#space groove rumble

[aurelion-solar]

Remix Rumble Unit Art - Battle of the Golden Spatula (CN TFT)

#ahri #bard #ezreal #ekko #kayle #lulu #nami #thresh #caitlyn #league of legends #league of legends skins #remix rumble #k/da ahri #jazz bard #freeflow bard #heartsteel ezreal #true damage ekko #pentakill kayle #hyperpop lulu #glitt3rb0mb lulu #space groove nami #high noon thresh #arcade caitlyn #unit art #battle of the golden spatula #official

[comatosebunny09]

warm-bodied | leon k.

genre(s): erotica, romance warning(s): female reader, soft dom leon, choking, clothed petting, mentions of bodily fluids, language, light dirty talk, pet names, praise kink, size kink, brief somnophilia, dry humping, stream of consciousness, lowercase, not proofread, written while under the influence now playing: some days - stella jang

he prefers you like this.

without the knit of your brows or the upturn of your lips. defenses buried beneath the gravel, your voice soft with sleep. no sharp quips, no biting comebacks. just your lids dancing and your mouth parting slightly with each exhale.

he likes it best when he can get away with stroking your cheek with the flat of his nails as you dream of pretty things. when he can root his nose into the curve of your shoulder and inhale.

you smell like earth and heady things, and you shift the slightest bit in his arms, nuzzling further into the safety of his body. cling to the fabric of his shirt like a grabby child, and the notion makes his lips—and dick—twitch.

the rain taps a steady rhythm on your makeshift shelter—a tarp he fashioned between two trees to shield you from the elements. 

you needed the rest, your bones shaky with fatigue. leon insisted after you reconvened following a split-up to gather intel. after you stumbled into his back when he took the lead to resume your search for the president’s daughter. wasn’t like you to be so out of sorts. so naturally, being the good partner leon was, he herded you to safety—or some semblance of it.

you allowed him to hold you beneath the veil of night. to ward off the insistent chill because you were soaked to the bone, your clothes sticking to you like a second skin. and he was warm and so very big, and…

well, he was just helping out his partner, right? definitely not swelling with something feral at the sight of your body wrapped snug in his coat and you burrowing into his armpit like a scared little bunny.

besides, it isn’t often he has you like this. in the clench of his arms, his fingers meandering along the skin of your neck. dragging further downward towards the divot between your collarbones, grazing over your breasts. further still, on an unhurried excursion to your nipples pebbling beneath your shirt. from the cold or his touch, he isn’t sure. but the sight of them makes him bite his lip as he chokes on a groan.

you stir when you feel him. clear the phlegm from your throat, your lids still heavy with sleep.

“leon,” you warn, voice rivaled by the patter of the rain overhead.

“i know.” humor hangs in the depths of his voice, interweaved with something sensual. something disarming. “just tryna help keep you warm, is all.”

snort. “we don’t have time for the nonsense.” 

leon scoffs. feigns hurt, his ministrations never faltering. sure, danger looms between each crackle of a tree branch. between every hoot of an owl in the distance, every whisper of wind, but—

a well-placed nipple pinch invokes a bitten-off growl from your throat. and he smiles at that, sighing hot and open-mouthed against the space behind your ear.

“we’ll make time, sweetheart.”

a promise clings to the air like the oaky aroma of petrichor, and he doesn’t miss how your thighs clench at the rumble of his voice. how you arch the slightest bit, pushing your breasts into the calluses of his hands, still feigning sleepiness. give him the go-ahead to touch you more, and he’s every bit of smug now as he kneads, plucks, and flicks his fingernails over your pretty, pretty nipples.

and, oh, how he wants to taste them; roll them over the bumps and grooves of his tongue, between his teeth. but given the angle and the timing, he’ll have to settle for this.

“gonna take care of you,” he huffs into the delicate hairs at the nape of your neck. hands dip a little further down, coasting over the ripples of your rib cage, massaging the meat of your belly, melding to your hipbones. “promise.”

you shudder, growing a little boneless, legs instinctively parting. and leon heeds the invitation, his nails raking up and down the inner sanctum of your thighs, all honey slow and teasing. and he intentionally nudges your meaty outer labia with the knuckles of his thumbs, and they’re swelling and fat in your pants, pulsating with each touch. he coos alongside you, infatuated by the beautiful noises he invokes upon touching you there.

you shiver again, a cute whimper easing past your lips. the sound shoots straight to his cock, painfully hard.

“want me here?” he croons. you nod all too quickly, earning a chuckle from him.

leon needs no further goading, taking to massaging your pussy through your pants with a cupped palm and artful fingers. revels in those breathy little sounds leaving your mouth and how your head falls back against his shoulder. and he’s there, mouthing over your carotid, sinking his teeth into whatever flesh he can reach.

his name drifts from your lips in a gentle cadence—in a dulcet supplication that makes his head spin, and he unconsciously grinds in tandem with the steady undulation of your hips. mind filled only with you you you. with getting you off. with tasting the briny tang of your cum. with being buried deep in the searing clench of your pussy, and the notion makes him nip at your shoulder to mask the pathetic little whimper burbling in his throat.

“right there?” he dotes at a particular buck of your hips, and your thigh craters beneath his fingers as he squeezes to anchor you down, keeping your legs spread so he can play at the seam of your pussy. “keep ‘em open for me, baby. yeah, just like that. gooood girl.”

he’s breathless now, sweat beading on his temple, because watching your resolve wither away has him leaking pre-spend and rutting into the cleft of your ass like a beast in heat. you burn hot as he shackles your neck with his hand, unraveling you little by little, your cunt so very wet and warm and weeping into his palm. and his hold on your throat tightens until he feels your pulse beat violently against the lines of his palm and your breath hitches.

“oh fuck, leon! so—so close! i’m gonna…i’m gonna—”

“yeah? gonna cum, baby? want you to. so bad. fuck. please.”

like a frayed bowstring stretched taut beyond its limits, you snap. topple as quickly as leon built you up, your slick saturating his fingers through the thickness of your cargo pants. and fuck fuck fuck, it’s embarrassing how quickly he cums after, drawn to his peak by the erratic stutter of your hips and that sinful tongue of yours curling around his name. he soaks his pants like an overzealous teen, fighting against his labored breaths and the urge to push you onto your back to fuck his cum into you.

but as the dust settles and the rainfall filters back in through the static of his mind, you look at him with a lazy smile. with a quirk to your brow, your gaze all-knowing and swimming with exhaustion.

“well, that’s one way to keep a girl warm.”

to which leon snorts, tugging you back into his arms, lips pursed and tender on the crown of your head.

masterlist

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon x fem reader #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil x you #resident evil fic #leon smut #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy smut #tw: smut #tw: choking #tw: language #cw: bodily fluids

[mcondance]

southern fantasy

— this is indulgently a self-ship. | reader is explicitly and beautifully Black southern (specifically from louisiana). this is literally the definition of “i wrote this for myself, but you can read it too.” | no smut 😱 | hotch got me writing fluff yall do you know how out of character this is for me? | inspired by @murdrdocs’s persisting southern enthusiasm with her characters | story is non-linear mostly, just snapshots if you wanna call it that

1.2k words of fluff and southern fantasy, ft hotch. a love letter to my state, and to hotch.

in the car, hotch’s finger taps in time against the steering wheel, sliding gracefully into the rhythm of the song rumbling out of the stereo. the sun is setting, casting a glow over his face, outlining his prominent nose and cheeks, lighting up the smile on his face.

southern skies are beautiful when you’ve got hotch to see them with.

the south is your home, your territory, your space. hotch, on the other hand, is new. he was fresh, but he’s fit in so well. the difference in birthplaces was stark, at the start, hotch’s eyes gaining a youthful glow every time you showed him a green bayou or took him to a gas station in the middle of nowhere with chicken and meat pies so hot he laughed through the burn.

he still sees everything like it’s new, eyes surveying the small towns you take him through, telling him you have family from here or there, about how your dad knows someone from here and your mom’s childhood friend lives here now. but he’s experienced, has a thing for the nights when it’s quiet out, when even in your bed he can hear the crickets chirping just outside the window.

he likes the drives, the rolling roads and graveled streets and towns that pop up here and there. the breaks in trees that reveal a church, the yellow, faded Dollar General signs and the pastures with cows and horses grazing away.

the towns are his favorite, though. small and cozy, one store for everyone, a mom & pop shop, a church.

lousiana summers are hot, bright and burning and, with the proper precautions, he can enjoy you in the sunshine. under the shade of pecan trees, a distance away from the playground, you sit across him on a checkered blanket, and it looks the image of a picnic date, your dress loose and flowing.

the nights are his favorite, too. you’d both picked a house on the edge of town, half an hour away from the nearest big store, where it’s more practical to hit a market or a gas station than drive to Walmart.

so at night, when it gets dark, it gets dark. he’s never seen the stars so clear until he met you. you and your southern wit entranced him and are still entrancing him now. he likes the subtle differences, the different ways you go about things.

and if he’s being honest, your drawl makes his head spin. he hangs on your words, on the elongated syllables and sour twang and how your accent grows deeper when you’re angry about something, or when you’re so excited your words twist and curl around themselves.

he can’t help but poke fun at you for it sometimes, when you’re speaking normally and a word comes out a little more flavored than the others.

he repeats it to you in his own voice, laughing as you scold him, saying he knew you were country when he met you.

“i did,” he concedes, and it’s like a gut-punch every time he speaks with such fondness about anything related to the relationship you two have shared.

you showed him a different kind of southern, one that isn’t horses and cowboy boots, but parties with familiar songs and a city where everyone knows everyone, nights with fireflies, and foxes you just barely catch glimpses of, rap groups proclaiming their pride in their southern heritage and experiences you only know if you’ve been here.

he’s learned some party songs, and you’ve taught him the dances. he’s so comfortable with them now that he can do them with his arms draped over your shoulders, leaning into the groove as the family you welcomed him into enjoys themselves around him.

he’s a dream at the backyard parties. he lets the kids bounce him on the trampoline, and hang off his shoulders, and pretends like he doesn't see your little cousins sneaking up on him with water guns that look more like water bazookas.

“you know, if that thing isn’t registered, i could confiscate it,” he jokes, dripping with water and too entertained to even fein professionalism.

your cousins shriek with delight, running off to no doubt refill their guns and attack him again.

he’s got rhythm, for a white guy, still awkward but endearing and he’s got enough to make the line dances fun. he claims his favorite is a toss up between “cupid shuffle” and “candy,” but it’s obvious what he leans toward more. he hears the bassline of “candy” and he’s rising out of his chair with a beer in his hand and turning to pull you up too, dancing you backwards into the mass of your family.

your love for him grows with every party you attend, with every dramatic slap he delivers to the ground.

he watches you run and play with your siblings, grown but morphing into the children in the pictures hanging on the walls of the house, your dress soft and purple and flowing and he falls further in love when he hears you scream “stop, i’m not playin’ with you,” all country and playful and beautiful.

inside, squeezed up beside you on a chair, the darkness of night falling over the party and moving everyone inside, his heart is light. he goes back for more plates than he’s proud of, pretending like he doesn’t hear a cousin or aunt giggling at you as he walks away with the promise of bringing you more lemonade.

he’s grown accustomed to the hour long goodbyes, where he’s still talking to your dad or brother about something or the other with his keys dangling in his hand and you talking to your aunt as she plates and wraps up another bowl of her banana pudding.

and the drives. god, the drives. he traded his big truck in for a lowrider at your request, an old car from the 70s that’ll fall apart before it needs to hit the shop. he’s navigated this road more times than he can count, knows what gas station is where and when to look out for the nasty bends and twists that are so prevalent back here.

there’s a CD labeled with yours and hotch’s name in the player, fashioned with hearts all around and a plus between the two names. the sunset flows in through the window, eclipsing hotch’s face and molding him so perfectly with the sky you swear he belongs there.

high and happy, the gas station stop is silly, you fill the small space up with your laughs and chopped up words and hotch laughs with you, finding humor in the smallest things with you.

there’s soft conversation and snacking and feeding him food, him trying and holding his own on a particularly difficult song. he slows the car down, at times, cruises way under the limit cause he just wants to look at you, wants to indulge in the sight of you while he listens to you speak in that tone he can’t get enough of.

he really can’t get over your accent. he gets wrapped up in the push and pull of it, the lows and the highs and the way you sometimes sound like a southern belle, sweet-talking him into staying in bed another hour or hitting the store nearest your house for a drink.

his ears perk up when he hears the subtle (and sometimes, not so subtle) inflection, the way you say “baby,” how his name sounds different from your mouth. he’s wrapped up in a southern girl, in the life he’s grateful to have been given.

southern nights with hotch, through the window of a car or in a closed-in porch on a house in the middle of nowhere, are a dream. a fantasy.

#hotch x reader #hotch fluff #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotchner x black reader #aaron hotchner x black!reader #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch x y/n #hotch x you #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #— 🎠

[dracoxmalereader]

Dimly Lit Courtyard

Context: Third and final chapter of my Gryffindor!Reader ficlet. <3

Summary: Fifth year was certainly an eventful one. No better way to process it than sat there with Draco after hours in the dimly lit courtyard.

Part 1 | Part 2 (Or read it in full on Wattpad or Ao3)

Word Count: 731

Crickets chirp in the rustling leaves that scatter themselves about the courtyard. The big tree by the wall sways in the breeze, doing little to cool the air of the low warmth that comes with an ending may. Draco was propped up in the grooves of the tree, leaning back against it on the ground.

“There you are.” You skip over to him. He looks up at you. His brows push up and in as your eyes meet.

You toss a green apple you’d swiped from your table to him, and he catches it in his free hand. You slump yourself down beside him. He focuses his attention on a patch of dirt in the grass in front of him. 

It’s hard to see his face with only the distant glow of the castle corridors reaching out to light the way. The moon hides behind a collection of pale, dusty clouds, not unlike the wispy hair that frames the top half Draco’s face. 

You hear him swallow. “You weren’t at dinner.” You explain.

He huffs a dry laugh. “Stupid Gryffindors. Always playing the hero.” His voice is low and even, and you can almost feel the way it rumbles in his throat. Something you won’t acknowledge pulls at the inside of your chest. 

In his other hand, a glint catches on the shiny emblem of his inquisitorial squad badge. His fingers smooth over the silver ‘I’, twirling it around in his hands so it faces the ground. Your gaze crawls to his face and you watch him stare down at the dull, matte back of the thing, almost regretfully.

“Real powerful, eh?” You mock. It’s a blunt attempt at humor, forcing the joking lilt in your tone to try and lighten the mood. You never thought you’d miss his egotistical smirking, much less try and get it back. Especially after all that had happened before Umbridge was removed.

His solemn expression hardens. The corners of his mouth pull down. His nose wrinkles up. “Shove off.”

He shimmies where he’s sat, and you bring a hand to firmly rest on his arm, just below the crease of his sleeve. “I’m only teasing.”

He turns to look at you. The lit archways in the wall well behind you reflect in his gray eyes, framing your silhouette. He opens his mouth like he wants to speak, but nothing comes out. The two of you stare at each other. 

He blinks once, twice, then he’s turning away. 

“I knew Potter wasn’t lying.” He rushes out. A breath bigger than the lungs it leaves blows out of him. He looks into your eyes again, vulnerable uncertainty tugging at his features. “About you know who.” 

“Me too.” You reply. “You’re late to the party.” Another attempt at lightheartedness.

A chuckle leaves him. The corners of his mouth finally pull upwards again, albeit laced with a discomfort that etches deep into the rest of his face. “I was earlier than you think.”

You pinch the fabric of his sleeve between your thumb and forefinger, letting it go and rubbing your palm in small circles up the fold of his elbow. He looks back at you and you smile at him. Tension bleeds from his form. He swallows again, the rest of his body shifts to face you.

The hallway behind him back-lights his figure, and another wave of pressure settles in your chest. You wordlessly gaze at one another, and you can feel his breath fan over the small space between you. His badge clinks to the ground, and his hand brushes onto the side of your face. 

Quiet and calm, you both close your eyes and lean in. Your lips meet and it feels like the cavity behind your ribs has been sucked dry, breathless. Your fingers twitch and ball up in his sleeve, and his hand slips down your jaw to hold you more firmly by the side of your neck. 

His palm is tacky against your skin, warm like the air. Another gust of mild wind blows through, and the tree’s branches sway above the two of you.

His fingertips tickle the hairs at the base of your nape, and for just a moment there’s no such thing as ‘Gryffindor’, ‘Slytherin’, or even ‘you know who’. Just for a moment, there’s only you, Draco, and the sound of crickets chirping in the dimly lit courtyard.

I asked my friends what they wanted for the holidays and none of them told me. TT

"What do you want for Christmas guys" "How much money do you have?" Apparently not enough because they never got back to me. Not ONE of them. The group chat is full of reddit memes and not a single gift they want. Tell Peter Griffin to pipe down and TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT FOR CHRISTMAS. 👹

It's on them that I didn't get them anything. They have jobs if it's something they really wanted they can just get it themselves. I still feel bad though sob. </3

Tags: @nowayisthistakenyet @gayaristocrat @siuspider @dracoshusband @skrunklespoingo @esperfraud @joongbin @midwestemosblog @we2222

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x male reader #draco x male reader #draco x reader #harry potter fandom #draco malfoy x reader #draco x y/n #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy fic #draco x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #x male reader #x m!reader #x male y/n #gryffindork reader #tagging is hard

[shibaraki]

You are watching him with an amused tenderness as he fiddles with your fingers. An air of patience, like you were simply satiating the curiosity of a small, harmless animal.

There is something thrilling about that; the lense through which only you can view him.

Slow, he presses your palms together into an uneven kiss. Your skin is smooth, your fingers are shorter than his. Satoru loves you, he thinks, because he can trust you to hold his soul — cupped in these small, soft hands — without moulding it.

You mirror his actions, interweaving into the spaces between his knuckles. Locked beneath your gaze as he lay pliant in your lap, Satoru looks up at you with equal reverence. It’s as if his entire body is exhaling. He can feel his tongue in his mouth, pressing to the back of his teeth when the corner of your lips curve into a smile.

A soft murmur, “What’re you thinking about?”

You taught him that love is not earned or quantifiable — it just is.

“I’m hungry,” he sighs, forcing a whine into his voice as he tips his head back against your thighs. You follow his line of sight to the plate of sliced apples left teetering precariously on the arm of the couch.

Your brow arches, mouth thinning into a smirk. Two fingers gently brush back the hair on his forehead. “Is that Satoru speak for ‘please feed me the bunny apples?’”

You pluck one of the slices from the plate before he gives his answer. An even v-shape has been cut into the skin, peeled away to give the appearance of rabbit ears. Your finger and thumb are pinched either side of the pale mesocarp, squeezing droplets from the pulp into the seam of his mouth.

Lips part, taking your fruit into the shallow of his tongue and enclosing around your fingertips. He hums, the sound rumbling like a purr, while making a show of how he licks the juice off your skin. The grooves of his teeth sink into the apple, and you snatch your hand back before he can nip it.

Satoru was raised in a life of obscene luxury. He had everything, anything that he could want. But the neat cuts of fruit often served to him by the staff never tasted this ripe; so sweet, the sugar lingering on his palette.

You tap his nose, and he wrinkles it. “Are the lights finally out or did you just forget how to say ‘thank you’?”

“Mmn, thank you,” he mumbles with a quiet laugh, reaching to cup the nape of your neck, encouraging you to bend. Thumb tucked against the underside of your jaw, he feels your beating heart. You swallow, the muscles in your neck constricting.

He quite likes having you curled over him like this. For a moment, this is the entire world. You are all he can see; eyes softening with realisation, angling your head to align your mouths.

You kiss him full. Ah, he thinks. Much sweeter.

#m.gojo #idk what this is I was in my feels about GOJO AND LOVE

[sjw-publishings]

No Homo Bruh

————————

A mini sequel to Stay Straight Babe

————————

“Love you Babe~”

Robin Prescott kissed his boyfriend Brendan Gaye. The two lovers were glad to live together during this isolation period, as they embraced each other lovingly without the need for restraint.

Robin was the more ‘less flamboyant’ of the couple. Dressed in a plain shirt and sweatpants, pretty casual brunette next door kind of look, always dominating his boyfriend...though sometimes he does wish for the opposite to happen...

Brendan, well his pink tank top and booty jeans shorts. Honey, that fabulous pink hair screams ‘I have a boyfriend’ anytime of the day. Lips painted cherry red, and makeup that his boyfriend ironically always get entranced with...ah well, easier for his lover to follow his instructions. Maybe one day he could somehow convince Robin to act more desperate and hunkier? Hahaha! Yeah right!

Though it is kinda stressful coming up ways to be sassy. But hey, what he lacks in muscle, he’s got his Wit! And speaking of Wit!

“Get yourself prepared, its going to be a cat fight! Hehe~!”

Brendan strutted to his room, giving a couple of winks to his boyfriend before shutting the door. They needed to be prepared...for the most exotic time of their lives...

Growl...

“Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten too much of those delicacies...”

But of course, speaking of exotic. They had just finished some overseas Asian delicacies advertised to be nearby where they lived. The orders came earlier and both lovers feasted on it like the best thing they ever had in their lives.

No idea why it was so good...but they probably shouldn’t have overate...

Lifting up his shirt, Robin felt the rough grooves and rumbling from below. Hot salsa like the special chilli that he just can’t get enough of! But mmm, despite the rumbling...he only thought of the delicious exotic delicacies from earlier.

Rubbing his abdominals, its almost as if the food was a huge ‘ON’ as those Abs clenched in delight, taking on a dark tanned hue as the spicy hot peppers rose up six pillars of muscle below, shifting belly rubs to admiration as he...really worked hard on those, didn’t he?

Growl...

The rumbling...somehow went upward? Inaudible growling as he felt the spice pressing against his flat chest. Pumping firm air like a hot air balloon, as he rubbed and...

TOSS!

He tossed away his shirt, giving free reign to his palms to massage those growing balloons. Gotta rub...gotta treat right. Nipples jutting outward with every touch, solidifying two bowling balls like the sport which he always competed with his boyfriend at...

And...came in second. Tch.

But whatever! He was still hot? Both figuratively and literally! Thank God he went shirtless, or the room’s gonna die of heat cause he’s around. Y’know, cause he’s hot. Who said his boyfriend makes all the remarks?

Doing quick back twists on the couch like a warm up. Rotating as the dark tan flowed across his shoulders. Broadening up, widening up, like a real man would, not some Beta.

“Ain’t a Beta...”

Light growls rumbled his vocal chords, twisting his shoulder blades with satisfying waves as his height towered over 6ft 2, smirking as his wide back overtook the sofa.

“Only an alpha...”

Growls continued, as a more aggressive and masculine tone began brewing. Bringing his arms upward, stretching to the ends of the couch selfishly, he had a huge muscular bod, had to display it...specially that hot tan he got from Asia.

Oh man...was Asia great! Met a couple of bros who were just his style. Working out regularly with HUGE GAINS. Flexing his biceps shamelessly, tanned and HOT, like his Bros, though he was hotter of course.

Posing powerfully, getting up the couch and heading to open space, tan spreading downwards with every step. Dropping away the girly swishes in favour of a masculine swagger, with those thick juicy glutes in those sweatpants.

Like a mornin’ routine.

He was a fitness jock, envisioning his firm lips alongside them bicep curls. Man was he delicious. Remembering those sweet chicks spanking his hard butt and complementing him, tracing his bodybuilder muscles with such admiration and...

What...he was Bi?

Yeah...and they were HOT. Nothing wrong with that right? Sides, flirting with that chick on the takeout phone line saved Trobin Prascott tons of bucks considering he just came back from overseas.

He was dating a dude, yeah. But he was a total ladies man through and through. THRUSTing his manhood, he cannot wait until he could start going clubbing again to start pounding some ladies. Dominating a gay guy over and over has been getting boring...

Speaking of gayness...

Giving a couple of firm grabs to his butt, smirking as his hole refused to take in his middle digit. A man like him doesn’t get penetrated, he does the POKING…poking around for more of that take out of course. He was still an alpha, and an alpha’s gotta eat.

Gotta have more...

“Da FAAAAAACK?”

His mouth hollered instinctively, before tossing the empty food takeout to the trash can. That ‘two-headed snake’, or whatever insult he yelled just now, ate all the rest of the take out.

“BODOH!”

It was hard enough he was away from Asia and cannot revisit due to work. But that was the last of the takeout. A man’s gotta eat. Fight, Eat, and POUND PUSSEH!

Tossing his body on the couch, spreading his legs wide as he whipped out his manhood and JERK! JERK! JERK! You-FAGGOT YOU CANNOT EAT LIKE SOME-

“Is everything fine hun?”

“EVERYTHING’S FINE FAG!”

Responding instantly, disrespecting his boy...boy, his faggot roommate from across the closed door. He doesn’t give two craps to being nice to that Homo, he’s a FAAACKIN muscle man. He ought to act like one.

His mouth continued to splutter foreign vulgarities and insults, which only intensified the throbbing with every forceful tug. Sweatpants darkening into a dark compression, accentuating his frame with the wiggling of his musky, size 16s.

He was such a MAN. Rude and coarse, vocal chords echoing that deep frightening bass that sends shivers down to his enemies while rocking that impenetrable masculinity he knows his ladies love him for.

As for the men interested…WHAT?-

“GET OUT!”

With that hollering command, immediate photos of loving times PUNCHED away into multitude combinations of beautiful babes, self portraits,and overall power and masculinity of wrestling and workout trophies he ever so prides on.

OF COURSE! A MAN LIKE HIM LOVES TO SHOW OFF!

Posing an uncontrollable FLEX, a bodybuilder’s arrogance out of his incredible bod and good looks. Barking out a loud guffaw, his jaw sharpened and squared out as the manly dustings of dark raven facial hair generously coated his chin.

BZZT, like a razor arrogantly trimming off down the slides of his ear, all the way down to his neck. Masculine clean-cut roughness styled the Malaysian-Indian man with a short gelled top and front, a prominent contrast to his loud and boisterous personality. But he loved his style, cause-

“I’M SCORIN DA LADIES~”

Bathed in foreign customs, the man tugged his hard on furiously, nostrils flaring down a quick trail of his moustache lined above his lips, tasting the remnants of that sweet spicy salsa on those thick lips, before flashing those arrogant curry-stained pearly whites.

Brows furrowing with thick dark strips, eyes narrowing in a mixture disgust and cockiness, a Kampung champion like himself ain’t a PANSY and will never be one, how STOOPID do they think he is to ask-

Are you Gay? ARE YOU GAY?

“NO FAAACKIN WAY!”

Troy Praveen bellowed a loud Beastly roar, letting out his coconut juices like the MAN he is, a huge messy douchebag…that was what he was….

That’s FAAAACKIN right, he settles fights with his FISTS.

His faggy roommate was in for a FIGHT, and he’s gonna get everything down on camera. And of course, you might be thinkin’, two men wrestling one another is really GAY, how will that impress the chicks?

Brotha…all he gotta say is-

“No Homo Bruh.”

#no homo bruh #gay to straight #mental change #g2s #personality change #racial change #age progression #gay to straight tf #muscle growth tf #douchebag tf #jock tf #dumbing down tf #asian tf #stay straight babe

[missmungoe]

Just read your fic about chapter 1076 with pirate Makino and the crew and now I'm curious: how do you imagine a meeting would go between Makino and Kidd?

I do plan to write this, as a continuation of what has become a mini-series of fics featuring pirate!Makino's adventures in the New World, but I want to see what happens in canon first ;)

That being said, I actually have written her meeting Kidd! From the epilogue of Charybdis, although as a stand-alone fic, this scene would be called:

Basic Table Manners, Or: How Not to Use a Fork

She was in the middle of doing inventory, listening to the sounds of their son playing in the next room, when she heard the front door opening, a rumble of deep, muted voices pouring into the quiet, and looked up, a frown dipping between her brows.

It was too early for her to be open, and she didn’t recognise any of the presences. She’d felt them approaching from some ways off, but had dismissed them as new arrivals, although even newcomers knew enough about their island to approach with care, or at least due courtesy. Whoever this was, they couldn’t be bothered with either.

One presence stood out from the rest—fixed itself firmly in her mind, just as the door swung shut with more force than strictly necessary, slamming against the frame so loudly it disturbed the bottles and glasses on her shelves, which said enough about her visitor, although the presence had already told her all she needed to know.

Arrogant, was her first thought.

Then: reckless, callous. A presence used to claiming space for itself, but unlike Shanks, this wasn’t an effortless claiming. Where everything seemed to adjust around her husband, the world bending to accommodate him, this was a presence that roughly shouldered its way to the front without apology, the open challenge in it like a raw nerve, as though it was constantly prepared to prove itself.

There was a lot of anger in it, but she was good at picking out the subtle nuances in emotions now, and to tell them apart. But then the talent had always been there; she was just adept at using it now. The skips and beats of a heart was a language she spoke fluently, and she felt the ripples within her, and what they told her. Rising agitation always felt like the pull of a tide, pushing the water around her ankles, and she knew how to recognise anger that sparked quickly and burned brightly, but guttered out just as fast—and the kind that smouldered, patient, and that was far more dangerous.

Calmly, she put the open ledger up on the shelf, before pushing herself slowly to her feet, struggling a bit with the weight of her belly where she cradled it with her hand. But she didn’t rush, even as she felt the spark of impatience in the new presence, which told her they knew she was there, and that she was taking her time.

Just for that, she made sure to take an extra few seconds to mark her page in the ledger, and to smooth out the skirt of her dress.

Stepping into the common room, she found Ace standing by the counter, clutching his ship, and observing the hulking shape standing a few feet away. Makino touched her fingers to the top of his head, before moving him behind her as she walked around the counter.

The new arrival lifted his gaze from her son to take her in. It was a young man, tall and with deep-set eyes rimmed thickly with black, which, coupled with the severe furrow of his brow, made for a rather impressive scowl. A thick fur coat draped over his broad shoulders, and he wore his scars openly; deep, scarlet grooves where they climbed up his chest and the side of his face, and his right arm. The sunlight spilling through the stained glass door glinted off his hair, startlingly red, although the fact barely stayed with her a second before her attention was drawn to the large metal prosthetic in place of his left arm. It was much bigger than an ordinary prosthetic, three times the size of his other arm, and it looked heavy, even as he bore the weight without outward effort.

A group of men had filed in behind him, ostensibly his crew, their towering shapes blocking her doorway, and blatantly disregarding the fact that she wasn’t open yet.

Makino spared a glance at the dirt they’d dragged in, over the floors she’d just finished sweeping that morning, before calmly lifting her gaze back to the one who was obviously the captain.

“I’m looking for Red-Hair,” he said, a fleeting glance offered to the bar, before his glare settled back on her. He had a coarse way of speaking, which suited his ill-tempered manner, and the open challenge in his presence. “Rumour has it he’s settled here.”

The rough sweep of his gaze took her in, with her big, pregnant belly, lingering only a moment on the tattoo visible through the slits in her sleeve, before it lifted to the scars carved into her cheek.

“Two billion, huh?” he asked, before he scoffed, which told her what he thought about that even before his lip peeled back from his teeth. But then most who met her found it hard to believe the rumours about her were true. Makino didn’t blame them, and there was a time where she would have agreed with their assessment—to vehemently deny any relation to the picture the media had portrayed, both in the immediate aftermath of the battle and the months following it, about the woman who’d brought Blackbeard to his knees. But that was before.

A tiny hand gripped the folds of her dress, but she kept herself in front of Ace, and said nothing, only brushed her fingers over the black velvet, the gesture subtle, like she was simply smoothing out a wrinkle, but she saw how it drew the stranger’s attention to the sword on her hip.

He stared at it for a beat, before he raised his gaze back to hers, the dismissal clear, although his expression remained blank, save the seemingly permanent displeasure written across it. But he didn’t consider her a threat, that much was painfully evident. From the way he was looking at her, he barely considered her worth his notice.

Unruffled by the callous brush-off, “He’s not here right now,” Makino said mildly. “But I’ll tell him you stopped by.”

She saw from his entire posture that he wasn’t there to leave a message, but where she would have felt panic once, alone and without any way to protect herself and her son, now there was only the stillness within her, and Siren’s reassuring weight on her hip.

The young man shifted his weight. “Mah, whatever,” he said gruffly. “You’ll do.”

Makino didn’t bristle, even as the words found their mark—the same that had been used about her before, by a different man, although the underlying sentiment was the same.

But she wasn’t.

She had Siren drawn before he’d had the chance to take even a single step towards her, the steel-song of her unsheathing so loud it sent the glasses on her shelves chiming, a gust of wind chasing at its heels, and she watched him halt in his tracks, his eyes having shot wide. The crew at his back had seized up, as caught off guard as their captain.

A full second passed where nothing happened, before a low, keening shriek sounded, followed by a loud crash, and Makino watched his eyes where they dropped down to his feet, and the severed metal hand that lay there, the surrounding pieces of his prosthetic scattered like scrap metal where it had cut off at his wrist.

For a stunned beat, he just stared at it, his eyes wide and his expression wiped of his earlier scowl, before they lifted back to her. And she didn’t know if it was outrage or shock he felt the strongest, both filling the void within her, but she didn't let them touch her, or stir the surface of her calm, the black water around her ankles still as a mirror as she levelled her blade at him, the scabbard gripped in her left hand shielding the swell of her stomach, and watched his glare where it faltered.

“You’re right,” Makino said, proffering Siren, the dainty blade’s deadly tip lifted to catch the light, and the last, dying note of her song lingering, a beautiful and chilling warning as she told him in the same, even lilt—

“I will do.”

.

.

.

.

“So how have things been while I've been gone?” Shanks asked her, as they passed through the flower market. From his perch on his shoulders, Ace reached his hand out, trailing small fingers along the snowdrops and lilacs hanging from the wicker baskets suddenly within reach. A butter-yellow daisy found its way into Shanks’ hair, before he turned to give one to Ben, always sure to divide his adoration evenly. Grinning around his toothpick, Ben wordlessly tucked it behind his ear.

“Oh, mostly uneventful,” Makino said, a bit too breezily, as Shanks frowned at her back.

“Mostly?”

A look shared with Ben saw his brows furrowing. He wasn’t the only one who’d caught her suspiciously mild tone.

She shot them an innocent look over her shoulder, which was the exact opposite of reassuring, although the small tilt to her mouth told him to wait and see.

Shanks tipped his head up to their son, grinning down at him. “Should I be worried?”

“Angry man,” Ace said brightly, as Shanks blinked.

“Angry man?”

Looking to Makino found her wearing that blatantly incriminating smile, but she offered no explanation, and Shanks didn’t ask, sensing he would be receiving an answer sooner or later, although was unsure if he'd like it.

His suspicions were confirmed shortly after, walking through the door of their bar, only to find a heavy-shouldered figure seated at the counter, eating.

Their arrival was greeted with a cheer from the room, followed by a round of raised glasses as they welcomed him back. It made the figure at the bar glance up, and Shanks watched his expression pulling together, suddenly furious.

“Wait,” Shanks said, frowning as he pointed at him. “I remember you. I think.”

The reaction he got was livid. “You better damn well remember me!” But before he could spring out of his seat, Makino breezed between them, not even mildly hindered by the slight waddle in her step, and demurely unheeding of the irate stranger, who promptly sat his massive bulk back down on his barstool.

“What did I say?” she asked him, and Shanks was surprised when his enraged expression eased a fraction, before he grumbled under his breath.

“No fighting on the premises.”

With a glance at Shanks, as though it included him, too, she nodded, and with one hand cupped under her belly, made to walk around the counter with a mild comment of, “Take it outside if you must.” She shot the newcomer a look, at which he averted his glare to the opposite side of the bar. “And if you want another helping, you’ll behave.”

He said nothing, only turned back to his meal, muttering under his breath. Shanks stared at him, before Ace gave a tug at his hair, asking to be let down, which he did with a sloppy kiss to his cheek, earning himself a bubbly giggle, before he ruffled his hair and watched him scamper after Makino.

Ben passed him, saying nothing, although raised his brows meaningfully, before making a beeline for one of the tables in the back, where Yasopp was sitting with some of the others who'd returned.

Turning back to the new arrival, whose withering glare had been redirected back at him, Shanks looked him up and down, taking in his shock of red hair, and the rest of his ensemble. Then he asked, carefully, “Is the look a…homage?”

He snarled, “You—”

“Boss!” called a voice from further down the counter, cutting him off, a refill requested with the lift of an empty tumbler, and before his adversary could open his mouth again, Shanks had swanned past him, shrugging off his cloak as he made for the bar.

“Red-Hair—!”

“Could you hit the pause button on your tantrum for two seconds while I take this order?”

“I’m here to—”

“Neat as usual?” Shanks asked, reaching for the bottle of whiskey on the shelf, already knowing which brand and where it sat, his fingers moving of their own accord as he slipped back into a familiar role. Refilling the drink, he slid the glass back across the counter, and held up a finger to silence the outrage brimming on the other side as he turned to answer another order.

When the guy opened his mouth again, Shanks called into the storeroom, “Honey, could you bring out the sake? The rice kind. And one of the smaller bottles. If I catch you trying to lift one of the big jugs, there’ll be trouble.”

“One second,” Makino called back, as he turned to the infuriated pirate with an inquiring look.

Glare back in place, the young man made to say, “I’ve come here to—”

“This isn’t the kind you brought for our wedding, is it?” Makino asked, emerging from the storeroom with a small ceramic jug.

“Why,” Shanks asked, ignoring the murderous expression levelled at him from across the counter, as he fished out two cups, “Are you disappointed you can’t get adorably shitfaced in your condition? Or maybe that’s just me.”

She put it on the bartop with a patient look, and Shanks kissed the top of her head as the jug and cups were whisked away. “I just feel like that brand should come with some kind of warning. Or at the very least a healthy discouragement.”

“But that would take away half the fun!”

“Red-Hair!”

They both looked up, but at Makino’s raised brows, he snapped his mouth shut. Then, more controlled, he ground out, the words directed at Shanks, “I came here to find you.”

Shanks sighed. “Listen, kid—”

“So you remember my name, at least.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Kidd,” the young man emphasised, and when Shanks didn’t respond, snapped, “Eustass Kidd!”

Shanks just looked at him, then at Makino, who smiled and shrugged, before she made for the kitchen. “Right,” he said. “Kidd. Sure, I remember.”

The vein above one of his eyebrows looked alarmingly big, as Kidd snarled, “Asshole, I’ll—”

“Can I get you a drink?” Shanks asked. “Sake, maybe?”

“I’m not here for a drink!” he spat. “I’m here to—”

“Weird,” Ace announced, having climbed up on the barstool beside him, and Kidd jumped when a small hand reached out to tap his metal prosthetic. Shanks noted that it looked to have been hastily reassembled, the hand like it had been cut off and then put back. Not welded together, as one might have expected; the pieces were just held in place, as through by their own volition.

When Kidd didn’t reply, Ace levelled his mother’s eyes at him and asked, firmer, “Why?”

“Answer the boy,” Shanks said, as he made to fill a glass, sliding it down the counter to Doc, who stepped up to collect it.

“Because it is,” Kidd snapped.

“But why?”

“You need to give him a better answer, or he’ll just keep repeating it,” Shanks said.

“Because I lost my arm,” Kidd told him, with a glare at Shanks, who raised his brows innocently.

“What?” he asked, before he gasped, “Oh, is that why you’re here?”

Kidd looked ready to explode, but halted when a small finger poked his prosthetic. “Big,” Ace said. “Why?”

“Yeah,” Shanks agreed, leaning on the counter. “Looking a little lopsided there. You trying to say something?”

Before Kidd could bite off a response, “Daddy has just one,” Ace declared, and pointed at Shanks, who winked, which earned him a delighted giggle.

“Daddy is already big enough,” Shanks chirped. “No compensation necessary. Just ask my wife.”

The vein in Kidd’s forehead throbbed. “Oye—”

Makino chose that moment to come back from the kitchen, carrying a full plate, but paused at the sight of him, now halfway out of his seat. “Did you not want a second helping?”

Still glaring at Shanks, Kidd sat back down. “Fine.”

“Fine…?”

“Fine. Please.” Then, and so awkwardly it sounded like he grasped for the first thing that came to mind, he blurted gruffly, “Ma’am.”

She put the plate down before him, her soft mouth pursed with amusement. “That was a bit excessive.” Threading her fingers through Ace’s hair, she kissed the top of his head, before she walked back into the kitchen, delicately bypassing Shanks’ hungry look, which held six weeks of separation and only one dirty phone call.

“So,” Shanks said, ignoring Kidd’s gaze, which had trailed after her. “Drink?”

He growled, “I told you, I’m not here to—”

“Whiskey? Or are you more of a beer guy? You look like a beer guy. We brew our own, if you’d like to try it.”

“I don’t want—”

“It’s really good, and I'm not just saying that because I had a hand in it. We've got a brand new brew, too. Hoppy, if you like that.” He threw a glance in the direction of the kitchen, before adding, wilfully and a little louder than necessary, “We’re still deciding on the name, though.”

Kidd glared, but when Shanks raised his brows at him, “Beer is fine,” he grumbled.

“Great! I’ll tap you a glass.” Flicking the kitchen towel over his shoulder, he turned to Ace and asked, “And what can I get you? Single malt, neat and in a sippy cup?”

Ace giggled, and grinning, Shanks turned to the keg, but not before saying to Kidd, "Just to clarify: you don’t want yours in a sippy cup, right?”

Before he could lunge out of his seat, Makino returned from the kitchen. “Marsh is taking over the cooking, and I’m putting Ace down for a nap,” she said, tilting her chin for him to kiss her.

Obliging, and with a dirty grin that had her laughing against his mouth, “I’ll join you later,” Shanks rumbled.

Shaking her head at him, she touched the daisy by his ear, her dark eyes warm and smiling, before she made to collect Ace, waving and calling his goodbye to Kidd, who shifted in his seat and pretended not to hear him.

Ignoring the seething pirate behind the bar as he made to tap beer into a tankard, Shanks watched them leaving, before flicking his gaze to the one still regarding him from across the counter, finding his expression wary now—and mildly disbelieving, as though he wasn’t sure what he should make of the situation, and was annoyed by his own confusion.

Finally, when Shanks put the full tankard before him, “What the hell happened to you?” Kidd asked.

“You need to be a bit more specific,” Shanks said, wiping the residue foam on the towel over his shoulder, before tucking the daisy a bit more securely behind his ear. “In general, or recently?”

Kidd just looked at him, his scowl somewhere between personally offended and accusatory now as he demanded, “What are you even supposed to be?”

Pausing to answer another order, Shanks cast a glance around the room—the long counter and the shelves behind it, and then to Kidd seated at the bar, the tankard before him still untouched. “If the obvious hasn’t already been stated by my keeping of this bar: a barkeep. You know, a purveyor of sage advice and alcoholic beverages? Oh, you know what, I forgot to put my apron on. No wonder you’re confused.”

“I know what a barkeep is,” Kidd snapped.

“You sure?” Shanks asked. “I thought the setting spoke for itself, but you don’t look convinced.” Then, “Do you want me to get the apron?”

“Shut up. You’re just not what I expected.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, my memory is a little blurry because I think I was really hungover at the time, but wasn’t that what you said last time you showed up?” Shanks asked. “If I remember right, you questioned my whole swashbuckling integrity. At some point you’re going to have to ask yourself if you might be the one holding me to some kind of unachievable standard. I’m just going about my life. You’re the one who’s obsessed with me.”

Then with a nod to his attire, “Seriously though, is the look a homage? Because the pimp coat is a little campy for my taste.”

Kidd glared, and when Shanks raised his brows, shifted in his seat, and said, “The papers said you kicked it.”

“They also claimed once that I was Roger's illegitimate son. The press doesn’t get everything right.” He shook his head, before he said, “I’d apologise for not living up to your expectations regarding my apparent demise, but from the look on your face, you already knew I wasn’t dead. So the reason you’re so upset is kinda eluding me at the moment.”

“Straw-Hat said you were still alive,” Kidd said. “I didn’t believe it when they said he’d defeated you, but after Kaidou, I thought they might have had it right after all. But then I hear you’re doing this shit.” He gestured to him behind the bar. “What the hell?”

Shanks shrugged. “I had a change of careers. Stranger things have happened on this sea. Don’t know if you got the memo, but the Emperor gig doesn’t really pay the bills anymore. You should have gotten that memo, though. From what I heard, you were involved in that whole debacle that went down in Wano last year. And not in a small way, either.”

“I was,” Kidd said, sitting a bit straighter on his stool. “But you don’t see Kaidou retiring to run a teahouse.”

“No, and for everyone’s sake, that’s probably a good thing. That sourpuss has zero people skills. I’ve been telling him for years he should just become a cowherd.”

“Who cares?” Kid snapped. “You used to be one of the greatest pirates in the world. You were a fucking Emperor, now you’re serving customers?”

The words lashed out of him, his voice suddenly the loudest sound in the bar, which had gone eerily silent. In his periphery, Shanks saw that they were all watching them.

There was a group of pirates seated around one of the tables in the back who’d come in with their captain. They hadn’t moved to interfere, although by the collection of empty plates in front of them, Shanks didn’t have to wonder long at their reluctance, even if Makino was no longer in the bar.

Meeting Kidd’s gaze, Shanks told him calmly, “First of all, I’m going to tell you what I always tell my two-year-old: we use our indoor voice here.”

Kidd snarled, “Bastard—”

“Also, I take offence to the suggestion that my change of careers is to the detriment of my reputation. You’re what, mid-twenties? I was a pirate before you were born, kid.”

“It’s Kidd. And that just sounds like some pussy bullshit to me.”

“Yeah?” Shanks asked. “Those are big words coming from the guy so intimidated by my tiny, pregnant wife, he’s trying to hide the fork he accidentally bent in half.”

That made him seize up, and arching a brow, Shanks watched Kidd slide the mangled fork back out from where he’d been hiding it in his sleeve, muttering, “I’m not afraid of her.”

“Of course not.”

“She’s just—nice.”

“She is nice,” Shanks agreed.

“She made my favourite,” Kidd grumbled, with a glance at the plate before him, and Shanks smiled.

“She does that.”

“This doesn’t mean I’m through with you,” he said, his glare back with a vengeance. “I came here for payback. Don’t think I’ve forgotten what happened.” He touched his metal prosthetic, his knuckles white under his skin. The building aggression in his presence snapped its jaws, more than just annoyance thinning his temper now.

Shanks dropped the smile, and when he spoke now it was with a pitch that had several hands shifting towards their weapons, from both his own crew, and Kidd’s. “I’d like to take this moment to remind you of who sought out who in the first place.”

No one had gotten out of their seats, or drawn their weapons, but their attention was felt like the tension in the air, and Shanks saw the way Kidd shifted in his seat.

He hadn’t reached for Gryphon, but then he’d never needed his sword to get his point across; his haki usually did the talking. The amicable mood he’d maintained while his son had been present was gone, not even the pretence of hospitality left now as he straightened to his full height. And there was nothing overtly hostile in his manners where he’d planted his hand on the bartop, the protruding veins surrendering nothing but an outward calm, although the glasses on the shelves stirred uneasily as the air grew heavy, the jarring melody lingering under the thick layer of tension and the weight of his conqueror's haki, and he saw Kidd’s frown deepening, a pearl of sweat having beaded on his brow, even as he didn’t get out of his seat.

He didn’t need to ask to know that something must have transpired before he’d arrived; Kidd’s manners said enough, but Makino’s calm hadn’t given him reason to push the matter. But whatever momentary truce she’d compelled was teetering now, although Shanks had a thought to remind him of it.

“I’m letting the attitude slide because they’re not here right now,” Shanks said, this time firmly enough to be felt, and he watched as Kidd’s brows furrowed sharply, “but if you lose the temper you’ve got on that hair-thin leash anywhere near my wife or my kid, I’ll show you why they call it the bum’s rush. You’ve been pushing your luck ever since I walked through that door. You’ll be lucky if you walk out of here with all the limbs you came in with.”

When Kidd said nothing, “You challenged me,” Shanks told him, still without smiling. He nodded to the prosthetic. “Don’t shove your hand in the fire and complain when you get burned. You knew who you were taking on. I’m not apologising just because you bit off more than you could chew.”

Then, the corner of his mouth lifting, the tension loosening its tightly held breath a fraction, he added, “But speaking of chewing—I lost my arm, too, but you don’t see me swearing revenge on the sea king that ate it.”

Kidd blinked, his face momentarily wiped clean of outrage, before surprise replaced it. “The what?”

“What?” Shanks asked, and before he could follow up with another question, forged on, and with the same cheerful patience he usually reserved for their stubborn toddler’s refusal to go to sleep, “Listen. I get it. You’re upset you didn’t get the chance to exact vengeance while I was still an active pirate. I agree it would have made a much better headline than ‘Shameless Copycat Loses Second Arm In Fight With Local Barkeep’. But if you still insist on fighting me, I guess I could humour you. I just got my sword fixed, so your timing could be worse.” For emphasis, he patted Gryphon’s hilt. “Tell you what, I might be able to squeeze in a duel before the midday rush. It gets pretty busy here in the evening, and we need all hands on deck.” He grinned, and chirped, “Maybe you could lend us one, since yours is detachable.”

“Bastard, I’ll kick your ass!”

Shanks just laughed, as he turned to take another order. “Whatever, kid. Drink your beer.”

“It’s Kidd!”

“Wasn’t that what I said?”

#Shanks x Makino #One Piece Makino #Eustass Kidd #Shanks #Red-Haired Shanks #fanfic #fanfiction #mungoe writes #Shanties for the Weary Voyager

[doomedandstoned]

DISASTROID Reveal Striking 4th Full-Length, ‘Garden Creatures’

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

Get ready for full-on galactic riffing, energetic rhythms, with moments of interstellar insanity. This is DISASTROID and their latest record, 'Garden Creatures' (2024) -- a swirling blend of colors drawn from a dynamic palette of psychedelic, grunge, desert, noise, and math rock influences.

This fourth full-length outing from the SFO band begins with the title track and is presented with rumbling force and jagged rhythms juxtaposed with clean, earnest singing and smooth melodic lines from frontman/guitarist Enver Koneya. At times the vocals soar like the pleas of some jerky cosmonaut thrust into the unknown vastness of outer space. Braden McGraw's drums thunder and churn like the roaring ocean. Travis Williams' bass is warm and pulsating.

Enver's guitar and Travis' bass trade barbs on "Stucco Nowhere," an ode to being stuck in a life of sameness and misery ("burning out within your head"). The singing builds to a crescendo, perhaps summoning sheer force of will to shake off the spell of mediocrity. There are some dreamy vocal harmonies that haunt overslept dreams, and finally a cry of frustration and despair to be set free from the shackles of it all.

"Mama says I need some help," laments Enver in "Figurative Object." The guitars chug with rocketing force, but often enter the realm of disorienting dissonance. This tendency towards the strange and uncanny continues in "Backwards Sleeping" and feels like a night of tossing and turning ("losing sleep for all that we have done"), complete with trippy guitar effects, rhythmic jolts, and ghostly droning.

"24" is fuzzy as all get-out, with screeching guitar hooks, unconventional rhythmic structure, and a misty hue of sadness in the vocals. Then "Hold Me Wrong" is like a fever dream, with a persistent bass groove, strumming and picking on the guitar, and exhausted pleas to "hold me tight, hold me right."

The penultimate song, "Light 'Em Up" is like a hallucination straight out of Blade Runner, with sounds and samples flying about us like fugitive visions. This is another where the bass is so integral to giving us a feeling of movement and cohesiveness in this shapeshifting world. The drumming here, as throughout the record, is stalwart and determined, whilst the riffmaking ranges from raucous to delirious. The record ends on a short banger, a riotous number "Jack Londonin'" with punk, noise, and math overtones.

Disastroid's Garden Creatures was recorded and produced by Billy Anderson and is releasing on Heavy Psych Sounds this weekend, February 23rd, on a spectacular variety of vinyl variants (get it here). Stick it on a playlist with The Melvins, Red Fang, Fatso Jetson, Kook, and Soundgarden.

Give ear...

SOME BUZZ

San Francisco veterans Disastroid have been serving up sludgy, grunge-infused stoner rock for the better part of a decade now, refining a sound that weaves heavy riffs together with angular guitar lines, odd time signatures, and hazy walls of fuzz. As influenced by 90's noise rock as they are by modern psych, doom, and post-metal, Disastroid delivers thick, satisfying stoner rock stomp while also embracing layers of noise, tripped-out feedback, and unpredictable song structures.

The current lineup of singer/guitarist Enver Koneya, bassist Travis Williams, and drummer Braden McGraw coalesced in 2011. They’re united by a desire to make heavy music that's loose instead of mechanical, a motivation to explore methods that make them sound bigger and more varied than a traditional rock trio, and a shared affection for the Amphetamine Reptile back-catalog. Thematically, their songs steer clear of genre cliches, touching instead on scattered aspects of modern life: technology fatigue, immigration, nuclear deterrence, the monotony of work, the existential dread of aging. Despite the subject matter, Disastroid never take themselves too seriously, injecting their live shows with an infectious sense of humor and their songwriting with math-rock quirks.

Disastroid’s latest outing, Garden Creatures, is a record about the darkness in the hidden corners of suburban landscapes — sinister overgrown gardens, secret collections kept in basements, the crime just beneath the surface, the pervasive loneliness under a veneer of normalcy. Accordingly, it’s a dark and atmospheric record, trading the stripped-down approach of 2020’s Mortal Fools for a thicker, heavier, and more layered sound. Legendary producer Billy Anderson (Sleep, Melvins, Neurosis) builds mixes that range from dark and dreamy to a thick, sludgy crunch, slowly pulling the listener through a range of sounds and textures, making sure things stay interesting. Singer/guitarist Enver Koneya's vocals are soulful and sometimes haunting, drifting above Disastroid’s characteristically off-kilter, grunge-influenced riffs.

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[randomvarious]

Today’s compilation:

Space Night Vol. VI by Aural Float 2001 Downtempo / Trip Hop / Lounge / Dub / Future Jazz

Don't wanna bury the lede here, so up front, I'll just say that this is simply one of the greatest collections of chillout tunes that I've ever heard in my entire life. But before we dive right into it, there's some paragraphs-long context that bears explaining the story behind this whole Space Night series in the first place, so here we go!

Back in 1993, three guys named Gabriel Le Mar, Pascal F.E.O.S. (a trance pioneer in his own right), and Alex Azary teamed up to form Aural Float, a trio that would become known for their breathtaking ambient and chillout music soundscapes. Together, they would release three albums and launch an audiovisual odyssey of sorts called Space Night. Originally starting in the club as a brilliant mesh of ambient music and footage shot from outer space, Space Night would eventually make its way into homes all across Germany, as a national television station there called BR granted Aural Float the opportunity to develop their own club-night concept into programming.

Sometime in 1994, Space Night would replace BR’s overnight test cards every Sunday through Thursday, and now the show has been on the air for over 25 years, achieving serious cult status as millions of people can say that they've blissfully drifted off and woken up to it. And there's plenty of Space Night videos on YouTube too, if you want some prime material to both really zone all the way out to and also have blow your mind 😌🤯 .

Here’s one:

But along with that popular TV program also spawned a series of Space Night compilations. Through 15 releases over 15 years, Aural Float and a couple others managed to compile some of the greatest collections of spacey ambient, downtempo, and chillout tunes ever created. And this fantastic 2001 double-disc that I'm posting about today is the sixth installment from the series.

Now, my last chillout compilation post wasn't too long ago, and I said that it made for a great showcase of German-made chillout, specifically, which isn't a country that you probably tend to associate with very chill vibes. And this turns out to be another one of those comps. You may think of Germany as rooted in cold, mechanical industriousness, and a lot of their techno music is very much a reflection of those broad, national characteristics, but despite them not having a warm southern coastline or almost any islands of note, Germany really still has possessed the capacity to produce some of the most stellar chillout fare that this planet's ever borne witness to.

And this release here more than proves the point. Not every song on these two discs is made by Germans—both DC-based chillout pioneers, Thievery Corporation, and the eclectically electronic London duo, Groove Armada, show up on the second disc—but a majority of them seem to be. And by that same token, not all of these songs match the same outer-space ambience that you'd expect either, but most of them seem to: majestic and/or celestial string pads get paired with blends of rich piano melodies, ringing xylophone notes, or futuristic lead synths; and there's lots of dubbiness too, either in the rumbling basslines, or in the echoing of each melodic note, which, naturally, connotes a seismic amount of unknowable vastness.

Almost every single song on here is phenomenal, but there are some that are still a bit more striking than others. A German guy who goes by Fresh Moods gets two slots on disc one: first, he provides a sweet hand-drum driven remix that initializes as a poolside vibe, but then alters course for space, and then he gets his own tune five minutes later in "Decisions I Made," which is some slow-moving and crunchy, space-hypnotic trip hop psychedelia.

Soon after that, Montréal's Jaffa supplies some really soul-piercingly sublime synth chimes on "Interlude," which is another song that also comes with a dose of psychedelia—this one by way of nice keyboard improvisations—and a bed of strings as well. Really groovy and lush stuff there.

And the set's penultimate track is excellent too: "Blue Sky," by Germany's üNN, sort of sounds like if the Twin Peaks soundtrack was trip hop-flavored. It has that same 80s/early 90s synth vibe to it and is also comparable to Jan Hammer and Miami Vice as well. A really lovely tune that stands out from the rest of this marveling herd.

I continue to say the same thing over and over, but it really bears repeating here: this turn-of-the-millennium chillout era yielded an enormous glut of terrific music. Some of it became underground-popular, thanks in large part to Café del Mar, but most of it still remains criminally slept on and unfortunately ignored. And this 2001 German double-disc that was compiled by Aural Float is just another one of the many shining examples that I'll keep on outlining here until I run out of these kinds of comps and mixes to post about, which is something that will probably *never* happen, because that pile of CDs is almost as vast as space is itself 😅.

And the rest of the world was really robbed by not having the Space Night TV show exported outside of Germany too. A show like that definitely would've gone a long way towards raising chillout music's profile, overall, when there was such a strong current of it pumping through largely unnoticed at the time. It would've fit perfectly on a few different US cable networks too, like the Discovery Channel, TLC, or The Science Channel, and the breathtaking visuals along with the great music would've probably helped to heighten and activate some more peoples' sense of wonder as well. A lot of late night programming has a way of achieving a dedicated cult status, and I really see no reason as to why a show like this wouldn't be able to in the US. It seems broadly appealing enough and also very soothing. But, alas, at least we can watch some of it on YouTube now, right?

Highlights:

CD1:

Tosca - "Suzuki" dZihan & Kamien - "Homebase" Wamdue Project - "Instrumentation" Sven van Hees - "Tsunami" Enrico Riva - "The New Economy (Fresh Moods remix)" Index ID - "Planisphäre" Fresh Moods - "Decisions I Made" De-Phazz feat. Pat Appleton - "Anchorless" Jaffa - "Interlude" Wondabraa - "Starfish" George Pallikaris - "Natural Being" Azure Taint - "Glasrauch" Amphotic - "Spacetalk"

CD2:

Thievery Corporation - "It Takes a Thief (version 2)" Pre Fade Listening - "Free George Lingo" Groove Armada - "Serve Chilled" Chicane - "Low Sun" Chris Zippel - "Summerblink" Soehngenetic - "Din Atrium" Drøn - "Rem" The Sushi Club - "Koi" üNN - "Blue Sky"

#downtempo #trip hop #lounge #lounge music #dub #future jazz #nu jazz #chillout #chill out #chillout music #chill out music #electronic #electronic music #music #90s #90s music #90's #90's music #2000s #2000s music #2000's #2000's music #00s #00s music #00's #00's music

[goodbysunball]

In the summer dust

Live from June 2023, already, and still steadily accumulating plastic to shield me from the sun. Here are four more things you can listen to instead of Elon Musk and four more things you can buy instead of groceries. Crank 'em 'til that stomach rumble is drowned out.

BIG|BRAVE, nature morte LP (Thrill Jockey)

Their lineup now solidified over the course of the past few records, BIG|BRAVE picks up right where they left off on 2021's underrated Vital with nature morte. The record snaps open with Robin Wattie's vocals, and it's a harbinger of things to come: she's solidly up front flexing her vocal range, seemingly more confident and in control than ever. While still glacial and capable of whittling rock to dust, nature morte feels more accessible, in part due to Wattie's performance, but the guitars are more airy, allowing the soft, bright colors of the cover to bleed into the performance. There's an actual groove at the midpoint of "carvers, farriers and knaves," and my favorite track, "the one who bornes a weary load," begins with the post-rock atmosphere by way of '00s screamo. Of course, the band's bread and butter is still this absolutely crushing, cavernous one- or two-chord riff augmented by feedback, crashing drums and Wattie's vocals elevating to a full-on roar; they just utilize it more sparingly. What else has changed over the last two albums is how the band approaches the build-up to these climaxes, and how they can sound as disciplined as they do unpredictable. On "the fable of subjugation," for example, the band leads you face-first into a cold metal wall after the relatively calm textural intro, an un-subtle reminder to stay focused. When the loud part kicks in on "a parable of trusting," it almost sounds like vintage BIG|BRAVE until the guitar chords start to meander and sway, a simple and unbearably powerful show of restraint amidst the onslaught. This is a room-flattening/room-silencing record, the quiet parts captivating and the loud parts leaving craters behind when they strike. But in other ways, this feels like the band becoming more comfortable and confident expressing through texture and mood. To me, the trajectory of BIG|BRAVE feels much like Thou's over their first few years (from Tyrant to Summit, for instance), in that the two groups remained as heavy as ever while becoming more interested in creating an atmosphere, and not just churning endlessly in the sludge-y murk. I'm not big on where Thou went with their sound in recent years, and it could be that BIG|BRAVE is heading down a similar path; but for now, I'll enjoy nature morte and the sound of a band at the peak of their powers.

Disintegration, Time Moves For Me 12" (Feel It)

Fantastic debut from this new Cleveland trio, featuring the inimitable Haley Himiko from Pleasure Leftists, as well as Noah Anthony (Profligate), and Christopher Brown from Cloud Nothings. Disintegration operates in this darkwave/almost-EBM space, and it's solid ground for Himiko to sway and prowl over. The title track has her absolutely going off over an arpeggiated beat, and the acrobatics she pulls out on the chorus hit home every time. The slower tempo of "Carry With You" is another showcase for her vocal range; the combination of the heavy backbeat's gravity and the chopped treated vocals sounds like the track's being pulled under by its own weight. The record closes with "Make a Wish," which sounds like it could've almost been on the last Pleasure Leftists album, Himiko's vocals soaring over the airy, slicing backing track. The four tracks here are over too fast, an almost cruel tease; even "Hit the Face," the only track not to feature Himiko's vocals, connects on some animal level and gets the knees pumping and neck twisting, the coda not nearly long enough. Highest recommendation; please invite me to any party that's gonna be blasting tracks from this 12".

Glittering Insects, s/t LP (Mind Meld)

Total Punk sub-label Mind Meld is back with a vengeance this year, releasing a new Lavender Flu 12" and this debut Glittering Insects LP. The band features vets from Atlanta's underground: Greg King, Ryan Bell and Josh Feigert, who have recording solo and in bands like GG King, Uniform, Predator, etc. Can't say I'm all that familiar with any of their previous output, though it's been in my periphery for years. In any case, none of that prepared me for how powerful the meeting of the minds would be on Glittering Insects. This is very scuzzy, satisfying Am Rep or Dino Jr.-style rock with flecks of black metal ("Kratom Portal," "Calcified Time") and plenty of noise obscuring the vocals and the ground. The first five tracks, from the caustic noise of "Nuclear Rivers" to the tremolo-picking overlaying creaky keyboards on "Labyrinth Funnel," set the stage for what's to come, which is basically a survey of guitar rock from the past 30 years or so. The second track, "Silent Dream," is my favorite song of the year so far. The main riff gets stuck in my head for days at a time, and the slyly catchy vocal melody just barely pokes out amidst the din. Elsewhere, the band churns out menacing noise rock on "Peatgurgling"; attempts a Rudimentary Peni impression on "Obscure World After Death"; and reaches guitar worship heights currently only achievable by Cheater Slicks on the instrumental "Glittering Insects." My very minor quibble would be that "Dream Journal 12/8/21" doesn't quite fit and kicks me out of the dusty, thrilling orbit the rest of the record pulls me into, seeming much less complete than the rest of the album's tracks. It's just about the shortest track, and had I not listened to Glittering Insects many times over already, I probably wouldn't think to mention it. No matter - this is some real deal, clenched teeth exhilaration, a tour de force with the chops, energy and just the right amount of reverence to match its ambition.

HUH, You Don't Need Magic LP (An'archives)

An'archives has been busy the past few years, selecting the Japanese sub-underground sounds that pass muster and bringing them to the masses in beautiful editions. HUH is yet another new-to-me outfit, though apparently they've been around since 2007. The duo of Kyosuke Terada and Takuma Mori is based around guitar and drums, it sounds like, but there's a healthy dollop of electronics (as there must be) and warped, free vocalizations. If that sounds like Lightning Bolt to you, you're in the ballpark, but the band more often goes for low density: stretching out slow, twisted grooves ("Greenish Fog In You") or restrained relative calm recorded by haunted equipment ("Lousy Smirky," which kinda sounds like it could've fit on Sharpen Your Teeth). There are a couple freak-outs that show HUH paying fealty to their Rhode Island forebears, of course - go no further than the raucous "Spilled Beer" for your fix. What's more interesting is that there is a palpable joy on You Don't Need Magic; one that, to me, rarely comes across on most guitar-drum duo records. They emphasize exuberance over aggression, appear to harness the complete freedom from expectation, and possess the wordless communication between two musicians operating on a plane above most. You Don't Need Magic impresses on a number of levels, and if the way "Bitter Summer" rips apart at the halfway point to close out the album doesn't have you flipping the record over for more - you may need magic.

#Big Brave #HUH #An'archives #Disintegration #Feel It Records #Glittering Insects #Thrill Jockey #Mind Meld

[kickmag]

Listen/purchase: Nite Bjuti by Nite Bjuti

Night Bjuti's eponymous debut album (pronounced Night Beauty)taps into women's legacies, freedom, magic and love with ritual jazz, blues and the electronic blessings of Sun Ra. The Black woman trio of vocalist Candice Hoyes, bassist Mimi Jones and percussionist Val Jeanty named themselves after a Haitian folk tale about a deceased girl who reclaims her skeleton to recapture her life. Hoyes'prayerful utterances, Jeanty's remixing of ceremonial rhythms and Jones' agile bass does sound like avant-garde jazz for the dead at times. They are the first group of its kind and improvisation is at the center of their creative process that excavates ancestral memories with a balance between the linear and the abstract.

The deeper conceptual moments found in "Witchez" and the rumbling rhythm and poetry of "Mood (Liberation Walk)" is akin to Shabazz Palaces' celestial hip-hop funk. Zora Neale Hurston's letter to W.E.B. Dubois proposing a cemetery for eminent Black artists and Carrie Mae Weems's Kitchen Table Series of photographs are referenced on the album that moves more like a single composition instead of individual songs. Hoyes says, “We are expressing the kind of pillaging, the uprooting of women in ways personal, intergenerational, familial, sexual, past and present." "Stolen Voice" protests the erasure of Black women's history and reclaims it at the same time with Jeanty's whirlwind sequences, Jones' trancey bass grooves and Hoyes' piercing notes. The layers of intensity are felt in Hoyes' vocals expressing sorrowful wails commemorating past wrongs but quickly morph into furious condemnation after striking decibel shifts. The trio is living somewhere in the same universe occupied by Ursula Rucker, Robert Glasper, Flying Lotus, Burnt Sugar, The Last Poets and Kendrick Lamar but they have their own unique space. Night Bjuti's official debut inventively combines protest, healing, love and truth-telling into an enchanting movement of sound.

#bandcamp #nite bjuti #val jeanty #mimi jones #candice hoyes #jazz #afrofuturism

[wyattvsmusic]

Skrillex - Quest For Fire / Don’t Get Too Close ALBUM REVIEWS

From 2011-2014, Skrillex was synonymous with the boom of dubstep and big room EDM as he was churning out hits and was known for his signature “wubs.” In 2014, he put out his debut album, Recess which I was pretty mixed about as I liked a lot of things about it but certain songs and features just missed the mark. Since Recess, the only other album that Skrillex has put out was his Jack U collaboration with Diplo. After that, he stepped back from the spotlight, continuing to produce some pretty big records for people like Justin Bieber but his production was noticeably different as he strayed away from the brostep sound and made more pop songs. This departure in sound is a pretty natural segue into the sound of his newest albums, which are his first proper studio albums since Recess came out 9 years ago. He recently opened up on Twitter about his struggles with alcoholism after the passing of his mother in 2015 and spent this time in between albums focusing on his wellbeing. He seems to be in a much better place now considering he put out two new albums and has been playing pop up shows with Four Tet and Fred again.., which look really fun and these two producers seem to be having a good influence on the artistic direction of Skrillex’s new albums. Quest For Fire is an album full of nonstop bangers that are much more stripped back compared to the typical Skrillex sound that he was known for. While there are plenty of exciting dubstep songs on this album, there’s a lot more variety in the music as he heavily incorporates elements of house, UK Garage, and Chicago Juke into the music, which to me is a very welcome change in sound as I prefer these styles. The music emphasizes the groove more than the drop even though there are plenty of incredible beat drops on the album but no wubs which I am completely fine with. The album starts with Leave Me Like This, which has one of the most epic house drops on the entire album. Because it was a single, it feels weird as an intro but it hits just as hard every single time. I love the clunky drum sounds that he incorporates in the song as well. The song RATATA is an explosive banger featuring a very exciting feature from Missy Elliott, who sounds amazing on these types of tracks. Tears has somewhat of that dubstep bounce to it. I like the eerieness of that song. The song Rumble is a welcome change in sound as Skrillex collaborates with Fred again.. for a glitchy yet minimal mid-tempo dance song featuring a show-stealing appearance from Grime legend Flowdan, who delivers another incredible performance on the song Hydrate. I am glad that Flowdan is now getting more exposure to a new generation of people who might not know about Grime or Flowdan’s status within UK music. The song Butterflies is a nice club-ready house song with a great feature from Starrah, who delivers an even better performance on the dubstep-inspired Good Space. My favorite three-song run comes in the middle of the album with Inhale Exhale, which has great vocal contributions from Aluna, whose voice gets looped and placed into one of the filthiest drops on the whole album. The song has a nice bounce to it and pairs perfectly with A Street I Know, which has one of the catchiest melodies on the entire album as well as a nice groove to it. The song Xena probably has the best buildup/drop combo if we want to compare it to previous Skrillex songs as the contributions from Nai Barghouti are hypnotic and builds perfectly into a bombastic yet minimal drop as the rattling drums make up the entire drop and keep building back up. I think it’s such a clean transition and makes for a better song. The drop towards the end of the song switches into a house song but still continues to blend the original rattle into the beat. I think Too Bizarre is the perfect redemption for Coast Is Clear as Skrillex finally made a good Juked song. Swae Lee sounds great on the song. The only song I didn’t care for much on this album was Supersonic as I just found it underwhelming. Still Here closes out the album nicely with a 2-step Garage beat that samples Snoh Aalegra’s Time. I don’t love the high-pitched effects but it’s a good song. Quest For Fire is a new and improved Skrillex making a triumphant return during EDM’s new rise in popularity. He might lose a lot of his original audience with this new sound but I think this album contains the best songs that he has ever made. His return has multiple sides to it as he released his third album, Don’t Get Too Close the day after Quest For Fire. While I think it’s great that Skrillex showcases his versatility with these two albums, I think Don’t Get Too Close is a serious decline in quality. While I don’t hate it and I’m not a big fan of the more pop/emo-heavy sound of this album, I just don’t think it’s very good. I liked the slow rework of Leave Me Like This that starts the album and I liked the jungle-inspired Way Back with a good feature from Pinkpantheress but I really did not the Trippie Redd feature. I thought Selecta with BEAM was very good and made me realize where the sample from Rumble comes from, which was cool as Skrillex has sampled his own songs before to make even better songs (First of The Year). I thought Summertime with Kid Cudi was very good, Swae Lee sounded good on Mixed Signals, and I liked the way the album closed with Painting Rainbows. However, the rest of the album was just not very good in my opinion. It’s not really my type of music to begin with but I didn’t care for the features all that much and Skrillex’s singing on the title track wasn’t too great either. Don’t Get Too Close is definitely the inferior album but does not spoil my enjoyment of Quest For Fire, which is easily one of the best albums of the year so far.

Fav Tracks from Quest For Fire: Leave Me Like This, RATATA, Tears, Rumble, Inhale Exhale, A Street I Know, Xena

Fav Tracks from Don’t Get Too Close: Don’t Leave Me Like This, Way Back, Selecta, Summertime, Painting Rainbows

#Skrillex #Quest For Fire #don't get too close #Fred again.. #Four Tet #Missy Elliott #Flowdan #Aluna #Swae Lee #Beam #Starrah #Pinkpantheress #Kid Cudi #Chief Keef #Justin Bieber #Don Toliver #Owsla

[knitasha]

Elevators

Day 4 of NaNoWriMo prep! I spent day 3 working on my novel outline. I originally wanted to do a full solar punk novel for it, but I had a hard time coming up with a straightforward plot that didn't feel like I needed to be a science/environment expert to write about. Instead, I've got ~70% of an outline done for a simple, pure fluff romance novel. Less exciting than I wanted, but maybe easier to get into the writing groove with.

The house was busy when I sat down to write this (rookie move, self) so I was distracted most of my writing time and still haven't actually gotten to the whole point of this scene. I'll get there tomorrow, really.

--

As the two approached the front of the building, Bea sped up a half step to reach the door first and pulled it open for – maybe it was Allan? – letting him walk ahead. As he walked through the open door, a pleasant “Welcome, Aaron” – aha! – sounded as the wireless picked up his badge’s signal.

She breezed past the “Welcome, Beatrice” that sounded as she walked through the door and waved to the building operators who had just finished cleaning the tall front windows as one tapped on the wall-mounted system that controlled the automatic squeegees while the other began to check the closest plants for any pruning or treatment needs.

Bea glanced at her watch as she joined Aaron at the elevator – 8:45am – and made a mental note to come back down in 15 minutes with her coffee to catch the watering system turn on in the atrium.

They stepped into the first of three glass-walled elevators along the left wall with two other people Bea didn’t recognize and she let the sounds of talking fade as she watched the floor stretch away as they ascended and the greens and browns of trees, bushes, and crawling tendrils bloomed all around the building. Commuting in regularly, she knew without looking that behind her the blue sky would be cloudless as they crested the other nearby buildings. As the others in the elevator got off at the fifth floor, she wondered, not for the first time, whether she’d get many odd looks if she spent the entire morning riding up and down.

The lift paused on the sixth floor and the two exited into the open space, greeted by the smell of honeysuckle that lined the wall-length windows. They walked past the open kitchen area and Bea’s stomach rumbled lightly as she eyed the morning food options waiting in the lower automat drawers. Fruit or quiche for breakfast?

“Sorry, what?”

Aaron grinned, following her gaze to the food. “Do you have a busy day today?”

#creative writing #ecopunk #nanowrimo #solarpunk #writeblr #writing

[djmossback]

Spacebar 17 June 2023

2100 hrs

Dazz Band, Let It Whip (7" Motown)

Patrice Rushen, Forget Me Nots (7" Elektra)

Naked Eyes, Promises Promises (7" Manhattan)

David Bowie, Let’s Dance (12” long mix)

Sylvester, Do You Wanna Funk (12" 45 rpm long cut)

Ace, How Long (7")

Queen, Crazy Little Thing Called Love (7" Elektra)

Wham, Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go (7" UK cut)

Go-Go’s, We Got The Beat (7" Stiff Records)

Wang Chung, Dance Hall Days (LP cut)

Link Wray, Rumble (LP cut, Rhino Instrumental Rock v/a)

Bush Tetras, Too Many Creeps (7" 99 records)

Dry Cleaning, Scratchcard Lanyard (7" 4AD)

Wire, Ahead (12" Enigma)

Heatwave, The Groove Line (7" Epic Records)

2200 hrs

Pet Shop Boys, West End Girls (12" extended mix, Manhattan Records)

Cheryl Lynn, Got To Be Real (7" Columbia)

Tears For Fears, Change (7" Polygram import)

DEVO, Whip It (7" Warners)

Amii Stewart, Knock On Wood (12" Ariola)

ZZ Top, Sleeping Bag (12" 45rpm extended mix)

Vince Staples, Big Fish (LP cut)

Abyssinians, Declaration Of Rights (LP cut)

Nazareth, Hair Of The Dog (LP cut)

Cramps, What’s Inside A Girl (12" 45rpm cut)

Nelly, Hott In Herre (12" cut)

Janet Jackson, What Have You Done For Me Lately (12" extended mix)

Kylie Minogue, Can’t Get Blue Monday Out Of My Head (12" promo)

Apollonia 6, Sex Shooter (12" 45 RPM cut Paisley Park/wea)

2300 hrs

Positive K, I Gotta Man (12" cut)

Taste Of Honey, Rescue Me (LP cut)

G.Q., Boogie Oogie Oogie (7" Arista)

Thundercat, Them Changes (LP cut, 45RPM 10")

Kendrick Lamar, YAH (LP cut, faded early, due to.....)

Treasure Valley Roller Derby interruption.

Herbie Hancock, Chameleon (LP cut)

Toto, Hold The Line (LP cut)

Thin Lizzy, Boys Are Back In Town (LP cut)

Michael Jackson, Workin’ Day and Night (7" Epic Records)

Confidence Man, First Class Bitch (12" mix)

TLC, No Scrubs (12" mix w/rap)

Mary Jane Girls, In My House (7" Motown)

Cyndi Lauper, Girls Just Want To Have Fun (7" mix)

Carla & Otis, Tramp (7" Stax)

S.O.S Band, Take Your Time (Do It Right) (7" mix)

Kim Wilde, Kids In America (7" )

Midnight

Soho, Hippychick (12" extended mix, WEA/Sire)

Sleaford Mods, Nudge It (LP Cut)

Laid Back, White Horse (12" 45RPM extended cut)

Killing Joke, Follow The Leader (LP Cut)

Gap Band, You Dropped a Bomb On Me (LP Cut)

Wreckz-n-Effect, Rump Shaker (12" extended cut)

Cypress Hill, How I Could Just Kill A Man (12" mix, some German ep)

Nena, 99 Luftballoons (7" GMBH SCHALLPLATTEN)

Orchestral Maneuvers In The Dark, Souvenir (7" Dindisc ep)

ESG, You’re No Good (7" Factory/99 Records FAC 34)

PJ Harvey, Down By The River (7" Island UK, 33rpm)

Junior Murvin, Police & Thief (7" Upsetter Records)

The Orb, Little Fluffy Clouds (12" extended mix)

Wire, Go Ahead (7" Harvest Records, B-side of Map Ref)

Sun Atoms, Half Robot, Half Butterfly

Finished about 0125

TASTING NOTES

I was ridiculously uninspired going in. Did my best. Had the added wrinkle of the roller derby afterparty, so I played to them a bit.

My dreams of reordering my crates were wrecked by my surprise, early this week, that it was indeed Third Space Saturday week.

I had a chill set for 1-2am foundered by a drunk* that broke my concentration. Plus, I ran out of records. I don't have a problem with people coming up and saying something, like the person who came up during the ZZ Top record, and asked what mix it was! And having the Treasure Valley Roller Derby after season party in the Space was a blast! It would have been nice to know that beforehand, so I could have loaded up on some sassy and aggresive women for the mix! I apologize. They were a great crowd. They did their thing, had a good time, and I enjoyed playing to them.

Elusive Panda Buck Dave from the Dedicated Servers dropped by and said hello, so did the Real Rah-Keem.

Jules came up and requested "weird shit," like that Clipping jam that I throw in the regular set. So, I’m envisioning the 1-2 am bonus as a set for those of us who work there.

We turned the volume down, and I threw on some down tempo tracks. It's something I want to explore further.

*That drunk doesn’t know how close he came to getting destroyed by my brother in law Jeff. Seriously. He just kept pushing the nonsense, and it totally broke me. Asking me questions about the Mariners gear, and distracting me with questions about Seattle sports, and saying off the wall things like "93rd and Aurora." without elaborating on it. Jeff stepped in to wing man for me, and endured the nonsense. Like I have done many times for DJ IGA back when he occupied the booth. Jeff knows how to hang without demanding to be entertained by a person AT THEIR JOB WHO IS TRYING TO CONCENTRATE!! Well, whatever. I'm going to have to work hard to overcome things like that. Part of the gig.

Next Third Space is 15 July, 2023. I swear I will have some different jams next time.

#vinyl records. #barcade #djset #music #djmossback #vinyl #vinylcommunity

[napkinscrawls]

.Lazy mornings. .Sharing a bed.

Aether/roadie!oc | 760 words | sleepy morning cuddles | established relationship(early days)

Pure true fluff. AO3

It wasn't planned. No, really. That Andea would move into Aether's room was a spur of the moment. Technically not forbidden by the clergy, but after her lease was up & she was applying to get on-site housing, the ghoul found out. He didn't see a reason not to share his space with her, & she couldn't find one either. As much as she tried. So she moved in, 'temporarily' she'd say as Aether unpacks her bags, slotting her clothes alongside his. He nodded along but to anyone else it was obvious she was staying.

Andea has found since 'crashing' at Aether's that mornings are something to be savoured. She never enjoyed them before, always quick to leave, had commutes to make, or slept right through them. But waking up to the weight of a 6ft ghoul on her, his face buried in her chest, & rumbling in a way that had her bones vibrate? It was strangely soothing.

Knowing she couldn't get out from under him, Eleanor took the time to look around the room again. It was decent sized, not too big to be annoying to clean, & Aether had made good use of the high ceiling for storage. The walls were lined with guitars, records & an almost daunting amount of banana themed merchandise. Andea had always wondered what the band did with all the tour gifts. Now she knows.

A tinted light filtered in through a series of solar tubes along one side of the underground room, bathing it in a mix of colours, not unlike the stained glass windows of the chapel above. The depth made it impossible to denote weather but at least it was clear the sun was rising.

Andea tilts her chin down to see a still dozing Aether washed with the multiple refractions of light. His short white hair picked up the cool tones & appears almost purple. She drags her hands over his head, grazing the scalp & causing a shiver in his spine. His breathing hitches but the rumble continues. Reaching his horns Andea busied herself with running the pads of her fingertips over the grooves in his horns; the loose spiralling pattern reminding her of sand gardens. Her mind wanders as her thumb follows a line down.

"Murnin'" Aether's hoarse voice is muffled against her skin but she feels the kiss he places on her sternum; lazy & tender. She loosens her hold on his horns to allow him to look up at her. He does so, resting his chin on her softness & opens one eye just enough to make her out in the morning light. His smile could only be described as dopey. The same as every lazy morning. Andea refocuses on him, trading his horns for the fur-like hair on the sides of his head that are sticking out in sleep-ruffled glory.

He tastes the sleep on the roof of his dry mouth & yawns. His thin lips retreat to show sturdy fangs of dark zirconium & his pointed purple tongue with its own mark where a piercing will go.

'Big yawn.' Andea muses at the wide open maw inches from her face.

Aether squints at her once more before pouting & deciding arbitrarily it was too early, he buries his head back into her chest. She slaps his shoulder only to hear a grumble & have his arms tighten under her.

She wasn't complaining, of course, never had someone so intent on staying with her, but she knew he would keep them like this until someone is sent in to pry them apart. Andea had only just been able to look Custos Eulogy in the eyes again.

"C'mon big cat, I want breakfast." She tries.

A long pause follows before an eventual huff of agreement. Gradually Aether unfurls from around her, pulling himself up onto his forearms he leans up to kiss his mate good morning. She reciprocates & he has to shake off the desire to monopolise her time for just an hour more. His sleep-addled mind comes up with an idea.

Andea tries to sit up with him only for Aether to push her back down. He kisses her forehead one last time before dressing himself. Smiling at her confused expression he gathers just enough clothes to not be given another penalty on the whiteboard. Satisfied with his booty shorts & t-shirt he nods.

"Breakfast!" He points to Andea, who'd given up on guessing his train of thought, & walks out the room.

He did indeed get a penalty, not for his clothes, but for the crimes he committed in the kitchen to bring Andea breakfast in bed.

#the band ghost #the band ghost oc #mushy may #aether ghoul x oc