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atopvisenyashill · 3 months ago

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Why do you think Jaehaerys sexually assaulted his own daughter?( I'm genuinely curious)

I have two dedicated tags to this if you want to dig in a bit more - "gael and the bard" and the newly added "jaehaerys the cruel" tags, with this meta here being the kind of jumping off point into that whole theory/analysis. gael and the bard is more focused on gael targaryen herself and the mystery surrounding her pregnancy and suicide; there's a lot of bael the bard imagery surrounding her, being called the winter princess, gael being one letter off from bael, the father of her baby noted to have been a singer, and her status as like, an eternal maiden because of her relationship with alysanne. the jaehaerys the cruel moniker is just a reference to maegor the cruel - i think the play between maegor being outwardly monstrous and jaehaerys being privately monstrous is very interesting! but also it's not like a fun tag name lol so i might change it, haven't decided yet!

but i guess to break down my thought process here - i have never liked that man lmaoooo, i am an og jaehaerys hater. my lil journey here is, i read this series in high school, roughly around the winter of 2012, but i didn't read twoiaf when it came out in 2014, i read that just before i started this blog, so like....idk 2 years ago, roughly, but i was Aware Of Its Existence (they didn't have it at school, the library was kind of far, and it felt like a stupidly expensive book to ask for at the time). i had kinda skimmed over the short stories the princess & the queen and the rogue prince (don't ask me when they came out, icr), and had read all the twow preview chapters so it wasn't like i wasn't up on all the asoiaf world stuff, i just hadn't been able to get my hands on twoiaf, which I do think impacted my view of jaehaerys because the thing is...i just didn't understand the jaehaerys appeal. i won't get into the wanky aspects of fandom (i mean i will if someone asks but idk if you care lol), but i would say in the like 2010-2014 era the fandom was p staunchly and loudly pro targaryen, and not just in a "i love the rot" way but in a "they are the promised heroes" type of way and i never jived with it. i did not enjoy the vast majority of dany's chapters on my first read, nor did i enjoy this weird "well if you like the starks you're a NORMIE" takes that i was constantly seeing, and the sansa v arya war was insane (i'm blocked and have blocked just so many people lol).

i say all that because everyone was UP jaehaerys' ass. i won't name names but i remember a common rebuttal to the "well george is kinda critiquing incest-in-fantasy here and i'm not sure this series is going to end with an incestuous targ restoration" stance was "well if incest is so bad why do jaehaerys and alysanne exist huh? check AND mate incest hater" and it was like............alright, so this is a fandom of deeply unserious people who like to think they are the Expert On Themes instead of just another schmuck with a blog like everyone else. it was just a very condescending tone, always, and it turned me off the targs but especially turned me off jaehaerys.

and it was also like....but what has he done to be so beloved in this fandom??? again, this is pre twoiaf, and then post-twoiaf but pre f&b, so all we know about this dude is that he was called the conciliator because he pardoned the people who sided with maegor, he "protected the faith", he married his sister who gave the watch the gift, he abolished prima noctus, he built a dirt road, he was besties with barth. okay? i always thought the move with the gift was annoying and goofy behavior & i feel very vindicated on being right there esp if aegon’s dream was real, and i’ve always thought the marriages for his kids were kinda weird once we got those in twoiaf and WHAT DO YOU KNOW. like, pre twoiaf everyone was hyping him up as this great king, this paragon of valyrian supremacy, oh he’s so smart and politically minded but he’s not overly cruel, and it was like. we know little about this man in his day to day life though. we know damn well whatever good robert did as king was largely jon arryn's influence so Why are we pretending like just because jaehaerys passed a few good laws it means HE was the one responsible for those ideas (and again I WAS RIGHT). is what he’s doing even that good??

AND THEN FIRE AND BLOOD CAME OUT. and everyone was crying screaming throwing up about how stupid he is, how cruel he is, how weird he is about his daughters, and then people started saying “well you’re being unfair if you don’t like him because-“ i don’t give a shit because i’m validated for not liking that man’s vibes thanks!!!! like…yeah he IS a paragon of targaryen supremacy and this is not a good thing! and especially when you factor in how often the patriarchs of the series have these deeply rooted, very disturbing flaws, i thought the backlash to f&b re: “he ruined jae & aly!” so silly. of COURSE he was weird about his daughters, he eloped with his 12 year old sister and when confronted over it basically said “i do what i want fuck you” that’s not romantic it’s INSANE BEHAVIOR and i’ll stand on that forever!!! marrying your siblings is deranged and idgaf about what magic or political reasoning they have ESPECIALLY when jaehaerys himself refuses a valyrian marriage several times over when it makes more political sense to go that route (in both his own marriage and in the marriages of his grandchildren).

so! i always thought he was boring and weird, then f&b came out and i was vindicated. the thing is, as i read, i guess i was also like. but what is the fuckijg POINT of this guy! he dominates the f&b narrative when there’s way more interesting characters, he has no redeeming qualities, every good thing he does is usually overshadowed by his reasoning being heinous and disturbing, but this book is pushing this idea that he’s the good one, he’s the blueprint, so is it JUST an exploration of like, what ~being a good person~ really means and how reputations & history are very malleable depending on who is recording it??

And then i really started to dig into Saera. Her isolation, her drinking, her sexually tormenting the court fool, the way jaehaerys is always giving her gifts and "indulging" her, the way she's brought before the throne instead of in a private room because what she did is considered like, treasonous basically (what she did being, of course, having sex without her father's permission, lmao!), her very hysterical confrontation with her parents, Jonquil Darke forcing her to watch her boyfriend be murdered, Jaehaerys' insistence on refusing to forgive her and calling her a whore, and of course this weird exchange:

“What have you done?” the king said, when at last the princess ran out of words. “Seven save us, what have you done? Have you given one of these boys your maidenhead? Tell me true.” “True?” said Saera. It was in that moment, with that word, that the contempt came out. “No. I gave it to all three. They all think they were the first. Boys are such silly fools.”

"They all think they were the first." they all think it. i don't think any of those three boys were the first - i think she'd lost her virginity well before she started fooling around with them and when I first read that part my first thought was "I think Jaehaerys knows damn well who she lost her virginity to" and I started spiraling from there.

I decided to do a write up of Jaehaerys Being Deeply Weird Towards His Girls and while there's some things I would change - in particular, I think I'd add more to the Alyssa, Viserra, and Gael sections - there's a reason that the Saera section in particular seemed to really spark off a lot of conversation (not to toot my own horn here lmao) and that reason, imo, is that a lot of people read about what happened between Saera and jaehaerys and go "now what in the goddamn hell is THAT about." Saera more than any of Jaehaerys' kids is imo the canary in the coal mine, so to speak - whatever George intended with F&B, I do think he meant for us to look at the way Jaehaerys talks about Saera and go "this guy has some fucking ISSUES." I don't know that he meant for it to go all the way up to "Jaehaerys is molesting his own kids" route but I do fully believe he meant something in that realm of "Jaaehaerys is cruel to a sexually abusive point to his children" the same way that like, Tywin and Cersei sexually abuse Tyrion but don't outright rape him themselves. I think Jaehaerys was always meant to be aman who is remembered fondly but was an absolute monster in his private life, in contrast to both the kings he succeeded (maegor and aenys) and as a point of comparison to our "modern day" patriarchs who have their own hang ups surrounding their daughters in Tywin, Doran, Ned, Robert, Jon, and Hoster.

#asks #anti jaehaerys i targaryen #anti asoiaf fandom #shaggy1234 #and like tbc re: incest i do think sometimes george is writing these scenes bc he has an incest kink and i think that's fine #i'm not about to pretend like i don't find the parent/child incest fascinating HELLO my aligon visnyra and jacenyra tags B U T #just bc he thinks incest is sexy doesn't mean he isn't like Saying Something Here & that's my issue #jaehaerys the cruel #gael and the bard

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burning-omen · 1 year ago

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Kinktober day 8: Window sex + Obi-Wan Kenobi

Obi-Wan Kenobi x male!reader

Kinktober 2023 List | Day 1 | Day 9

Summary: you and obi-wan were always so busy, you made sure to always make time for him though.

Warning: voyurism, errors to be fixed later

Staring out your apartment window, you had a perfect view of the entrance, people coming and going on their speeders, packages being delivered by droids, and the few people who walked around instead of driving rushing passed the entrance as to not bother the dooman. Obi-Wan had arrived a couple of minutes ago, he’d given you a look from the ground floor, entirely unserious and relaxed as he headed into the building.

After a couple more seconds you heard a knock from the door.

“It’s unlocked, Obi-Wan.”

The door slid open, he stepped inside with a smile.

“Y/n.” he breathed in relief. “I was…surprised to see you back so soon.”

You turned away from the window and to the man standing in your living room.

“It wasn't the same without you.”

He sighed, “You know I wanted to go.”

“I don't question that, I know you did.”

You stepped closer to him, cupping his cheek with your hand.

“You deserve a break more than anybody I know..”

“I couldn't leave Anakin, as the twins grow older he's starting to realize why he was such a pain to deal with.”

You laughed, you've been around for much of Anakins life, ever since he was first assigned to Obi-Wan, you've watched him grow from a tiny, pain-in-the-ass child, to a even bigger pain-in-the-ass adult. You loved him though, even if your relationship with the man wasn't as strong as it was when you were still with the Jedi, you still considered him a close friend.

“Do you think Anakin can manage a couple of days without you?” your question hid another as you ran your hand through Obi-Wan’s hair, you knew that Anakin was mostly capable of taking care of the twins himself, the real question was ‘will you stay with me?’

“Of course,” he said with a smile, quickly closing the already small gap between the two of you, a small smile on his lips as he pressed them against yours.

Tangling your hands in his hair- its getting long again, you thought- softly pressing your body against his. He responded in kind, placing his hands on your waist to keep you against him.

He took a step forward, and you took one back. He kept going until your back was up against the wall. He was never rough or frantic, always seeming to know what to do with his hands. Even when you flipped so that he was against the wall instead of you, he dragged his fingers from around your waist up your chest, then back down, settling them in the waistline of your pants.

You didn't comment, kissing him again and again until he was really breathless. You ran your hands down his side, listening to his shallow breathing for a short moment before grabbing his belt and turning him by it until his chest was pressed against the wall. Bringing you hands to his back, running them over his pristine robes, past his belt, and to his ass, squeezing tightly, he jumped, then laughed, then rested his head against the wall.

“Y/n, the curtains are still open..”

Snaking you hands up under his tunic, then down his pants you hummed.

“So they are.”

“You’re not going to close them?”

“Not unless you want me to, do you want me to?”

He stood there for a moment, staring at the ground.”

“No.” He said, so sure of himself.

“No?” You asked.

“No.”

“Then..may I try something?”

He breathed in deeply.

“Yes.”

You guided him over to the window, you hands on his shoulder, then running them down his arms until your hand found his, raising them above the his head and pressing them against the window.

He looked at you over his shoulder, his eye brow raised.

“Here?”

“Is that okay?”

He looked out and saw the same things you had earlier, the people, the droids, the speeders. A grin rose on his face.

“Well if you insist.” He said in that teasing tone of his.

You laughed, “Well alright then.”

You continued on, you arms around him, trailing your hand along his belt, finding the familiar clasp amd undoing it before letting the belt fall to the floor. You brought his arms down for a short moment to remove his robe, now bare from the waist up, his breathing picked up.

“Still okay, Kenobi?”

He breathed out slowly, a small grin forming on his face, “Yes, I'm just…excited, is all.”

“Good.”

Slipping your hands down his pants again, you took his half hard cock in your hand, stroking him slowly, listening to his low pants, breath fogging the cold window. You didn't stop until he was fully hard and leaking in your hand, his mouth agape as he tried to steady his heavy breathing.

“Are you ready, Obi-Wan?”

“For- For what?” He said, his heart still pounding.

You leaned in close, until your chest was pressed against his back.

“To let them see you of course,”

He paused, enjoying your warm body on him in your practically freezing apartment.

“Yes. I’m ready.”

You didn't waste another second pulling his pants from his waist and fall, still partially held up by his boots, but that was closer to his ankles than anything.

Feeling every bit of his bare body that you could, watching his reaction in the reflection of the window, his eyes barely open, fluttering closed every few seconds.

“Stop teasing me and get on with it.”

“Be patient, love.”

“You make it hard.”

“I know, just a little more, love..”

With one hand on his stomach, you used the other to make quick work of stretching his hole. Pressing two fingers in at the very start, watching his reflection as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Holding the tips of your fingers against his walls, spreading them slightly until his hole resisted too much, listening to him pant and moan, chest pressed against the glass. Trying not to focus on the possible onlookers below, he turned to you, watching your face over his shoulder.

“Almost done, don't worry.”

“I- know you well enough- Ah- not to be.”

You pulled your fingers out slowly, drawing out a long moan from him.

“Are you ready?”

He nodded hard, nearly smacking his forehead on the window.

“Alright, try to relax.”

“I am rel- Ah, mhh-”

You breathed heavily, “I told you to relax.”

Through labored breath and little moans, he muttered something you couldn't hear, but you let him be.

It didn't take you long to find a good pace with the man, thus wasn't anything new for either of you, you've been lovers for years and friends even longer, you knew what felt good and what didn't. And by the way Obi-Wan’s eyes are rolling into the back of his skull you figured he's feeling very good.

You pulled his hips back to match each one of your thrust. Low moans and hard panting breath filled the room quickly. He tried to keep his eyes off the ground below but it was far too tempting of a sight, staring down things seemed to be exactly as they were before, with the addition of a man, standing all the way down there, mouth hanging open as he peered straight into your window.

“Y/n- I- there’s someone- they’re down there.”

You paused for a second, looking over his shoulder, just as he said , there was someone down there. You made eye contact with the man for a moment, he wasn’t nearly close enough for you to make out any of his features, but you could feel his eyes on yours. You grin grew wide as an idea formulated. Leaning down, you whispered in his ear,

“Would you like to give him a show, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-wan, always so calculated in everything he did, nodded after a moment consideration.

You breathed out slow, running your hands up Obi-wan’s chest, resting around his neck for a short moment.

“You’re wonderful, Obi-wan.”

You didn’t give him a moment to fawn before you started thrusting into him at a rapid pace, the sudden abuse making him moan and cry out at the same time. His hips nearly his the glass with each thrust, his cock, red and leaking, pressing against the glass, leaving while streaks in its wake.

He said your name like a prayer, loudly and quietly. Taking his breath out of his lungs with every gentle, contradictory touch of your hands, and every harsh thrust.

Keeping himself upright was a challenge but being squished between you and the glass helped. His mind was swimming in pleasure, only further amplified by the on looker below, who has yet to move.

“I think he likes you.”

“Ha- likes you too then, considering..”

His words were slurred and imprecise, but you understood him well enough to know that in some way, he was teasing you. Moans over took whatever he attempted to say as his eyes flew open suddenly, his body convulsing as high pitched moans rang through the room. Cum splattered onto the clear glass window, slowly dripping down, and even though you loved Obi-Wan and would like to let him rest after cumming, especially now as he seemed to be riding it out slow, but you really didn’t want to have to clean dried cum off the window, the crevices of the window sill, and the floor, so you sped up, you hips hitting his ass at a bruising pace, his body was practically limp between you and the glass, letting you reign over him.

Your reign didn’t last long, shoving your cock deep inside as you came, he whined, leaning back to rest his head on your shoulder.

“Obi-wan?”

Nothing.

“Love?”

Nothing again.

“Do you want me to go lie down?”

He nodded.

You laughed for a moment before pulling out and hoisting the man up into your arms, making your way over to your bedroom. Having nearly forgotten about your admirer. Leaving a tired Obi-Wan in you bed, pressing a long kiss on his sleeping cheek before heading back out to clean up the mess that has accumulated in the living room.

#x male reader #male reader #male!reader #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #male s/o #x male!reader #obi wan x male reader #obi wan kenobi x male!reader #obi wan kenobi

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justinspoliticalcorner · 4 months ago

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Zack Beauchamp at Vox:

Vice President Kamala Harris’s acceptance speech started slow, getting bogged down in a familiar recitation of her biography. But it got stronger over time, really hitting its stride when she got around to a topic that’s often dry: foreign policy. There, she showed a facility with policy and an aptitude for navigating deeply divisive issues like Israel-Palestine that did wonders for her commander-in-chief credibility. Part of what worked was Harris’s palpably emotional delivery. But there was also a real crispness to the speech’s arguments. Here’s what she said, for example, in discussing Trump’s affinity for dictators:

[I will not cozy up to tyrants and dictators like Kim Jong Un who are rooting for Trump. Who are rooting for Trump because they know he is easy to manipulate with flattery and favors. They know Trump won’t hold autocrats accountable because he wants to be an autocrat himself.]

In just three lines, she presented an entire cogent theory of what’s wrong with Trump — that he is a selfish, unserious man whose entire approach to politics is anathema to American democracy — and illustrated it with a compelling, easily graspable example. As a writer, it’s hard not to admire the craft here. She also applied that in her discussion of Israel-Palestine, where she delivered one of the deftest handlings of the issue I’ve ever seen from a politician, one that displayed empathy for both sides while also implicitly distancing herself from Biden’s unbalanced pro-Israel approach:

[I will always stand up for Israel’s right to defend itself. And I will always ensure Israel has the ability to defend itself, because the people of Israel must never again face the horror that a terrorist organization called Hamas caused on October 7, including unspeakable sexual violence and the massacre of young people at a music festival. At the same time, what has happened in Gaza over the past 10 months is devastating. So many innocent lives lost, desperate, hungry people fleeing for safety over and over again. The scale of suffering is heartbreaking. President Biden and I are working to end this war such that Israel is secure, the hostages are released, the suffering in Gaza ends, and the Palestinian people can realize their right to dignity, security, freedom, and self-determination.]

Harris’s framing not only recognized the strongest points in both the Israeli and Palestinian narratives of the current conflict, it took them seriously. She did not mince words or dance around the horror of October 7. She acknowledged why the attack was such an unforgivable assault on Israeli lives and reiterated her commitment to preventing it from ever happening again. At the same time, she went much further than even most Democrats are willing to in recognizing the immense and ongoing suffering of Palestinians. More than that, actually: She acknowledged that Palestinians have legitimate rights — rights that demand even more than an end to this war, but a future where Palestinians truly rule themselves. Too often, people discussing this topic feel the need to only recognize one of these narratives — and in American politics, that’s most often the Israeli one. Yet Harris placed them on truly equal footing, taking the moral ideas implicit in a two-state solution to the conflict and bringing them to the fore. The result was a discussion that anyone who cares about both Israeli and Palestinian lives could appreciate, and one that felt genuine in the delivery rather than just pro forma.

[...] But this speech felt meaningfully different in two respects. First, its rhetorical structure: Presenting Palestinian aspirations for self-determination as the moral climax of her discussion of the issue, the apex concern, felt like a meaningful shift away from a biased status quo. Second, and more importantly, it’s consistent: In public and reportedly in private, Harris has demonstrated far more concern with the suffering of Palestinian civilians.

During a portion of Kamala Harris’s Democratic nomination acceptance speech at the DNC last night, Harris touched on the Israel/Palestine topic, and she said that Palestinians have a right to self-determination. Harris also spoke out against the October 7th terrorist activities by Hamas. #DNC2024

#2024 DNC #2024 Presidential Election #Israel/Palestine Conflict #Israel #Palestine #Israel/Hamas War #Gaza #Gaza Genocide #Foreign Policy #Joe Biden

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scarlet97531 · 6 months ago

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⭕️❗️CAN WE PLEASE TALK ABOUT HOW A BOOK SERIES FOR NINE YEAR OLDS LITERALLY STARTS WITH GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE AND DOES NOT GET BETTER??????

((General warning for graphic depictions of violence, lots of caps lock, and some swearing sprinkled in for fun for the rest of this post, also I don’t hate WoF, I love WoF, but I also think it’s batshit insane and needs to be addressed (in a pretty unserious way)))

The fucking prologue.

HELLO??? AM I CRAZY FOR THINKING THIS IS A BIT MUCH FOR THE PROLOGUE OF A CHILDREN’S BOOK???

This shot was the gateway drug for us istg. This fucking book series got is so hooked on fictional violence man 😭

We were drawing detailed dragon gore as fanart, looking at detailed gore that other people had drawn as fanart?

Seriously am I crazy????? This is the second main character killing her father to prove a point?????????

This is what we get for an explanation for where the first main character came from? His backstory is literally that his mom sold him for some cows??????????????????? WTF

Also just mudwing society in general is. It seems. Pretty weird. Like really weird.

“As the [human] shrieked again, she bent down and bit off its head.

“Blech,” she said, spitting it out again immediately. The head bounced across the grass as the body slowly toppled over, blood pouring out of it’s neck.”

UM?? OKAY!!

“She scored her talons along his wing, ripping open the scars”

“She shook Dune lightly, as if she were shaking the fluff off a dead pigeon. He clawed at her talons, his eyes bulging. “I mean, what use is a crippled dragon who cannot fly? I’m surprised you haven’t killed yourself already, SandWing. But I can take care of that for you.”

DAMN????

“No!” Sunny screamed, leaping at them.

But it was too late. With a chilling crack, Queen Scarlet snapped Dune’s neck and dropped his body on the stone floor.

“Dune!” Sunny howled. She squirmed past Scarlet and crouched beside him, shaking him with her front talons. His mangled wing flopped, his scales scraped against the rocks. His black eyes were empty. “Dune, wake up!””

HOLY SHIT???? WHY WAS THIS NECESSARY FOR A CHILDRENS BOOK

WHAT THE FUCK

AND THIS IS JUST SOME OF THE FIRST BOOK, DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON LEGENDS OF DARKSTALKER MAN THAT SHIT WAS CRAZY

THIS IS BEING SOLD FOR NINE YEAR OLDS

THIS COULD VERY WELL BE A CHILD’S FIRST INTRODUCTION TO DEATH

WHAT WAS TUI THINKING???????????

LIKE ACTUALLY WHAT????

Honestly it is so unsurprising we turned out the way we did when this is what we were reading as a kid 😭

Literally our primary caretaker is named after Scarlet. The same scarlet in those quotes earlier. Like this shit is so in our brain and has been since we were twelve.

This shit. Is. Crazy.

And then every time I try to point out flaws In the writing or the plot ppl tell me “oh it’s not that deep it’s just a children’s book it’s not a big deal” LIKE. FUCKING. HELL IT IS.

ABSOLUTELY NOT. NO FUCKING WAY.

I am completely convinced that if we had never read these books our gorey pseudo memories would not be HALF as detailed and disturbingly accurate as they are now. Like seriously we did so well in anatomy classes because of this. Maybe that’s mostly the autism but i we never would have been so interested in anatomy if we weren’t trying to figure out how to draw anatomically accurate dragon disembowelment because of these damn books 😭

Anyways all this said I still fucking love wings of fire and I’m thinking of bringing back that thing where I draw cute cartoony dragons dying horribly :3

If anyone has horror stories about growing up reading wings of fire I want to hear them

WAIT ONE LAST THING- I forgot to mention the icewing massacre, attempted genocide, and general dragon racism….. hmmmm a topic for another time perhaps

#killer ⭕️❗️#wof #wings of fire #wings of fire books #dragonets of destiny #the dragonet prophecy #darkstalker legends #war of sandwing succession #queen scarlet #scarlet wof

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necroromantics · 8 months ago

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Hey hey tomb is there anything more about tobin?? We need more of him plss he is so cooll we love him so much pls spill we're listening:3

*puppy eyes*

UHHHH I DUNNO WHAT TO SAY SPECIFICALLY... Heres a bunch of random facts though... If you want me to expand on anything specifically lmk (None of these are particularly relevant to the plot of Creepedverse, if you wanna know more about that feel free to leave an ask on the account @creepedverse )

-He has a little sister named Emily. Shes 8 years younger than Tobin. The last time he saw her was before he killed his father. He was 17, she was 9.

-His mother dealt with severe mental health issues all his life, and his father was heavy into drugs and alcohol. Tobin was really the only one who raised Emily. He would steal chocolate bars from the store to give her, cook her supper, get her ready for school, etc

-Tobin knows how to braid hair. He learned one night after his mom yelled at Emily when she asked her to braid her hair. He took his crying sister into his room and spent an hour trying to figure it out for her

-He used to run away all the time, or would get kicked out, but always ended up back home. Either he calmed down, his mother calmed down, or the cops dragged him back without asking why he ran away in the first place

-Tobin is very interested in guns. Something he picked up from his father. He likes older models the most

-His favourite music artists are Green Day, The Offspring, Three Days Grace, Alice In Chains, Aerosmith, Eminem, and NWA

-Despite being insensitive and callous, he's very loyal and very protective of the people he likes. But he's insanely picky on who he deems worth his time and energy

-Tobin is awful with emotions. He doesn't like when people vent to him, he never knows what to say, and he doesn't really care about their problems

-Being in and out of school his whole life, Tobin is very set back on his education. He barely even knew how to read until Tali taught him. She was his tutor in high school, which caused a lot of arguments between the two hotheads

-He's good with his hands. He steals bikes and takes them apart for scraps. He's also very into welding and later in life, he'd spend his time in chop shops fixing up or taking apart busted cars

-Tobin is very unserious and goofy. 99% of the shit he does is because he thinks its funny or entertaining. He has a mindset of "nothing matters", to a fault. He finds it very difficult to understand why others might take certain things seriously, or be hurt by things

-He's a troublemaker from birth. Always starting fights, running his mouth, getting his shit rocked. Tobin is not one to hold his tongue for the sake of peace. If someone has a problem with him, thats their issue, not his

-Before he killed his dad, Tobin was pretty well known by the local cops (small town). They'd sometimes drive past and ask if he was staying out of trouble. Nobody was really surprised when they heard about what he did

-He has untreated bipolar disorder (not borderline.) and goes fucking insane for a week or two every so often. Tali can always tell when he's heading for an episode before he can, and is always there to help him out

-He got the scar on his mouth from being attacked by a dog when he was 8

-He doesn't have a middle name

-Tobin carries his backpack with him everywhere. It holds his entire life (Wallet, switchblade, cigarettes, candy bars)

-He skates (board) and has busted his ass more times than he can count

-Freedom is the most important thing to him. The only thing in the entire world that he'd ever even consider giving up his freedom for is Tali. Anything for her

-His love language is acts of service. Heavily. He wont buy people gifts or say nice things to them or spend time with them, but if they need help with something, he's there, he'll do it in a heartbeat, whatever they need

-He's a big hypeman and likes encouraging people. On his good days, he's funny, outgoing, and optimistic

-On his bad days, he's a piece of shit who'll blow up on anyone, do anything he can to cause problems, put others down. He'll lash out, hit where it hurts. Horribly self destructive

-Tobins favourite colours are orange, blue, green, in that order

-He was really into dinosaurs as a kid. His favourite dinosaur is the bruhathkayosaurus

-He's very open-minded, like this guy does NOT care at all about what someone else is doing. He was raised to always mind his own business, let people do their thing, and he kept that mindset growing up. To a fault. He doesn't care if someone is a killer, sexist, gay, a furry, conservative, a cannibal, whatever. He has his own views, and does not care enough to be bothered by other peoples

-Despite being very morally skewed and being a chronic idgafer, Tobin is fiercely against harming, and people who harm, children and women (Physically. He doesn't care about emotional). He grew up defending his little sister and sometimes his mother from his father. He thinks people who prey on those weaker than them are pussies, and always stands up for the smaller guy

-Due to this, Tobin tends to pick fights with people who are bigger than him, or people who he views as a threat. Authority, people who act tough, disrespect him, etc. He'll pistol whip a guy twice his size he does NOT have any regards for his own limits or safety

-He was close with his grandma growing up. He's a grandmas boy. She never really knew all the things he was up to (drugs, selling, fights), but she's been around for a long time so she always had a feeling. One of the things he thinks about from time to time is how he never got to say goodbye to her before he ditched town

-Tobin had a few close encounters with death. Almost getting his brains blown out, accidentally overdosing, nearly drowning. The feeling right before you're about to die is something he's well acquainted with

-He's big into anarchy and knows how to make various bombs. Never gets around to it though. He doesn't trust his knowledge in chemistry enough to not blow himself up

-He does boxing when he needs to blow off some steam

#tomboc #creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta oc #tobin lawsen #crv tobin #creepedverse #creepypasta headcanon #creepedverse tobin

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nonbinarygamzee · 1 year ago

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i think it is very interesting how people pick and choose which characters to sympathize with on the basis of being reduced to plot devices or being in general captives to their narratives. and obviously you dont have to like or give a shit about every character to exist especially not in a work so simultaniously dense and flat as homestuck, but i have both an intense interest in sociology and too much experience with how this fandom treats people for liking the "wrong" fictional children not to be eternally preoccupied with what makes these distinctions. when the character is liked, they are allowed the grace of being kind of poorly written; its the fault of the author, or theres some significant nudging about of their story beats to recontextualize them into something more nuanced and whole. by contrast, if the character is generally agreed upon to be uncharismatic, their personality flaws are inflated and the flatness of their writing is either erased in preference of integrating those authorial decisions into the characters personality (regardless of how glaringly contradictory) or more concerningly becomes a means of shutting down criticism on the basis nobody should care about the unserious/unwritten ones anyways.

interestingly, with gamzee in particular, ive found that people tend to do one or the other moreso than both; dont get me wrong, theres still a plethora of moralizing over peoples sympathy for This particular fictional child going on, obviously, thats basically the reason i am trapped here. but because gamzee is accepted as not a character but a plot device or an obstacle, a lot of people arent invested enough in her potential personhood to insist that the (antithetical) ways that she behaves are proof of her being "iredeemable". but they still have a negative emotional response to people having investment in her character. it isnt relevant whether or not shes a bad person, or whether she is being puppeteered, because her functionality in the world she exists in is to propagate the story and stand in opposition to its protagonists.

however as interesting as i think that is and for all i do think it says about an individual persons approach to homestucks presentation, i also cant ignore that that dichotomy only really started to Exist once it became less in vogue to harrass people for their character allegiences. in the same way, it seems like we as a fandom cannot escape the trap of being really, really weird about tavros every couple of years. skirting around some of the more blatantly ridiculous stuff because i do actually value my sanity a little bit, he is definitely one of the characters i first noticed people using critique as a pretense for passing judgement on people who liked or cared about him. again basically coinciding wiyh when it stopped being generally socially acceptable to just openly laugh about what a pathetic loser the disabled kid being humorously abused onscreen was. when ableism started to become a topic people cared about and disabled people and fans who related to tavros began to provide more in depth critique of the writing choices, and of fans, namely fans who made very light of his disability or who had a general refusal to talk about vriska's(and others but you know why its about her here) ableism, there was a massive uptick in people feeling the need to talk unprompted about how boring and shitty tavros is, questioning how anybody could like him when hes so badly written, etc. all in ways that did not try very hard to hide the fact that the concern about character writing was disingenuous and only really served the purpose of shutting down critiques of ableism in the fandom and comic. obviously this all seems to stem from investment in canonicity but i do notice it informs even the choices of people who approach their engagement in a "my city now" type of way. because the presentation of these characters impacts the wider perception, which impacts the ways people will deconstruct them. and this is why the idea that "homestuck doesnt have a canon" is a lie being sold to you for the sake of shutting down investigations od authorial motivation. was not intended to be epilogue snark but thatd as good a way to end this nonsense as anything else.

#not rereading if i made a msitake or dont make sebse thats on you for not being psychically linked #its clown town #gamzee #tavros #meta

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reviewinghiccup · 2 years ago

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RIDERS OF BERK || THE SEASON FINALE | HTTYD SERIES | BREAKING DOWN HICCUP

Blog Post Title: Breaking Down Hiccup

Title: We are Family I & II

Ep/Season: Episodes 19 & 20, Season 1 (Riders of Berk)

Premise:

It's Bork week! The riders were tasked to do a Dragon Air show in conjunction w the festive week. The Nadders had a synchorinsed air glide, the Gronckles were gonna arrive in a steady formation and well, Hiccup started feeling a little left-out for Toothless who might need to do the show alone.

Newly entrusted w Bork's papers, i.e., the originals drafts making up the sacred Book of Dragons, he stumbles on a couple of sheets revealing the mysterious Isle of Night, an island filled with Night Furies.

Desperate to find Toothless a family of his own, Hiccup and gang sets out to look for the island, but stumbled into something else.

THEME & MESSAGE

PRESERVING GENERATIONS

The Vikings are a very proud people. Proud of their culture, background and ancestry. They all come from a long line of dragon killers. As far as we know it, no one apart from Hiccup has tried to make peace w the beast. And so, it is a huge deal that this year's Bork Week is celebrated along side the dragons instead of against them.

Bork the Bold is Gobber's great, great grandfather. He has inherited all his trinkets and keepsakes. The journey of collecting and collating the information found in the Book is discussed in Dreamworks Dragons' limited series Book of Dragons.

Maybe that's why Gobber is such a dragon expert himself. It runs in his blood.

Now, we know times have changed and the village has now accustomed themselves to having dragons around. As part of their daily life, culture and community.

That was the one of the main objectives of the Dragon Academy & the aim of the dragon riders. And they’ve done well in securing this new sense of life.

"Traditions' a fine thing Mildew, but things have changed. Better if you asked me...We've come a long way from the time when it was us or the dragons, you might be a little less crusty if you get used to that Mildew."

And if you think about it, how many senseless deaths had occasioned all these generations long because the vikings couldn't or weren't intuitive enough to understand dragons?

So, yes, things have changed for the better.

The council agrees that it is time for Bork's notes to be stored in the academy and placed under Hiccup's charge so that it can be utilised and improved upon. It is, to them, the right place for it now.

Being the nerd that he is, Hiccup spends the entire night sifting through old manuscripts and diaries till he stumbles upon notes on an island full of Night Furies.

FINDING TOOTHLESS A FAMILY

Lamenting earlier in the afternoon, wishing Toothless had a family to belong to, Hiccup was excited to get hold of these notes, embarking almost immediately on a journey to find Bork's cave and retrieve the exact location of the Isle of Night.

This journey was so funny. I mean, Snotlout is such a jerk to the Twins, but it counterbalances because the Twins couldn't care less about Snotlout. The entire scene when he was held hostage by the wild changewing is so unserious its funny.

This adventure was pretty remarkable. I mean, Bork sounds like a pretty elusive character. His cave is revealed by sunlight. It's perched on the side of a steep cliff. I know that I said, Hiccup is the first one we know of that rode dragons, but who knows, towards the end of his life, maybe Bork did as well, he just didn't record it? (This is just my theory. I'm not fully convinced but I do wonder.)

It's also amazing that this was the episode Hiccup discovers Toothless's echolocation.

Let's have an honourable mention for the Isle of Night's location carved into the topside of the cave. Aesthetically pleasing for an adventure this big. (I wouldn’t get too attached though, y’all know why).

This mission was also special. It wasn't a scouting mission, a rescue mission, a mission against the enemy. It was instigated to find Toothless a family. And everyone went with Hiccup. The Twins, Snotlout, Fishlegs and of course, Astrid.

This just goes to show, that inasmuch as they get on each others nerves, the five of them will always have each others back.

UNFORTUNATELY,

For those who watched the final instalment of the HTTYD franchise, The Hidden World, you would know that all Night Furies were hunted down nearly to extinction by this guy...

It was peculiar that the notes specified unruly and hostile behaviour of Night Furies in herds.

Yet, based on that information, Hiccup went alone to spare the others from danger.

The longer it took for any Night Furies to show-up, the more suspicious I was and, on my first time watching, I remember yelling "GET OUT IT’S A TRAP!"

This whole time, it was a ploy by Alvin and the Outcasts to kidnap Hiccup and force him into training their dragons.

MILDEW'S TREASON

I had an inkling that this old man had something to do with something. But I don't know why, when it was reveal that he had a hand in this, it surprised me. I knew he was a grumpy, horrid old sod, but I never expected him to be cunning.

AND, the most interesting part about this treason was how well it played out.

When Mildew was thrown in prison and it looked like Alvin had tricked him too, I thought it was genuine. Who knew it was a charade to get Hiccup to teach Mildew the tricks of the trade?

I mean, Mildew played two cards; (1) Hiccup’s knack for adventure; and (2) Hiccup’s forgiving disposition.

It’s like Mildew knew Hiccup was in search for other Night Furies for Toothless. And I wondered how he knew that was the case to be. Though, on hindsight, maybe he was just taking a swing at Hiccup’s innate desire for discovery.

He further played with Hiccup's sympathy and used it to gain his trust when “trying to escape.”

Though don’t you think it’s ironic, that Midlew is the one from Berk who ends up learning and training dragons on Outcast Island? Doesn’t this deserve an irony of all ironies stamp?

Whatever the case may be, the whole Mildew fiasco was dramatic to say the least:

HICCUP THE UNAFRAID

I don't think I have ever seen this boy flinch at danger or bad guys. He flinches when Astrid's mad at him (which is adorable), but not at Alvin, or anyone whose kidnapped him before. And he has been kidnapped many times.

He just walks through the prison barracks as if its nothing. He is the perfect example of never judge a book by its cover.

We think, from the 1st Movie, that Hiccup is a coward. But no, he is a different kind of fighter. And a testament to his own father, Stoick who is also brave and unflinching when it comes to danger UNLESS the danger befalls someone they care about.

He is more Stoick’s son than meets the eye. And just because he doesn’t look large and compelling doesn’t mean he isn’t.

This adds to what I've been talking about this whole time, that courage, perseverance and leadership takes many different forms. And Hiccup is in a state of his own.

THE RIDERS OF BERK

And in line with our topic on "things aren't as they always seem," it took Hiccup two episodes to realise that Toothless had found his family… in him.

Family doesn’t need to fit the conventional standard of blood relatives or similar species. It can occasion from bonds of brotherhood, friendship and care. The question is, whether you are there for each other no matter what. And the answer to that is, definitely!

This little family is completed w a blonde, warrior Princess and her Deadly Nadder. An arrogant yet loveable (sometimes) dweeb and his Monstrous Nightmare. A tough an tender dragon knowledge geek & his Gronckle. And a pair of eccentric twins on their Zippleback.

RIDERS OF BERK ended w a final lesson - Defending the people you love.

The dragons carried out their mission to save Hiccup and Toothless in the absence of command.

They transitioned perfectly from simply just protecting their riders to actively fighting for them.

Moving on from being riders to defenders, #iykyk.

The whole season dealt w lessons for the dragons and it’s riders. Everyone had so much to learn about themselves and each other. And we get a lovely insight into the whole process.

PERSONAL TAKE & THANK YOUS

ROB lifts the curtain on the day-to-day lives of Berkians because it was a story on how these dragons were going to assimilate into their world.

What I never expected was, being able to find such nuggets of wisdom and character building when I took apart actions and consequences or responses a character had towards their circumstances and fit them into my life creating a moral lesson.

Dreamworks Dragons as a series gets more and more interesting. The adventure thickens. The stakes higher. The losses greater. The bad guys worser. But nothing compares to the heartwarming, soul enlightening, humble beginnings that ROB brings. It’s drenched in nostalgia.

One thing I missed when ROB ended was peeping through Hiccup & Stoick’s relationship for the first time, poking more into their time together. I really wish Stoick didn’t die. It was such a harsh death. I wish he could’ve lived to see his grandkids. He would’ve loved that. He was such a family man.

The story of hope, courage, and finding yourself flows in the veins of this first season of Dragons. It pays homage to the 1st Movie, which is still my favourite. In essence, it is about a boy, and his dragon and finding himself in between.

I have so much more to say, but that might turn this post into a book, so I’ll end by thanking everyone for the opportunity to share my thoughts on this show. My posts are long, and you guys take time to read it. That’s so precious to me, because who am I to be worthy of anyone’s time really?

I’m just an obsessed fan looking for her own voice in a show and I started this blog as a reflection diary not so much realising how strong and interactive the HTTYD community is and has survived. It’s closing in to 13 years since the 1st Movie. Yet it continues to touch, inspire and motivate many.

And isn’t it like life to imitate art. I feel like HTTYD Tumblr is it’s own strong Viking community. Every single encounter or interaction w a HTTYD fan has been delightful and encouraging. It’s like we own this little corner of the universe where a show is studied and enjoyed to oblivion and everyone gets why.

I also believe, especially because I’ve studied Hiccup a lot recently, that if he existed and was stationed here in the 21st century, our boy would definitely be on Tumblr. Wouldn’t he?

- END OF SEASON 1 -

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scorbleeo · 1 year ago

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Drama Review: Tale of the Nine-Tailed 1938

Source: Google Images

An unexpected case leads Lee Yeon back in time to 1938, where he reencounters Ryu Hong Joo. Once a guardian spirit of the mountain in the west, she's now the owner of a high-end restaurant in the capital city of Gyeongseong. He also meets his younger brother Lee Rang. Meanwhile, another former guardian spirit and ex-friend Cheon Moo Young has become hostile. Lee Yeon struggles to return to the present, to his loved one.

Source: MyDramaList (2023)

youtube

One of the Most Unserious Dramas Out There

Before we start: I did not watch the first one and am not planning to watch it at all. Going into Tale of the Nine-Tailed 1938 I admit I had to do a Q&A with my sister to understand what happened between the Lee brothers in this drama's modern world. However, one does not actually need to watch the previous drama to watch this and honestly speaking, from what I saw and knew about it, Tale of the Nine-Tailed 1938 is a whole lot more interesting and fun.

That being said, lets get on with how I felt about this drama. I am not kidding when I say, this is the most unserious drama for a drama anyone would think to be serious. Practically half of this drama was comedy and that is a praise. The comedy bit plays a part in making Tale of the Nine-Tailed 1938 so darn interesting and fun. Yet, this show also pulls on your heartstrings be it the brothers, the best friends or the best friends' righthand people.

I understand romance was a huge part of the first instalment but in this, it was just a tiny bit and I believe that is why I freaking loved watching this drama. In terms of what romance there was, I have no complains too. I mean, I adore the mermaid and the only complain I have is that I wished we could have gotten more scenes with her powers. When Rang said he liked someone who's stronger than him, he was not lying. The way Yeohee was written was right up my alley, she may not be as powerful as Rang but she saved him more times than he saved her and even when she was in danger, she still did not back down on a losing fight. For that reason, Yeohee is I really thought I would dislike the mermaid but nope, I love her.

Another thing I seriously love about Tale of the Nine-Tailed 1938 was the friendships. Any friendship in this drama was a pleasure to watch. Obviously, the friendship among our three mountain gods was my favourite. Don't get me wrong, Yeon is extremely lovable but in this trio, I need to worship my lady, Hongjoo and lovingly protect the cinnamon roll, Mooyoung. These three portrayed my kind of friendship where they were tight as children, still tight as adults and even with unfortunate circumstances, they might hate but they love each other more. Of course, the friendship among the roommates was a delight too. I only highlighted my top two favourites but I am not lying when I claim that this show did friendships so well.

Now, now. We have a problem though. At the beginning of this drama, Taluipa told Yeon even if he changes something in 1938, it does not affect 2023. I think its safe for me to say that we do not want that to be true, right? I am just willing to believe that what Taluipa said meant that Rang would still be dead in 2023, nothing Yeon did in 1938 changed Rang's decision in the future. I would even go as far to say that, everything Yeon did in 1938 further encouraged Rang to make that choice in the future. That is all I am willing to believe because I hear there's a third season and I need my best friends and roommates reunited to fight (without a doubt) the original mountain god. Yes, I know I said all I am willing to believe is that Rang is still dead but that's because I am sure there will be no Nine-Tailed dramas without both Lee brothers alive.

When the next instalment comes out, I will watch it as long as Hongjoo and Mooyoung are still around (if Jaeyoo, Miyeon and Yeohee are too, even better). I don't even care if there will be more romance although I wish there wouldn't be.

Rating: ★★★★★

P.S.: Anyone else felt that the big bad villains were so pathetic as compared to the smaller villains?

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weretheones · 2 years ago

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May I ask why you don’t write smut? If it’s too personal you don’t have to answer (ofc you don’t have to answer either way), and it’s not a problem or anything I’m just curious! Love your fics btw!!

hi!

this might be really long bc I love to ramble so here's a tldr: writing about sex in detail just feels too vulnerable sometimes. when i'm able to get over that, I don't have much practice writing smut which makes me very critical of my work lol. I might still dabble time to time (like I did with no rush), but it won't be consistent.

longer answer below

I started writing fic at 13ish. I obviously didn't write smut then, so when I came back to fic at 21 last year, I just never really considered it? I was so used to writing other content that I didn't feel like it was something I needed to do, you know?

then more recently, when I thought about trying smut, I felt weird actually writing it. partly because I have the comedic maturity of a 14 year old boy, so anything sexual (aka all of it) had me giggling and anything I wrote was completely unserious. though its mostly because I have a boyfriend in real life (my REAL babygirl). we've been together a longggg time and I guess sex is has just become a very intimate thing for me, like it is for a lot of people, so I feel extremely vulnerable/exposed writing about it. I know its fictional and just because I write it doesn't mean I'm actually involved, but its still coming from my head... so it just feels weird.

for the record: my bf knows I write fanfic about daryl/twd. he's very supportive and just happy that I have a fun hobby. he doesn't care if I write smut, I just don't always want to lol.

anyway, I still like to experiment sometimes (lets be real... when i'm horny), even if I am highly critical of it. I love a good suggestive scene, too! idk if I'll ever write a full smut scene (like p in v), but I do have some... unhinged... drafts. maybe even some plans for all you got... we'll see.

thank you for being respectful in ur ask! I don't mind the curiosity, as long as you're kind (like you were). thank you for the love, too <3

#m answers #ab smut

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screampied · 10 months ago

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ALEJANDRO! — GOJO SATORU. ☆

➤ popstar!gojo masterlist

headline. after an argument regarding gojo’s career, you two take a break and it hurts. you aren’t together, so why should you care? maybe the fame is getting to gojo’s head after all. because you see him get a new assistant the very next day.

word count. 6.9k (crying)

warnings. fem! reader, popstar!gojo au, tiny angst ending, angst, unprotected, praise, dirty talk, you make up, squírting, implied multiple órgasms, overstim, dumbification, size kink, mixed feelings, impact play.

“satoru, are you even listening to me?” you furrow your brows in sheer annoyance. the popstar, more like the brat continued to look past you as he spoke. sometimes you questioned why you’d even put up with him for so long. of course, you grew a liking to him, as did he for you, maybe?

it was a brief silence and he rolled his eyes, burying his hands into his pockets. “i heard you. i just don’t care,” he replies before dramatically yawning. “i’m adding that track on the album whether you like it or not.”

you blink twice, he was so unserious. it was as if for a split second he forgot who he was.

the gojo satoru. the two of you were in public, currently outside of a shopping mall. he was secretly buying copies of his CDs to get more sales before this meaningless altercation started. “i just think it’s not a good idea,” you sigh, feeling as if you probably weren’t gonna get through to him. “the label was strict on the duration, and—”

“you know what?” gojo abruptly cuts you off, trodding towards you. he leans forward, giving you a quick second glance before letting off a subtle scoff. “i can’t. we’re…this thing. whatever it is, we’re done,” and your eyes widen. him referring to whatever this thing was between the two of you as just something. perhaps it was foolish of you to think it would be something more.

without even thinking, you spit out, “fine. maybe you should get a new assistant then.”

“maybe i will, because someone doesn’t know how to fuckin' manage their client properly.”

oh.

it was an awkward dead silence after that. the awkwardness was so much, you could hear a pin drop.

as you glance up at the pop star, he looks unreadable. not a single thought through that brain of his. with hands buried in his pockets, he scoffs. “ya know how easy it is to replace you?”

“satoru, i’m trying to help you,” you furrow your eyebrows, briefly gawking around and trying not to make too much of a scene. you doubt lowering your tone a few notches would help. most likely, this little argument would be on the front headlines of tmz soon. “you don’t make the best decisions when it comes to things like this.”

“it’s gojo to you,” he rolls his eyes, and he turns his heels, starting to trod away. he pulls down his designer shades and he’s so dramatic. strutting down the sidewalk, he pulls out his phone before his lips curl into a pout. “address me right.”

you let off a sigh, purposely stepping right in front of him. he looks down at you, literally with a look of annoyance and slight vex.

“whatever, fine….gojo,” and you stare at him. honestly, the more you thought to yourself, why were you trying so hard? normal people would have taken the hint, but you…you felt the urge to keep testing his patience.

yet perhaps that wasn’t the brightest idea, because, after all, you were dealing with a posh and snobby international brat. “firing me is only gonna make you look bad. besides, you know how the press-”

“princess, let me put it to you this way,” gojo mumbles, a toothpick casually sticking out near the corner of his mouth. the popstar gets right up close to you. you loathed how good he smelled—a rich cologne scent. especially, his signature cologne from his very own brand.

the more he inches closer to your face, the more you feel a tingly feeling creep its way inside your stomach. “i want nothing to do with you anymore, assistant,” and his voice, had little to no emotion—you give him the same share of eye contact, trying to stand your ground but for some reason, his words hit you like a gut punch.

a full-blown gut punch to be exact. you’ve managed this brat for practically a various length of months, only for all of it to go to waste from a stupid argument.

“you’re replaceable, and if you don’t wanna do your job then i’ll find someone else,” he shrugs, dusting off the shoulder parts of his leather bedazzled jacket. gojo tilts his head, studying your facial expression. while saying something, he continued, “besides, you said it yourself. to get me a new assistant.”

“so you’re just throwing this all away?” you utter, a mere deadpan plastered on his face.

gojo grows quiet as you speak, yet he groans with a subtle eye roll. the secondhand embarrassment got to you too. again—why were you trying so hard? a question not ever you yourself could answer at that particular moment. “did me saying 'i love you' not mean anything?”

oh fuck.

you didn’t mean to say that. but at this particular moment, you kind of didn’t care.

maybe you were just a tad bit delusional but it couldn’t have been just you. out of all the times you spent with this popstar, getting to know him, saving him the trouble of getting himself hurt by fans….anything.

there had to be something there … right?

you did tell gojo you loved him out of the blue. just right after the grammys last week, it slipped out. one of the most embarrassing positions you’ve been in.

and the worst part was that gojo didn’t even say it back. more like he figured girls with him always said they loved him after having a mind-blowing orgasm from him. so you brushed it off, laughing it off awkwardly and he did the same. yet, you decided it’d be the smart idea and bring that simple reoccurrence up right now.

gojo runs a hand through his hair, pulling the toothpick out of his mouth before scoffing. “not this again,” and with another sassy eye roll, he shifts his feet into the ground, “you’re not gonna win this argument, princess. it was fun, i’ll admit that.”

stupidity couldn’t have plastered on your face even more than that particular moment.

gojo left you there, unemployed and a total idiot.

for whatever reason, the strange ache in your heart tightened as you watched him walk away with that same fake grin he’d have for the entire world to see. winking at his multiple die-hard fan girls.

although, it’s barely the next day before you spot gojo at some expensive shopping store reserved for only a-list celebrities. seeing him wasn’t what initially caught your attention, it was seeing him with another girl.

that made your eyebrows curl up into the biggest furrow imaginable. by him saying you were easy to replace, you didn’t think he’d be so quick.

giving her the same treatment he gave you, you nearly choke on your pretzel, observing the two of them.

gojo has an arm slung over her, his loud laughter that could be heard from just about a mile away.

was this jealousy you were feeling? it would be stupid, the two of you weren’t even together nor were exclusive—yet seeing your client, well ex-client made you feel a certain type of way. it was not to anyone’s surprise, seeing the numerous headlines of celebrity gossip headlines talk about the entire kerfuffle.

whatever happened to you…?

lots of people speculated the two of you were dating on the low, especially after what occurred at one of his most famous controversial performances. gojo fucking you whilst his mic was on the entire time. you’d probably never be able to live that down with him, neither would he to say the least.

you didn’t even know his new assistant’s name, but you already disliked her. the way she’d laugh at literally anything that came out of gojo’s mouth. he could let off an obnoxious belch and she’d think it was the funniest thing in the world.

after a while, they end up leaving and you let off a irritated scoff.

maybe you were dramatic, but you wouldn’t lie and say that it stung a bit. the thought—no, the sheer reality of being replaced. you thought you were getting somewhere with the popstar.

out of the many myriad talks the two of you shared, including him even opening up about his past relationship—you figured maybe there was some kind of spark. but maybe, you thought wrong.

gojo said he was going to replace you, and that’s exactly what he did.

coincidentally enough though, you stayed over gojo’s penthouse the last time the two of you were together. you still had his key and forgot to give it to him. dragging your feet toward his residence, you grumbled.

how convenient.

you really weren’t in the mood to talk to him. besides from the last time you could remember, he ended up ‘accidentally’ misplacing your panties too.

you decided to suck it up, making your way toward the popstar’s well-kept home. you pause at the doormat that read in bold grassy letters, ‘home of a guy with a large dick’ and gibe. so unserious, to think he was one of the most popular pop artists known to date. he was always known to spend his money on the most witless things.

bawling up your fist, you prepare to knock on the front of the door. but instead, you just unlock it with the key. there’d be no point, besides, you’d be in and out, right? wrong…

because the moment you open the door stands a really tall and shirtless satoru gojo. it was as if he knew you’d show up.

“mhm. just can’t get enough of me, huh,” gojo cocks his head towards the right, giving you a long four-second glance. you felt your face get hot, the singer was in nothing more than a towel wrapped around his waist. his figure, quite slim and well built. droplets of water raced down his v-line, and you couldn’t help but sneak a long stare. “should get ya arrested for trespassin'.”

your eye twitches, finding it hard to look him in the eye before you grumble. “i’m not stalking you, idiot. i came to give you your spare key back,” and then as he’s blankly staring at you, you halt your speech a bit before mumbling. “…and i came to get my panties back.”

“girl…huh? you’re mumbling. can’t understand ya.”

gojo sneers and you hated how flawless his perfectly toned body was. it was distracting you, your thoughts, words, everything. the way the white towel was just barely hanging onto his waist.

his waist…so slim.

he was perfectly sculptured from his hips to further down. with a hand of his, he tugged the fabric of the towel up a bit, you were just about to spot a few specks of white hair. his happy trail, one of your favorite things about his body. how the hair just ran down and down. his sharp v-line was a force to be reckoned with. it wasn’t much of a surprise that gojo was fit though, he was a trained dancer after all.

“i said,” you start to repeat yourself, trying to snap yourself out of whatever lewd trance he had you in. “…i want my panties back.”

“you came to see me jus’ to get those back?” gojo smirks, taking a sharp breath before running a hand through his dampened hair. “is this your way of telling me you’re not wearing any panties right now?”

“i—” you utter, being cut off by mere embarrassment. gojo giggles at your lack of response, raising his head just a bit whilst awaiting your response. “can you be serious? why would i show up to your house without any underwear?”

gojo smugly grins. “you tell me. besides, what makes you think i have them?”

you glare at him and he pokes his bottom lip out. “fine, whatever. geez,” and then he moves in front of you, closing the broad door shut. you make your way inside his doorway, awkwardly shifting your weight with your feet as he takes a few steps back. “it’s in the ah…laundry room. had one of my maids do the load ‘n they got your stuff mixed up with mine.”

you follow gojo downstairs, where his huge laundry room was kept. it’s not like you had to necessarily follow him. you knew the layout of his penthouse like the back of your hand. nevertheless, you were on his heels, pulling down on your skirt at the awkward silence.

was he just gonna be quiet the entire time?

him walking in front of you gave you the perfect chance to stare at his back, his back muscles especially…

it was unintentionally sexy, with each step he took you watched as his muscles flexed and crook together. still, he wasn’t exactly dry. it was a few leftover droplets of water racing down his back. you could make out a few scratch marks near his back as well, you were trying to remember if that was your doing or someone else.

“watch your step.”

immediately, you get cut off by gojo’s words and you fall face-first into a steep-like area. he groans, catching you with quick reflexes. “still so clumsy,” he mutters, and you stare up at the pop star. he returns a gaze, and then he looks away, getting you back on your feet. “c’mon..”

it was gauche—being handed your bawled-up panties. “um, thank you,” you tell him with the most somewhat neutral expression. gojo studies your eyes for a moment before nodding. the silence was killing you, and right when he was about to make his way back upstairs, you tugged on his arm. “wait.”

“yeah?” he sighs deeply, bringing a hand towards his face to wipe his eyes. “did you forget something else?”

“no,” you roll your eyes, dragging your words out slowly. “you know why i came here.”

“do i?” gojo tilts his head, leaning against the dryer. his towel hung onto his slim waist for dear life. you hated how he was playing coy, he knew the exact words that were about to go past your lips. “help me understand.”

you glare. “you don’t even like your new assistant.”

“woah now, that’s not true,” gojo brings his hands towards his hips. such sassy mannerisms, made your eyes roll into the very back depths of your head. “for your information, i adore april, vivian, eh…whatever her name is.”

you deadpan, and gojo simpers. “…oh,” and his voice pitches a deep low. it makes you feel a bit of tingle in areas you’d rather not disclose. “is this your way of telling me that you miss me? you miss us?”

“obviously you don’t,” you utter, meeting straight eye contact with the pop star. the smile that lingers across his lips, he inches a bit closer to you and it makes you nervous.

“i never said i didn’t miss you,” gojo snickers.

each inch he creates towards you, gradually closing the inelegant distance between the two of you, he brings a hand up to your face. it catches you by the utmost surprise, and he strokes a thumb against your cheek. “it’s clear you missed me though. can’t last a day without me. maybe you are my biggest fan.”

the nerve, it made you narrow your eyes and gojo only smiles. “mhm. but fine, maybe i did miss you a little. kinda miss being put in my place if i’m being entirely honest, princess.”

you look up at him, and he’s very serious from what you can tell. gojo’s thumb stroking against your cheek was so undeniably sensual. you take a sharp breath, and he’s giving you an intense stare. suddenly, you felt hot and that’s when you came to the hurried realization that you were completely cornered.

you were pinned back against the front door of the dryer, he had you right exactly where he wanted you. “you didn’t have to be such an asshole, though.”

“maybe,” he says, and then you gasp once he leans right into your neck, planting a single kiss near your collarbone. you almost forgot what his touch felt like. if it was anything about gojo, it was that he could never get enough of your taste. “i didn’t mean it. i jus’ wanted to piss you off.”

“satoru—” you’d grumble, yet that’s when he softly cups your chin.

“yeah yeah. scold me later, baby,” he murmurs, and his voice is so raspy. it was as if he was longing to kiss all over you, coat your skin with a plethora of invisible markings. it’s exactly what he does. his touch felt so warm, the same smug grin never leaves his face—oh, how you hated it. although, the more you stared at his perfect lips, the more you wanted to kiss him. “you want a kiss?” he hums as if he’s nonchalantly reading your mind again. you give him a nod, pressed right up against the cold dryer, and his body—gojo swipes a thumb over your lips, inching closer and closer before he pauses. “mhm. i’ll kiss you if you tell me pretty please.”

you’re sending him straight daggers. as gojo presses right up against you, he’s so close that the soft fabric of the towel brushes all over your skin. it tickles, and you then feel it push up against you. his bulge, his bulge that stuck out despite having a lengthy towel shielding his pure nudity from underneath his torso. your lips quivered, desperately wanting to feel his mouth mash against yours. “s-satoru.”

“mhm. for an assistant, ya don’t seem to like followin' instructions,” he whispers right next to your lip. the warmth of his breath wafts right beside your lips and it makes a small whine fly right out of your mouth. “you missed me so bad. all like this for a kiss, adorable.”

“prettypleaseprettypleasee,” you’d pout, and you don’t even realize you’re pouting until he smiles, pointing it out. gojo gives in within seconds, squeezing your chin and bringing you into a deep passionate kiss.

it started to slow like it always did, with that same thumb of his coolly skimming beneath your chin, you part your lips. chaste—the perfect word to describe the kiss, it was a mixture of sloppy and straight lust. gojo had a sweet taste of peppermint on his tongue, you moaned the moment he started to get handsy. a smile curled against his lips once he felt your failed attempt to yank his towel off.

gojo only then reaches down between your legs, past your skirt — pulling up your thigh, he hums right into your mouth once his fingers only feel nothing but soft skin. “ooh,” he briefly pulls away, sneaking a kiss near the inner part of your jaw. “i was right. no panties,” and then he asks. “how unprofessional.”

“shut up,” you huff, and he lets you remove the towel. gojo’s dampened body collides against yours, and he’s almost grinding against you—you initiate the kiss this time. wrapping both arms over his broad shoulders, your tongue continued to battle for dominance with his. each nanosecond his breathing picked up, casually racing within itself. everything around you felt warm, you felt like you were floating, burning up hot, but floating.

it’s only been a day, perhaps half a day but it felt like years. you didn’t care if this made you appear to be obsessed or whatever. all you knew was that you wanted this stupid pop star.

gojo slips off a whine once he feels you reach for his length, giving him a few concise strokes. “f-fuckin’ damn, i’m a little sensitive from earlier,” and as he breathlessly speaks between kisses, gojo’s one to grow a bit timid now and he gives you a dazed glance. “heh, don’t look at me like that. it turns me on when you’re angry at me.”

“you’re so weird,” you deadpan, and you shudder even more. feeling a hand over yours wrap around his length. gojo’s nostrils briefly flare up, and as he’s taking a breath, he tosses the towel to the side. you glance down, staring at his bulge and it makes the popstar a bit…nervous.

“f-fuck,” he’d groan, and that’s the exact moment where out of nowhere—gojo lifts you. he sits you on top of the lid of the dryer, spreading your legs open. with a big hand, he slowly but surely pries them open, taking a good peak between them. “such a bold girl. comin’ to see me like this,” and he presses his lips towards the inner part of your thigh. you moan, watching gojo then lap out his tongue to lick a long stripe right near the crevice of your leg. “taste just as sweet as i remember.”

“don’t tease me, ‘toru.” you’d whine, feeling him leave sloppy kisses and bites all over your thighs. he ran his tongue up your leg, stopping right once he reached your slick entrance.

gojo hums, cerulean eyes meeting yours for a second. his gaze was forever attractive, the way his eyes would trail up and down your body. he leans up close towards between your legs, and uses two fingers to spread your folds apart. “don’t tease me ‘toruuuu, she says,” he mocks your whiney delivery, and the popstar briefly laps his tongue against your clit for about three seconds. those three seconds were enough to throw you over the edge. his tongue was so long and pretty — a pretty bright pink, and you stared at it the entire time. “hm. assistants shouldn’t be this soaked.”

“don’t e-eat me out, wait,” you breathe, grabbing a fistful of his perfectly whitened strands. gojo looks at you with a pompous grin, just preparing to dig in before you pull his head up. “just fuck me.”

“well excuse me then,” he rolls his eyes, making a fake caught-off-guard gasp. gojo takes one look at your glistened slit, a tiny pout going against his lips. “but how else am i gonna warm up my vocals, princess?”

“…you can’t warm up your vocals by eating pussy, satoru,” you mutter, not even believing you have to say that…then again, it’s satoru gojo. you shouldn’t even be so surprised anymore. the cute scowl that plastered across his face only widened. he sits up, moving you closer to him. you sat on the cold lid of the dryer, and you watch as he springs his cock out.

gojo grouses. “oh fineee, be boring. let me starve, whatever,” and he’s so sassy it’s cute, the way his eyebrows curl up into a furrow. his dimples press against both sides of his temples, and you gasp once he aligns himself against your sleek entrance.

“i can’t even be that mad,” he suddenly breathes, a bit of a shakiness nearing his tone. “you’re so wet f’me, damnnn,” and you bite your lip as he starts to sink himself in. his fat tip - it prods against your folds, squeezing itself inside with such ease. “missed her bad,” and he pauses, watching himself disappear inside your cunt. the loud welcoming squelch your cunt made as a response to gojo’s length was music to his ears. your legs felt like mush and he pressed a hand down your thigh. “listen to her, how she talks to me all nasty.”

“h-hurry up, satoruuu,” you’d whimper, his dirty talk sending you straight shivers to roam throughout your body. he’d always speak to your pussy as if it could talk back, one of the many filthy things he’s loved doing with you. you couldn’t wait anymore, you wanted him. one thing about gojo, he loved more than anything to take his time with you.

he wanted to make sure you felt every inch of him. your jaw dropped, feeling how thick he started to stretch you out. spurts of his pre-cum coating all against your entrance.

he pants, starting to pant before he sinks a bit further inside of you. “uh—! don’t rush me. ‘s rude,” he creates a faux pout, and he briefly pulls out to slap his throbbing plump tip near the very front part of your entrance. he was teasing you so badly, you didn’t even register that you were laid flat on top of the machine, legs sprawled and your jaw nearly hanging. he was so big, such inches to leave you stuffed for many many days. you hugged his cock much thanks to your walls, and gojo groans. “s-so warm..”

gojo was so hard and pent up, that he gnawed on his lip before going in just a bit further. he started to pant a bit, staring at how good you grip down on him. nice and snug, he brings a thumb towards the top part of your clit, smearing your slick over your folds before he’s just about halfway in. “you take sooo f-fuckin’ long.”

he giggled at the way your words were a bit slurred, and your tummy heaved as he was gradually easing himself inside. “thought i told ya not to rush me, princess,” and you moaned once you felt him present you with an abrupt thrust that makes you jolt back—grabbing onto his arm. “mhm. what did i say last time? patience is a virgin, heh.”

“it’s a virtue, you idiot,” you whined, your eyes nearly rolling back from how good he splits your wetness into two. gojo was long, deliciously lengthy with such fat girth. he wasn’t particularly thick, but he had quite the height on him.

“virgin, virtue, same thing.” the popstar cheeses, and you moaned once he finally starts up a pace.

you had to cling onto his wrists, babbling off all kinds of pathetic whimpers. your sweet whines bounced off the walls—just reverberating across the entire room. you hope no one heard you.

his muscles, way near his ripped abs . . clench and flex, and it’s so attractive. his body was almost dry, almost. however, he was just a bit damp near his happy trail and past his sharp v-line.

“f-fuckkk,” you’d swallow, barely being able to hold on. it only took a few pre-thrusts for him to figure out his pace and seconds later, you’re being ruthlessly drilled into. his hips, the way they struck into you in a sensual movement had your head spinning. nails of yours claw into his arm and he smiles, making sure to reach every spot.

regarding yesterday, gojo wasn’t necessarily lying. he didn’t mean everything he said, he just liked to talk and talk and talk.

much of that was quite apparent, and he knew you’d come running right back to him. misplacing your panties or not. although, the big question was forever a mystery to him.

…did he love you?

what do you even consider this ‘thing’ you two have? multiple unanswered ignored questions. gojo’s hips were smooth against you, jerking back and forth. he’s got a hand gripping onto your thigh as you’re sat up against the cold lid. you stupidly confessed to him, and he figured you were just saying it to say it.

unprofessional, sure. delusional, maybe…

but you knew you couldn’t be crazy. there had to be at least something between the two of you. the way he kisses you, friends don’t just do that. friends don’t kiss like that.

…is what you kept telling yourself.

his strokes had you losing your mind, sputtering nonsense—gojo watches you, and he leans up close to bring a finger towards your lips. a thumb of his pulls your bottom lip down, and he inches closer before giving you a fervent wet kiss. he ran his tongue against yours, and he was stuffing you so full that your legs merely gave out. “h-harder,” you’d whimper, wrapping your legs around his waist. a smirk tugs on his lips and you spot his dimples poke out through your half-lidded peripherals. that’s when gojo then decided to deepen his hits. “harder, harder, harderrrr..”

“slower, baby yeah?” gojo teases, and he purposely brings his hips to a slowing halt.

the frown that goes against your lips was too cute. the popstar chuckles, his dick twitching inside you. he’s stirring up your insides perfectly before he stops his pace. you whine, scratching at his back this time and he hums. “ohhh. don’t like that? ‘m sorry,” he didn’t mean that apology. not in the slightest. he goes back to playing with hour bottom lip, stroking against it before sliding a finger into your mouth. “such pretty lips, so good for suckin’.”

you moaned, immediately sucking his finger before he adds another. he swabs all around your mouth before you briefly end up gagging.

“forgot how sloppy ya always get for me,” and he’s fucking you so deep, your warmth drives him wild. his base, the way it smacks and thwacks right against your entrance has your mind going in a loop. “get my fingers nice ‘n wet, good girl. coat ‘em real sweet. juuuuust like that, princess.”

his candied words, it had you pulsing.

the moment gojo starts up his vigorous pace again, you’re whimpering. he can never stand still though. one second you’re sat on top of the dryer, and the next he drags you towards the cushioned sofa. you crave more of him, his dick reached all the right spots and oh, your maw was dropped.

“s-satoruuu,” you’d huff out, and he’d have you in a subtle mating press now. he’d have you on all fours, but he was a lazy man. he’d prefer to look you dead into your eyes the moment you were reaching your inevitable peak. “so d-deeeep.”

“perfect fit for you,” he murmurs in a husky rasp.

gojo’s balls deep, it’s a tight fit and he’s just ramming right into your dripping cunt. you coat him with so much of your slick, it’s messy.

exactly how he liked it too. you whine, feeling him drive such rough thrusts into you. this position, it was so lewd. the perfect angle to grab you by the chin and shove his tongue down your throat. it’s what he does too, sneaking various kisses near your lips, the very corner of your mouth, anywhere and everywhere.

gojo groans, feeling you start to grip and grasp a bit tighter against him. it’s his turn for his eyes to roll back, and he looks so pretty. your pussy’s got him in a trance. a trance he never wanted to escape from.

“damn, y-you’re so soakin’ for me. makin’ me jus’ as messy as you, baby,” he pants, and you feel him continuously twitch inside of you. gojo lightly lifts your leg, and he starts to nibble near your ankle. you whine, feeling yourself approach a nearby orgasm. the thought of leaving a slick mess on his cock made your mouth water.

you needed it.

he slams back into you each time, it gives you whiplash. sweetened murmurs of his name were the only words to leave past your spit-glossed lips, and you moan a drawn out, “t-think ‘m getting close, ‘toru. really close, fuckkk.”

“wait a little, princess,” he slyly remarks, and you feel his hips piston. you were dumbfounded, stupid even. his stamina, practically nonexistent. right when you think he’s finished he starts up again. you’re dumbly nodding your head in endorsement from the way he’s got you thumping back against the cushion. “wait for meee.” and he starts singing.

he’s mocking you, he strokes your chin before flashing you a teasing grin. it’s not funny anymore once his voice cracks and he clears his throat to play it off. “eheh.”

“i c-can’t,” you’d stammer, and you gasp once you feel a single coil within you snap. you’re an entire mess underneath him. his dick, was so lengthy it made you salivate entirely. gojo reached every single orifice inside of your pussy, every edge, every corner. like most people knew the layouts of places, he knew the exact layout of your pussy. every single time. “oh my g-goddd.”

gojo’s jaw tightens, and as you’re being pummeled into the mattress. you end up squirting, and gushing out so much.

gojo doesn’t realize it until he looks into your dilated irises, and pauses. “oooooh,” he purrs, his words sounding in the form of a curious question. “did you just squirt?”

silence was your answer, and he just hummed. gojo stares down, bringing a thumb towards your swollen slit, massaging against the entrance and you shudder. “fuck. you fuckin’ squirter,” he coos, his voice grows a bit low, a deep deep low. you pulse, making a cute attempt to hide your face but he pulls your hands away. “awwww, baby, baby. don’t hide that face from me. i like my assistants messy anyway.”

you were drenched beneath him, gojo leans in to kiss you.

so sensual yet filled with the most passion. you whimpered, feeling his toned body rock against you. hands of yours roamed down his back, pulling him close and he allowed his tongue to part right against yours. he didn’t know what it was about you but he knew for certain that you were addicting.

his taste, it was enchanted with sweetness. minty and all, you allow his tongue to ghost amongst your own — and that’s right when gojo moans into your mouth.

he’s buried deep into you, and he briefly pulls away, a pretty cobweb of glistening spit departs from your lips and he groans. “damnnn, ‘m cumming too,” and it was so abrupt. he didn’t expect it.

once goio’s load came, it was so thick.

stringy, multiple ropes shot inside you to make you permanently feel his warmth. mating press, the most perfect position if not one of the best positions to get stuffed full like this.

“s-shitttt,” he starts to whine, and it was far more than intended for it to be. you were being pumped full of cum, it takes a lot out of him. quite literally, he pauses his hips and takes a moment.

there, you lay, and lingering over you with the most feral look was gojo. his weight briefly lingers over you — and the look he’s giving you, you’re pulsing heavily. he starts heaving and heaving, beads of sweat racing down his and before he blinks. “milkin’ me s-so much,” and then he slowly lifts your leg, throwing it over his shoulder. “still have more though. wanna see your tummy all plump.. spillin’ everything out, just for me to see.”

and he does exactly what he says, gojo even pulls out just to watch his cum spill out. it makes him pout, and he plugs his dick back inside once he starts up again. you moaned, feeling the stickiness all over your inner thighs. it was his favorite part. watching his viscid cum run down your plush thighs, only to then shove some of it back into your folds.

the popstar was addicted to you, there was no doubt. sure, he’d be a drama queen and say he’s done with you — but you and he both knew the sheer reality. perhaps gojo shared the same feelings, he just didn’t wanna admit it.

falling in love in the entertainment industry was always a scary thing. especially for gojo. but part of you wanted to change that. if he’d let you.

gojo fucked you through numerous positions.

each one leaving you with teeth-shattering orgasms. it was never-ending, it felt so good that you never wanted it to end. it was to the point where sweet cacophonies of, “s-satoruuu,” and “pleaseeee,” rang throughout his ears. only he could make you whimper out the prettiest babbles for him.

he’d have you riding him at this point, and he’s dumping another warm load right into you. gojo stares in awe at how your hips grind and move effortlessly against him. he’s got a hand attached to your right hip, and he spanks your ass. “f-fuckkk, keep movin’ like that. make me cum, make me fuckin’ cum.”

and once he came inside you for probably the umpteenth time, you steady your hips, leaning in to give the popstar a kiss near his neck. he moans from your touch, pulling you close to him as your legs feel nearly nonexistent.

“good girl, easy e-easyyy,” he purrs against your ear, and you’re putty within his hands practically. he runs a hand down your back, moving a few strands out of your face before he’s panting right with you. he grows quiet for a moment before swallowing. “damn. that was,” and he’s breaking between each of his words, pulling you right into his bare chest. “. . so hot. you should get more jealous like this, princess.”

“i wasn’t— i wasn’t jealous,” you huff out, leaning back to stare at him. gojo smirks, his eyes averting towards your lips before back towards your face. “but satoru. you still— you never answered my question from before.”

he raises a brow, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his palm. “hm? what question.”

“…okay,” you intake a breath, feeling as though you had run an entire marathon. “what does this mean? you um.. never said anything about being exclusive.”

“do you wanna be exclusive?” gojo sneers, cocking his head towards the left.

“i’m being serious,” you mumble, he’s still buried inside you and you shift a bit on his lap.

the popstar rolls his eyes. “girl, so am i,” and he plants a kiss near the corner of your mouth. “the press already thinks we’re dating. especially after seeing us bicker like an old couple in public.”

“so...” you look up at him, returning a kiss near his lip. your eyes spoke for you and he understood what you were trying to hint at.

“sooo,” he mimics you, stroking a thumb against your hip.

“if we’re gonna be together, you need to fire that new assistant.” you grouse.

“oh right riiiight,” gojo snickers. “i’ll fire her extra hard just for you, baby.”

you pause with the most noticeable deadpan. “that doesn’t even make sense.”

gojo simpers. “geez, we gotta work on that sense of humor. anything i say is supposed to be funny to you,” and he wraps an arm around you—you feel warm, pulled into his strong warm embrace. “mhm. but now that we’re finally together, i do wanna start off by saying how much i love you.”

“huh?” you croak.

gojo smugly grins, nudging you. “you heard me. i love you,” and he kisses your lips for a split second, only to pull away to watch you fully register what he just said. after what felt like ages, he finally said it back.

“r-really?” you’d softly utter, starting to feel warm all over your body. it was all your mouth could mutter out, your eyes were slightly agape and you couldn’t believe he’d return the same feelings.

“mhmmm,” he nods, stroking your back. gojo brings you into a kiss, and you kiss back, wrapping your arms over his shoulders.

you felt a weight get lifted off your shoulders, and you leaned forward towards him, a brief body language sign that you wanted to start up again. his sweet taste had you whining for more, your legs locked over his waist…. and that’s right when he squeezes the right part of your ass. a good firm grip, leaning back for you to take control of him.

“so he loves you, huh.”

you’re interrupted by a low raspy voice, you break away . . . and everything was so quick, a blink of an eye. you’re staring at gojo and his reaction was just as yours was slow. he stares, not at you—but from behind you where a tall broad figure was.

a loud bang rang throughout the room, and gojo choked out a gasp. again, your reaction was slow. for a second, it was like time stopped. you watch in front of you as gojo clenches his heart, a faint breathy gasp for air before he falls backward. it was the screeching ring of a shot.

you heard what sounded like cocking in the background and you immensely crawl off of gojo’s lap.

“s-satoru?” you stammer, not even believing your eyes—you were far too scared to look behind you, let alone look near your peripherals. gojo grunts, his eyes flickering and you then seconds later, you end up turning around to see him.

toji.

“hey girl,” he nods, that familiar smug expression never leaving his face, “miss me? i let you have your fun for a while,” toji snickers, blowing the smoke out of the muzzle. as he walks towards you, his footsteps were loud. you froze, glancing down at gojo who had an awfully pale color starting to quickly take over his skin.

words couldn’t leave your lips for whatever reason, it was as if you were mute—lip locked.

you felt numb, entirely so. gojo’d just said he loved you back, and now he looked almost lifeless.

“what do you think would be a better headline? ‘famous popstar found unresponsive at the scene!’ or uh.. ‘popstar 'satoru gojo' gets into a fight with his assistant’s boyfriend and things get a little…messy’.”

“we aren’t even together anymore. fuck you, toji.” you spat, fat incoming tears blinding your vision practically.

“you did that a long time ago, sweetheart,” toji purrs, and you could hear the enjoyment in his voice. “and technically, we never broke up,” he corrects you with a shrug. “oh boo hoo, enough with the tears. should be thanking me, really. no one can love you like i can. told ya i’d come back for you,” and then he chuckles behind your ear, a rough hand going on your shoulder. “now let’s go home, princess.”

#★vegasbaby.#popstar!gojo #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujustsu kaisen x reader #gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #female reader #anime smut #cw sex mention

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morizoras-cave · 4 years ago

Text

Sleepyhead (Request)

MCU cast x gn!teen!co-star!reader, Benedict Cumberbatch x gn!reader

Genre: Angst, fluff

Request Description: Hiya♥️could i please request a teen x marvel cast were they always find her sleeping and taking naps everywhere around set and they confront her about it and she says something about having to take care of her little siblings because her parents are never arohnd do she gets no sleep. Sorry if its to long.❤❤❤❤❤😍🥰

Warnings: irresponsible parents, negligence, slight insecurity, stress

(A/N): sorry this is kind of centered around benedict, i find these mcu cast x reader ones difficult. also im watching a belarusian war-movie from 1985 about the holocaust. its absolutely terrifying (im very serious, i’d be cautious for trigger warnings). if you’re looking for a horror movie or something, search “come and see movie” on youtube and you’ll find the entire thing there (:

At first, it had been sweet. A testament to the insomniatic youth, if you will. In every closet, behind every door, and on every soft surface, you could be found in between takes, snoring away.

They all agreed you were probably watching movies or playing games up late at night, computer screen illuminating your face. Or maybe you were chatting with your faraway friends. Either way, it was almost endearing to find you drooling on the couches scattered around the set.

Sweet and endearing at first, yes. But then the feelings about it, the longer it went on, the more your mature and well behaved personality clashed with the idea of you staying up all night, the more the feelings about your frequent naps changed.

To the set workers, the coordinators and overseers of the countless tasks on set, it became an issue.

“Where’s Y/n? We need them for the next scene!”

More often than not, several people would be running around set in search of you. And of course you apologized profusely when they found and woke you, but it didn’t matter when you never changed.

But to your coworkers, the talented actors and actresses on set of this huge movie production, it was concerning. Because you were their friend, undoubtedly.

When you would be pulled out a distant break room, rubbing your dark and drowsy eyes, mumblings would start among them.

“Are they okay?”

“They just seem so sensible, I don’t understand why they would stay up like that.”

And then there was you. Young and unfortunate you. Just trying to do your best, trying to please everyone. It was impossible for anyone to know how much you were juggling with.

You felt like a bird with a broken wing, still flying but bound to fall to its death. You knew it was too much. You knew it was only a matter of time before you broke.

Most teens felt stressed with just schoolwork, and then there was you. Battling long set days and huge mounts of schoolwork. And then the family.

Your parents that never seemed to be around. They were both working all the time and often left you and your siblings to yourselves. The problems with that was that you were the eldest, and your siblings were too young to take care of themselves. You were the one left to bring home groceries, to make dinner, to bring them to bed, and to help them with any of their schoolwork or difficulties.

And it was too much. Simply put it was too much for you. You had managed back when you were just another teen at school, but now you were in a movie, you had a JOB.

Usually you’d go to set and work your ass off, get home and help the kids all day, and then do your schoolwork in the night. You almost never got more than an hour or two of sleep, which was why you settled for small naps during your filming sessions.

You were so stressed, and you wanted to be angry, because in truth you had every right to. But you were too tired and too busy to be angry. Too focused on your siblings and doing good as an actor. But you would never want to involve your coworkers. You thought it would be embarrassing and unprofessional to involve them. So you carried the weight all alone.

“Wake up! Wake up!”

Someone was shaking you awake. You blinked your eyes open. A redhead set assistant was yelling in your face, grasping your shoulders.

She stopped when she saw your eyes turning to slits, before widening to look at her.

“Am I on?” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. The lady scoffed.

“Are you on? Yeah, you’re on,” she spat and swung around, heels clicking on the floor, as she exited the break room briskly.

You were ashamed. Of course you were. You were so unprofessional and problematic. But you knew you had no other time to sleep, so this was your only option. The thought made you want to cry.

Instead, you stood up and walked to where the scene would be filmed, through several hallways and technical rooms, before you arrived to the large set.

Benedict, Robert, Tom (Holland), Chris (Pratt), Pom, and Dave were all gathered and ready to film. Your face was on fire, so you avoided their gazes, and just got into position to film the next scene.

Benedict and Robert exchanged glances as you yawned, but before they could talk to you (as it seemed everyone was getting fed up with your constant sleepiness) the director yelled “action”, and the acting resumed.

You all did the scene and you, surprisingly, did okay for having woken up about five minutes earlier. You continued doing several scenes for the movie all together, going through about three full scenes.

When the director was satisfied, everyone started scattering. You, rubbing your tired eyes, was already beelining for the break room, hoping to see an empty couch for you to crash.

However, before you could sneak off to catch some z’s, you felt a firm hand on your shoulder. You blinked, turning around and gazing at the person who had grabbed your shoulder. It was Benedict, Robert, Tom and Chris not fat behind him. He had a stern look on his face.

“Y/n, we need to talk.”

“Yeah, sure, what’s up?” your tone was casual, or perhaps too exhausted to express any real emotion, but inside you felt your stomach churn with anxiety.

“Why are you always sleeping?” Robert chimed in.

“Yeah, because if you’re up watching Youtube or whatever, you probably shouldn’t!” Tom said.

“Not that we’re assuming that that’s what you’re doing! It’s just- You know..,” Chris explained, voice full of panic.

You smiled softly. You recognized that they were coming from a place of worry. Then, your heart sunk slightly. You could cry. Again. Over the thought of your lack of time and your endless responsibilities.

“It’s nothing serious, it’s just..” you trailed off, trying to figure out how you could make it sound less sad. Things always sounded worse when spoken out loud, you found. “I have two siblings, and my parents are never around, so I’m kind of the person taking care of them.”

Your coworkers in front of you fell silent. You could see it on their faces. They didn’t like it.

“You?” Robert said finally, and you just nodded.

“So, you’re doing a movie, doing school, and taking care of your siblings at the same time?” Benedict repeated slowly, and once again you just nodded. There was nothing more to say.

“Why aren’t your parents there?” Chris asked in his serious-unserious voice.

“They’re working a lot,” you mumbled, disliking the collective attention on you. The thought of the couch made you yearn for some rest. You could tell that there were many things they wanted to do in that moment. They wanted to fix it all.

“Can’t you tell them you don’t have time?”

“I’ve tried that already. They say they don’t have a choice,” to this, both Robert and Benedict scoffed and shook their heads. You just watched with heavy eyes.

“Alright. Here’s what’s going to happen,” Benedict said quietly, eyes boring into yours, “I’m going to call a nanny to look after your siblings for a couple of days, don’t worry I’ll pay. You’re going to back to the hotel and sleep for at least 10 hours. When you’ve done that, and only when you’ve done that, will we talk about how we’ll move forward with your parents.”

You were quiet. You couldn’t stand up to your parents like Benedict wanted you to. You just couldn’t. They were busy and that was understandable.

Although, you had to admit, the thought of sleeping for 10 hours was enticing. Heck, worst case scenario, you could settle for 5! Your tiredness was like heavy cuffs and chains on your body, and Benedict stood with the shining, golden key right in front of you.

“Benedict, I- I can’t do that to my parents-”

“No, your parents can’t do this to you! This is absolutely outrageous!” He was frustrated you could tell. Robert seemed upset too, while Tom and Chris stepped back and let the adults handle it. Though, they seemed sad for you.

You went quiet.

“I just-”

“I don’t want to hear another word about how they’re somehow excused for their behavior. This is negligence, Y/n! This is too much for you and you know it! You’re exhausted and it’s so painful to see, so please. Just take me up on this.”

You sighed.

“Alright, then.” you said, body finally giving in to the attractive offer. Benedict’s face carried the ghost of a satisfied smile, before going back to the stone cold determination.

You drove to the hotel in Robert’s car and they booked you an extra room, knowing that your siblings occupied the other one. As soon as you could fall back on the bed, you were gone, body screaming for rest.

You woke up 14 hours later, feeling happier, brighter and well-rested. That feeling had been forgotten by you, but it was alright, you decided. Every inch of you blossomed with energy now.

As promised, Benedict had ordered a nanny for your siblings (the nanny was a lovely human being, and simply amazing with kids). Benedict, Robert, Chris and Tom has split the bill.

You called him when you woke up, and he dragged you to a restaurant, where the two of you had a long, long talk about why what your parents were doing was serious and unacceptable. He could tell he needed to explain it to you, because you, like many children, were ready to defend your parents’ at all costs.

Needless to say, after Benedict’s advice you didn’t have to go through that kind of thing again. You settled it with your parents (as well as your siblings), and after that you were so grateful that Benedict helped you out of that responsibility, because it wasn’t yours to have.

Benedict was just happy to help, the memory of seeing you sleep everywhere, now less endearing and simply painful. He didn’t like thinking about it, and so he tried not to, but rather focused on your laughter and bright smile. In truth, that’s the only thing that really mattered.

___________________________

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@hera-the-writer @marvel-madness @40srogcrs @whatthefuckimbisexual @snarky–starky @garbage-potato @eviemarvel @lozzypoz321 @allthecreativeonesaretaken @missamericana713 @rororo06 @shady80smusicsingercolor @ireadfanficforfun

#benedict cumberbatch x reader #benedict cumberbatch #robert downey jr.#robert downey jr. x reader #mcu #mcu x reader #mcu cast x reader #marvel x reader #marvel cast x reader #avengers #avengers x reader #avengers cast x reader #avengers x teen!reader #avengers cast x teen!reader #dr strange #dr strange x reader #stephen strange x reader

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vidalinav · 4 years ago

Text

Empathetic Nesta

I have a headcanon/theory/analysis that Nesta is the most empathetic, genuine, and loving one of the IC/not IC and that that part of her starts really being more accessible when she’s able to let her guard down. She’s the one who feels so much, who’s gone through so much, and wasn’t able to process that really well and then wasn’t really validated on behalf of her own trauma.

I kind of envision her being better at helping people through more difficult times, because well look she gave Elain what she needed during her own hard time, a safe space to heal unencumbered by other people’s wants, wishes, or ideals that again is not attributed to her fairly as being generally kind and loving.

Part of the reason, I feel, that this “sisterhood” with Emerie and Gwyn feels so genuine, is because all of them are very open about having an ugly past, but there is no judgement, no ill will. It’s a safe place for them, but she was the one who started this. She was the one who offered this to the priestesses. She was the one who sent those spices to Emerie, because “Emerie needs good spices” but also because she understood that training might be helpful for her too, because they were similar in some sense. An unspoken understanding. I feel even Cassian has a more genuine personality around Nesta than he does even with the IC. He was allowed to step out of that role of being just the general, just the comic relief. He was able to be vulnerable. I’d say that even him saying horrible things to Nesta, is a way in which he is allowed to be an ugly, flawed person, because you notice he doesn’t do that with anyone else. Also, we have to keep in mind that Cassian in most all books, has been described as having that irritating smirk, not being serious, but in this book he can’t hide his emotions. They’re plastered on his face for everyone to see, which I think is very interesting that it’s attributed to Cassian always being genuine and an open book, when in ACOMAF-ACOFAS, he seemed to be not that open. He swiped that hand away after that intimate moment, he ran to his room after the whole gift thing, he wouldn’t talk about Nesta and no one talked to him about her, he tended to dismiss Feyre when she brought her up, but we also get these instances where Cassian is the comic relief. He’s the dumb one, the troublemaker, the unserious one. He plays that role for Mor and Azriel and the other characters assign that title to him. Not to go off on a different tangent, but this is why I also think the IC not validating Nesta’s trauma is very IC thing to do, since they don’t seem to do it for themselves, and to really fit into this group, you’d need to sweep yourself under a rug and I think that’s why it seemed to be almost an outright attack when Nesta wouldn’t do this. We see now many more instances where going against the group exhibits the most dramatic response (i.e. telling Feyre about the pregnancy, Azriel and his want of Elain, Cassian being concerned about looking for the Dread Trove). But regardless, I think Cassian is a allowed to be a more natural person around Nesta than he is around the IC or about the IC.

And then we also get this constant reference to Nesta just not judging people right off the bat. Amren likes her for this. Azriel treats her normally because of this. Both of which are said to be such an unnatural response, because everyone but Nesta will judge them immediately. Then we have that solstice scene, where she goes to Azriel who’s sitting out in the corner, because he’s alone and they, both, even from the beginning have this sort of understanding about each other and what they hide/don’t hide. Even when she thinks of Mor, she’s not harsh like Mor is, she calls her a hypocrite and moves on. When Mor literally is super verbally aggressive in ACOWAR twice, she just goes on her way. Like Cassian, I think it’s fascinating that everyone has a problem with Nesta, and that we see some of the ugliest qualities of these characters because of Nesta, because they don’t chill for five seconds as part of the group dynamic. Individually, we did see Mor not be so bad. So that’s also interesting too. It might be the whole, rather than its parts.

Let’s not forget that Nesta is inherently good, no matter how “angry” she is and she’s very protective of the people she loves. She was the one who fought for those humans to the Queens and then to the High Lords, wanted to protect their right to live, who acknowledged those children in ACOWAR who’d died, and those who could die. She defended Gwyn from Merrill, then Gwyn and Emerie during the Rite. Elain all of her life, as evidenced by the memory of the dance, Nesta’s favoritism, and then Elain’s change to being fae arc. She defended Feyre to Tamlin, both in ACOWAR and in ACOSF, then you know sacrificed her powers, but she also literally tried to cross the wall to get Feyre back and then when Feyre came back she told her be free, because you have that opportunity and we won’t hold you back. She helped in that war that she was scared to be in. She defended Cassian, protected Cassian on numerous occasions pre ACOSF and then now in ACOSF. This is why I think that no matter how much some of the characters want to be mad at Nesta, it almost seems foolish to be. Almost ignorant. Very selfish to be quite honest as if their inconvenience is bigger than her pain.

But, because all of this, is centered around Nesta, I have a feeling that this genuineness is more because of Nesta than it is because of other people towards Nesta. I think that her ability to create an environment that is judgement free, coupled with this idea that she feels so much, alongside the fact that she is very protective of people and the idea of goodwill, would make her more empathetic to people and their pain. I would love if post-healing arc that’s where Nesta’s personality is taken. I don’t want to her fully assimilate to the IC or maybe she should just to shake things up--maybe she should because she could probably be more helpful than the IC’s quack tendencies of telling each other to quietly persist in their own trauma without acknowledging the other person’s pain, though this would be MESSY. I just do feel that Nesta could end up being the most loving, and I would like to see more of her just being caring in a carefree way. Love freely given, I mean. Because I hated that this book almost made love seem to have to be deserved or earned. (an analysis for another time I suppose)

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #feyre archeron #elain archeron #rhysand #mor #azriel #amren #acosf #sjm critique #anti inner circle #i guess

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amoralto · 5 years ago

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What do you think about the upcoming new Let It Be movie?

My thoughtful (if disorganised and near-hysterical) answer: I remain cautiously ambivalent. In a way I feel the same I’ve felt about the recent Super Deluxe Edition releases, where I am “happied” by whatever I can get, very much so, but I’m also exasperated in a pathetically hand-wringing fannish way that the estate is still trickling out outtakes in unbearably curated fashion as accessories to new mixes, when all I’ve ever really wanted is for them to release comprehensive collections of their session recordings - every take, every flub, every silly piece of silly studio chatter, everything. (Roll it out album by album, sell every volume in a fancy multi-disc box set for a small fortune, I don’t care, I’m willing to pay for it, and I expect many others would be too.) But alas! They haven’t, and they don’t look like they will in the near future, and so I can’t bring myself to hope for much with the Let It Be film either.

And especially not with Let It Be, by virtue of its medium, as a manipulated assemblage of curated footage, edited and cut and spliced together, in leading and misleading and distorted ways. (As all documentaries arguably are.) Even with the footage run through a supposedly more gracious filter, it will still be just that - filtered, reassembled, recut, and still an (in)effectively incomplete picture, inevitably subject to the confirmation biases and various lazy/shallow/poisonous interpretations rife in mainstream music journalism.

Which just has me wringing my hands with even more, not only because these sessions have been a bit of a preoccupation of mine for a while so I’m even more of an invested headcase than usual, but because the Get Back/Let It Be sessions arguably deserves the most reexamination in its greater perspective, and certainly the most correction and care. And it’s probably not going to get it, or at least not nearly enough. And of course I understand it has to be this way - the general public won’t be interested in going through 55~ hours of video recordings and 140~ hours of audio recordings (which means there are still at least 40-50 more hours of unreleased tapes than what has been leaked and circulated on bootleg for decades), and the logistics of mass-releasing such an enormous amount of material is laughable. But as I said, I am a headcase about this, and where the general public and even the general fans may take this new recut version of the film on some measure of faith, I probably won’t be able to bring myself to.

Also, every time I can stomach to take a tentative browse of mainstream music journalism or certain major music discussion forums and the narrow, cynical, simplistic narratives that are still being perpetuated about the Beatles in general and these sessions in particular, I find myself sadly resigned to the reality that many people’s minds may never be expanded or changed, no matter how the film is cut, or how the sessions are framed. If there’s “too much” inclusion of jokes and jollity and the fun the band really did have, it’ll trigger complaints of “whitewashing”, all the blame of which will almost certainly be placed upon “shrew-like control freak historical revisionist” Paul. If there’s any inclusion at all of previously-unseen tension or argumentative exchanges (which are really just ultimately sad attempts to relate and communicate emotionally with each other), it’ll only reinforce the absolutist perceptions held by some people of the sessions being wholly disastrous and wholly awful with no “real” joy and jollity anywhere, not to mention their perceptions of, well, “shrew-like control freak historical revisionist” Paul.

Basically, the very reframing, the very act of recutting of the film in and of itself, will be (and already is) seen by many people as a rewriting of history. Which is sad and silly, because in this case the history should be rewritten; it’s just that however well it’s written, it’s still at the mercy of being read, and how, and by who.

(Insert tangential essay/foaming rant here about how/why people insist on interpreting the Beatles and their dynamics through the shlocky paradigm of the Stereotypical Rock Band when they don’t remotely fit the archetypes, and hey, have you ever considered that humans and also human relationships are tangled and complex? And that humans are capable of resenting and loving each other at the same time? And that maybe a lot of the things John “I Said That But I Was Lying” Lennon has said should never be taken literally or at face value or as nothing but the timeless truth? Etc.)

All that being said, I will, as noted at the start, take whatever I do get. Remastered HD footage is just a nice thing to have, for one, and I’d be overjoyed to see video footage of some of the session audio I’ve clipped and transcribed in the past, if any of it even makes it into the final film. (Anything from January 13th especially and hell, the 24th and 25th too, but now I really am hoping for too much at this point. Now that I think of it, I should probably motivate myself to clip and transcribe more interesting bits and pieces from the sessions, in the lead up to the release of the film.)

My glib unserious (haha, unless...?) answer: Damn it, Peter Jackson, you took my job. 😭

#ask #how about at least a director's cut mr. jackson #theatrical cut: 120 min #director's cut: 480 min #dvd extras: another 240 min #at least #sessions: get back

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arcticdementor · 4 years ago

Link

There are three kinds of dissidents: (a) anons, (b) pundits who still care what people think, and (c) outsiders who DGAF. All these groups are great; real greatness can be achieved in any of them; and good friends I have in each. But each has its problems.

…

The problem with (b) is that you are always policing yourself. Not only do your readers never really know what you really believe—you never really know yourself. In practice, it is much easier to police your own thoughts than your own words. When choosing between two ideas, the temptation to prefer the safer one is almost irresistible. This is a source of cognitive distortion which the anons and outsiders do not experience. (Though anons do suffer something of the opposite, a reflex to provoke.)

As a pundit, you sense this stress in every bone of your body; you can never show it to your readers. This creates a deep dishonesty in the parasocial relationship between writer and reader—like a marriage that can never escape some foolish first-date fib. The falsity, like the blue in blue cheese, flows through and flavors every particle of your content. Neither you nor your readers can ever be sure whether you are speaking the truth, lying to them, or lying to yourself—but you are constantly doing all three. You may still be very entertaining—enlightening, even. All your work is ephemeral, and once you die only your relatives will remember you. And it’s not even your fault.

…

From my perspective, both the anonymous and official dissidents exhibit a kind of unserious frivolity, but a very different kind. The frivolity of the anon is imaginative, surreal and playful at best, merely puerile at worst. The frivolity of the pundit has no upside; in every paragraph he is breaking Koestler’s rule, and he knows it; the best he can do is to shut up selectively about the things he cannot write about.

And his mens rea, too, is awful. He is selling hope. He is selling answers. Pity the man whose life has brought him to the position of selling answers in which he does not believe, or which he is forced to believe, or which he must force himself to believe. However sophisticated and erudite he may be, he is just a high-end grifter. His little magazine is a Macedonian troll-farm with a PhD. He is lucky if his eloquent essays about the common good don’t appear above a popup bar peddling penis pills—and in fact, I know more than one brilliant scholar in precisely this bathetic position. The frame defines the picture; the context sets the price of the text. Sad!

Worst still must be the reality that bad punditry is worse than useless—since useless strategies for escaping from a real problem are traps. When you lead your readers toward an attractive but ineffective solution, you lead them away from the opposite.

You got into this business to change the world for the better. You cannot avoid the realization that you are changing it for the worse—because your objective function is that of Chaim Rumkowski, the Lodz Ghetto’s “King of the Jews.”

You exist to convince your own followers that they neither can nor should do anything effective. The easiest way to do this is to convince them that ineffective strategies are effective. And this, as we’ll see, is exactly what you cannot avoid doing, dear pundit.

Moreover, from our present position of profound unreality, where the official narrative shared and studied by all normal intelligent people and all prestigious institutions can only be described as a state of venomous delirium, the opportunities to play Judas goat are almost unlimited. Cows, remember: there does not have to be only one Judas goat.

…

A particular favorite of the pundit is the error that AI philosophers call the “first-step fallacy.” It turns out that the first monkey to climb to the top of a tree was taking the first step toward landing on the moon:

First-step thinking has the idea of a successful last step built in. Limited early success, however, is not a valid basis for predicting the ultimate success of one’s project. Climbing a hill should not give one any assurance that if he keeps going he will reach the sky.

When a vendor sells you the moon and ships you a rope-ladder, you’ve been defrauded. Time for that one-star review.

…

Today we’ll chart the edges of the legitimate possible by looking at three recent pundit essays which have done a fine job of exploring those edges, and maybe even expanding them: Richard Hanania’s “Why is Everything Liberal?”, Scott Alexander’s “The New Sultan”, and Tanner Greer’s “The Problem of the New Right.”

…

After reading Hanania’s essay, a fourth pundit (who is out as a radical conservative) asked me: why does the right always lose? “Narcissistic delusions,” I replied.

Which was far from what he expected to hear, or what most readers will take from the essay. All three of these essays are good and true; but their inability to go far enough leaves them pointing their audience in precisely the wrong direction.

Most readers will emerge feeling that conservatives need more and better narcissistic delusions. Indeed, both pundit and politician are right there with just such a product. This meretricious frivolity, posing as seriousness, is too egregious to leave unmocked; yet the right reason to mock it is to challenge it to assume its final, truly-serious form.

Richard Hanania and the loser right

Hanania’s true point—backed up with a ream of unnecessary, PhD-worthy evidence—is that the libs always win because they just care more:

…

Since the rebirth of conservatism after the revolutionary monoculture of World War II, all conservative punditry has consisted of attempts to create more excitement around policies and values which effectively resist the power of the prestigious institutions—giving “normal people” as much to care about as their fanatical, aristocratic enemies.

Sensibly, this tends to involve raising “issues” which actually seem to affect their lives, but which also run counter to aristocratic power. Over decades, the substance of these issues changes and even reverses; the opposite stance becomes the useful stance; and “conservative values” have no choice but to change to reflect this. (If this seems like a liberal way to rag on conservatives—the cons learned it from the libs.)

…

“New Right” is not Greer’s term, but as a label I can barely imagine a worse self-own. It promises something ephemeral and irrelevant. So far as I can tell, this same cursed label has been used in every generation of conservatism to mean something different. When it inevitably fails and dies, people forget about it, and the next generation, stuck in the eternal present of a Korsakoff-syndrome movement, can reinvent it.

Who reads the conservative pundits of the ‘80s? Even those who remember them have to throw them under the bus. Every generation of National Review twinks, solemnly intoning what they conceive to be the immortal philosophy of our hallowed founders, is horrified by its predecessor, and horrifies its successor—a truly bathetic spectacle. And of course, each such generation would utterly horrify the actual founders.

…

Greer then goes deep into David Hackett Fischer territory to explain the obvious, yet important, fact that this “New Right” consists of upper-class intellectuals (inherently the heirs of the Puritans, since America’s upper-class tradition is the Puritan tradition) trying to lead middle-class yokels (the heirs of the Scotch-Irish crackers, and (though Greer does not mention this) Irish, Slavs, and other post-Albionic “white ethnic” trash, today even including many Hispanics. He even gives us a clever historical bon mot:

Pity the Whig who wishes to lead the Jackson masses!

Uh, yeah, dude, that would be called “Abraham Lincoln.”

But the point stands. Not just the “New Right” with its new statist ideology, but the whole postwar American Right, is a weird army with a general staff of philosophers and a fighting infantry of ignorant yokels. How can this stay together? How can the philosophers bring forth a mythology that creates passionate intensity in the yokels?

…

There is wisdom in this madness, of course—the problem is caused by aristocrats whose minds are wholly given over to narcissistic delusions. Doesn’t it take fire to fight fire? Doesn’t it take passionate intensity? Isn’t passionate intensity generated only by myths, dreams, poems and religions, not autistic formulas for tax policy? So the answer is clear: we need more and better narcissistic delusions. Ie, shams.

After all, any “founding mythology” is a narcissistic delusion. The flintlock farmers and mechanic mobs of the 1770s, and the Plymouth Puritans of the 1620s, have one thing in common: none of these people even remotely resembles the megachurch grill-and-minivan conservative of the 2020s. None of them even remotely resembles you.

They did live in the same places, and speak sort of the same language. Otherwise you probably have more in common with the average Indonesian housewife—at least she watches the same superhero movies.

To Narcissus, everything is a mirror; in everything and everyone, he sees himself. No field is riper for narcissism than history, since the dead past cannot even laugh at the present’s appropriations of a human reality it could not even start to comprehend.

And fighting fire with fire is one thing, but fighting the shark in the water is another. For the aristocrat, transcending reality is a core competence. The essence of leftism—always and everywhere an aristocratic trope, however vast its ignorant serf-armies—is James Spader in Pretty in Pink: “If I cared about money, would I treat my father’s house this way?” Mere peasants can never develop this kind of wild energy: that’s the point.

Yet Hanania remains right about the amount of energy that a rational, Kantian agenda for productive collective action motivated by collective self-interest, or even collective self-defense, can generate. The grill-American suburbicon is like Maistre’s Frenchman under the late Jacobins: he has defined deviancy down to rock-bottom. “He feels that he is well-governed, so long as he himself is not being killed.”

O, what to do? When you are solving an engineering problem and see the answer at last, it hits you like a thunderbolt. The conservatives, the normal people, the grill-Americans, must accept their own low energy. They must cease their futile reaching for passionate intensity, whether achieved through Kantian collective realism or Jaffaite founding mythology. They must fight the shark on land.

Conservatives don’t care—at least not enough. Yet they want to matter. Yet they live in a political system where mattering is a function of caring—not just voting. Therefore, there are two potential solutions: (a) make them care more; (b) make systems that let them matter more, without caring more.

Conservatives have low energy. They want high impact—at this point, they need high impact. After all, once you yourself are being killed, it’s kind of too late. Any engineer would tell you that there are two paths to high impact: more energy, or more efficiency.

Conservatives vote but don’t care. If we don’t have a viable way to make conservatives care more—meaning orders of magnitude more—effective strategies and structures must generate power by voting, not caring. They must maximize power per vote.

…

Interference means voters who are on the same team are working against each other. Impedance means voters resist delegating their complete consent to the team.

Interference is like a bunch of ants pulling the breadcrumb in different directions. To eliminate interference, point all your votes at one structurally cohesive entity which never works against itself.

Impedance is like getting married for a limited trial period, so long as your wife stays hot and keeps liking the stuff you like. As Burke pointed out in his famous speech to the electors of Bristol, the fundamental nature of electoral consent is unconditional:

To deliver an opinion, is the right of all men; that of Constituents is a weighty and respectable opinion, which a Representative ought always to rejoice to hear; and which he ought always most seriously to consider.

But authoritative Instructions; Mandates issued, which the Member is bound blindly and implicitly to obey, to vote, and to argue for, though contrary to the clearest conviction of his judgement and conscience; these are things utterly unknown to the laws of this land, and which arise from a fundamental Mistake of the whole order and tenor of our Constitution.

The cause of electoral impedance in the modern world is the conventional concept of “agendas” or “platforms” or “issues.” When you vote not for a cohesive entity, but for a list of instructions you are giving to that entity, you are not voting your full power. You are voting for Burke’s opponent, who felt “his Will ought to be subservient to yours.” In effect, you are voting for yourself. Narcissism once again rears its ugly head.

When you vote an agenda, you are granting limited consent to your representative. You say: I vote for you, for a limited time, so long as you stay fit and cook tasty dinners. I am actually not voting for you! I am voting for “reforms for conservatives” (Hanania). I am voting for “a broad set of shared attitudes and policy prescriptions” (Greer). Dear, I am not marrying you. I am marrying hot sex, regular cleaning and delicious meals—till ten extra pounds, or maybe at most fifteen, do us part.

You implicitly withhold your consent for anything not on your jejune list of bullet points. Then, you wonder why your representatives have no power and are constantly mocked, disobeyed, tricked and destroyed by people who are legally their employees. This is not political sex. This is political masturbation. You voted for yourself. And instead of a baby, all you got was a wad of tissues. Nice way to “drain the swamp.”

Your vote does not work because you are not voting, delegating, or granting consent. You are like an archer with one arrow who, afraid of losing it, refuses to let go of it. Without releasing his dart, all he can do is run up to the enemy and try to stab.

So if conservatives want to maximize the impact of their votes, all they have to do is the opposite of what they’re doing. Instead of voting for the okonomi a-la-carte stupid little political menus of hundreds of unconnected candidates and their staffs, they can all vote for the omakase prix-fixe chef’s-choice of a single cohesive governing entity.

Such a power, elected, has the voters’ mandate not just to “govern,” but to rule. When no other private or public force enjoys any such consent, no other force can resist. We are certainly well beyond “rule of law” at this point! On the inaugural podium, the new President announces a state of emergency. He declares himself the Living Constitution. In six months no one will even remember “the swamp.”

Wow! What a simple, clear idea! The engineer, when he comes across so compelling and obvious a design, knows there’s a catch: he won’t get the patent. Someone else must have invented it before. People may be stupid—but they’re not that stupid.

Indeed we have just reasoned our way to reinventing the oldest, most common, and most successful form of government: monarchy. And we are setting it against the second most common form, the institutional rule of power-obsessed elites: oligarchy. And to install our monarchy, we are using the collective action of a large number of people who each perform one small act: democracy.

The alliance of monarchy and democracy (king and people) against oligarchy (church and/or nobles) is the oldest political strategy in the book. The suburban conservative, who just wants to grill, either has no idea this ancient and trivial solution exists, or regards it as the worst thing in the world—even worse, possibly, than his sixth-grader’s mandatory sex change.

And why? Ask your friendly local Judas goat, the pundit. Even the “new right” pundit—who only differs in his policies and issues. Which are, true, slightly less useless. As the top of the tree is slightly closer to the moon.

The 20th century even came up with a handy pejorative for a newborn monarchy. We call it fascism. No word on whether Cromwell, Caesar, or Charlemagne, let alone Louis XIV, Frederick II and Elizabeth I, were fascists.

But, to borrow Scott Alexander’s charming term, also not his own invention, they were certainly strongmen. TLDR: if you want to be strong, elect one strongman. If you prefer to be weak, elect a whole bunch of weakmen. Do you prefer to be weak? “If the rule you followed brought you to this place—of what use was the rule?”

The pundit reassures you that you don’t need a strongman to be strong—you’ll do fine with weakmen—so long as those weakmen have the right “shared attitudes and policy prescriptions.” By the way, here are some attitudes I’m happy to share with you. Click now to accept cookies. Did I mention that I have policy prescriptions, too? Skip ad in 5 seconds. Congratulations, you’ve been automatically subscribed! Check the box to opt out of most emails—void where prohibited by law—terms and conditions may apply…

…

An odd sort of pundit, who remains only nominally anonymous but has always very much GAF, Scott Alexander does not have Hanania’s cagey diplomatic noncommittal. As a “rationalist,” he is deeply committed to his own class status, and to oligarchy itself—which, like most, he misidentifies as “democracy.”

While the whole raison d’etre of the rationalist is the irrationality of our oligarchy, as displayed in genius moves like refusing to cancel regularly-scheduled airline flights to stop a Holocaust-tier pandemic, the rationalist’s dream is a rational oligarchy—using Bayes’ rule, which given infinite computing power will become infinitely intelligent—in Carlyle’s immortal phrase, “a government carried out by steam.”

Obviously, this is not just logical—it immunizes the rationalists from the scurrilous charge of “fascism,” or worse. And they were right about stopping the flights. So was my 9-year-old. Sadly, in a world of universal delusional delirium, rationality can get quite pleased with itself by clearing quite a low bar.

My view is that no government can be or ever has been carried out by steam—only by human beings—a species the same today as in the Old Kingdom of Egypt, if possibly a little dumber on average—and this will remain the case until some computational or genetic singularity occurs. For neither of which events will I hold my breath. This is why I find it easy to picture 21st-century America under the phronetic monarchy of an experienced and capable President-CEO, and almost hilariously impossible to picture it under a Bayesian bureaucracy of polyamorous smart-contracts.

Alexander disagrees. Here is his analysis—the same text that Hanania quotes. Let’s go through it thought by thought, and see if we can’t turn it into some delicious carnitas.

…

Let’s get back to those “elites.” Alexander conflates three quite orthogonal concepts in his use of the word “elite”: biology, institutions, and culture.

Elite biology is high IQ, which is genetic. Elite institutions are any centers of organized collective power—Harvard, the Komsomol, the Mafia, etc. Elite culture is whatever ideas flourish within elite institutions.

Destroying biology is genocide—specifically, aristocide. Destroying institutions is… paperwork. Who hasn’t worked for a company that went out of business? Same deal. And if the culture is the consequence of the institutions, different institutions (with the same human biology) will inevitably nurture different ideas.

The SS was anything but a low-IQ institution, yet it propagated a very different culture than Harvard. 21st-century Germany is anything but a low-IQ country, but the ideas of Kurt Eggers do not flourish in it. It seems that high-IQ institutions can be destroyed—and the new “elite culture” will be the culture of the institutions that replace them.

So the only target is the institutions. There is nothing “nasty” about closing an office. In the worst possible scenario, the police need to clear the building, lock the doors, and impound the servers. Such tasks are well within their core competence, and can be performed with calm professionalism. They will probably not even need their zip-ties.

…

For democracy to be effective in such a situation, it must know its own limitations. It can seize the reins—but only to hand them to some effective power. This power must have one of three forms: an existing oligarchy, a new monarchy, or a foreign power.

Also, there are three classes in an advanced society, not just two: nobles, commoners, and clients. Since clients support their patrons by definition, once nobles plus clients outnumber commoners, the commoners have permanently lost the numbers game. This is why importing client voters is a recipe for either civil war or eternal tyranny—if not both.

…

Yes. This is what happened in denazification, except with monarchy and oligarchy reversed. For example, all German media firms today are descendants of institutions created, or at least certified, by AMGOT. Nothing “organic” about it.

The essential problem with Alexander’s picture of this process is that, since like most smart people today he inhabits Cicero’s great quote about history and children, he simply cannot imagine replacing one kind of elite institution with another. Nor can he imagine high-IQ elites—human beings as smart as him—which are as loyal to a new sane monarchy as today’s elites are loyal, slavishly loyal, to our old insane oligarchy. Does he think that Elizabeth’s London had no elites? Caesar’s Rome?

If Alexander was analyzing the Soviet Union in the same way, he would conclude that elites are inherently devoted to building socialism for the workers and peasants. Since the present world he lives in is all of history for him, he cannot see the general theory which predicts this special case: elites like to get ahead. To genuinely change the world, change what it takes for elites to get ahead.

If the elites are poets and their only way to get ahead is to write interminable reams of “race opera,” as my late wife liked to put it, the floodgates of race opera will open. If the elites are poets and their only way to get ahead is to write interminable reams of Stalin hagiography, Stalin will be praised to the skies in beautiful and clever rhymes.

…

There are two big strawmen here. Let’s turn them into steelmen.

First, “the populace uses the government” is non-Burkean. The populace (not all of it, just the middle class) installs the government. Then it goes back to grilling. So long as the commoners have to be in charge of the regime, and the commoners are weak, the regime will be weak. They need to “fire and forget.” Otherwise, they just lose.

Second, Alexander has clearly never heard of the atelier movement. No, this is not the same thing as your grandma in front of the TV copying Bob Ross.

What happens is this: every (oligarchic) art school and art critic no longer exists. Not that they are killed, of course. Just that their employers are liquidated (not with a bullet in the neck, just with a letter from the bank). They exist physically, not professionally. They were already bureaucrats—they had careers, not passions. Who gets fired, but keeps doing his job just for fun? Certainly not a bureaucrat.

And every (oligarchic) artist no longer exists—not that they are killed, of course. Just that the rich socialites who used to buy their stuff got letters from the bank, too. Libs sometimes talk about a wealth tax—a one-time wealth cap, perhaps at a modest level like $20 mil, will concentrate the rich man’s mind wonderfully on actual necessities.

Elites like to get ahead. The people who got ahead in the oligarchic art scene can no longer get ahead by doing shitty, bureaucratic, 20th-century conceptual art. Because there were so many of them, and because the demand for this product has dropped by at least one order of magnitude if not two, elite ambition is replaced by elite revulsion.

The enormous supply-and-demand imbalance for both art and artists in 20th-century styles leaves these styles about as fashionable as disco in 1996. “Paintings” that used to sell for eight figures will be stacked next to the dumpster. “Artists” once celebrated in the Times will be teaching kindergarten, tying trout flies, or cooking delicious dinners.

Inevitably, some of these people have real artistic talent. (The first modern artists had real talent—Picasso was an excellent draftsman.) They can go to an atelier and learn to draw. They will—because now, acquiring real artistic skill is a way to get ahead in art. And again, elites like to get ahead.

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There is nothing “normal” or “natural” or “organic” about oligarchy. Does Alexander think “uncured” bacon is “organic” because, instead of evil chemical nitrates, it uses healthy, natural celery powder? He sure is easy to fool. But who isn’t?

Culture and academia is already yoked to the will of government in a “heavy-handed manner”—yoked not by the positive pressure of power, but the negative attraction of power. When the formal government defers to institutions that are formally outside the government, it leaks power into them and makes them de facto state agencies.

Power leakage, like a pig lagoon spilling into an alpine lake, poisons the marketplace of ideas with delicious nutrients. Ideas that make the institutions more powerful grow wildly. Eventually these ideas evolve carnivory and learn to positively repress their competitors, which is how our free press and our independent universities have turned our regime into Czechoslovakia in 1971, and our conversation into a Hutu Power after-school special. PS: Black lives matter.

The paradox of “authoritarianism” is that a regime strong enough to implement Frederick the Great’s idea of “free speech”—“they say what they want, I do what I want”—can actually create a free and unbiased marketplace of ideas, which neither represses seditious ideas nor rewards carnivorous ideas. But it takes a lot of power to reach this level of strength—and it requires liquidating all competing powers.

I have never been able to explain this simple idea to anyone, even rationalists with 150+ IQs who can grok quantum computing before breakfast, who didn’t want to understand it. Ultimately it reduces to the painful realization that sovereignty is conserved—that the power of man over man is a human universal. (Also, we all die.)

No surprise that nerds who think of power as Chad shoving them into a locker can’t handle the truth. PS: I went to a public high school as a 12-year-old sophomore, was bullied every day for three years, and graduated college as a virgin. Whoever you are, dear reader, you are not beyond hope. You can handle the truth.

…

And yet: Alexander’s post is about Erdoğan—and his description of Erdoğan is spot on. It also is a perfect description of Orban in Hungary; it applies to Putin in Russia and Xi in China; and it is even pretty accurate for Hitler, Mussolini and friends.

What all these “strongmen” have in common is that they are provincial. Turkey is not exactly the center of the world. Even 20th-century Germany was nowhere near the center of the world, though it could at least imagine becoming that center. If Turkey just disappeared tomorrow, no one would have any reason to care except the Turks. Who needs Turkey for anything? What would collapse—the dried-apricot market?

Erdoğan’s problem is that he cannot vaporize the oligarchy, because the institutions that matter are not in Turkey. The provincial strongman has no choice but to follow the “populist” playbook that Alexander describes so well.

Orban can kick Soros’s university out of Hungary; he cannot do anything at all to Soros, let alone to the global institutions of which Soros is only a small part. He is indeed “arrayed against” these institutions, to which his Hungarian elites (who speak nearly-perfect English) will always be loyal. The contest is unequal and has only one possible winner, though it can last indefinitely long. Even Xi, whose country can quite easily imagine becoming the economic center of the world, is a provincial strongman—in fact, he sent his daughter to Harvard. Sad!

In a global century, the only way for these provincial strongmen to develop genuine local sovereignty is to go full juche. This is simply not possible for Hungary or Turkey, both of which are firmly attached to the cultural, economic, and military teat of the Global American Empire. Indeed it is barely possible for North Korea, a marsupial nation still in China’s pouch. So Alexander is right: these “strongmen” cannot win. Their regimes will all go the way of Franco’s. It’s impressive that they even survive.

Erdoğan simply has no way to attach his best citizens to his own regime. They are citizens of the world. Elites always like to get ahead. If you’re a world-class talent in anything, why would you try to get ahead in Istanbul? Suppose you want to make a name as the world’s greatest Turkish writer. Succeed in New York, then come home. Turkey is a province; provinces are provincial.

Yet I am not a Turk or a Hungarian, and neither is Scott Alexander. The greater any empire, the more essential that its fall begin at the center. The Soviet empire did not fall from the outside in; it was not brought down from Budapest or Prague; it fell from Moscow out.

And the American empire will fall from Washington out—though that may not happen in the lives of those now living. And although nature abhors a vacuum and no empire can be replaced by nothing—and oligarchy, in the modern world, can only be replaced by monarchy—the “strongman” of this monarchy will not look anything like these mere provincial dictators.

…

The result of Alexander’s perceptive calculations, which are only wrong because their only input data is the present, is simply that our present incompetent tyranny is and must be permanent. Of course, every sovereign regime defines itself as permanent. Yet when we look at the past and not just the present, we see that no empire is forever.

Some grim things are happening in America today. These grim things have a silver lining: they expose the gleaming steel jaws of the traps that the aristocracy sets for its commoners. They remind the cattle that a goat is not a cow and a baa is not a moo.

Every pundit is a Cicero. And amidst all the greatness of his rhetoric, Cicero could not imagine a world that had no use for Ciceros—a world governed by competence, not rhetoric. By the time Caesar crossed the Rubicon, nothing had failed more completely than the whole Roman idea of governance by rhetoric—an idea many centuries old, an idea whose execution had beaten all competitors to capture the whole civilized world, but an idea that was past its sell-by date. Rome herself was no longer suited to it. The republican aristocracy of Rome no longer meant Regulus and Scipio and Cincinnatus; it meant Milo and Clodius and Catiline. Its factional conflict was the choice between Hutu Power and Das Schwarze Korps. Caesar was not a disaster; Caesar was a miracle.

In the death of the American republic, every detail is different. The story is the same. The contrast in capacity between SpaceX and the Pentagon, Moderna and the CDC, Apple and Minneapolis—between our monarchical corporations, and our oligarchical institutions—is a dead ringer for the contrast between the legions and the Senate.

The sooner we stop pretending that this isn’t happening to us, the better results we can get. Wouldn’t it be nice to get to Caesar, Augustus and Marcus Aurelius, without passing through Sulla and Marius, Crassus and Spartacus? Alas, from here and now it seems unlikely. But I can’t see why every serious person wouldn’t want to try.

#curtis yarvin #substack #long #moldbug #well worth the read #monarchy #oligarchy #scott alexander #richard hanania #tanner greer #those who just want to grill #strongman #pundits #i'm reminded at several points of jim donald's arguments about how holiness spirals are ended

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