#cinematic sound radio
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Jason Drury, Rob Daniels & Erik Woods talk movies and soundtracks with Mike and the Mad Metal Man
We only had an hour but could have gone two! (Why only an hour? You’ll just have to ask Peter Kerr…stay tuned to Rock Daydream Nation.) Regardless, Jason Drury has finally arrived in Canada after a long flight from the UK.
Over a year ago, Rob Daniels, Erik Woods, Harrison and I ranked all 11 Star Wars films. Tonight was Jason’s chance. Jason provided a quirky and interesting ranking of all…
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Today on THE ESSENTIAL SOUNDTRACKS, Erik Woods, Robert Daniels, and Randy Andrews continue their journey through the STAR TREK films and their soundtracks as they discuss the seventh movie in the series, STAR TREK: GENERATIONS. You’ll hear them discuss the film in great detail including such topics as the new uniforms, deleted scenes, Kirk’s death, the destruction of The Enterprise D and more. Also covered in great length is Dennis McCarthy’s underappreciated score.
WARNING: We do talk about Star Trek: Picard Season 3 in this episode so if you haven’t seen the new series yet, you’ve been warned; there are SPOILERS in this episode.
STAR TREK: GENERATIONS was released on November 18, 1994. Malcolm McDowell joined cast members from the 1960s television show STAR TREK and the 1987 sequel series STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION. In the film, Captain Jean-Luc Picard (Patrick Stewart) of the USS Enterprise-D joins forces with Captain James T. Kirk (William Shatner) to stop the villain Tolian Soran (Malcolm McDowell) from destroying a planetary system in his attempt to return to an extra-dimensional realm known as the Nexus. The film was directed by TV veteran David Carson.
The original soundtrack album was released at the time of the film’s release on GNP Crescendo Records. It had a generous amount of music on the album, close to 45 minutes worth with 16 minutes of Star Trek sound effects from the film. In November of 2012, GNP Crescendo released an expanded version of the score featuring two full CDs of music expanding the run time to OVER two hours. The score was recorded by Robert Fernandez at Paramount Pictures Scoring Stage M, and McCarthy conducted the Hollywood Studio Orchestra. Mark McKenzie, William Ross, and Brad Warnaar provided orchestrations. The Executive Album Reissue Producer was Dennis McCarthy. The Executive Album Producers for GNP/Crescendo Records were Neil Norman and Melanie Clarkson. The Album Reissue Producers were Ford A. Thaxton, James Nelson and Mark Banning. The Project Consultant was Lukas Kendall, with liner notes by liner notes by Jeff Bond and Lukas Kendall.
The GNP Crescendo album is currently out of stock!
The Essential Soundtracks Theme by Alexander Schiebel
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Cinematic Sound Radio Fanfare and Theme by David Coscina | Bumper voice artist: Tim Burden
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PINE POINT STICKERS🌲
PATREON
MERCH
Don't think about this too hard I just wanted to try to do something outta my comfort zone lol, was inspired by those creepy coded radio transmission thingies ????
And FYI Pine Point is just an idea living rent free in my brain; its not gonna be a comic or series so you can stop asking now haha. It's just about a group of teens and their small Canadian town and I like to make music videos in my head about them when I'm not working on Ramshackle that's all lol
BUT if you want more Pine Point doodles and content you can find it on my Patreon for the $5+ tier~
MUSIC: "The Shield" by Topanga (a.k.a. PUP before they became PUP)
Tuning Sound FX: Everyday Cinematic Sounds
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Love how Vox and Velvette seem to alternate between portraying themselves as the ‘head’ of their little trio, with Velvette referring to herself as “the backbone of the Vees” and Vox plastering his logo over everything and vehemently denying Alastor's insinuation that he couldn't go on without the other two.
And meanwhile, like… Hells entire cinematic industry seems to mostly centre around porn.
Like, I'm sure there are other films out there (Blitzø has apparently seen Shrek) but the “cinephiles” are all off watching “award winning demon bukkake shows”. And I'd be very surprised if the internet porn industry wasn't also pretty big.
Outside the main three Vees, Angel Dust appears to be the figure most associated with their brand. Not any of Velvette's models or Vox's stars. And posters of Angel appear in the Lust Ring in Ozzies, implying that Val's influence extends outside Pride, something that doesn't seem to be the case for the other Vees.
And the whole reason Vox had to hire Sir Pentious to spy on the hotel is because Val hires so many people that all the randos on the street who might be looking for a quick buck were already working for him. Given how sex-obsessed the culture is generally (and considering that for every pornstar Val hires, he's also going to need several camera people, sound people, set designers, editors, etc.) Val could easily qualify as the biggest employer in Pride.
And if he owns even a fraction of those souls, he'd probably be one of the most powerful Overlords with or without the other two backing him up.
And that's not even getting into the age thing!
All the Media Demons seem to be loosely associated with the era when their chosen form of media got popular.
Vel is the social media demon, and one of the youngest Overlords, seeming to have died in the '10s. Vox is the TV demon and supposedly died in the 1950s. Alastor is the Radio Demon and died in the 1930s.
Photographic porn first became a big thing in the late 1800s. Val's style of dress to me loosely indicates 1910s or 1920s. If we're sticking with the established pattern then Valentino could well be older than Alastor.
What I'm saying is: the reason Valentino seems so much less concerned with the image and branding of the Vees compared to the other two might not just be him being dumb and impulsive.
From his perspective, the whole Vee thing might just be something his boyfriend and best friend are invested in, that he just kinda puts up with (and, heck, probably finances) because it makes them happy and gets him out of Overlord meetings.
Out of the three of them, Val may actually be the one who would be most able to go it alone, and the one who is the main source of their power. Possibly the only reason Vox and Vel even get to argue over who is the top dog in the group is because the actual top dog is too busy with his real business to give much of a shit about their fun side project.
#hazbin hotel#hazbin headcanons#hazbin meta#vox hazbin hotel#valentino hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel velvette#the vees#vox and vel are having serious group meetings to discuss preserving their territory and exploiting weaknesses in their political enemies#while val is bedazzling his gun in his boyfriend's aquarium#while the other two bitch about some tiff they're having with another overlord#and he pretends to listen#just in general i love the idea of val actually being way more intelligent than most people give him credit for#but his priorities are different to the other vees#so he doesn't show it much outside his own business
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That’s Would Be Enough | Marvel Fanfic 🖋
Summary: Elizabeth wants to be the best inventor and aunt. She’s overworked herself late into the night, but what she needs a break. And to be reminded that she is enough. And who other to do it than her own favorite blonde, aside from Captain America.
Pairing: Jason Grey Underwood & Elizabeth Stark
Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe—> Agent Carter, Iron Man 1-2, The Avengers
Marvel timeline: Pre/During—Avengers 2012 (Phase 1)
Characters mentioned: Tony Stark, The Young Avengers, Howard Stark and Jarvis
Song inspired fic: That Would Be Enough from Hamilton
A/N: I know it’s a simple fic but I was listening to this song and just had to write it.
Ship Name: JALIZZY
Sidenote: Jason’s nickname is JJ meanwhile Elizabeth is Liz
Click here to see the latest fanfic featuring this family
——
It’s been a few short weeks, Stark Tower was running high and low with noise.
New York City lights in contacts to the skyline views that the home brought to the world. Voices from the young heroes were softly heard. You could hear Liane and her friends screaming over the sound of the tv wired up in the living room and the hallways were being used as a reminder of how huge the building truly was.
But underneath the main lounge floor, past the elevator doors and across the narrow halls stood the tapping of nails against a keyboard humming a soft tune, that was played earlier from the afternoon radio. Files surrounding her desk as she spun in the chair for a while, as it reminded her of older memories at The Mansion’s lab.
The laughs and the louder bickering over bullshit that didn’t matter but it did at the time. Trinkets and posters surrounded the lab back then, it still does now but as many as Stark Tower.
She missed it, weather she liked to admit it or not.
And she wasn’t the only one.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knocking that belonged to a tall blonde with fluffy hair, sweatpants and a baby blue t-shirt, carrying two mugs of warm hot chocolate. She nodded, inviting him into the room as he took a seat near the empty chair, gently placing the mug into her palms as she took a peek noticing a few tiny marshmallows.
She hummed as she took a delightful sip of the warm drink.
He noticed she wasn’t upstairs for a while now. Something that never bothered him, he’s used to his creative minds spending longer than expected in the lab tinkering. However having seen what he would assume the worse of it from Tony in 2010, noticing his eyes bloodshot and the lights making his body appear weak, he made it a promise to watch the time to bring whoever was in the lab to bed.
Tonight it was Elizabeth.
She’s a Stark. So he can’t stop her being in a lab to invent something, since that’s one of places she shined. Aside from the stage of course. He have noticed her getting a new scope of the world, having been gone under the ice for a while now. He knew she had her own ways of doing things, as she handled the transition better than expected but it had him worried.
Does she believe that she’s not doing enough?
He has been there himself plenty of times, where he feels useless and annoyed around everyone but he never showed it. Everything phases him, just not exactly his face. With one swift look at her vulnerable face, the tired eyes and gentle smile that could light up the stars, he knew.
He has been around theses people long enough to not know. Especially since JARVIS tend to be the house’s eyes and ears, it all added up to this point and he wasn’t upset about it
Elizabeth’s eyes analyzed his facial expressions, noticing the small bags under his eyes and the way his shoulders dropped ever so slightly. He smiled softly at her, placing the mug of hot chocolate that was in his hand onto the desk. All she wanted was to rest her head on his shoulder and hear his smooth southern drawl as he hummed a old song while she drifted to sleep.
But she wonder, if she left asleep and let herself take a breath, then that would mean her inventions would be unfinished. Her work would’ve not been done and the studies she has been doing lately would have left aside. It was silly to think she was putting all this unnecessary work onto herself when she doesn’t need it but it made her feel like she was doing something.
Then it clicked.
“How long have you know?” She asked, running her fingers crossed the side of the mug
“A month or so.” He replied, playing with the fabric of his sweatpants.
“I never told you.”
“Jarvis told me a less than month ago.”
“No…”
“We all just wanted you home.”
She sighed, “You should have told me.”
“I’m not sorry.” He added, with a honest smile.
He smiled placing a hand on her knee and said, “I knew you’ll work until the idea was done.”
“The idea’s not done.” She replied, placing a hand over his and sighed.
“But you’re tired and deserve a chance to be with our son.”
“He’s Howard’s son, I’m just his overprotective aunt.”
“We both know your more than that to him. You don’t need to prove anything, you said it yourself years ago.”
“I know…um but still my work, my life. I just want to make sure I’m worth all of it and I’m leaving a legacy behind..”
He sighs and smiled, “Just look around and you’ll see the difference you made.”
“We made.” She corrected him with a smile.
The two chuckled soft at that.
Nonetheless, Jason continued, “Look around at how lucky we are, just to be alive right now is a miracle. And that’s saying a lot knowing what we’ve been through.”
“Will you relish being a silly inventor’s spouse?” She added, as it sounded like a question, “Somewhat dependent, not about to provide for our life? It’s stupid I know, we’re in a good place but it feels like the roles are reversed and i don’t know why..I don’t feel as independent yet. I mean, we used to have Jarvis and Ana to help us. Peggy too! And now we’re sorta alone at this..”
“It’s not easy, it never was but we can handle it. And that not true, you’re more than confident and independent. Give it time.”
“How much time? How did you do it? Let’s face it, I’m here now, I have been awaken from the ice for a considerable period of time, but it still feels odd. We both has been working for a long time and sometimes it felt like we can’t breath again because of it. The world is changing a lot more than expected…so do you still relish all of this?”
“Your just tired and a little vulnerable right now, honey. It’s okay, no rush here. But to answer your question, yes, I do. I also relish you someday being my wife. Just look around, look at where you are. Look at where you started..the fact that you’re alive is a miracle. Just stay alive, that would be enough.”
She smiled hearing those words, “Yeah. I guess I am tired…and a little worried, I just want to be the best version I can be.”
“You already you.” He added with a chuckle, “Our child shares a fraction of your smile and dare I say, a fragment of your mind just as much as he does Howard!”
“Oh good god he’s smarter than I thought!”
“And his ego too. I love him but damn, it’s wild.”
“Oh yeah, he’s more than enough to make a difference in the world. We’re safe then.”
They both smiled and laughed harder than expected knowing how many godchildren Tony gave them. So look out world, that would be enough.
He looped a finger underneath her chin, “Look, I don’t pretend to know the challenges you’re facing. The worlds you keep erasing and creating in your mind. Your reading more than i do when it comes to understand everything we can.”
“Mhmm! It’s hard moving from one era to another.” She admits with a light chuckle, “..sometimes I don’t know how we’ve done it for so long and haven’t driven ourselves mad.”
“I know...but I’m not as afraid as I should. I know who I married. So long as we all come home at the end of the day..”
“That would be enough. Uh, about our legacy and the money?”
“Liz.”
“Jason. I’m serious.”
“We already are creating one and we already have money. If I could grant you peace of mind, let us inside your heart…”
Those words shut her up, as her eyes watered a bit understanding everything he meant. That they are supposed to be made of steel but it takes the people you love to make it a strong material.
And truth be told, she told him those same words years ago. It wasn’t as gentle, heartfelt and darling as she said in her own way, but it was a similar format as theses line meant the same thing. She remembers telling him in a charming yet sweet manner.
“Just let us be apart of that narrative, in the story we are watching today.” He continued, with a gentle grin, “Let this be a new chapter where I hope we stay..”
“And I could be more than enough.” She finished for him with a gentle grin, “We could be enough…since that would be enough.”
“Took you long enough to get it.”
“I should’ve known by now, I just need the reminder...I’m sorry for worrying you.”
“It’s alright, you didn’t mean it. Now, can we please go to bed?”
She smiled breathlessly and softly replied, “Yes please!”
He stood up, and walked away to the doorway thinking he was following her. But she wasn’t. He looked over his shoulder to to find her holding out her hands at arms length with a cheeky little smile that resulted him to snicker.
“Carry me?” She asked with a soft chuckle, tiredness laced in her voice.
“You’re so dramatic.” He replied with a similar tone as he walked over and picked her up bridal style.
“Shhhhhh babe, there are people trying to sleep here.”
“Oh my god.”
“Hey.”
“Hm?”
“I think I love you.”
“I know.”
The pair smiled as he carried her to bed, as she nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck. She hummed a few words and cracking a couple of jokes while he rolled his eyes dropping her onto the bed. She swiftly crawled under the warm covers and laying her head on the pillow, smiling at the blonde who treated her well.
Sometimes she wonders how exactly did she deserve such a man? Guess she will never actually get that solid answer.
She reached for his hand, giving it a small squeeze as if to know she was real and not at all in that icey cold apartment she once placed into. He smiled in return and winked, as there was an unspoken feeling of love in the air.
He left her side and stepped over to the doorframe. He looked over his shoulder and whispered, “Night Liz.”
She yawned, about to ask, more like suggest something but choice against it. Save it for another night as she replied, “Night Jason.”
Just as Jason turned off the lights and leading himself towards the hallway, Elizabeth bite the bullet with a soft grin. She decided to go for it and muttered, “Grey?”
She wondered if he heard it but he did. It cause Jason to pause and turn around to face Elizabeth, because it was a rare but somewhat made common sense that he would hear his middle name being used. Not everyone called him that unless necessary and he secretly preferred it being used among certain people.
Usually it was a way to get his attention in an endearing manner, when it came to his plenty of nicknames over the years.
His mind was fighting off a nerve of worry, as he met her eyesight, and hummed, “Yeah?”
“C-can you stay with me tonight? In bed like old times…” She replied almost shyly, pushing away her curls. It was a rare moment for a woman as bold as she might be. Yet, there was gentle tired smile that tugged her lips.
“Y-you sure?”
“I wouldn’t be sure if I didn’t ask, would I?”
“Fair point. Uh, left side of the bed?”
“A-and you on right.”
“You’re positive about this?”
“Mhm, I am. If not, I can always buy a dog to keep me company instead. I heard Sal’s shelter is open this time and hour.”
“Elizabeth.”
“I’m kidding! But not about the dog thing.”
“Liz.”
“Come on, I know you can’t resist waking up the next morning to a nice view.”
“You talking about yourself or the city’s morning skyline?”
“Both. We’re such amazing views, just sayin’.”
With a chuckle and a little eye roll, Jason climbed into bed and nuzzled himself underneath the covers next to her. Elizabeth’s giggles could be softly heard from her own cocky comments from earlier, as she rested against his shoulder blade humming gently.
She pressed a tiny kiss onto his cheek, as her eyes slowly dropped muttering a few words as she did. He wouldn’t admit it but he missed this, as he pressed a light kiss onto the top of head. With a swig of his arm, he reached forward and turned off the lamp that rested on the nightstand as the soft night sky peeked through the windowsill.
~~~
~~~
Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoy the fic
Please like, comment and share. Also let me know what you think in the comments below. Like suggestions for future content.
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#mcu fanfiction#mcu fluff#marvel oc#agent carter oc#marvel x oc#howard stark#tony stark#edwin jarvis#the avengers fanfic#glen powell#ruby lucas#peggy carter#hamilton#song fic#marvel fanfiction#hangman au#marvel phase 1#avengers x oc#avengers oc#hangman fanfiction#pepperony#mcu fancast#marvel original character#the avengers#oc x oc#oc x canon#oc x oc ship
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Idk if this is just a me thing, or what but because I maladaptive daydream cinematically I have specific scenarios for specific songs. That being said, I cannot listen to “Little Less Conversation- JXL Radio Edit Remix” without thinking of a post fight, angry, desperate lovemaking with RE4 Leon Kennedy. The whole song is just full of sexual frustration and I am feral for a song that sounds like being slammed up against the wall, lip bruising, grasping, desperation sex. Like so desperate the clothes are only mostly off because waiting to remove is just too much time lost. This man could wreck my entire apartment and I’d still say thank you. That is all.
#leon kennedy smut#leon+kennedy+smut#leon kennedy#leon x reader#writing prompts#leon s kennedy#help I’ve maladaptive daydreamed too close to the sun#forgive me for i have sinned#Spotify
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someone posted the new full text interview here tumblr(.)com/nomaptomyowntreasure/730092560973971456/full-rock-sound-issue-300-photos-and-interview they sound so happy :)
THANK YOU for pointing me to this!!!!
Awwww, they really do sound so very happy. I love Patrick saying he's making new memories with the Folie songs, that's just so lovely. I'm also fascinated by what Pete says the song So Much (for) Stardust is about hahahaha because I'm just like, ....what??? But I also kind of get it lol. There is something really atmospheric about SMFS that does feel different from the usual FOB song, and feels even more cinematic than their other stuff, and their other stuff is, as Pete says, always kind of cinematic. But it's always struck me as such a real punctuation mark at the end of the album, and I'm not even sure what kind of punctuation mark. (Aside, but I grew up on the "Eddie and the Cruisers" soundtrack, and it ends with this really moody tour de force song that's a departure from everything that came before and feels like it's painting the way forward and has a really distinctive piano part to it, and anyway, SMFS the song always makes me think of "Season in Hell.")
Also, this made me think how Patrick wrote the song before they knew what the album was going to be called, and it felt meaningful enough that they named the album after it, and it made me wonder if Pete wrote the original lyric with the (for) or if that got added later, Idk, I'm fascinated by the work the parenthetical does in the title, and they almost never bring it up!
I also love them talking about wanting to go deeper instead of wider, like, Idk, there's a real love there for being happy with the audience they have and going all-in with them, and also feeling free to mess up and it would be okay. See, it was a trust fall into us, the whole time. :-)
And Patrick trotting out a Downton Abbey reference for the British interview hahaha well done, Patrick, make sure you speak their language.
Also, Patrick getting upset Katy Perry named a song "Dark Horse" before him hahaha that was LITERALLY what finally motivated me to publish Swan Song, I was like, "Someone's going to hit it big with a boys in bands love story and I'll be upset if I never threw myself into the running."
(Also I am so happy We Didn't Start the Fire turned out to be such a huge radio hit for them. I knew it would be when it was released, and I was really shocked how nasty people were about it, and I shouldn't have been, because that always happens, but I'm glad they got to have the last word. I love Patrick saying, "We actually spent a lot of time on the lyrics," like, good.)
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Tinashe's tiny desk performance has won me over, is there an album if hers you would recommend for a new potential fan?
Oh man, all of her albums reinvent her entire sound, so it's hard to pick just one.
I think if you had to stick to just one album, 333 is my favorite of hers, with highlights like "Unconditional" which really shows off her vocal chops while "Bouncin'" and "X" show her sensual side. The Bouncin music video is actually what got me into her as a more serious fan because I loved how she made sexy look so fun and easy
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The fact that's on the same album as "The Chase" and its cinematic, soaring greatness is incredible. "Naturally" is only on the deluxe edition but it's pure addiction.
That said, as great as 333 is, Songs for You mmight represent her range of sounds much better, even if it is a bit more juvenile lyrically.
"Save Room for Us" and its remix is incredible--rhythmic and desperate, it shouldn't be missed. "Die a Little Bit" is a club banger. "Link Up" has the hard edge that is more common in her earlier music. "Perfect Crime" has more of the beautiful vocals over a beat that draws you in.
Just listing these two albums is leaving off many great tracks (2 On, Needs, Ghetto Boy, Treason, All Hands on Deck, just to name a few!!!) but it also leaves out her COLLABS!!! "The Worst in Me" with Kaytranada has divine production, "Disco Pantz" with grouptherapy and Reijjie Snow gives her a classic, nostalgic dance track, "Love Line" is pop perfection that should've owned the radio, and Machinedrum's "Zoom" puts her over a drum & bass sound she was exploring in her newest album BB/Ang3l.
TO SUM IT UP:
Pick up any album and you'll find stan worthy songs.
If this list of songs is too overwhelming, to give a perfect sampler of her sounds, here are five songs to check out (sorry if any are redundant with her tiny desk performance!):
"Bouncin" has the perfect summation of her flirty sound that is dirty but never feels... filthy. It's a sleek type of horny. 333.
"Gravity" is ethereal and shows some of her dabbling in Drum and Bass. BB/Ang3l
"2 On" is one her (many) songs dedicated to getting fucked up at the club, hell yeah. Aquarius.
"Sunburn" is slower, more experimental. Gravity may feel ethereal but this song feels like an angel falling off the edge of a cloud. Nightride.
"Throw a Fit" is a single off a scrapped album but it represents her "Nashe" persona, so I couldn't leave it off!! I'm not in love with her voice sounds on it but if you can, watch a live performance of it, really elevates it and helps it fit more smoothly into her discography. Here's a mashup up performance:
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I'm in this video though, if you want a non-mash up but farther away video
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Barebones (I am not a cunning linguist) situation of language in my space opera story:
NO UNIVERSAL TRANSLATOR: that's a cheap cinematic trick to make things easy, if you want to communicate between different species or cultures you either learn their language or convene into a trade language. You could also hire a diplomat (a very in-demand profession) who is not only a translator, but also a cultural advisor. For every world and species, there are multiple languages, dialects, customs…
There's also no universal trade language; there is something like it, among Human spacers: Tandar (from "Standard") which is both spoken and visualized and is widely used, but olfactory species, species that communicate in different sound and radio frequencies, and others need their own translators and agreed trade languages.
Tandar was originally a military auxiliary language used in the Last Machine War among Human forces. It is very distantly descended from Mandarin, with a strong English vocabulary, and it also incorporates, besides its numeric system, a "protocol" used with machines, a basic programming language; it is often said that its two languages in one.
Written Tandar is logographic and strictly standarized; stylizing it is very much frowned upon, as it is supposed to be used in emergency signs, instruction manuals, and such. Tandar can also be written in all sorts of other scripts, and over time, puns and metaphors in Tandar have given way to a true Tandaric literature. It is still considered a technical trade language.
Tandar is "everybody's second language" there are, supposedly, no native Tandar speakers, and it's used for trade or technical purposes. You don't talk to your mother or spouse in Tandar.
In practice, there are indeed many communities that have creolized Tandar into local languages. There is also a corpus of jokes, puns, songs (especially spacer shanties) and other vernacular literature in Tandar. So there's a debate about its condition as a pure auxiliary language here.
There is also a mainstream "spacer culture" who speaks Tandar and is connected by similar traditions and of course technologies (it's good to have standarized spaceship parts...), but it varies from one side of the galaxy to another. So smilar, and yet with unique quirks for every trade world and even ship. Sociologists and linguists love studying spacers for this reason.
Human "colonies", now centuries old, were often settled by people from the same nations or ethnic groups. Over the centuries, they have developed their own dialects, so that half a dozen worlds settled by, for example, Thai-speaking astronauts, now have dialects barely comprehensible between each other, or even new languages. A few have developed wholly different cultures, but broadly, the main language families from Mother Earth are still spoken.
There is no faster-than-light communication, so no space radio or TV, the closest thing is a slower-moving (in days-weeks) postal service. So mass communication does not homogenize languages. Many local planetary dialects incorporate some Tandar or other trade language in their speech, but most people speaking it or other trade languages live in trade worlds.
The great generation ships that departed from Mother Earth in times past, virtually flying civilizations encased in asteroids, often have kept old dialects alive in relativist travel. Even if relativist travel has been replaced by faster-than-light aetheric travel, the close-knit nature of generation ships makes them act as cultural time capsules. This is a point of pride to them; speaking Hawaiian, Esperanto or Rioplatense often means "you're part of our family", even if you're born in another world.
Humans who have lived for generations in alien worlds have adopted their languages, customs, culture, religion, even body language... to the point that meeting one for the first time as a "mainstream spacer" human is almost the same as meeting an alien.
The reverse is true for aliens who have lived in human worlds. In fact, this is a very humanocentric perspective. Everything above applies to other species (for everyone, the others are aliens) and with the differences of biology, psychology, culture, economics, and time...
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Movie & Soundtrack Special: Grab A Stack of Guests! Jason Drury & Rob Daniels with Mike and the Mad Metal Man
GRAB A STACK OF ROCK With Mike and the Mad Metal Man
Episode 34: Soundtrack Special with special guests Jason Drury and Rob Daniels
I’ve been wanting to do this show for years. Due to time zones and schedules, this has proven difficult, until now! Please welcome Jason Drury from Cinematic Sound Radio, who is visiting Canada from the UK as you read this. You may remember Jason from his…
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Soundtrack Alley 160: JURASSIC PARK Redue Via Cinematic Sound Radio
Soundtrack Alley 160: JURASSIC PARK Redue Via Cinematic Sound Radio
Here today is once again a release of the podcast that aired originally on Cinematic Sound Radio. Listen to the discussion between Erik Woods and myself about the film and score to the 1993 Steven Spielberg groundbreaking action/adventure film, JURASSIC PARK, based on the 1990 novel of the same name by Michael Crichton. The film stars Sam Neill, Laura Dern, Jeff Goldblum, Richard Attenborough,…
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#action#adventure#cinematic sound radio#composer#fantasy#john williams#jurassic park#music#podcast#sci-fi#science fiction#score#soundtrack#steven spielberg
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Moniek Darge / Vanessa Rossetto — Dream Soundies (Erstwhile)
Belgian Moniek Darge and American Vanessa Rossetto, are sound artists who work primarily with collected sounds. Each sources their material from a practice of recording everyday environments, but since their respective days are as different as their emotional orientations, their respective works are different. Darge has traveled the world, often seeking out what she finds to be sacred. Rossetto has spent her life in a small number of American cities, and her personal struggles tend to get folded into her work; she once made an album that dealt primarily with the sounds of a hotel room that she had trouble navigating and the limited distance that she could move when she escaped it.
Their differences prove to be complementary on Dream Soundies (Darge applies the word “soundies” to her audio productions, using the diminutive term to escape the limits of music). Together, these two women who are accustomed to working with anything at hand turn a selection of regular sounds into a soundtrack that is simultaneously ineffable and ordinary. It’s definitely a soundtrack, since sounds often deploy in a cinematic fashion. Loops create continuity, and the arrival of each new element — a chirping bird, a slammed door, a banging disco party, a distant hum that might be a car engine — advances the action as purposefully as the introduction of a new character or visual perspective moves a film along. But these action sequences do not add up to a narrative. Why should they? Sounds were around for a long time before stories, and their vibrations will surely persist much longer than story-bound humans are likely to last.
One might as easily turn to painting to metaphorically describe Dream Soundies. Each moment is layered with sounds, like a thick crust of oils applied to canvas over a span of time. Sirens wail and critters cluck, church bells toll and lesser metals clatter, flutes call and respond and harmonize in compatible disregard with music boxes and ducks. And just as a painter stops at just enough paint (or at least refuses to show you the works where they didn’t stop at the right time), even the densest moments of Dream Soundies are never overloaded. That’s what separates this work from, saying, opening the windows and turning on the TV and radio at the same time; it is arranged, and even if you can’t grasp the rules governing its arrangement, it resonates because of them.
Bill Meyer
#Moniek Darge#Vanessa Rossetto#Dream Soundies#Erstwhile#Bill Meyer#albumreview#dusted magazine#musique concrete#field recordings
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Cling Fast: Chapter Eight
By Losyark
The Sandman (Netflix with some sprinkling of comics canon, and Gaiman Cinematic-Literary Universe canon)
Dreamling (Hob Gadling x Dream of the Endless | Morpheus)
Unfinished (tentatively 10 chapters)
PG-13 (for now)
Unbeta’d
*
For the first time in six hundred and seventy-two years, Hob is genuinely angry at Morpheus.
He shoves his way out of bed, flinging off the covers and not caring where they land.
Around Hob, the sand drops to the carpet all at once, like the heavy rain of a late-summer tempest. He spares a thought for the age of the carpets, how much damage the abrasive grains will cause the fine, fragile weave. But already the sand is glittering away, rising just a little before sparking into golden non-existence, like dust motes dancing in a sunbeam.
“Doc Bob?” the walkie crackles. “We heard shouting, are you–”
Hob lunges for the two-way radio, aiming a threatening finger at Morpheus (who is still slightly more eldritch smoke-monster than person-shaped), a very clear order to Stay put and stay silent!
“Fine, sorry,” Hob lies down the line. “Harriet just startled me.”
"Roger. Bob, the sound feed's gone funny, it sounds like we're catching a conversation from some amateur radio or something. And the picture keeps snowing over. We may have to film Bob laying down to sleep again."
"We're fine, we're fine! I'll reset the equipment, hold on," Hob says. Then he grabs down the camera and mic and shuts them both off roughly, then throws his wrapper over them for good measure.
He looks up at Harriet, still frozen in the doorway.
Good.
He’d hate to have to chase her down.
God help him, he hates how wary of him she is, but Hob was a soldier and a sellsword. He’s been a bandit, and a thief, and when it’s necessary, a murderer. Hob uses her momentary surprise to his advantage, darting in behind her and closing the door quickly but softly enough that the noise doesn’t carry over the radio. He twists the key in the lock, and then tosses it to Morpheus.
The god of sleep catches it, his expression unreadable, and sets it on the bedside table.
Now Harriet looks terrified.
He hates it.
He hates being this.
He thought he'd left this behind.
One of the ADs asks: “Do you need us to–?”
And Harriet opens her mouth to say yes, please, help, but Hob gets his hand clamped over her mouth, fingers digging into her jaw, so all that escapes is a little gasp.
“No, we’re good,” Hob says into the walkie, not taking his eyes from Harriet, talking slow and calm. “No point waiting up Glenn. Give me like, an hour to get everything sorted out here and I get everything back online for you, okay? Then we can go again?”
“Okay. Radio if you have any trouble.”
“Rodger that. Over and out,” Hob says. Then, one handed, he twists the radio off, and tosses it to Morpheus, too. He doesn’t really care that Morpheus doesn’t even try to catch it. It thumps to the bed.
“You,” he snarls at the anthropomorphic asshole in the sheets. “Do not move, do you understand me?”
“You dare to–”
“Yes I fucking dare!” Hob snaps. “There are cameras you absolute lunatic. Are you trying to get me strapped down onto a lab table for the next century?! Do. Not. Move.”
“I disrupted the feed,” Morpheus reassures him.
“Ooooohhh, you disrupted the feed,” Hob mocks. “But you couldn’t warn me we were still awake?! That’s low.”
Morpheus seems to consider Hob’s words and his rage, and primly settles against the headboard, with his legs tangled in the sheets and a come fuck me set to his liquid spine. He looks pointedly human now, down to his glacial blue eyes. He’s wearing just a slithery black wrapper, dangling sensually from one shoulder and exposing a swath of his marble-pale torso, and it’s so wretchedly unfair that Morpheus has done this, this to him, and still Hob wants to throw him down into the sheets and make him scream for mercy.
Hob then turns his attention to Harriet. He’s not squeezing hard enough to hurt her, he hopes. But she’s still bulge-eyed and red-faced, hands clutching at his wrist, nails crusted with the day’s flour digging into his flesh.
“I’m sorry,” he says with a genuine shudder of revulsion at his own beastly behavior. “I’m so sorry.” He lets her go slowly, one finger at a time, making sure that she has her feet under her.
As soon as he does, Harriet–rightly–shoves away from him so hard that she slams into the wall behind her.
“Wh-what is that,” she asks, head jerking at the bed.
“He won’t hurt you,” Hob says soothingly. “Though I’m seriously thinking about kicking his ass.”
“As if you could,” Morpheus sneers.
“You’re on thin enough ice as it is, friend,” Hob spits at the creature lounging haughtily amid the blankets like a brazen seductress. “Do not piss me off any more.”
Again, Morpheus seems to genuinely consider Hob’s anger, and quiets down. Hob would never describe it as meekly or guiltily, but there’s definitely some recognition that Hob’s fury is not ill-placed.
Harriet backs herself into the corner beside the hearth, which Hob recognizes as the move of someone too terrified and too innocent to know that boxing yourself in is a spectacularly bad idea. She snatches up one of the iron pokers from the idiosyncratic Victorian set that set dec had left behind, and points it at Hob’s heart.
He stays where he is, hands loose and out to the sides. He’s wearing a nightshirt and nothing else, he’s got nowhere to hide a weapon, and he makes that clear.
“And… and what are you?” Harriet warbles, her lips bloodless and her throat tight. Hob seriously hopes that she doesn’t scream, because that will bring Glenn running and that’s the last thing they need. “I… I heard you say… dead wife’s bed… centuries…”
“I’m…” Hob hesitates, looking back at Morpheus, who lifts his hand, palm up, helpfully. “No! Absolutely not. Do not throw sand in her face, oh my god. Let me just… think this through.”
“What is there to think about? She is starting to suspect, even now. I promised I would protect you from discovery, and I shall do so.”
“Protect me,” Hob scoffs, low and dangerous. “Protect me? This–this!--this is how you protect me? God’s balls Morpheus, I thought we were asleep. I thought we were in the Dreaming!"
“We are in the Waking, Hob.”
“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock!”
"The what?" Harriet asks shakily, eyes filling with tears and chin wobbling.
“Oh, oh, shit, okay, listen–sit, please Harriet,” Hob says gently. “You can hold onto the poker if you want, that’s fine, I won’t take it away from you. And I’ll stay over here.”
He sildles over to the foot of the bed and sits, palms up and out, see? Harmless.
“Will you… will you hurt me?” Harriet asks, sitting without taking her eyes off them.
“No, I promise,” Hob says as earnestly as possible. “And I’m sorry again for grabbing you. That was badly done.”
“Will you unlock the door?” Harriet whispers.
“Soon,” Hob promises. “Once we get this whole mess sorted.”
“Will you tell her?” Morpheus asks, sitting up and draping himself along Hob’s back indolently, hooking his sharp chin of Hob’s shoulder to study Harriet.
Hob gives into the full-body shudder that this engenders, and then shoves the clingy asshole off.
“If you’re trying to be sweet so I won’t be mad at you, and it’s only making it worse,” Hob warns him.
“Tell me what?” Harriet asks. The poker has drooped a little bit in her curiosity.
“Telling her may make it easier on set,” Morpheus sulks. “If you will not let me watch your back, she could.”
Hob gapes at Morpheus. “And whose fault is it that I’m even doing this stupid show in the first place? Don’t you get it? I am here because you said you thought it would help me. Being a hair away from being exposed at every turn has me scared shitless, but I’m doing it because you asked me to. It’s a nightmare, Morpheus, this whole experience has been both a dream and a nightmare, and I am doing my best to learn the lesson you want me to. I am trying to listen.”
“You have not been exposed. Your secret is still yours.” He cuts his eyes to Harriet, watching their quarrel with all the intense confusion of the scholar that she is, trying to decipher what they mean. “And I can ensure it stays that way.”
“Yeah, but for how long?” Hob goans. “This world, the pace of technology. Sooner or later somebody’s gonna–” he gestures at Harriet. "Do you not understand how much that terrifies me? Fucking hell, you're the king of nightmares! How can you not? You spent a hundred years trapped in a fucking Christmas Bauble. And I hate that it happened to you, I hate Burgess with every pit and fiber of my soul, and I live in a constant low-grade terror that it's going to happen to me too."
“I will not let that happen. You are mine, and none shall take you from me.”
Hob laughs flatly. “You have a shit way of showing that, my friend. I’m yours, sure, but you only want to play with your little toy once a century.”
Hob feels like he's earned a little self-pity, okay? As a treat.
“This… this was not meant to be a nightmare, Hob,” Morpheus says slowly, realization and regret warring on his face. He drops his prideful sneering and in a blink, is completely clothed again, sitting fully upright, proper and contrite. “I only wanted you to experience the release that you have been subconsciously craving. The peace.”
Hob regrets the cruel, petty way he lashes out as soon as the words tumble from his mouth, but he says them anyway: “And what, once I’d grieved and gotten over my mortal family, you could slide in and replace them, huh? Is that what this is? Is this why you were half-dressed and clinging to me in Eleanor's bed…”
"This is a reproduction, she never—"
"Is this why, when you haven't said a thing, you haven't… you haven't given me a single sign," his voice cracks on the word.
“Hob, no, I have—” Morpheus gasps.
In for a penny and all that. If he’s going to lose Morpheus, loose everything over this, he might as well earn it, right? Might as well finally be honest. With his friend and himself.
“Is that the only reason you’re here? In this bed with me? Is it? Because you’re jealous?” Morpheus flinches ever so subtly, and Hob knows he’s punctured his walls, delivering a gaping wound. Now to stick his finger in it. “Eleanor’s been dead for four hundred years, you prick. Godswounds, is that why walked out of our meeting in 1589? You wouldn’t look at me sideways, but I dared to go off and be happy with a human so I had to be punished? So you had to flounc le away and rail that twinky little gobshite Shaxbeard in revenge? You’re pathetic.”
“You’re mine,” Morpheus says darkly. He’s losing coherence again, his eyes spreading into dark galaxies, his clothing rising like an angry cat’s fur, whispering out at the edges and crackling like thunderheads.
Harriet mewls and cowers back in her chair.
Hob turns on the bed, and grabs Morpheus’ face between his palms. The building thunderstorm drops in his surprise, limp and damp. Morpheus blinks in surprise, his eyes dropping to Hob's mouth, and oh no, abso-fucking-lutely not.
“So why didn't you ever say so, you daft arsehole?” Hob says. “Christ on his Cross and God in his Heaven, Morpheus, Dream, I have been yours since you walked over to me in that tavern in 1389 and told me you’d see me in a hundred years. How do you not get that? You made me Immortal–”
“Death made you–”
“Shut up! You know what I mean! You made me Immortal and you have access to everyone’s dreams. You know I would have happily given you my body in payment. And then, when you assured me that my soul was safe from hell, I would have given you that, too. If you’d only asked.”
Morpheus looks wrecked. Tears shine at the bottom of his lids, his mouth is red from biting his lips, his cheeks flushed with shame.
“My friend, I–” Morpheus stops, but then looks away, as if it would cost his pride too much to continue.
Hob wants to comfort him, to undo all that he’s said and all the daggers he’s thrown. But he won’t reach for his friend’s hand. Not now. Not if Morpheus refuses to meet him halfway.
The King of Dreams and Nightmares isn’t the only proud man in the room.
“Morpheus, you mean the world to me,” Hob says softly. “But you are such a selfish, arrogant, prideful anthropomorphic personification that I don’t know what to do right now. You’ve hurt my feelings and betrayed me in the worst way I could possibly fear, whether you meant to or not. And now you can’t even tell me you're sorry to my face.”
"Hob…"
Hob drops his hands away from Morpheus' cheeks to scrub his own. “And to think," Hob says, with damp wistfulness, as he tugs on his ear. "I was letting myself fall in love with you.”
Morpheus stiffens, like Hob has slapped him. Like the confession is the greatest insult imaginable to a being of fantasy and fright. It probably is. After all, it took the bastard two hundred years and then some to even admit that he wanted Hob for a friend.
“Get out,” Hob says wearily. “And stay away until I’m ready to forgive you. This dream is over.”
Morpheus dissolves.
And Harriet faints.
*
Hob unlocks the door. Harriet, still shaky and blinking dumbly around herself, steps out into the hall.
“You can go,” Hob says. “I won’t keep you. Or, you can stay while I redo the shot that my dipshit friend ruined, and then I can explain. Whichever you prefer."
Harriet hesitates.
"Will you wait?”
Harriet nods, and slides down the wall to rest.
��Okay.”
Hob goes back inside, and straightens the covers. He puts on his wrapper, cap, and slippers. He puts the poker back. He replaces the camera and mic, and turns them on. He puts the key back in the door, and returns the walkie to the little table out of frame and confers with the ADs. He goes through the motions of readying himself for bed again. He lays down, waits for a count of sixty, then gets up and rearranges his pillows so it looks like he is still in bed. They can edit it all together later.
Then he goes back into the hall.
He’s not sure why, but he’s surprised Harriet’s still there.
Professional curiosity, maybe. And Hob has certainly made a curiosity of himself.
“I don’t know about you,” Hob says, crouching down into Harriet’s eyeline. “But I’m desperate for a cuppa.”
Harriet huffs wobbily. “S’against the rules.”
“Don’t care,” Hob says. He offers her his hand to help her up. She looks at it, looks up at his face, and then back down at his hand.
She pulls herself to her feet without his help.
He doesn’t blame her.
For a moment, he thinks she might try to hit him. Or something.
Instead, she runs her hands through her hair, fixing the fallen strands back into their thick grey bun, and says: “Come on. I always smuggle in some PG Tips.”
He follows her placidly to the kitchen, projecting harmless vibes as hard as possible. He feels like a big, dirty brute, trying to jam himself back into the civilized veneer of his professor skin.
They pass through the Tudor-era kitchen set with all the non-functioning props, and through to the Edwardian one that the family after the Gadlens had added on to the back of the house. The Craft Services team has left all of their gear overnight, so there’s running water and an electric kettle, and even cold milk in a little bar fridge humming away in the corner.
Harriet seems to need a moment to collect herself, so Hob sits at the folding table in the corner and keeps his trap shut as she goes through the motions of making them a pot. There are no cameras and no microphones in this part of the house, thank goodness.
“Well,” Hob says, when the pot is on the table and Harriet is seated opposite him. “How’s that for a lover’s quarrel?”
Harriet laughs shakily. She’s hunched down on her stool, hands wrapped around her mug like it can keep her world from tilting even further off its axis.
“I can’t believe Glenn slept through all that shouting,” Hob ventures, when Harriet doesn’t reply.
“I can,” she snorts. “Sleeps like the dead, does Glenn Davies. Snores like a hog, too, which is why I have it in my contract that if we do these sleeping scenes, I don’t have to share a bed with him any more.”
Hob snorts into his mug, splashing tea on the back of hand.
“That… thing. That man,” Harriet ventures gravely, as Hob wipes his hand on a bit of the wrapper the camera won’t see. “What was he?”
"His secrets aren't mine to give away," Hob says slowly. "But he's a… good being. I can't say he's a force for good or a force for evil, beucase he's not. He's just… he's a force. He's neutral, like the the sun is neutral—it can give life, or it can kill, but never on purpose."
Harriet sips her tea, digesting this. "But he's not human?"
"No."
"Are you?"
Hob hesitates. Then he says, "Yes. Sort of. I used to be."
"Are you a… a vampire?"
A burst of cackling laughter surprises Hob as much as Harriet. "Sorry, sorry," he says. "It's sort of like a private joke-slash-trauma. No, I'm not a vampire. I'm… well, totally and completely human, except that I don't age, and I don't die. I heal a little faster than the average too, but you know, not by much. A broken leg takes pretty much the same amount of time to recover from for me as for you."
Hob can see the moment when the balance between academic curiosity and existential fear begins to tip in favor of the former. Harriet takes a scalding gulp of tea and sits forward, studying his face.
"How old are you?"
Hob smirks. "Thirty-three."
Harriet rolls her eyes. "Fine. How many years have you been thirty three?"
"Celebrated my six hundred and seventy second birthday last May Day," Hob offers, answering her real question. "The calendars don't match up any more, but mam said I was a spring rabbit, and it seemed as good a date to pick as any."
“Why does he call you Hob?”
“Short for Robert. My youngest brother had trouble with his ‘r’s. It stuck.”
“And how much younger than you is your youngest brother?” Harriet asks shrewdly
“John Gadling died in 1372. Tetanus, we’d call it now. Then it was just a fetid wound.”
"He said that no one else knew your secret?"
"No one still alive today. There as an occultist, found a sketch of us from our 1689 meeting titled The Devil and the Wandering Jew," Hob laughs. "I looked bad. He looked worse."
"And you're… you're Robert Gadlen the Third," Harriet says slowly, as if everything she overheard is just coming together for her now.
"I'm Robert Gadlen the First through to the Sixth," Hob says genially, and spreads his arms. "They're all me."
Harriet looks at him, really looks at him, and he can see her comparing him to the portraits. Then, at length, the grim shock of the evening gives way to her usual easy geniality. She laughs.
"What?" Hob asks.
"Oh my god, you're an idiot," Harriet sorts. "What kind of stupid immortal uses variations of their own name over and over again?"
Hob laughs too, and it feels good, feels like it's breaking up some of the lingering anger and hurt, shattering it into moon dust to float away on a giggle.
"I know, right?" Hob says. "That really bit me in arse."
"I'll say!"
When they calm themselves, Harriet peppers him with a hundred thousand questions—did they get the food right, were Elizabeth's teeth really that rotted and black, what did he mean when he said they only met his friend once every hundred years, did he meet Shakespeare, has he really been mourning Elenor and Robyn this whole time? Is he okay?—until one of the AD's startles them by rapping on the servant's door.
"Doc Bob? Doc Hari?"
"Yeah?" Hob calls.
"Can you guys go to bed, please? It's late, and we're miserable, and we can't sleep until you do, and if you don't sleep we'll have to do this all again tomorrow night, please—"
"We're going, Toni," Harriet calls back. "Sorry!"
"Sweet dreams," Hob adds, then stills and presses his fingers to his lips.
That's how he always bid goodbye to Morpheus in the Dreaming. A cheeky little farewell, and maybe a reminder to his friend to be kind to the dreamers in his care, and to maybe be kind to himself as well.
And now…
"Is it true, what you said?" Harriet asks Hob helps her tidy away the dishes and hide the evidence that she'd snuck in the contraband.
"About what?"
"Was it a lover's quarrel?"
Hob takes a moment to think about his answer, running the dishtowel over and over around the outside of the clean mug in his hands. "I don't know," Hob admits. "I've always admired him. Always found him attractive. If he'd asked, any time in the last six centuries, I would have said yes in a heartbeat. But I barely know him. We've been hanging out one night a week for a year, and more often than that in my dreams, and I… I don't feel like I know a thing about how he thinks, or feels, or how he sees me. He's just so much more than we are, I just don't… I don't think he can love like we do."
"I don't know," Harriet says. "He's the, what did you call him, the anthropomorphic personification of all dreams and nightmares?"
Panic jolts through Hob. "I didn't—"
"Not at this table, no, but you certain sniped enough at him upstairs that I put it together. They call me Doctor for a reason, son."
Hob wrinkles his nose at the endearment. "I am fully six centuries your elder, madam," he protests with a little theatre.
Harriet laughs. "All that age and no wisdom yet, hmm."
"What does that mean?"
"I mean I think that the living embodiment of human dreams might know a little something about love, don't you think?"
“He doesn’t feel that way about me,” Hob says sadly, setting down the cup on the table with the rest of its mates. “You know, I don’t think he has the ability to feel that away about anybody.”
Harriet pats his elbow comfortingly, and Hob smiles down at her, pleased to see that she isn’t scared of him anymore, at least.
*
The ludicrously large bouquet appears on set at lunch time. No one's sure who delivered it, but a PA found it on the front step, with an elaborate hand written card addressed to 'Doc Bob' in terribly fancy penmanship, and sealed with scarlet wax. There's a bird stamped into the seal.
"A crow?" the PA asks as he hands Hob the flowers in the middle of garden, where the weather is fine enough that they've set up the lunch tables under the apple tree.
"A raven," Hob corrects distractedly. The bouquet is three times the size of his head, standing in a sharp vase of black onyx that seems to swallow the sunlight around them. Hob's aware that he's the centre of everyone's attention, but all he cares about is the letter.
He pops the seal gently, and unfolds the ridiculously luxurious cardstock.
Inside, there is tidy little quote:
Forgive me, Valentine; if hearty sorrow
Be a sufficient ransom for offence,
I tender 't here; I do as truly suffer
As e'er I did commit.
"Fucking Shakespeare," Hob chuckles, folding the letter up and slipping it into his doublet.
"What's this then?" Glenn asks as he ambles over to appreciate the gift. "Who's this from?"
"Secret admirer," Harriet says, with a twinkle in her eye.
"For our Bobby Boy?"
"Seems like," Harriet says.
"No, no, that's not right," Hob mutters. "He doesn't… this isn't—"
"For somebody who you say doesn't feel love the way we do," Harriet interrupts him. "He sure seems apologetic and enthusiastic."
"What?"
"You accused him of not giving you any signs," Harriet explains. Then she points at the bouquet. "But look. Lily of the valley, that's a hope for a rebirth of a relationships, white tulips too for peace and and an entreaty for forgiveness, forget-me-nots is in the name of course, white orchids for sincerity, red carnations for a wounded heart. Harebell for grief. Hawthorne for hope. Hazel for reconciliation. And so many roses! Pink for hope despite past conflict and hardships, yellow for friendship, red for passion, desire, romance! White for peace, and beside one another they mean unity. And here, these are for longing, they're—"
"Camellias," Hob says, the words punching out of him. He hands the bouquet to Glenn and grabs Harriet's shoulders. "What do daffodils mean?"
"Regard," Harriet answers, amused.
"And what about the… the opposite if foxglove. It looks the same, but isn't."
"Foxgloves?" Harriet repeats, thinking it over. "Oh, gillyflowers."
"Yes!" Hob says, and he may sound a bit desperate and crazed, because Glenn is starting to look concerned. "What are those?"
"Bound together by mutual and equal affection."
Hob swallows so hard his throat clicks. "Ivy?"
"Fidelity," Harriet says gently, cupping Hob's cheeks in her palms. She's grinning fit to burst, moisture collecting in the corner of her eyes. Happy tears. "Marriage."
"He made me a crown," Hob breathes, and under his feet, the world shifts sharply. He clutches Harriet to stay upright. "I asked for a crown and he made me a…" Flower language is a thing, Hob thinks, his heart climbing into his mouth. I never followed it but… but if anyone is a swooning Victorian maiden it's Morpheus, and he… he is the literal God of Repressed Symbolism, isn't he and I…
"Oh, fuck," is what Hob says out loud.
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#dreamling#hob x dream#dream x hob#dreamling fic#dream#dream of the endless#Cling Fast#Losyark#fanfiction#fanfic#sandman#the sandman#the sandman fic#the sandman fanfiction#hob x morpheus#morpheus x hob#morpheus#matthew the raven#merv pumpkinhead#lucienne#eleanor gadling#robyn gadling#Robert Gadlen the Third#Robert Gadelin#Robert Gadling#Hob#lord morpheus#gaimanverse#Aziraphale#crowley
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▲ Audio Drama Recommendations - Week One!
Happy #AudioDramaSunday! Just in time for our first proper newsletter release! We've got a handful of sci-fi shows we'd like to recommend, as well as a full review of our favourite listen of the week to check out! If you'd like to stay updated on our show and see our weekly recs, you can sign up to our newsletter here!
This week, we’re rounding up a handful of other hard sci-fi shows that we’re a fan of. If you like Spire, odds are, you’ll like these guys too!
@station151podcast follows Antartica’s first and only astronomical radio observatory. Great pace, atmosphere and concept. I’ll always eat up AI characters (SPIRE audiences do not interact) and research station astronomy will always have a special place in my heart.
@wirelandranch is cosmic horror at its best. It’s sci-fi in the broadest sense, combining Americana with the psychedelic. Great sound design and certainly immersive. Sometimes I don’t know where I am when I listen to this. That’s good.
Edict Zero is a super unique cyber noir adventure. The sound design is literally crazy, and if you’re a fan of a bangin’ soundtrack (you are, you know it), you will certainly enjoy this. Cinematic, immersive. Slay.
And, our final recommendation is a show I’ve had the pleasure of listening to for the first time this week, @chainofbeing! Read our full review under the cut :))
Chain Of Being is a science fiction, narrative podcast, though honestly, I’d classify it as toeing the line of Weird Fiction, which is the greatest compliment I could give, considering it’s my absolute favourite genre. I will always adore a show that isn’t afraid to take itself to strange, unique places, and Chain Of Being commits one-hundred-percent to its atmosphere. It’s not the kind of show where you can just sit back and listen, it encourages you to meet it at its level, which I’ve found can be rare — especially in an age where most media will spoon feed you information — but very, very welcome.
Conceptually, the show is very strong. I love the combination of high Biblical concepts with hard sci-fi. It creates a deeply immersive atmosphere that you can lose yourself in, while still using just enough cues for a modern audience to enfold themselves in the world without too much separation. Its unique setting makes it stand out in the world of AD, and that’s only improved by the stellar sound design. Especially the first few remastered episodes are so deeply atmospheric and sonically unique, it feels greatly cinematic. The acting is great, and all voices are distinct and well characterised — which is often important in AD, especially one as high-concept as this, when the audience has so much to pay attention to. The writing is also clearly aware of the audience — knowing exactly what to do to engage them, while still respecting that they will do the work to fill in the blanks.
Highly recommend a listen, especially since their second season is in the works. Chain Of Being stands out in the landscape of audio drama as a great show. They’re crowdfunding this month too, so if you’re interested, definitely check out their own page here!
#audio drama#audio drama recommendations#fiction podcast#station 151#wireland ranch#edict zero#chain of being#chain of being podcast
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This recent apparent trend of f1 team tiktoks just posting thirsty driver content. Idk if I'm just too old for tiktok or if there's something a little uncomfortable about it given how women / queer fans are also treated. Do you have any coherent thoughts on whether it's just me or whether this is genuinely a bit weird?
hello!
yes, I do, a bit. so when I worked in social media (before tiktok, this was 2017/early 18) for motorsport... ok not a team but Honda was very much a player, I very gently suggested we should lean into the fact Brendon and Pierre, as our incoming Toro Rosso drivers, were quite pretty and anime in a way that Honda itself wanted to use in more branding.
there was a real amount of discomfort and pushback. not in a 'we would be sexualising them' (that wasn't what I was suggesting, I was just saying that people shots play better on insta and we should ask our photographer for more portraits) but because they were like well that's a bit homo. to be clear, this did not come from Honda but an agency they were working with.
it hit me like a tonne of bricks cus I was like fucking hell guys we're finally past the misery of the McLaren divorce and we can be positive! Pierre's our driver and Brendon is lovely! but they were like oh having dudes on our feed sounds gay.
I was like well err, hate to tell you that this sport is full of dudes. and people like lil guys. having worked in social media for BBC Radio 1/1X/2/6/Music, I was like what the fuck do you mean posting a beautiful picture is weird? this is just editorial? we want to make our drivers look cool, no? and then when I worked for F1 that one ultra HD gif of Lewis stroking Charles' face to a background of fireworks is, full cop, my work but also it was a beautiful, cinematic moment after a tragic race and I think men should be allowed to show emotions so whatver.
but then there's been a real 180 in the past two years to posting sewis and carlando and really prettifying and borderline objectifying (or outright, in some instances, objectifying) the drivers and that's not it. I would be deeply uncomfortable if the teams did to women drivers what they do to men and I don't think it's ok.
there's something very odd about leaning into that fandom without understanding how to respect the limits. I know about shipping fandom so I can steer myself around it. I know about thirsty stuff so I can recognise it. but on the other hand it gets clicks and thats the metric we live and die for in almost everything, so.
idk, I don't really blame anyone but it's super uncomfortable. probably not as bad as George getting asked if he'd go out with a fan in lockdown or the fucking milk challenge but up there.
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A (recent\not that recent) sound work by Les Horribles Travailleurs is part of this mix by black_ops
The mix starts with a line by Stéphane Mallarmé
https://www.mixcloud.com/camp_fr/black_ops-25th-march-2023/
broadcasted on 25th March 2023 at CAMP radio
“Sound-tracking the darkness
with experimental sound art,
drone & psych, spoken word,
found and manipulated sound. black_ops creates unique cinematic soundscapes. ||”
Image: Stéphane Mallarmé by Edvard Munch - 1896
Camp: www.campfr.com/
black_ops: https://blackops2.bandcamp.com/
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