I don't open social media for an afternoon and when I do it's absolute chaos wtf
And what I've seen is pissing me off tbh. Joost is not a monster. But he's also not an absolute saint. Or a dumb baby. He's not perfect. And thank God he isn't. I like that he's human. A human who is actually human. With empathy and a good heart. And he's smart and funny and sweet and loves people and cares about them. He's an amazing artist and an even better person. And it's not fair to say he's awful. Which doesn't mean you can't criticize the new song about Russia or any other thing he does. You absolutely can! But he's not a piece of shit and I hate when people treat him like that.
I don't support the war and hate that it's happening, but the hatred I've seen towards Russian people just because they're Russian is insane. Unity isn't war, but it also isn't insulting people simply for being born in a country that's run by an evil monster. And I hope Joost's intentions with the new song were to say he loves Russian PEOPLE even though he hates the WAR and their GOVERNMENT. I hope his intentions were to make Russian people (the ones who also hate the war and their own government) feel loved when the world is hating on them. Because that's what he does. He makes people feel loved. That man has mentioned a lot of countries and languages in his songs and speeches and makes sure to always show them love. Was the new song a good way to transmit that message? Oh definitely not. But I like to think the intentions were good, at least.
just to add onto this: i am never ever one for listening or engaging with leaked music (it’s very damaging for the artist!!), but #That song ended up on my twitter feed and i genuinely think it needs to be reiterated (again) that appreciating a very broad culture in no way at all equates to supporting an entire government regime. absolutely there are criticisms to be made about the poor song title + its feature, (fuck tommy cash), but in the most polite way possible, i really think there’s something to be said about how so many of us (joostwt) seem to lack the most basic critical thinking skills. i honestly can’t think of a nicer way to phrase it than that.
like if #That song now somehow makes him pro-russian, then so are artists like rvb and mr polska etc, who have also released songs about stereotypical aspects of slavic culture such as adidas and vodka, but i’ve never seen anyone ever make the same accusations about those guys. maybe that’s something to think about.
request: “hiii! I love ur work! i was wondering if you could write a joost fic where the reader's father passed when they were like 13-14, and maybe it's like the 10 year anniversary of the death. maybe just reader and joost talking to eachother, bc he knows how it feels, and he's comforting her. idk sorry if I'm weird.”
tags: dead dove do not eat, f! reader, non-famous! reader, foreign/non-dutch! reader, eurovision era joost, maybe just a little bit of angst, but it’s almost entirely hurt x comfort, all dialogue is written in english for obvious reasons.
warnings: mentions of death/parental loss, grief, self harm, rpf.
word count: 4,976.
notes: lots of love and a very big hug to the anon that requested this one; i really hope that you don’t mind too much that i strayed a little far from the original ask. my inbox is always open to you if you ever need someone to talk to + as always, fat smooches to my beta-readers @blueessber & @minuutvanverval too, i love you both very very muchly <3
but this fic is actually quite a special one, because it’s a re-work of a wip that i’ve had sat in my google docs since summer 2024, and therefore it predates this blog by at least a good few months. i never really planned on doing anything with it, but today i hit 300 follows and wanted to celebrate that with something sentimental i guess. it’s been tweaked here and there, and i honestly gave up entirely on writing the ending, but it’s more or less the first joost klein fic that i ever wrote. please also note that it comes with a SUBSTANTIAL TRIGGER WARNING. enjoy xx
joost understands what it’s like to grieve; to have your whole world view ripped out from right underneath your feet. he’s spent almost half of his life trying to live with it — the cold, dead weight that sits heavy on his chest. fourteen years spent struggling to cope, to breathe, when everyday he chokes on the grief that clings to him. it’s something he wouldn’t wish upon the worst of the worst because truly, no one deserves to feel like this, like he always does.
so when it happens to you, he doesn’t really know what to do.
he knew that your father was sick, and that he had been for quite some time. by your third date you had shared with him all of the gruesome truths of your childhood. like his own, it was lonely. like him, you also couldn’t accept the loss of a parent. except for you, your mother had chosen to leave you behind; she was alive and well, she just didn’t want you. no matter how much it hurt, you were always okay, though. since you were six, you’d grown to be ‘fine’ with it because you still always had your dad, after all. the man was your best friend. you didn’t need anyone else.
so joost already knew as well that you’d be reluctant to move in with him for no other reason other than your father. when he first fell ill, you sacrificed almost everything for him. years of your life were spent stuck inside different hospital rooms, holding onto his hand each time he had to hear that yet another new drug hadn’t worked for him. you were still willing to spend the rest of your life by his side; if it wasn’t for joost, you certainly would have.
and then when your lives had turned upside down overnight, joost knew that it was taking a toll on you, too. by the time that the last of your things had made it to his home in amsterdam, you had to leave again for sweden. the both of you found yourselves swept up in the whirlwind that was eurovision and with it, the rest of the world began to slip away. for the first time in your life you went a day, then a week, and then two, without speaking to your father. the guilt of it weighed you down, but you hid behind a brave face that no one else but joost had the eyes to see through.
it meant that it just made sense to send you home, at least for a little while.
except you still insisted on coming with him to canada though, didn’t you? despite how he tried not to let it show around you, his disqualification crushed him, and suddenly the idea of getting back on stage made him feel heavy, almost nauseous. whether he could admit it or not, joost needed you too. staying meant pushing back your trip home by a couple days but you didn’t hesitate to do so; you couldn’t just leave him. not like that, not now.
when he struggled to sleep the night before his show, you stayed up with him until he drifted off on his own. when he tried to drink himself stupid during soundcheck, you cut him off before he could take it too far. and when his hands began to shake just moments before having to run on stage, you held them steady as you helped him breathe through his nerves. you were there for him in the same way that he’s always been there for you, whenever you needed him to be.
and you had still been there with him backstage, the small group you were with still riding high on the post-show adrenaline. you listened to them make plans of going clubbing and watched as pre-drinks started to fly around the room, already knowing that you wouldn’t be joining them. your flight was early the next morning and the idea of going through airport security hungover was enough to deter you from celebrating too.
no one had questioned you on your decision, either. your friends didn’t know much, only that you had something going on back home, so they gave you no trouble at all. but whilst they offered you soft smiles and a few different versions of “but you’re definitely coming with us next time!”, joost’s gentle grip on your thigh only tightened. every so often he’d glance your way, occasionally mouthing a silent “you ok?” and only relaxing again once you reassured him with a nod that you were.
he never liked it when you were quiet like that. he knew you well enough to know that it meant you were stuck inside your own head, overthinking too much. it worried him, made him wonder if going out later without you was a good idea or not. when your phone began to ring, he almost went to step out of the room with you, and only stopped himself when aspon lured him back into their conversation with a shot or two of don julio.
as far as distractions went, it was a good one. despite his worry, joost still found himself wrapped up in one of stunt’s many elaborate stories. it led to a third round of badly poured shots, turning the small, wooden coffee table sticky with the white liquor. for just a second, he began to feel at ease again, and then with a half-burnt cigarette in his hand he reached in for another drink.
he only froze once he heard you screaming from the hallway. it was almost nauseating just how quickly the rest of the room fell silent with him.
joost called out for you, his voice unsteady and desperate, though he waited not even a full second for an answer before he rushed to the door. a few of the others also jumped to their feet, appie and stuntje being only a few steps behind him as they ordered the rest to stay back, just in case.
it didn’t take them very long to find you collapsed on your knees with your arms wrapped around yourself, your whole body convulsing from just how hard you were crying. somewhere beside you on the ground laid your phone with your aunt still on the line, muttering pointless words of comfort in a language only you could understand. there wasn’t a single thing that she could have said to make it all better again, to make it all go away — your father had passed only a few hours ago, alone.
another scream clawed its way out of you, leaving your throat all scratched up and sore. you couldn’t do it; you couldn’t go the rest of your life feeling like this even though you already knew that you would. there would be no recovering from it, no ‘healing’. already there were parts of you starting to decay as you struggled to breathe through your cries; parts of you that you would surely have to learn to mourn as well.
“baby? fuck, hey, talk to me. what happened?”
his question was a wasted one, because joost already knew the answer to it, didn’t he? there was only ever one reason for someone to cry like that, as though they were being torn apart from the inside out; he knew that better than anyone. he still found himself asking it, though, because he just didn’t know what else to say.
he had to settle for holding your face in his hands as he crouched down in front of you, waiting for your reply, and he got to work wiping away each of your tears even though his own were threatening to fall. “hey, honey, look at me. what’s going on?”
“he’s…he’s gone, joost. i…” your words trailed off, the lump in your throat becoming too much to try and talk through. you had finally met joost’s eyes, and the way he was looking back at you had your heart pounding from inside your chest. he was terrified; you could feel it in the shaking of his hands as he cradled your face. “i don’t…i can’t, he’s-”
“-sh, sh, sh, it’s okay. just breathe for me, liefje.”
in broken movements you crawled into his arms, the tips of your fingers clutching onto the shoulders of joost’s jacket. he moved along with you, sitting with you on the floor as he helped you onto his lap and let your legs wrap around his middle. it was like that, that the two of you stayed for a minute, warm hands tracing circles onto your back as you wept into the crook of his neck.
you thought you had one more day. you were supposed to have one more day. you weren’t naive, you knew that your father didn’t have much time left with how much pain he was in, but that didn’t mean he was meant to go so soon. every text, every phone call, came with the same promise that he was alright and just missing you; that he couldn’t wait to see you again. and just like him, every time, you would promise that you’d visit as soon as you could.
the idea of that, of your dad alone and waiting for you, oblivious to the fact that you would never show, was what truly devastated you. after everything that man did for you, gave up for you — you still left him. you would never forgive yourself for it; already you knew it would be a burden you’d have to carry for as long as you were to keep breathing. no matter how much it hurt, you deserved it. all the grief, the ache; the agony of knowing you have to live the rest of your life now, without him.
you had no one but yourself to blame.
it only made you cry harder, somehow, and joost finally found himself giving in. tears of his own began to fall as he held you to his chest that much tighter, his forehead resting on the top of your head. he didn’t know what else to do, if there was anything else he could do. seeing you like this, so irrevocably heartsick, without the power to help was the closest to hell that he had ever been. for the first time in fourteen years, joost found himself praying to any god listening that they would save you from this, even if it meant he would have to carry your pain on his own back.
he could only carry you back to your hotel instead.
you couldn't remember much from the night before, only the feeling of being suffocated by your own skin; everything too much but then not enough, and no matter what you did, it just wouldn’t stop. you remembered that look on joost’s face when he’d first found you, and how his hands had trembled as they’d held your face so delicately.
but other parts of the night remained completely blank for you, didn’t they? like how you couldn’t quite recall why your arms were suddenly so decorated with soft spots of black and blue. the bruises dark and sore, and shaped like fingerprints that had been printed carefully into the skin of your forearms.
if you’d had the strength to speak, you would have asked about them. if you’d had the energy to care, then there were actually a dozen different questions that you needed answering. ones that you knew joost would know the answer to, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to talk, no matter what you did or how hard you tried. you doubted whether or not you’d be able to do much else other than sink deeper into the mattress, the weight of your father’s absence more than enough to leave you paralysed.
with your back to him, you had been ignorant to the way that joost was watching you from his side of the bed. unlike you, he was still yet to fall asleep and had long ago given up on doing so, because unlike you, he could remember everything from last night. From the moment you passed out, leaving him stuck and alone inside his own head, every second of it played on repeat each time that he closed his eyes.
getting you back to the hotel had been easy. stuntje had taken the hint and booked the two of you an uber, whilst appie broke the news that he wouldn’t be clubbing with the rest of them either. you hadn’t moved from your place in his arms, your legs still locked around his waist and your face buried into his neck. he hadn’t minded — joost would’ve carried you to the moon and back if only you’d asked him to.
but he had been stupid, though. painfully, naively, and unbelievably, he’d taken your silence as exhaustion; that you were just in shock and had merely worn yourself out. it was why he thought he could leave you alone for just a minute, excusing himself to go refill your water bottle in the bathroom. he’d only disappeared for a moment, if that, and had left you sitting on the edge of the bed closest to where he was, where he thought you’d be okay.
“no, no, no, hey! baby, stop!”
you were still there having not moved an inch, but were now sat with two thin clumps of hair in your lap as you continued to pull out strand after strand. the first time had truly been an accident; you were crying again and went to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear with a little too much force than necessary. but it had caught you off guard, the way that the quick, sharp, pinch you’d felt somehow made you feel a little better. it had provided you with such a fleeting moment of relief that once you’d started, you had found it too hard to stop.
for all you knew, you had been sitting there for hours and you could have kept on going for at least a few more. you hadn’t heard joost call out to you, pleading for you to stop hurting yourself. it had been a strange trance to be in, one that you had just never found yourself stuck in before, but you were in the rhythm of it all nonetheless. even as the shame had begun to sink in, a small part of you already knowing that you’d regret it by morning, you hadn’t stopped. you hadn’t wanted to. your scalp stung and your fingertips ached but you liked it.
you hadn’t snapped out of it until joost had taken hold of your arms, keeping them secure in a tight grip.
“hey!” you did your best to fight against him, twisting and turning your arms in ways that hurt just to try and get him off you. “honey, stop! stop!”
there was a bitter irony in how his attempts to stop you from harming yourself had only made him the new cause of your pain. as he’d fought with you, begged with you, he had hoped that by the end of it, you would understand how he couldn’t have just stood by and watched. he could live with you hating him for it, if he had to, if it meant that you would be safe.
“get the fuck off me! you don’t get it!”
for just a moment his grip on you had softened. he gazed down at you with furrowed eyebrows, the sudden change in his demeanour forcing you to meet such worried eyes.
“i do, schat — you know i do.”
it made him feel uneasy, the way you had frozen up at his words. although reluctant to do so, he let you go, but still kept his fingers laced through yours and gave both your hands a gentle squeeze. the action had made you blink, sending another round tears streaming down your face. he could almost see the cogs turning in your head, the sudden, brutal realisation of just how wrong you had been. if anyone could understand what you were feeling, it was him.
you should have known better.
“i’m sorry…i’m so, so, sorry -”
“- shh, it’s okay, you’re alright.”
just as quickly as they had fallen, your tears seemed to vanish. with gentle swipes, joost had wiped them away, letting his hands linger on the sides of your face. everything had just hurt for you then, and he could see it. he saw you grimace at the migraine that was brewing inside your head, felt the way you leaned into his touch as though you needed him to hold your head up for you.
so it really hadn’t taken much to convince you that you needed to at least try and get some rest.
you’d crashed as soon as your head had hit the pillows, leaving joost to get you all ready for bed after you had already fallen asleep. it was a routine he was more than familiar with, having done it several times before on the nights where you had gotten a little too cocky, convinced that you’d be able to keep up with him, and consequently then gotten a little too drunk. it kept his mind busy and away from everything else — allowed him to focus on getting each and every last bit of mascara off your eyelashes instead of the half a dozen bruises that were starting to darken on your arms.
four hours had passed just like that, with joost watching over you — how you tossed and turned instead of getting any sleep himself. he’d tried to, of course, having spent the first hour or two underneath the covers with you, with an arm curled around your waist and legs tangled up with your own. but as he’d drifted off, he was reminded all over again that he still had wounds that time was yet to heal. joost wasn’t a stranger to nightmares, but that never made them any easier.
it just wasn’t worth it in his eyes. he could survive forgoing a couple hours of sleep if it meant not having to relive the very worst days of his life. he needed to have a clear head, he couldn’t let himself get stuck on his own problems when he had you to take care of.
even with your back to him, he could tell that you weren’t asleep anymore; it was the ever so slightly faster rise and fall of your chest that gave you away. your left ankle had also stopped twitching, which was something he knew only ever happened when you slept. though the closer that joost had looked, the more he took notice of how it wasn’t only your breathing that had changed, but your shoulders were beginning to shake as well.
instead of saying anything, he simply wrapped his arms around you again, pulling you from the edge of bed closer to his chest. in the process you rolled over, surrendering to his hold and letting him engulf you completely as you found yourself smooshed up against his front. his heartbeat was steady despite his worry, unlike yours that painfully thumped against your ribcage the harder that you wept.
it was a horrible feeling, knowing that your father wasn’t out there somewhere, basking in the warm, european, sun and wanting nothing more than to rub it in your face as you suffered the harsh, canadian cold. you had been relatively okay since you woke up, more numb than anything, until you’d heard the rain that pelted against the room’s large windows. on a day like today, the first thing you would have done was call your dad, ready to hear him boast about how nice it was back home, how he had already planned your next day out together for whenever it was that you were coming back home to visit again. except now you couldn’t, and the thought had hit you a lot harder than you were ready for.
“shh, it’s okay, schatje. I've got you.” you’d felt a hand get lost in your hair, gently scratching the back of your head as another dipped underneath your shirt to stroke the soft skin of your spine.“you’re okay, baby. Just…just focus on me, ja? i’m right here.”
except it just wasn’t fair, was it? that joost had-had to hold you in his arms like that, just to keep you from falling apart on him that day.
you were never meant to know hurt like it. he’d made a promise, to both you and himself, that he would keep you safe from grief; protect you from it. it hadn’t mattered to him that it was terribly idealistic; an impossible promise to keep and therefore a silly one to make in the first place. he still tried. without hesitation, joost would have killed himself twice over if it would have guaranteed you to never go through what he did.
yet here you are, almost two weeks later, scrambling for breath as you sob into his chest. he settles for helping you calm down in the only way that he knows how to, but unable to shake the feeling that he still isn’t doing enough. even now, as he helps you to sit up and wipes away the long, dark, streaks of mascara that stain your face, he feels useless. the thought was selfish, he knows that and he hates it, but it still lingers in the back of his mind.
as joost carefully stands and starts to move around your old bedroom, you watch him quietly, with your hands shaking in your lap. your little black shoulder bag hangs over his shoulder haphazardly as he races to grab anything and everything that you might need; he doesn’t stop to untangle its thin strap from where it had gotten all caught up in his tie. packets of tissues, lip glosses, multiple pairs of earphones, sunglasses, tampons, — all of it he tosses inside your bag. not that you’d be carrying it, of course, that was going to be one of his many self-assigned jobs for the day.
you blink, and suddenly he’s crouched down in front of you with his hands out, waiting for you to take a bottle of water and what was barely a decent breakfast from him. for a moment, you wonder where he’d found it, the small, unbranded, granola bar looking more and more unfamiliar to you the longer that you look at it.
“for you, schat. you need to eat something.”
you consider being honest with him, tempted to admit that the thought of ingesting anything has you fighting the urge to gag. but the longer that you stare back at him, seeing nothing but pure adoration in his gaze, you feel all the worry that’s been sitting like a stone in the pit of your stomach slowly become obsolete. all of the trouble that he’s been going to for you without any hesitation or complaint, holding you every time you cry, and helping you catch your breath when it all gets too much, too real. it’s the least that you can do for him in return, eating a fucking energy bar.
“okay…but we’re getting you something to eat before we leave too.”
you speak with a mouth full of granola, the half chewed oats and raisins masking the sound of your voice cracking. it feels as though your throat is burning, the more you talk, and no amount of breakfast food can hide the way you wince at the pain. you don’t want to think about how if your father had seen it, he wouldn’t have thought twice about offering you one of the many cough sweets he always managed to carry in his wallet.
“that’s a fair trade i think, ja.”
as he squeezes your knee, joost pretends to think over your proposed deal with a lot of theatrics. at heart he’s naturally dramatic, but you’ve known him for long enough to know that the added flare is mostly for your own benefit. like you, he too was putting on a brave face; you can see it clear as day in those big blue eyes of his.
it makes your smile falter a little bit, seeing his own twitch ever so slightly at the corners. even as he gets up again to gather the last of your things, grabbing the leather jacket that you already had laid out for yourself, you study the way his own hands seem to shake as he moves. not once have you stopped to consider the collateral damage in all of this.
“i’m sorry.”
joost freezes in his tracks. of all things he’s been expecting to hear you say today, an apology has never been one of them.
“for what?”
“this. literally all of this, joost. all i’ve done for the past week is just cry a-and talk about my dad without even thinking what this must be like for you.” as you speak in a low voice, your lip begins to wobble and each word seems to fight back against being spoken. “i mean, you’ve put your entire life on hold for me and for what? just so you can spend all day, everyday, trying to get me to stop crying? that’s not…that’s not fair.”
that one, singular, word is enough to make joost’s head spin, because you truly have no idea just how unfair all this is, do you?
he wishes he knew how to explain it. he longs to find the right words to help you understand that yeah, he doesn’t think any of this is at all fair either. since the moment he’d first heard of your father’s condition, he’s feared the day that he would inevitably learn that seeing the people you love hurt, was infinitely worse than feeling the hurt yourself.
“honey, i need you to hear me when i say this.” as he stops in front of you, leaving your jacket to lay beside you, he hunches over just enough to catch your gaze and takes your hands in his. “there is not one thing that i wouldn’t do for you, okay? you are what matters the most to me. you know that right?”
you want to say yes. you want to say that at no point in your relationship have you ever questioned what you mean to him, because really there wasn’t a single thing that joost has ever done to make you doubt it. and it’s not his fault that you’re hesitating, that you’re unable to lie but are too scared to tell him the truth. it’s just you, as it often is. you and your silly little brain that causes more problems than it has ever solved.
“i do.” — liar.
he shakes his head; it’s a soft contrast to the small smile that he wears. “no you don’t.”
it’s automatic the way that you quickly find yourself apologising to him again, despite how his eyebrows furrow from behind his glasses, and carve little creases into his forehead. maybe there’s a part of you that hopes that if you just keep on saying you’re sorry, it’ll ease some of the guilt that you’ve been carrying on your shoulders. the guilt that only ever seems to multiply each time that he so much as even looks at you, because it’s never just a ‘look’ anymore, is it?
it’s pain, and it’s worry, and it’s enough to convince you that it’ll all be too much for him sooner or later. that the day will come where joost realises that this just isn’t his burden to bear anymore, and just like that, he’ll go.
as the hearse outside beckons you to hurry up, he raises your knuckles to his lips, and kisses. “i love you — whether you can believe it or not. you have my heart, schatje. always.”
“joost…” the way that your voice carries his name makes it sound more like a beg than anything else, but it still carries the weight that you needed it to. “i don’t know if i can do this. i…”
“sh sh sh, hey, cmon, look at me.” it’s not until you do that he leans forward and cups either side of your jaw in his palms, leaving your hands to fall and rest gently in your lap. “you’ve already done the hard part, okay? today is just one last thing to get through, and you will because you’re strong enough to have gotten through everything else.”
“i don’t want to say goodbye to him, joost.”
he doesn’t hesitate, though the slight wobble of his lip betrays the soft strength of his words. “you don’t have to. it doesn’t have to be an end if you don’t want it to be. we can go to say hi instead if that feels better, or you don’t have to say anything at all. he’ll still be there with you either way.”
you’re not given the grace of letting the fresh tears fall before the car-horn of the hearse beeps again, and you’re flinching at the sharp, sudden sound of it. you can’t hold back the bile that then hits the back of your throat either, because you almost choke on it.
“let’s a take a breath, ja? follow me.”
though you just about manage to copy him without question, following his every little movement and drawing in a steady, deep breath that almost matches his own. when he guides you to hold it, you do, with his voice low and a little commanding in your ear, and you don’t let go of it until he tells you to. somehow, it’s enough to ease the nausea that still fights to weigh you down, and by the third exhale, you find yourself finally able to stand.
