#why do some chords sound like they're going up and some are going down

[zzazztrainer]

i wanna get into doing music so bad but there's so much secret math in there. anyone got tips for learning music theory and guitar when you got dyscalculia/dyslexia

[thriftedtchotchkes]

his favorite girl, part iii

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: tensions rise as your second lesson continues, but joel still refuses to admit his feelings to you—or himself. you'd concede defeat if you really believed he didn't want you. or if his actions weren't constantly contradicting his words.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, no outbreak, guitar teacher au, age gap (30 years), slow-burn, sexual tension, finger kink, smut, angst, f!masturbation, mild exhibitionism, mentions of guilt & shame

word count: 3.4k

series masterlist | part i | part ii

You have no idea how you're supposed to survive another afternoon with Joel, let alone an entire semester. He's basically Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, hiding under the visage of an unfairly sexy, middle-aged musician, but you never know which one you’re dealing with until he pushes you away or calls you his girl.

Today, he feels like a dangerous combination of both.

After your verbal agreement to keep things professional, yet again, he concedes and finally sits next to you on the couch. Guess that safe distance he was so desperate to maintain is null and void now that he’s made his feelings clear—sort of.

You assume his proximity is an olive branch, but it sure doesn't feel like one. Now, he's close enough to smell his cologne, an earthy, woodsy scent that's so Joel, it makes your head spin. It's also making this lesson infinitely harder to focus on.

You’d never even considered the possibility of him shutting you down this hard, but then again, a hot fling with an older guy wasn’t why you showed up on his doorstep in the first place. If he'd just admit he's interested, maybe things could be different, but he won’t, will he? So, what other option do you have?

You’re not going to throw yourself at him like some pathetic schoolgirl with a crush, even if that’s exactly what you are. You want him to want to touch you, to crave you the way you're sure he does, but right now he wants to teach you chords. Starting with C, apparently.

“We’re gonna try this chord again, alright? Same as last time, nice and slow,” he starts, reaching back to pull something out of his pocket. He presents you with a small, black piece of plastic that looks like a clamp, identical to the one on his guitar. "This here's called a capo. Go ahead and fit it right over the third fret—it’ll raise the key of the guitar. M’thinkin' that'll make things a little easier for ya."

You push your feelings to the side and accept it, following his lead and squeezing it into place before glancing up for his approval. He gives you an encouraging smile and nods, and your heart rate kicks up wildly in your chest.

God, why does his praise feel so good? And why does it feel like it’s been so long since anyone was this patient with you, or genuinely wanted to see you succeed? You realize you want him to keep looking at you like that, regardless of the nature of your relationship.

"S'perfect. Now, your fingers'll go here, here, and here," he arranges his fingers one by one on the three strings that make up the chord and strums. He lets it ring out for a moment, then looks up at you expectantly. "Any of this ringin' a bell from yesterday?"

Vaguely. Mainly, you're remembering how tempting his fingers looked while he was playing, but you'll have to do better than that today. Instead, you focus on mirroring what he showed you.

"Like this?" you ask hesitantly, pressing down on the strings and mimicking his motions. Tough nylon bites into your skin just as painfully as last time, but the sound you produce is pretty. Nothing like the muted, garbled mess from your previous attempt.

You meet his eyes, and they're filled with none of the surprise yours contain. He just looks pleased, like he had total confidence in you even if you didn't.

"Exactly like that. See? You're doin' better already. Must'a done your finger exercises last night like I told ya,” he says proudly, none the wiser.

If only he knew that’s exactly what you spent your night doing. Practically the entire night, if you’re being honest, and to no avail. It might’ve unintentionally improved your dexterity, but you're still stuck on everything that did or didn't happen yesterday. The only lasting result is how unexpectedly conflicted it made you feel. You nod, biting your lip to keep from grimacing.

“Sure did,” you play it off with a laugh. "I wanted to be as prepared as possible."

Prepared for something a little more physical than playing guitar, but that's a moot point now, isn't it?

You sound as fake as you feel, but luckily he’s so eager to continue the lesson, he doesn’t notice. Again, you follow his lead and try your best to ignore your disappointment and bury the residual hurt. You have a sneaking suspicion you're going to be doing a lot of that, but inexplicably, it's getting easier.

You're starting to realize it's not in spite of Joel. It's because of him. In a brief moment of self-indulgence, you let your gaze linger on his rosy cheeks and the newfound serenity in his eyes.

His enthusiasm is infectious, and his love for music radiates like a Texas heatwave, burning hotter with every chord he strums and string he picks. Even his posture is loosening, and the soft smile on his face seems like a permanent fixture.

It's that same warmth from earlier. That intimate connection you felt blooming in your chest from sharing in his joy. Cautiously, you allow yourself to hope, if not for you and Joel, then for your degree. For the goals you have yet to achieve that, regardless of the past 24 hours, still mean everything to you.

"So, what's next?" you ask eagerly.

His eyes light up, and you know you've asked the right question. He shifts across the strings to a new chord, his smile widening as you quickly move to match him.

"Next, we're learnin' F," he grins, nodding toward your finger placement. "Then, I figure we can run through some pickin' patterns if you're up for it.”

"I'm up for anything you are, teach," you reply earnestly, and the smile you give him feels genuine this time. You really do mean it in every sense. "But be gentle with me. It's been a while, if that wasn't obvious."

His smile falters, and something unreadable flashes in his eyes. After a moment, you realize what you said and how it must’ve sounded. You open your mouth to clarify, but before you get the chance, his expression clears. He chuckles, and it's a light, tinkling thing that fills your chest with a heady combination of relief and longing.

Of course, he’d take it in stride. You’re struck again by the resemblance to Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, left wondering if you're still imagining things. The subtle twitch of his fingers must be a figment of your imagination, too, or at least that's what you tell yourself. It doesn't matter now, anyway.

"'Course, I will,” he drawls companionably, his words commanding your attention, compelling you to hang on to each one like a lifeline. “Like I said, we'll take it nice and slow. Ease you back into things until you're ready for somethin' harder.”

It takes everything you have not to choke on your spit. Ignore it. Ignore it. Focus on the lesson and how incredible it’s going to feel when you finally finish the song and pass your damn class.

But you can’t. He’s too close, and he smells so good. You’re only human.

"I think I'll surprise you," you retort cheekily. You’re so fucked. "Plus, I like it hard. Just need a little build-up to get me there."

His hand tenses in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it movement, and you can't help the overwhelming feeling of pride pooling in your belly. You've never backed down from a challenge and you're not about to start now. This one is apparently still ongoing.

"Well, all right, then," he says smoothly, and this time when you shiver, he looks pleased. "Let's hear ya strum it, and then we'll work through the rest. Think you can handle that?"

You straighten up, sitting confidently with your fingers poised over the frets, ready to play. As you shift in your seat, your thigh presses firmly into his and sends a rush of heat straight to the pit of your stomach. "Yeah, I can take it.”

He shakes his head with an amused, yet undoubtedly shy smile. You bite your lip coyly, nodding at the sheet music you've just noticed on the rug at his feet.

"Are there more chords in this bar or is it just picking until the next line?"

It's a toss-up whether or not he heard any of what you just asked if his rapt attention on your lips is any indication. You're still teasing your bottom lip with your teeth, and it's not until you laugh that he finally snaps out of it. He shakes his head a little harder as if to shoo away the distraction, before reaching down to inspect the piece of paper.

He concentrates a little too hard on the page, looking but not seeing, so you reach over and point at a confusing string of notes that connect and repeat with seemingly no rhyme or reason. His gaze shifts to your daintily extended index finger, and you're hit with an intense feeling of deja vu, except this time, your roles are reversed.

“Can you show me how that part goes? It looks like gibberish to me, to be totally honest,” you prod him, trying to reel him back in.

As if on autopilot, he quickly discards the sheet and shifts his hands into place, ready to teach like he wasn't just daydreaming about your fingers wrapped around his cock, covered in his release. And if he wasn't, then you sure were.

“Y-yeah, sure thing. That line's just the intro, but the flow is somethin' else. Probably one of my all-time favorites," he says, his endearing mask carefully slotted back into place.

But you're onto him now. Begrudgingly, he tears his eyes away from where you're matching him on your guitar, waiting patiently for his next instructions.

"It really ain't as bad as it looks," he continues. "The timing's purposely a little off, but it's adaptable. This one's real easy to add your own spin to if that's somethin' ya wanna try."

With all of the skill and grace of a practiced musician, he plucks through the line to give you a preview of what was previously only lines and circles on a page. The notes blend seamlessly, a mixture of picking and what you vaguely remember to be hammering, and it evokes something you never expected.

An unidentified emotion takes root and feels startlingly like yearning and hope, carried by the short melody. It's beautiful. He circles back to the beginning, hopping along the frets slowly just for you, and he's beautiful. You watch him, enamored by his fluidity and ease of motion.

For him, all of this is innate. His guitar is a natural extension of himself, something he was born to hold. You used to think you were born for it, too. The reminder is a painful one, but thankfully you're not left to dwell on it for long.

"So, how 'bout it? Ready to give it a try?" Joel's voice cuts through the fog, as honeyed and mellow as the music at his fingertips. You want to hear that voice call you beautiful again and feel him panting against the shell of your ear while he stretches you out around his thick fingers. God, you want.

Yet, your hands move of their own accord and fall into place—it's the C chord. Apparently, you really want that, too.

"Ready, teach," you nod, and you know you must look like a lovesick fool.

Right now, you really don't care because your gorgeous guitar teacher is beaming and excited, and beneath it all, there's still a tinge of something that makes you believe all of this is real. A lust for more simmering just below the surface.

"You have my full attention, promise."

——

The next hour is spent walking through various strumming and picking patterns, and acquainting yourself with the fluctuating tempo. It's tricky, but you're committed. Again and again, you repeat the same bars, following Joel's interjected advice and corrections, and your mistakes become less obvious until they're all but gone completely.

Rewarding doesn't even begin to cover how a successful run feels. Even the pain blooming beneath the reddening indents on your fingertips feels good. Calluses are beginning to roughen the soft skin, but you earned them.

They're yours and yours alone, proof that you worked your ass off and achieved something remarkable. The results speak for themselves, bouncing around the walls of Joel's living room and breathing new life into the space. Your contribution to his little corner of the world.

And Joel looks so damn proud. He stays patient through every flubbed hammer and too-hard pluck, grinning when you complete the section without his guidance. Your lesson's already gone on long past its scheduled time, but neither of you seems to notice. You likely wouldn't bother to mention it even if you did.

Time trickles by like the slow drip of molasses, thick with the sweetest tension, yet the longer you play, the more a familiar ache starts to creep in and make your progression a little more difficult.

Your hand is cramping, and it hurts. You pause mid-strum to shake it out and stretch your fingers, sighing at the brief respite.

"Hurtin' again, huh?"

You huff out a laugh, remembering the last time he asked you that question. The throbbing in your joints would more than welcome another massage from Joel, but you don't exactly trust yourself to come back from that. You have to stay focused until the next line of the song, at the very least.

"It's really not that bad. Guess all those finger exercises are paying off," you joke, but you don't expect him to catch the underlying punchline. "I kinda figured it wouldn't go away overnight, anyway."

You can tell he's thinking about it, too. He nods understandingly, tapping a restless, arrhythmic beat against his guitar.

"S'all part of bein' a guitar player, unfortunately," he agrees, his entire body tense like he’s resisting the urge to reach out and inspect the subtle changes to your delicate skin for himself.

Your mind starts to wander as his tapping changes to slow circles swirled into the wood grain. You can't help but wonder if your new calluses would feel good sliding up and down his cock, if he'd like the coarse hint of pain teasing the ridge or circling the tip. You wonder what his own would feel like pressing into your clit. The skin of his middle and ring fingertips is noticeably rougher than the rest and with a little pressure—fuck.

You're wet. That can't happen. You have to concentrate. But his movements are starting to speed up, and you can almost feel them sliding through your messy heat.

The intrusive thought is thankfully interrupted when he stops the lewd motion and continues his reassurances like it never happened. Why does he keep doing that? It seems so pointless to keep pretending you’re not on the same page, but you’re not about to call him out and scare him off again.

You tell yourself to focus on the pain. Focus on what he’s saying, not what he’s insinuating.

"Pain's a good thing. It means you're stickin' it out and makin' some real progress," he says fondly, and it's almost enough to reclaim your attention. "Says a lot about the kind of person you are, too, what you do with that pain and how you let it shape ya. You're a good one, I can tell. Committed, like I was."

It's so much sweeter than anything you'd expected him to say. It helps.

"Fair enough. Still kinda sucks though," you grumble, but the slight quirk of your lips betrays your tone.

"Yeah, yeah. What happened to likin' it hard?" he asks playfully, and you feel that telltale whoosh between your legs.

You shift uncomfortably, subtly trying to unstick your underwear from where it's cemented to your core, but the unexpected friction makes you flinch. He picks up on it immediately.

"Look, why don't we take a break? I'll grab us some drinks while you rest up, and we can dive back in whenever you're ready," he offers, his voice raspier than before.

"Yeah, that, um...that sounds good. I'm actually gonna run to the bathroom real quick if that's cool," you reply, trying not to sound as flustered as you feel.

It's hot as hell all of a sudden, even though the AC hasn't stopped kicking since you got here, and you have a feeling cold drinks won't be enough to cool you down. He hesitates before nodding, then points down the hall.

"'Course. S'the first door on your left," he says, brows furrowing in concern. You all but speed walk past him to your temporary haven.

Backing into the door the moment it closes behind you, you squeeze your legs together as tightly as you can, but it only makes it worse. The ache is almost unbearable, and you know for a fact that you'll waste the rest of the lesson if you try to go back out there like this.

The entire afternoon has been such a complicated back-and-forth of conflicting feelings and confusion, but you still have no idea what do to about it. You want him to fuck you, but you also want him to teach you. He wants to teach you, but he also wants you in ways he won't admit to you. Or himself.

Your head is cloudier than it's been all day, and your thoughts are a jumbled mess of desire and rationality, both fighting for dominance. So, now what?

There was only one way to clear the fog last night, but you really shouldn't. You're in his bathroom for christ's sake, and he can't be more than 15 feet away, pouring you a glass of lemonade in the kitchen.

You do it, anyway. With one hand shoved down your pants and the other slapped over your mouth, you decide your best course of action is to rub one out in Joel's bathroom to rid yourself of this distraction once and for all. And it feels good.

The moment your sore fingertips press into your clit, your hips buck into your touch and you lose yourself to the friction. You're even wetter than you realized, and your fingers keep slipping from where you need them most, so you change tactics, ramming two of them inside you instead.

So much for resting your hand. Your motions are frantic, bordering on desperate, and you can't bring yourself to stop now that you've started. Wet squelching mingles with your muffled moans and fills the room, noisier than you’ve been all day even after an afternoon of playing guitar.

But you're getting a little too loud. The door rattles on its hinges every time your palm slaps into your heat, and your hand isn't nearly enough to mask your increasing volume the closer you get. Maybe you'll get lucky and he won't hear a thing. Or maybe you'll get really lucky and he'll hear everything.

You're too far gone to care. Just a little more. You can feel yourself starting to squeeze your fingers, and you just need a little bit more—

Then, there's a knock at the door and Joel's voice tentatively filters through.

"Everythin' alright in there?" he asks kindly, but he sounds wrecked.

It's obvious he heard everything, and yet he's still trying to be polite, desperately clinging to his morals and good, Southern manners. Too bad that turns you on.

Not bothering to respond, you keep going, fixated on how vivid a picture your unstifled moans and reckless actions must be painting. You wouldn't be surprised if it's just your imagination again, but you swear you can hear labored breathing and a litany of muttered curses coming from the other side.

He knocks on the door again, harder this time, and you quickly realize that any patience Joel had left is gone. You've finally pushed him past his limit.

"M'givin' you sixty seconds to get back in that livin' room," he grits out roughly. "You're finishin' out here."

The door shakes as he pushes off of it and stomps away, leaving you in palpable silence.

thanks for reading & stay tuned for part iv!

divider by @saradika-graphics

[ten-shi-fandoms]

Hey neighbour! I don't know if ur still taking request,,

Can I ask for a howdy x human! reader but the reader is seriously injured and they're from our world!

Maybe like, when the reader gets transported into Welcome home they get injured on the way?

Sure! This was actually pretty fun to do! I love this kind of trope! I didn't know if you wanted it platonic or romantic so I only made it platonic, I can always make it a romantic fic for Howdy later for you! I hope you enjoy!

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Treated Injuries

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Cw: Howdy Pillar x Injured Human!Reader, gender neutral reader, reader is from our world, getting transported, reader is seriously injured, mentions of blood, serious wounds, mentions of being attacked, reader gets stabbed, angst to fluff, platonic

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You don't remember much about what happened or what was even going on, all you remember was someone blindfolding you from behind before getting attacked on your way home. Your were stomped on, kicked, punched, you even felt a knife dig itself into your skin forcing crimson red liquid to pour from your body.

By the end of the assault you were covered in wounds, blood and dirt. Dirt clung to your now messy (h/c) hair, and (s/c) skin. Blood stained your clothes, mixing with the dirt that laid on your skin and smudged across wounds. You could barely move. You felt like your dominant wrist was damaged, your leg was definitely broken from the odd bent it had, there was a large stab wound along your side, you could even feel bruising forming on your ribs. Blisters and bruises laced your lip as the blood ran down it dripping onto your clothes. You were in no position to get up. You couldn't even talk, most likely having messed up your vocal chords from how much you screamed. It felt like everything was out to get you.

Why did this have to happen to you of all people?

Why were you always the one in some form of pain?

As the questions of why this happened to you, you begun thinking back to your childhood when your life was at least a bit peaceful. You use to run around with friends, dance around to the music playing in the streets, eat junk and laugh, but there was one memory that you favored over the rest. It was the memory of you watching a show called "Welcome Home" the first time you met your favorite character, Howdy Pillar.

In the episode you vividly remembered Howdy refusing to let Wally inside due to the smaller male taking his apples the day before. The moment you laid eyes on him you knew he was going to be your favorite. Howdy was quick witted, charismatic and overall a joy to watch. It was always the light of your day watching Howdy scold Wally for knocking over his apples, handing out glitter glue to Sally for her plays, helping Julie pick out hair accessories, joking around with Barnaby and so much more. Tears welled in your (e/c) eyes slowly pouring down leaving wet streaks against your dirtied cheeks. What you would give to watch Howdy on your tv again. To watch him smile so kindly when helping his fellow residence. To be a kid again without a care in the world. As the thoughts of your mind began to grow your eyesight begun to blur, then your vision went black and no more thoughts plagued your mind.

Slowly you were awaken, hearing the sounds of muffled speech and soft mumbles. Bright light forced your eyes to stay mostly shut as you were faced with a red hot pain throughout your limbs. What was going on? Due to the light you couldn't open your eyes fully, but you could tell you were no longer on the street near your house. What even happened? You remembered getting attacked then things turning black, but you didn't remember getting moved or hearing sirens at all. So where were you?

Before you could think more, you heard a door open and soft footsteps coming near you. You braced yourself for the worst but you heard something click and through your most shut eyes you could see the lights had been dimmed. "I'm sorry about that, when Julie heard I brought someone back she immediately cut on the lights. I hope you aren't too upset about it." a gentle voice called out to you. Wait, did you know that voice? It sounded familiar but it was unclear why. Turning your head towards the voice, your eyes slowly opening trying to adjust to your environment.

When you opened your eyes you were met with a familiar face. Oh, so thats why the voice sounded so familiar. The green fleece skin, the blue pompadour, the four arms and legs. It was Howdy, Howdy Pillar from Welcome Home. But how? Where you dreaming? You went to speak, wanting to know what was going on only to feel a sharp pain go through your throat causing you to wince. Howdy's eyebrows furrowed a bit, one of his hands grabbing a glass of water from a table while another one held you up gently in a sitting position. The hand helped you drink the water, a few soft coughs escaped your lips after a few sips before Howdy sat the glass back down still holding you up.

"Your vocal chords are damaged, so I would hold off on talking for a bit." he started, his voiced laced with worry as he begun telling you about your body's current situation. "When I found you behind my shop you were badly hurt. You were covered in blood and unconscious so I brought you inside to get you fixed up. Your leg is broken, your wrist fracture, you have a large gash along your side and your ribs seem to be bruised." Howdy paused, his expression one full of concern. "I was worried, you seemed to have lost a lot of blood so I'm glad your awake. Do you feel any better?" he asked. The question making you nod your head a bit, the action made Howdy smile a bit, one that seemed to be out of relief.

"That's good." Howdy went to say something else before the look of concern quickly returned to his features. "Are you sure? Your crying." his voice was soft as he used one of his free hands to gently wipe your tears. You hadn't even realized you were crying, let alone shaking. Everything that had happened came at you like a brick and your body could make you do nothing but cry. Large globs of tears fell from your eyes at a fast pace as your body shook forcing broken sobs from your lips. Howdy said nothing instead opting to gently wrap his arms around you, holding you in a warm embrace. Your cheek laid against his chest, warm tears staining his apron. Your body hurt, hurt more than it ever had but you really couldn't think of that. Howdy's gentle embrace, soft patting of your head and kind praises filled your mind helping you find peace in such a dangerous and confusing situation.

Even if you couldn't see it, you could bet Howdy was worried that worry most likely showing on his face. Slowly lifting your head up, tears blurring your vision you expected a look of worry but instead you saw a small smile. A smile that held calmness even if you tell by his eyes he was concerned. He was smiling for you. He was trying to make you feel better by smiling. Something about his smile made you break out a wobbly smile of your own. Tears stained your face and from what you could see your bandages. Your nose was running, and you felt awful but Howdy didn't seem to care about your appearance. He only cared that you were safe and that was more than enough for you to feel some sort of relief from the horrid situation. You were attacked cut and dry. You were injured beyond belief but you were able to get something good out of it. You got to see Howdy. Even if it felt like a dream, you got to see the one thing you had always loved.

A gentle hand ran across your hair, pushig messy strands from your face while another one cleaned your tears with a sleeve. You felt a tissue press against your nose as you stared at Howdy. "Blow" he said softly, signalling for you to blow into the tissue which you did reluctantly. He asked this of you a few more times before you shook your head showing him you were fine. You were placed back on what you now knew was a bed, propping your body up with pillows for extra comfort. "I'm Howdy, Howdy Pillar it's nice to meet you (Y/n)." he said softly. Huh? How did he know your name. You must've had a look of confusion because Howdy chuckled pulling out your wallet showing your ID, drivers license and other identification. "I found out because of this." if you could sigh you would've but instead you nodded. Howdy smiled gently at you placing your wallet next to the glass of water on the table. He went to speak only to be cut off by the sound of knocking. Before Howdy could ask who it was, the door opened revealing two others you recognized as Wally Darling and Julie Joyful.

Julie must've opened the door while Wally stood beside her holding a basket. The smell of baked goods filled the room as Julie and Wally walked inside. "Hey Howdy! We brought some snacks Poppy made for our new neighbor!" Julie exclaimed, Wally held up the basket when the energetic girl spoke of snacks. "She wanted to make sure we got to them here before they got too cold!" Howdy nodded one of his hands reaching out for the basket which Wally handed over without much of a fuss. "I will set these with their other things, thanks you two." Howdy spoke kindly to the two individuals who now stood in the room. Julie smiled proudly while Wally turned his attention to you.

Quietly the small male padded his way over, placing a small box of flashcards on your lap. "Howdy told us you can't speak right now so Sally made flashcards for you so you could speak." Wally's soft voice told you about the kind bundle of sunshine; literally, who was nice enough to give you a way to communicate due to not being able to use your dominant hand from it's fracture. You smiled at the small male nodding your head showing your understanding. "That's enough now." Howdy spoke his hands pushing Wally and Julie out the door. "We should leave (Y/N) alone, they need rest." Wally nodded in agreement as Julie waved goodbye to you happily. "Bye bye (Y/N)! We'll come vist you later!" Julie's sweet voice called out from outside the room. "Get some rest." Wally stated, before walking out the room completely. Howdy sighed gently turning back to you. "I'll be back to check on you after I close up shop okay?" you nodded, smiling at Howdy who in turn smiled back once more. "Alright then, get some rest." and with that you were all alone. Even though you were alone you didn't feel lonely. Maybe it was the shock of what happened. Or maybe even the confusion but you felt more loved than you had in a while. If this was a dream you wanted it to last forever. Your eyes slowly closed, black clouding your vision as you rethought of Howdy's soft words from when you were crying.

"Don't cry, your safe now."

[captainofthedauntless]

S/O's Hobbies HCs

This wasn't requested, but I wrote down the first little idea and then it snowballed wildly out of my control. Have some Bay Boys and how they engage with their partner's hobbies.

Like their namesakes suggest, these are Renaissance men, okay? They do a bit of everything (partially because they've always had a lot of time to fill), and they absolutely want to learn about whatever you do.

Donnie is naturally curious across the board. He wants to know a bit about everything all the time- and you happen to be his favorite subject to study! Even if your hobbies aren't his thing, he absolutely wants to learn about them.

He also loves to apply his own knowledge to them! If he knows something about it that you might not, he loves to offer it up- exchange of knowledge is this guy's love language. He's careful not to sound condescending, he's just excited!

If you're into woodwork, he's over the moon- he hates doing it himself. He'd much rather weld for three days straight than have to work with wood for any significant period of time. However, he does love dropping tree facts on you ("You know, this tree is actually considered invasive in parts of Europe.").

If you're into anything with a chemistry element, like cooking or baking (or makeup or traditional art), he's all about it. He views it all from a very chemistry-heavy angle, so he adores hearing and seeing your thought process and perspective. He knows how the ingredients you're using (or were used in your supplies) work together to create the end product, but he loves to learn about how you use them.

If you're any kind of performer, he loves seeing you practice! Please show him videos of your performances, he'll love every single second. He is your biggest cheerleader. He'll notice little details in your work ("I love how you said that line! Quick and angry but still speaking so clearly- that's so impressive, love." or "Oh!! That spin! Look at you go!" or "That note was perfect, sweetheart- I could listen to this all day.") and will absolutely study up on your art of choice so that he can better appreciate what you do!

Same with sports! He loves to watch any clips you have, even if they're from your friend's shitty eight year old camera that has about 12 pixels to offer. Don would absolutely do drills with you if you asked- pitch a ball, guard a goal, swing a bat, whatever. He likes trading warm up and cool down routines, too!

You're into mechanics? Machinery? He's so excited to compare notes. You love driving- or even better, being driven? Dates on the road. All the time.

If you write, he would love to read anything you'll give him! If you write nonfiction, he loves to see your thoughts and findings and keeps a little notepad of questions and observations to talk to you about. If you're a fiction person, he loves to find your voice in the descriptions and characters! He gets absorbed in the story- right up until he sees a phrase you use a lot around him, and he has to take a second to be all smiley because he loves you before he keeps reading. Poetry? He somehow admires you even more than he already did. Will absolutely ask you if he can print a copy of one of your poems to keep by his computers- it doesn't take long at all before he could recite your work from memory.

Please tell him all about your creative choices, no matter what your hobby is. Painting? Tell him why you chose those colors, that angle, that medium. Dance? Talk about why you chose that song and did that wave with your arm. Music? Explain why you switched up the notes in that cover you did, or why you chose the chords you did in that song you wrote. Writing? He wants to hear about every single scrapped concept.

If you have a performance or a game or a display of any kind, he's absolutely either sneaking his way to watch- even if it's through a window or skylight- or hacking into whatever camera he can.

If you give him something you've made- be it a painting, something you wrote, a sculpture, a bowl, a stuffed animal, whatever- it's going where he'll see it every single day. It's his prized possession. It makes him smile even when he feels like shit.

Leo's a big believer in the value of mindful hobbies. He uses his to relax (something that does not come naturally to him, especially these days), but also to keep his mind as sharp as his swords.

He's an even big believer in the value of you. He loves sharing his life with you, and cherishes any time you share yours with him- including your hobbies!

This acts of service bitch will do anything he can to help you out with your hobbies. If you're an artist with traditional mediums or makeup, he's offering to wash your brushes. If you paint on wood or canvas, he's happy to prep them for you. If you work with watercolor, he's emptying and refilling your paint water as often as you want. You're building something and need supplies or equipment held or moved? You mean, an excuse to show off help his partner? He's in heaven.

Any gear or equipment you use that needs to be cleaned, he's there and ready to help. However, he's careful to only help with permission- the boys all have a lot of respect for people's possessions and space. There weren't many ways to separate their things growing up, and even fewer things to separate, so (with some siblings-gonna-sib exceptions) they're all very, very good about not touching your shit. Leo specifically makes the comparison to his katana- if someone cleaned them without his permission, he'd be royally pissed. He's not about to do that to you. Just know that all you have to do is ask, and it's as good as done! (And it's done well, too. He'll pay intense attention to your instructions and follow them to the letter, taking his time and moving very carefully.)

He's a bit intense in general, actually. When you're showing him your work or your process, you have his entire focus. Nothing else matters. It's sweet, but it probably makes you trip over a few words while you're explaining.

He puts the constructive in constructive criticism. Critique is the key to improvement in his opinion, so he's definitely offering his thoughts unless you specifically ask him not to. A big part of Leonardo's life is wanting to be the best he can possibly be, and he does everything he can to help his loved ones do the same, including you! You whip up a meal? "This is delicious, baby. I think a little char would make it legitimately perfect." You're practicing choreography? "Looking good! Swing that leg just a little higher!" Writing? He's the perfect beta reader, if you really want to catch errors. He has a flawless eye for misplaced commas.

He loves anything to do with words, so if you're a writer, songwriter, poet, actor, whatever? He's delighted. He soaks up your work like a tree soaks up sunshine. Words have power, and you have power, and putting the two together means he's in awe. Will read and reread your work as many times as he can if you write. If you're a speaker- actor, spoken poet, whatever- he's front and center for every practice session you let him witness. Will take notes on his favorite moments and shower you in praise after.

He also loves music. Loves it. You play an instrument? The moment you're willing to share, he LIVES to hear you play. You sing? He's pretty sure he's actually falling more in love, and he didn't know that was possible. You're an avid listener? Please, please, please share your favorite tracks and albums and artists with him. Please have him over to your place- away from the noise of Don's work and Raph's weights and Mikey's Mikeying- and put on your favorite record and cuddle up to listen. Listening dates are one of his favorites- one of his favorite activities with one of his favorite people? Bliss. Add in some snacks and he's pretty sure it's what perfection feels like. (If you really, really want to make him happy? Listen to his music with him, too. Talk about it with him after. Tell him which songs you loved and how you noticed the beat in Song A matched the beat in Song B, and they felt like they belonged together.)

If you're an athlete, he's all about learning everything there is to know about your sport and your personal routine. He's a big fan of learning from as many different disciplines as possible, so he loves to hear about all of the little details. What stretches you do, what exercises you rely on, how you practice- all of it! He'll incorporate parts of it into his own routines if he sees benefits for his own body and abilities.

Honor Boy will also sneak his way into whatever events you have, be it a gallery or a performance or a competition. If there's a shadowy spot to hide, he's there! If not, he's finding a secluded window. Failing that, he's not above asking Don for help with cameras. (It will be on the down low, though. He doesn't need Raph and Mikey making fun of him for the next six years for being too impatient to wait for the photos and video you'll share later.)

Give him something you've made? It's getting put in the safest spot he can possibly come up with, and he looks at it every morning. It becomes a part of his routine- brush teeth, stretch, look at wonderful gift from wonderful partner and think about how lucky he is. It's instant stress relief. You cared enough about him to make something, you trusted him enough to give him the result of your time and energy. He loves it and he loves you and he loves having another reminder of you in his space.

Mikey has the strangest, most eclectic bunch of information tucked away in his mind. He goes on YouTube journeys bouncing from one suggested video to another and has learned a little bit about all sorts of obscure topics, so there's a decent chance he'll surprise you with prior knowledge of your interests! Into history? He saw this crazy video about agriculture in India in the 1500s- he should totally pull it up for you! You're a welder? He's picked up some of the basics by hanging around Donnie, just enough to know how damn impressive your work is, and follow along with what you're saying. He knows an almost unsettling amount about the arts in general, too.

Dance, cooking, baking, music, painting, drawing, sculpting- hell, origami? He's done a little bit of all of it, and would love to learn all about your methods. He wants to see (or hear!) everything you create. He eats that shit up.

He's the loudest, happiest, most extra cheerleader you could ever possibly hope for. He will offer critique if you ask, but it's always always sandwiched by compliments- not because he wants to soften the critique, but because he genuinely thinks you're the shit. You're the next great master, his name be damned. Anything you do has notes of you in it, and he adores you more than he will ever be able to put into words (not for lack of trying), so obviously he adores your work.

You're a performer? He's the best audience ever, baby! He's fully focused on you, cheering as much as you can tolerate, straight up whooping when you do something particularly impressive. "Lookin' good, baby cakes!" and "Go off, cutiepie!" and "You're the next Shakespeare, sweets."

You make something? He's in awe. He's admiring every little aspect of it. Every stitch, stroke, flavor, whatever.

You make him something? He's is literally protecting it with his life. Anyone even looks at it wrong and he's ready to get rude. (Now, nobody's safe from him making them look at it. He shows it off every chance he gets. You're very lucky you make Mikey so happy, because otherwise Raph might start to dislike you a little for how often he has to look at it. Raph does make comments, though. "No more gifts until the holidays. I can't take any more show'n'tell sessions from this nitwit." Subtext? Mikey loves it, you make him happy, good job.)

Please let Mikey join in your hobbies. Out of all four, he's by far the most excited to get hands-on. Teach him to make your favorite recipes, teach him choreography, challenge him to matches in your sport of choice. Have painting dates. Trade mediums with him and teach him what you know- and let him teach you his! Have him help you build a table! Have jam sessions with your respective instruments! Whatever you're into, try and find a way to include him. He's gonna love you forever anyway, but that will really be the cherry on top.

Like Leo, he loves a listening date, so if you're into music please share it with him! His are much noisier, though. It's damn near a karaoke night, and he's probably dancing around like a dumbass and asking you to join him. (Please join him.)

You're performing, competing, showing off your work? He is there. He actually does not give a shit what Leo says about it, either. You'll see him, too. He'll be sure of it. He's sneaky and subtle and will be hidden from your audience, but you'll know he's there to support you, even if he has to text you a selfie from his hiding spot with a fuckton of emojis and words of encouragement.

You say you're "just" anything, and this guy is ready to go off. "Just" a beginner? Bitch, please. That's how everyone starts- and look what you're doing already! "Just" an extra? That's where movies get their depth! That's how plays feel alive! Extras give the story dimension, baby! "Just" backup vocals? First of all, you're upstaging the lead by miles in his book. Secondly, without you, none of that sweet harmonizing would be there! He's relentless and will convince you of your own amazingness or die trying.

Raph's quality time ass is a SUCKER for learning about your hobbies. He wants to hear you talk about them for hours. He wants you to sit in his lap and show him something you made and explain every little detail. He wants to watch you practice.

He's pretty private about his hobbies beyond martial arts and lifting, so he sees you sharing yours as trusting him with part of you. It means more to him than he's ever going to say unless you express a similar opinion- he feels too corny trying to articulate it himself. He's worried you wouldn't see it as being that deep, and he'd sound cheesy. But if you say it, he's agreeing wholeheartedly.

If you really want to make him feel loved, tell him about what goes into whatever you do. What inspires you? What does it make you feel? Why do you do it? Why that specifically? How'd you start? All the fine print details that make the hobby personal to you- share them with him. He wants to know, and he knows how personal his hobbies are to him, so you sharing that information makes him feel extremely special. He loves to connect with you like that. It's doubly important if you create from emotion- Big Red has big ass emotions and channels a lot of them into things he does, so if you do the same, he feels like you're got that much more in common. Like you get him even more than he thought.

He's the most subtle and relaxed about your hobbies outwardly, but never to the point of looking disinterested. You know him well enough to know exactly what that look in his eyes means- he's invested as hell and is downright studying whatever you're doing. He reads up on your hobbies on his own time, because he doesn't want to make a fool of himself by not knowing something "obvious", and tries to subtly slip that knowledge into his questions and comments. ("Why'd you go for the ladder stitch, babe?"). It's sweet- especially because he soaks up any information you give him like a damn sponge. He remembers more than you remember even telling him.

If you're into something he has some history with- mechanics, woodwork, knitting, athletics- he's constantly absorbing your methods. If you're observant, you'll start to notice little details done the same way you'd do them. Some of it is a conscious recognition of your knowledge and competency, and some of it is his subconscious absorption of you into every possible aspect of his life. Your metaphorical fingerprints are on everything.

If you're an athlete, he wants to work out together. He'll incorporate exercises that you do into his routines just so you can do them together. He loves it- not just because you're hot, or because it's when he feels the most attractive, but because he loves what you can do. He loves seeing your body at work. There's a level of attraction there, obviously, because he finds you exceptionally hot (even if you don't feel that way about yourself!), but a lot of it is very innocent love for what your body allows you to do. He loves movement, loves working out, loves being physical, and getting to share that with you is very special to him.

Your number one supporter. I don't care what you do. He may not get it, but he'll be damned if you doubt that he loves it, loves that you do it, and supports you with every ounce of his being. Anything he can do to help you do what you love, he's doing.

He loves to hang out while you do your thing. He just likes being in your space.

And, yeah, he's gonna be there for any exhibit, competition, performance, whatever. Consequences be damned, he's going. He'll only tell you beforehand if he thinks it would help you to know, though, and he probably doubts it. If you don't tell him straight up that you wish he could be there, he probably assumes it wouldn't help. He'll tell you after, though, pulling you in with his hands on your hips and "You were amazing out there, y'know that? I'm proud of you." and squeezing you gently.

If you make him something, he's going to try and play it cool, but he's like, massively impacted by it. Externally, he's "Thanks, baby," and slipping an arm over your shoulders and pulling you close. The only indication that he's a gooey mess on the inside is the way he holds what you made (like it's made of glass, of diamonds, like it's his actual heart in his hands and one wrong move would have devastating consequences) and the way his eyes don't drift from it for long (studying it, eyes all soft and fond and in awe, a lot like how he looks at you).

He'll rearrange everything he owns to give it a place of honor. It's treated with care and respect, and he stares at it at night and when he's having a rough time and it takes the edge off. It's like micro-dosing on you, on the love and joy you bring to his life, and it makes everything significantly less shitty.

[ploppythespaceship]

Doctor Who Series 14 / Season 1 Review

Man, it feels good to be enjoying Doctor Who again. I haven't been keeping up with the show in years, but I caught up to see Tennant's return leading into Ncuti's run and I am so glad I did. This season is far from perfect, but it gets a lot of little things right and is consistently fun to watch, even if a lot of the details fall apart.

What I Liked

Ncuti Gatwa is simply phenomenal. He settles into the role so quickly and so easily, bringing such a fresh energy to the character. I love how distinct he feels, too -- when you're playing the fifteenth iteration of a character, it can be hard to find a new spin on things, but he's done it. He's also a fantastic actor, getting to show an incredibly wide range in just a few short episodes. I truly think he'll be remembered as one of the best Doctors.

Millie Gibson is also very good as Ruby, and her dynamic with the Doctor is a lot of fun. I appreciate having another Doctor/companion relationship that isn't romantic. They're just best friends, and it's very cute.

The show looks great. It's very clear that they've had a budget increase -- the costumes, effects, etc. are noticeably improved since RTD's first run.

Murray Gold's return as the composer is extremely welcome. His stuff isn't quite as bombastic as before (or maybe the episodes just have better sound mixing), but keeps a lot of the same leitmotifs. The result is a more subtle score that perfectly suits each scene.

Mel is so cool now. She was one of my least favorite classic companions, so seeing her worked into these storylines and feel more compelling is an unexpected delight.

What I Didn't Like

Ultimately, I think the season is just too short. Council of Geeks has an excellent YouTube video on this -- because there are only eight episodes, and a lot of them are going for bigger ideas and weirder premises, it feels like we don't really settle into a status quo.

The Doctor and Ruby's relationship also isn't as developed as much as I would like. If you pay close attention to the dialogue, there's actually a six month gap between "Space Babies" and "The Devil's Chord" -- we could have used another episode or two in that time period to really flesh out the beginnings of their friendship better. Instead the show jumps straight to them being best friends, without really showing us why that is.

I don't think the mystery box format of this season really worked. The mysteries were built up to such an extent that no answer could really be satisfying, and the finale really almost entirely on the big reveals that ultimately didn't amount to much. Ruby in particular feels like an underbaked companion, and I hope she gets more time to get properly developed.

Individual Episode Thoughts

Space Babies — This is easily the weakest episode of the season. It's not bad by any means, but it does remind me of some of the sillier episodes of RTD's first run. It felt like we were speedrunning the companion introduction, when things could have been slowed down and spread across a few episodes to feel more natural. The baby VFX also do not work and fall very firmly into uncanny valley territory.

The Devil's Chord — This one makes very little sense, but is entirely saved by Jinkx Monsoon being so iconic as Maestro. If you just go along for the ride, it's a ton of fun.

Boom — This episode is proof that Steven Moffat truly is at his best when he's writing self-contained stories under someone else's guidance. I don't think it's as iconic as Moffat's previous stories, and I felt like Ncuti was getting a lot of dialogue that better suited Matt Smith, but the entire concept was interesting and the execution was solid. Also, Ncuti acted his ass off without even being able to move.

73 Yards — Honestly, I'm mixed on this one. The setup is fantastic and eerie, and I enjoy the exploration of Ruby's character, solo from the Doctor. I like her experiencing this inexplicable thing, and deciding to find purpose in it to help others. But the story does fall apart for me at the end when it doesn't explain anything. I don't need every single thing handed to me, I understand the value of leaving things to the imagination, but the fact that the episode's last impression is "wait what?" does leave a bit of a sour taste. That being said, I do respect how weird and different this episode is, and how much discussion it prompted afterward.

Dot and Bubble — The trailers looked like a Black Mirror ripoff, and I was prepared for a shallow "social media bad" episode. Instead, we got something far more nuanced about the dangers of trapping yourself in a bubble of like-minded people and refusing to ever look beyond it. And the ending reveal that it's a society of white supremacists is so, so well-handled, because all the clues were there for you. If you're like me and didn't piece it together until the very end, it really challenges you to ask yourself why you didn't notice sooner. Also, another episode where Ncuti acts his ass off. My personal favorite episode of the season.

Rogue — Another with mixed feelings. Rogue himself is tons of fun, and I enjoy his dynamic with the Doctor, even if parts of it are pretty rushed. I really hope he comes back. The episode plot itself is serviceable but nothing special. My main complaint is the severe lack of Ruby. Her relationship with the Doctor doesn't feel sufficiently established, so the emotional beats don't really land.

The Legend of Ruby Sunday — This was an underwhelming finale, unfortunately. The first part barely even qualifies as an episode. It launches right into starting to answer the season's mysteries, but does so in an uncompelling and heavy-handed way. The Sutekh reveal is pretty epic in isolation, but...

Empire of Death — The Sutekh reveal doesn't really lead to anything satisfying. He doesn't have the presence of Toymaker or Maestro, he's just a CGI dog monster. This second part finally answers some questions, some of which are vaguely interesting, but it's happening in a plot so dull and so dry that I just can't bring myself to care. The episode is also just confusing? The plot points don't seem to flow naturally together, like multiple stories were smashed together with little rhyme or reason. The resolution is some of the most nonsensical nonsense that Doctor Who has ever come up with. Then we get to the reveal of Ruby's mother, which is so forced and it becomes clear in retrospect that things were added to seem more mysterious than they really were. And capping it all off is the Doctor's farewell to Ruby, which falls flat because, as I've said, their relationship is rather undercooked. It really does end the season on a downer, which is a shame because so many of the preceding episodes were pretty good.

[jarondont]

Lyre

Random Telesicaä oneshot hehe

They're in Ithaca during this. They're also married 🥹

@circes-palace heehee

—————

The full moon rose high in the sky, its light streaming through the open window like a sea of silver. It immersed the sleeping princess in a glittery glow—which, to Telemachus’s eyes, made her seem even more like a goddess in disguise.

He smiled and tucked her hair behind her ears. She didn’t move.

Carefully, he sat up and rolled out of bed, his feet touching the floor without a sound. He turned and spread the blanket out neatly, adjusted his pillow, and fastened his sandals. Then he crept out of the room and quietly pushed the door shut.

He’d gotten quite good at this—sneaking out in the middle of the night. Not that he was up to anything suspicious. He just needed some time alone …

So he could work on a certain something.

He made his way to the empty room that used to be his own, back when he was a boy—when he was alone. Of course, that wasn’t the case anymore—his mother was happy again, and he had his father back. And he had … her.

He had everything he needed.

He stepped inside his old room, breathing in the familiar scent with a smile. Every time he came back here, he felt like a child again—carefree, innocent, hopeful. He felt … free.

Crouching to his knees, he reached under the bed and slid out a trunk. He pulled it open gently to keep its contents from getting damaged. He picked up the golden instrument and sat on the bed, positioning the lyre in his lap.

One pluck of a string. The note resonated through the room. Another pluck. Another. The melody blended together beautifully, a river of grace flowing from Telemachus’s fingertips. He closed his eyes, letting the music sway him as he played tune after tune, losing himself in the melodies.

He stopped after a few minutes and opened his eyes. He reached down and took out a small sheet from the lyre’s case. On it were a few scribbled notes, along with some words written under them.

This was what he’d been working on for so long.

He adjusted the sheet on his right thigh and the lyre on his left. He cleared his throat and flexed his fingers, then played the song’s first few chords. He took a deep breath and began to sing.

“Telemachus?” came a sleepy voice from outside.

Telemachus jumped, nearly knocking the lyre to the ground.

Great. He’d been discovered.

A figure appeared in the door, rubbing her eyes and yawning. “What are you doing?”

Telemachus sighed and quickly started to put away his lyre, tucking the sheet between two of the strings. “Nothing, Nausi. Just … practicing.”

“What were you singing?” she asked, taking a seat next to him. She touched his arm, and he stopped packing his instrument.

“Uh …” Telemachus hesitated and sat back up. “Nothing, just a song I wrote.”

“Why so late at night?”

“It’s quiet. It’s peaceful. What better time would there be?”

“And how much sleep are you getting?” she countered, raising an eyebrow.

He pursed his lips and glanced away. “I’m getting enough,” he mumbled.

She sighed and shook her head, but said nothing.

“Wait. How did you find me?” Telemachus asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I followed you.” She smirked. “Don’t think you’re the only one who’s good at sneaking around.”

That drew a laugh from both of them.

“Besides,” Nausicaä said sweetly, resting a hand on his cheek. “Your music is sweeter than a siren’s song. It wasn’t hard to find.”

Telemachus’s face felt warm. He smiled against her hand, then took it in his own and raised it to his lips.

“So,” she started, though her cheeks were red in the moonlight, “are you going to show me?”

“Show you what?”

“The song you wrote. I want to hear it.”

“Oh …” he shifted his weight, suddenly self-aware. “It’s nothing spectacular. Really.”

“Sure,” she said sarcastically.

“It’s quite childish.”

“I won’t judge, Tel.” Nausicaä reached down and picked up the lyre, then placed it gently in his lap.

He stared at her for a second. Then he took a deep breath and said, “Okay.”

Once again, he lifted his lyre and closed his eyes. With a few beginning plucks of the strings, he sang.

“Give me sirens and a cyclops Give me giants and a hydra Life and fate will never scare me Because when I’m with you, I can see— That maybe, if life wasn’t spent as planned, Maybe we’d still be hand in hand, ‘Till the end of time, I’m yours and you’re mine.”

As he set down his lyre, Nausicaä was silent. She just stared at his fingers with her mouth slightly open.

“I did warn you,” he said quickly, but she shook her head.

“It is kind of childish, I won’t deny that,” she whispered. “But it’s beautiful. Who is it about?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I never really thought about that.” He thought for a second, then, “It could be about us, if you want.”

She grinned. “I like that.”

Then she leaned in closer, closing her eyes and pressing her lips to his. He returned the kiss, feeling like his heart was being gently plucked at like a lyre’s strings.

“Can you teach me?” she asked once they parted.

He paused. “What?”

“The lyre. Can you teach me?” She smiled. “You play so well. I want to learn from you.”

He laughed, but agreed, “Okay. I’ll teach you.”

“Thank you.”

“But right now, you, husband, need to sleep.”

“Okay,” he chuckled. “I will.”

As she helped him put away his lyre, he whispered, “Nausi?”

She looked up. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

She tilted her head. “For what?”

For everything. For listening to him play. For caring about him. For supporting him in everything he did, no matter how … childish.

“For everything.”

And with one more touch of their lips, they made their way back to their room as Nausicaä hummed, “Give me sirens and a cyclops …”

[chaotic-goodsir]

@ashturns30 Happy birthday week! I hope it's okay for me to join in with this challenge, even if I cheated by only making something for one day and posting it a day late 😅

Your fic Remember You Like A Song - which everyone should go read first if they haven't, because it's brilliant - is THE fic that got me invested in MacNaCross in the first place. This was going to be just a short, extremely fluffy pre-portal drabble-thing inspired by it, but I got carried away and it ended up longer than planned. I hope you don't mind me posting something inspired by your fic, but no worries at all if you do for any reason - just let me know and I'll take it down.

Anyway, thank you for hosting this challenge and I hope you have a great birthday week!

***

What Was The One You Always Loved?

The highway outside is a river of speeding taillights in the dark, reflecting red and green and yellow in the rain that runs down the diner's grease-streaked window.

Steam rises from the mug of black coffee in John's hands as he waits for it to cool, soaking in the warmth. The caffeine fix should, in theory, keep him awake long enough to reach the motel PIEP have booked for them without collapsing on the side of the road.

Two pairs of motorbike gloves lie on the table, beside his wallet and an almost-empty pack of cigarettes (he'll have to pick up more at the gas station before they leave). Across the booth, Wilbur frowns at his strawberry milkshake, stirring it with a red-and-white striped plastic straw.

'I swear they used to put more sprinkles on these.' There's a solemn gravity to his tone that few people but Wil could apply to the matter at hand. 'Used to be more colours as well. Half of these are just red. What's that about?'

'Is there a difference?' John asks. 'Surely they all just taste of sugar?'

Wilbur scoops a piece of cream and eats it from the end of the straw, the actual spoon lying ignored on the table.

'Its about the principle, Johnny' he says, stabbing the straw into the air between them like a teacher illustrating a point. 'If they're gonna call them 'rainbow' sprinkles, there oughta at least be an even ratio of colours.'

John smiles, taking a sip of still-too-hot coffee.

'Duly noted, Lieutenant Colonel.'

'Don't give me that cheek, MacNamara,' Wilbur says, grinning. 'You lectured me on the flaws of digital watches for half an hour yesterday.'

'Yes, because I can't in good conscience let you waste your money on such an abomination. Time is-'

'-a precious thread in the fabric of the universe, deserves respect, sure, I get it. And sprinkles are a precious thread in the fabric of a good milkshake.'

'I'm not sure the metaphor works quite so well in this case.'

Predictably, a dollop of cream is flicked his way. He dodges with practiced ease, laughing. It hits the back of the booth, earning them a scowl from a passing waitress that's probably deserved.

The diner is quiet, save a couple of fellow travellers and a few employees unlucky enough to be working late. There's a jukebox in the corner - a classic, vintage one with that archway shape and faded neon lighting - but the scrap of paper taped to the front reads Out Of Service. A cheap plastic radio on the counter provides the alternative, courtesy of some local station's late-night show. The host sounds as though he'd rather be at home in bed. John can't help but sympathise.

A familiar sequence of strummed chords catches his attention. He taps his fingers silently against the coffee mug and listens, remembering last year on the drive back from Shenandoah National Park. (Almost a year ago, now, though it doesn't feel it. Time, for all it's importance, is a wily creature that slips away if you lower your guard.)

*

It was late summer, the tail end of a slow August. The road wound it's way like a silver snake through a sea of green just beginning to turn gold, and Wilbur was leaning against the window on the passenger side, explaining to John why he should learn to ride a motorbike.

He made some good points, but John was only half-listening, distracted by the song playing on the radio. It had seemed to fit the drive, the scenery, the whole weekend, so perfectly that it had buried itself in his brain in a way that music usually doesn't. He's heard it a few times since, always fondly picturing the same memory. And yet he's never managed to catch its name.

*

He tests the temperature of his coffee again, the burn on his tongue bringing him back to the moment.

'You good?' Wilbur asks, reaching a hand across the table. John puts the mug down and takes it, lacing their fingers together.

'Just tired.'

'You look half-dead, darlin'. No offence.'

'Coffee should help. Do you know what song this is?'

Wilbur tilts his head a little, listening.

'This one? Nah, I don't. Why?'

'No particular reason. I just like it.'

That earns him an odd sort of look, followed by a pause and a quiet 'huh' that's half a laugh.

'What's funny?'

'S'just I think that's the first time you've expressed an opinion on music that I didn't ask you for.'

John opens his mouth to protest, then closes it again. He knows he's told Wilbur how musical theatre makes him uncomfortable, and why loud music in grocery stores should be banned (it's distracting, there's no need for it, they're awful places already with their fluorescent lighting and endless rows of too many options...) - but those are probably not the kind of opinions Wilbur is talking about.

John's never had a favourite song - it's Wil whose CD collection takes up two shelves of the bookcase in their living room - but if you held a gun to his temple and demanded he choose, he'd probably pick this.

'I think I've heard this before,' Wilbur is saying now. 'It's cute, all that kiss me stuff. Very romantic. Didn't know that was your kinda thing.'

John turns his face to the window, a little embarrassed. It doesn't help his case that the singer is crooning something saccharine about fireflies.

*

The night before the drive home, the lightning bugs had surrounded their campsite, like miniature fallen stars hovering in the dusk. They were part of the reason John had wanted to come out to Shenandoah. After a week spent handling an a gruesome case, he needed the reminder that the world was more than just horror and paperwork. That sometimes it could also be beautiful.

Wilbur stood behind him on the slope of the hill, arms wrapped around John's waist. He was talking, of course. This time about watching fireflies in his parents backyard as a kid.

'They looked like this, mostly. But sometimes you'd get these weird green ones...'

'Green?' John asked.

'Yeah. Bright green, like... neon, or somethin'. They moved differently, too. Made this weird noise, sorta like whispering. Never seen them anywhere else.'

'You're sure they were fireflies?'

'I don't know,' Wilbur leaned forward, resting his chin on John's shoulder. 'Probably just imagined it. I was a weird kid. No one believed me then, either.'

John took a drag on his cigarette, careful to angle the cloud of smoke away from Wilbur's face.

'Whatever you saw, I'm sure it was real. Many things exist in this universe. There's room in the scope of infinity for green fireflies.'

Wilbur had pulled him closer, kissing him on the cheek.

'See, this is why I like ya so much. Don't matter how crazy I sound, you'll still give me a chance.'

John had laughed at that, watching the ordinary, yellow-gold fireflies form constellations around them, a million tiny fires to match the glow of his cigarette. He'd had the sudden, irrational urge to suggest they stay - pack up their tent tomorrow, leave the car behind and keep walking into the wilderness. Become their own unsolved mystery. Abandon PIEP and everything it demanded of them. Hell, even go looking for green fireflies.

He didn't dare mention it. The concept itself was less terrifying than the thought that Wilbur might agree.

'Mmm,' he'd answered instead. 'I wonder what that says about the both of us.'

*

The song fades out, lyrics first and chords trailing after. The DJ's bored monotone takes over. To John's mild irritation, he's managed to miss the name of the song yet again.

'...thank you to Jodie for requesting that one - I hope you and your husband have a wonderful wedding anniversary. So, next up we have...'

Wil stops tracing lazy circles on the back of John's hand and glances towards the radio with an amused smile.

'What?' John asks, raising an eyebrow. 'You're plotting something.'

'Me? Never. Just thinkin' I'm gonna need to find out what that song is called, since you like it so much. For future reference, y'know?'

He winks.

John frowns back, awaiting an explanation.

'For when I get round to marryin' you. Assumin' you'd want me?'

John almost spits out the coffee he's making a third attempt to drink. Several responses run through his head at the same time, none of them especially coherent.

Wilbur just laughs, and finishes the last of the milkshake.

'Don't look so scared, Johnny. When I'm really askin' I promise I'll do a hell of a lot better than that.'

[browzerhistory]

Please do share your scav social behavior headcanons!!!!

OK OK OK i have a Lot so prepare for an Essay beneath the cut

my social headcanons and biology headcanons kind of go hand in hand so i'll be expounding a bit on both in this (and there will probably be things i forget and then add later)...

the first thing i guess is scav biology - i think they're buglike creatures who lack the ability for complex vocal sounds (no 'traditional' mouthparts, limited vocal chords) and instead are mostly visual communicators, which is why their body language in-game is so exaggerated. scavenger dens (which are technically just creature dens in-game but shh) are usually complicated underground structures with different "rooms" for grub care, food/weapon/pearl storage, etc.

yes, you read that right - i refer to baby scavengers as grubs! i think a scavenger's life cycle tends to follow an egg -> grub (like a cicada or fly) -> pupa -> adult cycle. eggs are laid and grubs fed/watched over in special chambers in scavenger dens, and juveniles don't emerge until they've pupated, which is why we never see baby scavs in-game.

many factors such as what they're fed, how many other grubs there are, and even the temperature of the den can effect how a scavenger turns out, but it's generally common knowledge that a grub given special care and food will be more likely to become an elite scavenger, which have physiological differences to normal scavengers. generally, however, all grubs are treated the same due to lack of resources.

scavengers are lifelong carnivores, however, grubs need very small, soft meats to eat, such as vulture grubs. adult scavengers may also just... repeatedly hit lizard meat with rocks to 'tenderize' it if food is scarce.

young/newly-emerged scavengers tend to be more nervous, energetic, and non-dominant due to being less experienced than their older peers. they're also more likely to throw rocks at sudden threats than spears, either because they aren't confident with spears yet or because they haven't figured out how to distinguish between "sound of scary things" and "sound of friend approaching".

a scavenger's antlers and other distinctive facial features are more like horns than antlers, as they grow slowly over time and do not shed. older scavs with longer/tougher antlers tend to be pack leaders (this is reflected in the in-game personality traits changing the way antlers/beards look). there are, of course, exceptions, but these are general trends across the whole population.

elite scavengers, like i said earlier, are different than a normal scav on a physical level. the most obvious are the down turned antlers, which sometimes require filing, and the ability to jump short distances. less obvious, however, are factors like strength and lifespan - elite scavs tend to live shorter lives than normal ones (whether that's from actual biological differences or just the constant fighting is up for debate lol).

when created intentionally (which is almost every time), an elite scavenger is raised to protect the tribe it roams with. extra food, more powerful weapons, etc. are given from pupation so the elite grows up tough.

the masks elites wear are vulture masks. the first time a new elite takes down a vulture, it's demasked, then the mask is carved specially to denote their prowess - think of it like a badge of honor. however, constant usage of the mask and the general anxiety of being the first line of defence can cause elites to lose some vision, which is why older ones tend to be quicker to draw their spear at an unknown sound.

(as for the chieftain... it's biologically just an elite, but it got lucky in that it was born into the most thriving scav population at the time and had the most talent/dedication out of its peers. plus a lot of the others got picked off as it got older, and it managed to pick up a citizen id drone at some point.)

the "sign language" scavs use is so universal and simple as to be practically genetic. there are, of course, regional differences, and a tribe in shaded citadel would need different predator signs than one in farm arrays, but the basics (which is what we see in-game) are basically all the same. scavengers can make noise, however, it's a quiet sort of chittering sound produced by rubbing mouthparts together in a specific way. it's not very handy when communicating something like "there are vultures here let's leave immediately" and more often is used in familial/trusting contexts, sort of like a purr.

jumping around a little, i wanna talk about the significance of pearls. a part of their fascination with them is "cool shiny thing" but there's also significant sort-of-religious connotations to them.

the scavenger chieftain has a mark of communication and a citizen id drone. it met with pebbles (or another iterator but more than likely pebbles) at some point, and he deemed it important enough to talk to instead of just. y'know. killing it. so it comes back to its home in metropolis telling stories about meeting a god (because of course 5P gives his 'godlike in comparison' bit to every bug that enters his chamber) surrounded by a halo of these pearls.

eventually pebbles gets fed up with the visits, and the booming population of scavengers is basically peeling him, so one day he throws the chieftain out of his chamber and tells it to take the scavs and leave (which it doesn't/can't obviously). and then along comes artificer and um. Well You Know.

it brings some more pearls as an offering of sorts and 5P reads what's on them. that gives the scavs the realization that (as far as they know) every pearl in the city has the words of ancient gods written on it. so they start hanging them everywhere as catch-all divine charms; for protection, strength, wealth, etc. and since the chieftain is the only one who can get to pebbles and come back (because of their drone) it's treated as a sort of prophet and venerated by the rest. colored pearls, which 5P likes more and usually keeps with him, are stored in safer locations and considered the most valuable/holy.

after arti commits good old-fashioned regicide (and general mass murder, terrorism, etc) the remaining metropolis scavs flee across the land and warn other tribes of a reddish slugcat with one scarred eye - this is why hunter's rep starts so low.

this turned out really long lol - thanks so much for asking! i really need to get all of this stuff organized in one place at some point but here's the basics/what i've thought about most.

[edge-oftheworld]

thinking about i'm still your boy and how from the very start i thought this will be one that grows on me, even if i didn't fall in love with it on the first listen

thinking about how every line adds insecurities to the emotional soundscape of the song, reminding me of chords where you add one note and then the next but they're sustained so each one just keeps playing while the next one joins its sound

sat in the driveway (tired from a drive i'm not sure i should've done) but i can't go in (worrying about seeing someone inside the house) the green fence is fading (it's been so long since i was last/first here) it's sinking in (yeah all of this now i'm questioning what am i doing) wish i was younger (regret, fear of getting older) so i knew the end (fear of uncertainty and bad endings, actually, a terror something i need so badly could go wrong) i'd move to orlando and i'd be your friend (daydreaming about a past that never existed but it suits my fantasy even though there never was a possibility) tore you apart to put me back again (regret, why can't i just exist without hurting people) time's such a bastard and I'm wearing thin (frustration) still in chicago with things that i miss (fragments of me i've left everywhere and i'm spiralling thinking of the good and bad of each place) you can't have tequila without half a gram (remembering my own addictive tendencies and how when i see it in my loved ones i get worried, when i see it in myself i feel ashamed)

it was alright til i got angry. made a fist hole shape in the wall. regret. shame on myself for feeling like that. ruining it. self blame

but with everything that's built up til this point it's no wonder really, no wonder the noise became so loud and so layered in my head that i had to go and punch a wall? i can feel it, my nervous system slowly activating, everything stacking up, i can feel it, not knowing, not understanding what was coming thinking if i could push it down i could maybe overpower it but instead i escape through substances or i go and punch a wall hard enough to break it. you've seen me do both.

i'm still your boy. it's all i can say in the haze while i'm losing my mind. it doesn't fix it.

take it all apart. i want it, miss it, need it, so bad. processing it all, processing me and oh god why am i like this why do i have to ruin everything the minute i think i'm doing alright, doing well. the aftermath of it is now. don't know what's worse, i can't go back. but my nervous system won't relax and i don't understand that yet. don't understand it. don't understand why. all i know is i can't be without you i'd fall in the void. i can't dance around it i've gotta be yours. it's all focused in on that one person. the one lifeline i have so i can breathe through all this self blame and shame and regret that's adding to the pile of everything in my head.

more notes. it's getting ugly, we've used up just about every element of the scale and some notes that aren't even notes but actually out of tune sounds in between the twelve notes on the chromatic scale. (luckily isyb sounds don't actually do this, or we'd hate it). it's torture. of course i'm going to latch onto whatever relief i can find in it. and of course i'm not gonna have the capacity to look very far.

i'm still in orlando or chicago or sydney or wherever really, spread thin and dissociated between memories of places where i've been or my loved one has been, we're blurring together in my brain, spread thin. time is all at once and not at all. can't have tequila without half a gram.

it was alright before i got empty, made a mess of the room in your heart. at least that's what i convince myself. in reality it was messy a lot earlier but i don't realise that i don't go from 0-100 in a moment. i'd been at 99 for so long i just got used to it. but if i wasn't unable to think i'd know. i'd know what i see in the aftermath heavy with guilt. this has happened a thousand times.

i'm still your boy. i remember the good and i want to live in it. do you feel the same way too? don't answer that.

i want it so bad i want it so bad i want it so bad

that's all i know. whether it's addiction to substances or people, a specific person, or maybe it's a good thing, some relief from the noises in my head, this stack of notes or insecurities that never stopped, all i know is it feels right, feels cathartic, the idea of it really, as if this is how it was always meant to be when in fact all i'm asking is for something to bring me back from the very edge of my tolerance down to something that's still very painful but so, so much better because it feels lighter and feels like i can just maybe sustain it. a 95 maybe instead of 99 or 100. a few less sounds, an actual chord with harmonies that aren't fully drowned out. luckily we've got the rest of the album to do this.

[thesinglesjukebox]

SHAWN MENDES - "WHY WHY WHY"

First Sabrina, now Shawn... we just need one more a triple-repeated title song to get a trend piece going...

[4.40]

Iain Mew: Shawn aims soft and tries to bring out the anguish and cyclical hopelessness in small moments. The musical stomp has other ideas, stomping out subtlety without bringing anything worth replacing it with. The resultant sense of aimless momentum leaves it sounding like a festival EDM track with all of its drops missing. [3]

Jeffrey Brister: On the one hand, it is a dated stomp-clap folk single with gang vocals and a hefty dollop reverb in the chorus; with nary a strummed guitar figure or slide flourish or mandolin accent out of place. On the other hand, this sounds really REALLY good. The worst thing I could say about this song is that it’s unmemorable, and it will fade into the swirling morass of competent-if-not-incredible folk songs that sit at the bottom of my mind, and will eventually get it confused with something else years later. But in this moment? Hey, pretty good. [6]

Nortey Dowuona: Mike Sabath can apparently work magic. I mean, he can lay down some firm, surprisingly sturdy but unambitious drums that allow Chris Thile on mandolin, Kevin Barry on lap steel guitar, Eddie Barry on guitar, Shawn himself on guitar with Scott Harris on background vocals to fill up the mix with all the angst and unalloyed joy that come with finding one's footing after years of grasping around in the dark for your parents to protect you, for your lover to return to you, for the small, imaginary bundle who you're convinced is crying out for you to hold them. Then you remember they're not imaginary. You wonder why you thought that. Then you get up and hold your infant son until you fall asleep instead. Mike then has to worry about maybe lowering the bass to let the lap steel sound better but makes sure to not disturb you or the baby. [8]

Michael Hong: The comparisons to Man of the Woods have been unavoidable, but "Isn't That Enough" sounds closer to the alt-country of Waxahatchee than anything by Justin Timberlake. Pleasant enough if a bit repetitive, but as "Why Why Why" attempts to kick up the dust into something anthemic, it sounds more like a deflated version of Avicii's "Wake Me Up."  [3]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: A perfect choice for listeners who found Benson Boone and Noah Kahan to be too aggressive. [2]

Grace Robins-Somerville: Sexless Ed Sheeran-ass Zoloft-ass fake deep pop music. [2]

Ian Mathers: Is it weird that this feels post-Iron & Wine to me? Something to do with the guitar tone and how it and the vocals are layered. It's pleasant enough, and the idea of post-teen pop Sam Beam makes me smile. Congratulations, you've justified your existence for another day! [6]

Taylor Alatorre: An emulsified soup of folky signifiers, "Why Why Why" achieves pathos of a sort -- not from the feelings described within it, but from the singer's need to transmute those feelings into rustic coffeehouse wallpaper. The once and future teen idol is mandated after a certain age to reveal more of himself, his true self, but only within well-defined limits: no to Big Star's Third, yes to "Garden Party." Or "Story of My Life," if we're being realistic here. The big reveal of "Why Why Why," that of deferred fatherhood, is given its requisite four bars in the limelight, then is quickly blotted out by the oncoming rush of billowy acoustic chords and twangy guitar stabs. This may be for the better, given Mendes's earnest belief in the mind-blowing lyrical power of the father-mother juxtaposition. Best to let the sound engineers do the real talking here; that coiled spring of rapid-fire strumming that sews up the aforementioned verse has replay value of its own. [5]

Jonathan Bradley: The best thing about this fibrous Shawn Mendes strum is how it inadvertently demonstrates the talent someone like Ed Sheeran or Noah Kahan has. They could make "Why Why Why," and a lot of time they functionally do. And that would sell, and people who want earnest and modestly rousing folk songs, which are a perfectly reasonable thing to want -- 12 years later, I'm still willing to defend "Ho Hey" -- would be pleased to cue it up on their playlists. But it takes skill to create an "A Team" or a "Stick Season," the versions of this sound that involve more craft and finesse than necessary. I don't think Mendes is capable of elevating his compositions to that level but, hey, at least he's capable of not sinking them to Lewis Capaldi depths. [4]

Katherine St. Asaph: Javiera Mena isn't supposed to sound like the Lumineers, but Shawn Mendes isn't not. The sound of basking blissfully in low expectations. [5]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[magpies4nights]

GUYS DONT PRESS P ON THE TITLE SCREEN WORST MISTAKE OF MY LIFE (Dev log #15)

AT LAST, SUMMER IS HERE!!!!! I am so excited I can finally rest I- oh right. Summer classes. Sigh. Well, they don’t take up the whole day thank god and I don’t need to be there, but It’s still not exciting. Oh well. Maybe I’ll play the sims 4 again and check on how my poor little torture victims are doing/j Jk jk, I don’t torture my sims. Unless you consider naming them things probably EA wouldn't approve of, then yeah I guess I am a horrible person.

But yeah, on the week I released the demo (which by the way, thanks for the 58 views!!!! thas crazy) I was putting up with finals. Some of my classes had to be pushed to the next week, and that was INFURIATING. It was kinda agony because I just wanted everything to be done and over with and I was practically exhausted. Like sleeping at 7 pm exhausted. Yeah......Well, should I even talk about how my life is going? I flunked the review for my major. Thank god, honestly. I mean, I didn't do it on purpose, and I am sad in a way that I flunked it, but I didn't want to continue on the route I was going on. I feel kinda stupid for even trying but I guess it's ok to make mistakes in your early 20's rather than your 30's... for some reason.

Ok, dev time. I decided to take a break from making sprites for a bit. So I worked on a part of the game that I would have left a secret, but I think it’s quite funky hehehe

I like old computers. I would have replicated the windows XP thing because I have so many memories of it, but I'm scared Windows might snipe me or something. I once was lying on the couch my parents turned into a bed (I think I was sick at the time), and it was late at night, and the computer was shutting down (it played this sound: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gb2jGy76v0Y) and for some reason the noise absolutely scared the absolute living shit out of me (I think I was like 4-5 years old and I was terrified of bassy sounds). I do not remember ever having any positive relationships with computers before I turned 6 lol. I’m pretty sure I used to think I could live without them. Oh you poor bastard. If you saw me now not only would you not understand a single word I’m saying, you would be incredibly disappointed with how dependent I am on computers. I think once I'm done with that I'll try to fix whatever is going on outside scene, because that's the only scene that causes the game to crash. I'm pretty sure it's because there's too many objects, because when I turned off the animations and the visibility it still took forever to load (like, nearly 2 seconds. The scene takes 4 seconds to load, and normally a scene would take me less than a second to load). soooo, uh yeah, I'm trying to find an occlusion culling equivalent to solve this because that's a 3d game thing, and this is a 2d game lol. I'm thinking of turning off visibility for when they're outside the viewing frustrum (player's line of sight, or more like rectangle) because it cuts down half the time for when the scene loads. If nothing works I guess it's just deleting and re-adding the child back into the scene every time the camera is on them... sigh. If it ticks me off too much I'll probably return to doing sprites because there's still a lot to do lol.

Well.... I so far got no other ideas for references in this game, so I guess I'll put in the inspiration of the outro (which is the Portal outro)

(not my video)

I know, I know. Cheesy. BUT instead of it being in the antagonist's view, it's the protagonist's view instead. I tried singing for the song, but every time I do I make Jojo Siwa sound like a professional vocalist (I don't even know why she still sings. Didn't she bust one of her vocal chords already? Or is that a rumor? Either way that's already gotta be a sign that you probably shouldn't continue on the route you're on.) I literally had 5 attempts on my computer and they all sound horrible. I'm not going to put them on the internet for my sake and your sake too. So yeah, no vocals. But the lyrics will still be there. They won't have the typing effect though.

I once had a strange dream that I was looking through the itch.io comments and someone kept spamming about how they headcannoned Xandra to be a trans man and were like honestly I don't know how my brain combined those several factors together but I find that funny.

yes its the caseoh meme. no i will not apologize

[gourmetpunk]

Anyone here that I'm unaware of play music in a more serious capacity and able to give advice? I've been stuck in a weird creative rut that I can't seem to make a decision on, which I will put below the cut to avoid clogging the feed with personal issues:

I've been playing my own music for over a decade now and it's fun and everything, but I've basically rejected most traditional musical instruction up to this point and it's getting to me in a way I didn't expect. I know some basic theory and I'm a competent player, it's just that I know that more "professional" musicians can tell immediately that I'm out of my depth with anything more technical.

Which has been fine, up until now. I've mostly played music that I enjoy listening to anyway, which happens to be punk and "punk-aligned" stuff where technical skill isn't as important as just getting a decent-sounding song/sound down.

The problems are 1) I also really love jazz and have been kind of half-playing it alongside these personal projects for about as long, 2) I worry that I can't keep up the kind of intensity with the music I used to play as I get older (just turned 30 this year), plus these scenes kind of start to evaporate the older you get too, 3) I am certain for a fact that I'm not really technically competent enough to play much else other than what I already play at the moment.

I've been practicing jazz a lot on my own for the past half-year with a sort of half-idea that maybe I'll keep this as a genre that I'll still want to play when the punk scene either dies for good, becomes inaccessible to me or morphs into something I barely recognize anymore (sometimes I feel like that last of these is already happening). I have a band and it's currently going nowhere, so again this feels like a different field I could try and get involved in - and it seems like jazz has a weird kind of longevity to it that a lot of other music scenes don't, which is part of what's appealing to me about it.

The problems with this are then 1) I'm not interested in playing jazz "professionally" and it seems like most of the people I see still playing in the genre are definitely doing that and wouldn't bother with someone who isn't, 2) I'm just not good enough at my current level and I'm kind of worried I never will be.

To elaborate on that latter point (because I know someone is going to say "just keep practicing, it's like anything else, you can do it!"): in my last half-year of practice, I have learned a few new things, including scales, ways that scales can work over different chords/harmonies, various new ways of practicing like learning other jazz solos/riffs to see what's going on there...but what strikes me is that very little about my fundamental way of trying to solo has changed and I don't know how to change it. I'm worried that part of this has something to do with my not having "relative pitch" - different from perfect pitch in that I know the people who have that naturally and they're scary, but it's not learned and they don't necessarily know what they're doing. I'm lacking the basic foresight of how what I play next is going to sound. This seems to me to be the great barrier to becoming an actually "good" musician; you can do drills and scales and all that, but none of that really matters if you don't know what the note you put your finger to on the instrument is going to sound like (in context) before you play it. (this is where you're probably going to be lost if you're not a musician, hence why I started this by asking specifically musicians for advice)

I don't know if that's something I can learn at this point. It seems to me like most people who learned that learned it early on, like when they were kids or teenagers and their brains were still sponges. Being 30, I almost worry that it might already be too late for me and I'll just never get to that stage, effectively locking me out of being anything other than maybe a solid rhythm player (which isn't the worst, but I wanted to at least be able to contribute something else every once in a while).

Currently, it feels like the only way for me to really figure this out is to try taking some lessons. Of course a teacher is always going to encourage their student to learn by default if they're being paid, but I'd want to start off by explaining this whole dilemma and seeing if it's even worth it to try and improve. Should I give up? This is a time-consuming thing, and though I enjoy it, I could be putting that time into, say, learning another language instead, something I probably have a much better chance at because I put more effort into it when I was younger (ignore the fact that that is clearly a more useful skill than learning jazz).

I guess my main question is: before I put money towards something like lessons (and I don't have a lot, so I'm trying to use it sparingly here), can anyone tell me right away if this is really worth pursuing? Like, can any musicians tell me definitively that I should give up on jazz because of where I'm currently at and just focus on the things I can already do? I'm not asking for encouragement here: this is very much a practice question about how I'm going to use my time and money. I understand it's pretty niche, so I won't be shocked if this gets no response, it's the length of a small essay now.

In summary: should I look for a teacher to guide me on how to play jazz better or should I not bother?

[kamenwriter]

"Space Babies" and "The Devil's Chord" reactions.

Spoilers I'm sure behind the cut.

Space Babies

"It was a genocide" wait I thought the time war got trapped in a painting and then...oh wait the Master killed them all during the Chinbal run, didn't he? God we could just ignore that whole mess but noooooo

The butterfly gag...sigh.

"we made it...we went to the stars" like, I get the whole "hopes and aspirations thing" but when we've got billionaires trying to sell us colonizing mars when it would be a hundred times cheaper and easier to save the planet we're living on, I'd rather a solar punk future not a colonization future. Am I being exceptionally cynical? Maybe. These are just "reactions" not a proper critique.

I can only imagine how difficult filming with all the babies was.

Making the Doctor adopted and all about "embracing what makes you unique" is good Timeless Child damage control but I dunno the idea of him being a renegade of a detached society appeals to me more than him being THE ULTRA SPECIAL TIME BABY.

The AI might actually be an AI?

AND there's something mysterious about Ruby because of course there is.

Star Trek ass looking uniforms on the crew.

"The planet down below refused to stop the babies from being born, but refused to take care of them afterwards" hey now this is getting close to some proper Doctor Who.

"It's like a children's story" this is is a good set up for the mystery here's hoping they stick the landing. Now watch it being some alien that feeds of psychic energy and manifested as the babies fears or something.

The incredibly literal baby raising machine made a bogeyman out of boogers to give the babies a monster to fear. Okay. Acceptable.

I totally understand the Doctor empathizing with the bogeyman but why the babies?

The constant babiesSPACEbabies bit got old so fast.

And a fart joke.

And don't forget, Ruby Sunday is super special and not just some random person we can't have random people do incredible things in Doctor Who nope nope nope

The Devil's Chord

The visual representation of The Maestro sucking out music and eating it is some fucking comic book shit and I am here for it.

The Maestro starts playing the intro oh god don't let this character be meta don't let this character know they're in a story don't fucking lay on that crutch.

"What about my clothes?" Both of those retro ass fits would work fine in the 60s. I'll concede to the hairstyle change though.

...trying to visually communicate the Maestro's influence on reality is definitely a trick. Again this feels exceptionally comic booky (That's a compliment).

Oh that's right Susan was potentially killed during whatever bullshit killed the Time Lords during the Chinbal run.

I do enjoy a camp villain.

The Doctor using the Sonic to actually do something sonic. What a refreshing change of pace

Ugh don't wink at the camera.

"I was born in 2004" well I'll just turn to dust, then.

Power scaling doesn't just affect shonen series the Doctor has to go up against literal gods now...

Callback to the Sound of the Drums yeah okay.

"There's a hidden song deep inside her soul" SPARE ME FROM THIS TROPE OF COMPANIONS BEING SUPER SPECIAL.

"What is this song?" "Christmas" actually it's the Carol of the Bells which was originally a Ukrainian song called Shchedryk do your research.

MuSIC BaTTle hahahaha

DONT WINK AT THE DAMN CAMERA

I want to make this clear I have no problem with a big musical number at the end but making it a meta joke I wanna bash my head in with a hammer. I'M SO FUCKING SICK OF META WRITING.

So in summation Space Babies was kind of what I expect from nuWho nothing amazing I would have loved The Devil's Chord if it weren't for the "oh Ruby is some secret incredible thing" and all the metaphorical and literal winks at the camera.

[somethingshifted]

as i wrote, this became longer and longer, so i'm sticking it under a readmore to save your dash, i'm just waffling about the plot

as someone who feels like the band taking their own plot too seriously with plastic beach pushed the writing into a box ever since then, i still find myself wanting to connect each phase to each other. like surely there was an underlying point to be made between murdoc painting the plastic beach pink and the last cult's main color being pink. why is russel struggling again after they've set up shop in LA, his birth country but the other corner, in what i consider tumultuous times that in the end has Del return (even if unacknowledged). but then i kind of shrug my shoulders as canon is still a hodgepodge of 100 things marching in a circle. it's still easily entertainable in my head and i can't help but pick out tidbits i thought have meaning, and re-arrange them in my head like a dollhouse. i may actually dislike it if they did try to connect the two album phases officially and go down a serious route again but PB existing just makes those connections in my head. a fan interpretation is always fine but i think it's best left to the fans. that sounds haughty to say but, for the band to stay a band, i prefer it that way.

so whats the point of this post. the thing is, i'd genuinely be satisfied if gorillaz continued not taking their own plot so seriously, with the disclaimer that i do wish they'd be steadfast with characterization. like it'd be nice if any of them actually held commentary on cults practices considering theyre usually open about their view on world events, but i think enough griping about CI promo material is out there i have nothing new to say other than falling back to CI being a spur of the moment album with a release schedule out of the creators control plus the shitty fact that russel & noodle have been kind of nothing for almost 10 yrs OOPS. they could explore more avenues if they were freed from having to address past events as if they're characters in a storybook and not symbols that change with the times. and maybe if they remembered they can give characters new traits as russel's done things like pick up taxidermy and cooking but only one is referenced for several albums as his sole trait and *zips my lips*

i really feel like a bitch for wanting to harp on the lost chord as it's a beautiful, beautiful song outside of the characters, and additionally i'm a sucker for moments murdoc is faced with how he used to act, but i don't think i'd ever take it as part of a linear plot? which is why i can't fully feel like he's gone back on his word being a cunt to 2D again and falling back into the grandeur lifestyle and all that with the cult stuff.. like, let me wear my pretentious hat for a second but the lockdowns leading people to reminisce about so many things so openly and retreading memories in lieu of making new ones due to being cooped up, resonates more with my feels on the last chord, rather than uh blowing the island up and such and using portals. see, Song Machine can be written around easier bc you can say they're filming the MVs and they're metaphors, even the art reflects this (i didnt listen to the podcasts yet). but then it references the events of PB so openly that you can't just go "well thats the fake MV they shot" and that, incongruence, is hard for me. so was it refreshing to have CI not walk in circles of Murdoc is trying to say sorry guys? yes? i don't know what redemption would do for his character, as the topic of abuse and trauma (when explored with tact) is pretty important to me story wise honestly, but it's kind of... getting repetitive at some points. or maybe too much focus on murdoc 'redeeming' himself at the cost of 2D having traits stripped away and noodle & russ being silent. i don't want the events of plastic beach to be erased from both his and the band's history. having him be the villain of the plot du album is also meh, which is why i can appreciate the less serious canon on him where recent writing is concerned. 2018 is like yesterday to me and they (writers) were still poking fun at murdoc being not only assaulted in prison but also being in the psychiatric ward of prison. like what was that all about, i really really prefer peepaw livestreaming for attention to them taking harrowing events and making them the butt of a joke. i feel like it was handled better in pirate radio even if that itself wasn't meant to be all doom and gloom. it just made more sense. and theresssss my problemmmmm

all that being said i will always adore plastic beach. some of the plot heavy things contain my favorite moments and i'm easily baited with nostalgia so this isn't a bashing post at all... just looking back and wondering if the written material is best when they're dropping tidbits and leave it for fans to imagine up scenarios, rather than adhere to a canon timeline all the time. it's so hard to sum up my feelings on this and stay in perspective of the band because my genuine feeling is that i actually love a lot of the murdoc storylines and i can't reconcile that with feeling put off that it requires believing some MVs and story beats are "real". because i'm shaking the gorillaz dollhouse regardless. and writing angst in my head revolving around how recovery isn't a straight line. and how tbh russel's journey is a direct foil to murdoc's. because all the ingredients are there

like read that and call me a hypocrite, i am! i just have a lot of thoughts. i think if i knew how to write fanfic i'd just shut up and do that but my dialogue writing skills make me uncomfortable due to not being BRITISH.

TL;DR, i'd be satisfied if plot being canonically recognized wasn't a drawback on the band because they honestly suffer when they do fall back on addressing the timeline and treating the characters as Vessels who Had Someting Happen To Them rather than whatever symbol for the current topic of the album. i do think the current writing gets repetitive and sanded down. at the same time i will always encourage fan interpretations regardless because i find those very fun. in being non linear it opens their world up to diff. perspectives. and i #support peepaw listening to weyes blood

[terminaxshowtime]

this is the stupidest question you've ever been asked but how do you analyse music?

aight, well, i don't do anything professionally or anything, all just for fun. usually i focus on the techniques of the music, or certain elements that it has. i was actually taught how to analyze music elements and techniques in class, mainly with identifying structure, rhythms, melody (eg. intervals), harmony/tonality (eg. cadences), and timbre. if i'm just analyzing music for fun, sometimes i'll pick it up by ear and be like 'oh, that's __ cadence, this is fitting for the song because it creates __ effect' or something along those lines. some of them are pretty obvious- like with rhythms, or repetition. for the ones i'm super interested and have to go in-depth to, usually i'll head over to, say, Musescore, search up the sheet music, and try to figure out some of the cadences and intervals myself. if i really want to go deep, i can check out these and associate them with other common uses of the sequences or whatnot, and just kinda make my own personal conclusions as to what the composer was trying to do when they made this. it's always about the messages they're trying to send and whatnot, or sometimes the message is just 'have fun!!!' or keeping the listeners not bored out of their mind.

for analysing music as part of, say, a soundtrack (in my opinion, the best to analyse) i'll focus a bit more on the actual compositional devices. mainly leitmotifs and instrumentation (similar to timbre), because those features can help you understand the story and character of the song. with these, i kind of just pick them up even the first time that i hear it. like, if i recognise a certain pattern, i usually associate it pretty quickly, then i narrow it down to some kinda reason as to why the composer might have done this. it's all connected!!

and if the song i'm analysing has lyrics (rare) i just use the typical English writing analysing techniques on it. with the exception of where certain words would be emphasised through certain chords or cadences in the harmony giving it a different meaning, or as an ornament, in which case i could pack the lyrics together with the musical elements and then analyse it further. so that's a cool thing that i like doing.

i also find that the more diverse a piece, the more interesting and fun it is to analyze, and to an extent, listen to. i think my favourite thing to listen to and analyze would be things with contrast, a lot of range, just something that makes it sound super captivating. which i often find video game ost to have. i highly recommend ost from Kirby games personally ;)

oh, and the stuff i WASN'T taught. okay, so I actually use DAWs and make music myself. i don't post it because i'm self conscious and don't think it's THAT good, but it's probably fine. it's mainly through my own experience through using DAWs that I can figure out what kind of techniques the composers are using for songwriting, mainly through mixing and audio effects- the classic reverb, overdrives, EQs, panning- all my knowledge and ability to judge these comes from my OWN personal experiences with making music and therefore being able to recognise the techniques when i listen. then i can figure out the effect that this technique has and analyse the song and all. so that's the part that was SELF-taught from myself, really.

but anyway. if that didn't answer your question, whoops. i was mainly taught to do a specific type of analysing, and yeah i can analyse it outside of just these techniques- vibes work just fine- but it's kind of hard to explain. 90% of it comes from having knowledge of what the features and effects are, plus my own personal experiences help. i think after you can recognise and NAME the features and techniques, then it's much easier to figure out what the composer was thinking when they made it (ie analyse it.)

erm i rambled way too much. wow. hope this helped???

[graveyard-darlingg]

i think i would like a hug actually... it was a stressful morning, after last night not being very nice either. im just glad i got to talk to you, and still get to

umm i dont know, i just think that while artemis is kind of the closest that greek mythology comes to feminism, shes too angry at women. like yes, she doesn't want to be married, she wants to be free, but she doesn't have to be angry at love in its entirety, y'know? im not sure if it makes sense. im for some of what she does, though

i see myself as a doll because, in specific, porcelain dolls are very fragile and whatnot. which is very me! plus they're pretty and soft and pliant, also very me. if it were up to me, i think id be a life sized doll, or even a regular actual doll perhaps - i break under pressure a lot, so i like the idea of not having to do much but sit there and have my hair brushed gently. im not sure if it comes across as odd, though

cello is so beautiful! one of my neighbors owns one and has offered to let me borrow it if i replace the strings. also i adore classical music (i have a very wide range of music taste) and my favorite is the swan by camille saint-saens!! i have a whole playlist on spotify of classical music i like though

i can show you some art in my next ask!! i am a bit shy so you not posting it would be nice... but i really would love to show you some things, though im far from a professional

fanfiction!! i write that too eheheh so no judgement here !! i have a 50k+ word long fanfic that isnt even halfway done! im so very proud of it. in general ive written over 200k words, though it isn't exactly thaaat much. ive always adored writing. acoustic guitar sounds amazing!!!! i adore all types of guitar so much, and i bet you're a lot more talented than i could be. im not very good at string instruments (says the one who wants to be a cello artist)

-🎭

giving you a biiiiig hug, my dear. i’m sorry you’ve had such a a stressful morning. sending you so much comfort right now. i’d always be more than happy to have you in my inbox, so feel free to chat me up as much as you’d like!

also!!! i totally get that! i’m not very familiar with artemis except for a few things — like a few of her associations, so i totally get why you think about her that way!!

as for your relation to porcelain dolls, i don’t think that’s odd at all!! i completely understand it! there’s something so enticing about being treated gently and with tender care. since you draw, do you have an oc in relation to this perhaps?

yes yes yes!!! classical music is so &;8($494 !!! if you ever pick up the cello, would you mind telling me how it goes? cello is so hauntingly beautiful. string instruments are hard, yes, but i know you’d be able to do it!! it just takes practice!!

as for guitar, i’m not very good at it 💀💀 i think i learned like. one song? it was my heart i surrender by i prevail. the solo was super hard since you have to do several hammer-ons and slide all the way up the neck and then halfway down. i also had to substitute barred chords for chords that sound the same — except the fingering is different. it was a hard first song to learn 💀💀 the second i learned it, i forgor though.

i would love to see your art!! i’ll keep it in my inbox for you, my dear. also, i’m sure it’s beautiful. i understand feeling shy, but im not going to shit on your art, i promise. all art is beautiful.

it’s super cool that you write fanfiction too!! that’s awesome!! a 50k word fic is super long, oh my gosh. and 200k words?!?? oh my god, that’s dedication if i’ve ever seen it!! that’s amazing, sweetheart.