#narrative television

[voidlingduck]

Having some thoughts about tv writing in our current age of streaming and indie internet shows, and if/how release schedule affects or should affect the way these shows are written.

When you have such long gaps between episodes in indie series, how do you write to effectively manage that and ensure audiences remain satisfied? Do you lean into self contained episodic advebtures like TADC seems to be doing?

And what are the affordances of streaming services released all at once or in staggered chunks? How does the binge model affect consumption and narrative design?

Arcane had its three act structure, releasing episodes designed to be consumed together to make one whole part, but there was still separation between these parts. Hazbin Hotel had a similar release structure that staggered it into chunks, while some shows try to recreate the weekly release schedule of classic television shows.

I don’t really have any answers just a lot of musings… I wonder if it’s something I can investigate in my upcoming English course on narrative television…

[gutsby]

Homemade

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: While your dad’s watching a movie downstairs, you and his best friend decide to make one of your own.

Warnings: 18+. Sneaky sex tape fun with dbf!Joel ;-) Unprotected p-in-v. Age gap. Daddy kink. Facefucking. Joel being the world’s worst cameraman. Shower sex. Overstimulation via adjustable shower head. Dirty talk. Screaming ‘daddy’ too loud, and your father shows up.

Translations: In Chile, pico is slang for penis. Joel’s is big.

Part of the Waiting Game series

“If this ever ends up on PornHub, I’ll kill you, Miller.”

Joel knew you meant it, too.

The only reason you’d agreed to make this dumb little ‘home video’ at all was because you were headed back to college tomorrow and wouldn’t see him again until May. Doing long distance was tough, but doing long distance while simultaneously trying to keep a risqué, torrid, and totally-not-age-appropriate love affair with your father’s best friend under wraps was infinitely more difficult. This was the safest way to keep desire alive in the meantime.

Immortalized on a Sony CCD-TR70—because neither one of you trusted iCloud to keep a sex tape secret.

It had also been the only video camera you could find in the closet before your dad had plopped down on the couch just outside your room and announced he would be watching Oppenheimer for the third time. You’d had to scurry off fast before he could invite you to join him.

“I’ll be damned—this thing’s gotta be as old as I am,” Joel mused as he stood at the foot of the bed, camcorder pointed at your semi-nude form.

“I didn’t know they had cameras back in the Stone Age.”

Your smirk didn't flinch, even when Joel flipped you off.

You were lying on your side, head propped up on one hand while the other picked at a few loose strings from the comforter. The lacy, pastel pink bustier holding your tits in place was currently making breathing feel like a chore, and your skin was on fire from the warmth of the room, but you tried not to show it. Joel twisted a dial.

“Alright, now...flash ‘em for daddy,” he grinned as soon as the lens focused in where he wanted: your cleavage.

You rolled your eyes.

“A little closer, please,” you said, patting the space in front of you.

Joel didn’t need to be told twice. With one hand still cradling the camera, he clambered over the bed so fast he nearly tripped and took a nosedive in the headboard. You had to cover your mouth to contain a shriek of laughter—and terror—as his frame barreled into yours.

“JOEL!”

Fortunately, your cameraman was quick to recollect himself, planting a knee on either side of your chest once he’d knocked you onto your back. Then, from above, he angled the grey-black hunk of metal just a foot away:

“Anything you’d like to say to the folks watching at home, ma’am?” Joel inquired, suddenly assuming all the poise and matter-of-fact elocution of a news reporter.

You stuck your tongue out at the camera and blew the wettest, fattest raspberry you could muster in response.

Joel hummed, zoomed in on your lips, and nodded.

“Fascinating,” he said, pretending to make sense of the fart noise you’d just made with your mouth, “Have you ever given thought to maybe...sucking cock on camera?”

The swiftness with which he was able to dodge your kick was remarkable. He swayed the camera just out of reach before you could shove it away and say, ‘Joel, quit being GROSS’ and he promptly replied, ‘Ain’t that the whole point of a sex tape, sweet pea? Bein’ a little bit gross?’ And you playfully tried to kick him again, only this time, he caught your foot and yanked you closer to him. He turned the camcorder back to your face and grinned.

“That’s my little pornstar,” he murmured with affection. Then, zooming in again, this time to find your panty line, “Riiiiight there.”

You knew giving Joel Miller recording privileges for an occasion as momentous as this was a bad idea. At the rate you were going now, you’d be seeing the sunrise through the window before you ever got a glimpse of his dick. You needed to take matters into your own hands.

Literally.

You crawled on all fours to get to Joel across the bed.

The man, kneeling with the camera pointed in your direction, looked up to cock a brow at you.

“Sweetheart, hey, can ya do that one more—”

“Hush,” you muttered, closing in on his crotch. 

Your head was lowered so you could undo the front of his jeans. Because of this, your back was arched, and your ass was pointed up just the slightest bit. For a second, Joel seemed torn between tilting the lens to your lower half or your face, which was inching ever closer to the bulge in his trousers. In time, he landed on the latter.

He swallowed. That sight never got old—and seeing it displayed on the camcorder’s semi-grainy screen only made it that much hotter. Joel shifted on his knees while you worked him out of his boxers, watching the nimble movements of your fingers as you wrestled the fabric.

“Wanna—” Glancing to the side of the bed, “—maybe—”

“Yup.”

Both of you liked it better on the floor: you on your knees in front of Joel, chin tilted up to see his reactions as you sucked him off. You loved to sink between his legs and then see and feel nothing but him, brain going blank the moment his cock filled your mouth. Joel slid a pillow under your knees before widening his stance some.

“Is it on?” Your hand was wrapped firmly around the base of his cock and your lips were hovering an inch from the tip. You resisted the urge to lick the precum off just yet.

“Darlin’, it’s been on ever since you stepped outta the bathroom in that— that—” Joel seemed to be searching for a word when the head of his cock was enveloped in a kiss. You dragged your tongue across the slit of him and collected the hot, salty beads with a muffled moan.

Then you pulled off.

“Teddy,” you said, reminding him of the name for that pretty little tulle and lace getup you currently had on.

“Teddy,” Joel echoed, his mind a million miles away from any lingerie jargon at the moment. He held the camera tighter as you took him back into your mouth and sank deeper on his cock. He struggled to keep it steady.

It was strange, watching Joel and the rounded glass of the lens as you did this dirty thing that was only meant to be shared between you and him. Knowing it would be recorded, saved for future viewing, displayed on some dimly lit screen in Joel’s bedroom maybe one, twice, or more likely than not, several dozen times over the next three months. You wondered how you might look from this new point of view; though, you weren’t so sure you needed to know what sight Joel was made privy to while you sucked and hollowed your cheeks around his cock.

As it turned out, that uncertainty wasn’t meant to last you very long, because Joel flipped the camera’s screen around two seconds later. Some sepia-tinted, pixelated rendition of your face, framed by the date and time and a bright red flashing dot beside the word ‘REC’ were the first to greet you. You flinched back just a little.

“Joel,” you said, almost bashful, “Flip it back.”

Joel just grinned. Then he laced his fingers through your hair and tugged you closer to him, thumb stroking over your scalp, “C’mon, darlin’, don’t ya wanna see how goddamn pretty ya look on your knees for me?”

You didn’t think you looked pretty at all. In fact, you reckoned your features looked something more like an alien utility funnel than a real, human face as you tilted your chin inward and seemed to be nothing but eyes and a hollowed-out expression, but you let Joel guide you back onto him all the same. You heard a low rumble of pleasure take shape in his chest as your lips slid over his shaft. Your gaze remained glued to the screen as you did.

Wet with saliva and a few faint traces of precum, you continued to bob your head up and down. Joel’s groans grew louder, and your drive to take him further and further surged as well. By the time his hand was tightening into a white-knuckled fist in your hair, you’d nearly taken him all the way to the back of your throat, and your nose was no more than an inch from the soft tufts of hair on his belly. Joel let out a shuttering breath.

“Fuck me,” he heaved. You might’ve smiled if your lips weren’t otherwise occupied. Then he clenched his hand even harder and murmured, “Can you— can I, please—”

Again, you didn’t need him to finish the rest of the question to know what he wanted. You moved your head back just slightly to nod, a low, ‘Mhmm’ reverberating down the length of his dick as you gave him permission. Joel swallowed and set the camera aside immediately.

He placed it on the nightstand, perfectly level with your head, to the side. Then he rotated the device just a bit, took one glance at the screen, and shortly returned to where you were watching him with wide, glossy eyes.

“Ready?” he asked. His right hand now joined the left at the back of your head, but not before thumbing a quick touch over your cheek to get a feel for your approval.

You hummed once more. You watched Joel’s hips move forward, hands secure around your scalp all the while, and you felt a gentle nudge at the back of your throat. Then another. You couldn’t help the impulse to gag, but thankfully, it was short-lived. Joel peered down at you, eyes searching yours for any plea to stop or slow down, but he found nothing. He sheathed himself deeper until your lips were brushing the base of his dick. He groaned.

“That’s a good…fuckin’ girl,” he managed, voice strained, “Takin’ my cock so deep.”

He shifted his hips to move an inch or two out, then slid his cock forward again, bumping that spot at the top of your throat. This time, you were better adjusted to take him and felt your muscles expand and contract around him without activating your gag reflex. Your eyes stayed trained on his face while he dragged his cock back again.

“My pretty girl and her—” Joel stabbed back into you, somehow tender in the way he did it, “—pretty fuckin’ mouth…Sweet thing likes gettin’ facefucked, does she?”

With the increased pace of his thrusts and the grip he had on the sides of your head, you couldn’t quite answer, but Joel could tell from the glint in your eye that you loved when he manhandled and fucked your throat like this. Watched the light sear gently behind those irises as you swallowed every inch of his cock, back and forth, and let your brain break down to little more than a happy, mindless mush. Joel was always keen to oblige you on that front—aroused to no end at the sight of all your thoughts being fucked straight out of your head—and within the next few thrusts, his gut was giving a familiar clench. He pulled halfway out of your mouth, paused, felt the pinch again, then withdrew from your lips fully.

“Get on the bed.”

You straightened back up and made it over to the mattress, quickly. Before you could assume the position you’d been hoping to take on all fours, you felt yourself flipped on your back. Joel yanked your hips to the edge of the bed and kneeled down between your legs. Hooked his fingers under the waistband of your panties and had them shuffled down your thighs and past your ankles in no time at all. Then, when he lowered his lips to your wet, aching core, you pressed a touch to the crown of his head.

“Joel, wait,” you said. All of a sudden your chest felt tight.

In spite of the fact that your airways were open and completely free from any obstruction—namely, Joel’s big ol’ pico—you still found it difficult to inhale. Some murky, amorphous sense of anxiety weighed over your chest.

When your hand didn’t move from his head and instead pushed him further, Joel furrowed his brows, perplexed.

“What’s’a matter, darlin’?”

You shook your head, more to yourself than to him.

“I haven’t…just— haven’t washed down there today…o-or shaved,” you stammered, “Don’t want you to taste it.”

That was largely a lie. You’d bathed, shaved, and prepared for this just fine, but really were more concerned about the novel optics that loomed overhead. Being filmed in such a singularly vulnerable state without knowing how to act. You were fine when the attention was focused on Joel and his pleasure, but something about having your every whimper and moan laid bare before you on film felt daunting. Unnerving, in a way.

Joel frowned while rubbing your thigh. His brow pinched inward again, as if he were considering something.

Then he moved across your body, and your muscles eased with relief at the thought that he’d just let it go and get to fucking you exactly how you wanted. You reached for him, ready to wrap your legs around his waist, when a yelp clawed out of your throat. You found that you didn’t get to touch his chest, or his cheeks, or his big, broad, beefy shoulders, as you were promptly thrown over the latter of the three body parts and lifted when Joel stood up from the bed. He started carrying you across the room, heedless of the startled, ‘What the FUCK, Miller?’ you’d cried the second he took one step.

Hardwood floors transformed to tile before your eyes, and shortly, you realized you were being brought into your bathroom.

You heard the squeak of some metal knob being turned, then a brief sputter, then a spray of water raining down on your shower floor. You were still being held hostage over Joel’s shoulder, try as you might to bite at his lower back or smack his ass in an attempt to break loose.

He set you down a second later, seemingly unfazed.

“Get in.” He nodded toward the shower.

Before you had a chance to respond, he left. You stood back in disbelief—refusing to go into the shower and let Joel have his win—but just as you opened your mouth to call out and tell him as much, his form slipped back in through the door. Naked, now, and wielding that stupid, goddamned camcorder with a devious glint in his eye.

“Will you—” You held out a defensive hand in front of you, cheeks already heating, “—stop with that?!”

Secretly, the corners of your lips were fighting a smile as Joel drew closer with the camera held up to your face.

“There she is, folks,” he announced, as though speaking to a crowd, or else reading off of a script from the world’s most cheesy porno, “My dirty, dirty girl says she needs a shower—don’t ya, sweet pea?”

It sounded so ridiculous and dumb that neither one of you could keep from laughing. Even as you lifted your middle finger in response, Joel grinned and smacked your ass. Steadied the camera out in front, nudged you closer to the shower, and watched you somewhat begrudgingly obey his orders. Once you’d stripped what little remained on your body, you stepped into the tub.

Add to ‘ridiculous and dumb’ just wildly unsexy as well—who the hell needed a soapy interlude to a sex tape?

Joel Miller, apparently. He constricted his grip on the camera and followed you in, tongue already skimming the backs of his teeth in anticipation. You turned away to step under the shower’s stream, and he wasted no time getting a shot of your derrière. You leaned forward and sighed.

The water worked wonders to get your muscles to loosen some, but still, you were nervous. You could clean up now, stall a little longer, maybe even offer to give Joel head again—but what if he really wanted to eat you out on camera? You couldn’t put off the conversation forever.

Or another minute, it seemed.

You let out a shriek when you felt Joel’s fingers sneak up between your thighs. You hardly knew what he was doing, just folding limply when he spun you around to press your back against the shower wall. Your eyes widened to see him descending your body once more.

“I lied,” Joel said, smirk painted clear across his features, “You’re not dirty—I just wanted to eat your pussy in the shower ‘s’all.”

Chivalry was evidently alive and well in Austin, Texas.

No truer words could have been spoken, and yet, you felt wildly uncomfortable the second Joel’s head dipped between your legs and that big, dumb, handsome face started licking stripes up your sensitive core. You cast a glance to the side and saw the camcorder perched on the sink—just through the open slit in the shower curtain, you could see it pointed directly at you.

You shivered and started to push Joel away.

“Can we maybe just—”

“Sweetie?!”

Joel’s lips tore out of your cunt quicker than a sneeze through a screen door. His eyes were wide.

“Y-Yeah, dad?” you squeaked, tone almost fearful.

“Everything okay in here? I heard ya scream,” your dad returned shortly.

You could only imagine the expression of confusion and distress painting his every lineament in that moment. Probably just barely sticking his head through the crack in the door and blinking anxiously through the steam.

Your dad was caring like that.

He just never knew the right times to show up.

No, there were very few times where you would’ve liked to see him less—apart from that one time you’d sucked Joel’s dick under the table at your dad’s birthday dinner. Your heart was thudding a wild, erratic beat in your chest, and you could only imagine how Joel was feeling. Probably seeing visions of a Size 11 boot being shoved up his ass if his friend happened to slide the shower curtain to the side and see him nose-deep in his daughter’s box.

That would be bad. So very, very bad and probably ten times worse than when Tommy had caught you blowing his brother at the aforementioned birthday party. You just couldn’t seem to catch a break these days.

You sucked in a breath and answered anyway.

“I thought I saw a spider.”

“Really?” You could already sense the embittered tinge to your dad’s voice, harking back to the war he’d once declared on all wolf spiders in the home, “Want me to kill it?”

The next thing you heard was two boots thud on the bathroom floor outside the shower, and you could’ve sworn you saw Joel’s whole soul leap from his body. He shot a frantic look around him, spotted a window above, and seemed to wonder for half a second if he might be able to shimmy his 188-pound frame through a space that probably wasn’t big enough to fit a fat raccoon. He slumped his weight against the shower wall and winced.

“No! I— It wasn’t even a spider. Just a…roach.”

Shortly, Joel’s eyes widened even more and met yours, as if to ask, ‘Why the FUCK would you say that?’

“A roach?!” your dad cried simultaneously.

Apparently, you’d forgotten that any derivative of the word ‘cockroach’ was like a sleeper agent activation phrase for middle-aged fathers who wanted to keep their homes free of all household pests. The look on Joel’s haggard, world-weary face communicated as much to you, and for a second, you remembered that he, too, was built the same way as any other semi-old dude you knew.

Just bigger and beefier and…harder below the belt than you would’ve expected most men around his age to be.

You quickly chided yourself for ogling Joel’s dick at a time like this and replied to your father, shrill, “No!”

Then, slightly more composed, “No, no— I already took it out with some hairspray and told it to fuck off to hell.”

An attempt at humor was the last leg you had to stand on. Fortunately, it worked.

Outside the shower, your dad chuckled, and his footsteps started to shuffle off toward the door.

“Ah. Atta girl,” he beamed, ever the advocate for brutal cockroach killings, “If you see another, just holler, okay?”

“Okay.”

You heard the sound of the bathroom door closing, and you almost fell to the floor. Joel probably would’ve been facedown just as well—fear seeping out of his body along with every last ounce of willpower to stand—had he not made a dive for you as soon as your dad had left.

The force of his push sent you straight into the wall, legs forced to wrap around his waist as he buried his face in your neck.

“Thank fuck,” he breathed.

“You’re welcome,” you murmured, swiping the water out of your eyes with a grimace.

Then, just as you were about to request that Joel lower you back down to the floor and out of the shower’s spray, you felt a nudge between your legs. Luckily not a tongue this time—just Joel, or the tip of his leaking cock. The man below you grinned, and for the first time in a long time, you felt a wash of relief. Could it be?

“I’ll still eat you out if y’want,” he started, though speaking with a little less conviction this time around, “But after all that I, uh—kinda jus’ wanna fuck ya stupid.”

Well thank fuck for fake spiders and cockroaches, too; you’d just averted a dreaded tonguefuck, thanks to that detour.

You’d worry about your pornstar moans and on-camera charisma another time—now you could just sit back and let Joel do all the work while he took you against the wall.

Really, there was no need to concern yourself with anything at all from that point forward. Once you’d given Joel the green light, he was sinking you onto his cock with a grunt and making sure you felt nothing but him. His hands found your hips and held you firmly in place as he rutted into you from below, your own fingers latching onto his shoulders for some much-needed support. Both of you knew that you needed to be extra quiet now—seeing how sound seemed to carry in that tight, tiled space—so Joel snagged your lips in his for a kiss.

He was practically panting in your mouth by the time you started meeting his thrusts. His fingertips slid some and must’ve seared ten perfect crescents into the flesh of your ass as he fucked you into the wall.

“Look so pretty like this,” he whispered in between kisses and short, shallow breaths. His cock parted your insides with an excruciating welt of pleasure, and he hardly even seemed to realize it, “Look so damn pretty takin’ cock.”

Then, lips kicking up in a smile when it seemed he’d remembered something, he added, “Can’t wait to play this tape back home and watch us fuck all over again.”

Again. Again. And again. Shit, you could just see it now.

Your eyes traversed the compact shower space once more to find the video camera—still perched, still live, still perfectly implacable and silent atop the sink as it recorded your every grunt, groan, and shuddering moan. You were nearly as curious to know what Joel’s bare ass looked like rutting into you like this as you were to hear yourself getting railed against the shower wall. Maybe you’d beat this fear of secondhand embarrassment after all.

Maybe.

Joel’s teeth snagged your bottom lip and bit it, lightly.

“Every chance I get, you can bet I’ll be thinkin’ ‘bout this…sweet pussy while you’re away,” he said, voice low and occasionally punctured by a groan, “Say one more thing f’me and I’ll…cum every time I watch this part.”

The kinks at the corners of his lips were endearing. You would’ve liked to supply them with just about anything they could’ve wanted, so when they leaned into your ear and murmured just what it was they needed to hear, you only hesitated a second.

Or maybe two or three, because, well…it was risky.

Moaning ‘daddy’ out loud at a time like this? It might get Joel off quick, but it might send your real dad running even faster. You weren’t crazy about the thought of anything that might draw the man’s attention again.

Joel seemed a little less risk-averse than you, notwithstanding the window-leaping fear he’d felt when your dad had rushed in before. Leave it to a criminally horny man to have the memory of a goldfish, though.

At present, Joel was blinking and gawking a bit like one, too, waiting for you to enunciate that one magic word.

You couldn’t deny he made a damn cute desperate sex fiend when he wanted to be. And you needed to cum.

You figured you could cut a deal with him just this once.

“Alright,” you mumbled against the top of his stubbled lip, “Make me cum and I’ll say anything you want, Miller.”

You weren’t sure if it was a chuckle or a strangled moan that jumped up in his throat when Joel squeezed your sides tighter. All you knew was that he was lowering you to the floor in the next instant, spinning you around, and walking you forward, swiftly and with purpose, toward the opposite end of the shower. Right where the crack in the curtain made you most visible to the camcorder.

Joel’s hand snaked around your front and gently eased between your legs. Then, pressing his chest to your back and nudging you to bend just slightly at the waist, he tipped your bodies closer to the camera’s line of vision and stilled. From the LED screen, you could see the ghost of a smile crossing his lips as he shifted his head beside your own. Next, they were kissing across your shoulder, your neck, that sensitive spot behind your ear, and finally the shell of it, brown eyes trained on the camera lens as he murmured to you, “Stay real still.”

You didn’t know if you could. But you tried. And you damn near cried when his fingers started working circles over your clit. Your body was raised on tip-toes, and your hand was bracing the wall as Joel fucked you from behind and made a mess of your wet, writhing body. In no more than three or four strokes, your fears of looking or sounding stupid on camera trickled away with all the rest of the silent, sizzling liquids circling the drain below. Your cheek pressed against Joel’s rougher one, and with the push of each new thrust, you came more unraveled.

When Joel’s hand closed over the front of your throat, you didn’t flinch. Didn’t move—couldn’t move, as the man was holding you still in such a taut, rigid grip.

“What do we say when we get fucked this nice, baby?” Joel whispered in your ear, words almost entirely masked by the sounds from the shower. You still heard it, though.

“T-Thank you,” you stuttered, cockdrunk and faint.

“Thank you, what?”

Your eyes were fluttering closed, but you could feel the smug expression just over your shoulder. You clenched around him and felt him snap his hips ahead even harder.

“Thank you, daddy,” you whimpered.

“Say it again.”

“Thank you, daddy!” you whined, still scared to be too loud.

Joel wasn’t scared. His hand ascended the column of your neck to pinch your chin between his fingers, jerking your head to the right.

To the crack in the curtain. To the camera.

You could’ve cried with how fast he was fucking you now. You opened your eyes and cast a pathetic look to the recorder. Joel made sure you maintained that gaze, too.

“Who’s makin’ ya feel this good?” he seethed, shaking your whole frame with the breakneck pace of his hips.

“You, daddy.”

“Who’s fuckin’ this sweet cunt like no one ever has?”

“You, daddy.”

Joel seemed sated and somehow not fully satisfied at all. Like he was pleased to see you falling apart for him like this, but needed to hear more. Feel more.

He withdrew from you, and you nearly collapsed with the absence of his arms holding you straight.

You pressed a shaky palm to the wall and almost moaned for him to get his ass back over here, you weren’t done, when Joel returned in a second. To your relief, his muscly arms found their way around your front once more, and his clock plunged back inside you, too—only this time, you sensed you were missing something else.

Water.

It wasn’t on your back anymore.

It was fanning between your legs.

Blasting the full force of its stream toward your most sensitive parts as Joel held the shower head up between your thighs. You would’ve jumped back and screamed were it not for his hand clamping tight over your mouth before you could, his lips grazing over your ear again.

“Try it one more time.”

You released a hoarse, muffled squeal into his palm when he lifted the stainless steel to your clit and started rolling his hips. The strokes themselves were relatively gentle, but paired with the ruthless spate of the water, your eyes were nearly rolling to the back of your head at the pulse.

You couldn’t breathe, much less speak. Joel hummed almost apologetically into your hair but didn’t seem sorry at all as he lowered his hand back down to your throat and squeezed. He continued rocking his hips into yours.

“You’ve said it dozens of times before—what’s’a matter?”

Joel Miller knew what the fuck was the matter. He just liked to see you desperate, fucked-out, and teetering on the brink of going feral before he let you reach your peak.

“D-D-D—”

Damn, you sounded stupid.

“D-D-Do you wanna cum? Is that it?” Joel said, mocking your struggle to articulate words as he fucked you.

In spite of your normal no-bullshit attitude toward him, you weren’t in quite the right frame of mind to be talking back to him. You just nodded and moaned, movements constricted by the grip of his fingers on your neck.

“Use those big girl words for me, honey. I know ya can.”

Again, you parted your lips and started to speak, but the oscillation of the water, the brush of his cock, the patently deprecating lilt in Joel’s string of praises, made it nearly impossible. You ended up sputtering again,

“D-D-ah-fuuuckfuckfuck.”

“That ain’t the word I’m looking for.”

But, just as you ventured to say it once more, he cut in,

“Here. Lemme help ya find it.”

Before you could blink, Joel was pistoning his hips against your ass like he had before, only this time, he held the shower head stationary between your legs as you seized and nearly fell to the floor with the force of all the pleasure coursing through you. Your body seemed to act of its own accord, head dropping to Joel’s shoulder and stomach giving an alarmingly fitful pinch as an orgasm tore through you. You couldn’t control how it came or where it went—or how your tongue jumped up and cried,

“Daddy!”

Joel nodded, fucking you through each violent spasm with all the composure and aplomb of a seasoned pro. While your eyes cycled back in the throes of delirium, he held firm and didn’t slow his hips—or the shower head.

You probably could’ve torn a hole through a cinder block if you’d happened to have one between your teeth just then. That was how fervid and merciless the aftershocks of your climax were pulsing through you, exacerbated to the nth degree by the continuity of Joel’s movements. You managed to grab the forearm that was holding the metal nozzle and plead a wild, slightly stifled, “JOEL!”

In truth, you didn’t really want him to stop. It felt too good. You could tell that Joel sensed this, too, because in the instant after that, his lips were sponging kisses to your shoulder, cock working steadily between your walls.

“One more, sweet pea.”

“Joel—”

“And say it louder this time.”

Were you in your right mind, you probably would’ve chided him for being so reckless and stupid about it all. How the fuck could he expect you to scream out loud when your dad was lounging right outside of your room? Did he really think the drone of Cillian Murphy’s smooth, American-ized tone would mask your unbridled moans? Honestly, you couldn’t be sure—and more importantly, you couldn’t be stopped to consider for much longer. With one last trembling vibration from the shower head and a thrust from Joel, you were cumming all over again.

Squeezing his arm, sinking into his sturdy frame, clenching over his cock in what felt like a hundred convulsions, and casting caution aside, you screamed:

“DADDY!”

You might’ve blacked out for a second or two.

Even a minute, as it was, because the next intelligible thing that reached your ears was the thunder of footfalls. And the thrum of Joel’s own hammering heart as he yanked you into his chest and stilled frozen inside you.

The door swung open on its hinges so hard it hit the wall.

“What is it, sweetie?!” your dad yelped.

“I—”

“Are you hurt?”

Just fucked raw by your best friend and shaking, Pops.

You sucked in a breath when Joel nudged your head with his nose and slowly pulled the shower curtain closed to move you out of view of the camera. But it was still there.

Your dad was still there.

The shower walls seemed to be closing in on you, but somehow, you managed, “No, dad, I’m fine! Just…coulda sworn I saw another spider in here, but it was nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

Your dad sounded unconvinced, pacing closer. You could’ve screamed, but Joel was likely holding you too tight to make any such sounds possible in that moment. The two of you recoiled, still stuck chest-to-back, away from the edge of the plastic shower liner when a boot thudded just outside the crack between curtain and wall.

You swallowed. Joel squeezed. Neither of you breathed.

“If it’s another roach, I gotta call the extermin—”

“No! No, it wasn’t a roach. I’m just seein’ things, I think.”

That didn’t seem to make your father feel any better, because he didn’t retreat like he had before. A tense moment fell over the compact, fog-infested room, like the man was chewing away at some thought in his head.

Then he sighed.

“Alright.”

Blissful footsteps away from the shower. You smiled.

Unfortunately, the grin was destined to be short-lived, because in the next instant, you heard boots screech to a halt on the tile. Pivoted, then paused where they stood.

Another gut-wrenching dozen seconds passed, and for one short, chilling moment, you could’ve sworn you felt your father’s gaze sear through the curtain and see you.

But he didn’t see you. Or Joel. Or anyone.

Instead, his gaze was fixed someplace else.

Suddenly, his voice rose above all the awful noises of clamor and panic in your brain, and broke out, loudly,

“What’s my camera doin’ in here?”

[dubiousculturalartifact]

Obviously I’ve been queerbaited before, like, a genuinely incalculable number of times, and maybe thinking Buddie might actually go canon is a ‘fool me sixteen times, shame on me’ scenario, but I think one big thing that’s keeping my hope alive is this thought: If you genuinely believe that Buddie isn’t going to go canon, 100% zero possibility and absolutely no intention of trying... Then you also have to believe the people who create the show we’re all fans of are purposefully cruel dicks. 

Because we have SEEN what it looks like when the showrunner of 911 knows there is no possibility of it happening, has no plans of it, and is generally trying to avoid accusations of queerbaiting.

It looks like S5 & S6. Little bits here and there, the odd important scene to throw breadcrumbs… but a lot of keeping the two characters apart, being circumspect in interviews, PR shut downs on the actors, etc. The show has proven they are capable and willing to exactly that!

So indulge me, and imagine for a second. They had the conversation with the new network, and the execs told them they wanted to continue with the status quo, to write as if Buddie is never going to go canon, BUT were willing to bend so far as to make one of them queer, to keep the fans happy.

What would that look like?

I don't know, call me foolish.... But I think it would look like keeping the same dynamic from The Drought Seasons. Having them be friends and important to each other but still fairly disconnected, not having as much screen-time, etc, It would look like having Buck’s coming out arc be a SEPARATE, individual narrative. If they just wanted to write Tommy and Buck, and that's it, they could have done things differently.

There are just so many conceivable ways they could have written Buck’s coming out arc, to almost completely separate it from Eddie and have it be made clear, in no uncertain terms, that Buck is bi but that doesn’t mean he cares about Eddie like that, that Eddie is a hetero McHetero.

Buck’s coming out arc could have included him being jealous because he’s suddenly faced with Tommy in the flesh and is insecure about how he was technically ‘Tommy’s replacement’ at the 911, with Eddie not relevant to it at all, or have Maddie and Chimney be the ones to interrupt The Date, or literally any other scenario that didn’t make it all about Eddie. 

They could have had one short scene where Eddie and Buck talk about it, and then the rest would be like, Buck talking to Hen about being queer, Buck interacting just with Tommy and getting to know him, Buck doing a research binge about bisexuality and info-dumping at an inappropriate time during a call, etc etc etc.

That’s how you tell that story and only be writing it for the proverbial ‘general audience’.

But they didn't. They purposefully reversed direction. They chose for Buck’s coming out arc to... highlight his nigh-feral jealousy over Eddie forming a homosocial bond with another guy, having said guy repeat with genuine surprise and shock that it was him and not Eddie that Buck was interested in, have Eddie interrupt their date, have Buck be more worried about lying to Eddie than the fact that he’s queer at all, have Maddie say what she did to Buck about telling Eddie in specifically ambiguous terms…

In a season that also included the Fire Extinguisher Incident, and Buck saying he ‘wishes he could help’ with Eddie’s sexual frustration, and a big increase in social media engagement, and having Buck being Eddie’s rock in the last few episodes while he had a bizarrely platonic affair with his dead wife's doppleganger…

If they did that while KNOWING the plan was actually for Buck/Tommy endgame and Eddie riding off in the sunset with a hot female firefighter who has a cool motorcycle or whatever the fuck, or them both dying in a freak car-washing accident, or….

If they GENUINELY planned that? If the entire Buck jealousy plotline was intended to be nothing more than a deliberate queerbait-and-switch? Then they’re fucking assholes, sorry. They would have to know full well exactly what they were doing, how many people’s hopes and emotional investment they were toying with... If they were actually planning to keep dragging it along for seasons more of baiting and dangling things in front of us, while knowing categorically that they had no plans to deliver? That would be genuinely GOD TIER levels of specific, intentional queerbaiting.

Which could be the case! I won't deny that. Shows have done it before, plenty of times. Tim et al could be callous bastards deliberately instructing the actors to wink it up in interviews and share suggestive Tiktoks, and writing Buck’s coming out arc as being entirely focused around Eddie and throwing out hints... All while laughing behind Buddie fans' backs about our gullibility, how we’re keeping the show trending on the force of our delusions, etc. Maybe that's it! Maybe they just genuinely enjoying fucking with people. Or maybe they were just shitty enough writers that they didn't know what they were doing, and it was all a total accident, somehow, the proverbial monkeys pounding at keyboards and accidentally spelling out B U D D I...

But you know what? Call it naive, but I prefer to think they’re not huge assholes, or hugely incompetent.

That there might actually be a point to all this, somewhere down the line.

I guess we'll find out.

[teafer]

goodbye riverdale... i'll miss you so bad

[dollerinna]

Very late to the conversation abt s4, but as a Noir girlie, I feel like this must be said 😤

(SPOILERS BELOW)

I did NOT like how there was little to no substantial development surrounding Noir this season. Instead, they reduced my mans into a comic relief character, which don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy sometimes, but don’t we already…. cough cough have the deep for that? cough

Like they could’ve done something so much more impactful with the og Noir, but noooOOO kripke just HAD to kill him off, and for what? Just for a few little scattered jokes here and there? Meanwhile this entire season has been an absolute uncoordinated mess???? ((Ik Kripke was planning to kill off Noir since the very beginning, but WHY?? 😭

I can see where they might be heading with a potential showdown between Noir II and Soldier Boy in S5, maybe mirroring the disfigurement of the og Noir or sth? But the way they've been building up to that so far just doesn't feel very compelling or efficient to me personally. it just feels they’ll land another lame “haha” moment for the audience and call it a day when it comes to that point

Impactful story arc? Nope- thrown straight outta the window

and yes I know Noir wasn’t even a primary character to the storyline in the first place, so it’s not like the end of the world or anything. Just take this as a nonsensical rant from a bitter Noir stan 🤠

[starleska]

brain is still so scrambled from watching The Legend of Ruby Sunday and Empire of Death in cinemas yesterday but...all i can say is. that felt too easy. far too easy. are we willing to bet that Ruby's story is not entirely over, and when she returns in the next season we will be unearthing that? or am i coping?

[sforzesco]

hello! I always like reading your thoughts on various media set in Ancient Rome and I was wondering if you had any thoughts on i claudius?

(I don’t know if you’ve talked abt the show but tumblr search is being awful rn)

thank you for reading and i hope you have a good rest of your day!

oooh I don't think I've really talked about I Claudius here

I enjoy it a lot! its pretty stripped down compared to the big epic productions set in Rome, and it's 1000% to it's favor. kind of like how artists will do limited palettes to push their boundaries, or stage productions allow you to escalate the character in ways you don't get to experience in other mediums. all of that pushes the show into a space where the spectacle of interpersonal drama really thrives and shines

also I like the aspect ratio it was filmed in! I think it adds a visual tightness that exemplifies how the character narratives interlock with each other, especially since the whole thing is like watching a cascading crash of dynastic dominoes.

[rotzaprachim]

shows which were cancelled before their time and I will never stop being angry about: the get down, bbc class, timeless, sense8, 1899

shows which I think had a decent run or did tell their story well but really wish at more people knew about because they are criminally underrated: bad sisters (only meant to be one season), station eleven (ditto and soooo good), good behavior (only two seasons but where it went in those two seasons…)

shows with decent early seasons which ought to have been put down seasons before they ended from sheer mercy: supernatural, élite, la casa de papel, misfits

[nostalgic-shamefest]

Listen here I will say this once and with my whole chest. I'm a gay eddie truther but if I catch any of you being biphobic on main -especially if the story goes that way- I will find you and I will individually piss on all your doorsteps!

[witsserviceablesubstitute]

I don’t think the harassment is acceptable. I think people are really out of pocket doing that, but I do think him establishing what is and isn’t part of his job is fine. And maybe did need to be said, because clearly people didn’t know.

As for using Buddie as promo… idk. The marketing team is gonna do whatever ABC feels will garner the most viewers, and right now it’s Buck being bi and the long held desire to see him and Eddie become canon. They’re gonna milk it however they can, which falls back on Tim, thus him feelings like he needed to explain himself, presumably.

I do agree it could be toned down though, because Buck is now canonically dating someone else, and I don’t recall them teasing Buddie for real when he was with women. So doing it now the way they are is purely because they’re banking on Buddie fans, while also currently not committing.

Plus, everything Buddie related from before has to now be assumed not canon, so it’s putting everyone in a messy spot. Because we have canon, fanon, show runner confirmed but not on screen, and canon jokes that are now floating in the in between because no one knows if the they’ll be acknowledged in canon or get scrapped.

I think people should just calm down and wait to see what the season brings, anyway. Once it’s over and we get an idea of where all the characters are at, then start asking bigger questions or letting out the more angry frustrations.

Hi! Sorry for the late reply. The sheer amount of work that goes into television hasn't often been well realized in fan spaces. The writing, how it translates to screen, the process of acting, all the work by the crew, the pressures from moneymen, managing the expectations of the audience, the long hours and repetition of scenes. How multiple people working on a creative project means multiple interpretations— all of which bleed through. The showrunner has every right to protect himself and the people who work for him. I was mainly trying to draw on my own experiences in how these harassment campaigns happen, how they continue, and how they can be mitigated.

US TV production has a long and rocky history when it comes to queer narratives. That doesn't really end now that there are canonically queer characters on screen and this fallout is part of the response to that tension.

For example, if I engage in the whole Buddie vs. Bucktommy thing (sorry), I'd say both perspectives have a point they don't realize they're making about queerness in television storytelling.

The thesis I feel like Buddie fans are making is there are two queer coded main characters who love each other, who have seasons of build up in their individual characters and in their relationship. Why can't they be together? Because they're two male main characters on network television? Be bold, be brave. Wouldn't it be amazing if they did commit to that story? Wouldn't it be game changing? Sexuality and friendship and love is not set in stone, it's okay to be flexible. M/F relationships are allowed that space to develop within a story and you know if one of them were a woman they probably would be together already.

The thesis I feel like BuckTommy fans are making is that Buddie was never going to happen, realistically, and it's amazing enough that they committed to Buck being canonically bisexual. Why do you want to rock the boat? Don't you see that if you can't embrace this development it could be snatched away at any moment. The show is its own thing within its own context and not the blinkered interpretation you have of two characters. This queerness is canon.

Those two thesis's (thesi?) are rubbing up against each other and building straw men of the other to attack and tear down. A showrunner wading in was only ever going to combust that tension further and that's what happened. What keeps happening.

[takemetodragonstone]

television used to have season 2 of succession

[sadhorsegirl]

@ all the people who dislike how big of a role moiraine played in season 1 of wot on prime.......i feel so disconnected from u i think we might actually be living on different planets lol

expanding and focusing on moiraine's perspective is the best (if not ONLY) way to adapt the early parts of the story in a new medium that doesn't allow for alternating pov the way chapters in a book can. on its face, the initial elevator pitch for wheel of time is a somewhat generic chosen one narrative. as the story progresses it becomes increasingly complex and unique, particularly in how it discusses the nature of prophecy vs interpretation/individual will and rand vs philosophy/religious themes. all of which are ideas that make the series so good in the first place but are also impossible to really capture fully upon initial introduction. this is a series that builds, its rewards are found the longer you stick with it and realize just how much of a falling dominoes situation rj has carefully lined up. and don't forget rand might be The Chosen One™ but you also need to find a way to introduce and set up the rest of the ef5

how do you make that beginning more engaging and give it a better hook? how do you adequately communicate the scale of the threat facing the world and what the dragon reborn even means? how do you make sure everyone in the ef5 is given an adequate amount of screen time? don't focus on the chosen one, focus on THE SEEKER!!!

moiraine can handle world building and exposition a bit better than the rest of the cast, given that she has literally been alive longer and seen more of the world aka can potentially answer audience questions as they come up. she also functions as both insider (aes sedai vs ef5) and outsider (ef5+moiraine vs white tower) as the story progresses, an interesting shift for her character and a cool way to mimic rj's whole thing about showing how easily characters can end up in over their heads. ALSO from a craft perspective, some of the strongest material to come out of the books, and arguably one of rj's greater talents as a writer, can be found in how much characterization is laid out in how characters see/perceive other characters. if you make moiraine the guiding force of the start of the narrative, you can translate this strength rather well to television -- you get to see how she sees the Edmonds field kids.

also. would you deny her the gift of receiving head bc they decided to confirm and expand on her gay little backstory. would u really go as far as to say she doesn't deserve a little (gay) head for all her trouble + suffering

[libraryleopard]

haunted by this incredibly stupid fanfiction idea that's been sitting in my notes app for several weeks and it just occurred to me that i could make the epigraph "oliver wells is dead! i poured him in the river and swans ate him!" from slings and arrows which i fear is continuing to tempt me to write this

[sas-afras]

genuinely hilarious to watch pre-2015 television and have the characters treat weed with the same level of concern as smoking crack cocaine

[idonthaveacontract]

not to sound like someone who censors words a la “unalived” but I do have to say that I appreciate that mad men is deep thought provoking prestige tv I can enjoy without wondering who is going to be brutally murdered next

[liiistennnn]

this is a post about black sails where I talk a lot about buffy the vampire slayer

my friend just watched hbo girls (four of us are moving to brooklyn and he's doing cultural research dont cancel me) and was saying how the show felt like it should have ended with the penultimate episode where they're all fighting in the bathroom of shosh's engagement party, but then there's another episode, and you're like, what! it was such a tidy narrative arc closing loop and now there's more? and its weird and feels kind of separate? the whole pregnancy arc felt out of phase or whatever. and that's because the girls are moving out of their own genre!!! these stunted immature women are finally trying to grow up. on the show about how they refuse to grow up. so it starts to feel off, disjointed, and bad writing might be part of that, but I think it really works. tidy ending followed by disconcerting life

(the monastery I was at had all these discussion group guidelines and one of them is to expect and accept a lack of closure)

its the same as what happens with buffy the vampire slayer after season 5. and how people love to hate on season 7. and how I saw the tv glow takes place in the afterlife limbo between season 5 and season 6 of buffy. even supernatural was supposed to end after 5 seasons. how if black sails ended at season 3 it could have been an uplifting story of coming together in solidarity for a cause bigger than yourself. with the possibility of overthrowing empire just over the horizon! vane's martyrdom and that incredible battle and the creation of long john silver. but season 4 comes and everyone is repeating choices from season 1 but different people are making them and the story was always going to end like this and hope was there and it didn't change anything but it was there and when they get to skeleton island you finally realize the genre has changed. treasure island prequel. miranda's death haunting season 3 vs a moment of true connection friendship trust between flint and silver haunting season 4. when everything is shit what haunts you is when everything wasn't. and poisoning the past searching for the seeds of everything becoming shit. equal footing slipping to unequal. withholding backstory because we are in his backstory because we are in a prequel.

(billy died at the end of season 1 and came back without his naïveté. silver died at the beginning of season 4 and came back a pirate king. how does death work on black sails?)

season 6 of buffy is so incredible and the came back wrong motif is so captivating because resurrection is just an opportunity to let the facade drop. she doesn't have to pretend anymore or she finally can't pretend anymore. to be ok. I saw the tv glow said sometimes to save your life you have to bury yourself alive and die and then claw your way out of that grave. death is not about rest its about finding a way to live. spike is the only one who knows what its like to come back and she fucks him because he loves her and because she thinks there's something wrong with her. but she's always felt that way its not actually about the rebirth. its about joyce dying from something buffy can't fight which is about growing up which is about having to accept that you have to live in the world. you can't kill yourself (they'll just bring you back) and nobody else is going to pay your bills. and season 7 is so weird and they are renegotiating so much worldbuilding and vibechanging and taking them right back to the start. buffy works at the high school and becomes joyce-giles to all those slayers and then at the end, all three of their partners dead, buffy and willow and xander are back at high school, single and fifteen. they won they finally grew up and now they get to be young again, in the last shot they're the kids with giles looking over them. and this time faith and dawn are there, buffy's noun name sisters (faith is sister and faith is angel and faith is spike). but you can't go home again (the odyssey) and she looks changed. old. season 5 felt like an ending because she died. finally allowed to rest. season 7 feels like real life. even though they beat the big bad of the season you know the wheel will keep spinning forever and there will always be a new monster of the week. idk,,, what happens after the story is over if you're still alive?

(I had so much trouble watching season 4 of buffy the first time around I was like what do you mean they're not in high school?)

is flint's death truer because he was unmade? is rackham right and it doesn't matter if he was shot or sent to the farm because what matters is that he is out of frame? finally free of the story, against his will. can't believe silver names his parrot after him though. not out of frame completely

(but even though it's silver's prequel - it's literally the story of his becoming - he unmakes himself at the end of black sails too. not just flint. they created the pirate king the legend they named him long john and he was a king of war. when he ended the war he unmade himself too)