#length volume AND bass

[emoticonheart]

What’s your favorite type of belch: the lazy, long ones that just roll out of your mouth when you’re resting from a big meal, or the short but loud ones that make other people clasp their ears to muffle the sound? Maybe the juicy, saliva-spraying burps that come from drinking too much liquid, or the foul, gassy eruptions that can bring tears to people’s eyes? Or is it some other kind of eructation entirely?

oh gosh the first two 100%. but while my ultimate favorite would probably be length and volume combined, if i had to choose, i think i'd have to go with length.

imagine, if you will: someone finishing an absolutely ginormous meal. they've eaten so much that they can't bring themselves to stand, so they just lean back in their seat as they rub their full stomach. then, they open their mouth as a casual belch comes rolling out. it's not bery impressive in terms of volume, and they don't even seem to realize they're burping, with their eyes half lidded and shoulders slumped. but even so, the belch just keeps going. and going. and going. there doesn't seem to be an end in sight. then, when it finally does peter out, they just heave out a contented sigh, too tired and full to remark on how truly impressive that was.

oh yeah. that's the stuff.

[kquil]

SIRIUS BLACK | 01:27 ⏤HIS FAVOURITE NEIGHBOUR

SUM : because of his ambition for music, sirius drives many of his neighbours to near madness until they eventually move away and then you move in...

G. : modern au ; muggle au ; rising rockstar sirius ; rising rockstar marauders ; neighbours au ; fluff

LENGTH : 0.8k

Sirius has gone through his fair share of neighbours and he can’t blame them; in his pursuit of music with the Marauders, his electric guitar has helped drive them away sooner than their contract ends. He has yet to maintain any pleasant interactions with his neighbours, all of the ones he’s had have been decent at first meeting but that’s usually when he’s greeted to welcome them into their new home, simple pleasantries. It’s a few days into living beside him that complaints start. 

It doesn’t bother him too much, seeing as they never stay long enough or were pleasant enough to be around for Sirius to befriend them but it was still a shame. 

And once again, the cycle restarts. 

“Oh hey,” Sirius greets with his usual boyish grin, devilish and delinquent, “so you’re going to be my new neighbour, huh?”

“Yup,” you smile, setting down some of your final few boxes to outstretch a hand, “I’m (Y/N), it’s nice to meet you…”

Sirius shakes your hand with a smile, “Sirius Black at your service,” he brings your knuckles to his lips and winks playfully as you giggle, “nice to meet you too,” he greets, disguising his internal grimace with some light humour; the thought that you may not be as sweet to him in just a few days from now brings a sour taste to his mouth. It’s a shame, because you’re super cute. 

“Sirius…” you try saying his name with a growing smile on your face, “like the star?” Sirius nods with a shrug as you smile, “Cool name,”

“Thanks,” just as you’re about to pick up your boxes again, Sirius breaks the ice, “listen, I just wanted to warn you about something,” he uncharacteristically rubs the back of his neck with a hand, looking troubled as you raise a brow. 

“What is it?”

“I’m a guitarist, I play the electric guitar, actually,” you smile, originally cautious but already understanding where he was going, “so I would play often and it gets loud, just some fair warning,”

“I see, thank you for letting me know,” you nod thankfully, smiling and pick up your boxes again. 

“I’ll play only at reasonable times, I promise,”

“I’ll hold you to that,” you nod thankfully to him once more and go about moving in your things again, leaving Sirius to flash a bitter smile before making his way into his own home. You’re pleasant now but he’s sure you won’t stay sweet and adorable for long, you wouldn’t be the first…

Weeks pass and not a single complaint. 

Sirius was ecstatic. Not a single fucking complaint! You’re a saint, always greeting him with your usual smile whenever you two catch each other and he gushes about you endlessly to the boys. 

“She hasn’t complained once!” Sirius sighs with relief and connects his guitar to the amplifier, lowering the volume just slightly; he’s willing to be more courteous since you’re so understanding and pleasant, “what an angel,” he says more to himself than the boys as they share a look between one another. 

“This’ll be the first time we’re practicing together though,” James reminds him as they settle behind their instruments, “this will definitely test her understanding,” he chuckles as Sirius bites his lip nervously. You were so perfect, he doesn’t want to see you go now. Not only do you not seem to mind the music but you’ve treated him to home baked goods every saturday too and he doesn’t want it to ever end; your cookies are unbeatable!

“Come on guys…” he starts but is cut off by James practicing his part of the drums, Remus soon joining him on bass with a sympathetic smile and Peter follows with the keyboard. 

Muscle memory persuades Sirius to eventually join, playing only a few minutes more before he’s stopping everyone and forcefully lowering the volumes on Remus’s amplifier, on Peter’s keyboard and warning James to ease up on the drums or so help him…

“Alright alright, jeez, I just wanted to make sure this girl was the right one….” he pouts like a scolded child and the group continues to play with considerably lowered volumes. It was so far reduced that they were easily interrupted by a loud banging on the wall you shared with Sirius. 

As soon as they stop, they hear you shout through, “TURN THAT SHIT UP! THIS IS MY TYPE’A MUSIC!”

Everyone laughs, Sirius with the most relief, throwing his head back and they all make the proper adjustments. 

“Lucky,” Peter sighs with a pout, “I wish my neighbours were like her,” 

“Don’t we all?” Remus agrees with a nod. 

“Looks like she’s as perfect as you said, Pads,” James teases. 

“You should try her cookies,” Sirius winks, “they’re to die for,”

“Lucky bastard,” someone whispers and Sirius just laughs. 

PART TWO

A/N : i love rockstar sirius but what was his life like before all the fame? and then this timestamp came to be! i hope you enjoyed the reads, lovelies!

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins ; @astonishment ; @until-i-found-you ; @goodoldfashionedluvergirl ; @tiensmamains

NAVI.

[pinkwright]

baby, let me know if u wanna roll | shuri udaku.

ƸӜƷ

pairing — panther!shuri x partygirl!y/n

trope — bestfriends 2 lovers

inspo — hip hop star by beyoncé feat. (big boi & sleepy brown)

warnings — fingering (both receiving), cunnilingus (reader receiving), possessive!shuri. enhanced!shuri as in the panther spirit inside her is almost personified (??) (idk how to describe it), confident reader, sub!reader, soft dom!shuri, handsy!shuri, overstimulation. dirty talk, humiliation kink, needy!shuri, jealous!shuri but literally so slight like just blink n you'll miss it, the alarm in the beginning is an alarm for five mins before midnight, n yeah.

a/n — if theres errors thats my bad, hope u enjoy ! <3

⟢˚ @mbakuetshurisprincess @inmyheadimobsessed @letitias-fav @barkbarkbo @shurismainbxtch @verachii @rxcently @shuriszn

ஜ

bad boots on, pants down low. i’m a rockstar. baby, let me know if u wanna ride with a hip hop star.

the swing of your hips is entrancing, the heavy bass guiding the silky whining of your waist as you let the music flow through you. the hem of your skirt is sitting dangerously high on your thighs, the length of your legs glistening under the flashing lights when, suddenly, the vibration of your phone jolts in your hand, which makes a smile break through your lips before you spin on your heels to gaze up at the elevated platform ahead.

the familiar figure leaning over the railing already has her eyes on you, her fingers stroking her chin as she lets her eyes slide down your figure, and the smirk she flashes you sends you reeling. your smile widens before you lift your arm and gesture to your wrist with the pointer finger of your opposite hand, the drink in your hand sloshing in your excitement, as you make a rapid cue to your imaginary watch.

shuri raises her eyebrow in amusement before slightly jerking her head back, calling you to come to her while her hands move to adjust the silk over her torso. the click of your heels washes away with the volume of the lively club, the smile on your face light as you make your way through the bodies of the familiar faces you had invited to tonight’s event, offering short but friendly greetings.

you dance your way through the crowd, ever the party girl, making your way up the stairs that lead to where shuri was, the entrance to the platform secluded from the chaos that was the heart of the club, and you glide through the hanging crystal curtain that acted as a makeshift door, quickly glancing at your phone, seeing the time switch to midnight, then you’re lifting your gaze to sweep over the space, your sight quickly landing on her.

the smile that hasn’t left your face widens as you make your way towards her, quickly placing your drink on the centre table as you walk before you take to sweeping your gaze over her, she is turned toward you, and her back is pressed against the railing that overlooks the dance floor. you lean yourself between her spread legs, bringing your arms around her neck as you heavily press into the warmth of her body, and the squeal that escapes from you brushes against her neck, making her chuckle lowly.

her own hands place themselves on your hips before sliding up along your waist, her tall frame leaning forward into the gentle pull of your arms, and as she brings her touch to the bare skin of your upper back, she firmly presses you into her, “happy birthday, babe.” your hands are trailing along her strong shoulders as you pull back from the dip of her neck to press a kiss against the skin of her cheek, “the mighty panther’s finally the big twenty-two.”

a heavy laugh crawls from your chest as you jerk in her hold, her hands dropping to squeeze your waist as she rolls her eyes at your teasing, a smile pulling at her lips as she looks down at you. there’s a loud call of her name that has her eyes reluctantly pulling away from yours, your body detaching from hers as there’s soon a multitude of birthday greetings flooding shuri, a genuine smile lighting up her face as she happily receives the warm cheers and hugs.

the music is cutting off, the flashing lights dimming, just as you planned, before the double-tier cake is brought into the room and placed on the big table in the centre, the cheers from the club are steady as you go to grab shuri’s hand, pulling her to take her seat in front of the cake as you stand beside her seated figure.

a bashful smile spreads across her lips when everyone starts singing for her, her arm shooting out towards you at the giggle you let out at the sight, pulling you to sit on her lap before her warm hands slide up the skin of your thighs, coming to rest heavily just before the hem of your skirt, her long fingers falling between the crevice of your legs as if they belonged there.

⤠

shuri’s the life of the party, the crowd circled around her as she dances, the people moving with her, and her energy is plausible, raising the energy of the crowd around her to where everyone was having an unforgettable time alongside their queen. you smile fondly, shifting slightly on the barstool before lifting the sweet cocktail to your lips, sliding your eyes to the busy bartender to resume the conversation you were having with him, a light laugh slipping through you at his joking words.

five minutes of back and forth chatting pass before strong arms circle around your waist, shuri’s head coming to rest along your shoulder before she hums, using her strength to firmly pull you off your seat, your hand coming to rest over hers as you startle, your drink forgotten on the bar. her sharp eyes, unbeknownst to you, cut harshly at the man before you, the sheer authority flowing through her causing his gaze to lower as he clears his throat.

“dance with me, my love.”

she’s already pulling you towards the dance floor, the crowd parting for her as she walks with you in tow, choosing a darker spot in the space before she spins you around, letting go of your hand to slide both her hands under the loose fit of your top and settle them on the heated skin of your waist. her head dips to where her curls skim over your neck as she pulls you closer, pressing your hips against her, then her hands are guiding you to whine against her slowly but firmly, your breath catching at the way she manhandled you as if she owned you.

the thought makes you chastise yourself, you were friends, that’s it, but it doesn’t stop the clenching of your thighs when her wandering hands travel your moving form; the right sliding further up to rest just below the band of your bra, the entirety of her palm pressing over the rise of your heaving ribs while the left hand slid down the front of you, over the top of your thigh, where it pauses over your skirt, the firm press causing the hem to rise.

the placement makes you gasp, and shuri feels it under her grip, feels you, and it tempts her, you tempt her. she shifts her hanging head to where her lips can skim over your sweet skin, her mouth parting against your exposed collarbone causing your head to tilt, wanting more of her. that makes the taller girl insatiable, and calls forward the predator within her, she can hear the depth of your breath, feel the pump of your blood under her fingertips, smell the desire you have for her, and it makes the panther purr in response.

and before you can blink, shuri’s pulling you through the crowd and out of the club. when you come out of the daze she spun you into, you’re already seated in the passenger seat of her car, and your jaw is dropping in disbelief, as she drives off. “shuri!” you screech, “you can’t just leave your own fucking party like that!” and the sound makes her laugh, and shake her head before she responds, her voice cocky and low.

“i do what i want, s’thandwa.”

the words dry up your throat, the effortless air of dominance surrounding her permeating your skin, unconsciously coaxing you to submit to her, and you let your lips part before letting out an awkward chuckle. the heat inside of you scratches at your lungs, making it hard for you to breathe, shuri smirks before she parks in front of the palace, seeing a second car pull up beside them that she ignores; stepping out to pull you towards her chambers.

“ayo and aneka, you’re dismissed for the night. y/n will be retiring with me.” she calls the words over her shoulder, using what you always tease as her 'queen voice'.

the heat rushes to your face as you continue your journey, your sleeping with her wasn’t uncommon nor was it new, but the implications of the words always embarrassed you, because all you ever did was sleep. to foreign ears though, it sounded like she was on her way to tear you apart, to completely ravage you in the time you spent together behind those closed doors.

your train of thought is interrupted when shuri’s bedroom door clicks closed behind you, the girl kicking off her shoes before kneeling to slide off yours, her hands gentle as she manoeuvres you by your calves, her fingers working to slide the shoes off and you place your hand on her shoulder to steady yourself.

when she rises, she makes sure to follow the length of your legs, a gasp cutting through the atmosphere as the movement of her hands causes a slight lift of your skirt before it drops again when her hands come to hold your triceps, and she’s standing upright. she’s not letting your gaze leave hers as she walks you by your arms to her bed, and you follow, follow her like a lost puppy. the pulse between your legs intensifies when she gently pushes you onto her soft silk sheets.

you’re giggling lightly at her cheeky smile, her lithe figure throwing itself atop you before her arms come to split your legs as she settles between them. her head is against your chest as you lift your hands to the soft coils of her hair, and shuri lets out a satisfied sigh. the atmosphere is comfortable as you play with her hair, her head is laid sideward on your chest so shuri can listen to the steady beat of your heart, and she finds herself quickly agreeing with the panther inside her when she deems it to be the sound of their home.

although, as time passes shuri begins to get restless, so words flow out of her mouth to distract herself, “thank you for tonight, s’thandwa, you know you didn’t have to go all out like that for me.” her hands tighten their hold on you in gratitude, bast, what would she do without you. your chest shakes lightly in a fond giggle, your lips parting in protest, “nuh-uh, i had to go all out for the person i love, please be so serious, and don't thank me, babe.” when your laugh quietens down, you fondly add to your tender words.

 “anything for the birthday girl.”

and the words jar her, suddenly, the heat of your body against her, the thrum of your heart in her ears, and the softness of your skin underneath her has her feeling absolutely primal, itching to claim you. she exhales as she slides up against you bringing her face to rest in the dip of your neck as she breathes you in, the action making you gasp lightly causing your hand to slide gently to hold the back of her neck, the other dropping to hold your rising skirt down.

there’s a pause before she’s humming, “you smell good.” another pause, then her lips are sliding across your skin, her mouth parting so she can taste you, murmuring into your skin, “so fucking good, baby.”

the gasp of her name is loud, and you’re instinctively bringing your two hands to grip her shoulders tightly, trying to ignore the heat of her coiling muscles under her thin shirt, your legs clenching around her hips, “we shouldn’t, shuri.”

your words are breathy, unconvincing even to yourself and the dripping wetness between your legs. her lips continue their trail against your neck, your head tilted to allow her to continue, and her rough hands tighten around your thighs, spreading you further open for her before her words seep into your pliant body.

“it’s my birthday, baby.” the words ignite the heat inside you. “you gonna let me touch my pretty girl?” and it has your mind spinning, your nails digging into the silk of her shirt as she sucks your skin into her mouth, “let me, baby, please?” the raw need in her voice has your head nodding aggressively, your hips bucking up into her as you whimper.

she pulls her face back to look into your eyes and her face is serious as she stares into you, “need you to use those words for me, baby.” you’re gasping out pleas that make her hum, before she's sliding her hands down your quivering thighs, her torso lifting off of you as she grips under your knees to gaze at the soaking lace between your thighs, letting out a deep groan at the sight.

“that’s my good fucking girl.”

you shy away as she looks at you, she’s soaking up the sight of you so deeply that it forces you to shut your eyes as you whine, long and needy, your head turning to bury your face in the sheets that smell like her, your legs failing to close around the grip she has on you.

the sight of her stubborn, headstrong, and independent friend whom she’s, quite frankly, in love with, being so meek and pliant under her has shuri’s own core clenching, a taunting laugh escaping her lips as she finally slides down the bed to lay on her stomach, her head between your legs.

“look at me, y/n.”

her hands rip the dainty material around your hips, and it makes you momentarily clench your eyes even tighter, fisting the sheets beside your head before you reluctantly flutter your eyes open, your hips bucking when you catch the sight of shuri between your legs. she's gazing at you so erotically it makes your cheeks burn with blood, your body clenching tightly with embarrassment as you force yourself to breathe deeply.

“want you to watch me while i eat my pretty baby’s pussy for my birthday, okay?”

the words make you moan, your thighs are straining against her hands that press on either side of your exposed heat, and she’s holding your thighs open as she licks her lips, the action making you burn, and you’re crumbling under the humiliation coursing through you. your eyes are stuck on hers as if you’re in a trance, her tongue sliding out before she glides the muscle across the entirety of your pussy, letting out a tortured groan that has you clenching hard, a loud moan punching through your chest.

your hips are jerking into her tongue as she works through your seeping folds, devouring you tirelessly, and it makes it difficult for you to breathe. your stomach clenching tight as you bring your hands to her hair, your head dropping back as you arch further into her mouth, murmuring incoherently.

“please, please, oh my god, please.”

your hips are canting against her lips, her tongue sliding over your clit making you cry out loudly, the coil in your lower stomach tightening as you gasp wetly, then shuri’s pulling her mouth away from you, her arm coming to press your hips into the mattress when they chase her, halting your movements.

“i thought i told you to keep your eyes on me, princess?”

her words are warning, slicing through your dazed state as you snap your head up quickly finding her eyes on you, “there we go.” she coos the words out, her hand sliding over your clit before circling the ring of your clenching entrance and you’re begging her to touch you and it makes feel shuri high, feeds her alter’s predatory nature.

she slides her long fingers into you, her pace hard but controlled as she thrusts in and out of your warm walls, groaning before she sinks back down to wrap her pretty lips around your pulsing clit, and the action has your breath stuttering. your body tightens again before shuri brushes roughly against your spot, her lips suckling your bud as she hums into you, and you’re crying out as you orgasm, your legs trembling as you arch your back.

shuri’s whispering praises into your spasming pussy, her fingers still slowly pushing through you, carving her place inside you, inside her pussy and the thought makes her purr, her pace slowly picking up, and you whimper. your hips chasing her fingers and she chuckles at how needy you were being, “can’t, c-can’t, please.” your voice is wet with tears, and her voice is soft as she coos at you lovingly.

“thought you said anything for the birthday girl, baby?”

your hips desperately chase her now still fingers, unconsciously using them to pleasure yourself and shuri’s grunting as she slides her eyes along your figure, “fuck, that’s right, use my fingers to make my greedy pussy come, s’thandwa.”

her words spur you on, the tears trailing down your cheeks as you chase another release, your thighs trembling violently as shuri just watches you, watches how you use her and her eyes are sharp, glaring at your dripping cunt as you clench around her. she sighs before lifting her free hand to press against your lower stomach, then her fingers are unrelenting, ruthlessly dragging against your sensitive walls, hitting the tissue inside you over and over again.

“i’m coming, i’m coming, shuri, please, don’t stop.”

your voice breaks around the words as you sob out, the ball in your stomach releasing so heavily that your body jerks aggressively, your breathing heavy as shuri soothes your cries, dropping gentle kisses along your quivering thighs, squeezing your skin to bring you back to her. she lifts herself to peck your parted lips, her teeth digging repeatedly into the soft pillow of your bottom lip as she waits for you to calm down, humming at the taste of you, and the slight pinches of pain make you whimper softly.

“bast, baby, you make me so wet.”

her words are breathed into your mouth, and they make you so warm, the idea that someone so powerful was dripping because of you, when you hadn’t even touched her, the notion makes you gasp. “can i touch you?” your voice is shaky, and so needy, that it makes shuri exhale heavily before she rolls to lie beside you, her hand reaching for the thigh of your leg furthest from her, to bend it across her lap, pulling you to press against her side.

your heart is pounding as she reaches for your hand, guiding it down her tense stomach before she lowly orders you to unbutton her pants, your trembling fingers comply before she grabs your wrist gently and slips it past the band of her underwear to rest directly on her wet pussy. and you gasp so hard, your body bucking against her when you feel just how wet she was for you. the lithe girl lets out a soft sigh as she brings her head to your neck, her breath fanning against your ear as she guides your fingers through her.

“just like that, baby.”

her voice is breathy, low, and so soft, that it makes you clench, your fingers slipping to circle her clit, desperate to hear more from her and she moans out in response, her hand just gripping your wrist, no longer guiding you. she’s breathing heavily into your neck as you increase your pace, drawing tight figure eights along her, the sweet, breathy noises falling from her prompting you to slide your fingers to her entrance and she stills when you press against her opening. your voice is soft as you shyly ask her, “is this okay?”

in response, shuri’s hips buck against your fingers, and her words are needy in your ears, “please, baby.”

the fire in your chest burns brighter before you’re slipping your digits into her warmth in response to her breathy plea, her walls clenching around you when you go to thrust gently in and out of her and shuri’s moaning out, her slim hips canting to the steady rhythm of your thrusts and the sight makes you unbelievably horny.

when you add another finger and angle them upwards, the panther’s hips stutter as she wetly gasps around your name. her head lifting as she brings her stagnant hand to curl around your throat, bringing your gaze to hers as she pants against your parted lips.

“that’s it, make me come, baby, please.”

shuri’s pleads are light, breathed softly into the air but still commanding, and it makes your aching pussy clench, how was someone so deadly so soft against you, bathing in the throes of her pleasure so gently. you increase your pace, making sure to graze her soft spot with each deep stroke you give, and then her body is stilling.

her mouth lets out the loudest moan you’ve heard from her, one that contrasts so greatly with the rasp of speech, her voice is deep and heavy as she switches to her native tongue, speaking the words into your mouth, “ndiyaphila, s’thandwa sam’ (i'm coming, my love.).”

her shaking thighs close around your working hand as she shakes through her orgasm and the sight makes you whimper, your hand only stopping when she grunts and tightens her grip on your wrist, sliding your hand out of her pants before clenching her thighs tightly again.

her shut eyes flutter open to gaze intensely at you when you’re being too quiet, her mouth dropping open when she sees you bring your fingers to your lips, sucking them clean gently with a hum before releasing them with a soft pop, startingly when you open your eyes and meet her blazing eyes.

the queen’s eyes close to gather the last strands of her self-control before she breathes out heavily, “fuck, you want to kill me, princess.”

then you’re squealing as she throws herself onto you, her arms wrapping tightly around your waist as she pushes your bodies to lay on her bed, pressing you tightly against her as you giggle, shifting to snuggle against her; not worried about your party clothes, nor about the volume of your laughs – just existing with each other and basking in your shared love.

do i blow you away? do i stimulate your mind? would you taste my love, if i gave you time?

ஜ

[555sage]

BIG BOY

— i wanna big boy, gimme a boy.

SUMMARY — After Sza’s SNL performance a certain tune gets stuck in the reader’s mind and it leaves Roman annoyed yet amused.

PAIRINGS — roman reigns x black reader

Roman sat on the couch minding his business watching whatever it is he would randomly get stuck on for that week. You were plotting on surprising him with a song and dance that you knew would peak his interest.

You looked at yourself in the large mirror of yours and Roman’s shared bathroom. Your medium length butterfly locs up in a head wrap with 2 strands hanging in the front. Roman’s large tee adorning your frame with nothing but panties underneath.

“I wanna big boy, gimme a boy.” You sung in a hushed tone. The tune got stuck in your head when you were scrolling through TikTok because you were bored.

You decided that you were done lollygagging in the bathroom and went in search for your big boy. Finding him man spread with one arm over his head, as he watched whatever show was on.

“You okay baby?” You stroked his beard sitting with your feet up under you.

Even though his eyes were glued to what he was watching, he still acknowledged you by grabbing the hand rubbing his beard and kissing it. It made you smile and cuddle into your big boy. Your hands roamed his upper chest and stomach. The leg you had atop his lap was being softly rubbed on by Roman.

Scrolling on TikTok with the volume low enough for you to hear and not disturb Roman, a video with the sound of Sza’s Big Boy played. You debated on bothering your man, but your intrusive thoughts won.

“It’s cuffing season.. and all the girls be needing.” You now had the volume on full blast as you sung to your man who now had his sights on you.

Getting on top his lap you grinding on him as you sung, “Need a big boy.. I wanna big boy.”

“Give me a big boyyyyy.” You smiled at him while he had a amused look on his face.

You were suddenly gripped tightly and lifted up as Roman got up from the couch. “Eek.”

“You know the Chief doesn’t back down.” His voice laced with determination.

You slid down onto the ground with his arms still around you, “Oh baby I know, but it was nothing but some fun I wanted to have with my big boy.”

“Oh yeah?” He bit his bottom lip as his large hands went under your shirt slapping and rubbing your ass.

You took both your hands placing it on his arms, “Let’s not get carried away.” You laughed.

You stood quietly in the kitchen on your phone as Roman was in the next room on a call whether it was important or not was not known to you. You liked a few post, scrolled, and switched from apps to apps as time went by.

“Yeah no, of course.” Roman presence was made known just from the bass of his voice.

You looked up as he walked around the kitchen still on the phone. Not that you were being a brat, but for whatever reason you wanted to have your man back now and whoever was on the other side of phone wasn’t letting it happen.

An idea came to mind and you instantly lifted yourself from against the island and made your way towards Roman. You placed a sweet innocent kiss on the side of his lips. He looked down at you and smiled. Smiled!

You went in for another kiss, but now on the lips and biting his lips as you pulled away. Now he was more attentive towards you as his arm went to your waist and he squeezed your sides. Pushing—well more like grinding yourself into him you clearly wanted more of his attention.

You decided to calm yourself and just hug him for the time being. Using one hand you went on whatever app was most interesting and TikTok it was. After scrolling for a few seconds the tune you had been singing for past few days came up with an edit of Henry Cavill.

With the volume low enough to not disturb Roman’s phone call, but enough to be heard for the both of you. You set your phone on the counter and gripped Roman around the waist.

“It’s cuffing season..” You sung along, swinging yourself softly against him.

“Oh really?” He deeply chuckled making you stop.

Roman had this tendency of being scary sometimes, you didn’t get the WWE Roman at home, but it showed.

“I would’ve never thought.” He continued his conversation on the phone meaning you were the clear to continue your antics.

You softly ran your hands over his large chest and up around his neck. Standing on your tiptoes to match his height you mumble the tune in his ear. “Need a big boy..”

“Alright bud, nice talking to you too.” Roman rushed to end the call to deal with you and your bratty antics.

“Again with that?” Roman looked down to see you grinning because you clearly were enjoying annoying Roman with that damn song.

“What?” You giggled.

Freeing himself from your hold he walked out the kitchen while you trailed behind him like a child. “It’s cuffing season..” You started.

Roman stopped in the hall to face you with a straight face. You stared back at him with a mischievous smile, your hands grip onto the waistband of his Nike sweats.

“I wanna big boy, gimme a big—

You were lifted in the air and thrown over his shoulders. “Roman!”

A slap to your ass made you quiet real quick. “I think it’s time for your big boy, don’t you think so babe?”

Your heart pounded with anticipation knowing Roman was NOT one to hold back. “If we cuddling I’m ready.” You tried to convince yourself of something safer.

“You should know better than that baby.” He drops you on the bed. “This big boy working with something better.”

You apologize to your punani sliently because with Roman there was no stopping. Roman stood shirtless with his black tee in his hand.

“Now what was it you wanted baby?”

“A big boy.”

[theharddeck]

my forever, every day (rooster x reader)

Pairing: rooster x fem!reader (no y/n)

Synopsis: rooster and his girlfriend get sidetracked on a drive down PCH.

Warnings: 18+, minors please DNI, swearing, sex, oral sex (m receiving), squint-and-you-miss it rank kink, also praise kinks bc of who i am as a person...anything else, y'all lmk

Length: 4.9k

the title is a lyric from bronco, by the driver era . this one was written for @jadore-andor (happy birthday, my dear!!) and tagging my loves @peakyrogers @winterrebel04 @blue-aconite 💙

Bradley’s unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt flapped around his shoulders and your hair blew around your face as you leaned back into your seat after turning up the volume on the old radio. The heavy bass provided the perfect driving music as the Bronco rolled down the 101, and you hummed along as the winding freeway took you south.

It had been the perfect day off.

You’d both gotten a little more sun than you probably should’ve, and there was sand all over the floorboards, but it had been an absolutely perfect day off. Breakfast tacos, then lazing around on a beach in San Clemente, then an ice cream from the shop at the end of the pier and now driving back down to San Diego in your swimsuits while the sun sank over the ocean—what more could a girl ask for?

The bass faded and when you heard the first notes of the next song, you recognized it, too. You looked at Bradley suspiciously; normally, his music tastes skewed much more Indie Rock than Pop Punk, and the last four or five songs had been much more your speed than his.

“Bradley?” you asked.

“Yeah, gorgeous?” He looked over at you, raising an eyebrow. 

“I love all of these songs,” you said, and it wasn’t really a question, as much as it was a request for an explanation.  

“Well, yeah, that’s kind of the point,” Bradley said. His hand slipped down the wheel to flip on his turn signal, while keeping his other arm stretched over the back of the bench seat.

You waited for him to finish merging lanes before you asked, “What do you mean?”

Bradley glanced over at you, then leaned forward to grab his phone, connected through an adapter to a cable to the cassette tape that would let his phone play music through the vintage console. On his screen, you saw a Spotify playlist, simply titled: “For Gorgeous 🖤”. 

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked at it, then back up at your boyfriend, his eyes on the road. Behind his sunglasses, you could see them flicking to you, not like he was nervous, but like he was gauging your reaction.

“You made me a playlist?” you asked.

“I mean,” Bradley said, shifting in his seat, “it’s not, like, a big deal. You just were so excited for your day off, and this perfect beach day that you wanted, so I thought it’d be good to end it with music you like.”

You scrolled through the playlist, recognizing most of the songs as titles you’d either shared with accompanying stories, or songs that were a part of memories the two of you shared. 

“Bradley Bradshaw,” you said fondly, setting his phone back in the cupholder, next to the empty ice cream cup from the pier. “The old school romantic.”

He scoffed, pushing up his sunglasses again, and the hand that was over the back of the bench seat flicked down to tug lightly on your hair. You wrinkled your nose, reaching up to grab his hand and pull it into your lap. You wove your fingers between his, your free hand tracing over the veins on the back of his hand. 

You lifted his hand, after a moment, pressing a quick kiss to the back of it, before settling it back in your lap.

“Thank you,” you told him. “Today was wonderful.”

Bradley squeezed your hand, his fingers brushing the tops of your thighs against where you held him.

“Of course, honey,” he said. 

The song ran out and you went back to playing with his hands. You loved his hands, you were a simple girl like that, and his were enormous. Broad fingers, calloused palms, and always warm, always available to you.

The next song picked up, and you frowned for a moment, before you recognized it. 

A memory flashed through your head—your blue sundress pushed up to around your hips, Bradley’s jacket on the floor of the bathroom of The Hard Deck, the lock digging into your back as your boyfriend lost himself between your thighs. Him whispering into your cunt that he couldn’t wait until he could take you home, he’d do this better later, that you tasted better than he could’ve imagined, and holding you on the brink of orgasm until the rest of the bar sang along with the guitar riff, covering your keening moans when you finally came apart on his tongue. 

In the present moment, you looked over at Bradley, unsure if that’s why this was included on the list, to see a spot of color on his cheeks, his hand tightly clutching the steering wheel. The hand you still held was deliberately loose, but every other inch of him was radiating tension, and you’d place money on the fact that the same memory was running through his mind.

You tried to keep a laugh out of your voice when you asked him, “You didn’t think this through, did you?”

“Shut up,” Bradley muttered without malice, shifting in his seat.

You bit your lip to hide a grin, and continued to watch his growing discomfort. His wide shoulders were tense, and he lifted one of his knees to hold the wheel steady while he wiped his palm on the front of his board shorts.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Bradley said, without looking at you to confirm what expression you wore. You pressed your lips together to trap a giggle, before looking deliberately out the window, giving him a break. 

The sun sank into the horizon and the world slipped into the blue haze of twilight as the song played out. Another one came on, something soft and sweet, and you started tracing Bradley’s hand again. This song was one that had gotten you through his last deployment, one you’d looped while you cleaned the empty apartment, or rereading his last emails. Bradley’s thumb rubbed against your palm comfortingly, and you knew he knew.

The lights flipped on on the side of the road, soft circles of light cutting through the blue haze of the evening, as the guitar strings faded. Another song picked up, a beat set by a bass, and unfamiliar lyrics. You frowned, looking back at your boyfriend.

“What’s this one from?” you asked.

Bradley lifted a shoulder noncommittally, focusing on the road. “Dunno,” he said, “just made me think of you.” 

You hummed in acceptance, listening to the lyrics. It wasn’t an indictment or a compliment, and you leaned across the seat to take Bradley’s glasses off his nose as the night got darker.

“You don’t need these anymore, do you?” you asked, sliding them into your hair to hold it out of your face. 

Bradley squinted on principle, but didn’t fight it as you stole his aviators to use as a headband. You looked out the front of the car, at the tail lights ahead of you flickering on, and you felt him watching you.

“What?” you asked, looking back to meet him. Even in the dim light, you could make out the deep brown of his eyes, flitting between the road and watching you.

After a long moment, he cleared his throat. 

“You really don’t remember this song?” he asked. His voice was low, curious, like he held a secret, not like he was disappointed, so you answered honestly and shook your head.

Bradley nodded, then the corner of his mouth lifted into a smile. “Guess I’d better remind you, then,” he said.

You tilted your head. “Wait, I thought it wasn’t—”

Bradley leaned a little to the side, looking under your lowered visor at a sign flashing by on the roadside. 

“Hold on, gorgeous,” he said, reaching over briefly to tug on your safety belt, before throwing the Bronco into a lower gear, slamming on the brakes, and turning off the 101. 

You squeaked as the truck pitched to the side, reeling into an overnight campsite off the beach. It was one of those that you got access to via a statewide membership, and Bradley kept the car registered in case he and the guys wanted to go on a trip; tonight it meant he could just wave authoritatively to the park ranger in the box, and drive you guys through.

“What the hell, Rooster,” you gasped at his impulsiveness, but he was silent as he drove to the back of the lot. The car lurched to a stop and he was out of it before it fully stopped moving, his long legs eating up the distance from the driver’s side to the passenger’s door. He yanked open your door, reached around you to undo your safety belt, and pulled you to the edge of your seat. With one massive hand, Bradley spread your legs, settling between them, and he wound his other hand through your hair, tilting your head back to kiss you hungrily. 

You whimpered in surprise and Bradley took advantage of your parted lips to deepen the kiss. He kissed you like he did everything to you—with measured intensity, determined thoroughness, and sweet honesty. His lips were soft, knowing the perfect pressure and pull to tempt you deeper into his arms, and on his breath you tasted the cherry chocolate of the ice cream you’d split back in San Clemente. 

Your arms wound around his neck, pulling you nearly out of the Bronco and against your boyfriend’s tall frame and he made a sound of approval deep in his throat. You felt it through his chest, and the hand in your hair pulled his aviators out of them before he ran his fingers slid down the exposed skin of your back, skimming over the ties that held your bikini top up.

When Bradley pulled back a breath, you were both panting, lips swollen, a little drunk chasing the taste of each other.

“You still don’t remember?” Bradley asked, his voice low, rough, the rasp of it sending a tremor through you. 

You shook your head and Bradley’s eyes darkened, even as he smiled.

“Backseat, sweet girl,” Bradley said, stepping back out of your space, but you still felt his touch all over your skin. “Now.”

And, what, were you gonna say no to that?

You kicked off your sandals, leaving them in the front seat as you slipped under Bradley’s arm, and into the door he opened to the backseat of his car.

You heard Bradley chuckling at your haste as he followed behind you, pulling the door shut and then hauling you into his lap by your thighs. 

You landed gracelessly, straddling him in the hunched space, and a moment later, his mouth found yours as he kissed you again. It was different like this, just as delicious but closer. Thighs over each other, stomachs against one another, limbs cramped in the tight space as you scrambled for purchase in each others’ bodies. Yours settled on Bradley’s shoulders, and you could feel his strong arms shifting, running over you, and then gone. You pulled back questioningly when Bradley’s hands lifted from your skin, to find him hastily shrugging out of his Hawaiian shirt. 

“Presumptive,” you teased him, leaning in to kiss his neck while he tried to pull the shirt out from where it was trapped between him and the seat. You felt his chest constrict when your lips brushed against his pulse point and he yanked the shirt out from behind him sharply. 

You expected him to toss it to the side, but instead, he fixed the garment around your shoulders, feeding your arms through it and buttoning one of the buttons across your chest. It was the opposite of what you expected from him, but when Bradley seemed satisfied, he surged towards you again, kissing you deeply. As his lips moved over yours, you felt his hands smooth over your skin, reaching under his shirt to untie your bikini. 

Now that made more sense.

A couple quick tugs later, and your bikini fell to the floor of the Bronco; you broke away from Bradley’s mouth with a gasp when his warm palms came up to cup your breasts. 

“Presumptive, she says,” he muttered against your lips, kissing you almost harshly. “I think you meant ‘possessive’, gorgeous.” 

His thumbs brushed over your nipples, teasing them into hardened points against his calloused fingers and the loose brush of his shirt. You squirmed in his lap, his words reminding you just how exposed you were.

“Babe, do you think—” you started, and he interrupted you with another kiss, with another pinch under his shirt. 

“You think I’m gonna let anyone else see my girl?” he asked, his grip on you tightening.

His possessiveness sent another bolt of desire through you, and you leaned into his touch, pressing yourself into him. Bradley seemed more than happy with the motion, his fingers working over you and his lips latching onto your neck again. 

When he grazed your skin with his teeth, your hips bucked into him, and you both moaned at the contact. You were both still in your swimsuits, but you could feel the outline of Bradley’s cock against your thigh, through the thin material of his swimsuit. One of Bradley’s hands fell to your hip, helping to guide your motion as you moved over his thigh. His legs were so thick, strong under you and tensed like this, and the dragging movement rubbed your swimsuit against your core, and Bradley let out a long breath as you moved over him. 

“That’s it, honey, feels good, doesn’t it?” 

You pressed your lips together, nodding, your hands coming to rest on his stomach. You could feel how tightly he was clenched, wound, just letting you use his body to seek your own relief. This man, this enormous, powerful man, letting you rut against him just because it felt good. 

“Ah, sweetheart, you’re so beautiful,” Bradley whispered, and when you looked up, he was watching you closely. His head was back against the headrest, and his eyes were hooded as his hands guided your movement, admiration shining in them. “You have me feeling like a damn teenager, not waiting till we get home because I need to feel my pussy before then.”

You whimpered at the crude way he described you as his, but you rocked your hips again and it was true. You were his, entirely and completely, and you were needy. 

“Babe,” you whispered, your voice thin as you rocked against him, needing more. 

“I’m here, gorgeous,” Bradley told you, and one of his hands lifted to slip inside of your swimsuit. You looked down, couldn’t help yourself, moaning at the sight of his thick wrist against your stomach, his big hand stretching the black material of your swimsuit. 

Your body jolted when he dragged a finger through your folds, and Bradley moaned when he felt the wetness gathered there. You were scratching him, your nails scrambling for purchase against his skin, as his finger pulled your arousal from between your thighs to rub over your clit. He felt so good, heavenly, unhurried and overwhelming and Bradley continued to guide your hips over him with the hand on your thigh. The slow motion dragged you against his finger, and he shifted his wrist to keep a finger against your clit but reach between your legs to push two fingers into your cunt. 

“Oh my god,” you moaned at the intrusion, the stretch another kind of overwhelming, and you felt Bradley still.

“You know better than that, sweet girl,” Bradley said, his voice low. “What do you say when I’m between your legs?”

“Bradley,” you whimpered, your hips rocking, trying to get his fingers deeper inside of you, but his hand remained frozen. 

“Say my name like you mean it, honey,” he said slowly, moving his wrist again, repositioning.  

“Bradley,” you all but sobbed, needing friction, needing something, needing more of him, “please, baby, please, I need to—Bradley–”

“That’s better, gorgeous,” he said approvingly, and then he shoved a third finger into you. 

Your thighs jerked, hips automatically pushing away from the intrusion, but Bradley held you steady, not waiting for you to adjust before his fingers were moving inside of you. 

You moaned as his long fingers reached deep into you, and you heard Bradley laughing quietly to himself as he leaned forward to kiss the curve of your jaw gently. The soft pressure of his lips was a wild juxtaposition to the merciless stretch of his fingers, and you writhed over him, desperate. His fingers curled inside of you, his thumb pressing steadily on your clit, and you ground against his hand, wildly chasing your pleasure.

“So pretty,” Bradley murmured. “Such a pretty pussy, taking my fingers so well. You know you have to, have to stretch her out so my cock will fit.”

You moaned, nodding dazedly, your hand falling to his swim trunks to find the cock in question. 

Fuck, he was so hard.

Just from your pleasure, just from the press of your body against his; you moaned as you slid your hand over the length of him. Bradley let out a choked breath when you squeezed him over his trunks, and then he let go of your hip to brace himself, lifting you and his hips so you could slide the trunks down his thighs, and you couldn’t help the whine that escaped out of you. 

He was so fucking strong, and when he sank back down, his cock bobbed in his lap, and you reached for him eagerly. Bradley moaned when your hand closed over him, warm skin against warm skin, and when you looked up at him, he licked his lips, his mouth slightly agape, watching you. 

“You gonna jerk me off, honey?” he asked, his voice rough. “Work that cock up to fill you, while I stretch my pussy out to take me?” 

You whimpered, bringing your hand up to your mouth to spit on it, before sliding your hand over his cock. A bit of precum was already leaking out of the tip, and Bradley swore softly when your thumb reached up to grab the pearl of moisture, mixing it with your spit as you worked over him.

You would never get tired of the sounds your boyfriend made. 

He was never shy about talking to you, telling you what he wanted, how hot you made him, but it was his moans and groans that got you off. You loved when he sounded undone, knowing you were the one pulling those gorgeous sounds out of him, and you tightened your grip around his dick as you worked over him. 

“Fuck, sweet girl,” Bradley groaned in response, his head dropping to your shoulder. He curled his fingers inside you, and you whined when he realized he was matching his movements with your hand over his cock. 

“What do you think, gorgeous,” he asked gruffly. “You think you’re ready for me?”

You licked your lips, looking down at the length of him in your hand, swelling larger with every pull of your hand over him. You were never really ready, not before an orgasm, but you wanted to be stretched over him, more than you wanted to be ready. 

“Please, Bradley,” you nodded, rising up on your thighs for Bradley to undo the strings of your bikini bottoms as well. It joined the top on the floorboards of the Bronco, and Bradley hummed to himself as he took you in, wearing only his shirt, rutting against his thigh and working his cock in your hand.

“Love you so much, sweet girl,” he said quietly, and your heart clenched at his soft admission, in the middle of a frenzied pitch. 

“Love you too, Bradley,” you whispered. You leaned in to kiss him quickly, settling back down on his thighs, and pulling your hand over his cock again. “So are you gonna fuck me about it?”

Bradley’s eyes fluttered as your grip tightened and your words settled over him. When he opened them, you could barely see the brown of his irises, his eyes were blown wide. 

“Christ, you’re perfect,” he groaned, and then he batted your hand away, lifted your hips and impaled you on his cock. 

You didn’t mean to scream. 

But his thrust pushed all the air out of you, and all you could think was him, Bradley, Bradley, and you realized you were moaning it aloud, like a prayer.

“You’re so fucking tight, gorgeous,” Bradley gritted, his hands smoothing over your shoulders, his voice tight as he held himself still, waiting for you to adjust.

Not like you could do a damn thing. 

Your body felt like it was on fire, full and stretched and absolutely alight with desire, every inch of you pulsing for him. You needed him to move, you needed to adjust, you needed him, that was what you knew. 

“You’re doing so good for me, sweet girl,” Bradley whispered, one of his hands coming up to pet your hair. You lowered your head to his shoulder, feeling molten, past numb, like being draped over him was the only way you wanted to stay forever. 

Bradley was still running his hands over you, and you could feel his breath coming in measured pulls, as he tightly held onto control.

After a couple more moments, you felt a little more grounded, more adjusted. You became aware of the way your shaky breathing was echoing around the car, the windows fogged like Titanic, your sweet boyfriend holding himself in check until you told him you were okay.

“Bradley?” you asked weakly, reaching up slowly to cup the back of his head, even though you still didn’t feel like you could lift your head. 

“Yeah, gorgeous,” he breathed, and your heart swelled at the care in his voice.

“I want to feel you, babe,” you told him, and you felt a shiver work through his body.

“Thank fuck,” he groaned. 

He rocked up into you, a broken cry easing out of you as he pushed even deeper, your thighs widening to accommodate him. 

“That’s it, sweet thing,” Bradley moaned, and he pulled out before thrusting into you. 

The drag of him was absolutely heaven, thick and rough and reaching that deep part of you that only he could. You moaned as he set a rhythm against you, his strong thighs flexing to drive up into you, splitting you, completing you. 

“Baby, it’s so good, you’re so good, you feel—fuck, baby,” you babbled, and Bradley groaned.

He guided your hand farther up his scalp, twining your fingers into his hair and you pulled slightly. His hips thrust harder and you whined at the ferocity of it, the perfection of it. 

“That’s it, gorgeous,” Bradley groaned, “taking me like you were fucking made for it, moaning on my cock like it’s all you wanted.”

In that moment, you weren’t sure if it wasn’t. 

The whole world was this Bronco, wrapped in your boyfriend’s arms, feeling him pushing into you, the air thick with both of your sweat and sex and the moans you couldn’t stop from pouring out of you. 

Bradley drove up into you, and his hands fell back to your hips, guiding your movement against him. At the top of your stroke, your pelvis pressed against his and your clit rubbed against him, and it sent white heat curling through your body. You were gasping and writhing and each sound you made seemed only to spur your boyfriend on, as he drove you higher. His thrusts were slowing, hitting deeper, and you felt your legs start trembling at the intensity.

“Are you close, baby?” he asked, almost growled, his voice close to your ear. “Tell me you’re close, gorgeous, you feel so tight, and I can’t—”

“Yes, shit, Bradley, I’m so close,” you moaned, your body pulsing, begging, trembling. 

“Give it to me, baby,” Bradley ordered, his voice sharp in your ear, his thrusts unrelenting, as your legs drew up, involuntarily. “Come on this cock, baby, let me feel it, let me feel you–”

You came with a wail, your climax crashing over you like a wave that sent you tumbling. You might’ve choked, you might’ve cried, all you knew was the white hot heat pulsing through your body, leaving you limbless and sated in its wake. 

You came back slowly, the darkness of night seeping in through the fogged windows of the Bronco, and you became aware of your boyfriend slowly moving your hips still, working you over him, coaxing you through it. 

“Bradley,” you whimpered into his neck, and you felt his chest expand.

“You did so good for me, sweet girl,” he said, his voice soft, just on this side of undone, “so fucking good.”

“Baby…” you chided him gently as understanding dawned that he still hadn’t come yet. You moved your hips slightly, and Bradley’s hands held you in place sternly. 

“Gorgeous, I’m so fucking close, but you were so sensitive, just give me a—” 

Summoning strength you didn’t have and ignoring Bradley’s futile protests, you slid off of him, swallowing a moan when you felt wetness drip down your thighs as you moved. There wasn’t a ton of room in the backseat, but there was enough that you could lower yourself to the floorboards between your boyfriend’s knees, look up at him through sated eyes, and open your mouth, holding out your tongue.

“Fucking hell,” Bradley breathed, and you would’ve smirked, but what you wanted more than anything was to make him come. 

So you leaned forward, tongue teasing just the tip of him, before you opened your jaw and took Bradley’s cock in your mouth.

He hit the ceiling of the Bronco, a stream of curses ripping from his lips as your mouth closed around him, humming slightly. Fuck, the weight of him. He was so broad, fat and thick in your mouth, and you tasted yourself on him, tasted how thoroughly he had fucked you, and you couldn’t help but moan around him.

“Baby, baby,” Bradley groaned, his thighs flexing as he held himself back. “Baby, I’m too close, I can’t be gentle—”

You pulled back with a pop, a stream of saliva falling from his cock to your mouth, and Bradley let out a sound that was almost a whine. That pretty sound had you reaching between your legs, brushing your fingers over your still sensitive core, just at how good he sounded. 

“Fuck my mouth, Lieutenant,” you told him, and his eyes fluttered, before you added, “Please.”

His head fell back against the headrest and he groaned, a sound that went straight to your core. You took him back in your mouth, your tongue tracing the underside of his cock, and you felt a large hand settle at the back of your neck. 

You whimpered when Bradley gathered the hair there, and started to guide you. Your eyes fell closed and you loosened your jaw, surrendering to the act of it. Yes, you were on your knees and it was your mouth around his dick, but the sounds pouring out of Bradley, the stern hand he kept on the back of your head, it felt like he was worshiping you. 

He was so heavy on your tongue, and it was sloppy, but when Bradley started pushing your head faster, you worked your hand faster between your legs. He sounded so good, he tasted so good, and when you moaned you couldn’t have said if it was from the way he was pulling your hair, the building pressure between your thighs, or how good he tasted.

“You’re fucking perfect, gorgeous,” Bradley groaned. “Are you going to come again when I come? Is my pussy going to come for me, on my girl’s fingers while I fuck her mouth?”

You gagged, tears streaming down your face, and when Bradley moaned your name on a final curse and came down your throat, you climaxed on your fingers like he’d said. 

Bradley’s thighs were shaking as he pumped down your throat, his hand in your hair smoothing over your hair and then curling under the back of your neck to haul you back up to his lap. Your limbs were shaking from your second orgasm, lungs heaving from how he’d choked you on his cock. Bradley dragged his lips over you, whispering praises and pressing kisses to everywhere he could reach, just shy of delirious. 

You could relate. 

The Bronco was steamy and humid, and it felt like your own little world. A sphere where the only thing that mattered was your sweet boyfriend, the honest perfection you found in each other, and the strength to care for each other even when you couldn’t explain it.

Eventually, Bradley carded his fingers through your hair, and pulled his swimsuit back up. He left yours on the floor, and buttoned his shirt over you carefully, continuing to finger comb your hair.

When you drove out of the campsite, the ranger avoided both of your eyes.

As you turned back onto the 101, Bradley kept your hand in his, driving with his knees when he needed to change gears. The music picked up again as you drove on, and, remembering, you turned to him. 

“So, what was that song?” you asked, still uncertain. 

In the moonlight, your boyfriend smiled, his eyes flashing as he lifted your hand to his mouth to press a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

“Don’t you remember, gorgeous?” he asked, voice still low. “That song was playing the time we pulled off the 101 so I could fuck you in the back of my Bronco.”

[dustedmagazine]

Dust, Volume 10, Number 8

Orcas (not Oasis)

Welcome to our all-Oasis edition of Dust!

Just kidding. We slog through August bemused by the excitement over big ticket tours, though we will, if pressed, admit to a fondness for “Wonderwall,” a song often sung jubiliantly by someone we love on the way to track meets and XC ski practice and theater rehearsal years ago (though not as many years ago as it first emerged).

Anyway, we once again trawl the slush pile for the good stuff, opine briefly on its merits and share it with you. We’re sure you’ll find out what the Gallagher brothers are up to from other sources.

This month’s contributors included Bryon Hayes, Ian Mathers, Jonathan Shaw, Tim Clarke, Jennifer Kelly, Bill Meyer, Mason Jones and Christian Carey.

Ark Zead — Niptaktuk (Glacial Movements)

The Italian label Glacial Movements specializes in music that’s chilled, immense and slow, just like its namesake. Niptaktuk continues this icy throughline, offering a series of highly resonant, frost-tinged drone passages. The creator, of which no information is known, sourced these textures from gongs and singing bowls, stretching the frequencies into lengthy, subtly shifting tone clouds. They cleverly balance lighter shades against darker hues, layering pre-dawn shimmer over sub-sonic bass pulses. The delicate patter of scraped and stroked metal adds a sense of the real to these otherwise uncanny soundscapes. Ark Zead drew influence from the cold northern Canadian winter when they created these sounds, yet the experience of listening doesn’t evoke frostbite or blinding blizzards. Instead Niptaktuk, which is an Inuit word that implies oncoming clear skies, is a remedy against frostiness, a kernel of warmth that seeks to melt the winter ice. 

Bryon Hayes

The Body & Dis Fig — Orchards of a Futile Heaven (Thrill Jockey)

At this point, at least going by actual releases, surely there are no greater collaborators in heavy music (in all its forms) than The Body. In addition to their stellar work as “just” a duo, Chip King and Lee Buford have at this point collaborated with a real murderers’ row of bands and artists, and those albums absolutely refuse to stick to any particular formula. That they’d work with Dis Fig (aka Felicia Chen), who’s made an excellent, emotionally/sonically challenging record called Purge and sang on a full length by The Bug, makes perfect sense. The result, as with many “The Body &” LPs, is so seamlessly satisfying you’d think this was everyone involved’s main gig. The thunderous drums, harsh noise, and King’s peerless shrieks are all present, and Chen gives a hell of a lead vocal performance to centre it all. The closing one-two punch of “Coils of Kaa”/“Back to the Water” is one of the best endings any 2024 is going to get, Chen wailing in rage and despair as the music collapses buildings around her.

Ian Mathers

Demiser — Slave to the Scythe (Blacklight Media/Metal Blade)

Retrograde throwback thrash isn’t exactly a growth area in metal, or a particularly enlightened undertaking, culturally speaking. But dudes in denim and bullet-lined bandoliers don’t make records like Slave to the Scythe because they foresee mass-market opportunity or stadiums full of fans in the immediate future. Mostly they don’t see much future at all. Demiser seems to share those perspectives — live fast, die faster, have as much fun as possible in the brief and weird interregnum. Is Slave to the Scythe fun? Depends on your sense of humor, and your tolerance for metal’s more reductive shenanigans. The fellows in the band have given themselves stage names like Gravepisser (he plays guitar) and Infestor (he drums), and they have supplied us with the sublime song title “Hell Is Full of Fire”; no points for innovation, but maximum points for unconquerably up-for-it idiocy. Motörhead seems as significant to Demiser as early Exodus and Kreator (especially the genius of Pleasure to Kill). Sort of nice to hear a thrash record that’s more interested in the riffs than the solos. Sort of fun to play this record really, really loud. Sort of certain that doing so results in becoming materially stupider. That’s okay — it makes that aforementioned lack of a viable future a little less awful to contemplate.

Jonathan Shaw

Dummy — Free Energy (Trouble In Mind)

Dummy’s debut, Mandatory Enjoyment, lived up to its title; it was a record difficult not to appreciate. In her Dusted review, Jennifer Kelly praised it as “a listening experience that simultaneously braces and soothes, agitates and lulls.” Dummy’s second album, Free Energy,has a similar appeal, but knocks this listener off balance with its bizarre fixation on dated drum machines and backwards sounds that bring to mind the baggy indie-dance of the 1990s. You know the stuff: Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine, Jesus Jones, Pop Will Eat Itself. There are some great songs here, such as “Nine Clean Nails,” but you have dig around amongst the misfires to find them. Dummy still have an ear for a good tune, so you can forgive their more questionable aesthetic decision-making.

Tim Clarke

“Father” John Misty — Greatish Hits: I Followed My Dreams and My Dreams Said to Crawl (Sub Pop)

With streaming supplying abundant amounts of playlists, one might reasonably ask why a greatest hits compilation would be useful. Curation instead of algorithms. “Father” John Misty’s Greatish Hits presents the high points in his catalog, beginning with early songs“Real Love Baby” (2016) and “Nancy from Now On” (2012). It is by no means a chronological survey, nor is it front-loaded like so many collections and playlists. The popular “I Love You Honeybear” (2015) is saved for the penultimate track. The finale, “I Guess Time Just Makes Fools of Us All,”  is new. At eight and a half minutes long, it stretches out with saxophone, bongo, and electric piano solos interspersing bluesy pop vocals. Worth the wait - don’t skip ahead!

Christian Carey

Ben Felton A Lot (Island House)

Ben Felton lets the drones linger, layering sounds on top of sounds, like primary-toned transparencies on an overhead projector. You can spend this album watching the colors these tones make when the light shines through them, hitting one, two, three or more guitar/synth textures before getting to the other side. Complex yes, but peaceful, drowsy almost. One track called “A Foghorn or a Loudspeaker,” sounds like just that, an uneasy truce between natural serenity and amplified buzz and hiss. The space it lives in is large and echoey, a cathedral or, more likely, a vast underground cavern with water lapping at the walls. Occasionally, the electronic mode predominates as in the airy percolation of “What You Need.” Yet though the blippy motif is bright and uncorroded, it sits atop a woozy soup of tone; guitar notes crash in sporadically intimating a rustier, more industrial territory nearby. Felton comes from New York but now resides in more bucolic Carrboro, North Carolina. His soundscapes find a meeting place between folk-adjacent ambience and rougher, noisier music. The album gets more propulsive as it goes. Shaken-not-stirred “The Fifth Day,” turns a three-note upward lilting motif into something approaching rock anthemry. You can’t blame the sustained notes for hanging around. It’s nice here, and you want to stay.

Jennifer Kelly

Margarida Garcia And Manuel Mota—Domestic Scene (Feeding Tube) 

Upright electric bassist Margarida Garcia and electric guitarist Manuel Mota are part of Lisbon, Portugal’s experimental/improvisational music scene and have worked together with and without the participation of others on seven records besides Domestic Scene over the past decade. It is their first LP to be released in the USA, and there’s something poetic about that fact, because it feels like an echo of the work of one American musician — Loren Connors, and more specifically, 21st century Connors in solo mode. It shares his sparseness, boiled-down lyricism and willingness to disappear into a haze of noise. Since Garcia has associated with him at times, there’s definitely a shared aesthetic. However, these are not young copycats. Mota’s spare progressions proceed according to a different logic, purged of blues and baroque elements, guided by a north star of sequential consonance that adds up to quiet dissonance. And Garcia’s subdued, bow-born cries have an ability to compound, making the music thick with atmosphere, but still stingy with note counts. Play it late. 

Bill Meyer

Geneva Jacuzzi — Triple Fire (Dais)

Geneva has been making bedroom synth pop for years. On Triple Fire (named after her astrological sign), the production values tick upward, and several of the songs are club ready. “Laps of Luxury” is a case in point, with Geneva’s dulcet singing abetted by backing vocals, early digital synth sonics, and mechanized beats. “Scena Ballerina” recalls her early bedroom pop, with a taut riff and harmonic swerves. Trebly synths and out of the box percussion underscore an emotive vocal on “Take it or Leave it.” Geneva’s speechsong in “Art is Dangerous” and “Speed of Light” recalls Laurie Anderson’s 1980s work, while “Heart of Poison” has an art rock ambience that incorporates tenor saxophone and is rife with shimmering synths. “Rock and a Hard Place” is an aggressive example of dark wave electronica. The closer, “Yo-yo Boy” is an anthemic piece of minimal synth-pop that reminds listeners of Geneva’s roots while presenting memorable tunefulness. 

Christian Carey

Katatonic Silentio — Axis Of Light (Midnight Shift)

Axis Of Light by Katatonic Silentio

Italy-based Mariachiara Troianiello is a long-time DJ, and independent audio and ethnomusicology researcher at the University of San Marino. She also creates electronic music under the name Katatonic Silentio, and on Axis of Light explores a spatial dub, filled with palpating beats and flickering synthesizer sounds. The five tracks on this EP are all based on rhythmic frameworks that skitter and thud with a dark, night-time vibe for the most part. As the title indicates, opener “Drip in the Cave” is indeed subterranean in nature, with rubbery pads and liquid drums reverberating in tactile space. “Bridging the Gap” is lighter and bouncier, bubbling at a fast tempo and filled with electronic hoots and blips. The other pieces mix slow with fast, and machine-like rhythms with heartbeat-like pulses, all swirling in a warehouse ambience populated by ghostly static, quiet bells, or spooky, whistling tones. It’s all a neat combination of machine world and organic atmosphere, like a science-fiction world populated by real, messy people.

Mason Jones

Nicole Marxen — Thorns (Self-Release)

Nicole Marxen puts an eerie shimmer over rough crescendos of metallic noise, keening in the ghostliest, most disembodied way amidst vibrating slabs of guitar sound. “Thorns,” the album’s spiritual center, floats a chilly line of vocal melody—think Beth Gibbons or Chelsea Wolfe—over a machine-like industrial beat. Fragility blooms in an apocalyptic afterworld. “The Executioner” is heavier, more ominous, slithering to life out of the flickering buzz of downed powerlines. A stolid march emerges soon, swaggering with drums, swelling with amp-frying volume. Marxen presides like a high priestess, unperturbed amid flares, fills and violence. Like Jarboe astride a Justin Broadrick wall of noise, she stakes her claim, with operatic trills and whispered confidences. Dramatic, large-scale stuff.

Jennifer Kelly

Magda Mayas’ Filamental — Ritual Mechanics (Relative Pitch)

Keyboardist Magda Mayas’ music has often evidenced expansive thinking, but it took the resources of a festival to first bring her large group Filamental together. Once convened, she took full advantage of her octet’s assembled potentialities for imagination and sound. Having had one such experience, Mayas wasn’t going to wait for a festival to marshal such a breadth of mindpower and material again, nor was she going to let the impediments to travel and gathering imposed by a world pandemic get in the way. So, she sent out an invitation to an invitation to Filamental’s members and turned their gathered input into two pieces that run a bout 20 minutes in length. Each sets small, contrasting gestures dancing atop a consonant surface of elongated, layered sonorities. Ritual Mechanics is not so much a drone piece as an expression of continuous, focused action, richly detailed and consistently focused.

Bill Meyer

Rob Mazurek — Milan (Clean Feed)

Rob Mazurek has been recording for nearly three decades and performing much longer. His methods encompass composition and improvisation using brass, electronics, voice, and other instruments. In any body of work so broad, there are themes, some more dominant than others. Milan is a successor to Rome, which together comprise a smaller trend that involves recording solo performances in Italian radio studios with nice pianos. Recorded nine years apart, they offer a measure of how Mazurek’s work has changed in that time. Instead of cornet, he plays concert and piccolo trumpets; sternly ceremonial vocalizing and fistfuls of percussion dropped purposefully into the piano assert a more explicitly ritual intent. And, perhaps reflecting the amount of work that Mazurek has done with Damon Locks of late, the electronics now include playback options, so that vocal and instrumental samples (Is that Sun Ra I hear in there? And maybe some Ocora ethnic recordings?) as well as beat patterns muscle their way through the sizzle and smash of the prepared piano. Explicitly conceived as a journey, it’s quite a trip. Mazurek’s ensemble work can be pretty widescreen, but Milan reminds us that he can be epic on his own.

Bill Meyer

Nadja — Jumper (momentarily records)

Out of the many, many records put out by ambient and/or doom metal duo Nadja, it’s truly rare to find one that doesn’t feature Aidan Baker’s guitar in one form or another. But on Jumper, originally released as a bit of an art object on cassette (the online cover art is a look at the contraption that the tape comes in), he restricts himself not just to their drum machine but to layering and processing one particular pattern from it. Leah Buckereff provides bass, a more typical entry in the credits of their release, but here the way the slowly accreting digital noise plays over and around its pulses and feedback gives the whole album a very distinct feeling. Despite the use of drum machine there’s almost no rhythm to the whole hour here (until a surprise right at the end that catches me off guard every time), instead the effect is one of meditative harshness. The result is absolutely industrial, like a factory that’s weirdly compelling to listen to.

Ian Mathers

Orcas — How to Color a Thousand Mistakes (Morr Music)

Orcas — Rafael Anton Irisarri and Benoît Pioulard — haven’t recorded together in a decade, but they have been abundantly busy with their own projects. How to Color a Thousand Mistakes is consistent with past Orcas recordings and also reflects the music they have made in the interim. “Wrong Way to Fall” stands out in both regards, with Pioulard’s husky vocals over shimmering electric guitar solos, synth riffs and minimally complicated, but driving, drums. “Riptide” is populated by a number of different synth parts against a terse countermelody in the guitar. “Swells” has a strong vocal performance, while vibrato and pitch bends in the synths and economical guitar parts make for a memorable arrangement. “Fare” covers all the bases, with Pioulard’s voice double-tracked in a soaring chorus alongside mellifluous electronics, emphatic guitars, and plenty of drum fills. The recording’s closer, “Umbra,” has an extended introduction with a bass melody and warm synths. Then tangy dissonance and glissandos abound in both voice and instruments. It epitomizes the atmospheric textures that Orcas seem able to summon at will.

Christian Carey

Oxygen Destroyer — Guardian of the Universe (Redefining Darkness)

Guardian of the Universe by Oxygen Destroyer

Guardian of the Universe is another slab of monster-movie-themed, death-metal-inflected thrash from Oxygen Destroyer. The Seattle-based band’s previous LP, Sinister Monstrosities Spawned by the Unfathomable Ignorance of Mankind (2021), expanded their long-standing kaiju theme to include colossal beasts from outside the canon of the Tojo Studios Godzilla movies. The new record shifts tactics, focusing exclusively on Gamera and the giant turtle’s films for one of Tojo’s competitors, Daiei Films. It’s hard to know how much the record will appeal to listeners for whom those inside-baseball kaiju references mean little to nothing. But if you’re down for songs that attempt to replicate the absurd pleasures of Gamera in flight — head and limbs retracted into its massive shell, which then spins and shoots sheets of sparks from the holes, natch — this may be the record for you. Guardian of the Universe is non-stop fireworks: crazy, thrashy riffs; maniacal flat-out sprints; dive-bombing guitar solos. Should we take any of it seriously? This reviewer won’t hold forth (again) on the cultural stakes of post-war kaiju films. If you know, you know. And mostly what matters here is the band’s complete conviction and the joys of the music’s excesses. In these dog days of summer, it’s exactly what some of us need.

Jonathan Shaw

Peel Dream Magazine — Rose Main Reading Room (Topshelf)

Rose Main Reading Room by Peel Dream Magazine

It’s been four years since I’ve checked in on Peel Dream Magazine, whose second album Agitpop Alterna I described in my Dust review as “just like early Stereolab, with occasional blasts of shoe-gazey guitar thrown in for good measure.” I missed PDM’s third album Pad, so this brings us to album number four, Rose Main Reading Room. There’s still plenty of Stereolab in the mix, especially in the Mary Hansen-style backing vocals, the Farfisa, and the squelchy synth sounds (see “Oblast”). But here there’s more of a lean towards the baroque pop of Sufjan Stevens circa Illinois, mainly thanks to the chunky glimmer of vibraphone and the spiraling flute lines, which really brighten up proceedings. This balance between droning indie-rock and tuneful pop is very pretty, with sufficient musical complexity to invite rewarding repeat listens.

Tim Clarke

Plastic Bubble — Circular Breathing EP (Garden Gate/Moon Control)

The Circular Breathing EP by Plastic Bubble

Here’s a slab of happy, giddy, psychedelic garage rock which, except for the 2024 release date, wouldn’t be out of place in the Elephant Six universe. Lexington, KY’s Matt Taylor and Elisa McCabe are the chief blowers of bubbles, spinning out rough but iridescent songs like “Recontextualize,” where a guitar vamp grinds but vocals drift in pop ideality, “ah, ah, ah,” indeed. A classic indie boy-girl vibe permeates these five songs, with McCabe especially fetching in “Bright Morning.” “Forever” pulls back on the guitar roar to uncover a jaunty, girl-group bounce, with sweet counterparts and harmonies weaving in and around McCabe’s part. The set closes with a banger, part Who, part Fountains of Wayne, and all the way infectious, “Anything and Everything.”

Jennifer Kelly

SUUNS — The Breaks (Joyful Noise)

The Breaks by SUUNS

Elusiveness characterized SUUNS’ last album, 2021’s The Witness. As I noted in my Dusted review, “There’s no denying that its elusive character is part of its charm, but there are stretches where it feels more evasive than elusive, stubbornly refusing to engage more directly.” On their new album, The Breaks, the Montreal band are more direct in terms of the sounds they’re employing, but more evasive when it comes to songwriting. The majority of contemporary pop music is based around heavily effected vocal melodies and beats, which The Breaks seems to take as a cue towards similar immediacy. However, aside from the title track, the nagging piano of “Road Signs and Meanings,” and the loping stomp of opener “Vanishing Point,” this record is a tough nut to crack.

Tim Clarke

Tatsongs — Bushcraft (Self-Release)

Bushcraft by tat songs

Tatsongs are neither tat, nor really songs. The former implies fussy decoration, and these long, glacially evolving pieces seem as raw and elemental as rock formations. You can almost hear an icy wind blowing through their sheered off contours. The latter argues for a Pavlov’s buzzer of pleasing tone arrangements, and Tatsongs’ Tom Sadler is really not concerned whether you can guess then next 10 seconds of his compositions from the preceding 20. But even so, there’s something to be said for looming, sheeny layers of guitar and synth sounds that carve space and time into epic, barren landscapes. Tones vibrate in and out of true, zooming close and fading back, twitching in rhythm and coalescing in static fuzzed drones. Not a song in the bunch, nor much embroidery, but powerful stuff nonetheless.

Jennifer Kelly

TELESTIALVISIONS — Taurus in a Field (Island House)

Taurus in a Field by TELESTIALVISION

As Dittocrush, Pittsburgh resident Trevor D. Crush assembles tape loops into ambient symphonies. He often adds layers of live instrumentation from other musicians, such as Island House associate Chaz Prymek (Lake Mary, Fuubutsushi) and guitarist Ryan Fedor. TELESTIALVISIONS is his latest project, a tag team with New York guitarist Brinton Jones. The pair offer up a frothy brew that tastes rich and complex. Their debut Taurus in a Field is a pair of woozy collages that, while undeniably loose, are sharp in focus when compared to Dittocrush’s ghostly soundscapes. Crush’s tapes construct tangible shapes that intersect in a variety of patterns, while Jones unveils angelic melodies with his guitar. These two are telling a story that’s more Borges than Burroughs, a fantastical tale that defies conventional logic but manages to meander toward a graspable conclusion.

Bryon Hayes

Tycho — Infinite Health (Ninja Tune)

Infinite Health by Tycho

Tycho is Scott Hansen, and Scott Hansen is a designer. You can hear Hansen’s day job in Tycho’s music: the clean lines, the smart use of space, the sheer digestibility of it all. But should music go down quite this easy? Listening to Infinite Health feels a little bit like you’re at a trendy gym, playing a bit-part in an advert, or hitting up a bar packed with influencers. The common denominator is wanting to feel seen; everything plays a part in attracting attention. The synths sound like Boards of Canada, some of the funkier electro-pop moments sound like Daft Punk, and there’s an expensive sheen over everything. It’s hard to deny it’s appealing, but it also feels like experiencing capitalist obsolescence in real time.

Tim Clarke

White Collar—S/T (Static Shock)

White Collar by White Collar

Listeners with a long memory for North American hardcore might flash on those mid-1980s records by White Flag when listening to this new release from White Collar. Like that earlier Inland Empire band, White Collar frequently turns its critical gaze and its caustic smart-assery on the contemporary cultural climate of punk and politics as lifestyle (and your reviewer uses that odious term advisedly here). Songs like “Compassion Fatigue” and “Petition Signer” snarl at and spit on liberalism’s excesses of self-righteous smugness, to often hilarious effect. There’s a puritanical element to Gen Z’s dispositions and discourse that White Collar finds deeply irritating — not that the band is against strong ethico-political speech; check out “Meat Market” and “Equal Wrongs.” This is not the space for sustained analysis of Gen Z punk, and the extent to which we may want some sort of political purity from punk in the first place. But certainly, it’s an intrinsic good for punk to have snotty, disputatious and nasty voices in the mix. White Collar’s songs are short and sharp, and vocalist Loosey C’s performance is memorably unpleasant. Snarl on, punks.

Jonathan Shaw

[allmoshnobrain]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

part 18 of ? | masterpost

word count: 3287 | ao3 link | fic's playlist

His words hit me like a punch in the stomach. I knew Dave wouldn't like the idea of me reconnecting with Cliff, James, and Lars. But I didn't expect him to be so shaken by it. Dave, who had always been kind to me, who had protected me from everything and everyone, was now staring at me like I'd double-crossed him. Actually, it was worse – like he was straight-up disgusted by me.

✦ summary: Amid the hustle and bustle of life in Los Angeles, Nore finds herself torn between her loyalty and love for Dave and the longing she feels for her old life in San Francisco and her friends.

✦ on this chapter: dave mustaine x female!oc, oc is cliff's cousin, +18, language, slice of life, romance, fluff, angst

✦ a/n: Hello! It took me a while to post this new chapter, I haven't been able to keep a consistent posting schedule lately because I've been real busy but here it is! Apparently Ao3 is down again, so I haven't posted this one there yet, but I will upload the fic there as soon as it's back! A lot happens in this part so I hope you guys like it, feedbacks are always welcome ❤

Life with Dave had settled into a comfortable rhythm, even amidst the constant energy of our bohemian neighborhood. It was eye-opening how my interactions with the boys, particularly Dave, had shaped me since the start of the year. I was taken aback by the reflection in the mirror, where a more mature version of myself stared back; I had chopped off my hair after my birthday, trading long locks for a shoulder-length cut.

The shyness that had accompanied my arrival in San Francisco had been replaced by a quiet resolve. The parties in Los Angeles were far more chaotic than what I was used to, and I quickly needed to adjust myself to the new scene. Despite my denial, I found myself drinking more than ever before and soon started carrying a pocketknife with me wherever I went. Not that I needed to use it, anyway; everyone knew that Dave would be more than ready to pick a fight with anyone who dared to bother me.

Dave's whole idea of jumpstarting a new band wasn't exactly going according to plan. He'd rounded up some friends to jam with since he got back to California, but things hadn't really moved past that point. Plus, they were still on the hunt for a bassist. But all of this was about to change.

I woke up one Monday to this crazy loud music blasting. I squinted, puzzled, as I glanced around and realized I was alone in bed. I scrunched up my face, feeling a throbbing headache creep in — Dave and I had knocked back way more drinks than we should've the day before, so I could tell a killer hangover was looming.

"What. The. FUCK!" I heard Dave's voice shout from the living room. Scrunching up my brows, I dragged myself up to see what the commotion was all about. And then it hit me: the racket I was hearing was some bass guitar being played at full blast. It took me a sec, but I finally caught on to the tune — it was the bassline from "Running With the Devil" by Van Halen.

"Dave, what's the deal?" I managed to say, my voice thick with sleepiness. I noticed him standing by the living room window, his face all riled up. He turned my way, the annoyance softening as his eyes met mine.

"And now the asshole woke up my girl too," he muttered, disgruntled, making his way over to me. He pulled me into a hug, planting kisses on my cheeks and then on my lips, prompting a small chuckle from me. "Hey. Sorry about that. Our new neighbor is a real jerk."

"They're definitely making a statement with that volume," I mumbled, still half in dreamland, my headache not improving with the noise. "Ever thought about just closing the window?" 

"I've got a different plan," he said, dropping his voice a notch, easing his grip before stepping back. He picked up an empty beer bottle from the table, and I raised an eyebrow as he leaned against the windowsill, giving the bottle a solid toss towards the window below. "Shut the hell up, already!"

Miraculously, this time, the noise actually stopped. Dave looked at me, letting out a sheepish laugh. I bit my lip, trying to stifle my laughter.

"Damn, Dave. I hope they don't come up here to beat you up."

"They can try," he answered, his laughter low and warm, his arm finding its way around my waist as he planted a kiss on my cheek. "Let's just get back to sleeping."

I didn't bother when he guided me to bed, and we laid down; it was still pretty early. I was almost drifting off to sleep again when a knock on the door disrupted the calm. I opened my eyes, giving a frustrated groan, and Dave mumbled as he got up to answer. 

"Hey, know where we can grab smokes?" a guy's voice came from outside. 

"There's a store on the corner," Dave replied shortly before closing the door with a thud. He returned to bed soon after, pulling me close in a tight embrace, his face nuzzling my neck. 

He had barely settled when there was another knock on the door. 

"Fuck off!" he muttered, annoyed, yanking a pillow to cover his head. I got up to answer the door, my headache intensifying, my patience wearing thin.

“Oh, hey,” I was met with a grin from a tall boy, around my age. He had brown hair and was rocking a Kiss t-shirt under a worn leather jacket. His buddy, dressed in a similar style, watched with interest. “Can I talk with your... uh, boyfriend?” 

“Uh, he's…” I was gonna say that Dave was sleeping, but he beat me to it. He swung the door open and glared at the two guys, not hiding his annoyance. 

“What do you jerks need?” 

“Hey,” the guy greeted, not seeming bothered by Dave's standoffish vibe. “So, you old enough to score us some beer?”

I glanced at Dave and caught a hint of a smirk on his face. He still looked annoyed, but the boy's persistence seemed to impress him a bit. 

“Well,” Dave said. “You're growing on me, kid. Gimme a sec.”

He snagged his leather jacket, wallet, and keys, giving me a quick goodbye before heading out with the guys. I sighed, pretty sure sleep wasn't coming back to me, and decided to get changed and freshen up.

They rolled back in a while later, arms loaded with crates of beer. Turned out the boy's name was also David — Ellefson — and his friend went by Greg. David was a bit younger than me, and he was the one who had been playing bass at full volume in the morning. Funny thing, Dave seemed to have dropped his earlier annoyance. Actually, as they got talking, it was clear they were getting along really well.

I split for work a few hours later, leaving them chatting and drinking. When I got back home that night, I found Dave more pumped than I'd seen him in ages. He hadn't paid much attention to Greg, but I could tell he had really clicked with David.

"Thinking of roping him into the band," he told me, grin wide. "He's cool, and damn good on that bass. I think this might be it."

I grinned back and agreed. Back then, I had no clue about what lay ahead. No idea this was the inception of Megadeth, the big project that'd define Dave's future. I was just happy to finally see things going well for him. And to finally see him making some new friends — that's exactly what he needed right then.

A few days later, I was fixing up something for lunch before heading to work when my phone rang.

"Hey there, Nore," Cliff's voice chimed in when I picked up, and I raised my eyebrows in surprise. We hadn't talked since my birthday, even though I'd catch up with what they were doing through Leanne once in a blue moon.

"Hey, Cliff. What's up? Why the sudden call?"

"Oh, thanks for the warm welcome," he retorted with a hint of sarcasm. "Can't a cousin catch up anymore?"

A faint blush spread across my cheeks. 

"My bad. Of course, you can," I said, secretly relieved that Dave wasn't around. He hadn't exactly been very happy lately when Lars, Cliff, and James were brought up.

“Relax,” he answered, in his usual laid back way. “Actually, I've got an invite for you. We're on tour, and we're swinging back to San Francisco…” 

“Hold up a sec, what?” I cut in. “You're on tour? What about the album?” 

“Album's out already.” 

“And no one bothered to clue me in.” 

“Figured you already got the memo.” 

“How would I, if you didn't bother giving me one?” I frowned, a bit ticked off. Cliff let out a sigh. 

“Fine, my bad. Look, money's been a bit tight, so I couldn't exactly ring you up all the time. But we've got a gig in San Francisco next Saturday. Wanted to see if you'd wanna come.”

I chewed on my lip, pausing for a moment. Of course, I totally wanted to go. Despite the whole mess with the guys after Dave got kicked out, I couldn't deny they were still my friends. More than that – Cliff was family, and it'd been weeks since we saw each other. LA was a whirlwind, but it sure got lonesome at times. But I didn't want to upset Dave about this. Something told me he wouldn't exactly cheer if I said I wanted to hit up a Metallica gig right now.

“Cliff, I'm not sure,” I said. “It's just… Dave…”

“Screw Dave, Nore. You worry too much about him,” he shot back, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "And seriously, everyone's been missing you. Please?”

I sighed. I knew I might get into trouble for this, but how bad could it be? It was just a concert, after all.

"Okay, fine, I'm in. But only 'cause I've been missing you guys," I caved. "So where's this gig gonna happen?"

"At The Stone. Lea's gonna be there too, you can crash at her place if you need."

"I'll hit her up later. Catch you at the gig then?"

"Count on it."

“Missed you,” I mumbled before he hung up, and he chuckled.

“Yeah, me too.”

“Geez, Nore! You look like hell.” 

I squinted at Pat, trying to stifle a yawn as I met her blue gaze. Patricia, my co-worker, was the spawn of Roger Anderson, the boss at my new job in a downtown LA record store. She was a bit younger than me, and we clicked fast after realizing we were both crazy about pretty much the same bands. Thanks to work, we'd become good friends over the past two months. 

“Hey there, Pat,” I dumped my bag behind the counter. It was early afternoon and I'd just walked in for my shift, but I couldn't wait to get back home; that night had been a difficult one. “Mornin' to you too.”

“Good morning,” Pat greeted, giving me a curious look. “Rough night?” 

“Yeah, kinda... a lot on my mind,” I mumbled, seizing the quiet moment with no customers to leaf through a Kerrang! magazine lying on the counter. 

“Is this about your boyfriend again? You're always worried about him,” she quipped, heading to the small kitchen in the back. I let out a soft chuckle. “Here you go,” she plunked a coffee mug down in front of me. I closed my eyes for a second, inhaling the rich scent rising from the freshly brewed drink. “To help you wake up.” 

“Thanks,” I yawned, taking a sip. She grinned, snagging a chair beside me behind the counter, flipping open the magazine as well.

"He's like, so handsome," Pat swooned, her tone dreamy. I peered above my coffee mug at the magazine she was flipping through; her attention was glued to photos of the Thin Lizzy guitarist. "Think I stand a chance?" 

"To find out, you'd need to actually meet the guy," I chuckled. She grumbled, faceplanting onto her crossed arms, then shot me a look with her bright blue eyes. 

"So, what's with the insomnia?" she asked. I let out a sigh. 

"It's just... You remember Dave was in the same band as my cousin, right?" 

"Yeah, and then they booted him out and you got super pissed," she pointed out. I gave a soft chuckle. 

"Yeah, that. But now they're coming back to California, and my cousin invited me to catch their next gig. I wanna go, but..." 

"You haven't dropped the news on Dave yet?" 

I shook my head, thoughtful, draining the last of my coffee.

"He took everything really hard," I mumbled, my voice low. "I'm not even sure if he'll be cool with me wanting to go." 

"But you do wanna go, right?" she questioned, stretching her arms before picking up my now-empty mug. "I mean, from what you've shared, you and your cousin are super tight. You shouldn't ditch seeing him just because of your boyfriend. You gotta talk it out with Dave, he'll get it."

I absentmindedly nodded, letting out a sigh. Pat was hitting the nail on the head with that one: I did wanna go. I missed Cliff big time, but it wasn't just that. I missed San Francisco and my friends too. Life with Dave was great, and Los Angeles was a whole new chaotic, bustling universe, but sometimes I also felt kind of lonely.

I just hoped Dave could understand that.

Later, when I finally got back home, I was welcomed by the sound of Dave's guitar as he played. I closed the door, tossed my bag on the couch, and headed into the bedroom. There he was, sitting on the bed, his guitar in his lap, and a half-finished joint chilling in the ashtray on the bedside table.

"Hey there," I greeted, and my smile matched his as he glanced up, his grin growing even bigger at the sight of me. He got up, setting the guitar down, and came my way. 

"Hey," he said. I chuckled softly as he wrapped an arm around my waist, planting kisses on my lips and then my neck. "How was your day?" 

"Same as usual," I answered, letting out a little giggle as he nuzzled into my neck, pulling me close. "And yours?"

"Same as usual," he pulled away, looking at me with a smile, his eyes flickering to my lips in a way that made my heart race. "Thinking about hitting the shower. You're welcome to join if you're up for it…"

“Oh, um, Dave…” I started, my voice kind of shaky with nerves. If possible, I'd rather handle the whole concert talk with him later. But after Pat's pep talk, I knew if I didn't tackle it now, I'd never get around to it. Dave looked at me, curious. “There's something I wanted to talk about…” 

“Huh? Did I mess up or something?” he asked, a smile on his face, though I could sense the worry behind it due to my uncertain tone. 

“No, not at all,” I muttered, then took a deep breath. “It's just that... Cliff called a few days ago,” I paused as his brow creased, but there was no going back now. “They're playing a gig in San Francisco. I thought about going…”

Dave's brows knit together, his expression shifting as he sort of pulled away, his gaze fixing on me with a weighty silence. I met his eyes, my heart doing a somersault in my chest. I figured he wouldn't take the news super well, but that wasn't exactly the reception I was hoping for.

“You want to go see Metallica,” he finally spoke up, his voice low and devoid of emotion.

“I want to see Cliff…”

“Oh, not James and Lars?” he quipped, a touch of bitter sarcasm lacing his words.

“Dave…”

“Nore, remember they showed me the exit door? No warning. No second chances. And now you wanna kick it with 'em?” he seemed more incredulous than anything, incredulous and hurt, which only made the situation worse. He shook his head, like he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing, running a hand through his hair and looking at me, torn between disappointment and anger. “Damn it, Nore. I can't tell if you're being dumb or if you just don't love me anymore.”

His words hit me like a punch in the stomach. I knew Dave wouldn't like the idea of me reconnecting with Cliff, James, and Lars. But I didn't expect him to be so shaken by it. Dave, who had always been kind to me, who had protected me from everything and everyone, was now staring at me like I'd double-crossed him. Actually, it was worse – like he was straight-up disgusted by me.

I couldn't react, I just stood there in silence as tears welled up in my eyes. This wasn't fair. I had chosen him. I had distanced myself from my cousin and my friends for him. I had stood by him from the beginning. Somehow, I had expected him to be angry, but not like this. Cliff and I would butt heads all the time, sure, but me and Dave? This stung way more than I'd ever figured it could.

“Dave, seriously... This isn't playing fair,” I managed to get out, my voice breaking as a sob hitched a ride on the tears that were falling. I could see it all hit him, the weight of what he'd just said settling in his eyes, a mix of horror and regret. But the moment had passed, the words hung in the air, and now there was no going back. I shook my head as I turned around to leave the apartment.

“Nore. Wait up, Nore!” Dave's voice hurried after me, his grip on my arm pulling me to a halt just before I could duck out completely. I tried to rein in the tears that were breaking through,  causing me to sob and tremble. “Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. I really didn't…”

“I'm right here with you!” I shot back, my voice shaking like crazy, not as strong as I'd like, but definitely loud enough to make a point. “Fuck, Dave. You think I'm some kinda idiot for wanting to see my friends? I've got no one else – my parents practically booted me, my old Long Beach friends act like I've got the plague.” I edged away, the words tumbling out in a jumble, trying to stem the flood of tears. I looked into his brown eyes and saw them gazing at me, filled with pain. “Metallica was all I fucking had too! Do you want to snatch that away from me? You think I'd be standing here if I didn't love you?”

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, his voice sounding more fragile than I'd ever heard, as he pulled me into a tight embrace. "I'm a fucking idiot. I'm really sorry." 

"You're everything I've got too," I murmured, my sobs gradually calming down as I buried my face into his chest. "Just... Please don't make me choose, Dave. I can't, I really can't." 

"It's okay. I'm sorry," he soothed, his fingers softly running through my hair, his voice quivering as he held me close against him. "I love you. So damn much. Please, don't leave me. Stay here with me." 

"I'm not leaving you," I sniffled, finally managing to get a grip on my tears. He rested his forehead against mine, his pained eyes locking onto mine. "I'm here because I love you. But you've got to trust me, Dave."

"I do trust you, Nore. For real. I'm sorry," he whispered, seeming relieved now that I was starting to calm down. "Of course you can go. You don't need my permission. It's just... I can't face them anymore. I need to be something, Nore. If I fail, if I'm just a loser…”

“Dave, you're not a loser. You're an amazing guitarist, remember? Didn't I tell you that when we first got together?" I cut in, and he let out a soft chuckle. 

"Yeah, and you also mentioned I was really handsome," he quipped, and I laughed, a shaky laugh that still carried the traces of tears. He looked at me for a moment before adding: "I don't think you're dumb, by the way. You're the smartest girl I've ever met."

“You haven’t met many girls, have you?” I mumbled, and he rolled his eyes. 

"Hush, Burton," he grumbled before leaning in to kiss me.

[doomedandstoned]

Albuquerque’s BLUE HERON Reveals Gnarly New Music Video “Dinosaur”

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

Get ready for gritty heavy rock from Albuquerque with a new album from BLUE HERON. Raspy, terrifying roars meet brooding, turbulent low end. "Dinosaur," the band's latest music video, comes midway through the new 9-tracker, 'Everything Fades' (2024), their second full-length, which is just about as down to earth as you could ask for.

"Dinosaur" begins ominously with a dank, questioning riff that leads into a mysterious cool-of-the-morning desert-stoner metal groove, with bittersweet bluesy touches throughout the song. Jadd Shickler's vocals are reminiscent of those epic early High on Fire tracks, somewhat cleaner than Matt Pike's singing approach but no less gravelly and fearsome. Meanwhile Mike Chavez on guitar and Steve Schmidlapp on bass rustle up a storm of gut splitting heft, driven by a fierce and determined rhythm from drummer Ricardo Sanchez.

Towards the 4 minute mark things get slow and doomy like the steady advance of pregnant rain clouds draping across the sky, perhaps an omen of whatever great and mysterious calamity befell the alpha predator's of planet earth's past (and a warning that we too may go the way of the dinosaurs).

Blue Heron's Everything Fades is rooted in the mood and verve of the High Desert. The band's sound on this record has a tangible feeling of mass, weight, and depth. It comes out on September 27th on Blues Funeral Recordings and can be pre-ordered on vinyl, compact disc, and digital formats right here. Stick it on a playlist with High on Fire, Egypt, Lamassu, Forming The Void, and Red Messa.

Give ear...

SOME BUZZ

Blue Heron expand on their unyielding desert sound with a new slab of propulsive, sun-scorched riff-heaviness. 'Everything Fades' (2024) finds the band reveling in low-tuned roil and amplifier hum, churning out swerving grooves as if the primordial spirit of the desert itself compels them.

Balanced between laid-back, meditative atmospherics and heavier, more aggressive lunges, Blue Heron’s cruising jams and gritty stoner romps call to mind echoes of Kyuss, Clutch and Monster Magnet, as well as modern contemporaries Valley of the Sun and Greenleaf.

Full of rhythmic intensity, sledgehammer riffing and vocals ranging from clean and moody to howling and raw, 'Everything Fades' covers a wide expanse of musical ground that shows how familiar influences can always be molded into inventive, exciting new forms.

Surrounded by endless horizons, Blue Heron formed in 2018 out of a compulsion to fill the vastness with massive volume, saturating their piece of desert with rolling, thunderous riffs, drums that pummel and swing, deep, thrumming tones and vocals that rip and roar.

Everything Fades by Blue Heron

Blue Heron’s guitarist and singer were founding members of Spiritu, possibly Albuquerque, New Mexico's first desert rock band, whose brief burn in the early aughts included a Jack Endino-produced LP, a European tour with Clutch, Spiritual Beggars and Dozer, and a compilation appearance alongside Entombed and Mastodon.

Their debut LP "Ephemeral" arrived in May of 2022 via Kozmik Artifactz in Europe and Seeing Red Records in the USA. Substantial appreciation in the underground led to performances at Ripplefest Texas and Monolith on the Mesa and opening slots for The Well, Elder, Black Mountain, Ruby the Hatchet, Howling Giant, Heavy Temple and The Obsessed, along with a swath of positive reviews throughout the heavy media.

Follow The Band

Get Their Music

[burlveneer-music]

Miguel Atwood-Ferguson - Les Jardins Mystiques Vol.1 - massive (52-track) new album with an amazing cast of guest musicians (Brainfeeder)

14 years in the making, “Les Jardins Mystiques Vol.1” comprises 52 tracks / 3.5 hours of music composed, arranged and produced by Miguel with contributions from 50+ friends including Kamasi Washington, Thundercat, DOMi & JD Beck, Jeff Parker, Carlos Niño, Austin Peralta, Bennie Maupin, Gabe Noel, Jamael Dean, Jamire Williams, Burniss Travis II, Deantoni Parks, Josh Johnson, Marcus Gilmore and many more. Based in his hometown of Los Angeles, Miguel is one of the preeminent musicians, orchestrators, arrangers and composers of our time. “Les Jardins Mystiques Vol.1” is his long-awaited inaugural album. It presents us with a passionate statement of intent, a labor of love, and a realm of beautiful possibilities. “Les Jardins Mystiques” is a project that throws open and shares Miguel’s musical universe. It took shape over a dozen years, largely self-funded by Miguel, and showcasing his distinctly elegant musicianship (on violin, viola, cello and keyboards among other instruments) alongside his free-spirited dialogues with more than 50 instrumentalists. Volume 1 is the first in a planned triptych, which will collectively comprise ten-and-a-half-hours of original, refreshingly expansive music. Miguel connected with his guest musicians in versatile ways: through convivial studio dialogues; over remote communication during the pandemic era; and via the energy of live performances at LA venues including Del Monte Speakeasy (the gorgeously invigorating, piano-led “Dream Dance”) and Bluewhale (including “Ano Yo” with vivacious alto from Devin Daniels, and the cosmic harmonies of “Cho Oyu”). Bennie Maupin, the legendary US multi-reedist whose repertoire includes Miles Davis’s fusion opus Bitches Brew, plays bass clarinet on the entrancing opening number, “Kiseki”. “Les Jardins Mystiques” reflects Miguel’s ethos that music is a natural, vitally unaffected life force. The titles across Volume 1’s tracks draw from international languages and traditions, including Spanish, Swahili, Sanskrit, Ancient Greek, Japanese and Hebrew, as well as the Buddhist practice that has been key to Miguel’s life since his twenties (“It’s very joyous and very hard, because it says that there’s no retirement age in human revolution,” he says). The tracks contrast in length, from “Zarra”’s vivid burst of analogue synths to the alluringly chilled melody of “Kairos (Amor Fati)”, yet there’s a gloriously unconstrained flow throughout, and each piece seems to unfurl and blossom into its own wondrous world.

[drwhosoundtrackshowdown]

Doctor Who Theme: Round 2

Series 5-7A

"Gold composed yet another new version of the title music for the new title sequence used from The Eleventh Hour to The Angels Take Manhattan. This version of the theme is noticeably more electronic than his previous themes, yet with the opening bass line lowered in volume in favour of a new counter-melody. This element is reminiscent of the Debney arrangement from the 1996 movie, while the main melody line is reminiscent of the Glynn "Trial" arrangement, with the added element of the melody being partially rendered by a vocal choir.

As broadcast, the theme is punctuated by lightning-strike sound effects, but the version released on the BBC's website and the series 5 soundtrack album does not have this effect. This version, promoted as being "full length", runs exactly one minute in duration and is by far the shortest official rendition of the theme yet released. And the closing theme on nearly all episodes (except for The Beast Below) has the entire interlude from the full and opening themes, but cuts right away to the closing bars instead of featuring much of the main melody. The brevity of this arrangement is due to recent changes in the BBC's policy on closing credits."

Before The Flood

"A one-off modification to the theme was made in Before the Flood, with the Doctor playing his electric guitar over the normal theme tune."

[wisdomdoggy]

how to improve audio for videos!

I'm making this post so others can get better vocal audio in their video projects. It is EZ!

STEP 1 - Record your audio

Whether it's from a live stream or prerecorded, just create the audio. I suggest using a Hyperx Quadcast or anything that can capture 16-bit or higher. I suggest the Hyperx Quadcast because of its simplicity. The mic is USB, so it just plugs right into your computer and it's ready to go. This is way easier than getting a mic with an XLR which requires an audio interface that can double the cables and price for almost the same result!

You must have a pop filter! Without one, your audio can suffer from plosives- sounds like P (puh) and B (buh) carry a lot of bass frequencies and will mess with the volume/peaks of the recording. Some microphones don't need this, like an iPhone or a laptop microphone. Either way, I highly suggest a pop filter!

When you record, make sure the mic's gain control is low. Having high gain on your mic can lead to your audio sounding like this (yes that is exactly what it sounds like). High gain can lead to clipping and just terrible results.

After that, just find a program to record your audio. I use FL Studio. You can use any DAW or audio recording program (I think Audacity can record too!).

STEP 2 - Editing the audio

Some pretty simple steps here, just trust the process. I suggest any DAW, but I'll be using Audacity.

In Audacity, go to the top and find "effects" and place these effects in this order

Compressor

Threshold: -13.0

Ratio: 10.0:1

Attack: 0

Release: 1

Gain: 13.0db (optional if you have a different compressor)

2. Filter Curve EQ

just select the low roll off for speech preset lol

(Manage > Factory Preset > Low Rolloff for Speech)

3. Truncate Silence (Not for live stream audio)

Threshold: -20

Duration: 0.5

Truncate to: 0.7

OPTIONAL: Noise Reduction

If you're recording off a poor mic, chances are you'll have a loud background noise. Just use this effect to remove the room noise. Essentially a noise gate but for post-edit!

What this does -

The compressor makes all the quiet and loud parts of your audio the same volume, making any recording more intelligible. The EQ is for removing unwanted- or useless frequencies. In this case, the rolloff on the bass eq will remove any potential plosives and generally tighten up the audio. If you have a poor microphone this may require some more specific EQing (high end hiss, specific frequencies needing to be removed). The truncate silence will remove unnecessary length between each sentence and make your flow way more fluid. Do not do that for live stream audio, it will unsync your audio with the visuals.

If done correctly, this is the result!

go make videos suckars

[bigshotspambot]

I posted Sneo 1,223 times in 2022 and drew him like 350 times idk

That's 1,112 more posts than 2021!

670 posts created (55%)

553 posts reblogged (45%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@bigshotspambot

@lio-the-loaf

@snowy1987981

@milfyspamton

@dimneo1010

I tagged 1,210 of my posts in 2022

Only 1% of my posts had no tags

#spamton neo - 794 posts

#spamton - 702 posts

#wow that’’s some [good %2$s%!] - 325 posts

#🎨art tag - 314 posts

#❓ask to your [beating heart’s] content - 311 posts

#spamton neo x reader - 232 posts

#spamton x reader - 184 posts

#all alone on a ? - 141 posts

#💛i love you with all my [heartshapedobject] - 138 posts

#👤up close and [personnel] - 135 posts

Longest Tag: 117 characters

#and the animation is so smooth and your sneos design is so cool and scary and perfect i just 💖💖💜💜💜❤️💜💜❤️💚💜💞

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

HYMN OF THE ANGEL

514 notes - Posted October 9, 2022

#4

detailed shaded sneo x absolutely MOLECULAR y/n

AWw.. WHaT_D0_WE HaVE HERE…?

568 notes - Posted July 20, 2022

#3

Horror audio of Spamton NEO searching for you in the back alleys of Cyber City.

You manage to hide behind an old metal Bigshot Autos billboard... but for how long?

2:15 in length, but content heavy

⚠️ONLY listen if you're okay with horror/suspense/intense scenes. If that kind of stuff makes you panic, then I'd advise you to skip this one!

Headphones recommended, lots of bass (Gets loud at points, so be mindful of the volume)

Has a few custom voice clips done by @arcademoss and me! Not to be confused with the distorted infomercials coming from his speaker...

Spotlights emit from his eyes, which light up the dark alley. Steam also occasionally escapes from his armor/mouth

Hope you can run...

(google drive link)

Sneo dialogue transcript below the cut

"YOU CAN'T RUN [From These Sweet Deals!] FOREVER..." (voiced by arcademoss)

"YOU'RE MINE...! " (voiced by me)

580 notes - Posted July 23, 2022

#2

Extended (and slightly more polished) version of this

POV audio of the listener resting on Spamton NEO’s chest.

this is the Superior version tho. 7:21 in length instead of 0:59. also some added reverb

(headphones recommended if you choose to listen. THERE IS BASS. If you don't wanna listen, that is very ok because it isn't for everyone)

Includes !??!?!?

breathing, heartbeat

purring/growling (but more subtle and better samples)

computer humming (and also steam hissing at one point but its quiet)

Again, I hope its relaxing and not too creepy lol :) 💜💛

UPDATE: mp3 download link (It's also 9 mins cuz file size can be bigger over on drive)

622 notes - Posted January 30, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I love this

819 notes - Posted January 16, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[laufire]

I borrowed this from someone at dreamwidth and I thought I'd post it over here too: behold, my (completed*) January reading! feel free to borrow the meme yourself.

(list & some thoughts under the cut)

NOVELS

Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. This was, technically, a reread. I say technically because I don't remember the last part of the book and now I'm wondering if I DNFed it over a decade ago and completely forgot LMAO. I... could see why. While it's A Classic, and there's plenty to like in the novel, especially in the sisters, the moralising really got to me at some points. The biggest was the one where Jo attends this meeting full of artists and geniuses and political giants ~behaving just like people~~ and this is DEVASTATING to her (and then Bhaer peddles some chrisitanism). Gurl, I would have loved that LOL. But all in all I mostly enjoyed the read. I did it bit by bit, subscribed to The Public Domain Book Club in substack; each month (or, in LW's case, each couple of months) they go through a book. I've kept the subscription for February, where it'll post "Sense and Sensibility", another Jane Austen novel I haven't read.

Lud-in-the-Mist by Hope Mirlees. I fucking ADORED this novel. I've mentioned it in this blog before but I just found it such a treat to read. Mirlees' prose is enticing and enchanting and everything I want mine to be. If you're someone that enjoys a good descriptive, florid style of narration, give this one a shot.

SHORT STORIES

I read three short stories by Angel Carter. The first three in "Burning Your Boats", apparently her earliest work: "The Man Who Loved a Double Bass", "A Very, Very Great Lady and Her Son at Home", and "A Victorian Fable (with Glossary)". They're not nearly as good as the handful of later ones I've read, but I enjoyed seeing some signs of her future style. "A Victorian Fable" was also really interesting in a technical sense.

*I put the cover of the whole book, although those three only form a section of it, just to make this more manageable.

COMICS COMICS COMICS

I'll just list here runs I set out to start and finished. Sometimes that means "reading every appearance of character X", sometimes "reading everything author Y did in this volume", sometimes "this one specific issue-long plot", sometimes it's a run properly speaking.

DC Speechless. Really cute run. Just some popcorn to the brain that you can chill with.

Robin: Year One. A re-read. Sometimes Chuck Dixon writes well. I absolutely don't have to hand it to him though.

The Judas Contract. A staple and a must-read if you're interested in these characters. Tara Markov's characterisation is sure. Something that happened. But unintentionally on the part of the writers, very, very interesting. And I loved reading Joey's introduction! Ngl, I lowkey ship him with Dick. I lowkey ship Dick with a lot of people lol.

Superman: Lost. This run is more interesting in a meta sense than a properly narrative one. I'll have to mull over it.

Oracle: Year One (The Batman Chronicles #5). Another re-read. BTW, it's already suspect that Robin: Year One has FOUR issues (and Nightwing: Year One SIX), AND JOKER IS GOING TO HAVE THREE, but Oracle: Year One is like, 18 pages within a random issue of a Batman-adjacent comic ñlaksdjf. She deserved something longer and plottier. BUT. Those 18 pages are near perfect and a must-read to all DC fans.

The Next Batman: Second Son. About Timothy "Jace" Fox, who was Batman for a little while. I was curious, and it's a really short read (the issues are more webtoon-length than usual comics length). It was fine, but I had set out to read it before I was like, 99% done with Prime Earth lol. I wouldn't read it now and I doubt I'll continue his journey. Sorry Jace, you were alright.

Nightwing/Huntress. Loved it. Gave me a new ship. A bit heavy-handed at times (Devin Grayson's writing gains a lot more subtlety later on), but I still loved it. And the art is gorgeous.

Batman & Son (Batman #655-658). AKA a reread of Damian's introductory arc. Morrison will have to answer for their crimes against Talia lol, but I wanted a refresher.

JLA/Titans. I'd say the same re: Devin's writing (and I'd say the same about the next in the list), but it was also a really enjoyable read. Very long, lots of characters and moving parts, lots of POWER OF FRIENDSHIP Titans stuff but they're messy as fuck (as proved by the continuation of this plot in...).

Titans #1-20, aka Devin's run. LOVED IT. They are SO messy, SO interesting, SO fun to read. The exact opposite of the current Titans run, if you ask me lmao. The character concepts alone... *chef's kiss*.

Devin Grayson's Nightwing run. Oh, this is a controversial one (yes, this one includes the infamous #93, but you have to analyse it in context)... but I adored it. Grayson's writing matured for this one, it's a lot more nuanced, it doesn't lead you by the hand. It was extremely compelling, maybe one of the most compelling storyarcs I've read in DC comics. And ofc, it was cut short and interrupted in an abrupt way by editorial meddling smh. @ dc, fight me.

Far From the Tree (Batman: Gotham Knights #15). I read this one because I wanted a taste for Tim's characterisation under certain circumstances. It's good. Bruce is an ass during it xD

[nyaandoll]

carmelladansen breakcore except i just bass boosted the song and added the most overused breakcore amen song sample and repeatedly spammed it randomly in different volumes and lengths (i have NEVER done anything music related ever pls don't bully me :3)

i tried posting this in a disc server and instantly got bashed by someone who's apparently a damn know-it-all on breakcore, they practically started pissing and crying because "b-b-but breakcore can't have lyrics!!!!" BITCH. also they only listened a few secs i think bc i posted it and it's around a minute 30 seconds, they replied within SECONDS.

[monkey-network]

Good Stuff: Wendell & Wild

or How to Stop Worrying and Flex with Spirit Again

It's 2009. We're at our most innocent and optimistic, Bone's final volume came out, and while TV animation was kinda ass at the time, the films we got were like banger after banger. I'm talking Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, the Ed, Edd 'n Eddy movie, El Superbeasto, Redline, Killer Bean Forever, Princess and the Frog, Fantastic Mr. Fox, and Coraline. The latter was not only the start of Laika as a major studio but would be the last film the GOAT Henry Selick would frontline for a long while. Most of us wouldn't think of him while stop-motion was carrying on until the current year when Selick would return announcing a new film of his own. Wendell & Wild marks both the return of the mastermind behind Nightmare Before Christmas and James and the Giant Peach and the reunion of Key & Peele notably since that film starring a gangster cat. For what I can consider a very Blacktober film from the looks of it, it is newfound kino or diminishing returns?

If we’ll get this out of the way, the story... might be hard to swallow. I’m not gonna sugarcoat, Kat as a protagonist is understandable but annoying. I can see where the incident involving her parents can snowball her into being an isolating punk type, but it was hard finding her likable because of how much she’s a... “buzzkill” is the best word I got. It hurts when I like almost every other character, Raul especially, over her. I dunno, it’s like when most you get from a character is them being frustrated and spiteful, it’s hard to connect, and for being the main focus then the story falters in the mind. 

This goes for my other problem where the third act gets pretty jumbled and honestly feels like the one time I’ll say where they didn’t need a big action sequence. This could’ve been a more grounded affair like I cared about Kat facing her trauma and the big demon literally surfacing from hell to get our titular demon brothers than I did some ugly ass couple trying to build a prison. I think it would’ve worked better if it was just about Kat working with Wendell & Wild to get her parents back only to realize that it was a mistake like it never once crosses her mind that bringing them back is... kinda fucked up? The impact of the story overall feels lighter than, say, Coraline or Paranorman where everything built up before made the revelation stuck. Just saying, Kat’s final line in the movie really sprained the ankle at the finish line if you think about it.

The duo themselves never disappointed thankfully

But that’s all on the story, what about the visuals? Well... this feels like a definite return to form. Selick mentioned that stop-motion became too smooth over time and I can see where he was coming from with this. I love where it’s not just the puppetry, but the settings feel more of a blend between Rankin-Bass and Aardman. It knows when to make a moment smooth, but you can see they didn’t hide it being stop-motion. That’s not to say stop-motion between this and Coraline couldn’t recapture that older feeling (we just got Mad God this year) but it’s nice seeing Selick, and designer Pablo Lobato, among the many of the animation crew give us something familiar. I’m reminded of the movie Klaus where even if you understand, you can’t believe the lengths they went to trick you in a way. All this while being based on Selick’s original story, I feel like this was Henry looking to flex alongside Phil Tippett, the Daniels, and soon enough Guillermo Del Toro, in the creative flavors they cherished way back. The credits themselves tell me everyone had fun making this movie and I appreciates that the most.

Scenes like this tickled my animation loving bones

Overall, my time didn’t feel wasted regardless of my issues with the story. If there’s any takeaway it’s that Wendell & Wild is pretty emblematic of this year: you take the bad with the good. Hell any film that can have Death, the black godfathers of Punk music, gets points in my book easily. I say it’s a worthy film to watch a least once for Halloween or Turkey Day, y’know if you can work above my gripes with it. Peele already made kino with Nope but he and Selick made something genuinely special here. Just saying in terms of films, we still eating good this year.

7 Out of 10; Delightfully Devilish Feature

[dustedmagazine]

Dust, Volume 9, Number 11, Part 2

Eli Winter

We only get ten audio clips per post now, so we've split the Dust in two. Check out the early alphabet entries here.

Colin Miller — Haw Creek (Ruination)

Colin Miller’s songs come from far away, from a physical, temporal, emotional remove, like bits of colored memory or the line from a book that meant something once, but you now can’t quote exactly. The North Carolina-based multi-instrumentalist and home taper is connected to the Wednesday orbit, having played on and produced MJ Lenderman albums and produced Wednesday’s I Was Trying to Describe You to Someone. His own music is softer and more indefinite, but very fine. It is less like listening and more like being enveloped by a cloud. “I Don’t Love You Anymore,” for instance, has all the elements of an indie rocker: strummy guitars, punched out drums, and a catchy, tuneful melodic line. And yet it drifts in through the window like a warm breeze, gently stirring your attention as it moves the air around you. “Paper Roof,” too, buzzes with feedback and blistered bass tones, but very softly. What you notice, first, is the high yearning singing, shaded by the fuzz of lo-fi production. You wonder what these songs would sound like with clearer, more commercially viable sonics, whether they’d land with more impact or less. But here they are, gently pushed forward for you to appreciate best after repeat plays, and they are really quite good.

Jennifer Kelly

Niecy Blues — Exit Simulation (Kranky)

The reason the ol’ “this band is like x meets y” trope is both kind of reviled and yet impossible to wipe out is that as a formulation it’s both weak (unless you’re the person the comparison occurred to, chances are good you won’t hear it) and strong (how else to try and describe something as elusive as music than with something so slippery and paradoxical?). It might be better to imagine a kind of topographical map. Then you could try and chart the impossible hinterlands out where the territories of (say) Grouper, trip hop, and Kelela might converge, and somewhere around there you might find Niecy Blues’ first record. Like all such comparisons though, the intent is not to suggest Exit Simulation is mere pastiche or reducible to parts found elsewhere, but to indicate the heady and diverse contemporaries it shares an atmosphere with. Whether it’s the extended reverie of “U Care,” the hazy float of “Violently Rooted,” or the droning shuffle of “The Architect” the result is a debut of striking assurance and depth. Comparisons fail at some point; you really just have to give it a listen yourself and figure out your own map, like Blues has.

Ian Mathers

Bänz Öster and the Rainmakers — Gratitude (self-released)

This quartet consisting of Europeans Bänz Öster on double bass and Javier Vercher on sax and South Africans Afrika Mkhize on piano and Ayanda Sikade on drums delivers spiritual jazz rooted in the gentler music of Coltrane and Ra. The six long (eight to 12 minute) originals, well-recorded before an appreciative but fairly restrained audience, are uplifting and replete with sophisticated soloing, especially by Mkhize. These guys don’t break any new ground, but the grooves are infectious, and what is described in the liner notes as the “high-voltage connection between North and South” contributes to the good vibes.

Jim Marks

Pile — Hot Air Balloon EP (Exploding in Sound)

In case February’s All Fiction didn’t make it clear, the handful of songs from the same sessions that comprise the Hot Air Balloon EP should drive the point home that Pile is a band at the height of its powers. Recent live shows incorporating a few of these songs into setlists only go to further serve that the distinction between what made the cut for their latest full-length and what got left behind is virtually indistinguishable; some of Hot Air Balloon’s fun is in finding where these songs would’ve best worked their way into All Fiction’s track list. The knotty time signature changes and unexpected rock moments still weave and burst forth, and Rick Maguire’s addictive, meandering pathos carries moments you’ll be left thinking about long after it’s over; me personally, I can’t unlodge the descending chorus of “Exits Blocked” or the very specific line on “The Birds Attacked My Hot Air Balloon” where he sings, “I could see your house from here if I’d bothered to look.” It’s these stories in miniature, like Fitzgerald in The Crack-Up or Felix Feneon, that leave their mark most potently — if, of course, you’re inclined to that sort of thing.

Patrick Masterson

Taiko Saito /Michael Griener /Jan Order — WALD (Trouble In The East)

Free improvisation may be a creative space where an instrument’s baggage can be dropped, but this is easier for some than others. Given its limited and highly distinct sound, the vibraphone’s particularly hard to untether from expectation, but Taiko Saito gives it her best shot on WALD. The Sapporo-born, Berlin-based mallet-wielder, who has worked at length with Silke Eberhard and Satoko Fujii, does not totally play against expectation, but she does keep her instrument’s stylistic mandates at bay by shifting between time and no time, swing and no swing, and steering a middle course between the big wall of sound you might expect from, say, Jason Adasiewicz, and the bebop-derived suppression of resonance pursued by an earlier resonance. This CD documents her first encounter with bassist Jan Roder and drummer Michael Griener, who constitute Die Enttäuschung’s rhythm section, and that association will tell you more about their commitment to the moment than what they actually play. Each of the album’s four spontaneously realized tracks is a world unto itself in which chaos is courted, swing cultivated, or slipstreams ridden. These are woods to get lost in.

Bill Meyer

Skyphone — Oscilla (Lost Tribe Sound)

Lost Tribe Sound has been on something of a jag this year with their Maps to Where the Poison Grows series. This new installment by Danish trio Skyphone is an absorbing and succinct 32 minutes in which attention to detail, texture and instrumental interplay account for a lot. Ideas are introduced then carried through to their natural culmination, with each of the three players sounding present and laser-focused in their creative process. Live drum kit, bass, synths, piano, acoustic guitar, and a whole host of other instruments blown and struck are used to bring vivid color. Think early Mum, Opsvik & Jennings, and Kiln. Six of the seven songs here feel just right (centrepiece “Arbonaught” is especially good). It’s only on final track “Will to Change” that the introduction of heavily effected vocals knock things out of balance and breaks the spell. Elsewhere this is masterful and hypnotic stuff.

Tim Clarke

Stella Siebert/Nat Baldwin — 1.30.22 (Notice Recordings)

This live improvisation set from Stella Siebert — mixer, turntable, objects — and Nat Baldwin playing double bass celebrates special techniques and advanced sampling with chaotic jubilation. Sections are taken out of order (we never get to hear the opener), sculpting the set from free play to intentionality. The recording opens with abrupt samples alongside repeated string pressure. “4” has a bit too much piercing sine tone for my taste, but especially diverting is “9” which features crackling vinyl and ostinatos right at the edge between pitch and noise. The concluding track, “2,” is a 23-minute-long session in which Baldwin plays extended techniques against ostinato samples and handmade percussion. The previous material coalesces into an edgy opus that remains varied and imaginative throughout.

Christian Carey

Tar Of — Confidence Freaks Me Out (sound as language)

Tar Of makes music in brief, bubbly spritzes. Heavy on the keyboards, with giddy abstracted vocal parts, these cuts dance across your field of vision and disappear from view. “Ey Vaay,” the single, adds a bobbling saxophone line to the mix, caroming in from the margins as a dizzy pulse of “ba-ba-ba-ba-bas” push the track forward. “Cardinal” clicks and rattles and swells with wordless counterparts. You’ll need to take a breath when it clatters to a halt. The title track is somewhat more song-shaped, with its stabbing snare beat and woozy woodwinds; it seems to be taking on conventional verse-chorus structure when it breaks apart into vibrating, shimmering atoms. The band is a duo from Brooklyn, made up of two oddball artists—Ariyan Basu and Ramin Rahni—but the tracks have the ecstatic density of large ensemble baroque pop. More is always going on than you can really absorb, and you don’t get a lot of time to get acclimated. Blink and these tracks are over. So, don’t.

Jennifer Kelly

Håvard Wiik / Tim Daisy — Slight Return (Relay)

When pandemic protections canceled all the gigs, Tim Daisy proved particularly resourceful. He turned to musicians like Ikue Mori and Vasco Trilla to respond remotely to his drumming, recorded either before or during lockdown, and realized some intriguing music that demonstrated how improvisation is not just an aesthetic stance, but a way to address life problems. But when the shots came out and the numbers went down, he returned to stages and studios, and his relish at being able to tune into an old friend is evident throughout Slight Return. The album’s name acknowledges that Daisy and Berlin-based pianist Håvard Wiik have been together before; ten years ago, to be precise. There’s a charge to this reconnection that affirms the drummer’s excitement at being able to make new music with old acquaintances once more. It sparks a restless vibe, as the two musicians shift fluidly from restrained exploration to unbridled, jointly generated fracas.

Bill Meyer

Eli Winter — A Day Behind the Deadline (Three Lobed)

Guitarist Eli Winter's latest release continues a changing path in his musical career. His early work (meaning “from four years ago”) worked through a blend of Pauline Oliveros theory and Jack Rose solo playing. He's been steadily expanding his sound since then, working with other like-minded artists to produce music that applies the same sensibility to a bigger palette. A Day Behind the Deadline gives listeners a run-down on this movement, collecting five live tracks from fall 2019 through this spring. Winter's typical intricacy in composition now brings in drummer Tyler Damon and pedal steel guitarist Sam Wagster. The collection mostly moves away from Winter's roots aside from the closing solo acoustic “The Time to Come.” The trio tend to stretch out into odd takes on rock or even Americana (though that has more to do with the pedal steel sound that with the actual song structures). A Day Behind doesn't settle as a proper album (and isn't intended to), even if it does cohere. Instead, it plays like a photo album: here's Winter in transition from his acoustic roots to something else. He comes across as restless, looking for something new, and this release fills the gap while he finds that next thing he's looking for.

Justin Cober-Lake

99Letters — Zigoku (Phantom Limb)

Osaka producer Takahiro Kinoshita AKA 99Letters returns with a new collection of industrial techno built from unrecognizable samples of traditional Japanese music. The word Zigoku evokes “Jigoku” the Japanese Buddhist hell and whilst this album is not as dark sounding as its predecessor Makafushigi, Kinoshita says its main theme is death and the afterlife. At times you recognize the tropes of the early 1980s when elements of industrial music crossed over into early electronic dance music often with global world influences, think 23 Skidoo and Clock DVA. Occasionally the cadences of Japanese music appear, a ghostly presence of traditional, folkloric myths. But in the main, Zigoku exists in its own hermeneutic world interrogating both its sources and its environment. The contrast between modernity and tradition gives Kinoshita’s music a particular tension that is constantly building as he probes cultural and philosophic cracks, seeking to capture those small wavering shafts of hope.

Andrew Forell