#CAPABILITIES MIXTAPE

[gaywineauntsstuff]

Every single member of the Batfamily lies about their taste in music

Damian will claim that he only listens to classical music and that everything else is beneath him.

Damian will unironically listen to trashy Arab pop and the absolute worst Bollywood songs known to man (Dick introduced him to them and he hates the fact that sometimes he gets Sheila Ki Jawani stuck in his head during missions)

Tim will put on the most ear grating hyper pop you've ever heard and claim with full chest that these is the peak of humanities capabilities with music (Damian, Jason and Steph have all tried to kill him for this take) He will also play stuff like the living tombstones and sing it obnoxiously loud when he's working on the computer.

Tim however loves his 90s grunge and it's all that's playing in his headphones. (think nirvana, pearl Jam, Melvins, Alice in Chains etc) He has tracked down so many shirts and concert posters and watched every bit of content from the older shows.

Jason will claim he only listens to east coast rap, biggie, Nas, Jay etc and maybe some older metal. He will fight you on east vs west coast music, there will be weaponry involved.

Jason likes rap music... he unfortunately prefers west coast rap and has listened to no vaseline like 500 times. He will deny this till the day he dies...again. (Dick knows and threatens to tell Steph)

Steph will steal the aux and play Taylor Swifts greatest hits until one of the Boys threatens mutiny. Every single one of the bats has had style stuck in their heads during a stakeout at least twice. She will claim that the only rap song she can tolerate in Eminem and the 7/11 is Beyoncés best song.

Steph is an underground fan, think the dude selling mixtapes on the subway type shit. She also unlike Jason genuinely loves East Coast Rap music more than anything and knows every single wu-tang clan song by heart, same with Biggie. Not only does she love the music she also spends any free time binging those "history of rap and its consequences" videos and has been a firm believer that P.Diddy had a hand in a lot of the Death row records well...deaths.

Cass, well everyone thinks Cass has really good taste bc its Cass and she has zero flaws (don't @ me) she never takes the aux and will usually listen to her music while she's chilling or doing stretches. None of them have heard or seen a single one of her playlists except Duke.

its all 2010s top 40s pop music and like the trashy kind too, Beauty and the Beat, Kesha, Katy Perry. It's her turning of her brain time and she will be straight vibing to Rude! by magic or Boom Clap or Shower. she has shown this to Duke, smirked and told him that even if he tried to tell anyone they wouldn't believe him.

Duke is the only one who doesn't... lie. He just hides a few things. Lies of omission don't count as lies when the bats will lie to you about what they had for breakfast, while they are visibly eating breakfast. Duke says he listens to everything and he does. Literally everything. His patrol Jam is offensive bc it with start with Norwegian death metal and immediately switches to "like a G6" followed by kendrick Lamar and then descendants Disney channel movie music.

Bruce... Bruce is just weird, everyone asks him and gets a different answer. Bc he doesn't... like music. Like at all. It's all noise, his mother played instruments so he learned like 14 and he hates how they all sound. He just like vague batwings fluttering in dead silence.

Dick Grayson will obnoxiously play top 40 and radio music religiously around the bats. He claims it's the best music for rhythmic acrobatics and trapeze work and that true! Jason hates this kind of music the most, it's formulaic and holds no substance and drives him insane.

But Dick only listens to that music when he's moving, flipping doing high energy stuff. When he just wants to chill? This man has the most depressing music taste you've ever seen. You know that sad song from ur favorite artist that you can't listen to without crying. Yeah that's his bread and butter. Every single song is just flat out tear inducing, some of these bands have like 100 listeners and he is one of them and it's just their saddest song that reads like suicide note. The titans have conducted an intervention bc its just... concerning. He just thinks it's neat!

[byhees]

when you accidentally hurt yourself.

엔하이픈 ・ female reader + word count 600 genre fluff established relationship non-idol au warnings not proof-read skinship kissing petnames mention of injuries, cuts — more

a/n. requested!

heeseung would be so incredibly sweet; the way he’d tend to your injuries with such gentle touches— “you alright, baby?” he’d ask, looking up to meet your gaze, his hands in the midst of bandaging the cut on your knee; would raise a hand to softly wipe away fallen tears, planting a pretty kiss on your lips to make you feel all better…

jay would, initially, begin nagging at you; although there’s a furrow painted on his features, the soft look in his eyes doesn't fail to show his care and concern— “baby... didn’t i tell you before that it’d be dangerous?” he’d lightly chide, tending to the wound on your leg with soft caution; wouldn’t tear his gaze from you, worry-filled eyes watching as you carry out daily tasks with a limp— would offer his help in a heartbeat…

jake would be so soft; doesn’t hesitate to rush to your side, an arm swiftly wrapping around your build to steady and support your bodyweight— his first priority would definitely be your comfort; wouldn’t wait a mere millisecond to carry you in his arms, resting you at a bench nearby; “oh gosh... did you sprain your ankle? do you think you're still able to walk?” he’d ask, though it seems natural to him that he piggyback you back home, no matter the answer; would press sweet kisses all over your face as consolation…

sunghoon would be so meticulous, despite the injury being a small cut on your finger; “is this okay, baby? or does it hurt a lot?” he’d check in with you almost minutely, pure concern clouding his eyes— and when you’d reply with a little giggle, he’d only shoot his gaze towards your direction, lips curling downwards in a small frown; “what's so funny?” he’d ask, lips puckering in a tiny pout; ‘charming’ would be a better word, you think— especially when he’s carefully angling a huge bandaid over your little paper-cut…

sunoo would be gentle beyond the capabilities of words; the way he’d softly gaze up at you, slipping a small “this will hurt a little”, before lightly dabbing the cut with a disinfecting wipe; would probably pick out the cutest bandaid for you. “be careful, okay? it hurts to see you in pain,” he’d add, lightly ruffling the top of your head with adoration brimming from his gaze…

jungwon would, unexpectedly, be really serious; if it were to be concerning any other thing, he’d probably be more lighthearted— your health and safety, however? that tops the list of importance; doesn’t waste another second to dash over, one knee to the ground as he examines the gaping wound on your leg; although his brows dig deeply into his skin, a disgruntled expression glued onto his face, he’d try his best to make his concern less obvious, not wanting you to worry. “c’mon baby, i’ll carry you on the way back— it’s no biggie,” he’d add, flashing a sweet smile towards your direction…

riki would be so worried; one second you two were jokingly fooling around, the next you were laying on the ground, a pained expression tugging on your features— would immediately drop everything and anything just to check up on you; would be so tender, yet cautious, not wanting to be the one inflicting pain on you— “is this okay for you? let me know if it gets uncomfortable”, he’d softly say, tending to the cut on your leg with pure gentleness; “gosh.. you’re so clumsy, baby”, he’d lightly chide, shaking his head in soft disbelief— best believe that he’d spoil you with affection and tons of kisses throughout your recovery…

taglist open! @halcyoni-ki @wondipity @yjjungwon @shysakuno @niktwazny303 @vnsux @minhosify @haechansbbg @yeomha @stepout-09-15 @chansburgah @sona-verse01 @lilly-bubblelops @smouches @mrchweeee @luvistqrzzz @nwjws @ibsysbsfsunsbs @rikisly @amyysfics @mixtape-racha @berry-and-kkami @rikislady @gweoriz @czlluvriki @okwonyo @okwons networks! @kflixnet @enhanet @k-labels

[lovings4turn]

જ⁀➴  𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐊  . . .  (𝐑. 𝐋.)

— you're constantly reminding remus how pretty he is. but there's one place you think he looks the prettiest: between your thighs

+ contains smut, oral (f!recieving), praise

+ part of my 'be my valentine' mixtape series !

pretty.

that was the first word that popped into your head when you thought of remus. of course there were others. thoughtful, charming, funny, the list went on.

but pretty always screamed out at you, a neon sign flickering in the dark streets of your mind. especially in moments like these.

remus’ head was buried in between your thighs, large, calloused hands gripping your ankles to prevent you from closing your legs and restricting his access to your dripping cunt.

whines fell from your bitten lips as he teased you, gently nipping at the plush of your thigh before soothing the area with placating lick.

overwhelming desire consumed you, yet when he looked up at you, it was like your mind turned to mush.

“pretty.”

it slipped out of its own accord, the syrupy affection that laced the word coating you both in the sweet haze.

remus hummed into the skin of your thigh, shooting you a lazy grin. his hair was an absolute mess, thanks to your hands never leaving the strands for more than two minutes at a time.

“talking about y’self there, darling,” remus responded, voice thick and low.

a soft kiss was pressed to your clit to punctuate his sentence, and remus chuckled as you involuntarily bucked your hips to chase the feeling.

remus was far stronger than you, but when he pushed your thighs further apart, held them tighter to stop you from moving, it was gentle.

you’d mentioned it to him before, how he always seemed to treat you more delicately than you knew he was capable of. remus had only shrugged, saying he was gentle when he wanted to be. he was gentle with important things. with you.

even now, when he was practically devouring you, his movements were soft and calculated, careful not to grip your thighs hard enough to bruise.

his chin glistened with your slick as though he was a starved animal, primal insticts taking over as lapped eagerly at your core and moaned into you at the taste.

your hands found his hair once more, returning to their rightful place at the base of his scalp as you pulled him impossibly closer, movements fuelled by want and want alone.

remus, as always when it came to you, complied and flattened his tongue.

his tongue delivered a broad lick along your folds before he sucked at your clit with an intensity he’d reserved for when you inevitably begged him for more.

lost in an attack of pleasure, your fuzzy head could only grasp at one thing.

“mm, pretty.”

[starlightsearches]

Hi Star! Huge congratulations on your 2k milestone - it is so well deserved!!

Could I possibly get "Let's Hear it for the Boy" with our beloved ginger general?

Thank you so much and congrats again!!

Drunk / In Love

Track 3: Let's Hear It for the Boy by Deniece Williams - Give me a character and I'll write a short blurb or headcanons on how they would want you to show them that you love them. 

General Hux x F! Reader / 📼 ✨ mixtape milestone ✨ 📼

Thanks for the request, my love! Sorry it took me so long!

The idiots from these two stories are back again. Sorry I'm obsessed with them (I'm not sorry at all). Warnings for some minor sexual content and weird consent issues!

Phasma said you were drunk.

What she failed to mention was how—how drunk you were, or how you ended up that way. It was only supposed to be a friendly dinner when Hux first suggested it (and didn't stop suggesting it until Phasma finally gave in).

He thought if you made connections here—even just one—that it might make you more comfortable being with him on this ship, and so far from anything familiar.

Although this might be too familiar.

He reaches the door to Phasma's quarters and they glide open automatically, programmed to recognize his approach. He sees Phasma seated at the table, out of uniform, a smirk playing on her wine-stained mouth.

Armitage is not prepared for the dark flash in his peripherals, or the arms around his neck.

Your embrace frightens him, and that alone is enough to leave him feeling hot, stomach swimming, even when he recognizes your touch on instinct. It has him weak at the knees, just this, has his heart in his throat as all the alarm and panic well up inside him, threatening to spill out.

Then your lips meet his. 

There's been a handful of almost-affectionate moments shared between you. The brush of your hand as you wished him goodbye one morning. A kiss on the cheek that missed its target, landing at the edge of his lips.

But nothing like this.

Hux can feel your mouth shift against his, lips turning up at the corners, and the little laugh that passes through them—maybe at the way his hands hang limply at his sides, or the crop of perspiration blooming at his collar from the warmth of your skin, the smell of you. He can't make himself kiss you back, although he wants to.

He really, really wants to.

There's no malice in your eyes when you pull away—Armitage doesn't think you're capable of malice. You smile at him sweetly, taking his hands in both of yours.

"I missed you," you tell him, each word bleeding into the next, eyes half-lidded and hazy from whatever you'd been drinking, "did you miss me?"

"I- uh, yes," he answers—unavoidably honest—his eyes flitting towards Phasma, who's so pleased with herself it practically drips from her, hanging heavier on her shoulders than the armour she usually wears.

A hot anger floods through his stomach, spiked with acrid shame. He doesn’t need any witnesses to his inept attempts at marriage.

Your smile widens, every facet of you bursting with delight knowing that he’s missed you in the hours since you last spoke his name, and then he’s back in your embrace, the sound of sweet laughter in his ear. 

He reaches out for something to brace himself on, and finds nothing. It takes everything in him to keep standing. 

Armitage peels your arms from around his neck, putting a desperate inch of distance between himself and the press of your body. 

"Why don't we let the captain get some rest?" he asks.

Your enthusiasm at the suggestion turns his stomach into knots.

He's able to usher you through the empty halls at a speed just short of a jog, one hand at your waist to keep you from stumbling, and the other wrapped firmly around your wrist to stop any further attempts at touching him.

And, though he can’t puzzle it out just yet—with the warmth of you still against him—he knows something is wrong with you. Something that wine alone could not bring on.

Armitage knows you don’t want him. Not like this. 

Yet you practically drag him through the doors of your quarters, mouth planted against his before the mechanical lock whirs into place. 

All the desire in him makes him sick—feverish and weak. His body shudders against yours, nerves trying to break through skin at the gentleness of your touch.

“Armitage,” you whine, pouty in a way he’s never heard before—always so polite and obliging when you’re sober, “kiss me back.”

He couldn’t refuse you, even if he wanted to, even though he knows it would be better for both of you—knows the way this memory will torture him endlessly, until the moment he dies. Maybe long after that. 

But still, he cups your face in shaking hands, and presses his uncertain lips to yours.

And it’s nothing like all the times he’s thought about this—about taking you, feeling the warmth of your breath mingling with his own, pulling you tight against him with his arm at your waist and kissing, kissing, kissing you, until he tires of the feeling, until he rids himself of all his hideous need to be loved and to be wanted. 

It’s nothing like he imagined because he’s terrified. Because he can’t manage to move the ways he wants to, tripping over his feet when you stumble deeper into his chambers. Because his stomach roils at the feel of your tongue against his stubbornly closed mouth, and his arms shake with the need to move, but his hands stay where he placed them, holding hard enough to bruise, pulling you closer with enough force that part of him wonders if he’s hurting you. 

And still, your mouth on his, your wandering, eager hands. 

The room spins; Armitage’s reason leaves him when his feet lift from the floor, your body underneath him, and below that the cushion of his bed molding you together.

Still kissing. Still you. Your hand, guiding his down the thrumming pulse of your neck, lower. Lower.

Armitage is on the other side of the bed before the thought of how wrong what he has done truly registers, his feet planted and one hand pushing back the fallen strands of his hair.

 “Armitage?”

He curses the day you learned his name, curses the ill, vile part of him that wants to go back. 

He clears his throat and finds it doesn’t steady him at all. 

“You- you should get some rest, I think.”

Your movements are clumsy as you crawl to him on your knees, fighting against the thick bedspread and the fabric of your skirt. There’s a little huff on your lips when you reach him, eyes big and wide and brimming with glistening tears. 

“Why don’t you want me?” you whisper, and tears well up to their breaking point, slipping down your cheeks.

Fuck. He wants to touch you, and knows it’s a terrible idea, palms aching beneath the leather he wears and hates—now more than ever when it keeps him from you. His hand reaches out against his will, hovering just out of reach of your skin and the tears he can’t manage to wipe away because, once again, he is the cause of all your suffering. 

 “You’re- you’re drunk, darling. You’ll feel better if you just-”

“No,” you tell him, pushing his hand away with your own, “why don’t you want me ever?”

Oh, gods. Armitage recoils like you’ve slapped him, the sting of those words and what they mean destroying everything—every moment he’s agonized over since he first saw you and knew you had to be his. 

“You . . . you can’t possibly believe that.” 

You nod your head, fists curled at your sides petulantly, and your stubbornness would make him laugh, if it weren’t so sad.

“I do,” he whispers, then swallows, reaching for your hand. You let him take it. It gives him something to look at, watching your elegant fingers intertwine with his. “I do, but I—”

How much of this will you remember? Even now, the idea of revealing this soft, vulnerable part of him strikes fear into his very core, has him wishing he could run, wishing he could escape the way your eyes flay him wide open.

Your hand against his chest, he can feel his own heartbeat meet the shapes of your fingertips, molding to you. Armitage meets your gaze, and as frightening as it is, there’s no part of him that could deny how deeply he craves it.

“Please forgive me,” he stutters, and there aren't words for him to explain everything he needs to, just the truth. “I am—oh, gods—I am a ruinous man.” 

He watches you, the muscles working in your jaw, the way your brows pull together, examining him, weighing the assessment of himself that he’s offered to you. 

“No,” you tell him, “no you’re not.”

He thinks you might kiss him again, as close as you are. Close enough for him to count each of your lashes, map the constellations you’ve hidden in your eyes. 

You drop to the mattress instead, and the look you give him has him holding back a laugh, the mix of stubbornness and grudging deference that has Armitage wondering how hard it’s been for you to play at obedience in your union.

“You should change,” he tells you, just resting on the edge of the bed, “you’ll be more comfortable.”

It’s easier to talk to you when you’re like this. It has Armitage feeling like he’s the one intoxicated, and he is, in a way. Because what if this is your most honest self? 

He didn’t think you could make him love you any deeper, but you’ve managed. 

“Don’t care,” you mumble into the pillows, trying to brush him away with a waving hand. He takes it in his own.

“You’ll ruin your dress.” 

There’s a look of intense focus on your face, and he wonders if you’ll refuse again. Maybe you don’t care about the dress either, although Armitage would be disappointed. It’s one of his favorites from your incredibly extensive wardrobe—a beautiful black and cream confection that always catches his eye.

But you shift instead, turning to look up at him. “Kiss me.”

Stars, not again. Not now, when the weakest parts of him are so palpable. “I- I don’t-”

You flop into a sitting position, hold a single finger up between your faces.

“One kiss,” you concede, “okay?”

He nods, despite himself. You wait patiently for his approach, still and hardly breathing through your parted lips as he slides closer. Armitage keeps his eyes open, and so do you, heavy as they are, watching the distance between your faces fade into nothing.

It’s not like the other times he’s kissed you, although all but one had happened only a few moments ago. You let him set the pace, his lips just barely brushing your own, a sigh bubbling up from deep inside his lungs. He can only offer a little more pressure before he’s lightheaded again, little bursts of light dancing across his vision.

He pulls back from what could hardly be called a kiss, and waits for your disappointment, for your insistence that he try again, that there must be something more, or better, that he’s kept from you. 

Armitage doesn’t want you to know that there’s nothing else to hope for. 

You don’t say a word about it though. Just flop your arms out in front of you, waiting, satisfied in your demands.

“Help me.”

And it passes like that, with more bribes in the form of barely-there presses of his lips to yours—a kiss for you to raise your arms as he slips something soft and oversized over your head, a kiss for you to clumsily remove the dress from underneath. A kiss to get you to leave him for a moment while he changed into his own night clothes after you’d begged and begged for him to spend the night beside you, and a kiss upon his return.

It feels like a lifetime of kisses to Armitage. He doesn’t know what that number would be for anyone else, but you’ve certainly exceeded it for him. He could die in his sleep tonight and have more than he ever deserved. 

And now you’re curled up beside him a hand at his waist, your head on his chest. Armitage breathes, but only barely, hoping he won’t wake you. 

The tension drains from him, his body the closest it’s been to relaxed in ages. He wonders if he should ask Phasma to invite you to dinner again.

He hopes the next time he kisses you, you'll be sober enough to remember it.

[tomorrowxtogether]

YEONJUN CELEBRATES HIS SOLO DEBUT WITH SOME NEW PHOTOS — EXCLUSIVE

After selling out dual nights at Madison Square Garden and becoming the first K-pop boy band to headline Lollapalooza, TOMORROW X TOGETHER member Yeonjun is stepping out on his own. With “GGUM” — the eponymous song on his first solo mixtape, out now — the Gen-Z It guy embarks on a simple mission: deliver a bop we can’t get out of our heads.

The hip-hop-heavy track is a worthwhile answer to the massive hype surrounding Yeonjun’s debut as the eldest member of one of K-pop’s most captivating global outfits and the first to go solo. From its opening syncopated beats, “GGUM” revs up and never stops, blending electro sounds and modulated vocals into a tune that skillfully evokes its addictive and chewy namesake. Even the song’s earworm of a chorus — “GGUM / Chomp chomp” — is delivered with a wink, like he already knows it’s stuck in your brain.

While gnawing on bubble gum can feel tedious, the intricate production sounds effortless, thanks to Yeonjun’s cool and carefree performance. (“Even if my jaw locks, I’ll keep it pop and blow,” he assures us.) The track’s biggest swings — a suspenseful piano riff in the refrain and confident lines sung in Korean like “Blow and spit out a banger” — feel smooth, sleek, and ahead of the curve in his capable hands. Clearly, Yeonjun has been preparing for this moment; the lyrics document a journey that began by dreaming in his “little room” and culminates in him refreshing “your stale vibe with my taste.”

From start to finish, the song and its strong, digital-camera-styled visual are bold. With striking red hair, Yeonjun crashes a radio station, struts down the street, and naturally tries to unstick his shoe from gum on the floor. And while performing the video’s impeccably sharp and audacious choreography (which the 25-year-old recently challenged fans to attempt on TikTok), he dances as if his only goal is to keep one-upping himself.

“GGUM” is our first proper taste of Yeonjun’s artistic identity as a solo act outside of TXT. Still, he’s already laid the groundwork for forthcoming tunes showcasing his capabilities as a cutting-edge, genre-spanning, and daring act — with plenty for us to chew on.

Below, Yeonjun shares more never-before-seen pics to celebrate his debut solo mixtape.

[billyhargrove-s]

I Was Made For Lovin' You

MASTERLIST

a/n: I did say I missed writing for Billy, so heres a little bit of a project I've had an idea for

warnings: mentions of underaged drinking, alcohol, light allusions to sex, i think thats it? lmk if I missed anything please :))

relationship: billy x reader

word count:1.6k

mini-series : Billy's Mixtape

___________________________________________________________

It’s subtle.

The way his eyes find yours within seconds of the song beginning to play. You’re across the house from him, where he stands in the living room while a girl tries her best to show him that she’s better than you, and you stand in the kitchen hiding a laugh at the sight as you talk with your girlfriends. 

You know he’s yours, you’re not insecure about your relationship whatsoever. The two of you have something special, a deeper connection than surface level sex; something that a lot of people think is the only thing he’s capable of. To everyone else, he’s a mystery. That’s why so many find him so damn desirable. They don’t know what under those crystal blue eyes, and the golden curls you love so much. You didn’t think you believed in fate, not until you met him. When you met him it was like everything clicked into place. You knew he was your soulmate, and he realized that one night at a party much like this when he pulled you into the master bathroom that most certainly belonged to the parents of whoevers house you were in. Most people assumed Billy was doing what Billy did best, seducing you to get into your pants. Just another one night stand and broken hearted being thinking they’d be the one to change them. 

You really did though. That night you sat in the overly large bathtub together, sharing a bottle of wine that you were drinking straight from the bottle. You shared drunken, sloppy kisses and tears and everything in between. Laughing at how quickly you both had made the other fall apart. When you spilled wine down the front of your shirt, Billy didn’t hesitate to give you his leather jacket, wrapping it around your shoulders tightly. You had grinned at him, pulling him in for a hug as you offered him the last sip of wine. 

There’s easily a hundred people crowded into this house, sweaty bodies all brushing up against each other. Yet somehow, he’s the only one you notice. The only one that matters really. You notice the way his lips barely curl up into a smile, knowing it was for you and your eyes only and you send one back his way. The girl talking to him notices he’s no longer paying a lick of attention to her and stares at you in disgust.  His lips are forming a grin before you know it and he’s beginning to dance his way over to you. 

You send him a wink and turn back to your friends, excusing yourself from the conversation to meet him in the middle of the room as the lyrics play. 

Tonight… I want to give it all to you. 

Billy grabs your waist, pulling you against him in an instant. A mischievous grin laces your lips as you pull his face in for a kiss. Your cheeks are hot, and so is the alcohol that was running through your system. Your forehead has frizzy hair clinging to it with sweat. The pair of you are drunken kisses and fumbling hands in the middle of the room. Not a care in the world regarding the people surrounding you both. 

His curls are equally as frizzy and damp. The amount of bodies shoving against each other in this living room has made the house ten times hotter than it was when you first arrived together. You feel the smile on his lips as he pulls away from yours. The lyrics of the song continue on and on. You might even consider this to be your song. 

“Hello there sweetheart.” He whispers against your forehead. You barely hear him, your heart is pounding to the beat of the music. His leather jacket is layered over a button up that shows his tanned chest, and you look at him with so much love in your eyes. 

“Hi baby.” You whisper back as the two of you sway to the rhythm. He holds you close, and you can feel the girl from before glaring daggers into your back. You pay her no mind though, Billy has always been yours; through thick and thin. Nothing that her pathetic attempt to get in his pants could change that. Billy is swaying his hips with yours to the beat, roaming his hands on your arms, your waist, your back. Anywhere that he can reach really.

I was made for loving you baby. You were made for loving me. 

 “I missed you.” You said, slinging your arms around the back of his neck and pulling him as close as possible. His breath is hot and heavy, but you don’t mind one bit.

“Well why didn’t you come and get me?” He asks, a laugh erupting from his belly. You take one of his golden curls and brush it back behind his ear, letting your hand rest on his face. Your thumb grazes his soft cheeks, and he looks at you with wicked blue eyes. 

“Thought I might let Connie try to live out her wet fantasies. Help a girl out, you know?” You say mischievously. His laugh is like music to your ears as he grabs your hand, lifting it above your head to make you spin. “Besides, I’m here now. I knew it wouldn’t be long until you found me.” 

“Come on baby, you know you’re the only one I want.” He says, leaning down to kiss you once more, lingering above your lips as he pulls away. You're both giggling and tipsy as he throws an arm around your shoulder, guiding you off of the dance floor and back to the side of the room he was in. 

Cause girl I was made for you…

He takes a sip from the beer bottle in his hand, throwing his head back as he does. Drops of the liquid roll down his chin as he looks back at you, you're practically glued to his side now. You’ve had enough time away from him. That was how your nights usually went at these parties. You’d spend the beginning with your respective friend groups before eventually finding yourself clinging to each other. Acting like you were each other's lifeline. In some ways, you supposed you were. He offers you his beer bottle, which you gladly take finishing it off and putting it on an overflowing end table

Things had changed severely at Hawkins when the two of you became public news. No one could understand why the two of you seemed to work. Or even why the two of you seemed to be one of the longest lasting couples. 

Maybe it was because of moments like these, when the two of you remembered how the other felt like the final piece in a puzzle, the one that made the other complete. Feeling like you two were the only people in a room full of a hundred.

You loved him, loved him with every fiber of your being. There was no doubt that he was the love of your life, and he felt the same. You were his safe place, the person he found security in. The one that he wanted to build a future with, and the one that made him want to be better. 

Together, you picked up the broken pieces of each other. After every single fight with his father, you were there, ready to put back together the broken boy. And even when you were at your worst, Billy was there to remind you he loved you. Every step of the way.

“Want another round?” You asked him as the two of you maneuvered around the crowd and to the back patio.

“Stay right here, I’ll go grab us one.” Billy said, pressing a kiss against your forehead and trailing his fingertips on your palm until he was just out of reach. 

And girl you were made for me…

As he made his way back, you took the neck of the beer bottle from his hand, making it spill down the front of your shirt much like the night you realized you were destined to be with him. Just like that night, he laughed and quickly threw his leather jacket around your shoulders, pulling you close into his chest. 

His raspy voice echoes the song lyrics into your ears. You grin, knowing you’re the only one that will ever get to experience him in this way. Beyond the sexual encounters, is the Billy you know. The Billy that holds you tight and whispers sweet nothings into your ears. Your best friend, the one you call home, the love of your life. 

“I love you.” He whispers into your ear. He’s not shy about it anymore. Not since the two of you realized you both were the best thing to ever happen to the other. He feels lucky that he found you so soon, that some day soon you’ll get to spend the rest of your life together. That after graduation you’d both move out of your shitty living situations and move far from Hawkins. He holds you closer as you sway your hips to the beat. 

“I was made for loving you baby.” You grin, singing the lyrics to him as the song begins to fade out, and you remember that he’s your soulmate, and nothing will ever change that fact. 

He pulls you even closer at that, pressing another drunk sloppy kiss against your lips. Once more making it feel like it’s just the two of you in that room that is packed full of teenagers. Some are jealous of him, some are jealous of you. They could remain jealous though, for all you cared;

You were made for loving me.

[gxbtx]

The CHROMAKOPIA Album Review

The project begins with the track “St. Chroma,” laying foundations of his ingenuity by marching along to his whispered anthem of vanity. Like soldiers, he’s leading us into the unknown as a sergeant character using Daniel Ceaser’s returned angelic vocals to lure us into CHROMAKOPIA. Tyler (T) reels us in with the fire, getting us ready for what is to come; the metaphorical light instilled from what seems to be his mother shows us the sprightly source of creativity continuing to fuel him. The bridge ascends to a drop, and T explodes all expectations of what we think this album will be. He sets out the idea of the doubts that begs him the question of: “Do I keep the light on or do I gracefully bow out?” Introducing the term “CHROMAKOPIA,” it seems to me that the album is to dive into all the new challenges in his life, using the lessons from back home to put into perspective what his mother would say. To me, CHROMAKOPIA is the name of a thematic representation of where the chromatic roots of T’s musicianship began: his mother. 

Credit; St. Chroma music video by Tyler, The Creator

Projects prior to the 2024 release brought decade-defining sounds to and throughout the years of the pandemic. Tyler’s chutzpah has brought him up to continuously get better and better with each release, developing a new thematic persona for each new project. Flower Boy in 2017 reversed his offensive nature (prevalent in his early upbringings on the adolescent internet), transforming people’s perceptions of his capabilities to prove what he set out to accomplish years in advance. IGOR in 2019 was an experimental mix of R&B, soul, and some rap, using chords to amplify the sounds of Flower Boy that turned out to become a Grammy-winning success. Call Me If You Get Lost was the braggadocious Gangsta Grillz mixtape that Tyler had mentioned wanting to do since childhood, introducing the elements of hip-hop that heavily inspired him to his large audience. Tyler was on top of the world after COVID, and has not seen any decline since.

So to no surprise, teasers of CHROMAKOPIA brought a climactic moment of pure-excitement, one that fans had been building up for years. The unexpected timing and punctual nature of Tyler's album cycle this time around created a buzz around the Halloween season release, with teasers revealing a sergeant costume and a mask. T then reversed the expectation and overall theme of his album in espionage, however, using his masterful ability to get the listeners to hear what he actually wanted to say. T uses the demanding spotlight to show the consequences of fame in this hyper-digitalized age of the internet. Seen in the clever pick of the single, “Noid,” T introduces the distressing paranoia that his level of fame has induced. To an extent, his experience as one of the biggest stars of this decade has left him with a decommitment to his fans as he is left paranoid living in his home of Los Angeles. The mask seemingly represents his public persona from his music, which is so closely tied to him as an individual to the point that he is recognized anywhere he goes. T’s impressive abilities to demand the attention of the listeners seems to be a double-edged sword, with it also being the biggest drawback of his fame. 

Credit; Noid music video by Tyler, The Creator

Although Tyler begins to become more candid, this does not slow down his ability to RAP. He follows “St. Chroma” with “Rah Tah Tah,” bringing new confidence to the playlists in 2024. Tyler adds his classic dawg growls with these clicking sounds that make me think of shells, bringing us back to his early Odd Future era of music. Shouting out Kenny at the end of the track, T shows the LA love by sharing the energy of the spirited revival of hip hop in his city over the summer. He extends this wave of tenacity with features of GloRilla, Sexyy Red, and Lil Wayne on “Sticky,” displaying the dexterity of his production skills. T borrows elements explored this year by Pharrell Williams with drill team instruments, like the loud trumpets heard after Wayne’s verse–Tyler compliments the best features of each artist using the production to bring weight to each of the brief verses. “Thought I Was Dead” supplemented a great showcase of SchoolBoyQ, and served as a notable teaser to the album days prior to show the rap-heavy album this was going to be. “Balloon” features the new and breathtaking talent, Doechii, with a prolonged verse stimulating an impressive word play and animated personality. Even in all of these features, T is rapping his ass off to remind you whose project these tracks belong to.

This project’s capabilities are not limited to just his hyped-up raps and sounds of driller beats; more so than his previous projects, CHROMAKOPIA dives into themes of vulnerability and introspection. Sitting at age 30, time has become a struggle that is glaringly applicable to many of the topics Tyler dives into. In “Hey Jane,” T reveals a surprising mistake, leading to a conversation with a woman about an unplanned pregnancy. T’s worries and thoughts about becoming a father, especially so soon in his career, sheds light on the sides of his life that he deems unfit for a child to see. It seems that the relationship between the two is relatively healthy, as T’s lyrics in both parts of the conversation pose a mutual understanding and respect for each others’ emotions. It’s later revealed that Tyler’s mother is very keen on the thought of a grandchild, seen in the apprehensive, string-heavy “Tomorrow.” The pressure regarding the topic of fatherhood is represented through the repeated phrase “Give it up!” when his mother is talking about her desires for a grandchild, showing us the role times plays on the other side of parenthood. This same phrase is found in the track that follows “Hey Jane,” named “I Killed You,” a continued display of the pressure T feels: his apprehensiveness towards parenthood seems to come from the feeling of obligation to have a child, but the unfit environment that makes it a difficult reality to imagine. The crass nature of the song in the beginning is reminiscent of some of his earlier projects from Goblin and WOLF, bringing a dark and twisted tone to the topic of abortion. His justifications align with the aforementioned negative side effects of fame—like his paranoia—and T’s overall self-proclaimed “selfish” lifestyle. The bridge, however, falls into a more Flower Boy-esque sound, as T touches on the inherently pure, innocent form of beauty that the child would represent; the delicate nature of the child is at such a high risk thanks to the drawbacks of his fame. His tug-o-war between the life and the endangered innocence of the child represents the surface level justifications towards an abortion, but perhaps this talk of fatherhood displays a larger reflection of T’s character.

The irritants of Tyler’s world are brought about in “Take Your Mask Off,” dissing the fraudulence he observes in religion, family, and musicianship. Toward the end of the track, however, it seems he aims his shots towards himself after his mother’s reminded lesson of “Keep that sh*t one hundred with you, with yourself.” T then proceeds to take his own mask off, insulting his own excessive lifestyle, as well as his business endeavors that feel shallow or hypocritical—with the majority of his income coming from clothing purchases from an audience that’s not fully tapped into his music. He insinuates that he has lost touch with the mass-appeal audience he’s culminated over his career, reflecting on the fact that his musicianship is not recognized to the extent he geeks about. He also mentions his selfish nature in specific regard to his lustful desires, challenging himself with the idea of therapy, and to get to the bottom of why he really doesn’t want to be a parent. His lack of commitment in relationships is specifically showcased in “Darling, I,” with the upbeat R&B sound enhanced by Teezo’s exclusive vocals. In this song, he reveals how his lack of monogamy and greedy desires have potentially become obsolete or immature for his age, leaving him at a crossroads. Revisiting the themes of “Tomorrow,” the dissonance of the sounds come to show the uncertainty of whether it is time to change his ways, or if he should continue down the path that seems to have left him slightly unfulfilled. Similar to how Kendrick Lamar peeled the entire banana of his own discontentment and struggle in Mr. Morale and the Big Steppers, it seems as so Tyler, The Creator is starting to peel back a few layers of his own.

Tyler starts to end his project with a yearning for his father who was never there. He comes to ask his mother to be honest about his father’s absence, as his aforementioned struggles with fatherhood could align with his idea of why his father wasn’t there for him. I really enjoy the falsetto melody accompanied by Lola Young over the eager guitar solos, leading up to an eargasm bridge that is a lovely, bittersweet expression of longing. The conversation leads T to wonder why he is thinking about his father when he’s received all the love, support, and accolade he could’ve ever wanted from both his mother and the world. The ending of the song is an explanation from his mother as to why his father wasn’t there, bringing a sense of closure alongside the admission of her mistakes, in a beautiful way that brings tears to the eyes. The following track, “Balloon,” goes on to be one of the most positive and uplifting songs I’ve ever heard from Tyler, easily becoming one of my top songs of the year. This track brings the album to a satisfying close, as the self-reliance and self-confidence bring a more positive perspective to the unsure, somewhat dark feelings explored prior. 

Tyler popping a balloon in the studio with Teezo Touchdown. Credit; "Mask is Off: CHROMAKOPIA" from Tyler, The Creator on Youtube

Tyler’s ending track, “I Hope You Find Your Way Home,” wraps up the project by summarizing the feelings discussed throughout all the songs. He comes to answer the questions he poses throughout the album with confidence, even if in a somewhat impermanent way. The journey back home to "CHROMAKOPIA" guided him through his strife, using lessons from his mother to prompt both the sources and solutions. This project doesn’t seem to be a representation of a thematic character he’s usually creates alongside the music, but rather is him taking off the mask to reveal his truly vulnerable self to the world. All of his struggles that coincide with being a cultural influence show that even he is not perfect; and, with coming to terms with that, Tyler culminates a musical experience that drives you throughout his own personal self-reflection. CHROMAKOPIA is the complex inner-workings and trials of not only Tyler’s sergeant character leading the listeners to the next best phenomenon in music, but of Tyler himself–listeners are shown a real reflection and assessment of his character, humanizing one of the decades’ most committed entertainers.

To see this project as part of my RadioUTD organization, visit

[bubblesandgutz]

Every Record I Own - Day 824: Shellac At Action Park

I'm still wrapping my head around the news that Steve Albini is no longer with us.

I first heard Big Black on a mixtape my friend made me back in 1992. The song was "Jordan Minnesota." It was mean and ferocious and sounded like nothing else I'd heard before. I went out and bought the Hammer Party CD that compiled their earliest EPs soon after. It was a tough listen, but as was so often the case in those pre-internet / teenage years of the early '90s, if you plunked down your allowance money on a CD of "difficult" music, you didn't give up on it after a cursory listen. I stuck with it until those "difficult" songs eventually became anthems of teenage alienation.

There was another interesting angle to the Hammer Party CD: there were extensive liner notes that outlined the band's operating strategy. They were a DIY band uninterested in the music business. They were principled. They were nerdy, unassuming looking people. But the music they made was scarier than any metal band.

Big Black songs were almost always written from the villain's perspective. They were unvarnished narratives about unsavory characters. "Jordan Minnesota" was about a child molester. "Seth" is about a racist. "Columbian Necktie" is about a drug cartel hitman.

Terms like "incel" and "edgelord" didn't exist back then. But there was definitely a streak of impotent male rage and deliberate controversy in Big Black's music. In recent years, Steve Albini made a point of acknowledging those attributes in his music and apologizing for his role in elevating a culture of targeted mean-spiritedness. I think it was a noble gesture on his part, though I thought it was always fairly obvious that Big Black wasn't glorifying the behavior of the characters in their songs. It was about making art that acknowledged the awful side of humanity. Rather than sweeping the ugliness under the rug, Big Black dragged the creeps into the spotlight and shouted "look at these fucking assholes."

If Big Black defined high school, Shellac helped define my college years. The lyrical subject matter was less antagonistic, but the music seemed colder. It was sparse. Austere. Deliberately scaled back to the point of seeming mechanical. The bombast of Big Black was replaced by the tension of Shellac. At this point, you knew what Albini was capable of, but now he was the poker player who was keeping a straight face and playing his cards cautiously.

By the time At Action Park came out, Albini was a person of note outside of his bands. I remember reading his article in Maximum Rock N Roll on major labels and how the promise of riches really just meant other people in the music industry taking a slice of the artist's budget and eliminating any chance of future royalties. His engineering credentials were already legendary, and his recording philosophy played a major role in shaping my own attitude towards making records.

Russian Circles have recorded at Albini's studio half a dozen times at this point. And while we've never worked with Albini at the board, he was often lingering around the building, working on sessions in the other studio or puttering around working on things. He was exactly like you'd expect him to be. Smart. Opinionated. Quick with a sharp reply.

He was by no means infallible. His assessment of Liz Phair's Exile in Guyville back in 1993 was pretty gross. He's made a point of vocalizing his regret over naming a band Rapeman. But considering that he's been a firebrand for over 40 years, I'd say Albini did a fairly good job of ruffling feathers while sticking up for the downtrodden. He was a man of artistic ideals and principles who managed to stick to his guns while shaping the industry around him. He was an artist who was able to develop and evolve his sound over the course of several decades while also retaining the initial vision and spark in his work. He was impervious to fads yet somehow always relevant.

RIP Steve. You were one of a kind.

[calciumdeficientt]

Hiii, these are some headcanons for @namranii ‘s oc Harin Kim! I wanna take a brief moment to fangirl over her because she is sosososo cute, I’ve got a huge soft spot for bully ocs, everyone always puts so much love and care into themmmm ugh i LOOOVE the bully fandommmmmm. Anyway…

HARIN KIM HEADCANONS

One of the oldest and wisest members of the greaser clique, I feel like all the advice she gives is pretty sage, despite her outwardly delinquent personality.

Very family oriented, even if its found family, she seems to be pretty likely to play den mother for the greasers. She knows what they’re capable of but she also knows their limits, that’s a good friend to have. The clinginess pays off, especially if her friends are feeling a little down on their luck, it’s nice to know that there’s always someone in their corner.

Puts the least possible effort into her hair and it looks absolutely flawless every time, even if someone tries to mess it up it just seems to fall back into an even better hairstyle, this is genuinely frustrating to other students who put a LOT more effort into keeping their hair nice. Harin is just immune to school air.

Uses a CD Walkman in the shop when she’s working on her bike, she illegally makes mixtapes and burns them onto cds with little doodles on the front. She has literally hundreds, including full torrented albums. Are you having a party? Harin is your girl for illegal party CDs

Absolutely DOMINATES in art class, not that its a competition, but if it was... She’d definitely win.Harin probably gets a lot of shit from other teachers for her incessant margin doodles but Miss Philips absolutely loves her creative spirit and genuine talent for drawing, its nice to see a student treating art class seriously instead of just a blowoff to draw dicks or make out in the supply closet.

Watches the sunset every single night, she will literally make her plans around the sunset so she doesnt miss it. It was a little tradition she started to make herself smile when she was a scared little freshman but she kept the tradition going up until her senior year. Norton quite likes the sunset too so sometimes they’ll share a smoke and sit on the roof to watch the sun go down over bullworth.

Does pretty well on her own if she’s not got any other greasers lingering around, the only clique that really give her any trouble is the preps and they’re pretty easy to take down. A leg swing can get them on the floor in no time… even then the preps dont go as hard on her as they could, Bif tries to keep them in line. That poor, poor lovesick puppy. Another huge help is the fact that she’s in Russell’s good books. No one in their right mind would even dream of starting something with Russell… well apart from Jimmy but he’s always gonna be a bit of a loose cannon.

Harin seems like a pretty amicable person, she’s got one of those faces that just makes you feel so safe. She’s like, genetically friendly looking if that makes sense. She’s so beautiful it makes you feel bad for even bumping her in the hallway. Not that she can’t handle herself, quite the opposite as i mentioned above but it just…. Feels wrong to whale on someone so beautiful, even if she’s trying to start something.

[harringroveera]

“Are you listening to me, Heather?”

“Yes, I am,” Heather said, rolling her eyes as she pressed the handset to her ear. “I’m listening to how much you blabber about your pretty boy, Billy. He’s so gorgeous. He’s so adorable! Have you seen him in his sailor costume!”

Billy snickered, his voice echoing through the phone. “Do I talk about him that much?”

“Only during work, after work, and before work.” She shrugged, brushing the nail file against the freshly painted nails. 

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I did this to myself, honestly,” she said, sighing softly. “I got you two together, now I’m suffering the consequences.” 

“Heather!” her mom’s voice echoed from inside the kitchen, and Heather looked up.

“What, Mom?” 

“Heather!” 

“I gotta go,” Heather said. “My mom is playing the game where she’ll keep calling my name until I come in to see her.”

“Want to go to the mall with me and Chris later?” Billy asked. “You don’t have a shift today, right?” 

“No.” She pursed her lips, pushing up to her feet. “Okay, yeah, sure. Maybe we can catch a movie.” 

“Cool. I’m picking you up in an hour.” 

She let out an approving hum, hanging up the phone and dropping the nail file to the couch before she strutted into the kitchen, where her mom was busy pouring orange juice into a thermos while she hummed to a song.

“Heather—”

“I’m here! God, Mom,” she said, stopping short before the kitchen counter with a forced smile on her lips. “What do you need?” 

“Okay, I need you to bring this lunch box to your dad,” her mom said. “It’s late now, but if you drive there, it’ll be faster. Your dad doesn’t like it when I don’t bring it on time.” 

“Why can’t he bring his own lunch in the morning when he goes to work like any capable person would?” 

“Don’t speak that way, darling.” 

Heather rolled her eyes, gazing at the brown lunch box on the counter. “I thought you always brought it to him, Mom.” 

“Oh, yes, but I have a spa appointment with Dorothy, Terese, and Karen. I won’t be back until later.”

“Why do you need to go to a spa?” 

“I’m going to the pool tomorrow!” 

Of course. Heather’s lips curled downward, but she didn’t say anything. Billy had a shift tomorrow, and that explained it.

“Don’t hang around with Karen Wheeler and her friends too much, Mom,” she said, turning around to grab a brown bag from the cabinet.

Her mom seemed surprised, though, as her eyes slightly widened when Heather came to put the lunch box and the thermos in the bag.

“Why would you say such a thing, darling?” 

She shrugged. “It’s just a general observation thing,” she said, taking the bag into her hand. “I’m going. And I won’t be back for lunch.” 

“Why—”

“I’m going out with Chrissy.” 

She left the kitchen without saying another word, going through the back door to the garage. It wasn’t that far from their house to the Hawkins Post, and afterwards she could head to Billy’s house, picking him up instead. Just one conversation with her mom had ruined the mood. She needed to get her mind off it for a while.

The mixtape Billy had put in the other day was still in the stereo, and Heather let it blast loudly on the way there, finding herself tapping on the steering wheel before she came to a stop before the building. 

Heather walked through the door, putting on a smile at the lady at the front desk. “Hi, Doris.” 

“Oh, Miss Holloway! Hello!” the lady said. “Are you looking for your dad?” 

“There’s quite literally no one else I’d be looking for here, Doris,” she said, holding up the brown bag in her hand. “I brought my dad his lunch, because he’s a grown man who still makes his wife bring his own food to his mouth.” 

Doris swallowed, the smile on her face twitching for a second. “He’s in the meeting room, sweetheart. But he’s already asked his assistant to get him lunch.” 

“Of course he has.” She sighed. “He has an assistant?”

“Oh, I mean the intern girl here, darling.” 

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but she gave Doris another smile and walked to the meeting room, her good mood souring even more the second she saw the group of men in the meeting room. 

She pushed the door in, and her dad’s head jerked up in surprise. “Heather! What are you doing here?” 

“Brought you lunch, Dad,” she said, stepping into the room and scrunching up her nose at the smell of cigarettes. “Mom has something else to do.” 

“Such a sweet daughter you are, Heather,” the man sitting next to her dad said. 

“Thanks, honey, but I’ve already asked someone to get the food for all of us.” 

“Well, I already drove here to give you your lunch, so you’re eating it, Dad,” she said, dropping the bag to the table and standing next to him. “Mom cooked all of that, and you’re going to absolutely neglect the effort she did for you?” 

Her dad pressed his lips together, and Heather smiled, patting his shoulder. “I think she made your favorite, Dad.” 

“That may be better than hamburgers.”

“Of course it is,” she said.

“You’re growing to be a beautiful woman, Heather,” Phil said, taking a drag of his cigarette, his eyes roaming over her body blatantly even with her dad’s presence here.

“Thanks. How’s that receding hairline of yours? Is it still growing, or are you going to be bald soon?”

Phil’s smile dropped, and her dad clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Heather, don’t disrespect them.”

“Tell your employees to stop staring at my ass then. I’m not even eighteen yet, I can get them arrested, you know,” she said, and all their eyes darted away from her body, which was a relief.

“Oh, here’s Nancy Drew with the food,” another man said, a hand resting on his stomach. His name was Robert, maybe. She could never be bothered to remember the names of these men. 

Her eyes flitted up to the person walking in through the door, and she wouldn’t say she wasn’t surprised to see Nancy Wheeler entering the room. She didn’t know Wheeler was working here, but again, they weren’t friends. 

Heather didn’t have the fondest of feelings towards any member of the Wheeler family, but that might have been spurred up just because of Karen Wheeler. And, well, that was enough of a reason already. 

Nancy seemed surprised to see her too, halting in her steps for a mere second before she resumed handing out the packed hamburgers from the brown bag she held against her chest.

“Where were we?” her dad said, tapping the pen in his hand against the table. “Yeah, we still need something good. We’ve been slacking these days.”

“How about a piece on Iran?” a man on the other end of the table said.

“I want something local.”

“I hear there's a beauty pageant at the fair this year,” Bruce said. 

He was the worst one here, and everyone knew it. Even Nancy, as she shot the man a look before she walked past Heather with hurried steps.

“Excuse me,” she whispered softly, and Heather stepped aside, letting her go around the table and giving the men their food like she was feeding a bunch of pigs in the hogpen. 

“Yeah, I'm looking for above the fold here, Bruce.”

“Then clearly you haven’t seen Lucy Lebrock, because I’m not sure she’ll fit above the fold!” The man held his hands over his chest, barking out a loud and unrefined laugh as Heather’s lips twitched.

How annoying it would be if she had agreed to work for her dad in the summer. She would have quit on the first day.

“Fellas! In six hours, we go to print. I need something real,” her dad said, rubbing a hand over his temple.

“Oh, I think they’re real.”

The men laughed, because, of course, that was the kind of thing they would laugh at. Heather sighed, clutching her car keys in her hand and patting her dad’s shoulder. She had to leave before she decided to say more things that would ‘embarrass’ her dad in front of his colleagues.

“What about Starcourt?” Wheeler began, stopping abruptly in front of the door, blocking Heather’s path.

Everyone in the room turned to look at her, including Heather, and Wheeler's throat bobbed, her eyes darting around as the anxious look painted her face.

“I—I was just…thinking,” she continued, shaking her head. “I mean, I know everyone loves the mall, but how many small businesses have closed since it opened?”

Her voice turned firmer as she went on. Heather could see that Wheeler wanted to be a journalist from the passion that filled her every word. And at least she could come up with a better article to talk about than any of these men here.

“Like, five on Main, at least. It's changing the fabric of our town in a way—” 

“The Death of Small-Town America,” Bruce said, and Wheeler nodded eagerly, seeking validation, seemingly the only validation she had gotten since she worked here. “I like it. I like it a lot.”

“But I think I've got something even spicier,” he continued. “It’s about the missing mustard on my hamburger.” 

Heather rolled her eyes, watching as a hint of dejection flashed across Wheeler’s face while the rest of the men burst into laughter like it was the funniest thing they had ever heard.

“You think you can follow the clues and solve the case of the missing condiment, Nancy Drew?” Bruce said, and Wheeler nodded, coming forward to take the hamburger back from his hand.

“Sorry.”

“Look out, Phil, she might be after your job!”

Wheeler turned around, grabbing the door handle and yanking it open, and Heather heaved a sigh, shaking her head.

“Can’t you just eat it without the mustard?” Heather decided to speak up, hearing the laughter die out in the room as she folded her arms over her chest. “What’s gonna happen if you don’t eat mustard? Will you die?” 

“I just don’t like my food without mustard,” Bruce replied, while she felt Wheeler’s stare from the corner of her eyes.

“Shame, I was hoping for the latter to be true.” She gave him a smile, turning to Wheeler with her hand stretched out. “Give me that.” 

Wheeler looked at her, eyes wide with confusion, before she put the hamburger in her hand. Heather tossed it in the middle of the table, wiping her hands together.

“You either eat it, or starve.”

“Heather,” her dad said. “Watch your language.” 

“Are you gonna sit there and let these imbeciles insult her? Would you have wanted them to say the same things to me, Dad?” she said, looking back at the men. “She’s an employee here, she’s not your assistant or your unfortunate wife. If you want one, get one, and get them to fetch your food instead.” 

“That’s her job,” Bruce said.

“Her job is to work on articles, like the one she just talked about, which, by the way, is much better than what you just proposed,” she retorted. “So, eat your burger with no mustard, or don’t eat at all. You could lose a few pounds, you know, before your wife realizes how much of a halfwit man you are. The only thing you’re good for is money, and you don’t even make that much.” 

Heather inhaled softly as she finished, flashing them a smile one last time, and it was her dad who spoke up first.

“You can have mine. It got mustard. I’ll have the lunch my wife made me.”

“God, you men and your goddamn mustard. It’s such a big problem!” she exclaimed with a deadpan look. “People are losing jobs out there!” 

She gave her dad a final look and pulled the door open. “I’m leaving, Dad,” she said without looking back, and she stepped out of the meeting room.

The last time she was here was Take Your Child to Work Day, which was four years ago, and she left with the same amount of annoyance as she did back then. It was insufferable to stay in a closed space with those men without losing her mind.

She waved at the ladies outside, getting into her car as fast as she could to drive to Billy's house. He wouldn’t mind that she was early.

“Jesus—” Heather kicked at the brake as Wheeler stopped in front of her car. She rolled down her window, poking her head out. “Do you have a death wish? I mean, I get that working here makes you feel like it, but don’t jump in front of my car.” 

Wheeler marched to the opened window, glancing at the empty street before crouching down to meet her gaze. “Sorry.” 

“Okay,” she said. “Is there anything else?”

“Oh, uh,” Wheeler began, resting her hands on the window, and Heather looked at her confusedly. “I want to say something.”

“Are you going to say it any time soon? Because I have somewhere to go.” 

“Yeah, I—” She exhaled sharply, her throat working and her shoulder stiff with tension. “Thank you.” 

“Is that all?” Heather said. “That’s what got you looking like you’re about to tell me you have an undying love for me? A thank you?” 

Wheeler’s face fell, and she stammered, “Well, I mean, you helped me in there, so I thought—”

“I didn’t do it for you.” She tapped the steering wheel impatiently. “I did it because those men were irritating me.” 

“Oh.” 

“And I don’t need your thanks, Wheeler,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “It’s useless.”

Wheeler seemed taken aback, her lips parting. She uttered, “Well, still. I still want to say that. Actually, you’re the first person to ever stand up for me, and I—”

“Not for you.”

“Right, yeah, not for me.” She nodded. “It got them to shut up for once, and I felt like I needed to tell you that.” 

“It wasn’t necessary.” 

“But could you just accept it?” 

“Why do I have to accept it? I didn’t stand up to those men for you, Wheeler.” 

“I still want to say thank you—”

“What’s your problem with insisting on making me accept this?”

“What’s your problem with refusing to accept this? It’s just a thank you, Holloway.”

“And I told you it wasn’t necessary. Words are useless. I don’t need your ‘sorry’ or your ‘thank you’,” Heather said. “Now, would you please let me leave? The longer I stay here, the sooner I feel like the stench from those men is going to get to me.”

Wheeler furrowed her eyebrows, and she said, “Words are useless to you.”

“Yeah.”

“What do you accept other than words?” 

“My god, Wheeler, what’s with you and this need to please everybody?” she groaned. “If I just take your words, will you let me go?” 

“No, because I know it’s not genuine.” 

Heather blew an exasperated breath, chewing on the inside of her cheek, before she nodded. “Okay. Scoops Ahoy. Ask Robin for my favorite flavors.” 

“What?”

“Two scoops of chocolate pudding, one scoop of U.S.S butterscotch. Extra cherries on top. I work tomorrow at one. So bring it to the pool half an hour before my shift.”

“You want me to bring ice cream to the pool for you?”

“That’s what you’re insisting on,” Heather said. “Now, can I leave?” 

Wheeler blinked, straightening her back and taking a step back. “Okay, um, I’ll bring it to you tomorrow.”

“Okay.” 

“Thank you, again,” she said. “And sorry. Again.”

Heather eyed her expression, her gaze roaming over Wheeler’s face, her wide brown eyes, and her rosy lips. She seemed grateful. Genuinely grateful.

She lifted her hand and wiped the smudge of lipstick against the line of Wheeler's lips, startling her. Her pupils dilated, but she didn’t recoil from her touch.

“You have a voice, use it. They’re men, not monsters, though it’s pretty close,” she said, cradling the side of her face. “Speak up, Nancy Drew. You usually have a much smarter mouth than this.”

“You’ve been looking at my mouth?” Wheeler asked, and a faint blush appeared on her cheeks.

She smiled. “Don’t be late, Wheeler,” she said, patting Wheeler’s cheek before she withdrew her hand and drove away into the vacant street.

Wheeler was still standing frozen on the spot when Heather checked her side view mirror, seemingly taking the time to process everything.

The smile was plastered on her face even as she hung out with her friends, and they might have both guessed that she did, in fact, stand up for Nancy Wheeler. So maybe she did, and maybe she thought Wheeler wasn't bad like her mom, not to mention that she was much prettier than Karen, but Wheeler didn't have to know all that.

[likesofsue]

This is another little gift and personalized piece for @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @ajokeformur-ray Today this idea popped into my head and I wanted to write it down. Maybe you'll like it and it will help a tiny bit. We all love you very much and we are here for you. Always. I hope you are taking care of yourself and that you don't forget to take a little break every now and then. Please keep Eddie and Uncle Wayne close to you.

Summary: You've been feeling pretty bad lately, and Eddie knows it. So he decides to make it his mission to pick you up from your job and make sure you get a little break

Tw: physically and mentally exhausted reader with self doubts -> but it's a fluffy comfort piece

Wc: 884

Eddie's eyes pop open. He snaps his head back and curses. Only Eddie is capable of nodding off, even though Iron Maiden is playing so loudly that the windows of his van clink in time. His heart beats wildly as he stares at his wristwatch. But it would still be a few minutes. He lets out a deep sigh of relief. He could never forgive himself for waiting so long - how long, actually? three hours? - only to nod off and miss you. No. Eddie would stay awake and wait for you and bring you home to him and his dad. Just like he secretly made it his mission after hearing how bad you've been lately. His heart hurts to see you like that and he'd be damned if he didn't try to give you at least a little relief from the weight of the world weighing on your shoulders. So he rubs his tired eyes and switches to the next song on his mixtape. It's Ozzy, and it makes him smile because he knows how much you adore him.

And in fact, it only takes a few more minutes for you to step through the door of your workplace. Slumped posture. Head lowered. Eyes glistening with unshed tears. Your feet hurt with every step, yet somehow they carry you on. They always do. But you are tired, more than tired. And again, it stabs Eddie right in the heart when he sees you like this. He hates it. He hates that the people at your job make you work so much overtime. He hates that uni has such a huge workload. He hates the way you look at him lately - doubt, fear, exhaustion. Eddie knows why you're doing all this, that you actually like your job and that your major is your passion. But he wishes things were easier for you. That he could take away your burdens and do more for you. And that you could see yourself the way he and Uncle Wayne see you. With nothing but pride, adoration and love.

As soon as you come in sight of his van, Eddie grabs the blankets that he put on the passenger seat and jumps out of the car. At first he tries to wave at you, but when you don't see him right away, he calls your name. And that makes you look up almost immediately, his voice has that effect on you. Your eyes widen with surprise and a small smile makes your lips curl upward. Just the sight of him gives you a boost of serotonin and makes you forget your aching feet as you almost run to him. You missed him. So much. So much that you can't hold back a little sob. But he is with you now. Finally. You feel how he first wraps the blankets and then his arms around you, holding you safe and secure. You press your face against his chest and take a deep breath, breathing in his distinctive scent that smelled like home. None of you care about the people who give you curious and sometimes disapproving looks. What do they know about love?

"Eddie, I..." You look up at him. Your voice sounds weak. Your head feels like it's stuffed with cotton as you try to find the right words to express how endlessly grateful you are to him. That he is here for you, that he never leaves you alone. You cry and it is okay. It is okay to let feelings flow.

Eddie hushes you and wipes away your tears with the rough but soft pad of his thumb. His other hand soothingly moves up and down your back. He looks at you and his big brown eyes are so full of love and worry that it makes your own heart squeeze in your chest. "You don't have to say anything, sweet thing. I understand. Please just let me help you, 'kay?"

You rub your wet, tired eyes and nod. Then you lean closer and kiss his cheek, something that makes Eddie chuckle and grin broadly. He opens the passenger door and picks you up to sit you down on the seat, buckling you in. "Your coachman will now take you to your castle, m'lady."

It's the first time in so long that Eddie hears you giggling - he missed it so much - and it makes him feel bats fluttering in his stomach. He strokes your cheek before he jogs to the other side of the van and he finally plops down behind the wheel. Eddie's presence and Ozzy's voice slowly calm you down. You blink at him tiredly and put a hand on his thigh, making him smile as he drives through the streets at a slightly less breakneck speed than usual. It takes a while for you to reach the Munson trailer, so you allow yourself to close your eyes and rest. You know you are safe with Eddie. Even if you sometimes feel too small for the world, you are never alone. Eddie and Uncle Wayne are there for you when you need them. Always. Every step of the way, no matter how difficult the way may be. Because they are nothing but proud of you. They love you so much.

[byhees]

hold me tight.

엔하이픈 형선 ・ female reader + word count 400 genre fluff established relationship warnings not proof-read skinship kissing — more

a/n. this was written in mid 2023 … it’s 2024 now..

heeseung

would prefer facing you whilst cuddling— his heart simply swells at the sight of you; likes it when you curl into his circle of warmth, head softly resting against his chest, his heartbeat strumming a pretty song in the comfortable silence.

cuddles accompanied by little kisses; him pressing quick pecks over your face, each gentle touch akin to dew-kissed petals.

would softly run a hand up and down your back, a smile blossoming on his face with every soft, ticklish giggle lacing the air.

jongseong

cuddles, where you both are on the verge of sleep; eyelids lightly flutter close every so often, yet hands are still wrapped around the other’s torso, not wanting to break away from the comfort.

him clinging to you after a long day, the smell of your shampoo filling his senses with such indescribable love; finger barely grazing your arm, face buried in the crook of your neck.

words of affirmation being elicited, voices lightly bouncing off the four walls of the quiet room; his heart melting when you blink up to meet his gaze, the softest of smiles dawning your features.

jaeyun

likes it when you rest your head on his lap; he’d run his fingers through your hair, lightly messing it up only for the reaction it’d provoke; would occasionally boop the tip of your nose, finding your response adorable.

likes hearing your voice; it lingers like stardust, calming him almost immediately; relishes in the way it softens with the close proximity, whispers leaving a trail of delicate warmth in their wake.

would likely be the big spoon; he simply likes holding you close to his embrace, as though a fortress to keep you snug and safe. the feeling that’d flourish in his chest is beyond the capabilities of verbal explanation; would often brush strands of stray hair out of your face, finding everything about you so endearing.

sunghoon

cuddles where his eyes softly lock onto the contours of your face, gaze gently tracing the crests of your cheeks; his lips lightly brushing your forehead, a small kiss being pressed onto skin. would pull you back into a warm hug after a moment of admiration.

would cling onto you like a koala, not wanting to be separated from your embrace; always has the sweetest smile on his face, deep dimple being the cherry-on-top to his soft request.

him finding comfort in your hold, often crashing into your warmth after a stressful setback; his heart flitting and fluttering as you softly squeeze his arm, a breath of relief being heaved; would kiss the top of your head, heart full of love.

taglist open! @halcyoni-ki @wondipity @yjjungwon @shysakuno @niktwazny303 @vnsux @minhosify @haechansbbg @yeomha @stepout-09-15 @chansburgah @sona-verse01 @lilly-bubblelops @smouches @mrchweeee @luvistqrzzz @nwjws @ibsysbsfsunsbs @rikisly @amyysfics @mixtape-racha @berry-and-kkami @rikislady @gweoriz @czlluvriki @okwonyo @okwons networks! @kflixnet @enhanet @k-labels

[starlightsearches]

Congratulations on your milestone! 🎉 I’d like to request Track 1 with Armitage Hux please 😊

Drowning

Track 1 - Crimson and Clover by Tommy James and the Shondells: Give me a character and I’ll write a short blurb or headcanons on how they would pine for you.

General Hux x F! Reader / 📼 ✨ mixtape milestone ✨ 📼

Thanks for the request, bestie!

This is kind of a continuation of this one shot I did forever ago, but you can read it independently! Warnings for some allusion to sexual content and language. Let me know what you think!

Armitage is surprised you're not in his quarters.

And then he's disappointed.

He has no right to either emotion—you were given your own rooms for a reason. Still, he'd become accustomed to your presence in his sitting area every evening, or warming his bed when he returned late.

The way a wife should.

But your relationship isn't that typical of a marriage, no matter what Armitage had first hoped for or envisioned. It was a childish idea that started him on the path, even if there were other, more logical, benefits that solidified his decision.

There's no logic in the way he's waiting for you to appear.

Half-stripped of his uniform, he wanders into the refresher, listless. Desperate to keep his head clear of the worst of his thoughts.

But you would never care for him. You'd float through his spaces and on his arm dutifully, the way you'd promised him in your vows, and give him nothing more. And he's not capable of a relationship that would involve anything more.

There'd be no fondness or gentle touches for somebody like him, with a repulsive exterior and worse soul.

You couldn't love him. Ever. He should give up on any hope of that now.

The water's cold from the sink, the way he likes it, pressing handfuls of it against his tired eyes, letting it drip down his neck and soak the collar of the thin shirt he wears beneath his uniform.

The sound of water grows louder, deeper—a heavy swish instead of a light trickle.

And then your voice, not imagined this time, though he often heard you when he was alone.

"I didn't think you would be back so soon."

Armitage whirls clumsily, and feels stupid for doing so, the edge of the counter biting into his palm where it lands.

Oh fuck.

The bathtub in his refresher is deep, and large, and never used—Hux could hardly find the time to lie down, let alone soak in a bath—so it's strange for him to see it full.

It's strange, despite its deepness, and the milky quality of the water that floods the air with the smell of flower petals and salt, how much of your skin he can see.

Hair hanging damp around your face, the water just kisses at the slopes of your shoulders, caressing your body in ways he's only dreamed of doing.

Hux means to speak, but all the air in his lungs comes out in a huff. Tongue brushing over his lips, he can taste the fragrance in the air.

Almost like it's you he's tasting.

Your head bows. His silence has spoken before he's had the chance, and now he's offended you. Again.

"I'm sorry," you tell him, swilling the water between your fingers, "I should have asked before I used—"

"No—" he interrupts you, hardly a whisper, but you defer to him as always. Hux wonders what it will take to stop you from fearing him.

"There's no need for permission," he continues, and then trails off weakly, unsure of how to put words to the rest of his thoughts. Afraid you could see all of it on his face—thinking about how the fabric of his trousers would pull heavily at his skin if he slipped into the water with you, if he'd even be able to find the curves of your hips or thighs in the water's depths.

He is willing to drown himself trying.

Your tongue runs smoothly over your lips, folding in between your teeth, "Oh. Thank you."

He's got nothing else to say—no words that will make their way out, at the very least—trying not to stare but incapable of looking anywhere but you. Your soft eyes. The slope of your nose. Your lips.

He notices the way they move around your next words, although the sound is drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears. Probably for the best—it stops his gaze from traveling anywhere lower.

You're waiting for a response, but Hux can't give you one, cheeks burning. "What?"

The word comes out more snappish than it should. So off-kilter and so unused to feeling that way, he reacts on instinct, all of which are sharp and biting.

"Sorry, could you?" you point a hand in the direction of the counter, and the fluffy black towel that rests on it, "then I'll be out of your way."

"Of course," he responds, connecting the dots as quick as he can manage when his thoughts are so wild.

Hux ventures as close as he dares, passing the towel to you from a distance, like he might be sucked into the sweet water and your sweeter embrace if he gets too close.

You take it from him without touching him, and he's glad for it. Hux can barely keep on his feet with the soft smile you wear. Your skin on his would certainly be too much.

It's a sweet moment—one of few he's managed not to fuck up completely.

Until your expression falters, teeth caught on your lip. Hux has no idea what he's done to cause your discomfort this time.

"I'll just . . ." you start to slip from the water, and then it hits him, hard, like a punch to the gut.

A surprised grunt escapes Hux's chest, and he turns back toward the mirror, eyes shut tight to offer you some privacy. Nails cutting lines in the palms of his hands.

You would have let him see you. Would have stood bare before him as the rivulets of water traversed your body, would have let him watch, maybe even let him feel. Would have let his palms take in the softness of your skin, instead of the bite he feels now.

And Hux knew this already. No doubt you've been instructed to be a good wife from a time before you were old enough to listen—to offer yourself to your husband, to make yourself available whenever your he desires.

But would you? He feels there's a distinct possibility. And maybe even a possibility you'd want to.

A soft cough interrupts his thoughts, and he takes that as a sign to turn around, finding you with a towel wrapped tight around your body.

You fiddle with the edge of it, shyly meeting his eyes.

"Will I be seeing you in there?"

Your words are stilted, punctuated with pauses like you're picking around landmines—too shy to even say the word bed.

It's a fair question. Even on nights you stay in his quarters, you usually sleep alone.

He wants to say yes. Wants to so badly he feels it bubbling up in his chest.

"I- no," Hux says instead, tamping down the hope inside him. Not when the control he holds over his body is on such a tenuous string.

Your lips press tighter before you wish him good night. He's not sure if it's relief he see's in your features, or something else.

He hopes it was something else.

[medusapelagia]

When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let's spread the self-love 💞

Oh this is such a lovely ask!

Thank you dear!!!

So my favorite 5 fics are: Second Chances Mixtape, pre Steddie, Time travel AU | Rating M | words: 49,000 | 5 chapters | complete

It's 1986 and the plan to kill Vecna was a disaster: Vecna escaped, Hawkins was devasted by an earthquake and Eddie Munson is dead. Or so they presume.

“The cassette player broke.” Lucas whispers after hours of silence. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t help her. I was right there, but I couldn’t help her.” Steve holds him tighter, he has no words of comfort for him and he knows exactly how he feels. How hard is he judging himself, how he is playing the entire movie of the night in his head trying to find the point in time where he could have fixed everything. Steve knows all of that because he and Lucas are so similar and he is doing the very same thing, thinking about Eddie. Only…. Only Steve has another thought that doesn’t let him breathe: did he really hate him? Steve can’t deny that he was jealous of Dustin’s new cool friend but… did he let them risk their lives because he was jealous?

Hidden Treasure, Metal Sandwich, Pirate AU, Omegaverse | Rating E | words: 64,283 | 15 chapters | complete

In an omegaverse world, the alpha Billy Hargrove, captain of the pirate ship the Golden Lion, is traveling with his lover and second in command, the beta Eddie Munson, and their crew, raiding every merchant ship they can get their hands on. One day during one of their attacks, they stumble on a pretty beta boy who’s trying to get back to London, paying for his journey with golden jewels. Why is Steve, the pretty boy, so desperate to get to London quickly? Is he running from something? But the more important question is: is he really a beta or not?

The restless sea calls back to you, Harringrove, Mermaid AU| Rating E | Words:15,156 | One shot

When the training ends Steve brings Billy back to his tank. The merboy is tired and he has red bruises where Neil hurt him. “You ok?” It’s a stupid question, Steve knows that, but he can’t avoid it. “Are you worried about me, Harrington? How sweet.” The merboy replies, licking his sharp teeth “Maybe next time you’ll get into my tank I’ll keep you.” “Fuck you, Billy!” “Are you proposing, pretty boy?” It’s just their usual bickering but Steve can feel that his cheeks are blushing. “Oh, so you do have a crush on me. That makes so much sense: that’s why you are obsessed with me. Don’t worry, pretty boy, I’m not going to fuck you… at least not as you are thinking, but I’ll keep fucking with you because it’s the funniest thing that I can do in this stupid place.” Billy replies and then he gets underwater, while Steve stares at his big red tale covered in shimmering scales. “He has an attitude, I’ll give him that.” Hargrove says appearing from nowhere “But stay away from him. He is still a mermaid and even if he hasn’t had the time to learn the songs from other mermaids he is still capable of convincing you to kill yourself in his tank. It would not be the first time.”

Separate Ways, Harringrove, Modern AU| Rating E | Words:47,969 | 22 chapters | complete

Steve Harrington is a famous model whose life depends on his manager and (more or less) lover, Tommy Hagan. After a bar fight, he meets Officer William Hargrove, recently transferred to the NY Police Department and with a deep personal experience with a violent environment, who can clearly see the signs of domestic violence in Steve’s relationship with Tommy. Determined to help the pretty boy escape from his abusive relationship, Billy gets closer and closer to Steve.

I'm so good at telling lies (it comes from my mother's side), Steddie, Ballet AU, Omegaverse | Rating E | Words: 40,216 | 19 chapters | complete

"The first time Steve sees a ballerina it isn't a real one. It is a carillon that he sees at Malvald during the Christmas holiday. It is a blue box with a white swan and a little doll that spins around to the sound of a sweet melody. Steve has never seen something more beautiful in his life."

Steve is a male Omega who wants to study ballet at the Performing Arts Academy in New York, and who is trying to find a job that pays enough to cover his school fees. Nancy is a female Alpha, who wants to study journalism. Eddie is the youngest teacher at the New York Performing Arts Academy .

[funkyforestfiend]

it is absolutely VILE and DISGUSTING that i do not have a cd player. life let me experience this moshi monsters mixtape when i was a sweet, much younger, child unburdened with the woes of modern life but now, now that i have grown and become a greater person, more capable of TRULY appreciating the nuances of music, I AM KEPT FROM EXPERIENCING ITS JOYS. we live in a FOUL world.

WHAT IF I WANTED TO LISTEN TO BABY GOOGOO'S HIT SONG ONE LAST TIME, HM? WHO ARE YOU, GOD, TO KEEP THAT EXPERIENCE FROM ME. WHY TORTURE ME WITH THE KNOWLEDGE THAT I COULD BE INDULGING IN THIS HOLY PLEASURE ONLY TO BAR ME FROM IT ALLTOGETHER. LORD, WHY ME?

I BEG OF YOU TO LET ME SIP FROM YOUR SWEET NECTAR ONCE MORE. AND IF I MAY NOT, I ASK YOU WHY SHOW ME WHAT IS FORBIDDEN, WHY DO YOU DANGLE IT SO. I BELIEVE I TRULY UNDERSTAND THE PAIN OF TANTALUS. I REACH FOR THE GRAPES, BUT I HAVE NO HANDS TO PLUCK THEM. I BEND MY NECK TO DRINK THE WATER BUT ALAS I HAVE NO LIPS TO SIP. I HAVE NO CD PLAYER TO PLAY THIS RELIC OF MY EARLY CHILDHOOD.

[monster--boyfriend]

spotify wrapped called me out on the fact that I near exclusively listen to whole albums start to finish

people apparently don't really do that anymore? I suspect it stems from the fact I grew up in the age of cassets and then cds where, unless you had some way to make a mixtape or burn a cd you just listened to an album at a time. Even when I got my first MP3 player I tended to listen to whole albums because out of order didn't sound right so to speak. So now I have a question

Mp3 of course just means any form of digital playback be it an old school mp3 player like ipods or if your first phone was capable of music storage.