#guitars are HARD TO DRAW IN PERSPECTIVE

[lice-haver]

Friendly reminder that Will Solace canonically sang a song so pretty it made little yellow flowers grow up out of the ground.

[hools]

Sorry if this is a weird question, but how do you come up with your drawings? What does through your mind while making them? I find your compositions so gorgeous and intriguing but I can't really figure out how you approach things since everything's very shifty and abstract. It's really gorgeous work, I'm so glad I discovered your art :,)

hey first of all this isnt a weird question at all & i'm really glad you enjoy my art heheheheheehe. there's an incoming large largely unformatted block of text that i hope you dont mind!

Honestly there are a billion things going through my mind at a time while I'm drawing and they all sort of bump into each other and cancel each other out like opposing particles. If you've seen any of my streams i'm usually very fast and iterative in a lot of my process and i rarely ever slow down even past the early parts like thumbnailing and sketching. i kind of let my hands do the talking more, yknow? but even then theyre never talking about a single thing at a time. everything interacts with everything, which is probably why i always end up getting lost and meandering. composition is not independent from color & value and neither are they from texture and perspective. its hard thinking of all of the ways they mesh and react to one another so i spend less of my energy thinking and more of it doing, and then assessing once something interesting comes about it. i guess then i prioritize my Hand Movement Actioning and Eye Vision Seeing over my Brain Neuron Assessing. but even though iterations can come and go quick this kind of informed throwing-against-the-wall isn't really the Fastest. but its fun. and you get to stuff all the unused ideas in your pocket for later.

even though i did say how connected everything is i always seem to start with composition. it kind of affects and informs everything the most at least on an individual piece level. with thumbnails & composition in general i think youre supposed to think huge right. so i Always think huge. push everything as much as you can. start with a crazy angle (not necessarily angle meaning "perspective" but like an angle between two lines) and border your scene within it. take an already steep foreshortening and steepen it further with the transform tool & see what shapes form from the empty & filled space. shrink your subject to only fit 3/4ths of the canvas and build around it to make it work. blow things up (enlargen) and blow things up (remove & obliterate). with composition you have so much room for fuckery if you give yourself the grace to accept the fuckiness.

and i guess this freedom to fuck around and iterate and build and build and build upon comes from how most of the time my initial ideas are very. vague? abstract like you've said. sometimes its Just a song or a song lyric and nothing else (no characters to attach to just the feel and my gut). sometimes its a less than 5 word phrase i felt strongly about throughout the day. in my me-only discord server i have messages in #to-draw channel that just say shit like "something about guitar straps" "thanks for knowing me!" "angel don't look at me" "DITHER QUEEN" (<-been meaning to make something with that). for things that have specific guidelines i spend more time thinking conceptually (the "rare animal" coelacanth drawing being an example) but otherwise it mostly comes out after. again. the first strokes. after you put the meat and bones on the canvas. an artist at a workshop i was at last year when i was in my own head about Needing to have a fleshed tangible Profound concept before being able to start something told me not to underestimate the stories that can be told just by your hands. and i think thats what stuck with me the most.

& one last thing i wanna mention is how despite how much i revel in the chaos of the process ive found how important limits are. i don't like cutting back on everything but i like cutting back on some things. sometimes i cut out backgrounds for solid fills and i love them that much more. sometimes i have little subconscious rules in a piece that i try not to break to keep a little level of consistency. if somethings a big wonderful mess already then i love a limited pallet and i love keeping parts empty and i love being able to breathe a little. yknow. but still go over the top in the other parts you have so much permission to. less is more but have a little more in your art than less. YKNOW?

but yeah thanks again for your kind words and wanting to listen to me talk. i havent been drawing much at all so these arent too fresh on the mind but i think i got a lot of what i wanted to say out. i hope u and others can get things out of this! if i made any sense <3

[firewalkzwit]

submission // hobie brown x reader (one-shot)

reader is a messy rockstars gf vibe groupie that goes to see hobie's band and catches a ride with them hihi :> also in this story hobie lives in a musty apartment instead of his boat just for the 70s punk appeal

warnings: 18+, everyone in this fic is gross, blood and violence, mentions of drugs, smut, hints of dom reader??

word count: 1.9k

AO3

Pushing and tackling your way into the front row was something you had learnt to do as an experienced band follower. Nothing gave you more rush than finally reaching the artists by inches, merely separed by the height of the stage. You were a sucker for the dopamine rush whenever they would crouch and offer their microphones so you could sing with them, or when they would gift you a smile or a wink.

It was one of those days, your friends had invited you to see an emergent band playing downtown, in a nasty cramped pub just like you liked it, as the best and noisiest bands always came from those.

Their performance was loud, chaotic and frenzic, the pogoing pushing you and your friends in and out of different circles and strategically taking advantage of the agitation, you pushed and jumped your way to the front row.

You'd watch perplexed as you yelled incomprehended words trying to follow their choruses, hyped holding your hand up in frantic gestures. Your eye makeup had smudged all around your face, and the sweat glistened on your forehead as the lights illuminated you.

Despite the mess in your face, you couldn't care less, your focus nailed on the piercing gaze of one of the members. Your eyes had paced around the band as if picking an objective, they were all pretty fit as your friends would describe them, motivated to make your way backstage or catch a ride from the crew.

His fingers swiftly pressed and slid on the guitar's chords syncing their movement in inconsistent coordination. His head would ocasionally tilt down to look at his instrument, and whenever he'd look up, his gaze would point over to you.

Neglecting his guitar and falling out of tune, he distracted himself gifting her a wink and sticking his tongue out at her. The band would often insult and provoke the audience, jumping and name-calling, exhacerbating the agitation in the crowd. The public was naturally growing violent, pogo was agitating further and people were tossing and breaking things. A particularly upset individual triggered by the guitarist's slowed pace aimed a smashed bottle at him, hitting hard against his face.

He snarled a muffled curse as he laughed erratically, wobbling in his place clearly under the influence. Blood gushed down his cut lip and nose, to which he'd spit and rub his face on his shoulder, smearing the gory scene on his face.

He'd play faster and would often fall out of tune, just to spite the growing anger in the audience. You on the other hand thought the show to be incredibly amusing. The agitation and adrenaline inducing rise in conflict and the music morphing into sheer noise as you observed from both perspectives in the front row enlivened you.

His blood dripped drawing a trail down his sharp chin and through his neck, drops splattering the stage and his limbs whenever he'd shake his head. Although bloody, sweaty and on drugs, to you he could not possibly look more attractive, and he had long noticed you staring, gifting you a smile with red teeth as the blood filtered into his mouth.

Once the show was done, you got dragged out by your friends before you could do anything to try making it backstage. The police were likely to soon show up given the disturbances and attacks, but as you walked away, a strange arm wrapped around your shoulder and pressed you tightly against an unknown torso.

To your surprise, one of the band members was holding you and one of your friends on each of his sides, looking back and forth between you and her with a grin.

"You ladies need a ride? Where are you from?"

Being honest, from around. Responding to your objectives, from out of town. You exchanged looks of conviction with your friend before lying.

"We're from out of town." Your friend responded with a grin.

"Ah I see, 'got a place to stay? We got plenty of room to accomodate you girls if you fancy a place yea?"

And before you could even catch a taxi back home, you and your friends were in the back of a black van carried between instruments and cramped against other band members. They would chat small talk lively with your friends, but you remained quiet, exchanging looks with the bleeding gutiarrist who grazed his hand over his bloody nose as it kept spurting down.

He smiled, and asked for your name in a deep voice with a cockney accent, before continuing to silently wipe his nose and resting his blood-stained hand on his thigh, legs spread occupying precious space as he leaned against the surface of the van.

Making a sudden stop, the band members hopped down from the vehicle agitating eachother to get down as the driver scolded them off. Your friends looked back at you and waved as they were guided across the street with the rest of the band, leaving you and the guitarist completely alone in a dark street.

He stared at you for a long second, seemingly zoned out before his bloody hand gripped your wrist, taking you into his apartment in silence. You walked behind him, dusty untied boots stomping as you struggled to clumsily follow his pace. His trembly hand erratically unlocked the door before letting her in to a messy scene.

He kicked cans and trash out of the way and crouched to clear up the mattress on the floor, apologizing for the mess you couldn't care less about. As he stood back up, he turned to find you shockinlgy close to him, your warm hands sliding underneath his tee and caressing his bare torso.

Goosebumps rushed up his arms without you noticing, indecisively wrapping them around your waist to pull you closer, hips colliding against his spinky belts and his groin. Your thumb traced down his cheekbone before pulling him in for a kiss, the iron smell and salty taste of his drying blood on your lips inviting you to clean him up with your damp kisses.

Your heated bodies followed eachother lumbering towards the mattress, as he fell on his butt with your thighs wrapping around his hips, sitting on his lap. He pulled out from his pocket a capsule with pills, popping one into his mouth.

As his hand offered you one, you looked around and at who was in front of you, realizing as anecdotic the situation would be for the future, you couldn't do this as sober as you were. He placed the pill on his tongue before pulling you in for another kiss, the pill wobbling in and out of eachother's mouths before you swallowed it.

You quickly noticed his inside lip also had a cut and often bled inside his mouth, mixing with your saliva as your tongue tangled with his in an uncoordinated make out session, his lip ring pressing against your lips everytime you kissed and sucked.

As you made out, you rocked your hips slightly on his lap, feeling him grow under you in excitement as you provoked him with your graze.

"Stand up." You whispered into his ear as your hand caressed his face, his kisses softly staining you with blood on your cheek and neck. He questioned nothing, getting up as he held your hips, looking at you up and down with temptation.

You bent down on your knees as you released his tight pants from his belts and gifting him a smirk as you unbuttoned and pulled down the zipper with a tempting slow pace. His hands fidgetted on their place and his gaze switched between you and his surroundings; he was nervous.

"You've ever done this before?" You interrogated with intrigue.

"Do what?"

"You know..." Your hands holding his hips traced down to his pelvic area, stroking his cock underneath the boxers. He gasped slightly as he twitched, you rapidly caught on to what you were handling.

"Oh my God.. You're a virign." You teased with a smirk, to which he chuckled lightly as a grin drew on the side of his face awkwardly. You were obviously more experienced than he was, contrary to what you would expect given the musicians you had slept with before were usually very gifted in the art of fucking.

Contrary from turning you off, it flattered you to be the first to him, knowing you'd signify an important stage of his life. Pulling his boxers down to reveal his hard cock pulsating in desire, you smiled in temptation. Although an inexperienced virgin, he was still hungry for you.

Your lips wrapped around his fat dick, the sheer contact of your warm mouth against his member making him sigh off a muffled moan. He tried to keep to himself the noises he wanted to make as he felt the pleasure of your damp mouth suck on him, gripping his hips.

His body twitched, and eventually he stopped trying to contain his moans, huffing in satisfaction. Suddenly and to his surprise, you stopped. Getting up, you begun to pull your shorts down and rid yourself from your boots, pulling him down to you and inviting his hands to free your chest from your tight top.

As he helped you naked, revealing your breasts, you wrapped your arm around his neck as you layed down with him on top, heated kissing as your other hand accomodated his salivated cock into your wet pussy.

The first feeling of your tightness tightly wrap around his dick sent him into a spiral, his hands gripping her hair instinctively in a rush of excitement. He felt so good, and the lewd noise that came out of your mouth when he entered you caused him a frenzy. He pulled in and out slowly and trying to get ahold of the rhythm, speeding up progressively as your cunt stretched to fit him.

"Fuck-" He murmured under his breath, feeling the warmth of your breath right under his ear. He ocasionally leaned to lower his head and kiss your neck, twitching as he felt he was about to come.

He moaned progressively louder, trying to ram you as best as he could to please you, your thighs wrapped around his waist. Before he could dump his load in you, your legs let go of him and you pulled away, his cock sliding out of you as he incorporated himself in confusion.

"Not in me." You sat up and pushed him up, himself kneeling up to receive your mouth again. This time was only faster than the first one, quickly re-setting the climax that allowed him to finally cum. His warm sticky load filling your mouth.

As you backed up and got up to spit, he rested on the bed naked as he watched your figure walk into the small bathroom. It was his very first time, and although guided completely by you, his experience had been orgasmic, pleasured by the range of balmy sensations experienced through the different parts of your body.

As he watched you approach and sit beside him, he leaned his head on your shoulder as his arm rested on your torso, feeling you grab his hand and rest it on your chest.

"You think you'll write a song about me? This being your first shag and all..." You teased as his hand massaged the fullness of your breast.

"I just might."

i’d like to believe hobie wrote a song like submission after his experience w y/n

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

Penance + (knock-off) Ambrosia

still alive, slowpokes :P

When -- during the meal at the Greene's Farm as seen in S02 Chupacabra. After Shame on a plate.

What -- Carol wanted to cook a communal dinner for the Greenes in thanks for all they've done to help your group. Under the weight of Otis' death as well as possibly having to vacate to God-knows-where, the shared meal is tense. Meanwhile, Daryl's busy beating himself up alone in his room and won't eat.

Relationships -- slow burn Daryl x You

Perspective -- You 2nd, Daryl 3rd

Pronouns -- neutral

TWs -- some language, and a non-descriptive allusion to Shane's actions in Stuck in a damn bed.

Masterlist -- Official one here and Chronological one here

feedback is nice to get :D

Jimmy’s note to you reads: “What’s a pirate’s faverite letter?”

Easy, you know this one!

After double-taking at the typo, you scribble back “aRRRR!” and pass it to where he sits beside you, a smug grin tucked in your face. Only rule is: don’t laugh.

Yo, this table is fun, you’re not even embarrassed about being in your mid-twenties and sitting at the kiddie table. It’s too bad Carl tired himself out earlier, he’d be in stitches!

Oh, come to think of it, that wouldn’t be good, his actual stitches are still healing. So are yours, for that matter…

Anyway, it started off as a silly thing: Not 5 minutes into the meal, Beth had tiptoed to get her drawing pad from the den and wrote “please pass white gravy + pepper?” instead of whispering it, because supper had/has been that darn quiet.

This immediately (and somehow wordlessly) turned into the no-laugh competition you’ve all got going.

Granted, laughing out loud might would make the dinner a little less stiff, but you aren’t certain.

The big table seems rough. They’re barely making eye contact, not really talking, eesh.

Before dinner began, Patricia, Lori, and Carol were chatting as they finished up the cooking, and at the same time there was light discussion as you were helping wash the dishes and set the table with your friends. Even Lori exiting Carl’s room after plainly having been crying didn’t alter the good jibing any, things were chill.

But when everyone came in, sat down together? It got uneasy. When Mr. Greene said the blessing it almost felt too loud.

Now the room is limited to clinking, scraping noises, murmured niceties, and hushed requests to pass things.

You did almost lose the no-laugh game first when Glenn quietly mimicked the way Gollum said “what’s taters, precious?” because you whispered at him to “pass the mashed taters, please?” instead of ‘potatoes.’ Don’t fret, you’d obviously murmured back the only correct response of “po-tay-toes?” as well as the cooking instructions Sam says in the movie.

You almost lost it again when Glenn next decided to break the silence by asking the entire room if anybody knew how to play the guitar. The crickets that followed, hilarious!

Except, then Patricia spoke up that her husband had known, Mr. Greene agreed about how skilled Otis had been.

Oh, did the tension spike.

First thing you'd done was peek around to see if Shane was okay. He wasn’t.

His expression had taken on that 1000 yard stare sort of deal he’s been slipping into. Scared, lost. Then hard and almost mean.

Something got broke in him real bad that night Otis got killed. It’s scary, especially considering how he snapped at you yesterday and even…never mind, you don’t want to get into it.

At any rate, he made a very serious apology to you earlier today, very serious.

So, yeah, the room turned way more tense after that innocent guitar question, certainly sobered you up right quick.

And the strange sensation you’d had after Amy got killed, the one where it felt as if her blood was back on it, it started to come back pretty strong. Granted, it had come back after what happened with Shane the other day, too, but the sensation revved up more after the guitar question. Rest in peace Otis.

And at least to you, it made the unspoken understanding of Sophia twist harder, too.

When poor Jimmy got teary when his dad was brought up, you traced a blessing on his forehead and set to scribbling the next dumb joke you could think of on another scrap of paper for him and reminded yourself your hand was clean and that Otis and Sophia’s fates weren’t on you.

As for poor Glenn, once the exchange was over, he looked like he wanted to transform into a chair.

Silver lining was that Maggie helped him feel better; she slipped him a note that must’ve been a really good joke because Glenn seemed giddy as a schoolboy as he wrote down the punchline or whatever.

‘Schoolboy’ is definitely the best term — Mr. Greene and Dale happened to see Glenn sneaking back his response and were staring at the folded paper in his hand.

It’s kinda silly, right? Not only were you, Margaret, and Glenn sat at the kid table, but you were also acting like kids, what with the note-passing. Caught by the principal lol.

In the moment, you’d figured might as well, and so scribbled in big letters on the back of the notepad itself: “Too quiet, so we pass notes!”

When you held it up to the two of them, Dale read the words, swallowed a smile, then mouthed "troublemaker" to you.

As for Mr. Greene, his expression was, per usual, unreadable.

That was, what, all of 10 minutes ago? And it’s still a quiet, tense meal.

Maggie hasn’t taken the note from Glenn out her pocket to share it. A part of you hopes it’s something sweet, therefore private.

And, well, right now, you’re staring at your plate and thinking on how you’ve already got helping #2 on it. It makes you wonder if the quiet in the room, tense as it feels, might could be related to the food?

’Cause dude, it’s been so long since a hot meal this good!

Even the heartbreak about Sophia isn’t enough to stop the cravings from going into overdrive (not true, actually, but the meal is great, is what you mean)—and Carol orchestrated the dinner, anyway. She’s in a place where even she can eat, so…

Wiping your hand on your napkin again (and again), you take another sip of water, and fidget with your fork and knife.

God save you, you want to go hog wild on the food and shove it all into your mouth in one fell swoop. So, you know, maybe everyone else is also extra quiet to focus on eating politely and not stuffing it all in their face like half-starved hamsters, too.

That’s a nice thing to imagine, rather than it being gonna-get-kicked-off-the-property-and-we’re-very-sorry-Otis-is-dead-and-are-we-allowed-to-enjoy-things-when-Sophia-is-probably-dead? tenseness.

Because the food really is so yummy! And there are potatoes! Carol was so thrilled to find out they have potatoes! And there’s dairy! Therefore butter and cream and milk — hallelujah!— oh, you did a happy dance the second a forkful of the mashed taters touched your lips!

Back to the present, as you set to crafting an unnaturally large bite featuring a taste of everything from your plate, Jimmy is reading your response to his pirate joke while — grinning wide and shaking his head?

Then, you see as he scratches with the pen again on the note in his lap and hands it back to you.

Is not a pirate’s favorite letter R? What other letter could it…

You keep chewing while you open the folded note.

It reads:

“aRRRR? Nay, ‘tis the C!”

…

…

OH MY GOSH—

___________________________

Him

___________________________

A familiar laugh belted out from down the hallway where they was all doing dinner. This was followed by couple seconds of silence even more dead than the dinner already sounded.

But after that? It was as if a dam had burst and carried in pack of hyenas who quickly overtook the dining room.

He next thought he heard the word “pirate,” but that made no sense. A few minutes later, the hyenas seem to have left, judging by how shit got all quiet again.

That is until another noise, this time suspiciously moan-like, called out from the dining room. Within a second or two, he heard the food’s praises sung, T-Dog leading the charge, and, well, the din stayed put after that.

One, big, happy family.

Minus one missing little girl.

Daryl hadn’t touched his plate yet, hadn’t moved from his spot on the bed. Didn’t feel like eating.

How those dickbags was having a dinner was beyond him at that point.

The search today was a bust, yet again. The neighborhood T-Dog’s group went to check was mostly burned down, and the highway spot set up for Sophia was still untouched.

Carol’s words to him wouldn’t shut up, neither — and why in the hell she gave him a kiss on his head?!

“You did more for my little girl that day than her own daddy ever did in his whole life,” she’d told him.

Can you believe that shit? “You did more for my little girl that day than her own daddy ever did in his whole life.” If failing and getting benched for a week was the best that little girl ever got, she had a piss poor life, and that fact whipped Daryl on the back harder than his own old man ever had.

Speaking of, when Carol brought him his tray, she hadn’t knocked. Meaning, Daryl hadn’t had time to pull the sheet over his shoulder before she walked in. His shirt had been off.

Daryl’s hope was that it’d been dark enough in the room that she wouldn’t see the scarring, just the tattoos. It's his own damn fault— he hadn’t felt like putting his shirt back on after Patricia checked his stitches, and house got warm from the cooking, besides. And because he didn’t care to slump out of bed and wrench open the window more, he stayed shirtless and decided to simply kick off his blankets.

Joke’s on him. And now, someone else had seen them.

He could just about hear Merle tell him, “quit wallowin’ like you’re on your period, Darylina.”

Well, Merle wasn’t really there, so Daryl would wallow all he wanted, and think on Carol telling him that he was also “every bit as good as them.”

As Rick, as Shane, as T-Dog, as Glenn, as — fuck, who cares, it didn’t matter. Because Daryl was not.

Carol wasn’t the best judge of character, just look at the turd she’d married.

“You did more for my little girl that day than her own daddy ever did in his whole li—”

—A steady knocking sounded at the door, breaking up the echoes of Carol’s words and setting Daryl on edge.

Yup, it was Y/N’s knocking, no mistaking it.

“Just open it!” was the loudest he’d spoken all day. He didn’t want to be around people, was that such a big ask?

There was a pause before he heard the door open a crack.

“Would you prefer to be left alone awhile longer?” his friend asked softly.

The annoyance Daryl had felt eased and drained off. His whisper was hopefully loud enough for Y/N to hear. “What is it?”

After another pause, whatever they said in response was too quiet and blocked by the door. All Daryl heard was “Red furseh?”

“Y/N, y’can just come in,” he relented. He even bothered to turn toward the door for them, except, his friend hadn’t opened it up yet.

“A-Are you decent?”

Am I…what, did they think he had his hand down his pants or something? “Yes.”

He watched as the door opened and Y/N (nervously?) looked at him, eyes flitting down along the bedsheet.

Goddamn, Y/N really did just worry if I had my hand down my pants.

“Are you ready for seconds?” Y/N repeated, relaxing.

Got it, that’s what they’d been asking from the doorway.

Daryl responded by way of a gruff, soft, “Nah.”

Another pause.

“Do you feel sick? Or are you,” they tilted their head and frowned again, “‘wallowing’ ain’t the right word — are you beatin’ yourself up, Daryl?”

Yes, somebody has to. “What do you want?” If Y/N could not hit the nail on the head right now, that would be great. He had a bandage on it, after all…

“I’m-I’m asking ’cause the symptoms are usually the same, I mean,” his friend started walking toward the bed as if they was hesitant to do it, “you ain’t even touched your plate, your voice is — for real, sugar, d’you feel sick, depressed, or both?” Saying this, they laid their wrist against his forehead.

“Careful, I got a bandage!” was stupid of Daryl to grunt, because it was coming off tomorrow morning and because Y/N was careful, but he grunted it anyway. Just — why’d they need to use that pet name?

“There were a whole lot of ways you could have contracted yourself an infection, and, well, y-your shirt is off. Ain’t never seen you do that, um…” Y/N inhaled, then exhaled slowly, and pulled their wrist away. “You are kinda warm, but it is warm in here. Really warm, actually, um, d’you want the window open more?”

Yes, please. “M’fine.”

He shifted back onto his side and resumed staring into space.

“Let me do somethin’ for you before I go,” Y/N gently insisted. “Please.” They put a soothing-type tone on. Normally, a tone like that would cause him to feel belittled or pitied, but, he didn’t know, maybe after this week he was used to it. And, he didn’t know, maybe pity wasn’t such a bad thing.

“First, would you like a shirt, or are you good?” his friend asked.

‘Would he like a shirt,’ hell yes, he would like a shirt.

The tugging sensation in his chest came back for a sec. Y/N had a knack for hitting the nail on the head with him. And while the offer was both innocent and loaded, he started to feel as if his soul had been stripped bare-naked in front of them again.

The fact that he’d even let them see his back had been a lapse, a huge lapse. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking.

But, if right now he didn’t act like it was the worst thing, he hated hated hated people seeing, nobody was supposed to see, weren’t nobody’s damn business! a big deal, it wouldn’t be, right?

Which is why Daryl decided to make no effort to cover up more at that moment, so that nothing would seem off. It made his skin crawl to not, it made him feel cornered, but he left the sheet where it was and decided to kick Y/N out.

Yet, strangely, instead of hoarsely grunting at them to 'leave him be' like he thought he was about to, he softly admitted, “Yeah.”

Y/N grabbed the clean, folded shirt and pants that Lori had brought and placed it beside him.“Here’s your pants, too, make it easier in the morning when you get discharged. Miss Patricia will come in and you’ll be all ready!” A nod at his untouched meal. “Want the plate to stay, or go?”

“Take it.”

“Positive? Carol, Lori, and Patricia went ham cookin’ the food. Literally, they cooked some salt ham, but there’s also a little of the fish left that Andy caught for me, if you’d prefer?” They tried to entice him more. “The green beans are fresh, the veggie casserole is creamy, and the mashed taters got fresh butter in ’em? There’s white and brown gravy…”

The thought of eating was tempting as hell, he’d give it that. He was hungry and the food smelled amazing. Still, he shook his head. The thought of putting a bite in his mouth made him feel sick.

Y/N looked a little disappointed, but accepted his decision with a tiny, forced smile. After a beat, their smile turned real. “You’ll get awarded MVP for not touchin’ your plate tonight,” they teased. “It’ll get shared well. I don’t reckon there’ll be crumbs left at the rate we’re hoovering it down, I-I accidentally already had thirds. But, um,” they added, biting their lip. “Dare, in a little while, please might can I bring you a bowl of dessert, in the least? You must be terrible hungry by now and you need to eat if you’re gonna heal, hon.”

He just sorta stared back, didn’t know what to answer yet. Them using a pet-name again wasn’t helping none.

This was no problem for Y/N, who seemed to have begun nervous-jabbering. “When I told Jimmy there was dessert, his eyes got all big. I’m not gonna lie, it was so darn cute. But I didn’t ruin the surprise and tell him what it is, I just winked and let him imagine. Do you wanna know what it is?”

His cheeks warmed. “What is it,” Daryl dutifully responded.

“It’s a surprise!” was the completely expected answer. Y/N looked very pleased. “But it involves hand-whipped cream,” they sing-songed.

___________________________

You

___________________________

You haven’t seen anyone’s mood here drop as low as Daryl’s has in the past few days, not since Andrea’s did after Amy died. Not even Shane after what happened to Otis, he’s handling the pain differently.

But just now when you enticed Daryl with the notion of whipped cream, he almost smiled, you saw it!

Victory!

And, before you went to Daryl’s room to see if he wanted more, you’d walked over to the big table and whispered in Shane’s ear that when dessert was served, he should wake Carl to give him a bowl and get “cool uncle points,” and he smiled, too!

Victory!

Why do you feel like you are personally responsible for holding everyone’s shit together?

Like, even at the dinner, after you’d burst out laughing, it felt so good to have eased the tension in the room, even if by accident. Then, when you heard the laughter dying down and the room going quiet again, you felt as if you’d just failed. So, you had to fix it.

Cue you to shove a big bite into your mouth and loudly moan about how good it was in the hopes that saying so would keep the momentum going. And prompt Hershel to accept your people, change his mind, keep your family safe, and keep everyone together because what if you personally aren’t trying hard enough or doing it the right way and things fall apart? Who’s fault will it be? Why does your stupid hand feel like Amy’s blood is on it again? Dale already explained how it’s ‘self-reproach because of survivor’s guilt,’ so why can’t you shake it off?

Okay, chill out, it’s not all on you. You’re not responsible, you cannot control and fix it all, it’s not all on you.

Surrender it up, and trust.

Offer it up and trust…

Thankfully, Theodore had joined in with your noise of appreciation, declaring, “I second that, mmm-mm!”

Good Moses, you could’ve legit knelt down and pledged him your fealty (or whatever it is squires did for knights in shining armor).

Heck, you were tempted to ignore the age difference and propose marriage to him instead, you were that relieved that he’d gone with it, because it prompted those at the big table to join.

Shane was right there for you, too. “This meal is hittin’ all the marks,” he quietly praised, “ain’t had grub this good in a while.”

Then there was a toast (thank you, Ricky and T-Dog), and things stayed fairly light after that. Light and comfortable.

And only during your last bite, when you noticed everyone else had seconds (…or thirds…), was it that you scrambled off, mid-chew, to Daryl’s room to see what he wanted for seconds and maybe convince him to join everyone.

Instead, you were met with an untouched plate and a man who’s voice could barely raise above a gruff whisper. So, you had to try and fix it, obviously, even if the only thing that would actually fix it is finding the little girl who everyone’s hearts have already mourned.

“Wha’ was so funny earlier?” Daryl suddenly surprises you by asking.

You snort. “We were trying to see who’d break first and laugh — this is at the kiddie table, by the way.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“Psht,” you play-grumble. “But yeah, I lost the game big time. I’d just taken a very impolite sized-bite of food, too. Ain’t never swallowed a bite that big in my entire life, but I didn’t want to snarf in front of everyone!” Way to overshare, weirdo. “Oh, right, you’ll probably want to know the joke,” you remember. You can get scatterbrained when you’re carrying on. “What’s a pirate’s favorite letter?”

“A pirate’s what?”

“Favorite letter.”

“A pirate’s favorite…” Daryl makes a low, soft hum as he exhales. “Didn’t, uh, wasn’t most pirates illiterate?”

“Bro.”

“I dunno, um, the…P,” is the gem he comes up with.

Bless his heart, has Daryl never heard the ‘arrr’ joke before?

“Why a P?” you’ve simply gotta know.

“P…P for pirate, and peg-leg and um, eye-patch, and, the uh, they got parrots. That’s a lotta Ps.”

The immediate gut reaction you have is the strong desire to gasp with delight and smooch him square on the lips WHAT THE, why did his answer turn you on?? Oopsy lol, yeah, gross, no way. You meant to say, um, ah,…?!?

Anyway, you unfortunately end up squealing, “Oh Lord, that was hot.”

It’s fine, you slip in a ‘dude’ right after. “C’mon, dude, what do pirates say? Like the, the sound they make in movies and books?”

“I don’t, uh…'Yo-ho…ho?'”

That’s now you, belly-laughing, even as it makes your stitches pinch more. “No, the noise they make, like, when they’re mad or tryin’ act all scary.”

Hold the darn phone, is he — good Moses in heaven with the angels and saints, Daryl Dixon is blushing.

He’s gone from plain to red splotches on his cheeks, it’s visible even in the low lighting. The inconvenient butterflies start fluttering around in your stomach again, but this is such an unexpected treat, who cares? Ha!

“No way you’re turnin’ red, nerd,” you whisper.

“Stop,” he grunts in his way, and his eyes are crinkled and his mouth is threatening to grin.

A pleasing shiver travels down when you scrunch your pointer finger into a hook. “Arrr,” you enunciate with spot-on cartoonish flair, if you say so yourself.

His eyes shut when the punchline hits him. “Sonofa—it’s R, then?”

Hot damn, is this joke satisfying. “R? Nay nay, boy, ’tis the C!”

___________________________

Him

___________________________

That he’d gone from wishing he were left for dead in a ditch to laughing out loud in the few minutes his friend was in the room with him…Y/N was something else.

A weirdo, too.

The dessert was ambrosia, by the way, Y/N eventually came back into the room with two bowls of it. “Ambrosia” was a loose term; it didn’t have none of the usual stuff but for the pecans and cream dressing.

“It’s peach, raspberry, wild blueberry and pecan ambrosia with hand-whipped cream — Glenn won’t even know to miss the marshmallows!” Y/N had chirped.

Him telling them it was “knockoff ambrosia” (as a joke) only lead to them pursing their lips, giggling, then immediately going back to happily twittering on how: “Lori hand-whipped it to make it extra special, and Carol added a mite bit of buttermilk to get the tang it needs. Can’t wait to taste how it came out…”

Their little food dance as they took the first bite was cute.

And shiiit, the little moan they made as they shut their eyes and tilted their head back shouldn’t have been enough to turn his thoughts sexual, but yeahhh did it. The cabin fever was apparently messing with his dick, too, great.

But, like, why did Y/N say something he did was “hot?” Was it slang for something else, other than what he knew it usually meant?

“Dare, what do you think?” Another quiet, hummed moan, and then Y/N opened their eyes and saw that he hadn’t tasted any. “Oh, Daryl, c’mon and try some? It’s heavenly. I think I’m dying, it’s so yummy.”

Nah. As good as Y/N was making it seem, he couldn’t, and so, shook his head.

But then his friend said something that, weird as it was, for some reason hit the nail on the head for him once more. It was as if there Y/N was, seeing his soul bare-naked again.

“If I were your confessor,” they began so casual-like, “other than explaining how accidental injury ain’t sinful, I’d tell you your penance was to eat what’s in front of you.”

Y/N almost took another bite as if in example, but hesitated before the spoon reached their lips. The light expression they wore dimmed and turned serious. “All you’ve gone through this week isn’t divine justice, that ain’t how God operates. It was an accident. Just like Sophia. It, it wasn’t no test or punishment what happened to her. It was just a… a bad thing,” they hushed, eyes fixed on their bowl, spoon. With an empty half-laugh, they mumbled, “Suddenly can’t stand the thought of food, now, neither.”

With that, Y/N put the bowl to the side and didn’t seem to know what to do next other than maybe cry, by the look of them.

Daryl would’ve missed it if he’d gone back to spacing out and wallowing, but from the corner of his eye he noticed them wipe their palm on their knee a few times as if to dry it off.

He recognized what was going on, or was pretty sure, anyway.

After Amy got killed, Y/N had this messed up thing go on with the hand, the one they’d used to try and stop her from bleeding out. For a few days, it felt to them as if Amy’s blood was still on it and wouldn’t clean off.

Back when Sophia first went missing, he noticed their hand thing came back a little that first afternoon.

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s clean.”

“What is?”

“Your hand.”

They took an extra beat to respond. “I-I know. It’s nothin'.”

“It’s clean,” he repeated, which resulted in Y/N bowing their head. “Ain’t nothing there, Y/N. Lemme see?”

His friend lifted their head back up, raised their hand for him, and shrugged. “Dale says it’s a guilt thing.”

Yeah, he could see that.

“It's not on you to fix everyone’s everything,” he needed to say. Y/N seemed like they didn’t remember that sometimes.

“Ayy, way to come at me with a hammer,” his friend answered with a dry smile. “I know I can’t fix everyone’s stuff,” they spoke carefully, their throat sounded tight. “But we’re called to help, right? After how far things have fallen, we’re called even more now to, to bring, you know, that, that light, to do what we can. And, and,” they stuttered, then took a deep breath. “I dunno. Before all this—did you ever feel like your life was stagnant? Like you was just...existing?”

Did Y/N know how well they could hit the nail on the head?

Yes, Daryl felt like his life was stagnant, it fucking was, he was a nobody! Didn’t do shit with his life, he’d just…rotted, and fixed up bikes in whatever direction his brother drifted. “Yeah.”

“That’s how I was was for years, too. Kinda floated one day after another, just tryin’ to make it to the next.”

Daryl stayed quiet. Yet again, they’d hit the nail on the goddamned head and he wanted Y/N to keep on talking.

And Y/N did, they kept chatting very matter-of-fact. “It got better, ev-eventually, I um, I got help, and then started forcin’ myself to do stuff, get out in the community, all that. Healed a bit.” They swirled their spoon around the bowl. “It didn’t fix everything boom, like: I still felt stagnant a lot, or like a failure, or that things were all my fault, still sometimes wanted to die really bad,” they shared with a shrug, very chill. “But that’s why we can’t rely on feelings, right?”

The invisible string was tugging Daryl’s whole damn torso toward them at this point and he just wanted to hold them to him and — shit, sorry, uh, he meant he wanted to pat ’em on the back, at least.

“Really, it was when the, um,” his friend bit their lip. “This is gonna sound weird.”

“Prolly, if it’s you we’re talkin’ about,” he ribbed, completely dead-pan.

His friend liked it, and even taunted back all goofy, “sure is, betch,” before their smile fell away. After a beat, Y/N quietly, quietly told him the rest. “It was when the…outbreaks happened, that I-I didn’t have to force it anymore. There was suddenly such a, a, a clear duty, clear sense of purpose, I dunno. Just—so much to do, so much to live for, and,” a big exhale, “so much work to be done.”

That explained a lot. Y/N tended to go hard, burn the candle at both ends, if that’s the right phrase.

In fact, he flat-out said so. “Is that why you push too damn hard to be ‘useful?’”

“Again with the hammer on the nail, dude. And, no, it’s—” Y/N found their words. “When you think how w-we, we might could get killed, at any second, any one of us. And how we’ll look back on it all, all our choices, and then answer what we did ‘for the least here on earth’…”

Ah, that checked out, too.

It was something, to see someone still believe in all that stuff after the world fucking ended, he’d give it that.

He used to, too. Not that he’d been any good at it.

Didn’t matter, he didn’t anymore. Not after the dead started walking.

“Now, before Teddy materializes in here to scold me, I get that ‘It’s not through our own efforts.’ And the problem I have with feelin’ worthless is a separate issue my faith helps tackle. Now, I know it ain’t about racking up works of mercy, but, dude—there’s so much work to do! And I want to do as much as —” Y/N shook their head a few times as if shaking out of it. “Sorry, I-I’ma just quit while I’m ahead, here. Oversharing Olympics.”

“Mm.” Hey, it was. “But that’s part of the deal with friends, right?” he murmured while trying to think of a good way to razz on them. “Means you trust ’em.” Y/N tended to make light about everything, so a tease would do ’em good, right? “It, like, Sunday or somethin’, preacher?”

The tease might’ve missed the mark that time, if he was seeing it correctly.

“Friday,” was all his friend mumbled back, and looked embarrassed as shit. The forced smile they offered in return — it made Daryl’s side ache more, somehow. And the way Y/N then sat there, curling their feet in and looking as if they felt…just about as small as Daryl did?

It was as if the invisible knee to the nards was connected to the invisible tugging string on his chest, because while that knee to the nards got him good, he felt that strange string tug toward Y/N big-time.

It was next, when Y/N stood up and moved to take the dishes out, that something very forceful moved in Daryl that had him sitting himself upright (sort of upright) and reaching for his bowl and spoon (oww) before his friend could get to it.

“It’s still good without the cherries and the marshmallows?”

His friend blinked. “Th-there are some, uh, it’s technically got those mini freeze-dried ones, as an extra-surprise.” They tilted their head, squinting at him in a way not unlike how Rick squinted at shit. “The Greene’s had some hot chocolate packets in the back of the pantry, we separated the marshmallows out.”

“That’s a lot of work,” Daryl commented, scooping a spoonful. Looked real pink because of the raspberries.

Y/N next twisted their mouth and almost seemed shy, when they realized what he was about to do.

It made Daryl feel good, seeing them spark up like that. And their shy smile was damn cute, as always.

“Oh, here, try mine if you’re only havin’ a bite,” Y/N asked, holding out their own bowl to him.

“Nah, m’gonna do the whole thing. It being penance and all,” he grunted, then waved his spoon at them. “You, too, go on. Do your penance.”

“My penance?”

“Yeah.” Oh goddamn, the stuff was delicious. “Have a seat, eat up.”

His friend settled on the side of the bed, still looking as if he’d caught them off-guard. They watched him eat for a few moments, and, Daryl had a random, unusual worry that he was eating too sloppy. But holy shit, fresh fruit and whipped cream!

He glanced over mid-scarfing to see Y/N nibbling on (no lie) half a pecan.

“Quit playing with yer food.”

This earned him a small huff and a “I’m savoring it.”

“White lies cost a quarter, remember.”

The amount of attitude Y/N next put into their next bite was funny. “I’b also sduffed a’ready, banjy hick,” they added with their mouth full.

Don’t smile too big, Daryl. “Penance is penance.”

“But pedaces ca be cobooted.”

Don’t smile too big! “They can be what?”

Y/N apologized, swallowed their food and their giggle, and repeated: “Penances can be commuted.”

“They can travel to work?” was his idea of a dumb joke, and this time it did the trick and he made them burst out laughing a second time.

Y/N broke into a laugh so hard they hinged forward and caused some of the cream dressing to get onto their shirt right before their spoon clattered to the floor.

“Laughing like that still hurts, you butt,” his friend wheezed, pressing their arm to their stitched-up side. They coughed a few times, still giggling, and when they thudded their chest a few times they winced. “Ow, bruise. And Lore just washed this top, too.” Another snort. “My fault for bein’ a sucker for dumb jokes, I guess. ”

“Ain’t nobody’s fault, just an accident,” he got the immediate urge to tell them, and so, did.

In response, Y/N looked at him with an expression he wasn’t sure how to read. It wasn’t a bad expression. Then, because that expression made his stomach do more flippy-floppies, Daryl gestured to their bowl again, and Y/N obligingly took another spoonful.

“Dis is so gub,” they hummed softly after taking the bite.

“Damned tasty for knockoff ambrosia,” he had to admit, joining along with another scoop of that damned tasty knockoff ambrosia.

“Do’d even deed deh bigger barshballows.”

Y/N was so fucking cute sometimes. “Or cherries.” He loved the cherries the best, after the marshmallows.

Y/N swallowed their bite.“Or the mandarins.”

“Or the pineapple.” His third favorite part.

“Oh, or the coconut,” Y/N realized, then thought out loud, “Shucks, this is a knockoff.”

“Tasty knockoff, I’d eat it again in a heartbeat,” Daryl murmured. He couldn’t believe his bowl was already empty. “Y/N, you just say ‘shucks?’”

“Shut up.” His friend shook their head and smiled. “Y’know, Daryl, this is prolly one of the top five penances I’ve ever gotten.”

“Top five?”

“One time I got ‘buy yourself something nice that you’ll get good use from. It’s okay if it’s a little expensive, it’s okay if it’s a little frivolous.’ Almost a direct quote, that. I’d been bein’ too, um,” they cleared their throat, “the priest thought I was a bit too hard on myself.”

Daryl knew whatever came next had to be something good, based on his friend’s playful little grin.

“That’s how I bought me my PS3. Pre-owned, so it was a solid deal, and it got very good use.” And with a wistful sounding exhale, they finished, “I miss that thing.” Y/N wiggled their bowl at him. “Please help me with this?”

Daryl’s mouth watered. The stuff tasted so good. Fresh, creamy, sweet, tangy.

Y/N raised their eyebrows at him and smiled.

“If I gotta,” he grunted back.

“Thanks for the assist. Plus, it’s penance.”

“Mm, guess I have to." Oh yeah, big scoop. "If it’s penance.”

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

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[rhaegang]

Transmasc Ollie in his period x hungry Vampire Felix(?)

I feel like this might exist? But also.

[Will be using a variety of terms for anatomy that may or may not be gender affirming for all readers, depending on the individual. But Oliver is not misgendered.]

Felix is a grubby little slob of a man princess, and that would be true even if he were a vampire man princess. You know he is a messy eater. As a human, he eats with his hands and gestures with his food, right?

Oliver, on the other hand, is tidy. Fastidious. And very sensitive to things he finds embarrassing or potentially humiliating.

A transmasc Oliver would likely consider menstruation one of those things. What a complete nightmare, this uncontrollable thing his body does, this thing that reminds him of his own wrongness. And on top of that, it’s messy. It smells. It’s uncomfortable and it stains his clothes. Absolutely AWFUL, every single time.

Until Felix changes his perspective on things.

If it’s Felix, Oliver doesn’t care if it’s messy. He loves Felix even when he’s a slob. And if it’s Felix, Oliver forgets his own wrongness, because Felix never seems to notice or acknowledge it as an issue.

Does Felix have any notable skill with using his mouth on a pussy? No, not really. He’s never bothered to learn. But Oliver’s special to him — if we’re thinking it’s an Oxford setting, they’re best friends. If it’s more AU, then you know, maybe Oliver’s his familiar. He’s special.

And Felix doesn’t find anything off putting about the smell. On the contrary, it’s distracting. Attractive. Appetizing.

Oliver starts to notice how much closer Felix hovers when it’s that time each month. How he tends to linger, how he inhales more sharply despite not needing to breathe.

Oliver isn’t stupid—he knows why it keeps happening. But he’s not able to come right out and acknowledge that it IS happening.

What Oliver, our beloved little freak, is able to do is this:

The next time he gets out of the bath, he skips any absorbent products. He free bleeds into his boxers (while he does his revising that afternoon, or while he’s doing his duties as familiar), and leaves those trunks conspicuously atop the laundry hamper.

And then, you can guess can’t you? He hides. He waits. He watches.

He holds his breath, grips his own knees hard, when he sees Felix pick up his shorts and stuff the wet fabric right into his mouth like the unselfconsciously messy creature he is.

He grabs his cunt and rocks against his hand, because damn, it’s disgusting, but Felix is so beautiful when he’s at his most unconcerned with the mess he’s making.

His fingers, they’re nowhere near as long and rough as Felix’s, with their big knuckles and their calluses from guitar strings, but he crams them in his hole regardless. His dick is chafing against his palm, hood dragged down and exposing the too-sensitive head. It’s too much all of the sudden, and Oliver moans.

Vampires move fast, and Oliver’s looking up into Felix’s face before his next breath.

Are words needed? What words would suffice? “Sorry I left my bloody shorts out like cheese on a mousetrap. You just keep looking at me like you want to put me in your mouth yet you never do, so desperate measures, yeah?”

No—Oliver doesn’t really have to say anything of the sort.

Because Felix is hauling him up from where he was crouching (in the closet or the antique wardrobe in the castle, or the dressing room, whatever suits the scene you’re seeing). And then Felix is grabbing his wrist, and pulling his hand away from his hole, which means the cool air kisses Oliver’s dick at about the same time Felix smears Oliver’s bloodied fingers across his own lips before he leans down to lick the mess off his face for him.

“I’d thought you’d rather me ignore it, considering, and so here I was trying to be polite.” And Felix licks his own lips as he draws back, just a few inches. “But I suppose this means you don’t mind, do you?”

Oliver shakes his head. His inner thighs are an absolute mess—he doesn’t think it’s all blood anymore.

“Good. Because I haven’t had any breakfast yet.”

Now here’s the part where Oliver being special really becomes obvious, because Felix doesn’t go to his knees for just anyone. But he drops like a stone, and he still has to lift Oliver up with both hands on his ass, until Oliver’s trembling on his tiptoes, his hips canted up toward Felix’s mouth.

Messy. Wet. Loud. Felix eats him like he’s a melon that’s just this side of too ripe — he splits Oliver open, slurps the flood of liquid that gushes from inside, then sets his jaw and tongue and teeth to work on the rest.

Oliver has watched Felix eat enough to know how he gets. Still, he’s surprised by how deep inside him Felix’s tongue reaches. He’s unprepared to have Felix’s fangs nipping at his foreskin, tugging it until it’s stretched taut. He’s sure, in fact, that he’s just died.

Because his idea of Heaven is this moment, where Felix releases his sensitive skin only to shove it back with his bloodied lips until he can get the full length of Oliver’s dick between them and suck hard, like he could drink Oliver’s body down the same way he’s just drunk his blood.

Maybe some day, Oliver’s body won’t bleed this way anymore. Maybe some day, he’ll even forget what it was like. But until that day, Felix is more than happy to make the whole experience significantly more positive for him.

And it works like a charm, every time.

[dustedmagazine]

Dusted Mid-Year 2024, Part II (Lumpeks to Z-Ro)

Rosali

Part two of our mid-year round-up provides a second perspective on albums that at least one Dusted writer loved.  Here we cover the second half, alphabetically by artist, with entries from Lumpeks to Z-Ro. 

If you missed Part I, check it out here. 

Lumpeks — Polonez (Umlaut)

Who nominated it? Bill Meyer

Did we review it? No

Ian Mathers’ take:

I’m honestly not familiar enough with either jazz or traditional Polish dance music to be able to spot or articular exactly where this intriguing and very enjoyable fusion of the two has joined them. There’s a similar feel to other acts I’ve heard that both clearly deeply respect the traditional music they draw on and are unafraid to put their own spin on that source material (both Xylouris White and Black Ox Orkestar came to mind), and as with those other cases the results on Polonez could equally be ancient or brand new. That the quartet’s main instrumentation (which also includes Louis Laurain on cornet, Pierre Borel on alto sax, and Sébastien Belief on double bass) includes steady, deep frame drumming (using a local variation called a bębenek obręczowy) from Olga Koziel (who also sings) gives it plenty of distinct character. And the mostly French group cares enough about actually understanding and respecting that traditional Polish music they made a short documentary about the field research that went into making Polonez. There’s an energetic, joyous swing to both the jazz and folk sides of Lumpeks’ music that makes the result much more than just an academic curiosity.

Mdou Moctar — Funeral for Justice (Matador)

Who nominated it? Jennifer Kelly

Did we review it? No, but we did a Listening Post. In the intro, Jennifer Kelly wrote, “The new record is as sharp and impassioned as any Moctar and his band have done so far, and it is inflamed with political energy.”

Andrew Forell’s take:

Mdou Moctar is an extraordinary guitarist and must be incredible in a live setting. The rhythms, the vocal back and forth and the moments Mochtar sprays power chords and shards of riffs that explode like bombs are all great. You feel his rage and frustration even when you don’t understand the lyrics. But the super intricate, high-speed soloing, whilst impressive, had the same effect on me as listening to electric blues-rock. I’m caught between the passion of the band, the eloquence of their anti-colonialist, pro-African politics, and the technically brilliant guitar noodling. The title track is a fantastic meld and it’s hard not be carried along but I really prefer the slower tracks, particularly “Takoba” and “Imajighen”, which lope along behind the drums while the bass darts around between entwined guitar lines and call and response vocals. Funeral for Justice is an album I admired and enjoyed hearing but, for me, the pyrotechnics get in the way.

Jessica Moss – For UNRWA (self-released)

Who picked it?  Ian Mathers

Did we review it?  Yes, Ian said, “sorrow and elegy and rage and strength all course throughout the piece.”

Bryon’s take:

This is a beautiful album born from an ugly situation.  Violinist Jessica Moss released this Bandcamp-only album to raise money for the UNRWA (United Nations Relief and Works Agency) after nation states halted funding when it was erroneously thought a few of its members were aligned with Hamas.  It’s a 42-minute suite of violin, electronics, and vocals that Moss captured at a live set in Berlin.  As someone who hasn’t had the pleasure of investigating her solo work but is enamored with her contributions to Silver Mt. Zion and other bands, I find this album to be an effective port of entry.  It swells with all the emotions that Ian describes in his review, unfurling with a beauty and grace that at times evokes stillness and at others exudes passionate fervor.  Based on this piece alone, I’ve decided that I need more of Moss’ music in my life.    

NYSSA — Shake Me Where I’m Foolish (Six Shooter)

Who nominated it? Alex Johnson

Did we review it? No.

Jennifer Kelly’s take:

NYSSA gets its kick from the charisma of the eponymous front woman, a wailing, belting, crooning dynamo, whose delivery is part punk, part roots rock, part blues and part adrenalized, corruscating confession. NYSSA’s first album, Girls Like Me, was long-listed for the 2021 Polaris Prize. This follow-up is less synthy and more rock, fleshed out by a ripping band. It’s larger in every way, from the stomping, vibrato-laced rager, “Werewolf,” to the torchy, piano-bar introspection of “Blessed Turn.” “I’m good for nothing but the hell I raise,” NYSSA intimates on the rollicking “Hell I Raise,” but she’s wrong. She’s good at lots of things.

Rosali – Bite Down (Merge)

Who picked it? Jennifer Kelly

Did we review it? Yes. Christian Carey wrote: “Rocking out is on the menu” and “the connections between pleasure and pain seem to coalesce in Rosali’s work.”

Alex Johnson’s take:

It’s a ferocious album, but intimate too. I hear a lot of Christine McVie in Rosali’s vocal. The way her delivery of “I want to feel right at the end of the day/I’m letting things come as they may” on “Rewind” contains warmth and sadness and joy and a sense of power in powerlessness that’s somewhere between cynicism and hope. It’s right out of Rumors. There’s some Fleetwood Mac in the groove of the title track too. But the spaciousness and spontaneity that Rosali and Mowed Sound capture remind me more often of the Oldham family — Will, Ned, et al. — from the raucous and inviting Viva Last Blues of “My Kind” to the clanging Anomoanon-ish country rock of “Hopeless.” 

This is music that not only lets you in but keeps you there. Like how the primordial bass drum in “May It Always Be on Offer” both grounds the rhythm and carves out a space you can practically sit in. The charismatic draw of Bite Down, though, is the guitar work. There’s so much texture and dimension in, say, the fraught duet that rips through “Change is in the Form” or the gravelly solo patched under the strings of “Slow Pain,” echoing the toughness of “maybe I’m just used to it/maybe I don’t give a shit.” With their various yelps and rumbles, the guitar tones that run through “Hills on Fire” don’t so much create the atmosphere as define it, adding a palpable, tectonic heat to the song’s otherwise easy daze.

Bite Down is a big, organic album, full of sensations — heard, articulated, and felt. Someone yells “act natural” as “My Kind” gets revved up — I’m surprised the band needed a reminder.

Thou — Umbilical (Sacred Bones)

Who nominated it? Jonathan Shaw

Did we review it? Yes, Jonathan wrote, “If we set aside Umbilical’s thorny thematics, we still have a superlative metal record, loud, as aggressive as it is palpably aggravated.”

Andrew Forell’s take:

At the end of his typically on point review of Umbilical, Dusted’s Jonathan Shaw pondered whether Thou singer Brian Funck might agree with his assertion that “pleasure isn’t what we need most from culture right now” and asked, “Should we listen to him?”. On the first point, there’s not much pleasure evident on Thou’s new album, which perversely or not appears to be this half year’s metal album de jour with even The Guardian unguarded in its praise. And yes, there are so many reasons right now when pleasure seems futile in the face of No Future. To the second point, a definite yes! Once you acclimatize to Funck’s voice, a dyspeptic shredder of a thing which renders his lyrics nigh indecipherable, the wall of sound coming at you is a caustic bath for the ears. The drums and bass a thumping foundry shaking and burning whilst the guitars surround you like a swarm of rusting chainsaws. Amidst this maelstrom, Funck screams as if his spleen is about to join his word splatter. Now, that’s a t-shirt I’d wear again without washing. Umbilical is a nasty, irate fury that I will be revisiting.

Uranium Club — Infants Under the Bulb (Static Shock)

Who picked it? Alex Johnson

Did we review it? Yes. Alex wrote, “these enigmatic Minneapolitans fling their conceptual heft in a new direction and expand their musical objectives without ceding much, if any, of their signature, careening tension.”

Patrick Masterson’s take:

When I first heard Infants Under the Bulb in the spring, it was with only a cursory commitment; I understood its tinny, furiously strummed contours, but the full thrust of its oddball conceptual heft passed me by. A second, much closer listen for this midyear exchange has proven far more rewarding, and while Alex pretty well nails what makes this record so interesting in his review, what I keep coming back to are the myriad voices across this record. I think core members Brendan Wells, Harry Wohl, Ian Stemper and Matt Stagner all take a turn behind the mic, though liner notes prove frustratingly (appropriately?) limited, and Molly Raben drives the four-part “Wall” sequence. A few points of order unite the Club and its associates — namely, all of them take pointed barbs at contemporary society in different ways, all of them play with noticeable tightness (even Raben in the New Age-y “Wall” songs), and none of them can sing. Musically, “Small Grey Man” might be an obvious single to that effect, but it’s the guitar licks in “Game Show,” “2-600-LULLABY” and “Abandoned by the Narrator” to which I keep returning. More than anything else in Alex’s review, what hits home hardest is very succinctly tucked away in its middle (my emphasis): Chorus of voices aside, Uranium Club has been and remains a great guitar band.

Waxahatchee — Tigers Blood (Anti-)

Who picked it? Christian Carey

Did we review it? Yes, Christian said, “Tigers Blood doesn’t have a weak cut on it. One imagines it will be in heavy rotation for many long after its release.”

Tim Clarke’s take:

Tigers Blood starts out promisingly enough. On opening track “3 Sisters” it’s immediately evident that Katie Crutchfield has an intensely expressive voice, plus the skill to wield it with nuance. There’s plenty of space for her to emote, then when the song takes off, it feels well earned. From there, things start to feel too rote to fully engage. The band is clearly playing in the country-rock pocket, but there are no surprises to be found in the songwriting to capitalize on the promise of that opening song. Ultimately, it mostly ends up sounding a little hokey. A genuine shame, as I had high hopes coming into this one.

Whitelands — Night-bound Eyes Are Blind to the Day (Sonic Cathedral)

Did we review it? Yes, Ian said, “Right from the start, there’s a clarity and focus in the songs here that belies their sometimes diaphanous settings.”

Tim Clarke’s take:

Right from the opening blare of guitars, British quartet Whitelands nail a particular shoegaze aesthetic: Ride’s Going Blank Again. The six-strings are loud, but with enough delay and reverb to create a blurry wall of sound, while the rhythm section keeps things punchy to give the songs plenty of momentum. Can’t say there’s anything here that quite rivals the first wave of shoegazers who combined hallucinatory sonics with catchy songwriting, but Whitelands are clearly tapping into some inspiring sounds, which will hopefully mean their next release will have its own distinct personality. 

Winged Wheel — Big Hotel (12XU)

Who nominated it? Bryon Hayes

Did we review it? Yes, Bryon wrote, “No Island hinted at Winged Wheel’s ability to craft such a sonic space, but that record was merely an appetizer for the hefty dose of momentum that Big Hotel provides.”

Christian Carey’s take:

A collection of artists who also belong to other bands, Winged Wheel coheres far more fluidly than most “supergroups.” On their second recording, Big Hotel, the band recorded in the studio together rather than remotely collaborating as they did on 2022’s Big Island. The difference is palpable, particularly in the power and execution of the rhythm section, which now includes Sonic Youth drummer Steve Shelley. At the beginning of the recording, the one-two combo of the spacy and clangorous “Demonstrably False” and “Sleep Training,” on which Whitney Johnson supplies beguiling singing amid a raft of guitar textures. The songs tend to move directly into one another, underscoring their interconnectivity. Most of them stretch out a bit, clocking in at around the six-minute mark, but “Aren’t They All” and the album-closer “From Here Out Nothing Changes” are both under three minutes. The former is a bustling instrumental featuring oscillating riffs and urgently rendered and foregrounded percussion. The latter begins with a brief, disjunct, nasal wind solo and a discordant guitar duo, that rhythm section punching away. Johnson shares a brief, delicately delivered vocal, which then disappears into a concluding maelstrom.

Z-Ro—The Ghetto Gospel (One Deep Entertainment)

Who nominated it? Ray Garraty

Did we review it? No

Jonathan Shaw’s take: Much contemporary hip hop is lost on me, and The Ghetto Gospel doesn’t do much to convince me that I should be paying more attention. That judgment has little to do with the record’s sonic qualities, which I am in no competent position to evaluate closely; but I like the mix of late-1970s hard funk, R&B swooniness and occasional flashes of (yep) gospel’s dramatics. And Z-Ro’s flow and vocals are pretty great to groove on. His seamless, artful shifts into more conventional singing, especially at some tracks’ refrains, are deft and pleasurable. But the constant focus on money—having it is unassailable proof of virility, craft, power, self-worth; when one’s antagonist doesn’t have it, or doesn’t have as much of it, that confirms he’s a fool and a loser—is by turns tedious and sort of depressing. The just as constant self-aggrandizement, endemic in the genre, is so ever-present that it’s completely unconvincing. When I can tune out the lyrics’ content, The Ghetto Gospel is just fine. Patient, cool, smooth. When, inevitably, I begin paying attention to Z-Ro’s rhymes and their themes and figures, the record irritates me. If I had the savvy to place his performances of black masculinity in hip hop’s regionally or generically specific modalities, I might find them more engaging. But that would require plowing through a lot more music, much of it singing the praises of cash as an end in itself and celebrating “pimpin” as a variety of socially compelling activity. It ain’t for me.

[pistachiopie]

✩ spark's memory's bassist piper! ✩

artfight attack i couldn't finish in time for @foxyfexyll 🫶

rambles and stuff under cut :)

used my poppy peach riot figure as a reference hehe

also guitars are so hard to draw especially in perspective >:( i have 5 layers of failed guitar attempts lol

aahhhh this was meant to be a last minute thing but i got carried away!! had too much fun rendering!!! i thought it'd take me an hour but it took me the whole day!!! I had so much fun making this though maybe I will be more committed to art fight next year :3c

piper is sooo cool I love her design so much it was such a treat getting to draw her!! now I'm curious what kinda music Spark's Memory plays...

anyways i hope you like it vex ^_^ consider this a revenge for your awesome thing!!!

[blazehedgehog]

As someone who I know is intricately familiar with Genesis music and the FM synth it uses; why is it that many people (including myself) enjoy the Genesis era Sonic music but when Jin Senoue tries to emulate that sound using Genesis synth samples (Sonic Superstars being the most recent example) it just doesn't sound very good? I know it's literally become a running joke in the community that Senoue uses the Genesis synth too much but it's not like Sonic 1 or 2 had bad soundtracks even though they used the same instrumentation, and Senoue is obviously a very talented composer, so I don't really understand why his attempts to emulate the Genesis soundtracks always turn out so mid.

The general theory I subscribe to is that with the soundtracks to Sonic 1, 2, and presumably even Sonic 3, those games were composed by people who were just writing "real" music. They would pick out real world instruments and write for that sound.

If you've never heard it before, for the 20th Anniversary, Sega put out a compilation soundtrack for Sonic 1 and 2, which included the original demo tracks Masato Nakamura wrote for those games.

Now these are basically just MIDI files, because they didn't need to be anything more than that. But you can tell he was thinking in terms of horn sections, bass guitar, and so on.

Nakamura would submit these MIDI songs on cassette to Sega, and Sega's sound engineers would transcribe those instruments into something that sounded appropriate for the Genesis hardware.

Now, Jun Senoue did the same thing, to a degree. Jun's first major Sonic soundtrack was Sonic 3D Blast on the Sega Genesis, and Jon Burton (of Traveler's Tales) revealed Jun's own demo cassette. If you listen to Jun's tracks, they're all done on the Honky Tonk/Rhodes piano. There's no attempt to utilize real world instruments or have any kind of sound diversity. [1] [2] [3] [4]

Instead of writing music for a band, he wrote music for an individual playing a keyboard.

Worse still, it has eventually been revealed as of Sonic Origins that Jun Senoue had very little awareness of how to make Genesis sounding music. Again, he only submitted his songs on cassette. He was not responsible for the FM Synthesis conversion, just the raw notes, which were all written on, and for, a keyboard.

(throwing the rest of this ask under a "read more" tag because it embeds a lot more videos and even some images)

So when it came time for Sonic 4, and they had Jun Senoue do the retro style soundtracks for those games, he was probably pretty out of his depth. He was writing for style of music he did not really have a nuanced understanding of.

So we get this crunchy, grating, disassociated "this is what the Genesis sounded like, right?" sort of sound. The musical equivalent of one of those early 2000's "How to Draw Manga" books: somebody who thinks they know what they're doing, has actual talent in other adjacent areas, but doesn't actually get this particular niche.

This is one of the reasons why I'm actually a little warmer towards Classic Sonic's music in Sonic Forces -- it's not Jun Senoue. Somebody on that project understood enough and had Naofumi Hataya handle a lot of Classic Sonic's music. He has actual experience with chiptunes and wrote something that feels like it belongs in a Sega System 32 arcade game or something.

Not every single one of Classic Sonic's songs are stone cold bangers in Forces, but at least they sound more authentically retro than Jun's attempts, because they were written by someone who knew what they were doing.

Beyond that, I don't know why Jun doesn't just, like... do better, in a sense. I suppose I don't know his composing environment and how easy or hard it is to slot in what he'd need to sound more "authentic." I just know from my own perspective how easy it is to grab a VST or a soundfont for common Genesis/Yamaha instruments.

But even then, more authentic instruments aren't going to solve the problem that this style of music doesn't seem to be his strong suit, even if somebody at Sega keeps pushing him to do it. Thankfully, I think somebody finally realized it, given how Sonic Superstars seemed to be full of his Sonic 4 style fake-retro music and most of it got replaced at the last second.

[dracothedeatheatingcupcake-ao3]

Hey everybody!! Here’s a drawing I did for the wonderful @bogglle, as part of an art trade! I wasn’t sure when I’d get the time to draw it, since I’ve been so busy lately, but I had all of Sunday free, so I just decided to crank this out, finishing after about seven-eight straight (or not straight 😉) hours of drawing. I did some touch ups yesterday, and while I’m still not fully happy with it, I think it’s as good as it’s gonna get, ha.

My description of my process ended up much longer than intended (what else is new??) so I’ll put it in a Read More to prevent it from clogging up dashboards. :-)

The prompt I was given was that either Mondo or Taka was supposed to be learning an instrument of my choice. I immediately decided that I wanted one of them teaching the instrument to the other, and of course I decided to go with guitar for it, since it’s one of the best to force two people close together, the instructor’s arm wrapped around the learner to try and “help them understand the chords better.” 😉😉😉

Ha. But yeah, that was my thought process. I also like the idea of Mondo knowing how to play guitar, Daiya helping him learn to try and control his anger issues or something. It’s just a cute head canon to me that I’ve now officially adopted into my head canon repertoire.

Also, I hadn’t originally set out to make it a semi-realistic drawing; I just wanted to experiment with having less lines, wanting lines in some areas but not others. But the more I went along, the more detail I added, and the more lines I removed. Until suddenly my whole drawing was line less except the face, and I was like “… well, why not just make it a completely line-less, semi-realistic drawing now??” So… I did, ha. I still have the original drawing with Taka and Mondo’s cartoony faces on the realistic bodies and it’s, uh… very uncanny valley 😅😅😅 Maybe if people ask nicely I’ll release the forbidden art.

Anyway, I hope y’all like it! Maybe I’ll do more drawings in this style, since I honestly kinda like it. The faces gave me so much trouble, since they were a game time change that I wasn’t really prepared for. And while I love realistic art, I usually need a reference to make it look super realistic, and I didn’t have one here. I just winged it, which might be clear, ha.

Oh! And since I’m terrible with perspective, if it’s not clear they’re supposed to be sitting on Mondo’s bed!! I didn’t want to spend ages on the background, so it was a real quick and easy draw, but my perspective drawing skills suck (my brain does not compute perspective when I’m drawing, no matter how hard I try, unfortunately) so it turned out a bit questionable.

Finally, I may write something based on the same prompt, since that was part of the trade Bogglle and I have, but I have no idea when I’ll be able to do it. I’m currently writing a long fic for another fandom, and it’s taking up a lot of my time. I have this week off of work and internship since my dad has COVID and he’s my ride to and from both, and I have next week off thanks to Spring Break, but still. This fic is turning into a beast (literally, since it’s a Beauty and the Beast AU fic) so it may take me a while to finish it. So… ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Thanks for reading! I hope you have a great day!

[minina-sys]

🍄🎨

🍄 - how did you get your system name?

These together are actually so funny to me because they're super related lmao. Minina is an alter in a system OC we have, called the Badminina system. We've been working on "Badminina" as a character for likely over a decade at this point, since making this new blog after a delete, we haven't really shared much of our art or writings about them, but they've been like our rock through super hard times. The alters within the Badminina system are Minina, Guardian, Yoru, Decay/Sol, and Thief. We have a tattoo of Minina on our back actually! The story mainly focuses on Minina, so it's mainly from her perspective, but her story is about her, a catgirl who due to events in the story, ends up with a bunch of physical scars. Her main character arc is learning to accept what happened, and not let her previous experiences outside of her control define who she is. When a romantic interest puts the idea of her scars being like "tiger stripes, a sign of her strength" and she eventually comes to term with her pain and starts the healing and self acceptance process, her scars darken into stripes and her ears and tail change to be like a tigers! We wanted a name that none of us use, so that we wouldn't have to live in another alter's shadow, and Minina has such a beautiful story that it is just the best option lol.

First image is the first time someone ever drew our OC (which was originally a Mii we used on a certain social media site ifykyk), the second is the first time we depicted her as a catgirl (the multiple different color variations gives me unintentional DID vibes, even though that was just the Art Class assignment that week lmao), third image is a drawing by someone else and is the reason why everyone in the Badminina system has spirals in their eyes (it was originally supposed to be a drawing of a bit for the first time she tries sugar on Earth, it was way too concentrated for her, but it was so iconic it just became a design choice eventually), fourth image is the tattoo i mentioned!

🎨 - does anyone in your system like art?

Yes, haha! Mainly creative writing (or thinking about what we would write 😅), but we also have had many doodles throughout our existence! We want to make music, but times are tough lately and finding motivation for creativity has been kinda painful. Hopefully things let up soon and we can finally work on learning how to play this guitar, and actually writing more! I'll reblog this post with some of our art so i can actually share a decent amount, so look out for that!

Thanks for the ask!

–Victoria

[art--harridan]

[Image description: A digital drawing based on the film Hard Rock Nightmare. It depicts Jimmy, flecks of blood splattered across him, holding out the severed head of a werewolf. The werewolves face is stuck with its fanged mouth and glowing yellow eyes wide open. However, it's neck is human skin, with strings of gore falling off of its bottom. The perspective of the piece brings it closer to the viewer while Jimmy is further away. He's got a stoic expression on his face, with one eye obscured by shadow. In his other hand he holds a similarly bloodied white electric guitar. At the top of the piece, it says "hard rock" in a dark blocky font, which is outline with a bright red. This same red is used at the bottom of the piece to write "nightmare" in a distorted, splattered font. The colours of the piece all lean to red tones, with the background being a dark red. The lineart is a dark black.]

Inktober - Day 27 (Beast)

Film - Hard Rock Nightmare (Dominick Brascia, 1988)

[nickeverdeen]

Heeyy sweetie <3

I saw you were doing matchups, and i thought that was so fking nice and wanted to try too. I wanted to try with Arcane and Umbrella Academy.

My name's Meli, and I'm pansexual without any preference. I'm an introvert, and most of the time quiet unless I really trust someone. I had some trust issues, so, it does take me a lot to trust someone. I'm creative (or at least that I a been told), the mother like friend, and an overthinker. Most of the times I wear headphones because I have social anxiety and tend to get overwhelmed with loud noises very easily. I am very sarcastic and have a dark sense of humour and I curse a lot in Spanish (that's my first language,) and English. I'm also a people pleaser, and I just put everyone above me not matter what. I'm an observer and a very empathetic person. Most of the times, i match the other person's emotions without noticing, or if I not e they aren't feeling okay, I do try to make them feel better with subtle things (or at least I try to)

I love to write and read. I have many hobbies, like playing guitar, drawing, painting, sewing and cooking, among other stuffs. I mostly read thriller but I end up reading about everything tbh. I LOVE true crime, and that's why I ended up watching everytime I end up in YouTube.

I hate conflict (mostly angry yelling) loud noises (I said that before, but well), and people who just don't care about other people's emotions.

Feel free to not do this and take your time <3 I'm so sorry if any of this doesn't make sense, my English kinda sucks tbh.

PS: I’m absolutely loving the petname for me

——————————

Your Arcane match is…

Viktor

Viktor would appreciate your quiet nature and find comfort in your presence

You’d both enjoy sitting in comfortable silence while working on your respective projects

He’d be fascinated by your creativity, often asking for your input on his inventions or sharing ideas with you, knowing that your perspective would add depth to his work

Viktor would understand your trust issues and never rush you

He’d be patient, allowing you to open up at your own pace, and when you finally do, he’d cherish that trust deeply

He’d find your dark sense of humor refreshing, often joining in with his own dry wit

Your shared sarcasm would create an unspoken bond between you two

Viktor would be very mindful of your social anxiety and sensitivity to loud noises, ensuring that your environment is as calm and quiet as possible when you’re together

Your ability to empathize with others would resonate with Viktor, who often carries the weight of the world on his shoulders

He’d find solace in your understanding and support

As an observer, you’d notice the subtle ways Viktor cares for others, even when he doesn’t say much

You both would enjoy late-night discussions about science, philosophy, and the intricacies of the human mind, often losing track of time in your conversations

Viktor would appreciate the subtle ways you try to make him feel better, like bringing him a cup of tea when he’s stressed or offering a gentle touch when words aren’t enough

Your love for reading and writing would match well with Viktor’s intellectual nature

Viktor isn’t one for grand displays of affection, but he’d show his care for you in small, meaningful ways—like fixing your headphones when they break or leaving you notes in your native language

Viktor would be intrigued by your love for true crime, occasionally joining you in watching documentaries or discussing interesting cases

Viktor would gently encourage you to prioritize your own needs, reminding you that it’s okay to put yourself first sometimes, even if it’s hard for you to do so

He’d be a steady, supportive presence in your life, always there to listen or offer advice when you’re feeling overwhelmed or anxious

Viktor would surprise you with small, handmade gifts that show how much he values your creativity and the unique bond you share

Your The Umbrella Academy match is…

Five Hargreeves

Five would absolutely love your sarcasm and dark humor

The two of you would engage in quick-witted banter that would leave everyone else around you struggling to keep up

Despite his tough exterior, Five would be incredibly protective of you, especially when he realizes how much you put others above yourself

He’d be the first to step in if someone tries to take advantage of your people-pleasing nature

Five would be drawn to your intelligence and creativity, often seeking your opinion on complex matters

Five understands what it’s like to have trust issues, and he’d be patient with you, giving you the time and space you need to feel comfortable around him

Five would appreciate your quiet nature, often just sitting in silence with you, finding peace in the moments where neither of you feels the need to fill the space with words

Your shared dark humor would lead to inside jokes that only the two of you understand, often leaving others puzzled or slightly alarmed by your conversations

Though Five doesn’t always show it, he’s deeply empathetic

He’d notice when you’re matching his emotions and would appreciate your efforts to make him feel better, even if he doesn’t always say it outright

Five would respect your need for personal space and quiet, never pushing you to engage more than you’re comfortable with

He’d also ensure that your time together is never too overwhelming

Five would be intrigued by your love for true crime and thrillers, often joining you in binge-watching documentaries or discussing the psychology behind criminal behavior

Five isn’t big on traditional romance, but he’d show his affection in subtle ways, like making sure you have your favorite snack or fixing something in your house without asking

You both would bond over your love for books, often exchanging recommendations and discussing your favorite plots or character developments

When you’re feeling down, Five would use his sarcasm to lift your spirits, knowing exactly how to make you smile with a well-timed, snarky comment

Five would deeply respect your ability to observe and understand others, recognizing how valuable that skill is, especially in tense situations

Five would be there for you during moments of social anxiety, quietly offering his presence as a grounding force, never making you feel pressured to interact more than you want to

The two of you would have dark comedy nights where you watch the most twisted movies and shows, laughing at the absurdity while enjoying each other’s company

———————

Tag List: @callsignwidow

[steddie-there]

As promised, the Dancing in the Dark scene from the middle of Holding Out For a Hero (name still subject to change, depending on the way the story takes me - it's had some surprises already 😅). The pov changes after the first paragraph from Steve to Eddie because apparently this story is demanding I write from both perspectives, never mind that only using Steve's pov as originally intended would be easier, so just know the whole story will bounce between them.

ETA: new name - I'd Fall For You Twice

Dancing in the Dark

When the last of the gremlins has finally been shooed out the front door, Steve pushes it shut and leans against it for a moment with a sigh. As much as he loves the little munchkins, they can be a lot to handle, especially when attempting to make sure they don’t overwhelm a still recovering houseguest only recently released from the hospital. Running a hand through his hair, Steve straightens and heads back to the living room. He finds Eddie still sitting on the couch where they left him, though now with legs stretched out and headphones firmly against his ears, drawing something in the notebook Wayne had brought to him in the hospital. And although there’s a space at the end of the couch, Steve gently lifts Eddie’s legs so he can sit closer, then pulls them back over his lap, feeling some of the exhaustion ease as he settles in under their weight. He’s about to lean over and ask if he can see what Eddie’s working on when a tinny but unmistakable guitar riff echoing from the headphones catches his attention. He freezes.

Just at that moment, Eddie looks up, some quip about the kids on the tip of his tongue. But when he sees the way Steve is sitting, shoulders up around his ears and breathing shallow, concern immediately replaces whatever witty thing he was about to say. He pulls the headphones down around his neck. “Steve… you okay?”

Steve slowly turns his head to look at him, eyes wide, and, though he’s confused what exactly brought it on, Eddie wants nothing more than to make the panic in them disappear. “Steve?” he asks again, softly, this time laying a gentle hand on the other boy’s arm, and Steve grips onto it like a lifeline.

“That song. That’s, uh, what you played. There. In the…” he trails off.

Eddie’s brow furrows momentarily before it registers just what he’s been listening to. He’s surprised Steve recognizes it and says as much.

Steve swallows thickly. “Kind of hard to forget. We could hear your playing all the way to the Creel house. It was - it was really good, man.” He tries to smile as he says it, but it’s all wrong, doesn’t reach his eyes, and Eddie scoots a little closer, reaches for him with his other hand, still unsure what, exactly, has caused Steve to look like the world is ending again.

Steve’s breathing is still too fast, too shallow. “Don’t think I’ll ever forget it. Those bats, heading for you and Dustin. Knowing I couldn’t go back to help, we just had to keep moving. And then, when it was all over - “ He cuts himself off, lips pressing into a thin line, squeezing his eyes shut.

And suddenly, Eddie gets it. “Shit,” he curses, scrambling one handed for the pause button on the walkman. His finger fumbles over it once, twice, before he finally manages to press it down, cutting off the rhythmic chords leaking from the headphones. Silence blankets the room.

He looks back to Steve. Though he’s still hunched in on himself, his breathing started to slow the instant the music stopped and Eddie sighs in relief. He pulls the headphones off his neck and carefully sets them, the walkman, and his notebook on the floor before swinging his legs down so he can actually slide close enough to Steve to put an arm around him. Without hesitation, Steve turns into the embrace, leaning his forehead on Eddie’s shoulder with a little shuddering exhale. It makes Eddie want to pull him in even closer, hold Steve as tight as he can, until every bit of tension has drained from his body, but he doesn't want to do anything to make his friend uncomfortable, so settles for gently rubbing his back instead.

“I’m so sorry, man, I didn’t even - I forgot it was on that tape and I just kind of tuned everything out and - shit, Steve, I’m sorry,” Eddie rambles.

But Steve is already shaking his head. “No, no, you have nothing to apologize for. You were just doing your thing, I’m the one who - I should be apologizing to you, freaking out like that, over a song, like - that’s crazy, you know? It’s not like the song is what - is what - ” he cuts off, unable to finish the thought.

Eddie can feel Steve tensing further as he speaks, feel him beginning to pull away, but he is having none of that. Screw it. With a surge forward, he wraps both arms around Steve and tugs him tightly to his chest. With a little surprised oof, Steve falls forward again and, for a heartbeat, he's stiff, like he doesn't quite know what to do with this new position. But it's only a moment before his arms come up and he's clinging right back, his hands clutching fistfuls of Eddie's shirt like he's afraid the other boy will disappear if he lets go.

Eddie holds him, runs gentle fingers through his hair, until Steve's shoulders stop shaking and his breathing has finally, finally, evened out. And then he keeps holding him because Steve hasn't moved away and if he still needs Eddie's arms around him, then by god that's what he's going to get. He feels a huff of air against his shoulder as Steve turns his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck, tightens his hold.

"I'm sorry, Eddie," Steve whispers, voice tight, and he thinks Steve might be apologizing for more than his panic attack.

But Eddie is shaking his head before Steve can get to the second syllable of sorry. "Don't be. I get it, man. The little reminders, they're all over. And it's the worst. I let myself get too cold and I start having a hard time breathing. I look at your neck and all I can think is what if we didn't get through the gate in time. I get it," he says again.

This time, when Steve pulls back, Eddie lets him go, though he doesn’t go far, since he's still sitting pressed to his side.

Steve props his elbows on his knees and hangs his head for a moment before speaking again. "Still, I mean, it's just a song. It shouldn't -"

"But it isn't just a song, Steve, and you and I both know it," Eddie cuts him off emphatically. “I’m gonna burn that tape, first chance I get. Promise.”

Steve just sighs and hangs his head even further. They sit in dejected silence for a few moments, but Eddie can't take it anymore - Steve shouldn't be beating himself up about this, should be smiling, relaxing, laughing with Eddie about the dumb puns Dustin made at dinner. He glances around the room for anything that might help, but there isn't much, just the tv and some photographs and unused furniture and - aha! - his eyes catch on the radio in the corner and he suddenly knows exactly what to do to get Steve out of this spiral of self-recrimination.

Eddie jumps up and that gets Steve's attention. "Eddie, wha-? You need to sit down, you're still not supposed to be too active."

"Some of those restrictions ended today, I’ll be fine," he shoots back over his shoulder as he fiddles with the dial on the radio, looking for the local station Steve listens to in his car. He finally gets it tuned correctly, noting that it's just the DJ talking for now, but it sounds like another song will be starting soon. Perfect. He whips back around and makes his way to stand in front of Steve, hands held out in invitation. "Now, c'mon, I know just what we need. A little dance therapy will fix everything," he gushes, knowing Steve finds it impossible not to laugh at his theatrics.

Sure enough, a hint of a smile is beginning to play around Steve's lips as he looks up at Eddie. "Dance therapy?" he asks skeptically, but he's already taking Eddie's outstretched hands and allowing himself to be tugged off the couch.

"Dance therapy," Eddie confirms with a grin. "Maybe a little karaoke, too. Some lip-syncing. Whatever floats your boat, big boy." He winks and Steve snorts a laugh.

“You’re such a dork, Eddie,” he says, but the utter fondness in his voice takes any sting out of his words.

Eddie acts mock offended anyway, holding a hand dramatically over his heart as he pulls Steve further into the empty middle of the living room. “Me? A dork?” he gasps, then grins. “You know what? You’re right. But you love it,” he smirks, poking Steve’s chest with a finger.

Steve is smirking now, too, about to make some clever comeback, when the opening bars of Dancing in the Dark spill out into the room. His smile grows, real now, his eyes widening as he starts bopping his head. “Dude, I love this song!”

“Then come on, Harrington, let’s do this!” Eddie beams at him, starting to jump up and down to the rhythm. Steve shakes his head at him, but he’s wearing his thousand-watt smile, finally, and he’s beginning to jump along and Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever looked so beautiful. And when he starts to sing, “Messages keeps gettin' clearer, Radio's on and I'm movin' 'round my place, I check my look in the mirror,” squeezing his eyes shut and belting out, “Wanna change my clothes, my hair, my face,” Eddie is absolutely mesmerized.

He’s still holding one of Steve’s hands, but he reaches for the other one so they can jump and twist together. And then Steve starts spinning him and Eddie’s hair is flying around his face and they’re both breathless with laughter and singing and dancing and Eddie thinks maybe he could live in this moment for the rest of his life.

Too soon, the song begins to slow and fade, each “dancin’ in the dark” softer than the one before. Their movements become less and less until they’re just barely nodding their heads along and Eddie realizes exactly how close they’ve moved to each other. If he wanted to, he could count each individual eyelash ringing Steve’s wide, honey brown eyes, and now he’s breathless from more than just exertion. When he licks his lips nervously and Steve’s eyes dart down to his mouth then back up, Eddie can feel hysterical giggles starting to bubble up in the back of his throat. This cannot be happening. I’ve gone insane, finally, truly lost it. But he can’t let it out, can’t make a sound, because then Steve might realize exactly what he’s doing, might stop looking at him like that and Eddie doesn’t think he could bear that, could deal with Steve pulling away, could handle losing - 

“Can I kiss you?”

It’s no more than a whisper, Steve’s words as breathless and unsure as Eddie feels. And dammit but Steve has knocked him for a loop again, doing exactly the thing that Eddie least expects him to do. He’s frozen, staring at Steve, hopeful, beautiful Steve, who is staring back like Eddie is the only important thing in the entire world.

“Eddie?” Steve asks, the tiniest quiver in his voice, and Eddie can finally move again, nods frantically until Steve puts a gentle hand to his cheek, stilling him. And then Steve is moving forward, both their eyes slipping shut, and Steve’s lips are on his and Eddie doesn’t think anything has ever felt so right in his entire life.

It’s soft and sweet and one of Steve’s hands is tangled in his hair and the other is on his back, drawing him closer and his whole world has narrowed to the single bright point in the universe that is Steve Harrington. Eddie wouldn’t be surprised to open his eyes and see the entire room lit up like a blazing summer afternoon.

Slowly, Steve pulls back, breaking the kiss, but not drawing away. If it’s possible, he’s holding Eddie even tighter than during his panic attack earlier, as if letting go might shatter this little bubble of happiness they’ve found themselves in.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Steve confesses softly, pressing his forehead to Eddie’s.

Eddie huffs a laugh. “Probably at least as long as I’ve wanted you to,” he confesses back.

The moment is delicate and hopeful and Eddie never wants it to end. So of course his doubts choose exactly then to come knocking. He tries to push them away, to keep basking in the warmth of their embrace, but he hears himself asking, almost fearfully, “So, uh - this. Us. We, uh, we gonna be a thing now, Stevie?” And his heart is pounding so loud that he's certain Steve could hear it from across the room, never mind with Eddie nearly in his lap.

Steve leans back just a little, just far enough to gaze earnestly into Eddie’s eyes.  “I want us to be. If - if you want, that is.”

And there’s that trademark Steve Harrington knock-him-for-a-loop routine again. Because despite Steve’s normal self-assurance, the tiniest quaver of doubt is tucked into his words and that, more than anything, soothes the million what ifs swirling through Eddie’s brain. He grins. “I want. Oh, do I want.”

Steve’s answering smile is dazzling and Eddie doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of being the reason for it. “Cool,” Steve declares, before he’s leaning into Eddie’s space again and making him melt all over.

Okay, there it is for now, folks. Only one, albeit lengthy, scene. But believe me, I have a lot more running circles in my brain. 😅

Also had a couple people ask to be tagged when I finished Holding Out for a Hero - not sure if I should tag them in this, since it's just a preview scene and not the finished product, but I'm gonna. I'm proud of this bit here 😅

@my-heart-is-stopped, @wonderland-girl143-blog

Also gonna tag my roomie @steddiehawkins because I gotta ensure the Steddie brainrot stays, heh, steady in my home (I'll see myself out)

[twistedwonderlandboiimagines]

Heyo! I'd like to request a romantic TWST match-up if you're still taking them, thank you!

I'm a Libra INFP

Personality: I'm a tomboy that tends to lean more towards an optimistic point of view, always striving to better myself for the people I care about and leave a positive impact on the world around me. As hard as I try to learn and be patient and break patterns I grew up with, I definitely have my moments of backsliding into snapping at the slightest inconveniences and adopting a very passive aggressive persona of sorts. But with that being said, I've also worked hard to develop my self awareness to realize when I've gone too far and to try and make things right when the worst does happen. Compassion is something I try very hard to embody and I've been described as bubbly by my friends lmao.

I'm also a very curious person, a lover of stories that were my friends growing up (if it helps any I heavily relate to Belle from Beauty and the Beast). I like learning what weird and strange things are out there in the world and figuring out how different stories manage to move me in different ways and how other people read into them.

Likes: I draw, I write, I play a little guitar, I sing, I collect art books, I generally adore the arts in any form they take. Physical touch and words of affirmation are my love languages and I give amazing hugs according to a lot of people in and outside my family. I tend to daydream a lot and I get my best ideas from those sessions, and I value my alone time to recharge my social battery as much as I like spending time with the people I care about.

Dislikes: Constantly having to be the only one driving the conversation is a deal breaker for me, I want who I'm talking to to be invested and ready and willing to engage with me. Extreme close-mindedness and inflexibility towards even considering different perspectives is also a deal breaker.

Overall, what I want the most out of a partner is to be seen and understood.

Anon, the past delinquent turned honor student i pair you up is..

Deuce Spade

Lets be honest a tomboy partner would fit him given his history of liking to rumble

He's all for you trying to change for the better given that he's on the same journey himself! It'd be great for the two of you to keep each other accountable (if Riddle isnt around to straighten him out of course

Deuce likes that you've got your hand in a bit of everything in terms of hobbies, it makes him curious to try them out himself and he can show you some of his, like riding blastcycles.

He also very much appreciates your optimism, giving the students at NRC can be a bit nasty to each other at times.

The Heartslabyul student doesn't mind you being an introvert, things are always lively at school regardless so if anything its a change of pace

will literally fight or deal with what or whoever makes you upset; sometimes he isn't the best at keeping his own emotions in check so if you're angry, he is too

As for the love languages, Deuce doesn't mind hugging or physical contact, you can do as much as you want with him, and he always praises you when you've done something he finds smart or cool.

According to your zodiac signs, Gemini and Libra are a strong match!

[assim-eu-sou]

Tudo Igual SQN: 2x3

Amanda is talking about her grandmother’s funeral as she rides in a car with Igor: he picked her up from eh airport. They kiss before she grabs her belongings. She opens a drawing with a note of support from the girls as she gets back to her room.

The girls meet on the beach. The others discuss Amanda and how she’s holding up as she sits by the water line. Amanda Torino is revealed to be her full name. Pri compliment’s Beta’s art and suggests maybe it could inspire some of her outfits, and all the girls think that’s a great idea.

Amanda finds a note from her grandmother in her music book. Her father calls her, asking if she could cheer up her grandfather. It works for a bit, but he shuts down. Amanda thinks she may get back into guitar, as this could cheer him up.

Trix and Pri talk about their projects at school. Trix runs into Bruno. It seems like there might still be something there, and there’s some disappointment as she watches him interact with Inés. The girls talk after class, and Trix agree so help Amanda catch up.

Amanda and Trix study together. They talk about the guitar Trix asks her to play it, but Amanda doesn’t want to.

Beta is studying sign language using some videos on the internet.

Amanda listens to the last audio from her grandmother and starts practicing guitar.

Beta emerges for a meal with her parents, who tell her the renovations to their house are over. They reveal that it’s actually an art studio for her. She gets to work decorating it and painting immediately.

Pri and Trix are working on one of their projects. Pri asks that Trix give her perspective and not just tell her everything she does is good, because she needs her talent.

Amanda meets Igor for a picnic by the lagoon. Back at home, clearly enamored, Amanda picks up the guitar again and starts singing. We see Beta working on a drawing and Trix and Pri editing a video as she sings.

My thoughts:

I’m glad Beta seems to be gaining an interest in someone who’s decent (not Tomás)! Also, I’m glad her parents are showing an interest in her life.

Things seem to be going well for Amanda. I did catch a conversation with her and Carol where she reveals the Tomás situation, and it’s too bad she didn’t just say uhhh wtf girl???

I’m not sure where this Trix arc is going. I would’ve pinned her as a lesbian, but maybe she’s bi? It’s hard to tell for now. It’s possible she just misses being close to Bruno.

[starkiller-009]

6, 21, 25

6. What’s your least favorite thing to draw? oh apparently its the hard one. comes to mind things which im not good at basically. architecture, city landscapes id say (well. i cant say i dont like it its more like... simply challenging). oh idk. everything that is hard to make dynamic enough or gestural i guess tho its a question of skill. i draw a lot of things and challenge myself a lot because its fun and the process is curious so.. i kinda enjoy everything and hate everything sometimes too if it does not turn out quite well. maybe weird shapes in perspective? like, guitars, for example. had a few experiences, did not like it. but should try more and become friends with it probably. 21. Do you like to challenge yourself? yeaaah i think i do? its more like... a question of nessesity and being satisfied about my work and progress. it feels weird when i draw stuff and it does not take a lot of struggle to look good or i dont find the process infuriating at some point. im used to be dissapointed by things that came out and rarely satisfied so at those rare times when i like what i do im quick to find something challenging to feel the struggle again. then i know that im not staying at one place and keep going forward and learning. progressing 25. Do you like to draw in silence, or with music? with music, sure! ive been listening to it less the last months but when i draw i always turn something on. thank u for questions!