#has given me a real sense of purpose and direction that has never been quite as clear before

[catcomixzstudios]

The exact moment I realized I was a girl came to me in the shower.

One of my girlfriends advised me prior on some voice-training tips, including one about speaking from the same place you hum. I was too nervous to try it at the time, but I did then in the shower.

And the way I sounded - the way I could sound with some effort - it completely shattered any doubts I had about my identity. I wanted that, NEEDED it. The pure ecstasy in that moment, that JOY still fills my heart all the time now.

THAT SAID. It's like. You know how in Metroid or Star Wars: Force Unleashed, how the game starts you as an incredible badass, then soon after rips away most of those abilities? How you recognize that, over the course of the game, you'll be unlocking those powers and more... but how it's going to take quite a bit of time? That's the feeling I was left with.

I guess what I'm saying is that being trans is like Metroid or Star Wars: Force Unleashed??? If you get it you get it

[dyrise]

"The world as we know it is coming undone. Gellert is pulling it apart with hate, bigotry".

I know it’s been ages since I last tried to study Jude’s and Mads’ facial expressions in Fantastic Beasts: The Secrets of Dumbledore, but as surprising as it may sound, I’m back with a new analysis! There’s still a lot to say about the restaurant clip, but I really wanted to focus on that scene in which Dumbledore have a talk with Newt and Theseus because I’ve never discussed it before despite it being really interesting as well. We’ll never say that enough: Jude Law is a real maestro.

So, in this scene, Dumbledore is briefly mentioning Grindelwald’s doings and the methods he’s using in order to try and take over the world. He disapproves them, obviously, and Jude did a phenomenal job showing the distress Dumbledore is feeling at that moment. He’s finally admitting out loud that his former lover’s completely went astray and he’s truly devastated by that. First, you can tell that he’s lost in his own thoughts by the way he’s avoiding eye contact with Theseus while acknowledging the truth: "Gellert [btw, notice how he’s calling him by his first name] is pulling it apart with hate" -> he’s looking to the side, which is also a gesture associated with shame and anxiety. Is he ashamed by what Grindelwald has become? I think it would make sense since we know that he feels responsible for fueling his ideas when they were younger. He takes part of the blame.

Then, the more he’s speaking, the more he seems to be struggling. The expression he has after adding "bigotry" is a look of disgust: his eyebrows are pulled down, his nose is wrinkled, his upper lip is pulled up and the corners are turned down… But these small movements can also be associated with pain and that’s what makes them even more interesting to study. The facial expressions of pain and disgust are often quite hard to tell apart but what characterizes pain the most is the contraction of the muscles surrounding the eyes. On the screenshot I shared, you can clearly see that Jude’s eyes are almost closed. What does it mean? Dumbledore is not only ashamed and sickened by Grindelwald’s actions: he’s truly pained. And to me it looks like Jude purposely exaggerated his facial movements to emphasize Dumbledore’s suffering. He was given no directions in the script but once again, he nailed it.

[piduai]

Interview with Noda Satoru for kotoba magazine

reposting anywhere is fine, but please credit me.

Q: While the setting of Hokkaido at the end of Meiji era does feel somewhat familiar, it was still abundant with novelty. It seems to me that the more new stuff you bring into a story, the easier it conflicts with the way people are used to reading manga. How do you find the balance?

Noda: Exploring what others have barely touched upon before has been my goal ever since I was but an aspiring mangaka. Things like baseball and soccer, magic, demons, superpowers, all the genres that have so many fingerprints on them already have never inspired a desire of competition in me.

Rather than fighting my way climbing on a huge mountain with countless rivals, I'd rather make my own little mountain, with what I, myself, find fun. My previous work was about ice hockey, this one was about Ainu as a key element. I have also considered it crucial to include human drama that anyone at all could relate to. Besides that, I was sure to include things that only I have seen and things that the people I've met across my life have shared with me, it was all done on purpose. This way, my original story is my own, something that only I would be capable of creating.

For example, take the scene with Ariko Rikimatsu's father stubbornly showing his son how to carve a makiri. This was a real episode that Kaizawa Tooru-san, an Ainu artisan, has shared with me, and I depicted it as such. Perhaps Kaizawa-san's father also wanted his son to continue their craft, but didn't want to force him into it, or so I would like to assume.

Q: Bringing characters to life is a process I find difficult to even imagine. Do you go with your gut on top of the general layout, and then finish off with calculated tweaks? Especially Asirpa, who really gives Golden Kamuy its flavor, is a character whose like I haven't seen before. Could you elaborate on this unique heroine?

Noda: Just as you said, it's half hunch, half sticking to the plan. As Sugimoto's partner, if Asirpa were a grown woman, she would have been bound to become the object of romantic affection of either Sugimoto himself or someone else on the male cast. That, on top of feeling unnatural for many readers, would have steered the story into an entirely unnecessary direction. So that plot line was given to Tanigaki and Inkarmat. The scenario in which the Ainu partner is a pops-aged guy was given over to Kadokura and Kirawus. The dynamic between Tanigaki and Cikapasi is great as well, although it's a bit difficult to make it feel profound because Cikapasi is a child, and children should be protected and mentored by adults.

In the end, the reception for Asirpa and Sugimoto was the loudest, so it seems that both my hunch and my calculations were right.

Q: When a bunch of characters with entirely different motivations are united by the same goal, a Japanese audience tends to trace it back to Lupin the Third. But it didn't feel like that with yours at all.

Noda: It is true that, when creating different group combinations, I considered which would draw out each character's different sides. For example, when Karafuto was the main scene, there was absolutely no way Tsurumi or Usami would have worked in Sugimoto's group. That trip would have been so awful. Sugimoto's group reuniting with Tsurumi was when they had to part ways for good, the story progressed as definitive points like this were decided on.

Q: It's during their trip in Karafuto when Tanigaki has suddenly become such a prominent figure. In the beginning he used to be quite a serious character, but with time he started getting special treatment and became somewhat of an author's beloved plump pet. I have heard that Tanigaki is your favorite character, so I suppose that his growing popularity and the attention he gets is exactly what you wanted?

Noda: Tanigaki Genjirou's body pillow sales amounted to a mere third of Ogata Hyakunosuke's. He sold even less than Sugimoto. I have always been anxious that my sense of what's cute differs greatly from that of the readers. I mean, Tanigaki is the cutest of them all, so why was there such a huge difference in sales? Furthermore, when they told me that the first merch to sell out during the exhibition was Tanigaki's 5 piece gravure set, I screamed, "See, this is how it's supposed to be!".

Q: When and why did you switch drawing from traditional to digital? Would you say that your page spreads are so good specifically because you do it all digitally?

Noda: I have already switched to digital entirely by the time I started my previous work, so in 2010. Before that, I was an assistant for a mangaka that stuck to traditional. The problem is that, when creating manga, there's a lot of extra labor besides drawing that goes into it when done by hand. Cleaning out the corners with wite-out or erasers, cutting out and sticking or taping panels, and the such. A lot of fine extra work that is needed for traditional disappears entirely when done digitally. There's a lot of other merits to it as well.

Speaking as a professional mangaka, during my previous work I had my assistants come to the job in person, but now we mostly communicate through Skype, so there is no need to be particular about my appearance when working, no need to worry about whether my assistants get along well, and it's much easier mentally. Being able to draw traditionally is important too, though, and if I don't practice, it's easy to start messing up when drawing illustrations meant for autographs.

As for spreads, a lot of them were done with the intention of splitting the upper and lower parts of the page. This was done mostly with the intention of being in a physical book in mind, although lately there's a lot of people who read exclusively on their smartphones. For this reason I think that this will be my last work with that kind of panelling. I consider a mangaka that cannot adjust to the times fated to be left behind.

Q: Did you do any special work related to the exhibition? How did you feel about the exhibition in general, with it going all around the country and with so many people coming to see it?

Noda: I listened to the explanations sternly and answered whatever questions were asked of me. The exhibition staff was very considerate of this work, and eagerly participated in the management.

I loved the goods. Like the brain marshmallows. When I saw the Tanigaki mousepad I started thrusting my hips, saying, "Oh, it's finally here". I want about five of them, to put both my hands, feet, etc on. The Tanigaki bromides were my idea, by the way. I just asked them to make my drawings into goods without much consideration, basically forced the idea on them.

I consider the fact that the exhibition overall was a great success proof of this work being well loved and acknowledged.

Q: As appreciation for manga has grown overseas, back in 2019 there was a panel of Asirpa at the entrance of the British Museum during the manga exhibition. How did you feel when looking at it?

Noda: When I heard that they decided on Golden Kamuy to represent Japanese manga as a whole in that exhibition, I could really feel their resolve shining through. After all, if the goal were to attract as many visitors as possible, there was a lot of more well-known hit manga to choose from. I was told that Asirpa was chosen as key visual by popular vote from the museum curators.

I have met with the guides who helped me back then on site recently, and, according to them, the exhibition was highly praised in newspapers at the time, stating "It felt entirely different from the manga culture we know of. My impression of the medium has changed completely", things like that. I think that the organizers were more preoccupied with having a meaningful exhibition rather than getting visitors.

It seems that back in Meiji, the non-executives of the British Museum have courteously asked a few Ainu to carve a few tools for them from the local wood. I've seen those tools and the storehouses myself. Maybe they decided on Asirpa as key visual because there's this kind of history there.

Q: In order to write about the Ainu accurately, I heard that you dedicated a lot of time to proper research and to meeting various people. I can't imagine you haven't met any opposition or complaints. If you read the story, it's quite clear that you, as the author, have plenty of interest in Ainu and their culture; how did you manage to win over the trust of the people who helped you?

Noda: I have always believed that if I'm to depict Ainu in my story as a major theme, it's important to show the beautiful carvings and embroidery, the religious views, the interesting legends and customs, the words, all of it, in a positive and engaging way. And I think it went well with people of Ainu heritage. I don't know any other manga that has engaged with Ainu culture in a similar way. I consider that approach the reason that the work was received so well.

Q: Golden Kamuy has a number of very fun title pages. Ones that look like movie posters, ones that look lifted straight out of magazines of that time, parodies, even fantasy-like ones where Asirpa is frolicking with animals, but when it's cutscene, those animals, well... you know the drill. You can seldom get something that makes you laugh that much with only the title page.

Noda: The parodies weren't there just for the sake of parody, more often than not it was like, "Please read this chapter with this vibe in mind". For example, in the chapter where Sugimoto was fighting Vasily, I wanted to invoke the feeling of a horror movie with the enemy forestalling you no matter where you run, so I made the title page a parody of "Friday the 13th".

Q: The story was full of fierce battles, ranging from duels between snipers, various close defensive and offensive combat, and even fighting ferocious beasts such as bears. I think they're all pretty difficult to depict by just imagination. What did you use as references?

Noda: Well, it's not that this kind of combat can be as flashy as ones using magic and superpowers, so my prerogative was devising ways of showing combat that wouldn't bore the readers. When I was at this or that scene, I'd think of ways to use the surroundings for fighting, or when I looked at various items from that time I'd come up with ways they could be used in combat. I was inspired by Jackie Chan movies a lot, the way they utilize the set in battle choreography, or the way they make weapons out of ordinary objects. That was, perhaps, the starting point. When you look at fights using magic and superpowers, it's hard to imagine pain. But when you see Steven Seagal wrap a billiard ball in a towel and hit someone with it, it feels much scarier and conveys the feeling of pain well.

Q: I heard that the way you draw firearms is so thorough that even maniacs would groan. The depictions of vehicles of those times also seem very detailed. Are you good with machinery?

Noda: Not particularly, no, I often draw by looking at exhibits I photographed at this or that museum, and by referencing materials I purchased myself. I have Sugimoto's type 30 rifle as a full-scale model with minimal movement. In the first there is a scene in which the safety device is released, but back in 2015 there were no materials anywhere to show how it was done precisely. Years later, a video explaining its operation was finally released on overseas Youtube, and I immediately revised the scene in the volume.

Q: I could feel that for you, the sense of realism went further than researching materials. How often did you ask yourself, "Shouldn't it be like this", "Wouldn't it be more natural if it went like this"? Is it possible that there is a realm of realism that is only possible to convey through the use of imagination?

Noda: It was often the case that I'd consult a professional immediately after building up a hypothesis of my own. For example, the time when Asirpa managed to tell apart the fake tattooed skins by looking at the reaction of the tannin applied to them to iron, where she talks about the way a woman has dyed a kimono a beautiful red. I have heard of Ainu dyeing their thick kimonos made of tree bark red using alder, so I hypnotized that since alder also contains lots of tannin, it would turn brown upon contact with iron. After that I consulted Saito Reiko-san of the National Museum of Ethnology and Takano Keiko-san, an artisan from Nibutani, and was informed that although it was possible, though quite difficult, to use alder in dyeing things a neat red, when washed in a river with high iron content, the clothing would turn brown. Therefore my hypothesis was confirmed, and I was able to proceed with writing a crucial plot point.

Q: I assume many fans rejoiced in your choice to not separate Asirpa and Sugimoto, by design or death. Was it the ending you planned from the very beginning?

Noda: I could say that I never planned to kill him at all, although if the story spanned across ten volumes or so, that option wouldn't have been out of the question. But it spanned across thirty one and took eight years, therefore I considered that killing off Sugimoto or separating him from Asirpa would have been a deed done in bad taste towards the readers, who have been watching over them for so long. When you think of a work that you love, a manga or a movie, that you want to reread or rewatch over and over again, wouldn't most people choose something that has a happy ending?

Q: Speaking of movies, I heard that you're an avid watcher. Please share some of your latest favorites.

Noda: I like stuff by David Fincher, Michael Mann, Kathryn Bigelow... My manga is entirely different from their works, though. Recently I went as far as buying "Anne of Green Gables" on Blu-ray. The colors used in the backgrounds were so wonderful, I told the people working on the anime to use that movie as reference.

Q: Editors are important figures for authors. If you don't mind, could you tell us more about yours, Ookuma Hakkou?

Noda: I brought my idea to the editorial department of Young Jump because it kept being dropped from the serialization meetings at Young Magazine. Back then, Ookuma-san just happened to glimpse over it by chance, and immediately decided that it needs to be serialized. In the end, that manga was cancelled after 6 volumes, so I can't judge whether Magazine or Jump was in the right. However, I did feel thankful to Young Jump for giving me a chance, so I wanted to repay them with Golden Kamuy, and I think that I managed to pay that debt off. Meeting Ookuma-san was the most fortunate event of my life.

Q: You already announced that your next project will be picking up that cancelled manga again. Please tell us how you feel about it.

Noda: I was thinking about it even back when Golden Kamuy was still serializing, taking notes and making plans. After finishing a series that took thirty one volumes, I more or less came to an understanding of what kind of preparations and labor a long serialization would require. I learnt that fans are curious about such things as the height and weight of the characters, and that they want to know the full names of basically nobodies, there's demand for really detailed information. I'll make sure to have those things ready when I take upon a new project.

I consider it very fortunate that Golden Kamuy has happened to me when I was at peak physical and cognitive health. I'm not getting younger, but it made me acquire a wealth of experience, so I'll put it to good use with my next work. I'd like for those who liked Golden Kamuy to give it a try, and promise to not disappoint. I'm counting on you.

[mindblownie2]

1, 10, and 15 for the ask meme...... IF THEY HAVEN'T BEEN ASKED YET.....

haha you're the first one so.

what is thanatica?

well, as you said - it's a concept. it's a child's idea of how stuff works (because of course it is), but also a representation of an idea. Daniil is the controversial groundbreaking scientist from the big city, so he has his..lab..thing; the backstory I think is very much meant to be... "archetypal" in a way, rather than specific.

that being said, I have been for months poking at a prequel fic so I do have some more... grounded headcanons. so in that universe, existing for purposes of writing out an actual plot as opposed to purposes of analysing the game purely theoretically, well. it is a disused laboratory space that Daniil talked the university administration into giving to him, with the backing of one of his teachers; it is, then, briefly, something with the ambitions and prospects of becoming an entire department, or maybe even an institution unto itself, but that never quite came to pass. it's kinda funny because sometimes the way Daniil talks about it sounds like a whole research institute he established, which given his age and degree, I'm 🤨 doubtful; but then again of course, as per my first point, it doesn't need to make sense in real world terms. but in the grounded universe, I'm gonna say it was a small semi-independent research group in an almost perpetual state of struggling for its own viability, but Daniil is at a certain point reflexively making it sound grander to convince himself and everyone else that this is really something. he's not lying, he just really believes in himself, god bless him.

10. any idea what will happen to them in the bachelor route?

god, I don't know. mainly just keeping my fingers crossed they'll get fleshed out nicely, and hoping for some good conversations; loved talking to the Stamatins in classic but in p2 their dialogue was kinda meh, but hoping that's just because they weren't relevant enough to Artemy's journey. but idk, I've made no secret of the fact that patho classic and the characters as they appear there are very dear to me and I'm very attached to them and the prospect of a new version scares me a little because p2 was an extremely mixed bag for me, doing some things I really liked, some I was neutral to, and quite a few I really disliked, so. I wanna trust IPL but I do not entirely, and prefer not to make any theories or wishlists.

15. pick a barnett newman painting for each of them

your choices were very good & I needed to go in a completely different direction to not feel like I'm copying you, so, from the page you linked:

Daniil: whatever it was meant to be, it's fraying at the edges and hollow in the middle. or it's a door; you choose. or maybe it just reminded me of his coat.

Andrey: it is chaotic, disruptive, a show of contrasting the other ones; a sort of purposeful playing into that expectation. or maybe it just reminded me of his necklaces.

Peter: it is the picture of an obsession: a single vector, emitting both light and dark. or maybe I was just influenced by your choice.

Farkhad: in some ways similar to both, all in all different. unsettled, off-kilter; a discordant note.

(the questions)

[hawkinshighdropout]

Stay The Night?

Pairing: Eddie Munson x (female) Reader

Summary: After a long evening of fighting with your parents, you're late for school and missing from some classes. Your best friend Eddie notices you're not about and takes care of you once he finds you, offering you a place to stay to clear your head.

Warnings: No warnings, this is purely fluff/pure content. Unless you count a couple of curse words as needing a warning? Idk, I haven’t written fanfics in like 8 years so I’m a little rusty…

Note/Request: Requested by anonymous “Could you write a fanfic where you're just friends with eddie but he let's you stay at his trailer when you have nowhere to stay after a bad argument with your parents, you share a bed, and wake up in the night cuddling, eddie has a boner and hes like apologizing, and then whatever happens, please, you're just such a good writer”

Bonus: I feel like this could do with a part 2? It was just getting good when I wanted to start writing smut but saw how long it was and thought y'all wouldn't read it. I didn't want this to be like 6k words right off the bat... If you horny mother f-ers want a part 2 where smut ensues, please let me know? <3

Word Count: 2.6k

Send me prompts to write about!

You were a straight A student, destined for the college of your dreams, on multiple after school curriculum clubs and always on time… So when you didn’t show up for your first class of the day, your friends grew worried about you. It’s not like you to ghost, and certainly not like you to not show up, your friends spent the first hour or so in the morning between classes passing notes and asking around to find if anyone had seen you.

To your defence, you had had the evening from hell, and quite the eventful morning to follow it. It had all started due to your ‘little freak friend,’ as your parents to lovingly phrased it, spending ‘too much time’ around you. Your fashion sense had slowly shifted to something a little more edgy, your music taste was more diverse thanks to Eddie, and you started going out more on weekends. It was all harmless, and nothing was affecting your behaviour or work ethic, so you didn’t see the problem. Your parents didn’t see it that way, though. They treated him like he was the devil, corrupting their precious babygirl in ways unspoken, it was all bullshit. He had made you feel loved, cared for, supported. Him and his little gang of monsters (Hellfire Club) had given you a purpose and a sense of belonging outside the four walls of your home in Hawkins.

You’re not sure what straw broke the camel’s back, but something triggered your parents to unleash World War 3 the second you got home last night, in included a lot of screaming, arguing, name calling… A slap or two from your mother which you fought the urge to retaliate. You weren’t like them; you’d never sink that low. Hours upon hours of fighting and arguing, accusations being thrown around like verbal knives, until you cried yourself to sleep in the early hours of the morning.

Waking up was a real struggle this morning, having to face your puffy eyed self in the mirror as you brushed your hair and teeth, doing your best to keep down the sickness you felt inside from both the stress and the exhaustion. You were running late for school, having missed the bus earlier, which brought on a whole new wave of anger from your parents. Despite the fact your parents both have full time jobs and fancy cars, and they both work in the direction of your school, they refused to give you a ride. Meaning you had to walk from the upper side of Hawkins, all the way down to the front gates of your school, making you even later than intended. It was just before lunch when you got into Hawkins High, skin a little dewy from the sweat, only making your face look worse whilst adding to the already existing puffy eyes and sad smile.

You wandered up to the front desk to explain where you had been and why your parents hadn’t told the school about your whereabouts. Lucky for you, you were let off with just a warning, the only mercy you had been granted in about twenty-four hours. Thanking the school receptionist, you make a quick stop to your locker to drop off your things before moping down to the cafeteria, getting lost in the crowd who all piled in for their food. You had forgotten your lunch, sigh. What else could go wrong today? Folding your arms and making your way over to the Hellfire Club table, waiting somewhat patiently for the gang to roll in, keeping your head down as to not draw too much attention to yourself.

“Well, well, well… Look who decided to show up! Little Miss Perfect has finally blessed us with her presence. What happened to you, sweetheart? Too busy out car shopping with Daddy Dearest to attend algebra, hm?” Eddie joked, patting you on the back whilst letting out a soft laugh. Normally a line like that would have earned him an eye roll and jab in the chest, but today it was met with silence.

“Hey… Are you okay?” He asks quietly whilst the other dudes start to sit in their allocated seats around you, he could feel the tension from you and that worried him. Allowing yourself to slowly look up in his direction, your sad eyes meeting his own concerned ones, all it took was one look from him to crack you. You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes and one dripping down your cheek as you sniffle, alarming Eddie as he wasn’t used to seeing you like this.

“Nope, not here you don’t. C’mon, let’s go.” Eddie mumbled comfortingly to you, not wanting anyone to see you cry as you both knew someone would use that against you. He wouldn’t let that happen. Taking your hand and guiding you up from your seat, both of you stood as he tangled his fingers in your own for support. Eddie quickly mumbled something into Dustin’s ear before patting him on the shoulder and easing you out of the lunchroom towards the empty halls, taking a quick look around before he tugged you into the girls’ bathroom.

By this point your tears were already freely falling, Eddie doing his best to listen and comfort you as you recalled the events of the last couple of days. He was hurt and pissed off. Not because your parents were so rude about him, but because they disrespected you. His only focus was the fact you were hurting, and he needed to do something about it, he was incredibly protective of those in his group, and that wasn’t going to slide with him.

“Shit, Y/L/N… Hey, okay, how about this? You can come and stay with me tonight, yeah? Your parents already are pissed at you, there’s no point going back there when they’re acting like this, let them cool off and give yourself a break, yeah? I’ll take the couch; you can have my bed… My Uncle won’t even be back until morning anyway, so it won’t be weird, even though he loves you.”

All you did was nod in response, grateful to have such a wonderful person in your life, further solidifying the fact that your parents were the problem. How could they hate someone so wonderful? Someone who always has your best interest at heart and wants to keep you happy. It took a couple minutes of him giving handing you tissues to help dry your tears, telling you to splash cold water on your face as it brings down the redness and puffiness, even him jumping and softly yelling at the girls screaming when they entered the bathroom to see the tall, tatted man in the girl’s room before you were ready to face the day.

“Okay, Princess. Let’s do this!” Eddie announced with a bright smile, taking your hand once again and leading you out of the bathroom. This time? You were thankfully full of giggles rather than tears.

-----

“Home Sweet Home” Eddie sighed, pulling open the door to his trailer and gesturing for you to enter ahead of him, “M’Lady” he chuckles whilst you wander in ahead, closely following behind you to shut the door on you both.

Glancing around the place, you notice there’s a few cigarette stumps in the ashtray and a slightly overflowing bin in the corner, but not as many shirts in the laundry pile as you’d usually expect. You’ve been here many times before, and this was somehow the cleanest you had seen it.

“Didn’t realise the Queen was coming to town, Ed…” you mocked him fondly, to which he immediately pulled out his smug smile and raised his brows in your direction, clearly amused.

“Well, someone’s feeling better, hm?” he visibly relaxed when he realised you were more at ease whilst alone with him. Knowing that it would only be a matter of time before you’re both wrestling and mocking each other once again, he brought you in for a warm embrace. It took you a little by surprise. Not that Eddie wasn’t affectionate or anything, he was, it just was usually you or someone from your squad initiating it first. You didn’t care about that right now though, allowing yourself to slump against him as his hug took the weight of the world off your shoulders, at least for a moment. Pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head before he pulled away from you, holding your cheeks in his hands whilst he scanned your face for a reaction. The smile on your face making him beam with joy, you were soon returning to your old self.

“There’s that pretty smile…” he mumbled, kissing your forehead before stepping away and wandering over to the cupboards in search of food. “Look, I know you didn’t eat lunch, but I didn’t really think in advance so like, I can offer you cereal or… cereal…” he shoots an apologetic smile.

“Cereal works!” you announce, wandering over to his small dinner table. Watching as he poured you both a bowl of cereal each, running out of milk after filling his bowl to which he rolled his eyes, cursed ‘son of a bitch’ under his breath before swapping bowls with you to ensure you got at least the most viable thing to a “proper meal” he could offer you.

You used the spoon to slowly eat your bowl, Eddie opting to use his hands and just shove a handful into his mouth at a time. What did he care? Its not like he had to worry about spilling his milk. Small talk ensued whilst you sat and ate together, him throwing the bowls into the sink for another day once you’d finished. Both of you residing to the couch for the rest of the evening, Eddie would smoke a couple cigarettes, even a joint or two, and you would happily sit at the doorstep whenever he went outside to smoke as he insisted on not giving you a second-hand high or headache from the fumes.  

It's only when you begun to yawn that he looked at the time on his watch and announced it was time for bed, you sleepily nodded in agreement as the two of you wander towards his small bedroom. He cleaned up the best he could, going through his piles of laundry and sniffing each and every item until he found a shirt clean enough for you to wear to bed. Placing them on top of the sheets for you whilst he disappeared out of the room to give you privacy, happily slipping back into the room once you declare you were decent.

Dressed in his Metallica shirt and your underwear, you climbed into bed under the covers whilst he leant against the doorway with his arms folded, watching you as you slipped into the warmth of the sheets. Somewhere in this process he had changed into just his boxers, clothes you can only assume were cast around the living room like the rest of his things. Smiling down at you, he then gestures to the hallway and starts to back out of the room, shutting off the light in the process.

“I’ll be on the couch if you need me, okay?” he said softly, causing you to sit up a little and frown in his direction.

“Can you… Can you stay, please?” you whisper. You were a big girl, you weren’t scared of the dark or anything like that, you just found Eddie to be so comforting and after the day you had? You didn’t want to be alone.

“You sure?” he asks, your nodding response was all it took for him to shut the door and then slip into the bed beside you. Laying on his back and draping his arm around your shoulders, brushing his ring clad fingers up and down your shoulder comfortingly as you curled up against his chest. Eyes closing almost immediately as he hummed under his breath, lulling you to sleep in what felt like seconds.

“Goodnight, Sleepyhead” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before eventually passing out not long after.

----

The flush of the bathroom toilet startled him awake, not knowing where he was, who was around and why appliances were flushing when no one was supposed to be home. It’s only when your exhausted little face peeked back into the room that he settled down and everything clicked into place.

“Jesus H Christ, you scared me.” He breathed.

“Me? Scare you? C’mon now…” you laugh, finding it hard to believe that someone as tough and brave as Eddie would be startled by a small girl just going to the bathroom.

Climbing back into his bed, you took mere seconds before cuddling up against him once more. Arm wrapped around his middle whilst he wrapped his arms around your shoulders with a tight squeeze. Face to face this time, in the centre of the bed whilst your bodies became like one in the middle.

“Eddie?” you mumble against his chest.

“Yeah, babe?” he mumbled back; face tucked into your hair.

“Please tell me that isn’t your dick pressed up against my thigh…” you whine.

“I… didn’t know you could feel that, shit. Sorry. In my defence, it happens on its own, I… yeah, sorry!” he pulled back from you, grabbing more of the covers to make a layer across his hard dick, not wanting to make this situation any worse for you both.

“Oh really? And here I was thinking I was so irresistible that you just couldn’t help yourself around me, even in your sleep.” You teased, shoving him playfully in the side, glancing over to see his cheeks bright red in embarrassment.

“I mean… you are kinda hot in my shirt, but—” he stopped himself finishing that sentence, you let out a pool of laughter whilst grabbing the pillow and smacking him fondly in the chest.

“Oh, shut up! Bullshit” you declare, grinning to yourself as you continue to lightly whack him with the fluffy weapon.

“It’s not bullshit! You’re hot in my clothes, Jesus Christ. Can we change the subject now?!” he’s flustered you can tell, his words were honest but his execution was like that of a nervous child.

You finally decide to stop hitting him with the pillow, brow raised in question and head tilted slightly to the side as you search his expression for any hint of a lie, voice soft. “Wait, really?”

Watching as he shrugs his shoulders in defeat and nods his head. “Yeah, really… Sorry if that makes things weird. I can like, I can go back to the couch?” he offers in a mild panic, already in the process of moving to leave the room.

Grabbing his bicep to stop him, he looks down at you with a confused look on his face. Shaking your head from side to side, your voice soft and shy as you ask for him to stay. Once he made sure that was really what you wanted, he sunk back into the sheets with the covers still hiding him from the waist down.

“So… The shirt, hm?” you snort playfully, amused that something as simple as you wearing his clothes would get him going, to which he’s blushing and shrugging his shoulders in response.

“I hate you.” He jokes, grabbing the same pillow from before and this time using it to smack you in the chest, both of you falling into pits of laughter as the tension is quickly dissipated.

[hyunjilicious]

fwb [s. stan/c. evans/h.cavill]

A/n: DO NOT ask me why I wrote this. I have no idea why I did this to myself, but I thought I’d share anyway!

Summary: no matter how you put it, a catching feelings while you’re in a fwb relationship isn’t good! (SMUT, FLUFF, angst?) 9.2k

Warnings: threesome, dirty talk, unprotected sex, spanking, slapping, daddy kink, size kink, degradation, humiliation, oral, pain kink (+/- some dubcon), submission, cum play... issa lot ok? don’t read if any of these make you uncomfortable!! 18+ 

This is a standalone fic, and not part of any series. However, come talk to me about it, please!! Tell me what you thought!! And don’t forget to reblog in case you enjoyed it!!

"Last question-" the interviewer announced. She turned around the papers in her lap and placed them to the side, before she intertwined her fingers and looked up at you with a devious grin on her lips. "I have to ask this, Y/n. We all need to know, who's your favorite? Superman or Captain America?"

Of course you couldn't help but chuckle, shaking your head at the question she came up with. It was fair to assume you hadn't been asked this before for the sole purpose of avoiding a scene, but the lady standing in front of you seemed overly pleased with herself. Unlike Henry and Chris, who were seated on either side of you. Even if you didn't actually turn to look at them, you could feel their glares throw daggers. Anticipation floated in the room, and judging by the way they just softly chuckled or refrained from making any kind of comment, you knew how anxiously they were awaiting your answer.

"I-" you said, before bursting into laughter.

"Even I would choose Superman," Chris joined in, placing a hand on his chest for emphasis. "Dude's got X-ray vision. He's faster than light, he can fly. He's the real deal" he raised his palms, ready to accept his defeat.

"See-?" Henry butted in, and you giggled, more to yourself, at the game they started playing. You knew very well it was nothing but a big, fat, obvious trap. "Superman's got all of those, but Captain America still manages to save the world time and time again, without superpowers. I think that makes him greater"

Oh, how screwed you were.

"So, Y/n?" the interviewer pushed, ever so obviously satisfied with the tension she created, "Who will it be? Steve or Clark?"

In turn, you looked at both of them. Henry was smiling his ass off, waiting for you to say the wrong name, while Chris seemed to be lost in thought.

"Ugh, ok" you took a deep breath, and glanced into the camera, "I'm sorry, but I'm Team Cap. I gotta be."

Whereas Henry accepted the defeat with stride and sweetly mentioned he couldn't ever blame you for choosing Captain America, Chris was ecstatic. He didn't even try to hide his excitement, the chair nearly breaking under his energetic jolts of pride. 

After a few more unimportant comments were made, the interview ended and the lights were turned off. You all hopped off your seats and walked over to the buffet table, your conversation still going strong.

"Really, Y/n? Cap?" Henry taunted, his voice low and mocking, right against your ear lobe as you popped a cheese stick into your mouth. "This guy? Why did you have to do me like that, hm?"

Henry placed the tip of his finger under your chin and elegantly prompted you to look up at him. 

"I don't know, man" Chris laughed from somewhere behind you, "I think I own fair and square, Cap is just the better superhero"

Henry scowled, glancing at the blonde, over your shoulder. His ice cold eyes made the salty treat get lodged in your throat, and you had to pull away from him in order not to actually choke. "Relax-" you said, raising your hands in defeat as you started walking towards the door, "It's not like I chose between the two of you. That would've been a whole other deal"

"Wait what-?" Chris deadpanned, "What does that mean?" He added, hurrying to follow you and ask for further details.

Needless to say, the subject wasn't dropped until quite a while later. People swarmed you, papers had to be signed and pictures were taken as the employers from all levels of the building gathered outside your dressing room hoping to meet some of their favorite superheroes. It was all a buzz and about 2 hours later, the three of you were finally able to leave, making a beeline from the back door of the building, all the way over to the car that was waiting for you.

You ended up on the backseat, again between them, but this time the atmosphere was relaxed. Your blood only started to boil when Henry asked for the partition to be rolled up. As soon as the space inside the car was divided and you were given your privacy, Henry grabbed your chin and forced you to face him.

"Think I forgot about earlier?" he questioned, his devious grin wide enough so that his perfect teeth became visible. 

You giggled and forced yourself out of his hold. Shuffling around the seat, you threw one leg over his thighs and sat down in his lap. Henry looked you up and down, remotely displeased with your attitude but he didn't complain.

You grabbed his cheeks into your palms and pushed yourself up against him, his face now inches away from your chest. "And what are you gonna go?"

He wasn't about to let his guard down, "You're acting all bratty now, but you'll regret that later, baby"

"I doubt that" you teased, bending down to tenderly kiss his sweet lips, "What could you possibly do that I won't like?"

"Wish you hadn't asked that" Henry laughed, his whole frame shaking against yours. He grabbed your ass and squeezed harshly, pressing you closer to him.

"I'm scared" you joked, trailing your lips along his cheeks, knowing just how crazy you could make him. 

"Y/n" Chris warned, "Today I'm on your side, but even I can tell you're pushing your luck"

Even if he didn't necessarily manage to deflate your attitude, you plopped down from Henry's lap and resumed your spot between them. The atmosphere didn't get any denser and the topic of conversation swiftly shifted to rudimentary randomness like what food should you order once you got home or whatever plans either of you had for that night. You subtly avoided the word 'date' when you told them you'd be meeting with a friend, and breathed out relieved when they didn't pressure you for details. That was a conversation to be had between 4 walls and with no prying ears.

Once home, your home - they came over, you casually opened the door and meant to make your way inside as if nothing was wrong, but Henry, just as previously stated, had other plans.

Securing a strong hold around your way smaller frame, he lovingly leaned down over your shoulder, "How are you doing, love?" he nonchalantly asked.

His scent overwhelmed your senses, and despite knowing where this was going, you tried to play it off. "Good, you?" you smiled, sinking into his arms.

"We need to talk"

"Do we?" you laughed, but managed to do absolutely nothing in terms of impressing him.

You knew just how much he loved it when you asked for it, and this was not something he'd ever let slide. "Come with me, darling," Henry cooed, gently guiding you into the bedroom.

You followed him without showing any kind of resistance, turning around in his hold and wrapping your arms around his neck. You stumbled backwards down the hallway, sloppily kissing his lips.

Much to your surprise, he was more than eager to reciprocate, his palms burning through the soft material of clothing that covered your sides. He kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth with so much fervor, as if he had been deprived for too long. 

Henry clumsily opened the bedroom door, stumbling forward with you against him, until he reached the bed. Considering how weak you were for him and how you always allowed yourself to get molded by his will, when he pushed you back against the bed, you fell with a small huff and remained there, only your eyes following him.

"What are you doing?" you asked, seeing him open your closet and actually step inside to look behind the corner.

Before he even started to answer your question, Chris walked into the room. He was casually undoing the buttons of his shirt as he strolled past the bed.

"Hi-" you giggled, extending your hands towards him. All you wanted was some attention.

"Hi, baby" Chris laughed, bending down to kiss your forehead. "You're gonna be good for us, ok? I don't wanna have to go to hard on you"

"Then don't" you pouted.

"That's only up to you" he added, straightening his back and finishing up on undoing his buttons. His tattooed chest became visible and your mouth watered in an instant. 

Burning from the inside with anticipation and pure lust, you fell back against the cushions, your thighs uselessly trying to alleviate some of the pain between your legs. But no amount of rubbing and friction would ever match up to the tension in the room, and you loved it.

A couple of moments later, Henry walked out of his closet, dressed exactly the same, clutching tight into his hands the famous superman costume. None of you has ever been too shy when it came to exploring new kinks and desires, but this, you did not see coming.

Your mouth fell open, "Really!?" you almost drooled, but he has probably never been any quicker to burst your bubble.

Staring you down, Henry clutched his fingers into the material of his suit, bringing his hands together in front of his chest, before tearing the material apart with a loud screech. He lightly huffed with the effort, but soon enough, the actual costume fell to the floor by his feet, while the red cape remained neatly wrapped around his fists.

Your eyes widened with enthusiasm and you wanted to shuffle closer to him, but once you pushed yourself up on your knees, you felt a tight grip around your forearms.

Chris pulled you back with force, "Arms up, darling" he chuckled. He didn't even give you a chance to follow his directions, as he yanked your top over your head in an instant and unclasped your bra before leaving your top half completely naked and exposed.

As he plopped down on the bed, Henry came up to you and forced your hands up, using his cape to tie your wrists to the bedpost. His face was hovering inches above yours, and you licked your lips before pushing yourself up to kiss his jawline.

"The hell's gotten into you, hm?" he groaned, tightening the knot. When he looked down, he seemed amused, kind of at the edge between disbelief and satisfaction, as if he actually wished you'd push his buttons. As if he was waiting for you to dig your own grave. "You aren't usually like this"

"Had a great day, that's all" you grinned as you literally met with the two of them approximately half an hour after you woke up. "Ready for it to get better"

"Is it, though-?" Chris laughed, fumbling with the button of your jeans before pulling them down your legs. Off with them also went your underwear, and then there you were, completely naked in front of them, hands tied above your head. "-going to get better, I mean" Chris added, rubbing his hands up and down your thighs.

"I think-" you began answering but Henry stopped you as he gripped your chin.

"Stop talking back, love" he threatened, "Don't you think you said enough today? Look where it's gotten you"

You studied his expression with big, curious eyes, your bottom lip consciously trembling as you muttered a soft excuse. You knew not taking him seriously would get you into even more trouble, but that's what you were all about.

Henry chuckled. Keeping his glare trained on yours he pushed himself up. His big hands found your thighs and forced your legs apart. 

With this new, sudden change in position, your eyes landed on Chris who looked down at you as if you were his prey. He had a bottle of beer in his hand, taking small sips as he stood back, allowing Henry to do his part. Even if he wasn't yet taking part first hand in this whole charade, he was ever so obviously still enjoying the show. 

You squirmed under their dominating stares, feeling every inch of your body burn with excitement and traces of actual embarrassment that did absolutely nothing other than turn you on even further.

"You know you fucked up, right?" Chris taunted before taking another sip of his beer. His hand reached to cup your thigh, moving it further up until his fingers got dangerously close to your bare pussy. "I mean you're all good in my book, but that's not how things work"

"It could be" you whined.

By now, it should have been clear that talking back was never an option. Chris just smiled sympathetically while Henry clearly showed he wasn't going to have you keep this attitude much longer. He shuffled to the side, responding to your comment with a sharp slap against your bare cunt. "What did you just say?"

The impact made you instinctively gather your legs together but he was quick to stop you. Henry forced your thighs apart again, his thick fingers pushing past your folds just enough to get you to get on alert. 

Your eyes snapped to Chris. You never thought of things like this, but just about now, having him on your side seemed like the best idea. Your stomach was tightening from the nerves building up inside your core and you needed his reassurance. 

"I'm sorry, doll-" he cocked his head to the side as you watched him, your eyes begging him to stand with you, "You know I'm always here for you, but breaking you is just too much fun, I'm sorry"

"Asshole" you rolled your eyes and regretted it even before Henry delivered another slap against your clit. You cried out and your muscles clenched against your will, your knees bending in a pathetic attempt to curl yourself into a ball.

"Come on, darling" Henry scoffed, easily handling your tantrum and forcing your legs back down, wide open for them. "You're only making this harder. Calm down, take your punishment and then maybe you'll get something in return"

"Ok-" you muttered, shame taking over your senses. 

"Ok, what?" Henry pushed and Chris shook his head in disbelief at how unwilling you were to follow your usual instructions.

"Ok, daddy-" you muttered, avoiding their eyes, "I'm sorry I-"

"Little girl-" Henry sighed, sinking two fingers into your dripping pussy, "Already apologising? Where did that attitude go? Your punishment didn't even start yet"

"Fuck" you cried.

Despite knowing it wasn't a good idea, you rocked your hips along his fingers. Deciding to let you play along, Henry pressed his thumb against your clit, applying that minimal amount of pleasure he knew would have you hollering. 

And when you moaned for the first time, he stopped. He stopped completely and retracted his hand, leaving you craving his touch. Again, you felt exposed and it only translated into a painful sensation deep inside your belly. 

Arching your back as a whine escaped your lips, you squeezed your eyes shut, "Come on!! Please-"

"Not yet, angel" Henry countered, spreading your legs again.

As he held one of your thighs, Chris grabbed the other one, both their hands gripping your flesh hard enough to bruise. You already whimpered in pain, but when the real round of slapping began you felt like your throat would eventually cave.

"Cry if you have to, angel. Just be a good girl" Henry taunted.

You struggled against their hold with each blow delivered to your sensitive pussy, crying out and begging for them to stop. You never did try to count, so you had no idea how long it took, as when he stopped, you fell down into the mattress, the pain dissipating into a burning sensation across your legs.

"Easy there-" Henry cooed, his big hand cupping your cunt, gently rubbing the sensitive skin he had just abused.

Tears rolled down your temples as you failed to calm down your breathing. "Fuck, ok, I get it-" you sniffled, turning your head around to hide your face into your shoulder, "I'm sorry, please. I'm sorry"

"Look at me, pet" Henry commanded, softly guiding your chin in order to uncover your face, "Don't hide from us. You're so beautiful crying like that, you have no idea"

A new fresh wave of tears streamed from your eyes, "Th-thank you..."

Ever so softly, Chris moved your thighs, separating them again. He kneeled between your legs, lowering himself until you could feel his breath against your folds. "Breathe, pet-" he cooed, pressing a lingering kiss to your clit.

Involuntarily, you flinched, your hips bucking. "Easy, baby-" Chris said barely above a whisper, placing a hand on your tummy to push you back down, "Relax for me, ok?" 

He swiped his tongue along your folds, forcing you to suck a deep breath, "You good?" Henry asked, his hand exploring your naked chest.

You nodded up at him.

"We barely started, ok?" Chris said, pushing himself up, "You'll be a good girl for us?"

"Yes" you nodded with eagerness.

"Full sentences-" Henry nudged, lovingly caressing your abdomen, "I know it can be a lot for you, take your time"

You swallowed deeply, "Yes.. yes, I will be a good girl for you"

"Good" he cooed, leaning down. You pushed yourself up to meet his lips, but he stopped midway, tapping your chin, "Open up, baby"

Slowly, your jaw lowered, as you stared up at him, big awaiting eyes and mouth wide open.

And he made you wait, finally sending you a lewd grin before spitting on your tongue. You felt it dribble down towards the back of your throat before you swallowed proudly. You wanted to open your mouth again, but he hurried to distance himself from you.

With a harsh slap against your tits, he pushed himself up. Henry grabbed your thighs, gathering your knees together. He pulled your legs up until your hips lifted from the bed and your upper back supported most of your weight, your knees close to your chest.

"Such a beautiful pussy" Chris chimed in, his face inches away from your opening.

Never in your life had you felt this exposed and humiliated, but you swallowed your pride and remained motionless, not wanting to get on their bad side again.

"Are you ready?" Henry asked.

"For- for what?" you panicked.

"Wrong answer" he scoffed, slapping your ass. You yelped in pain and wiggled in his hold, but he didn't stop. He spanked your ass again, and again, and again, his palm hitting the bare skin off your cheeks, pussy and asshole. "Try again, little girl."

"I- I'm… I'm ready" 

"See?" Chris beamed, spitting on your pussy. You felt it run down your folds until it reached your ass. "That's the kind of slut we want. One that says yes without even knowing what we're talking about"

"Come on" Henry huffed, slapping your cunt one more time before letting your body back down on the mattress again. He moved up along your frame and undid your hands. 

You were eager to relax your shoulders and to feel the blood flow through your arms again, but as soon as he released you from the bedpost, he brought your wrists together, tying them up again. "I wish I didn't have to keep you restrained like this, but how can I know what goes through that dumb little head of yours?"

You shook your head no, trying to tell him you were actually planning on doing anything stupid, but Chris understood something else completely.

"Nothing goes through that pretty head?" he laughed, and Henry couldn't help but chuckle along.

Embarrassed, you hid your face and looked down.

"Don't be like that, baby-" Chris added, bending down over your body to caress your cheek, "You know we're right. You don't need to be ashamed, we like you like this"

His thumb rubbed along your bottom lip before he leaned down all the way and kissed you. His tongue barged into your mouth, dominating you completely as you barely managed to keep up with him. "A dumb little slut, crying for cock. That's what you are, aren't you?"

"Yes, daddy"

"Then why did you hide your face?"

"I- I don't know…" you mumbled.

"You know we keep you around just to fuck you, so I don't see why you'd get shy all of a sudden"

"I'm sorry-" you nodded, licking your lips, uselessly trying to moisten them. "I didn't get shy, I-"

"So you like being our fuck slut?"

"Yes"

"Just a set of holes for me and Cavill over here to cum in, right?" he questioned, before kissing your forehead. "Our beautiful, little girl" You smiled at the pet name and looked up expectantly. His gaze lowered and his expression became stern again. "Get on all fours, darling. Time to make yourself useful"

With every movement of your legs, your cunt ached more and more, but you followed his command and pushed yourself up. Once on your hands and knees, you saw them get into position too. Chris crawled behind you as Henry settled before you, his crotch inches away from your face.

Your mouth watered as you heard their zippers being undone, and looked at them in turn, unable to hide your enthusiasm. 

At this point, you were eager for whatever they'd throw at you. Being in that mind state always made everything better. You existed in a haze, a world of blur where it was just you and your daddys. You wiggled your ass expectantly and licked your lips with absolutely no worry. In your head it was perfect.

Your bubble was burst by a harsh tug at the roots of your hair as Henry turned your head so you'd look up at him. He fumbled with his cock, giving himself a few pumps.

Just watching him with big, excited eyes, you opened your mouth for him. He chuckled at your state of pure submission and placed his leaking tip on your tongue, your lips instantly closing around him.

At this point, he still allowed you to control your own movements as you did a satisfying enough job at bobbing your head on his cock. You sucked with determination, hollowing your cheeks and taking him as deep as you could without gagging.

Your exquisite performance was interrupted when you felt something big and round trail along your folds, your eyes snapping wide open when you felt it enter you. Chris pushed his cock in with a satisfying grunt, slapping your ass in the process.

"Fuck, yes!" he exclaimed, his massive member spreading your walls apart.

A lump formed in the back of your throat, the feeling of being filled to the prim, overwhelming you. You were aware your rigorous sucking turned into a pathetic excuse as soon as Chris started rocking your body back and forth along his dick, as now, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get your mind to focus.

Seemingly not at all bothered by your suddenly sloppy blow job performance, Henry tightened his hold around your roots, keeping your head in place as he started fucking your mouth.

The simple fact that at this point, all you had to do was stay there and take it, made it close to impossible to not lose yourself. As Chris picked up his pace, using your hips and maneuvering your body to fit his needs the right way, your pleasure started building up in the pit of your stomach.

"Come on, baby-" Henry called, "Ready to take good care of daddy?"

And he asked this just to mock you, as your mouth was full of cock and he wasn't about to let you take a break. You only blinked, hoping to send the message along, despite knowing he wasn't waiting for an answer.

He steadied his hold on your roots and then forced you down his cock, his tip barging in through your neck, completely blocking your air supply. You remained there, not fighting against his hold, as Chris continued slamming his cock balls deep into your pussy.

The momentum of his thrusts pushed you forward, the ever so soft movement of your neck making Henry grunt with pleasure every time your body rocked into him. And they kept going, using you from both angles to fit their desires.

When it got too much, you felt tears prickle at the corner of your eyes as you saw no way out. You whined against his cock, your throat violently constricting in hopes of getting some air.

"A bit more" Henry cooed, maintaining his hold as you squirmed against it.

"Holy fuck-" Chris belted, both his palms relasing your hips only to be able to slap your ass harshly. "That's right, clench that pussy. Should fucking choke you more often when you're on my dick"

All you could do was whimper, forcing yourself to hold back cough after cough until you could no more. Tears streamed down your face as you started panicking, only then having Henry release you from his grip.

If he hadn't actually maintained his hold, you'd have crumbled into the mattress, a choking mess between their massive bodies. But Henry held on to you, pulling you up as Chris lowered his pace.

"Do you know how good you are, angel?" he asked, his thick British accent rolling off his tongue as exhaustion built up in his veins. 

You nodded weakly, and smiled with awe when he wiped your tears away with his thumb.

"I'd keep this mouth on my cock all the damn time if I could-" Henry added, his tone deep and loving despite the condescending note of his words. "Are you ready to go again?"

You whimpered a soft, "Yes-" voice so whiny that if you weren't so deep into sub space, you'd have cringed hearing yourself. "Please..."

Chris bent down over you, his sweaty chest pressing against your back as he wrapped his arms around your frame, his greedy hands coming to cup either of your breasts. He buried his face into your neck and then kissed along your shoulders. "Are you close, baby girl?" he asked, burying his cock deeper inside your belly, "You wanna cum on my cock?"

As you breathed out, you nodded a weak yes. A smile instantly reached the corners of your mouth as Chris found your clit. He rubbed slow, intricate circles around it, your pleasure translating into sobbing moans. "Now take Henry's cock inside that little mouth of yours, and when you're getting close, you give me a sign, yeah?"

"Ok" you panted, curious about what he must have had planned.

The curiosity swiftly left your mind as your eyes landed on Henry's dick again. He was close too, the amount of precum leaking out of his tip, giving away that fact. He allowed some of it to dribble onto your chin, lightly slapping your face before popping your mouth open.

Pressing your tongue flush against the underside of his cock, you fervently sucked away as Chris started picking up his pace again. As if you weren't already close to losing any kind of self control, the painful slaps he inflicted upon your ass drove you over the edge.

You maniacally wiggled your feet against the messy blankets, giving Chris the promised signal. 

Or at least you thought you gave it to him, as the next thing you felt was being pushed down along Henry's cock again. You took him deep down along your throat, moaning loudly against his member as an orgasm overwhelmed you. Tears of pleasure rolled down your cheeks as your body convulsed between them.

The sensation made your chest tighten and the lack of air started getting you dizzy. The electrifying feeling pulsed along your limbs, engulfing your middle in a sea of liquid fire. You didn't even feel the need to breathe as your mind rolled down a spiral of bliss. A whole white blur covered you as your brain stopped processing the information, too keen on sucking every last drop of pleasure from the orgasm you just received.

You were only pulled out of this trance when Henry pushed you off his cock, reality hitting you like ice cold water. You gasped for air, falling face first into the mattress, struggling to even breathe. 

Not that you cared at that point, but neither of them asked you to resume your position. Instead, they shuffled off the bed, and with a soft slap against your raised ass, called for your attention.

"Come here, little girl" Chris demanded.

That was not the kind of information you were able to process, so again, they had to do all the work. With a harsh grip on your upper arms, they effortlessly grabbed you and forced you to your knees between them. 

You looked up with what was probably the most obedient stare you had ever given them. You had two massive cocks hanging inches away from your face, and of course, your first instinct was to grab them as you popped your tongue out.

"No, kitten-" Henry laughed, petting your head and softly pushing you back. "Stay still"

And you did. Took a deep breath, finally feeling the engines inside your brain resuming their work. All your senses came back to you and it was as if you had been in a dream. Still, the excitement of seeing both Henry and Chris pump their cocks inches away from your face was difficult to contain.

"You swallow all, yeah?" Henry groaned, looking down at you with hooded, hungry eyes. "Don't use your hands. Use that slutty tongue"

Soon, hot cum started erupting from his tip, most of it landing directly into your mouth. Each time you swallowed you bobbed your head, proudly smiling up at them at the great job you were doing. 

"Good girl" he muttered, his voice hoarse and out of tone.

All that changed when Chris grabbed your shoulder. He growled out loud as his orgasm reached him, and he threw his head back, still furiously pumping his cock into his fist.

"Holy mother of - fuck - !"

You did your best to get as much as you could inside your mouth, but your cheeks were a mess, your tongue only managing to spread their cum more than actually lick it off. 

When they were both done, Chris helped you up as Henry kissed your forehead before walking out of the room without another word. The blonde cradled you to his chest, heaving as he held you.

"Such a good, little angel" he whispered into your ear. He was still panting, his hands clammy against your back, but he pushed through, focusing his energy on reassuring and soothing you.

"How are you, baby? Talk to me a bit" Chris pleaded, rubbing your cheek, "I wanna see those eyes"

As if every muscle contraction took up too much energy, you barely managed to look up at him, the most innocent of looks in your eyes. "I'm feeling really good" you sighed, leaning back against his chest.

"Good-" he laughed, his whole frame shaking as he hugged you closer, "Does anything hurt?"

"Everything" you giggled.

"Ok-" he sighed, accepting his defeat, "I'll ask again after we shower. You're all fucked out now"

"I like that" you mumbled as you all but drooled on him, sleep starting to envelop you.

"Would have been worried if you didn't"

Again, despite your direct state, you couldn't help but laugh with him. You softly pushed yourself up to plant a kiss against his naked chest.

Chris rubbed the back of your head as you did so.

"Hey-" Henry called as he walked into the room, but neither you nor Chris bothered to do anything else other than look in his direction. None of you moved. "Just a ran a bath-" Henry added, pointing to the bathroom, "Please don't fall asleep"

Chris helped you up and you wobbled your way across the room. "I'll go downstairs and shower" he said.

"You never wanna join us" you pouted.

"Just not really big on baths, that's all" Chris reassured you and then made his way out of the room.

After that, another wave of bliss followed. Another kind however. Henry washed every inch of your body, his careful hands caressing every dip and curve your frame. His lips were mostly on yours as he did so, never missing a chance to bring you even closer.

"Thank you" you mumbled, leaning against the marble wall as you watched him soap his broad chest.

Henry cluelessly raised his eyebrows, the movement of his hands slowing down as he waited for you to continue.

"For helping me wash up" you smiled, "You always do, but still. Thanks"

"No problem, darling" Henry nodded, gathering you closer again, and kissing your forehead. He got soap all over you again, and didn't even try to hide the fact that he loved having to help you rinse again.

A short while later, probably about 20 minutes or so, it was again the three of you, back in bed. You were laying between them. Judging by the light snores that danced off his lips and the peaceful way his chest rose and fell, Chris must have fallen asleep long before you and Henry finished showering. The sun started descending from the sky and the orange light in the room painted the perfect picture.

You cuddled into Henry's side, feeling your heart tickle the inside of your chest when he reciprocated the gesture. His warm breath graced the skin of your forehead as he gave you a longing kiss, barely even bothering to pull back before settling for a deep sleep.

You drifted off, content and with a smile on your lips, elated with what the day brought so far, and bubbling with anticipation for whatever surprises it might still have hidden.

By the time you woke up, fully rested, the sun was already sinking low behind the horizon, a red, tainted sky following in its footsteps. Extracting yourself from Henry's bear hold turned out to be much more than you expected, his reluctance to let you go, even in his sleep, making you giggle.

"How are you, sweetheart?" Chris asked, his voice a fresh tingle to your ears.

"Good-" you sighed, settling to lay down just a bit more. You kissed Henry's bicep as it spawned all across your chest, action which made him pull you even closer. "What time is it?"

"A bit past 6" Chris answered, rolling onto his side to face you. His shoulders slumped together making his chest stand out, but before you got a chance to take in the view, he cluelessly pulled up the covers all the way up to his nose. "Got any plans?"

"Yeah" you nodded, trying Henry's arm again, but he refused to budge once again. "I told you guys"

For a few seconds, Chris looked at you amused, and with a shake of his head, he grabbed Henry's hand, shaking him awake. "Wake up, buddy. Y/n's gotta get ready"

"No" Henry croaked, his light scruff tickling the back of your neck. 

To be fair, you were excited for your plans, but in a way, your heart broke thinking about leaving that bed. Eventually you did, the cold of the room clinging to your body in an instant.

You shivered your way to the bathroom, quickly washing up before returning to the bedroom. The scenery hadn't changed at all, the two men still lingering at the edge between dream and reality, their phone screens perfectly accentuating their lazy expressions.

Swiftly making your way past the bed, you slapped the light switch on, the warm light of your candelabra flooding room, much to their simultaneous dismay. "Why- just no, turn it off-"

"Yeah, sure-" you sarcastically responded, stepping past the ruined superman costume on the floor, and opening the closet doors. You grabbed a pair of underwear and stepped inside it, before rummaging for your favorite bra. "I'll just get ready in a pitch black room. Of course"

None of them was impressed.

"Who are you seeing anyway?" Chris questioned. 

You smiled innocently despite doing your best not to, and then turned to face them. "Sebastian"

"What" Henry gawked, sitting up in an instant, his frown taking over the previous sweetness of his features.

"What do you mean what?" 

"Yeah, haven't you two-" Chris began speaking but Henry cut him off with absolutely no remorse.

"You haven't seen each other in two weeks. I thought that was done for"

As you finally found your bra, you slipped your arms under its straps and pulled them up your shoulders. "We haven't seen each other because he's been visiting his family. We kept talking"

"Talking?" Henry raised an eyebrow. 

"Yeah we-" you sighed and then stopped. "Why are you acting like this? This is nothing new"

"I just-" Henry tripped over his words, shaking his head at the awkwardness he brought to the table. "I don't know, I'm sorry. I just didn't know it was that serious yet, that's all"

"It's not" you said, walking over to your makeup table and sitting down on the small, velvet chair. "We wouldn't be here if it was, would we?"

"I don't know, hun" Chris huffed, lazily slipping out of the bed. The way he walked made it look as if every muscle contraction pained him, leaning from side to side as he close to crawled his way to the bathroom. 

In the process, you caught sight of his naked body in the reflection in your mirror, catching everything from his tattooed chest, to his massive thighs and still impressive cock.

"He's a great guy. I hope things work out if you decide he's the one for you"

"Is he?" Henry chirped, making you turn to him, a thick layer of concealer that still had to be blended, smudged under your eyes.

"We said we're taking things slow, you know this" you sighed, waving your brush around, "We're not exclusive. We're not a couple. We're just- I don't know, dipping our toes. We don't wanna fuck this up."

"Then why are you here with us?"

Perhaps the words slipped past Henry's lips a bit too harshly. You did not expect that. Not from him.

"Uh-" you muttered, feeling cornered, "Listen, he's just one of my best friends. And I really like him, I never lied to him. He knows about you two. We're just-" and then you stopped again, dropping your sentence as your brows furrowed above a pointed look. "Since we started this thing, you both have slept with other people and I never said anything about it. But now that I actually find someone I like, you act like I've committed a crime. Why are you allowed to-"

"Ok, I'm sorry" Henry jumped to stop you, clumsily leaving the bed and padding over to you. "That was incredibly rude of me, I'm sorry"

"What's up?" you asked sweetly, dearly wanting to help ease the pain that upclose was so clearly visible behind his sad, blue eyes. 

And he hesitated, his eyes snapping to the window behind you before he licked his lips. "I just got comfortable, that's all. I care about you a lot, and I'll miss your sweet little body but if he makes you happy, I'll happily trade our encounters for... coffee dates?"

"Thank you, Henry-" you giggled, warming up at his sudden and sincere confession.

He kissed your forehead, the epitome of love gestures. His lips quivered, and brushed against your skin a few times before allowing you to finish getting ready.

Time had flown unreasonably fast, and in a matter of seconds, you found yourself running around the room, blazing through the last steps of your process, despite it not being neither tedious nor elaborated. To be fair, Sebastian was the only man in your life who you never tried to impress with your looks.

You felt appreciated and understood in his presence. He smiled when you talked and pecked your lips every chance he got. He was your friend before anything else, and regardless of the harsh reality you lived in, the status of your relationship changing was what you craved the most. He made you open up without even trying, his sense of stability and unconditional acceptance making you end up on his doorstep, dressed in just a hoodie and jeans, a bottle of wine in tow, ready to just kick back and feel your ultimate best.

For whatever reason, your heart started banging uncontrollably against your ribcage as soon as you knocked. When you heard the lock turn, your knees weakened.

He sprung the door open, welcoming you with open arms. You just took a step in and threw yourself against his chest, your cheek pressing against his shoulder as he brought you closer.

The fresh smell of his aftershave reached your senses, and you rubbed your nose against his perfectly soft jaw line. "You shaved," you smiled, knowing just how much he hated to do so when it wasn't absolutely necessary. 

"Thought it was about time" Sebastian laughed, his right arm still tight around your back as he leaned to the side to close the door.

You only then realised you didn't even bother to put your bag down, take your shoes off or even say hello before going in for a hug. You felt your cheeks burn at the realisation, but he did not seem to mind at all.

"Come on, make yourself comfortable," Sebastian said, starting to advance further into his apartment. You took off your shoes, and just when you were about to enter the living room, the delicious smell of basil stopped you and made you turn around.

You headed into the kitchen, your eyes landing on his tall frame, his back facing you as he stirred something on the stove. 

"You're cooking?" you asked, whiny with admiration and awe.

"Yes" he beamed, turning around. Only then did you notice what he was wearing. His usual black jeans and socks, but he had ditched his trademark sweaters, opting for an elegant button up instead. The sleeves were rolled up around his elbows, and he rocked a pair of fluffy house slippers, red with blue stripes, not fitting his attire in any way, shape or form.

You placed the wine bottle on the counter, and approached him cautiously. "What- um, what are you making?"

You felt bad, ungrateful and undressed. Where were his pajamas and the take out he always ordered? Did you miss something?

"There's this amazing spaghetti recipe I learned from my mum" he grinned proudly, eyeing the multitude of ingredients laid out all across the table. "It's not traditional or anything. She perfected the recipe over the years and you just have to try it"

"Smells delicious already" you giggled, looking around the kitchen.

The atmosphere was soft and warm, the lights were dimmed and slow blues tunes were playing in the background. It was nothing like you were used to.

You offered to help, but he insisted on finishing up alone. You always washed his dishes because he absolutely hated doing it, and you were also the one who always put his leftovers in the fridge, as he always forgot them on the table, cluelessly letting them spoil. It felt only natural to do so right now, so you made your way to the sink, and waited for the water to heat up.

"Stop" Sebastian laughed, coming up beside you to turn the faucet off. "Just relax for once, please" he begged, his hands on your waist effortlessly turning you around.

Your lower back pressed against the edge of the sink as he caged you in, his eyes warm and ambitious, boring into yours.

"I just want to help" you smiled.

"Not now" he shook his head, "We'll clean up later. Or tomorrow"

His words caused a lump to grow inside your throat, your lips involuntarily parting in surprise. You never spent the night at his apartment, and fervid anticipation started to surge through you.

"What’s going on?" you asked, cupping his cheek.

Sebastian leaned into your touch, his eyes all but fluttering closed. "Nothing. Why?"

As he spoke, he grabbed your wrist into his hand and brought your palm to his lips, kissing your soft skin as his eyes awaited your answer.

"I don't know…" you mumbled, feeling yourself melt. He was too close, too attentive and too focused on you, it felt so difficult to breathe. "Don't get me wrong, please. I absolutely love everything you did. But this is new. We never did anything like this before, what changed?"

"Is it bad?" he cautiously asked, planting his hands on the counter on either side of your hips. "That I want things to change between us?"

Your heart swelled. All the signs pointed in the right direction, but his words still managed to get your adrenaline going. "Change… how?" 

As soon as you spoke, you felt like throwing up. You couldn't help but wonder how dumb could you have been, to ask something like this. As if it wasn't obvious, but your brain was too busy drowning in excitement to actually allow you form any coherent thoughts.

"I mean-" he hesitated, his confidence shaking a bit. He looked to the side, licked his lips and then playfully rolled his eyes as the corners of his lips turned upwards, showing you that perfect smile you loved so much. "While I was visiting my family, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. My mom just couldn’t understand why I didn’t bring you along. I don't just want you for a date a week and a kiss after we drank enough wine. I needed that time apart to gather the courage to make the first step" he confessed. "I really fucking like you. I want all of you"

"Oh-" you froze.

"Please-" Sebastian whispered, gently tilting your chin up. "Tell me now if you want me to back off, because I'm really struggling to not kiss you right now"

As much as you wanted to tell him to do it, you refrained from doing so. Instead, you just grinned up at him, your eyes sparking with lustful temptation. He watched you closely, and when he figured out your play, he shook his head in disbelief for the briefest second. 

Following that, there was no awkwardness left. He engulfed your lips into the most passionate kiss. His tongue pathetically begged for permission, which you didn't hesitate to give. He explored your mouth as if it was the sweetest thing he ever tasted, kissed you deeply, moaning against your lips as his hands hazardously roamed your body. No matter what you did, you felt like you couldn't get close enough. You clung onto him, fisting the delicate material of his shirt into your hands, desperately trying to gather him against you. 

Sebastian was the one to break the moment, grabbing your cheeks as he pulled back. His lips were wet and slightly swollen, as he ruggedly breathed out against your skin. "So?"

"So, what?" you teased.

"Come on" he whined, kissing you again, this time more aggravated and determined. "Can we do this? Do you want it?"

"Are we going all out? Real couple? Exclusive, all strings attached kind of thing?" you beamed with excitement and so did he, hearing you.

"If you want to," Sebastian nodded. "I don't want to pressure you, but I'm crazy about you"

"You're not pressuring me. I adore you, Seb. I'm all yours"

"What did you just say?" he smirked, kissing your lips and moving down along your jawline, "That you're all mine? Pretty sure I've never heard anything more beautiful in my whole life"

"Well, you'd better get used to it" you giggled.

And the goodness kept coming. You ate and god, how grateful were for his mum's recipe, it was simple, delicious and it tasted like home. Sebastian refused to tell you how to make it just so he could be your personal chef and cook it for you any time you wanted.

You cleaned the kitchen together, ate cake until the button of your jeans threatened to burst, and then settled on the couch, drinking red wine while scrolling through Netflix. 

As ethereal as everything was, there was still a weight pressing down on your shoulders. You didn't want your relationship to start with you already hiding things from him, so you decided there was a conversation that really needed to be had.

"Sebastian?" you asked softly, grabbing his upper arm and squeezing lightly in order to get his attention.

"Yes, doll?" he hummed, a little bit distraught, before returning to search through the channels.

"Can you look at me a bit?" you muttered, "I wanna talk to you about something"

It was then he realised you were serious. Without question, he turned the TV off and leaned back on the couch, his slightly concerned eyes studying your features. "Are you ok?"

"Yes" you giggled and he visibly relaxed.

"Did I-"

"You didn't do anything!" you stopped him again, leaning down to kiss his lips. He was happy to reciprocate, but you didn't allow things to escalate. "I want to talk about something, and -" you cringed, your palms watering, "And I totally understand if it'll chance the way you see things"

"What are you talking about?"

He was rubbing your thigh, visibly growing impatient. But he allowed you to speak at your own pace.

"Um… you remember a while ago, I told you I was in that kind of a friends with benefits relationship?"

"Yeah" he nodded, "What about-"

"It is obviously over now that we took things to the next step, but these are my best friends we're talking about here. I just... couldn't help but wonder... I don't know… I feel like it wasn't fair to you.. considering how that went on until very very recently and-"

"Babe?" Sebastian stopped you, his voice soft and eyes even more so, "What are you trying to say? Did you think I'd be mad because you had sex before being in a relationship with me?"

"Huh" you gawked, "When you put it like that, it sounds really fucking stupid"

"I'm sorry, Y/n, but it kind of is" he laughed, shaking his head, "You're a free woman, you can do whatever you want. You don't have to explain yourself to me, especially when it comes to things like this"

"So you.. don't mind me seeing them again? Like friends, of course!"

He frowned a bit, scratching the back of his head. "I trust you, ok? I like to think that you wouldn't have been here with me if you had any feelings for any of them."

"Thank you"

"Come here-" Sebastian urged you, eager to bring you close against his chest again. He rubbed your back and rested his head on top of yours, "I really appreciate you telling me this. It was bugging you, and I'm glad you trusted me enough to tell me"

"I was worried it would be sitting in the back of your mind and you would feel uncomfortable bringing it up. I felt like I had to, like I owed you that much since you were so understanding with this thing from the beginning-"

"You don't owe me anything ok? I don't care what you did in the past, that's your business. I care what you do now, here, with me. And I might be blindly in love, but I doubt I have any reasons to worry"

"You really don't" you mumbled, settling into his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck, "I'm so happy to be here with you, I don't want anything else"

"Me neither, doll, me neither" he sighed, kissing your temple and bringing you closer.

The night ended relatively early. If you were in love with him at the beginning of the evening, now you were head over heels. You fell asleep cuddling, and you had never felt so loved before. Deep down inside, you regretted not allowing things to escalate, but sleeping with him so soon after your last encounter with Henry and Chris just didn't feel right. And of course he understood. The awe and respect for you was visible in his eyes when you explained what was holding you back. That night you slept better than you had in weeks.

The next morning, you left quite early, both of you having your schedules quite full. When you entered your apartment it was quiet and dark, and you couldn't help but smile bitterly at the memories from the day before.

You made your way to the kitchen, and stopped dead in your tracks when you saw a pink bag and a piece of paper right by its side. It didn't take long until you eyed the donuts inside the bag, but you didn't pay too much attention to them as you picked up the letter beside it and read it over.

"Hey, Y/n,

The reason I wrote you this is because I didn't want to interrupt your date, but this has to be said, you deserve that much. I can't lie and say that last night I didn't stay here until 3am hoping you'd come back. It's awful of me, I know, but I really hoped your date would go horribly wrong and that you'd come home early. It's not that I don't want you to be happy… I just wish it wasn't with him. And again, I can't lie and say that I didn't drop by in the morning. I brought you those donuts you love so much, but you weren't here. It was absolutely unfair of me, I know, but during these last few months, I fell in love with you. I know I should've told you before, and I hope you don't think I'm saying this now to burst your bubble. The reason I'm doing this is because you deserve an explanation. I'm sorry, but I can't be around you right now. I need to get you out of my head, and seeing you now, would only make it more difficult. Please don't reach out, you'll only pull me back in. I love you too much, I need some time away to screw my head back on. I'd be lying if I said I won't be waiting for you. Even if I won't actively/purposely do it, I can't imagine a day when I won't jump if you told me to. Please, don't think I'm doing this to hurt you, you're my favorite person in the whole wide world. I will always love you. I wish you and Sebastian the absolute best. This is difficult for me to say, but I hope he is everything you ever wanted. I hope he'll make you happy and treat you like the angel you are. This isn't goodbye or the end of our friendship, it's just me needing to step back. I wish you the best, god knows you deserve it!

PS: I replaced your superman costume, I know you begged me for weeks to give you one, and I ruined it yesterday. I had a spare one at home, it's on your bed now. I hope you don't mind I took the old one with me… you know? Memories...

All my love,

Your Henry"

[freakygirlie]

Hi. Itk here. Believe me, don't, doesn't matter. Thought I'd drop (after you summoned ha) by given the chaos and try to enlighten the ones who choose to believe me, as much as I'm capable of.

The first thing I wanna say is: stop trying to figure out their relationship. You most likely never will. Fans are stuck on both extremes, when the actuality of it is far more in the middle (perhaps even up or down and all around ha). It's complex and strange and not at all "normal" (as normal as they could be, anyways).

It's not as simple as "oh they're just a closeted couple who engage in bearding and have kids and behind closed doors they're just a regular, old married couple and a big, happy rainbow family".

Doesn't sound like itk info, believe me, I get that but observing the fandom I'd say it almost is because most fans simply hang on extreme simplistic ideas of what their relationship is.

Second thing I'd like to say and unfortunately seems like it's not at all obvious but: do not believe anything they share publicly. Not saying they're lying compulsively, but they are public figures and they have a lot at stake to just casually drop the actual truth of any given situation.

Just don't. The same salt you have regarding itks, have towards them. It'd do you some good...Believe me. Unless you are involved in the entertainment or political life, you cannot even begin to fathom what it's really like, the level of manipulation, falsehood and well, overall deviation of it. It's quite disturbing tbh. So just always take whatever's said and shown with a good amount of salt. With public people hardly anything is accidental or casual.

I think the most prominent question now is...Why? Why would they do something like that? Regardless if you have the ingenuity to believe the little scene they made or not...Still, the question lingers.

With my level of "in the knowness" I cannot for sure say the real reason, yet from the pieces I've collected so far, seems to be a multiple gain scheme. It was a high risk, they were well aware, and it paid out in the way they were expecting, minus small bumps here and there. But overall it seemed to have worked in their favor. How in the hell, one would ask?

Believe me, I used my best sneaky capabilities to find out exactly why but they were smart enough to keep this one locked tight, minus a few loose lips. And from those all I've heard was that "whatever the purpose was, it worked out".

As weird as it may sound to the innocent mind, it's actually not at all, given that even leaked nudes are not at all leaked or accidental, and those tend to (at least in the past) get immense amount of backlash. It's not the first time famous folks fake a fight, surely won't be the last.

A lot goes into public image, it's not black and white as "well but it looked bad on Jensen", "it looked bad on the prequel", etc. You'd be surprised as how little this truly matters given the level of manipulation they are able to pull on the public. And well, even with them...It happens all the time. Both made mistakes far worse than just "not telling my bestie about my new project" and fans would eventually let that go and put them back on the pedestal.

So just remember, always: not in the industry? then don't judge anything because you simply do not understand how it works.

Another piece of itk information I can give besides "this was planned and it worked" is: they are fine. From what I've heard they are not fighting over it or going through anything more dramatic than what they usually have been going through ever since they met haha.

So just sit back and chill out. Breathe, read fanfiction and remember that we will never truly get answers, because even what comes out of their mouths are most of the time carefully thought out and directed to have a specific meaning and effect (why do you think Jared mumbles and rambles so much?).

Another interesting piece of itk: you know how they always say they never fight? Even though that sounds insanely hard to believe even if they were just friends because who knows someone for that long and is constantly together and never fights? Unlikely, right? Yes, as obvious as that was. But unfortunately a lot of you seem to believe that, given the level of shock you had for this little twitter feud (as fake as it was). Yeah. They fight. A lot.

They fight as much as individuals in their situation would. Like I said, not at all what most people absentmindedly seem to think it is. They go through a lot. Way more than anyone who isn't in a similar situation would understand. It's messy, although they try their best to make it simpler in the ways they can.

On top of being in a very complex situation, they both have strong personalities and one of them is quite hard to "pin down". So altercations happen a lot, but they know how to deal, and they are exceptionally good at making sure that doesn't interfere in their work (oh well, at least not any work that doesn't benefit from intense emotional exchanges, anyways 😉...chemistry isn't something random, you know? haha).

I find it quite...interesting (to put it nicely) that a lot of hats easily believe they are a couple that lies constantly about almost every aspect of their lives, yet, they cannot believe they would fake a social media narrative. It makes no sense whatsoever.

It'd do you all good to be a little less tendentious and look at them as, you know...Humans? They are not what they seem to be, just as you guys also take in different versions of yourselves in different situations, they do too. And don't be so hopelessly naive to actually believe they see fans as "hashtag family". This is their work. And as grateful as they are for supporters, they certainly do not consider them family. To the point of never lying and trusting you with their life.

I'm sure they love their fans, but come on, saying they would never lie because that's mean to fans is just beyond naive. They've been doing it all along and oh, another interesting info? They don't think they're doing anything wrong.

Yeah, sounds weird, you'd think they'd feel guilty. But again, unless you were media trained, you'd never get it.

From years now if there's one consistent info I've gotten was this: they don't feel obligated to tell you anything. They believe they are doing "what they are supposed to do, the right thing for everyone involved".

So. Yeah. And hell, they are right about not being obligated to say anything about anything, I guess.

Well, I hope that was helpful or at least entertaining. It's hard to share info without accidentally making it obvious who I am for the lurkers (sure you guys were well aware that they lurk around the fandom). But it's safe because as long as I don't provide evidence, I'm fine. Just walking a thin line between sharing and not sharing something too specific that would be easy fir them to know who has that info and although they can't do anything against itks, they can manage to cut us off somehow and I enjoy having access lol, so that'd be a bummer.

Anyways, take itks and J2 themselves with a ton of salt haha! You are lovely, btw, you seem very kind and I enjoy your blog very much! much love!

itk anon everything you said was <333 and i agree with like almost all of it. very nice analysis and ask thank you ! i don't always believe everything j2 put out but the whole stunt being a false narrative just seems wrong so idk what to make of it. regardless i myself can sometimes get carried away in my star-struck love of j2. and i am a tinhat so well :) and now they look to be really good and taking a break from here was well worth it <3

''You are lovely, btw, you seem very kind and I enjoy your blog very much! much love!'' i love u so much hope u have a great day !

[superhero--imagines]

Etsy Store Here l Ko-Fi l Commission Info

Part 2 Here!/ Part 3 Here! / Playlist Here!

* Sorry guys but this mans been living in my head rent free

* So the first time you see Satoru it’s with those black specs he likes to wear and you get a glance at those GORGEOUS eyes

* He meets your eyes for a second before looking away, it’s the briefest of interactions

* But your heart is racing and you can feel the familiar heat of attraction starting to lap at your face

* ‘He looks just like a prince’ you think

* You find out pretty fast the ‘prince’ similarities stop at appearance

* “Ah it’s not my fault you’re so weak~” You hear him say with the princely smile as he teases Utahime

* It looks like he’s held something so high she can’t reach it

* “Try your best, if you drink plenty of milk I’m sure you’ll be tall enough one day~” he says before laughing with that same princely face

* “You shouldn’t pick on those that are weaker than you” Geto intervenes, somehow making the entire situation worse

* You watch as Gojo laughs

* You’re starting to think he might be the real curse you need to exorcise

* You continue watching him as Utahime tries to kick him in the crotch

* “You silly girl, did you forget there’s an infinity between us?” Cue Gojo’s “A-hahahahaha” laugh

* Yeah, he’s definitely a demon

* You keep your distance, Gojo’s beautiful and all, but you’re not dumb, you’ve heard about the Satoru clan.

* “Hey Geto-Kun, who do you think would win in a fight me or a lion?”

* Besides that guy is way too reckless, you’d rather not get all mixed up in that if you can help it

* You watch as Satoru takes his shirt off, his well defined chest glistening

* Still, you’re grateful for the show

* Little do you know the famous Gojo Satoru has taken note of you as well

* Naturally given his ability he notices everyone, but he especially takes note of you

* It’s not because you stand out, quite the opposite

* You blend into the background easily, supporting others when needed

* But not to the degree where you unable to defend yourself, or you’re sacrificing your own life for someone else

* He grins

* Looks like he found something interesting

* You’re at the vending machine eyes racking over the drink selection

* But there’s another thirst quenching sight right next to you, their hand resting on the vending machine, that princely smile aimed right at you-

* “So what do you say?” Satoru asks, and you start to wonder if that princely smile seems just a bit wolfish “Do you want to be my lover?”

* You’re kind of annoyed

* What an impetuous question, you can count on one hand how many times you’ve spoken to each other, and you only need both hands to count the words said in each of those encounters

* “No”

* You turn your attention back to your drink choices, it’s pleasant weather so you don’t want anything hot.

* Anything carbonated is out of the-

* Gojo moves closer, peering into your face with that grin

* Ugh does he have to stand so close

* “Why ‘no’? I know you think I’m attractive”

* “I also think you’re a womanizer with a god complex”

* And really why shouldn’t he be?

* He’s probably the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in your life, not to add the sheer power he contains in that body of his

* But just as he has the right to be a womanizer with a god complex, you have the right not to take part in that narrative

* He backs away, leaning back against the wall

* So he’s not going to deny it

* Well, at least he’s somewhat self aware

* Those clear blue eyes catch yours again, and you have to fight against every human instinct from showing any human reaction

* You turn back to the vending machine making your selection when a smile lilts onto his mouth

* “Friends then”

* “Just colleagues” you reply, grabbing your drink

* But as you walk by you push a canned beverage into his chest.

* It’s a can of green tea

* It’s his favorite drink

* He looks to you seeing a bottle glinting in your hand

* So you didn’t sacrifice your own thirst, but you also didn’t ignore his needs

* He feels that same wolffish grin curl onto his mouth

* “What an entertaining person”

* After that if you’re anywhere within a 50 feet radius of him he’ll go out of his way to get your attention

* “Oh wow, looking especially radiant this morning (Y/N/N)” he’ll say with a playful seductive wink

* When you don’t respond he tries annoying you instead

* “Ah you can’t reach that? Here let me-” and then he’ll proceed to hold it even further out of your reach

* He’s expecting you to jump up and down, or at least give some sort of response but you just walk away

* Well that wasn’t what he expected

* He feels that grin spread across his face again

* Very interesting

* His attraction to you is pretty shallow

* He’s interested you because you’re entertaining

* And you’re entertaining because you aren’t interested

* Which only makes him that much more interested in you

* Its a paradox

* You watch him flounder around, annoying Utahime for a giggle

* Well it doesn’t matter anyway, you know how he is, he’ll get bored soon enough and lose all interest in you

* He’s not the strongest {f*ckboy} for nothing

* You see him turn to meet your gaze, offering a boyish smile and a wink

* You make sure not to give any reaction, turning to listen to something Shoko is telling you

* You hope he can’t sense the twinge of heat you feel on your face

* You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find the attention a little flattering

* I think for the most part you’re right, Satoru is mostly playing around-

* At least at first.

* You’re just something new and fun no one knows about, and wildly entertaining since you never respond the way he thinks you will

* You’re kind, but not at the expense of yourself, and he likes that

* Besides you’ve got this quite sort of consideration for others-

* It’s not flashy, it’s so subtle most people hardly notice

* It’s in the way you bring an extra snack for Utahime when she’s running herself ragged training

* “They were having a two for one special”

* Or the way you’ll get your teacher a plushie you saw at a shop at the station because you know he needs more

* “I just thought it was cute, but I haven’t got any room for another one”

* You’re quiet, someone who hears things and she’s things, but never says anything about them

* A wallflower

* But you’re not weak

* There’s something about those two things put together in the same person that entertains him to no end. Like a paradox or a puzzle he can’t seem to solve no matter how hard he tries

* Satoru’s had at least a hundred lovers, and a great many of them had provided him with their own brand of kindness and consideration

* But he’s never felt something as warm as when he see’s a lunch box in his dorm after he hobbles back from a mission that lasted a little longer than expected

* He peers at the note attached, it’s not even signed but he knows it’s from you

* “I know you think you’re god or whatever, but even gods have to eat”

* He doesn’t know why, but he’s overcome with the urge to cry

* He gulps hard- it’s not like this a lunch you made by hand or anything, it’s just something from the convenience store

* And it’s not like this note is particularly affectionate or special either, he’s gotten entire love letters from his previous lovers

* So he’s not sure why he saves your note, placing it behind a picture frame where only he’ll know it is , or why he thinks that convenience store lunchbox is the most delicious thing he’s ever had

* Even though he knows he cares about you, and that he’s grown quite fond of you -

* I don’t think it clicks for him

* And part of that is because well, he’s Gojo Satoru

* He collects lovers like some people collect photographs or memories

* They serve their purpose, and he lets himself be entertained by pretending all the feelings are real, and then he moves on to the next one

* It’s just what he’s used to

* And this whole paradox you two have going on could go on for a few years until something finally shifts

* He went a little too far with one his half-flirting-half-tormenting pranks

* And for the first time you give him a reaction, it’s only for a second, but annoyance and anger mar you face

* And then just like that, it’s gone and you turn and walk off in the other direction

* Sh*t.

* He went too far didn’t he?

* It should be fine right? You’re not too mad at him right? You’ll get over it-

* Right?

* But for the next few days you don’t speak to him, and you don’t make eye contact

* It bothers him more than it should

* Normally he would be annoyed that his toy would have the gall to blatantly ignore him like this-

* But this is different than that.

* He’s-

* He’s feeling regret

* He shouldn’t have acted that way to you, maybe if he had just done something differently, or said something differently-

* It’s not like the way things were between you two was ideal or anything,

* But at least then you would at least speak to him

* ... and every once in while he would get to see you smile

* It’s never at him, it’s mostly when you’re with Shoko or Utahime

* Occasionally when you’re with Nanami or Geto, who you’ve been talking to more recently

* He’s pretty sure you three are talking about him, just one day away from forming a “down with Gojo Satoru” club

* Still that smile when you laugh-

* The way you look so carefree and young and so full of life is worth all the slander in the world to him

* He needs to see that smile, to know something that wholesome and kind exists somewhere in this cruel world

* Satoru’s thinking about how to go about apologizing to you

* He’s caught between buying you a Lamborghini or buying you a special grade tool when he ends up running into you

* “Ah, could you help me with something?”

* He would quite literally give you the clothes on his back right now if you asked

* You stand up on a a chair holding a glass of water

* “Apparently this is supposed to help with concentration or something” You say pressing the glass full of water to the ceiling

* “Can you hold this broom?” You ask and Satoru nods, holding the broom handle steady as you make sure it’s pushed against the glass holding it steady

* You nod approvingly down at him

* The rest happens pretty fast, you’re off the chair, carrying it away

* “The broom is actually a special grade tool, so cursed energy won’t work on it”

* You grin

* “Have fun figuring how to get out of that Baka Prince!” You say with a laugh

* And Satoru is dumbfounded

* But not because you just pranked him into a holding up a glass of water with a broom

* But because as you were rushing away, you showed him your teasing grin

* It’s the first time you smiled at him

* And as he looks up at the glass of water, a smile slowly spreads across his face

* It’s not the wolffish smile he usually has when he’s around you, or the princely smile he uses when he’s trying to get something

* It’s a genuine smile

* Ah, so that’s it

* He’s fallen in love with you

* If you’re not the one entertaining him, then he’s just not interested

* Ah geez

* He was so focused on trying to get you to fall in love with him that he really didn’t see this coming

* Well he’ll have to start being serious about pursuing you now-

* Though for you to pull off something like this on him tells him you’re his ideal match without a doubt

* A wallflower with a mischievous streak, he likes that.

* He scratches his head with his free hand

* “I wonder how I’m supposed to get out of this?” He muses looking up at the glass full of water

[honestgrins]

if you're doing prompts... Mates Trope?! something during s1-2 of TO where part of the reason the wolves (or maybe just the elders who are very righteous about tradition) don't trust klaus is because he wanders around with everyone but his mate (which for this purpose i guess they can sense when a wolf is mated)

Oh || Klaroline

Elijah frowned deeply. “I’m not sure which scenario would be less tolerable to the pack, you being disrespectful to the mate bond or being mated to a vampire.”

Cradling the noticeable swell of her baby bump, Hayley snorted. “I might very well be carrying the next alpha with his disrespectful ass, so they’ll get over it eventually,” she pointed out. “But the vampire thing is always going to be a problem.”

“Not if Miss Forbes stays away from New Orleans.”

That was the crux of it, truly. Whether or not he had a mate, there was precious little Klaus could do about it in the eyes of the pack while she gave his city a wide berth. Honestly, her absence would likely make it all easier for them to swallow - perhaps to forget entirely with a few generations of distance. The thought left a hollow feeling in his chest, one far more noticeable since learning of his…predicament.

Learning he was to be a father after a millennium of running from the only one he’d ever known had been difficult enough. He’d ingratiated himself into the fabric of New Orleans in order to situate it to his needs, even softening the wolf pack to the idea of his leadership outside of the traditional hierarchy - at least, until he returned from Mystic Falls with a freshly established mate bond he apparently left behind.

A mate bond he could only imagine began with a defiant kiss and a slow-rising smile as bright as a sunlit afternoon.

Unfortunately, he didn’t know a thing about it until Hayley broke the news as to why the pack had turned against him. It was small comfort to know her use as a direct line in the camp, but he needed more. He knew so little about life as a wolf, that having been denied him for so long. “How can they know that I’ve found my mate?” Suspicion was a long-earned habit, and nothing was adding up. “How can they sense it here when I had no idea with her right in my arms?”

With a delicate cough, Elijah leaned forward to take some of his focus off Hayley. “I understand this is a difficult revelation, and there’s much to be learned about the mate phenomenon. However, I feel there’s a decided advantage in ensuring Miss Forbes is a non-factor in the politics of the city.”

His hand was around his brother’s throat before he could consciously think to do it, his hybrid strength more than enough to pin Elijah to the wall. “Stop. Talking.”

“Klaus.” Hayley’s voice was shaking, and her hands now covered her belly in a protective gesture. “You feel it now, don’t you? The need to protect her above all else?” She stood slowly, careful not to spook him further. “Even over your own brother?”

With excruciating control, he loosened his grip, finger by finger. “Alright,” he breathed once he could manage it past the sudden onslaught of rage. “I’m listening.”

.

“Caroline, you’re up!”

For at least the third time that afternoon, Caroline reminded herself there were too many witnesses at the Fall Festival to eat her sorority sisters. "I'm all for scamming money out of sleaze bags in the name of philanthropy, but I still think there are better ways to go about it than a kissing booth."

Amber just scoffed. "Suck it up, pledge, we all had to pay our dues," she said, divesting herself of the Gamma blue sash that said Kiss me! and handing it to Caroline. "If it helps, there's a total hottie in line. I almost extended my shift to get a chance at him."

Rolling her eyes, she forced a pageant smile as she slipped the sash over her head. "Thanks for your sacrifice."

"Funny," a familiar voice noted behind her. "You never thanked me for any of the sacrifices I made."

With a deep breath, she tried to make herself count to ten before turning. Call it personal growth that she made it to six when her glare fell on Klaus waiting at the booth. "I'm sorry, are we including the time you literally tried to sacrifice me? Because I'm so not in the mood to deal with you today, in case you can't tell."

"Oh my god, Caroline!" Amber looked mildly scared, but she took a step in front of her anyway, a stance she recognized from other sisters at any number of frat parties when a creep made himself known. "Who is this guy? Do I need to call security?"

She glanced back to Klaus, who remained uncharacteristically quiet as she decided what to do. Reluctantly, she met Amber's eyes with widened pupils. "Everything is fine, but someone needs to cover my shift. You never saw him, and I went home sick." When Amber obediently repeated her words, she also returned the sash. "Thanks!" she called out, quick as she was to flash away from the crowd, knowing he would follow.

Her dorm wasn't exactly a safe bet, given Elena and Damon's constant sexiling, and she didn't want to risk Bonnie catching them on campus. The only place she could think of was the wooded trail behind the chemistry building, where she found a quiet bench for them to sit. Well, for him to sit and for her to pace in front of. "We had a deal, Klaus. You weren't supposed to come back."

"To Mystic Falls," he clarified, his hands pressed together between his knees. At her decided frown, he allowed himself a sigh of discomfort. "Unfortunately, I have good reason to violate the spirit of our agreement."

She crossed her arms and waited.

He sighed again. "Sweetheart-"

"Just rip the band-aid off, Klaus!"

"I need you to accompany me back to New Orleans, and I need you to trust me enough to keep you safe," he said. With eyes intent on hers, his energy seemed barely contained, like he wanted nothing more than to grab her and go. "I would like you to do so freely. And quickly."

Her arms tightened, and she sank onto her jutted hip as she took in his plaintive request. "Points for being polite, I guess, but I doubt you would be if I were in any real danger. What I don't know is if this is you being overly cautious or just being a dick."

Rubbing two fingers at his temple, there was an ancient exhaustion in his face. "Neither of us can truly know what this is," he muttered to himself more than anything. He spoke up with more resolve. "Elijah wanted to hide you away in one of our many properties throughout the world, and Rebekah suggested a less involved plan that offered you an anonymous scholarship across the country - anything to keep you far away from me."

"Why are your siblings trying to get rid of me?" she demanded. "I didn't even do anything."

He shifted on his feet, and he couldn't quite meet her eyes. If he weren't Klaus Mikaelson, she might think he were embarrassed. "Your absence in New Orleans has been noted."

Confused, she pressed her hands to her face. "I seriously doubt that, since I've never been there. The only people I know in New Orleans is your family, and you've already established they don't want me there."

His ears flushed red, and then she knew he was embarrassed. "Hayley has found a home with nearby pack," he explained with a wince, "a pack that could prove necessary to the balance of the city. However, they are disinclined to negotiate with me at the moment."

"Gee, I wonder why. How many of them have you killed so far?"

Klaus gave a ferocious glare. "None, actually. But perhaps you missed the fact that a wolf with a known grudge against you is well placed to inform any number of enemies of your name and location."

The scoff burst out of her without permission, an absolute confidence emboldening her. "Like you'd let that happen."

Then he took a step closer, and that confidence withered into a new understanding - one that scared her. His voice lowered, soft in its menace. "Why do you think I'm here, Caroline?"

She swallowed, the tension unbearably thick between them. "I'm no one," she said, her voice shaky as she fought for the calm she felt only moments before. "Even if they could use me against you-"

"They can," he answered, deadly serious. "And they will. Maybe not now, but someday." He watched her closely; for what, she didn't know. His whole face softened whenever he found whatever he was looking for. "I'm only just beginning to understand myself," he admitted. "But you're far from no one, and I need to establish that you're firmly under my protection."

"Why?" He never really answered her questions, Caroline realized. This one, though... This, she needed to know. "Why me?"

His eyes seemed to burn with gold, and she held her breath as he stared. "Wolves know when another has found their mate, and this pack has judged my character unfit for abandoning mine."

If she weren't a vampire, she would swear her legs might collapse beneath her. As it was, her head felt suddenly light. Her mouth fell open, and she finally remembered to breathe. When she exhaled, it escaped as a sigh. "Oh."

"Yes, oh."

[utilitycaster]

Hello I would love to hear you thoughts on Caduceus and his arc. Clay is the only character who’s story has made me cry genuine tears (when he got his fam back) and I feel like his nuances and the changes he goes through tend to be overlooked a lot, exactly because of how quietly they happen.

Of course!

So as Taliesin said a few times and as I've pointed out, Caduceus (and Molly for that matter) was intended to be a static character. Obviously this is an impossibility in D&D because things happen and you cannot control it and moreover I am sure Taliesin is aware of this, so it's more that the intent was to have a character who did not feel they needed to change, possibly in contrast with Percy, who absolutely felt he needed to change. A self-proclaimed static character still needs a reason to be static: Molly's philosophy was, as notably stated on talks, "Life's short...do something to a bagel" and more generally the lack of need for change came from this sort of aimless and benevolent-when-convenient hedonism. Caduceus, on the other hand, is secure in his purpose. He has known who he was supposed to be for his whole life, and he embraces it, and sees no reason to change, until he absolutely has to, and even then he is deeply reluctant.

Caduceus is about what happens when your comfort zone and guiding principles themselves fold in on each other and are like "hey. expand us or else."

I think a lot of people have rightfully noted that from his appearance through the Xhorhas arc, Caduceus sees the rest of the Nein as mourners, and that's within his comfort zone. Sure, there are some moral quandaries at the docks of Nicodranas, but he's able to get through that (in part because he's in the Mighty Nein but isn't personally stealing the ship, in part because of Jester's talk with him). I think it's also worth noting that while Caduceus is extremely insightful he is not superhuman (super firbolgian?) in that regard; it is the insight borne of being someone who is there for mourners and so he has a good eye for emotions, less so for motivations, and a lot of the Nein's motivations early on escape him.

The first wave of big changes happen in Bazzoxan and the immediate aftermath. First, Fjord confides in him and asks for advice - and Caduceus is used to giving advice but I'm not sure he's ever had to offer religious practice advice, as the people he would have interacted with would have either been the sketchy people of Shady Creek Run, or else people already faithful enough to seek the Blooming Grove. And second, the party finds itself directionless for a time; there is no pressing business or better ideas and he cannot hide his own mission behind someone else's, so he voices his recommendation that they come clean to the Bright Queen, and then they go to the kiln.

Caduceus's relationship with Fjord I think is useful to bring up in a sense of contrast, in that Caduceus is incredibly good at helping Fjord through a crisis, because Caduceus is trained for crisis - but it gets much hazier once Fjord is out of said crisis and as it turns out has a very different relationship with the Wildmother, and I think this comes up to an extent when they talk in Rexxentrum. I think Caduceus, for all his talk of nature's violence, struggles with the concept of nature being malevolent or having goals - it just is. Whereas Fjord is much more comfortable with the idea of nature perhaps being a force that is itself a threat, or deceptive, and more generally with the idea of nature as somewhat unknowable and full of mysteries. I don't think Caduceus's personal view of nature ever changes, but I think his ability to process that he doesn't have the answers even in the areas within his comfort zone improves, and this is something of an inflection point with regards to him acknowledging new perspectives on his own comfort zone.

It's also a little before this that we see Caduceus reveal vulnerability for the first real time since his panic attack on the boat right after they stole it, when he confides in The Gentleman. Some of this is a calculated social move, to be fair, but it's a notable step forward.

That said it takes a while to change and he spends a few days post-Rexxentrum doing anything to avoid facing his own mission. It's worth noting that Caduceus is a cleric of the same level as Jester, and could have cast sending before the party ever met up with him, and he never did. So they go to Beau's father and Isharnai first, putting it off as long as he can.

Caduceus's scenes with his family sort of snap all of the above into place, in that his parents are glad he's spent some time in the world and are completely accepting of his desire to keep going for a time. I'm honestly not sure, myself, why he does this because I don't think it's metagaming (ie, it's not Taliesin going 'I can't make a third character') but I think there are multiple valid interpretations. Caduceus's role, as the one who stays at home, is ultimately a self-imposed one.

He sort of mulls on that for the next while, sort of uncomfortably internalizing differing perspectives on deities with the Artagan reveal/Rumblecusp and additionally processing his own deeper relationship with the Wildmother, with multiple visions, and maybe even the fact that nature constantly wants to murder him.

Then we get to Eiselcross and that's when it all hits. I think as soon as he sees the corrupted trees he gets a sense of the scale, that this corruption is not just unnatural but it is ancient and has been a threat for a long time and that staving it off at the Blooming Grove is not getting at the unknown, underlying source (which he probably knew deep down, but as discussed above he does not really love to admit those things to himself). And he realizes that he might need to be the one not just to commit but to initiate violence, as the person with no emotional ties to Lucien via Molly; he finds himself bending his own moral rules for the greater good more; and I think this is when he realizes either that he needs to change, or perhaps that he's been changing quietly and slowly the whole time and has just been terrified to admit it.

The last night at the Blooming Grove before the final push into Aeor is another good look at Caduceus, who, like a number of characters in this campaign, is so very much defined by his ongoing and important familial relationships. We get a brief but heartbreaking glimpse at the state he was in prior to the Nein showing up in the garden, and how he was trying to induce something, anything, to give him direction because he didn't trust himself to leave without that assurance; and his admission, finally, to someone else of that change, that he never wanted to be the person to go on an adventure, that he still has very mixed feelings about it, but that this is his responsibility. And it's that which allows him to confidently say, on Cognouza, that it's time to end this shit.

In short (Clue the Movie voice: too late) Caduceus's arc is someone who has always believed in his sacred, literally god-given responsibility into which he was born, and struggles against the fact that said sacred responsibility ends up being quite different than what he expected but ultimately is able to accept it, and his reward is that he can return to the responsibility he initially embraced, having grown in ways he could not have otherwise.

Now, I think part of why Caduceus's arc gets overlooked is twofold. The first reason is that background arcs are, well, background, and it's quiet and subtle and highly internal and hard to turn into big dramatic moments, which, as a person whose favorite C1 character is Vex, I understand, but also those arcs are the best.

The second, and this is going to sound even more "I appreciate the muppets on a much deeper level than you" than the first, is that I feel a lot of people who considered Caduceus their favorite character did lean into the myth of "superfirbolgian" insight when the fact always was that Caduceus had no interest in the political; did not make Trent quake in his wizard robes in the slightest as was confirmed in the finale; and ultimately wanted most of all to return to his home.

It's a very true and very unique choice and if I may [note: I am writing this so I do what I want] I think a lot of people did not understand Caduceus in that they felt his ending was unhappy for him, and some of this is that people had really stupid takes on the party splitting at the end. I have mixed feelings on the true universality of the Campbellian Monomyth and even more mixed feelings on everyone giving Dan Harmon tons of credit for merely rephrasing it but despite that, Caduceus's arc fits it perfectly (and very literally): comfort zone -> need arises -> unfamiliar situation -> adaptation -> gets what he wants -> at a price -> returns to comfort -> having changed.

[symphonyofthewrite]

If These Walls Could Talk 

Freaking GORGEOUS cover art by Junki Sakuraba on Instagram and Deviantart!! Definitely go check him out!! His art is incredible, and from what I can tell he’s really nice dude. He absolutely went above and beyond with this prompt. 10/10 would commission again. (And probably will once I save up enough money XD)

The wonderful art later in the chaper is by niuan_ on instagram!!

It wasn’t made/commissioned for this fic--(though I’ve since commissioned her to make cover art for me, so stay tuned for those!)--but when I saw it I couldn’t believe it!! That’s one of my favorite images in this chapter, and I couldn’t believe another artist made a piece for the same idea independently!!

I'll put the links to their profiles either in the replies or a reblog (since tumblr is dumb about links)!!

Also, FYI, I'll be using this post as my "reblog post" meaning I'll reblog this post with the later chapters of this fic, so they're all in one place. So if you want to read more of this fic, check the reblogs on this post, chances are more chapters will be there!!

Comments and reblogs are MORE than appreciated!! If you have a spare minute you will really make my week, and motivate me to keep writing!!

Fandom: Castlevania Netflix

Summary: Vampires do not have reflections, and castles do not have hearts. But Dracula is no ordinary vampire, and Castlevania is no ordinary castle. If castles can fight, maybe they can think too.

The series, and Adrian’s childhood, told from the perspective of the castle.

Chapter Summary:

“My mother’s name was Lisa, and she was mortal…She actually showed up at his front door. She found the castle and banged the door with the pommel of her knife…She was remarkable. She beat on the door until my father let her in, and then demanded he teach her how to be a doctor.”

Chapter 1: "Lisa”

“Is this how the castle felt to you before my mother first arrived at your door?”

The castle doesn’t like children.

Well, maybe that’s too strong to say. It simply isn’t the place for them. Its existence is a signpost: leave me alone. It is not used to having company—much less a family—inside it, nor is it ready to welcome for a crying, puking, giggling thing into the world. It does not intend to be a cozy place to coddle him into adulthood.

The castle itself pierces the sky, its turrets and towers the dripping stain of the sun’s blood across the moon.

The bare walls hold no colorful tapestries for a child to enjoy, no paintings of its many inhabitants to tell of—for there was only ever one (and maybe that ought not change. It is safe to say the castle doesn’t like change). The royal red and gold carpets are more suited to kings; not designed for spit-up, mud, and scuffing. ‘Don’t play with that’ would be a motto around here; so many contraptions either easy to break, or which could break the child. The fireplaces, while almost always lit, only ever coughed warmth onto the floor before them—they provided no snug space to curl up on a winter’s day. Even the mirrors here are empty, holding nothing but a reflection of the bare walls they sit upon.

There are certain people who were seemingly born as they are; they never owned toys, never crawled on the floor, never walked with clumsy steps—their footfalls were always this calculated count—never burped on their mother’s nice shirts, and surely never had anything so dull as a childhood. They were always just…here, on the world. There was no innocence, and no losing it. So it was with Dracula.

The very thought of Dracula ever owning toys, even in some nice cottage far away from here, with a doting mother and an absent father, with a funny last name like Cronqvist, defied sense to the castle. So no, no toys here, nor any simple charts for learning; the books divulged their secrets to more mature minds. Just blood and books, gold and gears, forgotten magic means, mirrors that reflect nothing, and a pile of prayers to a good God they used to justify their ungood, and ungodly deeds.

All these things—or their absence—do not make for the picture of a baby-proof home.

The castle has grown accustomed to being cold and dark, and listening to one master alone. It’s not a quaint place lovers look on and think we’ll raise our kids here someday.

Its master isn’t the ideal father either—after all, the castle only reflected its king. Its master knows only of blood and nails, fangs and wails, words too big for a child’s mouth, and worlds too dark for a child’s heart.

Can he be soft? Can he be gentle? Can he keep those claws, which have ripped out better men’s hearts, from piercing a child’s—his child’s…how could one who killed so many have a child?—skin? He knows many spells, but is there one that can turn those screams into laughter?

He has been soft before. Once. And that is with this woman.

Many women have walked the castle’s halls: shivering, shrieking damsels at his feet; cold and calculating queens; fragile bodies on the floor, that he broke with the same regard a child does a vase that matters to someone else.

Those ordinary people who do come often have pitchforks in their mouths, and fiery words in their closed fists. Curses stacked on the end of stakes, banging like the castle is the church bell signifying their own funerals.

It is for this reason that the castle does not like outsiders, does not open its doors easily. But it cannot deny anyone entry. Unlike the humans’ doors, which find his master guilty until proven innocent.

They always came at night. At night, when the loudest sound is your own breathing. At night, when their fires echoed loudest, and their shouts burned brightest.

They came when the flowers were closed, when only the most eerie and vicious of animals played with the skins of their prey, and the moon waxed the world in cold, drunk shine. The sun could not watch them, could not show their blood-struck hands in their full glory.

She came at sunset. When the sun still glazed her deeds in sanguine auburn, but was just deciding to turn its gaze and let the kids have their fun. Not quite day, when the sun would kill things like Dracula, but not quite night, when the hours are named after witches, and lust is strongest—be it for the body, or the blood within it. Somewhere in between death and life, violence and peace.

This woman came with a knife in her hand, yes. But a knife, at least, was not a sword. It was not a pitchfork, a spear, a whip, or a stake; all weapons that signify, if the fight wasn’t there, you were bringing it with you. Not a war-starved weapon, pointing with mal-in—and -con—tent towards the castle doors and all the things inside it. Not a thirsty thing. Something that by default faced the other direction. Something that can start a fight if it wants to, but doesn’t crave it.

The golden woman came at sunset, with a knife in her hand, and looked upon this thing, this castle that others called ‘ugly’, and ‘monstrous,’ and ‘grotesque,’ looked upon it with awe, and gasped in wonder.

She knocked. She didn’t bang her fists upon the stone, didn’t ram pitchforks and assorted insults against the innocent doors, like how-dare-they protect their master.

She knocked, and the doors opened before she could raise her fist a second time. Maybe, just this once, not because they didn’t have any other choice.

The doors—foreboding, menacing, and all the other spooky -ings one can think of—opened to a world strewn in light; the demon’s castle looked brighter, more beautiful, more alive, than half the churches she’d been to.

Her footsteps were gentle against the castle’s floors. Not a slow, forced gentleness, but also not a piercing, purposeful march. There was no apprehension to her footsteps; her feet carried her as if anxious to take her to as many rooms as they could.

At first her steps were the only sound, enough to fool some into thinking they’re alone.

And it became clear both that she was not alone, and not a fool.

But when she saw the demon, she put the knife away, and used her words.

She used her words to repeat those she herself had heard: stories. But not the kind that make monstrous men run at the doors with naughts and crosses, the kind pious people buried along with all evidence that the world wasn’t made of black and white.

Not all the stories told that this place was cold and dark and full of death.

Amongst all the stories about death, there were others that said Vlad Tepes brought this castle to life with science, forbidden knowledge, and a little bit of lightning. Stories that say there is life here.

And, in exchange for proof that these life-stories true, Dracula asked for a trade, a trade that would prove the other stories true too. He gave up the killing a while ago—(the castle has been in one place a very long time)—but he was still not used to giving for free, and definitely not used to getting for free. Vampires trade in blood and names, not diamonds and declarations. Vampires trade in things they can swallow. This castle, too, had been a gaping hole set to swallow the world and everything that entered. Never once had it given.

And she dared to say, that this place, its master, should learn to give, when the humans have done nothing but take from them—or try their best to. He ought to be the one to invite her in, to ask what she would like, to dispense pleasant words and kind actions, when the humans forgot they invented hospitality, and showed no invitation for him to even enter their homes.

But she didn’t come with a mouth full of garlic, and hands full of superstition. Her feet did not drill holes in the floor with their sharp toll, they wandered the scenic route.

She was used to being cheated. Dracula and his castle were too. But that was not why she was there. She was not there for cheap tricks, or death. She wanted something real. A little bit of the life the castle has to offer.

Her defiance wasn’t that of a terrified citizen, or angry queen, either; rather the calm resolve of someone who is asking for something they know in their heart is good, and knows they will get it. The kind of person who believes there is good in everyone, and that this good will ultimately always win, and who won’t leave until they convince this good to show its face.

The castle has watched countless men and women cower at the foot of count Dracula. Some, do have a measure of god-sanctioned defiance; they come with whips and scourges to defeat him. The castle and the king are bound together in their resolve against them.

Except one. Except this woman. One human whom both master and castle found themselves reluctant to deny, cast away, or kill, maybe even…taken with.

She may be human, but she was not like the rest; she did not light the night on fire with her thirst for blood.

So maybe, just maybe, they could let one ray of sunlight slip through the cracks.

She was also not devoid of life, and maybe that was the key.

‘Devoid of life’ was an accurate portrayal of the castle. Bats flying out of blackness is a good description of a cave, and caves don’t usually come with the brochure ‘teeming with life’, or ‘great place to take your kids!’. The castle had a soul-sucking quality to it; those who entered often found themselves leaving less alive than they arrived. It took after its vampire master. Those who didn’t actually lose their lives within its walls, often remarked upon leaving that the flowers bloomed brighter, the birds sang louder, the grass was greener, and that they missed the sunlight.

Sunlight. Such a base thing; vampires don’t need the light or warmth to be happy.

Sunlight. Such a base way to die; wanting to get out of the cold and the dark.

“Is this how the castle felt to you before my mother first arrived at your door?”

Castlevania was alive once. Once Dracula set the pumps, and its heart began to beat. He turned the gears, and its lungs inhaled. He forged the lightning, and it began to think. Once the books, full of unknown knowledge, jumped off the shelves to get the vampire king’s attention. He filled the bottles and beakers, and they bubbled, as if laughing at a joke only they shared.

They were both alive, once.

That waned, with time. The gears got arthritis, the books caught pneumonia, the experiments atrophied. The castle ached before she came.

And Dracula, alone in the halls, picking up books and putting them down again without so much as a polite glance through them, because he read them all before. Dracula looking into fractured mirrors that could take him anywhere, but deciding there wasn’t anywhere he wanted to go. Dracula, looking into old mirrors that don’t reflect him—like there was never anything to reflect, nothing alive here to begin with, and there isn’t a master for this castle after all. Nothing but a grave. Dracula sitting alone in his study, staring into the fire. No one to talk to. No sound but flipping pages and crackling fires—nothing alive. Alive but dead. This castle. Its master. Undead is the proper term.

The other women who came through here reflected the castle, or else the castle took the life out of them the moment they entered. Queens with malice-stained past, and cracked, icy future in their eyes. Just as cold as the walls. Subjects, humans throwing gruesome insults, silky flattery, or fluttering pleas at his feet. Just as empty as the mirrors.

Only one refused the castle’s bite. Only one walked in looking for life, rather than death. Looking for a thing no one thought existed here. Already presumed dead. Put six feet beneath the ground. But maybe it was here all along; maybe the light hid in the castle’s corners while the dark came out to play, and she just had to coax it out of its hiding places. Maybe the bell was ringing all this time, she was the only one who came close enough to hear it; the only one who came to put flowers on the grave.

Maybe when she felt the machinery pumping she knew the rhythm was a heartbeat. Maybe when she heard the gears clanking she knew it was the sound of inhaling and exhaling. Maybe when she saw the lightning, she wondered what it was thinking. Maybe she looked at these books, these instruments, and saw what the vampire king saw once; something alive. They weren’t dead yet—un- or otherwise. Just sick, and in need of proper treatment. She was a doctor after all. Maybe her first subject was the very books she learned from.

Lisa, who looked at this blotch on the sky, with Death in its towers, and darkness splattered on its walls, and thought that’s where I’ll learn to heal people. Lisa, who gaped in amazement at the beast of a building. Lisa, who didn’t shudder upon entering. Lisa, who didn’t scream when its master touched her, but turned to him with calm resolve, and told him she’d teach him to be more human. Lisa, who’s life eclipsed the undeath in this place.

And there was a trade that occurred that day. For Dracula’s immortal knowledge, Lisa would teach him how to live a mortal life. To travel the world as a man, to walks as a man, to eat and drink, laugh and cry, as a man. Immortality for mortality. They gave each other the world, as so many lovers promise to do. Vlad would make her immortal, and Lisa would make him mortal, with no exchange blood.

(Except to create a thing with both their blood running through it.)

So maybe, after all this talk of life, it is fitting that she wants to create life inside this castle.

Fitting, maybe. Fitting for her. But the castle is not mortal yet, and wishes it could protest that it isn’t the right size, refuse to try on the idea.

Dracula is apprehensive as well, for the castle and he are used to each other, they take after each other, because the cold, and the dark, and the death, and the alone does something to you after a while; you start talking to the walls. After the cold queens and quaking colleens leave, or leave their bloodstains the floor. After the beasts and their silver-stained bullets turn back into righteous men in the sun. After he simply outlives everyone else. When all the living things hate, fear, or else betray you, when all the living things can die, and you, who are undead, cannot, it’s the lifeless things that stand firm by your side. When the day ends and the shadows come out to play, when you’re the only one left, in the end you still have the walls. And then…the walls are all you have. And if you talk to them long enough you make a sort of pact, spoken or silent, with those speechless stones: ‘you’re the only one I can trust.’

Dracula speaks to them one day, says he wonders if he can do this, be a father at all, not to mention a good one. The castle cannot reply. But something deep inside the walls wonders if it might be nice to hear Dracula laugh. It might be nice to put on some different clothes. It might be nice for someone new to listen to from time to time. It might be nice to live again.

The castle is concerned. Used to doing things one way, being one way, and only hearing one voice. But that doesn’t mean it is unwilling, that it intends to kill the child.

It never kills anything—Dracula does that. It cannot do anything on its own, and that includes change.

The castle doesn’t like change.

…But that doesn’t mean it won’t.

And if its going to change, its master must change first. They must change together.

Vampires do not have reflections. But Dracula has a castle, and that castle will be damned if it isn’t his mirror.

Reflections are simple to change; put on some makeup, some war paint, a new change of clothes, get a piercing somewhere. Simple, yes, but not easy, to change completely, because that doesn’t mean anything’s changed inside.

The castle did not come equipped for child-rearing; there are no rooms full of toys and cradles and school supplies.

So if this is to be, they must build their son’s world themselves.

Together they set aside a room for the child’s arrival. Just one, single room. And the castle too knows, from the start, this room will be different from all the rest. They will put paintings on the walls, and banners in the halls; things to interest him, to tell him of his parents, at least, even if there are few other relatives to spend Christmas with. The carpets will be darker, instead of the stringent red, and they will make their words smaller, the books easier to understand. The rest of the castle is warm in color, but cool in atmosphere. This room will be cool in color, but warm in atmosphere. The fire will always be set in its place, and they will try their best to make sure the warmth reaches him; if the fire fails, they will knit blankets; if the blankets fail they will make him tea, or warm milk with honey; and when everything else fails they will hold him. If there are tears here, scornful stares will not greet them, instead, kisses and lullabies will be behind door number three. If this room lives, it will be because of something much softer than pounding metal and lighting.

If a child is to live here, they must change that reflection. Everything Dracula’s castle appears to be, this room will be the reverse. Separate. Something… other than the castle.

This room will bottle all the laughter had in this castle. This room will be made of and for living, not the death the rest of the place is steeped in. So much so that this room will not stand for bloodshed.

Lisa brings in supplies from her town; color and cloth, boards and brushes, needle, and thread, and paper; all the things one needs to build a universe.

It is Dracula who takes the paint, who changes the color to something other than the blacks and reds of the rest of the Vampire’s world, cementing on the walls themselves You will not be dark here, my castle. You will be kind to him, Castlevania. The castle doesn’t know its master to work with his hands like a human, but Vlad is not the same within this room either—this room is part of the trade. He doesn’t use magic, or science, as if he is telling himself with every hammer that they are going to change together, the way one does when talking to the mirror.

Lisa sits in a chair and stiches together cloth and fur to make little creatures, toys for the boy to play with. Soft things, not sharp. They are reflections too, littler, simpler ones, of the creatures howling and prowling outside the castle’s walls, or scurrying within them.

But it is the ceiling that is the crowning jewel of the room. Something they paint together—splashing it onto each other’s clothes and noses.

His parents love the stars. They often walk outside the castle walls, fingers knit into each other’s, to gaze at them. They are scholars at soul, and have charted the constellations. They want their child to be able to do the same, to watch the stars, even if he’s not outside. At the end of every day they want him to be sung to sleep by the symphony of the night.

For them, maybe, but to the castle, one of the most interesting things about this room, is the mirror. This is strange, as, while there are other mirrors in this house, they are nothing more than a silver decoration; they have no purpose here, unless they float in shards and possibility. This is an ordinary mirror. It does hold something now, however, and that’s Lisa—only giving more credence to the idea that she is the only living thing in this castle. The castle wonders if they think it will reflect the child, as if they are hoping he will take after his mother and the room.

The mirror, and the windows. In the rest of the castle, the windows are always closed, curtained, or too small to let any real light in. But here they are big, and inviting to all the wiles of the day. Dracula protested—fearing he would burn. Lisa insisted—hoping he would shine.

The mirror, the room, are empty now. The windows closed. The books and charts dormant as the rest. It is not dead, but it’s not alive either. Not even undead. Just a question. An almost.

The room lays on Frankenstein’s table; just one lightning strike—(or one child’s laugh)—away from breathing.

[morganas-pendragons]

It’s A Long Way Down | D.D.

gif by @bestintheparsec

I was never planning on posting something on Tumblr during No Content November, but this idea has been stuck in my head since I saw Mando 2x03 and on top of that, people kept tweeting ideas on Twitter and now this thing is born... be gentle. I’ve been hesitant to write for him since I started the show last year. I played a little bit with what we know of Din’s past for the sake of this plot. 

Without further ado, hurt/comfort galore! 2x03 spoilers!

Please let me know what you think!

tag: @earthtokace​ / @dindjarindiaries​ / @kyber-queen​ 

*** 

  “What’s the last thing you remember?” 

  “Drowning.” He replies, soft and quiet as he processes the last three days in the midst of the silence. “Almost drowning.. and thinking about how you’d cope when I was gone.” 

If I was gone. 

Maybe the world would be better off. That’s what Din thinks. That thought lingers for a split second in his mind until he sees the desperation in your aspect and how you need him to understand that this world is a better place with him in it. 

The Watch didn’t allow him attachments. They didn’t allow him to feel. He was a warrior. 

He was a warrior, and the entrance of you and The Child made his hardened heart soft. 

Din has never liked the water.

When he’d been taken in by the Mandalorians and had sworn his Creed, the one thing they had drilled into his mind for his entire childhood was that he was a warrior. Warriors knew how to fight, how to survive, how to endure. 

A Warrior who did not dare show his face. This was The Way, and the way kept him safe. 

The one thing he could never quite master as a Foundling was enduring the water. To stop the way his lungs seized, how panic overtook him, how he just stopped. 

Din didn’t like the water, and Din had never really learned how to breathe.

Then he’d met you. You - the one person he could admit to loving, to admiring from a distance because he has his Creed and you have some kind of Code you live by - and your devotion to both him and The Child has slowly eased the ache in his chest, cracked open his ribs, and taught him a different way of breathing. 

Slow, steady, easy. He’s never known life to be that way. 

***

There is no Light without the Dark. 

Through passion, I gain focus. 

You had run across Mando just after the end of the Empire. You’d seen that Death Star explode with your very own eyes and had declared that your final mission with The Rebellion, in which you bid a tearful farewell to Luke and Leia and made your way into the galaxy. 

A vast galaxy.. alone. 

You and Luke had very differing views on the Jedi Order as a whole and in that difference, you’d taken two different paths. You had followed the Code of the Grey Jedi, and Luke had taken to the Jedi Code. 

That Code had carried you through alot of darkness. 

Through knowledge, I gain power 

Through serenity, I gain strength 

The Clone War had introduced you to the concept of Mandalorians. You’d never really had the pleasure to meet one as you’d always been on different fronts a distance from the Dream Team, but you knew of them. You knew they carried a Creed the same way you did. 

What you didn’t expect was the extent in which The Mandalorian did. The two of you had met in a cantina only days after he’d taken on The Child, and his claim for knowing where to find you on Sorgan was whispers of a rogue Jedi who’d left the Rebellion to seek peace.

Peace was what you found, contrary to popular belief. Compared to being a part of the Jedi Order, being with The Mandalorian was the most peaceful thing you’d done in over a decade. 

Through victory, I gain harmony

You’d been raised around Yoda, so you were familiar with the species, but past that.. You were as clueless as Din was. 

You stowed your lightsabers away and that part of your life with it. You left behind the title of Jedi and put all of your efforts into taking care of The Child. Into taking care of Din. 

That was easier said then done. 

There is only The Force. 

*** 

I wasn’t supposed to fall in love. 

That’s all he is thinking as he stands examining the vast waters of the ocean the two of you sail on with the Quarren crew. Your fingers are curled in the direction of The Child’s pram, and he’s giggling as he tries to maintain control of his body while you spin him. 

It’s the first time he’s seen you smile in weeks. It’s always small ones too. He looks forward to the first time he’s granted the opportunity to see a real smile. 

It had taken you a while to open up to him about your time with the Jedi. You’d barely been a padawan when The Order’s genocide had been in effect, and the greater majority of your life had been lived in fear. Your Code and your Lightsaber were your only guide until Leia had found you and recruited you into The Rebellion. 

All your life you’d been looking for a purpose, and she’d given you one. 

Being here with The Child - caring for him, teaching him, had given you a new purpose - and being with The Mandalorian had taught you a newfound sense of compassion for people raised as he had been. 

Your compassion and heart had won him out in the end. He’d admitted to being in love with you months ago, but he had yet to vocalize it. He would. He will. 

It happens so fast. One minute the two of you are smiling - even though you cannot see his own - about The Child’s reaction to the Mamacore, and the next minute you’re roaring with rage as his pram is shoved into the center of the cage and he’s forced to retreat inside for fear of being killed. 

He’s a child. A child who’s been too involved in death, in seeing death, in flirting with death.. and Din has had enough of it. 

Din Djarin doesn’t like the water. He doesn’t like how it weighs him down, how it threatens to suffocate him, to fill his lungs with something cruel and cold that replaces the warm fire that floods his veins that has been placed there by you. 

  “You’re-You’re a Jedi?” 

  “Push him down! Harder!” 

His world is illuminated in a flurry of blue light as the Quarren’s keep pushing him down under, down down down and his first thought is ner jeti.. i’m sorry. He’s sorry that he’s again put you in this position where you’ve had to reveal yourself, reveal who you are, and all to protect him and The Child. 

Failure. 

He’s a failure. 

Between you and the trio of Mandalorians that arrive shortly after, the Quarren’s are dealt with in a matter of moments and then he’s being lifted - his lungs are reactivating, are expanding and contracting to remind him that he is alive - and he collapses in the midst of wheezing his concern for the child. 

  “The Child! Help-Help The Child!” 

The Mandalorian on the left dives into the water to rescue The Child from the creature. You turn your attention away from the bodies and sheath your sabers  before kneeling in front of Din to assess him. 

  “The Child-” He rasps, because his thoughts are never on himself, only you and The Child. His life doesn’t matter if it means the two of you are safe. “Jeti, ner ad-” 

Jedi, my son. 

Your gentle hand on his knee is enough to capture his thoughts. Your way of evaluating Din’s state has never been through the physical sense, but the mental. He doesn’t know how to shield because The Jedi was a foreign concept to him until he met you, and he’s always been receptive to your gentle nature. You don’t need to talk. You never have. 

You look. 

His mind is a flurry of panic and fear as you gently soothe it into a peace that makes his whole body go lax as Koska breaks the pram shell in half and gently scoops out the baby. “Here you go, Brother.” Koska murmurs, watching from beneath her helmet as you stand to your feet and allow Din to reunite with The Child he claims not to have an attachment to. 

Yeah... okay. 

Din and Bo-Katan converse - in which he is given an inexplicable truth about himself that he's not quite sure how to process - and he shuts down the idea of them even being real Mandalorians because their way is not his way. It’s a whole new reality he’s never had to face before. 

  “You are a Child of The Watch.” 

And as you stand there, you take in the distress in which the man you love - and have yet to tell - is trying so desperately to hide. 

***

His panic bursts through the surface when you unsheathe your sabers in the hall that connects and run right into the line of fire, deflecting blaster bolts left and right so Din can run right past you and blow the door to the bridge right open. 

The fight about it comes later, long after the two of you have returned to The Crest for the coordinates to Coravus where Ahsoka Tano is supposedly located. She is a Jedi - or was, once - and might be the only connection you have left to the person you used to be despite how young you had been at the time. 

Your first clue to his apparent agitation is the way he hasn’t unclenched his fists and has yet to look at you from where he sits in the cockpit. Your anger is growing steadily at his silence, which has never happened before.. not until you put your life into the line of fire. 

  “Say it.” Your voice echoes from behind the captain’s seat as you cross your arms over your chest. “Mando-please, stop giving me the kriffing silent treatment and just let me have it.” 

  “Ner jeti...” He stops short and stands to his feet, practically towering over you in a way that would intimidate most people. He has never once made you feel afraid... but he constantly makes you ache. With want, with pain, with desire. He makes you feel things you haven’t felt since before Order 66. “You cannot do that.” 

  “Do what?? Save your life? Mando, I’m-” 

  “Din.” Your rant is cut off halfway as he exhales lowly, a rumble through the modulator, and lifts a helmeted head to meet your gaze. “My name is Din Djarin. I thought it was time you know that.” 

Your entire body freezes. You have been a partner, an ally, since the day he’d found you on recruited you to help return The Child to his kind. You have been careful in ensuring that it’s strictly a professional relationship, you never had anticipated this- The intimacy that comes with divulging such a secret as his real name. 

  “Din?” You rasp, eyes glassy with tears as the air is knocked from your lungs. It rolls off your tongue easily. The sound of his name, his real name, is beautiful. “Wow. It’s... beautiful.” 

His response to your affirmation is like watching a galaxy of stars be born in front of your very eyes. He’s so receptive to it.. starved of it. 

  “I used to forget everything.” Din says. “The people who trained me.. they wanted me to be the best of our clan. There was so much we had to learn. Gun training, hand to hand, the significance of beskar and how important our Beskar’gam was to our safety. I was so good at it. I excelled.. but the one thing I could not shake? The water. 

They trained me in the water, jeti. They trained me in the water, to become part of the water... all I could think about was how much it suffocated me. I’m af-” He stops himself short because admitting to a fear is not something he was taught to do, it was bottle it up and compartmentalize in order to get the mission finished. “Afraid of the water because I can’t fight it like I do with a bounty. I can just..” 

  “Succumb. Sink. Let go.” You murmur. “And that’s not something you know how to do.” 

  “Yeah.” 

You’re oddly intrigued by the fact that this utterly fearless person, this man, was afraid. He’d always struck you as the opposite. 

  “What’s the last thing you remember?” You ask.  

  “Nearly drowning.” He replies. “And wondering how you and the ad would cope when I was gone. That’s why I need to tell you.” Din takes another step to close the gap that stands between you both. You’re practically trembling with anticipation. “Thinking about how...” 

Din stops. You rest a hand against the exposed skin of his neck and tilt your head as his mind thrums - resonates with the truth of his affection for you - and your lips part in wonder as you realize what he’s trying to tell you. 

  “Me too.” You whisper. “For a while.. probably since the start. Din, you are a good man. You’ve always been a good man, and I think it’s time that someone puts your needs before themselves instead of the other way around. Please.” Din is slightly taken aback at the pleading tone of your voice as you meet his gaze. “Please let someone take care of you.” 

That’s all you can muster before he’s collapsing at your feet. 

  ‘’Take it off.” He begs. 

  “No, no- Your Creed-” 

  “Sarad, I want to learn how to breathe again.” He interjects. “This is how I do that. It’s just a faster way of being able to be married to you for the rest of my life.” The man you love is kneeling at your feet and totally willing to abandon part of his livelihood because of you. “There’s nothing I’d want more. Go ahead. Take it off. Please.” 

Part of you had always been okay with the anonymity, but as this choice lays just within your fingertips, you find yourself desperate to look upon the face of the man who’d destroy entire galaxies for you and his son. 

The Beskar’gam hisses as you remove his helmet and find yourself staring into vulnerable onyx eyes that are wide enough to envelop whole star systems in their splendor. 

  “Din Djarin.” You whisper, smiling tearfully as trembling hands lift to cup a stubbled jaw. “What a beautiful face to put with an equally beautiful name.” 

He exhales his breath on a shuddered sigh and leans into your touch as you begin mapping his face with your fingertips. Din doesn’t dare move, too drunk on the feeling of touch ghosting across his skin in a intimate way that he’s not experienced since his parents left him in that cellar. His face grows warm at how needy he must seem, but you don’t seem bothered by it. 

In fact, the way his skin blooms red under your kiss makes your heart swell and your smile widen at the reaction it elicits. 

  “You know Din, if you wanted me to kiss you.. all you had to do was ask.” You muse. You can read his mind and his body in the same way you read the feel of your lightsaber and the air of a room of hostiles. “Now I don’t know about you, but The Child is asleep and I find myself tired after having to deal with Bo-Katan all day.. can we go to bed?” 

  “Yes.” He nods once, then twice, allowing you to take his gloves off and lead him in the direction of the tiny cot that somehow manages to house you both. The Beskar’gam comes off one piece at a time until Din is now standing in his usual underclothes which you have not been able to grace yourself with the image of until now as he lays each piece on the floor. 

You’re laying flat on your back when he’s finished, arms extended towards the ceiling as you beckon him forward. Din realizes that as he stares at your willingness to be there for him in his most vulnerable moment that he may sleep tonight with no night terrors. 

No thoughts of drowning. 

  “Din Djarin, cyare..” You coo, beaming as he crawls into the bed and allows himself to curl into your body and rest his head on your chest. “I think you should hear it now.” Gentle fingers card through dark curls as he focuses on his breathing - in and out in and out - and listens to the sound of your voice to lull himself to sleep. “I love you.” 

He hums thoughtfully and burrows himself deeper into your neck, smiling against the curve of your neck as you lightly graze his temple with your lips. Before Din can properly fall asleep, he rolls himself on top of you and settles himself comfortably against your body. It’s not too heavy, just enough to envelop you in the warmth he radiates. 

He’s safe.

You wrap your arms and legs around his form and nuzzle his temple. 

Darkness falls upon both of you as Din whispers, “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” before promptly falling asleep in your capable hands. He’s safe. 

Tonight.. he’s not drowning. 

Tonight, he breathes. 

[amphibious-entity]

TMBS Book 1 Brain Dump

~An Embarrassingly Long Post~

I don’t know why I’m writing this or why I’m so determined to do it. Maybe to finally assume my true form and become a mega dork on main, or maybe just for fun!

This is basically a compilation of all the main points running through my head after reading The Mysterious Benedict Society (2007) for the first time. Rather than posting a ton and spamming the tag, everything’s here in one neat package! (hopefully this gets it all out of my system rip)

Contents:

The Book Itself

The Book Itself, for real this time

The Characters

A Funny Parallel

The S.Q. Section

Lines & Scenes I Liked

Spoilers abound!

The Book Itself

Upon acquiring the first three books (don’t judge me pls), I was surprised at just how long they are. Like, they’re still pretty light being paperbacks and all, but these books are hefty lads.

The first book has this Disney+ Original Series circle thing printed on it, which is kind of unfortunate. Regardless, I love the cover illustration and yellow is actually my favorite color :D It made me weirdly quite happy whenever I saw the book lying around in my room

Also, it’s really cute how there’s a letter from Mr. Benedict at the end! (It only reveals that you can find out his first name if you “know the code”, meaning the bit of Morse printed below the summary on the back.) Shock and horror, though, as I realized I’m starting to recognize some of the letters

The Book Itself, for real this time

It’s wonderful how the tone of the book really shone through to the show adaptation. Something about the deliberateness of the aesthetic, from the set designs to the fashion to scene compositions, that really sells that particular style— like it’s very clear that this story is being told to us, rather than one we’re seeing unfold, if that makes sense.

Where that narration style stood out to me the most was the first chapter. We are told (rather than shown) how Reynie gets himself to the point of the second test, and there’s this whole twisty time maneuver for that whole sequence of events that’s really interesting

A super secret fun fact about me is that I wanted to be a writer when I was younger! So this particular balance of show vs. tell is really neat, since it runs counter to my own tendencies. The sheer amount of commas in every sentence is also kind of comforting, since Ahah, I Do That in those few serious-ish attempts at writing lol

Overall this book’s style reminds me a lot of Roald Dahl’s books, which are very nostalgic for me :D The whole “kids are more competent than adults” angle helps a lot too haha

The Characters

Oh boy here’s where I get a little bit critical! Overall I did really like this book!! it’s just that that expresses itself in all this weird “”analysis”” lol

Reynie - much better in the books than in the show

It’s sort of a lukewarm take but I feel like show!Reynie is kind of boring? He doesn’t have a lot going on flaw-wise, and obviously since he’s the protagonist he can’t have too many weird traits or else the kids watching can’t project themselves onto him as easily

(I call it the difference between an aspirational protagonist and a vessel protagonist. Going off of the Roald Dahl vibes, think Matilda vs Charlie. show!Reynie is more of a Charlie)

Thus when we get to see him really struggle with the Whisperer and doubt himself it gives him a lot more dimension, at least in my opinion

It is a federal crime that the white knight scenes were not adapted into the show

Sticky - my son

I’ve long held to no one besides myself and my long suffering sister that Sticky is The Best Member of the Society

He happened to hit a lot of the Bingo squares of Stuff I Like In Characters: glasses, anxious, nice :), kind of a coward but ultimately is there for his friends, etc

For some reason I don’t talk about him nearly as much as you-know-who, but I love him just as dearly

Kate & Constance - I don’t have much to say

Kate is really interesting in this book! I like how we get to see more of her depths, in particular that one passage about her belief that she is invincible being the only thing that keeps her from falling apart? :c

Also her constant fidgeting is relatable lol

Constance is somehow a lot more tolerable in the book. I think I’m just one of those people with no patience for small children, unfortunately lol

(Some of) The Adults

It’s interesting that they had such an offscreen presence for most of the book. Giving them more time was probably one of the stronger changes of the show

However if that decision was made at the expense of the white knight scenes I think the choice should have been clear

I like the way Rhonda and Number Two are written

Milligan always on sad boy hours 😔✊

The “mill again” passage is touching but kind of messes up the pacing of the getaway, at least for me. Maybe I should read it again to make sure I didn’t miss something

Miss Perumal is much better in the show. We see so little of her in the book she doesn’t function well as an emotional anchor for Reynie, imo

The Institute Gang

Jackson and Jillson serve their purpose well, and Martina was surprising to say the least. I like the direction they took her in the show! I can’t imagine how funny it must have been to watch the tetherball subplot come out of nowhere lolol

These sections were written out of sequence, so random tidbit I couldn’t fit in The S.Q. Section: I like how he stumbles over his words. relatable

Mr. Curtain

While I think I know why they decided to not give Curtain the wheelchair in the show, we were totally robbed of Actor Tony Hale’s performance for the reveal during the final confrontation

Speaking of the wheelchair, it’s such a powerful symbol of his need for control or rather, his fear of losing it

The Contrast between him and Mr. Benedict. This point is expanded on in A Funny Parallel

Mr. Benedict

Oh boy, Mr. Benedict… How do I say this

I find it hard to trust Mr. Benedict, unfortunately

I mean to say, I do in the sense that I know he would never hurt the kids, thanks to knowing that a) this is a children’s book series and b) the meta (tumblr) states that he is really nice and lovable and stuff, but seriously. Why do the kids trust him at first?? I probably missed something somewhere

I like to think I’m an optimistic person, but unfortunately I’m also super paranoid. The premise of “a bunch of vulnerable orphans team up with a strange old man” is just so odd to me I don’t know how to explain it

I don’t know!!! I really want to trust Mr. Benedict

One of the strengths of the show is that we get to see him more often, and thus he gets to acknowledge more often that the plan is weird and that he feels really badly for putting the kids in danger and that he’s trustworthy and genuine

But his lack of presence for most of the book just makes him into something of a specter, invisible and unknowable, speaking only in riddles from across the bay

Which is why the white knight scene is so important!! I loved that scene ;-;

Because here’s an actual emotional connection! We can actually see it happening, rather than only being told that it exists

Reynie asking for advice and receiving encouragement, in words that demonstrate that Mr. Benedict actually cares about him and worries about him and agghh

It is a federal crime that the white knight scenes were not adapted into the show

But overall this whole issue didn’t ruin my enjoyment of the book at all! It’s just ->

A Funny Parallel

Okay, ready for my biggest brain, hottest take ever??

Mr. Benedict and Mr. Curtain…. are… the same

I mean obviously not entirely, given that one is benevolent and kind and the other is… Mr. Curtain

But seriously. Genius old man seeks out children (mainly orphans) to enact a plan. Said children often end up incredibly devoted to his cause and deeply admire him this is a little flimsy

Undoubtedly that’s intentional and is supposed to show the difference between them, like some kind of cautionary tale? “Let yourself be vulnerable and let others help you, lest you turn eeeeviiillll”

I guess that’s where the aforementioned epic contrast comes in. You get Mr. Curtain, strapped into his wheelchair and hiding behind those mirrored sunglasses, terrified (but unwilling to admit it) of ever showing the tiniest hint of vulnerability, vs. Mr. Benedict, who can let himself fall knowing that someone will catch him :’)

Anyhow I have nothing against the parallels, I just think it’s funny

The S.Q. Section

The S.Q. Quarantine Thread so it doesn’t leak out everywhere else <3

I’d like to meet the emo angstlord genius who read this book and decided to make SQ into Dr. Curtain’s son. What in the world

Okay I should probably preface this by saying that I absolutely adore both book!S.Q. and show!SQ with all my heart. Somehow, despite being a completely different character in both mediums, he has managed to be one of the best characters in either and certainly one of my favorites (besides Sticky of course) in the entire franchise, despite the fact that I’ve only read the first book/watched the show so far. I am confident in this statement.

But seriously! How?? Why?? I could probably write a whole other essay about why show!SQ is such an interesting character, and the change works so incredibly well. I’m just. Baffled

Okay, focus. book!S.Q. is such a sweetheart, oh my goodness. Like, 100% one of the most endearing characters in the book. Poor guy. I don’t even know where to start!!

He just seems to be a genuinely good guy at heart, despite being technically one of the bad guys. He’s genuinely happy for Reynie and Sticky when they became Messengers and helped Kate when she “fell” and was concerned about Constance when she looked sick and how he was in that meeting with Mr. Curtain and Martina?!!? aaahhhhghgh ;-; he just wants people to be happy TT-TT

Comparing him against literally every character at the Institute is probably what makes him so endearing tbh. When everyone else is so awful to the kids, it really makes him stand out. Like a cheerful little nightlight in the worst, most humid and rank bathroom you’ve ever been in

It’s kind of pointless to theorize about a book series that’s already concluded (I think?) but. Is the implication of S.Q.’s forgetfulness supposed to be that Mr. Curtain used him in brainsweeping experiments somehow? The timeline probably definitely absolutely doesn’t line up but like. How did he get to being a Messenger being the way he is now, given how cutthroat the process is? And then of course Mr. Curtain keeps him around as an Executive because he’s fun to mess with and presumably his loyalty. I’m very curious as to how their relationship develops in the other books, if at all. Those are probably where the seeds of the “let’s make them family” logic were planted

But wouldn’t it be hilarious if the reason we don’t know what “S.Q.” stands for in the books is that he just. Forgot

Another thing that occurred to me. Given that he and the other Executives were Messengers at some point, what were their worst fears? What is S.Q.’s worst fear?? Inquiring minds need to know

One last horrible little anecdote: I was thinking about book!S.Q. while eating breakfast, as one does, and suddenly it hit me.

I want to believe The Author Trenton Lee Stewart had the name for a character, S.Q. Pedalian, and was like, “Hm! What sort of quirky trait should this young fellow have?” Because, of course, in this style of fiction every character has to have at least one cartoonish or otherwise distinguishing trait to stand out in the minds of children. (For instance, Kate has her bucket, Sticky has his glasses, Constance is angry, and Reynie is Emmett from the Lego Movie)

Anyhow, he looks around the room, searching for inspiration. Suddenly he comes across a jumbo box of plastic wrap. Completely innocuous in design, save for one line of text. 300 SQ FT.

“…large… S.Q. …feet? THAT’S IT!” i’m sorry

Lines & Scenes I Liked

In no particular order!

Sticky quotes Sun Tzu, The Art of War

Evil combination aerobics/square dancing in the gym with the Executives

Everyone being happy at the end :’)

Everyone partying after Sticky reunites with his parents, and later finding Mr. Benedict asleep at his desk from the moment they shook hands :’’)

Literally any scene with Sticky in it

Any time Kate says “you boys” or “gosh”

[“Um, sir?” S.Q. said timidly, raising his hand. “A thought just occurred to me.” / Mr. Curtain raised his eyebrows. “That’s remarkable, S.Q. What is it?”] clown prince of my heart </3

S.Q.’s determined monologue about searching for clues after he bungled up the first time

Literally any scene with S.Q. in it (please refer to The S.Q. Section)

Reynie trying to resist the Whisperer.

[Let us begin. / First let me polish my spectacles, Reynie thought. / Let us begin. / Not without my bucket, Reynie insisted. He heard Mr. Curtain muttering behind him. / Let us begin, let us begin, let us begin. / Rules and schools are tools for fools, Reynie thought.]

NO MORE HURTIN’ WITH CURTAIN

Milligan showing up on the island!!

Remember the white knight hhhhhh

“controle”

A Super Secret Bonus Section

I would be extremely surprised if anyone read through all the way down here lol. Regardless, here’s a little acknowledgements section :D not tagging anyone since I don’t want to bother all of these people

Special shoutout to tumblr blog stonetowns for unknowingly yet singlehandedly demolishing my reluctance to read the books by posting a ton of cute quotes. Thank you for your service o7

Thanks to the two OGs that liked the post I made right before this one, for being my unwitting enablers and for sticking around despite being a) technically an internet stranger (hello!) and b) someone I haven’t spoken to irl in literal years (hey!!)

Last but not least thankz 2 my sister for putting up with me ranting about the book when I first got it and for asking about “CQ” sometimes lol. (i desperately hope you’re not reading this orz)

[13atoms]

Deep Focus: Chapter 1 [Tom Hiddleston x Reader]

Summary: Tom’s a successful porn director with a romantic streak which proves very popular with his female audience. His resident porn actress and business partner has been with him through thick and thin, the two of them growing completely inseparable, even as her own career starts taking off.

But working in such close proximity is intense, and burgeoning feelings threaten to complicate their professional relationship.

Mature, smut, porn director!AU, ethical porn production discussion, porn-star-and-coworker!reader. Friends to lovers, slow-ish burn. [7.7k]

________________________________________________________

There was such a style to everything Tom wrote, everything he directed. A sincere passion that you suspected was always meant to be used elsewhere. You wondered if his craftsmanship was ever appreciated, on the other side of the screen, as strangers got hot and bothered watching each meticulously designed frame of his vision come to life.

Sure, it was porn. But Tom directed it like he could win an Oscar for ‘hot lifeguard pounded poolside’. This was his livelihood, his passion, and it was a damn shame he wasn’t award-season eligible.

The names would make you wince, as you saw them uploaded to the site, thumbnails and previews drawing in viewers by the million with their shots of heaving bodies and glistening sweat. Tom never called the videos such crass things. Not in his scripts. You would get copies titled ‘Romantic Night In’ or ‘Office Love Affair.’ He was a fan of sugar-coating what would be inside those innocuous white pages, a veneer of respectability which Tom insisted upon, regardless of how obvious the true nature of the videos was. But once the videos were sold, it was out of his hands. Your face contorted mid-faux-orgasm would be plastered across the site, and everyone involved would try and forget what happened.

Ignore the comments.

Keep moving.

You often wondered how Tom wound up in this place, with his sharply tailored suits and polished shoes, eloquent and educated, his words almost poetic as he directed mid-budget porn in hotel rooms and his studio day-in, day-out.

Then again, he never seemed particularly bothered by it. He gave each shoot his full attention, his full boundless enthusiasm and all the professionalism he could muster. You wondered how he balanced it, sometimes, the creative drive to press on with trying to be creative and shoehorn romance into films knowing that, ultimately, it was porn.

He had interviewed you like a real director might, talking about your life and experience and ambitions, almost apologetic when he had finally choked out ‘could you undress’, barely glancing at your naked form before he hired you as his first employee.

You asked him early on, while watching him try and assemble a fake restaurant-date set in the studio, complete with faux windows and an extra playing a waiter, why he bothered when three-minutes of good quality fucking footage would make him the same amount of money. He’d given you a strange smile, the wrinkles beginning to appear at the corners of his eyes, and shrugged.

“I make what I’d like to see.”

The words haunted you later, as your rather attractive co-star bent you over the white-cloth covered dining table and you allowed mewls and groans to escape your mouth without a second thought. Trying to avoid the muted blue of Tom’s eyes behind the cameraman.

Despite your reservations when you first started to work for him, Tom had won you over. His gentler, more romantic approach to pornography had a loyal following. Both of your pseudonyms garnered huge numbers of views across various platforms, and Tom was keen to cultivate a collection of female-friendly porn. Against all the odds, it was working.

And you loved working with him. He was a great director, and inspired writer, and a genuinely brilliant boss. He made sure you saw royalties, good pay, that everyone you worked with was screened and tested, always keeping you safe. Always.

Each time he called a wrap, passing you a robe and offering a meek congratulations on your performance, you found yourself more and more pleased you had wound up working with him.

“You really do have a talent,” he’d told you one day, distracting you as you discussed a new script in his office.

You were sat opposite him, Tom’s glasses perched on his head as he watched you read, your feet resting against the leg of his desk. You’d come in to your shared workspace to try some costumes out, to discuss new scenes, still recovering from a thoroughly exhausting shoot the day before. There were still light bruises around your wrists, and you caught Tom glancing at them worriedly each time your long-sleeved shirt slipped.

“I love that you’re such an actor,” he continued, hands tapping the desk as he spoke, “like, a real actor.”

Your eyes drifted across the script, scanning it with your bottom lip between your teeth. He always appreciated your input, wanting the ‘female fantasy’ in a lot of his work, and he’d timidly shown you some ‘student-professor’ script he’d been working on. He was like that, embarrassed in a way which you wouldn’t expect from a man with his considerable experience in adult entertainment. He was assertive, certain, even stern where it counted. But with just the two of you together, dancing around what was sexy and what wasn’t, he seemed desperate to avoid saying anything you might perceive as too ‘crude’.

“What do you mean?” you’d chuckled, still flicking through the first draft.

He only entrusted you with such early versions of his work – but that made sense. Your careers were symbiotic, tied to one another with an unspoken pact. He directed everything you were in, and you were in everything he directed.

It made sense.

“You don’t just… I don’t know. You never make my scripts seem silly. Or cheesy. You… you really try and make them feel real. I could write anything, and you’ll deliver the lines well. I was overseeing auditions earlier and... I just kept thinking none of them were you. I think you might be the best in the business.”

You rolled your eyes, offering him a disbelieving smirk, and he scoffed.

“I’m serious! I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The weight of his words settled heavy in your chest, and you turned back to the script, frowning as you flicked through the loose-leaf pages. Tom fidgeted behind his desk, unhappy with losing your attention, but you ignored him.

“Here. If you want the fantasy to be believable, I think he needs to lock the office door. Make a show of it, you know. Cover my mouth,” you comment dismissively. Tom already has as pen in his hand, making notes. “It could be hot, maybe ‘Don’t make a sound or you can’t cum’, something like that. As if there’s other students in the corridor outside.”

Nodding, Tom dutifully wrote down your words, mouth slightly open in realisation as he listened.

“Don’t make a sound…” Tom repeated, and you felt yourself blush.

“Not… not that exactly,” you backtracked, “you’re the real writer! I just think, there needs to be some build up. A remind of the power dynamic. Him going straight to oral is a bit… fast. That could happen in any old plot, you know?”

You felt his eyes on you, looking up from the paper to spot Tom leaning back in his chair, a distant smile on his face.

“You really are the best,” he praised, “that’s great. I’ll do rewrites tonight.”

For a moment, you let his words hang heavy in the air. Then you blinked back at him, a slight frown pinching your forehead at his strange mood. He was calm, for once. Tom was usually a ball of enthusiasm, and you wondered if your dismissal of his words earlier had done something to hamper his spirit.

“It’s always easier to critique,” you dismissed, “I love the script, it’s great. I really think it’ll be good. Hot. Maybe I can wear a Britneyschool girl costume, or something?”

He frowned a little, pinching the bridge of his nose at the thought.

“No, weird. We’re going for University student, just… a nice pair of jeans or something.”

“Don’t they wear suits where you went, posh boy?” you teased, loving how it riled him up. “I’ll try and dress like a smart person.”

“You are smart, don’t give me that.”

You rolled your eyes, loving how you managed to fluster him, putting the script back on his cluttered desk as you reached for your bag. This was how your meetings always went, a few hours of notes, some teasing, and a hasty retreat once Tom told you the next shoot day you had to attend. You still had a few hours of social media to do for the last video you’d shot together, notes from Tom, and you lamented the sight of the sun setting outside of your shared office. You’d hoped for at least a bit of natural light today.

“I’m serious, you are!” Tom asserted, and you ignored him purposely as you shut down your laptop, preparing to take it home.

“Yeah, I know, whatever. Don’t work too late!”

“Rich coming from you,” he sighed, “it really doesn’t matter if we send that last edit late.”

“It matters to me! I’d quite like to get paid this week, you know?”

Tom sighed. The two of you tried to produce a couple of videos a week – one for Tom’s site and another to sell to a third party. It didn’t leave either of you with much free time, both of you left in the tiny office at all hours as you worked to keep up with demand.

“Very true. But I’d rather you got some sleep, you know I can help if you’re short on money,” he offered, shuffling papers on his own desk.

He was always quick to jump to an offer to help, and you tried to ignore the fondness spreading through your chest at his eagerness to look out for you. That gentle protectiveness which coursed through Tom was enough to make you melt.

He was one in a million, that was for sure.

“I’m fine, Tom. Thank you though, I’ll ask, if, y’know –”

“Do! Any time. Actually…”

Tom cut himself off, typing something into his phone, and your pocket buzzed with a notification.

“Get yourself a nice dinner.”

You checked your phone to see a transfer from Tom. It wasn’t a crazy amount, but too much for just dinner, and you huffed performatively as he grinned at you.

“No! Don’t be ridiculous –”

He barely made more than you, and you were certainly doing perfectly comfortably.

“Royalties are really good this month. That old break-up sex video is trending again, apparently.”

You smothered a smile. It was hate-fucking, as you’d told Tom a hundred times. That was the title. You could still remember the look on his face the day you’d filmed it, his twitchiness, the unknown male actor who had slightly scared both of you with his sheer size as he stepped into the studio. The male star had fucked you like you’d broken his heart, hands on your neck and hips bruising yours as he pounded into you, and you’d be a little alarmed at how little you had needed to act in his domineering presence. He’d been muscular and tall and assertive, almost injuring you with his enthusiasm, and the shoot had ended with you a sweaty mess, struggling to walk, eyes watery.

You had ached from the moment Tom helped you up from the bed, a protective body between you and your costar as you watched the man collect his clothes and his paycheck. The footage had been great, you’d watched Tom edit it, but it had been your first taste of Tom’s protectiveness. The actor had never returned, and Tom had bought a hot water bottle for the office, pressing it into your lap as he brought tea for the pair of you, loathing how you winced as you moved.

He’d taken you out for dinner that night to celebrate a good edit, but you knew the real reason. That neither of you wanted the other to be alone. It had been a lovely evening, a restaurant then a bar, without a break in laughing conversation the entire night. It hadn’t been a date, but if it had been a date, it would’ve been the nicest date you’d ever been on. In those moments, you wondered if Tom was really cut out for the industry. If you were.

As much as Tom hated the film, it was hot. It had propelled your studio into the spotlight, and it paid a significant chunk of your rent.

“Thank you,” you smiled to him, wracking your mind for anything else that needed discussing before you headed home.

Maybe you’d get takeaway. That would be nice.

Tom cleared his throat.

“What are we shooting tomorrow, by the way?”

You looked up at his words, frowning a little at the realisation you hadn’t been given a script yet. It was unlike him, to be so unprepared. Usually everything was organised weeks in advance. With a glance at the shadows under his eyes, you decided not to tease him about it.

“We’re shooting tomorrow?”

“This week… we’ve only got one video. I was just thinking something simple, I haven’t called a costar yet, but we don’t have to if you don’t want to –”

It was your paycheck on the line as much as Tom’s, and you wondered how the hell you’d forgotten.

“Do we have a camera crew?” you frowned.

“No, not yet. I can call though. Or I could just do it myself, if we’re not doing anything too complicated?”

You thought for a moment, leaning against the open doorframe as Tom started to pack up his own desk, nimble fingers tapping across his keyboard.

“Solo?” you suggested, stifling a laugh as Tom blinked and tilted his head to face you.

“I missed that, love?”

“Solo. Like ‘hot female solo’ or something?”

He smiled slightly, closing his laptop lid.

“That’ll do well, I’m sure. Do we need anything costume-wise? Props?”

Toys. He meant toys. You smiled at his refusal to call a spade a damn spade.

“I’m sure we can find everything here. It’ll be nice to do a simple shoot for a change,” you enthused, holding the door for Tom as he moved to turn off the lights, lingering nearby as he locked up the office.

“Yeah. Single-shot, no camera-man either.”

“Cheap,” you sighed, as though it was the sexiest thing in the world.

You did the books, and avoiding having any more costs this month sounded great.

“Yeah,” Tom smiled, falling into step beside you as the two of you left the warehouse studio.

He looked ready to say something else, but changed his mind. For a second the two you stood by the exit, words trapped beneath your closed lips as the early evening air enveloped you.

“Do you need a lift home?” Tom finally offered.

“No. No, I’m good. Thank you.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, yeah. Usual time. Twelve?”

“Perfect.”

He reached an arm out, ready for you to walk into his embrace, and you froze. The moment was over as soon as it started, his arm retracted, and you could only stare. His hand found the curls at the back of his head, scratching there, a blush dusting his cheeks in the harsh fluorescent lights of the car park. You could kick yourself as you watched the bob of his Adam’s apple, the clench of his jaw. He felt awkward. You contemplated hugging him, but the moment had passed. Instead you rocked on your heels for a second, before turning to leave.

“Bye, Tom!”

“‘Night! Look after yourself, don’t forget dinner. I’ll see you – ”

He cut himself off as you walked too far away, and you could have kicked yourself for the sadness in his final syllable. You sighed as your feet fell against the pavement, your whole walk home haunted by the awkward shuffle of Tom’s hands as he went to hug you goodbye.

*

You were surprised by how difficult it was to brush off that awkward memory. As you ordered and ate dinner, you were reminded of Tom with every bite, that he’d snuck aside part of the company’s petty cash budget to give you dinner. That both of you had gone home, separately, to separate empty houses and empty beds.

Had he wanted to go for drinks? Wanted company? You had come to accept a long time ago that the man was your closest friend. He would be the person you called in an emergency, a shoulder to cry on. You liked to think he’d lean on you the same way.

Despite that, you spent limited time together outside of a professional context. You never met up on weekends, or casually called. Of course you didn’t. He made a career out of seeing you naked, watching you fake orgasms for other men. As you readied yourself for the day, you reminded yourself that of course, he would be nice to his only full-time, very lucrative actress. To his business partner.

As you’d queued up the company’s social media posts the night before, you could only think of Tom behind the camera, orchestrating each photo and clip you uploaded.

You couldn’t help the grin which split your face as you walked into the studio, bag flung over your shoulder, overpacked with everything you thought you could possibly need. Tom greeted you, emerging from his office with a smile.

Before you could overthink it, you walked into his arms, giving him very little choice in the matter as you greeted him with a hug. In his surprise you felt his body stiffen, his arms slowly wrapping around you, and you were momentarily gobsmacked by the muscular form he seemed to hide behind those suits.

He was a little more dressed down today, smart black jeans and a button-up white shirt, unruly hair sticking up like it did when he forgot to brush it. He looked better than yesterday, like he’d had a good night’s sleep.

“Good morning,” he chuckled, bemusement clear in his voice.

You pulled back from the hug, a little embarrassed at the affection until you saw the smile stretching across his face, reaching his eyes. Suddenly the previous night, worrying you had inadvertently rejected him, seemed to be erased.

“Morning! What have you got for me?”

The studio space was cleaned, but empty. The camera stood in the corner as Tom lead you further into the room, his office door open to the side of it, and you frowned at the emptiness of the space.

There were tape marks on the floor where sets were usually assembled, conspicuous without the usual hive of activity buzzing around some piece of furniture you would be thrown onto or fucked against. There was nothing.

“I didn’t know what you wanted to do,” Tom was saying, his gentle voice booming in the empty space, “we don’t have a script or anything so… I’ll leave it to you.”

You bit your lip.

It was more freedom than you were used to, less direction, less to build the fantasy where you could forget you were ultimately in a warehouse with just your business partner. It was… nothing. Tom said your name quietly, and you nodded, stepping back to assess the space.

“I’m just thinking,” you reassured him.

Had the studio always been this quiet? You tried to remember a shoot day where it had been this silent, this calm, without the stress of lighting people or cameramen or scripts being thrown around. You could hear every step Tom took as he walked towards the camera, the wheel-mounted tripod creaking as he moved it across the floor, checking batteries and SD cards while you stood in place, your bag still hanging from one shoulder.

Noticing your frozen stance Tom frowned across at you, nothing but gentle concern in his blue eyes and the fine lines around them.

“I was thinking something kind of minimal, maybe cosy?” he offered, “Maybe an armchair? Something like that?”

You thought about it for a moment, crossing to the corner of the room to finally set down your bag.

He was finally getting into ‘director mode’, growing more energetic by the second.

“I’m thinking we just frame it on you, no distraction. Single take, if we can.”

You nodded silently as he crossed to the storage cupboard he’s overeagerly labelled a ‘props department’. It was stacked high with fabric and furniture and lingerie, tubs of various exotic sex toys near the door. Tom stepped straight past them.

There was a mattress in the props room, materials to build a bed, and you pondered on the idea for a moment.

“We could keep it really simple, maybe?” you suggested, “Find a warm background. Or just use white. Try and get one twenty minute shot, or something.”

You reached for lube without thought, collecting the near-empty bottle of body oil beside it too, as you perused the options in front of you.

“Remind me to buy more of that,” Tom mused, sparing a glance to the bottles in your arms before standing beside you to peruse the options.

You nodded silently, your free hand rifling through bagged silicone toys, slightly in a daze as you picked out a few options. There was a slight blush dusted across Tom’s high cheekbones as he turned to see your arms full of dildos. You smiled as it took him a second to find words, and wondered how the hell he’d chosen to start a porn studio in the first place.

“Colour co-ordinated,” he commented, and you smiled, picking out yet another pink toy from the pile.

“Naturally,” you smiled, “I think that’s everything? Could we drag a mattress and pillows out?”

He nodded silently, already moving to manoeuvre the double mattress leaning against a wall in the props room. You rolled your eyes before helping, knowing he was being a gentleman, or whatever he called it. You called it putting his back out.

He rejected your help, so you grabbed as many pillows as you could, following him back into the main studio, privately smiling at the dramatic grunts he made trying to move the mattress. He tossed it to the ground with a grunt, shoving it into the corner of the room, before pausing again.

You dropped everything down on to it, toys, lube, pillows and all.

And then both of you waited.

It was so strangely intimate, just the two of you in the room, the strange nature of your relationship weighing heavy after last night’s miscommunication. Suddenly there was nothing you wanted to do less than take your clothes off.

“White sheets?”

“Hm?” you hadn’t processed what Tom said, too wrapped up in your own world, frowning down at the bare mattress.

“I was thinking white sheets.”

“Oh, uh, yeah.”

He was off, assigned another task, and you almost envied his distraction as you slowly sorted the pillows how you wanted, gathered the toys absentmindedly. Before Tom came back from the props closet you made yourself scarce, catching sight of his slim outline through the doorway. Facing away from you as he rummaged.

In the single bathroom of the studio you cleaned anything that would be going inside of you, avoiding your reflection, trying to shake off the odd nervousness coursing through your veins.

Why? It had been years since you felt this way before a shoot. Before you’d met Tom, even. Sure, shoots could be exciting, exhilarating, intimidating, but this self-consciousness, this self-doubt… it had come from nowhere.

You pressed your forehead to the mirror, closing your eyes, breathing deeply. The tap running sounded like a waterfall, the silicone under your fingers felt alien, the air almost claustrophobic as you wondered what the hell was wrong with you.

Tom was done making the bed when you got back, frowning at his phone until he heard you re-enter the studio space, quick to look up and see if you were happy with his set. You felt hyper-aware of him, of every movement he made, a clean towel and toys cradled in one arm as you took in the space. It was a simple premise, just a clean fitted sheet pillows in a corner, a clear space for you in the middle. You knew it would look good on screen. You knew this was an easy job.

You felt sick to your stomach.

“Do you want to face the camera? Or kind of, not acknowledge it?” Tom asked, speaking again as you forgot to reply, too caught up in your own mind. “Maybe if you ignore it that’s more… voyeuristic?”

“Sounds good,” you responded, kneeling to prepare your space. This was autopilot, your day job. You could do this.

“Right.”

He sounded a little put out by your response, but moved the camera anyway, switching to a knee-height tripod. You stood, stepped back to give him space, and frowning at the sudden headrush. You blinked, catching yourself staring at the flex of his arms as he moved the heavy equipment. You didn’t realise how long you had been staring into space until Tom called your name a second time, crossing into your personal space.

“Are you okay?”

Tom’s voice was so soft you wanted to cry, fingers hovering beside your bicep, his gentle eyes demanding for you to meet them, daring for you to lie while his face is so close to yours.

Somehow, the guilt of his worry made you feel worse.

“No, I’m…I’m being stupid. Sorry, just tired.”

“Did you not sleep well?”

“No, I, uh, I slept fine. I’m not sure. Just not really feeling it.”

His face fell, but you knew he wasn’t disappointed in you. He thought he’d done something wrong. Immediately you were talking, doing anything you could to soften his guilt.

“It’s my job, though. I can do it. This is great Tom, I think it’ll be a good shoot.”

“Sweetheart –”

You sighed, eyes falling to the mattress, before forcing a smile.

“Let’s get this over with!”

He looked like he wanted to argue with you, but you forced yourself to move, pulled your feet from the floor with far more effort than it ought to take. There was some comfort in rummaging through your own bag, that piece of home, something private from the studio. You found the vibrator you’d brought, a pink bullet you used almost exclusively at home, fully charged that morning. Behind you, Tom snorted in amusement.

“Nothing here is ever charged,” you shrugged off his stare, knowing damn well you didn’t have to explain yourself.

You wanted to explain anyway though. Just in case, Tom thought anything he did wasn’t enough. He seemed perfectly fine with the criticism, though you knew he was making a mental note. He always did, then you had something to say.

Trying not to make a big deal out of it, you stripped to your underwear, folding your clothes neatly and being careful not to show any self-consciousness in your posture. You’d never been ashamed or embarrassed before now, and you weren’t about to start. Even if it was just you, and a very well, fully dressed Tom. Vibrator clutched in your fingers, you finally sat on the damn mattress.

He was the other side of the camera now, somehow both distant and a few feet away. You found yourself staring at your body in the monitor, just watching. Tom’s voice broke you out of yet another daze, and you wanted to pinch yourself. Why couldn’t you do it today?

“We don’t have to do this today, if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s okay I just… I forget it’s just us sometimes, you know? There’s such a production and so many people and at the end of the day…”

Tom smiled, a relief on his face that told you he had been feeling it too. That this was weird.

“I know what you mean. If you’re uncomfortable…”

“Just give me a second to warm up, we need to make something, after all.”

You stretched, not really sure why, moving a little around the nook Tom had created, shuffling pillows and practicing where you wanted to lie back, watching a monitor as Tom played with a soft lighting, twisting and turning to find the most flattering angles you could.

As he shuffled things around, Tom nodded to the spread of toys you’d set out. You’d added your vibrator to the pink line up, perfectly organised on the white towel.

“Do you want those in shot?”

You shrugged.

“Might be hot?”

He nodded silently. You moved the toys in to the frame, trying to blink away the cloud which had settled in your mind. The world felt foggy, your arms like they were moving through treacle, and you knew Tom had noticed.

As he prepared two directional microphones, you tried not to feel claustrophobic. The audio from the microphone he was pointing towards your pussy would be almost grotesque, and you fought not to shuffle further from it as you imagined Tom listening later, headphones in, as he balanced the levels between your moans and the wet sounds of you fucking yourself.

Fuck.

Why was this so different to a regular shoot?

You’d done solo shoots before. With Tom. And half-a-dozen other crew, you reminded yourself.

You caught sight of his curls above the monitor, face serious as he set everything up.

“Speak?”

“Testing, testing,” you spouted off nonsense until he offered you a thumbs up, happy with the audio.

Then there was nothing else to do.

He stood, looming over the equipment. And you looming over you.

“What’s the plan?” he asked, smiling at your frown. “You’re in charge here, I’m just the camera guy.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing he was trying to put you at ease.

“You’re the director,” you reminded him, knowing how he preened himself under the title.

You were impressed that his eyes had only roamed down your body once as he took in the shoot, glancing at the indulgent layout of toys, double checking the monitor, one headphone in. He had that stance he always adopted when he was directing, and you knew it was his favourite moment in any of this. The moment everything was pinned on him.

It happened so quickly you almost missed the moment he knelt down, blinking in surprise as his face remerged at your level beside the camera.

“Then my direction is: enjoy yourself. Forget I’m here. Let’s show them something real.”

He must have seen your shock, because it made him smile.

“Real?” you questioned, and he nodded firmly.

“I’m serious.”

For a beat, both of you were silent, his eyes meeting yours over the body of the camera.

“If you can,” he offered, “I understand it’s not always…”

You interrupted him with a hand, smiling your understanding of what he was saying, and dismissing it in one motion. The silence dragged on, and you decided to push this forwards. If you were done by lunch, Tom would probably insist on taking you somewhere nice.

“I don’t know if I should use – ” you ghosted a finger across the biggest toy, worrying a bottom lip between your teeth, “Simplicity might be key.”

“Do what you want, darling. What feels good.”

You nodded mutely, and for just a second you saw doubt flicker across his face. This was new territory, and even you weren’t sure if this was a step too far.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah. If I’m… actually… it might take a while. Let me know if I’m taking too long.”

“Take as long as you need, darling. I’ve got nowhere to be.”

Tilting your head at him a little, you realised abruptly just how intimate this was. Moreover, that you wanted it anyway. That you were about to make him watch you cum. Make him hear you, smell you. He couldn’t touch, but he could watch.

And that was enough for you to perform.

Tom gave you a countdown, red lights peppered your field of view, and he was recording. He had taken a seat on the floor behind the camera set up, one headphone in to monitor audio, waiting.

You stayed sat up, back arched a little as your hands began to caress you own body, keeping on eye on the monitor while your face was out of the shot. You rubbed along your thighs, across your stomach, teasing at the lace of your bra and the elastic of your underwear each time you passed them, trailing your fingertips. It didn’t really feel like anything, doing this to yourself, but you knew to tease the camera. Tom would cut out anything too slow.

Your gaze remained firmly on the screen as you began to make your touches firmer, more deliberate, dragging lines into your skin and flirting with the camera. You admired the soft skin of your breasts as you started to shift your bra, enjoying the stiffening of your nipples in the monitor until –

The screen went black, and you immediately glanced at Tom, frowning as you lost the visual of yourself. He met your questioning gaze sternly, eyebrows furrowed, and you remembered his direction.

“Enjoy yourself.”

With nothing left to look at you closed your eyes, feeling the blood rushing to the surface of your skin, the sensitivity of your breasts as your fingers idly danced across them. You shoved your bra down unthinkingly, wanting to feel more, rubbing at the heaviness of your breasts and wincing as you enjoyed the pleasure and pain of pinching at your nipples, teasing them to attention. You glanced your nails across them, feeling it in your core. You didn’t want to wait anymore. Fuck the cameras.

It was hard to let to, to stop the delicious feeling of your fingers on your own breasts, but you forced yourself to free one hand, shoving off the bra, desperate to feel yourself without it. You knew you were grimacing, it wouldn’t be sexy, but you didn’t care. That was Tom’s problem.

You needed to touch yourself.

One hand reached below the waistband of your underwear, seeking out your clit, guided by a familiar ache. It was all you could focus on, your other hand forgotten, cupping your breast, the sensation vague and lost as your fingers found your clit. The sensation overwhelmed you as you shifted the hood, your body beginning to produce wetness. The room was a little cold, the air relieving against the heat of your bare skin, making your nipples peak as you leant back into the nest of pillows behind you.

You felt your stomach tense, a bolt of electricity tensing the muscles up and down your body as you brushed across your clit a little too hard. Your middle finger probed your pussy experimentally, slipping inside of you, quickly joined by a second as you played with the wetness there.

One, two, three pumps of your fingers inside you was enough for you to gasp, your eyes still closed against the bright lights as focused on nothing but feeling. No more fucking around.

You reached for your vibrator, hand knocking against the thick silicone toy lined up beside it, writhing as you pressed it against the fabric covering your clit. You cycled through the settings as fast as you could, still desperate for more stimulation.

More. It was on the highest setting. You wanted more.

Without moving the vibrator you shoved your underwear off, huffing as you kicked them away, not caring where they landed. The tip of the toy nudged against your clit exquisitely, and you froze.

There.

There.

You thought about Tom watching you. The hot blood coursing through your body, the line up of toys just waiting to be shoved inside of you. The sensitivity of you clit as you held it against that perfect point. The air against your dripping, aching pussy. The muscles starting to clench, the rhythm of your body. Building, building, you didn’t fight the feeling.

This was what you wanted.

That warm familiarity of the vibrator on your clit, the runaway train of your thoughts, it was enough to drive you over the edge. You hadn’t realised the keening, groaning noises you were making until you heard them, pleasure leaving your lips as an afterthought.

You felt empty.

Blindly you reached out, sticky fingers finding the shaft of a toy you wanted, a smaller one you could take right now. A dollop of lube in the palm of your hand was all it would take, a few pumps of the toy enough to coat it, the excess lubricant smeared on the sheets. You didn’t care. Not your problem.

Without conscious thought, you were still rubbing yourself, two fingers absently making circles against your clit as you fidgeted to be able to take the dildo. You didn’t bother preparing yourself anymore. You were wet enough, and you wanted the stretch.

Needed it.

Needed to feel full.

You shoved the toy into yourself, gritted teeth and your spare hand grasping at your breast, giving the nipple a sharp pinch to interrupt the overwhelming feeling of that silicone pushing inside of you. Your walls were stretched open, a gasp reaching your ears as you felt a nudge against your cervix.

It wasn’t enough. You felt wild, desperate, as you sloppily pulled the toy from yourself and shoved it back in, clenching down and still needing more.

Your fingers found a larger toy, arousal and lubricant smearing across your body as you discarded the dildo which you had just been fucking yourself with, leaving it somewhere on the mattress, forgotten in favour of the bigger option. It was thick. Maybe, in your right mind, you wouldn’t have considered it. But instead you coated it in lube, squirting the clear liquid on to the tip and rubbing it down the toy, focusing on nothing but the need pulsing through your pelvis.

On the emptiness inside you, begging, pleading to be filled. It hurt, how much you wanted to be stretched out, to feel something pounding into you. You felt animalistic, desperate for anything. The last of your conscious thought was occupied by the need in your clit, the demand for friction, and you just didn’t have enough hands. It was impossible to think. When you finally sank down on the fake cock, leaning back, legs apart, gaze focused on nothing but your own swollen pussy, it was a relief. You gasped, then sighed, pushing another inch of the toy inside you. You felt stretched already, split in half, but you kept going. With each thrust, you took the silicone further inside of you until you felt the dull ache of the toy going too far.

Finally, that emptiness felt sated, and you stayed still, too stuffed to risk moving and too blissed out to care.

But you needed more.

Each bear down made the toy threaten to shift, and you didn’t have the brain power to thrust and pay attention to your aching clit. You moved gingerly, grabbing a pillow to straddle, holding the toy inside you as you hunted for your vibrator.

You couldn’t even lean too far to reach it, you were so full it ached. And it was delicious.

With the smooth plastic finally in your hand you leant back, ready to bring yourself to another orgasm. With a blink, you realised there was a tear tracking its way down your cheek, and you smiled to yourself.

And then you accidentally looked forwards. Your eyes met Tom’s. The camera. The lights. The switched off monitor.

You wanted to cry.

He was watching you directly, with those sharp blue eyes, one finger resting along his jawline, his usual calculating, wide stance replaced with one knee hugged to his chest as he sat on the concrete floor. He was watching you.

You. Stuffed full, straddling a pillow on the bed Tom had fucking made, covered in a mix of lube and your own arousal. That strange feeling from earlier came back full force.

God. He had seen you actually come. Without acting or cheesy lines or clever angles to hide the worst of your O-face. You could pretend to come, tell your male co-stars what a good time you’d had, follow direction, anything. But this was too real. And it was just you and Tom. In the corner of a huge studio, bright lights and cameras and –

Had he called cut? You wouldn’t have heard. Did he realise you’d lost control? That you had forgotten you were supposed to be acting and been so desperate and –

“You’re doing amazing.”

You smiled at him weakly, gasping as the toy inside you nudged your cervix as you fidgeted. You didn’t realise that you were awaiting direction until he spoke.

“Another one?”

His voice was a little throatier than usual, though you supposed he’d been quiet for a while. His eyes kept drifting from your face, and you wondered if he felt as uncomfortable as you did.

You nodded silently, closing your eyes, listening to the increasing pitch of the vibrator as you turned it up to its maximum setting.

The minutes stretched on as your orgasm built, little raises and falls of your hips accompanying that insistent buzz of your favourite vibrator, the toy inside you starting to ache as it stretched you apart. It was impossible to forget that Tom was watching you now. That his piercing gaze was on you. As a matter of professionalism, you tried to avoid looking up. You ignored the camera, fucked your body in the way you knew it would respond to, only half-faking it as you came a second time.

You moaned and groaned and gave the camera an indulgent few seconds of overstimulation, the vibrator pushed against your clit to make you writhe and shake. You pulled yourself off the dildo in a mess of arousal, played with yourself, showing off how stretched out you were.

Fingers swirling in the arousal inside of you, you sighed in relief when Tom called, “cut.”

Dropping the toy, you pulled your legs together, ignoring him for a second as you took deep breaths. Taking stock of your body, the residual pleasure and pain and stickiness. A lot of stickiness.

Tom took pity on you, shifting a softbox so you had a clear path out of the corner you were hemmed into.

“Go and have a shower,” he told you, the most softly-spoken command you’d ever heard.

Nonetheless, you followed orders. On weak legs, you indulged in as long as shower as you dared, cleaning up and then just… waiting. Trying to avoid the real world. When you finally opened the door, wrapped in a robe, you found your clothes folded outside. Tom was nowhere to be seen, but you thanked the universe for him anyway.

When you re-emerged you were fully dressed and feeling a lot more like yourself again. And, actually, quite proud of yourself. Tom’s busyness told you everything had been recorded properly, equipment moved and the mattress bare, leant against the wall.

“All good?” you asked, more to announce your presence than anything. He stopped moving, offering you a gentle smile.

“Perfect! I think it’ll be great. Do you want to go get lunch somewhere? To celebrate?”

Predictable as anything. The thought made your heart swell with fondness for him, his head tilt and excitement, his strange place here.

“I think I’ll just go home,” you tried to smile apologetically, but you could still feel the ache inside you, the dull oversensitivity of your clit against your underwear.

The embarrassment and excitement fighting in the fit of your stomach.

Tom nodded, clear understanding on his face. He held the door for you on the way out.

“Are you coming in tomorrow?” he asked, quietly, like you might run off if he asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you then.”

*

Your bedroom fell silent as the vibrator stopped, the battery finally flat. You whined in disappointment, desperate for another orgasm. Your fingers replaced it instantly, rubbing, desperately pulling more wetness from the arousal weeping from you, but you were too oversensitive.

Panting, vision blurry, your thighs aching, you blinked away tears. You glanced at the nightstand. Tom hadn’t text you.

*

When you woke up the next morning your phone was dead. You’d forgotten to charge it last night, and leaving it in your room to charge offered a strangely peaceful morning. You had a few hours before you would be expected at the studio, and no work to do before then.

You indulged in spending time getting ready for the day, making a decent breakfast, doing a few chores you’d been putting off.

Processing what had happened yesterday.

In the clear light of day, you wondered if you ought to be embarrassed for the way you’d completely lost yourself at the shoot. The more you thought about it, the more you thought about it, the more you rationalised at you’d just followed Tom’s direction. Done what he’d asked. It had been intense, for sure, but you’d done what he’d asked. If anything you regretted the moment he’d had to speak, losing your nerve. You hoped he didn’t want pick-up shots today, you weren’t sure your body could take any more.

You thought about the night before, clearing up the scattered clothes and charging the vibrator you’d left strewn beside your bed, more ashamed of the images which had been conjured by your overactive imagination in the late-night privacy of your bedroom. You hated that everything you imagined was involved blue eyes. Distinctive curls. Pulling buttons from smart shirts and kissing along sharp cheekbones. Poor Tom. He didn’t need you overstepping that mark. And yet when you had closed your eyes, imagined you were under those lights again, all you could imagine was Tom. His creative gaze. Listening to the smoothness his voice leant to everything he said as he instructed you even more intimately than usual.

As you switched your phone back on, you forced the thoughts from your mind. They couldn’t follow you to the studio. The two of you had built something good. Something successful. The studio was doing well, you were both saving money away for the future, building your brands. You couldn’t screw that up now by imagining him like that. He trusted you. You trusted each other. Relied on one another.

You wondered if he ever fucked other actresses.

[iwantitiwriteit]

Slow Burn: Book I - Part 7

The Lunch - Small Thank You’s

Pairing: Chris Evans x Famous!Reader

Summary: You and Chris get to know each other better over a flirty friendly lunch.

Warnings: Fluff, spinkle of Angst, Profanity, phonetic spelling of words said in a Boston accent because I needed a laugh

Notes: Hey loves! Hope you all are well! It’s been a while— praying I didn’t forget how to write too bad and y’all enjoy this installment lol. Little FYI: I’m basing the reader’s music off of that of Banks and SZA. Before you dive in, set the mood with the moodboard + music specially curated to go with this part! Read the previous part here.

The GPS said the drive from the museum to the restaurant would be… well, you were distracted from that bit of information. Not that it would matter. Chris keeps making turns against the suggested route, citing that this was “his city” and that he’s a “real Boston boy”.

What you do know is that the talking and laughing with Chris made the car ride seem all too short. Pointing out familiar streets and landmarks, he lit up telling you his childhood stories laced within the city. Pardon, his city. The glint in his eyes and excitement in his voice sent tiny sparks up your spine, but you did your best to ignore it.

Chris tried to guess where you had the two of you going for lunch. You, however, wouldn’t give in to his guesses. Eventually, you arrive at a market of sorts, a culture clash of small businesses and patrons. It’s in an area Chris is familiar with, but he never thought much of coming to.

“I thought we were going to a restaurant?” Chris inquires, not seeing a food establishment from his spot in the driver’s seat.

You puff out your jaw, squint your eyes, and proceed with your best ‘Godfather’-like impersonation as you tell Chris,“I thought you would’ve learned to stop asking me questions by now, hm.”

“That... was horrible.” Chris’ deadpan causes you to giggle in response.

“I know! Now c’mon; I’m starved!” You draw out as you reach to let yourself out of the car.

“Woah, woah, hold on,” Chris stops you with a gentle hand on your arm. You questioningly look over your shoulder at him. He unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the car. Settling back into your seat with a huff of delighted shock, you realize what he’s doing.

Chris jogs to your door, the returning drizzle giving him a sense of urgency. He opens the door for you then offers his upturned, open hand for you to choose to take. You hesitate for a millisecond before obliging, delicately placing your smaller hand in his large palm.

You’re unsure of the last time anyone was this... chivalrous to you. Trying not to dwell on it too long, you give him a soft-spoken ‘thank you’. Chris responds with an equally soft ‘of course’. You both find it difficult to meet each other's eyes, missing the shy smile the other is sporting.

“Lead the way,” Chris gently prompts with a hand extended in the market's direction.

Mildly busy, the market is livened by business people, college students, housewives and househusbands alike. Store fronts of small businesses ranging from sustainable fashion to high-end housewares line the long cobble stone path, accented by fairy lights for added whimsy. Chris curiously takes in the sights from beneath a low baseball cap and hoodie. He’s sure to not let his eyes linger too long for fear of locking with anyone.

Meanwhile, you’re walking with purpose, leaving a distracted Chris behind. He catches up when he notices you turn a corner in his periphery. When he follows the path you took, he finds you by a green, white, and red beaded archway.

You pause and look up at Chris, a playful grin on your lips that makes his heart skip a beat. He’s looking down at you, brows raised with utter anticipation. You think this might be your favorite expression on him. You pull back and step through the beaded entrance, Chris following suit closely behind you.

“Woah…” It was almost as if that small act of stepping over the threshold transported you both to Sicily. The faint notes of Italian standards play in the background as Chris gawks at the charming restaurant.

The mostly occupied dining area is quaint, housing about 10 tables max, including a couple of booths. The walls are decorated with floor-to-ceiling built-in shelves of libations from Italy. The alcohol display is interrupted by creeping vert vines that add that little bit of spice to the space.

As a waiter walked by, Chris breathed in deeply, the warm aroma of marinara sauce, freshly baked bread and Italian spices filled his nose and lungs.

“How’d you manage to find the one Italian restaurant in the greater Boston area I’ve never been to, much less heard of?”

“Hmmm… must not be as much of a Boston boy as you think,” you say with a wink, and Chris scoffs through his lopsided smirk.

“There she is!” a bellowing voice familiar to you draws yours and Chris’ attention away from each other. Chris looks on as the short, husky man pulls you in for a cheek-to-cheek kiss. “It’s been too long! Mi sei mancata la faccia!”

“Charlie, you know I have no idea what you’re saying, but I like the way you say it!” You share a laugh with your Uber driver-turned-friend. “And what do you mean ‘it’s been too long’! I was just here last week.”

“5 days ago to be exact. 5 days since you, ya castmates… most importantly ya directah,” Charlie stresses lustfully in his strong Boston accent, “have swarmed Ma’s restaurant. Whassup with that, huh?”

“The real question here is what’s up with your crush on Sonya, huh?” you tease him. Charlie’s smitteness with your director has not gone unnoticed.You can practically see the hearts forming in his eyes at this moment.

“I doan know what ya tawkin about.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

“Enough abowut it! Let’s get ya seated and you can tell me who’s ya new friend,” Charlie says, motioning to Chris.

When you’re seated in a corner booth by a rainy window, you introduce the two men.“ This is Chris, my, uh…um…” You hadn’t really thought about what to call your relationship with Chris. It’s been… rocky up until this point, and while you’ve been friendly, you’re certainly not friends. Not yet, at least.

Chris notices and understands your hesitance, a small part of him hoping it’s because you don’t want to friend-zone him. “It’s alright, don’t worry your pretty, little head about it,” he teases you, earning him an eye roll. “We’re… acquaintances, right?”

“Right! Acquaintances… I guess?” It didn’t feel right, a little too impersonal, but you’ll roll with it for now.

“‘Acquaintances’?” Charlie sizes Chris up, a comical sight considering the dramatically different statues of the two men. He tilts his head and squints at Chris’ face, his expression melting from intimidation to inquisition. Chris tenses, knowing the look he’s being given all to well. “Been here before, Chris? You look mighty familiah…”

“Umm… no... I don’t… don’t believe so,” Chris answers almost timidly. The avoidant gaze into the plastic covered menu, the heated cheeks that shone the same color as a tomato— you know that look all too well. You decide to do what you hoped someone would do for you.

“He’s just got one of those faces! But um, I’m ready to order if you are?” you try to deflect. Charlie doesn’t think much of it and takes down your meal decisions, but that small act means the world to Chris. He mouths ‘thank you’ from across the booth, and you smile and tip your head in a slight nod, sure he would’ve done the same for you.

You order your usual, spaghetti with vegan meatballs, and a glass of the house white wine. Chris has what you’re having except he’s ordered a “tonic”, which you learned the hard way the other night is Bostonian for soda. Charlie is back promptly with your drinks and breadsticks and ensures that your food will arrive shortly with a small smirk on his face that you don’t think too much of.

It’s quiet at your table for quite some time. Both you and Chris take small sips from your glasses, nibble at the garlic-y bread, look out the window and around the restaurant. As you do so, you run through a list of conversation starters in your head but you’ve deemed them all too dumb, too boring or too invasive. Why the hell do I care so much? You glance up at Chris and wonder if he’s going through the same irrational inner turmoil you are. Maybe he’s not, or maybe he’s overcome his when he finally breaks the silence.

“So, um… how long have you been a vegan?”

“Um… how long have we been shooting this movie? My character— she’s very, uh… power to the people— and plants,” You chuckle out. “Figured it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try myself. Go a little method,” you say with a shrug.

Chris waves his breadstick at you as he asks, “You believe in all that method stuff?”

“I don’t know… I’m really new to this whole acting thing, but I guess I just like the idea of really connecting with this character in every way I can. She reminds me so much of myself at that age.”

“How so?” Chris presses on.

“She’s… sure. She’s sure of herself… of her judgements and decisions. She’s sure of her hand in her own success. And that breeds this really un-fuck-with-able confidence in her that if I had an ounce of, it’d be over for you hoes,” you end with a slow nod and look off into the distance.

Chris laughs at your dramatics, but it dawns on him what you’ve shared. “Wait… you’re telling me that’s not you now? I mean, I know I’ve only known you a short time, but you seem pretty un-fuck-with-ably confident to me.”

“Ha! Guess I’m a better actress than I thought,” you mutter. Chris knows it’s meant to be a joke, but watching as you fiddled with the rings on your finger, his chest tightened. A look of sympathy must’ve shown on his face, because you start to wish you hadn’t said anything at all. Did I just overshare? God, I thought I outgrew that.

To save you from your minor embarrassment is Charlie with the same smirk from earlier. He gently places the order in the center of your table, and you finally understand what his face was trying to give away earlier.

“We’re, uh… runnin’ low on plates...” is Charlie’s half-baked explanation. “Buon appetito!” he offers before hastily leaving.

Sat between you and Chris was the meal you ordered, yes, but on the single largest plate you think you’ve ever seen. One plate of spaghetti for two people— two practical strangers— to share. The embarrassment just won’t stop, will it?

Elbow perched on the table, your hand acts as a visor of sorts on your forehead as you massage away the headache forming at your temple. You can’t see Chris, just hear him chuckling and breathing out an “oh man…” under his breath. His fork comes into view as he twirls the pasta onto it. You peek under your hand up at him.

“What? Not gonna just look at it!” Chris insists. “Now, let’s see what this vegan meatball is about… DAMN! That tastes legit!” You giggled at his enthusiasm and felt your tension melt away.

You began to dig in as well. It was fine, normal even, for a few moments. You could almost forget you’re sharing one big ass plate of pasta with one of Hollywood’s most sought after stars at a hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant. Yep, very normal. As long as I keep from oversharing the rest of this afternoon, everything should be fine… you thought to yourself.

“Tell me… how are you liking Boston?” Chris asks.

“It’s fine.”

“‘Fine’?! Just fine.”

“It’s great Chris, no need to get your panties in a twist. But, ya know… It’s just not…”

“Home? Yeah, I get that. Where’s home for you?”

“Um… well I guess home has never been a single place for me. It’s with people I love, as cheesy as that sounds. Home is where my heart is…” you trail off as you remember you shouldn’t share too much.

“And your heart is with family, friends… a boyfriend…?” Chris slips in.

“What is this? 20 questions?” You quip as you sip on your white wine.

“Maybe... if you want. You can ask me something.”

“Hmm… Ok…” You ponder over what to ask him as you twirl your pasta around your fork. “What is… mm no. How about… nah, wait.” Chris huffs impatiently as he awaits your first question. “Ok! I got it!”

“Alright, lay it on me.” Your breath hitches at his word choice and you hope doesn’t notice. Why’d he have to say it like that?! You clear your throat and ask your question.

“What’s your favorite song of mine?”

“Really? That’s your question? So conceited…”

You giggle before explaining, “Well, I only ask ‘cos a little Scottie told me he saw you, and I quote, ‘full on rocking out’ to one of my songs. I’m just curious which one it was.” You sip on your straw and peer up at Chris, watching for his reaction.

Chris groans, covering his face while sinking down the booth seat. You can’t hear too much of what he's saying behind his hands and over your laughter, but it sounds like he’s cursing Scott’s name. When he finally restores some gumption, he places his hands on his napkin, eyes fixated on his fingertips picking at the dampened corners. Teeth sunk into your bottom lip, you try your best to bite back your amusement to not further Chris’s obvious embarrassment.

“Ok…” Chris sighs out, “ I’ll admit it! I’m man enough to own up to it,” he shrugs. “Yes, I was ‘full on rocking out’ to your music. You’re amazing at what you do.”

Your face heats up, not expecting the compliment. You don’t know what to say. It’s not like you’ve never heard it before. In fact you’ve heard it a lot the past couple of years, you’d thought you’d become numb to it. Yet, for some reason, sitting across from Chris, his eyes looking tenderly into yours, the compliment you’ve heard a million times before just… hits different. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

You clear your throat and break eye contact with Chris. “You still haven’t answered my question, though...”

“Right! Hold on…” Chris says as he fishes his phone from his front pocket. He scrolls through his music app to find the playlist he’s made of his favorite songs of yours. Your cheeks burn even more intensely as you watch. “‘Gemini Feed’ is my favorite to dance to; hands down! But I also really love ‘Drew Barrymore’; it’s fun… but sad, ya know? What am I saying; of course you know; it’s your song!”

You giggle in somewhat disbelief of watching Chris motherfucking Evans geek out over your songs!

“Well… this is a rare opportunity I have, to talk to the artist herself, that is. So, I have to ask, how did that song come about? From personal experience, I suppose?”

“Yeah… um, gosh. You want the full or abridged version of the story?”

“Full! Are you kidding me?!”

“Ok, ok! Well, it was right before my album was set to come out, and my boyfriend-at-the-time dumped me,” you laugh lightly at the now-funny memory. “After weeks of heated arguments and projecting his career insecurities on to me, he picked his final fight with me about how I was “acting too famous for him” and just ended things.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah... It completely caught me off guard. I couldn’t think straight in the studio that day, so I ended the session earlier and went to a party, per my best friend-slash-manager’s coercion. She’s a bad influence.”

“I like her style! Did the party help?” Chris asked.

“Well, it was on the higher-end of house parties, and I just wasn’t used to being around such an expensive lifestyle yet. But guess who was there because why wouldn’t he be?,” you exhale and roll your eyes as you reminisce.

Chris leaned in with intrigue. “The Ex?”

“Mm-hm. In my standard walk-in-the-party-scan of the room, I spot him. I should've known because that party was very much his scene, but what I wouldn't have guessed is that he'd be there with some other woman.”

“What?!”

You nod your head as you proceed to spill the tea to Chris. “This dude is there with another woman, after being out of a relationship for all of 8 hours. I think the worst part is that she looked nothing like me. Like, imagine the complete opposite of me to the hottest power, that was who was hanging all over that idiot.”

“He is a total idiot for letting you go.” You don’t know what to say to Chris’ statement and quite honestly forgot where you were, what you were talking about… “What happened next?”

“Right! We locked eyes for a moment and there wasn’t anything from him. No emotion at all. Like, he didn’t care that our relationship just ended. But then I had the thought that maybe we’d been over for a while and I had just been too distracted to realize and accept the party was over.”

“Jimi peeped what was up and got me out of there. I hoped that we could go home so that I could cry on her shoulder all night. Instead, she dragged me to a real house party. I so badly wanted to pity myself, but the energy there was too infectious to not enjoy; it felt like a 90s movie!”

“The next day, I went through my crazy ass camera roll, and I couldn’t help but... smile… and laugh! Then I thought about him, and how stupid he made me feel, and I don’t know… I kinda put all these weird, conflicting emotions into this one song, and felt better afterwards. Like I was turning a page.”

Chris didn’t immediately say anything, taking in the very personal story you shared. The somewhat unfortunate event that fueled his favorite lyrics. He looked at you carefully and quietly. However kind he looked in this moment, it didn't matter much to the creeping thoughts in your mind.

The silence made you self-conscious. You took inventory of your physical, how your face was hot, how your chest felt tight. Your left hand had somehow migrated into Chris’ right hand in the middle of the table. “I, uh— my bad…” you start as you take back your hand.

Chris quickly grabs your hand before it gets too far. “Thank you for sharing that story with me... and your music with the world. Your confidence in your vulnerability is really fucking inspiring. Thank you. Seriously, thank you,” he gives your hand a gentle squeeze for emphasis. He’s looking at you with a boyish smile and tilted head that makes you break down and smile at him, too.

“Thank you,” you return, just barely above a whisper.

——————————————————————————

You and Chris spent the rest of your time at L'amore Della Madre exchanging stories of love lost and life wins, sharing loud laughs and silent signs of admiration. To anyone on the outside looking in, it may have seemed like two had known each other longer than you actually have.

“I gotta say, I don’t like this,” Charlie whispers to you. He pulled you aside for a moment to say your goodbyes, while Chris waited for you outside. “Mostly becahse it was supposed to be my jahb to set you up with a nice Italian boy, but you’ve brought your own,” he says with a smirk.

“Oh, no! It’s not like that! Chris and I aren’t— wait… how’d you know he’s part Italian?“

“I have my sources… which may be the wait staff who are big fans of the guy. Here this is from them,” Charlie hands you a to-go box.”It’s tiramisu… for two,” he winks.

“Oh my god! I told you, we--”

“Will thank me at your wedding!” Charlie says as he waves you out of the door to the sidewalk where Chris is waiting.

“Wedding? Who’s getting married?” Chris asks.

You let out a sigh and shake your head. “Nobody. Want dessert?”

You and Chris small talk and walk and eat tiramisu on your way to the car. It was nice. It was normal. It felt… real. You didn’t realize how much you needed and missed small, yet meaningful moments like this until right now.

The pair of you stop in front of a pet shop window and watch the puppies play together for a moment. You pointed out a pair of snuggled up puppies to Chris. “Hey, they kinda look like us!”

Chris chuckles when he looks, “They do!” A chocolate brown puppy and a tannish-white one lie peacefully in one another’s presence without a care for the world on the other side of the glass. The tannish-white one starts to lick and nudge at the chocolate brown one, eliciting what you made out to be a sleepy smile from the brown pup. You don’t know why, but witnessing such intimacy causes you and Chris to straighten, fidgeting and giggling nervously.

“I had fun today.”

“As did I. You’re better company than I thought you’d be,” you joke.

“Uh… thanks?” He answers reluctantly, causing you to giggle. “Maybe we could… hang out again sometime…?”

“Maybe we could.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.” There’s a beat of silence as you and Chris hold each other’s gaze. “So… you wanna take my number down?” you prompt him.

“Right! Right. Yeah, I should probably do that…” Chris stammers as he pulls out his phone. You take it from him, replacing it with your phone. You put in your number along with taking a silly picture for your contact, and he does the same.

Chris laughs at your shared child-like humor, and you revel in the moment. It was nice. It was normal. It was the first time you’d felt unmistakably connected with someone without feeling anxious of their motives or what the world thought of it in a very long time.

Time moved slowly when you were with Chris, it seemed to good to real life. But just like that, a flash snaps you and Chris out of your daze and back to reality.

You both look in the direction of the camera flash to find a young woman trying to pretend she didn’t just take a picture of the two of you. Chris turns back to you but doesn’t meet your eyes. Instead his head is hung low as he says “I really… hate that shit.”

“Preaching to the choir.” Chris looks up to your face, your gaze steady in the general direction of the perpetrator. “Makes me feel like an animal in a cage.” You say.

This is why Chris doesn’t mind celebrity companionship. You get it. You understand this strange aspect of his life that not many other people truly do. You also get the value of normalcy and privacy… and leaving when the party’s over.

“Let’s get out of here.” You say coldly and walk in the direction of the car.

Chris was baffled, to say the least. This was usually the part where you talk about how “fans” will cross invisible boundaries just because they know your face and name. However, you seemed uninterested in trauma bonding.

You were already buckled in when Chris caught up to you in the car. The energy the entire drive to your sister’s brownstone was… off. Nothing like it was earlier in the day. A simple flash changed your mood, and Chris was aching for it to go back to before. But no joke, or crank of the radio volume seemed to work.

When Chris pulls up to the curb, you immediately hop out, mumbling a final thank you to him.

“Hey,” Chris grabs your wrist gently, halting you, “You get kinda used to it. Ya know... after a while,” he says hoping you’d find comfort in his words.

You look down at where his hand was wrapped around your wrist. “Yeah… that’s what I'm afraid of... but thanks anyway.” Taking back your wrist from Chris, you turn to walk to the front door.

Chris is calling after you. He doesn't want to be emotionally intrusive, but he hopes you'll give him a chance to understand you. Help you. Comfort you. If only she'd turn around. You can't bear to look back at Chris. It will only remind you of everything good today, and why you can't have it.

Part 8 coming soon! What’d you think?

[sprawa-przybyszewskiej]

Gnostic inspirations in Przybyszewska’s works

At the highest point of her intellectual life, Stanisława Przybyszewska spent over 12 hours each day simply on writing her own works, continously, and with maniacal care, educating herself on absolutely everything (she was constantly looking for fields in which she might be a natural genius) and she rarely did anything else at all, which included things like earning a wage or sweeping her own floors. The effect of such existence was of course that she was severely depressed, but also thoroughly educated. It means that traces of whatever matter from history or philosophy can be spotted in her works, are most likely intentional and put there exactly with the hopes of showing her erudice.

One of such matters was gnosticism. Gnosticism is a set of beliefs which put emphasis on obtaining liberation from this life through gnosis (knowledge) and cast aside all that is not of the mind – so not only the flesh, but also the spirit. Without going into details of some specific gnostic rite it is simpler to say that gnostics value gnosis higher than any of their base beliefs and teachings (in Europe gnostics are mostly mentioned in relation to early christianity, Cathars are an example of this). Then the contrast one can find within religion (for example sin and liberation from it) is replaced with earthly illusion and gnosis, which frees one from the illusion and guarantees a higher level of life, of sorts (in gnostic beliefs, our presence on Earth is not linear, leading from birth, through life and death to afterlife, but resembles more of a ladder, with each rung leading closer to obtaining total knowledge, and simultenously losing all that tethers one to earthly illusions.

In literature, strong contrasts are a good indication we can look into it to spot gnostic inspirations or at the very least make a strong case they could be there, even if unintentional. In Przybyszewska's case, however,  they are all the more probable, for I vaguely recall she was well aware of the presence of these beliefs and everything she wrote on the nature of genius points in the same direction, too. She held these beliefs in her own, private set of core values, and there isn't any better place for her to show them to us but through her works. She presented us with an utopian vision of mental progress in her plays, while in her prose works, she focused on the darker side of the same things.

The axis of conflict in gnosticism is between the mind and the spirit. Robespierre is without a doubt a man of the mind much more so than of the spirit, and all the important figures surrouding him are more on the spiritual side of things (with Camille being the most prominent in this regard). Maxime has achieved the gnosis, the crown that will burn [his] brains right through.Before it happens, though, he is elevated onto another plane of understanding, a place where no other person can reach him, or even understand him:

Danton, of course, is lying.

(There is, sadly, no French translation of Thermidor; on another note, it took me this long to realize the French decided to change the person's tag from Camille to Desmoulines, which is suprising in the best sense of the word).

Robspierre is clearly constructed to be a genius, standing above everybody else and thus bearing greater responsibility, something which demands of him more than it does of others.  Madness which he suspects within himself at the end  is only a threat because it potentially leads to commiting mistakes, and a mistake is an unforgivable offence when it is committed by the one who ought to know better. Mistakes by a hand of another – for example Camille – are a different story altogether, for the majority of people not only don't achieve gnosis, but even cannot achieve it, their mental state isn't developed enough for them to grasp at the higher concepts. I think this is one of the reasons why Saint-Just's words: It is not madness, it's despair, are actually calming Robespierre down. Despair is simply a sign of being weary, something to be expected.

Maxime's knowledge and better judgement of everything is of course still a curse, leading to his death. In gnosticism, death isn't meant in a macabre sense, since it leads to yet another, higher rung of the metaphorical ladder we're standing on, but the gnosis obtained beforehand makes a death a good one instead of a waste. When Robespierre is going through his moment of despair at the end of The Danton Case, he betrays the gnosis he has in favour of admiting that the future will turn out differently than what could be expected: his death won't be a natural progression, but a failure, his depaire sets him back into the crowd of the sad, grey mass of the people who are not – like him – predestined to understand more.

From the linguistic point of view, I find it interesting that in the original and in the French version, he is using somewhat esoteric language (the future is under the sign of Danton – to my eyes, it is a clear refereance to the Zodiac signs, something which is supposed to predestine our futures, and which is also esoteric and ritualistic; given all the hints that she was abused by her satanist father, it makes a really sad, hopeless final note on the grand scheme of things for the humanity, that we, as humans, are incapable of running away from the brute forces which will continue to rule us simply because the world is built like this – not to mention the inability to change the future or even just the fate of one's life is a staple of gnostic beliefs).

No matter what he says about it, the inability to escape from one's fate is something which we rarely associate with Robespierre, because – as much as Przybyszewska makes it clear, thet he is a genius and thus everything he does he is not only allowed to do, but must do it for the greater good – he seems a bit like a self-made man, perhaps because we see him all the time in situations which are hard and difficult, but not impossible. A much more tragic situtation of the lack of escape from his own poor choices is being presented to us through Camille.

Camille has had a chance to be continously tethered to Maxime, securing for himself relevant safety in the public life, and calmess or even happiness in his private one. Yet he breaks with Robespierre over and over again, starting even before the plot of the play. Maxime reaches out to him against his better judgement, and Camille – also against his better judgement – decides to stay loyal to Danton. He is as if glued to his leader, even though he sees him clearly for what he is. Camille is an apotheosis of a spiritual being, someone ruled by impulses, perhaps even with the best of intentions, but whose mind will never achieve gnosis, the clear vision of what is right and true. When Robespierre argues with the Committee by demanding they leave Danton (and Camille by proxy) alone, he plots against Maxime in his newspaper; when Robespierre goes to him under the cover of night, he doesn't want to see him and then throws him out; when Robespierre tries to either break him free from the prison or at the very least console him by admitting his love (I never actually knew what was his plan here), he follows the advice of his bad influences and doesn't admit him. It's as if a strange force kept him by Danton's side, and I don't think it was any normal feeling (of shame or guilt) keeping him away from Maxime. In The Last Nights of Ventose he makes it quite clear being a stronger person's lap dog would never bring him shame, but honour, thus I don't think he'd have any problem with returning to Robespierre after a long while of abuse and slander.

The relationship Camille has with Danton is another aspect of gnosticism, namely its duality. Danton is a stand-in for Maxime, which doesn't work because Danton is anti-Robespierre, his negative double (much like in some gnostic beliefs world was created and being conducted by two gods, one good and one evil). It is unclear whether Camille had any real, true potential to serve "good" Robespierre, but  even if he didn't, if his friableness kept him from serving a greater purpose (which I don't know if I believe, in The Last Nights of Ventose we are presented with a very different portrayal of Camille, one who could achieve something much greater than he did if only he was by Robespierre's side at all times), serving the "evil" Danton couldn't possibly have a good outcome.

He even does return to Robespierre, for a short while, steered by emotions rather than anything else. But in this dualistic, gnostic reality, emotions have little to do, they aren't worth very much. What's more, if we focus solely on Camille, we have to admit that – as in every story, revolving around a single character – a person is in a way stuck in time. He can go about in the space his life takes, but time is more like a deity, untouchable and something you cannot pact with. For Camille, it doesn't matter how many times and at what point in time (before their fallout, during the crisis or at the last hour) Maxime asks him to break with Danton and go back to him, because time and predestined fate hold all the power of what is happening, while individuals hold none (and the aforementioned last statement of Robespierre explains right away that it is so even for the "great" individuals, who in other aspects are being held to different standards, but against time and fate they are just as powerless).

I like to think, though, that Przybyszewska has left a small postern for Camille to achieve gnosis or its more humane equivalent by drawing a symbolic parallel between two scenes, which are only made significat by their possible relating to each other, but mean next to nothing on heir own:

In the first scene, the key could have been a completely incidental choice of words/tools, after all it's a logical conclusion of the scene. There is, however, a more symbolic reading of it, as a key is of course a symbol, and a pretty easy one at that. If Camille gave Robespierre the key himself, this could be read as an end to their relationship, Camille returning the power  that Maxime holds over him to Maxime's own hands. But since we only see Lucille relay the key, and we know that Lucille is also capable of influencing her husband and directing his steps (even if she says she can't; Robespierre's words, seeing as he's the genius here, are the final judgement of this), this could mean she is giving her portion of power to Maxime, whom she trusts to save her husband. And Maxime uses this one more time, when he tries to visit Camille in prison. That he fails miserably is against Camille's wishes, because Camille even in his demise only succumbs to wishes of others.

But we know he regrets this step mightily and we know it precisely because he dreams (or rather has a nightmare) about the very key he was supposed to convey to Robespierre earlier. He regrets the desire to give Maxime his power back, he regrets that by doing so in any way, shape or form he has finally given up his life. Choosing a beautiful death over an ugly, humiliating life only sounded good in his head, but in truth, he is beyond terrified and would love nothing more but to Maxime to come in again and if not save him, then at the very least – forgive him. But for that, they'd have to meet again, and he couldn't throw Maxime out. I also don't understand why both the English and French translation added the word "effortlessly" when describing his last moment with Robespierre, because make no mistake, it is very much an unnecessary addition, going against everything that he has been portrayed like so far. Their last conversation is just as much a tragic one for Camille as it is for Maxime.

Przybyszewska took great pains to paint Camille in front of our eyes as someone so weak that we find him as more of a comic relief than anything else, but in reality he is just a differing portrayal of powerlessness when faced with fate. Camille is not a comical character, but a tragic one, he is just the same as Robespierre, his other half: they both believe in their own agency, they both believe they are the ones making choices and pushing their lives forward, but it is not a coincidence that they both end up in he very same place, in a span of mere weeks.

This post would not have been born if it weren't for @patricidefan​.