#rock art and the x ray style

[razorsadness]

Oh, let's go down to Al Rashid's All the Aussie lagers are on me Now you've got the absinthe out Your old mother, she wants a stout

From Willesden to Cricklewood As I went, it all looked good Thought about my babies grown Thought about going home Thought about what's done is done We're alive and that's the one From Willesden to Cricklewood From Willesden to Cricklewood

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Country Honey

 ♡ featuring: ranchhand!toji x richgirl!reader

 ♡ synopsis: a spoiled, wealthy college senior is forced to spend her summer at her father’s rural farm as punishment for her reckless behavior and slipping academic performance. unbeknownst to her, a bigger storm awaits just around the corner.

 ♡ wc: 16.5k+ (AHHHHHH)

 ♡ cw/tw: afab!reader, enemies to lovers if you squint, hurt/comfort kinda sad toji, feral toji, spanking, overstimulation, edging, sadism/masochism, throat fucking, cock worship, m/f receiving, doggy style, degradation kink, brat taming, dumbification, reader is a spoiled brat a lot of the time

notes: oh god, where do i begin...i know ive been gone for so long. firstly i want to apologize, and secondly ill explain my absence in a second post. not proofread so i apologize, honestly i shouldnt have tried a long fic for my comeback bc it took way too long to finish, but either way i hope you all enjoy! art by moonlessoul on ig! comments and reblogs are appreciated ♡

“Almost there.” 

The sleek luxury car your dad drives grumbles at a rocky pace over an evidently gravelly road. If you can even call it a road—rather the patchy fragments of flattened dirt eroded by heavy traffic from a forgotten time. It’s a path shrouded by southern live oak, canopying its leaves and spearing sharp rays of summer daylight through the sunroof.  

You’re feeling every second of this bumpy ride. The wheels hop over an unsteady rock and your knees jab into your sternum. You’re pressed into an unfortunate position, with your legs pinched to your chest and the bright pink suitcase you insisted on bringing sandwiching you to the leather seat. You struggle to wiggle to a decent side that spares your sweltering face from the sun, but the other seats are also occupied with your luggage. And the front seat. And the trunk. 

Maybe that’s why you were brought here in the first place. You’re well off to a sickening amount and you’ve made no efforts to conceal your wealth. Your dad sacrificed his golden years to foster an agricultural business in the rural south, and now you reap the rewards of his labor. You know it and spend it as such. You’ve collected a textbook of names throughout the years—spoiled, bratty, coddled, pompous—each insult savored more than the last. You embraced being a spoiled rich girl and all it had to offer. Top notch schools, waitlisted parties, designer bags, and just about any opportunity you could get your greedy hands on.  

High school left like the wind and before you knew it, the 4.0 extracurricular weapon you used to be devolved into a nightlife college senior, more invested in the extravagant yacht parties than your academic probation. It was a risky misstep, but you didn’t have the heart to care when your dad could easily pay your way to graduation. At this rate you’d be a couple years behind your peers. Your dad wasn’t having any of it. 

The festivities stopped. No unlimited debit card and especially no spending. This could possibly be your final senior summer, and instead of celebrating with friends you’re making up for your transgressions. The worst part is the rural retreat he’s currently driving you to with no sign of civilization for miles.  

You could die right now. 

“How much longer?” You drawl on the last syllable, flicking your phone on and off in hopes that a bar or two will magically appear in the top right. He glances at you through the rearview mirror, a tinge of southern, "Just a few more minutes.”  

You let you phone fall from your limp hand and lean your head against the open window. Nothing but ancient trees and the occasional berry bush. You’re not sure if you should be more upset by the consequences of your actions or the actual actions that roped you into this mess. Instead of ruminating on your mistakes, you allow your eyelids to droop in the oppressive warmth. 

“We’re here darling.” Your eyes shoot open. So soon, and surely not after the forest you’d been traversing moments ago. You’re able to scoot up more, the sound of stone-pathed roads rattling in your ears. You tuck your knees underneath you and lift yourself up now that the terrain was smoother, poking your torso out the window. A bane of light strikes you immediately, and you blink away its brilliance to reveal crystal blue skies. 

Your mouth shapes an ‘O’, and you push your designer glasses over your forehead. “...No way” you gawk, taken by the view your father cultivated. 

This is nothing like the previous tunnel, and certainly nothing like the skyscrapers you’ve grown accustomed to. It’s an endless expanse disrupted by stone and crowded with overgrown wheat, bobbing in the mild breeze. They travel up the winding hill, ducking under wooden fences to border the farmhouse. The two-story ivory home exudes simplicity, strung with hanging pothos that wrap around the spacious porch and decorative shuttered windows painted like strawberries. From your limited view you notice the large red wooden barn peeking out behind the house, and a dirt trail leading to productive areas; a small stable, cattle, and other farm animals coexist in a sector made for their comfort. Beside the home is the largest Magnolia tree you’ve ever seen, with branches extending over the pitched, fabled roof and overhanging eaves with sweeping petals. It’s purposefully overgrown and homely, a humble size incomparable to the mansion you were raised in. 

Your father pulls up to the oak gate with a tattered sign overhead: Welcome to Pleasantview Farms.  

The lack of security, never mind the lack of extravagance, is astonishing to you. It’s unexpected of your father—the man that required you have a designated butler all throughout secondary school. “You never told me about all this” you yell from outside the window, still gazing at distant rolling hills of dewy grass. “You never asked” he chuckles, and turns onto another hill leading up to the house. You look beneath you; patches of flowering weeds fighting their way past the pavement. 

He parks in an open plot half occupied by a wheelbarrow, packed to the brim with haybales. “We’re here.” He turns the car off and steps out to open your side. Your luggage slams onto the dirt before you do, and you yelp.  

“No, it’s gonna get dirty!” He laughs and brushes specs of soil off your precious bag. “And if it does, you’ll be alright pumpkin.” You groan and attempt to get out without sacrificing your hot pink slides, when your first foot gives into silt. You scream and stumble onto dry earth, leaving your phone behind to *splat* in the mud. You kick off the mud barely clinging to your shoes until you catch a glimpse of your glittery phone charm on the floor. It takes you a second to process the mud-covered device slowly descending, but when your brain synapses finally link, you expel an ear-shattering shriek. To which your dad stifles a smile at the dramatic performance. 

He picks it up and wipes the debris on his ivory shirt. “One more reason for you not to have it” he says and tucks it away in his pocket while you’re struck with a permanent look of horror. 

The front door swings open, and you turn to see a thin older woman. Slightly older than your father, her face is gentle and creased with living. Her hair fades from light gray to dark brown at the very tips, tied neatly into a bun with a coiled band. She removes her pale-yellow gloves and stuffs them into the back pocket of her bleached trousers, jogging up to you. “Good afternoon, Annie” he smiles, and she stretches a wide grin that nearly shuts her eyes. “Hello, sir. Is everything alright?”  

“Yup, just kids being kids” he snickers and plants both hands on either side of your shoulders. “This is my daughter.” 

“Good afternoon” you meek, devastated and contemplating the status of your phone. She audibly gasps and grabs your hands, and you jolt. “You’re even more beautiful in person. I’ve heard so much about you.” It’s like she’s studying your face with the way she gazes into your eyes, to which they fall onto your cheeks and hair. You’re not one to shy away from flattery, but the direct compliments spread embarrassment across your ears. 

“Keep her company while I get these from the car, will you? Maybe show her around.” She nods, and leads you on an impromptu tour through the house.  

“There isn’t much to see ‘round here, but I’ll try to make it interestin’ for ya” she jokes. The entryway is quaint, keeping nothing but rubber boots covered in dirt and farming tools used for today’s workload. “This where we keep what we need for today. S’just better to pick it up from the front.” You nod.  

Further in, the hallways are decorated with baby pictures of you at various photoshoots. On the left side, she shows you a pastel green kitchen embellished with colorful floral paintings above the handles. Annie talks with her hands, “This is my domain. Damn near painted the whole thing. Took a lot of convincin’, but I got it eventually.”  

“Do you live here?” you questioned. “We all do!”  

“All?” 

“Mhm”, she hums, “Me, Terrace, Lionel, and...” she trails off at the end. You’re surprised that they’re living where they work, and even more surprised that she’s all smiles while doing it. “Do you...like living here?” 

“Of course! Pays well, lots'a vacation time, and everything’s compensated.” You tilt your head slightly, “Where do you guys' sleep?” 

“We got our own place out back, all of us. Sweet deal, huh?” she says, patting your back. “And who was the other person that works here?” you ask. 

Annie waves off the idea, stating “You don’t have to worry ‘bout him, he’s not really the talkin’ type.” 

Perhaps it was her bluntness or her motherly cadence, but you quickly became comfortable with her presence dragging you around like a lost puppy. She showed you the living room that appeared to be vomited on by all things antique and vintage, and the bathroom tiled an ugly orange pattern. She led you outside, where a garden blossoming with peonies and hibiscus was trimmed carefully to adorn the pebbled path and fit around the barn. Far-out past the back gate you saw what you assumed was their living quarters, separated from miles of tillage. 

By the time she finished her grand tour, you made it upstairs together to regroup with your dad. The second floor was reserved for your bedrooms and attached bathrooms. Entering your room, there’s nothing special about it. It seems like your dad attempted to buy things similar to your style, but couldn’t quite figure it out. You weren’t expecting much of anything considering this was your first—and most likely last—time being here, but it’s truly mediocre. “Whaddaya think pumpkin?”  

“I love it” you choke out a lie and plop onto the red plaid bedding. Your luggage is lined up by the dresser, and you have quite the unpacking session awaiting you. Annie leans on the doorway. “I’ll let ya get settled in. We can do more in the morning.” Your dad leaves with her, and when you’re left alone stewing in the reality, you fall back onto the comforter. 

One day is entertaining, you’d even call it an enjoyable experience. But the entire summer? You spend the rest of the day emptying out suitcase after suitcase, and turn in under the heavy blankets starving off a midnight chill. 

You’re up before the crack of dawn, contemplating what you’ll wear as if that matters while you’re shoveling shit and carrying chicken feed. You throw on something impractical either way—a plaid button up tied to crop, tight denim shorts, and a brand new pair of shiny cowboy boots you just couldn’t resist buying when the trip was announced. You stomp your way to the back porch and are immediately hit with the bittersweet scent of humid pastures and last night’s rain within the tepid wind. It’s utterly quiet besides the distant echo of cattle and pigs, cicadas humming an airy tune. Your eyes latch onto the barn, slightly parted with a dim light going on the inside.  

You recall what Annie said to you during the tour when you asked what’s in the barn: “I suggest you leave it alone, nothin’ worth lookin’ at in there.” Her clear avoidance intrigued you, and the more she dodges actual answers the more curious you become. You tread carefully on the path so you don’t alert whoever or whatever’s inside. As you plant one weightless foot over the other, you stop.  

A deep, gritty voice; thick like the bark of an ancient redwood. He grunts then *chop*, followed by something solid rolling on a prickly surface. Another thick groan and another *chop*. You get closer to the barn and slide across it, practically dragging yourself against Annie’s wishes.  

*Chop* 

You clutch the side of the parted door. 

*Chop* 

You peak your head in. The two story barn houses an array of soils and tools used for farming on the bottom, and clumps of hay piled high at the top. 

The older man with a mop of inky hair hangs his head low, honed in on the objective beneath him. The sharp end of the axe steadies above his head, then cuts through the air as it lands deep within the stump. He goes for another swing, beads of sweat meandering between his pecs, down the carved muscle of his abdominal and disappearing below his chiseled v-line. He digs his thick calloused fingers into the crevice and splits it. It’s as if his physique was crafted by careful hands, weaving marble like silk only Roman gods could mimic. 

Your entirely distracted by the unexpected scene before you when the silence is cut by a clatter. His breaths are sharp and purposeful as he kicks it off the stand and trudges to the uncut pile of logs. You watch him with wandering eyes, taking mental notes of scars hiding underneath the fine hair spread across his torso. This isn’t the grumpy old man you imagined when Annie spoke so brazenly about him. 

He hasn’t glanced at you once, despite standing right in front of the post he’s chopping on. It’s slightly aggravating. You’ve never had to ask for anyone’s attention before. You bathed in wealth, just enough to make even the snobbiest trust-fund kid turn his head. He must be blind. So, you wait until he comes to his senses, tapping your foot with your arms crossed over your chest.   

And you do that...for a while. More than a few minutes pass, and you’re still standing here. You stir in the silence and methodical chopping, feeling flustered at how needy you look waiting for a man's response. A piece of wood—more important than you? Impossible. In a last-ditch attempt, you clear your throat rather dramatically. Nothing. A log rolls by your foot and the older man walks up to you only to kneel down and grab the wood before going back to his task. Heat creeps onto your cheeks. Are you fucking kidding me?  

“Are you hard of hearing, mister?” you finally ask, batting your eyelashes at him. It’s a deep contrast to the irritation boiling in your stomach, so much so you have to choke back the vulgar words bubbling at the surface.  He glimpses you with frosted olive eyes and swings the axe over his head. In a mild country accent he replies, “No.”  

“...Oh.” You’re struck with palpable quiet once again. You’re fixed to the floor, struggling with something to say that doesn’t start with ‘fuck you’. As you’re about to open your mouth, he speaks.  

“Heard ya the first time.  If ya wanna talk, use your words.” You stare in utter disbelief. Was it audacity or straight stupidity? You can’t imagine anyone disrespecting their employer’s child, let alone commanding them.   

“Excuse me?” He tosses the last log in the pile.  

“Hm? Should I do it in a way you’ll understand?” he brings his fist to his lips, clearing his throat as you did.  There’s a glint through that frost, the twinkle of an obvious shit-stirrer. You’re pissed no doubt, but the corner of your lip twitches at a challenge. 

The most important tool to a wealthy family is humility. You can’t be too self-centered or prideful to strangers, dropping hints of sugary kindness as to not sour your perception. Perception is truly everything. Even so, the flowered words you’ve been taught to wield with grace wilt at the sight of him. 

“Oh, so it’s gonna be like that, huh?” You scoff, plopping down on the stump. He wipes his dirt-dusted hands on the back of his overalls, straps dangling at his thighs. “Not sure what ya mean.” 

“From what I’m getting, you’re a grumpy asshole. That description sound correct?” 

“‘M only an ass when trust-fund kids call me like I'm a dog.” 

“You know, the way Annie talks about you I thought you’d be some geriatric old man on his death bed! Turns out you’ve still got a couple more months in you—congrats!” 

He laughs, “‘Preciate it. If I’m correct you must be papa’s spoiled little brat from the big city?” 

“Mhm. Don’t worry, this was your first offense so I’ll let it slide. Remember to get on your knees when you apologize.” He pretends to ponder the idea, “Think I’ll pass. You can pick up one ‘o them bags up though and bring ‘er up to the field.” 

You pause for a second, blinking. Instantly you double over with snorting laughter, the kind that tints your face and gathers tears at your lashes. You’re even clutching your stomach from how funny it is. When you come up from your fit, he’s there with his arms crossed under his chest. That’s when you realize he wasn’t joking by any means. You gape in disbelief, a chuckle still caught in your throat. 

“Wait…you’re serious?” He walks over to one of the sacks and tosses it at your feet. “Well, get to work. I’ll show ya where to put it.” You purse your lips when a giggle slips, “Do you really think that’s gonna happen? Must be the age catching up with your brain.” 

“I think it is gonna happen cause yer in my area. If you wanna be here, you’re gonna work. Nothin’s free ‘round these parts.” You hop off the stump and stand in front of him. Unfortunately, your attempt to size him up fails as your crane your neck to meet his gaze. “You can’t make me do anything. In fact, this is my property, and you’re here to do your job. So go do it” you terse. 

“Nah, that’s not how this works. You’re on the farm now, not some bullshit country club you go to on weekends. Take yer ass to that bag and pick it up.” 

You feign a pout, “Isn’t a pretty girl in your presence enough hard work already?” 

“Not when she has so much mouth. The pretty ones know how to shut up.” 

“I wouldn’t have so much mouth if you didn’t back talk.” He gets in close, only inches away from your face. 

“Either go pick flowers, whatever girly shit you do, or do what I tell you to do.” 

“I’ll tell my dad you’re forcing me into manual labor.” 

“Aww, go ahead” he mocks with a smirk. He walks towards the door, wrapped in golden sunlight. Curious, you try tugging on the sack and nearly face-plant over the weight of it. There’s no way he expects you to carry it on your own. He turns back around, laced with mirth. 

“By the way, name’s Toji. Welcome home, sweetheart.” 

“Go do it yourself since you’re so good at it! You egotistical, selfish, brutish-” 

“Pompous ass instigatin’ little-” 

“-Callous disrespectful pig!” 

“-Brat.”  

The words topple over themselves and you both can’t get a full sentence in as insults are hurled like physical objects. The few days you’ve spent on the farm so far have been nothing short of hell, specifically around Toji. You’ve never worked this hard in your life; then again, that’s not saying much. He'd disregard your lack of general strength and enthusiasm. Sometimes he’d hold the underside of the bag to take some of the weight off, to which you often added “why don’t you just grab the whole damn thing?” A smirk and curt response were simply “Nope.” 

Most days you merely dragged a few bags to the pick-up truck and spent the rest of the day lounging around the garden. You’d stumble into the kitchen, a bead of sweat barely manifesting on your brow, and complain to Annie about Toji’s evil plan to make you contribute. 

Today is no different and you laze on the chair with your back bent over it, groaning in theatrical agony. Annie sits across from you funneling blueberry muffin batter into a silver muffin tin. “Yea, yea, I hear ya” she jokes.  

“Annie, do something” you drawl. She throws her hands up, “Can’t. Thats on you, now.” You scrape the side of the bowl and pop a blueberry-dipped finger in your mouth.  

“Don’t eat raw egg, hun” she says, turning her back to put the tray in the oven. You unconsciously take another swipe, then the door swings open. Heavy cowboy boots trail to the kitchen, and you glance at the doorway. Toji leans on it with his hands in his pockets, white tank sprinkled with grass blades.  

“Shit” you mumble.  

“’M lookin for ya and here you are stuffing your face.” 

“The girl neva worked a day in her life an’ you want her to be your assistant” Annie jests.  

“’S about time, ain’t it? We’re not done yet. C’mon.” You let out another reluctant groan and follow behind him. “This is bullshit, nobody does this on a normal day.” 

“Yea, nobody you know.” 

In front of the wheelbarrow bags upon bags are filled to the brim with juicy red apples and the truck is just a few feet away. Your eyebrow twitches imagining the weight in your arms. “You can go fuck yourself if you think-” before you can finish your sentence, a bag is dropped into your arms that briefly sends you to the ground. Toji picks up two and flings them over his back. “What? Too weak?” He walks to the truck, ignoring the glare burning holes in the back of his head. Too weak, my ass. You definitely couldn’t beat him in a fight, but you damn sure wouldn’t let him talk down on you after proving your competence. You pull it up and haul it backwards, not without a few mild choice words. 

“Jerk.” 

The pungent odor of slurry and trough feed overcome any habitable air near the pig farm. The clothespin you have clamped around your nose barely blocks the smell. It’s the middle of the day, rays rippling heat off the stench and sending it for miles. Your cowboy boots struggle to sit upright on the uneven terrain blanketed with mud.  

You don’t dare to open your mouth and complain in fear of it invading your sinuses. It’s your fault for nagging endlessly about the “back-breaking” work Toji forced you to do. your criticisms were met with some rendition of “suck it up”, and arguing only went in circles. Consistent arguing—from the moment you woke up to the last minutes of your shift, where you mouthed off one too many times for his liking. When you threatened to find another shift with someone else, he laughed in your face, a “good luck” drowning in derision.  

 Eventually Terrace got word of your grievances and offered part of his work to you. You accepted too soon without consulting Annie, happy to just rub it in Toji’s face that he’d be on his own carrying the bags. Simply the concept of it—Toji hunched over and covered in sweat with heaps of cargo—satiated your pride, and you’d count the days until he groveled and begged for your help again. 

Except that’s not the case. As you fight the urge to sink into the mud a seed of regret grows in a more reasonable part of your mind. You could ask for your position back, where he’d probably be waiting with that shit-eating grin of his and “I told you so” written all over his face. Or you could be stubborn and prove whatever point you’re trying to make. Stupidly headstrong, you swallow the urge to vomit and plod into the pig pen.  

The squelch of damp earth and God-knows-what underneath your boots is enough to make you sick. You’re balancing two full buckets of pigswill on either side of you, resisting the lack of steadiness that causes you to lean unfavorably. It’s no help that there’s filthy pigs all around you, snorting and trotting along. One bumps into the bucket and you shriek; your foot goes airborne and impending doom flashes before your eyes. Luckily, you gain stability and plant it firmly into the ground with an awful bubbling noise. The mess has soiled your boots coming up to your calves, and you frantically check for mud-to-skin contact. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, but it’d definitely be the end of your day. Suddenly, a whistle from the other side of the wooden fence grabs your attention. 

“Go on then, pig queen!” Toji yells, elbows propped on the edge. His accent gets thicker when he yells. He’s not affected by the smell in the slightest, and it almost looks like he’s breathing in extra hard to taunt the shortage of oxygen reaching your brain. 

“Fuck you!” you yell in a nasally tone. He adjusts his cowboy hat, “I’d focus on what’s in front of ya. Wouldn’t wanna slip in shit, right?” You scoff and continue to the troughs.  

You can’t imagine how Terrace, let alone anyone does it—from the constant clamor of livestock to sinking in pools of muck for hours. There’s dirt on your knees, clothes, in places you never imagined dirt could reach. The pigs seem excited as you place the pails on the rim, whereas you exert a long sigh for the fulfilled trek. They come running in unison as if something triggered in their brains, pushing past each other to get there first. Once they’re emptied, a partial weight lifts from your shoulders. You shoot an arrogant sneer at Toji, and watch the corner of his scar tip up just a little. You’re still pinned to the side, and a wet snout gently prods your exposed leg. It tickles and you laugh at its cluelessness. “Hey, I’m not on the menu.”  

As you slither out the crowd, a sneaky puddle attempts to take you out. You cling to the embarrassment, to Toji standing right there ready to mock you. You won’t give him the satisfaction. From there you take careful steps, one cautious foot after the other. Toji meets you around the entrance, and you’re about to reach the gate. You’re oozing confidence now; you might even brag to your father about the effortlessness of it all, that living on a farm is nothing, that you were able to accomplish anything— 

Slip. Crash! 

You’re knocked clean off your ass, so fast it doesn’t register until a few blinks pass. You hold a breath and the blurriness fades.  

Brown. It’s on your face.  

It’s truly everywhere—mud sloshing around in your boots, seeping into your clothes, sticking to the crevices, your fingers intertwined in the mass below.  

The emotion you try to stifle boils over into a horrified squeal, a tune that exceeds the pigs. And you scream and scream. Once for the mud and twice for the death of your designer boots. You’re so entwined in your own screams that you barely catch the laughter a few feet away.  

It’s him, doubled over with a practically red face. “I get you wanna be one of the pigs but you don’t hafta roll in it too!” Toji chortles. He can’t contain himself, wiping the tears on his glove. 

Your ears feel hot. “Shut the fuck up and get me out of here!” 

“Relax, relax. Gimmie a second.” The footsteps get further away, and you stumble to the gate to open. It doesn’t matter now that the damage is done, and you look like some terrifying swamp monster from myth. The lower half of you could only be concocted in a child's nightmares. 

Something snakes in the trampled grass, then it pauses. “Here.” Sooner than you can turn your head, you’re blasted with water. It rains on you like a thundershower and you cover your face from the assault. Denim weighs heavy, and your hair sticks to your face. You feel the dirt washing off, but now you’re soaked in a mixture of water and sodden debris. Wet, you’re spitting out water and treating your fingers like windshield wipers. The hose finally drops, and your eyes trail from the hand to the face.  

That shit-eating grin. 

“No need to thank me, miss piggy.” 

Your lip twitches. Should you kill him? Absolutely. Is it worth it? In this moment, yes. You’re doused, dirty, nose blind, and no longer hanging on to your act of humility. You have to get him back, at least once. It doesn’t matter if you have to wait all summer for it, creeping in doorways for the perfect time to demean him. There’s no level playing field—either your way or nothing. A smile stretches across your face. 

“You’re so right, darling. Now let me show you just how much I appreciate you.” You saunter to him, and he awaits with open arms. Before he can grab you, you dodge him and snatch the hose from the ground.  

Aim and fire, full force directly at his face. The blast knocks his hat off and into the air, swaying in the balmy breeze. His arm falls short of snatching it, plopping into the pen to blend with shit. You can’t hear the muffled curses he spouts, but damn is it satisfying to silence him. Then he reaches for you to which you promptly escape his span. You take time hosing down any remaining dry spots, and once the hose is down, he launches. You yelp and return to his face, and the abruptness makes him slip. Right into the mud you just shook off, he lands butt-first. It splatters his cargo pants and creates polka dot patterns on the white tank stretching to accommodate his frame. “You little-” 

Another burst of water. He tries to stand on slippery foundation and quickly falls, earth splashing back on him. You understand why he was laughing so hard and you can’t stop giggling at the misery of inescapable rain showers.  

“Looks like you needed some too! I can smell you from here!” you laugh. His snicker comes off more conniving than it should, and you brace for whatever hell you’ll have to pay later. He bolts up, and you make a run for it. Just when he thinks he has you, he slips again.  

“Poor grandpa! Someone get his life alert!” you cackle, dropping the hose and sprinting for the hills. You’re too afraid to turn around when you know for a fact he is mere feet away from capturing you. You cut through air, nothing but crumpling grass and laughter carried by the wind. It’s exhilarating...fun?  

You're confused by your own actions. You smell horrible, your hair is sticky, disgusting slop clings to you like a second skin, the sun is only baking the scent, and your self-proclaimed rival is chasing you.  

You should be mortified, and somehow, you’ve never felt better. 

Motes of dust scatter within the golden hue of mornings wake. The window’s cracked open, and remnants of last night's chill carry through sunrise. You’ve sat in this claw tub for way too long, melting in steam and lavender bubbles that slowly dissipate the longer you linger. A self-care day is what you need, especially after the “incident” that still makes your skin crawl weeks later. Simply your mud mask, waning candles, and rustling leaves. It’s rare you get silence like this nowadays, with Toji constantly on your back bickering about trivial problems.  

You can’t place your finger on what bothers you more, or if you’re really even bothered at all. Ironically, spending more time mulling over what you hate than actually hating him. You can mouth your contempt for him endlessly like an affirmation on deaf ears, but it never truly manifests.  

He’s annoying, selfish, crude, and disrespectful. 

Oh, and did I mention very annoying? 

It’s almost a bonding experience between you two; you’ve memorized the way his lips curve before a snarky remark, the deep crease on one side of his eyebrow when they furrow at something stupid you unintentionally did, his jaw clenching from held back words. His laugh—deep and resounding, unleashing a toxic mix of vomit and thrill in your stomach. You anticipate it, practice your insults in the shower for it, as if...you’re actually looking forward to it? 

You steep further into the fragrant bath, hoping you’ll somehow be sucked into an alternate reality where you don’t have to face those conflicting emotions. To your displeasure, the conflict is brought directly to you.  

A roaring engine disrupts your personal spa, and you jolt up. It sounds like a monster truck convention decided to congregate right below your bathroom window, and you definitely can’t relax under these conditions. You loosely wrap the towel around yourself and peer out over the windowsill. You can’t see a face, but you see that distinct cowboy hat stained over its silver conchos. 

“Hey!” you yell. No response, but how could you expect him to when the hood is propped up. He must be wrenching something inside judging by the way his back muscles methodically tighten. 

“HEY!”  

“TOJI!” That gets his attention and he squints above, wrench still in hand. “Oh! What are ya doing there?” 

“This is my bathroom you idiot!” 

He pans between the vehicle and your window. “Oops!” 

“Turn it off, I’m trying to have my beauty bath in peace!” 

  “Welp, can’t do anything about that now, can we?” He makes no attempt to turn it off, nor does he give you any more attention as he turns around and resumes working like nothing happened. 

You run downstairs completely haggard, mud mask hardly washed off with a pair of mismatched socks and a baggy shirt. The rumbling gets louder, and you don’t have the patience for appearances when you step into those clod-smeared boots.  

The screen door swings open and you march to the side of the house, towel bunched in your arms. 

He doesn’t regard you until you launch it at his face, which he promptly catches without looking. “Thanks, needed somethin’ to dry off.” He wipes the oil streaks from his face and neck while you stand there scowling. His eyebrows narrow. 

“What’s the problem now?” You should've predicted he’d say this, as every time a dispute arises over his uncivil actions he asks the same clueless question. 

“What...God, you’re so annoying sometimes! Do you not understand how it doesn’t make any sense for you to be here and-” He’s spacing off, scratching the side of his head with the wrench. It drives you up the wall when he acts like this. 

“Listen to me!” That triggers him back to the present, and the light flickers in his eyes just to deadpan you. “You done?” 

“No, I’m not done. Say you’re sorry” you command. He takes the hat off his head and places it on his chest. “My apologies, princess. I’ll be sure to call the company and let them know their machine is too loud for your prissy little ass” he smiles, coy and bowing. You nudge him and the wind rushes from his nose. 

“When you call them, let them know their piece of shit junk needs to be out of commission.” 

“Well, this piece of shit lasts a lifetime.” 

“What even is this?” You’re analyzing it, and it reminds you of the illegal three-wheelers certain people ride through the city. It has no seatbelt or roof, and a row of sharp spinning blades hooked to the back. 

“City girl’s never heard of this, huh? ‘Sa tiller. Gets the job done durin’ plantin’ season.” You step towards it, but Toji stops you from going further with his arm. “Don’t go near the blades.” 

“Obviously.” You shoo him and climb into the seat of tiller. You sink into the leather seat, lay back, and cross your feet on the wheel. Toji grimaces, but that subtle sign that you’re inconveniencing him eggs you on. 

“Get yer feet off the wheel.” 

“Mm, nah. It’s not hurting anyone.” 

“’S hurting me.” 

“Hmph, okay.” You switch your feet to the opposite cross, and he looks up to an invisible God, probably begging it to give him the strength to not throw you off. 

“What did I-” 

“Sorry, can’t hear you over the engine!” you scream. He sighs and hunches back over the hood. “Jus’ be quiet for me, have to finish this.” Funny how he asks for quiet in these deafening circumstances. 

You didn’t plan on watching him work, but you hate to admit it’s kind of interesting. It’s the quietest he’s ever been, sweat trickling down his temples from the apparent heat on the inside. This must’ve been what Annie meant at the beginning, about his silence and reluctance to speak unless being spoken to. The scars scattered on his bicep shift with the cranking wrench, and you can’t help but focus on it. They’re too deep to be cat scratches and healed with a bunched sheen under its darker edges. There’s one under his collarbone, too, peeking past his shirt neckline dark and jagged. Your mind wanders, for the past life he had—what was his family like, why does he choose to live here, why are there so many scars, what led him to- 

“You’re staring.” You snap out of it, to him wiping the excess oil on his shirt. 

“Sorry.” 

“Oh? Where’d that hospitality come from all of a sudden?” You can’t explain why, but there’s a solemn pit burning in your stomach. Perhaps you’d lighten up a bit, at least for now. “Appreciate it while it lasts” you remark. He grins and gets back to work. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Changin’ the ignition coil. That’s why she sounds like hell.” 

Your ears perk up, “She?” 

“Yup.” 

“Does she have a name?” 

“Nope.” 

“Can I name her?” He puts the replacement coil on, “Knock yourself out.” 

“Hmm…how about….Priscilla?” He can’t purse his lips quick enough to stop the laugh that escapes.  

“Hey! I think Priscilla’s a cute name” you add. “Yeah, for an old woman.” 

“No way, an old woman name would be something like ‘Gertrude’.” 

“Gertrude’s on the same level as Priscilla.” 

“Either way it’s fitting, isn’t it? An old woman for an old man.” His scar tips up. “Ha ha. Think I’m pretty fit for an old man, though.” 

Your eyes reluctantly snap to his chest muscles peeking through the shirt. “You manage.” He pushes the coil away from the flywheel. 

“Maybe Rosy? Oh, or Susie.” 

“Think I’ll just call ‘er (Y/N).” 

“Huh? Why my name?” 

“So when you make me mad, I can curse her out instead of you. Best part is she won’t talk back.” He tightens the last screws and shuts the hood. Immediately the banging stops, and the engine reduces to a whir. You clap sarcastically, “Nice job! You get a C minus.” 

“Why not an A?” 

“You’ll get an A when you stop pissing me off.” 

Sticky sunbeams melt and mold into your pores, stiff from the aftereffects of its suffocating warmth. The sky gives way to a heatwave, where shimmering hot sheets scorch the ground and ripple like a retreating ocean. Lionel taught you how to harvest fruit before the rooster’s crow, and you reaped the rewards of your labor all morning. You’re numbed to the moisture collecting on your face at this point, as its vicious, stuffy humidity swallows your breaths and envelops your bleary eyes. You chose to shut them over battling the sun, bathing in its essence. It would settle in the late afternoon and blend to a forgiving mess of sunset swatches, but in the meantime, you’d soak up a bronzing tan.  

You brought a blanket to the nearest tree you could find, an expansive canopy spearheading small manageable daylight. You’re leafing through the pages of a non-fiction novel you never finished with a makeshift flower bookmark tucked under your thumb. You occasionally stop to dive in the compensation for your earlier efforts; a basket of scarlet strawberries twisted around prickly stems. 

The book tugs from your grasp and you prop up your sunglasses, gazing at the perpetrator. 

It only takes a glance to notice how badly burnt Toij’s body is. Does he really need someone to remind him to apply sunscreen, a basic necessity, or did he get too wrapped up in his work again? Toji was, if nothing else, a hard worker. You caught yourself on more than one occasion observing him. You saw it in the way the other farmers freely asked for his help, and how he’d give it for nothing in return. He moved like the wind, stoic demeanor all consuming, to behave like the rough muteness he pushed upon himself. 

A rosy shade diffuses on the apples of his cheeks and clearly separates from the protected and unprotected parts of his flesh. Its shape outlines a tank top he must’ve been wearing with the bottom hiked up, bright rubescent pattern surrounding his surprisingly smooth pecs. You take a mental note to nag him about it next time. The smudged outline of your glasses reflects on his glistening lower abdomen and his chest heaves like a marathon in the desert.  

“What ya reading?” he asks. His eyes drag across the page. “None of your business” you retort, hazy and lax from summer’s embrace. He peers over the book and passes it off to you.  

“Don’t seem like the reading type.” He plops down on the grass with a basket of dirt and carrots, few contorted to an inedible extent. “Neither do you.” He digs his fingers in the basket and begins fishing out the deformed carrots. The usual banter, macerated by exhaustion, ghosts by with little intent. 

“If you’re looking for help, I don’t feel like it.” 

“I know.” 

You both don’t say anything for a while, taking in the warmth, the cicadas buzzing in a faraway tree, the brewing pause between your bodies, unsaid words binding you to selfish outcomes, depriving you of your deepest hunger. The book is no longer as interesting as you remember. You’re more inclined to watch the sunburnt farmer. 

He picks up another clump. Inching along the carrot is a ladybug. Toji regards it for a second with the same eyes that chop trees and drag metal. At first, he does nothing. Then you track the tip of his finger as it prods slightly, goading the ladybug onto it. He carries it with the same unwavering stoicism to a blade of grass, where the ladybug hops off and continues its journey.  

Speechless would be an understatement. Truthfully, he’s the last person you’d expect to act that way. Those battered palms, bruised and scarred, tattered with memories, could appear so gentle. Those same hands would afford the fragile beings of mankind a moment of mercy. Only you are granted the privilege of Toji’s micro movements; his shoulders slumping from their usual solidity, his eyelids relaxing, jaw unclenching. Is this what he wanted you to see? Is that why he came here, sitting in the shade of a rival you thought you had? You must be staring for too long because- 

“…What?”  

“Oh. Uh, nothing.” 

He returns to what he was doing.  

“It’s about the search for meaning in life. A psychiatrist's perspective.” 

“Your book?” He asks, sifting through the sod. 

“Yeah.” 

“So…did he figure it out?” 

“He believes that the primary human drive is not pleasure, but the pursuit of what we find meaningful.” He doesn’t react, but a curious part of you wanted him to respond. Tell you a story or spill his guts, lay bare in front of you so that you may latch on to something, anything that isn’t rumors or hushed whispers for the man unknown to everyone. He checks another carrot—it’s as if he’s looking past it, like a light switched off, engulfed in a reflection pulling him further and further. 

You point the tip of a strawberry to him and his attention diverts, “You want?”  

“Can’t. Hands full.”  

You eye them; thick and calloused, fingernails lined with soil, probably sore along with the rest of his body. You can’t bear to watch—surely not because you care, but because of your sudden aptitude to kindness.  

“Just come here.” He leans over cautiously, and the shock is palpable when you press it to his lips. He seems to contemplate the risk of poison for a second.  

“If I wanted to kill you, it would’ve happened already. Open.” He obediently parts his mouth, and you feed it to him. Toji’s eye contact stuns like a spell from a Greek myth—devastatingly enchanting and hard to disengage. Just when you think you have the upper hand, you’re quickly reminded that dynamic can easily change. He rolls his tongue over the bite mark and sucks the juices, and you can’t look away—you won’t. 

 It’s the sun. it has to be. It’s getting to you both.  

You flinch when his lips ghosts against your knuckles. Soft and slightly chapped. Sugary liquid pools at the plush center of his lips where your eyes linger for too long, and he licks that up too. It’s over as quick as it began. Then you’re stuck stirring in the disarray of your own deluded thoughts.  

His scar curls with a growing smirk. It’s a shallow cut, but sunken, nonetheless. You tell yourself it’s the weather when your thumb moves from the strawberry to his face. Languid, careful motions where the hollow of his cheek would be, like gaining the trust of a wild animal. He doesn’t budge, and you press it to the corner of his mouth. 

“How’d you get this mark on your face?” 

“Not important” he responds curt. 

“Why? I wanna know.” His jaw clenches, reappearing stiff and guarded. “Don’t push it.” 

You trace it, fixating, studying the feeling. You drag downwards, tugging it slightly.  

“…like someone cut you” you mutter. 

Suddenly, he stands up with the basket. His joy fades to indifference; eyes encased in a dense fog. You retreat to your side, and he doesn’t acknowledge you as he starts down the hill. 

“I-“  

“I have to get this to Lionel. See ya.” 

You’re given the back of him, receding into the distance. There’s a dull pounding in your ears, a twitch in your limbs that pleads for you to follow. But what would you say? What could you say? It doesn’t come to fruition.  

The space between you widens with each step. 

“-we’re expecting to see cloudy skies and storms for the re-” the portable radio buzzes in and out of connection, “-prepare for the weather by-”. Annie fiddles with the tuner to get it back on track. It crackles and scratches, but the connection can’t be regained, finally diminishing to static. 

You weren’t listening either way, huddled with your knees close to your chest on the window seat, resting your head as raindrops trickle down the glass and pitter-patter the windowsill. The trees bend to the will of the raging wind, and they’re being pulled every which direction. Ceramic settles behind you, and you crane your neck to Annie, then the novelty mug resembling an orange. You don’t reach for it, but you stare for a while, teabag bleeding burgundy under the millions of candles placed around. 

“Thank you for the tea.” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

You’ve had a hard time sleeping lately. Conflictingly so, since you’d imagine more sleep would be had with Toji coming around less. It’s what you wanted. Him chasing you was exhausting, wasn’t it? His behavior, his manners, him—it was just a bother. You should be glad you haven’t seen him since the incident. 

If he pained you, why are you kept awake, fumbling with the covers, incessantly thinking of Toji? You put together witty remarks for when you cross paths again, new creative insults, schemes you’ll act out to piss him off—all of this for someone you tried to get away from for half the summer. You assumed a week would pass and everything would be back to normal. But one week turned into two, then three. Your stay is coming to a close, and as you reflect, you’re forced to reconsider the unspoken reality gnawing at your thoughts since the moment you first met. 

That you were free to be dirty, to curse, to learn, to get mud on your face and dirt underneath your fingernails. You could lounge in an outfit from days ago or dance in the fury of midsummer. You were stupid, but not inferior the way wealthy upperclassmen made you out to be. You had the freedom to be stupid. There were no hierarchies or social status between you—simply hard work and hostility. Somehow that, being tangled in the thorns of a never-ending war, felt better than the yacht parties you’d been accustomed to. 

He sets your blood aflame, but noting ignites a fire in you like Toji. 

Annie sits crisscross on the loveseat, warming her hands with the cup. You return her content smile.  

“Everythin’ alright, sugar?” 

“Think I messed up.” 

“Hm? How so?” 

“I feel like...I overstepped. Actually, I know I did, and I feel bad. Even though I think I shouldn’t.” 

Annie exhales a soft laugh, “Assumin’ this is about Toji?” 

You nod, and she traces the rim of the cup. “If ya don’t care about ‘im, don’t feel bad.” You don’t reply, and she continues, “Though...I have a sneaky suspicion you care more than you'd like to admit.” 

You bury your head further into you. “Feelings are weird” you mumble. 

“They defnintely are. But sometimes it’s good to listen to ya heart. Take it from an old lady.” 

“...” 

“When ya feel bad about somethin’ ya did, the best way’s to apologize.” 

You peek through your arms, “Has he ever told you? Like, about his life?” 

She wanders in thought, recollecting an old memory, “Nope. Youngin’ showed up on the farm one day all scratched up and been workin’ ever since.” 

If nobody knew, you wouldn’t expect him to comply with your demands. You’re conscious of what needs to be done, but doubt surfaces. What does my heart tell me? 

You start tying your boots and throw on a hoodie in a pile by the door.  

“Do you know where he is?” 

“Not a clue.” That’s fine. Today, you’d be the one chasing after him. 

The brunt of the storm smacks you in the face once the door flies open. “Careful out there!” she hollers, and you shut the screen behind you. Your fight or flight refuses to let go of the knob as the squall persists, invoking a shrouded sea of churning clouds and indigo, banging against the foundation of the house. You scale the side and notice the barn, no light inside. You go around the back and it’s the same, wheat failing to resist the storm. However, for a split second you squint and spot a flicker. It’s faint and the size of a firefly from your view, coming from the stables further down. There’s a chance it isn’t him, but you don’t have much room for hypotheticals.   

The safety of the overhang leaves you, and you’re in the middle of a downpour. Running, inching the line of being knocked off your feet from an abrupt gust. You’re submerged in seconds, but you don’t stop running. If your heart tells you to endure, then you will. Raindrops threaten to invade your eyes, whacking you repeatedly in the face, but you shut tight and go forward. The last stretch to the stable feels like clawing up a mountain. The flurry hauls your clothes, and your steps get heavier and heavier as nature batters the earth. 

Then the sleeve shielding your face grazes something solid. You glue yourself to the side of it and pry your eyes open. An oil lantern, shining bright in the dark. You shuffle around for the sliding door and slip inside. The interior is cozy, haybales piled wherever they could fit and a couple large wooden stables supported by beams. The power must’ve went out everywhere, oil lanterns casting dimly.  

Your instinct to breathe ceases when you see Toji. His cowboy hat is tilted back, paisley bandana tied loosely around his neck with an ear of wheat tucked in his teeth. He glances at the sound of the door slamming. You’re blanking, even after you mulled over those sleepless evenings. It doesn’t help that your heart won’t function properly.  

“...Hey” he says, a tone unrepresentative of his avoidance. He grins—in the exact way you like—and picks the straw out. 

You’re irritated he’s even attempting to talk to you as normal. 

“It’s rainin’. You should be inside.” He grabs his shirt and pats your face dry. You don’t complain; a musky scent of cedar and salt when you inhale. “I could say the same to you. Why are you out here?” you murmur through the cloth. 

“Horses get a little antsy when the weathers like this. Came by to calm em’ down.” He pets the blonde mane of one of lighter horses, covered in brown spots.  They look comfortable around him, loose lower jaw slanting to his touch. You’re forgetting how to talk. There he goes again, subverting your expectations. 

“What kind of horse is it?” 

“Spotted draft horse. She’s real gentle, wouldn’t hurt a fly.” 

“She’s pretty.” He flashes his canines, “Her name’s Marie.” 

“Old woman name” you say under your breath. He laughs. “Wanna pet ‘er?” 

You’re shy but interested, shuffling closer to the stable. The tips of your ears blossom when his palm encloses your wrist, rough skin abrading yours. Then he guides you to the side of Marie’s neck. “You’re gonna pet here. Nice an’ slow, yeah?” he instructs, way too close. It’s silky, and you’re absorbed in the feeling of it on your fingertips. She neigh’s mildly and you jolt. Toji keeps you still. 

“Atta girl” he whispers, husky and painfully smooth in your ear. It fills your head like a shot of whiskey and a tipsy glow flows from your face. Your muscles tense, troubled from your anticipated apology and the unforeseen shift in feelings for him. There’s no way you can do this without stumbling. 

“I didn’t know you liked horses so much.” He lets go. 

“Yup. Used to have one.” You turn to him. His pleasant expression remains, but it’s solemn, bittersweet. You take a long breath and let it spill. 

“I’m sorry for what I did before. I realized I made you uncomfortable asking those questions. It won’t happen again.” 

He subdues his hum and he’s awkward in his stance, rubbing the back of his head like a guilty child. “I was never mad. I just...” He trails off. 

“Never mind that. Big man still pissed at you?” he asks, like mood switch occurred. If he won’t dwell on it, you’ll try not to either. You connect the dots to your father's pet name. 

“That’s what you call him?” you giggle. 

“Yup, since I got to the farm.” 

“I hope not, if he is I’ll probably never leave.” 

“Is that a bad thing?” It’s a humorless joke, wavering someplace unsure. 

“It would be if I never finished school.” 

“What ya majoring in?” You’re hesitant to say for the possible doubt he’ll display. You dance around the answer. 

“Promise you won’t laugh.” His expression contorts to confusion. “Fine...I promise.” 

“Humanitarianism.” He goes blank like a mannequin, and by the way his lip fights a flit he’s holding in his laughter as much as possible. 

“Forget it-” 

“I didn’t laugh. What ya gonna do with your degree?” 

“I want to help people.”   

He folds his arms over his chest, “But you don’t wanna help me?” 

“N-not that kind of help. Like, housing help, financial help. No one should have to work as hard as you...” 

“So, you wanna help old broke runaways like me, huh?” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“I mean it’s admirable, darlin’, but I work here cause I want to. ’S a good gig, takes the mind off o’ things.”  

Your mouth moves before your brain, “...What things?” 

“Thought you weren’t gonna ask me shit like that anymore.” 

“My bad.” 

“I’ll give you what you want.” He locks the gate to the stable. Your blood feels hotter when he’s fixed on you.  

“Y’know...the thing about foster care is you’re never guaranteed a good home, or even a home at all.” Toji simpers out of place, out of tune like a broken piano. “I was one of the lucky few that got sent home to home. Got attached just to get thrown back in the same shithole with the other rejects. It hurt at first, but after a while you get so used to the feeling that you’re not wanted or needed. And when a foster kid grows out of the system and they throw your ass on the street, gotta get it however you can.”  Though he tells it like the casual reminiscence of childhood, you know better than that. 

“So, I taught myself to survive, no matter the cost and regardless of who it hurt. I’ve done some irredeemable shit. Held people at gunpoint, beat them up for money, stole their valuables, all the shit they worked hard for.”   

“I fought for food, shelter. Hell, anything I could get my hands on. I never killed anyone but damn sure got close, all for an overnight motel stay and sometimes a couple cigs.”  He ambles to you and you automatically back up. Your space is squeezed to capacity, and whenever you get a portion of relief, he seals it. You take a step; he takes one more. 

“You wanted to know how I got this, right?” He taps the corner of his mouth where the scar is. 

“I entered a fighting ring for money, the kind that trades boxing gloves for knives. And boy, was I desperate. He chucked that blade at my mouth and I crushed his throat, sliced him across the eyes. I bled for a while but it kept me full for a few days.” Your back hits the door and he cages you.  

“‘Ventually the wanted flyers started coming out. Thought about turning myself in, but what kind of asshole admits to his crimes? So, I kept running, running from everything. I can’t remember how long I went for. But then I ended up here.”   

Rain pelts the roof. You remind yourself to inhale and exhale. It’s a conscious thought, in and out, processing the secrets revealed. There’s nowhere to hide, yet you don’t feel unease—solely the faint pang of sorrow. Toji appears warm under the rich glimmer. The rugged contours meld to his lowered gaze, lips twisted in a frown you hardly recognize. He looks entirely different, disconnected from your quarrels. To you this feels like it should be an attempt at intimidation, but the way he's boxing you in screams loose and unsteady. A wounded beast bearing its fangs as a defense mechanism. His arms are corded in muscle and riddled with injuries, likely from the upsets, days of begging for food, wondering when his next meal will be or if he just consumed his last, where he will go to survive, how he will survive.   

“Are you scared now?”  

He’s a vagrant. He lived on the fringes of society, avoiding the law and committing horrific acts for his own benefit. He hurt people. Who’s to say he wouldn’t hurt you next? Annie was right. Toji is right. You need to be afraid.  

Instantly, his little quirks made sense. The barriers he built and his hesitation to speak, forbearing and tolerant in spite of the bruises. He was afraid of being thrown away again, to be the same teen casted to the streets—proven useless. 

You’re inches away. It’s unsaid, begging you to repel him. There’s no rationale in your actions.  

You stand on your toes and catch his lips in a kiss.  

Brief, charged with the comfort that got lost on your tongue. His lips requite yours and leave traces of bourbon. You didn’t know he drank. It’s so brief you linger in the aftermath of heat, hoping you can satiate your interest with two, maybe three more kisses. 

Your noses graze each other. His half-lidded eyes captivate you, freezing you in time, to plinking mist and airy touches, yearning on the brink of impulse. He hovers over your lips, shuddering on the expel. Then he withdraws. 

“Ya have no sense of danger.” 

You can’t think straight, haven’t been able to for some time now. “You’re not scary. Just annoying.”  

“...I'm glad.” 

He grabs his sherpa lined jacket off a haybale and wraps it around your torso. It’s far too big and pieces of hay poke your lower back. He pulls the hood over, “This should be good. C’mon, let’s get ya back in the house.” Toji opens the stable doors. Tiny droplets percolate at your frigid feet, and you stick your head out. 

Fog clings to the edge of the horizon. The storm ended, and the land washed anew.  

“Ouch.”  

“Careful, hun.” 

The sewing needle pricks your thumb from the other side of the glove again and you flinch, though you probably have tons of holes in your skin at the moment. You’re by no means the best at sewing, but it’s not like Toji could do any better based on the tears in the leather. You’re curled like a shrimp on the dining chair, weaving the needle through a heavy-duty fabric you found in the sewing basket Annie gave you. Floral pin cushions, yarn, thread, and bunches of fabric are splayed across the gingham table.  

It’s likely Toji would’ve slaved it to the bone and never ask for another pair, so when you got to your room and found them in the jacket pocket you felt inclined to assist. Plus, it’s a good distraction from the half-embarrassment half-shock you grieved from your boldness the other day.  

A draft pierces the chiffon curtains. It’s getting colder and the final day of your vacation has arrived, both short and torturously long. You think about the things that passed the time, the person that shortened your days to summertime laughter and mischief. Before the farm, you would’ve relished in a going away party with a performer and glittering spotlight. Yet, as cattle moo and land are tilled for the upcoming season, the profoundness of being ordinary is more pleasant than the former. 

You pull the last thread through the patch and admire your amateur mend, navy fabric accented amongst the mahogany leather. Vanilla and lemon permeate the house while a bundt cake rises in the oven. 

Annie hands you a few stationery notecards smudged with flour fingerprints. “Write somethin’ nice for ‘em. Don’t think they’ll be able to say goodbye before you go. ‘S gettin’ busier and busier nowadays.” You nod and start writing messages of appreciation for Lionel and Terrace, thanking them for putting up with your cluelessness.  

“Should I write one for you, too?” 

“You can jus’ tell me now” she beams. 

“Well, Annie, thank you for everything—for showing me around, cooking for everyone, making sure we’re all healthy and full. Most of all, thanks for treating me like family.” 

She tussles your hair, “You’ll always be family, honeybun.” 

Hooves on stone trot near the house and your heart skips a beat. You walk to the screen door and see Marie’s long mane, then Toji holding the reins. He looks like a true cowboy, double stitched western belt with a taut plaid flannel and chestnut cowboy hat to match his boots. You open the door and lean on the porch column. 

“Wanna go for a ride?” he calls. 

“Usually, guys say that when they have an expensive car.” 

“Well, this here’s an expensive horse. That good enough for ya?” 

“...I guess it’ll have to do” you say, continuing to Marie with a delicate caress on her neck. 

He holds his hand out, “Up.” 

“To where?” 

“Stop askin’ so many questions.” You roll your eyes and grab his wrist. He abruptly hauls your body weight over Marie and you squeak. It's higher than you thought and you struggle to adjust your legs in the right position on the saddle. 

“Might wanna hold on.”  

You scoff, “I can handle myself.” As soon as you say that, Marie breaks into a sprint. You would’ve flown off the mare if not for your flailing arms finding safety around Toji’s waist. “You did that on purpose, you ass!” you scream.  

“I have no idea what ya talkin’ ‘bout.” You can hear the smile when he says that.  

Hammered dirt belches behind as you leave a thick forest similar to the one you drove through for your arrival. It’s a scene from a storybook, carving through a colorful meadow bursting with wildflowers. They teeter in the headwind and so do you, hair whipping onto your face from the speed. The canopy that once enveloped you becomes a faint, fading outline against the sky and bushes shrink to specks. The landscape melts like an impressionism painting. 

Toji has expert control over the mare and his stature stands tall in spite of haste. You scale the hills, appreciating the natural foundation carving willowy trees, the miles of foliage, the cattails in a small sparkling river etched in a meandering bank. Birds sing their evening songs, and an animal rustles through the grass. Eventually you pause at the summit, immersed in a vast, unspoiled scenery stretching infinitely. Toji hasn’t said much, but neither do you.  

“I thought you’d wanna see this” he mutters. 

“How come?” 

“When ya weren’t working, you’d just climb to the hilltops and... stare. Never knew what you were staring at, but I assumed it was the view.” 

“You don’t see stuff like this in the city. It’s so peaceful here.” 

“It never gets old.” You look at him, corners of his mouth mellow. You recall the way they felt and butterflies involuntarily bloom from a deep pit in your stomach. 

You yank the hat from his head and try it on. “Hey, give it here.” You duck his grasp and push it down.  

“It looks cute on me.” 

“So what?” 

“You don’t think it matches my shoes?” 

“I think you’re a brat.”  

“Hmm” you say, feigning contemplation. “You should know, women don’t like angry old men. It’s so uncute.” 

  “Heh, really. I’m uncute?” he laughs. “Yeah, among a few other things.” 

“Well I’m sorry, princess, but you’re a real pain in the ass too.” 

“The feeling’s mutual” you retort. 

“...Is it?” You don’t have a remark for that. The sun recedes into the horizon, radiating burnt orange and red. He uses the reigns to guide Marie back in the direction of the farm. “I’ll miss the countryside.” The brim of his hat dips over your eyes and you don't correct yourself when you lean to his back, calmed from the rocking sway.  

Toji pulls the reigns at the stairs and gets off. You impassively accept his aid as he  

 scoops and sets you down.  

The buzzing porch light attracts moths with its fluorescence. Amidst the prolonged awkward silence and clumsy gestures, you’re searching for your soul’s response like Annie mentioned. Whenever you tried, the message got tangled on your tongue. Given another chance, it eludes you again. 

“I guess this is it.” 

“Yup” he agrees. 

“Try not to miss me too much.”  

He smirks, “I’ll do my best. Goodnight, little miss.” 

He left and it’s time for you to get some sleep. But you can’t. You’re wide awake, glued to the ceiling thinking about him like your life depends on it. Maybe the instigator in you was waiting for confrontation, or the truth hurts more than you thought it would. You sit up like you’re expecting something, like you just lost a long-fought battle. You need the last word.  

It’s a quaint home with tawny wood accents. Jacket and gloves in tow, you can’t formulate a single justifiable reason for being at his front door. You lie and tell yourself it’s to return his possessions, as if you ever cared, like his hat isn’t resting on your dresser. You knock twice. 

Toji unlocks the door wearing nothing but his jeans, hair shaggier than usual. “Look who’s here” he says, a tinge of shock and something sweeter. You shove the items to him. “Your jacket, and uh…your gloves were bad, so I sewed them up. Try to take better care of your things.” He slings it to the side. 

“Heh. Yes, ma’am.” 

“So…um.” 

“Is that all you’re here for?” Not in the slightest. You’re here to get something off your chest, right? You’re not even sure what you’re mad about anymore. 

“Y-yeah.” 

“Alright then, see ya in the mornin’.” The door slowly winds closed, but you interrupt, “Were you trying to insinuate something?”  

It stops and he cracks it further, smile growing. “Not tryin’ to insinuate anything I haven’t noticed already” 

You’re burning under his gaze. “Wha…I swear, your ego is insane. You should be grateful I’ve been so nice-“ 

“Your eyes tend to…” he regards you from head to toe, “…roam. You’re not as subtle as you think.” 

“Like I wanna look at you.” 

“I wouldn’t mind if ya did.” 

“God, you’re so far up your own-“ 

“You haven’t left yet.” His relaxed demeanor aggravates you, as if he's fully aware of why you’re here. He edges closer, chest inches away from yours, voice slow and gravelly in the dead of night. 

“There’s somethin’ you want, right? Ask for it.”  

Your pulse travels to your ears. Longing teetering on the cusp of fire. 

“Fuck this.” You turn to leave, when suddenly your arm gets snatched back and pulled into the room. The door shuts and you’re flung against it, though there’s no room to move when Toji’s pressed chest-to-chest. His breathing heaves, and you can feel it rising and falling laden with yours as he’s loomed over you. 

“What’s with the sass, huh?” he chides. His grip is bruising, but the small victory of a sinking composure sends a chill up your spine you’d rather not think about. 

“You started it, don’t act so innocent now.” You can tell he’s physically holding back, the shakiness in his little breaths becoming more evident. The wild blaze in his eyes eats you up with greed. 

“You really need to be taught some fucking manners.” 

“You’re gonna punish me?” You’re both at a whisper, too scared to speak the words you’ve been keeping to yourselves. 

“I wanna do so much worse.” 

“Then do it.” 

He holds your neck in place and you succumb to raw and unrestrained fervor. Rough, uncoordinated kisses being dragged over the expanse of your lips and you’re hardly able to maintain the pace. Your free hand curls through his tresses and pushes him deeper into you. He groans through those rushed, bruising kisses reddening your lips and immediately hunts for more.  

You didn’t expect Toji to be a gentle lover by any means, but it’s the way his mouth never leaves yours, a certain thirst that can’t be satiated no matter how much he drinks. You bite his bottom lip, teeth collide and he repeats the feast all over again. You can’t tell if he’s trying to savor it or devour you in one go.  

His hands snake from your neck to the fat of your ass, and he delivers a quick smack before hoisting you around his waist. Trails of spit connect where you part for air, but he swiftly chases it with tongue, pushing into your mouth and clouding your head. You intertwine, wet and feverish as it explores your mouth.  

He’s ruthlessly scouring fulfillment, drunk off the pleasure he finds in swallowing your moans and traversing your numbing lips. You’re sweating, hot in all the right places, and you return the favor with similar passion. Your lower back aches but he doesn’t give any inclination that he’ll let up soon, grinding on the delicate, sticky lace of your panties exposed from your hiked up dress.  

“Fuck, I can feel it through your clothes” he groans, lazily undulating his hips.  

“S-shut up- ah!” Your stammering gets caught in a moan when the fabric presses against your clit just right. He wears a sleazy grin, moving slower to coax the barely audible whimper that escaped you a moment ago. “I wouldn’t mind if ya made a little noise” he husks. You’re shaky, trying to compose your trembling vocals threatening to call his name. In regular circumstances, you would’ve let yourself have it. But this is Toji, and the mischievous urge you reserve for him wants to shoot down his boosted ego. 

“Maybe you’re not doing good enough.”  

“Really...” Toji’s huffs a humorless laugh, and you have half the mind to acknowledge that you just fucked up. He enriches the kiss and movements get a little angrier, bulge rutting into you furiously.  

“Then I’ll make it so good for ya, darlin’” he rasps, “So good you’ll hafta beg me.” 

It’s impossibly big, and sliding against the aching mess restrained in his pants doesn’t quell your concerns. You swear you can feel the dim thump thump thump through it. 

You unlatch again, severing a trail of spit when you briefly make eye contact. They’re crazed, far and near at the same time and somehow sparkling the prettiest shade of hazel green. He immediately claims space on your neck. Sucking and biting, feral groaning between your pulse point that drums whenever his appendage glides along a sweet spot. His teeth graze harsh against your skin and you can feel purple and blue burgeoning like watercolor splotches on an untouched canvas.  

And he must be long gone, pinning you between the door and his haughty strength, spit glistening on your neck. You’re using whatever pride you have left to clamp your mouth shut, though it’s obvious to Toji as his lips curl when your breath stutters. He detaches with a wet smack, and you can't angle away from the onslaught of tender kisses along the underside of your jaw.  

He lifts you across the room, to the edge of his wooden platform bed draped in a deer pattern quilt. Your knees are wobbly on the descent and it hits when your feet touch the ground, almost slumping onto the mattress. Before you can, he grabs a fistful of hair at the back of your head and holds you upright. 

“Stand straight” he barks, dangerously commanding. In one fell swoop, using one hand, he flips the buckle on his belt open and yanks it out the loops. His pants sag at his hips and the tent peaks with more room. He wraps the leather around your wrists and ties it over itself, securing tight—maybe too tight—at the end.  

“On your fucking knees.” You don’t drop on the first order.  

“Make me.” Typical—but he’s happy to guide you. He tugs your hair to the ground, and you thud onto the hardwood floors by your knees.  

You knew Toji was hot, stealing glances of his shirtless torso plowing in the summer rays—but God, he truly is alluring. Straight below him you get the best view of the veins winding down his lower abdomen, the planes of his abs shining in the already low light. Underneath his pecs, full chest pulling taut with yearning, unruly need. In no time he unzips his fly and kicks his pants at his ankles, revealing firm boxer briefs and a dripping, milky stain trailing to the side. Your eyes follow, where his throbbing cockhead peaks out, rosy brown with pearls of greedy precome dribbling down. You can’t resist staring, devouring the sight and adding onto the stickiness coating your inner thighs. You lean in and pepper a few kisses on his tip. He hisses. 

“Are you losing your composure?” you ask, reveling in his twitching abs. He grins, and you return the same, “Not yet. You’ll know when I do. I promise.”  

You lick a long, mouthwatering stripe on it and he rasps a groan. He’s quick to snatch your scalp and tilt up, forcing you to gaze at him. “Look at me. Don’t take your eyes off me.” They appear darker, drunken. 

He tugs the boxers down and his cock springs out centimeters from your face, glistening and flushed. He taps it on your lip and smears the sheen. You don’t break eye contact as required, especially when you lick your bottom lip to taste him. 

 “Fuck, such a slut.” He prods at your mouth and you gladly open, closing your puckered lips around the bulbous tip. “Nice and open for me” he mutters. It’s partly a mutter, resembling a hoarse ramble as he slides the length of his veiny, thrumming cock past your cheek fat constricting around him.  

“Yeah, t-that’s it—fuck—just like that.” Your eyes water and beaded tears gather at your lashes, but he craves the back of your throat—he’ll make it fit if he needs to. You’re adjusting to his size, forcing yourself to accommodate him and hollowing your cheeks as best as you can, fulfilling a twisted desire to satisfy him. Your palate scraping his sensitive tip elicits a deep, gravelly moan that sends vibrations straight to your clit.  

“Mm, that pretty mouth taking it so well f’me.” You open your throat and allow him to push further, swelling a noticeable bulge through your skin. He’s straining your mouth to capacity, and it’s only when your nose meets his pubes and his balls are flush with you that you try breathing.  

It’s no use with his cock barreling down your throat. He keeps a firm grip on the back of your head, watching your body retch at the size of him for amusement. Then he pulls out and you dry heave from the sudden influx of normal air in your lungs. You’re soaked all the way through, hazy, hurting, but desperate for more. Too horny to remember your pride. What even is pride when you can’t tell the difference between drool and tears? 

You’re French kissing his dick as if he’s not there, slobbering and licking it up, rolling your tongue over his frenulum like an animal in heat. Shame will overcome you by morning; in the meantime, you’ll indulge, drain him so that he can’t fathom speaking the word “brat” again. You loll your tongue and he smiles. 

“I didn’t even fuck you yet and you’re already this bad?” He’s one to talk when his comebacks crack at the back of his throat, muscles sweaty and tense from your ministrations. “I’m a good man, so I’ll help ya out.”  

Without warning, he drives himself all the way down your throat. You gag, but he’s relentless. He has hands on both sides of your head and he puts his foot on the edge of the bed, angling himself to probe deeper in your throat. Laden balls slap your chin and an amalgam of sloshing and gagging bubbles from the inundated scene in your mouth. Obscene noises cloud your ears. You can only lean on the support of the bed and take every brutal, solid thrust. His groans accelerate, “You’re—hngh—droolin a little bit, huh, princess. Haah—is it t'much for you, hm? T-tell me baby, fuck.” 

It really is. It’s so intense; eyeliner smudged across your face, tears shimmering, drool coating your puffy lips and his cock rubbing your voice raw. He uses you like a fleshlight and your panties are soaked through. The twitching gets more apparent and he channels a string of curses as his hips lose coordination. “On your f-face or—ungh, your mouth. Choose darlin'.”  You respond by staying still, looking at him with what little eyesight you have through cloudy tears.  

“Such a pretty comeslut” he moans, “Don’t be wasteful—hah-ah—you’re gonna be soo fucking good and swallow it all, okay?” He might as well be rambling to himself, mouthing off on questions you couldn’t possibly answer. His bangs stick to his forehead, and he emits an endless measure of moans and curses at the precipice. Hips stuttering, legs quivering sporadically, “(Y/N), m’coming, coming—ugh, fuck—oh fuck.”  

You see the exact moment he disregards ego; head lulled back, lip sagging open while he chases the high. Guttural groans meander in the space, and he pumps enough come from his spit-soaked balls to coat your throat. You wince and fresh tears are stirred from the sheer amount you’re gulping. He lags and finally relaxes, twitching sensitively when you swallow with his half-hard length still inside. Then he shudders once more when he retreats. 

Toji leans down to kiss you, wrapping tongue over tongue. You’d hope the kisses soothe your chafed throat, but to no avail. It’s not ideal that there’s a tingle in your knees, and the same position made your legs go numb. Your wrists burn as well, diagonal lines creasing your skin around the leather. Luckily, Toji scoops you and sets you rather gently on the mattress. That’s the extent of his kindness, however, as he begins shredding the straps from your dress. They snap with a pop, the sound of money going down the drain. The luxurious silk is torn from you and you’re indifferent. There’s an unquenchable need for him—everywhere, under you, inside you, however you can achieve closeness. “I need you. Now” he grunts. 

He manhandles you on your stomach with your ass raised in the air. Cool wind brushes against the pounding fever between your legs, and the sopping lace hangs by a thread.  

“Shit, you’re wet.” It’s obvious from the outside, drenched fabric a shade darker, fused uncomfortably to your pulsing pussy and reflecting on your plush thighs. He won’t take his eyes off it; he stares like he can eat through them. He peels the fabric back painfully slow, watching it furl into itself. “These just get ‘n the way.” Some slick leaves with it and slides down his hand, then he absorbs the main course. 

Glistening, syrupy fluid blankets your pussy and forms cobwebs of mess around your inner thighs and taint. You’re so wet it’s uncomfortable, and you shift around on your knees trying to quell the inescapable throbbing in your clit. He spreads your cheeks apart, practically salivating, “Look at ya.”  

Your windpipe was ripped from you, but you can scarcely hoarse “Stop staring.” His hot laughter sends shivers through you, but he holds you still before you can move forward. “Aww, too wet for your own good?” 

“Must be so sensitive” he coos, veiled in feigned concern. The pad of his thumb hovers, damn near salivating. “Tell me where it hurts, darlin’.” He flicks gently over the bud and you flinch. “Here?” 

He rubs calculated, unhurried circles on it. It doesn’t suffice—it couldn’t, because each time you lean to his touch, he recedes just a little. Because of course he wouldn't let you satisfy your desires without paying first. It’s maddening to almost get what you want and fall short repeatedly. You whimper pathetically, and he teases, “I know, darlin’, I know.”   

“Hurry up already” you whine. He quickly lands a stern, stinging swat to your ass and you recoil. “No attitude. Had enough’a that.” 

He positions two fingers at your glossy entrance, “Want help? Show me how bad ya want it.” You should’ve told him to go fuck himself, or at least you would have if you weren’t trembling with carnal hunger. You turn back to him glassy-eyed and he smiles—sympathy won’t work here. So you slope over his waiting fingers and glide them inside. They’re thicker than you thought they’d be. A delicious burn around the ring of your cunt from your walls stretching, it takes some adapting to get used to it.  

Once you do, though, you’re bouncing on them knuckle-deep, coating his palm in juices sluicing down his wrist. He doesn’t move an inch, but he drags his digits in a ‘come hither’ motion that sends tiny sparks bursting through your body. The notion of fucking yourself on his fingers should’ve been obscene, but you can feel yourself climbing to the edge. You’re panting, wiggling your hips with buzzing stars in your vision at the way it scrapes and kneads your walls. “You can’t hate me that much. Suckin’ me up and I’m not even movin’” he taunts. 

You don’t realize how loud you’re moaning, how your pussy talks louder than you do, sloppily sliding and squelching. “Fuck—you’re so messy. Where’s your resolve, huh? Nothing mean to say?”  

“Hah-ah” You clench rapidly, heartbeat in your ears. Until your stuttering heart and legs get worse, and you’re losing momentum. Your muscles burn from the inside out like a tiring workout, and you can’t keep up the pace that would’ve attained ecstasy. Just like that, it’s ripped away from you. 

And you cry. 

Hot, frustrated tears spill down your cheeks and you stop moving. He removes his wrinkled fingers. One side of the mattress sinks near you, and he thumbs the tears from your blushed cheeks and nose, your dazed lashes and pouty lips. “S’okay.” He pecks the corner of your eye, prompting a tear he samples. “Done fightin’ me?” 

You nod absentmindedly. “What do you want?” It’s simple, but you make eye contact with him. Jaw clenched, huffing as if he’s battling his own assurance. Your eyes water again. “Please...” 

You can’t read his face, but he leaves the mattress. It’s eerily quiet.  

“Y’know just how to get me.”  

A shattered gasp dies in your throat when you feel a warm, cruel stripe from your clit to your taint. Once, twice, his broken puffs fanning the flames. Both hands spread your legs wider and he nuzzles your folds, placing open-mouthed kisses, savoring your arousal. Then he immerses himself.  

He put up a good farce for a while, but the crumbling began at his desperate, tangled tongue—ravenous and starving, he ate you like a decadent main course he’d never taste again. He was starved—slurping and sucking, releasing with a juicy smack and diving back in. He’s on his knees, grunting low at your drooling slit. He didn’t care about your quivering thighs, honeyed liquid building in layers on his chin, the weak cries you managed. None of it mattered. Because you—you were heady and sweet, and as he drowned in your scent, he wished to be breathless forever.  

“S’fuckin’ good—oh, fuck, make a mess on my face.” He swats your ass, pointed tongue massaging your clit while he gropes the doughy flesh. It’s pliable in his hands and it gives him something to anchor while he drawls lecherous swipes over your swollen gooeyness. “Ngh—p-please—close-” Your stomach turns knot after knot, damp with sweat and sensing a rapid euphoria surging all too fast. Your mistake for announcing it, because he focuses his attention on a self-indulgent make-out session with your clit. “Come. Come on my face, princess—” You start to spasm, and the vulgar noises coming from Toji disperse in your ears. 

“Toji” you moan, and sooner fall apart in his arms. White-hot pleasure courses through your convulsing cunt and a chain of violent aftershocks render you silent. What makes you even shakier, though, is that he doesn't stop. 

He cleans his plate, imbibing the perfumed essence gushing from you. He peppers kisses around your contractions, deaf to your croaked sobs. If you weren’t bound, you’d push his head away. You attempt to use your foot to nudge him off, but you didn’t expect to make a dent in someone his size. He intertwines his hands with your sweaty ones, calm thumb swaying back and forth; it would be comforting if he wasn’t ruining you at the moment.  

The intensity of his deliberate tongue only makes the aftershocks worse, and your hands start to jolt as you cry out, “Ahn--no more, p-please!” You feel his smile on your folds and he persists. His lapping gets more aggressive and so do your tremors, loud and unrestrained moans torn from you.  

He finally unlatches, landing a final smack on your puffy pussy. Your heads swimming in an infectious trance, but you’re undeserving of a break as you whirl behind you and see him pumping his flushed cock. It stands at attention and even seems bigger than before, colored deep with need pearling at the divot. 

“Need you or ’m gonna go crazy.” Toji keeps a firm hand at the base of your spine—it arches your back and shoves your words into the bed. He drags his bulbous head along your sensitive cunt, collecting the slick trickling onto the damp sheets before rimming the slit. A hint of fatigue crosses your face and he takes notice. “Heh, done already? We haven’t even started yet.” 

The image of him entering you for the first time burns into your memory; his brows are knitted, bottom lip tucked under teeth and his breath hitches. If you were fucked out, he was getting there. He presses into your spine like he’s trying to prevent himself from coming on the spot, paused but lingering. Tunnel visioned on your soaked, bulging pussy stretching around him, snuggling his leaden length like a heated blanket. And you drink in the pain, a dulcet blaze engulfing you as sore muscles clench and unclench.  

“You’ve been quiet, pretty thing” he muses, “Where’s your resolve, huh? Nothin’ mean to say?” With his veins adorning your walls and your mushy brain bouncing around in your head, you can’t bring yourself to talk shit. He pulls out completely, watching a mix of precome and wetness connect your bodies. 

Suddenly, he bottoms out. “Ahn--fu-ah!” It shreds a whimper from you and he mocks your cracking moans, though he seems to be breaking, himself. The sharp snap of his hips contacts skin-on-skin, earning each sloppy slap echoing in the room. His lips are parted, swamped in infinite, unbridled lust. The carnal itch he’d been holding off on for weeks seeps through, satiating his most indulgent appetite. “O-oh, God, shit, look at the m-mess you’re making.” He drives out to his frenulum and shoves it back in with no mercy, no sign of slowing down. Long, deep strokes leaving you slack jawed and teary. Every drag of his dick imprints his name on your tongue, heavy balls smacking your tender clit.  

“You hear that? Listen.” He goes quiet, to let the indecent plap plap plap’s resound. Your cheeks turn hot from humiliation. The side rail of the bed screeches the hardwood floors, and the belt buckle you’re secured to clicks occasionally.  

“You’re my filthy slut” he grins, striking your rouged cheek. He’s rough, but you weren’t searching for friendliness, neither of you did. At your core, you knew it—Toji bullying himself into your cervix is a poison you’d drink habitually. A poison so incredibly captivating, you’re burning just to feel his crowning ardor. 

He’s sandwiched between your swollen lips and he can’t get enough, virtually drunk from it. He winds another branding swat on your backside, then the other. The crackling fire of his hand thwacking delicate flesh merges pleasure with pain. “You've been such a brat all summer” he taunts, “Needed me to put you in your place, huh, you fucking slut?” Another mean swat, and he laughs crudely at you little gasp. “You like this shit, don’t you? Wanna be manhandled like a fucking whore.” Both cheeks are a severe fiery color, beginning to welt, but he resumes. And you’re drenching him. A creamy, gooey ring forming at the base of his dick, tracing translucent strings when he pummels your poor leaking pussy. 

“M’sorry, so s-sorry” you babble. Apologizing for what? You don’t know, but the delirium spills truths you should’ve voiced ages ago. You're utterly incoherent; you might as well stay silent. “Aww, I know” he cloys, soft and sultry compared to the angry strokes he’s delivering. Shockwaves burst and fizzle on your clit and you flutter around him. Your ass ripples against him, hoarse voice funneling strings of curses, scrotum pummeling your overworked bundle of nerves. You want to come so bad it hurts, and you find yourself arching a little harder, spreading your legs a little wider—just begging him to use you entirely, to melt, become his. 

“Pleasepleaseplease” you whimper, at the height of your intensity. Then sweltering, frenetic spasms suffocate Toji’s shaft as you ride the orgasm seemingly crashing into you. You shudder violently, pleading with your body to attain some level of poise. It has other plans, however, provoking you to flitting tears from dragged-out, toe-curling tremors. You grip him like a vice and he struggles to pull out, but when does he’s rubbing circles on your aching nub. You’re lost in a bottomless sensation, but you hear his voice in your dampened ears, “Mm, I got ya.” 

The pressure on your wrists lessens, and you realize you can move them freely. Your arms are numb returning to a normal position, and you support yourself on your feeble elbows when you feel your legs being parted again. In the fleeting instant you’re allowed to settle, the vast trail of his tongue laps at your shuddery cunt. "P-please wait—ngh, I can’t-” you wail, and you turn to the commotion to see Toji, growling and devouring your silken arousal.  

He’s absolutely corrupted, a feral glint in his blearily blinking eyes, chest heaving salaciously as he kneads your thighs. You paw at his hair, toiling to crawl away from his unsparing mouth but he follows. He releases you and you inch away from him. “Where ya goin’? Heh, tryna run?” he teases. You don’t get very far, because he grapples your waist and pulls you back. “Not done ‘till I say it’s done.”  

Then he’s climbing on the bed with you, and you can do nothing but snivel in protest as he maneuvers you to hike your leg over his. He lays on his side, locking you in his embrace and smears his cock between your puffy folds. “Am I being mean to you?”, he slides in with ease, savoring the sweet mess spewing on cue, “’M sorry, I’m just an ‘angry old man’, after all.”  

He pounds your chubby cunt with wild abandon. You feel each vast stroke pummeling your tumid core, squelching amidst your languid bodies. You can’t close your legs—as badly as you want to—and you’re forced to endure frantic twitching from your lit nerves. He strips your breasts of the flimsy lace bra and alternates among pinching your nipple and molding the valley to his palms. He twists it harsh and you muster a pathetic babble, to which he laughs—mocking and unhinged, “My poor baby, you can’t handle it anymore.”  

Anymore was an understatement, it was overwhelming—to a degree that you’d gone quiet, enveloped in vehemence. You're scratching up his bicep with the other tangled in the sheets, knuckles turned white and your head thrown back. You want to push him off, but you’re milking his stuttering hips, drawing him closer. It isn’t enough and it’s too much. “F-fuck, it’s so swollen” he moves from your chest to your vulva, “I can touch right? Y-yea, you don’t mind.” His intoxicating voice is at a whisper in your ear, laying like liquor in your cotton-filled mind. With his cock dragging against your walls and hammering your g-spot, mercilessly circling his pads on your clit, eliciting every short “ah, ah” from your swollen lips, you’re far from combative.  

He precisely rolls his hips and it’s unbearably hot, broken mewls fleeing you. Your mouth sags, drool shameless down your mouth as he kisses your cervix without trying. He wraps his hand around your throat, boring into your teary eyes. You can’t escape his overbearing presence, isolated from everything besides his eye contact. He is everything.  

“Who’s pussy is this?” He gradually squeezes tighter and you pule in response. Since that didn’t work, he accentuates the words with every tantalizing thrust: 

“Who’s” 

“Pussy” 

“Is this?” 

You narrowly choke out, “Your pussy”, and like something snapped his rhythm get faster, nastier. The asphyxiation reaches you brain and floods you, aswoon on a pillowy cloud. He’s faltering, pumps getting sloppier, “Thaaat’s right, ‘nd I’ll use this pretty pussy whenever I need.” His stomach flinches but he doesn’t stop chasing that high, eyes thoroughly glassed, “’N you’re gonna be a good girl and take it—ha, f-fuck—be a good girl, o-okay?” Your pupils retreat to the back of your head, and you arch off the bed as your body begins to tremble. He’s glued to you, “One more, let it out f’me. Please, fuck, I need it—hah—need you to come on my dick—”  

Your breath gets stuck in your throat, and you unravel. A stream of liquid coats the blanket and you’re speechless as you convulse uncontrollably, legs betraying you for strong spasms. You go limp but Toji props you up, bucking his hips when his own legs start to jolt. “That’s a good girl—Ohh yes. Y-you're so good f'me, princess. Coming—hahh—gonna come all over your pretty cunt—”  

His balls tighten, and he manages some slushy, vile pumps before he pulls out. He spurts all over your tummy and hypersensitive vulva, painting it in thick white layers. He persists, groaning until he’s fully hollow, emptying his sack in globs. His staggering pants and shaking reduce to hitching, and he relaxes your exhausted weight. You weep softly, clinging to him as he presses selfish kisses from your lips to your wet lashes. He caresses your cheek, sweaty and disheveled in the dim light. Then your eyesight starts to blur. 

Your sight peels back, permitting warm sunlight basked over the bed. It takes a split second to notice you’re resting on pillows not nearly as comfortable as yours, and the wood paneling was uncharacteristic of your assigned room. It takes another second to notice your galled throat, stinging backside, and the arm loose on your naked waist. You peer over your shoulder, to that mop of ink sprawled on the pillow. He looks peaceful, though you’re not sure how you slept soundly when he snores like a brute. 

You slip from his arms to sit up. The floor’s freezing, but by the time you get to stand you’re pulled back into the covers. Entangled in limbs, you gaze at Toji, who still has his eyes closed. His face appears softened up close. There’s a small scar near his hairline that you hadn’t spotted. You trace the scar, outlining it to the one on his lip. He nips your finger. 

“I wanna sleep” he grumbles. 

“Then you should’ve let me leave” 

“No.” You card your fingers through his hair, and he sighs into it. A fine gray strand peaks out amongst the rest. “You’re turning gray, old man.” 

“The way I had you last night, I wouldn’t say ‘old man’.” Your remembrance makes your ears hot and you clasp a hand over his mouth. He laughs and pecks it, “You’re leaving today. Let’s get you packed up” he muffles. 

Little did he know, you’d talk to your father that afternoon, asking to stay for a couple more months. The countryside welcomed you—and what a humbling experience it was. 

© mooishbeam - please don't steal, copy, or post my work to other platforms :)

[lemontines-writing-corner]

wally darling x TV head! reader oneshot

authors note: wally darling belongs to @/partycoffin!

Quick summary: You’re a fanatic about the culture of vaporwave that your whole wardrobe is literally 1980’s-2010’s internet style more bright neon like clothing. Even your room is so vibey! Average regular person who explored the Welcome Home Website until you spotted something odd…

You honestly lived a normal life. Spend your time working as freelance artist with a vintage semi modern like aesthetic, mix of three actually. 80’s, 90’s and early 2010’s, it peaked your interests with internet culture, how it all started and began.

Everyone always see you either walking out of the 80’s, or some other days the 90’s, or the 2010’s! Everyone probably knows you have an interesting fashion taste, but that’s because you like being colorful!

When you finished the last of your commissions, you decided to chat with your online friends as they recommended you to check out a website they found.

you: what is this website?

⭐️ aster_diaster ⭐️: idk I found it on the Reddit forum, some puppet show forgotten and there it’s a restoration website. I thought you might like it ;P 🌀🌀🍎🍎

you: oooh !! I’ll definitely check it out 😁 thanks !

Without any hesitation you clicked on the link and was introduced with a puppet sitting on the rock, you thought nothing of it as you smiled admiring the art and layout of this website. You didn’t think much of looking at the clues, because you thought it was just a website. Your internet friend didn’t give a in depth construct about it. So your initial thought was a forgotten puppet show restoring all its lost media.

“I do hope there’s going to be lost episodes releasing”, you mumbled as you scrolled through the guest book, adorned by the drawings and submissions people sent. You yawned and clicked off the website and decided to open up youtube to play something what YouTube has given to you the first song that came up was Do Ya Like x Resonance

Just as you were about to login for Pinterest to look for inspiration and save a few pins to have an idea to draw something, a notification popped on the right side of your laptop.

⭐️ aster_disaster ⭐️: 🍎 voywex. try replacing it at the end of the link from the website I showed you 🌀:)

You: oh alr-

what’s with the weird emoji uses???

⭐️ aster_disaster ⭐️: nothing much. Ha. Ha. Ha. Im waiting 🌀🌀🌀👁️

You rolled your eyes thinking they’re just playing with you, “tomfoolery” you muttered to yourself as you clicked on your history and clicked back to the website, “this is gonna be a rickroll I swear.”, or so you thought.

Upon typing the letters you were greeted with a pair of eyes staring right through your soul and told you to be quiet, then it blinked as it’s eyes then showed the two spirals. You were about to click it off as it typed on the text box quickly, “wait! Don’t go please!”, you were honestly scared but his eyes were hypnotic, the spirals started to pull you in as the spirals expanded.

You didn’t remember a single thing. Not one thing at all, but all you heard was a voice. “see you soon neighbor~” .

You suddenly woke up in the middle of the woods, hyperventilating you touched your chest and checked your pulse, you looked around to notice that everything is so colorful a bit too unreal. “I must be tripping…” you said to yourself as you stood up not even realizing how odd you looked.

“Maybe I should…explore the place?”, you started walking down the pathway as you saw a ray of houses the only one that stood out was the house in the middle surrounded by other houses. “Wait…I know this place”, your eyes widened and walked down the pathway.

There home looked at you all curious, you waved back at home as home swinged its window to say a hello, “ok….I must be dreaming am I?”, before home can even respond, you ran and went to the nearest person who is in the neighborhood.

Which was Eddie, you bumped into him as he looked at you with a shocked look and you all distraught and confused, “sorry….”, you began to pick up all his mail as he came along to pick it up as well, “no worries neighbor! Say I never seen you around here, are you new?”

Before you can say anything you heard someone screeching from behind as you were caught with a butterfly net, of course that caused one of your antennas to snap off which your screen had bugs. You were blind and tried to navigate your way to get out of this mess.

“I caught the bug! Eddie look!” Julie pointed as Eddie was in shock, “Julie I don’t think it’s a bug” Frank crossed his arms as he observed you, “they don’t have bug like features compared to Howdy”, your voice had a static as you spoke, “h…hey…I’m..n…not…a…a b…bug…h…help me” you struggled as Eddie took the butterfly net off you.

Barnaby suddenly chimed in to see the commotion, “what’s going on there fellas?”, he looked over and saw you, “oh boy new neighbor!!”, without a doubt without letting anyone speak, he picked you up and hugged you, “boy oh boy! My names Barnaby pal! What’s yours!!”.

At this point you were overwhelmed with all of this and struggled to get off. You can’t see anything nor speak because of the bugs on your screen. “I think they need to be put down”, Eddie responded as Barnaby realized what’s going on, “oopsies, sorry pal” he smiled a bit and set you down.

Frank then grabbed a piece of your antenna and put it where it belonged on your head as the bugs on your screen was gone. Now you can see and speak well, “I’ve never seen a neighbor with a head like that” Julie looked at you as everyone collectively agreed.

“What are you even talking about”, your eyes turned into three question marks, signing that your confused, “Well you’re no bug, you’re more of a tv head…” Frank circled around observing you and touched your tail, “you have a plug as a tail” he seemed interested as everyone looked at you like as if some artist drew a beautiful piece.

“Listen, I’m too overwhelmed with all of this mess. I just need to get home. This is not the time to watch me like I’m some circus animal”, you felt frustrated and overwhelmed.

“Indeed. But this is your home neighbor, I’m sorry for the behavior everyone had given you (y/n)”. You turned around and saw Wally as your screen had three explanation marks, “Sorry Wally, we were all excited to see the new neighbor”, Julie looked down as Wally walked towards you facing in front of them, “apology accepted Julie”, he smiled and looked at you.

“Indeed they are a strange one, they have a head of a tv”, you then touched your face as you were in a limbo, you couldn’t say anything and stayed in pure shock. “No worries neighbors, me and (y/n) are going to have a quick tour around the neighborhood, we don’t want to overwhelm them so for now we take baby steps”.

Before you can retaliate, everyone nodded and waved a goodbye to you as Wally looked at you…a little too comfortable as you blinked, “Uuh…so when am I going home?”, Wally hugged you as he himself is intrigued by you and your tv head self.

Boy oh boy. This might take awhile

authors note: I gave up halfway so I’m sorry if I didn’t make it that interesting-

Also Howdy and Poppy aren’t in this fanfic because I just only thought of the character of who would be outside most of the time

Here’s some concept art as an apology 💔

[guynamedultimax]

Giving Sonic characters an anime fighter-style makeover + dream roster for said anime fighter

So not too long ago, probably a year-ish, I wanted for a Sonic fighting game with Arc System Works graphics and gameplay (basically Guilty Gear Strive but for Sonic characters) and I was like "oh, imagine if it took place in an AU which is basically just my own take on post-SGW Archie but with characters from EVERY continuity and they all wear outfits that make them more urban or smth" I didn't have a lot of ideas for this AU but basically one of them was to make Sonic wear something like a bomber jacket that's more reminiscent of plane pilots (considering the fact that he was the original owner of the Tornado). I should have the drawing somewhere in my room, I'd just have to find it. I then kinda took a step back when I saw this:

(if someone is able to find who made the image above please send me the link to credit them, I know it's a Twitter image but I forgot the account)

This is a scrapped alt for Project M (for those of you living under a rock, the ORIGINAL Smash Bros. Brawl mod that made Brawl more like Melee and added Mewtwo and Roy back in the game) with Sonic wearing an outfit which is VERY CLOSE to that of his "humanized" version drawn by Uekawa. And after seeing this I'm like "y'know, he could wear this in Kingdom Hearts AND Guilty Gear and not bat an eye" (despite the fact that Guilty Gear designs have a shitload of belts).

I'd say a design like this could fit the vibe/aesthetic I'd be going for in a project that's essentially a Sonic fighting game in an AU which is made up of elements from all continuities. I know I also kept searching for a Shadow "equivalent" to this and I am so, SO torn between making essentially something similiar to the outfit above (so essentially either one of Shadow's outfits from Rivals) OR ramp up the edginess and make him wear something on the lines of this:

Horrible 90's Attire but it's Sonic Adventure 2 by Yanimae on DeviantArt (https://www.deviantart.com/yanimae/art/Horrible-90-s-Attire-But-it-s-Sonic-Adventure-2-705847763)

The cast would generally all have a clothes revamp and I'm gonna go over some of the most obvious ones:

-Tails should absolutely wear something that screams "I'm the smart prodigy" and I'm thinking he should get the bomber jacket I was gonna give to Sonic before seeing the PM scrapped alt -Treasure Hunter Knuckles like this is so obvious it's not even funny he fits perfectly with the tone, that's one of the top tier things Sonic Forces: Speed Battle did so far -same for Secret Agent Rouge (or alternatively her stealth outfit from Rivals 2 and Sonic X) and DJ Vector these are actually banger alts

-Amy wearing something on the lines of her Fleetway Comics outfit but with the colors of her more known outfit would rock ngl

-Eggman wearing an outfit similar to the one he wears in the first movie (so something like this https://twitter.com/RendersSSBU/status/1252674435342938113 ) -Metal Sonic having a new coat of paint that makes him more loyal to the Eggman Empire (essentially Chrome Metal from Speed Simulator) -Espio in his Ninja attire from Rivals 2 -Silver wearing some kind of Tron-esque time cop coat showcasing more that he's from the future or smth

-Blaze essentially wearing a more "regal" version of her regular outfit -Cream & Cheese dressed up like girl scout cookie sellers (its cute and it fits their personality) -ANGLER BIG ANGLER BIG ANGLER BIG ANGLER BI- -Omega possibly also receiving a coat of paint that shows he works for G.U.N with the rest of Team Dark

-Scrapnik Mecha Sonic and Scrapnik Mecha Knuckles enough said

-Surge cosplaying as Scourge. Hear me out on this one it makes SENSE-

This was more or less the roster I came up with for the fighting game itself

Mighty, Sage, Mecha Sonic by ShadowLifeman on DeviantArt Ray by Prime-01 on DeviantArt Nack, Bark, Mephiles, Infinite, Honey, Mecha Knuckles, Fleetway SS by ??? Classic Sonic by Kidd Kai on DeviantArt Bean by E-122 Psi on DeviantArt Zavok by Solbliminal on Twitter

Everyone else is from official SEGA art or from artists who worked with SEGA, template used from the DBFZ roster

Here's also a few details on each character and on some of the thought process behind this roster and/or gameplay:

-I considered a three button system a-la BlazBlue with an equivalent for a Drive that I haven't really developed in my brain, plus a Ring mechanic like Sonic Smackdown, where if you get hit with a strong attack you lose Rings and if you get said Rings you can heal back some of your health -The starting roster would mostly be Teams Sonic, Rose, Dark, Chaotix, Silver, Blaze, Gemerl, Eggman, Sage and Metal Sonic, with the final boss possibly being Mecha Sonic, the rest would be split among a few seasons of DLC -The only real characters I forced myself to include were Mimic and Rough & Tumble because I was running out of space to make a symmetric heroes-and-villains roster (and I originally considered for Surge & Kit to be a 2-in-1 deal like some of the Chaotix that would "mimic" a playstyle meant to evoke playing as both Sonic and Tails in Sonic 2) -Sonic himself would have a mix of moves between Frontiers and Smash Bros., but 90% of his Smash moveset would basically be used for Classic Sonic in general since he's 90% ball anyways there

-Everyone would have a movelist as big as that of the average Strive character (which makes sense when you look at how many unique techniques each character actually has from the wiki pages lol)

-Charmy and Ray are "built-in" assists like Android 17 for base DBFZ but I couldn't come up with full movesets for them sadly

-Super transformations are extremely hard installs to pull off (full meter stuff + super specific button inputs too) that make you utterly broken for a short amount of time at the cost of all your current red health (these include Super Sonic (both classic and modern), Super Shadow, Super Silver, Burning Blaze, Neo Metal Sonic and Super Mecha Sonic, possibly even Excalibur Sonic with the regular BK Sonic being instead used for the base form)

-I originally planned for Jet to call for Wave and Storm in battle but then I realized you could more or less flesh them out to be a bit more unique compared to him.

-Zavok is Ginyu from DBFZ, if you know you know

-Mephiles and Infinite LOOK LIKE they have the same "kit" but Mephiles' playstyle and game could and should definitely fit a shadow manipulator like him while Infinite is more of a guy who attacks aggressively at any distance

-Honey and the Hooligans would be essentially "translated" versions of their movesets from Fighting Vipers and Sonic the Fighters into an anime fighter environiment

-Emerl and Eggman Nega are alternate costumes for Gemerl and Eggman respectively (I did not use actual Emerl as the base because Gemerl has a cooler design and he does show up in comics these days) -I considered Lanolin to form a full Diamond Cutters team with Tangle and Whisper but I realized she hasn't done much so far action-wise to include her, so both her and Belle (for the same reason) could be assists for Whisper and Tangle respectively

-I ALSO considered Marine to be playable but she hasn't shown any actual powers beyond that one thing in the end of Sonic Rush Adventure which nobody ever really understood what it was- I recall Ian Flynn saying in the Encyclospeedia that it's water powers? eh, nobody really trusts that book anyways

-I'd find cute if other characters showed up in taunts and animations for the playables (like Chip for the Werehog, Vanilla for Cream, Froggy for Big, Tikal for Chaos, etc.) -Fleetway Super Sonic would essentially be the game's Omega Rugal (the extremely hard DLC boss you have to beat to unlock for playable use). Also he's voiced by Jacaris because I cannot picture any other voice for him at this point now sorry

-Instead of making Mecha Sonic and Mecha Knuckles full blown villains I'd make them anti-villains/anti-heroes where in the game's plot they don't immediately side with the heroes because they just wanna live in peace on Scrapnik Island

-Didn't add Archie characters because of space but if I DID do it, I would've done Sally (and made her another Ginyu with the rest of the Freedom Fighters) and/or Eclipse the Darkling

-Other scrapped characters from even earlier takes on the idea are Tekno from the Fleetway comics, Shade from Chronicles (deleted because of a horrible human being) and Longclaw from the movies

-Plot would happen in an original universe, again, but heavily focused on games and IDW, and essentially be dealt with like how Guilty Gear Xrd handled it (with multiple iterations of the same game progressing the plot): in the first "Phase", the one with only the base roster, Eggman is attempting to mess around with Ancient technology and data from the Starfall Islands to replicate the Phantom Ruby's powers, somehow "resurrecting" and/or "summoning" in the second "Phase" past villains, which causes the heroes (and, begrudgingly, Eggman, Sage and Metal) to call in for reinforcements/allies, and to search for the Chaos Emeralds so that they could stop the villainous rampage, with everyone mostly deciding to gang up on Mephiles, Infinite and the Deadly Six as they pose the bigger threats when combined together. A third and final "phase" would focus on the aftermath of the event (but more so specifically on Starline and his Imposters because I want them to get better in the public eye, I know a lot of people don't like IDW but I love the idea of Sonic having a more detailed Rogues Gallery in official SEGA-endorsed media)

Oh and that edgy Fist Bump remix from the Sonic Sessions is absolutely the intro theme to this game i'm not sorry.

That is all, thank you for coming to my rambling and stay hydrated. Just don't drink Dasani, it'd be like drinking poison (if you know you know)

[thatnimrodmusician]

im back with another playlist but this time its for charles

ferrari (the neighbourhood) - i love the neighbourhood and he IS ferrari

white ferrari (frank ocean)- he owns a white ferrari

ferrari (james hype) - i had to , its so him.

charles leclerc (alexander lewis) - literally named charles leclerc

die for you (the weekend) - "even though we're going through it and if it makes you feel alone just know that i would die for you"

monaco (lagos) - price of monaco fr

strawberries and ciarettes (troye sivan) - "headlights on me racing to 60"

king of my heart (taylor swift) - because he really is king of my heart , but also "cause all the boys in their expensive cars with their range rovers and their jaguars"

shut up and drive (rhianna) - the whole song is so f1 coded

miss americana and the heartbreak prince (taylor swift) - "my team is losing, battered and bruising, i see the high fives, between the bad guys" (specifically about 2022 ferrari)

skyfall (adele) - we've all seen the sunset lap x storm lap edit

the adults are talking (the strokes) - charles actually said this was his hype up song

we are (one ok rock) - "they think we are made up of all of our failures" + "anything they say will never break our hears of gold, when you're standing on the edge, so young and hopeless, got demons in your head."

out of my system (louis tomlinson) - i actually dont have a justification for this, the vibes are just there.

life is a highway (rascal flatts) - he's literally mcqueen.

dont blame me (taylor swift) - charles is very rep/lover coded

style (taylor swift) - "you've got that james dean daydream look in your eyes"

red desert (5sos) - you cannot tell me this is NOT the ferrarixcharles song - 'what a blessing to feel your love"

gold rush (taylor swift) - "what must it be like to grow up that beautiful?"

red (taylor swift) - "loving him was red"

starboy (the weekend) - "100 on the dash keep me close to god we dont pray for love we just pray for cars" and "p1 cleaner than your church shoes"

softcore (the neighbourhood) - "i might need room or I'll break, are we too young for this?"

art deco (lana del rey) - "you want more" + "you're so art deco"

here with me (d4vd) - "i dont care how long it takes as long as I'm with you I've got a smile on my face" (this is so charles and ferrari)

nights and days (citycreed) - "summer breeze and burning trees, by the fire just you and me"

daylight (taylor) - charles is just so lover + sun of maranello

hall of fame (the script) - no explanation necessary

history (one directon) - "we can live forever "

diamonds (rhianna) - "at first sight, i felt the energy of sun rays"

ghost (justin bieber) - "i miss you more than life"

long live (taylor swift) - no explanation necessary

[kamenstranger]

So, over the next few days I plan on archiving some older reviews to have them available here. These are going to be selections of my favorite reviews and by extension, some of my favorite pieces of art and media. First up is my favorite Showa Ultra: Ultraseven. The review was originally written Dec. 27th 2019 and is presented as is, with some exceptions to the images used due to limitations and such. I'll also be cutting the presentation section that went over the case, discs, and episode guide because I don't really think it matters much.

Well now, this was a surprise even to me. I didn't expect to be reviewing Ultraseven this soon, but I received a Christmas present from my lovely friend, Rosy. This is one I've been looking forward to a lot- as Seven is a fantastic series with a notable reputation for being among the best. However there's never been a particularly good release of the show outside Japan, with the Shout Bluray A:Not being a proper transfer due to those shady as fuck dealings with Chiyao. and B: Having questionable subtitles.

But now, just like with Ultraman, we can finally have a proper release with approval from Tsuburaya. One interesting thing to note about the series before going in is that this did not start off as another Ultra show, that happened very late and lead to some interesting tidbits that you'll notice throughout the review. It's also worth noting that even after becoming an Ultra series it was not treated as a sequel to the original. There's no mention of Ultraman, the SSSP, past monster etc. The closest connection is that there are references to the M78 Nebula. Otherwise this was originally a stand alone series.

Our primary protagonist this go 'round is Dan Moroboshi. Right from the start Dan is very different than Hayata. Rather than already being a member of the primary defense force of the show, he presents himself as a wander and ends up joining after providing useful information and assisting with an alien threat. Dan also isn't a host to Seven the way Hayata was to Ultraman, he's just Ultraseven in disguise. This also means that any injuries Seven suffers also gets reflected upon Dan.

Unlike his predecessor, Dan has access to and makes liberal use of powers in his human guise. X-ray vision, the ability to see things that are invisible, keen hearing etc. He's also very observant of his surroundings, similar to an amateur detective in some respects- noticing when a things are out of place. We hear his inner monologues as he pieces things together in his head or struggles in various scenarios. His alien knowledge proving most useful.

Over the course of the show more is revealed about Seven and his past. About midway through the series it's shown that when he first came to earth he rescued a rock climber after he cut his own rope to save his partner. Admiring the act, Seven modeled his appearance upon him. We later learn Seven was part of a wider force in the M78 nebula, but he isn't a fighter. This is even reflected in his fighting style which is looser than Ultraman's Greco-Roman wrestling. Seven instead relies best on beam attacks and even telekinesis.

Even the Ultra Rise is very different.

I think the oddest difference is that sometimes there isn't even an Ultra Seven form appearing in some episodes, just Dan. That would almost never happen today- but it's oddly refreshing to see how it all plays out. Granted, that doesn't mean there aren't giant monsters or even monster battles in those episodes. Dan carries several capsules that summon kaiju to battle in his place:

Miclas, Windom and Agira. Usually this happens when the key device used for transforming: the Ultra Eye, is taken, or Dan is in some way incapacitated where he's incapable of transforming.

Even then, episodes that do have Seven don't always feature a giant Ultra Seven. Seven will just be regular sized to fight smaller threats, which is really surreal. Hell, at least two episodes have him shrinking down to a miniature size.

But the single most notable divergence is that Seven doesn't have a time limit like Ultraman did, more so he has an energy limit. The less he does the longer he can maintain his large form, but using various beam attacks will drain it much faster. The Beam lamp upon his head more or less functions the same way as the color timer did, although interestingly enough it's not explained until I believe episode 39 and a few episodes prior is when I first noticed it began blinking after long battles.

Left to Right: Amagi, Dan, Anne Yuri, Soga, Shigeru Furuhashi, Capt. Kiriyama.

Speaking of notable difference, the main organization that Dan joins, the Terrestrial Defense Force, is a stark contrast to the SSSP. While the SSSP was more scientifically focused- at least in concept, the TDF and by extension their elite sub section: The Ultra Guard, are far more militarized with much larger numbers. While the focus remains on the elite Ultra Guard unite comprised of six members, the show predominately features background characters making the show feel much broader in scope. Here we have various guards, men in uniform, scientists, medical staff, freaking PR people, etc. A number of them are even named. They even have a major space station with various staff members. It feels like an actual organization- or at least a well funded one.

The cast of characters for the Ultra Guard aren't that much more defined than the SSSP members were and once again I don't have much to say, but they do try by giving some of the characters more focus in certain episodes. Shigeru Furuhash (who is played by Arashi's actor Yoshi Ishii from the original series) serves as this shows comedic relief and gets his own dedicated episode involving a bit of family history with his mother that, at the very least, gives him some backstory. Funny enough the episode that focuses on him is also very dramatic, must be a thing with their comedic characters. The same can't be said for everyone though. What is there to say about someone like Amagi beyond he's played by Bin Furuya the original Ultraman suit actor? Not much.

What the show does do is a better job with the camaraderie. The characters interact more and in general just have more personality, allowing them to work off of Dan during missions, they're just fairly shallow elsewhere. However one sticks out above the others and that is the Medic on the team; Anne Yuri.

Played by the very lovely Yuriko Hishimi, Anne has a good chemistry with Dan- and I don't mean that in a romantic way. They just function really well in the episodes they're paired together, more so than any other of the cast. She has a magnetically charming personality that simply can't be ignored. I found myself wanting to see more of the character as she had a lot of potential shown off.

Another thing that helps the cast is that the TDF aren't quite as limited as the SSSP were in terms of operations. Ultraman's strongest point plot wise was variety in it's format, which you think would be come more of an issue for a series like Ultra Seven with a much more focused area on defensive measures. However I believe Seven to be even more varied. The show regularly has a number of different conflicts and ways of going about handling them. For a show that has an alien invasion scheme every other episode, it does a great job of never being tiring. Some episodes involve conspiracies like TDF members being assassinated or the UG having to go undercover and trail a suspected Alien like a 60s spy thriller, or there's aliens hypnotizing children to use as soldiers. Of course there's plenty of other none invasion type episodes as well, ranging from experiments gone wrong, strange alien diseases and almost twilight zone-esque otherworldly divergences.

Seven also deals with a lot more morale complexity than it's predecessor did. Whereas in the original Ultraman there would sometimes be episodes which presented a monster in some fashion as to make them sympathetic or that their demise was bittersweet, it never became a major sticking point of morality. Ultra Seven isn't like that, the show will often raise the question if the actions taken are justified, and Seven's own choices sometimes weigh upon him. This was done in an attempt to appeal to an adult audience.

A lot of the conflict comes from ignorance, arrogance, and plain misunderstandings rather than just a desire for conquest. Perhaps a simple satellite being mistaken as a weapon causing a panic, that sort of thing. One most notable of these is episode 6 when a massive space colony looses control of their gravitational force and begins a course towards earth, the alien Pegassa simply assume humans are capable of controlling Earth's own gravitational rotation like they and many other races are with their own planets. But when they learn humanity hasn't advanced that far, they begin thinking of them as simpletons lacking in technology. Faced with the colony colliding with earth, the UG sends a rescue for the Pegassans with an offer to stay until they're capable of building a new home. The Pegassans refuse to answer- perhaps believing humans lack the adequate weapons technology to obliterate their base. Faced with looming impact, the UG has no choice but to destroy the fleet with the inhabitants still on board. The Pegassan species becoming a victim of their own hubris. While aliens were sometimes used to illustrate humanity's own flaws reflected back, the Ultra Guard themselves were not above being shown as foolish. Tapping into late 60s cold war cynicism, episode 26 has the UG building a new super weapon that's the equivalent of 8,000 H-bombs meant for destroying small planets, with plans for a MK 2 and 3 to go further, which horrifies Dan and leads to a lot of inner conflict with his fellow UG members.

It's not the only time either, and while the UG are of course meant to be a force of good, they're not at all clean.

Intentional or not, it's interesting to note that as soon as a military organization entered the franchise is also when the stories first began having more complexity with the heroes' actions. Frankly, the TDF engages in much more questionable acts than the SSSP ever did. Sure, they had a few missions that would cause the viewer to raise an eyebrow, such as removing a kaiju from it's natural habitat. But the TDF have quite literally wiped out entire civilizations. Some unavoidable such is with ep. 6 being very grey- but others, not so much. ep. 42 in particular has quite possibly the most horrifying example of this when a race of pre-human ocean dwelling beings called Nonmalt begin retaliating to what they view as an invasion by humans. They're woefully ill-equipped, having only a single monster and one captured British sub as a means of attacking a nearby harbor, the UG having no trouble taking it out. Up to that point it seems like your standard issue group of creatures becoming overzealous and impulsive- they never try to even talk to anyone about coming to an agreement or the fact that they weren't even known about by the humans, they just start making threats immediately. Then things take a turn. After their sub and giant monster are taken out, their underwater city is discovered. The captain of the UG, Kaoru Kiriyama, fearing possible future attacks obliterates the entire city without a second thought. The show never outright calls it the genocide that it is, but it sure as hell doesn't frame it as good either. Dan and Anne are horrified at the aftermath of the episode, clearly conveying all that needs to be said with their behavior. In the end, the audience is left wondering if the results were necessary and how truly just the UG are when, as far an anyone could tell, it was a defenseless civilian population.

There's a lot one could get into with colonialism with this episode. The TDF&UG are better equipped and prepared than the SSSP were- and more happy to use their weapons. They're not outright villains and they're certainly shown to have admirable qualities. But they've engaged with reprehensible actions. At the same time I'm not sure if I can say it's a nuanced presentation so much as different writers having very different stories they want to tell and the results being accidental when looked at as a whole. But it is interesting none the less. Stuff like that makes Seven far more intriguing than the prior series and the show challenges its audience more by having them.

Once again the effects are a fantastic aspect of the show and far more advanced than even Ultraman's sets were in detail. The first episode alone flaunts it's higher production standards with some truly astonishing displays. Everything just looks a ton better. The Ultra Guard base and gear is drastically more intricate than the SSSP ever was.

The level of detail and scope of these dioramas is gorgeous for the time, and even now in some instances.

The Kaiju and Seijin are of course still fantastically designed and iconic. Eleking, King Joe, Alien Metron, Pegga, Alien Guts, Pandon. Every single one of the above has a great appearance that immediately make an impact.

Seven also experiments a bit by having some none suit creatures, smaller puppets handled by wire work. They… are interesting to mix things up but none stick out to me. I honestly couldn't even recall he first alien in the series. It's clear their bread and butter is still suitmation.

Speaking of the Kaiju, the fights are sometimes shockingly violent. Ultraman had a few that got a little messed up, like ripping Jirass' frill off and taunting him. The second Baltan also got split in half, but was little more graphic than splitting Play-doh. Seven on the other hand can get bloody.

People talk about Leo being violent, but Seven has it's moments. With all that said, there are however a few oddities with the effects. As lovely as a lot of those sets and creature designs are, there are a couple pieces that feel out of place. One is the backgrounds having noticeable seams. To some extent the original series had this as well but they were more often hard to make out and very few, usually a single vertical line. Seven on the other hand has much larger and extravagant sets and the caveat is noticing when the walls for the background connect since they're much larger.

I'm not entirely sure what it is, but Seven does feature a noticeable uptick in image quality- though it's not a massive leap over the prior series, it is sharper looking and a lot more sticks out because of it. How much they stick out is going to rely on how you view the series. On my computer they're not as bad in most instances, my 42" TV on the other hand was another matter- the backgrounds often appearing as a mass of blocks with thin lines except during wide-shots.

The final issue I believe to be rear projection and it's not just typical rear projecting like when someone is driving in a Bond movie, there's this excessively odd look to the whole thing. It's muddy, there's spots, and there's lines like they either didn't have a single large screen or it was wrinkled to hell. It looks like shit quite frankly and is probably the worst effect I've seen in the Ultra series.

Regardless of a few growing pains, by in large Ultra Seven excels in the visuals and often improves on the ones that don't, with an unfortunate exception to the rear projecting which never really looks any better. Their endeavor with super imposing on the other hand is shockingly impressive. I only saw one egregious example, but every other was stunning for the time.

I've seen movies made in the 70s and even 80s that didn't blend stuff this well.

Likewise, the aircraft are more grandiose and as such need more wire. I get the feeling that they had perfected a lot of things with Ultraman and wanted to branch outward to more challenging and by extension more impressive effects, and I appreciate that endeavor. Aircraft move far more fluidly, are more complex and they even have the flagship craft of the series: The Ultra Hawk 1, separate into multiple aircraft and then re-combine, it is marvelous to gander at.

But by far the pinnacle of the visuals is with returning Director Akio Jussoji on a select number of episodes. If there is one defining thing in Ultra Seven from a visual standpoint, I would say it's the gorgeous sun sets and Jissoji is largely responsible for that iconography with his first contribution in episode 8- which is an absolutely gorgeous entry. He was hardly the only one to use it, as other episodes would often incorporate the orange glow. But there is little doubt in mind that Episode 8 set the precedent. But that is only a tiny part of it, as that episode features so many fantastic scenes and Japanese pop culture owes so much to the cinematography of this Jissoji directed episode in particular.

It truly is a collaborative effort. The impressive work of the set builders and the masterful capturing of those sets on film.

Jissoji also wasn't the only one to create some truly fantastic shots. Other directors like Toshihiro Iijima, Toshitsugu Suzuki, and Kazuho Mitsuta also contributed greatly to the series.

There is one more thing, and it's something I wondered a lot about before the set came out and that was if episode 12 would be included. It sadly is not. There's a lot to get into when discussing that infamous episode that I'm not going to get into here. There are plans for the episode to be re-fansubbed so I'll be doing a spotlight on it and talk more about it there. (note from 2023: still waiting) What I will say is the included episode guide completely avoids talking about it and I find it really strange to not even acknowledge why there's an episode missing. It's even worse on the Moviespree site because it appears as an unavailable episode on the site.

Lastly, I want to end this review on something I wanted to do for Ultraman but never got around to it and decided it wasn't necessary at the time. That is to give recommendations on my favorite episodes with a short synopsis.

Ep. 6 Dark Zone. D: Kazuho Mitsuta W:Bunzo Wakatsuki. This is the one I talked about in the review. It does a good job captivating you with the aliens and their plights, they're fairly friendly but things slowly turn over the course of the episode and the aforementioned hubris kicks in. This is also a good episode with Dan and Anne, showing that they two are willing to bend rules, if a bit too trusting.

Ep. 8 The Marked Town. D:Akio Jissoji W:Tetsuo Kinjo The famous Akio Jissoji directed episode with Alien Metron. I've already shown plenty of screen shots for this one in the review and I think that speaks for itself. The story is also wild with Metron experimenting with how Space Poppies affect humans by lacing cigarettes with the drug. Yeah, it's a space drug trip episode.

Ep 14 & 15 The Ultra Guard Goes West. D:Kazuho Mitsuta W:Tetsuo Kinjo. The first two parter of the series and the first time Seven struggles against an enemy: the robotic King Joe, all while the UG work on a new weapon to combat King Joe as he's completely immune to most of their conventional armaments and even Seven.

Ep. 26 Super Weapon R1. D:Toshitsugu Suzuki W:Bunzo Wakatsuki. This is where that morality really comes into play. Again, another episode I've talked about in the review and it is one I highly recommend. One of the things I didn't mention was the monster, because the test for the new weapon on an uninhabited planet- wasn't. It pretty much causes a Godzilla scenario with a radioactive monster spewing it's toxic fumes all over the place. The horrifying prospect of this is contrasted with some beautiful scenery. I brag on Jissogi a lot, but Toshitsugu Suzuki does a good job in this.

Ep. 37 The Stolen Ultra Eye. D: Toshitsugu Suzuki W: Shin'ichi Ichikawa This is a very somber episode. Dan gets his Ultra Eye stolen (No shit) by an alien who then sends a signal for pick up which the UG intercept but allow to go through. A reply comes back from the girl's planet only to reveal they've abandoned her as they launch an interplanetary missile toward earth. This one has a bittersweet ending and examines Seven's more alien nature and his relation to living on earth. Really great shot at the end of the episode of late 60's Japan and all the lights.

Ep. 39 and 40 The Seven Assassination Plan. D:Toshihiro Iijima W: Keisuke Fujikawa Another two-parter. These episodes primarily focus on the TDF and UG, one of the few episodes that really show off their full force against an alien threat. Seven gets captured by one of the most memorable creatures, Alien Guts, and is set to be executed. It's up to the UG to figure out how to save Seven. These episodes almost feel like a finale and probably were written as such before the series got extended.

Ep.43 Nightmare of Planet No. 4 D: Akio Jissoji W:Takashi Kawasaki & Shozo Uehara This episode has Dan and Soga on a journey in a new test rocket, but after being put in the state of deep sleep, the rocket heads off course and is drawn to an earth like planet ruled by Robots. The robots treat the humans of the planet at best as slaves. Segregating them to their own community and disposing of them at a moments notice, even using them as extras in crime shows and using live ammunition, regularly executing them for minor offenses. The entirety of the episode is cold and disturbing. The interior shots are often surreal and plain while outside is nearly lifeless. At one point Dan and Soga escape the robots by hiding in the back a truck full of fresh human corpses that were shot dead just moments ago. And yet the end of the episode is also incredibly fun, mainly because Seven gets to go absolutely ape shit, outright growing inside the robots' main HQ and then wrecking everything around it.

This episode hits basically every high point there is for me and very well may be my absolute favorite.

Ep. 48 & 49 The Biggest Invasion in history. D: Kazuho Mitsuta W: Tetsuo Kinjo These are the last two episodes of Seven and they're a really great send off. I don't want to get into spoilers too much, but I will say they do a much better job than Ultraman's Finale which frankly felt very flat and rushed. This really shows Dan struggling and going through absolute hell. A nice touch is the Seven Suit is falling apart by this point which actually works really well with the plot. There's a bit of closure with his team as well, something Ultraman never exactly got with the SSSP due to circumstance. Also, shout outs to Kazuho Mitsuta who directed these two episodes, they contributed greatly to the iconography of this series with that fantastic shot of Dan and Anne.

My overall feelings toward Ultraseven is largely similar to Kamen Rider V3. It keeps what worked in the prior series, builds upon that which worked, trims a lot of the fat and adds some new. Seven keeps enough of the core concepts and ideals of Ultraman to still be viewed as part of the same franchise, yet it's unique status as not initially being developed as part of the franchise or at the very least not a direct continuation. I believe allowed it to have the many differences that assisted in making it feel fresh. Familiar, yet not overly so, different, but not completely alien. A lot of franchises struggle with that balance, either repeating what's already been done or it's so different you can't even recognize it. Seven pulls it off beautifully and in doing so created an incredible nuanced entry. I highly suggest picking this up because it is absolutely one of the very best series and my favorite Showa Ultra.

[dieletztepanzerhexe]

Figure 3. I Rock art anthropomorphs in rhe ‘X-ray style’. 1. Aya Bay, Lake Baikal (after Okladnikov 1974); 2. Mount Ukir (after Khoroshih, cited in Mikhailov 1987); 3. Bolshaja Kada (after Okladnikov and Martinov 1972);

Figure 3.2 Rock art images of shamans from the Altai region. 1. Karakol (after Martinov 1985); 2. Altai (after Gurkin, cited in Ivanov 1954); 3 4 . Shalkoby (after Okladnikova 1989).

3.3 Fine line engraving of a shaman on a stone plaque from the Altai. (after Grichan 1987).

Figure 3.4 The Niukzha rock art panel, Olekma River basin: a shaman is flying among the celestial bodies (after Okladnikov and Mazin 1976).

Figure 3.5 Rock art images of shamans. 1. Oglakhty, Middle Yenisei River (after Miklashevich 1998); 2 Middle Yenisei River (after Kyzlasov and Leontiev 1980); 3. Mokhsogolokh- Khaja, Middle Lena River (after Okladnikov and Zaporozhskaja 1972).

Figure 3.6 Paintings on shamans’ drums (after Ivanov 1354).

3.7 Rock art anthropomorphs in head-gear with rays. 1. Painting from Shishkino, Upper Lena River (after OMadnikov 1977); 2. Lake Maloye, Middle Yenisei River (after Sunchugashev 1990); 3. Chasovnya, Middle Lena River (after Okladnikov and Zaporozhskaja 1972); 4. Kozlovo, Upper Lena River (after Okladnikov 1977); 5. Suruktakh-Khaya, Yakutia (after Ivanov 1954).

Figure 3.10 Shamanizing in a yurt. Rock art panels from the historical period, Shalkoby, Altai (after Okladnikova 1989).

“Rock art and the material culture of Siberian and Central Asian shamanism” by Ekaterina Devlet

[imagine-organization-xiii]

What "coffee table books" would they have/ what would they read at a doctor's office?

Xemnas - Bob Willoughby: A Cinematic Life - This comprehensive large-format monograph on renowned photographer Bob Willoughby's extraordinary, cinematic life is a tribute to his remarkable career. From the 1950s through the 1970s, Willoughby photographed many of the most significant stars of the era in film and jazz. 

Xigbar - Terry O'Neill: The A-Z of Rock 'N' Roll - A chronicle of rock 'n' roll history as seen through the lens of master photographer Terry O'Neill.

Xaldin - VHS: Absurd, Odd, and Ridiculous Relics from the Videotape Era - Comedy writers Joe Pickett and Nick Prueher have spent the last 20 years collecting the best odd and unintentionally hilarious videotapes ever produced. Since 2004, they've resurrected them for sold-out audiences across the country as part of their touring show, the Found Footage Festival. Now, for the very first time, they've collected the greatest VHS covers into one handsome compendium -- along with their priceless snarky commentary throughout.

Vexen - Evolution: A Visual Record - Stunning images to reawaken us to the scientific process that drives the amazing diversity of life on earth.

Lexaeus - The Art of the Cheese Plate: Pairings, Recipes, Style, Attitude - A perfect gift for any host or cheese lover, The Art of the Cheese Plate offers clear directions and expert tips for perfect cheese plates and creative condiments.

Zexion - The Word Made Flesh: Literary Tattoos From Bookworms World Wide - A beautifully packaged full-color collection of literary tattoos and short personal essays, The Word Made Flesh is an intimate but anonymous confessional book, in the vein of thought-provoking anthologies like PostSecret and Not Quite What I Was Planning.

Saix - United States Coinage: A Study By Type - A definitive work on American history as illustrated by United States coinage.

Axel - Stuck Up!: 100 Objects Inserted and Ingested in Places They Shouldn’t Be - A very funny collection of 100 X-ray images showing foreign objects ingested or inserted into human bodies, accidentally or on purpose.

Demyx - Underwater Dogs - The exuberant, exhilarating photographs of dogs underwater that have become a sensation.

Luxord - Milk Eggs Vodka: Grocery Lists Lost and Found - Milk, Eggs, Vodka is a celebration of the humble grocery list. Almost anyone will find themselves engrossed in this voyeuristic look into everyday life—less than healthy lists, lists for parties, lists with personal and often odd annotations on them...and the list of lists goes on. Besides over 150 found lists, the book also includes short essays on collecting, shopping, eating, and list making. 

Marluxia - Queer Maximalism - Machine Dazzle is the much-in-demand designer and artist behind popular cabaret, drag, and performance stars such as Taylor Mac and transgender icon Mx. Justin Vivian Bond. For the first time, his over-the-top stage creations, made for himself and others, are collected here alongside stage environments, ephemera, and photos from his career.

Larxene - Women Before 10 AM - Following up on her highly praised bestseller Men Before 10 a.m., celebrity photographer Veronique Vial completes her wonderfully intimate and revealing portrait of the sexes with Women Before 10 a.m., a captivating collection of your favorite fashion, cinematic, and pop culture beauties, starlets, and models before ten o'clock in the morning.

Roxas - The Great American Cereal Book: How Breakfast Got Its Crunch - The Great American Cereal Book is the definitive compendium of breakfast cereal history and lore, celebrating the most recognizable brands and packaging, such as Cheerios, Cocoa Puffs, Frosted Flakes, Grape-Nuts, and Trix.

Xion - Wild Things Are Happening: The Art of Maurice Sendak - The most comprehensive survey of the work of Maurice Sendak, the most celebrated picture book artist of all time―with previously unpublished archival materials.

[gerogerigaogaigar]

X-Ray Spex - Germfree Adolescents

When I saw this album on the list my heart grew three sizes and the rolling stone list bastards gained significant good will with me. This is possibly my favorite punk album of all time. It's got a sincerely rebellious attitude mixed with a heaping of camp. The day-glo aesthetics and prominent saxophone fly in the face of contemporary punk, but that little bit of deviance makes all the difference. The songs are so much more exciting for their quirks whether it's Poly Styrene's insane delivery on songs like I Can't Do Anything and Oh Bondage! Up Yours, or the 50s rock style sax lines on nearly every track. I permanently have the way she hits the R in rat on the line "Freddy tried to strangle me with my plastic popper beads, but I hit him back with my pet rat" living rent free in my head. It has to be heard to be believed.

The Cars - s/t

By all rights this shouldn't be a good album, let alone a great one. It's got this sterile synth new wave sound that is very 80s and for that it could be a little ahead of it's time. Now the hits on this album are huge, everyone probably knows Good Times Roll, My Best Friend's Girl, and Just What I Needed, but for my money I would suggest Moving In Stereo as the best track. It is more genuinely new wavey than the rest and has a synth line that I get stuck in my head every time. Usually I can actually pinpoint some quality of the music that I like, but for The Cars I think it might just be that they wrote magnificently catchy pop songs, and sometimes that's all you need.

Eminem - The Slim Shady LP

White people love to put Eminem at the top of best rappers of all time lists. This is bullshit obviously, but talk to the real hip hop heads though and they'll all agree he still belongs in the top 10. While his subject matter is controversial to say the least it is undeniable that his flow is one of the best and being produced by Dre means that this album just sounds fantastic. And speaking of Dre, the absolute peak of this album is the duet on Guilty Conscience where Shady plays the devil and Dre the angel on the shoulder of several characters. It plays out masterfully. If you can get into the kayfabe then Slim Shady's antics can be appreciated as the joke they're obviously meant to be and while some of the murder fantasy stuff is a little tasteless even for me there's just as much that comes through as intended. The biggest problem is that the joke wears thin halfway through and become just bleak for a few tracks, but it comes back around by the end.

Roxy Music - For Your Pleasure

The creative strife between Bryan Ferry and Brian Eno came to a head on Roxy Music's second album. The tension between art rock and sleazy glam may not have mapped to the tension between the two Briyans but the tension is there nonetheless. Glam rock was always a little surreal and this album takes that and runs with it on tracks like In Every Dream Home A Heartache which is about fucking a blow up sex doll, and For Your Pleasure which outros for four minutes with increasingly spacey drum and keyboards. A proper sendoff for Eno, and a great finale to the album.

[smt-obsessed]

☆ About Me! ☆

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Hello! 👋🏻 My name is Alexzandria but y'all can just call me Alex 😁

I am 20 years old

(February 4th, 2004)

I'm a pansexual cisgender woman

I'm more so spiritual than religious

The "Big Six" in my Astrology chart

Aquarius ~ Sun

Cancer ~ Moon

Cancer ~ Ascendant

Capricorn ~ Mercury

Pisces ~ Venus

Taurus ~ Mars

I am an INFP ~ "The Mediator"

Introverted ~ Intuitive ~ Feeling ~ Perspective

I am Type 9 on Enneagram

"The Peacemaker"

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

My Favorites!

☆ My Favorite Bands! ☆

The Beatles

Celtic Thunder

Coldplay

Evanescence

Green Day

Korn

Lemonade Mouth

Little Mix

Metallica

Panic! At The Disco

Queen

Shinedown

System Of A Down

Twenty One Pilots

☆ My Favorite Games! ☆

Assassins Creed (any of them to be honest.)

Dead by Daylight (I'm so bad at it though.)

Life is Strange (bae over bay; because the price is always right 😏... I'm sorry.)

Minecraft (I really like doing pixel art in creative.)

Sims 3 & 4 (I played some of Sims 1 but I grew up on these two.)

Stardew Valley (Alex and Haley my beloveds <33)

Unpacking (I replay it all the time.)

Telltales: The Walking Dead "1-4" (I love these games SO so much. )

☆ My Favorite Movies! ☆

All Dogs Go To Heaven (1989)

Alpha & Omega (2010)

Bride of Chucky (1998)

Coraline (2009)

Corpse Bride (2005)

Coyote Ugly (2000)

The Green Mile (1999)

Hairspray (2007)

Hard Candy (2005)

Look Who's Talking (1989)

The Road to El Dorado (2000)

Robots (2005)

Saw (2004 - 2024)

Seed of Chucky (2004)

Tangled (2010)

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974, 2003, 2013)

The Ward (2010)

☆ My Favorite Singers ☆

Billy Joel

Corpse Husband

Harry Styles

Hozier

k.d. lang

Lady Gaga

Lana Del Ray

Mitski

Melanie Martinez

Taylor Swift

☆ My Favorite Songs! ☆

(I have a whole playlist for this but I'll just pick some random songs out lol.)

Wherever You Will Go ~ The Calling

Born To Die ~ Lana Del Ray

Chop Suey! ~ System Of A Down

Fantasy ~ DyE

In a Week ~ Hozier, Karen Cowley

Last Kiss ~ Pearl Jam

More Than a Feeling ~ Boston

Mr. Loverman ~ Ricky Montgomery

Obstacles ~ Syd Matters

River of Dreams ~ Billy Joel

Second Chance ~ Shinedown

Sex on Fire ~ Kings of Leon

Simple Man (Rock version) ~ Shinedown

A Symptom Of Being Human ~ Shinedown

So Close ~ Jon McLaughlin

Songbird ~ Naya Rivera

Take My Breath Away ~ Berlin

Take on Me ~ Ashley Johnson

Thérèse ~ Maya Hawke

This December ~ Ricky Montgomery

Unchained Melody ~ Glee Cast

Unchained Melody ~ The Righteous Brothers

Vienna ~ Billy Joel

Video Games ~ Lana Del Ray

We'll Never Have Sex ~ Leith Ross

With Arms Wide Open ~ Creed

☆ My Favorite TV Shows! ☆

Big Mouth (please don't judge me.)

Criminal Minds

Fruits Basket

Kamisama Kiss

Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir

My Hero Academia

Ouran High School Host Club

Spy X Family

Toradora!

The Umbrella Academy

The Walking Dead

☆My Favorite YouTubers!☆

Ally Hills

Alaska Thunderfuck

AmazingPhil

DanAndPhilGAMES

Daniel Howell

Dolan Twins (back when they posted.)

Gab Smolders

Imbrandonfarris

Jacksepticeye

LifeSimmer (back when she posted.)

MacDoesIt

Makingemi (I also have a huge crush on her. 😭)

Rebal D

The Sturniolo Triplets

Trixie Mattel

The Try Guys

And My Socials!

(If you wanna stalk me😧)

Pinterest ~ Strawberry_Milk4k

Spotify ~ strawberrymilk4k

TikTok ~ expiredstrawberrymilk4k

X ~ strwbrrymlk4k

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

[sciencestyled]

Oscillating Octaves: A Sonic Soirée with Science and Art

Yo, fam! Strap in, because I’m about to drop a beat on the wildest party ever—the bash where acoustic science and visual art collide like avocados and toast at a millennial brunch fest. It’s not your grandma’s tea party; this is where learning science with art gets lit!

Picture this: an oscilloscope and a spectrum analyzer walk into a bar. No, it’s not the start of a nerdy joke; it’s our classroom, baby! These gadgets are like the DJ and VJ of our science rave, showing off what those sick beats look like when you throw them down in a lab instead of a club. When we crank up tunes, from Beethoven to Beyoncé, these tools don’t just listen; they show us the music. We’re not just rocking out; we’re watching the very anatomy of sound—visualized!

Now, let’s geek out a sec about what’s really going down when the bass drops. Every thump, every tweet, every sick harmony you can bust a move to is just a bunch of air molecules vibing hard. But with our techy plus-ones, the oscilloscope and the spectrum analyzer, it’s like having X-ray glasses at a dance party. You see, sound travels in waves, and these waves have all the ups and downs of a Kardashian love life—full of peaks and troughs.

Each musical note is like a different character in the Marvel Universe. Imagine hitting a middle C on a piano—it’s like summoning Captain America. Solid, reliable, totally heroic. Crank up the pitch to a high C, and now you’ve got Spidey swinging in—lighter, quicker, scaling skyscrapers of frequency. The oscilloscope traces these vibes in real time, showing us a live feed of sound waves faster than your Twitter feed updates.

And what about that spectrum analyzer? It’s the ultimate gossip columnist for sounds. It breaks down every note into its own juicy story, telling us who’s who in the harmonic get-together. It’s like those color commentary guys at sports events but for music. This device spills the tea on which frequencies are crashing the party and which ones are just wallflowers.

Let’s crank up a track and see these tools in action. Say we fire up some classic rock—Led Zeppelin’s "Stairway to Heaven." The guitar solo kicks in, and it’s like Thor going ham with Mjolnir, each note striking with cosmic power. On the oscilloscope, it’s a visual thunderstorm—waves going wild. And the spectrum analyzer? It’s mapping out every note, showing us a rainbow of sound frequencies, each color blipping in and out like lights at a rave.

But wait, there’s more! Ever wonder why some tunes just feel different? Why does listening to Billie Eilish feel smoother than a fresh jar of Skippy? It’s all in the waveform, baby. Billie’s beats are sleek, her bass lines clean—on the oscilloscope, they’re flowing like the River Styx, smooth and uninterrupted. Meanwhile, heavy metal is more like a Game of Thrones battle scene—chaotic, intense, with waves crashing like swords.

Now, let’s flip the script and get interactive. Imagine using these visual tools to create art. That’s right—turning science into sculptures and sound into splashes of paint. We hook up paint to speakers and play different genres. Hip-hop might throw up bold, aggressive splatters, while classical music paints a precise, orderly mural. It’s like each genre has its own brush style, and the canvas reveals the personality behind the playlist.

In the grand scheme, this isn’t just about jamming out to tunes or getting an A in physics. It’s about seeing the invisible, hearing the untouchable, and learning the unthinkable. It’s about breaking down barriers between disciplines like a Kool-Aid Man meme—oh yeah! We’re not just students or artists; we’re modern alchemists, turning vibrations into visuals, and classrooms into crucibles of creativity.

So next time you plug into Spotify, remember, there’s a whole other show going on beyond those earbuds—a visual concert, where every track is a brushstroke, and every beat is a burst of color. Who knew science could be so dope?

And that, my friends, is how we ride the waveforms—surfing the sonic seas, visualizing vibes, and throwing the ultimate learning party where art meets science in a symphony of sight and sound. Oops, I mean a wild, wacky wonderland of sight and sound (symphony is so last semester).

So keep your eyes wide, your minds open, and your playlists ready—because in this lab, every discovery is a drop, and every experiment is an encore. Welcome to the jam session of the future, where education is electric, and art is acoustic. Turn up, tune in, and rock out!

[greensparty]

Album Reviews: Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros / Aerosmith

What a week this is that I get to do album reviews of two of my all-time favorite musicians ever!

Joe Strummer and The Mescaleros Live at Acton Town Hall, London

Following up The Clash is a very tough act to follow, but as I've said many times before, some of Clash leader Joe Strummer's solo work is just as good if not better than The Clash. It's a bold statement, but it's true.  After Strummer died in 2002, I picked up the posthumously released Streetcore album he did with his band The Mescaleros. It was my #1 album of 2003 and one of the best of the 2000s. Over time I’ve discovered The Mescaleros and the band’s 1999 debut Rock Art and the X-Ray Style is quite good. In 2018 I got to review the compilation Joe Strummer 001 and was truly blow away by the sheer amount of 5-star music Strummer put out post-Clash. I mean Wow! In 2021 I got to review the single disc compilation Assembly, also quite good even though it doesn’t dig as deep. Last year I got to review Joe Strummer 002: The Mescalero Years, which compiles all 3 Mescalero albums and then some, as well as the anniversary re-release of The Clash's Combat Rock. All of these serve to remind us how ahead of his time Strummer was with his call for equality in his lyrics and using the punk sound along with world sounds, the music still holds up, especially in 2023!

album cover

On November 15, 2002, Strummer and the Mescaleros did a benefit concert for striking firefighters at Acton Town Hall in London. This would be one of Strummer's final performances prior to his death on December 22, 2002 at age 50. The recording was directly from the mixing board. In 2012, this recording was released as a limited edition Record Store Day live vinyl. This week, Dark Horse Records, the label of George Harrison, now run by Olivia and Dhani Harrison, is releasing the live recording on vinyl and for the first time on CD and digital. In this concert, Strummer did tons of Mescaleros bangers, including more than a few new songs that eventually were released on the posthumous Streetcore album, and some Clash hits. But the real highlight of this concert was the last three songs, where Strummer was joined onstage by his old Clash bandmate Mick Jones for the first time in almost 20 years. To hear these two legends reunite for The Clash's "Bankrobber", "White Riot", and "London's Burning" is bittersweet. On the one hand they got to perform one last time before Strummer's death, but on the other hand it makes the listener wish this was the beginning of more performances! The recording sounds incredible. The vinyl I got to review was clear and there is also liner notes written by the head of the Firefighters' union and some cool photos too. As a longtime fan of Strummer and The Clash, this is such a cool treat for fans to get to have this performance in their collection! Dark Horse, keep the Strummer releases coming please!

For info on Live at Acton Hall, London: https://darkhorserecords.lnk.to/liveatacton

4.5 out of 5 stars

Aerosmith Greatest Hits

As fanatical as I have been of Aerosmith my whole life, this is surprisingly, the first time I have ever gotten to review an Aerosmith release on this site. You could say I've written quite a bit about them here. I've gotten to review side projects from guitarists Brad Whitford and Joe Perry. But I am super thrilled to get to review a new compilation from one of my Top 3 Favorite Musicians of All Time. In 1980, Aerosmith released their Greatest Hits album filled with 10 hits from the 70s. It is one of their biggest selling releases (12 times platinum). Even though it is such a big seller in the Aerosmith discography, it has gotten criticism among fans for the edited versions of several hits. It was re-issued in 1997 with more tracks. There have been other compilations since then, but this new deluxe edition of 44 tracks is coinciding with their upcoming farewell tour. My personal favorite compilation of theirs is 1991's Pandora's Box box set, which is a deep dive into their Columbia era from 1973-1982. Then there were a few compilations in the 00s that combined both Columbia (which they returned to in 1997 onward) and Geffen (their label from 1985-1993). This new Greatest Hits edition combines both Columbia and Geffen. There's various editions being released this week, but I got to review the 3-disc edition.

Deluxe Edition and photos

For the most part, this compilation goes in chronological order of release. All the big hits are here: "Dream On", "Walk This Way" (both the original and the Run DMC duet), "Angel", "Love in an Elevator", "Janie's Got a Gun", "What it Takes", "I Don't Want to Miss a Thing" (their only #1 song I might add) and "Jaded". There's no real complaints about the song selections, although a number of them are radio edited versions. I think the problem for hardcore fanatics like me is that this just feels like another compilation and not really adding much to the story. I was impressed by a hand full of deep cuts, plus they have the live version of "Rag Doll". But they definitely glossed over this century for the band, i.e. only two songs from Just Push Play, no songs from Honkin' on the Bobo, and only one from Music from Another Dimension. I think more deep cuts would have been more impressive for die-hard fans, but in terms of the songs themselves and the sound quality, off the charts!

For info on Greatest Hits: https://store.aerosmith.com/collections/music/products/greatest-hits-super-deluxe-4lp

4 out of 5 stars

[longliverockback]

Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros Rock Art and the X-Ray Style 1999 Mercury ————————————————— Tracks: 01. Tony Adams 02. Sandpaper Blues 03. X-Ray Style 04. Techno D-Day 05. The Road to Rock ‘n’ Roll 06. Nitcomb 07. Diggin’ the New 08. Forbidden City 09. Yalla Yalla 10. Willesden to Cricklewood —————————————————

Steve Barnard

Luke Bullen

Pablo Cook

Tymon Dogg 

Anthony Genn

Scott Shields

Martin Slattery

Simon Stafford 

Joe Strummer

* Long Live Rock Archive

[notasapleasure]

Joe Strummer & the Mescaleros - Techno D-Day

Behind me in the booth was the techno crew Ready with the crucial beats Still, they said keep it low, spin your calypso We're waiting for Babylon to retreat The crowd was ready to riot, they were sick of being quiet We're still waiting for the signal to go Then the walkie talkie gear spat out the all clear And the boys hit the decks in full flow, go, g-g-go

[j0estrummer]

Tagged by @chadbot01 to list my top 10 current favorite songs

Gangsterville - Joe Strummer

The City of New Orleans - Arlo Guthrie

Cheapskates - The Clash

Death is a star - The Clash

Surfer girl - The Beach Boys

5 star rock'n'roll petrol - The 101ers

Road to Rock'n'roll - Joe Strummer & The Mescaleros

Tony Adams - Joe Strummer & The Mescaleros

Forbidden City - Joe Strummer & The Mescaleros

Money - Pink Floyd

I'll tag anyone that wants to because it feels like everyone around me has already done it