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leeknowlover99 · 5 months

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Jake drabble - Prove it then

masterlist

word count: 2,2k

friends to lovers if you squint

warnings: smut, blowjob, drinking, smoking, swearing, dirty talk

„fuck” you yelled angrily propping yourself up on your knees and trying to catch a breath. yellow bus just drove away 5 minutes earlier than it was scheduled. „motherfucker!!!” you yelled and kicked nearest object you found - trash can filled to the brim with empty cans and bottles became your victim. few bottles fell out of it and rolled on the pavement with loud clinking. it was the last bus that could take you to the small town where you were renting your apartment. dang, only if your tinder date did not try to kiss you maybe you’d make it. the guy was tragic, he kept talking about himself all evening, split the bill and awkwardly tried to kiss you after all that. and now you were stuck in the city. first morning bus was leaving at 5 am so you still had few hours to pass around. you were already feeling a bit sleepy, probably after all that boring stories your date told you. your feet were starting to hurt a bit as you made a stupid mistake of wearing platform heels today, trying to impress this idiot guy. god, what was happening with you?? your life was a mess lately. but now all you knew was you have to find a place to crash somewhere till 5 am. think Y/N, think you told yourself. you could go to a club or a bar, it was saturday night so most places would be open and busy but you weren’t in the mood. normally you would crash at your best friends flat but her parents were visiting her this weekend so it was a no go. it looked like you only had one option left, you opened chat with Jake and typed:

are you in town? i need a place to crash, missed the last bus :((

three dots appeared immediately. thank god he was awake, you just hoped he was not at some party as it was his usual weekend routine. text appeared:

hello

you can come over if you want ;)

typical Jake, always flirty for no reason. you rolled your eyes and texted him back.

omw then, thanks

your relation with Jake was undefined, you weren’t close enough to be called friends but you knew each other quite well. you used to hang out more often but sometimes things got weird between you. tension was always there but you don’t think there was more and neither of you wanted to make a move. sometimes you wondered what it would be like. to kiss his pretty lips, feel his hot body pressing against you or wake up next to him and cuddle all day. but usually you quickly dismissed these images from your head. however they kept coming back as you made your way to his place. fortunately he lived only two crossing from the bus stop so you arrived quickly before your mind drifted to far.

you knocked on his doors impatiently, you got a bit cold on the way and could not wait to warm up. he opened and leaned against the doorframe lazily. he was wearing home attire - loose grey sweats and tank top, his muscular arms peeking from tight material. he must’ve just taken the shower as his hair was dump and slicked back. damn he was hot. you realised you were staring but when you snapped back to reality you noticed he was staring too. after all, you did make an effort to look good today, did your make up and wore your favourite black dress. he whistled looking you up and down.

“will you let me in ?” you huffed.

“sorry, was wondering why are you here when it looks like you clearly had other plans for the night” he smirked and let you in.

“please don’t make me more miserable than i already am” you sighed.

Jake invited you to his room and you immediately made your way to his bed. finally your feet could rest, you rolled your toes feeling relief after spending all evening in those platforms. Jake followed you to his room after a minute carrying two beers from the kitchen.

“hey, outside clothes are not allowed on the bed” he grabbed your hand to lift you up.

you looked at him annoyed. he was not making it easy for you today.

“if you want me to strip so bad just ask” you teased getting up.

he raised his eyebrow in response.

“cocky are you? you must’ve really have a bad evening. want a smoke?” he fished out a pack of marlboros from his pocket.

“why not”

you grabbed a fluffy blanket and sat on the garden chair slowly sipping beer and smoking. Jake lived on 4th floor so view from the balcony was quite nice. you enjoyed watching the small crescent moon and few stars that were visible above you.

“i thought you quit” he said pulling you out of your thoughts. at first you didn’t get that he was referring to smoking and you frowned at him. he gestured to your hand, cigarette resting between your fingers.

“oh, yeah i did. guess you’re the bad influence” you joked.

“i don’t think it is me sweetheart.” there he was with the flirty nicknames. but he was right, it was not him. it was you who was lost and continued to make one bad decision after another.

“yeah, i just have a tough time lately” you said not looking at him. “can i have another one?” you said putting out your current cigarette.

“lucky for you, it was the last one” he winked at you showing you empty package. “so did your date went bad or what?” he asked.

“yeah. he was a jerk. like all of the guys apparently” you rolled your eyes.

“can i share my opinion?” he stood up in front of you.

“if you have to.”

“i think it’s because you’re always choosing assholes while there are much better guys out there.” he said confidently looking at you.

“oh really? guys like who? you?” you stood up and met his gaze. he was being annoyingly cocky.

“maybe” he licked his lips. he was the opposite of a good guy actually. but he was the tempting one.

you grabbed him by the collar of his tank top and yanked towards you. your faces were centimeters away now. you were so close you felt his breath quickened. after looking into his dark eyes you flicked your eyes towards his lips and back up.

“don’t start something you can’t finish Y/N” he warned, you were still holding his tank top.

“who sad I cannot finish it?” you asked tilting your head slightly and after that you let go of him and turned around to go back inside.

“i’m going to take a shower now”. you were taking a step into the bedroom when Jake grabbed your forearm and forced you to turn around, you bumped into him slightly and your heart started beating faster as you saw his dark eyes piercing you.

“prove it then. prove what you just said” his voice was quiet but cold and demanding, sending shivers down your spine. blanket was long gone from your shoulders pooling on the floor and cold air was brushing against your exposed body but your skin was burning. thousands thoughts rolled through your head trying to decide whether to take this step or not. blame it on the alcohol or the haze from smoking after such a long time but there was only one winning voice and it told you do it.

you crashed your lips against his with a force. he seemed shocked for good few seconds as he was not kissing you back. just when you were about to pull out you felt his hot fingers grab your neck and his lips roughly moved against yours. there was nothing gentle or pure about the way you were making out. tongues dancing together, jake biting your lower lip from time to time. one of your hands was grabbing and pulling on his hair while other was holding his biceps, god his body was amazing, hot and hard under you fingers, your hand feeling small next to his arm. jake was not wasting time either, he acted like man starved, exploring your waist and grabbing your ass, soon his fingers started to wonder under your skimpy dress as he pressed you against the balcony railing, you felt his hard on against your stomach and it made you weak in your knees, good thing he was holding you tight. his fingers teased your inner thighs and slowly moved towards your panties.

“fuck, you’re so wet” he hissed against your lips when he made contact with your clothed core, his fingers feeling your entrance through the thin material. you could not hold a quite moan and burried your face in jake’s neck as his started playing with your clit. you nipped at his skin lightly. he started to move your panties to the side, you grabbed his hand and looked at him wide eyes, damn he looked hot, lips plump from all the kissing, pupils dilated and breath fast. “jake, not outside” you managed to say. he grinned smugly in response.

“oh yeah? why not? are you embarrassed someone is going to see?” he asked grabbing your neck and choking you slightly.

you decided to pull a move to distract him and leaned to whisper in his ear “want your cock so bad daddy” he stiffened and raised his eyebrow at you. “fucking get inside now” he gritted through his teeth. looks like you little stunt did work perfectly.

you stumbled towards the bed together and messily landed on the soft mattress. you climbed on jakes lap and nagged at him to take off his tank top. it revealed mouthwatering sight of his abs and v line disappearing where waistband of his sweats hang low. you pressed open mouth kisses and sucked on his neck as you moved slowly down his body. he threw his head back and groaned. “baby hurry, i want to feel you” he panted after a while of your teasing. you finally got him what he needed and palmed his hard dick, it was painfully big in your hand. “impatient are we?” you tsked at him. “for you always”. you took off his sweats and boxers and kneeled to kiss the red swollen tip of his dick. it looked delicious and tasted a little salty. you gave it a good suck before starting to move your head up and down. “fuck baby you’re so good” he grunted as you sped up, drool starting to drip down your chin and eyes watering. he made a ponytail of you hair and helped you move faster and take him deeper. few more moves and he yanked you off his cock. “i’m gonna cum if you don’t stop” he explained and moved on top of you “god this dress needs to go” he undressed you and you could see his gaze became even darker when he saw you fully naked underneath him. “god you have no idea how hard i wanted this” he whispered sucking on your hard nipples and fondling with your breast. he surprised you with that statement but you did not have time to think about it as you felt yourself become even wetter and your cunt clenching around nothing. “ jake need more please” you begged. he shout you up with a kiss. his dick grinding against your wet core made you gasped in his lips. “will you take it without a prep?” he asked sucking on your neck and putting light pressure on your entrance with his tip. he was making you crazy. your whole body was on fire, you were leaning towards his touch, craving it. “please” you moaned. “good girl” he praised and thrusted in you. it was quite a stretch because he was so big but you liked the burn and after few shallow thrusts it went away and pleasure replaced it. he was deliciously thick and warm. you nagged at him to move faster and he stopped holding back, thrusting roughly and picking up a pace. he was hitting your soft spot perfectly, you orgasm was building up. “god you’re so perfect” jake was completely lost muttering praises, his face burried in your neck. “jake i’m close” you said and lifted your legs to place them on his shoulders, new angle making him go deeper and your pussy clench harder. “you’re so hot, i’m gonna cum soon too” he said as his eyes followed your moving tits. you reached your hand down to circle your clit and moaned at how sensitive you were. it felt too good, jakes hot sweaty body on you, his thick cock massaging your wet walls, your orgasm came suddenly and made you whine loudly, pleasure rolling through your body, you arched your back slowly coming down from your high. jake was still thrusting roughly. “ can i come inside?” he asked kissing you messily as you lowered your legs to cross them around his waist. “yes i’m on a pill, please come inside jake” you coaxed him and seconds later he filled you with his cum. he kissed you passionately, soft lips moving together, tongues lazily meeting, his dick was still inside. “god that was amazing” he smiled at you. “so did i prove it to you?” you teased. “i might need a seconded try” he made a thinking face and you smacked his arm laughing. “care to join me in the shower?” you asked

#enhypen #enhypen fanfic #enhypen drabbles #enhypen smut #enhypen jake #jake smut #jake drabble #enhypen hard thoughts #jake hard thoughts #enhypen suggestive

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willowalmondstar · 5 months

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“It’s not awkward for you to live there?”

At the end of the day, it was a free house, but you did not think Alex would accept that answer gracefully. She was right, after all, even if awkward did not fully capture it. Elizabeth helped raise Alex, whereas the druid was just a wise friend to you. The hours you spent together were in pursuit of knowledge and magic to save the world; it slipped your mind to ask her favorite color, or how she grew up. Those were details you learned after her end. (She liked green, and was shy as a child.)

It did not feel right to share the real answer with Alex; that sometimes you stared at the walls for hours, because you still had not redecorated, and never intended to, because she had filled every space on her walls with photos and trinkets. Everyone still referred to it as Elizabeth’s house, not yours, and you thought of it the same way. The house was spacious for one person, but you barely spent time in it. You were only there to sleep, when Linda had enough research to do that she did not let you stay over, or when Avalon was in one of his moods and locked you out for the night, or when even Ydris found you too boring or on-edge to play with.

Last week, Anne had asked you how long you had been on Jorvik, and was unsettled by how you stared at her blankly, unable to answer. A summer. It was only ever supposed to be a summer. It was funny, really, that when she described how time felt on Pandoria, you could almost relate—another thing you would never admit to.

After her release, you and Anne spent a lot of time together. As expected of two young adult girls, you were often found chatting over coffee at the Firgrove cafe, or giggling over hair choices in the Goldenleaf salon. You both raised Concorde, though some days Anne had to take a break and remind herself that she really was retraining her horse as a foal, and this was not another Pandoric time-loop nightmare. In the beginning, Concorde stared at you, and reminded you that Elizabeth bonded with another incarnation of him. You told him you were sorry. He refused to listen to you for the rest of the day.

Anne once confided in you that she felt like the odd woman out in the Soul Riders, and after you understood her better, you told her the same. It was the first secret you let off your chest. There were only supposed to be four Soul Riders, but there you were—a poor replacement for Anne when you first started training, and now no longer a stand-in at all, but something else undefined. The druids did not know what to do with you. They kept you close, in Elizabeth’s house, trained you at the northern paddock, and gave you the missions any one of them could have handled in an afternoon. Alex, Lisa, and Linda treated Anne like she had never left, and you like you had always been part of them. Neither you nor Anne felt comfortable with it, but you could not blame them. They did not even notice they were doing it, and was that not beautiful? They saw the five of you as unbroken sisters, like you were invariably meant to end up this way. Neither you nor Anne would shatter that image. They drew strength from it, and with the ever-looming Garnok threat, with shadows around every corner, every bit of magic you could sap from one another was priceless.

Living in Elizabeth’s old house was a blessing. The druids did not exactly pay a wage for Soul Riding, but they did not make you pay rent to live in a poor dead woman’s house on their homeland, either. You could pay for food by helping out Farah, and anything extra you did around the island helped buy research books for Linda or even some new guitar strings for Lisa.

You did not need Elizabeth’s ghost to keep you company. Your horse was everything you needed, in the end, and you had your Soul Sisters to fill in the gaps. The druids supported you, and the grass in Jorvik grew only to carry your feet. Surely, any doubts you felt were spurred on by Garnok alone, Aideen curse him.

Yet, everything kept her alive. Concorde did not speak of it, but his eyes lingered on things that bled with her memory. The Soul Riders knew that when Alex could not be found anywhere else, she would be by Elizabeth’s grave in Doyle’s Abbey; often with Maya, usually practicing her lightning magic. She asserted that her mentor’s criticisms always made her better. The roses bloomed with the scent of her perfume. Your neighbor crocheted on a bench in Valedale using the yarn you gave them from Elizabeth’s extensive collection. The house creaked with the memory of her footsteps. You asked Fripp, hesitantly, if her spirit could still be around; you had to free lost souls often enough that it was a valid concern. He told you not to worry, but when you next came to her cabin, it smelled strangely of herbs and your fingers tensed with the presence of ancient magic. He did not bring it up again.

“No, it’s not awkward. I couldn’t imagine a stranger living in her home; could you?”

Alex smiled at that. “You’re right. I’m glad it’s you. You keep her alive.”

And that was the best you could’ve asked for, all things considered.

#942 words #sso #star stable #star stable online #ssoblr #fic #elizabeth sunbeam my beloved #star stable spoilers

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rustbeltjessie · 1 year

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from Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg (Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, Bill Morgan & David Stanford)

Allen Ginsberg [n.p., New York, New York?]

to Jack Kerouac [n.p., New York, New York?]

after May 18, 1948

Monday Night : 1:30

Dear Jack:

I got your letter Sat. evening—I had been in Paterson for a few days. I will be in this weekend (in N.Y.).

You seemed overly proud that it was “ancient material.” What I was saying in part (lesser part) was that it was not recognizable (to me in your prose) but but but. This is not the same old maturity that I (as [Bill] Gilmore) have been talking about before. This is something I wouldn’t have the slightest idea if Gilmore would understand and don’t care much. But you are right, perhaps it’s under my nose in you. This is a kick I don’t want to continue.

School is over and I have been reading Dante, which I have found very inspiring. I finished the Divine Comedy during the term, and am reading books including The Vita Nuova (New Life) [by Dante Alighieri]. I dreamed up an enormous tentative plan tonight, which I will tell you about. My interest in reading is the profit by other men’s experience. I sometimes find (only “lately) authors talking directly to me, from the bottom of their minds. I think I am going to write a sonnet sequence. I want to read Petrarch and Shakespeare, Spencer and Sidney, etc. and learn about sonnets from beginning to end, and write a series on love, perfectly, newly conceived. I conceived the whole idea all at once seeing the first word in a title embedded in a page of the Vita Nuova: my poems have always been prophesied by their titles. That is, a poem often has a single “transcendent, personal, and serious idea” behind it, as a novel—a single image. I want to celebrate my “lovers” in all various manners, intellectually, wittily, passionately, raptly, nostalgically, pensively, beautifully, realistically, “soberly,” enthusiastically, etc., every possible perception fitted out in inwrought, clear, complex stanzas—including the one as yet undefined or un-stated mood, or better, knowledge, that I have and that at times you are aware that I have, no matter how silly I get. The title of this is: “The Fantasy of the Fair.” Just repeat it aloud, it carries the whole idea in it. One of the major ideas is the dynamic sense of “Lucien’s “Face” which you once propounded to me and which I half understood at the time. I want to formulate it poetically, if possible as the end of the poem, but without any private or subjective, or N.Y. idea of L.I. [Long Island] use the name to bridge at the moment. I am talking about humanity, and beginning to try to write in eternity.

I have been enduring a series of troublesome dreams lately about Neal [Cassady]. Your notice comes at about the crisis of them, though it is not a passional crisis and is accompanied by no tempests of intellect. I wonder what he is doing in his eternity. I feel so far away from people, without loneliness, that I am rather happy now. [ . . . ]

I’m not worried about the theory of writing, I am only just vering the practice. The Doldrums are antiquated. For that reason I am sending poetry out for the first time. I got my first rejection slip from Kenyon; a note from J.C. Ransom, editor and poet: “I like very much this slow, iterative, organized and reflective poem. At times it’s like a sestina. Thank you for sending it. But still I think it’s not “for us exactly. I guess we need a more compacted thing.”

I had sent them “Denver D. [Doldrums]” but, as luck would have it, I have some compacted things around that he will get next week.

Your season sounds beautiful. I particularly wish I had seen Lucien so drunk. Make what you want out of that.

No, it sounded like you. (Some one is singing a ditty “So please pass a little piece of pizza”) and it makes me wish I were alive, that’s why I can’t say any more.

Everybody’s fine, but it’s sweet, beautiful, but not so dumb, this world. Lucien means dumb because we don’t know what we know. I mean, won’t admit how much we know.

White said that Scribner’s rejected you, too, just like the goil. Can I see the novel [The Town and the City]? But don’t worry, it really don’t mean a thing. That’s my opinion.

Grebsnig

#quotations #typography #letters #allen ginsberg #jack kerouac #god this gives me so many feelings

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dustedmagazine · 6 months

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Madhuvanti Pal — The Holy Mother: Madhuvanti Pal Plays the Rudra Veena (Sublime Frequencies)

The rudra veena is a South Asian string instrument that differs from the better-known sitar in being historically earlier and in aspects of its construction (e.g., fixed vs. movable frets), but, to the untrained ear, the shimmering tones are similar. In the hands of Madhuvanti Pal, the rudra veena sings, hums, cries and purrs, creating complex layers of sound that evolve slowly and with a kind of inevitability that, for those outside the tradition, makes the listening experience something like hearing a vividly told story in an unknown but wonderfully melodious language.

In a review earlier this year of a recording by the Hindustani artist Debashish Bhattacharya, I acknowledged that I have no understanding of the place of the music in South Asian culture and that my assessment of it is entirely aesthetic, and I repeat that caveat here. Sublime Frequencies is marketing The Holy Mother to English speakers in this country, so the people who write for and read Dusted and, like me, are ignorant of the cultural context, are presumably among the target audience. And it is for them (rather than those who know the culture) that this review is intended.

This recording consists of two compositions of 40 to 50 minutes in length. Each is divided into two parts, which is a necessity for the vinyl, but the fade in and out is a bit distracting for the digital version. In any case, the scope of the compositions allows for the long-range development of musical ideas. I say “compositions” with some caution since the liner notes do not indicate how much improvisation is involved or how traditional Pal’s approach is.

The first composition, “Todi,” begins, as might be expected, with a drone, specifically, a mid-range drone. Around it, higher- and lower-pitched tones emerge and fade. The nature of the instrument is such that there is no truly empty space, but, as on many stringed instruments, various voices are identifiable. The notes are often extended, as if with a slide, though the images of her show Pal playing with only her fingers. The tempo is fairly slow and deliberate until around the halfway point (for which reason the fade in and out is especially unfortunate), when the pace and intricacy of the phrasing increase, making for a thrilling moment. The tempo then abates a bit until the last five minutes, when the lower-pitched voice becomes increasingly insistent only to yield to the higher-pitched voice before all fades away but the drone.

The mood and feeling of “Bhairavi” are similar to “Todi,” but the lower-pitched voice remains dominant through most of the first half, and the higher-pitched voice seems sweeter. Again, there is a notable quickening of the pace near the midpoint and a transitional moment about three-quarters of the way through. This time, the higher-pitched voice comes to dominate in effortless displays of great dexterity by Pal as single notes combine and contrast with stabbing strums. Once more, resolution arrives in the final minutes as the voices switch off, and the ending delivers the dynamics of an anthem.

Pal takes listeners willing to devote their attention to her playing on two thrilling journeys here, though I suppose the music would also make for a pleasant background. Notably, she is a music educator and builder of instruments and, apparently, a pioneer in terms of being a woman performer on the instrument. Those of us on the outside looking in will have no doubt of her mastery of the rudra veena, and, though the relationship of the music to the Holy Mother remains undefined, its spiritual power seems to transcend cultural boundaries.

Jim Marks

#dusted magazine #albumreview #madhuvanti pal #the holy mother: madhuvanti pal plays the rudra veena #sublime frequencies #jim marks #india #rudra veena

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shakecup · 2 years

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i dont know if this is OCD-informed behavior or what but its funny to me: i am always terrified to take anything that will alter my mind or mood in any way (other than alcohol and cbd) if i am "unprepared" aka i put off ingesting psilocybin, pot, and even kratom for indefinite amounts of time. im always sooo anxious that if i took a microdose or smoked part of a bowl or took two kratom capsules that my day is just going to go wildly awry, be utterly ruined, some undefined catastrophe is going to happen that will either kill or bankrupt me, or that i just won't be able to react to sufficiently. the mental image involved is like a child's idea of an LSD trip, like i envision that i'm going to end up crashing my car because i'll come totally undone, not be able to see straight and think i'm in the middle of the ocean or something. and lately ive been trying to combat it and remember that my day is going to go so much better and i'll be markedly more human and functioning if i just take a little something for god's sake

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reactionimagesdaily · 11 months

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#this is the plot of Dragon Age #reaction image #reaction meme #daily reaction images #image mood: [undefinable]

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altmusicposting · 1 year

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They're Coming To Take Me Away: The Difference a Cover Can Make

First released in 1966 as a novelty song by Napoleon XIV (Jerry Samuels), They're Coming To Take Me Away shot quickly up and then fell off the charts. It was banned after 5 weeks on the radio, when doctors and mental institutions called in saying it "hurt their image" (Mastropolo, The Riff, 2021). Samuels never intended the song to be serious, and knew from it's conception that it was "a sick joke," (Mastropolo, The Riff, 2021). Indeed it is, the song reads as the raving of a spurned ex-lover who was sent to a mental institution post break-up, presumably for the lyrics that indicate he poses a potential danger to himself and/or this other person.

In 2014, American, female-fronted metal band Butcher Babies released a cover of the song on their Sophomore EP, Uncovered. This cover was performed in their own style of thrash metal, rather than seeking to emulate the original (Scavieli, Classic Rock History, 2016). What's so fascinating to me about this, is how drastically different the cover is from the original, and how that changes the air and mood of the song, while still conveying the core feeling of a dangerous ex-lover.

For reference, the original song has no melody at all. There is a cadence to the phrasing of the lyrics, but they are spoken. Samuels did also use a Variable Frequency Oscillator (VFO) to change the pitch and resonance of his voice, and add an echo to punctuate the end of certain lines (Mastropolo, The Riff, 2021). Other than the vocal line, the only instruments are a steady, looped snare drum, tambourine hits, and a siren effect. This extremely bare bones track feels like Napoleon XIV is talking to you, the listener as if you were the ex. It is personal and creepy, like he left a distorted voicemail on your phone. The tone of voice used in this version also has a Joker-like calmness to it. It's sing-songy and oddly punctuated, but he's not yelling at you (mostly). It's not anger, it's a quiet possessiveness and hatred.

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The Butcher Babies cover could not be sonically more different. Thrash metal (or thrash) as a subgenre is typically defined by quick tempos and heavy, repetitive drum patterns (Metal Fandom Wiki). It is generally described within the scene as "heavy", which honestly is probably the best word for it. It tends to be aggressive sounding and loud, with visceral lyrics, pounding musical underlines, and harsh vocals. Butcher Babies are no exception in general and on this record. Where the original has no melody, and sparse instrumentation, this version has a full metal band, with drums, bass guitar, electric guitar, and two vocalists.

Interestingly, vocalists Heidi Shepherd and Carla Harvey still avoid true singing, opting to speak and scream the lyrics. Though this decision is in line with the Napoleon XIV track, the tone of voice used by Shepherd and Harvey when whispering or speaking, and the inclusion of harsh vocals conveys an entirely different energy. In this version, there it is no longer the detached, vaguely ominous, creepy clown smiling at you while they threaten your life vibe. This oscillates between giddy, Harley Quinn-type madness and anger. But its still personal, it's still a threat, just now in a more "grab you by the throat and listen to me" way, to use Scavieli's phrasing. In a way though, it does feel less personal, less directed at the listener, and more directed at some undefined "you" as is the case in other songs. The presence of a full band makes it feel more like a song or a performance than a creepy voicemail.

While there is (to my knowledge) no mechanical vocal oscillation, in the Butcher Babies' version, Shepherd and Harvey do make use of different tones of voice, dynamics, and pitches to similar effect. However, instead of being used to enhance the sense of madness, here it feels like it is used to detail the progression of the narrative. It starts as a whisper, like it's a secret or spoken to themselves, then it builds to a normal volume, and eventually they are screaming at the top of their lungs. At this point they are impassioned, angry, and completely off the rails. Tonally, they switch between accusatory, pointed speech, sarcasm, and drawn out, almost whiny notes. There is a range of emotions the speaker is experiencing, and they can't control them. It's like they can't make up their mind about how they feel towards the ex-lover, and everything is crashing over them at once.

Additionally in this version, there is the isolation of the line "To the fucking funny farm," which does not exist in the original. While it is a lyrical moment, it being singled out forces the listener to focus on that one phrase. All of the underlying music cuts out too, and it is abrupt coming off of the whirlwind chaos of the preceding bridge, and immediately followed by the full band coming back in full swing. I can almost see the big wind up of people in the mosh pit getting ready to jump and headbang as soon as the beat drops.

Speaking of the bridge, there is another break in the music preceding it, which is filled in by laughs and heavy breaths punctuated by rapid triplets of chord and drum hits that could be akin to rapid-fire gunshots. It tells the listener there's a big drop coming. It builds to this with a series of 3 on-beat chords followed by another 3 chords played all on the last beat (as a triplet I think), which reads as 1, 2, 3, 4&a. This leads nicely into the next measure/line, because that "a" is a very unstable place to be, and as such leaves the listener waiting, itching for the drop that starts the bridge.

youtube

Butcher Babies keep the steady, driving rhythm in their cover, but give it to the guitar instead of a snare drum, and punctuate the down beats with the bass drum. The instruments change pattern and dynamics to better emphasize various aspects of the vocals, like suspending the riff at the end of certain lines and holding out a note/chord instead, or ramping up during the chorus and bridge. Where the original is unrelenting with the exception of a few pauses, regardless of what the lyrics or sirens are doing, the cover interrupts the steady "dun, da da da da dun, da da da da dun,..." with down stroked power chords, and a full switch in strumming pattern and chords at the bridge.

It's fascinating to me how much difference a few decisions can make in the vibe and reception of a song. And perhaps more fascinating how despite those differences it is a) still recognizable as a cover of the original and b) carries some of the same emotions and sense of peril. Whether you prefer the original calm uneasiness, or the Butcher Babies' full throttle break, I hope you can appreciate the sonic qualities of both, as I do. A Happy Halloween to you all!

#Youtube #butcher babies #thrash metal #pure madness #napoleon xiv #music #music analysis #my thoughts #my commentary #metalcore #female metal singer #creepy shit #creepy stuff

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heart2big4mybody · 6 months

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Negative Enneagram Test

Results:

Your Enneagram is Type 4.

Type 4

Enneagram Type 4, often referred to as "The Individualist" or "The Romantic," is characterized by a deep sense of uniqueness and a desire to express their individuality. While this personality type possesses many strengths such as creativity, emotional depth, and a strong sense of authenticity, the negative aspects of their nature can lead to challenges in their personal lives and relationships. Their negative aspects tend to take the following forms:

Intense Emotions: Experience emotions deeply and can become overwhelmed by intense mood swings.

Self-Isolation: Tendency to withdraw from others when feeling misunderstood or different.

Constant Comparison: Often compare themselves to others, leading to feelings of inadequacy and envy.

Identity Struggles: Search for a unique identity, feeling that they don't quite fit in anywhere.

Emphasis on Uniqueness: Desire to be special and unique can lead to pretentious behavior.

Melancholic Thinking: Inclination towards melancholic or pessimistic thinking patterns.

Idealization and Disappointment: Idealize experiences, leading to disappointment when reality falls short.

Self-Indulgence: Seeking intense emotions and experiences, sometimes leading to self-destructive behaviors.

Fear of Abandonment: Fear of being unimportant or abandoned by others due to their perceived differences.

Negative Self-Image: Struggle with low self-esteem, often feeling flawed or defective.

Rumination: Dwelling on negative thoughts and emotions, leading to cycles of negativity.

Dramatic Expressions: Express emotions dramatically, seeking attention and understanding.

Vulnerability Aversion: Struggling to reveal vulnerabilities due to fear of rejection or criticism.

Difficulty Accepting Happiness: Skepticism towards happiness, as they might feel unworthy of it.

Seeking External Validation: Craving external validation to confirm their uniqueness and worth.

Tendency to Isolate in Pain: Retreat into solitude when facing emotional pain or feeling misunderstood.

Rejecting Ordinary: Aversion to the mundane and ordinary, seeking extraordinary experiences.

Relationship Idealization: Idealizing relationships, leading to disappointment if partners don't meet expectations.

Over-Identification with Feelings: Identifying too strongly with emotions, defining their sense of self by them.

Resisting Practicality: Avoiding practical tasks in favor of emotionally charged or creative pursuits.

Perpetual Longing: A constant longing for something more, often undefined or unattainable.

Resistance to Moving Forward: Reluctance to move forward due to attachment to past experiences.

Creativity Blocks: Struggling with creative blocks due to emotional fluctuations.

Fear of Being Ordinary: Deep fear of blending in and being considered ordinary.

Difficulty in Letting Go: Holding onto past pain or emotional wounds, hindering personal growth.

#they call me crybaby / crybaby musings #dashboard games

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misfiredmonologue · 2 years

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drugs? and fuck the disorder/nobody is young and healthy

I propose to you: Jesus’ side wound depicted while penetrated by two fingers of the disembodied hand of doubting saint Thomas but overlay it with ultrasound imagery featuring rib shadows. “"Most artifacts in radiology refer to something seen on an image that are not present in reality but appear due to a quirk of the modality itself. Artifact is also used to describe findings that are due to things outside the patient that may obscure or distort the image, e.g. clothing, external cardiac monitor leads, body parts of carer, etc.”

(entry on Radiology Image Artifact on radiopedia.org)

(…)

The color red is unexpectedly growing on me, like this particular shade of blue and purple did before. But red?! DM me pictures of your wounds and tell me if it is too much to ask to want to hide in somebody’s hair, early in the morning, while they read, not yet ready to start the day. But I keep waking up alone so let’s call the moment face meets pillow and it feels like a full-body kiss ‘nap synesthesia’.

(…)

My recent appendix surgery and other events have seen me wrestling with stinging feelings seated deep inside various of my organs (heartbreak! fun! (irony! (is the tool of the shy, says F (quadruple parenthesis, what an unhinged way to start this!))) I’m not in the process of coming out of ‘it’, but this is a disclaimer to the following text I wrote, so something must have changed that makes me feel capable of picking up the undefined ends of the project that is this blog again. The last time I tried this, I wrote a text I titled ‘I’m turning into the upstairs neighbor everyone hates’ that I never ended up finishing or posting. And while this is not that text or even close to a re-write of it, the two are for sure connected. I would like you to imagine me pacing relentlessly back and forth, shaking limbs, in between every few sentences, if you are like me and enjoy making up a picture of the person writing a text, speaking into the void, while you read it. (Yes we are all voyeurs then, no? The meta/serving suggestion of reading might then just be about getting caught staring. Or, as Kathryn Bond Stockton theorizes erotically in ‘Making Out’, getting caught in the pursuit of “kissing a text”.) I will start with a highly personal, diary-like entry into the text, just to make sure that this cannot be confused with anything less than chaotic and embarrassing. If I don’t keep embarrassing myself here just because of the prospect of people I care about reading it, I might run out of places to do it purposefully, entirely, and that would be no fun either.

Calmness or focus have just escaped me in their entirety since my endocrinologist ordered me to increase my testosterone intake. It’s funny how all these traits of what is commonly described by people who diagnose others as having a so-called attention deficit (yes I would like to have one standard amount of attention please, what do you mean it is related to our surroundings and not a reliably measurable and portionable fluid of sorts?) and behave in ways that are comparatively (to whom?) hyperactive (ADHD) suddenly apply to me in their most stereotyped form (all diagnosis is stereotyping of course and if I ever had any scientific ambitions it would be disproving the diagnostic process with its own means, making it eat itself from the inside out just to see what would happen). My day thoughts start to take the rhythm of dreams. This is not about their contents but rather the strange intervals in which they are happening and me then forgetting them. Dreams feel like they last the whole night, days years, only to have been actual minutes of ones sleeping time. I, of course, haven’t googled this to back it up (has anyone ever met a dream scientist and can tell me if they talk like an artist or the opposite or both?), but the way one can wake up from a dream, fall asleep again for only a few minutes and wake up with a whole new epic chapter of moods added to it, makes me suspect this strongly.

Everything that feels near eternal and incredibly expansive in the moment I think it, in the next it is completely gone. My nervous walking has started up again, in an desperate embodied attempt to retain all concentration slipping from me regardless, fireworks going off all around me and not much I can do about it except throwing words over explosions like nets to catch butterflies and turning whatever I catch into ..?

(...)

If the idea of a drug becomes so powerful, the idea of a substance that can ease or make pain disappear, being in the proximity of that thought, even or especially if one is highly skeptical of it, opposes it, might do something. And I wonder if it could be an experience similarly to what these respective substances might trigger when ingested.

At least the moods that came up while being on morphine didn’t feel so strange that it remains indescribable, to me, despite having never taken any drug like it. Sure, the intensity of it was conveniently placed at a time my body would have otherwise not been ready to experience emotional elation and physical relaxation, but whatever the state I was in is called... I think the symptom of making art has its origin in a similar intensity, that cannot be chased and pops up unannounced. To call it inspiration feels bland.

Z tells me she started taking stimulants only recently, well into her 30s, having recently found “one of the good” psychiatrists (lol) who diagnosed her yet doesn’t insist on her taking those meds daily. Her talking about it cheerfully, as if it might something easy - a tool that seems to be not more or lass than that - planted a new train of thought into me. The very simple mirror of ‘our struggles are similar’ and ‘the intensity with which they impact us are not’ leading to ‘is taking meds a viable possibility to explore that I have disregarded? And through seeing someone I like and can see myself in thrive it has entered the real of possibility again?’ or simply ‘hey, I could do that.’ And it keeps popping up again and again, despite all the reading I’ve been doing, being different nuances of critical towards the pathology of neurodivergence and the category of neurodivergence as constructed itself. I don’t know where I am going with this, but to think of processes as more complex than diagnosis and prescription, problem and solution, is like remembering to inhale after accidentally holding your breath for too long. This view on things, this breathing, isn’t a fixed set of rules though, it doesn’t allow or disallow anything. So taking stimulants could indeed, become a tool in this order of things, that works with and not in opposition to the idea that distress and pain experienced in a system designed to keep functioning by causing indiscriminately distress and pain in whatever amounts necessary to achieve uniformity is indeed a perfectly logical response to that system and not a magically isolated occurrence of disorder.

What the fuck does ‘being medicated’ even mean. Or ‘being sick’. As if being ‘young’ or being ‘healthy’ was something that people could actually be and then, even more mind boggling, sustain forever. As if these ideas were not something which’s sole definition is based on being temporary and impossible to fully achieve. How could they be truths or possible states of being when they feel like highly constructed ideals bordering on infinity plus one, there is always more to ‘health’ and ‘youth’ and how would we (who is we, lol) ever get there? Hamsterwheels are much more tolerable when one is not sitting in a wheelchair, I think, while critical of the fact that ‘wheelchair’ is one of the first image that pops into my head along with the word disability. Yet advertising (one of the symptoms of capitalism, if staying with pathological metaphors?) claims obnoxiously loud that losing ‘health’ or ‘youth’ should be seen as an isolated disordered experience, a tragic occurrence which can only be altered in its severity by medical or consumerist intervention and not something that literally constitutes being a human, or really any form of life. (You have reached the part in the text that is me, dramatically exclaiming ‘We are all going to die!’. Again, existential teenage embarrassment.)

I try to picture a person that is fully ‘young and healthy’ yet always find something that could be ‘improved’ upon, and as this hypothetical construct of a person takes their next breath, they have already progressed in time and aged and with it, failed so to say. Did you also picture a man when you thought of someone advertising ‘young and healthy’ to you? Well, fuck.

And while we are at it, let’s look at Jesse Meadows most recent email-sized essays from their substack newsletter ‘Sluggish’ that touches on the idea of the typical vs divergent binary in a way that stuck with me throughout the week: “Mainstream understandings of disability have fallen into a similar binary that don’t square with the critical disability studies work I’m familiar with.”

They then go on to quote feminist scholar Susan Wendell, who wrote in 1989 that everyone will experience disability at some point in their lives, because we all get sick and grow old and need support: “Recognizing this helps us to see that disabled people are not “other,” that they are really “us.” Unless we die suddenly, we are all disabled eventually. Most of us will live part of our lives with bodies that hurt, that move with difficulty or not at all, that deprive us of activities we once took for granted or that others take for granted, bodies that make daily life a physical struggle. We need an understanding of disability that does not support a paradigm of humanity as young and healthy. Encouraging everyone to acknowledge, accommodate and identify with a wide range of physical conditions is ultimately the road to self-acceptance as well as the road to liberating those who are disabled now.”

So maybe I can take a knife to all the ropes that have unconsciously tied the idea of being ‘young and healthy’ to me on all levels that are not language (yet) and find myself suddenly standing (or sitting, sleeping, taking 3-hour naps out of nowhere and missing classes and meetings because recovery is not linear) in a body looking at itself? When all supposedly ‘young and healthy’ bodies shout ‘my body is capable of being in pain and sick and injured at any moment, it has happened before and it will happen again, it is ongoing’ and ‘accommodate me and the possibility that I am in pain and failing to be productive because/regardless of it!’ alongside all bodies that are not in the process of being constructed as ‘young and healthy’... that would just be about everyone screaming. And, of course, fuck productivity, now and always.

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despairforme · 2 years

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He knocks on the door. A little strange, to knock on the door of a room in his own house, but.. Well, he doesn't want to just walk in when this room will technically be Nnoitra's now, for an undefined amount of time. The room had been dubbed the 'guest room' by Yumichika, but, frankly, they'd never had guest over before Nnoitra. "Hey," He shoves his hands in the pockets of his joggers and walks into the room. "So? How d'ya like it?" It isn't much, but it's neat and keeps a roof over their heads. Nnoitra is welcome to change the room however much he likes, but Ikkaku supposes that means he'll have to put some of the furniture in storage.

"Lemme know if ya wanna change anything." He grins at his friend "An' hey, I'm assumin' yer gonna be content havin' yer room right next ta the kitchen, yeah?"

Being here was strange, and it felt wrong. Moving out of the apartment had made him more depressed than he had thought it would. There was something so FINAL about moving out. It showed that his relationship with Grimmjow was truly over. He had fallen into a state of bad mood again. Hopefully it wouldn’t last.

Ikkaku had a nice place. Pretty big, and the room Nnoitra had been offered was spacious. He didn’t need much room for his stuff, and all he did when he was at home was sleep or watch youtube. He was thankful the other had offered him a room, even if he was pretty depressed right now. That wasn’t Ikkaku’s fault. It would’ve happened anyway, and at least now he didn’t need to worry about getting a place of his own right away.

He was laying on his back on the bed, phone in hand. He was scrolling mindlessly through his youtube-feed, trying to work up the energy to watch a video that lasted over 45 seconds. The scent in the room was unfamiliar to him, the bed not as soft as the one he was used to, the lighting different. And, of course - he was alone in bed. His head turned towards the sound of the knock on the door, and he pushed himself up in a sitting position. ❝ Yeah? ❞ He felt like a teeager, having to give someone permission to enter his room.

Ikkaku entered, looking a little awkward, with his hands shoved in his pockets. ❝ Yo. ❞ Nnoitra greeted him with a lazy wave. ❝ ‘S good, feels bigger than my old-old apartment. That shit was like one tiny room. ❞

He shook his head, as if to get rid of the mental image. He offered a small grin in return, feeling too down for a proper wide one. ❝ Don’t need ‘ta change nothin’. Bein’ so close ‘ta ‘da kitchen ‘s all I need in my life. ❞ Speaking of, maybe he should get some food. He got to his feet, pushing his long hair away from his face as he did so. His phone was stuffed in his back pocket. ❝ What’ we gonna do ‘bout rent? ❞ They hadn’t talked about that. Nnoitra was assuming that staying here wasn’t going to be free. Nothing ever was.

#yperifaneia #[ nnoitra is a lil saaaad about being single ahaha ]#[ BUT he is happy to have such a good friend t-t ]#[ i can't believe they're roommates now i love it ]#[ thank you for the ask blue! ]#despair for me. ╱ in character.#talking shit. ╱ answers.#burn the city. ╱ main verse.

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