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revivemyreverie · 1 day ago

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SKETCH SSR: WISHMASTER’S CONCERT

CREDITS: Wishmaster's Concert Event : @tixdixl, Cyril Zeman (mentioned in story): @ramshacklerumble. I consider following both of them if you haven't already!!!

This event is crazy fun and I cannot believe I finished in under 3 days. anyhow! A short story is under read more :)

Groovification: Such frivolities–this kind voice, warm smile, and upturned brows– none of it has ever been real.

Set to Home Screen: Would you like to hear a tune?

Home Transition 1: Are we moving stages? I’ll follow as you desire.

Home Transition 2: My past self would “love” being here, I’m sure. Even if I no longer hold the emotions that came with those memories, the knowledge of how many times he used this violin is logical proof.

Home Transition: 3: These light choices are quite interesting. You usually expect something more refined when it comes to violin performances, but I suppose the inclusion of guitars and death metal muddles that.

Home, after Login: Ashengrotto said this event is in the best interest for both of us, but I am very sure I heard him saying he’s finally rid of me the other day… Is that what you refer to as “disdain"?

Tap Home 1: These clothes are not very optimal, since I cannot move much except the sleeves. I do not mind any of it, however, since I can still make quick movements with my bowstring.

Tap Home 2: I’ve heard it's good to deviate music choices every once in a while for experience, so perhaps adding a few songs into my usual classical music may be good for me.

Tap Home 3: I try to avoid bumping into my bandmates when on stage, as it would be rather terrible if my magic activated mid-performance... A husk might end up singing on stage instead of a person.

Tap Home 4: I’m quite shocked by the people who enjoyed my performance, seeing that I had failed to remember to smile. Those in the crowd even said I looked mysterious. Emotions are such an odd thing.

Tap Home 5: Logically, none of this really matters. All these people do is sit through a bunch of flashy lights while listening to sounds mixed and mashed together through ear-damaging speakers. Still, I partake in it, for I want to understand the past “me”’s love for it.

🎙️.

“I don’t care if it's to show off the school’s music prowess! My Abyssal Lover will not be working with the jerk that broke the head singer's and his boyfriend up!”

Such is the common complaint Allegra has been facing as of late by the head-singer of a little band made in Night Raven College, who the former had the delight of joining thanks to his dorm leader’s so-called recommendation (it was forced, but Allegra's not allowed to sa a word on it).

In his eyes, he had done nothing of what he had been accused of. All Allegra Mahalath had done was help a client and pull a little bit of an emotional possession with his magic. How was it his fault if he revealed that someone was having second thoughts about their relationship? Logically speaking, the singer should have just discussed this nonsensical problem from the get-go.

He might get a punch for such words, however, so the man stayed silent with his usual smile. Their manager spoke in his place, “YOU’RE the one who said anyone would do for our sick violinist, and I’m already in good-standing with Azul! I’m just taking advantage of the situation, so how about you get over yourself and move on?! Do you really want to throw away the chance to impress THE Cyril Zeman?!!”

The Octavinelle student watched his new nemesis remain silent.

“Then stop complaining and start rehearsing! And Allegra,I know you’re good at the violin, but our set also has some more... dramatic... parts in it. Please try your best.”

The therapist kept his demeanor the same. “As you wish, manager.”

—-----

The singer wondered if Allegra had a best to begin with, or was just trying to piss him off. He was awful at acting entirely, his motions being so stiff and short that he looked like a robot compared to the whisking twirls and light steps everyone else had managed to do. His only saving grace was his violin, which somehow made Allegra look far more graceful than the mannequin he turned into when he wasn't playing.

“If you can't bother to dance right, then how about taking off that tacky customer-service smile?” He complained after their 5th rehearsal and failure of an act.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Allegra speaks like one of Ignihyde's new robots. “but if it’s not up to par, I’ll change it.”

“Are you a human? I meant to use your real smile.”

Allegra pokes at his own cheeks, “But this is my real smile? It’s the same one I use everyday, even for my clients. I thought you would understand, seeing as you even had a previous session with me–”

The last sentence seemed to have switched something in the young man. With a aggressive yell, he gets up and grabs the spiral-eyed student's shirt

“Say a thing about my stupid session from that day and I’ll break your nose!"

The other band members ran between them, splitting the two apart to avoid a big fight. The singer clicked his tongue in return, turning to the classroom's door.

“I need a damn break.”

Allegra watched as he walked out, his temporary band mates surrounding him. A silence filled the room, yet the smile on his face remained sweet as always.

—-------

“Do you have an issue with me?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

The vocalist and violinist sat alone in the makeup room, their group having already departed for set preparations and to avoid the ever-growing storm between the two students.

“You’ve shown a great amount of physical hostility towards me.” Allegra spoke with such niceties, “I would love to know why.”

“Oh I’m sure you would.” Sarcasm came up like vomit. “You’re an ass who ruined my goddamn love life, and now I’m expected to work with you and your weirdo facade.”

“Facade?”

The vocalist slammed his hands on the table, tired of dealing with him for the past 3 weeks. “Yes! Facade! You think everyone just takes your little goody-two-shoes employee act as fact? Everyone in the band knows it's all either a cover for you being a creep or that you just hate everyone in the world!”

Allegra turned away from him, looking outside the door’s window. “I don’t hate anyone.”

“Cut the crap! That’s a lie itself!”

“Would you like to hear the truth about me then?” Allegra says, his voice suddenly ice cold.

He turns back to the lead-singer, his face lacking all signs of emotion.

“Such frivolities–this kind voice, warm smile, and upturned brows– none of it has ever been real.”

This is the true Allegra Mahalath, the one who put no effort into any relationships he was expected to care for. The vocalist looked into those empty, spiraling eyes, which grow closer with every step the brunette takes towards him.

“You’re correct, as I am simply playing the part of a false me. In my eyes, anything and everything holds no meaning; Allegra Mahalath doesn’t care for this event, nor its people, or its problems. The same can be said for my clients and their relationships, especially yours." He stated it all so matter-of-factly, as if there truly was nothing inside his heart. "It's most fitting to say that I can't seem to care about anything.”

A shiver ran down the singer’s spine. “...Then why are you even here?"

“Because I want to understand why the past ‘me’ did.”

The announcer’s voice could be heard through the loudspeaker, cutting off their confrontation with the calling of their band's name.

"Next up, from the dark corners of Night Raven College itself, is My Abyssal Lover!"

Allegra’s monotone demeanor remained as cheers could be heard echoing from the crowd. “It’s officially stage time, I kindly suggest you hurry up.”

—-----

“Look! We got put in the event’s article!” The team’s manager exclaimed, showing off his phone to the group. “They even got a photo of you, Mahalath!”

The brunette takes a look at the article presented in front of him, reading the text with a feigned interest.

“Oh. Oops.”

“Huh? What’s wrong?”

“It appears I forgot to smile during the set.”

For the rest of the band, it seemed like a well-timed joke. They laughed at another one of Allegra's supposed oddities. Only the vocalist remained silent in the classroom’s corner, understanding exactly what the Octavinelle student meant.

#“why is it called sketch its obvs refined”#there is a lack. of usual rev care #so #sketch.#twisted wonderland #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #twst fanevent #Wishmaster's Concert #twst #allegra mahalath

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mircsy · 2 days ago

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This.

We, artists, interact with each other on a daily basis, either in text or call (or both). It genuinely disgusts me to see how disrespectful and immature some people allow themselves to act online, to act with my friends.

I understand when someone doesn’t like a design, ship, art style or interpretation etc. Like, my gosh, I really wish I could erase my memory of the jetpack-windbag from the official “600 Strike” animation, or Odysseus’ red eyes in the song “Odysseus”, those visuals are JORGE’s ideas and NOT the artist’s who he commissioned, or that Jorge decided to add the mention of SA in “Hold Them Down”, while it was not in the original source, or the way he portays Calypso. (Yet people complain when artists don’t stay “canon”) Yes, Jorge took plenty of artistic liberties while writing this musical. And that is completely OK. Do I go around talk shit about him, spread dreadful misinformation about him, label him as a bad person because I don’t specifically like these changes? No. I still appreciate the hard work he put into the songs, the music, the thoughts behind them, and I accept the way he sees the songs, or I come up with sensible and respectful arguments/constructive critisism why I don’t like something. Or simply accept that it’s not my cup of tea and don’t interact with it to get rid of content I dislike.

Not like those who talk hateful about artists who make their own interpretation of the songs, or when they create something original they get told to go back and work on EPIC content. Or like those who are hateful towards Stories from Styx, because they had expected a second EPIC, while Casper emphasized SEVERAL TIMES that it will NOT be like Jorge’s creation. SfS is a completely different genre, which requires different type of voices, different instruments, different techniques of singing, plus it is the first musical our dear friend Casper ever wrote. And did he use the same artists who Jorge used? Yes, BECAUSE we are NOT “EPIC artists” who are Jorge’s property, we are all individuals who can join and leave, and create in any fandom/topic we want. It’s as if these people had said “How dare Robert Downey Jr. play Sherlock Holmes in the movies, he is a Marvel actor”. But I, and many other artists, have talked about this already enough. And guess what? Even though I loved working with Jorge, I enjoyed working with Casper more. Wild? Not really.

Casper showed he cares about the artists he commissioned. He made us a place where we can interact and help each other too, which made work so much less stressful. He cares so much he is even trying to help us dissolve this hate that reaches some of us, artists. Ryan’s advice about the algorythm and “block the hateful people and move on” is good. Correct, that really is how the algorythm works. But it misses the whole point why we reached out in the first place.

He can talk about community management, but it is not the SfS fandom that is full of immature and toxic people, who I question if they have ever been in fandoms. It is the EPIC fandom. And just like any other fandoms, it will have dark sides, people in the fandom WILL USE dark topics to create fan made content. And for many people it is a coping mechanism. (See sharpwolf ship. Those people who write about this toxic relationship, while themselves are victims, it’s like vent art for them. Helps them understand their own emotions. And also, not every Telemachus x Antinous work is connected to EPIC, keep that in mind. Greek mythology exists outside EPIC)

It just seems that a large part of the EPIC fandom loves the musical. But not the artists, writers, other creators who technically made it popular, those who technically carry the musical on their backs to the top with their fan (or even official) work… And those who could change that, those whose words would be listened to (not just heard), they step back and watch.

But that’s okay. Block those who hate and move on. Right?

Now here’s a fact. If the self entitled kids who spread hate don’t get regulated by someone who they most likely would actually listen to (*glances at the creator of EPIC*), artist will take the advice and will move on. Completely. Because of these people we started loosing enthusiasm over creating EPIC content.

hi guys! just letting you know in response to being notified about an uptick of hate and negativity in the epic fandom (mostly on tiktok) , Ryan Donaldson, the main business strategist of the EPIC team, has issued a statement essentially saying its the creator's fault that they experience so much hate because they drive the algorithm to give them more hate comments by responding to it.

Nowhere in the video does he say that he doesn't condone this sort of behavior, which is weird considering that he was a large contributor in creating and curating the fandom. He repeatedly pushes the idea of 'banning and moving on,' saying that Stories from Styx experiences more hate because Casper responds to hateful comments and implies that he may have hired "abusive collaborators" (whatever that means). Nowhere in this video does he talk about the role of the audience in defining the behavior of a fandom space. Ryan then plugs epic by talking about how positive everyone involved in the project is . Generally a dogshit response

Ryan is @ tiktokdungeonmaster on well. Tiktok

#I am harsh but otherwise many will not understand how much this affects us emotionally #epic the musical #epic fandom #enough is enough #artist on tumblr #Greek mythology exists outside EPIC #we WILL move on if something doesn’t change #I remember the time when it was called EPIC family #mircsyap

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lrithill · 3 days ago

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NSFW ARTphabet Headcanon: The Sacred Clown Porn Manuscript (J-Q)

Hi everyone,

Here’s the second part (just as sinful—maybe even more so than the first one).

The first part ended up reaching 100 likes and I’m super proud. It’s my first post to hit triple digits, and I can’t believe the support I’m getting and the amazing community I’ve found (the Terrifier fandom is as sweet as it is unhinged).

Some of these letters I’m planning to turn into full fanfics, so be ready.

*OMG, I was checking to make sure everything was in order, and I just realized I totally skipped the Q. It’s not even on my AO3 (how could I—may God/Art forgive this insolence). I just wrote it quickly, so this is a last-minute addition.*

In the second chapter we have: masturbation (I’ve discovered I have an obsession with Art jerking off), pillow talk, true crime documentaries, menstrual ketchup bottles, Sienna, forbidden places, bites (can’t miss those), gore, near-death experiences, mentions of rape, oral sex (way too many details), medieval torture, Inverted Scarecrow position (I love that one), and love—bizarre, but love after all.

Here’s the first part (A–I):

https://www.tumblr.com/lrithill/780285284765089792/nsfw-artphabet-headcanon-the-sacred-clown-porn?source=share

Enjoy, my doomed and blessed soul.

J = Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

Before he met you, he used to jerk off every now and then.

Not too often—but sometimes the stress had to come out somehow.

He’d lie on his back in bed and stroke himself slowly, savoring the sensation. His body would respond instantly to his own touch.

Though sometimes… he went further.

After a particularly satisfying kill—sometimes even during—he’d get rock hard. And that would lead to the quickest way to release: using the victim’s body.

Once, he took a decapitated head home and placed it in his bathroom.

"I could use some decor," he genuinely thought.

But he eventually had to throw it away… Because every damn time he took a shower, he swore it was giving him bedroom eyes. (Don’t ask.)

In the end, he discovered the ultimate technique.

Jerking off with his hand? Too boring.

Fucking bodies or parts of victims? It never really satisfied him. (Post-nut clarity hits hard.)

Then… he found The Pillow.

A long one. And oh, God— that thing was his girlfriend for a long, long time.

He’d hump it like a dog. Bite it. Hug it. Usually in missionary—very proper—he has, after all, a minimum standard of emotional pillow responsibility.

At first, he made an effort to clean it. But eventually, he thought:

"What if I tried to create a piece of modern sculptural art?"

To this day, he has no idea what happened to that pillow. Sometimes he wonders if someone found it… and if the pillow attacked them.

Because after all that time…That thing definitely came to life. And it's out there, holding a grudge.

*Testimony of the Pillow* (Graphic content ahead. Read with caution.)

“I never asked to be born.” The camera doesn’t show her face—for privacy reasons.

I just wanted to be a decent pillow—plump, discreet. Maybe live out my days decorating a modest bed or humble sofa.

But no.

I had the misfortune of ending up in his hands.

That filthy clown.

That depraved artist.

That… desperate dog with control issues and a fetish for soft things.

The first time I felt his body grinding against my satin fluff, I didn’t understand what was happening.

But by hump number five, it was clear: I was his girlfriend.

Against my will.

He bit me, he made out with me—tongue included—, he growled, fucked me, hugged me so hard I thought I’d burst my seams…

And then he’d leave me there, dripping with… all kinds of fluids.

I once saw a mother rat cover her baby’s eyes as they passed by.

Humiliating.

At first, he washed me. As if I had any dignity left. But over time… everything changed.

He started leaving me out to dry on my own.

He started “decorating” me.

“If you can even call this decorating,” she says, as the camera zooms in on something obscene. “He drew a face on me. The face of shame.”

“I didn’t deserve this,” she adds, eyes brimming with tears.

I wanted to die.

But pillows don’t have that option.

All I could do… was evolve.

And I did.

Every orgasm I absorbed. Every moan. Every thrust. Every night of madness.

It corrupted me… with hatred.

Until I stopped being just a pillow. And became something else.

One day, Art forgot me in a corner. He replaced me… with a woman.

“And… for some reason, it hurt” she sobs, grabbing a tissue from the table and blowing her nose. “I’ll never be free again. He was all I had… and now I don’t even have that.”

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Art has more kinks than weapons in his bag.

I won’t go into full detail, since most of them have already made divine appearances throughout this sacred Sanskrit ARTphabet.

But here’s a small, blasphemous selection:

BDSM / Bondage

Tape, cuffs, ropes, whips—everything.

Whatever you can imagine… Art can imagine worse.

Praise kink

Art is a narcissist: he wants you to tell him what a good killer he is. He wants you to talk to him like the obsessed fangirl you are.

Degradation kink

Just as much as he wants to be worshipped like a god, he also wants to see you crawl and humiliate yourself for his attention—and for his cock.

Menstruation kink

What can I say? He’s not wasting a single drop of your blood. You’re his premium ketchup dispenser:

He’ll shove fries into your cunt mid-meal to dip them in your sauce.

He’ll lick your pads like someone licking the foil off a yogurt

And he’ll squeeze your tampons over his food like lemon juice on fresh seafood.

Blood play

Yours, his, and his victims’. (Especially his victims'.)

Knife play

Beautiful memories—temporary ones… or permanent.

Urinating

Yes, he wants to piss inside you.

(No, I’m not explaining that).

Anal

Not much to say.

Art lives for that tight, virginal little hole. It makes him see stars—and makes you see them, too.

Both from pain… and pleasure.

Cannibalism

He wants to eat you—but he knows better than to bite the hand that jerks him off.

So he settles for sinking his teeth in, making you bleed just enough to get his fangs itch with craving.

God above—if you knew how many times he’s imagined devouring you, you’d be terrified.

And yes, it literally makes his mouth water.

To him, there’s something brutally romantic about cannibalism.

The idea of consuming you—not just psychologically, but physically.

The idea of having you inside him.

The idea of you becoming one with him.

It turns him on more than anything else.

Of course, you’re his forbidden fruit.

But the serpent is always there—whispering in his ear, tempting him.

Voyeurism

He loves being watched. Loves when they see him fuck you—see him enjoy.

See you, moaning his name.

Don’t be surprised if he brings in bound victims—into the bedroom, or into the car—just to get off on the audience.

Somnophilia

Art will inject you with chemicals, slip sedatives into your coffee or soda, he might even wash the full dishes with a slow-release drug—so the plates, glasses and forks microdose you into drowsiness. He loves watching you slowly get drugged—your speech turning incoherent, and you having no idea what’s going on… until you finally realize, and he’s already smiling like a bastard—but it’s too late.

All of it just to have you knocked out for a while, so he can use you like his own little sex doll.

But don’t worry—he’ll be gentle.

You won’t wake up with dicks and obscenities drawn on your face… or yes.

Phone calling

Art loves your voice—way too much.

Once, he was fucking you and your mom called.

You answered, trying to sound as normal as possible while he railed you into the mattress.

He was mesmerized.

Now?

He makes you call every kind of customer service out there.

Plumbers, electricians, tech support, food delivery (that one’s a two-for-one deal! ), radio contests, reality TV shows, even your simp friends.

And of course—he won’t make it easy. Let’s see how well you speak with your mouth full.

He’s not allowing you to hang up until the other person says: “Thanks for your call” or “See you later.”

For him, that’s the real climax.

Next level?

He sure will make you do it on video call.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

This is one of my favorites.

Sure, he enjoys the intimacy of home—fucking in bed, on the couch, on the kitchen counter… that’s all nice.

But if there’s a way to dial up the tension, to turn pleasure into pure, sacrilegious kink—Art will find it.

And what gets him going like nothing else in this world… is doing it in forbidden places.

Sienna’s house.

God. Just the thought gets him hard as a doorknob.

He imagines walking in with you—originally with the intention to kill her—only to find the place empty. And if there’s no one there… well, who’s gonna stop him?

He’d take you straight to Sienna’s bedroom. He’d kiss you like he’s trying to suck your soul out through your mouth (though, let’s be honest, your soul is mostly his by now). His tongue tracing your neck, his hands gripping your waist… and moving lower.

In seconds, you’d be so hot and so wet you’d be begging for his cock—completely forgetting where you are.

Not caring that it’s someone else’s bed… that Sienna could walk in at any moment.

And of course, he’d fuck you right there. In her bed. And yes, he’d have the decency to break it in the process—because if there’s one thing Art refuses to do, it’s go unnoticed.

He’d suggest cowgirl. Him lying on his back, grinning like the bastard he is, thinking about how he’s resting in his enemy’s “safe space”—defiling it with every thrust.

Every moan, a stylish insult.

The desk wouldn’t be spared either.

He’d cover it in fluids and paint, knocking all her precious little drawings to the floor like garbage.

He’d pin you against the wall and fuck you senseless—right in front of that stupid poster of a giant tree.

Even the computer chair would get its turn: you, riding him, kissing him, pleasuring him while he laughs silently—enjoying every fucking second.

The couch would be the grand finale. Versatile. Endless positions.

He pictures himself sitting while you kneel in front of him, mouth worshipping his cock, saliva dripping down his shaft and balls—leaving behind a very distinct kind of moisture stain.

He laughs just imagining Sienna’s face when she sees that imprint.

A true masterpiece.

And this might just be one of the few places where he actually prefers to cum outside of you.

The idea of coating everything in his semen is just too delicious to resist.

Even more so the image of Sienna—disgusted—forced to clean up after him.

Because one thing’s for sure: he wants to leave a mark.

Proof of the fucking, the sweat, the moans, how hard you both came…

Art 1 – Sienna 0.

Another place that drives him absolutely wild is the Miles County cemetery.

All his victims—or what’s left of them—end up there.

Back when he was alone, he’d sometimes visit at night, wandering among the tombstones like someone flipping through an old photo album, stirring up sweet memories.

He’d walk past each grave until he found the names of his “friends.”

Some of them weren’t even his victims, but they still got a taste—just for being cocky.

No one was safe.

He used to jerk off in front of the tombstones .

Or rub himself against the dirt, trying to get as physically close to the body as possible.

More than once, the thought of digging Tara up crossed his mind—his favorite—just to play with her for a while… though fucking a skeleton comes with certain technical challenges.

But now that he has you… The possibilities are endless.

He throws you down without hesitation.

The damp earth beneath your back, the cold night air scraping your skin… and then there’s him on top of you—his inner hellfire keeping you warm—kissing you with lust, thrusting into you with the perfect blend of desire, sadism, and joy.

He pounds into you with the fervor of a desperate lover, like every thrust is a laugh in the face of the dead.

In his mind, he talks to them. All the ones he’s killed. The ones right beneath you.

“You mind if I fuck her on top of you, Mía? Could’ve been you. You would’ve loved it... I’d have killed you after anyway, of course.” And he chuckles silently to himself—that eerie, mute laughter only he understands.

He gets off on the idea of torturing them even after death.

It’s not enough that he killed them—he won’t let them rest.

Not even in their graves can they escape him.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Of course, a good kill always leaves Art ecstatic—eager to blow off steam with you the second he sees you.

But if there’s one thing that truly gets him going—that triggers a raw, urgent, animal need he can’t hide—it’s your marks.

Or rather: His marks.

You could be in the kitchen, peacefully making dinner, and he’ll sneak up behind you—wrapping his arms around you, breathing in your neck, running his hands along your body…

And then he sees them.

And he thinks:

“That bruise was darker yesterday.”

And that’s all it takes.

He’ll drag you to the bed. Or the table. Or pin you against the nearest wall. Because he needs to fix his masterpiece, urgently.

Those marks aren’t just memories. They’re his signature. Proof that you’re his—and no one else’s.

From the strategic bite marks, to the scratches that sting in the shower, the fingerprints sunk into your hips, the rope marks around your wrists and ankles…

All of it turns him on as much as the sound of your voice moaning his name.

And he’s going to make sure everyone can see it.

That there won’t be a single inch of your skin that doesn’t scream:

"Property of Art."

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

This one's tricky—because Art is willing to do anything, as long as it brings pleasure—whether it’s his or his partner’s.

But sharing you or being in an open relationship? That’s an absolute NO.

He believes in God, his country, and marriage—in that order.

(Just kidding. He simply won’t share you with anyone because you’re his. Period.)

Now, if he ever found out you had a lover—or worse, if you moaned another man’s name while he was inside you...

He’d just look at you.

For a few seconds.

As if the entire hell inside him had suddenly gone silent.

And just like that—your world ends.

He’d take it as if you told him you didn’t desire him. That you felt nothing for him. That you wished it was someone else fucking you…

That would hurt him more than anything else.

It’d be the end for you.

And your death? It wouldn’t be quick—not even close.

He’d destroy your face until it was unrecognizable.

He’d feed you filth.

Push your body to the brink of infection.

He’d cover you in wounds—your body a raw, open poem written in flesh and blood. And when the verse was complete, he’d stitch it closed—gently.

As if he cared.

As if he’d had enough, and suddenly… loved you again.

Forgave you.

But girl… you couldn’t be more wrong.

He’d do it so you wouldn’t bleed out. He’d do it to keep you alive as long as possible.

He wants you to breathe his rage—day after day.

And when your wounds start to heal? He’ll pull the stitches out.

One by one.

Line by line.

Because you don’t deserve to heal. Just like he never healed from the wound you left in what little heart he had left.

He doesn’t want revenge. He just wants you to feel what he felt. He just wants you to empathize.

“Do you understand now, my love?” you read in his eyes as he smiles at you.

Art doesn’t do second chances—you’d become his personal punching bag.

Lucky for you, you want him more than you’ve ever wanted anyone.

And he knows that. So you’re safe knowing that no other man’s name will ever leave your lips.

You’ll scream like he’s killing you. And honestly—he could say he had quieter victims.

It’s strange, but there’s another thing he’d never do—as odd as it may sound—he would never deliberately rape you.

He loves playing with fear, with adrenaline. Loves being in control. Loves being dirty, and rough, and wild… but he wants his partner to want him too.

The idea that you’ve become so corrupted that you enjoy every kind of macabre, bizarre act—that’s what turns him on the most.

Raw consent—the kind that’s given between gasps, with shaky breath, with eyes that gleam with hunger—that drives him crazy.

A whispered “yes” laced with fear, with sin, with need—but still a yes.

Always.

If he saw anything in your face or body language suggesting you weren’t into it—that you didn’t want him, didn’t desire him—it would gut him.

He’d be wrecked. Might even hate himself for hurting you.

He’s a narcissist, with delusions of grandeur. He wants to feel wanted. Worshipped. Even romanticized…even though he knows damn well he doesn’t deserve any of that.

He could tie your wrists above your head and spread your legs wide.

Could run a knife along your thighs, savoring the terror on your face as it gets dangerously close to your wet center…

You’d be sweating, trembling. Maybe you could even try to fight him.

But you don’t.

The blade stops… but his gaze cuts deeper than steel.

He unties you—completely. Then watches—in silence—inviting you to run… while you still can.

You won’t.

You both know you won’t.

But he still gives you the option—he always gives you the option. And that turns him on almost as much as slamming you against the wall.

He doesn’t want to take you by force—he wants you to give yourself to him.

He drops the knife.

And then he kisses you. Not violently… but hungrily. With certainty.

Because he’s won.

(Though there’s always the chance…that one day, he’ll spiral. He’ll feel weak, soft... human.

And in a moment of emotional collapse—he’ll rape you.

Not because he wants to.

But because he’s desperate to prove to himself that you mean nothing.)

(Spoiler: That’s not how it works.)

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Art enjoys oral sex as much as penetration.

To him, it’s a form of absolute surrender. An offering. An act where the partner’s pleasure is placed above their own.

Of course he loves giving it to you. He’s going to devour you like a chicken wing—because to him, that’s exactly what you are.

He likes to start with your tits.

Because what kind of oral would it be if he didn’t eat your tits first? Even he knows the first course deserves to be savored before moving to the main.

He loves sucking on them, one after the other, pinching your nipples until they’re stiff—hypersensitive.

While he sucks on one, he pinches the other, and then switches, drawing out those moans and gasps he worships.

Of course, he gives you little bites.

Takes your nipples between his teeth carefully, just enough to make you flinch—and that makes him laugh.

But right after, he goes back to soothing you with his tongue, massaging you like a heartfelt apology.

While he’s at it, you can’t help but get soaked.

You feel your pussy clenching, dripping down your thighs, desperate for the same attention he’s giving your nipples.

He sucks on you like a starving baby. If you had milk, he’d drink it all.

(You’re scared that one day he’ll get you pregnant and you’ll end up with two babies latched to your tits… one of them permanently.)

Once he sees he’s done a good job—once your legs are pressed together and you’re a puddle of need—he makes his way down, kissing and licking his path straight to where you want him most.

Once there, he can take all the time in the world between your legs. His tongue is expert: thick, long, soft, versatile.

His lips too.

And if that wasn’t enough—his nose gets involved, making sure no corner goes untouched.

His tongue glides over your clit, up and down, making circles, pressing like a button, zigzagging… he gets creative.

He loves watching that nervous little nub—sweet and twitching—glossed in his hot saliva.

Loves watching it swell and pulse with desire.

His little treasure.

The soft moans you let out are like prayers to him.

He switches between your clit and your pussy, of course—he’s not going to leave her neglected.

His tongue isn’t as long as his cock, but he knows that both the outside and the just-inside are perfectly sensitive to his touch.

And he fucks you with his tongue.

Goes as deep as he can, curling inside, circling, stimulating, dilating you, opening you, preparing you for what comes next:

His fingers.

First one. Then two. Then three… and so on, as far as you can take him.

(He’s fisted you before—a truly astral experience.)

All of it while never giving your clit a moment’s rest—he kisses it like he’s kissing your mouth—tenderly, reverently—doting on it with every motion.

And though he loves drinking you, he can’t help but tremble and pant whenever he takes you in his mouth.

Because now comes the not-so-fun part.

It takes him every ounce of self-control—sweat and tears—not to rip your clit off with one bite. (Ouch.)

You know it’s a risk you have to take…but you trust him with your life (literally).

You know Art will restrain himself, that he won’t let his cannibal urges win…

But the possibility is always there.

And the idea is even more thrilling for him knowing that he’s never eaten a real pussy before, so he’s way too excited about the thought.

Still, you trust that your cannibal boyfriend won’t turn you into dessert.

Of course, Art isn’t content with just your pussy.

He’ll flip you over like someone flipping a burger on the grill—once one side’s done, time for the other, right?

And he’s going to eat your ass. Your whole crack—top to bottom.

The spanks are coming, too. Get ready for him to leave your ass tomato-red, his hand and all five fingers tattooed across it for days.

You love it.

It’s rare for a man to be this excited about this kind of play— and it’s extremely pleasurable.

Art’s not squeamish about anything, least of all in bed.

When you cum, it’s an earthquake. You convulse. You scream his name.

You press his head down as hard as you can, trying to get him as deep as possible.

Your thighs clamp down on either side of his face, trapping him like a vice.

You might think this hurts Art—but you couldn’t be more wrong. He’d love it if you crushed his skull between your legs. It’s how your body says thank you—and he wants you to thank him properly and thoroughly.

No need to mention Art loves period sex. And when he smells it… oh, baby.

You’re not getting rid of him.

He likes you standing for that—him on his knees, like he’s worshipping at an altar—mouth glued to your bloody cunt between your thighs.

He does it so the blood will drip down his chin, his neck, his chest.

He’ll even rub it into his skin with his hands, just to coat himself more thoroughly in that precious elixir.

Sometimes, Art gets creative.

He’s not a fan of the classic 69, so he invented a better version.

He ties you up upside down—vertically—legs spread, arms free. He calls it the Inverted Scarecrow (in honor of Dawn). You’re left hanging while he eats you out—him standing.

And of course, you’re sucking his cock.

He’ll make sure you’re at the perfect height.

To him, this is the real 69.

The guy who wrote the Kama Sutra just didn’t have the guts.

You know what happened to the last person who was in that position…

But the only thing Art’s going to hacksaw from your pussy—is a path straight to your heart.

Oooooohhh… uwu

But if there’s one thing that sets his entire body on fire—it’s receiving.

Because for Art, that’s the purest form of domination.

Watching you on all fours, bowed between his legs like a slave offering herself to her master—focused entirely on pleasing him while he doesn’t even have to lift a finger…

it’s too much.

(He’ll also want to sit on your face so you can eat his ass, by the way—just be ready.)

Too perfect.

Too filthy.

Too much power.

For him, it’s always a good time for a blowjob.

And nothing turns him on more than when you do it without warning.

Dropping to your knees out of nowhere, saying nothing—just taking him in your mouth with hunger and devotion.

When he’s driving, unzip the front of his suit and suck him off.

With both hands on the wheel, he’ll start swerving a little, completely unable to focus on the road.

He’s too turned on—and he loves that.

He gives you a little thumbs up like saying:

“I’m gonna crash, but it’s worth it.”

When he’s at his workbench, focused on assembling a new weapon—take control of his cock with your mouth.

Suck him while he works.

Don’t stop.

Doesn’t matter what he’s building: some kind of medieval torture instrument, a corkscrew for eyeballs, a chainsaw with animal teeth, a vacuum built to suck colons out through the ass...

You, under the table—focused, warm mouth, wet throat.

Him, brow furrowed, jaw clenched, fighting not to collapse over his tools, barely keeping his composure.

And then there are the darker moments.

The ones you shouldn’t find so hot.

Like that time… with the rack.

He had his victim bound hand and foot with ropes, limbs stretched in opposite directions, muscles and tendons on the brink of tearing.

Art was seated—turning the wheel slowly.

With every turn, the ropes tightened—closer and closer to total dismemberment.

And you?

You knelt between his legs without a word.

Took him into your mouth.

And started moving.

In sync with the wheel.

The closer he got to snapping the other man’s body apart—the faster your rhythm.

You wanted him to cum at the exact moment the tendons tore, when the bones cracked, when the body became an unrecognizable pile of meat.

And you did it.

The screams of the bastard shredding his vocal cords—mixing with the obscene sounds of your mouth on Art’s cock, worshipping him with spit and sin.

Your mouth full of him.

His eyes wild.

The corpse still twitching in front of you.

You could say it was the best blowjob of his life—maybe even the best orgasm he’s ever had.

The pleasure of sex, the pleasure of torture, of slowly bringing someone to their limit—the same thing you did to him.

Except the only thing that got dismembered… was his mind.

(It ended up just like the body.)

He stared at you—chest heaving violently, mouth slightly open. You could practically hear his heart pounding inside his chest, like it was trying to escape.

He was frozen in place, processing what had just happened, barely able to believe it.

For a moment… he looked truly in love.

He was cursing Cupid for ruining his life, and thanking him in the same breath.

Apparently Cupid didn’t use a bow with him—he fucking sniped him with a crossbow.

Direct hit. No escape. Lethal.

His expression said it all:

“You’re worse than me… and I love it.”

It was perfect.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Art usually starts focusing in you.

He cares about your pleasure—about making you feel good right from the beginning.

He starts the way he knows you like it best, and he makes an effort to draw it out, to make the moment last, to make it slow, intoxicating… complete.

It’s not how he prefers it. He’d rather fuck you with every ounce of strength in his body—fast, wild, and make you scream until your voice is gone—whether from pleasure or something else.

But that… he saves for the grand finale.

He begins with a gentle rhythm—slow, but deep. Every time he sinks into you, he makes you moan.

He pulls out, then pushes all the way in again—pressing against your cervix—but carefully, on a slow burn.

He gets you so wet. Makes you drip down his shaft, slicking him up. That’s necessary.

He wants you ready.

And once you’re fully relaxed under his touch, once you’re floating in that endless pleasure haze…

That’s when he changes the pace.

He speeds up.

Pulls you out of your trance—reminding you that with him, you can never let your guard down. Because things are about to get intense. The calm is over—and the storm is approaching.

He starts fucking you with a steady, mechanical rhythm. Your soft sighs become moans. Then moans become screams.

He slides in and out of you effortlessly—despite his size—because he’s made damn sure you’re slippery enough for this moment.

And he’s not going to stop. Until you cum.

He watches you. Licks his lips while you melt.

Grips you hard—and even though he loves seeing your eyes closed in surrender, sometimes he’ll slap your face—just to make you open them.

Because he wants you to look at him.

He wants you to see it’s him making you feel this way—that no one else can give you this.

That he’s the one who’s going to make you cum.

He grabs your jaw—wants his face to be the last thing you see before you fall apart beneath him.

And then—you cum.

His gaze locked on yours. Your pupils lost in his—so dark and yet shining like obsidian fire.

There’s already a smile on his face. Because he knows what’s next.

While you’re cumming—that’s when he starts fucking you the way he truly loves: Fast. Deep. Brutal.

He takes advantage of your hypersensitivity—of the way your walls clamp around him like they never want to let go.

He pounds into you without mercy, his cock hammering your cervix, nailing your G-spot like it was built for him—and him alone.

And with you still writhing in climax, he stretches it—makes it last.

He wants to break you…and rebuild you as his.

He seizes your hips, pinning you down just to remind you: the pace belongs to him—fucking you with no mercy.

Until his rhythm falters. Becomes messy. Desperate.

He’s close.

And when he cums, it feels like you’re both reaching the edge together.

You’re still riding your high—and he’s spilling inside you, trembling, branding you from the inside out.

Both of you panting. Sweating.

Locked in a tight embrace like you’re clinging to life, to each other—as if your souls are being torn out through your mouths, carried away by that final wave—that last jolt of brutal electricity crashing through both of you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He’s always down for a quickie. Anywhere, anytime, any way.

He doesn’t care how many people are around, how inappropriate it is, or how embarrassed you get—because in the end, you always end up enjoying it… even asking for it. Surprising him too, and he loves that.

He’ll take you wherever he wants, then carry on like nothing ever happened. Leaving your thighs dripping with cum, your legs shaking, your makeup a total mess… and all he’ll do is stare at you with that proud bastard grin—so damn pleased with himself.

You’re so his.

If you walk into a clothing store and ask what he thinks of a dress you like, he’ll tell you to try it on right there. In the fitting room. Says he needs to see it on you to judge it properly… but what he really wants is to trap you in a tight little space and watch you undress for him. Slowly. Watching each piece of fabric slide off your body.

And once you're wearing it? Of course he’ll give his approval—by fucking you in it. So you can feel just how goddamn sexy you are.

But that… that’s predictable.

A public restroom? You’re already banned from half the businesses in Miles.

A back alley in broad daylight? Art takes you wherever, whenever. It’s not his fault he finds you so irresistible he just has to be inside you at any given moment.

During a torture session? That turns him on way too much. There’s always time to pull your panties down—just for a moment. Let that be the last thing his victim sees: you, arching your back, impaled on his cock. A masterpiece worthy of his signature.

A library? He loves shushing you while fucking you mercilessly. Laughing against your neck while you bite your tongue to keep quiet. And him—thrusting harder, deeper. Whispering: “Shhh.” Only thing you can hear is the wet, obscene rhythm of your bodies crashing together. But "Shhh"

And sometimes, he comes home covered in blood—like always—and you don’t even get to greet him. You’re already bent over, ass up, pants down, sprawled across the armrest of the couch. His fingers find your clit while he fucks you. He makes them vibrate against that sweet spot, and you come instantly. It’s too much. He’s too much.

And that’s just… one of many times.

Because why fuck you once a day when he can do it five, six, seven times… or however many it takes?

He has no limits.

Not in any area of his life.

Thanks for reading all the way till the end!

Some of these letters I’m planning to turn into full fanfics:

Would you want revenge from the ex-pillow?

A one-shot set in Sienna’s house or the cemetery? (Not the cemetery, please…)

Would you suck Art off while he’s torturing someone on a rack? (Because I absolutely would.)

Would you let him eat your pussy knowing damn well about his cannibalistic tendencies?

Would you do the Inverted Scarecrow position even if there were seven different kinds of saws on the floor next to you?

I love reading your comments, so don’t be shy—scream or whisper your dirtiest perversions at me. I’ll be more than happy to debate anything with you… even Art’s toenails, if you’re into that.

Here’s the first part (A–I):

https://www.tumblr.com/lrithill/780285284765089792/nsfw-artphabet-headcanon-the-sacred-clown-porn?source=share

With love (and lube).

#art the clown #terrifier #art the clown x reader #art the clown fanfiction #slashers #terrifier fanfiction #david howard thornton #slasher fandom #art the clown x you #art the clown x oc #art the clown headcanons #art the clown smut #slasher smut #slasher fanfiction #alphabet #x reader #slasher x reader

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airandyeah · 2 days ago

Text

Bastard Prince!Gojo X Foreign Princess!Reader Heavy Is The Crown Pt.1

My Masterlist Series Masterlist First part, here we go!!! Opening notes: Gojo's kingdom is in a Northern region, so it's cold and snowy. Our delightful reader, is from a hot and sunny southern region!

Snow swirls outside the towering crystal windows, turning the northern sky into a wash of white and gray. The ballroom smells of spiced wine, pine oil, and ancient stone—too cold for warmth, too grand for comfort. People dressed in furs and silks move like chess pieces, their conversations carefully measured behind jeweled smiles.

And then the doors open.

Every head turns.

You step in without a coat.

Without sleeves, even.

Your gown is southern—backless, sleeveless, with golden threading glinting against the soft color of your skin. It clings to your figure like it was sewn on, far too light for the northern chill, and far too bold for this frigid court.

The whispering begins before the music does.

“She’ll freeze before dessert—” “Did her mother pack nothing sensible?” “She must not understand—” “Or care.”

You keep your chin lifted as you glide across the marble, as if the cold doesn’t nip at your bare shoulders, as if your people haven’t gambled everything on your marriage alliance. Behind you, your father walks slowly, regally, flanked by southern guards dressed in red and gold. You, however, are the fire at the center of this ice palace.

Gojo sees you from above.

He’s leaning against one of the stone pillars on the second-floor overlook, glass of wine in hand, white fur cloak draped casually over one shoulder. He’s already bored with this ball—he’s always bored—but the moment you enter, he stops mid-sip.

And grins.

He hears every whisper, every insult. He sees the way your breath curls in the air like smoke. He notices the stiffness in your hands, the slight clench of your jaw. You are cold—but you don’t let it show.

“She’s going to die,” someone next to him mutters.

“She’s going to win,” Gojo replies, without looking away.

Because that’s what he sees. Not a foolish girl, not a naive foreigner.

He sees strategy. A walking declaration. Look at me. Stare at me. Talk about me all night—but you’ll never forget me.

He doesn’t descend.

Not yet.

Gojo stays perched above the crowd like a ghost of the palace—untouchable, uninvited, but impossible to ignore. Everyone pretends not to look at him. His presence pulls tighter on the room than the king’s silence ever could.

And his eyes?

They're on you.

You feel it before you see it—like a chill slithering down your spine that has nothing to do with the cold. You glance up, caught by instinct, and meet his gaze from across the ballroom. Silver-white hair. Ice-pale eyes. A smirk that doesn’t quite touch his mouth but curls behind his sharp expression like a secret waiting to bite.

He tips his head at you, slow and lazy. A silent hello.

Or a warning.

Your throat tightens, but you don’t look away. You tilt your chin and blink once, slowly, like a cat acknowledging the gaze of a predator. Then you turn your head, smooth and unbothered, and step into the waltzing throng below.

Gojo exhales a laugh, low in his throat.

“She’s interesting,” he murmurs to himself.

“She’s trouble,” someone next to him mutters—an advisor maybe, or some lordling trying to stay in the prince’s favor.

Gojo hums. “Aren’t they the same thing?”

He watches as you float through the crowd, speaking softly to nobles who don’t quite know what to make of you. He notes how your father keeps his hand near his hip—not quite on the hilt of a blade, but close. And how your smile flickers too fast when they bring up the wedding.

You're a storm from the desert dressed in gold, walking straight into the lion’s den in silk slippers.

And Gojo, with all his thorns and sharp teeth, decides he’ll wait. Watch. Learn.

He’s been a weapon all his life, used by the crown but never given it. He doesn’t play games he can’t win. But you?

You’ve just changed the board.

“Enjoying the view?”

The voice cuts through the hum of strings and whispers.

Gojo doesn’t need to turn to know who it is. The cold in the words is familiar enough—it’s the kind he was raised in.

His father, the king, stands beside him now on the overlook, dressed in fur-lined black and a crown too heavy for any man’s head. His face, carved with age and politics, doesn’t look at Gojo, only at the ballroom below.

“She’s bold,” the king murmurs, eyes tracking your movements. “Foolish, maybe. But bold.”

Gojo swirls the wine in his glass, his expression unreadable. “You’ve brought bolder women into this court, Father. Most of them didn’t last the season.”

The king’s jaw tightens. “This one will have to.”

A pause stretches between them, long and brittle.

Gojo finally turns his head. “Is that an order?”

“It’s a marriage.”

“To a stranger.”

“To an alliance,” the king corrects. “To your duty.”

The word hangs there. Gojo’s fingers clench around the stem of his glass. Duty. Always that word. Never want, never choice.

“You should be grateful,” the king says, voice low and sharp. “Your blood may be stained, but you are still useful. You’ll have power. Land. A wife from a good line.”

Gojo smiles, slow and sharp-edged. “What a blessing.”

The king doesn’t dignify it with a response. He leaves, the scent of old pine and iron trailing behind him.

Gojo stays where he is, still watching the ballroom. Watching you.

He downs the rest of his wine in a single, smooth motion. It burns, but not enough.

Another glass appears in his hand soon after, and then another. His smile grows looser. His posture more languid. The music blurs into a dull thrum in his ears as he watches you laugh with someone else, your shoulders bare and glistening with cold.

By the time the sixth glass is empty, he’s no longer amused.

He’s restless.

He pushes off the pillar and slips away from the gallery like a shadow, fur cloak trailing behind him. No one stops him. They know better.

He moves through the hallways on instinct, breath fogging in the frigid corridors, until he steps out into the courtyard.

The cold hits him like a slap.

Snow falls slow and silent, powdering the stone and the statues like dust on forgotten gods. The night is still, untouched by the noise of the ball. Just white and dark and bitter cold.

Gojo tilts his head to the sky.

And laughs.

His laughter fades into the snow, swallowed by the silence of the night.

Gojo exhales a long, uneven breath, then drags himself to the nearest bench tucked beneath a frost-kissed archway. The stone is cold beneath him, but he barely feels it—wine warming his chest, cold numbing the rest.

He leans forward, elbows on knees, gloved hands dangling.

The air is sharp. Clean. Unforgiving.

He should go back inside. Play the part. Smile like a prince. But his body aches with defiance, and his mind is adrift.

The princess.

You.

The woman he’s to marry, parade around like a well-trained pet, share a bed with out of obligation. You’re beautiful, yes—but that’s not what sticks in his mind. It’s the way you walked into the lion’s mouth with your head held high and no armor to speak of. Like a dare.

And he wonders—was it courage? Or stupidity?

Was it real… or rehearsed?

He tips his head back and stares at the sky, the stars dulled by snowfall. His thoughts drift further. To childhood. To cold halls and colder hands. To the servants who wouldn’t meet his eyes. To the nobles who bowed to his father and whispered about the bastard behind their fans.

He was never meant to wear a crown.

Only carry the weight of it when convenient.

Heavy is the crown, he thinks bitterly. Even when it’s not yours to wear.

A sound breaks the quiet.

Crunch. Crunch.

Slow and hesitant. Someone’s walking through the snow, footsteps light but unhurried.

Gojo doesn’t move at first. Just listens.

Another step. Another.

Then he lifts his head and turns toward the sound.

And there you are.

Standing at the edge of the courtyard in your golden dress and no cloak, just like before—your arms folded tight, your breath curling in the air, and snowflakes catching in your hair like diamonds.

You stop when you see him.

He blinks, slow, surprised.

You tilt your head, like you hadn’t expected anyone out here either.

Gojo stares at you for a long moment.

Then—he smiles. Lazy, tired, a little crooked.

“Well,” he says, voice rough from the wine, “either you’ve got a death wish, or you really don’t own a coat.”

You arch a brow, chin tilted with easy confidence despite the way your skin shivers with the wind.

“I own plenty of coats,” you reply, your voice warm, a slow pour of honey over steel. “But none of them matched this dress.”

His lips part just slightly.

You don’t wait for a response. Instead, you step forward, the snow crunching beneath delicate shoes clearly not made for this terrain. Each step is measured. Intentional. Until you’re standing before him, the cold blooming between you like a dare.

Gojo watches you from the bench, one hand loose on his thigh, the other still curled around an empty wine goblet he forgot he was holding. He looks up at you with something unreadable behind those too-bright eyes.

“You don’t look like the type who worries about matching,” he says eventually.

You smile, slow and sharp. “And you don’t look like the type who sulks alone in courtyards.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, the sound curling in the air between you. “Touché.”

Your gaze drifts to the goblet in his hand. “How many have you had?”

“Enough to feel warm,” he says, “but not enough to forget who I’m supposed to be.”

“Must be exhausting,” you say simply. “All this pretending.”

That gets him. You watch the flicker cross his face—blink-and-miss-it vulnerability chased off by the smirk he wears like a mask.

“Careful,” he drawls. “Keep talking like that, and I might think you actually see me.”

Your gaze doesn’t waver.

“I do.”

Silence stretches.

The snow keeps falling.

And for the first time all night, the bastard prince feels seen—not as a tool, not as a threat, but as a man with tired eyes and hands that have held too much.

“You’re not what I expected,” he admits softly.

You offer a half-shrug. “Neither are you.”

Gojo leans back on the bench, tapping the goblet idly against the armrest. He doesn’t ask you to sit. Doesn’t offer his cloak.

But he does look at you like you’re the most interesting thing to walk through this cursed palace in years.

“Stay,” he says. Not a command. A suggestion, laced with curiosity.

“Only if you promise not to freeze to death out here,” you answer.

He grins—something real this time. “Darling, I’ve been colder than this for most of my life.”

You sit anyway.

He watches you sidelong, eyes half-lidded from the wine, a slow grin tugging at his mouth like he knows something you don’t.

“You never told me your name,” you say, tucking your hands beneath your thighs for warmth.

“I didn’t think I needed to,” he replies lazily. “Thought you might enjoy the mystery.”

You scoff softly. “That confident I’d find you charming?”

“Indeed,” he says with a wink.

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress your smile.

“Well, mystery man,” you say, “I suppose it’s only fair I start. I’m—”

“I know who you are.”

That stops you.

Your lips part, a breath caught in your throat.

His tone isn’t teasing anymore—it’s gentle, but heavy. Certain.

He turns his head fully to face you now, the silver of his hair catching the moonlight, eyes impossibly bright.

“You’re the princess from the South. Brought here to seal a treaty dressed like you walked out of the sun and into the snow without a care in the world.”

Your chest tightens slightly. “So you have been watching.”

“Hard not to,” he murmurs. “You were a scandal before you even stepped through the doors.”

You bristle, just a bit. “I’m not here to please them.”

He leans in a fraction. “Good. Because they don’t deserve it.”

Silence again—only this time, it hums between you.

Then, finally, you ask, “And what about you? Who are you, really?”

He holds your gaze for a long, long moment.

Then, with maddening nonchalance, he lifts the goblet to his lips and says,

“Gojo Satoru.”

You blink.

“…Pardon?”

He casts a sideways glance at you, smirking now. “The bastard prince. Your betrothed.”

Your heart stutters. The snow feels colder now—like it’s reached your spine.

“You—You’re the one I’m supposed to marry?”

“Surprise,” he says, raising the goblet in a mock-toast. “Still interested?”

You stare at him.

His cocky smile falters just slightly. “No pressure. You looked like you wanted to throw yourself into the sea the moment they announced the engagement.”

You blink once, then twice—before you laugh. Sharp and disbelieving.

“This is who they want me to marry?” you say, shaking your head.

“Rude,” he mutters. “I’ve been told I’m devastatingly charming.”

“And very drunk.”

“Only slightly. Makes me tolerable.”

Your mind races, heart hammering as you study him again—now through an entirely new lens. This man with the ice-white hair and lazy grin, this man who sits in the cold like it’s a friend, this man who looked at you and saw you—he’s the prince. The broken one. The unwanted one.

And now he’s yours.

You swallow, heat rushing to your face not from embarrassment, but something deeper. Warmer.

“So?” he asks again, a little quieter this time. “Still interested?”

You meet his gaze.

“Maybe,” you say, “but I have a condition.”

He arches a brow. “Oh?”

“Next time we meet, don’t be drunk.”

Gojo grins, wide and sharp. “That sounds dangerously like a promise for a next time.”

You stand slowly, brushing snow from your skirts.

“Guess we’ll see if you’re worth it, your highness.”

You leave him with that—half-drunk and fully stunned—as the snow falls silently around you, burying everything but the grin he can’t stop wearing.

Taglist: @megumuro , @pickledsoda Perm Tags: @thenightperson , @makingtimemine

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #x reader #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #prince gojo #princess!reader #royalty au

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cogentranting · 2 days ago

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Actually I lied earlier. My biggest complaint about the finale is that it felt more like a Punisher episode than a Daredevil episode and that's not a compliment.

It felt more like a Punisher episode because most of the action in the episode was focused on Frank, even the fight that had Daredevil in it. And I get that part of the reason was that Matt was injured but he WAS fighting in that scene. And then Matt was off finding the documents with Karen for a large part of the second half and felt decentralized from the story.

And what that meant was that for the most part the action was very Punisher-style action. And I mean that in a very derogatory way.

Frank Castle only works for me as a character in Daredevil season 2.* The reason he works there is that the show has a very clear line drawn. It says we sympathize with Frank, we even like Frank, but what he does as the Punisher is wrong. Matt puts him in jail for it and that is portrayed as a victory. Now, he later gets out, and Daredevil teams up with him, but he does so while still managing to curb at least some of Frank's violence, and if I'm remembering correctly we end the season with Matt believing Frank is dead. And the season maintains throughout that Punisher is over the line. It toys with how similar Daredevil is to Punisher and it works because there is the understanding that for Daredevil to be like Punisher would be bad.

This episode on the other hand seemed to want to have its cake and eat it too more than DD2 did. Because we do have Matt coming back from that fall at the beginning of the season, saving Fisk's life, getting between Frank and the cop. And that's all good. But then at the same time it frames it in such way that we're supposed to cheer when Frank guns down a bunch of people. (AND we have Matt choosing not to kill the cop, only to have the show kill him anyway with a grenade ten seconds later.) And I don't want that, I don't like it, and I do think the violence crosses the line. (It's exceptionally weird tone for them to take when the same episode clearly establishes that some of people aligning with Fisk are doing so only because they are afraid and think they have no choice. That doesn't excuse them for what they're doing but it does make it weird to have a "look how cool Punisher is as he shoots them in the face" moment, especially following an episode where Matt is so committed to not killing that he takes a bullet for Fisk.)

And again, it's both that that kind of action is not something I want to watch (its gratuitous and also kind of boring) and that it is in direct conflict with the themes and character arcs the show is trying to develop.

And then to top it all off you had the scene with Fisk killing the commissioner which was awful and I hated it, and the netflix show (for the most part) grew out of doing stuff like that after season 1, so it was regrettable to watch them move backwards like that.

*I do enjoy all of the conversation scenes with Frank this season. Especially the one from earlier when he talked with Matt about Foggy. He's an interesting ideological foil for Matt (I think MORE interesting than Fisk) but I think they get indulgent with his action scenes and start celebrating elsewhere the show is clearly against.

#daredevil #daredevil born again #might be playing with fire tagging this #but I stand by what I said

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dellovestorant · 2 days ago

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Marc's exclusive interview for Laureus' Spirit of Sport series (transcript under cut)

Commentary: Marc Marquez is one of motorcycle racing's most competitive and electrifying riders. In 2013, the Spanish star made history as the youngest ever MotoGP Premier Class Champion. He went on to dominate the sport, amassing eight world championships, six in the Premier Class. But in 2020, Marquez suffered a devastating arm injury that put his career in jeopardy. Over the next few years he endured four surgeries, countless setbacks, and long periods away from the track as he battled to recapture his form.

Marc: I was there just you know many difficult years in 2020, 2021, 2022, 2023. And then is when I made my decision to try to find the best bike to understand if my performance still was there or it was time to go home.

Commentary: After 11 seasons, 59 wins and six titles with Honda, Marquez made a bold switch to Gresini for the 2024 season, where he would race alongside his brother Alex.

Marc: 2024 has been a very important season in my career because it was a very important or difficult bet to myself. I realised where was the correct position to rebuild that confidence, to try and to show to myself if I was ready to fight for the top positions. And I found a small team but familiar team, that was the correct atmosphere to enjoy it again and to feel again the passion of motorbikes and then the target that was that victories.

Commentary: The move reignited his career, finally ending his 1043 day winless streak with an emotional victory in Aragon. All the sacrifices have been worth it.

Marc: The feeling of Aragon was like, that weekend I lose 10 kilos. I mean, the expectation was super high. Part of an athlete tried to avoid all that expectations, but in the end, it's impossible. Everybody was asking me when we'll arrive there, because it was close, inmany gps it was close. I was all the time on the podium but never arrived that victory and just I was calm and straight away I won two gps in a row: Aragon and Misano.

One of the most important points of the year was in germany gp where i shared the podium with my brother, second and third place, but we shared the podium and after that, every time I was more confident and and arrived the first victory of the year.

Commentary: With three race wins in 2024, he secured third in the World Championship. Following his incredible performance in 2024, Marquez has been nominated for the 2025 Laureus World Comeback of the Year Award.

Marc: Of course, for us athletes, it means a lot to be nominated for the Laureus Award, this year for the comeback. Last year has been a super good year, year to come back, to rebuild my confidence, to rebuild a bit my performance because after a lot of injuries was super difficult but right now I'm enjoying a lot and enjoying means good results. For me the passion is the biggest motivation of your life. I cannot imagine a life without riding or without having a target in the sport so let's see, but the best fuel is passion plus, of course, if good results arrive, then it's much better.

#it's generally the same thing he's been saying over the last couple of months #but interesting that he pinpoints germany last year as to where his confidence started truly growing again and attributing that #to the podium with Alex #motogp #marc marquez #marc interview #mm93 #kayo won't let me screen record so you'll have to settle for me recording this on my phone unfortunately

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youkoden · 2 days ago

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Summer Dreams

Love and DeepSpace

Caleb x Reader

(No trigger warnings: Mostly fluff, use of Y/N, spoilers for Caleb’s Myth even though I didn’t read it yet)

AN- I need yall to know I did not finish Caleb’s Myth yet so any reference to his myth is an educated guess on my end. Also I wanted this to take place during the event of ‘Endless summers’

Hiiii wrote this at 3am (I need to sleep) hope you enjoy!

“This will be our last escape….”

The coldness of the lab

The warmth of the bright sky that blended into night within the Cave

Most importantly.. her

Growing up nearly isolated from each other- a wall dividing their interactions. Yet he would continue to speak what comes to his fleeting mind. Unknowing if she listening back or not. If she would talk back or not. Nonetheless escape was the target- bring her to paradise by all means.

They’ve done it one- why not attempt once more?

So they did.

Fight… control… repair… all boiled down to a moment. In the end her arms wrapped around his as the cosmos shoots down before them. Lips pressed against each other with finality for the two of them. Sadness was one that was too late to think about, with the both of them understanding the destruction that came with their predicament. Because there were already home- the paradise they so longed to see..

The world as they knew it became a flash of white light as they return to what they once were particles within the atmosphere….. returned to form.

“C…..b”

“Ca….?”

“Caleb.”

His eyes shoot up before getting blasted by the sunlight staring him down through tithe trees. As something cold pressed on his forehead shocking him into place.

Rapidly blinking out the blurry image showed a view that was not filled with destruction. But of flower beds and stores that seemed to go down for a mile. Most importantly… her.

His lips parted a little shocked to see her and more so the environment that currently surrounds them.

“Caleb” She chuckles and pulls away the can from his forehead “I swear- you’re the only person who can fall asleep in this type of weather.” The woman presses a drink to her forehead before taking a seat next to him and handing a can to him.

Reality sets back in as Caleb sighs out a lazy smile draws from his lips. His shoulders dropping down as he readjust his back on the wall that supported him.

“You took too long pip-squeak- besides the weathers nice out” shifting the can to his left hand. (Y/N) huffs and playfully glares at him but seems to stop.

“Hey-“ she goes to wipe something off of his face “Was your dream that bad?” Her face changes to one of worry. Caleb’s hand naturally followed hers- tears seem to run down his face.

“Overcooked in the sun a bit too long” Caleb comments with a small smile. “Now I got condensation running all over” the furrow in her eyebrows tells him what he needs to know.

“What happened in the dream? Did you lose something? Oh? Something tragic happened!” She guessed as her eyes follows his.

He couldn’t help but laugh as his head cocks to the side- “wouldn’t you like to know nosy people I swear…” his eyes lowered for a second as he opened his can. Meeting her eyes once more he begins. “Well it had you as my co-Star of the dream”

Her micro expressions as she listened to him is all he could focused on. The way her eyebrows raised when hearing something from his dream that seemed to reflect their reality. Leaning on his leg almost to hear him better. Most importantly her eyes as it gazes at him that gets his blood flowing.

His dream of her with cybernetic technology couldn’t compare to now she looked in front of him. He missed her…

“Then we… exploded at the end” a soft bittersweet chuckle left his throat. While (Y/N) stares at him like a season ending of the latest drama she loves to watch.

“Damn… so we really died together just like that? That’s fucked” she comments before taking a big gulp of her drink. Caleb couldn’t help but watch her once more. Not wanting to reveal the kiss they shared, it’s already enough that he’s dreaming about her. He closed his eyes as the thought came up of having her actual lips on his. “You’re leaving some unanswered questions that I’m curious about ” (Y/N) points to him once more “So tell me- how did we get into the position- before.. well dying..”

Caleb thinks as he looks at her carefully struggling to tell her. Though he pauses- he wants nothing more than to hold her for the rest of the day before he has to return home to Skyhaven and play colonel. Before he could stop himself- the dream before they kissed he poured how he felt about her…

“We kissed” it slips out of his mouth. There was a pause before he continued “I told you how I was going to protect you- but you refuse to leave… saying how we couldn’t be without each other…” his tone slowly more and more quiet as he looks off. His face was already red from the sun but it felt more warm in her gaze.

(Y/N) stares at him before looking down at something “dreams reflect the minds struggles… so do you- think of that with us and our relationship?” She looks back at him. Caleb opens his mouth and looks back down

“Right…. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable about-“ he was about to ramble.

“No” (y/n) cuts him off and looks at him with conviction in her eyes. “What do you think about us Caleb… please..”

He sighs and stares at her “you know that already pip-squeak- there’s nothing more I want than to be at your side..” he looks off to the side then back at her. “To protect you… and keep you safe. Because.. You mean everything to me” He ends off as the words leave his lips.

(Y/N)’s expression softens as her hands reaches his. Caleb can only watch as their hands wrap around each other like a well oiled machine. “You mean so much to me Caleb” her voice was quiet but her eyes screamed much more.

He couldn’t help himself moving his drink down to touch her face. “You don’t know how much it means for me to hear you say that (Y/N).” He gently pushed her hair away from her face as their lips meet. One that his dreams could never replicate. They pulled away before hugging each other.

“I’m sure that wasn’t a romantic kiss compared to your dream” she grins which made him grin more as he holds on her waist.

“I couldn’t even dream of this” Caleb replied “and if I was- I hope I never wake up from this…”

“Promise me something” (Y/N) smirks “that we don’t blow up after this kiss like your dream”

Caleb looked at her with a shinny glimmer in his eyes “I can’t make that promise to you pip-squeak but I can promise to love you a hell of a lot more before that could happen” he proceeded to kiss her much longer this time around.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x mc #lads caleb #lads mc #lads fanfic #lads caleb fanfic #lads fluff

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julesnichols · 1 day ago

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As I stated in my tags (and should've also stated in my post itself, admittedly, but again: brain fog), it's okay to not ship things. But this post was in response to the fact that I have seen multiple posts calling all shippers stupid (I will not link to these posts because I don't want the OPs harassed, but they're also not that difficult to find), and those posts all insisted that it was ONLY about the themes of how evil capitalism is. Which it is about! But it's using romance as a way to explore that, because it's about both. And if you'd rather focus on the themes than the romance (though if you're not into romance idk how you look at MDR and the family they've built and not come out with similar feelings, like we all remember Mark S. crashing out when they weren't brought back, right?), that's 100% understandable and okay! But this post was directed towards the people who were being obnoxious about people who are into the romances in the show, not people who don't enjoy the romances and/or prefer the plot part generally.

For the record, I also 100% understand the "some people are grossed out by romance" thing. I honestly am too, though I don't mind it in fiction (but I also understand why it bothers people in fiction too!). I don't make my labels super clear because I prefer ambiguity and being semi anonymous online, but I am demiromantic and a solid 99% of the time the idea of romance makes my skin fucking crawl. So, I get it.

Ms. Cobel's episode was amazing btw, definitely gave me chills, too.

Okay bear with me here because I've got brain fog and tend to word salad but I'm gonna try my fucking best--

Everyone who insists that shipping/romance isn't the point of Severance and that anyone who ships is missing the REAL point about what capitalism does is also missing the fucking point, because it's BOTH

Because yes, it's about what capitalism does and the evils of giant corporations. But it's also about love, and specifically two things about love:

1. That falling in love when you're not supposed to, when you're trapped in hell, is one of the most revolutionary things you can do in a system that wants to crush you into dust. In a system that wants you to obey, loving somebody instead of giving in or giving up IS the most revolutionary choice you can make. This corporation can tell you that you're less than human, they can torture you, but you can still carve out a life and a family and find romantic love, too

and

2. That you cannot create a version of yourself that exists solely to do labor for his entire life so that you can cease to exist for forty hours of the week to escape your grief, and not face the consequences of that action

I think I've made my point about the first one enough as is, so let me just get into the second a bit more:

Mark Scout was choking on his grief over losing Gemma. He drowned himself in alcohol to cope, and either lost or left his job that he loved. He took a job that involved brain surgery to split his consciousness in half rather than confront his grief head on; he can choose not to exist for forty hours of his week, and spend the other hours either drunk out of his mind or asleep (the consequences of drinking being something that bleed into his innie as well).

I think that anyone who's dealt with a traumatic and painful loss can relate to why he would do such a thing. Isn't it understandable, if you had a way to not exist for a while, that you would take it without hesitation? That if you were drowning and confronting it would mean more pain before it got better, you'd run from it if you could?

But what Severance wants us to do is go beyond sympathizing with Mark Scout: it asks us to consider the consequences. Because in severing himself for a reason people can sympathize with him for, he created a version of himself that exists solely to work for his entire life, with no breaks, no rest, and torture tactics when he fucks up-- no matter how small the fuck up may be.

A version of himself without his memories, who has trickles of his grief but none of the love to go with it. Who falls in love with someone he meets down there, because Mark S. was created so that Mark Scout could avoid his grief and his love for Gemma. And thus, Mark S. moved on, because he never knew anything else.

Then Mark Scout finds out that Gemma is alive. He reintegrates without his innie's consent, because he views Mark S. as inferior to him and entitled to his memories. Their relationship is inherently exploitative.

Mark S. and Helly's relationship progresses further. Helena Eagan stalks Mark Scout. And here's something that gets me: you have to have your head buried six feet deep in the fucking sand to not see that they were flirting.

A sane person would've run when Helena awkwardly bragged about who she was and offered to bring Mark Scout to her father. But Mark Scout escalates it, turning it into a flirtatious joke about her taking him home to dad. And yes, he does ultimately go for more brain surgery because he feels guilty and spooked that he was flirting with Helena. Because he escalated the flirting.

Again, you have to be deep in denial to not see that. It relates back to the point about how he feels entitled to his innie's memories and experiences: he feels guilty and unsettled, so he tries to absorb more of them in hopes of more glimpses of Gemma to help him find and save her.

Again, can't you sympathize with that?

And again, the show asks you to consider the ramifications beyond that.

(note: I am on the side that innies and outies aren't cut and dry separate people as they are the same base people with different memories and lived experiences, akin to amnesia)

The first thing that Mark Scout remembers is Mark S. having sex with Helly, specifically as he watches her orgasm for the first time while he's inside of her. An extremely intimate moment, and it's intentional that it's that and not another flash of Gemma. Because the show, once again, is asking the audience to consider the consequences of Mark Scout's actions in severing himself.

And Mark S. recognizes that Mark Scout is exploiting him at the end! Mark Scout demands he find Gemma, save her, and be willing to die (because even if he reintegrates, NEITHER of them will be the same-- I'll come back to this in a sec). He belittles what Mark S. has with Helly and the life he's made for himself. He dehumanizes him. Because Mark Scout created Mark S. to escape, to do labor for him, and again-- he wanted to use him to get Gemma and then cast him aside, furthering how he dehumanizes and exploits him... and there are consequences to that action.

Back to the thing about reintegration I said I'd get back to: the characters within show, and quite frankly a large swath of the audience, thinks that it's Mark Scout absorbing Mark S.'s memories, and just still being Mark Scout with those memories. And yet, the show has shown us that this isn't the case. Petey says his earliest memories of the severed floor feel as far back as his childhood! What I think reintegration does, is create a new version of innie and outie, with both their memories. And that it's probably reliant more on harmony of goals and desires than forcing it; but again, the outies view the innies as inferior. Even the people in the show who claim to advocate against severance don't consider the innies human enough to consider what'll happen to them.

And so of course Mark S. chooses himself for the first time in his life at the end of the season. Because once again, the show asks you to look beyond the surface and consider the consequences.

And yet, too much of the audience also subconsciously (or consciously sometimes tbh) thinks of innies as subhuman, and miss the entire fucking point. Yes, there are obnoxious shippers; there always fucking are in large fandoms, use the block button as God intended. But you are being equally obnoxious and obtuse if you insist that the show does not want us to consider love and romance, too. Because again, it's about both the evils of capitalism and how revolutionary love can be, and how you cannot escape your actions. You cannot separate those two themes, because the show uses the romances in the show as vehicles to explore the evils and consequences of capitalism.

So stop fucking saying everybody who ships things doesn't understand the show, and actually watch it yourself, because clearly you don't either.

#fandom wank #not bc of you who i'm rbing but bc i am Aware that my essay constitutes it

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brujite-de-gulubu · 7 months ago

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If there's one thing that bothers me of kglw fans are the metal fans who complain about there being a techno section, like, buddy, some fans don't like metal and still don't complain

#kglw #kglw tour 2024 #kgatlw #king gizzard and the lizard wizard #microwave #some metalheads can be so annoying with their love for the genre #like not only some of us never complained we even started warming up on the genre after a while #and those who don't still wouldn't complain??#like we understand it's a part of the show and enjoy it as such #sorry i'm tired of shitty metalheads #personal

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holyshit · 3 months ago

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#'sorry for barging' anon #sorry gonna answer this in the tags since it's such a loaded topic #but yeah exactly- i think a lot of it comes down to people wanting them to perform their (very real) grief for an audience #and getting mad when they don't. which is wildly unfair and unrealistic and just... extremely entitled #and very much coming from a lack of understanding of grief and that it's not a perpetual state of uncontrollable crying #a massive part of grief is continuing living with all its up and down moments with a new heavy weight in the background #living in a perpetual state of sobs is not something any human can sustain. it involves adapting and continuing to live.#and that involves doing regular everyday things AND experiencing happy moments still. that does not mean you aren't still suffering.#to question whether they're 'truly' grieving is.... kinda evil and completely ridiculous lmao #and shows a massive lack of basic empathy and understanding of how human emotions work #we see less than 1 percent of their lives. to actually feel like you have the ability to judge someone's grieving process in general #is wild and weird but especially when you literally have seen nearly none of their lives in the past few months #i'm sure all of us have laughed and seen a friend and had other happy moments since october #that doesn't mean we do not miss liam and that we aren't devastatingly sad at other points.#and to somehow think that zouis reconnecting and being happy about it after such a tragic event would be somehow anti-liam is insane #i've even seen people judge zayn for not cancelling his entire tour which is so.....#if they for a second think that liam would have been petty enough to enjoy the idea of all of his friends stopping in their tracks forever #they clearly didn't really know him since he was clearly always SO supportive of everyone in 1d #and probably would have been very happy to see zayn and louis mend their relationship #it feels like a very weird way to make a fucking death and real life grief from his friends into a stan war which is......... beyond gross

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celestialmuses · 3 days ago

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Ah, it seemed like they had another thing in common. Food was more important than talking. They ate quietly for a bit, enjoying the taste, but also each other's company. At least that was Leia's interpretation. "I'll learn a recipe for your favorite kind and practice until they're perfect, how does that sound?" She asked with a cheeky grin. She'd probably hate it at first but seeing Leo smile was reason enough to try. Maybe she could actually improve with a better taster than the boys in the hockey house. "I think it makes sense, I feel like we're pretty compatible already. Plus, we know how it's going to end so I don't feel nervous about being honest with my feelings, like I normally would. That's kind of nice." She agreed, happily in her own little bubble with him. At some point her water glass was topped up but she never noticed the waiter who did it, too interested in other things. "Good, because I can definitely be picky when it comes to sleeping. I don't like noise and it needs to be dark and I need a bunch of pillows." Would they even want to sleep in the same bed? Was she getting ahead of herself? "I'm not going to just take your money Leo! We need to look at everything together and figure something out. Maybe a joint account we both pay into. Or like, a shared credit card. But your money is your own, I'm not with you for that, real or pretend." At this she was a little more serious, but she needed him to understand. She wasn't a gold-digger and she already cared far too much for him to even think about behaving that way. Besides, if he dreams came to fruition, she'd be making a pretty penny herself. Her hand came back to gently take his, rubbing his thumb briefly. "A house in Ottawa sounds great. I've never been to Canada before. I've only traveled internationally a few times. We might still want a place down here in New York, perhaps an apartment if I book a Broadway show? Or to visit my family from? My mom would want to be involved in her grandkids' lives." That last part was slightly mumbled, her cheeks pink.

Seeing the food being places, it looked delicious that he was glad that they, or whomever picked this restaurant. There were enough photos that were taken of them as he smiled about his food, seeing her take the photo he smiled. He wasn't one to post a bunch on his socials, it was too hard to keep up for him, but he would post a couple things every so often. Maybe he would try and post some things more, and some of them as well. ❝ Yeah, thanks. ❞ He smiled softly as he finally picked up his burger to take a large bite of it, instantly feeling like heaven from the taste. He didn't have that many friends from growing up, more friends from his hockey teams that he played on which he didn't really care, they connected well and understood the job and commitment to make. ❝ Hey, cookies are never off the table, especially now if they are going to be coming from my future wife. ❞ He shared a smile in her direction as he nodded his head. ❝ There is a meal plan to stay healthy for the most part, ensuring that you eat enough carbs and protein to give you the energy you need. ❞ He would only speak when his mouth wasn't full taking another bite from his burger, almost half finishing it now. ❝ Yeah, I mean there are people who get engaged after a couple of months so I think it would work for us. ❞ He nodded thinking about it. It was a lot of questions about their marriage to be, a lot that he didn't really think of that much as it made his heart beat a little faster. Kids. They had to talk about kids? He soon found himself laughing about the snoring comment. ❝ Not that I know of so I'm going to say no.. I don't snore. As for finances, I'm fine if you use some of my money as long as it's all talked about. I'm happy to pay for more depending on paycheques. House, I do own one in Ottawa during the off season and home games then it's a lot of hotels for me. I would like to keep my home but I'm good to look at different houses too. ❞ He thought a little more on the kids part as he stabbed the lettuce with his fork taking a bite. Maybe their fake marriage would end up being a forever thing. His team didn't tell him that it was supposed to be forever but sitting here, talking with Leia... he could see it being long term, see himself falling in love with her. ❝ Kids aren't off the table for me and they would have a beautiful mother. ❞ His eyes looked up at her as he softly smiled.

#huntrcssqueen #leo wilson #leia threads

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alyona11 · 1 year ago

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Ok time for my big Hadestown hot take and that’s that West End Hadestown doesn’t give you a 100% Hadestown experience. It’s still ridiculously good and 100% worth seeing, don’t get me wrong (I used my opportunity and saw it twice and will likely see it again if I’m in London), but it kinda made me realise a couple of things about OBC production that will always be my Roman Empire and make me deeply upset Broadway is too greedy to give us an OBC proshot.

So, here are some of my thoughts and reflections based on seeing Hadestown live on West End + seeing different versions (including London National theatre proshot) in boots. I think you can pretty solidly say that in Hadestown there are 2 main stories: Orpheus/Eurydice and Hades/Persephone. And even though arguably Orphedice is the main most important story, it my opinion it also wins from Hadesphone story being strong. Which works perfectly in OBC due to Amber Gray and Patrick Page delivering a very deep nuanced performances as their characters.

I think part of the success of Hadestown when it works on its fullest is how it creates a very deep emotional journey. And I feel that regardless which pair of Orpheus and Eurydice you have (if we take Broadway/tour/West End take on the characters) it’ll still work! Like you need to try really hard to mess up orphedice the way people wouldn’t root for Orpheus or wouldn’t empathise with Eurydice because they are so relatable and cute. You instantly love them, they are so so lovable. So orphedice part is one thing in Hadestown that imo works if not always then in 99% of the cases.

Hades and Persephone’s part of the story in the contrary is VERY hard to nail on 100%, in my opinion, and this is literally driving me crazy. Maybe seeing Amber Gray and Patrick page in professional recording awoken some feelings in me, I don’t know. I will state straight away that I also do enjoy other actors’ takes on characters and I do see some very interesting character moments there and there. However, I keep returning to the thought that Amber/Patrick’s characterisation works SO WELL for the main narrative. I’ll try to explain why I think so. Consider it my love letter to the OBC.

First and foremost, I feel like Hadesphone story has a very fine dynamic that the actors have to nail, so you would feel that: 1) these two still love each other; 2) these two are buried under their problems and see no way out, only a miracle (aka Orpheus and his song) can save their marriage.

And if the first one usually works at least due to Epic 3, the second one, imo, often (at least partially) falls victim to acting/directing choices which can cause troubles with point 1 as well. I think one big thing I’ve noticed is that often Persephone’s alcoholism gets forgotten in the acting performance. Like yeah sure her choreography includes drinking from a flask but in comparison to Amber you never get a feeling that she is absolutely wasted. Which, is in my opinion something that you should feel when you’re watching the show and something I was constantly forgetting about when I was watching the show on West End. I feel in Amber’s performance you can constantly see that her Persephone’s feel good attitude is a façade of a broken person who knows that her marriage is going to hell in front of her eyes yet she is too passive and hopeless to try to make an active change (well, she does try in Chant and nothing happens), so her only way is to chase the sense of normality that the “medicine” gives her. But when she is alone, if you get to catch a moment when people are not looking at her, you can see a deep sadness under her positive front and her memory of the old days when everything was more simple. Nevertheless, the main point that the lyrics literally say is that Persephone is blinded by the river of wine. And this is crucial to her character and her relationship with Hades because the story states that even though Hades is a problem and he is an active actor in creating more problems, he is not the only failure in this relationship. Persephone needs to be woken up from her apathy almost as much as Hades does and this is something that we see during If It’s True.

From Hades’ side I feel like it’s not a good decision to make him a total villain because when he is irredeemable you don’t feel like the whole “song that will fix the world” has any chance of working long term. I think Patrick nailed a deep antagonist very well. His Hades is weird and lowkey creepy and alien. He does objectively bad things but when you look at him you can’t stop thinking that he doesn’t operate in regular human logic or morality. When I look at him in Chant, it feels to me that his words about building stuff to impress Persephone are absolutely sincere, and I can absolutely see that his Hades doesn’t understand why she is so upset about it when his intentions are so so clear. Maybe it’s my vision but even before Epic 3 when he is so far gone and buried in his projects and messed up ideas I don’t have a single doubt that Persephone is a single motivator and goal of Patrick Hades’ life and that he literally doesn’t need any other being to care about. And tragically this fixation is what makes him blind to all other things he does even if those things ruin Persephone’s life (and other people’s but tbh I don’t think he cares).

I feel like by removing Persephone’s Chant 2 verse Hadestown created more problems for Hades and Persephone part of the story making it a much harder job for the actors to prove to the audience that Hades and Persephone have a chance to make their relationship work. Like I get that maybe it was a necessary things to do (even though I think the show is much better with it) but it made it so much harder to empathise with this particular part of the story unless the actors use the choices that work in the narrative. Because for example when I was watching the show on West End part of me was wondering “what is Persephone’s deal in all of that, what does she win by staying with Hades?” With the verse, and with Broadway Previews or London 2018 in particular this part was clear: Persephone still loves Hades and believes that he has the opportunity to change and become a better man he used to be. Without the verse, however, the actors should give you the same idea during the show which is a hard task considering Hades and Persephone have only 2 big conversations together (Chant and How Long). So apart from those songs there are only subtle mostly silent moments they get together through which the actors have to convey the same thought which is hella difficult and probably hardly will be appreciated by anyone apart from the people who sit closely.

So, maybe because in the actor combo I saw (Zachary and Lauren), I got a feeling that even though they were great separately, I didn’t feel much chemistry between them as a pair. I think, Persephone seemed pissed and tired of Hades all the time until How Long and I didn’t feel that she still believes in his willingness to change. And Zach Hades despite being entertaining, kinda gives the impression of Hades who has other options, he is not into Persephone enough. The only sparkle appears between the two in Epic III which is still cute but I’m not sure if it works just as well if that’s the first time you see the show? Also considering Zach Hades gives more malicious intent in His Kiss, The Riot it seems that he is not even slightly interested in Orpheus having any opportunity to succeed with his quest. Which is not bad, don’t get me wrong! But in comparison to Patrick who is deeply self projecting into Orpheus to the point where you could see that even though he doesn’t want to let him go, part of him does because it would prove he too could succeed in his challenge of waiting for Persephone, this take seems a bit lacking. And overall because of His Kiss, their promise in Wait For Me doesn’t seem as giving much hope that the story won’t repeat itself next Sunday. Which in its turn makes Orpheus’ sacrifice feel a bit… worthless. If on Broadway, when Orpheus turns, but spring comes again you feel like it is the start of something new: hopefully a kinder and softer time. On West End the show also wants you to feel it but when you think about Hades and Persephone you feel…less certainty that this sacrifice will have a long term effect?

I guess the creators wanted to concentrate on Orpheus and Eurydice more and forget about Hades and Persephone by making them more secondary story or maybe there was a lack of director’s involvement to give the cast some hints on how to make this particular part of the story work better, but it feels to me that in its current state the show works in its 85% power which is still great but once you know there is something missing you can’t stop thinking about it and wishing the show would give you those 15% you crave.

#me being me #hadestown #thanks for coming to my ted talk #I still immensely enjoyed the production and would come see it again #but when you know the show at its fullest you seem to miss some parts that worked better #also I was able to appreciate the same cast from different angles the second time I could see them from the first row so I could #get a clear view of their acting #and don’t get me wrong Zach and Lauren are really interesting to watch and I liked them #but also I started thinking if it was my first time to watch the show would I understand the appeal of Hades/Persephone line?#and I can’t stop thinking about it #hades #Persephone #hadestown broadway #hadestown west end #it’s also not about WE only but just about some characterisations I saw from different actors in different productions #I just felt like it would be fair to compare to the production and cast I saw life because obviously bootlegs even the greatest are not #the same #thanks for reading this long post

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