#just so I can direct people to this longer version as well | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rhysdarbinizedarby · 5 months

Text

‘Our Flag Means Death’ Star Rhys Darby on Stede’s Transformations & Hopes for Season 3

[Warning: The below contains MAJOR spoilers for Our Flag Means Death Season 2 Episode 8 “Mermen.”]

Our Flag Means Death saw Gentleman pirate Stede Bonnet (Rhys Darby) transform from a fish-out-of-water swashbuckler into the romantic hero he was always destined to be in the latest season of Max‘s original comedy.

After realizing the error of his ways at the end of Season 1, Stede sought redemption in the eyes of the infamous Blackbeard, a.k.a. Ed (Taika Waititi), after recognizing he was in love with the pirate. While the path wasn’t a direct one, they eventually found their way back to one another with the help of a fantastical mermaid sequence, some much-needed apologies, and ultimately a better string of communication.

Reflecting on his journey, star Rhys Darby is opening up about Stede’s various transformations in Season 2, including the excitement surrounding that mermaid tail, as well as about where he thinks the pirate lovebirds might end up next should the series return for Season 3.

Congrats on Season 2! Now that we can finally talk about it, what has it been like getting to see fan reactions, especially during the SAG-AFTRA strike?

Rhys Darby: Yeah, it was like a pressure cooker that needed to burst, for us and for the fans. When it finally came out, the burst happened and there was so much love for us, [but we] couldn’t talk about it. We were still stuck in this bottle and the cork wouldn’t come off, and that was difficult, but it was really lovely to see all the love and the surprise from everyone. Obviously, as you know, the fan artwork, it’s what we would say in New Zealand is pretty full on. So yeah, it was super cool.

And not that anyone gives out numbers, but I think I heard on the ethos that people [are] watching it, and it’s rating really high and at a time when we need this kind of beautiful love fest of comedy with a whole bunch of silliness to take us away from the disasters that are happening in the world. It’s been lovely. I just wish it was longer. I know people watch and rewatch and they’re so fanatical, but it’s just a comedy show, so to have any effect means so much to us.

In Season 2, Stede’s gone through a few transformations, one of which is that he’s a real pirate now, at least comparatively to Season 1. What helped you get into that new version of him? Was it the writing, costumes, or a combination of the two?

Yeah, the costumes are the first thing that comes to mind because once he starts wearing different gear, he looks at himself and goes, “Oh my God, I’m a different man.” And he really is turning from a man who is wearing these beautiful gowns with high heels and things inappropriate for a pirate ship to becoming an Errol Flynn-type hero straight away. That’s what they wanted to do with the character. So he’s lost a lot of that beautiful pageantry and is becoming a more practical guy who has to survive. He returns to this nightmare of a world because he wants to fight for love, and for want of a better term, “man up,” whatever the modern-day version of that is, “person up?” To become the guy that he dreamt of being in the first season.

He didn’t dream that he was going to fall in love with someone. He dreamt he was going to be this amazing pirate and that just was not going to happen. But then when he found this love, I think he went away from that [dream] going, “I don’t deserve this.” And then when he realized upon returning home that he does deserve it, he had to fight for it. And so the only way to fight for it was to drop the battle armor of the gowns and actually become the pirate he imagined being. So it was great to become that and to fight for that love and to thank god that [Blackbeard] didn’t die. He would’ve actually lost it, I think, because it would’ve been like, “Well, what am I fighting for now?”

I think it was just so fun to see that character change, but also within that change, see a bit of the old self come through, especially when he found that cursed red suit. And all of a sudden it was like, “Oh my God, the old me again, look how good I look!” So it was lovely that they had those elements… I was missing a little bit of the old Stede myself. So it was great to find that again. And then again near the end with the British invasion scenario where I got to do the big coat and everything, which of course looked awesome. You can see that moment where I put it on and did that slow turnaround. It was way more filmic shots of me wearing that kind of stuff. And I think that gave Stede's strength as well. So much of Stede's embodiment comes from the things he’s wearing.

Speaking of costumes, the big one of the season had to be Stede’s mermaid look. How did you wrap your head around getting ready for such a fantastical, and ultimately, beautiful scene?

That was the highlight of the whole season for me. As a kid, I used to swim around like a little merkid. I would put my legs together and I’d swim under the water. I’ve always been into mermaids and things because I’m into cryptozoology. So when I got to be a mermaid or a merman, I really took to it. It was pretty easy, to be honest with you. I didn’t have any training to swim like that. So the only training I did was some breath work beforehand to help me hold my breath longer. But that was kind of almost superfluous. Once I got that [tail] on, I just became a mermaid. It’s hard for me to describe how I suddenly become these things, but I think I just got under the water. I could swim really easily with it.

And I had weights on. So one of the things was we had to make sure I was the right weight so that I wouldn’t just float. That thing was sort of buoyant. So once we sorted that out, I could actually swim really well, and then just sort of hover underneath the water for a long time while [Taika]’s looking at me, I’m looking at him. To see it on the day, on the screen when I knew they’d got [the shot], there were just so many cheers, and I think they even played the music to see how the scene would work out. It’s one of those life moments where you go, “Oh my God, I’m becoming a cryptid again. I’m never going to forget this.”

This season really does focus even more on Stede and Blackbeard’s romance. How did you and Taika prepare for that? Especially since Stede’s more transparent about his feelings this time around.

It was good, and it was time. And because I was the new strong Stede, it felt really natural for me. I think it just worked really well with the writing because of the aggression that I was going through. When I was fighting that really bad guy [Ned Low (Bronson Pinchot) and] threw a violin at him because he ruined Calypso’s birthday, that was a good moment because it is not just about Ed, it’s about the crew, Stede’s family, and they were going through this amazing moment there, and all of a sudden this guy turns up and next thing we’re getting tortured. And I’m like, “How dare you?”

I think that progression of strength helped [Stede] break into the moment of, “I’m just going to take my lover as well now, and do something with him.” He probably had no idea what he was doing because it’s Stede, but it worked out and it was the right time in the show. Taika and I are really good mates, so it’s really easy to do emotional scenes together. As soon as we put our gear on, we’re just looking at that character, and we admire each other.

You and Taika have been known to improv on the show. Was there any improv moment from Season 2 you were particularly proud to see onscreen?

Yeah. Well, one, I noticed that some people are talking about that they thought was scripted, which wasn’t — most of the [scenes where] I’m with Taika are improvised in those emotional close moments — is on the deck of the boat where we’d do the thumb thing. That was all improvised on the day. So that was fun that we got that kind of stuff in. And there were some more little bits and pieces, but that’s one that comes to mind. That worked really well.

By the end of Season 2, Stede and Blackbeard have settled in to open their own inn. Do you think the peace and quiet will last in a possible third season, or will they get bored and want to rejoin the excitement?

Well, obviously as it stands now, it’s very lovely and it’s a nice positive ending, which is lovely for Season 2. But in reality, if you think about the characters, even in the fictional world, they’re both outlaws, they’re pirates, and the British back then… they never gave up. They did track down all the pirates and either hang them or get rid of them. There was only a couple that got away, and it certainly wasn’t those two. So I think what they’re thinking is, yes, this is bliss, but both those characters must be thinking, this is not going to last because you’ve got to sleep with one eye open.

Even though they’re in the middle of nowhere, they’re still in an area where everyone knows what they are, so they’re going to be tracked down. So I think if it was me, [they’d] end up back in action one way or another, especially if their inn is popular, which it probably would be. Word would get around. I mean, in those days, had you heard the Blackbeard and Stede had opened up an inn, [you’d have] to check that one out. It’ll be like Planet Hollywood.

There would be a wait-list, for sure.

Yeah, absolutely. Basically, they’re too famous now that Stede’s killed Ned and everything. He’s a famous pirate. So death is going to come to their door at some point. They’ll have to deal with it.

Do you think this version of Stede and Blackbeard’s story could avoid the fate of the real-life pirates?

Yeah, no, I think you’re dreaming if you think they’re going to live happily ever after.

Our Flag Means Death, Seasons 1-2, Streaming now, Max

Source: TV Insider

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd s2 spoilers #behind the scenes #rhys darby #taika waititi #interview #tv insider

357 notes · View notes

edenfenixblogs · 3 months

Note

hey, gentile here. just came across this post of yours and, first of all- it's SUPERB. it showed me a perspective on being a jewish ally that i really wouldn't ever have considered by myself, made me more confident in my choice to put combating jew-hatred above the friendships I've recently lost, and gave me a really useful direction on where to go as an ally to jewish people onwards. that being said, there's a few details about it I'd like to press you about, if it's not too much trouble.

this point is probably worthy of an eyeroll as i'm a culturally christian atheist (making a concious effort to not be *that* kind of atheist), but: when you refer to G-d as the creator of all things, you stress that that includes evil- but that, in so doing, G-d is not evil themself. now, I'm asking this with the express purpose of you correcting me, so: why does this G-d- as a G-d fundamentally distinct from the Christian conception of God as a Super-Mega-Ultra-Perfect God Who Can Do No Wrong Ever- create evil? i, personally, have been led to believe by @/spacelazarwolf that it is simply because G-d, too, makes mistakes just like any human being, but the way you worded it in this paragraph (which I've included as a screenshot below) had me interpret G-d creating evil as a concious, intentional action. did i just not read it correctly? and, if i didn't, then is the reason G-d creates evil part of this central struggle you went in detail into in the same paragraph, and as such, a very individual part of Jewish belief that no two jews agree on? and if that is so, would you be comfortable with sharing your version of it?

a few paragraphs after that one, you dedicated many words to make it absolutely crystal clear that, in the process of unlearning and combating jew-hatred in the society around me, i should, in spite of the vitriol that they propagate, love the former friends i lost to antisemitism. how- and *why* should i love the people who, on an early october 8th morning, actively celebrated the news of a massacre of Israeli civilians? who mocked- and still mock- the survivors and the families of hostages? who wield the memory of the holocaust as a baton against Jewish people's right to self defense? who deify terror groups who are up to their necks in atrocities? who make an active effort to spit on the face of *reality?* How could i possibly look at the face of a friend who chose allegiance to a terrorist group she did not even know existed four months ago over me- who she had actively interacted with for much longer?

would you rather we called ourselves "gentiles" or "goyim?" I've been calling myself a gentile for the longest time because i see jamming a word from a language i don't speak at all in an otherwise english sentence to be disrespectful and constitute appropriation, but you and other jumblr blogs have given me the impression that that is not the case. furthermore- i believe it was @/bambahalva who pointed out the usage of the word "gentile" in antisemitic segregation policies.

that is all- i hope this message finds you well. oh, yeah one more thing- what do you think of The Forward news network? i came across them by chance and next thing i knew I'd gotten into their newsletter.

WARNING: I HAVE FINISHED WRITING THIS AND IT'S LONGER THAN I EXPECTED AND ALSO MORE JEWISH THAN I EXPECTED LOL! I have done the most Jewish possible thing I could do and answered all of your questions with questions. I'm sorrryyyyyy! This is what happens when you grow up surrounded by rabbis and future rabbis! LMAOO

Oooh! What a good ask! I love this ask. OK, so! Let's go in order.

First of all, thank you so much for your kind words. And thanking you for backing your words with the action of prioritizing kindness over hatred. It matters. More than I can ever explain. Thank you.

You know, it's funny. People ask me a lot of questions about i/p that they think will have simple and straightforward answers that just don't. And I end up writing a lot of essays because of this. The questions you wrote me seem like they should be complex, but feel relatively straightforward to me.

Now, to your first bullet point: I don't know. I truly do not know. I think that G-d is fundamentally just...G-d, and in so being, G-d is truly unknowable to me. I think many Jews have many different interpretations on why G-d creates evil. I'm no rabbi, but one of my BFFs is and so is her mother and great grandfather. That doesn't give me any kind of authority. It just means I've spent a lot of time thinking about theological questions like this. As for my perspective, I'm a progressive/reform Jew, not a humanistic Jew. I do actually believe in G-d, but I vibe with the community philosophies of Humanistic Judaism a lot. So that's the perspective I'm coming from here:

I'm not a particular fan of the Book of Job, because I think it gets twisted and interpreted in Christian ways more than most Hebrew books and it can too easily be twisted into a "Don't question G-d, because G-d is perfect" narrative that I find to be fundamentally at odds with how I practice Judaism. Also, it's just a very sad story about how a good and kind man lost everything, and it makes me sad to think about. HOWEVER, that traditional "Don't question G-d" narrative is not how I learned to think about that book. The way I learned it, I believe the Book of Job describes this issue most explicitly. After Job loses everything he holds dear and talks to all his friends and begs again and again "Why? Why did G-d do this to me? Why would G-d do this to me when I'm a good person?" And basically G-d hears everyone answering for G-d with various reasons, "Maybe you were bad." "Maybe you should make an offering" Maybe this. Maybe that. And eventually G-d responds from within a storm (paraphrased of course) 'Why the fuck do you think it's your business to know? I made the whole universe! I made everything you see. I made the world that gave you your family in your first place. Why do you think you get to question my motives?'

The way I always interpreted that is: I don't fricking know! It's not really my business. What am I gonna do? Stop G-d? How does my knowing why G-d creates evil help anything? It doesn't mean we don't question G-d. It means we should instead focus on what we CAN control. I can't make 10/7/2023 not happen any more than I could stop The Holocaust or form an ocean. That's divine business, not human business. What I CAN do is make the world better now. What use is it challenging things that we cannot change? Things that are in the past? What's the point of asking why bad things happen when we can instead focus on stopping more bad things from happening. G-d named us his people when Abraham fought with G-d to stop the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. Abraham repeatedly asked, "But are you sure? But what if there are 100 good people? 50 good people? 10 good people?" And G-d kept responding, basically, 'I mean, there aren't. I know this cuz of how I'm G-d and know all the things. But knock yourself out looking.' My interpretation of this was that G-d doesn't get mad when we do our utmost to help our fellow human beings. G-d gets mad when we waste our energy that we could be using to help our fellow man to instead be angry and rage futilely against the past. I say this as someone with PTSD as someone who attempted to stop a tragedy from occuring and failed and can never understand why. What informs my trauma and what makes it so hard to get past isn't that G-d allowed it to happen. It's that people did. It's that I begged for help before it happened--over and over and over to dozens of adults in various positions of authority in order to prevent this terrible thing from happening (no, I will not now or ever disclose what that thing is). And all the people who could have helped failed me, and now two people are dead. Because someone did an evil, evil thing. And a bunch of other people let it happen. I'm not mad at G-d. I'm mad at people. And yet, I also know that hating people and finding reasons to dismiss them and despise them is what leads to more tragedies like that happening. So, despite my rage, truly the only thing to do is to love people. It's the only that helps. It's the only thing that repairs the world. It's the only thing that we can control. So, in short, my answer to "Why does G-d create evil?" is "Why should I spend my valuable time on earth trying to answer that question when, instead, I can spend that same exact amount of time asking millions of people, 'How can I help? What's wrong, and how can I help make any part of it better?'?" We don't need to understand G-d to make the world a better place. I'm fine leaving G-d stuff to G-d and spending my time on the human stuff.

Now, your second bullet point. Love their souls. You don't have to love what they've done. But they are human beings, as are we all. I think this can also easily be twisted into the Christian framework of "Hate the sin, love the sinner," but that's not what I mean at all. People's evil deeds are a part of them. They need to take responsibility. There is no divine absolution for crimes that people do unto each other in Judaism. If you harm a person, G-d cannot forgive you for that. Only the person or people you harmed can forgive you. And to a certain degree, we are all defined by our actions toward others. And so, no. I do not forgive the terrorists who woke up and decided to kill a bunch of Israelis and Israeli-adjacent humans. I do not forgive those who celebrate the deaths of Israelis because of some misguided sense of justice. I do not forgive the people who continue to send me hatred and death threats day after day after day after day. And I do not love the parts of them that did and do those horrible, unforgivable things. But my goodness. They were babies once. They either had parents who love(d) them, which is so sad, because they have this life of love and they chose instead to fill it with so much hate. Or they didn't have any parents or loved ones or anyone to guide them and, my goodness. That is so sad. How terrifying and alone that must feel. Maybe they have friends and family who love them and are instead wasting their precious time on this planet directing their energy at raging against me and 15 million other Jews they've never met. Or maybe they don't have anyone who loves them and they think that hating me and harming me will bring them some sense of purpose and joy. What a horrid way to live.

My Grandpa died last year. I have a wonderful family for whom I'm very grateful, and I even have good memories with my Grandpa. But he was not a good person. He came from an abusive home, and weaponized that abuse on his loved ones until he drove them all away. He was a narcissist. Not in the pop psychology sense. But in the actual clinical sense. He ruined every relationship that ever mattered to him--personal and professional. And in the end, because of his own actions, he died alone. He had pushed everyone so far (often with legal threats and action) that when he died, he laid on a slab for weeks because nobody could figure out who to call, because he had no one left. (For reference, Jewish burials are supposed to happen rather quickly and two weeks is...not good.) He was the only person in his generation who was not born in Israel--my family on his side has lived in Israel since looooong before even the British Mandate and he was the only person in his family born and raised in the US. As far as we can tell, the family on that side has been in Israel for as long as Jews have existed. He was religious. And while I've never been to Israel or met any of my family there, he did go. And he kept in touch with his relatives there before driving them away too. He was a wealthy man, but convinced himself that everyone only wanted him for his money and then decided to horde it instead. He left nothing to his children or to me. He left all his money in an endowment to his university--a place that uses that money to fund anti-Israel organizations now. He died alone, without his family that lived nearby, and with a legacy that will now cause active harm to the family that lived far away. He could have died surrounded by the loved ones from around the world who wanted nothing more than to be near him and loved by him. His story is a tragedy. The story of every person who chooses hatred over love is a tragedy. The story of someone who woke up and chose to murder others or to delight in the death of others is a tragedy. I love the soul in the center of these people. I loved my grandfather. I could not be around him. I cannot forgive some of the things he said and did. But I love the person he could have been. I love the part of him that gave me some good memories. I love the family he gave to me.

No, we do not all need to love or forgive those who have wronged us or terrorized us or murdered our loved ones. But that is different from mourning a human soul. From loving the potential of a human soul to do good in the world, and mourning the loss of that soul and its potential. Every human being--every single one no matter what they have done in their lives--has the potential to create goodness and make the world a better place. Every moment of every single day is a new chance to meet that challenge and do our best. Sure, not all of us have it in us to try our best every single moment. Sometimes life is hard and we're sad and tired and hungry and angry. And that's ok, because we have tomorrow, and an hour from now, and a minute from now. But the moment someone chooses to take action and decides that action should be to cause another harm or celebrate the harm that was caused? That's a tragedy. And when a life is extinguished, that is a life that loses its potential to try again and do better. We shouldn't love people because we deem them worthy of love. We should love people because they are people. And so are we. And how wonderful is that? I could choose to hate them. It would be so easy! But why should I do that? What do I gain? What do they gain? And isn't it so wonderful that I chose to love instead? And isn't it so wonderful that you can, too?

As for your final bullet point: I have no preference. I say goyim cuz it's easier for me. Goy/gentile/non-Jew are all fine to me. I have some icky feelings about the word gentile for a variety of linguistic reasons I won't bore you with. But some other people don't like when non-Jews appropriate Yiddish words. Others (including me) find it wonderful when non-Jews call themselves goyim. All my closest non-Jewish people call themselves goyim, including my sister! Non-jew is the most neutral in English and least likely to offend anyone. But it still separates Jews as an other whereas "goy" is a way to distinguishing yourself from Jews while also being an acknowledgment of our culture. As far as I'm concerned as long as a goy is being a goy (ally, positive) rather than a goy (derogatory) I don't mind that they call themselves goyim. LOL! Idk, friend. Do what makes you happy! What do you prefer?!

Regarding The Forward news network: They are a reliable Left-Center source with a high credibility and reporting rating and only one failed fact check in the past five years for which they issued a correction. I would consider them a reliable source. They cover legitimate issues of people who support Palestinan self-determination ostensibly being punished for their stances. They publish Op-eds critical of Netanyahu, who is terrible. And they address how antisemitism is harming diaspora Jews. They seem to consistently emphasize the humanity of everyone, which you can tell based on the rest of my post is very important to me, but they also avoid over-editorializing on news that is not in the Op-Ed section. I'll never endorse any source as perfect or guaranteed to be free of problems or harm or bad takes, but they do seem to make a genuine effort to be factual, clear, and wholly truthful. Note: I highly recommend that everyone installs the Media Bias/Fact Check extension on their web browsers. Get in the habit of checking and evaluating sources critically. It's a skill that will serve you your whole life.

@clawdia-houyhnhnm I hope this helps. And thank you for your thoughtful ask and commitment to intercultural understanding. <3

#ask me stuff #clawdia-houyhnhnm #leftist antisemitism #antisemitism #jewish muslim solidarity #jewish goyim solidarity #Judaism #jewish culture #jumblr #how to help #allyship #media literacy

151 notes · View notes

dduane · 2 months

Text

...Noodling around with some tests of lighting profiles in Daz Studio, while background-considering the gonna-happen-soon business of recovering the Tale of the Five trilogy for both Ebooks Direct and Amazon. ...This project's been hanging fire for a while, but there's no point in putting it off any longer, even though it'll be a lot of work. Cover styles have changed a lot in the last few years, so it's time these had covers that'll reflect that.

What this means for me is producing four sets of covers, all in different styles, so I can do A/B testing on them at the 'Zon. (Meaning that for four different week-long periods, you publish the books in each of the separate formats and see which two get the best results in terms of sales. Then you give each of the two winners another two-week period and see how those results behave.)

The guide to the various currently-popular cover styles I've been using is this one. (Which isn't a bad one at all; but since the people publishing this page want you to hire them for this kind of work, that's sort of to be expected). Numbers 1, 4 and 9 on their list are the ones that appeal to me or are appropriate. The others either strike me as bad choices for these books, or just annoy me. (#2 in particular. I've seen it well executed, but I've started getting kind of sick of seeing it.)

Meanwhile, for your amusement, here are my current sketches... just to disabuse you of any ideas that they look in any way professional at this point. :) Two versions of the minimalist/object oriented style, and one each of the 3D modeling and the double exposure/burnthrough variant. We'll see what comes out the other end of the process in a month or so. (In fact I may put up a poll here with one book in four versions, and see what the local readership thinks.)

...Meanwhile as regards the topmost image (currently titled "This Is Not A Good Time"): I live in hope that someday I'll get Héalhra's damn mane under control. Daz's dForce utility is very good at handling some material textures and making them respond more like gravity had some actual effect on them. But in this case it's been like fighting ineffectively with a bad perm. (eyeroll) (Also, who here was it that put a pink Hello Kitty bow on him last time I posted an image of him fluffed up like this? It left me giggling for days and now I can't find it...) :)

#Middle Kingdoms meta #cover design #and problems with demigod hair #Freelorn #Héalhra Whitemane

117 notes · View notes

randomsufff · 6 months

Text

I’m back Michie girlies and this has been on the dome for a while but I’ve been seeing people mention it and at least one fic has executed this idea (“I once was his tutor” I salute you 🫡) but I need to just present this idea anyways because it has COOKED for a while-

I think it would be absolutely fucking hilarious if Max had started treating Richie the way he did Grace. Like the whole, dumb himbo act where he laughs real hard at non-jokes and tries to rizz Richie up as he’s going to class.

In my head- this is connected to the “Richie tutors Max” universe, so in my mind- Richies been helping him out and he’s been getting to know the guy, Max either: 1) eventually realizes how much of a capital P Prude Grace is OR (the funnier option I think) 2) Grace, in her want to get thoughts of Max Jäegerman out of her head, goes so far in the opposite direction that she somehow accidentally sleeps with a woman and is no longer “forbidden fruit” as Max puts it. (Insert side story of Grace battling internalized homophobia as she developed a friends-with-benefits turned maybe actual relationship with…. idk Deb or Alice or someone.) Cue Max looking at Richie and being like “I can totally seduce this nerd, my skills aren’t lacking just because I couldn’t get Grace.. this is 100% not me subconsciously really liking the dude and wanting to genuinely date him and knowing no other way to outwardly express this”

ANYWAYS- point is I need Max to try to flirt with Richie in that himbo way that he did with Grace-and I need Richie “This projects on thermodynamics… what the fuck are you talking about???” Lipshitz to just be constantly confused on what’s happening to him.

AND THEN when he finally realizes that Max is trying to get with him, I need Mr. Richie “has definitely never been with or slept with anyone and is just as unhinged and horny as Ruth (need I remind you she said Stephanie was the object of both their sexual fantasies)” Lipshitz to look at Max, really debate over it, before going “I may not have standards but I, unfortunately, have morals” and that he couldn’t do anything with Max since he was… well…his and his friends bully for years.

Boom, kick start the redemption arc that starts with Max just wanting to sleep with Richie but shifts to genuinely wanting to date him and trying to open up/clean up his act.

(Also- to add to that ‘“Dirty Girl Soup” Richie version’ concept that I’ve seen somewhere- I think it would be so fucking funny if Max’s equivalent to this, scandalous, forbidden, sexual fantasy was just Richie being the most supportive, understanding and healthiest boyfriend ever. Just accidentally fantasizing them in the most domestic situation ever (you know, because it goes against his Literal Monster persona). Like Richie’s, i don’t fucking know, holding his hand as they get coffee together and is just so understanding and calming when Max attempts to bully this fantasy Richie, and Max-who is just swimming in toxic masculinity (but is super ok in knowing he’s bi. As people say- he’s an actual asshole but he will bully you using your correct pronouns damnit)- is just like “NO, what are these feelings??? Why do I feel like this??? This is so wrong… but why does this feel… actually nice???” Yeah… funny shit)

#michie #max jagerman x richie lipschitz #max jagerman #richie lipschitz #damn it if only I could write #maybe one of these days I’ll just start writing shit #I’ve always wanted to write fics-#I love that this tag and this ship is just an echo chamber of ideas #we really do be feeding each others huh #nerdy prudes must die #starkid

195 notes · View notes

epiemy · 2 months

Text

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader from our reality! Pt. 2

Warnings: just cursing (you’re a crazy bitch and Jason too)

Part 2 of 5 - Part 1

A/N: I missed this app so fucking much but I’m back :) hope you like this part of a series project.

Sorry for Grammar mistakes, enjoy!

"Oh boy, we are going to have a big job with this one." Words from a tired Jason.

“Hey, I’m still here, you know that?” You speak in disbelief. It still felt like a dream, where else would you get to see your favorite characters? You had never been able to shift before, so you faithfully doubted that was the case.

Jason just rolls his eyes saying “Unfortunately I noticed, you won't shut up for a single second” - and there goes your sympathy with him.

“Why are pretty people always jerks? - You're an exception Dick, shush” You say but stop as soon as you see Batman's cloak coming towards you, no longer able to control it, you end up smiling more than you've ever seen in your life, after all he was her childhood hero “My gods, Bruce Wayne? Batman? I could pass out!”

“Jason, no!” Dick speaks in warning before the youngest even opens his mouth, but even so he lets out a sneer and says:

“I could make YOU pass out” Jay mutters and you give him the middle finger “You already did that, idiot”, turning your attention to Bruce.

“Why is there a teenager in the cave, who apparently knows our secret identities? I'm only going to ask once” Batman speaks monotone and looks at the boys with his arms crossed and his mask removed.

“Ehm… well… funny story” Tim starts to say while scratching his head lightly, but Jason rolls his eyes.

“I brought her here, I heard some druggies talking about a girl falling from the sky and I went to check it out. I don't know how a demon can fall from the sky but there she is” He speaks ironically and you just stick out your tongue, murmuring that the only demon in this house was him. The boy continues “When I got close to her, she was cursing more than a sailor and had a fangirl attack shouting “Jaaaaason”, I erased her and brought her here. History end"

Bruce raises an eyebrow at Jason and sighs deeply, rubbing his temples. He honestly needed a break from all this, he couldn't take it anymore. “Currently, Barry informed us that there was a rupture of some barrier between universes caused by some meta, it turns out that she was brought from another reality and that is possibly why she knows our identities. Am I correct, miss..?”

“Y/n, and yes you are right. Finally someone with neurons- no offense Timmy” You mutter and the boy just shrugs, then continues talking “If the kid idiots had listened to me instead of fainting, I would have told them that in my reality you are all characters from a brand , so I theoretically know everything about each of you.” There was a silent pause “That seemed kind of scary, my bad.”

Minutes later, Bruce releases you from the place where you were tied up “As long as we don't know what happened, you are welcome to stay in the mansion, Alfred is already aware of this conversation and will prepare a room for you” He speaks calmly, you he just nods with a small smile in gratitude. He turns to his children “You. I want everyone in the mansion during this time, apparently you don't have an alternative version of her in this universe and she will have to stay here for some time, so we need to train her” He says leaving the Batcave.

“Soooo… Dick, can you and your nice ass show me my new room?” You say with a wide smile and you only hear Jason snort in the corner “What’s up, red bird? Do you want to show me instead of Richard? Come on come on, take me then” A hand sign is made by you, as you walk towards some stairs where Bruce had gone but Jason grabs your waist, changing the direction to the left “Oopsie, thanks kitty” You hear the laughter behind you.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Jason says, walking up the correct floors with you.

#dc #dick grayson #damian wayne #tim drake #batfam x reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd #jason todd fluff #red hood x you #bruce wayne

98 notes · View notes

theresattrpgforthat · 8 months

Note

would you happen to know about any ttrpg that could run/emulate the tone of STALKER/Annihilation?

Frail humain beings entering a Fucked Up Zone with the intent if reaching the center and things getting weirder and more dangerous the farther they go in?

THEME: Eerie Fucked Up Settings

Friend I have some truly excellent games for you this week.

TRESPASSER, by Binary Star Games.

The Zone is an area that's been sealed off by a nation or group of nations due to its danger. It's filled with Anomalies, extremely dangerous areas where physical laws like gravity, magnetism, electricity, or chemistry can break down to lethal effect, as well as mutants and things considered impossible.

Like many, you have entered the Zone, but not legally. You are collectively known as Trespassers. Some inside are on their own, some in groups, some part of larger factions. But most want one thing: to reach the centre and claim what it conceals.

This game can accommodate a GM but it isn’t necessary - in fact, you can even play it solo! As this game is inspired by STALKER, I think it’s going to really give you the vibe you’re going for. Troubles in Breathless games escalate as you play, so the longer you stay in The Zone, the worse things are going to get. I definitely recommend checking out this game!

BLOOM, by Litza Bronwyn.

BLOOM is a solo gmless journaling game in which you play a teenage girl trapped in quarantine at a boarding school on an island infected by the Tox, a plague that makes the trees and animals grow huge and hungry, and mutates your body in strange and horrific ways. In it, you will draw cards and write journal entries based on specific prompts in order to craft a story of survival and love.

I’ve read the book Wilder Girls by Rory Power, and it has a lot of the same themes as Annihilation and STALKER, so it might fit the niche you’re looking for. As a solo game, this uses the Wretched & Alone SRD, so you’ll probably want a Jenga tower, and you’ll definitely want a deck of cards.

Navigator, by Micheal Klamerus.

Navigator is a two-player tabletop rpg created for the Just the Two of Us Jam. It's inspired by the movie Stalker and the games Alone Among the Stars, Memoirs of a Barbarian and Thirst.

In this game two players journey into a mysterious, restricted site known as the Zone to find a room rumoured to grant people their innermost desires. One player is The Client, a person who wants to find this room and have their wish granted, and the other player is The Navigator, a person with previous experience navigating the Zone that has been hired by The Client to help them find the Room.

This game is definitely inspired by media such as STALKER, but it doesn’t have to be inspired by that. When I played this game, we decided to go for something a bit more fantastical, but if you and the person you play this with agree on the same inspiration, you should have no trouble experiencing this as an eerie, unnerving, dangerous setting.

Exclusion Zone Botanist, by Exeunt Press.

YOU ARE AN EXCLUSION ZONE BOTANIST. GET IN. DISCOVER AND DOCUMENT. GET OUT.

Another one for the solo enthusiasts, and it’s inspired by Jeff Vandermeer’s Annihilation. Your character is specifically looking for plants, which you will locate by rolling 2d6. You get a little hex map to track your progress as you play. As you go, you risk being influenced by the corruption of the zone. Your goal is to document as many plants as possible before you become the forest - because if you are corrupted too much, they can’t pull you out. A delightfully time-sensitive game.

The Zone, by Laughing Kaiju.

The digital tabletop storygame of magical realism, mutant weirdness, and collaborative self-destruction.

This is a really cool digital ttrpg, with a physical version on the way. You can play solo or multiplayer, and the website will guide you through play step by step. The game is meant to be collaborative, so everyone will have moments where they direct play. The author also encourages you to play to lose - this is a tragic game, a horror game. The game itself uses a number of cards representing locations, laid out in a spiral to form an abstract sort of map. Each location will have its own scene, probably more. And rather than rolling dice to resolve tasks, you choose whether something is easily doable, or not-so-easy - in which case you pull from a deck. This is where the mutations may come from.

If you are interested in the physical version of this game, they’re currently taking pre-orders on Backerkit!

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #dnd #game recommendations #asks #STALKER #annihilation #horror

253 notes · View notes

bonefall · 2 months

Note

For Riverstar’s Heir, do you have any idea where you want to land themeatically? Because from my reading of the possible themeatic directions, with the whole story being about this crisis of politics and succession, it feels like the character who “should” become the next leader of RiverClan narratively should be the Most ruthless/aggressive/willing to resort to dishonorable methods of dealing with rivals (reinforcing RiverClan’s entry into/building up of the early Clans’ emerging systems of battle society)

The alternative “most interesting” option I can imagine would be one that is least likely/least aggressive/some otherwise sort of underdog candidate (maybe not even technically “legal” depending on what qualifications there are for heirship?), but I’m not sure exactly what themes that would play into, other than maybe how the pursuit of power can change someone?

That said, your themeatic instincts are strong enough that I can see you having a strong idea for a “middle-of-the-pack” candidate winning out over the others just as much, so— I am genuinely curious what your thoughts are for where you Want this crisis of succession to end, narratively, even if you don’t have an exact cat picked yet.

Good ask because I'd not been clear about the theme yet, I think. What Riverstar's Heir is trying to get at, at the heart of the issue, is that this is a bloodbath caused by naiive optimism and greed.

The commandments to establish borders and prevent killing are nice, but not enough. You can't just have a society on good will, not when POWER is up for grabs in the scramble. It's about collapse, and how innocent, well-meaning people get caught up in the devastation. Not JUST the troublemakers.

Riverstar was an EXCELLENT king, beloved and wise, but if you don't prepare a proper successor, everything you worked hard to build might crumble to ruin.

Something unique is lost in this shuffle. It's no longer the River Kingdom, and the Wind Coalition also becomes WindClan at this point. For better, and for worse, they both lose a bit of what made them special. Redscar's choice at the end also solidifies the early political power of Clerics, which is eventually broken many generations later with Larkwing's Strike.

So, fragment time,

At LEAST three "heirs" end up getting killed.

So, because these ones are gonna die, I have Three Heir "Slots" that I'm committed to and just need to fill;

The Eldest, Riverstar's oldest living biological child.

The Chosen, Riverstar's adopted heir, a rather meek prince easily pressured into backing off his rightful claim. This one is likely going to be the BB! version of Mossfire.

The Firstblood, directly descended from Riverstar's FIRSTborn child. This one is likely going to be the BB! version of Jumpfoot.

I also have two tentative slots.

The Accomplished... who is a blood relative of Riverstar, but more of a "puppet" for WindCo. Someone they're intentionally propping up hoping for power.

The Diplomat, from WindClan, who is a lot like WindCo's puppet but this one is more subtle about it. Poetic. Happy to purr and remind the world of the wonderful, deep ties that had existed between King Riverstar and Thunderstar.

And, LASTLY, there's The Deputy. The most qualified choice, who served Riverstar, but was no relative.

It feels right that the Deputy is the one who is chosen in the end... hm.

Anyway

After a smaller conflict near the start of the story, either The Eldest or The Firstblood seems to be the favorite to win... but decides to wait for the morning to set out for the Moonstone and take their lives.

In this time period, without selecting a successor, this heir is assassinated.

In fact it might be VERY fun if this heir, being so much like King Riverstar himself, decided to throw a pre-emptive celebration.

Meat! Merriment! MURDER!!!

Having them go out via poison would be a fun way to send a character off.

This is going to be why the "DEPUTY BEFORE MOONHIGH" rule is established, but it's also what kicks off the bloodier parts of the plot.

Thinking about it... a cleric and/or the deputy should probably tell this heir, "Hey, buddy, you should really get going" and they're ignored.

With Eldest Heir gone, the small conflict from earlier becomes an LARGE conflict.

And, like they did back in DOTC, families start to rally together. Especially Eldest's offspring, who think they're just as entitled to the Throne as The Firstblood/Jumpfoot

King Riverstar used to encourage cats to enter the River Kingdom freely. The borders were essentially open, and everyone was allowed in, as long as they were willing to cross the river.

(maybe I'll even have him pull down the tree from Riverstar's Home intentionally, happy to accept other cats into his Kingdom. Then he defends it from Skystar, specifically, but refuses to destroy what he built.)

This had allowed River Kingdom to grow large and powerful, but it also meant everyone in River Kingdom had connections to the other Clans.

Which meant there were cats supporting OTHER bids to the Throne, like the one from WindCo and the one from ThunderClan.

Smelling a way to grab power, Duststar supports his favorite heir, and Whitestar of ThunderClan also begins to stick his nose in.

Each Heir tries to run the River Kingdom, and things start to get hostile. If there's more than just the three heirs, even more of them start to get openly attacked, chased out, killed, until there's only The Chosen and The Firstblood left.

Somewhere around here, River Kingdom is invaded. Probably by the leader of SkyClan at the time, claiming that they don't even NEED an heir to take what these cats clearly don't deserve.

And that's when the internal conflict becomes a FULL-BLOWN WAR between four Clans.

In those days, the camp was at Sunningrocks, right in the middle of the river.

ThunderClan jumps in to help its "Ally" against SkyClan, just like historical precedent, but they have NO IDEA who they're fighting against, because the whole Kingdom is divided. It's not as simple as it was in DOTC anymore.

WindCo came to support its favorite heir, but its cats don't obey Duststar's orders when it comes down to fighting their own friends and family, meaning they're functionally fighting EVERYONE and losing a TON of cats

SkyClan is getting pummeled because EVERY group is pissed at them as well as each other, getting a painful awakening that they are NOT being run by Skystar the War God anymore and they're no longer the biggest, baddest bananas in the bunch

(shadowclan is watching all of this and eating popcorn. moisturized. in their lane. unbothered.)

The climax here, between The Chosen and The Firstblood, is a battle that matches the chapter from COTC. They launch at each other, in a battle to the death.

The first Sunningrocks Battle.

They both wear "crowns" on their head, one custom made for Mossfire's short-furred head, and traditional, braided into Jumpfoot's long, lush fur.

As they claw, bite, and tumble, they plunge into the river.

Fighting and hissing, they try to pull apart to rise up for air-- and can't.

They're STUCK

The crowns became tangled in their skirmish, and neither one can work with the other to bring them both to shore, against the current.

Both heirs, the last with a proper claim to the throne, drown together in the river.

At the end of the bloodbath, the tone is very somber. The rules were meant to prevent The First Battle from ever happening again... but The Second Battle had just taken place.

The body count wasn't AS high as the First Battle, but it was still a bloody loss. Every Clan lost warriors. Even ShadowClan, who hadn't even been IN the conflict, checked its ranks to find that powerful warriors had run off to go fight with their Kin.

Now they could be buried with them, too.

And now, there was no proper heir. If any descendants were still kicking around, they were refusing to take a throne that so many cats had died for. Jumpfoot and Mossfire never emerged from the River, their bodies, and their legendary crowns, were never found.

At first I'd been considering Redscar being swapped to become a RiverClan Cleric, but now I'm thinking it actually makes sense he's still from ShadowClan. ShadowClan was the ONLY neutral group-- it's reasonable for the clans to turn and request their partiality.

So, Redscar peruses the options, having followed the situation from afar.

His choice, in the end, was The Deputy. The most experienced advisor who knew Riverstar, and probably tried to stay at his adopted daughter's side as well. The closest thing they'd had to a leader all along.

(Thought: Maybe this character will be the POV. Make it like a bit of a fake-out title, you THINK Riverstar's heir is Mossfire. But it's actually been this one all along.)

He creates his famous false sign, and from there, the five groups discussed how they could prevent this from ever happening again.

They create the Law of the Deputy, commanding that ALL Clans have a single Deputy who will inherit the Clan after the leader passes away, ending dynasties in WindCo and River Kingdom and centralizing power in the other 3.

With the massive losses that WindCo and River Kingdom experienced, they also restructure, forced to accept a lot of help from ThunderClan and ShadowClan.

The borders began to close up, leading to the sentiment that would lead to Commandment 4, the Law of Loyalty, in just one more generation.

#better bones au #BB!DOTC #Riverstar's Heir #I feel like I need to add in more 'human' moments #But it's also a very broad overview type thing #Having the Deputy be the POV will help immensely I think once I get into the details #Since she'll be thinking about how to keep the Kingdom together. How to feed people. How badly it's all crumbling #And how distracting the violence all is #But this is a broader draft of the major politics when the REAL meat of this story is in the minutia.#(Ottoman Empire ass drama in the background) ``no time for that goku. its fall. the salmon r coming.``#Unsure if this is Flowerstem or Maplewhisker....#The Eldest would make sense as Mothpelt #Again: COTC my beloved

88 notes · View notes

sugar-grigri · 7 months

Text

The nail that sticks out gets hammered down

Guns, nails, katanas: I think it's interesting to read this title not just in terms of the chapter's construction, but as three notions serving the same idea, which is what we're going to develop.

The chapter opens with the students, followers of the Church of Chainsaw Man, who don't really know what to do with their weapons. They weren't even aware that they had so many, which marks a continuity with the last chapter, when Nobana wasn't even aware that there were weapons.

Their reaction becomes the opposite when their superior gives them a reason to interpret the weapons differently - they're no longer guns in the hands of children, but a continuation of Chainsaw Man's message and power.

I think that's an easy interpretation to have, but it's one worth establishing for the sequel. The guns are only a third part of the reasoning, after all.

When the fiend arrives on the scene, it's also interesting the moment and the way they's cut off. Strangely enough, the fire doesn't start until they begins to suggest that children shouldn't be holding weapons, as if someone wanted to prevent them from provoking an awakening of conscience. All symbolic, of course.

I insist on the fact that the response of the weapons is instantaneous because in French the line is well cut (I read both versions because sometimes it helps me to have a re-reading on certain lines and I perceive better the indicators notably on the tone… And yes, you missed the fiend saying Ouh Là Ouh Là Là… )

The fiend seems to have a strong desire to protect children. Which gives us an idea of the demon they might embody. A common trait that could be given to fiends is that they are beings (and I say this with all the love I bear them) intellectually limited or rather who have a way of reasoning that is more animal and demonic (logical, they are demons they embody) than human.

Whether it's Power, who only reasoned through the prism of domination, or Beam, who considered himself Chainsaw Man's pupil and follower, the possessed reason strictly through hierarchy, or rather through a kind of food chain, which is typically bestial.

Seeing what looks like a fiend, or even a devil, reasoning in terms of child protection induces the idea that they must have something to do with these children to reason in such an abstract way as child protection.

Especially as it's something they embodies rather than understands themself, since they remains demonic, bashing in the skull of a child they themself wanted to protect, but had spoken to wrongly, as if this "lesson" were also part of his upbringing.

That's why I interpret this fiend as harboring the devil of studies. Which is logical? It's one of the main fears of young people in particular, whether it's the choice of direction, exams, or even because it's related to the future, studies are a subject of anxiety.

Particularly in a Japanese system in which the costs of studying are considerable, with university rankings that can be quite anxiety-provoking for high-school students.

That's why this fiend is so revolted by the sight of children with weapons, and nails them to walls rather than brutally killing them all.

Moods and compassion are not necessarily inherent concepts in the fiends, even if they are capable of them, as we saw with Power.

But then again, if Power changed her behavior, it was only with regard to Denji and Aki, because they were part of her pack and her entourage, just like Meowy.

Sacrificing herself for Denji, even if she did in the end, was by no means obvious, hence the fact that there were several pages before her second death where she considered two options: her survival by helping Makima and her certain death to protect her brother.

That's why the fiend's words are so strange and put me on the trail of the study demon.

Skull-hammering, or being overloaded with information and knowledge to be accumulated, is symbolized by this protruding brain.

In the same way, the fact that the demon possessed has no eyes symbolizes the school system, whose aim is to develop students without actually seeing them.

I was thinking about the hammer, but the title indicates that it's the nails we should be thinking about.

Hence the title of this analysis, which takes up a famous saying :

The nail that sticks out gets hammered down

Obviously, this saying alone cannot reflect the complexity of Japanese society, which is sometimes even used as a caricature by the Western media.

Nevertheless, without falling into caricature, it symbolizes a simple idea: Japanese society, unlike Western society, puts the collective before the individual.

This doesn't mean that the individual is completely erased, but that he is encouraged to consider his behavior from a more global angle, one that transcends himself.

It's simply a saying that can be understood as advice: if you step out of line, you can expect to encounter more difficulties.

This is as true for a Japanese society as it is for a Western one. I'm not establishing any hierarchy of values.

Hence the nails, which freeze individuals where they belong.

That's why this possessed person has an aversion to seeing students with guns: it's not just for protection, it's also for compartmentalization. Society doesn't give students the role of assailants; their role is to have a criterion in their hands.

We continue with this superior, who also happens to be possessed by the demon of justice. His posture is not only interesting in that it's a completely instrumentalized justice in the sense that it puts children in danger for a better purpose, but it's above all the thesis of necessary evil, i.e. fighting evil with evil.

If human morality were to be summed up, it would be through this maxim: preventing wars with wars, protecting like Chainsaw Man while endangering students - that's the whole human contradiction.

So, of course, the fiend find him vain when he argues that he is the best incarnation of justice.

It's typical of man to imagine himself superior to other species.

We end on Katana, who arrives with a cutaway (which I loved) to declare that there's no justice with Chainsaw Man.

So, in one line, we put back in place all the originality of this character, and I find it incredible.

This line is both true and ironic!

True, because Chainsaw Man humiliated him by killing his grandfather, winning against him and beating his private parts with Aki to avenge Himeno.

But above all, Katana Man has been brought up among the Yakuza, who he believes are governed by the same principles as his grandfather, to the point where he firmly clings to this position.

Katana Man hasn't evolved at all on this issue .

Ironic, given that Katana Man's grandfather was Denji's debt collector, the man who ended up ordering the overindebtedness and dismemberment of a child.

Indeed, Denji has no idea what justice is, for his life is profoundly unjust, whether it's being indebted for his father's misdeeds or dying prematurely.

Above all, he doesn't take justice into his own hands; Denji didn't take revenge on Aki and Power with Makima, he saved her, just as he pursues his own personal goals of killing demons; they don't slaughter demons to bring justice to all those unjust deaths, he fights because they turn him on, he's an instrument, not a vigilante.

What the chapter speaks to in these three themes is the whole paradox of protection, whether it's seeking justice through the church by sending children as gunpowder.

Whether it's trying to protect these children by enclosing them in a school system.

Whether it's protecting ideals that are unfounded.

Once again we follow the analysis of the last time, public hunters choose weapons or possessions that limit the damage to the teenagers who constitute the nation's precious asset. The church uses children as a kind of barrier, not because they think they're good soldiers, but because they're moral barriers. So they send a possessed man convinced that he's protecting the children.

Or a weapon who thinks he still has a man's heart.

It's not just a clash between the two camps; it's also a battle for public approval.

Katana Man and Chainsaw Man are two sides of the same coin, the same story. While one has known a loving grandfather whom he loves so much that he closes himself off in denial (to the point of always refuting Denji's version that he murdered his grandfather as a zombie, even though the only legacy he left him was a zombie weapon), the other has known the monster and has therefore not internalized concepts such as love, compassion or justice.

Katana Man is a weapon who has been instrumentalized by the Yakuza, and is still deluding himself to find meaning in his existence, while Denji is one of the few weapons living strictly for himself at the moment.

He's the only one who truly follows his heart !

#csm spoilers #csm 144 #csm 143 #chainsaw man #csm part 2 #csm #denji #katana man #nobana higashiyama #my thoughts

383 notes · View notes

shorthaltsjester · 10 months

Text

sometimes people will say “going dark” and then what they’re actually talking about is just people no longer presenting a carefully constructed version of their emotions and experiences.

like. emotional turmoil is not the same as darkness. laudna in this Fictional Universe that has tangibly different stakes wrt to death and killing than our own, is at best like . morally neutral for what she just did like. man has been secretly trying to kill you, and then just tried to do so again, killing him back is a fair choice. and even if i was someone who is excited by delilah’s inability to escape from the narrative, this shit isn’t about delilah. laudna made a choice. if delilah is back or whatever it’s a choice that laudna made because something in that grants her more control than her existing conditions did. this isn’t some Delilah Takes Over, it’s Laudna Expressly Makes The Choice To Call Forth Something within Herself to remedy the lack of control that’s been thrust upon her. if y’all want to Continue to limit Laudna’s agency (as the cr fandom is so, so want to do when a female character makes a choice that isn’t Good according to some weird system of virtue ethics) go ahead.

likewise with orym. little guy is not “going dark” because he has finally made direct action about his emotional turmoil in dealing with a situation which has similarly left him without control and has also placed him in a position where his stalwart conviction towards protecting and honouring those he loves and has lost alike is constantly met with other people he cares for going well.. what if they had a point/we are killing other peoples loved ones/etc. which like . yeah that might be frustrating and in fact might lead him to go, actually, i can’t afford to try and maintain some abject morality where I carry a locket that will literally only provide guilt. orym is completely committed to his beliefs, the locket and what it represents has never been a limit to what he will do, only a reminder of the consequences of what he might cause in those actions. but they Are at war and orym has a billion things on his plate. he can put down the locket. especially when bor’dor is the explicit manifestation of that locket’s symbolism. the subtext rapidly became the text and orym doesn’t need a reminder. it’s there in the fact that team issylra is walking away with two friends, not three.

these are character who have at every turn denied their own emotions in various forms while still being acutely aware of what they deny, whether that awareness was/is fully realized or not. many of laudna’s early convos with ashton show us that there is some awareness to the lighthearted spooky goth girl and how that persona fades when she thinks too much about what has led her and maintained that reality. likewise the entirety of orym’s story thus far is defined by his grief in a very literal sense, it Has extended from that grief to also the commitment he had to the purpose of figuring out the assassination attempt on keyleth but as we have seen, that purpose has fallen apart. paired with the quasi-reopening of his grief that was getting to see will again only to have to turn away, i don’t think there’s a lack of awareness in orym of how much he hurts. but between his actions and 4SD, that hurt tends to get buried under guilt or Responsibility.

and now, finally, both of them have admitted to that Not in the safety of small introspection or one-on-one conversations but with actions that they cannot shy away from or deny. laudna killed bor’dor and orym encouraged her to. and it Is a complex situation but truly I don’t really think it’s a “going dark” one. because they’re not giving into some overhanging Darkness of Morality™, they’re admitting that they are hurt and have long been hurting.

or, y’know, tldr for those who continue to deny laudna and orym agency or fully villainise them for whatever weird reasons . you could listen to laudna and ashton’s conversation that pretty much lays it out explicitly. laudna claims she’s weak for having chosen to kill bor’dor. ashton denies that and affirms instead that, no, she’s hurt.

#critical role #cr spoilers #laudna #orym #team issylra #maybe it’s because a lot of these people r also the people who have no literacy wrt religious and philosophical complexity #that Screams bad experience that hasn’t been reckoned with but. the Big part of healing is that. a lot of the time #especially with Trauma. the mess is gonna come before the pretty little bow does #like noah fence but . this is The Most interesting laudna and orym have been to me this far and it’s not because they’re Darker #it’s because they’re being more true to themselves #maybe this is nitpicky I Don’t Care #me watching c1 as vex admits that she still feels like a burden and Heavily considers being treeified for sondor. ‘is this vex Going Dark?’#as an imogen Lover . let’s be real and admit the only Genuine going dark risk is her at this point in the campaign #because like. i truly don’t see anyone else making the Choice to do absolutely fucked up selfish things #and imogen considers doing that shit like . once every two eps At Least (affectionate but eyes wide about it)#anyway. reunion will be very interesting with an orym and laudna who are shedding pieces of what maintains their like Group Role #bells hells #critical role spoilers #cr3 #cr campaign 3 #bell’s hells #my posts

302 notes · View notes

cookiesaddict · 1 year

Text

I feel like Belos never intended to murder his brother. His body position shows that he is not walking towards Caleb with the knife. His head, chest etc is not directly facing Caleb but facing the other direction. I believe Philip is walking towards Evelyn with the knife, and that he intended to kill her, not Caleb. And Caleb is just trying to defuse the situation. Masha did say Belos wanted to safe his brother and bring the witch that took him to justice.

Which left us with three options that I can think of happened:

1) Belos accidentally killed Caleb. He wanted to kill Evelyn, but Caleb got in between to protect Evelyn and unintentionally got the blow.

2) Belos wanted to kill Evelyn, but got himself lost in anger and he ended up accidentally killing Caleb instead.

3) Belos wanted to kill Evelyn at first, but then he realized that Caleb won’t be able to be saved because he was too far gone. So Belos decided it was better to kill them both.

Lots of people here on tumblr pointed out that Belos kept Caleb’s jacket. But may I add that not only did Belos kept Caleb’s jacket, but Caleb also carved him a mask during their childhoods, and decades later he used the same design for his mask as emperor.

Not only that, but he also kept the doodle of him and Caleb after the murder. Yes, it was after the murder because Philip’s beard is longer. He already had the titans blood, no need to keep it but he did. It doesn’t matter if Caleb drew it or Belos himself, he still kept if after the murder. He even made countless Grimwalkers to have some version of his brother with him, knowing full well they will all eventually betray them when they find out the truth.

This man is dealing with unresolved grief and guilt in an unhealthy way, desperate to cling to anything that links to his brother and his past. “Because of you, we can finish our work as witch hunters together”. Belos says, while possessing Hunter, which is a Grimwalker of his brother. In his mind, he’s in Caleb’s body now. He is now together with his brother. This line shows that Belos desires for normalcy and that he can’t let go of the past, he wants things to be how they where when he and Caleb were still witch hunters. Before Evelyn, before the boiling isles, when it was just him and Caleb and no one else. Which is why I think he created grimwalkers of Caleb, it’s the desire for normalcy and return to the past but also the grief and guilt he is experiencing.

According to Belos, he committed genocide because he wants to safe humanity. It looks like that he has a god complex? But I think Caleb might have played a role in it as well as to why he did it? “Our family is gone because of wild magic”. I won’t be surprised that if Belos blamed the witches for Caleb’s murder rather than taking full accountability. I think he has that if these witches didn’t brainwashed Caleb, I wouldn’t have killed him mindset. And what better way of revenge is to destroy the world and everything in it that took his brother away from him?

I’ve seen fans wondering why spending decades around witches, Belos still sees them as evil rather than good. Well, he feels guilty for murdering his brother and is hiding behind his beliefs as an excuse I think? Like I said, he is blaming his death on witches. Admitting that witches are good, is admitting you’re brother was right and that it is your fault he is death. I think deep down he knows witches are good and that he’s in the wrong for murdering Caleb, he is just being a hypocrite?

Belos has complicated feelings towards Caleb. He is angry with Caleb for abandoning him for witches (in his eyes he did), but at the same time I think he loves him. He has good memories of them together which he is unanable to let go off. Like I said, he is grieving him. Remember, Belos and Caleb are orphans. Belos lost his parents, his brother was the only thing he still had. The one who raised him. The one who didn’t abandoned him. Caleb wanting to stay the boiling isles must have hard for him.

All of this what I just described. The guilt, grief, clinging to anything that links to his brother and past, such as his coat. The grimwalkers, the desire for normalcy, I think option 1 and 2 is more likely rather than option 3. Especially if Evelyn is pregnant, which she seems she is. Caleb was about to have child with a witch. Most likely in his mind, he wanted to kill Evelyn and it’s offspring, take his brother home, and unbrainwash him so they can be witch hunters once again. So yeah, I believe Caleb’s death is more of an accident rather than intended.

Take what a wrote about Belos with a grain of salt. So please be nice! This is how I view Belos, and I’m aware that I could be wrong. Season 3 is still going on, and everything that I have written can still be disproved. Belos is a complex character, which makes it difficult to analyse him. Which is why I love Belos, because of how complex, interesting and well written he is. I always feel I should add this whenever I write about Belos: even though I like Belos, I do not condone his actions. And I’m not excusing his behavior in any way. What he has done is by all means not okay, and plain out disgusting.

1K notes · View notes

notfreetoday · 7 months

Text

MPW: Segasaki & Yoh - Language Analysis Part 1

Subtitle Corrections: EP 1 || EP 2 || EP 3

My Personal Weatherman is a story about the relationship between Segasaki and Yoh, so rather than being introduced to the characters, we the audience are dropped right into the middle of their relationship, and the only way we learn about the characters as individuals is through the way they interact with each other, and how that contrasts with how they interact with the people around them.

The show does an incredible job of keeping the portrayal of their relationship consistent across the use of character design, wardrobe, lighting, cinematography, acting choice, directorial choices and of course language use. But not everyone who watches has equal access to that last one, so I try to be as detailed as possible in my subtitle corrections posts. I'm also a bit of a language nerd. Now, I want to get into their actual relationship, because I think there is a lot of information about how they feel towards each other that's just getting missed. Also I love them and this is how I spazz.

This post is the first of four in which I hope to show how the dynamic between Segasaki and Yoh is reflected in the way they speak - specifically, in the way they address each other, and the style shifting, or speech level shifts that they both demonstrate with each other, using scenes from Ep 1 - 3. I'll be using my own translations for this, some of which differ from the Eng subs. (Please bear with the nerdiness - I don't want to assume how much people know about Japanese)

Prefacing this by saying that this language analysis is made specifically in the context of Segasaki and Yoh's relationship. There is a power imbalance here both in terms of social hierarchy (senpai/kouhai, age gap, successful/non-successful) as well as self-image (self-confident/self-conscious). Now, most of the time we see this manifested linguistically as the party with more social power using casual language forms, whilst the one with less power remains polite or formal. However, there is much more to human interaction than that, as we see in MPW where both Segasaki and Yoh shift in and out of Speech Styles often, depending on what they want to say and accomplish, as well as their emotional state.

1) Quick & Dirty Guide To Speech Styles/Formality Levels

Formality/Politeness is a spectrum and is expressed mostly through grammar and tone (sorry for the shitty word doc screencap):

1) desu/masu = formal/polite. Standard go to with the anyone you meet. 2) Generally speaking, the longer the sentence/the more syllables you hear, the more polite the sentence 3) The less direct you can be, the more polite you will sound 4) Word contractions (tsuzukereba -> tsuzukerya) = informal + impolite (but not always rude) 5) Slurred end vowels (iranai -> iranee) = informal + mostly rude, but not always (you just sound uncouth) 6) Most words have "formal", "informal" or even "rude" variations 7) CONTEXT DETERMINES EVERYTHING Btw when I say "speaks roughly" or uses "rough speech", I mostly mean (4) + (5)

2) Speech Styles and Shifting Between Them

tl;dr Japanese Speech Styles function like the verbal equivalent of personal space - the more formal/polite the level, the bigger the circle of personal space you maintain. Shifts in speech styles indicate: 1) perceived changes in vertical and/or horizontal distance 2) the assumption of a position/role of the speaker in relation to the listener 3) changes in emotional state/the desire to convey emotion 4) the consideration of "polite company" In this post we will look at examples of the first one - Vertical and Horizontal Distance.

Speech Styles: The Long Version (English Speaker POV)

Consider the way you speak if you were to say, give an important presentation in front of potential clients, versus the way you'd speak to an acquaintance you ran into on the street vs the way you'd speak to your closest friends. Different situations call for different ways of speaking - you're more likely to speak in full sentences and pronounce your words clearly for the first situation, and say "yes" instead of "yep" or "uh huh". You're also more likely to be blunt/direct with your friends than you are with clients - "You know ILU but do not under any circumstances buy that ugly ass shirt".

These context-dependent changes in speech patterns are similar to the changes in speech styles/formality levels in Japanese. Think of speech styles as the verbal equivalent of personal space. The more formal/polite the level, the bigger the circle of personal space you maintain. Dropping a level when you shouldn't is the verbal equivalent of invading someone's personal space and can make people uncomfortable and sometimes even angry. In Japan, the baseline "distance" with the average person is the way you would speak as if you were giving a presentation. Dropping to casual/informal speech might be tolerated (just like how you can tolerate someone sitting close to you and asking some questions, but it's uncomfortable), especially if you guys are around the same age, but dropping to "what's up bitcheees" when you should be at "hey how're you doing" basically tells the other person "I don't have even the basic level of respect for you".

In the same vein, the closer you are to someone, the more welcome you are in their personal space, and thus the lower the level of formality/politeness you'll keep with them. You trust that even if you speak bluntly, they'll understand you aren't trying to insult them. When and to what extent you drop a level is usually negotiated between individuals (either directly or indirectly). Once a level of casualness is established, your friends are going to look at you funny if you suddenly get all formal with them. They might even come ask if anything's wrong, or if you're angry at them or why you sound "cold". These shifts in speech levels therefore mark more than just the vertical distance between two people (ie, differences in social hierachy), they mark the horizontal distance (ie, how close people of the same "in-group" are to each other) too.

Having said that, there are times when you will shift to a more formal tone even with your friends or family - for example, when you're hosting a game at a large party and want to explain the game rules to everyone, you might enunciate your words better or keep the jokes to the minimum in order to convey the information is clearly and efficiently as possible. Similarly, if you've been appointed the leader in a group project and need people to pay attention and listen, you might change your tone of voice to command attention. In other words, when you assume a particular position, the way you speak changes too.

Finally, the way you speak to your friends/family in the presence of others (or "polite company", as they used to say) might also change - you might have no qualms cursing up a storm with your best buddy at the bar, but you might do your best to avoid being too vulgar when you're in front of their parents or your boss/university professor.

3) Segasaki and Yoh: Vertical & Horizontal Distance

Segasaki and Yoh are part of the same "in-group" in that they are in a relationship, so the horizontal distance between them is very small and before sunny days it's a negative distance - this is shown in how both Segasaki and Yoh use informal speech with each other (they generally omit the desu/masu forms aka use plain forms, and both use the informal pronoun "��/ore" for "I" with each other).

That said, there is also a hierarchy within that relationship (though their individual perceptions of that vertical distance differs) which stems not only from the nature of their living agreement, but also is likely to have carried over from their university days, when they shared a senior/junior relationship. Thus, generally speaking, Segasaki speaks quite roughly with Yoh whilst Yoh tends to use polite forms more often. Keep in mind however, that Japanese is a gendered language, and "rough speech" tends to be seen as a masculine speech pattern and can sometimes be normal between close male friends/family (otherwise, it is the verbal equivalent of getting up in someone's face and pushing them). The key here is that Yoh sticks to an informal, but more polite level than Segasaki does, and it is that difference that shows the power differential.

Horizontal Distance aka "We're Very Close"

Despite Yoh's very valid complaint that Segasaki takes "man-of-few-words" to the next level (itself a liberty you'd only take with someone close to you), Segasaki only drops to rude forms in Ep 1 once:

晩飯いらねぇ(banmeshi iranee) - slurred vowel [literally - "dinner, not needed"] Banmeshi is a more informal way of saying dinner (normal = yuu gohan). Despite the slurred vowel, this sentence is not dismissive nor rude - it's what you'd expect between close friends/family.

In Ep 2 we hear Segasaki speak a lot more roughly to Yoh, as below, and of course during the almost-argument. But though his words are rough his intonation is often soft and he's quite tender with his touch. So, we can see that Segasaki isn't being disrespectful per se - he's not speaking roughly because he sees Yoh as beneath him in the social hierarchy - rather, he's demonstrating intimacy, familiarity and possessiveness, all at once. In fact, the more possessive he feels of Yoh, the more he drops his levels. As mentioned earlier, you only do this with people in your "in-group", with whom you know will understand you aren't insulting them.

遅くなるからいらねぇっつっただろう (osokunaru kara iranee ttsutta darou) - slurred vowel, word contraction, informal end particle [I told you I wouldn't need it cause I'd be late right?] Though somewhat in keeping with Segaski's curtness, this is still a pretty harsh sounding line - but note how Yoh doesn't seem offended or intimidated in the slightest - he understands that Segasaki is tired after a long day, and in return Segasaki softens his tone when he next asks "What did you make?"

Vertical Distance

It's easy to focus on Segasaki's use of rough, assertive langauge as an indicator of vertical distance, and I pointed out quite a few scenes in Ep 3 where he ends off what is essentially an order with assertive sentence-final particles. But focusing on this alone gives the mistaken impression that relationships with vertical distance go one way only - down - when in fact they are bidirectional. There is a mutual dependency between both parties, as we see clearly in MPW. Linguistically, this is portrayed through Yoh's choices to shift up a speech level.

Just like how Segasaki is introduced to the audience through his proposal direct, informal and very forceful speech style, the first interaction we see Yoh have with Segasaki is a proper, standard greeting:

おかえりなさい (okaerinasai) [Welcome back] Okaerinasai is the full, proper way to say this, but a more casual and common way to say this would simply be "okaeri". See Ep 3 for discussion on standard greetings.

When Yoh thinks about Segasaki in his head, he often uses rough speech the same way Segasaki does, including the rude pronouns "aitsu/koitsu (that guy/this guy)", and yet when he speaks directly to Segasaki, he maintains an informal but still polite/neutral speech style. He rarely shifts down to rude forms, barely coming close even when drunk and emotional, but he does often switch up to a more polite level. In the above example, Yoh uses the full standard greeting in response to Segasaki's unspoken request:

俺、帰ってるんだけど (ore, kaetterun dakedo) [I've already come back, you know] Ending with "dakedo" implies that speaker is going to follow up with something, usually a request or a question. In Japanese, this request/question is often left out, because the context given prior to "dakedo" is usually enough for the listener to fill in the gaps themselves. In this case, Segasaki might want a greeting or dinner, but at the very least, it's clear he wants Yoh's attention.

We know the standard greeting earlier was a style shift upwards because later in the episode, when Yoh says good night, he uses the casual version "oyasumi" instead of the full "oyasuminasai".

Even outside of standard phrases, Yoh's baseline is informal but not rude:

あ、いま準備する (Ah, ima junbi suru) - plain form [Ah, I'll prepare it now]

Probably the most telling is in Ep 3, when he's caught off guard whilst folding laundry.

あ、なに？ (Ah, nani?) - plain form [Oh! What?] He answers Segasaki naturally, with just a word, as opposed to a proper “Hai/Yes?”, which he’s done sometimes when he’s unsure of himself, or if he's addressed directly.

So, we've established that Yoh’s baseline with Segasaki is informal but not rude - he feels comfortable enough with Segasaki to default to casual speech, but he acknowledges the power differential between them by simultaneously accepting Segasaki's rough speech as well as not dropping to it himself. This also tells us that the shifts up to formal/polite speech are deliberate and mean something. In EP 2, the shift demonstrated his insecurity surrounding his jealousy and their lack of physical affection, whereas in EP 3, he does it as a way to convey his gratitude.

In the next part, we'll look at how both Segasaki and Yoh use speech style shifts to convey emotion as well as to assume a particular position. Hope you enjoyed this!

#my personal weatherman #taikan yohou #体感予報 #MPW language analysis #sociolinguistics #japanese language #mytranslations #MPW subtitle corrections #segasaki x yoh

152 notes · View notes

mortyvongola2-0 · 2 years

Text

Sacrificed

Pairing: God!Hasirama Senju x Reader

Genre: Oneshot, dirty smut

Word Count: 7.8k

Warnings: afab!reader, rough sex, vaginal sex, dirty talk, oral sex female receiving, creampie, unprotected sex, aphrodisiacs, praise kink, hung Hashirama, overstimulation, cum marking, kind of tentacles, no refractory period, Yandere Hashirama, strong language

A/N: This one took a bit longer than intended, for multiple reasons but I'm glad to finally have it out. I definitely wasn't expecting it to be this much longer than Madara's version but this did have a bit more plot going for it. Not that the plot is really all that important. As far as their personalities go I feel like god Madara would fuck anyone who moves and Hashirama would be too nice to be that way so there had to be a bit more build up.

Another HUGE thank you to the incredible, wonderful, amazing, genius @therantingfangirl for helping me edit and refine this one and for being the bestest of best friends. I really love her, she's an incredible writer, and if you guys liked my Madara Sacrificed then you should check out her Madara mirror fic. Its awesome.

And a huge thank you to all of you for showing Sacrificed so much love! I only hope this one pleases you all just as much!

Without further ado, please enjoy Sacrificed (Forest)

Read it on AO3

It was hot that day, the sun boiling and bearing down on you like it intended to kill you. Heh, maybe the sun god is mad at me, you thought, a snicker leaving you at the thought. You didn’t believe in the gods, didn’t need to. And why would you? They hadn’t done anything worth believing in, after all. Your village in particular had an obsession with the god of the forests. He had one large statue in the village center, and another two that guard the entrance to the forest surrounding the village; most people placed their offerings before those specific statues.

You wondered why; it wasn’t like there were any fantastical stories about him that you had heard. As far as you were aware he hadn’t done anything to merit such reverence, though there was the legend of his rivalry with the god of sun, but you didn’t find that particularly interesting either. What did interest you was science, medicine, those sorts of things. The villagers often called you a quack, but they did it endearingly. Afterall, without you, there would be no one to tend to the wounded. The original clinician had retired as soon as he thought you were good enough to take over. And you were damn good.

Be it morning or night, you catered to anyone in need, only closing the clinic two days a week but still making exceptions for emergencies. On days where you closed the clinic you went into the forest and nearby mountain to gather herbs for medicine. You loved the forest and all it had to offer. If you could spend all of your time there, you would. You took a deep, relaxing breath in and released it with ease.

“Woah!” You fell, your hands and knees hitting the ground first. There was a mild sting, and you clicked your tongue in annoyance. After standing and brushing the dirt off, you turned to see what your foot had gotten caught on. It looked to be a root, a long one that came from the direction you knew to be a small lake. “The end of a root,” you muttered to yourself. It looked unique and thin, odd for the flora you knew to grow here. “Hmm,” you scratched at the side of your head as you contemplated what to do. “Well, no harm in checking, right? Maybe its something I can use.”

Following the roots trail, you noticed more roots, almost identical in size and color. They all seemed to be from the same plant. “This has got to be one big tree,” you muttered. You picked up your pace, running in your eagerness to sate your curiosity. “How have I not seen it before?”

The sound of the lake reached your ears and when you finally saw the clear waters you paused to catch your breath. As you attempted to refill your lungs, you glanced around for any odd-looking plants, big ones, but the only unusual thing you saw was a large bundle of those roots. Carefully, still a bit out of breath, you made your way over to said roots. “How does this happen?” You crouched down to try and get a look at it from all angles. It looked almost like a cocoon. Puzzled, you stood back up and placed your hands on your hips. “Should I cut some of it?”

You reached into your satchel and pulled out the hunting knife you had for cutting tough plants and in the rare instance of wild animal attacks. “Sorry, I’ll only cut a little,” you apologized to the plant as you knelt and began to cut out a small section of the roots. They were tough, taking quite a bit of effort to saw through, but you were finally able to break off a length that was satisfactory. It oozed a golden sap, almost the same consistency as blood. It was a bit off putting. You glanced back at the hole you had created only to be completely taken aback. “Is that a hand,” you exclaimed. You reached in and touched the tan hand; it was large and dwarfed yours, but it was cold. You gasped, “A dead body?”

Thankfully you were able to manipulate the hand enough to reach the wrist and feel for a pulse. Your heart pounded in your chest. Please be a pulse, please be a pulse, please, please, plea- there it was. A weak but still there thud against your fingers. “I’m going to get you out of there, just hold on.”

Letting go of the hand, you began to hack away at the roots, adrenaline fueling you. You were going to save them, you had to. Your role as a caregiver wouldn’t let you abandon this task. It took a lot out of you, and you were covered in the strange golden sap by the time you were done, but you had made a hole large enough to drag the man out. He was also covered in the golden sap, and it almost looked like it was leaking from the wounds he was covered in. His long black hair was matted and caked, his masculine face bruised, and his jaw misaligned. As you struggled to drag him out of the roots more and more injuries began to show themselves. “Shit,” you grunted with effort. You usually weren’t one to curse. “Shit, shit, shit!”

You felt a bit overwhelmed, definitely under prepared. You had some of herbs that you had collected earlier, your eyes looked back and forth for a vessel to use to mix the medicine and make a paste. “I’m sorry sir, I’m going to have to undress you. I hope you understand,” you told him. You began with his armor; it was unlike any armor you’d seen before. A warrior maybe? It was strong and well made. Great, some rich guy. After his armor was removed, albeit not intact, you looked around to try and get a better idea of his wounds, however that golden sap wasn’t giving you a clear idea.

Picking the knife back up you began to tear through his black shirt. His chest was in as bad shape as his face, but that golden sap had soaked through to his skin. You tore the left sleeve off your shirt and made sure he was in a comfortable position before quickly walking up to the lake and soaking the impromptu cloth. “I will save you,” you promised, more to yourself than anyone else.

As the sun began to set you were finally finished with his first aide treatment. You sat with your back leaned against a tree trunk and his head resting in your lap as the adrenaline finally wore off. With your eyes closed you sighed and carded your fingers through his hair, attempting to untangle the matts and twigs in it. “I’m sorry if this is a bit too intimate for you,” you whispered to the unconscious man. “But I have nothing better to do while we wait for the village’s watchmen to come and find us.”

His black tresses gave way to your fingers easily, and the action reminded you of how your mother used to comb her fingers through your own hair. You smiled softly and began to sing the same tune that she had taught you. The birds chirped and everything was peaceful for a moment, but as the sun went down the horizon you grew concerned about the dangers the forest had to offer at night. “You have such a lovely voice.”

You jolted in surprise and looked down at the man you’d just spent hours bringing from the brink of death. He shouldn’t be conscious yet, let alone smiling up at you so carefree. “You,” you began, hesitant. “How are you-“

“I’m a fast healer,” he cut you off, and even began to sit up. You panicked.

“No! Don’t sit up!”

“Why? I’m fine,” he said easily. He pulled off some of the bandages you had placed on his chest, the bandages were made from torn pieces of your dress. The man glanced down curiously at the goo that coated the cloth and brought it to his nose. “Mm, echinacea, excellent idea.”

You were completely dumbfounded. The cuts along his chest now just mere bruises and closed scars. “How is that possible?” He let out a laugh, lighthearted. He turned back to face you, his dark eyes full of life and mirth. Heat began to creep up from your neck to your ears. He was so handsome, even covered in dirt, golden sap, and half-assed bandages. His smile was arm and one of his big hands reached out and caressed your cheek gently. “What are you?”

“I’m Hashirama,” he responded softly. “And you?”

Before you could tell him your name, it was shouted. You turned to look in the direction of the voices, Hashirama’s hand still connected with your cheek. The watchmen, you thought. As you opened your mouth to respond to your fellow villagers, that warm hand moved to cover your mouth; you looked back at him, fright contorting your face. Using his other hand he placed a single finger to his lips, signaling for you to remain silent. “Wait until I leave, then you may go.”

Was he a rogue of some sort? You nodded your head; his smile was a bit more strained. “Don’t tell them you saw me.”

He removed his palm from your lips and stood to his full height, he offered a hand to help you up as well. Hashirama was tall and broad, much larger than you. As you stood you watched him warily and he gave a small wave. “Goodbye for now,” he said before jumping up, high up, and away. You were left stunned and confused.

A few weeks later found you back in the forest, humming along as you collected your weekly supply of herbs. Since that incident, you hadn’t seen hide nor tail of Hashirama. It was a shame really, despite his oddities and unexplained origins you found yourself rather attracted to his toned muscles and bright smile. Unconsciously, you smiled just thinking about him.

You had kept some of the cut ruts and golden sap for analyses but hadn’t found anything that would explain what you saw. The only thing you had discovered was that the golden sap had reactions that were identical to blood. It congealed over time but stayed liquid with the assistance of specific herbs. The similarities in consistency had been one of the first things you noticed. It both scared and intrigued you. You wondered what type of plants bled? Were there other trees that had the same golden sap? Maybe I should go back and- “Oh! It’s you again!”

“Ah!” You jumped, Hashirama’s deep voice startling you. He was squatting down in front of you, blinking at your startled face like he wasn’t the reason for it. “Hashirama,” you started softly. Had you been so focused on your thoughts that you hadn’t noticed him?

“You remembered my name,” he said excitedly.

“Of course I did. How many strange men do you think I meet in the woods?”

He placed a hand to his chin and acted like he was giving it some thought. “Maybe two?”

“No, only you,” you responded dryly.

“Ah,” he responded, a sultry smirk molding his full lips. His voice seemed a touch deeper as he said, “I’m honored.”

Your face felt hot, and you looked away from him and back to the plants in front of you. His looks are dangerous, you thought. “Who are you, really?”

“I told you, I’m Hashirama.”

“You’re not going to tell me anymore, are you?” You paused, giving him time to respond. When he didn’t you sighed and looked back at him warily. “Will you at least tell me if you’re some kind of criminal?”

“And if I am? Will you turn me in?” A tease.

“Yes,” you said back with a huff. “I could use the money.”

“Oh,” he muttered, his entire continence crumbling. His head was down between his knees, which had been brought up to his chest, even the air around him seemed to exude sadness. You stared at him for a few seconds before laughter began to bubble through you. He looks like a pouting kid! He sniffled and sunk further into his depressed position. “And now you’re laughing at me.”

“Sorry, sorry!” You giggled uncontrollably, one of your hands at your mouth while the other you placed on his tanned hand. “I won’t turn you in, don’t worry.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.” With that he sprung back up, bright smile back; that only made you laugh harder.

Every week after that you’d continue your trips to the forest, and every time he’d find you. It became a routine, your time with him full of laughter and learning. Hashirama knew so much about plants and medicine, he told you things that you had never heard of, let alone thought to try. He told you what worked best for illness, what worked best for injury, herbs to strengthen constitution, and so much more. He was an untapped wealth of knowledge and you hung on his every word.

He seemed just as excited to see you as you did him every time the two of you met. He’d ask you mundane questions, like how you grew up and the things you liked. Hashirama seemed rather impressed when you told him about your position as the village clinician. He understood the weight your position as a woman carried, and it was almost inevitable that you’d develop feelings for him. And the more time you spent with him the deeper your feelings went.

You had invited Hashirama to stay in the village with you, many times, but he refused. It hurt a bit, though your head knew the difference your heart treated it like he was rejecting you. You had no idea how he felt about you, other than he liked to talk with you. He never gave any inclination about reciprocating your feelings and the longer you spent with him the more that stung. Should I give up? You thought. He’s just some wanted criminal anyway, right? I should just move on and marry someone from the village. But then you’d see him, his large smile causing crinkles under his eyes, his warm hands squeezing yours tightly as he led you excitedly to some new tree, and all your resolve to forget about him would crumble.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” you responded, not quite meeting his dark eyes. He was swimming in the lake. The man was trying to kill you, you were sure. His torso bare, the water making his momohiki cling to his lower body, his dark hair stuck to his face, neck, and back. Definitely trying to kill me. You gulped and began to look at some of the lake’s smooth stones. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Hm,” he tilted his head to the side, leaning on a rock close to the edge of the water. “If you’re willing to talk, I’ll listen.”

If only I could. Another sigh escaped you before you formed an idea. Maybe? “Well, lately I’ve had a few men try to court me.”

“Oh?”

“They’re not ideal, but I am passed marriageable age. I’m wondering if I should accept them or not.” Your heart pounded in your chest. Would he take the bait? You chanced a glance in his direction, but he was still smiling, it looked a bit smaller, a bit tighter, but other than that there was no difference. Your heart sunk. Right, you thought. How could I be so stupid.

Four weeks after that meeting, and things had begun to change in the village. There was a large increase in sick villagers visiting your clinic. You were so busy you hadn’t had the chance to see Hashirama since then. Many were beginning to show signs of malnutrition, especially the children. “Wasn’t our harvest good? What’s changed?”

“We haven’t been able to hunt in weeks, and our crops have all but died,” the village leader responded. You looked at him, puzzled.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s the god of the forests,” another elder suggested. “He’s angry with us, we must placate him immediately.”

“Shall we give him more offerings?” Another asked.

You clenched your fists. “Enough with the gods, we need to do something about this quickly.”

“We will give our food reserves to the children first,” the leader decided. “And if this continues the women will come next. If we continue to lack in supplies, I will contact other villages for help.”

But the food shortage continued, and you hardly had enough supplies to feed yourself, let alone your patients. You began to chew on appetite suppressing plants to push past the hunger. “Make way! We have wounded!”

You ran out of your clinic, toward the commotion. Four of the village’s best hunters lay incapacitated, carried toward you by their injured companions. “What happened?”

“It’s the forest,” one called, a look of terror on his face. “It attacked us as we tried to get in!”

The other villagers began to whisper, “If we can’t hunt then we’re doomed!”, “What have we done to offend the gods so?”, “What do we do now?”.

Shit, you thought, leaf hanging from your lips. What can we do?

Everything was starting to fall apart. You had gone to the forest entrance to see what the hunters were talking about, and just like they said the trees pushed their branches together to force you from getting in. You tried another not so public entrance and met the same resistance. One of the trees had even cut your shoulder. “Shit,” you muttered under your breath. You were low on supplies, low on food, and Hashirama was still in the forest as far as you knew. You couldn’t imagine he’d be better off. “Hashirama,” you called out into the trees. “Please be okay.”

When the situation seemed dire, the village leader ordered a meeting. With all in attendance, he claimed to have a solution to all the suffering. “We will offer our gracious deity a sacrifice,” he announced. “A sacrifice of flesh and blood. One of our own.”

Outrage began to spill from the villagers’ lips. How can we stoop so low? “Silence,” called an elder. “At dusk we will give our offering. This will bring everything back to how it should be.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Please don’t choose my daughter, please not my daughter!”

“Can’t we just leave for another village?”

“You’re asking for too much!”

But the ones in charge weren’t listening to any of the back talk. The village leader’s eyes met yours, and a chill went down your spine. His gaze lingered a bit too long for your liking before he looked away. “Everyone go home and stay there, we will get the sacrifice when its time. While you wait, pray. That is all that can be done now.”

As soon as you got back to your home you began to pace. You had a sinking feeling that you were the one that was about to be sacrificed. But that would be ridiculous, you were the village’s only healer. Getting rid of you would bring far more harm than good. But your mind kept going back to that stare, to the way the village leader’s eyes held yours is if he was sorry, like you were some creature to be pitied. A swift knock at your door all but confirmed your suspicions, and when you opened the door, you felt like throwing up.

“We’re sorry dear,” said the leader’s wife. The two women beside her kept their heads down as if ashamed. “But we’ve come to prepare you for the sacrifice.”

“Shit,” came your breathless reply.

All three were the wives of the heads of the village, all three kind souls who had wanted nothing but the best for you growing up. Your heart pounded as they took their time in grooming you. They bathed you in warmed water, poured expensive oils onto your skin, combed your hair, and decorated it with gold decorations made to look like flowers, and painted your lips with red dyes. The clothing they dressed you in could hardly be called clothing. The material was expensive and white, but sheer. The top stopped just below your breasts and the bottoms were a skirt that showed much more than it covered. “No wrappings?” You asked, hoping against hope for some coverage. They shook their heads.

“Before we go dear, please, eat this.”

“But this is-“ Ginseng, and in this context it was hard not remember its aphrodisiacal qualities. The eldest woman just placed her hand on your shoulder, her face only displayed pity. You ate the ginseng without another word. It tasted different from normal ginseng, it could’ve been your hunger talking, but it tasted much, much, sweeter; like the sweetness would melt you from the inside. A band of gold was placed around your waist and sandals of a similar color were placed on your feet with care.

“Alright,” the eldest said, a dour look on her face. “That’s everything,” she paused and pressed her lips together. She approached you, leaned on her tip toes, and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. You felt like you wanted to cry. “Please, come back safely.”

The bitterness of betrayal settled on your tongue. Come back? You thought, the idea of it giving you mixed feelings. After being abandoned like this would I even want to come back?

Like a funeral procession, the village leader’s and their wives, were all silent with grave faces as they lead you to the main entrance to the forest. You looked up at the two statues, their faces eroded by time, and suddenly they felt a lot more foreboding. You didn’t believe in the gods, but you do know that something strange was going on in those woods. Would it even let you in this time?

As the trees seemed to part their branches to allow your entry, you began to form a plan. I’ll find Hashirama and we’ll run away, you nodded to yourself. Find Hashirama, run away, easy as that. It’ll be fine. You took a sharp breath in as you saw the state of the woods. It had been once been so bright, with animals and insects making constant noise, but at that moment all you heard was the wind rustling leaves. The flora looked so wilted, like they were on the brink of death. “Please, accept our humble offering,” the leader said. They all bowed, and you felt like you were on a precipice.

No matter what you did, your next step would change everything. If you ran back into the village, even if the villagers didn’t become upset with you, they were still doomed without food and medicine; if you stepped into the forest that you used to make you feel at ease, there was no telling what would happen. You squeezed your eyes shut; your heart felt like it was being split in two. The best choice is probably to just run away. But there he was again, his overly cheerful smile flashing through your mind, and a sigh left your lips as you made up your mind. “Always coming to your rescue,” you muttered, beginning to walk forward.

The path was different, the sky was dark, the trees had blocked the entrance behind you. Everything about this made your skin crawl. You had no idea what part of the forest you had been led to, but you could see the shadow of a manmade structure. As you approached, rain began to fall. It drizzled at first, gave you a minute to look at the odd building before you had to run inside due to a downpour.

It looked to be a forgotten temple of sorts. A large building covered in vines and weeds that were decaying with the rest of the woods. The walls and columns which you believed to once be pristine and white were dyed yellow with wear and hunks of stone missing. The inside was largely the same, though there were two large skylights which you were sure were beautiful with moonlight, but they also allowed the downpour to follow you inside. Between the two skylights in the center of the room was a raised table, a large decorative throne a ways behind it and against the backwall. You wrapped your arms around yourself as you walked toward the throne what little clothing you were wearing was soaked through and clung to your skin, it embarrassed you how visible your breasts were.

“Well, this is just great,” you grumbled, pulling the golden decorations from your wet hair. You placed them on a raised table at the rooms center. The rain continued to pour, and you stared down at puddles on the floor you’d have to walk through. “Whoever designed this place really wasn’t thinking.”

There were no visible decorations, only visible distress. How long has this been here? You wondered if it was as old as the village itself. The water had ruined the lovely sandals you wore so you took them off and placed them beside the throne, your bare feet made audible smacks as they walked through the water. After brushing off some dust and vines, not very well, you sat on the throne.

“You’re here!”

You perked up at that voice, its’ baritone echoing even over the sounds of the downpour. “Hashirama,” you called back and stood. “Thank the gods you’re alive.”

“Of course I am,” he responded as he made his approach. The man looked the same as he always did, which was both relieving and distressing. It had been over a month of starvation, illness, and injury for your village, and yet he didn’t show any visible signs of suffering the same ailments. “I am suffering though.”

“Really?” You met him halfway and placed your hands on his face, clinician mindset taking over. His smile softened as he closed his eyes and nodded. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you,” his tone was teasing. “How could I not suffer?”

“Don’t joke around like that.”

“But I’m serious.” Hashirama wrapped his warm hands around your still wet forearms. You tilted your head to the side. How had you not noticed he was dry? “Not being able to see you was upsetting.”

You had forgotten your state of dress until you watched his eyes look you up and down, his pupils dilated in obvious arousal, and you had to look away. In attempts to cover yourself, you tried to pull your hands away from his face but his grip on your arms was too strong. “Please,” you pleaded, keeping your gaze at his chest to avoid watching those dark eyes devour you. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Why?” Hashirama pulled you closer, he brought your left wrist up to his lips and began to kiss a slow trail down your arm. “You look mouthwatering.”

Weakly you tried to pull away, but it was more of an instinct than anything. His attentions were what you had craved for almost as long as you knew him. Your breath hiccupped as he nibbled at your pulse, his other arm reached behind you to circle the gold band on your waist. “How could I resist such a beautiful offering?”

“Offering?” Your eyelashes fluttered, partially distracted by the tan hand that had began to creep toward your rear. “What do you mean?”

He pressed you further to him, his body almost flush against yours. Your torso was leaned back, reluctant to let your sensitive breasts rub against his armored chest. “Your village offered you to me in order to regain access to the forest.”

You furrowed your brow. “They said that I was a sacrifice for their imaginary forest god.”

Hashirama lifted his lips from your skin to look back at you with a pout. “I’m not imaginary.”

A beat, then two, then three, before your brain finally began working again. Your voice was hesitant, a bit strained as you asked, “What?”

He blinked at you a few times before his eyes widened in surprise, “You didn’t know? But I told you when we first met.”

“No, you didn’t,” you retorted, your nerves building, not quite sure how to handle the new information.

“I told you my name.”

“Yeah, but that was it. You said Hashirama, not Hashirama god of the forests!”

“The village you come from has been loyal to me for centuries.” The black-haired man seemed to refocus on your body, he placed the arm he had been showing affection on over his shoulders and moved both hands to grab your ass. You yelped and wrapped your legs around his hips, he held you up with ease. “A god’s name is an invaluable part of the teachings. I am the only one allowed to be called Hashirama.”

Closing your eyes, you thought back to when you were younger and tried to remember ever hearing that name, but your mind quickly went blank as he leaned his head forward and began to place sloppy kisses against your neck. The movement caused your skirt to raise up, bearing your sex against his clothed erection. A gasp tore through you. “Ah, you’re driving me mad.”

Your brain tried to rationalize it, alright even if he has the title it doesn’t mean he’s actually a god. Hashirama licked a stripe along the column of your neck, and you shivered, your hands gripped at his shoulders before moving to wrap around his neck and comb through his hair. “I still don’t believe in the gods,” you muttered breathlessly, his hands tightened their grip on the flesh of your ass.

He straightened his neck and smirked at you. His dark eyes filled with lust and confidence. A strange texture brushed against your legs before gripping your ankles with immense strength. You clung to Hashirama’s neck like your life depended on it, “W-What is that?”

“Relax,” he shushed you. The things began to pull your legs apart, removing them from his hips. Similar things wrapped around your wrists, but these you could see. They looked almost like vines, but with a more wooden texture, like the roots that he had been wrapped in the day you met. As the roots began to remove your arms from his neck you looked at him in a panic, he shushed you gently. The roots at your ankles rose you as the ones on your wrists suspended you, your arms above your head. He took your chin in his hand gently and whispered, “They’re apart of me, there’s no need to worry.”

His plush lips pressed against yours and you groaned. His tongue immediately sought entrance and you obliged. You moaned as he slid it against yours, he allowed you to take the lead after that. With ease he allowed your tongue to explore his mouth, he tasted like herbs, fresh and crisp with a hint of bitterness. Hashirama’s hands moved along your body, ghost like touches all along your frame. The tips of his index fingers pressed against your clothed nipples before he rubbed them in circular motions.

A grunt left your mouth and he swallowed it. Your nipples pebbled under his touch, and he began to palm at the full weight of your breasts as he pulled away. “Your breasts are so perfect,” he groaned. The roots on your ankles began to spread your legs further apart and he brought his thigh up to place against your heated core. “So pretty, spread and at my mercy. I’ve wanted to have you like this since I first laid eyes on you.”

The roots around your raised wrists pushed you down and onto his thick thigh. You ground down on it unconsciously, the promise of stimulation too great to resist. “Are you getting impatient, dear? Sorry, I’ll take better care of you.”

Hashirama ripped the wet cloth from your breasts, the fabric tattered as it fell open and hung by its sleeves. That had startled you. He began sucking and licking at your neck again, making sure to nibble at the places that made your breath hitch. His right hand continued to tease your breast. That left hand, though, began to trail downward. It fiddled with the golden band, “I like it, like a handle,” he muttered against your skin. Handle?! His left hand finally reached your thigh and began to creep inward toward your wet sex. The body heat from his hand brought anticipation with it. He gently touched your outer labia, his thigh moving away for a moment, you let out a soft moan.

His deft fingers began to spread one side of your outer lips and then the roots pulled you back down to his thigh. You squeaked. The friction was more intense, the cloth rubbing against your clit almost painfully. “Ha-Hashirama,” you panted. The dark-haired man kissed his way to your neglected breast and flicked the hardened nipple with his tongue. Another flick, again, only after you whined did he wrap his lips around the abused fresh and you almost sighed in relief.

Another root seemed to make its way up your leg and slipped between your slick folds and the forest god’s thigh. “Ah! Too much,” you cried, the feeling of the root alien to you. It was very textured, groves and abnormal lumps, a tapered tip, and you could feel every bit of it. It slid against you, your fluids more than enough to give it easy passage. The tip pressed against your already throbbing bud with each thrust forward, and his thigh only pushed it further against you.

You wished you could grab a hold of him, dig your nails into his tanned flesh as he made you cum in such an abnormal way. The knot in your stomach tightened, his mouth switched breasts, and his right hand gripped your hip and began to make you rock against the assault on your sex. “That’s it, pretty thing, let go. Soak my thigh,” he said after he pulled away from your skin, his voice deep and a bit hoarse. One more hit from that tapered root tip and you were coming undone, groaning as you did so.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised, the roots began to lower you, his hands coming up to take you from them gently. “Do you think you can go over to that table there? I’ll be right behind you.”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded, your legs felt like jelly. He chuckled and kissed your forehead before giving you a push in that direction. You stumbled but righted yourself and slowly made your way. The table was wet from the rain that had seemed to stop, it was cold, but you wanted to sit down. The table was slippery, your hair decorations still rested on the edge, the moist chill of the stone felt like a balm against your recovering sex. But you weren’t ready to be done and as you watched Hashirama’s naked form approach you, you clenched your thighs.

He was gorgeous, you had always thought so. The warm color of his, the toned muscles along his arms and pecks, even his abs were well defined. Your eyes drank in the sharp v of his hips as it led into a patch of curly black and a rather generous erection. His cock was long and thick with a delicious curve. Hashirama seemed rather proud of your attentions. His approach was slow with and with intention, when he reached you, he placed his arms on either side of you before his lips fell to yours once again.

This kiss was different, slower, but his twitching cock gave away his excitement. It was strange if you thought about it, you were being extremely intimate with a god, who’s abilities you doubted until he literally all but fucked you with them, and who you hadn’t believed in until the tryst began. But there was no time to think with his tongue back in your mouth and moving toward your throat. Your arousal drove you as you began to run your hands through his hair, down his back- he shivered at your light scratches. His hands moved, one rubbing the gold band again and the other boldly touching at your soaked folds. His pecks had the perfect amount of firmness, you liked squeezing them, and his abs quivered under your touch.

He broke the kiss again, his hand retreating from the apex of your thighs, you would have been embarrassed by the sticky trail that followed his fingers if Hashirama hadn’t looked so pleased. “Can I taste you?” You thought he meant his fingers, so you nodded, but when he knelt and spread your knees you were glad that hadn’t been what he meant.

The dark-haired man licked one long stripe along your lower lips before pushing your legs further apart to lap at your entrance. It felt like heaven. His tongue moved in opposite manners, started bottom to top then on the next lap it was top to bottom. He kissed your clit before sucking on it, your hips bucked automatically. His fingers came back and began to rub that bundle of nerves after his lips left it in favor of tonguing at your entrance. Your fingers went to his head, gripping his long tresses with urgency as you began to wholeheartedly ride his face. Hashirama groaned as you did, his tongue wriggling against your walls and driving you to the edge of sanity.

“Ha-Hashi,” you finish, your voice raising in pitch as your orgasm approached yet again. His fingers began to rub your clit faster, going back and forth as opposed to the circular motions they originally were. The noises that were coming from his mouth were debauched. He was groaning and moaning, almost as much as you were, his vigor like that of a man starved. Your fingers tightened in his hair, you would have worried that you were pulling too hard had your peak not hit you. “Mmm,” you whined, your eyes tearing up. Your hips kept moving, as did his tongue and fingers, and you rode out your orgasm until it hurt.

“Stop,” you begged softly. “Please, please, no more.”

He pulled away slowly, like he would go in for more at any moment. His chest heaved and his chin was covered in your slick. “You taste divine,” he told you, he looked as if he was the one who had reached his peak. “I don’t think I could ever tire of your taste.” The man stood back to his full height and began to position himself between your thighs. “Like the sweetest honey, haha, I’ll probably crave it again very soon. But unfortunately, I don’t think I can wait any longer.” You felt his tip begin to stretch your opening and you squeezed your eyes shut, but he didn’t move any further. “Tell me that you’re mine.”

“I am,” you nodded, your eyes opened once again. “I am yours.”

“That you’ll stay with me here, in the forest.”

“Stay in the forest?” You struggled to not give in, to not go along with everything just to feel more of him.

“That’s right, with me, forever,” Hashirama confirmed, his own breathing labored and arms shaking with restraint. “Say it.”

As you opened your mouth to respond he slid just a bit more inside and you groaned. “Yes,” you grunted, desperate in your need for more. More of him, inside you, enveloping you, more. “Yes, I’ll stay.”

He groaned and pushed in slowly. “Good,” he grunted. It felt like you were being split open, your mouth open in a silent gasp. He continued to push in, slow and steady, until he bottomed out and you could feel him in the deepest parts of you. His glans touched your cervix and your toes curled.

It was torturous, he hadn’t moved. You wanted him hard and fast, like he was going to break you in half, but when he pulled his hips back it was slow and methodical, like he wanted you to feel every inch drag against your walls, and oh did you. His hips snapped into yours and suddenly you were stuffed full again. You buried your face in his neck. “You feel so good, the way you rub and squeeze me, it makes me want nothing more than to pump you full of cum.”

With every snap inside, your sensitive breasts jostled against his chest and with every slow drag out you bit into his shoulder. “What’s wrong pretty?” You couldn’t tell if he was teasing or if he meant it. “If you need something you have to ask for it.”

He felt so good, but the slow methodical drag almost hurt. The stimulation was intense, like an itch that needed to be scratched. But it was still so good, you felt so full when he thrust inside and so empty as he took himself away. You felt a keening whine beginning in the back of your throat. You needed him faster.

“Please,” your fingernails began to dig into his back.

“Please what?” Another excruciatingly slow drag out.

“Hashirama, faster please,” you exclaimed. “Harder, please, fuck me until I can’t walk straight just- more please!”

He placed one hand on the back of your head and the other on your waist. “There’s a good girl, so pretty when you beg.” His hips began a brutal pace, his chest rumbled with his groans, his eyes closed as he also began to feel the pleasurable friction of his speed. “Such a good girl,” he said in a staccato, timing it with his thrusts. “Do you think anyone else could take my cock as well as you? You’re so special, so perfect.”

His words made your insides tingle, a pleasant sensation that began to build with your peak. You couldn’t help but gasp every time he hit your cervix. The sound of his aching balls smacking against your ass echoed against the stone walls, the mix of your combined sounds furthering your ecstasy. He moved your face to his and kissed you once again, your third climax of the evening crashing through you.

Your walls squeezed around him, and he groaned into your mouth as you began to milk him. He came as well, and the warmth of his seed made you gasp. Hashirama continued to pump himself into you until you began to feel overstimulated, until all spurts of his hot sperm had finished. He pulled out, his semen immediately began to trickle out of you, but instead of having a softened member, as was typical, he was still fully erect. You blinked up at him in surprise.

A chuckle left him, and he backed away for a moment, one of his hands reached between your legs to collect your combined fluids before he began to rub them along your skin. He rubbed it onto your breasts, your stomach, along the gold band, and the fat of your thigh. “Get on all fours on the table, pretty.” You scrambled to obey.

The hardness of the stone put pressure on your knees, but that pain flew to the back of your mind as you felt his hand move up your back to between your shoulder blades and his own pressure begin to push you down. With your face down and your ass in the air you shivered. Hashirama rubbed the flesh of your right cheek before giving it a light smack, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make your body move. “This is my favorite view. Your ass up, your hole on display and dripping with my cum. Nothing makes me harder.”

He entered you again, his pace fast and merciless. You almost missed the slow and tortuous one he had begun with. The new angle was almost too much, he hit your gspot and a sharp whine left you whenever he did. You thought your eyes might cross from the pleasure. “Touch yourself,” he panted. “Rub your clit for me.”

Eager to obey, you shakily reached a hand down and began to rub your abused clit. Tears stung your eyes; it was almost too much. It hurt but it also felt so good. “You look so pretty wrapped around my cock. I can’t imagine anyone would fit you better. No one could make you feel as good. Only me!”

“Ha,” you swallowed, your saliva thick in your throat. You were already at your peak again. It would have to be the last one, the pleasure was already more than you could handle. “Hashirama, I can’t, I,” you whined, loudly. It was too much, it felt too different. Something above the average orgasm was coming. “I can’t.”

“You can,” he told you, his own voice strained as he felt your walls begin to twitch around him. “Go on, cum on my cock again.”

You rubbed your clit a little harder and after two more thrusts of his godly member and you came for the fourth time. It felt like rapture. A loud gasp tore through you, and you could feel the gush of fluid leave you. He kept going, you kept coming. It seemed like there would be no end to the high and it made you want to sob. Too much of a good thing. “Such a good girl, you sprayed all over me,” he whispered and licked a stripe down your back, his own hips began to stutter. “Just a bit more.”

One more thrust, then two, then three, and he was pulling out. You felt the warmth of his cum hit your back and he trailed it down to your ass. When he was finished, you were both panting, his hand already rubbing his spend along your skin. In a more labored version of his disheartened voice he announced, “Ahh, I want to cover you in more cum.”

You began to shake your head, throat dry and sore from overusing your voice. There was no way you could take another round, your thighs were still trembling, blood still thrumming. “Don’t shake your head,” he tsked. His hair began to tickle your sides and you felt him press his over warm cheek against your hip. Hashirama placed a gentle kiss on your pelvic bone and put an open palm against your lower belly. “You can relax for now, after all, we have plenty of time for me to continue marking you,” there was his cheery lilt.

You heard it before you saw it, the plants beginning to move and cover the exists, even going so far as to block out any human sized hole in the skylights that could be used to crawl out of. A nervous shiver wracked your spine and goosebumps began to crawl along your skin as he licked a trail up your side from your raised hip. “After all, you said you’d be here with me forever.”

tagged list: @therantingfangirl @justmyownreality

Madara||Tobirama

Season 2

#mortyvongola2 0 fic #naruto series #fanfiction #mortyvongola2 fanfic #mortyvongola2 fic #hashirama smut #hashirama senju #hashirama senju smut #mortyvongola2-0 sacrificed series #hashirama x reader #hashirama x you #hashirama x y/n #hashirama senju x reader #tribute to the gods au #fanfic #reader insert

1K notes · View notes

bradshawsbaby · 1 year

Text

Holding Out For A Hero

Pairing(s): Rooster x Wife!Reader, implied Maverick x Penny, and hints of Hangman x Phoenix (pre-official relationship)

Author’s Note: I’ve had the idea for this one rolling around in my head for a while, so I figured being sick at home was as good a time as any to finally sit down and write it!

Bradley convinces Mrs. Bradshaw to perform at Open Mic Night at The Hard Deck. If you’re interested in listening, the song she performs is the Ella Mae Bowen version of Holding Out For A Hero.

Warnings: A little bit of anxiety related to performing in front of a crowd, plus lots and lots of Bradshaw fluff.

Tucking yourself away in the back room of The Hard Deck, you had never been more grateful for your close friendship with Penny. Outside, the bar was getting crowded and noisy, the air thick with excited anticipation. Back here, hidden behind crates of Bud Light and Sam Adams, you were offered a small respite from the clamor and an opportunity to breathe.

Not that you were necessarily doing that so well.

Dragging another shaky breath into your lungs, you rested your trembling hands in your lap and closed your eyes, trying to count backwards from ten in an attempt to calm your fraying nerves.

Were you absolutely insane? How had you allowed Bradley to talk you into doing this?

About a month ago, Penny had gotten the idea that she wanted to host an Open Mic Night at The Hard Deck as a fundraiser for Wounded Warrior Project.

“It’ll be fun,” she told you, Bradley, Mav, and the rest of the Dagger Squad over dinner one night. “Everyone’s always singing every night anyway. Might as well give some people a chance to take center stage, and raise money for a good cause while doing it. Plus, we know we’ll have accompaniment. We can never get Rooster off that piano,” she teased affectionately, throwing a playful wink in your husband’s direction.

“Sounds fun, Penny!” Fanboy nodded enthusiastically, before hungrily shoveling down more of Penny’s chicken pot pie.

“I’m sure lots of people would sign up, especially knowing it’s a fundraiser and all,” Bob chimed in, sliding his glasses up his nose.

“You going to sing something, Bob?” Hangman asked with a teasing smirk, casually stretching his arms out and resting one on the back of Phoenix’s chair.

Bob turned bright red at the prospect, shaking his head. “Me? No, no. I don’t sing. But, uh, I’ll be there for moral support!” he insisted, practically tripping over his own words.

Phoenix was quick to jump in to defend her backseater. “Why don’t you serenade us all with something, Bagman? A classic rendition of Take My Breath Away, perhaps?” she suggested sarcastically, arching an eyebrow as she looked up at him.

Hangman just smirked in response, his eyes lingering on Phoenix’s face a little longer than strictly necessary.

There was definitely something going on between those two, no matter how many times Phoenix had denied it whenever you broached the subject.

“Anyway,” Payback cut in, pointedly looking between Hangman and Phoenix before steering the conversation back towards the event itself. “Sounds like it’ll be a good time, Penny. Maybe The Hard Deck could even host a barbeque on the beach beforehand. Turn it into an all day event, you know?”

“Oh, that’s a great idea!” Penny nodded, pulling out her phone and typing a few notes into it. “Maybe we could even plan some games and activities on the beach.”

“A little dogfight football, anyone?” Coyote asked jokingly, nudging Maverick with a grin.

“Maybe family-friendly activities that involve everyone keeping their shirts on,” Penny laughed, her grin only growing wider as some of the guys groaned in disappointment.

“We’ll help you set everything up, Penny,” Phoenix said, taking a sip of water. “We’ll get flyers out and tell everyone. It’ll be a great time.”

“Think we’ll be able to convince Cyclone to sing a little something?” Fanboy grinned, his expression brimming with mirth at the very idea of their Air Boss performing a karaoke rendition of anything.

“Highly unlikely,” Payback laughed, leaning back in his chair with a contented sigh, his plate completely cleaned off.

“You’ll sing something, won’t you, Rooster?” Penny asked, resting her chin in her hand and smiling at him.

“Me?” Bradley asked with feigned surprise, raising his eyebrows as if shocked by the very notion.

“Oh, save it, Bradshaw,” Hangman rolled his eyes with a smirk, tossing his napkin at him. “We all know you’ll perform some big number to bring the house down.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, smiling affectionately over at your husband. Whatever Bradley performed, you were already certain it would be your favorite song of the night.

Bradley turned his head and met your gaze, his eyes sparkling as he rested a hand on your thigh, his thumb brushing gently against the skin that was exposed just beneath the hem of your sundress.

“You know, I’m not the only Bradshaw who knows how to sing,” he announced suddenly, winking briefly at you before turning his attention back to the rest of the group.

“Oh, Bradley, no!” you exclaimed, immediately knowing what he was getting at. You swatted at his arm, your cheeks already flushing in embarrassment.

“Oh, you stop it!” Penny jumped in, waving her hands at you with a smile. “You have a beautiful voice, sweetie. You should sing something!”

“Beautiful voice? How come we’ve never heard this beautiful voice, hm? Been hiding it away from us?” Coyote grinned, raising his eyebrows as he leaned forward in his chair to look over at you.

“It’s hardly anything special,” you insisted, waving your hand firmly in the air as if to brush the notion away entirely. “Singing in the shower or while doing the dishes hardly makes you an expert.”

“But you do have a beautiful voice. I’ve heard it,” Phoenix grinned, shooting you a pointed look when you glared at her. “I mean, Rooster did take you to karaoke for your first date and all.”

Before you knew it, Payback, Fanboy, Coyote, and Hangman had taken up a chant of, “Sing for us,” banging their hands on the table and grinning at you expectantly.

You pinched your husband’s leg under the table, prompting a surprised yelp to escape his lips.

“I’ll have you all know that this is bullying and peer pressure and I won’t stand for it,” you told them, trying to bite back the smile that was tugging at the corners of your mouth. They were all so ridiculous, they couldn’t help but make you laugh.

“That’s right. You don’t have to sing if you don’t want to,” Bob came to your defense, smiling at you.

“Watch out, Bob, or we’ll make the two of you sing a duet,” Fanboy laughed, lightly smacking his friend on the back.

“No one has to make any decisions now,” Penny cut in, rising to begin clearing the table so that she could set out dessert. You immediately jumped up to help her. “I’m just glad to know you’re all on board. The sign-up sheet will be posted in The Hard Deck for anyone who decides they want to perform,” she said, nudging you with a little grin.

And somehow, against all odds, your husband had managed to convince you.

“Come on, honey,” he murmured to you as you were both lying in bed later that night. “You really do have such a beautiful voice. And as much as I’m privileged to get those concerts for one in the bathroom, other people should get to hear how talented you are, too.”

Biting your lip, you rolled onto your side and gazed at him in the darkness, your eyes adjusting and making out his silhouetted form beside you. “What would I even sing? People wouldn’t want to listen to me. I’d get such bad stage fright, I’d probably be hiding in the corner.”

Chuckling softly, Bradley wrapped his arms around you and dropped a kiss on your lips. “I’d want to listen to you. Our friends would want to listen to you. Everyone else with half a brain would want to listen to you. And you know lots of songs,” he added, brushing your hair behind your ear with gentle fingers.

You wavered silently, not agreeing, but not disagreeing either.

Bradley seemed to take that as his chance to really drive his argument home. “What if I played for you, hm? Piano or guitar, depending on what song you wanted to sing. Then you wouldn’t have to feel like you were doing it alone. What do you say to that?”

You groaned, knowing how persistent he was going to be about this. He wasn’t going to stop until you said yes. Burying your face in his neck, you mumbled, “I say, why do you have to be so annoyingly talented, huh? Piano and guitar? There’s no escaping you, Lieutenant Bradshaw.”

He laughed in response, his chest rumbling as he pulled you in closer. “So is that a yes then?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“It’s more of an I guess so,” you replied, smiling despite yourself as your husband let out an enthusiastic whoop of excitement.

There were a few different songs that you considered performing, going back and forth on a couple of them. In the end, however, you settled on Holding Out For A Hero, a song that you had loved listening to since you were a little girl.

“But not the Bonnie Tyler version,” you told Bradley as he attempted to pluck out a few of the chords on his guitar. “This version, by Ella Mae Bowen,” you explained, showing him a video of her performance. It was slower, softer, sweeter. More romantic.

After Bradley finished listening to it, he grinned up at you. “I think you’re going to knock it out of the park, honey,” he predicted, pecking your lips softly.

The two of you practiced most nights over the course of the following weeks, in preparation for the big night. Some nights, you got more rehearsal time than others. On more than one occasion, Bradley’s fingers would suddenly stop strumming the guitar and he’d lift his head to look at you, his dark eyes thick with an emotion you recognized all too well.

“Damn, but that voice does things to me, baby,” he’d whisper before setting his guitar to the side and carrying you off to bed.

Still, especially as Open Mic Night got closer, you insisted with all the personal restraint you could muster that he be professional and help you with your lessons.

“What a diva,” Bradley had laughed one night, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before nodding and starting to play the song once more.

You were as ready as you were going to be.

Or so you thought.

But now tonight was the night, and you were hiding out behind crates of beer in the back of The Hard Deck.

The day had been wonderful, which you were thrilled about. You knew how much it meant to Penny. Between the massive barbeque on the beach, and the afternoon full of scheduled games and activities, everyone had been having a great time. You were pretty sure that Penny had already surpassed the fundraising goal she’d set for herself, and the night wasn’t even over yet.

But now, with the sun starting to set on the beach, everyone was beginning to filter back inside for Open Mic Night. The bar was abuzz with eager and excited anticipation, as people in the crowd awaited performances from their friends and loved ones.

And you were panicking.

Palms slick with sweat, you’d evaded the rest of the group and slipped into the back room of the bar, a location you were all too familiar with from your time working as a waitress at The Hard Deck.

Wiping your hands on the front of your simple, navy blue sundress, you took a few more deep breaths, trying to calm your racing nerves.

Were you crazy? How were you seriously going to sing in front of all these people? What if you messed up? What if it was horribly cringey and everybody—

“Honey?”

You could hear your husband’s voice, thick with comfort and tenderness, as he pushed open the door and slid into the room, the noise from the bar fading once more as it swung shut behind him.

“Over here,” you called out in response, knowing he’d be able to find you in no time.

He did. Crouching down in front of you, he rested one large, warm palm over both your hands and looked into your eyes. “Hey,” he said softly, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. “What’s wrong, baby? What are you doing back here?”

“Hiding,” you confessed, a shaky smile gracing your lips. “Kind of hoping that if I stay back here long enough, everyone will forget I signed up to do this.”

“Aw, baby,” Bradley smiled, settling himself down on a crate across from you and reaching out to pull you onto his lap. “Are you really that nervous?” he asked, running his hand up and down your back soothingly.

“I didn’t think I’d be,” you admitted, biting down on your lower lip. “I thought I would be okay. But now that it’s so close, and I see all those people out there, I’m starting to freak out a little bit.”

Bradley nodded in understanding, peppering your shoulder with soft kisses and stroking your arm lightly. “I know it’s scary, honey. Hell, even I get a little nervous when I play in front of a lot of people I don’t know.”

“Really? You do?” you asked, eyes widening in genuine surprise. “I never would have thought that, not in a million years. You always seem so confident.”

“I guess it’s sort of a part of the act, huh?” he replied, wiggling in his eyebrows teasingly. “Everybody gets nervous, baby. I’m sure everyone who signed up to perform tonight is feeling the same way you are. Well, maybe except Hangman,” he grinned, rolling his eyes good-naturedly and earning a laugh from you. “It’s normal to be nervous. It means you care about what you’re doing.”

You sighed softly, fidgeting with the hem of your dress.

Bradley rested a gentle hand on your cheek, lifting your head so that you were looking at him. “Listen, honey. If you don’t want to perform tonight, you don’t have to. But I know how hard you worked, and I know how talented you are, and I’d hate for you to miss out on an opportunity to show that off tonight.”

You smiled slightly at that, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “You’ll be with me the whole time, right?” you grinned, leaning in to rest your forehead against his.

“The whole time,” Bradley promised, kissing the tip of your nose. “You can keep your eyes on me. Just sing to me, honey.”

“Okay,” you nodded, your voice small, but your smile wide.

“That’s my girl,” Bradley said proudly, holding you in his arms as he stood up, and then setting you back down on your own two feet. “Come on, Mrs. Bradshaw. We’ve got a show to put on,” he grinned, taking your hand in his and leading you back into the bar, where Penny had set up a little makeshift stage for Open Mic Night.

“There you are,” Phoenix said, resting a hand on your shoulder. “We were getting worried. You’re up next,” she told you with a supportive grin, squeezing your arm excitedly.

Your stomach did a few little flips as the trio of girls who had been performing stepped down off the stage, and Penny stepped up to introduce you. She smiled brightly as she called you up, beckoning to you encouragingly.

Taking a deep breath, and with the well wishes of your friends in your ear, you moved forward and stepped up onto the stage, Bradley following closely behind you.

“Oh, yes, and we do have our very own Rooster Bradshaw accompanying on guitar tonight,” Penny added with a grin, clapping for the two of you as she stepped down and moved to stand beside Mav behind the bar.

“Hi, everyone,” you greeted the crowd with a smile, adjusting the microphone and swallowing back the nervousness that was threatening to spill over once more.

“HELLOOOOOOOO,” you heard the Dagger Squad screaming from their spot near the bar, which made you laugh despite your nerves.

“Um, I’m going to be singing a song many of you might be familiar with. It’s a little bit of a different arrangement, but I hope you’ll enjoy it,” you explained, doing your best to look over the audience members’ heads, a trick your mom had taught you when you were little and nervous about performing in the school play. You smiled over at Bradley and held out a hand towards him. “I’m very lucky to have my husband accompanying me on the guitar tonight. I know most of you are used to seeing him at the piano, but he is a man of many talents,” you chuckled.

The audience, many of whom were regulars at The Hard Deck, cheered and applauded for Bradley.

“And, well, I’d like to dedicate this song to him,” you went on, your eyes meeting his across the stage. You felt immediately centered and comforted by his warm, loving gaze. “Because I spent my whole life waiting for a hero. And I found him.”

The crowd let out soft little “Awws” at your pronouncement, but you were too focused on your husband to even notice.

“I love you,” he mouthed, shooting you a little wink as he settled his guitar on his lap and raised his fingers to the strings. He lifted his head to look at you, a question in his eyes.

When you nodded, he started strumming the opening chords of the song, the music very familiar to you now after weeks of drilling it into your mind.

“Where have all the good men gone and where are all the gods?” you crooned softly into the microphone, holding onto it to steady your trembling hands. “Where’s the streetwise Hercules to fight the rising odds?”

You could sense some people in the crowd smiling and nodding their heads, recognizing the song instantly.

“Isn’t there a white knight upon a fiery steed? Late at night, I toss and turn and dream of what I need,” you sang, turning your attention to Bradley.

You were singing for him. Just like you’d promised.

“I need a hero. I'm holding out for a hero ’til the end of the night. He's gotta be strong, he's gotta be fast, and he's gotta be larger than life. Larger than life,” you went on, your voice strong, yet sweet as you imbued each word with meaning.

As the song went on, your confidence grew and you were even able to make eye contact with some people in the audience. You could see Mav and Penny behind the bar, beaming proudly and waving to you as they shot you the thumbs-up sign. Phoenix was recording your performance on her phone, and the rest of the Dagger Squad had their hands up in the air, cheering you on.

And Bradley. Your sweet husband. His calloused fingers strummed the guitar expertly as he watched you perform with love and pride glowing brightly in his warm eyes.

“Through the wind and the chill and the rain, and the storm and the raging flood. Oh, his approach is like the fire in my blood. I'll meet a hero,” your voice lilted as you entered into the final portion of the song. “And then we'll dance ’til the morning light,” you sang intentionally, winking over at Bradley.

If there was one thing your husband loved to do, it was dance with you.

Bradley winked back as you moved into the final chorus, holding out a sustained note as you sang yearningly for your hero to be “larger than life.”

He was. He really was. Your hero was everything you had ever hoped for and more, all wrapped up in the handsome man seated across the stage, guitar in hand as he gave you the confidence you needed to stand in front of this huge crowd of people and sing your heart out.

When the song finally came to an end, your cheeks flushed pleasantly from the heat of the lights and your own endorphins, the audience erupted into applause, cheering and hollering in support. You could hear your friends chanting your name from the bar, whooping loudly as they clapped for you.

“Thank you,” you murmured softly into the microphone, figuring it would be best to get off the stage before your legs completely turned to Jell-O.

As you started to turn, however, you were surprised to see Phoenix running towards the stage, a large bouquet of flowers in hand. Instead of passing them to you, however, she quickly turned them over to Bradley, who was carefully setting his guitar off to the side of the stage.

“What’s this?” you asked in surprise as he walked over to hand them to you. They were your favorite, of course—yellow roses. You had no idea when he’d managed to sneak these past you.

“For you, honey,” he said, placing them in your hands. He reached up to cup your cheek, beaming down at you. “I’m so proud of you,” he added softly, leaning in to kiss you soundly, right there on the stage in the middle of The Hard Deck.

The crowd began cheering even louder, which made you laugh and blush, hiding your face in your husband’s neck as the two of you finally broke apart.

“Looks like it was Mrs. Rooster who brought down the house tonight!” someone from the back of the crowd called, which made everyone else laugh.

Taking your hand in his, Bradley guided you off the stage, Penny stopping to give you a big hug on her way back up to announce the next performer.

“Great job, sweetheart,” she said proudly, kissing your cheek before continuing on.

As soon as you got to the bar, your friends swarmed around you, congratulating you and complimenting you on what an amazing job you’d done.

“How did you manage to hide that voice from us all this time?” Coyote demanded, shaking his head in shock.

“She’s modest,” Phoenix laughed, giving you a warm hug.

“What are you going to sing for us next?” Fanboy wanted to know, grinning as he nudged you playfully.

“Alright, alright, give her a chance to breathe,” Bradley chuckled, resting his hands on your shoulders. He leaned in closer, his mouth pressed against your ear as he whispered, “Want to go outside for a little air?”

You nodded immediately, slipping your hand into his as he pulled you towards the side exit, where the deck looked to be empty for the time being.

“You did it, baby,” Bradley murmured once the two of you were outside, the evening air feeling blessedly cool on your flushed skin. “I knew you could do it.”

“Only because of you,” you grinned, setting your flowers down on the deck railing and wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

Bradley shook his head, smiling as he rested his hands on your hips and gazed down at you. “No, that was all you, honey. You blew them away. You blew me away,” he grinned, nuzzling his nose against yours. “You should be really proud of yourself. I know I’m proud of you.”

Beaming, you slid your fingers into his hair and pulled him down for a kiss, his hands moving upward to rest on your back as he pulled you closer to his chest. You would never grow tired of his kisses, or of the feel of his strong arms holding you and keeping you safe.

“I love you,” you whispered, pressing soft, gentle pecks to his upper lip, then his lower lip, then the corners of his mouth. “And I meant what I said up there. You’re my hero, Bradley Bradshaw.”

Bradley smiled, reaching up to hold your face delicately between both his hands. “And you’re mine.”

You and your husband stood quietly together on the deck, wrapped in each other’s arms as you watched the waves crash onto the shore and listened to the soft strains of music emanating from the bar.

Suddenly, Phoenix came rushing out, nearly out of breath in her hurry to come find the two of you. “It’s time! Come on! You don’t want to miss this,” she grinned, turning on her heel and practically running back inside.

Laughing, you and Bradley hurried after her. And the performance that awaited you certainly did not disappoint.

For all that you had been proud of your performance, nothing could compare to the sight of Hangman, Coyote, Payback, Fanboy, and a hapless Bob up on stage, belting out what was quite possibly the most painful rendition of Take My Breath Away that you had ever heard.

You loved every second of it.

And so did the crowd apparently, judging by the standing ovation they received.

“And that’s how it’s done,” Hangman smirked as he swaggered back over to the bar, walking straight past the girls who were very clearly making eyes at him and just so happening to land back by Phoenix’s side.

“Very impressive,” you grinned, leaning against Bradley as he sat perched on one of the bar stools.

“Next Open Mic Night, you’ll all have to sing something together!” Penny exclaimed, grinning knowingly.

“Next Open Mic Night?” you asked, shooting her a questioning look.

Penny winked as she cleared a few glasses off the bar. “Better start whipping out your songbook, Mrs. Bradshaw.”

#mr. & mrs. bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #mrs. bradshaw #rooster x wife!reader #rooster x reader #x reader #x female reader #miles teller #top gun #top gun: maverick

424 notes · View notes