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docockbrainrot · 3 years

Text

i think i want you (to leave)

Summary: We’re all running from something. Sometimes, metaphorically. Sometimes, literally. Literally running, from the very strangely hypnotizing supervillain that seems hellbent on ruining every bit of your life he can get all eight of his limbs on.

Pairing: Doc Ock X Reader/ Otto Octavius X Reader

Content: Slow Burn, NSFW eventually, 18+

AO3 link here.

Previous Chapter

Chapter 5

anathema// former vandal

The next several days are an uneventful blur. You barely leave your apartment, except for brief dog walks and grabbing food from the bodega across the street.

It’s 9 pm on Saturday and you’re fresh out of the shower, tucked away in a very fuzzy robe, lounging on the couch and watching YouTube on your television. You almost miss the subtle taptaptaptap sound coming from your window, you're so engrossed in the cooking show you’ve been binging. Gotta fill the void somehow, right?

You can’t see anything outside from where you’re sitting. The lights are on and make it impossible to peer through the reflections on the glass. Maybe it’s a bird. Or a branch is caught on the fire escape. Either way, you certainly can’t be assed to check it out and you take another sip of your chamomile tea- you’ve been trying everything under the sun, just about short of literally snorting lines of melatonin, to try to sleep better at night. Nothing’s been working. But you have been making a very valiant effort.

A few moments go by and you forget all about the window disturbance until,

TAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAP.

It’s jarring. It’s loud. Above all else, it’s annoying. Chekov spares you a look, like you’re the one making a racket. Effectively exasperated, you make an effort to set, not slam, down your mug, feeling decidedly not Calm and Relaxed as the tea promised. Suppose it’s not miracle shit though, is it? You would not be a good candidate for a horror movie because you fearlessly storm over to the window and throw it open (it wasn’t locked in the first place; you’re quite terrible at remembering to). You stick your head out and glower at whatever irritating mischief is happening out here, ready to rip the fire escape off the side of the brick building.

You’re greeted by something cold and hard (and indubiously metal, judging by how it felt against your sternum) shoving you back into your apartment, sending you sprawling unceremoniously to the hardwood floor. A string of profanities ready to leave your tongue, you sit up and adjust your robe in an attempt to preserve a modicum of your modesty. The rant dies in your throat as red eyed claws grip the threshold of your pre-war window and it’s almost comical the way He maneuvers himself in, far too large to be making these sorts of entrances. Standing up to his full height before you while you’re still sitting dumbfounded on the floor reminds you of just how impressively built he is. You manage to pick your jaw up, but your ass remains firmly planted on the wood.

“Uh… you could have just used the buzzer, dude. I have a front door, you know,” you sputter out, brain blitzing in pretty much every way possible. Your thoughts are racing and eventually they settle on the most important thing you can think to ask in that moment: “... Why aren’t you wearing a shirt.” You can't help the way your eyes are drawn to his broad chest, gaze lingering on the vast scarring that spills out from the metal contraption clamped around his midsection.

Otto very graciously closes the window behind himself. Or at least his little robot accomplices do it for him. You still aren’t sure what’s going on with that- the whole AI thing. Not even a blip on your radar of concerns at this point. “Didn’t want anyone to see me come in. Your building has a camera on the front, facing the street.”

“That’s why you’re shirtless?” You ask dumbly. Interesting method of camouflage. “What? No- what? It doesn’t matter- listen to me. I need you to do something for me. A small favor.”

He doesn’t seem to notice the compromised position he put you in. Typical. Gathering up your broken pride, you get up and tighten the tie of your robe a bit. It isn’t until then that he has the decency to look a smidge embarrassed and you hope you didn't just give him a free show on your way to getting to your feet. “You literally just broke into my apartment and now you’re asking for a favor? We barely know each other!”

“Less complicated when there's nothing personal involved yet, plus- you let me in,” he corrects you. You wish he would stop doing that. You wish he would stop meeting with you like this, under weird and mysterious circumstances. Even though it's only been like twice. You're already over it.

“You threw me across the room!”

“Touche.”

Otto does not apologize and you did not sincerely expect him to. The look on his face reads more like the cat that got the canary than regretful. You feel as though you’ve come to recognize that expression on his face and you also feel as though you don’t much like the fact that you’ve enough encounters with this man that you can recognize a damn thing about him. “What… could you possibly need me to do for you? I am not robbing a bank.” You just want to get that out into the open as soon as possible.

“I don’t need your help robbing a bank,” he snorts as if the idea is preposterous and you take a moment to feel insulted. Wow. Okay. You could totally rob a bank if you wanted to. Deciding to not comment on your wounded ego, you let him get to the point. Otto pulls something out of his inner coat pocket. It's some kind of rolled up paper and you think at first maybe it's a newspaper or magazine. He unfurls it onto the coffee table and holds it open with two metal claws on either side so it doesn't ravel itself back up.

You realize it's a blueprint. "This is… Oscorp," you point out stupidly, brow furrowing in confusion. There's levels to what's happening here. Layers upon layers, melding together with rot and decay and you can all but smell it. But there's something missing, something that would tie all of the wackjob shit that's been happening to you and around you together. It feels like when you have a very particular thought and then walking into another room makes it dissolve from your head. You're trying to grasp for it, to fit the puzzle pieces together, but it's just out of reach.

"Yes. It is. I have a small task I need you to do," Otto starts off, metal phalanges pushing his glasses up onto the top of his head as he looks over at you. For the first time, you can see his eyes in the light. The warm amber feels like a mockery- you have seen his cruelty in action.

"Where did you get this?"

"Does it matter?" Of course he'd say that.

Your fingertips brush against the metaphorical wayward chain link. It's right there. You just have to grab it and pull it back to you, like the anchor of a ship before it can set sail.

He's talking. You aren't listening. He's tracing a finger over the schematics. You don't see it. Realization washes over you in a heart-dropping tsunami. The voicemail you got from Oscorp plays like a broken record in your mind. 'Hello, Y/N. We're calling in regards to your employment status here at Oscorp. Unfortunately, due to a breach of security, we are having to make staffing cuts and are going to have to let you go. We appreciate your time and effort and wish you the best of luck in your next endeavor.' It didn't make sense at the time. A lot of things didn't. You replay the scene of poor David, desperately pleading for his life at the hands of the man hunched over here, just in your living room. You mentally re-run it over and over like bad 80s sitcoms on late night television.

"Lab Coat Guy…"

You don't realize you whispered it out loud until Otto goes silent.

"What?"

You slowly look at him and take a single step backwards, shaking your head. The company embroidered on David's lab coat hadn't been clear to you in the moment- but it's crystal in hindsight. Oscorp. "You got me fired." Your tone is flat, until anger flashes through you, like a streak of lightning through a dark, moonless sky, illuminating all of things that didn’t make sense before.

"It doesn't matter. What I need you to do-" He's so nonchalant, so blasé that it only stokes the embers of frustration until there's a roaring blaze burning beneath your skin. It's all about him, what he needs, what he wants. He has the nerve, the audacity, to keep traipsing into your life, kicking you while you're down and then ask for favors? You want to say all of that to him but unfortunately for you, you're an angry crier. Your outburst of bravery at him the last time you saw each other had surprised even you- but now there's so much more emotion roiling around inside you.

"No. No, no. Fuck you. You got me fired! I can't- I can't not have a job, I have to pay rent! You could get me arrested for just talking to you!" Oscorp had you canned to tie up any potential loose ends before anymore Davids could slip through the cracks. You think about how scared the poor dude must have been, threatened into stealing blueprints from the biggest corporation in the city, for one of the most infamous criminals. You don't know how they found out you were even remotely involved and you don't want to know.

Tears are streaming down your cheeks and once the floodgates have opened you're very familiar with how long it's going to take to close them again. After all you've been bottling this up since you found out, too disappointed to even tell any of your friends or family.

Otto appears taken aback, to say the least. He even looks like he's at a loss for words; that's a first. You know he could kill you where you stand in the blink of an eye, but in that moment you don’t even care. You’ve been trying so hard for so long to get on your feet, to do things for yourself and get away from the past. You moved across the country, you left everything behind, you got a damn dog. It seems like every time you manage to take a step forward in life, you’re knocked flat on your ass, apparently literally sometimes. It isn’t fair. Things don’t come easily to you, you’ve always had to work for them. You aren’t wealthy, you aren’t a supergenius, you’re just… you. The job at Oscorp was good money and you really felt like you were getting your shit together for a while.

“They’re not who you think they are,” he says finally, so calmly, with such carefulness about his words, that you sniffle pathetically and look up at him. He doesn’t look nearly as pleased with himself as you thought he might. And here you’ve been, under the impression that he gets off on hurting people. “Oscorp. I’m not… I’m not just doing this for me. You have to understand that.”

The schematics are furled up and tucked away. You make the mistake of meeting his eyes. Maybe it’s just the tears that blur your vision, but you swear you see a softness there before they’re hidden away again by his glasses.

He lingers at the window.

“I hope you’ll reconsider.” And then he was making his exit, even taking care to gently close the window on the way out. But he raps on the glass with his knuckles from where he stands on the fire escape and you know the look of confusion on your tear-streaked face speaks for itself. Otto points to the latches on the window. ‘Lock it.’ He mouths before he’s gone, presumably to wreak havoc and harass other unsuspecting young women that don’t want anything to do with him.

You thought everything had come together- but the more sense you make of it, the less you seem sure of the bigger picture. You aren't even sure exactly what he wanted you to do.

You’re left with an endless bounty of questions, and not enough answers to satisfy any of them.

#otto octavius x reader #doc ock x reader #fanfiction #otto octavius #doc ock

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honey-makki · 4 years

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Firsts

Characters: Tsukishima Kei X Fem!Reader

Summary: Fate works in mysterious ways to bring people who are destined to be together, to actually be together.

Warnings: Sex!! blow jobs, face riding, virginity loss

Genre: fluff, smut

Word Count: 5k

A/N: Well this started as a drabble request but here I am a week later with a 5k fic about it. Soft tsukki inbound. I hope you enjoy @salty4tsukki bc I def enjoyed writing this.

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Being an only child is not a precursor to being lonely. Memories of family game nights, shared dinners and movies watched filled the air of your house letting you know that you were both never alone and, oh, so loved.

You knew that having as healthy a home environment was unusual and that it was part of the reason that you are so emotionally intelligent. Many of your peers couldn’t stand their parents and found every excuse to avoid being home. Sure, you and your parents had arguments about curfew or the number of texts you sent every month. The last argument happened every time you brought home a grade that was unsatisfactory, which wasn’t often, but consistent enough that it was a recurring problem.

“I’m just tired of them expecting me to be perfect! It’s unreasonable for them to expect perfect grades, being on a starter for the soccer team, and involved in other clubs! I’m only one person.” You ranted to Tsukki, sulking around his room before plopping on his bed, arms covering your sighing face. Tsukki was the only person you came to with family problems because you knew he would understand and not push you. The usually sassy boy always softened these days, knowing that this was the one thing that you couldn’t handle being teased about. Today, he looked at you with soft pity, knowing the amount of work you put towards everything just to be told it’s not enough.

“I could tutor you in English if you want? I know we have our usual pre-exam study sessions, but I really don’t mind making them more regular if you think they would help.” Tsukki might listen to you complain but he still isn’t the best at empathy, rather resorting to problem-solving. He showed his care and compassion to you subtly. Offering his solutions in a way you could make them sound like your own, knowing that provided a semblance of comfort. Allowing you into his room whenever you needed to complain and not questioning your feelings. Always offering you a hoodie or jacket when you were worn out from crying, knowing that the warmth would lull you into a much-needed sleep

You knew he cared about you. Yes, sometimes you over exaggerated your feelings to take advantage of that, but only because you wanted his jacket on your body. The thought that it was his arms rather than just a Tsukki scented cloth surrounding you. Only crying a little harder with the hopes he would offer to have a movie night which always meant cuddles. No, you never faked your feelings to him, not wanting to lie to your best friend and consistent childhood companion, you just embellished them.

Relishing in the fact that for maybe, just ten minutes that Tsukki wasn’t just your best friend, that he grew past friends as he aged, and saw you like more, as his other half. The person he wanted to spend not only his childhood years with but also every single one he still had left.

You aren’t sure when you fell in love with Tsukishima Kei.

It could have been his moment against Shiratorizawa when you saw him truly experience joy for the first time in the sport he spent so much time. It could have been the time he gave you his rain jacket when it was pouring before you walked home, knowing it wouldn’t do much against the downpour, but the barrier being symbolic. It could definitely have been the time you went over to study and you walked in on him singing to himself while studying, the soft tenor notes gracing your ears. You only really remember how his voice made your heart skip a beat, the flush of his ears when he turned around catching your eyes.

All you know is that you were hopelessly in love with the man who had been with you every step, every stumble of your life. The man who towered over you but never made you feel smaller than he, the man that laughed before checking on you when you tripped, but always ensuring you were truly ok.

Watching him grow into his height and his body gaining muscles during highschool was both a blessing and a curse. Your eyes were drawn to his figure, shoulders hunched over on his desk, deltoids peeking out of the sleeves in a way that made you want more. Yes, you loved looking at him but sometimes it plagued you.

Eyes scrunched shut and heavy breathing, all you can think about is what Tsukki might look like under those clothes. It was a curse, lewd thoughts of your best friend being the only way you could get off anymore. That didn’t stop you from plunging two fingers in and out for your dripping cunt edging yourself closer to your release. At the precipice, you pull your fingers out and eagerly circle your clit, the other hand moving from gripping the bedsheets to pulling at and groping your nipples. Tsukki’s name leaves your lips like a fervent prayer as you cum to the thought of him. You never felt worse about yourself than you did at this moment, but somehow you found yourself here regularly.

You didn’t know that at that exact same moment Tsukki was in his room thinking about you. The way your smaller hands would fit around his dick, the hesitation you might experience but be driven forward by lust. The thought of being the first and maybe the only person to touch you always drives him to his release.

He might have fooled around with some girls before, a handjob here and there, amidst a make-out session, but he could never find it in himself to go further. He couldn’t, no, didn’t want to be with anyone else, because he knew that the whole time he would be thinking about you under him.

As you had aged, sleepovers became less frequent but were something the two of you still cherished and actively made time for. Tonight is one such night, having just finished your final midterms and gorging yourself on celebratory ramen from your favorite shop. Tsukki’s parents were out of town for the week, but were used to your presence in the house and didn’t mind you being over.

You being there should have been fine, nothing out of the normal but that's not how fate works.

Once you arrived at his place you both changed into lounge clothes getting ready to binge the latest season of Game of Thrones. You went to the kitchen to grab you both some water, knowing neither of you will want to get up once you start.

Tsukki must have had the same idea because as you rounded the corner of the kitchen, you were met with a brick wall and a frigid wave running through your body. You realized it wasn't through your body when your nipples began to harden, peaking through your now translucent shirt. While you are still shocked at the chill, Tsukki looks down to see what happened. Instead what he sees is you, accidentally exposed, the white shirt clinging to the curve of your body like a second layer of skin.

He knows that if he doesn’t avert his gaze that he won't be able to suppress a rising tent in his pants. Committing the image to memory quickly, he apologizes for being in the way, “Shit Y/N, I’m sorry. Feel free to go grab one of my shirts to change into. I’ll clean the mess up.” With that, he moves towards the kitchen to grab a towel, brushing against your body in the narrow hallway.

You head up to his room and go to his dresser, you’ve watched him put his laundry away before, knowing exactly where he keeps his biggest and most comfortable shirts. You strip off your shirt, skin pebbling at the breeze from his fan. Blushing at the fact you are taking your clothes off in your crush childhood friend room, you strip off your lounge shorts now noticing they also have been soaked.

As you pull his practice jersey on you notice it reaches your midthigh, which causes a brief internal conflict. Should I grab a pair of his shorts even though I know they’ll be too big? This shirt is longer than my shorts were anyways, but it’s not the most decent thing. The deciding factor in opting for no shorts was nothing to do with you, rather with the man waiting patiently downstairs. It had everything to do with the glint of intrigue in Tsukki’s eye you spotted earlier, the almost imperceptible hitch in his breath, and the burning touch he left on your body as he passed you in the hallway.

Tsukki was not even thinking about what you would look like in his clothes as he had more urgent problems. His cock was achingly hard in his sweatpants, the gray not doing him any favors of hiding how he felt about seeing your body. He was doing everything he could think of to suppress both the thoughts of you and blood rushing downstairs.

After quickly cleaning up the spill, he got situated on the couch with a blanket hoping it would help hide his current problem as he got it under control. Tsukki spent the remaining time of your absence struggling to distract himself, reciting poetry meditating, anything to not think about it, think about you, think about the curve of your che- fuck he was failing.

His eyes shot open at your weight landing next to him on the couch. Subtly looking over your form, that he now has burned into the back of his eyelids, seeing you drowning in his clothes, his volleyball clothes. Wait, is she just wearing my shirt? His gaze lingering on the soft expanse of your thighs, knowing that he should be able to see the hem of your shorts with the way you are sitting. The thought of you in your underwear almost makes him moan, his already hard dick twitching with precum budding at the tip.

You shoot him a smile, apologizing for taking so long and say you're ready to watch if he is. After some time has passed, the air is nipping at on your still slightly wet skin, you scoot closer to Tsukki and get under the blanket with him. The slight abrasion from his sweats on your skin sent electricity tingling throughout your body and unknowingly did the same to him.

Reaching forward to grab a glass of water after a particularly gruesome scene, your phone tumbled out of your lap. Not really thinking you lean forward and grab it, slightly raising your ass into the air to reach the last few inches. You plop back down with a grunt and throw your arms open, hoping Tsukki would know that this is your way of saying you needed to take a break from the show for a bit.

Neither of you expected the moan that escaped his lips as you brushed across his now very obvious erection. Neither of you knew what to do after either, he flushed red with embarrassment and hid his face, you with your arm still where it landed on his thigh, unable to move. “Y/N, can you please move?.” he barely chokes out. The obvious restraint in his voice was a sound you had only previously daydreamed of.

Driven by lust, or excitement, maybe even fear that another opportunity would arise, you do move, but not in the way he had intended. You get up off the couch and he's sure that you are getting ready to leave, disgusted with him, but instead, you settle in on your knees between his thighs. Doey-eyes looking up through your lashes with hesitant excitement. “Ok, I’ve moved, what next?”

Is the one thing he dreamed about is really happening? The actuality of it seems almost incredulous. “Y/N, stop joking, I’m sorry about this. They just kinda, happen sometimes.” He can’t meet your eye because he’s sure he would cum just from the sight of you between his legs.

“If you don't want me here Kei, I’ll move, but I’m serious.” As you say his first name, another moan comes from his throat, spurring you to action. Biting your lip, you move the blanket and hesitantly grasp his erection.

Tsukki is hazy with confusion but simultaneously everything is crystal clear with pleasure, unable to focus on anything due to the duality inside his head. Even if he wanted to tell you to stop, to stop and think, he wouldn’t be able to choke out the words.

He notices you aren’t really moving which is driving him mad until he looks down and sees just how pure you look. “Kei, I don’t-- I don’t really know what to do. Just tell me what you like and I’ll do my best.”

“Princess, are you sure you still want to do this?” as he pulls you up to eye level, cupping your cheeks. Seeing your nod and nervous smile, he leans forward to kiss you.

The chill that had previously permeated your body is replaced with warmth, the feeling of his soft lips moving in time with yours, his gentle but assertive grip on your back acting as heat sources. It’s a comfortable warmth, an invitation into him.

You plan on taking that invitation as he deepens the kiss, one hand in the hair at his nape, the other returning to palm him through his sweats. As he stops your kiss, holding in a groan you take that opportunity to return to your original position in front of him. Waiting patiently, looking up at him for instruction with an absolutely pornographic gaze.

Tsukki thought the image of your chest was the best thing he would ever see, but this takes the cake. Your hands playing with the waistband, with slight hesitation before pulling both his bowers and sweats down with his assistance.

You knew what a dick looked like, but that doesn’t mean you are any less intimidated when one is just a few inches from your face. Long and curved, a prominent vein running up to the head that is flushed red and slick with precum. His hand rests on your head with the other on his thigh. Seeing his excitement on his face gives you enough encouragement to kitten lick his tip two times. “Fuck Y/N, please don’t tease me,” his voice wavering between a moan and a whine, you’ve never heard him sound so dependent, so needy before.

Knowing that you are the one doing this to him gives you the confidence to start taking his dick in your mouth. You pause at the head, moving your tongue around, unsure what feels good until his grip on your head tightens as you rub against the bottom, just before the shaft. “Fuck pretty girl, please move your head down, please I wan--” A groan cuts him off as you follow his command. Slowly starting to bob along a portion of his length, with increasing speed.

“Spit on your hand and stroke the rest, god your mouth is heavenly” after pulling off to follow his command, you finally notice the familiar Tsukki-induced burning in your stomach, but amplified by a hundred when you see his cock twitch as you spit into your hand. He watched you with half-lidded eyes as you positioned your hand under your mouth, whispering uncharacteristically gentle words of praise.

Soft moans fall out of his mouth as you swirl your tongue around his head on every upward movement. Your hand mimicking the speed of your lips, trying to give him as much pleasure as you can. One particular comment of his shoots straight to your core, “Y/N, I never imagined you would make me feel this good.” The implication of him thinking about this, the same way you have, makes you moan around his dick, which in turn elicits a sharp intake from Tsukki.

His grip has been tightening on your head slowly, but all of a sudden he pulls you off. “Don’t wanna cum in your mouth without asking, just hand me a tissue.”

You never imagined Tsukki making the type of sound he did when you artlessly stuttered out “W-Well you have my permission.”

Returning your tongue to his tip, which is now angrily red and coated in both spit and precum, it only takes a few seconds before he bucks into your mouth as he orgasms. His cock reaches further than you expected resulting in you choking as he hits the back of your throat, unintentionally intensifying his orgasm.

He pulls you off of him, grimacing at the cold air hitting his spent dick, bending forward to look you in the eye.. “Pretty girl, I’m so sorry for that last bit, I didn’t mean to hurt you. Are you ok?”

The pressure of his thumb wiping off a few spare tears makes you wonder what his touch would feel like on the rest of your body. As your mind delves into lewd thoughts, you shift your thighs looking for some pleasure, and give him an absentminded “It was fine, unexpected but I wanna make you feel good.”

He carefully sits you in his lap and pulls you into a deep kiss, slow but hungry. He moves down your jaw to your neck before whispering “Well, I guess it’s my turn to return the favor huh.” You bite back your moan, but as he harshly sucks a spot at the base of your neck it slips out. “You don’t have to hide your noises, princess, let me know how good everything feels.”

He runs his hands up and down your sides underneath his shirt before they find your chest. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve imagined these.” You tug your shirt off and do the same to him. Both of you are just marveling at the beauty in front of you with lust.

He makes the first move, gently bringing your right nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it, as his left-hand switches randomly between rubbing along your side and massaging your left boob. The warmth of his tongue flicking against your pebbled bud is miles better than your own fingers, endless breathy moans falling out of your mouth as you find purchase for your hands in his hair.

You must be unconsciously rutting against him because he stops his ministrations and stills your hips with a harsh grip. “Feeling needy now? Let me take care of you.” Tsukki rolls you off of him and you expect him to get on his knees in front of you, making you clench your knees both out of excitement and embarrassment.

So when he lays down on the floor in front of you and shoots you a smug smirk, “Come take a seat,” your jaw drops in shock.

“No, Tsukki, you don't have- What if I don’t taste good, please don’t worry about it-I don't want to suffoc-” excuses and concerns pour out of your mouth but your body betrays you at the thought of him licking your sex.

“Y/N. Get over here. I want to do this and I’ll ensure you enjoy it.” His tone was commanding enough that you moved from the couch to straddling his head without a thought, losing your panties along the way. Your mind is murky with lust and anticipation, thoughts of how many times you’ve imagined his tongue on your clit being the only thing breaking through the fog.

His tongue pierces through the haze as he runs the flat of it along your entire soaked core. Your body wants to pull away from the pressure but buck into the pleasure at the same time but Tsukki makes the decision for you, wrapping his arms around your thighs so you are snug against his face.

He repeats the action, trying to coax a moan out of you, adding a little more force each time. It isn’t until the bridge of his nose brushes your clit that you finally let out the noises you’ve held in. “Kei- hi- fuck- higher,” breathy moans coat your words in lust.

“Your wish is my command, princess.” His smug tone would have been annoying except for the fact that he was pressing hesitant licks against your clit eventually circling it with the tip of his tongue. You have no control over the whines you are making, only broken up by saying “yes Kei, yes, fuck” and other words of praise

Knowing how it felt when you moaned around his dick, he tries humming with his lips surrounding your clit and if he wasn’t already hard, he sure is now after the way you lewdly moaned his name and fiercely tugged his hair.

The view of your tits heaving along with your breaths drive him to be a little more aggressive with his tongue, mercilessly switching between toying with your folds to harshly drawing shapes into your clit.

Your cunt is drowning Tsukki in slick, coating his face and chin and he’s never been happier. Sucking your folds and using his tongue to taste all of you. He can't believe that anything has ever tasted better than you do right now.

He can tell by the legs squeezing his head, and the shake of your entire body you are close to your orgasm. Wanting to try something new, he slides his tongue into your hole, causing you to grip his blonde locks so hard, you probably pulled some out.

The wanton moans reverberating through the room are the only encouragement he needs to keep pressing his tongue against your tight walls. Your cunt so desperately wants to be filled its almost sucking his tongue in, but you know that alone won’t be enough to make you cum.

“ ‘m close, fuck. Please my clit, Kei please” The loss of his pressure in your cunt is overridden by the shockwaves of his lips around your clit, paired with him tracing letters and a deep moan from his throat. That was all you needed to be pushed over the edge. His moan continues as you ride out your high, hips jerking forward at the intensity.

As he pulls you into a sitting position on his lap, “Obviously I didn’t need instructions on how to make you feel good. I’ve thought about this for years.” You aren’t clear-headed enough to slap him like you usually would. All you can think about is the painful tension already building again in your core and his painfully hard dick pressed into your thigh.

You pull him into a kiss that conveys your unspoken words. Full of need and lust and wanting to make up for all of the time you lost. Your lips meet his harshly, like if you stop that it might disappear, afraid to pull back for air.

As he moves to your neck you instinctively rut your hips against him, looking for some form of release. Growling into your ear, “Oh, so one wasn't good enough for you? You want another orgasm?”

“Well, It’s obvious you want another one,” matching his smugness with another roll that causes him to groan.

Before you can recognize it, he's flipped you over on your back and is hovering over you, eyes committing every inch of you to memory, drinking in the sight of your body, pebbled nipples, slick coating your thighs, love marks he's left thus far. It’s almost enough to make him go feral.

Almost.

“Y/N, are you sure you want to do this? We can stop. I really don’t mind.” The concern in his voice is clearly fighting against the lust, just barely winning over his more carnal desires. His answer comes in the form of your hand grabbing his dick and giving it a few soft, needy strokes.

“Please Tsukki, I need you in me. I’ve thought about this for so long, no way am I stopping”

“Alright pretty girl,” and with that he returns to your deep kiss, your lips feeling like a home he never knew he left. He brings his hand down to your core, ghosting his fingers on your lips before teasing one finger in slowly.

You hiss at the pleasure, hands finding stability rooted in his shoulders. He takes your bottom lip in between his teeth to help distract you while he rocks it in and out of your pussy. Quickly, he could tell that you were ready for a second and slipped it in, being met with you clawing at his shoulders while letting out a wanton moan.

Tsukki moves to place wet kisses along your neck and down to your chest, sucking every once in a while and then following it with a swipe of his tongue. You miss the pressure on your mouth, but you can feel another orgasm building, and it's getting harder to breathe.

You genuinely do stop breathing when he takes one nipple in his mouth and uses his free hand to start rubbing circles into your clit. Well, if this is the way I die, I don’t really have any complaints. The coil in your stomach is about to snap and the only warning you can get out is slapping his shoulders.

The wave almost knocks you out, back arching off the floor while also trying to get more from the man between your legs. Inserting a third finger stretched you so good, he watches you try to fuck yourself on his hand through the orgasm, greedily wanting more.

“You ready, pretty girl? Ready to take my cock?”

“Shit yes, Kei, please fuck me. I’ve dreamed about cumming on your dick, please please--” you are reduced to babbling pleas when he runs his dick along your slit coating himself in your slick. The jolt of pleasure every time his head hits your already over-stimulated bud edges on pain but you don’t want him to stop.

You see stars and hear symphonies when he thrusts into you. A duet of his staccato grunts and your euphonic moans, accompanied by the fortissimo sounds of your pussy as he slides in. After taking a rest for you to adjust to his girth, his pace starts off slow but gradually increasing as you beg him for more.

“Fuck, please, fill me up, god I never thought your cock would feel so good, Fuck”

Your babbling praise is reduced to a high pitched whine when he starts slamming into you harder than before. The heavy slaps of his hips into yours replacing your moans in the melody. You barely process his words as the tip of his cock slams into your cervix with no remorse, over and over and over again.

“Did I just hear you say you didn’t think my cock would feel good? Do you want to go back to cumming on your fingers to the thought of me or do you want me to continue stretching your tiny little pussy out?”

Tsukki never minced his words, but the sheer lewdness of them causes heat to rise in your face. “N-no Kei. Please help, shit, me. Wanna cum on your dick so b- so bad.” His answer is to push one of your legs back towards your shoulder, the new position and the curve of his cock has him hitting that spot inside you always struggled to reach.

Every muscle in your body is tensed up, burning from the desire to cum. Shockwaves of pleasure radiating from your pussy reach the tips of your toes and through every hair on your head.

Your walls are clenching around him, wanting him deeper, even though there isn’t really any room left for him. Your body is driven by lust and disregards any pain you should be feeling, rather interpreting it as a different octave of pleasure.

You find your fingers on your chest, groping and tweaking your nipples, knowing that you get even more sensitive when you are ready to orgasm. “Kei, please cum in me, I wanna cum but I wanna, no I need to do it with you,” it sounds more like a moan or a plea than a request, but Tsukki was already struggling to hold back his own orgasm.

He took your lead, moving his mouth down to your chest and rolling your other nipple against his tongue. Simultaneously, he snakes a hand down to your vagina, to the spot you begged him to touch earlier and rubs meticulous circles on your puffy and neglected clit..

Your back arches off the floor at the first touch of your clit, and your cunt clenched around his dick, making it even harder for Tsukki to thrust in and out. Your orgasm is stronger than its ever been, you’re certain you blacked out for a minute, only coming to when you hear a hearty moan from Tsukki and another wave of warmth in your sex, this time coming from him.

His forehead pressed against your chest as he fucks you through both of your orgasms, hand still curling your clit, attempting to extend the euphoria you both feel for as long as he can. Your hands find their way into his hair and you gently tug and scratch his scalp, making him look up at you.

Your face may be covered in tears, and spit but he’s never looked at you with more adoration. You continue to pull him up to your face, placing sweet kisses all over his face as you both ride out the last waves of your high, his dick still inside of you. Wincing as he pulls out to lay down on the floor, he ends up pulling you into an embrace.

You look over to his content face, illuminated by the television, eyes closed with a ghost of a smile dancing over his lips before he murmurs, “I never knew Game of Thrones sex scenes were quite so realistic, but I’m not complaining.”

“God, Tsukki you’re so annoying,” you say trying to shove him off of you with a laugh, but he just holds you tighter.

“I like it better when you call me Kei.”

Tags

@ceo-of-daichi @roandtheroses @sugawara-sweetheart @nonexistent-social-life

#tsukishima #kei tsukishima #tsuki #tsukishima x you #tsukishima x reader #tsukki #tsukki x reader #tsukki x you #tsukki x y/n #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu smut #kristen writes #soft tsukki #h*rny hours

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trulyinspiringmovies · 2 years

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Casino Royale

“Casino Royale” absolutely blew my mind and I’m giddy even while writing this review!

James Bond has just become an MI6 agent and earns his license to kill after successfully assassinating his first two targets. Bond isn’t perfect at his new job, but proves to be a valuable asset when he successfully thwarts a terrorist attack on Skyfleet’s prototype airliner. Le Chiffre, a private banker for terrorists, loses his investment because of Bond interference and he’s determined to make that money back.

In one movie, Daniel Craig has cemented himself as my favorite person to play James Bond ever. Just like Timothy Dalton, Craig has a darker approach to Ian Fleming’s character. “Casino Royale” is essentially a soft reboot for the franchise and I think it is the single greatest idea this franchise has ever had. Having Bond be a beginner at his craft allows for him to make mistakes. It allows for him to have low points. The fact that he’s allowed to fail makes the rest of the movie extremely engaging to watch. They managed to make a Texas Hold ‘Em game tense as hell. I don’t know how to play any card games, but this movie speaks a universal language to its audience and that language is suspense. The reinvention of James Bond is kicked off with a hyper-stylized opening. It shows how he became 007 and has the best take on the opening gun barrel scene in any movie. Mads Mikkelsen was definitely born to play a Bond villain. I’ve seen him in many movies and always thought he was amazing, so it wasn’t a surprise to see him be amazing in this film as well. Mikkelsen doesn’t play a typical Bond villain. His character, Le Chiffre, is incredibly adept and intelligent, but he’s not the biggest fish. He’s an evil genius who had a horrible stroke of bad luck. Seeing the shadow organization that threatened him immediately rang the SPECTRE sirens in my head. It’s so cool that we never get their perspective on things so that they remain mysterious and ahead of the curb. With all the ingenious changes this movie made to the James Bond character, I can only imagine what this new SPECTRE has in store. This is a James Bond that is efficient. His job comes before anything else, even beautiful women. He doesn’t put the movie on hold just to sleep around. He gets right into the action. Vesper is a great example of a strong and intelligent female character that isn’t artificial. She matches wits with Bond effortlessly and it’s no wonder Bond falls for her. Their love is tangible because he doesn’t win her over so easily. Their relationship develops and grows throughout the movie. He respects her boundaries when she gets traumatized instead of using it as an opportunity to get into her pants. The bond they have together only makes the ending that much more impactful. This movie is about James Bond becoming the iconic spy he is. That’s why saving the iconic theme for the very end was powerful. At that moment, he is THE James Bond. Finally, I want to highlight what was probably the best part of the movie for me. The cinematography is masterful. The filmmakers use every technique at their disposal to evoke the correct feelings every time. The cinematography was stylized but with purpose. This movie was the first James Bond movie that had me cheering when the credits came on. I am officially pumped to see how the rest of the Daniel Craig movies go.

★★★★★

Watched on October 29th, 2021

#Casino Royale #November #2006 #Action #Spy #Adventure #Thriller #Mystery #Crime #PG-13 #Martin Campbell #October 2021 #5 stars

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monstersdownthepath · 3 years

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Spiritual Spotlight: Angazhan, the Ravenous King

Chaotic Evil Demon Lord of Apes, Tyrants, and Jungles

Domains: Animal, Chaos, Evil, Plant Subdomains: Decay, Demon, Fur, Growth

The Complete Book of the Damned, pg. 18~19

Obedience: Ingest hallucinogenic jungle plants and then beat a complex rhythm on a large drum made of human skin and bones while chanting prayers to Angazhan. Benefit: Gain a +4 profane bonus on saving throws against diseases and poisons caused by exposure to the jungle or inflicted by creatures native to jungles.

Heurgh, Angazhan has some pretty restrictive requirements here, and his Benefit really only works against a single environment, making Angazhan one of the most environmentally-locked deities since Dagon! It’s fitting, considering Angazhan is basically only worshiped in Darkest Africa the Mwangi Expanse, a massive and terrifying jungle he’s had his six-fingered hands buried deep into ever since humanity began settling the land. Since worship rarely ever leaves a jungle home, any player character wanting to serve the Ravenous King had better make sure they’ll be sticking close to the vine-draped homeland, or they’re just completely out of luck! Not just because they lose out on the benefit above, but because they lose out on a good number of Boons too!

anyway, it’s a difficult alignment to set up for and keep a secret, if you’re trying to hide your worship of the Tyrant King. You COULD pass off the drum as being made of animal tissues, but the loud chanting to a known and famous Demon Lord and the fact you’re likely to be seeing stars and colors due to your Hearty Breakfast is much harder to explain if someone kicks your door in. The fact you need both jungle drugs and a drum means this Obedience is utterly ruined if you get robbed or have your equipment stolen, though at the very least it’s easy enough to replace your belongings... if you’re in a jungle. If you’re not, getting a new drum is simple, but a visit to the black market may be necessary to restock on your Hearty Breakfast.

The benefit is notably weaker than other benefits of a similar theme; a few deities are generous enough to give universal protections from poison and disease, but Angazhan punishes you for going where he cannot tread. Fitting for a tyrant who likes having people under his thumb, but annoying for someone trying to actually extend his reach. In a jungle area, however, it’s MUCH more impressive than it looks in a vacuum; many, many, many, MANY horrors within the deep and mysterious tangles rely on poisons or disease to fell their enemies and their prey, so the added protection will always come in handy!

Boons are acquired slowly: the first once you reach 12 hit dice, the second at 16, and the third at 20. However, the Evangelist, Exalted, and Sentinel Prestige Classes can be entered as early as level 7; doing so grants you the Boons at levels 10, 13, and 16 instead. Servants of demons may also take the Demoniac Prestige Class; you don’t get the Boons any faster than E/E/S, but you may select which Boon set you get, and you get cool demon-related powers!

------- EVANGELIST -------

Boon 1: The Jungle Consumes. Gain Pass Without Trace 3/day, Tree Shape 2/day, or Spike Growth 1/day.

‘Consumes’ indeed; Spike Growth can render a frankly offensive amount of terrain completely inhospitable (ten 20ft squares!), shredding 1d4 HP off every creature trying to pass through a single 5ft square and threatening to halve their movement speed for a full day every time they take damage. As anyone who’s played as or fought against a Druid can attest to, Spike Growth is useful for exactly two things (slowing an enemy’s retreat or advance) but it’s amazing at doing so. The sheer amount of terrain the spell covers and the length of time it covers for (an hour per level) makes useful for stopping everything from a charging dragon to a charging army... provided your foe has less than 4 DR. In order to halve someone’s movespeed they need to actually take damage from the growth AND fail a Reflex save, meaning even the meager DR 5 you’re likely to encounter at levels 10+ is enough to make Spike Growth completely irrelevant.

If you can use it against a foe who’s not immune to it, though, it’s absolutely stellar. Moving through even a single 20ft square triggers four separate Reflex saves to avoid having one’s movespeed halved for a full day, and--as written--the halved speed can’t be undone with Fast Healing or Regeneration, the victim MUST find a Cure spell. Perhaps the biggest downside is that using it to its fullest potential--that is, to cripple a charging swarm of foes--is unlikely to happen, delegating it to crowd control versus a small amount of enemies.

It’s leagues better than the niche Tree Shape, but Pass Without Trace also has its merits, hiding up to 10 people from sniffing noses and prying eyes for half a day, letting you and your allies effortlessly vanish into the foliage. Indeed, all three of these spells are extremely useful in the jungle setting Angazhan demands you remain in, so if you ARE actually hiding around in the Mwangi Expanse, all three of these can be genuine picks depending on if you plan to be a trapper, a stalker, or a sentree that day.

Boon 2: Canopy Crawler. Your feet become prehensile and apelike, allowing them to act as a second pair of hands for every purpose except wielding a shield or weapon, such as to execute somatic components, to aid in climbing, to hold objects, and to maintain your Dexterity bonus to AC while climbing. In addition, you gain a climb speed equal to your walking speed +10, and can attempt a Climb check in place of the following checks: Acrobatics checks to swing or leap between branches and vines; Stealth checks to remain hidden within trees, and you can move at full speed through them without penalty; and Stealth checks to snipe from trees, the penalty for doing so reduced by 10.

The way this ability is written in the book is kind of a mess, so I tried my best to shuffle it into a more easily digestible form.

Anyway: Freaky monkey feet! For all your freaky monkey feet needs! One of the more unique Boons in the game, and unlike most highly unique Boons, this one is still highly useful! While your handfeet can’t wield weapons or shields, you can use them for more or less anything else while your actual human hands are occupied. Sleight of Hand? No, my friend, I’m on a completely different level.

The big star here is the free climb speed, which automatically gives you a meaty +8 to Climb checks, making the various skill checks it replaces much, much easier to exploit. You become an expert of gorilla... guerrilla... Gorilla Guerrilla Warfare, soundlessly moving from tree to tree and hurling spears or firing arrows with nary a peep but for the whoosh of the weapon through the branches and leaves, moving from position to position as easily as playing hopscotch. Even if you never invested in Stealth at all, you can suddenly pour ranks into Climb and become an ersatz Rogue for the party, leading a silent charge against the foes of the Ravenous King’s cult.

Side note, this ability combines beautifully with all 3 of the spell-likes from The Jungle Consumes, as your brachiating movements put you above Spike Growth, Pass Without Trace makes you utterly impossible to nonmagically track if you attack at night, and Tree Shape lets you become a horror movie villain that vanishes the instant it appears you’re about to be ‘caught.’

Boon 3: One With The Jungle. While in the jungle, you gain blindsight to a range of 60 feet, you gain a +2 insight bonus to AC and on saving throws, and you are never flat-footed or surprised. You ignore cover and concealment caused by natural features of the jungle, as the very plants and stones twist out of the path of your attacks and spells.

An eternal Diet Foresight if your reward for remaining in the Ravener King’s grip, but this ability--unlike Canopy Crawler--is entirely blank if you adventure outside of your god’s chosen locale, a punishing loss of an otherwise incredibly strong defensive ability. Being impossible to catch by surprise is good enough on its own, especially at levels where enemies can have Sneak Attacks exceeding +4d6, poisons that cause people to hemorrhage ability scores, or fatal grappling embraces, to say nothing of what happens if a spellcaster gets the drop on everyone. The +2 to AC and universal bonus to saving throws will struggle to make a difference, but it’s a rare insight bonus and will thus stack with all your existing bonuses... and, of course, it lasts forever so long as you remain in a jungle.

I enjoy that the jungle will shuffle aside to let you shoot and swat your enemies without penalty, making my ‘treetop sniper’ suggestion in Canopy Crawler even more viable. Now, as long as you can see even the smallest portion of your target, the natural world will bend and sway to avoid your blows so that they always strike true, letting you attack enemies without the possibility of them retaliating unless they begin cutting down the whole jungle... at which point they’ll have much bigger issues than just you.

------- EXALTED -------

Boon 1: Jungle’s Wrath. Entangle 3/day, Bull’s Strength 2/day, or Summon Monster III (1 fiendish ape, 1d3 fiendish advanced baboons, or 1d4+1 fiendish baboons) 1/day.

Bull’s Strength is always nice to have to give the beefy members of your party, giving them an extra +2 to attack and damage rolls for ten or so minutes at a time, among other bonuses. Strength bonuses are some of the most boring but practical things you can hand out, because you never know when you’ll just need to do something as simple as moving a large rock or hit something for 2 more points of damage than normal. Having it at twice a day means it’ll likely carry through the most important battles or puzzles you’ll face.

Entangle, however, tends to be the better option here. See everything I said above about Spike Growth? Paste that here, as well, but trade off the damage for the ability to grapple everything trying to move through the 40ft radius(!) of plantlife you’ve affected. In some ways it’s better than Spike Growth, utterly halting the movement of anyone heading through it if they fail their save rather than halving it, and being difficult terrain even if the victims succeed, which halves their speed anyway.

Seeing summoning abilities on a Boon is usually good, but the painful limitation of only being able to summon various demon apes means it severely lacks its normal Swiss Army application. It’s only really good if you need either a distraction, or something heavy moved, both of which could be accomplished with Entangle and Bull’s Strength without it being tied to a creature with subhuman intelligence. At the very least, apes have humanoid hands and can thus perform tasks very few other summoned creatures could do, such as wielding weapons.

Boon 2: Summon Child of Angazhan. 1/day as a swift action, you can summon an Advanced Fiendish Girallon, 1d3 Advanced Fiendish Dire Apes, or 1d4+1 Advanced Fiendish Apes as if you had cast Summon Monster VI.

In spite of my mockery of the Boon above, the ape restriction here is anything but painful. ... well, it’s painful for anyone who’s not you, mind. An Advanced Fiendish Girallon is a CR 8 monstrosity with enough damage output and resilience from the Fiendish template to punch above its weight class. A Girallon is a four-armed, Large-sized ape beast with five attacks (and Rend!) a round, with enough agility and maneuverability to run down fleeing foes or chase them through just about any terrain easily.

It’s also your best option among the summons; the Dire Apes and normal apes are nice, but the chance of summoning a single Dire Ape or a meager 2 fiend apes means a Girallon is the best go-to unless you need a lot of bodies rather than one large one. The Fiendish template is really what gives this ability the oomph it needs to shrug off most of my criticism of Jungle’s Wrath, granting even your normal apes a bit of Spell Resistance and elemental resistance to Fire and Acid... though, notable, both the normal ape and the Dire Ape have too few HD to gain the advanced benefits of the Fiendish template, and none of the creatures here have high enough Charisma to make the Smite Good ability granted to them useful, even with the +4 to all ability scores from Advanced.

Perhaps the biggest gold star this power has, however, is the fact that it can be used as a swift action. You can instantaneously flank an enemy with a murderous gorilla and then stab them in the back when they rightly turn around to look at said murderous gorilla in disbelief, or you can blast them with another spell, or you can do any number of other things with the distraction you’ve just created. Don’t forget that Summon Monster VI also has a range of Close, letting you hurl a demon gorilla at an enemy from 25+5ft/lvl away. The downside, however, is that SMVI also has a duration of a meager 1 round/lvl, meaning you’ll often run into the issue of saving the use of this ability, often until you no longer need it.

Boon 3: Jungle’s Might. You gain a +2 profane bonus to your Strength score and a +2 bonus on Fortitude saving throws.

Useful but boring. It’s moderately better than most stat-buffing Boons thanks to the additional Fortitude bonus, but final Boons typically give +4 bonuses, not +2. There’s no flash or pizazz here, nothing to really expand upon, so lets move on!

------- SENTINEL -------

Boon 1: Tyrant’s Roar. Gain Command 3/day, Sound Burst 2/day, or Suggestion 1/day.

I almost got mad because I mistook Sound Burst for a different, much worse spell. Nope! That was sonic scream or whatever, one I’m so unimpressed with I didn’t even bother looking it up. Sound Burst is significantly better, anyway, able to stun a small crowd of enemies in a single casting, which is exactly what you--as the Sentinel--want to happen. Either because you’re holding back an enemy(/ies) for your allies to get into place, or because you’re holding them still so you can get in close. The damage it deals is pitiful, but it’s automatic even if they succeed against the stun effect, and you never know when 8 damage to up to a crowd will make a difference!

Like most of Angazhan’s blessings, it gets better if you’re in a jungle, as the hostility of the Mwangi Expanse means invaders are likely to be clustered together as tightly as possible to prevent attacks from all angles. Punish them, hard.

Command is in-character for the Tyrant King, and it rewards creative uses beyond the ‘come,’ ‘stay,’ and ‘drop’ commands, though those serve their purpose well enough. I’m quite partial to KNEEL, which fits Angazhan rather well! The only problem is that its low saving throw scaling means it’s unlikely to affect enemies that matter, and in combat it’s often much better to just rush in and start slapping. Out of combat Suggestion is king, though it’s an odd choice for someone who tends to force people to follow his orders through violence and threats rather than relying on coercive and subtle magic. Personally, I’d let the Face of the party or the dedicated enchanter rely on Suggestion, and carry Sound Burst around for those times you need to explode people’s eardrums.

Boon 2: Reign of Terror. You add your Strength modifier to Intimidate checks (this does not stack with Intimidating Prowess or similar feats and abilities) as well as your Charisma modifier. Once per minute, you may use Intimidate to demoralize a single creature within 30ft as a swift action, or all creatures within 10ft as a move action. When using Intimidate to demoralize a creature in this way, if your result exceeds the DC by 5 or more, the creature is frightened for 1 round and then shaken for the normal duration; if your result exceeds the DC by 10 or more, the creature cowers for 1 round, then is frightened for 1 round, and then is shaken for the normal duration. When you use Intimidate to demoralize an ally, instead of being shaken, that creature gains a +2 morale bonus on attack rolls for the appropriate duration.

While normally Boons are built to be taken advantage of by any class within the margins of those who can enter the Prestige Classes in the first place, sometimes you get one that forces you into a specific path. This one highly, highly rewards having both a high Strength and a high (or at least neutral) Charisma, and focusing a feat or two into making your Intimidate as high as possible can see you sending squadrons of enemy combatants scattering and trampling one another to get away from you. I love, love, LOVE that there’s no per-day use restriction on this power, only that it can be used once per minute, meaning you can bring it out in more or less every fight you encounter.

Exceeding the victim’s Intimidation DC by 10 or more causes them to cower, a status affliction barely above paralysis in how terrible it is to be suffering, opening them up to a whole round of being beat on without any ability to retaliate. Even if they survive the round of helplessness, they’re forced to run from you and use whatever resources they have available to get as far away from you as possible... which can be a blessing or a curse depending on what they were carrying and how badly you wanted it.

Being able to Intimidate a single foe as a swift action or a whole crowd surrounding you as a move action is strong, especially if you can bolster your prowess enough to always score 10 higher than their DC (a challenge, but not an insurmountable one)... And even if your enemies are immune to being intimidated either because they’re mindless, starved, or immune to fear, you can use this ability to give your whole team +2 to attack rolls for 4+ rounds. It’s more of a consolation prize than anything else, but note that the final sentence does not say “in this way,” meaning you can use Intimidate normally without needing the 1/minute bolstering to give your allies a bit more accuracy! Wasteful, but viable!

Boon 3: Unchallenged Tyrant. When you perform your Obedience, designate a number of present and willing creatures equal to your Charisma modifier; these are your Thralls. This designation lasts for 24 hours or until you next perform your Obedience. 3/day, you can infuse all Thralls within 50 feet of you as a swift action, granting them a +4 bonus to their Strength and Constitution scores and a +2 bonus on initiative checks, and granting any teamwork feats you have as bonus feats *for an number of rounds equal to your hit dice. If a Thrall dies within 50 feet of you at any time, you gain the effects of Death Ward (CL = half the Thrall’s Hit Dice, to a maximum of CL 20th).

*this ability originally had no listed duration, making it quite awkward and insanely powerful. I’ve added one that makes sense.

Oh, not bad! Another reward for buffing up your Charisma! Even if it’s just to a +2 bonus! And it’s a fine one, too, letting you enchant your allies with a discounted Barbarian Rage, including a bonus to initiative checks to help them move before your enemies even know what’s happening! THREE TIMES a day!!! And--wait, wait, there’s more? You also transfer ALL your teamwork feats to your Thralls? Teamwork feats are pretty powerful but wholly rely on your allies being willing to give up their own feat slots for them, and they utterly fail to work if you aren’t working together or become separated by enemy shenanigans. This ability (along with the Inquisitor’s Solo Tactics) turns those empty feat slots into something truly game-changing due to applying them to all of your Thralls at once. This means that, even if you don’t or cannot join in the fight, they can still use teamwork with each other, and all you need is one of them to be nearby to make use of feats like Lookout (if one of you can act during the surprise round, all of you can), Precise Strikes (+1d6 damage if you’re flanking an enemy)... or, perhaps the most useful of them, Coordinated Charge, allowing you and your allies to all charge the same target.

It doesn’t take a genius to see why Coordinated Charge is one of the best you can use with this ability, as the +Strength and Con bonus means you can turn even the weakest member of the party into another source of damage however small. It also means all of your melee battlers can get into the fray immediately, and if used in combination with Lookout, it can turn an enemy ambush into a pile of severed limbs and broken armor before they even realize what they’re up against.

I also like that if any of your Thralls die, you get a free Death Ward. If you know you’re going up against a necromancer or an Undead with Energy Drain, making an incredibly weak but tasty-looking creature one of your Thralls and sending them in to die is one less spell slot your Divine caster needs to use on you. I’m amused by the idea of blessing one member of your Sack Of Rats and just crushing it in your hand if you ever need a ward. If you have the Charisma for it, definitely try it out!

You can enter Monkis World here.

#Sinister Spotlight #Spiritual Spotlight #Pathfinder #Dungeons and Dragons

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cherrysung · 4 years

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mon amour

pairing: jisung x reader

genre: strangers to lovers au / fluff

warnings: mucho fluff

prompts: none

summary: a short walk to the convenience store paired with your clumsy feet gifted you the world’s biggest heart, and an answer to the question that had always haunted you.

not requested.

word count: 1.6k

note: this is my first scenario, I hope you enjoy it!

cherrysung’s navigation

Love is a very strong word, with many different meanings at that. One people use too much sometimes, and one people regret not having used. How do you know when you love someone? Do you mean it? Do people mean it? How do you even know when you mean it?

You often wondered as a kid what the word and action—love—meant.

Strangely enough, you weren’t thinking about love that one day your mom sent you out on your way to the convenience store in need of some eggs for your dinner. You also weren’t aware of how clumsy your feet generally are as you mindlessly walked back home, the sun that set behind the mountains providing you with a last bit of warmth before cool nighttime took over.

And so; your mind somewhere else, your feet struggling to find a nice pace, and the bag of eggs in your gentle grip dangling from side to side—you tripped.

Not surprising.

What was surprising, though, was the fact your body never hit the ground, but was rather caught by what felt like two strong, lean arms.

“Are you okay?” The person who was once nonexistent in your life, and then suddenly a stranger, asked with genuine concern. He looked young, almost your age, but his beauty was definitely something out of this world. His face was flawlessly highlighted by the last rays of golden sunshine, thin rimmed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, and his white earplugs dangling by his ears after lightly taking them off.

Quickly pulling away from his grasp with tinted cheeks, you nodded, avoiding the stare that was calmly taking in your flustered expression with a hint of amusement.

“You... dropped this?” The boy smiled sheepishly, realizing the bag you were previously carrying, was full of eggs... that unfortunately cracked.

If anything now your face was completely red without a doubt, unable to deal even with the smallest amounts of embarrassment. “Don’t worry about it.” You managed to speak up. “I can buy more.” But your worries only increased as you noticed the sun had completely set, and your mind began filling with thoughts of your stressed, preoccupied mother that pondered over your lack of early arrival.

The freakishly tall boy smiled again, his narrow eyes creasing ever so slightly and his nose scrunching up in an attempt to push his glasses up. “Here,” your eyes watched as he raised his arm a tiny bit, noticing the bag of eggs that his hand, unlike yours, actually held tightly. “Don’t go to the store, it’s late already, which is not safe at all. Take these, I have more at home so it’s fine.”

Your mind was telling you to decline his offer. Yes, it was only a bag of eggs, but your mom always warned you to not talk to strangers, much less accept something from them. But, something in your heart told you to take them. He looked like a very kind boy—timid, but very nice. Also, why not? Your mom was going to beat you if you got home without them.

Reluctantly, your hand reached out, grabbing the bag of white and beige eggs before a smile etched its way onto your face, “what’s your name?”

“Park Jisung.” Your new acquaintance, or at least you hoped he was, answered as his lips mirrored your own, quickly throwing in a small folded, ripped paper into the bag held by your much smaller hands, unknowing to you. “I have to go, but I hope we can meet again.”

Your eyes watched as who used to be nonexistent in your life, then a stranger and now an acquaintance, calmly turned around and began making his way home. You panicked, wondering if you’d ever actually meet him again, “wait! My name is Y/N!”

Now you find yourself here, laying in bed, remembering how you met the boy who you once thought was only someone you randomly crossed paths with on the streets because he offered some of his help.

You didn’t know you’d get home that day only to be yelled at by your mother, or that you would find the ripped piece of paper Jisung smoothly dropped into the plastic bag when you weren’t looking. Much less did you ever think his phone number would be messily written down on it.

More so, you did not think you would actually text him.

As you stroke the sleeping boy’s hair next to you, you realize that’s one of the best spontaneous options you’ve decided to choose. A simple action brought so much joy into your dull life.

Little did you know so much would follow; little hangouts—whether it be at his house or yours, a couple parties and late reunions at shady diners. Your life became so colorful with Jisung in it, so interesting and so full of happiness, you didn’t even notice the day you caught feelings. Even Jisung himself didn’t notice when he caught feelings for you either.

After many hangouts, parties and late meetups at shady diners, same routine after same routine—followed little, cute study dates neither of you dared admit were really just dates, with the study excuse excluded. Eventually came your actual first official date arrived when Jisung finally found the courage within his system to ask you out.

By your fifth romantic occasion, followed your first kiss, a day engraved in your mind you will never forget and certainly one of the most special. Maybe it was the innocence of the moment and how you both were inexperienced with no idea on how it worked, or maybe it was the millions of butterflies that created chaos in the depths of your stomach as Jisung leaned down to press his lips to yours. He was intoxicating, the faint scent of strawberries and baby shampoo in his messy locks filling your entire senses as your lips molded against his slowly.

It was a very short and sweet kiss, with accidental teeth clashing initially due to your lack of experience. Even still with many small mistakes, it was full of trust and love and pureness that you wouldn’t change for anything else.

Yet again, you didn’t notice the day you fell in love, neither did he.

Realization eventually dawned upon you, when you started hearing in your ears how your heart thumped crazily against your chest every time your eyes landed on him no matter how many times you had already seen him before. How you felt like your world was complete if he was in it, and how you felt sad when he was sad, or happy when he was happy. Every single little thing he did was enough for you to burst out into excitement; but most importantly, his presence or voice alone could make your heart do so many consecutive leaps.

You came to the conclusion that it was indeed love, when anything that you did together took a special place in the secrecy of your fragile heart and emotions. Jisung could take you to a cheap restaurant, write down adorable letters instead of gifting you expensive jewelry or Valentine’s Day chocolates. The two of you could simply stay at home after ordering questionable takeout from the corner chicken shop while you watched cringey movies with awful scripts, the list could go on. In spite of any of those things who anybody would deem wrong, you love him. At the end of the day, you’ve saved and appreciated all of those memories sincerely; and still do, like now.

As your fingers kept running through his brown locks gently, you finally understood this was the meaning of love that you had been searching for all along. Love for you wasn’t what you heard in the movies or read in the books. Love, for you, is Jisung. Your love lives in him, he is your love.

A soft whine brought you out of your endless thoughts, your head turning to look at the very sleepy boy beside you as his eyes opened slowly to look up at you.

Your heart did a leap, as always. Even with a tired, swollen face, messy hair and an angry pout, Jisung still looked flawless in your eyes.

“Y/N, what are you doing awake at 4 in the morning, it’s so late?” Your boyfriend slurred, his eyes struggling to remain open.

You sent him a small smile, shifting on the soft mattress until your arms were carefully secured around his waist and his head rested happily on your rising chest with every breath you took.

“I was thinking about something called love. it used to be a mystery to me.”

His head turned to look up at you slightly, hair sticking in all directions and some covering his forehead, it was a sight you never wanted to forget. “Used to? Did you find your answer?” He asked, but spoke up once again with a playful glimmer in his honeyed eyes, “oh, I know. You love me.”

An unsurprised chuckle left your lips at your boyfriend’s cocky words, but you nodded your head anyways, “I don’t only love you, Jisung. You are quite literally the love of my life, I’m sure of it.”

“I don’t only love you either. You are also the meaning of love, to be frank, I am impossibly infatuated with you.” Jisung answered with blushing cheeks. “Love really is unpredictable and can come from nowhere, even from meeting a strange girl whose eggs cracked because she wasn’t aware of her ungraceful walking.”

You cracked a laugh, jokingly smacking his head softly. “Yes, and because of a boy who basically slid into my DM’s in real life.”

Gentle snores sounded throughout the room as they slowly left Jisung’s slightly parted lips, head still on your chest as your hand resumed with its massage on his scalp. You whispered quietly before closing your eyes.

“It was you all along. The one you love defines love.”

That’s how your journey on ‘what does love mean?’ came to a finish.

The answer was very obvious. It was your boyfriend, Park Jisung. Your love.

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moon-riverandme · 3 years

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And in the Beginning There was... Light, Film Rolls, and Controversy.

Watching old movies has always been one of my favorite pastimes. I love the cracks in the film, the oddly tinted placements of color, the quick, scattered movements of the actors, and the slice of an intertitle. It all just makes sense when I think of those first filmmakers who were trying to make sense of their new medium. In my journey through film, I will start at the beginning. Well, sort of the beginning. Our main topic of discussion takes place in 1903. So we’ve skipped over a few years… 15 to be exact. I’ll sum them up now because if I miss a beat I’ll ruin the scene.

Let's start in October of 1888 when Louis Le Prince has just recorded the very first film. It’s short yet scenic; his family gathers in a garden and for the first time ever - they move. A man walks across the screen, the rigid bustles and day dress of two women sway as they turn away from the camera - ergo we have a moving image years before Edison would invent the kinetoscope. Of course, most don’t know of Le Prince and in school I never heard his name mentioned. In fact, I only heard of him through a Buzzfeed Unsolved video. So what happened? Why did history remember the names Edison and Lumière but not Le Prince?

There were many entries in the race to create the first film. And of course, there are arguments as to what cinema is in comparison to a bunch of still photographs played one after another. Strange, I think is this argument. For film is a series of stills or frames played one right after the other. Nevertheless, in 1878, we have the famous images of a galloping horse caught by twelve cameras set up by Muybridge to capture motion and to study animal locomotion. Motion but not a movie. What we needed was a camera that had a single lens capable of capturing a point of view. That’s what Le Prince did. Unfortunately, as history would see it, he mysteriously disappeared on a train to Paris in September 1890 right before his first public screening in New York carrying luggage that contained all of his work. Neither Le Prince or the luggage has ever been found. Quite the coincidence.

There are a few theories: Le Prince committing suicide, Le Prince’s own brother killing him, Le Prince fleeing due to his sexuality being outed but none have stuck... except one. Le Prince’s widow, Lizzie, believed Edison, his biggest competitor in the race, had him assassinated. The evidence? The discovery of Edison’s journal containing the following entry, which has been proven authentic. It read:

“Eric called me today from Dijon. It has been done. Prince is no more. This is good news but I flinched when he told me. Murder is not my thing. I'm an inventor and my inventions for moving images can now move forward.”

Take of that what you will.

Today, we are taught that Edison’s kinetoscope launched the novel medium of moving pictures into our familiar. When it was invented in 1891 by Edison and Dickson, the kinetoscope was a peepshow-like device with a "sight opening" on top that one viewer at a time could look into and watch a moving picture. Think about it like looking into a microscope - very different from how we view films now both in method and price, it was 50 cents for access to all films at a given venue.

In 1897, an improvement on Edison's device arose. Invented by the Lumière brothers, the cinematograph contained both a camera, projector, and hand crank. Now, audiences could sit and screen films. I'll circle back to Edison as he connects to our 1903 topic. But first, let's take a stop with the Lumière brothers.

Auguste and Louis Lumière are credited as the first filmmakers. Their documentary-esque films Workers Leaving The Lumière Factory and Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat are milestones in cinema. Known as travelogues or actualités, they showed the casual and working life of people in the mid to late 1890's. These shorts were even screened to audiences who jumped out of their seats at a train onscreen because they thought it would actually hit them. The Lumière Brothers took their screening all over the world, from Paris, to India, and China.

Watching these films, it's hard not to put yourself in the shoes of a passerby, a random person whose name we don't know, who exists in a few frames before disappearing to time. Like a fossil, it's interesting to examine what life was like back then. I love seeing the clothing. Everyone is so formal, at least compared to the laid back air of today. Even so, in the 1890’s people were moving away from the Victorian Era and into the “New Woman” Era. High necklines and longer sleeves were replaced by the open neck and short sleeves as morning turned to dusk. High chiffons under feathered hats were popular as was the shirtwaist style for work. All of these visible in the Lumière films.

Where we jump from reportage to fiction is where we jump from Lumière to Porter. And back to Edison, who had Porter working for him. Projectionist and electrician turned director, Edwin S. Porter was the brains behind many of the mechanics and techniques that have become so highly engrained in the making of films that the idea of them being novel seems almost impossible. In 1899, Porter became head of moving picture production at the Edison Manufacturing Company and throughout his career, which spanned about 15 years, he made more than 70 short films. So lets look at a few of them in detail.

Jack and the Beanstalk (1902)

You'll see that a lot of the narrative ideas for these early films spun directly out of fairytales. For an audience, fairytales were a familiarity. Thus, they were able to stitch together what they already knew about the characters and stories and better understand these new moving pictures. And Porter knew this from his work as a projectionist. He knew what engaged the audience most. And that wasn't just story, it was technique. Porter's films were revolutionary for what would become known as editing, at that time just cutting film. Simplistic and impactful, he knew how to compact time and create magic. Objects and people appear and disappear in a single cut. The camera remains still, a wide shot, and on a tripod but what's in front of it changes slightly, making for magical realism. For example, once Jack makes it back down to earth after descending the beanstalk, he grabs an ax and starts chopping it down. He's got to do this or the giant chasing him will make it down too. So he swings the ax a few times with all his might. From a large beanstalk, ripe with leaves, reaching up to the sky, we immediately cut to a destroyed one. The fact that we end one cut with Jack in the same position as we start the next, keeps from disrupting the audience even though everything else onscreen has changed. We've condensed time, Jack has saved the day, and the Giant has fallen to his death. Porter would expand on this editing style, perfecting it, discovering cross-cutting.

Life of an American Fireman (1903)

Cross-cutting or parallel action is so integral to editing that it happens in just about every film. Simply, two separate events are occurring - say, a woman trying to escape a fire inside of her house and firefighters rushing in a horse carriage to save her. These two events, perceived to be happening at the same time, are stitched together through editing so that the audience experiences both. Cut to the woman in her house as the fire inches closer to her. Cut to the firefighters rushing up the stairs. Will they get there? Will they save her? Cross-cutting serves to create tension and set the rhythm of a scene. Eventually, the two spatial points of view merge and the conflict should be resolved. This originates in Porter's films and Life of An American Fireman is the first one that shows it off.

Let's cut back to the first shot of this film, it's a trick shot. A sleepy fireman dreams of a mother putting her daughter to bed. Abruptly, the fire alarm is set off and he wakes up. Instead of cutting from the fireman dozing off in his chair to a separate shot of the mother, which would create confusion on whether the fireman was dreaming, Porter uses double exposure to frame the dream above the fireman shoulder. Double exposure had been employed by photographers since the 1860's to produce dreamy situations in otherwise ordinary places but in film, it first appears in Georges Méliès Four Heads are Better Than One. When we see the house aflame for the first time in Life of an American Fireman, the same mother and daughter from the dream pair reappear. The fireman's premonition connects back to the main drama of the story.

The Great Train Robbery (1903)

In this film we take the leap from a theatrical approach to cinematography, where the camera simply watches the action at a long-shot or observing eye, to being involved in the action. One way that Porter does this is by integrating the pan.

Panning is a technique that moves a camera side to side in a fixed location. We haven't taken the camera off of a tripod or stepped forward in anyway, we are simply turning left or right on the horizontal axis. If we took a step forward and followed a character or action we'd have a tracking shot. But we aren't there yet so plant your feet in the ground for now. Porter uses pans to reveal. The first pan is executed about six minutes into the film. The robbers jump off the caboose with their stolen goods and make a run for it. But where are they going? Queue the pan and we find out it's down some steep hills and into a forest. The subsequent shot is them in the thicket of a forest. Running passed the camera until all but one have exited camera left. But how will they get out? Queue the second pan to reveal horses - their getaway plan. This pan is masterfully done. I love the way Porter keeps his camera static and just observes the tumbling, running robbers until only one is left onscreen. Then and only then does he pan left to reveal the horses. By leaving only one person onscreen, not only does the audience have less to track but so does the camera. Simplifying the frame down to only the necessities of the action, one robber running away in a forest, amplifies the pan and makes the reveal feel complete - we reunite with the group of robbers and horses.

Depending on which version of the film you watch, you might be surprised by waves of color among a sea of black and white. Tinting whole films blue, amber, or sepia has been around since the origins of moving pictures, but in The Great Train Robbery, Porter selects specific actions or objects to tint. This was all done by hand.

Color is one big manipulator. Think of light blue and you'll likely picture endless summer skies; an air of calm. How about Green? I picture the tangled tree webs of a jungle - adventure, growth, the smell of dew on fresh leaves, nature. Now red. Explosions, fire, burst of emotion. Yellow? A bright, morning sun, a blooming sunflower, happiness, positivity, a new start. Early filmmakers used color to bring attention to specific objects, people, and actions. They used it to draw out an emotion from the viewer. They used it to connect themes of violence, love, and happiness. And they used it to spice up their frame.

Porter hand paints the explosion of a train lockbox bright orange and a deep red. The smokey pops from gunshots are also a fiery red. The dress of a dancing woman is bright yellow. The coat of another girl is a rich purple. The addition of color cultivates realism but also gives the film a flair of the imaginary.

So, we have the creative process of tinting to enhance the visual characteristics of a story and we have panning to push forward the important aspects of a narrative. Let's add a few more ingredients to our recipe.

Because the story cuts back and forth between the robbers, the operator, and the posse of men who will eventually hunt down the robbers, it has parallel action. Three separate storylines, integrated through the edit, that coverage at the end. Now that we have the way in which the story is cut and delivered, how about some specific effects?

In shots where the action occurs inside the prop train, which is not moving but the audience is meant to believe it is, Porter uses double exposure to ground his location in reality. He filmed exterior, moving shots and layered them onto the static train shots. In the '30s this would become known as "rear projection".

Additionally, Porter creatively placed his camera in new ways to produce frames that diverged from the typical wide shot; bringing the viewer closer into the action. For example, at about 2 minutes and 50 seconds in, the camera is propped on top of the engine car roof while a sneaking robber crawls passed and kills a fireman.

At last we arrive at the final shot. Diverging from the narrative, Porter set this up to look like a wanted poster. It is filmed in a medium close-up, which serves to focus all attention on the subject by filming them waist-up, having them fill up most of the frame, and blocking out the surrounding environment. The robber points his revolver right at the camera and shoots six times. If you've ever seen Goodfellas, Martin Scorsese recreates this at the end with Joe Pesci. Seemingly, the purpose was to shoot the audience. To tell them even though all of these robbers were killed in the end, their spirit doesn't die. It says "I'm warning you- it's still dangerous out there." Funny enough, this wasn't even the original intention. The shot was promotional and where it ended up in the film was entirely up to the projectionist. It could've just as well been placed at the beginning if they wanted. Even so, the break in the fourth wall and punch of dramatics that ended the film still prevail through cinema history today. Completing the recipe for one the first Westerns, ripe with shootouts, chase sequences, bandits, and suspense.

The Kleptomaniac (1905)

When moving pictures are void of sound and spoken dialogue it's a bit difficult to understand what characters are doing onscreen. Heightened emotional and physicalized acting made up for this. Through facial expressions and over the top, exaggerated body movements, audiences could connect the dots to figure out what was going on in a scene. But in 1903, Porter directed Uncle Tom's Cabin and introduced intertitles, words that would appear printed onscreen. Early iterations of intertitles read like book chapters. They described the main action that was about to take place in the scene. In Uncle Tom's Cabin some examples include: "The Escape of Eliza", "Rescue of Eva", and "Tom and Eva in the Garden. In The Kleptomaniac, intertitles state location and give context to where we are, which is helpful because without them, I don't think I could follow what was going on - at all.

Location is such a main element in this film that intertitles are practically non negotiable. "Leaving Home", "Arriving at the Store", "Home of Thief", and "Court Room Scene", prepare us with the information that is necessary to fully understand the purpose of each scene. The department store shot isn't clear-cut. It could've been a mail room or an office. If we miss that it's a department store that our main character is visiting (and stealing from), we miss the connection to the thief stealing food later on in the film and thus miss the whole theme of class disparities. The intertitles supplement for lack of onscreen information and sound. They would be used regularly in the silent era, branching into dialogue intertitles and expositionary intertitles before dying out with the advent of sound.

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leapingtitan · 3 years

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The Final Season - Episode 1 Thoughts

I've watched the first episode around 3 times on my own and over a dozen times from anime-only live reactions on YouTube. Those are always something to have a field day with every season, and are part of the whole enjoyment post-watching the episode on your own.

Obviously I'm only reviewing this based on the first episode, so it's way too early to judge The Final Season as a whole. However, I will say that my strategy to keep my expectations low definitely worked. I was very hyped, don't get me wrong, but after Season 3 Part 2, I realized that production and scheduling has never been this show's strong suite and things behind the scenes were always chaotic. And it was my mistake to realize it this late and have unrealistically high expectations of the manga's adaptation.

But enough about that. I'm just gonna say it right now. I absolutely loved this episode and was completely blown away by it. It was a rollercoaster ride from start to finish and boy, the staff wasn't kidding when they said the first episode was like a movie. It definitely felt like that, and it went by in a flash. Now, on to the individual points.

Story/Adaptation

Flawless. Everything was executed perfectly and went beyond my expectations. The thing that stood out to me the most was how many things were changed from the PV in terms of scene construction, camera angles, and overall storyboards. There was only one shot that we reused from the PV, namely the one with Zeke and Reiner inside the airship where they're referred to as the spear and shield. Everything else was redone, which was a huge surprise. Wit was always very faithful to the original manga panels with how they used them as a big reference for most of their cuts, but this one changes them up a lot. Personally, I am 100% fine with it and as someone who has read these chapters in the manga dozens of times over the past few years, seeing them like this was a pleasant and very welcome surprise.

The anime-only additions here are notable and also quite welcome. Falco's line in the beginning in particular stood out the most in the long-run, but the addition of the Eldians' terror being shown as well as the scene before the ED was very welcome. I would like to assume that this was Isayama's doing as whenever the anime usually adds/changes up things, it's his request to do so. He sort of considers the anime to be the "definitive" version of the story that he, for one reason or another, couldn't do in the manga himself when that particular chapter came out. Season 3 Part 1 (The Uprising Arc) is a prime example for this. Once again, I'm very content with what was done here and I trust MAPPA will do the story justice.

A small but very neat thing is the fact that we got to keep the title cards and the info eyecatches mid-episode. Really added to the whole sense of consistency.

Animation

When the initial trailer came out, many people were concerned about Shigeki Asakawa (Director of Photography)'s odd and excessive usage of blur filters on top of the scenes and were wondering if they would remain in the final product, given her track record with other shows like The God of Highschool. Luckily, that is not the case here as the scenes look very clean and the minimal blur on top adds a bit to the muddy/gritty atmosphere of what's going on. Personally, I don't mind it at all and I barely notice it anyway. MAPPA's biggest strength to me is the usage of effects like blood and explosions. You feel the impact of everything and with such an action-packed episode, it made everything so much better.

The usage of 3D CGI for the Titan Shifters has been the biggest controversy surrounding this first episode. When I first watched it, it didn't bother me at all. Personally I care more about a model fitting in the action sequence rather than how it looks for the most part. Right now I would say I'm neutral. It's not the greatest CG ever conceived in anime but it definitely does not look out of place and is pretty decent. For the Jaw Titan, I couldn't tell what was CG and what wasn't for the most part. For the other Titans it's more obvious, but it's not too jarring. Obviously, if it was up to me and the production committee/NHK didn't push their scheduling shenanigans onto MAPPA, I would have gotten every Titan in 2D, but you can't have everything. If they choose to focus on more important scenes later on and cut corners in this first episode as a result, that's understandable. I can live with it. And again, even then, it's not that bad in my eyes.

Now, the character designs are just absolutely stellar. In multiple interviews, it’s been stated that they wanted to stay true to Kyoji Asano’s designs at Wit while also being consistent with Isayama’s style in the manga. And boy did they absolutely nail it. It’s exactly what as they said. Tomohiro Kishi could not have done a better job with the characters we’ve seen so far and I am beyond impressed with his work. I look forward to seeing the rest of the characters in this arc.

Sound

I've been following Kohta Yamamoto's works for a few years now, ever since he started working with Sawano (and being mentored by him to an extent) in early 2017. Although he's been involved with AoT before, particularly with the character songs in Season 2, whenever those two would collaborate on a project it would usually be because Sawano is too busy to compose a full soundtrack. So what usually happens is, Sawano does one track and variations of it (think ShingekiNoKyojin, ThanksAT and T-KT), and nothing else. Meanwhile, Yamamoto handles the rest of the music for the show. On top of that, Yamamoto's style as a composer is different from Sawano's as he comes from a rock/guitarist background as opposed to Sawano, who is a pianist and is classically trained. My biggest concern for The Final Season was that we would get a similar case as with the other shows where Sawano doesn't put in too much effort, while Yamamoto essentially becomes the main composer. Although it looks like this is in fact the case after this first episode, let me explain why I don't think it's a bad thing.

After the premiere of the first episode, both Sawano and Yamamoto tweeted that it was in fact Yamamoto who is handling the majority of the Marley Arc's music. And after this first episode, I have to say I'm impressed. His initial track that he made for the PV was a bit off-putting to me because it sounded like every epic blockbuster Hollywood trailer background track ever, but after the way it was used in this episode alongside a few other tracks, I have to say I'm pleasantly surprised. It fits what's going on, and overall delivers a fresh sound to the show that is very appropriate given the massive change in narrative. Back during S3 Part 1, Sawano stated in an interview that he was already burned out and had trouble coming up with new music for AoT given how many tracks he had already composed for it. Given how few new melodies were in S3 Part 2;s music, I think this should be clear. Especially now that we're going into yet another season. To summarize, I think Yamamoto's work here is a result of three conditions that just happened to line up perfectly. The change in narrative, which the new composer style reflects. Sawano being busy. And Sawano being burned out with AoT. Now personally I still believe we're going to get at least one new original Sawano track with variations of it for the big climax moments this arc, and he may compose more music for the 2nd half of this 16-episode season, since that's technically a new arc. But we'll see. As a whole though, I'm satisfied with what I've heard from Kohta Yamamoto in this first episode.

The last point to make in regards to the sound is Masafumi Mima who, apart from Sawano, the voice cast, and some freelancers, is the only one from the previous seasons' staff members to return here. And once again, his work here is absolutely phenomenal. The mixing and usage of sound effects in this episode was stellar and truly felt like I was watching a war movie. It enhanced the action tenfold and I could not want it any better. Music usage is something that goes through the director (Yuichiro Hayashi), but ultimately the sound director is the one who implements the track (instrument layering/stem editing) and does the mixing. The usage of Kohta Yamamoto's music here was very well done, and although the track from the PV repeated quite a bit, it didn't get repetitive at all. Also, the sound director remaining consistent here means we got to keep things like the titan transformation sound effects, which may be a small thing but was very welcome and added to the whole consistency.

Opening/Ending

I'm gonna wait until Shinsei Kamattechan releases the full version of the opening in a single or album to fully judge the song, but boy do I love this opening. Although I'm not sure if the TV-size version is my favorite AoT opening yet, I have to say that it's without a doubt the most fitting OP this show has had until this point. It perfectly showcases the themes of war that this arc focuses on and has this lowkey disturbing eerie vibe with the dissonant chords and mixing of the vocals that feels just as "mysterious" and "tense" as the show itself. I love it so much, honestly. Now, Isayama was a fan of Shinsei Kamattechan prior to them doing the S2 ED, and was the one who got them on-board to do it. Although that song isn't really my thing it's also a perfect fit, which leads me to believe that Isayama himself most likely chose the band again, namely to do this OP. And it's fantastic. I love the song. The visuals also have a very distinct style with all the colors and white backgrounds and I love how it's more metaphorical and symbolic (I guess "abstract" as well?) rather than flat-out just spoiling everything like the last arc's OP did.

The ED by Yuko Ando is fantastic. The first time I listened to the full song on its own I couldn't stop getting chills. Love the production aspects of the song and it's just really nice altogether. The visuals are quite interesting especially towards the end and I also like them a lot. Not much else to say about the ED. It's amazing. Go listen to it.

Conclusion

As a whole, I kept my expectations extremely low prior to the premiere despite my hype. As a result of that, not only were they exceeded, I was absolutely blown away by this first episode in pretty much every way. It may still be too early to judge, but from what has been shown here so far, I am absolutely looking forward to see MAPPA adapt the rest of this amazing story, or about as far as they can get with 16 episodes.

#well this just became a whole essay lmao i'm sorry about that #anyway i hope y'all have been doing well #i don't plan to use tumblr actively again but it's nice to have a place to post huge rants like this #but yeah smh at discord lmao #snk #shingeki no kyojin #snk the final season #snk season 4

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project-ohagi · 4 years

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Dabi x Reader

Buy me a coffee!! <3

His fractured, starless life had one beacon of hope and solace - one thing that he longed to return to every night; one thing that fuelled the raging fire within him. You, a quirkless woman, gorgeous in appearance as well as soul, illuminated the labyrinthine void in which he had become lost. His dull world turned on its head. You loved him for all his little habits, all his sweet, genuine words, and all his imperfections. You had remained blissfully unaware of his chequered past, and although he wished to be more open with you, he refused to reveal who he really was. You didn't watch a lot of television, instead electing to read at every given opportunity. He memorised the titles of your favourite books, and the names of your favourite authors, so he knew exactly what to get for you come special occasions.

He knew which movies and fandoms fascinated you, and the names of all your co-workers (you know, just in case). Your perfect visage was scorched into his brain, embezzled with sparkles and flowery symbolism. If he ever cried, it was because of you, and just how emotional you were able to make him. Regret was swirling around his system, lurking in the darkest crevices imaginable. He wanted to remove himself from the veil he was tangled up in, but something compelled him to stay. The League of Villains had no knowledge of you, obviously, since Dabi didn't feel like being blackmailed, and he certainly didn't want you harmed because of a few stupid mistakes on his part.

What he didn't know, however, was that a small bundle of flesh and nerves was swimming in the confides of your womb. You were with child - his child - and absolutely elated. Your hairs stood on edge, while you paced around the compact apartment you shared with your long-time lover, Touya. Telling him would be no easy task - you revelled in apprehension. You weren't completely certain what your child's surname would be, considering Touya had never actually graced you with his. Regardless, you adored him, and doted on him whenever possible (you were exceptional at massages). Being without a superpower, yet more than content, you led quite a normal, average life. You attended university, pursuing a subject with which you were spellbound. Your life now was far better than that of your childhood, mostly because you now had Touya to love and comfort. There wasn't much room to dwell on the past, and you weren't particularly bothered about hounding your boyfriend for answers, and possibly pushing him away in the process.

He must have been a compulsive liar towards those whom he regarded as pawns or simply insignificant, but he never managed to fool you. This fact always made him smile; he was very proud of you. However, it was impossible to see through that which he hadn't even mentioned. His surname was a complete mystery to you, and he hadn't bothered to provide your intelligent head with a false one. Another piece of the shattered jigsaw was his background - you had never met his parents, and you were forever unaware of his siblings. He always seemed really touchy-feely about this topic. You also had no idea of his affiliation with the villains, despite his mugshot being plastered all over the news and billboards around town. Somehow, you bypassed every single one of the posters and brightly-coloured images on blinding, high-quality screens in shop windows. For this, he was extremely glad, and counted himself lucky.

If only the entire Earth was a figment of his twisted imagination, then perhaps Dabi could mould it into something new - a utopia in which the two of you were free to live and be happy, maybe even raise a few children. He wondered what it would be like to have mini pyromaniacs running around the place. Or arsonists. Whichever worked. In a heartbeat, though, he would revoke any association with the League, whisk you away and settle down with a cup of coffee. He would never permit you to comprehend his true nature, or all the unhelpful thought that wormed their way into his brain. He would keep you safe. His intentions were nothing but pure, but he was definitely willing to use the necessary force if you voiced the urge to abdicate the relationship.

You were a rare soul of amaranthine loveliness, blended with determination to excel and the perfect amount of maternal interest. It was as if he had struck the single, golden chord on a harp, and lured you out of hiding. You weren't exactly dependent on him, but you didn't deal well without him, either. The two of you would have been inseparable, if only you went out together in public. The villains never pressed for his biggest secret - the scars, and so they didn't realise that it was just a disguise. They were removable, and you had never seen him with them. He was a little embarrassed of them, in all honesty, and didn't wish for you to show disgust. They made him seem abused and broken. It was the optimal way to hide his true identity from his father, and therefore the general populace.

One day, however, everything changed for the worse.

Usually, Dabi was more cautious when returning home, so as not to put you in danger. This time, he was too excited, although that didn't show on his face. He could just feel that something good was about to happen. He didn't quite know what, but he felt that unfamiliar surge of excitement. This impeded his normal alertness, however. He failed to notice the heroes tailing him. He reached the apartment, walked up the stairs and into your awaiting arms. You almost cried with happiness. Finally, he was back, and you could tell him the wonderful news!

That was when the heroes chose to appear. Having utilised Edgeshot's quirk to evade the door, three of them soon stood in the hallway. Immediately, Dabi pushed you backwards, sensing that someone was about to use their ability. He was right. Your legs were shaking, and you wanted to fall to the ground, but you stayed strong. Your beautiful (e/c) eyes had widened, and you watched, transfixed, as your lover remained motionless. He met your eyes, and that was when you understood - he wouldn't use his quirk while you were in the vicinity. He refused, simply to keep you safe. You sobbed. What had he done to deserve such cruel treatment? All the man-handling seemed draconian and unnecessary. Suddenly, you felt a kick in your stomach. Whimpering, but trying not to further alarm your boyfriend, you covered your mouth with one hand.

The heroes apologised for the disturbance, and were about to leave, when you cried, "Wait! I need to tell him something! It's really important! I swear it won't take a second!"

Alas, they would not let you. Without a proper interrogation, they went off the assumption that the man you now knew as Dabi had drugged and kidnapped you for his own personal enjoyment, and you may have developed Stockholm Syndrome somewhere down the line. You tried as hard as possible to clear the air, but they weren't having any of it. They kept muttering things like "Poor thing" and "She must have had one hell of a time" behind your back. You cried and cried, for hours on end. You refused to eat or sleep. You wanted nothing more than to be back in your small apartment with your lover, Touya. The heroes had exposed you to the news reports on the villains, specifically the Vanguard Action Squad, of which Touya was the central focus. Through this, they hoped that your 'programming' would be reversed, but instead, you cried out for him every single day, pleading with police and heroes alike for his release.

When his unscarred visage was released into the calloused hands of the media, they instantly made the connection to the current number one hero, Enji Todoroki, and vehemently stated that Dabi must be his eldest son, Touya Todoroki. You supposed it made sense, but you honestly just wanted him back. You didn't care about his past, and you vowed not to question him. He could tell you in his own time, when he felt comfortable.

No more than a few months could have passed, but you were a dishevelled rag of hair and junk food. Wrappers and the like were scattered around your apartment, as you had taken to the complete opposite side of the spectrum - you had gone from eating nothing at all to eating anything and everything to fill the hole in your heart.

"Touya...Touya..." You bawled. "Just come back to me....p-please. You d-don't have to tell me anything...! I just want y-you back..."

You cuddled with his favourite pillow.

When you heard his voice, you thought you were hallucinating.

"Well, I'm back, and I'll tell you anything you want to know." The pleasant sound reverberated in your ears, causing you to look with a jolt.

Sure enough, he was home.

Touya Todoroki had returned to you, and this time, you would not let him leave again. Not when you were pregnant with his child.

[Word Count: 1536]

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia x reader #dabi #dabi x reader #todoroki x reader #touya todoroki #pregnancy scenario #my hero academia imagines

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wackygoofball · 4 years

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Moodboard: Jaime x Brienne - Time Travel AU

Most people find solace in fiction.

Up until very recently, Jaime Lannister didn’t consider himself to be one of those people. He always enjoyed sports over reading anyway. Yet, ever since his right hand had to be amputated following a horrific accident, Jaime found himself somewhat unable to follow his athletic interests the way he used to.

And so, he now finds himself roaming through the dusty hallways in Westeros’ biggest and most formidable library, the Citadel, hoping to find the only remaining copy of a book he used to read as a child, the only book he ever read with enthusiasm, in fact.

Of course it’s a book about the legendary knights of the former days. Galladon of Morne, Ser Duncan the Tall, Arthur Dayne, Goldenhand the Just, you name them. As Jaime goes through the pages, he stops when he catches some scribbled lines on one of the pages.

“It’s yours. It will always be yours,” Jaime murmurs to himself, frowning. Strange that none of the pain-in-the-ass librarians seems to have caught that. Be it as it may, he continues to read and tries to ease into the easy childhood memories, the familiar stories of his youth that used to give him joy even when times were rough.

But suddenly, the familiar words are anything but familiar. After all, Jaime knows how the story should go. The knight should ride boldly into battle to free the fair maiden from the evil dragon. Instead, the knight is crying out for help.

Last time he checked, there was no new version of the tale. Confused, he flips to another random page, but this passage is changed, too. This time, a young woman from the story tells the knight that what he is searching for will not be found in the castle – when that is where the knight has to go. Jaime knows this. He read the story at least a good hundred times to his younger brother because it was one of those stories featuring not just a strong fighter but also a clever knight.

However, no matter to which page he turns, everything is changed, to the point that the plot of the stories is perfectly lost. Just as he is about to put the book back on the shelf, Jaime sees a figure standing in the hallway, almost translucent, bathed in the meager light in the old library. And if he didn’t know any better, he’d say that it is a knight, but the moment he moves, the figure is gone again.

Needing answers, Jaime “borrows” the book that doesn’t have a library loan option, really, as it is a reference work, being the only one of its kind. One of the advantages of being a rich boy – even if they demand high fees in turn, he can pay that out of his pocket at once. But for now, the only thing that matters is this most strange book.

The car ride back to the hotel doesn’t make things much better as he keeps seeing this figure appearing whenever he eyes the book or calls the stories to mind, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say the knight is scolding at him.

After more pages that keep changing and the figure appearing over and over again, Jaime has had enough and consults the next best eye specialist. Something must be wrong with his vision. To his shock, the doctor finds that he has perfect vision. So to the next doctor he goes. If it isn’t the eyes, it must be the brain. But this doctor finds nothing wrong with him either, though he does suggest to Jaime to maybe see a therapist.

And maybe the guy is not entirely wrong with that.

Not knowing what else to do, Jaime calls up Tyrion for help. The younger brother believes it to be a joke at first, then his brother losing it over his amputation at last, but realizing just how serious Jaime is about the matter, he comes to see him.

Jaime asks Tyrion to read the book and tell him whether those are the same words he used to read to him as a kid. To the younger brother, it is the same story, despite Jaime seeing entirely different plots unfolding. Jaime reveals that he sees this ghost-like figure whenever he reads aloud, which prompts Tyrion to suggest to do just that. If the ghost is real, he should see it, too, right? And if not, Jaime can at least be certain that it is something going on inside his head. Jaime starts to read aloud, and as expected, he starts to see the scolding knight again.

Tyrion is just about to tell him that he can’t see a thing, when suddenly, both hear a woman’s voice ring out, telling them to stop.

“This either means that we both have lost our golden shit, or we both have just stumbled into a ghost movie without asking.”

Tyrion starts to see the same figure, much more solid now, to the point that it almost seems like the knight is just like them, a lady knight in fact.

“You must stop reading this book at last.”

“Why? And why are you telling me only now?”

“That is already part of the problem. I can only speak to you because you already read so much of the book aloud.”

“What now?”

“You bound yourself to the book in most dangerous ways, that is why. You must rid yourself of the book before it is too late – and read no further than you already have,” she warns him. “Or else the book will swallow you, like it swallowed me.”

“So you are stuck in this book?”

“I am the young woman in disguise, giving the just knight direction. I am the knight slaying the dragon. I am Ser Galladon. I am Ser Duncan the Tall. I am all of them and none of them. Every day, for the rest of time. For that is the nature of this most wicked curse. That is why you must stop reading. You must burn it, destroy it, so that no other soul can fall into the same trap I stumbled into.”

“But what becomes of you if we destroyed the book?”

“It does not matter. This is the only way I know to break the curse. I pray you, save yourself and everyone else who may pick up the book and read aloud, so to be consumed by those never ending stories of old.”

“And you know for a fact that destroying the book will break the curse?”

“I do not know. What I know is that you can’t read a book that no longer exists.”

“Then maybe that is not the safest option.”

“If you finish reading the book, it will devour you whole. That is what I know – and that is what I wish to prevent. No one should have to suffer the same destiny as I did.”

Tyrion suggests that they may want to do some more research on the matter before burning much of anything.

“As far as I am concerned, you can read all of it safe for the last page. So just don’t read that page and you should be fine. Sounds manageable to me.”

When the mystery knight introduces herself as Brienne of Tarth, the two brothers perk their ears. Both have interest in history since they were young and thus surely know of the legendary woman knight Brienne of Tarth who fought during the Long Night and disappeared some time after the war without a single trace.

Brienne is quite shocked to learn that the current year is 2300 AC. After all, the two look exactly the same as the Tyrion and Jaime she knew back in that old life she had before she was sucked into the book. Though then she reminds herself of the words the Crow gave her short before disappearing from Winterfell thousands of years ago.

History will repeat itself. We may have won the war against the dead in our time, but we did not defeat the great darkness engulfing the world in the future. I see the future – and it is still dark and full of terrors.

After some prodding from the brothers, Brienne reveals that it was her grief over the loss of the Jaime of her time that got her into the situation. He fell in battle, protecting her.

“I only ever held him as he died, just like Renly. That seemed to be part of my wicked fate all the same.”

After the battle was won, she was visited by the Red Witch who gave her a book, this book. Brienne wanted to believe that she meant to offer solace after the grief she brought her before, but once Brienne finished reading, she was sucked into the book.

“And that was the end of my story and the beginning of the never ending tale.”

While Tyrion dives into research in the hope of finding a solution to this most strange problem, Jaime spends his time trying to get to know both the woman whose story entwined itself with his but also with his namesake, whom Brienne must have loved a lot, as fondly as she speaks of him. Though of course, she wouldn’t admit to it.

As their journey continues, they start to write an entirely new story, one of love lost and found.

Though the ending of this story will only be revealed on the very last page.

And there is no way to know whether it’s a happy ending or a story meant to end in tragedy all over.

After all, history repeats itself, and so do stories.

#jaime x brienne #jaime lannister #brienne of tarth #game of thrones #got moodboard #got aesthetic #moodboard #aesthetic #wacky writes fanfic #in smol #this one is actually pretty old but I forgot to post it #for reasons

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mst3kproject · 4 years

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Sorority Girl

It can be hard to find this specific movie, since several others have been made with the same title, even as recently as the nineties. Us MSTies, however, demand the original – the one with Susan Cabot and June Kenney from The Viking Women and the Sea Serpent and Dick Miller from Gunslinger and It Conquered the World. It was produced and directed by the reliably awful Roger Corman, and Ms. Cabot has apparently said in interviews that they didn’t really have a script, just a list of stuff that was supposed to happen. Sorority Girl is a step up from Curse of Bigfoot, but that’s praise so faint that you’d need the Hubble Space Telescope to pick it out.

College student Sabra is a colossal bitch and nobody likes her. Unsurprisingly, the only person who doesn’t understand the correlation between these two facts is Sabra herself. Determined that others should suffer the way she has, she plays her sorority sisters against each other until her mind games drive one of them to attempt suicide. Then I think she drowns herself. The end.

On a technical level, Sorority Girl looks and sounds very nice – the photography is crisp and the blocking and direction, while nothing spectacular, tell us what we need to know. You can tell who’s who and remember everybody’s names, and the costume designer did a good job of suggesting everybody’s personalities and goals through their clothing. The soundtrack puts both music and silence to pretty good use. The only glaring flaw in the film itself is a scene in which the sound of rolling waves almost drowns out the dialogue, but that might just be my sound system.

It’s sufficiently well put-together that it makes me kind of angry, because all that relative competence is in the service of this nasty, depressing movie that hates everybody and everything. Watching it makes you feel like you need a shower. The movie is here to show us women being horrible and spanking each other (no, really), but it’s not even over-the-top enough to be any fun.

I don’t understand who we’re supposed to root for in this movie. It can’t be Sabra herself, because she’s thoroughly horrible and there’s not even any reason for her to be doing what she does. It’s not like the others have wronged her in any way – if they had, perhaps we could take some nasty joy in her revenge but we can’t. If the rest of the girls had any sort of spine we could root for them, but they’re nonentities. Future student president Rita stands up tall in front of voters but is a pushover in a crunch. Shy Ellie is nothing but Sabra’s punching bag and we feel sorry for her but she’s too pathetic to actually like. Troubled Tina is pregnant and we feel for her predicament but she, too, is more an object of pity than a heroine. Sabra’s mother seems to love her but doesn’t understand what she needs.

Sabra’s motivations remain a mystery even to herself. She makes various excuses for them throughout the movie – she claims she wants revenge on Rita’s boyfriend Mort for snubbing her. She gets Tina to join her in her blackmail scheme because she says they both need money. At the end she yells at everybody, saying she was driven to this because they wouldn’t let her into their clique. No sort of excuse is ever given for her appalling cruelty to Ellie, who really does seem to look up to her. In Sabra’s own words, she just feels driven to hurt people and doesn’t know why.

All her schemes fail anyway. She doesn’t manage to take Mort away from Rita. She doesn’t manage to get the money she tries to blackmail him for. She doesn’t even succeed in staying out of trouble for the shit she’s already pulled, since at the end everybody gets together, agrees she’s terrible, and turns her in. We’re left feeling like this whole story went by and nothing was ever accomplished. The other characters’ stories don’t come to any conclusion either. We don’t find out if Rita won the election or if she and Mort will get married. We don’t find out what’s going to happen to Tina other than that her parents are coming to pick her up. We don’t find out if Ellie got a life. Everything is just left dangling.

It is never explicit how old any of these characters are supposed to be, but both Sabra and Tina are said to be financially dependent on their parents, and the movie seems to be going for some sort of statement about young people getting into trouble when unsupervised, so I’m going to assume they’re undergraduates. All the actors are, of course, about thirty. Some of them, like June Kenney as Tina, look younger. Some, like Barbara Cowan as Ellie, are trying to look younger and failing. Others, like Dick Miller as Mort, look older. The biggest casting mistake was forty-year-old Fay Baker as Sabra’s mother. She’s just barely old enough to have a college-aged child, but Susan Cabot is in no way young enough to be that child. I could buy Baker as Cabot’s stepmother, but when she’s supposed to be her actual mother I just keep thinking of Space Mutiny.

Perhaps it’s not fair to complain about Mort’s age, since he manages the campus pub and may not be a student. If that’s the case, though, it does make one wonder about his relationship with undergraduate Rita… and the string of prior student girlfriends he’s mentioned… so let’s just not go there.

We get hints that Sabra may be mentally ill. She seems to be upset by her own inability to stop doing terrible things, and at one point reaches out to her mother for help. Her mother assumes she just wants money, and brushes her off. Perhaps we’re meant to think Sabra feels ignored and powerless, and therefore seeks power in whatever form she can get it. We’re probably supposed to feel sorry for her but other than the one visit to her mother she never seems to make any real attempt to better herself. She gives up, goes back to school, and resumes trying to ruin everybody’s life. It’s really quite appropriate that the movie is bookended by Sabra sitting on the beach whining about how she wishes she could start over, because it ends exactly where it began. Sabra is still a colossal bitch and nobody likes her.

If this movie were going to have any sort of punch, I really think it needed to be just a tiny bit longer. Rather than watching Sabra just sit and cry on the seashore, we needed to see her face the consequences of her actions, whether that was arrest, expulsion, disownment, or some combination of the above. Her implied suicide is just a means whereby both she and the writers can avoid any thought of consequences, and is inherently unsatisfying.

Watching the movie for the first time, I really expected Tina to jump and for the truth to come out only after she was dead. Realizing she had somebody’s blood on her hands might have been enough to shock Sabra out of her self-absorbed haze and actually try to be a better person, only to find it was far too late. That this does not happen is in some ways a relief, but it also kind of feels like the movie chickened out. Tina dying would certainly not have made Sorority Girl into a good movie, but it would have been a far more impactful one.

On the other hand, Tina not dying includes the single detail in this entire movie that I actually liked. Throughout the movie, Tina has been sitting on her terrible secret and wondering what to do about it. She never tells a soul – Sabra only finds out because Ellie, Tina’s room-mate, heard her talking in her sleep – out of fear that she’ll be branded a slut and treated as an outcast. Such was the 50’s. Certainly the thought of telling her parents never even seems to occur to her.

But the movie never treats the situation as Tina’s fault. Her pregnancy is not a punishment as Paula’s was in The Violent Years, it’s just a problem that exists and one Tina isn’t coping with very well. Other than Sabra, everybody who finds out about it takes steps to help. Ellie immediately tells Sabra because she believes that Sabra will know what to do – and when Sabra orders her to keep the secret for Tina’s sake, Ellie does so even when interrogated by the house mother. Sabra, being the colossal bitch she is, then blackmails Tina into blackmailing Mort, threatening to tell everybody he’s the father unless he gives her money. Mort refuses to be blackmailed but he doesn’t judge Tina for being pregnant. Instead, once she’s gone he gets in touch with her parents for her… and they don’t judge her either, but immediately come to her aid. So good on the writers, if there were any, for that!

This solidarity also makes the point that all the girls in this sorority really are there for each other and it’s literally just Sabra who is the reason they can’t have nice things. I still don’t know if we’re really supposed to feel sorry for Sabra but this particular detail makes it even harder.

Of all the movies that were ever on MST3K, the one Sorority Girl most reminds me of is The Sidehackers. They don’t have anything in common plot-wise, but both have endings in which nobody wins and it seems like there was no point besides to make the audience feel crummy and lose all faith in the human race. I don’t know what was going on in the year 1957, but here in 2020 we do not need help with that shit. I’m gonna go watch Pixar movies for the rest of the week.

#mst3k #reviews #sorority girl #episodes that never were #tw: suicide #fuck this movie #50s

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hysteriium · 5 years

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Expect the Unexpected

Gif not mine!

(A/N): Okay maybe this is really specific, but there’s this one scent that’s literally the best smell I’ve ever smelt in my entire life? It’s like an oceany scented candle - my description literally does not do it justice I made it sound gross - and omg idk why but I could literally just picture Arthur having something along the lines of this cologne?? But maybe I’m biased. Here it is if you wanna check it out but omg like I’m not even joking when I say it’s the best thing I’ve ever smelt (and I collect a shit load of candles).

!! ALSO - FORGOT TO MENTION ‘C/n’ = child’s name !! lol

Summary: I honestly don’t know what to write for this one?? AHAHAH

Pairing: Arthur Fleck x Single mum!Reader

Word count: 8600k+ (I know, I know, shhhh).

Warnings: 18+ SMUT STUFF! Fluff and swearing!

////

When Arthur found himself in the slowly decaying, yet otherwise well taken care of backyard of one of his requestors, performing under the gloomy Gotham sky, never, would he have expected it to change his life. Especially for the better. No, never had he thought, for the better.

Arthur fiddled with his wig, the tips of his fingers scurrying under the strip of white which crossed his forehead, adjusting it. The fake, frizzy green locks were no longer lopsided, and he continued his routine in front of the kids before him. Laughter filled his ears. The only merriment he was accustomed to, and on that same train of thought, welcomed. It was nothing like the devious cackles of those who made fun of him.

No, the laughs before him were honest and kind; they appreciated him. Most touching of all, and similarly foreign to him, was the fact that they actually asked for his jokes.

He often wondered where things went wrong. When exactly did children, who were, for the most part, good-natured and compassionate, turn into horrible people? Transforming into the very same type that treated him like a punching bag? How and why, did they soak up the resentment of the world like a sponge?

He supposed it was during adolescence.

Teenagers were mean.

That much was evident from the purple blotches on his back, markings that were still yet to dissipate, and tender to touch. From such a horrible experience, at least he was able to draw one positive out of it. The positive being that his clown costume was ridiculous enough to hide his battered and bruised body. Away from prying eyes.

Then again, it wasn't like anyone would have cared.

Ultimately, he tried his best not to focus on the path his thoughts were leading him down. One of his biggest struggles was staying in the moment, and right now, with the crucial task of performing for a child's birthday, he needed to be grounded. To emphasise this, Arthur dug his nails into his palms. Painful enough to snap him out of his digression, lax enough to keep the blood rushing and undisturbed under tested skin.

As Arthur was finishing up his act, the magic wand which he seemingly pulled out of nowhere - at least from the kids' perspectives, produced a collective awe. He waved it around, bouncing from toe to toe in his giant clown shoes, flicking it towards the birthday boy. Said child was a small, (h/c) haired boy with twinkling (e/c) eyes; his name, (C/n).

(C/n) flinched when the wand was suddenly centimetres from his face. Though, he giggled when he saw the expression on the clown's profile. It feigned shock, a gasp leaving his apple-red painted mouth. The clown, which the child only knew as 'Carnival' retracted the stick, inspecting it with squinted eyes. Alongside this, his spare hand flew up to his face, scratching his chin in thought, looking as though he had never encountered such a complex dilemma in his entire life.

Then, without warning, the wand fell. No longer as sturdy as a stick, it wilted like a dying flower. The clown panicked, watching as it wiggled around in his desperate hands like a worm. While all seemed gloomy for the fate of the magic item in his hands, the children were giggling gleefully, intrigued at what would happen next. It was times like these that made Arthur's job bearable; made life bearable.

All he wanted was to make people smile.

Arthur, pretending as though he was about to give up, engaged with the object in one last attempt, the flick of his wrist propelling the rod into the air. Much to the children's astonishment, the wand had straightened itself, snapping back to its previously sturdy arrangement, with no sign of its prior drooping.

They had long since formed a circle around the colourful man, looking up in wonder, clapping for him.

Arthur then slipped the item back into his pocket, performing a victory clasp. He threw his interlocked hands over his shoulders and shook them in response to the applause. When the children hushed their amazement, Arthur stuck his pointer finger in the air, wordlessly requesting their attention. His eyes then shut tight as he concentrated. Whipping out the rod from his pocket once more, he gave it one final spin.

The children waited.

Nothing happened.

Arthur opened his eyes. Confused. It was difficult for him to process what happened next because it all happened so quickly. One second he was puzzled, the next he was rendered stunned, with a face submerged in flowers. First, he had heard it, the sprout, as a prominent 'whoosh' filled the air. Then he felt it; felt it tickling his nose.

The flowers themselves were not real ones, but they were vivid; pinks, purples, greens and yellows sprouting from the wand's end. Trying to play it off as though it was planned all along, Arthur mimed a sneeze, shaking his head.

With a sheepish grin, the clown pulled back. His face was now safe from the sinister touch of the vibrant, ticklish extensions, and he handed the hued bouquet to the birthday boy, hunching over to reach him. It wasn't hard to decipher what the boy was thinking. Unquestionably, a mixture of amusement and joy as laughter bubbled from his throat; his joviality a contagious song.

And thus concluded Arthur's act.

"You're so cool Carnival!" (C/n) hollered, waving the newly acquired flowers around.

Arthur beamed down at the boy.

"When I grow up, I want to be just like you!"

Arthur attempted to restrain the look of pain which crossed his animated features.

No, kid. No, you don't.

Not wanting to ignore the poor child, he shot (C/n) a forced smile and ruffled his (h/c) hair.

"No. One day, you're going to be even better."

The child gawked up at him, hope dancing in his gem-like eyes, reflecting light.

Thankfully, the moment didn't last long as Arthur's concentration was ripped from the depressing interaction. He had caught a glimpse of you, the parent, entering the backyard. You had tried to smoothly open the door, an attempt to reduce the obnoxious squeaking from the object, though your steady pace was futile. Despite the hesitant speed at which it was tugged, it was a protest that sustained.

It was just another complaint to add to the shitty standard in Gotham; everything was half-assed. A primary disease which ate at the heart of the city, decaying and transforming it into the bleak, loveless and harsh mother it was. When you were one of Gotham's children, affection was seldom. No matter how hard you tried to impress the mother, to display your achievements, to show strength, to get back up when you fell, the mother remained emotionless. Perhaps, she kicked you down some more.

Gotham was her name, and tough love was her game.

Arthur watched you, in all his costumed glory, and drunk in the way your hair was softly carried by the wind. How your skin was kissed by the suns rays; how you moved away from the shading of the roof, which protruded meters from the brick walls of the house, spotlighting your features. He honestly felt like he was in a movie, a movie that was set up for disaster - knowing his luck. He couldn't wait for the great mystery of how he was going to screw up, to unravel before his eyes. Could he even call it a mystery? He knew it was inevitable. A non-mysterious mystery? Expecting the unexpected except it was actually unexpected, though somehow, still expected?

Did that even make sense? He thought.

His brain hurt.

What was he doing again?

"Mum!" (C/n) shouted, rushing up to you, simultaneously breaking Arthur's buzzing thoughts as well as the one-sided staring contest he had engaged in.

"Hey, there buckaroo!" you grabbed onto his small form and hoisted him up against your hip, "how's my big boy?"

Arthur watched the heart-warming scene from afar, sorrow tugging at his heart. He couldn't help but flick through his memories, to try and find a time where his mother had been just as caring. Limited, but nonetheless there, he yearned for change; for his past to change. He'd been the man of the house for as long as he could remember. Even at a young age. With no father or even knowledge of him, he was forced to take care of his mother. And while he loved his mother, with all his heart, it was an arduous task to take care of yourself and your own needs when you were supporting someone else.

"Good!" The child giggled in your arms, "Carnival is my favourite clown! Can we have him over every week?"

You couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"I don't know buddy, I-"

"Please, please, please, please, please?" (C/n) whined, looking up at you with large hopeful (e/c) eyes.

"Run along and play, and maybe I'll talk to him," you tapped his nose, "that sound good?"

The boy frantically nodded his head, and as you set him down, he bolted off to join his friends. When he was on the other side of the yard, you turned towards the party clown.

"Sorry about that," you sheepishly grinned.

Arthur didn't really know what to say, the scene before him had truly made his heartthrob. It was a warmth that left him with some strange mix of belonging and attachment. Never before had he felt so appreciated. He wanted to say something, be honest, express his gratitude. And so, he said the first thing that came to mind:

"It's fine."

He wanted to kick himself.

"It's kind of strange how much he likes you. He's never really open. He can be quite..."

"Shy," Arthur finished for you.

When you gave him a quizzical look, he was quick to explain, "I-I, uh, I was the same."

Your lips upturned into a soft smile.

"Well, (C/n) must've picked up on it. Kid's are good like that - sensitive to vibes. It means you've got a good heart."

Arthur fidgeted, the words melting him.

"Oh! Um, thank you for coming on such short notice…sorry, I never caught your name?"

"A-Arthur."

"Glad to know your name's not actually Carnival."

His eyes sparkled at your joke, his amusement filling the yard.

"You're probably exhausted, come, I'll make some tea. Or coffee? Is there something you prefer?"

He was about to protest, not wanting to bother you, to go back home to his crummy apartment and lose himself in his journal for the rest of the day, but something compelled him to agree to the offer. He wasn't sure what.

"Coffee is okay, thank you," his smile hadn't left.

When you turned to lead, his eyes flew to your hands, searching for a ring. He also wasn't sure why he let himself.

There was none, however; no jewellery at all.

Huh.

He quickly caught up and shuffled inside after you.

"This really means a lot," you started, closing the screen door before turning to face him, "to me and, obviously to my son..."

A sombre look replaced your smile.

"...I haven't seen him this happy since we moved," you looked back at (c/n), watching him jump up and down with his friends, their voices filtering through the mesh.

"You're not from Gotham?"

You shook your head, rounding him to shift further into the kitchen, behind the counter. His eyes followed your zipping from, moving when you were out of view.

"Sugar?"

Arthur found his hands fidgeting with his wig again, refusing eye contact. A soft 'sure' passed his lips, followed by a 'two, thank you' as the porcelain clink of mugs being placed, echoed. The soft scatter of sugar followed soon after.

"Please make yourself comfortable, Arthur. You can sit down if you'd like."

The scraping of the chair from behind told you that he listened.

After a few moments of silence, he spoke up. You could tell he was starting to open up, less nervous than when you had first spoken to him. It was endearing.

"With all due respect miss-

"(Y/n)," you interrupted, turning to grin at the man. You noticed he had taken his wig off, his red foam nose too, displaying his almost raven coloured locks and chiselled features.

"(Y/n), he repeated. The way your name rolled off his tongue had your stomach fluttering, a sensation that caught you off guard.

"Why did you move to Gotham? It's not exactly the...best place to be."

"Life works in funny ways," you started, "one minute you're on top of the world, the next the floor crumbles beneath you, and suddenly you're in a hole."

Boy, did Arthur understand. Although he knew you weren't able to see him, with your back turned towards him, he nodded his head frantically. How were you able to so eloquently sum up his life? His whole existence?

"Sorry, I'm oversharing," you awkwardly laughed.

"No! I know what you mean..."

With one flick of the kettle's trigger, you returned to Arthur.

"I take it you're a native Gothamite?"

He nodded.

"I live with my moth- … my mother," his voice lost confidence towards the end as if he was ashamed of such a fact.

This was only supported when he scrambled to get out his next words, "she needs help sometimes, and I'm the only one who's around to take care of her."

"I'm all she has…"

You gave him a reassuring smile, gently touching his interlocked hands which were resting on the table. He flinched at the contact.

"You don't need to justify yourself, Arthur. I'm sure your mother's proud to have raised such a compassionate man."

You had caught him off guard - that was for sure. Flicking through the entirety of your interactions wasn't needed to come to the glaringly obvious conclusion that he wasn't used to being complimented. That he wasn't used to any form of nicety, and that fact well and truly broke your heart.

Who had hurt him?

Arthur had yet to find evidence of repulsion - yet to find anything that indicated you were weirded out by him; like the guys at work. He relaxed into the hold a second later, when he realised it wasn't anything threatening. Or, part of some malicious, ulterior motive.

"As strange as this might sound, you're really easy to talk to, Arthur. You're a good listener."

"Really?" He couldn't hold back the crooked, love-struck grin that infiltrated his features, and he was about to compliment you too when the shrieking of the kettle broke up the moment, causing you to pull away from him.

He felt cold; the warming action starkly contrasted with the wind which permeated through the mesh door.

In seconds, you had returned with your steaming beverages, warning of the burning hazards, though your touch hadn't returned.

Fast-forwarding through the small talk and the stories which decorated your conversation, Arthur eventually finished his coffee, and never before had he been so smitten. Out of all the jobs he'd gotten this week, which weren't many, this had been the most enjoyable. Although his work here had finished a while ago, he had tried to stretch out the minutes, just to hold onto the glimmer of happiness he knew would dissipate as soon as he left. He could feel time laughing at him, sticking its ghastly tongue out while telepathically hammering the fact home. He couldn't drag it out any longer.

And so, when it was time for him to leave, heading towards the door, he paused and swallowed his pride, doing what he thought was best.

"Did you want to get dinner sometime?" He said, turning back around as he placed an awkward arm against the arch of the hallway, leaning on it. He saw it in movies. The cool, nonchalant characters always got the girl, so it must work.

Right?

No, that was stupid, he thought.

He forced the limb down, it bumping against his side.

His fingernails dug into his palms again, for the second time that day, pressing against the very same spots as he waited for a response. He was expecting rejection. No way would she say yes, what was he thinking? At least he could say he tried; at least he'd had one positive interaction in the last few months.

Sorry kiddo, guess Carnival's not coming back.

His negative thoughts were disrupted by the sound of your reply. A reply in which made him delighted for taking a chance.

Because your next words were nothing but a sweet package of glazed agreement.

"I'd love to."

Uttering something about a day and a time, to which you agreed, he quickly found his way out of the house.

When he slipped outside into the fresh air, he shut the front door. Away from everyone's gaze - at least those he cared about, namely you. He felt compelled to move. One of his legs with a mind of its own crossed over the other, twirling him around against your patterned brick pathway; a path in which led to the small gated exit. His arms then followed a similar pattern, striking the air, drumming into it. With one slide, the soles of his shoes skated against concrete, pushing him towards the iron gate. He felt good as he opened it. He felt confident. Laughter bubbled from his lips, failing to halt as he travelled further and further away from your house.

He smiled all the way home.

And, it was only until he reached said home, emptying out his pockets while changing into more comfortable clothes, that his fingers brushed up against a flat, smooth surface; thin and malleable. He wrapped his digits over the peculiar material and brought it to eye-level, palm exposed.

It was a small, folded piece of paper. White, though crumbled from being cramped up in his pocket.

He didn't remember placing it in there...

Arthur's eyes grew wide when he unravelled the mysterious sheet, a line of numbers taking up a good portion of its space. Below it was a small 'call me - (Y/n)' written out neatly, a drastic variation to his own child-like scribbles. He reclined his head against a nearby wall, letting his childish exuberance take over.

Turns out you were quite the magician yourself.

———

Arthur sat alone, leg jittering as his eyes glanced back and forth from the clock on the pale wall opposite him, above the entrance. With each darting glance, barely a minute between them, he became increasingly aware of the chatter around him. While there weren't many people in the area with him as the tables were more empty than they were filled, he was highly conscious of the fact that he was the only one there without company.

For the first time, he looked out the window he rested against. The chilled frame soothed his hot face as he watched people stroll by, hoping to catch you. His attempts were, sadly, in vain.

You were late.

When he returned his gaze to look back at the clock again, he tried his hardest not to make eye contact with any of the staff. He knew that if he did, they'd flock to him like a swarm of bees. Instead, he kept his head low, pretending to look at the menu.

After another five minutes passed before the bell hanging off the door finally rang. His gaze immediately shot to the noise, locking with yours. Air left his mouth, both in relief and at the red dress you were wearing, coincidentally matching his own red suit. It hugged your figure, complimenting every curve, and he tried his hardest to keep his eyes from wandering.

You hadn't stood him up.

As your beaming face lit up the world around him, your clacking heels took you to the booth opposite him, observing the room with a smile as you did so.

"I'm so sorry I'm late!" You exclaimed, placing your purse down, sandwiched by you and the wall.

"Kids," you rolled your eyes.

"You came," were his first words, his eyes riddled with a strange confusion, yet a light - hope. He believed he had articulated his surprise internally, that was, until you gave him a look.

"Of course! Why wouldn't I?"

"I-I don't know." He sputtered out.

He did.

As you both got settled in, Arthur for the first time that night willingly made eye contact with one of the servers. Your orders were speedily jotted down and taken to the chef within minutes.

Conversation flowed, and his jokes actually got a reaction out of you, much to his surprise. The tension, or rather the anxious energy that seemed to bounce off the two of you melted, fading away light the lights of the cars that sped by the open window. In its absence, a playful aura took told. Small touches here and there, and your leg which rubbed against his, even if it was accidental, left his head spinning. This, he thought, was bliss.

"So," you started, a finger twirling around a strand of (h/c) hair, "I've decided."

Arthurs brows furrowed, allowing you to continue.

"I have to tell you something," you said, rubbing your hands against your dress; a nervous tick.

A finger curled into his collar, tugging at it to cool his heating body temperature. Arthur's anxiety which was already a mess, exacerbated from hearing one of the most infamously terrifying phrases.

"I feel like it'll be good for me to open up - I haven't told anyone since I've left. No one really knew in the first place, except a few friends."

Arthur didn't know what to say.

It sounded serious. Your words held a unique gravity to them. And while he felt the air around them shift, from light-hearted and playful, to darker, more solemn, he could tell you had been repressing what you were about to tell him for a good while. He knew the look.

His hand reached over the table to meet yours. They were timid, brushing against yours experimentally until he knew you were comfortable with his affection.

"How the tables have turned," you joked, allowing his hand to slip into yours.

"I was in a nasty relationship," you started off wavering, a sigh passing into the air, "I only dared to leave a few months ago."

Arthur's heart virtually broke as you revealed this to him. He watched as you swallowed the lump in your throat, noting how your eyes started to flutter from the stinging of tears.

"It endangered me and my son. It took a lot of strength to leave, but I had to for (C/n). He's my world, and I care about him more than myself."

Tears by now had fallen, running down your cheeks. Arthur intently listened to your confession.

"Moving to Gotham was the only way we could start over, and if I could have given him a better life, I would have, but it was the best I could do. I just wanted to see him happy again."

You let out another sigh, trying to blink away a few of the stray tears, though Arthur beat you to it, his hands moving to your face, wiping them with his thumbs. He felt how you leant into his touch, your eyes falling shut with a sniffle. As grim as the situation was, he was happy you were comfortable enough to tell him such a heartbreaking story.

"Sorry," you mumbled, forcing a laugh out to mask your vulnerability. Arthur saw right through it.

He gave you a look, one that virtually said 'are you serious?' before he spoke, exasperated, "what for?"

"I don't know...for crying? For dropping this on you, for-"

"Hey," Arthur's thick, dark eyebrows furrowed, his hands still cupping your face, "if I even had half the strength of you, I'd-"

"I'd-"

Arthur paused, his voice coming out as chokes.

Oh no.

He felt an overly-familiar twitch in his throat, a reflex in which he tried to stifle by clamping his mouth shut, contorting his face in pain to keep it at bay.

He never could.

And then, at the worst possible moment, the worst he could possibly think of, he hunched over and wheezed, cackling over the table. Your eyes, riddled with confusion from the lost contact, was promptly replaced with hurt at his sudden laughter.

He quickly noticed this, shaking his head.

Everyone else in the establishment, with what few were there, reared their heads to the ruckus, watching Arthur spiral.

"I-I'm so-" he started, desperate to contain himself.

It only made things worse.

"S-sorry."

He fiddled with his pockets, trying to produce the laminated card, he practically depended on. His fingers brushed the plastic, and he frantically pulled it out, sliding it to the other side of the table.

Please understand.

Please, please, please.

You had been the only person he'd connected with in months, perhaps longer. And now, he was about to ruin it with his stupid, stupid, stupid condition.

Guess the mystery had unravelled, he thought bitterly.

He tried to watch your expression for any indication of disgust or contempt. It was difficult, however, as he continued his fit, a hand hitting the table's surface. Another reflex. The pain was starting to set in, his lungs screaming, and his chest aching.

Please just let it end.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

Your voice surprised him, the kind tone and the understanding in your eyes was something he had to get used to. Something he wanted to get used to. How were you so kind? So accepting?

He shook his head slowly, trying to get a few words out.

"I have-"

"Have to-"

He tried to breathe, nearly choking.

"W-Wait."

"It's okay," you comforted, hurt no longer manipulating your features.

"Take your time."

———

In Arthur's eyes, the date had gone really well, or at the very least as well as it could have gone considering his outburst. He was happy, the feeling of warmth and nervousness he felt around you was something he hadn't really experienced with anyone, or really had the chance to. He kind of liked it.

He felt like he could be himself. You'd laugh at his jokes, his puns, regardless of how morbid they got; the most you'd do is playfully slap his shoulder and bite back a grin - guilty for laughing. He never understood the frivolous sayings about love, how things could sound so far fetched and dramatic, but now, he understood.

He didn't know how it was possible, how someone as beautiful as you, could be interested in someone like him.

After eating, you both walked under the darkness of the sky, the pinpricks which twinkled above, smiling down. Content was the air that surrounded your bodies, a loving blanket. With nothing more than a few minutes walk back to yours from the restaurant, you relished in his company.

It wasn't long before you both arrived back though, almost too soon, with the giddiness of your date still swirling around in both your heads. Arthur, at some point, had wrapped his red suit jacket around your goosebumped form, an action at which you had initially declined, but gave in when he insisted. You thought it felt good against your warming skin, the smell of his cologne intoxicating. As you entered the hallway, leading him back to the living room, you were happy to see the babysitter you had hired playing a board game with your beaming son. She was the teenage daughter of a friend you met at work, and you, happy to help out a struggling youth, decided it was the perfect opportunity to go out with Arthur. After paying her, and seeing her off, you excused yourself for a moment and vanished into one of the other rooms.

Arthur had sat down on the table like last time. The wood cooled his clothed forearms as he watched the child from across the room walk his way over, and push himself into the chair opposite him. Once (c/n), was comfortable, Arthur shot him a smile - one that wasn't returned.

(C/n)'s bright eyes were suddenly reduced to slits, his arms crossed and observing the dressed-up man. It made Arthur uncomfortable, to say the least. What had caused the dramatic shift in attitude?

Nothing was said, for at least a good two minutes, until finally, the small child in his blue space pyjamas saw it necessary.

"You know, my mommy really likes you."

Uh oh.

Arthur made a face back to the boy.

He wasn't entirely sure what face he made, though it didn't matter because the child picked up on his general disbelief anyway.

"It's true!" His arms shot out into the air, "I do too!"

There was no way a child could know such things; plus, nothing was ever certain. It was with this that he pushed down the hope that had sprung up, like a freshly bloomed flower in spring - its stem resistant and youthful, not yet pressed by the wilting life would inevitably bring.

"So you better not be mean to her!" (C/n) exclaimed.

The double meaning behind what the child said made him internally cringe. Arthur now knew the context of your troubled pasts and whilst what (c/n) had said was innocent, had saddened him. Not just over the fact you had been through hell in the first place, but because, for a moment there, Arthur saw himself in the child; a reflection of what he was still like. Always having to take care of his mother - look out for her. Support her any way he could.

Arthur's eyes softened in understanding, a great respect for the child forming. (C/n) sincerely looked up to you - loved you, and he was willing to resist anything that endangered that.

Arthur leaned forward, a forearm extending. His elbow rested against the table's surface and all his fingers, except for one - his pinky - curled into his palm.

"I promise," he said, eyes firm, a certainty the child was happy with.

(C/n) reached his small body over, his knees digging into the pads of cushioning on the chair as his significantly tinier finger wrapped around Arthur's skinny one. A smile was shared between the two of them.

When Arthur went to pull away, he was stopped by (C/n)'s whine.

"No! You have to lock it!"

"Lock?" Arthur questioned.

(C/n)'s tongue stuck out in concentration as he reached his small thumb over to Arthur's, tapping it. After much trial and error, the older man finally got the hint and connected the tip of his thumb with the boy.

"There!" (C/n) exclaimed.

Unbeknownst to the two seated at the table, you had snuck back into the room, watching the heartwarming scene unfold. The gentle noise of your knocking signified your return, and Arthur, with surprise, jumped in his chair, quickly standing. You bit into your lip, trying not to laugh.

He made his way over to you when you extended your arm, his red suit jacket floating in the air as your fingers gripped it from the top. In one quick movement, it was hugging his body again.

"Thanks," Arthur smiled.

As much as he wanted to stay, to talk to you all night, his eyes caught the time which had apparently flown by, like a flock of birds migrating for the winter. He had undoubtedly overstayed his welcome, and his mother was probably worried sick.

His eyes grew wide.

"I-I have to go!"

His sudden shift in mood had you worried.

"Arthur? Are you okay?"

"I'm really late. I'm sorry."

"Oh - okay well, let me walk you to the door?"

It was barely a few meters away, and you internally scolded yourself. How obvious could you get?

He quickly nodded.

Your form quickly moved past him as you hear Arthur's gentle voice in the background say goodbye to (C/n). When your fingers gripped onto the doorknob, pushing it, Arthur squeezed past with a small 'thank you'. You felt the nips of the wind against your exposed arms, causing you to shiver. The distant noises of Gotham - the blaring sirens which were muffled, and the faraway clamour of car horns, was something you had gotten used to; it was a city that never slept.

Arthur stood awkwardly in front of you, lost. It was then when you realised you had to make the first move.

"Thanks for tonight," you said, hands wrapping around him in a gentle embrace, chin resting on the pad of his shoulder. The smell of his cologne hit your nostrils instantly. It was oceanic, traces of bergamot and melon, with a hint of frangipani; so perfectly him. It was a fragrance that you associated with safety, the small feeling of comfort burrowing in your stomach.

He froze from your actions, evidently stunned. His arms then snaked their way around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

"I had a great time," you whispered, eyes closing against him.

The husky agreement which you felt vibrate in his chest induced a sinful shiver. As much as you wanted to stay wrapped in his arms for longer, hell for the rest of the night, you knew he needed to be somewhere. Tearing yourself away, the hands remaining at your hips stopped you, squeezing into your sides. This prompted you to look up at the man, into his hardened eyes. They looked to be concentrating, portraying an internal war. His Adam's apple bobbed. You didn't get a chance to ask if he was okay because he moved before you could, his lips quickly pressing themselves against the softness of your heated cheek before scurrying off.

You smiled, fingers grazing the area.

Arthur was a unique man. Strange, but endearingly so.

So soft and gentle; kind.

He would never hurt a fly.

———

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Arthur repeated the mantra in his head.

He'd fucked up - fucked up big time.

He'd shot three men - killed them in cold blood.

His ears were still ringing from the gunshots, and he remembered the way his hands shook as he held the trigger. How his tremors diminished with every squeeze until finally, a hardened look replaced his fear. His whole demeanour had altered within those critical seconds.

As he found himself back in the present, his makeup smudged and appearance dishevelled, he emerged out of the public bathroom, panting.

He felt different.

The eyes which had stared back at him in that mirror didn't feel like his own. They didn't harbour the terror they once swam in, nor the naivety. His body, which had moved with grace and finesse, had danced on the dirty tiles instead. His movements came from the soul; a conglomeration of motions he was unaware he was even capable of.

Yes - he was different.

So, when he wiped off his makeup, and kicked his leg out, against the resistance of the bathroom door, he didn't go back to his apartment. He didn't want to see the rats in the lobby, scurrying and squeaking, only a matter of time before they found their way into his apartment. He didn't want to stare at the wall for hours, envisioning what could have been, and the what if's. He didn't want to sit down with his journal and think about how depressing his life was - just to get his therapist off his ass.

No, he didn't want to.

So he didn't.

Preferably, he found himself going in the other direction. To the place where he felt most welcomed. Loved.

Although the date had been days prior, he felt the need to see you.

He didn't know how long it took him to get there, all he knew was the thumping of his heart, it's frantic beat echoing in his ears when he rapped on the door. The sound hollow.

Your head peaked out, groggy from sleep as you opened the door, its range widening when you saw him. It was late, perhaps late enough to be considered the early hours of the morning, but you didn't question it. Rather, his name passed your lips with concern.

Arthur didn't hear you call his name. Though he saw your lips move, plump and inviting. No sound reached his dazed state. His hands found your face alternatively, thin digits sliding below your mastoid, save for his ring finger and pinky. Wasting no time in seizing your lips, his mind worked overtime to memorise every little detail - of the moment he had been waiting for; the grand finale.

Every scent - like the perfume that seeped into your skin, faint and applied hours prior. It was a scent he often detected, sometimes rubbing off on his clothes, but an odour he never got sick of; heavenly.

Every feeling - like the way your hands wrapped around his form, gripping him tightly to steady yourself from your stumbling - from his pushes into the house. Or, like the feeling of his stomach, how it fluttered when you kissed him back, his heated blood pumping through him.

Every sound - like the soft 'click' of the door behind him, which he closed with the sole of his shoe.

Every taste - like the raspberry chapstick which coated your lips, mixing in with the contrasting flavour of his carmine lipstick. Although most of it was wiped off, there were distinct traces. Smudges.

Every sight - the way your playful grin took up most of it when you pulled away, teeth dragging your bottom lip, leading him to your bedroom.

When inside, Arthur dipped you down onto the bed, his slim frame hovering over yours with darkened eyes. The dim glow of your lamp residing on the bedside table allowed you to identify the hunger in his look. A lusting fire which burned right before you, behind those glassy, blue eyes. The warmth of his lips met your mouth once more, but only for a second because he shifted his attention to the base of your neck. The moments in between had you complaining from the loss of contact, a noise which he chuckled at.

He wanted - needed - to explore every curve of your body; every crevice. Map it in his brain.

"Arthur," you whispered. He shivered at the sound of his name breathlessly leaving your lips, goosebumps forming across his skin. In response, he hummed deeply - an acknowledgement which originated from the back of his throat, the vibrations sinful against your heightened senses.

"What's gotten into you?"

The confidence radiating off of him, although adding to the pool in your panties, had surprised you. You had to remind yourself that the previously timid Arthur and the man above you were the same person.

"I need you," he husked.

Amazed by his forwardness, though equally as desperate, your voice came out shaky, "then take me."

Three words. Those lovely three words were all it took for him to lose himself; his control. The tightness of his pants was becoming too much to bear. It was his own personal prison, and the anguished motivation to escape was only increasing by the passing moments. Judging by the way you were grinding against him, pressing against his crotch unfairly, he knew you were just as riled up.

His kisses seared into your skin, rendering you a whimpering mess. Your back arched against the mattress, an action driven entirely by instinct as his hands slipped under your shirt. In an attempt to make things easier, your hands hooked under the shirt as well, bunching it up. When he sensed the movement, he assisted you with the material. In your whirlwind of passion, the article of clothing had been removed, thrown away as it was left sprawled across the floor, uncaringly. His breath hitched in his throat when he realised there was nothing underneath it, except for your underwear.

"You're beautiful," he said, pupils full-blown.

Your eyes then smiled up at his in the delicate moment, the tender upturn of your brows leading to the capture of his lips. Without so much as moving away, his slender fingers fiddled with his dress shirt, he too, removing himself from its constraints.

He suddenly pulled away as his frustration reached its peak. His need for you had become overpowering, and he worked his way down towards the only piece of clothing you had left. The light, tickling touch of the pads of his fingers slid down your ribcage, tracing down your hips until they reached the waistband. His thumbs dipped under the elastic, and with the cooperation of your wiggling, it was promptly discarded. His caress was ever so gentle, his handling virtually leaving you quaking beneath him.

Arthur wasted no time in pleasuring you, this was proven to you quickly when one of his digits smoothly slid into your cunt. The sound of your wetness was vulgar, although all the more alluring.

He felt drunk; hazy. In some sense, it was surreal that this was occurring, that you were actually interested in him in the first place. Yet, there was another part of him that was screaming at himself to focus, to halt his berating comments and take pleasure in the way you were crumbling before him. He tried to do the latter.

"Fuck- oh my god!" You immediately cried out, hands darting to cover your mouth as he slowly started pumping his finger. His devilish movements had your other hand fisting the sheets.

Your breathing swiftly became ragged under the knuckle you bit down on, and he hastily added another finger, loving your reaction. He felt his chest swell with pride as he glanced up at your dishevelled manner. Encouraged by the enchanting sight, he picked up his pace. It was relentless and brutal, the thrusts forcing obscene mewls from you, some no longer containable. Raising your hips to meet his rhythm, to relieve the overwhelming knot forming, you knew you weren't going to last long. Arthur knew this too, your squirming made this clear, and he instantly added his lips to the equation, stimulating your clit.

You were done for.

As your walls clenched around his fingers, your hands rushed to grip his hair. They weaved through his untidy strands, pushing his head down while the wild flicks of his tongue assisted you with your earth-shattering orgasm. Ecstasy rushed over your trembling form, and as your thighs tensed, the tip of your head grazed the headboard; you swore you could see stars. Arthur's cock twitched in his pants at the sight of you unfolding before him, impossibly hard.

"Holy fuck!" You moaned.

He kindly slowed his rhythm when he knew you finished, yet his tongue licked a long stripe against your slit, moving to lap up your juices. The sensation, as well as the hums that lasciviously left his mouth, vibrated against your already sensitive core, setting you down the path for a second climax.

Perhaps he had done it on purpose, but when you felt the pressure in your abdomen, ready to burst again, he pulled away.

"No!" you cried, "Arthur, please! I'm gonna cum, please let me cum!" You sobbed quite shamelessly. In all honesty, your words surprised yourself, and apparently Arthur too, because laid sat there for a moment, eyebrows raised as a delicious smirk settled over his lips. He took his merry time, with no sign of returning to you, savouring your pleading.

"Beg," he purred, sitting up as his tongue lolling out to lick and suck on the fingers that had fucked you into oblivion. His eyes never shifted from yours, and you watched with absolute astonishment, upon desire, at the action. Your reaction only egged him on.

What exactly happened to him in the last 72 hours?

You were genuinely bewildered at the whole situation. The last thing you would have expected was to have Arthur rock up in the middle of the night and turn into a sex god. Though, you certainly weren't complaining.

While one of his hands was busy, in his mouth, his other trailed up your thigh. Eventually, it reached your bundle of nerves, tracing small circles with his thumb, agonisingly slowly.

"You're so good to me, fuck," you whined, stirring against his touch. He pulled away again when you bucked into his hand.

"Please-"

"Please, what?"

"I need you inside me, Arthur, fuck please-"

He couldn't take much more of your begging, his own self-control had wholly vanished by then, and he quickly shifted out of his pants, freeing himself. When his cock fell into his fist, he gave two steady pumps before lining himself up with you. You held your breath in anticipation despite your wild heart, making you feel dizzy. The relief you had been longing for - no aching for - had finally arrived when he pushed himself into you.

"Oh god- you feel so good," you gasped. The moan which fell from Arthur's lips had your name mixed in, a deliciously carnal sound. As he started moving, a slow rhythm from his hips developing, he shut his eyes. With his concentration on chasing his finish, salty beads of sweat trailed down his forehead.

"Arthur," your gentle voice had called, "w-wait."

Upon hearing your words, he immediately stopped, eyes flying open with concern.

"Let me take care of you."

He was confused as to what you meant until you maneuvered yourself on top, kissing him softly.

You could see the stutter in his confidence at your words, though his nod signified his consent. With a small smile, you made sure he was comfortable before your entrance started teasing his cock. You felt him tense up, and when you made the movement again, he thrust into you, an involuntary action which made you both cry out. His stroke hit you perfectly the first time, harsh yet euphoric. If you woke up the next day and found your body aching, you wouldn't be shocked.

His arms reached over to embrace your form as you buried your face in the crevice of his neck, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. Then, fully adjusted to his length, you started to move up and down on his cock, the feeling of him stretching your walls overwhelming.

"You're doing so well," you gulped, your panting warming the side of his throat.

"I want to see you," he managed to murmur out, and his request was promptly granted when you pulled away from his neck.

His hands slid down to grip your hips when you shifted, guiding them as you bounced. No longer did he need to fantasise about being with you, image you writhing in pleasure as he touched himself. No longer did he need to envision the way you felt around his cock, the way you moaned; it was now his reality. Hell, even Arthur's wicked fantasies couldn't have prepared him for this. Nor the words that left your mouth next, sending him spiralling.

"Let go, Arthur. Cum for me."

He did.

And hard.

His orgasm rocked him to the core, and you milked him for all he had, his hot spurts of cum coating your walls. Both your paces slowed, becoming sloppy as you came crashing down seconds later.

Deathly tired, you collapsed on top of his chest, exhausted. The only sound that could be heard were your frantic breaths, and you could've sworn your heart too, considering how hard it was beating. As you both took a minute to calm, neither of you move from each other, his cock still buried within you.

Only when you felt him soften did you slowly depart, rolling beside him. Arthur's grew heavy when you did, though they tried to resist the weight of his lethargy. He managed to twist his frame over to you, giving you one last kiss, the taste of yourself prominent in the heartfelt and passionate kiss, before he finally gave in.

Sleep gripped your forms.

———

Arthur stirred at the alien sensation of warmth next to him. Your naked body was pressed against his, head leaning on his chest as his arms protectively enveloped your frame. It took a few moments for this to register, and a lot more minutes for him to realise this was real; that this wasn't a dream - a product of his imagination.

He hadn't woken up in his own bed with his sheets dirtied from, well, his...dreams.

Everything had actually happened yesterday.

Your beautiful form was really there in his grasp, face relaxed with soft exhales leaving your nose. He could feel the breath against his skin, a perception his body reacted to on its own.

Don't start, he thought, scolding himself.

Perhaps it was his staring that had woken you next, or the soft, dulled yellow tone of the suns rays projecting past the white curtains. He wasn't sure. But, when your (e/c) eyes bore into his, fluttering open with a grin he knew he'd never get used to, he realised it didn't matter. Its appearance always managed to sucker punch him in his gut, make his heart stop. And if that was the way he was going to die, fuck, he really couldn't complain. He'd choose it if he could. Your radiance was sincerely otherworldly to him, angelic - personally constructed and moulded by the angels themselves.

"Goodmorning," you yawned, arching your back into a stretch. Soft groans left your lips and pops from your joints filled the air. Arthur's finger trailed your spine, forcing you to shiver.

"Morning," he replied lazily, a drowsy smile gracing his lips.

"I don't wanna get upppp" you whined, voice still affected by sleep as you nuzzled into him.

"We don't have to," Arthur shot you a look, one you were quickly starting to identify as his sex expression. Its appearance forced you to roll your eyes playfully, something he laughed at.

"Maybe later, loverboy."

After one soft morning kiss, you both decided it was best to do the complete opposite of what you wanted and get up.

As you both tossed on the discarded clothes from your nightly activities, Arthur beat you to the kitchen, refusing to let you sort your breakfast out. Your giggles decorated the hallway as you admitted defeat, knowing he wasn't going to give in. In no time, Arthur had somehow transformed into a chef, something he casually brushed off, stating he learned for his mother.

Not long after, a long metallic groan - of hinges - sounded. Then, frantic footsteps littered the hallway, a short form entering the kitchen soon after, eyes observing the scene before them.

"Are those pancakes?" The boy asked, looking between you and Arthur.

Arthur winked at (C/n). It was enough confirmation for the kid and his feet lept off the ground repeatedly. His cute red pyjamas had green patterns of t-rex's scattered across the fabric, a fact he exhibited to Arthur every few minutes.

So, this was what having a family felt like, Arthur thought, smiling.

When Arthur eventually finished cooking and experimenting with pancake shapes (he had managed to morph yours into the outline of a heart and (C/n)'s into Pacman), he was the last to join the table.

Excited to take a chuck out of his consumable masterpiece, Arthur sipped on his water. But, before he could move on, the boy's words across from him, stopped him, forcing the liquid back into its glass.

Arthur damn near choked. Deep coughs emerged from his chest, and while he was repulsed by the sight of his saliva swirling with the chilled drink, it was the least of his worries with the child's words buzzing around his head.

"Does this mean you're my dad now?!"

———

Side note: I was genuinely considering putting the summary as ‘Arthur shoots people and gets laid lol’ because I couldn’t think of anything. I need help PFTT

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chocafe · 5 years

Text

the rhythms of summer — lee eunsang

summary: eunsang isn’t like the other spirits. one touch of the human skin will cause him to obliterate into the summer haze, and that’s enough to frighten you and your love for him. genre: romance, angst, fantasy, friends to lovers word count: 4.3k a/n: inspired by the animation movie, hotarubi no mori e.

Eunsang is everything the world admires. He is the bittersweet aroma of coffee beans. He is the warmth that summer possess. He is the hope that everyone longs for. He is simply everything. However, he is not human.

“Eunsang, are you out there?” You call out into the empty forest, gliding your bare hands against the rusty tree trunks.

“I’m here!” Eunsang says with excitement as he magically pops up in front of your eyes.

“Oh my gosh! You scared the living out of me!” No matter how many times you meet Eunsang, you will never get used to him popping in and out whenever he pleases to. Sometimes, you wished that he could walk normal like others, but then you remembered, he isn’t normal ─ Eunsang isn’t even a proper human being. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that little quirk of yours.”

His lips stretch into a smile and you’re sure it was the prettiest thing you have ever seen. “That’s what happens when you’re friends with a spirit like me.”

“I’m friends with a spirit that I can only see in the summer.” You notice how Eunsang’s smile quickly disappears by your comment. “B-But you’re the best friend anyone could ever ask for! Seeing you in the summer is the highlight of my year!” In between each word, your voice trembles as you try your best to bring up Eunsang’s confidence and liveliness.

“You really think so?”

“I know for sure.” You take your hand to wipe the sweat off of your forehead. It sure is hot in the summer. “It’s wonderful that this forest is right next to my grandparents house, but is hours away from my actual house in the city. Maybe when I get older, I can get a job over in this area, just so I can see you whenever I want to.”

“I would really like that.”

Actually, Eunsang would love that.

Your and Eunsang’s happiness was measured in the amount of laughters you two shared and the amount of days spent in the hazy summer season.

There’s something about Eunsang that soothes your heart. You don’t know how he does it and what it is about him. What you do know is that he’s purely the epitome of comfort.

Ever since you shared how you’ve been encountering endless numbers of sleepless nights, Eunsang begins to sing you a serene lullaby, causing you to fall asleep within the open meadow field. Despite always being eager to see you, Eunsang doesn’t mind the fact that you’re sleeping when you should be spending time with him. He cares for your overall well-being and if sleep is what seems the best for you, then he’ll choose that over swimming laps in the river.

Within the time being, Eunsang manages to braid the stems of flowers together to form a handmade floral bracelet. “All done!” He shouts in excitement, only to immediately close his mouth right after as he remembers that you’re sleeping peacefully beside him. Rather than continuing his conversation with himself, he chooses to smile instead because he’s extremely excited to show you the bracelet he had made for you.

He takes a quick moment to look at you and ends up staring at your face for a whole minute. Were humans always this pretty when they were sleeping? Were you always this pretty when you were sleeping? His heart skips a beat and he wants to remember this image of you forever.

Oh, how Eunsang wishes he had the ability to see you every single season, every day, every minute and every second; But the two of you were only limited to seeing one another in the summer.

Eunsang wants to watch you underneath the spring cherry blossom trees. He wants to jump on dried leaves and drink seasonal pumpkin spice lattes with you. He wants to play out in the angelic snow and perhaps, kiss you underneath the mistletoe.

“What are you thinking?” Eunsang questions as he lightly slaps himself in the face, trying his best to stop all of the upcoming thoughts of passionately kissing you. Nevertheless, no matter how hard he tries, he can’t stop imagining as his cheeks flush into a peachy shade of embarrassment.

Once more, he gazes right back at you and then at your lips.

“Y/N is sleeping, so they won’t know.” Eunsang thinks as he hovers his face above yours.

The urge to kiss you takes over Eunsang’s body as there was only a five centimeter gap in between your lips and his very own lips. He was so close, yet so far.

He pulls himself back to his original sitting position. “I can’t.” There was a certain heaviness in his heart, but a marked lightness in his soft tone of voice.

Eunsang can’t kiss you.

He can’t even lay a single finger on you.

One touch of the human skin and Eunsang will obliterate into the dying hot sun.

It’s not funny, but Eunsang awkwardly laughs and it rings through his bones like an unwanted phone call. “Why would you even try, you idiot.” He takes a big deep breath before sighing.

As he proceeds to drown himself in daydreams, he soon hears the sounds of you whimpering in your sleep. Sweat is dripping down your skin, your breathing pattern becomes peculiar, and Eunsang is terrified at the sight. You must be having a nightmare.

“Y/N.” Eunsang constantly calls out your name. “Y/N, wake up!”

No matter how loud he screams out, it wouldn’t be loud enough for you to wake up. In a rush, Eunsang speedily grabs a piece of wood and hits your open forehead. It was his last resort and the only thing he could potentially think of in a nervous state like his.

Your dream cuts to an end without receiving a proper ending roll credit and you wake up in pain. You were dazed, confused, head throbbing and the first thing you wanted to do was to yell at Eunsang in pure furiousness. “What is your problem? Why would you hit me with a stick while I’m sleeping?”

“Y-You” His voice began to shake since he wasn’t used to you yelling at him. “You were shaking in your sleep. It seemed like you were having a nightmare, so I thought it would be better to wake you up instead of letting you suffer.”

“You could’ve just called out my name instead, you know.”

“I did. I tried, multiple times.”

You couldn’t help, but to compare Eunsang to your mother. On the mornings where you’re too tired to wake up, your mother would barge into your room and profusely shake your arm until you were wide awake. Eunsang isn’t like your mother because your mother is human and Eunsang is a spirit who could not touch a single soul.

He’s different and you’re sorry.

It takes you a moment to realize that he couldn’t physically touch you to wake you up. “I’m sorry for getting angry when you were merely trying to help me.” The tone of your voice suddenly changes as you become apologetic in the snap of a finger.

“Hey, it’s okay!” Eunsang isn’t the type to hold grudges. “Do you remember what you were dreaming of?”

“Yeah, I do.” You scratch the back of your neck due to feeling uncomfortable because of the so-called dream that felt way too real.

“What was it? Was it a nightmare? Actually, you don’t need to tell me about it if it’s a little traumatizing.”

Moments before, you had dreamt of Eunsang disappearing into the void. It’s a constant nightmare of yours that remains to shake you to the core.

You don’t have the heart to genuinely tell Eunsang your biggest fear, so you tell him a white lie. “It was the worst nightmare. I dreamt that I was back at school and there was suddenly a test I didn’t study for!”

Eunsang tilts his head and raises an eyebrow that says really? Either you’re lying or you seriously hate school, and Eunsang chooses to believe the second option.

“Oh! Since you’re up─” He grabs a hold of the flower bracelet he made while you were asleep. “Look at what I made for you!”

Naturally, you brought your wrist to Eunsang as he began to place the bracelet on you, avoiding any skin contact with a bright smile on his face.

In a generation like yours, many people seem to adore materialistic gifts instead of gifts that truly come from the heart. You, on the other hand, would take the beautiful mother nature gifts Eunsang surprises you with than anything else in the world.

“It’s really pretty!” You comment.

You’re prettier, Eunsang thinks to himself, but giggles as a vocal response.

“I love these type of gifts from you, I really do.” You raise your wrist into the sky, so you can look at the beautiful bracelet and the bouncy white clouds, together, as one. “This just reminded me how you always used to pick out four leaf clovers for me in the past. We could be running down the hill, but once you see a clover, you would stop and place it behind my ear.” The nostalgic memories you shared with him began to play in your head like a movie.

“Ah, I forgot!” Eunsang swiftly stands up on his two feet. “Throughout the seasons, I’ve been collecting all of the four leaf clovers I’ve been coming across, precisely so I can give them to you once you visit!”

He runs off into the forest, telling you that it won’t take him too long to retrieve them all. You don’t mind waiting in the meadow because you’re too busy admiring the bracelet and the four leaf clover you had stuck behind your clear phone case.

Not even a minute passes by and you hear rustling noises behind the green bushes. “Eunsang, you’re back!” You say, only to turn around and lay eyes upon a slender cat-eye like man. “Wooseok?”

His facial expression was serious and the atmosphere he gave off was mysterious, but once you stated his name, he broke character like a shattered glass. “Wait, you know who I am?”

“Of course! Eunsang loves talking about you all and he mentioned a few times that you were very good looking, so I can only guess that you’re Wooseok out of everyone.” Rather than being afraid that you were meeting a spirit, you were more than happy to know that you were having a conversation with a friend of Eunsang’s.

“He isn’t wrong, I am pretty good looking.” Wooseok brushes his delicate fingers through his hair, but abruptly stops himself as he recollects as to why he originally wants to speak to you. “Listen, I need to speak to you, but it’s pretty hard to find you without Eunsang by your side.”

Wooseok makes his way towards you and grabs you by the chin, something full spirits were capable of doing. “Don’t you dare lay a finger on Eunsang. He isn’t like the rest of us and if you’re the reason he disappears then─”

Before Wooseok could continue on, you cut him off by slowly pulling his hand off of you. “I know everything, so don’t worry about it.”

Indeed. You knew everything about Eunsang and maybe that’s why the two of you were the greatest friends you both could ever wish for.

Eunsang wasn’t like the other spirits that roamed around the forest. He isn’t a monster, but he sure isn’t human anymore. Eunsang was merely a human child who was abandoned in the forest. He was destined to die, but every forest spirit took sympathy for him and used all of their magic to keep him alive. A body like Eunsang’s is weak as he solely depends on magic to keep himself alive. With one touch of the human skin, he will vanish as he’s just as fragile as the winter snow.

“So, you know everything?” Wooseok’s voice lowers down due to his surprise for your knowledge.

“Yes, I know everything. Despite you threatening me, I know that you and the others are all to kind to even harm a human being like me.” Wooseok was ethereally pretty, but his personality said otherwise. “I know you all think of him as a little brother, and to me, he’s my friend. We all don’t want to lose him, so trust me, I’m going to make sure Eunsang won’t be gone anytime soon.”

Wooseok opens his mouth and then immediately shuts it close as he hears the distant sounds of Eunsang running through the forest. At a time like this, he’s incapable of saying anything more because if Eunsang found out that Wooseok tried to scare you, then Eunsang would finally blow up and might even ignore Wooseok for the rest of eternity. Wooseok decides to vanish into the air because the thought of Eunsang hating him sends shivers down his spine.

Eunsang comes running back, out of breath, with a basket filled with tiny four leaf clovers. The sight of Eunsang is enough for your lips to creep into a smile and he does the very same right back at you.

Four leaf clovers are lucky, unlike Eunsang.

However, Eunsang is lucky enough to have met you and you’re just as lucky enough to have met him too.

“Hey, Y/N.” Eunsang clears his throat and stares off into the radius, refusing to make eye contact with you. “Hold onto this stick.”

“The same stick you hit me with earlier?” You look up at Eunsang and notice that he was flushed with a scarlet shade appearing all throughout his face.

Oh? Is this embarrassment? Nervousness? Shyness? Every single emotion combined?

Not only did you notice the fact that Eunsang was blushing, but you acknowledge that this is his way of asking to hold your hand. Without saying anything more, you grab onto the other end of the stick as the two of you walked besides one another.

Even though you were happy, you still felt a sharp pain inside of your heart. This had reminded you that you and Eunsang will never be able to be together. You will never get to be held in his embrace. You will never get to see him outside of summer. You will never get to properly experience love with Eunsang.

The river is lukewarm, but that doesn’t stop you and Eunsang from dipping your toes in the water. The sun is being eaten up by the sky and once more, you’re reminded that summer and your time with Eunsang is coming to an end.

“Have you ever been in love?” You randomly blurt out, kicking your feet as small specks of water splash onto your face.

“Excuse me?” Eunsang chokes up because he was never ready for a question like this. “Why do you want to know?”

“Is it my fault that I want to know whether or not my friend has fallen in love before? Come on, tell me about it!”

He hesitates before responding back. “I can’t tell you.”

Eunsang can’t tell you the true answer to your question because he fell in love with you and is still in love.

“Don’t want to tell me? Then I’ll tell you the story of how I fell in love.” It might take Eunsang years to gather up the courage to tell you about his love life, but it only took you a mere second for you to want to tell him about yours.

“Huh? You’ve been in love before? You’ve never mentioned it before.” Eunsang’s eyes widens as he’s almost frozen with shock, modestly hurt that you’ve fallen in love with someone who surely isn’t him.

“I met him in the summer heat five years ago. At first, I thought of it as a small crush since I was so young and naive at that time, but as I grew older, my feelings became even stronger than before.” You looked off into the sunset with a slight grin. “I realized that I’ve been in love since the very start and I still am in love with this person.”

He laughs softly, but thinks somewhere inside of him must be the sound of his heart breaking. “That person sure is lucky to be loved by you.”

“Yup, you sure are lucky.”

Eunsang quickly turns his head towards you and it takes him a second to process what you had just said. He’s in disbelief, and yet, he doesn’t need you to say it twice because he heard you clearly the first time.

“I’m sorry.” Are the only words that roll off his tongue.

What are you saying? You’re absolutely in love with Y/N, Eunsang thinks, but somehow doesn’t say it.

“It’s okay.” From the very start, you were prepared for Eunsang to reject you. The two of you were never meant to be with each other to begin with. “You don’t need to love me back.”

But I do love you back, He doesn’t say anything.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry.” He repeats himself. “I’m sorry that I can’t properly love you like other humans.”

What does he mean?

You’re still not sure how he feels about you.

Nevertheless, the two of you sit there in silence, feet in the water, staring at the sunset like it’s the rising tide.

The countryside differs so much from the city life you’re used to. Unlike the city, the countryside is dark with not much people in sight once the moon emerges into the night sky.

Maybe it was Eunsang’s urge to protect you or maybe it was his need to spend as much time as he possibly could with you; But after every time the two of you hang out, Eunsang would walk with you all the way to the end of the forest, so you could walk back to your grandparent’s house in peace. Ever since you met Eunsang, you’re not an ounce afraid of the lightless forest. However, you still allow Eunsang to walk with you, each and every time, because you love having him by your side.

It’s quiet.

Too quiet.

The only sounds you hear are the footsteps of yours and Eunsangs, and the four leaf clovers shifting around in the basket you were holding.

As you continued to walk through the forest, there was a sudden tug at the bottom of your shirt. You turn around, only to find Eunsang holding on while he stared directly at the ground. “Eunsang, what’s wrong?”

“I’m so sorry. It brings me so much pain.” He grips even tighter onto your shirt, wishing he was holding you instead.

“What are you talking about?”

“I want to experience being in love so badly, but I only want to if I’m with you.”

He wants to be real ─ For you.

Eunsang takes one step closer and that’s enough for you to snag your shirt away and take five steps away from him. “What is wrong with you? Remember, we need to keep a distance between us.” Your heart is rapidly beating, not because you’re in love, but because you’re frightened at the fact that Eunsang is putting his life at the line. “Don’t be irrational!”

“That’s exactly it.” He brings his head up and there’s tears flooding the whites of his eyes. “I’m sick and tired of this distance between us. Don’t you know how badly I want to be with you?”

You could see how desperate Eunsang was and you’ve never seen him in a state like this before. Seeing tears fall down from his eyes caused you to freeze up and become speechless at the moment.

“Y/N, I love you.”

Eunsang doesn’t need to think twice.

He is certain that he is in love with you.

There are times where Eunsang would long for you in the autumn, winter and spring. There are times where he wants to spend time with you and do nothing, but run into a field and pick out every flower that he deems as beautiful as you. There are times where you tell him stories of your city life, because you know how bored he could get in this lonely forest. There are times where Eunsang wishes it was only you and him on Earth. Each of these moments were when Eunsang strongly feels his love for you, and he loves realizing it every time. Falling in love with you makes him feel more like a human than he will ever be.

“You know, I love you too.” You remind Eunsang once more and it falls out of your mouth as easy as reciting the alphabet.

“Then, may I kiss you?” He takes a few steps closer to you, breaking the forbidden gap.

“You shouldn’t.” You say with quivering lips.

“But I want to.”

The basket of four leaf clovers crash onto the ground.

In a matter of seconds, Eunsang presses his soft lips against yours and finally has the power to wrap his arms around you, holding you tightly in his embrace. He doesn’t want this kiss to end and he never wants to stop holding you, but everything has an expiration date, including him.

You were completely unprepared for the kiss, but that didn’t stop you from passionately kissing him back. You would think that after all the summers you’ve spent with Eunsang ─ watching him talk, laugh, smile ─ that you would know all there is about him and his lips. With him being a spirit, you’ve never imagined his lips being this warm pressed against your very own.

The kiss ends as soon as the two of you feel your tears combine into one.

“Are you out of your mind?” You scream out loud, but not loud enough as your tears were powerful enough to fill you up.

“Are you out of your mind? For falling in love with a spirit like me?” Eunsang places his hand onto the side of your face, bringing both of your foreheads together, so they can touch and lean against one another. “How silly must I be for also loving you?”

Is this what it feels like to experience love? Eunsang is glad he can finally let you live through this, but despite being glad, he begins to think how much he’s going to miss your warmth.

Eunsang detects that it’s too difficult for you to speak with tears spilling down your cheeks. He takes a long, deep breath, as his fingers and voice trembles all at once. “I’ve always loved being with you. Every single time, I felt like I was alive. Y/N, you make me feel alive and I want to thank you so much for that.”

Parts of Eunsang begins to fade away into the air and within a minute, he’ll be nothing but a figment of imagination. As your arms were wrapped around Eunsang’s waist, you can feel him become lighter and you were never prepared to say your final goodbyes to Eunsang. He was supposed to be your summer delight, not your nightmare in disguise.

“Y/N, please tell me you love me once more.”

“I love you.” You beam your eyes towards Eunsang, never wanting to forget his face. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you!”

“I love you just as much.” Eunsang manages to muster up his famous soft smile, amidst the tears that were continuously streaming down his cheeks.

It would be amazing if time finally stopped, but time doesn’t care for anyone.

“Once I’m gone, falling in love with me will feel like a dream to you.” He leaves a soft peck on your forehead and continues to wipe the tears off of your face, despite being in the same frightful state as you. “I hope that this dream has been a happy pleasant one.”

Everything hurts and you’ve never knew love could bring this much pain to the two of you.

“Eunsang, don’t say that.” In return, you kiss his lips once more. “I will never forget you and I want you to know that I was more than happy in every moment that we shared together. You’re the one who makes me happy. I─” Your tears choke you up. “I just wish we had more time. Why would you do this?”

“Because I love you.” His voice is still comforting and it will forever play in your head. “I’m so delighted to hear that you were happy in every moment we shared, even if our time together was limited to one season of the year.”

Before you could say your last goodbye to Eunsang, you feel the cold breeze hit you and you were holding nothing, but the air.

“Eunsang?” You quickly turn your body around, trying to detect your lost boy in the hidden forest. “Eunsang!”

Eunsang isn’t hiding.

He’s long gone now.

Your weak legs give up and you fall onto the ground, burying your face into the dirt. “Why does it feel like I’m suffocating?”

Spilled four leaf clovers are scattered out everywhere.

You heavily cry out loud as tears drip down from your chin. There was no Eunsang to bring you back to comfort and he wasn’t coming back anytime soon, not even at all. “Eunsang, please come back!”

There’s something mystical in your pocket and you’re unsure as to what it is. You could feel it’s light stem and when you pull it out, you lay eyes upon a four leaf clover. It was as if it was Eunsang’s last wish to give you the last four leaf clover he had picked out for you that following day.

Summer will never be the same without Eunsang.

#pls give me clout i wrote this in one sitting #eunsang scenario #eunsang imagine #x1 scenario #x1 imagine #lee eunsang #x1 #eunsang scenarios #eunsang imagines #x1 scenarios #x1 imagines #pdx101 scenario #pdx101 imagine #produce x 101 scenarios #produce x 101 imagines

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disneytva · 4 years

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Bob Iger Returns To Chairman And Chief Executive Officer Of The Walt Disney Company Due COVID-19 Crisis At Disney

Bob Iger has taken CEO responsibilities back from Bob Chapek at The Walt Disney Company.

"A crisis of this magnitude and its impact on Disney actively treat and help Bob Chapek. Especially for the company that lasts 15 years."

The former C.E.O. thought he was riding into the sunset. Now he’s reasserting control and reimagining Disney as a company with fewer employees and more thermometers.

The Walt Disney Company turned franchises like Marvel and “Star Wars” into the biggest media business in the world, and last fall it was putting the finishing touches on the image of a storied character: its chief executive, Bob Iger.

In late September, Mr. Iger, 69, published “The Ride of a Lifetime,” an engaging work of self-hagiography. The handsome executive, who seriously considered running for president this year, spent the next month on the kind of media tour that Disney is known for: he reveled in the successful start of a streaming service that immediately rivaled Netflix, was hailed as “businessperson of the year” by Time and described as “Hollywood’s nicest C.E.O.” in an article in the The Times by Maureen Dowd. Even his friends wondered if the soft-focus Instagram ads produced for his MasterClass on leadership were a bit much.

It all went so well that Mr. Iger decided it was time to do something he had postponed four times since 2013: retire as C.E.O.

In early December, Disney executives say, he told his board that he was ready to leave. Around that time, a handful of people in Wuhan, China, began developing mysterious coughs.

At the end of January, a few days after Disney was forced to close its Shanghai theme park as the coronavirus spread, Mr. Iger and the board stuck with their plan, agreeing that he would step back to become executive chairman and that the low-profile head of the parks and cruise business, Bob Chapek, would take over immediately as chief executive. They finalized the arrangement even as the stock market began to shudder. And on Feb. 25, they shocked Hollywood with the news that Mr. Iger’s 15-year run had ended.

The seemingly abrupt announcement prompted intense speculation about the reasons for Mr. Iger’s exit. “Sex or health?” one media executive who knows him texted another that night. Two weeks later, a different question emerged: Had Mr. Iger, with his deep ties to China and legendary timing, seen the coronavirus about to devastate his global realm? Did he get out just in time?

Mr. Iger, who has always carefully managed his image, told me in an email, there was no more than met the eye.

“No surprises … nothing hidden … nothing different or odd to speculate about ….,” he wrote, ellipses and all.

In fact, people close to Mr. Iger and the company said in interviews that the real question wasn’t whether he saw the crisis coming — but whether his focus on burnishing his own legacy and assuring a smooth succession left him distracted as the threats to the business grew. No big media company is more dependent on its customers’ social and physical proximity than Disney, with its theme parks and cruise lines. Few have been hit harder by the pandemic.

And now, Mr. Iger has effectively returned to running the company. After a few weeks of letting Mr. Chapek take charge, Mr. Iger smoothly reasserted control, BlueJeans video call by BlueJeans video call. (Disney does not use Zoom for its meetings for security reasons.)

The new, nominal chief executive is referred to, almost kindergarten style, as “Bob C,” while Mr. Iger is still just “Bob.” And his title is “executive chairman” — emphasis on the first word.

Mr. Iger is now intensely focused on remaking a company that will emerge, he believes, deeply changed by the crisis. The sketch he has drawn for associates offers a glimpse at the post-pandemic future: It’s a Disney with fewer employees, leading the new and uncertain business of how to gather people safely for entertainment.

“It’s a matter of great good fortune that he didn’t just leave,” said Richard Plepler, the former HBO chief. “This is a moment where people first and foremost are looking to an example of leadership that has proved itself over an extended period of time — and Bob personifies that.”

The story of the Walt Disney Company since Mr. Iger’s predecessor, Michael Eisner, took it over in 1984 is one of astonishing growth that has become the model for the modern, global media business. The company turned its tatty icons like Mickey Mouse into cash cows. Mr. Iger has spent more than 40 years working for companies that are now part of Disney, and has earned his reputation through bold acquisitions. He bought Pixar, then Marvel, then Lucasfilm, for single-digit billions, and quickly created many more billions in value with them. Mr. Iger had the greatest job on earth, ruling not just a company but a “nation-state,” as California’s governor, Gavin Newsom, described Disney recently.

But Disney’s much-imitated model was almost perfectly exposed to the pandemic. The shift from on-screen entertainment into in-person experiences helped Disney become the biggest media company in the world. But those businesses have been impossible to protect from the pandemic. The company’s largest division brought in more than $26 billion in the year ending last June by extending its brands to cruise ships and theme parks. Those are all shuttered now. It has three new cruise ships under construction in Germany, their futures unclear. The jewel in its second largest division, television, is ESPN, which in a sports-less world is now broadcasting athletes playing video games. The third group, studio, had expected to bring in most of its revenue from movie openings in theaters, which are now closed.

There has been a glimmer of good news in the introduction of Disney+. The company’s troubled share price jumped about 7 percent in after-hours trading last Wednesday on the news that the streaming service had attracted 50 million subscribers. But the project is still an investment, years away from generating revenue that could replace a big movie opening in theaters. And the service is desperate for new content — at a time when television and film production has ground to a halt.

This all means the company is losing as much as $30 million or more a day, the media industry analyst Hal Vogel estimated in an interview. The company borrowed $6 billion at the end of March, a sign both of its desperate plight and lenders’ confidence that it could rebound.

In an emergency like this, Mr. Iger said, he had no choice but to abandon his plan to pull back.

“A crisis of this magnitude, and its impact on Disney, would necessarily result in my actively helping Bob [Chapek] and the company contend with it, particularly since I ran the company for 15 years!” he said in his email.

That realization appears to have hit just after the company’s March 11 annual shareholder gathering in Raleigh, N.C., which served as Mr. Chapek’s debut and was staged as a carefully scripted handoff.

“I’ve watched Bob [Iger] lead this company to amazing new heights, and I’ve learned an enormous amount from that experience. I feel incredibly fortunate to be able to work closely with him during this transition,” Mr. Chapek said at the meeting. (A Disney spokeswoman declined to make Mr. Chapek available for an interview.)

The men flew from there to Walt Disney World in Orlando, Fla., to meet executives worried about the effect of social distancing on their business; they announced the park’s closing the next day. Then, they flew back to Los Angeles and on the way, said a person familiar with their conversation, they discussed the depth of the crisis. Mr. Iger made clear that he would remain closely involved.

The next day, March 13, was their last in the office. In early April, Mr. Chapek sent a bleak internal email announcing a wave of furloughs. He pushed immediate cuts and freezes on everything from development budgets to contractors’ pay.

The company employed 223,000 as of last summer, and won’t say how many workers are furloughed, but the numbers are huge. It includes more than 30,000 workers in the California resort business alone, according to the president of Workers United Local 50 that represents some of those workers, Chris Duarte. Another 43,000 workers in Florida will be furloughed, the company confirmed on Sunday. All the workers will keep their benefits, but their last paychecks come April 19.

The mood at Disney is “dire,” said a person who has done projects with the company. “They’re covering the mirrors and ripping clothes.”

Mr. Iger, meanwhile, is trying to figure out what the company will look like after the crisis. One central challenge is to establish best practices for the company and the industry on how to bring people back to the parks and rides while avoiding the virus’s spread — using measures like taking visitors’ temperatures.

Mr. Iger also sees this as a moment, he has told associates, to look across the business and permanently change how it operates. He’s told them that he anticipates ending expensive old-school television practices like advertising upfronts and producing pilots for programs that may never air. Disney is also likely to reopen with less office space. He’s also told two people that he anticipated the company having fewer employees. (Mr. Iger said in an email on Sunday evening that he had “no recollection of ever having said” that he expected a smaller work force. “Regardless, any decision about staff reductions will be made by my successor and not me,” he added.)

Mr. Iger’s own narrative had been written to a neat conclusion. Now, his legacy will probably be defined in the unexpected sequel of one of the great American companies fighting for its life.

And Disney’s endlessly troublesome question of succession — which had finally, for a couple of weeks, seemed settled — may be open again. One person close to the company said Mr. Iger assured Mr. Chapek that the extraordinary circumstances would be taken into consideration in the board’s evaluation of Mr. Chapek’s performance. But in reality, two hard, unpredictable years will determine if he can hold the job. Two other executives who were passed over for Mr. Chapek — Kevin Mayer and Peter Rice — remain at the company. Nobody knows when Americans will go to the movies again, much less get on cruise ships.

And nobody knows when — or whether — Mr. Iger will have another moment to leave on top.

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goblins-riddles-or-frocks · 4 years

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Moffat Dracula Review

Plot Summary For People Who Don’t Want To Watch It:

Dracula corners Jonathan, Mina, and Sister Agatha Van Helsing in a secluded convent in Budapest following Jonathan’s escape from his castle. The castle sequence itself is explained in flashback as Jonathan recounts his experience, leading up to the realization that he himself had died during his stay there.

Realizing he’s now become some form of undead creature, he attempts to kill himself via a stake but is unsuccessful. Despairing at this, he invites Dracula inside the convent in exchange for a true death. Agatha and Mina are able to stay safe within a circle of sacramental bread but everyone else is massacred.

When Mina sees Dracula disguised as Jonathan approaching them, she invites him inside the circle. He of course reveals his identity immediately after. Agatha bargains her own life for Mina’s, so Dracula allows the other girl to go free.

Some time later, Dracula sets sail for England aboard the Demeter, a Russian ship with a strangely high number of wealthy passengers and a bluebeard’s cabin no one is allowed to enter. He quickly picks off the passengers one by one, meanwhile himself leading the effort to find the murderer onboard.

This culminates in the remaining passengers finally searching the ship— and the mysterious cabin which is revealed to have been hiding a sickly Sister Agatha inside. She explains that Dracula is a vampire and together with the passengers they attempt to kill him by setting him on fire. But it is unsuccessful. Agatha urges everyone to escape on lifeboats because she intends to blow up the ship with her and Dracula in it before it is able to reach England.

Dracula does not die but remains dormant under water. He reaches Whitby roughly 100 years later and is immediately captured by the Jonathan Harker foundation, lead by Agatha’s descendant Dr Zoe Van Helsing. He leaves captivity fairly quickly however with the help of Frank Renfield— a lawyer he hired over skype.

Zoe is revealed to be dying of cancer. Dracula offers her his blood to heal her but it doesn’t seem to work. It instead gives her a bond to communicate with her dead ancestor Agatha, which gives her more insight about the vampire.

Meanwhile, Dracula begins preying on Lucy Westenra, a young socialite. Despite leading a seemingly perfect life, she is wholly apathetic and disgruntled with her situation. She allows him to feed on her in exchange for the high a vampire’s bite can give her. He attempts to turn her into a vampire but she’s burned horribly once she’s cremated following her funeral.

Her death leads Zoe and Jack Seward to where Dracula has been staying. During their confrontation however Lucy returns, and after learning about her appearance, begs Jack to kill her, which he does.

Zoe asks Jack to leave so she may speak to Dracula alone. She surmises that all of Dracula’s weaknesses are actually ineffective. The only thing he fears is death, and humanity’s willingness to die, She then... resolves to sit down and die right there. But at the last moment Dracula drinks her cancerous blood which should in turn kill him... they make out while dying... The end?

If that sounds like it makes no sense, it’s because it doesn’t.

Final Thoughts:

The plot was nonsensical and the pacing was very poor and completely unstructured. The story itself bore little to no resemblance to Dracula at all, to the point where I wonder why they even bothered to keep the names.

Most of the characters were new, and the few that were ported over from the Stoker novel had hardly anything in common with their original versions, Dracula included.

Jonathan was the most in character of the bunch, if he was fairly more genre savvy while stuck in Dracula’s castle. Mina’s characterization seemed to be confined to a single flirtatious letter, an endless well of trust for Jonathan, and constant sobbing. She was more of a liability than anything else.

Agatha served the role of a genderbent Van Helsing, though her manner was entirely lifted from the Coppola film. This could’ve been very cool if they hadn’t randomly made her a nun without actually committing to it at all. She was not really portrayed as having any actual lived experience as a nun in the victorian era. And faith as a concept was only touched on for her to dismiss— hilariously casually given her position.

I think the actress’s performance was fairly decent, and she def grew on me in the second episode when she’s not actually in a convent to constantly remind us how dissonant of a nun she is. But it would’ve been nice if they would’ve either committed to actually making her a nun, (a legit vampire hunting nun could be so cool!) or just abandoning the concept altogether. Because the way it was presented just felt like window dressing.

Also I’m not normally averse to shipping Van Helsing/Dracula but having to genderbend one of the two just to do it is like... hm. Also the weird tension they had going on was very badly executed in general.

Speaking of Dracula, he had to be the weakest part of the show. He was written in the smuggest, most infuriating way possible. And it might have worked with another actor but this dude just did not have any gravitas or stage presence whatsoever. And it certainly was not helped by the fact that his costuming and makeup were so fucking lackluster.

Despite being the linchpin of the story, he had no goals nor any particular drive. He was just out there doing Stuff for Reasons and none of them were compelling. It seemed like he was just killing to kill and the writing was not good enough to actually carry any of the vague themes about how he’s looking for new brides (why?) how he’s searching for a The Perfect Fruit (what???) or anything at all really. He had no depth whatsoever beneath his stupid quips and self-satisfied demeanor.

There was an interesting implication that he needed to choose who he drinks carefully in order to maintain his own personality/sanity/sentience and that without blood he’d… apparently just become like any of the zombies we saw in the show. And that is such a cool concept! But it was not really explored, nor was it written all that well. Even though it could’ve been (and I think was maybe intended to be???) an excellent source of existential dread!

But yes, in general there was hardly any depth to this show. They played almost every possible card they could for shock value, and included many unnecessary and frankly underwhelming esoteric concepts that went nowhere. There was so much gore and random effects. We had zombies, vampire infants, and Dracula legit wearing people’s skins. The lore didn’t make any sense either, apparently people just… being unable to die despite their body’s so called death is a common occurrence? It wasn’t clear whether Dracula even had much control over who he changes and whether or not they become proper vampires. The entire thing just seemed poorly thought out.

There were a lot of easter eggs and references to previous Dracula adaptations (and even some unrelated vampire media). I definitely noticed nods to the Hammer Horror movies and the Lugosi film, which was fun. The biggest noticeable influence however would have to be the 1992 Coppola movie. I have never seen a show try so hard to be another movie lmao. They even went so far as to make a spiritual successor to the film’s main theme that’s about as close as you could probably get without actually licensing the music.

However, while the Coppola film at least had skill with regards to the costuming and cinematography to carry its aesthetic, this show simply did not. The costumes, the makeup, and the special effects were all lackluster. The set was nice enough but was not shot in a way to really leave much of an impression.

The first episode was abysmal— mainly due to Dracula’s awful performance (those disgusting fungus covered fake nails, that age makeup, that ACCENT) and the entire awkward af scene where he terrorizes a convent of nuns while naked and covered in blood. But it was at least so bad it was funny.

The second episode was the most tedious to me because it was less offensively awful so I couldn’t even enjoy the badness. There was definitely a sharp uptick of quality whenever Dracula was offscreen for any notable amount of time though. The passengers were rather boring but I liked the crewmen. And Agatha honestly killed it for the latter half.

The last episode was by far the worst and yet the most entertaining because they just stopped trying at that point.

Renfield was amazing and an absolute delight every time he was on screen. Dracula found him over skype for God’s sake, how can that not be fantastic? He actually utters the words “Dracula has rights,” and his argument somehow actually fucking works.

And even Dracula himself was far less insufferable with the shift in dynamics. By being forced to cope with the modern world, he could no longer act like such a smarmy, self-assured know it all. Seeing him freak the fuck out at the sight of helicopters was genuinely fun.

Lucy’s handling was misogynistic af though. It was bafflingly, needlessly awful. And the way she was vilified at the very end was appalling. They almost had an interesting deconstruction wrt her utter malaise for her life, and the implication that she actually resents her beauty. But then of course she gets burned alive, and then is treated horribly for it by the protagonists.

Even though it’s clear she has no idea what’s happened to her body, Zoe doesn’t even bother to explain it to her. She just makes her take a selfie of all things so she can see what she really looks like. It didn’t seem like the show had a shred of sympathy for her, because “oh, clearly she was a narcissistic bitch and she deserved what she got” or something like that??

The utter indifference everyone has to her death is baffling. It was an afterthought, that seemed like its only purpose for existing was yet again just shock value. The scene, after her death, immediately shifting the focus back to whatever weird personal rivalry that borders on sexual tension Agatha/Zoe and Dracula have going on.

But all in all, this adaptation had me baffled, frustrated, and cringing through most of it. It was unintentionally funny quite often and I honestly enjoyed it, but for all the wrong reasons. I highly recommend it to anyone who wants to melt their fucking brain.

#netflix dracula #netflix dracula spoilers #moffat dracula #bbc dracula #long post #I ramble sometimes #tldr: it was BAD #all the salt #this is 1800 words #*writer’s cap*

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peachyteabuck · 5 years

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sick of nothing (carol danvers x reader)

summary: Shitty, shitty bars can still have pretty, pretty bartenders.

Carol’s got a night off and you work as a bartender while you study to become a statistician. A one-night stand situation.

pairing: Carol Danvers x Reader

words: 2,592

trigger warnings: one-night stands, daddy kink, light choking, strap ons, angst if you really squint

notes: this was written for @shay-iamiam ‘s 800 follower writing challenge. my prompt was “i have a name, and it’s not sweetheart” and has been bolded within the fic !!

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

The walk is about three and a half blocks, the hood of her AIR FORCE hoodie pulled up the whole time as if to dare any pick pocket and low life in the city to test her self-defense abilities. Nobody she passes looks at her for more than half a second, just how she wants it.

In front of her destination is a neon sign that’s nearly dulled - as if too old to support its own brightness anymore. It’s almost hidden among the other, flashier billboards and car lights and God knows what else the civilians in this town use to be seen these days. Regardless, it catches Carol’s eye.

The stairs to the entrance are lit by a green similar to the color outside, the deep shade barely masking the multiple women making out against the wall. Carol makes eye contact with one of them who’s got two attached to each side of her neck. The unnamed woman smirks at Carol, who nods back.

When she gets to the bottom of the stairs, the heavy door she has to use all her might to push in order to get through the threshold. There aren’t a lot of people in the run-down bar, it’s much too early for the regulars to be partying. She counts maybe six people, max, along with the three exits.

Carol spots you across the bar. Across the dirty, grimy bar she flags you down and orders scotch. She doesn’t know exactly what it is, but it was what her papa drank when he was lonely, so it’s what she’ll drink now.

Your pour the dark liquid into a glass with fluid movements, and you push it down the bar to her with equal ease.

“Enjoy,” you tell her, and she nods once before downing it. She watches you intently, tracks your wide grin and fast hands.

You notice her staring but don’t say anything, too busy stuffing your bra with the single dollar bills and wiping down the wettened wood as each patron becomes drunk enough to leave. It’s near the end of your shift, when you’ve got ten minutes left and the next girl comes to pull back her hair and change into her own t-shirt printed with the bar’s logo, that you finally make contact.

“It’s kinda rude to stare,” you tell her without meeting her eyes.

“Oh, but you’re so nice to look at,” the woman, with her shockingly neat blank olive long-sleeved shirt. She’s got blonde hair pulled back tight into a bun at the top of her neck, posture that rivals that of a Renaissance-era French noble.

Military. You note. Most of them don’t bother with the bar you have the misfortune of working at, especially with it being as seedy as it is; filled with degenerates as it is. There are better places to drink, better places to pick up hookers, better places to forget the fact they joined was just to pay for college.

The woman speaks again when you lean against the bar – the first time your feet stopped moving since your shift started. “When are you done here, sweetheart?”

You smile, the shine in your eyes especially evident in the low light. “I have a name, and it’s not sweetheart,” you tell her with a voice playful and light.

“And what is this mysterious name of yours?” she downs the last of her drink as she waits for your reply.

There’s a hesitancy in your voice, an uncertainty that isn’t scared but most definitely is noticeable. “Why don’t you take me on a date and find out?” Another pause. “I’m done here in five. You can meet me out back if you want.”

Carol smiles wide and dope, and tips you a crisp twenty-dollar bill, which she places over the wet ring her empty glass left on the dark, stained wood. “See ya then, darling,” just as she tucks her stool back out of the path of travel for the other customers, she turns back around. “My name’s Carol, by the way.”

As you tap out and grab your bag from the back room, you can’t tell which weighs heavier on your conscience: the biggest tip you’ve ever received (in proportion to the tab) or the fact that you’re about to have sex with a stranger.

Said woman is right where you told you to be, leaning against the brick wall with her hands stuffed in her pockets. Silently, you nod, and she follows you on the route to your apartment. For awhile it’s silent, almost uncomfortably so.

About halfway through the walk, Carol’s the first one to speak. “What are you doing here? In this shitty town?” A pause. “You seem way too smart to be stuck here.”

You shrug your bag closer to you, as if it’ll protect her from whatever hypercritical commentary she’s about to give. “I’m studying to be a statistician, working on saving money so I can start working on my PhD soon.”

Carol laughs a little, and for a moment you prepare to recite the speech you gave your dad when you left home four years ago, your freshman year professor who told you that women can’t do math, it’ll interfere with their natural role as caregivers to the family, your sophomore year boyfriend who you broke up with not only because you figured out you only like women, but also because he was a piece of shit who told you that if a woman wasn’t a stay at home mom she wasn’t worth shit.

But Carol doesn’t mock you, doesn’t chuckle like it’s the strangest thing she’s ever heard.

Still, you’re concerned. “What’re you laughing about?”

“Just never expected anyone so smart would allow someone like me to take them home,” she tells you, honest and sincere. For a moment her cool façade breaks and your heart along with it, but after a few seconds she’s back with that killer smile.

Your conversation remains light the rest of the walk, at one point your fingers intertwining as the silence of the night settles upon you. The action is cute, innocent, directly contrasting what happened the second you reach the inside of your apartment.

Carol’s got you pushed against the inside of your bedroom door, and you can feel each groove and nick in the old wood as she pulls off the horrendous black shirt your boss requires you to wear. The day it was handed to you, you promised yourself you’d burn it the minute you didn’t have to work at that shithole anymore. But, as Carol kisses your collar bone and bites at each square inch of sensitive skin, you wonder how bad it could be if you managed to catch her while wearing it. On impulse your nose wrinkles, thinking about the putrid scent wafting from the fabric, the piss of a thousand racoons settling over the hottest woman you’ve ever laid eyes on.

Luckily, Carol doesn’t notice, because she’s too busy pulling it off of you and catching a glimpse of the tattoos that litter your body. Her lips stop, then, and she takes a moment to look – really look – at them. She traces the normal model – located on your ribs – lightly. “Is that the mathy shit you were talking about?”

You laugh, pulling her in for a kiss. “These are equations that can determine things you only dream of knowing. You know, in World War I-“ You’re cut off with a sharp bite to your breast opposite the ink and one of her hands snaking itself down your pants. “Oh fuck.”

Carol smiles into your skin before throwing you onto the bed, her hair barely moving as she tosses you as if you were pillow rather than a person. You hit the bed with a loud thump, and in the second you take to move your thick blankets that have gathered over you off of your body she’s removed her shirt and is working on unhooking her simple, sweat-stained bra.

Her movements are fevered, her eyes ablaze. It’s the kind of fire you’ve seen in the climax of cheesy animated movies, when the pretty, hopeless protagonist is cornered against some thick free as the big, bad wolf towers over her as spit falls from its jowls. With wide eyes, the careless woman watches and whimpers as what is likely her death-bringer rips the top of her bodice open with a simple swipe of its dirt-coated claws.

The only difference between you and her appears to be her terror, because as Carol crawls over you and sinks her teeth into your jugular all you can do is moan and grab at her back.

“You’re so cute,” she growls into your ear. “Maybe I should fuck you like I’ll break you…” An evil, hungry grin spreads across her face as you shake your head, your nails dragging angry red lines down her muscular back. “Or, maybe not.”

As she removes her thick, black pants, you notice she’s wearing a worn leather harness she claims she’s had since she first enlisted fit tight to her waist and thighs. The material is soft as your palms occasionally run over the buckles as you reach for her ass. “Please, Carol, please god,” you beg, gasping at she bites at your nipple. “Please just fuck me.”

Carol moves on down your stomach, leaving a trail of bruises in her wake. You can feel her lips spread into a smile into your skin, nipping at your heated flesh as she looks up at you. “Mm, kinda wanna have you ride me instead. You okay with that, baby girl?”

You’re breathless as you respond. “Yes.”

Somehow, in all of your breathless splendor, Carol finds a way you coax you – no, manhandle you so that you’re hovering just above the bright blue cock kept in place by the harness.

“I don’t think that’s military-issue,” you quip. The smirk on your face, though, subsides quickly when she aligns herself with your entrance and bottoms out in a single thrust. All you can do is moan, bracing yourself with one hand on the wall and one on her chest. It’s embarrassing, almost, how good it feels.

The ends of Carol’s mouth slowly spread upward as she watches you fall apart, watches your eyes roll to the back of your head, watches your jaw go slack.

“You like that?” she asks, voice thick with the arousal that comes with pleasing a partner. “You like it when I fuck your pussy this hard?”

All you can do is give her a small squeak and a nod, unable to form such a complicated thing as speech. Carol’s got one hand on your hip to keep you moving, to keep your hips grinding on her cock, while the other rests on your throat with her thumb moving just past your lips.

It doesn’t take any exchange of words for you to understand what she wants from you, and as you take the ridge between the two phalanges you flatten your tongue against the digit.

You soak the calloused skin with your spit, tracing every small detail with your tongue and basking in the glow of giving and receiving pleasure. Soon, though, Carol pulls her thumb away with a loud pop!

You pout, worrying you had done something wrong. But as you feel Carol circling your clit you forget all about your own insecurities.

“Oh fuck,” you whine, almost falling if it weren’t for Carol’s painful grip on your hip. “Oh my God!”

“You gonna come for me baby?” She hisses, voice husky and laced with godly confidence. “You gonna come on daddy’s cock?”

Her saying that word, that title, sends another flood of arousal to your center. “Yes, daddy, I love your cock,” you moan, desperate throw yourself into the pleasure you’re so close to reaching. “Please, please let me come! I wanna come on your thick dick, daddy!”

Carol doesn’t say anything at first, caught stroking her ego with a cocky smirk that somehow makes you even wetter.

“Fuck yeah, baby,” Carol nearly purrs. “Come for Daddy.”

She’s got one thumb rubbing at your clit, the other hand palming at your breast. Soon it’s too much, the tight, heated coil in your abdomen gives one last tightening before it unravels – pleasure flooding your blood. As the explosive pleasure begins to subside, Carol carefully flips you onto your back and pulls out of your hypersensitive pussy. As she pulls the toy out of you achingly slow you whimper from sensitivity and the empty feeling inside of you.

Carol moves off of the bed to pull the harness off of you, and in the absence of her body heat you shiver and whine for her to join you back in bed. She gives you a small, pitiful smile before leaning forward to a place a light kiss on your sweaty forehead. “Just give me a second, baby, you need some water.” You mmph, and point her in the direction of your shitty kitchenette.

When she comes back you’re on the precipice of sleep – eyes heavy as she props you up to drink from of the cold tap water. As you empty the glass, she places it onto your bedside table and wraps herself around you – puling the heavy, sex-thick blankets over the two of you. With the warmth of the fabric and her skin, sleep soon claims your consciousness.

It feels like a mere few seconds later when your pupils begin to move behind your eyelids, sparked by something deep in your foolhardy dreams telling you that you feel someone stirring in your room. When your eyes finally crack open, you can see the woman who fucked you into another consciousness last night pulling on her clothes in the dark.

When you click on the lamp, her movements stop like a cockroach freezes under a flashlight. A long, heavy silence ensues.

Carol’s the one to break it. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

More silence.

“I’m sorry,” she says – voice small.

The corners of your lips turn up in a similar manner. “It’s okay.”

Another beat passes before the both of you move. Carol continues to dress, and you move to write your landline number and, after a bit of hesitation, your name and address.

The silence continues as she makes her way around your room and collects her things – namely the harness, which she tucks back under her pants, just as before. As she turns around to pull her pants over the leather strap, you move behind her to tuck the old receipt into a back pocket.

When Carol notices your hands on her ass she freezes, but soon welcomes the embrace as you whisper in her ear. “Just…don’t be a stranger, alright?”

She intertwines your fingers and kisses where her skin meets yours. “I’ll try.”

You sigh as Carol steps out of your apartment complex into the pink-covered city. Dawn is just bringing itself upon the horizon, as if the sun is trying to bide you more time together. There are a few moments where your eyes meet, and she gives you a small, sad smile.

“Goodbye,” she says quietly.

You nod, once. Wrapping your robe tighter around you to keep the chills tighter to keep the chills at bay, you wonder why it would be so cool in the thick of summer. As you turn back inside to get ready for class, you try not to think about how it might not be the cold that make you shake.

#carol danvers x reader #carol danvers fanfic #carol danvers imagine #shayswriting challenge #lukis writes stuff #my shit doesnt even show up in tags why do i bother tagging it lol #carol danvers lemons #writing challenge entries

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