#and set up foundations so the next one isn’t as bad!

[lesbiankimdahyun]

new match, pt. iii

2.0K words

CW: A/B/O dynamics, GP, starting off vanilla bc we have to start with a foundation of TRUST 

[Sub!A!Mina x O!Reader] 

The more time you spent with Mina, the more you saw of her genuine personality— who she really was in private. And it turned out that she was just as shy as she appeared from afar. As a result, you’d grown accustomed to speaking up for the both of you at restaurants and cafes when you went out. Mina seemed comfortable following your lead, taking your suggestions for what to try off the menu, and deferring to you when deciding whether to sit indoors or out. 

One night, you came over to cook dinner with her. It was the first time the two of you were alone in a more intimate setting together. Mina helped, but she liked watching you make cocktails for the two of you a lot more. She also clearly enjoyed watching you cook for her in her kitchen; that you didn’t mind coming in and taking over the space to cook.  

When you noticed she was watching you as you chopped vegetables, you stopped. 

“I’m sorry,” you said sheepishly. “I’m not letting you help with much, am I?” 

Mina shook her head, a soft smile on her face. “I don’t mind,” she said. “I kinda like it.” 

Skeptical, your eyebrows went up. “But then I’m not including you on what we drink or how spicy dinner’s going to be. Or what if you actually hated all of my vegetable choices for tonight and here I am making you eat them!” 

Mina laughed. “I’m not as picky as Soyeon when it comes to vegetables.” Your cheeks burned at the mention of Soyeon, but Mina continued. “I mean it, I really don’t mind,” she said. “And you look good doing it. I’d prefer it be that way, anyway.”  

There was so much to take in from Mina’s comments that you couldn’t even reply. While you turned off the stove and rinsed your hands off one last time, Mina set plates on the counter. While you started dividing the meal between the two of you, she grabbed two sets of cutlery and chopsticks out from a drawer.  

Mina really was a unique Alpha. And if she was into kitchen tops— you froze for a moment, stealing a glance at her. Maybe it was too soon for wishful thinking, but maybe, just maybe Mina would be open to other kinds of tops, too. 

That last thought gave you butterflies: getting to push all of Mina’s buttons and making her lose her collected, quiet facade. You wondered what she looked like when she was turned on. Was she still shy when she was rutting? Had she ever…begged? 

You nearly dropped the plates of hot food as you went to set them down on her table. 

“Sorry!” you said quickly. 

Normally conversation flowed easily between the two of you, but you were almost as quiet as she was. You watched her mouth move as she ate, eyes moving up from the beauty marks near her lips up to the one on the bridge of her nose. 

“Y/N?” the Alpha was suddenly looking at you, concerned. 

“Huh?”

“I said are you okay? You were kind of zoned out.”

You blinked. “Oh! Yeah, I’m fine,” you said, quickly reaching for your drink. 

“What were you thinking about?” 

You nearly choked. “Uh,” you stalled, trying to think of anything, literally anything besides Mina and rutting. 

You took a second too long to pause. Now you couldn’t lie—  it would be obvious. So instead, you truthfully stumbled over all of the words that came out of your mouth next. 

“You,” you said. “And what you said earlier. About me cooking and you preferring…” you trailed off. 

Mina’s eyes widened a little, but she just nodded, taking her time with her next bite of food.

You couldn’t help but try to fill the nervous silence. “It just caught me off guard. But not in a bad way!” you laughed a little. “Most Alphas I’ve known want to be in charge all the time. It’s—”

“I know my personality probably isn’t quite like what you’re used to—“ Mina started. 

“No, no!” you interrupted quickly. “I mean, yes, but it’s nice,” you said. 

Mina hummed in response. She seemed surprised. 

“Can I ask what you like about…” you prayed to god she was picking up on what you were trying to ask. “Like, you’d rather someone else decide what’s for dinner?”

“Absolutely,” Mina replied. You could tell she was studying you, choosing her words carefully. “I like people who know what they want.” 

“Why?” You cursed internally for asking so fast. You worried Mina was going to be kicking you out soon just like Soyeon did. 

Mina blushed, letting out a shy laugh. “I don’t know. Alphas are always viewed as the ones with all the power, the ones who should be making big decisions for them and their Omegas. But I don’t want it— that power,” she said. “I find it mesmerizing when Omegas realize they have power just like Alphas do.” 

“What do you mean?” you were literally leaning in now to listen to her, dinner remnants abandoned. 

Mina shrugged. “Think about it,” she said. “At the end of the day, it’s the Omegas that have what we– what Alphas want. Their attention. And–” Mina’s voice got a little softer, suddenly shy again. “To…I mean, we rut, of course so we want them in that way, too. We try so hard to get their attention, and once we have it, we can be so possessive over them. It should be the other way around, though, Omegas shouldn’t be the ones begging for Alphas to–” she paused. “But I know most Omegas really like take-charge Alphas.” 

You raised an eyebrow at that. “Most, I guess,” you said, reaching to grab your now empty plate, “but definitely not all.” 

You started clearing dishes and collecting utensils to bring over to the sink when you stopped suddenly and turned around. You turned back to Mina. 

“Wait on the couch for me?” you asked. It was a test. A small one, but a test nonetheless and both of you knew it. You were curious, wanting to get a feel for just how submissive the Alpha might be. 

Mina bit back a smile and got up. “Sure,” she said. She turned to look back at you before leaving the kitchen, a brief, curious glance. 

You took your time washing up, wiping down her kitchen before finally going back to Mina in her living room. You sat down next to her wordlessly, taking in her scent while she undoubtedly took in yours. There was tension now. You could feel it. You were hyper-aware of your arm brushing up against Mina’s– how soft her hair looked, how her scent was becoming slightly stronger. 

You can’t remember if she asked you or you asked her about kissing, but suddenly it was happening and you felt like you were going to burst into flames, your desire was so strong. 

Mina’s lips were soft and light. Even when kissing, she was shy at first. But as you continued to make out, slow and shy became less bashful and more sensual. Your hands found their way into her hair, then down her neck and shoulders. 

With a bit of help from Mina, you shifted into her lap and straddled her. You were still kissing her when you went to sit in her lap. And as soon as you sat, you felt it. 

You’d made the Alpha hard. Very hard. 

The older girl broke the kiss, stifling a groan.  

Her scent, you realized, was everywhere now. You got wet almost instantly, adding your scent to mix in with hers. 

You looked at each other for a moment before you hastily got off of her lap. 

“I’m sorry,” you said. “We totally don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.” You moved away slightly, giving her a little space. “And you can kick me out if you’d rather take care of it alone. Otherwise, I’m more than willing to…” you glanced down, unable to resist a peek. “...help,” you finished. 

Mina licked her lips while she thought. She looked you over slowly, subtly reminding you of her Alpha status. There was always something about the way Alphas did that– looking at you with a sort of hunger in their eyes. You rarely felt like an Omega outside of your heat, but that look? You lowered your eyes instinctively. 

Normally, Mina would have said no. She would have been too shy to let you continue. But she was just as curious about you as you were about her. She nodded. “Okay,” she said, eyeing your mouth. 

You felt like you were going to explode. You had to remind yourself to breathe as you leaned in to kiss her again, your hand working its way up her thigh. You deepened the kiss, cupping her bulge lightly. 

“Ah,” Mina broke away from your lips for a moment to watch your hand gently rub her over her clothes. 

“May I?” you asked softly, your hand moving toward the zipper on her pants, and she nodded again. 

In a few quick movements, Mina’s pants were unbuttoned and unzipped. Her eyes were wide as she watched you, her breathing a little shallower. 

“Is this still okay?” you asked, hand hovering over her boxers. 

“Yes,” Mina breathed. 

Fishing her cock out, you let out a little moan as you started to pump her length in your hand. Mina was even bigger than she looked. Her scent hit you hard now, making you swoon a little. 

You moved down onto the floor, placing yourself between her legs. After helping Mina out of her pants and boxers, you turned your attention back to her stiff cock. Kneeling in front of her, you gently kissed her tip. 

Mina’s heart pounded in her chest. It had been a long time since she’d let anyone touch her. You hadn’t even done anything yet and already she felt like she could cum. 

With her permission, you kissed your way up her length, starting from the base. Then, slowly, you took her into your mouth. 

The Alpha moaned, her head tilting back and eyes closing for a moment. Her fingers curled into the couch a bit. 

Your tongue swirled over the tip, coaxing her to let more of her length fill your mouth and slide into your throat. You took as much of her in as you could, and what didn’t fit in your mouth, you teased with your hand. 

Everything you did felt like heaven to her, and Mina whimpered in response. 

You paused for a moment, watching her. “Does that feel good?” you asked. She nodded. 

In one swift motion, then you took one of her hands and guided it through your hair, to the back of your head. 

“Show me what you like,” you said. “Let me make you feel good.” 

Mina’s cock twitched at that, and she nodded, guiding your head back down. You went back to work, bobbing on her length. Mina’s grip was light at first, but soon her fingers had a tighter hold on your hair and she pulled you further down on her cock, nearly making you gag. 

You moaned as she began to fuck up into your throat, holding you still as she used you, her hips thrusting swiftly. 

“Y/N,” she rasped. She was closer to coming than she thought. She released you suddenly, hips stilling. “I-, sorry, i-is it okay if I, um–” 

You smiled, catching your breath. “You really are shy, how cute. Yes, you can cum in my mouth if you want.” 

It was all the Alpha needed for encouragement. With a light groan, Mina snaked her hand back through your hair, bringing her cock to your lips once again. 

It didn’t take long before you felt her thighs tense and her breathing become a little uneven. 

“Y-Y/N,” she said breathlessly, “Fuck, I’m going to…” 

Panting a little, the Alpha released her load into your mouth. She threw her head back and moaned as you swallowed everything she had to give. Greedily, you licked her clean before finally coming up for air yourself. 

Mina was blushing furiously when you looked up at her, a sheepish smile on her face. 

Smirking a little, you licked your lips. “Can I do that again sometime?” 

#twice imagines #twice a/b/o #a!mina #mina x fem!reader #alpha!mina #g!p twice

[xhoneygirlxx]

warnings: angst, no happy ending. heartbreak/end of a relationship. Eddie and Reader are 20+

minors plz go away, this account is 18+ only.

this is inspired by Nothings New by Rio Romeo, the same song that’s been stuck on repeat for the past couple of weeks. I hope you all enjoy this <3

*if you see spelling errors/bad writing, pretend it didn’t happen

—

You both knew it was coming, a thought in the back of your mind that constantly ate away at you until it finally came true. There’s a moment in life when you just know it’s not going to work out anymore, that no matter how much you love a person it all comes down to a spark and when that spark is gone, so is the relationship.

It’s like a sandcastle right on the shoreline, you wait with bated breath as the water inches closer and closer to your creation and there’s nothing you can do about it because you’ve built it on a bad foundation. It’s like a balloon, it can only fly so long before the helium seeps out, one day it’s high up in the sky and the next day it clings to the ground where it will stay before it eventually deflates.

You nor Eddie set out to end like this, no one gets into a relationship in the hopes it ends but somehow, you ended up right where you hoped you wouldn’t.

I love you’s weren’t shared as much anymore, sweet kisses turned into chaste pecks on the cheek, and the closeness you both craved was now despised. A long fall from the pedestal your relationship was once held upon, now it was just an obligation that felt torturous to even continue.

The dinner on the table is perfect, the kind you would find photographed in some kind of home and lifestyle magazine, but the two people consuming it are anything but. A date night that was supposed to be fun and exciting felt like a job, a requirement that both of you had signed on for that you just couldn’t get out of.

Eddie looks handsome as always, a sleek button up adorning his torso and unruly curls are tamed down by the products in the bathroom that both of you share. He cuts his steak with tattooed hands, the same silver rings he wore in high school decorate his digits as well as the one you bought him all those years ago when you first got together. You look at the thick black band, the engraved lettering of your initials that go across it, and you wonder if he only wears it out of habit- something he only wears on his right ring finger because he would feel unbalanced without it.

Despite the crowd that sits at neighboring tables, it’s quiet, and not the peaceful kind of silence most people would imagine. It’s the kind that happens after a car accident when dust and debris settle to ground, the sulfur from the airbags fill the air, and the ringing in your ears are too loud to hear through anything else.

You poke at your plate mindlessly as you continue to look at him, trying to piece together where it all went wrong and why the two of you have let it go this far. A bitter taste fills your mouth, one that can’t be washed down by the red wine that sits in your untouched glass, making a ball form in your throat.

As you look at the man across from you, you don’t see the person you’ve grown tired of but rather the boy you fell in love with all those years ago. Wide eyes and dimpled smile, rosy cheeks and shaky hands. Memories of shy banter and longing stares fill your head. Two young kids so full of love and adoration for one another now sit silently as they ignore one another’s presence.

Your heart squeezes, painfully twisting in a devastating way as it prepares for what’s going to happen. A tear escapes from your waterline and you don’t fight it. As much as you don’t want to be the dramatic girlfriend in the middle of a fancy restaurant you allow yourself to cry, mourning the death of a love story that started with two star cross teenagers that lost their way.

Although he isn’t looking at you Eddie can sense it, the beginning of the goodbye he’s tried desperately to avoid. He sets his fork and knife down, swallowing his food down as best as he can while his throat begins to choke up in unshed tears.

There’s a pause in his movements, a delay from looking into the eyes of the one he promised to love until his dying day. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, reaching his hand out across the table in search of your own. Fingers interlace, palms touching for the first time in a long time and for once you both feel it, the spark you used to feel when everything was fresh and new- only it doesn’t linger, it slowly blows out and fades away into the cold night air.

Big chocolate eyes meet yours, the tears that brim in his tear ducts match your own, the shared sadness for the future you will no longer share.

“This is it?” Eddie’s voice is small, like he’s straining in the hopes the sobs won’t break out.

You can’t stop it, the wobble of your pouted lip and the river that falls from your eyes. There’s no words you can say, none that will capture the amount of pain this brings to you, so instead you just nod your head.

Eddie isn’t any better, eyes closing with the hopes that this will all go away when he opens them once more. When he opens them back up he doesn’t find a different outcome but instead the blur of the fat tears that cloud his vision.

“You know I love you, right? I always have and always will love you Eddie, but this isn’t good for us anymore.” It’s like you’re pleading, begging for all of the misery to end for not just yourself but him too.

The subtle nod of his head tells you all you need to know, he agrees just as much as you that this isn’t going to work anymore, that this is killing him as much as it is you and if it continues this way it’ll only be a matter of time before this slow and painful death creeps up on you.

“I love you too, always have.” Eddie makes sure to look you in the eyes when he says it, like he wants you to know that everything that’s happened was never intentional.

You give his hand a squeeze, an acknowledgment to his statement, he squeezes right back.

This was the end, in the middle of a fancy restaurant where families, couples, and friends laugh and talk over warm meals, you and Eddie slowly cut the string that’s been keeping you tethered together for more than five years.

—

—

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you

[daphnedawns]

Dusk court revival, an Elriel theory

I’m actually so glad the conversation has been brought to Azriel and his shadows reaction to Elain. Whereas I don’t find it to be a bad things that his shadows skitter away in her presence since I believe this to mean his shadows are comfortable with her. This conversation has brought me to a pro Gw*nriel argument that said Elain is bad for him because her sunlight makes his shadows disappear and that she basically cancels out his existence. But I don’t think this is the case with them at all.

We all know how Elain is sooo heavily linked with the dusk court.

Not only is the prison/dusk court her mountain to conquer. She has been likened to it multiple times. (These are just from the top of my head that I can cite without skimming through all the books)

When Feyre described Elriel together in the middle of the war, she called the space between their bodies light and dark, A BLEND BETWEEN THE TWO. I don’t think one cancels out the other, but they blend together and that blend surely relates to dawn/dusk!

To me, their juxtaposition isn’t meant to cancel each other out but to show us that they’re the two essential characters that will play a part in the dusk courts revival. SJM has already been putting in the groundwork for them!

I love the theory that they will be the potential high lord and lady of the revived dusk court. This piggybacks off of the theory that Az is a descendant of the Avallen Fae that ended up on midgard (cc) and with Bryces presence and the crossover happening, it would make so much sense for Azriel to take on the mantle of their high lord seeing as though he is the only direct descendant who is also Prythian. And who better to serve as their high lady than the cauldron blessed seer who can scry, who Az is already obsessed with, who likes Az back and who has the dusk court mountain to conquer!!

I can honestly stand by this theory a lot more than the ones that talk about G and Az and their nonexistent plot.

With the pacing of the plot in ACOTAR and the Maasverse in general, we find ourselves with Koschei and the prison/dusk court. Whereas, koschei is still heavily related to Elriel (being that Elain can scry for dead trove items and Koschei seems to have a particular interest towards Azriel) it can also be build up for a Vassa/Lucien novella! But with the dusk court/prison being a much closer plot point now with HOFAS coming and SJM mentioning how HOFAS will set up the next ACOTAR book, I am a 100% convinced this is the direction she’s going with Elriel!

Not only do we have all that CANON FORESHADOWING from the previous books to support Elriel, we also have CANON GROUNDWORK for the potential Elriel book. There’s literally so much canon material to work with when it comes to this pairing that it would make absolutely zero sense for SJM to just throw that all away in favor of a new pairing without any foundation besides a metaphorical ribbon and a regifted necklace we don’t even know she received. I’m sorry but there’s literally no set up there that would move the plot forward. They’d have to invalidate all that Elriel build up and start from scratch for their pairing to make sense.

🎨: clarywhy

#elriel #pro elriel #elain x azriel #elain archeron #elain acotar #acotar #acotar fanart #azriel #anti gwynriel #acotar theory

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Hello! I just found your blog and I absolutely love it! I love your kiss masterlist, and I was wondering if i could request one. Number 23 in relief. With Iceman x reader I just think they would be so adorable! Can’t wait to see what you do!

Hiya! Here's Kiss #23 - in relief - with Iceman x reader. This one actually became really angsty and I love how it turned out! I hope you love it too!

A Kiss to Celebrate (The Beast's Gone Away)

Cancer. It’s been as much a companion in your marriage as your husband has been of late. It reared its ugly head out of the blue. Hearty, hale, healthy forty year olds aren’t supposed to wake up one day and just not be able to talk? Right? Forget men with families - Naval Captains with hearts of gold, keen eyes and the kindest hands?! They should never be struck down at all.

But maybe you’re a little biased. This isn’t just any forty year old Naval Captain you’re talking about. This is your husband, your Tom. You thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse, the shaky partnership you’ve formed with the beast ravaging your husband’s body and tainting his soul. Then you’d woken up one morning to your three year old laboriously fluttering her little hands in painstakingly drawn out signs as she sat on her father’s lap and told him, “Good Morning Daddy. I love you.” That’s when you realized that your youngest probably doesn’t even remember what her dad’s voice sounded like. That’s when you’d broken, shattered into a million pieces standing there in your kitchen watching your baby and your heart speak in the only way they could. 

In your weakest moments, you cursed everything you could think of for trying to rob Tom from you. But even then, you knew you wouldn’t have changed anything in the world. Your entire life would be different, and you’re not sure it would be a good difference, either. So you’ve been holding onto the good moments, taking things day by day, focusing on being there for Tom and your kids as much as you can. Each day your foundation feels a little steadier as Tom responds to the treatments and as the flush of health seeps back into his cheeks.

“Captain and Mrs. Kazansky? Doctor Wilson is ready to see you.” Your palms are sweaty and damp as you follow Tom into the Doctor’s office. You must black out, emotionally, at least, because the next thing you remember is walking in the wintery San Diego sunshine with Tom. He’s mostly silent, with his arm wrapped around your shoulder as he leads you to a bench at your favorite look out point. It was here that he’d proposed to you a decade ago. It was here you’d told him you were pregnant, the first and second times. All of the best things in your relationship happened here. Please, you’re pleading as you sit down - please don’t destroy this place by telling me bad news. Please don’t take him away from me, from our babies.

“Sweetheart?” That’s not what you’d been expecting at all.

“Tom?!” Your voice chokes on a sob. “You’re speaking! Is that okay? I thought you weren’t supposed to strain your voice.”

“I’ve been working on speaking again with my speech therapist. It’s what Doctor Wilson wanted to talk to us about. I’m in remission, sweetheart. The cancer’s gone. We’re going to keep monitoring me, but I have the feeling it’s going to stay gone for good.”

You’re sobbing, tears dripping down your face in hot, salty rivulets as you kiss your husband gently and sweetly. 

“I’m so happy, Tom. I love you.” His smirk is soft as he pulls away.

It doesn’t surprise you at all when he signs back to you, “I love you. I told you I wasn’t going anywhere without you, sweetheart. I love you too much for that.”

It’s with a finally unburdened heart that you curl into your husband’s side to watch the sun set below the waves. If Tom can beat cancer, becoming an Admiral should be child’s play. The future once again looks bright.

Want to request a Kiss and a pair for me to write? Guidelines are here.

Want to see other Kisses I’ve written? Here’s the full Masterlist.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #kiss writing game #tom iceman kazansky x reader #tom kazansky x reader #iceman x reader

[girl4music]

I’ll be honest. I’m not enjoying watching ‘Station 19’ as much as I was the first 3 seasons. The main reason I started watching it was for the WLW representation with Maya and Carina (Marina) because I thought it would be very significant representation as a drama.

But they’re rushing that relationship so much that it’s not even worth paying any attention to. The problem for me is that you don’t get to see the journey of them properly. You don’t get to see the build ups and the set ups. You get intense dramatic conversations every now and again, a bunch of random sexual intimacy and then suddenly they’re engaged, next couple of eps, they’re married, next couple of eps, they have a baby. I’m missing the entire journey of their love story.

This is just not the way you go about representing WLW in TV art/entertainment. Don’t get me wrong.

They’re cute together. The actresses have great chemistry. But the journey I want to see isn’t there. Or rather - it is. But it’s not being represented. So…? 😤

They pay more attention to showing you what’s going on with Travis and Emmett and their doomed affairs. That’s clearly not even a successful relationship and yet they’re giving them far more screen-time and more focus. And Maya and Carina obviously have their own individual arcs to do as well but… it’s not knitting together. It’s not showing you how those arcs are influencing their relationship beyond the drama and the conflict. There’s barely any connection with it. And when there is, you don’t even get to see it. You’re just supposed to accept that what’s happening with them is happening because that’s how they’ve decided it.

They’re missing the bulk of what being in any kind of relationship is about because they’re side-storylined.

It’s infuriating ‘cause I want to see the bulk of the story. Not the cliff notes. I want to see everything.

It wouldn’t be so bloody bad if they didn’t rush everything that’s going on with them. If they just showed the relationship flowing naturally and slowly instead of throwing these huge situations and circumstances into their relationship that you don’t ever really get to see any of the foundation for.

And the time-jumps don’t fucking help either. It’s a fucking action drama show about real events that have or can happen and they don’t feel real at all. The actresses are doing a damn good job of making it feel as real as possible but the writing lets them down because it’s just jumping from one event to the next without showing fucking continuity in-between. 😡

I mean practically all their scenes together are either fucking or fighting. Nothing else is really ever shown.

No. Just no. That’s not what I signed up for.

That’s not a relationship no matter how much you try to make it look like one. That’s just soap opera drama.

I don’t get it. People go absolutely crazy for this ship. Why when you don’t even get to see why they should be shipped? You’re not shown an emotional journey with them. You’re just shown bits and pieces of it. And you’re only made to feel like it’s something significant because so much happens so fast. But it’s off-screen!

That’s not good WLW representation. Not even close.

I feel sorry for the performers because the performances are fantastic… but what good are fantastic performances if you don’t see the story?

It doesn’t feel like a real relationship. It feels like scripted fanfare. Like they’re just shown every now and again because the fans want it. And that’s it.

That’s not how I want to watch WLW representation and it’s not why I want to watch WLW representation.

The emotional journey has to be shown. All of it!

Or it’s not worth watching at all.

#station 19 #maya and carina #marina #maya bishop #danielle savre #carina deluca #stefania spampinato #wlw representation

[nick-close]

i think a lot of current discussion and enjoyment of the fandom is s2 centered? so more s1 stuff is slightly less usual in the show now (despite still having a lot of references lol)

Nothing hurts more than the fact I spent like literally half an hour on a reply and the power went out as I went to post it- but fuck it! We try again. I’ll try to make it shorter this time. (I failed sorry.)

I totally understand that the current fandom is more s2 focused and want different things. But I don’t think that means it shouldn’t be viewed from a s1 lense. The first season set the foundation and appeal of the show as a comedy. Though I do think the fandom is genuinely a lot younger rn and focuses more on ships, character moments, story beats, etc- which is totally fine! I’m not trying to dismiss critiques or say these wants are stupid because of the younger fanbase- I was in this fandom since I was 15. I do think it plays into the wants and appeals of the show though.

And here’s really the thing. S1 is the basis of the show- it should’ve set the expectations for how the podcast goes. Where I think the divide comes from, is that the younger audience usually means people binged s1- rather than listen episodically. Binging it, you don’t have to wait between the stupid five footers and nonsense to get to character beats and emotions because you can just go and go and go to the next episode.

This is why I think people are so impatient in s2. I see people writing their own fanfiction ideas about how the next episode is going to go, spending 2 weeks building up an expectation that is never actually going to meet the show. If they were binging through this, I don’t think anyone would have this strong of a reaction to this episode because they’d just go to the next one to try and get what they want. People love the characters and plot so much they tend to forget the podcast has always been a rowdy comedy podcast at its core.

I actually think one of the reasons s2 struggles so much is because of the huge expectation to live up to the emotional beats of s1 without realizing the stupid moments are the reasons they WORK. You need Henry’s hippie jokes to make Oakvale hit. You need Glenn’s weed joke to Erin so it can come back at the trial. We make jokes about how ‘I’m crying over Glenn Close in Meth Bay lol!’ But that’s why the emotions hit so heavy. They are not SUPPOSED to be every episode.

The podcast is founded on the jokes and the stupid shit- if you want cool dnd shit.. like, this isn’t your podcast. That isn’t me gatekeeping or saying people can’t enjoy it if they come for those moments- but genuinely telling you to remember what you’re coming to. If you love the characters and the story, that’s great- but the comedy and bullshit episodes are always the core of the show for the story to build around. If you’re not gonna like them, that’s okay- but you will only disappoint yourself if you keep coming expecting something else.

You can watch it and hate these episodes. You can feel disappointed or upset something didn’t happen. That’s totally fine. But I really draw an issue with people viewing it as an error on the show’s end. Your personal preference not aligning with the show all the time is cool! But the show doesn’t pretend to be anything but stupid. It’s not bad storytelling to make the comedy show funny. The episode after the Grant Yeet scene, a huge part of it is them looking at Darryl’s shit in the toilet and getting eldritch trauma. You can’t really pick and choose Imo. But hey, do what you want, I’m just some guy! And ultimately if complaining is how you have fun (I get it, I love talking shit) then enjoy fandom however you like.

#sorry this isn’t what you were asking #I just wanted to tangent #asks #again I’m so genuinely #not trying to be rude or snarky #i say this with so much love #sometimes u have to take what u don’t like to enjoy the rest #and ignore it when u relisten #I’m not saying u have to drop the show for it #I get the rest of the season has been it’s own format #I’m just worried that this response like #is setting a standard for a show that isn’t built to meet it #I guess #dndads s2 #dndads #dungeons and daddies #dndads odyssey #dndads s1 #I think this episode is an extreme example of the goofs ofc but #yk

[stranger-who-writes-fiction]

NBD just crying over Action Comics 1060 (in a good way but also a sad way because DC is being VERY DUMB and ending PKJ’s run in favor of a Jason Aaron Bizarro filler arc ohhhhhh how I weep bitter tears of frustration)

…Anyways, spoilers!

So 1060 is the penultimate installment of PKJ’s (stellar, spectacular, phenomenal, brilliant, top-tier) run on Action Comics and I just want to applaud him—for a lot of things, really, but in *this* specific case, I wanna stand and cheer because he’s making it EXTREMELY CLEAR that the twins (who are not actually twins) are in fact, Clark’s kids. No question, no ambiguity; Otho calls him papa, Clark refers to her as his daughter, and he’s willing to travel through LITERAL HELL to get her back.

It’s entirely possible that future writers will try to get rid of these kids, but I appreciate that PKJ has made it *very* difficult for them. XD Any retcon they’d come up with would be so messy. (Of course, saying this, I realize that the more depressingly realistic outcome here isn’t that writers actively try to erase them, but rather, will probably sideline/ignore them, trot them out for generic precocious kids stuff every now and then, and wait for the next line-wide reboot to ‘streamline’ Clark aka toss out anything mildly interesting and/or additive to Clark’s corner of the DCU.)

Right. Sorry. Salty tangent. XD

So anyways here’s some panels that tugged on my ‘Aunt Kara’ heartstrings.

‘I know sweetie. I know. It’s so hard, not knowing.’ HOW VERY DARE.

There’s also a really great page wherein Kara gets Osul to calm down by reminding him of a…I think Phaelosian legend? Or possibly Kryptonian, I know she was trying to find stuff for them in a previous issue.

(Went back and it’s actually the House of Ra fable; the House of El’s is ‘Nightwing and Flamebird’, Ra’s is ‘Red Son and Starchild’.)

I love that Lois lets Kara and Osul have that moment, that space; I maintain that while Clark has a better handle on getting what the kids went through on Warworld given that he was there, and Lois obviously has more experience with raising kids that have unique needs thanks to Jon being half alien, but *Kara* is more readily equipped to sympathize with Otho and Osul’s struggles with transitioning to Earth life, based on her current, canon characterization. (Which is, uhhhh…Woman of Tomorrow and alsoooooo…Rebirth? Maybe? WoT is def canon, the recent SG one shot visually referenced Kara’s departure from Argo.) But I digress!

Speaking of the kids’ struggles…Otho is Going Through It. The stuff with Sister Shadow (AKA Norah Stone AKA evil daughter of an alt universe Bruce and Talia) trying to tempt her to the dark side by preying on her trauma/difficulty adapting to her new home and revealing a future, tyrannical version of herself is some wonderfully juicy character work, both from the perspective of fleshing out Otho AND being additive to Superman’s roster of villains; that’s something I love about PKJ’s approach to world building overall. Yes, he’s revamped some of Superman’s established bad guys (Metallo, Mongul) but he’s also added awesome new foes, like Norah Stone, and Pyrrhos.

I really hope DC lets him do like. A mini series on his original Kryptonian/House of El characters. I would honestly love to read about all these cool new, additive elements, than deal with the Luthor cameo fest over in Superman rn. XD

In conclusion: DC once again shying away from anything interesting and new with Superman in favor of the safe status quo. -_- I mean, I hope I’m wrong. I hope the new ‘Superman Superstars’ opt to build on the solid foundation PKJ has set up. But given what happened with Bendis? Creators’ absolute refusal to incorporate any of the canon he built, because they knew DC would walk it back ASAP? (And the Superman group editor openly admitting that was his number one priority as soon as he GOT THE JOB???) Just shows a complete lack of faith in your creators, and doesn’t really give me too much hope for one of the few remaining titles I look forward to each month.

…but hey, hopefully Marilyn Moonlight will be neat??? XD

(Also LET A WOMAN WRITE A MAIN SUPERMAN BOOK YOU COWARDS.)

#long post #dc comics #action comics #action comics spoilers #sg post #kinda #I was enjoying the flagship Superman title… #and then Campbell left and Williamson doubled down on Luthors XD #so yeeeeah it’s firmly back in ‘meh’ territory

[cobble-stone]

Hey Cobble, how do you make good builds? Asking as someone who has no experience and would probably be doing redstone if my computer wasn't so laggy

ooo! this is a very good question.

Cobble’s Somewhat Foolproof Guide to Making Cool Builds- Four Key Things To Note:

1- Purpose

The first step of a build doesn’t even really involve any placing of blocks at all- it requires more so of thinking than anything: Why do I need this build?

I feel like every build needs at least one of these two: function, and story. Both is best, but at least one will get you some ideas-

Function is probably what’s more up your alley, dear anon: it’s what the building does for you! Whether it be housing a spawner below, or storage for all your books: you can take that function, and find ways to incorporate what that building’s purpose is later down the line (for instance, a skeleton farm: you may want to use white blocks to represent bones! Or for a book storage, you may want to make a library!) A lot of people with long-running singleplayer worlds (I can name Philza with his hardcore world and Etho with his letsplay world) will tell you: if an area doesn’t serve a specific purpose, they often don’t return there.

Story, however, can be equally important! Why is that structure there? Who built it? What kind of vibe do you want it to give off? A fantasy-themed world with towers reaching into the sky will use many different shapes, blocks, and details than a grungy steampunk city lining the wall of a cave. In my own personal singleplayer world, the village is nestled in an enchanted valley, and since I associate magic with cooler tones like blues, greens, and purples, many of my builds are that color, and it also follows a victorian-fantasy theme!

2- Shape and Variety

I’m assuming you’ve already figured out a location- or maybe not! Maybe you’re just winging it wherever you spawn in. Either way, shape is VERY important in a build. You’ve probably seen the rather old plain box houses- we all have. we’ve all made one.

BUT. A build can be so much greatly improved by, instead of one plain shape, you think of a layout as many shapes stacked on top of eachother.

How I always do this is I figure out roughly how large and how detailed I want a build, and then usually plop down some shapes accordingly! A more simple build will likely be maybe one or two rectangles, or maybe you want to go wild. Here’s some sketched examples of what I shapes I may do when considering layout.

I’ll usually use these to figure out a general idea for rooms in a build- and figure things out from there! I like adding foundations, and variety in foundations, but that’s entirely optional- if you want to skip that, you can go right ahead to adding in the walls themselves (Though, not before you pick a block palette, which will be the next thing). Variety is your friend: if you want to really mix things up, make one room shorter or taller than the others! It’ll lend to some fun roof shapes.

If you want a second floor: surprise surprise: you just toss more shapes on there! You can keep some of your previous shapes, however, I like making a couple stick in and out in order to gain some variety in my builds! Sticking in allows you to add a little roof overhang or maybe a balcony, and sticking out may be slightly more unrealistic, but I like it and think it works well for a variety of build styles.

You also want to consider the types of roof you want. One large A-Frame roof, while classic, isn’t the best for every build. However, here’s a little cheat: you set yourself up for success. you already have good guides to add a roof onto. Here is a good guide to various roof shapes, and don’t be afraid to mix it up! I personally like A-Frame and Gambrel a lot, but these have many different uses for many different build styles!

Alright, I hope I didn’t confuse you too much. I’m bad at explaining things.

3- Block Palettes

Now. One of my favorite parts of a build, and this is where you can really set your builds apart from others. Figuring out which blocks you like, and which ones you want to throw together!

You’re following me, so I’m assuming you’re a Hermitcraft fan, and you’ve probably seen various hermits toss down blocks in front of their builds. This does have a purpose, believe it or not. Figuring out a build palette helps out a lot with the build you want to create.

You can use as many or as few (though,,,please lean towards the many. at least more than 3. i’m begging. this is a personal pet peeve of mine. please do not use the floor as the walls. trust me bro.) blocks as you want! The more the merrier. This is where you can bring back the purpose elements: using darker tones for a “scarier” build, maybe making a desert-themed build that houses a cactus farm, et cetera!  If you have absolutely no idea what you want: blockpalettes.com is your new best friend. Or, a creative test world, so you can toss down blocks and tweak them until you have something you like!

Once you get comfortable with block palettes and building, I advise you start adventuring a little bit! Things like spruce and stone brick and other common combinations- they’re great to practice and get more comfortable with building, as they’re easy to work with! However, as you get more comfortable, I highly advise you start mixing things up. I used to *hate* acacia and jungle, but figuring out uses for it made me grow to love it, and many other blocks. Especially jungle, it’s one of my favorites now. Who knows! Maybe that block you hate will slowly grow on ya.

4- Details

The devil is in the details. But we like the devil. You can summon him and sell your soul to him for more building skills-

Okay, sadly no amount of detail will have any demon-summoning in Minecraft- unless you accidentally plop down some skulls on soul sand and make a Wither. However, details can truly take a build to the next level. Some of my favorite details are various forms of shutters and windows, beams separating sections of roof, little flower planters under windows, shoving windows in roofs (I like windows. Don’t judge me), fireplaces and chimneys, adding borders to roofs and colored sections, et cetera. Even something small, like plopping colorful buttons on the corners, can make a difference. You can really go to town with this kind of thing. Interior details are also great, but if you want to hear about how I do interiors, let me know and I’ll make another post and try to sum it up better than “plop sea pickles and candles on everything and have fifty million rugs.”

But! Details are important, they can also be a bit finicky, and a bit harder for new builders. Keep trying different things, keep messing around and experimenting: you’ll eventually find the exact steps to bring your builds to life.

I hope this helps you anon, I wish you much luck with your builds! If there’s anything you want me to clear up or elaborate more on, let me know :D I love talking about building

an addition i added on later: if y’all make any builds with these tips in mind, show em off! @ me in them! i wanna see! :D

#minecraft #mineblr #hello anon hope you're having a good day :)

[pcttrailsidereader]

How We Are Seen and Heard

Being a PCT hiker is being part of a unique group of people who are spending an extended period of time in nature. This can be a day, many days, months, or if you are section hiker like me, years. The Pacific Crest Trail is both a National Scenic Trail  and also serves as a foundation for a growing community of hikers, trail angels, and others. 

The ‘others’ tend to be the people we encounter in post offices, stores, and hotels/hostels as well as the strangers that are interested in our individual stories. When my hiking partners and I were assailed by a family of strangers outside of Timberline Lodge asking about what we were doing, how far had we come, and where were we going next, we couldn’t help but enjoy the attention a little. With our chests puffed out we could proudly describe our experiences. I would like to think these people were intrigued enough to learn more about the PCT or maybe even be motivated to go on the PCT themselves. Isn’t that what really created the ‘Wild Effect’? People read Cheryl Strayed’s story or heard her interviewed and suddenly the number of hikers on the PCT set records. 

As the number of hikers has increased so has the impact on communities along the trail from the Mexican border to the Canadian border. Initially the number of resupply spots are fairly close together and not far off the route. As one walks north the distance between towns begins to spread out. As things do spread out when a hiker or hikers reach a town or resupply spot they may be more elated than ever for the food, shower, and what’s in their resupply box not to mention the other amenities these places provide. 

As we found when COVID 19 struck the PCTA tried to clear the trail to keep everyone; hikers and others including first responders safe. COVID was a reminder that our PCT community and its impact can be significant. Being on the trail can be freeing and a real escape from the more formal social constructs of the ‘real world’. This often draws a lot of people to being in nature and specifically to the PCT, AT, CDT, etc. All that being said, our community is more noticed than ever before. 

Being noticed can be wonderful as I described our experience at Timberline Lodge. Being noticed is best when it is for more of the right reasons. Some of the ways we may get noticed are not all for the best reasons. For example; being aware of odor…your’s in particular. When showing up in a public space, finding a seat outside or in a corner is probably not such a bad idea. When on the trail you can spread your gear around but when you are in town consider taking your post office packages to a quiet spot to organize yourself and get packed up again. In some places public showers may be available. At these spots be mindful of those waiting behind you and conserve the hot water. If your definition of a ‘public’ shower is the sink at Walmart try to resist the urge. Remember to praise the trail angels that step up for you and your friends. Please keep in mind that these people are the closest you may ever come to meeting a true saint. Sharing a little or a lot of gratitude with these people goes a longer way than you may have walked. Taking these folks for granted is the very last thing anyone in our PCT community should ever be remembered for. One more thing not to be remembered for is taking a very drunk/high and disorderly zero in a host town or resort. 

#consideration #trail karma #etiquette

[im-no-jedi]

MLWTBB: First Time For Everything

aka the (continued) journey into my self insert nonsense✨

chapter summary: it’s finally time for Hannah and Hunter’s first date, but neither of them seem to have any idea of what to do...

notes: this is a continuation of my story, “My Life With The Bad Batch”; I highly recommend reading that first before this one! I created a few new planets for this story. I’m also not 100% versed in SW terminology, so forgive me if some things are labeled incorrectly! each chapter will be rated accordingly, as opposed to the overall fic. lastly, there is romance in this story. hope you enjoy! 💙

add. notes: this chapter was edited and proofread by my sis @jam-n-ham! thanks sis!! 😋💙 also sorry for the long delay in updates; life happened, you know how it is 😅

Chapter 16, 3000+ words, rated G (as to be expected, just more awkward romance stuff 😆)

previous chapters: Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15

next chapter

✨MLWTBB masterlist✨

______________________________________________________________

The sun was set. Several of the streets were now laden in complete darkness, but much of the city was still lit by neon lights and torches that lined the various buildings of Ord Mantell. Few folks dared to walk the streets past sunset, but the brave souls who did always did so with a purpose. And that’s exactly what Hunter was about to do.

He’d been waiting at the bottom of the stairs to Hannah’s apartment for a little while, now changed into his civilian clothes at Hannah’s request, all the time pacing and anxiously drumming his fingers on his own crossed arms. Normally, in tense situations, he could easily remain calm and collected. The others often looked to him as a stable pillar, unfazed by pretty much anything. But ever since Hannah had come into their lives, Hunter could feel his foundations beginning to crack in ways he’d never experienced before. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it still shook him enough that he questioned it.  

When it came to warfare, Hunter knew all the angles. But he knew absolutely nothing about things like domesticity or... going on a date.

Wow. He hadn’t even really thought about it before. He was actually going on a date. And it was with Hannah.

It suddenly started to make sense why he was going so crazy all the time. Because he was crazy. Crazy about her, that is.

Too bad Crosshair isn’t here to see this, he smugly thought to himself.

Footsteps coming down the stairs suddenly caught Hunter’s attention, and his heart jumped. He could recognize the footfalls a mile away. The smell of Hannah’s soap pleasantly hit his nostrils and caused him to break out into an elated smile. He watched as she stepped into view in front of him, now sporting her signature black shirt, green jacket, and gray neck wrap. She even had her beloved yellow bag with her again. As lovely as the dress she’d worn to Hosnian Prime was, this was the Hannah he knew best.

“Hope you weren’t waiting too long,” Hannah said, coming up to Hunter with her hands tightly clasped on the strap of her bag. It was way too reminiscent of how she looked during their first few days together, and the smile on Hunter’s face widened.

“Not at all. Any wait would be worth it either way.”

Hannah let out a flustered chuckle. “Already starting off with the mushiness, I see.”

“Was it really that mushy though?” Hunter questioned as he raised an eyebrow.

“For you, anything other than that scowl of yours is mushy to me.” Hannah playfully punched Hunter in the arm and snickered.

“So,” Hunter started with a sigh. “What uhh, did ya have in mind for tonight?”

Hannah’s eyes suddenly went a bit wide. “Right, I was supposed to pick what we’re doing, right...” She seemed to get lost in thought for a bit, which made Hunter chuckle. “Honestly, I don’t really care, I’m fine with whatever!” She threw her hands in the air and laughed, cracking a wide smile as she did so.

“That’s great, but not really helpful,” Hunter replied with a laugh of his own.

“I know, I’m sorry... I’m not...” Hannah sighed in exasperation. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve... never done anything like this before.” She began wringing her hands together nervously and couldn’t even look Hunter in the face anymore.

Hunter watched her for a moment in silence. He felt bad that she was so nervous, but he completely understood. “Me neither.”

Hannah’s brows furrowed a bit and she looked up at him again. “Really?”

“Is that so hard to believe? Ya don’t really get a lotta chances to go out with people when you’re in war.”

“I guess so,” Hannah responded with a nod.

“If anything,” Hunter continued. “I’m surprised you haven’t done this before. You’ve lived a lot longer than I have, and... well...” He trailed off a bit and cleared his throat. “I dunno, just seems like someone would’ve asked you by now, is all.”

A fake smile grew on Hannah’s face and she shook her head. “Nope. Not once. Never even had a guy tell me he liked me before.”

Hearing that, Hunter actually got upset. How could anyone not see how great of a person Hannah was? His signature scowl briefly appeared on his face before he let out a scoff. “Well, lucky me then. Their loss.”

Slight redness began to show on Hannah’s cheeks, and she broke out into a flattered smile. Clearly, she wasn’t used to being given this kind of treatment, and Hunter was now more determined than ever to give her an evening she deserved.

“C’mon,” Hunter said, beckoning Hannah to follow him. “We’ll figure somethin’ out.”

Without hesitation, Hannah came up beside Hunter, practically flush with his shoulder, and walked at his side as they began to head towards the market together. The date had officially begun.

***************************

Heading to the market together wasn’t a new experience for Hannah and Hunter. During Hannah’s earlier days on Ord Mantell, one or more of the boys would accompany her to the market so she’d feel more comfortable. Hunter was often the one who ended up going with her, usually with Omega tagging along as well. But those times were different. They’d always gone with a goal in mind, for the purpose of things like shopping or just getting to know the place better.

Tonight, their sole purpose for going to the market was simply to be together.

A good portion of their time after leaving Hannah’s apartment was spent in silence, like their times together were prone to be. It wasn’t so much that they didn’t know what to say, but more that they didn’t need to say anything. Both of them enjoyed each other’s company so much that it almost felt like words might ruin the moment somehow. And considering what had happened on Hosnian Prime, it was no surprise they stayed silent with each other for a while.

However, the silence couldn’t last forever, and eventually Hannah was the one to finally break it with one of her signature giggles.

“What’s so funny?” Hunter asked, giving her a curious look.

“Well,” Hannah began. “It’s just... ironic.”

“What is?”

Hannah let out a wistful sigh. “What we’re doing. Going out like this together.”

Hunter looked confused, which made Hannah giggle again.

“The first time you and I were ever alone together was something just like this, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” Hunter said, finally realizing what she was talking about. “Although, I don’t think we wanna go looking for cables this time. Or festival games. And definitely no fancy restaurants.”

Hannah threw her head back with a laugh. “Hey, the Prism Palace wasn’t bad. It was just Irridas who was bad. And I’d still take him over Vin any day.”

Hunter’s face turned down into a disgusted scowl. “I’d rather have neither of ‘em.”

Another laugh from Hannah. A shopkeeper at one of the stalls they passed called out to them, asking to try one of their products, but Hannah politely turned them down.  

“It wasn’t all bad on Volruna, you know,” she said, running her hand across the strap of her bag.

“No, of course not,” Hunter responded, shaking his head. “I wasn’t tryin’ to say that at all. There were plenty of good things that happened that day.” His eyes drifted down, taking note of the small space separating them. “I can think of one thing for sure that we could recreate right now too.”

“Oh?” Hannah raised an eyebrow and looked at him curiously. Then she felt her breath get caught in her throat as Hunter reached down and took her by the hand. The warm smile that ran across his face made her heart flutter, and she looked away for a moment to hide how flustered she was.

Now hand in hand, the two of them continued their stroll through the market in shared silence again. It wasn’t terribly busy at that time, and several of the stalls had already closed for the night. Compared to Volruna, it was a much different experience, and Hannah especially chose to not compare it any longer. She wanted to enjoy their time as much as possible, without just trying to recreate that first experience again.

This time, the silence was broken by Hunter letting out a small chuckle.

“What?” Hannah asked with a chuckle of her own.

“Nuthin’, I just...” Hunter let out a small sigh. “I can’t believe you got me thinkin’ about Volruna again.”

“Oh, is that bad?”

“No, not at all. I mean, I’ve thought about it plenty of times before.”

Hannah’s eyes went wide. “O-Oh really?”

“Well yeah, why wouldn’t I? It was...” Hunter looked down at Hannah a bit sheepishly. “A lot happened that day, ya know? And like you said, it wasn’t all bad. I try to not think of the bad stuff, if I can help it.”

This was the first instance of Hannah hearing Hunter even mention that day on Volruna to her. She wanted to blurt out how often she thought of that day, how special it was to her, how much she wished certain things would’ve happened... but she held back and let Hunter continue.

“Bein’ out here like this with you... it feels like it, in a way.” Hunter scratched the top of his head in contemplation. “There’s a word for that, when you get reminded of something that happened in the past...”

“Oh, nostalgia?”

“Yeah, that’s it. I know it’s only been a couple months so, I dunno, feels weird feeling that way about somethin’ that didn’t happen that long ago.” A small smirk grew on his face and he looked down at Hannah again. “Not that I’m complaining, of course.”

“Of course,” Hannah replied with a small smirk of her own.  

Before either of them could say anything else, another voice called out to them from one of the stalls. Except this time, Hannah recognized the voice. “Well, look who it is! Out a bit late tonight, aren’t you two?”

“You’re one to talk, Mrs Ygreu!” Hannah exclaimed, dragging Hunter over to the stall with her. “Aren’t you normally closed by now?”

“Normally, yes,” the old woman replied. “But I decided to stay open a bit later tonight so I could try and sell off the rest of these Corellian apples before they go bad.”

“Now where’d you get Corellian apples from, huh?” Hunter cheekily asked.

Mrs Ygreu let out a hardy laugh. “Oh, I’ve got all sorts of connections, my boy. But enough about me...” She eagerly leaned against her own hands on the stall and looked between the other two. “I haven’t gotten an answer to my question yet.”

Hannah snickered and leaned in closer to her, whispering behind her own hand, “We’re on a date.”

Immediately, Mrs Ygreu’s eyes bugged out. It looked like she’d just been handed a million credits. “Ohoho! Is that so?”

Hannah happily nodded, while Hunter just smiled awkwardly.

“Well, in that case...” Mrs Ygreu suddenly ducked under the stall. Rummaging noises could be heard before she suddenly popped back up again, surprisingly fast considering her age. A bag full of apples was plopped on the counter. “I insist you take the rest of these with you. And don’t you dare try to talk me out of it. They’re going to go bad soon anyway, like I said.”

Hunter looked like he wanted to object, but Hannah knew better and gingerly thanked Mrs Ygreu for being so sweet. The old woman pulled her in a bit closer and told her she could properly thank her by not letting that handsome man get away from her, earning a flustered giggle from Hannah. Even though he could hear the whole exchange, Hunter pretended he was oblivious and awkwardly cleared his throat, turning away to give them privacy.

Now with a bag of apples in tow, Hannah and Hunter bid Mrs Ygreu a good night, while she in turn wished them a happy and fruitful date. The old woman laughed at her own joke, and Hannah joined in, going into an absolute fit of laughter. Hunter was far less amused and simply let out a long sigh while pinching the bridge of his nose.

The apple bag was actually small enough to fit inside of Hannah’s personal bag, which made it easier to carry. Since she no longer kept all of her personal belongings in it, the bag had even more room than before. Hunter joked that it made no difference seeing as her bag could magically hold whatever it wanted, even before she’d emptied it. With a snicker, Hannah tossed one of the apples to him, then pulled out one for herself.

“Well, they’re no sugar sticks,” Hunter said after taking a bite of his apple. “But these are pretty good too.”

Hannah nodded in agreement, licking the juice from her lips. “Man, wouldn’t these be so good with the sugar sticks though?”

“Heh, you read my mind, Solar Flare.”

Hannah went into a fit of giggles, covering her mouth to keep pieces of apple from spewing out. The nickname he’d given her still tickled her immensely.

By the time they’d both finished their apples, most of the other stalls were starting to close. It was looking like there were less and less options for them to do anything else besides walk around. Not that they minded, of course. Both of them were still simply enjoying just being together. 

Ideally, it would’ve been just the two of them. Very rarely did they ever get moments alone, and when they did, it usually wasn’t for long. Hannah was almost regretting inviting the others to her apartment for the night.

Suddenly, Hannah was stopped by Hunter. “What, what is it?” she asked.

“Ugh, might be trouble ahead,” Hunter replied, and he gestured ahead.

Hannah saw that the way forward was a bit shadier than what they’d encountered thus far. There also appeared to be several individuals lingering in the darkness. Some of them had speeder bikes to boot. Instinctually, Hannah stepped a bit closer to Hunter and tightened her grip on his hand. “Who are they?” she asked in a more hushed tone than before.

“Some local gang,” Hunter replied. “I’ve... run into them before.”

Hannah sighed. “Why am I not surprised?”

“They’re not the kind to pick a fight randomly, but... they’d probably recognize me.”

“Should we just go back then?”

“Probably wouldn’t make a difference. Some of ‘em might be roamin’ around in general now.”

“Sooooo, what do we do then?”

Hunter exhaled sharply through his nose and went into his usual thinking pose, clutching a hand to his chin. Hannah repressed a giggle and began scouring the area to see if they were being watched. It seemed like they hadn’t been noticed yet, thankfully.

Then an idea came to her mind. “You’re sure they’d recognize you?”

“They’d recognize my face, at the least,” Hunter replied.

“Oh, well in that case...” With a readjustment of her bag, Hannah began removing her neck wrap. She shook it out a bit once it was off, then practically threw it over Hunter’s head. He didn’t budge once as she adjusted it. The neck wrap was large enough to cover his entire head, like a makeshift hood, and she made sure none of his hair was sticking out. She also gathered up some of it to attach around his ears so his nose and mouth would be covered. By the time she was done, the only thing visible on Hunter’s head was his eyes; the rest being just a gathering of gray fabric.

“You think this’ll work?” Hunter asked, his voice slightly muffled from the fabric.

“Unless these guys can recognize you by the eyes!” Hannah chuckled.

Hunter was still wary about approaching them at all, but Hannah reassured him, saying they would be fine. They’d taken on enemies way worse than those guys before, and plus... she snickered a bit and reached into her bag, revealing her blaster with a cheeky grin.

To say Hunter was shocked was an understatement. “I can’t believe you brought ol’ Vinny on our date.”

Hannah could barely conceal her laughter after that.

Still hand in hand, the two of them made their way past the bike gang, not giving them any attention whatsoever. Hunter remained as casual as he could, while Hannah decided to take a more confident approach. She refused to be intimidated by those hooligans and kept her head held high, taking a page out of Madame Eldya’s book. Only a couple of the gang members even acknowledged their presence, but didn’t give them more than a passing glance.

Once they were well past the gang, both Hannah and Hunter let out sighs of relief. “Told ya the scarf would work!” Hannah exclaimed.

“Never doubted you for a second,” Hunter replied, pulling the fabric off of his face. He left the rest of it on his head, rather liking the makeshift hood Hannah had given him. Also, he wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was thoroughly enjoying having Hannah’s scent on him now.

Now that that problem was dealt with, they could focus on their original problem of not knowing what to do. Except now they had the added issue of needing to avoid the bike gang too. Hunter said they probably wouldn’t be there for much longer, but it was gonna be difficult even getting back to Hannah’s apartment until they were gone.

Once again, Hannah was the one to get an idea and a grin spread across her face. “I think I might know a place we can hang out at for a bit.”

Before Hunter could even question what it was, Hannah was already leading him down the street with surprising enthusiasm. He imagined this was what it felt like for her being dragged around by him on Volruna and just let her do her thing. It was kind of exciting, actually. He couldn’t wait to see what surprise Hannah had waiting at the end of this little adventure.

#the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #HERE WE GOOOOOOOO #I genuinely have never been on a date before #so I'm just assuming everything really #also my man ain't as smooth as y'all think he is #he is for the most part but he can be awkward too! #as he should be! #ANYWAY enjoy the awkward I guess LOL #star warz #my storiez

[artofnoisemedia]

The most important thing in the music industry isn’t what you think!

Ok so the most important thing in the music industry is the music but that’s a given, its obvious so for the sake of open-mindedness lets leave that to one side.

All over the world, every night of the week in a pub or club is an Open Mic night taking place. These nights and the saints that put them on are the very foundation on which the entire music industry is built.

I’ve seen people be really mean about artists doing open mic. All of the nasty comments and the mocking laughter from ignorant people who don’t understand that there is a lot more to sitting up there in front of people and singing a song.

Firstly that person has had to sit and take the time learn or write the song they are performing and then with the pressure of having every eye and ear in the room on them it is something that makes almost everyone nervous.

When in the moment, when things are going well you can sit there and sing the best you’ve ever sung but that isn’t always the case. Especially if that person hasn’t performed live very often or its their first time.

Open Mics are usually the first place that someone takes the skill they have learnt and the music they have written out of their homes, away from their friends and family and presents it to people they don’t know, often drunk people they don’t know.

The first time that individual puts themselves put there in the public eye it’s scary. The first time I did it I honestly think I went for to the toilet 10 times before my name was called. It went ok, but not great, in fact I know it was pretty awful!

I was lucky the people in the audience when I did it were nice, they offered advice rather than mocking me. The kind and thoughtful approach of these people at my first open mic helped me progress as a musician and a singer. Those occasions when the set breaks bad and you hear the negative comments it ll its to the performer is make it worse, they hurry, mix up the words and panic. ts by far the worst thing you can do to someone at open mic, although it does harder you up it’s still out of order and wrong!

All of the best artist you hear on the radio today cut their teeth at open mic nights, without the amazing people that put them on grassroots music would fade away and all that would exist is the manufactured bubblegum pop we are force fed on a regular basis.

Open mics are important after all you don’t know if that nervous person singing up there on stage in front of you is the next big thing. So give them a chance and remember if you don’t have the courage or the musical ability to get up there and try don’t mock those who actually do!

#independent music #art of noise #unsigned music #music blog #open mic

[dragonflight203]

Mass Effect 2 replay, Horizon wrap up:

-Jacob continues to assist the worst of Cerberus operatives. Whoever sent him the information about the Hugo Gernsback SOS may have been doing it to obtain a favor or get under his skin. No positive possibilities are listed.

Again, why is Jacob with Cerberus? If all of its operatives are so awful, why is so sure they’re doing good?

-The game forces you to speak to Hackett to get the Arrival mission before you can use your computer.

-Hackett insists you go in alone. If the batarians see a squad of soldiers, they’ll kill Dr. Kenson.

Then if you don’t do it, you learn in ME2 that Hackett sent in a squad of marines to retrieve her. Sure, Hackett. This totally wasn’t you getting Shepard to cross off another item on your to-do list.

-Yet again, Reapers are used to manipulate Shepard. What was Dr. Keson doing in batarian space? Well, she had just found a Reaper artifact…

Hackett knows exactly what’s he doing by telling Shepard that. No way they’ll turn down the mission now.

-So the Alliance are also denying the Reaper threat. Despite having both Anderson and Hackett in your corner.

Logical enough, I suppose. If the Council’s agreed to deny Reapers ti prevent panic, that would include the Alliance.

-Hackett tells you to keep this quiet. He should know better; just ask the turian councilor. Shepard set off a bomb on Virmire. :)

-Kaidan definitely has Shepard’s email. He gave it to a colonist on Horizon, Robyn Reeve, who asks Shepard to save the kidnapped colonists.

Robyn also states the Alliance aren’t doing anything. Despite getting Shepard’s email from the Alliance soldier that installed the defense towers.

Look, I’m not saying that the Alliance is being successful but they are trying.

-When you speak to Kelly, she asks if you still have feelings for Kaidan. Interestingly, saying they’re in the past is the upper left option; saying yes is the upper right.

Upper left is usually the “extra” paragon option. So moving on from Kaidan is more paragon than not.

This is the problem with the dialogue wheel; with the way it’s normally used, the placing of options comes with extra baggage that may not have been intended.

I can’t tell if the writers genuinely intended for maintaining feelings for Kaidan or not to have any extra connotations.

-Joker, about Kaidan if you go paragon: There’s a reason I don’t date crew, commander.

This from the guy that dates the ship in ME3!

-Why does Miranda specify that her sister is her twin?

On my first playthrough, that registered as odd – how could Miranda know so much about her father’s business and have such a complex about her creation, while her sister lives a normal life?

It makes sense when you learn Oriana was a baby when they left. Of course a baby would be ignorant.

It doesn’t make sense if you think Oriana is Miranda’s twin. If Oriana is Miranda’s age, she should be in as deep as Miranda.

I can see why Miranda wants to present Oriana as an adult. If she’s a child, then the whole kidnapping a child from her parent issue that forms the foundation of the loyalty mission comes up.

But she could have claimed Oriana was five or six years younger than her, and that would have explained both Oriana’s ignorance and bypassed the whole kidnapping conundrum.

I suppose this can be a seen as a sign of how Miranda isn’t perfect, but it seems like something she should have considered.

-Garrus got screwed with dialogue. Every other companion gets three or so conversations when they join the crew. He only gets one.

-Zaeed says he’s fought slavers and kidnapping rings, but nothing like the Horizon.

Hmm. Slavers and kidnapping rings aren’t a bad comparison; the Collectors are kidnapping people.

Still, that puts Zaeed in an oddly positive light – slavers and kidnappers, to greatly simplify it, are bad people that good people oppose.

Typical for Zaeed: In one breath he’ll say he didn’t want to hire batarians because they’re slavers, in the next he’ll set a factory of innocent works on fire and leave them to burn to death so he can get revenge. Man’s complex.

#mass effect #mass effect 2 #mass effect 2 replay

[unknownjpegs]

remember

‘Recording studio’ his fucking arse.

Benji’s been in bad ones before. He’d his own shit setup in a garage, for fuck’s sake. This one? Made that look luxe. But it’s dirt cheap…and that’s exactly why they’re here in the first. It’s in-budget.

Budget means: it’s more closet than room. Craft-store foam padding has been stapled to the walls instead of good acoustic board. It crumbles slough off in ragged black puffs and floats to the ground with each vibration of his pedal bass. And that means quite of a fucking lot of it shakes off. Benji prefers laying a nasty, thrumming foundation. Contrasts nicely with Lark’s vocals on this track. Sounds good, and Benji gets to do a bit of property damage to the lying crook who had the balls to call this prison cell a ‘studio’. 

Still, they sound good. They always sound good, when it’s just the two of them. Some days it feels impossible for them to create anything less than fucking magic.

Benji thinks that might be time-blind bias. It doesn’t stop nostalgia from swinging a hammer into his chest when Lark turns to grin at him. He goes concave in the chest, falling into the next section with loose passion.

He wouldn’t replace a single one of them for the world, but when it’s just him and Lark? Nah. No comparison. No competition. And it’s just like it was. All he has to do is shut his eyes, go back there. When it felt — not easy, because it never has been, but… simple. Natural as breathing, to adapt, follow Lark’s creative lead. New tempo, line repeated, belt a bit longer than it usually would be. He likes that, that Lark keeps him aware, on his toes. Forces him to do something new and shake off the shit of it all.

He tries. Because  even though it’s been a rough month, Lark doesn’t sound it. He’s not hoarse or sore from a show, because he takes care of himself — and his instrument. And he doesn’t have deep brown rings of exhaustion under his eyes like Benji. He gets to sleep at a decent hour, won’t often be pulled out late to party, bullied into watered down shots with groupies, exhaustion rings under his eyes like smudges of ink. 

Even now the exhaustion isn’t visible on him. He reminds Benji of a cat, that way. Or a bird, more fittingly. The graceful solitude of playing effortlessness. How sometimes cats seem normal right up ’til the end… right before they crawl under the porch to shove off alone.

Which is to say, everything’s going great. Well as it could be, circumstances considering. 

In a pickle. His mum liked to say that. In a pickle. She’d probably say it a bit more cross than he is, probably say worse than, if she knew they’d blown so much money from gigs on partying instead of good equipment. Or a proper recording studio. Or, in Benji’s case, a flight home once in awhile.

They just need to scrape a bit together. Get this single recorded, maybe some samples for Benji to pawn online. Hype everything, drop a ‘leak’, sell some tickets. No partying. They’ll get Lark back in Boston to rest up, Benji on his way home. And then, after a much needed rest, they can actually start working on the next album. 

The backing music cuts abruptly. A prickish, reedy voice cuts across the speakers:“You have ten minutes.”

Benji rises slowly from his seat. His eyes go from the kilt, Lark’s confused face, to the cracked yellowing plexiglass separating them from the producer’s setup. “The fuck we do. Paid for an hour.”

There’s feedback. “Well, you don’t get an hour.” 

Benji scoffs, throws his hands up in the air. “We paid —”

“And now you don’t get the last ten, either.” The speaker emits a high-pitched whine that has him grinding his teeth. “Fuck you.”

The speaker cuts off. With it go the lights, Lark’s microphone, and the amp connected to the provided drum set. Lark turns to look at him, brow furrowed. Benji stares back. Blinks once. His scowl falls completely flat, brow relaxing.

Lark sighs, presses the heel of the palm holding the mic to his forehead. “Don’t.” 

It’s half hearted. Barely an attempt, because he recognizes that specific brand of anger. Benji’s done it a few times in front of him by now: lost it properly. Used to more often way back then, when he lacked the control over himself.

At least now, Benji looks in control even when he doesn’t feel it; he maneuvers gracefully from behind the set, fists clenched before he tosses his sticks to the side with a snarl. His boots are heavy thuds as he strides across the splintering hardwood, nearly vibrating with rage as he yanks the door open with an angry: “Fuckin’ thieving dickhead, listen —” 

*

He’s embarrassed by the rant the second it’s half-out of him. Mostly because he can tell, as he spits and shouts, that the guy’s not internalizing any of its contents. He gets that look about them that people sometimes do when they aren’t hearing words but sounds. Bored, dismissive, a little pitying. That’s why Benji doesn’t enjoy being loud: if somebody’s not going to listen, they’re not going to listen. No point in the extra labor. 

The stubbornness makes him angrier. He thinks of his parents, the shit they put up with when he was young. How it felt to be looked at and dismissed, not given the opportunity to either soft or loud, all the extra labor and not much to show for it. Not the same, yet close enough it has his fists clenching. Twitching.

Yellow card, he tells himself. You’re yellow, mate, back off.

So he does. Backs off all the way out the room, the musty smelling foyer of the building, and down the stoop to the street.

*

The second cigarette is done by the time Lark pours out of the building. His messy jog down the stoop stairs makes him look as if he should upend twice over, but he doesn’t. Somehow, he stays gracefully on his feet. Benji watches him turn about in a circle once he hits the sidewalk, his fingers interlaced behind his head and eyes pointed towards the hazy blue-black sky. It’s nearly eight at night, but it’s not as dark as it gets out in the countryside. 

Benji looks up, too. He can’t see the stars. It makes him homesick. Nostalgic in a twisted way; the opposite of how bashing his heart out on the sticks feels. For the wharf at this hour and later, sat beside Maran while he points out constellations, and for the road. He, Ewan, and Lark have spent many a night camped out in some cheap RV park, getting too high and hoping for a meteor shower. 

“Fucking hate New York.” Benji says evenly, flicking the cigarette vaguely towards a trashcan and looking  away before seeing its fate. More on his plate than guilt trip over littering, right now. “View’s shit everywhere.”

“Why’d you say all that to him, man?” Lark sighs, hands up like they’re going to squeeze around Benji’s neck before they drop to his sides.

“Said his business practices were a bit archaic, s’all.” He shrugs, mouth downturned in a cheeky frown. He said way more than that. “He was a prick, anyway.”

“Prick with a studio!” 

 Benji glances away. A wash of guilt sweep up his neck. “Plenty of those.” He gambles on humor, gestures between his legs. “Meant pricks with studios, not just, y’know. Pricks.”

But Benji’s not so lucky tonight. The dismissiveness enrages Lark. His snap of anger is all it takes for them to both kick off. If Ewan were here, the fight wouldn’t even start. He had that diffuse thing about him; big, good-natured beam of a smile, friendly shakes to their shoulders, slipping in a joke that he knows will make them both laugh to settle the spark. 

But he’s not with them, so it catches the wick. That’s how it often is. Both of them passionate, more than a bit stubborn, in their heads. They can’t be so fucking similar and not go at each others’ throats the way they do. When rough edges rubbed together, friction’s made. Each half of the velcro has little teeth to hold tight, so sometimes peeling it apart is an ugly, loud rip. Worse, it’s easy.

So much about their friendship is easy. Of course the fighting’s no exception. Most of the time, their matches end in a mutually moody cold-shoulder treatment. Lasts for a few days — never more than. One of them will turn to the other and break it. ‘Sorry’ offered up as an olive branch, an apology and more. Always the first word, even if it’s bitten out or shouted or whispered. They’d come to that unspoken agreement a long time ago. A Benji-Lark fight doesn’t end, as are the rules, until that first slithery letter touches from tip of tongue to back of teeth. But this is the beginning of a fight. And it’ll be, for years, the worst one they ever have.

“You need to get straight, man.” Lark says. It’s nearly inaudible over the city sounds, even this late at night, yet it rings in his ears as a shout.

Benji huffs in offended disbelief, eyes darting around Lark’s face. “Are you serious? Get straight? Fuckin’ hell Lark. Grow up. Y’know how you’ve made that sound? Got it like I’m out every night goin’ at it in some shit dive bar bathroom.”

“Ever since —” the sentence cuts off, Lark’s lip tucked guiltily between his teeth. Benji’s eyebrows shoot sky-high.

“No, no. You wanna do that?” He crosses his arms, briefly untucking one hand to circle it. “G’head, pal. With your chest, then. Follow through if you start on it.” 

The next word is gonna be his name, or — 

“Reno stole from your fucking wallet, Benji.” Lark reminds quietly, as if he needed the reminder at all. Yeah, there it is. Want me to say something about your latest break-up? Want me to drag that around in your face? Something must show on his face, because Lark levels somewhat. The tight line of his shoulders relaxes a little, and that makes Benji fucking livid. Hates that Lark doesn’t look furious anymore. It’s always washed off him easier. Benji’s gotta scrub. Walk away, get alone, and fucking scrub until the film of anger comes off. 

Lark is level now. Benji isn’t. There’s nothing much he hates more than being stood somewhere, scowl in place, lip curled. The only one angry. He hates the feeling of being the only one angry. 

You still upset, baby? It’s been an hour. Why can’t you let it go? Let’s kiss and make up.

Benji starts tapping his foot to a song they won’t finish recording, shoving away the sticky-sweet drawl in his head.

“Why don’t we get Ewan back in?” Lark tries to reroute, patch over. Lark always tries, because he’s so fucking responsible. So capable. 

“Fuck Ewan,” Benji clips immediately, because honestly yeah: there’s another fucking corner that Benji’s backed them into. Situation he hasn’t addressed, made right — he’s not Lark. He’s too scared of ‘no’ if he says ‘sorry’. He imagines Ewan and Lark all over the place, torn from the walls, gnarly bits of spongey black foam floating all over from careless, thunder of a bassline.

Can we bring the drum down?

Won’t sound right. 

Doesn’t now. 

Fuck you, Lark.

Fuck you, Benj.

Benji pats for his cigarettes with trembling fingers. He doesn’t want Lark to notice. When the cardboard slips into his palm too light, empty, he swears and immediately looks around for a cornerstore. Lark reaches out to grab his shoulders. He shakes those slim hand off, feeling too fizzy under the skin to be touched right now. 

“We’re down to two hundred, Benji.”

“Technically three. Means I can’t buy a pack?” 

“Means we have to save something set aside.” 

Benji oohs as if he’s just offered a world-shaking scientific discovery. “Something, yeah? For food. Petrol, maybe.” He gestures to the road behind them. “Petrol, ‘cuz we’ve definitely a car to use.” They’d sold it for studio money a few months back.

He doesn’t say it all particularly loud. Doesn’t even raise his voice. But he’s heated, visibly mad, and stepping closer to Lark. Several heads turn to stare at them. He figures that’s a bad sign for a New York street, that he’s drawing attention from these sort. Chaos in the everyday that you’re meant to ignore. Their first week here, he’d seen a pretty businesswoman woman get splattered with entrails from a rat that hadn’t quite made it across the crosswalk. She’d continued her phone conversation while wiping her blouse with a pack of tissues pulled from her bag.

I fucking hate this city, Benji thinks, and files this fight away into its association. More reasons to despise it. 

“I’m just saying, we need to wise up, okay.” Lark glares at him. Level, level, even his fucking eyes. Tea and cream brown to Benji’s near-black. They’re even ground, staring at each other. So Benji does what he does best, riled and his feelings hurt. He sinks lower. 

“Right.” He reaches up and touches a thumb to his canine, nodding thoughtfully as his eyes sweep away and down the street. “Yeah. It was our last fifty, wasn’t it Lark?” They flick back to the other man. Narrowed slightly, his mouth curled. It’s not a smile. It’s just humored, nasty judgment.

Do not fucking go there, says Lark’s cool, serious face. He looks calm again, expectant. Like he’s waiting for a tantrum to pass.

You’re so put together, Lark. Teach me how. I want to stop giving everything away as it comes to me. 

”How much was her prom dress again, mate? Forgot, heh. All those zeros.” 

There’s no pause, no beat of silence. Lark doesn’t need that long to think or react. He simply fishes out half their remaining budget, slaps it to Benji’s chest, then yanks his guitar case up over his shoulder. Turns, begins to stride down the street. 

Benji doesn’t chase him, but there’s a build-up of something in his chest that needs to be released. Last word’s always gotta be yours, Benji, huh? Saha asks tearily in his memory. 

“No guitar, no sound production, no fuckin’ rhythm?” He drums the air. “Means no music. Means nothing to fuckin’ sing to,” Benji calls, hands cupped around his mouth. “Have fun with acapella, you prick!”

Lark doesn’t turn around or shout back. Instead he sticks a fist into the night air, middle finger up. 

*

Benji needs a drink after that. He ends up, as he’d snarled at Lark, in a dive bar. A club would be more conducive to getting freely sloshed, which he wants to prioritize, but he doesn’t have the spare for a cover charge. 

Benji doesn’t even have subway money, because he plans on using that for a pint or two. So he walks. He wanders until he finds something that reeks cheap — settles on a shitty bar near the west end of Highland Park. It’s a brick place on the corner, and the Irish flag in the window is what makes him laugh enough to jog across the street. Looks promising. He tries not to be egotistical about it, but if it’s the right sort of place, it’s easy to get gone on a penny. All he has to do is sit at the bar with an empty seat beside him, or stake out in the corner like he wants to be left alone, and someone’ll bother him. 

Happens quicker than he expected. He’s only half-done with his first pint when he feels a presence at his elbow. He waits a moment, strategic about the lack of attention, before turning his chin to the side. He rests it on curled fingers, giving him a slow assessment. Hopes the this’ll work, I guess sort of moue twisting his mouth isn’t too indicative of that.

“Hey.” 

“Call you something?”

It seems to startled him, Benji’s immediacy to a name. These sorts of things, the chance meetings? Anonymity is the standard. But the guy’s shock doesn’t last long. He shrugs. With his close-lipped smirk, it’s easy to imagine his teeth are sharp.

“Nothing. J-Just Ben. Benny is fine.” A light eyebrow quirks. “You’re hot though, so, if you have something else in mind…?”

He snorts. “Yeah, might need to think on it. ‘Cuz that…” he gestures, fingers waving in between their chests, his head tilting back and forth pointedly. “Funny. I’m Benji. Got the potential to be real fuckin’ weird.”

Benny — nah, too close — Ben pouts dramatically. He has no idea how the man manages it still smirking like that, sharp and twisted, and still have the expression come off charmingly coy. 

“You don’t like weird?” 

“Didn’t say that,” Benji volleys back, turning around to sort his belongings. Wallet into pocket, jacket over the chair. I’m gonna stay right here, as long as you give me a reason to.

He moves closer. Slips, kinda like oil on the surface of water. Like he has wheels instead of feet. Not goofy or wobbly, but dangerous. Tall and graceful with a sleazy, predatory line to his shoulders that Benji’s watches for period of time that’s a second outside normal. That gets noticed; the rakish grin slits wider. Benji lingers on that, too.

“Wh-what are you up to?”

Benji shakes the half-empty pint between them, eyebrows up. 

The blond snorts. “No, I mean, here.” He gestures around at the shit bar, its sticky mahogany and foggy stainless steel, the taps handles written over with beige tape and scrawled sharpie rather than replaced to their proper brands. “They don’t have sh-shitholes in across the pond?” He puts a shitty accent on.

Benji jerks his chin away, hiding his smile. He’s gotta tuck his tongue between his teeth to bite back the huff of laughter, too. “Do, yeah. Not like these here, if I’m honest.” He glances back, corner-of-the eye cheeky about it. “American exceptionalism n’all that.”

He doesn’t fee the answer yet, because if the curiosity is there They chat more. Just a bit, not consistently. They talk until he excuses himself, and Benji scrolls aimlessly on his phone for a time. He watches some game on the color-faded television without any real interest. Mostly, Benji just waits. He knows how this goes, and he doesn’t have to do it long. Eventually Ben comes back over to get him a final pint. Apology, he offers with spread arms and not a single syllable of it laced with sincerity.

Ben draws closer this time, shifting his weight until their knees brush. Benji figures he thinks he’s being more subtle than he is, but there’s a long arm wrapped around the back of his stool, the stranger’s long legs pointed towards him. He has eyes Benji wouldn’t, with a lack of drinks, find attractive. Too piercing to look at head-on, too intense. But the other man has no such hang-ups. He focuses on Benji as he talks, scratching a scruffy jaw and otherwise listening intently.

“So why are you here? In this sh-shithole—” he pokes his eyes in a circle around the bar, nodding apologetically at the bartender. “—sorry, Joe, fine establishment. Alone, I mean. Rather than with your friend?”

“Man, whatdya want to hear?” Benji snips with a harshly condescending laugh. “The truth? Fuckin’ hell. I keep doin’ things I’m not meant to, a’right? Now I’m downing the consequences away.”

He slips more comfortably into the stool beside Benji, hands stuffed into his jacket. “Who’d you f-fuck that you shouldn’t have?”

And, a few years ago, Benji’s answer to that question might’ve — would’ve — been a fist to the jaw. Except he doesn’t have the cash in his pockets or an American bank account to do bail, so Benji clenches it tight instead.

Instead: “Band mate.” 

Ben sucks his teeth, chunky string of blond hair falling into his face. “Yeesh.” He taps a tattooed finger to the rim of Benji’s pint. “Could have guessed that with a few more minutes.”

Benji scrunches his nose, what’s that supposed to mean snarl stretching his mouth.

“Just look the type.”

“To be in a band?”

Ben smirks, the strange blue of his eyes glinting in a way that makes Benji look to the side. Offers him a dismissive hand wave. Yeah that, and — “To split one up by doing that.”

And there’s no misreading the insult. Light, playful, but clearly insulting. As annoyed as it’s got him, shoulders rolling back and fist balled even tighter, Benji’s gotta respect that he makes it in the first place. Maybe he’s confident that someone will get up to help if Benji launches at him. Which, with all those snide, witty little quips, he’s kinda keen to do.

Just not like that.

* 

Benji’s shoulders hit the exterior wall. If he had any air, it’d knock out of his chest. Wouldn’t matter — not a lot of it in there, with the guy on his mouth how he is. They’d barely tucked into the shaded alley before he’d been yanked back. The alley didn’t reek like he expected of every inch of the city, but at the far end was a dumpster that looked like it had the capacity to do exactly that.

Hard to pretend to care about that sort of thing with a body pressed against his, hands in his hair, his head being guided this way and that for each hungry but slow, building press of their lips together. He didn’t usually like it this way with strangers. The carefulness made his nose wrinkle. But 

“Kinda — presumptuous —” Benji pants, fingers tight in the back of the jacket. His chin is nudged up, eyes fluttering when that quick, rifle-accurate drops a series of sucking bites to his throat. He tries not to betray how good that fucking is. “You just assuming that I’d wanna —” 

“You don’t sh-shut up do you?” His pale hands are just as fast and clever, an unrelenting grope up Benji’s chest that makes him feel like crawling up the wall to escape how incredible that feels, too. “I’m trying to decide if this is going to be w-worth it.”

Benji bites back a smirk, using the leverage of his grip to yank him closer. Their hips brush together, making his voice a bit ragged when he teases: “Would.”

And it’s an incensing enough, confidence-laced tease for him to get yanked around a little more. Benji lets it happen, even hedges his lips open to let the kiss become messier than he usually likes one to be. And right as he thinks that is when it becomes obscene, mouth being slotted open for an obscene taste full of teeth and tongue that makes him cringe.

“Christ, what’s your problem?” He grunts as Benji pushes him away, hands firm to the chest. They’re both panting, hips and legs slotted together. Benji can’t drop fully without balancing on the knee between his legs, so he bites his lip and keeps to his toes. Prevent the ego trip that might result from a noise desperately crawling up his throat. 

“Oh, shit. I m-mean, the hot cold is really w-working on me, don’t get it twisted —”

“You use too much fuckin’ tongue,” Benji interrupts, elbow nudging the arm caging his right side. He ducks beneath it when it lifts, takes a step away to right himself, brush his hands down his jeans, adjust the shirt that had been yanked up over his stomach. And, because it’d all gotten to him a bit more than he anticipated, clear his throat.

“Sorry, mate. Halfway through that remembered — oi, fuck off.” The guy pulls a back of cigarettes from his jacket, fishes one, and reaches out to stick another between Benji’s lips. He sputters but accepts it, because the no spare funds bit is going to get nasty if he starts getting antsy on withdrawal. 

“You’re welcome. Wh-what, second thoughts? Wondering how you got here in the f-first place?” 

Benji lights his own and then he leans forward to do the stranger’s. Only polite, if Benji has a care to start being polite.

He doesn’t. Once the end has cherried, he pats his back pocket to make sure his wallet is still there and begins to back away.

“Nah. You taste like tourism and shitty stateside McDonald’s. Bit of criminally high rent in there, too. N’that makes me remember: fuck’s sake, I’m snoggin’ some guy from New York. And that, y’know. Well — ” He touches his finger to his pointed tongue, flashing that piercing with a disgusted face. Benji points a finger in the air then bends the knuckle slow, like it goes flaccid. “Killed it for me. Immediate softy.”

He’s ten feet down the sidewalk when the words seem to register — and Benji’s gotta laugh at the twisting scowl of an expression. “The f-fuck?”

“Don’t take it personal.”  The frown he sports is dramatic, pouty. His voice becomes a call from the end of the block just before he rounds the corner. “It’s the city.”

*

Years later, Benji is only half listening to a conversation. On anyone else, it might be a dress-down of sorts. An argument or a lecture, more aptly. Except it’s Bunny and she doesn’t care enough to raise her voice unless the stupidity is really worth the effort. And this decision, she tells Lark, is definitely stupid, but it’s not that stupid. Not effort-stupid.

“Opens us up to liability, since it’s your name on the contract and not the label’s. If something goes wrong —”

“Nothing will go wrong,” Lark assures. He looks briefly at Benji, who spins in one of the fancy meeting room’s fancier office chairs, examining a stud on his jacket. He’s exhausted, barely conscious much less aware of the conversation. The security detail and Lark’s mate who needs a job, Bunny’s (label-imposed) displeasure at the legal specifics, the logistics. Shit Benji wouldn’t care for even if he had a head empty of other concerns. 

Once it’s over, they make their way back to the hotel for a quick break. A nap, after that, because he’s exhausted and tonight there’s yet another fucking show. Another soundcheck, another photoshoot that weekend, another interview — another, another, it never fucking ends. 

That afternoon during their check, Benji meets one of the guards. Not properly. No names are extended, no pleasantries. He strides up the stage-right stairs, hands shoved in either pocket of his jacket, and approaches. Says something…says something to Benji. 

Benji, sat behind his kit, glances around before furrowing his brows up at the man. He pulls the plugs from his ears and taps the shell expectantly. “What’s that, mate?”

The guard frowns too. His scowl is a little gnarlier than Benji’s relatively neutral one of disinterest, so Benji reflexively glares back. Now, his expression swings closer to the fuck do you want, rather than a polite I didn’t hear you, sorry.

“Shit, kind of b-bruising the fuckin’ ego there, dude.” He settles back on his heels, rocking with either nerves or coy interest. Benji can’t tell. “I said, I’m not trying to l-look too thirsty, but we should definitely —”

At the sound of his voice, a little flicker of recognition sparks on Benji’s tongue.

“Are you from fuckin’ New York?” He interrupts the man’s question, slowly dragging a scowl from the guard’s face down to his hands. They’re tattooed. Spider-tapping across his side, towards his back pocket for something. That also makes his nose scrunch with a fuzzy, distant memory he can’t place. 

The other man’s mouth scrunches up unevenly. “The fuck’s wr-wrong with New York?”

“The fuck’s not?” Benji returns with a dry laugh. 

That slight frown goes nasty into a proper snarl with a speed that actually manages to surprise him. He chalks it to the humor difference. Miscommunication. Americans could be sensitive about the most random of things. As he turns away, Benji hears a volley of muffled swears. Sounds something like, Jack the Ripper sh-shit-filled bloody Thames River tea-drinking asshole, innit? 

“That’s London, man. M’from Liverpool.” He calls, neck extended across the stage to watch him go. He’s offered a pale middle finger over a shoulder. 

And there’s recognition in that, too. 

*

Months later, Benji sits with his legs dangling over the side of the stage. It’s a massive outdoor venue, desert sun high enough in the sky that a borrow pair of Ina’s sunglasses is necessary. 

Benji peers down his nose at his best friend…who is not looking back at him. His freckled face is tilted out towards the expanse of dust, the heat-wavering line of the horizon in the distance. He’s watching their trio of black-shirted stalwart guards fight a tangle of velvet rope. Two of the venue techs stand to the side, arms crossed as they watch it become a puzzle, a challenge, an annoyance, and then a frustrated near-brawl. 

“Gun to your mum, which one of ‘em would you take on a desert island?”

“Got anything on that one?” Maran asks, not so much ignoring Benji’s question, but not fucking hearing it in the first place. His head tilts to Benji, and then he groans. “Awh, ew, Benj. Not Xavier. And not like that, man. Put the fuckin’ nasty face away.”

“No face.” It relaxes. He drops his chin, eyes pointed towards the empty pre-show pit. He doens’t need to ask for clarification, but he does anyway — just to study Maran’s reaction. “Not Tino. The blond?”

Benji asks, but he knows the answer to that. As expected, Maran’s gaze flits up and then blink quickly away. A-ha. “Yeah.”

He snorts, contemplating this for a moment. “Hm. Not much if I’m honest. Pretty sure Xavier told me he’s from New York? Seems like a prick.” 

Over the course of their conversation, Tino has stalked off. Probably to tattle to someone, probably to tattle to Matilda, about the broken length of rope that the remaining two now stand over.  They’re not arguing or swinging at each other over either of the older guard’s arms. Instead, the duo is caught in head-tilted conversation. Whatever hushed debate they’ve locked into goes on long enough that Benji’s focus starts to wane — that is, until Xavier’s trademark belly laugh suddenly cracks over the desert wind, the sound check’s din. 

The noise draws a lot of attention. Especially because Xavier kicks up dirt as he stumbles and breaks into a sprint towards the stage, the far-off echo of his cackle coming closer and closer as he’s chased. Behind them on stage, Lark loses focus mid-run; the note silences as his head snaps up. Benji and Maran, raised by two women who shared a parenting style, trade knowing side-eyes. 

They watch him hop off the edge and stride over to meet his friends’ tearing race across the dirt. To bark their names, hands on his hips. It’s a free for all after that: tallest taps shortest on the chest with the back of his hand, middle shoves tallest, tallest stumbles into shortest, and then it’s a wild brawl of elbows and limbs once more.

Benji points at the scuffle wisely. “That’s east coast behavior.”

“You hate New York.” His friend hums thoughtfully around the straw in his mouth. His cheeks hollow, sucking noisily for the last bit of slushy. Maran gets up to sit beside him instead of draped over his lap. He tips his head and the cup back; when he looks at Benji again, there’s a bit of blue smeared over the side of his cheek. Before he can ask for help, Benji’s tucked his hand into the sleeve of his hoodie and lifted his arm mouth-level. Maran rubs his face clean.

“Guess not all of us do, hey?” 

“Huh?” Maran glances back at Benji, squints when it puts him against the setting sun.

“Hate New York.”

He can tell Maran is either unaware or not in control of how his eyes have lingered. So, fighting an impish smile but not the urge itself, Benji whistles through his teeth. Maran jumps — which is reward enough. But he doesn’t startle quicker than Xavier turns at the noise. His boyfriend whirls with a comically swinging leg. Even at their distance from the stage, in the low pre-show lights spilling red-orange across brown dust, Benji notes his massive grin. 

“Here they come.” Benji says as the two meander up the stage stairs towards them. He claps Maran on the back so hard he nearly pitches off the edge. “Good time to find out a bit more, hey Mar?”

“Get absolutely fucked,” Maran seethes through his teeth. He leans back invitingly on his hands sits up a little straighter. Heh, Benji snorts. Straighter.

And as he looks at Benny he tries, not for the first time, to remember where he’s seen the man’s face.

#writing #ua #bp #jlb #bp x jlb #mgc #band au

[snonkerdoodlewritesstuff]

Tuesday

Summary: Original work about suicide. 1st person POV. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY MENTIONS OF SUICIDE, SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, AND MENTIONS OF TRAUMA.

A/N: this is a story i've been wanting to write for a long time. it's kinda based off me buut also not. just wanted to put it out into the world because i wanted to write a story about suicide. i've had all kinds of thoughts in the past. the quote is inspired by a teacher of mind who said, "Drink some mountain dew. It'll solve all your problems." This is where my mind went immediately after reading that. The song I played on loop while writing this is called Memory Reboot by Narvent. Again, DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY MENTIONS OF SUICIDE, SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, AND MENTIONS OF TRAUMA.

Drink some Mountain Dew. It’ll solve all your problems.

I can’t remember when all life became like this. Sometimes I wish I was five again, when the only thing I had to worry about was the movie Planes and daydreaming in peace. Playing with people. Being able to interact with them normally, before all of this social anxiety set in. I think I was the happiest back then. Everyone says ignorance is bliss like that’s a bad thing but honestly knowledge is a burden. I wish I didn’t know that the way everything was for me was abnormal, because that caused all the problems I have now.

But even I know that being five can’t fix some things that I know. Nothing can fix that, not if I was 5, or 45, or 85. Even so, I still wish I was five. There wasn’t as much to worry about back then. Life felt more normal, even though it wasn’t. I didn’t have any responsibilities, or burdens of knowledge, or fears or just fucked-up things about myself that bring me down like they do now.

I don’t care that I used to feel scared when I was alone. I always forgot, I think. Eventually. Now I don’t care but it stays with me and taints my soul more every single time. And I know that back then, it laid the foundations. But I don’t care, because I didn’t remember it so well the next day.

I’m so much older now and in shambles over what I am now. Too much knowledge, too many problems, too many responsibilities, too terrible to be good. The only way to rid oneself of this pain is to be free of it.

_*_*_*_

I knew that the last time I had practiced or even touched my cello was yesterday. I didn’t care for the school rentals much–just cared if I got the good sounding one instead of the crappy one. The one at home, however, was my pride and joy–before I went numb, of course. She was a good girl; I would miss her. But there’ll be better cellos in Heaven, I suppose. It would feel better playing them too, when I’m free of my emotional burdens.

I know I accepted what would happen to me just a few years ago. Either continue in this forsaken life, or let it all go. It stopped scaring me that much at some point. The punishment for straying away is the wrath when it all comes out. The more you do, the more there is to hide, and then more comes out when it eventually does. There isn’t a point to hide all of your sins and labor uselessly when you could escape to a better place where the shit won’t get to you.

_*_*_*_

This, of course, is my master plan. I knew there were a thousand ways to go, but I had to settle on one. No firearms, of course. Wouldn’t be able to buy those, or fire them. Drowning? Where would the pool be? That would be too painful. Hanging? Again, too painful. Also, too scary. I wanted to do something that would be familiar and not so terrifying that I stopped midway.

Drinking a can of soda is an extremely normal act, even when it has poison in it. Just a quick Google search revealed a toxin acting in 15-30 minutes that left little to no chance of survival. Just what I needed. I could take it during the school’s free period–nobody would be the wiser because it was now my custom to nap during that time anyway. Better thing–it was flavorless, so I couldn’t even know if it was poisoned or not. To everyone–and myself–I was drinking Mountain Dew, and then preparing for a good, long nap.

And so I closed my eyes, and everything was going black.

_*_*_*_

“Eww, what the fuck is that smell?” my friend asked.

The group looked up–it seemed to be coming from me. It smelled like a mixture of pee and poo.

“Dude–DUDE, wake up!” She screamed to me. Of course, my body did not respond.

“Why aren’t you waking the fuck up?” She asked. Another friend went to go get a teacher.

Then somebody must have noticed that I wasn’t breathing. They reached out a hand to my neck. Felt for a pulse…nothing.

“Oh my god. She’s DEAD!”

_*_*_*_

A/N: and that's the end. Thank you for choosing to read this--I'd love to hear your thoughts in the replies/reblogs and stuff.

#original work #fm221b #ao3 #fiction #short story #tw suicide #tw suicidal ideation #tw abuse

[carygrace]

The antique chair restoration project—part 8

So, this is it! I think it’s finally done at last.

I’ve been working on it, but not posting about it, so let me bring this series up to date!

There were a couple of ever so slightly loose joints in the frame, so I whacked them apart with a mallet just enough to get a little bit of hide glue into them. Probably needn’t have bothered, but IME a loose joint just gets looser, and then loosens other things, so may as well nip it in the bud, right? Yeah. Isn’t this a gorgeous bit of joinery? I doubt these tight-fitting joints even needed glue to begin with, but after 150 years (at least…I’m not sure of age, but I’m going with Victorian for my best guess), wood can be expected to shrink a little.

I gave it a few coats of shellac, followed by some paste wax polish, because the original finish was badly worn to nonexistent in places and I wanted to protect the wood. Obviously I left the lovely patina alone though! I did have to glue a few splintery bits back down, and fill a few woodworm and knot holes, but not much work was needed on the frame (apart from the tacking rail, that is).

The upholstery was straightforward. I would have liked to use tacks throughout to stay in keeping with the era in which the chair was made, but the tacking rail was in pretty bad shape, and is less than an inch thick (much of that being riddled with holes from previous tacks). I filled all the damage, but decided to do the webbing with tacks and the rest with staples to be kinder and gentler to the frame (much smaller holes and fewer and less violent impacts).

Webbing. (I used copper tacks to attach it, just because removing the incredibly rusty steel ones was such a royal pain in the arse, and I wouldn’t knowingly inflict that on any future person!) Obviously the quality control department had to be involved for this.

This is overkill, I know, but I do not want this seat to sag and cause the leather to split again! That would really piss me off. So, overkill it is! It’s not going anywhere. Here’s the hessian foundation. This seat is really shallow, and I’m constrained to the original proportions by the leather cover, so I’m just going to do one layer of hessian with an integral edge roll (stuffed with horsehair), and then stitch around that to create a very firm and defined square edge profile.

I forgot to take a photo when I was sewing in the bridle loops to hold the hair, but I did take one after putting in the horsehair:

Edge stitching:

I think I ended up stitching around it three times.

Then some cotton and wool wadding:

Then calico stretched over tightly:

And finally the leather cover:

I fastened it down first with a few tacks, and then started to put in the brass nails. Unfortunately more of them broke in the process (only the heads are brass, and the steel parts were badly rusted and quite fragile). So I found some in my stash that were close to the same size (there were actually two different kinds on it, so who knows what is original anyway), and set about faux-patinating them with vinegar and salt so they didn’t look silly next to the old ones. They’re not as dark as I’d like, but I’m in a hurry to finish this up and don’t want to have to order any specialist patina solution for brass (the ones I have are for silver, and are not very effective on brass). It’ll be fine. They’ll continue to darken with time.

I did a bit more faux painting to perfect the look of the seat:

I couldn’t resist trying it out at this point. The seat is very comfortable and very firm! No sagging is remotely likely for the foreseeable future.

I wrote up an account of what I did, and tucked it into the webbing underneath with one of my cards, in case a future person takes the seat apart again someday.

Finally the bottoming cloth went on.

I did a bit more painting on the seat once it was in place, to emphasise areas of “wear” and “fading” and make it look more authentic.

Next I gave the leather a few coats of Renaissance Wax to polish it and protect it.

A few of the cracks have become visible again now that the leather seat cover has been under tension for a couple days, but it is light surface cracking only, and I’m confident my repairs are structurally sound, strong, and will be fine. I will let it all settle for a few months and then re-fill the surface cracks with some flexible filler to make them invisible again, but there’s no point in doing that until the newly stretched leather has settled in for a while and been used (sat on).

All in all, I’m very pleased with the result!

#Antiques #AntiqueChair #AntiqueFurniture #restoration #AntiqueRestoration #LeatherChair #EmbossedLeather #AntiqueChairRestorationProject #LeatherRepair #LeatherDye #LeatherPaint #AntiqueFinish #LeatherAndOakChair #upholstery #TraditionalUpholstery #horsehair

[deadcactuswalking]

REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 30/07/2022 (Central Cee’s "Doja”, Billie Eilish)

How can the UK be LF SYSTEM-phobic? “Afraid to Feel” is at #1 for a fourth week. Welcome back to REVIEWING THE CHARTS!

Rundown

Now, hopefully, this will be a quick one. There’s no “Off the Charts” section this week because there’s not much coming out this week so I figured I’d give myself the leeway with the massive stack of releases I have to cover from last week and during this next month. There’s also not THAT much going on in the charts this week, it’s like a mess of other, separate medium-sized stories rather than one or two big stories so I think I can go by my arbitrary RTC dictionary and declare this a “slow week”. With that aside, let’s start as we always do with the notable drop-outs. These are songs exiting the UK Top 75 – which is what I cover – after five weeks in the region or a peak in the top 40, and we do have a handful this week: “Flowers” by Lauren Spencer-Smith, “Happier Than Ever” by Billie Eilish, “she’s all i wanna be” by Tate McRae (I sense a theme there) and finally, “One Kiss” by Calvin Harris and Dua Lipa.

Our one returning entry is “Wet Dream” by Wet Leg, but in terms of notable gains, we have “Words” by Alesso featuring Zara Larsson at #62 off of the debut, “Dandelions” by Ruth B. going nowhere at #60, “Big City Life” by Luude and Mattafix at #37, “SNAP” by Rosa Linn granting her the first top 40 hit of her career at #26, “Stay with Me” by Calvin Harris, Justin Timberlake, Halsey and Pharrell Williams (in some order) at #22, “Bad Habit” by Steve Lacy at #18 and that’s actually pretty much it. I should probably note that “Seventeen Going Under” by Sam Fender is down from #16 last week to #17, meaning that it is indeed 17 going under, but other than that, it really was kind of a cool week.

The top five this week consists of “Last Last” by Burna Boy at #5, “Green Green Grass” by George Ezra at #4, “As it Was” by Harry Styles at #3, “Doja” by Central Cee at #2 (we’ll get to that mess later) and of course, “Afraid to Feel” at the very top.

NEW ARRIVALS

#75 – “KU LO SA” (A COLORS SHOW) – Oxlade

Produced by ???

Now this is interesting. As far as I know, “KU LO SA” as an official recording has not actually been released, but a semi-live performance in the form of “A COLORS SHOW” – a live performance series on YouTube specialising in hip-hop and R&B, who have had artists on such as JPEGMAFIA, Rico Nasty, Doja Cat and Unknown T – has actually charted before the official release. Oxlade is a Nigerian singer and this is pretty much your typical Afrobeats single, with a slick acoustic guitar, sandy tropical percussion and a slightly weedy performance from Oxlade here, who doesn’t fit well into an odd mix that’s likely a result of the live performance setting. Oxlade delivers a pretty simple song about wanting to be closer with a recently-distanced relationship and whilst the lovey-dovey content isn’t particularly gripping, it’s delivered with as much conviction in its falsetto, and I can’t say it’s not a bad, tropical foundation for him to do so. I can see this getting on peoples’ nerves due to his performance alone, but the amount of Auto-Tuned layers kind of make his convicted love a bit more compelling than it would be if taken all that straight so I appreciate this as is. I wonder how the official release will end up sounding – it’s very possible that the label has purposefully planted this performance to gain some kind of feedback on the song, but if the “COLORS SHOW” performance is doing well, you might as well release it now.

#63 – “Under the Influence” – Chris Brown

Produced by Kiddominant

It’s that time again... Piran, Dillon and Jade suggested that instead of me wasting my time with this hack, I listen to “Something About Your Love” by SG Lewis instead. English dance producer SG Lewis has never interested me, especially not after his snoozefest that was a debut album, Times, which had some decent cuts but ultimately kind of grooveless and disposable. It’s safe to say I didn’t exactly come in with high expectations, so I was kind of taken aback by how much I liked this, thanks mostly to that incessant riff that pretty much chugs throughout the whole song, initially starting with as many filters as possible in typical French house fashion before crashing into that hypnotic four-on-the-floor beat. I could do without the vocals from SG Lewis, as he’s no Romanthony, who sounds about as void of personality as possible, whining over the instrumental which really could have survived on its own. That’s actually the opposite to the problem I had with Times so at least he’s finding new ways to squander talent. The little intricacies in this track, like all the drizzling synth cascades, are pretty effective in creating this semi-obnoxiously lovestruck tone... but whilst that might be the most euphoric feeling at that moment, it does start to drag and you’ll look back at it remembering how annoying you were. That’s kind of the vibe I get from this song: it’s decent, definitely well-made and I like it in comparison to what else I have heard from him, but I’m not really grasped by it entirely and I don’t see this five-minute track growing on me given that.

#49 – “Fantasy” – D-Block Europe

Produced by ???

Guys, is it that hard to credit your producer? They don’t even have their tag on here, for God’s sake. Either way... this is not what I expected. When I see a new song from DBE, I fully expect a badly-mixed trap beat, humorous yet weedy singing from Young Adz and a worryingly substance-dependent ramble from Dirtbike LB... not a slice of tropical-house influenced Afrobeats that... kind of works for me? Sure, that lead mess of a loop is kind of scratchy in the intro, but it’s soon drowned out by the basic pianos and the predictable groove that for whatever reason just clicks, especially with how Young Adz barely cares about being on beat when crooning. It’s also just a straight-up love song, as Mr. Adz harmonises with himself about the fantasies he has wanting to live with this woman, and to be fair to him, it’s not just pointless platitudes. He gives out the kind of detail that I like in these kinds of songs: the mundane and the routine, which contrasted with how beautiful he finds her kind of create the sense that it’s only him that finds her THAT beautiful, and she’s not just some model that he would complement on any other song. That chorus is really way too infectious for its own good, and I kind of love the watery drop as the keys twinkle over Adz. Dirtbike LB is here too, I guess, with a verse that splits the difference between cute and condescending like he’s Drake or something, but he doesn’t detract from the song so... yeah, I’m actually pretty happy with this, and I think that this out-of-genre experiment might just pay them off in the long run. I hope it sticks around.

#47 – “Are You Entertained” – Russ featuring Ed Sheeran

Produced by Fred again..

The attempts by Russ to cross the mainstream in the past few years have just been kind of funny to me, but with “BEST ON EARTH” and “Handsomer” he’s actually been mildly successful, so him bringing on Ed Sheeran is just another laugh to add to the pile of mid-level pop-rap that goes directly against Russ’ more pretentiously independent persona that I think he left behind in the late 2010s, for good reason. You know, I actually like Russ’ debut onto the UK charts a decent amount too. The song is pretty much just them flexing, with both men rapping about how they made sure to get their friends with them as they became famous. Sure, the Russell Crowe sample is kind of on-the-nose, and this kind of song has always felt defensive, but the drill-adjacent trap beat goes pretty hard with the warping 808s and skittering percussion. I do think that Russ’ flow was good in the first verse before he meanders into the melodic nonsense, and that really, he’s second in everything here to Ed Sheeran. People forget that Ed can actually rap, and whilst the subject matter isn’t anything to write home about, he flows with way more conviction and hunger than the actual rapper here, and the backing harmonies Ed has mastered as of recent are present both in his verse and the chorus which actually trades off between the two. It’s nothing all that unique, but it’s a decent enough pop-rap single, and considering that I had practically nothing good to say about Russ beforehand, consider that a compliment.

#33 – “The 30th” – Billie Eilish

Produced by FINNEAS

Billie Eilish released a two-song EP of sorts called Guitar Songs with primarily acoustic tracks that debuted in reverse order this week on the charts. The first one we have is “The 30th”, a song that details – or rather, cryptically refuses detail – an event that happened on November 30, hence the name, which is believed to refer to a car crash in LA. The song is actually pretty devastating as a result, with Eilish’s signature borderline whisper feeling more enunciated than ever as she coos about talking to someone who was hospitalised, with the uncertainty of everything that could have happened to lead to a different result wherein the victim may have not survived serving as much of the thesis for the track. The little observational details perfectly capture that frenzied mind state that one would have in an uncertain, potentially dangerous situation like this. All of those “what-ifs” develop in the bridge and make that final chorus shattering, but kind of reassuring in that the fears were ultimately just “what-ifs”, with that orchestral tension in the bridge accompanied by Eilish’s rapid questioning and the industrial bleeps curating a truly resonant moment before the acoustic guitars come back in, sounding exhausted. Eilish’s falsetto is higher and less controlled, but it’s that out-of-breath relief that makes the song hit as hard as it does. Is the other one just as good?

#23 – “TV” – Billie Eilish

Produced by FINNEAS

The answer is no. Sorry, this one might be the more conventional but is just less resonant to me, mostly because of how lacking in specifics it feels in comparison to its B-side. “TV” captures a certain sense of doom that many a young person feels right now, with the common thread being having to “leave your friends behind” because Eilish is “in love”, though I really think that’s the surface level here, as the theme of love is – at least how I see it – probably a metaphor for being generally enraptured too deep into other emotional commitments that you’re unable to actually manage your relationships with others. It makes sense given the content which I understand is topical but is basically a listicle, with some of the pop culture references feeling a bit tired and thrown in (though it’s likely they’ll be considered profound in retrospect). The folksier tone of this one doesn’t really get me as much as the other track, and this is definitely still a decent song, well-recorded and with a great performance from Eilish, but it’s a tougher sell, especially with the crowd recording that will never not feel tacky on a song like this that tries to tap into that sense of universal dread, and it’s especially odd for a song that really feels like it’s not saying much about the cultural references it wants to tie in.

#2 – “Doja” – Central Cee

Produced by LiTek and WhYJay

Do I even have to dignify this one with a review? I mean, come on, it’s a glorified shitpost by an artist who has established his credibility well enough to make it seem like this is just... something he can do, gleefully, with no concern for how it’ll be received because he has the money for a Lyrical Lemonade video and the “Let Me Blow Ya Mind” so it’ll be a worldwide hit regardless. Okay, to get some formalities out of the way, Eve’s original track featuring Gwen Stefani, which is slick and confident as hell, peaked at #4 back in 2001 when it was released, meaning that with just one week, Cee has overtaken the classic with a pretty lazy sample flip. To be fair to his producers, the sped-up loop doesn’t sound awful, and the subtle synth and vocal inflections they add are pretty decent-sounding, but there are two reasons why anyone cares about this. One is the sample being placed under a stiff UK drill beat, and the second is the main reason: whatever Central Cee is saying. This isn’t the first song this year about wanting to have sex with Doja Cat, considering that $NOT and A$AP Rocky did it a couple months ago with a song that’s just as bad – maybe these kinds of songs are always weird, gross and half-assed, who would have thought? The only logical conclusion from Central Cee’s bizarrely defensive chorus is that he’s hiding something, which is the exact opposite of what he was trying to get at here – ignoring the fact that lesbian fetishism and weapon-related wordplay has been used for years in hip hop when it comes to gay punchlines. Through the singular verse in this song that’s less than two minutes, he tops everything off with this sense of paranoia about his status as a “respected figure” which honestly is just embarrassing. I’m not offended by this – it’d be ridiculous to fall into that trap – but I feel like I can’t respond to this with anything but a sigh. It’s a tired shitpost by a rapper who doesn’t care. The fact that it could have hit #1 incriminates the public more than it does the person who created the art in the first place. At least Eve’s getting a cheque out of this.

Conclusion

Worst of the Week should be obvious, right? Central Cee gets that for “Doja”, but I don’t have a Dishonourable Mention here. Instead, we can have a tied Honourable Mention for both “Fantasy” by D-Block Europe and “Are You Entertained” by Russ and Ed Sheeran, with Best of the Week going to – apologies for the predictability – Billie Eilish for “The 30th”. Next week, we’ll see what Beyoncé has to say. Thank you for reading and I’ll see you then!