#new england hip hop

[stoneyocean]

Join the wave 🌊👋

[dudja]

Wowzers

[thewordisbond]

Lofi Producer DT11 Releases "Dusk" Instrumental

Posted on https://www.thewordisbond.com/lofi-producer-dt11-releases-dusk-instrumental/

Lofi Producer DT11 Releases "Dusk" Instrumental

DT11, hailing from the South of England, release his latest instrumental piece titled “Dusk.” The lofi producer shows off his knack to combine instruments with an environmental ambiance. Gentle keys commence the record with striking drums and bass to follow with the sounds of the night in t

[ahqkas]

♯ PRACTICE MAKES IT BETTER ; theodore nott

PAIRING! theodore nott x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! struggling with the local slang, you feel out of place until you meet theodore nott, the silent slytherin (based off this req.!!)

WORD COUNT! 2.3k

WARNINGS AND TAGS! fluff, kissing + lmk !

NOTES! reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated :)

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

AMERICA WAS VIBRANT AND DIVERSE. The music scene was thriving with genres like grunge, hip-hop, and pop dominating the airwaves. To you, it was a place of contrasts and boundless possibilities. It was a land where towering skyscrapers stood next to historic buildings, and where you could find everything from bustling cities to quiet, open countryside. The diversity was striking; every state feels like its own little world, with different cultures, foods, and ways of life. It was a country where you could experience all four seasons, with hot summers, cold winters, and vibrant springs and autumns. The sheer size and variety made it feel like there was always something new to explore, whether it was a national park, a music festival, or just a quirky little town.

Then you moved to England.

Leaving behind the familiar sights and sounds of America, you stepped into a new world of magic and centuries-old traditions.

The first thing you noticed was the climate change. England's weather was full of frequent rain and cloudy skies. You had to get used to bringing an umbrella everywhere with you.

Hogwarts in Scotland was completely different from Ilvermorny, which resided on Mount Greylock. The towering buildings of the castle intimidated you a bit as you were used to the more modern school, but you were excited for the change of scenery.

The stone corridors, moving staircases, and enchanted portraits had captivated your imagination. The castle itself was full of new discoveries. Sure, you missed your old friends dearly, every one of them, but the owls worked hard and you managed to make new friends here.

As an exchange student from America, walking the hallowed halls of Hogwarts was a totally new experience. The ancient castle with its sprawling grounds, enchanted staircases, and hidden passageways was like stepping into a dream. But it wasn't just the magical environment that threw you off balance; it was the British slang that seemed to pop up in every conversation.

During your first week, you found yourself constantly bewildered by the new expressions. At breakfast, when a cheerful Hufflepuff asked if you wanted a "banger" with your eggs, you hesitated, unsure if it was an insult or a menu item. When a Ravenclaw mentioned being "knackered" after a long night of studying, you had to suppress a laugh, thinking it sounded more like a sound effect from a comic book than an expression of exhaustion.

The confusion was endless: "snogging" instead of kissing, "knickers" instead of underwear, "blimey" instead of a simple exclamation of surprise. You did your best to keep up, but the nuances of the language often left you feeling like you were missing the punchline of a joke. To put it simply, you were lost.

One afternoon, you were sitting in the library, poring over a stack of books for a Transfiguration assignment, when you heard a familiar voice behind you.

"Ciao, piccola," Theodore Nott drawled, sliding into the seat across from yours. His presence was effortlessly welcomed, with his cool demeanor and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through you. He was a strange boy at first, never letting anyone, but when you warmed up to him, he was a totally new person.

"Hi, Theo," you greeted him with a smile playing on your lips. Theodore had been one of the first students to approach you, his Italian heritage a surprising connection. He often teased you in his native language, enjoying the way you fumbled with the unfamiliar phrases. A nuisance, that he was.

"Come va la tua giornata?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. ("How's your day doing?")

Already hearing this phrase a few times, you learned to understand its translation. With a sigh, you ran a hand through your hair. "It's been . . . interesting. I'm still trying to understand half of what everyone says here."

Theo chuckled, the sound rich and warm to your ears. "British slang getting to you?"

"You could say that," you admitted, leaning back in your chair as you watched his amusement at your misery. "I feel like I need a translator just for conversations."

"Well, if you think British slang is confusing, wait until I teach you some Italian slang," Theo smirked at the idea that appeared on his mind. "It's a whole different level."

Now this got your attention. "Teach me, then. It can't be that difficult from the British slang."

Over the next few weeks, Theodore Nott became your informal language tutor. He started with simple phrases, weaving them into everyday conversations until you began to pick them up naturally. He taught you how to greet someone with "Ciao, amico!" instead of a formal "Buongiorno," and how to say "Andiamo!" when you were ready to go.

One rainy afternoon, as you sat together in the Great Hall, Theo decided to test your knowledge. The rain tapped persistently against the high, arched windows, casting a muted gray light across the large hall. The enchanted ceiling mirrored the sky outside, swirling with dark clouds and flashes of lightning that illuminated the space completely. Despite the dreary weather, the Great Hall buzzed with the soft hum of student conversations, punctuated by the clinking of silverware and the rustling of pages.

Theo, seated across from you at the Slytherin table, leaned back casually, a mischievous glint in his eye. His dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, framing his sharp features. You had grown accustomed to his teasing, the way he delighted in challenging you with phrases in Italian, watching with amusement as you thought through the unfamiliar language. Today was no different, his eyes scanning the hall as if seeking inspiration for his next test.

You had been in the midst of revising for an upcoming Charms exam, your notes spread out around you in a chaotic array of parchment and textbooks. The soft light from the floating candles above cast a warm glow on the pages, making the ink shimmer slightly. As Theo's gaze returned to you, you knew another one of his lessons was coming.

"What would you say if you were really tired?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Theo's questions were always a blend of practical and playful, designed to push you just a little further each time. He spoke with the ease of someone completely comfortable in his skin, his words flowing like the rain outside, steady and sure. His Italian phrases, though foreign at first, began to weave themselves into the mind of your understanding.

Your responses grew more confident, the hesitation in your voice diminishing with each passing day. You found yourself thinking in Italian at times, the language slipping into your thoughts as naturally as your own. Theo's delight was evident, his eyes lighting up whenever you got something right, his praise sincere and heartfelt.

The rain outside showed no signs of letting up, but within the Great Hall, a warmth lingered.

You thought for a moment, then confidently replied, "Sono stanca morta." The phrase rolled off your tongue more smoothly than before, each syllable a small victory in your journey to master his native language. The meaning — "I'm dead tired" — was all too familiar after long days filled with classes and studying.

Theo laughed, the sound rich and genuine, echoing softly in the near-empty Great Hall. His laughter was like a reward, a confirmation that you were getting it right. Silver eyes sparkled with approval, the corners of his lips curling into a smile that made your heart flutter. The warmth of his reaction was comforting against the dreary, rain-soaked afternoon outside.

"Well done!" His voice was filled with genuine pride and delight, making you feel accomplished. His praise was never out of place; it was always heartfelt.

Your heart swelled with a mix of pride and joy. Learning Italian was not just about understanding a new language, but also about bridging the gap between your worlds. Each phrase, each word, was a step closer to understanding Theo better, and a way to connect on a deeper level.

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes searching yours, waiting for your next move. "And if you wanted to compliment someone on a job well done?" His question was another gentle challenge, pushing you to dig deeper into your newfound vocabulary.

"Bravo!" you answered without hesitation. The word felt natural, a perfect fit for the context. As you spoke, you couldn't help but smile, the simple word carrying a world of meaning and mutual respect. Seeing the approval in Theo's eyes, you felt a surge of confidence.

Theo's smile broadened, and his expression softened with pride and admiration. The approval in his eyes was more than just about your grasp of the language; it was about your willingness to immerse yourself in something new, to share a part of his heritage, to make an effort to connect.

The atmosphere around you felt lighter, the earlier tension of the day's studies dissolving into a shared moment of triumph and connection. The Great Hall, with its towering windows and ancient stone walls, seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the two of you in your own little world of language and laughter.

The candles above flickered gently, casting a warm glow that danced across Theo's features, highlighting the pride in his eyes.

One day, as you walked together by the Black Lake, the cold water reflecting the moody sky, Theo turned to you, his expression thoughtful. The gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the ancient trees that lined the shore, their branches swaying rhythmically as if in silent conversation. The scene was picturesque, the expanse of the lake stretching out before you, a serene contrast to the bustling life within the castle walls. It was quiet out here, and you liked this spot.

"You know, you've picked up Italian slang faster than I expected," Theo remarked, his voice carrying a hint of admiration and surprise. His thoughtful tone blended seamlessly with the natural sounds around you, creating a moment of perfect harmony.

You laughed, the sound bright and carefree, echoing across the still waters. Nudging him playfully, you replied, "Maybe I had a good teacher." The playful banter was a reflection of the easy camaraderie that had developed between you, a testament to the countless hours spent learning and laughing together.

Theo's smile softened at your words, a tender expression that seemed to light up his face. His gaze lingered on you, the depth of his affection and pride evident in his eyes. The way he looked at you made your heart flutter, each shared glance made your knees tremble. Like you were the only girl at Hogwarts.

"Maybe," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with a warmth that enveloped you. "Or maybe you just have a knack for languages." His words were a gentle compliment, a recognition of your efforts and abilities.

The path around the Black Lake was peaceful, the occasional ripple disturbing the otherwise mirror-like surface of the water. The air was crisp and fresh, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and damp earth. As you walked side by side, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you, the rest of the universe fading into the background.

Your footsteps synchronized, a silent dance of familiarity and comfort. The conversations flowed effortlessly, alternating between Italian lessons and shared dreams, each word weaving a tapestry of understanding and companionship. Theo's presence was a constant, steady and reassuring, his thoughtful insights and quiet encouragements a source of strength.

The sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the landscape. The twilight hues painted the sky in shades of pink and orange, a breathtaking sight that added to the magic of the moment. Theo's silhouette against the backdrop of the setting sun was a picture of serenity and quiet strength, a reminder of the stability he brought into your life.

Before you could fully process what was happening, the Slytherin boy took a small step closer, closing the distance between you. The warmth of his presence enveloped you, his proximity sending a gentle thrill through your body. He reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against yours, the touch sending a spark of electricity up your arm.

In that moment, with the golden light of dusk casting a magical glow around you, Theo leaned in. His movements were deliberate, filled with a tender hesitation. As his lips met yours, the world seemed to dissolve, leaving only the two of you in a bubble of pure, unadulterated connection.

The kiss was gentle at first, a soft press of lips that spoke everything you needed to know. The taste of his lips, the warmth of his breath, the gentle caress of his hand against your cheek — it all combined to create a sensation that was both exhilarating and deeply comforting.

Theo's hand moved to cup your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. The kiss deepened, becoming more confident, more insistent. Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. The connection between you intensified, the kiss becoming a language of its own, expressing everything words couldn't.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. The world slowly came back into focus, the sounds of nature reasserting themselves around you. Theo's eyes, still holding that mix of affection and awe, met yours. A soft, contented smile played on his lips.

"Grazie, Theo," you said softly, your voice filled with gratitude.

"For what?" he asked confused, his brow furrowing slightly.

"For being patient with me. For this. For . . . everything."

Theo's eyes softened, and he reached out, intertwining your fingers in one. "No worries," he replied, his voice just as soft. "I'm glad I could help."

[swifty-fox]

the heart is a muscle

a clegan christmas fic (wip)

“You were gonna hop all over the moon, risk life and limb and all that, but you won’t let go of the wall at a skating rink?”

“Bucky,” Gale warns. 

John swoops in another loop, gesturing over his shoulder with a mitten covered thumb, “I can go get you one of the kiddie sleds for balance.”

He’s smiling, crooked and bright in the dim lamplight, and there’s no snow but it’s in the air with crisp promise, breath clouding in front of John’s mouth and bits of frost beginning to cling to the whiskers of his mustache. Slowly, he drops his thumb and reaches out his hand again.

“Come on. Won’t let you crash, Gale.” 

His hand is warm, even through the wool of both their mittens, fingers just as long and elegant as Gale’s, but with an extra thickness to them. They wrap around Gale’s loosely, just enough to steady his faint wobble as he pushes away from the wall and out into open ice. John skating backward and Gale re-finding his rhythm with every push off of his legs. And he’s going to be sore tomorrow, he can already feel it somewhere in his hips, but they’re picking up a bit of speed now and when John laughs Gale lets out a breath of his own that he thinks might pass as a chuckle as well. 

John’s face flushes in the cold, perfect right on the apple of the cheeks, and the tip of his nose, both right like cherries. 

“I think I’ve got it,” Gale tells him, tugging his hand from John’s grip gently.

He lets Gale go easily, dropping his hands to his sides and spinning round to skate at Gae’s side, keeping pace with him on far for practiced feet. 

“Told you,” He teases, “Just like riding a bike.” 

“Riding a bike ain’t half so deadly,” Gale smiles, turning his head to the other side so John won’t see. 

“Nuh-uh,” he taps his nose, right across the bump of it, “Busted my beak riding my bike for the first time.”

“That why it so crooked?”

“Hockey fight. Wasn’t supposed to be fightin’ in the minors but they were being rough with our guys.”

“White Knight Bucky, to the rescue?” Gale muses, eyes fixed on the ice in front of him. It’s still clear enough he can see his reflection, hat low on his head and scarf tight around his neck. 

Shrugging his shoulders with fake modesty, John once again pivots to skating backwards and Gale considers tripping him just for the ego check, “More just a big ol’ goon with a decent right hook.” 

“Nah,” Gale disagrees, “You don’t strike me as a half-ass sorta guy.”

John smiles, something small and pleased. Shrugs once again, this time far more sincere with it, “I got an assist here and there.” 

Gale leans his weight to the side, just enough to veer into John and bump his shoulder lightly. Overcorrects on the pullaway until John reaches out to grab his hand. His hands are still warm, and the temperature is only dropping, so Gale lets the touch linger as they skate. Every now and then John’s thumb brushes absently over the back of Gale’s palm. Calloused, dry and a little bit chapped, either from the cold or working with wet flower stems all day, it rasps over Gale’s skin pleasantly. Marge had had warm hands too, always slightly sweet smelling from the soap she bought and the perfume she rubbed on her wrists. 

John smells like cigarettes and cologne and just a bit like dirt, always lingering around the edges like it had sunk right into his pores. 

“So where’d you go after Wyoming?” 

“Texas,” Gale says, watching the light twinkle in the trees. White ones, like John preferred, “Then Utah for a bit, even England for a couple years.” 

“I spent my whole life in Wisconsin,” John admits, “Always swore to my Ma I’d move to New York City and become a baseball player.”

“This was after the Truck Driver dream ended?” 

John huffs, looking down at the ice so Gale only sees the sharp edge of his smile, “Yeah, post Truck Driver.” 

It’s a little more crowded now, and John skates closer to Gale to make room for another couple, laughing and spinning around the ice. He watches them for a moment, a faint smile on his face, burned a soft orange by the floodlights above the rink. 

“So why didn’t you ever go to New York?”

John wets his lips in a movement Gale can’t help but notice, tongue pink and moist and bottom lip wide and soft-looking, “Opened a flower shop instead.”

[butterphii]

Sweater

TW: Cussing, extreme fluff, cutie patootie Ellie and fem reader, Joel/Tommy reference, lesbians.

This is my first time writing Ellie! I apologize if it isn't good, also it's very short, so I apologize for that too!

------------------Ellie Williams------------------

Your sweater was heavy. Very thick and very fluffy. It was Ellie's favorite. You always wore it on days in the winter you knew would be hard for her, like this day in particular.

The sweater was amazing for outside wear, and not very practical for inside time. So, you wore it when taking care of your shared farm and shoveling snow, then shedding the second skin as soon as you walked into your front door.

While very eagerly taking off the boots that stuck to your bare feet, Ellie walked through the door, bumping your butt with the corner. "Sorry, babe. Ain't mean to do that." She said, her accent poking through that she had grown accustomed to because of your favorite (sort-of) father in law, Joel.

"All good, love." You had a soft British hint to your voice, from living in England all through your college years. "How was work?" You peeped out as she hugged your waist close. "Very tiring. I need a hot chocolate and cuddle time." She said in a joking tone, but she definitely meant it.

Walked to the kitchen with her attached to your hip, you bopped her head with a wooden spoon. "Oww!" She whined, clearly overreacting. You rolled your eyes tiredly and got to making her hot chocolate. "I made a new painting today." You smiled, adjusting the shirt you had in that had been progressively rolled up from the sweater and your impatient wife.

Pouring the hot milk into her favorite mug riddled with cocoa powder and sugar, she once again, annoyingly, whined for you to hurry up. "Just a second, darling. It's almost like you're a child." You replied, keeping focus on the drink in front of you. You heard a very loud gasp.

Bringing the cup towards the living room couch, Ellie ran around you and hopped right where she always sits. Patting next to her, you sat down, placing the mug onto the most empty coffee table except for a fortune cookie or two from the Chinese food you shared with her, Joel, and Tommy the previous night.

Ellie quickly huddled into you, head stuffed between your arm and side, arms wrapped around your waist and legs twisted around eachother. She always chose to sit like this, except on the occasion where her head was on top of your lap.

You ran your long nails through her rough hair, combing out the little knots from hours of hard work. "Even after working in a yard for almost 12 hours a day, you still look gorgeous." You looked into her eyes when she took a sip of her drink, burning her tongue like she always did. She never learned her lesson.

She nodded happily, kissing your cheek. "Love ya." She whispered, letting you know she was already ready for bed, even though it was only 5:30 P.M. You kissed her forehead, letting her sleep against your warm body, her cold face leaving an invisible imprint on your side.

"Love you too, dear." You grinned softly, taking a picture of her before resting your head back and letting yourself fall asleep.

[love-bitesx]

Hey, luv ur last Hobie writing it was so good! so like as a request (sorry if my wording is a bit awk ive never requested anything on tumblr b4😭) hobie x fem reader (or not gendered i dont mind) on like what it would be like putting Hobie on music as a reader that listens to a ton of genres and not mainly punk rock- like would he be open minded on it etc. and also what falling asleep w him with music in the background would be like and stuff. like a little one-shot on that (or hc’s!)

: ̗̀➛ OPEN-MINDED

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

gonna hug every anon/req ever i love u lot so much <3 this is kind of just a ranty headcanon one shot. thing. i think. we'll find out. i think im physically incapable of writing a short one shot, i just love this guy too much thank u for the req!!! love u also, this is strictly my headcanon and my opinion, if there's something canon that contradicts this, my apologies!! this is just a bit of fun :)

i think he'd be somewhat open-minded, but he'd have his strict no-nos. pop music being that, or anything on the radio, he tells you it's just propaganda from the 'system'. remember, this guy is an anarchist, plus so much more.

having grown up in england, london specifically, i think he'd be partial to uk hip hop, grime, garage, alt rock, alternative music, etc. anything that sparks a bit of controversy. anything from the streets, the people. plenty of those genres stem from rock'n'roll music anyway, so i wouldn't be surprised.

however.

you're laying in your room one night, it's dark outside, the night crawling in as a gentle breeze drifts through your open window. headphones plugged into your phone, you scrolled through a newly made playlist, brows furrowed in thought as you tried to remember anymore songs you wanted to add.

humming along to the tune echoing in the headset, you were absolutely zoned out. it wasn't until a large pair of hands grabbed your waist, did you crash back down to earth. ripping the headphones off your head, you jumped back in defense.

"what did i tell you about leaving your window open, y/n?" hobie scolded you, a playful smirk on his lips, standing up straight, looking down at you, "could've been any dickhead coming in here, y'know?"

"not just any dickhead can scale 7 floors and climb in through my window, hobie," you rolled your eyes, fixing the mess you made when you threw your headphones and phone on the bed.

"yeah," he leant down, until his face was but an inch from your own, "only the really bad ones can."

with that, and a devilish grin, he pressed his lips against yours, using his advantage to push you backwards onto the bed, climbing on, making himself comfortable on the mattress next to you, holding you close to him. your hands went to his chest, feeling it rise and fall under your touch.

"i missed you," he muttered between kisses, his piercing ice cold against your lips, sending chills down your spine.

"i missed you, too, hobie," you whispered back, welcoming his touch on your waist.

pulling back with a smirk, he reached for the phone in your hand, opening it up.

"what were you listening to so intensely?" he quizzed, but his question was instantly answered at the name of the playlist you had made.

for hobie

"oh."

to say he was stunned, was an understatement. this was new to him, no one had ever made him a specially made playlist before, no one had gone to the effort. his heart swelled. scrolling through, he saw an array of artists that he hadn't even heard of before, mixes of genres that he knew you loved.

"sorry, it's really silly," you dismissed, reaching for your phone at his blunt response, suddenly feeling a wave of insecurity.

his eyes snapped to yours, shocked at your reaction, "what? no, absolutely not."

though his stomach twisted slightly at the thought of listening to lana del rey? whoever that was, he wasn't sure, but the fact you listened to it, thought of him, and thought of him so much you made it into a playlist dedicated to him? well, he'd be an idiot to refuse that.

"i love it, darlin', thank you," his smile was soft, genuine, one you only see him give to you, which is why you loved it so dearly.

"baby, who's kendrick lamar?"

BONUS #1

it was a late night, you were exhausted from working all day, and the 7 staircase climb wasn't ideal, now that the elevator in your block had stopped working. dumping all your stuff in the living room, quickly throwing on some clothes from the dryer and a quick bathroom visit, you nudged open the door to your bedroom.

you knew hobie was crashing at yours, it was more rare when he wasn't.

what you didn't expect was the sound of mellow, soft music coming from inside. continuing quietly, you peered around the door to see your boyfriend, barely under the covers, sound asleep on your bed. eyes scanning the room, you saw his phone, open on the mattress beside him.

silently stepping over, your heart melted at what you saw on his phone screen. the playlist you had made him, shuffled, playing through the speakers on his phone.

chest warm and full of adoration for this man, you leant down to place a kiss on his temple, smiling at the way his body reacted to your touch.

he was an angel, of sorts.

BONUS #2

though you complained about it at first, hobie would definitely need music to fall asleep to. sometimes he was so tired that the second his head hit the pillows and his arms wrapped themselves around you, he was asleep. but mainly, he played music from the speakers in either of your rooms.

the only issue with this, however, is that his music was never stereotypical sleeping music.

whilst only on a low volume, just something to keep his mind from fuzzing too much as he tried to sleep, you weren't a stranger to falling asleep to the likes of ramones, dead kennedys, motörhead, sex pistols, etc.

he loved you for it though, beyond grateful with your patience with him.

a/n: golly gosh i love this man so much

[indigaux]

Hey everyone! I’m so excited for this show 🙂 last night Father Hotep let me know that he’s super pumped to see my set and I feel the same way 🫶🏽 this is gonna be a great show!

I felt love and support from FH, knowing Mass remembers me and fucks with me has been so encouraging and motivated for me 🙂 I have been a lil nervous about this show cuz my new music is a totally new sound coming from me. A new sound almost entirely!

I’m out here blooming nu genres yall~ I would say I’m in that experimental hip hop wave, but I think I’m more of a darkwave/anti-soul & hip hop vibe now. At least with my new, self produced songs. Im still versatile and bringing different musical sounds to my platform. But ever since I committed to producing all my own beats for 2023, I noticed my overall sound has shifted.

I’m thrilled to see where this musical journey takes me. It’s an adventure of self discovery and understanding. A sacred journey for me that I’m overjoyed to share with you all! Not even my own hood has heard these songs yet 💕

I love y’all, and can’t wait to see your cute Mass faces 🙂 see you on Wednesday! See the flyer to more deetz or find me on the gram to stay updated in real time @indigauxthefae

I have a show in Boston, MA • Wednesday, February 8th 2023 at 9pm • 21+ • free entry • genre: experimental hip hop • there will be a tip jar for the artists so bring some cash bby 💵 and drinkers, have fun at the bar cuz every dollar spent helps support the artists!

✨🫧☁️🦋☁️🫧☀️

Some of you pay attention to me, so you know that I’ve been making different type of music lately. If I were to describe my music journey, I’d say I am a hyperpunk sun, sugar trap rising, darkwave moon, and… experimental hip hop mercury. You feel me? Each song in my discography is a star, making up the very architecture of my creative personality. I’ve got a galaxy of gems on and offline. Come into my universe to witness the nebula of sound that is Indigaux the Fae… come to my show :)

p.s., I attended college in Boston, so if you remember me from the old days I’d love to see you there 🫶🏽 heyyy UMass!

[tickle-bugs]

Stupid in Love

Summary: Nick Miller is completely, 100% normal about all things Jessica Day. Including her smile, her laugh--ah, fuck. He's doomed. NickJess ft. pining!Nick

Anon: I just saw you write for New Girl! I am in my yearly rewatch of the show so I am so happy you write for it! Maybe the loft gang and CeCe can be playing a game of true American and somehow during the game it comes out that Jess is incredibly ticklish. Everyone is too focused on the game to use it to their advantage at the moment, but nick remembers and maybe later when him and Jess are together, he decided to test his new found knowledge and see just how ticklish Jess really is.

While this isn’t set during a particular episode, I was thinking HEAVILY about s2 ep15, Cooler. One of the greatest episodes of the whole show, hands down. I just wanted to write pining Nick tbh.

True American is the best goddamn game ever invented. It defines a man at his core level. Everything that’s ever mattered to Nick is on the line in this game. His dignity, his pride, his dignity…

He honestly can’t remember what they’re playing for. Something involving the sink. Or a drink? Unclear, but irrelevant. Nick is the king of an aluminum can palace and his citizens will thrive under his leadership. This is his birthright. 

They’re playing True American: Catan Edition tonight. Each player defends their own small nations and attempts to crush the others, throwing their leaders to the molten lava below. It’s the smartest thing Winston’s ever come up with. 

“Duel for my amusement,” Nick slurs, waving his paper towel roll scepter around. The cardboard crown on his head slips down over his eyes. Cece blows a raspberry at him. He lobs a balled-up piece of paper at her. 

Jess plays a fanfare into her backup kazoo—Schmidt threw away her main one—and draws angry eyebrows onto the smiley face of her country’s flag. A declaration of war. 

Sober Jess is all for political progress and human rights, but Drunk Jess? Maniacal, power-hungry, and so very hot.

Focus, Miller. 

“Two, four, six, eight! Who do we appreciate?” Jess climbs onto one of the kitchen chairs and puts a colander on her head. A warrior’s helm. Nick smiles at her. 

In their corner of the living room, Winston and Schmidt whisper furiously. At some point in the last hour, Winston had ascended to Grand Advisor of Schmidt’s Creek. Schmidt had lost the ability to speak after can number two, when Cece had flirted him out of all of his natural resources and a third of his land. Nick had been trying to think of how to poach Winston to Nicklandia, but he couldn’t think of a plan that didn’t involve saying ‘please’ until he passed out. 

“Schmidt’s Creek will not challenge today!” Winston crushes his beer can against Schmidt’s forehead. Schmidt doesn’t even blink.

“Ruth Gader Binsburg! I challenge your weird little colony, Jess,” Cece shouts, messily hopping onto the chair next to Jess. They start some combination of swatting at each other and clutching on for dear life. Schmidt looks up at Cece like a drunk, lovesick puppy. Nick rolls his eyes.

Thank god he doesn’t look like that.

Does he look like that?

Shit. He’s missing the game. 

“Yeah? Guess what—” Jess knocks her knuckles against the colander helmet, winces, and then points at Cece— “I’m the Queen of England, bitch.” 

Nick’s not sure what’s elapsed in the apparently three years since he was last paying attention, but he knows by the way that Cece gasps that someone’s dying on the living room and/or kitchen floor tonight. Jess cackles and puts her hands on her hips. They start yelling, but even if they’re saying real human words, which he’s pretty sure they’re not, he’s not processing it. Jess looks so stupid in that little holey hat—someone should invent a word for that thing—and she’s adorable. 

Nick leans his cheek on his palm and smiles wider. Does she know her nose scrunches when she’s annoyed? 

Nick leans a little too far and loses his balance. Half of his aluminum fortress tumbles down. When he looks back up, Jess and Cece haven’t budged. Or blinked. Cece squints at Jess and it’s clear the conversation has ascended to psychic levels that even Drunk Nick can’t access. He tries though. Mostly gives himself a headache. 

Something in their eye conversation must shift, because Cece gets this look on her face. Like pure, concentrated mischief. The aura off of her is so powerful that everyone scoots back a bit. Cece starts stretching and cracking her knuckles. 

“Waitwaitwait, Cece, you don’t have to do this.” Jess holds her hands up in immediate surrender, but she’s smiling hard enough to brighten the room. A little nervous giggle picks up in the back of her throat and she starts to turn pinker than the boxed rosé that forms her section of the living room. 

“Oh, but I do. Surrender. Now.” Cece points to the floor. Which is lava. Cruel way to go. 

Jess looks at her best friend with the kind of profound resignation only possible when piss drunk. She sighs deeply, staring at the floor…

And then launches herself at Cece with a war cry. 

Cece doesn’t even flinch. She catches Jess, smirks, and starts tickling her sides with vicious precision. Jess lets out a giggly shriek and crumples, sinking right down into the lava. The colander tumbles off of her head and rolls into Nick’s fortress. 

The sound worms itself into Nick’s brain, taking up residence alongside all the other little Jess things that drive him nuts. It distracts him hard enough that by the time Winston arises as Supreme Leader of the Loft, Nick can’t even trace the path of his defeat. 

………

Even when sobriety beats them over the head the next morning, Nick can remember nothing but the sweet music of Jess’s laugh. And the shape of her smile. 

God he’s hopeless. 

The slow march of the week brings some relief in the sense that a) Nick remembers that he really doesn’t do the whole ‘feelings’ thing and b) alcohol makes anyone look like an angel walking the earth. He is a grown ass man and Jess is an annoying little craft goblin. He can be normal. She’s normal. No need to get worked up over her.

“You look like Mr. Rogers’s grumpy cousin.” Jess snickers, fiddling with the sleeve of Nick’s hideous cardigan. 

“You done? You finished?” He pulls his sleeve away from her. It’s really Schmidt’s, which she very well knows. Nick’s only wearing it because Schmidt’s being weird about Cece again, and the only way to survive that is to bend to his will. Schmidt’s already dehydrated himself twice this week trying to show off his muscles more, Nick doesn’t want to add to that by making the guy cry. He’d never stop.

Jess, however, doesn’t seem to understand the magnitude of this manly sacrifice. She’s too busy laughing at him. 

“Mmmm, no, I don’t think I am. You look like a Muppet.” She pinches his cheek. He rolls his eyes. 

“Well, that’s just a compliment.” 

“No, no. You look like the bird. The bird with the eyebrows—“ Jess pauses as her giggles overtake her— “You look like Sam the Eagle.” 

Jess folds over into his shoulder with laughter and smacks his chest. The warmth of it almost distracts him from the comment. 

Almost. 

“Yeah, laugh it up, Jess. C’mere—“ He drags her across the couch by the ankle and latches onto her sides. She makes that adorable sound again, that giggly shriek, and flails like a worm on a hook. She tries to push his face away. He swats her hands aside like it’s nothing. When reaches for him again—futile, really—he snatches her wrists in one hand, pins them down, and tickles with the other. 

Her whole face burns. He chooses to ignore it for both of their sakes. 

“Let me know when you’re ready to apologize. Take your time.” He does a little pinchy thing with his fingers and Jess lets out a high-pitched mess of syllables. She throws her head back and cackles, arching up into him. 

“Hmm, yeah, see none of that sounded like ‘You’re the best, Nick Miller’. Try again.” He pokes all over her torso, fast and wild. He lets go of her and adds his other hand into the mix. Every time she tries to talk, he speeds up, making her laugh at his silliness along with his hands. She kicks her legs and lets out a little giggly growl. Nick smiles so wide his cheeks hurt. 

“Nick!” She grabs his wrists but doesn’t stop him. His stomach flips. She’s so overwhelming. 

“That’s my name.” He skitters his fingers up her ribs to distract himself from the lump in his throat. 

Jess flails and nearly takes them both off the couch and into the next life. Nick catches himself before he collapses on top of her, but it puts their faces mere inches apart. The space of a breath. He can see the faint freckles across her nose, all brought forth by the pink flush down her cheeks and neck. As she catches her breath, lips parted, her laughter simmers low in her chest. He brushes her hair out of her face. His hand lingers on her cheek. 

Her eyes crinkle when she smiles. Does she know that? 

Nick gets the deep, burning urge to kiss her senseless. To download all these embarrassing, vulnerable thoughts from his brain to hers. To show her how deep this goes. To drink of her like the wine at restaurants he can never afford. 

No. Not like this. She deserves better than this.

Than him.

He starts to pull away, awkwardly clearing his throat. Jess surges forward and Nick’s stupid little monkey brain gleefully claps its hands together, shouting this is it! It’s happening! Nick’s brain activity screeches to a halt. He stares at her mouth and freezes. 

Jess flips them over and starts tickling his ears like some kind of insane supervillain. 

“No! Jessica!” He turtles and attempts to fling himself to safety. All he accomplishes is hanging off the back of the couch, leaving his knees in reach of Jess’s evil nails—

One day he will be smart about Jessica Day, but he concedes that it won’t be today. But as she destroys him and Schmidt’s stupid, hopefully inexpensive cardigan, he secretly hopes the day never arrives. 

[stoneyocean]

Guess The Gadget?!

Join the wave 🌊👋

[randomvarious]

1990s Trip Hop Playlist

Been six months since I added anything to this fly-as-fuck playlist, and this week I've got a bunch of heady, spaced-out, and super stoned treats for you all. For this update, I ended up drawing from three separate releases: Ninja Cuts: Flexistentialism, a terrific comp from 1996 that was put out by premier UK trip hop, hip hop, downtempo, and future jazz label Ninja Tune; French native Kid Loco's brilliant DJ-Kicks mix from 1999 that was put out by Germany's !K7 label; and a varied South African comp that was put out by national indie label Fresh Records in 1998 called ReRooted: Beatz From da Ground Up.

So let's highlight some sweet goodies from all of these then. First up, "Junkies Bad Trip" by London Funk Allstars, a quintessential piece of head-nodding mid-90s boom bap dope that sounds like it's waiting for your favorite New York rapper's favorite New York rapper to spit some crazy fire over it. When it comes to instrumental trip hop and hip hop-type shit, there's really nothing in my mind that tops something like this tune right here; a big sonic bluntski with two pretty iconic samples in it: one from Baby Huey's "Hard Times," which gives the song its frenzied, metallic, whistling stabs, and has been used in a whole bunch of other rap tunes too; and a funky guitar riff from James Brown's "Blind Men Can See It," which was also famously used in Das EFX's 1992 classic, "They Want EFX" as well. Currently at around 252K plays on Spotify.

Next, something really cool from that ReRooted comp by a band from Cape Town called Naked, who only ever put out one album, 1998's Bone Needs Flesh. Here they offer up a tune called "Wash Your Hands (Stone Cold remix)," which employs this really unique blend of chopped-up vocals, heavy breathing, and sharp, acidic bass stabs, as a couple different effects are applied to frontwoman Kaolin Thompson's voice. This one seems pretty damn obscure, as it's currently sitting at under 1,000 plays on Spotify. It's terrific, though.

And for some pure fuckin' THC-induced nuttery, there's "Attitude Adjuster" by Essex, England's own Tom Tyler. Appearing on Kid Loco's DJ-Kicks mix, this 1999 leftfield stunner's marked by a very imposing, dissonantly wobbly, and bleating horn sound, with a dubbed-out drumbeat beneath it, and all of it anchored by a super chill and steady synth pad to mellow and balance the whole thing out. A simply bananas piece of music that was made to satiate your crusty-eyed inner insomniac at 3:46 in the morning. Currently at a little over 4,000 Spotify plays.

9 Lazy 9 - "Turn Me Loose" Jazz Con Bazz - "Wayz of Life" Luke Vibert - "Get Your Head Down" Up, Bustle & Out - "Ninja's Principality" London Funk Allstars - "Junkies Bad Trip" DJ Vadim - "Theme From Conquest of the Irrational (Remix by The Prunes)" Pelding - "One" Naked - "Wash Your Hands (Stone Cold remix)" Boards of Canada - "Happy Cycling" Tom Tyler - "Attitude Adjuster" Kid Loco - "Flyin' on 747"

Now, something else I should mention is that the YouTube version of this playlist includes all of these songs too, but a bunch of the versions that are specifically from Kid Loco's DJ-KIcks mix are as they appear on the mix itself, which is a little different from how they sound unmixed on Spotify, except for the set's sweet and serene closer, "Flyin' on 747."

But in addition to that, this YouTube update also comes with some songs from that DJ-Kicks mix that aren't on Spotify at all too, like something from a London collective called Common Ground, whose 1998 song, "Dark Soul," has some piano-and-string bits that might remind you a little of something like the theme song from Succession—a show that came 20 years after this very song dropped—but this tune, like so many others in this update, is also very fucking stoned; it has this Mike Oldfield Tubular Bells-like opening, some plonking xylo, and some slow and incremental, scale-climbing vocals to mark its 'chorus' too. An absolute, unheralded banger as far as I'm concerned, and currently only nearing 1,900 plays on YouTube across a couple different uploads.

Emperors New Clothes - "Dark Light (Underdog Mix)" Grantby - "Grimble" Tongue - "Culture Consumers" Common Ground - "Dark Soul" Stereotyp - "Slo Jo"

And this playlist is also on YouTube Music.

So with this update we're now at 46 songs that clock in at 4 hours and 5 minutes on Spotify, but over on YouTube, we've got 76 songs that clock in at 7 hours and 2 minutes! So if you want more dank 90s trip hop than you know what to do with, then do yourself a favor and pick the YouTube one.

And if 7 hours and change or 4 hours and change sounds like way too overwhelming of an amount of trip hop for you to handle, I've got a bunch of this broken down by year too:

1994 Trip Hop: YouTube / YouTube Music 1996 Trip Hop: Spotify / YouTube / YouTube Music 1997 Trip Hop: YouTube / YouTube Music 1998 Trip Hop: YouTube / YouTube Music 1999 Trip Hop: YouTube / YouTube Music

More trip hop next week, but from a certain locality 😎.

Enjoy!

More to come, eventually. Stay tuned!

Like what you hear? Follow me on Spotify and YouTube for more cool playlists and uploads!

[yuurei20]

Port Fest Dialogue Comparison

No big changes! 🐺🍩🏹🐬

About “sorcents”: The English-language adaptation has introduced a new form of currency that doesn’t exist in the original game.

JP-server's in-game currency is “madol" (a combination of the words “magic” and “dollar”), which were changed to “thaumarks” for the EN server.

Much like how one Japanese yen is usually more or less equivalent to one cent USD, items that cost 100 madol have been updated to costing 1 thaumark on EN.

1 madol = 1 cent USD, 100 madol = 1 dollar USD, etc.

During Port Fest a student accidentally loses a madol, however, and this posed a problem: they needed to emphasize how Riddle then panics over the thought being one, single cent USD short, but the smallest form of currency in the game is equivalent to 1 USD.

So they invented new currency altogether—“sorcents”—for this scene.

The characters refer to the performance by Jack and the others as “stomp,” as if it is the name of a performance genre in of itself. Much like performing classical music or hip hop, they perform, “stomp.”

But it is also referred to as the name of an actual, in-universe show, and it is a real-life show as well (originating in England in 1991), in an interesting real world/Twst world crossover.

The English-language adaptation probably didn’t want to namedrop an actual Broadway musical in the world of the game, and so the name was changed to “SLAM” in one place while written out in others.

[thisworldisablackhole]

nothing,nowhere. Hell or Highwater

🌕🌕🌕🌕🌑

FFO: COUNTRY, EMO, ALEX G, DASHBOARD CONFESSIONAL / LISTEN

Country is back in. It has been for a while. Everyone wants to be a cowboy these days. The undercurrents of americana that pervade popular music have never gone away, but many artists over the past few years have been pushing their over the top characterizations of cowboys and countryscapes back into the mainstream by fusing the genre with electronic based pop and rap. Lil Nas X, Oliver Tree, hell, even Beyoncé has seen the potential in this fusion. In a way, it almost feels a little bit late for singer-songwriter and emo-rap-metalcore extraordinaire Joe Mulherin to be hopping on the trend, but I'm not sure if anyone has so unabashedly mixed alt-country and emo pop like this before.

Hell or Highwater is the newest entry in the series of Joe Mulherin doing whatever the fuck he wants since leaving Fueled by Ramen and regaining ownership of his career. He already dropped a full length record of emo rap bangers earlier this year, and now, almost as if to flex his new found creative freedom, he's switching things up with nine sad, manure scented acoustic tracks. "John Wayne (I Wanna Be A Cowboy)" kicks things off with a reminder that Mulherin is, in fact, a millennial, and his perspective as a 30 something year old struggling with motivation and trapped in cycles of late night doom-scrolling definitely shines through in the lyrics. Somber strums of the guitar accompany him as he sings "I wanna be a cowboy, but I sleep too late. I stayed up all night watching Walmart fights on my phone". At face value, it's a bit cheesy, but the message of desperately wanting more for yourself yet having too much executive dysfunction to take those steps is honest and easily relatable for the modern age. Don't worry though, not every song is so on the nose with it's tiktok generation pandering. Fourth track and one of the biggest album highlights, "In The Country", hits us with the beautiful cry of the harmonica and a much less obvious approach to discussing depression and the yearning to escape to a quieter, simpler life.

I'd be remiss not to mention that there is still a small hip hop influence on this album. "Hydrangeas", "Cliché Lovers", and "Honey" all feature some 808s and trap hi hats, but Mulherin's sad cowboy persona still remains at the core of these songs, and these elements blend so seamlessly into the rest of the album that they hardly feel out of place, especially if you are already familiar with the previous work of nothing,nowhere. These songs bring a sort of mixtape feel to the album, and while they aren't the star of the show for me, they act as nice segues between the more countryfied moments. Things really get kicked up a notch near the end of the record with bombastic choruses in a slacker visage like early Dashboard Confessional meets Rocket-era Alex G. Closing track "New England" ends things off on a particularly high note, starting with the lone riffing of an electric banjo before drums, acoustic guitars and blues slides all drop into place. Mulherin throws a slight twang on his voice as he recites some of his most muddy truck lovin' lyrics to date, "Well, I know that backroads and dirty clothes just ain't for everyone. So, you take the city lights and skyline, give me a setting sun". It's probably the most cowboy cosplay moment on the whole album, but in the midst of the trees and cornfields still lies an explosive, tearjerking chorus of lost love that could make me weep. Mulherin has always had a knack for hooks and catchy choruses, and this song further exemplifies the fact that he could easily make a career in writing chart topping hits if he wanted to.

I'll admit, I wasn't expecting to fall in love with this album. My personal relationship with country music has gone from ironically blasting "Fix A Drink" by Chris Jansen for shits and giggles, to eagerly watching Lucinda Williams live with clasped hands and open ears, but when the emo kid next door suddenly shows up on your front lawn with a cowboy hat, acoustic guitar in hand, and face painted like a clown, I think anyone would be a little skeptical. But whether it's rap, metalcore, or alt country, Mulherin never fails to write a memorable, heart clutching song. Hell or Highwater is just further proof that his song writing talent transcends borders, and—outside of the constraints of major labels—he truly can do whatever the fuck he wants.

[tetw]

10 Great Essays about Music

Is Old Music Killing New Music? by Ted Gioia - Old songs now represent 70 percent of the U.S. music market. Even worse: The new-music market is actually shrinking.

The Dark Art of Mastering Music by Jordan Kisner - Shedding light on the elusive studio practice that’s all but necessary to make music sound great.

The Last Time New York Was Hardcore by Michael Stahl - In the ’90s, one high-octane underground music scene desperately held on to its rebellious roots of power chords, slam dancing and stage diving. What happened to hardcore?

Some Notes on Attunement by Zadie Smith - A voyage around Joni Mitchell

Is There Anything Left Of Hip Hop? by Jason England - Hip hop has reached its midlife crisis

The Problem With Saying Oontz Oontz by Spencer Kornhaber - The story of dance music in America is a story of boom and backlash. As Beyoncé and Drake turn to house-inspired sounds, will the cycle happen again?

Why Do We Even Listen to New Music? by Jeremy D. Larson - Our brains reward us for seeking out what we already know. So why should we reach to listen to something we don’t?

How Twitter Changed Music by Eric Harvey - Hashtag rap! Kanye rants! Terrifying stan pile-ons! For better and worse, Twitter has forever altered the music landscape.

What Will Happen When Machines Write Songs Just as Well as Your Favorite Musician? by Clive Thompson - Artificial intelligence tools will hurt some musicians and help others.

The Violin Doctor by Elly Fishman - He’s trusted to repair some of the world’s most fabled — and expensive — instruments. How does John Becker manage to unlock the sound of a Stradivarius?

[productiveliquid]

My submission to @glitterypirateduck ‘s Gazfest, also first post

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Kyle (Gaz) Garrick x GN!Reader

Gaz and Reader were high school friends (?) Before Gaz went off to the British Army. He's now back in New England along with the 141 Task Force for some bar-hopping and rescuing fun??

-

TW : Mild Harresment (not from any of the 141 task force), Old Friends, Mentions of Trying to Underage Drink.

-

The bar atmosphere was perfect from the lighting down to the music. My friends had already started heading among the other bars opposed to myself, deciding to stick to this one bar. Reason? Because of him, Kyle. Kyle Garrick. It's been over 6 years now, and I'm still hooked on him. This was the first bar we ever tried our fake IDs and also the last, being that we were suspended from school as our science teacher was there to catch us. These memories we've made sticks as a reminder to what we had. Not to mention that anything I do somehow reminds me of Kyle.

I'm drawn out forcefully from my thoughts by a hand wrapping around my waist.

"So what're we having tonight, beautiful?" A whisper spoke into my ear with a hint of Jack. I put on my best customer service smile and try to deter the conversation while also moving the hand who had an unormally strong hold on me.

"Nothing much, just water." I state struggling now to move the hand. That actually starts to piss me off. "Now, can you please move your hand?" I speak calmly, again trying not to esculate the situation.

"That's it? Here, I got you. Bartend! Get this lovely lady here one of your finest shots!" He yells practically in my ear. Just as fast as he ordered the drink slid our way. His hand on my hip cutting off the circulation to my waist. But he uses his free hand to offer me the drink.

"No thank you. But again, can you let go of my waist? It's hurting me." I state gritting my teeth now, the fingers enterlinked with my waist still not fucking moving. I see him look at the drink almost disappointed, then he trys forcing me to drink it. This little boy cannot take rejection can he?

"Come on, you know you want it." He does a rise of an eyebrow, furthering the ick I already have. While also being the last straw. I grab the drink from his hand and then throwing the drink into his stupid face.

"Jesus!" He cries, i take this opportunity to try and smash the drink against his once again stupid face. Till, a hand stops me. Easily overpowering me. Looking back I see,

"Relax, he's not worth it." An easily recognizable voice speaks over the now seemingly ear wrenching music.

"Kyle?" I question but knowing the answer rightfully so, I watch his eyes as he glances at me then to the man glarring daggers at the both of us. Kyle drops my hand and proceeds to step infront of me.

"You got a problem?" Kyle questions, a very much rhetorical question. Kyle then sends the stupid faced man a glare and wrapping his arm around my shoulder, almost ushering me out the bar.

"What the hell!?" I yell, trying to be angry at him from stopping me getting arrested on assault charges but excitement quickly taking over instead. I grasp onto him tightly, wanting to never let go.

"Seems like somebody missed me?" He says, quickly returning the hug.

"Missed you so much." The glint in his eyes telling me the same goes for him. The eyes I missed spacing out into, the man I missed having in my arms. Just like this. Letting go of Kyle, he does a full examination (checking out) of myself.

"Are you okay?" He questions concern taking over his features, pretty features may I add.

"Yes, I am. Thanks to you, huh?" I say, trying to ease the shaking of adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream.

"More like thanks to yourself! You handled yourself pretty well. You also look very well taken care of." He smiles, seemingly easing a pervious worry he had?

"You don't look too bad yourself, Kyle." I return the smile, checking him out for myself as well. He's tanner, even with a more defined outline for himself. "Is the military treating you well out there?" I ask, noticing the cut on his cheek. I bring my hand up to get a closer look at it, not noticing the gap that seems to close ever so slightly. I can feel the warmth coming out of his skin. That seems to be getting hotter by the second. "Do you have a fever? You're awfully hot."

"God damnit." He curses under his breath. Suddenly, he pulls me in by my shoulders, then works his way up to my face. Holding it loosely as if to tell me I can leave at any point. "Can I kiss you?" He asks, hope swimming in his eyes. Not wanting to waste anymore time, I return the favor by grabbing his face and pulling him in the rest of the way. I pull away asking,

"Do you seriously have a fever?" He rolls his eyes and pulls me back in with a muffled 'No'.

-

I honestly do not know how I feel about this LOLS, but I wrote this in an hour. (Not grammarly checked or spelled checked.)