#this was very hard for me to put into words for the world to see and maybe its not even needed but

[antimony-medusa]

Someone asked me for notes on writing technoblade so:

this is how I do characterization, just in random order.

deadpan or "dry" but not monotone— he's often quite expressive just in a deadpan way.

FUNNY. Humour is hard though so you can skate by on just being sarcastic and deadpan.

Sarcastic.

doesn't often say that someone is important to him in words, not in a literal fashion— the reason why things like "for you the world" or "my best friend" or "bro" or "good friend and disciple" gets celebrated is because he wouldn't say that sort of thing often. He is not out here calling people sunshine. Techno's out here saying "oh I'm not endeared" and "there's a RACCOON in my basement" and "that's what I'd expect from you, old man", but at the same time in actions he's very clearly showing that he cares— fight alongside someone, give them gifts, invite them to stay. Complaining about being woken up and how he needs his beauty sleep and how he's gonna wither to ashes while he makes you supper and won't let you apologize and sets up the guest room for you. And then says of course he's doing it he values this friendship. and then tells you how you could make anything you want for breakfast don't wake him before ten or he'll crumble to dust

especially with phil, very rarely MEAN/cutting, even while bantering and complaining— he'll call him an old man who's fallen off but he won't make fun of how he talks or call him stupid or a burden or tell him to shut up. He will tell tommy to stop talking but that would be because tommy was yelling his opinions at people like a grackle

anxiety— he wins fights because he overprepares. the beginning of every stream is so much brewing and armour and grinding. The world is dangerous and the only way to face it is to Git Gud. HE WILL BE GRINDING.

loves animals.

general-purpose nerd. people boil this down to english-major a lot, but things I have heard technoblade go on tangents about include math, psychology, greek mythology, metaphor, and How To Balance The Game

canonically into golf? I don't use that but yeah.

it's fair if I can grind the game sufficiently to make it work. will use exploits and edge cases and also expects them to be used against him cause that's just the game we're playing, right?

dark humour. this is a guy who made jokes about his execution and then his cancer. If he is in peril or something terrible is happening he will be joking about it. Most of the time however that is very carefully dark humour that is about, in the metaphor, him on the gallows, not being part of the crowd at a public execution.

Neurodivergent. This Man Has ADHD. in-game he had the zoomies a lot, he jumped conversational topics, he got distracted and missed stuff.

socially uncomfortable but has social skills— you see the discomfort especially on places like SMPearth or when he's not in a highly scripted lore call. He'll be falling back on silence or falling out of the conversation unless he's comfortable with people, and then you see WAY more of the fast joking, on a sliding scale of how comfortable he was with people. You can absolutely tell if he's comfortable with people and it correlates to how much company manners he's putting on. Like he'll make the effort socially, but you can tell he's plotting his escape from this conversation most of the time on SMPearth unless with his allies.

you can get an incredibly long way with dropping your gs, "bruh", and deadpan sarcasm.

kinda guy to use "wanna" and "soporific" in the same sentence. Big vocabulary, informal mode of speaking unless he's giving a prepared speech.

On SMPearth jokes about world conquest and domination, on DSMP jokes about being the bad guy/withers/terrorism, on origins jokes about cancer.

Will talk himself up as the best and powerful while also in a way that implies he doesn't really believe that or think it's important. First Try, Chat, he'll say, while very clearly and obviously going for the sixth try. Didn't even sweat, while a moment ago he was audibly panicking down the mic. Kinda guy to talk about his enormous clout and then turn the conversation around to how Ranboo has higher viewership and he personally has fallen off and is dying and being flattened— not in a complaining way, but in a "you're doing so awesome you beat me so good great game" way.

does not swear while on stream. We know he swore off-stream but those clips are few and far between. You will get people twitch if you have techno swearing though.

I've run out of thoughts, does anyone else have more ideas for Techno characterization?

[fictionlovingnerdgirl]

Hey so can I have a scenario with Kurt wager where he’s just like “I miss those German Christmas cookies”. He hasn’t been able to go back to Germany for a year and he’s missing the traditional German Christmas food he’s probably used too. His chef s/o (they’re not a chef, but they’re amazing at making food) is like “Yea?” And leaves the conversation at that. Days later, He is used to his s/o making food in the kitchen. He sometimes has his go. Then suddenly hiss /o sits down while it’s in the oven, “Hey so, some of those German Christmas hedgehog cookies are in the kitchen cooking right now”?

Christmas Miracle

A/n: THANK YOU!! I love Christmas and I love Kurt Wagner.. I might have made this more Christmas focused, but I definitely still went with ur prompt.. I just.. added to it a bit. Also gender neutral reader again!!

Warnings: None

Paring: Kurt Wagner X Neutral!Reader

German word guide:

Meine Liebe = My Love

Schatz = Darling

Geliebten = Beloved

Ich liebe dich = I Love You

Danke = Thank You

Kurt was overly enthusiastic for Christmas, I mean, it was your first one together. His tail snakes around your leg as he tells you about your plans together.

"We will go to see the lights, and watch movies together!" His eyes close and he smiles, "Meine Liebe, do you like Christmas?" He tilts his head and his eyes are almost sparkling. You smile back at him and hum a 'mhm' noise, "I love Christmas, do you miss Christmas in Germany?"

He nods, "when I lived in Germany, we had these little cookies, they looked like hedgehogs! I miss them very much." He sighs and grabs your hand, "but I do love it here with you, Schatz." You can almost see the love in his eyes, running your thumb over the top of his hand as you smile.

"I know, Kurt. I love you too." His face turns slightly purple, "you're coming over tomorrow to set up the tree right?"

He nods and his tail unwraps itself from your leg, now whipping around like a playful cat.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world, geliebten." He gets up with you and kisses you softly on your cheek before saying goodbye, as you head towards your room and he goes the other way.

Baking German "hedgehog" cookies won't be that hard, right?

It was almost 6 pm, Kurt would be showing up soon, and the cookies were almost done. You knew it was special to him, that he would love you even more after. (if that was even possible)

But still, you were a bit nervous to get them just right. Kurt was... Important. More important than anyone else in the world, and that meant a lot.

A sudden bamf noise makes you jump, you then roll your eyes and hear a knock at the door, "come in, Kurt! I know it's you!" You smile and look behind you, Kurt opening the door with a wide grin and a carefully wrapped box.

You walk over to him and sigh, "Kurt, what is this?" He harrows his eyes and makes a humming sound, "it is a present, Schatz. For under the tree." He almost looks proud of himself. Cute.

You smile and kiss him on the forehead, bringing your hand up to his head and tilting it down so you can reach. "I have a present for you too." You say, hands still on his face as you look at him and smile.

"for me Meine Liebe?" He tilts his head and puts your present down on the table by his side, looking up at you with adoration and intrigue.

"remember those German hedgehog cookies you mentioned?" You say walking towards the oven with an oven mit, Kurt gasps and teleports with a bamf over to your side, watching you open the oven as you pull out the cookies.

They're perfectly cooked and look exactly like the recipe said they would, and exactly like Kurt remembered.

"Meine Schatz.." he says softly, looking up at you "you are an angel, Ich liebe dich.." he purrs and his face is glowing, but he also looks like he's going to cry, all at the same time.

"It was really nothing, I knew you missed them and what kind of partner would I be if I didn't try?" Dishing them out on a plate, and handing it to the blue demon. But he's still looking at you, his eyes full of love. "Ich liebe dich," he takes your hand and kisses it, sighing "how did I get so lucky?" He hums.

You smile at his comment, he really did know just what to say to make you fall in love with him all over again. "I love you too, Kurt." You push the plate to him "tell me if it's good, I worked hard." You say, knowing it will get him to snap back to reality and eat it.

He nods and grabs one of the little cookies, taking a bite and tilting his head as he tastes it, before his tail starts whipping around like it did earlier. His grin wide, "it is perfect! Just how I remember, thank you Danke.." he purrs and eats the rest you dished out to him.

It was now time to put up the tree, pulling ornaments and strings of lights out of the box, looking up at him, you sigh. It was all gonna work out, the pain you felt years, or even months ago, was gone.

It never lasts forever, not with him here, and that was enough for you.

[treasure-mimic]

Psychopomp and What Things Mean When They Don't Mean Anything

So if you haven't noticed or you don't follow me, I recently became interested in a small, one-man dev team indie game by name of Psychopomp. As a brief synopsis and pitch, Psychopomp is a game about a woman who seemingly suffers from paranoid delusions, through the lens of this narrator she tells us that there's a labyrinth of catacombs hidden underneath every public building and sets out to explore them to uncover the world's secrets, armed with nothing but a store bought hammer.

The game's intro puts it in words better than I could and more influential than any pitch is just seeing the protagonist's design.

As one commentator states, she looks like a skateboard mascot from the mid-2000s. Like she should be on those posters with a snarky quip just fucked up enough to catch those pearl clutching puritans off guard. I love the style and I love the tone and I love the premise.

This might be the best time to note that if you're interested in playing this game, you should stop reading here, as this discussion will contain spoilers. It's a short game, took me about 3 hours on my first playthrough, and it's pretty cheap, even has a free demo in the form of the base version with Psychopomp Gold serving as the expanded, completed experience.

Anyways.

I've always found conspiracy theories fascinating but in the modern age it can be hard to immerse yourself in these reality-detached belief systems without acknowledging, you know, the racist dogwhistling and tangible physical harm it's causing to society at the present moment. Psychopomp is able to pretty gracefully sidestep this issue by setting its anarchic anti-government sentiments against its protagonist's paranoid delusions rather than adherence to a faith or belief system.

Indeed, the game seems to take systemic beliefs as its central enemy. The entities that are necessary to kill to progress through its levels are defined by the systems they interact in, historical figures of elevated status, keystone positions in industrial manufacturing, even abstract systems like urbanism and DNA composition are posed as societal and oppressive. I'm not saying that there's no way to interpret the game in bad faith and make it directed at marginalized social, political, or ethnic groups, but I also struggle to imagine the person who takes the game literally on its face value?

Which I guess leads me to the main topic I wanted to discuss. The game very obviously has an unreliable narrator (for the record, the protagonist remains nameless for the bulk of the game, I will be referring to her as Venus as it's the closest she has to a name that's explicitly stated within the text itself) with the flavor of one whose intake of reality may be different from what's actually occurring. The game uses a combination of conspiratorial rambling and dream logic to stage its unreal tone; for example, one level delves into the "biology" of buildings, stating that they use graffiti to communicate and that black mold is a pheromone used to evacuate its inhabitants to allow for mating. Loading screens come with "Gameplay Tips" and "Real World Tips", both of which are often dense and inscrutable; for example you might get a pair like "Not all enemies are friends" and "Viruses do not exist. Illness is simply your body punishing you for what you've done wrong."

Surrealism and unreality as stylistic choices can be a bit of a tightrope walk to get right. On the one hand, if you make it explicit that a story takes place in a state that did not happen even within the story's universe, a dream or a hallucination, it can rob the narrative of its stakes, regardless of how well executed the internal metaphors are. Psychopomp very explicitly does not do this, regardless of what it is that Venus is experiencing, the game makes it clear through scientific logs and communications (as well as a brief epilogue set outside of her perspective) that something abnormal is happening, the question is just where in between normality and Venus's experiences does the truth of the game's narrative actually lie.

The other side of the tight rope is literal interpretation, presenting a setting that's absurd to our sensibilities but tangibly explainable, where meaning is supplanted by lore and the cosmology begins to solidify into a set of Calvinball rules that don't make sense, but are still adhered to, and this is the side Psychopomp threatens to lose me on. There is a credible argument to be made that there is no difference, that what Venus is experiencing is her reality without warping and distortion, it's a more credible argument than saying she completely fabricated all of it, and it's an argument I was starting to wonder wasn't the intended interpretation. Until I got the game's second, secret ending.

Psychopomp has one collectible that doesn't serve a direct gameplay purpose, but each catacomb has a key hidden away, often behind false mimic walls that bleed and scream when you hit them with your hammer, and which unlock new rooms in the only permanent location "Home". Initially a gray, cubical, concrete room with a single mattress and a small table with a radio on it, collecting keys allows you to further explore outside(?)/within(?) the home with a unique camera perspective and limited interaction. In the first layer there's a blob man who cries out in torment, demanding to know why you specifically made the world like this, giving some credence to the deification of Venus implied by the game's ending. In the last layer, Venus traverses underneath and past her own brain to unlock a repressed memory.

I take this as confirmation that there's some level of abstraction at play here. Under scrutiny it feels as though there must be some level of abstraction at play here because when taken as a whole, the conspiracies start becoming outright contradictory, even if you try to take the cosmology at play as fact, which are the closest thing to objective facts that we have.

See, Venus's perspective takes place an alternate Earth, one that both seemingly was broken off from the planet and now orbits it like a new moon but also has always existed. One of the locations is a natural history museum which explains the history of sentience on this counter-earth, humans rose, went extinct, were supplanted by a species called the thrait, then humans returned in a mutated form and retook the surface and forced the thrait back underground (though the museum also refers to the thrait as extinct despite being the most common friendly NPC you will encounter). Another location seems to imply that the humans of this world, or maybe only some of them, are artificial clay creatures, reinforced by the arbiters of the DNA factory too being clay alleles. The Human Seedbed even has the game's most effective jumpscare in it, where Venus cannot leave the area without being confronted with a jittering clay facsimile of herself.

But with that in mind, what the hell is Venus then? By no account is she one of these artificial clay people but then how did she get here? The game's introduction implies that she used to be a normal person, or at least closer to, with lived experiences inclusive of complete ignorance to this underworld, the game's endings imply that she's an immortal god-being who has been intentionally working towards her own reawakening, and that is actually one of the least ambiguous plot points within the narrative. None of the pieces of this world lock together to form a cohesive vision of a setting that operates on even the barest of internal rules, and yet the game in the same step refuses to be a character study or subconscious examination, I mean the epilogue is a damn sequel hook that involves assembling the damn Avengers to combat the ramifications of the events of the game.

So, I come to realize, I'm the problem. I might, in fact, be thinking about this too hard.

One of the locations in the game is called "Daddy's Bad Place". It is a single, tiny room of a house or apartment, frozen in a moment of tearing itself apart, that only contains a dusty old TV set with a small, pointless ornament sitting on top. In any other surrealist game, this isolated circle of clarity, a compact orb of recognizable terrain, would be a moment to deliver one single jolt of reality into the metaphor of the protagonist's journey through their own subconscious.

In Psychopomp the TV turns on and delivers a distorted warning about a giant insect which is deadly, deceitful, and above all, not real.

In Daddy's Bad Place I come to realize something. The lore is fake, the characterization is fake, the dichotomy of truth and delusion is fake, the insect is not real. Let's think about what I'm doing here for a moment, right? I'm trying to discern the truth from within a work of fiction. None of its true, none of it happened, what difference does it actually make?

The thing about conspiracy theories is that they don't make logical sense. It's a known phenomenon that conspiracy theorists love to debate, but cannot be reasoned out of their beliefs by facts or logic. There is never a counter, but always a failsafe argument that can be retreated to for safety. What conspiracy theories do make is emotional sense, they make narrative sense. The line that initially sold me on Psychopomp was one of the aforementioned loading screen tips, "All the food you've ever eaten is rotten. You have never tasted fresh food."

Patently false statement, does not hold under scrutiny, but I, as someone who lives in America and lives in a city center and has to get all my food through corporations, can look at a statement like that and say yeah. Checks out. I believe you. We would know if children were being smelted into egg slicers underneath public schools, but it resonates with our emotions about the systems of education we enforce upon children, so it could be true. We would know if buildings were a living, reproducing organism, but it resonates with the feelings of being born into a world where urbanism exists, has existed as permanent fixtures of the world, and is continuously encroaching upon the face of the world, so it could be true.

Anyone who understands the fundamentals of incentives and human psychology does not need to believe that there is a coordinated group of ontologically evil individuals driving the world to ruin for ruin's sake, but that narrative still feels true, it becomes validating in the ways that it plays off of the emotions of believers until it becomes a foundational pillar of belief that cannot be destroyed by logical contradiction.

Psychopomp, in the same way, presents information about its internal systems that cannot be true logically but form self-justification anyways through emotional resonance. It doesn't matter if the lore works because its stated, it isn't wrong, so it must be a truth. This is the way that Psychopomp emulates the unreality of the conspiracy theory in a way that can avoid the disturbing implications of the real world practice. I've made comparison to surrealism by dream logic and surrealism by internal self-reflection, but this is a different mode entirely and the game simply refuses to operate by those tropes at its core. Conspiracy is itself contradiction, not the soft contradiction of two halves of a dream that don't lock together, but the hard contradiction of attempting to apply emotion and narrative to a waking world that rejects either premise. Psychopomp, then, is surrealism by way of conspiracy.

[marksbear2]

Can I request an Lestat De Lioncourt x Male Reader, pleaseeee I really love you and your writing!

Lestat De Lioncourt x Male Reader

I haven’t wrote in forever 😔. But I wanted to comeback and stop sulking and I actually want to improve and go back doing what I love which is writing.

The moon hung high in the sky, a silvery lantern casting its light over the city of New Orleans. A cool breeze swept through the narrow alleyways, its chill at odds with the heat that simmered beneath your skin. You’d heard rumors, of course—the tales of the enigmatic vampire, Lestat de Lioncourt, who had once been a figure of myth. Now, however, his presence was very much real, alive in the whispered corners of this haunting city.

But tonight, there would be no rumors. Tonight, you were going to meet him.

The faint sound of music spilled out from a nearby club, and you adjusted the collar of your jacket, feeling a slight tremble in your fingers. You didn't know what had brought you to this moment. Was it the sheer thrill of danger? Or the promise of something you couldn’t put your finger on—that Lestat offered in his dark, seductive allure?

Before you could second-guess yourself, you were there—standing in front of the old, crumbling mansion that seemed to breathe its age and secrets. Its gates creaked open with the slightest touch, as though they had been waiting for you.

You took a step inside, your pulse quickening. The marble floors of the foyer were cold underfoot, and the scent of something old and faintly metallic lingered in the air. You could almost hear the silence itself—it was as though the house itself was holding its breath.

And then, a voice, low and smooth, like velvet wrapped in shadows.

“Ah, you’ve finally arrived,” Lestat said, his tone filled with dark amusement.

You froze, your heart skipping in your chest as you turned toward him.

Lestat stood at the top of a winding staircase, his golden hair gleaming even in the dim light. His eyes were locked onto you, sharp and intense, as if he could see into the deepest corners of your soul.

He wore a tailored suit, black and perfectly fitting, that only added to his aura of aristocratic elegance.

“I was wondering when you'd come to find me,” he continued, descending the stairs with an effortless grace. With each step, it felt as though the distance between you shrank, your pulse pounding harder.

“I—uh—I didn’t know what to expect,” you stammered, trying to keep your composure.

Lestat chuckled softly, a sound that both soothed and sent a ripple of unease down your spine. "Expect the unexpected," he said, his lips curling into a knowing smile. “I don't bite... unless you ask nicely.”

The playful, almost teasing nature of his words caught you off guard, but there was something dangerous lurking behind that smile, something ancient and powerful.

The weight of his gaze made you feel exposed, as if he could read every thought, every desire you hadn't yet acknowledged. He stepped closer, his movements fluid, like a predator circling its prey. The air around you seemed to grow heavier, charged with an invisible energy. You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breath as he reached out, his cool fingers brushing your cheek in a way that made you shiver.

"You’re far too easy to read," he murmured, his voice like honey and smoke. "You’ve been dreaming of this, haven’t you? Of me."

“I… I don’t know what you mean.” The words came out more breathless than you intended.

Lestat’s laughter was soft, almost affectionate. “Oh, but you do. Everyone who seeks me out knows exactly what they’re looking for. And deep down, so do you.”

His eyes glinted with something dangerously intoxicating, his gaze locking with yours as if he were pulling you into his world, his darkness.

“You belong to me now,” he whispered, his lips almost brushing your ear as he leaned in. The heat of his body radiated against yours, and you felt a thrill run through you—part fear, part yearning.

Before you could respond, he pulled back slightly, just enough to gaze into your eyes. “Don’t be frightened,” he said, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw with gentle precision. “You’ll enjoy this far more than you can imagine.”

Lestat tilted his head slightly, his eyes scanning you like a collector examining a rare artifact. He leaned in again, closer this time, the coolness of his lips grazing yours. The kiss was brief but electric, leaving you breathless and desperate for more. His chuckle was a dark, silken sound as he stepped back, watching you closely, savoring your reaction. “You see? Not so bad, is it?”

“You’re... a monster,” you said, voice unsteady but defiant.

Lestat's eyes flickered with amusement, his sharp smile never faltering. “And yet, you crave it, don’t you? The darkness. The danger. The unknown.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he silenced you with a look—one that made your insides twist with a mix of fear and desire. “I could teach you,” he said softly, almost coaxing. “A different kind of life, one beyond mortal limitations. No more fear, no more pain. Just... eternity.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your mind racing. He was offering you something you’d only ever dreamed about: the chance to live forever, to experience a world that most only whispered about in terrified reverence. But was it worth the cost? Lestat's gaze softened slightly, as if he understood the conflict in your eyes.

“You can resist, of course,” he said, the words almost a challenge. “But the more you fight it, the more you’ll be drawn to me. And when you finally accept it, when you give yourself over, you’ll belong to me. Body, mind... and soul.”

You swallowed hard, your heart racing. Could you truly walk away from him? Or was this inevitable?

The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in with every passing second. Lestat stood before you, offering you his world, his eternity. It was everything you had ever imagined and more... but at what price?

Before you could make a decision, Lestat smiled again, this time with a slow, wicked grin. He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming.

“Don’t think too hard, darling,” he said softly, his lips brushing your ear once more. “You’ll come to me... sooner or later.”

And with that, the room faded around you, leaving you caught in his intoxicating spell—utterly, helplessly, his.

[pangolin-404]

The Don Thacker QnA

Continuation of this post; tldr: I emailed Don Thacker and he was kind enough to answer some questions about Jazzpunk's live action trailers. :) everyone say thank you don thacker

This includes his words about working with Necrophone Games, the production of Project Pigeon and Project Switchhook, and their scripts. Here's the full thing (it's quite long!):

How did you start working with Necrophone Games, and what was it like? Did you work more with Luis Hernandez or Jess Brouse more?

Jazzpunk was originally brought to Imagos through Adult Swim Games. We had done several live action spots for ASG and I think the Necrophone Games guys may have seen something they liked? Most publishers we work with regularly basically lay out a marketing strategy and we're on the menu. "Do you want something from these guys," kind of thing.

At the time, we were an agency of record for ASG, and they put us together. To ASG's credit, they mostly stepped out of it once NG and Imagos were working together, though. It was an incredibly cool deal from them.

All of our work with ASG was like that; they would come to us with a project or a nugget of an idea and say, "go wild!" and we would, of course, go our particular brand of wild.

The Jazzpunk IP moved away from ASG, or at least the marketing side of it did, between the first spot, "Johnny," and the the second spot, "300-1200 Baud Buyman."

To both ASG's credit and NG's credit, the process was prettuch the same both times: awesome.

Did you work with Hernandez to compose the soundtracks?

Not at all. All in-game music was done without any influence from Imagos, and Imagos commanded the entirety of the music side for live action. Obviously, NG had notes/ input, but the two worlds remained mostly separate. 

This is actually intentional most of the time that Imagos does a live action spot. We need to keep the game proper and the hyper-splatter of crazy images in the marketing close enough to be causally related, but distant enough to neither give away the experience you would get from playing a game or try to express in 90 seconds what a game takes 90hrs to say.

How much free reign did you have over the creative direction? 

This is an awesome question for this project in particular. NG was the most hands-off absolute dictatorship we have ever worked with IN THE VERY BEST POSSIBLE WAY.

Essentially, they hit us with a hundred thousand little details and asked us to go ham and cheese on them. They were open to almost every one of my wild pitches, but the details were fine tuned by them to an incredible degree.

Imagos's process, when asked to pitch a story for a spot, is to put together a deck of several ideas that we feel would best serve the project and present them as a menu from which a client can choose ideas from; even mix and match elements from all of the presented ides (which happens). We do this to limit the infinity of choice. It helps with clients who don't know exactly what they want, but know things they DO want, and know very clearly what they don't want.

The NG pitch wasn't like this at all. I had a few lightning strikes and we hopped onto a video conference and I just ranted a bunch at them about my weird concepts and they rolled with them almost immediately. It was in the details that they really pushed hard to make sure what we were doing was going to live in the world of Jazzpunk. 

Looking into our archives, I see the notes we came up with during those meetings. Here they are, pasted:

Pitch 1

Noir detective enters office/closet

Pulls out briefcase

Gun, parabolic mic, bluebox

Banana, lobster, blender, ping pong ball

Dumps a pile of cardboard hands

"I'll be there in 10 minutes."

Pitch 2

Keanu reeves enters facility

"I've got to check my email"

puts on helmet, gloves, puts bit into his mouth

"hit me"

seizure

cut into: checking email, facebook, etc

Pitch 3

[Look Around You - but 1960s]

1960s style educational video

"the computer, invented in 1932 by James Bromely--"

"robots are used in many homes for--"

As you can see, we used a lot of bits from those. As I've said, this is 0% how we usually ptch. Usually there's a whole proposal with notes on tones and imagery and stuff.

Do you still have the storyboards? 

We didn't board Johnny - we listed. The time and money didn't really allow for it.

I worked with the same Cinematographer on both Johnny and 300/1200 Baud Buyman, one with whom I had collaborated on several commercial projects as well as a feature film before this point, so we had a bit of a shorthand going. We made shotlists and went into the day with a clear vision once we saw the set.

The set took seven days from concept to film ready. It was built in front of a greenscreen cyclorama, so the outer windows could show through to the city, TOKYO DUO. It was an incredible endeavor from a production designer I had worked with on some other ASG spots (and more), and it benefited heavily from his understanding of the Imagos look. It was entirely built, with wild walls (we could move any wall at any point) and an incredible level of set dec.

Once the DP and I stepped in, we knew the lists would work and we just went wild.

For 300/1200 Baud Buyman, we used a practical location (the interior of a grocery store) and boarded some of the action for clarity. Not as much as we'd board normally, but, again, the budgets for both of those spots was limited, and the timelines so short, that boards were a luxury we didn't get to play with widely.

Here is a set from 300/1200 Baud Buyman:

Was there anything planned that didn't make the final cut?

For Johnny, only one beat; a comedy beat where the agent gets all geared up to CYBERJACK INTO THE NETRIX and then we hit a cold drop. He's forgotten to push the button. Then he pushes the button and it's ON LIKE TRON.

I think we cut this beat as redundant. Once we got to filming, it felt a lot like cyberjacking into the netrix was going to be enough. Watching him unwrap the thing and follow all but one instruction felt like it might be dead space. 

That, or we just ran out of time. That's always an option in production.

Otherwise, it was all 1:1 the script.

For 300/1200 Baud Buyman, nope. Nothing. We shot what we wrote :) Well, we didn't do the tongue quarter gag.

Interesting note for 300/1200 Baud Buyman: The split-screen section, with The Director talking to the Cashier in one frame, was entirely a practical, in-camera effect!

What happened to the props and spoof items used? 

For Johnny:

The CRANIAL REFRACTION HELMET was destroyed. Several of the parts that made it into that beast were either rental bits or owned by one of the crew/creatives. The rest was auto butyl and bits of rubber and piping and stuff.

The set was struck and, as with the helmet, the bits went to their respective owners or the trash. Even the wall flats.

The stuff in the attache' case:

The prop pistol was returned to the armorer.

The POLYBLANK POINTING HANDS hands 

The parabolic microphone lives in a storage unit with select props from other projects.

Sadly, the pigeon is likely dead. It was a well taken care of racing bird, fully trained and treated like royalty, but they don't live very long and it's been more than a decade :/

The 2600htz whistle was kindly donated to the project by an unnamed source whose possession of it I will neither confirm nor deny. If you wonder what this means, look up 2600hz cap'n crunch whistle on the intertron.

We're especially curious about the fate of the Director prop(s).

For 300/1200 Baud Buyman, The Director was made out of foam board, and, unfortunately, didn't survive the transition into present time.

The rest of the set dress and props are, as well, all disposed of. Except for a giant cereal box front, that lives in storage.

I'm also curious about any remnants of old PAX East 2014 props and merchandise, but that might've been more in Necrophone Games' hands than Imagos Films'.

All of that is with NG. The only thing we had to do with their presence at PAX was a few pictures of us stopping by their booth and bumming around with them.

The 2014 trailer is called Project Pigeon in the Flickr album documenting the set. In the 2016 trailer's behind-the-scenes video, the composer Ryan Ike refers to it as Project Switchhook. Who named them and how were the names chosen? 

Imagos has a tiered naming structure for commercial projects:

CLIENT  -> PRODUCT -> PROJECT -> TITLE

CLIENT = Client (obviously) PRODUCT = Thing the spot is about PROJECT = The specific spot. We may do several spots for one product, so this is how we differentiate. TITLE = The actual spot title.

For the FIRST Jazzpunk spot, the breakdown is like this:

CLIENT = Adult Swim Games / Necrophone Games PRODUCT = Jazzpunk PROJECT = #projectpigeon TITLE = Johnny

For the SECOND Jazzpunk spot:

CLIENT = Necrophone Games PRODUCT = Jazzpunk PROJECT = #projectswitchhook TITLE = 300/1200 Baud Buyman

Who named them and how were the names chosen? 

Anything you see with a "#project" prefix is the PROJECT name. These project names tend to be silly or abstract. This is mostly because some of our projects need to be secret as we shoot them.

I write all of our work, and, as such, name the projects. Much to the confusion and frustration of my business partners :)

In the 2016 trailer's behind-the-scenes video, the composer Ryan Ike refers to it as Project Switchhook. 

A switchhook is an old phone term. It was a physical switch set into a hook for hanging your receiver on. It was an analogue electrical circuit, and could be manipulated by phone phreaks to, you know, DO TEH HACKINGZ. 

Similarly, where did the other title for the 2016 trailer, "300-1200 Baud Buyman," come from?

A baud rate is the rate at which a modem transfers data. Analogue modems used to use these baud rates as indicators of speed or bandwidth, in marketing, much as modern broadband connections use megabit or gigabit ratings.

Without getting too technical, analogue modems transfer data as 1s and 0s by flipping signal frequencies to represent state changes. This is the dumbest way to say this, but a baud rate of 300 means that 300 signal changes can take place per second of connected time. 1200 baud is 1200 signal changes per second.

A top of the line phone modem in the late 80s/early 90s could band between 300 and 1200 baud. Kingmakers and 1337 h4x0rz might have been able to convince their parents to get into a 1440 baud modem. If they were lucky.

This is all pre-millenium phone phreak/hacker stuff. I was exactly the right age, in exactly the right place to have been swept up into all of that as my form of teenage rebellion.

The Jazzpunk world is a cyberpunk inspired pre-digital hackerverse, and I grew up in the height of that, and leaned on those things for the scripts.

The Director is jumping though time, buying goods at a low price and selling them at a high price in the future. In the spot's narrative, that's how the entire endeavor is being funded. He is, however, causing massive inflation in the process.

And he's using a 300/1200 baud modem to transfer himself back into the past, because that is the technology that existed.

#projectpigeon is named such because the pigeon. In the spot. The spot has a pigeon in it.

The 2016 trailer's IMDB page lists someone named Chris Morson as the voice actor for the Director. Is this true? Additionally, do you happen to know who voiced the Editor in the game, or any other voice actors?

Chris is an INCREDIBLE actor. I've worked with him several times, and every one of them has been incredible. Yes, he plays the voice of The Director in the spot, but has nothing to do with the game. 

As well, I also have/had nothing to do with the VO in the game. A shame, because I would be super proud if I had!

Did you/Imagos Films make anything else for Jazzpunk?

Unfortunately, no. I would love to, of course. That series of spots is truly a wonderful time.

I have attached the script for both Johnny and 300/1200 Baud Buyman as a little gift. Enjoy.

[lunarharp]

wip thing...

of my bg3 avatar hellebore. i also did some casual nude studies of my 3 characters which i'll put under a cut... rather unlike me after all. (so WARNING for abrupt non-sexual full Artistic nudity lol...,,,,) (< won't be making a habit of this)

they mean the world to me

[hella1975]

sometimes i think about the fact my grandparents literally overnight just cut us off and im like. how did u even do that. does it torment you

[rosicheeks]

I hope your days aren't as heavy and dark, I am sending all the positive thoughts your way. You deserve the best, fairy princess. <3

😭

[burstingsunrise]

If you managed to process it, I would love to hear a story about your experience at Luke's Fonda show🥰 No pressure though, only if you want😊

funny timing for this, i wrote up a little summary post a while ago and have been kind of working up to posting it.

it's hard, because how do you adequately summarize something that means so much to you? it feels like nothing i say will be enough, but i do want to share some things about it, because i think that will help it feel real. thank u for asking and providing the encouragement. <3 emo bullet points ahead! i tried to focus mainly on show-related things but this experience wasn't just important to me because of the shows, so some of the other stuff sneaks in.

that’s the first thing. it didn’t feel real, and it still kind of doesn’t. because i was only there for a few days, and i spent every morning getting coffee with meg and every night seeing luke perform my favorite album. like…that’s not real. that can’t be real. 

accidentally but unsurprisingly coordinating outfits with meg on night one. the scientology recruiter on the sidewalk recognizing us from the day before when we’d walked by.

stress buying armloads of merch from an incredibly patient and probably at least somewhat high guy who immediately forgot about me, but who i will probably forever remember fondly.

roy and the mustard having a chat in the balcony.

standing in the crowd waiting for the first show to start. all of the anticipation mixed with all these different emotions, and then finally luke appears on stage. sings the opening of a beautiful dream. the lights shine on him more brightly as it crescendos and we finally get a good look at him. i turn to meg and i say “he’s so sparkly.”

comedown on night one. hearing “let me see all the things that i was supposed to see” while i was there. seeing it.

being able to look over at meg meaningfully when certain things happened during the shows, including but not limited to luke’s gratuitous displays of ass. poetic, really.

leaving the venue night one, in a daze. one of the security guys saying “have a good night” on our way out the door. he had no idea. no fucking idea what we’d just been through. have a good night! now that your lives have been changed forever! sausages on the sidewalk.

collapsing in the hotel lobby, quietly reviewing photos and videos, actually being able to do it openly and to talk about it or not talk about it, and to finally start to have it sink in.

staying up way too late, and eventually falling asleep in my new luke shirt.

the woman with the intense boston accent who hopped on the elevator and immediately asked me if the hotel had a coffee shop with a level of desperation in her voice that spoke to me deeply.

finding sam and meghna in line for night two, and the strange euphoria of speaking openly about things I almost never can to people i just met, but also already knew. being annoying and posting the same palm trees. wishing it would have worked out for emie to be there too.

grabbing meg’s hand to pull her into the crowd on night two. the feeling of relief. somehow we did it. two nights, two shows, two opportunities for everything to go wrong, but actually everything (or at least the things that mattered most) went right.

every time luke gazed our direction, on night two, which felt like a lot, and how every time it was kind of unbearable in the best way. because it’s him and because he was singing songs that mean so much to me while it felt like he was staring into my soul, and because i could look over at meg and know she knew exactly what i was feeling.

the shows going by so fast. i tried so hard to be in the moment and appreciate every second, but it was such a strange, out of body experience. this was something i’d daydreamed about and pictured in my head, but i never thought it was a real possibility. and even in my daydreams, i couldn’t fathom being that close to luke and being there with meg while it happened. it felt surreal that these things were actually happening to me.

the way luke smiled during the breakdown in mum, but also looked like he was dying so beautifully during place in me. admiring his large mouth during slip away. (it really does some riveting things to hit those points of emphasis.)

all the times he ran his hands through his hair to push it back off his forehead. all the times it fell right back where it was. the way he started the shows with it styled, but by comedown it was already just a perfect mess.

his silver nails and his new necklaces and the way his eyes sparkled.

night two, when luke started singing the new bloodline verse. that moment of “what is this? i don’t know this?” it hits different when it’s a song you know so well it’s like it’s a part of you, and suddenly there’s something new to it. thinking about those new lyrics, where they came from, how long they’ve existed, when and why luke decided to add them in, but just for night two.

the talking breaks, ranging from “i’m fuckin’ terrified” early on night one to “can you see my nipples in this shirt” late on night two. octopuses hanging from the ceiling. he didn’t know if anyone would like the album. but he knows we like to scream. making the album was such a very him thing to do, and it’s friday, and he’s in love.

the confetti cannon going off during starting line on night two, being positioned so it rained confetti into my hair, into my purse, down my shirt. it was blue and white and silver because of course it was, because luke thinks about these things.

his smiles and waves and little bows at the end. the shuffle step off stage and the way i watched his back disappear into the darkness until i couldn’t see him at all.

spending both shows with my hands clasped over my heart. it wasn’t a conscious choice. it’s just where they landed.

being stuck in the crowd after the night two show ended, surrounded by groups of people taking pictures of each other’s mascara tears or lying facedown in the confetti. seeing myself in some of those photos a few days later on twitter. and not just those photos - photos from the stage too. the photo luke posted (and took down). and the photo where meg and i are looking up at him with lovestruck smiles.

walking down hollywood boulevard at night, almost silent. walking down the other side of hollywood boulevard the next night, dodging drunk people, talking about luke’s nipples.

making the most absurd pouty face and waving pathetically on the elevator as i left meg on the 9th floor for the last time, then trying not to sob stepping out onto the 16th.

the trip home. feeling physically awful from several days living on iced lattes, kind bars, and no sleep. emotionally drained, sad to be leaving luke and la and meg. sitting at the airport, wishing i could be with my friends at the beach instead.

getting home, unpacking, tucking away my confetti for safekeeping. so incredibly happy but also so devastated to know that it really is possible to have it all, but only for a few days. grateful i had the chance at all, and that it worked out as well as it did.

[mymarifae]

i hope everyone's prepared for me to become the most annoying person ever in 13 more hours

[peapod20001]

I actually do have very complex thoughts about many different things, it’s just a bit challenging to connect the inner voice to the outer voice sometimes </3

[paragonrobits]

some important calvin and hobbes facts in case you haven't read the original comic strip in a long time or only absorbed stuff on it from memes and out of context bits on here:

Calvin's last name has never been given, and neither has any of his parent's names. This was actually why his uncle Max only showed up for a brief storyline; the creator of the comic, Bill Watterson, ultimately felt that while it was fine to have him as someone for his parents to talk to, it felt far too awkward to never have Max refer to them by name and he never made a return appearance.

The general tone of the comic is fairly light-hearted, with a big emphasis on goofy slapstick comedy contrasted by clever wordplay and often surprising adult-centered jokes that'll hit you like a slap. A big part of the comedy is, as Watterson put it (paraphrased) "It's really funny to me when people express deeply stupid ideas with really fancy terminology." One notable example you might have seen is that one bit where Calvin asks his mom for money to buy a Satan-worshiping rock album and his mom replies that there's nothing genuine about them and they're just putting on the attitude for shock value, and comisserates with Calvin as he deplores that mainstream nihilism can't be trusted. He concludes that childhood is disillusioning.

There is a LOT of criticism of the extreme materialism and selfish mentality of the late 80s, when the comic was initially written. This may go a long way to explain how its aged so well; much of what it criticizes resonates well with people today.

Bill Watterson views comic strips a legitimate form of artwork, and repeatedly fought to have more space to draw more beautiful and artistic backgrounds, which was a very hard fight and unpopular even with other comic strip artists. He eventually did win some compromises and a lot of Calvin And Hobbes' artwork shows it, with the use of space to indicate time as well as a sharp contrast between the often plain environments of mundane life contrasted by the wildly beautiful imagery of Calvin's imagination (which often sports realistic depictions in an art shift of sorts).

Hobbes is explicitly not an imaginary friend, by word of Watterson himself. We don't know WHAT he is exactly, and Hobbes is apparently unaware of the strange nature of his reality; people look at him and only see an ordinary stuffed tiger plushie, but he has a tangible effect on the world that would be physically impossible for Calvin to do on his own. He's apparently been around for a while, and was apparently around when Calvin was a young baby.

On that note; Hobbes has implicitly killed (notably treated as both a gag and also with the vibe of 'he's a tiger, duh') and while he doesn't do it again on-screen, he doesn't have any moral issues about it. Calvin claims that he's never had trouble bringing Hobbes to school because the last time he did, Hobbes killed and ate a bully named Tommy Chestnut and simply comments that it was gross and he needed a bath. Calvin's tried to repeat this again, but Hobbes was grossed out at the thought having to eat a kid raw and not being allowed to use an oven first, or complaining that children are too fattening.

Hobbes became gradually less human-like in body language and more like an actual cat in both body language and behavior; this was due to Watterson drawing more inspiration from his cat, who also inspired a lot of Hobbes' running gags, such as pouncing on Calvin when he got home. Several years into the syndication of the strip, Watterson's cat passed away, and he did a tribute to her with a comic strip of the two of them agreeing to try to dream together so they can keep playing when they have to sleep; Watterson's commentary (if I recall right), remarks on his cat: "We can see each other again in dreams."

[nerdieforpedro]

💯

As I often do, I've seen a few posts going around lately lamenting the lack of interaction with fanfiction/fanart here on Tumblr as well as AO3, but after reading a particular comment last night I just need to say this:

If someone tells you that the lack of response to sharing their writing is making them feel so upset that they're thinking of quitting writing altogether, don't tell them that's not a good mindset to have and they should just have fun with it and write for themselves. (have you just tried not being sad? you'll feel so much better!)

Even if you're a writer who felt that way once upon a time but then you changed your mindset so that you don't rely on others' feedback for validation and now you're so much happier, that's not helpful. Because that's obviously not what the person who is feeling sad and defeated is able to do right now, and for most writers/creators that's never going to be possible.

And it shouldn't have to be.

Especially here. Especially fanfiction.

Fanfiction is something that's created because someone loves something and wants to share it with others who love the same thing. And this is specifically a fandom space, somewhere that is supposed to be a community where discussion and dialogue can and is encouraged to happen between the people who write and the people who read. So when there's radio silence when you share something in this kind of space, do you really not see how that would be discouraging?

Because of course I write for myself - I would never get anything down on the page if I didn't - but I share because ultimately I want someone else out there to read what I wrote, and with any luck, to get some joy out of it. But if no one tells me they did, how am I supposed to know? As far as I know I've just been yelling into the void. As far as I know, all that work wasn't worth it.

A metaphor I've seen as an example is that it would be like having someone invite you over and cooking an entire delicious, heartfelt meal, you eat it all without saying anything, and then just leave. Do you not see how that would be upsetting?

We put so much of ourselves into what we write, bits of our hearts and souls and the things that we love and are exploring and are interested in or confused about. It's such a vulnerable thing to share something you've created, so when you tell someone that they shouldn't care if someone else reads what they wrote or tells them that they liked it, you're dismissing a very real and valid experience for so many creators out there.

Because regardless of how slow or fast a writer is, or how big or small their fandom is, it's still hard and takes time and energy and dedication and love - all of it in between our day to day lives from the mundanities to the heartbreaks - to even get something to the point where we're comfortable sharing.

Now, I know that not everyone thinks that writers are silly or selfish or entitled when they ask for feedback. Before I started writing again after many, many years, the main reason I didn't really comment on fics very often wasn't because I didn't think that the authors deserved feedback, it was more that I didn't really think that it would matter. That my comments would just be noted - if read at all - and brushed aside and then they would continue on about their day.

I could not have possible been more wrong. You might think you're just one person and it's just one comment but it's amazing how it can turn a day (or week, or month) around. How it can encourage someone to finish a story, or make a connection they'd been struggling with, or even just manage to add 500 words to a WIP. It is truly incredible to hear that someone loved something I wrote, and if you've ever commented on or reblogged one of my fics, please know that it truly means the world to me.

I've gone through a rough time with all of this lately myself, but I'm doing a bit better now (for the moment), so I just wanted to say this, in part to remind myself when it inevitably gets hard again:

If you're reading this, whether you're a friend or you've never seen me on your dash and never will again: I'm sorry it hurts right now. I'm sorry you feel discouraged and lonely, that it doesn't feel like it's worth it anymore, that you're struggling to find a reason to continue.

But I desperately hope that you keep writing. I hope you keep sharing. You're worth it. I know it's hard, and if you don't want to and you're just tired of the cycle of giving so much of yourself and getting so little in return, I understand that, too. It's ok to be in your feelings about it, it's ok to feel drained by it, and even though knowing you're not alone in your experience doesn't change anything and it still sucks, it's normal and valid and there's nothing wrong with you feeling the way that you do.

But I hope that you are able to find the joy in it again, because you deserve it. ❤️

[tonycries]

Unmistakably Yours - G.S.

Synopsis. In which the strongest bends space and time - literally - after coming back from deatḣ, to do what he’s always wanted to do - you.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, best friends to lovers, Satoru goes a little (very) INSANE, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, manga spoilers, use of jujutsu powers, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, féral Satoru, heinous things, happy ending, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.5k

A/N. Yeahhh that poll was cooking up something devious heheh. Gege give me back my man.

Gojo Satoru was going to kill someone.

He was going to kill someone and it didn’t matter who. It didn’t matter how. It didn’t even matter if he had to haul his broken body - scarred and barely-healed - out of this stiff infirmary bed, because the great Gojo Satoru awoke and the world shook.

Because you weren’t here.

“Ah. The oh-so deadest one, I see you’re awake.” Satoru flinches at the sharp, exhausted drawl from his left. 

Slowly, he blinks away the haze in his aching eyes, desperately trying to adjust to the cold room. Shoko’s voice was too loud. The lights too bright. His waiting arms too empty - where were you? 

With a low hiss, Satoru’s body is moving before his mind, sitting up like a man possessed. Goosebumps prickle his skin as the thin blanket falls off his shoulders. Temples throbbing because the world was spinning and spinning and you-

“Calm down, Satoru.” Shoko sounds almost panicked now - as much as she could, anyway. Uselessly trying to push him back onto the mattress. “I don’t care if you’re the ‘strongest’. Sukuna did a number on you and you have to rest-”

“Where is she?”

---

It was the final nail on your coffin - that slight, steady rumble beneath your feet. So fleeting that you’d written it off as your weary brain, too goddamn tired from today. Heaving out a sigh, you rub your eyes in frustration, so fucking alone in this too-large penthouse. 

Fingers jittery, you rifle through your best friend’s closet for his box of blindfolds, because you knew he’d be complaining about the sensory overload at the infirmary if- when he woke up. Though, you think that was more an excuse for Shoko to send your wrecked self away than anything. 

Grabbing a few more than necessary, your heart lurches as you eye that dusty framed photo by his bedside. A much younger Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you - probably the last time any of you smiled so carelessly. 

One dead and the other just on the cusp of it.

He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’s the strongest, right?

Swallowing heavily, you try to put your mind to something - anything - other than the memory of that battlefield and the blood. So much blood. Everywhere. 

God, you should’ve stayed. What if Satoru-

That was when you felt it. 

The tight, uncomfortable feeling of atoms standing at attention all around you. The air was so stagnant and heavy that it was almost hard to breathe. 

You don’t know how you realize what it is - but you don’t get the chance to wonder about it either. Because the thought has barely even crossed your mind before everything else is thrown at the window at those two words. 

Hoarse, and whispered, voice ever-so-slightly cracking at the end. One you recognized, one you knew you always would.

“My love?”

Satoru.

It was a miracle that you didn’t get whiplash from how fast you whirled around to face the doorway - and it was an even bigger miracle that you didn’t trip at how your legs were carrying you to that tall, familiar flash of white hair without a second thought. 

Hell, you don’t think you’ve ever run this fast in your life, and it still wasn’t quick enough when Satoru engulfed you in his arms. Letting out a soft sigh as he hugs you tight enough that it hurt, like he never wanted to let go. 

All familiar warmth and a rapid heartbeat that matched your own. 

A shiver runs down your spine at that scent of the infirmary, tinged with something so dangerously metallic, miles away from the usual hints of pine and candy. But you only pull Satoru closer - not even realizing the tears staining his snug t-shirt, nails digging into his sculpted back. 

“S-Satoru?” you murmur wetly, as if you still couldn’t believe it - even when you were in his strong arms. 

It killed you to pull away, and Satoru wasn’t any better, pulling you firmly to his heated body with a guttural grunt as soon as you showed any signs of shifting away. Grip almost bruising, fingers tight on your hips. But you didn’t mind, why would you? 

Because the strongest was nothing under your will - he always was. And it’s only once you break the embrace just a fraction of an inch that you confirm that this actually was Satoru - your Satoru. 

“You’re here.” you breathe out unsteadily, not knowing where to look first - his heaving chest, as if he’d run all the way here, or those faint scars along his exposed skin. Jagged, running down his pale skin like he was too impatient - too distracted - to let them heal properly. Satoru’s face was scarily blank, pretty lips set in a tight grimace like every second you weren’t locked in his arms killed him. 

He doesn’t answer - like he didn’t know himself. Nervously, you raise your eyes to meet his and-

Oh, Satoru, he was here. Alive.

Looking like he was ready to make sure that no one else was.

You just wondered where they’d pile all the casualties. Too many to bury at Jujutsu High if those tiny blue flickers of lightning at the corners of Satoru’s eyes were anything to go by. 

Gaze hooded, pupils blown, he didn’t look at you with that usual warmth. No, he looked at you like a man that had crawled back from death just to rip you apart. And you had half the mind to wonder whether this was some special grade curse that had just come disguised as your best friend. 

“Are you okay?” you try again, raising a hand to cup his cheek. “Toru?”

Oh, you might as well have just signed your own will, because no sooner are the words out of your mouth before Satoru’s jolting. Like the mere sound of that stupid little nickname from high school was enough to shock him to his very core. 

Electrify him just enough to finally look at you like it was the first time. Like he was seeing you after a thousand years. “My love.”

There it was again, that quiet, strained little mantra. 

Followed very closely by the deafening slam! of the door behind him, so hard that you spy one of the hinges rattling off. Startled, you look over Satoru’s broad shoulders just to catch a glimpse of the single, large handprint charred into the wood, slight steam wafting from his hand.

Shit. He’s lost it.

Almost like the strongest has forgotten his restraint - or didn’t care about it either way. Heated, you wondered what this boded for you. 

Will you be lucky number one on his kill list? You wonder, as Satoru presses his mouth right above your pulse. Racing. Dangerous. Feeling the rapid thump! thump! thump! under his lips.

Breathing you in, dragging his nose up, up, up- He mutters into your skin, “Y’can kill me if you don’t want this.” Will you go down - if there’s anyone left to remember, that is - as the casualty that surely and officially signaled the honored one’s descent into madness? Only the second best friend he had to kill?

Or, Satoru pulls away slowly from his little haven, breath ghosting your lips as he gasps out a shaky, “No God can take me away without doing this.” Will it be something else entirely?

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. 

Because fuck, how could you not? This is Satoru, and this is all you’ve ever wanted since those late night convenience store runs in high school, hand-in-hand and teleporting away from a furious Yaga.

The same Satoru that had cockily winked at you goodbye before facing Sukuna - leaving you crying with nothing to hold onto but those cold, cold hands and wishes that you’d have just fucking kissed him before. Maybe even put aside your pride to just tell him.

But none of that mattered now, because Satoru was so desperate - drinking you in like you were the last breath of air on Earth. Like it hurt more to part with your lips than it was to be cleaved in half.

Such a mess of teeth and saliva, and you were addicted. Drunk off his sweet taste - like candy, almost, and those cheap mochi he always got from downtown - and the electricity pricking at you each time your skin grazed against his.

It almost hurt - but it hurt so good.

Gasping, you pull away for air - impossible with the way Satoru was like a madman, kissing your swollen lips again and again and-

“Toru!” you squeal, muffled through his lips. “Aren’t you-” His mouth drops into a soft oh! at the delicate strings of saliva snapping in the non-existent space between you two. Surging forward like he couldn’t help himself. “Battlefield- mmpf- now?”

With a pained grunt, Satoru finally halts, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. And if you were in any better state of mind, maybe you’d have noticed the brief flicker of blue lightning all over his body. The way the lights flicker. 

“Special curtain.” he pants against your open mouth, a muscled thigh shoving between your weakening legs. “Time barely passes in here.”

You don’t know what your head is reeling more from his words or his hands - hands that kill - caressing you like a lover everywhere. Unable to decide between your hips, to your ass, to your pretty pretty face. Kiss-bitten lips uttering, “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“So?” Satoru lets out a humorless laugh. About an octave higher than usual, like he was at the end of his rope now. Eyes hazy and glowing, looking as if it took everything in him to not just tear off that uniform and take you right now. 

“But-”

“Shut up and let me ruin you, my love.”

Your back is hitting the mattress before you can even start to wonder what the fuck is happening. One second standing at the doorway and the other all sprawled out on Satoru’s bed.

Besides yourself, you blurt out, trying to make sense of the situation to both of you two. “Did- did you just teleport us?”

“Don’t know.” he answers. And Satoru sounded like he genuinely didn’t know, as bewildered as you were. Powers acting before him - way, way before he can think - as he fists your shirt in his hands. “Don’t care.”

And you half wondered whether Satoru was even aware of what he was doing as he pulls, down, down down. 

Rip!

It tears through the air - both the sound, and the way he’s just pulling your shirt to shreds. All depravity and no repentance as Satoru throws it behind God-knows-where. Buttons hitting the floor at a maddening little rhythm to which he was slowly losing his sanity. 

He was kissing you like he was angry - taking it out on your poor clothes. Because before you know it, he’s pulling your bra off. Fingers searing on your skin, skirt just tatters on the floor. 

“Waited too long.” he groans, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “Always wanted to do this.” And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into the valley of your breasts, “Ever since I first saw you and oh-”

That was it - only one look at your panties, all flimsy and drenched - and you’re back to wondering what Satoru’s kill count would be. You shudder as his eyes widen, letting out a strangled gasp from some deep, primal part of himself. Voice so broken and starved as he muses, “-can’t believe I waited this long.”

Shit. You weren’t making it out alive.

Immediately, Satoru’s dropping further down the mattress, easily pushing your knees up all the way till they were at your breasts. 

And it was so unfair. 

Unhair how he was still fully clothed, while you were spread so shamefully. Unfair how he was sliding his underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Up and down, up and down up and- Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips before pulling, marveling at how sinfully soaked they were. 

And it was like something snapped - maybe his whatever restraint he had left, probably you by the end of this. Because just a split-second later, Satoru’s tearing right through your panties. Not even taking a second to breathe before burying his pretty face into your dripping cunt. 

Unfair how you were liking it so dangerously. Being so used. 

And Satoru knows - he thinks, with whatever rationality he has left intact - that he wants to admire your pretty lil’ cunt. To finally drink in what he’s been dreaming about for years all these lonely nights. But, no, that’s for later - for a different Satoru, one that didn’t feel like he was going to fucking die if he didn’t taste you right now. 

“Ah! Hngh- T-Toru-” you arch into his hot tongue, as he licks erratically up your folds, long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Lapping at your juices like he couldn’t stop.

“Tha’s right.” words muffled into your cunt. Throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders. “Gimme more, use me. Use me- fuck fuck fuck- yeah.”

He sounded as delirious as you were already, flinching with each word spat into your sensitive cunt. Drunk off your pussy and so messy, like he was well and fully intent on ruining you. 

And it’s all you can do to sob so needily as he swirls his tongue around your sensitive clit. Seemingly unable to decide between sucking on it harshly and dipping into your sloppy hole. In and out. Wanting everything. Anything. 

“Fuck. S’too deep. Sh-shit.”

“Oh yeah?” he’s grinning, a cruel, cold little grin. You can feel it as he rolls his tongue against your clit over and over. “S’not deep enough.”

You pathetically try to close your legs around his head in shock, as the tips of his long fingers spread open your pussy further, teasing your entrance. 

But who were you against the strongest? The one that got everything handed to him on a silver platter since birth? Except you - until now, that is.

Because Satoru’s swatting thighs back open like it was a mere inconvenience, and feel your cunt clench in- fear? Anticipation? as you realize how gently he was throwing you around like a ragdoll, in comparison to that door from earlier. 

“No.” he sounds absolutely wrecked, babbling around your throbbing clit. “Need this- need you.”

And then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, so greedily that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Drinking in your pretty gasps of his name as he roams for that one spot he knows will have you seeing stars - only the best for his girl, right? The only thing on his mind right now, like a predator starved.

You can only tug on his hair and buck wildly underneath him, inching Satoru closer to where he was desperately searching for. Close - so close. 

“Toru-” you moan, like a prayer. 

But it wasn’t fast enough. 

Not for Satoru, at least.

Even through the haze in your eyes, you could make out that brief flash of electric blue in-between your legs, eyes widening as ah-

That cheat. 

You wondered if he even knew he was using his powers right now. Or whether Satoru was too far gone at this point. Way too smug with the way he hits that one spot. Hard. 

Ah, you quiver as something so dark sparks in his eyes. Looking like a man starved, that had finally come across his favorite meal. Moving with frightening accuracy as he pumps his fingers in and out, hitting it each and every time. 

“Shit, ngh-” you let out a shrill moan, “It’s too good. You’re so fucking-” 

One hand was so messy toying with your dripping entrance - the other digging into your hips. Dragging your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. 

Hard enough that you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. If you even made it that long, that is, if the tiny shocks of electricity at his fingertips told you anything. 

Desperate. Violent, even.

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. “Fuck- m’cumming m’cumming, fuck fuck fuck-” You’re shaking as you cum, crying out Satoru’s name and delirious little moans that you’d otherwise be embarrassed of. 

And he doesn’t stop. Not when you’re blinking your vision back. Not when you’re shying away from his tongue, the stars behind your eyes too much with each flick of his tongue. 

“S’too much- too- fuck, sensitive, Toru.” you whine, big fat tears clinging to your lashes. 

Ah, there it was again. Just when Satoru was beginning to think that he might just be veering into a state of mind that could be considered sane - you have to call him that goddamn nickname again. And it’s only driving him wild. 

Well, he muses, fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt, it’s really on you then. 

You let out a fucked-out little whine as Satoru finally takes his shirt off, revealing such milky, toned skin. All sharp curves and dips like he was sculpted so meticulously, going down, down, down and- Your breath hitches at the large, pink scar standing out of his torso, so uneven and fresh that you feel a fresh wave of tears - different ones, this time. 

You take a steadying breath, eyes unmoving from the injury. “Satoru-”

“No.” Satoru’s tone is firm, so different from the metallic tinkling of his belt. He was moving now, shifting in between your legs to kiss those tears away. “Need this. Need you. Need you need you need you so bad-”

“But your…” you trail off. The words catch in your throat as he finally unbuckles his belt, pulling down his pants just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, soaked in precum. 

He was so…massive. Now, you expected your best friend to have a big dick, but this was ridiculous. He was so intimidatingly long, thick enough that you could feel the slick beading out of your sloppy hole already.

Yeah, you definitely weren’t making it out alive. 

Satoru sees it too, of course, because his cock twitches furiously. A low hiss leaving those pretty pink lips before he’s spitting on your quivering cunt. Once. Twice. 

And you know that if this shameless bastard could use six eyes to find your g-spot, then he could’ve done the same for this. But, no, he lets some of it miss, splattering against your inner thigh, smearing all over as Satoru thumbs in his saliva with your slick. 

God, he was treating you like some object. Wordlessly throwing your legs over his shoulders, dragging his weeping tip down your swollen folds. So fucking filthy. 

And then you feel like you’re been split apart - because Gojo Satoru was unforgiving. As was his aching cock. He’s barely even pressing through the first ring of muscle, and you already feel like he’s pushing all the way into your lungs. 

“T-Toru.” you yelp, glancing down at the way your pussy was stretched so lewdly around his thick cock. Quivering as he keeps pushing and pushing and- no mercy. Absolutely none at all. “Can feel you so deep inside ngh- I don’t think I can…” 

“No no no no no-” he’s panting into your open mouth. Fucking into your heavenly cunt in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to squeeze deeper inside. “Need this. Want this. Always did. God, fuck fuck fuck, you can do it-”

“But-”

God, Satoru can’t help but kiss you - to shut those cute lil’ whines up more than anything, he’s sure he’ll cum right there and right now if he didn’t. 

Because Satoru wasn’t any better. Body bowing into yours, eyes rolling to the back of his head, mouth falling into a delirious oh! as he finally bottoms out. Balls smacking your ass too hard, your pussy too tight, you too beautiful underneath him. 

Blindly, he reaches for the headboard - white-knuckling it so hard that it’s a wonder it doesn’t break. 

It does - and later you’ll find a pile of splinters behind the bed. It’s just that neither of you notice. Too high off the feeling of Satoru’s cock pushing inside you. You’re clawing at his back now, gasping for air. Letting him fold you in half to filthily lick away the tears pooling at your cheeks. 

“Shit- y’got this, my love. You gotta- ah- Breathe-” he can’t even speak properly, sharp tongue so heavy. Eyes glowing with such insanity as he rocks his hips harder into yours.

He was right - you needed to breathe. To finally wrap your head around the fact that this was Satoru - your best friend - the same one that binge-watches sappy rom-coms with you after every breakup. Every. Single. One. Somehow, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Both of you were barely-lucid at this point. And he was out of control now.

Funny, how in all his dreams when you were screaming his name - Satoru was always suave, methodical, playing with your pretty pussy like a fine instrument. Right now, he was anything but. Sloppy - like he didn’t have enough time, never would, even in this room where time slowed.

“Don’t you run away.” he grunts at the way you’re so adorably torn between running away from his cock and bucking for more more more- “Waited twelve fucking years for this. N’ m’gonna take it.”

You almost sob at the pressure as he laces his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper. Down, down, down. “S’too good, Toru. Wan’ more-”

“More.” Satoru breathes, more to himself than anything. Eyes widening almost comically, a fucked-out smile spreading all over his face. “Y’want more even when you’re filled to-” He traces an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “Here?”

“Yes.” you gasp as he reaches down to toy with your throbbing clit, drawing tight, frenzied little circles. Balls smacking your ass so painfully, thumb pressing down right where his tip was hitting your cervix - as if he used six eyes to see. “Always wanted more. Always have, Toru.”

And you swear you could see something physically snap inside Satoru. Because his eyes glaze over, grin dropping instantly from his face. 

If you weren’t so cockdrunk maybe you’d have caught the way the bedroom lights flicker, the one down the hallway bursting. 

“Always, huh?” he’s muttering, grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Wanted more like me?” Rocking into you so sloppily, cock twitching so painfully as he speeds up. Fingers just as desperate - as depraved as his hips.

And this time, he doesn’t even have to use six eyes to find that one spot. Knowing your body well enough to hit it over and over until you were sobbing. “More more more more- fuckin’ take it then.”

At this point you didn’t know whether Satoru was always this ruthless in bed or you’d just broken him. It felt so good that it was almost scary. And your delirious mind wandered into the thought that maybe the bed would break - and your bones to follow. 

Well, they would have if Satoru hadn’t been using reversed cursed technique. But you didn’t need to know that just yet. 

“Satoru-” you squeal as he only gets more erratic.  “I’m…”

“Close?” Satoru’s grunting, smacking his lips against your own.

It’s laughable, really, that muffled question - because Satoru knew you were close. Losing his fucking mind, actually, at how you were squeezing so hard around him. Balls squeezing so painfully right now, but he wanted you to cum first - needed you to cum first.

“Yeah, so close. Wan’ cum- Ah! Please-”

“Then cum. Fucking cum, wan’ed this so bad.” he’s babbling deliriously. Little sparks of lightning visible even to your glassy eyes, fingers humming with a dangerous little energy that stimulated you so good. “Yeah, yeah yeah yeah fucking cum, wanna hngh-”

And then you are. So sudden and hard that you don’t even realize it at first. Just that you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Rocking your hips into Satoru’s like such a slut. 

Oh, if heaven was really then the part of Satoru that can still form coherent thoughts thinks this just might be it. 

Because only the sight of you creaming all around his swollen cock and he’s cumming and cumming so hard that it hurts. Thick, hot ropes of cum that he can’t seem to stop. Doesn’t want to stop, and God he thinks he could cum until you beg and beg and beg it’s too much. Until you’re yelling for-

“Mercy!” you moan, head spinning with how fucking overfilled your pussy was. “Please, Toru-”

Satoru lets out a slight gasp, “Mercy?” Chuckling so cruelly at your dazed nod, “No mercy, my love. None at all.”

And God, it was so fucking hard to look at him too - eyes half-lidded and miles away, flushed and looking like he was anywhere but laid out on a hospital bed just a few minutes ago. In fact, Satoru looked like he was in heaven on Earth as he only milked his painfully hard cock on your snug pussy.

Pretty. Always so fucking pretty. 

And he kept whispering that, over and over in your ear as you both ride out your highs. Oh how he loved you.

Your eyes fly open, and Satoru knew he’d said that out loud. Shit. But, well, with the way you were immediately pulling him to collapse into your arms, he thinks he really doesn’t mind.

“Love you, love you. Love you so much. Always did, always wanted to love you- to fuck you.” You barely even notice him marking down your neck, sharp canines digging into the flesh like he wanted to break something. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood. “To ruin you.”

It was oozing out of you, both Satoru’s cum - dribbling down your legs in thick globs, pooling on the overpriced sheets below - and his power. Jolts of electricity running down all the way from your poor, abused cunt to your hazy mind. 

“So do it.” The air was crackling - crackling with intensity and the smell of jujutsu. It was in your veins, in your words as you whisper, “Ruin me. You’re the- ngh- only- one f’me, Toru. Always was.”

The lights go out. All of them - all across Tokyo, in fact. Shining so bright that it was blinding, until they burst. The last thing you see are his eyes - electrified with blue lightning, burning into your brain. 

And then it’s black. 

---

“I’ll be back before ya know it, my love.” he whispers against your forehead, cooing at the way you stir sleepily. “Gotta pest to take care of.”

Taking down that curtain wasn’t the hard part, the hard part was actually fucking regaining his senses enough to do so. 

And now, all cleaned up and fucked to sleep on his bed, you were looking so unbearably delectable that it made some part of Satoru just want to stay behind this curtain. To forget the waiting sorcerers on the battlefield. Saving the world be damned.

Well, no matter, Satoru had time. He was the strongest, right? After all, how could he give you the world if there was no world to give?

“N’ when I’m back, m’gonna kiss ya to death till you go out with me. Till everyone knows you’re unmistakably mine.”

A/N. GET IT - that unmistakable bit from the panel? 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[imaginarypasta]

one of the things i’ve noticed that changes between this series and the last is the newfound emphasis on diplomacy & decorum. i do understand why, both in how the narrative changes w the introduction of new ideas and frameworks as well as how it might want to adapt to have its own voice, themes, etc. but gone are the days of yes-anding oneself into strange situations and in are those of yet another scene highlighting the importance of a letter of introduction—and that was personally a huge reason why i liked the original series so much. i don’t even mind like diplomacy as a narrative device when it’s equipped in interesting ways but when it’s constant introductions to new characters that go relatively similarly every time & a very clear narrative voice insisting that original solution wouldn’t work when it’s 1. more interesting to me personally and 2. not even working any better practically, then that starts to get super boring

[cryptictongues]

The Thrill of the Chase

pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Mutant!Reader rating: Explicit (MINORS DNI; 18+) word count: 7.1K summary: Logan ate part of your sandwich, so you stole his cigars. Things turn out differently from what you were expecting.

warnings: fluff and smut, teasing, slight predator/prey trope, banter, making out, dirty talk, oral (f and m receiving), vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, squirting, soft!dom Logan

Author's Note: My first Logan fic! X-Men used to be my world and the fact it is making a comeback has rejuvenated me. Also, I was picturing Logan from the first three trilogies but DOFP!Logan also crossed my mind so :)

Please read my pinned post before following me! Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked as this blog’s content is NSFW.

[AO3 link]

It was getting close to evening, everyone doing their own thing to unwind after a long day of classes and teaching. You had planned to do the same thing, planning to grab a quick bite in the kitchen before getting ready to relax in your room. You were whipping up a quick and easy sandwich, assembling it onto a plate before moving it to the island in the middle of the kitchen. You went to get a soda from the cupboard, only for your skin to raise as you sense something is about to happen: a certain someone was about to come take your sandwich. 

“If you take one bite out of my sandwich Logan, I will kick your ass.”

You turn to see him, eyes wide along with his mouth, about to chomp into your dinner. He closes his mouth, only for him to keep the sandwich in his hands and an “innocent” smile on his face. 

“Oh, you mean this sandwich?” 

You shut the cupboard door, walking over to him with a stern, playful look. You know he is messing with you. That has been the dynamic of your relationship with him. Ever since he decided to stay here at the school and join the X-Men, you two have grown closer and closer, enjoying each other’s company over anyone else. It didn’t matter what either of you did. You both thrived in the presence of one another. 

But something that has become common practice as of late was playful in nature. You both have always teased, but it has recently ramped up. If one of you started it, the other would find a way to end it before starting again. It was the push and pull between the two of you that you loved, and it has only made you long for him. You want to believe he feels the same, but even your mutation of precognition can’t fully confirm that. 

“Yes, that is my sandwich. I worked very hard on it. I'll have you know.” You are standing in front of him now, having to look up at him slightly as you wait for his next move. 

“I’m sure you did. It looks delicious.” He says, but rather than looking at the food, he is looking right at you. Cheeky bastard.

“Y-yeah, which is why I am asking you to put it down so I may enjoy it.” 

“I don’t know. I think I wanna have a taste first.” 

His hazel eyes are staring you down, almost begging for you to make a move. In reality, you really didn’t care if he ate it. You could easily make another and enjoy dinner with him. But you know that isn’t what he is doing right now. He is playing with you, wanting to rile you up. Well, it takes two to play that game.

“That sandwich is very precious to me. I’d think before you act.”

“Oh yeah?” He smirks, bringing his face closer to yours. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I’ll take something precious of yours.” 

He chuckles, turning his face to the sandwich. “I’d like to see you try, sweetheart.”

He takes a huge bite out of your sandwich, his eyes closing as he chews. You purse your lips, watching him savor your meal with gusto. You know he is overexaggerating to truly get at you, but little does he know you have a trick up your sleeve.

“Enjoying my meal?” 

He turns back to you, swallowing before licking his lips. “Very much. I may have to take another bite.”

You get up in his space, settling onto your tippy toes so your face is by his ear. You let your breath waft against his skin, causing a shiver to shake his core. You can tell he is anticipating what you will do, always highly enjoying your responses to his antics. Oh, he is so in for it.

“That’s okay. You can have it.” You let your pointer finger trace his collarbone that is very much on display from his white, fitted tank. “And you want to know why that is, Logan?”

He takes a deep breath, very apparent that your actions are doing something to him. His left hand lets go of the sandwich to settle on your hip, squeezing the flesh slightly to ground himself. It is actions like that that make you believe you do something to him. Like you drive him just as insane as he does to you. You bring your left hand to his head, pulling him down so you can really get into his ear. 

“That’s because I know where you keep your special cigars from Cuba, and I am going to take them.”

You couldn’t have run fast enough. You are already shooting for the stairs, taking two steps at a time as you speed to his room. You knew it had taken him a second to realize what had happened because by the time you got to his floor, you heard him yelling your name. 

You burst into his room, locking it quickly. It was only to buy some time, for you knew he had a key. You were giggling as you went to his bookcase, plucking out the blue, hardcover history book. You open it, and smile as you see the unopened cigars there in the deep hole where text used to be. Just as you close the book, you hear heavy footsteps reach the door and a jingle of keys.

You panic, needing to find a way out before he opens the door. You could run around him, but you needed a head start. You could hide and wait for him to leave but you knew he’d sniff you out. There was only one option left, and that was to go out his bedroom window. You hear the key enter the lock, and with a quickness you didn’t think you had, you unlocked his window and flung it open. Just as the door busted open, you crawled out. You grasped onto the ivy that clung to the school’s exterior and began to climb down. 

“Oh, when I get my hands on you, you are in for it!”

You look up to see Logan’s head popping out the window. He has a scowl on his face, but you could see the wild look in his eyes. You knew he was enjoying this, for he loves the chase.

“This is for taking my sandwich!” You yell, and continue making your descent. 

You hear the window close, which makes you go faster, knowing he is rushing down those stairs to meet you at the bottom. You could sense that he would go to the front door, so once your feet touch the grassy floor you run to the back door. Opening it quickly, you determine your next move. He is probably at the front, ready to intercept you, giving you the opportunity to hide somewhere. 

You rush to the hallway where many of the classes are held. You run into the first classroom you see, its door already open. You see the large oak desk at the back of the classroom, and quietly walk up to it. It has a space for leg room, so with haste you crawl in it, pulling the chair in carefully to not make any sound. 

Your heart was racing, adrenaline thrashing as you hid. You try to steady your breath, trying to keep quiet. The atmosphere has become eerie, the silence defying as you try to keep it that way. You try to listen for any other sounds over your pounding heart, when another wave of cognition hits you. You can see it clearly, where he finds you under the desk, hands on either side to block you in. You know you need to move on, so you go to move the chair, but you suddenly halt when you hear his voice boom nearby.

“Where is she?” 

You cover your mouth, trying to hold in your breathing as well as the gasp that almost shot from your mouth. His voice was coated in gravel, and absolutely primal. Even from afar, it was clear he was worked up, and it made you embarrassingly wet. 

You hear footsteps enter the hallway, heavy boots against the shiny wooden floor. At first, you think you may have a way out, hearing him pass the room you were in, but you aren’t so lucky because you hear him stop. You grip onto the book and your mouth, even though you know it will do absolutely nothing. You know he senses you, and it is confirmed when you hear footsteps enter the room. You hear him inhale deeply, exhaling with sigh only to turn into a deep rumble. 

“I know you are here.” He is slow in taking his steps, and each step gets closer and closer to your hiding place. 

He sniffs deeply again, growling this time around like he was a wild animal. “No point in denying it. I could smell you the second I walked into the hall.”

You know he will find you, and he will block you in. So you decide to take a risk before he closes in on you. You push the chair out far enough to crawl out, before standing up behind the desk. You put your hands up with the book in your left one, trying to show off a sign of surrender. 

“You have nowhere to go, dollface. No point in trying’ to run for I’ll snatch you up real quick.” 

“You must really want your cigars back to block me in like this.” 

He steps even closer, with him now standing right in reach of the book. He could easily grab it and take it, for he is much stronger than you. But he doesn’t make a move, staying glued to his new spot. You don’t know what’s running through his head, his eyes trained on you. It isn’t until he places his hands onto the desk that you take a step back and drop your hands. 

“You’re wrong.”

You raise a brow, not sure what he is getting at. “What do you mean?”

He smirks, leaning his body over the desk. “It isn’t the cigars I’m after. Not anymore.”

Your heart is in overdrive. You know the answer, it is becoming obvious. But you ask anyway. “Then what are you after, Lo?”

“I think you know the answer. Now it is a matter of will you let me take what’s mine.”

You want to give in. You are becoming more aroused by the second, but you are starting to really enjoy the chase. Seeing how much it gets him going, to see this side of him, only makes you want to push him more. You want to see what he will do, especially when he gets his hands on you.

You walk around the desk, book of cigars still in hand, getting closer to him until you are toe to toe with him. “What’s the fun in surrendering?”

He quickly blocks you in, the desk pressed against your back. He has the most seductive, but feral grin upon his lips, like he thinks he has won his prize. His head leans down to yours, forehead against forehead, before he whispers his next sentence against your lips.

“The fun is in what follows.”

His lips are on yours, desperate and needy. You can’t help the moan that leaves your throat, mind going hazy as his lips devour. You have craved him for so long, you want this to last forever. However, you cannot give into him like this. You will not make this easy for him.

One of your hands goes to the hem of his tank, fingers lingering before going under. He feels so solid, the coarse hairs on his tummy spread thick as you go to his left side. You can feel him shudder over you, and you try to hold back the smirk that wants to curve onto your lips. You move your fingers sporadically over the left side of his ribcage, causing him to jump back. This gives you the chance to run like hell.

“Hey! That’s unfair!” You hear him yell and it makes you giggle profusely. You must thank Jean later for letting you in on that little secret; that the broody, grumpy man with the metal bones was insanely ticklish. You wish you could turn to see his full reaction, but you are too determined.

You can hear him running right behind you, and you have never been more aroused. You shouldn’t feel so turned on by Logan chasing you around, but the thrill of the chase was seeping into your loins and you were addicted. 

More people had shown up around the school, meeting with friends to study or hang out for the evening. You were dodging people left and right, and everyone looked perplexed as they saw Logan charging his way towards you. Many of them probably assumed it had to do with the book you were holding, and while they would have been originally right, they are no longer even close. 

You don’t have time to hide again, not with him so close behind. You make it back to the stairs, hauling ass as you try to make it to your room. You can hear him right behind you, breathing heavily and grunting with each step. Your room is at the end of the hall, and you are basically flying with how fast you are running. The second you reach the door, you swing it open and throw yourself in before slamming it. You had gotten it shut, mentally pumping your fist in victory, but by the time you went to turn the lock, it was too late. The door flies open, sending you back a couple feet back as Logan stands at the door's entrance. 

“I have you right where I want you. No more running.”

If looks could kill, you’d be ash. He enters your room, closing the door behind him with his eyes staying on you. He takes one step forward, with him now hovering over your smaller form. The way he is looking at you makes your knees faint, for you felt you could hear what he was revealing with his stare. 

“I still know your weakness, Logan.” You smirk, holding the book up to your face to dodge any attack he was planning. It is pointless, you know, but it is the best defense you’ve got. 

“Do you now?” He walks towards you, in step with you as you go backwards. The back of your knees hit the edge of your bed, telling you that you truly have nowhere else to go. He is right on you, grinning now that he has the upper hand. 

“I’m afraid that book won’t save you from me.” He snatches the book, tossing it to the side of the bed. 

You are in for it. You don’t know what he is planning, and the element of surprise has overcome you. However, with the way he is looking at you, you guarantee that what is about to happen will be just as exhilarating as when he was hunting you down. 

“What do you plan to do with me, hm?” You let your fingertips walk along his chest, dancing all the way down to his side like you did earlier. 

He is quick to grab your hand, bending down to lift you up in his arm before tossing you onto the bed, following swiftly as he pins both hands above your head. 

“Don’t even think about it. I know you all too well.” He growls through his teeth. “As for what I plan on doing, what’s the fun in telling when I can just show you. Would you like that?”

You simply nod, breathless at how he is handling you. However, that wasn’t good enough for him, as he takes hold of your wrists in one hand so his other one can grip your chin.

“I wanna hear you say it, pretty girl.”

You huff, getting frustrated already that he is dragging this out. With your legs still free, you wrap them around his hips, your heels digging into his back causing him to grunt. Your lips are practically on his, faint contact making you antsy. “Show me what you’ve been wanting to do with me.”

Your lips are squashed by his instantly, hunger and desperation clear. His hands go to your thighs, grabbing at the flesh. With your hands free, they go straight to his hair, gripping and tugging on it which causes him to moan hotly into your mouth. 

His hands travel up to the hem of your blouse, pushing the fabric up past your stomach before his hands go under. You moan at the contrast, rough hands, that have been through so much running along your unmarred body. He swallows what you give him, groaning happily at the effects he was causing.

You are in heaven. You never thought you would be here like this with Logan. You never thought you would be under him at his complete mercy. It makes a shiver travel down your spine, traveling right to your core that is a heated mess because of the man before you. To be with the man you have pined for is riveting, and you could cry that he seems to return those feelings.

You don’t know what triggers your mutation, but it is sudden. Your vision goes blurry, a strong aura surrounding you. It is overwhelming, a whimper bubbling from your throat as you see what is about to happen. Logan releases your lips with a grunt, looking at you intensely as you start to shake. You feel his rough hands cup your soft cheeks, stroking them gently. 

Your cheeks feel hot, your vision turning you into a horny mess. Your hands grip onto Logan’s chest trying to ground yourself to reality. It’s too much. Your visions rarely last long for they are just snippets of future events, but this was different. It was as if you were in a trance, and could feel everything he was doing to you. You don’t know if it is your heightened emotions, especially with him right on you. All you knew is that pleasure was present, and you were starting to fall apart. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You can hear his demeanor change, worry laced in his tone.

“Fuck,” you couldn’t help but moan, unable to control yourself. “I can feel everything, Logan.”

There is a pause, hands still touching your face. A few beats later, he lets his right hand go down, only to stop at your thigh squeezing tightly. 

“Tell me what you see, baby.” 

The rumble in his voice intensifies everything, causing you to grip onto him tighter. “Oh God please don’t make me say it out loud.”

You try to look away, but his left hand shifts so it is grabbing your chin. He forces your head back up, bringing his face down to yours like he had in the classroom. His breath fans over your lips, taking in the way they move as sounds leave them. 

“I’m fucking you, aren’t I? Making you lose yourself on my cock? Is that what you are seeing?”

You can barely talk, too enthralled in your vision. You grab the hand that is on your thigh and bring it to the top of your black pants. Logan gets the idea and angles it so he can slide his hand into them. His fingers brush over the fabric, feeling the damp spot that has formed drastically. You hear him curse under his breath, the vibrations hitting your lips as they brush against one another without full pressure. 

“Oh sweetheart, you are so wet.” He murmurs, pulling his hand out to bring it up to his nose, inhaling deeply before releasing a sound so feral that you could sob. “And you smell so fucking good.” 

You can’t help but nod, not knowing how to respond. All you know is that you need him. Need him to take you on your bed and do whatever he wants to you. You’ll take anything he is willing to give you, for all you want is for him to make himself known to you. 

His hand had gone back down to your crotch, cupping your pussy through the material. “Does she want more attention?”

“Logan, please do something.” You choke, your mind steadily coming back to reality, but still not fully letting go. You start to grind down on his palm, desperate for anything he will give you, but he removes his hand, going to the back of your head to grip tightly.

Damn him!

“I know she deserves something, but do you? Do you deserve me after getting me so worked up like that?”

“Logan, I am begging.” You cry out in frustration, your nails digging into his chest causing him to groan lowly. “I want you. God, I’ve always wanted you so please take what’s yours!”

He is back on you, kissing you till the air in your lungs dissipates. He starts to kiss away from your swollen lips, kissing down to your neck. He nips at your pulse point, going up to your ear to give it a light lick before going back down. With every kiss, he takes a deep breath in, which only makes him get more aggressive. Soft kisses turn to an open mouth lather to nips that could have easily broken the skin.

“I don’t think you know what your scent does to me. It draws me in every time.” He bites down particularly hard at your collar bone, and you wouldn’t be surprised if blood had come to the surface. 

His hands come back up to the front of your blouse, carefully unbuttoning the garment before revealing your breasts that are almost spilling out of your bra. His hands mold over the cups, squeezing hard and slow as he makes his way to your sternum. 

He is being so gentle with you, a complete 180 from how you thought this was going to go. He was so rough with you in your head, fucking you until you couldn’t even say a word. This side of him was endearing, but you crave more from him.

“For someone so feral for me, you sure are taking your time.”

He bites the top of your left breast, making you gasp at the sudden pain. “I don’t think you are ready for that side of me, dollface.”

Your right hand goes to his head, taking a handful of his hair and yanking his head up. You know he wants to absolutely ravish you, and if it’s some convincing he needs, some convincing he is going to get. 

“When I said to take what’s yours, I meant it. I want you to make me beg until I’m dumb, so fucking do it.”

“Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you, Princess.”

His hands go under your top from the back, unclipping your bra before letting them resurface. He starts to yank your top off from the shoulders, only to smack your thigh that causes a light sting.

“Arch that back for me.”

You do as he says, allowing him to take the rest of your top off along with your bra. He flings them both across the room, only to do the same with his tank. You’ve seen his upper body plenty of times, as there would be instances in which he disregards it for a training session. But this? This was very different. It’s a different atmosphere, and rather than everyone getting an eye full of his muscular, hairy body, it is now for your eyes only. 

He’s looking down at you, pupils flared as he takes you in. You shiver as his palms stroke your tummy, slowly going up until they encompass your breasts. Your nipples pebble from the rough texture of his skin, and you can see it excites him. So much so that he takes the opportunity to take your nipples between his fingers and pulls them gently with a pinch. Your back bows off the mattress, adoring the pain he is providing, and let out a mewl as he lets go to run his thumbs over the tender peaks.

“You sound so good,” Logan murmurs. “I need to hear more.”

His right arm goes under your back to keep you up, holding you there as his mouth goes to your left breast. He takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking with his eyes still on you. Your cheeks flush, head tilting to the side to avoid looking at him. It’s too much. It’s too fucking much. 

Whimpers slip from your mouth, his treatment of your breasts making you want to rub your thighs together to soothe the ache, but he keeps your legs open. He eventually does the same to your other breast, working to match the work he left on your other nipple: hard, and tainted red.

He lets up, sitting on his knees as he unbuttons your pants, hands sliding the material down your legs in earnest. He tosses your heels off before stripping away your bottoms, and he hums as he admires the black, lacy thong you adorn. 

“Fuck,” he snaps the elastic, eyes entranced. “You sure you didn’t see this coming earlier? Wearing something sexy like this?”

“They work better with my pants.” You huff, his fingers lightly running along your covered slit.

“Hmm, no wonder your ass looked so good today.” He grins. “But this pussy? I could play with her all day.”

He lowers himself, sliding off the bed only to bring you with him, your body gliding across the comforter with ease. He clutches onto your thighs, letting your legs rest in the crook of his elbows. He keeps his hold tight, bringing his lips down to kiss and suck on your thighs. You gasp at the aggressiveness, swearing you will see dark purple marks on you later. You moan at the idea, as it feels like he is finally claiming you; like are his to mark, to claim, to fuck, to love. 

He makes his way to your center, sniffing deeply before releasing a feral growl. He lets the tip of his tongue lightly drag from the bottom to the top of your heat, still fully covered by the damned thong. He flicks at your clit, a ghost of a touch that has you bucking your hips. And he draws back every single time. His self-control is impressive but frustrating all the same.

He starts to suck on it through the material, creating a bigger wet spot with his spit. The more he pushed his tongue against your folds, the more the material would rub just right against you. It made you clench, panting at how much he is teasing you. He pulls away, blowing on your sensitive spot which only makes you whine.

“Awe what is it?” He chuckles, the vibrations barely hitting where you need him. “You want my tongue to play with you?”

His hand lets go of your thigh, fingers tracing the fabric before pulling it to the side. “Lucky for you, I love to play.”

He goes right in, mouth over your bud as he consumes your very being. Your hands shoot to his hair, not prepared for the onslaught of pleasure he is delivering. The swirls he is landing on his target is mind numbing, a tangible pressure that makes you want to curl in on yourself. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groans, the sound vibrating right on your clit. It makes you buck your hips up, but his left arm presses you down to keep you secure. 

“I know you want more, but you are going to have to be patient. I’m not done tasting this sweet pussy. Fuck, you are so sweet.”

You feel one of his fingers near your hole, circling it teasingly before pushing in. His tongue is back on your nerves, mouthing covering it to add slight suction. Even with his big fingers, it’s not nearly enough. 

“Logan, please add another.” You say, emphasizing as you clench down on his single digit. 

He sucks a little harder, ripping a yelp from your throat. Still, he listens and inserts a second finger with the first. He goes in and out, drawing sighs from your lips as he builds you up. His mouth is going crazy, moving his lips with a vengeance. Your blood is hot, traveling down as your release starts to come to the surface.

You can’t stop clamping down on his fingers, your pussy having a mind of its own. He is pistoning them now, causing your fluids to make its way down your ass onto the comforter. The sounds coming from his handiwork edge you further, your release imminent. 

“Oh God, Logan! I’m cumming!” 

Big mistake on your part.

He pulls away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. A smug look appears on his face, and you have the urge to shove his face back into your aching cunt.

“Your first time cumming with me will be on my cock, sweetheart.”

He pulls your thong down your legs and moves you back to the front of the bed. He stands before you, making light work of removing his belt from the loops of his jeans. His jeans are next, pulling them down with his briefs. 

You don’t know what you expected. You weren’t surprised with how well endowed he was, not with the way he is built. But to see it in person is so much different from your imagination. The details that your mind didn’t conjure up, especially the vein that starts from his lower stomach to the tip of his cock. It makes you salivate, wanting to run your tongue along it. 

“You like what you see, darlin’?” He noticed you staring, but you have no shame. Not anymore.

“Yeah, want it in my mouth so bad.”

He walks over to you, his cock in your face. His hand goes to your head, stroking the baby hairs that are starting to stick to your temple. “As much as I would love that, I am dying to give you the fucking you deserve, sweetheart. However…” he brings your head up closer to his cock, your lips not even an inch away. “How about you get it nice and wet for me.”

You don’t have to be told twice. You work up a good amount of spit, letting it drip from your mouth onto his hard cock. You start to lick at the sides, spreading your saliva all over until he is covered. You are basically making out with his dick, your lips and tongue moving like you had when you were kissing him earlier. It isn’t until you get to that vein of his that you start to go wild, licking it up and down. 

Logan is groaning deeply, and pulls your head back, a string of saliva connecting before breaking apart. You hear him curse under his breath before crawling back onto the bed, his hands holding your face as he brings his lips to you. His kisses are slow this time, letting it sink in that this is happening; that you two are about to be connected. 

“You did such a good job. You are such a good girl.” He murmurs against your lips before sitting up. 

His dick is now sitting heavy on your mound, and the weight of it feels delicious. He taps it against your clit a few times, your hips thrusting up in kind. 

“You ready for me, sweetheart?” He lets his cock rut into your folds, thrusting up into your clit. “I think that sweet thing of yours is.”

“Give it to me, Lo. I need you so bad it hurts.” 

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll take that pain away.” He promises.

And as promised, he places the tip right at your aching hole and pushes in slowly. Your jaw slacks, the pressure as he continues his descent much more intense than you anticipated. It’s been so long since you’ve given yourself to someone. It all feels new, and you are thankful; thankful that it's with him.

He is fully seated in you, and you can only describe it as euphoric. With the way he sits heavy in your cunt, filling you up completely, you can honestly say that this was meant to happen. Logan was meant to be with you in every single possible way imaginable. It’s the only explanation.

“How does it feel, baby?” Logan asks, hands rubbing up and down your thighs soothingly. 

“It feels,” you whimper, gripping down on him. “It feels so good, Lo.”

“Yeah? My cock makin’ you feel good, doll?” He groans, clearly being affected by your behavior. 

Before you can mutter a pathetic answer, your brain turning to mush, he shifts back. His cock slides out until the mushroom head is at your entrance, and then he slams back in; hard and slow. 

The constant back and forth of his cock has you shaking, his hard thrust knocking the air out of your lungs and the slow thrusts feeling oh so good. And with the way he is watching you, his face mimicking yours as he receives his own pleasure, is sending zaps of electricity to your cunt. It makes you grasp onto him hard as he gets you more worked up.

Logan sits up straighter, grabbing your right leg and bringing it up to his shoulder. His left hand keeps it steady as he speeds up slightly and presses gentle kisses to your ankle in the process. It lets him go deeper, kissing your cervix every time it goes in. The pressure feels incredible, and the more he speeds up, the more your cunt starts to spasm out of control. 

“That’s it, baby. You are taking me so well, like you were fucking made for me.” He growls out, biting your ankle. 

“God yes, Logan! I’m yours!” You cry out, him and his cock making you utterly delirious. “You were made for my pussy!”

“Fuck, you got a mouth on you.” He chides, his right hand going to your right breast.

He is squeezing your tit so tight; his hips are on autopilot with how fast he is taking you. Your hands don’t know where to go, going from gripping the fabric below to holding onto his wrist. He is putting you into a completely fucked out state, and you can’t get enough of that treatment. 

You can tell you are on the precipice of cumming. You are clenching on and off rapidly, no longer in control of your muscles. The sounds coming from your coupling, wet smacking echoes that are music to your ears. You can feel the telltale sensation of being overwhelmed, and you know you are now on the track of no return. 

“Logan, baby, I’m gonna cum!”

He snarls at you, a crazed look in his eyes as he slams into you. He lets go of your tit to grab your chin, keeping your eyes on his. “Do it, darlin’. Cum around my cock.”

You are over the edge in seconds, a silent scream taking over as you tremble and quake. Your pussy is convulsing like crazy, small gushes of liquid coming out. You see Logan look down at where you two are connected, and he is grinning like crazy.

“What a fucking sight. There isn’t one thing about you that isn’t pretty.”

You could sob at his words, especially with how overstimulated you are becoming. You work his cock, wanting him to cum inside of you. 

“Give me your cum, Logan. Fill me until I’m dripping.”

Your words must have triggered something because next thing you know he has let go of your leg and face and is falling onto his forearms with his mouth landing on yours. You hear the sound of his claws, completely unsheathed from his skin, causing him to bellow into your mouth, rutting like a madman which causes cum to leak out from your hole onto the bedding. 

He slows down, milking out the rest of his spend before stopping all together. He lets go of your lips gasping, face buried in your shoulder as he tries to calm down. Your hands go to his back, massaging the taut muscles as he shakes. 

“Fuck, Logan,” you sigh, catching your breath as you come back to earth. You feel so relaxed, even with your guts feeling completely rearranged.

You hear his claws sink back into his skin, and it is then that he pulls out, falling to the other side of the bed. His chest is going up and down with every heavy breath, and you can’t help but admire him like this. 

He turns his head over to you, his hand coming to grab the hand by your side. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

You make it over into his side, head laying on his chest as you both bask in the post-sex glow. You can’t help but smile at this turn of events, not expecting to have been in this position with Logan. But here you are, laying on his chest with his arms around you. 

You notice something in your peripherals and see splintering from the headboard of your bed. There are six holes in the wood, and it sends you into a laughing fit, a euphoric glaze covering your entire body. 

“What’s so funny?” He asks gruffly, pulling you into side as you continue to laugh.

“Your claws pierced my headboard.”

You see him glance back, and you see him sigh, relaxing more into the mattress. “I’ll fix it up for you, darlin’. I’m sorry about that.”

“No need to say sorry.” You snuggle your face into his skin, breathing in his natural musk as you relax more into him. “I just can’t believe we did that, but I’m glad it did.”

“I can say the same.” He murmurs, stroking your hair gently. “Seriously, I gotta know, did you see this coming?”

You shift up, going to lay your arms across his chest only for you to rest on them. You look into his eyes and the need in them is still there, but not in the way they were before. They were searching, looking for any confirmation that what you both just did truly meant more. It makes him look vulnerable, something he rarely shows. It makes you smile at the prospect of him opening up even more. 

“Not until today. It’s strange now that I think about it.”

“And why is that?”

“I never saw you coming, I guess. Even when it is clear as day how you felt about me, I never got anything that told me it was real. I didn’t want to potentially screw anything up between us.”

He hums, a look of contemplation on his face before taking a hand and rubbing his face, a long sigh coming out in the process. “I suppose that’s my fault.”

You can’t help but look confused. His fault? “Why do you say that?”

“I haven’t been fully honest, but ever since I came here, no matter how welcomed and appreciated I am here, I have contemplated leaving.” His hand leaves his face to go behind your neck, lightly scratching the skin at the nape before continuing. “I’ve been alone for a long time. Having a family has never been in the books for me. It is easier to not let people in.”

“So, that’s why I couldn’t see you coming. You hadn’t made up your mind?”

“It’s possible, but it’s just a theory.”

“But, if that’s the case, have you made your mind up?” You start rubbing his chest with your palm, feeling his heart pulse slowly. You are confident you know the answer now, but you want to hear him say it.

He grunts in laughter, shaking his head slightly before letting his fingers curl around the back of your neck. “I think you know the answer, princess. But if you really want to know, come up here.”

You push yourself from him, moving so you are straddling his torso. He brings his hands to your face once more, pulling you down so you are face to face with him. He kisses you, slowly initiating intimacy with his lips. He isn’t saying anything, but you can feel what he is saying through the act alone. 

“I can’t close myself off from you,” he says between kisses. “And I don’t want to. Especially if you’ll have me.”

“I think you already know the answer to that, Lo.”

“Still, I wanna hear you say it.”

You pull away so you can look into his eyes, giving him all the sincerity you can muster. “I love you, and I want you to stand by me.”

He smiles teeth and all, and pulls you back down, kissing all over your face causing you to squeal. “Hmm I love you too, sweetheart. Always have.”

You both stay like that for a while, basking in each other's company in post-coital ecstasy by continuing to taste one another. Another thought came over you, and you can’t help but laugh again.

“If I had known sex would make you like this, I would have made a move a long time ago.” Logan jokes, breathing them in. 

“I’m sorry, but I’m laughing because it took me taking your cigars hostage to do it.”

Logan throws his head back, chuckling at what you presume is the same thing you are laughing about.

“Speaking of those cigars, can you grab them for me?”

You perk up, pushing away from him to lean over to your side of the bed. Your fingers stretch for the book, getting a grasp on it before getting settled back with Logan. He pulls you in quickly, hurdling you into his side. You see he has his lighter ready, which he must have grabbed while you were getting his cigars.

“You gonna smoke one?”

He hums, taking one out. “I only smoke these on special occasions. I think this qualifies.”

He carefully unsheathes a claw, cutting the end before it sinks back under his skin. He flickers the lighter, letting the bright flame linger on the end to get a good burn going. He then lays back, pulling you even closer into his side, before taking his first puff. 

You smile, laying your head against him as you let your eyes drift closed. You feel yourself drifting away, the smell of his cigar and the sound of his pulse lulling you to a deep sleep; a sleep with dreams that you hope feel like déjà vu in the near future.