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randomnameless · 22 days ago

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Why do we still have in 2024 stupid takes like Rhea created and enforces the crest system?

Bcs Rhea BaD anon.

More seriously,

FE Fodlan is one of one of the most divorced FE verses from its fantasy elements (see : Nabateans being as important as Ignatz's leather shoes) : Tellius has the Laguz existing, Archanea/Ylisse has manaketes hanging around and being a core point in FE Archanea, Elibe has its entire history involving dragons and the best ending finally be about acceptance between the two races, Magvel has zombies, Valentia has terrors and in SoV we have dragons and magic dragon blood, Fates has dragons (and laguz-like!) and even Jugdral have people with magic dragon blood.

(i ranted and ranted and ranted under the cut, so it's a bit long)

Unlike Fodlan, Jugdral's "people with magic dragon blood" are a key element to the story told at large, and it bleeds through the mechanics used to tell that story. FE4 wise, toddler!Seliph has a S rank in swords when Beowulf, even if he trains his entire life, will never achieve A rank in swords. Base!Julia with her holy weapon can smack Loptyr, when max!invested (at least lore wise) Forseti!Ced will never be able to kill him.

It's unfair for Beo and Ced, but that is how the verse works because, in that verse, some people are mc guffins or "the only ones" who are able to do something, or even, straight out, stronger/have more talent than others.

In traditional fantasy settings we have the "same" sort of rules, you have elves who do X and Y, humans won't can't, dwarves who can't either but they can do W, orc who can do J, etc etc.

Even for all of the "deconstruction of the genre!" gimmick ASOIAF has, according to some people, Dany is fire-proof and Jon most likely survives after being assassinated because he is a Stark and can use his doggo as a back up save, both things Edmure Tully will never be able to achieve.

Tolkien has Numenoreans being straight up blessed by the Valar/stronger/longer lived/etc etc than middle-earth humans, on top of also having elves, dwarves and ents.

Ergo : power inbalance is baked in the fantasy genre.

And yet, the writers often manage to tell some version of "the ones who have less power are no less important", like with Tolkien, it's a bunch of hobbits who manage to take down the greatest "evil" of their era, or some message like "having more power/being more important means you are bound to help the ones who have none" thingie.

In Fodlan, the "beings who have more power" than humans are the Nabateans (+ Sothis herself!). Sothis can create life, her daughter - through unknown means - can create artifical beings, one her children can control weather (the one who was turned in a milkshake for Charon!), one of them has monstruous strength (the one turned in a milkshake for Blaiddyd), one of them could communicate with animals (Timotheos iirc - if we assume he was a Nabatean or got his powers from his crest), her granddaughter can set up an AOE to heal what would otherwise be fatal wounds (it's heavily implied this is what Flayn did when she overused her power and went comatose) etc etc.

This is the original power inbalance in Fodlan.

Then some humans "stole" this power from Nabateans, and got a share of it themselves, which is what is later called "crest" : aka, some humans got a part of the super/magic powers that Nabateans originally had and thus, because, for all intents and purposes, "super-humans".

Now, Fodlan discourse started with FE16 being released in 2019, not that long after GoT's ending - which was trash - and in an era where fandom turned from "harmless fun" to "something that looks like activism and earns you point if you manage to use it to express your real life opinions".

In 2019, after Dumb and Dumber tanked GoT and removed most of ASOIAF fantasy parts to deliver "sex that sells" with a moldy plot, some part of the fandom started to conflate and harass people over what they like, and how it, apparently, reflected on their real life opinions ("if you hate this female character it means you hate women!"/"if you think X becoming king is a good ending, you don't value democracy!").

So, we have this fantasy setting with its inherent power inbalance... that quickly became something that is/was unacceptable, because IRL, power inbalance is based on bullshit and something everyone decries - so if your beloved media reflects on what you like IRL, you can't like a setting with an objective power inbalance, even if is justified by magic which doesn't exist irl like shooting eyebeams or some people being more "special than others" who can live up to 1500 years old.

Fodlan's power inbalance, for some parts of the fandom 2019, cannot be justified by traditional fantasy settings so, those settings/fantasy elements are straight out ignored.

Thus the "crests"' magic effects/powers are ignored, and dumbed down to, roughly, what a middle school student would think "nobility" is/was in the Middle Ages/Renaissance.

Jean-François Marie Pierre de Bourbon isn't inherently better at smashing things with a sword than Bob, or at healing than Roger, any "advantage" Jean-François Marie Pierre de Bourbon has over them is, maybe, that he started training earlier.

In Fodlan?

If Jean-François Marie Pierre de Charon has a major Charon crest, he can dance and clap in his hands to summon rain. Bob and Roger, no matter how hard they train, will never be able to do that. Jean-François Marie Pierre de Charon will thus be seen as having higher "value" or being straight up "better" than Bob or Roger, because as long as he is here, your crops will never suffer from drought.

But... we can't have that, because if you confuse fandom and real life opinions and aspirations, you cannot admit that some people in Fodlan are inherently "better" at something, only because of their blood, otherwise, what would it translate to IRL?

This is why, imo, part of the fandom (and the game sure doesn't help! Fodlan is no Jugdral and its gameplay lacks coherence regarding the in-game lore! Remember how Raphael can use a relic and only loses 10HP, when Miklan, plot wise, was turned in a demonic beast?) that loves this take, arguably, reduces crests to a title and family name.

Why should the Bourbon family rule over us, when they're no better than Roger or Bob? Isn't it unfair the Bourbons are still valued nowadays when the only thing to their fame is their name, and not what they are actually doing?

The game plays coy about crests - we know each of them has a specific power - but it never reveals what are those powers (lore wise!) save for 2 of them. So are crests superpowers, or just a family name with a particle, or both? Is the "system" (a friend made a post debunking any idea of "systemic" application of this notion in the three countries) based on bullshit, or on, objective superpowers?

Dimitri tries to tackle the issue, but only around relic usage : the Gautiers are valued if they have a crest because they can use their superweapon to protect the border. But what about valuing House Charon's ability to bring rain and guarantee good harvests? What is the other superpower tied to the crest of Gautier that isn't "use a femur and wreck havoc with it"?

If Marianne's ability to talk to animals is tied to her crest, why isn't it more developed? Instead of having useless shit like talking and befriending horses like a Disney princess, we could have Maurice-blooded people be masters of counter-intelligence, imagine if they can talk to birds/rodents and ask them to scout various areas or spy/ask them what they saw ! Hell, we could have had a situation where in a fog of war map, where Marianne, if, idk, through Billy fed enough animals in the monastery, would have a better field of vision than anyone else, with some blurb/one-line about her relying on the animals around to know and see what is going on! Alas, it wasn't meant to be.

FE16 eludes the question, because the character who "questions" a world centered around "crests" is the marketable asset of the game, and cannot be challenged in any meaningful capacity v- she feels it's unfair that her crest seemingly dictate her life, and only in the gacha game with ery serious writing like the Heavy Plate Corps or Sniddies, does she get a modicum of self-reflection - or at least someone challenging her - where she is told that she could use the superpowers she has to help people instead of blaming the world for getting one.

In a traditional FE setting, where some Lords question why they were born with power/or are in powerful positions, the answer is always that no matter what they were born with (or without in Leif's case!) what is more important is what they decide to do with that power. Elincia never wanted to become Queen? She will still fight and protect Crimea and its people. Marth is the last hope of Altea, even if it means leaving Elice behind. Seliph doesn't want to fight in Thracia anymore or feels like he's a fraud? He can turn tail and return home, while the world around him falls apart. Leif also feels like a fraud because he doesn't have superpowers like his cousin? Does that mean he should turn his thumbs and watch as his people are being caught/enslaved/sacrificed?

In Fodlan you have no reflection like this : Linhardt is, imo, the best example.

Dude hates blood and has a crest (aka magic powers) geared towards healing, you could make a case that for someone who has hematophobia, being a healer is difficult and this would be the reason why he refuses to heal/use his powers to help people around him... but no. Lin's laziness is played for laughs, and his refusal to do anything not related to his topic of interest is never questioned/analysed under the angle of, say, a head nurse who has no crest and laments that she couldn't save everyone who was hurt during an assault, who snaps at him for having the "gift" he has and not using it for the sake of people around him.

"What Lin decides to do with his power?" : Well, nothing.

Instead we have a reflection on his bright mind going to waste if he lazes all day long, culminating in his Supreme support where an Imperial facility is created specifically to cater to his tastes, that will enable him to research crests as much as he wants...

But still, nothing about his innate "healing" power!

In the end, it's no surprise that part of the fandom latched on that "crest = nobility title" because the Fodlan verse refuses to develop anything about its fantasy elements (hell, iirc Nopes swaps "crests" for "blood" and "titles" in its Supreme route ?).

"Sure, but where does Rhea fit in this nonsense?"

Rhea is, in this vision, the ultimate target !

For all of the "I ignore fantasy elements", Rhea is always (in FE16 at least!) turning into a dragon : no matter how hard you want to ignore fantasy, she's here to remind you tht, in this verse, dragons exist.

But most importantly, as Fodlan must be analysed through an IRL lens otherwise modern fandom cannot engage with it, Rhea, by virtue of being the lady in charge of a religious organisation called "Church", is also seen through a lens : Rhea BaD bcs Religion BaD and Catholic Church BaD.

FWIW, thanks to the five years of discourse we had, I learnt more about cultural values and differences existings between, here and the rest of the world - especially a place that is overepresented on fandom spaces - on organised religions especially the catholic church. Of course this bled on fandom takes and analysis, which projected some users' irl bias against the Catholic Church on the fandom organisation and entity that is the Church of Seiros. Combine this with secularism being now weaponised and used to ridicule people in spaces like r/atheism and you have a perfect recipe for "Religion BaD = Catholic Church BaD = fictional organised religion with a catholic flair BaD".

Granted, given how a certain loLcalisation team also originates from this place, it's no surprise that some "creative liberties" they took tried to hammer even more, let it be in the script or the fucking "what is this game about?" page on their website, how this fictional organisation is basically a squenix trope of "evil cult manipulating everything in the shadows and sekritly controlling the world".

Besides, the main heroine of the game (even if that comes with a twist!) opposes this faction (CoS and especially its leader!) and, by the way those games are built, as seen earlier, they cannot disavow her too much, else the entire gut-punch the devs were gunning for (you are betrayed by your beloved character! But unlike what happens in Baten Kaitos, you only are attached to her because she is your avatar's simp) will fall apart. So she must be, somehow, right and not motivated by more personal and heinous reasons, like not accepting "non-humans" to have powers over humans, or thinking the world is not a place for them (this was carefully scrubbed out in Nopes, btw!).

If Supreme Leader, who we are supposed to root for and whom the game ultimately rewards because "reforms" happen in the endings, says that the CoS is the reason why humans value superpowers, she must be right, or at least, not completely wrong???

Which raises the final point on this topic : FE16 came in 2019, which was election year in the US, and we all know that election time in the US means the rest of the world is also affected, even if the rest of the world, well, isn't the US. As I mentionned, the US is over-represented in fandom spaces, and fandom is far from being a safehaven from all the mayhem and passion that always boil during election time and its immediate following.

Coupled with the "my fandom faves define my real life opinions" thingie I already wrote about, and we had an explosive cocktail for bad takes, needless aggressivity, ridiculing people with dissident opinions because they are seen as "wrong", etc etc. And let it be something trendy or not, especially when (young?) people are arguing about "politics" in online spaces, but it always boils down to gross simplification of various complex issues and/or using catchphrases or "shock-value" words to win over whoever is reading/listening.

(et je ne dis pas ça parce que certains de nos politiques font des "immigrés clandestins ou pas" la source de tous les maux, ou le fait que nos députés font la même chose en ce moment, Jonluk et Marine main dans la main, pour paralyser l'Etat afin de pousser Manu à la démission et éviter la case prison pour Marine)

I always thought the "CEO of racism" was a meme, but through Fodlan discourse, I started to wonder if it was something started seriously by someone who really thought that "racism" is caused by one person.

And we finally get to the point : somehow, somewhat, Rhea is supposed to be responsible for people/humans valuing superpowers.

Forget that the same "quest to obtain those superpowers" led to the extermination of her kin, or how the devs themselves explained that people - at least in their setting - always want more power :

As a result, what would happen to humans who gained power... they would want even more power, and find a dragon much stronger to beat in order to collect materials forcefully, in order to make even more powerful weapons... and so that was the cycle that was born. And that was the birth of Fodlan's Ten Elites

Wait, kill that, those superpowers don't exist since the game and the characters (bar Catherine, but I agree with @9thwither here, Cat is one of the most overlooked characters in this fandom!) never talk about them, so they don't exist...

Rhea is thus the reason why people value bloodlines - especially since those bloodlines don't come out with superpowers.

It sounds better and closer to what you could "hear" irl, from someone who's discoursing on the internet to explain "why" some people are more valued than other, it's because of religion and the Pope! It cannot be because of, well, human greed or just the need to have more power (for good or wrong reasons), no.

"But random, the Church most likely promotes a "divine right to rule" doctrine and let the 10 Elites' families rule over their clans in Faerghus thus gain nobility!"

Sure, but everything is moot if you consider this : to make this take viable, we ignore the game and consider that crests are just bloodlines, and not, objective sources of superpowers.

So why are we, discussing about this hypothesis/theory, even arguing about what the game says and/or does?

Bob Blaiddyd can kill a giant lion/wolf with his fists at base level, is it because of a supposed doctrine that people rally and want to be in Bob's graces, or because Bob has the power to protect them all? Karen Charon can summon rain, are people siding with her because Rhea told them to, or because Karen can make crops grow?

In conclusion : why people are still, in 2024, sprouting those takes?

1- Because they refuse to engage with the game and realise that it is a fantasy game belonging to a very specific genre

2- Because fandom opinions reflect on your real life opinions and likes : so they must find a reason to oppose what their perceive as an unacceptable power inbalance otherwise it means that they support the various inequalities that exist IRL

3- Because Religion BaD and bar the "projected takes from transposing feelings about an IRL church on a fantasy one" more and more people tend to prefer an "easy to proceed" solution than think about multi-causal issues and find solutions that might not.

Of course, I can already guess that some people might argue that they don't "refuse to engage with the game" since this take is more a less a condensed version of the Supreme spiel, and as developed above, the game does - willingly - a shit job at demonstrating that her spiel is nonsense (they had to add the "greed" part in an interview released after the game and its only and final DLC!), just like her sockpuppet who supposedly learns how misguided he was in certain routes... only to end with the same ice cream, albeit with a different topping.

However, Dimitri and Sylvain mention how crestless children are disowned in Faerghus... when Dimitri's own uncle is ruling over a domain himself, Ingrid's brothers exist in the background and Gustave is still Baron Dominic's brother, on top of having been the royal master at arms for at least, depending on the route, 3 generations of Faerghan kings.

In a game where Dorothea can blame the Goddess for fighting in a war her bestie started - without anyone pointing this out - it's obvious this verse has unreliable narrators, but after 5 years and having played all routes in both games + a DLC + a dev interview explaining how and why some humans acquired crests...

Tl;Dr :

Reason 1- is most likely the most prevalent why this take exists anon, "because some people refuse to engage with the game" with the added topping of "save for what Supreme Leader and her sockpuppet say that I can use to demonise the characters I don't like".

#anon #replies #fandom woes #trying to sum up the reasons of why the 5 years of discourse happened is... complex lol #this takes encompasses everything #Fodlan and some parts of the fandom's refusal to engage with Nabateans aka the fantasy part of the game #treating crests like a glorified family name or worse a hereditry proof #takes only being meant as gotchas against fellow fans and deriding them for being 'wrong' to the point of harassment #sure the game is as consistent as a marshmallow #but the refusal over 5 long years to engage with what you can chew out from this marshmallow is just #what is even the point of any discussion?#sure lolcalisers lolcalised a lot making some muddled messages even more muddled but #explaining that people value super-powers because someone told them to? Instead of just #people loving Superman because he can protect them and do nifty things?#never underestimate the influence of Church BaD in this fandom anon or in online spaces #not saying we don't have our own edgy r/atheist people here but this is basically taking it to another level #and let's not forget the “my fave is better than yours because he can solve poverty in 2 easy steps” nonsense #and it's fightening how sometimes this can apply to both fandom or real life #'you can cure greed racism and xenophobia by killing this one person'#remember the “CoS is BaD because it instaured a CASTE system????”#top ten of the takes in those fives years lol it wins the “i'm using words i don't know” trophy #Imagine a situation where we could have had Lin refusing to go to the warfront because of his hematophobia #and his superior either Supreme Leader or maybe Billy themselves telling them it's okay to stay behind if they don't want to participate #as long as he doesn't have any regrets if some of his allies who don't return might have been saved by his powers #sure it's assholish but it looks like what F!Lewyn told Seliph #Much like Elincia who breaks down saying she never wanted to be queen #sure she never wanted but now she's there what is she going to do?#blame her father for having been the king ?#FE16

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bittybeanie · 7 months ago

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

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

also on ao3!

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

Finally, finally, everything is perfect.

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

Perfect.

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

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

“Keep off the goods. Gotcha."

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

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

"The goods don't seem to agree."

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

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

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

“Better?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Too much?”

“That’s not how I think of you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eh, let it dry.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Arataka?”

“I love you, too.”

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

“Oh.” He turns his head. “Sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not a bad idea.”

“...Panicking?”

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

“I’m not following.”

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

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

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

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

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

You shift back onto your knees.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You tell me that every time."

"It's important every time."

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

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

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

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

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

"Arataka."

"Yeah." He swallows.

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

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

"And your-?"

"Just do it at the same time."

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

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

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

"Ready?"

He nods slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I guess you better help me there."

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

The gears in your head start to turn.

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

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

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

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

"Then wh-"

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

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

Everything clicks together all at once.

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

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

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

"I’m drunk."

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

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

“M’fine.”

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

"Hey, where's your hand?"

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

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

A sobering panic cuts through you.

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

"Stay... stay put."

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

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

You call a cab service.

It smells like coffee.

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

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

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

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

"Hey."

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

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

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

"I think I should be asking you that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What for?"

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

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

"But you trusted me, and I-"

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

"You-?"

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

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

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

"Liquid courage."

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

"You... got drunk on purpose?"

"Not originally, but, uh."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I-”

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

“If you want to stop-”

“Saying so has always been enough.”

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

You take his hand, and you start pulling.

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

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

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

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

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

He’s wearing off on you.

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

“Still okay?”

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

“Yeah.” He nods. “I’m ready.”

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

He feels light.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s alright. I like the attention.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You roll your eyes, smile still wide.

“Hands above your head, please.”

“Hm?”

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

“O-oh. Right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Having fun down there?”

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

“Hm.”

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

“Yes.”

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

“Good boy.”

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

“Arataka.”

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

“Should I keep calling you a good boy?”

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

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

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

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

He nods, and you stop moving.

“Can I hear you say it?”

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

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

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

“Fuck, that, more of that. P-please.”

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

“Yeah. I need… just, hold onto me.”

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

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

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

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

“Sorry, too much?”

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

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

“Y-yes. Yes, fuck.”

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

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

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

He swallows thickly, then nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Second one.”

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

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

“Just like that, gorgeous.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How you feelin’?”

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

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

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

“You’re high praise.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“With clearly human teeth?”

“Maybe it… stole them?”

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

“Where you going with that hand, darling?”

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

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

More than anything, you are content.

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

“Maybe next time.”

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

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thedreadvampy · 7 months ago

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sometimes I forget that my experience has been. um. not 'your experiences are not universal' vibes but more like 'your experiences are EXTREMELY atypical'

#red said #recent events have reminded me that my life has involved like. a LOT of other people's psychosis #like not in a way where i have been Beset By Terrifying Crazies bc that's not like. a thing.#but a lot of people in my life have had a lot of really severe psychotic episodes #and i FORGET sometimes. that actually that is an Unusual Amount Of Experience With Psychosis for someone who's not #for somebody who has not really personally ever had psychotic episodes (unless severe PTSD flashbacks count)#actually i tell a lie i have maybe had One psychotic episode but because it was very situational and i knew what was happening #i was able to ride it out. because i am literally only psychotic Inside Hospitals and so that's all fine #as long as i LITERALLY NEVER HAVE TO HAVE INPATIENT CARE. Very important to me to never ever ever require surgery i think.#i can handle the amount of psychosis i get from a 1-4 hour stopoff in hospital #as long as i know I'm leaving soon then i can just Cope with the fact that the walls are moving and reality is thin #ANYWAY that's not the point the point is i forget! that most ppl i know have experience of at most a handful of severe psychotic episodes #some people i know have experienced more for sure. especially if the episodes were mostly theirs.#but people really seem to expect me to be more freaked out by their symptoms of psychosis than i am #bc i don't think i really register it as frightening unless they're in actual danger or Currently Aggressing Actually At Me #like i WORRY about them bc it can super suck but it's not SHOCKING or WEIRD #there have definitely been times ive been frightened. one time i woke up in the night and my friend was standing over me with a knife #but also like he was still HIM he was just having a moment. and as soon as i got the knife off him he just came back and broke down.#and we were fine and he was safe and i learnt the valuable lesson that even when people seem like they wanna kill you they probably don't #tbf now I'm thinking about it it's honestly a tossup whether he was there to threaten or because he felt a need to guard us #like to be clear probably don't try and take a knife off someone having a psychotic break. i was 17 and it was 3am and i knew him very well #i probably did not make the smartest call but nobody got hurt is the point #anyway you know there's that kind of psychotic episode and my granny got very violently angry a few times. buuuut you know there's also #been plenty of other times I've been with somebody having an episode and it's been chill as hell.#my ex saw and heard monsters so much that eventually she just got sick of being scared. we used to watch TV with them #i would sometimes have to sit on a bit of sofa that wasn't haunted and we might not be able to watch certain things bc they didn't like it #most of the time she was hallucinating there was absolutely nothing to worry about we just had a few extra variables #honestly of everyone i know who's had psychotic episodes or schizophrenia the amount of times it's been a material risk #is like. low single figures? maybe low double if you include self harm but idk what the cause and effect is there.#idk why you would need to be frightened like 99.99% of the time it truly is usually just Oh No That Seems Distressing For You I'm Sorry

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minnaci · 27 days ago

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soooo, what do u think about catbpy sylus in a rut?? 👀👀

ru. RU. WHEN I GET U. WHEN I GET U.

catboy!sylus is the type to cling to his control as much as he can, for as long as he can, during his rut. in the early days, he gets pouty frowny when you're not tucked under his arm or fit snugly against his chest. in fact, one of the biggest indicators that he's in pre-rut is the way he constantly needs to be touching you. his favorite move is to slip a big, warm hand between your legs and just... hold you like that, teasing you with the promise of more.

when he feels his iron-clad control start to slip, he starts to get antsy. he doesn't like being on uneven footing, so he chooses the path of most destruction— he wants you wrecked and pleading for more before he'll really let his instincts take over. if you point out that he's a sweet mate for making sure you get your pleasure first, he'll get uncharacteristically bashful. he'll deny it forever, but his rut makes him so much more susceptible to your praise.

that being said, he's not one to let something as small as a praise kink or rut-haze get in the way of his dominance. even in the deepest throes of his rut, he makes sure that you know that you belong to him. he ravages you single-mindedly, stuffing you so full and so thoroughly that you're even more pleasure-drunk than him.

#mailmin!#sylus smut #...i have more to say but i'm overheating and my brain is forgetting how to phrase things #what i want to say is like. he's got a FILTHY mouth. like normally he's a dirty talker for SURE he's got that teasing dom vibe #but when he's in his rut. he just spews absolute filth about how much he desires you and how beautiful you are #and like how good you feel and how he wants to train your body to crave him even more than he craves you #(''but that would be impossible'' he would pant hot n heavy against the shell of ur ear... ''because i crave you more than life itself.'')#or something. god. fuck. he's so hot #writemin!#+sylus

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mostofthingsmostofthetime · 3 months ago

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Hey, so I know it's been a long time, but I suddenly felt inspired to make some Annie Cresta Picrews. So here you go & I hope you like her as much as I do.

Pre games

Parade outfit

1st Interview

Training

Games

Victory interview

District 13

Post war

#she looks paler in most of them because while I've started to like the headcannon that she could be of asian descent #i don't think the Capitol is above colourism & therefore could tottally see them doing something to Annie's skin to make it lighter #even though she's naturally tan from being out in sun a lot back in District 4 #she's pale in District 13 as well but that's because after winning her games she didn't go out as much #& then obviously she was kidnapped & held hostage by the Capitol #she gets her tan back permanently after the war #also yes the cardigan is Finnick's & no i will not confirm weather she's just borrowing it or if it's her's now #god suzzane just let me live in a world where odesta are happy & safe where nothing hurts #i put all the picrews together because I'm still not sure how popular annie is (especially when not in connection to Finnick)#thg #the hunger games #picrew #annie cresta #annie cresta picrew #djarn picrew #the hunger games picrew #thg picrew #also i made her look for her victory interview lacklustre on purpose #as after her breakdown in her games i think pretty much everyone just wanted things to be over #so they could send her back to 4 as quick as possible so they could forget about her #lastly i made her face rounder to show that she is more healthy #& like she had a baby so even though i imagine she's still pretty fit due being an almost Olympic level swimmer #her body is bound to change after that #the turtle neck in the 'games' picrew is meant to be a swimsuit (similar to what the tributes wore in CF) but idk if that came across lol

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idontwanttospoiltheparty · 5 months ago

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I found a transcript of the Jan 98 Q interview but it won’t let me post a link

https:// groups.google .com/g/rec.music.beatles/c/7clhNbsz3jE/m/stFmXJnzJSMJ

Maybe see if you can view it by removing the space between google and .com. If not I can screenshot and send you pictures

Oh wow, amazing!! thank you so much! this is an old usenet post from December 1997 and the user named Alison Fiddler kindly typed it up 27 years ago :)

I'll post the full transcript (and a bit reformated for legibility) below the cut for everyone.

Paul McCartney Interview for Q Magazine, January 1998 edition

Q. When you first wrote a song with John Lennon, did you realise you would play one of the biggest parts in rock 'n' roll?

(Michael McConnell, Crawley, West Sussex)

Q. If John Lennon could come back for a day, how would you spend it with him?

A. Obviously not. But even with all the so-called "historical" events that followed, you're just too inside it all, too busy doing it to realise anything's "historical". You just get on with it. I'm not a great ponderer. Some people would say that's a mistake but it's just the way I am. It's quite cool not to always get the overall picture because it leaves something to be found out. The musicologists get paid to discover the differences between me and John. I'm only just beginning to see it now, based probably on their analysis. So John is often one note, I'm often more melodic. (McCartney is thinking especially of Ian McDonald's book Revolution in the Head, where he describes the ace partnership in contrasts: Lennon's method is "harmonic, dissonant", McCartney's that of the "natural melodist".) It might sound amazing but we never spotted that when we were writing. We just did our thing. But it is kind of apparent when you bother to analyse it.

(Mark Wilson, Deeside, Flintshire)

A. In bed.

Q. Were you ever envious that Brian Epstein didn't fancy you?

(Nick Gibson, London)

Q. What were the last records you bought?

A. No, I didn't mind. We just used to go to these clubs at night and wonder why there were so many men. It was OK. Brian was very cool about his side to things. I think the nearest any of us got to it was the John-going-to-Spain thing (it inspired the movie, The Hours And The Times) and I'm not sure what the strength of all that was. I think it was power play on John's part. But Brian kept his private life aside. He kept it out of our faces (pause, possibly for effect). He kept it out of mine, anyway.

(Chris Timms, Harrogate)

A. The Prodigy's The Fat Of The Land, Radiohead's OK Computer and Chopin's Nocturnes.

Q. How do you feel about all the animosity between you and Oasis right now?

(Christina Vellano, Syracuse, New York, USA)

A. There is none as far as I'm concerned. What happened was I'd said, Good group, good singer, good songwriters. But people asked me about it so much that one time I decided to take it further and say that they don't mean anything to me. I am not related to Oasis. I wish them good luck and everything. But my kids mean something to me, John Lennon means something to me, but Oasis ....

Q. Who would you pick to play with in your dream six-piece band?

(Alan Thatcher, Essex)

A. Dream? So we're into fantasy, aren't we? Ringo, John, George, that's three. Me. Jimi Hendrix. That makes lots of guitarists, so Little Richard on keyboards.

Q. With Wings, did you feel pressurised to live up to The Beatles?

(Andrew Williams, Neath)

A. Yes, it was a case of "follow that!". Impossible to do. Looking back on it, it's a lot better than I thought, though some of it is just not PLAYED as well as The Beatles. My son (James, co-worker on McCartney's last pop album, Flaming Pie) plays a lot of Wings, so I'm re-listening, and there's good shit that I'd forgotten about. A lot of the lyrics were off the wall, drug stimulated. Things like "Soily - the cat in the satin trousers says its oily". What was I on? I think the answer is stimulants.

Q. Do you still support the legislation of cannabis?

(Grahame Woods, Northwood, Middlesex)

A. I would make a distinction between legalising and decriminalising. I'm in favour of the latter. The problem is that jails are stuffed full of kids doing what a lot of people do. Why stuff the jails with young kids? Plus it's one of the best places to score. I remember when I got busted in Japan, nobody made the slightest effort to rehabilitate me (laughs). Just stuck me in a box for nine days. Obviously you come out and you are fairly resentful.

Q. Do you roll a wicked joint?

(Steve Kline, Bury)

A. I have nothing to say in answer to that question, m'lud. I wasn't even at the venue.

Q. The critics have been harsh on your solo work. Did this ever

discourageyou?

(Robert Hemauer, Madison, Wisconsin, USA)

A. Yeah, sure, but you don't let it kill you. It's a difficult one, because it's never cool for someone to tell you you're shit. Many people through history were damned by the critics of their own time - Cezanne, Van Gogh, Stravinsky, all great painters! Ha ha!

Q. We'd like to see your paintings but can't get to the exhibition in

Germany (McCartney unveils his work for the first time in Siegen, Germany, next year). Any thoughts about putting your paintings on "tour", or publishing a book of them?

(Kathy Goodman, San Diego, CA, USA)

Q. You've done so many things - classical, films, music, art, drugs - is there anything left you might have a go at?

A. A difficult one. If you're a so-called celebrity - like Bowie, Anthony Quinn, Tony Curtis - and you exhibit any art, inevitably, people are not going to think of you as a real painter. Gallery owners come up to me and offer to give me exhibitions. I say, You haven't seen my pictures, and they say, It doesn't matter. Well, it does to me. Otherwise, it's just trading on the name. However, this guy from Germany came over, looked at all my paintings, seems to like them. He's telling me what they're all about.

(Tim Bowler, Swansea)

A. The thing is how reluctant I've often been to have a go. I think we were brought up pretty repressed. Brought up to be seen and not heard, to stay in your place, particularly a working class thing. And I think - I hope - with The Beatles, we got rid of a lot of that. With the painting, for instance, it was Willem de Kooning who liberated me. I used to go to his studio, took in one of my paintings, said, Hey Bill, I hope you don't mind but can you tell me what it is? (Affects American drawl) "Oh, looks "like a couch." Well it looked like a purple mountain to me. And he says, "Well, whatever." Here's one of the greats, his works go for one million, and it was great to see how little bullshit he was bringing to it all. It's really important to explode these myths that surround the arts, music, painting. It's Wizard of Oz time - so many myths, and it's often just a little man behind the screen. The paraphernalia that surrounds them gets in the way. Often you meet leaders in their field and they have none of that. I remember asking a great painter - Peter Blake, maybe - for some advice once, and he said "Just paint a lot". Similar to my approach to music.

Q. How do you know when a song's finished?

(Joyce Slavik, Palatine, Illinois)

A. It's full up. You've answered all of your questions. Normally, I start following a thread: "Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice ... " The thread might come out of nowhere, and I follow it and complete it, like crossword puzzle. When the crossword is full up, the song is finished.

Q. What's more embarrassing: writing Hi Hi Hi or Say Say Say?

(Tien Vu, Costa Mesa, California)

A. (Weighs up pros and cons). Say Say Say.

Q. Why did you give such extensive interviews for an authorised biography (Paul McCartney: Many Years From Now) instead of writing an autobiography?

(Deena Hochberg, Southampton, Pennsylvania)

Q. I'd like to know if Sir Paul sings in the shower, and if so, what does he sing?

A. I don't think I'm a writer. I've never been moved to do it. You have to have a pretty big fire in the belly to do something as big as that. I fancy music more. I'm happier writing in songs rather than in prose, or poetry. Though I wrote something that was never published about the time I got busted in Japan - for my kids. Because I knew one day they'd say, "Hey dad, what was it like, nine days in a Tokyo jail?". So I had a mate of mind, who did all our printing, knock up a few copies, one for each of the kids.

(Jennifer Nash, Bursville, Minnesota)

Q. As a kid you used to play pranks at school by throwing balloons filled with something "worse than water". If you had one of those balloons right now who would you like to hit with it?

A. It's normally the bath. I prefer a good bath. And the answer's Firestarter - "I'm a firestarter, de-de-de-de-dera."

(Brett Yuskiewicz, Leipzig, Germany)

A. Jonathan King. He's a prat from way back.

Q. Which football team did/does each Beatle support?

(WC Chan, Maryland, USA)

A. None of us were big footie types. We weren't very sporty, unlike other groups who were always having knock-arounds. My dad was an Everton fan, which I was most of my life. But then Liverpool started playing well, and Everton didn't, so I took the unprecedented move of supporting them both. It's not allowed, I know, but there you go.

Q. For years, you've claimed it's you in the Walrus costume in the Magical Mystery Tour film. But watching the footage shows that for it to be you, you and John would have had to exchange all your clothes. Are you winding us up, or have you not watched the film in 30 years?

(Dorothy Northcutt, Tucker, Georgia)

Q. What is the quality of each of the other Beatles that you like(d) the best about?

A. The big one. Very good question. I tell you what it was. In the stills we had taken, I was the one with the Walrus head on – in the film it's different. So John then immortalised it in Glass Onion, "I've got news for you all, the walrus was Paul". Obviously at the time you don't care, it's just a Walrus head. You don't realise years later people like our friend from Georgia will analyse it.

(S. Breggles, Richmond)

A. All of them – musical talent. All of them – honesty. Ringo – funny, and kind-hearted. George – straightforward and open. John – witty with a soft centre, or maybe hard with a soft centre.

Q. Do the copulating beetles on the sleeve of Ram (1970) stand for F**k The Beatles?

(Luc Van de Wiele, Wemmel, Belgium)

A. It happened to be a picture Linda had taken. We couldn't resist it just because of the way it looked. She'd caught these two beetles f**king, and then the significance hit us. We saw that pun, yeah, thought why not?

Q. Was there ever a third Lennon song for Anthology 3?

(Jake Lennington, Rush City, MN, USA)

A. There was, but George didn't like it. The Beatles being a democracy, we didn't do it.

Q. I have a Beatles t-shirt which I bought from The Grapes (celebrated Liverpool pub). I was told the band are pictured in their favourite seats - adjacent to the Ladies where you would often catch a glimpse of the girls changing for an evening at The Cavern. True?

(Alan Tomkins, Goring, West Sussex)

A. I hope so. It SOUNDS true. Had there been an opportunity to spot the girls changing, I'm sure we would have sat there.

Q. If you hadn't been a musician, what do you think you would have been?

(Tony Carter, Manchester)

A. The only thing I could have probably qualified for was teaching. So I might have been an English teacher.

Q. Does it do your head in - stuff like the handwritten lyrics to Getting Better selling for $249,000 at Sothebys?

(Peggy Robinson, Trinant, Gwent)

A. It's the price of fame - literally. You scribble them on the back of an envelope, and it gets to be famous. People want it, so it becomes a desirable object. Like Mozart's bog paper, which is another highly desirable object, apparently. More valuable obviously if it's been used.

Q. What is the inscription on the ID bracelet you wear?

(Rachel Hyland, West Harford, Connecticut)

A. It says Paul - for when I forget who I am.

Q. How does it feel to have a star named after you (the christening courtesy of American astronomy fans)?

(John Sales, Barry, Glamorgan)

A. Really cool. The good thing is that as you get on, your fans get on too. And some of them are pretty swotty. Like the people who started Apple, they were just Beatles fans, hence the name. You don't sit around looking at the sky, trying to find it, but it's like getting a very nice birthday present. I'm not religious, I don't believe in any one system - I sort fo think the universe is basically benevolent and we f**k it up - but I am spiritual. I saw Stephen Hawking on TV the other night, and he was saying that we are made of the same stuff as the stars. Which is great. We are all stardust, luv.

Q. What do you want written on your gravestone?

(Tom Mangold, Exeter)

A. Here lies Gracie Fields. Anything to keep people away.

#this is such a fun interview!#I like how the fact it's fan question makes it a sort of greatest hits thing #it's funny to me he admits to the beetle fucking pic thing here – because I'm pretty sure he's denied it again since #Paul sometimes forgets that there's stuff he used to not obfuscate about (see: Tug of War the song lmao)#also. he gives pretty thoughtful answers to a lot of these.#which kind of convinces me more that “in bed” was a flippant joke response to highly personal question #also: some of these questions are fucking rude #(but in what WORLD is Say Say Say more embarrassing than Hi Hi Hi??????? is it just him being mad at MJ over the masters sale?)#paul #98 #97 #<- tagging both so I find this more quickly #articles #ref

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