#the soundscaping is so fucking good

[postmakerkiwi]

🌈 Zephyr's Forest Floor - Huts Under Siege 💣

Look out!!! Sorry, but Zephyr's a bit busy right now, what with all these... birds. Just stay put for now; once that little dragon clears out the village, you can start heading out to the portal to Autumn Plains.

photos by CatbatQuartet

[cherry-pop-soda]

okay but i think a rush of blood to the head by coldplay is absolutely one of the most insane love songs ive ever heard. “oh i’m gonna buy this place and start a fire/ stand here until i fill all your heart’s desires/ because i’m gonna buy this place and see it burn/ and do back the things it did to you in return” ?????? HELLO ??????? DOES ANYONE UNDERSTAND ME

[esotericdogboy]

# ✒️

[flaskoflethe]

I need to get back into hunting for music again. I want to find more stuff like Rezz, or really classic Complextro (like Spitfire/Say My Name era Porter Robinson, early Wolfgang Gartner, or Scary Monsters era Skrillex)...

[leave-a-whisper]

seeing another sleep token fan makes me so happy. you have no idea

BRO ME TOO

I started listening to them like a year ago and atlantic is like my second most listened to song since then.

How are we feeling about the new songs?? I love all of them but chokehold is still my favorite. The summoning is a close second though.

[psychiclounge]

btw feast of pilgrims scared the shit out of me with the haunts in the crypt. i am NOT immune

[luxurychristmaspudding]

Million Dollar Baby | FUTUREPROOF

prologue

summary: you're in la, and it's time to get this show on the road.

pairing: f!rockstar!reader x actor!joel

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. one minor drug reference. reader has hair and can swim.

wc: 3.3k

an: for @schnarfer, my copilot, and @itsokbbygrl and @undercoverpena. thank you for your patience while i've yapped and not written about these two <3

dividers from the glorious @saradika-graphics

series masterlist | main masterlist | follow @pudding-notifs for updates!

The sunlight is warm, the breeze is mellow, and the bedsheets smell like home. 

Soft, so soft, cool against your warm limbs - every nudge of smooth linen cocooning your body against the waves of wakefulness. You stretch your legs - muscles loosening, mind empty - then your toes, and bury your face back into the pillow with a quiet grunt. 

Everything feels achy today. Just fatigued - cooped up on planes, huddled in the studio, hunched over a notebook in what Jack has fondly dubbed your ‘shrimp position’. But this feels good. Spreading your legs to starfish beneath the covers, breathing in the scent of your own shampoo, before shooting your arms to the headboard and pressing your palms against it. Sinew relaxes a little more, spine crackling. 

One eye winked open finds the room washed in gold, sheer curtains fluttering in the floor to ceiling windows, just obscuring the crest of the hills beyond the pool. 

You close your eyes again, breathing in deeply. Your tongue tastes sour, ashy - the only blot on the morning; a reminder of last night. The whirlwind of faces and places you’d been swept through by Eimear after leaving the studio, blurred into one soundscape while you were dreaming. 

You following her - a satin palm curled around your forearm, the gloss of her braids. Have you met…. Completely sober, brain ringing in your skull from ironing out kinks on the record, you’d made your excuses and escaped as quickly as possible from the glitteringly dark bar back to the house. Closed your eyes against the buzz of the Uber’s window, dragged yourself to the sofa, and shared a joint with Adie before hauling yourself to bed.

There’s a clench in your gut, a rumble. You groan, hunger creeping in, bubbling in your throat. You swing a hand away from the headboard, scrabbling about on the nightstand for your phone, squinting at the screen over the duvet. 

No missed calls. No urgent texts.

But at some point in your slumber, you’d snoozed your alarm.

You drop your face into the pillow again, mouthing a fuck into the cotton. Plans of eating at the café in the next neighbourhood over eviscerated by a fuzzier head. Again. 

You throw the covers off your legs, rubbing roughly at your face, and stand with a yawn. Pick up the pants and t-shirt you’d discarded on the floor last night, sling them over the chair in the corner of the room, and then move to retrieve your bikini from the balcony beyond the curtains.

A fine day out. Still warmer than you’re used to summer being, sun hot on your face even this early, but the view - the view. Spoiled by the label, high up enough to be away from the bustle, but close enough to watch the lights and the smog and the constant glimmer of dreams. 

You step back into the bedroom to tug and tie the swimsuit on before swinging open the door. The landing is quiet, empty. The same as you pad down to the kitchen. 

Everything is white, and where it’s not white, it’s glass and natural wood. It’s beautiful, it’s serene, and - as Eimear had said when you first arrived - very rock and roll. 

The wide, clean kitchen, marble-topped island stretched all the way across the space. Perfect for hosting. The sunken living room and its floating hearth. The rugs and the throws, the cushions, the potted plants, fading smell of incense. The bifold doors thrown back so you can step straight out to the patio and then the pool - sparkling, rippling in the morning sunlight. 

The doors Adie obviously hadn’t closed last night. The bottle of champagne he’d left open on the side. 

You give it a sniff as you walk past, deciding it isn’t worth it as you step towards the fridge instead. You pour a glass of orange juice and poke around for something else, grabbing a tub of mango you’d picked up yesterday. Croissants from the bread bin on the counter, then your sunglasses from where they sit next to the flowers Nick had sent you. 

The patio is hot underfoot, and you all but skip your way to one of the loungers set up by the edge of the pool, clutching your breakfast. You slide your sunglasses onto the bridge of your nose, settling cross-legged on the pale cushions. Orange juice cradled between your thighs, croissant and mango in front of you. 

Nick Walton, Hollywood’s newly heralded genius. You’d thought he’d be wanky at first - obnoxious, loud, demanding - but the man who had introduced himself to you months ago, who had joined you in the studio over the last week, was quiet, kind. A crooked smile, an asinine sense of humour. Ready and generous with praise and votes of confidence, gentle direction offered when needed. He’d been a dream to work with, so much so that the whole band had been quick to tell him they’d love to work together again - if he wanted to. And he did.

You savour the earthy sweetness in your mouth, rip a corner off the croissant. 

It was exciting. Being privy to such a project, being sent rough cuts and signing NDAs. It had been something to do on the road - a distraction from the songs you were playing every night, a challenge to fit to a brief. Something you, as a band, had never really done before. Working not just to convey a message, a feeling, but a place. A story beyond what you knew.

You lick the mango juice from your fingers, your wrist, swipe the crumbs from your lap. Finish your orange juice in great gulps, enjoying the coolness, the tartness. You wanted Nick to be confident he’d made the right choice. Confident that you respected his work, appreciated it, wanted to uplift it. 

The extravagant florals that had arrived before Eimear had whisked you away last night confirmed that. The only thing left now was to get the stamp of approval from Joel Miller - co-producer, leading man. 

So squeaky fucking clean you wonder whether the air around him sparkles.

You stand from the sunbed, reaching up, wiggling your fingers at the sky, before swooping low to touch your toes. Almost. You fold your sunglasses up next to your glass, leaving them to tiptoe around the edge of the pool. Moving to stand at the top of the tiled steps, up to your ankles in the water. Cool, cool, cool. The LA skyline stretched out ahead of you - concrete jungle sprawled under clear blue sky. 

Joel Miller somewhere out there, getting ready to gather his thoughts on the tracks. A big deal. Critically acclaimed films, Oscars and SAG Awards, nominations up the wazoo. Something lurches in your stomach, a familiar that has tread with you since the beginning. The doubt, the worry. The almost overwhelming expectation to disappoint. 

Maybe he won’t like you. Maybe he’s never liked your music. Maybe he’ll wear sunglasses the entire time and won’t speak.

Don’t be childish. You take a step deeper into the pool. 

Maybe he won’t.

Maybe he’ll be everything people say he is. Unfailingly polite, sweet. Humorous, if prone to a little grump now and again. Maybe he’s heard a few songs on the radio.

You take a step deeper.

Maybe he’ll be taller than you think. You know he’s handsome. Broad, strong. Greying curls, deep, sad eyes, full mouth and scruffy beard. He’d suited the cowboy get up in the cuts of Red Sky. Not that you ever thought about that when you’d crash in your hotel room at the end of a night. Or his hands. His thick fingers, or the bulge that strained against his low slung belt - 

You crouch, arms joined over your head. Feet anchored, pressure forced down as your legs extend and lift, arcing towards the water. 

The dive sweeps the remnants of sleep, worries, thoughts of Joel Miller away. The water fills the conches of your ears, softening sound. You close your eyes, lost to the peace of the dark. Coolness slips past, greases joints, cradles you gently. You kick and pull until your lungs strain, pushing one foot off the floor to pop back up to the surface, wiping chlorine from your eyes, your lips. 

You look back over the city, treading water, before turning to face the house. Much bigger than it needs to be - but pretty and green. There are plants everywhere - trees and flowers, grass to your right. Sweet honeysuckle on the breeze, musk of heated tarmac. 

You tip your head back, and your body follows. Sound muffled again, you blink your eyes open to look up into the blue. Endless. You search for birds, letting it calm you - how small you really are. How, no matter how many people gather in crowds, there are more who simply couldn’t give less of a fuck about who you are. 

It doesn’t matter if Joel Miller is one of them. 

You swim a few leisurely laps before pulling yourself out and wrapping a discarded towel around your shoulders, drying off just enough to come back inside the house. You’re brewing coffee when Adie emerges - freshly showered, shirt only buttoned halfway, sunglasses on.

You smirk at him, and he flips you off, wincing as he takes a seat at the island. He rests his head in his hands.

“Morning, rockstar,” you beam, pouring the drink into mugs, and he grunts in response. 

You scrub a rough hand over his buzzcut, and he grumbles out a low “Fuck off,” voice low and raspy.

You snicker, placing a steaming cup beneath his hanging head. He’s always suffered the worst with hangovers, unaided by the five years he has on the rest of you. 

“Come on, dude,” you grin, sliding onto the seat next to him, rivulets of pool water trickling down your back. “You’ve gotta look sprightly. You’re seeing George today, right?”

“He’s seen me worse,” he grumbles, taking a sip. He pulls his sunglasses down his nose just enough to give you a once over. “Aren’t you seeing Nick?”

You nod, blowing steam away from your cup.

“And Joel.”

“Joel,” Adie repeats, like he’s rolling the name around his mouth. “Still want to do disgusting things to him?”

You pull a face, knocking his shoulder, and he clutches his stomach with a groan.

“Ew, Adie.”

“Don’t move me,” he gasps, “I’m not at my best.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you snipe, eyeing him over your coffee. He glances back at you once he’s taken a couple of deep breaths.

“Well? Do you?”

You wrinkle your nose at him.

“Obviously, asshole.”

He shrugs, a slow smile stretching his mouth as he curls himself over the counter. You giggle, an embarrassed little sound, and he snorts into his coffee, choking, spraying it over the marble and your arm. You howl at him - Oh, gross, dude - and then you’re cackling together, something like excitement finally rising in your gut. This is your best friend, this is the dream. And this is part of the cycle - tour, crash, doubt, do it again. You swipe your hand down your arm, holding it out to wipe on his shirt. He catches your wrist before you can, twisting so the silk is as far away from you as possible.

“Absolutely not,” he says, grappling with you, “If I have to go upstairs to change, I will literally never make it back down.”

You give up easily, knocking your forehead against his shoulder, still giggling. He smells like Adie. He smells like home.

“You, on the other hand,” he continues, pushing your head back roughly with his palm, “Could definitely do with a shower. If only for the one and only Mr Mi-”

You flick his ear, and he crows at you -

“Bastard! I’ll find some other wanker to sing!”

- as you take off, dancing around the island, edging towards the stairs.

You put your hands on your hips, tongue in cheek.

“I knew you never liked me - y’know, you were always much more made for the attention -”

“Shut the fuck uuup,” he groans, rolling his eyes, “I love you forever, kisses, kisses, whatever the fuck. Shower,” he says, levelling a finger at you.

You bite your lip against your smile.

“Will you be gone when I’m ready?”

He nods, making to cross himself. You snort again.

“God willing.”

“Alright. Have fun. Give George my love. Make sure Cam’s got nothing in his teeth.”

He smiles, all mischief, all genuine affection.

“Will do, bud. You too. Knock ‘em dead.”

You blow him a kiss as you begin to ascend the steps, and he feigns a swing to bat it away.

“Save them for Joel!”

You flash him the finger, and his cackle is the answer to your ringing -

“Fuck you, Gilman!”

Her voice is sweet, gentle down the phone. It makes his chest tighten a little, nails dig into his palms. I miss you.

“Dad, you’ll be fine,” Sarah sighs, breath of air shooting through the line. If he closes his eyes, he can see her smile. Knowing, placating. Hundreds of miles away, back in Texas for college. Sick of LA ever since they moved here.

Sometimes, Joel reckons she had the right idea.

“You’ve worked with way more intimidating people. And from what Nick’s said, she seems really nice.”

He grunts, swiping a hand across his face, scratching at his beard. She’s right.

“I know. Jus’ want it to go well. Feel like I know nothin’ about it, just gon’ be sittin’ there -”

“Dad,” she groans, “Chill out. Pick something you remember about the lyrics. Say something about the drums or melodies. Get a selfie for Ellie. That’s all you need to do. Anything else is a bonus.”

Joel casts a glance over at Ellie - all limbs sat at the kitchen counter, munching on cereal, earbuds in. 

“Okay. Alright.”

There’s quiet for a moment, and he cringes at how well she can read him.

“Sure?” She checks. He clears his throat, nodding.

“Yeah. It’ll be fine.”

He can hear her smile again.

“It will. Right, I gotta go. Call me later, I want all the details.”

He chuckles, kneading his forehead.

“I will. I love you, baby girl.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

The line cuts, three beeps, and he turns his attention back to Ellie. Takes a moment to watch her head bopping, her foot tapping, before waving an arm around until she takes an earbud out.

“Ready to go, kiddo?”

She swallows comically, giving him a thumbs up before leaping off her seat, crossing the kitchen to deposit her bowl in the sink. 

“Yup. Are you driving?” She asks, crossing back over to the foyer, eyeing the keys in the blue dish by the door.

“Sure am,” he grins, taking her bowl from the sink and stacking it in the dishwasher. She rolls her eyes, jamming a foot into a shoe. “Precious cargo.”

“Joel,” she groans, standing, “I am seventeen years old -”

“Ah,” he chuckles, clapping her on the back, opening the front door. “Still my kid. Let’s go.”

She’s watching him. 

He can see how her eyes keep flicking this way in his periphery, her smirk from the passenger seat as he taps his thumbs on the steering wheel, chewing his cheek.

“Are you nervous?” 

His eyes find hers, crinkled with a smile, warmth hidden behind the mirth. A depth of understanding that goes beyond her years.

He shrugs.

“Is it obvious?”

She looks out the windscreen, avoiding his eye, but he can still see the downwards tip of her mouth as she tries to hide her amusement.

“No.”

He grinds his jaw, feeling the beginnings of a flush crawl up his neck.

“You know,” Ellie says, turning to face him again, “She’s supposed to be really cool. Nice. They all are, even if you don’t meet the whole band. Forget about anything else you might’ve heard. And - she’s just a person. It doesn’t matter if you don’t sound like you know enough. It’s not your job.”

A single eyebrow climbs up his forehead.

“You heard that, huh?”

This time, she does smile.

“Relax,” she says, “And if you screw it up, at least get that selfie for me.”

He chuckles, eyes scanning back out over the road. Traffic, people, lights turning red to green.

“I’ll do my best.”

He doesn’t want to tell her how he stayed up late last night watching your interviews. Doesn’t want her to know how he watched the Wired Autocomplete video three times - because you’re funny. Smart and sharp, and private. He appreciates that. Knows you must have worked hard to reach a point where others have so many questions. 

Doesn’t want her to know how he then went on to watch live performances, songs recorded in front of thousands of people. Wishing he’d paid better attention when she’d shown him before. Covers sung in live lounges, radio appearances - one by Sabrina Carpenter that’s been everywhere lately, another about orange blossoms, before finding his favourite. Just you, strumming a guitar - something rare in all the other footage he’d watched. Lover, You Should've Come Over.

How he’d then tapped out your name on Instagram, scrolling back through weeks of posts. Photoshoots, festivals, tour, magazine covers. Stumbled across edits, something Sarah had taught him about. Videos, compilations of you that made his face heat with shame, his heart beat faster. He’d thought he was above it all - within the same stratosphere, unaffected by such things. But he’d been proven wrong. Taken in by your voice, your words. How you looked in that dress, the sliver of stomach exposed on stage. Your doe eyes in the dark of a bathtub, a shoot for Vanity Fair.

He’s really realised, perhaps for the first time, that Ellie is right. Ellie, who’d had your posters up in her room until a year ago. Ellie, who Sarah had taken to your gig at the Staples Center. Ellie, who’d been playing your music - loud - ever since she’d first found it. Music which, he knows now, he also loves.

You are cool - so fucking cool, so fucking beautiful. Accomplished, respected, talented. And now he’s noticed the colour of your eyes, the curve of your lips, the ease with which you perform. The way you move, how electric you are.

And he’s going to be so out of his depth.

He pulls up just down the street from her school, slow halt of tires on tarmac, watching the throng of students cross the road. A jumble of bags moving along the sidewalk, and when they part, he watches Ellie grin as Dina looks up from her phone to wave at the two of them. 

His daughter grabs the backpack by her feet before leaning over to kiss his cheek. He tries to smile.

“You’ve got this,” she whispers, a gentle hand on his arm. She smiles back as she pops open the door and scooches out. “Remember, selfie - and if Vic is there, tell her I’m single -”

“I’m right here,” Dina laughs from over her shoulder, giving Ellie a playful shove. Joel chuckles, returning her yelled Morning, Mr Miller. Ellie shrugs.

“Okay, tell her nothing. I just think she’s cool,” she winks, closing the door with a soft thud before throwing an arm around her girlfriend, chatting away to her as they disappear into the crowd of teenagers. 

Joel waits until he can no longer see them before checking his flush in the rearview mirror. When he’s satisfied he looks close to normal, not nervous, he takes a deep breath and pulls off. 

There’s someone he has to meet.

[prince-liest]

FULL MOON WAS EVERYTHING I COULD HAVE POSSIBLY WANTED

I was sooooo ready to be disappointed with the miscommunication trope in this episode, but it was PERFECT. It didn't feel silly or contrived, it felt like a hell of a lot got actually communicated and the issues arose from, y'know, the characters themselves having issues. Also, the soundscaping for that last scene was so fucking good. Starting with the music that fully did not match Blitz's intended mood, then transitioning to dead silence and then the added echo to their voices when they entered the last room, AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—

I just. Everything that I wanted to get said got said! Stolas actually properly expressed his feelings, Blitz got pissed about it in a way that made clear where his personal issues lie, and then Stolas made it clear that that was a super unfair way to think of him, which is something that's been bothering me for a W H I L E. Apology Tour seems like it's going to be Blitz apologizing, which I didn't think it was gonna be just due to the preview shots, but is exactly what I actually wanted. Stolas has genuinely done his fucking best and it was good! It was really good!!!!!!

A lot of stolitz's relationship has been Stolas doing his best to communicate and Blitz just outright ignoring the words coming out of his mouth in favor of his own assumptions and I am delighted that finally it has come to a head in a way that allowed both of them to get their word in.

(Also honorable mentions to Blitz begging for the book BREAKING MY FUCKING HEART, Loona semi-inadvertently making Blitz's insecurities like 10x worse, and Loona + M&M being absolutely fantastic in every way during the fight scene!)

10/10 painful episode, but the pain was extremely cathartic. I feel like a wound has been lanced.

[yeyinde]

the current mood is on my hands and knees, crying sobbing shaking throwing up begging kylle garrick to give me his babies (i lovehate ovulation week so much)

u have my sincerest sympathies. but also. in spite of ur suffering, that's a whole mood 🤩 def down for that.

so, in a "heyyyyyyy, hope u feel better" sort of way, here's softdom!Kyle fucking your face (only because the smut in the baby trap fic isn't complete yet ;_;). hope you feel better soon!

Ananke screams in agony when he grips a fistful of your hair, pushing your head down the length of him, all the way down, down—

You sputter around the thick of him, eyes watering. Dripping rivers down to your hollowed cheeks. It pools there. A deep basin. A lagoon. He wants to drink it up—salt water cures everything, after all. 

The noises you make—quiet gags, wet chokes—has liquid pleasure trickling down his spine. An endless cacophony that fills the bedroom up. A soundscape he could get lost in forever—

“Yeah,” he rasps when your fingers dig moons into his thighs. “Such a good girl for me, aren't you?” 

The whimper that tumbles out vibrates through his cock, and he grunts with it, a deep groan that you answer by squeezing your thighs together, lashes fluttering. You like the noises he makes. The moans, the guttural grunts. The choked snarls. 

His good girl. 

“Takin’ me so well,” he's slurring his words, hips pushing with more insistence now. Desperate to spill down your throat. To watch you swallow him. “You always do, though. Don't you? Take whatever I give you, yeah? Gonna take it all now? All of it, yeah, pretty girl?”

He rambling. Words spilling out, breaking against his teeth. Ananke howls when he twists your hair, tugging you closer, closer, until the tip of your nose touches the thick bed of wry curls at the base, swallowed whole. You're crying now—choking. He grunts. It's liquid. Whitehot.

Your mouth is molten around him. He chases it, cock head nudging the back of your throat, bruising it. Ruining it. He wants to paint you in his cum; drench you in it. Mark, mar, your skin until all of the nobodies, the David’s, can smell him on you. Know, without any uncertainty, that you belong to Kyle—

His hips stutter—

“oh, fuck, oh fuck, fuck—”

—and he knows he's being too rough with you. Too demanding. Forceful. Taking his pleasure from your pliant flesh, cleaving pounds of you into his palm for him to keep. Scar tissue in the shape of his name, but. But.

His other hand drops, wraps around your throat, and—

Fuck. 

He can feel his cock through your skin. The bulge unmistakable through your neck, fattened with the thickness of him. 

This—and the hazy sight of you, angelic with your drenched face covered in spittle, pre-cum, and briny tears; eyes blown wide and preyish, full of desperate submission; and clumsy, needy way you hump against your fingers stuffed between your slick thighs, quivering under the unrepentant way he breaks you apart, takes you—pushes him over the edge. 

Equilibrium comes on a snarling grunt, wrenched out from the depths of his throat. So rasping, so gritty, guttural, that it hurts. Scrapes against his flesh until it's raw. Bruised. 

He feels the flex of your muscles as you swallow. The rasp of your tongue soothing the heavy pulse of the thick vein on the underside of his cock, greedy for every drop he has to give. 

It's perfect, he thinks. You're perfect. 

(and his, his; all his—)

[elix8r]

[7:26] 

jaemin x f.reader 

word count: 0.86k

In the confined space of the car, the air was thick with the sounds of wet noises and low moans. The radio played the latest pop hit, its melody softly permeating through the heavy atmosphere. Amidst the soundscape, you could hear your boyfriend's groans above you, his fingers tightly weaving through your hair as he guided your head down his cock. 

“Fuck, just like that babe,” a deep hum of satisfaction escapes your lips as you hear his response, your panties slowly becoming drenched as his groans intensify. 

As you continue to bob your head down his length, your eyes start to sting with tears, but you persevere. You were intimately familiar with Jaemin's size and knew how well-endowed he was, so you weren't deterred. But as his length harshly hits the back of your throat, you feel yourself gag. 

You hear him deeply grumble, "Shit, keep going, I'm almost there," but you quickly detach your lips from him and sit up, spit and tears streaking your face as you look at him with big eyes. 

"I want you to cum in me," you say quickly before he can even protest. With those words, his pissed-off eyes turn back into ones filled with desire, and you know that you've won him over.

And with that, you quickly slip off your panties and hop over to his side hovering over his bare thighs. You can feel his throbbing length close to your heat and before you can adjust yourself above him you already feel his fingers near your clit.

“You’re so fucking wet. This all from just sucking me off? You’re such a slut for me,” Jaemin cockily says while maintaining eye contact with you. Then with no warning, his fingers plunge into you and you feel any autonomy you previously had over your body leave as your body slumps into his frame. 

“Please…” is all you can let out. His fingers feel so good inside you and as he starts moving them you mewl out, “more please.”

“C’mon, babe you gotta be more specific than that.” That sneaky bastard. He knew exactly what you meant yet got off on the satisfaction of you struggling. He wanted you to beg for it.

“Jaemin please, I need you inside me. Your cock,” you finally pant out, and as if he was pleased enough with your response, your boyfriend hums before taking his fingers out and replacing them with his dick. 

Your eyes automatically roll to the back of your head as your mouth opens. The stretch you feel within you is heavenly. It was as if he was made for you. No one’s ever made you reach the length of pleasure you obtain when with him.

Jaemin obviously shares the same sentiment as you hear him groan into your ear. 

“Fuck, you’re always so tight.” At that, you let out another moan before starting to move slowly on top of him. His hands tightly grip your waist as he starts guiding you to go at a faster pace. The burn you feel at your core forces a whimper out of you as you continue to bounce on his dick.

“You feel so good, so so good,” you mewl out while gripping his shoulders. 

The two of you could have easily waited the five minutes it took for you guys to reach your apartment but there was something about having sex in the cramped front seat of your boyfriend’s car. Plus, you couldn’t help but admit that you had a thing for public sex. 

His fingers quickly find your clit again and your eyes open to look into his in desperation. The pants and moans the two of you were letting out were becoming louder as you could feel that the both of you were reaching your climaxes.

“I’m almost there just a little bit more.” His hips are now thrusting up into you at a pace that was much harder and faster than before. And with a couple of thrusts, you feel yourself letting go and reaching your climax. Not even a couple of seconds after, you feel Jaemin filling you up with his release as he lets out one last groan and you feel yourself fully let your weight fall on him. 

Pants were all that could be heard in the car alongside the radio that continued to play before you felt your boyfriend tap your ass.

“Hey babe, look. Seems like we had an audience,” and as soon as you hear those words leave Jaemin’s mouth your head shoots up, and looks around inspecting your surrounding. 

And to your boyfriend's credit, he was correct. There was a car parked two spaces next to you guys that wasn’t there before and you could faintly make out the outline of someone in the car. You squint your eyes to see that the figure was fully turned in your direction and to your surprise, you’re able to make out the figure. Haechan, your neighbor had been watching everything that had been going down in Jaemin’s car, and at this realization, you feel your core starting to get wet again.

[tumb1rprincess]

Yo, listening to the first couple of minutes of this episode with earbuds was such a treat. The soundscaping was so fucking good. I loved the variety of sounds as Arthur walked, how smoothly one sound faded before another started. It felt so natural, not manufactured at all.

What I wouldn’t give to see Arthur and Parker’s good cop/bad cop routine. The more I hear about Parker, the more I wish we could get a flashback scene with them or something and see how they worked together and played off each other.

lol John sounded way too enthusiastic to yell out “He’s lying!” when Arthur first started talking to Oscar, I’m fucking dying.

Damn, Arthur’s good, he’s finally in a situation where he gets to use his strengths and he’s hitting hard.

God damn it, John is spacing out more often and forgetting things and lashing out, what the hell is going on?

An alcoholic priest, okay, interesting. Not exactly a combo you see often except for comic relief characters. I'm doubting he's drinking due to the end of the prohibition though.

Oh Arthur honey, the way he sees Bella being with him as taking her away from her aspirations and dreams and he views her and Faroe’s deaths as him taking them away from Daniel, and he is so nervous about seeing him again, my heart just sank.

Jeez, Arthur and Daniel’s conversation was hard to listen to. I knew it would be, but damn. There’s just so much anger and blame between them and they know what to say to get under each other’s skin.

Oh god, I just had to stop for a second when Daniel asked Arthur why he didn’t go to Bella’s funeral. And it’s like, you get why, going to your wife’s funeral, who died in child birth while you were getting drunk and considering leaving her, how could you bear that? How could anyone bear that? But still, damn. But then that little bit where John steps in for a second and tells Arthur that Daniel is attacking a version of him that doesn’t exist anymore and he shouldn’t let him hurt him like that, oh my heart. And John is speaking for the audience as well. We’ve seen how far Arthur has come, we’ve seen how much he’s changed, and we just want other people to see it too.

WHAT THE FUCK? WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT? FUCKING COLLINS AAAAAAGH! IS DANIEL DEAD? HE AND ARTHUR JUST MADE AMENDS, WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!

God, those last few minutes made me jump out of my skin, legit like

Oh man, this is not good. this is not good, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. I'm just sitting here in shock. God damn.

[elegantmarigold]

Still fucked up over that last scene in 40. Absolutely haunting. The soundscaping and imagery were so on point. I can just imagine carpenter and Hayward standing in the middle of the street, hearing the bells tolling. The way the bells start to completely surround them as more join in from all sides. The horrified way carpenter says "how the hell did we win the war". The way her expression must have slowly shifted as the realization set in. Because she can only imagine what could have possibly happened, and none of it could have been pretty. The fact that this comes the minute they had finally made good progress on the whole reason they made this trip. The fade to silence as the episode ends. No I'm not okay I'm actually dead this scene killed me, thanks for asking.

[reverendlazarus]

FINISHED THE NEW SILT VERSES EP. JEEESUS CHRIST WHAT AN EPISODE first off, the SOUNDSCAPING? its always so good but this episode was INSANE. major props to the team for conveying an honest to god car chase through the marshland ending with a crash into a chain link fence through SOUND poor poor Carpenter, i need to get her some good hearty soup and a leg brace right fucking now. and i love Faulkner to death but god do i want to wring his stupid little zealot neck. also in the transcripts his people are called Faulknerians? is he gonna create a whole ass denomination??? and the ENDING! hayward my boy i am so glad hes doing well and PROPHET PAIGE!!! PROPHET PAIGE ON THE HORIZON!!!!!! god the parallels between paige + faulkner and hayward + carpenter are gonna be STRONG this season i can feel it. all in all banger episode i am so excited for the rest of the season

[scratchandplaster]

Stack The Deck - PART 16

CW: drug abuse, addiction, defiant whumpee, bad coping mechanism, stockholm syndrom(?)

PART 15 ⇽ [Masterlist] ⇾ PART 17

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Elliot woke to nothingness. Neither the stuffy trunk nor crack house bathroom had woken him up this kindly, yet he felt nothing: from his left pinky to his dry lips - just quietness. All the anger and fear that spurred him on during his stay were swept away.

Weird.

Tramadol 100 stood no chance against whatever lingered inside his veins, cushioning his body like wads of cotton. It felt pleasant, more than that, reliving. Like for the first time in this damned year, he found a chance to breathe free of pain.

If this was what constituted a junkie, Elliot might gladly be one.

Despite the calm soundscape surrounding him, he didn't dare to take a peek yet. After the weakness that Chris revealed, one could only suspect what else he liked to smash to pieces now. 

The filthy concoction he stabbed Elliot with was incomparable to ordinary MR tablets. No, this was the good shit. The kind of stuff his doctors had withheld from him time and time again, the kind they give you before you get stuffed in a disheveled Honda, borrowed from the crazy grandpa down the street.

Maybe if he said pretty please, Chris would be so kind and give him another pinch.

Careful as a fawn, Elliot peeked through his lashes. Flat on his back like he had just been picked up and slapped down on the bed, he never felt freer, mainly thanks to the absence of any cuffs around his wrist. Chris probably failed to find the other one in this mess.

Only then did Elliot notice the smear of sticky blood across his arms - not his own, one might add, his fingernails cut short hastily to take his last weapon away. The cause of this involuntary nap watched him closely from the other side of the room.

Chris surely had no patience left after his little stunt, yet Elliot simply couldn't care less.

For someone who "fights like a bitch", the damage was undeniable. Elliot couldn't help but grin at the swollen teeth marks arching over Morris' chin up to his lips, how the blue eyes were stained red by more than just a few tears. 

Sniffling like he got stood up at prom, Chris pressed a bag of frozen peas to his neck and dared to break the silence first: "Happy now?"

What a diva. Elliot swallowed, no venom left to spit.

"Quit whining. You had it coming."

Nobody had kissed him this way since high school, and for good reasons. Disgusting. Absentmindedly wiping over his mouth with a sleeve, Elliot was unsure about his next steps.

What was that guy thinking? His boyfriend…guilt does that to a lonely man, huh?

Since Amber, he never really thought of risking that humiliation again, but if he did, it would not be for Christoph Morris, never like that. Elliot surely had more fun making out with the wood-chip wallpaper than him any day of the week.

On the upside, though…

"Now we have to start over," his host moaned accusatory, throwing the peas aside to reveal three long and harsh gashes across his skin, "For fuck's sake, you were nearly done with it all! And don't blame me, you went ahead and ruined all our progress this time."

That man really couldn't stop regurgitating his own shit until it tasted like honey. "Again" was acid on Elliot's otherwise so comfortable skin; not another week in withdrawal, he would rather peel his flesh off the limbs piece by piece. 

Wordlessly, he held his left hand in front of him - half of it limp as a glove - and clenched it into a fist.

Weak. Pathetic even. And without a single twinge of pain.

His rage was snuffed out and with it the fire, inside and out, gifting him the cure he searched for so long. The endless flare inside him was not just subdued, not better.

Gone. 

Nothing that would last, surely, Elliot wasn't that naive. Yet, the fantasy of securing this state for as long as possible let a new spark bloom inside his mind.

Make him like me. And who knows, maybe I'll allow him the one or other trade-off we both profit from.

But for that to happen, the senseless pursuit of absolute sobriety had to die. If he was not allowed to leave, so be it! Morris better get used to caring like he claimed, then. 

"I'm hungry," Elliot yawned and noticed Chris through his spread-out fingers, busy picking at the seams of the thawing plastic bag. Unable to stop his whining, he glared back, ashamed by how brutally his confession had opened him up for rejection.

"And?"

"You have anything sweet around here?" The plaque on Elliot's teeth tasted of cold ash and copper as his tongue ran over it.

"No," Chris spit, strategically keeping the smushed key lime pie on the kitchen table a secret, "No way. After what you did..."

What did I do?, Elliot wondered, a blur of fists and red splatter being the only memory of yet another brawl his brain managed to pull from the fog. Third time's the charm, it seems, at least when leaving a mark as a thank you for all of Elliot's.

A nice strike.

If inspected closer, one might have spotted Elliot rolling his eyes before swinging his legs out of the bed and standing up; as did Chris, skittishly guarding the door. Another race to the exit fell dead before it could ever start. 

More than embarrassed, Morris felt queasy about his next step. Could he just pretend that nothing happened? Or find a new approach to how fussy Elliot acted?

Unbelievably, his guest dug placidly through the box of old clothes under the bed, before pulling out a pair of loose-fitting pants. The scabs on his hands and knees had crumbled away already. Despite the way this involuntary striptease made Chris tingle with excitement, he kept his guard up. 

Nevertheless, Elliot hadn't wasted a thought on approaching the locked door behind them, too spellbound while buttoning up his shirt with both hands. Both. Sloppy execution and a shaky hold didn't stop the disks of horn from slipping into their designated place. 

Be nice to him for a refill, apparently the only action he was able to take during this stalemate, and get out of here. Elliot felt no need to rush today. 

Kneeling on the floor, still very invested in opening and closing his shirt as if trying to drive Chris insane, Elliot noticed another box beside him. Sleek and colorful, the packaging reminded him of a tile mosaic. 

Azul. 

Living on his own had a few disadvantages the lonely collection of board games made him painfully aware of. No wonder he's so desperate for company.

"Do you like it? It's not a card game, but you still need good strategy," Chris finally spoke up.

They had to pick up the pieces somewhere and a quick round may be helpful in raising the spirits. Oh, the fun they had together, before he...before the situation got out of control. "I thought about getting the sequel too, it's supposed to be even better."

"A board game sequel?"

"Yeah, it won a few awards."

A game night, seriously? For all the ones he stole from him and his parents. Even so, a rather small price to pay compared to whatever else this guy had on his mind an hour ago. A trade Elliot could be interested in.

"Looks fun enough," he shrugged, not yet ready to put on a happy face. 

"Care for a round?"

Once more, Elliot simply shrugged. 

In and out of the room, Chris quickly returned with a foil pan and two forks in hand. Be the bigger man, he reminded himself while swallowing so much more than the rejection, be forgiving. The soggy peace offering laid between them on the floor. If Elliot should stay with him, voluntary and well-behaved, his host had to accept certain needs.

"So, you feel better now?"

"Obviously," Elliot muttered without looking up from the game manual. Next to him, a fork was carefully dropped on the carpet, as if handling an animal ready to go berserk again any second. "It's a lot easier if you don't steal my meds."

Decent intentions aside, Elliot spoke the truth. Keeping up last week's plan would only make history repeat itself, a fact Chris wanted to avoid at all costs. Strength and patience had left him; both of them.

The room went dead quiet while they both dug chunks out of the pie. Chris dodged the crust any way he could, like shoveling for gold in the lime purée. For the first time since they reunited, no tension, no animosity from the past broke their peace. Be it for a different reason than Chris hoped for.

The small colorful tiles were passed out on cardboard circles in between them. 

Elliot, lost in thought, only stared through his playmate. His face got some color back, Chris noticed, a rosy blush to his cheeks. So cute. In a blink, Elliot snapped back to the present and faced him, voice sharp:

"What you demanded from me-" 

"I wouldn't say demanded," Chris murmured, "I-I just tried to show you-" 

"It will never happen. You hear me?" Elliot fixed his gaze on him. Not once before had Morris seen the usually so cautious thing this serious, "Never."

A mangy dog had more composure than what he showed at Elliot's demand, frowning and glancing over from his side.

"Don't you like...with men?" 

I can change that.

"That's none of your business," Elliot snarled. The nerve of this guy, what in the hell- 

Make him like me. Fine, then. "I don't like it with anyone, especially you, of all people. And that's that."

"Hmm."

At this, Chris felt at a loss. Was this a test, a chance to show that he wasn't as brash as his confession painted him? A punishment even? Or a lie, though Amber had definitely complained more than once about being neglected this way.

One way or the other, he knew that he knew nothing and for Elliot's good mood to last, Chris needed to accept some compromises. For the moment.

Finally, Elliot picked up four yellow tiles, scattering the rest in the middle.

"Your turn."

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterlist]

Taglist: @whatwasmyprevioususername, @canislycaon24

[catharsis-in-a-bottle]

THINGS THAT I LOVED ABOUT OPPENHEIMER IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER:

the soundtrack was fucking FANTASTIC. thank you ludwig göransson, you never disappoint🫡🫡🫡🫡

the overall sound design and use of sound (and lack thereof) was also AMAZING. the thundering feet.... christopher nolan's characteristic "damn i can barely hear the dialogue" soundscapes... I love

HELLOOOOOO CILLIAN MURPHY IS A PHENOMENAL ACTOR. I ALREADY KNEW THIS BUT I WAS REMINDED OF THAT FACT WITHIN THE FIRST LIKE FIVE SECONDS OF THIS MOVIE

RDJ was also surprisingly great (not that I was expecting him to be BAD, just.... I saw how they treated iron man and was scarred IDK) i now need to research strauss because i did not know about him

I PREDICTED BEFOREHAND THAT RICHARD FEYNMAN WOULD EITHER MAKE AN APPEARANCE 1) PLAYING THE BONGOS AND/OR 2) BREAKING INTO SOMEONE'S OFFICE FILES. I WON

(i really love richard feynman guys. BUT THATS BESIDE THE POINT)

ohhh kenneth branagh is also AMAZING. and also i love niels bohr

i just love physicists okay. scientists are incredible people and i hope to one day count myself among their numbers. the presumed autism really won with this movie because i was internally flipping the fuck out the entire time whenever anyone new showed up (HEISENBERG)

THIS MOVIE SHOWS THAT THE HEART OF SCIENCE IS STILL HUMAN EMOTION. DESIRE. FEAR. CURIOSITY. cillian murphy did an amazing job of showing how CONFLICTED oppenheimer must have been over the creation of an atomic bomb - and also an amazing job at showing oppenheimer's mix of personal morals, ranging from affairs to nuclear warfare

honestly there were so many tidbits in there for physics lovers. the pile reactor.... feynman...... the initial sequences with the flashing strings of energy.......... i'm in love

like. the universe is beautiful and when you pull it apart with math it becomes even more beautiful and once you start learning more about it you can never stop. YOU KNOW???

and once you start getting interested in nuclear physics you're afraid that your interest can never be used for anything except for weapons development and you hate the world. YOU KNOW?????

POST GOT PERSONAL SO I'M ENDING IT HERE. GOOD DAY TO YOU

[leynaeithnea]

Hi :)

here is a lil ask to use whenever you're ready to go insane about love in paradise ( go nuts with your analysis!!! Make it a thousand pages essay!!! Or half a sentence, anything you want love<3 )

YeS YES YES YES THANK YOU AAAH here you go seven pages/3600 words essay :>

TW, for SA/Sxcide mention/discussion, you know the deal with the song

29. Love In Paradise

THE DIVE INTO THE SOUND SCAPE WITH THE CHOIR, the melody, and the clicking clock??? SO GOOD

“Old friend” FRIEND Aaaah U FINIALLY ADMIT IT

“It′s been 10 years since I last saw you” YOU DIDNT CHECK ON HIM IN 10 YEARS GIRL

“Remember me, I am the infamous, Odysseus!, Oh, woah-oh, woah-oh” This was the last time she saw him, its been 10 years, she quick minded him right after that, and HASNT SEEN HIM SINCE--- i love how it is sped up and you can visualize her literally diving through his memories in a timelapse

“Let’s see where you′ve been” FINIALLY, but also thE VOCAL PERFORMANCE (this is me like 90% of this saga, im obssessed)

I LOVE the soundscape of the flashbacks, the way that sounds with a mild echo like in big room? just...in his mind?? IDK how to call it but ITS SO GOOD

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer” - the first thing that went wrong “Ruthlessness is mercy upon oursel-” BIG THING THAT WENT WRONG

“One wrong move and you’re done for

Anything I-” close call

“Song of past romance I see the” smart way to recall the underworld saga AND bring up the sirens, followed by

“We won’t take more suffering from you”, the way that ody embraced his monster

“Drown in your sorrow and fears” -that didnt go well very long, also, timelaps is slowing down, we’re getting closer to the events that answer where he spent the last years

“Captain? - I have to see her - But we′ll die -I know”, the last moments before he disappeared, making him suffer terribly again at the hands of her father >:)

“Odysseus... where did you go?” she sounds so worrieddddd, her voice tho, pls mother dearest

THE MUSIC, is so coool the island vibes? the dodo do do dodo, the birds and the shore and the....instrument whos name i forgot the tip-tap thing is soo comfy vibesssss, beach island holiday vibes!!

“Morning, sleepyhead, You′ve been resting for a while, I swore that you were dead when you washed up on my isle”.......i need...visuals......i need the most angsty visuals i can get of this, please, i need to see him wash up, more dead then alive and then unconscious for who knows how long, with his stab wound, the concussion from Eurys punch, whatever wounds he got from the lighting hitting his ship AND almost drowning, getting taking care of by her until he wakes up again...

“Did you know you talk in your sleep? Tell me though, who’s Penelope?” ........is she hoping that he’ll say his sister or was she just trying to make small talk?

“She′s my wife”, he sounds so tired/distanced from the situation, her reminding him instantly of the one thing he’s holding on to, maybe remembering what just happened, he needs to go back...

HER SILENCE AFTER THAT IS SO TELLINGS SEGGSEIGS THE ANIMATIC WAS HILARIOUS, i love gigi

and then the “anyways!” WHAT DO YOU MEAN “ANYWAYS” SHE IS HIS LOVE HIS LIGHT HIS REASON YOU DONT ANYWAYS PENELOPE ahem, im vibing so hard to this tho

“I’ve got all you could want here, all you could need here” sounds nice, i would 100% fall under her spell, her voice is beatiful

“Just you and me, my dear, my love for life” uh oh where is this going, huh?? huh???? >:) Ma’am, this is not yours

“Soon, into bed we′ll climb and spend our time” DONT U FUCKING DARE TOUCH HIM HES BEEN THROUGH ENOUGH HES THE ONLY FAITHFUL MAN IN ANCIENT GREECE LET HIM BEEEEEEEEE

“I’m not your man-” THE JUST A MAN REPHRASING? EXCUSE ME???? this is going so differently compared to Circes there are other ways, he has no interest in her, all he wants is to go back home, hes sacrificed the rest of his crew for that, he. needs. to go. home. (the delivery tho omg so good)

“I′m what you want here, I’m what you need here, Just you and me, my love in paradise, Now ‘til the end of time” he does not need you, he does not want you, this is not paradise for him, get the fuq away from my baby girl odysseus, i know youre lonely on your little island, i know zeus did you wrong, BUT THAT DOES NOT GIVE YOU ANY RIGHT TO TAKE CLAIM TO ODYSSEUS; HE IS NOT YOUR MAN

“From here on out, you′re mine, all mine” possissive much, fuck off >:) also thats what he greets him with? thats....not...no. he’s been through so much, he fought in a war he never wanted to go to for ten years, he used a wooden horse to finially end the war because he just needed to go back home, he had to kill a child to choose his family, they were safe on their way home when his best friend got killed, then they almost made it home, but the bag was opened, most of his crew died, his men got turned into pigs and he got another round of the gods playing games with him (see: hermes telling Ody not to refuse circe in homers odyssey when she wants to take him to bed, so he doesnt, he cant refuse the demands of gods), once they finially leave their island with his men back as humans, they have to go through the underworld where EVERY loss he had (which are more than he knew) comes back to haunt him, he learns his family is in danger, theres blood in his palace, all his mercy is harming him, so he embraces the thing he never wanted to be - a monster - and when the sirens come, he kills them, but he has to go further than that, the only way to get home is to sacrifice six of his men, so he does, six more men to haunt his dreams, if thats the price he has to pay he will, but his men turn on him, his trusted brother in law, not only opened the windbag, now he also starts a mutiny, the men he tried to bring home so badly betray him, stab him, bind him to a statue and he can do nothing but watch as they kill the cattle, his doom is sealed, zeus shows up and tells him to either choose himself, or his crew, hes a broken man, how much more has he to go through before he can go home? but he has to home to his family, so he chooses, his last decision he has to make, and he sinks into the ocean, thinking maybe, he can finally close his eyes, he needs to go home but he is so tired of suffering he would welcome an end of it...but then he wakes up, on this peaceful island, with a woman next to him, who suddenly puts claim on him, she wants him IN HER BED??? He needs to go home. he’s alive, he survived zeus and poseidon and aelus and circe and the underoworld and the war and-...he became the monster, he knows what to do, just another face in his nightmares to get home

“Hell no, I could kill you where you stand” he just has to be the monster

“I′m no pet, I’m a married man” HE HAS TO HIGHLIGHT THAT HE IS MARRIED TO HER AH, the fact that he feels like she sees him as a pet? picked up like a stray dog and kept as a pet....he is not that, i also love his electric guitar is in the background together with the ticking clock of the time dive

“Oh handsome, you may try, But last I checked, goddesses can′t die” she doesnt feel threatened by him at all, because she is a goddess, how could a mortal man refuse her? he cant, even if he tries, he has no choice (but also, i hate jorge for dropping this line, just before godgames, ITS LEAVING US NOT KNOWIng WHAT THE HECK HAPPENED THERE)

THEN THE DROP IN THE MUSIC AH its becoming so imposing and threatening AND ITS SO COOL

“Goddess?” terrified, here they go again, another goddess, he is powerless against these forces, it cant be, he needs to get home, how can his luck be so bad?

“You’re adorable” SHE DOES SEE HIM LIKE A PET, HE CALLS HIM CUTE; HE DOESNT FEEL ANY THREAT FROM HIM; HES A GODDESS HES JUST A MAN AH

“Bow down now to the immortal Calypso” CALYPSO YOU BITCH LEAVE MY MAN ALONE; but liek The fuQing audacity? to ask him to bow down? you just told him hes the love of your life and now you ask him to bow down???? THE POWER IMBALANce is so stRONG IN THIS ONE I CANT EVEN

“Here to entertain” entertain who? mh?? YOURSELF? with your new “pet”? NO shut up

“But fear not, I bring no pain” Calpyso, come a bit closer so i can punch you, youre KEPEign him on YOUR ISLAND; THE LACK OF ACTion IS WHATS goNNA KILL HIM; NOT YOU HURTING HIM PHYSICALLY; YOU TORTURE HIM IN the WORST WAYS emotionALLY SO GET AWAYYYYYYYYYY FROM PENELOPES MAN

“Cause we′ve got, All we could want here, All we could need here”, the way she keeps approaching him, dancing around him and trying to get close, while he keeps backing away and trying to get away From her is killing me, they have everything they need to survive yes, which means he does not have to do any work, he has NOTHING to distract him from you, all he can do is do what you tell him to because youre a goddess and he’s at your mercy and SUFFER sitting with his own thoughts and all his regret and shame and pain and trauma and yearing to go back home

“Under my spell, we’re stuck in paradise” fuck you. this is not paradise, this is hell :) :) :) RELEASE HIM

“No one can come or go, my island stays unknown” this, might very well be the worst moment for Ody so far, after EVERYTHING he’s been through. He choose his crew to die, it was supposed to be the last decision, it was supposed to be the climatic event before the end, all the expectations and tensions that rose in him getting set so high but instead..... nothing happens, he gets stuck in “paradise”, no monsters to fight,its not violent, theres no external threads to his life, things should be good, and happy and peaceful. its anti-climatic, and stifling because he has no way to release all this tension, its just stagnation, and all this tension getting internalized, it might very well be worse than having something you can fight against, but Calypso is a goddess, he cant harm her, her spell keeps him stuck on the island, he is powerless. His goal, his reason, his hope impossibly out of reach, all in the hand of this goddess, who doesn’t take no as an answer

“no, no” i love how Jorge wrote another “suffering” thing again, where the last syllable of one speaker gets picked up by the other “unknown” “no” becoming “Unknowno,no” its SO GOOD, but also the implications???? the last time we had this a siren wanted to seduce him and lure him into the water, now its a goddess wanting to lure him into loving and staying with her, again, he tries to find excuses and fend her off, his argumentation is a lot weaker than with the sirens though, he doesnt have a way out, all he can do is refuse and pray she listens, also CALYPSO BITCH THERES NO CLEARER WAY HE COULDVE SAID “NO”; LEAVE HIM BE; HE SAID NO FUCKING ACCEPT THAT HE DOES NOT CONSENT

“I don′t belong here”, he doesnt, time passes, he has to tell himself that this isnt where he’s meant to be, he needs to go, he has to leave.

“There’s something wrong here”, how many times do you think he almost gave in? how many times do you think she was lured in by her spell only to shake the spell off again because he kept feeling that something was wrong, never really falling under her spell, never staying under it for long, because its wrong, this isnt where he needs to be, he needs to get home because his family is waiting at home, theyre in danger.

“I won’t be drawn to love in paradise, not ′til the end of time, there is no way” she just has nothing on penelope. and he will never be interested in calypso as seductive as she tries to be, circe failed, calyspo fails even worse (i love these vocal performances man, theyre SO GOOD)

“You′re mine, all mine” Annnnnd she doesnt take no as answer again, shes so possessive I HATE it, how she drowns out Odys “theres no way - youre mine, all mine” she drowns out and swallows up his voice, ignores him, his voice goes unheard...

and we go back to the clock ticking of the time dive of athena

“Seven years, she’s kept you trapped, out of your control, time can take a heavy toll” SEVEN. YEARS. sagnation for SEVEN YEARS. THIS IS TERRIBlE, Athena sounds so sad...and concerned, from what she’s seen, but just...imagine that, he fought in troy for 10 years, now odys been stuck on this island for almost just as long, and before that he had EVERYTHING ELSE happen to him, feeling powerless against outside forces for YEARS, it weights down in him, all he can do is internalize it, because there is no monster he can fight, but himself. and...we can hear the danger motif in the choir.....because...he’s become a danger to himself....

the soundscape shifts again, we go back into a memory, its raining and windy, at the beach

“Odysseus?”, she geninuely sounds concerened, what could make her concerned i wonder....

“All I hear are screams”,...he...he’s broken, a callback to the underworld, he sounds defeated, hopeless, dissociative

“Ody”...Ody......you dare call him ody? you may have known each other for seven years but you DID NOT treat him right, you have no RIGHT to call him that, the last person who called him Ody was Eurylochus before he signed their doom.

“Get away from the ledge”....hes.....on his last rope, its been seven years since he sacrificed his last crew, ten years since he lost polites, eight since he lost most of his crew, twenty years since he last saw his family, she wants to keep him at the island for eternity, he cant leave, theres no way out, so now he’s here, on the cliffs edge staring out into the deepths below, knowing that Poseidon is still out to get him, but behind him is a Goddess that made him suffer just as bad, if not worse, rly is there any way to escape?

“You don′t know what I’ve gone through, You don′t know what I’ve sacrificed, every comrade I long knew, every friend, I saw them die”, its been more than seven years, and they still haunt his every waking and sleeping hour. he sacrificed everything to get back home, and yet it was not enough, now hes stuck here, and all sacrfices were for nothing, and he has nothing to distract him, when the goddess doesnt want his attention, he just....sits at the beach replaying their deaths over and over in his mind. [One translation of the scenes in Homers Odyseey: She found him sitting on the shore, his eyes as ever wet with tears, life’s sweetness ebbing from him in longing for his home, since the Nymph no longer pleased him. He was forced to sleep with her in the hollow cave at night, as she wished though he did not, but by day he sat among rocks or sand, tormenting himself with tears, groans and anguish, gazing with wet eyes at the restless sea] just....for SEVEN years? good gods, homer really said “how much trauma can we fit into this one man”

“And all I hear are screams” .....and all he hears are their screams

“(It will be fine dear)”, it wont, fuck off, not as long as you keep him trapped

“Come back inside, dear” ..............i...come back inside? to do what? remind him that hes stuck with you? force him to-............my rage is endless.

“Love of my life, come back to paradise” HE DOESNT LOVE YOU; STOP CALLING HIM THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE, THIS IS STILL NOT PARADISE; DONT::::TRY TO ....BEWITCH HIM, YOU SELFISH BIch

“Let me close my eyes”, hes...so....sooo..so tired. he just wants to close his eyes..and..not open them anymore, doesnt he? He sang to the infant “to close your eyes to spare yourself the view”, he wants to do the same, hes so so tired.....

“I know your life′s been hard”, you have no idea

“I’ll stay inside your heart”,....did you just......did...you really just......use the words his mother said to him in the underworld? ...............

“All I hear are screams!” hes having flashbacks, the ghosts of his past keep haunting him, and shes making it so, so mcuh worse

“(I love you my dear) I love our time here

Life would be so much worse If you had died” YOUR LIFE, the worst part is, she doesnt say this because Ody deserves better, she says this because if he was gone, she would be alone again, and she just wants to have him, own him, have him be hers

“(Just let me close my eyes)”, she doesnt...let him close his eyes, he spents the nights in her bed against his will, and the days, crying at the beach, and when he sleeps he must be haunted by nightmares......theres no rest ever really.

“Please stay from away from harm, Stay in my open arms.......................she..just....made it so so much worse, ALSO JORGE; JORGE WHEN I CATCH YOU JORGE HOW DARE YOU HOW DARE YOU SLAP OPEN ARMS AT US AGAIN WILL POLITES NEVER STOP HAUNTING THE NARRATIVE, Calyspo rly threw “Ody”, “stay inside your heart” and “open arms” at him consecutively, while he was already deep down the trenches.and now......

“(All I hear are-)” what he hears is....

“This life is amazing when you greet it with open arms, Whatever we face, we’ll be fine if we′re leading from the heart, No matter the place, we can light up the world here′s how to start Greet the world with open arms, greet the world with open”

Polites, all his opens, and promises, and he cant live up to it, he tried, he tries so HARD to greet the world with open arms, but he cant, but ruthlessness did not help him either, he misses polites, he was the last person he had at sea who TRULY cared for him, hes having a flashback, PTSD so badly as he is standing at the edge of the cliff, i can just see him falling to his knees, crying and then...

“How much longer till your luck runs out? How much longer till the show goes south? How much longer till we all fall down?”, he hears eurys warning, how much longer till his liuck runs out? his luck has run out, for years now, and hes still stuck, everything has turned bad, the show went south, they all fell down and yet.....

“Waiting..waaiting” his mom....said shed stay inside his heart, he took too long, its been twenty years since he left home, how many other people are waiting for him while is stuck on the island? all these voices are just...inside his head all the time and cant shake them off.

“ooohooooh...ohhh” THE VOCAL PERFORMANCE JORGE- JORGE-... hes just screaming, trying to drown out the voices in his head as he’s breaking down....he wants to let go, he cant let go, he needs to get back home, his family is in danger, theres no one who could help him, the only one, who might have been able to do something, his ally, left him ten years ago, when he defied her, but she is a goddess, if she has any mercy left...maybe...jsut maybe...she could help him...but she wouldnt really listen to him would she? how often has he prayed to her in those years? or has he refused to call out for her in fear of facing more rejection? but...he cant do this any longer, this is ...the very last thing he can do....and so he calls out for her.

“Athena!”, praying that what has been broken can be amended. at least with her.

“He needs my help” and his cry gets heard......athena voice breaks, when she sees how far her friend has fallen.

.....and she decides to do something about it

Oh boyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy, I was worried about this song, how Jorge would choose to tackle the whole situation with calypso, while sticking to his “sfw” rule, AND I DID NOT GET DISAPPOINTeD QUITe on the cONtrary IM OBSSESED WITH IT

also the way polites is in one ear, Eury in the other and his mother all around him? the two sides that Ody had back then, polites more positive, and eury as more devil and both are gone and then his mother is just ALL AROUND HIM

typing this up took a couple of days, but if you will excuse me, imma go cry in a corner now