#peel session version

[brusiocostante]

The Damned I Just Can't Be Happy Today Peel Session Version

[madc0w-got-banned]

Listen/purchase: Mission Bells (BBC session version) by the aislers set

album

[maiaczy]

Terence mayhaps

What if Terence D'Arby was in the Jojolands

Who do you guys think each of them would main in mario kart (my headcanons under the cut)

Jodio - Shy Guy (specifically the dark blue version)

Lowkey a pro at this game. Likes to challenge himself in time trials and knows all the best cart combinations. If there is a shortcut on the track, he WILL take it (and will almost always be successful). Actually enjoys Rainbow Road (the real reason for his psychopath diagnosis).

Dragona - Pink Gold Peach (I could see them picking Daisy too)

Just there to have a good time tbh. At least most of the time, because every now and then when they're doing particularly well their competitive streak kicks in, and trust me – once they get into it, they get REALLY into it (cross them at your own risk). Favorite track is Cheep Cheep Beach.

Paco - Bowser

He thinks gaming is dumb and a waste of time (definitely not because he sucks at it). On the rare occasion he does get convinced to play, he keeps bumping into walls and other players (it doesn't help that he picks one of the heaviest characters in the game). Known for notoriously running into banana peels. Gaming sessions usually end in him "inviting" the other players to the gym.

Usagi - Luigi

Relates to Luigi on a personal level for being the underappreciated helper of the group. He's actually quite good at the game. His aim is freakishly accurate and he loves to hoard items to target other players (for unknown reasons they seem to hit everyone but Dragona). Similarly to Jodio, he takes shortcuts almost every chance he gets, but unlike Jodio, it doesn't always go so well. Also probably likes Baby Park like the freak he is.

Charmingman - Dry Bones

Used to play with Mauka a lot, so he's surprisingly good, and can get quite competitive too. Drives solely on bikes, which give him some good ol' maneuverabilty to avoid all those damn banana peels Usagi keeps throwing around. Secretly loves the music tracks and sometimes listens to them while riding his bike irl, imagining himself to be in a race. Favorite item is Boo.

[honeykaes]

—𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐠𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠

⟡ invocation tcg strip competition feat. kaeya, cyno, ayato, itto

⟡ warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact

⟡ disclaimer: afab!reader with no set pronouns, fingering (kaeya + ayato), blowjob (cyno), masturbation (ayato), thigh-fucking (ayato), cunniligus (itto), piercings (itto), monsterfucking adjacent (itto), description of “pretty” and “beautiful”, unedited

Kaeya has been a fan of Genius Invocation TCG for a while now. Wanting to add a bit of spice to the game, he asked if you wanted to play a strip version of it. As his rules went, everytime your card got hit, you had to take an article of clothing off. You weren’t expecting him to utilize so much strategy—a smirk curving on his face as he watched you remove one article of clothing after the other as he only managed to have his shirt off. 

As he placed his TCG card of himself down, utilizing his skill—you clicked your tongue in annoyance as he hit two of your cards with his ice attack as they were fully defeated from the Melt reaction. Kaeya grinned tapping his finger on your thighs. He knew you had two options at this point: you could either take your undershirt off or your underwear. With a sigh as you shakily move to peel your undershirt off of you, revealing your chest, Kaeya hummed, pressing his hands to your thighs.

You gasped feeling his chilled hands nip at the plushes of your thighs, murmuring there was a better option than that. Your moving shivered feeling his fingers creeped up to your clothed cunt, swiping a finger up and down your covered slit. A shaky breath escaped you when he pressed the pad of his thumb on your clit while Kaeya narrowed his eyes at the darkening fabric beginning to get coated with your arousal. 

Humming in amusement, Kaeya curled his fingers on the band of the underwear guiding the fabric slowly down your legs, licking his lips admiring your entrance, glistening in your slick that was finally fully revealed to him. His fingers swiped up and down your slit, gently brushing the bundle of nerves every so often. Hearing you trying to stifle your moans, Kaeya chuckled, finally dipping two of his fingers inside of you.

He lazily pumped them, curling his digits so they would brush up and massage your velvety walls. You threw your head back, cunt fluttered down at his fingers, as Kaeya soon slid the fingers out, slapping your clit as your whole body shook.

“How long are you going to make me wait, lovely? It’s your turn after all,” he cooed, letting his fingers continue to thrust inside of you—thumb pressing tight circles on your clit. You could barely focus your shaky hands, throwing the dice down as you whined once more, clamping tightly against him.

“Aw come on now. It’s your chance to turn the tides. Everyone loves an underdog. You wouldn’t want to disappoint me now, hm?~”

Cyno knew how eager you were to finally win against him. You were always trying to use tactics and schemes to finally beat down the champion. Cyno could only sigh with a small smile as you challenged him to a game once more, but with a twist. This game would involve the parties stripping one piece of clothing every time they got damaged. You knew he had a soft spot for your physical form, the stares and hands that would often linger on your body when he got a glimpse of your nude form—this could be the thing that finally shifts the tides!

Or so you thought.

Your eyes would go agape as Cyno defeated one of your cards with his signature. You could only look back up to him, scarlet eyes solely darkened and eating up every part of your skin now revealed to him. Out of all your sessions and duels, this was the most determined you have ever seen him. 

“And I believe this is game set, beloved.”

As your last character falls, you take a shaky breath. Your hands leave their cross position on your chest that were covering your now hardening nipples as you finally slipped your underwear down—throwing them across the room. Cyno tongue dipped out,coating his dry lips basking in your flustered nude form. He got up from his position walking in front of you before he gently grabbed your chin, leaning up at him.

“Shouldn’t the victor relish in the spoils of war?”

Your eyes snapped down noticing the prominent bulge pressing against Cyno’s pants. Your face feels hot as Cyno lets go of your chin, observing as you shimmied his pants down—cock snapping to attention. His cock was curved, precum drooling out of his brown tip as it shuttered as you gently took a hold of it. You pumped it a couple times, letting his arousal coat on the rest of his length hearing him suck a sharp breath in.

You opened your mouth widely, sliding his cock inside of your mouth as one hand remained on his hip and the other tightly clasped on the base of his cock you couldn’t fit in your mouth. You cracked your hand, pumping him as you sucked—swirling your tongue around his slit as his hand rested gently on your head letting out soft grunts.

As the flat of your tongue grazed along a vein, you felt him twitch in your mouth as he soon groaned loudly—cum soon spurting out of him.

“Don’t swallow yet. Just hold every drop in your mouth,” he grunted, watching you press your thighs together to try to appease your own lust. As he leaned away with a pop, he gently grabbed your chin once more beckoning you to open your mouth showing off the globs of his cum resting on your tongue.

“Swallow every bit of it and I might consider giving you a token of my appreciation for challenging me to such an interesting game.”

The young head of the Kamisato always seemed to be scheming in that head of his. He hated to admit it, but he found himself being very greedy when it came to you—wishing nothing more than to have your lips on top of his as his hands wandered across your beautiful figure. His eyes observed the papers you were tiresomely working on. The two of you had been slaving away trying to prepare for the upcoming Genius Invocation TCG International Competition.

As Ayato placed his quill down, closing the report he was working on—he grabbed your attention, asking if you’d like to indulge him in a bit of TCG. As you agree, reaching out for your own deck he asked if you’d like to spice it up—when a card received damage, the person had to disrobe an article of clothing. 

Ayato had no intention of winning this battle; however, he’d win the war.

He basked in your attention and your trembling lips as he bit down on his gloves, pulling it with ease with his teeth. Soon his hoari fell down with it. As his sister’s card fell, Ayato let out a chuckle undoing his obi, covering most of his glowing pale skin. He could see how flustered you were, your moves getting less focused making it harder for him to not seem as careless with his moves that would cause suspicion. 

“Seems it’s not my day, is it?” he hummed, nonchalantly. 

His Thoma card fell next, leaving his ki-nagashi to pool on the tatami mats. He was only in his tight briefs, your eyes focused on the hard erection pressed firmly against the thin fabric. You visibly gulped trying to focus on defeating his final card, but paused noticing Ayato cupping his clothed hardened cock. A groan escaped his lips, letting his fingers squeeze at the mound.

“My love, pay attention. You have one more move before you defeat me,” he cooed at you. You took a deep breath activating your charged attack that would end the game, but your gaze remained on Ayato’s lower half—hand snaked underneath his briefs to pump his cock. Another breathy moan escaped from him as his final card, himself, fell down. 

Drifting his half-lidded eyes to you, he dug his bottom lip against his teeth, soon freeing his cock from the confines of his underwear. His member slapped against his chiseled abdomen, quivering, longing for touch once more. 

“It seems I have lost this round. You think you can pity a poor man,” he whispered in your ear, nipping at your earlobe. His hands made their way to your body, pressing down as it glided itself throughout your form. He briefly brushed across your chest as pleasure shivered across your form.

He grasped onto your yukata, exposing your beautiful legs to him. With a click of his tongue, he grazed his cock by your soft thighs letting out another groan in your ear, before pushing it between the plush pair.

“I don’t think a loser like me deserves your pretty pussy right now,” he cooed in your ear, lifting his hand up to slide down your clothed slit. He easily swiped the fabric back letting his fingers swirl themselves on your throbbing clit.

“...But that doesn’t mean I can’t use these beautiful thighs then, huh?” he murmured. Soon thrusted himself between your thighs, languishing in the way your slick was now  coating his fingers as he played with your clit. Precum smeared across your skin, causing a lewd sound to echo out every time Ayato thrusted.

Your body shivered at the pressure and attention he was giving too your clit, melting in his touch. With a choked grunt of your name, Ayato’s hips stuttered—ropes of cum spurting out as some managed to stain themselves on your thighs. With a content sigh, his fingers plunging inside of you went faster, thumb flicking on your clit much faster as you quickly came undone as well.

Watching you try to catch your breath, he pressed his lips against your neck—nudging his softening cock against your leg.

“If you’re tired we can stop here…but something tells me you're desperate to have something other than my fingers to go inside of you, heh.”

A challenge?! You’re asking Itto for a Genius TCG Challenge?! Don’t you know who you were asking, your boyfriend, the one-and-oni Itto and the master of these cards?! Itto could only cackle as he flashed you a confident smile, he’s totally down to take you down. You could only chuckle yourself when you asked if the two of you could play the strip version instead. A red bloomed on Itto’s cheeks as he tried to fight the grin on his face to not seem as eager.

“Yeahh? S-Strip TCG?! You’re gonna be nude in no time, baby!”

As you two began gearing up, getting your decks in order—his eyes lit up in determination. He wanted to ogle your form again, his cock was twitching at the very thought of seeing you nude again.

You easily began to hit his characters causing severe damage as Itto began to scowl and pout. With a loud groan he ripped off his gloved and spiked bracelets only to sputter in shock as his best buddies card fell—his belt, jacket and shin guards going down with it. 

“You’re cheating! You must be! You defeated three of my cards! I’m in my boxers and you still have your chest covered and pants on!” he whined in childish frustration. You could only laugh as you finally claimed victory with his final card being defeated. 

Itto pouted and quickly scrambled out of his boxers and crossed his arms only for you to gawk at his form. His cock was hardened, pulsating with its many inhume ridges and Prince Albert piercing decorated around it. His cheeks reddened again as he drifted his eyes away from yours in embarrassment.

“Sorry, I got…overly excited since I figured if I won, like I was suppose’ to, I’d want to see how much you could fit me in that mouth of yours…” he sighed. “But since I lost because you cheated!...It doesn’t seem fitting anymore…”

Your body shivered as you felt his large palm press down on your closed legs widening them up. Itto’s eyes gazed down at the thin undershirt covering up your chest—pebbled nipples poking from the thin fabric. Itto groaned once more, feeling his cock twitch again.

“Just you wait! When I win next time, I might just have to test out every part of your body with my cock,” he muttered. Itto grabbed onto the helm of your pants, quickly taking them down along with your underwear. Watching your entrance tighten and coil against nothing made the oni’s mouth water. He leaned his face in, breath hot against your cunt causing you to shiver.

Itto pressed the flat of his tongue along your clit, choking back the moan as he tasted your slick. Your body shivered, feeling the difference of temperature between Itto’s hot tongue and the coldness of his piercing. He swirled the muscle along the sides of your clit, feeling your legs on either side of him shiver in delight.

He curled his tongue, letting it rapidly flick against the bundle of nerves. Your hands shot to his hair, moan ripping from your lips as he continued to abuse your clit. As you felt yourself getting closer to your high, Itto shifted causing you to whine slightly,fat tongue prodded at your entrance before sliding in. The vibrations from his humming seemed to add to the different temperatures and speeds Itto was using to thrust inside of you, as your legs soon began to cave on his head.

Itto slid his tongue out once more before going back to your clit, sucking tightly at the mound before leaning back and flicking it rapidly with his tongue. He would continue switching back and forth between them, nails digging into the plush of your thighs. He shifted his lips trying to quell the throbbing pain of his cock desperate to be inside of you.

As he went back— sharp teeth grazing your clit as he sucked hard once more—your hips bucked and back arched, cunt spasming as you finally reached your high. Itto struggled to hold you down, caught off guard by your intense organism still lapping at your clit burning from overstimulation. You slowly came back down, a layer of sweat on your body trying to catch your bearing, Itto leaned up from your drooling, messy cunt.

The bottom half of his face was coated in your juices, a cocky smirk on his face as swiped his tongue to play with his piercing.

“‘Nother round? Loser has to give head!”

[mommypieck]

⌗︙・aot boys having crush on their best friends sister - nsfw version ⸜⸜・

cw// dubcon, these boys just get what they want

eren

"you can lean on me." he says, pulling your body into his lap. your brother is already passed out on the sofa on the other side of the room, but eren is still determined to play more games. he knows you are getting sleepy and he wants to use it for his advantage. you lean into his body, blushing at the way eren puts his arms around your body. his face is too close and he's stroking your hips, making your feel warm inside. you start a new game but can't help to notice something hard poking you from behind. erens hands travel lower and you can feel him playing with the hem of your skirt.

"relax," he says, "let me take care of you." his fingers brush against your panties, causing you to let out a whine. he swiftly puts a hand into your underwear, stroking your clit. his other hand finds your breast, kneeding it. he puts his hand under your shirt, smiling when he feels your lack of bra. you yelp when he puts a finger in while his other finger massages your clit. you can feel your high coming, but you don't want this to end, his touch just feels so good. you cum with a loud whine, coating erens fingers in your liquid.

"good girl. let's go to your room."

armin

"armin, what do you think?" you say as you step out of the changing room to show armin your new outfit. armin blushes, noting that the dress is far too short.

"it's nice, " he squeaks out, trying to ignore the tent in his boxers, "but the dress is a bit scrunched in the back. lemme help you."

he puts his hands on your hips as he tries to put it in the right position. you are confused because you can't see any scrunches, but armin is persistent. you yelp a bit when his hands find its way to your butt, massaging it.

"w-what are you doing, 'min?" you squeak out in embarrassment.

"shh, be a good girl." armin shushes you and you can feel his member hardening against your ass. he pulls your dress up to get a full view of your butt. armin swears under his breath before pulling your underwear to the side, his finger stroking your slit. he smiles when he feels your wetness on his finger, carefully putting his finger in your opening. you moan out as armin fingers your warm cunt. armin eyes roll back at the idea of him stuffing his cock right inside of you.

"don't cum yet, sweetheart. let's go home so i can taste this sweet cunt too."

jean

"what happened, sweetheart?" jean asks when you jump into his arms. he's never seen you cry before and seeing you so distressed makes him worried.

"my boyfriend broke up with me." you say into his shoulder. you feel safe in jeans arms, his big hands holding your body and the smell of his cologne makes you lightheaded.

"let's go lay down." he says, carrying you to your bed. he lays next to you so he can stroke your cheeks and hold you close. your crying calms down when you feel jeans hands caressing your hips. he's so close to you that you can feel his breath close to your mouth. your eyes lock and before you can do anything, jeans lips are on yours. the sweet kiss slowly turns into lustful makeout session. jeans hands stroke your body and soon you feel his fingers press into your cunt. he strokes you over your clothes before shuffling in between your legs. he peels your clothing off your body and you shiver when you feel him breathing over your pussy. his tongue kitty licks your clit before putting his whole face into your cunt, suckling and licking. you grip his hair, moaning at the sensation and at jean looking right at you.

"could your boyfriend ever make you this good?" he pulls away asking. you shake your head, begging him to continue. you can feel his chuckle against your cunt. "good. now cum for me, pretty girl."

connie

"hi, baby." he says, sitting down next to you with a half empty bottle of rum. he throws his arms around your shoulder and leans into your body. you are used to him being so affectionate, so it doesn't faze you. you can feel the burning liquor on his breath but connie manages alcohol well and you know that you shouldn't be concerned.

"you look so beautiful today. i could just eat you up." he giggles as he squishes your cheeks. he leans to plant a kiss to your cheek, making you blush.

"i know we're friends, but how about we take this somewhere private." your cheeks burn but you nod at his request and you follow him to his car. his hands are on your body as soon as he closes the car door, kissing you and fondling your body. his hands find your breasts and he takes his time fondling and sucking on them. you feel him yank your underwear down and position himself in between your legs. he slides two fingers in without any problem as you are already soaked. his mouth is so close to your core but he doesn't dare to taste you. you can see that he fists his cock with the other hand.

"fuck babe. i can't hold on any longer, i need to fuck you right now."

reiner

"how about this?" you ask reiner, showing him different movies to watch. you can't help but to notice he seems a bit distracted this evening. his face seems red and his movements are all fidgety. reiner doesn't even register that you are talking to him, his eyes on your cleavage. you decided to wear a lower cut shirt and your boobs are basically spilling out.

"do i have something on my shirt?" you ask when you catch reiners gaze.

"yes. i think." he says in a low tone, his hands finding your boobs. he massages them softly, taking his time to inspect them properly. you chuckle at him, "you could've just said."

his hands travel from your boobs to your waist and he sits you on his lap. you can feel his erection pressing into your ass, hůř you choose to ignore it, knowing how shy reiner is. he moves your body on his cock, his hands caressing your waist. one of his hands slithers under your shirt to fodle your breasts again. he pinches and strokes your nipple, making it erect and prominent against your shirt. you speed up your hips, grinding onto reiners cock with more strength and making him moan loudly.

"i can't take it. need you right now."

[saleeba]

comforting jules in these hard times :(( (with a bj ;))

summary ♡ what the request says! 

pairing ♡ jules koundé x gn!reader

content ♡ 18+, smut, blowjob, (untranslated) french terms of endearment, religious undertones for some reason, not proofread, hopefully quite lovey-dovey idek this was so rushed 😭

a/n ♡ hiiii my first little snippet!! these are generally going to be short ask-based fics that are one scene/one action + i hope to share more with u guys! :D tysmmm anon for this request i hope it lives up to ur expectations!!

the copious amount of condescending headlines about his football club was creating a frenzied commotion in the world of spanish sports media and jules found it difficult to dull the noise. add on top the emotional stress of his manager’s departure from the club and it was enough to make a boy like him break into a million pieces. 

yet you were like his superglue. you held him together with the mere thought of your presence in his mind and the nights spent tangled between the sheets and gasping promises of forever grounded jules to the best version of reality for him.

this night was no different, you trying your best to make it all about him (not that it was hard — you were practically devoted to the boy) after he came home close to tears, the burdensome weight of work troubles proving heavy on his shoulders. he was never one to let his professional life trespass into his personal one but you made it clear from day one that you were both a team and that yes, it may be “his problem”  but you were both going to jump over those hurdles hand-in-hand.

and the first approach in which you consoled him was with the help of your lips on his bare, sweaty skin, not sure if the subtle dampness was from a session in training or the way his skin always warmed up to the feeling of your mouth; the feeling of familiarity and of what just felt right. 

“please don't tease tonight, baby,” jules whispered in a tone close to begging, body writhing on the couch, his voice desperate for that same familiarity to save him from losing himself in the uncertainty that had tainted the past few days.

“not even thinking about it, jules,” you tongued at his abdomen on your way down to the waist of his shorts, fingers running inside the elastic band and skimming the part where he needed you the most. “wanna take good care of you tonight.”

a blissful sigh escaped from the parting of jules’ lips as you peeled the material off of him and cast it aside, the only thing left between you and his pure form being the pesky boxers that constrained his cock. not wanting to rush the events of the night, you go to mouth kisses on the imprint and the damn thing twitches, tip jerking ever so slightly as it leaks pre-cum onto the black cotton softness. 

“what was that about not even thinking about teasing, chérie?” he whined, hips raising in demand for you to do both of you a favour and free him from the restriction.

“i’m sorry, baby… can’t help myself, it looks so pretty like that,” you put on your best, prettiest pout and ran your fingertips down his length. “promise i’ll be good for you now.”

you finally granted him freedom and the way you quickly pulled down the set of underwear had the two of you so eager, your lips immediately came to wrap around half of his cock, the engulfing feeling sending jules’ mind into what he considered a premature frenzy. 

“s-slow down, baby,” he stuttered, hands gripping onto the sides of your head to pull you back to his tip where you suckled like a woman parched, unable to allow yourself to let him go completely. jules was addictive in every sense and the way his dick slid down your throat was even more so. you’d burned every part of him into your mind, making sure it was all unforgettable, all something you could never tire of.

“mm-hmm.” your response was muffled as you effectively ignored your boyfriend’s pleas, mouth taking more of him in, back and forth on repeat as the stiffness slid down your throat. it wasn’t an easy feat since the thickness of jules’ cock was siding on the extraordinary but your mouth was drenched, spit running down your chin and over the skin of your chest as the movement of your head over him became much more rapid.

jules was near to bursting, fingers gripping onto the leather of the sofa as he couldn't help but push his hips further towards you which only brought his dick further into your mouth, the weeping head barging at the opening of your throat. he wanted to grip your head in his hands – as leverage, as control, as a means to get as close to you as possible – but was scared to do so due of his iron-strong hold and the way your tongue traced that one vein on the underside of his dick, oh god, it was heaven—no, it was beyond that. you were his salvation, his saving grace, his angel come to earth; you were so, so good to him and he didn’t think he deserved you. but you were always there to shoot that idea down; it was always a collaboration with the two of you, you were always equals and you were always going to be. 

“i‘m gonna cum, mon ange,” your raven-haired lover whined, back arching as you continued your assault on his sensitive dick, lips reaching all the way to his pubic bone as his balls slapped against your chin with force, head motioning up and down, down and up, any which way to make jules flood your throat with that subtly-salty fluid. “oh my god, baby, please, please.” 

there was no way you were relenting now, the sounds coming from jules only giving you the motivation to bring your hands to his thighs and push your tongue out, his cock still in your mouth, aiming to caress it with the wet muscle and rip his orgasm from him in a matter of milliseconds. 

and that’s exactly what you achieved; a myriad of sweet moans from your boyfriend as he came down your throat, the mixture of clear spittle and milky-white cum threatening to spill out from your filled mouth but you drank it all up with his dick still between your lips, even managing to swallow as you moved back so that only the tip remained wrapped with the swollenness of them. 

“was that good?” you asked sincerely once you had pulled off of his softening length and stood up before pressing the most tender of kisses to his lips which parted in sheer satisfied exhaustion. 

“good? it was more than that, baby, fuck,” he let out a breathless laugh, grabbing your face to pull your mouth to his once again, the motion more hungry than before. “you make me forget about all that’s wrong, my love, thank you, thank you…” 

you couldn’t help but let out a giggle and an aww, a promise of always being there to take care of him on your lips and he was more than appreciative.

“let me take care of you now, bébé. my girl deserves it. please?”

[naomijoestar]

HELLO 😍I absolutely love the clown stand post! Can you do the same for Bucciarati gang as well?

I’M SO GLAD YOU LOVED IT! Thank you @stretch-time for the idea <3 Also I sincerely apologize for the extremely late reply, I have been so busy! Requests are currently turned off until I complete the other asks I have in my inbox <3

(Stand side notes: it’s small in size but not as small as the sex pistols, stand abilities: cartoon physics type of stuff, you’ll understand what I mean when you read)

Bucci gang with a goth reader who has a cute clown stand

(La Squadra version here)

Giorno Giovanna

Giorno’s calm, serious demeanor doesn’t waver when he sees your clown stand for the first time. He’s trained himself not to judge a stand by appearances, but even he is taken aback by the sight of a bright, cheerful clown at your side. Giorno quickly assesses the potential of your stand, wondering what abilities could possibly match such a strange look.

He tests it by sending Golden Experience to strike. However, your clown pulls out a massive mirror, reflecting the punch back toward Golden Experience. Giorno’s eyes widen, and he steps back, reassessing his approach. The clown smirks, pulls out an oversized bucket, and dumps a seemingly endless stream of banana peels onto the ground, causing Golden Experience to slip and stumble.

Every time Giorno tries to counter, the clown anticipates it, pulling out ridiculous objects that disrupt his strategy: an anvil to block his punches, a giant mallet to deflect attacks, and even a cartoon bomb that sends Golden Experience flying back when it goes off. Giorno begins to respect your stand’s unique power, realizing that while it looks innocent, it’s a master of psychological warfare—each item it pulls out makes him question what absurd attack might come next. With a small, impressed smile, he finally says, “I underestimated you.”

Bruno Bucciarati

Bucciarati remains polite, even respectful, when he meets you. But his brows raise when he sees your cheerful, colorful clown stand. It doesn’t align at all with your goth aesthetic, which only makes him more curious. “Interesting choice,” he says, in a tone that’s equal parts admiration and confusion.

During your sparring session, Bucciarati sends Sticky Fingers in with a zipper punch, expecting a quick victory. However, your clown smirks, pulling out a giant hand mirror, which Sticky Fingers punches instead, causing the zipper to close around Bruno’s own fist. He watches, surprised, as your clown quickly sets up an obstacle course of oversized props: a giant spinning top that Sticky Fingers has to dodge, a pie that ends up splatting on Bucciarati’s face, and even a door that leads him in circles.

Despite this, Bruno begins to chuckle, realizing your stand’s playful nature is a surprisingly effective strategy. At one point, he zips through the air to get the upper hand, but your clown pulls out a huge net like a cartoon hunter, snaring him mid-zip and dropping him to the ground. Bucciarati finally laughs, wiping pie from his face. “You know, I expected a serious fight, but this is a refreshing change.”

Narancia Ghirga

Narancia takes one look at your clown stand and bursts out laughing, doubling over as he tries to catch his breath. “What is that? It’s adorable!” he snickers, clearly underestimating the threat. But his laughter quickly turns to surprise when your clown pulls out a toy slingshot and launches a rubber chicken at his face. The slap from the chicken’s beak leaves him blinking in shock as he wipes his nose, muttering, “Did that thing just hit me?”

Enraged, he summons Aerosmith, sending it diving toward the clown. But your stand pulls out an enormous balloon, which Aerosmith crashes into, its tiny propeller spinning uselessly against the inflated surface. Narancia’s jaw drops as the clown cheerfully waves at him before producing an enormous spray bottle labeled “Bug Repellent” and dousing Aerosmith with it, sending the miniature plane spiraling out of control.

Frustrated, Narancia shouts, “Alright, now you’ve done it!” But every move he makes is thwarted by the clown, who starts producing absurd obstacles for Aerosmith to dodge: fake trees, tunnels, even cartoonishly large bubbles that trap his stand inside for a few seconds. By the end, Narancia is out of breath and flustered, but even he has to admit, “Okay, that was kinda cool…but you better not tell anyone I said that!”

Leone Abbacchio

Abbacchio’s first reaction to your clown stand is a deadpan stare. He’s entirely unimpressed. “You’re kidding me, right?” he mutters, crossing his arms as he sizes up both you and your stand. He half-heartedly summons Moody Blues, not expecting much from a cutesy clown stand.

But the clown immediately bounces into action, producing a giant pair of glasses and plopping them onto Moody Blues’s face, temporarily blocking its vision. Abbacchio tries to remove them, but the clown has already pulled out an enormous pair of handcuffs and snapped them onto Moody Blues’s wrists, binding it in place. His eyes narrow, annoyed that his stand has been bested by something so ridiculous.

Growing more irritated, Abbacchio commands Moody Blues to break free, but the clown whips out a bucket of quick-drying cement, dumping it over the cuffs. Abbacchio watches, slack-jawed, as Moody Blues struggles, the cement hardening around its wrists, temporarily immobilizing it. When he finally frees his stand, he mutters a string of curses under his breath, annoyed but impressed by your clown’s effectiveness. “I’m not saying I respect it, but…fine. You win this round.”

Guido Mista

Mista laughs heartily the moment he sees your clown stand, nudging his Sex Pistols to join in. “A clown? That’s hilarious!” he says, grinning. But as soon as he gives the order to attack, the clown whips out a toy gun, pointing it at Mista with a mischievous glint in its eye. The Sex Pistols cheer, thinking it’s a joke, until the clown fires rubber bullets at them, each one sending a Pistol ricocheting off in surprise.

Annoyed, Mista sends more bullets your way, only for the clown to deflect each one with oversized comedy props: an umbrella that spins bullets back, a massive rubber glove that bats them away, and even a mirror that sends them flying back toward Mista. “Hey! That’s cheating!” he shouts, but the clown merely shrugs, honking its nose in response.

Frustrated, Mista tries to outsmart the clown, but each time he tries a new strategy, your stand counters with something even more absurd. Finally, the clown pulls out a comically large magnet, attracting all of Mista’s bullets and forcing him to back down. He’s left scratching his head, baffled. “Alright, I admit it. You got me. But that thing is still creepy in a weird way…”

Pannacotta Fugo

Fugo’s analytical mind is immediately confused by your clown stand. “A clown? Is this some kind of joke?” he sneers, his impatience clear as he activates Purple Haze. He expects the battle to be quick, underestimating your stand entirely. But before Purple Haze can make its move, your clown snaps its fingers and produces an oversized gas mask, strapping it onto its face with a smug grin.

Purple Haze’s virus-filled fists swing toward the clown, only to be deflected by an enormous rubber mallet that sends it staggering back. Enraged, Fugo watches as the clown starts hurling ridiculous items at Purple Haze: pies filled with an anti-viral cream, a giant magnifying glass that shrinks Purple Haze’s hand momentarily, and even a huge eraser that somehow removes patches of Purple Haze’s virus fog temporarily.

Fugo’s patience wears thin as he tries to keep up with your clown’s unpredictable tactics. Each time he thinks he’s cornered it, the clown produces another cartoonish item to counter his moves. By the end, Fugo is seething, his face red with frustration. “I don’t understand how that thing works!” he snaps. You simply smirk, watching him struggle to make sense of your clown’s absurd yet effective abilities.

There it is! I hope the long wait was worth it, if you’d like anything specific added or anything changed you can always message me and I’ll fix it!

If you have anything specific you’d like me to write for any jjba character/squad parts 1-7 you can request it if my requests are open!

[dfastback68]

Failed to think up modern goth fam scenarios, but this one’s for @kacievvbbbb anyway because I do blame them for the concept of post-canon Mihawk’s Home for Displaced Pirates. (Building off of this fic)

Besides King, who else might wind up there? I don’t really know what’s going on with him in canon, but the answer is obvious: Moria! Perona’s already living on Kuraigana part time/most of the time, so eventually she’d drag her original adoptive dad there.

Of course she wouldn’t tell him it’s Mihawk’s island. Just that there’s this great spooky island with plenty of room and huge graveyards and she loves it and she knows he’ll love it, too. Moria doesn’t put it together that it’s Kuraigana until they’re already there. Perona has absolutely done this on purpose. He really should have seen it coming.

Mihawk isn’t thrilled but he doesn’t object. There’s plenty of room, after all (and he knows Perona will be insufferable if he said no). He does enforce pretty strict rules about fighting among the inhabitants. They can leave their past grievances behind if they want to stay here. No one really wants to mess with Mihawk (or Zoro when he's around).

The first few days go fine, but Perona has forgotten a very crucial aspect to the side of the castle Moria is living in: King. Objectively she knows Moria suffered a crushing defeat from Kaido, and that King was certainly by his side, but it’s not like it’s personal, right? There’s no fighting allowed on the castle grounds, except where training and sparring is permitted. Nothing could ever possibly go wrong.

It’s probably dumb luck that King and Moria don’t run into each other at first. Then one morning Moria walks into the study to find Perona and King in the middle of one of their hair braiding sessions, and all hell breaks loose.

Moria is shrieking, King is yelling, Perona is screaming. She’s never seen Moria so motivated to actively harm someone when it breaks out into an actual fight. Her negative hollows won’t work on them.  Moria simply cannot stand the sight of someone like King being anywhere near Perona. That’s his daughter!!!!

Mihawk has to break it up. Mihawk, all 6 foot something of him, getting between King and Moria, both 20 feet tall.  

He throws them outside and essentially puts them in time out. Perona is sobbing. Mihawk is seriously reconsidering this entire operation. Neither of them really have anywhere to go, though, so he has to think of consequences to quell this sort of behavior. Exactly what he’s been hoping to avoid.

I figure Mihawk’s brand of punishment is just manual labor, but most of the castle residents already pitch in with gardening and farming… so he probably puts them on kitchen duty together. It’s the one room best equipped to handle King’s flame if he gets pissed, and Moria hates doing any kind of menial work at all. 

Forcing them to peel potatoes and carrots and wash grapes (under Perona’s supervision) until they’re united in their anger against Mihawk instead of each other works pretty well, actually. Crisis averted.

(Also wondering if we should throw the Seraphim in there somewhere, too, since again Kuraigana is just a big chill island where they could maybe learn to be people and not live under scrutiny. And let King suffer a mental breakdown over them in privacy. Moria has no idea what to do with a kid murder robot version of himself. Perona treats them like her minions and then eventually like little siblings.)

[guessimdumb]

Cinerama - I'm From Further North Than You (Edinburgh) (2003)

David Gedge clearly liked this song as he brought it to the Wedding Present when they regrouped. That said, I like the Cinerama version recorded as a Peel Session.

I think we're the same in many ways And I admit we had some memorable days...but just not very many

[seaweed-water]

from flesh and bone wip

“So, how are you today?”

Derek mirrors his position, returning his smile. “Fine. How are you?”

“Hm, I thought we were past this ‘fine’ stage. Tell me about your week,” Stiles returns, thumbs twiddling, a playful glint in his eye.

Derek spent the week trying to find more information about Dr. Stiles Stilinski, but his search has come up fruitless, save for the adorable yearbook photos Derek managed to find at the library. He flicked out his switchblade and cut them out, keeping them in his wallet and all to himself.  

“It was good. I started a new book,” Derek begins, his head tilting. “What’d you do this week?”

Stiles smirks and brushes his hand over his sweater, swiping out a wrinkle. “What book are you reading?”

“We Need to Talk About Kevin,” Derek answers, his eyes studying Stiles’ face. “You’re really not gonna tell me what you were up to this week?”

“Oh, you know,” Stiles says, his gaze peculiar as he studies Derek’s face. He reaches up to adjust his glasses over his nose, and Derek isn’t sure he’ll ever get over that—the way Stiles’ slender fingers touch the side of his frames, his head ducking a bit as he looks up from under his lashes and leans forward. It drives Derek insane, the negative image of it burned into his retinas, in full color each time he closes his eyes.

“A bit of this and that. I’ve been reading, too. What do you think of the book so far?”

“It’s a good thriller,” Derek offers, reading Stiles’ face. The clock ticks, and Stiles remains silent, waiting.

“Do you think psychopaths can fall in love?”

Stiles blinks and slants his head, eyes flicking between Derek’s, eyebrows drawing in a fraction as he considers his answer. “I think true love requires empathy, which people with antisocial personality disorders tend to lack. But to answer your question, yes. It may be their version of what they believe love to be—if they’ve convinced themselves it’s true, it is.”

Derek hums in response with a short bob of his head, holding Stiles’ gaze.

“Is that what you’ve gleaned so far, if psychopaths can love?” Stiles asks him, his tone curious.

Derek shrugs. “Some of it, yeah. It just seems like someone with so much passion would be capable of such a thing.”

This makes Stiles smile, his gaze tender and curious as he studies Derek as though he were looking for the edges of a crack to peel away and peek inside his head. “I’m inclined to agree with you,” he says, leaning forward as his elbows rest over his spread knees, locking Derek’s gaze in. “Speaking of passions… tell me how your work out sessions are going.”

Derek chews at the inside of his cheek, annoyed Stiles won’t let them have a real conversation that doesn’t revolve around Derek’s feelings. He swipes his hands over his knees, blinking.

“They’ve been fine.”

Stiles purses his lips, eyebrows lowering in disapproval. “I’ve got a new rule. You’re not allowed to say the word ‘fine’.”

Derek smirks and leans in, elbows on his knees. “Okay. They’ve been good. I don’t stop myself anymore. I feel so… uninhibited when I keep going. Like someone else has taken over for me.”

The loser in the second-story apartment was killed a month ago; no one’s pissed Derek off enough to consider beginning a new chase since then. The perpetuous itch has been scratched, for now, but already Derek can feel it surfacing, the monster inside him clawing his way out from the bottom of the well.

Stiles’ fingers interlace, his thumbs pressing together. “That feeling you get is called abandon; it’s a catharsis when you allow the id to take over,” he says with a curl at the edge of his lips, “I’m proud of you, Derek. Giving in is honoring the truest part of yourself.”

Derek swallows, his eyes washing over Stiles’ face, breath hitching on an inhale. Without lifting a finger, Stiles has touched him from the inside; a warmth spreading within him from his heart to the tips of his ears, the words pulsing through his limbic system like wildfire ripping through dry brush. Something has awoken in him, igniting every raw, unchecked impulse lying dormant beneath his skin, and Derek thinks he would do just about anything to hear it again.

[dontneedhair]

Using An Epilator On My Head (Part Two) - The Scalp

Sometimes I get the question how I managed to epilate all of my head, and how I have kept it that way. The short version and my inspiration for doing it the way I did can be found here.

Unlike others who seem to be able to get through the entire process during one weekend, starting from what I'd see as a considerable hair length (half a centimetre maybe), I needed several weeks to complete it. Shaving, then waiting maybe half a day before letting the epilator grab the very first stubble. Waiting more time, epilating again, this time with more stubble being ripped out, and repeating this process till it hurt so much that I shaved again, starting the cycle all over again.

One thing I had to deal with relatively soon were pimples/small ingrown hairs.

Not the end of the world, but not the best look, either. There are different methods for dealing with this, all of them basically some kind of peeling to enable the newly growing hair to find its way to the surface and stop the pores from clogging. What worked really well for me was a spray against ingrown hairs after epilating - a chemical peeling of some sort. To this day, I tend to apply it once a day, mostly in the evening before going to bed. On the day of a tweezing session applying it can sting, but it is bearable and a good sign that it does its work. Even if a pimple is already there, it will go away much quicker with this extra help.

Another thing I had to live with for a short time was a certain patchiness on my scalp. I'm talking about the small-scale level here, you can see some of it on the picture above. No-one ever commented on it, from a certain distance it wasn't even noticeable, neither was it under little light. Or maybe everyone just thought I hadn't done a good job shaving?

In any case, it went away after having tweezed every hair at least once, which took some time because of the different phases of the growing cycle the individual hairs were in. Once that was done, things got much better very quickly in every respect. The hair that did grow back was finer, which made it a lot less painful to epilate. Since I kept on tweezing twice a week (always in the evening), there was also not that much to remove in an individual session any longer. And regrowth has kept getting less over time.

The MPB zones were the first one where the hair seemed to give up, my natural hairline for example never really returned after going over it with the epilator a couple of times, the same is true for the stretch that goes from there to the crown. The hair more to the sides is also getting less dense now as far as I can tell; to be sure, I would have to stop epilating for a while, and I don't want to do that.

What I still do after every tweezing session on my scalp is a wet shave. Especially in the beginning, and even after having epilated every hair at least once as explained above, just tweezing wouldn't give the totally smooth feeling yet. The shave is extremely quick and effortless, and after that my scalp has almost a glass-like feel to it. Over time, the smoothness I achieve just by tweezing has improved considerably as well. Being consistent in using the epilator definitely has had its rewards.

(Another photo from last summer, not even a year after starting the scalp tweezing, but the work I had to put into maintenance was already so much less than at the beginning of the process, and while there was some regrowth after one or two days, I was shadow-free one hundred percent of the time.)

For those who consider venturing into this as well, I would like to stress (as Tom did on http://scalptweezing.com) that using the epilator on your scalp is likely to lead to noticeable permanent hair loss pretty soon. So that should be something that you want or at least accept in exchange for the benefits. It can also be part of the thrill to know you are changing your appearance in a way that cannot be undone, at least that was my case. Just don't forget that the point of no return can come really early.

[swabian-princess]

Appearance goals until summer

Hey girlies,

since I got promoted to a stay at home girlfriend a big part of my „job“ is to look my absolute best for myself and my man.

We have an event in the beginning of June and my birthday is in July, so I have set myself a deadline – I will be the best version of myself in the summer!

perfect skin – face: I won’t need a new skincare routine because I’m happy with my routine and with the results I’m getting. My pores are almost invisible and I only get pimples right before my period starts. The only thing I will start doing is using retinol again, however, I think two times a week should be enough for me.

perfect skin – body: shame on me – I seriously neglected my body skincare for the last couple of months but that’s gonna change now. I am shaving every second day and do a peeling beforehand when I’m already in the shower. I have a few dark spots and little red spots on my thighs and legs and since I am very pale they are super visible. I’ll start using a chemical exfoliant on those spots to brighten them up. I’ll also start mixing vitamin C and retinol in my bodylotion a few times a week.

Reduce the appearance of cellulite: I only have cellulite on top of the back of my thighs and minimal on my butt – so it’s not really visible in any clothing. Still, I want to look my best in swimsuits. I’ll try out thigh wraps with ground coffee once a week, focus on building muscles in those areas and I’ll be upping my water intake!

super white teeth: I brush my teeth two times a day, obviously, but I’ll start flossing in the morning too! I am also gonna use a mouth wash after every brushing session and I will book one teeth whitening appointment.

fresh nails: I’ll visit the nail salon every 3-4 weeks and get my my toes and hands done. Always in a natural pinkish color or with french tips. I’m also gonna start using hand lotion at home way more often.

perfect hair: my hair got pretty long in the last few months and goes below my shoulder blades. I have an hair appointment coming up and I want to go almost platinum. I want to be really light blonde for spring and in the summer. To maintain the color, I’ll go back every 6-8 weeks to get my roots retouched. At home I’m oiling my scalp and my hair once a week with argan oil. I am also going to use heat protection every time I style my hair.

perfect lips: I already have 1ml hyaluron in my lips but I want them just a little bit more jucy. Maybe 0,5ml will be enough – we’ll see!

appointment with my injector: she's amazing. She’s always honest and never did me or any of my girlfriends wrong. I want her opinion on maybe jaw/cheek or chin filler to make my face more symmetrical. I also want to talk about baby botox and a botox brow lift.

working out: duh. I workout 3-5x times a week and I want to tone up just a little bit more before summer starts. I’ll also try starting to incorperate daily walks into my routine.

new wardrobe: I am gonna clean out my closet in the next few weeks and either donate or throw out anything that doesn’t fit my aesthetic anymore. After that, I’m slowly gonna start building my dream wardrobe.

Selene

[sea-owl]

This is probably too late from when you were writing but tossing it out here anyway Polin + Philoise lost in space trying to get to Francesca’s wedding (either John or Michael).

Never too late I'll always take requests.

This gives me jedi spouses ideas. Hold on. For those who are curious here's some links for the au: Here, Here, Here, Here, Here, Here, and Here.

Quick note for those curious my version of these jedi at this point in time do have relationships but selfish attachment is still highly discouraged. Kind of in a way that yes you do love this person and being with them is not banned but your duty to the universe must come first. You must be able to let go.

"Grandmaster Danbury as lovely as your company is, is there a reason we are here?" Michael asked as he followed the Jedi leader through the halls of the senate building. The route they were going was familiar, but he was confused on to why they were heading for Senator Bridgerton's office. Usually, the Order sent Senator Bridgerton's lover if they needed to negotiate with him.

"We're here to discuss marriage negotiations," Grandmaster Danbury said as the door opened.

Inside Michael could see Senator Bridgerton and two of his younger sisters. Eloise Bridgerton, and Michael's own lover Francesca.

"So, I'm getting married," Michael announced as all their friends gathered in one of their dorms.

Everyone dropped whatever was in their hands. Poor Gareth was drinking some water after his training session and immediately spit it back out.

"To who?!" Several of the other jedi asked at once. "What about Francesca? Are you leaving the Order?!"

"No I'm not leaving the order!" Michael exclaimed. "It's a special circumstance marriage, that's why Grandmaster Danbury agreed, and by luck this marriage is to Francesca, that's the only reason I agreed."

All of his friends looked confused now. Eyebrows were raised, and other scrunched their noses.

"What special circumstances has you and Francesca marrying? And that Master Agatha agreed to?" Simon asked.

Michael rolled his eyes. "Politics mostly."

The others made a face. As unavoidable as it is most of the Order do try to stay out of politics. Kate and Simon were the most adapt out of their whole group, but even they would rather have someone else deal with it.

"How do the politics of Mayton lead to you marrying?"

"Well turns out," Michael paused for dramatic effect, "I was born on Mayton!"

Everyone was back to confused again. A jedi born from Mayton, the world famous and infamous for their matchmaking and aphrodisiacs. There's some irony there.

"That still doesn't explain the politics part and how it brought special circumstances to you getting married," Kate said.

Phillip nodded in agreement. "The last special circumstances marriage happened to save a species from dying out."

Michael awkwardly laughed. Yeah, here came the weird part. "So remember how Francesca was married before we met?"

Penelope recalled the information. "He was the Earl of the Kilmartin clan, right? Tragically died young when a sickness swept through Mayton."

Michael awkwardly laughed again. "Well turns out he was my cousin, and I'm the closest male relative so the position of earl technically falls to me."

His friends fell silent again, though some of them had that face they made when they were about to make fun of him. Michael couldn't blame them. Had this been Simon or Phillip inheriting a title they had no idea they were in line for he'd make fun of them too.

"So do we call you my lord now?" Lucy cheekily asked. This broke the others and they started laughing too.

"You know what?" Michael said, playing along. "Yes, you do! Bow before your lord peasants-ow!"

This broke out another peel of laughter as Michael rubbed the spot Kate threw her house slipper at him. Sophie was the only one who was nice enough to help him up, and she gave him a little bit of force heeling to take away the sting. This is why she's his favorite.

"Okay back to why you have to get married?"

"The politics of it all," Michael groaned. "Essentially the elders of the Kilmartin clan, one being my mother apparently, very nice lady from the few talks I've had with her, they want Francesca to keep leading as the Countess of Kilmartin. But there's been some push back from other members in the clan because she was born a Bridgerton. In order to keep the peace Fran has to be married to the current earl, which is me. It essentially came down to me being the earl in name only because you know jedi, and Francesca being the actual active leader."

"But why now?"

Michael shrugged. "According to Lady Jan and Lady Helen things were tense for a while. After one of the clan members finally did some digging in the birth records and found me things boiled over. Demands started coming in that I come and take over as earl."

Now comes Michael's own fun part. "Oh, and by the way Grandmaster Danbury said you all have to come with as part of the witnesses for the Order, but people are to not know we're jedi."

There was a collective groan. "Not the Mayton clothes again!"

Simon, Kate, their padawans, and Sophie ended up all going ahead. Mostly to make sure the wedding wasn't too grand or worse too public. They needed to control the narrative and keep the knowledge of the groom being a jedi on the quiet side. So their main jobs were to rein in the Bridgertons, particularly Violet which that in itself will be it's own challenge.

Per Mayton traditions the bride and groom were escorted to Mayton's moon by two escorts for each. There the couple were to bathe together in the moon's natural springs.

"Why?" The three jedi asked. "You have indoor plumbing."

"It's so the couple can wash away their pasts as they get ready to build their future together," Eloise explained.

"It's also an act of vulnerability that allows couples the chance to open up to one another if they haven't had a chance to do so before now," Francesca added.

"There's also the legend that if a couple does bathe together in the springs they'll be blessed in their union," Colin finished.

The three jedi looked at one another but shrugged. Every world had their traditions and beliefs.

Stepping out onto the moon Michael, Phillip, and Penelope all felt a shiver run up their spines. Oh. Maybe there is some truth to the Mayton tradition.

Per the tradition the married couple to be led their escorts to the springs. Eloise and Phillip walked directly behind them while Colin and Penelope brought up the rear.

The moon itself was a comfortable tempture. Forests surrounding the group with the sound of moving water in the distance. The three jedi looked around. The force hung thick in the air, it's energy almost touchable with how it coated everything.

Eventually the group came to the opening to a cave, steps leading down. From above vines of flowers hang over the opening where one could see the springs below. The water itself was a beautiful shade of blue. Michael and Francesca went down together.

At the entrance Colin and Eloise inform their own lovers that they were free to do what they wanted until the couple was done. Immediately Eloise offered to show Phillip some of the flora only found on this moon.

Penelope giggled as eager as a child Phillip followed Eloise. "She might actually loose to the plants if Phillip has truly never seen them before."

Colin laughed and began leading Penelope away in another direction. "He loves botany that much?"

"That and how the force connects with it," Penelope said. "If she lets him he'll ramble about it for hours. Lost in the space of knowledge."

Colin let out his own laugh. "Well, he might seduce Eloise further then with that knowledge. She might demand a demonstration."

"He'll be happy to give it." Penelope's back straightens as another rush of the force hit her.

"Are you okay?" Colin asked.

"Yes," Penelope said. "You're moon has a strong connection to the force."

Colin whipped towards her. "It does?"

Penelope nodded. "I could almost touch it with how thick it coats everything here."

Before Colin could ask more rain began to fall, gaining both of their attentions. The senator and jedi both looked towards the sky.

"Well looks like Frannie and her husband to be aren't the only ones getting a bath," Colin joked.

Penelope focused on the force around her. A small part wrapping around her and connecting her to the man in front of her.

[peachy-panic]

This Could Be The Moment

This is it. The chapter I’ve been fist-fighting for weeks. This was one of those moments that was in my brain since the original conception of Do No Harm, so naturally there’s a lot of internal pressure to get it right. I hope I’ve done it some justice for y’all.

WARNINGS: BBU/BBU-adjacent, ongoing sleep deprivation, nightmares, PTSD, the most fucked up of headspaces, whumpee fearing caretaker, noncon kissing, nudity, two survivors of trauma navigating some messy, messy waters

Jaime wakes in a cold sweat.

His first instinct is, as always, to look toward the bedroom door. Where moments ago there was a vivid silhouette against a backlit hallway, lurching toward his bed, there is now only a closed door. The house beyond it is still and silent, and Jaime is alone. As always, the only looming monster in the vicinity is his own imagination.

He closes his eyes, trying to catch his breath. It’s routine by now, but even after so much repetition, the physical toll never seems to lessen. The bed sheets beneath him are soaked through, his hair matted to his forehead in clumps. Jaime sits up, peeling the soiled nightshirt from his body and tossing it into the laundry basket. 

He rolls out of bed, knowing there is no point in trying to steal a few more hours. Some nights, he gets lucky enough that the exhaustion wins out over the lingering anxiety and knocks him out. But most nights, his only solace is a hot shower while he waits for the sheets to dry. It doesn’t do much to quash the crawling sensation under his skin, but it’s a few less minutes spent tossing on a mattress and watching the slow approach of daylight through the curtain.

Blinking away the last remnants of sleep, he drags himself silently to the bathroom. He cranks the faucet to the hottest setting and forces his body under the flames.

As the water runs through his hair and scorches lines down his back, Jaime finds himself swaying. Crumbling. He doesn’t cry easily these days, but he feels the burn of frustration building behind his eyes. How long can he sustain this? How long can he wait out what feels like the inevitable?

It feels so much like those first few terrifying weeks at the training facility, where sleep was a commodity earned through acts of submission. The deprivation was torture then, and it’s torture now. This house is nothing like the cold, cement walls of that prison, and Sebastian is nothing like Handler Smith, but the fear is the same. He can’t seem to separate the feelings in his head.

At least in the facility, and even with the Keepers from his past, Jaime had learned what to expect. And he never had to wait long to find out for sure.

In the daylight, things with Sebastian have begun to crawl, slowly, toward a better place. The two of them have found routine in the small things: morning runs around the neighborhood, cooking sessions in the evenings, movie binging on the weekends. It is, objectively, the best living situation Jaime has had in years, and beyond what he could hope to have again. He recognizes this as fact. But Jaime can’t control his subconscious mind. He can’t help what comes at night.

The nightmares about Sebastian—about Sebastian touching him, hurting him—haven’t stopped. They haven’t even slowed down. If anything they’ve increased, and a vicious cycle has ramped into a hurricane: the more nightmares he has, the less sleep he gets, and the more difficult it becomes to discern reality from fiction. The nightmares get worse. The sleep becomes more sparse.

Even after a good day, Sebastian (or the shadowed version of him that exists in Jaime’s worst fears) finds him in sleep. The warm eyes that Jaime has come to recognize in the light get replaced by a cold leer, the gentle touches turned rough and demanding. The ghosts of those memories follow him into the daytime, whispering in his ear that everything Jaime so desperately wants to believe is a lie.

It’s the anticipation that suffocates him. The not knowing, but the suspecting. The when, not the if. Even when Sebastian has done everything he can to make Jaime feel safe, the guess work that goes into trying to brace for the moment when the rug gets ripped out from under him bleeds him dry of all his energy. No one has ever signed his contract with pure intentions. All kindness comes at a price.

Every day, Jaime stares at the black and white “rules” posted on the refrigerator door, listing out a dozen iterations of promises not to hurt him. Every day he watches Sebastian from the corner of his eye—when they’re in the kitchen, on the couch, in the car—and wonders if this will be the moment it happens. The moment he finally reaches out, lets his skin make contact, lets his hand linger the way it always begins in his nightmares. Jaime knows, sure as anything, that he won’t fight him when it happens. Even if his position as a Companion allowed him the space for resistance, Sebastian has been so good to him. And Jaime has done more for less deserving men.

This is the thought that plants the seed of an idea—one Jaime has never entertained. He has never been the one to initiate sex, and he wonders: if it’s going to happen anyway, would it be better under the illusion that the choice is his? He doesn’t know how he would go about it, if he ever gathered the courage to try. The thought floods him with nausea that he can’t seem to shake, but so does the waiting. Sometimes he just wonders if it would be easier to get the first time over with.

Then, at least, he will know.

He takes as much time in the shower as he can allow himself, but eventually the thought of wasting water forces him to shut off the faucet too early. He shivers in the sudden absence of the spray, but he doesn’t think it has much to do with the temperature. In a daze, he wraps himself up in one of the soft towels that Sebastian bought specifically for him. He makes his way back toward his room, but a light from the end of the hallway freezes him in place.

Sebastian is awake.

He doesn’t know what compels him to walk toward the living room, but he feels his legs moving beneath him, operating several steps ahead of his mind. He sees Sebastian before Sebastian sees him. He is on the couch, hunkered over the computer that rests on his crossed legs, and Jaime’s heart begins to race, because there it is again: that small voice in the darkest corner of his mind whispering, This could be the moment. Something has to give.

He tries to fight against it, to swallow it down, because he doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want to do this. He could turn and pad back to the relative safety of the bedroom that Sebastian has never once entered without Jaime’s explicit permission and sweat it out until daybreak like always. But then Sebastian looks up, noticing him for the first time, and the voice in Jaime’s head gets louder and louder.

This could be the moment.

“Oh. Hey there.” Sebastian smiles at him.

Something has to give.

Jaime’s fingers tighten briefly around the towel at his waist, and before he can process his next move, the idea crystallizes into a plan.

****

Sebastian scrubs the heels of his palms over his eyes, but it only seems to dry them out further. He’s been staring at his computer screen for the better part of the last two hours, and that’s on top of the work day behind him. Not that he’s complaining. The work he’s doing now is entirely voluntary, and he doesn’t regret taking it on for a second.

Aria had helped set him up. It involved a secure VPN, some protective softwares that, ironically, look like they might infect his laptop with a virus at any given moment, and a long vetting process; though Sebastian suspects it might have been a little more rigorous if their need wasn’t so urgent.

There are less than fifty doctors and registered nurses in the database who take on Companion cases across the US, and now Sebastian is one of them. It’s a fairly new system, and thankfully a growing one, slow as it might be. Mostly, the cases are a matter of remote visits: giving medical advice, diagnosing where they can, and—at the discretion of each provider—writing prescriptions. Always in the name of the unmarked person helping them. By design, it’s nearly impossible for a Companion to seek assistance or gain any amount of freedom without depending on someone on the outside.

He was surprised to find out that there were others like him; people who have purchased a contract with the intention of helping someone for as long as they can. There are others—fewer, rarer—who are like Ezra. People who have somehow broken free of the system altogether and exist under the radar. The details of those cases are always lock-and-key. Sebastian doesn’t ask, and no one seems eager to tell. Probably safer for everyone that way.

Sebastian’s patients tonight have been fairly simple ones. He was able to provide antibiotics to a young woman with an ongoing infection, sleeping pills to a man with debilitating sleep anxiety, and advice to someone else on managing their chronic pain. For the first time since graduating with his medical degree, Sebastian feels useful.

And still, it never feels like enough.

When he pulls his hands away from his face, he nearly launches out of his skin. Jaime is standing in the mouth of the hallway, hair dripping and wrapped in a towel. Sebastian hadn’t even heard the shower running through the music in his headphones.

He settles himself with a hand over his heart and smiles up at him. “Oh. Hey there.” He starts to take his earbuds out, but he is interrupted by the world abruptly shifting on its axis.

It takes a few seconds after the towel hits the floor to process what happened. What is actively happening. And then he still doesn’t understand.

Because what. The fuck.

Jaime is standing—naked—in his living room, still as a statue, with a towel pooled at his feet. Sebastian is fairly certain Jaime isn’t even aware of the silent tears tracking down his cheeks.

Calling upon every conceivable ounce of composure he can muster, he removes his headphones the rest of the way and sits forward, setting his open laptop on the coffee table. He unfolds his legs and stands, each movement pronounced and broadcast.

“Hey.” His own voice sounds far away, and far more calm than he feels. He keeps his eyes dutifully trained on Jaime’s, refusing to dip away for even a second. “Let’s just… Why don’t we just talk? Okay? Let’s… here.” Acting on the instinct to cover him up, Sebastian reaches for the zipper on his hoodie.

Across the room, Jaime’s breath hitches. His eyes pinch shut for just a second, fists clenching at his sides.

“Hey. No, no, it’s okay. I’m—” Sebastian pulls the zipper down as quickly as he can, only jamming it twice on the cloth. As soon as it’s free, he extends his arm, not daring to take a step closer, and shakes it in his direction. “It’s for you.”

But Jaime doesn’t move to take it. His pale chest heaves with breaths that are coming too fast and too short, and the glassy look in his eyes tells him that Jaime might not be all the way with him. He needs to tread lightly.

Sebastian takes a cautious step forward. “Jaime?” His eyes snap to him, wide and wet. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” When he’s within arm’s reach, Sebastian holds his sweatshirt out again, and Jaime’s gaze falls to it for a moment, before flashing back to him. He still doesn’t take it.

Sebastian is about to reiterate his assurance that Jaime is okay, that he is safe and that he is not in trouble, but before he can speak—

Jaime—

He—

Jaime’s mouth is on his.

Their lips only touch for half a second before Sebastian jerks back, but the brief contact sends a shockwave of horror through his body. It’s so much happening at once: the heat of naked skin through his clothes, wet hair dripping onto his chest, the tremble in the arms draped around his neck, but Sebastian can’t afford to panic right now. They can’t both be falling apart at once.

With all the deliberate gentleness he can manage, he reaches up and wraps his hands around Jaime’s wrists, pulling his arms from around him. They stand painfully still for several long seconds, Jaime’s arms suspended between them. The whites of his eyes jump as he searches Sebastian’s expression, utter terror written all over his own. Slowly, Sebastian lowers his grip, releasing Jaime’s hands at his sides.

“No,” the word stutters out of him. “Jaime, I… No.” He needs to find the words to elaborate, to tell him he’s not in trouble and that Sebastian’s rejection isn’t meant as a chastisement, but before he can formulate them, Jaime sinks to his knees, and a fresh pit opens in Sebastian’s chest.

“Please,” Jaime says—the first he has spoken since coming into the living room. Fresh tears leak from his eyes. “Whatever you want to do, I… it’s fine. We can do it. I… I want to.”

Unable to tolerate towering over him right now, Sebastian sinks down to one knee, then the other. Carefully, he takes the sweatshirt in his hand and drapes it over Jaime’s shoulders. “Jaime,” he says finally, “you’re crying.”

In a desperate, childlike gesture, Jaime swipes at the tears running down his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he says.

You don’t have to be sorry. But it’s very clear to me that you don’t want this.”

“I can,” Jaime insists, fixing his wide, brown eyes on him. “I can learn to want it. With you. Please, just tell me what you want.”

“I…” Sebastian’s mind is speeding past him in circles, unable to land on a singular thought except the resounding question of How the fuck did we get here?  Because genuinely, Sebastian had thought things were getting better. He thought things were, if not ideal, at least okay. But this… This is the furthest thing from okay.

“Did I…?” Sebastian clears his throat and starts again. “Can you tell me—did I do something? To make you think that I wanted this?”

He remembers the stilted half-conversations they had once upon a time. In the clinic, when Jaime was brought in for testing after each contract. Sebastian knows what happened to him with past Keepers. His tests may have come back negative, but Jaime had confirmed in the only way he could that he had been sexually abused. He had hoped that Jaime knew he never had to fear that from him. He realizes now how selfish that assumption was.

Jaime’s gaze breaks away momentarily. “No, but I…”

“What?” he prompts gently. “If I did something, I want to know. I’m not going to be upset with you. I just want to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

The inquisition seems to press him further into himself. He curls over, retracting into a ball before he can reach out. The notches on his spine protrude through the shirt in a trembling arch. His fingers are twisted through his hair, pulling so tightly at his roots that Sebastian has to restrain himself from tugging his hands away. Then the noise. At first it sounds like he’s choking; a desperate, clunky gasp for air where there is none. And then the sobs erupt, almost completely silent but heavy enough that his entire body convulses with the force.

And Sebastian is absolutely fucked. His heart is thumping against his ribcage like it wants to escape, his fingertips have gone numb, and the spot where their lips had briefly touched buzzes with the intensity of a fresh wound. But he can’t fall apart right now. After a moment of hesitation, Sebastian places a palm over one shoulder blade, and when he is not shaken off, he begins to rub a slow, steady circle.

“Jaime,” he tries as soon as he is sure his voice will withstand it. “I don’t know what’s happening right now. I don’t… I don’t know what to say to you to make you feel okay, but you are safe. I can promise you that. I am not going to hurt you. No one is going to hurt you while I am here.”

It goes on for as long as it takes Jaime’s body to exhaust itself to silence. Over the next several minutes, the sobs whither to raspy pulls for breath, and then eventually soft sniffling. Sebastian doesn’t remove his hand. When he has gone nearly silent, Sebastian makes a decision.

“Can you sit up?” he asks softly. “Please? Can you just… look at me for a minute?”

Jaime obeys the request a little too quickly. When their eyes meet, Sebastian takes a deep breath, willing his own tears to stay where they are.

“I want to talk about this,” he says. “We absolutely should talk about this. But before we do anything else… Do you maybe want to put some clothes on? We can just… we can take a minute.” God knows he could use one himself. “If you want to keep talking after that, I’ll put some coffee on and we’ll stay up and talk, for as long as you want. If you would rather go to sleep, that’s okay too. I’ll still be here for you in the morning. It’s your call. Sound okay?”

Jaime hesitates, then nods.

“Okay.” Sebastian picks up the towel between their knees and extends it to him, already turning away. Once Jaime takes it, Sebastian shuffles around awkwardly on his knees until his back is to him. “I’ll wait out here. I won’t look. Just… take your time.”

Sebastian listens to the brief silence of his hesitation, then the quiet rustle of cloth and clicking of joints behind him. He counts the soft pad of footsteps retreating down the bedroom hallway and waits for the door to latch shut before he breaks. He pulls his knees out from under him and puts his head between them, taking slow, even breaths.

Slowly, his heartbeat recedes to a sustainable pace, but his mind buzzes with the prospect of the conversation ahead of him, and his lips still burn from a kiss that never should have happened.

***

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[de-salva]

CAN - Mighty Girl (aka November)

This is a live version of "November" featured on Can's "Out of Reach" album from the John Peel Show on May 14th, 1975.

This recording is featured on 'The Peel Sessions' (1995).

[dustedmagazine]

Dust Volume 10, Number 9

Photo of Aerial M by Tim Furnish

We’ve got a couple of Peel Sessions in this month’s batch, and it makes you think about how people can go on shaping the taste of millions, finding new bands, bringing up worthy underdogs for decades, and then stop. We come to rely on these people—John Peel for sure, but there are others—but they’re not here forever, and who will step up when they’re gone? Well, we’re not saying we’re John Peel, not by any stretch, but we’re still here at Dusted, still digging the obscure and overlooked, still operating in more or less a vacuum. We don’t make Dusted for the clicks or the acclaim and certainly not for the cash (there is none). We do it for each other. We do it for the bands. We do it for you.  

Anyway, we hope you enjoy this iteration of Dust. Jennifer Kelly, Christian Carey, Bill Meyer, Jonathan Shaw, Tim Clarke, Bryon Hayes, Ian Mathers, Andrew Forell and Jim Marks contributed.

Aerial M — The Peel Sessions (Drag City)

This three-song EP collects the output from Aerial M’s only Peel Session, recorded on March 3, 1998 (it was broadcast about a month later). Here in the interim between Slint and Papa M, David Pajo lays down an extended version of “Skrag Theme,” an alternate version of the single “Vivea,” and “Safeless” from the 1998 Vivea EP (which, very curiously, did not include a version of “Vivea”). Although Aerial M is largely considered a solo effort, Pajo was accompanied on this occasion by a crack Louisville post-hardcore ensemble: Tony Bailey, a veteran of more than 40 Kentucky underground bands, on drums; Cassie Marrett, who would later be known as Cassie Berman and a member of Silver Jews; and Tim Furnish of Parlour, Crain and the For Carnation. That band knocked Pajo’s Aerial M songs for a loop, pushing the woozy guitar tones of “Vivea” with a gut-checking drum beat and shading it subtly with either a keyboard or a melodica. Still moody, still layered with guitars, but subtly more physical, the track is the stand-out of the three. Likewise “Skrag Theme” fills out with a live band, its cerebral guitar lick anchored by the weight of drums and bass. “Safeless” spins out lyrically, meditatively, from a guitar line too chilled and thoughtful for rock, but not exactly jazz either. It’s all enough to make you wonder how things would have turned out if this band had kept at it, pushing at the boundaries of rock and noise and psych together.

Jennifer Kelly

Franco Ambrosetti — Sweet Caress (Enja)

Flugelhorn player Franco Ambrosetti brought together an all-star cast to record at Skywalker for his latest Enja release, Sweet Caress: pianist Alan Broadbent, guitarist John Scofield, bassist Scott Colley, and drummer Peter Erskine, with a generous string section alongside. Broadbent is also arranger and conductor. They dig into an estimable list of standards such as “Soul Eyes,” “Old Friends,” and Charlie Haden’s “Nightfall,” the latter of which sent me right to the piano to learn it. Ambrosetti has a rounded tone and enjoys adding fleet runs to his solos. His colleagues are equally fluent, and a solo violin introduction on the title tune underscores the album as a whole’s suavity.

Christian Carey

BassDrumBone — Afternoon (Auricle)

If you don’t know anything about BassDrumBone, after one look at the cover of Afternoon, with its image a many-ringed tree stump,you’ll have a pretty good idea of what they play, as well as the band’s collective sense of aging. And you’d be right, twice over. Mark Helias plays bass, Gerry Hemingway drums, and Ray Anderson is on trombone, and they recorded this album 46 years after they first got together. What you won’t know until you play it is how comfortable they are with each other, not as in “let’s kick and blow some old tunes,” but in the “I’ve got your back and I know you have mine, so let’s see what happens” sense. They alternate between written tunes that exploit the line-up’s potential for turning tight angles and improvisations that journey from eerie chamber abstraction to robust swing on a path pocked with aside-inducing holes in the road.

Bill Meyer

Black Mold — In the Dirt of Oblivion (Hellprod)

Grim, grotty blackened punk from somewhere in Portugal, released for your unpleasure on a shitty-sounding cassette. That sort of willfully outmoded packaging is the sort of thing that the hipster kids in the various undergrounds love to pieces — but the technical atavisms are unironically earned here. How else should we listen to a song called “Faint in Obscurity”? Turn that tune up loud and you’ll hear all the tasty, weirdo guitar tracks churning and distending under the mix’s buzzy, brittle surface. Is it frustrating that Black Mold seems to care about how their music strikes your battered, beleaguered earholes, and the indifference to anything resembling recording fidelity turns that care in on itself? Is that punk perversity? Kvlty authenticity? When the music is this raw and exciting, does it matter? In any case, the tape closes with a song called “Futile Purpose,” so fuck it, and fuck us all for giving a shit in the first place. Black Mold doesn’t.

Jonathan Shaw

Broadcast — Distant Call: Collected Demos 2000-2006 (Warp)

Following May’s 36-track Spell Blanket, a sprawling, varied and intermittently brilliant collection of Broadcast demos dating from 2006 to 2009, Distant Call is now the final release from Broadcast. It’s a much more succinct and consistent collection of songs, most of which are spare voice-and-guitar renditions of tracks that made their way onto Haha Sound, Tender Buttons and The Future Crayon, including essentials such as “Tears in the Typing Pool,” “Where Tears and Laughter Go” and “Pendulum.”To anyone familiar with the band, it’s not only striking to find that much of the character of these songs resides in Trish Keenan’s unique songwriting style and vocals, but also how much the full album arrangements and production contribute to their vivid realization. I can’t imagine wanting to hear any of these versions in preference to their album incarnations, but there are a couple of previously unreleased songs to sweeten the deal: “Come Back to Me” and “Please Call to Book.” The former’s sing-song melody over ripples of fingerpicked guitar is archetypal Broadcast, eerie and mesmerizing. The latter closes out the collection in a hushed, hesitant manner, with lovely harmonized vocals and a bright swell to the chorus: “When the sun shines inside the sun shines outside.” It’s a bittersweet send-off to one of the most beloved and influential bands of recent decades.

Tim Clarke

The Gabys — Self-Titled 7-inch (Fruits and Flowers)

The Gabys are from the U.K. but are sonically aligned with San Francisco’s bedroom pop scene. Stalwart Bay Area scenester Glenn Donaldson is a fan. His band The Reds, Pinks & Purples has covered “Molly” from the duo’s debut cassette, and he’s released two of their EPs on the Fruits & Flowers label he co-runs with Chris Berry. The Gabys’ music also runs parallel to the general sonic milieu of Paisley Shirt Records, another SF-based champion of fuzzy DIY sunshine. The duo pair the romantic and jangly edges of The Velvet Underground’s oeuvre with vocals eerily reminiscent of Young Marble Giants’ Alison Statton. Their home recording ethos lends their sound a hazy quality. On past releases, Matt and Natasha (the pair behind The Gabys name) have wrapped their harmony-filled song nuggets in clouds of lo-fi murk, but this latest EP polishes off their sound and reveals a quartet of brief and beautiful tunes. This additional clarity makes reveling in The Gabys’ jangly sound world even more rewarding, so hopefully the pair unveil more music soon.

Bryon Hayes

Christoph Gallio Roger Turner — You Can Blackmail Me Later (Ezz-thetics)

While the album name and certain of the track titles imply belligerence, this music steers clear of hostility. However, it’s perpetually tense and mercurial, with pungent horn phrases sharing space with featuring swift changes of attack. Swiss saxophonist (soprano, alto, c-melody) Christoph Gallio sounds exceptionally distilled, doling out pungent tones that gradually build in length and mobility. Englishman Roger Turner’s drumming is a master class in making each strike count and using shifts in volume to shape the music. The duo struck up an ultimately robust partnership when Gallio moved to London for a six-month sabbatical with the express intention of studying London’s improvised music scene. A single gig launched a sequence of private, recurring encounters, during which they hashed out the shared language heard here.

Bill Meyer

Gleaming Shard — Mirrors in Light Diamonds (Balance Point Acoustics)

Gleaming Shard is an improvising duo based in Chicago. Both of its members, prepared guitar player Da Wei Wang and percussionist Jerome Bryerton, have shared stages with musicians you might follow if you’re into that scene, but on Mirrors in Light Diamonds they clear a zone of their own. The instrumentation — mainly a couple guitars on a table and an array of gongs — has some precedent, and so does their sound. But connecting tools to output is a bit harder to do. The album’s six pieces sound like field recordings made at noon in a town comprising nothing but churches. Tom Verlaine once sang about walking around in the ring of a bell, but these guys have set up shop and spent so much time there that their postures have been molded to fit the furniture. It’s a marvelously engulfing racket.

Bill Meyer

hkmori — in search of a life worth living (self released)

How you feel about the work of enigmatic producer hkmori can probably be summed up by how you feel about the genre name “depressive breakcore.” Incomprehension and/or revulsion? Well, there’s plenty of music out there to check out instead. But if instead you’re intrigued by the idea of melding one type of sonic extremity to a different type of emotional extremity (kind of similar in spirit if not at all in sound to depressive black metal, actually), c’mon in. The four EPs hkmori has posted on Bandcamp in 2022 and 2023 are all strong examples of the form, and now their first 2024 release feels like it widens the scope just a little bit. Yes, you’ve still got songs like “tearsoaked pillows” hitting that sweet’n’sour spot, but on “What even is b@#$%core?” and “unrequited meaning” you start getting some new tones and timbres introduced (emotionally and sonically). Still not for everyone, but if you’re on this wavelength it’s another solid transmission.

Ian Mathers

Hubbub — abb abb abb (Relative Pitch)

abb abb abb, the fifth album by Hubbub, was recorded in 2019. This makes it an unofficial 20th anniversary observation by the French electro-acoustic improv unit, which comprises Fréderic Blondy, Bertrand Denzler, Jean-Luc Guionnet, Jean-Sébastien Mariage and Edward Perraud, released just in time for its 25th. Sometimes good things take time, and while the ensemble’s music is created in the instant of performance, it’s informed by a lot of history and takes its time manifesting. While its line-up (reeds, electric guitar, piano, percussion) and component personalities differ, there are aspects of 1990s AMM in the tension that Hubbub obtains from the tectonic friction of sonic layers. However, the music’s silence to event ratio is never so large, and the saxophonists stand ready to switch into close, prickly interaction, which combine to give the music an austere muscularity.

Bill Meyer

Hybrid — Movable Objects (Self-released)

Hybrid is New York tenor saxophonist Adam Larson’s trio with Chicago bassist Clark Sommers and Kansas City drummer John Kizilarmut. On Movable Objects they take a low key but sophisticated run through a 40-minute set of original material. As soloists they favor oblique melodic and rhythmic approaches to passionate intensity and technical fireworks and their interplay has a complexity and depth that reveals itself beneath placid surfaces. On “November to March” provides the template as the trio move from a simple opening motif into deft improvisation with deceptive ease. Sommers’ solo seems to slip sideways before you realize it, darting like a hummingbird from idea to idea. Kizilarmut makes fine use of his rims playing with a relaxed feel that seems to shrug at his inventiveness. Larson is likewise an agile presence, his tone sharp and he invests his runs with both emotional depth and satisfyingly unpredictable turns.

Andrew Forell

Isik Kural — Moon in Gemini (RVNG Intl.)

Isik Kural presents a different kind of expression than that of previous recordings on Moon in Gemini. Gentle lullabies and dulcet vocals provide a mood that transcends mere ambience into back to the womb sound bathing. “Almost a Ghost” is affecting, with hummed backing vocals, plucked acoustic guitar, synth harp, and field recording snippets supporting a laconic lead vocal. “Behind the Flowerpots” has dulcet upper register singing accompanied by scalar pitched percussion and a repeated chord progression in synth strings. The final track, “Most Beautiful Imaginary Dialogues,” quotes a Silvina Ocampo poem, convincingly summing up a warm outing that is compelling rather than cloying.

Christian Carey

LDL — In the Endless Wind (Wide Ear)

in the endless wind by LDL (Leimgruber - Demierre - Lehn)

LDL is soprano saxophonist Urs Leimgruber, (mostly prepared) pianist Jacques Demierre and analogue synthesizer player Thomas Lehn. Originally Barre Phillips held Demierre’s space, and for a time they were a quartet. Years of improvising together have resulted in a shared language that is simultaneously distinctly tripartite and irretrievably blurred; Lehn and Demierre can each run the other’s signals through their respective instruments, and Leimgruber’s high, lacerating shards of pitch come startlingly close to those of Lehn’s synth. Thus, the action often comes from sounds pixilating, flickering at the edge of silence, combining into dense blocks that are decayed around the edges, or snapping back into conventional voices. Their interactions mutate and reconfigure, inviting the listener to follow them on a trip that’s unfailingly alien but never gratuitously weird.

Bill Meyer

loscil // Lawrence English — Chroma (self released)

Colours of Air, last year’s debut full-length collaboration between loscil (Scott Morgan) and Lawrence English, did so much with its pipe organ source material that it’s not shocking that Morgan and English might take another kick at the can. If anything, the surprising part is that while Chroma is identifiably part of the same overall project, it does have a distinct identity, one even gentler and quieter than its predecessor. It also, in the form of “Vermillion,” has an example of how the duo’s live shows went, presenting a gorgeous excerpt from their set at the Vox Organi festival in Vancouver. Fittingly enough, “Vermillion” is the track across both LPs that most clearly sounds like a pipe organ (which was played live by both human and computer). The result is not quite as striking as its predecessor, but it’s hard to be upset with 32 more minutes of this particular good thing.

Ian Mathers

Love Child — Peel Session (12XU)

Peel Session by Love Child

Love Child’s Never Meant to Be is one of 2024’s best reissues, compiling both full-lengths, singles and radio appearances for these NYC-based purveyors of lo-fi post-punk. It’s a comprehensive survey of the band’s 1988-1993 run, but not exhaustive. This four-song EP adds two never-released songs to the catalog and reprises two from the main retrospective. All four come from a December 1992 Peel session that, sadly, never aired. They catch the band at a loosely slung, wildly energetic peak, months before they broke up for good.

The band, if you’re just checking in, featured Alan Licht on guitar, Rebecca Odes on bass and, by that point, Brendan O’Malley, who had replaced founder Will Baum on drums. Their version here of “Asking for It” is careening punk rock, with Rebecca Odes spattering the walls with indignant verses and Licht executing tight repeated squalls on guitar. If you think you’ve heard it before, you have. It was the lead-off track to Never Meant to Be. You might also be familiar with closer “Greedy,” with its seething guitar and candy-coated vocal (Odes again), and for the same reason. But two of these tracks are new to almost everyone, and they capture the band moving in a welcome but unfamiliar direction of droning psychedelia. “All Is Loneliness,” for instance, has approximately 0% of Love Child’s early brat-punk vibe, instead it flickers and builds and howls like an outtake from Bailter Space or, possibly, Bardo Pond. “Slow Me Down,” lurches forward on blasts of heavy metal guitar, tamping the riff down just enough to reveal the song’s indie post-rock heart. A guitar lick that reminds me, no kidding, of the Wrens, coincides with brutalist assault, and it might have been interesting to hear more of that if the band had stayed together a little longer. Oh well.

Jennifer Kelly

Mahti — Konsertti I (VHF)

Konsertti 1 by Mahti

Mahti is a Finnish instrumental quartet with ties to their compatriots Circle, but you wouldn’t know that by listening to them. There’s no heaviness and virtually no rock in their music. Electronic percussion percolates more than it propels, trading off the lead position with a clean-toned electric guitar like a couple of geese swapping a flock’s point position, and synths move volumes of sound like lassoed clouds. A fourth member plays kantele, a Finnish folk zither, but it tends to blend with the other instrumental voices rather than assert one of its own. The music was recorded live, but audience noise and room town are so absent that you might never know. To perky to be ambient, soothing but busy, this music feels familiarly krauty without ever adopting anyone else’s guise.

Bill Meyer

Mutated Void — Listen to the Struggle (Unlawful Assembly)

Listen To The Struggle by Mutated Void

Depending on your tolerance for feral, freaked-out skate punk, you might wish to paraphrase the title of this new tape from Mutated Void: Listening is the struggle. Others among us will be as happy with Listen to the Struggle as we have been with the Nova Scotia band’s previous output. Ugly, stoopid riffage; indifferently bashed percussive elements; harsh, hoarse croaks that have a vaguely humanoid quality — good times, galore. It’s the sound of several layers of skin being peeled off by sunbaked concrete; or maybe, given the Nova Scotia provenance of these noises, a rain-slicked quarter-pipe slowly falling to pieces. In any event, these tunes will scar you, or at least leave you with some nasty splinters. Cassette-closer “Zombie (Mecht Mensch)” is the main attraction. Like a moldy hunk of ambulatory undead flesh, the song really stinks, and it’s just wonderful.

Jonathan Shaw

Meshell Ndegeocello — No More Water: The Gospel of James Baldwin (Blue Note)

After records celebrating Nina Simone and Sun Ra, vocalist, bassist and songwriter Meshell Ndegeocello commemorates the centenary of author James Baldwin on No More Water. Staceyann Chin’s passionate readings and synthetically treated spoken word treated synthetically are interwoven with song structures. Vocalist Justin Hicks provides an often angst-laden delivery, and Josh Johnson adds saxophone and synths to the mix. Ndegeocello’s adroit bass-playing and low voice anchor the other disparate elements. The mood vacillates too, with elemental fury succeeded by exceeding tenderness. The album doesn’t reflect the music of Baldwin’s time, instead mixing R&B, funk, and electronica. This makes it no less potent an homage.

Christian Carey

Nidia & Valentina — Estradas (Latency)

Italian percussionist and multi-instrumentalist Valentina Magaletti and Afro-Portuguese beat-maker Nidia Borges combine forces to produce a set of rhythmic improvisations on their debut collaboration Estradas. Magaletti is best known as a member of London based dub trio Holy Tongue and here uses marimbas and found objects and synthesizers to complement Borges’ Angolan kuduro beats. Their music has the spatial feel of dub but concentrates on African polyrhythms and melodies. With elements of high life and gnawa thrown in, the duo concentrates on making you move as they explore their intersecting influences. The music itself is hugely enjoyable although at times find yourself wishing the songs were harder, faster, less polite. Minor quibbles about a collaboration that feels it has more to offer in the future.

Andrew Forell

Oliwood — Anatomy of Anarchy (Jazzwerkstatt)

Anatomy of Anarchy by Oliwood feat. Evans, Mahall, Landfermann

German drummer and composer Oliver Steidle is constantly searching for new means of musical expression. Each of his projects showcases a fierce resistance to standing still. Genres bleed together in joyous cacophony and each release boasts its own lineup of collaborators. Anatomy of Anarchy is tame in comparison to some of his other work, being firmly rooted in the jazz idiom. Yet it certainly moves quickly, drawing energy from a cadre of high-octane collaborators. Steidle works alongside experienced players from both sides of the Atlantic: trumpeter Peter Evans, clarinetist Rudi Mahall, and bassist Robert Ladfermann spar with him across this lengthy song cycle. Tracks such as “Freaks” and “Bling Bling Frogs” swing with a sense of unison among the team, while much of the other material strays far outside, exploring group improvisation territory. This crew are not afraid to wander, and Anatomy of Anarchy benefits from this adventurous approach.

Bryon Hayes

Ivo Perelman / Chad Fowler / Reggie Workman / Andrew Cyrille — Embracing the Unknown (Mahakala)

Embracing the Unknown by Ivo Perelman

There are plenty of prolific improvisers, but Brazil-born, NY-based tenor saxophonist has earned the right to have his face in the dictionary next to the word’s definition. Embracing the Unknown is one of eight albums released in 2024, each made with a different line-up. The quartet that made Embracing the Unknown is the largest, and it includes some heavy company — Mahakala proprietor Chad Fowler on stritch and saxello (a straight alto and curved soprano saxophone, respectively), and octogenarians Reggie Workman and Andrew Cyrille on bass and drums. Each has a hand in forming the music’s character. Fowler brings a bag of blues everywhere he goes, and while Perelman favors more abstract pathos, the music’s sentiments are darkly shaded; Workman contributes both propulsion and harmonic dimension; Cyrille’s short bursts of sound give the music a floating quality, articulating its progress without tethering to metrical time.

Bill Meyer

Laurence Pike — The Undreamt-of Centre (The Leaf Label)

Drummer Laurence Pike has been a name to watch for nearly two decades now, first in experimental jazz group Triosk, then in explosive synth-rock band PVT with his brother Richard, and more recently backing Angus Andrew in the latest iteration of Liars and as one-third of the drums, synth and sax trio Szun Waves. The Undreamt-of Centre is Pike’s fourth solo album, which arrives with an intriguing premise: what would a requiem sound like constructed out of drums, electronics, and choral voices? The results are often deeply arresting and affecting, especially the opening two pieces, “Introit” and “Orpheus in the Underworld,” in which the wordless vocal tones and swells of rhythm seem to carry an easily digestible internal narrative. The balance between the voices and drums seems to be key to the varying success of the pieces. The cantering beats of “Mountains of the Heart” don’t leave much space for the voices to steer the music, and the queasy ululations of “Universal Forces” are crying out to be ushered into form by the sparse, pattering drums. Thankfully the album’s longest piece, “Requiem Aeternam,” brings a sense of resolution with its sustained ambient tones, driving synth arpeggios, and washes of cymbals and toms.

Tim Clarke

Saccata Quartet — Septendecim (We Jazz)

Septendecim by Saccata Quartet

There’s an observable phenomenon in which the outernaut members of revered legacy rock acts will let their freak flag fly and get substantial audiences of folks wanting the parent band to show up and play a secret gig. Saccata Quartet (Nels Cline, guitar; Darin Gray, double bass; Chris Corsano and Glenn Kotche, drums) is just the sort of ensemble that could lure a Wilco fan out and then drive them back to the bar, grumbling and disappointed; Septendecim was even recorded at The Loft. Improv heads might come with their own set of expectations; this writer has distant memories of a multi-drummer concert at Chicago’s Hideout that involved Corsano trying to curl up inside a bass drum, and Gray and Corsano have played plenty of volcanic free jazz in the company of Mars Williams and Akira Sakata. But if you put aside expectations and put up your active-listening antennae, something else takes form here that is very good on its own terms. The quartet eschews rock gestures and gonzo energy that diffuses individual identities in favor of a more texturally derived intensity that is generally pretty quiet... until it’s not.

Bill Meyer

Shredded Sun — Wilding (Self-Released)

Wilding by Shredded Sun

Shredded Sun has been at it for a while now, first in the jangle-punk Fake Fictions and now four albums into their current iteration. A lifer vibe of the best sort, then, hovers over these punchy, vulnerable, pop-punk songs. They sound like reticent, literate Yo La Tengo crashing into the Pixies at a four-way stop. When bass player Sarah Ammerman sings, as on caroming “Shake the Clouds,” a warbly, Muffs-style enthusiasm bubbles over. When Nick Ammerman, the guitarist, takes over, a tremulous Feelies-into-Jonathan-Richman aura creeps in. The music pummels and jangles and struts no matter who’s in front, with excellent, energetic drumming from third member Ben Bilow. It’s excellent stuff, creative but crafted with care, occasionally humorous (see final track, “Another Song Called Mirror Ball,” but never silly. It’s what might happen if you just keep doing what you do regardless of whether anyone’s paying attention — you keep getting better and more yourself.

Jennifer Kelly

Luís Vicente Trio — Come Down Here (Clean Feed)

Come Down Here by Luís Vicente Trio

Back at its dawn, free jazz was supposed to change the world. The first changes were mainly technical — can we please untie this chordal straitjacket? — but it was soon aligned in the minds of both audience and practitioner with a broader array of personal and societal liberties. Half a century on, the music endures because in part because it gives musicians the freedom to interact in ways that are uniquely joyous and thrilling. Luís Vicente Trio taps into such opportunities. The themes that trumpeter Vicente brings are skeletal, but just enough to invite a collective act creation that pulses with momentum, expands and contracts like living architecture, and sings with palpable toughness and vulnerability. Sure, you can connect some of this music back to the music of Don Cherry and the Art Ensemble of Chicago on account of its expressive qualities. But within that formal framework, deeply personal shapes and interactions bloom like desert flowers, as vivid as they are time limited.

Bill Meyer

Woody Yang — apple red/dots (Mt. Hazey Records)

apple red//dots by woody yang

Woody Yang delivers a short but solid set of acoustic guitar originals in the Takoma school tradition. Switching between 12- and six-string, he doesn’t break any new ground, but there’s no reason he has to, and his take on the tradition is compelling. Yang certainly knows how to build these kinds of compositions. One of the tracks features his reedy vocals, and another features bongo accompaniment by the audio engineer, but the focus is on Yang’s deft fingerpicking. An auspicious debut.

Jim Marks