised and most common. Mental illness also doesn’t absolve you of personal responsibility and doesn’t mean you’re incapable of doing wrong. You’re still just as valuable. And when it comes to activism: some things we go through can mean we have to take more care of ourselves and that may mean being judged by others in the movement. But there’s also a chance that having had dysfunctional and destructive habits of your own, you may have better insight on how to enact change than someone for whom moral behaviour has come easy due to their privilege. Still, cherish yourself like you’re an angel. And balance it out with ‘if it doesn’t hurt it doesn’t thrill you’. Sometimes that can simply refer to trying to figure out how to behave morally.

Lose you: if you’ve heard any 5sos album you know that themes of emotional dependence on a partner and insecurity make regular appearances in their songs and have for at least a decade. Including in the upbeat pop songs such as this one, sometimes it’s not that deep but behind every ‘if I lose you I know that I might not make it back’ is a fear that feels very real at least at some point.

Contrary to the last two songs, we get lines like ‘done chasing’ and ‘why risk it’, ‘pressing on the brakes’ to prevent impulse decisions that turn out to be mistakes. Knowing your heart can break. Asking, ‘am I in my right mind’ rather than simply suffering and calling it normal. Self preservation is actually another part of the picture. Realising we rely on others is too, even among the hard work and prioritising looking out for ourselves. This is the song that highlights the fact that you can’t do activism or be there for anyone if you’re dead. The song that gets you thinking about how to go upstream and choose a bit of self preservation sometimes, long enough to realise that no, you’ve not been in your right mind for a long time now and you’ve been acting as if your heart can’t ever break. You know it can now. And you can sing a happy sounding pop song about it!

Rebel at heart: now we move onto the self acceptance middle section of the album. I feel like this one continues a lot of the themes of I see the angels: how you see yourself, and sustain yourself through times of suffering, recovering your identity almost. Except what's interesting to me is the different connotations of the concept of being an 'angel' vs a 'rebel' and how they're both referring to who you are inside, and in a lot of ways to the exact same thing in this context. Pop angels and punk rebels perhaps? This is a duality that 5sos as a band very much straddles. But who says that these things are actually so different? Angels are associated with sensitivity, but can often be associated with divine justice too. Rebels are shunned by the structure of society but carry with them a certain association with street cred, sympathy for the oppressed, and leadership in standing up against injustice. Surely that hints towards a sensitivity to injustice and to the idea of being stifled? It's a more masculine trope, sure, but Ashton has explored masculinity and sensitivity before in songs like Scar and it's interesting to see the two intersect possibly more than we realise, when we take off the goggles of false dichotomies that really only have to do with the relation to authority.

I've talked before about how I appreciate this band when it comes to accepting myself and this rare and stigmatised neurodivergence I have that centres around easily feeling trapped and needing a lot more freedom to feel like myself than most people. Rebel at heart really captures this for me, and the realities of an unaccommodating world: burnout, escapism, destroying myself trying to play pretend (because I'm not actually capable of sustaining it). And in the end, when you feel the boot upon your chest (any kind of oppression, suffering, even the kind created by our own brains) there's something you should never forget.

Don't you see who you are? Coming out of the dark? You're a rebel at heart. Gonna blow them away. When you're feeling the pain. You're a rebel at heart. It's motivational and it also captures the disability that is the pda profile. That's just one of many applications of this song. It can apply to the mental illnesses we've discussed already. Maybe the 'angel' trope doesn't really work. Maybe the 'rebel at heart' trope works better. Maybe it is empowering in that it gives you the framework on how to live a life that's authentically you and it might not fix everything but it's easier to survive it when you've taken off the weight of other people's expectations on top of everything else. You don't just have the options to go back to heaven or to suffer in a world not made for you, even though yes, the world isn't made for you. Because you're a rebel at heart.

Oh, and it makes it almost expected of you to do some kind of activism when you're a rebel doesn't it? Luckily we've also now got a bit of a blueprint to be able to survive it, sensitivity and all. I can't stress enough the importance of this song.

Last night of my life: we're thinking about death again, but not in a hopeless way. Tomorrow's not guaranteed. We've seen people live and die. So let's acknowledge the fact that these people have hurt me and not pretend to still like them. Am I satisfied with my life; if it were a project I got to rest after, if it was the only thing I did til then, would I be happy? Only if I confess to you all the rain left in my chest. I have a story to tell. It involves not pretending that there isn't rain for one. And when I think like this, for once I don't wanna skip to the end.

It seems self-explanatory, a bit existential, but when you take it in the context of the thorns, of a life filled with suffering, it's actually a beautiful and hopeful piece that says, satisfaction is possible for you. Don't waste your life pretending to be okay, not accepting yourself and how you feel, you've got your whole life, and it's gonna be good if you make it your own. It's the rationale behind all the storytelling. You could extend this to activism too: if the rain left in your chest is filled with compassion for those who need it, yourself included, it's gonna hurt you more to keep it in. And do we need to plan out how we do all this? Absolutely. But don't wait. Don't put it off. Be a rebel and give it your all and cherish yourself for the angel that you are now. If lose you is about not letting impulse decisions become regrets, lnoml is about not letting inaction and waiting to be yourself and live your life become regret either. I love how these songs are spliced together.

Indestructible: The final song of the thorns, with a riff that takes us back to the introduction of straight to your heart? How perfect. It's almost its opposite: a dark song with hope and empowerment, as opposed to a hopeful song with some morbid references. Your mind is in the gutter, there's no heaven above--let's not understate the picture that the verses create just because the chorus is victorious. It paints a picture and says, you can get through this. Heads are gonna roll: when it feels like you're surrounded by enemies you're going to beat them. You're indestructible. While we're talking about mental health and the things we struggle with this song injects validation and empowerment and an amazing beat to get those chemicals popping in our heads. You know you're a rebel at heart now. Don't you run, run, run, run run away, get out of the darkness and into the day. Master the mantra, before it's too late.

I love how universal this encouragement is. The more we hear the song, the more we can read into it. Relate it to our own experiences. I could go on. Onto the interpretations of the tip of the knife giving you life every night and just how much background and legitimacy it gives this song as a motivator and shield in battle. But it's dark and it's hopeful and that's not easy to create.

The Canyon: Now that you've been hyped up and you can take it, onto the main song about men's mental health. It’s really relevant, right now especially. We’ve got so far to go on this one and it breaks my heart. Because of the people we’ve seen suffer. Because of the people we’ve lost. Because of the people who maybe would’ve learned to be better people and not hurt others if they had the help they needed. If they had their (emotional) needs met which apparently is something people still don’t think men have. This song is fairly self explanatory. You can see the fire on the mountain (ambition or whatever, everything we/men are told to want or do want, are chasing etc), many men are victim to the canyon.

just like ashton, I grew up just downstream of the blue mountains. they’re a famous national park just out of Sydney and one of my favourite places to visit. Something the mountain range is famous for is its canyons. To explain it simply on a geographical level, imagine you make a cone (hehe see you in the cone lol) out of wavy paper. Think corrugated cardboard but worse. As you climb the mountain there are ridges where you can travel easily upwards. Between these ridges, the heavy mountain rains have carved out really deep trenches starting at the top of the mountain and descending really steeply. They’re not like the Grand Canyon. They’re dark with rock walls on either side of you that go upwards for days and block out all but a sliver of the sun. They’re cold and they’re filled with water and you don’t ever go in them if it’s raining, because you might actually drown. They often have waterfalls in them that are 30+ metres in height. It’s impossible to climb up inside the canyon, you need to be on the ridges for that (but they’re fun on the way down if you have a wetsuit and good ropes to abseil the waterfalls, but that’s not what this song is about). Many men try to climb the mountain to get to the fire. For whatever reason they end up in the canyon where it’s impossible to climb out unless you go downstream first. Whether because they have no one to teach them how to find a ridge, or they slip, it doesn’t matter. Many men are victims to the canyon. Too many. And I don’t see nobody taking action.

and I know. It’s not just men. Women suffer a lot of mental illness and sexism and the emotional labour we’re meant to do play a big role in that. Trans and genderqueer folk have alarming statistics because of a discriminatory world and being a marginalised experience, along with other factors like high correlation with neurodivergence. These are all conversations we need to have.

but the thing about mens mental health is that more often than not, it’s not a matter of being discriminated against and being vulnerable to exploitation. For some it is. For others it’s expectation that’s too big for reality and no one saying that your worth isn’t in your achievement. Your appearance. Not being allowed to talk about or even feel emotions in a way that’s gender affirming. Especially for Black men, there’s people being scared of you and having to grow up too fast, mask your true self because of it. I also want to tentatively suggest that (and often for good reason too, stay safe people) men having a breakdown are more likely to be seen as dangerous and potentially abusive than someone who’s overwhelmed, hurting, needs help but probably doesn’t know how to let anyone help them. And autistic meltdowns can be terrifying coming from a grown man, so can manic episodes, bpd episodes, psychosis. No one has the obligation to stick around where they could potentially get hurt, but at the same time, there are often no alternative resources given to be able to create a place of safety to be able to unpack the emotions and the neurobiology behind such an event. It’s just having to promise to control yourself even if you’re not sure if you can, until you inevitably snap and someone does get hurt, and then there’s punitive justice, on top of the guilt. Not all the time, but sometimes all of this could be prevented by normalising self awareness, especially if you have a condition that means you’re more likely to express violence or a need for control either towards others or yourself. We’re doing better at normalising getting help. We need to do better at destigmatising getting help and learning to repent and forgive yourself when someone already has been hurt, lest it becomes a vicious cycle of believing who you are is only someone who can hurt others or hurt yourself. You’re never too far gone. Getting better is always possible. Yes, even for men.

It’s just a different set of overlapping factors wherever you are on the gender spectrum and with a bunch of cultural factors thrown in. The canyon talks about men, still the overwhelming majority of suicides despite having a lower diagnosis rate for most mental health conditions (implying that men are far less likely to receive appropriate help). Ashton is a man so that is his experience. He wants to talk about that. The suicidal ideation, how it’s pushed aside until it seems almost inevitable gonna die boy. getting harder to deny boy. Longing for external help from someone with a little more emotional awareness who’s able to lend you some safety to sit in that feeling. How hard it is to face the day and face life when the wave of sadness feels constant, like the torrential stream of water when you sit underneath the waterfall at the base of Empress Canyon (which, over time, erodes the rock to create a pool metres and metres deep. I don’t know if he ever thought of this metaphor but I thought it was cool). How more often than not, your emotionally unavailable dad was emotionally unavailable (and scarred you as a result) because he was experiencing the same thing. struggling. How can you process when the exact thing that made life still so difficult for you was the fact that someone you relied on was in the exact same position you are now? Doesn’t that make you feel helpless?

I don’t see nobody taking action.

California Holds Her Breath: I heard snippets of this one before I heard the whole song, and as a result, I can’t unsee in it the same compassion and pride and admiration which ashton looks at his bandmates with. And hopefully himself a little too. I don’t know who the dancer from Indiana is, but I do know of a four-piece band from Australia who came to California and went through some really amazing things but also some really hard things, who have talked about battling things like addiction and who we’ve seen worry for each other too. Who left the stability and support of a home country which they didn’t quite belong in, that didn’t give them the opportunity to chase after what they wanted at the time, for homesickness and the kind of danger that comes with experiences and substances that are only going to make things worse if you’re already unwell or have some vulnerability to addiction or a trauma background or you just feel alone or one of many other things. From the sounds good feels good era of bathroom-graffiti-like angsty confessions to the makeup and tears of the youngblood era to the surrounded-but-alone vibe of 5sos5.

I didn’t address the alcoholism references in rebel at heart. But I feel like this is the other side of you’re blacking out with alcohol don’t drown yourself again, this world just don’t feel right for you and you don’t play pretend. you’re just another falling star you’re burning out again. It’s deciding to be the rebel you are and to create but it’s hard and you’re bleeding and you’re still blacking out with alcohol after crying underneath your makeup and bathroom graffiti confessions. It’s the same melancholic longing and loneliness we’ve gotten as a vibe from this band forever. that over the years has taken some dark turns and we were holding our breath when it did because stardom is so fucking dangerous especially if you get into it because you felt like you were missing something to begin with. It’s they cursed/gifted you with emotion and creativity and so you came to california. will you make it once you’re there? california holds her breath.

(reblog coming with the rest of the songs)

#woah this is long okay #albums and activism #blood on the drums #botd #the roses #the thorns #ashton irwin #5sos #5 seconds of summer #cw suicide #suicide ideation #cw sh #mens mental health #cw alcoholism #cw addiction #cw violence #dv #ipv #thought we maybe really need this rn idk

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where-are-the-spooky-gays-2 · 7 months ago

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One thing I've always struggled with is what kind of musician Virgil would be.

That started very trauma-y but hear me out LMAO

Because one half of me really wants to say, if he was in a modern au and in a band, he'd play music that sounds like Whore by Get Scared and just songs that generally sound like that. Because it fits with the vibe and I think would be a really cool way for him to handle his anxiety — play it with an instrument and play it loud. Be so loud he can't be anxious, y'know?

But the other half of me wants to say he'd play songs like She Doesn't Sleep by Anthony Amorim (IT'S AN AMAZING SONG PLEASE LISTEN TO IT I CANT STOP LISTENING TO IT) or some select songs from Letters For The Oddities (really big P!ATD AFYSCO vibes, can't wait for his new music <3) where the songs are less loud and more follow a story.

Now, this isn't to say the two couldn't combine with loudness and a story, but they are two very different vibes and then they become two different Virgils in my head. They even look different depending on which type of music it is. Ahh, AUs <3

I think either way Remus would be in love with him. Be it because he's in the band too or he's a fan of the band or (my personal favorite) Roman knows Virgil and was like "rem come to this concert with me it's not my crowd but it's my friend" and then Remus is like aight bet and they have that stereotypical eyes meeting in the crowd moment of like 😶😶 love at first sight. Then they meet after the show and they both hilariously fumble and neither get each other's number but Roman realizes what's going on and gives them each other's number later. Or adds the three of them to a group chat and then leaves so the two are forced to be together.

Yeah genuinely think Rem would be in love either way but I'm so stuck </3 but it's the weekend tho! :D time to go listen to She Doesn't Sleep... again...

— 👑

I think too regardless of what route you go Ree would be absolutely head over heels for Vee like "H E L L O hot Emo in a band what are you doing later 👀" But I L O V E L O V E L O V E the fact that Ro tries to set them up and the two just blow it cause they're too Gay to function XD (You have plenty of time to think it over there's no rush but if you're really stuck you can always have both but one being more frequent than the other if you vibe with it more after all it's an AU and E V E R Y T H I N G is in your hands <3)

#also i'll be sure to check the song out <3 #dukexiety #remus sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #ts remus #ts virgil #ts roman #sanders sides #thomas sanders #asks #answers #👑 anon #not a countdown

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imichelle-l-rigby · 1 year ago

Text

Reflections: Cillian Murphy’s Limited Edition

Season 3, episode 1

———————————————————————

*I am a music prof (predominantly classical vocalist), and I LOVE listening to Cillian’s music choices! That being said, sometimes I won’t like a song simply because of a vocalist (it’s a professional hazard - sorry!) 👩‍🏫

** The following are my own observations/opinions. We may not agree, and that’s ok! That’s what makes music fun! 😊

*** I wouldn’t say I’m well-versed in Cillian’s music preferences, but I do enjoy them (for the most part). I always wind up adding to my own playlists after listening to Cillian’s recommendations.

———————————————————————

And without further ado… my reflections!

🎵 Set 1 (24 Track Loop - Halleluhwah)

This seems to be all electronic music focused. He’s done entire episodes around electronic music before, so I’m enjoying the sampling. Great way to start!

I also remember him saying somewhere that he takes time creating sets of music. I appreciate that and it helps the flow and continuity so much.

Side note - it’s taken me a looooong time to appreciate electronic music, but thanks to Cillian, I now can say I like it

24 Track Loop: reminds me of the first composers to play with recorded sampling compositions in the ‘50s (Varèse comes to mind), but the “track loop” is reminiscent of early minimalist recordings in the late ‘60s, especially with how repetitive some of the sounds become.

Diskhat: yeah, I’m definitely getting ‘50s experimentalist vibes! Reminds me of John Cage’s prepared piano pieces (and honestly it may be quoting some but I’m not sure so this is a guess), but mixed with some funky grooves! As weird as this is, it’s growing on me and I kinda really like it!

Halleluhwah: nice vamp at the beginning 😎 this is definitely something that could get stuck in my head and I wouldn’t mind it!

🎤 Talking break:

I missed hearing him talk about music!!! 😊

“It’s been a minute now”

How many times can he say “back” in a 5 second time span??? 😂😅

“… very amenable to light housework.” Great! Do you think if I ask nicely he’ll come clean my house while I’m at work??? 😂

When he’s talking about the above 3 songs, the “insistency” is so true. They all have elements of a continuous underlying pulse, which is pretty common in electronic and minimalist music.

I do find fault with his term “atonality” - atonal music has no pitch center, but the pieces just played DO have a pitch center.

“Turtles have short legs - which they do!”

🎵 Set 2 (fix-Guns of Brixton)

Fix: not my favorite song, but peaceful. I neither like nor dislike

Guns of Brixton: ok but this has been stuck in my head since I heard it 😂 I really like it!

🎤Talking break:

Yes Cill, covers are so appreciated!

🎵Set 3 (Look Down From the Bridge - Pale Blue Eyes)

Look down: nice, chill. Again, not my favorite, but I don’t dislike it. Interesting instrument choices. 👍

Pale Blue Eyes: I like everything about this except for his voice. I wish I liked it, but I don’t. 🤷‍♀️ if I had to describe it, his voice sounds thin, and the voice teacher within me wants more.

These songs seem like great examples of storytelling within music, so I definitely see why Cillian likes them.

🎤Talking break:

He sounds so pleased knowing his factoids 😂😂😂 never change, Cillian!

Drella is my favorite thing now! 😂

🎵Set 4 (No No - Three Drums)

No No: why isn’t this mentioned in the track list??? THIS IS AMAZING AND I AM LOVING THE POLYRHYTHMS! I’m having so much fun rhythmically that I can’t even focus on the lyrics I have no idea what they’re saying 😂😂. ✨ This is prob my fave song of this episode. ✨

The way these songs blend into the next is so satisfying 😌

Three Drums: I like how this is a “cool down” from the craziness of No No, but also pairs really well. Nice and chill. It’s a feel good song and such a vibe. 😎

🎤Talking Break

THE TERRIBLE IDENT RETURNS!!! 😆

Sugar is a great song!

The exclusive - omg 😳😂

*whisper* exclusive

🎵Set 5 (All Your Fails)

All Your Fails: If bop is still a term, this is a bop! *dancing along* 💃 but seriously, the vocal line has so many upward leaps that it reminds me of a lot of boppy pop music. I’m digging this!

To be fair, I tend to like Broken Social Scene, so it makes sense I’m into All Your Fails.

🎤Talking Break

The way he says “woo” without any enthusiasm 😂

🎵Set 6 (It’s Love - Minor Meditations)

It’s Love: ok, I’m in love! 😍😍😍 acoustic guitar is beautiful, and I’m enjoying these harmonies.

Minor Meditations: nice segue with the acoustic guitar selections. 👍 the title is cute and punny, too! AND THE PICARDY THIRD AT THE END!!! 😎

🎤Talking Break

“… excellent! … wahoo wahoo wahoo”

🎵Set 7 (Wahoo - Where Did Our Love Go)

Wahoo: for a song with such a happy title, this was quite bluesy in terms of lyrics! And the funk and jazz bits - What a twist!!! 🙀

Girl group power!!!!!!! I love listening to artists recall how hits came to be.

Where Did Our Love Go: YES I LOVE THE SUPREMES!!!! 😍😍😍

🎤Talking Break

As much as he talks about W. Kerry, I feel like I need to go! It sounds gorgeous!

🎵Set 8 (To War - Jah Nuh Dead)

To War: this guy is playing the fire out of the concertina! 🔥

Side note - I am sooooo into traditional music! It’s one of the things I study, and many composers find inspiration from traditional music of various regions. I have such respect for the genre that I could go on, but I won’t to save y’all’s sanity 😅

Again, the transitions between songs are soooo well done!

Master Crowley’s: the drone and pedal points are so effective! The inclusion and intentional omission actually do a lot in building momentum. It’s also so cool how eventually everything fades into the background and you’re left with just sonorities, and then you go back and get a mix of everything! 💯

Jah Nuh Dead: Sinéad!!! I hadn’t heard this song before, and it’s absolutely beautiful and haunting. It takes a special person to keep you captivated and carry their own against such bare/sparse accompaniment. She has such a unique voice. She’ll truly be missed.

I’m guessing this is the Irish set 🍀

🎤Talking Break

Ya gotta love it when he fangirls over bands!

SINÉAD!!!!!!

🎵Set 9 (Fairlies)

Fairlies: so this is what happens when Irish musicians go to HOT climates? Jk jk 😂 no, I really like this. Some interesting lyrics!

🎤Talking Break

I kinda miss flip phones.

🎵Set 10 (I Am A River)

I Am A River: this is a bright song, and I mean that in terms of timbre. All the instruments and even the vocals are very ☀️☀️☀️ it definitely paints an image in your head/imagination

🎤Talking Break

No!! Don’t shut up! I love your rambles!

“Aylesbury Boy, in a kinda animated buffalo character” - what on earth does they mean??? Bullwinkle???

🎵Set 11 (Aylesbury Boy)

Aylesbury Boy: I’ll be honest, I don’t like this. It’s got a lot of funny words in it, a decent background rhythm, but it’s not my jam.

🎤Talking Break

Ok, an album of covers is a great idea.

“Stop talking. Listen to it” 😂

🎵Set 12 (Three Hours)

Three Hours: I’m really digging the backing track. It’s got some fun sound effects, but what I really like is the driving rhythm against this free-flowing vocal line. Nice contrast!

🎤Talking Break

I like how he talks more as the show goes on 😂

New content! 🙀

“Outrageously reasonable questions”

I’ll be honest, the non-advent music calendar confuses me 😅

“Cardboard aperture”

THE IDENT. OMG.

🎵Set 13 (O Barquinho - Till the Morning Comes)

O Barquinho: yep! This is bossa nova!

Till the Morning Comes: the piano and other background music reminds of Penny Lane 😂😂😂 I genuinely can’t even listen to the song properly because I keep expecting Paul McCartney to burst in with some vocals 😂😂😂😂

🎵Talking Break

Oh dear. We’ve gotten to the experimental poetry part of the show! This could be good or bad 😅

“I like jazz for the principle of what jazz is” - Nordine

Well Nordine, if that’s your stance, then I appreciate your performance of Coral for the principle of what it is, as a non-musical reinterpretation of jazz.

“A flight of musical fantasy within structure.” Ya know, not a bad definition of jazz. You do improvise over a pre-arranged chord progression, so that makes sense!

🎵Set 14 (Coral - nightclub)

Coral: not gonna lie, this is my least favorite selection of the show. HOWEVER, I will give credit where it’s due! I do appreciate that he’s got word plays, puns, and other poetic devices all over the place. That stuff mimics some of the techniques you’ll find throughout jazz. Now what’s really cool is the background music - you can hear bits and pieces influenced from different eras of jazz, such as New Orleans, swing, some bebop, and more modern stuff as well! Even though I hate it, I appreciate what it does.

Also, I first thought this song was a cheesy ad 😂😅 I definitely can tell he’s a voice actor

Nightclub: I like this a lot! Crazy how it goes from insanity to something really sweet, funny, and enjoyable. The background music is so ethereal and although a bit random, it’s great! The contradiction is like “salty and sweet” snacks. It shouldn’t work, but it does. Although I guess it mirrors some of the temporary images in the poem, like the smoke disappearing.

🎤Talking Break

Whoa. Cillian put the backing track in?! Good choice, dude!

🎵Set 15 (Remember Begum Rokheya)

Remember: ok I love this!!!! Polyrhythms galore, and the instrument pairings are so much fun! 😍

🎤Talking Break

“Approachable mellow” - does this mean there’s mellow stuff that isn’t approachable? I’d love to hear an example

🎵Set 16 (I Smile for E)

I Smile for E: I like the contrast between verse and chorus. Going from a minor key to major gives an auditory version of “smiling” nice touch! But I’ll be honest - idk why this is more “approachable” than other mellow songs 😅😂

🎤Talking Break

I’m not sure he’s saying “Hinoki” correctly. It looks Japanese to me? But idk. I’m not an expert and he’s definitely more informed than I am

“Useful music” - isn’t all music useful in some way? 🤔

🎵Set 17 (Hinoki Wood - Woman In Late)

Hinoki Wood: an interesting choice of instrument. You can tell it’s an old upright that needs a bit of maintenance, but it does have some charm.

Woman In Late: ok, so we are back to the tape loop concepts seen at the beginning of the show! Kinda cool how he’s circling back. Anyway, the “tape loop,” or looping of small lengths of recorded tape, was a thing done at the beginning of the minimalist trend in the ‘60s (think Reich or Riley) to create this fuzzy sound effect seen here. I love how you hear that influence in so many corners of the music world!

🎤Talking Break

“Delicious”

What???! The last song??? 😭😭😭

Yay! New music!

“Mind yourselves”

🎵Set 18 (Unknown Summer)

Unknown Summer: I’m digging it 😎 This has some amazing dissonant vocals and it is soooooo satisfying. I don’t like the crackle effect in the background, but it does help build this “distortion” they’re building in the song. It’s kinda fun to put that distortion against the “clear” blue skies. I see what ya did there… 😂

———————————————————————

Ah! That’s the end!!!

Thank you so much for reading all this. I honestly can’t believe anyone is interested in my rambles. Anyway, hope you enjoyed! I’ll write again next week for episode 2!

Tag list:

@iammrsrogers @deliciousnutcomputer @mariamoonie @brownskinsugarplum76 @look-at-the-soul @kj-davis @neverroad @teapothollow @thepurplearmyposts @possessedmarshmallow

#cillian murphy #Cillian Murphy’s limited edition

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rebel-walnut · 1 year ago

Text

Let's Do The Time Warp Again

Steddie Season 3 time travel fic, Part 6

Ao3, Pt. 1, Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.4, Pt.5

Steve answers the door on Eddie's second knock still adorned in his sailor costume, and if Eddie wasn't running on pure shock-ridden survival instincts he'd make a comment about it. As it stands, Eddie barely even remembers the drive over.

Eddie had woken up to no air in his lungs, clawing at the fraying couch cushions he'd collapsed onto mere seconds after getting into his trailer. He didn't have time to think before he was shakily punching out the numbers smeared in red over his forearm, Steve answering with "come over," in that oddly commanding and seductive tone of his that he seems to get during Armageddon, and then Eddie was replying with "on my way," and suddenly the line was dead. Eddie's lucky he remembered how to get to a house he'd only ever been parked in the driveway of to sell overpriced drugs to underaged teens.

Now, Steve seems to be wearing a similar distressed expression to Eddie's, complimenting his rumpled costume. Steve peers through the crack of the slightly open door into the woods surrounding the house before tugging Eddie inside and latching the door behind him. Steve's fingers stay anchored to the light denim of Eddie's vest over his shoulder, the tremor in them almost hidden by the weight of the fabric. Out of instinct Eddie covers Steve's hand with his own, their shaking syncing for a second before finding their own polyrhythm. Neither says anything for a moment, anxiously content to match each other's panicked breathing and catch the worry in the other's eyes. Then Eddie makes the mistake of looking down to Steve's right hand.

"Why in the everloving fuck do you have a nail bat, Harrington?"

Steve's small laugh cuts through some of the anxiety in the air, and he gives it a small spin in his hand as he lets go of Eddie's vest.

"I feel like I shouldn't need to answer that, given what we just went through- er I guess go through in a year? Besides, Jonathon made it, I just stole it in '83 and never gave it back."

Eddie tries not to let his jaw hit the floor as he reaches for the handle of the bat, fingers slightly brushing Steve's. He lets Eddie take it.

"Byers made this apocalyptic instrument of insanely metal destruction? Who knew he had it in him," Steve snorts while Eddie inspects the bat, though not daring to give it a swing lest Mrs. Harrington materializes right in front of him to personally murder Eddie for slashing up her Roman drapes and turning her vases to dust.

"I feel like I should've known he had it in him," Steve quirks his lips into a crooked smirk and gestures to the left side of his face. "He's the one who kicked off the thrilling saga of me getting my face caved in," Steve's tone is light and teasing, but there's an underlying tightness to it. "Plus, it wasn't nearly as bad as the year after when fucking Hargrove smashed a plate over my head-"

Eddie had heard the rumors about who tried to curb stomp King Steve back in '84, whether Steve deserved it or not, had it worse or not. He opens his mouth to ask, because really? Hargrove smashed a fucking plate over his head? That's a story Eddie needs to hear, cause fuck Hargrove and his god complex, racism, questionably closeted homophobia, and just general douchebaggery, that guy's the worst. Eddie would continue his train of thought -and probably turn it into a whole tangent- if the way Steve cuts himself off mid-sentence while the color drains away from his face wasn't extremely concerning.

"Steve? What-"

"Hargrove."

Steve's eyes grow impossibly wider as he reaches to dig his fingers into both sides of Eddie's vest. He's not shaking anymore, but Eddie wouldn't call paralyzed with fear a win either. Eddie balances the bat against the door and mirrors Steve, resting his hands on Steve's shoulders in a hopefully comforting weight.

"Hargrove gets flayed- the mindflayer gets him," Steve's eyes start to narrow a touch, the panic giving way to compartmentalized strategy that Steve must have learned from the world ending every year for the last four years. "He gets flayed, and then tries to kill Nance, and I hit him with, well, a really wicked car-"

"You hit Hargrove with your car?!" Eddie's voice squeaks and Steve drops his hands, rushing down the hallway with Eddie behind in tow.

"Well not my car -I wish I could have kept the Todd Father-"

"Todd father?" Eddie whispers to himself more than anyone, watching Steve grab a magnetic note pad off his fridge and rip the grocery list off the front before scrounging through a drawer for a pen.

"-Robin would have been relentless about it though, despite the fact that I drive her and the gremlins everywhere for free-" Steve's rambling feels like a habit he picked up from Robin, Eddie thinks. His rant tapers off into small mumbles and hums as Steve scribbles chicken scratch all over the notepad in a mess of dates and question marks, finally tearing it off the pad and sliding it across the island towards Eddie.

“Now, I was trapped in a Russian bunker for like three days so most of my information is coming from what everyone else told me-” What the fuck? “-but from what I remember, El and the rest of the kids find out for sure that Hargrove is flayed on Tuesday. Same day that me, Robin, Dustin, and Erica get stuck in the elevator. He must have been flayed before Tuesday though -I think El mentioned something about seeing him the day before and thinking he was off- since he was already showing enough signs that he was flayed,” Steve pokes at the paper with the butt of the pen, tapping where he underlined Sunday the 30th (today) - Tuesday the 2nd (TWO DAYS!!!). Underneath, he wrote Hargrove trapped in the sauna on 2nd, possibly already flayed, and ASK EL!!!!!

Steve’s gross overuse of exclamation marks aside, they still have almost no information on how to fix this. Even before adding Hargrove to the mix, their plan seemed to consist of ‘lure spooky evil Russians away from the gate and see if we can use their portal,’ and ‘ask a magical pre-teen to blast them forward in time somehow, even though she might not even be able to do it.’

“Steve, I’m gonna be totally and truly honest with you here. I do not give even half a fuck about Hargrove, and I’m not sure why you do, but I think maybe we have bigger problems than the biggest douche-weasel we know getting what he deserves,” Eddie watches Steve’s gaze darken, his eyes narrowing and his brow furrowing at the center.

“If it was just him that this concerned, I wouldn’t give a shit. But he’s Max’s brother,” Eddie’s eyebrows shoot upwards and he tries to suppress the drop in his chest. “The guilt over not being able to save him is what gets her cursed next year,” Steve’s breath is shuddering, his intense stare breaking just a little. “I can’t let her go through that again, man. She doesn’t deserve it. She’s just a kid- one of my kids- and I didn’t even see it. I barely even noticed something was wrong with her, just let it happen right underneath me,” His voice cracks as he stares into Eddie, eyes wide and hollow. Eddie lets his heart break from the haunted look on Steve’s face alone.

“Fuck- you should’ve seen her when she handed me that fucking letter- so resigned to her own death, and she’s barely even a teenager, just accepting it like she thinks she deserves it-” Steve breaks and his head drops into his hands, quiet sobs wracking his body against the counter. “And I don’t even know if she made it- we let her go after him alone-”

Eddie moves in an instant rounding the island to pull Steve against his chest and tucking Steve’s head under his chin, just letting the other curl in on himself. Steve’s breaths heave against both of them, Eddie drawing his in slow and pronounced in an effort to get Steve to match his breathing.

He didn’t know Hargrove was Red’s brother. He knew them separately; Hargrove being the asswipe that liked to terrorize his friends in highschool, calling them every applicable slur under the sun. Red was just the quiet yet slightly off putting girl that lived across from him, that he only got to know at the end of the world. He barely even knew why she was cursed in the first place, spending most of his energy running from murderous jocks. But fuck, that girl stole his heart the minute she pulled out the Myers mask. So, fine. Anything for Red.

Steve’s still shaking against Eddie’s chest, but it’s at least slightly slower now. Eddie’s rubbing small circles into Steve’s shoulder, trying to give some sort of grounding pattern and pressure as Steve slows his breaths in between shudders.

“We’re gonna figure it out,” Eddie whispers against Steve’s hair, his breath tousling it just a touch. “Red’s gonna be okay. We know now, we can fix it,” Steve sniffles against Eddie’s shoulder and leans into Eddie’s hold around him. After a moment when Steve’s breathing is back to normal, he straightens up but doesn’t quite lean out of Eddie’s space. His eyes are tinged red from tears to match the flush of red in his nose and cheeks from crying. The pink is striking against the deepness of his eyes and the gold of his freckles, and Eddie thinks it’s a cruel joke from the universe that Steve still looks like an Adonis after a breakdown, meanwhile Eddie ends up looking like a rat that got left out too long in the sun.

Steve lowers his hands from where they were tucked around himself and gently rests them against Eddie’s arms, his thumbs tracing light patterns under the crease of where Eddie’s elbow bends. Steve’s staring holes into where their skin is touching -both of them just lightly holding each other and neither daring to move- before he gives a small cough and a shake of his head that dislodges a few perfectly-styled waves.

“Thank you,” Steve says in the smallest voice Eddie’s ever heard from him. It’s the sort of voice Eddie used around Wayne during the first few months of them living together. The kind that says I’m scared, and I’m vulnerable, and don’t judge me, and please give me a chance before deciding you don’t want me. Or maybe that last one’s just for Eddie.

“You don’t need to thank me. It happens,” Eddie tries to match Steve’s lightness, the moment too fragile for his usual buzz. “Besides, I meant what I said. Even if it’s too late to save Hargrove, we can help Max,” Eddie pulls on Steve’s arms a little for emphasis, and Steve sways into his space with a tentative smile. “I don’t know what consequences we have here -whether this timeline gets erased or what- but we should try, right?” Eddie flits his eyes between Steve’s, relishing in the light that’s slowly coming back. He wants to bask in it.

“Right,” Steve says with more of his usual lightness, looking back down at their tangled arms. Steve runs his fingers across Eddie’s skin again, both of them just staring down together. Steve’s fingers dig in a little bit. “I know we just got past the dark shit, but we should probably talk about the whole reason you came over in the first place before I decided to hijack your freakout.”

Eddie laughs despite the dryness in his mouth at the memory of the dream, jerking his head a little to get rid of the phantom press of hell-tentacles around his neck. He’d bleach the dream from his memory if he could. The endless dark of whatever extra-terrestrial ocean he was in, the slick sounds of the vines moving against each other. The suffocating press of them. The hissing voice that was thick enough to breathe in like air. Eddie’s still trying to figure out where to start when Steve takes a step back to wrap his arms around himself.

“Any chance it had to do with a void and vines from the upside down?” Eddie’s blood is cold in his fingertips and buzzing against his skull. Fuck. No. Eddie forces down a breath and tries not to taste the lingering scum from the upside down.

“Fuck.”

“Fuck, indeed.”

“So it wasn’t just a standard PTSD dream? You had the same thing?!” Steve gives a solemn nod. Eddie’s pacing now, every ounce of calm that he’d mustered up for Steve a few minutes ago now defenestrated and set on fire. His hands are pulling through his curls in his usual nervous habit with Steve standing oddly stoic across from him, save for the heavy indents his fingernails are making in his arms. “Goddammit, I was really hoping I was just overreacting.”

“Did, um. Did a voice? Say anything to you?” Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and tries to push down the physical memory brought on by Steve’s words. The voice ‘saying’ something feels underwhelming. The way Eddie heard it, it was more of a force of nature than anything. Tearing between his cells and slithering between his ears, the hissing suffocating and killing any air he tried to breathe. Pungent and thick like smoke, less of a voice and more of a weapon. Eddie tries to talk about it anyways.

“Told me I don’t belong here, but I can be used. Used for an army, I think, I don’t know- I was sort of choking on vines at that point,” Eddie stops his pacing to face Steve and bite at his nail instead, Steve’s eyes immediately snapping to his.

“So the other figure was you…” He says it more to himself than to Eddie even though Steve’s gaze is still intensely trained on him. “Do you think-” Steve cuts himself off with a harsh swallow and Eddie knows he’s feeling the phantom grit from the vines in his throat. “Do you think it’s him? Creel?” Steve’s eyes are blown wide and his nails are digging deeper and deeper into the sides of his arms. They live in the silence between them for an infinite amount of seconds before Eddie has to break it.

“Has to be,” It’s quiet and unsure when he says it, but the unspoken fact is sure; Vecna knows they’re here. And he’s going to make them pay for it.

“Fuck, okay. God, this would be so much easier with Nance, she’s always the logical one with the strategy,” Steve huffs out a breath and finally releases his death grip around his biceps, electing instead to scrub his hands down his face before resting them on his hips. Were Eddie not currently in the middle of an existential crisis, he probably would’ve had to bite back a comment about Steve looking like an exasperated housewife. “Do you feel any different? When Will got possessed he said he could sense it, like a presence or something, was always touching the back of his neck. I don’t know, I never really understood it. But anything like that?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Eddie runs his fingers across the nape of his neck- in search of what exactly, he has no clue. Maybe for him to turn into the upside down version of Medusa with vines sprouting from his head. The thought makes him want to gag. “Maybe we woke up early enough that it didn’t like, mark us or whatever?”

“Maybe…”

It’s naive and they both know it, but neither say anything to contradict it. Steve gives a small thoughtful nod with his eyebrows back in their usual furrowed state. Eddie’s ready to drop it until tomorrow anyways, having had enough threats to his wellbeing for one day.

“Okay. Well there’s no way you’re going back home tonight. We can camp out in the living room and take turns sleeping to make sure nothing else happens,” Steve says with a clap of his hands and is back in what Eddie has dubbed his Babysitter Mode ™. Eddie chooses to ignore the plasticity in Steve’s smile as he’s shooed into the living room to flip through Steve’s frankly massive collection of VHS tapes. He’d blame it on Steve working at a video rental store, but that hasn’t even happened yet.

The whirring of the microwave combined with light popping is muffled from the kitchen, Eddie still fidgeting at the entrance to the living room. It’s a slightly surreal experience being at the literal King of High School's house for a sleepover movie night, and being casually told to go pick from dozens of movies. Sure, it was brought on by interdimensional time travel, but that feels slightly less relevant when faced with being invited into Steve Harrington’s mansion that could fit Eddie’s whole trailer in the foyer (What kind of house has a spacious enough hallway to be considered a foyer? ridiculous).

Eddie’s still debating just withering away in the entrance when he notices a slightly crumpled beer can by the foot of the couch. The spill is sticky with age and dark around the edges, almost black at the farthest points. It’s absolutely disgusting. It also happens to be just human enough to break the perfect mansion illusion and let Eddie over the threshold. Turns out even the Steve Harrington of ‘85 has his bad habits, if you can call leaving a spilled beer out for months on hardwood floors that probably cost more than Eddie’s whole life a bad habit. He kicks the can lightly with the toe of his sneaker and is surprised to find it not glued to the floor, but rather moving freely.

He crouches down next to the spill and picks up the can to find it still half full of liquid. On closer inspection the edges of the puddle seem almost gooey, the black reflecting blue and green in the light. Maybe not grosser than anything Eddie’s ever found in the corners of his room, but still gross enough that he wrinkles his nose when he touches a finger to the black and it comes back gelatinous.

“Harrington! I’m gonna need a hazmat suit and some paper towel in here-” Eddie gasps at the sharp prick of pain in his finger and blinks a few times at the way the goo seems to be- moving. It forms an all too familiar pattern as the goo starts to create tendrils that twist up from the spill and slide against each other. Eddie stumbles back, but the tendrils are quick to follow. They latch onto his hand again, pulling and sucking at the skin, sending shocks of pain up his arm. He tries to shake them free, wipe them off on the floor, nothing.

The tension in the goo is building fast, the tendrils too strong to the point that Eddie cant get away. He watches as the tips of his fingers start to turn white and pale, an ache behind his eyes and temples growing. There’s a buzzing in his ears blocking out any other sound, and Eddie just catches the sight of his veins turning thick and black with poison before his vision starts to tunnel. He thinks he sees a mop of golden brown curls come into view. Maybe they call his name. Someone is, he thinks. There’s a hiss in his throat and under his skin and in his veins, and all Eddie can think is that he forgot to pick out a movie for Steve.

_____

TAG LIST (reply to be added): @estrellami-1 @melodymeddler @songbird-garden @gregre369 @croatoan-like-its-hot @messrs-weasley @bestwifehaver @mediguro @goodolefashionedloverboi @huniiibee @rhyswritesreadsandcries @i-have-three-feelings @mightbeasleep @grtwdsmwhr @hirikka @starlight-archer @clumsiluni @celestialrebel1 @quarble @woolley-socks

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #steddie fic #st #st fic #time warp #shovel writes

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hypnoneghoul · 1 year ago

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hi, hi, hello !! re: your instrument ask/fic request post ! personally, i'm really interested a little ficlet of dew helping rain pick out new basses/gear for the tour, like you mentioned briefly in "a brilliant mind"

buuuut if that doesn't spark anything for you, then please use this ask as an excuse to ramble whatever you want about ghost's gear/instruments because fuck yeah !! instruments !! i'd love to hear your thoughts/headcanons/etc <3

YAY, YAY THANK YOUUUUU, im so excited, here it is! if any shit i said would awaken your curiosity or something i can explain anything further lmaooo (i love rambling about this shit <3)

this is more dialogue than action but it had to be written immediately, so 90% dialogue it is, 825 words of bass talk

"Dew, are you busy?" Rain asked, peeking into the fire ghoul's bedroom.

"Nah, bored as fuck actually," he groaned as he stretched on the bed. Rain had to bite his tongue to not go 'aww, big stretch' at the sight. "What's up?"

"Could you help me pick some gear out for the next tour?" the water ghoul asked.

"Uhm... y- yeah, yeah sure," Dewdrop yawned, getting himself up from the bed. "Let's go."

Rain giggled excitedly clasping his hands together. When Dewdrop was in his hand's reach they grabbed him and all but dragged to the rehearsal room.

"Okay, so what's the deal?" Dew asked when they got there. He didn't get an answer as Rain ran straight to the storage room. He got back with a notebook.

"So, you know how on this tour I used the white Jazz, black Jazz and black and white Jaguar, right?"

"Yeah, you hate Precision for some reason."

"Yeah, so I'll stay with Jazz, I'll figure out the colours and the fretboard wood later, but that's not what I wanted to ask you. Unless you wanna talk about the wood too, because the maple is-"

"What about we'll get to colours and wood later?" Dew chuckled, absolutely adoring the sparkle in Rain's eyes. However, if they jumped from topic to topic nothing concrete would come out of this conversation.

"Okay, so I'm thinking about the strings, because now I've got the Ernie Ball Steel, right, from 45 to 105, the custom set. But I was wondering if I shouldn't go for a higher gauge?"

"Honestly, the round wound ernies are good, they sound great especially that they're steel and they're not butchering neither the frets nor the fingers. I say stay with those, Rainy."

"Yeah, but I was thinking about half round wounds too, maybe..."

"Rainy, I get that you want to try everything, but the strings are not that important. I say stay with the ernies you've got now, you're used to them and they're good," Dewdrop repeated, smiling softly.

"Alright, good point. Then there are picks, you know, maybe I should get a thicker ones? What do you think?" Rain continued as he scribbled something in their notebook.

"Yeah, that may be a good idea, but you can't go too thick, it'll make the sound too dull. Maybe try upping the thickness by 0.05 or 0.10 millimetres and stop when you got the one that fits you? You know we've got millions of picks in millions of thicknesses."

"Yes, yes, I'll do that, hell, great idea. Thank you!" Rain giggled, and out of nowhere threw his arms around Dewdrop, squeezing him, and kissed his cheek. "Did you hear about Badass Bass bridges?"

"Uhm- yeah, they're heavy, they're supposed to not lose as much of their energy to the body of the bass, or something like that. Great note definition and sustain. Why?" he asked like he didn't know the answer already.

"I wanted to get them, do you think it's a good idea?"

"I mean, if you get the budgets for mods, then sure, go for it. I got a lot so you should be fine too. They do seem like great bridges. Plus a bridge with 'badass' written on it is definitely something for you." Dewdrop chuckled as Rain softly blushed.

"Yeah, I hope I can get them!" another messy note appeared in the notebook.

"Okay, okay, now, what else?"

"The wood! Because you know, the colours. You'll have the whole white Strat, and Aether full black Fantomen, so I should have a black and white bass, so it's all balanced? Because when you had the black and white Fantomen I had a white Jazz. Minus the black Jazz for the drop C because it's iconic, but, you know."

"Yeah, that's a god point, you could have a white body with a black pickguard, it'd be cool."

"Yes, but then I don't know which fretboard wood would look the best with it. I like maple but I think it’s too light, but there’s something with rosewood that makes me hate it, so I think I’d want ebony. But I don’t know if ebony would fit the black and white bass, so maybe maple after all? But not the yellowish lacquered one, the softer one, you know?"

"Now you have maple for the white Jazz and ebony for the Jaguar and black Jazz, right?"

"Yeah, exactly."

"Maybe go for maple with a black and white Jazz, and ebony for the black one. Simple but it makes sense and fits, Rainy."

"Yeah, hell, you're right!" he exclaimed scribbling something in his notebook again.

"Anything else flying around that head of yours?"

"Not at the moment, thank you so much!" Rain laughed again, and his arms were around Dewdrop again, his head now nuzzling into his neck. "I love when someone listens to me."

"I'll never not listen to you, Rainy," the fire ghoul chuckled.

#hypnone writes #rain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #raindrop #hypnone gear talks

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killingthecringe · 5 months ago

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It's the Black Knight AU with the accidental marriage for me. I looooooooove the dynamic you write Lance and Guin with in it, and it's why I chose to make the movie Shadow, Amy, and Rouge watched together in Too Much be based on the same Arthurian characters.

Oh SATBK AU MY BELOVED

There are so many worms in my brain for those idiots. Especially with the Sonic X Shadow generations spoilers - I don't know where or when Lance is getting those wings but He Will Be Getting Them.

I can't take all the credit though, @w0lp3rtinger has been so instrumental in what pieces of the SATBK AU i've posted. From going back and forth with me when I work myself into a corner to rewriting the argument Guin and Lance had in Ch 26 of A Million More because I was stuck on it for a week.

The dynamic is so much fun because in any other circumstance, Shadow/ Lance and Amy/ Guin would get along fine. But since neither of them can communicate properly, we end up with a very entertaining to read (frustrating to write on occasion) back and forth.

I didn't realize that that was why you'd chosen that movie for them in Too Much but it does make me very happy to hear <3

#Ari's asks #God you guys are spoiling me #Thank you so much <3

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darkx-the-dragon-kn1ght · 1 year ago

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Chapter 5- Part 5

Well, while I don’t think Xera will be using Kricketot right away, it’ll still be good to have in case we need extra Bug-types in the future.

She has been named “Viola”- you know, the musical instrument.

Gym? You have a Gym? Gym Leader?? Bug-type Gym Leader??

Hey wait get back here, you can’t just drop that you’re a Gym Leader and then leave without elaborating! And besides, neither Xera nor this other lady gave you their names, does that really count as meeting them in that case?

Oh, mark my words, Xera will…eventually.

Alright, well- with that event done, let’s hear what the child has to say, then we’ll get going.

Well, that’s one way to hammer in the idea of “stranger danger.” And after wandering around in the rain all last chapter, I don’t think Xera’s changing that kid’s perception any time soon.

Now, we keep going east, and…

That…just looks like an entirely new area. Yeah, I looked at the map, and it looks like this path just leads back to somewhere in Opal Ward- so, not where we need to go.

But I’ve looked around everywhere else in Peridot Ward, didn’t I? And there’s still no way up to that upper area- did I just miss something? That area looks like it’s still in Peridot Ward, so?? Hello??

HOW DO I GET UP TO YOU PEOPLE!?

Maybe I really did just miss something somewhere- I’ll look around a bit more. Maybe it really is somewhere in Opal Ward?

No, didn’t find anything except for this.

Ah man, I’m gonna have to grind on wild Pokémon, aren’t I? Can I at least train on Pokémon from the dumpsters? Gullet was semi-high-leveled at the time, so??

No dumpster Pokémon either, but I found that instead.

Okay, well- no more Trainers to fight, then. So that means it’s time to battle some wild Pokémon instead. I admit- while I’ve been trying to go through this game as blind as possible, I did decide here to look up something. Namely, I looked up the wild Pokémon encounter areas in Peridot Ward and Lower Peridot Ward to find where the highest-leveled Pokémon could be found, sue me.

And from my brief research, it seems like the best places to train will first be by Headbutting the tree in Seacrest’s Garden (which we can do, Streak knows Headbutt), then by fishing in the indoor pool with the Old Rod.

Well, no use putting it off anymore. Time for some level grinding! Oh, these poor wild Pokémon…

One VERY long grinding session later…

Anyways, after almost two hours of wiping out Reborn’s Swablu population and finishing with a nice fish dinner, the team looks like this:

And I know it was almost two hours, because I had these two episodes of Saltydkdan’s Season 3 Friendlocke playing in the background, and they both played all the way through by the time I was done grinding!

All that time aside…it’s time, folks. We leave the Pokémon Center, and we go west to-

To…find that scared Teddiursa again, apparently. I guess it also doesn’t come out during the Rain?

But just in case this is the time we can catch the Teddiursa, I did go and buy one (1) Poké Ball.

And it didn’t even matter because we still can’t catch it…for some reason! Well, alright then.

So now we keep going west to-

…To…see Teddiursa again. Alright, maybe fourth time’s the charm?

No it is not! Yet again- how am I supposed to catch it?? Does Xera need to encounter it five times before she’s allowed to catch it?

But in coming up here, I noticed that there’s a house up there that I didn’t go into before. So, let’s fix that before going back to Fern, shall we?

And get ourselves another free Potion! Yeah!

A Protein, huh? Not sure when or if I’ll be using these stat-boosting items, but like- good to have I guess?

But more importantly…

I think it’s time we showed Fern what Xera and her team can really do, shall we?

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roman-catholic-mass-readings · 10 months ago

Text

25th January >> Mass Readings (USA)

Feast of The Conversion of Saint Paul, Apostle

(Liturgical Colour: White: B (2))

Either:

First Reading Acts of the Apostles 22:3-16 Get up and have yourself baptized and your sins washed away, calling upon the name of Jesus.

Paul addressed the people in these words: “I am a Jew, born in Tarsus in Cilicia, but brought up in this city. At the feet of Gamaliel I was educated strictly in our ancestral law and was zealous for God, just as all of you are today. I persecuted this Way to death, binding both men and women and delivering them to prison. Even the high priest and the whole council of elders can testify on my behalf. For from them I even received letters to the brothers and set out for Damascus to bring back to Jerusalem in chains for punishment those there as well.

“On that journey as I drew near to Damascus, about noon a great light from the sky suddenly shone around me. I fell to the ground and heard a voice saying to me, ‘Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?’ I replied, ‘Who are you, sir?’ And he said to me, ‘I am Jesus the Nazorean whom you are persecuting.’ My companions saw the light but did not hear the voice of the one who spoke to me. I asked, ‘What shall I do, sir?’ The Lord answered me, ‘Get up and go into Damascus, and there you will be told about everything appointed for you to do.’ Since I could see nothing because of the brightness of that light, I was led by hand by my companions and entered Damascus.

“A certain Ananias, a devout observer of the law, and highly spoken of by all the Jews who lived there, came to me and stood there and said, ‘Saul, my brother, regain your sight.’ And at that very moment I regained my sight and saw him. Then he said, ‘The God of our ancestors designated you to know his will, to see the Righteous One, and to hear the sound of his voice; for you will be his witness before all to what you have seen and heard. Now, why delay? Get up and have yourself baptized and your sins washed away, calling upon his name.’”

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Or:

First reading Acts of the Apostles 9:1-22 You will be told what you must do.

Saul, still breathing murderous threats against the disciples of the Lord, went to the high priest and asked him for letters to the synagogues in Damascus, that, if he should find any men or women who belonged to the Way, he might bring them back to Jerusalem in chains. On his journey, as he was nearing Damascus, a light from the sky suddenly flashed around him. He fell to the ground and heard a voice saying to him, “Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?” He said, “Who are you, sir?” The reply came, “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting. Now get up and go into the city and you will be told what you must do.” The men who were traveling with him stood speechless, for they heard the voice but could see no one. Saul got up from the ground, but when he opened his eyes he could see nothing; so they led him by the hand and brought him to Damascus. For three days he was unable to see, and he neither ate nor drank. There was a disciple in Damascus named Ananias, and the Lord said to him in a vision, “Ananias.” He answered, “Here I am, Lord.” The Lord said to him, “Get up and go to the street called Straight and ask at the house of Judas for a man from Tarsus named Saul. He is there praying, and in a vision he has seen a man named Ananias come in and lay his hands on him, that he may regain his sight.” But Ananias replied, “Lord, I have heard from many sources about this man, what evil things he has done to your holy ones in Jerusalem. And here he has authority from the chief priests to imprison all who call upon your name.” But the Lord said to him, “Go, for this man is a chosen instrument of mine to carry my name before Gentiles, kings, and children of Israel, and I will show him what he will have to suffer for my name.” So Ananias went and entered the house; laying his hands on him, he said, “Saul, my brother, the Lord has sent me, Jesus who appeared to you on the way by which you came, that you may regain your sight and be filled with the Holy Spirit.” Immediately things like scales fell from his eyes and he regained his sight. He got up and was baptized, and when he had eaten, he recovered his strength. He stayed some days with the disciples in Damascus, and he began at once to proclaim Jesus in the synagogues, that he is the Son of God. All who heard him were astounded and said, “Is not this the man who in Jerusalem ravaged those who call upon this name, and came here expressly to take them back in chains to the chief priests?” But Saul grew all the stronger and confounded the Jews who lived in Damascus, proving that this is the Christ.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 117:1bc, 2

R/ Go out to all the world and tell the Good News. or R/ Alleluia, alleluia.

Praise the LORD, all you nations; glorify him, all you peoples!

R/ Go out to all the world and tell the Good News. or R/ Alleluia, alleluia.

For steadfast is his kindness toward us, and the fidelity of the LORD endures forever.

R/ Go out to all the world and tell the Good News. or R/ Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel Acclamation cf. John 15:16

Alleluia, alleluia. I chose you from the world, to go and bear fruit that will last, says the Lord. Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel Mark 16:15-18 Go out to all the world and tell the Good News.

Jesus appeared to the Eleven and said to them: “Go into the whole world and proclaim the Gospel to every creature. Whoever believes and is baptized will be saved; whoever does not believe will be condemned. These signs will accompany those who believe: in my name they will drive out demons, they will speak new languages. They will pick up serpents with their hands, and if they drink any deadly thing, it will not harm them. They will lay hands on the sick, and they will recover.”

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

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