#Piece & Co

[crystalized-dreams]

My Favorite Games of 2022 and Most Anticipated for 2023

My Favorite Games of 2022 and Most Anticipated for 2023

I had been asked if I considered doing this and well, considering we’re already over a week into January, clearly not. I actually really struggle with picking favorites so this definitely isn’t really a “My most favorite games” list so much as a “I had a really good time playing this game” or in the case of anticipated, are ones I either heard about or played the Demo for in 2022 (and the game…

[alpha-mag-media]

33 New-In Pieces From COS, Mango and H&M That You'll Mistake for Designer | December 27, 2023 at 07:08AM

33 New-In Pieces From COS, Mango and H&M That You’ll Mistake for Designer Read More … Check full articles at Source: ALPHA MAG

[ur-mag]

33 New-In Pieces From H&M, COS and Arket That Have My Full Attention | In Trend Today

33 New-In Pieces From H&M, COS and Arket That Have My Full Attention Read Full Text or Full Article on MAG NEWS

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"Not What I Planned." Rusty Nail X AFAB! Reader.

Well hello! It is the amazing and fantastic @eggsandbeer birthday so, so soon! But I am meeting Matt and Skeet tomorrow and my brain is gonna be all on Billy and Stu post that, so you get this now! This is my first time writing Rusty, I watched Joy Ride 2 six times while writing this. I love Riri, she is so fucking awesome and I adored doing this. She has a more personalized version but gave the go ahead to post a reader insert version for you all! So let's go!

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 7.7K (I Know.) Rusty Nail X AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Customer Service Work. Asshole Customers. Murder Mentioned. Drinking. Making Out. Man Handling. Fingering. Masturbation. Blow Job. Cum Eating. Vaginal Sex. Riding. Taunting. Teasing. Dirty Talk. Praise. Pet Names.

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You hate your job, it is exhausting, mentally and physically, a total drain, but you do all you can to not let it get you down. You focus on the little things, good customer interactions, great coworkers and the times you are truly able to get away from your work. It isn’t like it’s what you wanted to do for the rest of your life anyway, far from it, in fact one of those vital lifelines that helps keep you sane is a local news internship, it gives you some good experience for what you hope to actually eventually do with your life along with giving you purpose. 

Today is not good, though, off to a less than ideal start. This is decidedly not the way you wanted to spend your birthday. Rolling into the grocery store to do a closing shift, apron in your grip and bag over your shoulder, half-hearted waves to co-workers as you strolled through towards the area you could safely stow away your stuff until you are allowed to clock out. You do just that, drop your stuff in the usual place, get your uniform situated and punch in, ready for another day of God knows what bullshit. 

Your mind was at least slightly occupied, where you work is en route to the Burning Man festival which meant that you were busy as fuck with people loading up on supplies before they arrive to their final destination, it kept you busy. As for what kept your brain whirring, your internship had tasked you with writing a piece on the crowd that is rolling through on their way, meaning you are watching and listening intently. It looks like you aren’t from the outside, hands stacking a fruit display, but ears open, all sorts of talk about events the Burners were amped up for, how much further they had to travel, what snacks were the best and would keep in the desert heat. 

You did some actual work naturally, finding yourself crouched and cleaning out a stubborn drain, the process thoroughly annoying and honestly degrading, and not in the fun way you usually liked. It was your fucking birthday, for Christ’s sake, you should be indulging in the fun kind of calve burning, not the bent over and unclogging kind. Still, you try to stay in higher spirits and certainly not show it outwardly, if someone squinted hard enough, they might be able to pick up on it. 

Later on, you had just finished making a new display, standing back and looking at the gorgeous display of apples you’d spent longer than you cared to mention on, hands on your hips. The first genuine smile that had graced your face since clocking in and wasn’t tinged with a single hint of perfectly practised customer service fakeness. This is one of those moments you felt genuine pride in your work, a glimmer of nicety in all the bullshit. 

It lasted for two whole seconds.

A customer’s cart hits you in the hip and wrist simultaneously because of how you were standing, the action both painful and shocking, completely unexpected. It makes you step to the side, grip your wrist with your other hand, the pain is throbbing and dull, it isn’t the worst thing you’ve ever experienced, but it still sucks and should have never happened in the first place. The customer doesn’t apologize. Worse still, they stride forward, pick a single apple from the middle of the display, causing half of it to tumble over. The customer scoffs with a roll of their eyes, they drop the apple into their cart to look around, seeming to notice you just now for the first time, only then acknowledging you. They give a pointed look from you to over their shoulder, a motion of their head as they criticized your work, “Not very sturdy.” 

Your mouth falls open, and they tut as they walk away, leaving you dumbfounded with fifteen some odd apples scattered on the ground that you had to clean up and a display you had to rebuild. 

Later still, you are sweeping, trying to get these damn onion skins up, but they aren’t moving. You are half focused, conversing with one of the Burners, they are asking for your opinion on what kombucha is best, and you are humouring them and getting a few questions answered along the way. 

Throughout all the regular work crap, you’d been having small conversations with people, writing brief notes for your project, and it was nice getting some serious stuff down about it, served as a half decent distraction too. 

His initial thought is that it was reminiscent of a zoo, upon greater thought while attempting to park the Peterbilt he decided swiftly that it was worse than that, a fucking circus. He manages to park and decides that getting in and out as fast as possible would be vital to maintaining his sanity. He was aware that Burning man was happening, naturally, but still the place was crowded as all Hell, more than he had been anticipating. Rusty didn’t like large crowds of people, but he needs some supplies, he needs to eat. 

It isn’t any better inside. 

He is making his way around, hat pulled low, basket in his grip, grabbing a few drinks, some favoured snacks that he knew kept well, he was passing by the produce, almost ready to get the fuck out. He goes into your department, he is grabbing bananas and thinking about getting some of those pre-cut carrot and celery sticks. Rusty is trying to be a tad more health minded, not like it would do much with how much he enjoys a good smoke but better to do something than nothing he supposed. 

His train of thought is broken when he hears a loud exclamation of, “I can’t believe how fucking stupid you are!”

Rusty’s head turns, he catches sight of you, standing there, trying to look apologetic as some older lady is verbally ripping into you, “I’m making lemon chicken LEEK stroganoff, right?”

She is looking at you expectantly, your eyes wide, and with that half customer service forced smile you nod and say through gritted teeth, “Right.” 

“So tell me, how. Am I. Supposed. To make. Lemon, chicken LEEK stroganoff without LEEKS?” The way she said it was infuriating, the halting, pausing way of it, so condensing, as if you were the cross between an idiot and a child all rolled into one. 

“I don’t know, ma’am. I guess you can’t. I’m very sorry.” You admit it reluctantly, knowing she won’t like your response, and she does not. She goes off on you, “Well I’ve had this menu planned for WEEKS, I have company coming tonight! You have to make this right!” 

Rusty was listening in, brow pinching, this woman was off her rocker, what a complete bitch. You were trying to calm her, smooth over the situation, and she was being worse and worse to you. No matter what you say, she wouldn’t stop freaking out. 

“I really am very sorry. I could call another store nearby and ask if they have any leeks?” You offer up, and she scoffed with a laugh, “So I can make ANOTHER stop? Do you not remember? I am hosting a dinner party tonight, I’m busy! I have other places to go, I can’t be here fighting with you over this all night!”

And yet she was still here, doing just that. 

He had turned, wasn’t watching quite as subtly as he was previous. You were doing your best and none of it was measuring up to this crazy, impossible standard that was being set out. He was looking at you, and he could see that you were taking it hard, your customer service face and voice were holding strong, but your eyes? They looked so sad. 

You reminded him of a kicked puppy, as the woman finally had enough of being a raging cunt and stormed off. Right after that, someone else in uniform walked by, a manager? And on their way, they said, “Happy birthday.”

You gave a small, “Thanks.” along with half a wave as they strode past. You were not only working on, but getting treated like that, on your birthday? 

It got to him, hit him square in the chest, shot to the heart. A sigh and he looks over, he makes a note of the asshole who mistreated you so, he has a little time before they check out before he can go dispose of them in the parking lot for being so unreasonable and rude to you. It might be too far for some people but not for him, people like that, there is no changing them, not at her age, some people don’t deserve to live. 

First things, first though, he saunters over to you, a small clearing of his throat before he asks, “Got a date tonight, there a drink you’d recommend?” 

You turn towards the low and smooth voice, you have to turn your head up to look at him properly, he was taller than you. The way he was standing, the angle, and how he wore his hat you couldn’t see his face, brim pulled too low, standing a few feet away.

A small inhale and your smile turned more genuine before you reply, “Oh, our Pink Champagne is my favourite. I get that on special occasions.” 

Well, how fucking perfect a find were you? Kind, respectful, hardworking, and you have good taste. 

“Thank you.” He said it easily with a wave of his hand in acknowledgement and broke away. You watch him go and think to yourself that he is cute, in that particular way that strikes you when an older guy catches your eye just so. The interaction doesn’t stick with you however, you turned and saw more fucking onion skins that needed sweeping up.

Hours later, you finally get off of work, messed up apron in one hand and looking forward to getting the hell home. You had two days off ahead, you were intent on a bath and partaking in some drinks in your fridge with a good record on when you get home. You are walking through the dark and now very empty parking lot, your mind only focused on reaching your car, sliding behind the wheel and getting home as soon as possible, when you hear a voice calling out. Your car keys are in one hand, the keys between your fingers, sticking out and ready to punch a would be attacking if you need to. 

Hearing the voice makes you put your head on a swivel, initially scared, you look and then see it is that older gentlemen you helped out earlier. You pause, and he comes a little closer, again in the dark and with that hat you can’t make out much except for the orange glow of the end of his cigarette, partially illuminating the lower half of his face. He calls out your name, following it with a question of, "-right?” 

“Hi, yeah it is.” You were still sightly on edge until he is holding up the very same bottle you suggested earlier, “Wanted to say thank you for your recommendation, properly.” 

Your brows raise up, you saw him in the store hours ago, meaning he should in theory be long gone, and you ask, “I thought you had a date?” 

“I do. I was just waitin’ for her to get off work.” Even though you couldn’t see it fully, you could hear the smile in his tone, and it makes one spread to your own face. “Oh, my apologies, I didn’t realize that was you asking me out.” 

The tone you said it in was very light, and he seemed equally amused, “Sorry bout that, terrible manners on my part, truly.”

There is a beat of silence, and you say, “I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you.” 

“So you’d be willing to join me?” He asks, you nod, you felt endeared to him very quickly, the confidence he displayed, the boldness, you were charmed and figured why not? You had the time tonight, nothing wrong with enjoying a birthday drink bought by a courteous man. 

“Where are we going to go?” You ask, and he gestured over to the large shiny black Piterbilt towards the back of the lot. “Was thinking my truck, if that’s alright with you?”

When he asks in that delicious tone of voice, you think that yes, it is very alright with you. “Lead the way.” You prompt, and he does, you fall into step beside him, apron is thrown over your shoulder, and you asked, “So you’re a truck driver?”

“How’d you ever guess?” He asked on an exhalation of his cigarette with a glance over to you. Now you can catch the half smirk on his face, unable to make out his eyes completely, but it didn’t bother you, honestly you kind of dug the mysterious kind of thing, not even fully knowing what he looked like. If anything that communicated how into him, you were, hadn’t even seen his whole face but his voice and how he carried himself was more than enough to convince you to this odd kind of unexpected date. 

“I’m real intuitive. Call it a gift.” You mused, and he liked you, even in how you joked, there was no real meanness to it, could tell that it was all in fun and that inherent niceness shone through. “Giving me gifts when it’s your birthday? Isn’t that what M’ supposed to be doing?” 

That gives you some slight pause, how in the fuck did he know that it was your birthday? Before any serious question could be made, you were next to his truck on the passenger side. You look it over and say honestly, “Nice truck.”

“Thanks, do my best to take real good care of it, s’ seen some rough times.” You look a little closer, scrutinizing, if it had, you couldn’t tell, the thing looked clean and not a scratch on it. You turn and lean against it, you realize he had gotten some cups that were also sold at your work, he holds them out, “Mind holding these while I open this?”

You nod and take them out of his outstretched hand and watch as the last remainder of his cigarette was dropped and ground under the heel of his boot. He uncorks the bottle with ease, doesn’t spill any or cause it to overflow, which mildly impresses, you hold out the cups and he fills them. The bottle is set aside on the ground and after passing him his cup he asked “Any words to share?”

“Here’s to the weekend?” You offered up after a moment’s thought, and he said, “I’ll drink to that.” He knocks yours and his cups together, and you take a sip of the sweet and familiar fizzy alcoholic drink. 

“Seriously the shift I had today was rough, so this is really nice, thank you-” Then you realize you don’t know his name, he clearly picks up on this and says, “Name’s Rusty. Rusty Nail.” 

Immediately you figure it must be his CB handle, you wonder if Rusty is his real name, but also you don’t think it matters much, you don’t press, “Well thank you, Rusty, really.” 

“S’ my pleasure. Heard how that woman was going off on you earlier, some people can be so rude.” Is that what prompted this? The total bitch who was freaking over leeks? If so, you think that maybe her being such a raging cunt wasn’t such a bad thing if it led to this. 

Little did you know that Rusty had taken care of her, she was currently stuffed in the trunk of her own car, way, way on the other side of the lot, body long since gone cold. 

The conversation then turned to you both complaining about a shared distaste for rude and unreasonable people, he let you vent about your day and previous horrible customers at your job. As the conversation went on, you find yourself enjoying his company more and more. You also find yourself standing closer to him, half the bottle gone, he’s had another smoke, and you are leaning on him much more than the truck, he doesn’t mind, you sigh to him, “I cannot believe the crap you have to put up with, it’s so unfair!” 

“Some people have some really unsavoury and outdated views on people in my line of work.” He admits with a nod, and from what he’d shared it seemed like. There are people who say the meanest shit, make horrible assumptions, treat him like dirt or worse, a feeling you know all too well at your own job. You relate to Rusty. 

You’d been talking for an hour, and it was even later, darker, and a shiver unexpectedly ran up your spine, “You cold?”

You were a little, you were in a t-shirt and after standing in one spot for so long this late the chill had somehow set in. “Yeah, surprisingly I am a bit.” 

Then he made an interesting offer. “You want to get in my truck, warm up?” 

You think you really did want that. “Yeah, that’d be great, actually.” 

He moved back then and so did you, he opened the door for you, and you looked up, Christ it was big, how were you supposed to get in while in your slightly buzzed state without looking like a total clown? You feel him against your back, he asks, “Need some help?”

You nod, unsure of what he means or how he is going to help but trusting him all the same, it’s then that you feel his hands on you. He turns you, and then those same hands find your waist with ease and grip. He lifts you like you weigh nothing, and you realize to him, you probably do, as he helps hoist you into the passenger side of the truck. Rusty sits you on your ass in the seat and your face feels much hotter, he just scooped you up and set you down so fast, one simple and fluid motion as he stepped one foot up on the running board, and then there you were. You are side-saddle, legs dangling down and far off of the ground. His hands leave you quicker than you’d like, sliding off your waist and stepping back down. You are a bit dazed, his hand touches your ankle, and you jump, he laughs at your surprised, “What?”

“You wanna get your legs in, so I can close the door?” You nod and do so, swinging your legs in, and he shuts the door. Your hand, that had been clutching your bag and apron, dropped them on the floor by your feet. You look down into your cup, you hadn’t spilled any even when he picked you up, the cup is raised, you tip it back and swallow down the remainder. A sigh and you pull the cup back, hand still clutching it, comes to rest on your thigh as your thumb on your opposite hand swipes a stray drop from the corner of your mouth. He had come around to the other side, he has the door open and is sliding in beside you into the driver's seat, he’d picked up the bottle on the way, and you were contemplating asking for more.

As if reading your mind he gestures for your cup, you lean over, holding it out, and he pours you some more, you asked him, “So before, you were talking about all the bad stuff about truck driving, but what about the stuff you do like?”

The question seems to surprise him if his tone is any indication, “The stuff I do like?” 

He has pulled the bottle back, he isn’t pouring more for himself, you respond to his question with another of your own, “Yeah, what makes the job worth it? Other than the money.” 

Rusty considers the question for a moment before he says, “I like seein’ the country, like being by myself most of the time but most of all? Probably seems obvious, but the freedom of it.” 

You nodded, it made sense and asked, “Can go anywhere, do anything?” 

“S’actly.”  

The silence is as surprisingly comfortable as the passenger seat of this truck is. The thought hits, and you say it without thinking, “I dunno how you do it.” 

“What? Truck drivin’?” He asks, and you say with a turn to him, “Yeah! Like, the actual driving it.”

He laughs, and you press on, one hand holding your cup and the other making like you are gripping a steering wheel that was comically large, pretending to turn it, “Seriously! This thing is massive, it’s a beast! How can you control it?”

“Ain’t that hard really, just gotta be the right mix of careful and confident.” He assures, and you laugh, “You make it sound so easy, I’ve never driven anything this big, that-” You point out the window to your much less impressive ride, “-is my car over there.” 

“Yeah, don’t quite measure up, does it?” He teases and you grin, “Nope. But I don’t think I could drive anything like this.”

“I think you could.” A small pause before he asks the big question, “Wanna try?” 

You nearly choke on your sip and pull the cup back, wiping at your mouth, “What? Me? Drive the behemoth? You want to write it off that bad, Rusty?” 

“You cannot be that bad a driver.” He scoffs. 

“Rusty, you barely know me, I dunno-” He insists, “C’mon, I’ll help.”

“Help?”

You were curious enough to allow it to happen, you’d not counted on his idea of help being putting you in his lap. He’d moved the seat back enough and encouraged you to climb on, emboldened by both the drink and his encouragement, you slide on into the space he made. He moves the seat forward enough to do the pedals, and he places your hands on the wheel, his hands covering yours. “You sure this is a good idea?” 

Nerves were setting in, you’d been drinking, not a lot but also all the close contact with him was getting to you, his attractiveness was apparent during your brief meeting earlier but now that you'd’ been getting to know him? He was becoming even more appealing, being sat in his lap, your back to his chest, his hands on yours, you felt flustered. Sounded by him in both touch and scent, it could be enough to make your head swim if you let it. In your current position, his voice is over your shoulder, “Positive. You’ll be fine.” 

The tone of voice he says it in, the conviction, he makes you believe it. 

One of his hands leaves yours briefly to start her up, the truck rumbles to life, and it makes you jump slightly, Christ it was loud and is vibrating like all Hell. “We’ll just do a lil’ loop, alright? M’ doing the pedals, you just steer her real easy.” 

He had to speak louder to be heard over the hum of the truck, and you pitch your own volume up to be heard, “Yeah, real easy, can do.” 

His foot comes down slowly, and he eases it forward, you grip the wheel tightly and let him lead. He talks you through the process, and it helps, you focus your eyes forward and your ears on listening to his smooth voice praising you, “Uh-huh, around the pole, use it as a guide.” You swallowed and nodded, brows knit together as he keeps talking, “Oh good job, see? You’re doing it.” 

His hands squeeze yours reassuringly, your mouth feels dry, you nod and say quieter than you should, “Thanks.”

“No need to thank me, you’re doing most of the work.” You feel that isn’t truthful but again, he talks, you believe. 

“Almost all the way around, a little further-” Both his hands leave yours, sliding down your arms and choosing to come to rest on your waist again, letting you fully be in control. It makes you tense, rushing out, “Rusty, wait-”

Another flex of his hands, another show of comfort, he says easily, drawling out, “Calm down, you’re doing it all yourself.” 

You aren’t fully convinced until you’ve made the full loop, and he lets off the gas, he turns off the car and your shoulders slump, what he says next, makes you melt, “I told you. You’re perfect.” 

That does something, makes a particular part of you break, or is it wake up? Either way, a certain section of you, somewhere aside, comes alive, and instead of wanting to run from it, you chose to grab onto the live wire of sensation with both hands. The truck has stopped, but you keep moving, the urge overcomes, and you turn in your seat and in his lap, one hand comes up, meets his cheek, feeling the rough stubble. He’d already gotten you the champagne, but you think you want more still, and you ask, “Can I be selfish?”

“S’ your birthday, be as selfish as you want to.” You take that is more than enough of an invitation. You lean up and in, push the brim of his hat up enough to give yourself the appropriate access, and you kiss him. 

He had a feeling it was going this way, but thinking and experiencing are two different things. You choosing to take the lead was better than he could have been hoping for, though. Your mouth was so fucking soft, you felt warm, he tried to take it easy, but this is the kind of thing he can’t help getting swept up in. Chances like this don’t come around often, the urge to rush is present, he manages to ignore it, preferring to savour it, or rather, savour you. He lets himself relax further into the seat, returning your affection immediately. 

The scratch of his facial hair against your skin feels better than you’d hoped it would, you let out a soft exhale, a sound on the precipice of a moan while still falling just short. His hands are still on your waist, he nudges you closer, you lean in more, your head tilts, his lips part, and he tastes more like cigarettes than he does the champagne, but it’s there. Your tongue makes the first exploration and sticky sweet fruit is unearthed from below smoke and ash. 

One of his hands slides down, a brief pass over your thigh, and you wonder where it’s going, you realize in short order when the seat you are both on moves back, giving you more space, making it, so you aren’t quite as locked up against the steering wheel. Heat is sparking inside, your hand moves from his face, slipping to rest on his neck, your other hand comes up to his shoulder, fingers grip the jacket he has on and the want becomes too much. You grind down on him. 

The shifting and adjusting allows you to feel how hard he was growing, a harsher inhale, and you begin to scramble, you want more contact, you move to be fully straddling him, no more twisting partially around like you currently were. You are seated just right soon enough, ass firmly planted, and you think fleetingly God he had some solid thighs, strong, you felt very well-supported. 

The making out was only paused briefly while you changed position, you’d gotten right back into it, your mouth slotting back against his with a hum that sounded like his name. You grind again and this time he returns it, rutting up into you, and the friction makes you actually moan this time. The taste, the feeling, and two minutes more of making out is all it takes for you to break, pulling back once his touch had gotten bolder, one having slid up your body, palming one of your tits through your work shirt easily with how large his hands were. You arch into him, breaking the kiss you beg, “Fuck, Rusty, more.”

You are close enough now that you can see his smile as opposed to just hear it, his hand moves and starts to go under your shirt, rough fingers on bare skin and steadily moving up, brushing the edge of your bra. Not quite a laugh but more than an amused releasing of air, he asks, “More?” 

A frantic nod, another squirm of your hips and he asks, “How much more? C’mon, tell me.”

He wants you to say it and you want it desperately enough that it’s no issue, far from it, if anything him making you say it, makes you want it more, makes you feel hotter. “Fuck me?”

“I like your directness.” Thank God for that. “Just have a lil more patience with me, alright?” 

When he asks in that tone, you think you’d do just about anything. A small nod and he needs to get his fill of you just a hair more. Hands explore, groping, feeling, it teases both of you, trying to get a sense of your body before the clothes come off, mind running over just how you’ll feel with nothing in the way. You remain good, you let him feel, minimal squirming on your part, even when he starts kissing your neck as the hand that isn’t up your shirt kneads your ass. Only when you feel your underwear literally plastered to you and your cunt ache incessantly do you whine his name again. 

He mercifully acquiesces, “Okay, okay, I hear you.” 

He eases up, a gesture of his head for you to move to the passenger's seat, “Gonna need you out of those clothes for what you really want.” 

You rush to comply. Once in the passenger's seat, sitting sideways, still facing him, looking at him, your hands catch the bottom hem of your shirt and as if anticipating that you intended to frantically tear it off, he stops you. One hand out and that sweet but firm tone, commanding, "Do it slowly." 

Your face feels hot, and you do as instructed, slowing your movements right down, pulling the shirt up, exposing your stomach and then your bra. Higher and higher until you have taken it off, tossing it in the direction of your bag and apron. Next you have your thumbs hooked in the waist of your pants, arching your hips you start to slide them down, you watch him, try to gauge his reaction, but it’s hard in the low lighting. He gives a nod to show he’s pleased so far, encouraging you verbally too, “Go on.” 

Shoes removed, pants follow, soon you are in just your underwear, and he speaks, a small gesture of your body, up and down, “S’ a good start but keep going.” 

You reach behind yourself, start to unhook your bra, and he is still talking, “Dying to see the rest.” 

You swear you can feel his eyes raking over every exposed inch of your skin. A small thought strikes, you follow it, slipping your arms out of the straps but holding the cups to your chest, an indulgent smile, a rise of your eyebrows, and he clicks his tongue, you play dumb and ask, “What?”

“You’re being a tease.” He states, and you ask in a tone of mock innocence, “Am I?” 

He says more seriously. “Drop it.” 

Unsure if he means your bra or the act, you chose to abandon both. You let the padded fabric slip out of your hands, a spread of your legs, you wonder if he can tell how wet you are from here. He moves too now, you weren’t expecting it, he falls to his knees in the space between your seat and his. Hands come to your hips and the sudden contact makes you jerk with a sharp inhale. His mouth catches yours in another kiss, you return it and moan, his mouth doesn’t stay on yours for long, trails down, jaw and neck, one on your shoulder and lower.

He is confident, he’s taking what he wants and you more than let him, you enjoy every rough scrape of his well worked hands, pass of his lips and nip of his teeth. His warm breath fanning over your chest is welcome, one hand has moved again, over your hip and now on your inner thigh, his thumb is close enough, and he runs it up you, swipes up your clothed slit. You sigh, eyes falling closed, relishing the contact, you are sure now he can feel how wet you are. He runs it back down and then up again, a press just right, and you moan between the friction on your clit and his mouth now on your chest. 

He found it so easily and judging by the smile you can feel against the curve of your breast, he is just as pleased. Rusty abandons the current pleasant task, fingers hooking in your underwear, “I got a feelin’ it’d be a fight to get these off you too, an’ I just can’t wait.” 

You couldn’t either, not anymore. 

Assisting with a move of your ass up, he gets them off, and now you are naked in his semi-truck. You want to jump him, but he is holding you down by your thighs, taking in the view of you unobstructed, totally bare. “Fucking gorgeous.”

A hand reaches out, catches his jacket, and you tug as you tell him, “I feel really exposed right now, you wanna lose some of these?”

“S’ only fair.” He agrees, he removes his jacket and asks, “Wanna give me a little show while I fix myself?” 

It is a request, but you take it like it’s an order. Hand between your spread legs, fingers trace up, catching ample wetness and spreading it up, circling sensitive tissue, making your thighs tense and a small moan fall from your lips. “There you go.”

The praise helps, you increase the pressure, and he hums in approval. Shirt is gone, belt is opened more and more revealed until he is in a similar state of undress. The view of him stripping all for you is insanely helpful. Pleasure is filling you easily and once he is ready he asks, “You mind if I-?”

“However you want me, please.” It leaves you needy and breathless. He steps in, he moves your hands away from yourself, and starts to adjust you to his liking. You like it, you think he can be rougher honestly, you are put on your knees, facing the passenger window, a hand on your back, adjusting you more, hips tilted up, and you feel him against you. The bump of his shaft between your thighs and over your clit is already very good. “Ready, yeah?”

A shaky nod, “Please Rusty-”

The one word and his name is all you are able to get out before he is lining up just right, you hold your breath in anticipation, he spits into his own hand, strokes himself, the extra lube as courtesy is appreciated. He slides in, and you let out a gasp, he doesn’t do it easily, taking you in one firm stroke, hand on your hips as his come to rest against your ass. He revels in you, the tight, soaked heat of you, his head tips back slightly as he soaks it before he starts to move. Pulling out halfway before driving forward, your hands scrabble for the window’s edge, you hold onto it like a lifeline as you gear up for what is already promising to be the ride of a lifetime. 

His thrusting is firm, just like him, steady and sure, a good and even pace. It leaves breathless, not caring about being overheard, not like anyone could in the empty parking lot. A heavy breath from him, “Fucks sake, you’re soaked.” 

You were moaning, incoherent pleas, along with his name, you were more than warmed up, each drag of his thick shaft in and out increasing the feeling. Fingers dig into the meat of your hips, he pulls you back as he drives forward, and you move too, rocking backwards to meet him. “Tight as Hell, can barely fit myself in here.” 

“Keep talking, never, ever stop talking.” Is the one thought in your brain as you moan dumbly. You aren’t thinking much, unable, but you are feeling. Rusty was so kind to you, was totally turning your birthday around, making you feel incredible, spoiling you, and you want to do the same. His hands are roaming and that won’t do, you need to stop him before you are fucked into total submission and wrecked. Another minute, just another minute, you tell yourself, eyes are half open and brain hazy. The glass is so fogged up you can’t see out of it, could write your name but if he asked you doubted your hands would be steady enough. Could you even spell your name right now with what he was doing to you? 

Finally, you reach back, hands on his hips, “Ru-Rusty, please, stop-”

“Something the matter?” He asked, holding deep, all the way to the hilt inside you. His hands smooth up your sides, fingers trace the curves of your chest before coming back down again, and you shiver, clenching on his shaft. 

“Gotta, fuck, do something. Pull out?” He listens, he does so, “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”  

The pet names, fucking Christ the pet names, you are forcing yourself to move. It happens quickly. You turn, and then you push him, so his back is against the seat of the driver's side. He takes the hint, sits up on the seat sideways, and then you are the one on your knees. Between his spread thighs, you lean down, a hand locks around the base of his shaft and you lick. He lets out a surprised groan, soft and sounding too good. You start to blow him in earnest, careful of your gag reflex as you work. Your hand slips up and down his slick shaft as you suck on the head, his hand comes down to your head, fingers twist in your hair, “Like tasting yourself?” 

A nod as you moan against him, tongue swirls around the tip, and he watches enraptured, his hips buck slightly, and you gag almost immediately. He inhales through his teeth, “Sorry there.”

You brush him off, a gesture that it is fine, as you redouble your efforts. He seems to be enjoying it immensely, he is encouraging you further but soon asks, “Can you handle some more?”

For him, you want to try. You nod, and he guides you, does it slowly and easily, “Breathe through it-”

You do and the pace, his voice, it somehow works, and you’re able to take him deeper, “Pretty birthday girl. Takin’ it so well.” 

All you wanted to do was please him, you continue the work for only a minute more, however because then he tells you, “I want you back up here.”

You jump at the chance. Same as before, you climb up him and straddle him, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see where this is going. “You didn’t have to do that.” He comments, and you have your hands on his biceps, currently sucking a hickey into his neck and teasing your dripping hole with the tip of his dick, “I know. I wanted to.”  

“Could tell you were into it. You always wanna taste yourself like that?” 

“Not always but it is-” You move your hips down, start to slide him inside with a moan, once he is buried inside of you again you finish the thought, “-a favourite.” 

“Dirty girl.” He coos it like a compliment, and it hits you just like one, too. You start to ride, his hands on you help along with upward rocks of his hips. You bite and suck along his throat in between broken moans, the salt of his skin is a tad too addicting, as is the stretch of him inside and the way he brushes all the right spots inside of you at this angle. 

Apparently it still isn’t good enough for him. 

He tugs you closer, presses you so that way your clit is getting friction and ground with every thrust and bounce, your moans increase in volume in pitch along with the sensation. You had no clue this is how your day would shake out, if you did, maybe your shift would have been more bearable. 

His hands are on your back, holding you close, fucking up into you as you are slamming down, and on a particularly good hit you are gasping. For two people fucking for the first time and relative strangers, you’d found a frighteningly good rhythm. Your body is moving on instinct, just chasing what feels good but still, thoughtlessly tinged with doing your best to please him, thankful for the moment that what seems to be getting him off is feeling incredible for you. It isn’t quite enough, though, and he seems to pick up on that. 

“Lean back.” His voice snaps you out of your pleasure induced stupor, and you nod, separating yourself from him, the one point of contact still remaining your ass on his thighs and him stuffed deep inside. He directs you further, his hands help, and you find yourself with one hand on his knee, the other braced on the roof of the truck, feet on the seat on either side of him and with a confident nod you start moving again. 

It’s good, you are able to hit spots inside yourself that are even deeper, using all your leg muscles as well as your hands it becomes more of a full body effort, minute adjustments can be made so too much strain is never on one part of your sweat slick frame. Soon as you are just right in the groove of it, he surprises you, why he wanted the change in position becomes all too clear. His hand is between your bodies and his thumb presses down, swirling over your clit, and it makes your pace falter, “Oh my fucking God-”

“Don’t stop now.” The way he says it makes a shiver run up your spine and again makes you clench down on him. He says it in the dominant tone of voice, but it’s light, that smug fucking half grin on his face, unable to tear his eyes away from your body. You shake your head, choking out, “Wo-won’t stop.” 

“No, course you won’t, you’re so good at listening.” The praise washes over you with another sharp jolt of ecstasy. His hand that wasn’t working your nerves into a frenzy was on your thigh, sliding up, gripping your hip, “This workin’ for you?”

Fuck, was it ever. You nod frantically, focusing on breathing and not stopping riding him, but in short order, your movements were getting increasingly sloppy. It was like he didn’t have to ask, didn’t rush it, just let you work it out and helped carry you along. You were getting dangerously close, the edge creeping up at a blinding pace, everything you’d experienced so far this night was piling up and threatening to make you break apart at the seams. There were no real words, just hurried breathing and pitched moans, head back, nails digging into the fabric of the truck cab’s roof, the sound of skin on skin and his encouragement. 

A soft call of your name, his hips moving up, grinding into you as his hand works and him asking in a mind meltingly hot tone, “I wanna see it, give it to me.”

And something about that, whether it is what he said or how he said it, causes the reaction inside to finally make it happen, like it clicks into place just right, and you go from a weak and barely audible strained whisper of, “I’m almost there!” To holy fucking shit, I’m, “-cumming!” 

Riding as much became not an option, legs almost giving out, but he takes over, grip on your hip is bruising, hip strength impressive, and he drives up into you over and over. Your hand isn’t able to stay on the roof, caught midair, body tense as your climax rockets through your body, you think your hand on his knee might be drawing blood with your nails, but you can’t stop it nor can you care. 

You jerk as it peaks, and he slips out, his fingers don’t stop until you are crying out and pushing him away, still trembling through the aftershocks. Your eyes were closed, you were panting and not even remotely down from his high when you feel the hot splatter on your tits and stomach with your name staining his tongue. Peaking back open, you see him, hand around himself, and he’d cum all over your torso. The pretty pearly white is sliding down, and his own breathing is very laboured. Your hand trails down, still shaky, skating through the mess he left, and then you're bringing those same fingers back up to taste him. 

Your body relaxes against him, you get into a more comfortable position, and after you stop shuddering so much you are telling him, “That was pretty fucking great.”

“Oh, are you all done?” He asked as he looks up at you, hands are resting lazily on your thighs, tracing patterns absentmindedly. “I mean I thought we were but are we not?”

“We don’t gotta be. I’m in no rush.” The thought of that is extremely pleasant. 

“Another drink till you’re ready to go again, old man?” You asked with a smile, and he laughs as he reaches over to where the bottle was left on the floor of his side of the truck. Thankfully it hadn’t been knocked over, “You get that one and only cuz you were so good.” 

“Only one old man joke or one joke overall? Because I was gonna make one hoping that you aren’t passingly along tetanus to me Rusty, but if you’re planning to be a buzzkill-” He shuts you up with a hand on the back of your neck and a kiss that you end up humming into. Yeah, you think this has been a pretty solid birthday. 

[valentine-cafe]

. ˚◞♡ 𝒓𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓 𝒙 𝒈𝒏 𝒎𝒐𝒅𝒆𝒍 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ꒰ 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓 𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒓𝒚 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ꒱◞ ₊˚

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ 1311 alessio / gn model reader ꒱ you caught the eye of the famous rockstar around the sector - how lucky

𖹭. content warnings◞  none! . 0.6k

𖹭. receipts◞  needed to write something with this man because where are the requests for him sobs

. ˚◞ ꒰ 🍰 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒔 ꒱ m.list . guidelines . characters . lorebook ⊹ ۪ ࣪ 

𖹭. model!reader who makes the famed rockstar around the sector’s head spin. god he can’t keep his eyes off of you. the first time you caught his eyes was while he was stalking through the sector for some urgent meetings with the wall guards - he just so happened to walk past your little shoot. you were beautiful. taking his line of sight and pushing all thoughts of duty to the back of his mind. oh - and when you caught a glance of him? smiled and waved at the sector’s saviour? in from his stomach.

𖹭. model!reader who had alessio immediately trying to find your name the second he got back home. flipping through contacts and trying to get your pretty little name on his tongue. on his mind. he still remembered your face crystal clearly so if push comes to shove - he’d find you in this city.

𖹭. model!reader who just so happened to stumble into the club he performed at. lucky him. he spotted you in the crowd with ease. how could he possibly forget that pretty face of yours? oh he’d purposefully find your gaze as he sang a particular line of lyrics that had your cheeks burning. were those for you? you’d find out when he called you up to stage.

𖹭. model!reader who quickly finds themself at the end of all his attention. never had you expected to have the leader of the sector and the rockstar alessio agresta arias himself to catch an interest in you. you’re not ignorant to the life of spoils and adoration in your line of work — but somehow, he amped it to the max. spoiling you rotten and making you flustered in so many ways you’d thought you were immune to.

𖹭. model!reader who looks so pretty roaming around the city with his black jacket over your shoulders after a shoot. his arm wrapped around you. waving off others and drawing you close, pressing a kiss to your temple. “can’t fuckin’ take you anywhere huh dulce? people got their eyes on you everywhere.” he’d chuckle. you’ve come to learn just how possessive this man can get; and he’d remind you of it when he takes you back home. drapes your pretty body over his counter and kisses you breathless.

𖹭. model!reader who gets surprised by alessio after shoots and during breaks all the time. he can’t help but whisk you off in whatever clothing you’ve been donned in this time. hoist you up onto whatever surface he can and worship your body with his lips. rough hands with fingers calloused from all his guitar-playing trailing along your soft skin. feeling you up.

“a-alessio -” his kiss silences your gasp. taking your air as his and squeezing at the swell of your hip.

“mm. jus’a bit more baby. troppo bella per essere gestita.” ( “too pretty to handle” )

rough hands pull you closer. press you to his knee. and oh does he chuckle at your whining and the small smack to his shoulder.

“yeah yeah, know you gotta work. can’t help it.” dark lips trail along your throat. pinching your supple flesh between his black-painted nails. before pressing a smooch to the corner of your lips. a small tap to your inner thigh delivered.

his whisper finds your ear. deep, littered in a thousand promises. “I’ll get you all to myself back home.”

𖹭. model!reader who has gotten kissed by alessio mid-shoots more times than you can count. the photographers love it. even if it’s completely by surprise and you always end up stumbling a little and whining into his lips as you desperately cling onto him.

𖹭. taglist◞ wanna join the taglist? fill out this form

𖹭. remember◞ you make a writer's day every time you like, reblog and/or comment on their piece. if you enjoyed my work, please considering doing so<3

. ˚◞ ꒰ 🍰 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒔 ꒱ tip jar . masterist ⊹ ۪ ࣪

[dustedmagazine]

Mount Eerie — Night Palace (P.W. Elverum & Sun)

It’s been a big year for big albums. The mother of them all has to be Cindy Lee’s 32-track, 123-minute opus, Diamond Jubilee. But there’s also been Broadcast’s 36-song, 66-minute demos collection, Spell Blanket. Now we have Mount Eerie’s 26-track, 81-minute Night Palace, which unites the many facets of Phil Elverum’s musical preoccupations into a raw, artful, sprawling double album. Unwieldy as it is, there are so many wonderful moments across the track list that it pays dividends to invest the time.

As ever, Elverum situates himself within the living, breathing natural world of his home state of Washington, in the chilly Pacific Northwest. (Indeed, five of the song titles start with the first-person: “I Walk,” “I Heard Whales (I Think),” “I Saw Another Bird,” “I Spoke With A Fish,” and “I Need New Eyes.”) Blast beats evoke thunderous storms; cacophonous cymbals evoke the crashing of waves against the shore; white noise and amp hiss evoke the wind whistling through the trees. There are countless references to animals, landscapes, and weather events, and the sounds themselves have been lovingly laid to tape in Elverum’s home studio.

Night Palace most closely resembles Clear Moon and Ocean Roar, the wonderful pair of Mount Eerie albums he released back in 2012. Here, though, the calm and the chaotic are intermingled. At one end of the scale is the 53-second screaming death-metal interlude, “Swallowed Alive,” which features a guest appearance from Elverum’s daughter. At the other end of the scale is the ponderous 12-minute spoken-word piece, “Demolition.” There are a couple of songs in the middle of the track list, “Non-Metaphorical Decolonization” and “Co-Owner of Trees,” that almost sound like Stereolab, with their motorik drums and droning organs. Most of all, though, Elverum sounds inimitably himself, even calling back to past Microphones releases (“the Gleam pt. 3”).

While recent releases A Crow Looked at Me and Now Only were painfully direct in their confrontation of grief, Night Palace feels more abstract, as if Elverum is now operating from a place beyond the immediacy of personal trauma. There’s a sense of unmoored drifting in these songs, as if the music is constantly unfolding, never quite settling into place. For this reason, it’s a challenge to apprehend, but a challenge worth accepting.  

Tim Clarke

[deebeeus]

1964 Jaguar in (super rare) Foam Green & 1965 red Mustang in Red, both from the @terry_foster collection.

It's always a bit like drinking from a firehose visiting Terry's collection, and last night's visit was no exception. Terry is cooking up an article on an absolutely unique, one-of-a-kind piece of #Fender history for @fretboardjournal magazine, and asked me to snap a few photos. See Terry's story for some BTS content (you will get a hint of what the article will be about, and even get to see what I look like lol!)

If you don't know Terry Foster, you may have heard of the book he co-authored with Martin & Paul Kelly called "Fender The Golden Age 1946 - 1970", which is essential reading for any vintage guitar afficionado, and the definitive history of the Fender company during it's heyday.

If you *do* know Terry Foster, you will then also know that this photo shows some of the LEAST rare pieces in his vast collection of all things Fender. I can't even begin to describe the depth and breadth of the historical treasures Terry has gathered. He has gone lightyears beyond simply collecting Fender guitars and amps (although he has those too), into Fender ephemera of all types...from production prototypes to dealer signs and chachkas to historical company documents to plans and notes handwritten by company officers to business cards (some spanning specific employees' entire careers with Fender and beyond!) to Fender company Christmas Cards to unseen/unpublished personal photographs of, and taken by, Leo Fender. And this just scratches the surface...the list goes on, and on, AND ON! You have to see what Terry has to believe it, and it will boggle your mind. Hopefully he will write another book someday soon...

Anyhoo...after last night's mind-blowing collection tour, I am completely exhausted. I am going back to bed. Enjoy these lovely offsets for #fenderfriday!😂

[lolotheparagon]

I dont usually talk about music in a critical sense but Bury the Light fucking slaps. While the song as a whole is great, what part really gets me are these two verses:

Lurking in the shadows under veil of night Constellations of blood pirouette Dancing through the graves of those who stand at my feet Dreams of the black throne I keep on repeat A derelict of darkness, summoned from the ashes The puppet master congregates all the masses Pulling strings, twisting minds as blades hit You want this power? Then come try and take it

For this verse, the song changes from a high octane metal guitar deathcore ballad to a quiet and muffled monotone speech, the singer is practically low-growling his lyrics. Its eerie and immediately off-putting, like somethings lurking in the darkness, waiting for the right moment to strike. This is especially true since this is Vergil's theme, one of the main bad guys of the DMC games. But here's where it gets interesting.

Beyond the tree, fire burns Secret love, bloodline yearns Dark minds embrace, crimson joy Does your dim heart heal or destroy?

And in the second verse, the singer changes key to a higher, softer pitch for the first two lines, singing each lyric slowly to accentuate tension and suspense. Then at the third line: Dark minds embrace the harsh loud sounds of the guitar and drums kick in, building up more and more tension as the singer still performs in that same lilting key. The lyrics imply a sense of longing and the question does your dim heart heal or destroy implies Vergil is at war with himself over his human side cos he views it as a weakness and only causes him pain. But Vergil's whole arc is about accepting his human side. Then at the last lyric: Does your dim heart heal or destroy? all the instruments sync up with the vocals and his pauses to amp things up until it reaches the climax at "destroy?"

Long pause of silence. And then AN ABSOLUTELY GODLIKE GUITAR SOLO AND THE INFAMOUS CHORUS FOLLOWS

Like... jesus. That always gives me goosebumps. What a marvellous piece of musical buildup

[neko-naruto]

If I can't have everything, well then just give me a taste

Summary: A romance between a drummer and a bassist isn't exactly a frequent occurrence, it makes sense they'd try to be subtle about it while the singer gets all the stage play.

Warnings: suggestive themes, implied fucking, Ao3 port has a different set of warnings cause it has the cut scene I'm never putting on tumblr

Authors Note: Everyone say thank you to the entirety of NIN's With Teeth and Pretty Hate Machine for forcing my hand into writing day six which was fake/secret relationship, this time featuring a band AU because I can. Title from a Nine Inch Nails song. @sobredunia, pspspsps. I don't really have much to say about this one aside from the fact that it's shorter because I just grinded out 10K in under 24 hours. hhhh, not linking the Ao3 port cause I'm weak, but if you enjoyed consider dropping a reblog, they mean a lot to me

Dream pushed open the door of their tour van first, stumbling in and completely spent. George and Sapnap followed suite, almost equally spent, Georges fingers hurt and Sapnaps everything ached. They each took a seat somewhere in the van, Sapnap on the cool ground, Dream splayed across a bench and George sitting on the mini table.

"That was a great show," Dream said, he sounded winded as he slumped further into his seat.

Sapnap gave a hum of agreement, "Totally."

"We're gonna stop at a restaurant before our next gig right?" George asked, Dream and Sapnap both gave a nod.

"Absolutely," Dream said, "I'm thinking fast food, there's a dubshack around here somewhere right?"

"Dubshack," George echoes in a somewhat mocking tone, "It's an A&W Dream."

Dream rolled his eyes, "Would you rather a Burger King?"

"A&Dubshack sounds good to me," Sapnap said, "French fries, burgers, anything but MC Dogmeats."

George gave a hum of agreement, "Anything but."

"A&W it is," Dream said, letting a leg fall over the edge of the bench.

Sapnap pushed himself up off of the ground, "I'm gonna go get my drum kit."

"That's what the staff are for dude," Dream said.

"I'll help," George offered.

"You guys just wanna make out on the amps again don't you?" Dream asked, the lack of immediate response helped him piece it together, "Go ahead, just grab my mic and don't get caught."

"We know Dream," George chided.

"Oh do you really? Cause the last three times you've tried to make out backstage or fuck in a bathroom stall I had to bail you out and divert attention when the fans got too close," Dream said, propping himself on his elbows as he spoke, "They would lose interest if there was already co relations in the band so sit tight and stay secret."

Sapnap gave a small nod, a sheepish smile on his face, "Thanks for saving our asses by the way."

"Like, go be in love, have gay sex or whatever it is you two do when you're at the amps for far too long to just be making out," Dream said in an all too casual tone, "Just try not to get caught, there would be riots in the streets when all the fans find out your a thing."

"I suppose there is a possibility of rioting, but a drummer and a bassist falling in love could be the next big hit Dream," George said, a somewhat teasing lilt on his voice as he leaned against the door frame.

Dream raised a brow, "George, do you have any idea how unlikely that is?"

"I do," George said, "But a guy can dream can't he?"

The singer simply turned in to face the back of the bench.

"Me and Sapnap'll be back soon enough," George said before reaching out for the drummers hand, Sapnap gladly took it.

Sapnap gave a halfhearted wave, "See ya!"

The door slammed shut and Dream rolled off the bench and onto the icy floor. He gave a drawn out groan of annoyance.

"Those idiots are going to be the death of this band."

-/-/-/-

Sapnap woke up first, curled into George in a pile of blankets on a bed. His recollection of the prior night is hazy, he was spent, already worn out from the performance. But at least he feels physically clean, he took a shower, so did George, Georges hair smells a bit like strawberries. Sapnap tilted his head back to lean against Georges chest a little bit more and the bassist starts to rouse from his slumber.

He presses a sleepy kiss to Sapnaps forehead, "Love you so much, I think I forgot to say that last night."

Sapnap shrugged, "It's fine either way," He nudged Georges arms from where they wrapped against his torso.

"It's not, I never get to say I love you," George said, a hint of a yawn on his voice as he sat up a little bit, throwing the sheets away. He looked down to find himself in a hoodie that belonged to Sapnap, he glances over to find Sapnap wearing one of his own, "Jeez how out of it were we?"

"Super out of it," Sapnap said as he sat up and stretched his arms over his head.

"Next time we should just fuck in the van," George said, "The amp is fun and all but one day we're gonna wreck it."

Sapnap gives an amused hum, "Not my problem, I got percussion baby, no amount of waterlogging could wreck it."

"So you're offering we fuck on your kick drum next time?" George asked, almost teasingly, he knew the answer but he loved the way Sapnaps expression shifted.

Sapnap gives a faux gasp of offense, "Not on my drum kit, such debauchery shall never touch my beloved instrument."

"You hit it with sticks Sapnap," George said, "I've watched you break brand new drum sticks in the heat of the moment."

"It was a good song," Sapnap defended with this, "And you were hyping it up way too much for your own good with your bass."

"I guess that's on me," George said as he stood up and brushed down his pants, fuzzy and of the pajama varietal, "Dream!"

"What!?" Dream calls from the other end of the van in an almost exasperated tone.

"Just wanted to see if you were up!" George shouts back, he holds out a hand that Sapnap takes before standing up, his joints feel achy.

There isn't a response from Dream, a sign that he isn't in a mood to argue so soon.

"I'm gonna get some fresh air," Sapnap stated before making his way to the door, his footsteps were light.

Then he opened the door and somehow he didn't foresee the possibility of camera flashes to assault him so early in the morning. Hands instinctively raise to cover his face and he calls for George who rushes over in an instant as notepads and recording devices hit them in the face. A hundred questions come at once and they can't pick them apart in the slightest.

And then one strikes them like lightning.

"Sapnap! The lipstick on your neck?!"

They both go rigid at the accusation, George forgot to clean it off, Sapnap must've missed one or two lower down. He can't help the way he raises a hand to rest at his neck, where he knows the missed mark is. He opens his mouth to speak, he stutters over a couple words until someone wedges themselves between George and Sapnap from behind.

"What's all the ruckus?!" Dream snapped at the crowd, he sounded pissed, enraged even, "It's barely nine! Go bother someone else!"

They didn't leave, instead more photos and questions bombarded them. Dream didn't answer a single question, even the simple ones, he refused to give them a drop of information. He gently nudged back Sapnap and George who descended back into the tour van.

They watched tentatively from afar as Dream dealt with the paparazzi with as much class as a sleep deprived singer could. He slammed the door shut and it shakes the vans just barely with the ferocity behind the movements. He makes his way over to his friends and they finally get a chance to look at him and see, and see that he's wearing lipstick. Black lipstick. A tone usually reserved for George but sometimes given to Dream, like last night.

"Thanks," George managed.

"Clean your lipstick off next time and it won't get so awkward," Dream said, leaning forward and swiping his thumb across Georges lips, a smear of black comes off. He glances to Sapnap, "You too."

Sapnap nodded, "We were just tired."

"You two almost got caught, just be glad I act fast," Dream said, he sounded exasperated with George and Sapnaps obliviousness to how drastic their actions were, "But now they'll probably think we're in some polyamory."

George gave a somewhat perplexed look, "How?"

"Black lip stick is on Sapnaps neck, I'm wearing it, you're wearing it, that's all three of us," Dream said, "It's better than anything else I guess, but now we're gonna have to layer a fake thing on top of your secret thing? You two are the death of this band."

"Incorrect, we're the meat of the band," George stated.

"You can be both," Dream answered with, barely time to breath into between the sentences.

Sapnap gave a nervous sound, "So, recap real quick, me and George nearly got busted cause we did it and didn't clean up entirely," Dream nodded, gesturing vaguely for Sapnap to continue, "Paparazzi get us off guard and then you bust in, wearing Georges color, and now you're afraid that they think we're having threesomes?"

"Pretty much," Dream said.

"It'll take a while for word to spread," George tried to assure, unable to handle his friend in a paranoid funk for the day.

"It's gonna happen, and I just- how the hell are you gonna incorporate a drummer into stageplay?" Dream asked, confusion laced his voice at the idea alone.

Sapnap shrugged, "We'll work it out."

"Promise, me and Sapnap'll think of something," George said calmly, slinging an arm around Sapnaps shoulders as he spoke.

Dream took a steadying breath, "Thank you."

[valiantlycleverinfluencer]

Hey,

This one is for my ontarians but also anyone who is pro-Palestine.

If you remember or don’t this article was published by the Toronto Sun

https://torontosun.com/news/local-news/warmington-hamas-sympathizers-not-the-grinch-could-try-to-steal-christmas/wcm/0f8cee95-abb6-47db-bdb1-e6b41ce203cd/amp/

The Joe Warmington listed here seems to have been the president of the Toronto Police Association. This guy, whose name is Tom Stamakalis, co-authored this piece with Micheal Mostyn, quoted in the text, ceo of b’nai brith.

Which essentially paints pro-Palestinians as Hamas, as terrorists and as anti-Semitic. Obviously, fuck this guy. So,,,, here’s a petition:

I’d appreciate if you could sign it so that we can bring to account someone at the very least.

[napkinscrawls]

Aether & his pocket Roadie

OC/Aether Ghoul | friends to lovers | heat cycles | sub!Aeth | Oral (woman receiving) | caught in the act | Ao3

Full fic on Ao3

Line breakers by @/djarrex

The backstage halls were buzzing as the crew prepped for tonight's show, expert hands built the frame for Papa to display his art upon. Andea was a piece of that hidden orchestra. A roadie by her own definition, she darted into the gap between stask of sound systems. Tucking herself out of the way she set to work checking the connections & cross-referencing the dials to be as the ghouls preferred. The latter wasn't her job, but it never hurt having an extra set of eyes to prevent an irate Cirrus slinging far too accurate insults, or worse; a Rain rampage. Andea had the time anyway. She was more of a heavy mover & that had already been taken care of long before the main crew descended.

A whistle sounded to her left, a smile already pulled at her cheeks before she turned. 'Her favourite ghoul' cast a wide shadow.

"Alright there, Aeth?" She stood up, barely gracing the height of his chest. He had propped an elbow onto a spare amp, a finger tapping on its rough surface, & smiling ear to ear, visible even beneath his helmet.

"Dewdrop is convinced someone's gonna knock his dials." He leant down to peer past Andea into the wall of wires.

Andea scoffed, "Difficult, given they're not outward facing." she gestured to the 'pristine' dials coated in stickers of dicks & expletives. Aether nodded sagely.

"Looks as manic as always." He straightened up suddenly, his heat leaving her side as his head snapped to the side, towards a sound Andea didn't catch. 

Aether then raised an outstretched arm that ended in a flicked up middle finger, his toothy grin unchanged.

Andea cocked a brow as she followed the line of sight. Of course. Swiss was poking his head out of a side room, complete with a scandalised gasp. Below him were Rain & Cumulus snickering away. Andea waved a greeting to the three imps. All three returned the gesture, though Cumulus added the flourish of an air kiss, causing Andea to snort & duck back out of view. A hand quickly came up to cover her face. 

Another roadie bustles by & Aether hops out of their way, once again into Andea's space. Her eyes unfocused as she avoided another eyeful of Aether's tits.

"Best get out of the hornets nest." He chuckled, jostling her shoulder as a shorthand for an apology. The two spilled out of their hideaway, a show was meant to happen tonight.

Andea batted him away & took off in the opposite direction, catching the eye of a fretting manager in need of a pair of hands she just so happened to have. Aether in turn was almost back at the ghoul's green room when he heard the tail end of the chatter behind him.

Sirène always liked making small talk, & Andea was just as good at fielding her questions; never cutting her off but always finding a way to turn the conversation back onto the manager.

Of course the topic of the boyfriend came up, that's what caught Aether's ear, she didn't even talk much about him to friends, much less nosy co-workers. Aether hated how he had to listen everytime the man was mentioned.

Kelly, not a Church member but a fan of the band apparently. Andea met him at a charity gig a few years back. He'd joke she was his charity case. Aether never laughed at that. Kelly was somehow designed specifically to wind Aether up, but mostly for one very specific reason: he didn't treasure the woman he had. He had Andea & treated her like that?

Yep. Aether had a horribly kept secret, as obvious as Mountain's back problems & Cirrus' penchant for stuffed toys. Aether was in love with 'his favourite roadie'.

He knew Andea wasn't single by the time he realised his own feelings, & was content to keep her as close as she would let him be. Sure, he got the mickey taken by the other ghouls for it but they all did dumb shit too, he always got even. The problem came when the more he learnt of this Kelly the more infuriating he became. Aether had finally met him in passing, seen his dynamic with Andea play out at a distance & a bitterness rose in him with each time Andea bit her tongue or smiled away a 'joke' of his. Aether hated him.

He shook the thoughts from his head & closed the green room door behind him. Ignorant to the chaos around him; Swiss was pinned in a corner by Mountain whilst Sunshine & Dew rummaged through his snack bag, stopping only to pantomime at Swiss. The multi ghoul had made his last comment on the aiming skills of his peers. Despite his bargaining, Dew ripped open a chocolate coated bar of wafer & nuts, he sniffed it, sneered & swallowed it whole. He delighted at Swiss' incredulous whimper of "At least chewww ittt~" Causing a scoff from Rain on the sofa who was peacefully tuning his beloved bass.

Sunshine instead utilised the power move of licking each unwrapped sweet before rewrapping it & returning it to its bag, her eyes never leaving Swiss'. Mountain took his own enjoyment by just crowding in Swiss's space & staying there, neither touching him nor letting him leave. Watching Swiss wriggle in reaction to the defilement of his beloved stash.

Aether finally broke from his mind in time with Cirrus prying a bright packet from Dew's maw, who let out a deranged whine. Cirrus only shouted down at the fire ghoul "-because you're fucking allergic!" In her hand was a luckily un-pierced bag of kiwi gummies. Time for Aether to join the fray. Pushing his spiralling thoughts aside for the night, he grabbed Dew by his waist & hurled him into the air. Had to shake the bad energy out of the sugar-high imp before they were let loose on stage.

The whole crew was winding down in a small yet packed pub; ghouls guised as humans & mingling with the unaware patrons. 

Aether was playing darts with Cumulus & Rain, each biding their time knowing next up to play were the shit-aim 'Dawn' trio. Meaning they'd all be on damage control. Between throws he found a way to the roadie table for banter. 'The ministry muscle' as they called themselves, were the easiest for Aether to gel with, even before Andea joined, but she was with them again tonight. Aether relished any time he could coax a laugh from her, he didn't think to question the rarity of so many consecutive nights of her company. 

Tonight she was brasher; her smile brighter & her wit razor sharp, it was a perfect night. 

Towards the end, as things wound down, & only 5 darts had to be pried out of the furniture, fellow roadie Sarin made the astute observation: Andea hadn't picked up her phone once. Smirking into the last of her glass, Andea replied simply "got chucked." A blunt statement that would've had Aether's heart soar if not for seeing the barbs catch her throat. They went unnoticed by the others, far too wasted to offer more than an an assumption of who did the 'chucking', they mumbled a "fucking good riddance" & raised their glasses. 

On the walk back to the hotels, Andea fell in step with him, having felt Aether's eyes land on her more than she was willing to ignore. 

"You suddenly the gossiping type, Aeth?" She didn't look over to him, her legs swinging with her emphasised steps.

"Not at all." He smiled immediately at the sound of her voice.

"Hmm, so the only thing chafing you tonight is those tights?"

Aether shook his head, he knew how good these jeans made his 'cake' look. Andea had told him so months ago.

She finally turned to look at him, eyes studying his face for a give but found none, Andea shrugged "Suit yourself."

She didn't leave his side, continuing at his pace. Lucifer, he wanted to stay like this. 

Of course he broke before long. He had to know how deep to dig the bastard's grave. "What'd he do?"

Andea's posture faltered briefly. "I was away too much."

"Bullshit." Aether snorted.

"He got lonely." She shrugged, not defending him but instead parroting the absent man's own excuses.

Aether's time to stutter, though he stopped entirely. Oh, he was going to hand the cunt off to the dark prince personally. His mind reeled but soon found comfort in manifesting the miserable fate that 'human' deserved an eternity of.

"-Woah, dude your makeup is fading." Aether focus snapped back. Andea was huddled in front of him, her arms raised over his head in a vain attempt to hide his faltering glamour. She wasn't looking at him, but instead glancing around the empty street behind them; always so vigilant. She was so close, a nervous smirk on her lips, old acne scars on her cheeks caught his eye like small craters of the moon. He had long since committed them to memory but counted them again all the same. To calm himself, he promised.

"Bud? You wanna glam back up?" Ah, shit, he'd taken too long. She was staring at him now, her eyebrows pinched in the strain of being stood on her toes.

He sucked in a breath & steadied himself, disguise settling back over him.

Andea pulled away, dusting away the last of the smoke. "Went too hard tonight? Never seen you slip like that." She offered.

"Hmm. Yeah- sorry- no- thanks." Aether ran a hand over his face. Hold it together.

Returning to his side, Andea started back up at a faster pace, aware of & gave a thumbs up to the now distant group ahead who ushered them to catch up, with an unnecessary wolf whistle from Sunshine. Gonna dunk her in the lake when we get home. Aether plotted as he caught up, human guise flushed from more than the cold night air.

"The next one will be better." He assured quietly.

Andea responded by a nudge to his side like he'd quoted some cheesy movie line he didn't believe in.

It was all going fine. Just as before. Absolute status quo. 

The tour returned to the church, another success, no surprise messages from the clergy. Unpacking the last of the cargo & sorting it ready for storage, Andea set down a crate on the appropriate old dolly cart. She huffed, shook the tension from her arms, & she gave her chapped fingers a flex, she regarded the chipped nails with the echoes of a man's voice in her head. She swatted his words away. No, he's long gone. Andea turned to smile thinly at the stage manager for the last time & excused herself, hoping to find a shady patch to eat her provided lunch in.

She did not want to ruin another sunny day by feeling bad about her life choices because of the parting words of an ex. 

Andea ambled down a manicured stone path, one of the many that snaked through the grounds of the campus. The day was hot but dry; had a bounty of clouds drifting in the sky & a steady cool breeze. The tail end of a long summer. The perfect reprieve, she mused, passing by another verdant bush carved into an approximation of a devil. The garden ghoul wasn't the best at topiary but she had a sense of humour so they were always endearing. 

From the distance Andea could hear the muffled yelp & splashing of a multitude of someones taking refuge in the private lake. Her eyebrows popped up as she imagined who'd be on laundry duty for that fallout. In contrast her feet took her away from the path that lead towards the fun, she did not want to deal with people right now, & especially not ones with perfect glistening bodies. Her dry fingers rubbed together.

She found the next tree suitable, more from tiredness than personal taste. Settling down on the cool grass, Andea set the boxed tray on her crossed legs. She cracked the lid to see the usual array of sandwiches, baked cookies & fruits, this time with a can of some local cider that was still chilled despite the walk. A matured evolution of a kids packed lunch. The church took care of its workers alright, ordained or not. Andea herself was a sister on paper, she might not wear the habit but she took the vows. The church by design wasn't strict on the dress code, unless you were a ghoul. Andea pondered the paperwork she had to sign just to be trusted with the sight of the ghouls true appearances & the chore it was guarding that from the public. At least one ghoul at any time seemed determined to reveal themselves for either shits or giggles. They really were like weird cats. She'd not believed the senior sibling when they'd said that with distant eyes.

The third sandwich was sweet, some nutty paste- but not peanuts? & dark jam on pale white bread. A classic doesn't need changing. 

Leaning back on the trunk of the tree, Andea chewed, she looked up through the leaves. She could live here, maybe she would finally take the order up on their offer of housing. It'd be easier than house hunting from a hotel. Finishing off the sandwich & she took a sip of the cider, tart berries again. Andea clicked her tongue. Should've drank this with the grilled meat sandwich. She kept drinking though, the breeze along with weak alcohol relaxed her. 

A faint whistle caught her ear, its tune was the opening of 'see the light'. Ah, her favourite. Cracking an eye open, Andea was greeted with an approaching Aether, answering the earlier question of who was in the lake. The ghoul was soaked & ringed out his shirt as he stepped off the path towards her. The exposed expanse of his grey midriff was a taunting sight, soft tummy. Catching herself with an inhale, she sat up & opened her eyes fully, an easy smile up at her friend. Aether dropped down in front of her, still chuckling to himself from whatever deed he committed at the lake. 

He made her forget her plan of solitude so easily.

"Catch anything tasty?" She took another sip. 

Aether hummed, straightening out his wrinkled shirt as he considered "... Yes, I believe I did."

Andea pointedly looked around him for his haul.

"I-" he started with emphasis "-caught a feral imp & released her back into the wild, where she belongs." He propped his elbows onto his knees "Very charitable of me." snatching a slice of orange from the section it had been discarded in, & tossed it into his open mouth as punctuation.

"Uh-huh." Andea regarded the ghoul, she nudged the tray to him, which he gladly took.

Straightening her legs by his side, Andea finished her drink with another sigh, now relaxed. Lazily she watched the big lummox polish off the bits she'd rejected, he was so content. It puzzled Andea. He was far older than her, being a creature of hell, yet he was so unburdened. She supposed that was the perk of demons; they were free of shame or regret, like unicorns. The end of her thought caused a snort to break free of Andea, faster than her hand could raise to cover her mouth. 

She froze at the annoying noise she made, the joy rattling down her hollow chest. She ruined it.

The embarrassed cough caught Aether's attention, his eyes flicked across hers before his head tilted to the side in question. Like he hadn't heard 'that' noise. Andea swallowed & averted her eyes, trying to think of a believable lie. 

"Did they pick a shit cider today?" Aether offered her an easy out, he waved the last biscuit to the crushed can in her fist. Always so helpful.

"Nah, I'm just an idiot." Andea denied any chance of rescue. She sneered at her own words. "Made meself laugh over a something dumb." She set the mangled can down in the lid of the tray.

"Hmm." Aether nodded "Can't be dumber than what got Sunshine in the pond." 

That jerked her out of self-loathing "Sunny??" She wasn't even in the top 5 candidates for Andea's guess.

"Yup."

Sighing, she realised Aether was proposing a trade here. "... My brain decided ghouls were like unicorns."

Aether eyes bugged wide & he barked with laughter. "One too many horns there, love!"

Sure, that was the only difference.

"...Sunny said you deserved a rebound fuck that would reset your spine."

"Huh?" Not that Andea didn't think Sunshine would say that, she would, but to hear what was clearly not meant to be said to her face, stunned her.

"Lake-worthy, I know." Aether preoccupied himself with stacking the empty tray. 

"Aeth, are you defending my honour now?" Andea spoke with pure incredulity.

"Hey! When haven't I?!" Aether tied the bag handles together. "fucking 'now', ungrateful." He muttered without venom.

"Oh! Thankyou! My knight!" Andea clutched her chest & paired it with the most mocking flutter of eyelashes she could muster.

Aether's tail flicked across the grass. "I thought I was a unicorn." His voice was deeper than before. Was he disappointed? She smirked.

"I'd have to be a maiden for that." Andea rose to her feet, knocking blades of grass off her as she scoffed.

Aether watched with focused eyes & followed her to standing. 

He walked with her back to the main building, continuing the easy conversation & refusing to let her carry the container, claiming to be heading to the kitchen anyway. Splitting from her only when she turned off towards the residential office.

[krispyweiss]

Tedeschi Trucks Band at Palace Theatre, Columbus, Ohio, March 21, 2023

Comparing Tedeschi Trucks Band to other groups is unfair to other groups.

Comparing Tedeschi Trucks Band to Tedeschi Trucks Band is similarly unfair to Tedeschi Trucks Band, for TTB, when cooking with gas, is virtually untouchable, a group that douses fuel on any slow-burning audience and leaves ashes in its wake.

In the interest of the greater good, Sound Bites will take the latter tack with this review of the 12-piece collective’s sold-out, March 21 gig at Columbus, Ohio’s, Palace Theatre. By that measure, TTB, 13 years after its formation, has entered its own we’re-gonna-play-some-new-stuff phase, resulting in a down-and-up concert that featured top-flight performances of sometimes-middling material.

The single-set, 115-minute show began tepidly with “Hear My Dear,” one of many tracks culled from 2022’s four-album I am the Moon series. These are songs such as “Playing with My Emotions,” “Yes We Will” and “Ain’t that Something;” numbers with simplistic lyrics and arrangements that don’t take the band’s full capabilities into consideration. It was 30 minutes of these selections - and others later - before “Midnight in Harlem” emerged.

Where the setlist was lacking - light on the well-chosen covers that TTB so easily plug into - the players were fully amped, with the brass section blaring and the two-drummer backbone perfectly aligned.

Flanked by their 10 compatriots, with horns and choir on opposite risers and drummers perched between, wife-and-husband namesake band leaders and guitarists Susan Tedeschi and Derek Trucks proved the wisdom of opposites pairing. She - lifting her legs and swinging her axe - is a demonstrative soloist from the Buddy Guy school while he is a stoic slide player channeling Duane Allman. And together, they’re a two-alarm, 12-string blaze.

Similarly fiery on the mic, the raspy Tedeschi benefits from co-leads from keyboardist Gabe Dixon and background singers - and occasional soloists - Mark Rivers, Mike Mattison and Alecia Chakour.

Tighter than any 12-piece band has any right being, TTB also mixes up the instrumentation. The horn section thus sat out the soulful, Mattison-sung “Emmaline” and Trucks led the a five-man iteration through “Pasaquan,” the “Third Stone from the Sun”-inspired instrumental that ran 20 minutes, including a drum duet that found Tyler Greenwell playing with his hands while Isaac Eady slammed his kit.

Trucks - who walked around the stage all evening to silently commune with soloists - sat down and looked on.

When the remaining players returned, the home stretch ensued with full-throttled takes of “Let Me Get By” and “Show Me,” songs and presentations that found Tedeschi, Trucks and the entire Band at their best and in their element.

Anyone seeing TTB for the first time would’ve been bowled over by the show. Anyone who’s seen the group multiple times would’ve been slightly underwhelmed. And it just goes to show that sometimes, what they play matters almost as much as how they play it.

Grade card: Tedeschi Trucks Band at Palace Theatre, Columbus - 3/21/23 - B+

3/22/23

[alpha-mag-media]

33 New-In Pieces From COS, Mango and H&M That You'll Mistake for Designer | December 26, 2023 at 07:08AM

33 New-In Pieces From COS, Mango and H&M That You’ll Mistake for Designer Read More … Check full articles at Source: ALPHA MAG

[ur-mag]

33 New-In Pieces From H&M, COS and Arket That Have My Full Attention | In Trend Today

33 New-In Pieces From H&M, COS and Arket That Have My Full Attention Read Full Text or Full Article on MAG NEWS

[memoamp2425]

Connie Tran (she/her/hers) UCI '23

Major/Minor: Public Health Sciences & Anthropology

Introduction: Hi everyone! My name is Connie and I graduated from UCI Fall 2023 with a double major in Public Health Sciences & Anthropology. I currently work as an MA full-time at a cardiology clinic. My goal right now is to accumulate a lot more PCE hours before I apply to PA schools in the 2026-2027 cycle! I also just want to live life a bit before going into PA school :) A fun fact about me is that I impulsively applied to compete in a Vietnamese scholastic pageant as of this past October and was accepted. Never in my life would I have imagined doing this, but it has been a fun new experience post-MEMO and a new outlet for me to find community post-grad 🫶 In my free time, I love exploring random markets and pop-ups that appear on my Instagram like Soul Real Market and MAUM Market. I most recently went to a matcha pop-up in Costa Mesa called Mix & Matcha with my pageant sisters and the matcha was so good. I also like to attempt to wiggle and dance in my free time but I definitely have a long way to go before becoming more advanced….lol. Hit me up if you ever want to go to Offstage together! :D

Involvements: • Served as intern, Co-Fundraising chair, Co-Sponsorship chair, & Co-President in MEMO at UCI • Volunteered in a student-run free mobile clinic called Cariño Student Outreach Clinic • Volunteered at St. Joseph hospital as a COPE Health Scholar • Led student-parent orientations as a SPOP staffer • Involved as mentee & mentor in AMP • Worked as a part-time front/back office MA at a pain management office • Attended 14G Mission Trip Post-Grad • Currently working as a back office MA at a cardiology clinic • Attended 15G Mission Trip

Extracurriculars: Dancing, exploring markets, watching k-dramas/anime, trying new food, bedrotting 🤓

What kind of advice would you be giving?: Job advice, getting involved

Best piece of advice you have received: Get out of your comfort zone and challenge your limits and see what life has to offer.

Preferred method(s) of communication: phone number, facebook messenger, instagram

[cinchel]

getting back into linux with a fun raspberryPi setup

while i dont really consider myself an "audiophile" i am picky and want to hear my music library as lossless as possible. my music collection (4.4TB as of this writing) is not all FLAC/lossless but a lot of my favorites i have made sure to have in the highest resolution i can. while most of them are 44.1k/24 i have some at 48/24 and 96/24. these are all served up via a plex server and for a number of years played on my stereo via Sonos Port which is a fine piece of hardware but has some limitations. it works well with the plex server but the interface to search and play music to it is slow and doesnt have all the features that any of the other plex players have (shuffle by album, "artist radio", etc.) also, to plex server the sonos device looks like its outside the network which is annoying.

the sonos port, even via digital coax, maxes out at 44.1/24 and while it says you can send it 48/24 i noticed the plex would downsample it to a lossy AAC stream anyway. trying to figure out how to edit the plex transcoding rules was not easy. that coupled with my annoyance with the interface, it finally pushed me to find a new way to do things.

i've always wanted to play with a raspberryPi but never had a good use case until now. i purchased this Raspberry Pi 5/8GB with the fan case, power supply, 32GB sdCard, and hdmi cable. with shipping it was $145.68

i recently discovered this shop from a friend on blusky, HiFi.me. they make all kinds of USB audio dongles. i recently picked up this Ut-23 which does USB to Optical SPDIF out and i luckily have a optical IN available on my receiver. $40 after shipping.

if i had know then what i read up on the last few weeks i would have maybe not gotten the fan case above and instead gotten this case which has room and knockouts for this pi-hat DIGI 2 pro. giving me the optical SPDIF i wanted. but its a wash in price so no real loss.

my original plan for the raspberryPi was actually for it to be a plex server too which is why i picked up the pi5 with 8GB of ram. but the ARM processor on the pi isnt compatible with the 'sonic analysis' option that plex. so i could have saved some money and gotten a pi4 with 2gb RAM and it would have worked just as well and saved me ~$40.

once i got the pi and setup the initial install i just followed this blog post to install plex amp but i made sure to use the most recent .pkg from here (which at this time of post is 4.11.5)

other tips i noticed at the install: use

sudo raspi-config

to make sure you set the USB audio as the default audio. it helps but i still had to go and set it as the audio output in the plexamp ui and reboot for it to always be the default when i play from plexamp.

why not use the HDMI out on the pi? i mean you bought the cable.

well i couldnt get plexamp to be able to send out audio out on it all. i did some very brief reading and it may have something to do with it being co-opted by the GUI on load. i tried a few things i read but none worked for me. and since i'm just using this for like 99% stereo audio files the limitations of optical SPDIF are not going to affect me.

hope this we helpful