#i love it even with all two pixels this recording has

[kittyoverlord]

Found a bootleg of the Spongebob Musical and I'm such a fan.

[joosthead]

skin || j.k. x f!reader

WARNING #1: explicit real person fiction ahead, dni if below 18. dni if anti-rpf

WARNING #2: explicit rpf/real person fiction content ahead. read at your own risk. dni if anti rpf, dni or read ahead if you simply don’t like rpf lol

₊˚⊹⋆ joost wants to make a song.

₊˚⊹⋆ for @spentandpent’s contest 😅🩷 (2 months late)

₊˚⊹⋆ reader: f!reader. notfamous!reader. normal au a.k.a. reader has an office job and attends university. reader is not dutch

₊˚⊹⋆ word count: 10.3k

₊˚⊹⋆ cw: smut (established relationship, consensual audio recording during sex, f!receiving oral, mirror, ruined orgasm, overstimulation, squirting, vibrator, multiple orgasms, unprotected piv, slight breeding kink, creampie), kind of really porny i can't lie. pwp. crying both out of (momentary) sadness and because cumming 🩷 reader🤝being total crybabies🤝juno

WARNING #3: rpf ahead—don't like it, don't read it. do not repost this on any other platform, screenshots or text alike. do not click ahead if you don’t want to read rpf. do not interact if you are below 18. how to block tags/words on tumblr.

₊˚⊹⋆ track(s) of the fic: “skin” by mac miller, “p power” by gunna

₊˚⊹⋆ junote: vibrator. go big or go home right 🩷 as always @howisjoostfanfictionforfree my partner in filth 🩷 @spentandpent for infecting me w the overstim brainworms 🩷 and lovely @xiaoflan for listening to me complain about this fic ! 😆🩷 i love and appreciate you all 🩷 the art for the header is by one of my amazing best friends <3

18+ only — explicit rpf content ahead, minors dni, anti rpf dni. 4th and final warning!

“Are you ready, mijn schat?” Joost asks in a soft voice, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you. 

“Ready as I'll ever be, Joosti.” 

One of his nicest microphones is set up on your bedside table, wires crossing every which way, his laptop on the ground and hooked up to it.

This was an idea that came about spontaneously, as most things regarding Joost come about; on the train home together, sharing his wired earphones with each other and listening to your playlist of liked songs when Skin by Mac Miller came on. His ears perked up and his eyes brightened at the first few seconds, and you knew you were in for it. 

There’s a woman in the first few seconds—she sounds like she’s having a positively great time, mewling softly, panting in a way that sounds almost like you when Joost is fucking you good. This was on your playlist?!?! You couldn’t fathom a situation where you’d listen to this in public, but here you were, hearing it all as you watched Joost and his mouth drop open a bit. 

Your cheeks warmed and he poked you in the side—“Oh my god,” he said, taking your hand and shaking it. “You know what this means, right?” You shook your head no though you knew the answer—”Our turn!!!!!” He said it so loud that an old lady beside you gave him a dirty look, and he just smiled at her. “Can we? Can we?” 

“Joost.” 

“I just want to hear what it’s like—if I made a song and your beautiful voice was in the background like this or you were my little producer tag.” 

“Very creative,” you laughed, sarcastic. Secretly…you two aren’t exactly public about your relationship. He would post about your anniversaries, your birthday, Valentine’s Day, your vacations; they know you exist, and that he has a long-term girlfriend, but you were so private you were almost elusive. “You want my moan in the back of your song?” 

Something so…obvious under his belt. Something so loud. It was unlike you, and you knew it would never be released, at least not in the raw form he’d likely want it to be in, but it was still something. Something that made your stomach turn in that way that felt good and not scary, even with how rarely you were in the public eye.

You existed in the backgrounds of Joost, Appie, Alanis, Stuntje’s Instagram stories; you existed as a tag of a username, a pixelated and blurred out face in Joost’s photo dumps to protect your privacy. You exist out of the spotlight, in the background, not as the beat of his song, but you figure—it is only a matter of time until you join him in the sun. 

“Who better than you? I want you everywhere, schat. Your moan will become my trademark,” he reasons, and as always—master of persuasion, at least with you. “One time. And it’ll just be between us, okay? Or mostly for me, I love hearing you.” 

You decided in a quick second that you’d do it—all Joost has ever done is protect you, and even with your easily overthinking mind, this sounds fun as all hell to the little devil in your mind that wants everyone to know that he’s yours, you're his. No one else’s. Being possessive doesn’t come naturally in any other part of your life other than Joost. 

“Okay,” you said, resting your head on his shoulder, holding his hand in yours. “Let’s do it, Joosti.” 

“Wahhh—I love you!!!” Joost exclaimed, pressing a kiss to your forehead and going back to happily looking out the window. 

“Mijn meisje,” he says softly, and it makes your stomach turn, the smooth glide of his voice as you lie back onto your pillows. You imagine how it’ll sound in the mp3 file. “Thank you for doing this for me.” 

“It’s not a big deal,” you say, shaking your head. “We would’ve had sex anyway—why not make something of it?” 

“It’s a big deal to me.” 

You nod, “I can imagine.” Joost fiddles with a dial on the side of the microphone, presses a button somewhere else, tidies the wires. “What do you think it’ll sound like?” 

Joost snickers a little to himself before starting— “Agh! Joost! Fuck me harder!” he whines, high pitched and teasing. “Urgh, Joosti, you’re so huge inside of me!” 

“I do not fucking sound like that,” you laugh, slapping him on the shoulder to his barking laughter. “Schat, you’re so tight, I think I’ll cum in three seconds!” 

“Hey!” Joost says, laughing as he leans to you for a kiss. “Okay, it might be the truth but I think it’ll sound good. As long as it’s you, we should win a Dutch Grammy for this.”

Outside the window, it’s rainy; the roof is pelted with the droplets of water of an autumn in Amsterdam, loud and incessant and comforting. Your room in this old house is humid with the moisture, but you’re sure it’s mostly just the two of you and your warmth making it feel so stuffy. 

“We haven’t even made it yet and you want a Grammy?” 

“Why not? I know we’ll get one, don't doubt us,” he grins, slinking off the bed and crouching in front of his computer. Joost’s customary wired earphones are plugged into it and he places a bud in his ear. “Mic check, 1, 2, 3,” he says, Joost Klein style, the sound waves appearing on the screen. “This issssss me and my baby’s recording session number one—“

“Number 1? The only one, Joost.” 

“Okay, okay. Recording 1 of 1. Our ears only.” Pausing a little, Joost gets that expression on his face that lets you know he’s about to say something strange and he does: “Do you think we can make ASMR mouth sounds from this? Dutch kissing ASMR or something?”

“I think we can make more than mouth sounds when it comes down to it.” 

Joost laughs, lifting his computer and placing it on the corner of the table behind the mic; gets up close to it, whispering and tapping on the wood of your bedside table like the people in the ASMR videos you both watch at his behest before bed, “Explain to them what we are going to do, schat,” you laugh and he shushes you, “This is very serious work, we have to be quiet, shhhh.” 

“Uhm…” you say quietly, stifling back a snicker as you get close to the mic from the side. “We’re going to record us fucking—“

“Bad word, schat,” Joost whispers, shaking his head at you disappointedly, “Think about the advertisers.” 

Tapping on the metal body of the microphone, you roll your eyes and start again, “We’re going to have s-word—“

“That’s better.”

“And record the sound from it so Joosti can put it in a song,” you whisper and he nods, mouthing, “Good job!” and giving a thumbs up before he brushes aside your hair to put the other half of his wired earphones in your ear. 

Immediately, you’re met with the sounds of your shared soft breathing and Joost’s hollow tippy taps on the base of the mic. When he goes quiet, the pitter patter of the raindrops upon your roof are loud enough to hear clearly. “I turned up the sensitivity so we don’t have to move it around while we’re recording,” he says, and you nod. 

“I can hear that.” Every single sound and movement you make for the coming hours will be captured on this little waveform. Your voice echoes back to you in your ears, and you scrunch up your face. “I hate my voice.”

“I love your voice, mijn schat,” he says, getting on the bed in front of you. “Sounds even better when you’re saying my name.” Smiling at him, you settle back against your pillows in your prettiest pajama set, a camisole and a pair of loose shorts, both printed with small blue flowers all over. Joost takes the ribbed fabric of your shorts between his fingers, tickling your thigh, “This one is my favorite one.” 

“Every one is your favorite one,” you counter as you open your legs for Joost to sit between.

“As long as you are wearing it, schat—of course,” Joost says, sighing wistfully as he takes the earphones out from both your ears and drapes them on the nightstand. “Are you sure you don’t want to film? You’re so pretty.” 

You roll your eyes as he laughs—it was definitely a topic of conversation after the fact, recording video of it like you have a few times before, just isolating the sound after. You argued that the sound from a real microphone would be better, and he argued, “Why not both?” 

You shut it down, telling him that your room would just become your own personal porn studio if he did both and would never go back to normal, and he died of laughter as the old lady on the train gave you a shocked look and moved away.

No filming. At least not today. 

“Do you want your song, or do you want a video?” 

“That is an extremely hard decision, baby.” 

“Make it before I make it for you.” 

“I want my song,” Joost says, simply and finally, and you nod. 

“You’ll get your song.” 

Joost lies down on top of you and the weight is comfortable as he holds himself up with one hand and cups your face in the other. 

He hasn’t shaved in a few days, his stubble scratchy against your chin as he comes forward and kisses you, soft lips against yours, his body warm and heavy and already grinding his crotch against your center as he slides his hand up your side, bringing up the hem of your camisole. 

You’re hyperfocusing on all the sounds; you’re both quieter than normal, just the smack of your lips against each others, the licking of his tongue into your mouth; the sound of fabric against fabric as he grinds his hips into yours and groans, half-hard already; the shifting of Joost lifting your tank top and exposing your tits to his dilating blue eyes, getting back up off you on his knees. 

Joost runs his knuckles down the curve of your breast and over to the other, making your nipples pebble in the already cooling air, your muscles jumping and leaping with how sensitive you are. “How cute,” he murmurs, and your cheeks burn. There’s something different about him today—if you think about it, if you were a music artist and your girlfriend let you record audio of how good the sex is, you’d be cocky too. 

The confidence looks good on him, a small smirk on his lips as you gaze up at him through your eyelashes and take off your shirt completely, tossing it to the side and lying back again. 

Joost tugs on your shorts and you shimmy them down as he rolls one of your nipples between his fingers, the sensation tying a knot in your stomach with want for him. “Why aren’t you taking off your clothes?” you ask, tilting your head to the side as he lies atop you again. 

“Just want to try something,” he says, placing a kiss between your breasts before he moves over to your nipple, taking it in his mouth and kneading the other breast in his hand. 

Grazing it lightly with his teeth, you let out a small hiss at the sensation before he closes his lips around it and sucks; your mouth drops open watching him as he does it, intent and content with his place on you. You just got him back after a month and a half away in Berlin working on music nonstop—you have an inkling that you both feel like this is where he belongs.

For a while, you both lie there as he mindlessly suckles at your tits, as you play with his hair and pretend like there isn’t a pool in your panties waiting to be addressed further than this—you don’t want to rush him. “Art can’t be rushed,” or whatever he says when he’s too busy editing visuals or tweaking his tracks in progress. 

Stifling back a sigh, you tug at the short hair on the nape of his neck, his tongue swirling around the stiff peak of your nipple. A tiny little mewl lets itself out of your mouth as he laps at it. Pulling back with a pop, nipping at the skin next to it—“Dude…” he starts. “You’re being… so quiet. Is someone a little shy, schat?” Joost grins, kissing you. 

You furrow your brows. You are but you’re not going to get called out by the most outgoing person you know like this. “No, I’m not.” 

“I think you are, you haven’t said a word.” 

“I’m not,” you insist, smiling once you realize that you have the perfect comeback. “You’re just not doing enough to make me say anything.” 

Joost’s entire face changes, falling completely flat with his eyes narrowed at you and you grin. “Oh, I haven’t done enough? Is that what you said, lieverd?” 

“I don’t wanna say it’s not enough. But definitely not enough to give you your Dutch Grammy award-winning sound bite. The pace you're moving, we’ll get a participation trophy at best.” 

“I’m not doing enough—I am lying on your tummy letting you berate me while I suck your boobs, don’t think I forgot about the last month!!!” he exclaims, voice rough and accusatory and silly, smile so wide as he jabs his finger in your face. “Don’t think I forgot!!!” 

“You’re still on that?” you laugh, squishing his cheeks, getting his hair out of his eyes. 

“Duh,” he grumbles. “It’s half the reason why I wanted to do this.” 

“Forgive me, then.” 

There’s been no time for you to call or Facetime him in this past month; only texting and one-sided voice messages from Joost pleading for you to send him a voice memo back but you’ve refused, either willingly or unwillingly. You’ve been so tired, your voice and energy all going to talking to clients and people in real life that you just couldn’t muster the strength to send him back any after a long day—Joost couldn’t call for long either, too occupied with the final touches on the album. 

He asked you one night, sleepy voice rasping about how he just wanted to hear you, and he sounded so hot—you texted back that you couldn’t sound sexy and all he said was that he didn’t care if you sounded sexy. He just wanted you. 

Still, you couldn’t let it happen.

Joost whined all the way up until his train home got to the station; all the way home in the car as you drove him and asked about his work; all the way up to now, pouting with his prickly chin on your bare chest and his arms wrapped around your waist. 

“If that isn’t enough, how far can I go to get my audio clip, then?” Joost asks. 

The both of you are competitive as can be with each other. 

So long ago, you bet him he couldn’t make you cum just from internal stimulation alone—he proved you wrong and then some. He bet you last year (and every year before that you’ve been together) that he could last all of November not cumming—you manage to prove him wrong anywhere from 2-5 days before his birthday on the 10th. Everything is a competition, everything is a game for you two, that’s what makes the relationship so fun. 

If you give Joost an inch, he’ll take a mile, and you know that better than anyone. 

“As far as you think it takes, Joosti.” 

Wordlessly, he gets up off from you and sits on the side of the bed facing the wall, in front of the mirror that’s there now—obtained at a swap meet somewhere in the city and hauled back by you both; standing against your wall, the top rounded in an arch, used mostly for outfit checks and Joost to try on a million different clothing pieces before he decides on things he wears all the time. 

“Sit between my legs, baby.” 

“Why should I do that for you?” 

“Because I want you to do it for me,” he says, looking back at you and patting his lap. “Here. Sit down or none of this will happen.” 

Usually, Joost is never so commanding—he’d rather ask you, sweetly and nicely to please do something for him. There isn’t a demanding bone in his body. And yet…

You take the seat between his legs and look at yourself as he hooks his fingers in the white and lacy waistband of your panties and pulls them down your thighs, down your calves. His lips ghost over the nape of your neck as he watches you in the mirror—Joost is always intense, always strong-willed, but it’s as if he’s come back a changed man.

“I want you to watch me do enough.” 

He hooks his hand under your right knee; you let him bring your leg up and drape it over his, spread wider than you’re used to. The same is done to the other leg; if you tried to close them, you’d be unable to. 

“I’ll get those sounds out of you if it kills me, lieverd.”

The cotton of his shorts, Tears as always; your shared necklaces resting on the chest hair that pokes out of the neckline of his wifebeater—they rub against your backside as you adjust your position on him, Joost’s warm and clothed body making your naked skin feel piping hot. 

He places his hands on your inner thighs, squeezing lightly. There is the feel; of his rough fingertips gliding against your silky skin, dancing across the jumpy nerves of the junction between your leg and the beginnings of the most sensitive parts of you.

“Do you know how hard it was for me not to hear your voice for so long, lieverd?” 

With his gentle hands, Joost spreads you open, exposing the most private part of you to both of your eyes, his chin hooked on your shoulder and looking down directly at it. You almost shrink into yourself, bringing you closer to his chest against your back, rising and falling steadily. In contrast, your breathing is so erratic, you feel as if your lungs might tire. 

The microphone will pick up your labored breathing, as much as you’re trying not to make a single sound; the mirror reflects your furrowed brow back at you as he dips his fingers inside, light and gentle, bringing the wetness back up to circle your clit slowly. 

“Mooi,” Joost murmurs, gazing intensely down at your form in his hands, putty in and between his fingers. “Look at you, hm?” 

You’ve done this so many times—watched as he’s fucked you, in the mirror or when you watch your bodies meeting, over and over again when he fucks into you, cock reaching your deepest parts. But today is something different, you can’t tell why, but it brings hot heat to your chest and cheeks, to see it so clearly. 

You can’t deny it—it’s you in that mirror, it’s you with your legs spread for him, it’s you. 

It’s Joost behind you, a mess of blonde hair, no glasses on today, his rough chin against your shoulder as he pets you slowly. 1982 exposing you, 1983 doing the rest of the work. 

“Als een mooie bloem, mijn lief,” he murmurs, two fingers spreading your lips, another rubbing your clit so gingerly you want to swear at him to go faster, harder, but you know he’ll just do the opposite of your wishes in this mood he’s in. 

“A flower?” you breathe out, and Joost smiles at you in the reflection. Still though, you know your words aren’t what he wants at the moment. 

“Pretty flower,” he says, and the smile is gone. 

The sound—the sound of his fingers rubbing tight circles on your clit, the wetness from your pussy all he needs to do so, not spit or lube or anything else. Just the slickness of the back and forth of his hands on you. 

The rain beats down on your roof, louder now, the backdrop for those filthy sounds coming from you. “You’re still so quiet, I think the mic will capture the rain more than you,” he mumbles into your neck, kissing and nipping at it. ”The quieter you are, the longer we have to do this.” 

“Is that really an issue?” you say, labored through the consistent circles of your clit. You turn away, looking at the side of his face—“Ah, my god,” you whisper, moaning softly as he brings his hand up to your nipple, rolling it between his fingers and kneading your breast. 

“Not really, but I question how much you can take.” 

“I can take a lot, you know that.” 

“If you can take a lot—why are you looking away?” 

He moves your chin gently so you're looking at yourself in the mirror again, and he’s looking at you so intently, pupils so blown out you'd almost think his irises were black. You look down at your pussy to avoid how burning his gaze is; watch as he pets at your entrance, and slides his two middle fingers inside, the stretch warm and all you’ve needed the past several minutes. 

Still you hold it back, chomping down on your bottom lip not to let any sound close to a real moan out—you’ve made the rules for yourself: not loud enough to be usable, the least amount of sounds possible, and the biggest one, proving to be the hardest as he continues…don’t say “Joost.” 

When Joost starts curling his fingers inside of you, pace slow as ever and he grinds the heel of his hand against your clit—you have to stifle a whimper, both at the sound, and the appearance of it, his fingers disappeared inside of you. “You’re really going to do this, lieverd?”

“I never said I’d make getting your song easy.” 

“I like a challenge.” Joost gives you a kiss to your temple and you smile even as he ceases his fingers moving.  “That's why you’re my girlfriend.” 

“Hey,” you giggle, and then stop giggling when he moves his fingers faster and it makes a truly blushworthy squelching noise come from inside you. He does it again—why would he stop, seeing the way your face screws up in pleasure in the mirror at the pads of his fingers on your g-spot? 

For some reason, you expected him to be nice about it, let you have a little break—but two can play this game, you know that well. 

Your wetness is louder than even the rain, his rhythm making the sound almost incessant. “Do you think we could make that the beat?” he thinks out loud and you give him a bewildered expression.

“You…no. One day I’ll understand your thought processes.”

“What do you mean? You already do.” 

You never realized how loud it could be to do any of this. Can people hear you so clearly all the time? Your neighbours, your roommates, strangers. 

The countless times you’ve fucked in backstage dressing rooms, club bathrooms, the backyard—this is what it sounds like? There is no mistaking it. On the audio recording, it’ll be even clearer. Your voice, high pitched and breathy. Joost’s voice, deep and low and rumbling against your neck. 

“How many people do you think, schat? How many have heard us?…I think they would like it, how it sounds when I’m inside you.” You shake your head, heat rushing to your cheeks and the tension in your chest rising at the same time at his words. 

“You're so wet, my baby, and this is only the beginning—what about when you cum? How loud do you think you are then? What will my fans think when they hear this, hm?” 

“Jo—mmm, fuck,” you sigh, stopping yourself from saying his name. 

This shame and arousal growing inside of you—they’re like two sides of the same coin for you, and they accompany that tightening in your stomach, so close to cumming. The impish and petulant devil on your shoulder tells you not to do it so quickly, not to let Joost get what he wants after you agreed so eagerly to this entire thing.  

You screw your face up, thinking of… paperwork and saying bye to Joost at the airport and sad kittens in animal shelters—you have never actively avoided an orgasm in your life, but this is working quite well, and it seems to be obvious. 

“Schat, are you serious right now?” You open your eyes to see yourself and Joost behind you, his lips a straight line, no amusement to be found on his normally jovial face. “What are you doing?” 

“Being a challenge, I thought you knew,” you say, voice more wavering than strong—your eyebrows furrow, a sheen of sweat on your forehead as Joost continues crooking his fingers right into your g-spot. Almost immediately, you lose your focus on keeping your climax away, melting into the pleasure of his thick fingers fucking you open. 

“Say my name, baby, that’s all I want from you.” 

“No,” you say softly, turning your head and resting it back on his shoulder—he knows what you want, and he can’t resist you. “Please?”

Joost looks at you, blue eyes so warm you almost think he’ll give you what you’re asking—a kiss, his lips on yours, but he only gets so close that your noses brush, that all you can do is breathe into his mouth and hope he gets closer. 

You try to adjust yourself, but he holds you in place with his forearms, still thrusting his fingers inside of you, your face contorting in pleasure with every single move he makes closer and closer to your face, tipping you right over the edge, right where your climax is and then—

Nothing. 

As quickly as he moved them, Joost takes his fingers out of you, resting them wet on your thigh as you tense with what you thought was going to be an orgasm, a tidal wave of bliss flowing through you. In reality, the waves subside quicker than usual without him fucking you through it, and the sensation is ruined—almost completely.

Pathetically, you let out a whimper, can’t even let out the moan or the gasp of his name he wants so badly, that’s how miserable it feels. Joost’s never done that with you before—he’s always gotten you to the peak and rode down with you through it, kissing and licking and petting you through it and even past that point, mischievous and pushing your buttons when you swear at him to give you a break from all the bliss. 

“Joost,” you pout, eyebrows furrowed and mouth downturned. “Fuck you.” 

“Fuck me? You weren’t doing what I wanted, schat, why should you get a good one out of that?” Joost scoffs, and though he doesn’t seem too serious, breathing heavily against your back with you, you can’t help but feel like you did something so wrong. “You’re playing too much.”

It makes sense now—he asked you for one thing—one thing. 

Wasn’t much to ask, either. Microphone and equipment straight from his yet to be unpacked suitcase. Joost’s one reprieve from album mode until he’d take the train back for him and Tantu to do a final once over on every single track. This stage in the process takes weeks, sometimes even months—pushing too many buttons on the control panel, their soundboards and computers and plans all prodded and poked and pushed to the limit until the project is the amalgamation of their creative vision and perfection.

This time, you pushed too many buttons; through all of this, you’ve forgotten that Joost has been at home less than 24 hours, that the train ride from Berlin to Amsterdam was 6 hours long with no stops, no wi-fi, no you to soothe his worries, only album preparations far past his self-imposed deadlines and his own thoughts. 

You’re both workaholics—it’s why you get along so well, but it means that you know better than anyone that the last thing you’d want to be after so long is annoyed, and annoyed on purpose at that. 

When he’s as petulant as you’ve been so far, you know that you can get annoyed as well, asking him to just—stop. And he does, but you couldn’t do that for him. Joost has gotten frustrated with you before, sure, it happens enough that you’re not so affected by it anymore. 

But he’s never been so frustrated before that he’s ruined your orgasm. For some reason, the expression on Joost’s face, the heat of the moment, the dull pulse between your legs at both your immense need for him and the emptiness you feel at such a clipped climax has you emotional and overanalyzing the last half hour, every bratty quip of yours, every response from him. 

“I’m really sorry, I know you had a long few days, I shouldn’t have—” Water lines your eyes, and you try to blink it away when you ask in a weak voice, “Are you mad at me?” You feel terrible. Embarrassed. 

Joost meets your eyes in the mirror, eyes widening in surprise at your emotions strung so tight; you break, a tear running down your cheek which you quickly wipe away because you feel like you're making a big deal out of things and it’s just—aghhh!!!!

“No, my baby, of course not,” he smiles, face sympathetic, lips pouting at his baby being so emotional. Such a reaction would usually make you roll your eyes at him, but he’s so sweet, you have to nuzzle closer to him. “Come here,” he says, wrapping his arms around you and letting you curl up in his lap. “You’re so cute, mijn schat,” he coos, giving you a wet kiss on the cheek as he hugs you tight. 

Joost is so kind to you, it makes you feel a bit silly—not in a bad way, just one where you’d never think you’d be sitting on his lap, naked, being comforted about having your orgasm ruined by him. Almost five years of this kindness, you’re not sure you’ll ever be used to it. 

“I just got a little frustrated that’s all, none of it was serious, okay? I thought it would be a little fun for us to try something new like that, but I should’ve talked about it with you before—I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” you say, wiping your eyes a little. “Just don’t look so serious next time, I really thought you were angry.” 

“I got too in the moment, I guess.” Joost moves your hair aside and kisses you on the lips, tender and sweet. “I’ll make up for it, I promise you.” 

With that, you nod, letting him kiss you, letting him suck your lower lip in his mouth and then lick into yours, touch so devastatingly slow it almost makes you whine again with anticipation. Joost places a gentle hand over your throat, giving it a small squeeze, and he laughs when you moan, quiet and stifled into his mouth at the pressure. “You know, you’re very pretty when you’re desperate,” he says softly when he pulls away, and your cheeks burn. 

“I could say the same about you, Joosti.” He noses at the side of your face, and you melt at the feeling of his skin on yours. “Am I not pretty all the time?” you tease, and he rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t start, schatje. Gorgeous, beautiful angel—is that what you want me to say? Lie down and hold your legs back.” 

Quickly, you get off of him and lie back down on the bed on your mountain of pillows, and he takes his place sitting between your legs, wet fingers running through your folds as he takes a look at you, all of you. “Aren’t you pretty?” 

He takes your left hand, kisses your palm then your fingers, then he places it firmly on the back of your left knee. He does the same for your right side, then lies in between your open legs, staring, examining. One finger down your slit, collecting your wetness on the tip—Joost leaves a bite on the meat of your ass, trailing kisses all the way until he kisses over your entrance, over your clit. 

You breathe heavily with anticipation, but still, you find it in you to tease. “Doing a lot of silent things for an audio recording, Joosti.” 

“Not silent—all of it is important, every second.” He shakes his head to 

“Defeats the whole purpose of the audio? Doesn't it?” You smile, flexing your ankles, feeling your muscles stretch as Joost teases your clit with his index finger, makes you open your legs wider. “The whole point is to record how good you make me feel, right?” 

“You want to be silent so badly for me, you want to play around so much—why are you calling me out for it? That I want us to have fun?” Joost rolls his eyes, but then smiles at you, trying to soothe the burn. “I like when you play,” he murmurs, then spits on your pussy, making you full body shiver when you do. “Play even more, let’s make this recording go hours.”

“And I’ll cum all I want?” 

“Careful what you wish for.” Joost rubs the spit over your bud, spreading you with two fingers and petting at it with another. “Als een prinses, schatje. Spoiled.” 

“Spoiled,” you mock, and he shakes his head at you, grinning. 

You probably shouldn’t rile Joost up so much—it’s too late for you to save yourself when he dives in, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking hard. The spit and silky softness of his tongue make you keen, how good it feels to have him on you, his lips sucking so much, so good, so wet. 

The slide of Joost’s finger inside of you surprises you, how gently he pets against your spot internally as he laps at your pussy; you sigh, having to close your mouth on purpose to not make any sound. He sucks your clit between his lips, tightening, loosening, several seconds passing as he continues the pattern, making you groan with the feeling of him eating you out so well. It’s too much; you cry out when it hits what feels like 10 minutes with his tongue on you, but is really only 20 seconds at most. 

Too much, so good—bucking your hips up, you squirm, futile against his strong hands holding you down by the backs of your knees folded almost to your chest as he drinks you in, the wet sound of his mouth smacking against you so humiliatingly wonderful you could cry. How are you supposed to stay silent now? 

“I’ll never get enough of this, lieverd,” he says before diving back in, lips wrapped around your clit as you moan out at the suction, whining as you hold onto his arms for support, because pushing against him is no use—either way, who are you kidding? The last thing you want is for him to stop, especially after that first “orgasm”. Completely breathless, you stop trying, tired hips back on the damp bed sheets. 

“Good girl, baby,” Joost praises at your defeat, your finally being subdued. The nickname makes you shudder, arousal pooling deep in your stomach, and you squeeze at his arms for some sort of comfort in response. 

Joost nips at the thin and sensitive skin of your inner thigh and it makes you yelp, then he comes back and licks through you again, fucking his tongue inside of you. 

There’s no sense of organization or pattern anymore with what he’s trying to do—he’s lost it. He’s lost it. 

Your climax hits you like a freight train, your stomach and thigh muscles spasming, any control you had—lost. “Mmmf…fuck!” you exclaim, throwing your head back on your pillows as Joost keeps sucking your clit through your orgasm, white on the edges of your vision at how intense he’s doing it. “Ugh… shit!” you cry, panting out when he keeps going.

“It’s only a matter of time until you give me what I want, schatje,” he says in a quiet, sing-song voice, then attaches himself back to you. Your clit is practically numb with pleasure now, and yet, the waves are rolling through you, erratic and wonderfully uncomfortable. 

You laugh out, tears at the edges of your eyes at how intense your nerves feel, how fried they are—“Joost, enough!” and he lets up off you. He sits back up and pouts at you, lips and cheeks wet with your arousal. 

“‘Jooooooost!!!’” He laments, cursing at the sky in jest, and you laugh at how dramatic he is. “The line is ‘Joost!!’ Lieverd! Joost!!!” he says his own name in a weird, breathy moan that you’re half sure really will make it to a final draft of a song of his. 

Holding yourself up, legs open and so wet between them, you purse your lips for a kiss, which Joost gives you. “You said we can make the recording go hours—I’m sure I’ll say it one of these times.” 

“Okay, I’m glad I say the recording can go long—I will need a minute.” As Joost pulls back, you tilt your head to the side; he sounds… strange. Embarrassed, almost, and his cheeks are pink, and he can’t look you in the eye anymore, completely different from your ravenous and intimidating boyfriend from 45 minutes ago.  “I think I came in my pants.” 

“You’re kidding,” you scoff, throwing your head back and laughing.

Joost gets back up off the bed, stands. “Do I look like I'm kidding?” he says, pointing down to the wet spot on his crotch—he must’ve ground against the bed too much, how cute. 

“You haven’t done that since we started dating,” you laugh, watching as he strips off his shorts and his underwear looks just as bad. 

“Well, I did it again. Your fault. This sucks.” Joost shimmies down his boxers, picking them up and throwing them in the hamper; it hangs on the rim, he’s already soft, and he looks at you so dejectedly, then at the ground. You start to say ‘aww’ —he’s so cute and pathetic this way, but he wags a finger at you, saying,  “Do not say ‘aww’ at my dick, you’re annoying,” and it makes you laugh harder until he’s laughing too, climbing on the bed and kissing you sweetly, pulling back only to take off his shirt and then immediately come back to you. 

Laying atop you, he wraps his lips around your nipple, pulling at it gently with his teeth as you wince in the pain and the pleasure. Joost lays his tongue flat against it, laps at it, switches to the other one. 

“I just love you,” he sighs, latching onto you again immediately after, and it makes you smile—insatiable, truly. 

A few moments of this—letting Joost lave over your skin, the stiff peaks of your breasts, sucking hickeys into the meat of them—and he’s ready to sit back against the headboard together. 

Your legs are open and his hand is between them in an instant, running his fingers along your skin. It feels strangely electric…not his fingers on you, but his arm against yours, the side of his sweat-sheened body against your hip, what it feels like to see “Thanks for today” on his collarbone and your name and lipstick mark tattooed on the other side of his neck forever. 

Your thoughts are interrupted by Joost’s voice—“Why aren’t you saying my name, hm?” he says, gazing at your lips, his nose brushing against yours. You press a chaste kiss to his chin as he circles your clit, spreading your wetness around with his fingers. “It’s mean. It is sinister, what you’re doing.” 

“You’re gonna have to work for it, I’m serious.” 

“I will work overtime, I’ll be just like you,” he smirks, and shuts you up when he attaches his lips to yours, slips his middle fingers inside of you, grinds the heel of his hand on your clit as you gasp into his mouth, let him move down and suck at your jaw, your pulse point. 

The concentration it takes not to lose it makes your eyebrows knit together. He murmurs, “Do you hear that, my love? Do you hear how wet I make you?” says it into your open and mewling mouth, the sound of it all—the squelch of your wetness at the behest of his fingers fucking your pussy. You’re beholden to him, and he enjoys it so much. The person you are at work and in life; normally so collected, preferring the comfortable quiet of your life together, now so bold to let him do this. 

“Wat een mooi geluid, mijn meisje. You have me under your spell—what will happen when everyone hears this? Your siren song, hm? Is that what you want? Everyone to know how good I make you feel?” 

The surprise on everyone’s faces that you could sound like this, all because of Joost—goofy, grinning, laughing Joost. Serious as ever about coaxing these sounds out of you as he kisses you slowly, tongue so languid on yours, tempting you, seducing you into giving him what he wants. 

You’re almost delirious, the bubbling of laughter rising in your body as you grip onto his arm, so big, three of Joost’s thick fingers nestled inside of you and curling against your spot, stroking it with no abandon. You’re stretched thin around him, squirming and twitching with the rising peak coming to a head in your body. 

He doesn’t even thrust his middle fingers in and out of you; only keeps them there, deep and to the knuckle inside of your pussy as he curls his fingers inside of you again and again, petting and petting and petting at the most sensitive part inside of you. At the same time, he circles your clit with his thumb—you could almost pass out with how good it feels, how hot you are in this room, rain beating on your roof, his mouth on yours and receiving every single moan and breath you put out. 

The only thing absent is a crackling fire and a bottle of wine to fit the mood, but you can’t really complain. 

“Happy?” he asks, smiling. 

“Joost,” you choke out, eyebrows furrowing as you gaze at him, then close your eyes, touching your forehead to his, clutching his bicep, the challenge to yourself not to say his name all but forgotten. 

“Yeah, baby?” Joost grins—in the pursuit of his craft, your boyfriend has turned evil. 

“I feel like…” you start, face screwed in pleasure, words stolen from you by his curling fingers, confused at this feeling inside of you you’ve never felt before. “I just feel…” 

“What is it, baby?” Joost teases, fucking into you, devilish. “Can you tell me? Can you use your words, like I’ve been asking you to?” 

“I’m gonna…” 

Burning hot and building up and up and up inside of you, in your stomach, in your chest, your tired thighs tensing the knot in your stomach tightens and tightens and tightens until it snaps, hard and fast; you don’t even realize the curses and almost chanting of his name tumbling out of your mouth as you look down and see—

Clear liquid runs down from your pussy, down your ass as you groan out, a punched out moan tumbling from your lips. The wet squelch around his still moving fingers even louder now—oh my god? There’s wetness beneath you now, a small laugh of disbelief coming from Joost as you gush all over his fingers and hand and writhe with your powerful climax, the bed under you wet, the comforter wet, everything wet, and all because of Joost. 

You whine and he nods, smiling at you. “Schatje…I didn’t think it would work…”

“Oh my god,” you whisper, half laughing and half embarrassed at the mess you’ve made, panting and completely out of breath. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?! Mijn schat, that’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen, I think.” He takes his fingers out of you with a sound that makes you cringe, and holds his hand in the air, fingertips dripping with your wetness, shiny and slick. You had no idea you could even do that, let alone feel whatever white hot pleasure was ripping through you while you did, and you laugh at his amazement with your hands over your mouth. 

“We’ll have to change the sheets again,” you pout once you realize—you just changed them yesterday before he got here, and the other set of sheets is dirty. Ughhhhh. 

“I’ll wash the other sheets—I would change them a million times over if it meant you doing that again.”

“We’ll run out of sheets before that happens, Joost.” He hates changing the sheets, but he’s so desperate for it, obviously. 

“I’ll make new ones,” Joost says proudly, then kisses you. “Please don’t worry about the bed. I’ll take care of it, and to be honest, I would like you to mess it up even more.” Kiss on your lips. Your worries have melted away with it. “You were so good to me, yet I still didn’t get my song. Tell me, why is that, mijn schat? You want me to torture you for longer?” he says softly, kissing you on the lips. 

“It’s not torture,” you breathe out and Joost laughs. “I said your name, what more do you want from me?” 

“It’s not torture? Is that right?” he asks, and you nod, coming up to kiss him again,  “I want to be inside you, lieverd, that’s what I want.” 

Only now do you notice that he’s hard again—the same hand he used to finger you wrapped around his cock, your wetness his lubrication alongside the precum drooling from his tip. “That’s what you’ll get, then,” you say, sweet and smiling and so ready for it even after Joost has had his way with you for what feels like hours now. 

It’s your wetness that’s darkened Joost’s arm hair and the hair on his stomach; your wetness facilitating his sharp sighs as he pleasures himself to the sight of you, the thought of you, the sound of you. 

Beaming, Joost turns away to the side. “If it isn’t obvious to you, the audience,” he says into the microphone in a silly voice. “This is the first time I’ve made her squirt, and she still wants me so bad!! What the fuck!! I am sooo so lucky!!! What amazing sight, wow. Shoutout lieverd, for real!!” Your laugh is sure to be captured in the background, your small “Shoutout Joosti!” too. Joost turns back to you—”My one in a trillion, baby,” a kiss to your lips, your body being laid on the damp sheets again and your legs opening in response. 

“mijn_schatje_loml_voor_altijd_TANTUPLSDONOTLISTEN.mp3” has been running for 1 hour, 33 minutes, 8 seconds, 3 milliseconds—feels like so much longer. Joost lies between your legs again on his stomach, his cheek on your thigh, his calves in the air swinging and happy and him batting his eyelashes at you “innocently.” “Dickhead,” you laugh, knowing he wants to put his tongue on you again, and he laughs too. 

“Your favourite one, though, right?” 

“Yes, my favourite one.” You roll your eyes at his giggles but smile nonetheless at him. “I want you inside me, Joosti, don’t make me wait, please.” 

Joost holds up a finger—“One criticism—”

“Already?!” you exclaim. “What is it?” 

Joost gets up off of you and goes to the dresser to the side of your bed. You tilt your head in confusion—there isn’t much in there he could need for the rest of this, but he seems to be determined. “I think it’s the cutest thing when you call me Joosti and I never want you to stop doing that,” he starts, rummaging through the drawer. “But I think for the sake of the song, or your part in it, it would be better if you just said ‘Joost.’ Can you do that?” 

“I can do that, Joost,” you tease, your perfectionist musician of a boyfriend coming out in full force. 

“Good, good, schat. Now can you say it while I’m using this on you?” 

Joost turns around holding…Ole Reliable, the name you both call a taupe vibrating wand that was your best friend before you two started dating, is your best friend when he’s gone for longer than a month or two and your fingers aren’t enough when you two are FaceTiming…to Joost’s absolute displeasure. When he’s home, it hides in your underwear drawer—but trust, he knows where it is. 

“Be serious, Joost,” you laugh in disbelief. There’s no way that Ole Reliable will be part of this with how much lighthearted vitriol Joost has treated it in the past, calling it his “mortal enemy,” his “biggest competition.” This isn’t real. 

“It takes you like, 3 hours to cum after I’ve made you cum so many times, this will help,” he shrugs, and he’s right. You’re so overstimulated at this point that he’d have to fuck you for longer to get you over the edge, but the vibrator is a bit overkill—it’s powerful, and you’ve made your own legs shake with it countless times, with or without Joost. 

“I think I’ll end up…squirting—ew, I hate that word—even more if you use it.”

“It’s not so bad of a word, mijn schat. And either way—bed is already dirty. Why not go all out so we don’t have to clean up again?” 

Joost makes a good point, and you know he’ll want to see more of your newfound ability later on—minimizing the cleanup later sounds good, so you lie back, open your legs, run your fingers through your wet folds as his eyes widen at your eagerness. “Let’s go all out,” you giggle and he flops on top of you, exclaiming, “Yayyyyy!!!” 

It’s slow, the way he hooks your legs over his thighs, long presses the button of the vibrator, presses it again once so it turns on completely, and then recoils in surprise when he presses the largest button again and again. “Whaaattt the fuck, I didn’t know there were so many patterns in it. That is crazy. You use this?! What is ‘thumping feature.’ There are so many buttons. What…” Joost looks at it in wonder, the vibrations sure to be going through his entire forearm—that thing is strong, and you know it. 

“There are only 2 buttons, Joost.”

“That is a lot to me.”

Cycling it back to the lowest, most tame setting, he places the head on your clit, gentle; you hiss at the waves coming through you, even at the lowest rate it could possibly go. “Do you like that, baby?” he asks, voice low, other hand coming down to slip a finger in your pussy. “You look like you love it.” 

Nodding, Joost takes your hand and wraps it around the handle of the wand, and you hold it against yourself as he jerks his cock between your legs, enveloping the warm head of it in your entrance. It slips in so nice—you’ve been ready for it for hours now, you'd be surprised if it didn’t just slide in. Your eyes roll back, the back of your head hitting the wire frame of your bed, the vibrations coursing through you and his big cock parting your slit. 

“Oh, fuckkk, schat,” Joost moans as he sinks into your soaking wet pussy. “So fucking wet, baby, you feel so good.” 

Breathless, you nod, as Joost glides right in; he’s thick, but you're so wet. Three orgasms and counting for you, it’s so easy now. Angling the vibrator, you move it so you can see it all—how messy it is when he pulls his hips back to adjust how he’s thrusting into you, his pubes and happy trail wet with your juices, the hair on his thighs wet as well. What a mess you’ve made. 

“Oh my god—“ he says, rolling his neck back in pleasure once he finally bottoms out inside of you, the wand pressed against his pelvis just as much as it’s pressed against yours.  Joost bites his lip, shaking his head. Not so much of a mortal enemy, after all, is it? “How do I compete with this thing…” 

“This thing could never be you, Joost,” you breathe, and it’s true. So tired, so happy, you’re a little emotional about it for some reason. 

How he holds you so warm and safe and tight, always, never a question on if he wants and loves you—he always does and always will. In bed together like this, sheltered from the rain in your home together, your cats scratching at the door and a whole life ahead of you; on the train giggling with each other about the middle-aged and elderly side-eyeing his barking and boisterous laughter; in club bathrooms and snow covered curbs and swimming pools in your backyard and the couch downstairs. 

The rest of the world should be envious about what you have, who you hold. Joost, this house, that audio recording, and you, forever. 

“Hehe!” Joost leans over to the microphone and gloats into it, “Me—1! Vibrator—zeroooo! Hahahahah!” 

You laugh—and this, forever. You could never trade this in. 

Pulling Joost in, you kiss him sweet and slow, little thrusts of him inside of you as he moans into your mouth incessantly, every breath of his a whimper, it must feel so good—buried balls deep in your pussy, vibrator against your clit and pressed against the few centimeters of shaft that can’t fit in you when he begins thrusting inside of you sloppily, the hollow clap of his hips against you filthy as you moan out his name against the humming backdrop of the toy you're using together. 

Every nerve in your body winds itself tight around the coil in your stomach as he fucks into you, a smooth and steady rhythm that makes you lose yourself, trying to wrap yourself around him, wanting to devour him whole, wanting to make it so it’s just you and him and no one else in the world, no one outside these walls, no one else. With Joost breathing into your mouth, his sweaty bangs tickling your forehead, the taste of his tongue on yours—there might as well be no one on this earth except you and him. 

“I can't do it, Joost, it’s too much,” you whine as he keeps driving into you—god, you want it so badly, but three and a half orgasms later and you’re entirely spent, letting him do all the work as you moan loudly, no control over yourself or your body. The vibrator is pressed flush against your clit and gets you to the precipice faster than you’d like right now. 

“You can do it, baby,” he coos, and you know there’s no way to get out of this. Either way, you wouldn’t want to, legs wrapped around him, the buzzing of the vibrator such music to your ears, the feeling of his cock driving into you and Joost, a warm and heavy and perfect weight atop you. As you claw at his shoulders, his back, he holds you open with his strong hands, your squirming no match for his strength with every deep seat of his cock inside of you. “I know you can, you can do it.” 

When he says it, you believe it; you have to bite and suck at his neck in order to focus on keeping it together long enough for him to cum, apologizing to Lola in your head at your treatment of her, how she’ll be blooming purple and red by the time the sun rises tomorrow. Joost ruts into you, pressing the vibrator hard to your clit and it’s so…it’s so much, the mattress squeaks with how spirited his hips are against you, loud slaps of skin against skin and your name, his name, intertwined on this wavelength, on this track for everyone to hear. 

“Joost…fuck, Joost!” you cry out again and again, tears coming to your eyes with how hard and fast your orgasm rips through you, repeating Joost’s name like a prayer, an oath, gushing around him and too fucked out to kiss back properly when he licks into your mouth, grounding you back to this bed even as you sob out in pleasure, fat tears rolling down your cheeks at how amazing he’s making you feel. “I love you,” you breathe, blissed and fucked out tears streaming down your cheeks at how good it feels, all open and airy. 

“Why are you all sappy, baby? ‘Cause I’m fucking you so well?” Joost teases, pressing wet kisses to your tear stained cheeks, your mouth bitten red with his nips, his kisses all throughout this. 

“Yes, I love you, Joost,” you sniffle, wrapping your arms around his neck, bringing him closer even if it means the vibrator gets pushed even harder against your aching clit. 

He laughs, continuing his feverish thrusting as he finally gives you the kiss you want. “I love you too, mijn hart.” 

You don’t notice him fumbling around on the side table as he kisses you, bringing the wired earphone from the nightstand back to your ear, your eyes widening in surprise. 

“Do you hear that, mijn schat?” The feedback, his voice, doubled and almost echoing as you hear it in real life and it plays out in your ears, delayed. You have to try and dampen the rest of your senses to focus on what you’re hearing. The slopping of his hips against your ass, the low pitched vibrations of the wand, his voice. 

Joost’s voice that distracts you until you’re snapped out of it by him pulling out, stroking his cock and panting heavily, cheeks and chest and neck pink with exertion, skin shining with sweat. “What are you doing?” you mumble. 

“You’ve already done so much, schat,” Joost breathes, and you shake your head, looking up at him through wet eyelashes. 

“Finish what we started, I want it all.” 

Obediently, Joost nods, inching himself back inside you again; it sounds so wet in your ears, the microphone capturing every gritty detail, every squelch of yours and his. 

“Schat, I wanna…fuck, I wanna cum inside you so bad,” he whines, erratic thrusting with every word, losing it again, losing the practiced, methodical musician that you know so well. Even with his whining, his voice is deep, needy, chanting your name like you moaned his. “Wanna…fuck, I wanna fuck it in you ‘til it takes, I want everyone to hear it, see it, know you’re mine…mine, mine, mine…”

“Yeah, baby?” you smile, his cheek laid against your tits as he grinds against you, then goes back for long, deep strokes inside of you. Joost groans so loud against your skin, spit and sweat on the softness of your breasts; so overwhelmed, he takes your nipple in his mouth and sucks, nipping at you through his own orgasm, stuttering his hips into your pussy.

Warm ribbons of Joost’s cum paint your insides and fill you up so well, your moans finally joining his as he comes down from his high, moaning and sobbing out your name, lieverd, schat, collapsing on your chest and heaving for his breath again as you catch yours once more, satisfied with your recording together. 

“That a good enough song for you, Joost?” you smile, eyes already closing with the bliss of such a good recording session together. 

“Dutch Grammy worthy, mijn meisje,” Joost breathes, and you laugh as he reaches to the side and shuts his laptop, ending your recording. “How about another recording session later?” 

—

A month later and you’re carrying a paper bag of takeout from a few blocks down, earphones blasting a new demo from Joost and Tantu, using the spare key under Tantu’s doormat to get into his apartment from the cold. You set down the bag on the counter of his tiny kitchen, place the key back under the doormat, get three bowls together to split the takeout between, get utensils and glasses of water and what have you before you enter the bedroom studio. 

The takeout fights you tooth and nail; cheap food spilling everywhere, oil and sauce and vegetables on the counter and the rims of the bowls that you have to wipe up with the one (1. ONE!) paper towel left on the roll in the kitchen. Is this what happens when Ruby isn’t in town and they’re in album mode? You figure it must.  

You manage to wrestle it all together precariously, using every square centimeter of the one paper towel you have in your arsenal before picking up all three bowls—two of them nestled in your left arm, one of them held in your right hand. 

The door to the bedroom is closed shut—your arms are full, and you spend a few moments fussing about how to get in without having to go back into the kitchen and set down the food, but you hear Tantu and Joost’s muffled voices through the door. 

“Oh my god, I shouldn’t have skipped ahead—“

“You should've never played it, Tantu!”

“Well, you shouldn’t have kept it on your desktop for anyone to see! With my name on it!” 

You tilt your head in confusion, and then knock on the door with your foot; in an instant, Tantu opens it for you, and you hear, loud and clear: “I wanna fuck it in you ‘til it takes, I w—” before Joost slams the laptop shut and says, “Baby, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I—”

2 fics in a few weeks!! lfg!!! i hope you enjoyed!! <3 thank you so much for reading! likes, comments, reblogs always so so appreciated <3 : ) they keep me writing!! askbox anon on hereeee - juno

[hellishjoel]

say my name 

8.5k / pairing: brat tamer!joel miller x f!reader

psycho masterlist main masterlist

summary: It’s Joel’s birthday, and his brother, Tommy, is in town to celebrate. You meet the more charming Miller for the first time, and the two of you flirt up a storm. By the end of the night, Joel’s pissed and jealous. But that doesn’t stop you from moaning Tommy’s name in bed. 

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), no outbreak, brat tamer!Joel, somewhat established relationship (whatever that relationship may be ((situationship, relationship, etc.)), toxic!couple, swearing, dirty talk, pet names, fingering, slapping, degradation, praise kink, spitting, choking, blood, marking kink, creampie, pussy smacking (??), lots of dom!joel brought out by jealous!joel, overstimulation, Tommy being a flirt, angst, mentions of being cheated on, Joel being a menace, unprotected p in v (wrap your willy or whateva), half-ass editing tbh

A/N: happy birthday to Joel Miller!! I was picturing this entire prompt with pixel Joel, thanks to @macfrog - this part is based off this request sent in! 

You did a lot of stupid things tonight. Wearing your shortest dress, stalking Joel to his hangout with Tommy, flirting with his brother for the majority of the night. But now, you were ready to do the stupidest thing yet.  You moan into his ear, your eyes fluttering closed in pleasure as you feel your orgasm begin to approach. “Fuck me, Tommy.” It hits Joel like a ton of bricks. All his movements pause. He pulls away just half an inch and stares down at you. A cold, downright mean look crosses his face once you’ve popped your eyes open to take a look at him. The room suffocates you in silence.  “What did you say?”

September 26th, 2023. It’s Joel’s forty-second birthday!

The thought alone riles you awake. You love birthdays. You especially love when it’s Joel’s birthday because he hates his birthday. You have no idea why, he looks more and more handsome with each year that he blows out a candle. 

You think about these things curled up into his side, chin on his chest while your fingers lightly grazed over his stippled grey chest hair. It was barely past the early morning hours. You gently trace over the etched lines in his forehead and between his brows. He must scowl at you even in his sleep. You should be asleep, too, especially after having spent the late hours of September 25th celebrating the end of Joel’s forty-first year with a bang. Literally.  

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, clutching his comforter to your bare chest as your panties are just out of reach on the floor a few feet from the bed. You huff and flee the warmth of his bed to retrieve them in as much silence as you can muster, watching him carefully let out a puff of air through his parted lips before lightly rolling over and spooning your pillow in the process. You stifle a giggle as you grab his t-shirt he threw off in the midst of getting handsy with you last night. 

“Happy last day of being forty-one, old timer.”

“Shut up and bend over.”

He always did have a way with words. 

You managed to sneak downstairs without Joel catching you in his arms. Your bare feet meet the cold tile of his kitchen floor. 

Joel’s home looked like you might imagine. Dark walls, not exactly black but not exactly grey or navy. He has a desk, a messy one that is littered with bills and invoices scattered with pencils that had the erasers shaved down to nothing. There was a large flat screen mounted to the wall, and a television console below it filled with old vinyl records and random CDs. He did have a few plants scattered around, and he actually took very good care of them. There were a few dishes in the sink from dinner last night. Empty beer cans on the half-wall by his back garage door. His keys and wallet were thrown haphazardly on the counter. 

These are the things that make you adore staying at Joel’s place, it was so homey and cozy. These were the things that made Joel, Joel. 

You throw your hair up and out of your way, finding the box of cake mix you stashed in the back of his pantry for this very special occasion. And just like that, you were a chef in Joel’s kitchen. Or was it a baker? 

Despite your best efforts, the cake was just a mess. And there were no redoes with cakes. And when you were shopping, you were thinking a little too much about yourself rather than Joel, so the cake was coated in pink icing. It was a shit cake, but you hoped Joel would like it. He wasn’t a guy with a big sweet tooth, but you’d force him to have a slice since this was your labor of love. 

U CAN’T PICK YOUR FATHER BUT U CAN PICK YOUR DADDY was lettered with red icing and cute pink assorted sprinkles. 

The smell of freshly baked cake woke him up. 

“You burnin’ somethin’?” Joel’s tired voice echoed in the kitchen. 

He was wearing grey sweats and his black boxers, the band peaking out from the top of his waistband as he rubbed tiredly at his eyes. He looked like a big oaf fresh from sleep, shuffling past you to the oven and turning on the fan to air out the smoke and smell. 

“Ha-ha. Nothing’s that burnt. It’s your birthday cake!” You cooed as you showed him what you made. 

The word birthday was enough to make him roll his eyes. 

“Didn’t have to make me anythin’. Just another day.” He muttered but came up behind you to take a look at the cake nonetheless. You watched with a proud smile as the left side of his mouth quirked up upon reading the design. 

“Do you like it?” You asked, turning your back to the counter and letting his hips pin you there. His large, warm palm settled low on your waist. You watch as he swipes his index finger into the frosting, observing the sugary cream before his eyes set on yours. His orbs are as black as night as he offers you a taste. 

You maintain his eye contact as you lean in and wrap your mouth around his finger, hollowing your cheeks as you suckle it off and lap your tongue around the tip before letting him go with a soft smirk. 

“Like it ‘cause you made it. That’s all.” Joel’s chest hums as he speaks, his head ducking down to catch your lips in a delicate kiss. The delicate part doesn’t last for long. His kisses turn heavy, and his cock hardens against your thigh as he bends you backward against the counter. 

Your nails catch his shoulders in a desperate attempt not to smash into the cake. You know that if he gets too into this, he’ll end up pushing it aside so radically that your creation will end up on the floor, so you quickly nudge it out of reach before continuing. 

He’s hungry, his tongue lines your bottom lip, still coated in a sugary taste, before he explores the inside of your mouth dominantly. You’re whimpering in excitement as his possessive hands lift you up onto the counter, your baking instruments clattering around you and rolling, making a complete mess, but you don’t care. It’s Joel’s birthday, after all. 

You gasp into his mouth as he cups your clothed pussy and gently pats his fingers against you. The sensation makes your head fall back, and your eyes flutter closed. Your lips part just a fraction, Joel takes the opportunity to slip his tongue back inside to wrestle with your own. He pats you again, and you feel your panties grow a wet spot as white heat pools your insides. 

“Just how I like it, ready to be taken like a little slut in the mornin’.” His rigid voice growled, suppressing you of any strength you had left to resist collapsing across the counter. 

Both of you pause, irritated facial expressions matching when Joel’s phone starts to ring. 

Your heavy pants mingle in the air between you with indecision. You glare at him as he moves half an inch away, the grip on his shoulders tightening in need. Don’t pick it up, Joel. 

He closes his lips and lightly squints at you in disapproval as he stands up straight and starts toward his phone. You throw your head back and groan, slipping your hand over where his fingers just ghosted over the material of your panties. You lick your lips and watch him as he takes the call. He looks over the screen at the contact, his eyes shift to you. He’s hesitating. Not because he’s left you hot and heavy on the kitchen counter, but because he’s shielding his phone from you. 

So help me god, motherfucker, if I find out you’re cheating on me, I will-

Your nerves are settled when he huffs and swipes right to answer the call. “‘ey Tommy.” After a beat, Joel rolls his eyes to himself. “Yeah, yeah, thanks. Just another day.” 

Your eyes blink slowly. It was his brother you had yet to meet. You hum lightly as you sink your hand past the band of your panties, soft lace grazing your knuckles while you slip your fingers between your delicate folds. You slowly pry open the one foot you have kicked up on the counter, spreading your leg wider so Joel can see you playing with yourself. He’s still not looking. You need his attention. 

“Yeah, we can do somethin’, if that somethin’ means you’re payin’ for beers at the bar.” He said with a tired, but playful smirk. You’re growing so wet at the sight of him. Your fingers make a squelching noise as you slowly push two fingers inside your aching hole. This catches his attention. 

His head whips to you like a prowling lion hearing a twig snap. His eyes narrow on the target of the noise before they dart up to you. You know that look. 

Take your hand out of your fuckin’ panties. Don’t you fuckin’ touch yourself. 

You cock your head with an attitude. “Say it with your chest.” You pipe up, so loud that the voice on the other line chirps in. 

“Who was that?” You smirk at the attention Tommy’s already given you. 

“Hi, Tommy!” You shout, and now Joel’s really pissed. He comes up and clamps his hand over your mouth, glaring daggers into your big doe-eyed pupils. 

“Is that your girl, big brother?” 

Joel’s jaw clicks tighter, his breath coming out in hot, annoyed puffs through his aquiline nose. 

“You hidin’ her from me? Invite her to drinks tonight!” Tommy shoots out the invite before Joel can take it away. You slowly lick up the hand that’s holding your mouth hostage. Joel is used to this. He only adds more pressure to his hold on your mouth. 

He glares at you and juts his jaw around in annoyance, considering Tommy’s offer. “Yeah.. yeah, we’ll see,” Joel murmurs while you keep tonguing his hand. He gives your face a little slap, a stupid moan escaping your lips before he grips your cheeks again once more and covers your mouth. 

Don’t forget who’s in charge here, little bitch. 

You hum quietly against his hand and wrap your legs firmly around his hips. He stumbles forward half a step. You can feel his hardened length protruding from his gray sweats, your cores lightly grinding against one another as you purposely whimpered against his palm. 

Not long after, Joel ends the phone call with Tommy, and he begrudgingly releases his slobbery hand from your mouth and pushes back from the hold you attempted to lock him in. You huff as he leaves the kitchen, watching as he rakes his fingers up and down his beard and gently scratches at the skin. What was up with him? 

“We’re going out for drinks tonight?” You pester after you both have taken a shower for far too long, the steam fogging up his mirror and making Joel’s skin a light rosy pink. 

He lets out a short sarcastic chuckle. “I’m goin’ out tonight. You’re stayin’ here.” 

You frown as you look Joel over, his stern facial expression matching his tone. 

“I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, I’m going out tonight. With you. This is the third time I’ve tried to meet Tommy in person and-”

“And nothin’.” He intercepts, venom dripping from his words that makes your throat become scorching hot with anger. 

You have a hard time letting this go. Especially since whenever Tommy was in town, Joel magically came up with every excuse in the book to keep you from properly meeting his younger brother. Was Joel ashamed of you? He didn’t want Tommy to think that this was the type of girl Joel kept in his company. He didn’t want you to embarrass him. That’s always what it came down to. 

You brushed past him, your shoulder laying a heavy hit to his arm as you fled the bathroom with haste. You enter his bedroom and find your bag carrying your clothes for the weekend. You pulled on whatever you could find as hot rage made your skin tingle.

“Where you goin’, angel?” Joel tries to half-ass console you, stopping your movements, taking the keys you had just dug out from the depth of your bag, and holding them up so tall they were out of your reach even on your tippy toes. 

“Give them back, Joel.” You had a burning feeling in your chest, and Joel was fighting with fire. 

He just shakes his head, his eyes looking over you with a tight jawline. “Need you to relax. Last time you got this pissed at me, you keyed half of my fuckin’ truck.” He muttered, your eyes narrowing on his as you crossed your arms. 

“And I’ll key the other half if you don’t give me back my-”

“Keys?” He asked with a cocked eyebrow, wiggling the keychain with the cute dangly accessories on it and making you absurdly annoyed. You swallow a lump that’s growing in your throat. Joel sighs and cautiously brings one of his hands up to cup your cheek. You hate denying how comforting it is when his warmth courses through your body like this. 

“Why won’t you let me meet your brother?” It sounds more whimpery than you intended, big soft eyes looking into Joel’s hardened ones. “I mean, I know we’re not anything serious, but we’ve been together for a while, and it’s your birthday, and I know that you hate that it’s your birthday, but I love your birthday, and I sort of love you, and I want to meet the people you care the most about.” 

The room tenses as your eyes connect. Shit. That’s how you chose to tell him? That you sort of loved him? Fucking idiot. 

Joel pauses before he starts slowly shaking his head, and your chin dips defeatedly. You think he’s shaking his head because he doesn’t feel the same way, he doesn’t sort of love you like you sort of love him. How could he? Your emotions for one another were a mangled mess. One night, you were fighting like cats and dogs, and both of your eyes lit up during the heat of yet another fight. Then the next night, you were begging him not to stop fucking you, to never leave you, to never betray the trust you had in him that you two had built together over time. 

His thumb delicately courses up your cheekbone then gently across the arch of your chin. His hand moves to the back of your neck and pulls you in until you’re close enough he can set a delicate kiss on the crown of your head. This was what made it so confusing. Were you still fighting? Were you two making amends? 

“You’re not meetin’ Tommy. Not tonight. That’s final.” His words are whispered but somehow still piercingly cold, his voice monotone and flat as he forbade you from meeting his brother.  “Want you here when I come back so we can celebrate together. Just you and I.” 

A frown etches into your features. More like so he could have a warm body to fuck on his birthday. 

He brushes by you and starts his day like any other. He didn’t even say he sort of loved you back. 

---

Did he really think you’d give up without a fight? 

You managed to convince Joel that you were fine without meeting Tommy tonight, that maybe he just wanted some brotherly time together. He leaned into that shit-ass excuse like it was his last lifeline. He could care less about his familial bond, he just wanted you not to be fucking pissed off. But you were pissed off. And you looked hot pissed off. 

You especially looked hot and pissed off in the skin-tight dress you wore, accompanied by the designer clutch Joel purchased for your last birthday. 

You’d assume that the hardest part of your little plan was knowing which of the many bars Joel and Tommy could make their trek to. But Apple Air Tags came in a bundle of four, so you slipped one into Joel’s truck. What else were you going to do with the extra ones? Might as well put them to use. 

You took a car service to the downtown Austin brewpub, Blue Owl Brewing. Let’s just say you were a bit dressed up for the establishment. 

You spotted Joel sitting at a small table in the back, facing the entrance of the bar as you strolled in with a devilish smirk on your face. His large hand was nursing a tall glass of amber-colored beer, a wide and genuine smile on his lips as he jeered conversation back and forth with Tommy, whose back was to you. 

You slowly made your way through the dark oak bar, Joel’s eyes connecting with yours almost immediately. He looked like he could break you in half the way his eyes narrowed on you. But Joel was smart. He didn’t let much of his anger or annoyance seep through, because the damage was already done and you were already here. 

“Hi, Joel,” you innocently coo before resting your hand on his brother’s bicep. “You must be Tommy?” You ask with a smile so sweet it was probably giving Joel a toothache. He was taking a long, steady drink of his beer, the foam lightly frosting his mustache as he observes you with cautious eyes as you interacted with his brother. 

Tommy looked starstruck by your beauty. His eyes don’t hold back from lightly grazing over your short dress and the exposed skin that accompanies it. “Aren’t you a beauty,” he pauses and looks to his brother with a small smirk of disbelief that his brother could bag a catch as hot as you. “You must be Joel’s girl he keeps me from.” 

His comment makes you giggle, your hand cascading down his bicep to his forearm, your nails lightly adding pressure which makes Joel’s stature more domineering, even from across the table. 

Tommy was younger, with medium-length dark curly hair and a mustache that mirrored Joel’s. But he doesn’t have Joel’s beard, the facial hair you’ve grown to love. His mouth carries a dangerous little smirk, and it hasn’t left since you joined their table. He was handsome, it was a family trait the two brothers shared. 

“Please, sit down, beautiful.” 

You hum softly at the compliment, watching as Tommy grabs a nearby barstool from a table close by and sits you down at the end of the table, between both Tommy and Joel. 

“Joel, I thought you said your girl couldn’t make it out tonight?” Tommy inquires, waving down the waitress to come and get you a drink. 

“Oh, did he?” You ask curiously, crossing one leg over the other and lightly leaning over the table as your breasts nearly spill out of your dress. Your eye contact with Joel was on fire. He was torn between chewing you up and spitting you out right here in the middle of the bar, or dragging you away and ripping off this too-short dress of yours. 

You and Tommy were quickly buzzing with conversation. He was buying you cocktails and complimenting you every chance he could get. If you didn’t know any better, he was flirting with you openly in front of his older brother. Joel didn’t say much, a grunt here and there, a swift kick under the table to Tommy’s kneecap after he talked a little too much about the gorgeous curves of your body. 

“Just can’t believe you are datin’ my brother, didn’t know he could score someone so-” As Tommy attempts to find the words, his warm palm settles on your thigh, dangerously high too. He takes an inch or two of your dress with it, and your breath snags in your throat. You can’t deny the jaded way you feel about it, feeling a hot flash course through your body as you feel your head flush with heat. 

“Watch it.” Joel finally mutters coherently. Perfectly coherent. Like he needs Tommy to hear it crystal clear. No one touches you. 

Tommy seems to like the rise out of Joel just as much as you do. Which is perhaps why you’re leaning into it.

“You’re too kind, Tommy, really.” You take his hand off your thigh and maneuver it back into his lap. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the one Joel has to deal with, not the other way around.” You tease, and Tommy lets out a drunk laugh. 

“Trust me, gorgeous, if you were my girl, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight. That was Joel’s first mistake tonight, leavin’ you at home.” 

Your eyes soften, and you glance over to Joel. He’s damn near snarling the way he’s gritting his teeth and staring daggers into Tommy. You had never seen him so possessive before. 

“That’s enough out of you,” Joel remarks as he heavily sets down the empty pint glass and shuffles his barstool back, letting out a screeching scrape. 

“We’re leavin’,” Joel tells you, making your jaw tick tighter. Where did he get off telling you what to do?  

“I don’t think I-”

“Now.” He says more seriously. The giddy feelings you shared with Tommy were now squashed under the weight of Joel’s boot. You decide to hop off the barstool and call it a night, for both of our sakes. You accomplished your mission, met Tommy and disobeyed Joel. So let’s leave while we’re ahead. 

You turn to Tommy, who is also stepping down from the barstool and putting cash on the table to cover the tab. “It was nice meetin’ you, sugar. Take care of my big brother, will ya?” He asks as he settles his hands warmly on your waist and pulls you in for a kiss on your cheek.  

Heat sets your body alight. Tommy was gentle, if not even a bit calculated with his movements. Why did all of a sudden you feel like the pawn in Tommy’s game rather than the other way around? 

“Goodnight, Tommy.” You whisper with a tight-lipped smile, taking Joel’s hand and letting him guide you out of the brewery. 

---

The ride home in the truck was quiet. Real fuckin’ quiet. You tried to be content just listening to the low volume of the radio or the soft rumbling of his truck. You went to switch the station off of country and more to something you liked, but Joel smacked the volume to mute, making you groan. You grew so bored that you started counting the random tar lines in the road, adding to the total with each one you passed over. You stopped counting after fifty, or so. 

“Joel-”

“Enough.” 

He doesn’t let you speak. It makes your blood boil. 

“If you just-”

“I said enough, god dammit. Don’t you think you’ve done enough tonight?” His words cut sharp, and you feel as small as you did this morning. This morning after you confessed that you sort of loved him. He’s breathing in heavy puffs, and he’s driving faster as he tries to get both of you back to the house. 

“Why are you going so fucking fast?” You finally ask. You’re already in deep shit, you don’t care about him telling you to shut up. He ignores you for a moment before you probe him again. “Joel?” You ask with an annoyed tone. His eyes finally meet yours in a quick glance. 

“Getting you home and out of that fucking dress.” He mutters, his large palm reaching across and cupping harshly at your upper thigh. A whiny gasp leaves your mouth as his fingers dig deliciously into your flesh. So that’s what’s got him driving so damn fast. 

He pries your leg open, and he takes one look at how beautiful you look. More importantly, he’s looking at your lacey panties. 

“Red. Perfect for you. Like the fuckin’ devil.” 

You smirk as you grip his wrist and guide his hand to your clothed mound, a weak sigh leaving his lips as he cups over the wet spot that was forming just for him. Joel didn’t have to put in much work for you to be on the edge for him. 

“I fucking hate you, Joel.” 

He puffs out another breath of air through his nose. His way of laughing lately. 

“Fuckin’ hate you more, baby.” 

He toys with your panties for the remaining minutes of the drive, your nails having sunk so hard into his arm that you’re drawing small bits of blood from the moon-shaped cuts. 

He damn near hauls you out of the truck once you’re parked. You leap into his arms as soon as the two of you walk past the threshold of his front door. 

You force him to walk blindly through the house. He’s easily holding you up by one arm as you tighten your legs around his waist, causing your dress to ride up from the tension. You kiss him in a clash of teeth and tongues. You’re both ferociously horny for one another. And he’s pissed. 

“Flirtin’ with my brother all fuckin’ night? You have fun with that?” He mutters against your mouth, slamming you up against the wall with a thud as your breath nearly knocks out of you from the force. He takes the opportunity of you planted there to grab the hem of your dress and push it up and off your body. His mouth latches to your exposed breasts, a throaty moan leaving your mouth as your small fists take him by the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Fuck,” you let out breathily, throwing your head back against the wall and humming lowly. 

“Answer me.” He ruts his hips up against your core, and you’re painfully aware of how naked he’s making you and how clothed he still is. 

“He’s actually really nice-” He suckles harder on your nipple, forcing a hiss out of your mouth. “Think I might trade in my older model for something younger.” Your tone is teasing, but the words are enough to make him detach from your nipple, a sinister look wavering his features cold.  

He sneers and tilts his head to the side and back before shaking his head slowly. “I don’t think so.” 

He rips you from the safety of the wall, your hands quickly scrabble to his shoulders to keep yourself upright while he leads you up the stairs to his bedroom. His heavy boots thud menacingly. You try to hide your smile in the crook of his neck, leaving angelic kisses on his neck and marking him with your lipstick, knowing how good Joel is about to make you feel. 

He tosses you onto the bed like a ragdoll, your bare body finds warmth in his sheets. You admire him from below as he pulls his shirt off by gripping the material at the back of his neck and hauling it off him in one swift motion. The sight alone makes your pussy ache and your insides churn. 

God, he was so handsome. He had this soft bulk to his body that expanded from the hardened planes of his chest and toned tummy to the light bulge in his biceps. His chest hair was a sprinkle of dark black stippled with light grey hairs that became sparse before trickling to a thicker patch, creating his happy trail.  

Holy fuck, he looked like he was going to devour you. 

Joel wasted little time with formalities. He had your legs parted, the rough denim of his jeans grinding against your soft skin. His tongue explored your mouth while both of his palms massaged the supple plushness of your breasts. He was pinching your nipples between his fingers, making you whine into his mouth for relief while they hardened in his hold. 

You slip your hands between your middles, fingertips gently trailing down to capture the button of his jeans and push down his zipper. You have to wiggle around a bit, as Joel is pinning you to the spot. You’re so desperate for him that it almost turns into a fight to get his jeans off. He tugs on your bottom lip, a light whimper leaving you upon tasting the metallic tang of blood fill your mouth. 

You smack Joel’s arm until he releases you, huffing at him. 

“Asshole.” You mutter.

He sneers at you as he places a delicate kiss to your lips in apology. “That’s what cunts get.”  He mutters under his breath. The term makes you flinch, your hand coming up to give him a good smack across the face, but he captures your wrist and pins it back to the bed. You both eagerly consume one another in a desperate kiss. You think you see him smiling as he tastes the light scrape of blood he’s caused. 

Joel moves his weight to his forearms and aids you in the ongoing war between you and his pesky jeans. With his weight off you, you easily push down his jeans and his black boxers, your feet pushing down the last of the material around his ankles. He sits back on his haunches, heavy hands gripping the sides of your panties as he pulls them down your legs, leaving you bare with him. 

You immediately slip out of the hold he has on your wrist and put your hand between your legs. Your fingers move eagerly between your glistening folds and slick them up with arousal. He smacks your hand away and pins your wrist to the bed once more. So fucking disobedient. 

Once he settles between you, a soft gasp escapes your lips once you feel his thick shaft landing heavily against your sex. He was thick and ready for the taking, his tip was red with anger and need. 

“You were a real fuckin’ handful tonight.” He mutters, letting his tip slide up and down your glistening folds. You were not in the mood for teasing. 

You grit your teeth and glare up at him. “I think Tommy agreed.”

“Shut the fuck up.” He growls, your chest rising and falling quickly. He takes notice as your body tingles with excitement. 

“Such a pain in my goddamn ass sometimes, more trouble than your worth.”

“Why don’t you toss me to Tommy then, huh? That way I can see which Miller brother fucks me better.” You sneer, a sloppy smirk crossing your features. It’s harshly stripped from you as Joel takes your face and squishes your cheeks with the grip of his hand. Your eyes clench closed at the slight pain, feeling him angle your head to face him. He’s power-hungry. 

“Open those eyes, pretty girl.” His voice is rocky and lust-filled, dangerous like gasoline. It takes a moment, but you flutter them open. You didn’t realize that you were holding onto Joel’s puffed-up biceps, hard as a rock under your hold. 

He slowly scans you, up and down, weighing his options of how to handle you. The problem that you were. His little brat. “You wanna cum tonight?”

Your ultimate weakness. A sheepish whimper leaves your squished lips, trying to blink back the slight tears that are forming from his manhandling. Mascara stings your eyes, but you hold his eye contact, because he asked you to, because it’s Joel, and you’d do anything for him at the end of the day. 

You manage an “Mhm, please.” Joel’s eyes soften as he comes back to you and your warmth. 

He doesn’t say anything, just angles his hips just right since you two fit perfectly together and thrusts inward. The breath in your lungs is punched out, head grinding back into the bed as your chin angles to the ceiling.  You hiss at the initial discomfort that his thick cock causes. He’s fucked you a million times, but there’s nothing better than the first thrust where you’re still adjusting to his size, his girth, his length, his everything. 

The clamp his hand has on your cheeks eventually releases, shifting the weight back to his forearms as his head settles above yours. He places another gentle kiss on your lightly swollen bottom lip. His loving reassurance warms your body. He’s starting steady, honorably letting your arousal take the lead in getting you both lubed up. He feels like heaven coursing through your tight hole, making himself the perfect fit for you. 

You wrap your arms around his neck a little too tight, bringing him down into you as he breathily laughs against your ear. 

"Y'know, it's kinda hard to be rough with ya when you're bein' so sweet."

Your chest heaves with his words, a sudden and impactful sense of vulnerability passing through you. It makes you nervous. It makes your skin swelter with warmth and makes a bead of sweat form at your temple. You and Joel don’t have this type of warmth in your relationship. Warm in the sense of boiling, too hot, too much, screaming and shouting and fighting and kissing. Not this. Not the gentle thrusts lightly rocking into you, letting you adjust to him, pulling him in for a gentle embrace as you capture him in a needy hug. 

You’re not the I love you type, yet you said it to him this morning. Sort of. You swallow the lump in your throat and quickly shake your head. 

You remind yourself that he didn’t say it back this morning. He wasn’t saying it now. Was he just using you? No.. no, it wasn’t that. But he wasn’t going to let you meet his family. He wasn’t going to say he loved you. He wasn’t going to marry you if that’s even what you wanted right now. It wasn’t. But you couldn’t deny you thought about your future with Joel. Even with all the fighting, the anger, the jealousy, it was all out of love. But maybe that love was one-sided. 

The arms you had draped around his neck turned into sinking your nails into the base of his back. You slowly began scraping them upwards and forming long, raised red lines in their path. Joel grunts and hisses at the burn he’s feeling, broad shoulders tightening and his hips snapping into you more ferociously now. 

Your lower lip trembled with anger, but you didn’t let him see as you pushed his head down to your breasts. He took the hint with a broken moan as he suckled a bruise on your collarbone. 

The pain of his thrusts turned into numbing pleasure, his tip kissing your cervix with each and every heavy snap of his thrusts. 

“Fuck yeah, Joel,” you moan. You stroking his ego only makes his movements more methodical, one of his hands pushing your leg down onto the bed rather than snaking around his waist and exposing you to a new angle that left you searching for air. Joel returns his forehead to rest over yours, both of your sweat glistening. You stare into his eyes, and all you feel is anger and regret for saying you loved him. He was fucking you so good too, you both had never gone as slow as you had at the start. It was twisting the coil inside of you so smoothly, that your brain was getting foggy. 

You did a lot of stupid things tonight. Wearing your shortest dress, stalking Joel to his hangout with Tommy, flirting with his brother for the majority of the night. But now, you were ready to do the stupidest thing yet. 

You moan into his ear, revenge and regret swirling inside of you like an insidious tornado. Your eyes flutter close in pleasure as you feel your orgasm begin to approach. “Fuck me, Tommy.”

It hits Joel like a ton of bricks. All his movements pause. He pulls away just half an inch and stares down at you. A cold, downright mean look crosses his face once you’ve popped your eyes open to take a look at him. The room suffocates you in silence. 

“What did you say?” His voice is slow, slick with a cursed concoction of lust and fury. 

Too far. Way too fucking far. 

You pause as you try to recollect yourself, having just been nearly blinded by your approaching orgasm. “I- I said Joel,” Now you were just trying to convince yourself that you didn’t accidentally or not accidentally just moaned his brother's name in bed. “I-”

“Don’t fuckin’ lie to me.” He mutters, chest puffed up and muscles straining with veins like thick rivers coasting up his arms. 

He starts slow. His hand shifts to fasten around your throat, and with each word that leaves him, his grip tightens. “Tell me… what you said.” He speaks through gritted teeth, eliciting a whimper from you as he snarls. 

You swallow a lump in your throat, cold goosebumps flooding over your previously scorching hot skin. You were starting to feel the neglect from his lack of thrusts, whining softly as you tried to grind your hips up into his. 

His large palm slams into your hip with force and pins you to the bed, letting out a whine of annoyance. 

“You want Tommy fuckin’ you instead? Huh?” His jaw is tight and only clicking tighter as he stares daggers into you. Fuck, you were only flooding him with more of your arousal. You purposely flexed your tight walls around the swell of his cock. 

“N-No, Joel -- fuck -- want you.” You whimper out as your hands soften on his shoulders, and you gently cup his face. He shakes his head loose of your hold, annoyance and anger still shooting up his spine. 

“I don’t think you do, pretty girl, think you want someone else. Tommy.” His hips were thrusting again, harsh snaps that physically rocked your body up the bed with force that made your jaw drop. Fuck he felt so damn good. The lack of air was making your head swirl. 

You took in a sharp breath as he manhandles your face once more, forcing you to look at him. “Dirty fuckin’ slut, you want both of us, don’t you?” Well, you can’t deny the thought hadn’t crossed your mind. He licks his lips before he spits on your face, lathering you in his saliva as you gasp in shock. 

“J-Joel,” your words can’t come out smooth with how roughly he’s fucking you. His hips are slamming your thighs, and the bedframe is smacking the wall with all his might. “Fuck-ing- shit,” you throw your head back now up into his pillows and try to grip onto the sheets to maintain your position. That coil that was smoothly coursing you towards a gentle orgasm was long gone, as was Joel’s right mind. Now the coil was tightening and nearly breaking, your mind going blank and seeing stars. 

“Say my name,” Joel grunts, his hand coming up and smothering the saliva he spat on your face. It runs black with your mascara tears and messy red lipstick before he brings his hand back to your throat. 

You breathe heavily as your mind tries to connect syllables and make a coherent word. “I- I..” You can’t focus, and Joel punishes you for it. He spits on you again, hot and warm on your face, and all you can picture is if it was his cum showering you instead. “Fuck!” You shout at him. He takes the opportunity of your mouth open to speak, forcing two fingers inside. 

“Suck’em, pretty little bitch,” Joel mutters, watching you with eyes from hell. 

You whimper and suckle around his fingers, trying not to choke on them, focusing all your energy on trying not to get in more trouble. You line your tongue up and down both digits, tasting him, tasting Joel. He pulls his fingers from you with force and leaves your own saliva dribbling out of your messy mouth and down your chin. 

He puts his slimy fingers to use and starts slowly circling your clit. Your eyes light up, wide, and you grip onto his bicep for desperation. “P-Please, too much, Joel,” you whimper, feeling the coil close to snapping as he starts doing precise figure-eights on your swollen nub. It was all too much. 

“Say my name,” Joel says on repeat, your glassy eyes only being able to focus on him, just like he wanted. 

He starts marking you with his mouth, ferocious teeth nipping at the sensitive skin along your breasts and collarbones, so harshly that they burn once he’s done, and covering you in red and purple splotches. 

Joel’s grunting above you, withholding his own orgasm as another form of torturing you. “Say my name, god dammit, tell me who owns this fucking pussy.” He spits on you, mean and hot, and he’s all you can see, all you can think. 

Say my name. Say my name. God dammit, say my fucking name. 

“J-Joel!” You cry out his name and clench your eyes closed, but he doesn’t slow his thrusts or his fingers. “Fu-Fuck me, Joel, keep fucking me good, Joel, Joel, Joel- fuck!” you swallow down the lump in your throat as you see his goading smirk, his hips slamming you with all he’s got. 

“Come on baby, want Tommy t’hear you, want the whole damn neighborhood t’hear you-- shit,” he mutters, eyes clenching closed as your walls flutter around him in a nearing orgasm. 

“Say my name!” He shouts, and you cry out in pleasure. 

He was like God, your God. 

“Joel!” You cry out. The coil snaps, and the curtain falls down. Your back arches, and you throw your hips into Joel’s, fisting the sheets and dipping your eyes closed again as you let out a moan that shakes the entire house. Joel’s not long behind you, he paints your walls white in adoration, load after load marking your walls as his own, no one else's. 

A few minutes pass and he’s still buried inside of you. You look psychotic, fucked dumb and raw. “I’m yours, Joel.” You say barely above a whisper, desperate eyes searching his own for warmth. 

You’re twitching below him, overly exerted and tired. You’re motionless, half-dead under the man who resurrected you. He’s panting heavily from doing all the work per usual. His mouth is agape, trying to catch his breath as your numb limbs lie in place while he pulls out of you. He’s dripping with your arousal-cum mixture. Oh, but he’s not done. He kneels on the bed and smacks his hand against your pussy before cupping it. 

It makes your eyes widen, and you let out an overstimulated cry at the feeling. You quickly shake your head, grip his wrist, and meet his eyes with a pleading expression. “N-No Joel, can’t -- fuck -- can’t do another one right away, give me a sec baby-” 

“Do you know why I didn’t want Tommy to meet you?” His words ram your numb brain senseless. 

You whimper as he’s already starting slow circles on your clit, goosebumps forming once more. You muster up a shake of your head. 

No. No, I don’t know why you won’t let me meet your fucking brother, the question has been gnawing at me all damn day, though. 

“When we were younger, Tommy had a bad streak of sneakin’ off with my girlfriends.” He did? You had no idea. Joel’s voice is deviously quiet during his story-telling, wrecked with residual anger and desire for you. 

His thumb takes over massaging your clit, feeling both his index and middle finger slowly curl their way into your entrance. Your head nudges back against the pillows again, releasing a string of whimpers as he works you up again. He’s pushing his cum back inside of you while his fingers squelch.

“He was flirtin’ with ‘em, harmless at first, ‘til he decided he wanted ‘em for himself.” Your jaw tightens as he moves his thumb faster on your clit, angry that you let Tommy manipulate you into getting a rise out of Joel, just like he used to. He was using you as a pawn tonight. 

“Got into so many damn fights over it. S’why my nose is a lil’ crooked. Tommy broke it with a punch, fightin’ about some girl I was seein’ in my twenties.” You frowned. Stop talking about your other girlfriends, Joel.  

A quiet whimper left your lips as your pointer finger came up to brush along the light curve of his nose that you loved so much. 

“Don’t feel bad for me, angel. I broke his goddamn arm for fuckin’ me over like that.” He had a dangerous smirk on his lips, one that you liked, one that made your heart race as he circled your clit even faster and started massaging your walls with his thick fingers. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you whispered, the heated coil in your tummy churning again out of the protectiveness and jealousy he felt for you today. 

“He’s never met any of my girls since, so when I saw you walk into that bar..” he trailed off and started shaking his head. Your clit pulsed anxiously under the pad of his thumb, biting down harshly on your bruised and bloody lip. “Would never let him take you away from me. Never.” Your heart gushes for him. 

“I’d never leave you, Joel,” you lightly whimpered, your body twitching and writhing under him. He shook his head and gently shushed you, cupping your cheek with his free hand. Your glassy eyes watched him in adoration, seeing crooked stars in your vision as you felt another orgasm heatedly approaching. 

“Should’a told ya sooner. And you should’a stayed home. Listened to me for once,” He told you in a warning tone. You swallow the lump in your throat and gently nod, your thighs shaking against his legs that pinned yours wide open. 

“S’why when I saw ya in the bar, knew I had t’take you home and make you mine, devil woman.” He muttered with a small smirk. The nickname made a desperate smile trickle on your lips. 

“Yeah?” You said in a sheepish whimper, your walls fluttering around his fingers that were gently exploring your insides, leaving you so close to cumming again. It was too fast, and too damn hot in the room, but Joel was making you his, and that’s all you were going to focus on. 

“So what d’you say?” He asks, raising a curious eyebrow. 

“‘M sorry.” You muster up. “I-I’m sorry, Joel,” He’s got you panting for dear life as your thighs twitch while you near closer and closer to the edge. 

He slowly shakes his head. “And what else, pretty girl?” 

You cock your head and furrow your brows at him, unsure of what he wants you to say next. 

“Say my name, tell me you love me again.” His fingers abandon your entrance and solely focus on pleasuring your clit, going so fast, too fast. His head comes down by yours, resting his forehead against your temple as your eyes force themselves closed.  

“Fuck, Joel,” you whimper. 

“Look at me, baby.” He whispers to you, placing light kisses by the corner of your eye to bring attention to him. 

Your long lashes flutter on your cheeks before your fucked out face turns to Joel. “I love you, I love you, Joel, I love y-you- fuck,” you moan out loudly, throwing your head back and grinding your hips up into his hand. You do love him, the sick bastard that he was. 

Your second release is only minutes from your last; it sparks you like a firework, and you feel your bones tingle. This man was not one to contend with. But you did anyway because you loved him. 

You come down from being overstimulated. He plays this mean game where he grazes his fingers as light as a feather on different parts of your body, watching as your muscles and body twitch from being short-circuited. 

“Fuck you.” You murmur. 

His feet find the floor, his cock still hanging by his thighs, drenched in residual slick. He disappears into the bathroom, and you hear the faucet run. It rings in your ears, still trying to center yourself after being fucked to oblivion tonight. 

You didn’t realize your eyes had fallen close until you heard his feet padding towards you as he approached with a warm washcloth. You hum softly gently wipes your face from his spit and your mucky mascara before he rotates the washcloth and wipes at the inside of your thighs. You’re still a little sensitive, you can’t help but let your face twinge. 

He’s careful as he makes sure you’re clean, catching any residual spill. He tosses the washcloth into the laundry basket before he goes searching in your bag for something you can wear. 

“Joel?”

He pauses his movements. “Already know what you’re gonna say.” You instantly smile and observe him. He was so handsome. 

He stops looking through your bag for clothes and moves to his closet. He takes his time choosing what he wants you to wear, which makes you giggle a little bit from bed. You’re motionless, with no energy to move or even roll over. Barely enough to speak. 

He settles on a Metallica band t-shirt, at least twenty years old, with the cotton perfectly soft and worn in. He moves to his dresser and fishes out a clean pair of boxers. They were the most comfy to wear, you had to admit. Panties were to show off your ass before sex. Boxers were for after all that was finished. 

“You okay?” he whispers, to which you slowly nod. He’s always been so good with aftercare, even after a full day of arguing followed by a full night of fucking. 

The boxers are soft as they coast up your legs, and he settles them on your hips. The band reads Calvin Klein. You muster up enough strength to sit up on your elbows, and he helps you put the baggy shirt on. It messes up your hair, and he tries to smooth it over, which makes you bubble up a laugh. “It’ll just get all messed up when we sleep, but thanks,” you whisper before falling back into his pillows once again. 

Joel smirks widely before he lays down tiredly beside you on his front, like a big giant collapsing with a large huff. Your hand travels gently up his back, seeing the raised and jagged lines your nails had caused, your anger had caused. His jaw twitches, but he doesn’t let you know he’s feeling pain. 

“Joel?” You whisper and work up the energy to shimmy closer to him, your foreheads gently resting together. 

“Hm?” He murmurs. 

You feel shy all of a sudden, still vulnerable. “Happy birthday, Joel. I love you.” 

He slowly smiles, a sense of pride flooding his body as he pulls you in closer to him by your hip. He gently glides his thumb across your swollen bottom lip and kisses you lightly. “I love you, too. No matter how much of a brat you are.”

You slowly grin and close your eyes as your heads rest beside one another. 

“Oh my god.” You mutter to yourself. Joel pulls his head away to look down at you. 

“What is it, angel?”

You groan lightly and hide your face in your hands. “The cake! I left it out all day, it’s probably dry as fuck now!”

Joel lets out a puff of laughter, stroking your sweat-soaked hair away from your face. “S’okay, wasn’t gonna have any, anyway.” 

“Yes, you were.” You huff, your finger gently gliding down his nose once more before you gently kiss the tip in adoration. 

He hums softly at your decent behavior. “Good girl.” 

---

masterlist

A reminder that I no longer use taglists!! to keep up with my writing, follow @hellishfics and turn on notifications to keep updated!

[rafesapologist]

the setback ─ rafe cameron; part sixteen

summary: it's been two years since your departure from the outer banks and rafe cameron has seemingly convinced himself that he can go on with his life as if you never happened, except now more than ever his addiction is at an all time high. whether he was snorting lines of cocaine at wild parties or drowning himself in alcohol to numb the pain, rafe couldn't escape the memories of you. despite his efforts to bury his feelings, your absence lingered like a shadow, haunting him at every turn. meanwhile, you've been navigating life outside the outer banks, trying to carve out a new path for yourself. but no matter how far you've traveled, the memories of rafe cameron still linger in your heart, leaving you with a sense of unfinished business. as you find yourself facing new challenges and opportunities, you can't help but wonder if fate will eventually bring you back to the place where it all began.

warnings: drug use, alcohol, plot twist

author's note: okay i have to admit i havent sat down and wrote in awhile so pls forgive any errors, love u all

The following days felt rather protracted for Rafe since your sudden egress that morning at the Cameron's residence. His father was still absent as usual, likely plotting some sort of reprisal for the threats Rafe had made at the dock since it was unlike him to let such a thing go that easily. Truthfully, Rafe couldn't have cared less about whatever vengeance his father was brewing in his depraved mind, he could only seem to think about one specific thing as if his thoughts were a record that only had one track to play. You.

The hypothetically 'reasonable' thing to do would be to reach out to one of your friends, but knowing them, they'd glue their mouths shut before giving away where you were to him. But aside from the Pogues, there was really no one else to go to for answers besides them. Rafe knew you had a tumultuous, basically non-existent, relationship with your parents, therefore they'd be rendered no use in the search for you. Every option seemed to lead to a dead end for him, seeing how you kept your circle of friends diminutive and your family disconnected. It was practically impossible to find you.

Rafe realized he had made a mistake showing up unannounced when you had returned to the island, and that it had nearly drove you to despise him even more than you did before. He couldn't make the same mistake again, not when your view of him was now dimmed and tainted by the allegations that he was out to destroy you and your friends. The relationship between you and Rafe was more fragile than ever, and Rafe wondered if the situation itself was enough to diminish any chance he had of being with you again.

It felt like a cruel joke was being played on him. He finally had you back after two years of longing to see your face again outside of a chipped pixelated phone screen, an agonizing wait that was worth every minute of affliction he endured while you were gone. But now, it was like the past was repeating itself, a horrid nightmare that haunted Rafe like a bitter old friend.

Rafe did the only things he knew to do to cope with your disappearance—coke and parties. Like retracing the steps on a well-worn path, every turn feeling like deja vu with every line he inhaled. Sure it didn't make him forget about you, but it sure did make the pain more manageable.

"Damn Rafe, I haven't seen you rage this hard since your dad tried kicking you out last year," Topper's drab tone rang through Rafe's ears, although fortunately for him, his friend was far too high to pay it any mind.

Rafe responded with a half-hearted chuckle while he carelessly bent back down to the table to inhale one last line of the white powdered substance before him. He breathed it in with an ease only a seasoned addict could do, a shameful talent he acquired in an attempt to mend his affliction.

"Yeah, well," Rage shrugged, wiping his nose of residue, "he's good at bringing that side out of me."

Topper's brows furrowed at the remark, feeling as if it was a subtle hint at what Rafe was going through. It would only make sense if Ward had been the reason his son was becoming a full blown addict again, since Rafe held his father's words to a much higher degree than anyone else's.

"Hey, why don't we lay off for a bit and get some drinks?" The blond added, a pang of worry coursing through him at Rafe's flushed and disoriented complexion, his pupils dilated to the max.

With droopy eyelids and a gaunt look on his face, Rafe's hazy gaze met Topper's with a faint smirk present across his lips, "Yeah, I could use another drink." He slurred while he gave his friend an inept pat on the shoulder before wandering off to the bar.

As he strode through the crowd of people, Rafe's usual posh appearance was replaced with disarray. His hair had fallen into uneven tufts, his face pallid and streaked with sweat. His azure colored eyes were glossy and unfocused, darting around the room with an unsettling lack of coordination. His typical arrogant, assertive demeanor stripped away by a slack-jawed, dazed expression. If it weren't for the fact that he was surrounded by a hundred other intoxicated people, perhaps someone would've been concerned by the way he looked.

The more steps he took, the more he could feel himself go in and out of consciousness. The loud, thumping music and flashing lights only heightened the symptoms of his high as he reached a euphoric state. The world around him was hazy and blurred but he felt a blissful peace as his once-racing thoughts suddenly went silent. It was the first time in days Rafe had felt anything besides grief and anger. Between you and his father, he felt like a burden under the scrutiny he faced by the ones who knew him best, and figured, maybe you two were right; maybe he was the problem.

Before he could reach the bar, Rafe felt a finger tap him on the shoulder, urging him to turn around. He sluggishly turned to face whoever it was, only to be met with disappointment at the sight of a familiar brunette standing before him.

"Holy shit, what happened to you?" Sofia looked in horror at the sight of Rafe's sickly complexion.

He rolled his eyes, annoyed by her comment, "What do you want, Sofia?" Rafe grumbled through his slurred speech.

"I.. came to say hi cause I thought I saw you across the room. Didn't expect to see you here," she replied hesitantly while she continued to observe his bloodshot eyes.

He scoffed at Sofia's remark, his voice dripping with a mix of anger and derision. “Haven’t you done enough?” he shot back, his eyes narrowing into sharp slits. “It’s bold of you to even come up and talk to me right now.”

Sofia’s eyes widened at the venom in his tone, her brow furrowing with a blend of hurt and frustration. “Look, Rafe, I know what I did and I’m sorry but—”

“No,” Rafe cut her off sharply, his voice like a jagged edge. “A bullshit ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t going to fix what you did. And besides, you should be apologizing to Y/N, not me.”

Her face fell, the weight of his words hitting her like a cold splash of water. “I know,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “I made a mistake and I let my emotions get the best of me, Rafe. I was just so angry seeing you with her that I lost it.”

Rafe rolled his eyes, a harsh scoff escaping his lips. “I don’t give a fuck how you felt. You had no right shoving her into the pool like that. What if something worse happened to her? Then what? Your apology means nothing to me.”

Sofia's eyes filled with tears, her lower lip quivering as she struggled to hold back her emotions. “I didn’t think... I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was so caught up in my own pain and jealousy that I didn’t see how wrong I was.”

Rafe’s face remained a storm of anger and disappointment. “It’s not just about you and me anymore. It’s about her, and the fact that you let your anger turn into something so cruel.” His voice cracked slightly, betraying the depth of his frustration and helplessness.

Sofia’s shoulders slumped, her voice barely a whisper now. “I’m sorry, Rafe. I just… I can’t stand seeing you with her after all we went through together. You promised me forever.”

The words hung in the air like a heavy fog, muffling the chaotic noise of the bar around them. Rafe's face softened slightly, a mix of weariness and regret settling over his features. He looked at her, seeing the remnants of a pain he once knew intimately, but now felt so distant.

“Forever?” Rafe echoed, his voice rough with a blend of bitterness and exhaustion. “That was a long time ago, Sofia. Things change. People change.”

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, the weight of the situation pulling him down. “What we had is over. I’m with her now, and you forcing yourself into this situation only makes things worse. I need to focus on fixing what’s broken.”

Sofia’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she shook her head slowly. “I know it’s over. I just didn’t want to be forgotten like this, to be left behind so easily.”

Rafe's expression hardened again, a wall of frustration rising between them. “It’s not about forgetting you,” he said, his tone sharp but tinged with a hint of sorrow. “It’s about moving forward. I’m trying to make things right for her, for us. But right now, all I see is a mess that needs fixing. And you’re only adding to it.”

Sofia's plea cut through the din of the bar, her voice cracking with desperation. “Please, Rafe, I only want what’s best for you. Please don’t shut me out like this.”

Rafe hesitated, his hand gripping the edge of the bar as he struggled with his own conflicted emotions. He turned back to face her, his eyes weary and clouded by the weight of everything that had transpired.

“Best for me?” he repeated, his voice hollow. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me, Sofia. You had your chance, and you made your choices."

Sofia's face hardened, a steely determination replacing the remorse in her eyes. "Then I’m sorry for what’s going to happen, Rafe. I truly am."

Rafe’s brow furrowed, his inebriated mind struggling to grasp the gravity of her words. "What do you mean by that?" he asked, a chill creeping into his voice as he sensed the shift in her demeanor.

Sofia’s expression grew somber, her tone taking on a more serious, almost threatening edge. "I was going to tell you that your dad came to me and offered me a proposition. If I did something for him, he’d pay me a large sum. At first, I wanted to reject his offer, come to you, and do the right thing. But seeing how you reacted tonight... I really need the money, Rafe. I’m sorry."

The words hit Rafe like a sledgehammer. His heart pounded violently in his chest, the alcohol-induced fog momentarily lifting as fear and anger surged through him. “What did he ask you to do?” he demanded, his voice sharp and urgent.

Sofia’s gaze dropped to the floor, guilt and fear mingling in her eyes. “I can’t say,” she whispered. “But it’s something that could hurt you and... someone you care about. I didn’t want to, but I’m desperate, Rafe. I’m sorry.”

Rafe felt the room spin as his mind raced. The reality of Sofia’s admission was like a brutal awakening, the weight of his father’s manipulative schemes crashing down on him with full force. He took a step closer, his face inches from Sofia’s, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “No, Sofia. You aren’t going to touch her. I swear to God, if you do—”

The threat hung in the air, taut with menace, each word charged with a volatile mixture of fear and fury. His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, the intensity of his emotions almost palpable.

Sofia’s eyes widened, her fear evident as she recoiled slightly from the raw intensity in his gaze. “Rafe, I—I don’t want to hurt anyone. I’m just... trapped. I didn’t know it would come to this.”

Sofia’s shoulders slumped under the weight of her decision, her eyes squeezed shut as if to block out the gravity of her choices. “Sof, don’t do this,” Rafe pleaded, his voice raw and desperate. “You don’t have to do what he says. No amount of money is worth this.”

Her head shook slowly, each movement punctuating the anguish on her face. “I didn’t mean for it to come like this,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “But I already made the deal. So now it’s either my life or hers, and I have to look out for myself, Rafe.”

The words struck Rafe with the force of a physical blow, his heart clenching painfully at the realization of the desperate position Sofia had put herself in. The intensity of his feelings for you surged anew, a fierce protectiveness that burned in his chest. “You’re choosing your own safety over someone’s life,” he said, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and heartbreak. “You know what that makes you?”

Sofia’s gaze remained fixed on the floor, her tears tracing a path down her cheeks as she wrestled with her torment. “You have no idea what it’s like to live like a Pogue, Rafe,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “This is my only chance to have a second chance at a better life for myself. And if this is what it takes, then… so be it.”

Her words cut through Rafe like a knife, the raw pain and desperation in her voice mingling with the weight of her choices. He could see the conflict etched into her features, the inner struggle between her dire circumstances and the moral cost of her actions. It was a choice born out of desperation, not cruelty, and the complexity of her situation only deepened his own anguish.

Rafe took a step closer, his voice soft but resolute. “I get that you’re in a tough spot, but you don’t have to sacrifice your own humanity to escape it. There’s always another way, Sofia. We just have to find it.”

Sofia shook her head, her eyes still lowered, as if the weight of her decision was too heavy to bear. “I wish I could believe that,” she murmured. “But right now, this is all I see. I’m sorry, Rafe. I never wanted it to come to this.”

Rafe’s voice trembled with desperation as he reached out to Sofia, his eyes pleading. “Sofia, I can’t let you do this. Just tell me where she is, please. I’ll do anything.”

Sofia’s shoulders sagged further under the weight of his plea. She looked at him with a mixture of anguish and resignation, the fight in her fading as the reality of his desperation sank in. She took a deep, shuddering breath, her resolve crumbling in the face of his earnestness.

“I… I can’t,” she said softly, her voice cracking. “It’s not that simple, Rafe. I’m bound by the deal, and if I break it, there’s no telling what might happen to me—or to you.”

Sofia’s eyes were heavy with the burden of her choices, her face etched with torment as she looked at Rafe. She could see the raw desperation in his eyes, the plea for her to help you cutting through the veil of her own fears and guilt.

“Rafe,” she began, her voice trembling, “I know you’re begging me, and I wish I could give you what you want. But I can’t jeopardize my life like this. You don’t understand—”

Before she could finish, Rafe cut her off, his voice strained with emotion. “I don’t care about your life right now, Sofia. I care about hers. You know what you’re doing is wrong. There has to be another way.”

Sofia’s gaze softened momentarily, tears brimming in her eyes. She took a deep, shuddering breath, struggling to keep her composure. “I can’t tell you, Rafe. I’m sorry. I... I have to go.” She turned away, her footsteps echoing with the weight of her decision, leaving Rafe with a suffocating sense of dread and urgency.

As she walked away, Rafe stood rooted to the spot, the last remnants of his resolve dissolving into an all-consuming fear. The finality in Sofia’s voice was a harsh reminder of the time slipping away, the enormity of his task pressing down on him like a relentless storm.

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[baby-fever-anon]

YouTube Clickbait Faces

Inspired by this post by @wolflyndraws :3

wc: 1727

Teagan has been out of the hospital for a week, and Dream has realized he has no photos of her with George.

He's taken pictures of her while she was in the hospital. He took pictures of George in the hospital.

But he doesn't have any of them together.

Which, to be fair to him, isn't really his own fault. For the first week or so of her being in the hospital, they weren't allowed to hold her at all.

And in the time they were allowed to hold her, they were both more focused her and spending time together than they were about taking photos.

As a result, the closest thing to a photo of George and Teagan he has is one of George watching her in her little incubator.

It's a good photo. A great photo even. But it makes Dream sad.

He needs more pictures of the two that will make him happy.

It's this thought process that leads him to pull out his phone during a moment of downtime.

He aims the camera at where George is laying, flat on his back with Teagan lays on his chest.

The shirt George is wearing is dumb. In the best way possible.

It says "Spawn Point" in cluncky, pixelated letters. It was a gag gift from Sapnap but George, like the nerd he is, immediately fell in love with it and has taken to wearing it constantly.

He says it's comfortable, and Teagan seems to agree with the way she's clutching the fabric in her small fists as she sleeps.

George himself looks asleep, eyes closed and breathing even, but Dream can tell he's not from the uneven pattern of his breaths.

He manages to snap two quick photos before George peaks his eyes open to look at him.

George rolls his eyes and smiles.

Dream prepares to take another photo, wanting to capture George's fond smile.

However, as he's clicking the button, George drops his mouth open. He brings his hands up and presses them against his cheeks as he widens his eyes in faux shock.

It's the typical YouTube thumbnail face.

The photo is taken.

"George, what the hell." He asks, voice incredulous.

George is giggling to himself, clearly amused by his own antics.

"I was trying to get cute pictures. Not whatever that was." Dream whines, not actually upset.

"L." George responds through his seemingly endless laughter.

The shifting of George's chest as his laughter rouses Teagan. She squirms as she wakes, letting out a soft whimper.

George stops laughing in an instant. He turns his attention to where Teagan has continued whimpering quietly.

"Oh, baby... " He coos. "You're ok. Go back to sleep, sweetheart."

Dream takes another picture as George works soothe Teagan back to sleep.

☆

As Teagan is getting older waking up in the morning is getting easier.

She's not quite sleeping through the night yet but she's getting close. Close enough that Dream and George are able to get enough sleep that they don't feel completely dead.

This also means that they, George especially, are in much better mood first things in the morning.

Dream is eternally grateful for this fact when he walks into the kitchen.

George is already up with Teagan, having gotten up when she did.

Currently, He's holding her in his arms. He's swaying back and forth and bouncing in circles.

He's humming under his breath as he does so. When Dream listens in a little harder he recognizes the tune of Kind of Love. The knowledge makes him feel fuzzy.

Teagan is giggling like mad, her little face lit up with joy.

He pulls out his phone. He wants to capture the moment so he can play it on repeat whenever he's sad or mad or even just if he wants to.

He manages to record in silence for thirty seconds before Teagan's loud laughter causes him to laugh. He's not able to contain it, the joy of the two people he loves more than anyone else bringing him joy.

The noise causes George to whip his head around. The smile on his grows when he sees Dream.

George turns his body towards him and holds Teagan out in front of him as if he's handing her to him.

There's still a large smile on her face and the sight of her daddy makes her kick her feet and squeal excitedly.

Dream ends the video and takes a quick photo.

At the sound of the camera shutter George's jaw drops open and he widens his eyes.

"George," He mutters, exasperated. "Stop making YouTube click bait faces when I'm trying to take a picture."

George drops the face long enough to say "Just take the picture, idiot." before returning to the face.

Dream rolls his eyes and takes the picture.

After he does so George rushes forward. He hands Teagan to Dream and snatches Dream's phone from his hand.

"Good morning, Tea Cup." He mumbles to her as he presses a soft kiss to her forehead.

George let's out a laugh.

"This is epic." He mutters, looking at the photos. He turns to show the phone to Reagan. "Look, baby! That's you!"

☆

For the past week or so, Teagan has been attempting to stand on her own.

She's gotten pretty close, managing to use the couch or a chair or just about anything she can get her tiny hands on to pull herself on her feet.

That's about as far as she can get though. The second she let's go she falls on her butt.

She doesn't let it discourage her, simply letting out a frustrated huff before trying again.

It both excites and terrifies Dream.

Excites because it's a new mile stone. She's growing up and learning new things!

But also she's growing up. She's growing so quick and before long she won't be his tiny little baby anymore.

There's also the added factor of how much more potential mischief she'll be able to get into once she's not longer restrained to crawling.

Him and George are watching her attempt now. She's already tried four times and she's getting increasingly frustrated each time.

As time goes on, he's getting increasingly worried that she's going to work herself into a tantrum.

As he watches her slowly pull herself up, he decides that if she falls again he's going to scoop her up and distract her. Redirect her attention until she's calm enough to try again.

He watches as Teagan pulls herself to her feet. She wobbles for a moment before she's able to use her grip on the couch to stabilize herself.

She looks to Dream and George for approval.

"You've got this, baby." George says to her.

She looks back and forth between her feet and the couch. After a moment of contemplation she let's out a determined huff.

Distantly, Dream is amused by the theatrics of their child. It shouldn't be that shocking though, considering how dramatic both he and George can be.

She let's go of the couch and Dream holds his breath as he watches her wobble.

Teagan continues to struggle with balancing herself for a moment before she manages to plant her feet and stand firm.

When she does so she looks back up at them and let's out a soft "ah" of excitement as she bounces gently in place.

George stands up before squatting down beside her. He looks up at dream and says "Take a picture." Before making the thumbnail face.

"Are you serious?" "Yes! This is a big moment take the picture!"

Dream scoffs out a fond laugh as he does as he was told.

After he does it George turns to Teagan and scoops her into his arms. He holds her up above his head. She squeals in excitement.

Dream takes a picture of that too.

☆

Dream has been on the verge of tears all day.

Teagan, his baby girl, has just graduated high school. As in, just walked across the stage and gotten her diploma fifteen minutes ago.

Now Him, George, Sapnap, and the rest of their family are pushing through the crowd looking for her.

Her graduating class is nearly three hundred kids. That combined with all of the parents and family who came means there's a lot of people to sift through.

Thankfully, after just another minute of searching, they find her.

Or really she finds them.

As Dream is scanning the crowd he hears a distant "Dad!" called through the groups of people.

He turns just in time to catch Teagan as she basically throws herself at him.

The two lock into a tight embrace. When he pulls away he cups her face in his palms.

"I'm so proud of you, Tea Cup." He whispers to her as he presses a kiss to her forehead.

"Thanks, dad." She whispers back, tears in her eyes.

The two pull away and she turns her attention to George.

George throws his arms around her shoulders and pulls her close.

He doesn't hear what George says to her but when they pull away their faces are both wet with tears.

Sapnap is up next and her pulls her into a bear hug and ruffles her hair.

She's so much taller than him now. When did that happen? He remembers when her head was just barely past his hip.

After everyone gets their hugs they decide it's time for photos.

When everyone herds Dream, George, and Teagan together they get a few normal ones before George and Teagan make eye contact.

Mischievous grins take over their faces.

"Do the face with us." Teagan says.

Dream rolls his eyes fondly.

Ever since Teagan was old enough to take directions, George has had her doing the click bait face.

It's as amusing as it is infuriating.

He never participated, having decided years ago that it was a mommy and daughter activity that he didn't encroach on.

Now though? With both of the people he loves more than anything looking at him with pleading eyes?

"Fine." He relents, fondly laughing as his daughter and husband cheer at their victory.

With a sigh he places the palms of his hands on his face and barely contains his laughter as he pulls a shocked face.

By the time all of the cameras are put away, all three of them are laughing.

[marshvlovestv]

Video Games I've Experienced So Far This Year 1/23/25

Video games are my favorite thing and all I want to do with my life is experience every game I possibly can. I've moved all this video game journaling over to Backloggd but I should update my Tumblr with it periodically as well. I'm talking about games I've watched someone else play as much as games I've played myself. This entry reads like a vent post but that's just a product of where my mind is right now - any future entries should be more normal.

1000X Resist (watched: Welonz) Welonz is from Hong Kong. She understands what this game is talking about. She explains.

Anthology of the Killer (played) The first game I've found entirely because of glowing Backloggd reviews. I am not in the mental space to grapple with the political themes right now. The horror-comedy is fun.

Arco (played) I like this game a lot, so why do I have nothing at all to say about it?

Astroloco: Worst Contact (watched: ZenBear) A decade-old Let's Play of a shitty indie adventure game. I actually surprisingly enjoyed it.

Balatro (played) I'm starting to realize how abnormally bad I am at this game. I still pick it up from time to time but the draw is getting less strong. My brother and I both got each other Balato-themed gifts for Hanukkah.

Banjo-Kazooie (watched: PlayFrame) I wish I had a game I was this nostalgic for. I wish I had a friendship as strong as the two Dans.

Blasphemous (watched: adricarra) It feels so rare to find a Spanish Let's Player playing a Spanish game with Spanish text and Spanish voiceover. Watching these videos is all I'm using my bachelor's degree in Spanish for.

The Darkside Detective (watched: Kikoskia) The sequel was the first game I ever recorded a Let's Play video of so the series is important to me forever.

Dicey Dungeons (watched: SummerDumber) I wanted to replay this for a while but I think I'll just watch this girl 100% it instead.

Eat Girl (played) Pac-Man is a game everyone is nostalgic for, even if they didn't grow up a gamer. I'm almost never excited to play more arcadey games, but this one has sucked me in.

Guardians of the Galaxy (watched: Welonz) I adored adored adored the story, so much more than I thought I would. I think I'm attached to the game version of these characters now and I can never watch the movies or even read the comics.

Hades II (played) It feels stupid to go for completionism in an Early Access game where the devs could remove or change boons whenever they feel like it, but I'm going for it.

Hero Hours Contract (played) The pixel art is really cute but now that I've been away from it a few weeks I just remember it as a grindfest.

Landlord of the Woods (played) I thought this would help me get my YouTube channel back on track. It did not help.

Lies of P (watched: Quasimofo) Quasi knew next to nothing about Pinocchio going into this game and I'm pretty sure he also didn't know what Italy was.

Love, Ghostie (played) Was completely obsessed with this one for a few days. It's a too-happy, squeaky-clean version of video game romance and I was afraid my friends with edgier tastes would judge me for it. I loved every moment.

Neva (played) I don't know if I can finish this one. If something happens to this wolfie...

Outer Wilds: Echoes of the Eye (watched: PlayFrame) I do not see the appeal of this game. It's fun to watch, but every person I've seen talk about this game has been like "It's life-changing it's incredible" and it just looks like torture to me.

The Secret of Monkey Island (watched: Quasimofo) I made a complainy post about them earlier but damn I love adventure games.

Shipwrecked 64 (watched: Andrew Cunningham and mollystars) This was not part of my usual watching routine, two Deltarune video essayists I watch streamed this and I just wanted something mindless on while I did something else.

Stardew Valley (played) My problem with simulation games is how much restraint I put into it. I'm in the middle of my first fall and all of my crops fit in three little patches and I feel like that's not enough.

Sumatra: Fate of Yandi (watched: GSDBoxer) GSD usually plays RPGs. It was fun to watch him play an adventure game.

Sunless Skies (watched: Laila Dyer) I actually finished this Let's Play this month. It was 143 episodes long and I'd been watching it since July or August.

Wandersong (watched: Kikoskia) A super special game that introduced me to this super special YouTuber.

[yesloulou]

hello! i absolutely love your gifs and recently started making my own. your tutorials have been AMAZING especially the one ab creating super smooth gifs!! i was wondering two things if you wouldn't mind going into more detail. how do you go ab using topaz? I downloaded it (video ai) and when I try to use the frame interpolation, the video comes out looking super weird and staticky. My other question is unrelated, but was wondering if u could talk a little more ab neutralizing colors in gifs which you mentioned in one of ur tutorials? Thank you so much for all the beautiful gifs and amazing tutorials!! <3

hi anon. thank you for the kind words!! this actually just reminded me to update my lil gif speed management tutorial bc im doing something different now (avoid converting into smart object at the end which always made my gifs less sharp). i think it makes a pretty big difference &lt;3

Re: smooth gifs by neutralizing colors (from this tutorial)

basically the concept is that since gifs only allow at most 256 color entries, the more neutral in color a gif is, the more detailed those colors can be represented. here are two gifs whose only difference is the color on the big screen behind daniel. the first gif has more saturated greens and blues, and from the color table we can see PS utilized a lot of the 256 color slots to express greens and blues. the second gif is more neutralized, as a result we're seeing more skin colors in the color table, ie more efforts are made to express the main subject of this gif (daniel <3).

at this size, it may look like the first gif looks better bc of vibrancy. but the problem will expose at full size. taking a closer look we'll see the skin tones in the 1st gif are not as well expressed as the 2nd gif. the 2nd gif is a lot smoother, less pixelated, and less splotchy, especially around the highlight areas.

this comparison in gif:

obviously, nobody will look at a gif this closely. but in my opinion this is what makes the difference between 'smooth' and 'butter smooth'. vibrancy and smoothness are both important to a gif, but unfortunately they are a trade-off. it comes down to the gif maker's personal preference. to me personally, the first gif is eye-catching bc of its bright colors, i totally see why some ppl might prefer it. but there is a smoothness and real-ness in the second gif that the first gif just doesn't have. as a result, the more neutral coloring would be what i prefer for this particular gif

in application, this can go both ways:

1. if i feel a gif has too many colors and is pixelated bc of it, i will try to neutralize some of them for smoothness. example: here the very blue background that we're all familiar with was neutralized to an almost baby blue. the bright yellows on sharl and max's race suits were warmed up and desaturated to a peachy yellow color. this will be particularly useful if your gif is too big and you have to use even less than 256 colors.

2. if a gif feels too dull, i will either try to make some of its existing colors more saturated (using Hue/Saturation Adjustment), or add some hues to the whites or blacks (using Selective Color), so that it will have more vibrancy. example (left): the blue on the red bull can is almost the only cool color in this gif, so i made it more saturated for contrast; example (right): the gif had virtually no cool tone so i made the whites (see prints on sharl's shoulder) more cyan than reality. (ps this is why i think sports gifs are challenging. in tv shows or movies the colors in every scene would've been designed and arranged, but in sports we won't have that)

3. colors/vibrancy may be the only thing i want. pixelation can be a style in itself

4. i might not care about colorfulness at all and just want the gif to be as smooth as possible

Re: interpolation

speed coming out weird after interpolation is almost always bc your original video contains dup frames, esp if the footage was screen recorded. topaz does provide a "Replace Duplicate Frames" option with interpolation but imo it's not reliable at all. in my experience automated frame dedup requires more configurations than the one topaz lets you customize (sensitivity). which is probably why their dedup doesn't work as well as their other features. making sure your original video is free of dup or missing frames should solve your problem <3

ohh also interpolation works best in doubling or quadrupling! ie 25fps -> 50fps, 30fps -> 120fps etc etc

hope this is helpful!

[red-dye40]

Please, I beg, a director's commentary on Ancaux or Sexual Trauma Clipshow. Also, P.S, thank you for being the first to plunge into the untapped territory of Phlegm.

PHLEGM MENTION!!!!!!!!!!! ok i can do a little for both :) for you

first is chapter 5 of ancaux which i weirdly have a lot to say about

This apartment has become a hole. No sunlight, no air, no food besides a surplus bag of stale circus peanuts.

when i was little there was this extremely old grocery store in my town, like truly it was 1999 and everything looked like it hadn’t been changed or cleaned since the early 60s, and the most vivid memory i have is this lazy susan of candies near the cash registers and exactly at eye level with me were bags of dusty stale circus peanuts. like the weird orange marshmallow candies?? i remember feeling so. upset by them. and thinking like. this is something a person with no hope left would eat.

i always go back to those circus peanuts when i’m writing a person at their wit’s end.

“Alrighty then…” The employee peers a little deeper into her cart. “Heh. Must be some project you’re working on.” “Home renovations.” “We got a beautiful collection of wall finishes in the paint department if you’re interested.” “I’m not.”

i rewrote this interaction soooooo many times, i had so many different plans for it. originally i had devi ask the guy something like “i’m going camping do you have anything that could kill a bipedal feral dog in one hit” and he would be like “oooh let me consult our expert!” and would lead her to nny. i thought it was too gimmicky and fanservice-y, and it also kept backing me into a corner where i wouldn’t know where to go from there.

something about me is i write little clues in everything bc i love dramaturgy and i love making sure stories are watertight. i put the little mention of the paint department in hopes that maybe readers would be able to connect it to the previous chapter (the little itty bitty one where nny is painting) and figure out ahead of the reveal that nny works at the hardware store??? i truly don’t know if it was obvious from jump or no one even thought about it, bc at this point i didn’t have a tumblr yet and was only posting to ao3 and instagram and had NOOOOOOOO reader interaction. so! who knows. but you can keep that knowledge in your pocket for future chapters, that i’m always dropping lil hints :)

Devi stands in uncomfortable silence while the register sings a little waiting tune. She looks up, into the eye of the camera mounted above the register’s display, and watches herself in the monitor while a message below it flashes RECORDING IN PROGRESS.

one of my first days living in the city i went to a home depot and bought a bunch of sharp things bc i was working on a cosplay and needed to carve a bunch of foam, and i got ID’d for all of it and i was so so fresh to the city and so young and probably very high and just felt mortified, like i just stared at myself in the monitor being like “you’re not cut out for this world” HAHAHAHAHAH anyway. that stuck with me.

The two of them stand at the same height, almost elbow to elbow, wearing distant familiarity and abject horror as they stare into each other’s pixelated faces. Devi watches him in the display as she reaches into her pocket, produces her wallet, pulls out her ID, hands it to him with a shaking hand. He punches in her birthdate without having to look.

somethin else i love is vagueness n ambiguity in writing. i haaaaate when writers spoon feed things to their audience bc it implies TO ME that they don’t trust them or think that they’re smart enough to connect the dots. it really offends me!!!! i made sure i didn’t ever explicitly state that devi is interacting with nny because in a traumatic moment like that it’s hard for my brain to even really put words or a name to it, if that makes sense?? i wanted to try and evoke that feeling of like, you know what’s happening and it’s so bad you can’t even really say it.

Her heart is beating fast against her ribcage, but maybe out of exhilaration more than panic or paranoia. She saw him. He was smaller, more human-like than her brain had crafted him into over the years.

you ever have an absolute mortal enemy, like an ex or a bully in school, and then you get a glimpse of them years later, after you spent so much time molding them into like an evil dastardly goblin in your brain, and they’re just like. a person?? with other shit going on, just like you? and it kind of feels like. huh. okay. and you can suddenly move on??? a special kind of spooky.

and now here’s a lil from stixxx :)

Penetration is penetration, Johnny. What difference does a few inches above or below the belt make, in the grand scheme of things? “That’s a gross oversimplification.”

i remember so vividly getting this little bit of dialogue in my head during work and writing it in my notes app to remember it. it sat at the bottom of the doc for MONTHS (i started writing stixxx back in june 2023 and it was in a much different place) and when i finally was able to place it into the fic proper it felt :) so good

The girl’s been splayed out on her back, propped up on a cinder block that places her a foot off the ground. Her arms are pulled over her head, both wrists zip tied to their own blocks. The same for her legs. With her wavering strength it seems hard for her to keep steady; she shakes visibly on camera.

this whole setup is based on a jthm strip i wrote when i was 13 after /i/ was watching robot wars while eating a chick-o-stick (i was addicted to chick-o-sticks for a while. and charleston chews.)

Her eyes pop open. Purple, syrupy vomit bursts from under her gag and through her nose and fills her throat, stopping up her windpipe.

fun fact about me! i was once severely emetophobic! scariest thing in the world to me! i think the reason i write about vom so much is because 1) it used to evoke such fear in me and i know it does for a lot of people 2) it’s such an insane pretty involuntary thing we do as creatures??? and i think it is one of most vulnerable states to be in tbh. i still think it is icky and i would prefer to never interface with it in person ever but! endlessly fascinating to write about ????

He meanders down the hall. Opening doors. Closing doors. Dining room. Linen closet. Foyer. Staircase leading to the ceiling—how original.

staircase leading to the ceiling is a reference to this little lady at the winchester house

i know lots of ppl make connections between 777 and house of leaves, but i always assumed the influence was very much attributed to the winchester house since jv grew up in san jose (n because jthm predates hol!) those wacky stairs are my favorite part of the whole house. the first time i saw them i felt unease that stuck with me forever :)

Since when do we have a ball pit? My little film screening was only to illustrate just how much you’ve suppressed through the years. But at some point you have to jump in, Nny. Swim through the proverbial multicolored plastic balls of your memory. Fish out all the band-aids and… and missing socks and… little parachuting army men. Johnny stares into the gaping maw of the in-ground ball pit that’s apparently in his house now. “That one got away from you a little bit.” Metaphors ain’t really my thing.

when i wrote this i was like “i am so funny” and i read it now and am still like “i am so funny”

i love to write rev meat. he’s so fascinating to me. i love that he was introduced and barely explained right before jthm wrapped up. so much mystery. what a freak.

thank you for ur interest :) i love to talk

[mcrmadness]

This week has been a go-through-MCR's-discography-when-driving-to-work-and-back kind of a week. I finished all of the studio albums and listened to Conventional Weapons twice.

Idk, Conventional Weapons just still is superior to me. I did discover Danger Days differently than ever before, but it still won't go past Conventional Weapons. It's also super fascinating how this album simultaenously sounds like a mix of all the previous MCR albums and you can also clearly hear how it was building up what eventually became Danger Days. This album has also been playing in my head the whole day.

These also made me wonder that how much does the nowadays' fandom and the younger fan generation know about past MCR. Like, do they know about the early version of The World Is Ugly? It's quite different from what ended up on CW, I still have the mp3 file someone ripped from a video or audio recording back in the day because they played it at some concert back in the day and it was the first time this then-unreleased song was shown to the public. At the same time, probably on a different gig, they also performed another unreleased song that we kept calling as "Stay", but which later got the name "Someone Out There Loves You", but I got so used to calling this song as 'Stay' that I didn't even remember this name and had to look it up elsewhere. This one never got a studio recording and the best quality version is the one on The Black Parade Is Dead! DVD, but the file I have, was from an even older concert recording/video by fans. Even older = around the same time, I think it was in maybe 2007 or 2008 when they performed these two songs live. (Checked Setlist.fm - apparently they have played these two songs more than once or twice, but the first ones were in 2007 and 2008.)

I've also been thinking back at the two concerts I attended back in the day - in 2007 and in 2011. I have videos from both concerts, tho the first one's videos were filmed with my phone of the time and in secret because filming was prohibited, but I still filmed. The videos are short, mostly just pixels and bad audio but you can still recognize the songs, and even tho you can't really see anything, these videos are still very dear to me because it was still my first MCR concert ever, and my first concert ever in general. At the 2011 concert I had two cameras with me somehow, but the quality is not the best either. The other camera had very crisp video but the audio is just awful, and the other camera had good audio but not so good video. Now that I know things about video editing, I maybe one day could see if I can do something about the audio in those other videos - it's mostly just extremely sharp so very uncomfortable to listen to, but if I just could somehow make it less sharp and add some bass, it might become actually listenable. Maybe I'll try to see if I can do something about those one day.

Also yeah, it would be a dream come true to see this band live again eventually. Who knows, maybe I will do some traveling at some point if they ever decide to tour in Europe again and skip my country as what's very common for bigger bands especially today.

[mooneytried]

HIII SO i made the Album and Track names for Ellie, RHM and Totally Quality Content! Take your time to read and I hope u enjoy :D

Ellie

Album 1: Dried Up Petals

While this album was short (in terms of tracks), it was widely popular. It was praised for Rose's vocals and personality.

1. Don't Call Me Yours! (single)

2. Deep Red Lipstick (single)

3. Metallic Purple

4. Late Night Sky

5. Ruined

6. Pretty? (Single)

7. I'm In Too Deep

Album 2 : A Shiny Disaster

Ellie Rose's second album was a big hit. It explored the themes of Dried Up Petals in a more deep and compelling way while exploring new ones. The main appeal of A Shiny Disaster is the  intense fun and heartache is has.

1. Red Velvet Cake

2. Made Out Of Shiny Plastic

3. Didn't Say Anything (single)

4.Glittery Eyeshadow

5. Truth Or Dare?

6. The Epitome Of Fame (single)

7. Rulebook

8. A Shiny Disaster (single)

9. Charred Boquet Of Flowers

10. Could You?

11. Star-Studded Downfall (bonus track)

Album 3 : Crystal Like Heart

Crystal Like Heart was eclectic. Unlike Rose's two previous album, her third studion album had a different yet similar vibe. Many of the songs leaned into many directions thematically and sonically but still had a feel that made it cohesive.

1. That's Really Harsh

2. Famed Beauty (single)

3. Pixelated

4. Red, Green and Blue

5. Cherry Red Paint

6. Cursive (single)

7. Pink Hearts Around My Name

8. Bubblegum Flavor

9. That's Why I Love You

10. Crystal Like Heart (single)

11. You See More

12. First In Line

13. Dark Blue

Right Hand Man

album 1: Sunset Glow

This album was Right Hand Man's introduction. It's been critically acclaimed for being charming and meaningful.

1. Burning Sensation

2. Rough Times (single)

3. Sunglasses (single)

4. Frozen Soul

5. Grounded

6. Stolen

7. Do Not

8. Flaming Memory

9. Ablaze

10. The Last Thing You Said (single)

11. Last Ditch Effort (bonus track)

Album 2: Let it Fall

Right Hand Man's second album. RHM brought in a new writer (now his husband), Reginald Copperbottom to work on the songs (even being the sole writer of some of the tracks). The general consensus is that the emotions in this album were more real and Copperbottom's lyricism is very expressive.

1. Let's Start Over

2. Through An Artist's Eyes (single)

3. Words

4. We're Something (single)

5. They Call Him Heartless

6. You Know

7. Let It Fall

8. But I Didn't

9. Deadly Lie

10. I Want Nothing At All (single)

11. Intensely Vivid

12. Shatter My Heart

13. Too Much For A Guy

14. Cold (bonus track)

Totally Quality Content

EP 1: A Rollercoaster That Never Ends

The band's first output. They had started out in college and produced their own EP. They eventually signed a record deal and some of the songs on their EP made their way to their first studio album. The EP showed great promise, with a lively yet angsty premise.

1. Peaked In High School

2. The Tale Of A Blond Prince

3. I Wore Your Jacket To Science Class

4. Sure As Hell (That I Know)

5. Tragic End To Our Fable

Album 1: Empty Jar Feeling

TQC's first studio album. Much of their sound and energy was derived from A Rollercoaster That Never Ends but with better production and more storyline focused songs. It was praised for telling relatable stories.

1. The Guitar In The Corner

2. Smile Along (single)

3. I Still Have Your Playlist Saved

4. Broken Prodigy (single)

5. The Last One Standing

6. Courtesy Of The Host

7. The Message You Posted On The Freedom Wall

8.  Sure As Hell (That I Know)

9. The Tale Of A Blond Prince (single)

10. Watched From The Wings

11. Blue Pen (bonus track)

12. Headphones And A Jacket (bonus track)

EP 2 : The Performers Bow

TQC's second EP. They are currently working on their second studio album and it is speculated that some of the songs in this EP will appear in the album (like what was done for Empty Jar Feeling.)

1. Whiteboard Scribbles

2. Can't See To See Us

3. The Ballad Of A Unsung Hero

4. Well Why Won't You?

[adultswim2021]

Space Ghost Weekend (part 2)

It's the second season of the dang GameTap episodes of Space Ghost Coast to Coast, and the second of two posts covering them on this dang blog. I have very special thoughts about these, so please! pour over every word. Read this out loud to a loved one if needed.

Space Ghost Coast to Coast #98: "Richard" | September 11, 2007 | S09E01

In this episode: Moltar discusses Linda, solidifying her into the canon of Space Ghost. I will not rest until she gets her first onscreen appearance on HBOMax’s Jellystone. In the cold open they joke about Moltar being whipped. Space Ghost proclaims to be the Earl of Peppercorn, which is pretty wacky. Moltar is self-conscious about having a huge head. And other garbage. 

Space Ghost Coast to Coast #99: "Stephen" | October 31, 2007 | S09E02

Okay, so Yar is back in this one, and he doesn’t actually sound like the one guy I said from yesterday’s post, I fucked up. He also is clearly drawn in a pixel art style, which I didn’t realize because of the questionable provenance of the video files I’m watching. He’s sorta the Bubba Duck of this show (readers! Bubba Duck was introduced late into Ducktales’ run, and those episodes are largely considered [by whom?] to be inferior to the ones that came before them!).

There’s a non-verbal (like Val Kilmer aww) appearance from the Council of Doom. This one is abysmal. They really chopped up the interview to make it sound nonsensical, and I personally consider this to be cheating at making Space Ghost. Worse than having your main character follow an ant around for 11 minutes (Which I like!!!).

Space Ghost Coast to Coast #100: "David" | November 11, 2007 | S09E03

Seems like this show thrives on coming up with silly words like “Lava Chicken”. I sorta liked this one but it’s still pretty weak. Zorak takes over the show after bogusly claiming that Moltar went on “vacation”, tantamount to “escaping” Space Ghost's enslavement. Space Ghost goes on a wild goose chase looking for him. If this were a higher-budgeted episode they’d probably take it to funnier places, but Space Ghost talks to little Space Ghosts instead and it’s mildly amusing. Moltar was in the bathroom the whole time, nasty!

Space Ghost Coast to Coast #101: "Chantal" | December 2, 2007 | S09E04

Why do these all start with a weird click noise? I’m guessing that’s the website’s fault and people screen-recorded these? This one features Chantal Claret who seems like she’s a fan of Space Ghost. She’s also one of the biggest babes the show has ever had. It’s a shame she was wasted on a Gametap episode! I have not heard her music or googled her name + "Israel" so I’m not sure if I respect her or not yet. But she seems cool I like her. 

Space Ghost Coast to Coast #102: "Mark" (lost) | May 4, 2008 | S09E05 Space Ghost Coast to Coast #103: "Bruce" (lost) | May 16, 2008 | S09E06

Two losties in a row. No Idea who these schmoes are. I can’t even google these dildos. My pal London told me that the lost episode's titles/guests could very well be bogus; filled-in by some ne'er-do-well on a wiki, and that this information has self-replicated itself ever since. I am very interested to find out if that's true or not, but I believe it. I did do a cursory search on the library of congress website and was astonished to see some GameTap episodes listed, but it was missing episodes that definitely do exist so I can't really conclude anything from that.

Space Ghost Coast to Coast #104: "Dee" | May 25, 2008 | S09E07

Dee Snider who I heard is MEAN IN REAL LIFE appears in Space Ghost’s monitor. The compositing effects look bad again. Maybe Dee had to self-tape and this is what we got? They bleeped the word bitch in this. The Ghost Planet building is shown to blow up and a title appears on screen saying TO BE CONTINUED. This turns out to be a FUCKING joke. Dee is sorta funny in this, he gets into the spirit of the show pretty well by egging Moltar and Zorak to rebel against Space Ghost. 

Space Ghost Coast to Coast #105: "Barenaked Ladies" | May 31, 2008 | S09E08

This is easily the best episode of the GameTap batch, because it made me laugh twice. I expect this gag might be polarizing, but the weird live-action nipple with the fly crawling on it made me laugh. It’s unlike anything the show has ever done, really, and it was probably the element of surprise that got me. I suspect that gag might’ve pissed some people off, though.

The other part that made me laugh was when Space Ghost urges the band members to do something “sinsational” and the smack his lips. No joke, I laughed so hard at this, and it was one of those rolling laughs that feel like they’ll never end. They deserved the Peabody award for that joke. 

Space Ghost Coast to Coast: "Jonny Quest" | March 19, 1996 | Special

I wanted to throw this in there because I do sorta feel like this comes close to being a SORTA episode? It’s not really any better than the GameTap episodes, in my opinion. It’s mostly Space Ghost being excited about Jonny Quest’s VHS releases. Space Ghost never got an official retail VHS tape release, if I’m not mistaken, and couldn't you just imagine the world we’d be living in if there had been? 9/11 wouldn’t have happened! But Jan 6th still would have :( 

That's that for Space Ghost Weekend. We'll begin doing 2010 pretty soon. Maybe not exactly tomorrow, but soon.

[lazyrants]

Sports Day (prod 102)

Original airdate: August 17, 2004

Story by Magnus Scheving, Mani Svavarrson

Written by Rocky Garibaldi, Scott Gray, Magnus Scheving

Directed by Rufus Scott Church

Executive producers - Magnus Scheving, Ragnheidur Melsted, Raymond P. Le Gue, Mark Read, Brown Johnson, Kay Wilson Stallings

Starring Magnus Scheving, Stefan Karl Steffanson, Julianna Rose Mauriello

Puppeteers - Ronald Binion, Gudmondor Thor Karason, Jodi Eichelberger, Heather Asch, David Matthew Feldman, Julie Westwood, Sarah Burgess

Sports Day was the first LazyTown episode the crew worked on after the Lazy Dance. Not directed by Magnus Scheving, but instead Rufus Scott Church, this episode is very different from others with CGI and green screen flaws. Does the plot in fact make up for that?

The episode begins with Sportacus brushing his teeth, then noticing the date on the calendar (of course, in classic Sportacus fashion, while he's upside down) and realizing that it's LazyTown Sports Day, then he rides his airship into town to see what's going on. This cold open uses a terrible green screen of Sportacus doing the t-pose flip in the opening credits instead of just recording a new one.

Milford is trying to fix the town up to get the kids excited for Sports Day while Bessie is chit chatting on the phone. Nothing new, but it is so extravagating how Bessie does no work at all.. and why in the world does she have TWO PHONES?

Anyways, the LazyTown kids are hanging together outside and Stephanie is reading a book about the history of the town. She reaches a page about Sports Day and everyone says they won't do it this year because they're bad. Seems like everyone has forgot the lessons from the past episodes.. AGAIN. God, I hate when this happens.

Luckily for Stephanie, Sportacus has just arrived in the town and has a surprise for everyone - Ziggy guesses it's chocolate twice, but Sportacus is actually trying to say it's Sports Day. I don't know why it's so funny, but everyone just says "awwww" except Stephanie.

Anyways, nobody comes except Sportacus and Stephanie until Sportacus says that Milford is (well, trying to) fix the town up. Suddenly everyone has a change in character when Pixel says the field is ready for a race. 20 seconds ago you guys were dreading this idea!

Robbie is in his lair, deciding what to wear, declining every single outfit for the one he wears IN EVERY SINGLE EPISODE OF THE SHOW. God, I love the scripts of this show. Cherry on top? He gets a miniature version that couldn't even fit a doll, BUT IT WORKS.

Anyways, Robbie decides to peep through the hole and look at what the LazyTowners are doing. He sees Bessie.. relaxing and gasps and gags. Very confusing knowing that Robbie is all for being lazy, but then the camera pans and we realize that he is gasping at the gang playing with a ball on the field. So.. weird. Not funny (well, his face kinda is..)

Robbie has his 400th Lazy Idea of the week, which is to buy the field, which in real life would not work unless you had a mayor as bumbling as MAYOR MILFORD MEANSWELL, who unknowingly accepts to the deal, until Sportacus steps in and says that he has to beat him and the gang at sports day. Robbie says that if he does win, that he will make the sports field a pillow stuffing factory, and Sportacus has to leave town. Sportacus handshakes him. See, that's why I liked him. He was the only one who had guts to speak up. Robbie accepts the deal, and they start training.

Ziggy is put in the job of Sports Candy Supervisor, and his task is to get sportscandy for the gang to power up. Ziggy is the last person I would ever put in this role, so either Sportacus has lots of faith in his friends - or sometimes he is just plain stupid.

Anyways, the kids start exercising, running around. Pixel is doing pushups, Trixie is doing handstands, Stephanie is trying to stretch (and failing, which is totally out of character), and Ziggy is using giant lollipops at barbells. At least he's doing something. Stingy is doing sit ups, and he can't do them for his LIFE, unless you shake money or his piggy bank around his face. Robbie is being lazy in his lair, and of course, making gadgets for the race. For the man that made the deal, he really is not taking it seriously. Stingy is being the jerk he is and refusing to give anyone the baton in practice, and they (the puppets) all chase him as fast as they can, which might have been the only workout they did.

So anyways, Pixel is spouting data about how bad they were (shut up, french fry hair boy) and Ziggy brings out sportscandy (gummy people that Ziggy makes run, jump and spin into the mouth), but Sportacus says they need REAL energy. So instead of climbing up to get an apple from a tree, instead he decides to cartwheel and flip to the tree, then whacks it to make it fall down. Effective, but.. well.. it's cool, too. I ain't complainin.

Sportacus gives Stephanie an apple, then he does a spinning flip in the air. Why? He has more apples in his backpack. (It could have taken much more shorter to just.. hand everyone the apples..) Then they perform "Energy" while Robbie is watching. He scolds Sportacus for thinking he can win by eating fruits, then he yells one of the 2: "THAT'S DISGUSTING!!" or "IT'S DISGUISE TIME!". If anyone can buy the script from Mark Valenti on eBay (no, seriously, he's selling about 30 scripts from Season 1) and tell me what it says, deeply appreciated.

Pixel asks Sportacus if he's ever eaten sugar before, and Sportacus tells him the whole story - he ate too much sugar, all his energy drained and he fell to the floor. That's why he doesn't eat it anymore. TLDR - Sugar gives Sportacus diabetes. I know this show is crazy on the health aspect, but that's actually ridiculous even for Sportacus.

However, Robbie is in his classic mailbox costume, spying on them when Ziggy is told to get more apples. Ziggy tries to climb the apple tree, but he can't reach it. His solution? A sugar apple that Robbie whipped up with Rotten Candy Faker Maker 4000. Robbie puts it on a fishrod and hits Ziggy on the head with it. Ziggy believes it is magic and he HAS to take the apple. Personally, I WOULDN'T take a floating apple.. but, Nickelodeon, man.

Anyways, Sports Day starts with a race between Robbie and Sportacus (Robbie starts two seconds earlier.. and loses in the end anyways). Mid-way, Ziggy gives Sportacus the apple, and he takes a bite and flops his way to a bench. Oh, no, he's dead.

Stephanie gives Ziggy the baton and Robbie is now on the biking section of the race. Trixie is doing the scooter section, and everyone is kinda mad at Ziggy until Pixel finds out the apple came from Robbie's gadget. If you ask me, I don't think they should've been mad to begin with. Ziggy's too nice to give Sportacus a sugar apple.

They give Sportacus a bite of the real apple, he wakes up ready for the baton and biking and rides over Robbie who has been taking a power nap. Stephanie gives him the skateboard, he jumps onto it and basically flies with it. Awesome! He wins the race. Robbie doesn't see it and puts HIS ride onto power mode and crashes into an apple tree. Sportacus gets to stay in LazyTown, and they all sing the Bing Bang song. The end.

There are so many things wrong with this episode it's aggravating. Horrible green screens, montage music that sounds like it wasn't composed by Mani out of character dialogue, a mediocre song and once again, an absent Robbie ending. WHY?!

Good plot, but a very weak episode.

5/10

[boysplanetrecaps]

Build Up Episode 9 Recap Part 2: Flower and Guide for a Subtitle Lite Environment

Hey team! Thanks for coming back to my Build Up recap series. In the last one, I began recapping ep 9 but ran out of space for more photos. With the subtitles AWOL for this portion of the episode, I’ve been doing my best with google translate and my vague knowledge of Korean. I’ve been taking more screenshots than usual to help you connect what’s going on on-screen to the recap, so this will take up two posts (I’m only allowed to use 30 images per post). Anyway, enjoy!

I’m using this video link if you need one.

So, Jay’s team is still mid-preparation. 

Cut to -- it’s evening and the team has gone to a recording studio of the composer of their new song. 

Yes, hello, I am also Team Baekho. Thank you for asking.

The tattoo says “N’abandonnez pas” which is “Don’t give up” in French. So inspirational! I’m inspired. Are you?

Knock knock! The guys come in and say hello. This is composer Lee Beomhoon, also known as Prismfilter.

You guys, this isn’t a top tier producer. He has co-producer and arranger credits, mostly with Seventeen, but it’s not like he’s out there writing hit after hit after hit. Shinsadong Tiger or Dem Jointz he is not. They’re saying that he worked on a lot of famous songs, but it was as a producer or arranger, not as a composer, as far as I can tell. That doesn’t mean he can’t write a song, but just that he’s not as top tier as they’re making him out to be. If I’m wrong, let me know.

He asks them if they’ve listened to the song yet, they say yes, he asks what they thought of it. (Meanwhile, the crawl at the bottom of the screen is advertising a Build Up concert series in June.)  We see them hearing a clip of the song and loving the R&B style. 

Jay is happy that it’s sexy, because Jay knows how these shows works. Get those pants sparkling, lads! 

Prismfilter says the song is understated sexy, like a black rose, “rather than being too red and passionate and sexy.” A “dark sexy.” And they guys are like, ooh so cool. Bitsaeon says, “I was just talking about a black rose!” 

Bitsaeon interviews, “At that time, I was feeling euphoric. I think we can really sing this song well!” 

They’re recording with temporarily assigned parts (says the on screen caption). Bitsaeon sings a line, and Prismfilter says that’s a good part for him. Same for Seunghun. Then Prismfilter -- I’m going to call him PF -- asks Jay if he wants to adlib a bit. 

So he does, and PF says, “ah, perfect adlib.” 

Minseo is nervous because this is his first studio recording session. (I guess this team didn’t do a studio recording for the previous round…?) So how will the maknae do? 

He sings the line “It feels like I’m drunk,” and PF turns around to ask, “Have you ever really been drunk?” and Minseo says, “just once.”

PF tells him to remember the feeling, and Minseo tries again, but more “drunk” this time, then says, “it’s not working.” PF tells him to try sort of forcing the feeling -- I think, the translation is unclear -- and Minseo sort of stammers. Meanwhile, strategist Bitsaeon is lost in his thoughts. Suddenly Bit pipes up and suggests that Minseo could use a combination of “falsetto and sincerity” and PF likes that idea. 

All the hyungs have helpful ideas and Minseo seems thrilled to have such nice helpful hyungs.

Seunghun thinks it should sound kind of “loose” and recommends a review of the rap part to add dynamics to the song. 

Seunghun interviews, “In the last round, I hit rock-bottom. For this round, I’m going to write a rap for the first time to help us win.”  

He meets with a rapper called Xitsuh (서출구). Xitsuh says, “It doesn’t feel like this is your first time doing this.”

Seunghun is so proud of himself, it’s kind of adorable. Also, I love his pixelated dinosaur sweatshirt. He says that he worked on it for several days and he thinks it came out well.  

The guys meet in another unheated room to discuss. There are some mysterious pink boxes on the table. In the words of Han Solo, I have a bad feeling about this. 

Seunghun says, “This song is all ours. The sexiness that we talked about -- I think it has to look good on the outside as well.”

Jay says, “Visuals are also important for a sexy style song.”

Minseo is like, “What can we do to take care of visuals?”

Bitsaeon, Age 28, Manager Man

Bitsaeon says he has an idea -- are they curious to hear it? They’re like, just tell us, we want to know! Their acting is really over the top and I’m feeling suspicious. Bitsaeon gets out… a device. 

Oh no! It's product placement!!!!!

I’m not translating this part. They all try it and presumably talk about how great it is and how it’s making them even more handsome. 

Next meeting. Now they’re in a conference room. Seunghun is wearing his team jacket but he’s the only one. 

They’re gathered for practice when they’re suddenly given a mysterious card -- an evaluation. 

Apparently, six days before the actual performance, they gathered to record practice performances, and this is their evaluation from the other teams. 

“You can check the practice situation” “The teams conducted an interim evaluation”  

I don’t really know what the guys are saying in this part because the on-screen caption just says “Calmly evaluating the other teams’ strategies” and my Korean listening skills are waaaaaay too limited for the task. Sorry. But the gist seems to be that they have to choose high and low tiers again. 

So, what kind of evaluation did they receive? 

All three of the other teams gave them a low tier score. 

Haram says that Jay doesn’t mix with the others -- it’s like he’s just performing by himself. Suhwan agrees: “It feels like ‘Jay and the Boys’ all over again.”

Sunyoul says, “The problem is that only Jay is visible.”

Donghun says, “Bitsaeon is really good too, but he’s buried because of Jay.” 

Bitsaeon reads these comments out loud and Jay is flummoxed. He says, “Actually, we’re a team. So the feedback that people can only see me is not good.”

And that’s when the subtitles come back, mostly.   

Bitsaeon’s like, we got this. 

In the next segment, they’re meeting with a choreographer -- and it’s Monika. She’s on a dance troupe called Prowdmon with LipJ, who you might remember from Boys Planet. They’re super intimidated by her. She thinks that Flower needed choreography, and she imagines a “fatal man” who is putting on cologne and fixing his hair. 

“The sexy point is to be indifferent,” she advises.

They try dancing.

“Hawk-eyes initiated.” 

“You ruined it!” she yells. “Do it again!” 

They try again, but they’re not getting it. It’s really hard and they’re worried. So they decide to practice really, really hard. They’re pulling all nighters, which is so ill advised.

I wish people on shows like this would bear in mind that your body doesn’t work right if you don’t get enough sleep. You can’t learn if you don’t sleep. You study and study and it just falls right back out of your brain. It’s like pouring water into a sieve. Not to mention the fact that it plays hell with your mood and your physical condition, including, you know, your VOICE. If you’re in high school or college, please take care of yourself physically, ok? Plan ahead, study daily, don’t pull all nighters. <3 Thank you <3 

The judges are excited for the performance, in part because they liked the song itself. Well, yeah, being given a decent song sure helps. 

The performance begins.

Full version without reactions

My thoughts: 

You can just tell looking at a screenshot that this team is going to win. I mean, I don’t know for sure. I haven’t watched the rest of the episode and I haven’t been spoiled. But I still know. Maybe I’ll be writing a surprised reaction at the end, but I just don’t think so. This team is winning for sure. 

The song itself? I mean, it’s fine. It’s missing something, but it’s not bad or anything. IDK. It's better than the other songs, based on the snippets I heard on youtube, but it I can't get into it.

Ok, don’t get mad at me, but I didn’t love love love this. I liked it, I thought they basically did a good job, but I didn’t love it love it love it. So if you loved it and came here hoping to hear what was great about it, I’m sorry. You can skip all this.

I love how the petals never stop falling but also don't really build up on the floor. Interesting. And there are never any actually on them, like in their hair or stuck in the folds of their clothing...

A lot of the problem is the song itself, I’m sure. It’s like someone took a song like Guilty and made tea with it, and then tried to reuse the bag to make another song with it, and that song was this one.  

But the rest of the problem is that the dancing changed everything. This is supposed to be a vocal show, and full on choreo isn’t welcome here, in my opinion. 

Jay isn’t as good of a dancer as he is a singer, so his stage presence actually is diminished by the dancing. So now they solved the problem of Jay standing out too much by making him not stand out as much. But that’s not a good solution, because now you’ve kind of lost your star, and now you have four interchangeable members, instead of 1 star and 3 backups. His vocals were also slightly negatively affected, too. He did have a few really lovely ad libs toward the end, of course, but I couldn’t just relax and enjoy an amazing vocal performance like I’m used to doing whenever Jay sings. 

In fact, all four of them sounded slightly out of breath and the worst they’ve sounded the whole competition. I’m not saying they sounded bad -- just that every single one of them has sounded better in every other performance they’ve done. I come to these performances wanting awesome fucking vocals, and I just got really good vocals here. Seunghun sounded more nasal than he’s sounded in a while, and Bitsaeon sounded strained at points. 

I wish there had been more harmony. Also, I wish they’d given more lines to Minseo, too. 

And for what it’s worth, this didn’t make my pants sparkle. I guess I just can’t think of any of these guys as sexy, not even for the duration of the song. I think the concept they were trying to do -- “black rose sexy” -- was just too subtle and mature for them. I’ve been racking my brain trying to think of the kind of sexy I think they could do and basically I don’t think these guys should be doing outright mature sexy. I think they’d do best with emo concepts. Basically, think most songs by TXT and I think these guys could do that. 

But that’s just my take. If you loved it, cool! I’m glad you found something you loved and that made you happy. 

I knew the MNET edit would be absolutely slobbering and it was. I knew everyone would freak out about Seunghun touching Jay on the chin, and they did -- we had to have an instant replay. There are a few more instant replays, too.   

When they’re done, everyone goes nuts, of course.

The editors even put the rose petal filter over shots of the judges table.

The judges are judging based on how good the vocals are while they’re dancing, while I just want them to SING. 

What will their high score be? It’s a 99 from Jaehwan, who just goes ahead and does whatever he wants, whenever he wants. I think the judges were feeling bad after last week, maybe? They should -- they gave them criminally bad scores last week.

Backstage, the other guys just sort of freeze in silence. It’s going to be tough to win this week. 

All the fans cheer and scream, and -- aww, Bitseon is crying, I think. They must have been under so much stress. Poor guys. I like all these guys a lot and want them all to be successful!

Jaehwan says that he felt like he was watching an artist’s performance. That's sweet.

VCG says that Seunghun he knows how to move his body -- and he knows it, that’s why he wore that outfit. Fair! Seunghun definitely did the best with the choreo, from wha tI could see.

Baekho says that maybe it was a mistake putting them first.

And that’s about it for this performance and this segment! 

Thanks for going along with me on this ride, and again, sorry that I couldn't gush about this performance like maybe some of you were hoping I would. I still like the members of this team and hope they make it into the finals.

Ok, see you in the next one, when we see Partners be given a song that doesn't really suit them and also isn't good! whee?

[lsdunesarchive]

L.S. Dunes: Travis Stever’s yang to Frank Iero’s yin

Words by Ellie Robinson Photo by Mark Beemer November 17, 2022

Travis Stever talks a lot.

That’s not an insult – the 43-year-old New Jerseyan just has a lot to say, and virtually all of it is fantastic. He’s impressively storied: most would know him as the lead guitarist in Coheed And Cambria, but he’s popped his head through many a musical window over some three decades: side-projects include Fire Deuce, The English Panther, Davenport Cabinet and Zero Trust (per Wikipedia, but I’m certain there’s more out there), and he also played lap-steel on My Brother’s Blood Machine, the 2006 debut from The Prize Fighter Inferno, the solo folktronica project of Coheed frontman Claudio Sanchez.

Stever’s latest project is L.S. Dunes, a post-hardcore supergroup* I can only accurately describe as “every mid-to-late 2000s emo fan’s wildest pipe-dream come true”. Stever plays guitar alongside Frank Iero (of My Chemical Romance, and his own mountain of side-projects), while Anthony Green (Circa Survive, Saosin) sings, Tim Payne (Thursday) plays bass, and Tucker Rule (also Thursday, but for a short time, Yellowcard too) plays drums. I write “supergroup” with an asterisk because although L.S. Dunes are a supergroup, etymologically, when I interviewed Stever for Australian Guitar #151, he fucking hated that I called them one. 

Nevertheless, we got along like a house on fire, and I had a blast chatting with him about his new band and their debut album, Past Lives (out now on Fantasy Records). It was hard not to be engaged with everything he said: watching him wax lyrical about his impenetrable love for music, even over Zoom with our video link presenting him at approximately three pixels per inch, the glimmer in his eyes and wideness of his smile made it clear, Stever is living his dream. He’s just a kid that fell in love with rock ‘n’ roll, started jamming out for the hell of it – not to make bank, but simply because it was fun – and somewhere along the way, wound up turning it into his full-time gig (no pun intended). 

It doesn’t seem to have gotten any less fun for him since then, either. Usually artists with careers as weighty as his appear at least a little burnt out on the music industry. You can tell when someone’s passion is genuine, and Stever’s certainly is.

The proof in the pudding, for me, was just how goddamn much Stever had to say about any and every topic. Our interview in Australian Guitar #151, spanning five questions across a hair over 1,000 words, was cut down from a transcript about four times as long. His unedited answers to those questions ran a solid 600-850 words apiece – well over 1,000 for the first – and there were still a few topics that we had to shave off for page space. One of those was actually my favourite from the entire chat: the creative chemistry that L.S. Dunes unlocked between Stever and Iero.

I opted not to run with that in the printed story because what did make it to the page is a lot more relevant to the origin story of L.S. Dunes and how that led to Past Lives shaping up in the way it did – which is ultimately the story I wanted to centre. But I think what Stever said about his creative dynamic with Iero – and how they each pushed the other to venture outside their comfort zones – adds a lot to the narrative surrounding L.S. Dunes. It also adds a twinge of contextual colour to songs like ‘Blender’ and ‘Sleep Cult’, which makes for a more gratifying listen when you really stop to soak in and digest Past Lives.

Ultimately, I think one of the coolest things about the “supergroup” concept is how idiosyncrasy can germinate when two artists of similar mind collaborate. Both Stever and Iero come from backgrounds of punk, rock and post-hardcore – even if their writing and playing styles are quite dissimilar – but when they joined forces to form L.S. Dunes, they started writing music that neither ever thought they would. And that’s so fucking cool.

So below is Stever’s commentary on his chemistry with Iero, as well as a couple of other offcuts from my interview with him. I’ve included those as well because at a base level, as a fan of music at the end of the day, I love reading about my favourite artists’ plans for the future – even if they never come to fruition – and about how they feel in the lead-up to a major release. I know that latter topic is now entirely irrelevant, because Past Lives came out a week ago, but, like, fuck it, it’s my blog, I make the rules.

You should read the Australian Guitar piece before you hit the jump, because it offers some solid context on exactly what L.S. Dunes is, how their collective ethos plays into everything, and why Stever and I were even talking to each other in the first place – and because the latter two of the three questions here were asked after the ones printed in AG, and some lines might be a bit confusing without that context.

So we’re about a month away from getting our hands on Past Lives. How does it feel to be here in the home stretch? You know, you’re always going to feel a little on edge when you’re about to release something that you poured your heart and soul into, no matter how much you believe in it. It’s exciting, but at the same time, you can feel the the vibes of danger – the danger of exposing the art that you created with your brothers, you know? And knowing that people are going to judge it. But that’s the gig, right. That’s the game. You know people are going to receive it however they choose to – but I’ve gotten nothing but positive feedback from everybody I’ve showed it to, so that’s a good sign!

Being the two guitarists in L.S. Dunes, how did you and Frank coalesce in the creative process? It goes back to what I was saying before, how there was no expectation. It’s really intriguing, because we communicate with each other through the guitars. And we were doing it over streams, online, through email [and] text – and we just knew, as soon as we started sending each other ideas, that it was going to work. And then, you know, it was just as relieving to get into an actual room together and be able to know that the spark was there [in real life], too.

I’ve got to be honest, after working with Frank [on this record], I had to go back and revisit a lot of the things he did in My Chem, and even a lot of his solo stuff – not that I didn’t fully respect everything he does before, but you know, after you see a person in a new light, you understand their musical language more. And I am so honoured to be in this band with him. He comes up with these riffs that are completely different from anything I’ve ever heard before. They’re all over the map – because you can say, “Oh, he comes up with these, really awesome, like, edgy punk riffs,” but that’s not true. 

There’s a song at the end of the album that he wrote, ‘Sleep Cult’, where Anthony’s vocals almost have a doo-wop kind of feel. Frank had written that chord progression – that fingerpicking kind of thing – and I heard it while I was working on other guitars; we were in pre-production, getting ready to go over to Will Yip’s, and it was at the end of the session, we’d been working all day, and all of a sudden, he started playing this really beautiful chord progression. And so we recorded that, just as a rough little idea, but we wound up rolling with it. I just added some lap steel and some really delicate chords to it, just to give it a little nuance. 

There are numerous parts on the album like that, which I think are probably the best parts of it. Another one that started out with Frank – which is probably my favourite [track] on the album right now – is ‘Blender’. I don’t want to get too dorky about it, but you know, that song is a really good example of what it was like to work with him. I sent him the guitar parts, and he really liked them – I think he was already fine and excited with everything I’d laid down… Because you know, that can always be a touchy thing. I mean, he pretty much had a hole-in-one with the ideas I would send him, and I always loved what he was playing – but I was open to him switching whatever he wanted.

In this case, I had written all the guitars that I was going to play, which was based on what he was playing and what Tim was playing. There were no vocals yet. And I’m so glad that we took our time with that song, because at the very last minute, I just switched it up completely, and I wound up harmonising a lot of the guitars [Frank] was playing instead. It was a completely different approach. That’s one of the things I loved about working on this record – the amount of time we were able to take to really think about it.

I’m not going to speak for Frank, but I think he was probably able to step out of his comfort zone [on this record]. Because there’s things he played on it where someone would probably be like, “Wow, I’ve never heard him play like that!” And for me, that feels really special because I got to [work with him] on those songs. And the same goes for me – there are a lot of [parts] on the record that are very different to [the parts] I would usually write.

We’ve already gone way over time, but I want to wrap up by looking to the future: what are your plans for Australia, and what’s the vibe on a second L.S. Dunes album? Believe me, we want to tour everywhere we can. I can only hope that we’re able to bring [L.S. Dunes] over to Australia – that would be amazing. As for other material… I mean, like I said, there’s just been an endless flow of material. There’s no shortage of stuff that we’ve been sending back and forth, and we already have a lot of surprises up our sleeves. But I just want to pay my respects to the album we’ve already created before we move on to the next thing, you know? I think it’s important that we get out there and show people what we can do on the live end… When everybody’s able to! And if we were able to bring that over there to Australia… I mean, yeah, of course we will!

Past Lives by L.S. Dunes is out now via Fantasy Records – click here to check it out. The print edition of Australian Guitar #151 is out on November 28th – keep an eye out for that here.

[maxtalksalarmclocks]

Three Alarm Clocks That Can't Sit Still

The first three posts on this blog have all been pretty info-heavy. We've dug deep into battery backups, and we've explored both the rules and the exceptions for radio tuning and volume controls. Now, I think we need a breather. Something fun and silly and not too technical. We need...a listicle.

And I've got one for you today! This post is about three alarm clocks that don't merely sit still on a table. No, these alarm clocks are designed to be rotated or picked up, and all three detect rotation or motion as a means of controlling them! Curious what exactly that means? Then come with me!

IKEA Klockis

I love this little thing. I actually owned one of these for a while, because they are absurdly cheap. (Mine broke, probably because it was absurdly cheap.) You can buy one right now for $4 from IKEA.

For the record, the official name of this clock is "KLOCKIS" in all caps, since all IKEA product names are in all caps. But I'm not writing it down in all caps, because I don't want to. So there.

The Klockis is a battery-powered alarm clock with four modes. In clock mode, it shows the time and date. In alarm mode, you can set the alarm time. In timer mode, you can set a timer in minutes and seconds. And in temperature mode, you can view the ambient temperature of the room.

How do you switch between these four modes? By rotating the clock! Here's proof:

As you can see, the mode icons are printed around the four sides of the clock. Whichever side you have face up is the mode the clock switches into! The backlight even changes colors based on the mode.

I can't remember where I learned this, but I think this clock detects which side is face up using a pretty rudimentary sensor. There's a metal ball inside a little compartment in the clock. When you rotate the clock, the ball lands on one of four sides of the compartment. Each side has a metal contact that is triggered when the ball touches it, telling the clock which side is active! Pretty nifty. I actually remember hearing the little ball rattle inside my Klockis.

I'll be frank, though, this clock is actually kind of annoying to use in real life. First, there's no snooze button. And on many battery-powered alarm clocks, the snooze button activates the backlight. But on the Klockis, the only way to activate the backlight is to press a button that does something, or to rotate it into a different mode.

Also, it beeps every time you press a button or rotate it...such as to turn on the backlight! So you can't check the time in the dark without making a racket. This would be a terrible clock if you share a room with somebody.

And to seal the deal, there are only two buttons, both located on the back. One is the "Set" button, and one is an arrow button. So actually changing the settings and using the thing is pretty clunky. (IKEA's diagram instructions don't help much, though these ones I found are a little clearer.)

Still, though. I am an alarm clock enthusiast, and I simply cannot criticize a clock that (a) has a date display, thermometer, and timer, (b) costs four dollars, and (c) ROTATES! That's just too wonderful.

Philips AJ3136

Is this not the cutest thing you've ever seen? It has an orange front (which is also the snooze button), stubby orange feet, and an orange pigtail radio antenna that I can't find any other photos of. The time is adorably pixelated and shows in two little overlapping bubbles. And the whole clock is tiny and round and UGH I CAN'T IT'S LIKE A LITTLE WEIRD HAMSTER.

Anyway, this clock is trying to be cute by design! It's more whimsical than your typical alarm clock. There are four alarm sounds available, and two are normal: FM radio and buzzer/beeping. The other two sounds are not normal: one is a frog sound, and the other is a submarine/sonar sound. (Gosh, I wish I knew what these sound like.)

How do you choose which of your fun alarm sounds to use? By rotating the clock, of course! You may notice small circular icons in the photos above that correspond to the four sounds. Whichever icon is face-up is the sound the clock uses! The time display also re-orients to match whichever side of the clock is face up, as shown below:

The larger bubble always shows hours, and the smaller bubble always shows minutes. This design makes the display in frog position awfully confusing, since the minutes are showing to the left of the hours. Maybe they should have made both bubbles equally big, so that the hours and minutes could switch position in the frog mode? But that might make the submarine mode confusing, because I think that one is only intuitive right now because the minutes are smaller. Hmm. I think we can accept the lack of clarity in exchange for cuteness!

The instruction manual tells us that the clock has some additional sound effects, a "whirring" that plays when you rotate it to change the sound (though the whirring can be disabled), and a "ding dong" that plays when you stop the alarm in the morning.

The instruction manual also tells us that, like the IKEA Klockis, this clock senses rotation using a little ball inside, which can make a rattling sound:

Besides all this, the other interesting thing about the AJ3136 is that it can run entirely on batteries. I said in my battery backup post it runs only on batteries, and the manual and brochures imply that, but there is also a photo in the manual of an AC plug icon on the screen, and I found photos (included above) of the clock plugged into an AC adapter. So at the very least, you can run it entirely on batteries, or (maybe) plug it in.

The other weird thing is that the radio (which I believe has analog tuning, though I can't find a photo of the gosh-darn dial) receives FM stations only. No AM radio on this clock!

iHome Jumbo Snooze Bar

So...you might be a little confused by this clock. It's called the Jumbo Snooze Bar. And it certainly does look like a giant snooze button! (Which it is. You press down on the top to snooze, or press and hold to fully stop the alarm.)

But where's the clock?

It's on the bottom!

This clock is designed to spend most of its time with the "ZZZ" letters face up. Then, when you want to check the time or change the settings, you flip the alarm clock over!

You might be wondering why in the world you'd want a clock with the screen on the bottom. It does prevent you from checking the time from across the room, after all. But the Amazon listing for this clock makes a good point: having the screen on the bottom helps to "maintain room darkness." You'd be surprised how many alarm clocks have excessively bright displays, to where they bother more sensitive or nitpicky folks like myself who are just trying to fall asleep, gosh darn it. So I know I would love an alarm clock that keeps the room blissfully dark, except when I need to check the time.

In moving the screen to the bottom, iHome had to make a few other design tweaks to make this all work. First, they actually designed the clock with a motion sensor, so that when you flip the clock over to check the time, the display automatically lights up. (In a backlight color that is color-matched to your black, blue, or pink clock, I might add!) This design ensures that no light is leaking out from underneath the alarm clock when it's lying flat and the display is not in use.

Another design tweak is that the clock has two LEDs on the top surface, near the "ZZZ" letters, to tell you when the alarm or aux-in features are turned on. That way, you can check those without needing to flip the clock over.

And the third design tweak is that there's a switch on the bottom of the clock to lock the buttons (except for the big snooze button). That way, you don't accidentally change any settings when the clock is snooze-side-up and the buttons on the bottom get smushed or pressed.

This clock has a few other neat features that I think are worth noting. The alarm can be set to automatically shut off on weekends (or on weekdays, though I don't really know why you'd use that). This isn't a hugely rare feature, and it's one I'm going to discuss more in future posts, but it's definitely still cool and worth noting.

Also, this is an iHome product, and iHome has always been all about connecting to your phone or iPod. So even though there's no phone dock, there is an aux-in jack so you can use the clock as a speaker for your music, and there's also a USB port so you can charge your phone without needing to plug in another adapter. (Unlike the other clocks in this post, this one runs only off of an AC outlet. It definitely wouldn't be able to charge your phone for very long if it ran on batteries!)

That's all for now!

There you have it, folks. An alarm clock that you rotate to change between different modes. An alarm clock that you rotate to choose your alarm sound. And an alarm clock that you flip over to check the time. These three products are delightfully weird, and I'm so glad I got to bring them to your attention today! I can't wait to share more of the weirdnesses and wonders of alarm clocks with you soon.

Image credits:

IKEA Klockis (all photos and video): IKEA

Philips AJ3136 (first photo): ManualsLib

Philips AJ3136 (second and third photo): eBay

Philips AJ3136 (fourth, fifth, and sixth photo): Youla

Philips AJ3136 (seventh photo): ManualsLib

iHome Jumbo Snooze Bar (first, second, fourth, and fifth photo): Amazon

iHome Jumbo Snooze Bar (third photo): DB Electronics

iHome Jumbo Snooze Bar (sixth photo): eBay

[starlight-time-machine]

Week in Review

12/15/2024 – 12/21/2024

Sunday

Week 45 of missing Cipher Academy

What’d I say about Drama Queen. I’m not even going to dignify this shit with going into my records, get the fuck out of here. This really is just Chainsaw Man for people with no reading comprehension.

Undead Unluck is so good…I’m going to be so sad when it ends… Everyone’s come so far…

True to my word, I finished Piczle Cross fairly quickly. It was a really solid picross game, and the Story of Seasons theming was a nice little cherry on top. I do wish there was more Trio of Towns music (since that’s my favourite Story of Seasons game of all time), and some of the pixel art left a little to be desired, but overall I had a fun time. I love the changing season mechanic – the different color palette always comes just when you’ve gotten sick of staring at the same thing for like three hours straight. (I do wish the farm had anything on it in the wintertime, but I guess it wouldn’t really make sense). As always, I wish there were more puzzles, but I had a lot of fun regardless. 8/10.

Monday

Read Sammy Keyes and the Night of Skulls in the dead of night and on some dark bus rides today, and it really added to the spooky vibes of this instalment. Compared to the previous Sammy Keyes book set around Halloween, this one really turns the horror energy up to eleven – we’ve got graveyards, grave robbers, funeral parlors, morgues, and a whole thematic arc about death. Van Draanen has really got things down to a science at this point in the series, and the way the mystery and Sammy’s personal life and growth moments intertwine is always entertaining to watch. The mystery itself was fun, though maybe a little all over the place – the motives were weak and we just never really get closure with one of the red herrings, but overall it was still pretty solid. I also appreciate the adults in Sammy’s life who really do care about and look out for her in their own ways like Borsch and André…it’s so sweet. I’ll give this one an 8/10.

Tuesday

Started playing Paper Mario: The Thousand-Year Door and…hmm. For background, my first entry into the Paper Mario series was Origami King, and I absolutely loved it (so much so that it’s in the STM Awards). I’m almost certainly going to replay it in 2025 (which is something I rarely ever do) (and it’s because Thousand-Year Door has left me a little wanting…) so I’ll go more in-depth about my thoughts on it then, but I’ve watched playthroughs of the original Paper Mario on the N64 and heard about how the Paper Mario franchise has “fallen off” for years and years, to the point where it was just something I took as fact. So when news about the Thousand-Year Door remake came out, I was excited to finally play what people call one of the best games in the series. But…not gonna lie…so far…I’m not having as much fun with it as I did with Origami King… People complain that the newer instalments don’t have as many unique characters, and I get where they’re coming from, but I feel like Origami King still had amazing writing despite their restrictions. What they lacked for in a bigger cast with their own lives and stories, they made up for by focusing in on the few partners that you did have and creating much more cinematic moments. And while the former has its merits, I can’t help but prefer the latter since the Olivia and Bobby plotlines were so moving and memorable for me. Like, what other Paper Mario partner storyline has its characters actually sacrificing their lives and learning to deal with grief? Even small stuff like Bowser mentioning his worries about being a good dad still stick with me to this day…

Characters and story aside, I also love the world in Origami King a lot more… I can’t begrudge Thousand-Year Door too much for this, of course, since it’s about twenty years older than Origami King and had way more technical limitations, but it’s hard not to compare the two when they’re my only points of reference. In Thousand-Year Door, I really feel the sense that I’m just going from room to room, and each room will have its own puzzles to solve or secrets to find…the openness of Origami King allowed for the puzzles and secrets to feel more organically built into the world, I suppose, rather feeling like they were purposely put there as a challenge for me, the player. I also just can’t really wrap my head around the Thousand-Year Door dungeons thus far – because most of them are just similarly themed rooms connected randomly by door or pipe, I have a hard time remembering what connects to what…and this gets especially bad in the sewers where everything looks the same. And then there’s the fact that once the puzzles have been solved, a lot of the rooms are just empty halls for me to walk through if I get lost or have to backtrack for a secret. I think this element of dungeon design is something that has been objectively improved over the years – I think about places in Origami King like Shogun Studios or the final castle, where the rooms have personality and worldbuilding and flow into each other like a real lived in space while also holding puzzles for me to solve. But going from that to Thousand-Year Door makes its lacking areas really apparent…especially when I have to backtrack…

Here’s my big confession: I don’t really like having so many partners. I mean, the different moves are cool in battle, and it’s fun to have a little party going on an adventure together, but the way they’ve locked things behind partner ability checks kind of annoys me… Like, I hate when I’m going through a dungeon and I see something that I can’t reach because I don’t have the right partner yet, and I know I’m going to have to come back later and comb through every room again just to find a Star Piece or whatever. (Not to mention how Flurrie’s ability in particular has been pretty badly indicated thus far…why did no one tell me about blowing those Punis off the ledge…or how she can randomly blow away stuff that doesn’t have the dog-eared edge indicator sometimes…) And all of that is especially annoying when, like mentioned earlier, backtracking itself is a boring task because most of it is just going through empty rooms with their puzzles already solved.

One last gripe I have with Thousand-Year Door is…I don’t really care for the Peach and Bowser scenes. They’re fun bits of extra story, I suppose, but I wish they’d built up the TEC stuff instead of immediately being like oh you fell in love at first sight with Peach. If we had seen them build up a rapport and a genuine connection over the course of the chapters before TEC had its realization, it would’ve felt like a stronger arc in my opinion… But now it just seems like TEC likes Peach for her looks, which is a little lame. Bowser’s scenes are just for comedic relief – which is fine – but because they don’t contribute much to the story, I find myself wanting to get them over with so that I can get back to actual gameplay…the little platformer part was pretty cute and funny, though. That’s been like the one time Thousand-Year Door has surprised me with actually “going there” with a concept. (As opposed to Origami King’s non-stop barrage of those types of moments, but I digress…)

(Sorry, I just remembered one last gripe for real this time. I don’t like the plane mechanic because I’m bad at it and I don’t like the timing on the attacks, it doesn’t feel as intuitive as the attacks in like the Mario & Luigi RPGs.)

Anyway. All of my complaints aside, I’m having a decent amount of fun…just not as much as I’d hoped, I suppose.

I read the latest chapter of Takatora-kun, and I like the complicated relationship dynamics that Asada is exploring here with the unique challenges that an ABO society would have to contend with (especially in terms of consent). Pheromones turning otherwise rational people into sex pests had always seemed silly to me (and eye-rolly because it’s usually just a convenient vehicle for sex scenes), but the way Asada is engaging with it on a realistic level is really interesting.

Wednesday

I realized that the end of the year was quickly approaching, and so far I’ve only watched like, seven movies this year? If I don’t do something to rectify that, my Favorite Things of 2024 list is going to look pretty barren on that front, so I finally pulled myself together and started up Movie Roulette again! For the uninitiated, Movie Roulette is where I run a random number generator that picks a movie from my “to watch” list and watch it – it’s an extremely simple concept, but it helps me actually work up the energy to sit down and watch a movie. So today’s pick was Ocean’s Eleven, which I’d been looking forward to because I actually really like heist movies, and this is the quintessential heist movie…and I’m glad to report that it didn’t disappoint. Everything’s quick and snappy and clever, and everything that gets set up gets beautiful resolved later. It’s just a superbly tight script and I had a fun time, so I’ll give it a 8/10.

Thursday

Conceptually, I really like the setup of Chapter 3 of Thousand-Year Door: since the previous dungeons’ puzzles weren’t that fun for me, trying to rise through the ranks of a wrestling org was immediately a lot more compelling. Or at least it was, in theory. In practice…it’s a little repetitive. And while the rumblings of shady business going on around the arena are juicy, the area itself is a little boring to explore, and having to unlock things on X’s timeline is a bit of a drag. I do enjoy the worldbuilding being done with the other wrestlers and the growing sense of mystery, which was something that I felt was sorely lacking from the previous two chapters, but other than that it was just marginally better than the previous chapters.

Friday

Read the latest Ascendance of a Bookworm Part 2 chapter and it was fine.

Saturday

I got some puzzles and so I’ve been in my cave doing nothing but puzzling for like ten hours straight