#chrome canyon

[mixamorphosis]

Blog post and linked up tracklist [HERE]

Tracklist

01. Floating Points - Elaenia - (Pluto) 02. Cass. - Emotioncode - (Emotional Response) 03. youAND:THEMACHINES - Desire - (Ornaments) 04. Dave Harrington ft. Tamara - Things Behind The Sun - (Other People) 05. Drvg Cvltvre - Moment 03 - (New York Haunted) 06. Joan Bibiloni - Val, I Vuw Ya - (Music From Memory) 07. Gigi Masin - Tharros - (The Bear On The Moon Records) 08. Karamika - Ton 9 - (ESP Institute) 09. Luke Wyatt - Time For Thick (Not Waving Remix) - (Emotional Response) 10. Chrome Canyon - Light - (Throne Of Blood) 11. Vangelis - Love Them From Blade Runner - (Off World / East West) 12. Gigi Masin - Consequences Of Goodbyes - (The Bear On The Moon Records) 13. Commodity Place - Clouds Inside Me - (Pocket Panther Records) 14. Vermont - Sharav - (Kompakt) 15. Proton Kinoun - Peripheral System - (Omnitropic) 16. 55 Cancri e - Belsebubs Tårar (del 1) - (Music For Dreams) 17. A.R.T. Wilson - Sarah's Theme (Air) - (Growing Bin Records) 18. Jonny Nash - A Shallow Space - (Melody As Truth) 19. Secret Circuit - Easter Island Electric Brain - (Emotional Response) 20. ambientsketchbook - A New Star - (Self Released) 21. Gunnar Haslam - Discouraged - (Mister Saturday Night Records) 22. Suzanne Kraft - Renee Sleeping - (Melody As Truth) 23. Hatchback - Horizon - (Be With Records) 24. Kettenkarussell - Drift - (Giegling)

Download available via [Hearthis]

[radio-sepia]

shizzle i’m having such a moment rn

ANALYSIS COMIN THROUGH

currently reading ‘the sacred and the profane’ (good omens fanfic by afrai) and listening to ‘looking back is blinding’ (chrome canyon)

and shiz okay apart from the fact that this music piece is literally perfect anytime i listen to it, now I keep thinking of it as the embodiment of Capriel’s arc, or rather, his relationship with Zirah; i get quite similar vibes from both those pieces.

because really ‘looking back...‘ for me, feels like there’s nothing left for you. you’re walking, and walking, and walking and there is no end in sight. every step you take is full of pain, but you keep going anyway. stuck in a loop of the same decision, over and over AND OVER AGAIN. you keep going, even though you KNOW you're actually going.. backwards. you're making no progress, and the only thing you're doing is hurting yourself, but you can't stop. doing what you're doing is the only comfort you have. and there is some small part of you that still holds on to hope, that maybe if you try hard enough, it will get better. as if that part had anything to hold on to. you tried to rip that hope out of yourself so many times, but apparently you can't. maybe it's the only thing keeping you alive.

and that's how i see Capriel. the only thing of value he has in his life is Zirah; and since the latter is deep into trauma induced psychopathic-like mindset characterised by zero empathy for anyone except Capriel and acts of bloodcurdling violence done without so much as a hint of remorse... yeah, you could totally equate the toxicity of that relationship with a 'bucket of carcinogen' as done so in the fic. and he keeps it up. he can't help falling back into Zirah's arms, can't help the comfort that it brings him, even though with that comes sorrow and grief and agony. he desperately wants Zirah to be different, to heal, but he knows it's practically impossible since Zirah doesn't express any interest in changing himself. but that little hope is still there, hovever small and awful. like a knife leaving him bleeding every single time the same thought enters his mind. 'he'll always be like this'.

but if he were to end it, nothing would remain. an angel, unable to die, among humans who come and go, among angels stuck in their superiority and petty rivarly with Hell, with God that doesn't seem to care about any of Her children...

[girlwiththegreenhat]

getting emotional about 1. the soundtrack of infinity train, and 2. the cancellation of infinity train, at 3am

[onlyhappyvibes]

[upsidedownwithsteve]

We Tried The World: The Epilogue

THE MASTERLIST HAWKINS, INDIANA ONE YEAR LATER

Steve was waiting for you when you finished work, leaning against the BMW that had just been freshly washed, the maroon paint and the chrome work gleaming. The boy stood against the passenger door, hands in his pockets and hair messy, sun already tanned from June and July, days spent in community pools and parks, stretched out on blankets. 

There was a dog in the back, a golden retriever with eyes the same shade as Steve’s, tail wagging and hanging out of the window, barking happily when he saw you. You closed up the store, the small art gallery smelling like new paper and ink, drying paint as you pocketed the key, already grinning. 

The August heat still lingered, the late evening making the sky candy floss coloured, the clouds gathering behind the trees lavender and navy. The light made the boy golden, new freckles replacing the ones that faded from last summer, but they were just as pretty. 

You grinned at the sight of overpacked cases in the back, duffel bags spilling with clothes, boxes taped shut, all with different labels written with permanent marker, Steve’s messy writing next to your much smaller print. 

Kitchen. Living room.  Photos. Bedroom.  Dog stuff. 

You gave the retriever a scratch behind the ears as you approached the car, cooing when he leaned out to excitedly lick your face, an affection swipe across your cheek. 

“Hi Bruce, hi there, baby,” you were soft with him, nose pressed to his muzzle as Steve watched, patiently waiting for his turn. “Are you excited?”

Steve hummed, agreeing to the question the dog couldn’t answer and you turned to him with a grin, excitement written across your features and you helped when the boy grabbed at you, hands on your waist as he pulled you in against him. 

You tutted at his manhandling, affectionate and way too soft to be mean, your hands folding themselves around the back of his neck. Steve bent to you, nose pressing against yours, bumping fondly once, twice as he spoke. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” he murmured and god, it had been thirteen months and you still melted, dizzy at the sound of his voice, his sweetness, sticky and warm for you. “Missed you.”

You hummed and leaned in for a kiss, unable to wait when he was so close. A car or two rumbled past behind you both, Hawkins Main Street barely busy at such an hour on a Sunday and the quiet of it all was enough for you to get lost in Steve’s touch, his hand sneaking underneath your shirt to press against the bare skin of your back. 

You squeaked and nipped at his lip when he got too bold, palm wandering lower, squeezing at the curve of your ass despite the way Mr Gregerson tutted as he closed up his own store. 

“It’s been six hours,” you told Steve, voice warm and soft, knowing what he was going to say. 

“Tell me about it,” he smirked, pushing gently at the apple of your cheek as he gazed down at you. “Had to pack the rest of the apartment myself.”

You huffed out a laugh, scoffing. “That’s a lie, Harrington,” you pecked at his lips, “I know Robin and Nancy were round to help.”

Steve grinned, gave in and scratched Bruce behind his ear as the dog whined and pawed at you both for attention. “Yeah, but I did all the heavy lifting.”

“Mmm,” you hummed, “my big, strong man.” You were half joking, voice dropping slightly when you slid your hands down to squeeze at the muscles wrapped around his arms. 

Steve curled into you, face pushed into the crook of your neck as he moaned, far too dramatic. “You tryin’ to make me act up, pretty girl?”

You laughed, pushed a hand to his chest so he let you go and you were both grinning, cheeks sore with it, the low sun turning you both peach and pink. You looked at the boy and saw the world; canyons, mountains, lakes and the ocean. 

All yours. 

“You ready?” Steve asked softly, eyebrows raised as he caught your wrists, hands slipping down to tangle with your own. “Still wanna do this?”

“Oh, yeah,” you told him, squeezing his fingers, letting him pull you back into his chest. “Can’t get rid of me now.”

Steve huffed out a breath, shaking his head. “As if I’d want to.”

“You got the keys?” You asked, stomach tumbling at the thought. “The paperwork?”

The boy nodded, letting go of you only to dig into his pockets and come back with a set of shiny keys, dangling from his index finger. They hung from the old keyring you'd bought him last year, stopping at Yosemite for a few days, disappearing into a store only to come back with some snacks and a national park sign keyring. 

It had been a long year of working a few jobs between both of you, Steve taking over the managers position at Family Video a few months after returning, whilst you worked half the week at Hawkins Art Gallery, the other half spent working the desk at Wayne Munson’s garage. 

The both of you took turns staying at your aunts, some nights at Steve’s parents, pointedly ignoring his father when he was in town, spending most of your time in the boy’s room, making plans. 

It led you all to here, to now. In Steve’s arms with the dog he always wanted, in the same car that took you both across the country together. The boy held the keys to your first home together, a small one story with an even smaller garden in a town called Sanders, near Bloomington. 

It wasn’t the ocean, but it was close to Monroe Lake and there were plenty of hikes to take Bruce, the opportunity to spend weekends by the water in the summer, to drive further out for vacation, to places you’d yet to discover. 

An added bonus? It was less than two hours from Hawkins, from Steve’s friends that had become yours, from your aunt who’d cried on your return, opened her arms and told you she understood. 

“I spoke to my mom this morning too,” Steve told you, finally moving to open your door for you. “She called from New York.”

You paused before ducking into the car, eyebrows raised as you looked at the boy. “Oh yeah?”

Steve waited until he shut your door and jogged round to the drivers side, clicking his seatbelt and making kissy noises at Bruce who pushed his face between the space of the two front chairs. 

“Yeah,” Steve said, “she told me she’d come to visit next week when she’s home, said she’d bring our housewarming gift.”

You kept your expression neutral, trying to gauge Steve’s feelings about it all. It was nice that his mother was trying and the boy seemed pretty nonplussed about it. So you rubbed a palm over his thigh and smiled.  

“A gift? Wow,” you said, “is she bringing your dad too?”

Steve smirked, a smile without humour and he turned on the engine, pulling onto the road. “Funnily enough, she didn’t mention that.”

And that was fine with both of you. 

“Eddie and Nancy are bringing the kids in a few days,” you smiled, “Nance managed to convince Dustin we needed a day or two to get settled in first.”

Steve snorted, eyes rolling but the affection was there, warm and apparent. “That kid’s been demanding his own room since we told them about the place.”

You shrugged, grinning. “It’s sweet. He missed you before, he’s gonna miss you again.”

Steve took your hand from where it lay on his knee, kept his eyes on the road as he pressed a kiss to your palm, holding it against his lips for a second longer than he needed. 

“We’re not far this time,” Steve reminded you. “It’s a different kind of adventure.”

You hummed, lips splitting into a smile, cheeks sore and you squeaked and laughed when Bruce made another appearance, tail whipping against the back seats as he licked at your ear. 

The sign was approaching, the one that told you that you were both about to leave Hawkins. Not forever, not when you had so much to come back for. Friends, family, some you didn’t know you had before, a lot of new ones too. 

Steve let the car roll to a stop at the exit to the town, the sun setting, the windows rolled down. He toyed with the dial of the radio, a familiar song playing, one you listened to the last time you left town with him, one he’d made you dance to in the refrigerator light after a bottle of wine with dinner. 

“Ready?” He asked you and god, he was smiling so bright, so happy, like he was the entire sun. 

“Ready.”

[transranp0]

not infinity train unused soundtrack "looking back is blinding" being on chrome canyon's new album that they described as a soundtrack to a movie that was never made.

[youareinlovetv]

IT’S MIN-GI MONDAY!!

he is just a guy

[untilteddocument]

After-Action Archive Caves of Qud - The Warmonger

Welcome again, one and all, to the After-Action Archive! This one is going to be a little different, in large part because I didn't think to get screencaps in the thick of it and, as Caves of Qud is a roguelike with only one save file allowed per playthrough, I can't go back and correct this. There will be screencaps just to communicate the graphic style.

Also bear in mind, these will be nowhere near plentiful enough to count as a full LP, but consider it a sort of highlight reel. With that in mind, let's get to the action.

For the Lucky 10,000, Caves of Qud is a roguelike set in a post-apocalyptic sci-fantasy world, where the ruins of unimaginably-advanced precursors have given way to humbler infrastructure. Villagers harvest watervine, the only way to get reliable drinkable water in the salt-suffused climate, and in between these havens lie jungles, salt marshes, rocky canyons, crumbling ruins, and chrome caverns filled with scavengers, stowaways, and ancient technology waiting to be rediscovered, for good or ill.

My foray into this world is as a humble Tinker, a collector and artisan of technology both current and ancient. While I do have some ability in direct combat, such encounters being all but unavoidable, my skills lie more in being able to find or harvest useful items, identify them, and either put them to use or disassemble them to make something else.

My mutations were intended to aid this (though this is hardly an "optimal" build, at least not intentionally so). Psychometry gives me the edge in properly identifying artifacts I find and learning how to build them. It also means that most security doors will do nothing to impede me. Electrical Generation serves as a high-damage "panic button" and, later on, will be able to provide emergency power for any number of properly-modded gadgets. Photosynthetic Skin and Regeneration work together to keep me solvent, letting me survive encounters intact and travel without having to pay as much attention to food supply.

I was traveling through the desert canyons, with no real objective in mind aside from finding what I could find. What I did find (or more accurately, ran into nearly-head-first), though, was an immediate cause for alarm.

The Putus Templar are an antagonistic faction in the setting, a genocidal group of True Kin (un-mutated humans who live in distant arcologies) who see any such mutations or sympathy for them and their bearers as an intolerable stain that must be cleansed. Even player characters who are of the True Kin themselves are regarded with disdain, tainted in spirit if not in body.

Furthermore, I saw a name shaded purple in the activity log, indicating that this band was being led by a legendary member of their people. In this case, it was a legendary Infiltrator:

Cytor Hadicte, Warmonger Amongst The True.

Threat Rating: Impossible.

So any given reader would understand why, when I saw the flurry of activity, including ripples in the fabric of reality as Cytor Hadicte, Warmonger Amongst The True and his entourage started teleporting at me, I turned around and ran the other way in blind terror.

From the map above, I fled south, trying to outpace my would-be killers. To this end, the trees were a boon, allowing me to break line of sight with the Templar squires, but the infiltrators, including Cytor Hadicte, Warmonger Amongst The True, kept pace easily, nipping at my heels and even casually teleporting me around with them. Even my recoiler (a teleportation device that can transport me to a predetermined area, in this case the village of Joppa) was of no use, because I couldn't get far enough away from my pursuers for it to be usable.

With no other options, I steeled myself and turned to make my stand.

Now that I wasn't scrambling to figure out how to get away, I could focus on figuring out how to survive. After a bit of thought, I realized that I had the advantage that infiltrators are built for reconnaissance, and are of little use in direct combat. Even with their Average challenge rating, I was able to crush the regular Infiltrators with little trouble.

However, this wasn't as much of an advantage against Cytor Hadicte, Warmonger Amongst The True due to its inflated stats and its having picked up an iron long sword during the chase. The stats in particular meant that I would still lose out in a fight.

Luckily, I had an answer for that.

In my earlier travels, I had managed to scavenge an intact Issachar rifle, a reliable workhorse of a gun that used less ammo than the chain pistol I started with, useful given how little ammo I had at the moment. With my expression grimly set, I decided to see how an enemy used to being the one to confound and disappear would react to a response in kind.

The tree cover was instrumental in my battle plan, letting me break line of sight and get precious distance for the rifle's advantages to tell. I would trade blows with Cytor Hadicte, Warmonger Amongst The True until it began to get the upper hand, then run into the trees before whipping around and giving it a taste of atomic number 82.

To my delight, I confirmed that most of my opponent's defenses lay in agility and dodging, so when a bullet did connect, the impact was devastating. HP peeled off in chunks of 20 or more, but even then, Cytor Hadicte, Warmonger Amongst The True kept coming, undeterred. This was, however, more of a product of programmed devotion than any sense of inevitability, because my plan held. With a final groan, the legendary Infiltrator shuddered and ceased to be more than artifacts and scrap. To the victor go the spoils.

A hoversled (one of two that it was carrying!) is a boon for heavy loads, and it would see much use. However, it wasn't the most welcome surprise.

Eaters' Nectar is a fantastically rare tonic, a relic of the precursors from whom both mutants and True Kin claim descent. Its benefits are likewise rare to find and, despite the warning, it is safe to use consecutively, since its benefit has no set duration. Even with the squires still there searching for me, I'm ready to give them what I gave their boss. It's safe to say that the juice, in this case, was well worth the squeeze.

[deadboyfriendd]

Tear You Apart | E.M. 

There was always a push and pull between you two and, to you, it was so fucking frusturating. But you couldn’t help it that he looked so goddamn good like that, on the soapbox stage, in those stupid fucking jeans in this god-awful lighting. It made you physically angry. So angry that you could reach out and choke him, though you couldn’t decide in which context. 

In the same respect, he shredded his anger across strings and frets, hoping to whatever celestial being willed him into this world would at least have the common courtesy to soften his cock ever so slightly. But he couldn’t help it that you looked so fucking good like that, legs twisted around the chrome barstool like a fucking serpent, lips puffed out pouty in that stupid fucking lipgloss in this god-awful lighting. It made him physically angry. So angry that he could pick you up and break you in half, though he couldn’t decide in which context. 

Before the set, he thought tonight could have been the night. He always wanted to up the ante on his little perverse shenanigans. He always wanted to be out-right with it, saying how bad he wanted to fuck you, but settled for glances and stolen, not-completely-accidental touches. But tonight was different, the stars or whatever, he passed it off as. Tonight it felt primal. Maybe it had something to do with the way you leaned up on your toes ever so slightly to whisper a good luck in his ear from the side of the stage, taking a step back before he could muster the courage to be spontaneous and kiss you. It must have been the way you batted your eyelashes at him and giggled at one of his jokes, making it ring and linger in his phonetic loop like a pressurized ear canal. Maybe it was the way you dragged your palms over the ridges of his shoulders and down his chest as you drew away from a hug. He knew you did that shit on purpose. You must have. You must have thought it was so hilarious how he now had to go on stage rock hard. 

You stared up at him during the last few songs on the setlist with a smile, but running through the pink canyons of your brain matter, you were seething. He must have thought it was so cute to brush behind you like that, grabbing your wait as he walked by, sending ice running up and down your vertebra and freezing your cerebrospinal fluid into ice cubes. Maybe it was the intense eye contact he made with you when you laughed with the bartender, like he was trying to stake his claim on you with a simple gaze. Or maybe it was the way his hands dragged up and down on your hips, drawing out your hugs just a few seconds longer, but also drawing you into the dip of his stomach that rested in the valley that his hip bones created. 

He purposefully took his time getting off the stage, stopping and talking to bandmates and bar patrons for a long while before he looked at you in that same possessive way. This time it held a certain hunger, something carnal. You slapped your hand down on the pack of cigarettes and lighter that he left with you, sliding them across the table and off the edge. You slipped out of the bar doors in the same manner- like the hand of God himself was smashing you like a bug against a table and dragging you out over the edge. The pressure both in your stomach and in your heart were heavy, your own carnal urges begging you to just say fuck it, and begged you to just scream fuck me. But your brain always reminded you that there were repercussions to these things. 

You almost didn’t hear the large doors swing open behind you. If you didn’t hear the disturbance in the air, you probably would have screamed when his hand grabbed you hip, dragging sinfully slow and- holy shit- painfully low on your stomach. His fingers dug into your skin over the thin fabric covering you, but you couldn’t concentrate with his denim-covered cock digging into your back like that. He held you tight against him. So tight you could feel his stomach rise and fall, still breathless from his performance. You closed your eyes slightly, feeling his hot breath fill the molding of your ear and dissipate against your neck. You breathed ever so shallowly, not wanting him to know just how turned on you were. He drew his other hand down your shoulder, feeling your soft skin and playing with the tips of your fingers for a long, painful second. He then drew the same hand back over your stomach, leaving it to rest on your sternum, where you both could feel your aorta threatening to explode into a wet mass of pericardial fluid and muscle tissue. 

There was always a push and pull between you two and it was so fucking frusturating. But you couldn’t help it that he sounded so goddamn good when he whispered, 

“I want to fucking tear you apart.”

[dragonsareawesome123]

Omg, is Chrome Canyon scoring the music for the Among Us TV show? 👀👀👀

[suppuration]

i am one (1) entire worm: 30s, queer, it/they

ace, nonbinary, disabled, nd, variably furry and otherkin (i #wormwood ramble on such things in #vesication tag. browse/blacklist ᴘʀɴ)

current fandoms: fallout, beyondverse, nikkiverse

see also: infinity train, swamp thing, santa clarita, omens, love death robots...

current music obsessions: iamx, ashbury heights, theatre of delays, grand blanc, chrome canyon, idk

fav books: roadside picnic, let the right one in, ballard's crash, breakfast of champions, house of leaves

fav movies: naked lunch, motivational growth, sturgill simpson's sound & fury, high rise, splinter, return of the living dead, in the mouth of madness, prince of darkness, brazil

i block extremely liberally. i've been on the internet long enough that i don't have the time or patience to deal with people being clowns

you can click through to my carrd for other sites where i post. there's also a table of contents for all my tumblr sides

if you want to add me, my discord is ketherphorbia

[pixelrhys]

His goal in life was to be an echo The type of sound that floats around and then back down Like a feather But in the deep chrome canyons of the loudest Manhattans No one could hear him Or anything

[againwiththeturtles337]

it's chrome canyon's director hours again

[onlyhappyvibes]

[ghosttownsz]

More of my stand ideas

Took me a while to get to this one because I've still not read chapter 11 lmao

Chrome Canyon Power: A Speed: C Range: 40m Stamina: A Precision: S Potential: E

If the stand touches an object, that object becomes perfectly reflective to all types of energy and all newtonian forces, giving it a chrome-like visual appearance. This does not work on living creatures.

TV Girl Power: C Speed: A Range: 100m Stamina: B Precision: S Potential: E

Can edit the contents of digital video to the user's will. Does not work on analogue video.