#a man with an endless thirst to be the best at what he does and yet he dreams of his best friend succeeding more than him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cohldhands · 1 year

Text

𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 | 𝘬𝘪𝘣𝘢 𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘻𝘶𝘬𝘢

pairing: bff!kiba x afab!reader word count: 7.9k warnings: nsfw! 18+! minors DNI! | just two best friends helpin' each other out, virgin!reader wants experience and kiba has it, pussydrunk!kiba, praise kink, oral (f! and m!recieving), primal play (kinda? like a sprinkle?), unprotected sex (wrap it up guys), he's down for you and its bad, other characters mentioned, all characters in their early/mid 20s, not thoroughly proofread, no use of y/n author's note: this is 100% based on some thirsting that @tired-biscuit and i did for this man and... well, here we are. i listened to "nayhoo" by chon while writing the first bit of this. i also didn't anticipate it to be this long... 😅 it's my first time in a long ass time writing second-person as well, so just be gentle. there will absolutely be (at least) a part two where shit devolves at ino's new apt. i hope yall enjoy!

you can also read this on AO3 here.

KIBA’s fingers twitch as he watches you place a piece of strawberry into your mouth, your lips encasing your delicate fingertips in a way he knows should be innocent, should be just friends having lunch together, but it’s not. It hasn’t been for a long time.

Dappled sunlight filters in through the full, vibrant trees towering above you, and the incessant hum of cicadas fills the air, mixing with the cadence of rustling leaves in the summer breeze. Loose, thin clothes, skin glazed in a thin layer of humidity and sweat, clammy hands from thrumming heartbeats.

Summer has always been a favorite time for the both of you, ever since the summer you moved to Konoha during your childhood. The summer that changed everything. Sticky sweetness, endless days, sunburnt cheeks. Ever since, you and Kiba have been attached at the hip, having lived in the house just down the street and your mothers working together. Hours of fetch with Akamaru, rock skipping competitions with Shino as referee, hushed conversations with Hinata about Naruto. He accepted you with open arms; they all did.

“Just another one of the pack.”

Kiba hated when you and Hinata would sneak off, however. He’d bribe Shino—or attempt to—just to spy and listen. When Shino would call him out on his reddened ears, his anticipation in finding out the girl talk, his picking at his nails until you would return, he’d tug his hoodie up and change the subject.

“You like her.” Shino would tell him, plainly, a fact of life.

“No!” the brunette would huff. “She’s just a friend.”

Kiba takes a swig from his canteen, a drip of water fumbling from his lip to his chin when he pulls it away. He blinks away the memories of summers, of lifetimes spent under the same blazing sun. Sunburnt chests, laying on Akamaru with bare arms pressed to each other while looking for aliens, small, small clothes.

“That’s what friends are for, Kiba!” You say through the small bite.

“It’s going to be so hot though,” he whines, throwing his head back with his forehead scrunched in irritation. “Who the fuck moves in the middle of July? You know who? Crazy people, that’s who.”

“Whether you like it or not, Ino is moving,” you shake your head at him, a hint of playful irritation on your drawl as you watch his head tilt back, the expanse of his neck exposed. A dare, a first kiss, a summer night. “And we both agreed to help her. Besides, it’ll go by quick with all of us helping. You’ll be okay. ”

“So annoying.” He croaks, but then he lets his head fall forward. His intense, dark eyes settle on yours once more, and he fights the urge to drink you in the way he does when you’re not looking. When you’re fidgeting while you’re trying to beat him at Mario Kart, when your face is scrunched in concentration when you’re aiming a kunai.

He sends a sideways glance at Akamaru—a lifeline, a phone-a-friend— and the white-haired dog lets out the equivalent of a mumble and a shrug.

Kiba throws his hands in the air, exhaling a “Fine! Fine.”

“You’re such a baby.” You laugh, a teasing yet light sound.

A sound that causes a flutter to rampage through his chest, and a restrained tug of a smile spreads across his features in response. But he’s practiced this, practiced suppressing the itch in his hands to reach out, to kiss you, to breathe in that laugh as if it was the air itself he needs.

He already does that with your scent alone.

“Whatever.” He grabs a clump of rice in his chopsticks and eats it.

You can tell there’s a hint of something underneath the surface with Kiba, something that’s hard to pinpoint. Of course, during your girl talks with Hinata, you’d open your heart to her. About how Kiba didn’t scare you, despite his animalistic side, how he just wanted attention, that’s why he acts that way, about how much you had to refrain from squirming when he looked at you as you both got older.

She’d gasp when you would talk that way, but she’d always add her own tidbit of girlish tension in a hushed voice.

“So, uh… w-while we’re talking about favors…” you start, your eyes falling to the bento box in your lap.

“If you’re moving, too, the whole ride-or-die thing goes out of the window.”

“No, fuck no!” Another light laugh, another shake of your head, but this time more at yourself than anything. If only it was just moving...

You’ve been mulling on asking him about this for weeks now. You’d recently met a boy, because you, too, have practiced the art of burying the want to grab him, to feel the ripple of muscles that dance underneath the fishnet material of his shirt, to tangle your fingers in his hair and find out if he likes his hair tugged the way you do, if he doesn’t, moving yourself against him until his desires tumble out of him on their own.

But you’ve met a boy, Jun, who is sweet. Kind. A responsible, gentle Ninja. You’re in no way committed, no title. Your mother adores him, your father respects him. He’s yet to make you uncomfortable, opens doors for you, brings you flowers every time he sees you. You’ve gone on a few dates with him, and you like him—enough to want more than the heavy petting and stale kisses. But then there is a small part of you, small yet persistent enough—

“The way a man feels about you is crystal clear when you bed ‘im,” Ino had told you once during a ‘girl’s night’ at Sakura’s.

“What do you mean?”

“If he truly wants you,” the blonde continued, jabbing her finger in your direction. “He can’t fake that while buried inside.”

“I’m convinced love has its own chakra,” Sakura had added. “It moves between you and the other person. Like a bolt of lightning.”

“Or a burning fire.”

The small part of you that craves to see if he’d do it, and if you’d be able to tell which natural disaster would rage between you—if one at all.

“What’s with the serious-ass face? You’re scaring me…” Kiba continues, his voice pulling you back to the here and now. He leans forward to catch your eyes again, then continues in a whisper. “Do we need to hide a body?”

“Kiba—”

“Oh, wait, it is serious.” He clears his throat and sits up, a different demeanor taking him over. His gaze fixates on you, his position stiffening as he studies you in a fraction of a moment. “‘Kay, sorry. What’s up?”

“It’s about Jun.”

His muscles tighten, and he places his bento box on the blanket you’re both sitting on. The guy who takes you on dates, the guy he can tell you’re not head over heel for. Jun, who fills the time, because Kiba can tell sweet Jun bores you. At least, that’s what Kiba tells himself. “Okay.”

“Uh… I don’t really know how to ask this, so I’m just going to.” You shift in your seat, mustering the gumption to speak clearly, forward, just ask your best friend for a favor. A dare, the childhood magic in special first kisses, adult magic in special first times. Not wanting to look like a dunce to the boy your mother adores, your father respects.

“I want to sleep with Jun, but I’ve never… ya know. And you have, so—”

Ba-dum. A heavy heartbeat, thick in his ears, piercing his palms.

His eyes widen, dark and yet darker, darker still. Heat floods his cheeks, bubbling under his skin and filling his abdomen. The swelling of a storm.

Ba-dum.

“I know it’s weird, a-and you can absolutely say no. You’re my best friend, though, and it’s not like I can just ask anyone. This isn’t like a new development either, I wanted to wait to ask you—n-not that I’ve just been, ya know, thinking about this and you. I just have zero experience, you know that, but I want to be a bit more confident in—”

Ba-dum.

“Do you like him?” Kiba’s voice falls flat, more flat than he anticipates, but the words hang there. Screaming cicadas, colliding tree branches. “Really, truly like him?”

Ba-dum.

“Yeah.” You nod. You’re convincing yourself and lying to him all at the same time. But maybe, just maybe trusting Kiba with this moment, with your first time, with breaking the barrier between fantasy and reality—maybe it won’t be so bad. “I do.”

“Then I’ll do it.” He swallows the solid lump in his throat, convincing himself and lying to you all at the same time. “Besides, that’s what friends are for.”

—

Kiba told you he’d come over later that evening, to do whatever it is that made you most comfortable. Shower, don’t shower. Shave, don’t shave. Wear whatever it is you wanted, to pretend like he was just coming over like he always did, to hang out like you always did.

You couldn’t sit still the moment you got home. You cleaned and showered. Tried to read, tried to scroll through your phone, tried to do any- and everything you could to not get caught up in the motions of it all, fought yourself for ten minutes on if you should even light a candle or not because it’s not like that but damn it—

Yes it is.

But this wouldn’t mean anything, right? Regardless of a candle lit, which made the whole space smell of honeysuckle and lemon, it’s just your best friend, doing you a favor: teaching you how to work a cock by using his.

Oh, god, his cock. What would it look like? Feel like? Would it curve, or would it be veiny? The thought alone causes you to fidget in your seat on the couch, your eyes darting between the clock on your phone and the front door to your apartment. You feel your heartbeat in your ears and in your core, pulsing. Arousal pools in your underwear at the mere thought of him—how did you expect to function?—and you pinch your thighs together.

You still couldn’t believe he had agreed. And Kiba couldn’t either, even as he meandered his way to your door, his eyes steadfast in the direction of your apartment building. What made either of you think this was a good idea? Was his practice paying off? Did he want it to? He had finally, finally been offered the invitation, the “come over” call that he dreamed of. He had hoped, however, that the circumstances would be different, that it would be for him.

Two heavy knocks on the door alert you to his presence, though somehow you’re sure you catch the scent of his body wash before his knuckles meet the wood. You pull the door open. Musk, earth, hazelnut, bergamot. Messy kitchens, ugly, delicious cookies, using his shower and wearing his clothes.

He’s bathed as well, his hair still slightly damp as it hangs above his shoulders. A wide grin flashes over his face, his eyes disappearing into the image, his teeth catching the overhead light. Your face fills with a weighty heat, and your abdomen flutters at the sight of his broad shoulders and his toned arms under the fabric of his shirt.

He’s opted for his usual lounge attire: a t-shirt, joggers, and sneakers. In his hands are takeout—he’s always eating—and drinks for you to share. You felt underdressed somehow in your own home, donning a thin-fabriced, comfortable yet cute t-shirt and shorts combination—something you’d worn around him countless times. Yet, he’d shown up like this countless times, food and a smile in tow, and he somehow seems more prepared than you’d ever seen him. The way he’s standing tall, his chest open to you… had he prepared?

Despite the vanilla-scented body-wash and the floral candle, the moment the door opens, revealing you in your post-shower, pre-coitus flush, he takes in the intoxicating scent of your arousal, of your skin, of you, and he presses his intent further into his smile. Not here, not now, not just past the threshold.

“Brought food. I doubt you ate.”

This motherfu—

“Thanks. I… actually haven’t eaten, now that I think about it.”

The tension is palpable. He’s trying a little too hard not to look at you, to not brush by you and linger. Though, he doesn’t understand why. You’d asked him to come over and help you, to quell the curiosity of experience, to be good for Jun.

The swelling of a violent storm.

You step aside and allow him in, and he does what he always does: makes himself at home, rummages through your cabinets for plates, a fork, two cups. You watch his hands maneuver whatever he’s holding, the muscles in his forearms. He keeps his nose buried in the food, trying to find something, anything to focus on other than you, in all of your totality.

Kiba jokes with you, carries on conversation while he divides out the food, move to the couch, sit just far enough to not touch, yet close enough to still feel each other’s body warmth. He’s talking and talking, rambling about the day you had already heard about, about a new bug Shino had shown him, about the hot springs he wants to go to in the town over. Maybe, just maybe, he’s nervous, too.

He jokes with you, as if he’s not already imagining your velvety throat wrapped around his aching girth, your face contorted in pleasure as he laps his tongue over your sensitive clit, his name tumbling out of your mouth, hitched and squeaked: “Kiba, Kiba—!”

“Ki-ba~!” You wave a hand over his glazed-over eyes as you call his name, sing-song and light, an attempt to bring him back from wherever he disappeared to as he’s stuck, freeze-frame, a cup halfway lifted to his mouth. You lean against the back of the couch toward him, only slightly, with an eyebrow cocked and a grin peeling back the corners of our mouth. “Where did you go, bud?”

There’s a split second, less than a blink of an eye where his hand is holding his drink; the next, it’s wrapped around your wrist, the cup on the table. How did he…?

His grip is tight, steadying, but then it eases by a fraction, and he finds himself studying the palm of your hand, imagining it wrapped around his throbbing, swollen girth, before his eyes flick up to yours, his jaw clenched, tight, teeth grinding as the wheels he’d frozen over long ago begin to turn, churning, yearning—

“Why did you ask me to do this?” His voice is low, hoarse, carried by a held breath, a tight chest.

There’s an underlying shift happening, and you can feel it in the soles of your feet, the palms of your hands. He somehow seems larger, taller, more devious. A full moon, an autumn night, finding out the ride the full moon sent him on before he disappears, unable to show you the animal that wanted to come out and ravage you, the side of Kiba he saves for the girls he will never see again because he can’t ruin you, you’re his best friend, his confidant.

Ba-dum.

He’s close, so close to you that you can see the pulse of his heartbeat in his neck. So close that the burning heat radiating off of him causes your own skin to surge, your heart to lurch, the damned fluttering in your abdomen. His eyes are zeroed in on you, black irises inflamed with dilated pupils. Hungry, restrained. Electricity ignites within your veins under his touch. He’s touched you, many times. A hug, a helping hand, a comforting shoulder. Why does this feel different?

“Because I trust you.”

Ba-dum.

His heart swells, clawing at his ribcage, screaming to be set free. You trust him. With your secrets, with your life, with your body. His gaze flicks on your lips, only for a moment, before his devilish eyes find yours once more.

Ba-dum.

“Have you ever even touched a cock before?” He murmurs, his tone taking on something silken and starved. He pivots his body to turn, his eyebrow cocked, a whisper of a coy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and he closes the space between you, the space that’s always between you.

You blink as a prickling heat travels up your spine, his question as well as his shift in energy catching you off-guard. Kiba’s never spoken to you, let alone around you this way, even when joking. Though he told you whenever he brought a girl home, or made out with another, you’re sure the gruesome details of his sexual escapades were dumped on Shino, or maybe even Naruto, if anyone. But you’re familiar with the wild look in Kiba’s eyes, the way he’s looking at you: a predator searching for his prey. The other side of Kiba.

“You’d know if I—” You start, but your words catch in your throat as you attempt to let them spill all over your kitchen counter. Even if it had happened, would you tell him? Would it have been in confidence, to share a story time, or would it have been to get even a chance to see a flicker of jealousy, of rage, of something? “No, I haven’t. N-not, ya know… skin to skin, anyway.”

The sting of embarrassment bubbles in our throat, your voice smaller than you wanted it, and whispers nothing good into your ears, but you maintain your eye contact. You made the first pitch, and now it’s game time.

“And you’re sure you want me to be the first?” He asks before he brings your palm to lips and presses a wet yet tender kiss to it. The notion surprises him, that he allowed himself more than anything, but he knows what it’s doing to you—he can smell it. “I do also have your first kiss, so I’d be two-for-two, bud.”

The feeling of his mouth on you sends coursing fire to your cunt, and you can almost, almost feel his lips against your now-soaked folds. And he’s patronizing you, a playful lilt clinging to the nickname, but you don’t hate it. It’s Kiba, in totality. Him making sure, despite his coy grin and thirsty eyes, only makes you want him more.

“I don’t know if that really counts…” You mutter. It does count, and it’s always counted, but he doesn’t need to know that. A stupid game of truth or dare one adolescent summer, the summer you knew you’d never rid your thoughts of Kiba. A summer initiating the biggest game of make-believe.

“How rude.” He smiles against your hand, and his hot breath and pointed canines brush against your palm. He shrugs, his grip falling from your arm, and then he exhales a dramatic sigh. “I guess I’ll have to make up for it, then. Can’t have meaningless kisses out there.”

Ba-dum.

Lighting cracks inside of you as his large hands splay across your hips and pull you into his lap. Your hands scramble, only for a moment, before one lands on the back of the couch, and the other finds purchase on his shoulder.

The battle within him is raging, a savage and destructive thing. He wants to take you, now, now, but he can’t, he won’t. You’re not the girls he’s given meaningless kisses to. You’re his best friend, and he’s waited this long.

He can wait just a little bit longer.

Ba-dum.

Draping your thighs around his hips, he looks up at you with earnest eyes, a moment of hesitation between you two as he waits for a no, a wait, a maybe we shouldn’t. The pulsing heat of his cock strains against his joggers, pressed firmly against your core as he holds you against him. Though muffled by the thick denim, you feel the aching throb beneath you, the pulsing twitch, the size.

Ba-dum.

When the blockade doesn’t come, and you meet his gaze with an equally intrigued look, his grip on your shirt tightens. He cranes his neck up, and he whispers against your lips, “I have a rule.”

Your heart stutters at the husk in his voice, the low demand for attention. “Okay…”

“If you have questions, ask. And—eh, I guess two rules.” Kiba murmurs against your lips, his face flushed in the dim lighting. “If you want something, tell me.”

Your ears burn, the flush causing your skin to prickle. Your hair hangs at the side of your face, closing you and Kiba into a world of your own, the world you both have always played in. Just the two of you.

“Okay.” You nod, your body ignited in a burning flame. “I will.”

Kiba’s lips collide with yours, rough and excited, then soften, pull back, relax, as his hands tangle the fabric of your shirt in their grasp, and his hips tilt up into yours. A slight movement, one he barely notices himself, but the weight of you on him alone sends a shiver through his body. Another subconscious jerk of his pelvis, reacting to the warmth, the weight, you you you.

The air in your lungs vanishes as his lips bring a reprieve, a cold drink on a hot summer day, lifting the lid before it all boils over, and your grip on his shoulder tightens. Head spinning, a drunken buzz just from his kiss. There’s a small moment that wonders if this is actually a fantasy, something you’ve conjured up in your head, a fever dream.

Your own hips move as you run your tongue along his bottom lip, adding intent as you roll against him, slow, methodical, feeling his entirety through the mere layers of fabric separating the two of you. Always something in the way.

A heavy breath against your lips, he opens his mouth and allows the dance to commence, a slow dance that soon turns into a tango, fervent, impassioned, both of your bodies submitting to what they’ve desired. He tastes of takeout and impulse decisions, sunburnt cheeks, swollen lips, a stupid crush that isn’t a crush but a fact of life. Your hold on the couch releases, and your fingers tangle in his head of dark, thick hair. A grounding grip, a slight tautness against the nape of his neck.

“Fuck…” He huffs before he nips at your bottom lip, his fingers dip underneath your shirt, grazing the flesh of your hips. He takes handfuls of your hips and brings you down against him further, closer, closing more of the space, more of that damned thing always in the fucking way. His lips trail from yours to your neck, the space below your ear, and he runs a flattened tongue along your skin, tasting it, breathing you in before sloppy kisses decorate your neck.

Your eyes fall hooded, and a light pant tumbles out of you at the contact. He sucks at a particular spot, bringing blood to the surface, his canines barred against your flesh.

“Kiba!” You gasp, the hint of a nervousness in your tone, and you detach yourself, only slightly, slightly. “You can’t leave any marks.”

“Sorry, sorry!” He chuckles, and then it hits him, crashes into him that you’re there, he’s here, and he’s supposed to be teaching you and yet, yet, he’s caught in the tidal wave of learning you. His cheeks and ears tinge with a beet red glaze, and he swallows thickly as he stares up at you. “I’ll try to remember.”

“But I want you to.” is what you want to say, but you don’t.

“It’s okay,” you reassure with another light laugh. “I’ll be sure to remind you.”

“I’m happy you did. Don’t ever feel like you can’t speak up with someone, especially if you’re, ya know… If a guy doesn’t listen to you, he—wait, what are you—”

He had started to ramble, stumbling in the moment of stillness. You, however, found the moment to be just when the courage hit to reach a delicate hand down and trace the edge of his joggers.

“I want to see it.” Your eyes flick to his lap, to the strained outline of his still throbbing, stiff cock before finding his gaze again.

Stunned, he stares up at you with wide eyes. Your words echo in his head, over and over, his ears ringing at the sound of your inquiry. When the blockade, the no, the maybe we shouldn't, doesn't come, you peel yourself away from him and lower yourself between his spread knees.

The swelling storm brews inside of him, the savage and violent force of nature. Wait, wait, relax.

“Thank you for telling me.” His eyes don’t leave you as you swallow another weighty lump in your throat, and you pull at the combined bands of his joggers and underwear. He lifts himself up, just enough to help slide the two layers of fabric off of him, watching your reaction.

When his erect member springs up at the sudden relief and twitches, your eyes widen. It’s nothing like the ones you had seen on a screen, but it's like the ones people write about. Thick is an understatement, and two prominent veins run along his length. A pink head, the color of his lips, donned with a dribble of clear slick and wrapped in taut skin. The image of his aching cock sends heat pooling at your core, and you shift in your spot—though it only makes things worse, and your heartbeat thrums in your clit.

He sucks in a breath at your innocent gape, the sight causing his mind to go to dark places where you’re screaming his name, head buried against the mattress, it’s too deep, I’m gonna break, his hand tangled in your mess of hair.

You glance up at him in his flustered state, before you turn your eyes downward and wrap a unsure but willing hand around the base. His hips jerk into your touch, and one of his hands finds purchase on the couch cushion, his knuckles whitening as he keeps himself grounded by his grip. His mind is reeling, a flipbook of the thousand positions he’d kill to see you in, put you in.

“Shit…” He spits through clenched teeth.

“Did I—” You freeze.

“N-no, you’re fine, you can—” He starts, but your slow, fisted movement up and then down his shaft cuts him off. “Yeah, like that…”

“That’s okay?” You ask as you slowly pump your hand around him, your eyes flicking between his length in your hand and his eyes on you.

“Y-Yeah.” Kiba nods, saliva pooling in his mouth as he watches you, dinner and dessert in front of him on a silver platter. He clears his throat, the anticipation making him fidgety. The longer he had to wait, the more the pulsing desperation in his length called to him, begging him for release.

He has to wait a little bit longer.

You nod, and then you sit up on your knees and tighten your grip, just slightly, and increase your pace. His eyebrows pull together as he continues to observe, a face of pleasure, and you feel another wave of heat rush under your skin. Your hand reaches the tip, and the precum allows the smallest bit of lubrication as you twist your hand, up and down.

“You’re doing a good job,” he groans, his voice deeper than before, hoarse, restrained. Hearing him like this, praising you, you’re sure you’ll go insane by the end of the night—if you weren’t already. “You can use your mouth, too.”

“I know!” You quip, embarrassment tingling your cheeks. “I was getting there. Though I don’t know if it’ll fit…” The last bit is more for yourself than anything, said under your breath, but he hears you, and he can’t help but imagine you choking on his fat cock, tears streaming down your face.

Ba-dum.

You lean forward, your eyes crossing as you near your target, and your hand settles at the base. You can do this, you tell yourself, before an unsure yet more than willing tongue licks at his cockhead. He tastes of salt and velvet, and your waiting eyes flick up at him.

“Like that,” he purrs, his deep eyes, dark and yet darkening, narrowed on you by the time you’re looking at him. So intent on watching you, committing the scene to memory.

The encouragement leads you to flatten your tongue and run it along the length of one of the veins. His girth twitches in reaction, accompanied by a breathy curse and a jerk upwards of his hips, though this time intentional.

“Around the tip,” he instructs, his voice trapped somewhere between a groan and a whine. It’s the best he can do to keep himself from fucking into your throat.

You do as he says, swirling your hot tongue around the pink head, collecting his slick in your mouth and finding yourself relishing in the taste.

“Good girl. You’re doing so good.” He pants as his hand, purposefully slow, pushes your hair out of your face and collects it into a loose bunch at the back of your head. His head feels light, like if he doesn’t hold onto you someway, somehow, he’s going to float away.

The two syllables bring your thighs together, a thrum of pressure building in your cunt. You’re soaked already, you can feel it gathering in your underwear, but something about his tone, his dilated eyes downcast, his heedless praise that urges you further, to slowly and messily run glaze his skin with your tongue, circling, up, down. You wanted to hear it more, hear his sounds of pleasure, hear his words of adoration. For him to touch you, everywhere.

And he knows. He senses the shift in your energy, the way you tense up when he encourages you, and he smells it, the collection of wetness just one, two layers away. His grip on your hair tightens, tension gathered at the nape of your neck.

You swirl your tongue once, twice, three times around the tip before you wrap your pretty lips around his cock, sucking at it.

A popsicle, a strawberry at lunchtime, brewing electricity.

“Oh, fuck—” Kiba growls, and his hips buck into the warmth of your mouth as you bob your head, taking small, increasing portions of him each time, little moans vibrating his skin. “Shit, yes, like that. So fucking good.”

A slippery tongue, fingers tangling in hair, flashing lightning.

“Such a good girl. Move your hand while you—yes.” He pants as he watches his cock disappear into your throat, your hand pumping whatever you don’t take in your mouth.

Two gazes met.

Ba-dum.

The crackling roll of thunder.

Within a moment, he scoops you up with a huff of impatience—so fucking fast, how does he do that—and you let out a yelp of surprise.

“Kiba!” You squirm as you’re placed over his shoulder and carried into your bedroom.

He doesn’t answer you verbally; instead, he shrugs you onto the bed, and you land on your back. His erect member is still out, fully exposed, but he doesn't pay any mind to it as he takes fistfuls of your shorts and tugs them off, unwrapping you, a little present, just for him.

“Kiba, what are you—” You start, but your words tangle in your throat when he rids you of your underwear, letting them fall to the floor. Unwrapped, a present, just for him.

“Oh!” You exclaim when he hooks his arms under your thighs and tugs you to the edge of the bed.

He falls to his knees, his intense eyes falling to your glistening folds. You smell even sweeter this way, and his head buzzes, dizzied, intoxicated as he drinks you in. His composure is slipping, and he wastes no time lapping his tongue along your slit, from entrance to clit.

“Oh…!” You purr, and then you muffle yourself with your hand as schlurp sound comes from him kissing your cunt, sloppy and hasty. His tongue is rough against your sensitive skin, and when it catches your swollen bud, your hips jerk under him, moaning against your palm.

“No,” he huffs against you in that hoarse, demanding voice. He laps his tongue along your entirety, and then he suckles at your throbbing clit, his eyes watching, always watching. “I wanna hear you.”

“But what if—ahh, fuck—!” You tremble under his touch, your voice hushed, and you grip the blanket. You, too, feel the weightlessness, the risk of drifting away if you don’t. Your face contorts into bliss as your back arches, pushing yourself against his mouth. It’s like you’re vibrating, hanging in a space between fantasy and reality. This isn’t real, it can’t be, his mouth can’t feel that good, not Kiba’s mouth, not—

His nails press into your skin as he holds on to you, pulling you closer, closer to him as he eats you, his fervent and messy movements building a tension in your abdomen more intense than anything you’ve accomplished by yourself. His tongue teases your entrance, your nectar driving him further. He delves it into you, holding you against him as he fucks his appendage into your sopping cunt.

“Kiba—” You moan into the air, your other hand finally finding purchase on his arm, clinging to him.

His name tumbles from your lips, and for a moment, he swears the world goes silent, a deafening ringing filling his ears as you call out. He feels you tightening around him, a bewildered aura taking him over. He’s now desperate for your release, to feel you squirm and writhe underneath him, to keep calling his name. He trails his tongue back to your clit, flicking, circling as a slender finger finds your entrance. It slips inside, your arousal coating his skin, and it pumps in and out of you, restrained, slow.

“Oh, god,” you exhale, your eyes widening as he adds another finger, his digits curling inside of you. “Oh, that feels so good, fuck.”

“Mmmhh.” He watches you arch off the bed, his nose pressed to your mound, his tongue making quick and heavy work of your pulsing clit, stretching you as he adds another finger, slow, waiting for the blockade, the maybe we shouldn’t.

His pulsing length twitches, a violent motion that calls his attention, but he forces it out of his mind. This is about you, about stretching you and pushing you over the edge, your sweet release. The tightness of your walls tells him it's soon, your body tense.

Instead, his pumping of his slender digits is met with another cry of his name. Three fingers stuffed, his fingertips massaging the sweet spot inside of you. The burn of the stretch pulls your eyebrows together, and yet you roll your hips against him, wanting the friction, craving the release, another explosion of deafening thunder, the swelling thunderstorm that is Kiba.

“Ki-Kiba, I’m gonna—” You can’t even finish your sentence. It hits you, almost out of nowhere. You’re unraveling, your legs shaking, your skin on fire and the swelling storm raging, ravaging your entire body as it caves in. Your juices pour out of you, trickling down his chin, and he drinks you up with another loud schlurp.

“Fuck.” He groans against you, and his lips envelop your clit as he pumps his fingers into back you, his tongue resuming its assault. His fingers move in you with a faster pace, a hardened pressure against the spongy flesh inside of you. “I need you to cum again. To be ready for my cock.”

“Oh, shit!” You sob. “Right there, right there, right there—”

You’re so sensitive, so intoxicated by the way he handles you, the way he looks at you, the way even he smells, tastes, feels.

“That’s it.” He eggs you on, the itch to palm himself, to rut into you, to lose it just out of reach.

You claw at his arm, at the sheets, at anything you can. You’re going to explode, his slippery tongue and fervent fingers bringing you again, closer to ecstasy.

“Cum for me,” he demands, and as if you’d been born to listen, you do on his gruff command, crying out curses as a mind-stopping orgasm bursts through you. You see stars, the entire night sky on your bedroom ceiling.

“Good girl.” He swipes his tongue along your clit before he removes his fingers from you, slow, gentle, and he sucks his fingers clean of your slick, his girth throbbing harder, harder at your taste. Honey glaze, a spark of lightning, crashing branches in the wind.

He steps out of his joggers and tugs off his shirt, his shoes having been left at the door long ago, his blood coursing through his veins, liquid metal, at the sight of your shivering, half naked body beneath him. With another fast motion, he’s hovering over you, his arm wrapped around your waist to bring you back further onto the bed, your head hitting pillows this time. His hands graze from your thighs and up your shirt, his palms brushing the hardened peaks of your nipples before he lifts your shirt off of you. And then he stares down at you, starved yet adoring eyes. Skinny dipping, a lakeside fire, burnt marshmallows.

You meet his gaze as your chest heaves, coming down slowly from your high, studying the angle of his collarbone, the curve of his chest, the dim light highlighting the flesh that you never dared to touch, to learn—until now. You place your hands on his arms, feeling the ripple of muscle as you feel his shoulders, his chest.

A moment, suspended in time between the both of you. Your heavy breathing fills the otherwise quiet room and the low, rhythmic hum of cicadas just outside your window. Your heart is a drum inside of your chest, beating, beating, bursting as he looks down at you, and your heart skips as you feel his cockhead tease your entrance, rubbing against your slick folds and causing a hitched gasp to fall when it grazes over your sensitive clit.

“Are you ready for me?” Kiba inquires in a husky voice, gravely and controlled.

Ba-dum.

“Yes,” you whisper in return, your hands settling on his biceps as you keep your eyes on his.

“Okay,” he nods, swallowing the lump in his throat, and he presses himself into you, slow, achingly slow.

Ba-dum.

Another gasp wracks your chest, and your eyes widen again as you watch his face scrunch in concentration. And then he whines, a short and quiet sound that makes your ears ring. He wants to jerk into you, bottom out, and the self-restraint is slipping out of his grasp like grains of sand.

Ba-dum.

“Relax for me,” he urges you through clenched teeth as your walls remain tight around him.

“S-Sorry. Oh, fuck, Kiba. I-it’s huge.” You stammer as you glance down at his girth disappearing into you, stretching you past anything your fingers, even his, could offer. You feel every inch of him as he spreads you, opening his present, celebrating his own holiday.

“I know, I’m sorry. You’re taking me so well.” He pants, working hard not to split you in two.

Ba-dum.

The pinch of his stretching you is different, much different than his fingers. He pulls himself back before pushing into you again, your slick aiding in his movements. It’s nothing like how you imagined, the awful and bloodied thing that’s rumored to be losing your virginity, but as he loads himself fully into you, pushing past the subtle barrier within, your body tenses up again, and a tinge of pain replaces the pleasure.

“S-sorry, sorry.” He stumbles over his words. For years, he’s wondered what his girth would look like with you donning it, and now it’s here, right here. And it’s beautiful, heavenly. He doesn’t have the words to describe the way you look wrapped around him—the way you look in general, let alone eyebrows upturned, sweat collecting along your hairline, a heaving chest—but worth every fucking minute of waiting.

“Just—gimme a sec, okay?”

Ba-dum.

“Yeah, yes, sure.”

You take in deep breaths, wetness pooling at your entrance, and you ease the tension in your muscles, allowing yourself to acclimate. Relax, relax, but fuck you’re at capacity, at your wits end, wanting to unravel all over again—and he’s barely even moved.

“Okay… we’re good.”

“You sure?”

Ba-dum.

“Yes.” You answer, a strong syllable on your tongue. You’ve never been so sure in your life.

Ba-dum.

And he hears the certainty, feels it reverberate through his bones. He pulls himself back, then into you again, another restrained roll of his hips. You can tell he’s holding back with the way his face is pulled together, with the vein in his neck jutted out.

“Shit.” Kiba mutters, one hand finding purchase on your hip while the other supports him on the bed.

“Fuck, Kiba…” You sigh, your body slowly making room for him.

“My name sounds nice when you moan it,” he purrs, leaning down, his skin desperate for contact with yours.

“Don’t say things like that,” you whisper, a near-plea, your nails digging into his skin as your eyes fall half-hooded. And then he hits that spot, the spot, deep within you, and your back lifts off the bed, pressing your chest to his, another moaned swear falling out of you.

“Why?” He grins, a coy look that almost makes his depraved gaze seem sweet. “It’s true.”

“Idiot…” You respond, your voice hitched.

“Hm?” He cocks his head to the side, a wild look filling his features. He jerks his hips, once, hard, bucking into you before returning to his agonizingly slow pace. “Couldn’t hear you.”

“Fuck!” You cry out, dragging your nails along his skin. It hurts, his abrasiveness, but it hurts in a way you don’t hate, that you almost want again. “Fucking asshole.”

“Asshole?” He chuckles, a guttural sound that isn’t impressed. He ruts into you again, wanting to hear that squeaky little voice, that pitched moan that he’s creating. “Baby girl, that’s not you really mean, is it?”

“Goddamn it, fuck, Kiba!” Your voice carries through the room, sending a prickling heat up his spine at the sound. You’re full, so full, and his resolve is slipping, slipping, gone altogether when you sob out his name again.

“Look at you, taking all of me,” he praises, and he glances down at his work before a growled moan leaves his own lips. “Fuck, you’re doing so good.”

Pleasured tears burn your eyes, and you look up at him before reaching up, without thinking, and tangle your hands in his hair, pulling him fully against you. Another sound of pleasure vibrates his chest, muffled as he presses his lips to yours, another messy, impassioned, needy dance.

Another whine escapes him as the restraint fades away into nothing. Your hips open for him, your legs wrapping around his waist as his movements become heavier, more momentum behind them. He envelops you with his arms, one hooked on your shoulder and the other holding your hip. You’re so close, so close; there is no longer anything in the fucking way.

“The way a man feels about you is crystal clear when you bed ‘im.” Ino’s words weigh on your mind, and you wonder if friends are supposed to cling to each other like this.

Of course they don’t, but you don’t allow the thought to cross your mind. Not here, not now.

“Kiba, Kiba—” You pant against his lips between struggling breaths and fervent kisses.

“You’re fucking heaven,” he huffs in return. He moves again, peeling away from you only to push your legs to your chest before leaning down again.

“Fuck, it’s so fucking deep.”

“That’s it,” he coos, his balls slapping against you as he fucks into you, his mercy and patience wearing thin. “Take it all. Good girl.”

The earth-splitting strike of lightning, the house-shaking rumble of thunder.

You’re spinning, free-falling as his length is buried inside of you, his cockhead brushing against your cervix. It’s deep, too deep, not deep enough. Your nails rake across his shoulder blades. His lips find the curve of your neck, and he sucks at the skin, biting down, keeping you in place.

“Shit, shit—” The bubbling of heat collects in your abdomen, and you grip his hair once more, tight, a grounding grip.

He growls against your flesh as he brings the blood to the surface, but this time he doesn’t stop. He’s marking you, his, his, his.

“Kiba!” You call out, your voice echoing, laced with a warning and pure nirvana.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, licking the skin, before landing on another spot on the other side and repeating himself. “I can’t fucking help it. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t mean it, and you can tell. The unfortunate part is: neither do you.

He mutters another half-apology as his thrusts become relentless, fucking into you as he did with the girls he gave meaningless kisses to. But you’re not them, you’re you, it’s not meaningless, it never will be.

You sob his name as you cling to him, the wet sounds accompanying the slap of skin. You’re floating away, gone, a fever dream within a fever dream, trembling legs hugging his waist.

“G-Gonna—”

“Fuck, yes, cum for me. Cum all over this fucking cock.”

And you do, hard. A violent, shattering burst of heat and your essence that sends you into orbit, lightheaded, tears of bliss rolling down your cheeks. Your walls clench around him, milking him for everything he has.

He thrusts into you, enough force behind them to rock the bed, to scoot you further into the pillows as his own climax swells. He bottoms out once, twice, each jerk making you cry out before he pulls away from you, a hasty and frantic movement, steadying his member in his hand as ropes of white hot cum land across your stomach in spurts.

You pant for air, chest heaving, your head still reeling by the time he’s wiped you clean of his essence, your body twitching as it works to come down from its nirvana. You hear him in the kitchen before he emerges at the bedside, a glass of water handed to you as he sits next to you.

“Here.” He says gently, his tone now opposite of what it was mere moments ago.

“Thanks.” You sigh, and you sit yourself up, slowly, before taking the glass. After a few sips, you hand it back to him, and he follows your lead, one, two gulps of ice-cold heaven in a glass. Water has never tasted so sweet before.

“You okay?” He asks, looking over your sprawled-out body, a whisper of a laugh in his voice.

“Yeah…” you nod, though you can already tell you’ll be sore, so fucking sore tomorrow. “Yeah, I’m okay. Are you?”

“Never better.” He grins, and then his eyes widen as he catches his practice, his art of suppressing his feelings for you also slipping from his grasp. He clears his throat and looks down at the drink in his hand. You can tell the wheels in his mind are turning, grinding, but you don’t ask.

You don’t have to. That’s what friends are for.

#my writing #kiba inuzuka #kiba inuzuka x reader #x reader fic #kiba smut #kiba inuzuka smut #kiba fanfic #goddamn why cant i write a DRABBLE #inuzuka kiba #inuzuka kiba x reader

683 notes · View notes

frankie-bell · 7 months

Text

An Essay Exploring Psycho-Pass's Most Controversial Character

I know I’m opening a huge, slimy can of worms and potentially incurring the wrath of half the Psycho-Pass fandom, but I feel compelled to share my feelings on Mika Shimotsuki and how I believe she serves as a lightning rod for fan culture misogyny. Now, before I start, let me just say that this essay isn’t targeted at any one individual, and it’s just my personal opinion, which you are more than welcome to disagree with. I’d also like to stress that, despite my love for Mika’s character, I’m going to try my very best to approach this topic from an academic standpoint rather than an emotional one. I recently picked Parasocial Relationships and their effect on female celebrities and fictional characters as a thesis for my Gender and Media course, and it really got me thinking about this anime in particular, so here we go…

Let’s tackle the female side of things first, because it’s the one that shocks and disappoints me the most. Don’t get me wrong -- I think fandoms with a strong female presence are awesome, complex, uplifting, and oftentimes incredibly positive and inclusive spaces. I love being a female genre fan and interacting with other female genre fans. That said, I’ve noticed female fandom can sometimes fall prey to online bullying and misogynistic groupthink when it comes to (a) female characters they find arrogant, bossy, mean, etc. and (b) female characters who are positioned as potential love interests for their collective male "blorbos," "husbandos," "faves," whatever the term may be. These two things very often overlap, which I’ll touch on later, but for now, let’s talk about the first point.

There was a big movement online several years ago urging creators to “let women be mean. Let them be angry. Let them be petty and complex and difficult. Let them be messy.” I fully support this idea in both theory and practice and wish it were that simple, but unfortunately, it’s not, because uncomfortably large swaths of fandom don’t like/appreciate unapologetically mean female characters the way they do male characters. Men in fiction are allowed to be cutthroat, selfish, cruel, narcissistic, arrogant, and even evil without garnering even a fraction of the judgement that female characters receive for simply being “difficult” or “unlikable.”

Take, for instance, Shougo Makishima. The Psycho-Pass fandom at large adores this character (myself included), despite the fact that he’s a remorseless sociopath who touts the importance of free will as a wholesale excuse for murder. He is a bad person, full-stop, and yet he garners love -- even sympathy -- in abundance. He’s the subject of fawning fan fiction, chibi art, thirst tweets, and endless Reddit analysis. Fans are capable of seeing him, murderous warts and all, as a product of the warped dystopian society Sibyl has created. But Mika? Nope. Just “a bitch, a whiner, an arrogant little girl who deserves to get slapped in the mouth.” (I am not making this up. These are the type of comments I see *female* fans making left and right about her character). She receives far more hate for giving up the location of Akane’s grandmother as a blackmailed, frightened teenager than Makishima does for slashing Yuki’s throat or blowing up Masaoka. Hell, she catches more heat for Akane’s grandmother than Sakuya Togane, the woman’s actual murderer and -- I can’t stress this enough -- a 41-year-old adult man.

Now, I know what some of you are thinking -- Makishima and Togane are villains, so their personality flaws (putting it lightly) and horrible actions are essential to the narrative and indicative of good storytelling. We’re meant to “love to hate them.” All correct, and yet this doesn’t change or excuse the fact that their standing in the fandom, when compared to the equally complex and emotionally fractured Mika, is textbook pernicious misogyny. But, for the sake of argument, let’s compare Mika to another character ostensibly on the side of good -- Nobuchika Ginoza. [Note: Ginoza is my favorite character in Psycho-Pass, and any commentary regarding his PP1 shittiness is made with pure love and appreciation for him and nuanced character growth in general.]

When we first meet Ginoza, he is rude, terse, unyielding, intellectually smug, and totally unforgiving of those closest to him. He’s a brilliant character, and his behavior, no matter how insufferable and seemingly cruel, is the result of compounded trauma -- the trauma of having his father ripped away when he was only nine, the trauma of being unfairly judged for the “sins” of said latent criminal father, the trauma of his mother numbing her pain with medication and eventually becoming something akin to a human corpse, the trauma of finding a new support system and best friend in Kougami only to once again be “abandoned” for the other side of the law. In many ways, he’s still a hurt child lashing out at the world, unwilling to see it for the complicated, morally gray place that it is, because being mad is easier. Telling himself that Enforcers are nothing more than dogs for him to guide and use as shields is easier. Blindly trusting the judgements handed down by Sibyl is easier.

In this way, he and Mika are remarkably similar. When she first joins the MWPSB, she’s a 17-year-old minor whose best friend (and probably first love) was dismembered by a latent criminal under the direction of a serial killer disguising himself as a teacher -- a trusted authority figure. She’s filled with guilt and self-loathing over her failure to act, and the easiest way for her to sort out her feelings and ensure the same thing doesn’t happen again is to harden herself to all latent criminals. Distrusting them, treating them as “other,” is her form of self-preservation. Yes, it makes her come across as mean, as closed-minded, as unlikable, but that’s not a bad thing. It’s good storytelling, and it presents her with plenty of potential for growth, which she is certainly given.

[Upon discovering that her best friend, fellow Oso Academy student Kagami Kawarazaki, has been murdered by Rikako Oryo, Mika breaks down in tears, blaming herself for the tragedy. This is the moment her distrust of latent criminals is solidified.]

But, unlike Ginoza (a 28-year-old adult man), over half the fandom decided that Mika was so awful, so totally unforgivable, such a “heinous cunt,” that they were unwilling to allow her the time and space to grow beyond her trauma and immaturity. But why? Is it because we’ve been taught to judge women, even fictional ones, based on a different set of criteria than men? I think the answer is obvious, and I urge fans who dislike Mika’s character with such intensity to seriously examine their reasoning. I don’t mean to say that she’s infallible (hardly) or that it’s wrong to dislike her. Everyone is entitled to their opinion, and no one person’s take is more valid than another’s, but it’s definitely something to think about in the larger conversation that is media analysis.

Which brings me to Akane Tsunemori, someone who fits all the abovementioned criteria for a “likeable” female character. [Another note: I love Akane, and none of this is meant to disparage her. I am simply trying to point out that she’s a more easily digestible female when viewed through the patriarchal lens of pop culture.] She’s smart but not arrogant about it, strong-willed but never disagreeable, empathetic but not easily led by her emotions, and most importantly, she’s always kind to the fandom’s male faves. She is, in almost every way, trademark "Best Girl" material, and Mika is her foil (at least in PP2). She’s set up to be the anti-Akane, both in personality and narrative function. If Akane trusts someone, Mika doesn’t. If Akane wants to bend the rules, Mika is rigid in upholding them. If Akane isn’t afraid of clouding her Hue, Mika is downright terrified.

Though it’s never stated outright, she probably hoped her senior Inspector would serve as a mentor figure, yet we see none of that from Akane, who often abandons Mika to chase down seemingly wild leads and appears to be stuck in the past, yearning for the original Division 01. (Mika even says as much to Ginoza in a novelization of the first film.) On top of that, I think it’s important to remember that we’re predisposed to side with Akane, as she is both our POV protagonist *and* the hero of the narrative. We have unprecedented access to her private moments, motivations, and methodology. We know she means well and trust that her unconventional strategy will pay off in the end. Mika does not. All she knows is that her direct superior is habitually breaking the rules, overloading her team with what feels like excessive busywork, and ignoring the more bureaucratic side of the job in favor of unconventional/unsanctioned detective work. If I’m being perfectly honest, I would also be submitting concerned reports to my boss.

[When Akane blatantly disregards Sibyl's judgement of bomber Akira Kitazawa, talking him down from a Crime Coefficient of 302 to 299, Mika confronts her for putting both their colleagues and nearby civilians in danger. This later proves to be the right call, as Kitazawa attacks Inspector Risa Aoyanagi and escapes police custody.]

[While investigating Kirito Kamui, Akane keeps her suspicions/theories close to the chest, leaving Mika and the rest of Division 01 in the dark as to her game plan.]

[Although Akane's decision to entrust Hinakawa with all 185 Halos proves to be the right one, it's understandable why Mika is taken aback by her placing so much responsibility on a single subordinate -- especially one with Hinakawa's history.]

Now, that’s not to say Mika’s feelings about Akane are purely altruistic. She’s definitely jealous of her senior Inspector and resents her standing within the Bureau, which makes her behave in ways both petty and vindictive. But I’d argue that this, too, is understandable, if not wholly forgivable, when viewed through Mika’s eyes. Picture this: You’re the youngest-ever recruit to a highly coveted position. You follow protocol to a T, are deferential to your superiors, and show a genuine aptitude for the job. Even your callousness toward the Enforcers (again, your childhood best friend was butchered by a latent criminal) is in accordance with Sybil’s will. Shitty, yes, but standard for someone raised within the Orwellian hellscape of 2100s Japan. And yet, everyone around you prefers your senior Inspector. Your subordinates defer to her when you’re the officer in charge (Hinakawa) and even help her game the system (Ginoza). The Chief tells you you’re boring, but displays obvious favoritism toward her. This severely harms your self-esteem and colors the way you interact with everyone around you. After all, it’s hard to feel like a valued member of the team when you’re being undermined and lectured at every turn. This doesn’t excuse Mika’s behavior, and if she didn’t evolve, I might understand some of the hate, but she does evolve. Spectacularly. She’s just not Akane, and that’s okay.

[While dealing with the hostage situation in PP2, Mika notices Hinakawa working on something off to the side. When she confronts him about it, he admits that he's acting on Akane's orders, even though Mika is technically the officer in charge.]

[A similar incident occurs in Sinners of the System: Case. 1, when Ginoza shoots down Mika's (admittedly ridiculous) plan, which she interprets as him once again siding with Akane over her.]

Again, this is good storytelling at work, and you can acknowledge that these two women are diametrically opposed and still appreciate -- hell, even like -- both of them for the well-written characters they are. After all, most Psycho-Pass fans like both Kougami and Ginoza in PP1 despite their many differences, not to mention the fact that Ginoza is (and I say this with love) a giant asshole. Let’s not forget, he was *this close* to microwaving Kougami at Chief Kasei’s behest. You can tell yourself he wouldn’t have, but are you sure? Are you really sure? But we forgive him, because he’s a man. Anyway, back to Akane and Mika. For reasons I’ll never understand, many fans find it borderline impossible to love two women with beef, whether it’s one-sided or mutual. There can only be one Best Girl, and everyone better be on her team. It reminds me of the Sansa vs. Daenerys discourse that gripped the Game of Thrones fandom in its last few seasons. This is doubly ridiculous in Psycho-Pass’s case, because Akane and Mika come to trust, respect, and depend on each other. But people decided to hate this 19-year-old forever, so none of that matters.

[Notice how Ginoza's gaze narrows ominously in the last frame, suggesting he might actually have pulled the trigger, thereby killing his best friend, had Akane not intervened.]

Now, let’s return to my earlier point about certain fans irrationally hating any female character they deem unworthy of their blorbo, husbando, etc. This is where Parasocial Relationships become extremely interesting. As mentioned above, Ginoza is my favorite character in Psycho-Pass, which I think is pretty common. While I myself have never been one for self-insertion or creating OCs to pair with my favorite characters, I understand that it’s a popular trend, and if you enjoy it, more power to you. It becomes problematic, however, when those who engage in self-shipping/OC-shipping decide to collectively gang up on the female character creators have paired (or hinted at pairing) with the object of their affection. Enter GinoMika. Now, I know what you’re thinking -- “But Mika’s a lesbian!” I don’t necessarily agree. Do I think she was in love with her best friend at Oso Academy? Yes. Do I think she had a crush on Yayoi at the beginning of PP2? Yes. Do I also think it’s obvious she currently has feelings for Ginoza, which have been steadily growing since Sinners of the System? Absolutely. For this reason, I interpret her as being both bisexual and demisexual. But that’s beside the point --

The point is that many Ginoza fans who ship him with themselves, their OCs, or Akane (remember, she’s Best Girl) seem to enjoy trashing on Mika like it’s an Olympic sport. And when I say “trashing,” I don’t mean your normal yet still disappointing level of ship nonsense; I mean unhinged, violent rhetoric that makes me feel like the Internet is a place where women can never win. And why? Because she was mean to him when she first started working for the MWPSB? As if he was oh-so-kind to the Enforcers who worked under him. I seem to recall him screaming at his father and threatening to “make him pay” for visiting his sick wife without permission. Oh, and then there was the time he introduced Akane to her new colleagues by telling her, “Don’t think that the guys you’re about to meet are humans like us.” But yes, Mika once told him that she didn’t want his opinion as a latent criminal, which is so much worse. And before you can say that she’s still a bitch to him, let me point out that she is a textbook tsundere. That’s how she flirts, shows affection, etc. She can never come right out and say what she means, because that would make her vulnerable. But she can surreptitiously tell Ginoza he better come back alive by insisting he return her special Dominator. You know, because it would be a real hassle if she had to replace that thing.

[The language Ginoza uses when introducing Akane to the Enforcers, including his own best friend and father, is deeply dehumanizing.]

[When Aoyanagi takes Masaoka to visit his estranged wife, Ginoza reacts with explosive anger, reprimanding his father in front of their colleagues and threatening to retaliate should he do it again.]

Which brings us, at long last, to the male portion of the fandom. While many female fans like to call Mika out for her more negative character traits, completely ignoring any and all growth she’s experienced since PP2, male fans tend to direct their anger, dislike, etc. in a much more aggressive manner. I wish I was exaggerating when I say that I’ve seen multiple posts praying for Mika’s rape and subsequent murder. You can’t dive into a single “Season 4 Wish List” thread without finding at least one person wishing extreme ill on Mika Shimotsuki. It's pure misogyny, classic “I’ll fuck the bitch right out of her” rhetoric, and it has no place in this fandom or any other. You would never see a male character being talked about in these terms. Consider this: There’s more fan fiction featuring Mika being raped or coerced into sex by her tormentor, Sakuya Togane, than her having a positive, consensual experience with any other character. Love her or hate her, that is extremely fucked up. We as a fandom need to do better, because once this type of misogyny can be weaponized against fictional characters, it becomes much easier to use against real people. Fan culture, though it might seem trivial, says a lot about us and our values.

[This is just a sampling of the comments you'll find on Twitter, Tumblr, Reddit, and other social media sites.]

That said, I’d like to end this essay on a more positive note, so let’s take a look at all the ways in which Mika has become a better, more compassionate human being over the course of the series...

By PP3, she shows obvious concern for her Enforcers, values their opinions, and treats them like integral members of her team. In an especially cute scene, she even fist-bumps Tenma Todoroki after they work seamlessly to defeat Koichi Azusawa’s henchmen. She also makes a point to attend the party thrown in the Enforcers’ quarters, as she now longs to be part of the gang -- a gang she would have actively shunned in PP2.

[During First Inspector, Mika shows time and again that she's willing to work with and for her Enforcers.]

[As Chief, Mika realizes that Enforcers deserve respect and gratitude from their superiors. They are no longer dogs to her.]

[In PP2, Mika tells Ginoza she doesn't care what the Enforcers think of her. By PP3, however, we see her display concern that her team might find her dull. She wants to be liked and accepted by them.]

She becomes far more flexible with her co-workers, allowing Inspectors Arata Shindo and Kei Mikhail Ignatov plenty of freedom to conduct investigations as they see fit. Yes, she consistently scolds them (textbook tsundere behavior), but this is done in a manner far more humorous than anything else. We know she actually trusts them and has their best interests at heart; she just can’t bring herself to say it aloud. She also repeatedly takes heat from Chief Hosorogi on their behalf and is genuinely worried for Arata when it seems like Sibyl might “eliminate” him. The palpable relief on her face when she finds out he’s allowed to remain an Inspector speaks volumes.

[Throughout PP3, Mika allows Kei and Arata to play to their individual strengths, even if it means bending the rules -- something she would never have done in PP2 or the first film.]

[Just look at that excited face. No caption necessary.]

She goes out of her way to make sure the immigrant prostitutes saved by religious leader Joseph Auma are protected following his death. This is an especially big deal, since many of these individuals are latent criminals, and Mika is forced to ask her newfound nemesis, Frederica Hanashiro, for a favor in order to secure their safety. When she tries to pretend it’s no big deal, Frederica calls her bluff by pointing out that no one would stoop to asking someone they hate for help in order to protect people whose fates they don’t care about.

[Even though Mika detests Frederica, she puts the well-being of the immigrants before her own pride.]

In Sinners of the System: Case. 1, her distrust of latent criminals is permanently altered after dealing with Izumi Yasaka, whom she works tirelessly to rescue and comes to view as brave, capable, and worthy of reintegration into society. She also displays genuine concern for and lack of discrimination toward Takeya Kukuri, the young son of a latent criminal, and is horrified to discover that the latent criminal inmates at Sanctuary are being used as disposable tools to move nuclear waste canisters.

[Sinners of the System: Case. 1 marks a decided shift in the way Mika views latent criminals. Instead of lumping them all together, she begins to see them as individuals who deserve basic human rights.]

[Even though Mika is unable to save all the latent criminals at Sanctuary, she does everything in her power to ensure Yasaka and Takeya walk away clean.]

When Enforcer Mao Kisaragi turns out to be the “fox within the CID,” Mika and the rest of Division 01 are united in supporting her claim of innocence. Mika trusts (without concrete proof, mind you) that she’s telling the truth about being an unwitting accomplice, something she never would have done in PP2 or even the first film.

[While the old Mika would have been the first person to distrust Kisaragi, here we see her standing up for the beleaguered Enforcer.]

She comes to respect Division 01 (Akane, Ginoza, Sugo, Hinakawa, Kunizuka, and Shion), views them as a surrogate family, and misses them once their unit is disbanded. In Sinners of the System: Case. 3, Frederica Hanashiro, who temporarily worked as part of their unit, says, “CID Division 01… They’re not just capable; they have a rare teamwork that overcomes the barrier between Inspectors and Enforcers.” Yes, this is mostly due to Akane’s guiding influence, but it’s clear Frederica is talking about the whole team. It’s taken Mika years to get there, but she is now definitely part of the group, not a jealous outsider looking in. In fact, even Mika’s obvious dislike of Frederica in PP3 is a clear result of this affection. After finally finding a place to belong, she feels as though Frederica swooped in and stole her found family, leaving her right back where she started -- on the outside.

[Though she'll never admit it, Mika views Ginoza as both a mentor and a friend. When he leaves the PSB to join SAD/MOFA, she misses having him around.]

[During her lowest moment in PP2, a jealous Mika actually hopes that Akane's Hue will darken. In Sinners of the System: Case. 2, she pleads with her to take her own safety more seriously. It's clear a big change has occurred in the intervening years.]

[Instead of feeling constant competition with Akane, by PP3, Mika is finally able to give her her due. It's clear they trust and respect each other despite their many differences.]

She’s grown from an immature young woman who couldn’t bring herself to take responsibility for her failures -- most notably her involvement in Akane’s grandmother’s murder -- to a responsible PSB Chief who holds herself accountable for anything that goes wrong with her Inspectors and Enforcers. This is most evident in her reaction to Koichi Azusawa taking control of Nona Tower and subsequently endangering the lives of MWPSB faculty and agents. We first see inklings of this change near the end of PP2, when Kunizuka tells Mika she’ll never forgive the person who gave up Aoi Tsunemori’s location, and Mika responds in kind. It’s clear that she’s not merely parroting a response to save her own skin but is deeply troubled and filled with regret over her own actions.

[In PP2, Mika is constantly blaming others for her mistakes. By First Inspector, she's owning mistakes she didn't even make.]

[Mika trusts her team so much, she's willing to put her job on the line.]

[Although Mika doesn't come clean to Kunizuka about her role in Aoi Tsunemori's death, it's clear she’s haunted by it. Later, when she confesses the truth to Ginoza, he admits to feeling a similar guilt over the way he treated his late father, telling Mika they'll have to bear their respective shame silently for the rest of their lives.]

And lastly, I believe the biggest example of Mika's growth can be found in what is arguably her most important relationship -- the one she shares with Ginoza. Whether you view them as mentor/mentee, begrudging friends, potential love interests, or all three, you can't deny that they have one of the most interesting and entertaining dynamics in the series. As mentioned above, when Mika first meets Ginoza, she views him as a cautionary tale. His demotion from Inspector to Enforcer is her worst nightmare, something that could conceivably happen to her, though she'll never admit it. Because of this, she treats him with hostility, disregarding his opinions and shunning his advice. But the longer they work together, the more we realize that Ginoza brings out the best in Mika -- and vice-versa. His calm, cool demeanor tempers her fiery spirit, and her enthusiasm makes him feel like he still has a purpose. By the time PP3 rolls around, he's become her #1 confidant, the person she calls whenever she has intel to share, grievances to air, etc. And you can't deny that Mika is the one person who makes Ginoza funny. Their flirtatious banter is genuinely charming and shows the softer, more human side of both their characters.

[Given her history with latent criminals, Mika refuses to listen to Ginoza, even when he's coming from a place of experience and genuinely trying to help her.]

[After working together for several years, Mika learns to value Ginoza's opinion and even feels proud when he compliments her.]

[During the Sanctuary case, Ginoza admits to both Akane and himself that being an Enforcer isn't so bad, as long as Mika is the one calling the shots. He knows she has a good heart, and working for her reminds him why he joined the MWPSB in the first place.]

[Notice how Mika's body language changes from PP2 to Sinners of the System. She now looks at Ginoza with appreciation and, in certain instances, affection. The fact that he views her the same way speaks volumes about how far their relationship has come.]

If you made it to the end of this mammoth post, thank you for sticking with me. Hopefully, we can all treat Mika with a little more patience, kindness, and respect when PP4 arrives.

110 notes · View notes

v-anrouge · 7 months

Note

ok before i get to divorced!rook. yuu as morticia and rook as gomez. it's not like it hasn't been done before, but it's a wonderful concept nonetheless. both so very taken with the other to the most of dizzying, obsessive madness. he scares you, sometimes. there are times his unslakable thirst for knowledge ventures into the bounds of insanity; he'd love to know the type of fear one dons on their face when a loved reveals themself to be a wolf in sheep's clothing-- a very ravenous one, at that. really, he's no stranger to that, and neither are you. he's chased you through the halls of your home with nothing but a brisk walking pace, a hunting knife, his cunning mind, and his love for you! such is the hunt that gives him the best thrill, and he knows it does for you. your knees buckle, not because of the exhaustion, but because of the same desire that overwhelms him too. when he catches you-- traps you to the wall with your sleeve like a butterfly wing pinned down, the horrifyingly gleeful look in his eye is something that spurs unimaginable fear and horror. and it's really just the incentive for you both to do this again and again and again. your heart pounds like the frantic flutter of a dying butterfly and he leans his, verdant eyes full of animosity and his teeth sharper than you've ever notice. he promises you he'll take very good care of his most prized quarry as he presses the hunting knife along the vulnerable expanse of your neck.

and you'll wake up next to him and he'll be a different man-- pressing soft kisses everywhere and anywhere he can. he fawns over you, praises you with endless articulation, and stares at you like you were a god in the flesh. isn't that what you are? his dreadfully, hauntingly lovely spouse? lords. he would kill for you. he would die for you! any pain is glorious as long as it's from you, or with you.

- c

ive never watches the addams family i just know morticia is hot and gomez is the standard everyone should set for and by extension, so is rook

YOU ARE GONNA CAUSE ME TO BE PUT INTO A FUCKINF MENTAL HOSPITAL. im i don't even know what to say rook hunting his spouse down in their own fucking shared house is literally so fucking canon, and the way you described how he is acting towards them AJJSJWJSJSJSJSS im so obsessed with rook loving them in his insane ways because he knows they're just as crazy as him

anyways hhh @krenenbaker

#✎ ⇣‧₊˚ 【asks #ৎ୭ ⇣‧₊˚ 【stinks #♡ᭂ ⇣‧₊˚ 【 pome's cult member

26 notes · View notes

impishsensei · 5 months

Text

some sunday-themed (+ a little on romance/relationships) headcanons that are mostly just a repost from my old blog, though i'm adding quite a bit more so :3c remember these are just my personal headcanons based on my iteration of gojo ❤️ also it's written in a very rambly/stream of thoughts way so i hope it's easy to follow. under the cut for length!

- irt his sexuality, satoru is best described as bi with a preference for women and fem-aligned people. he loves girls! he's literally that one silly "i don't date ugly girls? why? cuz they don't exist" meme bc he just... idk he adores women. soaks in the attention he gets for being a pretty boy like a fucking sponge he thrives on it (yeah he posts thirst traps). he's a lil bit disrespectful tho bc *ldr voice* you're just a man but he does try <3 basically in his eyes women are everything and men are just ken (not including himself). but he does like guys ofc esp pretty boys. ultimately tho, he rly doesn't care that deeply about someone else's gender... if he wants them he wants them

- more on that... satoru's type is generally someone that's cute + shorter than him he loves the shawtys idk. he tends to like people with more pretty/delicate facial features. he's more of an ass/thighs guy but lbr he's not like... so picky about that he will just go a lil crazy in giving them a lot of attention when yk. in terms of looks tho, his type isn't super rigid... he's just more likely to be super initially attracted to the above traits. outside of the more superficial stuff, they have to accept that they're not his first priority and it'll be extremely hard for him to truly let them in. he might never, actually, and it's extremely unfair and he realizes that, which again, is part of why he doesn't see romance in the cards for himself.

- ik i mentioned this a few times before in other posts but i'll say again he's kind of um... for the streets? not to be a dick tho but just... he wants intimacy, but he can't have true intimacy bc of his job/loneliness/priorities etc so he gets it ya know that way. despite this tho, i think he can actually be very sweet and will get crushes and stuff like that. even when he has fwb i think he'll act a bit too familiar/boyfriend-ish that'll have the other person feeling like "uhm... what are we...?" only for him to get cold feet rip. basically, it's not impossible for him to be in a relationship but i think it'd be hard/very heavy slowburn in a rather unconventional way. i don't think it's particularly hard for him to catch feelings if he's fooling around with someone a lot and genuinely likes them, but he'd be in total denial of that, and when it really dawns on him he'd try to ghost. same if someone he's fooling around with tells him they're falling for him... it's difficult to become his romantic partner and not for the weak of will. (is he even worth the struggle? ksadsa idk)

- if one does manage to bag this disaster of a man and he enters a serious relationship i think he's the type to fall very deeply in love! he's super clingy and possessive and he loves attention. he wants his partner to be obsessed with him like he wants to be certain they are never leaving. he's passionate and loves to spoil them rotten. very much into pda and loves to have a hand on them ALWAYS, be it through hand-holding or a hand around the waist. and yes this means he also can't keep his hands off them irt fucking too . the other day i came up with this hilarious idea that satoru can use rct to fill his balls back up so his stamina is endless. enjoy luvs (and yes he absolutely uses his abilities for stupid shit like this)

- in the bedroom... he's a versatile switch on paper but definitely prefers being a dom and a top. subby satoru is an absolute treat tho, he gets real whiney and bratty and then as a dom he's rly a sadistic tease. also he's got an 8 inch pecker bc ofc he does. bastard.

dirty talk - pls he loves the sound of his own voice he will NOT stfu LMAO also he just... idk.. has an absolutely foul mouth and will describe shit in detail and ask nasty ass questions like um someone put this man back in his enclosure. basically he loves to see his partner blush and squirm from the lewd shit that comes out of his mouth. one of his fave things to do is say smth absolutely disgusting in their ear when they're out and about just to see how it gets his partner flustered

notable kinks:

exhibitionism - he likes to fuck in public and also kinda likes to lowkey let it be known that he's fucking his partner. maybe not full-on getting caught but he loves being risky. he'll place a hand on their ass and grope them when talking to someone or have them walk around with a toy inside and ramp it up to the highest setting when they're ordering at a restaurant. yeahhh

voyeurism - he LOVES sending pics and receiving pics and also he loves to watch his partner touch themselves for him. drives him crazy.

breeding - i mean is anyone surprised. i got nothing else to say just he wants to pump someone full of his honored one seed

praise - this one is more directed at himself. he loves to get his ego inflated but he will also praise his partner lots too bc he wants them to feel good

sado-masochist - it's not super extreme but this does play into how much he loves to tease. he wont hurt them too bad but he does y'know like to overstimulate and maybe slap someone around a bit (esp spanking). choking's on the table too, he loves that shit. as for the masochism... subtoru wants his dick to get stepped on and prob wants to get stabbed idk i feel like he's not used to it and he'd go crazy for it a lil bit.

teasing/edging - kinda prob conveyed heavily already by everything above, but he rly will torment someone with slight touches and act like he's innocent and they're the dirty one bc he wants them to beg for it.. yep loves feeding his ego that way and would def be like "nope you gotta say it!" and he rly will not give them what they want until they spell it out for him. i mentioned above the use of toys, but also sending dirty texts/pics, cockwarming, edging, thighfucking so they can feel it but not where they want it... stuff like that.

idk how to really define this but he would love sexy roleplays like. his partner dressing as a maid or a nurse stuff like that lol also related-ish but he v much enjoys seeing his partner dress in sexy clothes to entice him (like lingerie or rly revealing stuff)

not rly a kink but he loves eating pussy/sucking dick/eating ass he will do it all day it will double as rct to his brain anyway this is all i can think of for now, there's way more trust me this man is a total pervert we are fr just scratching the surface here <3 i hope this makes sense and helps u all see more into this little gremlin freak's mind. to anyone who read this thank u and also i am sorry for subjecting u to this

#╰┈➤ ʙᴇɴᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟɪɴᴅꜰᴏʟᴅ ꒰ headcanon. ꒱#╰┈➤ 'ᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪ ɢᴏᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏɴ' ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ɢᴇᴛ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ꒰ nsfw. ꒱#// i wanted to make a lil hc banner for this too but im lazy rn i'll add it later

7 notes · View notes

if-you-fan-a-fire · 2 months

Text

"I am in vigorous accord with George Bernard Shaw, who once wrote that "Imprisonment as it exists to-day is a worse crime against the prisoner than any crime the prisoner commits against society." For of all the possible forms of starvation, surely none is more demoralizing than sexual starvation. If one becomes sufficiently hungry or thirsty, one naturally suffers a great deal; but usually only for a comparatively brief time. Relief is always in sight - even if it come in the desperate form of death. But to be starved for month after weary month, year after endless year, in a place where "every day is like a year, a year whose days are long," for sexual satisfaction which, in the case of a lifer, may never come, this is the secret quintessence of human misery. Is it any wonder, then, that the prisoner should seek relief in any available form? To the man dying of hunger and thirst it makes very little difference that the only available food and water are tainted. Likewise it makes little or no difference to the average prisoner that the only available means of sexual satisfaction are abnormal. It is merely a matter of satisfying as best he can the hunger which besets him. I mean a hunger not only for sexual intercourse, but a hunger for the voice, the touch, the laugh, the tears of Woman; a hunger for Woman Herself.

...

There is, to begin with, the fact that the prisoner is almost completely deprived of contact with women. Except for monthly visits, he rarely sees a woman; and he certainly does not have the chance, once in a dozen years, of obtaining sexual intercourse with a woman. This almost complete lack of the female in the prison world has a very debasing effect. Woman is, speaking generally, the civilizing, the refining, the cleansing agent of the community. Deprived of contact with her, the prisoner inevitably becomes coarsened, ill-mannered, lowered in any number of ways. But the most far-reaching effect of this absence of woman from the scheme of things is the sexual starvation from which all prisoners suffer in varying degrees of intensity.

Symptomatic of this condition is the inevitable trend toward matters of sex in the conversations of prisoners in shop and yard. No matter on what high level it begins, it invariably ends in risque anecdotes, bragging stories of sexual adventures in former days, intendedly humorous quips about sodomy, oral copulation and masturbation, in which the very quintessence of wit is taken to consist in accusations of sexual depravity. The oral copulators are variously referred to as "muzzlers", "fairies", "fags", "pansies", and the like; the passive participants in sodomy are called "punks", "gonsils", "mustard pots", or even more direct physical terms are used.

These two types of homosexuality are generally held in a species of good-humored contempt. The active participants, on the other hand, who are known as "wolves", "jockers", "daddies", etc., are generally looked upon with comparative respect, chiefly because their behavior is essentially male; and also because these "wolves" are usually rough-necks; and the tougher you are in prison the more you are held in respect by the average prisoner. The frequent recurrence of these countless quips and anecdotes based upon sexual depravity indicate to what a great extent the mind of the prisoner is obsessed with sexual matters. For men do not talk and joke so frequently or so interestedly about a particular matter unless it is very much on their minds. That sexual matters do preoccupy the minds of prisoners may perhaps best be indicated by the remarkable fact that, in twelve years of imprisonment, I think no day ever passed in which I did not listen, countless times, to jokes and conversations of this type.

A paragraph of these wisecracks would portray the state of mind of the prisoner better than a dozen pages of roundabout exposition; but even in these days of free sexual exposition there would follow an avalanche of censorship. So I can only say that when a man comes to the shop in the morning looking as if he had had a bad night, sotto-voce quips in racy terms inform him that he ought to give up masturbation.

The hunger for Woman is expressed in the most extravagant terms; her bodily parts are referred to in phrases pregnant with sadistic longing. Never, not even among the English "Tommys" during the War, have I heard the pungent four-letter words of sex used with such zest as in the prison. And when a man is seen giving a fellow convict some candy or a package of cigarettes, it is considered humor of the highest order to ask, "Is he your 'boy'?" or "You must be sleeping with him!"

This constant preoccupation with sexual matters, which is one of the inescapable results of sexual hunGer, is an important factor in the prison environment, as will be seen. When the newly admitted, constitutionally homosexual prisoner finds that he is not looked upon with the degree of loathing and suspicion with which he is looked upon in the free community, and when he realizes that here, in a world of men without women, is a fertile field for his abnormal activities, he naturally avails himself of his opportunities and thus not only satisfies his own abnormal desires, but also becomes a major factor in bringing out and strengthening the latent homosexual tendencies of his new associates. And the more constitutional or environmentally created homosexuals who come to prison, the worse it is for the sexual well-being of the other inmates; for it is infinitely easier for such men to find willing collaborators in their vices than it is for the "wolves" to seduce the otherwise normal young prisoners. These "fairies" and "gonsils", moreover, are responsible for a great deal of the ribald joking about sexual affairs among inmates. Being as they are for the most part brazenly effeminate in their actions and mannerisms, they are the never-failing butts of the jokers; and since many of them become perfect imitations of the female "gold-digger", they naturally come in for a vast amount of the badinage and wise-cracking current among pimps and whores in the outside world.

There is one other important factor which makes the prison environment so favorable to sexual depravity. This results from the fact that convicted criminals are, of all persons, the ones least likely to have exercised much control of their sexual appetites in the years before they came to prison. Years of self-indulgence certainly do not build up in the prisoner those powers of self-control and resistance which would be so valuable to him during his prison life."

- Victor F. Nelson, Prison Days and Nights. Second edition. With an introduction by Abraham Myerson, M.D. Garden City: Garden City Publishing Co., 1936. p. 143, 149-151.

[Nelson, thought he had served many terms in prison in New York and Massachusets, was particularly hostile in his writings to male-male sex and relationships in prison, and is fairly typical for the period in his sexist beliefs in women as 'civilizers' of men and that homosexuality is a form of moral and psychological perversion. In this he is actually slightly more reactionary than some other prison memorists of the period, such as Chester Himes, who acknowledge their needs and desires, recognize 'homosexuals' as not being dramatically different than themselves, and engaged in sex with other men or had prisoner friends who had.]

#words from the inside #prisoner autobiography #prison community #convict code #wolves and punks #prison days and nights #victor nelson #history of crime and punishment #reformatory graduates #american prison system #sex in prison #history of homosexuality #research quote #reading 2024 #life inside

3 notes · View notes

yomogi-mogi-mochi · 1 year

Text

Twst Characters and their Government Assigned Mitski Songs

As a Japanese American lesbian it's my duty to assign these characters their songs from our lord and savior Mitski. Enjoy :)

My masterlist containing stories using some of this analysis is here.

——————————————————

*̩̩̥*̩̩̥ ୨୧ Pomefiore ୨୧ *̩̩̥*̩̩̥

Vil Schoenheit: Brand New City

"If I gave up on being pretty, I wouldn't know how to be alive"

I was stuck between Brand New City and Liquid Smooth- or even Working for the Knife. Honestly the angst potential for this man? Autonomical. I'm thriving.

This line in particular gives my Lush/Liquid Smooth vibes- being at the ripening peak of your youth. Despite the development he does go through during his Overblot arc, I think he does still have this fear of growing old and less desirable, as signified through his reactions when he remains old after escaping from S.T.Y.X.

Especially as someone who is the leader of the Pomefiore dorm- he is seen as the epitome of beauty. I mean it's most of his motivation for doing the things he does, so what happens when he no longer has that asset. Of course, he may remain beautiful on the inside (as Rook mentions), but we're all human- there's a very strong desire in him to stay as he is- hot with smooth red blood and as plump as a ripening fruit. I don't think it makes him any less likeable, I actually think it makes him a lot more realistic to see him this way. I'm sure he'll have a breakdown in his 30s and 40s when his impossibly smoothed skin begins to wrinkle lol

He's forever tethered to prettiness and beauty inside and outside- I don't think he could live with himself if that part of himself withered away.

If you like my analysis of Vil, please consider checking out my Vil x Orpheus MC fic Lasting Spring. It's a Vil x Orpheus Inspired MC, some angst/hurt/comfort, and friends to lovers

Rook Hunt: Pearl Diver

"Those creatures of your working mind, don't fear them or their hunger. Forgive the sea, follow the tide with the monsters on your shoulder. Pearl Diver, dive, dive deeper."

Was between Strawberry Blonde and Pearl Diver, but I felt that Pearl Diver fit him best. He's an aspiring archaeologist, he's a hunter which hops from one shiny thing to another- there's always something that he's chasing for the thrill of the hunt, whether that be uncovering the mysteries of bygone civilizations, or his nimble prey (Leona lol). But this is a ceaseless hunger, a thirst which will never be quenched. And I think partially he knows this- though the adrenaline of chasing down and carving his prey is hollow, it reels him back everytime- never lingering too long on anything.

What better metaphor is there than this shiny pearl, slumbering deep beneath the deep seas that he keeps diving deeper and deeper for? I think partially it's passion but first and foremost it is a youthful hubris, and endless hunger for knowledge that I'm sure many are familiar with during your teens/twenties. I think there will come a time where he dives too deep for his own good- but that won't stop him from plunging back into the ocean to find its beauty once more

I explored this characterization in my Rook x Pygmalion MC fic Pygmalion, check it out. It's got angst, slight enemies to friends to lovers, and a lot of hurt/comfort.

Epel Felmier : Your Best American Girl

"Your mother wouldn't approve how my mother raised me. But now I do, I do."

I think this is one of a handful of Mitski's "hopeful" songs- and one which explores the sociopolitical nuances of love that is rarely explored so beautifully in music (especially because the industry is oversaturated with mediocre white people, cishet white men in particular). But I think for Epel, it signifies a similar journey towards acceptance that is told in his arc

The song it not only touches upon racial differences in dating, but also gender/gender performance (as they often overlap due to cultural differences in gender and gender performance) in its overall message. With a pretty boy who learns to accept that part of himself as an empowering part of his whole- this hopeful line rings wonderfully with his development, as he becomes more comfortable in his background, masculinity, appearance, and strengths.

‧✦‧ Diasmonia ‧✦‧

Malleus Draconia: First Love / Late Spring

And I was so young when I behaved twenty-five; Yet now, I find I've grown into a tall child, and I don't wanna go home yet; Let me walk to the top of the big night sky

Was stuck between this and I Don't Smoke, or Washing Machine Heart. Either way he's a huge softie who's been sheltered his entire life so the experience for his first love for him would be as intense as this song. The lyrics tend to swing between a painful yearning for the love to never end, and a longing for the love to end as quickly to cease how suffocating and choking love can be when you first feel it.

First love is something that almost bursts at your seems when you first experience this. And it's the best feeling in the world, because you just so so full with this buzzing lightness you've never experienced before. But you know it'll end because of course fairy tale endings of true love and love at first sight don't exist, so you're begging it to be as painless as possible. For Malleus, I think this is how he experiences first love- as well as his feelings for his family (Lilia, Sebek, Silver). He knows its not going to last the eternity he is cursed with (which becomes evident with the current chapter when Lilia begins to show signs of age), and he wants so desperately for it to stretch as long as it can- but also to end as quickly as he blinks so the pain doesn't leave a relentless aching.

"Tall child" I think also describes him very well. Of course he is knowledgeable of things but he lacks the wisdom people gain from experience and the stimulus of life and tragedy. He's been numbed partially to being alone, and by sort of distancing himself from the people who project the image of untouchable monster to him, he becomes that very thing.

Much angst potential for this man as well. I love.

If you like my analysis for him, you'll like my Malleus x Light Fae MC Spolia series (*^-^*). It's got a lot of art history knowledge (gothic period), some friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, and yearning idiots.

Lilia Vanrouge: Pink in the Night

"And I know I've kissed you before but, can I try again, try again, try again?"

This song is interpreted as a romantic love song as many of Mitski's song are, but I only think that's because there's a misconception that romantic love = most raw and powerful love, and I absolutely do not agree.

He knows that there is an eternity before and after him that stretches beyond the things he loves. He may not be alive to see Silver grow old (or vise versa), or be able to support Malleus for the rest of his life either.

But unlike Malleus, he's come to terms with it, and adheres to a sort of absurdist school of thought. He values freedom and dynamic movement- he allows himself to tether his life with others, while also valuing his own experiences and opportunities. So I think these lyrics pair well with his acceptance of the nature of his life compared to the people he loves, in addition to his philosophy of living.

If you want to see a romantic interpretation of this analysis however- you'll like my Lilia x Dullahan Beloved Thy Name fic. It's got your standard hurt/comfort, angst, and I might make a sequel.

Silver: Crack Baby

"Crack Baby, you don't know what you want. But you know that you're needing it. Yeah you know that you want it.

I think Silver is one if the most emotionally intelligent characters in Twst, maybe next to maybe Carter. So the knowledge that he's likely going to be the one who will leave everyone else behind is something which is cemented into his desires and anxieties that are revealed to us in Chapter 7.

I think he also sort of knows that there's more to his genetic heritage than what is available to him. And in addition to the nature of the environment that he grew up in that instills this very fixed fate onto him- the lyrics parallel well to the permanent cravings, thinking, and power (ie his unique magic that has strong connections to Aurora plus the necklace Lilia found beside him when he first found Silver) that we're conceived before he really came to be as a person.

He lived in the foods far from the castle, he didn't have to become someone who serves both his father and Malleus- but he chooses to because of his permanent fate. The fact that he will be the one leaving everyone is internalized and delegated to his desires to make himself useful, memorable- something of substance for these other lives that seen much more grander than his own. This is why he breaks in Chapter 7, wanting only to be useful and give something to Lilia- the preconceived nature of his life has lead him towards the painful truth, and there's anxiety that lives within him because of his family. But of course, this is because he loves them.

Sebek Zigvolt: Real Men

"Though honestly sir, all I wanna do is get naked in front of you. So you can look me up and down and give me your love for being so good"

So, the Malleus obsession, right? Yeah I think he would absolutely break down if Malleus were to ever get hurt or overblot on his watch. He absolutely hinges his own self worth and life on this man because A) he's part fae so he has the means to do so and B) I don't think he's had a chance to mature in order to cultivate his individual character enough. He's young.

This is from one of Mitski's earlier albums, Lush, so I think it's safe to say that this song is from the perspective of a younger woman than she is in say albums like Be My Cowboy and Laurel Hell. Women are taught to be obedient, to never be questioning to their superiors (men), to give and give and give. I wonder- where did Sebek learn this then? Perhaps his Fae mother? During his training as a guard? When he yells at people to respect and give themselves whole to Malleus, he's merely protecting that learned sentiment outwards. There was probably some moments in his life where he was being told the same exact thing.

So maybe in chapter 7 after Malleus' overblot, be learns to be "someone", to actually learn what he's giving when he says he'll give his all to Malleus.

*:ﾟ+｡　Scarabia .ﾟ･*..☆

Kalim Al-Asim: Francis Forever

I don't need the world to see that I've been the best I can be, but I don't think I could stand to be where you don't see me

I think these lyrics best describe his relationship to Jamil.

He genuinely thinks the world of Jamil, but he's also naive- before Jamil's overblot, I don't really think it ever occurred to him that Jamil had been downplaying his own abilities, or that he had any resentment in doing so, because he genuinely thinks he and Jamil are friends. He doesn't fully comprehend that there's a certain power dynamic between them because the people around him have been accommodating to him his whole life, leaving him in ignorant bliss. He expects Jamil to cook for him and be his vice dorm leader because there's a master-servant pretext he doesn't quite understand but has been benefiting his whole life from, but in turn, he also doesn't really refuse when Jamil also asks him to help out. Which, in Jamil's perspective, I'm sure was even more frustrating on his end cause it really means he's actually just fucking clueless lol.

But I do think after Jamil's overblot and he does come to terms with his position, he still wants to be friends with him. And with the understanding of his dynamic and his own desires to continue a relationship with Jamil- he is definitely willing to sacrifice his own small victories as long as Jamil and him are able to still be together, side by side.

I think the lyrics speak to a more evolved side of Kalim that was not fully developed before Jamil's overblot, and it adds a bit of that bittersweetness thats in their relationship that actually strengths their bond in the end.

Jamil Viper: Class of 2013

"And I'll leave what I'm chasing for the other girls to pursue"

Has got to be one of my favorite songs cause it's so short yet so poignant like it just shows how talented Mitski is with just some simple notes on the piano and a few lines

Anyways apart from my Mitski obsession, this line in particular narrates the slow extinguishing of one's own desires to save oneself from being continuously hurt from preconceived barriers. For Mitski, I think here she's observing an industry that's dominated by white cishet people- and for Jamil, it would be in relation to the social/emotional obstacles correlated with servitude.

However, these feelings rarely die down. They stratify against the pressure of time, and in Jamil's situation, it presents in the form of anger and resentment towards Kalim.

Every moment of his life, he's had to measure and count each movement so his body molds into the image that is desired from a Master-servant relationship- and that initial warmth of personal desire slowly grows onto a bitter flame that wells quietly inside him, until explodes in the form of his overblot.

Now as a communist yeah go Jamil eat the rich ✊️ but I think Kamil is, as previously explained, genuinely naive about his status and the way Jamil has had to live. So I can't say the overblot is not at all unjustified- but the collateral damage is definitely not a great look.

If you liked my analysis of Jamil, you'll like my Jamil x Shikigami MC Merciful Crusade fic. Slight enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, discussion of trauma, with a happy ending.

✦·.⋆ Ignihyde ⋆.·✦

Idia Shroud: Working for the Knife

I always thought the choice was mine, and I was right but I just chose wrong; I start the day lying and end with the truth that I'm dying for the knife

Within the context of Mitski, this song is interpreted to be working for a thankless, unforgiving industry that is dominated by mediocre cishet white people/men, but I think it more broadly it discusses the concept of creation, and the artist's relationship to it.

And broader themes apply to Idia's relationship with the construction of Ortho, or what I imagined it was like. In Chapter 6, Idia mentions something about the human heart- about how it is just a hindrance in comparison to more objective systems of the world- like programming, or robotics. But I think here he's not only referring to Ortho's condition as an AI (as AIs evolve and feed off of information and systems created and use as humans, Ortho becomes sentient), but more importantly Idia's own betrayal of the heart.

On Idia's terms, Ortho's death and creation cannot be associated with much objective reasoning. The reason why the brothers tried to escape in the first place was because of the human desire for more in their life- Idia wanted partially to escape the burden of becoming the head of the family, and both of the brothers obviously wanted more than to spend their life from the prison that the family curse unfortunately shackles them to. Though these are perfectly healthy desires to have, Idia has blamed himself for risking both him and his brother's life before they had properly assessed the phantom situation, in addition to not being able to stop the security breech that ultimately (in Idia's eyes) lead to the death of his brother. For him, this relapse in judgement is purely because he avoided looking objectively at things (which in it of itself, is a subjective thought which I think he understands more after his overblot)- therefore, I think he's created a system for himself where there is a statistically low chance of him failing in situations he is not confident in- like his appearance or his socialization skills. What better way to avoid social ridicule than to avoid socialization altogether? And by lowering his self image by the start- there is no way others can lower it even further. Shut yourself from the world- and no one can disturb the objective fact that you're a good for nothing loser that got their own brother killed. No one can shatter your own reality.

But it's undeniable that Idia is a sort of prodigy and a genius- so he's constantly switching between extremely high and low self perception that sort of parallels his internal clashing between his objective way of thinking, and his own feelings.

But I think after his overblot, he's started to come to terms with this internal debate, and accept the fact that it's alright to feel things, and love for people and the world while maintaining his structure of thinking (he seems to think in connections, rather linearly- which can lead to a lot of conclusions of self blame and pity, but those systems can also be used in other, more positive ways), and reality is really what you make of it.

So I think this part of the song that indicates a melding between dichotomies- of regret, hurt, and blame- but also hope and desire perfectly describes Idia's personality, as well as his relationship with the world.

I think a lot of people who've had to deal with attachment issues and have late diagnosed autism can relate to this sort of journey. His way of thinking (ie being able to make metaphors between real life and video games- thinking in systems of connections rather than abstractly in isolation/linearly) particularly resonates with myself, an autistic, and I think a lot of late diagnosed autistics who are also burned out gifted kids (especially if you're the eldest sibling lmao) can relate to his way of thinking, especially if you're also intersectional.

Idia is seriously one of my favorite characters. Autistic rizz strikes again lmao

Ortho Shroud: Goodbye, My Danish Sweetheart

"So I don't blame you if you want to bury me in your memory, I'm not the girl I ought to be- but maybe when you tell your friends, you can tell them what you saw in me, and not how I turned out to be"

Don't worry I didn't forget about our dear sweet boy.

I'm sure when Ortho (the version we see at NRC) was met with some mixed reactions from his family, including Idia. It doesn't take an AI to see that Idia clearly still blames himself for letting the original Ortho get killed- something the current Ortho no doubt at least takes the blame for, because he's not able to live up to the standards of the original Ortho, and make his brother happy again

In chapter 7, he also mentions to his parents "Thank you for treating me as one of the family", so it sort of implies there that he's probably held some guilt before, since Idia has shut himself from the world, and is very outward about his self hatred.

I think after chapter 6 when Idia is able to come to terms with his guilt and way of seeing things, Ortho is able to also have some closure. Rather than viewing himself solely through his brother's eyes, he's able to see himself as an individual. I think his decision to join the drama club shows the evolution he's gone through.

*♡.* Heartslabyul *.♡*

Riddle Rosehearts: Class of 2013

"Mom will you wash my back? This once, then we can forget"

He's the poster child for mommy issues, come on.

He's obviously been through some traumatic shit with his mom, particularly verbal and emotional abuse that has completely shaped his way of attachment and view of himself and others. He holds himself to a high regard because he sees himself as an extension of his mother's (and the queen's) qualities of high discipline and authority- and he holds his mother to a high regard that in turn puts him in a similar, high position. Without doing so, there's probably no way for him to justify the treatment he's had to go through. By viewing his mother as an absolute authority he looks up to, he's able to somewhat justify the harsh standards he was held at, and holds everyone else to (something he shows regret for doing after his overblot). This is why he lashes out so violently when this notion is challenged by others, because that is also putting his mother's treatment of him in question.

Obviously a lot of the respect he has for his mother is born out of the fear that his mother could just be a bad person, someone who does not love him sufficiently enough to treat him with care and softness- but there is also a kind of fucked up form of love in there. Iykyk lol, especially if you've seen the woman your mother was, or see what she's had to sacrifice for you- the way she held you in her womb through the seasons and the hours she's had to push your small body out of you- there's something that wells inside of you that makes you want to be held, and hugged and told everything is going to be okay by her despite all of the burning hate and resentment for the way she's carved these marks into you thay made you feel and see the world with that weeping blood. Then you see her mother, and think- oh. Right.

When everyone goes away for winter break, Riddle tells Trey that he's going to have a talk with his mother- and I think that shows that for him, not all of that high regard for his mother came from fear, and survival- but also, somewhere, love that had traced all the way from his mother, to his body while he was still in the womb, planted deep inside the darkness that lies between where the fibers of our body meet.

This line in particular is heartbreaking because the speaker is asking her mother to face her back, and wash the filth off of her. An act of love, that you can bare to fully face, because of the pain that person has caused.

Ace Trappola

I have no idea for this one. For him and Deuce (also Jack) it's a bit hard because their position in the game is to kind of be the navigators so he kind of lacks enough material for me to make education assumptions of his psychosocial background. If anyone has any ideas please add them below 🙏🙏

Deuce Spade: I Bet on Losing Dogs

"Will you let me, baby, lose on losing dogs?

I know they're losing and I pay for my place by the ring"

Deuce, again, is also hard to do but I think these are the closest lyrics to what his ultimate intentions are at NRC. He really does want to improve and prove to his mother that he can be a son she can be proud of- but he's consistently trying to fight everyone lol.

He's kind of like Zuko from ATLA lmao. But you can clearly see throughout the game that he feels shame for his past and recent actions of trying to solve problems with his fist, and the efforts he puts into studying and becoming a good student. To him, I'm sure it feels like he's betting on losing dogs- that it is simply within his nature to continue to fuck up.

Unlike the subtext of Mitski's lyrics however, he's betting on those metaphorical dogs because he wants to make his mother proud, rather than placing bets on a losing battle because it makes me feel at least something.

So if you do have better suggestions I'm totally open lol. But this was the only one I could think of (；∀； )

Cater Diamond: Nobody

"And I know no one will save me, I'm just asking for a kiss- give me one good movie kiss and I'll be alright"

When I look at people like Cater, I (not only generally avoid them) but I almost always think "Wow. You're a pretty hard worker. So serious, so frantic." (The word I'm thinking of is 必死 and Google is saying the english translation is "desperate" but thats not quite it.). It does make me want ro break them open a bit- not because I think whats inside is valuable in the slightest, but I'm just curious to what sort of thinks they're working so so hard to hide under all of that "effortlessly likeable" facade that barely veils the attachment issues that runs deeply in their bones. But I wouldn't do that, since it would be too tedious and predictable, haha.

Also probably why he's an easy target for his older sisters to be honest lol.

But I digress. This song at its core is about tethering love solely to the external world (which I think humans can't help but to do and is healthy to a certain extent)- and I think it reflects one of Cater's more hidden issues if mental health and self perception which he uses social media to likely numb.

I think someone on tik tok had a good explanation of this (I forgot their username ( ´Д｀)) but Cater's character shows the lesser known forms of depression/mental health issues where we seek any sort of stimulation (ie love in whatever form, but anyone as long it makes you feel) to battle the numbness and lack of self perception that comes with constantly being under the oppressive pressure of our own psyches.

"Movie kiss" is also language Mitski intentionally uses to emphasize the fact that it doesn't have to be real- it can be a parody of something and completely staged- as long as it provides some sort of stimulation, kind or like social media.

Trey Clover: I Will

"I can at least be neat

Walk out and be seen as clean

And I'll go to work and I'll go to sleep and I'll love the littler things

I'll love some littler things

He definitely has some self blame for Riddle's situation when his mother came to his parents pastry shop. I think it's partially the reason why Trey values a respectable distance between him and others, and also why he undermines his own abilities. He makes a hell or a lot of effort not wanting to stand out in anyone's eyes, because he doesn't want to cause situations like Riddle's- where his position in someone's life results in trouble for them.

He's nice, but he's not necessarily kind, you know? I feel like he spreads himself pretty evenly among people, completing his role within the social spiral so people aren't hurt from his actions or existence.

This line from Mitski kind of shows thay detached nature- he doesn't want to be a bother to anyone so he assumes a sort of detached "mother" position, being generally pretty nurturing and assuming a nice face so he doesn't have to be weighed with that burden of causing trouble for people.

He's pretty normal otherwise 🤷 everyone except Riddle and Cater in the Heartstlabyul dorn is kind of hard to do

I have a Vampire MC fic for him in progress- ill link it when I'm done!

✧*: Savanaclaw ･ﾟ✧

Leona Kingscholar: I Bet on Losing Dogs

"I bet on losing dogs I know they're losing and I pay for my place by the ring Where I'll be looking in their eyes when they're down I'll be there on their side, I'm losing by their side"

These lyrics are a perfect parallel to his personality and self perception.

He's constantly putting himself in a losing position (ie skipping class, not putting his all into academic and sports related activities) because he's let his placement assigned to him at birth seep into all aspects of his life.

He shows a lot of symptoms of depression/a mood disorder like hypersomnia (opposite of insomnia), low motivation, losing interest in hobbies, etc etc because he's constantly been surrounded by the fact that he is the second son- and will for his whole life live in his brother's shadow all of his life. I think he avoids being with Cheka not only because he doesn't like kids (relatable) but also because it's a constant reminder that a literal child will achieve what he cannot just because of his birthright, rather than a test of power or intelligence. But obviously he's adult enough to recognize that his nephew is a kid and he shouldn't be throwing his own shit at a child.

He has no care for people's opinions of him or measurements of his abilities because he already knows people will always see him as a losing bet, that losing dog- so he leans fully into the achetype.

Ruggie Bucchi: Humpty

"All the eggshells are on the ground, and I try, I'm trying to pick them up, but they crack and crumble, it's all too much- too frail for me to touch"

Gah Ruggie is also kind of a hard one

But I think there's a certain self image that comes with being a hyena beast beastman especially with the associations it has within Scar's narrative. He consistently mentions to Leona that they should both play their parts and benefit from eachother. I think there's a part of him that hinges his self worth on his ability to serve people not only because of his socioeconomic background, but also his species. He's had to walk on these fragile conditions of self worth his whole life, which is why he's continuously shown himself to be extremely resourceful, and quick thinking about the people he surrounds himself with that must work to his benefit. He's a scavenger, he has to make do with whatever he can, even if that is feeding off the (literal and metaphorical) scraps.

Not my best work lol. Please let me know if you have better suggestions.

Jack Howl: Stawberry Blonde

"I love everybody because I love you; I don't need the city, and I don't need proof; All I need, darling is a life in your shape- I picture it, soft, and I ache"

Difficult for him because he's so?? Well adjusted?? Lol like just one of those people you see you're just like "Ah wow you really actually had a happy childhood". Like such a foreign concept to the dorm leader/vice dorm leaders who are screaming, crying, vomiting into the void lmao

I feel like these lyrics were to be the case if he ever were to fall in love? The song itself is about yearning for something you can't get a hold of, but the lyrics in the beginning just cry absolute adoration that he values in relationships because he's seen it in his own family. As a professional yearner I can definitely say this boy yearns for sure.

*+:｡.｡　Octavinelle　｡.｡:+*

Azul Ashengrotto: Nobody

"I've been big and small, and big and small, and big and small again- and still, nobody loves me, still nobody loves me."

Perfect for his overblot narrative lmao.

This one is pretty straight forward, I think Mitski not only narrates the dramatic physical transformations that still make her seeming undesirable- but also the radical changes in personality in ego (as in inflated ego, deflated ego).

This works with Azul's backstory since he not only went through a physical transformation that likely fed into his attachment style and the way he views his self worth, but also the personality changes that reflect the gradual repression of these insecurities that lead to his overblot.

The lyrics also imply that there is a certain condition to being loved that the speaker is not able to fulfil. Now for Azul, I think he's able to fulfil that condition by providing contracts to others- but he internalizes that and uses it to fill the hole that is caved within himself due to a lack of self worth and positive self image. He becomes too power hungry because he's obsessed over these external means of validation to replace any intrinsic value that he has not been able to see within himself.

After his overblot I think he recognizes this dissonance between his external personality and internal insecurity, along with his intentions with others' magics that clearly stemmed from an externalization of his insecurities, and he chooses to accept his insecurities (both physical and mental) as a part of himself. Great redemption arc 🤌

If you like my analysis of him- you'll like my Mute Siren MC x Azul Ineffable Bloom fic. Childhood friends to lovers, lots of yearning, hurt/comfort, and also, flower symbolism/hanakotoba.

Jade Leech

Augh Jade is hard too. I feel like he has a very specific, calculated anger that is not very often in Mitski songs. Her stuff is more like eternally cindering flame- his feels more like a surgical needle.

Any suggestions????

Floyd Leech: A Pearl

"There's a hole that you fill, you fill, you fill. Buts just that I fell in love with a war."

This is a bit dramatic for him but oh well lol. Similarly to Rook, I think he's quick to obsess over things. But unlike Rook who will travel to the oceans depths to get a glimpse of that thing- Floyd is someone who, as soon as he's bored, will just shrug and find another thing that interest him. Partially, I think this is a cycle for him that he continues because of the initial thrill of it- and that goes for his relationships as well. With Azul and obviously Jade he's been with most of his life it's a little different, but for others, say, a romantic partner- I think he would definitely have a tendency to sort of love bomb people before one day he gets bored and begins to pick the person apart. He searches for little ticks he doesn't like, parts of their personality thay he finds annoying- and comes to the conclusion that he's simply done with them. And I think the cycle continues.

——————————————————

Live love laugh Mitski ✌️ I use so much of her lyrics in my writing. There were a lot of characters I had several songs for but I kept it to one per character

★彡 Feel free to add your own interpretations and takes!

31 notes · View notes

delirious-donna · 2 years

Note

Hi there ^ ^

I was wondering if I could ask for Acnologia nsfw headcanons, A, O and Z

If you’re not comfortable writing for him that’s ok

NSFW Alphabet [Acnologia]

an: Hi Anon! Oh yes please, a Fairy Tail request! I am super excited although I have not written for Acnologia before. I love a challenge, so let's go! I hope you enjoy what I come up with! ^^

Masterlist

A - After Care

Acnologia is fierce, but that also means that he is protective.

The blue-haired King of Dragons will be checking every inch of you for injuries, especially after an intense moment of loving.

His calloused fingers work into your flesh, kneading away any lingering stiffness, checking that his bites have not gone too deep into your supple flesh and washing your oozing pussy with a wet cloth.

Once this has been completed to his satisfaction, it’s time for a soak in a hot springs. He knows where all the best locations are and he’ll carry you in his arms without any grumble.

“Was I too rough with you princess?”

O - Oral

So, this might sound a little strange but you gotta bear with me.

Your man, Acnologia, didn't know what oral sex was when he first met you. He was no virgin but other than fingering and penetrative sex, he hadn't tried much.

What he did know was that the scent that had invaded his nose when you would cradle his body between your parted thighs was downright intoxicating.

He was licking his lips in anticipation of something he didn't even know of, furrowed brow as he lowered himself to be closer to your sex.

You were a quivering mess when his face was level with your bare cunt, hot breath racing across your sensitive skin.

He sees your slickness, and instinctively knows that you are ready for sex, but something pushes him to press a little closer.

The second his tongue connects with your tender flesh, feeling how soft you are and how absolutely exquisitely tasty your arousal is, he is a doomed man.

He will be forever chained to your pleasure, his thirst never quite slaked.

It takes time and experimentation until his technique improves. Acnologia is a little too eager in those early moments but he listens to your kind advice without getting huffy.

Now, all it takes is a well-placed flicker of his tongue against your engorged clit as his fingers spear into your insides with no mercy to send you spiralling into an orgasm.

As for receiving, again, it took him some time to warm up to this idea.

He simply couldn't understand why he would choose to put his cock in your mouth when he could slam into your beautiful tight pussy.

Then he sees you.

A slobbering mess with a mixture of saliva and his precum pooling from your mouth and dripping to your chin. Lust rampant in your half-lidded eyes and such a tight grip on his thighs.

“The things you do to me, princess. Your mouth feels so warm and inviting.”

He doesn't get rough, far too content to watch you work at your own pace. It does become a regular request though, especially when he has had a bad day and just wants to be loved for as long as possible.

Z - Zzz

Sleep is elusive for this poor cursed man. The weight of his situation is enough to ensure the time he spends asleep is extremely limited.

Since you entered his life, it's been a little easier for him.

Acnologia finds a rare sense of peace invading his chest when you are cradled in his strong embrace.

The steady beat of your heart is like a personal lullaby, his eyelids droop with heaviness and the world around you both drops away into nothingness.

He always sleeps so well after an evening of passionate lovemaking. This man is going for hours, he has endless stamina and he plans to put you through your paces.

Once he has finally deemed you both to be truly satisfied, several loads of his thick cum spilling down your thighs and sweat drenching your bodies, he’ll help to clean you up before cuddling deep into the sheets.

His nose is buried deep in your hair and his arms are wrapped tightly around your torso with a hand resting on your chest in a possessive manner. One thigh parts your own so he can lay work his leg between tours.

You'll both sleep like babies.

#delirious writes #acnologia #fairy tail acnologia #acnologia headcanons #acnologia smut #fairytail smut #fairy tail headcanons

73 notes · View notes

notasapleasure · 1 year

Text

Hard Sun, 6 episodes (2018)

I crammed all six episodes into the one post, and it’s fairly light on plot summary because that would just have been endless paragraphs of me screaming about how this isn’t as good as Utopia.

---

I believe it's about two cops on the run from inside conspiracies, so I don't have high hopes that DS Herbie Sarafian is on the side of the angels (edit, having watched: he’s a darling actually).

Episode 1

Ooh, Cinta's here too (Varada Sethu)! And Nikki Amuka-Bird from Avenue 5!

The vibes so far are......if Utopia took itself too seriously.

Ooh testing out the new girl. How radical, Herbie, you big tease.

Varada's a Geordie? Be still my heart etc etc

Shay (my dog) keeps trying to lick my laptop screen, which, while it is a Mood, is unhelpful given it's a touch-screen.

Presumably that's the point at this stage of the narrative, but words cannot express how much I hate the mc DCI Hicks.

Episode 2

Brings the same resounding feelings: words cannot encompass my hatred of DCI Hicks.

ohhhh I could have done without that crime scene :( Utopia, cutting open a man's stomach and seeing what's inside - fine. Hard Sun - woman was raped in front of her husband before both were killed - No. Thank you. No.

There are so many terrified blonde women I can't keep track of them all :((

The fact that this show is making the person who believes in the true conspiracy into the unhinged violent villain really is a Choice.

Oh HI HERBIE <3

What was going on again? I just want to bury my face in his be-turtlenecked tits and pretend nothing else is happening in this show

Episode 3

Oh, more dead young women. How original. And everyone having conversations about what's the point and god is an asshole well we might as well just let ourselves go extinct in five years. This is why Utopia was radical: it recognised that everything comes back to love in the end.

Sgt Herbie and the others are distressed that no one would help save a young woman being held at knife-point on a London street and then left to bleed out at a busy interchange.

How ham-fistedly can we treat faith AND mental illness in one episode speedrun!

Episode 4

Do we have to have jokes and threats about prison rape in every. Single. Show? Really? You'd think the men who write this shit were repressing something.

“What’s going on here?” We’re bullying a Catholic priest. Yeah, no, yeah. Definitely one for the IPCC.

I'm just gonna. Yeah. I'm gonna go hyperventilate in Sgt Herbie's tits again ok?

While Hicks and Renko get ~unefickal~ Herbie and Mishal are interviewing people who can genuinely help identify the serial killer!

And I appreciate that it's their grunt work that paid off and did identify him, not Hicks and Renko's off-pisting.

tbh it’s George that does the work. They find the killer’s place - unoccupied.

I’m just here for the costumes and the lighting tbh.

And, not content with the whole priest-baiting plot, they then go and make him Just Fallible Enough in the end. Fuck this shit. I’m no Catholic apologist, but the writing really is pathetic edge-lord central.

Episode 5

Diversity win! Your asshole boss bribing you to go after your colleague for murder by threatening your son with jail and making casual reference to the fact it doesn't matter to him whether your colleague is guilty or not is gay! (you’ll have to take his word for it, it’s a Dumbledore come-out and means nothing other than a snappy line in a scene)

AADHOOIYFHFHDUUFGHHH WHITE TURTLENECK

Alright I got emotional whiplash from that snark -> thirst turn

Also he notices that something's up with Renko. Beautiful and emotionally perceptive.

He's the tech guy with his scrunkly knitted waistcoat buddy George. He does his best, but when your own team is working against itself...

Aw apparently Herbie stays in touch sometimes with the widow of Hicks' partner :) not as in touch as Hicks is, obviously...

The magic phone that summons this beautiful face has been switched on again! :))

.......Elaine Renko is the reason this should have been renewed. I still do not give a toss about Hicks, but Renko. What a character.

The magic phone has been switched off again :')

lmao at the end of episode 5. I almost warmed to Hicks.

Episode 6

Something about the empty car by the lake with the suicide note in it and no sign of a body gives George the willies and Herbie is concerned for his mate <3

George talks on suicide forums, but doesn't confide about his depression with his buddie Herbie?! Herbie is hurt :(

h e i g h t

Ok but omg Herbie GEORGE HAS GONE AND YOU WERE CLOWNING WATCHING HICKS AND RENKO INTERROGATE THE SPOOK. Babe. No. ;_; I believed you were a better friend than that!

oh NOW he's noticed

And is quite distressed, but has to stay home and run point. Luckily, even though he can't trace George, Elaine bugged everyone's car!

Mishal will coordinate the witch burning later. :')

This episode we're reinforcing creepy stereotypes about people with alopecia! (Funny how that works in 'classy' bug budget prime time intellectual drama while in the soapy soapy indulgence of Where the Heart Is, the woman with alopecia was treated with respect and care. Did I just turn into Will Smith at the Oscars? Eurgh whatever)

Ok but unintentional funniest line in the show: "What kind of man are you, George? A sad man? A lonely man? A police....man?"

GEORGE. THIS IS WHY YOUR PARTNER IS HERBIE AND YOU TAKE HERBIE WITH YOU. (also why wouldn’t George leave his phone on? He doesn’t actually want to die, he wants to catch this guy, right?)

Also finding out That's Not How Chloroform Works really fucks up a lot of shows :')

Herbie does what he knows best! Traces things while looking Stunning.

Still fretting about George!

Useless goons! :') I'd say you tried to stop your boss leaving with the spook, but you didn't really.

"You think you're a good man, Charlie, but you're not. You're a moral abomination." TELL HIM GRACE.

Aww. He was looking out for his injured comedy evil gay boss when They Realised the Hard Sun Had Arrived (black hole).

---

Rating

Dead? Well...no more or less than anyone else come the apocalypse?

Evil? No! Seemingly a good and loyal friend with impeccable fashion tastes.

Affects the plot? Um, no. Not as an indepedent actor. George was the first (only) member of the team to get a bit more initiative - presumably everyone else was going to have to wait for future seasons.

So I do think the show was Mostly Bad, but that was mostly because of Hicks and the godawful priest episode. Herbie’s delicious, and there’s more of him as the series goes on. 3/5 I’m a sucker for the turtlenecks, the last ten minutes was quite good, and Elaine Renko was a very cool mc alongside and despite Hicks.

#adventures in joplin sibtain's imdb page #joplin sibtain #varada sethu #hard sun #bbc hard sun

1 note · View note

ask-the-shorty-squad · 1 year

Note

This is certainly a story Toko would like... But continue please. I'm curious for what happens next.

Chapter 2

"The year is 1991. Terminator 2 is the highest-grossing film at the Box Office, the first Super Nintendo Entertainment System has just been released, and after 70 years of Communist rule, the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics has collapsed."

"And on a chicken ranch just outside of Claxton, Georgia, twin sisters are waiting for their supper."

"The farm is old and operated by Alfred McCluck, an eccentric man with a fascination with Civil War weaponry. McCluck's chicken farms produces over 140,000 chickens a year and ships wings, thighs, and legs all over the continental United States"

"Despite the modest success of his business, McCluck leads a solitary life, never marrying and tending several of the chicken houses himself. A simple man with a not entirely bad heart, McCluck never knew how to best take care of the young girls who came into his life shortly after their birth."

"So he raised them the only way he knew how - in a 2-foot by 2-foot wire mesh cage on a diet of mash, crumbles, pellets and egg booster."

"One clear September day during the twin's sixth year at the farm, McCluck does not come at mealtime. Night falls and still, he doesn't appear. The girls and the chickens cry out from hunger."

"Days pass and the chickens in neighboring cages begin to die. The smell of rotting poultry permeates the air of the hot, humid barn."

"Finally, desperate to find food and concerned over the whereabouts of their guardian, the twins break free from their cage."

"McCluck's house is locked tight, but the girls find the garden hose, which quenches their thirst. Still half delirious with hunger, they make their way out to the road."

"Little time passes before a dusty black Cadillac Coupe de Ville drives by and pulls over. A tall, mustached young man with a kindly face steps out of the vehicle. He smiles at the girls and presents them with the first candy they had ever tasted. A Twix bar."

"Which they share in silent, odd delight."

"The girls do not feel at all uncomfortable when the man leads them gently into the dark, spacious trunk."

"In the following days, the girls are transferred into the trunks or several other cars. By many other kindly, Candy bar offering men Until they reach their final destination at the lakeside lodge in Manitoba."

"The Underwood lodge is a collection of cozy, waterfront cabins with an attached trailer park along the shores of Lake Winnipeg."

"It is also the world headquarters of Budding Flowers Entertainment."

"Specializing in the production and distribution of photographs and VHS tapes for clientele with unique tastes."

"The girls are welcomed by Mrs. Deborah Bouldger, the 52-year-old portraitist. A woman of enormous proportions who lives with her own 3 children in the main lodge of the Underwood."

"Upon finding that the girls have no names she christens them Eva and Lynn, names, which neither she nor the twins themselves are ever able to keep straight."

"The twin's days of the Underwood are relatively comfortable, they are well cared for, the food is delicious, and there are many other girls their age."

"Once a week, photo sessions take place, convivial affairs that involve make-up, a wide variety of dress up costumes, and inventive new games. Every few days Mrs. Bouldger introduces the girls to one of their many uncles. These uncles, seemingly endless in number, travel from all over the world to visit their nieces."

"The girls don't always like their new uncles, but Mrs. Bouldger is always quick to remind them that "family is family" and "blood is thicker than water"."

"The conjoined sisters are not popular amongst the other girls. However, one gentle resident, a few years their senior befriends them and takes them under her wing. Her name is Sandy."

"She has soft, blond hair that reaches down to her knees."

"Everyone says she looks like a mermaid!"

"Dressed daily by Mrs. Bouldger in trademark fishnet stockings and vintage attire, Sandy is by far the most popular girl of the Underwood. She has so many uncles that the twins lose count."

"Every night after dinner and chores, Sandy tucks the young sisters into bed and tells them fantastic stories until they fall peacefully to sleep."

"But these happy times do not last. Shortly after the twins' third Christmas under Mrs. Bouldger's care, Sandy disappears. Never to return"

"The twins remain in the Underwood for the greater part of two, long, miserable years. Without Sandy to protect them, they are ostracized and abused by the other girls. The photo sessions involve fewer fancy costumes and over time, their uncles become more peculiar."

"The twins begin to notice the disturbing tendency for girls, much like their dear friend Sandy - to quietly disappear from the Underwood around their 12th or 13th birthday. The sisters brace themselves for something terrible."

#fuyuhiko kuzuryu #teruteru hanamura #sdr2 goodbye despair #danganronpa 2 #danganronpa #Looks like I found the limit

1 note · View note

stargazerlillian · 1 year

Text

50 Things About: Arnold Deacon

The OC survey sequel that nobody asked for~

I did one for Bibiana, so of course I had to do one for her neighbor and dear friend, Arnold.

Questions came from this post.

1. What is their name, and how does this fit their character?

Arnold. It’s a name of German and English origins that means “strong ruler” or “eagle power”. In a way, it works, as the eagle often represents honesty, loyalty, and wisdom, and Arnold is certainly a strong believer in those values. He had those values instilled in him from a young age courtesy of his father, and they have served as his guide throughout all his relationships. Truth, trust, and an endless thirst for knowledge became his main formula for an enjoyable journey through life. Sadly, he’s had his formula messed with more than once by friends and lovers alike, and while his yearning for wisdom persists, he now has issues being honest about his emotions and trusting new people.

2. Last name?

Deacon.

3. Do they have a middle name?

He has two - Chesley and Maxwell, respectfully. His father, Walter, wanted Chesley, after his favorite painter, Chesley Bonestell. His mother, Ramona, wanted Maxwell, after Maxwell Smart, the main character of “Get Smart”, the first American TV show she loved after immigrating to the U.S. in the 1960′s. They ultimately compromised and decided to give him two middle names, since it wasn’t too unusual of a concept. The way they settled on the order of the names? A coin toss right on the day of the birth. Walter won and got his chosen middle name to go first. Ramona wanted to slap him silly in that moment.

4. Name a song that describes them.

“La Migliore Offerta” by Ennio Morricone. It’s a song without lyrics, yet it describes so much about Arnold. It paints a portrait of isolation, distrust, resentment, and a pinch of yearning. A spark of hope still remains within him, but it is fighting to stay alive. Is he truly alone? Or is he just waiting for someone to find him?

5. What are their pronouns?

He/him.

6. Gender and sexuality?

Cisgender man, asexual (closeted/unaware).

7. Do they like someone romantically?

No. He hasn’t liked anyone romantically for over 17 years.

8. List five words to describe them.

Studious, intelligent, dedicated, reserved, and modest.

9. What about five dialogue tags to use consistently on this character?

Observed, hypothesized, grumbled, complained, retorted.

10. What is their motivation?

To become more involved with the people that visit the museum (namely through coordinating educational and public outreach programs, such as tours), instead of being stuck down in the archives all day. He wants so much to show his boss that he deserves better than what he’s been stuck with.

11. Do they consider themselves a good person?

He’d like to think so, but his boss’s constant criticism has him always questioning himself.

12. Color that describes their personality.

Brown. Reliable, honest, and even warm if given the chance, but mostly seen by others as dull, rugged, and isolated.

13. MBTI type.

ISTJ/The Logistician.

14. Enneagram type.

Type 5/The Investigator.

15. Character they’re based on.

Harry Plummer from “The Banger Sisters” and Virgil Oldman from “The Best Offer” come to mind in regard to inspiration.

Like Harry, Arnold is a little neurotic, somewhat socially awkward and ace-coded, or rather I should say explicitly asexual. No, I’m not still mad at the writers for making Harry’s ace-codedness a wasted opportunity or anything, noooooo-

Like Virgil, Arnold is an academic expert, but in natural history instead of fine art, and is a rather isolated and judgmental individual. He also buries himself in his work when stressed, a common unhealthy habit for far too many people.

16. Person they would bring down whilst dying.

His boss, Mr. Hirschfeld.

17. Person they would kill if they had the chance.

Again, Mr. Hirschfeld. He’s not one for murder at ALL, but if he were, he’d totally go after him. There have been more than a few occasions where he had a seething desire to, such as the time Mr. Hirschfeld forced Arnold to cover another archivist’s work while they were out sick. It’s one thing being forced to cover another worker’s shift/workload when they are absent, but it’s another thing entirely when you’re told to do this literally 30 minutes before closing. Arnold ended up stuck there until 1 A.M. and was still supposed to return back to work at the usual time later in the morning (8 A.M.). Needless to say, that was one of the most tiring days of his career. He felt like dropping dead - and he was also wishing that Mr. Hirschfeld would drop dead.

18. Character they would get along with if they were in the same universe.

Herman from “Hometown”. Both are avid readers, have a wide variety of interests (especially in branches of science and history), are asexual (although Arnold is not aware of this fact himself), and have had their trust absolutely shattered by at least one former love. They’d have a lot to talk about, to say the least.

19. Character they would hate if they were in the same universe.

Elora’s cheating stalker ex-boyfriend from “Aerial Bridge Over Troubled Water”. As someone who’s been betrayed by two exes himself in the past, Arnold knows more than enough about the everlasting pain and mental effects heartbreak can do to someone. After all, it’s mainly because of them that he is the way he is with people by the time his story begins. Elora may be a complete stranger, and he may not want to hang around for too long, but damn if he wouldn’t feel some kind of pain if he heard her story.

20. Artist they would listen to.

Blur. He was a real big fan back in their heyday (1990s). He still occasionally listens and hums along to “Blue Jeans” when getting ready in the morning.

21. Artist they would hate.

Any artist whose songs are being blasted at maximum volume within close proximity to his house, especially when he’s working late.

22. Give them a theme song.

“Helplessness Blues” by Fleet Foxes. It perfectly tells the story of a hopeful, creative and trusting boy who grew into an overworked, overlooked, and untrusting man who can’t imagine going through everyday life without overthinking every little detail - in other words, Arnold. He doesn’t know who to believe. He’s being worked to the bone and having to fake being cordial to his boss while also hiding his resentment. He doesn’t see the point in speaking his emotions or waiting for someone else to see his issues because he feels nobody will understand/help him. But there is one person whose golden hair catches in the sunlight who - much to his surprise and confusion - is becoming his light in the dawn. Considering I searched long and hard for ANY songs that would even come close to working for a man with a story like Arnold’s, I’d say this is a fairly solid choice. If this song were slower and more sad in tone, then it would be just about perfect.

23. Make them a playlist!

Maybe later. I don’t have the energy or patience for that right now, LOL.

24. Make them a mood board.

Done.

25. Assign them an aesthetic.

Curly hair forcefully straightened, deep-set stress lines, wiry glasses often slid down to the tip of his nose, rolled up sleeves, books left open everywhere, aged veiny hands that seem to gesticulate in their own language, turning of pages, constant clearing of the throat, brown corduroy, well-worn Oxford shoes, the occasional hum of a tune from happier days lost to time, lingering hope for a better future.

26. What are their strengths?

Very responsible, practical in most times of stress, direct with his words, dutiful in his work, intelligent in many subjects, and loyal to a fault (with those he trusts enough anyway).

27. What about fatal weaknesses?

Stubborn, distrustful, overly judgmental, often blames himself unreasonably (such as if something is not his fault), sometimes comes off as callous/insensitive, and is inflexible in an unstructured environment.

28. The one person who can convince them to do something they’re stubbornly against.

Sadly, Mr. Hirschfeld. It’s either his way or the highway, and Arnold has to go along with it, or lose his only stable job. He’s been overworked far too many times to count as a result of this.

29. Who would they kill for?

Nobody. To him, nobody is really worth killing for, even if they hung the sun, moon, and stars in his mind.

30. What tropes do they fall into?

I don’t know exactly what this question means by “tropes”, but if we’re talking common character tropes, then I guess he’s a more low-key take on the “neurotic” character.

31. Fatal weakness (food edition).

Cucumber sandwiches. For Arnold, something so simple shouldn’t be so delicious, and yet the humble cucumber sandwich always delivers.

32. Book they would definitely read.

“The Birds of America” by John James Audobon. While many of the natural history books he reads consist mostly of words, he also deeply enjoys illustrated ones - especially those with illustration works made by the greats (Charles R. Knight, Heinrich Harder, George Edwards, etc.). So obviously the works of John James Audobon would be on his bookshelf.

33. Language besides their mother tongue they would (have) learned.

French and/or Italian. For a man who isn’t seen as a romantic, he sure does like Romantic languages.

34. Murder accomplice.

Nobody. Like I said before, he is not one for murder. He’d like to keep himself employed and in proper society if he can help it.

35. Thing that makes them go weak at the knees.

A beautifully remastered copy of the 1925 paleo-documentary, “Fifty Million Years Ago”. Not much blows Arnold’s mind at his age, but even he can’t help but be amazed at what people knew about Earth’s past almost 100 years ago. Sure, compared to the paleo-documentaries of today, it lacks plenty in terms of accuracy, but to him, it still possesses great artistic value - especially with the practical effects used at the time.

36. Most obscure thing they HATE.

People who mockingly imitate the way he moves his hands when talking about the things he likes, or worse - people who criticize or outright try to physically grab/restrain his hands. To Arnold, the way he gesticulates is a unique part of who he is - one that dates back to childhood. Other people may not like it, but it’s his way of expressing excitement. If he wasn’t so afraid of any and all possible repercussions, he would slap the crap out of them.

37. While we’re there, biggest phobia.

Pistanthrophobia - the fear of betrayal.

38. Are they (would they be) a book or movie person?

Book person, without a doubt. The bookshelf in his office room is almost overflowing with books (most of which he’s read all the way through) on the various subjects he’s interested in. Natural history (his main field of study), biogeography, neontology, paleontology, etc. Plus, one of his favorite leisure activities is cracking open a new science book and absorbing even more information on a quiet evening.

39. Are they a romantic?

Only with people he has formed a super strong connection with over a long period of time (usually months to years). This has only successfully happened twice – and both times ended in heartbreak. Otherwise, no.

40. Childhood experience that defines an aspect of their life.

When Arnold was 16, a massive blowout occurred on the oil rig his father was working on out in the Gulf of Mexico. The fire grew so large and intense that Walter, along with most of the other men, had no choice but to jump off the platform into the water. Thankfully they were saved by incoming helicopters and rescue ships. When Walter was finally brought home, Ramona and Arnold seemed to hold him close for hours, letting out all their pent-up fear and relief in the form of grateful tears. It was in those days that Arnold learned how to appreciate every moment he has with the people closest to him, as they can be easily taken away from him at any given moment.

41. What is their age?

53 at the start of the story.

42. Birth sign? / Zodiac?

Capricorn.

43. What constellation would they be?

Aquila/The Thunderbolt Eagle. Not only because his name partially means “eagle” but also because he serves the beck and call of Mr. Hirschfeld the same way Aquila does with delivering Zeus’s lightning bolts to Earth and bringing Ganymede to the heavens.

44. Name a famous myth where they would have been the main character.

Prometheus and the Theft of Fire. Much like how Prometheus wanted to give humans the gift of fire because Zeus didn’t care much for them, Arnold has a hidden desire to share his knowledge and enthusiasm of natural history to the people who visit the museum. But much like how Zeus punished Prometheus with physical restraint and torture at the beak of a hungry raven, Mr. Hirschfeld more often than not forces Arnold to stay hidden away in the archives most of the time, not really allowing him to leave unless it’s his scheduled break time or all his work for the day is done.

45. Old or new soul?

Old soul for sure. Inquisitive, sees the big picture, often feels like an outsider, prefers his inner world than the outer world he lives in, often needs to mentally/emotionally recharge, likes to think things through before diving into a new project, values deep connections, etc.

46. Assign them a smell.

Old books and earthy aftershave.

47. Assign them a smell they like.

Woodsy scents, like sandalwood or balsam.

48. Can they swim?

Yes. He used to be afraid of swimming in the deep end as a child, to the point where he would get stomachaches at even the thought of it. But over the years, he became more and more acquainted with the deep end, until he became brave enough to perform high dives into it. He even owns a backyard pool now, surrounded by the many flowering plants he proudly placed there himself.

49. Street smarts or brain smarts?

Brain smarts. If Bibiana or anyone else has a question or a logical problem, Arnold is the guy to ask (especially if it involves natural history, biogeography, or even some neontology and paleontology).

50. What is this character’s purpose to the plot?

To provide Bibiana - a wide-eyed newcomer - with some much-needed guidance and stability in her new town, along with possible friendly companionship.

#Thank You Mr. Arnold #Text Post #My OCs #Arnold Deacon #Okay now this one was a real challenge LMAO.#I think the hardest part was finding songs that fit for him - he’s such a difficult character to find working songs for LOL.#It’s just like him really - he keeps his inner world so complex and well-hidden that even his own creator feels confounded by him LOL.#Anyway like I said before things are more than subject to change - these are just what I feel suit him best for the time being.#I hope most of this makes some form of sense LOL. Gonna go pass out now.✌

1 note · View note