#i didn't proofread this at all
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senipsenipsenip · 17 days ago
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Eventually, the scrapbook ended. The sun had fallen beneath the horizon hours ago, and some nagging part of Stan's brain was telling him kids shouldn't be up this late. Unless they're breaking into a mini golf course. He jerked his head back, furrowing his brow. That was...oddly specific.
"Grunkle Stan?" a little voice - Mabel - questioned. He looked down at his knee to see where his great-niece was sitting, eyeing him with no small degree of concern. "Are you okay?"
He ruffled her hair. "'Course, Pumpkin. Just trying to shake some of those memories back in the right place, huh?" He gave an exaggerated shake of his head, smacking the side like he was trying to get water out his ears. "Got a straggler! Hup! There we go," he grinned, lowering his hand. "Good as new!"
Whatever he said must have been the right thing, because Mabel's eyes had lit up like he'd told her he was turning the Mystery Shack into a cotton candy emporium and Dipper had a sudden death grip on his other leg.
"Geez kid, you're clawing through my pants here," he grumbled, making no move to take away his nephew's hand. "Haven't you chewed your nails off by now? How're they so sharp?"
"You called me Pumpkin," Mabel whispered.
"You remembered I chew my nails," Dipper said in awe. Then he frowned. "Hey, how come Mabel gets a nice one and I get a gross one."
Stan shrugged. "'Cause she's nice, and you're gross."
"Ha! Zoom!" Mabel pumped a fist in the air before collapsing back into Stan's lap in a fit of giggles. Dipper rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he settled back against Stan's other side. Ford stayed perched on the arm of the chair, smiling fondly, but eyebrows still drawn together.
"What's the matter, Sixer?" Stan frowned as Ford grimaced at the nickname. "What?"
Ford waved off Stan's concern. "It's nothing. It's..." Ford sighed. "I'm sorry. It's not nothing. I just don't want to..." He pursed his lips.
"Don't leave us hanging." There was a shake in Stan's voice, and Mabel shifted closer to her Grunkle.
"I'm glad this has been helpful to you," Ford muttered. "But...you don't remember everything. Not really."
"Whaddya mean?" Stan asked. "I remember you, the kids, Soos. The freeloading jerk who steals my sandwiches." Stan glared at Waddles who simply oinked and started trying to eat his shoelace. Whatever. Free pass for jump starting his memories. He better not get used to it.
Dipper sat up. "Yeah, what do you mean, Great Uncle Ford?"
Ford frowned. "I just... Hm." He seemed to be weighing something in his mind before turning to Stan with some resolve.
"Stanley," he began slowly. "I hope you appreciate what I'm about to do for you."
"That's not terrifyingly ominous," Stan muttered, glancing around at the available exits.
"Do you remember my - " Ford cleared his throat. "My first kiss?"
Stan froze. "What?"
"My first kiss, do you remember it?"
"I was there?"
"Yes. Unfortunately a lot of people were."
Mabel squealed beside Stan. "Ooo! Romance memories! How old were you? Was it high school? Was it a high school romance? Was it star-crossed love between the nerd and the cheerleader?"
"Mabel, I think Grunkle Stan is supposed to figure that stuff out."
Mabel sat up and stared at Stan expectantly. "Come on Grunkle Stan! I need details!"
Stan shook his head, nose wrinkling like he'd smelled something rotting. "How should I know? Who asks their brother that sort of thing?"
"Precisely." Ford spoke with the same air of professionalism he adopted when explaining his theories, despite the alarming shade of red his face was becoming. "So far it seems that your memories are returning based on external stimuli, whether that be Mabel's scrapbook or our own prompting."
"So, wait, you're saying I won't get all my memories back?"
"No! No that's not what I'm saying," Ford held up his hands. "What I'm saying is we can't expect them all to come back at once. And at the risk of turning the Shack into the set of the Johnny Carson show, we'll keep asking you questions."
Stan frowned. "What if I don't wanna remember my brother smooching some babe?"
Ford turned redder. "You do."
"I do? Geez, I was a perv."
"In the meantime," Ford pressed. "It's important to take note of any stimulus you experience that makes you remember something. Even if it doesn't paint the whole picture for you, we can fill in the blanks. Or prompt you to remember more details."
Dipper grinned. "And then we get to learn more about the secrets you've been hiding, old man."
Stan lifted his hand to give Dipper a well-earned noogie, but paused before he could make contact. "Old man...did you...did you tell me to shut up one time and then punched me?"
Dipper balked. "What? No I - "
"YEAH no WAY that'd be CRAZY!" Mabel interjected a bit too loudly. "Anyway let's get back to that kissing story, huh?"
"Actually Mabel, I don't know if I want to hear about Great Uncle Ford kissing anybody either."
"Oh come on, Dipper. Are you jealous that The Author got someone to kiss him and you didn't?"
"What? No!"
"Some girls like nerds."
"Mabel I don't want to think about anybody in this room kissing anybody."
"You could learn from him Dipper! Figure out how to wield your nerdish charms. Soon you'll be like a kissing machine!"
"MABEL -"
The twins were silenced by a sudden gasp from Stan. His eyes were wide and unfocused, his jaw hanging open as if someone had knocked the wind out of him.
"Holy - " he choked out softly.
"Grunkle Stan?" Dipper sat up fully. "Are you okay?"
Stan didn't acknowledge him, eyes darting around minutely.
"Grunkle Stan?" Mabel asked softly. "Did you remember something?" Moisture had begun to gather in the corners of Stan's eyes, one of his hands covering his mouth as he began to shake.
"Great Uncle Ford?" Dipper turned to Ford, worry stitching his brows together. But Ford didn't look worried. If anything, he looked like he wanted to disappear through the floor. His face was an alarming shade of red, nearly identical to his sweater. Stan let out another choked sound.
"Are you..." Mabel trailed off. "Grunkle Stan are you laughing?" He was quaking now, his hand falling from his mouth to reveal a wide, open-mouthed smile. He began slapping the arm rest with his free hand, eyes squeezed shut and tears rolling down his cheeks. Dipper and Mabel shared a look. Sure, they'd seen Stan laugh before, but it was usually a loud guffawing thing. They'd never seen him like this. They shared a tentative smile. Either this was the hardest they'd seen him laugh, or he had really snapped.
Ford seemed to pick up on their worry. "He's fine," Ford offered. "He's just...remembering my first kiss." At Ford's words, Stan let out a loud cackle, burying his face in his hands.
Mabel cocked her head. "But what's so funny about -"
"You children must be exhausted," Ford blurted out, standing abruptly. "Come now, go wash up then head to bed!"
"Oh no you don't!" Stan shouted. He wiped tears from his eyes, still smiling. "You're not getting out of this one, pal!"
"Stanley, this conversation is hardly appropriate for children -"
"You brought it up!"
"And now I'm putting a stop to it."
Stan grabbed his head. "Ooooo ow," he gave an exaggerated groan. "My poor head. The mean man won't let me share my memories so they're all going away!"
"Stanley, please don't joke about that."
"I'm fading away - "
"Stanley."
Stan crossed his arms. "You know, you really know how to take the fun out of amnesia."
"Yeah! Come on Grunkle Ford," Mabel pouted. "You can't just leave us hanging!"
"Yeah!" Dipper joined in. "If it's a funny story I want to hear it."
Ford spluttered, pulling at the sleeves of his sweater and looking around for an exit.
"Come on, Sixer," Stan chimed in. His eyes had gone soft around the edges. "I think the kids deserve a funny story."
After today went unspoken. Ford met Stanley's gaze, already feeling his resolve melting before he even turned to his grand-niece and nephew's inquisitive smiles.
"Alright," Ford conceded. "But to maintain the integrity of the exercise, Stanley will be the one to tell it. Whatever he doesn't remember, I can fill in."
Stan rubbed his hands together. "Oh boy, this'll be good."
"I regret this already."
"It's alright Great Uncle Ford," Dipper patted his shoulder. "We have a whole summer's worth of stuff we get to make fun of Grunkle Stan for. This just gives us stuff to use against you now. Levels the playing field."
Ford frowned. "Is that meant to be comforting?"
Dipper shrugged.
"Alright you two, enough yapping." Stan grinned, leaning forward in his seat and spreading his hands out in front of him. It was the same way he started his campfire tales. Mabel and Dipper met each other's eyes and smiled.
"Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl named Kiss-Bot..."
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pictureofdoriaaaaaangay · 1 year ago
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chaotic book ramble so I can stop spiraling into the abyss: dark academia books you've heard of and probably already read edition
I need to talk about books I love to stay sane please stand by <3
Bunny by Mona Awad. I love this book SO MUCH. it's beautifully written, the characters are all unhinged women, there's murder, there's creation, there's a creative writing class. it drips with insanity and eroticism. reading it is like living a fever dream. you can picture the events of the book perfectly, but could never hope to explain it to anyone.
The Secret History by Donna Tartt. this book is the entire world to me. I love the characters [they're all terrible and irredeemable people], I love the story [they kill a man then they kill their friend and also worship Dionysus], and I absolutely want a friend group just like the Greek class [to reiterate: they are all walking red flags]. it's a book you have to read once, then again, and again, just to notice more and more so you can analyze it and make deductions. at the end of the day, it goes beyond the age-old "moral implications of murder" and delves into "moral implications of love". don't ask me how many times I've read it. that's my red flag.
If We Were Villains by ML Rio. it was only recently that I read this over the course of twenty four hours, and I honesty have yet to recover. I'm not a Shakespeare girlie, but I still loved the way his work was so inherently and intricately woven into the story of the iwwv characters. it was transcendent. it was a tragedy, it was a love story, it was a comedy. it depends on your perception of it, I suppose. but I digress - it's a really good bloody book. expect the ending to make you cry.
The Picture of Dorian Gray, by our lord and savior Oscar Wilde. this, technically, can't really be classified under the textbook definition of "dark academia" since there's not exactly any academia (can Harry even read let's be honest here), but it goes in this list because VIBES. this is one of my favorite novels of all time, and another one I've read one too many times for it to not be a red flag. I mean, the name of my damn blog is my red flag. I love it so much. it's got everything, from art to obsession to murder to gay people to the most heartachingly profound lines you've ever read. I mean, why wouldn't you read it if you haven't already?
These Violent Delights by Micah Nemerever. this one snuck up on me. towards the beginning, I wasn't sure if I'd like it, but by the middle, I was hooked. by the ending, I was shooketh. reading the author note, I was sitting silently in abject horror. more gay people, more obsession, more murder - what else do I have to say?
this has been a chaotic book ramble. thank you for being here <3
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mangobug · 2 years ago
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Alenoah is so goddamn appealing to me for the same reason i like aleheather: they're both enemies/rivals with a tension. However, what makes alenoah so much more interesting to me is the fact that Noah just would not visibly care about, or outwardly acknowledge, Alejandro's advancements. When Alejandro flirts with the other contestants, he easily throws them off or (in Heather's case) pisses them off, turning them into putty in his two hands. When he attempts to throw Noah off, though, it doesn't (visibly) have an effect on him, and it bothers Alejandro because Alejandro always has the upper-hand, around both women and men. It makes Alejandro feel almost humiliated when Noah brushes him off or shoots back sarcastic comments in response to his flirting. Noah barely even bats an eye. But Alejandro can't bring himself to stop when he finds Noah as a person so interesting. Alejandro loves debating with Noah and adores his snark and intelligence, and this adoration drives him. He makes it a goal of his to somehow really fluster Noah or throw him off his game like he does with the other contestants, which has proven to be quite a difficult task. But Alejandro isn't a quitter.
In reality, Noah enjoys the playful and teasing banter just as much as Alejandro, even if he seems uninterested, because it's entertaining to be debating with someone of similar intelligence. Alejandro's flirting, though, does actually throw him off, just not in the same way it does to other people. Noah is entirely (and rightfully) convinced that Alejandro's flirting with him is just a part of his slimy, slippery, eel-y personality, and a sad attempt to rid of Noah in order to further himself in the competition. And Noah is nothing if not stubborn, so even if he feels his stomach twisting into a knot every time Alejandro compliments his brown eyes or his hooked nose or his impressive intelligence or his interesting personality or even the peaceful, curled position he sleeps in—Noah will always just nod his head and respond with a doubtful "sure" or a sarcastic "thanks, honey."
And if Alejandro were to hear about how Noah views his persistent advances, then he wouldn't deny it, because in the beginning that was about half of the truth. He did want to use this new challenge to knock a few opponents out, and if reaching his goal would not only prove to Alejandro that the cold-presenting bookworm had a heart that could be tamed but would also get him out of the way and push Alejandro one step closer to his imminent victory, then, well, that's a win-win for Alejandro. That isn't all the reason though because, against all of Alejandro's big ego, he does actually quite like Noah. This "like" didn't mean the same in the beginning as it did in the end. Because it didn't start with Alejandro wondering if Noah had had anything to eat that day or if Noah had any pets or what Noah's favorite book was, or even if Alejandro could borrow that book Noah was reading once he was done.
Against all of Alejandro's wishes and expectations, he finds that between the two of them, he is the one who has been getting flustered. And it is downright embarrassing, because Noah doesn't even do anything. Well, except for all of the things he usually does. He makes his sarcastic comments and argues with Alejandro just as he did before, but now the details are so much clearer. It's like every feature of Noah's has been enhanced, including his features that previously Alejandro would have considered flaws. His forehead was rather larger than average, but Alejandro has decided that it fit his face and personality and that it was only natural for a head to be big enough to store all the fascinating knowledge and wit that Noah had proven to have. And that pimple just below his right cheekbone, well, that is just time's beauty mark, a proof of growth and maturity that was one feature of many on his face that showed that he was very alive. He found an adorableness in the way Noah uncurled from his sleep and rubbed his eyes first thing after a long night of rest, and he felt a burning discomfort in the unmistakable image of Noah curling into Owen's nap for a makeshift pillow later that day. Alejandro felt electricity course throw his veins and his hands become shakey and clammy at every short lock between ivy and coffee irises. He felt his heart beat a thousand miles a minute each time he stood next to the other, and he would feel it speed up ten times fast at every sarcastic comment the other would make.
Alejandro found himself staring.
Alejandro finds himself studying his face, gauging his face for reactions whenever he makes a joke, and he finds himself way too excited when Noah cracks a smile at it. One time, Alejandro had made Noah laugh. Belly laugh. Gasping for breath laugh. A laugh so full of joy that Alejandro found himself smiling. Not from the contagiousness of Noah's laugh nor from the humor of the comment he had made about Duncan, which, truth be told, he couldn't recite on the spot even if he needed to because his memory had been wiped and replaced with this. Rather, he was satisfied that of all people, he could make Noah laugh like this (and Owen.. he supposes.) That night held for him some distasteful news, because how could Alejandro be the one melted into somebody else's palms?
Noah had noticed the sudden change in Alejandro's behavior, but it'd be a lie if he said he knew why it happened. And if anyone were to tell him why, he would deny it, because not only was it obviously not true, but he also didn't want it to be. The idea of someone as slimy, slippery, and eel-y as Alejandro even daring to approach him was for one, unfortunate, for two, terrible, and for three, impossible. But he couldn't help but ponder why this change had happened. Just why was Alejandro so... fidgety? He was running his hand through his hair what felt like every five minutes (Noah heard him curse under his breath once in spanish, likely at the realization of the inevitable accumulation of grease by the end of the day due to the excessive hand-to-root action), he kept unbuttoning and buttoning the top button of his shirt (Noah heard him mutter once, "is it too scandalous undone?"), and he wouldn't stop playing with his fingers, cracking and popping them, pulling and intertwining them—not that Noah was always watching his hands or anything, because he wasn't, but it was just such a drastic change to Alejandro's usually confident demeanor that you must be a fool to not notice it.
Alejandro did not notice—how could he be such a fool? Developing a crush on an opponent with a million dollars on the line? Pathetic.
The night following Noah's laughing fit, Alejandro found himself staring at Noah's sleeping form. Alejandro had noticed the way he usually sleeps, which would be creepy if Noah didn't have such a noticeable way of sleeping. He curled up to sleep, upright or on his side, and it was pretty cute. His eyes observed the way Noah was curled up against Owen's side, face resting into the other's fat. Ah, right. Owen. Alejandro felt a scowl creep up on his face when his eyes shifted to the blond's face—only to immediately divert his eyes, because Owen was already looking at him. He heard Owen laugh, which made his embarrassment double—embarrassment? I don't get embarrassed.
"Don't worry, Al." Gross. Al. "Noah doesn't know, so your secret is safe with me."
Alejandro blinked. He looked back at Owen, although reluctantly. "...Secret?"
Owen laughed again, and Alejandro was getting worried that he would wake Noah as he watched the smallest of them bounce against Owen. "You know, Al. Your cute little crush on Noah! He's smart and all, but he kind of sucks with love. You can take as much time as you want before you tell him. But between you and me, I think he likes you, too."
Alejandro's mind blanked. Crush? "Uh. My what."
Owen's face turned confused as well. "Oh... Do you not? Oops. Forget I said that about Noah."
Alejandro wished he could think of a decent response, but, what?
"Uh... No, I wouldn't say you're wrong. I just... didn't know myself."
"You—" Owen laughed again, this time making Noah groan in his sleep.
"Ugh... Owen. Stop, 'm trying to sleep." He said, not even opening his eyes.
"Sorry, buddy." Owen giggled, "Al's just pretty funny."
Alejandro glared at Owen, and the other shrugged.
"Sure." Noah groaned, adjusting his position before quickly falling back to sleep.
"Wow! How could you not know, Al? You're always looking at him and talking to him, 'n stuff. It's like Tyler and I aren't even there! And you're so nervous around him. I didn't know someone as cool and confident as you could get nervous around anyone. It makes me proud to know my little buddy could do that."
Alejandro nodded. "Hmm. You're right... Maybe that is the case."
It was a silent agreement between the two that it was their business and no one else's, an agreement that Alejandro wasn't too confident that Owen wouldn't break, but it was enough. Alejandro couldn't decide what was more shocking, an agreement between him and Owen, or the fact that he actually liked Noah in a more than just curious way. Looking back on what Owen said though, he thinks an Owen and Alejandro alliance is much more surprising.
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old-skyguy · 5 months ago
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Look.
Ace Attorney fandom.
I know why people don't like Turnabout Bigtop. I am among the people who dislike Turnabout Bigtop.
But I GET why people like the case. I'm not going to be one of those annoying people who just blindly dump on it because I hate those mfs too.
Thing about Bigtop isn't that it sucks. Thing isn't the weird grooming stuff (though that is a huge part of it). It's not that it could've been good.
It's that - in my personal OPINION - it could have been *great*.
I think it had the potential to be one of the best third cases in the trilogy. It had everything; a fun and goofy setting fit for a pretty dang goofy lawyer game - where the environment itself had jokes and quips and one-liners and mishaps and tomfoolery written all over it, it had the previous case introducing a very interesting and important plotline that gave background for one of the more well-loved characters while also introducing an equally fucked up and lovable new one who was a child forced into a shit childhood of naivete in a CIRCUS with another character who was very naive and childish - whose interactions could have been funny and cute and reflective of said shit from the previous case (seriously she becomes such an important character in the 4th case, WHY would they not include her in this one for some character development? How did they fuck up letting a CHILD explore a CIRCUS?? That would have made the interactions flow MUCH better).
They had a pretty good, sympathetic killer imo, a morally dubious victim, an asshole of a client (who was pretty flat admittedly in-game, but I like his weird, topsy-turvy reasoning for it in the anime. Also, I think Max being kinda a dick would have bode well for the themes of Farewell since most of his clients up to this point have been like...nice? Not nice, but sympathetic, but him having to defend someone who's innocent but a prick would have shown him that just because someone is an asshole, doesn't mean they deserve to suffer for it and that they have the potential to grow as people, which is almost a complete foil to what Matt was. Ultimately, I would have loved the contrast of them as clients and I think it would have also served as character development for Phoenix, especially with his low-empathy tendencies).
They just didn't think that far ahead. They just didn't execute it well enough. They just decided to make three of the adult characters fight for the hand in marriage of a teenage girl. (Bat's part of the story was actually kinda good if he was just YOUNGER, I think him doing that for Regina would have been a stupid thing someone in the circus would do to impress their crush. Damn you Ace Attorney and your weird treatment of underage girls!!)
It just flopped and that's ok.
Even though it kinda sucked, it can still mean something to me.
Also I'm a Moe Curls apologist. I liked him, shut up.
#didn't care for the dialogue either.#DON'T GET ME STARTED ABOUT FRANZISKA DON'T DON'T DON'T DON'T DON'T YOU DARE GET ME STARTED#THIS CASE WAS SO GOOD FOR HER DEVELOPMENT THAT'S NOT EVEN A “COULD HAVE” THING#sure she could've been fleshed out a bit more#but the stuff we get from our interactions with her in this case is GOOD. SHIT. It's just that this case is so hated that it's overshadowed#and yeah. i like Moe Curls. i think he's cool and he added some flair in an otherwise bleak case.#i think his whole unfunny clown schtick was very entertaining. it reminded me of this one shel silverstein poem i loved as a kid#clooney the clown.#tbh ive wanted to rewrite Bigtop for a while now#get a script together and all that. but im an amateur writer who's burnt out as shit and never posts anything writing related#except analysis i get way too excited and proud of. oh well#maybe someday.#also rq why does every other tripple-a game get really good in depth analysis video essays#with their complex literary themes talked about#but with Ace Attorney - a game about reading longer than most books - half the fans have the absolute most dogshit literacy comprehension#it's actually painful. ESPECIALLY with Franziska's character#anyway i'll stop.#ace attorney trilogy#ace attorney#ace attorney justice for all#turnabout big top#franziska von karma#phoenix wright#phoenix wright ace attorney#pearl fey#farewell my turnabout#moe curls#regina berry#ig ore if this is incomprehensible i did not proofread this.#i simply do not like how fran's only traits to somea these mfs is “annoying overemotional teenager haha grumpy whip lady”
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adrinktostopyourthirst · 1 year ago
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literally shaking, convulsing, after reading your work, oh my goodness. my favourite is your metal arm drabble, your miiiiiiind—literally blacking out as we speak, send help, immediately. now, i had a thought:
bucky with a pillow princess, but like, kind of laying her down as a pillow princess, he just wants to make her feel good, because i know this man eats pussy like his life depends on it, like it’s so vital, he’s totally addicted.
i hope you’re doing well, please take care of yourself. and i hope this ask isn’t obnoxiously long; i did get carried away here. only because you’re the bestest!
I loved writing that drabble so much and I'm so happy you liked it!! I'm sorry for being gone and taking my time to answer your asks, but I do have a lot to say about this...
You felt a certain pressure to service Bucky. Not because of anything he did, he never made you feel pressured with anything. But after everything he’s been through and being so emotionally and intimately neglected, you wanted to show him the other side of it. You wanted him to lie back and go cross-eyed with pleasure. You wanted him hissing and groaning and whining for more. You just love it when his face contorts and relaxes violently as if unable to choose between pleasure and relaxation. Selfishly, you fucking love that.
But Bucky doesn’t really understand how you think pleasuring you doesn’t give him nearly as much pleasure, if not more. When he pulls at his own cock, he imagines you coming around it and squeezing his come from him, he imagines grinding into the mattress with his face buried between your thighs, he imagines his other hand knuckle deep inside of you until you drool. Bucky’s fantasy is always of your pleasure. Specifically, the pleasure induced by him.
He likes that you put up a fight, however. Bashfully slapping or shoving him away, writhing in the sheets as he positions you in a way that he knows is comfortable for you. He’ll be firm and gentle, pretending like it isn’t the easiest thing in the world to manhandle you. He likes spreading a wide hand over your belly to keep you down and then… tease.
Kissing, biting, tracing, nudging everywhere but where you need him. With knuckles and lips and fingertips and the tip of his nose. Nipping with his teeth as he watches you clench around nothing and until slick drips down between your legs. That is when you become pliant like he wants you.
Oh, he loves eating pussy, but he enjoys it so much when you just… take him.
“That’s it,” he’ll murmur and nudge his nose over your clit, making you shudder. “Just how I like it. Let me have my way with you for a little while…”
You can only whimper, knowing the only way to get what you want – what he made you want – is to take everything he gives you. Allow him to enjoy eating your pussy more than you enjoy having your pussy eaten. And then, you feel his tongue. Sliding through your slick and curling around your clit, before the small nub gets sucked between his perfect lips until the nerve endings swell with need.
Oh shit–
“Good girl,” he whispers and wraps his entire mouth around you, groaning into your folds as his arms wrap around your thighs and pull you up to his mouth further.
He once had you like this under a table at a deserted restaurant, where you tried to push his head away and fought for your life to keep some modesty about you. He enjoyed that too, but–
The low moan that leaves you on a sigh has Bucky pressing his hips into the mattress with a choked grunt. His ministrations sound so wet and filthy, it spurs him on even more. His tongue slips and his lips tingle with something like adrenaline to push you further. Your flesh dips where his fingers grip you and he groans at that, too.
He’s not sure if the heavy breaths he hears are yours or his, doesn’t know if your hands in his hair pull him closer or push him away. He chooses to believe you pull him closer– and he doubles his efforts, making you gasp with a high-pitched whine. Oh, you are heaven on his tongue…
And then, you say something that has Bucky smirk wolfishly.
“More.”
He peers up, marvelling at your heaving chest, your swollen lips and glowing skin. He makes an inquisitive noise and knows you’re fully in tune with him when you repeat yourself on the last of your oxygen.
So his finger breaches your entrance and you sigh in delight, clenching around the digit gratefully. You sink down into him and Bucky’s heart swells, his brain shutting off. He’s not going to feel sated with just one orgasm. He needs all of them. He wants you begging for more, yet unable to do so. He wants to burst with all the things he wants from you.
His eyes flick towards the clock on the nightstand and he smiles at himself. 7am. That is plenty of time. Plenty of time to make you soak the sheets, move you to the couch, eat you there while he washes the sheets, and then move you back to the bed where he will worship you until you’ve lost a day to laying in the pillows and taking him.
Your moans raise in pitch, breaths coming to you with more difficulty. He slides another finger in to add to his first, skating over that spongey spot and causing your thighs to tremble.
“Right there, huh?” he mumbles and presses soft kisses to your clit as his fingers explore inside of you. “You going to come for me? I want you on my tongue, okay? I want you to come right on my tongue so I can lick you up. Let me lick you up, baby. Let me taste your come.”
He doesn’t know where the filthy words come from, but the contortion in your face tells him you’re exactly on the same wavelength as him, and it drives him insane to know how much you love the idea of him drinking you up as you come for him.
His nose circles your clit as his tongue settles right along his fingers. “Good job, sweetheart. Come. Right now.”
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laurenttheninth · 9 months ago
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Eyes meeting from across the room and buddie (or buddietommy) from the prompt list 👀👀👀
pick a prompt any prompt
[buddietommy - an alternate version of the bachelor party, ~2000 words, rated E]
Tommy had been officially released from standby at midnight, and half an hour later, the bachelor party was shaping up to be the best night of Buck's life.
Now that his boyfriend - his boyfriend! - was matching him and Eddie drink-for-drink, Buck's burning-in-the-background anxieties about planning the perfect party had melted away. Sure, Chimney wasn't there, but Tommy was, and Eddie was, and all these random strangers were, and no one was mad at him. No one was disappointed in him. No one was saying he Bucked it up. In fact, no one was calling him 'Buck' at all - Eddie had been calling him Tubbs all night (excluding the third round of shots, when he'd called him 'cowboy' with a dopey grin), and Tommy was, as always, calling him -
"Evan," Tommy groaned, his breath hot on Buck's neck. "You're killing me, kid."
Buck grinned. They were in the middle of the dance floor, being bumped into on all sides, and Buck had his arms wrapped around Tommy's neck, his suit jacket lost somewhere between drinks six and ten. Buck had dragged Tommy through the crowd, pulled him close, slipped his thigh between Tommy's, and danced the way Buck 1.0 danced. Slowly, purposefully grinding his hips to the baseline, letting his chest brush against Tommy's teasingly, refusing to break eye contact while letting every lascivious thought show plainly on his face.
It felt weirdly good, surprisingly easy, to slip back into this - but it was better now, because he was older, and knew so much more about who he was and what he wanted, and because it was Tommy. Tommy, who wasn't a petite woman interested in Buck's bulk and little else - it was Tommy, who was even bigger, who could haul Buck into his arms without a sign of exertion; Tommy, who had been interested even when Buck was a babbling, awkward idiot who made a fool of himself on their first date. Tommy, who was attracted to him before he even knew Buck was practically a sex god.
And now, he got to remind his super hot pilot boyfriend that Buck was, in fact, something of a sex god.
Buck leaned in, letting his whole front plaster against Tommy's, running one hand through his hair and licking a long stripe up the side of his neck; he could feel more than hear the low hum of pleasure deep in Tommy's chest.
"I'm killing you, huh?" Buck murmured into his ear. "I'm not even doing anything. I'm just dancing." And as the chorus hit, Buck ground into the crease of Tommy's hip, making no effort to muffle a breathy gasp of pleasure at the delicious friction.
This was fun - this was what Buck was used to, in some ways. He was used to being the one to drive someone else crazy, to take control, to set the pace - but at the same time, this was all new.
Because Tommy loved to let Buck take the reins, but he also loved to take them back.
His hands tightened on Buck's hips, and he spun him around without letting him pull away - Buck's arms slipped from Tommy's shoulders, and suddenly his ass was pressed against Tommy's hips, and Tommy's mouth was on his neck, and Buck felt very exposed.
"Just dancing?" Tommy growled. "You're practically humping my leg, baby. You're showing off. Putting on a little show..."
Buck bit his lip, tilting his head, silently begging Tommy to go to town on his neck the way they did when they were alone. Tommy, never one to miss a cue, immediately pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses over his pulse point, which got Buck from mostly-hard to diamond-hard in the span of five seconds. The Buck 1.0 reflexes had him still grinding to the beat, his hands resting on top of Tommy's, and he could feel the hard line of Tommy's cock through all the layers of fabric.
"Show off," Tommy breathed, dragging his nose along the shell of Buck's ear. "Come on, baby, let's show them how pretty you are." And then his hands were slipping off Buck's hips to grab his wrists, and then Tommy was lifting his arms up, bringing his hands up to tangle in Tommy's hair.
Buck thought he felt exposed before, but it was nothing compared to this. Tommy dragged his hands down Buck's triceps, skimming along his armpits, and Buck gasped, half-ticklish, half turned-on.
"I'm so sweaty right now," Buck said, not yet drunk enough to forget that he was wearing a white t-shirt and had been drinking and dancing for hours and a quick glance down at himself showed that the sweat was soaking through in a line between his pecs - he could only imagine what his underarms looked like.
"You are," Tommy agreed, his hands splayed high on Buck's ribs, his hips driving them along as one song morphed into the next. "And you look so fucking pretty like this... Hard and sweating and desperate..."
Buck bit back a moan, eyes rolling back as he let his head fall back onto Tommy's shoulder.
"I'm not the only one who thinks so," Tommy said, skimming his teeth along the corner of Buck's jaw. "Look at him, baby. Look at the way he's watching you."
Buck forced his eyes open, blinking in confusion, scanning the dance floor -
And then he saw Eddie.
Eddie, across the room, leaning on the bar, his beautiful brown eyes locked on Buck's. And the look on his face...
He looked like he wanted to eat him alive.
"Oh fuck," Buck gasped, his legs going weak.
"Mhm," Tommy hummed. "He's been staring at you this whole time, baby. I don't think he could look away if he tried."
"That's - " Buck swallowed. "That's not - Eddie doesn't - "
"Doesn't what?" Tommy asked innocently, and one of his hands slid down, down Buck's side and came to rest on the front of his hip, drawing the eye to where Buck's cock was straining against his zipper, and fuck, Eddie's eyes dropped down to follow the hand, obvious even across the room. "Doesn't want you like that? Oh, Evan. Baby. Don't be silly. Of course he does."
"He's - " But Buck couldn't get the words out, because Tommy's other hand was dragging across his chest, palm and fingers dragging along his nipple, and he was twitching under Tommy's hand, losing the rhythm of the music, and he couldn't look away from Eddie, from the way Eddie was biting on the inside of his cheek, clenching and unclenching his fists, gaze fixed on Buck's hips and Tommy's hand - "He's straight," Buck said automatically, because Eddie had to be straight.
It turned Buck's whole world upside down if he wasn't.
Tommy took Buck's earlobe between his teeth and pinched his nipple through his shirt at the same time, and Buck jackknifed in his arms, fists tightening in Tommy's hair, back arching, driving his ass back towards the pressure of Tommy's hips, and Eddie -
Eddie's mouth fell open, and his chest heaved, and holy shit. Holy shit.
"Hm," Tommy hummed, all faux-innocence, too composed, far too composed for what a mess he was making of Buck. "I'm not too sure. But hey, why don't we find out? Why don't you go over there, and you ask him to join us."
"I - " Buck's brain was offline. "What?"
Tommy nuzzled his neck, the hand on his hip drifting below his navel, the hand on his chest coming up to hang, loosely, around the base of his throat. "You're going to walk over to him. And you're going to lean in close, so he can hear you. And you're going to say Eddie, do you want to join us?, and when he says yes, you're going to bring him over here to me, and then I'm going to let him take you apart."
"Oh my god, Tommy - "
"Go on, baby," Tommy said, slipping his hands off of him and untangling his hands from his hair. "Go get him." And he gave Buck a gentle but firm push.
The Buck 1.0 swagger was gone. This Buck - 4.0? - was dripping with sweat, hard enough to cut glass, and could barely hear the thundering beat of the music over his own pulse ringing in his ears. His legs felt weak beneath him, and he all but stumbled over to Eddie, who was watching him the whole time, not moving.
Buck stopped less than a foot away.
God, Eddie was beautiful.
Even like this, even drunk and probably exhausted, he was the most beautiful person Buck had ever seen. That realization had struck Buck the moment he laid eyes on Eddie, half-dressed in the 118 locker room, and had struck him again and again and again over the last six years. Buck had seen this beautiful man clean-cut and well-polished, he'd seen him covered in soot and mud and blood, he'd seen him asleep and drooling, bruised and battered, dressed to the nines - Buck had seen it all.
He'd never seen Eddie look like this.
Eddie Diaz was staring at Buck like a wolf stared at a lamb. His pupils were blown wide, making his bright brown eyes look dark and bottomless, and his lips were softly parted, a gentle expression that was in direct contradiction to the way his fists were clenched so tight Buck could see the veins popping on the backs of his hands. He was still leaning on the bar, but every line of his body was tense, ready. Waiting.
Buck couldn't do this. He couldn't cross this line. This was Eddie, his Eddie - he couldn't risk this. Couldn't handle it if he made this offer, and Eddie turned it down, turned him down.
But the way he was looking at him...
Buck just stood there, pulse racing, mouth dry, making no effort to hide what he was feeling. He knew Eddie could read him like a book anyway.
After what felt like an eternity, Eddie closed his mouth, and swallowed. "Hey, Buck," he said simply.
"Hey, Eddie," Buck managed.
"Do you need something?"
And Eddie was asking so much when he asked that question.
And Buck just - answered him. "Yes," he said, barely audible over the music. "I - I need you."
Eddie took in a deep breath - Buck could see his chest rise with it. "You have me," he answered.
And then Buck was leaning in, taking another step forward, and he could smell Eddie's sweat and deodorant and traces of the cologne he only wore on special occasions, and when Buck put his mouth next to his ear he could smell Eddie's skin and his shampoo, and it was so easy, standing that close, to say "Do you want to join us?"
And standing that close, it was impossible not to get closer - it was like a magnet in his chest, pulling him in, and he was bracing his hands on the bar on either side of Eddie and he was pressing their chests together, and when Eddie nodded, Buck couldn't see it, but he could feel his chin against his shoulder, could feel Eddie's ear against his cheek, and then Eddie was gently, tentatively putting his hands on Buck's waist.
"Are you sure?" Buck asked, because he had to know, because he needed this to be real, not just the tequila or -
"God, yes," Eddie said, so earnestly that it shattered every last wall Buck had built around his heart, and god, he loved him. He loved him so fucking much, and he'd loved him for so fucking long -
"Can I - ?" And Buck turned his head, and it was magnets again, and he was kissing Eddie Diaz.
And he was home.
Even with tequila and beer on their breath, even in this noisy bar under neon lights, even though the bachelor never showed up to his bachelor party, even dressed in their cheesy pastel suits - it was perfect. They fit together the way Buck's bones fit under his skin. Eddie's mouth was hot and soft and his hands were gentle and sure and Buck clacked their teeth together because he couldn't stop smiling because it was Eddie, and he loved him.
Eddie pulled away first, breathless, dragging his mouth away but trying to press his body even closer, but Buck had him pressed tight up against the bar and was not about to let him go anywhere. Eddie mouthed along Buck's jaw, panting against him, and Buck was just about to tilt his head, to offer up that sensitive spot under his ear, when Eddie froze, and his already-hard cock twitched against Buck's hip.
Buck leaned away, slightly, and saw Eddie staring, wide-eyed and flushed, at something over his shoulder.
He turned, twisting in the circle of Eddie's arms, and saw Tommy.
Tommy, leaning against the second bar, drink in hand.
Tommy, sweat plastering a single little curl onto his forehead, smirking that same knowing smirk that he brought out when he pinned Buck down and made him beg.
Tommy, his boyfriend, who was so beautiful and kind and patient and sexy and confident and honest and -
Tommy, who had locked eyes with Eddie, and slowly, clearly, lifted one hand to beckon him over.
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baneonono · 1 month ago
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aziracrowifying from eden by hozier: the master post
I know that everyone azirocrows from eden because duh but stay with me okay. because I think there's a cool interpretation that isn't so much about crowley longing for aza(there's still plenty of longing) it's more about crowley seeing himself and his situation in aza/aza's situation and reflecting on his fall/situation and how that is reflected in aza's. basically cool parrallels and crowley hating the system and loving aziraphale. let's go lyric by lyric shall we
Babe There's something tragic about you Something so magic about you Don't you agree?
pretty basic stuff here. I think crowley see aziraphale as uniquely moral, just the epitome of everything right and good. now crowley has magic for all intents and purposes, but aziraphale he is true magic, the strength of aza's morals is something he can barely comprehend to the extent that it becomes magical. especially in the context of heaven, a heaven that doesn't share aziraphale's moral fiber. and even in the context of that aziraphale manages to be so good. he thinks it's so magical. and he equally thinks it's tragic because aziraphale should be the standard for good, aziraphale is the only real good thing and he has to exist in heaven. and the don't you agree, in the plot of the song, I like to imagine this being the early stages of crowley appealing to aziraphale to be friends. he asks aza if they can be agreed on his assessment of aziraphale's relationship with heaven.
Babe There's something lonesome about you Something so wholesome about you Get closer to me
as time goes marching forward and aziraphale finds that he does agree with crowley, crowley gets to discover so much more about aza. he discovers how lonely aziraphale is in heaven and he discovers how obscenely adorable aza is(just crowley falling in love with aziraphale and his magic and his books and his food and and and). Crowley finds himself urging aziraphale closer. for a few moments even he can't tell what his intentions are. does he just want aza to be less lonely? does he want to tempt aza toward evil? does he want to purify himself? does he just want to be less lonely? does he just want to be closer to aziraphale? perhaps it's a little bit of all of them. regardless his surprise when aziraphale does get closer to him and he gets to discover even more about him is pleasant but still strong
No tired sighs, no rolling eyes, no irony No 'who cares', no vacant stares, no time for me
crowley has seen so many tired sighs, rolling eyes, and examples of irony from heaven. but the closer he gets to aza, the more he discovers that aziraphale distinctly lacks them. those gabriel qualities that are holy in heaven, aza entirely rejects. but that doesn't mean he has qualities of the other side. the 'who care' nature of demons, the vacant stares he gets constantly down below, the time that beelzebub will make for crowley's nonsense. all of these things, aziraphale doesn't have. he cares so much, he only ever looks at things intently, and crowley has to be on his best behaviour around aziraphale or he gets really disappointed. crowley is falling so far in love with this angel. because aziraphale isn't a side, aziraphale defies sides and is so good. crowley can't stay away.
Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door
what crowley finds truly remarkable about this angel that the more he knows, the more his life becomes better. because the angel is so familiar, a version of himself that he had once wanted to be, a view in the mirror thousands of years prior. crowley isn't that person anymore. his idealism is now imprisoned in this demon body where it can't be expressed. the chivalry he wants to act upon for aziraphale, it's fallen, fallen on it's own sword. his innocence died screaming all the way down to the basement. but this angel that can express the idealism, that can be chivalrous, that maintains innocence in the face of everything, he feels familiar to crowley because at some point thats where crowley thought he would be, that's the reflection he had hoped to see in the mirror. so now he slithers all the way from Eden, just to sit outside aza's door and pretend that the window he peeks through is a mirror.
Babe There's something wretched about this Something so precious about this Where to begin?
this relationship their forging, that they each fight for everyday in tiny ways, they see it in different ways. aziraphale views it as something so precious, something that he would rearrange the cosmos for. and while crowley also loves and values the relationship, he would firstly describe it as wretched. he's a demon after all, he's down with the wretched. aziraphale doesn't see it that way and trying to explain it to him is always a struggle. when crowley attempts he doesn't even know where to even begin (((author brainrot interjection: IT BEGINS AS IT WILL END IN A GARDEN anyways back to out regularly scheduled programming)))
Babe There's something broken about this But I might be hoping about this Oh, what a sin
he begins before his fall, back when he still had idealism and chivalry and innocence. he knew even then that something was broken with this system, he had questions about it, he had suggestions. and more importantly, he had hope. he had hope that people would answer his questions, they would listen to his suggestions, they would understand where he was coming from, they would want the same thing that he did for the system, to make it better. but to suggest or ask a question that said the system is broken, that was a sin.
To the strand a picnic plan for you and me A rope in hand for your other man to hang from a tree
for the angels who didn't have questions, god would have picnics and all good things. but for god's other men like crowley who had questions, god handed them the rope to hang themselves and make their way downstairs.
Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door
so yes, aziraphale is familiar, aziraphale feels like that angel that crowley almost was. and as he sees this idealism imprisoned in heaven, as he watches the other angels pushing aziraphale onto his own sword like a vampire on a stake, and bears witness to this pure good being ostracized by the people who are supposed to be the good ones, he kills the last bits of innocence in his soul, he loses any hope he had for the system, he burns it all to the ground, he leaves eden, he just slithers to aziraphale's door and sits there
Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know I slithered here from Eden just to hide outside your door
bonus aziraphale pov: as stupid as it sounds, aziraphale also sees himself in crowley. crowley is idealistic and chivalrous and though crowley never sees it, aziraphale loves the innocent parts of crowley. the way crowley takes care of his plants, the way his car is so important to him, the way his appearance takes up a significant part of his brain. aziraphale has lost care for the system as time went on. the innocent urge to make sure people are seeing what they wish to see, he left that behind a while ago. now all he has is the selfish want to do good. because aziraphale doesn't do good for other people, he does it singularly for himself because he makes him feel good. when he sees crowley, who cares so deeply about right and wrong as ideals, he sees a part of him in the past. the part of him that had tried so hard to be the angel god wanted him to be. so aziraphale sees crowley's idealism imprisoned in this demonic form because the system didn't let him express it. he sees a system that pushed crowley onto his own sword. he looks at crowley and he still sees that childlike innocence in his faith in objective good that's separate from god. that innocence that aza once had died screaming a long time ago. when aziraphale goes to see crowley, he feels a little bit like he's slithering, that he's really the snake coming from eden to tempt crowley so he hides outside crowley's door.
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mewkwota · 3 months ago
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Kid Ica- sorry, Pit.
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Oh neat. Finally we end this long session with this sweet boy. :>
Send Me a Character
And I will tell you my:
First impression I am one of the millions of people who only knew Pit from Smash. When Brawl's reveal trailer showed its face on Youtube, I recognized every single character. Every single one. Including Snake, especially Snake. But when I saw this kid I thought he was Roy for a second because of the sunset lighting on the Halberd. It took me a couple of seconds to register the name that popped up as someone I briefly saw in Melee. I think Mr. Sakurai knew what he was doing here.
Pit is, like, one of my most favorite characters. His design and character hit about all the right spots for me on my mental checklist. I had a huge thing for angels has a cringy tween, plus he had brown hair in this look which I preferred more, and the outfit certainly does say "this one can kick butt". Also ooh that weapon, how versatile!
But yeah, it was bad. I had an OC who I paired with Pit. And also who wouldn't wanna try on that look (I never did, but the wings would do, and the many times I'd spin sticks like he did his bow, bwaghh).
Even with all that, there was so little to him. I'd scrape around the Internet looking for whatever I could about the kid. And that's where I learned what Captain N was. So you can thank/blame Pit for getting me into Castlevania and (even more into Classic) Mega Man.
With whatever I could gather, along with Uprising's release, I had a reasonable idea as to who Pit was. He's cheery, adorable, and selfless. And I feel some of the other layers to his character that I've picked up also stem from his background as an overlooked retro character. I've discussed this aspect in a comic between him and Sora's addition to Smash. I can tell Mr. Sakurai wanted to give Pit something he didn't quite have, and I chose to translate this as the kiddo having quite the journey in making himself known. Very little by little, until that point in Smash where we know him now.
I'm not surprised if people also saw this like an "ugly swan" path.
Impression now I may be focusing more on his friends now, but Pit holds a very-very special place in my heart. Especially now that Uprising is a thing, and I have actually grown a li~ttle sour towards it.
I know some of the humor in that game can be itty witty silly banter, but sometimes the jokes at Pit's expense can get a little, uhh, old. I get it, he's a brainless chicken who only thinks about food whatever.
It isn't like he can't be a competent character and still be silly, but sometimes the general fanbase can conflate one side. A lot. Because it's funny, sure I understand. Even I like to give Pit his silly moments, but I'd hope it's seen as him being allowed to let loose with his friends, who don't see him as someone lesser-- despite being very prolific representatives in their homelands.
This part of Pit is such an interesting thing to explore. Pit is the captain of a goddess' army. I don't think it matters the size of the army themselves, as everything is dependent on the decisions of their leader. And he's quite skilled with a variety of weapons now that Uprising has implemented that to his person.
There are so many impressive little things that Pit can call his own, but then why would he still feel inferior. Maybe it's because that's how he grew up. I can see it in the context of his place as a random retro character, but also as "that tiny angel who can't fly". (And maybe also the near-constant belittling he gets from the ones above). So as much as he's shown to be so positive, there are definitely moments where those weaknesses are seen or implied.
Long story short, it's the little things here-n-there that I like about him. It also makes for interesting prompts to write about.
Favorite moment Am I able to pick one? Uhh, Pit randomly singing at the start of that one chapter is always gonna be cute. He does a lot of cute things. ^^;
Idea for a story Something about Pit and Rock's relationship in Captain N clicks with me. On the outside it doesn't seem like much aside from "the two little kids hanging around each other", but perhaps that's just me picking at the words they say while mixing in the biases I already have. As a result, I see it that Rock follows after Pit in everything, but Pit also views Rock highly. They both found something in each other.
See this super ancient comic about it here.
One comic I had simmering for decades was looking at the between the two's connection after the events of Captain N and reuniting in Smash 4. It would have been in Pit's perspective and done through several letters-- that he needed help writing.
Unpopular opinion I don't know what is unpopular.
I'm not a part of the KI fandom. I am a part of the Pit fandom, wah.
Favorite relationship *Shoves Captain N in your face once again*
Favorite headcanon Pit is concerningly humble. He has a lot of little talents up his sleeve, a lot of which were picked up with the various part-time things he'd volunteer to do, but he doesn't really make a big deal of them. Some were simply picked up from the duties he was expected to do, or of course, they're just things he can do (so why is that really important).
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ghnosis · 5 months ago
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*rips bong* (this is my bong in case you're curious)
so some of you have asked me, over the course of the 80-someodd interviews I have so far conducted, why I am doing my PhD on Ghost.
tonight a participant asked me in a manner that sort of finally clicked for me - because I assume all of you live inside my head with me and know why I do everything.
Rose, why are you doing your PhD on Ghost fandom?
when I was 12, American Idiot by Green Day came out. I lost my mind immediately. Green Day were my first hyperfixation. I promise if you ask about "Green Day Girl" to people I went to high school with, they would remember me. not only did Green Day teach me about the Iraq War, and American progressive politics in general, they also taught me, a bullied and weird child, what it meant not to give a shit. someone thinks I'm wrong/bad/inferior? cool! I don't fucking care. "now everybody do the propaganda," etc.
if I kept talking about everything I learned from Green Day, we'd be here all night. but. Green Day *also* taught me that music didn't have to sound like pop, or like country. that music could be written because someone felt something. that music could be used to express rage, a thing I felt in spades.
so from Green Day, my door is blown wide the fuck open and I get to learn about Dead Kennedys, about David Bowie, about Nirvana.
the other thing I know I love, back then in 2004, is learning. and teaching.
fast forward 15ish years, give or take (or pack me a second bowl and I'll tell you the middle), and I'm looking, halfheartedly and in a bummed-out manner, for a PhD program. I have my master's, I didn't like the experience, but I want that Dr. I've been presenting at conferences and doing some piddly academic writing on video games and the use of games in education, and I'm on a listserv for other people writing about games. I get an email from someone at Falmouth University about a PhD program there in "Dark Economies." who's listed on the email? none other than Tanya Fucking Krzywinska, my number one academic girl crush (in my subject area. my actual number one is a historian)!!!!!!
so I read this email and it's talking about the intersection of the occult, video games, and heavy metal. as I said, I've been writing about video games. one of the things I'd been writing about was a certain thing that happened in that industry ooooh, 14 years ago now. something in my brain slots into place.
the occult: I know what that is. occult rock, certainly. I maybe could squeeze in some punk or pop punk. the goffik. we got some MCR.
heavy metal. well, I'm a punk girl through and through, but I used to date that guy in the metal band and have seen Slayer et al multiple times live. sure. I can occupy that world. wait a minute. Ghost.
video games. the thing I'd been writing about, specifically the mistreatment of anyone who wasn't a cis guy. you know what that sounds a lot like? sounds a lot like going to metal shows with my ex. WAIT A FUCKING MINUTE. GHOST??? on TUNGLE DOT HELL???
so I log my ass back on to this website and I look at you, at all of you beautiful people I'd been reblogging ass wobbling gifs with for years, and I said "oh my god. are they me? is whatever is going on in there just a bunch of me's, except it's Ghost not Green Day?
are all of you finding the most beautiful thing there is to find, namely, empowerment and freedom, in the goofy Satan band music band? was it the heaviest thing you had heretofore encountered? did it crack open a yawning chasm in your soul? were you hurting in ways you didn't know how to articulate? are you learning what it means to take up space, to demand rights for yourself and for others, to truly let your fucking freak flags fly? are you feeling the stirring in your heart that only comes from religion (read: witchcraft) or from seeing the most important band in the fucking world live, in the flesh, singing TO YOU, sweating FOR YOU? if you are, I think we are fucking important and vital. I think that we can tell our stories and make a bunch of other weird little girls realise that they, too, have rights - including to transition.
cos immediately in doing this research I found out - you're also NOT me, in some really important and specific ways. maybe being AFAB in the US isn't part of it. maybe it's bigger than that. and I feel so lucky, so truly fucking blessed and lucky, to have gotten to speak to over eighty of you beautiful people, to have been trusted with your stories. to learn what makes YOU ache in your soul and how it is different to but also the same as mine. I have to stop now I'm gonna cry!!!!
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hylaversicolor · 1 year ago
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the big eva and ocelot meta, or: how to use religious iconography and symbolism in a godforsaken, cunt serving, and incredibly transgender way
this meta started out as a way for me to learn more about ocelot by looking at eva. and then it turned into the opposite, i guess. because ocelot never, ever speaks directly about his motivation, except for one time at the beginning of mgs2 when he says he’s glad sergei noticed that he’s abandoned mother russia, and even then he hides through ambiguous wording and camera angles. (x) everything else we learn about ocelot is from other characters or is obfuscated by conflicting personas or both. we know why he does what he does (he was obsessed with big boss, eva says) yet he doesn’t state this in his own words. but you can use eva to analyze ocelot, and vice versa. during mgs3 they are both mysterious philosopher agents with ties to the book of genesis sent to help snake on his mission, often with nearly identical dialogue. (x, x) so in mgs3 when eva says “snake, huh. well, i’m eva… are you here to tempt me?” we can assume ocelot feels something similar. when eva says “don’t die on me” at rassvet, we’re meant to remember that moment when ocelot says the same thing to snake in the sewers, many scenes later. and when eva says “when i’m riding, the wind hits me so hard that it hurts. that pain keeps my mind off the pain of having to be someone else. it's not easy always fooling myself like this. it's only when i’m on the bike that i’m free to be the real me.” it’s in the back of our minds when ocelot also rides a bike later on. of course they are not exactly alike; the bike means something different to eva than it does to ocelot, and besides, ocelot is younger, less experienced, more hotheaded. eva, for all her cleavage, is reserved.
taking a detour for a moment to address the ocelot drag king thing that went around twitter recently. shinkawa and kojima noted that mgsv ocelot’s design was meant to inspire such questions from the player “like ‘is that a man or a woman, a woman dressing as a man’ kind of thing,” or “something like takarazuka” (x), japanese western-style theater “with all-female performers” (x). here’s a passage from jennifer robertson’s “the politics of androgyny in Japan: sexuality and subversion in the theater and beyond,” describing tarakazuka:
The femininity embodied and enacted by the musumeyaku serves as a foil for the masculinity of the otokoyaku. Much of the training of the Revue actors involves learning a vocabulary of gendered gestures, movements, intonations, speech patterns, and the like. An otokoyaku, for example, must stride forthrightly across the stage, her arms held stiffly away from her body, her fingers curled around her thumbs. In contrast, a musumeyaku pivots her forearms from the elbows, which are kept pinned against her side, constraining her freedom of movement and consequently making her appear more "feminine." In keeping with the patriarchal values informing the Takarazuka Revue, musumeyaku have represented the fictional Woman with little if any connection to the actual experiences of females. The otokoyaku, however, have been actively encouraged to study the behavior and actions of men offstage (as well as in films) in order to more effectively idealize men on stage, be they samurai or cowboys. Personal or contrary motivations and desires aside, both musumeyaku and otokoyaku are the products of a masculinist imagination in their official stage roles. (American Ethnologist, August 1992, vol. 19, issue 3, pg 423)
if, like all things with ocelot, we take this concept and run with it to eva, then ocelot is the takarazuka otokoyaku and eva is the musumeyaku. it’s all a performance. it’s all camp.
ocelot performs masculinity. he is (arguably) a gay character who lives and breathes his own interpretation, informed by the spaghetti westerns he watched and absorbed as a teenager, of the most idealized embodiment of western masculinity in existence: the american cowboy. his movements, his bravado, his persona are all exaggerated in mgs3. but his performance is also a mask behind which he hides his true self. ocelot physically conceals his whole body; his red gloves are his trademark. eva, by contrast, shows off her body. but while ocelot hides himself by hiding his skin, eva hides herself - crucially - by showing skin. and while ocelot's whole Cowboy Thing is him performing a fantasy version of masculinity, the opposite is true for eva. she is performing femininity just as much as ocelot is performing masculinity, only instead of playing a western cowboy dandy, she’s doing an over-exaggerated femme fatale. they are both acting. they are both camp. ocelot’s masculinity is rooted in westerns; eva’s femininity is, presumably, rooted in whatever charm school training the philosophers must have given her.
this juxtaposition informs the way their roles play out throughout the course of snake eater. ocelot can go off and do whatever; he has more freedom by taking on the persona of a man. eva is more limited in her performance, confined to a pseudo-caregiver role. she must support snake, care for him, give him food items. during the interrogation scene she is the one who is forced to step in and intervene, because out of all the players in the room, the personality she’s crafted for her role is most suited to sensitivity to snake’s torture. (x) she uses her vulnerability to exploit her enemies, turns people’s preconceived notions about her against them. ocelot and volgin both underestimate her; when she successfully evades volgin on the bike, and bests ocelot in hand to hand combat, these are not traditionally feminine activities, yet they are the things she truly excels at. also ocelot has had everything put together for him, even if he doesn’t see this. (x) he has been given incredible privilege at a terrible price. eva doesn’t even have that privilege. she is working to support snake completely on her own.
yet even though eva is unfailingly on snake’s side throughout the game, helping him, giving him items, often physically close to him, seducing him, etc., she betrays him in the end. ocelot is the opposite. he is farther away; he often watches rather than intervenes when snake is in trouble. it’s not obvious that he’s been on snake’s side the whole time. and yet by the end of the game, where eva (who had gotten the closest to him) betrays snake, ocelot (who had been farther away) does not. this speaks to mgs3’s theme of “there is no such thing as a timeless enemy” - also because after the events of the game, snake and eva (though parting ways as enemies) end up as allies again, and eva and ocelot, who had been enemies in the game, become allies as well, and remain allied for life.
ultimately, due to eva’s role being confined to a traditionally feminine one in mgs3, ocelot emerges as a more compelling character. behind that femme fatale persona, though, there is a lot going on. a lot of it, i think, relates to the way eva was raised as a charm agent. as a result of her philosopher training, she can only think of human relationships in absolutes. she equates sex and love in her mind and cannot conceptualize ambiguity:
eva: do you love her? snake: no, nothing like that. eva: do you hate her? snake: does it have to be one or the other - love or hate? eva: between a man and a woman? you bet. […] eva: you were interested in the boss. snake: she was different. eva: really? how do you feel about me? snake: i should be asking you the same question. eva: me? i can fall in love - if it's part of the mission. even with you.
this is meant to be a callback to mgs1, but it’s also eva in her element, in action, working. she unzips her top as she says these lines, revealing her breasts. there’s some meta commentary here about eva fooling or charming the player, using her own sexuality as a weapon, but still being objectified nonetheless because kojima wrote her to do this. in the context of the game, yes this is eva acting of her own accord, molding her appearance and mannerisms to appeal to her target, but she is doing so as a result of philosopher training. this isn’t eva’s true self, not really. the only place she feels free to be her true self is when she’s on her bike, with the wind hitting her so hard “that it hurts.” we see eva performing increasingly risky bike stunts as mgs3 goes on. i think the stress of playing her role only continue to increase as time went on throughout operation snake eater. but not because of being forced to fool john: i think she took some pleasure in that. rather:
eva: the boss was the only one i couldn't fool. she was the only one who knew i was a fake. she told me everything. why did she open her heart to me like that? at the time, i couldn't understand it. but now I think I do. snake, she wanted you to know the truth. she chose me to tell you. that's why she saved my life. i’ve lied to you so many times, but not this time. my orders from the government were to obtain the legacy and to eliminate everyone who knew the truth about what happened. in other words, I'm supposed to kill you. but i can't do it. not because we loved each other. and not because you saved my life. but because i made a promise to the boss… and i intend to keep it. i just wanted you to know. and… you have to live.
because the boss was the one person to understand her, to look at her and see that at her core, she, like ocelot, is the embodiment of a 404 error. but this lack of self, or lack of recognition of the self, ironically, is what makes her human. the boss looks at her and instantly sees that the only way she can feel anything at all is to ride her bike so hard that the wind hurts her. she sees the pain of having been transformed into a blank slate by the philosophers, ready and willing for anyone’s preconceived notions of femininity to be projected onto her, because the boss went through the same ordeal - but unlike eva, whose earliest memories are presumably of philosopher charm schools, the boss did not start as a blank slate. she had a life, a personality, a family first, and had all that taken away in order for higher powers to reduce her to something malleable and ready to be manipulated for the sake of nations and empires. the boss is eva’s connection, her lifeline from the sterile, casually cruel world inhabited by the children of the philosophers, to the emotions and the messiness and the nuance embodied by the rest of humanity. and this connection goes doubly deep because the boss probably encountered eva in one of the philosopher charm schools while searching for her own son, who she knew had to be at a philosopher facility too.
and by choosing eva as the one to pass on her message to snake, the boss gives eva’s life new meaning, a renewed sense of humanity. in eva’s mind now the boss and snake are connected. she is part of that love the boss had felt for snake, and she inherits it by proxy. i don’t think she loved john as a human being, at least not during mgs3. even after mgs3, i don’t think she comes to understand this connection that the boss and snake had, but she still clings to it. and i think that, just like ocelot who was far away and fixated on snake, once eva is the farthest away that she’s ever been from snake at the end of mgs3, now she becomes fixated on him too. just like ocelot, snake represents humanity to her. their connection is less about love and more about trying to make sense of her own emotions, her personhood. the boss endures and haunts eva into perpetuity because i think she is a reminder of what eva could have had.
big mama: your father never wanted you. i’m sorry. human life isn’t meant to be manipulated like that. i knew that. but—i wanted you.
eva allows her own pursuit of humanity to convince her to do inhumane acts. we know ocelot joined the patriots to stay close to john (the same reason he eventually joined foxhound). eva joined the patriots, i think, because staying close to john brought her closer to the boss. that, i believe, is the reason she wanted the kids so badly. eva in mgs4 is motivated by guilt. we can see that she takes in war orphans as the leader of the paradise lost army (ironically facilitating the creation of more child soldiers, and perpetuating the vision of the philosophers even as she’s trying to dismantle their legacy). in mgs3, eva and ocelot are a pair of young philosopher spies aiding naked snake. in mgs4, eva and ocelot are a pair of aging ex-patriot spies from another time forcibly dragging the past along with them into the present. they both mistake solid snake for naked snake in semi-lucid moments; they share similar last words; they both are ultimately killed by foxdie. they kill and steal and lie and torture and maim, but in their minds it’s all out of necessity. take this analysis of paradise lost by john leonard:
The hostility of Chaos raises troubling questions about God. If God is good, all-powerful, and the ultimate source of matter […] how can we account for the existence of an evil Chaos? An evil Chaos would suggest either that God is not good or that he is not all-powerful. Many critics try to get around this problem by arguing that Milton’s Chaos (despite appearances) is not evil but good. (Introduction, Paradise Lost, Penguin, 2003)
zero, by mgs4, is the alpha and the omega. he has surpassed the limitations of his moral body and become an all-seeing, all-knowing system of AIs: in the metaphor of adam, eve, and the snake, zero is god. we can see that eva feels somewhat complicit in this transformation: “zero created the patriots to manage and control the american state […] but i am partly to blame. i bear some of the guilt for creating the organization.” ocelot’s feelings are less apparent.
back to the beginning of this essay: ocelot only explains himself once throughout the entire game series, and while he does, the camera conceals his face. importantly, his red gloves are gone in mgs4. his black gloves show us that this isn’t ocelot anymore. but since his fingers are uncovered, we can infer that ocelot is in there somewhere and he is speaking his truth. so when liquid says “cigars… father's favorite.” that’s really ocelot (with the cigar blocking his face…there’s so much in that) saying “cigars…john’s favorite.” when liquid says, “snake, we were created by the patriots. we're not men: we're shadows in the shape of men. […] the patriots saw fit to create us, and in doing so became our only raison d'etre […] so long as we both live, the world will not know an age of light […] the only choice left to us is death." that is ocelot saying “when i saw what the patriots had done, my only reason to exist became to take them down.” when liquid screams “do you see this, zero?” that is 100% ocelot saying, “watch us, zero, we’re going to undo everything you did to john.” and when liquid gives this odd, regretful glance after the confrontation at the river, (x) i think that is ocelot reacting (albeit late) to eva saying, “adam…” a scene prior.
john: ocelot and eva wanted two things…to bring me back to life, and to end the patriots. […] for me, and for them […] nothing was more important.
in the words of steak bentley, mgs4 shouldn’t have been about big boss. (x) i agree. forcing everything to connect back to big boss and to zero shrinks the universe, imbues the story with this weird predestination, makes everybody’s contributions to the plot feel less significant, weakens both mgs4 and mgs3 in hindsight by showing the writers’ lack of faith in their new material.
but you can also look at it in a meta sense of ocelot and eva saying “this story’s not done yet, i’m still going to get revenge on big boss’s behalf. this is going to be about big boss whether you all like it or not.” metal gear solid 4 is really the story of two people who loved big boss so much and carried so much guilt over the part they played in zero’s betrayal that they created this entire overly convoluted plot to make john relevant again. the irony of it is that if they had just let him fade into obscurity (the first time, after snake eater) the LET project might not have even happened at all. by mgs4 i think they both recognized this. and yet they continued to drag it out - understanding, i think, on some level, that they were doing it all essentially for nothing. and through eva and ocelot’s actions, john ends up getting….not exactly a redemption, but at least closure. i don’t know if it’s warranted or even deserved, but he gets it nonetheless. and still eva and ocelot spend most of their time away from big boss and die without seeing him again. the thought that john would be able to survive, that he would endure and live and reconcile with solid, get one final moment of “i understand.” at the boss’s grave - this kept eva and ocelot going for decades.
by the start of mgs4, for eva and ocelot, everyone else is gone. john is out of their reach, the boss has been dead for fifty years, they killed the rest of the patriots themselves after zero betrayed john. the kids that eva had wanted, too, are no good, since liquid is already gone and solid needs to die in order to bring the cycle to a close. the only way they can access their own humanity (that ocelot had found in snake and eva had found in the boss) is through clinging to each other.
big mama: naturally, ocelot and i planned to free [john] from zero's prison. we enlisted naomi hunter, an authority in the field of nanomachine research, into our organization. and we used frank jaeger to kill dr. clark. ocelot tortured the DARPA chief, donald anderson - also known as sigint - to death…and made it look like an accident. […] with para-medic and sigint dead, zero was the only one left. but we, too, paid a price. i lost ocelot. ocelot wasn't fighting for the pentagon, or the russians. and certainly not for zero. he was fighting for big boss. he idolized him.
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mulders-too-large-shirt · 2 months ago
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s5 episode 8 thoughts
after the last few episodes, i took a brief break to ponder life's meaning and other such things. but we’re back. 
initial thoughts upon reading the description: PUSHER LIVED?!?!?! mulder shot him!!! fired the whole clip in ‘em!! granted, it was just one bullet, but he sure did keep going like there were more of them in there.
it’s very rare we see the same monster or bad guy of the week twice, and the first time we met pusher was one of my favorite episodes of all time, so i’m curious to see if they can recreate the magic here. no pressure.
(author's note: while a good episode that followed in the first one's tradition of having the most intense last 5 minutes you ever did see, this one did not beat the original for me. in fact, some parts even bothered me, like the writers' constant need for mulder to always always always be right!! but not the ending. they nailed that)
let’s go!!
we begin with modell, aka the pusher, doing some physical therapy. he is relearning how to walk. but he is still in prison and being re-cuffed into his wheelchair after doing very well. the doctor asks if this is really necessary, and the guards say yes ma’am. you do not wanna mess with this guy. we know this to be true.
they’re talking about him like he can’t hear. and i know his name is bobby modell, but i still kinda wanna call him the pusher. so i’m torn on how to refer to him.
older guard says to the younger guard chuck that you must never, EVER underestimate this man. and believe me. i won't. chuck, on the other hand...
i bet the actor who plays modell was pumped as hell to come back. you know you did a good job when they ask you to return. 
there is a light flashing outside modell’s cell, so the new guard chuck goes in there to investigate, pepper spray in hand. it seems modell’s pressing some sort of medical emergency panic button. and now he’s whispering to the guard…
the older guard is back in the morning, and knows something is afoot because chuck is gone!!! and modell’s cell is empty… except chuck!!!! who cannot form any coherent sentences??
ahhh, yes, in case you forgot, he pushes you to do stuff against your will with his psychic powers. hence the whole showdown last time. that is a very key detail i somehow forgot. but yeah. that was good stuff.
mulder is here, but it is scully leading the way!!!!! a power walk!!!!
into a room where skinner is briefing a large crowd!! he has a funny tie. and mulder and scully are his S.A.C.s! hold on, i need to look that up. special agent…? ah, it means special agent in charge. that’s a title that looks good on them.
they tell the people about the way modell can inflict his will onto others, how technically all of the kills from before were self-inflicted, how he thinks he’s a samurai without a master, and he loves to play games. last time he thought he found a worthy adversary in mulder. this time, i hope he realizes scully is just as worthy. i would like to see this please. and i appreciate the recap for others who, like me, may have forgotten his skill set.
modell was comatose but then just woke up!! “it’s unusual but it’s not unheard of” <- yeah girl you’d know lmao
he still has his cancer in him, though. which i also forgot about: the tumors give him the powers. outlandish? well, yes!
scully is really concerned!!! and says that mulder leading the investigation is exactly what modell wants- he’s playing his game. mulder seems offended and walks away. lmao. i know he thinks he needs to suffer, but girl, c’mon. she is talking sense. he must know that deep inside.
(cue a deep scully sigh as he storms off)
downtown in a random sports store, a guy is watching the news of modell's escape, when in he walks!! this guy goes to grab something to fend him off, but modell turns it into a rattlesnake??? huh?? now he can summon living things??? this is a serious power upgrade. or is he just making the poor cashier imagine that inanimate object is a snake...
YES, HE IS JUST IMAGINING THAT THE BASEBALL BAT IS A SNAKE!!! woah. okay, so that makes a lot more sense than him now being able to create beasts after his stint in prison
modell steals some candy bars (he loves his candy bars!) and watches scully and mulder on the TV!!! you’d think they would try to not be on TV. but sometimes it still happens
the agents are talking to modell's doctor, who says that it is impossible his gunshot wound to the head left him good as new; he couldn’t have been faking his condition entirely. she then looks up and declares “you’re the agent that shot him” and there’s a thick silence until scully cuts in with the observation that he had a visitor in prison yesterday before he escaped. typical scully saving the day. 
the doctor is explaining that she never had a problem with him personally (mulder is mad as hell) when someone runs in to say “agents! it’s modell” so they RUN OUT in great style 
ohhh, he’s on the phone asking for mulder, and skinner is here to run a trace
ohhh!!! scully was so worried modell would suck mulder in with this psychic powers again... they just needed 30 seconds to trace the call, so scully asks for a time check!! and when he starts to get invested, she reminds him to hang tf up!! which he does!!
but i am interested in what he had to say… even if it was all lies…
scully says “don’t let him rope you in” and “mulder, hang up the phone” and him listening right away did a lot for me 
off to the sports store, where mulder finds modell's candy wrapper, but no modell. he’s outside! but is it really him??
mulder is running and running in front of traffic to find this guy… but i have this terrible fear he’s just going to get hit by a car. which wouldn’t be the first time. 
there is a real guy!!! in modell's jacket!! but it’s the poor cashier from earlier who thought the bat was a snake! :( skinner asks him very angrily where modell is and he just says “he had to go” hmm hmm…
modell is looking at a picture. he gets blue paint on it. and blue paint on a lot of things. some guy is covered entirely in blue paint? can you paint yourself to death? (we later learn this man is named bowman)
modell left a huge message in japanese on the wall of bowman's house! “i’m going to take a wild stab here and guess that this is a clue” <- deeply observant as always, mulder
does anyone in the squad read japanese…? now would be a great time to come forward and admit that
scully is investigating paint guy bowman. he swallowed it???? he drank the paint to death?? damn.
THEY DO FIND SOMEONE WHO CAN READ JAPANESE!!! shoutout to this side character. 
and the blue was modell's favorite shade of cerulean omg…
bowman was the one who prosecuted modell in 1996! wait, so… what year is it in this episode? let me guess… 1998? 1999? i honestly do not know. but they’re saying “1996” and not “2/3/4 years ago”, and since i don’t see which year each episode was made in on this devious streaming platform, i am left with only my best guess
he was writing the same thing over and over… "kitsunegari"… it means “fox hunt”!! which i guess is a pretty good description of what they are doing 
LMAO MULDER’S FACE he looks briefly flattered “well, that’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?” <- why is he hunting just for mulder!!! he is underestimating the prowess of scully here.
it seems this paint guy bowman had a wife, who i shall refer to alternatively as "mrs. bowman" and "linda", so they call her. and she isn’t in her office, but the person who picks up says she went to meet a FOX MULDER!!!! a bald faced lie, that was!!! for mulder is here, on the phone!!! so they’re trying to figure out where mrs. bowman and modell went. skinner calls the town’s police department right away. 
these cops are entering this warehouse sort of place… and modell’s in there!!!! but they can’t find him… he is leading them to him!!! this must be some sort of trick…. is cop A imagining his partner is modell???
agents on the scene. wait hold on. rewind. mulder was driving, skinner was in the passenger seat, and scully was in the back. this is amusing to me. anyway, they’re off.
ohhhh no, it IS cop A pointing his gun at cop B, thinking he is modell. poor cop B is screaming. yeah. that's tough.
scully asks the question: what does he want with bowman’s wife??
aww, she thinks he’s here for a tour of the property :( and she’s crying because she just learned her husband died :( poor scully has to ask the hard questions and she is also looking very sad :(
mulder… please call me
ohhh skinner coming in… he kneels next to linda bowman and says that she is safe with them!! usually people saying this means that things will not end well. he says they’ll place her in protective custody :( and he has his hands on her back :( ohhhh skinner…
“find him” “yes sir” <- scully never ever ever forgets to say sir. mulder almost never does it. says so much about their characters in such a small detail. i love it and i love to analyze it.
mulder has his hands in his suit pockets, thinking deeply. why didn’t modell just kill those two cops? hmm. he asks for a radio. 
ohhh modell is watching mrs. bowman being taken away…. he sees mulder…. who is entering the building…. and mulder finds another candy bar wrapper, knows modell is nearby, and pulls out his gun!! 
he’s going in alone… this is a terrible idea!!! everything is so suspenseful!!!
he radios scully, but modell is trying to tell him something. and he keeps telling him to shut up, but no!!! he has his psychic claws in his brain!!
modell is very sick and sweaty… and when mulder walks out, all he says to scully about modell is “he had to go” <- NOOOO 💔💔
okay, no pressure scully, but it seems your partner is down for the count.
ohhh, wait he’s back. okay. so the brain hijacking is really only temporary.
“how are you feeling?” “well, aside from the utter grinding humiliation that comes from knowing i let our suspect go, pretty good” <- lmao awww :( he's embarrased
ohhh, modell had a special message for mulder: “don’t play the game” <- is he talking about the evil alien tricks and traps the FBI has set forth for those two?
mulder thinks perhaps modell has changed… and that he’s involved with this whole case, but not the killer… scully wants to know how he knows if it’s really his own opinion!
“what do we still agree on here? that modell was pursuing linda bowman?” <- this was, for once, a masterful act of avoiding conflict. i’m almost shocked. usually for the last 5 seasons, these nerds would get into a cat fight over the logistics of how this could or couldn’t be possible, but he totally shifted it to "what do we both need to know and how can we find it?". i’m gagged. mulder, you’ve changed! this is character development!
linda is at the safe house, being questioned by the agents. ohhhh she is saying her husband thought mulder should have just killed modell, and it would have saved the taxpayers the cost of a trial. girl, he shot him in the HEAD, he was doing his best to kill him!! scully is watching him as she says this to gauge his reaction
OHHH... linda said “brush”, and i was thinking, hmm that’s suspicious after earlier activities, and now she just said “paint him as that” and i am INCREASINGLY suspicious… and mulder says back “he was true-blue” ohhh they’re speaking in riddles… 
so what does the part about only being married two months and two days mean….? anything at all?
(author's note: yeah it didn't mean a damn thing <3)
mulder seems to think that linda killed her husband! scully is shocked to hear this. perhaps, mulder posits, it was her game he warned against playing, and modell was there during paint time, but not involved.
OHHH scully tells him that she does not agree at all..... and SKINNER SUSPENDS HIM!! he cannot be trusted after modell had access to his mind! skinner takes his gun!!!! but you have to remember, this mulder guy usually has a slay little ankle gun in his sock. so he might not be down for the count.
linda comes out and asks for water… they lock eyes and he says he’ll prove it. “GO FETCH HER SOME WATER”, he yells back at skinner. see? about what i said earlier? no “sir” there. 
mulder goes back to visit modell's doctor, who says that a nun once described modell as a “conquered warrior”. OH he thinks the nun might be linda!!! but the doctor can’t find her glasses to make an ID!!!!
OH MY GOSH??? she’s on the phone and says “oh yeah, he’s here” (why are they talking about him??) and then she GRABS the electrical box and fries herself!! he’s calling for help!!! he is doing some CPR, but idk if it’s looking good for her….
modell is being taken into jail. allegedly. who knows if it’s really him or not? he tells this guard to go home. and this does happen.
someone is now approaching linda… it’s modell!!! he locks the door behind him as he enters the safe house!!!! 
mulder calls scully to say that it must have been linda on the phone with the doctor ordering her to fry herself, because she might have identified her, and he tells her to cut off any access she has to a phone. hmm. 
NOOO they might have fallen for a trap…. scully tells all the agents to get back in the trucks…. 
skinner is seemingly alone with linda at the safe house, trying to enter the locked room. OHHH he kicks down the door!!! modell announces that he has a gun. skinner says get on the floor NOW and modell doesn’t, so skinner shoots!! he is a man of action 
linda is here too, and modell points to her on the floor…. as if to implicate her for the crimes!
mulder is back after previously having been booted, and skinner does not seem happy to hear him. mulder is trying to explain that hearing modell say he has a gun makes one sort of just appear in his vision. and that really modell was unarmed. so skinner just killed an unarmed guy, oof.
mulder thinks that modell is taking the fall for linda, and scully is asking, well why the hell would he do that for the real estate lady? and she went home anyway; she clearly wasn't a threat
mulder says he needs to be the first person modell talks to when he gets out of surgery…
i want mulder to be wrong so badly and just blaming this whole elaborate scheme on some random lady. he’s right too often. so he’s just standing there over modell at the hospital, lmao.
BUT IT TURNS OUT THE NURSE AT THE HOSPITAL IS LINDA!!! who uses her ability to walk right past mulder. so did she come to modell in prison to learn his secret power or something? are they having an affair?
she gets on his bed and grabs his hand. “why did you do it? i didn’t ask you to come after me” 
she says she’s going to finish what he started, but he asks her to stop……… 
she uses her mind tricks to try and alleviate his pain… and then she starts tricking him into dying?????? so he dies and she lays her head on his chest. i'm receiving mixed messages here on if these two even liked each other.
mulder sees someone running into the room and realizes modell died without talking to him!!! and linda left an address on her little index card that said “nurse”.
so he goes there…… and he hears scully?? but is it really her?
SHE HAS A GUN.
“you were right about her, mulder. she’s making me do this” <- HUH???
MULDER MAKE HER STOP, SHE BEGS. HE’S YELLING. HE’S YELLING. SHE PUTS THE GUN TO HER HEAD?? AND FIRES??? AND HE’S SCREAMING???
he’s cradling her head but there is only a tiny drop of blood… was it fake? but the rest of the blood follows soon
OHHHHH NOW “LINDA” IS SAYING THAT SHE’S SCULLY AND SHE’S NOT DEAD…. oh my gosh the mind games….. he sees scully bleeding out behind him, but is it really her? he has his gun up and he’s yelling “you killed her” at "linda", and i recognize this scene from a gifset i have reblogged before without context… 
“YOUR MOTHER IS TINA. YOUR SISTER IS SAMANTHA. modell warned you. don’t play her game” <- OHHHH (“linda” shoots at someone behind her)
(he turns and realizes that it really is scully he’s talking to, and she shot the real linda, who asks “you think you can hold me?”)
(see, if i were scully, i would have pulled out some more niche mulder facts than his family members' names to prove it was me. i would have gone for "YOU WERE TERRIFIED OF STICK BUGS AS A CHILD AND SCREAMED A GIRLY SCREAM AT THEM" but i understand that it was a very intense situation and perhaps that thought was not on her mind)
wait, i need to rewatch that. hold on. hold on….. 
the way he watches “scully” in distress, thinking that it’s really her. she's begging him to make her stop as she clicks the gun, screaming his name as she turns the gun to her own head… and how he screams “NOOO!” and cradles what he thinks is her dying body...
and then he talks to real scully, but he sees linda, and he growls that he’s going to kill her… he looks down and sees scully’s dead body…..
he keeps screaming at her to shut up… with this animalistic, out-of-body fury in his eyes…
and then scully saves the day and shoots the real linda, who was standing behind him….. and he sees it’s really scully standing in front of him… and she gently grabs his arm… before calling an ambulance…
that was a very intense scene that deserved such a rewatch.
(screams into my hands real quick at the angst)
(she says “we’d like an ambulance” and i think that’s interesting that she uses “we” to refer to them both as a duo even to a total stranger, but i can imagine that possessiveness is still high in her bloodstream after almost watching him kill her, thinking he was avenging her own death)
so, wrap up time with skinner. linda too had the advanced temporal lobe tumor that modell had… they were TWINS??? but they only found out 6 months ago. and scully guesses she wanted revenge for what they did to her brother
(skinner turns to mulder) “anything you want to add to that?” “no, i think that covers it” <- (visible confusion on skinner’s face) ohhh you know it’s bad when mulder actually shuts the fuck up.
OHH but skinner wants to see him after… mulder nods at scully that he is okay to handle whatever this is alone…
SKINNER WANTS TO JUST TELL HIM HE DID A GOOD JOB?? “you were way ahead of me” “i almost killed my partner” <- yes, and this will haunt him forever just the way i like it.
“you won her game” “how come i feel like i lost?” (skinner does not know what to say as mulder sadly leaves)
bro, he was trying to be nice to you… 
this episode wasn’t as good as the original, but it is hard to live up to such high expectations. however! it was still VERY good.
i liked the first one so much because they were so in sync about everything. they were even in constant close physical proximity to hear modell's phone calls. and the joking!! and her falling asleep on his shoulder!! mixed with the angst!! it was the perfect recipe.
this one felt like another “mulder is the specialist boy of all time and he is so smart, he sees what everyone else cannot” episode, which we get an awful lot of. STILL, he was tricked in the end, and the angst was delicious. i liked that they were both wrong- her about linda being evil, and him about scully being dead.
what i was really hoping for was that at the halfway point when mulder had modell get into his brain, that he would be down for the count for the rest of the investigation, and modell would shift his target to scully, realizing she was also a worthy adversary. and then the same things could happen just in a different direction. someone let me know if that is a fic.
but, just because it wasn’t as good as the first does not mean it wasn’t good at all!! okay?? i mean that!! him screaming at her thinking she was her own murderer??!! i mean come on!! where else do you get that?
and skinner overtly complimenting him, for like, the first time ever?? mulder has always seemed like he wants skinner to let him in so bad, in a way that is too much to want from your boss that probably comes from being raised the way he was. and it finally happens where skinner says "you did it son", and he’s all, "no i didn’t, i almost killed scully". he’s too wrapped up in his own eternal labyrinth of guilt to acknowledge that skinner is giving him approval. chef’s kiss
oh, and scully screaming his mother and sister’s names, begging him not to shoot… i wish we could have seen gillian anderson act that out, BUT it contributed to the illusion to not see that. and her whole faking scully’s death scene was amazing anyway, so i can’t complain with what we did see. 
scully was really worried about him, and it makes total sense, especially if you recall last time her screaming “DAMN IT, MULDER” as pusher made him hold the gun to his own head, and then as she watched him try and shoot him like a million times despite there only being one bullet. it makes sense that she wanted him to go home and stay away from the case. it makes total narrative sense. she was looking out for him, she was scared. when we see him in the OG episode, it’s probably the most overtly terrified we ever see him! i think of that scene where he’s shooting at the range, so terrified he has to brush up on his aim. so her protectiveness makes sense. but still.
i get annoyed with the “only mulder can solve this case” episodes after like, 5 seasons of them. i wouldn’t complain if the ratio was more even between them. but like. when bigfoot exists in this world and mulder’s like “bigfoot is real” and she’s like “don’t be ridiculous” and then bigfoot IS real, we get a lot of him being right already. it feels that, despite this, the narrative wants to keep convincing me that he is the smartest boy, as if i forgot. and i did not forget. i do not see why we need to emphasize how smart he is and not do the same for scully.
i was also hoping for any sort of acknowledgment about last episode, but they just kinda ignored it which is fine too i guess lmao. i mean sure, we can just give scully a baby, kill her off, and act like nothing happened /s
anyway, rereading this episode's notes was a funny experience because i fully fell for mrs. bowman's tricks. lmao. it is also funny that they were twins separated at birth, but it turned out that her husband put her brother in jail. the very sort of shenanigans you expect from such a show!
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b1gwings · 1 year ago
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today's dndads was so fucking good and people are making good points about the parallels and cycles of Henry not being proud of Sparrow, and then Sparrow not being proud of Normal which is all so real and heartwrenching. I also noticed something in addition to that when they came back from the past and he started to walk into the woods.
I haven't been able to stop thinking about last episode when Normal said something to Scam about "I can't be around another adult who thinks they deserve to die." The twins are the main adults in his life that think like this, especially with Lark's whole "if someone's going to die for this, it's going to be me" attitude. One of my friends told me about a really good post they saw (although they couldn't find it :( ) about how this is an effect of the adults in Normal's life not wanting to take accountability. They want it to be fixed, but they'd rather die to punish themselves instead of stick around to help fix it.
Normal is sick of this behavior and this seniment. Lark, Sparrow, and the other kiddads ROYALLY fucked up everyone's life -- even though it's their fault Normal would rather see them do something about it. Which makes a lot of fucking sense? He's been around this his entire life, and since learning about Code Purple it's just gotten worse.
Which is why him trying to just walk out into the woods struck me as so interesting. Obviously, baby Normal was not responsible for releasing the flesh monster onto D.A.D.D.I.E.S HQ just like Lark was not responsible for releasting the Doodler. The way I see it, Lark blames himself wholeheartedly for this whole mess. Sparrow too. Their self-hatred only festers into an immensely heavy guilt. It's hard to get out from under those huge feelings. And, yeah, it would be easier to just die -- to punish themselves for fucking up so bad -- than having to figure out a way to fix it. It feels hopeless.
Normal has a moment with that guilt in this episode. He fully believes that it's his fault Code Purple ever happened, and that guilt makes him feel like he needs to isolate himself. It's the same principle of wanting to avoid whatever fucked up shit comes after. Normal can't help but feel that hopelessness that runs in his family -- he's not good enough for these awesome, helpful people because all he's done so far is fuck things up. And despite resenting this behavior from the adults in his life, he falls back into it. Because what is he supposed to do? He's just a kid who messes things up no matter how hard he tries to fix it. Why would his friends even want him around anyway? They're the ones who are actually saving the world.
I just really love the way dndads works with cycles. There are so many and they're all so good (and heartbreaking).
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td-brick · 5 months ago
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Brick being butch actually makes so much sense like even looking outside her appearance, just look at her behavior. A huge part of her character is being protective and kind to people but she's also not insecure or submissive like a lot of people make her out to be, she's assertive and strong when she needs to. especially when it comes to sticking to her moral code about helping/protecting others... like idk i wrote a twitter thread about this literally yesterday and it wasn't related to her being butch it was just me being annoyed at how people portray her in fanon but i think a lot of what i explained also relates to what i'm saying here/her being butch. at least in my eyes. IDK!
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mind-lost-in-the-stars · 2 months ago
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AU where Tom adopts/takes care of Max would be designed to take me out specifically because the timeline is brutal and angsty and wonderful….UGHH stay with me while I yap for a second
I imagine Max would have fallen into Tom’s care in his sophomore year of high school (Max would be about 15 around this time). Tom is the coach of the football team and has seen Max coming to practice with unusual bruises and burn marks ever since 8th grade (I like to imagine there is some kind of Hatchetfield Middle that also has a little football camp for older middle school kids that Tom helps out with), and Tom has been working to get Max out of his father care since then. Max ends up in the care of the Houstons which includes Tom, Tim, and Jane because the accident has yet to happen since it’s the beginning of the school year. Max still has anger issues (not as bad as we see in NPMD; I imagine his bullying would be at its peak his senior year as a sort of last hoorah since his “life would be over after high school”), but he never bullies or hurts Tim, and Tom keeps him in his place. Max also now once again has a mother which is something he’s missed for a long long time (I know Jane isn’t implied to be the best person in Nightmare Time, but I like to think she’s a pretty good mom). As time goes on and winter roles around, Max feels happy for the first time in a long time. He helps Tom build things, plays video games with Tim, and sometimes he even helps Jane cook. He starts bullying people less and maybe his grades even start to improve.
Then the accident happens and Jane dies.
Of course Jane’s death hits Tom and Tim extremely hard, but Max loses a mother for the second time. He feels indebted to Tom for saving him from his father, so he steps up for Tom and Tim. He grieves with them, but he doesn’t let his emotions show since Jane wasn’t really his mother or family. His father taught him that men aren’t allowed to show emotions and should instead be strong; Max internalized this deeply and while he was getting better at it since Tom is so kind, Jane’s death has set him soooo far back. Max finds outlets for his grief in cooking and football, but it’s not enough. It’s not enough and he’s still restless and upset; he goes back to bullying just a handful of nerds—the nerdiest of nerds. He keeps bullying Pete, Ruth, and Richie. Once again it’s not as bad as before, but it’s enough for Max to feel like he has some control of his life again.
Fast forward a year, and it’s Black Friday. Max has still been bullying the nerds, but Tom doesn’t know since it’s so minor. He’s noticed that somethings been up with Max, but he’s been so caught up in his own grief and keeping it together and Max says everything is fine so he doesn’t look into it too much. However, Tom does hear about this Tickle-Me-Wiggly doll and wants to get one for Max and Tim since they both deserve it after everything they’ve gone through. In an attempt to connect them both more with his family (and because he feels a bit bad leaving them both alone right after thanksgiving), Tom calls Emma to come watch the boys. Emma brings Paul (her not boyfriend) along, but Paul was also put on babysitting duty, and he’s watching over his nephew: Richie. Max is obviously surprised to see the nerd, and Richie gets a bit terrified but doesn’t want to ruin this for Paul or Emma. Max complains with Tim that he doesn’t want Tom to go, and rightfully gets pissed when Tom does leave to “get a new blade for his bandsaw”. It’s no use, and Tom still goes Lakeside mall to get both of his boys a Wiggly. Max is mad, but Emma is a master at dealing with angry people; she’s a barista, she does it everyday.
The group of Paul, Emma, Tim, Max, and Richie all hang out for the day. Richie shies away since he’s very much scared of Max still, but Max doesn’t pull any shit with him. Richie thinks it’s because adults are around, but then Richie also sees glimpses of Max acting like an older brother to Tim, and he starts to wonder. He wonders about the period where Max didn’t bully him, he wonders about how Max ended up in the Houston’s care, and he wonders what it would be like to be Max’s friend. Max doesn’t have anything to prove at his own house. He let’s himself be more involved in the board games and bonding shenanigans, and even makes a few jokes that Max laughs at.
Maybe life could turn around for all of them…
Since Black Friday takes place during their junior year (I think this is right timeline wise, but I may be wrong) which would give them time to be friends and heal and all that good stuff (assuming they all live past Black Friday). Max gets to live and have a family with the Houstons and gets to learn to be friends with Richie and maybe even the other nerds.
fuuckkkkkkkkkk now I need to make this a whole ass fan fiction and universe ughhhhhhh……<3
also it took me til half way through writing this fucking essay to realize that I was just making my 5 favorite Hatchetfield characters (Richie, Paul, Max, Emma, and Tom) all connected, and I just think that’s a little silly
if u read this whole thing, ur one of God’s strongest soldiers o7
also pls pls plssss let me know if u think of other stuff to add
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vllergy · 1 year ago
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emerges from the ether for 5 seconds before vanishing again--i don't post here often i go through phases, the moon has phases i have phases whatever but i've been playing a lot of b@lders g@ate and while i don't think i'll ever feel comfortable writing canon character content (maybe h@lsin??? g@le??? who knows) this one NPC interaction had me by the throat. feat: tw: canon courtesan/sex worker NPC, kink!reader, second person narration since the game is like that, hunky sneezy drow man, honestly a lot of build up for little payoff im sorry idk what happened. i also don't know the word count im useless (dialog is in-game dialogue up until the lil time skip to his room, then it's all me baybbyeee)
The drow is one of the most handsome you’ve ever seen. Not that you expected him to be ugly, of course. The fabled drow twins of Sharress’ Caress are known far and wide for their talents as well as their beauty. Its just, seeing them in person is quite different from sustaining on mere rumor alone. Sorn Orlith, as he introduces himself, is rather muscular for a drow. He stands nearly a good head taller than you with a broad, brazenly defined chest. His outfit is nothing more than a metal cage topped over his heavy shoulders and flared out down his sternum like witch’s fingers, pointing towards an abdomen taut with muscle.
His long skirt rides around his hips but you can still see the shadow of indents against bluish-gray skin there, as if they are inviting you to take a closer look. They likely are. Nothing about his appearance is not meticulously crafted to draw you in. From the slight sheen on his lips that are plush and naturally the color of ripe blueberries, to the way his wintry hair is falls effortlessly back from his face in perfect waves. He is a vision, and yet his eyes are not cold and imperious like you might expect. They’re warm. Inviting. Somehow kind, despite what kind of debauchery goes on in a place like this. 
You ask him how he ended up here in the first place. Apparently, the Underdark isn’t kind to male courtesans. Also, he was bored.
“The entirety of drow culture is obsessed with bondage beyond reason. While such activities have their charms, I yearned to reach greater depths.” He gives a dazzling smile. “And there is no society on this planet more laterally, imaginatively and confusingly depraved as that of Baldur’s Gate. Although of late, I do feel I’ve seen everything. Perhaps you’ll show me something new?”
Your throat goes dry. 
“I’m…glad you’re happy here,” you manage out. 
Sorn laughs, but not unkindly “I’d have to restrain myself far more than any play-bindings do if I worked in another field. This is a place where I can be myself boundlessly.” 
His arms widen, emphasizing the violet taut flesh of muscle in his shoulders and biceps. You do your best not to stare.
“There are so many who come to me speaking of a fixation that no one else has ever been able to share with them…” he leans close, “And never will again. 
He smells of bergamot and brandy. It’s intoxicating. “A once in a lifetime moment of passion. Every day. What could be better? Don’t you want to try it?”
You do. And he can tell. His grin widens, almost wolfish. 
“Trust me, you don’t want to miss my signature Menzoberranzan Love Trick.”
With the door to Sorn’s private room shut, you feel a sense of calm overwhelm you. The room is beautiful—long enough to be someone’s home, crystals and plants glowing in every corner, a bed surrounded by flowers, shadows in all the right places. It looks like it was plucked free from the most beautiful parts of the Underdark and brought here to Wyrms Crossing. It feels comforting. Safe. 
“Now, are you going to tell me about this little secret of yours? Or would you prefer to keep me in the dark?”
Sorn’s voice startles you and he slips a hand around your waist, nosing at your neck as he comes from behind you. He releases you at the reaction, but doesn’t make a show of it. He’s masterful at what he does. Reading his partner, gauging their comfort level, adjusting and maneuvering as necessary. Your blushing cheeks must give you away because he gives you an encouraging smile instead and reaches for your wrists.
“Come, let us sit first. I find it’s easier to talk like that.”
He leads you to the foot of the bed. The sheets are luxurious, obsidian satin, and the mattress sinks with your weight. He sits close, angling his body towards you, but not so close as to crowd you. Your knees touch. You can see his breath flexing the hardened muscles of his torso and chest as he lingers there, expectant but not impatient. His hands cover yours in your own lap.
“It’s perfectly all right to be nervous,” Sorn continues, “But I assure you, your secret is safe with me. And not only that, it is *treasured*. I meant what I said earlier. There is very little that surprises me these days. Should you present me with something unexpected, I will be noting more than delighted.” 
You avoid his eyes, despite how gentle they are. You’ve never said this in front of anyone. But he’s right. Odds are, there are multiple someones in Baldurs Gate who have stranger interests than you. Sorn has likely indulged them all and without complaint. As he said downstairs, he rather enjoys this aspect of his work. Still, your tongue is in knots as you work up the nerve to say it. Your eyes travel up from his chin to his perfectly shaped mouth, the cupids bow of his lips and then finally the long, aquiline shape of his nose. It’s a fine nose. Prominent on his face and somehow as elegant as the rest of him, it captivates your attention for a moment. 
When you realize you’ve been staring for a moment too long, the confession rushes out of you in a breath, “Sneezing.”
Your face feels like it might explode from the heat. Sorn blinks. You expect him to laugh, or tell you to leave the room, or some other horrible outcome but instead he merely tilts his head. His hands give yours an assuring squeeze.
“And what about it do you like, my love?”
You lean over with a groan. You truly cannot believe you’re having this conversation—but his warm chuckle sends something fluttering in your chest and you gather the courage to straighten back up again and look him in the eye.
“I’m…not quite sure, I just know I enjoy it,” you say carefully, “And when my partners do it.”
“Mmm,” he says, contemplating, “So you’d like it if I sneezed for you then?”
Your lips purse, holding the answer hostage in your throat. You nod helplessly instead. He laughs again and releases one of his hands to brush a knuckle along your cheek.
“Look how red you are, it’s positively darling. Was that all, little bird? That was what you were so afraid to tell me?”
You nod again, nearly in tears. It’s off your chest now and it feels incredible, but it’s also freeing in a way that makes you feel raw and exposed. He’s being so kind about it that you’re not quite sure how to react. Emotions clash together, warring for dominance inside the confines of your skull. 
Sorn seems to understand immediately. His hand skirts below your jaw and tips your chin up as he leans forward and captures your lips with his own. It’s a simple, nearly chaste kiss. So featherlight and innocent that it feels like the sun peeking through the clouds. “Shh, shhh,” he soothes as he pulls away, “I think it’s wonderful. I will say it’s the first time I’ve encountered it, but I think it’s quite endearing.” He pulls away a little further, leaving you breathless. His white smile gleams. “And what an exciting challenge besides!” 
He releases you fully and stands from the bed, his hands on his hips. He looks about the room, brow furrowed in concentration. You’re still a little dazed from the kiss, wondering how he manages to taste like brandy and sweetwine and smell as good as he does while also trying to get your brain to stop swimming. You blink a few times to get your bearings as Sorn stalks to one of his shelves.
“Now, the only trouble is—“ he starts as he rifles through a few things, “There isn’t much that makes me sneeze, I’m afraid.”
Your stomach wilts a bit. Perhaps it was too much to hope that this strapping drow would have a terrible allergy to lavender. Though, to be fair, he hardly looks like the type to be beset by anything so pedestrian. Sorn is so maddeningly put together. From his perfect hair, meticulous ensemble and finely crafted expressions, he is clearly a man that keeps up appearances. Decorum is important to him. Should he ever be laid low by an allergy, you imagine he would fight it with the all the dignity and stoicism he so proudly displayed. 
Still—you didn’t work up all this nerve just to get here and *not* have anticipated something like this happening. Shyly, you let your fingers linger over the vial in your pocket. 
“I…may have something that will help,” you say.
Sorn turns from the shelf with what looks like a raven feather in his hand, his eyes bright. He looks positively delighted at the news.
“Oh I love when my clients come prepared,” he says, “You are a dream.”
“We could try that first, though,” you say, gesturing to the feather. There’s definitely something to that idea and it’s already stirring a feeling in your belly that has you shifting on the bed and your heart rising. There’s no possible way Sorn can know this, but somehow you sense he does, because his eyes sharpen their focus on you and his grin goes syrupy. 
“Lovely,” he comments and returns to your side. As he sinks back into the mattress, he gestures a hand. “Is here all right? Or would you like to do it somewhere else?”
“Here is fine,” you choke out. The idea that this is happening, really happening, is making your brain turn to lightning. You can hardly wait. 
He holds out the feather to you, “I assume you’d like to do the honors?”
You nod. The feather has little weight to it, and it’s gorgeous up close. The black shimmers with hues of purples and blues in the low light, glimmering in the reflection of your eyes. You run your eyes along the length of it and then find yourself starting at Sorn again, heart in  your throat.
“Is it… all right if I touch you?” you ask. You lean forward, hand with the feather outstretched, but think you may need to position yourself a little closer and brace yourself on his shoulder to get a good angle.
“Darling,” he laughs. He suddenly seizes your wrist and brings you closer, lowering his voice near your ear. “You can do whatever you want to me.”
You gulp as he slides back, demure and innocent as if he hadn’t just made goosebumps appear along your arms and thighs with his words alone. A nervous smile paints your lips and you do finally take his shoulder in your hand. You’re kneeling almost into his lap at this point and to support you, he draws an arm around your back. It’s so intimate you’re almost dizzy with the closeness alone, and you haven’t even gotten to—
The feather brushes at the corner of his mouth and his mouth twitches in a smile. Even just that response alone makes your heart race. From there, you slowly move it up to the indent above his mouth, and then his septum. He wrinkles his nose, skin avoiding the stimulation on instinct before he wrests his control back. He smiles but says nothing, allowing you to continue. 
You draw the tip of the feather around one nostril. It quivers in response, but otherwise, Sorn’s eyes remained focused on you. You test a bit farther, drawing slow, soft circles. There isn’t anything for a few seconds, and then he starts to blink, irritated tears prickling in his eyes. He sniffs a few times and then has to cough, politely turning his head away on instinct as he does so. “Apologies,” he says and then grins, “What a strange sensation.”
“Are you all right?” you ask. 
“Very much so,” he nods, “Please, continue.”
You do, but to mixed results. You’re certainly irritating his nasal passages, but sadly not enough to make him sneeze. After a few minutes of attempting, all you’ve really done is making him cough and cry irritated tears. Disappointed, you’re about to give up when he takes your wrist again, holding the feather inside his nose.
“W-wait,” he says, “I had it for but a moment.”
Your heart stutters. Carefully, you twist the feather as you had been a moment earlier. His eyelashes, pale as new fallen snow, sweep his cheeks and a breath catches on the roof of his mouth. The hand that was around your wrist falls slack, fingers drifting down towards your elbow.
“Yes, I feel it,” he whispers. 
His grip around your back tightens and he draws in another breath. His eyebrows crumple and hoist upwards and his nose practically twitches. 
“Hh—hiiyh—“ 
As his expression snaps, you pull the feather away just in time. His head wrenches away as the sneeze whisks through him. 
“Hi-ISSHh!” 
It’s a spartan, nearly soft sound. Wet, given the amount of torture his nose has been put through for the last few unproductive minutes, but otherwise without frills or embellishments. It’s a very honest sneeze you think, but perhaps one he was not entirely prepared for. By his clenched teeth you think he might have held back at the last moment out of some sense of propriety. The way he lightly touches the backs of his knuckles to the underside of his nose in the aftermath and gives a delicate sniff further enforces your theory. 
Still, it was a sight. 
“Blessings,” you say, enraptured. 
Sorn recovers quickly and smiles at you. 
“Did you—snf—enjoy that? I am sorry it took so long.”
Your red cheeks are enough of a glowing recommendation, but you nod anyway. Feeling a little braver, and a little desperate for him now that you’ve seen him lose control the once, your hand slips down against his abdomen. The warm skin there flexes against your palm as he breathes in. He hums a soft noise of approval and clasps his hand over yours before leaning in to kiss you. There’s just the briefest moisture in the kiss, only you would ever notice it, and it sets your brain on fire. 
“Perhaps we should try your method instead,” he suggests when he pulls away for a breath, kissing a line across your jaw and to your throat next, “It might be more…productive.” 
You feel dizzy. His hand skirts along your thigh and meets the joint of your hip, squeezing with enough pressure to make you moan. 
“If you’re sure,” you say, “It can be…strong.” It’s only fair to warn him, after all. Everyone reacts differently, but you’ve never not seen it work on someone.
“All the better,” he hums against the hollow of your throat, nipping softly at the skin, “I simply won’t have you leaving here disappointed.”
You shift upwards to get access to your pocket. Sorn discards the sodden feather and watches with curious, eager eyes. When you reveal the tiny glass vial, he smirks. 
“I see,” is all he says before nodding his head toward the collection of pillows at the head of the bed, “Let’s get more comfortable first, shall we?”
Moments later, you’re lying side by side, both propped up by pillows and surrounded by the soft glowing plants and crystals that make a canopy of the bed. Sorn holds himself up on an elbow and examines the vial that looks comically small in his much larger fingers. You lay your cheek against one of the pillows and stare up at him, still feeling your heartbeat pound in your ears. You’d thought this would have gotten easier after seeing it happen once, but the idea of seeing it happen again is almost worst. Now that you know the sound, know how his lip curls a little, how his eyes flutter—all you want to do is see it more, see him unravel.
“So, just a pinch of this?” Sorn asks. He seems more curious than anything. Like he doesn’t quite totally believe that whatever is in there is actually going to be able to make him sneeze.
“Mhmhm,” you say. 
He grins and sets to work. A hefty pinch between his thumb and forefinger is gathered and then quickly—and in a rather sophisticated manner—snorted up one nostril. It doesn’t seem to cause him any harm like you worried it might, and he merely clears his throat once it’s over and brushes his hands off. 
“Oh, it’s lovely,” he comments, “Almost medicinal.” 
You can’t answer him because you can’t breathe. You’re waiting for something. Anything. A flicker of his expression, a quiver of his nose, something to indicate that the powder is set to work. But nothing happens. Sorn merely looks back at you questioningly. 
“When does it start to take effect?” he asks.
“Usually right away.”
He frowns, “Oh. Perhaps I should take more?”
You saw the amount he took. It was already sizable. Any more and you’d be concerned for him. You quickly shake your head, “No, I wouldn’t. Maybe it’s just…slow to start.”
Sorn huffs, his disappointment mirroring your own. He sets the vial aside and turns back to you, pulling you flush against his body. That’s still nice, sneezing or no. Every hard angle of him presses against you and the heat of his skin makes you shudder. He kisses you deeply and you can still smell the slightly earthy scent of the powder on him as you return it. 
“I’m terribly sorry,” he murmurs close to your mouth, “I’ve done nothing but disappoint you tonight.”
You blink up at him, “That’s not true!” 
He sighs and tucks a bit of your hair behind your ear. “It is, but I promise you, I will make it up to you. We still have plenty of time, and there are other things we can do, besides.”
Sorn dips an arm under you and pulls you flat against the bed, hovering over you. He grins down at you and starts to remove your top. 
“Is this alright?” he asks softly.
You nod, nearly choking on your want for him. Everywhere he uncovers bare skin, he lavishes in kisses until you’re bare from the waist up and the two of you are flesh against flesh. His skin sears yours with warmth. He trails fingers down your sternum and then down to your bellybutton, then lower. 
“You are a delightful little thing,” he says. His voice is velvet, and his warm breath paints down your ribs as he follows the path of his hand. 
You feel the gasp as much as you hear it. It’s a sudden, reckless thing—so quick that neither of you are prepared for it. Sorn’s expression flinches for just a moment and he barely has time to turn his head to the side before a sneeze completely overtakes him—misting your side in the process. “hh-EDSHHH’iuh!” 
You’re stunned. Sorn looks like he might be too, if not for the telltale signs of another impending sneeze close behind the first. He shifts and places a hand on your hip as he sits up a little. You watch as his upper lip curls over bright teeth and his nostrils flare once before he wrenches away from you successfully this time. “hhHH’RRSCCH!” This one is stronger than the last, more voice to it. It shakes him and you by extension on the mattress.
“Bless you,” you say, but he shakes his head. His hand squeezes your hip gently as if to say ‘not yet’. “Hih-ih!”
His fist goes to his mouth before you can stop it, and he squelches the last sneeze into submission. His eyes cinch shut and he bends at the waist, shoulders trembling as the colossal sound is contained to nothing more than a whisper. “hHh-nGXST!” 
He opens his eyes, though somewhat warily. As if he’s not sure the tickle is quite gone yet. He gives a cagey sniffle and blots his knuckle under his nostrils, “Goodness.” Then, he turns to you and finds your gaze positively enraptured. He smiles. 
“I suppose it does work ah-after all!” He rubs at the tip of his nose for a moment and then flutters his eyes, “I do hope you’re ready for more because it seh—seems…” 
Your hand goes to his chest. You feel the swell of his breath deepen, the warm feeling of his skin moving under your fingers. Sorn seems to get the idea because his palm reaches up to cover yours. His fingers wrap around your palm as his breath continues to snag. You catch his eyes just for a moment before they slide back. 
“hHH’RRSCh’euh!” He trembles under your touch with the force of it. He lifts his head just barely, eyebrows canted desperately, and then pitches downwards again, spraying your arm with abandon. “hh’AEEShhh’ah!” 
“Such a tickle,” he says breathily as he recovers. He gives a wet sniffle and smiles at you, but it’s hazy, the look in his eyes already distracted by the mounting itch. But he doesn’t seem bothered by it. If anything, he’s enjoying the newness of the sensation. The break from monotony. 
His nostrils flare and he releases his hand to rub his knuckle against his septum once more. 
You feel a little bold for asking, “Are you all right?”
He nods, smiling. He tries to hold your eyes but the tickle steals his concentration once more. 
“Quite!Just—hh…sn’tsCHh’eeze-hhHH! H’RRSHC’hu!” 
You reach your other hand up to stroke through his hair and turn him a little more towards you as he prepares for another. He resists at first out of instinct alone, but adjusts in the moment it takes for the sneeze to have its way with him. As his breath snaps, he ducks his head in the space between you and releases it into your lap. “hh”hRRRASsh’chu!” 
“Bless you,” you say, smoothing back his hair. You crawl into his lap and he welcomes you without hesitation, securing your thighs around his hips even as his head tilts back for two more with barely a breath in between. He ducks them between the two of you but there isn’t much space. His hands clench against your thighs with each outburst. “hh-eHH’SCCHE’uh! h’RRSH’ue!” 
Blearily, he looks up. He’s dazed. Sniffly. His cheeks are indigo and the area around his nostrils is too. You kiss him, because he just looks so stupidly *kissable* and he murmurs a laugh against your mouth. 
“It is quite comforting thatyou find me attractive in such a state,” he sniffs once you pull away. 
“Very attractive,” you remind him.
He smiles, and continues smiling even as his expression flickers again. “Ah, one-hh more perhaps,” he says.  He raises a hand in front of his face and a rather tired sounding sneeze ripples through him. “hH’EDShh!”
“Bless you.”
“I don’t thhhink I’ve ever snhheezed so much in my life-hh!” He leans his forehead onto your shoulder and does away with using his hand to cover, opting to simply hold onto your hips and let the sensation take him. “hh’UEHDSHH’iu!” You stroke his bare back and feel his ribs expand beneath your fingers before tightening twice in quick succession. “hh’NGXT! nG’ssT!” 
He clears his throat after and lifts his head back up, adjusting you on his lap. “Ah, I should have asked, do you prefer if I hold them in or let them out? Often I don’t know which it will be until it happens but… perhaps I could try…try to—”
His eyes roll and he turns his head, giving you a clear view of his twitching profile. “If I could juhhst get through a sehh’ESsch!—sentence!” 
“I don’t mind either way, I just don’t want you to hurt yourself if you hold them in,” you say to try and spare him. 
“Oh, darling, it takes much more than that to hurt me,” he wriggles his nose handsomely and turns back to you with a devilish grin. His eyebrows raise. “And lo! A full sentence! The effects must be wearing off.” He sniffs experimentally and for the first time, his eyes don’t get hazy in the aftermath. 
You feel disappointment sink your heart like a stone. It was bound to wear off eventually. But before you can even lament the course of events, he pats your thigh and shifts you off his lap. 
“Come, where’s the vial?” 
You blink. Surely he doesn’t want to do more of that?
He seems to know exactly what you’re thinking because he taps the bottom of your chin and winks.
“Oh, we’re far from finished, love. Ready for round two?”
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becca-alexa · 2 years ago
Text
Movie Magic
Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader
Summary: You're at Steve's for a movie date - what could go wrong?
Word Count: 1.7K
Content Warnings: fluff, fingering (f receiving), no use of [Y/N]
Author’s Note: bored and overwhelmed with school!and what better way to work off my stress than to keep writing this stuff? feedback and comments appreciated!💗💗
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    In any and every situation, Steve Harrington loved to touch you.
    Steve had been starved for affection since his childhood, his parents oftentimes never present enough to give him the love he ached for, the love every child deserves to receive from their family; he’d taught himself to live without such things, believing that their behavior was the norm, and that it was those he considered to be overly-affectionate that were strange. 
    As a teenager budding into young adulthood, he’d finally discovered how wrong his family had been.
    The first form of love he’d found was with Nancy - an eros love, however fleeting their relationship had been. He’d also learned of heartache, which made the love all the more powerful.
    The second form, he’d found with Robin - philia, or ‘platonic with a capital “P”’, as she would so often tell everyone. It was a warm kind of love, a safe love, a nonjudgmental and welcoming love that he basked in whenever they were together.
    The familial love - storge - he’d been searching for, he’d found in the kids - and in Eddie, of all people, although he’d be loath to admit it. Their friendships meant the world to him, and if it meant putting his own life on the line a second time to guarantee they’d all live to see tomorrow, then so be it.
    And the fourth kind of love, pragma… Well, that he found in you.
    Steve had been smitten with you since the first time you’d wandered into Family Video.
    You’d walked up to the counter; Steve, sorting through stacks of cassettes underneath, sprang upright at the sound of your voice, his eyes wide at the sight of you - a new face, a breath of air in the occasional staleness that came with living in a small town. You smiled at him, and he smiled in return; to his surprise, you asked him for directions, still too new to Hawkins to know which way the local Piggly Wiggly was. Steve had done his best explaining things to you, and you had thanked him as you left, giving him a shy wave goodbye through the store window.
    Robin nearly gagged at the way he’d melted after you’d left - and she’d teased him mercilessly for months about it.
    About you.
    You’d gone back the next day, this time actually in search of a video, Steve nearly leaping over the counter in his haste to get to you.
    “Hi.” he breathed, his smile more lopsided than debonair, hair falling over his forehead.
    “Hello again,” you replied, eyes clear and bright as you take a step closer to him, pointing at the rack of recent releases behind him. “Any recommendations?”
    He explained every movie, every plot point, every surprise twist or frightening scare that might deter one from renting a film - and Robin, looking on, arms leaned over the counter as she pretended to flip through a catalog, swore she’d never seen Steve do so much work.
    He pulled a few boxes from the shelf - his favorites, since you’d asked for suggestions. You stared at the boxes in his hands, lip caught between your teeth as you tried to decide which one to pick - and when your hands brushed his, he nearly jumped at the jolt of electricity that shot through him.
    Judging from the look of bewilderment on your face, you’d felt it, too.
    In any and every situation, Steve Harrington loved to touch you.
    Whenever he saw you, he’d long for some sort of contact with you; with your frequent visits to the shop, it was only natural that you’d befriend them, and eventually you just started spending your free time with the pair. It began with a poke; Steve had leaned his hip against the counter, listening to your excited raving about Cyndi Lauper’s newest single, nodding every once so often. He stared at your hand, at your seafoam green nail polish, and he couldn’t help himself.
    He poked your finger.
    You didn’t miss a beat, your conversation continuing on as though nothing had happened. But, much to Steve’s delight, you’d poked him back.
    And, from that point on, you were both inseparable.
    Poking turned to tapping, which turned to grabbing, then holding. As the scalding summer days drawled on, your friendship with Steve deepened - perhaps a bit too quickly to some, but perfect for the two of you. One day, working alone at the store, he had sworn to move things forward - to take the risk, praying you wouldn’t turn tail and run.
    He asked you out.
    You said yes, much to his surprise - and unsurprisingly to everyone else.
    As a friend, Steve Harrington was caring, kind, warm; his comforting aura was what had initially attracted you to him. But, as a boyfriend? 
    In any and every situation, Steve Harrington loved to touch you; to hold you, to brush his hand against yours, to press the softest of kisses onto your hair, your eyes, your cheeks, your lips.
    But, you quickly learned that he especially loved to touch you.
    Seated between his legs atop his couch, you leaned back against his chest, head on his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you, the movie you’d picked out playing on the large television. You try to focus on the movie - God knows you try - but the feeling of Steve’s rough hands moving over your thighs dominates your mind, your thoughts. You sneak a look at him, only to find him actually watching the movie; his hands continue to move over you, squeezing your softness, fingers wandering beneath the hem of your skirt, moving higher… Higher…
    “Steve?” Your voice is hoarse, your mouth dry, tongue sticky. “What are you-”
    “Just watch the movie.” His voice is soft against your ear, low and rumbling in a way that vibrates through your chest. You nod, swallowing against the tightness in your throat as his touch burns trails over your skin.
    You feel his fingers brush over your underwear, and he makes a quiet noise to get your attention.
    “Can I?” Steve asks, fingers tugging at the elastic hugging your body; you nod, face aflame as you lift your hips, pulling off the offensive thing in a single motion. And, unsure of where to put it, Steve takes it from you, sliding the lacy things into his pocket - for later, he answers with a kiss to your cheek before turning you back to watch whatever scene was playing out on the screen.
    You feel his hands roam over the inside of your legs, trailing close to your core. With a quiet gasp, your eyes flutter shut as you feel him drag a finger between your folds - up, down, up, down, stopping every few strokes to rub agonizingly slowly over your clit.
    “S-Steve-”
    “Keep watching.”
    Your body thrums in anticipation, and you have no choice but to do as he says.
    He continues on with his teasing - there’s no other way to describe what he’s doing - and you quickly feel yourself melting in his arms. As he kisses the shell of your ear, lips trailing over your flushed skin, his other hand moves to join the first, working in tandem to unravel you. You catch yourself grinding your hips up into his hands, and you barely catch a moan before it slips through your chapped lips.
    He rolls your clit between his fingers, maddening, electrifying, while his other hand presses into you, his fingers coated in your essence. Soon enough, the quiet, wet sounds of his fingers working your pussy fill the room, a sinful backing track to the movie you were supposed to still be watching. Your head rolls back against his shoulder, your breathing heavy, eyes fluttering closed as waves of warmth crash over you.
    “Eyes on the TV, sweetheart.”
    He pumps his finger into you, adding another, and you hear the softest of groans from him at how you squeeze around him, pulling him further into you. The hand at your clit speeds up, slows down, stops altogether before picking up at a dizzying pace - and the feeling drives you nearly to the brink of insanity, the familiar tightness of your release already coiling in your stomach.
    “You like this, don’t you?” Steve huffs against your ear, his own breathing labored as he works you toward your peak. “You like it when I touch you like this? When I get you soaking wet?”
    You nod, your mind a haze of pleasure; you moan aloud as his fingers curl themselves inside of you - and you know you won’t last much longer.
    “S-Steve, fuck…! I-I’m-” You cut yourself off with moan, one loud enough to be heard over the rising action of the film - rather, what you assumed to be the rising action.
    Neither of you were paying attention, anyway.
    You’re panting now, Steve’s name a prayer on your lips as your nails leave crescents in his arms, your eyes clenched shut as you feel yourself begin to come undone; the feeling of him everywhere is too much, too intense, and you let yourself fall into him.
    “C’mon, baby, cum for me. Cum on my fingers.” You feel Steve lick a stripe up your neck, kissing you, his words burning themselves into your flushed skin. “I want to feel you - please, baby…”
    You scream as the thread snaps, your body arching off his, his thick fingers buried deep inside of you, working you through the ecstasy. He presses kisses wherever he can reach, whispering praises into your ear; you can hear the smile in his voice, the pride he reserves only for you.
    “So good to me, baby… So sweet…” Pulling his hand away, he makes quite the show of licking his fingers clean, your flushed face burning impossibly redder, the sight making him smile as he readjusts you against him. He pulls out your panties, offering them back to you - of course, he does so purely out of courtesy, already knowing you’d refuse them. You settle yourself, burying your head in the cozy warmth of his chest.
    “Should I rewind the movie?” Steve asks, sounding almost sheepish as he reaches for the remote - and you laugh, taking the remote and tossing it aside before jumping to your feet, pulling him up with you as you lead him to his bedroom.
    “I’ve got a better idea…”
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