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badgertracksart · 10 months

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Portfolio advice, from a lead who hires Concept Artists

(This was originally a twitter thread I wrote before the site self imolated, hense it's strange structure.) I wrote this after a weekend of portfolio reviews - 1. Like a maths exam, please please show your working. I want to see thumbs options, mid options and of course a final design.

2. Arrange your portfolio, I don't want to bounce about between subject matter and pipeline. Your portfolio's narrative should be as strong as your work... 3. Please make worlds that excite the viewer, make them want to go in and explore them, explain to them the interesting parts of the town, or the way the character's hat unfolds. How will this draw the viewer in? 4. As I've said before the majority of your project work is explanatory not mood, make sure your portfolio contains explanatory work. Explained here -

5. A lot of beautiful post apocolyptic paintings, , but 80% of realistic games and film, we just give the environment artists photo ref, they are capable artists in their own right. Different work in stylised where you do need to create rules for how things can be translated. 6. Production art contains call out sheets, material references and flat graphics. This doesn't have to be your final image, but it should support it.

7. Design characters on a swatch(es) of the environment they will be viewed in. Not on white. I make swatch backgrounds from screenshots, it avoids assumptions that damage readability. 8. Reverse of this, put people in your environments, show me the scale.

9. It's not a deal breaker for a review, but if you intend to get a job, please show me your work on a screen larger than a smartphone (print outs probably the cheapest option with the best battery life). 10. Please have your contact details clearly visible, and by that I mean email address, I will not pass your social media contact on, I cannot input your form into my tracking system. EMAIL ADDRESS emblazoned and bake it in, sometimes recruiters do funky stuff to pdfs

11. Your portfolio will never feel done, not to you anyway. You will have learnt from your latest pieces and want to apply it to older work. But we know art is a journey. Send your portfolio anyway. I've been in the industry 10+ years and my portfolio is still not 'finished'. 12. If you are applying to an environment centric Concept Art position then please vary your times of day! Golden hour is cool but show me some happy sunny days, looming overcast days, what about at night? Vary your weather too! Sunny snowy day? Rainy Spring day? Stormy night?

13. If you are applying for a character centric Concept Art role then please ensure your portfolio shows a variety of body types and ethnicities. 14. Designing characters for games? Please show back views and feet (!) Many potfolios contain only front views. This is a problem because:

You haven't shown you are considering the design from all angles.

In many games rear view is the main view.

Stop cropping feet.

15. If you are entry / graduating and looking at Portfolios to compare content and standard of yr own work too, look at hired grad/junior artists as opposed to seniors Seniors and leads often have old or personal work in their portfolio which isnt representative of the day job. 16a. Show clearly the intended use case for your Concept Art. Mention the game type in the description. Are these player character designs for a 3rd person adventure game? Then more back views please. Bonus points for diagetic ways of showing health / equipment / role etc.

16b. Are these designs for an FPS? Then really the player view of the gun needs to sell the player style/ choices, in an FPS your weapons are almost your character. Are these world designs? What's the view distance? For an RTS your shapes need to read from above & a distance. 16c. The lack of clarification means I am judging the design in isolation, which both harms the design (you might be considering the backview of a char as the main adventure character.) Or an NPC, their waist up expressions may be important for conveying exposition and mechanics.

16d. Concept art is not separate from gameplay, great concept art serves the game team before it is a good illustration.

17. Play games. A variety of games. Think about them. IMO to be a good concept artist you need to understand the common language & references used by your peers. Also understand the principles and common language your audience are used to. FPS design rules are v.diff from RTS.

18. There are many skills that are needed in concept art, please show them. For example: Graphic design - logos, liveries, typographic use etc. VFX concepts - Abilities, Ambience, motion concepts. Architectural knowledge - How buildings are built! & more but I'm out of space :O

#gamedev #conceptart #advice #careeradvice #hiring

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bradshawssugarbaby · 1 month

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Angel In the Infield - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: Bradley Bradshaw is a struggling first-baseman in the major leagues. He's had bad season after bad season, until he met you, his angel.

A/N: While I'm currently struggling with motivation to work on on Take One for the Team, please instead enjoy this baseball au fic I've done in the meantime! Also I started reading sports romance novels, pls send help half these men are baseball players with dark hair. Also if you like this concept/set up, I'm toying with the idea of making this a series of connected oneshots?

pairing: baseball player!Bradley Bradshaw x reader

warnings/content: baseball au, smut throughout, oral (both m + f receiving), praise, dirty talk, mentions of divorce, unfaithfulness (neither Bradley, nor reader), public sex.

word count: 3.7k

taglist (also tagging those who were interested in Take One For The Team since it's a similar vibe and explains the lack of updates lol): @avengersfan25, @jessicab1991, @atarmychick007, @b-bradshaw, @nouis-bum, @mamachasesmayhem, @floydsmuse, @kmc1989, @dckweed, @katfanfic, @nerdgirljen, @whatislovevavy, @mrsevans90, @averyhotchner, @yuckosworld, @tgmreader, @allepaula, @lourd-ita, @mariaenchanted

The sun hung high on the horizon for a Saturday afternoon, radiating an unseasonable warmth as its rays beat down over the course. A gentle breeze made its way through the palm trees that stood tall outside of the stadium, causing large, deep green leaves to sway in its wake. A crowd of spectators sat on the bleachers that surrounded the diamond, a sea of faces filling the scenery, silently watching, sipping beers and eating hotdogs as they took in the spectacle before them. Media representatives dotted the balcony, press passes on display as they gawked at the game unfolding below.

Bradley Bradshaw approached the plate, lining up to take his turn at bat. His bright white uniformed baseball shirt, emblazoned with the team logo across the front, his last name in bold, block lettering across the back of his broad shoulders, hugged at his sun kissed biceps as they flexed. One of his tattoos just barely visible from under the sleeve of the shirt.

He took two practice swings, and once he was comfortable, lined up with the plate. He narrowed his eyes in focus as he looked to the pitcher, giving him the coldest stare down he could muster, his face fixed in a state of concentration. A year and a half ago, he would have begun trash-talking his opponent from the start, calling out that he’d seen his grandmother lob better pitches, and she’d been dead for 15 years. Instead, Bradley forced himself to behave, willing any inappropriate comments about Jake Seresin’s mother to himself, for now.

He took a swing at the first pitch lobbed towards him with a loud grunt, biting his tongue as he held back a frustrated fuck from his lips as the ball sailed past him, landing in the catcher’s mitt with a thud.

Strike one.

He caught your gaze in the sea of faces that were watching him expectantly, his lips curling up into a soft smile as he looked towards the family and friends boxes where you stood, waving subtly to him to gain his attention. He gave you a subtle nod of his head, symbolic of a thank you, for Bradley.

In an instant, Bradley was back in the game, level-headed and laser focused, ready for the next pitch that was coming, as if seeing you had brought him back down to earth, willing him to focus his attention on something other than his once uncontrollable anger.

He wasn’t often this soft. He never used to be. In fact, he was never considered to be a gentleman when he played any sport. He couldn’t lose graciously. It wasn’t in his nature. He was serious, determined and reserved, focused and dedicated, but even his best intended plans couldn’t withstand his explosive temper. It wasn’t that he wanted to be a walking stick of dynamite.

He didn’t intend to fly off the handle at everyone around if he made a bad play or if someone commented on his skills not being on point the way they once were, but after nothing but criticism for the last four years of his career, Bradley thought his outbursts were justifiable.

If he had to hear another comment about being “washed up” at thirty-one, he might snap again, unable to bite his tongue much longer. And if he had a bat in hand? He’d show whoever it was just how good his game still was. He knew his career didn’t have many years left in it, but he had just as much right as any other up and coming young asshole in the MLB to be here. But one bad year at twenty-seven had turned into two, which turned into three, which now crept up on reaching four.

Admittedly, this year was turning out to be marginally better than the three previous - he didn’t know what to chalk it up to at first.

Herefused to admit he could be in love. Love was never for him. At least, that’s what his ex-wife told him when she filed for divorce four years prior. He’d just been starting to make a name for himself as a promising first baseman when she served him the papers, leaving him with a burning desire to focus everything he had on the one thing that he thought couldn’t break him - baseball. That desperate need to be good at something, anything, drove him to the brink of insanity. He couldn’t control himself or his need to be the best in the only area he knew he could be anymore.

However, that train of thought came to a screeching, grinding halt when he met you.

As Bradley remained focused on his turn at bat, he took a swing at the second pitch sent his way, a fastball that, if he was a smart man, he would have let go, taking the ball instead of risking a strike at a pitch that far outside.

However, Bradley was not a smart man. Not when it came to his turns at bat.

Even he couldn’t hide his momentary shock as the ball made contact with the wooden bat in his hands with a crack. He started running towards first base, rounding it quickly before making the smarter decision to stay put, rather than aim for second. He looked towards where you were watching him from once again, smiling to himself as he watched you blow a kiss towards him. He couldn’t wait to finish this game and just hold you and kiss you. Watch you walk around the house with nothing but his baseball jersey on, just barely long enough on you to cover your private areas, giving him a little sneak peek as you bent over to unload the dishwasher, or reached up to grab a wine glass for yourself when you were ready to unwind for the evening.

Those delicious thighs, soft and smooth as he ran his hands up and down them, the way you’d giggle and kick your legs playfully when he grasped at the back of them, even though he knew you were ticklish there. He didn’t give a rat’s ass though. He loved the way you laughed. He swore it was up there on the list of the most beautiful sounds in the world, along with the way you said his name right before you reached your orgasm, the way you’d call him ‘honey’ in passing and the sound of a World Series crowd chanting your number.

Images of his hands lifting the back of that jersey up, shoving the excess material at the bottom out of his way as he pounded into you from behind flashed across his mind, the sounds of you whining out in pleasure as he relentlessly fucked into you, your pretty, pink folds glistening with arousal, letting him slide in and out of you with ease. The thought alone was almost enough to make him curse the athletic cup that was sitting in his baseball pants at the moment, making it increasingly uncomfortable to move as he felt himself hardening at the thought of you.

Fuck, he couldn’t wait to take you in the hotel room later.

As he rounded the bases to home after his teammate’s home run hit, his mind drifted to the thought of your teeth sinking into the tanned, taut skin of his shoulder as he made love to you in the California King Bed that awaited you both in the hotel suite after the game. Your fingers gripping his dark curly hair tightly, tangling into them and tugging as he licked and sucked on your neck, leaving a trail of purpling bite marks down you as he marked you as his own. Not that you protested - in fact, you encouraged it.

As the game progressed, Bradley continued to think about the various ways he could make you his as soon as he got you alone. His mind raced as he thought of you again - in every way possible. He thought about your perfume, how it had some kind of hypnotic hold over him, leaving him momentarily dazed whenever he breathed in your scent. He thought about your smile, how you lit up the entire room when you beamed at him - how you were one of the only people to ever look at him like he meant everything in the world to you, and how you made him feel special and loved and wanted, for the first time in years. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt the way you made him feel.

His ex-wife had been cold and cut-off from him emotionally, physically. She was never satisfied just being with him. She resented that he couldn’t put all of his attention on her, 100% of the time, despite Bradley feeling like he tried his best to balance his career and home life as best as he could. When she had told him she was ready to have a baby, he’d been entirely on board - ready and willing to start a family. What he wasn’t prepared for, was walking in on her sleeping with a rookie from a rival team in the hotel room that Bradley had paid for.

As he packed up his gear after the game, his team pulling ahead with a win thanks to a home run hit he scored in the 8th inning that shocked even him, he let out a deep, satisfied sigh. He had proved himself for another day, and he was proud of himself for it. He figured at this rate, if he kept it up, he could be discussing his comeback season with the press after another couple of games. The thought of being respected once again in the sport was electrifying, enough to send a shockwave pulsating through his veins as he switched out of his cleats and into his street shoes.

He headed out of the locker room, his baseball bag slung over his shoulder and his cap turned backwards, with tufts of dark chestnut brown curls peaking out through the opening. He spotted you, wearing one of his spare jerseys unbuttoned with a short little black dress on underneath, with a pair of stark white running shoes. Your matching baseball cap was sported backwards, just like Bradley’s, a style he started adopting on your advice. You’d flipped his cap around one day during a playful round of sex in the backseat of his vintage Ford Bronco, telling him it looked so much hotter on him when he wore it so that you could still see his face. He took that advice to heart, and now, every chance he could, backwards is how it was.

You happily skipped over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck loosely as you peppered his lips with feather-light kisses. He laughed softly and shook his head when you finally pulled away, his cheeks burning into a rosy red tone as a slight wave of embarrassment washed over him.

It wasn’t your kisses or affection that embarrassed him though. It was the fact that after 18 months of dating, he still wasn’t used to it. It was partially his own fault — his ex-wife had never been an affectionate lover, but even after that, he refused to actually be in a relationship with anyone. He enjoyed sex, and that was all he wanted. He wasn’t looking for his heart to be broken again, and it suited him just fine until you came along.

He’d met you once in passing — he’d gotten himself embroiled in a bar brawl with some guy who’s mouth ran faster than the speed of light. Bradley’s nose had been broken and bloodied as a result, and you’d been leaving the bar with a handful of friends. You’d recognized Bradley as the guy who’d hit on you earlier in the night, and to your surprise, graciously accepted your rejection when you turned him down. When you saw him in this light though, drunk and vulnerable, you felt sorry for him.

Taking a couple of tissues from your purse, you helped clean up his face as best as you could, sending your friends on their way without you as you took on this newfound role of nurse to him. With few other options to stop his nosebleed, you’d handed him a tampon from your purse. He laughed initially, in complete and total refusal to use it. You had gestured to his floral print white polo shirt, the collar now stained with drips of blood from his face. He huffed a sigh and followed your advice, grumbling as you insisted on making awkward small talk as you sat and waited with him to get checked out.

That was the first time since his mother’s passing that anyone had ever shown Bradley an ounce of compassion when he was injured. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol talking or not , but he could have sworn you were an angel with the way you smiled at him and how soothing he found your voice.

Now, eighteen months later, standing here with your arms wrapped around him, his hands on your waist as you fussed over him and congratulated him on his performance in this afternoon’s game, he was sure. You were heaven sent.. In fact, it was what he called you — angel. He’d decided early on it was the perfect nickname for you, and as time went on, he only proved himself right.

“Everyone’s left, right?” You asked him, raising an eyebrow at him as he snapped back to reality, shooting a quick glance behind his shoulder.

“Mhmm. I was the last one out of the showers. Looks like it’s just us left here.”

“Perfect. I have a little something for you.”

“Do you?” He inquired, eyebrows raised as he smirked, a million ideas running through his head at what his surprise could be.

Together, you walked back towards the now deserted dugout, the ballpark that was roaring with excitement an hour ago was now silent, deserted by players and fans alike. You grinned as you turned around to face Bradley, dropping down to your knees in front of him, gazing up at him with a doe-eyed stare that was almost enough to make him groan out in pleasure.

“Wh-you mean, this is my surprise? You’re gonna suck my dick in the dugout, angel?”

“I know you’ve always wanted me to. And you played so good today, honey. How could I say no?” You purred as you undid the belt holding his pants in place.

He dropped his baseball pants down to his ankles, and before his hands could remove the tight fitting boxer briefs he’d changed into post-game, your mouth was pressed against the tightening bulge, pressing warm kisses to it in a way that made Bradley’s mind foggy. He couldn’t think straight and he wasn’t even in your mouth yet.

Fuck.

He knew he wouldn’t last long if this was how worked up he was feeling at your mouth touching him. As you tugged his boxers down, peeling them off his thighs to free his cock. A white bead of pre-cum pearled on his tip, leading Bradley to elicit a pornographic moan as your thumb swiped across it, whisking the liquid away before you began pumping your hand up and down his shaft. You tauntingly flicked your tongue out over the tip of his erection, encircling the red, throbbing head with a trail of saliva before licking a strip along the underside to his balls. Bradley shuddered as he felt you continue to lick up and down his length, your hand pumping him tightly when you alternated and pressed your lips to the tip.

After what felt to Bradley like an eternity, you took his tip past your parted lips, hollowing your cheeks as you began to suck on his cock like it was some kind of refreshing summer treat. As you took him further back in your mouth, your saliva began to pool around his shaft, dribbling out down his length as you tried to take more of him into you. He grunted your name as he gathered your hair in his hand, gripping tightly as he thrusted his hips forward into your mouth.

You gagged as you felt his tip brush the back of your throat, causing more of your spit to soak his cock, your hand using it as lubrication as you continued to pump on whatever didn’t fit past your lips. Bradley began panting, gasping and singing your praises as he fucked your mouth. Your eyelids fluttered as you shut them for a quick moment to concentrate yourself on your technique until you felt a hand gently squeezing your cheeks, making your mouth seemingly tighten harder around Bradley.

“Nuh, uh, beautiful. Eyes on me,” he directed.

You gazed up at him with that same doe-eyed stare again, batting your lashes as you watched his facial expression, his eyes shutting as he enjoyed the feel of your mouth as it sucked and licked at his cock, working him into his orgasm.

“Shit, angel, ‘m’not gonna last,” Bradley panted, deep chocolate brown eyes fixated on you as he watched you pull your mouth back from him almost entirely before thrusting yourself fully into him.

His lids shut again as he drew his head back, saying your name as if it was a hymn he was singing. He let out a deep, throaty grunt as he shot hot, white ropes of his cum down your throat. Your eyes never left his as you swallowed hard, making sure that he could see you as you did it before pulling yourself back off his cock. Pulling yourself to your feet, you wiped the saliva from your mouth with the back of your hand, grinning proudly at the mess you’d made out of Bradley.

His eyes deepened with a burning, lustful hunger for you as he wrapped his arm around your waist, picking you up off your feet and grinning.

“I gotta return the favour, now, angel. You know the rules. You wear a pretty little skirt like that, and I just have to eat that pussy of yours.” He said matter-of-factly as he pulled his bottoms back up, chuckling to himself as he tightened his belt back up. “Bet you did it on purpose, didn’t you, honey? Knew I wouldn’t be able to resist eating that perfect little cunt of yours if you wore something like this?”

“I may have been thinking something along those lines,” you teased, shrugging your shoulders as he laid you down on the bench.

He straddled the bench in front of your legs and tutted his tongue at you, giving you a head shake of disapproval before raising an eyebrow at you.

“Angel, come on, spread those pretty thighs of yours nice and wide for me. Throw your legs over my shoulders if you have to.”

You obeyed his command, biting down on your lip as you fought back a grin, draping your legs over his broad shoulders as he slipped between them, his mouth hovering just over your folds. He pressed his lips to your inner thigh, nipping at the sensitive skin with his teeth. You let out a soft yelp of pleasure, feeling your body writhe at the mere suggestion of Bradley’s mouth down there on you.

“Look at you,” Bradley purred as he spread your folds apart with two thick fingers. “So pretty and wet for me already? Sucking my cock got you all worked up like this?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed, trying to concentrate your thoughts into a sentence.

“C’mon, honey, use your words for me. Wanna hear you say it,” Bradley said as he flicked his tongue out, swiping it across your swollen, sensitive clit.

“Bradley,” you whined as you arched your back at the slow, sensual teasing, “You know exactly why I’m like this already.”

“Mhmm, my perfect angel,” he cooed as he licked at your folds again, gathering your arousal on his tongue.

As Bradley’s tongue ravaged you, eating you out like a man starved on a desert island for the last few months, your heart began to race, a burning desire brewing in the pit of your stomach. While Bradley’s tongue lapped at your arousal, he delved two thick fingers into your pulsating core, pumping them into your g-spot. You could picture him grinning to himself as he heard your needy, whiny moans, panting his name as if it was the only word you were able to say anymore. That was just how he liked it though - making it so he was the only thing on your mind. He prided himself on it.

Your thighs began to shake as he dug the fingers of his free hand into your flesh, holding you in place. He pulled his mouth away from you for a moment with a loud suck. You whimpered at the loss of contact, looking down at him from beneath hooded lids as he continued to fuck his fingers deeper into you.

“That’s it, angel. I played my best for you today, wanted to do right, earn this pretty little pussy of yours. Make it mine,” he husked.

Your walls clenched down tightly around his fingers as he spoke, the words alone enough to send you over the edge. He pressed his lips to your clit once again, giving it a long, tantalizing suck as he drew your orgasm out of you. Instead of his name, this time all you could get out of your mouth was a breathless, blissed out moan, unable to formulate words as your brain fogged. Bradley continued to praise you, coaching you through your climax like a personal trainer coaching you through a workout.

He drew his hand up to his mouth, sucking on his fingers until they were clean, his wide tongue pressing flat against them before pulling them out of his mouth with a loud pop. You blinked twice at him, still dazed from your orgasm as he pulled your underwear back up your legs.

“You ok, angel?” Bradley grinned as he tapped your thigh gently with his hand to try and bring you back to reality. Your blissfully fucked out stare was all he needed, a soft smile on your face as you tried to regain your composure.

“We’re just getting started, baby. I’ve got 48 hours with you before my next game, I’m making each one of those hours count.”

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babybluebex · 1 year

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how do you think baby anthony would react to seeing joe in character as eddie??? like his wife would obviously think it’s really hot but little baby anthony is in her arms just staring at him😂🥺

ok i got like several requests for this concept and i just HAD to write it bc it's so cute (also hella short whoops sorry :/)

You spotted him before he saw you. Of course, Joe was working and wasn’t really paying attention to who came and went from the outdoor set— if you knew anything about film sets, people were always coming and going. The only thing that made you special was the baby on your hip. Anthony was a “wee lad”, as his namesake called him, only 13 months old, small with thin blond hair and giant brown eyes. He had just started walking on his own, babbling away nonsense every day, and you loved having a baby around. The part that sucked was that Joe had been called from home to film Stranger Things.

He hated leaving you two, but you had convinced him to do it. He had auditioned back in 2019, before you even knew you were pregnant, and, by the time Anthony came around, he had already been offered the role of Eddie. Joe wanted to pull out of the project when you found out you were pregnant, mere days after the Duffer brothers had offered him the role and he had accepted, but you told him absolutely not. “This is the biggest thing you’ve ever done,” you told him. “You can’t sacrifice your career for me.”

And now, you had flown from London to Atlanta with a baby in order to visit Joe. You told him that you were coming, but you had fudged the truth a bit, and told him that you weren’t coming for another week. Just that morning, as you were about to leave for the airport, Joe Facetimed you and blew raspberries at Anthony. Joe had lost a lot of weight to play Eddie and the look of his thin cheeks was too different for you, and you had no idea what his costume entailed, so you had no idea what to expect when you got on set.

You didn’t expect the long dark curls that ran down his back. You didn’t expect the ripped jeans and trainers and leather jacket and denim vest. You didn’t expect the shirt he wore, emblazoned with a logo for the Hellfire Club. He looked so different, yet exactly the same, and you bit your lip as the director yelled cut.

You watched Joe fall out of character, and his eyes snapped to you in an instant. “Darling!” he called, and he started to make his way to you. You saw his scene partner (Joe Keery, whom you had never met, wearing a yellow sweater) give you a confused look, but you focused on Joe as he came to you, smiling wildly. He looked gorgeous, but you did take a step backwards as he approached you out of instinct. It was your Joe, but he wasn’t your Joe. It was Eddie.

“Oh my God!” Joe grinned, throwing his arms around your middle and hugging you tightly. “B-But you said that you weren’t coming until next week!”

“Surprise,” you told him, and Joe laughed.

“Jesus Christ, he’s gotten so big,” Joe mumbled, looking at Anthony. Anthony was staring at his father, the way he did with strangers, and Joe added, “C’mere, Ant, come to Daddy.”

The moment Joe put his hands on Anthony’s waist, the little boy whined and moved closer into your chest, and Joe withdrew his arms quickly, as if he had been burned. “Does he not recognize me?” he asked.

“I mean, you do look pretty different,” you shrugged. “Really, really good, but also super different. The hair and the clothes and… God, Joe, why didn’t you tell me that Eddie was so hot?”

Joe laughed lightly, his mind obviously still stewing on the fact that his son didn’t recognize him. “Anthony,” he said softly, smoothing his hand across his son’s downy hair. “It’s just me, it’s just Daddy… Can’t he, like, smell me and recognize me?”

“He’s not a dog, Joe,” you laughed. “C’mon, baby, let’s let Daddy hold you or he might start crying.”

“I definitely will,” Joe chuckled, and Anthony whined in protest as you gave him over to Joe. Instantly, he started to wiggle in Joe’s arms, trying to escape the grip of a stranger, and Joe frowned. “Aw, baby, you’re gonna make your old daddy cry here. It’s just me. I know I look pretty silly, but it’s me.”

Before he could say more, Joe Keery approached the three of you. You had to admit that you were a little starstruck, and your mouth went dry as you smiled at him. “Well, well, Quinn,” Joe Keery said, and he extended a finger towards Anthony, tickling his little tummy. “Who’s this?”

“Keery, this is my wife, Y/N,” your husband began, gesturing at you, and Anthony giggled as Keery tickled his belly. “And this is my son, Anthony.”

“Nice to meet you,” you told Keery, reaching forward to shake his hand, and Keery’s eyes went wide in recognition.

“Quinn’s shown us pictures of you guys,” he said. “I didn’t know that you’d be visiting!”

“I told him we weren’t coming until next week,” you chuckled, and Anthony grabbed at Keery’s finger, sputtering his lips and laughing. “God, he seems like he’s having more fun with you than with his own dad.”

“He doesn’t recognize me,” Joe said glumly, trying his hand at tickling Anthony’s belly. Anthony still laughed, but Joe still frowned. “I think it’s the wig.”

“I mean, probably,” Keery laughed. “It does make you look pretty different.”

“But I thought he’d at least recognize me,” Joe said. Anthony was looking around at everything, smiling his gummy smile at everyone who passed by, and he cooed when you took him out of Joe’s arms and back into yours. “I mean, I’m his dad, for God’s sake.”

“Don’t take it personally, honey,” you told him. “He’s just a little thing, he’ll recognize you tonight when you get out of the costume.”

“But I want it now,” Joe whined playfully. “I want him to do that thing where he plonks his head down on my chest and makes that cute little noise.”

“Aw, yeah, that’s cute,” you mumbled, and Anthony kicked his little legs, obviously wanting to explore. “No, baby, you’ve gotta stay with either Mummy or Daddy, you can’t walk around here.”

“He’s walking?” Keery asked, and you nodded. “How old is he?”

“Thirteen months,” you said, bouncing an increasingly-fussy Anthony in your arms. “But he’s really little, so people think he’s, like, ten or eleven months old. Joe was really tiny as a baby too, so it’s expected.”

“Did my mother tell you that?” Joe asked.

“I mean, if it’s true,” you shrugged. Anthony finally made his tell-tale little whining cry, and you frowned. “Baby, can you get his binky from my bag? It’s in the front pocket.”

Joe was quick to go to your back, where your backpack sat, and he passed you Anthony’s favorite blue binky. You carefully pushed it into your son’s mouth, and Anthony gratefully took it, his little fists curling in your shirt. “I think someone’s getting sleepy,” Joe said softly, pressing his hand to Anthony’s chubby cheek. “Did he nap at all on the plane?”

“A little bit,” you said. “He was asleep when we took off, but he didn’t sleep for very long.”

“Maybe that’s why he doesn’t recognize me,” Joe said. “He’s just sleepy and cranky.”

“Maybe,” you offered. “Anthony, baby, let’s go to Daddy before he throws a wobbly.”

You gave Anthony over to Joe one more time, and your son made a soft coo behind his binky before his head thumped onto Joe’s chest. Joe smiled widely, bouncing Anthony for a moment, and he said, “He did it! He plonked his head down!”

“Maybe he’s recognizing you,” you said as Anthony started to tug at the ends of the wig, obviously curious about it. You could see him starting to warm up to your husband, and Joe pressed a kiss to his hair.

“My good boy,” Joe said softly, his eyes soft and warm as he watched Anthony suck at his binkie and play with the ends of Eddie’s curls. “My smart boy, my sweetie… God, I missed you two so much.”

“Well, we’re here now, baby,” you told him, and you leaned in to kiss Joe’s warm mouth. His lips were dry and chapped, but you didn’t care. You had missed him so much, and the incoming week would hopefully heal your heart. Anthony whined and nestled further into Joe’s chest, and you smiled at him and kissed his blond curls. “You’ve got us now.”

#joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #dad!joseph quinn #joe quinn #joe quinn x reader #dad!joe quinn #joseph quinn rpf #joe quinn rpf

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racefortheironthrone · 4 months

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Please tell me more about neighbourhood PMCs in renaissance Italy

It would be my pleasure! (My research into this owes a lot to the excellent Power and Imagination: City-States in Renaissance Italy by Lauro Martines.)

The first thing to note that, unlike the condottieri, these were not private military companies. Rather, the neighborhood military companies (in the sense of a military unit, rather than a profit-making entity) were self-defense organizations formed as part of a centuries-long political struggle for control over the urban commune between the signorile (the urban chivalry)/nobilita (the urban nobility) and the populo (the guilded middle class, who claimed to speak on behalf of "the people").

This conflict followed much the same logic that had given rise to the medieval commune in the first place. Legally, the communes had started as mutual defense pacts between the signorile and the cives (the free citizens of the city) against the rural feudal nobility, which had given these groups the military and political muscle to push out the marquises and viscounts and barons and claim exclusive authority over the tax system, the judicial system, and the military.

So it made sense that, once they had vanquished their enemies and established the commune as the sovereign, both sides would use the same tactic in their struggle over which of them would rule the commune that ruled the city. The signorile and nobilita formed themselves into consorteria or "tower societies," by which ancient families allied with one another (complete with dynastic marriage alliances!) to build and garrison the towers with the knights, squires, men-at-arms, and bravi of their households. These phallic castle substitutes were incredibly formidable within the context of urban warfare, as relatively small numbers of men with crossbows could rain down hell on besiegers from the upper windows and bridges between towers, even as the poor bastards on the ground tried to force the heavy doors down below.

To combat noble domination of communal government, achieve direct representation on the political councils, establish equity of taxation and regulate interest rates, and enforce legal equality between nobility and citizenry, the populo formed themselves into guilds to build alliances between merchants and artisans in the same industries. However, these amateur soldiers struggled to fight on even footing with fully-trained and well-equipped professional soldiers, and the guild militias were frequently defeated.

To solve their military dilemma, the populo engaged in political coalition-building with the oldest units of the urban commune: the neighborhoods. When the cities of medieval Italy were originally founded, they had been rather decentralized transplantations of the rural villages, where before people had any conception of a city-wide collective their primary allegiance was to their neighborhood. As can still be seen in the Palio di Siena to this day, these contrade built a strong identity based on local street gangs, the parish church, their traditional heraldry, and their traditional rivalries with the stronzi in the next contrade over. And whether they were maggiori, minori, or unguilded laborers, everyone in the city was a member of their contrade.

As Martines describes, the populo both recruited from (and borrowed the traditions of) the contrade to form their armed neighborhood companies into a force that would have the manpower, the discipline, and the morale to take on the consorteria:

"Every company had its distinctive banner and every house in the city was administratively under the sign of a company. A dragon, a whip, a serpent, a bull, a bounding horse, a lion, a ladder: these, in different colors and on contrasting fields, were some of the leitmotifs of the twenty different banners. They were emblazoned on individual shields and helmets. Rigorous regulations required guildsmen to keep their arms near at hand, above all in troubled times. The call to arms for the twenty companies was the ringing of a special bell, posted near the main public square. A standard-bearer, flanked by four lieutenants, was in command of each company."

To knit these companies organized by neighborhood into a single cohesive force, the lawyers' guilds within the populo created a state within a state, complete with written constitutions, guild charters, legal codes, legislative and executive councils. Under these constitutions, the populo's councils would elect a capitano del popolo, a professional soldier from outside the city who would serve as a politically-neutral commander, with a direct chain of command over the gonfaloniere and lieutenants of the neighborhood companies, to lead the populo against their noble would-be overlords.

And in commune after commune, the neighborhood companies made war against the consorteria, taking the towers one by one and turning them into fortresses of the populo. The victorious guilds turned their newly-won military might into political hegemony over the commune, stripping the nobilita of their power and privilege and forcing them either into submission or exile. Then they directed their veteran neighborhood companies outward to seize control of the rural hinterland from the feudal aristocracy, until the city had become city-state.

(Ironically, in the process, the populo gave birth to the condottieri, as the nobility who had lost their landed wealth and political power took their one remaining asset - their military training and equipment - and became professional mercenaries. But that's a story for another time...)

#history #historical analysis #renaissance history #renaissance fantasy #medieval cities #city-states #urban communes #guilds #city charters #guild charters #mercenaries #nobility #artisans #burgher rights #merchants

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royal-ruin · 1 month

Text

f1 fanfic recs charles/carlos (charlos) part 4

other f1 fic rec lists here personal favorites are starred, by the way. everything is complete unless stated otherwise

in honor of carlos' win in the ausgp and his appendix removal (and his last year at ferrari, ignore me sobbing in the background), here are some of my fav fics of them.

if all of them are starred that just means they're all amazing.

i'll make you laugh by venerat (~7k)

[“You are cute,” says Carlos, waving his marker in emphasis. “Obviously. I am always saying this.”

“I am not cute.” Charles blinks at him. “When are you saying I am cute?”]

literally so adorable.

*what we felt by venerat (~14k)

[Imprinted, Charles should say, shocked. I hope he is alright. He should say that.

“My god,” he says instead. “On who?”]

so creative and amazing. def check out this author for more of other pairings, i know they have a bunch of hot smutty one-shots if you're into that.

*sweet tea in the summer by bloodmoonforme (~10k)

[Sometimes, when they first arrive at the circuit for a weekend, Charles will look decidedly paler, a little drawn. Then, he'll show up for FP1 on Friday seemingly much better all of the sudden, eyes unnaturally bright and cheeks red - that's how to tell how long it has been since he last drank.

Not that Carlos notices. Or keeps track of it, for that matter.

Except he does.]

Or the one where Charles is a vampire and Carlos struggles.

i don't remember this unfortunately, but i do remember loving it.

*the actor says he hates himself by bloodmoonforme (~5k)

[“You okay, mate?” Carlos asks, pitching his voice a bit louder in order to be heard over the music.

Charles doesn’t answer. Slowly, Carlos realizes that the way Charles is staring is one that he recognizes. It’s the same way he looks while he’s out racing, the same one he wears in the simulator. It’s a look of total focus. There’s something Charles wants and means to have.]

tags say that there's cheating so if you don't like that, don't read.

*dice che ti ama (ma lo sai che mente) by choripan (~3k)

[But Charles smiled, dimples out and about, back against the wall of Carlos’ driver’s room. Like he knew he wasn’t in danger.

Like he hadn’t entered a lions’ den looking like a three course meal.

(Like he knew Carlos was all bark and no bite, and toying with the metaphorical rubber band —stretch, stretch, stretching—wouldn’t ever make it snap into his straight nose.)]

kinda like a carlos-focused relationship study. it lowkey altered my brain chemistry for some reason

punctuated all wrong by Cloudcollector (~8k)

Prompt: "I don’t know if someone else agrees with me but I’m a sucker for the whole person A falls in love with person B but they think they don’t deserve person B’s love trope and I’d love to see how it would play out with charlos (not saying who’s person A and who person B, even though that should be pretty obvious)"

*the trials of 2022 by chiliconcarlos (~34k)

A partial summary of the 2022 season, as told by Charles or Carlos, following each race.

Friday is Just the Beginning by nottonyharrison (~3k)

On a Thursday in December, Caco had come to him with a proposal. A PDF attached to an email, emblazoned with the garish red Netflix logo, and consisting of a three paragraph, succinct concept that involved winter training, the mountains, and Carlos timing his schedule to overlap with Charles’ for a week.

On a Friday in January, he’s sitting in a private sauna long after the cameras have been packed away for the night, with Charles right next to him.

this is basically plot w porn, with a lot of carlos inner monologue which i love so enjoy!

Don't Do This To Me by pastrnaks_sainz (~2k)

[Carlos hands shake as he stares at his phone screen. The email from Caco is displayed and the brightness is turned all the way up. Like he’s being taunted. The big bold letters in the subject line might as well be saying ‘NOBODY WANTS YOU’ instead of ‘New Opportunities Ahead’.]

fair warning, one of the tags is hurt no comfort.

Loose Lips Sink Ships by kxleida (~2k)

Carlos finds out he's leaving Ferrari. Charles finds him in his hotel room, beer bottles scattered all across. They both know it's not fair.

A bit of hurt/comfort surrounding Charles, Carlos, and the Ferrari announcement for the F1 2024 silly season.

this isn't everything you are by shadil (~2k)

The news hit him again where he least expects it.

a prayer for which no words exist by transbrucewayne (~3k)

Charles has to assume Carlos knows by now; they should’ve told him. He doesn’t know how long they took to tell Sebastian, but it had been almost inevitable for him. He walked into the 2020 season with an air of resignation. With Carlos…everyone thought he was going to get another year, at least. Charles thought he was going to get another year. Then, Carlos would move to Audi, to the surprise of approximately no one, and the two of them would part, and Charles would spend the rest of his career smiling at him across the room, fist bumping him in press conferences, and never touching him more than the others deemed appropriate.

i know better (but you're still around) by shadil (~2k)

Sometimes, Carlos dreams about María.

He was his (but also he was not) by f1amboyant (~2k)

[Charles crossed his arms over his chest. “Why are you leaving?” he asked, no bullshit, staring straight at Carlos, peering into his soul.]

Shadowhunters AU

and the world was gone by Bluejay141519 (~12k)

It’s not entirely unfounded, having something like this happen. Charles knows of various stories of the past, where different drivers’ energies don’t mix well and it causes chaos. He’s even heard of magic being used to sabotage in F1.

Charles always thought these were just stories, until he got his seat.

tbh it's not completely relationship focused, but it's still amazing.

#f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic rec #formula one fanfiction #formula 1 #formula one #f1 #charles leclerc #carlos sainz #carlos sainz jr #charles x carlos #carlos x charles #cl16 #cs55 #fic rec list

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we-love-the-murder-bois · 2 years

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Could I possibly have some slasher bois (primarily Jason, Pennywise, and Bubba) reacting to a s/o who when on their period just kind of, shut down and sleep a lot. Been having those bad period days lately.

(I’m sorry this took literal years 🥲)

Jason

- Jason only has a vague idea what periods are, the concept horrifies him! His partner had to teach him everything

- He’s amazingly attentive, refusing to leave them for long unless strictly necessary

- S/o has to be the one to go into town for period supplies, so Jason can’t help :(

- This man literally tamed a rabbit because you cried about wanting to hug something soft last time. What a guy!

- Some periods are bad, full of pain and snapping. He knows it’s not your fault you’re so angry, and he’ll take your yelling if it makes you feel better. You always cry and apologize anyway, he knows it’s just the period.

His darling had come back to bed after rushing out, looking sick and exhausted as they collapsed beside him with a groan.

“I living person shouldn’t bleed that much.” They complained, wrapping their arms around him and snuggling into his chest. They always got cold on their period, so he’d scrounged as many comforters as he could to keep their mattresses insulated. He hated to see his lover shiver, the lake got so cold in the mornings, mist hanging over the water like a spirit that spread through the camp and spread its cold.

Jason knew that living people could bleed a lot, himself included, but he figured that this was a different situation and his person didn’t want to be corrected.

So instead he stroked their hair as they dozed on his chest, a fitful rest full of tossing and turning. He should make them their favorite food later! He’d need to cook it far away though, they always hated the smell of cooking meat around this time.

He traced words onto their skin, declarations of love and admiration as his little lover slept. Every time they made a noise of pain and curled around their stomach his heart hurt, he wished he could do more!

His darling had once told him that being there was enough, and so he was determined to stay for as long as possible.

The can alarm jingled.

“Go, it’s fine.” His s/o muttered, sliding off him to retreat into the blankets. No it wasn’t! He would have to leave them! Alone and vulnerable! What if one of those nasty people broke in and tried to hurt them!

Jason was going to prove how much a human really could bleed, and then he was never leaving his s/os side, that much was certain.

Pennywise

- Pennywise knows all about periods and their quirks

- He gets annoyed how boring you can be, but he understands you can’t exactly help it.

- He loved you for your human quirks, which includes the less lovely part

- Tbh he likes the smell of the blood, but when he said that they threw a pillow at his face.

“Humans are strange.” He shook their limp arm as his human was curled in his lap. One of the perks of being a creature beyond human understanding was the fact he was always the perfect size, and his human could fit in his lap like a kitten if they wanted.

“So’re you.” They whined, curling tighter against his ruffles, a throw blanket emblazoned with woven loons and chickadees wrapped around them. He had given them the nickname of Loon once as an insult, but instead had been bombarded with childhood memories of calling out to the diving bird, of red eyes like his own being drawn on paper plates at a log cabin. The nickname stuck.

“My dear Loon, you are the strangest creature of all.” He cupped their squishy little face and peered into their beautiful human eyes, eyes like the Maine sky on a clear day, like the pine forests that stretched endlessly and hid dead in gnarled roots, of muddy lakebeds full of fish and stones and secrets. His human was a wonder of this world, the only wonder. He was older than time itself, had seen countless humans pass like cattle, had seen thousands of memories and life stories end, but this human, his human, was special. They were his everything, and he’d never quite be convinced they were only a human and not some otherworldly being.

One day he’d discover a way to keep them alive forever, and he’d find a way to stop their human ailments like this period while doing it. His human deserved the world, not the pain of biology.

“Yeah, yeah.” He let their head fall from his gentle grip to lay against his chest once more, beautiful eyes closed and breathing even. He may be a creature of fear, but they would dream of home tonight, of escaping into endless pines and swimming in a lake, he’d make sure of it.

Bubba

- He has to learn about female biology since he grew up in a male dominated family, it’s a long and slow lesson but he grasps the concept after a bit

- It’s hard for him to imagine such a thing and why the body does that! He knows a lot about bodies, and that was a weird thing

- On the bright side anatomy lessons are easy with a diagram

- He’s the sweetest and most attentive boyfriend during this time. All he wants to do is love you and hold you until the monster goes away

- He hates having to do work for once, actually standing up to his brothers if they try and tear him away or -gasp- say something mean about you!?

- He doesn’t see why anyone would be mad at you for such an ailment

“I’m okay hon, don’t hover.” His s/o scolded gently as they walked around the kitchen. It was more of a hunch, arm wrapped around their middle and face drawn tight with pain. He wanted to scoop them back in his arms and bring them back to bed, but they had insisted on getting up to make breakfast for the boys. Southern ideals and all that, though he would have been happy to cook, he used to anyway. He knew his s/o just liked helping however they could, and this was all they really knew when it came to the weird life their family led. Drayton even let them use his kitchen, so that was proof they were a good cook, he just wished they didn’t feel the need to right now.

He made a soft noise of discontent, sitting in an aged stool that creaked under his weight, watching them intently.

They were so beautiful. They insisted they weren’t, but he knew better. Plenty of men, and some women, he’d seen watch them, and while he didn’t like it he knew his partner was a capable person and could care for themselves. They were the most loyal person he’d ever met, and they saw something in him that he couldn’t.

“Fuck!” He watched them drop an egg as tried to crack them into a bowl to beat, the egg shattering on the floor. They had always been a bit clumsy, so this was hardly a shocking event.

But- but instead of cleaning it up with a little smile and self deprecating joke they sniffled. Tears welling in their soulful eyes and hands shaking as they scrubbed at their face.

He stood up in a panic as they let out a strangled little cry, stifled by their hands over their mouth as they hunched away, trying to hide.

He hated not being able to talk sometimes, how they could avoid listening if they didn’t look when he signed.

He lay a hand on their shoulder, dwarfing it.

“I’m okay, give me a second.” They protested, trying to shrug him off before giving up to lean into him. They looked exhausted, ready to fall asleep there in the kitchen. They should be in bed!

‘I make.’ He signed in front of them, arms around them and chin on their head. They fit against him like a puzzle piece, a perfect fit.

“No, I… You know what, fine.” They sagged into him, letting him scoop them into his arms without protest. He would’ve been able to carry them even if they did, but he hated forcing them to do anything they didn’t want to, it made him sad.

“Once this is over Drayton and I are making Texas style barbecue I swear.” They sighed into his shirt as he carried them to bed, tucking them under covers and throw blankets he’d taken from the empty cars. He would look forward to that, their barbecue was amazing.

He smoothed down their hair, pressing a kid to their head before lumbering off to furnish breakfast before his brothers woke up.

——/——

I’m not dead! Suffering from my own bad period, but not dead. Endometriosis is a bitch let me tell you! I made do other slashers too, I really want to do a Carrie piece, but for now here.

#slasher x reader #slasher imagine #slasher imagines #slashers x reader #horror imagines #jason vorhees x reader #jason vorhees #bubba sawyer x reader #bubba sawyer #pennywise x you #pennywise x reader #Pennywise #non binary reader

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pippatis · 1 month

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At this point on my Patreon, I've finally reached the point where I actually post (mostly) STORY RELATED CONTENT, instead of, *ahem*... fluff. Given that, I'd like to start sharing more of it here as well from now on. I'll still be posting more frequently on my Patreon, and remember, everything on there is free for the public! No investment required. If you want to see my thought process in more detail, it's all there for the taking.

With that said, I'm going to take this opportunity to briefly introduce the three main characters that have been spoken about there so far.

Blaze is what's called an Ignited, a human with a magical ability to wield fire. However, his physical strength and magic power have always been at odds, and he is weak and sickly because of it.

Viper is a Sentinel, a member of a naturally stronger and sharp-clawed race of humanoid primary carnivores called Serriths. These beings are often trained to protect humans in the country of Dall, at a price. He has been assigned to protect Blaze since they were both very young.

Serah was once a Sentinel as well, but has long since been freed, and despite her status within the country, has filed her claws and become a doctor. Actually... I think I'll stop there, because while most of the story ideas I've talked about are having to do with the first two characters, it's actually her backstory I want to make into a comic first. So... I won't give you too many spoilers.

That's all for now. Be back with more next week!

#drawing #my art #sketch #art #characters #ocs #oc #oc!viper #oc!blaze #oc!serah #pippasocs #Emblazoned concepts

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kit-and-wolfe · 2 months

Text

Neon Requiem - Band Rivals Hobie x Guitarist! Reader

Based on @rexlroze and @the-kr8tor 's original ideas that just started to eat my brain.

NOTE: I don't write Hobie/Miguel--in fact--I don't write fanfiction at all. As the fandom's resident Chaos Goblin Queen!Spider-Mom writing characters half my age is a bit of a stretch for me. This has not been proofread/edited for foreign language used. All repetitive info, boring shit, and grammatical mistakes are 100% my own and brought to you by the letters ASD and the numbers 5 (as in year-old-child with aforementioned ASD) and 3 (as in hours of sleep that I get each night).

Also, written like a screenplay, so I could turn this into a proper comic coming up. Also also, get you a person who looks at you like Hobie looks at R.

ACT 1 SCENE 1 - FLASHBACK - EXT. CITY STREETS - NIGHT In a gritty, neon-lit alleyway, Young teen R is busy wheat-pasting posters for her band's upcoming gig. The posters feature a cybernetic skull (looking suspiciously like Spider-Man 2099 mask) with glowing eyes, the band's name "2099" emblazoned beneath it. As she works, Hobie appears from the shadows, a spray can in hand. He's tagging a nearby wall with a stylized anarchy symbol.

HOBIE (noticing R) Oi, what've we got 'ere? Another lost soul in the concrete jungle?

R (startled, then regaining composure) Hardly lost, mon ami. Just spreading the word about the revolution. Hobie steps closer, examining her posters.

HOBIE "2099," eh? Sounds like a proper cyberpunk outfit. You lot singing about the end of the world or sommat?

R (grinning) More like the rebirth of a new one, through science and technology. It is the brain-child of mon ami, his idea for a band... but he sings like...a cat in heat yowling from inside a Cookie Monster costume. Fun concept though. I'm going to take lead vocals.

HOBIE (intrigued) That sounds painful... but color me impressed, love... You can sing? Right? Not every day you meet a bird with brains, talent, and beauty. R rolls her eyes, but there is a hint of a blush on her cheeks, but before she can respond, the sound of police sirens fills the air.

HOBIE (grabbing R's hand) Bollocks, your dystopian future has arrived! They run through the winding alleyways, adrenaline pumping, until they finally come to a stop in a secluded courtyard.

READER (catching her breath) Merde, that was close!

HOBIE (grinning) Stick with me, love, and you'll never be bored. As they lean against the wall, laughing and trying to catch their breath, a spark of connection flickers between them.

READER (realizing) Wait, I never got your name.

HOBIE (extending his hand) Most just call me Dirty Punk, or Punk for short. He jokes, self-deprecating, he doesn’t want to tell her his name yet, it feels really personal now, like it's just Hobart, it's not that cool. It’s definitely not cool enough to tell her.

READER Punk, eh? Really? Fine, then call me R. Yeah, Punk, I can sing...

SCENE 2 - PRESENT DAY - EXT. CITY STREETS - NIGHT

In a gritty, neon-lit alleyway, READER, a French metal chick with ever-changing hair color, is struggling to wheat-paste a large poster featuring her band "NEON REQUIEM" on a high, hard-to-reach wall.

Suddenly, SPIDER PUNK (aka HOBIE BROWN), a British punk rocker and vigilante, appears hanging upside down on a web behind her.

SPIDER PUNK Need a hand, love?

Reader spins around, eyes wide with fear and surprise.

READER (stammering) Spider-Man! Je suis désolée, It… yeah.. it's exactly what it looks like.

SPIDER PUNK (waving his hand dismissively) Nah, don't sweat it, mate. I'm all for stickin' it to the man. 'Sides, that's a wicked poster you got there.

Reader relaxes, a smile spreading across her face.

READER (relieved) Merci! I thought I was busted for sure.

SPIDER PUNK (flips down from the web and lands on his feet, like a cat) Not on my watch, love. 'Ere, let me give you a boost.

Spider Punk gently wraps an arm around Reader's waist and shoots a web to the top of the wall. They ascend together, Reader grinning as they reach the perfect spot to place the poster.

As they work together to smooth out the poster, Spider Punk notices the band details: Reader, Miguel, and Gabriel. Guitar, Bass, and Drums. Miguel is handsome, long-haired, massive band-mate. Miguel back up vocals and bass he is the epitome of a metal-head.

SPIDER PUNK (chuckling at Miguel's serious metal-head expression) This bloke looks like he could use a laugh.

With a mischievous grin beneath his mask, Spider Punk uses his web shooter to draw a silly mustache on Miguel's serious face.

READER (giggling) Oh, il va être furieux! But it's too funny! My poor brother.

SPIDER PUNK (admiring their handiwork) There, now that's a proper work of art.

As they descend back to the ground, Reader turns to Spider Punk, her eyes sparkling with amusement and gratitude.

READER (sincerely) Merci beaucoup, Spider-Man. You really saved my ass tonight. You should come cheer us on at Battle of the Bands.

SPIDER PUNK (bowing dramatically) All in a night's work for your friendly neighborhood Spider Punk, love. I might be there, afterall, the Spider Punks are playing-band like that is my namesake, innit?

With a wink beneath his mask, Spider Punk shoots a web and swings off into the night, leaving Reader grinning and shaking her head in amazement.

SCENE 3 - INT. BAR - NIGHT

Later after dropping by her hostel room to change and wash up from paste, READER, aka, R is at a bar when she spots the only open spot at the bar. It's next to a 20-something nursing a pint. SPIDER PUNK, aka HOBIE BROWN aka PUNK, a British punk guitarist in his mid-20s, sits at the bar, nursing a pint. His lean, wiry frame is clad in a torn Sex Pistols shirt and tight jeans, held up by a studded belt slung low on his hips. Fishnet gloves adorn his hands, their black polished nails chipped from endless hours of guitar playing. Piercings glint in the dim light, catching the eye and hinting at his rebellious nature. He's in his civvy digs, a signature blend of 1980s anarcho-punk style that makes him look like the second-coming of Jean-Michel Basquiat, all raw talent and unfiltered edge. Lost in thought, an achingly familiar voice, something from a buried memory, suddenly catches his attention. It can't be...

READER, [loosely based on Gwen Stacy's Black Cat] a French metal chick with ever-changing hair color, also in their mid-20s and equally skilled with a guitar, orders a drink next to him. Her effortlessly cool vibe is a result of her world travels. She is now in her full stage persona costume with all the eyeliner and leather that comes along with it.The two don't recognize each other at first.

READER (to the bartender, in a French accent) Un Jack Daniel's, s'il vous plaît.

Hobie glances at Reader, a flicker of recognition in his eyes... doesn't he know her? Battle of the Bands? Must be it, mate.

HOBIE (in a thick British accent) Blimey, that's a proper choice, innit? You 'ere for the battle of the bands, love?

READER (surprised) Oui, how did you know?

HOBIE (smirking) Just a... sense...Call it a punk's intuition, darling. I'm in the mix too, y'know.

MIGUEL O'HARA, Reader's handsome, *built* Hispanic bandmate, approaches. At 6'7" and 310lbs of pure muscle, he cuts an imposing figure. His younger brother GABRIEL, a softer, sweeter version of Miguel, follows close behind.

MIGUEL (Finds Reader and is by her side instantly, voice dripping with sarcasm and derision) R, you snuck out on practice...just to drink in this hellhole? Is that Jack? No puedo mas... Carnalita...This shit is bad for you.

READER (smiles to her bandmate, she has just arrived but she is hiding her wheat-pasting activities from the stern older band-mate) You worry too much, Miggy, mon ami. We've been practicing all week.

MIGUEL (softens) Gabri and I could have come out with you. You shouldn't go out in an unknown city alone. It's not safe for you, carnala.

HOBIE (puffs a bit, all charm, recognizing Miguel from the poster, he puts it together that R is the same girl from earlier. Hoping to impress this 'brother' of the cute girl, he offers Miguel his hand. Miguel looks him over and is unimpressed, he does not take Hobie's hand) Keeping the lady safe, mate. You can trust me. I'm one of the Spider-Punks.

GABRIEL (shoulders his brother to the side and takes Hobie's hand, gushing) We've heard of you guys, the local punk rock band, yeah? Your drummer is... gahh...Ah-Mazing! You think we could meet?

Someone's got a crush on Gwen Stacy.

MIGUEL (scoffing, stepping closer to R) You call that punk noise "rock"? Metal is where the real skill lies...Real talent is in the complexity, the technical skill. Metal pushes boundaries, takes you to new places. Punk's just three chords and an attitude.

HOBIE (visible shift in attitude, he eyes Miguel's massive frame) Never skip leg day, eh bruv?

R stifles a laugh as Miguel's face reddens with anger. Gabriel looks nervously between his brother and Hobie.

READER (trying to defuse the tension) Allez, let's save the competition for the stage, d'accord?

HOBIE (smirking, he stands, not as tall as Miguel, but nearly so) Tell you what, mate. Let's settle this on stage. We'll let the crowd decide who's got the real chops.

MIGUEL (grinning fiercely, are those...fangs?) You're on, punk. Prepare to be schooled.

READER (interjecting, her eyes sparkling with amusement) Ah, mais non, Miggy. There's art in simplicity too. Punk, metal, it's all about the energy, the message, non? Who is your drummer, she sounds enchanting.

GABRIEL (nodding) She is, she's go this...energy. Pero, R's right, Miguel.

There is a not so subtle look that passes between the brothers, an undertone of: DON'T RUIN THIS FOR ME MANO from Gabri, Miguel nearly rolls his eyes.

Music's music. Let's just focus on putting on a good show and maybe we can learn something from their band, eh?

HOBIE (winking at Reader) Aye, love. Can't wait to teach your wall of meat here a thing or two. Let's give 'em a show they won't forget...later?

READER (brightly, oblivious to the brothers' feelings) Later!

As Hobie saunters off, Miguel glares after him, his fists clenched. Gabriel places a calming hand on his brother's arm.

GABRIEL (softly) Easy, hermano. He's not worth it.

As Hobie leaves the bar, Reader shoots Miguel a disapproving look.

READER (oblivious to the brothers' feelings) Was that really necessary?

MIGUEL (shrugging) Just giving him a taste of what's to come. We're going to blow them away, R.

GABRIEL (sighing) I hope this doesn't get out of hand, their drummer is way better...I wanted to meet her.

READER (shrugs, trying to ease the tension) You will, I'll be yoru wingman, yeah? Gabri. You got this. And mano, Miguel... nothing wrong with being confident, but..just...save that aggro energy out on the stage. Come on, we're going to kick some ass!

MIGUEL (glaring at Hobie's retreating back) Don't tempt me. Let's go, carnalita, time for practice.

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partypoisonzz · 2 years

Text

i'll do anything you say (if you say it with your hands) (gerard way x reader smut)

Kinktober Day 3: Glove/Hand Kink

Era: Danger Days (2010)

Reader Pronouns: None mentioned but Reader has AFAB anatomy.

Content:

- Glove/Hand Kink

- Domestic bliss 🥺

- Dom!Gerard... for most of it

- Degradation

Word Count: 3,629

Disclaimer: This explicit story was written by an adult for consumption by other adults only. If you are under 18, please do not read or interact in any way.

"What do you think?"

You look up from your phone, taking in the sight of Gerard standing in front of you. At long last, his concept for his Party Poison costume has come to fruition. Months of sketches and reworking have culminated in this moment.

"Impressive," you say. And it truly is.

Your eyes scan over him, down and up and back again. There are the nice leather boots that go halfway up to his knees, the dark wash jeans, the customized blue jacket, emblazoned with the Dead Pegasus logo that he designed, the yellow plastic mask…

Your eyes travel back down to his hands and pause at the brown leather biker gloves.

"You really think so?"

You snap back to the present at the sound of Gerard's voice. You look back up at his face, alight with pride, and nod.

"Mmm-hmm. You look great, honey."

He does look great.

He looks so great that you can't stop thinking about it, even after the costume is put away and he's just your husband again. You're still ruminating over the getup hours later, and you don't know why.

Your thoughts are clouded as you go about the rest of your day. You feel guilty for only halfway-listening to Gerard's excited rambling about the upcoming album, as well as being completely checked out when you meet the rest of the guys for dinner. You only return to reality when Frank throws a crumpled-up napkin at you and hits you in the face, eliciting uproarious laughter from the rest of the table and stares from your fellow diners.

The haze hangs on until just before you crawl into bed.

You hear Gerard call to you from the bedroom as you wash your face. "Babe?"

You splash yourself with the cold water once more before turning off the faucet and reaching for a towel. "Yeah?"

He stays silent for a moment before posing his question. "You're okay, right?"

"I'm fine." You pat your face dry before tossing the towel into the hamper and turning off the bathroom light. Having completed your usual before-bed routine, you saunter into the bedroom and crawl into bed next to Gerard. "Why do you ask?"

Gerard closes his book and sits it on the nightstand. "I dunno," he says. "You just seem sort of... distant."

You sigh, stretching out your aching limbs. "I'm tired," you say. That's not a lie, either. "I know I don't have the right to complain, — you're the one doing all the work, after all, — but this whole album thing... The recording and the PR stuff and the music videos and getting ready for the tour..." You turn over on your side to face your husband.

"It's all getting real so fast," you tell him quietly. "In three weeks, you'll be out on the road again, and I'll still be right here."

For a while, Gerard doesn't say anything. He just stares at you in the dim light of the bedside lamp. He looks beautifully solemn, strands of his newly-dyed red hair falling over his eyes.

Finally, he breaks the silence. "C'mere."

He gently cups your cheek as you draw closer to him, pressing his lips to yours in a lazy kiss. You close your eyes, relishing the feeling of his mouth on yours, the way he's still close enough for the two of you to share body heat, the faint, lingering scent of his hair dye, the feeling of his thumb brushing across the side of your face...

Even when he pulls away, he keeps his hand there, softly caressing your skin. "Everything's gonna be alright," he assures you. "Being away from you won't be easy for me, either, but..." He presses a kiss against your forehead before resting his head against yours. "I'll come back like I always do. Plus, you've got me here right now."

You chuckle. "Thank God for that."

"Glad you see it my way." He nudges you lightly with his shoulder. "Want me to rub your back? Ease some of the tension?"

You raise your eyebrows. "Is this just a back rub, or a back rub with extra stuff?"

"Just a back rub." He pauses, appearing to think before tacking on an additional disclaimer. "Unless you want the extra stuff, of course."

You laugh. "Think I'll just go with the backrub for now," you say. "We'll see about tomorrow, though."

He nods. "Tomorrow. Got it." Another nudge. "Now, turn over."

Only when he starts massaging your tense shoulders does everything begin to fall into place.

You've always had a thing for Gerard's hands. How could you not, really? The way that he grips the microphone... His careful precision when he draws... How he alternates between soft and firm touch equally skillfully, as though it's absolutely nothing...

You can't help but look at his hands when he's completing everyday tasks. Oftentimes, your train of thought leads you to anticipate all the places those hands will wander later on. Even after a few years of marriage, you still find yourself turning away, face aflame.

Your mind flickers back to the gloves from earlier. Suddenly, everything makes perfect sense.

There's something about the way his hands look in those gloves. The cracked dark leather, concealing everything but his fingers and knuckles... Showcasing how his hands seem strong and delicate all at once...

You don't know why you didn't realize it sooner.

Try as you might not to allow yourself to obsess over this realization, the thought lingers in your mind. It's still there, even when Gerard falls asleep rubbing your back and you can barely keep your own eyes open.

For the millionth time since you first met your husband, a familiar thought pops into your mind.

Everything about him drives me insane, you think. He's gonna be the fucking death of me.

You sigh and turn over on your back, your own hand creeping into the waistband of your pajama pants.

A week or so later, you find yourself baking in the desert sunlight through the window of an old diner. Though you know you could logically blame the hellish climate of California in late July for the feverish feeling overtaking you, you know that you're sweating for an entirely different reason.

"Hey, babe. How's my ass look?"

You focus your attention on Gerard, who is currently turning slow circles in an attempt to properly show off the goods.

"As good as ever," you tell him.

"But is it good enough?" he presses. "It gets its own close-up, so it has to be in peak condition..."

"Your ass is always in peak condition," you cut him off. "Then again, I am married to you, so maybe I'm biased."

You grab a magazine off the table and flip it open, attempting to distract yourself. As it stands, you want to jump his bones, right here, right now. Discussing the premium quality of his ass isn't helping.

You wrinkle your nose as you open to a spread in the middle of the volume. "Ew," you laugh. "I didn't intend on seeing Simba and Nala uncut, but okay..."

"Lemme see." Gerard swipes the magazine out of your hands as he slides into the booth next to you. You watch him flip the pages of the magazine, slow and deliberate, and feel the blood rushing to your face again.

He chuckles. "Oh, yeah. This whole thing is a gag for the video. Only the perviest shit that National Geographic has ever had to offer." He places the magazine back down on the table. "Mikey's gonna be the one reading it, of course." He snorts. "Poor kid. I can never make him suffer enough..."

You can never make me suffer enough, you think. You manage to bite your tongue before the thought slips out. That would kind of be a jarring thing to tell your husband unprompted.

You startle back to the present moment when you feel Gerard's fingers drumming against your thigh.

"Hey." He gives you a gentle smile. "What're you thinking about, huh?"

The honest answer runs through your mind. In fact, it damn near passes your lips.

Your hands, you want to say. More specifically, how they would feel wrapped around my hips if you just threw me onto this table and blew my back out.

The door swings open, ensuring that you don't put this idea out in the open. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything," Mikey says. "But we just got back from our lunch break. Probably should get as much filming as we can in before the sun goes down."

You offer Gerard a shaky smile and a kiss on the cheek. "Alright, Mr. Director. Back to work."

"Right." He returns to his feet. You stand up and brush yourself off, sauntering towards the fridge for a soda.

Just when you think he's about to step into the blazing midsummer afternoon, Gerard speaks up again. "Hang on a minute," he calls to Mikey.

The next thing you know, his hands are on your waist, pulling you towards him.

You try not to tense up, — it's a purely innocent touch, for God's sake, — but it's kind of difficult when he fucking squeezes your waist while he kisses you.

"Love you," he tells you when he pulls away. "See you in a little bit."

He turns on his heel and follows his brother outside without any idea that such a slight touch has left you weak in the knees.

A little over an hour later, your phone buzzes in your pocket. You immediately answer it upon seeing Gerard's name flash across the screen. "Hello?"

"My trailer's open, if you wanna swing on by." You can hear the sly grin in his voice. "Just you, me, some drinks, and the air conditioner."

Though you roll your eyes, a smile surfaces on your face in response to his proposition. "I'll be right there. Just gimme one sec."

A few minutes later, you're pushing the trailer door open and climbing inside. "Another break?" you ask as you close the door behind you. "You just took your lunch, like, an hour and a half ago..."

"Yeah, but more pressing matters came up." Gerard abandons his spot on the cushioned chair next to the window to meet you by the door. He reaches behind you to fasten the lock before cupping your face in his hands.

You stiffen as your eyes connect with his. His lips curl up just slightly, but it isn't the glowing smile that he was giving you earlier.

You think he's going to kiss you, but he doesn't.

"I saw how you were looking at me earlier," he says, his voice low.

You attempt to swallow the lump building in your throat. Though the anticipation of what might happen next twists your stomach into eager knots, you know it's not out of your realm to sass back.

"Yeah? So I thought you looked good." You shrug, trying to play it off as though your heart isn't running wild in your chest. "Sue me."

His grip tightens around your jaw. "Don't you know how to ask for what you want, sugar?" he asks. "You can't just spell it out for me all the time. It gets tiring."

He presses his mouth to yours. You kiss back eagerly as his tongue runs over yours, grabbing fistfuls of the fabric of his shirt. You hear him let out a low groan before he pushes you back into the wall.

"Fuckin' tell me," he orders. "Use that pretty little mouth of yours."

A whine climbs up your throat before you oblige him. "Your hands."

"My hands?" He raises his eyebrows, looking at you as though the conversation just took a completely unexpected turn.

You know better than that.

He absolutely knows. Maybe he's known all along.

Still, he asks: "What about my hands, sugar?"

"You know that I've always liked your hands," you say. "I love the way they look, all strong but so... pretty. Love the way they feel when you touch me." You swallow hard once again before continuing. "But the gloves. Jesus Christ, Gerard... I don't know what it is, but those gloves are so fucking hot..."

"You like the gloves, huh?" He huffs out a laugh. "Should've just said so." He holds his hand in front of your face before giving you another command. "Open your mouth, baby."

You obey him without question.

He doesn't have to ask you to suck the two fingers that he plunges into your mouth. You do it automatically, your tongue running slowly over his skin.

He draws in a sharp breath. "I didn't know you had such an oral fixation. Could've made good on that a long time ago..."

You pull off of his fingers with a pop. "I don't usually," you say. "It's just... well... your hands..."

He chuckles. "Like sucking on my fingers, sugar?" he asks. "That's cute. Such a good little slut for me."

The degrading nickname elicits another pathetic whine from you. "Please," you beg. You aren't entirely sure what you're even asking for. You just know that you want, — need, — more from him.

"Please what?" he asks. "Use your words, baby."

"I don't care what you do to me," you tell him. "Just as long as you use your hands. And don't take the gloves off."

He laughs openly now. He sounds a little maniacal, a little mean, but that only makes you wetter. "You're so desperate," he comments. "It's fucking adorable."

He snaps his fingers before pointing to the chair in the corner. "Sit."

Wordlessly, you walk over to the chair and take a seat.

He smiles before sinking to his knees. You shift as he undoes the button and zipper of your jeans and pulls them down your legs. "Needy little whore," he remarks. "Losing your fucking mind over the slightest bit of touch..."

You let out a broken moan as soon as the leather of the gloves meets the skin of your bare thigh, proving his point.

He barks out another harsh laugh. "Holy shit," he says. "You'd think you hadn't been touched in years."

At this point, the part of your brain that generates rebuttals has turned completely off. You roll your hips up into nothing, more pleas falling from your lips. "Gerard... Please..."

Gerard doesn't react to your begging, his face set in concentration. "If you go crazy for my hand on your leg, I wonder what you'll do if I move it..." His fingers climb up your thigh slowly. "Up here?"

You moan as his fingers lightly brush over the front of your panties.

He's so close to where you need him, but...

Not quite.

He pulls his hand back with a self-satisfied grin. "Even better than I thought," he says. "Now, how about..." His fingers hook under the edge of the fabric, pulling the underwear down. "This?"

Another whimper of affirmation as you throw your head back.

"Good." His hand starts climbing up your inner thigh again. You know there's probably going to be a wet spot on the chair by the time you stand up. "What about now?"

Your knees buckle as his fingers finally brush over your exposed pussy. "God, yes," you gasp.

"Yeah," Gerard says. "That's what I thought."

Just like that, all the teasing comes to an abrupt halt. He shoves the same two fingers that he put in your mouth earlier inside of you. You cry out, grinding your hips into his hand.

"Look at you. Fucking yourself on my hand." His voice drips with pride, — as well as arousal, judging by the groan that follows soon after. "Fuck, baby. That's so hot. Wish you could fucking see yourself, the way I'm seeing you right now."

Though part of you worries it will all be too much, you look down at him, taking in the genuinely awestruck expression on his face.

If the past few years that you've spent with him have taught you one thing, it's that Gerard is really no good at being dominant.

Well, he's technically good at it. He knows how to talk dirty, how to fuck you until your entire body feels like it's coming unwound, how to make you come over and over again.

The thing is that, no matter how many times he calls you names or pulls your hair or marks you up with hickies and bruises, he just can't keep the mask from falling. Which is remarkable, considering he can be quite the actor.

No matter how intense things get, you always catch him just looking at you at some point, eyes brimming with love.

God, if that doesn't make you weaker than anything else.

You can barely look at him right now. He's so fucking pretty, — sunlight illuminating his neon hair like a halo, his eyes shining green-gold beneath the rays as he looks up at you. You could count the freckles across the bridge of his nose, write poems about the way his eyelashes flutter across his cheeks when he blinks.

But then he picks up the pace, and you remember that he's fingering you in his trailer while he's supposed to be working.

It isn't the most poetic representation of romance, for sure.

Not that you're complaining.

You taste blood from your lower lip as he curls his fingers upwards, pressing hard against your front wall. His fingers are long enough to hit all the right places. Even better, he knows your body like the back of his hand. (Ha-fucking-ha.) He knows exactly what he's doing.

He pumps his fingers in and out, going knuckle deep before repeating the process. The leather of the gloves brushes against your inner thigh, only intensifying the sensation.

It's borderline overwhelming. And still, you tell him...

"More," you manage. "Please. I need more."

"Don't have to tell me twice, sugar." He brings his other hand up, pressing his thumb against your clit.

You begin to feel dizzy as he rubs tight circles around the bundle of nerves, still thrusting his fingers into you all the while. Heat pools between your legs, your building orgasm creating the feeling of flames licking between your hips.

"I can't..." you pant. "Can't hold on anymore, oh my God..."

At that, Gerard pulls his fingers out all the way. You whimper at the loss just before he pushes them in again, meeting absolutely no resistance.

You feel yourself tightening up, clamping down on him as you let out a cry that just barely drowns out his desperate gasp.

Your back arches as you come and come and come. It's intense, — the most intense orgasm you've had in a long while. You swear that it's never going to end. When it finally does, you let out a bewildered laugh.

"Holy shit," you huff. "That was fucking incredible."

Gerard simply hums in agreement before licking his fingers clean.

You idly swat at him. "Gross," you chastise him. "I mean... hot, but gross."

He pulls his fingers out of his mouth with a smile. "You know you love it."

You would have to be a liar to deny that.

"Yeah," you admit. "I do."

You nudge him lightly with your leg. "Now, get up. You've got a music video to finish."

He laughs as he stands up. "Bold of you to be bossing me around after I just made you come like that."

"Mmm... It's my turn now." You pull your pants back up before rising on still-trembling legs.

You can't help but notice the tenting of his skinny jeans when you lean in to kiss him. You close your eyes, relishing the taste of yourself on his tongue. You only pull away when he moans into your mouth.

"I'm getting you back when we go home," you declare.

Despite his panting breaths, the crooked smile on Gerard's face tells you that he takes this as a challenge. "Oh, yeah?"

"Absolutely." You walk towards the door, lingering in the entranceway for just a moment. "I'm giving you one condition right now," you finally say.

Gerard trails behind you. Despite his earlier dominance, he's right back to following you like a lost puppy. "And what would that be?"

You can't help but smile slyly. God, he's into this. "Let me try on the gloves." When he's close enough, you pull him close to you, kissing him hard again before pulling back to whisper in his ear. "Maybe I'll jerk you off while I'm wearing them."

His breath hitches as your lips travel downwards, settling against the side of his neck. "Fuck," he mutters as you suck at a particularly sensitive spot.

"Mmm-hmm." You pull back with a quiet giggle, elbowing him in the side playfully. "Get back to work now. For real."

You mentally pat yourself on the back as his voice takes on a whiny tone. "But, babe..."

"Later." Stern as it is, your voice holds a promise that you'll make good on your word.

Clearly, it's enough to make Gerard listen to you. As he reaches for the doorknob, you give his ass a quick grope.

He makes a quiet sound of surprise before casting a questioning look in your direction.

You smile. "I don't feel like I properly expressed how great it looked earlier."

He rolls his eyes before pushing the trailer door open and stepping back out onto the desert sand.

You give a self-satisfied chuckle as you close the door behind him, opting to utilize the air-conditioned refuge of his trailer for the remainder of the afternoon.

Tonight is going to be fun, you think as you watch him reunite with the crew throught the window.

You'll do your best to drive him wild. It's only fair that he gets a taste of his own medicine.

Taglist (Ask to be Included!)

@mysunfishpeedinmyroom @xocasper

#gerard way x reader #my chemical romance fanfiction #my chemical romance x reader #gerard way imagines #gerard way smut #gerard way fanfiction #mcr fanfiction #mcr x reader #kinktober 2022 #my writing #mcr smut

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castleclerics · 1 year

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mike going blind in s5 theory

i've had this this very weird gut feeling since s4 came out that mike is going to go blind to some extent in s5......

mike and blindness is mentioned a couple of times (but not too many for ga to notice) and idk why but i can really see mike becoming physically disabled in some way by the end of the show. maybe that's because i'm projecting but idk i can't let go of the idea for some reason it just feels right to me???

not only does lucas tell him that he's blind but he needs to "wake up" and if you take it in a literal sense it sounds so vecna’s curse-y

it's interesting that he's also literally blinding himself in s4 but in s3 lucas blinds him

(gif credit to emblazons)

literally why is it always lucas. even the “did mike see it? then it doesn’t count.”

and in s2 after will gets possessed lucas asks the party “do you think it’s true sight?” and later in the same episode mike brings up will having true sight in the av room.

also in s1 lucas has his wristrocket and says “the demogorgon’s not real. but if there’s something out there i’ll shoot it in the eye and blind it.”

maybe it’s lucas’ bridge to max and mike, them both having dealt with blindness to some extent ? and mike is super paralleled to max and max couldn't see anything after getting vecnaed. and he's obviously screwed next season with henry so i could see them healing max and making you relieved she's ok then throw you for a loop and pass the concept of her being blind onto mike.

eddie also says vecna is "missing" his left arm and eye but our vecna isn't missing an eye, it's just blindness. and it’s also the wrong eye.

and it just reminds me of “oh no lucas my arm lucas look my armmmm” and mike is grabbing the opposite arm that vecna is missing/is his claw hand... mike wheeler blind in left eye s5 real i'm calling it

(and i know these mentions of blindness are probably all a metaphor for mike's deal with his sexuality and being blinded by internalized homophobia but they usually never stop with just one meaning, these writers love their double and triple meanings/foreshadowings and making them literal lmao)

this part is just me rambling but thinking about how this could relate the queer aspect of mike wheeler; will being gay but also having his supernatural problems add so many layers to his character. so mike being queer and blind possibly because of the supernatural forces would be so interesting and add a similar level of depth to his character like will being tied to other planes of existence and henry do. and since the supernatural things in this show are literally a metaphor for forced conformity, mike and will's issues outside of their sexualities are both caused by this metaphor for forced conforming that they will accept and understand how to live with once they accept their queerness.

the forced conforming is seen in every character on this show and by the end of s5 i believe they'll be released from those societal expectations, and for mike that means sexuality-wise like will. his possible blindness could be the visual and physical representation of the damage of that conforming.

also just one last fun thing: there's a really small band called mike wheeler band that have these songs (the first one reminding me of "only love makes you that crazy") but look at the other one :O

#i have brain fog thsi took so long im sorry if theres typos or things i missed that sou d weird enjoy #mike wheeler #mike wheeler theory #mike wheeler analysis #madwheeler #stranger things theory #stranger things #vecna/henry/001 #vecna #st season 5 #stranger things s5 #jay theories #byler #mike wheeler i know what you are #blind mike wheeler

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108garys · 1 month

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Seared

so here it is, the previously unnamed Du'lie soulmate au

I went with the "first words" concept for how it could be played with in this context, it takes place during the game and I also wanted to see how it'd go to be like "oh no!" about the realisation of meeting your soulmate and this is very much "don't evil people deserve happiness too?" 😂

@kassiekole22 @delurkr @tatjana-fantasy @mybrainrotforreal @tinynightmarewoman @aydeenchan @qusok @unhingedlesbear @kindheartedgummybears @ctrvpani

warnings are: canon typical violence, blood, canon reinterpreted, obsessive serial killer stuff, medical stuff, dismemberment, the universe says so, nerve fire related to concept, everyone else is mentioned but they aren't making it out

I did abandon some further epilogue concepts because I felt the story ended where it needed to and anything after would just be extra

Also it has alternating povs

Charlie was destined to die alone.

As a boy he'd eagerly anticipated the appearance of the first words his soulmate would say to him, emblazoned proudly on his wrist as he comes of age… But none came.

He found himself suffocated in his youth. To be surrounded by, yet excluded from the obsessive nature of those who fixate on their 'one true love'… Even to the extent of excusing less than appealing words in advance…

But he'd built his own happiness.

He was married to the job, his employees his family. He'd roll his eyes at the concept and soldier on, he's got work to do after all…

When the call came through asking for him by name with an offer too good to be true…He should have known better.

…Charlie knew he was going to die alone but not here, not yet!

After settling into Du'met's castle he'd argued with his employees over creative decisions on the episode and the whereabouts of their host, then things had gone sideways… Topeka level sideways.

Erin was missing, Kate and Jamie were worried something terrible had happened to her but he'd dismissed it, too attached to the opportunity of a life time…

…And now Charlie stands on a pressure plate, a scythe rigged to drop… a man tied bellow it… He faced an unwinable choice: Move and the innocent groundskeeper dies. Stay and face the wrath of the masked man towering over him. The man, imposing in his HH Holmes inspired costume, held a blade to Charlie's face, the sharpened edge a hair's width from his nose.

The metal bars between them did little to calm him. Leaning back as far as he can from the small opening in the dividing wall as the groundskeeper pleaded, Charlie didn't know if he was nobel enough to keep his feet planted solidly on the pressure plate to save a complete stranger or if he was simply too terrified to move.

Jamie had retreated from his side and his eyes were glued to… Du'met? It had to be…

The masked man's eyes bore into him. Unreadable. The screams of the other, loud classical music and his own fear built up overwhelming him. Any words he might have said getting caught in his throat. Tears prick the edge of his eyes but he dare not move, "Please…" he finally managed in a small shaky voice before whatever else he intended to stammer out died on his tongue. God he was stupid, the groundskeeper's cries hadn't been heeded, what did he think he was going to accomplish-!?

-Du'met's other hand shot through the grate taking hold of Charlie's wrist, roughly tugging him towards him. Charlie instinctively grabbed the metal bars to steady himself and prevent movement off the plate. Ever mindful of the blade, now held a little further from him. He stifled a cry as his wrist was twisted painfully at odd angles, as if to inspect the words that never appeared. Charlie was going to die alone and even his killer would know that nobody loved him. Great. Three decades of denying that hurt and he felt humiliated, tears welling and cheeks burning, he was too on edge to stand here being judged over this… It was such an idiotic thing to waste his tears on-

Charlie stumbled back as his hand was released. The lights cut off. His pulse rung in his ears. The groundskeeper's blood curdling screams abruptly silenced.

"Take my hand." He'd forgotten about Jamie, he blindly reached for her, at least she hadn't fully abandoned him. They carefully shuffled towards the far wall until they found the lights but… They were alone? The groundskeeper and his assailant had vanished, leaving only a trail of blood… Charlie protectively held his wrist, his skin burning where the gloved hand had touched and panic was beginning to take root as Jamie lead him back to the lobby.

Predictably they were trapped. The front entrance barred and attempts to reach the others futile… With every new discovery his fear reaches new heights. He was certain that if he came into contact with that man again his heart would simply give out, depriving his host the satisfaction of taking his life.

It was a meaningless consolation when he found himself falling down a trap door…

***

There was a time when the single word represented hope…

That some angle would step into his life and make sense of it all, who would demonstrate kindness and care for him from the first word. It was an alien concept for him but that naive fairytale had died a long time ago.

The revelation that his person was short tempered, crass and merely said the word for fear of him was inconvenient and the sensation unbearable. The single word scrawled across his wrist burnt as if carved by hot knives. Granthem would be tempted to cut the damn thing out of his skin were it possible, he'd settle for inflicting this fire apon Charlie Lonnit… Even in the privacy of his own mind the name felt different. Right. His 'soulmate' was lost in the basement, it would be a simple thing to guide him into the furnace and be done with it…

He traced over the word etched into his wrist, eyes glued to the younger man who wandered aimlessly across his monitor.

"…Please…"

He was accustomed to hearing his victims beg but the single word scarred his psyche as surely as it had his flesh.

"Please."

He wanted to hear it again, wanted Charlie on his knees begging for his life, knowing this was fate.

"Please!"

Granthem's mind flooded with all the ways he'd draw the word from him like it was the only one he knew…

But no, he took a deep breath, He couldn't allow this matter to cloud his judgement, he'd already ruined the first trial, the burning sensation a distraction… The mild pity that crept in made him more certain of his decision as he made his way to the furnace. Their brief union would soon be concluded.

He couldn't afford another mistake…

***

Charlie was lost in the darkness… Steps echoing. Hand burning. His breath uneven and body sore from the fall… He felt out of his mind, jumping at every little sound… Eyes on every shadow…

He finds things, things he's not supposed to see… Learns things he was never supposed to know… This man… This monster, had been killing for decades and he felt drawn as he always was, to the truth, to the chill that runs down his spine… That people can be like this… His adult life and career ambitions driven by this… Feeling the knife's edge, starring into the abyss? What was he supposed to feel? A hundred cases, a hundred answers… He clutches his wrist as it burns, what the hell is happening to him!?

Dead end after dead end… His shoes clank on the metal grate running through the centre of the empty room with nothing but a pack of cigarettes and nothing to light them.

Foot steps echo on the basement floor…

The door shuts as Charlie turns, as he rushes towards it, trying to prevent himself being locked. Overwhelming terror mixes with a desperate need to survive as Du'met moves into view of the small slot in the door. Not again! He won't let it be like last time. Although his heart races a million miles a minute he's determined. This time he grabs the other man's hand. Holding on for dear life as he pulls as hard as he can in the desperate attempt to force the Du'met to open the door!

But he's having none of it. Charlie's face slams into the door as the stronger man jerks his arm back. Hitting the ground with a thud… Head spinning as he sits up… The slot closes… He fixes his glasses, searching for a way out… there must be… Something grabs his attention as he attempts to lift the grate.

There at the far end of the room, rising from the floor… A mannequin with a lighter?

Charlie pulls at the grate. His heart skips a beat as it budges, stops as the room bursts into flames. He can't breathe, can't stay calm as he tries to keep his head, throwing his all into this one chance to be wrong, to have a future. To deny fate.

He refuses to die alone.

***

He remains tense. The problem was dealt with, Charlie was burnt away to nothing and yet the pain still lingered. Had he been mistaken? Would the cursed mark forever burn like the 'love' he tossed to the flames? He tries to ignore it, Charlie Lonnit was nothing to him and he refuses to regret his actions…

Granthem gathered his guest's belongings, two were dead soon the others would follow. He needed to clear his head, disposing of the Lonnit crew's personal effects should serve as a suitable distraction…

He activated the crusher while these thoughts clouded his mind. This was unlike him. What did he expect? That his soulmate would fall into his arms and they'd live happily ever after… He'd heard that it often does happen that way but he wasn't so naive to think that they'd be anything but miserable but as each item fell he dwell in all the wrong places. He saw something in that man… A will to survive that wasn't entirely uncommon but it felt… Different. The way the man, pathetic during the first trial, had returned his earlier gesture… The dull pain in his shoulder vastly overshadowed by the fire lit by a single word to fall from the mouth of someone he should have been happy with… It was like his mother said. Any person doomed to be his was better off dying alone-

A sudden scream tears him from his introspection. He deactivates the grinder before he has a chance to process. Charlie! He's still alive? How!? The fire in his skin flared up as he peers over the edge… "Please! Please… You fucking bastard!" Charlie pleads between insults and pained sobs. This is explains it. His hand hovers over the button, he has a second chance at this. Kill him and be done with it… His hand remains a solidly an inch above the button. The begging continues, he grabs the control panel with his other hand, breathing slowly in an attempt to calm the fury building inside, at Charlie for insulting and defying him, at himself for allowing the man to do so, at the way his hand wouldn't budge. Is it possible that he was incapable of killing him?

He stepped back from the panel. Charlie would die in his own time, the job of disposal could wait… He turned to leave but the man's voice was intoxicating, he found himself climbing down to Charlie, to get a closer look. One of Charlie's feet was lodged firmly into the machine, he'll surely die if left unattended…

He stood there just out of reach. Watching. Charlie had become incoherent between pain and fear. Almost subconsciouslay Du'met thought about the syringe he keeps on his person, how it could be used to put Charlie under so he could be moved… He got closer assessing what he'd need to remove the younger man, he felt compelled…

Amputation. He'd need a tourniquet. Charlie's screams picked up with renewed intensity as Granthem touched him. The lower part of the leg was a loss. He was sure the Brit would pass out from his rapid breathing. The man's belt would be suitable. Granthem lent over Charlie, taken by surprise as the man's arms encircle him, clinging to him like a half drowned rat. He tries not to focus on the nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as he undoes the belt… His collar wet with tears, the trembling mess beneath him too far gone to fear him any longer...

Charlie whimpers as he pulls away, binding the belt tightly to the damaged limb. Unsure of what came over him, he leans back in planting a soft kiss on Charlie's forehead as he injects the younger man. He couldn't kill him, but he could watch as those beautiful blue eyes grew heavier, how they dulled as they try to make sense of what was happening and eventually Charlie's body went limp. He held the still form of his soon to be lover, reluctant to leave… But the limb still needed attention. Gently laying him as flat as he could, Granthem took in the sight, taking hold of the affected limb.

Dishevelled, bloody… Beautiful.

He smiles as bones break in his grasp, a sickening crack and so much blood…

***

Charlie squinted against the blinding light. A distant steady beeping sound he couldn't place… His mind was hazy and he felt as though he was being pushed into the ground… Was he even in the ground? A bed? A table…? A shadow fell over him as something passed, metal on metal echos somewhere near his feet… Glasses? Charlie thought reaching for where they aught to be, except-

He couldn't?

He tried again slowly moving his numb limbs but was met with resistance followed by a soft clinking sound. The restraints irritated his wrist, even in this state he couldn't escape the feeling… He tried to make out the shape moving around him, a man? Who is that? He tries to speak but only got out soft mumbling sounds… The man stood over him. What is that beeping? Cool hands soothe his nerves, gently caressing his face, Charlie pressed against them, breathing a sigh of relief… Blinking slowly he focuses as hard as he could through bleary eyes, unable to think of a single person who would display this level of gentleness outside of his mother but she was very far away… He thinks the man has brown eyes but he couldn't be sure as a fresh wave of exhaustion washes over him, he just needed to rest his eyes… Just for a little while… The beeping grew harder to make out as he sunk into warm darkness…

***

Granthem Du'met stalked the halls with confidence in his stride. With Charlie stable and the others dying one by one, everything is right in the world. Better than he thought they could be. He is certain he saw love in Charlie's eyes after he'd finished operating, even if it would take the man time to understand it…

He watched as the remaining crew danced to his tune, oblivious to the good news, Kate Wilder sat mourning for people who were dead and some who weren't and Mark Nestor gave a commendable performance… All the while they remain unsuspecting… He would correct his counter once they were gone… He would let the new guests settle in and soon, very soon, he'd have the happiness denied him for far too long.

He enjoyed one last look of terror as he pulled the trigger. Tying off the lose ends and making certain no can interfere with his happiness…

***

Charlie came to in a dark room... A single dim lamp the only source of light, casting strange shadows… It took him a moment to realize he wasn't alone, Du'met stood in the corner like one of his damned mannequins, eyes never leaving him. Charlie shuddered at the unnatural way the light play across his mask, lighting up his dark eyes…

The man strides over, closing the distance. He stops by Charlie's bedside, smoothing his hair with his bare hands. It felt somehow perverse as his warm skin gently skim over his own. Charlie hadn't believed his hoast capable of such an intimate gesture…

Charlie struggled to prop himself up as the tall man withdrew, leaving him alone in the strange room. His eyes adjust to the darkness as he puts on his glasses. Shocked to find he is at home in his own bed, in his own room, but no… The wallpaper in his apartment looks nothing like this and yet it is his room with his things… What was Du'met playing at? Did he empty out his home just to prove he could?

He frowns as the light is turned on, Du'met returns with a tray, Charlie doesn't even care what's on it. He tenses as the tray is sat on his bedside table, he stares directly into the other man's eyes watching as he assess him, moving to sit on the bed-

Charlie takes them both by surprise as a snatches a knife from the tray and throws his weight towards the other man as hard as he can, sending them both tumbling to the floor.

He steadies his shaking, his body feels wrong, different, as he sits atop his would be killer and the man does nothing… Why won't he do anything!? Charlie tears off the man's mask, knife in hand and the other man calmly looks up at him… Why did he feel like he was in the wrong and not this monster? He held the sharpened blade to the man's throat, unable to process and again unable to move… A thin line of blood trickled from the shallow cut and Charlie was gasping for breath. What's wrong with him!? Why can't he just- He flinches as his hand was taken, the knife uselessly dropped to the floor… He looked down not truly comprehending his missing limb as Du'met's other hand stretched out before him, a single word emblazoned on his wrist in a way that immediately made sense… 'Please' his own word thrown back as if the mere act of presenting it was akin to repeating it…

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." Charlie slumped forward having overdone it. This is his soulmate? He couldn't think straight as he was gently scooped back into bed… It must be a lie but… No, he could feel the truth of the matter… He was tucked in as exhaustion crept inside of him, he'd heard once that every thing a person does slowly drives them towards their person…

He thought he was better than that, that his passions had nothing to do with anyone but himself.

He let out an involuntary chuckle at the irony that his love of true crime had driven him into the arms of a serial killer who can't kill him… Of all the ways to prove him wrong, fate had picked the cruellest.

Some part of him accepted these facts as he drifted off… Engulfed by pleasantly warm darkness. Again.

***

Time stretched on as a new normal settled over the castle… Charlie's recovery was of utmost importance, he was moved to a wing inaccessible by outsiders, given anything to make him more comfortable with his situation. Once Granthem was committed to the truth of their connection he became cautious of messing up, at worst he'd have an unwilling prisoner in a stalemate to protect everything he'd built…

He would show him they could be happy. He helped him every step of the way as he learned how to walk on new legs, to see with new eyes… He even gave his friends a proper burial to make things easier. Charlie taught him sign language, his mother had insisted he learn just in case…

He wondered what it was like to have a mother that cared about his happiness…

As Charlie grew more competent he became more comfortable with the arrangement and today he stands unassisted in the lobby, both feeling a lifetime older than when he arrived, he leans against the wall under the counter '0200', looking up at the completed goal before looking to the man across from him. Granthem waits, unmasked and at ease for the man to speak.

"What's next for us?" he asks with his arms folded over his chest, he doesn't wait for an answer as he steps forward. "I don't want to stay here forever," he shakes his head adding, "I love to travel, now that you've reached your goal I'd love to get out there again."

Charlie smiles softly, sensing the other man's worry. "You're basically retired now, don't you want to see the world with me? ...or at least go on holiday for a little while?" he waited for an answer, Granthem had never thought of his life after reaching his goal, never considered that he could simply be happy. He nods, signing "I won't be parted from you, love." as he closes the gap, embracing his person. Charlie rubs his back, continuing. "I don't expect you to give up your hobbies so long as you keep me in the loop, if ever that old itch returns we'll discuss the best way to deal with it, love." He felt as if he was the one with missing limbs as Charlie took his face and kissed him, he'd never felt such peace in all his life and he knew this was how it was supposed to be, Charlie keeps his hands clean while he revels in the excitement and Granthem knows full well that he has it in him to cross that line and that in of itself excites him. Charlie pulls away as his phone rings, one of the many little freedoms he'd been allowed, Du'met watches him as he speaks to his mother on speaker. She knows about them, or at least a more palatable version of them. As far as she knows Charlie lost his leg in a car accident after they eloped and he'd nursed him back to health, maybe one day they'd make the marital part factual… To say say he was in Pam's good books would be an understatement and now he wonders if he'll actually meet her one day, a real loving mother so unlike his own…

He instinctively held Charlie's hand, ready to face whatever comes next so long as they were together.

#the devil in me #the dark pictures anthology #the dark pictures the devil in me #granthem du'met #charlie lonnit #Du'lie #hector munday #Heclie #soulmate au #supermassive games #oneshot

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right-there-ride-on · 2 months

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A "Brief" Analysis of Religion and Johnny Joestar

Introduction

I would be remiss not to begin by addressing Stone Ocean. I believe SO was where Araki really began playing with the idea of faith. Enrico Pucci is a priest, and his outfit is emblazoned with a giant cross. While there is something to be said about Pucci's repurposing of religion to suit his own goals (there are several good discussions of Pucci's character with relation to his faith that others have made, though I don't have them on hand), for my purposes there are only two aspects of Pucci's connection to Christianity that are relevant here:

a) His actual religious faith is somewhat disingenuous (Pucci listens to Dio's Heaven Plan because it serves his own aims - like Hot Pants)

b) He belongs to organized religion (introduced in a church, works in a prison chapel, 'Father' Pucci)

And one aspect of his character that is relevant:

a) He fully believed the Heaven Plan was righteous and would be a boon to humanity

Given that Pucci is the villain of the part, I think it's safe to say that we are supposed to take away that all of these are negative qualities.

I bring this up specifically to juxtapose SO's depiction of Christianity to SBR's. Steel Ball Run is a natural evolution of Stone Ocean's religious theming that represents both a critique and affirmation of faith. This analysis will focus on the character I think best represents SBR's religious themes: Johnny.

Unlike Pucci, Johnny's faith isn't immediately obvious. He wears no crosses and, if it weren't for his own narration, we likely wouldn't know he was religious. After all, Jesus appears to multiple people throughout the part, not just Johnny. It is possible to reduce Jesus' manifestation to simply being the work of corpse parts, but working in tandem with Johnny's character, it becomes plain there's stronger themes about Christianity and religion at work in the narrative.

(It's also very telling when even ten years later (as seen in Jojolion Chapter 22: Morioh, Year 1901) one of the few panels we get of Johnny is him in prayer.)

Johnny's character is extremely rich, but for this analysis I'll choose one of the more prominent overarching themes for his arc: the search for forgiveness. The concept has another name too - redemption. I'll be using them interchangeably.

Section I - An introduction to Johnny Joestar

I'll start with a quick rundown of Johnny's backstory.

Here's a few panels to representative of George's parenting:

And here's a few of Nicholas. After several panels of darkness, from Johnny's POV we're given this:

Johnny admires him greatly, but already feels a great sense of inferiority toward him.

"Maybe I'm not your real brother?" Gee, I wonder who put that in his head.

Here's what we learn about the Joestar family:

(a) George Joestar is a Grade-A asshole. This will be a running theme.

And (b) Nicholas was everything to Johnny.

I want to point out this panel:

Even with George essentially physically threatening him to kill his pet, Johnny's kindness still wins out. His kindness toward animals is a consistent trait and also functions as indicator that, at some point in the past, he was far less aloof than he is in SBR. As readers, we find out this is because of Nicholas' death, which Johnny believes himself to be responsible for.

Johnny's perception of his own guilt in the accident is not helped by George's constant criticizing and reinforcement of Nicholas' amazingness:

It is made abundantly clear that Johnny isn't good enough for George.

And Johnny never will be good enough. He's already the youngest person to ever win the Kentucky Derby (one of the qualifying races for the Triple Crown, which it's previously stated his father won several times) but George doesn't care. You can explain this with grief, but it seems clear that Johnny was always the unfavorite. Nicholas' death just cemented things.

The death of his brother and his relationship with George severely damaged Johnny's beliefs about himself.

Chapter 42: A Silent Way (Part 2)

From a very young age, Nicholas' death caused Johnny to perceive himself as a murderer, willing or not. In other words, he has almost always considered himself a sinner. The 'sin' he committed of killing his brother is why he believes he is undeserving of happiness (Cain and Abel anyone?).

Because he is a 'sinner' - an unforgivable sinner - Johnny cannot fathom his life through any other mechanism but karma. He will always deserve the awful things that happened to him, because his sin is too great to forgive. God just hasn't noticed his mistake yet.

Section II - Broader themes in SBR

These are two main themes I will discuss here:

Individualism

2. Religion

My discussion on individualism in SBR will be limited to its connection to the religious theming. If you want a more in-depth look at this theme in general, check out this video.

As noted above, in Stone Ocean Father Pucci was a member of organized religion. Yet his faith was not truly in the church, but in the 'Heaven Plan', the completion of which would enable people to know their fate. They could not deviate from their set course, but the intention was that they would be able to find 'peace of mind' in that idea. This is how things are supposed to be.

We can also look at the Heaven Plan through the lens of "God has a plan for you". No matter what struggles you endure, you are supposed to be able to find comfort in the idea that some unknowable thing has it all taken care of. Is it a trial of your character? A test of your faith? If you accept God has a plan, then no matter what happens you can be assured you made the right decision (and alleviate your guilty conscience). If you live your life according to the Bible, then you have nothing to fear. If your life sucked in particular, then don't worry, because Heaven's waiting. Faith is based on the idea of "hope". That's what a prayer is - hope that someone is listening.

These ideas of religion and God's plan (i.e. fate) are also present in SBR, in a more subtle capacity. Most obviously, we have the corpse parts. The corpse is understood to be an object of power and value by most everyone in the story.

Here are a few panels of how different characters perceive the corpse.

Chapter 27: Tusk (Part 3)

Gyro understand the corpse in the capacity of its ability to grant power and glory to the nations of the world. Still, he acknowledges "saints exist for the common people".

Chapter 57: Civil War (Part 2)

Chapter 75: D4C (Part 8)

Hot Pants initially seems to have a similar impression of the corpse as Gyro. However, as the story progresses, we learn that they and Johnny's motivations to collect the corpse are quite similar. The difference is that while HP wants the corpse for themselves (to earn forgiveness), they believe they can accomplish this forgiveness by giving the corpse to a higher cause (the Vatican). Hot Pants, too, acknowledges that the miracle of the corpse is supposed to belong to the people.

Meanwhile, Valentine uses the corpse as proof of the 'napkin law'. Whoever has the corpse will have the power to influence the rest of the world. This is representative of religion as an influencer and indication of power.

Chapter 78: D4C (Part 11)

Valentine quite literally claims the power of the corpse - the power to control the right to good fortune, to decide who deserves good things and who doesn't - as his own. He even decides this power doesn't belong to the corpse, but was his all along, his own potential just waiting to be drawn out. He compares this new ability to that of God himself. Valentine is putting himself in the position of God.

All of these characters consider the corpse in terms of what it means to a larger cause. The corpse, and thus religion, is a tool to grant power to those who possess it. It enables whatever entity possessing it to impose "God's plan" (I use that liberally) onto others, supposedly for their own good. Even HP, who has the motivation closest to Johnny's own (even mirroring his 'any means necessary' approach), still views the corpse in terms of its wider applicability. These viewpoints are starkly contrasted by Johnny's own; he just wants the corpse to be able to walk again. Johnny's motivation is very base, but out of the everyone in the cast, it is the humblest and I would argue the most sincere. It's a wish that would affect only himself. The corpse - and thus religion - is something deeply personal to him.

This relatively deterministic stance on religion - as a power related to fate and a tool to control the fates of others - would be in strong contrast with SBR's individualistic themes, were it not for Johnny.

Section III - Understanding Johnny's Search for Redemption

Now I will take a moment to address the unfortunate elephant in the room, namely Araki's treatment of Johnny's disability as a metaphor. I'm not happy with it, and I think magically healing his injury was kind of bullshit when the narrative had reached a point and almost spelled out that it wasn't necessary, but it is what it is so I'll be discussing his disability in this essay in that capacity.

On a related note, I’ll say something kind of controversial: Johnny’s hunt for the corpse was never really about his legs, though that was certainly part of it. As discussed in my Civil War analysis, the parallels between HP and Johnny reveal something else: narratively, gathering the corpse is shortcut to characters earning forgiveness. I’m not sure Johnny himself realized it before Philadelphia, but at some point the corpse became less about his disability and more about spiritual redemption. Healing his legs is representative of cleansing himself from his 'original sin' of "killing" Nicholas.

Chapter 72: Ticket to Ride (Part 2)

Johnny perceives his shooting as the ultimate payment for Nicholas' death. He ran from George after their falling out, pretending he was living the good life without actually forming genuine relationships with anyone. He ran from the guilt he felt toward Nicholas' death for even longer, only recently truly facing his trauma in the Civil War arc. His disability prevented him from being able to run away anymore and forced him into further isolation. It was the final proof he needed that he is someone not allowed to be happy - not allowed to be forgiven. As he is, he's not worth anything to anyone. That's why he's so desperate to walk again. Johnny has been in the 'negative' his entire life. The corpse granting him mobility would be the ultimate proof that he is a person worth healing / saving.

I'll also suggest that his statement of "not giving a fuck if the corpse is a saint or whatever" is less how he feels about religion and moreso about the apparent reverence everyone around him has for it, namely Hot Pants, Valentine and even Gyro. They all believe the corpse to be something valuable because of what it means to a larger cause or organization. For Johnny, it's a means to an end. At this point in the story, it's become clear that the one thing Johnny wants most of all is to be forgiven for his 'sin' - a chance to wipe the slate clean.

Section IV - Johnny and Faith

Firstly, Johnny was raised in a religious household. As seen above, his father is obviously religious to some extent, and when Gyro initially questions him about the corpse he's able to list off a few Saints.

Chapter 27: Tusk (Part 3)

At the same time, however, I believe there's enough evidence to suggest he's in a crisis of faith. As per evidence I'll show later, he may simply think God has abandoned him like everyone else.

I'll move on to Johnny's perception of himself and how that relates to the religious themes in the story.

Chapter 41: A Silent Way (Part 1)

Stands are reflective of their user's fighting spirit, or, more literally, their soul. Tusk's bullets being destroyed so quickly is reflective of the weight of Johnny's guilt against his goal of forgiveness. At this point, Tusk is still in Act 1. Johnny feels any progress he makes towards forgiveness simply... fizzles out. Forgiveness means he can be happy, but he can never be truly happy because he has always been a sinner.

The dinosaurs here function as a metaphor for Johnny's guilt (isn't that a sentence?). He was able to start down the road to forgiveness through the hunt for the corpse parts and gaining Tusk, but at this point he still doesn't feel like he's truly earned the right to have them. 'Fate' will catch up with him before he can be forgiven, because he doesn't deserve to be forgiven.

Contrary to popular readings, as much as Johnny appears rather cold most of the time, he's actually an extremely caring person. His kindness with Danny backfired on him in a big way, which I why I think he tries to shut down the softer part of himself so hard, but it still comes through. We can see it in his loyalty to Gyro, putting up with his jokes and even playing along, as well as putting his life on the line to protect him several times when the easier option would have been to run away. He feeds the stray wolf in Wrecking Ball because he felt bad for it. He's also one of the only people to be genuinely kind to Lucy, even defending her to Gyro and protesting her involvement in the corpse hunt. Think about that - Johnny, Mr. "Get the Corpse at any cost" Joestar, was obviously willing to put Lucy's safety before his determination to get the corpse. Much of his coldness can be attributed to walls he built due to those he cares about frequently abandoning him, voluntarily or otherwise.

Chapter 42: A Silent Way (Part 2)

And if everyone has abandoned Johnny - because he has never been worth anything, because he is a sinner - then God surely has too. Very early in his life, he closed himself off to other people (and we can infer, by extension, closed himself off to God).

Because of this - because of his lack of connections to others, because of his low self-worth, because he feels he isn't someone who deserves happiness - Johnny's conviction to collect the corpse parts frequently wavers.

Chapter 44: A Silent Way (Part 5)

His 'dark determination', first seen in True Man's World, demonstrates that he does have the motivation to collect the corpse parts at any cost. At the same time, A Silent Way highlights his tendency to give up on himself. That's the struggle he must overcome in that arc. Johnny must harden his resolve, because despite still feeling like he doesn't deserve anything, he does want the corpse parts so that he can be someone worth something - to Gyro, at the very least. And because of his strengthening bond with Gyro, Johnny finds the resolve to fight on not just for Gyro, but for himself as well, evolving Tusk into Act 2. Even so, at the end of this arc, Johnny is still wavering. His still isn't sure of his worth because he has yet to pay for his 'sin'. Deep down, he believes he is not and never will be worth forgiveness.

But he keeps trying.

Johnny is the first to explicitly recognize the corpse as Jesus Christ, and Johnny is the only one to whom Jesus speaks directly and addresses by name.

Chapter 58: Civil War (Part 3)

As discussed in my Civil War analysis, his connection to Jesus, and Christ's words to him, are critical in Johnny realizing that Nicholas' death was not his fault. At the end of the arc, Johnny is purified, because Nicholas' death was never his sin to bear. Furthermore, despite threatening it several times, Johnny has never murdered in cold blood. Each and every time was self-defense against Valentine's minions (ironically, Gyro probably has a higher kill count.) When Axl Ro kills Johnny, his old self quite literally dies, and he is reborn purified of past sins (hey, that's a familiar story).

What we learn here is that it was the one man who was collecting the corpse - again, representative of a shortcut to forgiveness - for his 'selfish' goal of spiritual redemption that Christ deemed worthy of showing himself too. By reading Civil War as Johnny reconnecting with his faith through finding forgiveness for his sins in both himself and Christ, we understand that he isn't wavering anymore - now, he does believe himself someone worthy of redemption. But even with his faith in God and Christ solidified, Johnny still believes he hasn't been completely forgiven, as his legs are still not healed. Hence why he fights so desperately to reclaim the corpse in the D4C arc.

Section V - The Two Sides of Religion

First, the corpse siding with Valentine causes Johnny to have another crisis of faith.

Chapter 79: D4C (Part 12)

Valentine and Johnny's stances on faith are opposed to one another throughout the final confrontation. Valentine is trying to impose his version of "righteousness" onto the world. Valentine believes that, through the corpse (religion), he has the right to decide who is worthy and who is not. Johnny, by contrast, is fighting to save Lucy and reclaim the corpse - to make himself someone 'worth something' again. Yet we see that even Johnny isn't completely sure of that his path is the 'righteous' one. Does someone like him (someone still unworthy, a sinner) even have the right to oppose Valentine's vision? Is he worthy of forgiveness?

Chapter 88: Break My Heart, Break Your Heart (Part 1) - quick side note: notice how Johnny still has very low self-worth and continues to condemn himself as a 'sinner' (someone evil) frequently and without much cause. Even after Valentine literally killed his best friend, Johnny struggles to see himself as someone who even at the bare minimum deserves to judge others. George Joestar when I get you...

Valentine assumes a similar role to Pucci. In this final confrontation, he is representative of the use of religion as a tool of power.

Quick aside here:

The comparison of those involved in the race to a lamb - famously associated with Jesus Christ himself - is curious.

Chapter 85: Ball Breaker (Part 3)

Valentine indirectly refers to Johnny as his 'greatest challenge' and moreover attempts to force him to attack first (Chapter 85: Ball Breaker (Part 3)). Valentine is trying to force Johnny to become a sinner again before he condemns him to death for being unworthy of Valentine's 'righteous' world. Valentine is literally acting in God's place as judge, jury and executioner by determining who is 'worthy' and 'unworthy'.

Johnny, on the other hand, is representative of religion as a healing influence. He doesn't want to influence large groups of people or protect any nation. His connection to God and Christ through his faith is far more individualistic and personal. I think it's very telling that he's the winner here.

Section VI - Conclusion

At the end of SBR, we learn that despite everything - even through his crisis of faith - still, Johnny prays. He's always been praying.

Chapter 95: The World of Stars and Stripes

The story of Steel Ball Run is about finding your faith again. Johnny always prayed, even when he thought he’d never be forgiven, even when he believed God wasn’t listening. He is the kind of person that miracles are for (as alluded to by Gyro and Hot Pants in Section II). Johnny is the only religious character to escape the narrative unscathed, largely because religion was something so deeply personal to him. Rather than simply being 'selfish', his goal was personal, spiritual redemption. Faith carried him across the continent, helped him overcome his trauma, helped him connect with Gyro, and showed him how to find self-worth again after his lowest point. His faith was sincere and for himself, in contrast to most everyone else in the story who tried to impose their beliefs onto others.

Hot Pants, a member of organized religion, used it as a means to an end but never found the forgiveness they were looking for because their faith was performative. Pucci too failed because he used his faith (in the Heaven Plan) to try and assume control of the fate of others (similar to Valentine).

In contrast to Pucci and Valentine, Johnny absolutely wavered in his faith. Several times, in fact. He believed for most of his life that no one, least of all God, was listening. God had no plan for him, because his life was a mistake. Even so, he found comfort in praying for himself and Gyro, and by the end at last believed himself someone worth forgiving. And he was forgiven - cleansed, if you will. His being able to walk at the end of SBR is indicative that he no longer considers himself a sinner, but someone worthy of a new beginning as a person.

By the end of SBR, it’s apparent that the corpse itself isn’t what Johnny needed. It was because of his relationship with Gyro and the trials they faced together that he was able to gain a better understanding of himself, where he fucked up in the past, and learned how to be a better person. Lesson 5 is the key. "The detour was the shortest past." (Chapter 84: Ball Breaker (Part 2)) Johnny never fully possessed the corpse, preventing him from using it as a shortcut to redemption. It wasn't the corpse, but the corpse hunt itself that enabled Johnny to find forgiveness in himself and reconnect with his faith.

Narratively, Hot Pants, Valentine and Pucci were punished because they were not sincere in their proclaimed beliefs or otherwise abused religion in a position of power. Yet religion itself still isn't represented as a negative thing. Johnny's character carefully combines themes of individualism and religion to demonstrate the healing influence of personal faith.

Closing Notes

This essay was a much bigger undertaking than my previous analyses, primarily because I feel I am not the person to be writing it. I wasn't raised particularly religious (I barely know the cliff notes of Christianity), but at the very least I hope this is valuable jumping off point for others.

I apologize if I repeated myself too much. This was a very messy essay and I tried to clean it up a bit, but I'm sure I missed some things.

Based on some brief scanning of different Christian denominations and what occurs in SBR, I'd say Johnny was probably raised Lutheran. What do you guys think?

Also, shoutout to Johnny’s little devil horns.

Thank you for reading! Please feel free to share your thoughts as well.

#johnny joestar #steel ball run #sbr #sbr analysis #funny valentine #hot pants #jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba #jjba part 7 #jojo's bizarre adventure part 7 #wow this was a lot #i love u johnny joestar...#my posts #johnny joestar character analysis #hopefully my last sbr analysis... yippee!#ofc this is only one aspect of johnny's character but i feel it's one often overlooked #when it's almost critically important to understanding him #steel ball run analysis

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