#how to beatbox easy

[urmultideadfandomperson]

Slashfic Headcanons

Fandom(s): Slashfic Dorian

Character(s): Ghost, Leather, Jay, Mike

Pairing(s): Slashers X MC

Writing Style: Headcanons

Genre(s): Fluff, Cracks

Warning(s): None

Note: This is my first set of Slashfic headcanons, wow. I just started the game three days ago and now I'm at Episode 24. Really great game, I recommend it :3c Anyway, may you enjoy the read!

Ghost

Ghost is an expert at breakdancing. He loves showing off his moves to MC.

He loves teasing and messing with the other Slashers. (Isn't this canon already?)

Ghost acts like a fox when he is around MC—cunning and playful. He also laughs similarly to how a fox giggles!

He has a big talent of rapping and beatboxing.

Ghost is ticklish on his waists. He dislikes admitting that, though. (Make sure you tickle him somewhere else where the other Slashers won't see.)

He's secretly a simp for MC.

Leather

The Arcana Muriel's long lost brother.

Leather is the "responsible adult" among the Slashers. He subtly treats Jay likes a younger brother.

He has vitiligo, hence he is constantly being made fun of by Jammy and Hitch.

Leather likes to clean his chainsaw every now and then, treating it like fine china.

He occasionally likes to whistle a bunch of tunes that are from his childhood.

(This man also definitely has that deep voice and Southern accent... 😩💖)

Jay

Jay has a tooth gap!!

He still isn't very good with making decisions on his own, but everyday, he's trying :3c

Jay's favorite animals are albino mammals.

He has a hidden talent of dancing, but he prefers to keep it secret to everyone... except MC!

Jay has ADHD that was left untreated because of his messed up past. He is learning how to control it with Leather's guidance.

He lowkey likes rock music! He, uh, may or may not have been influenced by a certain Slasher...

Mike

Mike probably knows how to play a piano and/or violin.

He wields a kitchen knife because it was easy to use. He also does not see a reason to show off his weapons.

Mike has a very good singing voice. He is also a great partner in duets (mainly with MC, of course).

He has a very weak presence. It's so weak that he ends up startling the other Slashers multiple times.

Mike takes great care of his luscious hair before and after a murder. He only allows a few people to touch his locks.

This may be unexpected, but he snorts when he laughs! It's very cute. Just don't tell anybody about it, okay?

[kingofpopmj]

Something About You Baby

Summary: You watched behind the scenes as filming for In The Closet began. Michael in work mode was one of your favorite things, but there was something different about this time.

Pairing: Michael Jackson x Reader!

Warning: AWKWARD TENSION, ARGUING AND CURSING

Requested: yes

*Y/N’s POV*

It was hot. Everything. The weather. The onscreen couple. The wardrobe. Everything. It felt like only yesterday Michael jumped out of bed and began scribbling notes in the notebook I’d put in his nightstand for moments like this. I laid on my side watching him hum and beatbox until he found the right melody. His process was incredible to witness. It was so damn sexy when he lost himself in the music.

“What do you think?” Michael smiled, standing still as I eyed him up and down— taking my sweet time of course.

“Very handsome.��� I leaned in, my lips molding to the curve of his cheek. “Aren’t you going to be hot in those jeans?”

“Yeah, but I don’t have many other options.”

“You could wear a speedo.” I teased.

“I think that would negate the subtly I was going for.”

“Boo. You’re no fun.” I giggled, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and twirling my fingers through the strands of his ponytail.

“Plus, those don’t seem very comfortable or supportive for that matter.”

“Must you always overthink my jokes?”

“How about… I give you a private show later. I’ll pull out all my best moves and definitely no speedos.” I could feel his fingers slip under the hem of my shirt, tracing my hipbone.

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss that for the world.”

“Only the best for my lady.”

“We should get out there… the longer you look at me like that the closer we are to getting this trailer rockin’. I only have so much self control.” I pouted, dragging the pads of my fingers along the details of his shoulder muscles.

“I love the hell out of you. You know that?”

“I had an inkling.”

“Come on. They’re waiting for us.”

Michael held out his arm for me to take before guiding me with him to where everyone was waiting. After quick pleasantries, I looked on silently as they begun talking business. Michael spoke with the director about some last minute ideas. I took the moment to look around, it was a simple set and I was looking forward to seeing how they’d utilize everything.

“This is Y/N, my better half.” Michael’s voice brought me back into the conversation. When I turned my head I was face to face with his love interest for the day.

“Hello, it’s great to meet you.” I smiled, trying to hide how utterly intimidated I’d felt. The more I looked at her the more I felt myself shrink— she’s like a fucking goddess.

“Hi, I’m Naomi, it’s exciting to finally meet you. Michael talks about you constantly. I feel like I already know you.” She was tall with long hair and a costume which showed off her toned physique. She was absolutely beautiful.

Michael whispered in my ear about needing to take care of something and left me alone with the supermodel. We continued talking and laughing together. She was actually pretty easy to talk to. It wasn’t long until I didn’t feel so insecure anymore. I mean she’s still stunning, but she also seemed kind. She’s Michaels friend— good friend. He doesn’t have many of those, people he can trust, so that’s another plus in my book.

“Mike should’ve just had you in the video.” She nudged me with her elbow. “I think that would’ve really brought the shock value. No one would expect it, since he’s so protective of you.”

“Yeah, I don’t think he’d go for that at all. Plus, I couldn’t— I get a little camera shy.”

“Don’t be shy. Own it, I know I would. You’re with the most successful man in the world. He chose you, don’t be shy, don’t hide. Who gives a shit what they say. If you ask me, you’ve already won.”

“I’ve won? Won what?”

“Seriously?” She laughed, shaking her head and gesturing with her head in the direction of where Michael was. “Happiness.” She stated simply. “People would do anything for true happiness. You’ve got it. It brings out the envy in most.” I stared at her for a moment, my eyes searching hers for understanding. She didn’t smile this time. She looked at me with this expression that sent a shiver through my body. By the time I’d figured out what to say to her, we were interrupted before I could get the words out.

“Excuse me, Naomi, we need you.” She excused herself and walked off to the makeshift church, posing in front of it as they checked the lighting.

She’s really fitting for the role. There’s no way I could’ve done that— the outfit alone. She looked more comfortable in it— in front of all these people more than I ever could.

I was left with this uneasy feeling. Nonetheless, I watched on as they got in position. She smiled, batting her eyes when Michael emerged from his trailer. I recognized the excitement, the hitch in her breathing, but the real give away was the way her face fell when he made his way to me. She had no idea how to mask her emotions, which made it difficult to brush off.

“Y/N, baby.” His sweet voice sounded from beside as I felt his embrace.

“Hi.” I said simply, pulling my focus away from her and the anger I felt— it wasn’t important. It’s not worth it. Michael has had many admirers. This won’t be any different. Like she said, I shouldn’t hide. I should own it.

“We’re about to start. I need for you to stay right here, okay?”

“Here? Okay. I can do that.” I crossed my legs and sat back in my chair. “Oh, I love it when you give me orders.”

“Stop it.” He jumped towards me, covering my lips. “You really want me to break your back in the middle of a desert?”

“I mean if you’re offering.” I couldn’t help myself I loved the look on his face when I flirted with him, especially in public.

“You’ve gotta stop getting me started when there’s people around.” He muttered under his breath, adjusting his jeans discreetly. “Naughty.”

“Fine. I’ll be good.”

“I’ll be right over there.” He pointed over to where a dusty old car was parked. “I need to have you in my eye line, so I can sing to you. I need you there. It’ll help my nerves— seeing you will help me.”

“I won’t move.”

“Thank you.”

I did exactly as I was told. I didn’t move.

Every time they took breaks in between filming, Michael was right by my side acting a fool. He was so amped up, everything I said only added to his craziness.

“Put ‘em up!” Michael yelled from behind me.

“You scared the shit out of me!” When I turned around he had a bright green water gun pointing at me and a brown cowboy hat on.

“Hands in the air fine lady!”

“You don’t have to yell—” That’s when I felt cold liquid hit me in the forehead. “What is that? It’s burning my eye.”

“I’m Sheriff Jackson and you are under arrest. Put your hands in the air.”

“Sprite?” I asked as the substance dripped down onto my lips. “You goon, did you really fill that water gun with soda?”

“Stop resisting arrest, ma’am. Don’t make me handcuff you.”

“Where’d you get that from?” I laughed, poking the shiny badge clipped to his chest. “You’re silly. So, you’re the Sheriff?”

“Yes ma’am and I suggest you start cooperating.”

“Can I ask what I’m being charged with?” I teased, tilting my chin up with my hands in front of me— cooperating.

“Being sexy.”

“That’s not a crime. It seems to me like an abuse of power on your part.”

“Yes, I use this badge to get near beautiful women. You caught me.” He grabbed my wrist, pulling me out of the chair and into his chest. “If you give me some lovin’. I’ll let you go— charges dropped.”

“You’re so damn annoying.” I kissed him roughly, sinking my hands slipping through the strands of his hair. “You’re lucky you’re so scrumptious, Sheriff.”

“Having fun?”

“I would be if I wasn’t all sticky from being shot at with sprite.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll lick it off of you later.” He winked, dancing around me and pinching my butt. “I’ll have an hour for lunch, if you’re interested.”

“I’ll go pick up your favorite.”

“You’re my favorite.” He walked me over to the car and kissed me. “I can’t believe I’m helping a fugitive escape.” He murmured against my lips.

“Sheriff, the only thing I’m guilty of is having dirty thoughts about you.” I kissed his cheek, his jawline then his neck as I felt his heart begin to race. I pulled away, smiling up at him. “I should get going.”

“Tease.” He huffed, smacking my butt as I turned to get into the car. “Drive safe. I love you.”

“I love you.” He shut the door softly, leaning through the open window to kiss me one last time before I drove off.

When I pulled up to set, paper bags in hand everything felt the same. It wasn’t until my eyes landed on Michael that I realized I was wrong. He jumped slightly when I greeted him and was painfully quiet.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, thanks for getting food.” He sounded genuine in his tone, but the way he was pushing food around his plate with a fork told me there was more.

“Michael, you can—”

“Please!” He jumped up, dodging my hand as I tried to reach out to him. “Just drop it.”

There was so much I wanted to say. I had so many questions, but I stayed silent. When I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror I immediately felt sick, I looked like a scared kid who’d just been grounded. I felt so damn confused.

“I gotta get back.” I watched as he left the trailer, his head hanging forward and his steps small but steady.

“Okay.” I said after the door shut. I felt helpless. I had no idea what the hell was going on. I thought about how clear he’d been about me taking my spot behind the camera, but right now it felt like he didn’t want me there.

Yet, my feet still carried me outside where the atmosphere had dramatically changed.

“3… 2… Action!”

I stared at my hands, resting in my lap, trying to think over the events of today. I had no idea what could be bothering Michael, but it was serious. I could feel it. When I finally built up the courage to look at him he spun around quickly avoiding my eyes. I don’t think I ever felt more devastated than in this moment.

“How was that?” I heard a voice speak near me. I looked up in time to see the crew walking towards the equipment. This meant they were taking a break— yet Michael was— I didn’t know where he was.

Great. He’s hiding from me now. What’s going on?

The crew had huddled around one of the monitors as they viewed the scene they’d just filmed. They were cheering and applauding at the performance Michael and Naomi were putting on. Even I had to admit, they were doing a great job, very convincing— almost uncomfortable to watch since they were having so much fun groping each other. Truly every girlfriend’s dream to witness her man dry hump in the open desert for a dozen cameras. I’m a lucky girl.

“Look at them. This is going to be hot!”

“That’s a star couple if I ever saw one.”

“People are going to go crazy over this video.”

“They’d be absolutely stunning together. Imagine their babies. Oh, they’d have beautiful babies.”

What the fuck. They’re having babies now? I can’t take much more of this. It’s getting difficult to keep up the supportive girlfriend act. It was easy to tell myself it’s just a job and Michael deserves to have me here cheering him on, but now it felt like I was intruding.

“Naomi, can we get you on the floor?” She flipped her hair and nodded enthusiastically. “Michael, just climb on top of her, do whatever comes to you.”

Yeah, I’m gonna need a break. I hopped out of my chair, walking off before taking one last glance at my boyfriend— that was a big mistake. His hand on Naomi’s chin, guiding her to look up at him from where she was on the floor— in front of him— on her knees.

That’s awesome.

I’m totally okay with this.

I’m not upset. They’re just acting.

And, they just so happened to be great actors.

*Michael’s POV*

As I danced along to the music, something had shifted and I could feel it deep in my soul. I tried to continue, but I was too focused on the empty chair a few yards in front of me. This isn’t right. She wouldn’t just wander off without telling me. I took a deep breath, shaking my head and when the music stopped my feet took off. This felt— it all felt wrong.

“Babe?” I found her stood behind the trailer, her back pushed up against it. “Why’d you leave?”

“It didn’t feel like I was needed anymore.”

“Of course you are. I panicked— I was worried when I didn’t see you.”

“I’m not stupid.” Her eyes were glossy when she finally spoke and her lips stuck in a frown.

“Of course you’re not. I never said you were.” I reached out to her, but she pushed my hand away.

“Well, then, why are you treating me like I am?”

“Babe, what’s going on? What’s this about?”

“This is humiliating.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You can cut the tension with a knife. Why did you even bring me here?”

“Because I need you.”

“It doesn’t— I don’t think you do.”

“Come on. Let’s go inside.” I tried to reach out for her again, but she stepped away, wrapping her arms around herself. She was shielding her from me and it hurt like hell. “Let’s talk. We should talk.”

“It’s in your eyes. They always tell me what you can’t say. I can see it.”

“Honey, see what?”

“Michael, you’re into her.”

“What?”

“You’ve been acting— you haven’t been yourself off camera— with me. I don’t know why, but ever since lunch you’ve been avoiding me. It seems like you rather be over there with her… you’re not being yourself. And, the only explanation I can come up with is that you’re into her.”

“No. No. That’s not true.”

“That’s what it feels like— like you want to be with her. You’re acting different.”

“Baby, no. I promise that’s not it.”

“When they yell cut you practically hide from me, but I can tell. I can see it in your eyes— it’s— there’s something wrong and it looks like when the camera is rolling you’re loving every minute. I can feel it— there’s something going on with her.”

“No, Y/N, no— I don’t want her. This is work and I’m just playing a part.”

“You guys are all over each other—”

“It’s for the film. We’re acting. I’m acting. That’s all.”

“It seems like you’re both really enjoying it. Why are you avoiding me? Like you don’t want to be near me—”

“No, that’s not it! I’m so sorry… I didn’t intend to make you feel that way.”

“What is it then! Am I imagining it?”

“Y/N! No!”

“All you can say is no?”

“No! I mean— shit, not no.”

“You’ve gotta get back out there. I’ll just stay here or I can leave.” She took in a deep breath like she was trying to appear unfazed. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No. Y/N, listen...” I drifted off, feeling helpless. I had no idea what to say— how to say this.

“Just say it.”

“I don’t know…”

“Then, say something, say anything.”

“I was avoiding you because I can’t keep things from you. I’m not a good liar.”

“A good liar? Oh my god. What did you do?”

“Babe.”

“What did you do with her that you need to lie to me about?” Her voice was weak and she started crying profusely at the thought of me betraying her.

“No. Please listen to me.” She still wouldn’t let me touch her, so I settled for placing my hands on the metal exterior of the trailer, on either side of her, blocking her in so she couldn’t run away from me.

“I’m listening.” She muttered, staring off into the distance.

“I’d never do something like that. I didn’t mean— I meant I’m not good at keeping things from you. I hate it actually. And, I thought it was best to not tell you this while we’re still here because I didn’t want you to kill Naomi.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I love you. Do you hear me? I fucking love you. I didn’t want— I thought I was protecting you.”

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Shit. Okay, please don’t be mad.”

“Michael, you’re scaring me.”

“When you left to get us lunch. She came into my trailer—”

“Who?” Her eyes squinted, focusing on my every word and I knew immediately this wasn’t going to end well.

“Naomi, she came onto me.”

“She what!” Y/N yelled, taking me by surprise.

“Oh, you’re already mad. That was quick.” I nervously bit my lip, stalling because I didn’t want to tell her everything. She was going to lose it.

“What did she do Michael?”

“I need you to promise me that you won’t run over there and go all Balboa, okay? There can’t be— you can’t make a scene.”

“Michael, tell me, now.”

“You didn’t promise.”

“Fine. I promise. I won’t make a scene.” Her voice was calm when she said it, showing me a tight lipped smile to reassure me. I didn’t have much time to study that smile before she spoke again. “Now, tell me.”

“Naomi came onto me. She threw herself at me. I didn’t think she’d— it came out of nowhere. I—It made me so uncomfortable. I was kind of embarrassed— but still— honey, I— I should’ve told you. I— S— She grabbed me— like— down there and said things— offered some things I’m not very comfortable repeating—” I didn’t get to finish before she dipped her head under my arm, escaping my makeshift barrier. “Babe!” She didn’t stop and she didn’t look back.

I took a deep breath before chasing after her, but she’d vanished. Damn, I forgot how quick she is. The only hint of her whereabouts was the sound of Naomi’s trailer door being ripped open. I scanned the area anxiously, but nothing seemed off. No one was suspicious of anything. There were no eyes on me. Everyone was going on about their business as usual and that’s when I really noticed how quiet it was. It was too quiet. I couldn’t hear any sounds of a fight which made me curious and a little afraid. Carefully, I walked towards the open door of Naomi’s trailer, peeking inside and nothing. I didn’t see Y/N or Naomi anywhere. I really didn’t want to go inside, but knowing my girl, I’d definitely have to carry her out of here.

“Babe! Are you in here?” There was a slight creaking sound and it was only then I noticed the trailer shaking.

No answer.

“Babe?”

Still nothing.

I placed my foot on the first step, counting to five before going any further, but thankfully that was as far as I had to go. Y/N appeared from the back room with a toothy grin on her face this time, fixing her shirt and dusting herself off.

“Hey baby! There you are.” She chuckled, walking over to me, intertwining our hands and dragging me back outside— away from what she’d done. My gut told me she left behind a crime scene. The way she smiled at me— I had no doubt she took care of business.

“What did you do?” I whispered, studying her body for any visible wounds. I paused, inspecting her hands, specifically her bright red knuckles.

“Nothing.” She shrugged innocently. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t see anything, did you?”

“Y/N, you have to tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Did you hit her? Yell at her? I didn’t hear any yelling. What happened in there?”

“I didn’t hear anything. Did you?” She tilted her head, waiting for my answer. There was something about the way she was looking at me. I wanted to laugh, but I was genuinely curious what she was capable of.

“Babe—”

Before I could finish, Naomi emerged from her trailer, looking— very different. She looked like she’d been to hell and back. Her hair was a mess and her eyes were trained on the floor as she walked by us. She had her hand on her forehead, acting like she was blocking the sun, but I could tell there was more. She was covering something, maybe a scratch or bruise.

“I didn’t cause a scene.” Y/N whispered to me as she brought her lips to mine.

“I’m not sure whether to be scared of you or really turned on right now.” I wasn’t scared of her. I was impressed, maybe that was wrong, but I was.

“You’ll figure it out.” She winked, cupping my face and rubbing her thumb across my cheek.

“Thank you. Thank you so—”

“No need. I’m always going to have your back. I know I promised, but I couldn’t— I couldn’t just let someone get away with doing that to you.”

“Thank you for standing up for me. No one has ever done anything like that for me.”

“And, I always will. You’ll always have me.”

I stared at her in awe for what felt like hours, the way I love her is unlike anything I’ve ever known to exist. She defends me with her whole heart. No matter how low I feel she brings me back up. When I feel like I’m drowning she keeps my head above water. I don’t know how she does it— I don’t know why she does it, but damn would I be lost without it— without her. Fuck, I knew it the first time I laid eyes on her. I knew it the first time I heard her voice. I needed her. My girl.

There’s something about her.

“I love you.” It came out as an exhale, but shit did I put my soul into those three words. I felt a tug at my lips, admiring how she looked at me, like I was her world— the same way I looked at her.

“You should.”

[slashfic-daydreams]

Slashfic Headcanons

Fandom(s): Slashfic Dorian

Character(s): Ghost, Leather, Jay, Mike

Writing Style: Headcanons

Pairing(s): Slashers X MC

Genre(s): Fluff, Cracks

Warning(s): None

Note: This is my first set of Slashfic headcanons, wow. I just started the game three days ago and now I'm at Episode 24. Really great game, I recommend it :3c Anyway, may you enjoy the read!

——————————————————————

Ghost is an expert at breakdancing. He loves showing off his moves to MC.

He loves teasing and messing with the other Slashers. (Isn't this canon already?)

Ghost acts like a fox when he is around MC—cunning and playful. He also laughs similarly to how a fox giggles!

He has a big talent of rapping and beatboxing.

Ghost is ticklish on his waists. He dislikes admitting that, though. (Make sure you tickle him somewhere else where the other Slashers won't see.)

He is secretly a simp for MC.

The Arcana Muriel's long lost brother.

Leather is the "responsible adult" among the Slashers. He subtly treats Jay likes a younger brother.

He has vitiligo, hence he is constantly being made fun of by Jammy and Hitch.

Leather likes to clean his chainsaw every now and then, treating it like fine china.

He occasionally likes to whistle a bunch of tunes that are from his childhood.

(This man also definitely has that deep voice and Southern accent... 😩💖)

Jay has a tooth gap!!

He still isn't very good with making decisions on his own, but everyday, he's trying :3c

Jay's favorite animals are albino mammals.

He has a hidden talent of dancing, but he prefers to keep it secret to everyone... except MC!

Jay has ADHD that was left untreated because of his messed up past. He is learning how to control it with Leather's guidance.

He lowkey likes rock music! He, uh, may or may not have been influenced by a certain Slasher...

Mike probably knows how to play a piano and/or violin.

He wields a kitchen knife because it was easy to use. He also does not see a reason to show off his weapons.

Mike has a very good singing voice. He is also a great partner in duets (mainly with MC, of course).

He has a very weak presence. It's so weak that he ends up startling the other Slashers multiple times.

Mike takes great care of his luscious hair before and after a murder. He only allows a few people to touch his locks.

This may be unexpected, but he snorts when he laughs! It's very cute. Just don't tell anybody about it, okay?

(This is originally posted in @urmultideadfandomperson.)

(The banners used are created by me. Ask for permission first if you wish to use them in your works.)

[howlingday]

The boys and jaune are at the club looking for a girl so jaune can get laid.

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C9c9kSjuO08/?igsh=OTJiZTJ0MHJqMzlm

Here's the link to more of the scene on YouTube. And thank you for inspiring me to make something a bit... creative at the end.

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

Jaune: (Smiles)

Cinder: I've got a secret~.

Jaune: Oh?

Cinder: I WORSHIP SALEM.

Jaune: ...

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Harriet: (Chugging shots) See, that's the problem! I can't find a man who can satisfy me! Some guys can go an hour, maybe an hour and a half, but that's it! A man's got to put in overtime to get me off!

Jaune: ...

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Yang: I'm not interested in a guy unless he rides a motorcycle.

Jaune: ...

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Willow: Yeah, baby, well, I'm almost single. My husband's on death row!

Jaune: ...

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Melanie: This is the first date Missy's been on since the doctor separated us!

Miltiades: This is the first date Missy's been on since the doctor separated us!

Jaune: ...

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Blake: I'm into the group thing.

Jaune: ...

Sun: (Smiles)

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Salem: I was a powerful witch in a previous life.

Jaune: ...

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Penny: (Beatboxing)

Ruby: My name is Ruby, and I'm the best~. Everybody always wanna feel my breast~.

Ruby: Pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up...

Jaune: ...

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Nora: I've been doing some videos, but what I really want to do is star in my own videos, because I want to become a pop singer, and a rock singer, and write my own songs, and sing my own songs, and then I want to be an actress...

Jaune: (Nodding in and out)

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Tyrian: (In a dress) I hope you don't mind me coming over and sitting down, but I've been watching you all night~. And I wanna tear you apart~.

Jaune: !

Tyrian: And your friend, too~.

Cardin: (Spits out drink)

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

Neptune: So, how's the hook up going?

Jaune: Terrible. I've spoken to probably a dozen girls tonight and not one of them feels right to me.

Cardin: Pssh! It's not about feeling right, Arc. It's about getting you some so you can stop being such a sad-sack!

Ren: I think what Cardin is trying to say is that you're looking too deep for a commitment. Tonight is just helping you make an attempt with a woman. Nothing more, nothing less.

Sun: Well, you guys might be losers, but I managed to get that groupie chick's number.

Jaune: Yeah, have fun with that. Hope you can find a player two.

Sun: Easy! Neptune, you in?

Neptune: Sorry, Sun, but I'm already spoken for tonight. See, I was just having the most interesting conversation with that hottie in the black dress.

Jaune: Well, be careful, because I don't think you're the only one working some magic tonight.

Cardin: Damn right! That babe in purple was hungry for some Winchester, and I'm ready to serve myself up on a silver platter~.

Jaune: ...Cardin, no. Just no. (Sighs) Ren, can you help him?

Ren: I'm afraid not, no. I'm going to be busy with my own escapades tonight.

Jaune: Yeah? What girl?

Ren: Women, actually. The biker girl and the dreamer.

Jaune: Oof... Hope you've got the horsepower and the earmuffs to land it, buddy.

Ren: I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Thank you for your concern, Jaune.

Jaune: So, everybody's getting laid tonight but me?

Cardin: Ah, just hammer back a few and pick one, Arc. It's not rocket science!

Jaune: Yeah, you're right. This makes brain surgery look easy.

Jaune: (Malachites dump drinks on him)

Jaune: ...I'm going home.

Sun: Dude, don't-

Jaune: Nope. Not doing it. (Walks out)

Neptune: Poor guy... Think he'll be okay?

Cardin: He's fine! Now, where'd that feisty purple chick go~?

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

Jaune: (Walking up the stairs, Sighs) Fucking stupid-ass...

???: Are you okay?

Jaune: Huh? (Sees woman in work clothes)

???: You look like you've had a rough night.

Jaune: That's 1 way to put it. (Unlocks door) But nothing a shower can't fix, right?

???: Ooh...

Jaune: What?

???: I just spoke with the super. He said that side of the building was going to be without water until tomorrow.

Jaune: Great. Just... fucking... great. (Sighs)

???: I... don't think it's as great as you say it is. (Chuckles)

Jaune: No, but it's basically par for the course.

???: Oh, do you play golf?

Jaune: Uh, no, I'm not really a sports kind of guy.

???: Oh, really? Would you say you're a drinking kind of guy?

Jaune: Better in me than on me, actually. (Chuckles)

???: (Giggles) Well, I don't have anything stronger than coffee, I'm afraid.

Jaune: Agh, and I forgot to get coffee today. (Chuckles) Guess I can't get a win tonight, huh?

???: I guess not. But if you'd like, I could make us a cup.

Jaune: ...I don't think your husband would appreciate me coming inside smelling like I do.

???: Husband? (Looks down) Oh... No, I... I'm afraid I'm not married anymore. (Twists ring)

Jaune: Oh... Shit, I... I'm so sorry.

???: Thank you, but... It's been some time since he passed away. Maybe... Maybe it's time I move on... (Pulls off ring)

Jaune: I... I think you should move on when you feel like you're ready to move on.

???: (Smiles) You're sweet, you know that?

Jaune: Yeah, well, sweet only takes you so far.

???: Well, if you're not too sweet, you can use my shower. So long as you don't melt like sugar.

Jaune: (Chuckles) Thanks, and, uh, I promise not to melt in your shower.

???: I should have coffee ready by the time you're out.

Jaune: Oh, well, thank you. Uh, do you have sugar, too, or should I dip you in my coffee instead?

???: ...

Jaune: Too far? Sorry. I think it's the booze in my hair.

???: No, no, it's fine. It just took me a minute to realize you were making a sugar pun, too. (Chuckles)

Jaune: Yeah... Uh, listen, is it really okay if I use your shower?

???: Of course! I was going to use it myself, but you look like you could use it more. (Opens door)

Jaune: Thank you, (Walks in) and I promise not to take all the hot water.

???: Please don't. (Walks in, Shuts door) I could use a shower myself after such a long day.

Jaune: Rough night, too, huh?

???: Well, nothing's too rough for this tough, little lady. (Giggles)

Jaune: And, uh, does this tough, little lady have a tough, little name?

???: Hardly. If anything, it's as delicate as a flower.

Jaune: Well... My name's Jaune Arc. It's short, sweet, and rolls off the tongue. The ladies love it~.

???: (Snickers) Do they, now? Well, my name is Kali Belladonna, but I don't think I can come up with anything as creative as your introduction there.

Jaune: (Chuckles) Yeah, sorry. But at least it's not as bad as the songs I come up with.

Kali: Oh, you sing?

Jaune: Just as a hobby. Is this the bathroom here?

Kali: Mhm. Help yourself.

Jaune: But not too much. (Winks) Beautiful flower like you needs water, too.

Kali: (Giggles) Oh, stop~.

Jaune: (Enters, Locks door)

Kali: ...

Kali: (Sighs)

Kali: Kali Belladonna, this is how you get hurt.

Kali: (Takes off clothes, Unlocks door) Well... Here's hoping this is worth it...

[the-most-humble-blog]

🚨 AIR FORCE TRAINEE, 1997: I WANTED A DONUT. I GOT SMOKED INTO THE VOID. 🚨

I joined for structure and benefits. I got PTSD from a powdered donut and a man named Staff Sgt. Painstroke.**

It’s 1997.

Clinton’s president.

Titanic’s in theaters.

And I, in all my 18-year-old glory, just got off a C-130 straight into military basic training brain rot.

I’m talking shaved head, eyes wide, pants too big, and dreams still intact.

Spoiler: they wouldn’t be for long.

This is the story of how I—brilliant, brave, and deeply dumb—got annihilated in front of the Snakepit for chasing donuts like some sugar-starved raccoon.

🥯 ENTER: THE SNAKEPIT

The Snakepit is not a place.

It’s a military fever dream built from the collective trauma of everyone who’s ever disrespected chow hall etiquette.

You think it’s just a table.

Wrong.

It’s where MTIs (Military Training Instructors) sit like apex predators.

Watching.

Waiting.

Hunting.

And on that fine Texas morning, I—newly shaven, spiritually soft—decided to waltz up to the dessert tray like I had f*cking rights.

MTI: “TRAINEE! WHAT THE F*CK DO YOU THINK THIS IS, A GODDAMN BUFFET?”

Me, mouth full of Boston cream: “…Sir?”

I didn’t chew.

I didn’t blink.

I just stood there, frosting leaking out the corner of my lips like a war crime.

A half-bitten donut in my hand.

And three MTIs rising from their thrones like wrathful calorie-counting demigods.

🧠 THE FEAR HAD A FACE

They say you’ll never forget your first kiss.

I say: you’ll never forget your first smoke session in front of a hundred other terrified airmen while a Boston cream donut mocks you from the floor.

“TRAINEE! YOU WANT DESSERT?! DROP AND GIVE ME FIFTY!” “TRAINEE! THIS AIN’T NO GODDAMN HONEYMOON!” “TRAINEE! I DIDN’T KNOW WE SERVED PASTRIES IN COMBAT ZONES!”

They were yelling in acronyms, bro.

Like war ASMR.

“WHY YOU AT MY TABLE, EATING MRE—MINIMUM RESPECT EXPECTED!” “YOU WANT A PTC?! A PERSONALIZED TRAUMA CYCLE?!”

🇺🇸 “AIR FORCE IS EASY,” THEY SAID

Yeah?

Then explain how I got verbally waterboarded for 12 minutes straight by men who looked like they were carved from rage and powdered protein.

I walked into that chow hall thinking it was Golden Corral.

I left like it was Vietnam.

I wasn’t even hungry anymore.

I was spiritually full.

Full of shame, regret, and what may have been PTSD sprinkled with powdered sugar.

😵 “YOU GOT DONUT BALLS, TRAINEE?”

Yes, an MTI actually yelled that at me.

Not “balls.”

Donut balls.

Like it was a slur.

And I knew, in that moment, that I had become folklore.

Future trainees would whisper, “Remember the kid who reached for dessert on day three?”

That’s me. I’m dessert-boy. I’m pastry-shame legend.

📉 THE DONUT TO DEMORALIZATION PIPELINE

Let me break down what happens when you fck up at the Snakepit:

You approach the forbidden zone.

You spot the tray of innocent-looking glazed goods.

You forget that the Air Force doesn’t give a single flying f*ck about your blood sugar.

You reach.

The table erupts like a Marine birthday party—just without the cake or celebration.

You die inside.

The worst part?

The donut was mid.

I got publicly executed for mid.

🥵 THE PUSHUP APOCALYPSE

“FRONT LEANING REST POSITION, MOVE!”

If you’ve never done pushups with three MTIs in your face calling you “Gordon Ramsay of stupid decisions” while your buddies look away like witnesses to a crime scene—

Then you haven’t truly served.

They had me doing flutter kicks while screaming,

“FLY, DONUT BOY, FLY!”

I swear one of them started beatboxing cadence:

“Down, up, pastry pump, down, up, donut dump—”

💡 BUT THE LESSON?

Never get between an MTI and his f*cking reputation.

Because when I reached for that donut, I didn’t just grab dessert.

I declared war on discipline, decorum, and decades of chow hall trauma.

I disrespected the ritual.

And in the military, disrespect is punishable by:

Immediate regret

Pushups in Hell

Nicknames that follow you until retirement

🤡 THEY NEVER LET ME FORGET IT

For the next six weeks:

I was “Krispy Kreme” on every roster.

Every time I passed a vending machine, someone whispered, “You good, man?”

During chow line, MTIs would fake-reach for donuts and say, “Hey Trainee, wanna relive your war crime?”

I became folklore.

Not because I was brave.

But because I was hungry. And dumb.

🏁 THE AFTERMATH

Years later, I still wake up sometimes, hearing:

“DONUT BOY! WHAT’S THE GLYCEMIC INDEX OF FAILURE?!”

But you know what?

I made it.

I passed.

And I’ll never forget that moment of deep, personal shame wrapped in a golden-brown shell and filled with disappointment custard.

🧠 REBLOG if you’ve ever committed a food felony

👣 FOLLOW for more shame-soaked flashbacks

🗣️ COMMENT if your spine curled reading this

⚖️ LEGAL DISCLAIMER: This post is written for the purpose of artistic expression, cultural commentary, and psychological exploration of social and gender dynamics. It does not condone or encourage violence, harassment, or discrimination of any kind. Any references to power, strength, restraint, or critique are metaphorical, symbolic, and rooted in historical and cultural analysis. This is not a call to action — it’s a cultural mirror. If you feel offended, ask yourself if it’s from actual harm — or from seeing something you hoped no one would say out loud.

✨ TL;DR: If you're mad, it’s probably not because it’s wrong — it’s because you know it’s true.

[cozmowrites]

Wistoragic: Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Seven - 1207 words

The space was quiet—eerily so—but somehow peaceful. Tucked far from the main walkways of the underground base camp, the room felt like an abandoned pocket of normalcy. Low lights strung above cast a soft golden glow across the worn hardwood floors and makeshift stage. It smelled faintly of dust, old costumes that were found and taken, and something warm, like memory.

You hadn't meant to stumble this far. You were just walking, letting your feet carry you. But the soft hum of distant instruments, untuned and the faint thrum of someone's voice earlier had drawn you here. Now it was quiet again. You slipped inside, pressing yourself into the back wall of the rehearsal space, knees hugged to your chest as you stared out at the empty floor.

No one else came. For a while, it was just silence—and then a soft voice behind you.

"You know, I thought I heard something."

You startled, turning to see a tall figure leaning lazily against the doorway, arms crossed. Hawks. You remember him as the perfect pitch singer and musician. He looked exactly like he did in all the posters and concert promotion. Tousled blond hair, amused eyes, and the kind of effortless confidence that people either envied or gravitated toward.

"I've got a thing for sound," he continued, his voice light. "Hearing the way people walk and such. Comes in handy when people try to sneak off and disappear into echo chambers like this." He gave a small grin. "You're not bad at hiding, but your breathing's a little loud."

You opened your mouth, unsure what to say. But Hawks was already walking in, eyes scanning the space before landing on you again.

"Don't think I've seen you before," he said, tone still easy. "New arrival?"

You nodded slowly. "Came in with Aizawa's group."

"Ah," he said, as if that explained everything. "One of his strays."

You flinched a little at that, but Hawks waved a hand. "Hey, no offense meant. We've all been someone's stray at some point."

You looked down, fingers tightening. "I wasn't one of the... talents."

He tilted his head. "Most of the real ones weren't either. I didn't go to school."

There was a pause. Hawks moved past you, stepping lightly onto the small stage. His boots thudded softly against the wood, and he turned to look at you again, his face thoughtful.

"You know what I miss?" he asked. "The sound of an audience. Not even the applause. Just... the chatter, the coughing, the way everyone goes still right before something starts."

You smiled faintly. "I miss music. Real music. Not just stuff people bang on walls for rhythm."

"Good taste," he said, grinning again. Then, with a breath, he added, "Want to make a little music now?"

You blinked. "I—I can't sing."

He chuckled. "That's fine. I can."

And just like that, Hawks launched into a gentle beat, soft and smooth. His beatboxing wasn't sharp and flashy—it was steady, grounding, like a heartbeat. Then, low and sweet, he started humming a tune, weaving a soft melody in between the rhythm.

You stared, entranced. He glanced at you and tilted his head toward the floor.

"Go on. Dance a little."

You froze. "What?"

"Just move. Doesn't have to be pretty. I saw you standing there, how your body shifted with the music earlier. Don't think I didn't notice."

You hesitated, heat rising to your face. "I'm not that talented."

Hawks stopped, the beat fading as he looked at you dead-on, expression serious for the first time.

"You're probably better than anyone I've seen in a long time," he said. "And I've seen 'em all. Students, pros, the whole damn crew."

You swallowed. "They went to school for it."

"Yeah, some of them," he nodded, "and you've got more raw rhythm in your bones than most of them combined. So don't give me that 'not talented' crap."

It hit you harder than you expected, hearing that. Your throat went tight, eyes burning. But before you could say anything, Hawks backed off again, easy smile returning.

"No pressure," he said. "Just thought I'd let you know."

And then he wandered toward the doorway again, humming the same soft tune as before, fading with it like a shadow.

You stood frozen for a long moment, still processing what Hawks had said. His voice lingered in your head—"You've got more raw rhythm in your bones than most of them combined." He had looked right at you when he said it, serious, unflinching. And it didn't feel like flattery. It felt like truth.

The kind of truth that hurt a little, because you'd spent so long convincing yourself it wasn't true.

Your feet shuffled forward before your mind caught up. One, two steps, and suddenly you were on the stage. The boards creaked beneath your shoes. You looked out over the empty space, imagining rows of people where there were none—people sitting, waiting, watching.

For once, no one was actually watching.

The space was yours.

So you moved. In the quiet and listening to the tune of Hawks from just moments ago, replaying in your head.

Just a little at first. Slow steps, sways of your hips, the way your hands cut through the air like water. It wasn't perfect in your eyes. It wasn't anything near performance-ready.

The sound of Hawks' beat echoed in your head. You danced to that memory—soft, steady, grounding. Your breath fell into rhythm. Your body remembered things your mind had forgotten. The steps, the weight shifts, the small twirls. You didn't need to be anyone else here.

Not one of the talents.

Not the outcast.

Not the mistake.

Just a person, surviving, breathing, dancing.

Eventually, you slowed to a stop, heart pounding—not from nerves, not from fear. Just adrenaline. A good kind of burn.

"You're really something, y'know."

Your head jerked toward the voice. Hawks was leaning against the frame again, arms crossed, a knowing look in his eyes.

"You were watching?" you asked, suddenly embarrassed.

He shrugged. "I've seen a lot of dancers in my life. Not many who dance like that when they think no one's looking."

You felt heat rush to your cheeks and looked down at your feet.

"I just needed a moment," you murmured.

"Hell, we all do," Hawks said. "You did more with that moment than most people do with an entire spotlight."

You didn't know what to say to that. Compliments had always felt like traps to you—like they were waiting for you to mess up and prove them wrong. But Hawks didn't seem like he was bluffing. He didn't even need you to say anything back.

He finally pushed off the doorframe, stretching his arms behind his head.

"Well," he said, voice light again, "if anyone asks, I didn't find you here. You just... wandered back when you were ready."

You blinked. "Why?"

Hawks smiled lazily. "'Cause I figure everyone needs a place to breathe, and you found yours. No need to rush out of it just 'cause some hothead blond or green-haired kid starts yelling your name down the tunnels." It's like he knew. Oh.. wait, he said he was good at listening.

You let out a quiet laugh despite yourself.

He winked. "But don't take too long. Pretty sure one of those two is going to start flipping tents if you don't show up soon."

With that, he strolled off, whistling the same tune he'd beatboxed earlier. You stayed a little longer in the silence he left behind, trying to remember how it felt to move without fear.

=====

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[caltropspress]

Earl Sweatshirt: A Geography of Grief and Growth

I made myself the poet of the world. The white man had found a poetry in which there was nothing poetic….I had soon to change my tune.

—Frantz Fanon, Black Skin, White Masks (1952)

I suggest that we do not necessarily need to hear and know what is stated in its entirety, that we do not need to “master” or conquer the narrative as a whole, that we may know in fragments.

—bell hooks, “Teaching New Worlds/New Words” (1994)

Breakin’ ’em down to micro-fragments.

—Saafir, “Battle Drill” (1994)

What is asked of me is not to ascend but to descend.

—Robert Bly (1990)

1.

Earl Sweatshirt’s arc, swerving and dervishy, isn’t difficult to see, as we’ve witnessed it with him—we’re either interlocutors or interlopers, both with questionable motives. So when Earl looks back on school daze, as he does on “OD,” we look back with him (though ours is often an imperial gaze [HOW COULD IT NOT BE?]). We tee-hee and titter as we hear that “somebody tooted in the student commons,” tooted being the most puerile word for gas he could have chosen. An array of scatological options were ignored. It’s a deliberate gesture toward juvenilia. He doesn’t want his expression to be too mature, ha. He wants to welcome you to the romper room, ha. Remaining a kid until the moment he expires, apparently. So he sets the adolescent scene: the student commons. “The bell rang,” and the accused student was spared the prolonged opprobrium. In about four seconds, the student will begin to post. He “went home and argued in the comments,” channeling his embarrassment elsewhere, talking shit (shit) on the internet behind the safety and quasi-anonymity of a screen—an odd facade. He can walk right up to your avi and diss you. That’s his philosophy. The public humiliation replaced with a private self-possession. The discomfort of the crowd exchanged for the solace of solitude.

2.  DID AN ANGEL SPEAK?

The sonics of “tooted” and “student” are twee, giggle-inducing. We laugh along with the concatenation of m and n phonemes [somebody | student | commons | rang | went | home | then | in | comments]. The near-homophonous commons and comments scan hysterical. With “OD,” it’s easy to confuse adolescence with adulthood. That “somebody” committed this social transgression seems defensive. Maybe it was him—the subject, Earl, Thebe—seeing as how the rest of the song is delivered in the first-person. Embrace the Age of Immaturity. Channel the Fat Boys: Darren Robinson’s flatulent beatbox. Place it beside the disorderly lyrics that Bobbito spits: “I write my own shit from finish to start, / Diminish the heart, / I eat a knish and then I fart.” Like the Cenobites, Earl kicks a dope verse, and only that. “I keep my sentences short,” he says on “EAST.” Beauty is brevity, brevity beauty. A “brevity pack,” as Earl has referred to the Feet of Clay songs. He strives to be live ’cause he got no choice. He runs his own business like James Joyce. In A Portrait of the Artists as a Young Man, a similar flatus incident unravels. At Clongowes Wood College (Stephen Dedalus’s Coral Reef Academy), a “stout student who stood below…on the steps” by the name of Goggins “farted briefly.” Sonically, the sentence shares much with Earl’s opening line. Dixon asks, in a “soft voice,” “Did an angel speak?” But the others react with bellicosity and name-calling (stinkpot; flamingest dirty devil). Goggins doesn’t retreat home; he simply asks, “It did no one any harm, did it?” You still bet that you can harm me, but you don’t alarm me, Goggins might say another way, reprising Del the Funky Homosapien, echoplexing Masta Ace. 

3. 

Earl “watched the doppler move,” the wavelength shift—the siren song of the “toot,” something insidious—or maybe it’s just the tremors we’re feeling. Woop, woop: that’s the sound of the beast, KRS would say. The frequency shivers. The shift, the movéd doppler, means Earl is immediately older, he’s the child who “get[s] introduced to violence,” even if he acknowledges the line was inspired by his nephew on a playground in South Africa, experiencing apartheid reincarnate as a whiteboy cuts him in line for the slide. Cranly, bullying Goggins, “shove[s] him violently down the steps.” The doppler moves. It slides into violence—like the violence visited upon the MOVE compound located at 6221 Osage Avenue in Philly in 1985. Gradations of black/white. ELUCID mentions the “gray on [his] face showing age” on his Osage (2016) project. Isn’t it strange—how the youngins can turn cold, hoarfrosty, in an instant? The grayscale cover to ELUCID’s tape is graced by a photograph of Birdie Africa, the sole child survivor of the siege. The bone fragments of the MOVE children have since been used in anthropology courses at UPenn and Princeton—case studies. It’s a good trope. Fascinating stuff.

4.  TRYIN’ TO TRANSFORM YOU BOYS TO MEN LIKE DAYCARE

When JuJu of the Beatnuts asked, You want pain?, he wasn’t referencing the dramatical-traumatical pain Earl negotiates—JuJu’s question posed a ruffneck and ruffian pain on “Watch Out Now.” Somewhere closer to Marcy, where Jay-Z’s streets was watching. Earl clocks minutes, anaphoric with what he watches (I watched the doppler… / I watched a child…), much like Dylan’s portentous hard rain in which he saw endless racialized visions: “I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it”; “I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin’”; “I saw a white ladder all covered with water.” For Earl, the ladder is a slide. The saw is watched. Witnesses all.

5.

In “Theory as Liberatory Practice,” bell hooks writes that she “came to theory because [she] was hurting”: “I wanted to make the hurt go away. I saw in theory then a location for healing.” hooks says that she “came to theory young, when [she] was still a child,” citing Terry Eagleton who argues that “[c]hildren make the best theorists.” Children, Eagleton insists, possess “a wondering estrangement.” No wonder, then, that “since a jit” Earl has found no use in “giving up.” He rather make it make sense. 

6.

I beat you to the point. Having gained experience, there’s nothing you can tell Earl that he doesn’t already know, that he hasn’t already seen. He’s seen enough, had enough. He doesn’t await the mob’s pursuit; he places the noose on himself, he RE: DEFines it within his own lexicon. His noose, therefore, “is golden.” He’s a young youth, rockin’ the gold [noose], DEATHWORLD goose. He speaks with criminal slang, with a split tongue like ELUCID. Where ELUCID was “true and living, actual—no dull axes, owner of all heads,” Earl is “true and living, lonesome,” with no skulls to keep him company. He has to square up with the “pugilistic moments” on his own. 

7.  I AM OLDER THAN I ONCE WAS AND YOUNGER THAN I’LL BE

I’m thinking of “The Pugilist at Rest” (1991) by Thom Jones, whose epileptic protag describes a “grainy black-and-white photograph” of the bronze statue called The Pugilist at Rest. The pugilist, with a pocketful of mumbles, has “slanted, drooping brows that bespeak torn nerves” and a forehead “piled with scar tissue.” Torn nerves and scar tissue—sounds like the physical manifestations of grief. And, yes, Earl has grieved, and he continues to grieve—as listeners, we’re accustomed to his grief pedigree, as per Ka. In the past, Earl was “panicking a lot”—he just “want[ed] [his] time and [his] mind intact.” That’s a cold fact.

The narrator of “The Pugilist at Rest” readies himself for a cingulotomy—a psychosurgical procedure that will “cauterize a small spot in a nerve bundle in [his] brain.” In other words, he wants to keep his mind intact. The neurosurgeon promises the operation will lift “the heaviness of a heart blackened by sin,” which is what convinces the narrator to agree to it. Good grief, he thinks, he’s been reaping what he sowed. He “can’t go on like this,” barely living “with a deadening sense of languor,” a phrase which calls to mind Earl’s lethargic, slugabed flow. Feeling insane in the membrane, like he’s a Soul Assassinated, exploring the depths beneath his whooligan behaviors. 376 was a brothel. “Good and evil are only illusions,” Jones writes. In anticipation of the surgery, the protag considers the worst-case [so what, so what] scenario: “If they fuck up the operation, I hope I get to keep my dogs somehow.”

8.  MOURNING & MEDICINE FOR MELANCHOLIA

Grief carries its own antidote along with it.

—Charles Brockden Brown, Wieland (1798)

“Grief is the door to feeling,” Robert Bly says. But Earl, on “Grief,” told us he “ain’t been outside in a minute”—and that minute, whether we’re speaking with criminal slang like Nas on “It Ain’t Hard To Tell” or not, is an eternity. Earl hadn’t crossed that threshold, hadn’t kicked in that door. MIKE would realize it much later on “No Curse Lifted (rivers of love),” how you “had to walk through the grief,” even if it “was the worst feeling.” In 2015, though, Earl found these passageways distorted. Like the undulating photograph on the cover of his first mixtape. Like the blur-obscured selfie on the cover of Some Rap Songs. Like the static-scrambled cover of I Don’t Like Shit, I Don’t Go Outside. Earl’s dealt in fragmentary confuzzled noise for a full career. He’s been standing on the corner, red burnt, moving down alien lanes paved by GBV, greenthinking to himself. It ain’t hard to tell that Earl “don’t act hard” and yet is a “hard act to follow.” The density or opacity of his exterior notwithstanding, grief don’t come easy. “As men,” Bly says, “we’re taught not to feel pain and grief as children.” So Earl spits somnolent, numb-tongued and slack-jawed. Like he said on “Cold Summers”: muffle my pain and muzzle my brain up. 

“I’ve been alone in my shit for the longest,” he spit on “Grief,” and in work as recent as “Vin Skully,” he’s still figuring out “how to stay afloat in a bottomless pit.” Bly says that “we receive something from our father by standing close to him—something moves over that can’t be described in material terms.” Bly speaks of being in a “conspiracy with his mother” from early on. Earl finds himself “thinking ’bout [his] grandmama” while he wallows and lies in a bottle. “Grief” catalogs all the things his mama taught him. Earl’s work, of late, is autodestructive. He peels away and pastes back haphazardly. He vibes with this Bly shit: “If you can deny something so fundamental as grief in the whole family, you can deny anything. And then how can you write poetry if you’re involved in that much denial?”

Bly goes on to quote Alice Miller, the psychoanalyst who gave us The Drama of the Gifted Child (1979): “When you were young, you needed something you did not receive, and you will never receive it. And the proper attitude is mourning.” Mourning is the proper attitude, not blame—mourning. Mourning makes its way through moaning and mumbling—Earl’s current intonation. On “Grief,” he “cut the grass off the surface [and] pray[s] the lawnmower blade catch the back of a serpent.” Philip Larkin’s poem “The Mower” (1979) leans more literal: “The mower stalled, twice; I found / A hedgehog jammed up against the blades, / Killed. It had been in the long grass.” Larkin’s speaker genuflects before the innocent critter, recalling how he “fed it, once.” Now, he mourns how he has “mauled its unobtrusive world, / Unmendably. Burial was no help.” Earl, of course, is less forgiving of the serpents in the grass. They’re threats, not friends. Still, a void opens up when the mower—(and let’s not forget the lawnmower is a modernized scythe)—does its mowing. Grief is the door to feeling, and on the other side:

Next morning I got up and it did not. The first day after a death, the new absence Is always the same; we should be careful Of each other, we should be kind While there is still time.

9.  NOBODY KNOW WHO MADE THIS WELL, FOR IT WAS HERE WHEN I WAS BORN

“Come get to know me at my innermost…”

Riveting, Earl raps. Earl raps are riveting. We fix to the flow—riverrun, past Eve and Adam’s. We’re invited to know Earl, to become familiar, and his “innermost” is a constant vacillation between optimism and [afro]pessimism. The sudden switches—these switches on bitches like fixed with hydraulics—establish what Danny Schwartz, writing for Rolling Stone, called an “uneven terrain.”

Earl’s “family business [is] anguished,” and that’s recognizable. We’ve known Earl (on “Chum”) with the “pendulum swinging slow” and low. He holed up, hostage-like, in his “heart’s bottomless pit.” Poe’s “The Pit and the Pendulum” (1842) brand of captivity. “I was sick,” that narrator says, “—sick unto death with that long agony.” Something tells me there should be an exclamation point there (SICK!). Earl Sweatshirt was down, down, down. “I was in the fucking pits for like 10 months post my pops dying,” he said in an interview. The Spanish Inquisition ain’t shit.

But for these countless downs, “OD” tracks the ups like naloxone in the nasal membrane. “Now I need atonement,” Earl notes—he makes a case for reparations. He “sets the goal[s]” like some motivational speaker. If “half [his] wings is broken,” he can “spread the other for [his] brodie OD.” Somewhat circumspect as he’s “tiptoeing,” yet the approach is laden with “too much love.” Even when his “sister showed in a rut,” he’s joining arms with her and “getting over, sending up.” That rut she walks—like Eudora Welty’s worn path (1941)—is a path through the pinewoods, and she’s suddenly Phoenix Jackson. “She was very old and small,” Welty writes, and she moves “with the balanced heaviness and lightness of a pendulum in a grandfather clock.” Even with her pentium processing and pendulum low, she swings back up—the rise of her namesake. She screams phoenix, her feathers and flames are one skin. “Living in the moment,” Earl raps, and his craft is bars. “You been corrupt”—and, sure, who hasn’t?—but you recover with “some ginabot.” Welty’s Old Phoenix surveys a spring “silently flowing through a hollow log.” She bends and drinks and says, “Sweet gum makes the water sweet.” It’s the equivalent to Earl putting “shilajit in his sippy cup,” which is “healing cuts revealingly.” And, yes, from a “sippy cup,” so we’re back to toddling around again (“Since a jit,” he says). “I can’t give enough,” Earl raps, his last winding-sheet made of nard and myrrh. 

10.

We crouch and teeter, caterwauling along the ledges, for we’ve got these clumsy feet of clay. This is the intended effect[/defect]; this is the rubble of what Earl calls the “crumbling empire.” This is us feeling the violent vibes of the “death throes” he speaks of. Why would we expect anything to resemble traditional song or rhyme structure when the earth quakes, civilization trembles, and Earl’s dungeon shakes? His chains have fallen off. The tenor is tremors. He’s living the trife life—hell on earth—but still living. Earl’s done trying to not look down—he embraces an outer appearance which scans dour; he deliberately gazes into the pit, inviting the vertigo, for it “haunts the whole of existence,” as Fanon says. But Frank B. Wilderson III promises a “vengeance of vertigo.”

11.

Gallons of rubbing alcohol flow through the strip, and Earl’s lips. He’s “refilling the pump”—his heart, yeah—but with a sawed-off shotgun, hand-on-the-pump posture. There’s “no concealing it,” not even with a concealed carry permit. He brandishes right back at “the enemy up in arms bearing snubs.” The mood swings; been down so long it looks like up to him. The turns require tourniquets. This is some Battle of Dak To torture—somewhere between Retaliation and the Heavenly Divine. Emotional turmoil seems violent by design, and Earl’s “memory [is] really leaking blood.” Fear not, the blood is “congealing, stuck.” Like Havoc says, “The Mobb rollin’ thicker.” Prodigy cites it, too: “This ain’t rap—it’s bloodsport.” But Earl has known that all along—he’s been “mobbin’ deep as ’96 Havoc and Prodigy did” since 2013.

12.

HipHopDX’s Kevin Cortez referred to listeners having to “sift through the muddle” in order to appreciate the bars, but where muddle suggests a disorderly conduct, a kaos network, Earl’s style, more appropriately, models. The woozy, wavy, and inner-conflict-war-torn vocals model an abstraction that anticipates the listener’s loyalty. This is what I’ve got, brief and cryptic as the gesture may be, the model says. Writing for NME, Dhruva Balram described Earl’s lyrics as “slurred,” but slurry is the form.

13.

If the empire can deploy Orwellian technologies of repression, its outcasts have the gods of chaos on their side…

—Mike Davis, Planet of Slums (2005)

So if we’re giving ourselves over to the woozes and waves, we’ll just as well find ourselves lost. Let’s go—like those tourist books run by students—and let’s wander eastward. Follow our napkin-scrawled directions and disorientations to a somewhere elsewhere. Let’s go east for a second, for a spell, on a lark, in the dark (word to AKAI SOLO). Earl’s bloodwork contains “pieces of slums”—or more aptly, [sLUms]. He’s hand-to-hand with that Jungle Boy MIKE, but also the god Mike Davis. “[T]he cities of the future,” Davis wrote, would be “constructed out of crude brick, straw, recycled plastic, cement blocks, and scrap wood.” Just the same as an Earl Sweatshirt verse is built—under the tutelage and overstanding-sharing, symbiotically, with MIKE. Davis says our cities aren’t “cities of light soaring toward heaven,” but a world that “squats in squalor, surrounded by pollution, excrement, and decay.” Smells like somebody tooted in the student commons. Smells like a slum village, something we’ve smelled before—possibly coming straight from the slums of Shaolin. 

14.  ACID EASTERNS

Earl trekked to the East and squinted into “one beacon in the dust weaving”—like Clint Eastwood arriving out of the hazy horizon ether of High Plains Drifter (1973). But Earl is heading to the East, blackwards. And though Brother J claimed you can’t define what’s direct from the East, Jeru told us on The Sun Rises in the East that you can’t stop the prophet either. So on “EAST,” Earl traverses a tricky terrain—it’s tricky, tricky, tricky because it’s an acid western landscape: an acid eastern.

The path isn’t direct or linear—it zigs and zags like rolling papers, and stimulates the same. “Double back when you got it made,” Earl says at the start of his journey “EAST.” The objective is to talk sense condensed into the form of a poem like Special Ed once did on “I Got It Made.” Instead, Earl’s poems—his L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E poems—skew [non]sense, go form[less], and vaporize rather than condense. Lyn Hejinian in cinnamon Timbs: “constant change figures / the time we sense.” The narrative is hallucinogenic (note: “how the story careen against the bars”). Earl’s bindle contains “thirty racks and weed [with] no fat in the collard greens.” That’s how he gets funky on the mic like an old batch. That’s how he gets sincerity on the mic: “Off top it’s me—no cap, / I don’t bottle things.” That buck that bought a bottle could’ve struck the lotto, maybe. But Earl’s “canteen was full of the poison [he] need[s].” He gets where he’s going like El Topo, bereft. The “trip was long and steep”—that being an acid trip—so let me see you try to ride a horse into the chasms of the canyon.

“EAST” is a death meditation, a grand duel between Dantean and Donneian lyric voices [he damn-near well should’ve double-tracked the vocals]. In a 2015 interview with SPIN, Earl is asked about the worst thing he did that year, to which he replies: “Umm…acid?” He elaborates: “I took it at a time when I really didn’t need to be taking acid. I had like a fucking existential crisis at, like, four in the morning. But it was tight. We reeled it back.” Jodorowsky called El Topo (1970) an “eastern” in that it “incorporat[ed] ancient eastern wisdom in the materiality of American cowboys.” For Earl, it’s more a rhinestone cowboy—he holds the cold one like he holds an old gun (as evidenced in the “EAST” music video). DOOM was no stranger to grief, of course, and the rumors persist regarding the bad acid that precipitated Subroc’s early demise (“Bad Acid” also being the original title for “December 24”).

Estranged Earl, alienated—a high plains drifter (not Clint Eastwood, though) who rechristens a town “Hell” through a baptism of blood. Like the Beastie Boys’ version, Earl pulls out a pair of pliers and pulls a bullet out of his chest. He pulls through, true and living. “I’m long distance from my girl,” Mike D raps, so he’s “talking on the cellular,” but Earl is more alienated than that—beyond racking up roaming charges, immersed in dead zones. He “lost [his] phone and consequently all the feelings [he] caught for [his] GF.” Relationships can’t be sustained in these bleak and barren locations. All the blood has been drained from the ruddy faces—sanguine scenery. In his essay “On the Acid Western,” Jonathan Rosenbaum discusses how the subgenre “refuses to respect or valorize bloodshed.” Memory really leaking blood. Congealing. Stuck. To paraphrase Rosenbaum, Earl’s acid eastern “formulat[es] a chilling, savage frontier poetry to justify [his] hallucinated agenda—a view at once clear-eyed and visionary, exalted and laconic, moral and unsentimental, witty and beautiful, frightening and placid.” Earl’s “innocence was lost in the East,” and obsessives speculate whether this refers to Samoa or New York City—how far east we going? Countless spirit-questers pit-stopping at ashrams, searching for that Gifted Unlimited Rhymes Universal guide. 

“I wait a beat,” Earl says. His canteen stays filled, auto-replenishes. His “cognitive dissonance shattered” and the “necessary venom restored.” Jodorowsky reportedly once taped snakes to his chest for an experimental theater performance. As if it matters if you think it matters anymore. Or, as ELUCID says, “Words mean things but don’t have to.” Acids and bases. Occident and Orient. Western and Eastern. Up is down.

15.  NOTHING LIKE US EVER WAS

Earl’s “EAST” accordion beat—or whatever Orkes Gambus Al Fata instrumentation is at work—is more madcap than madvillainous. In my head is Erick Sermon, though, speaking about how “the flow slow…like a jazz player, or someone on the accordion” on “Knick Knack Patty Wack.” But I’m less concerned with the flow of air through bellows—compressing and expanding—than I am with Earl’s rendering of wind. (Somebody tooted.)

“Let the dead be dead,” Carl Sandburg says at stanza’s end in “Four Preludes on the Playthings of the Wind” (1920). Later, he reports, “The only singers now are crows crying.” And so Earl, a lonesome crow, reminds us—and himself—that “the wind get the ashes in the end” on “December 24.” The whining, wheezing consonance of /-nd/ in “wind” and “end” manages to evoke both the wind itself and the circularity of life. The bar whooshes and whips until we’re at our end, the terminus. That circularity, that full circle: ashes to ashes. “We are the greatest city,” Sandburg repeats, “the greatest nation: / nothing like us ever was.”

Global winds be blowin’—[Of the Soul]—and so billy woods cites that same line on “Haarlem”: “Thebe said the wind get the ashes in the end, bruv.” Check the configuration of the rhime: 

The wind | gets | the ashes | in | the end   {birth}                    {life}                {death}

Even that get does work—whether it’s the violence of Death Grips’ “get got”; Too $hort threatening you to “get in where you fit in”; or the satirical sadism of Keenen Ivory Wayans’ I’m Gonna Git You Sucka. The wind wins out—it gets what it wants. On “EAST,” the wind—infinitely personified—“whispered to [Earl], ‘Ain’t it hard?’” It ain’t hard to tell that it is. How about some hardcore? Yeah, we like it raw like M.O.P. But those burns yield ashes. In Adrienne Rich’s poem “The Burning of Paper Instead of Children” (1989), she struggles with the words she uses, knowing “[t]his is the oppressor’s language / yet [she] needs to talk to you.” I know it hurts to burn, she writes, but writing is no less ardent. “The typewriter is overheated, my mouth is burning.”

Let me bring it back to Robert Bly. “In the ancient times,” Bly says, “the movement for the men was downward—a descent into grief. It’s referred to in the fairytale as ‘the time of ashes.’” Ashes, he explains, is the “code word for the ‘out of it’ time.” 

We know what it is like to take ashes in our hands. How light they are! The fingertips experience them as a kind of powder… Ashes, we note, find their way into the whorls of our fingertips, cling there, make the whorls more noticeable, more visible, more clear to us. We can take our own fingerprints with ashes.

Ashes, then, aren’t simply for the wind’s taking—ashes are for us, are necessary for us to transcend the grief the boys, the men, and the man-child experience. Bly points to the various cultures that have used ashes in initiation rites: “Ashes Time is a time set aside for the death of that ego-bound boy.” Ready to give up, so you seek the Old Earth. The elders cover your face—even your whole body—with ashes “to make [you] the color of dead people and to remind [you] of the inner death about to come.” Consider Earl’s ashen white face produced in the negative imagery of the “Grief” music video.” “The word ashes contains in it a dark feeling for death,” Bly says. “Ashes when put on the face whiten as death does.”

Earl Sweatshirt is a far cry from knocking blunt ashes into caskets.

16.

Feet of clay, hands of light…

—Moor Mother and billy woods, “Furies” (2020)

For Cheryl I. Harris, Earl’s mother, the feet of clay refer to a vulnerability we all possess no matter how formidable we may appear to become. Earl invokes the King of Babylon’s dream, a dream of an idol “meant to represent all the empires of the world,” echoing Sandburg’s imperious “greatest nation.” Earl believes “we at the feet of clay right now…We posted up live from burning Rome.” Imagine the ash pile. So Earl is here, ostensibly, to turn the disco into something dismal—how Mtume becomes “MTOMB” with its entombed sonics, as if he’s rapping from within a wall, the victim of some Poe immurement. 

17.

“I remember woods,” Earl raps on “OD.” “I remember Endom when he wasn’t remembering much, / I remember love healing the ruptures.” I remember is also the refrain and title of Joe Brainard’s poem-memoir, a term which aptly describes much of Earl’s recent output. Brainard’s memories bum-rush into the present:

I remember a dream I used to have a lot of a beautiful red and yellow and black snake in bright green grass. I remember painting “I HATE TED BERRIGAN” in big black letters all over my white wall. I remember liver.

If Earl recalls love “healing the ruptures,” then he also likely recalls Fanon: It is essential to convey to the black man that an attitude of rupture has never saved anyone. But Fanon also speaks of young Black men “maintain[ing] their alterity. Alterity of rupture, of conflict, of battle.” Earl, “feeling rushed, grew up quick.” He echoes Biggie, who “grew up a fucking screw-up,” and Raekwon, who “grew up on the crime side” (though Earl’s mama taught him, as we know from “Grief,” how to avoid the pigs, persecution, and prosecution). Eyes on the clock, Earl acknowledges this “trip around the sun” is his “25th,” so “give it up”—his survival alone deserving of a standing [on the corner] ovation. He celebrates life with “gin and rum.” Again, notably not gin and juice—murder was never the case. The only death is the inner death, the death of the ego-bound boy, that Bly describes. Earl’s gin is the drink of be[gin]ning, of genesis (“Light them Phillies up then…”), of Super Nintendo, Sega Genesis, when I was dead-broke, man… “We wasn’t supposed to be alive,” Earl says, yet here he stands.

18.  RUMINANT

Stare at the Feet of Clay album cover—an evocation of folkloric imagery: a Grimm forest with gnarled tree branches—and the enchanted, diabolic goat lying in wait. Earl’s parasocial following speculate G.O.A.T., of course, but I’m more inclined to mythopoeic possibilities. The Feet of Clay goat glares like Baphomet but frolics like a faun over fractured beats. “OD,” Earl has stated, “brought [him] up out of [his] little wreck”—a wreck of wracked nerves. Adrienne Rich encourages “diving into the wreck” (1973).

I am blacking out and yet my mask is powerful it pumps my blood with power.

Earl’s right there with her, submerged and blacking out, but still surviving: Really leaking blood, but refilling the pump.

In her essay “Teaching New Worlds/New Words,” bell hooks invokes Rich’s struggle to navigate the “oppressor’s language.” For hooks, as a Black writer, managing that is even more difficult and historical. “I think now of the grief of displaced ‘homeless’ Africans, forced to inhabit a world where they saw folks like themselves, inhabiting the same skin, the same condition, but who had no shared language to talk with one another, who needed ‘the oppressor’s language.’” hooks explains how Black folks have “remade that language so that it would speak beyond the boundaries of conquest and domination.”

Earl Sweatshirt, especially in his later work, has “altered [and] transformed” English, just as “enslaved Black people took broken bits of English and made of them a counter-language.” The emotional wreckage is also a linguistic heap of fragments—micro-fragments, if we’ve learned anything from Saafir. Earl, in the tradition of his ancestors, “put[s] together [his] words in such a way that the colonizer ha[s] to rethink the meaning of the English language.” “The grammatical construction of sentences in these songs” by Earl, just as by the spirituals of hundreds of years prior, “reflect[s] the broken, ruptured world of the slave.” That crumbling empire Earl mentions was faulted by feet of clay.

At the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles in 2019, sharing a dais with his mother, Cherly I. Harris, Earl spoke to this lineage directly: “Rap music is slave music—the modern-day iteration of it. Slave communication had to be encrypted. You got a code.” He shifted: “If I know what I’m saying…I can teach it to you.” On Feet of Clay, Earl is teaching to transgress. “I’m cracking my own code,” he says to an audience member during the Q&A, “how it comes out garbled…,” and then he trails off, as if making a deliberate effort to keep his answer cryptic.

hooks always saw language as “a site of resistance.” This included the incorrect usage and placement of words—she called such practices a “rebellion.” Weaponizing syntax. hooks recognized rap music as a continuation of this fight—the latest [sound]clash, hip-hop artists as rebels without a pause—while still acknowledging the collateral damage it might cause.

Rap music has become one of the spaces where black vernacular speech is used in a manner that invites dominant mainstream culture to listen—to hear—and, to some extent, be transformed. However, one of the risks of this attempt at cultural translation is that it will trivialize black vernacular speech. When young white kids imitate this speech in ways that suggest it is the speech of those who are stupid or who are only interested in entertaining or being funny, then the subversive power of this speech is undermined.

Or, as Earl once said on “Chum,” “Too Black for the white kids and too white for the Blacks,” an axiom he’s come to loathe. Perhaps Fanon had the better bar on this subject: “The white man had the anguished feeling that I was escaping from him and that I was taking something with me. He went through my pockets. He thrust probes into the least circumvolution of my brain. Everywhere he found only the obvious. So it was obvious that I had a secret.”

Despite the pitfalls (and, yeah, the pit is bottomless), Earl’s words play [wordplay] a part in retraining minds, all while exorcizing his own demons through a steady diet of ashes and fractures. hooks promises us that “in the patient act of listening to another tongue we may subvert that culture of capitalist frenzy and consumption that demands all desire must be satisfied immediately.” Through his embrace of a language that indulges in passion and cerebral coding, Earl “heal[s] the splitting of mind and body” so common within Western metaphysical thought. Earl Sweatshirt speaks “words that do more than simply mirror or address the dominant reality”; he builds blips into a reality that is worth the rewind.

Images: Dead Man, dir. Jim Jarmusch, 1995 (screenshot) | Teen at 1990s computer photograph, Unknown (c. 1996) | James Joyce, Age 2, Unknown | ELUCID, Osage album cover (2016), photo by Michael Mally, Philadelphia Inquirer | The Boxer at Rest, bronze statue, Palazzo Massimo alle Terme, Rome, Italy (330-50 BC) | Alphonse Legros, The Pit and the Pendulum, second Plate (1861) | High Plains Drifter, dir. Clint Eastwood, 1973 (screenshot) | Subroc on an Apple IIc, Unknown (c. 1987) | Earl Sweatshirt, “Grief” music video, 2015 (screenshot) | Arthur Rackham, The Water of Life, Grimms Fairy Tales (1916) | Dead Man, dir. Jim Jarmusch, 1995 (screenshot)

[l1ve-l4ugh-lov3craft]

Brainrotting About A Crimson Rivers Fan Film aaaaa

And because @almostafunctionaladult (hopefully that @'s you cos idk if it worked) and a grand total of four other people liked the post I made about it, I'm gonna barf all my current ideas here

Cos why not??

FULL disclaimer I laid away late into the night conjuring all of this up and when I tried to bother my sibling with all this madness it was only semi coherent so hopefully this will make sense lol Strap in.

TO START OFF! There is SO much content even just in the first arena between all the hell James and Regulus are going through, plus wolfstar's domestic romance thing they have, and all the politics and Sirius' pov in the Hallow during the games. And THEN, you have the whole entire hellscape that is the second half of the fic and the second arena and revolution and shit, so it would be EXTREMELY hard to make a single movie. The original source material couldn't even be made into one book, let alone one movie XD

Which is why I have been stewing and pondering and have decided! Do it miniseries style >:D With the VERY large and generous budget of my dreams, it would be two seasons each with 30-45 minute episodes. Season 1 is 6-12 episodes and covers the first arena as well as the aftermath and ends once James and Regulus are on their way home. Season 2 is definitely more like 12-15 episodes and covers everything that goes down in the last 30 chapters or so.

UNFORTUNATELY, I do not have that splendid or magnificent of a budget as I am just a uni student with delusions of grandeur lol

So I would pick a few fan favourite scenes from the book and make short films about those! Starting off strong with the scene when Regulus and James meet up in the arena the first time cos I ADORE that scene and I need to see it in film XD That one is ALSO very easy to do on a budget which is nice cos it's two actors (which I still need so if you're in the US of A and can make it to Idaho, hit me up whaaaattt who said that??) and a patch of trees I could reasonably pass off as a forest on camera.

Another essential would be the Bear Trap scene and I have SO many fun ideas for camerawork on that one to add to the stress and chaos >:D never lingering on one person for two long to keep up the frantic, panicked feeling in the scene. I'd ALSO love to have a shot of them all just walking and then somehow quickly foreshadow that the trap is coming just for a split second before it cuts to a wide shot of the forest treeline for James' scream as he Gets Got. Then cut right back to all of them and commence the scene. Regulus calling James 'baby' is, of course, a must have in the book-to-film adaptation partly cos it's a recurring theme and hurts a lot when Reg says it later on, and also I just like it :) I would LOVE to do the scene with the death eaters when they catch Regulus and James cos I think that one can be really fun with the expressions. And being able to put Regulus going apeshit on Mulciber for hurting James could be a super cool but to film

I want to do EVERYTHING with Evan cos I love him so much but this is getting long so I'll have to save that for another rant

OH! And how could I forget the BEATBOXING SCENE??? I feel like I'm legally required to film the bit where James is beatboxing in the arena cos it's PEAK comedy but also the right background music could really do wonders in emphasising the level of humanity James still has in him at that point and could make it just a little bit angsty :)

RAGHHH AND MY IDEAS FOR THE FINAL SCENE WHEN REGULUS COMES OUT OF THE RIVER AND THEY REACH FOR EACOTHER! Camera blur will be my BEST friend in that one, giving the illusion that the audience is kind of seeing it from James and Regulus' pov as they're losing lucidity. Maybe some brief hints of flachbacks to all the top Jegulus highlights of the arena in, like, a 'happiest memories' sort of way? But not set on that it might be too much I dunno yet. And then I want to have the very last shot be from Regulus' pov. Imagine with me: we can see his hand in the foreground as he's reaching for James but the camera is swaying and his vision is blurry. Distantly, Slughorn's voice announces the winners of the 84th annual hunger games are none other than James Potter and Regulus Black. James, who had just been staring for the longest time, looks to Regulus, and there could possibly be the slightest twitch in his hand as he reaches back for Regulus, but the moment Slughorn's voice fades, Regulus collapses completely and it cuts to black as he passes out. And that's the end of the film. Roll credits :D

That's all I got for now, and those are only my ideas for the FIRST arena but this was getting long so I gotta cut it here lol XD Anyway yeah hopefully this was semi-coherent and as cool on metaphorical paper as it is in my head lol Let me know what yall think!! And if you have any other ideas I'd LOVE to hear them!!

[tridentkickflipper123]

how are you getting the vocals by themselves if you don’t mind me asking? :]

-@circles-n-spirals-alike

you need the flac files for both the normal version of the song you want the vocals of and it's instrumental, which you can get via Chonny's bandcamp

then you just input them into your audio editor of choice (I use Audacity because it's free and easy to use) (make sure to get it from here)

I set it up like this. then all you need to do is select only the instrumental track at the bottom, and go to effect > invert

this inverts the instrumental, which in turn sort of 'cancels out' the instrumental playing from the normal track. if you play both at the same time, you'll only hear the vocals

now you can select both tracks and go to tracks > mix > mix and render. this will mix both tracks into one only-vocals track (or you can just export as an mp3 or any other file. it'll essentially do the same thing)

now you too can listen to Soul's gay little laugh in TSE! (it's at minute 2:00)

two things that I think are really important to mention:

I'm not entirely sure how okay Chonny is with anyone doing this at all, and/or redistributing these vocals-only files without his permission, hence why I'm refraining to do so. I'm personally only using these to analyze little nuances in the vocal performances that are otherwise lost to the instrumental, and I'm limiting myself to sharing only little sections that I think are amusing and/or funny. like Soul's laugh in TSE or Heart's beatboxing in The Bidding. I haven't seen anything about Chonny being *not* okay with it, but it's best to tread carefully here. if I find out he's in fact not okay with anyone doing this, I'll take both posts (along with this one) down.

2. this is in no way a replacement for actual acapella files given by Chonny himself - the tracks are semi-clean at the most, and a lot of the times you'll still hear little bits of the instrumental here and there, especially when the vocals have any sort of distortion or echo effect on them. I've also noticed you'll hear more of the instrumental on older songs of CCCC (the difference becomes really clear when you listen to Spring and a Storm & Storm and a Spring together. in SaaS you'll still hear some of the instrumental in the background, while StaaS is a lot 'cleaner' in comparison.) my guess is this is because of a difference in mixing, but I don't know enough about music engineering to have a better guess than that :P

I hope this helps!

[srirachaz]

I really want to go through nct's discography but holy cow where do I start I'm thinking 127 dream wish wayv u superm nd thsn the full albums

ok i apologize for the massive fucking wall of text that follows this paragraph but i'm in fact a huge nctzen (i listen to literally every subunit and solo i love them all)

127 is for sure the most popular but wish and wayv might be easier to start with because they have a smaller discography. unfortunately no matter how you slice it it'll take forever to get though because all the groups keep releasing banger after banger so try some sample songs to see which discographies you vibe with:

nct wish: hands up, wish. they're still in their teenage idoldom and their songs reflect that! very cute, very easy listening, very underrated. their bsides have a similar vibe to their tts and are very 2018 reminiscent. if you like riize, wannaone, or tws this is for you

nct dream: candy, istj, broken melodies, beatbox, smoothie, hot sauce. dream has 2 modes: early dream (cir. 2018-2020) with cutesy teen stuff and later dream (anything recent) that incorporates more 127 experimental sounds and is a little more mature but retains the amazing vocal quality they always had. their bsides range from ballads to heavenly hamonies (please listen to box omg) with a noisier song every once in a while. if you like seventeen, shinee, or stray kids this is for you

wayv: moonwalk, phantom, give me that. any given wayv tt is a good one so you'll never go wrong. melodic and life-changing, with harmonies to die for. generally a more mature vibe, and they can include noise really well. the raps lean into a darker heavier tone. their bsides range from melodic to club bangers, but each bside goes really well with the album. if you like exo, tvxq, taemin, or monsta x this is for you

nct 127: cherry bomb, fact check, fire truck, 2 baddies, kick it, superhuman, ay-yo, walk, simon says, sticker. very experimental, very fun. club music loves 127. their bsides tend to be a little softer? slower? idk how to describe it but they're usually showing off more of their vocal capabilities, so the tt isn't usually the same vibe as to what the rest of the album is. if you like stray kids, ateez, or block b this is for you

nct u: 7th sense, 90's love, make a wish, baggy jeans, baby don't stop, misfit. nct u bsides are usually to show off individual groups and the albums flow together really well, they're produced nicely. kind of a mix of the other ncts so if you like those you'll like nct u.

other: perfume, shalala, off the mask, nightwalker, smoke, little light, each completely different, each album perfect to listen to.

superM (bonus!): tiger inside, jopping. superm bsides all fuck hard and definitely should be listened to in full

i also have a separate list of nct b-side bangers but that can wait lmfao

HOWEVER NCT LOVES THEIR GENRE MIXING SO SOMETIMES THEY DO SONGS OUT OF LEFT FIELD THAT SOUND NOTHING LIKE THE REST OF THEIR STUFF WHICH IS OK BUT SOMETIMES IT'S A JUMP SCARE BASS LINE OR A RANDOM BALLAD

[violivs]

NMTDaily: The Ben Show

- How can I love a fictional character so much, yet cringe so hard I fold in half every time he opens his mouth? The duality of fangirling.

- I don’t care, I love that Ben came up with a terrible theme song and title card for his YouTube show and then never used it again. What a precious nerd.

- “to add some new voices into the debate” babes, this isn’t a debate. Claudio is gonna keep liking his crush no matter what you think, I’m so sorry.

- Ben is PRESSED about Claudio dating. It’s going to get worse. He cannot handle losing his friends even hypothetically.

- Pedro the natural talk show guest thanking the audience for the imaginary applause is gold, as is the ‘WTF’ face he makes when Ben says he’ll photoshop some shit in later. He has Ben’s number, that boy’s never used Photoshop in his life!

- “he’s one of my best mates” “thanks” it’s the way Pedro is momentarily touched and then Ben goes back to being annoying and Pedro’s like, right, never mind.

- Ben is soooo… like, ‘if I constantly tell myself I’m the coolest guy ever and everyone is lucky to be my mate, eventually I’ll start to believe it. Right? …Right?’ (He’s my blorbo and I want to hug him even when he’s being the worst.)

- I love them spending a good 30 seconds just singing Claudio’s name in various tones until he comes in.

- Pedro immediately gives Claudio a noogie. It’s all annoying teenage boys here! It’s how they show affection lol

- Why do I feel like Pedro has absolutely already guessed who Claudio likes? It’s still bad of Ben to tell him, but the smirk on his face! He knows.

- Other people have also noted that it’s really easy to tell what name Ben is writing down. So if Peter didn’t know before, he certainly does in that split second.

- Interesting that Ben doesn’t believe in love, his whole goal is to talk Claudio out of going out with Hero, but he still keeps describing Hero as the girl Claudio LOVES. Not likes. Even Claudio is saying ‘no I don’t love her yet’. Ben’s probably trying to point out exactly that, that it’s not that deep and Claudio should let it go.

- But it’s also interesting to remember that (spoilers!) Ben’s first love is zero-to-100 immediately using the L word right after they get together Love, so in a way that’s all he knows. He just doesn’t, ah, know it yet.

- Really going in on Hero’s height here. Probably because she’s such a lovely person you have to fabricate some cons for the pro-con list. (And because it’s an adaptation of lines from the play, of course.)

- Hero’s almost 16. Is Claudio 16? Is he a year younger than Ben and Pedro and Bea? Or are the four of them all seniors, making them 17 going on 18?

- Ben is going to absolutely hate himself for making a sex joke even remotely involving Hero by the time he rewatches these videos, oh god.

- Peter the peacekeeper! The way these dynamics start out, knowing how they’re going to change, is fascinating. Ben needed to be called out here and he listened, begrudgingly. Well done Pete.

- The boys are so tactile. Tackling each other, the aforementioned noogie. It’s both fighting each other and showing affection. Just something to note.

- Ben giving the most insincere apology in the world. He rags on people because he loves them, and he doesn’t always know when to stop. (Kind of like Beatrice does…)

- “I’m going as the best superhero ever.” “Beyoncé?” “I wish!” ICONIC exchange tbh

- Ending on an Allons-y! And the sonic turning off the video. I love that. What an adorable nerd.

- “Pedro beatboxing” I love having captions on, this is a GEM. He looks so proud of himself for the beatboxing too! I love it.

💖🥭🦩

[fff777]

watched chenle game champ of seoul forest

lol i see what this show is going to be (overdramatized, but perfect for chenle)

they had their manager explain how competitive chenle was, and chenle was like play it up for me bro lol

this menace lol

chenle: what if i don't know the korean word for it staff: are you making excuses? chenle: no, let's go lmao @ the staff challenging him, i love that

lol all of these are trick questions 😂

how angry is he gonna get lol

staff: don't you like leonardo dicaprio? chenle: i do, but not enough to know his birthday staff: should we say you don't like him? chenle: sure 🤣

lol the manager reactions

chenle finally waited out enough questions to get the right answer. he is a gamer lol.

lol this bitch

LMAO the staff tricked chenle by asking a misdirecting question. and the background music to this was the bad recorder version of my heart will go on 😂

staff: you're not mad right? chenle: no of course not LMAO this is par for the course for him

staff: are you confident on questions about nct dream? chenle: no at least he's being honest with himself lol

the dun dun DUNNN close up to the manager when chenle got the hot sauce logo wrong

more questions on nct dream logo

LOLLLL chenle got the ridin' logo wrong too

after flip-flopping on the beatbox photo he still picked the wrong one

but afterwards he started picking the wrong logos/promo pics :P

he's playing a hangul typing practice game 😂😂😂 love this for him

chenle: i have to focus game: *on baby level*

chenle used to cry when he lost when playing video games with his cousin 😅

chenle ended with the score of 15/24

the staff keep bullying him being like "ehh this score is just so-so" but chenle of course fights back because he knows he's been tricked lol

drew a penalty instead of being able to go home immediately 😅

LOL the beat czennie game will be a mass rock paper scissors even. he said it would be easy but didn't he lose to jisung in rock paper scissors in the starstruck series lol.

[thegamingcatmom]

The ask game: 17, 24, 30

17. What weird thing do you do when you're alone?

Oh boy, where to start, lmao.

Hmm...randomly start singing/beatboxing I'd say - rather poorly, mind you. (I'm a better beatboxer than singer though, that's for sure. 🙃) Sometimes it's directed at my cats and, by the looks of it, they feel insulted af. 😭

24. What's your favorite piece of jewelry you own?

That's an easy one: None. I mean, I think I got some pieces...somewhere. But I don't wear any of it, not even earrings. 🤷‍♀️

30. What is your worst and best quality?

Worst: My impatience when I want something. (It lies in the family, unfortunately. 😅)

Best: Putting myself in someone's shoes or any situation in general to get a better understanding of what's going on and how to best deal with it. (Perks of having a vivid fantasy. 😉)

.

.

.

Thanks a lot for your ask! 💋

[jules-has-notes]

Don't Stop Believin' — VoicePlay music video

VoicePlay were performing their own version of this classic rock song before Glee made it popular with a whole new generation. So when they were tapped as the featured artists for Camp A Cappella 2016 and offered an opportunity to film a music video with the campers, many of whom got into singing because of the TV show, this arrangement was an easy choice. If the joy in this video doesn't put a smile on your face, I don't know what will.

Details:

title: Don't Stop Believin'

original songs / performers: "Don't Stop Believin'", [3:00] "Open Arms", and [3:09] "Any Way You Want It" by Journey; [2:53] "Oh Sherrie" by Steve Perry

written by: all songs written by Steve Perry in collaboration — "Don't Stop Believin'" with Jonathan Cain & Neal Schon; "Oh Sherrie" with Randy Goodrum, Craig Krampf, & Bill Cuomo; "Open Arms" with Jonathan Cain; "Any Way You Want It" with Neal Schon

arranged by: Layne Stein & Geoff Castellucci

release date: 25 November 2016

My favorite bits:

the gradual building of rhythm, melody, and harmonies from the guys before the chorus enters

all the footage of the campers and staff from the week

the laser-like clarity of Earl's voice

Tony and Eli's ♫ "waiting" ♫ and ♫ "searching" ♫ counterpoint moments during the verses

the layering of that incredible polyphony section

the powerful use of silence within the unison lines

a beautifully clean cut-off at the end

just how much fun everyone involved clearly had

The campers and their groups had a lot of fun finding themselves in the finished video.

Trivia:

The backing chorus contains about 350 students and instructors from Camp A Cappella 2016.

This video's recording and production was handled by Rachel Chalhoub, who the guys met on The Sing-Off when she was the beatboxer for Element.

The audio recording of the campers was done by Tony Huerta, who was also the sound engineer on the 2015 Sing-Off tour, and Mike Jankowski, lead engineer of the Acaproducers who were the tech team for the week.

VoicePlay performed this song for many years prior to this recording, going back as far as their 4:2:Five days. The earliest recording I've found is from a radio appearance in early 2009 when Danny Alan and Ryan Reed were in the group.

A fan had created a My Little Pony fanvid using the audio from a mix of just the guys provided by Layne a couple years earlier.

VoicePlay later did a full version of "Any Way You Want It" during the second round of their PartWork series.

For a couple years, Eli also sang with a Journey cover band called Raised On Radio in between VoicePlay gigs.

This was Tony's last video as a member of VoicePlay. (Though he's continued to be involved behind the scenes and has even made a few sneaky cameos over the ensuing years when they've filmed at the PattyCake studio. He's definitely still part of the family.)

The large red sculpture at the beginning of the video is offically titled "Turning Points" by David Black, but it's mostly known to the denizens of Wright State as BART (Big Artsy Red Thing).

[geetasuxlol]

[It appears to be an audio post.]

[Press play?]

[Immediately you hear three voices speaking. "-and that's about the long and short of it."

"Dude, that's fire!" The third voice is more masculine, and very excited.

"Really?" The second voice is high pitched with a southern twang. "Ya mean ya learned how to rap in Alola?"

"Pretty much. I learned how to beatbox, too."

"Etta! You gotta show me how!" The voice is pleading. "Weird mouth sounds are great!"

"Crispin..." There's a sigh.

"Okay. So there's the basic 'boots on cats'-"

"Boots on cats??"

"Yeah! You go 'boots on cats on boots on cats', like that."

The masculine voice tries it, then exclaims. "Whoa!"

"And...you know that brand of popcorn they sell in the snack machines here?"

"Boom chicka pop?"

"That one! Try looping that one."

"Boom chicka pop chicka boom chicka pop chicka...holy smokes!"

The first voice is smug. "Pretty cool, huh?"

"That is awful nifty..." Now the high voice is pensive. "What about the rap part, though?"

"Oh, that's easy! You just say whatever comes into your head, and you make it rhyme. Watch--Crispin, gimme a beat."

"BOOM chicka POP chicka-"

"Yo, the name's Etta, and my skills are heat! Stomp to me, and you're gonna get beat! Now you try, Lacey."

"Okay! Uh...my name is Lacey and I'm here to say, that pokemon cuteness is the only way!"

"Yooooo!"

"That was great, Lacey!"

"Now you try, Crispin! I'll throw you a beat. BOOM chicka POP chicka-"

"Crispin here, and I'm ready to rock! I got rhymes so hot they'll knock off your socks! You better not give me any sass, but even if you do, I don't give a rat's a-"

"What are you doing?"

The new voice makes everyone stop. It's cold, and quiet.

"Kieran? Um-"

End recording.]

[oftheseas-rpg]

SAMUEL "SAM" JESSICA EVANS

⚑ GENDER: Cisman ⚑ PRONOUNS: He/Him ⚑ AGE: 31 (May 4, 1993) ⚑ TYPE: Full sibling ⚑ HOMETOWN: Nashville, Tennessee ⚑ SEXUALITY: Fluid ⚑ JOB: Stripper, Ship Announcer & Communications Offier ⚑ ACCOMMODATION: Emerald ⚑ FACECLAIM: Austin Butler

ABOUT SAM

As the oldest, Sam always felt like there was a lot of responsibility on his shoulders. His dad always installed in him that hard work was the only way to get through in life. His dad tried on many occasions to help Sam develop some good handy life and craft skills but decided against it after risking injury one too many times. It became clear this wasn’t Sam’s strongest skill and to save his fingers his father decided it was for the best. Sam head was always in the clouds, he was a big daydreamer. His dad then tried to get him to focus on his schooling which was definitely not a skill due to his dyslexia. One skill he was able to pickup was his love for guitar. It came so much quicker to Sam then a saw or writing ever did. Sam loved to sing and dance and play. He just loved it and he was told that he wasn’t half bad looking either. While he loved to play and sing his father always told him it was never a viable career. So Sam never thought it was possible. When his family hit on hard times it killed Sam to see how much his father was trying but they were struggling soo much. He decided to use his talents to try and help the family. Little did his parents know that part of that was working as a male stipper. 

White chocolate as he was known was loved by everyone. He had the moves and the rhythm. Sam found it really helped his family, especially with the tips and he quickly went up the ranks to become one of the most successful at the club. When his family got back on their feet Sam stayed on as a stipper until he learnt about the Mayan Apocalypse. Scared that the end of the world was happening, Sam had so much he wanted to experience in his life so he quit his job and focused on experiencing all that life had to offer and show his appreciation to those in his life. It all turned out to be false however and after the date of the Apocalypse Sam realised he was left with nothing. He even got a Mayan wedding although surely that’s not legal.

He then tried to take what he knew into a career in modelling. Sam was convinced that he could use his looks for money. He started being on the covers of magazines and began to be quite the hot commodity. Being in the modelling world intensified the focus on Sam’s body. It started Same obsession with how he looked. He would watch what he ate and over exercise when he was stressed. Sometimes he would starve himself if he was just too busy to eat or he had a big shoot coming up that he wanted to be the shape for. When he tried out to be a runway model his athletic build didn’t fit the lean build of the other models and it sent Sam spiralling into a dark place and his relationship with food it its lowest. So the family tried to get point him in another direction to take the heat off. That’s how he ended up in the most controversial remake of the Rocky Horror Picture show playing  Rocky. The film was not only a bust but it was so bad and so controversial that it all but destroyed Sam’s career. No one would touch him. He spiralled ended up going off grid. 

With that Sam was forced to return home. His family helped him get back onto his feet. Luckily they discovered The Channing Tatum former male stripper grant so Sam attended college and took up an acting course to hone his skills. This way he could continue his love of performing. As his acting skills grew he would add many other acts to his roster and as part of his time at college he realised his large mouth was particularly good for voice over work. Not only could he do the most amazing impressions but he could make the most amazing sounds with his mouth. A police car siren, no problem, a motor boat, by all means, beatbox, easy. He was like a one man folly artist.

Along with that one day whilst on his way to college he was out getting coffee when someone mistook him for Justin Bieber and he was filled with a brilliant idea. Hence the creation of his one man show The Justin Bieber experience. Sam would get hired for birthdays and events as a Justin Bieber impersonator and he was pretty good at it. He didn’t have to be himself and no one had to remember him from he bad publicity and he could live through the success of others.  Sam worked as a voice actor full time. He has a dog called McConaughey. As a side hustle he does have a number of alter egos which he does as impersonations. In his spare time Sam has always tried to give back through volunteering. He knows what it’s like to be down on your luck and spends time giving back at the local homeless shelter.

When the end of the world came Sam was convinced that he was stuck in the multiverse. He is waiting until he can find the portal to the way back to his universe. At first her found himself working onboard in the kitchen. He’s not sure how he needed up there but he was quickly reassigned as the ships announcer and communications officer. Although the only other language he can speak is Klingon. Sam struggles when bad things happen in his life. He has created an alter ego Evan who he often reverts to when needed. Evan is an Elvis Presley impersonator and Sam often refers to him as his smarter twin brother. Evan was discovered overboard the ship one day and has been randomly spotted onboard ever since. The records state that he is living in Sam’s quarters even though he doesn’t exist.