#it’s not as Good of a Song as Michael in the Bathroom but it’s also 5x more dramatic AND

[moo9395]

You can fight the weird kid allegations all you want but at the end of the day you’ll always be the kid that relates to Michael in the Bathroom.

[milolovesbmc]

Michael Mell was literally born to be the main character actually, you can't tell me otherwise

[honkifyourelonely]

haven’t listened to this song in years and just screamed along to every word in the car… like maybe did joe iconis kinda make history

[henneseyhoe]

My Big Three As Boyfriends|

Trevante♡

You wanna have the perfect balance of a country boy and a city boy rolled into one? He’s the man for you!

His love feels like coming into a warm house after shoveling snow.

The first time you two ever kissed, my lady by Tyrese played in the background and since then ‘my lady’ with a brown heart has been your contact name.

He’ll sing any song you ask him to even though his ass can barely hold a tune in all seriousness.

Uncovering your ears, you start laughing. “Yes, sounds just like how Tyrese sung it” He smiles and takes a bow.

You try not to be the clingiest since he loves his space sometimes, but he definitely has his moments where he needs you near him like some kind of support teddy.

Hates when you all up on him when it’s time to sleep but always ends up damn near on top of you by the morning.

“Move, Bae, it’s hot” he groans. 8 hours later. “Tre…Trevante…baby, you crushin’ me!” You huff, trying to push his arm and leg off of you so you could go pee.

He’ll blame you as if your little ass can move him from one side of the bed to the other.

Expect booty slaps every time you walk by, and don’t let him be upset with you prior, cause it’ll be harder this time.

“Tight ass shorts” he’d say as you walked around the house as free as you wanted in the Nike shorts HE bought you.

Often play fighting and roughhousing until he accidentally hits you too hard and has to be soft with you for the rest of the day.

“Awwnnn, cmere, I didn’t think it was gonna land that hard” he holds you as you pout, rubbing your now sore arm. “That actually hurt, Tre. Like seriously 🥺”

He makes fun of the Erotic books you read, but you caught him peaking over your shoulder once and following along with one of your favorite stories.

“Don’t get too hype, I peeped something and the shit was interesting!”

Has a habit of putting his hand up your shirt when you two are cuddling.

He hates when you leave for work because he works mornings and you work nights. Sometimes on his day offs(though a bad idea) he’d stay up at night and bother you on the phone all throughout your work, dropping hints that you needed to come home on your snack break for a real meal.

-you’d brush him off and sneak off to the bathroom, sending him a titty pic to hold him off till you got home.

-‘oh wow. I just might take a trip instead actually’

-He’s definitely already taken trips up there a few times to get you right, as he should.

Michael♡

A REAL certified loverboy

If you told him to jump, he’d ask how high.

He would never admit it but he is CLINGY. He wants to be with you and all up under you as soon as those paparazzi cameras turn off.

Also certified double texter.

‘babe’ ‘Y/N’ ‘Y/N’ ‘Y/N’ ‘babe’

‘don’t act like you don’t see these texts’

‘WHAT boy’

‘I miss you’ ‘wyd my love’

‘working. Something you should be busy doin’

‘I finished already’

‘Fast reader you are. Here’s a gold star⭐️’

‘What can I say? You’re engaged to a smart man’

‘Engaged?’

Boo🩷 has unsent a message.

‘Forget you read that till further notice’

The man can’t hold water, as you can see. Which is why you don’t tell him anything that’s meant to be a secret.

He literally can’t sleep without your leg thrown over him some kind of way.

He remembers all the cute little shit you like year around so he already has a laid out plan of gifts for Birthdays, Valentines, and Christmas.

A good bit of his camera roll is just you and screenshots of things he wants to keep tabs of.

Can’t organize for shit and that’s exactly why his phone storage is about to explode

Begged you to organize his work stuff, so you agreed, until you saw NOTHING was put where it’s supposed to go.

“how do you work like this?!”

“I honestly don’t know…I- I do not know” he responds, staring at the unorganized files.

“Your assistant doesn’t take care of this stuff?”

“I don’t like to bother her like that”

“Nigga, she’s an assistant, she’s supposed to be bothered!”

Thursdays were self care days for you two. Wether you were just sitting around and watching a movie or doing actual things to improve the body, it was still self care to y’all.

Both of you are foodies, but he’s more adventurous, so he always tries to get you to try new foods when out together.

“would you ever try live squid?” He asks, looking through the menu the restaurant provided for them. “Uhh..I dunno. I don’t think I’d like it, but I’d probably try. Just have to ignore the memory of that story of that man who ate a live squid and it killed him and crawled back up his throat” he stares at you for a moment then looks back down at his menu. “Never mind then…”

Soooo protective of you and thinks you don’t stand up for yourself enough so he always makes sure you’re heard in any and all conversations.

Takes any chance to show you off. Was it cause he genuinely loved you or was it cause he liked showing niggas what they’ll never have? Both actually.

“Oh, and y’all know my girl, right? My beautiful, wonderful girlfriend” he grabs you by the hand, and kisses the top of it, pulling your attention away from your drink. You smile and look away, feeling extra appreciated.

Gentlemen in the streets, freak nasty in the sheets.

You ever came so hard that it took a few seconds for your vision to come back? Yeah.

Yahya♡

The dynamic between the both of you is just very unserious. He is truly your bestfriend who also happens to be your boyfriend

It’s hard to get anything done when the both of you are constantly cracking jokes back and forth, a con of having the same job.

“Yahya, please, my stomach hurts!” you spoke in between laughs, tears prickling the both of y’all’s eyes as you tried to make it through a SINGULAR business email. “How the fuck do you misspell so much shit on a business email?!” He howled, wiping tears from his face and slouching in his seat, you still crying.

He blames you for when he doesn’t get much work done, but he knows damn well it’s his fault for being the goofy mf he is.

When you two were just friends, your mutual friends would tease him by calling him “boy Y/N” because you both had so much in common.

He’s your reminder to eat like a normal person

“What’d you eat today?” Yahya questions, reading over his weekly to-do list. You glare at him then look back at your computer, not answering because you didn’t wanna hear his mouth about you forgetting to eat. Sighing, he gets up and heads into the kitchen to make you something quick.

At first the relationship felt like you two were still just friends, but you both grew into being a little more intimate with each other.

You both can’t help but create small(but healthy) competitions. You were both a little more competitive than you’d like to admit, but you both had competitions so often that basically everyone you guys hung out with knew of them.

“Damn” You sigh as you watched your paper ball miss the trash basket. “Hm” Yahya hums and gets up, picking the paper ball up. Instead of throwing it away right then, he went back to his seat that was a bit farther back and took a shot, the paper effortlessly making it in the basket. You look back at him with a squint and he smirks. “Okay, bet” you whisper.

Ten minutes had gone by and you both were throwing balled up paper that you needed in the trash. To make what point? Neither of you knew, but you both were entertained.

Theres a box in his closet with Polaroid pictures of you two throughout the five years of dating each other, most taken by Yahya himself because in his words, “I just love looking at you. Pictures don’t even capture all that I see, but damn, baby”

The man could easily make you melt like some chocolate. He was just as smooth as he was when you first met him.

Once you both got more into the relationship, he was honestly the most romantic and caring person ever. He’d do anything to make you feel those butterflies.

Sent you on a corny little riddle game for Valentine’s Day once which lead you to some of your favorite places around the city until the last clue brought you home to three bouquets of your favorite flowers and a ring the size of your brown eyes.

Alexa, play whatever you want by Tony! Toni! Toné!

Some niggas don’t trick, but Yahya? Oh he’s gonna step. In the end, if you’re happy, he’s happy.

The night ended with something else a little more eventful that had the neighbors thinking to call the cops for the third time that month.

He plans on staying with you for the rest of his life, and made that know.

And he’s determined to put a baby in you one of these days, with or without that damn ring.

✮✮✮✮

Looks and bias aside, who would y’all pick as a boyfriend? 🫣 I think I’d pick Yahya 😭

[wormswurld]

rewatched saltburn for the 5th time today so here are my rewatch thoughts! 🌟

- opening shot ollie is smoking a cigarette meaning that after all these years of felix being dead he still holds onto the habit felix bestowed upon him: smoking. (there will always be traces of felix catton throughout ollie’s life…)

- ollie saying how exhausted felix was cuz of how often he was chased and adored by ppl is literally just him projecting & being annoyed that felix wasn’t his from the beginning

- “but was i “in love” with him?” yes. yes you were. yes you are. yes.

- ollie looking like such a fucking nerd when arriving at oxford. like boy if you don’t take THAT DAMN SCARF OFF i swear to god

- ollie looks so good with glasses ughhhhhhh

- the way ollie says “meryside” 🤤

- i will never get over farleigh’s voice like it’s so perfect

- as much as i hate michael gavey i will always quote his “NFI me and you…not fucking invited” line

- ollie is rizzing the shit out of felix with his blue eyes during the bike scene and i’ll always respect him for that

- the way farleigh says “jägerbombs!” is so satisfying

- i love ollie’s slutty little chain he wears

- felix amica. felix amica. felix amica. felix amica. felix amica. felix amica.

- ollie & felix look so happy dancing together 😭

- felix having his hand on ollie’s thigh as he does eenie meanie makes my brain short circuit

- “was it awful?” my god felix really is like elspeth

- this modern love playing as ollie finds felix at the pub surrounded by all his friends and the lyrics that play are “what are you holding out for? what’s always in the way?” UGH.

- felix being the first person ollie sees when he comes out of the exams 😭😭😭

- felix could have so kissed ollie during the bridge confession scene

- duncan scaring the shit out of ollie when he first arrives at saltburn makes me laugh so much i love him

- the way the sunlight accentuates felix’s torso through his linen shirt makes my head spin

- felix definitely made ollie & him share a bathroom on purpose

- “darling you’re kind about everyone” NO HE IS NOT. FELIX IS NOT KIND.

- pamela’s jewelry is to die for

- “so i hope you didn’t pack anything scandalous” DO YOU WANT HIM TO FELIX?????

- ollie giving venetia his blanket under the guise of “oh you must be cold here’s this” is so funny because i know he did that on purpose due to him knowing how venetia feels about him

- i love how emerald made ollie having a big dick canon lmao

- all of them watching the ring is so cute

- ollie sleeping as him and felix lounge by the pool together 😭

- ollie eye fucking felix as he sucks on an ice pop is so real

- LOOOVE farleigh’s “dump him” shirt

- felix giggling as he has ollie on his knees drinking wine is so cute

- the way ollie inhales shakily as he watches felix get off is so 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

- i absolutely love how eager ollie is when he licks felix’s cum from the drain like ohhhhhhhhhh…..

- also ollie softly moaning as he does it my god sedate me

- i will never get over how ollie practically puts his whole fist in venetia’s mouth + smears the blood all over her mouth and chest

- farleigh playing fuck, chuck, or marry with the kings is literally just an opportunity for him to tell oliver he would fuck him + to also read ollie as an insecure parasite that only lives for getting what he wants & obviously ollie picks up on it

- ollie crying after felix scolds him about lying is so sad my god that boy was heartbroken

- farleigh telling ollie “try harder next time baby” is so hot FUCK

- the transition from ollie blowing out his candles to the song lonliness is probably one of the best transitions in media ever

- “i just need you to understand how much i fucking love you” MY HEART IS BREAKING.

- felix would so have kissed ollie in the maze if he wasn’t shoved away

- elspeth’s sob when she finds felix dead is one of the most earth shattering things i’ve ever heard especially accompanied with the swell of the orchestra it is absolutely gut wrenching

- the grave scene is so beautifully shot it makes me cry poor ollie just wanted to be close to his felix one more time

- seeing ollie dance naked around the house is just so freeing and !!!!!!

thats all my silly little commentary, thank you for reading my word vomit 🤗

[lesbianrobin]

which showtunes do u guys think each 911 character would Destroy... i'm not talking ranges okay i'm talking pure emotion. pure vibes. performance power. here are my picks:

maddie: "she used to be mine" is low-hanging fruit and reductive but. i mean she'd kill. ANYWAY i think she would also slay "back to the palace" which is an earlier version of "on the steps of the palace" from into the woods which might be too much of a deep cut but i don't care. also she and chim would make me cry with "wedding song" from hadestown. ALSO "so much better" from legally blonde.

chimney: perhaps bringing starkid into this is embarrassing but i don't care. chim could fucking Own "show stoppin number" from the guy who didn't like musicals. like he would be So good. also chim could do "candy store" from heathers. maddie and hen are his heather mac and heather duke. like i just fully believe that he could commit the necessary energy. also i think chim could do any like romantic lead

buck: "maybe this time" from cabaret. like come on he'd bring down the house. also "my unfortunate erection" from the 25th annual putnam county spelling bee. he has the necessary pathetic vibe and general shamelessness regarding his penis. also "the schmuel song" from the last five years. ALSO "michael in the bathroom" from be more chill he would sing that song and cry about it whenever eddie was too busy to hang out with him.

eddie: he could not perform "maybe this time" from cabaret because he would break down in tears and be unable to sing. he Could own "not the boy next door" from the boy from oz. obviously. "god, i hate shakespeare" from something rotten! he just has the necessary haterism in his soul. "spooky mormon hell dream" from the book of mormon. i will refrain from assigning him anything from spring awakening because frankly i think if eddie diaz knew about that show it would upset him So profoundly and he would never recover.

bobby: "we both reached for the gun" from chicago. 10000%. also bobby and michael would deliver the greatest performance of "i love my dead gay son" from heathers of all time. "if i can't love her" from beauty and the beast.

athena: "anything goes" from anything goes. she just has that power idk. probably low-hanging fruit but "get down" from six. also i think she and bobby would slay "it takes two" from into the woods.

hen: "don't rain on my parade" from funny girl 100%. DON'T tell her not to live just sit and putter!!! also is it cheating to say she and karen could slay "take me or leave me" because it feels like cheating but they Literally could. also i think karen would slay "when he sees me" from waitress. sorry i'm letting karen overtake hen's bit but they're married what's hen's is karen's.

also the 118 could collectively slay "there! right there!" from legally blonde. also "what a game" from ragtime (eddie as father and buck as edgar. in my own personal opinion. because chim and bobby have Got to be baseball hooligans.) also eddie would fucking kill "ladies' choice" from hairspray but that's a movie thing so idk if it counts. but he'd kill.

[artyandink]

amoralism | twelve

SUMMARY: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: Chuck. That’s all it is.

Song Inspo: Feeling Good by Michael Bublé

SERIES MASTERLIST

bureaucratism

President Chuck Shurley wasn’t like other presidents. He didn’t have the gravitas of Roosevelt, the poise of Kennedy, or the eloquence of Obama. No, Chuck was more of a “deer-in-the-headlights meets caffeinated-squirrel” kind of guy. And if the public knew just how haphazardly he started his mornings, well…let’s just say the stock market might crash out of sheer panic.

Chuck’s mornings began in the most predictable way possible: with an alarm clock blaring at an ungodly hour. The digital numbers on the clock flashed 5:30 AM, casting an eerie red glow across the darkened room. The harsh sound of beeping echoed off the walls, loud enough to wake the dead—or at least the leader of the free world.

But Chuck was having none of it. Still deep in sleep, his hand shot out from under the covers, flailing around wildly until it made contact with the clock. After a few moments of blindly slapping the top of the clock, he managed to hit the snooze button, silencing the infernal beeping for a glorious nine minutes.

In the brief moment of silence that followed, Chuck’s body relaxed, sinking back into the mattress as he let out a contented sigh. But before he could drift back into unconsciousness, the alarm blared again, sending a fresh wave of panic through his half-asleep brain.

This time, Chuck groaned as he rolled over and opened his eyes, squinting at the blinding red numbers. With a resigned sigh, he reached over and turned off the alarm properly. There was no escaping it now—the day had officially begun.

Chuck sat up slowly, rubbing his bleary eyes as he tried to force his brain to wake up. It was a struggle every morning, as if his body was rebelling against the very idea of consciousness. He fumbled for his glasses on the nightstand, squinting until the blurry room came into focus.

His bedroom was what you might expect for a president: luxurious, spacious, and impeccably clean. But for all its opulence, it still had Chuck’s personal touches scattered here and there. A stack of comic books sat precariously on the nightstand, a Captain America figurine stood guard on the dresser, and a half-eaten box of Twinkies was hidden in the drawer.

Sliding out of bed, Chuck shuffled his way to the bathroom, his feet dragging across the plush carpet. He flicked on the lights and winced at the sudden brightness, his eyes narrowing into slits as he blinked in the mirror.

The man staring back at him was disheveled, with a mop of bedhead and pillow creases etched into his cheek. His eyes were still puffy with sleep, and his glasses sat crookedly on his nose. Not exactly presidential, but then again, it was still early.

“Morning, Mr. President,” Chuck mumbled to his reflection, offering himself a lazy salute before reaching for his toothbrush.

He squeezed an excessive amount of toothpaste onto the bristles—enough for two people, really—and started brushing. It was a vigorous process, more of a scrub-down than a clean-up, and the foam quickly built up in his mouth, turning into a frothy mess.

Chuck wasn’t one for subtlety, and his morning routine was no exception. As he brushed, he paced around the bathroom, checking his hair, inspecting his stubble, and occasionally pausing to make ridiculous faces in the mirror just to see how silly he could look.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally spat out the toothpaste and rinsed his mouth, giving his reflection an exaggerated grin. His teeth were sparkling, if a little too brightly—perhaps he’d gone overboard with the toothpaste again.

Next came the shower, which, for Chuck, was a battle of wills. On the one hand, he loved the warmth and relaxation of a hot shower; on the other hand, he knew that once he stepped out, the cold reality of the day would hit him like a ton of bricks. But duty called, and so, with a dramatic sigh, he turned on the water and stepped in.

The shower was quick, efficient, and slightly chaotic, as Chuck managed to knock over every bottle of shampoo and conditioner on the shelf. By the time he was done, the floor was a slippery mess, and he nearly wiped out twice as he climbed out and grabbed a towel.

Wrapped in his fluffy robe—embroidered with “POTUS” on the back, a gift from some well-meaning advisor—Chuck made his way to the kitchen. His stomach growled in anticipation, and he rubbed it absentmindedly as he contemplated what to eat.

Chuck wasn’t much of a cook. In fact, his culinary skills were limited to microwaving, toasting, and, on particularly adventurous days, scrambling eggs. But today, he was in the mood for something special, something that would really set the tone for the day.

Cereal. But not just any cereal. Today was a Cap’n Crunch kind of day.

He rummaged through the pantry, pushing aside the healthier options—granola, oatmeal, something that looked suspiciously like cardboard—until he found the bright red box. With a grin, he grabbed it and poured himself a heaping bowl, the sugary scent wafting up to greet him.

As he reached for the milk, his phone rang, vibrating loudly on the counter. Chuck jumped, startled by the sudden noise, and nearly dropped the milk in his haste to answer it.

“Hello?” he answered, his voice still a bit raspy from sleep.

“Good morning, Mr. President,” came the chipper voice of his assistant, Becky. “Just wanted to give you a heads-up on your schedule today.”

Chuck’s stomach sank a little as he realized what was coming. The dreaded schedule rundown. He glanced longingly at his bowl of cereal, which was rapidly getting soggy, and sighed.

“Go ahead, Becky,” he said, trying to sound more awake than he felt.

“Well, first up, you have a meeting with the Joint Chiefs at 8:00 AM. They’ll be discussing the new defense budget and—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Chuck interrupted, waving his free hand in the air as if she could see him. “Do we really have to start with that? Can’t we, I don’t know, ease into the day? Maybe with something less…defense-y?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Chuck could practically hear Becky rolling her eyes. “Mr. President, this is important. And besides, after that, you’ve got a briefing with the National Security Advisor, so—”

“Let me guess,” Chuck cut in again, his tone dry. “More defense stuff?”

“Pretty much,” Becky replied cheerfully. “But after that, you have a lunch meeting with the Senate Majority Leader. That should be a little less intense.”

Chuck groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Becky, remind me again why I signed up for this job?”

“Because you wanted to make a difference,” Becky replied without missing a beat. “And also because you were the only candidate left standing after that scandal involving the goats.”

Chuck grimaced at the memory. The less said about the Goat Incident, the better.

“Right,” he muttered, resigning himself to the day ahead. “Anything else?”

“Oh, just a quick note: the First Lady called and wanted to remind you about the charity gala tonight. Black tie, starts at 7:00 PM sharp.”

Chuck’s eyes widened in alarm. “The gala? That’s tonight?”

“Yes, sir,” Becky confirmed, clearly amused by his panic. “And don’t worry, I’ve already got your suit and tie picked out. Just make sure you show up on time.”

“Great, great,” Chuck said, his mind racing as he tried to remember the last time he’d even thought about the gala. “Anything else?”

“Just one more thing,” Becky said, her tone suddenly more serious. “The press has been asking a lot of questions about the incident at the summit last week. They’re looking for a statement from you, so you might want to be prepared.”

Chuck winced. The incident at the summit had been…well, let’s just say it hadn’t gone according to plan. But that was a problem for later. Right now, he had to focus on getting through the day.

“Thanks, Becky,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “I’ll handle it.”

“Of course, Mr. President,” Becky replied, her voice brightening again. “I’ll see you at the office.”

Chuck hung up the phone and stared down at his now thoroughly soggy cereal. The day hadn’t even started, and he was already feeling overwhelmed. But there was no time to dwell on it—he had a country to run, after all.

With a resigned sigh, he shoved a spoonful of cereal into his mouth, grimacing at the mushy texture. It wasn’t the breakfast of champions, but it would have to do.

Once breakfast was out of the way, Chuck shuffled back to his bedroom, determined to at least look the part of a confident, capable president. He flung open the doors to his walk-in closet and surveyed his options. Row upon row of suits hung neatly on hangers, each one tailored to perfection and carefully labeled with the occasion it was meant for.

But despite the impressive selection, Chuck found himself stumped. Did he go for the classic navy blue? Or maybe the gray pinstripe? And what about the tie? Was it a power tie kind of day, or should he go for something more subdued?

As he pondered his options, his phone buzzed again, this time with a text from Becky: “Don’t forget the blue suit.

It’s the one I picked for you.”

Chuck sighed in relief. Sometimes, it was nice to have someone else make the decisions.

He grabbed the blue suit and laid it out on the bed, then turned his attention to the tie. After a few moments of deliberation, he opted for a simple red tie—a classic choice that wouldn’t draw too much attention.

Getting dressed was an exercise in patience and coordination, two things Chuck wasn’t exactly known for. But after a few minutes of struggling with his tie and nearly tripping over his own feet, he managed to pull himself together.

He checked himself in the mirror, adjusting his tie one last time and smoothing down his hair. The man staring back at him looked every bit the president, even if he didn’t always feel like it.

But there was no time to dwell on that now. The day was waiting, and so was the rest of the world.

With a final deep breath, Chuck grabbed his briefcase and headed for the door, ready to face whatever chaos awaited him. After all, if he could survive the morning, he could survive anything.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself as he braced for the day ahead.

President Chuck Shurley wasn’t what most people envisioned when they thought of a president. In fact, he wasn’t what most people envisioned when they thought of a fully functional adult. His mornings were chaotic, his days filled with barely organized mayhem, and his nights ended with the quiet terror of knowing he had to do it all over again. But if anyone knew how to navigate the unpredictable seas of Chuck’s life, it was his sister, Amara—who just so happened to also be the First Lady.

The sibling relationship was unconventional to say the least. While most First Ladies were the spouses of the President, Amara was Chuck’s older sister, the one who had always been there, guiding and, occasionally, strong-arming him through the rough patches of his life. Their bond was the foundation of Chuck’s presidency, and while the world saw her as the serene, supportive figure beside him, Chuck knew the truth: Amara was the real force to be reckoned with.

It was after one of his more frantic mornings—complete with cereal disasters and a narrowly avoided wardrobe malfunction—that Chuck found himself sitting in the Oval Office, trying to mentally prepare for the day ahead. His phone buzzed, signaling an incoming message from his assistant Becky: “Amara’s on her way over. She wants to talk.”

Chuck sighed. Amara’s talks were rarely just chats—they were more like interrogations wrapped in silk, pleasant enough on the surface, but always digging deeper, trying to unearth something Chuck would rather keep buried.

Not five minutes later, Amara swept into the room, her presence commanding and yet somehow soft, like a storm that wasn’t quite sure whether it wanted to wreak havoc or simply pass by. She was dressed in a chic, tailored suit, her dark hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and her expression was as unreadable as ever.

“Chuck,” she said by way of greeting, her voice carrying that familiar mix of affection and exasperation that only a sister could muster. “We need to talk.”

Chuck offered her a smile, though it was a little strained around the edges. “Good morning to you too, Amara. What’s on the agenda today? Let me guess—another lecture about how I’m not taking things seriously enough?”

Amara didn’t return the smile. Instead, she crossed the room with purposeful strides, coming to stand directly in front of his desk. “This isn’t a joke, Chuck. We need to discuss your security.”

“Ah, here we go,” Chuck muttered under his breath, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temples. “I’m fine, Amara. The Secret Service is on top of things. I don’t need you worrying about me.”

But Amara wasn’t having any of it. She folded her arms across her chest, her eyes narrowing as she studied her brother. “You were nearly killed in that suicide bombing last month, Chuck. And that wasn’t just a random attack—that was a targeted attempt on your life. You can’t just shrug it off like it’s no big deal.”

Chuck shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the memory of the bombing still fresh in his mind despite his best efforts to bury it. It had been a routine event, a charity dinner at a downtown hotel, when all hell had broken loose. The blast had come out of nowhere, the force of it rattling his bones, shattering glass, and leaving a ringing in his ears that had taken days to fade. He’d been lucky—unbelievably so—but luck wasn’t something you could rely on forever.

But Chuck was nothing if not stubborn. “I’m not shrugging it off,” he insisted, though his tone was more defensive than confident. “But what do you want me to do, Amara? Hide away in a bunker? Cancel every public appearance? I’m the President, for crying out loud. I have to be out there, doing my job.”

Amara’s expression softened slightly, but there was still a steely determination in her eyes. “I’m not saying you should live in fear, Chuck. But you need to be smart about this. We can’t afford to take any more chances. The security detail might not be enough next time.”

Chuck sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I trust my team, Amara. They’re the best in the business. They won’t let anything happen to me.”

“I’m not questioning their abilities,” Amara replied, her voice gentler now. “But even the best teams can be outmaneuvered. You have enemies, Chuck—powerful ones. And they’re not going to stop just because you got lucky once. We need to be proactive.”

The seriousness of her words hung in the air, and for a moment, Chuck was quiet, his usual bravado slipping away. He knew she was right, deep down. The attack had shaken him more than he cared to admit, and the thought of another attempt on his life was enough to make his stomach churn. But there was a part of him—a large part—that refused to live in fear, that clung to the idea that he could somehow carry on as if nothing had changed.

“Okay,” he said finally, his voice subdued. “So what’s your plan? How do we ‘be proactive’ without turning me into a paranoid wreck?”

Amara took a seat across from him, the tension in her shoulders easing just a bit. “For starters, we need to increase the security around your public appearances. That means more thorough checks, tighter protocols, and maybe scaling back some of the events that aren’t absolutely necessary.”

Chuck grimaced. “So you want me to cancel half my schedule? That’s not exactly going to look good, Amara. People will start asking questions.”

“And we’ll have answers ready,” she countered smoothly. “We’ll frame it as a temporary measure, just until we’re sure the threat level has decreased. But more than that, Chuck, you need to start taking your personal security more seriously. No more late-night strolls without protection, no more impromptu detours. You need to stick to the plan.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at that last part. “You know me, Amara. Sticking to the plan isn’t exactly my strong suit.”

Amara’s lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile. “Then maybe it’s time you learned, little brother. This isn’t just about you anymore. It’s about the country, about the people who depend on you. You have a responsibility to stay safe—for them.”

Chuck leaned back in his chair, the weight of her words settling heavily on his shoulders. He knew she was right—he’d known it from the moment the dust had settled after the bombing. But admitting that meant confronting a reality he wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

For as long as he could remember, Chuck had always felt like he was in over his head, like he was playing a role he wasn’t quite cut out for. Becoming President had only magnified that feeling, amplifying his insecurities and fears until they sometimes felt insurmountable. And now, with the added threat of assassination hanging over his head, it was all too easy to let those fears take control.

But then he looked at Amara—calm, composed, and as unshakable as ever—and something inside him steadied. She believed in him, believed that he could do this, and that gave him the strength to keep going, to face the challenges head-on.

“Alright,” Chuck said finally, his voice firm. “We’ll do it your way. But I’m not going to live my life in a bubble, Amara. I need to be out there, doing my job. We just have to find a balance.”

Amara nodded, satisfaction flickering in her eyes. “That’s all I’m asking, Chuck. Just be careful. You’ve got a lot of people counting on you, and we can’t afford to lose you.”

The sincerity in her words caught Chuck off guard, and for a moment, he was at a loss for how to respond. Despite their frequent clashes and differences, there was no denying the depth of their bond, and the thought of how much Amara had already done for him left him feeling both humbled and grateful.

“I know,” he said softly, meeting her gaze. “And I’m counting on you too, Amara. I couldn’t do this without you.”

Amara’s expression softened, and for a brief moment, the stern First Lady persona melted away, revealing the caring sister underneath. “You’re stronger than you think, Chuck,” she said gently. “You’ve come this far, and you’re going to make it through this too. We just have to be smart about it.”

Chuck nodded, absorbing her words like a lifeline. “Yeah. Yeah, we will.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the tension between them easing into something more comfortable. Despite the gravity of their conversation, there was an underlying sense of unity, a shared understanding that they were in this together, no matter what.

Finally, Amara rose from her seat, smoothing down her suit as she prepared to leave. “I’ll talk to the security team about the new protocols,” she said, slipping back into her composed First Lady demeanor. “And I’ll have Becky coordinate with you on any changes to your schedule.”

“Thanks, Amara,” Chuck said, genuinely appreciative of her support. “I’ll try not to drive everyone too crazy with my…improvisations.”

Amara’s lips quirked into a wry smile. “Just try to keep the improvisations to a minimum, okay? The Secret Service would appreciate it.”

Chuck chuckled, the tension in his chest easing a little. “No promises, but I’ll do my best.”

As Amara turned to leave, Chuck called out to her one last time. “Hey

, Amara?”

She paused in the doorway, turning back to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Thanks,” he said simply, his voice laced with a rare vulnerability. “For everything.”

Amara’s expression softened once more, and she gave him a small, genuine smile. “Anytime, little brother.”

With that, she was gone, leaving Chuck alone in his office, the weight of their conversation lingering in the air. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself for the day ahead. The challenges were mounting, the threats looming larger than ever, but with Amara by his side, Chuck felt a little more equipped to face them.

He still wasn’t sure how he was going to navigate the turbulent waters of his presidency, but one thing was clear: he wasn’t going to do it alone. And with Amara’s guidance, maybe—just maybe—he could find a way to steer the ship in the right direction.

Lunch in the White House was supposed to be a grand affair, or at least that’s what President Chuck Shurley had imagined before he actually became the President. He’d pictured long tables filled with dignitaries, crystal glasses clinking, and silver platters overflowing with food. Instead, most days it was just him, a small table set up in one of the many dining rooms, and a staff member awkwardly hovering nearby in case he needed something.

Today was one of those days.

Chuck sat at a round table in a private dining room just off the Oval Office. The room was ornate, with heavy drapes, thick carpets, and enough gold trim to make a pharaoh blush. But instead of feeling like the leader of the free world, Chuck felt a little like a kid playing dress-up in his dad’s suit.

He glanced at the table, where his lunch had just been placed: a modestly-sized plate with a sandwich—turkey on rye, a bowl of soup that he couldn’t quite identify, and a small side salad that looked more decorative than edible. Next to it was a glass of water and a lone apple, shining under the lights as if it were some forbidden fruit that had found its way onto his tray by mistake.

“Well, this is…something,” Chuck muttered to himself as he picked up the sandwich. He eyed it suspiciously, as if it might suddenly spring to life and start talking. “Not exactly what I had in mind when I thought about lunch at the White House.”

He took a tentative bite of the sandwich, chewing slowly as he let his thoughts drift. It wasn’t bad, exactly, but it wasn’t particularly good either. The turkey was a little dry, the bread a little too chewy, and the lettuce a bit too wilted. It was the kind of meal that wouldn’t be out of place in a hospital cafeteria, which only added to the surreal feeling that had been following him around since the day he’d been sworn in.

“Could be worse,” Chuck mused, trying to look on the bright side. “At least it’s not another one of those fancy dinners where I have to pretend to know what all the forks are for.”

He chuckled to himself, taking another bite as he glanced around the room. The walls were adorned with portraits of past presidents, all of them looking stern and dignified, as if they were silently judging his every move. Chuck could practically hear them muttering among themselves, comparing notes on his performance.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said aloud, addressing the silent audience of former leaders. “I’m not exactly a Lincoln or a Roosevelt. But hey, I’m trying, okay?”

He wasn’t entirely sure why he was talking to the walls—maybe it was the isolation of the job, or maybe it was just that he’d always had a habit of rambling when he was nervous. Whatever the reason, it made the room feel a little less empty, so he kept going.

“Anyway, I bet you guys had some pretty weird lunches too, right? I mean, Harding probably had to deal with some Prohibition-era weirdness, and I bet Nixon had more than a few awkward meals.” He paused, tapping his fingers on the edge of the table. “Come to think of it, Kennedy probably had a great time with his meals. That guy could charm anyone.”

Chuck’s mind wandered as he stared at his plate, which was quickly becoming less appealing with every bite. The soup, which he’d been avoiding, sat there like a murky mystery, daring him to try it. He wasn’t sure what kind it was—potato? Leek? Something else entirely?—and he wasn’t particularly eager to find out.

“Well, here goes nothing,” he muttered, picking up the spoon and dipping it into the bowl. He hesitated for a moment, then brought it to his mouth.

The taste was…bland. Not bad, just not memorable. If the soup had a personality, it would be the kind of person who never took risks, always played it safe, and probably collected stamps as a hobby.

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” Chuck decided, pushing the bowl away and focusing on the salad instead. It was small, more garnish than a real side, with a few sad-looking leaves of lettuce, a couple of cherry tomatoes, and a drizzle of what was probably supposed to be vinaigrette. He speared a tomato with his fork, popping it into his mouth. It burst with a sour tang that made him wince.

“Who knew a tomato could taste that aggressive?” he muttered to himself.

Chuck pushed the salad aside, feeling like he’d done his duty by at least trying everything on the plate. The apple, however, remained untouched. He picked it up, weighing it in his hand as if it might reveal some hidden secret. The fruit was pristine, almost too perfect—no bruises, no blemishes, just an unnaturally glossy surface that practically screamed “processed.”

He rolled it around in his hand, thinking about all the bizarre twists and turns his life had taken to get him to this point. Who would have guessed that Chuck Shirley, of all people, would end up here, in the White House, holding a waxy apple and trying to pretend he knew what he was doing?

“I wonder if Washington ever had to deal with this,” he said to no one in particular, imagining the first president sitting in a similar room, dealing with the mundane problems of running a country. Somehow, he doubted it. Washington had probably had bigger things on his plate—like, say, founding a nation.

Chuck shook his head, chuckling at the absurdity of it all. “Well, at least I’ve got the easy part, right? Just keep the country running, avoid starting any wars, and try not to choke on a lousy apple.”

He set the fruit back down, deciding that he wasn’t quite ready to tackle it yet. Maybe later, when he had a bit more time to contemplate life’s mysteries.

His phone buzzed on the table, and Chuck glanced at it, seeing a text from his assistant Becky: “Meeting in 15. You ready?”

Chuck sighed, the brief respite of lunch already coming to an end. He quickly typed back, “As ready as I’ll ever be,” and sent the message, knowing that he was never really ready for these things. But that was the job, wasn’t it? Always moving forward, always dealing with the next crisis, whether he was ready or not.

With one last glance at the half-eaten sandwich, Chuck pushed his chair back and stood up. “Well, I guess that’s that,” he said to the room, grabbing his water glass and taking a long drink. He could hear the faint sounds of activity outside the door—staff moving about, phones ringing, the constant hum of a place that never really stopped.

As he walked to the door, he gave one final look around the room, as if hoping to find some last bit of wisdom hidden among the portraits or in the shadows of the ornate decor. But there was nothing—just the quiet, persistent sense that he was a little out of his depth, that he was still playing catch-up in a game that had started long before he’d ever even known he’d be a part of it.

Chuck squared his shoulders, taking a deep breath as he reached for the door handle. “Alright, time to get back to work,” he told himself, his voice a little more confident now, a little more certain. After all, he might not always feel like he was cut out for this job, but he was here, and he was doing it. And that had to count for something.

As he stepped out of the dining room and into the bustling hallway, he couldn’t help but glance back at the table one last time, where the apple still sat, untouched. It almost seemed to mock him, a reminder of the little things that always seemed to slip through the cracks, the tiny details that no one else ever noticed but that somehow always seemed to matter.

Chuck gave it a small, rueful smile before turning away for good, leaving the room behind as he headed off to tackle the rest of his day. There would be more meetings, more decisions to make, more crises to manage—but at least he’d have a story to tell the next time someone asked him what lunch in the White House was really like. And who knows? Maybe he’d finally get around to eating that apple.

Chuck Shurley sat at his massive oak desk, drumming his fingers against the polished wood. His schedule for the day was a neat, orderly list, meticulously prepared by his assistant, Becky. Meetings, briefings, a photo op, lunch (which he’d probably end up eating alone again)—it was all just so predictable. Too predictable. For a man who once wrote best-selling books full of excitement, danger, and drama, the reality of the presidency was...well, it was a little boring.

He sighed, glancing out the window at the meticulously manicured White House lawn. The groundskeepers were out there, trimming hedges with the same precision they brought every day. Everything was perfect, nothing was out of place. Which, if he was being honest, was exactly the problem.

The intercom on his desk crackled to life. “Mr. President?” Becky’s voice was bright and cheery, as it always was. Too bright, too cheery for someone who was about to bring him yet another stack of dull briefing papers.

Chuck leaned forward and pressed the button to respond. “Yeah, Becky?”

“Your ten o’clock is in fifteen minutes,” she said, her voice tinged with the kind of energy that suggested she’d already had three cups of coffee this morning. “Should I bring in the briefing materials?”

Chuck sighed again. “Sure, bring them in.”

A moment later, Becky bustled into the room, a thick folder of papers clutched in her arms. She was wearing her usual office attire—an overly colorful blouse and a skirt that might have been fashionable in the nineties but was now just…retro. Her enthusiasm was as bright as her wardrobe, and it was infectious, even if Chuck wasn’t quite in the mood for it.

“Here you go, Mr. President,” she said, placing the folder in front of him with a flourish. “All the details for your meeting with the Joint Chiefs. I color-coded the important points!”

Chuck blinked at the folder. Of course she’d color-coded it. She always did. “Thanks, Becky,” he said, trying to muster some enthusiasm. But as she stepped back, ready to leave him to his reading, he couldn’t stop himself. “Becky, wait a second.”

She turned back to him, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “Yes, Mr. President?”

Chuck leaned back in his chair, searching for the right words. “Do you ever feel like things are just...too calm around here?”

Becky tilted her head, confused. “Calm, sir?”

“Yeah, you know, like everything’s just...routine. Predictable.” He gestured to the folder. “I mean, look at this. Meetings, briefings, photo ops. It’s all the same, day in and day out. Where’s the excitement?”

Becky blinked, clearly trying to process what he was saying. “Um...you want more excitement, sir?”

Chuck nodded emphatically. “Yes! I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad the country isn’t in chaos or anything, but it’s like...there’s nothing happening! Everything’s under control, and I’m just...here. Sitting in meetings, signing papers. There’s no adventure.”

Becky chewed on her lip, thinking hard. “Well, sir, I think it’s good that things are under control. It means you’re doing a great job as President! No crises to deal with, no wars to fight—just smooth sailing.”

Chuck frowned. “But that’s just it! Smooth sailing is boring. I used to write stories, Becky. Stories full of action and drama. Now look at me—I’m the most powerful man in the world, and the most exciting thing I do all day is pick out a tie!”

Becky furrowed her brow. “I...I guess I never thought about it like that. But, Mr. President, we’re running a country here. It’s supposed to be stable. Exciting is usually bad in politics, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Chuck conceded, “but still...it feels like I’m stuck in a loop. And it’s not just the job—look at my lunch! I had the same thing three days in a row last week. There’s got to be more to being President than this.”

Becky’s face brightened suddenly, as if she’d had a brilliant idea. “What if we mixed things up a bit? I could schedule some more interesting meetings for you, or maybe plan a surprise event or two?”

Chuck sat up a little straighter, intrigued. “Go on…”

“Well,” Becky continued, warming to the idea, “we could set up a meeting with some, uh, more unconventional figures. Like...like artists or writers or inventors! People with big ideas, who aren’t just talking about policy all the time.”

Chuck’s eyes lit up. “Now you’re talking! That’s the kind of thing I’m looking for. Something different, something that makes me feel alive again!”

Becky was getting excited now, too. “Or what if we organized a surprise visit somewhere? Like a school, or a hospital—or maybe even a local diner? Something that’s not on the schedule, where you can just...I don’t know, interact with regular people. Get out of this bubble.”

Chuck smiled for the first time that morning, a real smile. “I like it. Let’s do that. Let’s shake things up a little.”

Becky beamed, pleased that she’d hit on something that made him happy. “Great! I’ll get to work on it right away, sir. This afternoon, maybe we could—”

“Wait,” Chuck interrupted, holding up a hand. “There’s something else.”

Becky paused, mid-thought. “Yes?”

Chuck leaned forward, lowering his voice as if he were about to reveal a state secret. “I want you to plan something big. Something no one expects.”

Becky’s eyes widened. “Big? Like...how big?”

Chuck grinned mischievously. “Big enough to get people talking. Something that’ll shake up this place and get everyone out of their comfort zones.”

Becky hesitated, clearly unsure of what he meant. “Are we talking about a policy announcement, or...?”

Chuck waved a hand dismissively. “No, no, nothing like that. I mean something more... fun. Something that shows I’m not just a boring old politician.”

@goldngguk @sweetpeachbombshell @slut-for-stiles @staple-your-mouth @daddyscrimsstuff

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[spgothkidsheadcanons]

hii! can I get some michael/reader fluff and smut headcanons???

also you're cool, I like your blog‼️🖤

You’re cool! Thank you so much friend 💞

I love telling people about my headcanons of the adult Goths😵‍💫 I just have so many headcanons about how they act now that they’re grown up

I hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~

SFW:

- Michael is so sweet to you

- He literally worships the ground that you walk on

- He memorizes every little thing about you, your favorite song, favorite book, the way you order food

- He just loves you a lot

- If you’re taking a shower and still want some privacy, he sits right outside the bathroom door, strumming his guitar and singing to you as you bathe

- There’s not a single minute of the day that your tall, curly headed, goth goofball isn’t right up your ass

- If you go shopping, he goes shopping

- If you’re tired, he’s laying all over you on the bed as you try to nap

- And God forbid if you ever have to work from home

- He’ll constantly be bothering you, playing with your hair, stealing kisses every time he walks by you

- He’s just a big ol’ scary looking puppy

- But he loves you, and he just wants to show you how much he loves you

- Please gib him luv 🥹

NSFW:

- Gentleman in the streets, freak in the sheets

- My man has the libido of a rabbit, and whenever he has a problem, you’re the answer that winds up getting dragged to the bedroom 3 times a day

- He loves when you’re laid back, hands tangled in his hair as he goes down on you

- The pulling of his hair, your moans and gasps, the way you wiggled when you were becoming overstimulated just sparked something inside of him

- He has a breeding kink, so be warned

- Michael can go for hours on end, only stopping when the only sound you can make is senseless babbles

- He’s an aftercare king, so after he’s finished absolutely demolishing you, he’s spooning you, praising how good you did for him

- Expect him to fuck you dumb at least 7 days a week

- He just never gets tired of your face, your body, you

[alaskan-wallflower]

i put my playlist on shuffle right and the squip song came on and now im just thinking about a be more chill au. but like adjacently.

walk with me por favor. im thinkin paul would simultaneously be rich and darry's squip simply bc im positive he's an absoulutely horrible influnce and is always telling darry "it's really not that bad, and besides if anything happens, my dad will bail us out" and darry who just wants to fit in with the socs so so bad always ends up going along with it (nvm the fact that 6/10 times paul's dad does in fact not bail darry out)

STOP I JUST HAD AN IDEA WITH MICHAEL IN YHE BATHROOM BEING TWO BIT WHEN DARRY LEAVES HIM FOR PAUL

that sounds so cool tho oh my gosh :( Also I don’t remember who said this but “Good For You” from Dear Evan Hansen is SO the gang when Darry almost goes Soc. (I don’t remember who originally said this but if I find them I’ll tag them) but OUGH the whole Darry almost going Soc thing is soooo much fun because his popularity from when he met Paul (8th grade) skyrockets by the time he’s almost graduating. Except he was seen as just another greaser until Paul befriended him.

There’s so much here that’s unspoken…AGH

[lostbetweenvampiresandmusic]

Changes chapter 36

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"Have you ever spoken to that girl again?" Shelly asked as she poured herself a drink. She was at Maria's place, a small apartment with only a combined living room and kitchen, a small bedroom, and an even smaller bathroom. It was less than ideal, but the two of them managed to make it work.

Ever since Greg and her had decided to go on a break, Shelly lived at Maria's.

"You mean Julie?"

"Is that her name?" Shelly threw a grape in her mouth, catching it with ease. "I'm bad with names, you know that."

"I know," Maria smiled, "and I did talk to her a couple of time since. Sometimes our shifts overlap."

"Do you think she might know more about this?"

Maria was quiet for a moment, a soft smile on her lips. "You miss Greg."

Shelly nodded.

"I'll give her a call. Maybe we can come over, and you can ask her what you want to know."

"That would be awesome!" Shelly quickly gave Maria a kiss on her cheek before grabbing some more grapes, letting herself fall down on the beaten up couch. "I'm happy were friends again."

Maria nodded quietly as she stood up, picking up the phone and dialling the number. She spoke for a moment, before hanging up.

"She's at home. We can go now, if you want."

Michael wasn't sure what to think of this new town. During the day, it was quiet, despite the number of uniquely dressed people walking around. But despite the people, there didn't seem to be a whole lot to do.

Sure, he could go down to the beach and surf, but surfing wasn't really his thing. The same went with going to the boardwalk. He liked riding a rollercoaster or playing the games they had, but not all the time.

There weren't any jobs, or at least, not any that would give him real money. He had tried to find some, especially after his mother had gotten a job so quickly, but he hadn't been able to find something he liked. He had even tried things he didn't like, like cleaning the beach, but that didn't work out either.

He sighed. It was all because of that group proudly calling themselves Surfnazis, as if they had simply forgotten what a nazi was and what they had done. They'd started a fight on his first day of cleaning beaches. He had tried to ignore them. He had tried to continue cleaning, but when they'd ripped his trashbag, dropped trash all over the ground and threatened to empty some beer cans they had on him, he had thrown a punch.

His boss had seen it.

He had been fired immediately.

So, here he was, working on his bike in front of the garage - since Grandpa Emerson refused to move his car - sulking about the move.

"Mike!"

"What?" He didn't look up when his younger brother ran towards him.

"There's a concert at the beach tonight. Tim Cappello is playing, you know, who also played with Tina Turner?"

This caused Michael to look up. Turner had some good songs, so to see one of her musicians play live for free?

"When?"

"At seven thirty. I think we should go."

Michael nodded, putting the dirty oilrag he had in his hands over the handlebars of his bike. "We'll leave at seven."

Julie was home alone when the doorbell rang. Max was at the store, having taken Thorn along with him. As she stopped to think about it, Thorn was a weird dog. Of course, canines were smart, but this dog seemed to be on another level. He seemed almost too sentient, as if he literally understood what was needed from him and why. When Max had asked him if he wanted to stay with Julie or with him tonight, he had nudged her hand as if to ask if she'd be okay on her own, before quickly jumping into Max' car.

Julie shook her head when the doorbell rang again, making a mental note to ask Max about it. As she opened the door, she was surprised to see Maria standing there, along with Shelly. She hadn't seen the latter since her boyfriend shot her.

"How's your arm?"

Julie nodded, stepping aside to let them in. "It's okay, there's not even a scar."

She led the two girls to her bedroom, feeling more comfortable there than in the neon haven that the living room was.

"Shelly wants to know more about what happened."

Julie looked at Maria, an uncertain look on her face. Max had said that she could tell others, but telling Shelly? After everything? Julie had a hard time trusting the girl, seeing how cold and mean she had been initially.

"Do you trust her?" She asked Maria, who nodded.

"She won't tell."

"It's that bad, isn't it?" Shelly asked as she sat down at Julie's desk, looking at the younger girl.

"It is." And with that, Julie took a deep breath and told her everything.

"So, how have you been liking Santa Carla so far?" Max asked as he led Lucy back to the counter, having given her a tour through the store.

"It's nice. Different than it used to be, there are more people now and more subcultures, but it's nice to be back here."

"You grew up here?"

Lucy nodded as she checked some tapes. "We live just out of town, in an old farmhouse."

"Ah, I knew the name Emerson rung a bell."

Lucy smiled at that, but Max could notice a hint of sadness in her expression.

"Are you alright?"

"Normally, when people recognise the name, it's because -" she stopped, slightly shaking her head. "There's been some family drama. I don't want to lay all my troubles -"

"Don't worry," Max nodded. "I know all about family drama. It must have been bad if it got widely spread."

"It was. It broke up my sisters' live."

He noticed that Lucy wouldn't speak on it more, but he did keep it in mind. Their conversation was interrupted by some girls looking for a movie to rent, and as he let Lucy take the lead in handling the customers, he noticed immediately that he wouldn't regret hiring her.

He looked up when the bell rang, his four boys walking in. David gave him a daring look, telling him to say something or to send them away. Max didn't react. Doing so now would only cause unwanted trouble. Dwayne, on the other hand, simply ignored him. Marko looked behind the counter, probably to see whether Maria or Julie were here. Paul was the only one who stopped for a second, quietly telling Max he'd go and see Julie later tonight. Max nodded, glad to see that some of his boys were still acting normal. Ever since David had gotten so angry with Julie, he had ignored her. Dwayne had stopped by once, and Marko and Paul seemed to be the only ones still actively hanging out with their sister. Julie hadn't said anything about it, but he had noticed that it quietly broke her up.

"You know you're not supposed to be here," David glared at Max as the sire spoke up. David knew it was a loaded sentence: not only was he not welcome in the store, Max had given him a mental note that told him that as long as he didn't make it up to Julie he wasn't welcome at his sires home either.

"You know these kids?" Lucy asked as they'd left the store, racing off on their bikes.

"Friends of my daughter," he decided after a moment. "I've known them a long time, and they really helped her adjust to her live here."

"Did you move here as well? Where were you from before-?"

"Oh no," Max laughed, "I've been here forever. I found Julie about a year ago, and practically adopted her."

"You found her?" Lucy frowned.

"She was in the hospital, and a friend of mine knew I foster kids sometimes. She was in a really bad shape, dealing with bad injuries and memory loss. Things are slowly returning now, so now we can finally start looking for her family again."

"I hope she does," Lucy said solemnly, the same sad look as before crossing on her face.

Next chapter > available on November 17

[hueningsloverr]

౨ৎ txt as musicals !

pairing: ot5 txt x musicals summary: god. idek where to begin. txt as musicals. word count : 0.6k im actually so sorry i even wrote this wow what was i thinking. if you dont know these songs LISTEN TO THEM.

yeonjun : heathers / mean girls there is also a tiny dash of moulin rouge in him

it boy energy is so reflected throughout BOTH

i’m sorry

definitely a candy store guy

he 100% cracks corny jokes like in stupid w/ love

but the amazing theatricality???

the vocals????

SO yeonjun

and ikik abt the soobin meangirl meme but like

lets be real

jjunie just has that energy

and not in a bad way

like in a 'yeonjun told me to dye my hair purple so i did!' way

and when i say heathers i don't mean the negatives

like that musical is fucked up

i mean the level of iconic-ness (?)

sassy man apocalypse fr

"i like looking hot buying stuff they cannot :3" - yeonjun (definitely)

soobin : six

...

i'm actually so sorry for this one!

he competes with himself, that much is obvious

soobin seems like the type to really question if he deserves something - if his suffering was enough

he's the type to compare past suffering to current

like 'well i suffered back then and i turned out fine, i'm not any more important for suffering now' type of stuff

he's the leader, its his job to be the strongest

and he lets himself have some fun

(i mean his first [?] scandal was him showing his middle toe.)

or he could be super serious like the great leader we all know he is

or he's just a total mess, but yet still so strong ??

hes admirable

he's in the history books fr

beomgyu : hamilton

the perfect balance of chaos and serious

i mean he's literally "lock up your daughters and horses!"

while also being "mom i'm so sorry for forgetting what you taught me"

beomgyu was written by lin manuel miranda argue with a wall

its also just so interesting, like gyu

like you could study both hamilton and gyu

a fan favourite

you can't go wrong with hamilton

and you can't go wrong with gyu

hamilton has its… fans

and gyu has his bamtoris

both would doxx you if you speak ill of their favs

the gateway into the community

like gyu was the first member i found out about

and hamilton was the first musical i liked

you dip your toes in, and next thing you know you just spent $25 for some merch

taehyun : hadestown

it’s so sad

yet serene and passionate like tyun

i mean, just look at him

those eyes - that smile!!

boba eyes :3

also, he so was a greek mythology kid

probably bought every percy jackson book / related piece of media when it came out

he knows everything

theres just something so tyun about it all

hadestown is a musical you might not know about

but the second you do you're like "wow wtf i was missing out on literally everything good in this world"

and that's literally tyun too

like if you somehow don't know about vocal king taehyun

the moment you find him obsession forms

or at least in my case

my little tyun🤧

i could see him staring in the mirror going "who are you? who do you think you are"

hueningkai : be more chill (bmc)

you can not tell me this boy didn't have some sort of issue making friends

the photos of him sitting alone at lunch (?) pre-debut???

hes so jeremy heere

because he's really just a sweetie

but no one notices him besides his very close friends

definitely would almost accidentally take over the state of new jersey

type of boy to go all the way if he likes a person

im talking joining the same clubs as them

and even joining the friend group they're in

all of it

we all know he used to think so poorly of himself and talk down on himself

like he had those voices in his head

has his michael in the bathroom moments

thinks he's a loner, a loser, a freak

you know the usual high school insults

but he's able to grow confident, with some help

i luv hueningkai ;3

and i luv be more chill

authors note : i lied this is not based off of making the bed. my bad. whoops. maybe next time!

©2024 — all rights reserved to hueningsloverr , please do not plagiarise or translate any of my work

[yourlocalenbyreblogs]

random bmc things i love (from the two river recording :D)

“oh! im listening to marley”

the whole “i saw it in the window” part of be more chill pt. 1

“pause :(“

“everything about you makes me want to die” “jesus christ”

“CRISTINEEE”

all of michael in the bathroom

specifically his “i wanna dance with somebody”

“ITS FROM JAPAN”

the robotic voice that plays sometimes

“THIS IS WAY TOO GOOD FOR A SCHOOL PLAY”

michaels response to everything being “get stoned in my basement”

“MICHAEL MAKES AN ENTRANCE”

“you got quick?” the way he says quick is just 🤌

“of course, ive been releasing your pheromones” HUH?

“beep boop beep boop”

THE VOCALS IN THE PITIFUL CHILDREN

every time jeremy says michael <333 hes so excited

the sound the squip makes when its dying

michael joining in on screaming, theres nothing for him to scream about he just wants to

the beginning of voices in my head and also just all of it actually that song is really good

“is……… jake c:”

just all of michaels part in more than survive

”im never gonna be the cool guy”

“im a supercompter, jeremy. im made of math 🙄”

”thats a girl shirt”

“I CANT SAY THAT TO A HOT GIRL????”

“hey. hamlet. be more chill”

“the loudest one is mine!”

“should i take the upgrade”

[iwashieonhiatus]

💛𝙱𝙻𝙻𝙺 𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚜 𝙱𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝙸 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 💚

︶꒦꒷꒷꒦︶ "warnings"- brasileiros que curtem as minhas coisas, agora é hora de vocês aparecerem. AQUI É BR PORRA! The songs have Spotify link. (pt 2 coming soon)

💚ISAGI- MAIS NINGUÉM- BANDA DO MAR

He gives me the vibe of no matter if you're surrounded by people or alone, things with him get comfortable, you two create your own little world, lost in each other's eyes. It doesn't matter if you're just friends, have a crush, dating, married, things with him are light and cozy.

💛 BACHIRA MEGURU- WHISKY A GO-GO- ROUPA NOVA

He would definitely love this song and dance with you, no matter if he doesn't understand the lyrics, the beat speaks for itself. He passes this chaotic vibe of Brazilian party. He is the fun in person and brings joy to things like this song, with him there are no bad situations!

💚 ALEXIS NEES- EXAGERADO- CAZUZA

he has the same vibe as the lyrics of this Brazilian anthem – as dramatic and passionate as Cazuza in this song. He would take you a thousand stolen roses, throw himself at your feet and apologize if you had made a mistake, he would also cry a lot, making drama if you ignored him.

💛 MICHAEL KAISER- ENTRE TAPAS E BEIJOS- CALYPSO

He gives me this vibe of always fighting but never separating, always at loggerheads. You two have good times and bad. You don't know if you love or hate him, always wanting to strangle him but also kiss him. you two pull hair, beat each other, bite and love each other—people don't know if you love or hate each other. You two are match made in heaven like beans and rice.

💚 RYUSEI SHIDOU- TE AMO DISGRAÇA- BACO EXU DO BLUES

Impossible to listen to this song and not remember ryusei. bottles of wine, fucking all over the house, on the balcony, in the car and in the bathroom of the bar. That mix of rap, blues and hi-hop is so much his vibe. Indefinite relationship, you fight and fuck, love each other. It's both of you against the world.

💛 KURONA RANZE- EQUALIZE- PITTY

He's so smart, handsome, calm and everything you like that you get lost around him. He's so perfect and friend/boyfriend/husband material that you don't have eyes for anyone else. You like him so much that you want to keep him to yourself, etch him in every bit of you so you don't miss him.

💚 NIKO IKKI- EDUARDO E MÔNICA- LEGIÃO URBANA

he's totally Eduardo, all silly, funny and charming that the need to keep him protected and around is enormous. He was sure to fall in love with someone older, maybe a little different from him, but the feeling would simply be there, slowly growing. "And who will one day say that there is reason in things made by the heart."

💛 CHIGIRI HYOMA- DE JANEIRO A JANEIRO- ROBERTA CAMPOS & NANDO REIS

He has this something that doesn't matter if you deny it or just haven't realized it yet, you like him and he likes you, and no matter how much time passes, that feeling isn't going to change. He's like, "If I date it's to get married."

💚 KUNIGAMI RENSUKE- O SOL E A LUA- PEQUENO CIDADÃO

You can compare he before and after the Wildcard to this song. Before he was all cheerful and had the dream of being a football hero, he was hot. And now he's "the sun froze its heart", all emo… sad. but I can also say that he would not give up so easy on you, as he does with football and like the sun still asks the moon in marriage.

💛 TABITO KARASU- DESPERDIÇOU- SANDY & JUNIOR

he dumb like ryusei, not knowing how to deal with the passion of the person, but he sure would do the same as Junior in this song- I can see him messing up your wedding day, saying he still loves you and taking you still dressed as a bride away and promising eternal passion. or he just wasted the love, left and never called, ran away with your peace.

[mwuaferrari]

CRUEL SUMMER — DANIEL RICCIARDO

summary: Daniel and Camille are best friends who are in love but will never admit it. Not until she gets drunk one night and makes a bet that leaves her in hot water.

pairing: daniel ricciardo x camille (reader)

words: 1.6K

warning: some bad words maybe. and as I told you before, english is not my native language, so any spelling or writing error is the fault of the translator.

tags: @midnightric @dan3avacado (if you want to be tagged in the next stories, let me know in the comments! <3)

Daniel and Camille had been friends for a while when Michael had introduced them, and have been almost inseparable ever since. There was always some love tension between the two. His friends knew it, his family and even his coworkers knew it, but they denied it. 

That night they were at a party in the city of Monaco together with some friends. Daniel watches her dance in the middle of the floor. That night they had arrived together as they always did, but at some point she had pulled away from him as she began to get drunk. 

In any case, the Australian did not take his eyes off her for a single second. With a group of friends around her, she and Pierre danced while he made her spin a couple of times on her heels, making her laugh and falling into the frenchman's arms to keep from falling. 

From the other side, the smile that filled Daniel's face automatically disappeared. Why? He himself thinks he doesn't know, but anyone who had witnessed that would be clear that the Australian was jealous. 

—Hey mate, it's all good?— Michael sits next to Daniel with a glass of alcohol in one of his hands. 

—Can you keep an eye on Camille for a moment? I need to go to the bathroom. 

—Okay.— He said simply. 

Not before taking one last look at her, Daniel enters the bathroom and approaches the sink to wet his face a little. Even though he hadn't even had a drink (since he was the designated driver), he blamed the crowd and the overwhelming atmosphere for what he was feeling right now.

After taking a few minutes, he sees Pierre through the reflection. Their eyes meet and Daniel tries to give him a normal smile, but it doesn't feel comfortable at all.  Pierre laughs and pats him on the back, which only annoys Daniel. 

Following that, the brunette leaves the bathroom and automatically starts looking for her with his eyes. It was impossible not to find her right away as she was the center of everyone's attention. 

Standing on top of a table and with everyone cheering her on, the girl danced to the beat of Wannabe from the Spice Girls. 

—Good job, Michael.— He said when he found him in the middle of all the people, even joining in the shouting. 

—Let her have some fun, she's safe.— He replies. Ignoring him, Daniel begins to push through the crowd until he is in the front row in front of her. 

Already there, he gave himself a few seconds to admire her. Her hair moving gracefully and being illuminated by the lights of the place while she wiggled her waist to the rhythm of the song. He could see her smile on her face and her closed eyes that showed that she was enjoying it. 

His thoughts vanish as someone pushes past him and that's when he sees Lando climb on the table with Camille. They both hold hands and begin to dance and sing. Daniel is startled when the girl missteps and almost falls off, but Lando reaches to grab her arm and pulls her to his chest laughing.

Enough is enough, Daniel thinks.

—Camille.— he starts, but apparently no one listens to him, or they just decide to ignore him.

—Camille, come down from there please!— He starts to raise the volume of his voice, but to no avail. Then he resorts to the physical, he gets even closer to the table to touch one of her legs and get her attention. 

She looks down at him and smiles.

—Daniel! Come up her.e— She yells at him unsteadily as she offers one of her hands to him. 

—I think the best thing is that if you get down from there, you can hurt yourself and also tomorrow... 

—I'm fine!— She yells back as she clings to Lando's side. 

—Lando, mate, I think that's enough fun already. Help me get it down please.—Daniel says as he gets on the table, which by the way was big enough for a couple more people to get on. 

—Neveeeeeer!— He yelled in his face, scaring Daniel back to the ground. 

Ok, Lando was much drunker than she was. Maybe he should take them both home. So they keep dancing and suddenly the crowd starts saying something that Daniel doesn't immediately understand. 

"kiss kiss kiss". 

Of course not. Daniel thought. 

Then how could he, he yanked on Camille's arm causing her to fall off the table into his arms. He left her standing to the side of him to do the same for Lando, which was more difficult, but when he did, he took both of their arms and began to walk through the crowd until they were out of it. 

Booing was heard in the process but it stopped seconds later when other people took Lando and Camille's place. 

—Dan, you're hurting me.— Camille complained in a childish tone. 

—I'm sorry, sweetheart.— He immediately released his grip, realizing how tightly he held her. 

On the way to Daniel's car, the girl made no trouble, keeping up with him as she muttered a few incoherent things and leaned into him. Instead Lando was constantly trying to break free of his grasp. 

—Lando, get in the car, please. 

The younger was now sitting on the floor while Camille was already sitting inside, watching the situation in silence. 

—Nope. 

—Come on kid, please. 

—Okay, but on one condition.— Daniel rolled his eyes and gave an exhausted sigh.

—What do you want?— He asked as he crossed his arms. 

—I want a glass of chocolate milk, full…Let it be two.

Daniel looks down at him with a frown. 

—Okay, get in the car. 

—Will you give me what I'm asking for?

—Yes. 

—Thanks Dad. 

The first minutes of the trip, Lando would not stop talking about things that did not have any coherence to Daniel. Then it was pure silence.

Daniel began to hear sobs from behind. He quickly glanced in the rearview mirror to see Lando fast asleep and next to him Camille with her head lowered and her hands resting on her legs. 

—Hey baby. Are you okay? 

—Don't call me like that.— She told him between sobs. Daniel frowned. 

—What's wrong?— He asks but doesn't get an answer, only sobs, which little by little are diminishing until it disappear.

When they finally arrive, Daniel unbuckles his seatbelt, gets out of the car, and walks over to his house to open the door. He then goes back to the car, opens the rear seat door and is startled when he sees that Lando is now sitting in his place, wide-eyed as he stares at him without blinking. 

—Omg Lando, what's wrong with you? Did you consume anything other than alcohol? 

—Will you give me my chocolate milk?

—Yes! I already told you. 

—Great!— He says to himself as he tries to unfasten his seatbelt to no avail. When he does, Daniel steps aside as the boy gets out of the car, staggering home. 

—Hey, be careful. Don't go up to the second floor alone. 

Now Camille has his undivided attention. She's sitting up, now free of the seatbelt, staring at her knees. 

—We're here.— he whispers to her as he sticks only his head inside the vehicle. 

—I don't want to get out of the car, I want to stay here. 

—You can't stay here all night. 

—Yes, I can.— And little by little, the sobs return. 

Then Daniel quickly gets in and sits next to her. 

—Tell me what's going on, please. You know you can trust me.— Then, he puts his hands gently on her face to make her look at him, but she closes her eyes, avoiding his gaze and shuddering under his touch. 

—Look at me.— He whispers. Finally she opens her eyes to meet the brown one of his. 

She blinks a few times, looking from his mouth to his eyes a few times, until in one deft move, she sits on his lap with both legs at the sides of his body.— Wow. 

She feels Daniel's chest rise and fall under her hands, his breath hitting her mouth and feeling his bulge beneath her. 

The australian puts his hands on her waist, moving away from him a little so he can look at her face. But she quickly pulls her bodies closer again, burying her face in his neck. She begins to drop sloppy kisses on the spot, causing Daniel to let out a surprised groan.— Camille, Camille, stop.— He says in her ear, but she ignores it, continuing with her work on her neck.—Baby, no...— Daniel gently takes her off his lap and sits her down next to him. — You're drunk, I can't let you do this… 

—Why you did not like me?

Daniel blinks in surprise. Did she like him? Or was it just the alcohol talking? 

—You're drunk, you don't know what you're saying. 

—Please kiss me now. Or else I'll lose the bet.— Daniel's heart stopped. So that was it, she was doing all this to win a bet. 

—So a bet. And what is it about?— He tried to hide his stricken tone from his voice. 

—It's a silly thing we made with Lando and Pierre. They said that I was never going to tell you I like you, that I was a chicken and that I would never tell you. So I got angry, and I told them… 

—Did you really like me? 

—I love you, isn't that the worst thing you ever heard?— A big unconscious smile appeared on the brunette's lips. 

—How about we better talk about this tomorrow?

[dustedmagazine]

Slept Ons: 2023

Reverend Kristin Michael Hayter

If you write for Dusted, you listen to music all the time and you try, at least within your general area of interest, to stay current with what’s current. Ask any of our significant others, and they’ll say we listen to too much music, to which we inevitably reply “What’s that, this ‘too much’ you speak of?” We listen to music while we’re eating, while we’re working, while we’re exercising, while we’re driving from one place to another, even while we’re brushing our teeth sometimes; though, admittedly, the sound quality is not that great in the bathroom.

Even so, we miss things. Here, in what has become an annual tradition, we revisit some of the albums that slipped away in one fashion or another, the ones that we kept putting off until it was too late, the ones we somehow didn’t catch wind of until well into January, the ones we discovered tardily on other people’s lists and year-end podcasts and radio shows. So here are our late finds, a favorite or two each that we never got the chance to write about. Fortunately, unlike bread and fresh fruit and bunches of cilantro, albums don’t go bad if you let them sit for a while.

Die Enttäuschung und Alexander Von Schlippenbach — Monk’s Casino Live At Au Topsi Pohl (Two Nineteen)

This record wasn’t so much slept on as patiently sleuthed. Die Enttäuschung, the long-running German quartet (their name translates as The Disappointment, an appellation that says more about their sense of humor than the quality of their ever-buoyant reimagining of bebop and early free jazz) started selling it at gigs in the spring of 2023. I bided my time, and when I made it to Berlin last fall, scoring a copy was on my agenda. To this day, the record and the internet are near strangers; while you can buy it from Bandcamp, there’s no download, streaming or videos. So, you’ll have to just take it from me that Die Enttäuschung’s reunion with now-octogenarian pianist Alexander von Schlippenbach will take wrinkles off your brow. The first time that these musicians recorded together as Monk’s Casino, back in 2005, they performed every one of Thelonious Monk’s compositions over three CDs; pith was essential. The repertoire hasn’t changed this time, but the approach is looser. Crammed into the intimate confines of the now-shuttered Au Topsi Pohl just as Omicron started ruining parties, the five musicians goose the tempos, spike the solos with impertinence, and veer around Monk’s sharp angles with a combination of intimate familiarity and belt-busting abandon.

Bill Meyer

Reverend Kristin Michael Hayter — SAVED! (Perpetual Flame Ministries)

Not slept on so much as avoided— and why, at this point I am not entirely sure. When I saw Kristin Hayter perform under her previous Lingua Ignota moniker back in December of 2022, she opened with a set of devotional songs on piano, a variety of metallic objects set and chains draped across the instrument’s interior string works. It was extraordinary, and SAVED! features the same basic set of raw, austere elements: that prepared piano, Hayter’s remarkable voice and the problematics of faith. The avoidance may stem from my own fraught relations to the sort of grim Protestantism Hayter reimagines; I spend some time around fire-and-brimstone Baptism as a child, and it left a mark on me. She wove some of that language and those textures into the excellent Lingua Ignota record Sinner Get Ready, but there they were much more symbolic, and largely couched in specific fundamentalisms (Amish and Mennonite) that distanced them somewhat. The sounds and spiritual gestures on SAVED! are a good deal more familiar to me, and they haunt. Likely the haunting is the point. Certainly “All of My Friends Are Going to Hell” and “I Know His Blood Can Make Me Whole” smolder and then burn with varieties of hellfire I have smelled before. One can also hear those songs more metaphorically, and “I Will Be with You Always” (the best thing on the record) is replete with images and intensities that call to multiple levels of meaning, simultaneously and sublimely. SAVED! is a hard record for me to listen to, and that’s why I have come, somewhat belatedly, to prize it so highly.

Jonathan Shaw

Illusion of Safety — Pastoral (Korm Plastics)

Daniel Burke has been carefully and consistently nurturing his Illusion of Safety project for 40 years, and I’ve been embarrassingly ignorant of the output until now. Burke released multiple audio artifacts in 2023, including a 40th anniversary ten-cassette box set, so choosing a single album to write about for the Slept On column was a daunting undertaking. Pastoral is unique in that it shows off a more delicate and expansive side of the Illusion of Safety oeuvre. It’s also one of the few music-focused objects that the stalwart Korm Plastics label has released in years; the imprint focuses on the written word these days. Sonically, Burke has established a series of vignettes that follow a similar pattern. The music flows from short, sharp attacks into lengthy sustained quietude. Burke unleashes his jarring, frantic salvos both percussively and synthetically, and these brief but unsettling periods morph into slowly churning drone swarms. Given that this is just one example of Burke’s sonic vernacular, I’m excited to hear more. Thankfully, when it comes to Illusion of Safety, I’ve been a veritable Rip Van Winkle.

Bryon Hayes

Malla — Fresko (Solina)

So slept on was Malla Malmivaara’s second solo album that even the normally reliable Beehype missed it, but even if you did happen to notice its inclusion on my midyear list, overstating how well-crafted and immersive Fresko’s dance-pop tracks are is hard to do. It makes sense given she’s better known for her acting career, but Malla’s been in the Finnish music game for a long time, too — first in the short-lived mid-aughts house trio Elisabeth Underground, then as herself with 2019’s “Sabrina” single (which got a Jori Hulkkonen remix, a guy who once redid M83) that ended up paving the way for her self-titled 2021 debut full-length. Despite using similar synth arpeggios and a healthy dose of vocal reverb as she did on Malla, Fresko is a little bit darker, moodier, more down in it. Lead single “Moi” (“hi” in English) tells the tale, its perfectly crafted video full of young Rolf Ekroth models doing things like looking impossibly cool in ridiculous outfits and having fashion shows with ATVs in snowy back alley Helsinki parking lots are a perfect marriage of audio and video, images and a melody burned in my brain the moment I saw it. It is very much a dance record flush with tech-house tweaks and no grander artistic ambitions, but Malla’s barely crested 40; now that she’s pledged more time to her music career, it’s entirely possible Fresko is but a warmup for something bolder — and even if it’s not, you could do much worse than a third album full of body movers like this. Hi is right.

Patrick Masterson

Kevin Richard Martin – Black (Intercranial)

Ostensibly a eulogy to Amy Winehouse, Kevin Richard Martin’s Black is a deeply humane expression of isolation, loss and grief. Built from the ground up, the bass deep and warm, swathes of glacial arpeggiated synths and beats that hint at the club. Notes echo and ripple away to create silhouettes of solitude, a tangible manifestation of absence. Despite the deep weight of his music, Martin imbues Black with an incredible delicacy. His abstract architecture allows the mind to roam and the listener to connect with emotional truths. It’s the balance Martin finds between the particular and universal that gives Black it’s power. In the strutting bassline of “Camden Crawling” smeared with narco/alcoholic fuzz, the looming threat of “Blake’s Shadow” and the bleary saxophone in “Belgrade Meltdown” there are the faintest echoes of Winehouse’s sound which emerge from the depths of Martin’s echo chambers. A work of terrible sadness, great beauty, empathy and comfort.

Andrew Forell

Derek Monypeny — Cibola (2182 Recording Company)

Cibola eased into the world as 2022 turned into 2023, but it took me nearly a year to get to it. Monypeny is a confirmed westerner, having lived in Arizona, Oregon, and (currently) the California desert, and an awareness of both the wrongfulness and the good fortune of living in that neck of the woods infuses Cibola, which is named for one of the American southwest’s legendary cities of gold (helpful hint; if you ever encounter a conquistador looking for gold, tell them it’s somewhere else). Monypeny alternates between guitar, shahi baaja, and on electric autoharp the LP’s seven tracks, and Kevin Corcoran contributes time-stopping metal percussion to one of them. The music likewise toggles between stark evocations of space and swirling submersions into nether states. In either mode, Monypeny effectively suggests the gorgeous immensity and pitiless history of the land around him.

Bill Meyer

The Sundae Painters — S-T (Flying Nun)

One minute, The Sundae Painters are churning wild screes of noisy guitar, the next they construct airy psychedelic pop songs of a rare unstudied grace. The band is a super group of sorts — Paul Kean and Kaye Woodward of the Bats, Alex Bathgate of the Tall Dwarfs and the late Hamish Kilgour of the Clean — convening in loose-limbed, joyful mayhem in songs that glisten and shimmer and roar. “Hollow Way” roils thick, muddy textures of drone up from the bottom, the slippery bent notes of sitar (that’s Bathgate) and Woodward’s diaphanous vocals floating free of a visceral murk. “Aversion” lets unhinged guitar shards fly over the thump of grounding drums as Kilgour chants inscrutable poetry. The two HAP tracks, I and II, stretch out in locked-in, psychotropic grooves, relentless forward motion somehow dissolving into an endless ecstatic now. This full-length, sadly the only one we’ll ever have from the Sundae Painters now that Kilgour is gone, is as good as anything that its esteemed participants ever did in their more famous bands, and that’s saying a lot.

Jennifer Kelly

U SCO — Catchin’ Heat (Self Released)

Here’s the extent of what I currently know: Someone I have on Facebook posted a link to it as one of his favorite records of the year, and someone I don’t know responded that they bought a copy of the cassette before the first track even finished. U SCO are Jon Scheid (bass), Ryan Miller (guitar), and Phil Cleary (Drums) and they are from and/or based in Portland Oregon. According to Discogs and Bandcamp Catchin’ Heat is the first thing they’ve released since 2016. That’s it! I started listened to this with the same box-checking, due diligence energy I tend to have for the dozen or so records I hear about one way or another after I’ve already done my year-end writing; most of them, every year, I don’t even make it through one play (the fatigue has fully set in by this point in the process). But sure enough before the end of that first track, I knew this was going to have to be the record I slept on. It’s perfectly structured, with extra-long, absolute blowouts beginning and ending the record, the second and second-last tracks being the two shortest and the only moments of relative calm, and the middle two making up a strong core that both brings in some elements not found elsewhere on Catchin’ Heat (the vocals on “trrrem”) and is just the most straightforward version of the absolute burners U SCO can clearly summon up on command (“woe dimension”). As great and arresting as that opening track is, though, the closing “abyssal hymn” might be the real highlight here, bringing in clarinet and saxophone to add a whole new layer of skronk to what they’re cooking. I’ve listened to this record about 10 times in a couple of days, and they deserve to sell out of that run of cassettes.

Ian Mathers

[alyceinwonderland777]

Healing

Summary: Thanks to her Tempad, Ravonna was able to escape the Void. She finds herself in an alternative reality trying to start over, but in the third month of her stay she will find herself in a dangerous situation where she cannot defend herself and will be saved by a very particular person.

⚠️TW⚠️: ATTEMPTED RAPE

It wasn't easy, but she was making it. Life had given good old Ravonna Renslayer a new chance. Luckily when she was pruned she had her Tenpad with her and was able to escape the Void. She had decided to leave the TVA behind and start over in a place where no one knew her, or rather so she thought.

Now she worked as a hairdresser. She loved that job and not just for the substantial pay she got. It was 1982, so it was normal for customers to come in wanting extravagant hairstyles. She had also managed to make a few friends and there was some chemistry between her and Sebastian, the long-haired librarian who owned the library near her house. They weren't dating yet, but the attraction they had for each other was obvious.

It's been three months since her arrival and everything seems to be going well, or at least for now.

One Saturday night Ravonna decided to get ready to go to the disco. The next day the hair salon was closed, so staying up late wouldn't be a problem. The songs she danced to that evening were varied, from Michael Jackson to Prince to David Bowie.

She had a great time dancing and drinking. Her favorite drink was the Mojito.

The night went on and Ravonna was quite drunk. A guy approached her and they started dancing together, but unfortunately that creep had other goals. Taking advantage of Ravonna's state he took her to the bathroom and started touching and kissing her. Ravonna protested and tried to push him away, but the blood alcohol level in her system made her very weak. Luckily someone noticed the situation and followed the two into the bathroom: It was Sylvie herself. Ravonna had unknowingly moved to the same timeline where Sylvie lived.

Sylvie opened the bathroom door and threw two well-aimed punches at the dirty bastard who was about to assalt Ravonna, breaking his nose and kicked him in his private parts. She hated Ravonna, but not so much that she wanted her to be raped.

Sylvie: She said no! *Sylvie growled*

Ravonna's eyes widened.

Ravonna: S-Sylvie.. *She said in a voice distorted by alcohol*

Sylvie grabbed her arm and dragged her away.

Sylvie: Let's get out of here.

Sylvie dragged Ravonna to her car and headed home. Once she arrived at her destination she helped Ravonna out of the car and took her into the house. Once inside she led Ravonna into the guest bedroom and helped her into bed. Before going to bed she put a bucket next to Ravonna's bed in case she felt like throwing up.

The next morning Ravonna woke up with a terrible headache. She looked around wondering where she was, but then remembered what happened the previous night.

She felt a strange sensation. The sweet and innocent child whose life she had stolen and who, once an adult, had transformed into a ruthless killer seeking revenge had saved her from an attempted rape. Life is really strange sometimes.

Ravonna was distracted from her thoughts by the sound of the door opening, revealing Sylvie's figure.

Sylvie: Good morning. How do you feel?

Ravonna: I have a bit of a headache, but otherwise I'm fine, thank you.

Sylvie: Good. Whenever you want, come down for breakfast. *Sylvie started to leave the room, but Ravonna stopped her*

Ravonna: Can we have a chat?

Sylvie looked at her a little incredulously, but agreed.

Sylvie: Okay. *She said and then sat down on the bed.*

Ravonna cleared her throat and began to speak.

Ravonna: First I wanted to thank you for saving me from that creep. I don't even want to think about what would have happened if you hadn't intervened.

Sylvie: You're welcome. At least now you know how I play. *She replied coldly*

Ravonna: I also wanted to apologize.

Sylvie looked slightly shocked.

Sylvie: For what?

Ravonna: For kidnapping you when you were a child and forcing to grow up in apocalypses. For all the times I tried to prune you. For trying to take over the TVA. And for lying to you.

Sylvie: Lying to me?

Ravonna: Yes. It's not true that I didn't remember what your Nexus Event was. I lied to you out of revenge. The day you managed to escape the first time I arrested you, I was tortured as punishment. Since then I have hated you because I started to believe it was your fault, but in reality you were just a victim, just like me and the other TVA employees. Your Nexus Event is that you weren't interested in power. You wanted to be a hero and that constituted a Nexus Event. Your timeline foretold that you would take a similar path to Loki's.

Sylvie was shocked. She took her head between her hands, trying to process what she had just heard.

Sylvie: Countless times I wondered if I was still a person after what you did to me. Countless times I have asked myself what I had done to deserve to have my life stolen from me and in the end what is the answer? That I hadn't done anything at all. *She said in a melancholy tone*

Ravonna: Believe me, if I could go back in time I would change everything, but unfortunately that's not possible. I messed everything up. I should have sided with you, Loki and the others instead of trying to take over that hellhole. Forgive me, Sylvie.

Sylvie took Ravonna's hand and began to enchant her. She searched Ravonna's brain, unlocking her suppressed memories. Her real name was Rebecca Tourminet and she was the vice principal of Franklin V. Rosevelt High School. When Sylvie finished, Ravonna's eyes were lit up with tears of emotion.

Sylvie: Consider this my way of saying I've forgiven you.

Ravonna: I was happy! *She said in tears*

The two exchanged a strong hug, forging a sincere and strong friendship. From now on they would always be there for each other, no matter what.