luckysprings

[gothiccharmschool]

Hey now, hey now now, on this day in 1987, The Sisters of Mercy released "Floodland."

[electrosquash]

hey whoa hey whoa whoa

[creepazoid9000]

hey now now

[doctorloup]

It is known

that my gender is Sisters of Mercy - This Corrosion (1987) But if it wasn't this would have come fairly close: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CruFRlPERWE

[satanfemme]

*wears a shirt to work that isn't black* oh god I'm a poser, look at me, it's like I'm not even goth anymore. and everyone's gonna be able to tell. fuck. *is also actively listening to sisters of mercy but that's irrelevant*

[bredforloyalty]

i have to be at least This uninhibited at the next party type thing like i am only having so much fun with the wine bc i was already feeling well and so if i wont be feeling well on the weekend i'll have to get. drunker

[centipededotgov]

Next up on the lineup of original Transformers characters, Corrosion! He goes by many other titles, such as "Corroso", "Gross Guy", "Get The Hell Away From Me", and "Aughhh No It Burns Stop No".

Accompanied by a melted faceplate, a smoker's laugh/cough, and various singe marks across his plating, Corrosion is in possession of a special outlier ability that allows him to expel a type of sulfuric acid in gas form - strong enough to melt through any kind of living metal but his own. Despite his combatative prowess, Corrosion prefers infiltrative missisons compared to combatative ones - being a Decepticon special operative and radio telecommunications officer.

Corrosion has a prescence, and he knows it. He's gangly and looms over other bots. His face is twisted and contorted like a bad Halloween decoration. He seems to find some sense of smug satisfaction in scaring his peers - in an almost playful way, if it wasn't so freaky. He's not one for deadly efficiency. When it comes to enemies and missions, he's often creeping around, setting up rude remarks, pranks, and traps. He finds a bravado in trash-talking a certain rival Autobot operative of his, and will often prioritize a good show over a successful mission.

Just be careful and don't get burned.

(He's from a fan continuity that I'm writing for myself! If worldbuilding, design choices, or any other canon Transformers depictions don't line up, that's why. It's the same one Mantis is in.)

[iforimaginary]

May I entice the masses with the concept of a Will Wood Jukebox Musical?

Around a month ago me and a good friend of mine were listening to Will Wood’s discography and they offhandedly threw “Wouldn’t it be cool if someone made a Mama Mia equivalent with his songs?” into the air.

This thought stuck with me for a while until I found myself incredibly bored during a 3 hour-long road trip and decided to kill some time.

Preface aside, I present…

[ Welcome To Suburbia The Musical ]

↓↓↓

Brochure Designs:

Narrative Summary:

A young couple attempt to escape the hardships of life by moving to a far-off picture-perfect town known by locals as ‘Suburbia’. Despite it’s shining appearance, the couple are troubled by unsettling peculiarities bursting at the suburb’s seams- but what’s a village without a little cooky culture?

Character Breakdown:

• James Campbell - An alcohol-dependent horror writer down on his publishing luck.

• Dai Lu Lee - A doctor specialising in the care of farm animals with an unfortunate talent for disappointing her parents.

• Cassie Logan - James & Dai Lu’s next door neighbour with an unsettling sense of humour.

• Morgan Logan - Cassie’s reserved wife working as a forensic investigator for the local PD with a predisposition to bad first impressions.

• Lin Lee - Dai Lu’s headstrong traditional father.

• Ming Lee - Dai Lu’s passive narcissistic mother.

• Mayor - Confident and charismatic front man of Suburbia with a messy past who’s always ready to offer a helping hand.

• Barkeeper - Eccentric and off-putting owner of a local bar that appears to be a front for a darker business.

• Therapist - Patient woman tending to Dai Lu’s psychiatrical and psychological needs.

• Secretary (Non-singing ensemble role) - Nerdy and shy assistant of The Mayor who is desperately enamoured, head-over-heels for her employer.

Act Synopses:

[Act 1]

James and Dai Lu, freshly engaged and already exhausted from life’s baggage, strike a ‘too-good-to-be-true’ deal on a down payment for a quaint home in the unmarked town of Suburbia. After being warmly welcomed by the ever so charming Mayor and their next door neighbours Cassie and Morgan, the couple begin to unwillingly face some of their fatal flaws as Dai Lu is forced to stare her regretful decision making right in its ugly face.

[Act 2]

James may recognise his now hard-to-hide attachment to alcohol, but he is far from apologetic about it. Frequenting a newly discovered bar on the outskirts of town results in his fiancée finding herself in a rather unusual predicament. Forced to work for a sleazy underground cabaret bar, she preforms a number detailing The Mayor’s dark and unfortunate past. All the while, The Mayor himself is trying to seduce her partner into a life overflowing with sin and dubious spiritual ties. Upon being reunited through the brilliant detective work of Morgan, the couple have yet another handful of complicated feelings to sort through.

[Act 3]

Decades of pious work from The Mayor’s hands finally come to a head as he no longer attempts to hide his servitude to a being he was never quite sure how to please. The town descends into uncertain insanity as every individual is consumed by their corrosive and abandoned insecurities. Dai Lu never quite moves past her disagreements with her parents, James never quite makes peace with being an utterly unremarkable writer and Morgan never quite solves the case that’s been scratching at the back of her mind for years. All those lives are, however, lost in vain as The Mayor misinterprets his Patron’s asks. The town of Suburbia stands desolate, bare, and belonging to a man who’s greatest desire is to be rid of it’s burden.

Songs By Act:

(Act 1)

Suburbia Overture (Mayor, Ensemble)

The Main Character (James)

Marsha… (Lee Family)

Against The Kitchen Floor (James)

Momento Mori… (Morgan)

Well, Better Than… (Dai Lu)

(Act 2)

The First Step (James)

Willard! (Mayor)

Front Street (Barkeeper, Ensemble)

Venetian Blind Man (Dai Lu)

Black Box Warrior (Therapist)

Your Body, My Temple (Mayor, Ensemble)

Sex, Drugs, Rock’n’Roll (James)

Cover This Song (Cassie)

Outliers (Mayor)

Love Me, Normally (James)

(Act 3)

Vampire Culture [S.O. Reprise] (Mayor, Cassie, Morgan, Ensemble)

Lapce’s Angel (Mayor)

Hand Me My Shovel (Cassie, Morgan, Ensemble)

Dr Sunshine (Dai Lu, Ensemble)

Cotard’s Solution (James, Ensemble)

Song With Five Names (Mayor, Ensemble)

2012 (James, Dai Lu, Mayor, Ensemble)

Naturally there is a much larger and in depth plot summary, thought-out blocking for musical numbers and some in progress character designs that I have crammed into my Master Doc for this behemoth of an original work.

Keep in mind this concept is far from finalised, more characters may be added and more songs might be written into the narrative.

I’d be more than happy to go more in detail about it and accept any form of suggestions or feedback if the users of Tumblr happen to find this interesting :)

In the mean time, if you find yourself interested in this work and would like to listen to the songs in chronological order I have compiled a playlist you can find bellow… ↓↓↓

[saunne]

HSR THEORY - PENACONY AND THE FAMILY

Okay so when I saw Penacony, it made me awfully think of something but I couldn't pinpoint exactly what. Until this morning.

For a bit of context, let's review quickly what we know.

The introduction to Penacony is as follow :

Penacony, also known as the Planet of Festivities, is a planet currently inhabited by the Family in the Asdana star system.

It is said that it was once a prison planet owned by the IPC, until a Stellaron corrosion broke out, a bit like what happened on Jarilo VI. When it happened, Penacony took refuge under The Family and Xipe's patronage.

This prison used to work for the Garden of Recollection to retrieve Memory Bubbles and since it's Fuli domain, linked to memory and all that is unconscious/subconscious, Penacony gradually became a "dream-planet" cutted off from reality, with people's consciousness linked in dreams.

It was the over-present theme of dreams/memory and dream nation that made me go 🤨 the first time but nothing clicked until I went to check who the fuck was The Family. And soon enough, things started to feel strange.

In the vision of the Harmony, the diverse civilizations throughout the universe will eventually become as close as siblings, singing in unison the hymn of unity and joy.

They come from different worlds, belong to different civilizations, and have different identities, but they are, at the same time, the closest family members there are. There is never noisy disputes or even contradictions among its members, only eternal love and smiles — there is no more harmonious family in the universe than them.

Yeah. It sounds good, right ? Who doesn't want interstellar peace and happiness (except Nanook and their followers) ?

But at the same time, the tone of all that, it sounds a bit like a sect doesn’t it ? It seems a bit too good to be true, to be honest.

And it's when I got the Eureka moment of "what does it make me think of" if I may say so.

LOTOPHAGOI.

Also more commonly known as : Lotus-eaters.

In Greek Mythology, in Homer's Odyssey, the Lotus-eaters were a race of people known for their consumption of lotus seeds, a powerful narcotic that made them live in a peaceful apathy.

"Peaceful apathy" hm ? Interesting.

It is believed that this lotus could have been Nymphea caerula, also known as the "blue lotus" of the Nile, used by Egyptian to produce a soporific with psychotropic properties.

Soporific as in "dream inducing". Penacopy being a dream-nation, it's when I started getting suspicious. But then, psychotropic : a psychotropic drug is one that affects mood, thoughts, perception and behavior.

"There is never noisy disputes or even contradictions among its members, only eternal love and smiles". Yeah, well I personally believe they're high as fucking kites.

One of the most interesting things however is what happened after consuming the lotus : "After they ate the lotus, they would forget their home and loved ones and long only to stay with their fellow lotus-eaters. Those who ate the plant never cared to report or return." (x)

What did it say about the Family, hmmmm ?

And it gets even worse !

People are also curious whether any members of the Family had grown tired of the one and voluntarily abandoned the Path of Harmony? In the face of such a question, the Family smiles and replies “Never."

Yeah. I don't really feels like it's a good idea to go on Penacony anymore ?

Because an old prison-planet ? Cut off from reality and heavily linked to dream-state ? Under the full control of The Family ?

"The Family at Penacony issued formal invitations to many galactic factions for the first time in history."

And they invited a whole lot of important people too, how curious !

Addendum:

The universe will become a harmonious whole, with no discordant notes to disrupt the beautiful chords and no fools worrying about their own short-sighted futures.

Do you all know Percy Jackson? Well guess what Rick Riordan did of the Lotophagoi ? A fancy Hotel-Casino in which you got trapped and lost sense of time, without ever wanting to leave !

Planet of Festivities ? Casino ? Anyone ?

Yeah.

Well if they propose to you any suspicious flower-looking food or seeds or anything, same rule as in the Underworld : Do not fucking eat it.

[firstfullmoon]

“If we do not attend to the work of projecting delight upon the world, what are we actually doing? If we do not look for joy, search for it, reach deep for it, what are we saying about the world? Are we saying that malevolence is the routine stuff of life, that oppression and corruption and degradation is the very matter of the world? That we greet each day with suspicion, bitterness and contempt? It seems to me that to make suffering the focus of our attention, to pay witness only to the malevolence of the world, is to be in service to the devil himself.

Is the world heading for disaster? I suppose so. We are constantly, relentlessly, told as much. Am I hopeful for its future? Well, yes, I am. I choose to be an optimist through a kind of necessity, because from my experience pessimism is a corrosive and damaging position to take — one that casts its shadow over all things, causing a kind of societal sickness, a contaminant that ultimately amplifies and glorifies the problems it professes to abhor.

For me, to strive toward joy has become a calling and a practise. It is carried out with the full understanding of the terms of this hallowed and harrowed world. I pursue it with an awareness that joy exists both in the worst of the world and within the best, and that joy, flighty, jumpy, startling thing that it is, often finds its true voice within its opposite. Joy sings small, bright songs in the dark — these moments, so easily disregarded, so quickly dismissed, are the radiant points of light that pierce the gloom to give validation to the world. That’s how the light gets in, Leonard Cohen tells us, whilst casting his genius and delight forever among the cosmos.

[…] joy exists as a bright, insistent spasm of defiance within the darkness of the world. Seek it. It is there.”

— Nick Cave, The Red Hand Files #219

[satureja13]

After Sai cought Jack (almost) naked in the tops' bedroom, he dragged him downstairs. Before Sai could yell at Jack, they got startled by a ghost in their room o.o' Skully wasn't very pleased with their impolite behavior: "Hey! You're making my friend uncomfortable!"

They apologized to the poor ghost and then Sai started to yell at Jack: "What were you thinking teasing them like that? You know which effect you have on them! Keep your distance until this stops! When does it stop anyway? Tell me this isn't permanent." Jack: "Uh, that's another question I'll have to ask Stefan. I know as much as you know." Skully: "Boys, didn't you pay attention at school? The heat stops when he gets laid! That's why Stefan said he should find an Alpha." Saiwa: "What? Omg!" Ji Ho can't believe it. They can't ask this of Jack. And he will have to live with his corrosive jealousy. And the fear that Vlad will eventually not be able to resist Jack's pheromones...

Jack: "I certainly will not 'get laid'! Just to make this very clear. Kiyoshi and Stefan said that Vlad and Jeb are not overly affected from my ... current contition. You can ask them yourself. It's just a slight 'drag' towards me. And Stefan said it won't affect their current relationships. Oh wait - they don't have any current relationships! So, no, I won't keep my distance to my friends. This is all under control. You are just shoving your unsolved issues with Vlad and Jeb on me. Get your stuff sorted out with them and they won't waste a second look on me." That was the last straw for Saiwa and Ji Ho. And before Sai could say it, Ji Ho did, through gritted teeth: "Run, Jack."

And Jack ran. Jack: "How is this my fault again?"

But deep down inside he knew it's just Sai's way to deal with things he isn't able to solve. And it seems it's now Ji Ho's too. It's easier for them to blame Jack. Sai still has no solution on how to have a relationship with Jeb after his fake one with Kiyoshi and Jack also knows how much Ji Ho wants to be together with Vlad - but they'll have to wait until they found out what's about that spell, to not endanger Vlad (should Ji Ho's grandfather really put a spell on him)...

And so he kept on running for his friends. Until they were exhausted and tired enough to fall in a deep sleep - later.

Meanwhile in the tops' bedroom. Kiyoshi just wanted to make sure again that Vlad and Jeb are really not affected by Jack's heat. Vlad: "What? Of course not! I've never seen Jack as a potential... Uh, I'm not even able to say words like 'boyfriend' or 'lover' and 'Jack' in one sentence!"

Jeb: "Eh, same for me." But is this true, Jeb? Once you had a crush on Jack out of the blue which lead to Sai and your first breakup! And I remember the Outtakes from San Myshuno when you wanted to share your umbrella with Jack... And your horse Valerian is in love with Jack's horse Lunatic!

Vlad: "See! I mean it's Jack, after all! Don't worry. I will reassure Sai so he doesn't have to worry anymore." Jeb: "And Ji Ho." Vlad: "Eh, yes..."

The others are still running. Jack can run for hours, he's the Super Soldier after all. And Sai and Ji Ho are very very upset...

And Skully was singing again:

'When I'm ridin' 'round the world And I'm doin' this and I'm signing that And I'm tryin' to make some girl Who tells me baby better come back, maybe next week 'Cause you see I'm on a losing streak

I can't get no, oh no, no, no Hey, hey, hey, that's what I say I can't get no, I can't get no I can't get no satisfaction, no satisfaction No satisfaction, no satisfaction I can't get no'

Rolling Stones - I can't get no Satisfaction

Outtakes

And then Vlad remembered when Jeb showed up at the Space Bar. With the bag on his head. And when he asked Ji Ho out for prom. How jealous he'd been then. Does Ji Ho feel the same jealousy? Now that he has his feelings back?

From the Beginning 🔱 Underwater Love 🔱 Latest

Current Chapter: 'Here comes the Sun' from the beginning ▶️ here Last Chapter: 'Who killed Jack?' from the beginning ▶️ here

📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 23-28

[sarcophagid]

yidhra blog proof of concept

🐍 dream-journal Follow

vote me in as new baron oletus and i'll put the drugs directly into the water fountain.

🐍 dream-journal Follow

i don't go to therapy i just traumadump to my children. it helps them learn emotional intelligence

🐍 dream-journal Follow

i like my clonelet i really do. she knows all her times tables now, and the infection is progressing as swimmingly as the xenobiotics swim in her bloodstream. but i really really need a minxy thrall or succubus of some sort to lure fresh, supple-skinned young bucks to my lair.

🐍 dream-journal Follow

don't bring up those two. they have no presence in my diet. diruse is going down the sage path of hagship and norwell has the nutritional value of a wood chip.

🐍 dream-journal Follow

do you even know how hard it is to suck the life from a quivering juicy sacrifice in a place where people can't die? no. you don't. none of you understand.

🐍 dream-journal Follow

it's not cannibalism when i do it

🐍 dream-journal Follow

people crawl their way down to orpheus's bedroom door expecting a night of aphrodisiacs and debauchery when in reality they're going to get second hand opium smoke and 17 failed attempts to remove his long johns before he gives up and goes to the corner to pick up a revolver in two hands and stare longingly at it for a sweaty wordless half hour. i know this because of my clarity and visions. and because luchino told me

🐍 dream-journal Follow

if you're struggling to confess to your crush don't worry. here's what you need to do:

punch a hole straight through their forehead and shove your claw into their pineal gland, mechanically stimulating the release of happy hormones.

🐍 dream-journal Follow

this rat creature bitching and moaning about how "the incisions hurt" and how his "skin is sloughing off". i'm sorry divine power isn't all triscuits and pre-cut grapes you miserable lump.

🐍 dream-journal Follow

literally a waste of carbon giving him a split tongue all he does with it is complain with a lisp. be more like your forebearers

🐍 dream-journal Follow

i had the first c-section in oletus manor. they pulled aside the jagged edges of my tough scaly skin, and underneath it was a corrosive filmlike membrane, and underneath it was a thick layer of fat, and underneath it was the endless porous creased tissue, and underneath it was the muscle taut like steel cables, and underneath it was a collection of small sac-like organs full of acrid sebum, and underneath it was the moist exterior of the stomach. they've yet to find the womb. the surgeons peer at each other from opposite sides of the operating table, but it doesn't comfort them. they see no reflection in the others eyes. one of them, either of them, breaks this last attempt at contact and directs focus on the pulsating mass inside of the stomach. the surgeon tightens their grip on the scalpel. it's a lengthy and delicate process of avoiding the undulations of the contents inside, and bile sloshes out continuously. it smells like excrement and sweat and drool and meat. the thing is singing faintly, or at least making some sort of noise. they don't quite remember what it sounded like. it sounded like the voice of their mother, the gurgling of a baby, the crack of the whip that tells them to keep going! acid burns through their sterile gloves and peels at their skin but they continue on, salt of their sweat stinging the raw wounds. they peel back the walls of the massive nauseating thing and when the mucus drains, i'm sitting there inside of my own ruined stomach, chin in my hands coquettishly batting my eyelashes. and i'm soooooo hungry

🐍 dream-journal Follow

homunculi are such rudimentary inefficient examples of artificial life. give me the semen sample and the chickens egg. i will build you an army of thousands

🐍 dream-journal Follow

i ate it

🐍 dream-journal Follow

my beautiful baby girl is pleading with me to not subsume her into my ever-hungry husk but i juuust got a new follower and its getting really hard to fit them all in the back of my suv whenever i wanna go anywhere

[bitter69uk]

“Once up a time, they might’ve burned Siouxsie Sioux at the stake or thrown her in a lake to see if she’d float with rocks tied to her ankles. Today, she’s signed to a recording contract with the hope that she’ll be the most famous witch since mother-in-law Agnes Moorehead made Elizabeth Montgomery’s husband Dick York so miserable in Bewitched … but you won’t find the catchy minimalism of Siouxsie and the Banshees on US radio, so Hyaena tries to adapt the band’s basic doom und gloom to the dictates of modern pop and rock, turning its existential angst into heavy metal / new wave rituals …”

/ From Roy Trakin’s review of Hyaena by Siouxsie and the Banshees in the November 1984 issue of Creem magazine /

Released forty years ago today (8 June 1984): Hyaena, the sixth studio album by essential British punk band Siouxsie and the Banshees. Coincidentally, THIS was the first Banshees album I ever bought, and it absolutely entranced me! Hyaena’s biggest hit was the Banshees’ Gothic reinterpretation of “Dear Prudence” by the Beatles. High priestess of punk Siouxsie’s deadpan delivery suggests she doesn’t give a damn if that brat Prudence comes out to play or not. (The song hit number three on the UK singles chart, blocked from going further by “Karma Chameleon” by Culture Club!). The rest of the album finds the band at its most experimental, exploring bad-trip psychedelia (think Grace Slick in hell and “Paint it Black”-era Rolling Stones):  “Dazzle” (“Skating bullets on angel dust / In the dead sea of fluid mercury / Baby piano cries / Under your heavy index and thumb / Pull some strings / Let them sing!”), “Swimming Horses”, “We Hunger” (“As the rust creeps / Corrosion seeps a rotting seed / Eat me, oh, feed me / With your belching foul breath …”). Scary fun times! I had this poster on my bedroom wall for years! (First in my teenage bedroom, then in my university accommodation).

[melodyofthevoid]

The Crane Wives Analyzed: The Singles

I’d be remiss to neglect these beauties, each expressing wildly different ends of the many themes The Crane Wives cover, but all no less wonderful. With the live recordings there’s a raw quality to the main singers’ voice in their growls that send a thrill through the listener. All obviously worth a listen. 

On another note, as of this I've successfully analyzed all of the Crane Wives' (official and released) catalogue of music! Obviously there's more upcoming (thrilled for that) but this was a big accomplishment for me! Anyways, enjoy.

Drown You Out

It takes time for wounds to heal, an unfortunate fact especially when the wounds only make themselves apparent after a separation. Excising a part of oneself, extricating the join where one life met another, even when that join is a corrosive, hurtful thing. There are pieces and parts left over, influences that seep into you long after the other person is gone. 

The singer is in such a position, having separated from a toxic relationship after building up the courage to do so. It’s not an easy decision to make, and they’re still dealing with the aftermath. In their day, in the peak of their life they didn’t know this person, but after meeting them, knowing them, loving them, they’re a part of the singer. Their song sings in their veins, subtle influences that shape their actions, words that whisper in their ear that they can’t drown out. They’re trying, they’re trying to heal but it’s just so loud. 

They look at where they are now, looking over the damage done to their mental health, their self esteem, and the work it took for them to even be where they are now. They’ve ended up where they started before this relationship, now with scars and wounds that they didn’t have before. At the very least, they know the games that their partner played with them, how they used the singer’s own mind to hurt them, and can pull them apart to save themselves. 

Still, the words linger. They still haunt, and the singer can only recognize them for what they are, and try not to sing along to that familiar tune. 

And this relationship isn’t only limited to the romantic, any relationship can leave scars like this. Familial, platonic, it doesn’t matter. It can take a long time to heal, and that journey may come with its own hurdles. But know, even now, you’re not alone. 

Sowing Seeds

You reap what you sow, the efforts you put into the ground and soil will be returned in kind, whether for good or ill. Neglect to take action, leave weeds to fester and spread, and you’ll have only yourself to blame when there’s nothing to eat but poison. 

There are forces, thieves destroying the ground and crops, turning it to useless mud in his wake. His teeth devouring the land as no one moves to stop him. The world is still, the lake doesn’t move. 

A signal tower broadcasts venom and hate to all who listen, the dark creeps closer as the sun sinks down. The singer pleads for the people to listen, to not look away or blink lest they miss their chance to make a difference. 

Otherwise, well. The world will move on as the people sleep, content to take the easy way out and ignore the world at large until it becomes impossible to ignore and they’re suddenly forced to reap the consequences of their ignorance. It’s tempting to tune out all of the noise of the world, as the news becomes overwhelming and truth harder to find, but it’s worth it, if it means avoiding… well. 

We’ve all seen the last few years, haven’t we? 

Taking Turns

For better or for worse, in sickness and in health, for rich or for poor. Common vows made, sometimes kept, and sometimes broken. Because when those hard times come, it wears down the soul, exhausts hope, exhausts resources, and the future that once looked bright approaches like a train, rather than an escape. 

The sun is as it’s always been, the moon marks the start of a new month, and the singer holds out hope that things will turn around soon, even though they’ve been running in circles as of late. The rat race is exhausting, but it helps them survive so they can look forward to a day where they don’t have to carry out this way. Change will come, and maybe it’s already happening, and these are the growing pains. Change is hard, they just have to believe. 

Even if that belief is a lie, a comfortable lie that they keep telling each other to distract from the bills burdening the bank accounts. They believe in each other, and when they can’t see the light, the other guides them to it, even if it’s just smoke and mirrors. They’re in it together. 

The cycle begins on a new month, and the hope is now turning to a nervous smile. Jokes about reaching the bottom and having nowhere to go but up. Maybe one day this will all be a phase that they can look back on and laugh about, “remember when we ate ramen every day to save up?” or “when they almost turned the power out” once they’re safe and secure. They just have to tough this out and get there. 

Unless… they don’t. 

Unless the bills keep coming in, the calls get more aggressive, knocks come to the door, all wolves hungry to bleed them dry. They can’t afford this, not the constant cycle of more bad news with no end in sight, they have little left to lose and even that is being taken from them. 

Still, they cling to each other and look for reassurance, a silver lining, the dandelion’s wish, a pretty lie that they can hold even if it’s nothing but an empty pantomime of a future they’ll never have. 

They have each other, at least. 

Hollow Moon

There’s nothing quite like the thoughts that creep into your head at night, when you’re in bed ruminating about your life. When thoughts tangle like weeds, too interconnected to pull up one at a time, fears mixing with exhaustion as the hours tick on. 

This is where the singer starts, staring out at stars that seem to warp in unfamiliar ways, unable to sleep as the darkness seems to take on a life of its own. Whispers begging to be let in, to work their way into their mind. 

In the pitch black, it brings contrast to the problems that the singer’s been fighting, howling at a hollow moon, a facsimile of a real problem. There’s endless doubts filling their head with smoke and flames, spreading as they lie awake. Because they can’t sleep with all of the monsters outside their door, creeping ever closer in the night. 

So they pull the blankets tighter around them and close the blinds, shutting out the world and making a safe space. Or, at least they hope it’s safe. After all, there’s little difference between a foxhole and a grave when the war is ongoing. They hold the keys to their own coffin in their hands, a shovel and rope, intrusive thoughts growing stronger as they come to grips with the fact they made this. They dug their own grave, their patterns, and they wonder… did they make the monsters too? 

They ask the question over and over, a mantra of madness as they attempt to come to grips with their current state. Trying to ride out the wave and keep their head above water lest they drown in their thoughts. 

Here I Am

There’s a stretch of America known, colloquially, as the “Rust Belt”. A collection of states that once boasted robust manufacturing economies, steel processing mills, car plants, the works. Then the jobs started to leave overseas, the promise of cheap labor too enticing for companies willing to save on costs and abandon the towns that grew up around those factories. They shut down, left the states’ economies in shambles, and the shine began to corrode. Now the storefronts are full of cracks, the windows on the factories shattered, and the few left behind are still there. 

Such is the case with Michigan, the home state of The Crane Wives, once a haven of car manufacturing, years of government neglect, corporate retreat, and decay have left many parts of the state destitute. And the singer is left in one of these towns, watching their home crumble and decay. They watch people leave and move on to better opportunities, the streets fall into further disrepair, and lawns grow tangled with weeds as despair sets in. 

They’re forgotten, part of America left to fester and die off, any of their hopes and dreams about as dead as the lights in the factories. They look at the place around them and wonder how long they’ve been alone here, in a dead town. 

They scream that they’re still here, that they’re alone and left behind by everyone that they once loved. Maybe once they hoped that maybe the town might come back to life, but they didn’t count on everyone else packing up and leaving. Searching for somewhere else that might give them a life worth living. The ghost town is hollowing out the singer as they lose more and more, stuck haunting an empty house. 

And they can acknowledge that this is a lost cause, in the end. Promising themselves that they’ll move on and try to leave. Afterall, with no one else there, no roots to tie them to the land it feels hollow to stay. Seeing the remnants of better days and memories everywhere. They resort to begging the few who remain to stay, “pulling arms”, begging to not be left alone.

The question remains of why? Why stay? It’s a question often heard by those in small towns, sometimes well meaning, sometimes not. For the singer, it’s the same as so many others, they love their home. They believe in it, as did their father, and their father’s father. There’s a beauty in the flowers that grow in the cracks in the streets. Making a home in the uninhabitable. If only someone could just acknowledge that beauty and see that they are there. 

Daydreamer

High school at 18, graduate college in 4 years, get a job, settle down, have a family, retire, die. Hit the milestones at the right time, do what your parents did, what society dictates, at the right pace. Don’t take a gap year, don’t take time to slow down. You can’t fit in this narrow margin? Well, then there’s no hope for you. There’s always some marker on the road ahead that you’re expected to hit, and any other pace? Any missteps? 

Well, then you’re falling behind. 

The Daydreamer in question is at a crossroads in their life, stuck between taking steps towards what they want, and having to backtrack again. In that cycle of attempting to understand who they want to be, they’ll go about anywhere, take a one-way ticket just to get a chance to start over. The stumbles they’re facing now, they’re only setbacks. Nothing is a death knell unless they let it be. 

The chorus warns that they’re falling behind, but the singer insists that they’ll get where they’re heading in their own time. 

Their journey took them in directions that they regretted, altered who they were. It can be easy to assume that changes are temporary but then how do you rebuild yourself from scratch again? How many times can you do it until you find what you’re looking for? 

But their wanderings, their dreaming, it leaves them wanting more. Not wanting to be confined by the expectations that others put on them, to choose only one path. There’s so much out on the horizon, so many routes to take, people to meet, people to be. They’ll find it in their own time, not at anyone else’s pace than their own. 

Volta

There comes a time when epiphany hits. When the factors all come together and you finally decide it’s time for a change. Volta, the title of this song, is the turn between sonnets, the transition, the iteration. Shell shock setting their perspective back into place. Bombs are falling on their mind, perhaps shocking revelations, major life events, deaths, tragedies, things happening all at once. They’re getting used to it all, the lights, the sounds, their new life. 

They ask if their audience remembers the thrill and passion of youth, the hunger and spark that came so easily then. The singer wants to connect with the world, and bring that feeling to their audience. They proclaim that they’re ready to be here, in the spotlight, that they’re ready to be found by the world. 

And yes, they’ve made a mess of themselves on the journey to this moment. The journey to becoming a creative takes a toll, with the lights and sounds, the roar of the crowd, but they need something to tie them to life. An anchor to bring back to reality, instead of drifting in the shadows. 

They call to the audience to ask if they feel that same hunger, that same need to be something more. That all consuming fire that drives their creative engine. Pushes them to be more, and makes them feel alive, because this is what they were made for. 

Are you ready for it? For change? For more? Because they are. 

Take Me to War

An open declaration, an invitation to all to come and view the spectacle. A gladiator itching for combat, waiting for a challenge. Sickly sweet and itching to let loose. There’s injustice in the world, those who’ll wrong you, spit words and vitriol, and it gets to be too much. The singer finds herself embattled constantly, saddled with a reputation of talking a big game with nothing to back it up. A dog behind a fence, its bark booming with no bite. Still, that doesn’t stop them, snapping at forces far more powerful than they are with all that they can. 

No one rewards them for these battles, it’s not celebrated or righteous, and yet they continue anyways. Tilting at the windmills for all their worth. Still, even as they fight, there’s fire that they’ve swallowed, words they’ve left unsaid that burn eternally inside them. Not a blaze of glory but a consuming sear that eats away at them every day. 

At times this anger can be… performative. Not always a righteous cause but part of an expectation. An act celebrated with roses and applause as they intentionally provoke the “beast”, trading barbs and epithets to inflict the most harm. It’s all a public display for the audience to consume, always watching and ready to bite down on any missed step or mistake to destroy their heart. Yet they feed these ugly parts to the audience because that’s what they want, even as they destroy themselves with the swords they let sharpen their tongue. 

They call for the fight now, for a war. They dare anyone to underestimate them for their appearance, for their words, begging them to get close if only to scare their detractors. They itch for a fight, for something to break, a battle. Defined by their anger and fully embracing it as it leaves them bloodied and bruised, spitting out a tooth as they prepare for another bout. 

Ideas and people can poison and spread like weeds, destroying discourse and hurting so many before anyone has a chance to stop it. Watching this, the singer witnesses the destruction of the “crops”, knowing that undoing the damage will take ages. Dismantling lies piece by painful piece. So they take another route, deciding the scorch the earth and lay waste to all that the weed poisoned. Consequences be damned, it will be gone. 

And once the fires die down, and they’re left with nothing but embers, that spark will still be there, ready to catch once proper fuel is given and ready for another go. 

Empty Page

Imposter syndrome, it’s a bitch isn’t it? Constant comparisons to those who’re more worthy than you, more talented, more original, it eats away at your confidence until there’s nothing left inside. The singer’s tone is laid back as they call themselves a 10¢ copy of people better than themselves, that every thought is straight from a magazine. They’re an amalgamation of ideas stolen and made worse. Washed out and repurposed without skill. 

They stay within the boundaries set by others, toeing the line, following the path, never blazing their own trail for any reason. Obedient to a fault, promising their word. Any number of reasons could explain why, maybe fear that they’ll get lost if they stay on their own, uncertainty keeping them boxed in. Doubt in their own abilities to make any real impact. Whatever the cause, the result is the same. 

They’re an empty page, no words written on it, no thoughts uttered. A muddled shade of paint, too mixed with others to have an identity of its own. They’re a candle burnt out from their own expectations and dismay. When there’s decisions to make, when there’s things to cut out of their lives, their hands shake with fear. Unable to do it. Deferring the decision, someone else will do it better anyways so why bother. (But isn’t that just the thing, everything is unique to you, isn’t it?)

It’s naivete to believe that they’ll make something better of themselves. It’s callow, unfounded, words that hold no meaning. They’ve practiced their imitations, pulling from masters but in the end, only improving their ability to steal. 

But here’s the secret, in the end. Everything is an amalgamation of inspirations taken from elsewhere. Yes, sometimes it’s more of a one to one, but who we are is an ever changing puzzle taken from all of our experiences and inspirations. Nothing and no one is “wholly original”. That empty page is your own, so take it and use it. This is mostly editorial from me, but I’ve struggled with this feeling of worthlessness in my work, like everything I do is just copied from somewhere else. But if I listen to that instinct, I’ll never make anything at all. Why should I let that stop me? 

High Horse

It’s easy to build up an idealized version of the object of your affections, especially before one makes a move. From an outside perspective, their shining attributes blind to any possible flaws, the smallest smile sending a heart fluttering, setting expectations that can… never really be met by an actual person. Because that’s not a person, that’s an ideal, a pretty picture. 

And eventually that picture comes crashing down to the floor. Met with reality and rejection. 

The singer is shown such an offer, and returns the feelings with scorn. The woman that the confessor cherishes is a fiction, she’s a curse plaguing their mind, she’s a trophy that’s to be won up on a shelf. Not a person, not a human with her own complex feelings.  The confessor knows their worth, but is flying a bit too close to the sun here. They’ll get what they deserve though, even if they don’t learn from this situation. 

With their ire now drawn, the singer refutes the image drawn up by the infatuated of them. They’re petty, they keep a running score of those who wrong them and how they measure up. They sit on a high horse, with an over-inflated opinion of themselves, but it’s who they are. The lovelorn is struck dumb by this, and the singer holds some of their harsher opinions back. It’s not worth being overly cruel about, just honest.

This isn’t worth their time to think about any longer. The singer doesn’t reciprocate the feelings of the other, they feel no guilt for this fact. They don’t owe them anything for being idolized to this extent. They’ll put it out of their mind and move on, they’ve got other things to worry about and this certainly isn’t one of them. 

This doesn’t quite get all the way through to their audience, and in a voice sweeter than honey and laced with enough arsenic to kill a man, they call them a sweetheart, a passing grade on a low bar. Sure, they’re “nice”. They have basic respect and aren’t an outright jerk but what are they expecting? A trophy? (The trophy they put on a shelf perhaps?) It’s not happening, plain and simple, the singer has other goals and aims and love isn’t in the cards. 

Nothing’s going to change her mind, so don’t try. It’s okay to feel let down, heartbroken even, but admitting defeat looks better than begging and pleading for a different outcome. 

You wouldn’t even really like her if she came off of that high horse anyways. 

Queen of Nothing

Expectations, such a loaded term, especially in the creative space. Every piece needs to top the last one, each new song breaking a new record, pushing further, doing more. It’s a constant pressure that weighs more and more as time goes on, whether success follows or not, and when you’re a musician on the road? Well it just gets exhausting, doesn’t it? 

Being on the road, on the ride to fame is out of your control, a backseat passenger watching the world go by at dizzying speeds. Out of reach, close enough to see but not touch, because everything revolves around the next song, the next album, and it’s all so much. Paralyzing without the chance to breathe and slow down. Take in the world. 

But isn’t this what the singer wanted? Isn’t this the dream? To be creative and take their music across the nation? But for how long can they keep doing this? How long until the money dries up and the dream ends for good? But they have to finish their work, finish this journey they started for a reason. As the ruler of their destiny and yet so utterly powerless in the grand scheme of things, bearing the burden of their own expectations. 

And like a moth, they’re drawn to the spotlight, desperate to get their “15 minutes of fame”. It’s so attractive isn’t it? The validation and accolades, finally “making it” after all the hard work, and yet, there’s something else. There’s the shadows, the oblivion of never being known that pulls at them. After all, fame doesn’t last forever and the darkness of obscurity is always one step behind, if you’re not careful. 

So they wrestle with the constant battle, forever caught between wanting to slow down and maintaining that relentless pace, afraid of the consequences of bowing their head to the pressure. 

And then they go onto the next town, onto the next thing, always running and running as if running out of time and yet it isn’t. They beg for it to stop, growing more desperate as they repeat their plea. 

It all draws to a close so, so slowly, exhausted now. The weight of the crown finally too much to bear. 

The Wolf 

It’s not easy to change. Once someone’s set in their ways, set in their habits and patterns, it’s difficult at best to shift it. So… what’s someone to do? Keep fighting? Or lean in? The singer opts to do the latter, giving into their destructive tendencies. They’re not a builder, they’re a force that only tears down and demolishes. The wolf in every fairy-tale, coming to blow down your house, send out a gale and lay waste to all in their path. 

But their violence is not entirely without direction, they are a being of gasoline and torches, burning all that they touch, and they reach out in the knowledge that their grasp only leaves ashes behind. 

For a moment they lament that it’s… difficult. That they can’t bring themselves to change, to show kindness instead of teeth to anyone. Let alone themselves. They sing to their love that they’re a falling axe, wielded by an uncaring executioner. A sharpened knife, ready and waiting to stab them in the back. A poison asp, like Cleopatra’s killer, a risk by sheer virtue of proximity. 

They repeat this to their lover, hands raised in surrender. Trying to make them understand the risks. They’re a liability, a wolf at their core. They should run, run fast and hard, before the beast’s claws get them too. And the singer has to wipe the blood of their face once more. 

Nobody

For some, it’s better to be miserable in a relationship than to be alone. That fear of never finding someone else ever again, it traps people into places where they’re worse off. Memories of better times can only do so much, but if the lover knows the power they hold… well. They can hold that leash tight. 

The song begins in a quiet moment, at dawn, the lover still asleep while the singer watches her. Her murmurings like holy words, revered and beautiful. And yet, even within that beauty, there is fear, the voice is both as soft as a spider’s weaving and a hatchet through the trees. The singer pulls the covers tight around them, and waits. For what? They don’t know. 

One has to wonder though, even as the singer calls their love soft spoken, they liken her to a spider, a predator that weaves a web that ensnares and traps its prey. The holy words are for them. The connection isn’t hard to miss. 

Doubt lingers at the back door, shades of mistrust and the singer’s own issues that haunt them in the dark. Their lover lights cigarettes, and in that brief light the singer finds some reprieve from their own demons that cloud their head. Losing themselves in the smoke as it fills their lungs. Simply another element of their relationship that might kill them. 

And they say that nobody ever loved her the same way their lover tells them she does, a backhanded statement. Is it that no one else has proclaimed their love the same way? Or does she only ever say her love, telling, yet never showing. 

Because this love hurts, the deep all encompassing ache of a bruise that throbs beneath the skin and cutting as deep as any razor. Every embrace is inescapable, like the grip of a Kraken that threatens to drag them so deep they’ll never see the surface again. Warning signs are all around them, more than abundant, especially in the depths of their lover’s rage. It’s never in their favor, always a slight they committed, or a problem they have and not on their behalf. A storm rages around them and yet they’re safe, at least relatively, in the eye. The only storm they know. 

That familiarity both a comfort, and a terror. 

Their heart yearns for their lover, a love so strong and blind it blocks out all of the red flags and misdeeds that she’s committed. The determination to hold on stronger than any self preservation instincts. Although, is it self preservation? The singer repeats that nobody’s ever loved them, with the caveat now of “so she tells me”. Do they believe that this is all they can have, the best they can have?  Convinced by a web of words? 

They say they should be grateful, that something is better than nothing. That a flawed relationship is better than being alone. Isn’t it? Isn’t it? This is close enough, good enough, they shouldn’t complain, even if it hurts. It’s worth enduring… isn’t it? 

The uncertainty has taken root, and it’s up to the singer to decide if they should do anything with it. 

After all, nobody loves them like she does.

[gothiccharmschool]

please i need you to look at Cece, a character who owns a clothing store in the new Legend of Zelda game

HEY. HEY NOW.

(Now now, sing this corrosion to me.)

I am delighted by this. Even this character isn't based on me, they're adorable.

[life-winners-liveblog]

We need some Tally hall here.

(I could do both separately but Chonny has covered a lot of Tally Hall songs and all of these covers have different lyrics sooo... I think a duet will be satisfactory...

Martyninthelittlewood and Ariana Griande are happy to present to you-)

Spring and a Storm(Tally Hall) x Storm and a Spring(Chonny Jash).

Ariana Griande: You want to take a mic? Theres a second one just for you. 🎵One time I tried to sing about spring and a storm but you know how it goes...🎶🎵

Martyn: Blah blah blah blah blah is all they heard... oh you tought they were listening? Now don't be absurd~ 🎵

Ariana Griande: 🎶🎵 Will you please stop complaining? I am playing a song... 🎶🎵

Martyn: 🎶All the rain comes down the same but not a drop can stake It's claim, down they pour with millions more to the floor with no name.🎵🎶

Scott: huhhh guys? this is a bit intense...

Ariana Griande: 🎵I wish you could have heard the music when the clouds growled overhead~ I finally felt enthusiastic, I finally felt alive! 🎶

Martyn: 🎵🎵I am sure you really poured your heart out, or I am sure thats how it seemed, but you and I know so well now, that looks can be deceiving.🎶🎶

Martyn/Ariana Griande: 🎶Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah🎵

Ariana Griande: 🎵So you said...would it please you to listen to thunder instead?🎶

Martyn: 🎵🎶When your tears fell down one day, obfuscated by the rain, can you truly say, with a straight face, that you tried your best?🎶🎵

Ariana Griande: 🎶🎵When the rain came down that day, and it drained my soul away and I wondered why I even bothered to try...🎵🎶

LimL!Jimmy: I don't think they are listening to us...

Ariana Griande: 🎶The sky is deep and dark and eternally high, many people think thats were you go when you die...🎵

Martyn: 🎶But I think if I left it to you, you'll fall under It's weight and kill it too, but I won't let you ruin what we can still be.🎵

Ariana Griande: 🎵We have so much left to sing! Theres a storm for every spring! All you see and you and me became from a star!🎶

Martyn: 🎶All the rage, despair and shame, That's been caged, ensneared and flamed form this atom bomb of songs refused to be played!🎶 But if you insist oncrying while our host is slowly dying then I'll cut you loose and spare this noose the dead weight🎵

Pearl: Yeah, they are completely ignoring us.

Ariana Griande: 🎵Silent explosive and Silent explosive and Silent explosive and Silent explosive.🎵

Martyn: 🎵🎶 Silent explosive, this vile scent's corrosive, the wiles and the woes that these siblants end plosives defer to inside from the errings he hides he's so confident his throes won't be found once he's died-🎵🎶

Ariana Griande: 🎶🎵Create until nothing is left to create and the universe burst with an overworked sigh then pretend to pretend to re-crown the creation, sing the same thing 'til the clouds start to cry-🎶🎵

Martyn: 🎶🎵- cause this violent narcosis, this trident he forged is both weapon and motive, the world will forget you neglect then regret to enweave the same story the backdrop is set- 🎶🎵

Ariana Griande: 🎵🎶 -Over and over and over again and then over and over and-🎶🎵

Ariana Griande/Martyn: 🎵Never again!🎶

Martyn: 🎶One time I tried to sing about a storm and a spring but they knoooow hoooow iiiit... 🎵*Music ends*

Ariana Griande: That was... tiring... But liberating.

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