#of course... i could just use dolls that are in-scale with him but i like more stylized figures
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HmHm.
I think a Hairdorables head on a Cave Club body would make a decent Mayday doll.
Nothing's gonna be perfect, but I think Hairdorables matches her face/head shape a lil'better than the base Cave Club.
Ya know. If somebody wants to get on that.
#nsr#i already said i'm not gonna do it#and while i said it was because i didn't also want to make a zuke doll to go with her#it's also because i already made kliff: if i made either one using these particular dolls#they're gonna be significantly shorter than him and that'll bug the hell out of me#kun3h0 is a couple inches shorter than him even though she's supposed to be pretty tall#and that's with the extra centimeter that the shoes gave her#how much more so for May who doesn't wear shoes?#of course... i could just use dolls that are in-scale with him but i like more stylized figures#that's a big part of why i was so attracted to NSR#the only reason kliff works with a 'regular' doll is that he's distinctly *less* stylized than most of the other characters#but he's still stylized~ him being forced into this 'normal' body type means that he's getting completely eaten by his coat/scarf#whereas the long neck/big hands and feet of his original design helped pull him out of his clothes a bit more#i think the more cartoony proportions of the small dolls would help with details like that#so if someone else with this hobby wants to give it a try#then be my guest and also share it with me
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ʜᴜsʙᴀɴᴅ!ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ ʜᴄs ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა
Nanami editors on TikTok are cooking a little too hard and now they got me all soppy about him ☹️
🎀 Husband!Nanami who’s manages to quell every single one of your outbursts without letting the situation scale into an argument. His way of approaching any relationship issues is just so inexplicably healthy, unlike anything you’ve experienced before. Whether you’re panicking, lashing out, or even crying he is present. Anything you have to say tumbles out of your mouth and when you’re done, his arms do all the talking as he tugs you close, rocking you back and forth in a soothing motion. All your emotions fizz away and you’re left a mushy mess in his arms, sniffling and nodding your head as he finally starts to talk you into calming down.
🌼 Husband!Nanami who is a big believer in spoiling you. Your hair is always glossy, your skin seems to glow from within, and your nails and clothes are nothing short but impeccable. But he also believes in spoiling you rotten with love. He has to hold you when it’s just you two alone, sitting you in his lap as his hands keep a reassuring grasp on your hips. And as you cling your arms around his neck and press your nose against his pulse, the world is quiet and peaceful and you feel like you’re falling in love all over again.
🎀 Husband!Nanami who is a sucker for feeling you scratch his back. It sounds a little strange but after a stressful day of work, all he wants is to strip down and flop onto the bed, knowing that you’ll always appear and give him what he wants. You insist on doing this anyways, settling your body on his lower back and raking your freshly manicured nails down his back to elicit rewarding little sounds from him. Low groans, gentle sighs, and cooes of “love you, baby” leave his lips and make their way to your ears, making you feel all fuzzy inside.
🌼 Husband!Nanami who lets you do makeup on him during his days off. Perched in his lap with him back against the headboard, you carefully curl his lashes before applying an even coat of mascara to his stubborn lashes. It’s not much makeup but it honestly suits him well; a cushion foundation, some concealer for his under eyes, and cheek and lip tint, and mascara. The fact your husband was so comfortable within his own skin and masculinity that you could doll him up so cutely made you giggle like a fool. And once you finish the everyday look, he’s so quick to ask about all the products and techniques you used with genuine care for what you have to say.
🎀 Husband!Nanami who slowly but surely becomes a biter. It all started when you tried to bite his cheeks while cuddling, only to pout when you nearly hit into his cheekbones. Of course he had to return to favor and nibbled on the squish of your cheeks, making you burst into laughter and squeals. From then on he’s expanded, leaving purplish love bites upon your chest and when you’re both feeling a little cheeky, on your collarbone and neck as well. It makes him flush with a little shame when he thinks about it, but the silent display of possessive affection never fails to leave him grinning like a child when he’s alone.
🌼 Husband!Nanami who has a photo of you everywhere and makes it known to anyone asking that yes, that lovely lady is his wife. His lock screen is a snapshot of your hands after a spa nail, pretty pink nails and a golden band that is your wedding ring. There's a small pic of you in his wallet from the times you were just starting to date, caught in a frenzied laughter after being told a joke. Ooh, and if anyone asks who you are after seeing such photos of you, he’ll say with all his chest “that’s my wife in these photos. I love her very much,” all while having a rare smile in public on his face.
🎀 Husband!Nanami who loves you like there’s no tomorrow. Who holds your hand everywhere outside and watches over you with critical eyes, glaring at anyone who even remotely gives you a strange look. He’s a man that drags out every kiss, a hand on your neck as he gently groans into your mouth. Who hugs you so tightly you feel like you’re about to burst at the seams, thick and burly forearms encircling your waist as you snuggle against his chest. This is where you belong, the both of you: nestled in each other in a heart-to-heart embrace.
#nanami kento#jjk nanami#nanami x reader#nanami x you#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#nanami kento headcanons#husband!nanami#pookie come back#the kids miss you#:(((( <3#milly writes ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა#dividers by ianrkives#mari’s dividers 🍂
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Please talk about your bug boys all the time!! Any tidbits, thoughts, and, of course, their fics make me happy. I never thought I'd love bugs (scared of spiders), but i LOVE your bug boys!!
I have so many thoughts from cute to morbid about them.
PLEASE I RLLY LOVE TOOOO OMG!!!! Wait okay so below the cut i'll put in little blurbs for each of them so you can get the vibe yk?? Cause I know I havent been able to show much of them through the fics i've put out so far 😭😭 In the rest of the guys fics (save for Hoseok), they'll all be a lot more present 🥺
It makes me so happy that you love the guys as much as I do, though fr. I was never expecting Jimin's fic to receive so much love and even though you're scared I'm so happy you took the chance on reading it <333 I LOVE YOU!!!! 🥺 ALSO PLS TELL ME ALL OF YOUR THOUGHTS!!! CUTE AND MORBID IDC I LOVE THEM ALL!!!!
cw. yandere behaviour, hybrid!bts, toxic behaviour, manipulation, typical stuff lol
Kim Seokjin
⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ species: blue morpho butterfly
⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ classification: Dependent Type » 6/10
An architype of beauty. A doll for the rich and powerful. The most sought after species in the entire exotic world. Kim Seokjin knows his place in the ecosystem of humanity well-- knows the titles given to him even better. Knows his value as no more than a monetary scale, a gorgeous pair of wings to show, a creature to fawn over. To bask in the effervescent glow of. He knows his worth. He knows what he's meant to be worth. What he should mean to every human he comes into contact with-- the gem of their collection. The world they now own. So why, why would you just abandon him after purchasing him at the latest auction house? Send him to live at the reserve after he's already decided that you have the honor of being his human, huh?
Kim Seokjin has always been the type to adjust to his reality with every new owner he has, yet he just can't stop himself from becoming fixated on you. From never wanting to leave your side-- not even for a moment. From thinking about you every waking moment you're apart. From wanting to be liked by you. From wanting to belong to you-- not as a pet, but as something so much more. You were kind when you met him, even more so when he sees you at the reserve. You show him things he never thought possible, you let him live. You treat him not as a toy, never force him to do anything, not once. You, yourself, might just be a butterfly. One with their wings clipped. Seokjin has always hated collars. The stupid, diamond encrusted things his past owners forced on him as a show of wealth. But you... with you he wonders hopes that someday you might just don him with the same. Maybe he can put one on you, too.
Min Yoongi
⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ species: fat-tail scorpion
⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ classification: Obsessive Type » 2/10
Min Yoongi never thought himself to be much in the world. His mother made sure he knew that ever since he was young. A scorpion is nothing to be proud of. Nothing to shine light on. Nothing that could ever make the world happy in some sort of meaningful way. They are creatures of destruction-- bred for a bid of power. To be used in wars for their poison. To instill fear deep in ones bones from a single glance. So how come, exactly, were you never scared of him? Why did you always seem so light, so happy around the terrible, brooding man? Why did you live with your head in the clouds? Why were you still friends with him even after you knew what he was? What he could do? After the way others looked at you, judged you for even being around him? All questions Yoongi asked, yet never thought to ever find the answers to. Never thought to let himself agree with the simplest conclusion of. Yoongi's entire life he's pushed away the obvious, even more so with his hybrid side. Never letting his true thoughts be heard, nor his wildest whims carried. It's no wonder he's such a stranger from his own feelings, his own instincts. But once you finally accept him... it's unfortunate how quickly it all goes out the window. His restraint lost, his hybrid side taking up much more space than it ever did before. You're all he can think about. All he wants to be around. All he can ever hope to love and exist as in the world. He sees you in everything-- he thinks. And though he tries desperately to hold it back, because of how long he's tried to hold back his feelings, his obsession is only getting worse. Thankfully his new friend Namjoon is ready to help him navigate all of these new emotions bubbling up inside.
** though during his actual fic he doesn't really appear yandere, the further along into his relationship with you, the worse he becomes. Probably maxing out at a 4/10-5/10.
Jung Hoseok
⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ species: warrior wasp
⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ classification: Sadistic Type » 8/10
Hoseok has always lived his life exactly the way he desires. Spending his days flying around the rainforest, taking what he pleases from others, playing tricks on those below him. Coming home to his nest with his siblings, living without regard or care for anyone other than those he calls family. Living the way a hybrid should live. That they deserve to live. Wasps are practically gods among mortals, aren't they? Stronger, faster, better. That sounds right, doesn't it? A god among men. Something that should be worshiped. It's safe to say that Hoseok himself has a god complex, though he would deny that fact. He would just say he wants to have fun-- that he deserves to have fun, no matter who else might come in the way of that. Cocky, arrogant, mean. He doesn't quiet care how he is described by others as long as he knows their place. And deep, deep in the Amazon Rainforest, there isn't much to stop him, is there? Well, other than the first appearance of humans that he's ever seen. A cute little researcher leading the way, smelling so good. So delicious. Exactly like the nectar of his favorite flower. Like the jungle after a fresh rain. The best part? You wants to know everything about him. Fawn over him like he knows he deserves. Doesn't mind when he plays little games. Wants to know his whole world. You aren't supposed to leave. He knows that with his entire being. Knows you belong to him. You're his favorite toy, his mate. You're not leaving. You're. Not. Leaving. Didn't you know going into this that warrior wasps have some of the most painful stings?
Kim Namjoon
⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ species: honey bee
⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ classification: Possessive Type » 7/10
Home to the reserve since birth, Namjoon knows a thing or two about how everything functions. The fine-tuned intricacies interlaced behind the surface, the projects going on throughout, the way the gears grind almost so perfectly together to keep everything functioning so smoothly. It's safe to say he knows everything-- he makes sure he does. The taste of knowledge is so sweet, he knows he could never turn away. He helps the new members of the park adapt smoothly, makes sure to help out with the hive. Oh, and of course help out the sweet little director of the park. He would never be so cold as to turn you down, anyway. You've grown so close over the years-- he was the one to first help you gain your bearings when you first took on the job. He's the one to bring you flowers when you've had a hard week. He's the one to put a blanket over your shoulders if you fall asleep at your desk. He's always there. He just makes sure of it. Because there's just something so beautiful about knowledge, you know? Something so deep, so raw, about knowing every little thing about somebody-- everybody that Namjoon can't turn himself away from. Knowledge enlists power. It instills fear. He wants you. And he knows. He's going to figure out everything about you. Just so he can have you. So he can make you his little puppet. Secrets are such dangerous things. You should know that. You do know that. But he, he knows there's something off about you. And once he finds out what, there's no going back.
Park Jimin
⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ species: cobalt blue tarantula
⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ classification: Clingy Type » 5/10
It's just too hard to be a spider!! Jimin's known it for as long as he can remember-- well, as long as he's been at the reserve, anyway. People there think you're scary so they don't give you any snacks, security removes your webs when they become too prominent around the landscape, not to mention the sun!! Oh god, and don't even get him started on his fangs. He loves them, they're so pretty-- he knows he's pretty, but they're just a pain! Nothing to properly bite to take away the itch!! Uhg!! Being a spider is just so hard!! But you, sweet sweet you just make it so easy. Ah! Wait, no. He's getting ahead of himself again. He has to remind himself to be patient-- oh so patient with you. It's not your fault you're just a little human, that you just need a little more coaxing than most. That you need time to understand him. To understand his raw, unfiltered desires. Oh, the things he would do to you if you did. The things he's going to do once you do. It was never his intention to stumble into your home, in fact, he had no inkling to do the sort. But he needed to get out, he needed to leave the reserve. To explore. His skin burned to go, the words of his bestfriend ushering him along the way. It was fate he found your home. A sign that you were meant to be. And every since that day, a moment has not gone by that he hasn't thought of you. Hasn't worked on planning his next move to have you. Because human's are fragile, you know? They need time. They need space. But Jimin-- he wants neither. He wants you all for himself. He needs you to want him like he wants you. Every waking second. Every moment. And maybe... maybe someday he'll wrap you up tight enough, pretty enough to show you what real love is.
Kim Taehyung
⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ species: domestic silk moth
⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ classification: Impulsive Type » 9/10
Kim Taehyung... he's another breed of creature entirely. Everyone at the park knows it-- his best friends especially. An amalgamation of nothing and everything. Something that is so easy to read yet difficult to decipher. The type of person to live off of their will alone, not caring for anyone else, nor the consequences their actions may hold. If Taehyung wills it, that's simply how it's going to be. So why... why exactly do you make everything so difficult for him? Things should be so simple-- they always are in his world. He wants a specific tree or cave in the park, the others give it to him. He wants attention from specific visitors, the others leave to let him have it. He wants to leave the park, play another cute little game of cat and mouse with you-- he knows you'll follow him in the end. Or else. He doesn't mind getting his hands dirty. He doesn't care about hurting people to get what he wants. See, it's simple, right? So why the fuck are you so difficult? He doesn't give a shit about all this human garbage. You should feel the same way he does about you. You should just accept his courting gifts without a second thought. You should be his mate and have his mark on you already. You should be living in his nest with him. But you fucking aren't and it's pissing him off. C'mon, it should just be so easy to give in-- he's so nice to you when you behave. He's such a good moth for you. He listens when you tell him no. And eventually you will give in. He knows it. In fact, he's sure you're already in love with him. You're mates. As far as he's concerned, you feel it too. At least, you will soon.
Jeon Jungkook
⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ species: black garden ant
⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ classification: Worship Type » 8/10
Jungkook loves his colony more than anything else in the world. It's all he's ever known, all he's ever grown up with, all he's ever learned to care about. The good of the colony is more important than anything else in an ants mind-- of course it is. It's bred into their blood, their genes speaking for them more than anything else. Bring home food for everyone else some days, help with the ever expanding tunnel system the next. Do everything for the sake of the colony, for the queen. Only, there was a seamless little mess-up in poor Jungkook's life. Something an ant hybrid never expects, but cant be more thrilled about. You see, ant hybrids don't have mates. That little thing is a simple fact of nature, of life. Something inherent in their beings for the good of the colony-- to make sure their priorities don't wonder. Of course they still mate, they still breed. But an ant with a mate... that means something far greater than a home colony can hold. Jungkook never anticipated finding a mate. Thought he would just settle down with someone he could be happy enough with. But now... now everything is different. Everything has changed from the second he laid eyes on your form sitting on the picnic blanket. And Jungkook knows he's loved you more than he's ever loved his own queen-- his own colony. Maybe he loves you more than life itself. For when an ant hybrid has a mate, it means the formation of something new, of something greater. Of a new colony, with a new queen. And you, you're everything he's ever wanted. You're his queen.
⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ interested in more? read the rest relax reserve one-shots here!!
© all rights reserved to ctrlhope 2019-2024 ; do not copy, plagiarise, or translate.
#bts x reader#yandere bts#hybrid bts#jungkook x reader#jimin x reader#taehyung x reader#namjoon x reader#yoongi x reader#hoseok x reader#jin x reader#🧭 ctrl.asks#🧭 ctrl.nonnie#🖇️ ctrl.rest relax reserve
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Hello, I have a Matt x reader x Frank castle smut request. Frank tells Matt what he does with you after his patrol, how tight you are and how good your pussy tastes. Frank takes Matt to his apartment and the two have a lot of fun with the reader. They use the reader like a sex doll. Despite the years with Frank, the reader is too tight and Matt is too big.
In High Demand
Pairing: Frank Castle x Matt Murdock x F!Reader
Summary: Matt's been overworking himself. Frank knows someone who can help him relax.
Word Count: 8.2k
Warnings: 18+ (Minors DNI), Explicit Sexual Content, Threesome, Oral Sex (M and F Receiving), Unprotected P in V, Praise and Degradation, An Obscene Amount of Dialogue, The Reader is Very Slutty (I'm Sorry. . . No I'm Not).
A/N: Well, I'm officially out of the frying pan and into the fire. Of course, by fire, I mean threesome. I'm sorry this took so long for me to finish. I'm a bit of a slow editor. If you have any constructive criticism, I will absorb ALL of it happily. I'm trying to improve my writing skills as much as I can. Also, I'm always taking requests! XOXO.
Read on AO3
。゚•┈୨♡୧┈• 。゚
"I really appreciate you helping me out with this, Frank."
Frank looked up from where he was sitting with his back against the brick barrier. "Yeah, well, I owed you one," he replied, "and I'm not a huge fan of being in debt."
The two vigilantes were resting on a vacant rooftop, listening closely for any signs of danger. Hearing nothing, Matt figured the "Devil of Hell's Kitchen" had driven everyone with something to fear from him back inside. He declared his nightly patrol a success. As soon as he switched off attack mode, he felt the exhaustion hit him, and he slumped down on the wall next to Frank.
"So, you're saying you did all this to balance the scales?" Matt asked incredulously.
"Just about," Frank muttered, scratching a little blood stain off the knife Matt let him borrow. "And I only beat up one guy, so it's not like I actually had to work for it."
"I'd say you worked hard enough. I mean, you did make it all night without killing anyone."
"There you go again with that self-righteous bullshit," Frank groaned. "What I don't get is why you would ask someone you constantly feel the need to babysit for help."
Taking a deep breath in, Matt forced himself to stand, getting ready for the walk back to his apartment.
"You were convenient," he explained. "I knew your skills and I knew where to find you. Also, you're not nearly as lethal without all your guns."
"Well, fuck you too," Frank grumbled. He waited for Matt to take a few steps towards the ladder before chucking the knife he was holding directly at the back of his head. He watched it spiral through the air, perfectly on course, only to land gingerly in Matt's hand. It was almost like the knife changed its trajectory at the last second, but Frank knew that wasn't the case. Besides, it's not like he actually wanted to hit him. He didn't even think that was possible.
Matt turned back in his direction. Even through the mask, Frank could feel the raised eyebrow. He ignored it. Hopping up, he made his way over so the two of them could walk together.
"Okay, but why ask for help at all?" Frank pressured. "It's obvious you can handle yourself, and you've never asked before."
"You know as well as anyone how unpredictable these streets can be," Matt began. "You're right, most nights I can handle myself, but. . . I wasn't so sure about tonight. I wanted someone there, just in case."
He was about to start climbing down the ladder, but Frank's voice stopped him before he could.
"Something tells me you're not gonna be so sure about tomorrow, either."
"What?"
"Come on, Red. Look at yourself. You're practically dead on your feet," Frank pointed out. "It's three in the goddamn morning, you just fought like fourteen people, and now, what? You're going home to get your two hours of sleep before work?"
"Four."
"That's still not enough, and you know it."
"I'll be fine," Matt asserted.
"No one can do that every night and be fine."
"Why do you care?"
"Because unlike some people, I actually respect what you do around here, and I don't wanna find out what this shithole would look like without you," Frank raved. There was a long silence after that, both men startled by the declaration.
"You won't."
Matt began his descent, ready to end their conversation. Frank, it seemed, had other plans.
"If you were fine, you wouldn't be taking the ladder," he called down after him.
Matt paused, resting his head against the metal rung in front of him. He was really starting to get aggravated by Frank's incessant concerns. The most annoying part was that he was right. Matt would usually make it home from patrol in two minutes flat, his feet touching nothing but rooftops. He picked a shorter building with a ladder tonight because he feared his body was too sore to make the jumps. To say it had been a rough week would be an understatement.
'You have nothing to prove,' he repeated in his head like a mantra. It worked at first; he made it another three steps down, but then he heard Frank's stupid voice again.
"Why won't you just admit that you're burnt out?"
Matt gritted his teeth, unable to hide his frustration any longer. He gave up on avoiding conflict and began climbing back up to the roof to be on the same level as Frank.
"I am not burnt out," he growled.
There was an awkward pause as Frank looked Matt up and down, thinking. He carefully considered his slumped posture and his shoulders racked with tension. Matt couldn't see him, but he could feel Frank's eyes examining him, and it made him uncomfortable. He was about to say something, but Frank broke the silence before he could.
"When's the last time you got laid?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.
"I'm sorry-"
"You're not a virgin, are you?"
"What? No!"
"So how long's it been?"
Matt wasn't sure how to feel about the sudden shift in the argument. he kinda felt like he was in a train headed towards a cliff that suddenly veered off course. He was safe from the fall, but who knew what lay ahead of him now?
"Why the hell would you want to know that?" he asked.
"Just answer the question."
"Uhh, a few months? I don't kn-"
He was interrupted again by Frank letting out a low, impressed whistle.
"That's even worse than I thought," Frank said.
"You've thought about this?" Matt asked, horrified.
"No, jesus christ, man, it's obvious. You're all tense 'n shit. You look like you haven't relaxed in a while, that's all."
Matt sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose through his mask. "I think we should go," he mumbled.
"I think you should get some."
"Ok, well it's not like you've got someone waiting for you at home either," Matt snapped.
Frank looked at Matt quizzically, letting out a surprised chuckle.
"What?" Matt asked, exasperated.
"Nothing," Frank responded. "It's just that you really are off your game."
"What are you talking about?"
"There is someone waiting for me at home right now."
"Bullshit."
"I thought you could, like, smell it on me or something," Frank speculated.
Now that he mentioned it, Matt did notice something different about Frank's unique smell. There was a slightly sweeter scent intertwined with his typical smoke and rosewood. He knew Frank wasn't lying, but for some reason he didn't want to believe it.
"I didn't hear anyone else inside when I came to get you," he added.
"She was out with some friends. She should be home by now."
"You realize how made up that sounds, right?"
"Cut the crap. You know it's true."
"Yeah, I know," Matt conceded. "She your girlfriend?"
"Yeah. . . At least, I think she is."
"Do you go out on dates often?" Matt supplied. He made a 'come on' gesture to encourage Frank to follow as he started down the ladder once more.
"I don't exactly know what counts as a date in your world, but I think we do." Frank inhaled sharply as he almost lost his footing on a loose bar.
"Wait, does she know who you are? The terms of your agreement-"
"I remember all the terms, thanks," Frank muttered. "I didn't tell her. She figured it out pretty quick though. Maybe I should grow a beard or somethin'."
"Do you love her?" Matt asked when they reached the bottom. The two of them started off in the same direction for their homes, taking only the deserted back alleys they were all too familiar with.
"Well I've only known her for three months," Frank answered, dusting little flakes of rust off his black jacket, "but I think I'm really starting to. She might just be the prettiest, sweetest girl I've ever known."
"That's a good sign. Okay, one last thing: Does she sleep with other people?"
Frank suddenly looked like he was remembering something funny. "Only if I ask her to," he smirked.
Matt was pretty sure his brain short-circuited, and he stopped dead in his tracks. "The correct answer would have been no," he deadpanned. "Why the hell would you ask someone to do that?"
"Well, Red, there's this thing you should know about my girl. I know she seems all cute and innocent at first, but she's actually the biggest slut I've ever met."
"Okay, TMI," Matt complained. Naturally, Frank ignored him. They began walking again, talking more about Frank's secret girlfriend.
"I'm telling you, man, she's perfect," he bragged. The night we met, I found her blowing some guy behind a bar."
Matt had to admit, that was a little amusing. "And what?" he asked, "you just went up to them and started hitting on her?"
"Not exactly," Frank laughed. "I was just walking home, and the guy she was with thought I said somethin' to him or some shit, 'cause he came over to me and started tryin' to pick a fight, right? Well, anyway, I knocked him out cold. Save the lecture, he was a dick wad and he wasn't even that drunk. But this girl, she thought it was hot, can you believe that? So, she starts hitting on me, saying I look strong and dangerous, 'cause apparently she's into that. She kept asking me to take her back to my place, and she was obviously hammered, so I did, just to keep her safe, you know? Almost immediately, she passes out on my bed, too tired to even try to fuck me anymore. Luckily, when she woke up, she remembered everything that happened, and I gave her my number in case she ever needed me to punch somebody else for her."
"And did she?" Matt prompted. He didn't actually care that much, but it was a decent story and it was definitely helping him keep his mind off his injuries.
"Yeah, two days later," Frank grinned. "She wasn't calling for a bodyguard, though. When I picked up, she told me she hadn't been able to stop thinking about me and was wondering if we could talk for a while so she could 'satisfy her curiosity'."
"She sounds very forward."
"You've got no idea. She's absolutely shameless, especially when she's drunk. You know, when she called me, she spent the whole conversation trying to pretend like she wasn't getting herself off."
"Wait, what?!"
"So, I had to sit there for an hour and listen to her try not to moan, and she's usually pretty good at staying quiet, but sometimes she gets so fuckin' wet that she just can't."
"That's disturbing," Matt lied, and was once again ignored.
"It's real easy for her to cover up the noises coming from her mouth, right? But the other ones. . . not so much. So, the whole time, I was just on my couch talking to her, and I was going absolutely insane 'cause I could hear what she was doing. After a little while, I just snapped and I told her if she wanted to hear my voice that badly, she could come over and I'd help her out."
"And?. . ."
"And she did."
"You slept with her the second time you met?"
"Yep. And the third, and the forth. . . probably the first eight times we got together. I mean, we were just goin' at it like every single night. It was amazing. She's so fuckin' tight, like tighter than most virgins. And she's damn good with her mouth. Like, the first time she sucked me off I almost saw your God. I don't think there's a single thing she can't do. Not much she won't do either."
"Really, dude. Stop."
"Whatever, man. I realized I actually liked her when she spent a full weekend at my place. We went out for lunch and played cards and watched a movie. She was just so smart and funny and I couldn't stand the thought of her leaving," Frank reminisced.
"So, is that when you asked her out?"
"No, that was when I asked her to move in with me."
Matt didn't even know where to start unpacking that. Before he could say anything, Frank stopped walking in front of a tall staircase behind a brick building.
"This is me," he announced.
"Hold on, you still haven't answered my question," Matt reminded him. "Why did you ask her to sleep with someone else?"
"Oh, yeah," Frank mused. "About a month ago, I went out for drinks with this old friend of mine, and was going on and on about how he hadn't gotten laid since his divorce. He seemed about her type, so I took him back to our place and had her take care of him for me."
"And she did it, just like that?"
"I told you she was great, didn't I?" Frank beamed.
"And neither of you cared?" That was something Matt was having trouble comprehending. He'd always been pretty possessive in his relationships, and the thought of sharing his partner was completely foreign to him.
"I am not a selfish man, Red. Anyone who dies without experiencing that pussy has never truly lived."
"Good to know."
Frank leaned casually against the wall behind him, crossing his arms over his chest.
"So, uh. . . you interested?"
It look Matt a moment to process what he was being asked, and when he did, he didn't know how to feel. On the one hand, he didn't want to take any more help from Frank, especially not for something like this. He didn't want to come between a happy couple, either, even by invite. On the other hand, it had been a while, and the girl that had been described to him sounded remarkably satisfying. He began to realize that Frank was right: He seriously needed to get laid.
Frank decided Matt had been thinking a little too long.
"Do you like eating pussy?"
Matt was startled out of his inner turmoil. "You can't just fucking ask someone that," he hissed.
"Why not? You seem like you would," Frank stated nonchalantly.
"Fine. Yes, I do."
"Good. I'm tellin' you right now, there ain't a woman in all of New York that tastes sweeter than my baby. You get between her legs, you come out knowing things you didn't think were possible, swear to God."
"I find that hard to believe," Matt scoffed.
"I mean it. I could spend hours down there. I did once, actually, 'till we both passed out. . . But I guess you'll just have to find out for yourself, won't you? Come on, man. You really need this."
"I don't know, it just doesn't sound like such a good idea."
Frank rolled his eyes. "We're all adults, we can have a little fun. If you want, you can come up to get your dick sucked and then head home. It doesn't have to be a big thing."
"You seem very adamant about this," Matt noted.
"Well, I do aim to please," Frank quipped. "I'm talking about you and her. I think my girl would have a lot of fun with you."
"What makes you say that?"
"You're pretty easy on the eyes, you know. Also, she seems to have a thing for jaded middle-aged vigilantes. So, what do you say? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Murdock."
Matt sighed, and reached up to rub the back of his neck. For the life of him, he couldn't seem to remember any of his reasons for saying no.
"Alright," he decided.
Frank's face broke into a wolfish grin, and he began ascending the staircase towards the window at the very top of the building. Matt followed close behind him, wincing at the pain in his sides as he climbed. When the two men got to the top, Frank knocked four times at the glass.
。゚•┈୨♡୧┈• 。゚
You had just finished changing into one of Frank's old t-shirts when you heard the familiar rattling of the window pane. You dried your hands on the bathroom towel and smiled as you went to let your boyfriend back inside.
Using that word was strange to you, but still it made you giddy with excitement. You never thought you would meet someone wonderful enough to settle down with, but finally you had. Frank was the most perfect man you'd ever known. He understood you in ways no one else could, and with him, you were satisfied. That was a miracle in and of itself.
You slid open the creaky window with a hard push, and watched as Frank hopped through it with a gracefulness that contrasted sharply with his bulky exterior. He seemed completely unharmed, as per usual, but you had still been worried about him. There was always that small chance he would come home covered in his own blood and full of broken bones. You were about to tear into him for not leaving a note when you noticed the red figure slipping in behind him.
"Hey, sweetheart, you remember me telling you about Matt, don't you?" Frank asked, cradling your face in his hands and giving you a sweet hello kiss.
"Is this him?" you responded, giving the new arrival a once-over.
"Yeah, this is him. Hey, Red, why don't you introduce yourself."
Matt stepped up to you and offered his hand for you to shake.
"Hi, I'm Matt. Frank's already told me all about you," he said cheerfully, almost like he knew something you didn't.
Frank stepped up behind you, resting his hand on your lower back and leaning in to tell you something.
"If you're up for it, I'm gonna need you to do me a favor, alright?" he mumbled. You could tell Matt heard everything. You remembered what Frank had told you about him and his unique talents.
You turned towards Frank, sliding your hands under his jacket and leaning in close.
"By that, do you mean you're gonna need me to do him a favor?" you wondered. Frank tucked your hair behind your ear and twirled it idly around his fingers.
"He's pretty high strung right now. I figured he might need a little somethin' special to relax."
"I'm perfectly capable of getting laid on my own, Frank," Matt butted in. Frank ignored him.
"Have I told you how beautiful you look today?"
You laughed. "Yes, about twelve times this morning. You don't need to flatter me, I'll do it."
"You're amazing," Frank marveled, giving you another chaste kiss before turning to address Matt.
"How about you start by taking that stupid helmet off. Let my baby see what she's working with."
A small thrill ran through you when you heard Frank address you as his. You watched as Matt pulled his mask off, revealing the rest of his face. He looked a little nervous but you couldn't see why. He was absolutely gorgeous. His messy hair from the suit only added to the effects of his boyish charm. You noticed he did look rather tired, but that did nothing to dull his handsome features. You could tell you were gonna have a lot of fun with this one.
"He's even prettier than you," you joked.
Frank swatted you lightly on the ass and pushed you in Matt's direction. "Watch it," he growled playfully.
You stalked over to Matt and kissed him lightly on the cheek before pulling him over to the couch.
"Are you sure you're okay with this?" you asked gently.
Matt swallowed thickly, trying to adjust to his situation. "Yeah, I'm okay," he responded. You hoped he'd settle in soon. There was something about him that told you he could be a lot of fun when he warmed up. Then again, that was what you were there for.
"What do you want?"
"I'm not exactly sure. Really, I can just go if-"
"No!" you interrupted. "I don't want you to go, I want to make you feel better. I'm okay with whatever you want, promise."
Matt seemed to be struggling to come up with what to say. Honestly, you were feeling a little nervous too, even though there was no reason to be. Suddenly, you realized what the issue was.
"Hey, Frank?" you called out. He came over to the two of you holding a couple of beers in one hand. He passed one to Matt, who accepted it gratefully.
You waited until he was next to you before admitting your problem to him. "I think we feel a little weird because we don't have any rules. Could you maybe. . . tell us what to do?" you asked.
Frank nodded, sitting down in the ratty old armchair next to the couch.
"Why don't you ask me what you wanna do with him, and I'll give you the go-ahead. Sound good, baby?"
You looked over at Matt who seemed to have relaxed some. You definitely found the source of the problem. All you needed was permission.
"Can I kiss him?" you asked.
Frank's eyes were sparkling with his newfound control. "You can kiss him all you want, sugar."
You slid closer to Matt, turning his head towards yours. "Stop me if you get uncomfortable," you whispered, and then leaned in to press your lips to his. Matt groaned and immediately deepened the kiss, eagerly exploring your mouth with his tongue. It was obvious now how much he needed this.
He tasted good in a way you couldn't explain, and you didn't want to pull away until you'd figured out what it was. You could feel the throbbing in your core picking up with every passing moment. Your breath caught when you felt Matt reach up to run his fingers through your hair. Wanting to move things along, you climbed into his lap so you could be pressed against him, chest-to-chest.
"Pull her hair. She likes that," Frank suggested.
Matt complied, tugging gently, then harder when he felt you shiver against him. Leave it to Frank to know exactly what you want and when you want it. You pulled back from the kiss to look at your moderator, rolling your hips hesitantly to gauge his reaction. He nodded, and you watched him palm himself roughly through his pants. That was all the encouragement you needed.
Returning to the kiss, you began grinding down hard against him, hoping that he could feel your movements through his thick suit. Matt reacted in a way that showed you he certainly could, gasping and grabbing onto your hips to push up against you. You moaned when one particularly hard thrust allowed you to feel the outline of his cock through your clothes.
"Oh, what the fuck," you breathed, pulling away from the kiss in shock. There was no way in hell he was that big. You settled your weight fully on his lap, gently rocking back in forth to feel more of him. You had to make sure that you weren't just imagining things. You weren't. He was absolutely fucking huge. You weren't sure how he was supposed to fit inside you, but dammit if you weren't excited to find out.
Matt seemed amused by your reaction to your recent discovery. He could smell the sudden increase in your arousal that accompanied the feeling of you getting wetter. You felt his hands tighten on your hips, holding you still as he grinded up against you. Every thrust was deep and dirty, inciting the growing heartbeat between your legs. It felt like he was showing off, or using his knowledge of a secret you had to tease you.
"Feel something you like, baby?" Frank asked from the sidelines.
"Uh-huh," You responded inattentively. You were too focused on the feeling of Matt's bulge rubbing against you to say much more than that.
"Why don't you head on down to the bedroom, alright sweetheart? We'll meet you there in a minute," Frank urged.
Reluctantly, Matt released you and you wandered down the hall to wait for the two men to come join you.
Frank waited for you to be out of earshot before moving to the couch next to Matt. They sat for a second, sipping at their drinks before Frank spoke.
"I know you have a fuck ton of ideas about how you should treat a woman, but I'm gonna need you to forget that shit before I take you back there, okay? I'm doing this for you, but if you don't make this good for her, I will kick you out, got it? She's not interested in your kindness tonight. She wants you to treat her like an object. Like a dumb whore you're just using to get off. I know you've got a dark side in there somewhere, Red. I need you to tell me right now if you think you can use it."
Matt never expected that to be something that would intrigue him. It had always seemed so cruel and taboo. . . but if it was what you wanted. . .
"I can."
"Good." Frank stood up and began walking towards the bedroom. After a few steps, he remembered something and turned back around. "Also, what the hell, man? I'm not letting you fuck her without stretching her out first. I know I said you could hurt her, but I don't want you to make her bleed."
When they made it to the bedroom, they found you laying back against the pillows, gently teasing your clit through your panties. When they came through the doorway, you pulled your hand away, looking up at Frank shyly. He raised an eyebrow at you, scoffing at your innocent expression.
"You couldn't wait two minutes?" He sighed. "I'm not gonna embarrass you in front of our guest, baby, but next time you might not be so lucky."
"I'm sorry," you whined.
"No you're not." Frank came around the bed to sit next to you and directed Matt to sit down on your other side. "I think it's about time to take this off, what do you think?" Frank asked, tugging on the hem of your (his) shirt. You nodded, and he pulled it over your head, leaving you completely naked save for your soft cotton panties.
"What do you want right now, baby? His mouth or his fingers?" Frank offered, turning your head towards him. You were a little confused that those were your only options. Weren't you supposed to be making Matt feel good? Confusion aside, you still couldn't choose. They both sounded very appealing.
"Damn, Red. You must've done a good job back there. She's already having trouble thinking," he teased, flicking you gently on the forehead. "Why don't you use both?" he suggested.
Matt smiled, beginning to understand how Frank expected him to treat you. "If she's all fuzzy from a little kiss, are you sure she'd be able to handle both?"
"I guess we'll just have to find out, won't we?"
You weren't sure what it was, but when Frank talked about you like you weren't there, a combination of arousal and safety washed over you. It always seemed to put you in a different headspace.
Matt climbed on top of you, finding your lips again as he slid your underwear down past your knees for you to kick off. He pulled your legs apart and began tracing your folds gently with his fingertips. Every touch was a completely new sensation. Matt was experimenting, figuring out where you were most sensitive, which motions you preferred and how hard he had to rub your clit to make you whimper.
He circled his fingers around your entrance, dipping into you just enough to feel you pulse and tighten around him, trying to pull him deeper. Right before you started begging, he pushed two of his fingers all the way in, curling them to explore your soft walls. It didn't take long for you to gasp and melt into the pillows as he brushed against your sweet spot. You hid your face in his neck, whining as he assaulted it over and over while bringing his thumb up to massage your clit.
Frank shushed you gently from his spot on the bed, reaching over to stroke your hair as you shook from the intense stimulation. You felt yourself dripping down Matt's fingers, and you could hear the wet sounds you were making as he fucked them in and out of your tight heat.
He pulled you right up to the edge before you heard Frank tell him to stop.
"Not yet," he muttered. "She'll get worn out after the third one, so you should probably make 'em count."
You huffed as Matt pulled his fingers out, earning you a proud and dangerous smirk. He gave you another sweet kiss as an apology.
"Sorry, angel. I don't make the rules," he reminded you.
Any disappointment you felt was soon replaced by the image of Matt sliding down the bed to get between your legs and pull them over his shoulders. Almost as an afterthought, he brought his hand up to his mouth to taste the palm you had drenched. As soon as his tongue touched his skin, you saw a muscle in his jaw twitch. His eyes darkened to look almost predatory, and he tightened his grip on your thighs. He glanced in Frank's direction, silently begging for his permission to proceed.
You didn't see Frank's approval, but you knew exactly when Matt got it because he dove into your cunt like it was a fucking desert oasis. In a lot of ways, it was. He wasted no time with teasing, instead shoving his tongue inside of you as deep as he could get it. Your vision went blurry as your eyes rolled back in your head. Grasping desperately at his hair, you pulled him harder against you until you were worried you would hurt him, but he barely seemed to notice.
He drew his tongue out to give your soaked pussy a few hungry licks, drinking up everything that dripped out of you. The wet noises he created with every suck or swipe of his tongue were enough to have your face flushed with embarrassment and excitement.
Feeling ignored, Frank grabbed your jaw, pulling you into a fervent kiss. He dislodged one of your hands from Matt's hair, guiding it over to rub at his clothed erection. You squeezed him through his pants, humming happily when you felt him twitch and grind up into your palm. Deftly, you undid his button and zipper, tugging his pants down just enough to slip your fingers under the waistband of his underwear. You didn't do anything else until he said it was okay.
"You want it, baby?" he murmured against your lips. You nodded, pushing your hand farther in, but you just barely managed to brush against it before he grabbed your wrist. He broke the kiss to look you in the eye, moving his hand from your jaw to gently hold your neck.
"You gotta use your words, sweetheart. You know that," he crooned.
"Please, can I touch it?" you sighed, moaning when Matt started stroking your clit again. Frank used his grip on your wrist to pull your hand deeper in until you could firmly grab his aching cock. You began tugging it slowly as it pulsed and hardened further in your grasp. You swiped the pad of your thumb over his slit and felt him drip onto your fingers, easing the glide of your palm.
You felt yourself getting close again when Matt stuffed his fingers back inside you and sucked hard at your clit. This time, no one stopped you from falling over the edge. You sobbed as your release rushed through you, tightening your thighs around Matt's head and your hand around Frank's cock. Matt groaned against you, savoring the scent and the taste of your satisfaction. Frank hissed at the added pressure, thrusting up into your fist which was slick with his precum.
The two men reluctantly pulled away from you as you came down from your high, giving you time to catch your breath. They returned to their positions on either side of you, stroking your hair or your shoulders as you refocused on reality.
"You were right," Matt announced, breathing almost as heavily as you were.
Frank smirked, looking over you to assess Matt's disheveled state. "Yeah? 'Bout what, exactly?" he asked.
"Everything," He admitted dreamily. To anyone who didn't know the effect you had on fortunate men, he might seem drunk or high. You supposed he kinda was.
"You were talking about me?" you whispered, hiding your face in Frank's neck. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him.
"I was just braggin' about how good you are, baby," he promised.
Matt laughed quietly at Frank's statement like it was an inside joke no one else would understand.
"He said a lot more than that," Matt disclosed to you. "He said you were the biggest slut he'd ever met. Honestly, he would not shut up about how tight you were, or how good you tasted. I thought he was exaggerating, but I think you just proved me wrong."
You smiled into Frank's shoulder, enjoying the attention. He tapped you lightly on the hip to get you to focus on him.
"I believe you were just given a compliment," he signaled.
Taking the hint, you rolled over to face Matt, angling his face towards you to give him a soft kiss as a thank you.
You looked down to where he was straining against the fabric of his suit. A small wet spot was becoming more visible at the tip of his swollen bulge. You caught yourself before you stared for too long, worried you might start salivating if you let your mind wander far enough.
"That looks uncomfortable," you pointed out. "You should probably take it off before it starts hurting you."
Matt agreed, standing up beside the bed to start stripping off his clothes. If he were dressed normally, you would offer to help, but you didn't even know where to begin with that thing.
"I'm sure she wants to return the favor," Frank advised Matt. "I'll go ahead get her stretched out while you use her mouth, alright?"
When Matt was in just his boxers, you tugged him back down to take your spot in the middle and climbed on top of him. Frank had stood up to finish taking off his own clothes, and when he was done, he kneeled behind you on the bed to get you in the right position.
You found yourself face-to-face with Matt's thinly veiled hard-on and your ass up high for Frank to take you from behind. He slid three of his fingers inside you, pumping them in and out a few times to see how relaxed you already were. As soon as you had freed Matt from his final barricade, Frank pulled his fingers out and shoved his cock inside you in one smooth thrust. You moaned loudly at the sudden intrusion, wincing at the stretch but enjoying it nonetheless. Frank gave you a moment to gather your bearings before he began to move.
"Focus on him, baby. He's the one you're supposed to be paying attention to," Frank directed. That was easier said than done when you were being relentlessly fucked from behind, but you had been wanting to get your mouth on him for a while now, and you weren't gonna pass up the opportunity.
Now that you were seeing him in person, Matt's size was almost intimidating. You were glad Frank took it upon himself to stretch you out first, because you were sure you'd be feeling it in your stomach when it was time to switch. His head looked tight and angry, and you watched as a small bead of clear fluid welled out of the tip and ran down the side. You leaned in to catch it with your tongue, whining softly at the taste.
"There you go, sweetheart," Frank praised.
You licked a long stripe up the underside, stopping when you got to the top to suckle gently at the head. You wrapped your hand around the base to stroke him firmly as you focused on taking the first few inches comfortably. It was already stretching your mouth quite a bit and your jaw was aching from trying to force yourself down on it. Before long, your spit was dripping onto your fingers and sliding down to settle at the base, creating slick sounds as you tugged at his length.
You moaned around him when Frank gave a particularly pointed thrust, nailing your spot dead-on. Provoked by your reaction, he repeated the same motion until your eyes rolled back in your head and you could no longer focus on the task at hand.
"Come on, pretty girl. You can take more than that," Frank fussed. "If you want his help, you can ask for it. Don't be shy, baby."
You were reluctant to ask because you wanted to prove yourself to Matt, but you didn't think you would be able to take more on your own. Usually, you were pretty good relaxing your throat, but there was no way you could swallow even half of him without choking. If you wanted to make him feel good, you would need him to take over and force you to blow as much of him as he wanted.
You pulled off of his cock teasingly, hollowing out your cheeks on the way up and swirling your tongue around the tip. You gave it one more little kiss before resuming your strokes, looking up at him to see which motions garnered the best reactions.
"Please," you whined, using your other hand to guide his to your hair.
"Please what, sweet girl?" Matt asked, petting you gently where you placed his hand. You swallowed your pride, giving in completely to both of them. You no longer had anything to prove. You were ready to be used however they saw fit, not caring about anything except making them feel good.
"Please, fuck my mouth."
"Aww, is it too big for you?" Matt consoled, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "Do you need my help, angel? You're already being fucked on one end, is that not enough?" he mocked, tightening his grip on your hair.
He knocked your hand away from his cock, replacing it with his own so he could rub it across your lips. You opened your mouth for him, and he slowly pulled your head down, forcing you to take him in until you choked. He held you there for a moment, groaning and thrusting up into the wet heat of your mouth before letting you take a breath. He continued like that for a while, guiding your head up and down, forcing you to go deeper each time until you couldn't take anymore.
Behind you, Frank wedged a finger in beside his cock, grunting at the added friction. You gasped at the new stretch, your release slamming into you unexpectedly. You arched your back and pushed into the feeling as he deftly attacked your sweet spot. Frank grinned at your reaction, smacking your ass once to watch you jump and hear your muffled yelp.
"I'm just tryin' to get you loosened up. I didn't mean for you to like it that much, you slut," he teased affectionately. He slipped in another finger, curling them to tug gently at your entrance until he felt that you were ready.
He took his fingers away, giving you a few more hard thrusts before he slid his cock out too, leaving you completely empty. He left a sweet kiss at the base of your spine, letting you know you had done a good job, and moved around you to talk to Matt.
"She's ready for you, if you're interested," Frank informed cockily. He watched how Matt was thoroughly fucking your mouth, hitting the back of your throat with every thrust, pulling you down to meet him half-way. You were doing much better than Frank had expected you to. It looked like your mind was somewhere far away, and you were just letting Matt use your mouth as a cocksleeve.
He started slowing down his movements, letting you up further and further, until you were back to just sucking at his head while he gently stroked your cheek with his thumb. Finally, he pulled you off of him with a soft, wet pop, edging out from under you so he could switch places with Frank. You whined at your sudden emptiness, burying your face in Frank's stomach as he took Matt's vacant spot.
"Is she always this desperate?" Matt asked, replacing Frank behind you. Frank laughed, caressing your head softly as you began mouthing and licking at his abs.
"Pretty much. Actually, she's doing better than she usually is. I think she's just upset that she didn't get you to finish."
"Really? She likes that part?"
"Oh, she loves it. Some days, she even asks me to pull out so I can come in her mouth. Ain't that right, baby?"
You nodded into his hip, sucking a dark bruise into his v-line.
"Why don't you go ahead and finish me off," Frank suggested to you. "I'm sure it'll make you feel better."
He grabbed himself around the base, enticingly pressing the wet head against the seam of your lips. Without hesitation, you took him into your mouth and swallowed him all the way down. You moaned lowly, purring at the feeling of being able to take him comfortably down your throat. He wasn't small by any means, but he was more familiar and significantly less jaw-breaking that Matt.
"Fuck, baby," Frank groaned, tugging at your hair. You were content just to stay like that for a while, holding his heavy length on your tongue and feeling him subtly grind his tip against the back of your throat. With your head still, you could feel every little twitch and taste yourself in every drop that leaked down your throat.
"You wanna move at all?" Frank asked, his muscles tight with restraint. In response, you nuzzled your nose against his skin, swallowing around him in the hopes that he'd let you stay there.
"No? You just like having your sweet little holes filled, huh? That's fine, sugar. You don't have to move an inch, but I'm gonna need more than that if you wanna make me come. Do you wanna make me come, baby?"
You hummed your assent, the vibrations sending a shiver up Frank's spine.
"Then suck," he commanded, and you obeyed. You used as much suction as you could manage, creating a satisfying friction without all the typical motions. You teased the underside of his cock with the flat of your tongue, listening to his quiet grunts as you drew him closer to the edge.
Behind you, Matt was listening to the sound of your wet cunt dripping onto the bedsheets. He kneaded your ass and thighs in his hands, ensuring that you were fully relaxed before trying to fuck you. Soon, he was nestling his cock between your soaked folds, lining himself up with your tight entrance.
He rubbed the small of your back as he began pushing himself in. He was met with an alarming amount of resistance, and he didn't even get the first inch in before you were clenching down around him and letting out a pained whimper. He pulled back, afraid he would tear something if he carried on.
"Frank, it's not gonna fit," Matt told him. Frank huffed, too busy chasing his own pleasure to think about problem-solving.
"It'll fit, just keep going," he reassured. "She likes the stretch. Hurry up and fuck her already."
"If I tried, I would break her," Matt warned. "Why don't we test out a different position?"
"Fine. Hang on for just a second."
Frank tightened his grip on your hair, whispering a quick apology before pulling you halfway off of him. He gave you no warning before he was slamming back in, forcing a surprised squeak out of your chest as he ruthlessly fucked your mouth. Barely a minute passed before Frank's thrusts grew sloppy and more desperate. His cock pulsed wildly against your tongue, and he let out a guttural groan as he came hard down your throat. You eagerly swallowed every drop that spilled out of him, waiting for him to soften a bit before releasing him from your mouth. Laving sweetly at the sides, you cleaned him up as best you could before he pushed your head away from oversensitivity.
"Alright," Frank mumbled, scooting over so you could take his spot in the middle. "On your back, baby."
You flipped over to face Matt, opening your legs so he could settle in between them.
"Pretty slut," he commended, leaning in to kiss you as he lined up with your needy hole once more. "We're gonna make it fit, alright? Don't you worry your cute little head about it."
As soon as the words left his mouth, he began pushing his hips towards yours, his thick cockhead stretching you out obscenely. You winced at the pain, trying to force yourself to relax, but it wasn't working. Matt grunted at the vice grip you had on him, but he didn't advance further until he felt you could handle more.
From beside you, Frank played with your hair and kissed your neck in all your favorite spots until he had taken your mind off the pain. When Matt felt you unclench, he gave you another inch, once again stopping to allow you time to adjust. He continued on like that for a while, feeding his cock into your pussy in small increments until he was completely buried inside you.
As soon as the pain subsided, feeling something that deep was absolutely incredible. You felt yourself get wetter when you realized you could just barely make out the outline of his length poking through your tummy. It was evident to both of you from the very start that this wasn't gonna last long.
"Holy shit, you're squeezing me so tight," Matt groaned, starting a series of very shallow thrusts to get you used to the feeling. "This is what you were made for, sweetheart. You feel so fuckin' good," he praised. Slowly, he began picking up speed, fucking you harder and deeper like he couldn't control it anymore. You felt so full, you figured it was a miracle that he was even able to get half-way in. You couldn't stop the noises that Matt punched out of you with every heightened thrust. Because of his immense size, there was never a moment when he wasn't rubbing directly against your most sensitive areas.
Matt could sense that you were getting close, and he knew he wouldn't be far behind you. He started snapping his hips into yours impossibly harder, spurred on by the prospect of your impending release.
"You gonna come on my cock, angel? It's okay, you can come," Matt encouraged. He heard you cry out and smelled the sudden spike in your arousal. He knew he had you right on the edge. "Come for me sweetheart," he breathed.
You almost screamed as you came, your body arching up off the bed, every muscle tightening and trembling as your pleasure coursed through them. Matt cursed at the feeling of your walls clenching and fluttering around him. He let out a subdued moan as he fucked into you three more times before coming deep inside you. You felt the comforting warmth dripping down your thighs when he slipped out and collapsed on the bed beside you.
When you came down from your high, the night's exertion finally caught up with you. You cuddled into Frank's chest, and he pulled you closer, murmuring to you about how good you were for them. Matt slotted his body into place behind yours, leaving kisses on the back of your neck and stroking your side gently.
"Thank you," he whispered, and before you could respond, he was already asleep. You were about to follow suit, but a thought popped into your head, keeping you awake.
"Is this gonna be a one-time-thing?" you asked Frank, opening your eyes to see his face. He didn't seem surprised by your question. Honestly, he seemed like he'd been expecting it.
"It doesn't have to be," he responded. "If he's ever up for it again, I'd be fine with it."
You nodded, closing your eyes again and starting to drift off to sleep. You passed out in less than a minute, but not before you heard Frank say something that, in the morning, you thought must have been a dream. Nevertheless, it was nice to pretend it was real.
"I love you, baby."
。゚•┈୨♡୧┈• 。゚
#frank castle fanfiction#punisher#frank castle smut#frank castle#frank castle x reader#jon bernthal#jon bernthal x reader#jon bernthal smut#matt murdock#matt murdock x reader#daredevil#matt murdock smut#charlie cox#frank castle x matt murdock x reader
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Another trade of the classic multiparted headcanons on my blog! But this time?
With the creepy bois✨ (Plus first post of headcanons for them! :D)
Trade/Requested by @tryslogic
(Warning: Slight nsfw and damn near borderline all things considered with these guys-)
How Touchy Can They Be In Public With Slightly Large Chested S/o!
Jeff:
* Bruh. Without a fucking doubt- this goddamn horndog. Walk him with a leash-
* He would sneak up on you and hug you from behind before just giving a big ass squeeze- you’d bonk him but that’ll just make him laugh. He’ll use your damn chest like a stress ball, having a shit eating grin because he just KNOWS how much of an asshole he’s being. (And he knows you just love him too much 😌✨)
* In private it technically can get pretty fluffy surprisingly. Using your chest like a pillow after a long day of killing? God it’s heaven sent to him. Just hope he isn’t too messy though- but of course he isn’t letting the opportunity go to waste to tease you. Littering your neck and chest with love marks? Drives him CRAZY. Yeah you ain’t walking if he’s in that mood-
* And man you are just a glutton for punishment if you wearing a boob window- he loves the view but he HATES how the others are gawking at you. You end up getting pulled to the side. “Fucking tease….better start screaming my name. I want them to hear who you belong too~”
* He’s a little possessive and protective buuuut in a more heartfelt way surprisingly. Will he admit it? Over his dead body-
Eyeless Jack:
* Ah now here’s a more respectable guy. For a kidney eating demon, he respects boundaries! He’s a monster but not THAT kind-
* Noooot saying he wouldn’t stare though. I mean kinda hard not to yknow? He’d probably tease you quietly about how good you’re looking right now. But he would never just outright just….grab it. Like why??? (Honestly he could though. Sneaky boi-)
* But in private he is WAY more snuggly. Hope you don’t mind black streaks on your shirts. Because he is diving into those twin peaks✨ he feels so safe in your arms….he can’t help but wrap his arms around your waist. You might be stuck for quite awhile. But in the meantime? You get a chance to see him without the mask! And you can’t skip out on that now can you~?
* Now here’s where you end up tipping the scale with him: Boob window. God you just look so good in it. He is biting his lip and even starts whispering teases in your ear. “Tryna grab my attention that badly~? It might just work~” I know yall definitely had a quickie in the forest. Hope you kept quiet~✨
* Overall he’s just a pretty chill guy! Who just can’t resist you~✨
Laughing Jack:
* Ok there’s no sugarcoating this. This is the worst motherfucker here. And THE biggest tease. FOR FUN-
* Does not help if you wear layers, his lanky ass arms will always manage to slip through. And his big ass grin just tells you he KNOWS this is pissing you off so he honks it before laughing like a maniac. He boops your cheek though to show you he’s just playing around.
* In private….I mean not much of a difference? Well other then straight up picking you up to plop his chin in your cleavage and looking up at you with a smirk. Orrrr having your chest on his head like a damn hat- he can’t really snuggle like the others without the risk of stabbing you with that sharp ass nose 💦 but he makes due with what he can✨
* Now the boob window he will SHAMELESSLY stare and even TUG on it to see more- “Heh~ What a pretty little view~ Might as well show it all~” and that bastard actually teases you to the point of being needy. He finds it amusing. But at least he’ll reward his little doll in the end~✨
* He just loves messing with you but really that’s just how he shows you his love✨
#my writing#self insert#funny#cute#fluffy headcanons#sfw#jeff the killer x reader#eyeless jack x reader#laughing jack x reader#creepypasta hcs#writing trade#request answered
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Chessmaster Ezran
It's no secret by this point that Aaravos is a chess master. He has literal pawns, his game motif is consistent across seasons (though mostly carried by the Key of Aaravos in arc 1), is associated with black and white, "eight in a line" from the 6x08 poem could reference 8 across as that's the number of pawns/pieces in a line in chess, and he's been referred to as a chess player, literally:
After more than a millennium of careful planning, moving and manipulating generations of humans and elves like pieces on some cosmic chess board, the machinations of the Midnight Star known as Aaravos are finally coming to bear.
The symbolism behind chess itself also talks about a "cyclical nature," the "unavoidable consequences" of each movement, the relationship in chess "between will and fate, but likewise between liberty and knowledge" and ideas of foresight and knowledge. (Meta here.) These are all things, of course, that Arc 2 is increasingly interested in exploring, looking at the ways characters are trapped by circumstances and choices and also deconstructing the idea of having "no choice".
I don't think at this point we have to prove, then, that Aaravos is a chess master of sorts; this is just the text, particularly because moving pawns around isn't that dissimilar from moving puppets around.
What is far more questionable, then, is Who exactly is Aaravos playing chess against?
Now, there's a few answers that could be the case. As displayed above, Aaravos lost one match against the Archdragons and was subsequently imprisoned, but it seems like maybe he was totally aware they were in the game, per se ("he let his guard down" / "as the day you betrayed me"). And while Aaravos hates the archdragons accordingly ("I'm glad you took down that arrogant monster"), they're very clearly not who his endgame victory is against. If he'd wanted to just destroy only them, he probably could've done so a long time ago.
At the same time, I don't think we can directly say the Startouch elves themselves. While they're the people he seems angriest at ("and when everything they have built lies shattered, I will savor their fall from the sky"), and therefore probably the people he wants revenge against the most... It doesn't seem like the Stars have been aware of what's going on down here in Xadia in centuries, and therefore, haven't been 'responding' to any of Aaravos' moves since he was banished and left behind. I wouldn't that it couldn't be him and Leola in some kind of proxy war, but if First elves like Aaravos are at the top of the magical hierarchy, and magic-less humans are at the bottom, it makes sense for a human to ultimately upend said hierarchy (with or without magic), don't you think?
Additionally, none of this is to say being cognizant of the Game is required to be Aaravos' opponent, but that Aaravos needs an active and reoccurring adversary to respond to. The good news is that he has one.
Now let me explain.
Set Up
While Ezran may not seem like an obvious choice — he's not a mage, he's not even one of Aaravos' current pawns to reward a 180 turn around if they turned against him, nor has he directly foiled Aaravos' plans the way Rayla has (at least once) — I think that's precisely why he's the one who's potentially in this role, symbolically at least.
While other characters are tied to the game motif in being pieces (Avizandum, Harrow and Sarai's graves, Callum and Viren's intros, the wooden Rayla doll from 1x04 of all episodes), Ezran is tied to being a piece mover and recognizing that the game and puzzle exists, each time. One that he can solve; one that he can win.
Now, part of that is helped by Ezran inheriting Harrow's status of being a thematic opposite to Aaravos. Aaravos 'serves' in order to gain control and power, and Harrow tries to even out of the scale of his control and power by serving the people: a servant king. Where Aaravos doesn't seem to see anyone as a person, in line with the way he literally uses his pawns, encourages dark magic, and dismisses his enemies, Ezran sees everyone — including animals, elves, dragons, enemies, etc. — as people (re: his sadness in 3x09 as he has to fight and kill people he wanted to save, because they literally won't stop attacking and have been robbed of their own humanity wilfully).
Piled on top is Ezran's own dichotomy of being both a child and a king ("A child is freer than a king") that mirrors Aaravos deriding the group as "pathetic children" while also relying on Claudia (whose the same age) to free him, and that he's playing a game at all that likewise involves his key ("It's a toy, a piece from a children's game" / "The whining child king, in over his head, and he knows it").
And more than that, Ezran has his own game motif. So let's talk about it:
Hide and Seek (Truth telling and Game Motif)
What begins as a little boy's favourite game, in addition to heartbreakingly always reminding you of just how young Ezran is in canon, evolves into a hide and seek game of world altering proportions. Arc 2 is largely about searching for / the acquirement of fully actualized knowledge (befitting of a mystery, mind you) and subsequently, the game of hide and seek is on for that knowledge. They just have to beat Claudia to the finding, first of the map, and then of the prison.
Knowledge of where the prison is hidden that Ezran uniquely carries and uniquely puts him at risk for. This is, of course, a call back to Ezran being the one to uncover the initial mystery of the egg (similarly to how Callum uncovers the truth behind primal magic and the fates of Rayla's parents). He discovers the egg in the dungeons, he advocates for telling the truth and being open and honest, and he is the Truth Teller of the series in so many ways, even if that doesn't mean he's infallible.
I had a speech planned for today. It was about peace and love and hope. But I think I left something out. I ignored something that was true. I denied something that is undeniable.
Ezran bears witness to the things that other people don't see, or the other things that people don't understand, as while usually we're let in on the loop ahead of time, Ezran's actions and discoveries — finding the egg, retrieving it, showing up the Bookery in the nick of time — are kept behind closed doors until the reveal. Much like Aaravos, I might add. Ezran wears the blind fold like is father did (screams in Celestial elves) properly, but can see clearly at the same time by extending it to all peoples simultaneously.
If the stars are evil because they are indifferent and potentially ignorant, if Aaravos is evil because he is aware of what's going on but unsympathetic, than Ezran is their true opposite in being 1) consistently and constantly thematically and literally aware of what's going on (i.e. his brother's sadness, Rayla's feelings upon her return, the feelings of dragons, Claudia's fight with Ibis) and 2) holding sympathy regardless (even for Aaravos).
If the truth is hidden, Ezran will find it. And that's exactly why he's uniquely fit to go up against Mr. I never lie in a thematic chess match across the whole series, so let's start unpacking it.
Kingship and Clarity (2x08, 2x09)
I'm not going to touch on S1 that much as the majority of what I would've noted is already in the previous sections, so with that in mind I want to talk the back half of S2, specifically Ezran finding out about Harrow onwards.
Upon receiving the news, Ezran is cruel to both Rayla and himself.
E: You knew? I'm such an idiot! I should've figured it out. When we met you, you had two of those assassin-y ribbon-y things. But one of them fell off that night! R: Yes. That must've been when he fell. E: Fell? Fell?! R: Yes. E: He didn't fall Rayla, he didn't trip and fall on the ground, he got killed!
Now there's parallels here about how Moonshadows will dress things up in prettier language than what's actually happening, and in Harrow's rejection of the same thing from Viren ("Call it what it is: dark magic") and Callum's critique in 3x08 ("You've got a nicer word for it?"). But the most overt thing is what we know about associations with falling and death from the elf we just recently got the name of: Aaravos.
Moving on, I want to talk about how Ezran's realization and acceptance of his father's death causes him to realize that he likewise needs to go home: "Maybe I can help the world better from the throne. I can do whatever I can to stop the war". (Something something Aaravos giving humans magic because he believed they could be 'better'.)
Aaravos was cast out of power and 'heaven' and Ezran ascends, yes, but Aaravos' descent caused him to lose clarity in childish revenge, whereas Ezran acquires clarity by moving into altruistic adulthood. He's not being radically changed morals or principles wise, but he's not stagnating. Furthermore, Ezran's bond with Zym that he acquires in 2x09 is like a 'healthy' version of Aaravos' channelling through Viren.
Ezran and Zym find that, due to their bond of love and understanding, they can see where the other person is, embodying the principle of the blindfold's basis being that you can see through another person's eyes and perspective. Here, Ezran's empathy / compassion is made completely literal, and helps Zym achieve the victory of flight in order to likewise save his brother and friend. Aaravos, meanwhile, channels power through Viren, and subsequently withdraws it entirely when it no longer suits him; Aaravos is seeing through Viren's eyes only, and they don't even win. Aaravos is eagerly participating in the fight at the beginning, but when he realizes his pawn may die, he switches tactics and "stays" with him. In contrast, Ezran and Zym achieve their aims and maintain their literal separation while being emotionally closer than ever.
This is all just set up for the Game, though. The first match that Aaravos and Ezra have, of course, is in 3x04 with
An Exchange of Kings (3x04)
As a game, chess is all about exchange and sacrifice. When Ezran is pushed into a corner of treating people like pawns (like symbols), he hates it.
What follows, then, is an exchange. In chess, if you get a pawn to the end of the board, you can exchange it for another piece that's already been taken (with the sole exception of your king, as that's checkmate). We see Aaravos do this slightly with Sir Sparklepuff and Viren in theory in 5x09, but we also see it here more directly with one king (Ezran) being swapped for another (Viren).
This is also, currently, the closest we see Ezran be a 'pawn' in any conceivable way. He's at the end of the board, he's being exchanged, except this time it's for the benefit of the opposing side. The main reason I mandate, then, that Ezran is still an Opponent rather than a piece is because of how this trade is inverted on an even broader scale later on this season:
The Final Battle (Or Not)
As king, and this is the particular piece of Chessmaster Ezran I think I adore above all else, he is fundamentally encouraged to treat his subjects like pawns.
Now, Ezran doesn't want to treat anyone this way. He doesn't view anyone, animal, human, elf or otherwise, as Not People. Even when the human armies are decidedly no longer literally human, and raging fiery monsters attacking him and everything he has left, he still holds sympathy for them and compassion for Claudia.
Claudia — and Viren — meanwhile, don't see their pawns that way at all. Claudia has yet to ever see Rayla as a person, only recognizing the elves who conveniently help her (Terry, Aaravos) as worthy of identified personhood; Viren and Aaravos' overall "plan" was to kill a baby dragon and use all the human army as "distractions". They never cared about anyone's personhood, once they'd gotten that far.
It is Ezran's distaste for seeing people as pawns ("Bait's not for sale, he's my friend!" / saving the baby glow toads) — preferring to see himself, like his father, as a servant king — versus that being all Aaravos has seemingly done for centuries that makes me feel like Ezran is the personal perfect opponent to eventually triumph in the end.
And going forward into S4, we see a few more of their matches take place:
S4 Ezran as the decision maker (4x04, 4x06)
One of the things I was most excited going into S3 was that Ezran, who'd been decisive but largely passive in the first two seasons, was going to be forced to make some difficult decisions. I was extra pleased, then, when we see Ezran step even more into that leadership role in S4 and S5; no longer is he mostly going along with Callum and Rayla's plans. Often times he's the one ultimately setting things up or making said decisions when the group is together.
It's his idea to tackle things together, and help Zubeia after all, in 4x04 (though he looks to his brother to receive an encouraging nod) and to bring Rayla along when she expresses doubts.
It's his idea to go find the puzzle pieces and express those next steps.
It's even his idea to bring Zubeia to Katolis that helps free up the Storm Spire for Claudia, as she takes the dragons leaving "as a sign" (unintentionally on Ezran's behalf, of course). But if Ezran is the stealth opponent here and there to Aaravos' mini matches, this is also something has happened before and will likely happen again, thanks to
The Orphan Queen
Chaos and confusion erupted and war threatened to tear Xadia apart, as now the elves suspected that the dragons had killed their queen. But truth came from an unexpected source. A young human girl discovered a great secret of history. A dangerous deceiver was revealed.
The last time Aaravos' plans firmly fell to pieces, and what led to his imprisonment, was ultimately the Orphan Queen. I've talked more about her potential parallels to Ezran in my Mirrored Trio theory post (as well as Callum's potential parallels to the Jailer) so I won't repeat too much here, but is an option if you'd like to see more.
The important thing to note here, though, is that Ezran's arc will 1) probably parallel the Orphan Queen's in ultimately being part of Aaravos' permanent defeat and 2) perhaps being one of the first to recognize the full scope of Aaravos' plans. I'd love it in particular if in S6, while at Katolis, Ezran does research into his ancient royal ancestor and learns more about her. Too late maybe to pass on the relevant information to keep Callum and Rayla from disaster, but... I expect this:
I should have seen it before. Ha! Long ago, it was a human who saw through the Fallen Star's schemes and helped Xadia put an end to them. You look so much like her.
to come to fruition eventually, in S7 probably. Aaravos may win his chess game in S6, after all, but he will eventually lose.
Season five, of course, also offered more evidence aligned with this reading:
Season Five Set Up
In S5, we see Ezran continue to be the Retriever and finder of objects in ways that thus far no else has really achieved.
Claudia tries and fails to retrieve objects, mostly; Viren probably comes closest, and it'll be more of an aim for Callum and Rayla in S6, I still expect Ezran to ultimately pull ahead in future seasons.
He's also associated heavily with light in the TDP short stories in ways we've largely only seen given to Rayla in canon as well, highlighting another similarity between them, and placing Ezran in a similar position as Zym as the world's hope ("Look at them, playing together. That's hope. They're the ones that are going to break the cycle"):
Even the waning moonlight struggled to pierce its veil. Somewhere out there were his friends. His duty. His king. Two years before, when the world had seemed darkest, Soren began to imagine Ezran as a kindling flame, a bright little light holding back the abyss. When he’d named Corvus a Crownguard, he’d told him that the young king was not only Katolis’ hope, but all of Xadia’s, too. Soren had sworn to protect and tend that light. To nurture it. And in his darkest moments, that oath gave him a reason to feel strong again, a way to keep smiling.
Ezran also acknowledges outright in 5x01 exactly what Aaravos is doing and is the first in canon to use language that references Aaravos' game as a chess game with it, too:
The Archmage Aaravos is trying to escape his magical prison. His pawns are working, even as we speak, to find him and release him back into our world. We need to stop them. Can you please help us find his prison?
Ezran's Plans
In the latter half of s5, we also see the group routinely go with or accommodate Ezran's plans as well, even if they don't all necessarily agree. This is true in 5x05, in which we see Ezran reiterate that violence is a last resort:
E: If Akiyu made it, then she must know where it is. Then we can stop Viren and Claudia from releasing Aaravos. C: Or, hear me out [...] How bout we hitch a ride up there, borrow this Novablade, then we wait for Aaravos to get out, and just stab stab, buh-bye bad guy! E: Wait, slow down. Shouldn't that be the last resort? If we can stop Aaravos from getting out at all, we can solve this without any violence.
and in 5x06 with talking to Finnegrin and saving the Baitlings.
R: But he's not known for doing favours out of the goodness of his heart. E: It's not a favour. The fate of the world is at stake. I'm going to go talk to him. C: I'll go with Ezran while you and Soren try the docks.
5x09
That said, I think about this line from 5x09 when it comes to all of the above:
E: One step ahead is okay. Because Domina Profundis told me something they don't know: the secret of the prison.
We find out, of course, that this is the prison is a pearl in a clam's mouth... something that Soren seemingly knew on account of travelling with Ez, but that Rayla and Callum did not. This puts a target on Ezran's back in the confrontation scene — she primarily attacks and interrogates him ("You know, don't you? Tell me everything you know little king, or I'll squeeze it out of you!") — and Ezran nearly gives the game away to disaster, so it's, again, not like he's perfect.
It does however showcase yet another example of Ezran knowing something that other characters discover after the fact, and more rarely in TDP, that the audience discovers after the fact (compare this with how we know Harrow is dead well before the princes do, for example, or that Claudia and Viren are already up to no good in early S4).
I also don't think I have to spell out that Ezran knowing the Secret of the Prison — the very thing he set out to find in 4x05! — in seasons called the Mystery of Aaravos is noteworthy, either. While there are certainly more secrets to uncover — how, for example, the prison was built exactly; how was Aaravos trapped within it; how did two humans like the Jailer and the Orphan Queen get involved — I think those are firmly moving into Aaravos backstory territory alongside the rest of his mysteries (cube included) than just relating purely to the prison's construction, per se.
Ezran received the last pieces of the puzzle, and he carried it through to the end to what, technically speaking, should be checkmate.
I can't wait to see him do it again some day, successfully this time.
Values and Gift Giving Subversion
I've already said that Ezran primarily takes on Harrow's mantle in being the the clearest thematic opposite to Aaravos thus far. That doesn't mean Callum and Rayla don't have their oppositions and parallels to Aaravos as well (they absolutely do; Rayla is currently a pretty strong foil!) but again that Ezran is the certified Opponent.
A few final ways we see this manifest is in Ezran's values. We've already seen the ultimate difference in their views on personhood, but one of my favourite ways that heavily intersects it that Ezran loves all his friends for the exact reasons Aaravos berates them in 4x04.
Aaravos taunts Rayla over her seeming inability to kill, but Ezran is the first to tell Rayla that's unequivocally a good thing: "You do realize I'm an assassin who hasn't killed anyone?" "I think that's a good thing."
Soren is a failed son 'unloved' by his father, but Ezran reaffirms time and time again how much he loves Soren, and the two always have a kind word or look for each other ("I just don't want to fail you too" "Thanks Soren [...] You're the best crownguard a king could ask for").
In a season where Callum learns his path of magic may have gotten him in a world of trouble, Ezran reminds him of the positive effect magic has had on his life, even if it's difficult: "Lots of things are hard, Callum. Like magic. But you figured that out".
We also see that Aaravos is prone to false gifts and dangling carrots. He gave Ziard a staff that couldn't ultimately protect him. He gives Viren another month of life mostly to bait Claudia into helping him. He uses and discards; these people don't mean anything to him. Not anymore.
Ezran, meanwhile, is nothing but sincere, particularly in his presentation of his crown to Finnegrin and Rex Igneous ("It's not worthless, it's made of my father's sword" / "I wanted to carry that strength with me") while also recognizing the error in his thinking: "We've got it all wrong. We offered gifts that meant a lot to us, but the truth is, they don't mean anything to you." He then realizes what Rex Igneous truly needs, and it is successful; we see this again in how his speech in 4x03 helps heal Zubeia. Ezran sees emotional scars clearly, especially after 4x03, and he responds accordingly and sensitively to them most of the time. He knows what people truly need, and that's why he's a good gift giver.
Conclusion
In the final season I think it would be Neato if Ezran had to spearhead an army against Aaravos' forces and send his brother and friends in as generals and soldiers because he doesn't want to treat them like pawns, he loves them, but to beat Aaravos at his own game he has to do so (until maybe Callum can flip the board on its head, thematically, anyway). Thank you bye
#chessmaster ezran#ezran#tdp ezran#aaravos#analysis series#tdp#the dragon prince#game motif#tdp meta#analysis#multi#arc 1#arc 2
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the world (it burns through me)
Chapter 7
Ao3 | 2.7k Words | Darlin's POV
Milo is a drill Sergeant. Darlin' gets some emails. Angel washes dishes. Quinn is the type of asshole that flirts with teenagers.
TW: Stalking, threatening behavior, vomit.
“You’ve gotta put on some weight.” Milo tutted, his hands resting on his trim waist. Even two years later, Milo was a picture of petty tension. He hadn’t grown, despite the fact that he claimed people could grow into their mid twenties. He had built up a good deal of muscle in his back and chest, which served to make him look just a little bigger. He still had an air about him that made him seem two feet taller, even when you stared purposefully past the top of his head to piss him off.
Milo had started working you out as soon as Sam had given you the all clear, after you gave up on trying to avoid him. He was faster than you when he wanted to be, and staying away from him was so much less fun than just giving in to the familiarity of your quiet, playful arguments.
The workouts started slow; annoying, silent yoga, something his partner had gotten him into that left you infuriatingly loose and relaxed afterwards. Once you could do that without panting and twitching with pain, he moved up. Light cardio and weights. You’d managed alright with that. Your stamina was shot but you were strong. Now, Milo had moved on to C.P.A.T. specifics.
You’d passed the Candidate Physical Ability Test with flying colors the last time you’d taken it, but that felt like a lifetime ago. You were younger, stronger, fitter. What came to you naturally at eighteen made you wheeze at twenty-seven. Milo cast his gaze across the practice course before cutting those clever eyes back to you and your sorry state.
“There aren’t any weight class requirements for the physical.” You snapped.
“No,” Milo replied, “but you’re not gonna get through the endurance test like this. You’re gonna fall out.”
“I guarantee you I won’t.”
“Put your money where your mouth is, doll.”
“Call me that again and I’ll knock your teeth out.”
“Twenty?”
“Fifty.”
You won, just barely. Milo had a point, though. Running that course in full turnouts, hauling that ladder, scaling it, finding the hidden dummies in the fake building’s facade and hauling them back down, dragging the dummies and the ladder back the safe distance requirements; it was nearly too much for you. By the time you’d finished the run, you were gasping for breath, gripping at your protesting ribs, and dumping the dummies at your feet without a care for their ‘wellbeing.’ That part wasn’t new. It was a habit from your days as a probie you couldn’t shake. This time, though, it was done with some extra disdain.
Milo clapped a fifty in your hand and let you catch your breath before he tugged off your turnouts, up your tank top, and pressed his thin, clever fingers into your flesh to check your ribs.
“You’re gonna make me blush.” You gasped. Milo sneered.
“You’re gonna get yourself killed if you don’t give your body what you need. You have to eat to heal.” He shook his head, dark curls bouncing this way and that. You patted him on the head the way you knew he hated.
“You’re preaching to the choir. David’s already working on me.”
“He’s got the patience of a Saint.”
“No, he’s just force feeding me.”
“Good.”
You were eating three square meals a day, all packed with protein and healthy fats and carbs. Whenever David wasn’t putting out fires, both literal and figurative, he was cooking. He put more plates in front of you than you could manage in a day. It was the biggest bulk you’d experienced in your life, and even it was falling short of what your body needed. To be completely fair to David’s efforts, your body had always run on fumes. There had never been enough to go around. You had gotten used to making that work.
David surrounded you with abundance. The tension of your sort-of-fight had eased. He had started asking you questions. They were uncomfortable, and you were finding it harder and harder to dodge them.
You were going to spill your guts soon. You could feel it crawling up and out of you. You were going to lay down your load at David’s feet, unburden yourself through clenched teeth and let him take the weight. You’d done it with Gabe. David looked so much like him.
You hit the showers, scrubbing the sweat from your skin. The cold tile made your toes curl. The lines of your tattoos were raised with cold and irritation from the cheap body wash that was stocked in all of the shower stalls. You ran ghost-soft touch over all of them before moving on to your scars. The one over your side, the newest one, was still pink and new. If you pressed hard enough on the two inches of clean, stitched skin, it still hurt.
David caught you in the locker room as you slipped a D.F.D sweatshirt over your head. You’d slowly moved your meager belongings from your shitty studio to the last locker in the row at the 10-19. David had offered you plenty of his own clothes, but you didn’t like to wear them. Not the way that his spouse did, anyway. The little Shaw slid one of his giant tee-shirts over their head and wore it like a badge of honor, like a mark of ownership. You didn’t own David. You certainly didn’t plan on letting him own you. As it stood, the majority of your wardrobe was either covered in blood or stolen pieces from the D.F.D.’s lost and found.
“Hey,” you mumbled, pushing your still-wet hair away from your face, “are you done, do we need to go?”
“No,” David shook his head. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his uniform pants. “I’ve got a few more hours. Look, I reactivated your D.F.D. email account. There’s a form in there for the next C.P.A.T.. Fill it out sometime today.”
“Okay.” You nodded. “When is it?”
“Three weeks.” David said. “I can get you back on the job within forty-eight hours if you pass it.”
“If?” You grinned. “I recall holding a record with my last one.”
“Yeah well,” David shrugged, “you were a spring chicken then. We’ve gotten old.”
“Speak for yourself, Shaw.” You flashed teeth. “I could still kick your ass.”
“Email. Form. Today.” David barked. You could tell, somewhere in your gut, that he was joking just as much as you were.
“Yes, Captain, sorry, Captain.” You clicked your heels together in a salute as he rolled his eyes and retreated down the hallway towards his office. A smile slid over your face as he left you alone in the cold, quiet locker room.
You D.F.D. email had two-thousand-and-seventy-three unread messages waiting for you once you’d managed to remember the password. You flopped down on a couch in the bunk room and sighed as you clicked into the newest one, skimming the form to sign up for the C.P.A.T.. Something about filling out that form, going to that test, made your chest hurt. It made all of it, being back here at the 10-19 feel… real. That was a dangerous thing for you. You couldn’t explain why.
November was drawing towards a close. The cold had long settled over Dahlia and into your blown, shitty joints. You could do the C.P.A.T., you could not do it. December would come on either way.
You clicked out of the form, out of the email, and back to your inbox. Maybe you’d feel more inclined to carry on with your future when all of the spam messages were gone.
Spam. Advertisement. Debt collector. Spam. Medical bill. Spam.
You almost swiped it right into your archives when your eyes caught on the subject line of a message from an email address consisting entirely of scrambled numbers and letters. That was usually enough for you to chuck the whole thing as bullshit. The subject, though, made your heart squeeze. You sat up on the couch, your feet hitting the ground. You needed your boots flat on the floor. You needed your legs under you when you read this. You might need to run.
Back home so soon, Precious?
Bile rose up in your throat, acidic and cutting. You swallowed hard and clicked on the address’s icon. Copy, paste, the address went into your search bar and twenty-odd unopened messages popped up.
California state employees’ email addresses all followed the same formula. Last name, first initial. It would be so easy for Quinn to find it.
You scrolled down to the earliest message and opened it up. The subject line made your hands shake; I’m never far behind, you know.
It was a picture of you from sometime in September. You were still black and blue from the fight you two had devolved into. You were standing in a gas station somewhere in Washington, staring at two different, overpriced painkiller options. You’d killed that bottle in less than a week.
You’d known, in your gut, that Quinn would follow you when you ran. You hadn’t noticed him. You thought for sure, if he was that close, you’d have noticed.
It was more of that. A picture of you in a diner, flirting with the waitress who gave you free pie. A shot of the back of your head in a Greyhound bus heading for California. You through the stained, narrow windows of your shitty apartment.
Sam and his EMT’s leaving the night you’d been stabbed.
Sam’s truck in the firehouse parking lot.
Sam at lunch in a plush restaurant with a handsome man in his mid-forties.
Sam sitting on the porch of his cabin, coffee cup in his hand. He looked so peaceful, his eyes closed and head tilted back against his rocking chair.
Vincent in his fancy car, kissing who you assumed to be his partner in a school parking lot. He’d mentioned that they worked in an elementary school.
Sam’s Probie walking towards a nightclub, their arm linked with a drop-dead-gorgeous man, surrounded by friends.
David outside of a fire, smudged with soot, directing the scene like a conductor.
Little Shaw standing at the sink, scrubbing the remnants of dinner from a plate, taken through the slots in the pantry door.
He had been inside David’s house. He had stood three feet away from them and taken that picture. He was close enough to hear the little songs they hummed to themself whenever it got too quiet.
You locked your phone, stuffed it into your pocket, and moved. You barely made it to the bathroom before you lost your lunch.
He could get inside the house. He had gotten inside the house. There was no telling how long he’d stayed there. He could be there right now, waiting in the shadows for somebody to pass by and make an example out of. You had to tell David. You had to make them leave, had to put them both somewhere safe and torch the fucking place. It was tainted. He’d been in there, and it would never be safe again.
Hands shaking, you replied to that last picture, staring at their tiny frame and estimating how long it would take Quinn to subdue them. Seconds. He could kill them in seconds.
What do you want?
The response was almost instant.
You.
He attached an address. You didn’t need to punch it in anywhere to know it. Max’s was familiar ground. The house ordered from there more than anywhere else, and Gabe’s accident had been just down the road.
It got dark early this time of year, and by the time you emerged from the bathroom, the sun had set and night shift had invaded the building. You could smell dinner on the stove and hear the chatter of the house through the walls. If you hung a left, you’d be surrounded by them. You could find David, ask him to talk. He would know what to do about Quinn. He would handle it.
Quinn was dangerous. David could handle himself, but Quinn fought dirty. David couldn’t win against him, not playing by the rules.
No, you had to handle this yourself. David was already in danger, his spouse too. Quinn liked to aim for the weakest link. He liked to strike where it was easy to do real damage without taking any injuries himself. That’s where he’d hit you. The only way you’d learned to make him back off was to hit him head on, to not even give him the chance to find your weak point.
He knew you just about as well as you knew him, of course. You’d have to hope he wouldn’t call your bluff. You’d have to hope he wouldn’t smell the terror rolling off of you in waves.
You retreated away from the noise, from the sounds of your house, and towards the ambulance bay. You could sneak out the backdoor, have it out with Quinn, and be back before David was any the wiser. You gripped your hand into a fist as you shrugged on your jacket and shouldered open the back door.
“Darlin’,” Sam’s voice called from inside. You stilled, boots just barely on the icy sidewalk outside. You turned, your hands still fists at your sides. Sam’s uniform collar was unbuttoned. He must have been getting off shift. “Where ‘ya running off to?”
“Mother hen.” You muttered bitterly. Sam smiled anyway, seeming almost… bashful. “Just going on. Meeting somebody. Shouldn’t be long.”
“Well, I’m off.” Sam reached inside to grab his jacket off the rack. “Let me drive you. It’s cold as all hell.”
“I’m fine.” You shook your head and stepped back. “Really.” You did not want to introduce Sam to Quinn. You didn’t want Quinn to make any assumptions. You didn’t want Sam to hear the things he was going to say to you, about you. Whatever you were, whatever parts of you Quinn had broken, whatever parts of you had always been broken, Sam didn’t know about them. You didn’t want him to see you and all of your broken parts in the naked light.
“Is it… um… are you going to see him?” Sam squinted at you, his jacket still in his hands. You swallowed. Your poker face crumbled. You’d never been a good liar.
“Sam,” you started, hands clenching and unclenching.
“I’ll take you.” He said decisively. You blinked, surprised. You were expecting him to try and talk you out of it.
“You… you’ll take me?”
“I’m sure as shit not letting you go alone.” Sam grinned like it was such a ridiculous notion that it was funny. “Come on, we can talk on the ride.”
You were quiet for most of it, your throat constricting over all of the warnings and defenses you desperately wanted to spew. Instead, you answered each of Sam’s questions steadily, one word at a time.
“How’d he reach you?”
“Email.”
“And he followed you here?”
“Yeah.”
“So he knows where to find ‘ya if you don’t go to him.”
“Yeah.”
“He’s liable to start a fight?”
“If not him, then me.”
“And he fights dirty?”
“He brings guns to knife fights, let’s put it that way.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” You turned to him from the passenger seat, your face pinched and twisted in concern. Your teeth worried over the scar on your top lip. Sam’s eyes caught yours, brown gone red with the street light.
“I do.” His shaking fingers tapped against the steering wheel in an awkward, unsteady rhythm. “Better than I can put into words.”
The parking lot outside of Max’s was full this time of night, so Sam parked across the street. You spotted him through the wide, bright windows. Quinn had taken up a booth at the back of the small restaurant. His feet were kicked up on the table, shitty, worn boots smearing dirt across the clean surface. He was flirting with the teenage server who was refilling his coke. She blushed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The guy behind the counter was eyeing the two of them nervously. Anybody who had ever known an asshole before could see right through Quinn if they tried hard enough. That was why he had to flirt with teenagers.
Quinn turned suddenly, stiff and aware. His bright, blue eyes caught yours through the window. His face split out into a terrible, toothy grin as he beckoned you inside.
#redacted asmr#my redacted content#redacted sam#redacted audio#redacted david#redacted darlin#redacted angel#redacted vincent#firefighter story#redacted quinn#redacted guy
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hi omg im so sorry can i request a kaveh x reader but YOU KNOW HOW THAT ONE "WRITING ON THE WALL" SONG GOES?? LIKE READER SEES KAVEH STABBING HIS DOLL AND LIKE TRIES TO COMFORT ☹️☹️☹️ ANY LENGTH WILL DO PLEEK
A/N: Hi! Thank you for your request! This will just be a short piece since I'm a little busy rn! // Y'all this song hit me so hard :(
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
"Kaveh, I'm home!" you shouted as you walked through the entrance of your home. You sighed as your busy day in Sumeru finally came to a close, finally giving you some time with your lover.
However you hear no response from him. You put down your stuff and realize you hear hammering sounds- he's probably working on another project. You always admired Kaveh's work- seeing how he spends so much time and effort in creating the perfect designs, by thinking of the perfect colour, material, form...
"Kaveh!" you shout again as you walk towards the work room. You realize the hammering is louder than usual, and you hope he's working safely. However, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was something wrong this time.
As you open the door, your heart instantly drops when you see him hunched over, hammering aggressively on something. The room is a mess, a mix of different materials in pieces, and unfinished sketches that are crumpled and thrown randomly across the room.
"My love...?" you whisper, slowly approaching him. You realize he's choking out sobs as he's hammering, and that the chisel was actually puncturing a little doll that seemed to resemble him. You quickly crouch down and put your hand on his shoulder, as a signal to let him know you were here.
"Kaveh-"
"It's no use... it's all worthless." he finally says. Your heart breaks at how dejected your lover was. You knew with how hard he works, some clients probably didn't like his vision, and all the things not working out just came piling on top of him. "I spent so much of my time, making these designs... And they're all garbage."
"Oh Kaveh, my love..." you embrace with him behind, and take the hammer out of his hands. "Don't say that. I can't think of anyone else who could pull off what you think of and make with the same amount of care. Your designs are wonderful."
You both sit in silence for a while, only Kaveh's sobs getting softer until he calmed down. You lift yourself off him and look him in the eyes and smile. You bring your fingers up to smooth his bangs to see his face. His usually passionate eyes were now exhausted and dark- but you want him to know you love him through these hard times.
"Why don't I run you a bath, my love? And we can use those face masks we bought the other week."
"But, the client-"
"I don't want to hear it. You can tell me about it after. C'mon handsome, let's go." You stand up, and reach your hand out to him. Kaveh stood up slowly, letting you bring him to the bathroom. "Now you sit here and wait, I'll go get the bath salts. Here, hold this for me."
Kaveh sits on the ledge as you turn on the hot water in the tub, then quickly run out to grab the salt. He then opens his palm, and he sees the doll of himself that he was stabbing... Then he sees something else- another doll, but the one of you. He remembers when he made the dolls before. A cute model of the two of you to set a human scale for his projects. But now he sees them as another kind of value.
"Kaveh, I'm back- why are you looking at me like that?"
A part of him hates burdening you, dragging you into his sorrows. But you remind him that you're here with him, and that you'll always support him. He sighs, finally deciding to give in and take of himself with you.
"Thank you, my love."
"Of course."
#genshin impact#genshin#genshin imagines#genshin headcanons#genshin impact imagines#genshin fluff#genshin angst#genshin kaveh#kaveh#kaveh x reader#kaveh imagines
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Kids Interview / Jonah Hauer-King X Actress!Reader
Summary: You and Jonah are traveling across Europe with the rest of the cast for the press tour of The Little Mermaid. You were set to have a day off, but when Halle couldn’t make it to the interview with Jonah because she was feeling ill, you came to do the interview with Jonah instead. Warnings: It's mostly some humor, cute kids and a little hint of flirting between Jonah and reader. Word count: 1470
Disclaimer: You portray Eric’s niece in the movie who came to live with him and the queen to learn how to become a well-behaved princess and your character helped Sir Grimsby to get Eric to forget the mystery girl and go after Ariel. You were like Eric’s closest friend.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
You were rushed to the location where press was being held by the driver Rob Marshall send to pick you up. Doing your make-up in the car had been a trick you had gotten better at over the course of working on this film, so all you had to do was get dressed once you arrived.
Halle had fallen sick with food poisoning, luckily nothing too serious, after you, her and Jonah had gone out to dinner the night before to celebrate the kickoff for press of the movie. It was something all three of you were very nervous for.
Halle had gotten a lot of backlash for being a person of color cast as Ariel while Jonah got the backlash for being a white person cast as Eric which wasn’t ‘woke’ enough (you simply thought that Christian Navarro, who started the gossip, was jealous for not getting cast himself) and because people were upset the role didn’t go to Harry Styles. And you, well, you got the backlash for being a character that wasn’t even in the original.
But the three of you got through all of it together, ending up being very close friends. Which made it a no brainer for you to fill in for Halle when you heard that she was sick. So after checking up on her you were raced to the venue and got ready before joining Jonah in the studio.
“Hey, I tried to come as quick as I could,” you greeted him with a small hug before taking a seat in the chair beside him.
“Don’t worry, you’re,” he checked his watch. “precisely on time,” he flashed you a charming smile. You let out a sigh of relief at those words before watching two little kids come into the room. They were both dressed up like Disney characters, holding a set of cards in one hand and a doll in the other.
Your jaw dropped slightly as you placed your hand over your chest in awe of the adorable kids who couldn’t be older than 8. Jonah did the same before getting up to give the kids a welcoming hug. You followed suit, feeling sad for Halle that she had to miss this, knowing how much she loved kids.
“You both look so beautiful,” you coo as both you and Jonah sat down in your chairs again, the kids sitting down across from you. The little girl dressed up like Ariel and the boy like prince Eric.
“Hello, I am Marissa,” the girl introduced herself, looking into the camera. “and this is my little brother Ivan and we are here with Y/N Y/L/N and Jonah Hauer-King to talk about The Little Mermaid,” she introduced and you could tell that this girl was made for showbusiness with the flair she had in just the introduction, while her little brother shyly looked down at his cards.
“Thank you for having us, it’s so nice to be here,” you smile kindly as Marissa turns her attention back to the two of you.
“Definitely,” Jonah chimed in with a smile of his own.
“Jonah,” Marissa looked at her card for a moment before looking up at him with a serious look on her face. “what was it like to get the part of prince Eric and how did you find out that you got the part?”
“Well, it was a very long process of auditioning and I was pretty nervous. I had never done something on the scale of a Disney movie and I’m a really big fan of Disney myself, so I really wanted this part. So yeah, I was very excited. Uhm, it had been months since I heard from the studio after my last audition, which actually happened to be my screen test with Halle, who plays Ariel. And I got this call from Rob Marshall and he said in that Rob Marshall voice: ‘Hello, I am looking for prince Eric’,” Jonah attempted to do a Rob Marshall impression, causing you to chuckle lightly. “So I was like: ‘This could be him…’ and yeah, that’s- that’s it.”
“And Y/N, what was the process for you?”
“Well, I got the same kind of phone call,” you answer. “and yeah, I guess you could say I was pretty anxious. Y/C/N isn’t originally in the movie so I was very nervous about what it was gonna be like and how people would react. There were a lot of auditions and at first we weren��t told the part we were auditioning for, I only really learned about the character when I got the part. You know, so that people wouldn’t find out about the new character before they were supposed to. But… Rob Marshall is a great director and we had an amazing team of writers and choreographers and the crew, all in all, is just amazing. And I think they did a great job at creating this character who… it isn’t really clear what her intentions are. You don’t really know where she stands because, well, she’s morally grey as we call it. She cares about Eric and wants to help him, but she’s got her own motives as well. So I think it was really fun exploring this new character. Rob really helped in coming to understand her and once Lin Manuel, he wrote the new songs, showed me the song he had in mind for Y/C/N I think it really came together for me.”
“Who were you most excited to work with?” Marissa asked, crossing her legs. I looked towards Jonah to see if he wanted to answer first, but he nodded for me to go first instead.
“For me, I was very excited to work with mostly everyone. I love ‘Hamilton’ so Lin Manuel and Daveed Diggs were just… amazing. And then Halle is such an angel and Jonah, of course, is just… everything you want to work with. But I actually think I might have been most excited to meet Melissa McCarthy. I grew up watching Gilmore Girls and I loved her character, Sookie, so it was just so surreal meeting her. She inspired me so much, so yeah, I was really excited about meeting her.”
“I’d have to say Javier Bardem,” Jonah answered, rubbing his hand over his jawline in thought. “I really embarrassed myself the first time meeting him. You know, I grew up on his movies. So, I went to his trailer and just knocked and I was so nervous. The door swung open and there was this really big guy and I looked at him, he looked at me and I just asked: ‘Can I have a hug?’ and he said: ‘Come here’ and just gave me a bear hug. But yeah, he must’ve thought ‘who is this kid showing up by my trailer asking for a hug’, so… that was pretty embarrassing,” he laughed shyly and you could swear his cheeks had a crimson hint in them.
“And what was it like working together?” Ivan asked, his voice hushed as his eyes darted around the room. You could simply melt at the adorableness.
“I mean, I love this job,” Jonah started and you braced yourself for whatever he was gonna say next. “even when it’s infuriating, like working with Y/N and… basically working with Y/N,” he joked and you give him a look of feigned hurt. “No, I’m just joking around. I loved working with her. She’s an amazing actress and she’s just got this beautiful, theatric voice. We got really close over the course of filming and I’m genuinely a little sad I don’t get to work with her anymore. We spend every day together for the past… almost two years. So yeah, it’s- I’m gonna miss having her around all the time. Bugging me to sing for her,” he said the last part like he was annoyed with it and you couldn’t help but laugh, knowing that he actually enjoyed it.
“You know, I feel the same way. I’m gonna miss our days together. Jonah was just such a joy to work with. He’s so passionate about what he does and he’s just so driven. Seeing him act is enough to make me realize why I went into acting. Seeing the joy he has and experiencing the fun we have together. Not just us, but with Halle too. I mean, we had the most fun. He’s just an amazing human being and I couldn’t be prouder of what he’s achieved and what he’s done with the part and I can’t wait for people to see this wonderful man sing and play his heart out.”
“Ahw, that’s actually the nicest thing you ever said to me.”
“Don’t get used to it,” you reply jokingly, smiling back at him. You really were gonna miss these moments together.
#jonah hauer king#the little mermaid#imagines#jonah hauer-king#jonah hauer king x reader#jonah hauer-king x reader#jonah hauer king x actress!reader#jonah hauer-king x actress!reader#jonah hauer king imagines#jonah hauer-king imagines
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(Re: tsukasa post) if you wanted to be a little uncharitable you *could* say that tsukasa cares for others just because it lines up with his goals - as in, he cares for others because he believes that’s what a star should do - rather than just genuine kindness and goodwill, but I would argue
- wrt loved ones: saki specifically (& to a lesser extent toya just because they interact less) is the greatest counterpoint against that interpretation. He wants to be the best brother possible because he loves her, not because it’s what a star should be doing (gestures at the doll event where he brought her the dolls as a kid even before he started the whole I am a world future star thing). Like yes he views that as something he *should* be doing but that’s because he believes that’s what you should do for your loved ones. I think at this point the big brother-dream of being a star thing are so irreversibly intertwined that they’re kind of one and the same. Of course a star would care for others because tsukasa cares for others and he views himself as a star etc etc. He wants to look out for/do things for his siblings/friends because he loves them.
- I guess you could argue him doing the same for strangers is solely because it upholds his star persona/image? But to that I would point out that his whole “I realized my real dream was to make others smile” thing in the main story sort of contradicts that. Given the whole “theatre is life” thing he’s got going on I think making strangers/acquaintance/etc happy in his day to day life is just like. A microcosm of what he aims to do on stage. I think he’s egotistical yeah but I don’t think that has to be mutually exclusive with selflessness. I do think there’s a discussion to be had about tsukasa being self-centered because he *is* and he’s absolutely not the completely selfless guy some people want to think he is but I also think that he can be motivated by egotistical desires *and* selfless desires. Being self centered isn’t inherently a bad thing. Tsukasa is kind because he’s a kind person and because that’s what a star should do in his mind. His own kindness is self serving. Does that make sense (no, it’s incomprehensible) great glad you’re following along. Sliding scale of how selfless his motivations for being kind are depending on the person with saki being on one end and random strangers on the other.
- I think it’s inherently difficult to ascertain whether the motives behind kindness are self serving or not. Does someone being kind because it makes them feel good mean they’re selfish? Humans are a social species, we enjoy making others happy because it makes us happy. Evolutionary adaption that helps the survival of the group. I think the idea that true kindness depends on your altruism making you miserable is stupid, although I guess you could argue that a kind person chooses kindness regardless of how it makes them feel. But then there’s the question of what motivates your kindness (a sense of doing the right thing? Upholding your morals? Because the guilt of being selfish is something you can’t bear? Wouldn’t that be just as selfish as wanting to feel good?) Whether or not true altruism/selflessness exists is a philosophical debate I don’t really feel like having over characters from the gacha miku tap tap game. Whatever. Would like to point out that tsukasa has canonically chosen to do the “right”/kind thing at the cost of his own benefit before (giving up on winning the pxl show contest/chance for a big break in favor of putting on the WMS show, which he was a little upset about doing).
I think people tend to err too far on the side of “he’s super selfless all the time with a pure heart” because they don’t want to admit their fave is an absolutely bizarre guy with a massive ego that comes into play for more than just his funny little speeches about being The Most Special Guy Alive which is tragic because Tsukasa Tenma is truly an interesting critter. He doesn’t do things solely out of the goodness of his heart but he also doesn’t not do things out of the goodness of his heart. He’s complex. Layered. A weird little freak. I’m studying him like a bug. You understand.
#I’m trapped in my head with tsukasa Tenma but also myself and both of them love to yap about him#and I’m making it your problem.#I fear a lobotomy is the only option left for me. there’s no other way.#entirely incomprehensible with an overly conversational tone that is how we do it here at ssruis.tumblr.com#mine#this is why you take your adderall before 1 pm. if u don’t u don’t sleep and instead talk abt this mother fucker.#need to get back on the event watching so that emu can kick him out of my fucking head and I can be at peace#but in doing that I will inevitably have to circle back to this asshole because my views will change#tragic. heart breaking. a personal hell of my own creation. colopale kill him please.#analysis#tsukasa
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All Creatures Great and Small Chapter 16: Tea Party
Surprise! Two in one day. Sometimes you just get a little excited over your blorbos >:3
In this chapter:
youtube
Story Masterpost
On AO3
As always thanks to @static-stars and @appelsiinilight ! :)
Important note: Since is the first chapter in the series that's had large portions of dialogue in Pixish interspersed within large portions of English dialogue, I decided to differentiate the two languages by putting Pixish dialogue in italics. Thistle, of course, understands both, but I thought it was important to make it obvious at a glance which language was actually being spoken because not all characters in this chapter are bilingual.
***
Marcy, a human who spoke English and a little bit of Pixish.
Thistle, a pixie who spoke Pixish and English.
Severa, a naga who spoke only Pixish.
Jewel, a merminnow who spoke English and his native underwater language, which no one else at the table spoke.
Moon, a moth fairy who spoke English, Pixish, and a number of other unknown languages.
And Violet, a borrower who only spoke English.
For someone who'd never expected to meet anyone who wasn't a Pixie, and who'd only been vaguely aware of the existence of other languages until recently, it was a lot. Especially since they were all going to be at the same table.
Marcy helped Thistle set up. They got out the biggest table he had–it was from a doll tea party set. It was always a challenge to find furniture that was scaled exactly right since there was such a variety, and this particular set he treasured both because it happened to be exactly the right size for him, and because it came with a set of usable teacups and a teapot, all made out of fine ceramic. Thistle privately thought it was too nice for a child to use for play, and any parent giving this to a clumsy child would be a fool.
He got out the plates he had too–likewise from a set for dolls. These ones were a little too big, but Thistle figured that was all right since Moon and Severa were bigger than him anyway. Marcy got him a nice, thin towel that made an excellent tablecloth, which he shook out and put over the table before putting out all the place settings. Marcy dug out the castaways from other mismatched sets that Thistle didn’t use–for Violet, a chair from a set that had been too small, and for Moon, one from a set that had been too big. Thistle had Marcy set the table on stacks of notecards to elevate it until Moon’s chair was the correct height, then do the same for the rest of the chairs until they could all sit equally level at the table. Violet’s chair was cartoonish–she would have to climb a stack more notecard than chair to get up to the table, but the alternative was making Moon sit with his knees to his chest, which Thistle didn’t want to do. The chairs were all boosted to the appropriate height in the end, and Thistle preened, so excited about having such a variety of people to talk to.
The whole setup was placed directly next to Marcy’s table setting, so she could sit at the human-sized chair to participate…and be within grabbing distance of the participants.
Teddy helped him make some small cakes, which he set out with a little bowl of jam. Colin got out the mealworms and put them in an ornamental dish, and also arranged crackers, cheese, and fruit at Thistle’s instructions. Marcy started brewing the tea so it would be hot when everyone arrived.
Teddy and Colin asked if they should participate, and Thistle apologetically told them it would probably be better to minimize the number of humans looming over them. He didn’t specify names, but he knew Moon would probably be incredibly unhappy with having three giants at the table. Teddy and Colin made themselves scarce, wishing Thistle good luck and shutting themselves in their bedroom to watch TV. He could see the disappointment on their faces, though they were happy to support him. They were good friends like that.
He didn’t blame them for being disappointed. This was going to be great.
Jewel arrived first, mostly because he arrived when Thistle instructed Marcy to scoop up some water and carry him over to the table in a mug. She set it down and pushed the cup flush with the small table, so Jewel didn’t have to lean over so much.
“Hey, bug boy!” Jewel shouted as he was set down. “This is quite a spread you’ve set out!”
“Yeah!” Thistle enthused. “Teddy helped me–no!” He cried this last part with horror as Jewel tried to take some of the cakes. “Stop! We can’t eat until everyone else is here!”
Jewel let go and held his hands up defensively. “Sheesh! All right.”
“No need to be snippish, Thistle,” Marcy chided.
“Sorry,” Thistle said, embarrassed.
Jewel crossed his arms and rested them on the lip of the cup. “Marcy… Are you…?” He looked at her from under his eyebrows, clearly struggling to get the words out. “Um.”
He’s scared, Marcy realized. She drew her hands around the cup, which caused him to flinch back, which wasn’t at all what she’d intended.
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” she said. “I promise. I’ll be keeping a very close eye on her.”
Jewel nodded, some of his tension dissipating. “Right. Thanks. Maybe this will be nice…or at the very least, not a disaster.”
Violet arrived next. Petunia was dragged along behind her, clutching her leg, sobbing and wailing about how she wanted to go to the tea party too. Violet told her over and over that she couldn't because it was too dangerous, and eventually Marcy convinced her to go sit in the pink dollhouse instead.
Violet was still a little nervous about being handled, so she rappelled herself up to the top of the table with a grappling hook. “Eh,” she said. “I forgot ‘bout the fishmen.”
“Yo,” Jewel said, raising his hand. "I'm Jewel." He'd been trying to get less shy about telling people his name at Colin's suggestion, not that he would ever admit he'd taken it.
"I'm Violet," she said, looking at the food instead of Jewel.
“Don’t touch the snacks, or Thistle will bite your hand off.”
“They’re for when everyone gets here!” Thistle insisted. “It’s just–Violet!”
Violet had started taking a cracker even as Thistle had been speaking. “It’s just one from a stack,” she said, holding it up. It was the size of a dinner plate to her. “No one’ll notice it’s gone.”
“...everyone already at the table will notice, because we just saw you–You know what, fine, pick your battles. You can have one cracker, but that’s it.”
Violet slipped the cracker into her bag. It stuck out the top very visibly. Thistle walked over and gave it a kick, which broke it so the pieces slid down into a heap in the bag.
“Hey!” Violet said. “Don’t touch my stuff!”
“Your st- Violet, I-”
“It’s all right, Thistle,” Marcy interrupted. She reached over and picked him up by the back of the shirt, and he went limp like a kitten that’d been scruffed. “Don’t get all worked up, everything is fine. We have more crackers.”
She set him down in one of the chairs. Thistle looked embarrassed again. “Sorry, I just want it to be perfect.”
“Because that moth man is going to be here, is that it?” Jewel said, smiling devilishly.
Thistle went bright red and hid his face.
“Speaking of,” Jewel said.
Thistle instantly stood up, craning his neck at the window Moon had instructed them to leave open for him to enter. It was five minutes after the start time of three o’ clock, which was the fashionably late he’d warned Thistle about.
Moon alighted on the windowsill, fanning his wings and peering into the house cautiously. He wore the outfit they’d picked out together - a deep blue velvet suit with a red cravat and a wide-brimmed hat topped with a feather, the sunglasses tying the whole look together.
Thistle had warned Marcy to try and be restrained around Moon to not freak him out, so she sat at the table vibrating with excitement, eyes burning on him with barely held-back eagerness.
Moon spotted Thistle and fluttered onto the table. Thistle jogged over, smiling big. "Moon! Moon, thank you for coming!"
"Of course. It’s lovely to see you." Moon slid his sunglasses down to peer at Violet, still sitting at the table. "And who's this lovely creature?"
Violet blushed and squirmed. "V-Violet."
Moon took her hand and gave it a kiss. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he purred. "You may call me Moon."
Violet blushed even deeper and giggled. Thistle felt dread crash over him. Oh no. This was the worst thing that could have happened. Moon is like this with everyone.
Marcy couldn’t hold it in any longer. She leaned over, grinning. "Moon, it's-"
Moon cut her off with a glare. "You may call me Mister Moon."
Wow, okay, so maybe not everyone. Marcy wrung her hands, enthusiasm shot. "Right, okay…. Mr. Moon, it's great to meet you. Thistle's told me about you."
Moon pointed at her with his cane. "Let me make something perfectly clear for you. I am not here for your entertainment. You are not to touch me, ever, nor my companions without explicit permission immediately beforehand. As long as I am in the room, there will always be a nearby window open, or some substitutable manner of egress. You are not to stop me from attempting to leave, and you are not to make demands of me. You are not to touch me, ever. Do I make myself clear?"
Marcy looked cowed and chastised. "Y-yes, sir."
"Moon," Thistle whispered. "You don't have to talk to Marcy that way. She's nice."
Moon turned away from Marcy. “Never hurts to set clear boundaries.”
Thistle mouthed Sorry to Marcy, and she shrugged.
“Well, Marcy is going to make sure everything goes smoothly, and that Severa really does stay nonviolent. Um, I’m sure she’d love to talk with you, Moon, but-”
Moon pointedly turned his back to Marcy and walked over to the table.
“Right,” Thistle said. “Um.” He skittered over to Marcy. “Sorry, Marcy,” he whispered. “I want you to have fun, too, but it might be better for you to hang back and not intervene unless someone is in physical danger.”
“Oh,” Marcy said, trying not to let it show how crushed she was. “Right. I’ll…I’ll observe.”
“I’m really sorry, it’s just-”
“No, no, I get it.” She was trying very, very hard to get it and just be happy to be an observer–it really was an incredible privilege very few other humans had ever gotten–but she felt herself getting more upset with Moon. Of course it made total sense for him to be standoffish around her–there was no telling what kinds of experiences he had in his past–but could she not even interact with Thistle freely when he was around? Surely he didn’t have the right to demand that?
She kept her eyes on him. His frame was broader than Thistle’s, more muscular, and Thistle barely came up past his waist. Thistle seemed…more at ease around him much more quickly than he had been with Marcy.
Don’t be jealous. Don’t be jealous of a guy eight inches tall. That’s too ridiculous.
More than that, she was burning with curiosity. She knew even less about him than Thistle did, even less about him than she knew about Jewel and Violet and Severa. It was a significant effort to not just reach out and brush her fingers against him. The temptation was real, but she knew the consequences would be dire.
His wings were beautiful, with eye spots. He smelled nice. He fanned his wings as he stepped forwards towards Jewel, getting on with the interrupted introductions. "And who might this strapping specimen be?"
Jewel flushed deep red and sank down into the water in his mug, averting his eyes. For someone who’d been teasing Thistle about having a crush, he’d gotten awfully quiet as soon as the attractive one had shown up.
"This is Jewel," Thistle said. "He's shy."
"I'm not shy!" Jewel burst out.
"Then say hello."
He looked nervously at Moon. "H-hello."
"There," Moon purred. "See, I don't bite."
Marcy cleared her throat. "Speaking of… It seems like everyone is here now. Should I bring her out? Is everyone ready?”
The creatures on the table scuttered to their seats. Moon took the seat to Thistle’s right, leaning his cane against the chair, while Violet sat at the end of the line.
That left the other half of the table empty. A gap big enough for the largest tiny person invited.
“I think we’re ready!” Thistle said, flashing her a thumbs-up.
“Ready,” Moon announced.
“Let’s go, I guess,” Violet said nervously.
Jewel glowered and crossed his arms. "Sooner it can be over, I guess."
Marcy walked into the pantry, leaving the tiny creatures alone.
“Why are we doing this again?” Jewel said.
“If I can form a connection with Severa, she might not need to hunt,” Thistle answered.
Moon was staring at him. Thistle shrunk under his gaze. “I just–I just think it’s worth trying to find some way she can live without killing people.”
Moon folded his hands on his lap. “That’s awfully noble of you.”
“I still think this is kinda stupid,” Violet muttered. “She’s a predator.”
“We can at least try!” Thistle insisted. “If you had to eat people to survive, I’m sure you’d love for someone to try and help you! She’s hurt and trapped and scared and she has no way to help herself! You’ve been there!”
Violet’s ears lay flat back against her head. “I-I guess.”
Thistle nervously looked back at Moon, searching for approval. Moon looked surprised, if anything. “You really mean it. You really have compassion for her despite being terrified of her.”
Thistle fidgeted with his fork, unsure if he should try to confirm or deny it. He certainly felt something, and there was definitely both compassion and terror in his maelstrom of emotions.
Marcy came back, mercifully cutting the train of conversation off. She set the cage on the table and said in awkward Pixish, “All right, Severa, ready to exit?”
Severa tentatively uncurled, looking up at Marcy, and nodded.
“Remember, if anyone says she goes back in, she goes back in,” Marcy said to the others in English. "I’ll grab her as soon as you give the word."
“Your kind certainly are good at grabbing,” Moon commented darkly.
Marcy waffled back and forth on how to handle the rude comment, before she decided to just ignore it and unlock the cage then lower the door open.
Severa hauled herself out of the cage, slithering her long body over the door. Despite their agreement, all the small creatures at the table fidgeted. Jewel’s eyes were wide. Violet flinched repeatedly. Thistle’s breathing picked up. Moon’s face was cool and collected, but his ears twitched.
Severa didn’t seem bothered. She curled her coils up underneath her to use as a seat. "Hello,” she announced. "I am Severa."
Thistle suddenly realized he would be stuck translating if he wanted Jewel and Violet to understand Severa. "She’s introducing herself."
“Uh, h-hey,” Jewel said in English. "I’m Jewel."
Violet opened her mouth to speak, then clamped it shut, grabbing the tablecloth.
“You may call me Moon,” Moon said in Pixish. He reached out and lifted her hand up as though to give it a kiss. She was the only one big enough to have hands significantly larger than his.
She looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “What are you doing?”
His eyes flickered up to her, eyebrows raised. He quickly turned her hand sideways to give it a handshake instead. “Just–just a greeting, darling!”
“He’s just being friendly,” Thistle said in Pixish. “These are my friends Jewel, Moon, and Violet.” They weren’t his friends yet, not really–he didn’t make any magic with them. But he was patient. He’d get there eventually. “Jewel and Violet only speak English. But I can translate for them.”
Severa nodded. "Thistle intends for us all to be friends. I am willing to give it a try, though I do not think it will work." She put her enormous, scaly hand on the table. "How do we have…a tea party?”
Thistle perked up. "Well, you sit around and talk nicely and drink tea and eat snacks." He switched to English. "I told her your names, and I’m explaining to her what a tea party is." He’d known this wouldn’t be easy, but he hadn’t even considered the logistical difficulties. He’d never had to serve as a translator before. This was going to be…cumbersome.
"Wonderful," Severa said. She never had any enthusiasm in her voice, or much emotion at all. "May I eat, or will that upset your little friends?"
"Yes, go ahead!" He switched to English. "Everyone take some yummy snacks now! Dig in!"
"Finally," Jewel complained. He took a cake and bit into it. He got sparkles in his eyes immediately. It looked like he was about to cry, enraptured by the taste.
"You've never had cake before?" Thistle asked.
Jewel shook his head.
"Well…what do you think?"
Jewel swallowed quickly, face burning. "It's….fine." He quickly reached over and took two more.
Thistle beamed. “Yeah, it’s– Violet!"
Violet had been shoving food into her pack without even eating any of it. "What? You said we could have the food!"
"To enjoy with each other! Not hoard for later!"
"I'ma borrower! We hoard and save for later! It’s kinda our whole thing!”
Severa reached out towards the table, and everyone fell silent. Her enormous hand dipped into the bowl holding the mealworms and emerged holding one of the wriggling creatures. She simply opened her mouth and swallowed it whole, in one smooth motion.
Thistle tried to convince himself it wasn’t scary. He reached into the bowl and took one of his own. He bit the head off–that was as big of a bite as he could get. We’re not so different. See? We even eat the same food! She’s just big enough to eat the whole thing in one bite! Oh God oh God oh God-
“Is it working?” Thistle said, voice shrill. “Does anyone feel anything?”
Violet’s tail thrashed. Jewel nibbled on his cakes, rendered speechless. Moon lifted his teacup up and spoke in English. “I feel thirsty. I thought this was a tea party? Hm?” He waggled the cup.
“R-right! Marcy, can you pour the tea?”
Marcy’s mind was filled with horrible images of her spilling the hot liquid all over the tiny people at the table. Don’t think about it, don’t spill it, holy shit. She took the teapot in the center of the miniature table and brought it over to herself, then filled it with tea from the larger teapot.
“There you go,” she said, setting it back. “Enjoy!”
Moon ignored her and picked up the miniature teapot, pouring himself a cup. “My, this smells delicious! I haven’t had tea in ages–not since I lived with those borrowers back in Louisville.”
Violet’s tail curled upwards. “You lived with borrowers?”
“Yes, indeed! And I know what you’re thinking, how could that have possibly worked? Considering our, ah…” He gestured to Violet, tracing an imaginary line from her head to his. “Differences.”
“Wha’sthasupposestamean?” she demanded.
“I’m simply referring to the fact that I’m nearly thrice your size, darling.”
Violet looked a bit mollified.
“But to answer the question, I simply used magic to make myself smaller!”
“You can do that?” Jewel said, astonished. “The most I can do is make myself look like a fish, but I don’t actually turn into one.”
“Yes, I know a number of spells I can use to modify my appearance!”
Thistle’s mind ran off with that thought. Was this…was this what Moon actually looked like?
"What is he saying?" Severa said.
"He, uh, he said he lived with borrowers for a while, and he can do magic to alter his appearance, including shrinking himself down."
“That’s fascinating,” Severa said, voice as flat as ever. “All of my magic is for helping me hunt.”
Moon looked nervous. “Erm…right.”
“Although I suppose for certain kinds of creatures-”
“That’s enough about hunting,” Moon said. “Magic is fascinating, and it has many uses beyond hunting.”
"You don't have to be scared," Thistle whispered to Moon. "Marcy will stop her if she tries to hunt us."
Severa took the teapot and poured some into her cup. “You know, Thistle,” she said, lifting the cup in her enormous hand. She was able to fully close her hand around it. “I’m surprised you’re so tense around me, but perfectly at ease around Moon, considering he’s an ukubó.”
There it was again. A word he’d never heard before in Pixish. Thistle was faced now more than ever with the realization that his knowledge was limited to whatever his hive had known about magic, and whatever knowledge gaps Mother’d had, he now had as well.
Whatever the meaning of the word, Moon didn’t seem to like it. He stood up, slamming his hands on the table and rattling everything on it. “Do not say that in front of them,” he growled.
Thistle, Violet, and Jewel drew back fearfully.
“They don’t know what it means,” Severa said, amused. She lifted her teacup to her mouth and took a sip. "Two of them don't even speak Pixish."
Had…had Severa just called Moon a slur or something? “Severa, please be nice,” Thistle whispered. He’d have to ask later what that word meant.
Her mouth turned up in a wry smile. “Fine.”
Hackles still raised, Moon sat down.
"What exactly is going on?" Jewel said, irritated. "You're all just yelling at each other in Pixish."
"Sorry," Thistle said. "I think Severa called Moon a rude name or something."
"...huh, I didn't expect her to attack us emotionally."
Moon crossed his arms. “But, yes, to get back to the point, I’ve interacted with a number of species of magical creatures and learned a number of magical spells.”
“Well lah-de-dah,” Jewel said, burying his nose in his teacup. “Mr. Cool Guy over here. Thinks just because he smells nice he’s God’s gift to the table.”
“He does smell nice!” Violet piped up. “Like hickory and cured meats and cheeses!”
Questioning eyes fell on her. “What?” Jewel said. “No he doesn’t. He smells salty, like ocean water.”
“That’s you,” Violet insisted.
Moon’s frame shook with laughter, and he leaned in towards Thistle. “What do I smell like to you, my dear?”
“You smell like…honeysuckle. Wildflowers.”
Moon smiled, eyes soft. “You all have discovered my pheromones.”
“Ph…eremones?”
He picked up a cube of cheese and weighed it in his hand. “I smell different to everyone. It has to do with my magic, you see.”
Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a grappling hook catching on the table and distant grunting sounds.
Violet leapt out of her seat and rushed to the end of the table, peering over it. Of course it was Petunia hanging from the line of the grappling hook, shimmying her way up it in her prettiest dress.
“Petunia, get down!” Violet shouted. “Go back and play!”
“No!” Petunia shouted back. “I’m coming to the party!”
Severa uncoiled herself and slithered away from the table. Marcy hesitantly raised her hands as though to stop her, but nobody told her to, so she didn’t. She let Severa go over to the edge and lean over to look down. Violet’s knees buckled, and she fell, shuffling away from Severa but refusing to leave the grappling hook.
What Petunia saw was her sister’s face looking down at her, then the much larger face of a scaled predator leaning into her field of view. She froze halfway up the line, letting out a scared meep.
“You-you see!” Violet yelled. “It’s dang’rous! Get back!”
Petunia’s gaze stayed frozen on Severa. Severa stared back, eyes misty, tears brimming. “Oh, oh my God,” she breathed. “That baby is so small. Whose baby is that?”
Thistle got up and got between Severa and Violet. “That’s Petunia,” Thistle said. “She’s Violet’s little sister. They don’t have parents. Violet is taking care of her.”
“No parents?” Severa said, heartbroken. She put her hand over her heart. “Can…Can I hold her?”
Thistle bit his lip. He already knew what the answer was going to be, but he had to translate it anyway. “Violet, she’s asking if she can hold Petunia.”
“What!” Violet stood up ramrod straight, fur on end. “No! Definitely not!”
“Violet, if she wanted to hurt Petunia, she wouldn’t ask to hold her.”
“Maybe it’s just to get her up on the table.”
“She wants to hold me?” Petunia’s distant voice said. She cautiously restarted climbing up the rope. “Everyone else is up there and nothing bad happened!”
“Please,” Severa said desperately. “I would never hurt a child. Please let me hold her.”
It suddenly clicked for Thistle. She had an egg due. Either she was hormonal, or she had a soft spot for children. Maybe this could be the key. This was the first time she’d expressed any strong emotions about anything at all. Even during hunting her general demeanor had been passive chagrin and dull acceptance of the situation at hand.
“I can’t,” Violet said, starting to cry. “I can’t let Petunia get so close to a predator. I can’t. Thistle, even if your humans are here to watch, they won’t be able to stop her in time if she hurts Petunia while she’s holdin’ her.”
That…was a very good point. Thistle had no counterargument. “Okay, you’re right about that… But what if we just let Petunia come up on the table? She doesn’t have to get close. Severa’s been here long enough that we can see she’s not going to just ballistic for no reason.”
Severa kneaded her hand, still looking at Petunia.
Violet hesitated. “All…all right. But only if Teddy comes and sits at the table too.”
“No,” Moon said instantly. “Having one human here is bad enough.”
“Would you all just calm down!” Thistle said, stomping. “Nothing is even happening. I’m the one she tried to kill, not any of you! And none of the humans in this house have done anything except try to be supportive right now!”
Moon flushed and turned away. Violet fidgeted with the hem of her shirt and muttered.
Petunia’s little hands finally appeared at the edge of the table, dragging herself up. She wound her grappling hook line behind her. “I’m here!”
Severa made a motion to start towards her, but Thistle stood in front of her, despite his own hands shaking with fear. “Severa, wait.” Marcy is here, Marcy would stop her if she attacked.
She stopped, eyes still on Petunia. “I wouldn’t hurt her.”
“I believe you, but Violet is uncomfortable with you holding her.”
Severa flexed her hand, looking anxious to interact with Petunia.
“Violet?” Thistle prompted.
Violet’s head swung from Thistle to Severa to Petunia. “I…Okay, she can sit at the table. But she has to be at the seat farthest from her.”
“Thank you,” Thistle breathed, having no idea how to resolve this otherwise. “I promise she’ll be safe.” He turned to Severa. “How about you sit at the table together for a while before we talk about holding her?”
Severa backed up slightly, coils wrapping around herself. “Yes. Okay. Thank you.”
The small creatures all cautiously retook their seats. “Everything okay?” Marcy whispered.
Thistle flashed her two thumbs up. “Everything’s cool, calm, and copacetic!”
Petunia dashed over, giggling happily, and clambered up into Violet’s lap. The poof of her dress crinkled against the table. “Vivi! Look at all the food!”
“Yes,” Violet said cautiously. “You can have some.”
Petunia opened her bag and started shoveling food in. Ah. Well, Thistle wasn’t going to tell Petunia not to do that.
Severa watched the tiny borrower, her expression now completely different. She had a soft glow about her. She was smiling. “Your dress is very pretty.”
Thistle translated. “She said your dress is pretty.”
Petunia perked up. “Yay! Thank you, thank you! Your ribbon is nice.”
Thistle translated. Severa reached a hand up and stroked her hair ribbon. “I’m not sure why I wear it. I suppose it feels nice, sometimes, to feel beautiful, instead of only destroying beautiful things.”
Thistle’s skin crawled. Every time he’d almost managed to start forgetting Severa’s true nature, he was reminded of it somehow. He decided to only translate the Thank you.
Moon cleared his throat. “So tell us more about yourself, Severa. Do you have any children of your own?”
Thistle certainly hoped not, because they would have been keeping her from them the past few days. “No,” she answered, much to his relief. “Though not for lack of trying. My first hatchling starved to death, because I was a poor hunter at the time. Inexperienced. My second disappeared from my nest at the hands of a predator while I was away. My third egg was laid premature, small and feeble, and when it hatched it was not strong enough to survive. I’ve held off on mating for a while after that, since I could not take any more heartbreak.”
“Oh?” Moon said. “That’s tragic. I’m so sorry.”
Thistle privately thought it wasn’t tragic at all for there to be fewer nagas in the world, but he did have to admit the idea of innocent babies dying was sad, of course. Theoretically. In reality, he was struggling to detach himself from the hivemind way of thinking–that he shouldn’t feel bad about someone dying if they were a threat to the hive.
But he wasn’t with his hive anymore, he was with Marcy, and Severa wasn’t a threat to her.
Severa’s gaze came over and burned into Thistle. “But I do have an egg due soon, now. I hope it will be different from the others, but I do not have much hope. I need lots of magic to produce a healthy egg.”
“Right…” Thistle hadn’t felt the spark of magic he knew meant he was making a connection with someone else. Severa was just too scary. It was easy to say you were friends. It was harder to actually do it. You couldn’t fake it. You could lie to yourself, but you couldn’t lie to magic.
Severa picked up her teacup agitatedly. “Perhaps your plan would work, Thistle, if I were allowed to hold the baby.”
“I’m sorry,” Thistle said. “Violet doesn’t want you to.”
Severa slammed her cup down. “I would not hurt a child! I have never hurt a child! You act like I am a monster!”
You ARE a monster, Thistle wanted to say, but he didn’t, of course. “I’m sorry.”
“Uhh, Thistle,” Jewel said nervously. “What’s happening?”
Severa’s tongue flicked in and out, and her sides heaved as she hissed in air. “We both know this isn’t going to work. I’m going to die, and you’re not even going to let me hold the baby before I die. And for what?”
Marcy’s hands crept closer, alarmed by the visible increase in agitation.
“Severa,” Thistle squeaked. “Please. It’s not going to work if you get mad at me.”
“It’s not going to work at all!” Severa got up, leaning over the table at Thistle. “We both know that! You are trying to defy the natural order of things! You are foolish and naive! To think I could be anything other than a killer, a predator! I am hungry! And not for companionship!”
She lunged. Jewel splashed back in his cup, Violet grabbed Petunia and darted away, and Moon threw himself at Thistle to push him out of the way.
She didn’t reach him, though: Marcy’s hand closed around her, yanking her up into the air.
Severa writhed in her grip, squeezed her wrist. Petunia cried loudly. Severa stopped and looked down at the little girl, tears in her eyes.
“I wouldn’t hurt a child,” she insisted.
Still sobbing in fear, Petunia got up and scampered away, Violet not far behind.
“Come back,” Severa wept. “Come back. Please. If I could just hold a baby one more time, I could die happy.”
“Okay, teaparty over,” Marcy declared. “Sorry.”
***
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Twenty-Five Years Before The Wright Brothers Took To The Skies, This Flying Machine Captivated America
First Exhibited in 1878, Charles F. Ritchel’s Dirigible Was About As Wacky, Dangerous and Impractical as Any Airship Ever Launched
— June 11, 2024 | Erik Ofgang
“When I Was Making It, People Laughed at Me a Good Deal,” Charles F. Ritchel Later Said. “But Do They Did at Noah When He Built the Ark.” Illustration by Meilan Solly/Images via Wikimedia Commons under public domain, Newspapers.com
Charles F. Ritchel’s Flying Machine Made a Sound Like a Buzzsaw as its pilot turned a hand crank to spin its propeller. It was June 12, 1878, and a huge crowd, by some accounts measuring in the thousands, had gathered at a baseball field in Hartford, Connecticut. The spectators had each paid 15 cents for a chance to witness history.
The flying machine—if one could really call it that—was an unsightly jumble of mechanical parts. It consisted of a 25-foot-long, 12-foot-wide canvas cylinder filled with hydrogen and bound to a rod. From this contraption hung a framework of steel and brass rods that the Philadelphia Times likened to “the skeleton of a boat.” The aeronaut would sit on this framework as though it were a bicycle, controlling the craft with foot pedals and a hand crank that turned a four-bladed propeller.
The device did not inspire confidence.
“When I was making it, people laughed at me a good deal,” Ritchel later said. “But so they did at Noah when he built the ark.”
A self-described “professor,” Ritchel was the inventor of such wacky, weird and wild creations that a recounting of his career reads as though it were torn from the pages of a Jules Verne novel. Supposedly friends with both P.T. Barnum and Thomas Edison, Ritchel for a time made a living working for a mechanical toy company in Bridgeport, Connecticut, where he designed talking dolls, model trains and other playthings. But he was more than just a toymaker.
Left: Charles F. Ritchel filed more than 150 patents over his lifetime. Right: Ritchel's 1878 patent for his flying machine — Photographs: Public Domain Via Wikimedia Commons
Some years after the flying machine demonstration, the inventor proposed an ambitious attraction for the 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition (also known as the Chicago World’s Fair): a “telescope tower” that would rival France’s Eiffel Tower. The design consisted of a 500-foot-wide base topped by multiple nested structures that rose up over the course of several hours, eventually reaching a height of about 1,000 feet. After this proposal was rejected, Ritchel launched a campaign to raise funds to build a life-size automaton of Christopher Columbus, which the Chicago Tribune reported would speak more than 1,000 phrases in a human-like voice, rather than the “far-away, metallic sounds produced by a phonograph.”
By the mid-1880s, Ritchel claimed to have filed more than 150 patents. Not all of them were fun. He invented more efficient ways to kill mosquitos and cockroaches, a James Bond-esque belt that assassins could use to inject poison into their targets, and a gas bomb for use in land or naval warfare.
Yet never in his career was his quirk-forward blend of genius and foolishness more apparent than on that June day in Hartford. Because the balance of weight and equipment was so delicate, Ritchel was too heavy to fly the craft. Instead, he employed pilot Mark W. Quinlan, who tipped the scale at just 96 pounds. Quinlan was a 27-year-old machinist and native of Philadelphia, but little else is known about him. The record, however, is crystal clear on one count: Quinlan was very, very brave.
When preparations for the craft were complete, the crowd watched in eager anticipation as Quinlan boarded the so-called pilot’s seat. The airship rose 50 feet, then 100 feet, then 200 feet. Such a sight was uncommon but not unheard of at the time. The real question was: Once the craft was in the air, could it be controlled?
The first heavier-than-air flight (in which airflow over a surface like a plane wing creates aerodynamic lift) only took place in 1903, when the Wright Brothers conducted their famous flight in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. But by the late 19th century, flying via lighter-than-air gases was already close to 100 years old. (This method involves heating the air inside of a balloon to make it less dense, leading it to rise, or filling the balloon with a low-density gas such as helium or hydrogen.) On November 21, 1783, Jean-François Pilâtre de Rozier and François Laurent d’Arlandes completed the first crewed, untethered hot-air balloon flight, passing over Paris on a craft built by the Montgolfier brothers. Later, balloons were used for reconnaissance during the French Revolutionary Wars and the American Civil War.
A drawing of the Montgolfier brothers' hot-air balloon Public Domain Via Wikimedia Commons
But free-floating balloons were, and still are, at the mercy of the winds. While balloon aeronauts can achieve limited control by changing altitude and attempting to catch different currents, they can’t easily return to the spot where they took off from, which is why even today, they have teams following them on the ground. Mid-1800s aviation enthusiasts dreamed of fixing this problem, which led to the development of dirigibles—powered, steerable airships that were inflated with lighter-than-air gases. (The word dirigible comes from the French word diriger, “to steer”; contrary to popular belief, the term, which is synonymous with airship, is not derived from the word “rigid.”) While some early aeronauts successfully steered dirigibles, none of these rudimentary airships could truly go against the wind or provide a controlled-enough flight to take off and land at the same point consistently.
In 1878, Ritchel was unaware of anyone who had successfully taken off in a dirigible and landed at the same spot. He hoped to change that with his baseball field demonstration. A month earlier, Ritchel had exhibited the airship’s capabilities during indoor flights at the Philadelphia Main Exhibition Hall, a massive structure built for that city’s 1876 Centennial Exposition. But there is no wind indoors, and the true test of his device would have to be performed outdoors.
After rising into the air, Quinlan managed to steer the craft out over the Connecticut River. To onlookers, it was clear that the aeronaut was in control. But as he flew, the wind picked up, and it began to look like a storm was gathering. To avoid getting caught in the poor weather and facing an almost-certain disaster, Quinlan steered the craft back toward the field, cutting through the “teeth of the wind until directly over the ball ground whence it had ascended, and then alighted within a few feet of the point from which it had started,” as the New York Sun reported.
Ritchel's dirigible, as seen on the July 13, 1878, cover of Harper's Weekly Public Domain Via Wikimedia Commons
The act was hailed far and wide as a milestone. An illustration of the impressive-looking flying machine was featured on the cover of Harper’s Weekly.
“The great problem which inventors of flying machines have always before them is the arrangement by which they shall be able to propel their frail vessels in the face of an adverse current,” the magazine noted. “Until this end shall have been achieved, there will be little practical value to any invention of the kind. In Professor Ritchel’s machine, however, the difficulty has been in a great measure overcome.”
Across the country, observers hailed Ritchel’s odd but impressive milestone in flight. In the years and decades that followed, this achievement was forgotten by almost all except a select group of aviation historians.
Wikipedia incorrectly lists the flight of the French army dirigible La France as the first roundtrip dirigible flight. But this event took place six years after Ritchel’s Hartford demonstration, in August 1884. Why has a flight so seemingly monumental in its time been relegated to the dustbin of history?
Given his eccentric nature and creativity, it’s easy to root for Ritchel and think of him as a Nikola Tesla-like genius robbed of his rightful place in history. The reality of why his feat was forgotten is more complicated. As Tom Crouch, an emeritus curator at the Smithsonian’s National Air and Space Museum, says, it’s possible Ritchel’s craft was the first to complete a round-trip dirigible flight. But other aircraft in existence at the time probably could have accomplished the same feat in favorable conditions. “La France made the first serious round-trip,” Crouch says.
Additionally, while Ritchel’s machine worked to a point, it wasn’t a pathway to more advanced dirigibles. Richard DeLuca, author of Paved Roads & Public Money: Connecticut Transportation in the Age of Internal Combustion, points out that the hand-cranked nature of Ritchel’s craft made it nearly impossible to operate with any kind of wind. “On the first day, he got away with it and directed the ship out and over the river and back to where he started, and that was quite an accomplishment,” DeLuca says. “But the conditions were just right for him to do that.”
Dan Grossman, an aviation historian at the University of Washington, has never come across evidence that any later pioneers of more advanced dirigible flights were influenced by Ritchel. “There are a lot of firsts in history that got forgotten because they never led to a second,” Grossman says.
An artist's depiction of the La France airship Public Domain Via Wikimedia Commons
The day after their first successful public outdoor flight in Hartford, Quinlan and Ritchel tried again at that same ballfield. This time, the weather was less cooperative, and the wind came in sharp gusts. Still, the pair persisted in their attempt. “Little Quinlan, even if he does only weigh 96 pounds, has confidence and nerve enough to go up in a gale,” the Sun reported. Up he went about 200 feet, but this time, the wind carried him away with more force. Quinlan was “seen throwing his vertical fan into gear, and by its aid, the aerial ship turned around, pointing its head in whatever direction he chose to give it.” Although he could move the ship about, “he could not make any headway against the strong wind.”
Quinlan descended about 100 feet, trying to catch a different current, but the wind still pushed him away from the ballfield. He raised the craft, this time going higher than 200 feet, but still couldn’t overcome the wind and was soon swept off toward New Haven, vanishing from sight like some real-world Wizard of Oz.
Eventually, Quinlan safely brought the airship down in Newington, about five miles away from Hartford. The inventor and his pilot were unfazed by this setback. They held more public exhibitions that year with a mix of success and failure—including an incident that nearly cost Quinlan his life. During a July 4 exhibition in Boston, the machine malfunctioned and continued to rise, soaring to what the Boston Globe estimated to be 2,000 feet. Quinlan couldn’t get the propeller to work, and the craft continued to rise, reaching as high as 3,000 feet.
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Terrified but quick-thinking, Quinlan tied his wrist and ankle to the craft and swung out of his seat to fix the propeller, using a jack-knife he happened to have on him as a makeshift tool. The daring midair repairs worked, and the craft gradually descended. Quinlan landed in Massachusetts, 44 miles from his starting destination, after a 1-hour, 20-minute flight.
Per Grossman, the human-powered method Ritchel attempted to utilize was doomed from the start. “In the absence of an internal combustion engine, there really was no control of lighter-than-air flight,” he says.
Ritchel stubbornly refused to consider powering dirigibles with engines and did not foresee how powerful a better-designed aircraft truly could be.
“I have overcome the fatal objection of which has always been made to the practicability of aerial navigation—that is, I have made a machine that can be steered,” Ritchel told a reporter in July 1878. “I claim no more. I have never pretended that a balloon can be made to go against the wind, and I am sure it never could. It is as ridiculous as a perpetual motion machine, and the latter will be invented just as soon as the former.”
Left: A page from Ritchel's ballooning scrapbook National Air and Space Museum Archives. Right: The scrapbook covers the years 1878 to 1901. Photographs: National Air and Space Museum Archives
Even so, Ritchel was influential in his own way. “He was one of the first to really come up with the notion of a little one-man, bicycle-powered airship, and those things were around into the early 20th century,” says Crouch. After Ritchel, other daring inventors launched similar pedal-powered airships. Carl Myers, for example, held demonstrations of a device he called the “Sky-Cycle” in the 1890s.
Ritchel stands as one of the fascinating early aeronauts whose work blurred the line between science and the sideshow. “I refer to them as aerial showmen, these guys who came up with the notion of making money [by] thrilling people [with] their exploits in the air,” Crouch says.
According to Crouch’s 1983 book, The Eagle Aloft: Two Centuries of the Balloon in America, Ritchel and Quinlan took the airship on tour with a traveling circus in the late 1870s. Ritchel also operated his machine at Brighton Beach near Coney Island. He sold a few replicas of his device and later attempted to develop a larger, long-distance version of the craft powered by an 11-person hand-cranking crew. Perhaps unsurprisingly, this idea failed to gain momentum, and Ritchel faded from the headlines. Soon, the exploits of new aeronauts would upstage him, among them Alberto Santos-Dumont’s circumnavigation of the Eiffel Tower in 1901.
Left: Alberto Santos-Dumont's first balloon, 1898. Right: Santos-Dumont circles the Eiffel Tower in an airship on July 13, 1901. Photographs: Public Domain Via Wikimedia Commons
Despite many earlier dirigible flights, Crouch and Grossman agree that the technology only became practical when German Count Ferdinand von Zeppelin built and flew the first rigid dirigible in the early 1900s. Over the first decade of the new century, Zeppelin perfected his namesake design, which featured a fabric-covered metal frame that enclosed numerous gasbags. “By 1913, just before [World War I] begins, Zeppelin is actually running sightseeing tours over German cities,” Crouch says, “so the Zeppelin at that point can safely carry passengers and take off and land from the same point.”
For a brief period, airships ruled the sky. (The spire of New York City’s Empire State Building, built in the 1930s, was famously intended as a docking station for passenger airships.) But the vehicles, which use gas to create buoyancy, were quickly eclipsed by airplanes, which achieve flight through propulsion that generates airflow over the craft’s wings.
While the 1937 Hindenburg disaster is often viewed as the end of the dirigible era, Grossman says that’s a misconception: The real death knell for passenger airships arrived when Pan American Airways’ China Clipper, a new breed of amphibious aircraft, flew from San Francisco to Manila in November 1935. “Partly because they flew faster, they could transport more weight, whether it’s people or cargo, mail, whatever, in the same amount of time,” Grossman explains. “They were less expensive to operate, they required much, much smaller crews, [and] they were less expensive to build.”
Airplanes were also safer. “Zeppelins have to fly low and slow,” Crouch says. “They operate in the weather; airplanes don’t. An airplane at 30,000 feet is flying above the weather. Weather, time after time, is what brought dirigibles down.”
Today, niche applications for passenger airships endure, including the Zeppelin company’s European tours, as well as ultra-luxury air yachts and air cruises. But “it’s always going to be a tiny, tiny slice of the transportation pie,” Grossman says.
Crouch agrees. “People still talk about bringing back big, rigid airships. That hasn’t happened yet, and I don’t think it will,” he says.
The USS Los Angeles, a United States Navy airship, in 1931. Photograph Public Domain Via Wikimedia Commons
In some ways, Ritchel’s flying machine was a microcosm of the larger history of dirigibles: fascinating, fun and the perfect fodder for fiction, but ultimately eclipsed by more efficient technology.
As for Ritchel, he died, penniless, of pneumonia in 1911 at age 66. “Although during his lifetime he had perfected inventions that, in the hands of others, had brought in great wealth, he died a poor man, as he lacked the business ability to turn the children of his brain to the best advantage to himself,” wrote the Bridgeport Post in his obituary.
Even so, the public had not forgotten the brief time three decades earlier when Ritchel and his airship ruled the skies. As the Boston Evening Transcript reported, his flights captured “the attention of the world. In every country and in every language, newspapers and magazines of the day printed long stories of the wonderful feats performed by the Bridgeport aviator and his marvelous machine, of which nothing short of a cruise to the North Pole was expected.”
— Erik Ofgang is the co-author of The Good Vices: From Beer to Sex, The Surprising Truth About What’s Actually Good For You and the author of Buzzed: A Guide to New England's Best Craft Beverages and Gillette Castle: A History. His work has appeared in the Washington Post, the Atlantic, Thrillist and the Associated Press, and he is the senior writer at Tech & Learning magazine.
#Youtube#Air & Space Museum#Air Transportation#Airplanes ✈️ ✈️ ✈️#American 🇺🇸 History#Invention#Newspapers 📰 🗞️#Smithsonian Institution#Toys#Transportation#Wright Brothers#Flying Machine#Charles F. Ritchel#Airship#Professor Charles F. Ritchel#Inventer of the Only Flying Machine on Earth 🌎#Lardner & Co | 1319 Chestnut Street | Philadelphia | Pennsylvania
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[this post is about the succession SEASON ONE finale bc I’m ten years behind]
anyway like the way denial was the emotional undercurrent of everything in this episode…. starting with tom telling greg to shut up so he can block out the truth of shiv’s infidelity, to roman and the launch and just immediately shutting it off and pretending like it didn’t happen, and us as the viewer feeling the absolute horror realizing that people could have DIED, and seeing the utter disconnect in Roman, watching a livestream on his phone like it’s a video game, going back into this huge fucking party, the party itself being the physical place to symbolize the utter isolation and social disconnection of the filthy rich from the rest of the world. the tension building while we’re like jesus christ did he fucking kill people?? and then he finds out oh no, it’s just two thumbs and an arm, what a RELIEF, and we as the viewer vicariously accepting that relief as a lesser horror while still seeing the horror. the way it mirrors the horror of the first episode when roman rips up a fucking MILLION DOLLAR check in front of a poor kid. reminding us that while we might relate to their human foils and emotions, the absolute SCALE of their faults and ignorances have such massive, unfathomable consequences by virtue of their power. and then you have. fucking kendall. and the kid in the car. and it’s the exact same situation. and the thing that makes it so fucking VISCERAL is that it doesn’t jump cut to the next day. we stay with him the whole fucking time as he walks away from that scene. we watch him break back into his hotel, wash himself like fucking lady macbeth. make his way back to the party. dance with his fucking kids. the dissonance is so fucking strong. it’s like coming back to omelas after seeing the tortured child. what can you do but pretend? and tell me you haven’t fucking been there before. tell me you haven’t been at that party, where something horrible and unspeakable is happening inside of you but you have to dance and smile anyway. we all know what it’s like to be in denial. it’s human. and yet the consequences of these people’s denial, by virtue of their power, is so vast and sickening, that it becomes inhuman. they’re not inherently evil people, but the circumstances of their wealth and privilege takes their shortcomings and corrupts them into poison and bombs. all of that accumulating to logan psychologically exploiting kendall in his moment of trauma, kendall breaking down and crying like a kid, and of course he would, ANYONE would, but he’s not anyone, these people aren’t anyone. I don’t mean they’re not human, I mean the opposite. they are human children playing an elaborate game of pretend with the rest of the fucking world as their dolls. they’re not masterminds. they’re toddlers demanding to be loved and blowing shit up in the process. and it’s easy to watch and say, wow that is so fucked up. but who am I if I act like I can fully separate myself from this story and be like “welp, anyway! back to bed!” without recreating that same denial? who are any of we to act like we’re not in some way complicit to the horror of the world when in order to function and live our lives we have to completely compartmentalize the part of our brain that comprehends the news? I’m not saying a normal person is in any way shape or form as responsible as a billionaire, nor am I saying there’s any moral answer to this. I’m just saying……….. fuck
#sorry but like. jesus christ. I need a therapy session#succession#succession meta#succession season 1
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Okay guys so recently ive been really loving custom dolls (debated about making my own) and though hey why not make a shu x reader fic where reader loves custom dolls and even makes some. So here is my rough idea!
Shu Itsuki x Doll loving reader
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So as we all hopefully know, Shu loves dolls. His favorite being Mademoiselle. Shu might offer to help make clothing, but dont show him the modifications on bodies. He may scream. If you have an interest in BJD (Ball jointed dolls) dolls he may let you use Mademoiselle as a reference if you sculpt them yourself. He loves to watch you do what many call a 'face up' (basically drawing a face on the doll after removing factory paint if it was a premade doll.) He might suggest good doll brands (most customizers love monster high due to good molds and articulation). He would love fantasy dolls probably. And when a custom ooak (one of a kind) doll video is uploaded he may ask Mika to watch it with you. He especially loves collabs between doll artists. One video he fell in love with was Dollightfull's Steampunk collab.(Valkyrie is steampunk if you didnt know) And he probably watches it a lot.
Of course this has its downsides as well. Shu would be terrified of you customizing Mademoiselle. But if you are a digital doll artist he wouldnt have that fear. Shu definitely loves fashion dolls, so sharing that interest is lovely to him! Just dont let him watch any of Dollightful's dragon videos (he will cry probably). Might even start creating his own to model Valkyrie outfits at a smaller scale. Because it would use less fabric and all.
A shared love of dolls is perfect! Especially when shu is in love.
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Little note, below this I will add Yandere headcannons for this as well!
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So yan shu would also love your love of dolls. But if you spend too much time on customs he will be sad. Unless you share your work area which would be convenient for everyone. Fabrics are all in the same spot. And he could also use your dolls as models for clothes and get a good idea of what you like for designing.
Now if you are a digital doll sculptor shu may use unconventional methods to learn your style. Such as opening your computer when you arent around. He might even ask to use it (after learning how to). But if you have vroid (a 3d software for anime vtube models) shu may use that as reference for new designs. When you talk to others about customs you worked on together he might be mad. Especially if you talk to Eichi about it. Heaven forbid you talk to Eichi about a heaven themed doll and he will blow his top. Of course some of his favorite customs are steampunk theme. It shows you pay attention to what he likes (if its a coincidence and you didnt he acts delusional). Of course he would love every doll you make (eyes the blonde haired ones). He also would love if you made an eccentric themed doll (if you know you know). Or one that looked like him!
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And im done, if youd like I can continue this headcanon with mika and others.
#enstars#yandere enstars#shu itsuki#yandere shu itsuki#doll lover#ooak doll#shoutout dollightful for inspo
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dollmaker
Sero deserves the whole world as well as his own doll <3
Sero x reader
warnings: miscommunication used for comedy, that's about it
word count: 1,300 (about)
summary: a doll customizer and a hero who wants a doll, it's a match made in heaven!
Hanta knew he wasn’t exactly a popular hero. not that it mattered, he didn’t get into hero work to be famous, he did it to save people. It did sting sometimes when he got referred to as “the tape guy” instead of by his name but that was petty. Besides, it was nice that he didn’t have to hide his face to go out, he knew Bakugou had to hire a personal shopper because fans would swarm him if he went out in public. Sero couldn’t imagine letting someone else know how many Zebra cakes he ate in one week. Besides, that would mean he wouldn’t get to go shopping with you.
It was small, but Hanta always looked forward to spending that time with you. Sero never thought he’d be the kind of guy who cared what type of trash bags and paper towels his partner liked but here he was, Caring.
“What are you smiling at?” you asked, kissing Sero’s cheek, pulling him out of his own thoughts.
“You, pretty,” he answered automatically. Sero couldn’t help but smile when he saw you, you just made every room better, and he couldn’t help it.
“Sappy,” you snapped back and pushed the cart onward.
Even though you were grocery shopping you couldn’t escape heroism. Branded cereals, t-shirts, themed Nerf guns, and of course Action figures. Sero didn’t notice but you did, there was nothing for Cellophane. You knew that he had merch, whenever Hanta got some new prototype he always gave it to you before it was released to the larger public. But most of that was online, he hardly ever had stuff on shelves.
You pulled down an Action figure of Deku, Sero didn’t have anything like this. You carefully turned the package over in your hands trying to see the doll through layers of plastic. You’d had an interest in collecting and making dolls of your own for a few years now, it was interesting to see how these toys worked and pierced together.
“I thought I was your favorite hero,” Sero scoffed seeing how much attention you were paying to someone else’s merchandise. You put the doll back and stuck your tongue out at him.
“What gave you that idea?” you teased. Hanta didn’t have anything like that, you wondered if he’d like that, if not a mass-marketed toy then maybe something unique he could have. Your mind wandered to making the doll, it wouldn’t be hard to style a doll with his hair and makeup to look like him. It wouldn’t even be that hard to make modified elbows for him. But it would be a pain in the ass to make clothes. His suit was so detailed it would be difficult to scale it down to the size of a toy.
Difficult, but you were sure you could do it with a few rough drafts. The real trick would be keeping it from Hanta. Normally you would share your progress with him, but you wanted to keep this doll a surprise, and if it turned out to be a complete failure you could just scrap it without disappointing your boyfriend. You started on your secret project as soon as you got home, pulling out a doll that would make a good base before beginning.
Sero had never thought much about his own action figure, but Kaminari had started prototyping one for his brand and would not shut up about it. It also meant that Sero was the only one in his immediate friend group who didn’t have anything like that.
He remembered a few weeks ago when you’d lingered over the Deku Doll. he liked it when you wore something of his, and he knew you liked dolls, it might be nice to give you something like that. So he started asking his PR team, and he got shot down. He wasn’t high-ranking enough, making a toy would only be a loss to the company it would cost more than it would bring in. His heart sank a little bit when he heard that. He didn’t care if he was the number one hero, but it stung that his rank meant he couldn’t give you a stupid gift and that he wasn’t on the same level as friends.
Sero shook his head and tried to ignore the negative thoughts. A Doll of himself was a selfish gift anyways, he was just jealous the Deku doll caught your eye and jealous that Kaminari was more popular.
He could give you a better gift than that any day of the week. No one knew you as Sero did and he knew what you’d want more than anything; a relaxing night with your boyfriend.
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“BABE” Sero called out as he entered your shared home, almost instantly your head popped out of your office,
“Hey, Hanta! One sec let me clean up a little bit,” you said disappearing again, Sero never minded when you worked while he was home, but Recently you’d been insisting that you wanted to spend time with him every second that he was there and you tired to have your workspace clean by the time he was home.
Sero loved spending time with you, of course, but it made him a little sad like he didn’t see you enough and it was making you desperate for any scrap of time with him,
While you were distracted Sero brought in his surprise, it wasn’t anything big just dinner from your favorite restaurant.
“Hanta!” you gasped, Sero turned and grinned at you
“Surprise baby,” he said then quickly caught you as you threw yourself at him, peppering his face with kisses.
“You’re too sweet to me,” you gushed. Hanta smiled, basking in your praise.
“It’s nothing, I just wanted to surprise you,” he laughed steering you both to the kitchen so that you could dig in.
After eating, Sero pulled you to the couch and into his lap holding you there. He rubbed slow circles against your hips and the tops of your thighs. You had your arms wrapped around his neck and nuzzled into his chest. Sero held you closer.
“I love you, hanta,’ you murmured.
“I love you more,” he assured you.
“Well I don’t know about that,” you teased pulling back so you could look at him, grinning mischievously. He knew that grin.
“What did you do?” he gasped no longer relaxed.
“What? You surprised me, Can’t I surprise you too?” you demanded laughing to yourself. You tried to climb off of his lap but Sero caught you and didn’t let you go.
“No, I’m not ready,” he laughed.
“It’s not bad!” you giggled.
“But I’m scared!” he protested. You managed to wriggle out of his arms and stumbled to your office, Sero followed you like a dog after his owner.
“Stay here while I get it,” you ordered.
“What’s ‘it’? How long have you been hiding this from me?” Hanta demanded. Nevertheless, he stayed obediently outside of the door.
“Now, it’s not perfect but I hope you like it anyways,” you said shyly with your hands behind your back. Sero dropped the teasing you’d put a lot of effort into this, and he knew he’d love it no matter what it was.
You handed him an action figure, at first he was confused, then he realized it was him.
“Oh my god, you made this?” he asked, admiring the detail.
“I ended up just painting the suit, it was too hard to sew I just-”
Sero cut you off with a kiss.
“I love it, baby,” he whispered, Sero knew he would treasure it forever, his own doll.
#sero x reader#Imagine sero hanta#my hero acedamia#mha fluff#sero x reader fluff#gn reader#boku no hero academia#sero x you
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Ask meme 1., 5. and 16. :3c
[questions here]
1. Describe your journey this year in three words
many new things!
^here i am referring to writing all those rarepairs and kind of working in unexplored (to me) places rather than retreading known ground with a fine toothed comb. which honestly now that i think of it isn't THAT new, i used to usually be like, a rarepair guy. i nearly always picked like, a pairing other than The Big One in a fandom to fixate on. hell, i used to do @trek-rarepair-swap every month, but that's a little different. part of it is that i was legitimately invested in a few "rarepairs" such that i was actually more interested in them than the main pairing. i actively disliked garashir, which is funny bc i like both garak and bashir and enjoyed shipping both with other people (in fact my biggest ds9 ships were sisko/garak and bashir/o'brien), but their dynamic with each other annoyed me. i could put a thousand word ramble here or i could say it annoyed me. anyway the other reason is that, shamefully, back then i wasn't really above the "smashing dolls together" method of rarepairing. a lot of the work i produced back then was not what i would call "up to snuff." anyway. it's been new, producing rarepair work that's "up to snuff." and the way i fixated on rarepairs in a non-rarepairswap context is more like how i fixate on destiel. i still spent all my time retreading the same ground to develop my thoughts, there was just less ground.
5. A scene you enjoyed creating
oooooh this is hard! it's also totally going to bias towards more recent stuff. also there's a big difference between "scene i enjoyed thinking about as i was planning it" and "scene i enjoyed writing down." some things are fun to have the idea for but writing them involves a lot of screaming and crying and throwing up.
so i guess ill give two answers.
first is the entirety of the mind plays tricks, which is just one scene. so for this fic i had a prompt and i was really struggling with, i guess, coming up with a good idea for it? like i was really bashing my head against it. and then like. i woke up one morning. and the previous day i had spent all day working on every relationship has its stuff, like a lot of really grueling effortful writing. and then that morning i just sat bolt upright in bed with the perfect idea and just wrote it in like an hour and a half. i honestly felt kinda bad that it was so short? i felt like i hadn't put enough effort in. but i was also like, really really happy with it and i could not think of anything more to add. like i could not think of any additions that wouldn't make it less punchy, ya know?
and then on the other end of the scale, a scene which i had a great time thinking up but a was like pulling teeth to actually write, you've got the cas sex ed scene from erhis, which is so short i'm going to reproduce it here in its entirety:
Cas is standing in the library when Jack walks in. His back is to the door, but Jack can feel his father watching him.
He goes to stand next to Cas. Cas reaches out, puts an arm around his shoulder. Jack leans against him.
“So, how are things with Harper?” Cas says it casually but there is a jolt of energy behind the words that he isn’t letting out on the human plane.
“They’re good. She likes me.”
Cas squeezes him a little tighter. He can feel Cas’ tendrils around him again. He couldn't, as a human.
“Dean told me that I should have a discussion with you about intimacy.” He’s looking at Jack now.
“Um,” Jack starts, “I think Dean uh, mostly covered it…”
“There are elements that we experience that I don’t think Dean will understand.” We. Oh. Of course. “I want to share…” Jack feels Cas’ consciousness begin to entwine with his and realizes what’s about to happen. He pulls back.
“I don’t want to know what it’s like to have sex with Dean.” The words come out sharper than he intended, and Cas’ face falls. Jack can feel him wilting. “Sorry,” he adds, trying to save things.
“Are you sure?” Cas asks.
“Yeah. I just- sorry.”
Suddenly Cas is holding him with both arms, face in his shoulder.
“Dean says you’re growing up,” he murmurs. Jack feels it more than hears it. He raises an arm and pats Cas on the back, the way he’s seen Dean do.
and like as you can see from this post i made months previously, the concept of that scene was already in my head for a long time. and it was a lot of fun to play with. but when it came to actually writing the scene, it was like torture. i eventually found that to make it actually work and flow with the story, i needed it to be less comic and more tragic, which was a bit sad because i liked how funny it was in my head, but i did enjoy the tragic parts once they were down on the page.
16. Something interesting you researched as part of the process
so the stuff i write doesn't necessarily involve a ton of research. i'm not really doing casefic or plotty things, the kind of writing you're likely to need research for. most of the research i did was geographical? i know i did some research for wink in terms of what a journalist's day to day looks like and what kind of jobs cassie might be looking for in missouri and stuff, but i dont actually really remember it too well. the most memorable thing i remember finding out was that panera bread started in missouri in i think 1999. oh i also researched period accurate starbucks menus lol. i think the most interesting factoid i came across researching is that i needed a spot for jack and harper to go for a date in erhis so i sent them to the center of the contiguous united states, which is the only tourist destination in lebanon, except apparently the actual center is on private property so the monument is like a half mile off. We Live In A Society.
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