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lonelywretchjervistetch · 3 days

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The State Birds Initiative: Connecticut (#5)

Hoo boy, it's been a minute! But hey, here we are again, after taking some extra time to figure stuff out. Welcome to the fifth official poll of the State Birds Initiative! Before the poll, though, one thing real quick. My suggestion is that you read the post below before voting in the poll below. That's especially important if you're lacking any context about the birds being presented as the new (or old) State Bird of the Nutmeg State, Connecticut. This is to be fully informed as to why these are being presented, and to make your choices appropriately. Lastly, some of these birds, you will notice, may go against some of the rules listed in the introduction post. All is explained after the jump where the explanations are, I promise you that. And apologies in advance, the spiel before the actual bird selection is...long. But with that...OK! Here's the poll!

Welcome to the Nutmeg State! A small state, mostly known for being between Boston and New York City, this is one of the foundational states of southern New England, while also having a somewhat...divided identity, we'll say. So, I grew up in CT, for part of my childhood, in both the classic upscale suburbs, and in the middle of the goddamn woods, right on the Connecticut River. For the record, the name "Nutmeg State" is based off of salesmen from the state known for peddling nutmegs. However, there's some speculation that the nutmegs sold were actually made of wood, but that's also probably from people who didn't know that nutmegs were supposed to be grated, and instead assumed they had to be cracked like walnuts. They tried, that failed, and they accused Connecticut Yankees for selling fake nutmeg as a result. So, yeah, a confusing legend at the root of the state's nickname.

You'll notice my use of the word "Yankee" there. Well, despite New York's domination of the term, it should arguably be most associated with Connecticut. "Yankee Doodle" is literally the state song; people from CT were previously and historically referred to as Yankees (which was also an epithet applied to northerners in general, to be fair); and it's actually possible the word was first used by the Dutch in reference to Connecticut settlers, according to multiple theories and historical references. But maybe most prominently, Yankee was used as a demonym for people from CT by one of its most favorite residents: Samuel Clemens, AKA Mark Twain.

Twain is, of course, Connecticut's most famous author, having written some of his most famous works while living with his family in Connecticut in his West Hartford house (which every central Connecticut middle school kid has been to at least once, I guaran-goddamn-tee it). Fun fact, though! Did you know...uh...ah, fuck it. Why keep stalling at this point? Look, as much as I love talking about Mark Twain, he was nothing to do with this post. Fact of the matter is...this was a hard one.

Look, I love Connecticut. It was the first state I remember living in, having moved there when I was a kid from the United States Virgin Islands, which I had been really looking forward to for a bunch of reasons. Admittedly (and unsurprisingly), a lot of that was because I was looking forward to seeing the birds! As a kid, I was also obsessed with birds, and I had never seen the birds in the US mainland before. It was an exciting time for me, and I honestly enjoyed growing up in CT, for the most part. I'd be there for almost 6 years of my life, and I have a lot of fond memories of the state. But, uh...ironically enough...finding State Bird nominees for Connecticut has been HARD AS HELL.

We will, of course, talk in GREAT detail about the American Robin (Turdus migratorius), as it's an important bird for more states than just Connecticut, but I'll give you a spoiler now: this is a boring choice for a State Bird. For any state. Don't get me wrong, I love robins! They're an extremely charismatic and iconic bird, and everybody has seen them at least once in their life if they live in the USA. They're also most likely an early bird (pun slightly intended) for people to encounter on a personal standpoint. Again, we'll get to them, but they're a notable entry in this list. And if one of the states kept the American Robin, I would understand. But, uh...is that state Connecticut?

OK, let's look at the state in the same vein as we have others. I'm sure this won't be the last difficult state to examine in the future of this project, so why not do the same here? Starting with habitat, Connecticut is another state placed within the Northeastern Coastal Zone, with a ton of deciduous forests dominated by oak, chestnut, hemlock, and white pine. There was a lot of clearance during early settlement and beyond, but succession has taken over in recent years to grow the forests back. The state's cut in half by the Connecticut Valley, with large floodplains dominated by maple and cottonwood, with the large Connecticut River right in the center of the valley. Finally, the Berkshires in the northwest corner of the state give us some classic New England flair with sugar maple (Acer saccharum), ash, beech, birch, oak, and hemlock trees on higher-altitude slopes, creating a hilly area that turns beautiful colors in fall. Man, I love Connecticut autumns. And the rest of the year, for that matter.

OK, what are Nutmeggers most known for, culturally and historically? It's a diverse state with a lot of mixed culture, partially as a result of its proximity to New York City. A lot of people tend to joke that Connecticut is just New York City, especially people from elsewhere in New England. And having been to NYC a lot when I was a kid, with a mom who worked there part of the week, and an aunt who lived there all of the week...yeah, fair. But Connecticut has a much more detailed culture than that. It's the home of the cotton giiiAAAAAAH, bad place to start that list. Uh, let's see, it's the home of whaliiiiiiing. Jesus. Uh...home of Mark Twain and Harriet Beecher Stowe? OK, that's better. It's a major seat of the Industrial Revolution in the United States, leading to it being a production hub for textiles, clocks, typewriters, machining, sewing machines, steam engines, aircraft, and honestly, women's rights to a certain degree. After all, it's the home of the Radium...Girls. Huh. OK, CT's history has some bumps in it, but what state's history doesn't?

As for modern Nutmeggers, they're industrious, generally well-educated, and honestly quite a bit eccentric. I've gone back to the state a few times in the last couple of years, and I forgot how honestly weird people are there. In a good way, not in the fucked-up MAGA sense of the word. It's a state whose people are unafraid to express themselves, from my experience. Probably a result of the diversity in the state, and the diverse perspectives that result. Its political atmosphere is a bit complicated, but overall pretty liberal. Which...doesn't translate super-well into birds at first blush, but hey, we'll see what we get!

OK, with that, let's jump into the selection of the birds for this list. Real talk, if anybody has a suggestion that I hadn't brought up here, send it my way! I will absolutely add another poll if there are entries I think could bear fruit. But, in the meantime, read on if you're interested in the possible choices for the State Bird of Connecticut!

American Robin (Turdus migratorius)

I think you'd be hard-pressed to find an citizen of the United States of America who hasn't seen a robin. This is, by far, one of our most iconic songbirds, and is certainly one of the most common and widespread. For some of us, they're a sign of spring. For others, they used to be a sign of spring, until global warming prompted some individuals to stick around through the winter, shifting their diet to frugivory a bit more and brightening the snow as well. They're prolific breeders with bright blue-green eggs (which are iconic in their own right), and can have up to three broods in a given season! Extremely successful and very common. And that...is a problem, for our purposes.

See, Connecticut, Michigan, and Wisconsin have the American Robin (Turdus migratorius) for their state bird, and none of them actually have a good reason for that choice. In Wisconsin, it was chosen by schoolkids because it was recognizable. That was also the reason for the Michigan Audubon Society to choose it as state bird. And Connecticut? Absolutely no goddamn idea. It's almost certainly for the same reason, but there is no real recorded reason for the choice of the American Robin as a state bird, as far as I can tell. For literally all of those states, it's a pretty bad choice by virtue of not being a good choice, at the very least. But that said...I mean, it's not the worst possible choice for a State Bird. For one state, anyway.

Robins, for the record, were named after a different robin entirely: the European Robin (Erithacus rubecula). Another red-breasted and beloved songbird, the European Robin was an immediate thought when American settlers saw the American Robin, hence why I keep saying "American". The two are so often confused in pop-culture, even Mary Poppins was guilty of it! That GIF above comes from the film, and in case you haven't realized it yet, that's an American Robin in England. Yeah. Wrong bird to use as a model for your animatronic, Disney. That has bothered me since I was a little kid, I swear to GOD. Erroneous film biogeography is one of my biggest pet peeves...but that's a separate conversation.

Back to the American Robin. Personally, I love robins of all species, and even recently did some genomics work with them (DNA extraction is fun). They're a commonly seen species, and a great entry-level bird for kids to get into birdwatching and nature. As an American icon, I genuinely think these guys should get some recognition...but I'm hard-pressed to say Connecticut needs them as a State Bird. We'll see what people think, but there's not a great case for them to get the title. To keep it...like I said, we'll see. Maybe the others won't be deemed as good a fit for the state. For now, let's move on from a popular backyard bird to a MUCH less popular one.

Blue-winged Warbler (Vermivora cyanoptera)

Here's the eBird pick for Connecticut, and for good reason! The vast majority of the Blue-winged Warbler's (Vermivora cyanoptera) breeding population is in...Wisconsin. Wait, what? Hold on...yeah, actually, Wisconsin, New York, Missouri, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and West Virginia all have higher shares of the population that Connecticut, with 5% overall. That's still a lot better than the American Robin's share in CT (0.2%), but still...seems like that eBird article is SEVERELY outdated, or I'm using the database wrong somehow. Either way...huh. Well, let's make an argument for the Blue-winged Warbler, anyway.

Blue-winged Warblers are a species of some conservation concern, making them automatically of interest. They're also extremely interesting to geneticists and ornithologists because of their relationship to other members of Vermivora, especially the Golden-wined Warbler (Vermivora chrysoptera) and extinct Bachman's Warbler (Vermivora bachmanii), with having documented hybrid offspring with the former that's of interest for various reasons. But outside of that, they of course breed in Connecticut, and represent an interesting bird to look for and find, with a recognizable song and appearance. It's also prized by birdwatchers, and would be a good bird for any aspiring or experienced birdwatchers. It also inhabits shrubland, which is of some conservation interest to CT government and environmental officials. But other than that...not too much else.

Connecticut Warbler (Oporornis agilis)

No. Look, I'm just gonna say this now: no. The Connecticut Warbler (Oporornis agilis) not only doesn't breed in the state (and possibly has never bred in the state), but it's pretty much not found there. Like, at all. This is not an easy warbler to get anywhere in its range in the US, but Connecticut isn't included in that distribution. "But lonelywretch," you scream at your computer screen, "why is it called the Connecticut goddamn Warbler if it isn't even from the state?" First of all, not to police your emotions, but stop screaming; way overboard for this situation. Second of all, it's called the Connecticut Warbler because its describer, ornithologist Alexander Wilson, first saw it in a fly-by during migration while in Connecticut. And...yeah, that's it. They do fly through the state very occasionally during migration, but it's definitely not a reliable bird to count on for local birders there. Honestly...bad bird for the state.

Side note here: there's a lot of talk about renaming birds that are named after people, and I agree with that in almost every case. But here's a hot take to elaborate on in another series: location-based names need to be re-examined. Not all of them are bad by any means, but the Connecticut Warbler is a great example of a bird whose name makes NO FUCKING SENSE. Rename this bird, I BEG of you. If anybody has suggestions for a renaming of this bird, throw them in notes for something! Keep in mind, Gray-headed Warbler is taken (by Myiothlypis griseiceps), so come up with somethin' else. Warranted inclusion in the list for its name, but we're gonna move on.

Osprey (Pandion halieetus)

It's at this point in the list where we get into some interesting candidates...and where I had the most trouble. But I'm fairly satisfied with what I've come up with, so let's move forward! This entry's a somewhat controversial pick for a few reasons, but an interesting one for a bunch of reasons. Now, I don't know about you, but I love Osprey (Pandion halieetus) a whole bunch. An iconic raptor, as well as a very unique one, they're a pescivorous bird found throughout the entire continent. And in Europe. And Asia. And Africa, Australia, and South America. Yeah, they're a cosmopolitan species, found in every continent except for Antarctica. That automatically should make them a bit dodgy of a choice for a State Bird, since they can be found in every state (yes, even occasionally Hawaii). So, why Connecticut?

First off, Connecticut has an intimate connection with the shore and rivers, especially the Connecticut River. Seemingly a loose reason, but the Osprey, AKA the river hawk or sea hawk (we'll get to that later) is an iconic riparian raptor, and a common sight in Connecticut. Having grown up on a river in the state, we used to see Osprey all the time, and it was awesome every time. But their commonness in the state is an important story in and of itself. And, if you know anything about Osprey at all, you know where this is headed. And Connecticut is a great example of this story.

The Osprey is one of the most iconic victims of the DDT crisis that hit the country, as well as a symbol of the environmental success story that resulted from its banning. I won't go into the full story if you haven't heard it, but the short of it is that the pesticide DDT was inadvertently ingested by fish-eating raptors, especially the Bald Eagle (Halieetus leucocephalus) and the Osprey, causing the eggs they laid to have weakened, soft shells. This caused a massive decrease in these and other species, nearly driving both into extinction. However, once environmental movements prompted by Rachel Carson and her book Silent Spring advocated for its eventual banning, the populations recovered. And in Connecticut, they've recovered A LOT.

In 1940, somewhere near 1,000 nests were recorded for Osprey between New York City and Boston. By 1970, the number in Connecticut was down...to 8. Jesus Christ, that's a hell of a crash! One of the worst in the country, in fact. However, today in Connecticut, there are 688 active nests in the state. Which, yeah, doesn't seem like the ultimate success compared to previous, but what's interesting is the rate of increase. Because in 2014, according to the Connecticut State Audubon, there were only 210. In ten years, the number of breeding ospreys known was more than tripled. That's incredible. This has quickly made the Osprey a symbol of conservation in the state, because of a massive amount of monitoring increase. There are states with more of a population, but Connecticut has a pretty good argument for having the Osprey. But that said...other states could also claim this species. Florida and Maryland definitely have claims on it for population size alone, not to mention, well...the most iconic state of all when it comes to having ospreys as a symbol. But we'll get to that one WAY later. just keep that in mind before you vote for Connecticut to have the Osprey.

Sharp-shinned Hawk (Accipiter striatus)

The Sharp-shinned Hawk (Accipiter striatus OR Astur striatus as of recent taxonomic proposals), on the other hand, is another bird of interest. The smallest hawk in the United States of America, this already seems a fitting choice for one of the smallest states in the country. It's listed as endangered in the state, immediately making it of interesting conservation focus. The reason for this status is likely because of window-strikes, which are common for the species in Connecticut, meaning that there's some public outreach needed to protect it. Protecting the forests they nest in (which are in danger) is one thing, but putting up protective window decals to help the species is another. Definitely a cause for focus.

However, there is one...minor detail that makes this a harder fight for public opinion, as well as a potentially ironic one. This is the first species we've discussed whose diet is basically exclusively birds. If you're in the Northeastern United States, and you've seen a bird get attacked and taken at your birdfeeders, it's almost certainly this guy. Which is cool, and important for the species' survival, but the average person being asked to protect a bird that kills other birds, especially birds like the American Robin, is...a palpable irony. Granted, it genuinely needs protecting, and has monitoring programs in the state, and it is a genuinely interesting raptor! But, this is a slightly harder fight to win because of that noncharismatic factor. But hey, it's a cool bird in genuine trouble in the state, it's a scrappy bird for a small state, and it's an interesting species to highlight!

American Black Duck (Anas rubripes)

This is another difficult bird to fight for, but one that needs attention, for God's sake. The American Black Duck (Anas rubripes) is a rapidly disappearing duck species, and not for the reason you think. Let's get to Connecticut representation first. It was the first bird to be used for the Connecticut Migratory Duck Stamp in 1993, the first one issued for the state. It's one of the few states in which it breeds (although it's not the primary state of focus, detracting from its candidacy). And, it's a controlled bird by Fish and Game, meaning hunting of the Black Duck is extremely limited. There is, surprisingly, a point to that statement, but I won't be elaborating here. We'll see how the vote goes, and I'll address it in the Results post.

So, why is this a potential issue? Well, Maine and New York arguably should get this bird instead, as they have a higher population. And the breeding population of this bird is incredibly important to promote, because it's disappearing. Why is it disappearing? Well, some of you may have looked at that picture and asked yourselves: "Wait...isn't that just a female Mallard?" And the answer is, no! But a lot of people think that. A lot of birds think that. Mallards think that. Which means that hybrids between Mallards and Black Ducks are incredibly high. SO high, in fact, the species is being bred and hybridized out of existence! They're so similar to Mallards on a genetic level at this point, that they'll be subsumed if their individual populations aren't preserved. So, yeah, these guys deserve some focus. Do I think they're a great Connecticut symbol? Well, to be fair, the state is regularly assumed to be either greater New York City or greater Massachusetts by outsiders. And it's not; it has its own identity that deserves to be preserved for what it is. So, yeah, maybe a good fit for Connecticut after all.

Also, it's the state in New England with the highest proportion of Black Americans (yes, even more than Massachusetts), so...I dunno, that's also something? Probably not, but as a black dude that grew up in CT, I felt the need to bring that up.

Snowy Egret (Egretta thula)

OK, sing it with me now!

Yankee Doodle went to town, a-riding on a pony; Stuck a feather in his hat, and called it "macaroni"! Yankee Doodle, give it up! Yankee Doodle Dandy, Mind the music and the step, and with the girls be handy!

Ooh, that last line aged a little rough, but Yankee Doodle! The Connecticut state anthem! Yes, really. Most Americans in the Northeast know this song, but it's got a unique resonance for Nutmeggers, seeing as it was allegedly based on the son of a Connecticut mayor! The state chose it as their song in 1978, and it's been a beloved symbol ever since. But, for the uninitiated (and probably to most school kids like I was), there is one weird word in there that needs a little explanation: macaroni.

Now, this does not, of course, reference the easy cheesy favorite of every child (and college student). No, this is a reference to an old 18th century term for a form of fashion back in the day. It's what the 2000s called "extra", or bourgeious (pronounced "bougie", of course). Basically, it's somebody who dressed WAY over the top in high-designed clothes and accessories to the point of looking...well, extra. Another applicable 2000s term would be "metrosexual", I guess. The macaroni became a satirical character in British culture, and would later become another character known as the "dandy". It's sort of a class-related satire, to be honest. In any case, the macaroni was known for over-the-top fashion, including...wigs.

So, what does literally any of this have to do with the Snowy Egret (Egretta thula)? More than you'd expect, actually. First off, the egret has a pompodour-like crest of feathers that makes it look quite like a stereotypical macaroni, in my opinion. Secondly, it does breed in Connecticut, albeit extremely rarely, sparely, and barely. Its population in the state used to be a lot greater...until people came around and starting hunting it down. Why, you ask?

Let's just go ahead and call that macaroni now, while we're at it. To be clear here, quite a lot of birds were used in millinery back in the day, but the Snowy Egret (and the Great Egret (Ardea alba), for that matter) are special. Those long white feathery plumes were heavily prized as hat decorations, enough so that the species nearly went extinct from hunting them for the hat trade. As a result of that, people began to turn their eye towards conservation of the species, and the protection of birds in general. Two women, Harriet Hemenway and Minna B. Hall, got a group of women together to protect the birds. They rallied the troops, and their organization became fairly popular. Eventually when they sought to name it, they did so after one of the most famous ornithologists in American history at the time: John James Audubon. And from there...well, you can guess.

The Audubon Society is one of the premiere bird conservation organizations in the world, and especially in the United States, and is well-known to the public sector. And it was born right here in...Massachusetts. Oh. Wait, have I jumped the gun on this one? Maybe a little, yeah. But, in my defense, the macaroni is linked to Connecticut through its state anthem, and the Snowy Egret is linked to the macaroni, as mentioned. But, OK, maybe this is a better proposal for Massachusetts, not Connecticut. But, uh...there may be another contender. Kind of.

Tufted Titmouse (Baeolophus bicolor)

OK, here me out on this one. Look at this picture of a classic macaroni character (on the right, for the record). Does that hairdo not kinda look like the crest of the Tufted Titmouse (Baeolophus bicolor)? Like, just a little bit, at least? I dunno, I can definitely see it. But OK, outside of that, is there another reason for the Tufted Titmouse to be the State Bird of Connecticut? Well, they're extremely common, they've got some charisma to them, and they're definitely found breeding in Connecticut. But...I don't know. I think they're plenty charismatic, but I'm not sure that makes them a great contender.

Still...they should be represented somewhere, right? I mean, the species breeds entirely in the USA, even though it can be found in Canada as well. Plus, other than being very recognizable, they're also an easy bird to find and support with backyard birdfeeding. And, if you want a fun fact about them, they're prone to kleptotrichy. That means, they pluck the fur from mammals to use as insulation in their nests! Yeah! They actually pick the winter coat off of dogs, and use it for their nests! Adorable. But yeah, does this really count for a good State Bird of Connecticut? I doubt it, but I'll let you vote! And I swear to God, it better not be just because of the name that it gets votes.

There you have it. Some complex and controversial choices. I miss any that you think are a valid choice for the state? Do let me know, and I may just issue another poll if this one isn't good enough. We shall see. But, for now, I think it's time to move onto the next state. And lemme tell you, I'm real excited about that one, since...well, I live there! And I have some ideas, lemme tell you. And some people will...disagree with me. For sure. Anyway, see you next time in Boston, kid!

See you next time, and happy birding!

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bittybeanie · 4 months

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oh boy! time to post a new fic! I can't believe it's been *checks calendar* ....oh. uh. oops. ignore that! it's the fourth and final installment of (this) aspec reigen series, complete with a lite™ version of a couple different kinks and finally getting to touch the peen! this one's real long, folks, clocking in at about 9,500 words, so you might wanna get a nice beverage and settle in.

content notes: thigh riding, themes of consent, drunk almost sex, a discussion about the drunk almost sex in the following scene, praise kink, a very loose (literally) definition of bondage, and so so many pet names. minors please don't interact!

also on ao3!

It takes more than a couple tries for you to get settled on the bed. You’re too close, then too far, and Reigen can’t get comfy, and your hand keeps sliding out from under you, and he can’t decide how he wants your leg angled, and there’s too many clothes, then all at once so few clothes that it feels like too much at once and you hastily agree to put your shirts back on, not wanting to break the already fragile layer of quiet hope.

Finally, finally, everything is perfect.

Awkward, stilted, and a little tense, and you’re not sure how long your leg will let you keep it just barely raised like this before it cramps up, but he’s here, embarrassed but steadfast, breath coming out in shivery gasps, hovering over your thigh, one hair fisted in the back of your hair. If he tips over, there’s no way you’re not going with.

Perfect.

His thighs shake as he holds himself up, deciding which direction he wants to move. You reach for the small of his back to steady him. "Does this count as keeping my hands out of the way?" He nods, so you test the waters by sliding your other hand up his thigh.

"As long you don’t- just no direct touching. Close to is fine, just not… well." He moves a hand back and forth across where he’s hovering over your thigh.

“Keep off the goods. Gotcha."

"The goods? Awful. You're awful, I swear."

You slide your hand up, just barely skimming your fingernails over his hip when you catch the hem of his shirt, and his cock twitches in his boxers.

"The goods don't seem to agree."

"Oi." Despite his protests, the laughter loosens him, and he relaxes enough to lean back into your knee. “Fine, fine, just stop saying goods.”

“Alright.” He raises an eyebrow. You lift both hands in surrender. “I promise! I will never again use ‘the goods’ to refer to your perfect, gorgeous, suckable-”

“I get it! I get it.” He grabs onto your shoulder - maybe in an effort to distract you, or maybe just to keep his balance - as he shifts closer. You can practically feel the heat radiating from his ears. “Here, actually, can you-? Hm.” He presses a hand against the inside of your other leg, thumb digging in as he gives a shove. He slides a knee into the newly free space between your legs, leaning forward to get a better angle. Your hands settle back on his waist.

“Better?”

“Much.” He lets out a little hum as he pushes his hips forward, and you have to stamp down a whimper at the feeling, his dick heavy and warm even through fabric.

“Didn’t mean to just push like that, though. Sorry.”

“S’okay. I’ll survive a little manhandling, as a treat.” You hit the last “t” sound with a click of your tongue, and he falls into your neck with a laugh. You trace patterns on his hips as he moves, tracking the motion as you press your fingers into his skin. “God, how do you get your hips to move that smooth? It’s sorta mesmerizing.”

“Hm? Oh, I don’t know, I’m just- I wasn’t thinking about it. S’just what f- ha, feels good.” His breath fans out across your collarbone, warm and fast.

“Yeah? You like using my thigh, baby? No thoughts other than what feels good? Your own personal toy to get yourself off against?”

“Oi.” His hips stutter once before he falls back into a slower rhythm. His fingers dig into your shoulder as he pulls you closer.

“Too much?”

“That’s not how I think of you.”

You can’t help but laugh, a light chuckle coming out in a breath against his hair. “I know, ‘Taka, I know.” You slide your hands under his shirt, over his stomach and up to his collarbone. “But would it really be so bad to belong to you?”

“I- fuck.” There’s a moment of worry when he shoves you away, but then he’s scrambling for the hem of his shirt and pulling.

“Are you sure?” It’s a formality, uttered even as you’re already reaching to help slide the fabric over his elbows, but it’s one you can’t even imagine going without.

“Very.” He lifts himself off of you to push his boxers down, shifting his weight from one leg to the other as he shimmies them all the way off. The mattress shifts and pitches him over, and you hurry to grab his arm.

He crawls back over to straddle your thigh, the tip of his cock tapping lightly against your side before he leans back onto his ankles.

“Do I need to get-?” You chuck his shirt into infinity and gesture vaguely to the bedside drawer. He’s technically never told you that he started keeping lube in there, but he hasn’t made much effort to keep the secret either.

He shakes his head. “I’m close. Won’t matter.”

He tries to go back to rutting against you, anchoring his hands on your waist to tilt his hips this way and that, but something about the new angle is off, and he can’t get any good contact.

“Oh no, now horrible, your dick is just so hard it won’t stay down on its own.”

He clicks his tongue at you as he scoots to sit closer, flush making its way from his ears to the edges of his cheeks.

“That gorgeous curve probably isn’t helping, either. In this case, anyway. Be an absolute treat to have inside me, though.” You press your thumbs in just above his knees, encouraging him to spread his legs more, and he jumps with a squeak, hands flying to grab yours. “Sorry, sorry, di-”

“No, it’s-” He pulls your hands together, just in front of his stomach, and the tip of his cock brushes against you. For a moment, you think he’s going to pull down, but he guides your hands back to his hips, pressing them into his skin as he rolls his hips. “Here.”

He gives up and puts his hand flat over his dick, pinning it down against your leg. He lifts himself to adjust the angle, just his tip dragging along your skin until he bumps into your hip, precum rolling out in a thin line over your thigh. When he pulls back, he grinds down insistently, coating his length and covering what isn’t already marked of your thigh so he can slide more easily. After a few impatient jolts of his hips, he settles back into a rhythm, smooth and fluid, and lets up on the pressure of his hand. He slings his other arm over your shoulder to pull you closer, and he falls forward to bury his face in your neck, whining into your collarbone.

He wasn’t lying when he said he was close, because it only takes a few drags of his cock against you for him to seize up, body tensing before going boneless, cum rolling over his hand and onto your hip as he slumps against you in a mess of pants and sighs. You slide your hands up his back to support his full weight, pressing kisses to his hair as he catches his breath.

“Just… gimme a second, I can cl- get you- god, my legs.” He rolls off of you with none of his usual grace, limbs falling everywhere at once, lightly smacking your arm as he goes limp.

You laugh and push his hair back from his face. You don’t bother to untangle your legs from his, accepting your fate of needing a shower later in exchange for getting to lean down to kiss his cheek.

“Eh, let it dry.”

“I’m starting to think you like it more than tolerate it.”

“If you haven’t gotten the hint by now that I want you to absolutely cov-”

He gives you a shove, rolling his hand so there’s no real force behind it, but you seize the chance to topple with a dramatic moan, one hand falling theatrically across your forehead as your eyes flutter closed.

“Oh, stop it.” He crawls over and props himself up on his elbows. You can feel his breath fanning over your collarbone, stilted like he’s trying not to laugh. You crack one eye open, breaking into giggles when you see his forced serious expression, eyebrows pinched together and one cheek sucked into his mouth to keep the smile off his face. He breaks at your laughter, breathing out through his nose and pressing his forehead to yours. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

“Oh, you could take me anywhere, handsome.” You waggle your eyebrows suggestively, and he rolls onto his back with an exasperated groan. You laugh again and sit up, pulling a blanket over him so you can settle in without accidentally brushing somewhere he’d rather you didn’t.

“Hey, Arataka?”

“I love you, too.”

“That, too.” You chuckle. “But I have a real question this time.”

“Oh.” He turns his head. “Sure.”

“After you… when you took my hands earlier, were you…?” The fleeting moment of contact between him and your hands floats through your mind. You can’t help but wonder what he was thinking in the moment he hesitated, but it feels weirdly invasive to ask so bluntly. “Sorry, never mind, this is a weird line of thought.”

You lay down beside him, craning your neck to rest your head on his shoulder. His hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together as his thumb smooths up your wrist.

“Do you mean…” He takes a steadying breath, grip tightening almost imperceptibly. “Do you mean after the clothes came off?”

You nod. For a moment, he stills, not even breathing.

“I was… I wanted so badly to let you touch me. I thought if I didn’t have to say it, if I could just… imply, then I could get around it, but,” he sighs heavily, and he sounds tired when he continues, “I panicked.”

You’re both quiet, long enough that you startle even yourself when you finally break the silence.

“It’s not a bad idea.”

“...Panicking?”

“No, angel. Implying.” He presses his cheek to the top of your head. “Maybe you just have to imply for a little longer.”

“I’m not following.”

“What if you left your hand on top of mine? That way it’s like- it’s the same as when you do it, but it sort of, hm, bridges the gap? All the sexy, none of the surprise.”

For a long moment, you’re not sure if he’s quiet because he’s thinking or because he’s falling asleep.

He hums, shoulder rolling under your head, and he pulls you tighter against his side.

"Okay." You shift nervously, tucking your foot underneath yourself, then deciding against it and unfolding your legs. "Walk me through the zones again."

"I'm not a city planning map." He rolls his eyes, but he takes your hand. You’re not sure which one of you the gesture is supposed to comfort.

You shift back onto your knees.

"Here up, anything goes." He points at the middle of his chest. "But try to stay- so more like, well, from maybe..." He gestures to his collarbone and wags his finger up and down. "Here to here, really."

When he looks back at you, you can tell he's waiting for something. You settle for a small nod.

"Right. A-and then, here to here," he points from his chest to just above his hip, "Hands are fine. Doing... whatever." He steadies himself with another deep breath and rushes through the rest. "Legs, stay still, and anything... direct we'll do the- on the- yeah, got it, that's all."

You let him sit for a moment to make sure there's nothing he forgot. His grip on your hand tightens, and you swear he moves to pull you closer, but he must decide against it at the last second.

"Whose hand is going on top again? Sorry, we've swapped it so many times I can't remember if we decided."

"Oh. Right. Um." He hovers his right hand over his left, then swaps them, then swaps them again. “Yours under mine.”

“Got it.” You reach for him, letting him pull your hand up to his collar. "And you know you can tell me to stop at any time?"

"You tell me that every time."

"It's important every time."

He swallows thickly and traces a circle on the back of your hand with his thumb. "Yeah. I know."

You shift to pull your legs off to the side, then cross them again, then sit back up on your knees. Gently taking the collar of his shirt in your hands, you trail one thumb along the edge of the fabric until you reach the top button. "And can I do this, or would you like to?"

He nods before realizing there were two options in your question, then points at you, then at your hands, then flashes you a thumbs up. "Yeah. Go ahead."

"Well, now hold on, I have manners. I'm not going straight for the goods." He laughs and shimmies to sit up straighter, letting his legs straighten out in front of him. "How about the pants later?"

"Uh, right, that's, I didn't think about that. I mean it would make sense that you're going to be- I mean it's not like-"

"Arataka."

"Yeah." He swallows.

"I'm not going to be offended if you’d like to take off your own pants."

He pauses, staring down at his knee. Eventually, he shakes his head. "I want you to do it."

"And your-?"

"Just do it at the same time."

"Got it." You take a steadying breath of your own. "I won't stay there, but is it okay if I straddle you for a little bit? I wa-"

His hands are pulling at your waist before you can get your legs properly unfolded, and you almost tumble over him. He laughs an apology as you move on top of him, hovering over his legs to avoid making any real contact.

You brush his bangs back from his face, following through with the motion until your fingers tangle in the shorter strands of hair at the back of his head. He tilts to follow your hand, craning his neck to keep you from pulling.

"Ready?"

He nods slightly.

"I’d like a verbal yes for this one, lovely."

He swallows. You watch his Adam's apple bob.

"Yeah, yes.” He nods again. His hand jerks, taking yours with it, and he awkwardly lets your hand fall into his lap. You do your best not to move. “I trust you."

You drag your gaze back up to his face, searching for any last signs of reluctance. A bead of sweat trails down his temple, and you’re certain if you put your hand to his cheek you’d worry he had a fever. Sure enough, when you slide your fingers along his jaw, he’s hot to the touch, and the tips of his ears are turning brighter shades of red by the second.

He clears his throat, pushing his jaw into your palm. “Are you gonna-?”

“In a minute.” You swipe your thumb across his bottom lip. “I’m savoring.”

He scoffs at that, the same scoff he uses when he sees somebody do something stupid in public, and you take the opportunity to catch him by surprise, surging forward to push him down onto the bed. His hands go to your shoulders on instinct but he pulls them back almost immediately, hovering awkwardly in the space between you. Using your grip on his chin, you angle his head so you can lean down and kiss him without knocking your noses together.

Once you’re sure you can support yourself without falling on him, you allow your free hand to trail down, tracing down the muscles in his neck, across his collarbone and back, finally settling on the first button of his shirt. It takes a little effort to get it undone with just one hand, but you manage it, and you allow yourself to dip down as you settle into a rhythm, lips ghosting along Reigen’s skin as you uncover more of it.

He’s shivering, hand shaking where it hovers over yours on the last button of his shirt. When you slide your hand back up along his side, his hand falls back to the bed, pulling at a wrinkle in the sheets.

You kiss along his jaw, savoring the feeling every time his breath catches in his throat under your lips. Your hand trails down along his side, wrapping around him to hold his waist when he arches up into the press of your thumb. He hums, eyelids fluttering, and you dare to slide your hand down, ever so slightly, thumb brushing over his waistband and back onto bare skin.

He grabs for you, grasp tight around your wrist, almost painful before he slowly relaxes and drags your hand back up toward his chest. You push yourself off him, swinging your leg to kneel beside him.

“Here, let’s try this.” You guide him to sit up. Once he’s situated against the headboard, you settle in by his thigh, your knee pressing gently into his hip. One hand traces circles and patterns as you trail down to his stomach. “Still good?”

He hums, but he scrambles for your wrist again, holding on tighter and tighter the closer you get to the button on his pants.

“You’re allowed to change your mind, y’know. I can let you do it.”

“That’s not- mm.” He relaxes his death grip on your arm but keeps his thumb hooked around it. After a few tries to let go completely, his head tips forward into your shoulder. “I thought I would… I’m sorry.”

You shake your head and slowly pull away. “Nothing to apologize for.” You cup his face with both hands and gently turn him, but he doesn’t hold your gaze for long.

“Do you want to keep going? Should I…?”

He opens his mouth, but says nothing. His expression is pinched, tight with something you’re not sure how to label. His fingers press together, thumb and index, thumb and middle, thumb and ring, thumb and pinky, over and over as you lean back, nodding softly.

“Stay in bed?” Your voice is shakier than you’d like. You swear he flinches, and you clear your throat. “Or move to the couch and watch something?”

“Couch.” He nods once, stiff and harsh, and swallows thickly. “Thanks.”

He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, and slides out of bed, starting to button his shirt back up as he wanders into the other room.

You keep nodding as if in a trance, and you follow him out.

Despite the now faint memory of some friend of a friend forcefully inviting you, there's not a single soul at the party you recognize. With the exception of a few people dancing by the kitchen, closer to the speakers, everyone has settled for taking a seat and awkwardly bobbing their head. You’ve repeated the same three lines of small talk more times than you can count, it's just cold enough that you've had the chills the whole time while still managing to feel overwhelmingly stifled, and the music is so awful you wonder how somebody hasn’t tried to change it yet. But there's alcohol, the good stuff that somebody is clearly very particular about, and lots of it. You can't remember how much you've had, and that fact is enough to tell you it was probably too much, but it doesn't stop you from taking whatever the host is passing out when they wander through.

You think Reigen might be the only person doing worse than you. He looks... woozy. His face is flushed and his eyes are lidded like he might throw up, pass out, or both at any moment. At one point he took a tumble when he tried to sit down, graciously ignored by everyone else, and you had to throw your arm around his waist to keep him from sliding down the front of the couch again. He's leaning on you for support every time he moves, and if there were anything left in his can you’re sure he would be spilling it on you right now.

He's restless at the best of times, you know this, but even through the fog you can tell something is off. Not wrong exactly, but he keeps giving you this sideways glance, digging his fingers into your thigh to steady himself and then yanking his hand away, knocking his head into your shoulder and muttering something you haven't been able to make out.

He laughs - way too loudly at something you're not sure was supposed to be funny - and stands abruptly. Your hand around his waist falls limp on the couch, and he sways without the support.

"I'm going to the re- the ba- I gotta piss."

Nobody but you pays him any attention. He takes a wobbly step forward, knocking his foot into the leg of the coffee table, but he doesn't seem fazed. His knees bend at a weird angle as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, then he straightens back up and whirls around to face you. The momentum sends him tumbling back down, and you manage to catch him before his nose smashes into your jaw.

"I guess you better help me there."

"Yeah." Your voice crackles from dehydration. You have to clear your throat and try again to get a recognizable sound to come out. "Alright." You do a quick mental scan of your legs to make sure they'll support you before you motion for him to get up so you can stand. He does, grabbing your wrist and pulling with the conviction of somebody who does not need help walking.

The gears in your head start to turn.

He drags you along, glancing over his shoulder as he rounds the corner into the hallway, only stumbling once when he has to screech to a halt and back up to yank a door open. He pushes you inside, pulling the door closed behind him after he follows you in.

It's pitch black, and you're not sure if the overwhelming lemon smell is coming from Reigen or something in the room. You reach out to find him, but your fingers brush against something cold and smooth instead, and it's not until it tilts and hits you in the head that you realize it's probably a handle for something. Reigen's hand whacks into your arm and he holds on tight, fingers digging into your shoulder as he pulls you forward.

"I don't think that was the right door."

"Hm? Oh, sure." You can feel the air beside you moving until eventually his other hand finds your face, one finger dragging across your cheek until it hits your nose. "No, I- yeah, I know."

"Then wh-"

He pushes, hard and sudden. You fight to keep your balance as you adjust to the weird backwards lean you find yourself in. Reigen hisses as he pulls his fingers out from between you and the wall.

"Dumb, that was so dumb. Sorry." He fumbles for your waist to guide you backwards, and you feel his hips press against you when he reaches past your head to lean on the wall.

Everything clicks together all at once.

Your hands fly to where his waist should be. Once you find him, you're not sure if you want to shove him away or pull him in closer.

"You're super drunk. I don't know if-"

"Tha's the point." The hand on your face slides around until his thumb catches your bottom lip. He sways, like talking about it has made him remember how much he's had to drink. When he leans against you, he's heavier than normal, like he can’t support his weight anymore. "Liquid courage."

"I’m drunk."

"Mm. Shit." He pulls away, just barely, and he nods. "Do you mind?"

Your mouth drops open uselessly. All your thoughts feel like static, indecipherable noise screaming for you to do something, if only you could figure out what. He's squirming now, like it hurts to stay still. You realize he's whimpering at the same time you realize he's grinding his hips against your leg.

“M’fine.”

He lets out a sigh of relief and drops his hands as he shuffles around. You take the chance to stand back up. When you finally bump into each other again, he wraps his arms around you and squeezes, his breathing coming out in pants against your chest. He hooks one leg around yours, tapping his foot against your heel to bring your leg forward. You make a strangled humming sound when he grinds against your thigh.

"Hey, where's your hand?"

"My...?" You suddenly remember you have hands. You allow yourself a moment of silence for all the time you could have been holding onto him before you push one hand forward. It smacks into what you think is his stomach. "Sorry. Here."

"S'kay. Stay put." You keep your hand pressed against him as he leans backward. You're not sure when he stopped holding onto you, but one of his hands is suddenly over yours, and a loud zip cuts through the sound of you both breathing. He slides his hand down, dragging yours with it. Your fingers glide along his skin, smooth and soft, until you brush against a patch of hair.

A sobering panic cuts through you.

He must realize what he's doing at the same time you do, because you both freeze. His grip tightens. He guides your hand away from him slowly, stopping when he makes contact with your side.

"Stay... stay put."

He turns and scrambles for the door. Something falls beside you when he misses the doorknob, then you're squinting as light floods in from the hallway. You can make out the silhouette of him sprinting into the room diagonal from where you're standing, and then there's the unmistakable sound of vomiting.

Your place is only two blocks away - no more than a ten minute walk.

You call a cab service.

It smells like coffee.

When you try to sit up, the room spins. You end up in a sort of half sit, half lean as you grab onto the side of the mattress, willing everything to stay still. You take stock of the things that are clear enough to look at, slowly making sense of what happened once you got home.

You're laying on top of the covers, still in your clothes from last night. One shoe is in the doorway, and the other is nowhere in sight, probably somewhere closer to the entrance. The coffee smell, growing more enticing by the second, is a good sign Reigen's in the kitchen.

You slide onto the floor beside your bed, not trusting yourself to stand up without falling just yet, to rummage for more comfortable clothes. Once you manage to get changed, you stand up slowly, and make your way to the kitchen.

Reigen must have grabbed a set of pajamas at some point last night, though you can't remember when. His back is turned to you; he's lazily stirring something on the stove. Two steaming cups of coffee sit on the counter beside him. Before you can decide whether you want to say something and risk startling him, he seems to sense you standing there, and he turns around with a weak smile.

"Hey."

"Morning?" It's both a greeting and a question, because you have no idea what time it is.

"Yeah." He lets out a breathy chuckle. "How, um, how you feeling?"

Your head is throbbing so bad your teeth hurt, your legs and back are sore, and you have a looming sense of guilt.

"I think I should be asking you that."

"I'm fine, really." He clicks off the fire and reaches for a bowl. "I told you, I felt basically back to normal after I- well, um, you know. Thanks again, by the way, for car- for carrying me."

You nod softly, feeling a little useless as he hands you what looks and smells like a very delicious soup.

"Reigen, I am so-" "I didn't mean-"

He reaches for a second bowl. "You first." When you start to shake your head, he rolls his wrist in a "go on" motion. "Please. I'm not actually sure how to say mine yet."

"Right." You swallow thickly, fidgeting with your spoon. Deep in thought, you miss Reigen slipping past you. He clears his throat and gestures to the seat across from him. You slide into the chair. Your spoon clanks against the bowl as you set it down. "I, um. Shit, I'm so sorry."

He seems surprised, a spoonful of soup halfway to his lips.

"What for?"

"Wh-" You blink. "Every... thing? I- I know sorry doesn't even cover it, but I-"

"Whoa, hey, okay." He shakes his hand in front of him. "Never mind, I'll go first, because I think you got the wrong idea and I'm not gonna let you apologize for anything that happened."

"But you trusted me, and I-"

"And I still do. That's- that was the whole- look, I-" He sighs. His spoon clanks as he sets it down, abandoned in favor of wringing his hands together. "I set you up."

"You-?"

"I didn't mean to! I thought- It was stupid, and I should have just told you what I was trying to do, I know , but I- I wasn’t exactly thinking straight, and I thought if I could speed up the process, then- I mean, there's only so many times you can put up with almost getting to- if I could- ugh, sorry, hang on."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. You swear your headache is reacting sympathetically, because pain shoots between your temples, dull but persistent. He goes to retrieve the coffees from the kitchen, just cool enough to drink, and you down some as soon as he hands you a mug.

"You've been so patient, and I know you would never do anything I didn't want, but I... I keep overthinking it. And I thought it would be the perfect excuse to... to not have to think about it at all. I mean that's- that's just what people do at parties, right, and- I mean, it was... ugh." He sits back down, his posture unnaturally rigid. He chooses his next words carefully, pausing between words as if he’s testing out different sentences in his head. "I trusted you… to not take it further than I was comfortable with… more than I trusted myself to… not panic over nothing. So, I- I saw the chance and I..." He gestures weakly, hand falling back to the table with a soft thump.

"Liquid courage."

He takes a sip of his coffee and slumps forward, holding his chin with one hand.

"You... got drunk on purpose?"

"Not originally, but, uh."

You nod slowly. Your stomach grumbles, and you realize you haven't actually eaten any of your soup. You take a reluctant spoonful, chewing slowly as you take everything in.

"When you froze up, it- I realized how little I had thought it through. I- it wasn't fair to you. You didn't do anything to- I never should have put you in that position in the first place."

"I... would have appreciated a warning, yeah."

"Sorry." He runs his hand through his hair and leaves it against the back of his neck. "I'm really sorry."

"Apology accepted." Reigen relaxes into his chair. As he stretches his legs out, one of his feet bumps against your ankle, and you laugh softly. "I'm still sorry, too. I should have asked more questions. And I didn't... I think I noticed something was wrong but I didn’t realize it was that frustrating for you. Before, I mean. I never wanted to make you feel like you had to do something like that."

"It's exclusively a me problem, I promise. I thought something would have worked by now. I don't... I don't really know what’s getting in the way." He shakes his head, breathing out sharply through his nose.

“I mean, literally speaking, your hands.” You laugh and take another sip of your coffee. He tilts his head. “Because, you know, y-you always grab my hand before I-?” He stares, unblinking. “Sorry, too soon to joke, probably,” you mutter into your cup, taking another sip just to have something to do.

When he moves again, it’s with a jerky start, sitting up and leaning forward. “My hands.”

“Yeah, I-”

“No, my hands.” He throws his elbows onto the table. The bowls clatter and his coffee sloshes; his chair scrapes against the floor as he stands. His wrists come together in front of you, palms up and fingers curled loosely, as he stares, silent, waiting for a glimpse of recognition to cross your face. It takes a moment, but when he finds it, he grins. “My hands.”

“If you want to stop-”

“Saying so has always been enough.”

You stand, leaning to match his eye level. You consider him, searching for hesitation, but you find none.

You take his hand, and you start pulling.

“This is… mine?” An old black tie lays across Reigen’s palms, the ends hanging loosely over his thighs.

“Yeah, you left it here. A while ago, I guess.” You shrug. “You never really liked it, though, plus you’re here all the time anyway, so I didn’t get around to giving it back, and it’s just been here ever since.”

As you slide the drawer closed, he catches a glimpse of an old t-shirt he left on his first night in your place, folded neatly in the back corner, under a small collection of his dress socks.

There are signs of him everywhere, really, if he looks. His toothbrush in your bathroom, a blanket he bought you for your birthday draped over the back of the couch, his favorite sweater of yours hanging on the handle of the closet, never out of service long enough to make it in with the rest of your clothes.

He’s struck with the realization it’s not just in your things, your home, but in you, the way you gesture with an extra dramatic flourish that wasn’t there before, the unwavering, tight smile that settles on your face when you talk to clients, the softness in your voice when you welcome the kids into the office, quietly clearing a table for them to do homework on, the flashes of movement in the kitchen as you dash back and forth whenever you make recipes he taught you - favorites from when things were harder and uncertain and cooking was his escape, before even the hardest parts of his life were laced with joy.

He’s wearing off on you.

He’s known it for a while, but he’s never put it all together like this, never seen it all so neatly represented in a single black tie, satin and unassuming and full of possibility. You kick your abandoned shoe out of the way, pushing the door shut with a soft click that startles him just enough to draw his attention.

“Still okay?”

He wonders how you’ve worn off on him, which parts of him weren’t there before that he doesn’t notice, can’t notice.

“Yeah.” He nods. “I’m ready.”

He smooths his thumb over the fabric, watching it wrinkle and crease where he applies pressure. It slides across his palms, dragging slowly as you wrap one end around your hand, until he’s left with empty air, hands outstretched between you.

He feels light.

You take his hands in yours, turning them in toward each other, and start to lay the tie across his wrists.

“Oh, wait!” You pull back right away, and he holds up one finger. “Not- we should take my shirt off first.”

“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me!” You laugh and settle back onto your knees. “Yes, okay, let’s- yeah.”

Reigen stops halfway up. The fabric stays bunched when he lets go, and he pulls your hands to the exposed patch of skin. He can feel the tie, still wrapped around your palm, pressing against his side, cold and smooth, and he swallows thickly. As you drag your hands up, it slides up with you, and a shiver wracks through him when you finally pull the shirt off his arms.

He cups your face, pulling you into a kiss, fingers coming to press at the back of your neck to keep you against him as he topples backward. You catch yourself on one hand, the end of the tie flipping to rest over his shoulder as you climb to straddle him. He’s insistent, both hands tangling in your hair, little sighs and puffs of breath against your mouth as he refuses to pull away for air.

You press a kiss to his cheek to soothe the loss when you lean back. He drapes his arms over your shoulders, locking his fingers together behind your head.

“We could stay like this? My hands are… close-ish together.”

“I can’t see behind me to tie it, but,” you pull his hands around your head, “I’m sure we can figure it out after that.”

He nods. You turn his hands back toward each other and his fingers curl, knuckles pressing together as he relaxes. You drape the tie around his wrists, trying a few different ways of looping it but not finding anything you’re satisfied with.

“Sorry. I just wanna make sure you can get out if you need.”

“It’s alright. I like the attention.”

You freeze, a wobbly grin taking shape as your face heats up.

“‘Taka, I’m supposed to be the composed one!”

“I’m just trying to be honest!” He flexes his wrists, pressing his knuckles together to crack them.

“Don’t worry,” you press both ends of the tie between his hands and motion for him to hold them still, “I like giving you attention.” You fold the middle of the tie over to make two loops and start twisting them in on themselves. “And I wanna hear about it as much as you can bear.”

“You seem plenty composed to me.” He pinches his thumb between two fingers and squeezes.

“Quick recovery. I learned from the best.” You wink and put your fingers through the loops. “Here, hands in here.”

He flattens his hands to squeeze them through, stopping to let you shimmy the tie the rest of the way over. You hold the ends of the tie and give a quick tug before tying them together.

“There, it’ll have to do.” You slip a finger in each loop, making sure there’s enough room to be comfortable without him being able to slip out without meaning to. “It’s a little loose, so don’t pull too hard, okay?”

“Sure.” He folds his elbows down, letting his hands come to rest on his chest. He jerks one hand up toward his hair, pulling his other hand with it, and the tie snaps taut. He has the courtesy to look sheepish. “I’ll try.”

You roll your eyes, smile still wide.

“Hands above your head, please.”

“Hm?”

“I’d like to get at your neck.” You press up on his elbows, and he unfolds his arms. “Those were in the way.”

“O-oh. Right.”

You lean down, tilting his chin up with one hand, and press a kiss to his throat, savoring the way it moves as he swallows. You trail down until you reach his stomach, dragging your tongue along his skin on the way back up. He exhales sharply, breath moving your hair as you get closer to his face. He forces out a laugh, and he rolls one shoulder.

You glance up. The tie is already starting to come loose, untwisting in the middle, but his hands are clasped together, the tie held in place between his wrists, fingers over the ends.

You kiss him, quick and breathless, and slip your fingers under his waistband. When his breath hitches, you smooth your thumb along the bone there, a reassurance you won’t move yet. You can feel him tense under you, pressing up into your touch, then slowly settling back onto the mattress.

You’re both reluctant to acknowledge the fact that you have to get off of him to take his pants off. You do your best to shimmy them under you, and he lifts his hips to help, but you need both hands to make sure his boxers stay on for now, and you want to make sure he can move his legs, so eventually, begrudgingly, you climb off him.

He takes the opportunity to stretch, his back arching off the bed as you throw his pants off somewhere to worry about later.

“Ooh, pretty. Think you can do that for me again?” You press a thumb to the inside of his thigh, at the edge of where his boxer leg has ridden up, and he jumps, hips rolling against your touch.

“Trickery.” He squirms, a whine that refuses to come out shining through in his voice. “Not fair.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get plenty more chances.” You trail your fingers up his thigh, along the “v” of the bone, up his stomach. He shivers when you trail back down, your fingers catching on the waistband of his boxers to drag it over his skin before letting go, settling your hand lightly over the bulge in the fabric. It’s slightly damp against your skin, and Reigen chokes back a moan when you press down.

You pull, grinding your palm down on his cock as the waistband moves until you can see the base of it, then you slide back up, tracing the outline of him with your fingers. When he whimpers, you’re too slow to hide your grin, and he glares halfheartedly.

“Having fun down there?”

“Oh, lots, thanks.” You slip your thumb below the elastic. “Seems like you are, too.”

“Hm.”

“Sorry, what was that?” You lift your hand with mock alarm, and he scrambles to reach for you, slowly lowering his arms to his chest when he sees your smile.

“Yes.”

“So, just to make sure, you are having fun?” It’s just as sarcastic as it is serious, and he seems to take it in equal measures, because he scoffs at the same time he nods. Both hands are on his hips now, both thumbs in his waistband, and you pull up gently to get him to lift his hips.

“Good boy.”

You’re not sure you would have felt it if you weren’t holding him, but he definitely shudders, trembling where your fingers press into his skin.

“Arataka.”

“Hmm?” He sounds breathless, and his chest heaves with effort, the rest of him as still as he can keep it.

“Should I keep calling you a good boy?”

“Um. If you want.” He jerks his hips up, and you take the hint to slide his boxers off, keeping an eye on his face as you do. You climb between his legs and lean over him, wrapping your hand slowly around his cock, firmly but gently, your thumb over the tip.

He squeaks, and he tenses, but he doesn’t reach for your hands.

“You’re doing so well, ‘Taka.” He swallows, and he shifts his hands, twisting the tie so he can lay his arms closer to his hair. “Such a good boy for me.” Precum oozes out of his slit, and you feel it roll down your hand.

“Mhm.” You lean back on your heels. “How about this? You tell me what feels good, and every time you do,” you pull your thumb down, spreading the precum along his length, “I’ll let you know just how much I appreciate it. Sound good?”

He nods, and you stop moving.

“Can I hear you say it?”

“Yes,” he breathes, pressing his wrists together, “yes, sounds good.”

“Good job.” When you lean to kiss him, grip tightening to keep his dick down against his stomach, his knuckles brush over your hair. “So perfect.”

You start slow, focusing more on touching every inch of him then keeping any sort of rhythm. When you trail up the vein on the underside, he shivers, and he gasps when you squeeze the base, and his hips jerk up when you pass over his slit, one leg coming up to press his ankle against your side. It’s not until you slip your other hand around him, though, arm passing through the space created by the bend of his knee to settle on his outer thigh, that he says anything.

“Fuck, that, more of that. P-please.”

“This hand?” You press your fingers into his thigh. He presses back.

“Yeah. I need… just, hold onto me.”

“Okay. Yeah, of course, sweetheart.” You scoot closer to wrap your hand tighter around his leg, spreading your legs to slip your knee underneath him. Once he relaxes, the full weight of his leg on yours, you press a kiss to his knee. “Good boy.”

“Shit,” he laughs, squirming closer to you. “S’not close enough.”

“Let me try something, then.” You slide backwards, reluctantly letting his leg fall to the bed, and you shimmy onto your stomach. When you pull his leg over your shoulder, he immediately hooks his ankle into your back and lets out a breathy moan. The pressure makes it a little harder to reach back around his thigh, but he relaxes into it easier, and the view is incredible. “There you go, perfect.”

You start up a little faster this time, twisting your wrist as you move up and down, and he bucks up into your hand. You risk a kiss to his thigh and his hands fly to your hair, the ends of the tie flowing down against your cheek.

“Sorry, too much?”

“Not enough.” His voice is scratchy now, and he gives a little tug once he gets a hold of you. “Can you, don’t put it- but, closer?”

“You want me here instead?” You press a kiss to the underside of his cock, flipping the loose ends of the tie out of the way to lay across his hip.

“Y-yes. Yes, fuck.”

“Gladly.” Between words, you pepper kisses along his shaft, following the trail of your hand up and down. “Thank you for letting me do this for you. You look so beautiful like this, feeling so good.”

He starts to make a noise of protest, but it quickly shifts into a stifled groan when you press a kiss to his tip, just barely letting your tongue drag across his slit as you pull away.

He whines and bucks his hips to follow you, and you can’t help but let an incredulous laugh slip out. “Alright, love, I’m gonna give you a choice, okay?”

He swallows thickly, then nods.

“Option one, you can tell me exactly how you want me to make you come. If you want my hand or my mouth or to go faster or slower or anything at all you just have to say the word. But I won’t do anything you don’t tell me, so you’ll have to say exactly what you want.”

His breathing is ragged, and he twitches in your grasp. “And option two?”

You grin and lean over him, propping yourself up on one hand. “I do whatever makes you the loudest, and if you stop making those pretty noises for me, I stop.” He seems to flinch at that, and you brush his hair back. “Just for a little while.”

He takes a shaky breath, eyes fluttering closed, and he pulls his arms in and down to drape one across his forehead. The tie was never really secure in the first place, but after quite a bit of pulling and flailing, it’s fully undone by now, nothing but luck and stubborn determination holding the loops in place around Reigen’s wrists.

“Both options, of course, come with all sorts of praise and admiration.” You slip a finger under the fabric and give a light tug. He lifts his hands to let the tie slide free.

When he opens his eyes, a shudder running down his spine, he sees you absent-mindedly tying the tie around your neck, uneven and loose, hanging down between you to brush against his stomach. He’s sure you just needed somewhere to put it, something to do with your hands, but it flips a strangely possessive switch somewhere inside him. Not because he’s seeing you in his clothes - he’s had the privilege of that many times before - but because you’ve taken the thing that was supposed to restrain his ability to fuck up the situation, taken something he left safe for you to keep track of without even realizing he’d done it, taken the symbol of his presence in your space and your time and your life, and you’ve put it on without a second thought. He thinks of his misguided reasoning that got you into this situation, that he trusts you with him more than he trusts himself, and he knows what he wants.

For once, words are failing him, which just makes the choice even easier.

“Second one.”

Your eyebrows raise a little, like you’re surprised at his answer, and he almost takes it all back, but then you’re grinning and leaning down to cup his jaw, kissing him like he’s giving you the only air you could ever breathe, and he moans into your mouth.

You lean away just enough to pull in a gasp of air, fingers sliding to tangle into the base of his hair.

“Just like that, gorgeous.”

He laughs, sucking in a shaky breath as you wrap your hand around him again. It pinches into a sort of strained whimper as he starts to quiet himself and thinks better of it, and you start moving.

“That’s it, good boy, just let me take care of everything.”

For all he got into his head before, breaking the seal of touching him seems to have removed any last bits of hesitation, because he relaxes into your touch almost immediately. Your experimenting earlier left you with a good idea of what will get the best noises out of him, and he doesn’t hold back. You’re silently thankful, not only because you get to hear him, but also because you’re not sure you could have followed through on your threat of stopping. And if he’s exaggerating for your sake, all clipped moans and raspy mumbling and bucking hips, well, you’re not going to complain.

After a particularly tight stroke up his cock and a brush of teeth up the inside of his thigh, he pulls one arm over his mouth, pushing it against his lips with his other hand. You’re still deciding if that counts as muffling his sounds enough to slow down when he bites his wrist and yelps, a loud, desperate, frantic noise that seizes what little of your attention isn’t already on him. His head tips back as he struggles to prop himself up on one elbow, hand flipping to clamp down over his mouth, and you can see the bite mark, lines pressed into the pale skin just below the jut of bone where palm meets wrist. It takes you a minute to realize he’s saying something, your brain struggling to piece his noises together into words.

“Can I have your hand?” You hum, scrambling to extract your hand from his leg. “I just- I need,” he opens and closes his hands, “something.” When you hold your hand up blindly toward him, he takes it quickly and holds on tight, fingers lacing together with yours. He gives a few tugs, and you hurry to sit up.

“Please, I need- I can’t take it anymore.” He looks frantic, eyebrows pinched together and his chest heaving with ragged, shaky breaths. His hips buck wildly, quick and shallow into your curled fingers. You realize you’ve forgotten to keep moving as you were watching him, and you quickly correct your mistake, reveling in the shiver that racks through him as your thumb swipes over his tip.

He’s begging now, your name falling out in pieces between gasps and cries; he’s still tugging at your hand like you can’t get close enough, pressing his lips to your jaw like he can’t quite remember how to leave kisses there. He pitches his hips up and presses against you, knees coming together to press into your sides, pinning your hand against your torso as he lets out a final shuddering whimper.

He comes across your fingers, his whole body tense as he holds himself up, back arched and head rolled to the side. He moves to wrap his arms around you, forgetting that his elbow is supporting him, and he pulls you down with him as he falls the short distance to the mattress.

You do your best to roll off him without letting go of him during the aftershocks, but you’re not exactly paying attention to where you’re still holding, and he yelps again from the overstimulation. You yank your hand away with half an apology, smoothing your hand up his side as you lift yourself up on your other arm.

“Nono, wait, don’t-” He scrambles to grab you wherever he can, and you intercept him before he can smack you across the face.

“It’s okay, ‘Taka, s’okay. I’m not going anywhere. I just didn’t wanna crush you. Let’s sit up so you can get some water, alright? All that noise can really make your throat sore, I know.” You slip your hands under him, one at the small of his back and one between his shoulders, gently lifting him toward the headboard. “That’s it. You’re okay. I gotcha.”

Once he’s upright, a glass of water in two shaky hands, you lean over the side of the bed to fumble for a washcloth. When he doesn’t slow down on his own, you start to reach for the glass, but he pulls away for a big gulp of air before you can.

“How you feelin’?”

He doesn’t answer right away, leaving you to fidget with the cloth, slowly reaching for his thigh. He lets his eyes slide closed as you start to wipe him off, smoothing an apologetic thumb over his hip when he hisses from the sensitivity. You wipe your hand on a mostly clean corner before you chuck it in the general direction of the hamper, silently relieved when it makes it in.

“I think I died.” His hands are still shaking as he goes to set the glass on your nightstand, and you gingerly take it from him, lifting yourself up to set it on the far corner where neither of you can accidentally knock it off later. “I understand you now.”

“You didn’t die, I promise.” You allow yourself a smirk and pull a blanket up from the end of the bed. “That’s high praise, though.”

“You’re high praise.”

“You’re the one that liked it so much.”

He rolls his eyes, too tired to argue. As you pull yourself up the bed to sit beside him, he leans over, one hand sliding behind you to rest on your hip. Now that he doesn’t have the distraction of everything else, you can tell he’s starting to think, because his ears are tinting pink and he’s fidgeting with a string on the edge of the blanket.

“Doesn’t mean I wasn’t happy to oblige.”

You scoop his hand into yours, leaving the blanket’s seams to live another day, and examine the bite mark on his wrist.

“I can’t believe I did that.” He scoffs, shaking his head a little as you turn his arm over. “The hell was I thinking?”

“Obviously you weren’t, which is both the point and very hot, so hush.” He turns away stubbornly, but he looks pleased. “You could probably say a spirit did it. Biting seems like an evil ghost thing to do, right?”

“With clearly human teeth?”

“Maybe it… stole them?”

He laughs, pulling away from your grip to get comfortable against your side. Just as you start to drift off, soothed by the sound of his breathing slowing and his weight settling on you as he relaxes, you feel his fingers walking down your hip, making their way to your thigh. You crack one eye open, and he looks away with obviously fake innocence.

“Where you going with that hand, darling?”

He smiles, bright and daring, as his fingers dig in. “Your turn?”

You consider it. You’re not quite capable of fully ignoring how turned on seeing him like this has made you. There’s a bit of nervous energy, buzzing over what’s left of your hangover, excitement, the joy that bubbles up in your chest at seeing him smiling at you like that, everything coming together in an overwhelming, swirling feeling of wanting whatever he will give you. But there’s something else, a calm undercurrent to it all, coating the emotion in quiet and directing it all back to a single point, solid and unwavering and right .

More than anything, you are content.

He sees your expression and laughs, must know what you’re going to say the moment you decide, because he mouths the words along with you as he pulls his hand back up to your hip.

“Maybe next time.”

#reigen arataka x reader #reigen x reader #my writing #it's been so long i forget how i tag things lol #hey bestie you're for sure gonna get a notif for this and i apologize in advance lsjkdfk #thank you so so much to everyone that stayed through the hiatus #i have been reading all the kind comments and asks and even though i don't respond they absolutely make my day #i was trying to avoid the internet as much as possible and it kinda... just stayed that way for a long time #if you're worried about this being the “last” aspec reigen pls don't panic #there's a more detailed ramble on ao3 but basically there will be more of these two goofs in love #(and probably a third goof in love)#but i wanna change some stuff and it'll be easier to do that in a new series #since this wasn't really meant to be a series in the first place weirdly #so basically it may be slow going but this isn't the end #i'm dropping this and then going to bed so i'll see y'all in the morning i hope you enjoy!!#i have.... so much to catch up on.....

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frosteee-variation · 2 years

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so i started replaying plague of shadows again

#there is a slight possibility that i will start posting rampantly about this game again and i apologize in advance #istg i like memorized every detail about it #i still think about plague and mona sometimes #they're so silly to me #anyways yeah i was screwing around with farrels and i came to a sudden realization #plague knight #plague of shadows #shovel knight #(just like in a general sense i suppose)#deltarune #ralsei #ralsei deltarune #frost edits

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benevolenterrancy · 2 years

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i read When The Angels Left The Old Country in three days and i'm already tempted to go reread it...

#i read it to fast to draw so i do NOT have a good grasp on how these guys should look #apologies in advance if i've done anything comically wrong #when the angels left the old country #poor little ash and his constantly sore feet bird feet are not made for shoes #for anyone who hasn't read it: it's like a jewish good omens and i say that with every drop of praise i possibly can #angel and demon affectionately bicker their way through the immigration process #my art

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bumblingbee1 · 3 months

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Sometimes I feel annoying for posting LGBT pride icons after pride month, but then I go "fuck it".

#bee bumbles #anyway apologies in advance for possible spam on your dash lmfao #i've been thinking of posting gay and trans tank dempsey icons as i did for the rest #but since i used more tank images/renders i'd have to separate the gay from the trans ones #*remembers i used both primis and ultimis* oh my #i don't think i'd feel comfortable posting lesbian icons of them #unless other lesbian codz fans were to ask me themselves #like actually request for them

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jamisonwritestf2trash · 3 months

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London photo dump Pt. 1/3

#london #non tf2 post #jamison is traveling #i tried to censor the faces as best as possible because they deserve privacy so i apologize in advanced if didn’t do it well!

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seventeenlovesthree · 6 months

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(in terms of general platonic group dynamics OR romantically!)

#digimon polls #shipping polls #ot3 #platonic #romantic #my polls #i know there are tons of other possible combinations #but in terms of interaction patterns i tried to include most that had some kind of group dynamic #even if it just happened for an episode or two in either the og or reboot #i apologize in advance for every combi that is not covered #sometimes it were just singular scenes that stuck with me

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le-velo-pour-dru · 8 months

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My mom said we're gonna try to talk to Dallon after his show that we're going to in April, but... how am I not gonna freak out in his presence XD When I saw him walk out onstage I was a barely functioning human, so how am I gonna react when he walks over to me and starts having a conversation WITH ME?????????????????????? I want to have a working brain when I meet him so that I can actually talk to him, but if seeing him come onstage made me Genuinely Insane, I can't imagine what being face-to-face with him and having a conversation with him would do XD

#dru speaks #apologies in advance to dallon weekes for how i might act in his presence #sorry dallon </3 i'm gonna try to be as normal as possible XD

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battle-subway-aftershow · 2 months

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// for the post youve turned into an ask game /silly

im just curious on if you have any more thoughts about esper, completely fine if not !!

RAHHHH ESPER!!! I love esper she’s incredibly silly! I haven’t been keeping up nearly enough, but dshsiahks I love her more so much!

The way you develop Spikemuth as a place and how it was affected by the Darkest Day is scarily real, and the way the after effects of the darkest day as a whole seem to affect Esper? Amazinggg

Esper feels very authentic and I love seeing the way she interacts with other people (the mystery neighbor saga for example!) and I can’t wait to see where everything goes!

(Also side note I love her art style! I love it when people give their muses different art styles from theirs, it’s really fun to study and examine!)

#apologies in advance for these I am not very well known as being able to articulate my thoughts. or remember things #in fact I am very bad at both RHTHKSHDJF #asks #esper-n-espurrs #(also I may be going detective mode and thinking too hard about things while looking for lore #but if I’m not doing that I love the way things are subtly sprinkled about. Tyrantrum? too big? possible darkest day connection?)#(that ones probably obvious but yknow)

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gumi-writes · 2 months

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i accidently sent your friend an ask i was gonna send you (common sense... i barely know her heart emoji) but yea the main thing i wanted to ask was if you had any more trivia about tien because wow they stir my frontal lobe like lentil soup... any idea for her routes? did you pick out a flower for her? i don't think ive seen that yet on your blog. minor trivia?

EDIT: LMAO THIS IS 1.4K WORDS LONG SO GOD HELP ME

yowza. you've done it now, anon (positive)! there's a lot under this cut but i wanted to answer everything and i'm incapable of not doing it as verbosely as possible LOL you have my apologies in advance <3

first off, i did get your previous messages passed onto me! please don't fret at all haha, at the very least, it was very flattering to be associated with them! in return, i will be very normal about about your asks and in fact only reread them a reasonable amount of times, i promise.

honestly, this entire thing was so incredibly written lmfao. you blast me with a compliment on the character design then plonk one of the most thoughtful examination of monster vs humanity alongside the discussion of nurture vs nature i've ever seen? never in all my years on tumblr has an anon ever micdropped me like that HAHA i have to at least try to return the favour!

monstrosity as something that's nurtured, or imposed, or chosen, or innate... my initial thought that it's probably a combination of everything BUT personal choice, and a part of that stems from the kind of thing survival in this world seems to demand in the first place. death is cheap, and monsters freely roam what seems to be a world on its last legs—is a choice between surviving and having the means to survive or dying really a choice at all? is it not more a matter of a forced hand or simply a cornering that you either get out of or die from? some part of it must be innate, or there'd be nothing to nurture. another portion must be imposed, because that is what happens when you have no say. most of all is the fact the threshold for violence that the world enforces on you means that you have to meet it somehow—through grit, or strength, or something.

and tiên's response was answered for her, in a sense—to become a manmade monster with little to fear but with all the ennui dogging the heels of her manufactured nigh functional invincibility, and an unbreakable leash binding her to the hand that would never give up their favourite toy. even with all her all her strength, there's a strange defeatism about her—that she cannot fight the hand that's fed her, that she would rid them of herself, but she has just enough pride to strive for the ambition of dying for something worthwhile so that at least at the very last her power might be good for something in her life.

if that makes sense. :P but i'll finish this section by letting you know that iron maiden was actually @/laymes-arts suggestion! i'm quite enamoured with it myself!

as for her route, i do actually have a lot of thoughts considering i conceptualised her as a fake love interest! i always thought it was a little interesting that we didn't get someone from the senobium as an option (vere technically doesn't count, considering he feels like an outside contractor but like one forced into that position, so to speak), so her initial role as nun was made in partial response to that!

but it was going to be a route that really toyed with the player/mc's sense of suspicion and ability to trust her even though she was their chosen character. you were going to get embroiled in a mystery of these curious corpses with no visible wounds while rumours of a serial killer lay afoot, all the while having to navigate a tenuous new relationship in the potential hope that tiên would be the key into getting into the senobium and getting the information to a blessed cure. of course, then you'd find out that she is behind these deaths, possibly during a midkill—and the thing about tiên is that she doesn't like inflicting violence on other people, not quite out of altruism but because it's a waste of her strength, so she kills them rather gently, by kissing them and then pouring her blood into their lungs and then taking it back out again after they die of what is essentially drowning. she'd then of course reveal her role as a nun to basically be just a front for her actual purpose: the senobium's favoured weapon and their enemies' biggest threat. potentially something you yourself, or rather, the mc themselves, was going to become, so it was up to you whether or not that was a dealbreaker. i also floated around the idea of tiên appearing in other character's bad endings, wherein she'd get sent after them by the senobium and well. if it's one thing i made tiên for, it was her ability to win in a fight every time HAHA

and yep! i've both picked a flower and @/laymes-art has a flower portrait in progress haha! but i gave her the foxglove! there's various reasons, but the main reasons were that:

i thought it was fun that it was an abbreviation of folk's glove, wherein folk refers to faefolk, and tiên's name means fairy in vietnamese

it's a flower used in healing but can be poisonous in large amounts, which reminded me of tiên's relationship with her blood—both a source of her strength and what is keeping her alive and functionally immortal, but also the reason behind her body's endless chronic pain and the inability to deny those that made her into what she is access to her abilities and strength, given that the other half of her halved monster's heart is with them

the flower itself kind of looks like it has blood spots on the inner petals

and i always have trivia haha, but i'll throw out a couple more here:

her blood, on it's own, is not toxic to drink. the problem is, however, that it is incredibly emphatic to it's owner, and because of tiên's facial blindness and complete lack of social skills or experience, most people are simply foreign, faceless entities to her. as a result, her blood treats them as it would any foreign intruder in her body—much like it would purge any toxin or alcohol, it will attempt to to the same to any person that tiên has no pre-existing relationship with. which, given that that's a large portion of the population, the senobium are fond of drawing blood from her and utilising it both as a method of torture AND a potential avenue of experimentation, should they luck out and manage to make another tiên.

when her blood is ingested, she forms temporary, one way psychic connections with people where she can feel how they're feeling. given that her own emotions are very muted, this is honestly her only opportunity to connect with any kind of humanity, though this does mean that she's felt every death that has had her blood in someone. if you are a repeat drinker (somehow), tiên will instinctively always know where you are, which does help override her facial blindness to some extent.

tiên's method of differentiating between people is very simplistic: either you're the people who made her into who she is now, or you're not. as a result, she has alarmingly low standards of how she's treated—so long as you do not torture her extensively or force her to kill, you'll be on fine terms with her. that being said, this trait is offset by both strength and unflappability—at the very least, it's very hard to bully someone that does not react.

more fun little facts: given blood's role in regulating the body's temperature, tiên has perfect control over how hot or cool she is + she smells very sweet but with a tinge of iron, like bloodied honey + she has absolutely no social skills and only gets away with it because she barely initiates conversation + she genuinely thinks she's forgettable because almost no one approaches her + she has a garden in the ruins in an abandoned church, where all the flowers have grown after being watered by her blood

phew! okay! i have. a lot more honestly, but this is looking worrying long LMAO. thank you if you've gotten this far, but even if you skimmed it, i appreciated the opportunity to write all this out HAHA, it was mostly just sitting in my head anyway.

either way anon... it's insane to think that my oc could have this kind of impact on someone else, so like i hope my response showcased my thanks and gratitude at least a little bit??? HAHA at the very least, i'll be thinking about your ask and mining it for serotonin for like the next long while!

#gumi answers #and also doesn't know how to not write a lot lol #i said apologies in advance and i'll say it again <3 #i have this desire in me to respond as thoroughly as a possible not realising that means i will write a lot and then go oh. y did i do that #anyway anon i hope you're having a lovely day!!!! <3 #i know i will be 🥰#the cloistered sister

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zombieeclipse · 2 months

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I think I am losing my special interests again....

The inbetweens are the WORST

Ough

#moss shut up #not art #Moss' autistic ramblings #It's only a matter of time until I get back into Cuttletavio or start Dedf1sh posting on main again.#Or ig maybe GanLink. Or my Zelda OCs #Possibly katamari or Nancy Drew.#I apologize in advance if it's Nancy Drew #Or Ace Attorney #But also why tf am i apologizing #THIS IS MY HOUSE!!!#Anyway odds are the next big SpIn will be some obscure Splatoon lore or ship.#Or Zelda stuff.#If not that then probably Nancy Drew or Ace Attorney #Slim chance it'll be MLP and if that's the case then idk what to tell y'all #Cringe culture is dead and I know bc I'm killing it as I speak #Hmmmm forgot about dunmeshi #If you read this far. Why #But also thank you I suppose?#If you're reading this we're soul bonded now hehe

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roktavor · 8 months

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...I know it's contrary to that meme I rb'd the other day, but does anyone else have a bad relationship with actually posting fic?

Idk. I happily write, but when it comes to sharing what I've wrote, sometimes it just....takes all the fun out of it. Fills me with dread, zaps motivation, regardless of how kind any comments are - like it's not an issue with reader response at all, it's just smth that's broken in my head.

Like. I haven't heard any other writer feel similarly. But I just rarely want to share anything these days, bc it doesn't feel good or worth it or satisfying anymore...

#I'd like to leave my works somewhere others could possibly take some enjoyment from them #but lately I am like......actually others looking at these feels so so shitty. and idk why or what happened to change me.#notfic #riley rambles #can't even put it into words right and I'm sorry if this is hurtful or unrelatable #I promise it is NOT a problem with the lovely thoughtful readers. it is an issue with ME Idk how to fix #anyway thanks for listening and I apologize in advance bc I will likely chicken out of expressing myself and delete this post later #but I am tired and frustrated and wondering if I'm alone in this or if anyone can relate at all.....

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pearlgisa · 1 year

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qala and the style over substance argument

so, i watched qala (dir. by anvita dutt) immediately when it came out - a story that exposed the music industry and the position of women in it, especially focusing on the toxic nature of indian classical music? it was like they made the film for me (someone who's spent a good chunk of their life trained in hindustani classical music). however, i was sorely disappointed.

in essence, qala, along with other films that did commercially well that came out in bollywood last year, solidified my understanding that the audience of today's generation of movie-watchers genuinely puts style over substance and in fact, uses it as a way to defend their favourite movies from criticism. the recent resurgence of praise for om shanti om of all films, only strengthened this opinion.

my criticisms for qala are in plenty, yet i will choose to expand on the ones that strike out the most to me, all of which range from the lightest to the harshest criticism:

the choice of music

the acting

the direction + writing

the handling of the serious issues that are the main theme of the film

before you read ahead, please know that there are spoilers.

in indian classical music, there are two distinct forms: hindustani (or, north indian) and carnatic (or south indian) music. each have their differences and similarities and even someone who hasn't trained can tell them apart upon listening. within hindustani music - which is the genre of music that qala learns from her mother - you have many different styles of singing, ranging from shastriya sangeet (classical form of singing) to laghu sangeet (semi-classical and sometimes, light music). of course, this categorization also has its roots in religion and caste. shastriya sangeet has forms of singing like dhrupad (the oldest form and a strictly devotional medium), khyal (the most common one, telling tales or speaking of human emotions), bhajan (also a devotional medium), etc.

laghu sangeet has forms of classical music like the thumri, a form of singing popularized and invented by courtesans. the lyrics were sensual, romantic and more explicit. of course, owing to these, they were looked down upon. even the british had a huge role in diminishing the status of indian women performers. the "other woman" concept was specifically one that they propagated and the rise of the "perfect housewife" phenomena began since the seventeenth century. the extreme effect of that? the courtesans lost out on their patrons and were forced into prostitution.

hence, that was the primary history behind qala's mother, urmila, shaming her into never being a performer, i.e, in a more derogatory term, a "singing girl". a courtesan, essentially. which is accurate, considering the film is set in the 1940s. if a girl was too "out there in the world", i.e, her achievements being publicised in newspapers or her getting recognition for her academics, her future marital prospects were ruined. and the "shame" that befell the family if she was learning music or dance was worse. a significant number of the prominent female musicians that emerged from this era of pre-independence to post-independence were unmarried. or they had many patrons and salacious rumours regarding their love life were in plenty. the film pakeezah (1972) explores such themes quite well. and the many renditions and retellings of devdas also serve as a good example of the stature of performing women.

however, it's the music itself where it goes wrong for me. the choice of songs as well as qala's singing (of course, all of qala's songs are sung by the amazing sireesha bhagavatula), is in a style all too similar to laghu singing. the years of egregious training, no matter how much her mother dismissed her, would've developed a voice which would've sounded a lot more like what a lot of classical singers would sound like, unless they were singing a lighter form of singing. and it isn't a matter of pitch or using falsetto. qala's mom is referred to as a master of qawallis, which is a sufi form of devotional singing (and comes well under hindustani music too). even the lyrics of qala's songs, while full of very obvious foreshadowing, do not match the overall orthodox classical upbringing that the film portrays.

while bhagavatula has an amazing voice well versed in classical music (especially since she sings bhajans so often), considering the time that qala was set in, you would've expected a sound similar to something along the lines of noor jehan or even roshan ara begum. instead, it sounds a lot like a mix of semi-classical instrumental with a more pop-based voice. which is easier for our generation to digest and consume, however, it comes at the cost of a sound which is very typical of the 50s-70s era of bollywood.

one that qala does right are the costumes. they do their job well. not the sets as much, which i will get into later. at some points, they are well in line with the rest of the era of the film, other times it just sticks out like a sore thumb. here's where the "symbolism" comes in.

one of the most jarring examples is the song qala sings at the first performance, a very light classical song just by the sound of the vocals. even the song jagan sings is very contemporary at its core. despite the characters having an allegedly strict, traditional schooling of music (jagan's voice is devoid of the typical heavy accent or dialects that those who are from underprivileged backgrounds tends to have), the songs at hand present a very modern take on qawallis, despite bollywood being a flourishing ground for many iconic qawallis. therefore, the compositions sometimes falter at some points specifically because of the vocal choices. choosing to do away with alaaps, especially in qala's part, less aakar and more bariki, are all signficant details that feel jarring to someone who's lived in the world of classical music as long as qala. otherwise, there are some signature sounds retained from the era that the film is set in.

and while still on the topic of singing, a very important issue that i find least addressed is the acting of it. despite there being little vocal variations in the compositions, the actors don't show that they are singing. and in the film specifically revolving around music, that's an extremely important detail that i find amiss. hardly opening the mouth, the movement of the lips, the posture as well as the hand gestures (yes, a very important detail!), are all obvious flaws. a recent film that does that does those details well is the disciple (2020). the first scene of urmila teaching qala singing displays urmila wearing an elaborate piece of nose jewellery that covers half of her mouth, and that's when they're doing rehyaas (practice), not a performance. it's huge details like these that don't sell the film to me.

the acting is quite underwhelming and here is where disagreements with my opinions might enter. i find trupti dimri's rendition of qala extremely, for lack of politer words, exasperating. she tends to show the same expressions for all of her problems, i.e., there is no great difference between her feeling anger or feeling despair or feeling depressed or feeling cheated or just plain exhaustion. qala's character is a complex one and difficult to act, which is a concession i will give, however, the hype around her is a little unnerving when the audience is given such an unremarkable delivery of dialogues and emotion. it comes off as school-play acting at times. swastika mukherjee, who plays urmila, is quite two-note with her acting, which sometimes suits her character and sometimes just feels very low-effort. babil khan has his moments, yet there is such less versatility. you'd think the babil of qala's hallucinations and the one who existed in real life would have some distinct characteristics (which they do), but they never come off as that. it feels so half-hearted at times.

the whole point of symbolism is that it's subtle at heart and not on the face. qala has on-the-face symbolism, which is an irony in itself. the black swan scene, the frosty room in the beginning, the ghostly jagan, etc. almost made me bump my nose into a wall. it comes off as pretentious at best, as if the viewer is stupid. it is also very off-putting in some scenes. for example, the black swan scene - there is very little buildup and it feels very predictable in the sense that "it all goes downhill from here". however, there is one scene which i like, which is the gargoyle one (a very traumatic scene, for those who recall, it is the one right before ghodey pe sawaar gets recorded for the final time). i think that is the most effective filmmaking in the entire film. the best thing about symbolism is always the subtlety. it makes the viewer keep coming back to pick up on something they might have missed in the first watch, it helps them pick up the pieces along the way instead of being able to tell the twists thirty minutes before they are revealed.

and one of the most egregious crimes of the entire film is the direction. here is where we get a little more technical (but just briefly, do not worry). the way it cuts from one scene to the next is like watching a poorly edited reel put out by the team of an out-of-touch marketing firm. the editing could have been better at many places. the writing falls flat specifically when it comes to the characters. i'm pretty sure on paper, the script must've been a delight to read. the story has so much potential - considering that it's based on two books, where there might've been even more depth given to the characters - it isn't new in any way but it offers a different, feminist perspective of the indian music industry. yet, the characters are paper thin on screen - in their ambitions, psychology and sociology. hence, urmila suddenly turning a new leaf in the last ten minutes of the film is something that feels wrong, because all along, she has been portrayed as a heartless mother. qala's actions make sense because her character has nearly always been rooted in self pity and rage. jagan is nothing without music. there is very little dimension to them apart from me summarizing their characters in one sentence with less than thirty words each.

that is why, the film feels even more half-hearted when it speaks of the issues that it centers around. all of these elements add up and make for a tiring watch. i gave qala a second chance, to be fair and omitted some of my pettier criticisms, yet the more serious ones remain. to a certain extent, it does aestheticize depression, which i have a huge issue with. however, baby steps as always with bollywood. it's no dear zindagi considering it is set in a different period with a different ending. however, the writing of the characters could've been so much better. a little more exploration of urmila's intentions would've given her so much depth. a few more interactions between qala and jagan might've given qala the chance to befriend him and not just see him a rival, thus intensifying the decision she took. the characters do not feel human, they are strictly white or black and qala being the anti-hero feels very off since it requires better writing and a stronger plot. and of course, much better acting.

however, qala re-opened up discussion of a nearly-always forgotten discourse - that of the position of women in music. and for achieving that bare minimum, i give it full credit. however, when there have been films with much better writing, characterization and cinematography in bollywood itself, with a similar theme, qala needs to be seen for what it contains than what it displays. just because it glitters, doesn't mean it's gold.

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