#aggro drift

[martianmetal]

AGGRO DR1FT (2023) - dir. Harmony Korine

[godar-t]

Harmony Korine's AGGRO DR1FT (2023)

[yoan-le-grall]

[yatiso]

aggro dr1ft (2023)

[bikelane]

had a double tiki bar event last night (visited two tiki bars) and my friend said i was “dressed for the vcr repair store” THEY’RE MAKING IT ILLEGAL FOR WHITE BOYS TO WEAR JEANS AND A JACKET

[scoutofmymind]

fratboy!Luigi x i-dont-wanna-be-here!Reader just randomly had the thought of Lu being a rowdy frat boy and got kinda Tingly

Divine Timing Bullshit { Luigi x Reader }

Content: pretty much SFW (if you read about an alleged assassin at work), kissing, existential crisis, Fratboy Lu is actually a sweetie

W.c: 2,485

Notes; Yeah he’s an aggro-frat boy, but he’s also a stoned philosopher, and you appreciate that, because you’re kind of losing it.

Ohh, oh, oh. Yes, yes, yes. Frat boy with a brain and heart, reader is lowkey Going Through It.

Second-year frat parties had lost their theoretical allure. Gone was that first-year thrill of living the quintessential college experience, of checking off every box in the collegiate party manual.

This year, though. This year felt different.

"Who's going to be there?" You mumble through a mouthful of scone, eyes fixed on your screen. The pastry, a hasty purchase between classes, sits half-forgotten in your cheek.

"Since when do you care?" Your roommate swivels from her desk—a chaos of textbooks, scattered lip glosses, an open laptop, and uncapped mascaras. She brandishes her lip pencil like an accusatory finger, eyebrows arched. "You're turning into such a second-year hermit."

You flinch at the accusation, phone dropping to your chest as you stop mid-chew. "Fuck," you mutter, brushing pastry debris from your hoodie — the same one you've been living in for... three nights? Four?

She doesn't need to spell it out. You've become a ghost haunting the same tired circuit: dorm room, library, labs, class. Any moment of freedom dissolves into endless study sessions or mindless TikTok scrolling until you drift off to the white noise of ASMR or satisfying slime crafts.

"Don't make me go alone." Her voice cracks with a plea you can't dismiss. "We're supposed to be doing college together. We promised."

The pact.

The fucking pact.

You'd both sworn, hands clasped under string lights in your shared room during orientation week, that you wouldn't let each other miss out on anything. Not the midnight donut runs, not the questionable decisions, not the memories that were supposed to make these years matter.

And so, it was settled.

•

The house loomed before you, nothing like the usual frat dungeons. This was old money — a sprawling estate with an infinity pool that cut into the manicured lawn like a slice of sky, and a home theater visible through floor-to-ceiling windows.

Bodies pressed past, each collision a reminder that you'd rather be elsewhere.

"Whose fuckin' house is this?" The words barely leave your mouth before your roommate's giggle floats up, her shoulder bumping yours as she shrugs.

The question evaporates into the thrum of bass and chatter.

You knew the drill by now.

She'd disappear into the crowd, hunting for tonight's conquest, while you'd drift through rooms like a wandering spirit in limbo — observing the drama unfold, helping yourself to whatever expensive snacks rich kids kept in their pantries, and sometimes, when the night got boring enough, investigating medicine cabinets.

Eventually, your travels lead you toward clusters of laughing girls, some familiar faces from lecture halls, others newly christened friends after thirty seconds of slurred introductions.

The living room couch has become your sanctuary, a perfect vantage point for the night's theater.

"God, he's fucking hot." Liz's whisper cuts through the ambient chatter, her eyes fixed on the kitchen where the imported marble island has devolved into a battlefield of red cups and spilled beer.

A tall figure commands the space, radiating the particular brand of arrogance that comes with being undefeated at beer pong for the past hour.

"Who?" Your eyebrows knit together before shooting upward in realization. She can't possibly mean -

"His name's Luigi." Her voice takes on that dreamy quality, like a third-grader confessing her first crush behind the jungle gym. "He's studying Computer Science."

Your face contorts into an expression somewhere between horror and disbelief.

"I know," Liz breathes, mirroring your shock. Luigi wasn't unattractive — that was the problem. The universe had already dealt him the unfair hand of conventional beauty; the revelation of actual intelligence felt like cosmic overkill. "Wouldn't think he was aiming any higher than a business degree, huh?"

You watch him slam another cup, arms raised in victory, and try to reconcile this frat god with the same person who probably spent hours debugging code.

The image doesn't compute.

Every other CS major you knew was either passed out in the engineering building or mainlining caffeine in their dorm, not holding court over a beer pong empire.

"Just gives typical aggro frat vibes," you mutter, unable to tear your eyes away from the spectacle. He's exchanging those elaborate, ritualistic handshakes with his bros, throwing back shots like water. Your body instinctively recoils, but there's something magnetic about the train wreck unfolding before you — like watching a perfectly coded program crash in spectacular fashion.

He's performing, you realize — a master of his craft, painting broad strokes of the perfect college experience. Creating stories he'll tell at reunions and job interviews, memories that look better through the lens of a camera than they feel in real time.

You study Luigi's practiced grin, the way he looms over his temporary kingdom, and something shifts.

Does he have someone to call at 3 AM when the world caves in? Or are these connections as deep as the beer puddles on the marble counter — evaporating by morning?

The room tilts slightly, your earlier drinks and that passed joint finally catching up, making everything sharper and softer all at once.

Your gaze drifts over your own circle, these girls laughing and sharing secrets like best friends, some of which you'd only learned most of their names moments ago.

The thought hits you like cold water: who among them would you trust with your real stories? Who would pick up your call at 3 AM? Are you any different from Luigi — just playing your own part in this performance?

The night air slaps you awake before you even realize you've fled, your feet carrying you to a hidden corner of the garden where a stone fountain whispers secrets to itself. Here, the party exists only in echoes — distant laughter, scattered arguments, and drunken declarations of love or war floating across the manicured lawn.

You tilt your head skyward, searching for anchor points among the stars and the world narrows to just this: the cool stone beneath you, the rhythm of water, the infinite above -

"Hey."

Your body jolts to attention, the peaceful moment shattering like glass. Your eyes drop from the constellations to find a different kind of celestial body standing before you — broad shoulders blocking out stars, dark features caught in shadow, curls tumbling across his forehead.

Your mind scrambles for a name, like trying to catch smoke.

Luis? Lucas?

Luigi.

The beer pong champion himself, somehow materialized from your earlier observations like a summoned entity.

"Hey." Your body performs an awkward dance on the bench, caught between making room and trying to collapse into nothingness.

"What are you doing out here?"

The question, though innocent enough, triggers your defenses. Your response comes with teeth: "I could ask you the same thing." It's a warning label, bright and clear: Approach With Caution.

The garden's twinkle lights catch him in their amber web, transforming the beer pong champion into something softer — sweat-sheened skin, features gentled by shadow.

His posture reads like an open book written in a language you can't quite translate, neither defensive nor inviting.

Just curious.

"Well, you could." The words roll out with the same casual grace as the shoulder he shrugs, a yet-unlit joint dancing between his lips as his thumbs tap out a message on his phone's glow. "And I'd just say I live here."

The universe, it seems, has a sense of humor.

A groan slips past your defenses as mortification sets in. Of all the backyards in New York, you had to stake your claim in this one, then challenge its owner about his right to be there.

"To answer your question though-“ The words come filtered through the joint until flame meets paper. He exhales, and his next words ride out on a cloud of smoke: "I came out here to call my mom." His phone screen glows with evidence — his mother's contact photo, her name bookended by heart emojis and a simple Mama.

Something about Luigi — maybe the lingering beer pong bravado, maybe the way he wears this vulnerability so casually — still begs to be challenged. "Gotta make sure she doesn't suspect you have about one hundred NYU students in her home, hm?"

He shakes his head, the sound he makes sliding down the scale like lazy jazz. "Nah, she doesn't care about that shit." His thumb hovers over the keyboard, apparently deciding a text will suffice for tonight's check-in. "And there's definitely not a hundred people in there right now."

You study his posture — the way confidence and caution occupy the same space in his frame, like watercolors bleeding into each other. "Where's she?"

Luigi's eyes lift from his screen to find yours. "Seychelles." The message swooshes into the digital void before his phone disappears into his pocket. "Your turn."

The garden's ambient soundtrack fills the space between you, water music from the fountain where a bronze boy — who bears a suspicious resemblance to a younger Luigi — plays eternal lifeguard to the trickling streams.

Your eyes lock across the dim space, neither yielding.

"My turn to what?" The question is a stalling tactic, and you both know it.

"Your turn to tell me what you're doing out here."

Your gaze wanders the curated wilderness around you — the fairy-lit canopy, the fountain's eternal performance, the swimming pool framed by trees sculpted into shapes that belong in a vintage Playboy spread.

Everything here speaks of a life so different from yours, yet something about the engineering student standing before you, texting his mom from his own party, suggests a truth you hadn’t expected; the distance between your worlds might be shorter than it appears.

"Just needed some air." The lie falls flat, each word a domino tipping toward the truth you're trying to outrun—that existential spiral triggered by watching him earlier, wondering about the depth of his connections, only to find your own relationships reflecting back just as shallow.

Luigi claims his spot beside you, the bench suddenly alive with shared warmth. His knowing smirk and raised eyebrows speak volumes while his lips stay sealed, the silence between you stretching like taffy until -

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Getting some air." He mirrors your words back to you, a perfect echo with an undertone of challenge.

Your hands scrub across your face as if trying to erase something, and when you turn to face him, he's already there, matching your position like a choreographed dance. His eyes lock onto yours — steady, focused — as you stare back with the wild gaze of someone about to jump off a cliff.

"Do you ever think maybe you're just kinda... existing?"

There it is — your midnight confession spilling out into his garden, raw and unfiltered as the joint smoke curling between you.

Luigi catalogs you with the quiet satisfaction of someone who's just solved a puzzle — noting the timbre of your voice (hoarse from shouting over beer pong champions and top-40 hits), the way moonlight catches in your hair, how your eyes betray every thought. "I know that's what I'm doing," he nods, conviction steady as a heartbeat. "And that's enough."

"But what about the connections? What about true and real bonds?" The words tumble out as you watch him draw from the joint. He offers it your way — a bridge between strangers — but you wave it off, earning a laugh that somehow makes your existential crisis feel less like drowning.

"What about them?"

"Don't you miss having them?"

His shoulder grazes yours as he makes a face that suggests you're missing something obvious. "Existing doesn't mean I cease to create bonds or connections." His voice intensifies beside you, taking on the weight of someone that had something to convince you of. "They happen everyday."

The stare between you holds with magnetic force, compelling you to consider his truth: maybe you're the one who's been building walls instead of bridges, hiding in recycled hoodies and social media scrolls while real connections knock at your door.

"You think?" Your vision shifts, the aggressive frat facade dissolving to reveal something unexpectedly gentle around the edges.

"Well, what do you call this." His finger traces an invisible line between you, the gesture casual but weighted. "I think there's reason for everything, besides, like, cancer, or something." The statement perfectly gift-wraps his essence:

A walking contradiction — the frat boy who steps away from his own party to text his mom, a beer pong champion who philosophizes between 'likes,' an engineering major who can turn existential crisis into comfortable conversation.

"Well, it's interesting, to say the least." You're not sure if you mean this moment, this revelation, or Luigi himself. All you know is that Liz will either lecture you about garden rendezvous with her biggest crush, or demand a word-for-word replay.

Probably both.

"You think there's a reason we're both out here, then?" The question follows him as he leans forward, stubbing out his joint in a tray by the fountain. "Some sort of divine-timing bullshit?"

"I do." His conviction stands unwavering against your skepticism. "That's exactly what I think."

The sigh that escapes you carries the weight of self-awareness — maybe you're the one standing in your own way.

"Give me your phone." His shoulder nudges yours again, and you find yourself digging through your purse without hesitation, unlocking it before passing it over.

No questions asked — maybe you're already buying into this divine timing thing.

He returns your phone with a smile that seems to know something you don't. His own phone lights up with urgent news about a friend's overindulgence, likely greening out on the front lawn. "Gotta split."

You straighten your back, body still glued firmly to the bench beneath you, “Wait,” the request comes out steady, but hurried, afraid he might evaporate somewhere into the midnight air. “How - how do you do it, then?”

He settles back down, closer this time, “Do what?”

“Make it easier — connections, parties, being..” You gesture vaguely at all of him. “Present.”

Luigi considers this, his smile softening. "Maybe because I don't overthink it. Like right now — you're probably wondering if this is the right moment to ask the right question, when really..." He leans in slightly, voice dropping. "Sometimes you just have to let things happen."

The air shifts between you, heavy with possibility.

You're acutely aware of how close he is, how his eyes keep dropping to your lips as he speaks.

"Is that what you're doing?" Your voice comes out barely above a whisper. "Letting things happen?"

"I'm letting myself do what I've wanted to since I saw you having an existential crisis by my fountain."

And then he's kissing you — or maybe you're kissing him — the distinction lost in the warm press of lips and the lingering taste of smoke. It's gentle at first, questioning, until you lean into it and his hand finds your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek.

When he pulls back, that knowing smile returns. "See? Divine timing bullshit."

His phone buzzes again, more insistent this time. "Duty calls," he sighs, standing. "But text me. We'll work on your overthinking problem."

Read pt 2 Here ☁️

[galaxyg1204]

ANGST HEADCANNONS BECAUSE I COOKED WITH THESE I FEAR

Huxley who got bullied in highschool for liking flowers and making flower crowns which led him into a mindset of toxic masculinity which he practically carried throughout highschool and only started getting out of that mindset after moving to study at DAMN.

17 year old Lasko who constantly went to Jessica for advice, to the point where they started developing a mother-son dynamic of their own, and after the Inversion, while Damien and Huxley had their own mothers to reunite with, Jessica showed up to check on Lasko.

Damien who got his cooking skills from wanting to help out his mom after his dad left and can still remember some of her recipes by heart, which makes him wonder when they'll reconnect again whenever he makes them.

Guy who works at Max's Rustic Pizza because Max is actually a close friend of his parents and allowed him to stay and earn for a living seeing as his parents were almost too lazy to raise him almost his entire life.

Aggro being a rescue cat with one eye that Milo took in when he was in highschool and hid from his parents until they found out, to which his dad reacted negatively and tried to send him back to a shelter, only for Aggro to find his way back and sneak back in through Milo's window.

Ollie and Geordi as cousins and when Geordi came out and majority of his family reacted negatively about it, Ollie was one of the few who comforted him, but they drifted apart after Geordi got into his first relationship (*cough* Ben *cough*).

Child Aaron who always developed a routine whenever his parents would argue, of locating Elliott and taking him to his room, where he would lock the door and keep him distracted/entertained as much as possible.

[its-still-cuppi-cakes]

⚠️ NSFW CONTENT MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.⚠️

(I miss my boy <3)

Milo NSFW headcannons

I feel like Milo is very giving in bed. He's always wanting Sweetheart to have the pleasure they need, which in return, gives him pleasure.

He's also a tease.

He'll give Sweetheart whatever they want, all they have to do is ask. Use their words. Simple. :)

When he's on top, hovering over his mate, his hands are either at the side(s) of or on their head, hand on the headboard or wall, or pinning sweetheart's hips down as he's rocking his hips back and forth.

Before the solstice vacations and shit, Sweetheart was not into the whole,, hotel sex thing. Then one night after a few drinks for Milo and too many drinks for Sweetheart, they decided they can't keep their hands off each other.

Sweetheart definitely cried after their first time. Before Milo, they never felt that good from anyone.

Has definitely told Sweetheart "You can take it, Baby"

Does the chin lift to them also when they're looking down. He's so gentle when he wants to be💕

Aftercare!!

He doesn't leave hickeys, he leaves bite and hand marks.

He is so encouraging. So much praise. So many gentle touches AND CAN FIGHT ME ON THAT! Listen to that one part in his 2nd BA where he's like "You're too fucking cute~". You can't tell me he isn't holding their face somehow.

He's the king of comfort after sex. He's getting out their favorite body butter, candles, and comfy clothes

And Aggro cuddles

He talks softly as he's rubbing their back

He helps clean up. If he cleans sweetheart up and they're still sensitive, he makes sure to be extra gentle with them

Says sweet nothings in their ear as they slooooowly drift off to sleep

Morning after,, he's cooking. And Sweetheart is staying in bed. Doesn't matter if they have to work soon.

This man can cook. Let him cook.

Always checking in to see what Sweetheart did and didn't like

Forehead kisses💕💕

[squirrel-on-a-typewriter]

Card Game Clash

AO3 | Fanfiction.net | FIMfiction

Kofi

Horses talk about and play a trading card game.

In an attempt to manifest more information and a release date for the new MLP TCG this year, I wrote this.

“I cast ‘Behooved Blessing’ for one harmony. It allows me to peek at the top card of my deck, shuffle it away if I don’t want it, and draw a card.”

“In response, I flip my Apple Farmer for a harmony floating.”

“…”

“Okay, your spell resolves, keep going.”

Twilight Sparkle glared at Rainbow Dash warily, but proceeded with her game action. Her eyes lit up with excitement at the card she drew, but tried to casually play it off, coughing and humming to herself. The two sat at an outside table underneath the comfortable shade of an awning, the afternoon lazily drifting on as they played.

Upon the table were multiple, rather colorful, cards in protective plastic sleeves. Pinkie Pie sat to the side, watching intently while she munched away at a snack. Both players were cautious of any flying crumbs that might land on their precious pieces of cardboard.

Through a mouthful of food, Pinkie asked, “You gonna do anything with that harmony, Dashie? Twilight’s turn is about to end.”

“Nope.” Snickered the pegasus, making the unicorn huff in response. “Just did that to psyche her out.”

“I’m out of harmony, and I’m unable to go to the skirmish phase with any of my creatures, so I suppose I pass the turn to you. At my end phase I discard down to seven.”

“Alrighty. Ready phase, Steady phase, draw, Go Phase one,” the blue horse turned all her previously horizontal cards on the board to a vertical position after drawing a card from her deck. “Aw sweet, I play another parasprite for one harmony.”

Twilight’s eye twitched, glaring down at the multitude of the notorious vermin that swarmed on RD’s side of the field. “I understand the ‘you can have any number of this creature’ in your deck rule. Heck, I get why they have flying. But WHY do they have to have haste as well!? Power creep is so unchecked with this latest expansion.”

“You’re just mad you’re a spellslinger getting hit in the face by an aggro player.”

“Don’t make me whip out the tier ten control deck I have sitting right beside me for the next game.” Threatened Twi, pointing with her hoof at a plainly decorated deckbox that emitted an ominous aura for something so mundane.

A shiver ran down Rainbow’s spine, remembering how she had a perfect loss record against that deck, no matter what strategy she tried. “You wouldn’t dare. This is casuals.”

“Don’t swing any parasprites at me this turn and I won’t.”

“But that beats the point of the game!”

“Two-player politics?” Pinkie commentated. “Don’t we normally do that only when it’s game night and we’re playing Princess format?”

“Excuse me, but what’re y’all doin’?” Asked a familiarly drawling voice from behind them. They turned to spot Applejack passing by, hauling a cart of her namesake fruit to the Ponyville market.

“Oh, hey AJ!” She was waved over to join them.

“We’re just playing a friendly game of Arcane the Collecting.” Explained Twilight, enunciating ‘friendly’ through gritted teeth.

“Twilight’s about to crash out because I’ve been handing her flank to her with parasprite beatdown.”

Applejack blinked in confusion. “… Y’all gonna have to elucidate me a lil’ more than that.” She trotted over, peeking at the state of the game. “Oh, yeah, it’s that silly kid’s collectible thingie y’all play. Only cards I know how to handle got aces and queens on ‘em.”

“You should give it a try sometime. Some of the art is based off of historical ponies,” Dash held up the ‘Apple Farmer’ card towards her. “Pretty sure this is one of your ancestors. She only costs one, flips for one. It’s efficient. These kinda creatures are known as a harmony dork.”

The orange earth pony’s face scrunched. “Now why are they callin’ one a my kin a dork? That doesn’t seem very nice.”

“It’s a term the playerbase sorta picked up over time. We don’t know the exact origin of it, or even why they’re called that.”

The real farmer herself seemed unimpressed. “If’n you say so.”

“Anyways,” the pegasus turned back to the game at hoof. “I’m going to the skirmish phase and turning all of my little guys sideways. You can handle the math from here, Twi,” she smugly leaned against the table after declaring her potentially match-winning action.

Looking down thoughtfully, the purple pony pursed her lips. “I cast ‘Friends Forever’. Nopony takes any damage this turn and all players draw a card.”

Rainbow Dash’s expression fell. “W-wait, what?! How? You have no harmony to spend on it!”

Twilight motioned towards one of the creatures she controlled, a wizardly fellow poring over a scroll. “My ‘Dutiful Scribe’ reduces the cost of all spells I cast by one harmony.” She gestured to another of its kind right beside it. “I have two out. My spell costs zero harmony.”

Having no responses of her own, all RD could do was simmer and draw the card that felt more like a pity gift than anything else. “That’s so dumb.”

“Run more counterspells.” Was Twilight’s rather blunt reply. “Do you wish to do anything in your second phase?”

“No.”

“… Can I take my turn?”

“No. I’m going to stall here forever until you forfeit.”

“Judge?” Twilight turned and asked Pinkie with batting eyes.

The party pony sat up straight, manifesting reading glasses upon her face with a thick rulebook pulled from nowhere, skimming through the pages. “As an officiated judge by Sorcerers of the Plains’ (trademarked) Arcana the Collecting (trademarked), I can penalize you with a loss, or even a disqualification, for purposefully taking things to an unmoving state, Rainbow Dash.”

“This is casual.” Grumbled the chromatic-maned mare. “Fine. Go ahead, take your turn.”

“Thank youuuuu,” sang Twilight as she moved through each step of her turn-start meticulously, calling it out. She then repeatedly played multiple cantrips and recursion from her junkyard. With no interaction to interrupt any of it, Rainbow Dash had to sit there for five minutes while Twilight essentially played a game of solitaire with her.

Eventually, Twilight had a win condition. “Now that I know you don’t have a counterspell, I’m going to pay seven harmony, reduced to five with my scribes, to cast ‘Dawn of Celestia’s Light’-”

“THE CARD THAT COSTS EIGHTY BITS?!” Exclaimed Dash in utter disbelief.

“-Which reads: You draw seven cards, gain seven life, and unflip up to seven permanents you control. If this is the seventh spell you’ve cast this turn, you win the game.”

“I…”

“Aaaaand if you’ve been paying attention, it is the seventh spell I’ve casted! Response?”

“…”

“I’ll take that as a no. I win!” Twilight clapped her hooves together giddily.

“… How long have you had that card? You’ve never used it before.”

“I caved and bought it the other day. You’d be surprised how loose the royal coffers are when you’re Celestia’s student.”

Her opponent was fuming. “I want a rematch. Now.”

“Isn’t the point of a game like this is to have fun?” Applejack leaned over to whisper to Pinkie. “Neither of ‘em seem to be havin’ it. Well, Twilight is right now, Ah suppose.”

“You should’ve seen what happened the other night when Fluttershy beat Twilight with her turbo-ramp big stompy deck on turn three. I’ve never seen her get that red in the face before.”

The rest of their day forgotten, they went into the next game, and the next, losing hours to a back and forth of flying spells and imagined monsters clashing. Even Applejack was pulled in, given a loaner deck to try out. Sure, she didn’t understand most of the rules, but she celebrated when she got her first win (Pinkie went easy on her).

Despite frustrations, enjoyment was more present, and they were having fun, so much so they hardly noticed as the sinking sun settled over the horizon. Peering past her hat, AJ stood up abruptly. “Aw dangit, got so distracted by Magic tha Gatherin’-”

“Arcane the Collecting.”

“-That Ah entirely forgot to sell this week’s harvest!”

Twilight slipped something towards her, the winning card from earlier, a beaming visage of their ruler etched upon it. “Take this to the hobby shop tomorrow, you’ll make plenty back off of it.”

“You sure ‘bout that?”

“Don’t worry, I was planning to sell it anyway after I won.”

Now Rainbow Dash’s eye twitched, her brow arching. “You bought a sought-after chase rare just to one-up me?”

“…Yes.”

“Props, girl. Didn’t know you had such a competitive spirit.”

“Well, thank ya kindly, Twilight.” Applejack smiled at her friend. “Ah’ll be sure to do so first thing in the mornin’. Oh, and uh, mind if’n Ah join y’all next time you have a game night with this?”

“We’d be happy for you to join us.”

The four friends departed, bidding another goodnight as they made their way to their own abodes, bonds tested, and strengthened, by enjoying a shared hobby together.

[tenderlady]

thank you to @fantasneeze for tagging <3

Rules: answer and tag people you want to get to know better and/or catch up with!

favorite color: red! my nails are always red and i'm almost always wearing at least one red item. right now it's my lipstick since i'm wearing all black otherwise.

last song: the aisle by pinkpantheress. the way i listen to music is insanely neurotic, so i've only recently got around to stuff that came out last year. absolutely goes, though! the girlies were right!

last movie: fucking aggro drift lmao. it was.......something? getting a gang together to go see i saw the tv glow tomorrow and i am stoked beyond belief.

currently reading: a bunch of stuff! primarily transit by rachel cusk. i'm also listening to normal women by philippa gregory, and one of these days i will actually finish joan didion's the white album.

currently watching: the borgias lol. i love 2000s era trash period dramas, and i am convinced that the borgias was the trashiest we got. it's so unbelievably dumb and i am having the time of my life. i'm also trying to keep up with dungeon meshi.

currently craving: a good night's sleep

tea or coffee: coffee, but i am ultimately a fan of all beverages <3

tagging @paulmccartneygrindr @menlove @planetaire and anybody else who wants to play <3

[michellemichelleee]

Aggro drift- korine

[salivapleth]

Took mushrooms and went to see www.rachelormont.com which I’m sure would’ve been bad, but instead ended up seeing Aggro Drift by Harmony Korine…

So bad… everyone in the theater was so serious?? Nobody was laughing?? LOL just like…. Anyways cool to see that for free.

[chevvy-ryder]

New task:

going to write Ryder explaining why he loves techno.

Ry's and my music taste is quite similar (yet mine is wider reaching into many kinds of genres), and through deciding to make him be into that genre mostly (he listens to industrial, new wave and rock as well) he made me enjoy techno a lot when I searched for music to add to his playlist.

I used to listen to industrial and aggro tech decades ago and this drifts a bit into the techno world imo, so it was not unlikely I would start listening to techno myself. Especially the harder and darker version (but I crave melodic tech as much).

We both share the love about bass and songs with less to no lyrics as insturments simply move us more than vocals do. When I have to listen to lyrics, I feel forced to try to understand the meaning behind it and I can't concentrate on the whole thing like I want to. I often catch myself I decide to not like the music because I dislike the vocalists voice. And Ry thinks the same way.

[trashpandaqc]

digging the Aggro Drift soundtrack by araabMuzik a lot. lo-fi beats without the beats.

[aire1111]

@diorchiectomy watching aggro drift cuz o your review