#also lets pretend i posted this for valentines day to make it extra romantic ok <3

[monteruu]

recently reread one of the fics ever so i drew some of the scenes that i think about alot :)

[image id: 3 digital illustrations of reigen arataka and serizawa katsuya from mob psycho 100.

first image: serizawa and reigen holding onto each other hip to hip without their suit jackets on as rain falls on them soaking them. they both have content looks on their faces and serizawa is laughing as he looks up into the rain.

second image: they are tightly clutching one another closely as they look disheveled and both have scratches on their suits and skin. reigen is looking up sadly at serizawa as serizawa holds the back of reigen’s head and hides his face in reigen’s neck. a golden light comes from the left side of the image highlighting parts of them.

third image: they are sitting at a bar together with their backs to the camera and without their suit jackets but we see their profiles smiling at each other and red with drunkenness. reigen is resting one of his hands on serizawa’s thigh and in reigen’s other hand he is holding a lemon sour that is sloshing around. serizawa’s umbrella is sitting on the floor behind him covered in rain droplets. end id]

[esthermeronobaro]

FYF Fest 2013: My Bloody Valentine Fairy Tale

This review was first published on slugmag.com on Aug. 30, 2013. Read it here. Photos: Tod Seelie

The Choice of a New Generation

Ten years ago I was 17 years old. I "road tripped" 40-minutes south of the small, sinkhole town I lived in to one slightly more populated (with rest homes) for my first concert at a venue imaginatively named the Electric Theater. The headliner didn't make it that night––van troubles or something––but I still have the ticket taped to the brick I claimed as my laptop and covered in Weezer stickers. That year also marked my first mutual boyfriend, and my very first kiss––also mutual.

Around the same time, a kid in Los Angeles named Sean Carlson, just a couple of years older than me in 2004, decided to "boldly go where no man has gone before"––probably to impress some babes––and started Fuck Yeah Fest by booking some shows in a bunch of venues around the city. Honestly, anything I write here about his story is speculation, as the "About" section on the FYF website was blank up until this year, when a lineup history magically appeared along with a link that makes me wish I had requested an interview with the man himself, rather than vying for time with the dazzling lineup of bands at this year's festival.

Regardless, the little information I could piece together about FYF's history, along with this telling Wikipedia page and the clever, generational details observed at FYF Fest 2013––from stages named after Sex and the City characters to the exclusively '90s movie sequel trailers playing after dark between sets on the main stage monitors––give me the confidence to declare that Carlson and I have a common goal, and this past weekend, we sold out together.

Nobody Jaywalks in LA

I have a love-hate relationship with Los Angeles. The reliable weather, the [overcast] beaches, the abundance of vegan food, and its general "vacation" vibe are all reasons why I forget how much I hate all the concrete, the snotty attitudes, the careless drivers and mind-numbing traffic. I know FYF Fest was organized by a like-minded individual because doors aren't until 2 p.m., which means plenty of time to sleep or read a book while shivering on a hotel towel in seagull-infested sand. On our way to one such aquatic adventure, a perfectly manicured 20-something bumps into the back of our rental, causing a few hours delay and ultimately leading to an untimely appearance at the festival, but I am happy to let Dan Deacon introduce me to my FYF 2013 experience. Technical difficulties result in an atypical Dan Deacon set that is more stand-up than music––which works out because I'd missed the comedy during the first part of the day. He makes fun of his balding head, apologizes for all the glitches and the fact this is, indeed, their final song, and manages to still blow me away in his final five minutes on stage with a rainbow light show, two frenetic live drummers, an improvised monologue, and electronic music that sounds like a band made up of Jane and Michael's playroom toys brought to life by Mary Poppins.

Eye Wonder Who Karen O Dates?

When I was a teenager, I used my weekly church attendance as a runway show. At school, I wore the same drab clothes as everyone else, but at church, I was ahead of every revivalist movement: goth, Bohemian, ’60s, ’90s––you name it. I was also a master hair braider, but that’s another story. Now, all I really care about is being comfortable, maximizing my assets and minimizing my … well, other ass-ets. Karen O lives out every minute of her stage life like the rowdiest runway show you’ll ever see––this ain’t no mall walkway with waifs in pastel––and for this reason (OK, and because the Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ music is awesome), I find myself at the Carrie Stage on Saturday night. The YYYs’ latest album, Mosquito, has already become a go-to on my playlists, and as Karen O comes on stage in a dirty-blonde bob, sparkling pantsuit (with shorts), pink knee socks and colorful sneakers and moves right into the title track, she sucks all the energy from the thousands gathered and blasts it back in wild yelps and guttural screams. 

The songs move into each other seamlessly, congruent with Karen O’s wardrobe changes. They’re more raw and punk-infused live, and favorites include “Gold Lion,” “Runaway,” “Cheated Hearts” and “Sacrilege”––whose gospel wails follow me out of the festival at the end of the night. A thick, long bright-yellow cord connects to her mic and she moves it around her body like a snake, pulling it over her shoulder, spinning it above her head, and to everyone’s delight, pushing it into her open mouth as a long, throaty moan envelops us like an electric blanket bursting into flame on contact. She dons her famous studded “KO” leather jacket for “Zero,” and at one point, even pushes a headlamp onto her head like a third eye. Speaking of eyes: From the back of the stage, before anyone can look twice, a giant inflatable eyeball is pushed into the crowd midway through––which I guess has been happening at all of their shows, but is a complete surprise to me. As I watch the spectacular performance, all I can think is, “Damn, I wonder who Karen O dates.”

Beach House Lullabies

Sitting on my FYF Fest map, looking at everyone’s dirty faces while I wait for Beach House, I ease into Sunday. In back of the Carrie Stage, there looks to be a wall of vertical wires shimmering as the sun sets, like those fountains at fancy restaurants that look like pouring rain. The dream pop duo are joined by an extra musician so as to maintain the luscious layers of music they’ve created for nearly a decade. I’m far enough from the stage that the people are blurs of slow-moving flesh, but the background shows a starry mess of lights, supplementing the dingy L.A. sky above me, while puffs of smoke from the front of the stage look like bubbles. The coolness of Victoria Legrand’s whispers is complemented by blue lighting, and as the wire wall behind the band starts to move with crimson shapes and the audience sways back and forth, I feel like I’m watching a concert under the sea.

Family Matters

Across the country, Miley Cyrus is pushing her chicken butt into Robin Thicke as Solange drops to her knees with class on the Charlotte Stage in a bright, patterned sweater and Lisa Simpson haircut, gyrating to the funky, retro bass lines thumping behind her. "Let's turn this into a grind fest," she croons into the mic, and immediately, all the white kids around me drop two inches and start shuffling back and forth. Ever since watching 20 Feet From Stardom, I've been keen on any act with back-up singers, and I know that, regardless of Solange's down-to-earth vibe, the sister of Beyonce Knowles will surely boast some classic R&B bells and whistles. As her back-ups ooh and aah, giving the set glimpses of Destiny's Child influence, Solange shows off dance moves that are comparable to her big sis––though they'd feel more at home in an intimate club full of eclectic jazz-hounds than a post-apocalyptic music video set. It must be difficult to have your work constantly thrown up against that of a worldwide pop culture icon's––but really, don't we all live in Beyonce's shadow? As if reading our minds on whether her notable family members might be hiding backstage, Solange happily mentions her mom has come to watch, and lightly asks everyone to say, "Hello Mom." Now that there is no question as to whether or not Beyonce is present, we can enjoy Solange for who she is and what she has to offer: soulful, classic, booty-shakin' music with a '90s twist.

Well, What Other Bands Are There Now?

Sunday is a hazy blur of romantic waves. "We're in this together," is our mantra, and every piece of life and media thrown our way parallels the past year in a microscopic experience. The Breakfast Club plays out in the hotel room as we make our way to the metro, but sit on opposite ends of the aisle, looking past each other to the other side of the weekend in silent repose. As we walk inside, Flume beats like a mad heart in the aptly named Samantha Tent in the center of the grounds, and there we break apart to Melvins and Beach House, respectively, meeting back in the middle for Solange.

Washed Out's "Feel It All Around"permeates the festival grounds as we sit on a curb, sticking morbid PETA stickers on each other's plaid button-ups and thinking about not 10, but 20 years ago, when the '90s meant divorce and new schools and new friends. Washed Out fades away and 2005's summer anthem, "Time to Pretend," sounds out at the south end of the park on the Carrie Stage. Like an oracular beam of light, groups of kids walk past us toward the music, which becomes unfamiliar until the intro of "Kids" marches into our ears, and we know MGMT's set is nearly over, making room for a different tractor beam of noise.

Just about everyone has made jokes about it, but the warnings that pop up between flashes of inculcating "FYF Fest––Best Weekend Ever," trailers for Batman and Robin, and "Next Up … My Bloody Valentine," are very real, along with the bright orange earplugs we pick up at the info booth. This feels new, but in a regurgitated way, mimicking the nervous expectation of that first show I attended 10 years ago. The past six months have culminated into this recursive moment, which I've subconsciously set up as a reset to infinity. Taking a good five minutes to get my earplugs just right so I won't have to mess with them again, I wait in anticipation with everyone around me, but really, just one other person, because this is our moment. The lights drop and the letters "m b v" appear like blood surfacing on a swirling blue pool in the background. The stage looks crowded already with towers of amps, but as the musicians file in, they fit into their respective positions like the last pieces of a puzzle. Kevin Shields leans into the mic, and though I'm too far to make out facial features, and the giant monitors to each side show nothing, his shoulder-length, frizzy white hair is illuminated by the blue light behind him, giving his crisp and single "Hello" an ethereal quality.

I expect a wall of noise to push us all backward from the very first note, but we're eased into the music like a first kiss with one of my favorites, "I Only Said." My Bloody Valentine's most critically acclaimed album may be called "Loveless," but there is a tangible romance inside the static and reverb, which is why we're here together, arms wrapped around each other. I don't have most of the track names memorized, but I know Loveless' melodies and whispers by heart, and though muffled by the foam in my ears (which I end up repositioning so they're not quite so stifling), I smile wider with each song I recognize. We're enjoying the on-and-off violence of "Only Shallow" as the background turns to fiery noise, the amps opening their mouths like dragons and short, shadowed glimpses of Bilinda Butcher's sparkling red guitar––matching her hair and heels––move on the screens––and then silence. I look up from my sway and see the band still playing. More heads in the audience pop up and audible panic swells. The guitars turn back on like a switch, but it happens again, and I fear the magic lost. I feel like Dorothy, peering behind the curtain to see the truth. Just humans with big machines. All seems lost. For some in the audience, this is just another show, another checkmark on their list of bands to see, and these technical glitches are simply minor annoyances. To me, they're stabs in my back. Waves of doubt and despair wash over me as I question the past year-and-a-half, seemingly reflected in the blown speakers and five-minute interruption.

Shields announces the end of their set, apologizing for the difficulties and throwing us a bone by dubbing us their best audience thus far. It feels insincere and only makes it worse. They move into their final song, which I later find out is "You Made Me Realise," from their EP of the same name released in 1988. It's a discordant track, bouncier than anything on Loveless, but I'm frozen in place. The song seems to end, at least the melody, and in its place, the slow climax of thunderous noise rockets from the stage. I'm still frozen, but this time, I can't stop staring at the noise displayed visually on the backdrop. I know it's dumb, it's cliche, but I can't remember how long I stood there. A tractor beam of the loudest music I have ever heard holds onto me, and like a strong dose of radiation, clears away the malignant thoughts that had built up in my brain. I tear myself away and search for recognition in the faces around me. A few creased foreheads express confusion, but for the most part, My Bloody Valentine has managed to baptize an audience of thousands with a single, reverberating chord. I'll learn later that this part of the song is rightfully called "Full Holocaust," and after what seems like a lifetime of eleventh hours (but was only five minutes), they fall back into the melody and finish out the song. We turn around with everyone else to walk out of the festival grounds, but I barely noticed the crowd. "It was like the biggest 'fuck you’ to every band who has ever said they're loud!" I exclaim, thinking it's a witty thing to say. There's more going on in my mind, but for now, I feel relieved and hopeful. It's not until we're back at the hotel, packing silently for the plane ride back home in the morning, that it all comes into perspective. He says, "Well, what other bands are there now?" All the moments––the good, the bad, the hopelessness, the elation––they've culminated here and will repeat into infinity––and you made me realise, it will always be with you.

[viralhottopics]

17 Things That Are Already Not Going Your Way In 2017

Even though pretty much everyone dubbed 2016 as “The Worst Year Ever”, we need to be real with ourselves for a second and admit 2017 hasn’t exactly gone as planned either. I mean, we’re barely two months in and we’re already tired as shit. In case you were wondering what has been going wrong, as if you needed a reminder, here are 17 things probably not going your way already in 2017.

1. The Weather

The South had weirdly hot weather and tornadoes. The West had excessive amounts of snow and rain, and now it’s fucking flooding. The East was doing pretty well until it decided to get up to 70 degrees one day, then blizzard the next. Winter sucks anyway, but let’s just all agree that this one has been a real stinker. Thanks a lot, La Nia.

2. Your Love Life

Apparently, the beginning of the year is generally the best time to fire up Tinder and Bumble and all the dating apps because everyone makes resolutions or some shit to find love. You probably were pretty optimistic at the beginning of the year that this was going to be “your year” when it comes to not being single AF. But here we are on Valentine’s Day, and the only male attention you’ve gotten was that dude who cat-called you on the street.

3. Your Hair

You can watch celebrity hair tutorials until your eyes bleed, but thanks to a combination of shitty weather (the need to wear a hat) and lack of motivation, your hair has probably seen better days. Maybe wait until you’re in a better mood/it’s sunny again to do anything drastic to your locks or you’ll be in a really bad place by the first day of spring.

4. The Inauguration

Yeah, basically the whole country thought we were getting punk’d when Trump won the election. I bet a lot of people were like, Then the inauguration happened and all of our worst fears were realized. What a weird day that was.

5. Politics In General

Basically everything that’s happened in Washington D.C. over the last month has been a major WTF moment. The Muslim Ban they aren’t calling a ban, repealing the Mexico City Policy, fucking up health care for people, you name it. Please, politicians, stop. Just stop.

6.

First of all, no one was very excited about Nick VileI mean, Viallbecoming the Bachelor. If you were excited, you can eat your words because this season has been pretty boring compared to past seasons. You can pretend like it’s just as good but you’re lying to yourself. Sure, some moments are entertaining, but do you really think any of those girls see Nick as the prize? No. The real prize is getting picked to be the Bachelorette

7. The Super Bowl

Tom Brady and The Patriots are like Corinne, and The Falcons are like every other girl on . Sure, one is pretty hot and usually makes the headlines, but the other was so lovable and we wanted them to win. It all came crashing down during the final minutes. Corinne is going to fucking win, isn’t she? Shit.

8. Dieting

Yeah, I’m sure you were really planning on hitting the gym and cutting some cals to drop those extra holiday pounds. Actually, though, the only thing you’ve been cutting is cake. You know spring is just around the corner, right? If you ever want to wear a swimsuit again you better reevaluate your prioritiespriorities that don’t include midnight runs to Taco Bell.

9. Awards Ceremonies

Am I the only one who has been woefully unimpressed by this year’s award shows? Apart from Meryl Streep dropping some truth bombs at The Golden Globes and a naked and preggo Beyonc getting robbed, everything else has been kind of meh. Kanye didn’t even show up to the Grammys, so what are we even supposed to talk about? C’mon Oscars, be interesting. We’re begging you.

10. Trying Not To Drink

A bunch of betches tried to do a dry month during January or February (because it’s the shortest month, obvi). Like, I get thinking that you need a cleanse after everything that happened in 2016, but avoiding vodka sodas probably won’t improve your life that much. Let’s be honest, if you made one of these goals and have been sticking to it, I don’t believe you anyway. There’s no way you can see what’s going on in the world right now and not need a drink. You’re just as much of a lush as you were last year. You know it. I know it. We all know it.

11. Sex

Even if your romantic life isn’t totally shitty, sex is not going to be as great in 2017. Why? Because women are stressed AF that birth control won’t be covered by their insurance anymore or Planned Parenthood will get defunded. It’s kind of like a dark cloud looming over your bedroom. Also, don’t try to argue that a new movie is going to motivate your boyfriend to get more adventurous. You know you’re going to have to take charge on that and that’s just more work for you. Eye roll.

12. Wedding Season

You’re probably like, wait, WTF?, we’re months away from wedding season. That is true, but you bet your ass the save-the-dates are piling up on your fridge. Going to the kitchen now is like a constant reminder that you’re going to have to spend so much fucking money to support your friends and their happiness. Just UGH.

13. Planning for Spring Break

Did you forget spring break was even on its way because the weather sucks so much? Yeah, I think everyone is kind of caught up in other things right now. Maybe we can all take a minute from protesting an evil dictatorship and plan some much needed R&R. Maybe just don’t plan a trip to Mexico though, because the wall might get put up and you’ll be stuck in Cabo for the rest of forever. Actually, that might not be such a bad thing….

14. Your Horoscope

We couldn’t really expect this year to be stellar because our horoscopes have been so crappy lately. We started the year with Mercury in Retrograde. You know that fucks shit up. And last Friday was a Full Moon, so everything was just a little bit off. Here’s to hoping the stars don’t continue to screw us over all year long.

15. The Internet

OK, so 2017 is trying really hard to produce internet gold. The Cash Me Ousside girl is kind of funny. The Salt Bae chef guy is just average. But can you really expect viral hits to be produced in an era when Joe Biden isn’t in the White House? And the evil Kermit thing will always be fire. I’m sorry but 2016 had some of the best memes of all time, of all time! Plus, all your socials are full of political nonsense and #FakeNews. Can we just get back to posting selfies and belfies and thigh gaps and all that ridiculous shit?

16. Work

Real talk. So far this year you have not found a rich sugar daddy to pay your bills and buy you a yacht. That being said, you probably still have to get up everyday and put some effort into pretending to work. It kind of makes you miss interning days when not fucking up a coffee order was your biggest responsibility.

17. Your New Year’s Resolution

It’s the middle of February and I’ll put money on the fact that your New Year’s resolution was garbage a week into 2017. It’s fine. No one is judging you for not sticking to it (we knew that would happen), we’re mostly just judging you for making one in the first place. You should know better. Resolutions are bullshit.

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