#dimensional bleed

[heavymetalvamp]

While I am watching everything growing All the leaves breathing forth I feel like I am nothing While they bloom

[glitterghost]

Friday night psa to listen to Holy Fawn.

[bizarrobrain]

"Empty Vials" by Holy Fawn - From "Dimensional Bleed" (2022)

[onlyhurtforaminute]

HOLY FAWN-DIMENSIONAL BLEED

[thesoundshelter]

MY TOP 20 ALBUMS OF 2022 (2/2)

MY TOP 20 ALBUMS OF 2022 (1/2)

Carpenter Brut - Leather Terror

Favorites Songs : Straight Outta Hell, Imaginary Fire, Day Stalker

Ibaraki - Rashomon

Favorites Songs : Ibaraki-Dōji, Tamashii No Houkai, Rōnin

Conjurer - Páthos

Favorites Songs : Rot, All You Will Remember, Those Years Condemned

Holy Fawn - Dimensional Bleed

Favorites Songs : Death Is A Relief, Empty Vials, True Loss

Sadness - Tortuga

Favorites Songs : falling in love with you, rana, your hand melts into mine

Poets of the Fall - Ghostlight

Favorites Songs : Heroes and Villains, Lust for Life, Beyond the Horizon

Shinedown - Planet Zero

Favorites Songs : Dysfunctional You, A Symptom of Being Human, Daylight

Wednesday Campanella - Neon

Favorites Songs : Orihime, Edison, Buckingham

Sayuri - 酸欠少女

Favorites Songs :  酸欠少女, 世界の秘密, レイメイ

Mark Tremonti - Mark Tremonti Sings Frank Sinatra

Favorites Songs : I've Got You Under My Skin, Fly Me To The Moon, My Way

[m3t4ln3rd]

Holy Fawn debut video for "Void of Light"

Band: Holy FawnSong: “Void of Light”Director: Chase WarrenAlbum: Dimensional BleedRelease Date: September 9th, 2022Label: Wax Bodega Guitarist Ryan Osterman explains of the new track: “I’m not sure what it is about our nature as musicians but at our core, we love to tinker. Whenever we get something new, we have to set it up and hit record just to see what happens. For ‘Void of Light’ in…

[buttonpusherdiy]

HOLY FAWN RELEASE NEW ALBUM 'DIMENSIONAL BLEED' ON SEPTEMBER 9th VIA WAX BODEGA

HOLY FAWN, the Phoenix-based band whose 2018 DIY release, 'Death Spells', earned the fledgling foursome widespread recognition from both colleagues and writers, return with the eagerly-awaited album, 'Dimensional Bleed' (September 9th through Wax Bodega). Following their recent single+video 'Death Is A Relief' (released in advance of their spring 2022 tour with Deafheaven). the band also today release a new single, the title track, which you can listen to - HERE “We’re always going to be the same four humans making music,” explains singer/guitar player Ryan Osterman of the collection that they co-produced with Mike Watts (Dillinger Escape Plan, Glassjaw). “With every release, I feel like we’ve continued to learn how to best support each other both mentally and musically, which enables us to try new things. Personally, I think this record has truly allowed us to explore more creative avenues than we did with 'Death Spells'.” "Dimensional Bleed’ vaguely refers to a concept of multiple dimensions and timelines that could exist simultaneously,” adds guitar player Evan Phelps. “A lot of different media has alluded to this ideology, and I find the possibility of multiple dimensions intersecting and bleeding into others to be fascinating.” Live wise, HOLY FAWN embark on the first leg of what will be a lengthy touring cycle in support of 'Dimensional Bleed', on August 31st. The two-week US trek, with support from Astronoid, culminates in a return performance at Riot Fest, and then a UK headlining stint follows. HOLY FAWN UK tour dates:

September 26 Manchester, UK Deaf Institute

September 27 Glasgow, UK The Garage (Attic)

September 28 Nottingham, UK Bodega

September 29 Bristol, UK Exchange

September 30 London, UK 229

  PRE-ORDER - HERE LISTEN TO SINGLE “DIMENSIONAL BLEED” - HERE

[culling]

every day s2 does draw a little closer and every day i fear for alastor & vox specifically ,,, such great characters that i believe will be handled SO poorly and i’m resigned to sit on the sidelines and watch

[deadsetobsessions]

Green Lantern hovered in the doorway of the med bay. He’d been summoned, but he had no idea what for.

“You know, spooky, some of us have lives to get back to. Not everyone can exist off of just work and blood or whatever,” Hal poked fun at Batman, who rubbed at his jaw tiredly. Hal blinked, stamping down the guilt that arose at Batsy’s uncharacteristic show of any emotion other than stone cold rationality or exasperation or anger. At least they’ve moved past grunts. That just lends credence to Hal’s theory of Batman being an immortal, like Vandal Savage. Batman could totally pass for a caveman, he’s got the grunts down, for sure.

“Still not a vampire. We found the Ghost King. The one the GIW was trying to hide in their records.”

“Well, shit.” Hal’s expression flattened, remembering the unsanctioned government branch that violated the Meta Rights act to a degree where even Amanda Waller had washed her hands of them. Bats had found evidence that they were experimenting on a child when a “source” had hacked into the base and begged them to find the child. Phantom, the hacker had claimed, who had managed to destroy the portal to the Infinite Realms

Batman had tried to boot the guy out of the system, until the hacker told them Phantom was the King of the Infinite Realms.

That got Constantine terrified, which urged Batman into a full hunting mode to track down the king. Mostly in part because Constantine said something along the lines of, “If the King dies, the Infinite Realms will wage war and decimate us. And considering they’re the realm of the dead, we’d lose so badly, even the demons won’t help us out for our bloody souls.”

Granted, he didn’t have that terrible British accent Hal attached to his voice every time the Green Lantern thought about the sad trench coat wizard, but the point still stood.

“He’s not fully conscious due to… his injuries, but the moments where he was, he reacted best to the color green.”

Hal did not want to know what kind of creepy stalker things Batman did to get that knowledge.

“Oh, great. You called me because I’m green,” he said to Batman as he floated into the med bay. “I can be green. I’m amazing at being green.”

Even with the sarcastic tone, Hal made sure to up his lantern aura, glowing a bright neon green. It wouldn’t do to help start a war if he wasn’t green enough.

Hal looked at the Ghost King, and yeah, he could see why Bats was so off his stoic face game today. Because the Ghost King looked like a teenager, and Bats is a bleeding heart and everyone knows it.

Hal waved away Batman, “Go back to Gotham and drink your true blood or whatever. You look like you’ve seen the sun too much.”

Translation: go home, you look tired.

Batman nodded, in thanks, and left to sleep (probably. Hal has never caught the man doing something so… plebeian). Hal is left playing babysitter. To an inter dimensional being that could- probably more like “would,” considering the live dissection he went through at the hands of humans- destroy their entire planet and/or universe. Another Tuesday for the Justice League.

[moondirti]

animalic (1)

series masterlist

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader rating: mature word count: 1.9k summary: he won't stop until he gets you warnings: enemies to lovers, injuries, kissing, minor ATSV spoilers, size kink (?), mentions of gore and death, not spell checked nor edited, honestly not my best work but the horny is all that matters notes: stayed up all night for this because i had to get it out of my system before finals. there'll be a few more parts, i promise i'm not this cruel haha

“I thought grace was a prerequisite for your little spider-club.” 

Your quip sounds disjointed – even to your own ears – entwined with wheezes that rattle your splintered rib cage. In all honesty, the circumstances don’t seem to be favouring you; he’s got you confined upon the wreckage of your own fight, hanging off the remnants of a crane that dangerously tips over a quarry. And though this isn’t the worst you’ve faced, Miguel’s presence always seems to make things more complicated than they need to be.

You’d had a stable hold on the beam, ready to pull yourself up and dematerialise to wherever he wasn’t. Until, of course, the asshole kicked your elbows off. Now, your fingers remain as your only attachment to the structure, shaking violently with their diminishing strength. Your torso isn’t faring any better, either – the bleeding both internal and trickling from the gashes in your hoodie. 

(You wonder if he’s toying with you, like a panther with its food. Of the rare times he’s assigned another spiderman to pursue you, they didn’t tend to drag it out for this long. 

But, you suppose, Miguel’s different.) 

He takes a small step forward, lifting his foot over your digits. He could crush them like this, turn the bone to powder and keep pressing until it macerates in the gore. You can’t put it past him, really, not if you utter one more self-sabotaging word. You’ve seen him rip through steel and silk alike, fueled on the resentment that simmers deep within his very essence. Yours is merely the same fate that’s befallen every other obstacle that’s dared to come his way. 

But the tension buzzes between you two, thickening until it’s palpable enough to taste. Miguel is quiet as ever, completely still save for the flickering light of his dimensional travel watch. You envy his position – that resolute stature, brimful of power as his shoulders square, his calf rippling with subdued strength, still stretched over your hand. You blame that, or the mask, slick with sweat and humid as it sticks to your nose. Or the glasses that slowly slip to reveal your squinting eyes. You blame anything apart from what it is; that fear that steadily begins to flood your senses, numbing it all into one, cohesive panic. 

You’ve never been good at life or death scenarios. 

“Or, maybe, the big boss thinks he can break his own rules?” 

The air snaps. With an infuriated roar, he lunges at you, razor-sharp talons swiping at your face. In your frenzied dunk to avoid them, your fingers drop. 

You plunge to the bottomless chasm below.

Okay. Let’s try to get this right, one last time. 

Your name doesn’t matter. It hasn’t, not for a while now. 

For the past year, you’ve been on the run from the Spider Society. You don’t exactly blame them for it, either. Every world you’ve crashed has gone to shit, despite serious lack of trying. Food-barren wastelands, borderless warzones. Truthfully, after the mantle of Earth 7BB-1 convected in on itself, you were inclined to turn yourself in. 

Independant of the fact that Nueva York seems to be the only place you can’t fuck up. Regardless of the relatability you have with the residents of its lobby. You were bitten by a radioactive spider just the same, and for all the good you’ve tried to do, you’ve never been a spider-hero. If it meant that no one else got hurt, you really would have been able to cope with lifetime confinement.

(Greater good and all that.)

Would’ve. Could’ve. If it weren’t for Miguel O’Hara’s interjection, and his goddamn alternative solution, things just might have turned out that way. 

You’re not dead. 

The realisation whips your consciousness into high alert, eyes snapping open to survey your surroundings. You process the light first, its brilliance piercing through the bromine-doused cotton that stuffs your skull. Then, it’s the pain that, up until this point, had been thrumming in the background. It crackles, marrow-deep, tearing down the tendons in your shoulders to the throbbing area around your ribs. They’re in doubtlessly worse shape than they had been at the quarry, the ache searing across to engulf your spine too. 

He had let you fall on your back, that dickhead. 

But– 

You’re not dead. 

It doesn’t take you long to figure out why that is. 

A red forcefield entraps you, droning its monotonous hum, partially obscuring everything beyond your own reflection. You can see the faint impression of a silhouette – no, multiple – stalking you on the other end, a great shadow court. They warp and grow with every passing second, gorging on your offered vulnerability, awaiting some wordless signal from the harbinger of death, to execute justice upon the one who’s been causing them so much trouble. Jess Drew. Hobie Brown. Ben Reilly. 

(They’d been more forgiving, once. Willing to negotiate peace, to treat you more than the screw up you’ve proven to be. 

His voice overrode theirs. Always.)

It’s easier to make out the devil himself – more so than the others. You’ve come to memorise the slope of those shoulders, how his fists clench at his sides as he circles you. You imagine the smug set of his jaw and those eyes, just as luminous as the cage you curl within. The puck at the base is recognisable, akin to the capture weapons he’s thrown at you previously. He’d saved your life, then.

On a technicality. You’ll bury that thought to rage over later. 

“How–”

The question hardly forms before you’re ripped in two, the atoms of all but your spirit splicing into one another in a defect of blue and orange. The glitch exacerbates the fractures that threaten to knock you out, racking through your system as it rearranges your matter into amorphous forms. It’s only when something is thrown into the enclosure do you snap back to. A bracelet clatters to the floor. 

“Didn’t know whether you’d be used to the glitching yet.” A disembodied voice remarks. It’s at a particularly whiny pitch – you assign it to Ben. 

“We… tried to get it on you, kid. But you–” A feminine inflection crops up. Jess sounds the same since the last you spoke. 

You glower at them from the corner of your eye – unsure if they can actually see you – and snap the day pass on. Your spectral abilities were handy at the best of times; to shift from the corporeal, coming into immateriality, makes the most complicated situations evadeable. You credit it for your continued survival, if nothing else. Yet to speak like you could control it, especially while unconscious, was pushing it. You clearly weren’t able to activate it when you needed it the most.

And now you’re here. 

“I’m not going to ask what you want, so let’s keep this short– y-yeah? Either you let me go, or this Earth’ll be the next to unravel.” Despite your intentions, the demand escapes you in a long-winded croak. You hear Hobie snicker, the laugh teetering the edge of approval. Anyone can tell the promise has no foundation.

“That won’t be happ–” 

“Leave us.” 

The room clips into white noise. You fail to focus on anything but that echoing order. 

His voice comes across clearer than all else, too, cadence resonating past any natural boundary, tugging your heart right where it’s tender. There’s that fear again, that singular dread, only ever triggered by his indifference. Perhaps more potent than fury, his patience gives away an all-assured determination. Deadly. 

You bite your cheek, steeling your expression into one of similar apathy. It feels like a child’s attempt at dress up, grubby hands clutched around mother’s lipstick, painting on a clown’s complexion. Crackling apprehension brushes across your most vulnerable parts; layer by layer, you’re skinned as the group files out. Bare nerves are all that’s left for your faceoff with the hulking man.

He throws another puck to the floor. His own forcefield conjoins to yours. 

His cheeks have gotten hollower, you notice, emphasising the cheekbones that are just as keen as everything else about him. He offers no smile, no grand boast of victory. Instead, he breathes – calmly, fixedly, and lets you absorb the overwhelming magnitude of his size once more. He’s aware of what it strikes in you, can see it in the way you falter upon every reintroduction. Miguel is colossal, a reality that has never been more apparent than in this cramped enclosure. 

You know that if you stop to ponder it, it’ll ruin you. 

Rearing on your heels, you bounce from your place on the ground, making a grab for his watch. He anticipates it, having caught the decision blaze in your pupils, and side steps, pivoting to gain the upper hand while your back is still turned. You rebound off the field wall, stumbling back when he yanks you by your hoodie. Your shoulder presses into his chest, and he moves to wrap himself around your form.

Your skin prickles. His body passes right through you. 

His recovery time is nearly nonexistent relative to your last fight – quick learner – but you’re still swift on your feet, bolting to his watch again. It’s a millisecond too slow, for his talons sink into your forearm when you start to pull away. 

Your pained yelp loses momentum as he slams your back against the wall, using a knee to pin your other arm in place, his free hand wrapping around your neck. 

He’s close. Too close. Your stomach flips, pushing up on your oesophagus until you choke with the bile that sears its lining. Your breaths are as deep enough as his clutch will allow, index and thumb cutting off the circulation on both sides of your neck.

Ichor blooms from the puncture points at your wrist, the warmth puddling at your palm, not yet heavy enough to drip down onto the floor. You don’t think he realises how deep his claws are, how near he is to scratching bone. You don’t think you do, either. It doesn’t hurt as much as it should, and while you’re sure you’ll regret not prioritising it sooner, you don’t think– Don’t think–

“I-I’m not goi…going home,” You gasp. 

“It’s not up to you, Wraith.” Miguel growls, chokehold loosening.

It hits you, then. Animalic. He smells addictingly animalic. Like musk, a blend of brine and hot air and hints of a patchouli aftershave that still clings to his jaw. Your eyes flutter, seeking all you can get of the latter. Unwittingly, you move in closer. 

You haven’t been this close to anyone in a long time. 

His expression oscillates between a sneer and a grimace, nose pulling up to reveal the very pointed ends of his two canines. Set side by side with plush lips, you zero in on the thought of experiencing the contrast with your own. 

He’s huge. 

Closer. 

Completely overwhelms you, in size and presence and–

Closer. 

Your ribs ache. Your back groans. You’re quickly losing feeling in your fingers, and movement – soon – if you don’t do something. 

Your breath weaves with his. He doesn’t reciprocate when your lips brush, but he doesn’t pull away, either. 

You kiss him for longer than you should. Longer than you need to. It’s firm, and not unlike what you expected. 

(World-shattering, all the same.) 

Your skin prickles. It takes all of your rationale to pull away – dematerializing out of his grasp, and into the portal you’d activated from his wrist.

chapter 2 →

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[glitterghost]

Just feeling some Holy Fawn tonight. 💫🖤🥀

[bizarrobrain]

"Empty Vials" by Holy Fawn - From "Dimensional Bleed" (2022)

[girls--complex]

This is the 12th dimensional Traum that swims inside of the hyperkosmic sun and here are her attributes

6 arms and 6 wings and 4 legs (10armlegs)

Solar halo

Antenna for making intercession and listening to cosmic rays

Yaupon and Bettony wreath for wakefulness and healing

Scales for Justice

Vajra for Discipline

Sword for Truth

Masonic Apron for mastery of ritual technology

Serpent tail that is beheaded and ever bleeding open wound that is topped by the star Acrux that symbolizes the perpetual renewal of human-nature thru apophatic withdrawal.......

Top hands are engaged in Worship

Lower hand reaches to You

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Listen, I love Eddie gushing over his handsome boyfriend like all and any of us, but I have some thoughts. It's still planned for my set of fanfictions, Piece by Piece, but I'm drabbling my way towards happiness here.

Steve knows he is good-looking. He knows his hair is amazing, he knows he's toned, all that. People have been complimenting him for all his life, have been jealous, but most of all, it's all they have seen. The jerk with good looks. The jock with the hair. Then the babysitter, still with the hair. Steve isn't exactly proud of his looks, it's just what it is. He's a pretty boy and that's a fact. He doesn't argue against the compliments, he has learned long ago that any insecurity on his part is considered fake modesty. But he's terrified because he knows looks don't last, he knows he isn't as active as he used to be, he knows there will be wrinkles, grey hair, saggy skin and just like the enviable body he has now, he will not have any choice in it.

When he starts dating Eddie, he can tell Eddie likes the way he looks and that's fine, that's great even, but this isn't just a fling to him, it's his endgame. Steve likes making himself look pretty for his boyfriend, leans into his touch when Eddie strokes his hair, kisses his beauty marks, but there's this insistent, unrelenting voice in his head that keeps saying: "this is all you have to offer. This is all you are and all you'll ever be." He never shares this with anyone, but he dreads the day when Eddie finds out there is nothing else to Steve than his reckless disregard for his own health and his naturally but inevitably diminishing looks.

But Eddie is observant. When he gazes into Steve's eyes and whispers "you're so beautiful it hurts," Steve's lip quivers and he closes his eyes, as if he was memorizing the moment. It's subtle, but his muscles tense. Eddie knows in that second that there is something there, something he doesn't realize yet, but he's committed to unraveling the wire wrapping Steve's heart on his own. He doesn't push and prod, he experiments.

The next time, he doesn't go for the obvious, even if he wants to sing odes to Steve's shoulders, his back, his strong hands. Steve is cooking in the kitchen, fumbling around a bit, but the smell is delicious and he looks content. His hair is still ruffled from their night together and he's humming some pop song Eddie doesn't recognize. Eddie's heart swells with fondness and he wraps his arms around Steve's waist from behind, kissing the nape of his neck. "What a sight you are," he mumbles into his shoulder. "When you smile like that, when you sing along your horrible music...you're making me realize how lucky I am all over again." He knows he said something right when Steve turns the prettiest shade of pink and starts spluttering that he's the lucky one, really, and does Eddie really enjoy his heartfelt rendition of Take On Me when pop normally makes his ears bleed? Eddie says "it's not the pop I like, it's you. It makes you happy and I love seeing you happy," and Steve just melts into his arms.

From that point onwards, he makes sure to compliment Steve's choices, not just his looks, even though he never fails to whisper exactly what Steve's body does to him in the bed. He tells him that the new shirt makes him look even more radiant, he tells Steve he loves it when he lets loose once in a while and gets silly, he swoons over his voice, praises how well he handles the kids, his effort, his style. And Steve finally opens up about his insecurities, asking whether Eddie doesn't find him boring, with how straightforward he is, how one-dimensional. "I don't care for fireworks, Steve," he tells him and strokes that beautiful head. "They're pretty, exciting, but burn out soon and probably set your house on fire. Some relationships are like that, but not with you. Being with you...it makes me feel safe. I never have to guess what you mean, you just say it. Being with you is like sitting in front of a fireplace and having all the time in the world. I want that, nothing else."

Steve smiles at him and squeezes his hand. He chews on his lip and whispers: "All the time, huh? Even when I'm gray and ugly?"

Eddie gasps, offended. "The nerve of calling my boyfriend ugly, sir! Now I have to fight you for his honor! Ready your sword, scoundrel!" He tackles Steve to the bed, laughing like a madman. When he lands on top of him, he cradles his head gently and pecks him on the lips, just once, although he wants nothing more than to get lost in his embrace. "Seriously though, Stevie. You and ugly? Never to me, no matter what. But old? Hell yeah. If I get to see you all aged like fine wine or if you become the grumpiest asshole in this town, that's a victory in my book. Because it'll mean we survived all the crap life threw at us and you'll have kept me around. What's not to love about that?"

And it seems the wire constricting Steve's heart is loosening because there are tears in his eyes and he doesn't flinch when Eddie kisses them away. "I'll be looking forward to it then," he whispers into Eddie's hair.

From then on, Steve doesn't fear new wrinkles. He celebrates them with Eddie, counting each gray hair as a small step toward their victory, as Eddie called it. And it turns out that Steve is okay being complimented on his looks after all, because when Eddie kisses his laugh lines and mentions how much he enjoys them ("these are a proof you find me hilarious, Steve! Of course I love them!"), Steve finds himself seeing his body as a map of his life, the moments with Eddie, Robin, the kids, and as his wise boyfriend once said: "What's not to love about that?"

[m3t4ln3rd]

Holy Fawn announce new record Dimensional Bleed; debut title track

Photo by: Charles Barth Official press release: Holy Fawn, the Phoenix-based band whose 2018 DIY release,Death Spells, earned the fledgling foursome widespread recognition from both colleagues and writers, return with the eagerly-awaited album, Dimensional Bleed (September 9th through Wax Bodega). Following their recent single+video “Death Is A Relief” (released in advance of their spring 2022…

[buttonpusherdiy]

HOLY FAWN - Dimensional Bleed (Album Review)

Holy Fawn are back with their latest venture ‘Dimensional Bleed’, the follow-up to 2018’s Death Spells debut LP and 2020’s The Black Moon EP and it's a masterclass in mixing shoegaze, black metal and ethereal soundscapes to create a record in which you can completely immerse yourself in.  Hexsewn immediately welcomes you into Holy Fawns world with a calm intro before giving way to layers upon layers of real shoegaze vibes along with some great vocals by Ryan Osterman. Death is a relief that brings some brutality to the fore, it's reminiscent of deafheaven in parts but still entirely their own beast.  Empty Vials is another huge track as it pummels its way towards some climatic brutal screams and pounding drums with a lovely mix of electronic and digital atmospheric sounds included in the mix to great effect. The album consistently lulls you into a false sense of security before making you feel uneasy again at their command. 

The use of extra percussion and instrumentation really adds to the album too, noticeably so in Dimensional Bleed as it teases you in before giving way to a heavy slab of post metal horror and leading on from that to a mix of deftones and The Cure on Sightless, there's almost an 80's feel to Void of Light as it weaves its way around some gentle dynamics before their big black metal payoff. Trueloss is a relentlessly noisy affair which just soars and soars until you just about think you can't take it any more and we're back into their atmospheric little world for closer Blood Memory which has so much going on texturally that you just want to dive inside the music and let it take you over. 

Dimensional bleed races from the beautiful and serene to moments of ugly black metal but it all flows cohesively and you'll find something new with each listen as the band have really managed to create something special and deserve to gain an even stronger following off the back of this record.

The band are currently on tour in the UK

. HOLY FAWN UK TOUR DATES:

September 26 Manchester, UK Deaf Institute September 27 Glasgow, UK The Garage (Attic) September 28 Nottingham, UK Bodega September 29 Bristol, UK Exchange September 30 London, UK 229