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voidpetrova · 7 months

Text

wyocmwyh? — nate jacobs x reader

☄. *. ⋆

content warnings and genre: reader is a bigger jackass than nate, swearing, unprotected sex, sex under the influence, marijuana consumption — smut/angst

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

synopsis: he's been full of issues for as long as he could remember, and you were aware of his reputation. the last thing anybody has expected when you started hooking up—was for him to get a taste of his own medicine

✧.*

he didn't know what to expect, talking to his friends about you. mckay and the others weren't sure how to feel about you, not that they knew much. just that you were a knockout, and that you and nate had been seeing each other for a while now. they supported their friend, listening to his rants and ongoing rambling about how you were the first woman to change him, he had started to turn over a new leaf. to be fair, they weren't aware that you had other intentions.

nate jacobs, the enigmatic figure who had once reveled in the shadows of manipulation and deceit, found himself drawn into the web of your allure. it was a mystery even to himself, how your presence had shaken the very foundations of his carefully constructed world. in the past, he had been the puppet master, the maestro of control, orchestrating lives to dance to his wicked tune. but now, he was dancing to a melody entirely of your making, and he didn't know how to stop.

as he sat with his friends in a dimly lit corner of their favorite hangout spot, the neon lights casting an ethereal glow on their faces, nate couldn't help but talk about you. his voice, once laced with arrogance, had softened into a tone of wonder and vulnerability.

“guys, you won't believe it,” he began, his words infused with an unusual sincerity that caught the attention of his friends. “(y/n), she's really something else.” mckay, his closest confidant, exchanged a knowing glance with roy, silently acknowledging that nate was treading on unfamiliar terrain. they had witnessed his conquests, his manipulation, and his cunning schemes, but never had they seen him like this—bewildered, captivated, and undeniably smitten. “she's different, man,” he continued, his gaze distant as if lost in a reverie of your image. “i don't know what it is, but every moment i spend with her, it's like i'm discovering a whole new side of myself.”

troy, the street-savvy yet compassionate friend, leaned forward, curiosity etching his features. “nate, you sound like you're in deep. what's so special about her?” his lips curved into a faint smile, a testament to the genuine feelings you had stirred within him. “everything, man. she's smart, funny, and beautiful, sure, but it's more than that. when i'm with her, it's like i'm not the same person. i want to be better, for her.”

cassie, who had once been entangled in nate's web of deception, watched him intently, her heart a peculiar mix of relief and apprehension. she had seen the damage he could cause, yet she couldn't help but hope that you truly had the power to change him for the better.

as the night wore on, nate's friends listened to his impassioned monologue about you, how he felt like he was falling in love. they offered their support, unaware of the hidden motives that lurked beneath the surface of your relationship. in their minds, this was a story of redemption, a narrative of a man transformed by love. little did they know that you were the puppet master now, pulling the strings in a clandestine game of your own design. nate was merely a pawn in your intricate plan, a taste of his own medicine, while he unknowingly surrendered his heart to you, falling deeper into the snare you had skillfully woven.

amidst the haze of dimly lit conversations, the sultry aroma of late-night revelry, and the comforting embrace of his friends' camaraderie, nate's phone buzzed on the table. he fished it out of his pocket, his gaze lingering on the screen as your name illuminated the darkness. without a second thought, he answered, the anticipation palpable in his voice. “hey, (y/n). what's up?” on the other end of the line, your voice held a carefree, almost nonchalant quality that was starkly different from the emotional depth he had been discussing earlier. “hey, natey,” you purred, your words languid, as if drifting through a cloud of smoke. “i was thinking it's been a while since we hung out. wanna come over? got something that might make the night more interesting.”

nate's curiosity was piqued, and he glanced at his friends, their expressions a mix of amusement and intrigue. he shrugged, trying to act cool, as if your request was nothing out of the ordinary. “sure, why not? i'll be there in a bit.” as he hung up the call, he couldn't help but notice how his newfound sense of vulnerability clashed with your seemingly carefree demeanor. it was as though you were operating on a different wavelength, a wavelength that had suddenly shifted the dynamic between you two.

minutes later, nate arrived at your doorstep, his heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty. he was met by the hazy glow of dimly lit candles, their flickering flames casting dancing shadows across the room. the scent of something herbal hung in the air, mingling with the faint notes of incense. you were sprawled on the couch, smoke tendrils swirling around you as you took a languid drag from a joint, your eyes half-lidded and distant. when you saw nate, your lips curled into a slow, seductive smile.

“hey, babe,” you drawled, your voice low and sultry. “come join me.” he had hesitated for a moment, his analytical mind trying to make sense of the stark contrast between your current persona and the person he had been gushing about to his friends just moments ago. but the pull of your presence was undeniable, and he sank into the couch beside you.

as he took the joint from your outstretched hand and inhaled deeply, the world seemed to melt away, and he felt himself slipping into a state of euphoria. the weed wrapped its gentle tendrils around his consciousness, leaving him feeling strangely warm and at ease. you leaned closer, your fingers tracing an absent-minded pattern on his thigh, and he couldn't help but notice how the haze in your eyes had transformed into something altogether different. it was a vulnerability he hadn't seen in you before, a tenderness that seemed to mirror the emotions he had been expressing earlier.

in that moment, as the room swirled around them and the intoxicating effects of the joint continued to envelop them, nate found himself drawn to you in a way he couldn't explain. he had come seeking a taste of your enigmatic allure, but now he was discovering a depth to you that transcended the surface. unbeknownst to him, the lines between manipulation and genuine emotion were becoming increasingly blurred, and the intricate game you had set in motion was taking an unexpected turn.

nate's bruising grip on your hip tightened as your knees buckled, making you stay upright and exactly where he had placed you, making sure that you could feel the way he split your pussy open. the wet squelching of your cunt urged on the filthy words coming for his lips and the moans that left his mouth, filling your ears as he held onto your ass, groping it with an ulterior motive of possessiveness. you were enjoying it, with much difference from the normal way that you two would have sex. with much softer touches that wouldn't leave green and purple marks for the days after or guilty looks from you for even doing this to him, using him—never letting him know it.

a shocked moan came from you as nate moved his hand from your neck to your clit, rubbing fast and tight circles with his other hand, barely nudging from the squirming that you were doing. only loud, growled out words came from him, loud enough for you to hear him and for more and more shockwaves to build in your stomach, adding to your release.

the nirvana of the mindless self-indulgence clashing with the exruciatingly hard orgasms produced something mesmerizing. nate came, filling you up with his hot, sticky seed and, in that moment, his grip loosened. his tight, possessive touch had been replaced with a sweet tenderness that even you had noticed. he came with a moan, as did you, your juices dripping down his shaft as the balloon in your stomach finally popped. the euphoria didn't last forever, it never did. it had come to his knowledge that whatever it was he was feeling for you, relished in a sense of unrequited feelings. he didn't know it at first, but he figured it out rather quickly, unable to stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth.

“i love you, (y/n),” he was met with silence, something he wasn't used to. he was used to girls throwing themselves at his feet, knowing how little he cared for them. this time, it was different. for the first time in forever, he wished he could take it back, the silence deafening. the only thing he could hear was the way his heart shattered from within.

#euphoria #euphoria imagine #euphoria fanfiction #euphoria angst #euphoria smut #euphoria fluff #nate jacobs #nate jacobs x reader #nate jacobs fanfiction #nate jacobs imagine #nate jacobs smut #nate jacobs angst #nate jacobs fluff #nate jacobs x reader smut #nate jacobs euphoria #euphoria nate smut

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ghouljams · 7 months

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To be honest, I would want to be Price and Witch’s kid instead of fuck them idk why. I have mommy and daddy issues I guess lol.

Yeah I can do that, Witch adopts a lot of people and Price... also adopts strays.

"Do you want some tea darling?" The Witch asks, crouching to be on your level, "or maybe some hot chocolate? Could perk you right up."

You think for a moment before nodding your head. You're not supposed to talk to strangers, but you've seen this witch in the neighborhood and there's something comforting about her. Her concern seems genuine as she fusses with the copper pots in her kitchen. And you really can't complain about the rich dark liquid she pours neatly into a mug for you. It certainly looks, and smells, like a melted chocolate bar. Far flung from the powdered stuff you expected.

She frowns at you for a moment, plucking at the space around you with purposeful fingers. You sip your drink, and try not to watch her too closely. She may feel warm, but her movements are alien to you, and strike at your stomach with a strange primal fear. You think it's fear, you don't quite have the word for this feeling. You're sure it will come to you.

The chocolate coats your tongue, thick and viscous, you think you can taste cinnamon under the cocoa. The Witch taps her finger against her cheek, watching you, she seems ill at ease. Obviously concerned over the strange child that's made themselves comfortable in her home. She seems to come to some conclusion, holding her hand over her mouth as she whispers something. It's inaudible and yet it fills the room, dissonant whispers echoing off the walls and collecting in a swirl of smoke.

A man steps out with a roll of his shoulders, and almost as quickly as he lays eyes on you, he's looking back at the witch.

"Where'd you get the changeling?" He asks with a raise of his brow. The Witch lets out a breath.

"Oh good, knew they felt fae," She goes to the kitchen while the man takes a seat next to you, "they just showed up, I assume they're one of the neighbor's kids."

"Is that right?" The man smiles at you, it makes his eyes crinkle at the edges, you smile back with all your teeth. He seems to like that, poking his fingers against your sides to make you giggle. "Where's your mum, hm? Can't have wandered too far off."

You shrug and the fae man nods. You like when adults don't make you talk, sometimes talking is too much. The witch taps her fingers together, thinking, while the man lets smoke swirl off his fingers. It makes little shapes and animals in the air, elephants and lions dancing around your head, butterflies flying over to distract the witch. You hold your hand out for one, and watch a lion burst into a flock of penguins to waddle across your palm.

"I can run a trace, I suppose," The Witch sighs walking closer, she crouches to be at eye level with you, "Can I have a pinch of your hair darling? I promise it won't hurt a bit."

You don't know if you want to give a witch your hair. It seems dangerous, that's how witches take control of people. You look at the man for help, surely he knows how witches work and won't let this one puppet you around. He chuckles, leaning his elbow against the table to rest his head against his fist. He nods at you.

"Go on then, I'll make sure she doesn't do anything nasty." He assures you. You look back at the Witch, who's glaring at your new friend.

"Don't make me sound so wicked," She scolds him.

"Don't need my help for that sweetheart," There's something warm in his voice, something that makes the whole house light up with warmth as the Witch bites down a smile.

She's very careful with you, pressing her fingers against your scalp as she twists hair around her fingers, plucking a few stray strands before pulling away again. She's right, it doesn't hurt. You rub your head, and she turns it back towards your mug of liquid chocolate. You think that's payment enough.

You don't watch what she does with your hair, but you feel the shiver of it. It's like a little zap of electricity, a stray shock from rubbing your socks against carpet. You wrinkle your nose at the feeling, it's not unbearable, but it's unpleasant. You consider peaking at what the Witch is doing, but you catch sight of your new fae friend first, and watching him watch her is much more interesting.

His eyes spark, and you mean that literally. There's a fire behind them that traces its way around his iris each time he blinks. A spark of gold against ice blue. A shooting star in a snowstorm. His eyes smile, and even though his fingers stop you from seeing his lips you assume they're smiling at well. You glance at the witch and see her hold up a vial of black powder to the light, her eyes studying it as she tips it one way then the other. It's not anything interesting, you don't see what's worth staring at.

"Can you make a bear?" You ask the man, he hums questioningly before looking at you. "They're my favorite," You explain.

"Can I make a bear?" He scoffs, swirling his fingers to collect the smoke. The wisps of it draw together and burst with a spark into the silhouette of a brown bear. It plods along the table top before sitting down to look around. It's a good bear.

"I know a good story about a bear," You tell him. He raises a brow, and doesn't stop you as you chatter away telling your favorite fairy tale. In fact his smoke seems to act out the scenes for you, stopping and restarting as you try to remember details. By the time you finish there's no more sound coming from the witch's work, and you're starting to notice the "lovely princess" and "handsome prince" smoke figures look a lot like your hosts.

"I called their mum," The witch tells the man, setting a cup of tea in front of him. "She should be here soon." The fae man snaps his fingers and the smoke disperses.

"One of the neighbors?" He asks, and she hums in confirmation. He tugs at her hand, pulls her down to perch on his lap with a quiet word.

"Are you alright to go home dear?" She asks you, and you think she means it. Sometimes people ask you things but they don't really want an answer, they just want to ask. You nod after a moment's thought. She looks relieved. "If you ever get lost again, you can call me,-" she hands you a little black card with gold lettering, it looks very official, "-I'll get you back home."

You turn the card over. There's no name on it just a phone number, an address, and one word, "Witch." You're studying one of the gold stars on the corner of it when there's a knock at the door. The Witch stands to answer it, and the fae man's touch lingers on her hip before she moves away. He gives you a wink as she pulls the door open, as if his affections are a conspiracy between the two of you. You hop off your chair and he catches your arm.

"Price," He tells you quietly, it feels like an important word so you nod solemnly. He smiles, "Go on back to your mum, and don't go spreading my name around."

You hold onto your mother's hand as you wave good-bye. She thanks the Witch profusely, though she waves all of them off. You watch the gold slip off of her like water, humans are so funny like that. They never hold onto heavy ties, kind only for the sake of kindness.

"Do you know how worried I was?" Your mother scolds you, "You're lucky someone dangerous didn't find you."

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thepaperpanda · 7 months

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Warnings: smut w/o plot, master kink, blindfold, leash, oral (m & f receiving), anal fingering, dirty talk, fem!reader

Synopsis: Sukuna takes immense pleasure in indulging in playful interactions with his beloved human plaything

Author: @doumadono A/N: Here is my latest contribution to our Kinktober '23 Collaboration. I sincerely hope that you derive great enjoyment from it. Today’s prompt: leash

Masterlist

From the shadows, a chill embraces your skin as a cold piece of leather gracefully encircles your neck. The whispered command reaches your ears, coaxing a mischievous smile to dance upon your lips, “Rule #1, human whore.”

Swiftly, you shed your shirt and pants, casting aside the last remnants of your modesty, baring your form to the world.

Rule #1 - when the collar graces your neck, your garments yield to the ground.

Kneeling obediently, wrists offered to the sides, you await the embrace of leather cuffs, ready to submit to their firm hold.

Sukuna's presence envelopes you as he slides the cuffs into place, and you offer gratitude, your voice hushed, "Thank you, Sukuna.”

Yet, without warning, searing pain surges across your right cheek. The command tears through the air, a stark reminder of your transgression. “Rule #2!” Sukuna yells.

“Rule #2 - Sukuna does not exist at the same time the collar does. When the collar is on, you will be referred to him as Master. Anything else is grounds for punishment,” you recite.

"You see, Y/N? You can be a good slave, you just need to want it," he utters, his satisfaction evident more in the comprehension of his dominion than in any delight derived from your presence. With deliberate care, he adorns your ankles in leather cuffs, issuing the decree for you to rise.

You comply, pivoting to face him, your first true glimpse of him since a long time. Clad in naught but snug boxers, he exposed his entirety to any observer's prying eyes. Almost instinctively, you found yourself tallying his chiseled abdominal muscles within the recesses of your mind.

He reaches behind him, and he retrieves a leash, fastening it securely to your leather collar. A rough tug guides you into his sanctum, where a peculiar sight, previously unnoticed, now beckons – a suspended chain descends from the ceiling.

"Hands aloft, my sweet human slut," Sukuna decrees.

You oblige without hesitation, your cuffs attaching to the suspended chain. This, you cherished the most – the segment he referred to as playtime, where you metamorphosed into a pliable puppet, surrendered wholly to his unrestrained whims.

Sukuna's lips descend upon your neck, igniting an exquisite symphony of sensations that ripples through your body. Each kiss is a tantalizing promise, and you can't suppress the instinctive squirm of excitement that coursed through you. His path of seduction continues, a slow, deliberate journey down your chest, where his lips pauses, lingering temptingly over your aroused nipples.

The world around you seems to fade into insignificance as Sukuna traces his way further south, his kisses setting your skin ablaze with longing. Finally, his destination is reached, and his lips meet your slick, aching core. With a deft touch, he kisses around it while firmly grasping the plush flesh of your ass, sending waves of pleasure through you. A languorous, teasing lick up your slit follows, culminating in an intoxicating kiss on your clitoris before he withdraws, leaving you craving more.

Sukuna's chuckle, a wicked melody, pierces the air as he circles around you, positioning himself near your ass. Without warning, his skilled fingers find their way into your tight asshole, eliciting a gasp of pure pleasure from your trembling lips. He works his calloused fingers in and out of you, watching you scream just for him.

Soon, Sukuna rises, and a blindfold descendes over your eyes, shrouding your senses in anticipation. "My master," you whisper. “You’re so good to me, master.”

The subtle sound of clips being undone from above reverberates in your ears, a signal for you to lower your arms. Eagerly, you comply, yearning to be bound, to surrender completely to Sukuna's mastery.

He clips your wrists together, and you instinctively place them before you, tantalizing thoughts of self-indulgence dancing through your mind.

But Sukuna, ever the master of your desires, anticipates your thoughts with an air of authority. "If you even try to play with that little cunt of yours," he warns, "expect punishment." His grip on your leash tightens, and he guides you, blinded by the fabric that concealed your vision, to what you can only surmise as his throne.

A sharp slap on your exposed ass commands you to kneel. Sukuna's dominance is an intoxicating elixir, and as you kneel before him, you can't help but long for the thrilling journey that lay ahead.

With an eager grin, your anticipation heightens as you know exactly what's about to unfold.

Sukuna's hand gently but firmly guides the back of your head, directing your lips towards his massive dick. His physique is undoubtedly impressive, but it's his imposing cock that stands out as his most remarkable physical attribute, in your opinion.

As your lips make contact with the warm, throbbing head of his member, an immediate surge of desire courses through you, and you moan. The salty taste of pre-cum teases your senses, and you embark on the tantalizing journey, taking his length into your mouth inch by inch. With each passing moment, you feel the throbbing presence, stopping at about halfway when it grazes the back of your throat. You've never quite managed to take the entirety of him before, but tonight feels different — it's a night of potential conquest.

Sukuna maintains a steady pressure on your head as you draw in a deep breath through your nose, preparing for the daring plunge that lies ahead. As his pulsating cock advances deeper, you begin to feel a sensation of lightheadedness creeping in. Lost in the intense moment, you lose track of how far you've come, your singular focus on taking even more of him inside.

Suddenly, the sensation of his skin brushing against the tip of your nose snaps you out of your passionate trance. Gasping for much-needed air, you peel your head away from his length, a triumphant grin playing upon your lips, drool dripping down on your tits - you've achieved what you set out to do!

You can feel the undeniable assurance that he relishes the upward pull of your leash, a silent affirmation of his desire. As you rise to your feet, you're swiftly guided onto his regal throne, your body effortlessly placed there. Your legs find themselves hoisted upward, draped over his robust, sinewy shoulders, and the sultry sound of his grunts fills your ears. Without any warning, he shoves his dick in your pussy, and you let out a shout. "Fuck, master, harder!" You somehow manage to get out in one quick breath before returning to moaning.

He grabs your leash and uses it as leverage as he pumps his massive shaft into you. Sukuna begins going faster and you are in complete ecstasy, barely able to stop squealing to breathe. His balls slap against your cunt, wet noises fill the room.

You feel him pull out of your cunny. With a tug of the leash, Sukuna forces you back on your knees. “Open your filthy mouth, bitch,” he orders. Hs dick is placed in your mouth. you barely give it a lick before his huge load shoots into your mouth, some of it dribbling out of the corners of your mouth. You swallow all you can, licking your lips after.

"Good slut," Skuna says, clearly satisfied. He slips one of his hands between your parted thighs to rub fast circles on your swollen clitoris. He then pulls the blindfold off of you and you grin up at him shyly. Sukuna's voice drips with approval as he can’t help but wear a sly, mischievous grin. "Impressive work, my obedient slave. You've truly outdone yourself. Well done fulfilling Rule #3.”

Rule #3 - ensure the master's desires are consistently satisfied.

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ramavoite · 11 months

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“They told that sordid genie who'd been hanging about that if he cleaned up the mess, they'd hand over the bespectacled puppet they found trapped in the molasses. And oh! That damnable genie says, "You've got a deal." And snaps his spindly fingers and, poof! The molasses is gone. And the wicked cretins of Boston deliver unto the monster his sticky prize. "Finally," hisses the dreadful beast, "Do you know the trouble you've caused me? The world isn't ready for the singing abominations your reckless little dance through time has created. Now, time to handle the most abominable singing puppet of them all!" As the genie's trembling hands moved toward our beloved hero, the rakish blue rogue smirks and whispers, "Let’s crack in." As if taught by Houdini himself, the puppet unbinds himself in an instant and majestically dives for a satchel, reaches inside, and he suddenly disappears in a brilliant flash of light, as that wretched goddamn loser genie lets out a time-shaking wail!”

#puppet history #watcher #the professor #my gifs

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goodqueenaly · 4 months

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Which pre/post-Conquest events and in-series events do you think would be popular plays/operas in each of the Seven Kingdoms and Essos?

Well, we do get a bit of a sense of what sort of "history plays" have been written and performed in Braavos (though whether these have been popularized elsewhere in Essos is a bit of a mystery). Arya references the mummers of the Ship teaching her speeches from, among other plays, The Conqueror's Two Wives, presumably about Rhaenys and Visenya Targaryen (which I personally think would be a potentially fascinating study on the respective characters of as well as the relationship between the two sisters). Likewise, in "Mercy", Arya-as-Mercy notes that Izembaro borrows a threat from Prince Garin in Phario Forel's Wroth of the Dragonlords, a play about the doomed final resistance of the Rhoynar against the Valyrian Freehold. Of course, the main action in "Mercy" centers around the staging of Forel's newest work, The Bloody Hand, a play which - obviously more than a little loosely - adapts very recent Westerosi history, staged in that chapter for the entertainment of the Baratheon-Lannister court's envoy, Harys Swyft.

Westeros doesn't appear to have exactly the same theatrical tradition Braavos seems to have, but there are certainly both puppet shows and mummer's plays performed across the Seven Kingdoms. While the specific entertainments we've seen have been limited to either mythological (the story of Florian the Fool) or allegorical (the unsubtle tale of the kingdom of beasts reported by Qyburn to Cersei) subject matter, there might nevertheless be any number of opportunities for historical events to, no pun intended, take center stage. There are way, way too many historical events and figures in the roughly eight millennia of Westeros' existence as a collection of political entities (again, to say nothing of Essos), so these ideas are not even scratching the surface, but I thought I would come up with a few.

So, for example, the accusations against Queen Naerys and Prince Aemon (perhaps complete with a Katherine of Aragon-like defense by the queen) might mirror, say, Henry VIII. The collapse of the Gardener kingdom under the weak and ineffective Garth X, followed by a devastating civil war, feels to me like an opportunity for a Reach version of Henry VI (perhaps echoed with the Dance of the Dragons, many centuries later). Even the story of Torgon Greyiron might have its share of light Hamlet parallels, as the story of a royal son quasi-usurped from his royal place by the wicked murderer of his kinsmen while he was away from his homeland (though with Torgon having something of a more fortunate ending than Hamlet himself, naturally). Not, of course, that we need to limit our imaginations only to perfect parallels of Shakespeare plays (to say nothing of any other history playwrights). Benedict Justman, for one, seems like a figure whose life could be used to ask deep questions on, say, the nature of power, the importance of love versus duty, and the importance (or not) of legitimacy. The flight of the Manderlys from the Reach and their welcome by the Starks might likewise be used by some enterprising playwright to explore themes of justice (and injustice), alienation, and self-identity.

And of course, what entertainments might be popular would likely be dependent on the politics of any given time and/or place. Would, say, plays depicting King Ronard Storm have been popularized during the reign of King Aegon IV or King Daeron II - maybe to denounce Ronard's reign as defined by lasciviousness and resistance to lawful authority (as with Aegon's), but maybe also to depict a bastard as a stronger and more worthy heir than his legitimate half-brother (if, say, the play was written by Blackfyre partisans)? Perhaps in the immediate aftermath of Robert's Rebellion, Riverlands playwrights would have looked for inspiration to the heroic uprising of Edmyn Tully against the wicked tyrant Harren Hoare (though perhaps with less emphasis placed on the king rewarding Edmyn being the first of the recently overthrown Targaryen dynasty). Daeron I's conquest of Dorne might have encouraged pro-conquest playwrights to create works about King Durran the Young, whose similar name, apparently similar youth, and very bloody military campaigns against Dornish armies might have made a natural comparison for these creators (though probably less so the idea that King Durran supposedly "became besotted with his own niece in later life and died at the hands of his brother Erich Kin-Killer").

Personally, I would love to see more fanfic invent plays or similar entertainments from Westerosi history. I, of course, would be remiss not to note my own, albeit very humble attempt at a Westerosi history play, The True History of the Blackfyre Rebellion. (And please no one remind me that I have a second play that I probably have to completely rework and is certainly nowhere close to being done.)

#asoiaf meta #creative #westerosi culture

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greymoonfeelings · 1 year

Text

Look What You Made Me Do

pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Fem! reader

summary: teasing bradley doesn’t have its desired outcome

word count: 0.9k

warnings: thighfucking, orgasm denial?, cum play? and kinda mean dom bradley

listen babes I tried my best to tag this but idk what to tag most of it

•••

This night has not been going the way you wanted it to. If it was up to you, you would be tossing back your fifth shot and grinding against Bradley on the crowded dance floor right now. Instead, you’re squished into a booth between your boyfriend and Hangman, listening to the blonde brag to Coyote and Payback about the hot girl who just gave Jake her number.

Maybe you’re a little selfish for wanting Bradley all to yourself when this night is for Jake’s birthday, but who can blame you when Bradley is sitting there dressed like a daydream bathed in the neon lights of the club? You can’t help how attracted you are to your own boyfriend.

Fiddling with the straw of your mixed drink, an idea pops into your head. If you couldn’t get him alone, you were going to force him to make a move.

It starts off subtle, your hand squeezes Bradley’s thigh as you laugh overzealously at some joke Fanboy made. Your hand starts inching higher as your nail traces patterns. It tickles, but he thinks nothing of it, assuming you’re just doing it mindlessly. Then your hand travels towards the inside of his thigh and ghosts over the crotch of his jeans. His leg jumps and the corners of your mouth pull into a wicked smile. It’s clear to him then that you know exactly what you’re doing.

“We’re gonna get some more drinks.” Bradley announces. He pulls you up from the booth, bringing your body in front of him to shield the problem you created for him from the view of others. All your friends wave you off, too engrossed in a story being told by Phoenix to notice that both of your glasses are still full.

Your boyfriend leads the two of you toward the back of the club in the complete opposite direction of the bar. When you reach the bathroom, he pushes you inside and locks the door behind himself.

“Look what you did.” He grabs your hand, bringing it to cup his erection that strains against the denim of his blue jeans. You moan lowly at the feeling of his hard cock, imagining how good it would feel inside you right now, hitting all the right spots. You rub your thighs together, hoping for some relief. The action doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

“You’re gonna fix the problem you made before we go back in there.”

Bradley cages your body against the wooden door, leaving you no room to escape. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your leggings, pulling at the black spandex. He swiftly pulls himself out of his jeans before pulling down your panties just enough to slip his cock between the fabric.

“Spit,” Bradley commands as he takes your hand and holds it to your mouth.

Following his orders, you spit in your palm and watch as he wraps your hand around his cock. He uses your hand to pump his length, coating his cock in your saliva. He controls your movements like a puppet master, refusing to lighten up on his grip or let your hand move of its own volition.

Eventually, he releases your hand and replaces it with his own. He rubs his cock between your folds, smearing your wetness along his length. Precum leaks against your mound as his cockhead brushes against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

The slow drag of his cock through your folds is antagonizing, causing your hips to buck against his iron-clad grasp. Bradley squeezes your hip and sends you a warning glance. The darkness in his brown eyes sends a shiver down your spine. Your soft, loving boyfriend has been completely replaced by a domineering man who excites you even more.

He continues rubbing himself against you, grinding shamelessly. A banging sound erupts from the other side of the door. Someone yells out, but it's ignored by both of you. Bradley is too focused on the feeling of you soaking his cock and your whiny moans that are like music to his ears. He can tell you're frustrated by his lack of attention to your pleaing, but denying you just turns him on more. You sound so pathetic begging him to get inside of you.

A string of curse words flows freely from his parted lips as his tip catches on your entrance. The long vein that runs along the expanse of his neck pops out when his head tips back. It stands out against his tanned skin deliciously, begging you to sink your teeth into it. It increases your desire tenfold but your boyfriend isn’t giving you what you need.

You decide to take matters into your own hands. You move to wrap your hand around his cock and lower yourself onto it, but he’s quicker. He rips your hand away and pins it beside you.

“Not now,” he growls. He pulls his cock from between your thighs and starts pumping himself instead. His satisfied grunts echo around the small bathroom as he fists his cock harder. You watch with a frustrated pout as Bradley coats your mound in cum. Your lower lip wobbles, on the verge of tears when you think about the itch that would be left unscratched.

He watches intently as his cum drips onto your panties before pulling them back up with your leggings. He grinds his palm against your clothed pussy, feeling the warmth of his spend through the fabric. He gives you a satisfied smirk and pecks your pouty lips before pulling you back out into the crowded club.

#heather writes #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw smut

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 1 year

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the good stuff, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Too many people called it love when really all they wanted was a socially acceptable reason to have mediocre sex. Or someone to emotionally coddle them. Min Yoongi wanted neither. He knew where to get the good stuff and he didn't do coddling - mostly because he didn't want to admit his own emotions.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; smut (fem reader, fingering, handjob, choking); porn with emotions nobody's surprised; Yoongi's POV

“I’ve been fucked up in the head.”

Skin tingling, nerves firing, blood on fire.

All he could muster up was a breathless, “What?”

Heavy breath, hair a mess, looking up, and that energy in her eyes gleaming, shimmering, alive. He could still feel it coursing through his veins. The shadow of her touch in him, his body radiant from dark divinity, coming down but still so high.

She tapped the side of her skull with two fingers, flitting pink tongue dancing at the edge of her smirk. “My brain. I got all messed up because someone said something that really bothered me and I just… hah…” A sigh like smoke. “Needed to feel like me again.”

He blinked slowly, fascinated by the articulation after the roughness.

She ticked her chin at him. Licked the air between the lips of a wicked smile.

“You do that for me, Yoongi.”

Min Yoongi wanted to say, you do that for me too, but then the past ten minutes replayed in his head and he realized he wasn’t so sure if he was himself or playing a part, perhaps simply a puppet hopelessly swept up in her insane sexual energy.

He stared at her naked body below him, electrified.

He liked sex. That was a given. He had determined, however, that sex was nothing more than a quick high, and then there was that disconcerting eternal struggle of how to define the indefinable. The word love popping up all of a sudden, just because sex was involved. Confronting him with the decision between keep going or stop, and stop just seemed so much more appealing. Once love became the label, then came the emotional coddling. Yoongi found he wasn’t good at it, mostly because he didn’t want to do it. He didn’t want to emotionally coddle anyone, thus leading his relations to be nonexistent or surface-level. Sex was just a means to an end. Two people chasing the same fleeting feeling, seconds of a high that faded away quickly. A tiring process that led to a mediocre result.

Unless you could find the good stuff, of course.

Yoongi knew where to find the good stuff.

It had been a while.

And then they had run into each other, by chance. Him and the good stuff. It had startled him, because he hadn’t expected to see her stepping out of the train station during his nightly walk home. Enough time had elapsed that he wasn’t sure if he had dreamed up those nights tangled up in bed with burning arousal between bodies. He had almost hesitated to say anything. There seemed to be an invisible weight threatening to bow her frame. Lowered shoulders and unapproachable air, even in those heeled, thigh-high, black leather boots and fluffy black coat. Yoongi had noticed people eyeing her solitude, getting ready to chime in with their stupid opinion, but they quickly shut the fuck up the second they glanced into those piercing eyes.

Then those eyes noticed him.

He remembered the sex.

Remembered the way her intensity bled into him, invigorated him, ignited everything.

Honestly, the orgasms were just one small detail of many that painted those colorful nights.

She spoke first.

He never thought of himself as a repeat offender, but he allowed himself to be wrong sometimes.

How could he not, seeing that sly smile paired with that sudden suggestion?

Which how he found himself gasping for breath in the semi-darkness, her bare shoulder blades hitting the wall of his apartment with finality. Two fingers deep, all the way to his knuckles. Clothes all over the floor. Heat rising, skin tingling with kisses. Wet, slick, strong, both her tongue thrusting into his mouth and the walls closing in around his fingers. Her sweet exhale drifted into his mouth. Ten minutes before the true conversation, Yoongi was ensnared in the body talk.

Sex was just a quick high.

A whole lot of work for a whole lot of nothing.

Except when you had the good stuff.

Then it felt like this.

Her hand had slid along his back. Down to his waist, graceful fingers fanning out, pulling him closer. Barely enough time to take a breath. Skin to skin. All of a sudden, raw passion blooming in the shadows of their bodies. He looked down. Perky tits, delectable curve of waist to hip, lush thighs pressed to the back of his hand and then they opened, exposing those pussy lips stuffed with his glistening fingers pumping in and out, in and out, his long hair over her shaking breath and wicked smile.

She pushed his head down.

He snaked his tongue around her jutting nipple, tasting sweet musk and inhaling the smoke of her perfume. Licking, sucking, flicking, one and then the other, matching the pace of his hand, building up speed and power.

Yoongi was good with his mouth and he was good with his hands.

She knew that, but he had no problem demonstrating again.

There wasn’t enough air for words. Not between her low, lustful moans, not with his mouth occupied, and with his skin on fire, craving touch. One hand in his hair and the other tracing his shoulder. Her fingertips drew invisible patterns and left burning arousal in their wake, hotter and higher, her hips rocking into his hand, fuck, so deep, so wet, so strong, her intensity bleeding into the calm countenance that he kept up to maintain composure, and suddenly the question was… for what?

Her fingers slid down the nape of his neck.

Nails digging into his spine, crescents of desire along his vertebrate.

Why do I need to maintain composure?

Fingertips sliding down his collarbone.

He sucked harder, flexing tongue against hard nipple, one of his hands against the wall, the other between her legs, the rest of his body seared with lust as her hand travelled down, down, to taut skin and throbbing hardness, and he thought to himself, who am I being calm for?

His eyes darted up.

She was looking down.

Agile tongue between teeth as she gripped his cock and began to pump it in time of his thrusts. The right amount of tightness. Precise positioning, stimulating the head against the side of her palm as she went up and down.

She wanted to watch as his body ignited under her persistent touch.

Staring into eyes that gleamed with shimmering energy, and Yoongi asked himself again, why the fuck am I holding back, and suddenly he stopped doing just that, simply didn’t care and let himself feel everything, overwhelming and layered sensations piling one after another, the musky taste on his tongue, the acidic fire in his veins, the visceral feeling of her viscous juices clinging to his fingers, adding another and plunging in, filling up that tight wet hole, fuck, how he wanted his cock in that pussy, their hips following the same rhythm, the lower half of his body radiating with pleasure, and he kissed up the curve of her breast, her trembling throat under his shaking lips, and then he put her face in the shadow of his long black hair.

Yoongi didn’t say anything.

He lifted his hand off the wall and clamped it around her neck, fingers pressing into the sides, tightening his hold, watching her lashes flutter and her head tip back, her wanton moan stinging his ceiling, driving her hips down into his fingers, thundering pulse around them as she came. He saw the gratification ripple across her torso, felt it throb against his fingers clenched within shivering walls dripping sex, her back arching, body creating perfect lines to grace his vision.

This high just kept going and going.

Her hand was still stroking his cock. Leisurely but with strength, and suddenly he was reminded of the unbearable heat pooling at his core, hot and relentless. His hand shot off her neck, swallowing a gasp at the same time she did, watching her surface from the euphoric haze for only a moment before he shoved her head down, backing up a step as her knees hit the ground, immediately replacing her missing hand with his own, pumping hard and fast and already there.

Her hands gripping his tense thighs.

Closer.

Her mouth opened.

Dark, wet, glistening.

He shoved his cock down her throat and groaned. So tight, so soft, so ready, twisting his fingers into her hair while the tremors ransacked his lower half. Thick streams flooding her mouth, tingling sensitivity sparking as she swallowed around him, his eyes rolling back as the pleasure hit new heights from her tongue circling, circling, licking along his length and curling around the throbbing, swollen head.

It was so fast and yet every second counted.

Every detail meaningful, painting the night into his memory.

Surreal.

Yoongi used to think sex was only a quick high. Only two people chasing a fleeting feeling. Calling it love so they could continue the socially acceptable way of getting high. He didn’t want to call something like that love. It seemed flimsy and cheap. All that to get a fuck? He could get a fuck without calling it love.

He didn’t want to emotionally coddle anyone.

He barely had a hold on his own emotions.

She popped her mouth off him after the shudders subsided. Kneeled at his feet, and yet he was the one who felt below when her head raised. Those piercing eyes under tangled hair met his, smirk in her lips as she admitted that she had been fucked up in the head.

His chest rattled, struggling to supply enough oxygen to his burning muscles and lightheaded mind.

Yoongi kept telling himself he didn’t understand this feeling.

“What… What did they say to you?” he panted.

She was breathing hard too, annoyance flashing over her beautiful features.

“Said I was nothing without sex.”

His whole body hummed, shot nerves teeming with ravenous lust.

“The fuck?” he heard himself hiss.

She clicked her tongue, one hand on her leg. Not bothering to close them. Traces of her juices caught the low light, highlighting her puffy pussy lips and the flexed muscles of her inner thighs.

“That’s why I’ve kinda been avoiding you. Stopped having sex for about a month. Did other shit I wanted to do. And so what? So fuckin’ stupid,” she muttered, rubbing her other thumb against her lower lip, the hand on her knee clenching to a fist. She wasn’t looking at him, but away from him, out the window. “All that for what? If I need it, I need it. If I want it, I’ll get it. I’m tired of pretending I don’t want what I need just to look human in someone else’s eyes.”

Her eyes flickered back, dark and intense.

“I feel a lot better indulging in you,” she said.

A slow smirk.

“The best in a while, actually.”

Yoongi was still in the midst of remembering his hand tightening around her neck and her orgasm around his fingers, arousal continuing to burn deep inside, staring at this image in front of his eyes and wondering why he still thought sex was only a quick high.

It could be a quick high.

Or it could be the good stuff.

Electricity the moment their eyes connected and intentions ignited. Privacy in what only they knew, in what they felt, in their real, bare selves in front of each other, and now his heart was racing fast, breathless, realizing the orgasm was over but the high was still there.

“I thought you were always strong,” Yoongi murmured to her kneeling form. “Didn’t think someone could bother you like that.”

“Strong?”

She cocked an eyebrow.

“Strength is knowing you have weaknesses. Foolishness is pretending you don’t have any,” she chuckled, standing up. Rolled her neck, cracking it with a pop. “Ow. See, out of practice.”

Her eyes drifted back to him, devious glint, and Yoongi looked back, pounding heartbeat in his ears, undefinable emotions turbulent behind his calm composure.

“Can’t say I’ve enjoyed being avoided,” he admitted.

Her eyes shifted. Softer. “I was hoping you might understand.”

He understood that he too would have been peeved and done the same thing she did. “I don’t hold it against you. Just saying I don’t really like fucking other people anymore.”

She frowned, looking empathetic. “Damn, that many disappointments in a row?”

He stared into her eyes.

No, that wasn’t it.

“I don’t really feel anything with other people.”

He wondered if her heart raced as fast as his did. If her nerves prickled with pins and needles after every orgasm with him, and if she wished she could feel it again like he did. If the high seemed to keep going even though they were face to face now, giving voice to the vulnerable. But this felt… different. Admission without weight. The truth out there, hanging between them, and it didn’t feel oppressive, yet it was still binding.

How strange.

She ticked her head, gazing at him under lowered lashes. Mischievous smile included.

The good stuff.

“You know, I’d have to say I feel the same about you.”

Her fingers trailed along his hip, pulling him closer once more.

drabbles masterpost | masterpost

#yoongi x reader #bts smut #yoongi smut #yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you

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kassandras-one-braincell · 7 months

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Kassandra x Reader - Obsidian

Kinktober 01: Face-Sitting [explicit]

Word count: 1021

Ao3 link here.

Men, minors and ageless/default blogs DNI. You will be blocked immediately upon interaction.

“Come up here and let me taste you.”

Criminally alluring words, said with a sly, easy-going smile that always had you folding. Kassandra tapped her lips as she murmured them. Her fingers languidly crooked, beckoning you forth towards the cloud of pillows upon which she reclined. And, shame on you, your mind couldn’t help but wander to a memory of those dextrous fingers sheathed deep inside your heat.

That charming smile bled into a wolfish grin as you shimmied out of your chiton. Warm hands eagerly roamed your thighs as you folded your legs either side of her head. Both the sensation and anticipation brought gooseflesh to the surface of your skin; you made no move to hide your shiver as her lips, hot as a forge, grazing the inside of your thigh. She caressed and kneaded your hips, ushering the sweetness between them down towards her awaiting tongue. “Sit,” she hummed, staring ravenously at the curls adorning your mons and the arousal glistening against your slit.

“Tell me if I’m hurting you,” you muttered, brushing a few unruly stray locks of away from her forehead. Your cheeks burned from the unabashed intensity with which she leered at your delicacy.

Kassandra tore her gaze from your quim to smirk up at you. “I don’t intend to do a lot of talking…” She caught herself at the half-hearted glare you shot her, conviction lacking because there wasn’t another soul with such an unrelenting, fiendish appetite for their lover’s pleasure. “Of course, my love,” she winked.

Her glee was infectious, a smile of your own decorating your lips not a second later. You carefully lowered your hips, encouraged by her hands. “You better—oh!”

A hot, slick tongue dragged itself purposefully over your folds. The tip teased your clit, flicking delicately, forcing a shaky breath past your parted lips. With a low moan at your taste, Kassandra anchored you in place with a forearm across the small of your back before circling the nerves with her tongue.

Your balance faltered at the sudden stimulation. Without the luxury of verticality, your shuddering hips inched forward, grinding down against her tongue that she readily flattened. The blazing muscle pressed delightfully against where you needed her most, bathing your nerves in a luscious, intoxicating warmth. A curse escaped you in the form of a whine, earning muffled laughter from Kassandra. She gave your clit a wicked kiss as you trembled in place.

“Should I slow down?” she chuckled, lips ghosting your quim. Her unoccupied hand reached down to massage your calf. The vaguest hint of burning within the muscle melted away at her touch.

Breathlessly, you ran a hand through your hair. “You little shit,” you marvelled down at her. Gods, did she have you by the strings. A puppeteer who knew precisely how to get you to perform a pathetic little dance for her.

Fingers trailed up the length of your thigh, all the way up to the sensitive skin of its apex. “You love it, though,” she grinned.

Softly, Kassandra kissed the mess she created. Edging on sweetly, with a clear hint of restraint. One, two more open-mouthed pecks found purchase upon your nerves, and then her tongue laved over you tenderly, catching the nectar that dripped as you relinquished a sigh. You closed your eyes and leaned back into the inviting warmth of her mouth.

Testing the waters, you carefully rocked your hips in tandem with her slow kissing. Contentedly, she hummed, guiding you along with a strong touch. You relaxed some of the cautious tension in your legs and whimpered as your weight pressed her tongue deeper into your slit. Something of an animalistic sound left her, causing your breath to hitch. Nonetheless, her tempo remained unchanged.

Gradually, as you gently rode her face, her lips caressed your clit with more intensity. Deeper, longer, with a few more sporadic flicks of her tongue. Heat ebbed and flowed into your core, sometimes a warm, soothing bath, other times a searing ember. It was a delicious thing to chase, and Kassandra happily indulged you. Every surge of pleasure she fed you was met with a sweet moan from your throat. A whimper, on occasion, when your hips journeyed a tad further forward than usual, allowing her lips to fully envelop your nerves. She couldn’t help but suckle ever so slightly, envisioning how your lower lip trembled from the countless times she had devoured you in a plethora of positions. The sensation delivered a bliss you couldn’t shy away from.

Your slow grinding halted; she took this as a sign to redouble her ministrations, sucking with a little less discipline. The hand supporting your back moved to grip the plush of your behind as the other ventured towards your slit, rubbing deep circles into the flesh. You shuddered as her fingertips toyed with your entrance.

“Inside, Kass. Please,” you moaned, suddenly overwhelmed with the need to be filled.

She rumbled affirmatively against your clit, pressing two between your folds, slickening them enough to effortlessly ease into your dripping, needy hole. You felt yourself clench around her as her tongue swirled around your stiff bud, choking on a gasp as she crooked the digits, tracing her fingertips along a spot she knew all too well.

Languidly, she cycled between wrecking you with her mouth and thrusting into you with her fingers. Two diabolical onslaughts. Mind-numbing ecstasy, only intensified by the rolling of your hips; you could either fuck yourself back against the thick digits hilted inside you, dragging them against your sweet spot, or you could grind forward onto a searing tongue. Igneous euphoria bubbled in your core, molten, white hot, emblazoning its cinders into your fingers and toes as you writhed atop her.

Foolishly, you fell into her rhythm, overwhelming yourself with a chorus of profane whispers and shallow whimpers until you erupted with a ragged crescendo of a cry. And as you shakily lifted yourself onto her hips, you were met with that same sly, easy-going smile that sparked this afternoon’s flame.

Kassandra never wiped her mouth. Her appetite had yet to be sated.

#kassandra of sparta #kassandra #kassandra x reader #kinktober 2023

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crossdressingdeath · 7 months

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Sally Flymm: I'm here. But I can't speak. I can't act. I'm trapped. Kyvir: Why would Enver do this to you? Sally Flymm: He said he wanted to make us 'powerless'. Sally Flymm: Still bitter after all these years. But we did what was best for him - for all of us. Sally Flymm: We had debts. World-ending debts, trying to keep this cursed shop afloat. Dangerous lenders who said they'd bury us all if we didn't pay. Sally Flymm: Then, a warlock offered us a pretty penny for Enver's service. He was a smart boy - too smart. It was give him up - and all of us live - or refuse, and die. Sally Flymm: What choice did we have? Kyvir: You had every choice. You sold your son to a warlock - that's unforgivable. Sally Flymm: We got good coin for him. Closed our debts, and all of us kept our lives - Enver included. Sally Flymm: You may disagree. Enver did. But we don't deserve this - this torment. You're the first person who's heard the real me in months. Kyvir: You deserve what you got - and more. Sally Flymm: Maybe. Maybe not. It's for the gods to judge me - not my wicked son. And not you. Kyvir: Why would I help you after what you did to your own son? Sally Flymm: My son! You've seen what he's like. Same now as when he was a boy. Hateful little wretch. Sally Flymm: If you were me, you'd've sent him away too. Believe you me.

I wonder if Sally would've taken a different approach if she'd known she was talking to one of her horrible son's "nearest and dearest". Sure, Kyvir doesn't necessarily remember being Enver's friend ("""friend"""), but that's not the point! He's been going off of vibes since he woke up on the nautiloid anyway. Kyvir's current opinion of Gortash is basically "He called me his favourite <3" because Kyvir has Issues. Also I love how you can actually call him Enver instead of Gortash here, it's probably just because you're talking to his mother who's also calling him Enver but I've fully accepted the headcanon I've seen around that Durge was basically the only one allowed to call Gortash by his first name and so this is delightful to me.

Anyway, though. Imagine actually saying "Yeah, sure, we literally sold our son to this random warlock who happened to come through in order to pay off our debts and have been insisting we didn't do anything wrong ever since, but why would our son be bitter enough to want to punish us for it after all these years?" and expecting people to side with you just because your son also sucks as a person. Gortash is generally horrible but in this he is fully justified! Yes, absolutely, tadpole your shitty parents and dance them around like puppets who just talk about how great you are! A well-deserved tadpoling! But I do feel for Gortash here. Like... he's a shitty person trying to take over the world and he has to be stopped, but also you do feel bad for the child who got sold to a passing warlock by his own parents, who then insisted that it was right to do that. BG3 has so many characters who've been through absolute hell and then went on to do terrible things, the themes of the cycle of abuse are very very good.

#bg3 #bg3 spoilers #kyvir #enver gortash

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riveracheron · 1 year

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how to stage “the tragedy of francis” (MAG 172), but like. in a normal theatre

hi this’ll have to do today @a-mag-a-day

im a theatre technician who, upon listening to the Spooky Play Statement of “Strung Out” got really into the idea of how one would Actually create the technical elements. it seems like an interesting challenge! this was the only theatre related episode with indepth description of the Spooky Stuff but if yall are interested id be happy to talk about Other Episodes and ways you can practical effects your way through the fearpocalypse :)

spoilers for mag 172 and fake blood below the cut!

rules of this:

- i am a technician, not a director. i am assuming that the play as described by jon is the script and that we need a giant spider and hooks and blood. i am not making any choices, simply describing how these effects can be done in a professional theater sense. to that end, i am also only a student; and not an expert.

- we are going as hard as possible. no substitutions, no artistic choices to pare it down, no nothing. this is the magnus archives we’re getting meta enough. alongside that, im not worrying about budget. this is broadway level shit.

- i am not putting a stage on a stage. this is just looking at the Tragedy itself and jon can go sit in the audience for all i care.

cool? lezzgo.

i. the hooks

this is a fly system! it’s mostly used for lowering and raising set pieces. oftentimes, its also used with actors to raise them into the air when flying. shows like wicked, mary poppins and peter pan use this to pull actors into the air to make it seem like they’re flying.

it’s done with wires connected to hooks connected to the actors’ bodies via straps. sound familiar?

they are often hidden with lights, but they don’t have to be- for a play that draws attention to these wires, the designer would probably draw attention to them - at least for when they start to dance around and stuff.

the hooks that attach to francis’ joints throughout the show could be flown in as well, and their costume and more strategic lighting could make it seem like they were attached to them. you can get pretty grotesque with high budget theater and special effects makeup.

ii. the spider

characters that are puppets is not a new thing in theater! one of the most famous examples is Audrey 2 in little shop of horrors- a puppet that has an actor off stage saying their lines into a microphone. the spider would also probably be the same.

there are some motorized puppets like the sandworm in beetlejuice the musical, but most are person-controlled, which works best for speaking puppets as show to show, peoples way of speaking can change from show to show, and the puppet needs to be able to keep up, and motorized puppets can be out of sync.

youtube

this video is a good making-of process for a giant speaking monster puppet, and i assume the spider would be the same, just much higher. there would probably be a false ceiling like the false wall above, and the puppeteers would sit above to operate the legs as if they were dangling.

it would probably be also attached to a fly system for easy lowering as the scene goes on.

iii. minor things

- the blood would come from “strawberries”, little packs of blood hidden under actors’ costumes that they can burst when needed. theres also a capsule version that one can put in the mouth and bite down on.

this is an example from the 2019 production of oklahoma, and a good look at blood strawberries and what they do

- the spider-drink would probably be done with. fake edible spiders, lots of scuttling noises from the soundboard and lights that hide the fact that they are not moving, perhaps with strobe or something crazy. the spider rain would probably be the same, but with stagehands pouring spiders down from the catwalks.

- other characters would also be off stage with mics.

- good actors will sell a Lot of this. even if the new hooks and stuff don’t touch them, they can definitely make it seem like they do.

sooooo um yeah! as much as this episode made me sick - i love technical theatre and this was a fun infodump !! take this um. as you will ig. please stage safely !! blood packs can stain and fly systems can be unsafe so please. don’t try this at home. or at least get a professional to help

#the magnus archives #mag 172 #tech theatre #ismene talks #long post

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the-cosmos-withinus · 4 months

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Shadow Puppets AU - A new miracle

He took a few breaths, pulling from deep inside to bring forth the little flame and then took another breath and pulled out a second flame. He opened his eyes, just to make sure it had worked and cooed at the sight of two little fires in front of him- like the flames of a candle, but without the wick and wax.

"It really is a miracle!" Philip piped and reached inside himself again, this time without closing his eyes or taking deep breaths, caught up in the excitement of making more fire, a whole galaxy of them.

"You got it! You got it!" Astrophel cheered.

As Philip produced more and more tiny flames, Astrophel took it upon himself to do the dancing. He floated between each individual flame, using the barest minimum energy that he could to help them twirl so that Philip got the idea of what it was he wanted him to do.

"Isn't is so pretty?" He giggled, still dancing with the flames, "Oh I wish we could do this outside..."

By now Astrophel was fully aware of what a bad idea that was though. It was true that the accusations of witchcraft had calmed a bit in the wake of Father Josiah's execution, but even Astrophel could tell that the scare was not quite over. All it would take is one person pointing fingers to start the hysteria all over again, and Astrophel did not want those fingers pointed at Philip.

"Very pretty!" Philip agreed, finally deciding that he'd made enough flames and started arranging them in a swirling pattern around him. "Caleb should see this! Caleb, Caleb! Come look!" He called.

He'd told Caleb before about Astrophel teaching him how to perform miracles, and gotten a chastising lecture about how he should never perform them in front of people- these were dark times, after all, even a heavenly miracle would be looked upon as the Devil's work. But Caleb was his brother, he'd never accuse Philip of Witchcraft so he didn't see the harm in showing him the galaxy of candle sized flames he'd created.

"Just a minute!" Caleb answered, just finishing up a little scraping that was left before the Will'o'Whisp was finished.

Astrophel was fantasizing about going somewhere far away from Gravesfield, an isolated meadow or a far off mountain top, somewhere that Philip could practice the miracles without judgement and persecution when Caleb finally walked in.

"The Will'o'Whisp is all carved up, what did you want to sho- oh my god!" His tone was a mix of awestruck wonder and genuine terror of the flames.

"It's okay!" Astrophel zipped down to hover at Caleb's shoulder. "Philip has complete control over them. Aren't they pretty?"

#shadow puppets au #philip wittebane #toh collector #caleb wittebane #RP scene #Gravesfield Era

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pinkestmenace · 5 months

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Thoughts on Dark Meta Knight

A continuation of 'Thoughts on Shadow Kirby'. This is a long one!

TL;DR: I first talk about his relation to Taranza and Sectonia, then comes the fic I 'accidentally' wrote, then I talk about his (mirror) abilities and relation to Meta Knight (or rather, his inherited memories.)

Have you ever noticed how whenever people talk about the whole Dark Meta Knight/Dimension Mirror/Taranza/Corrupted Sectonia issue, it's always "Taranza must hate DMK so much!" and never "DMK must hate Taranza so much!" or even "Why did Joronia/Sectonia keep a magical mirror that clearly oozed bad vibes?" (Note: I'm neither saying Taranza is a poor uwu boy who did nothing wrong nor that he is evil incarnate. He didn't know DMK was in there nor that the mirror had lingering corruption. I am however saying he was a fool for stealing an important magical artifact! All three were hurt here.) I mean, come on. Sectonia is an individual with agency. You're telling me she just placidly accepted this whole situation and only gets to serve as an "Evil queen needs to die!" and "Woe is Taranza, his beloved is dead!" plot device? She could have been corrupted/replaced by her own reflection! Maybe she was as interested in studying DMK/this weird danger orb in 'her' mirror as he was in corrupting her.

That is, if he did corrupt her. Who's to say he wanted that? Or had the ability to, other than by speaking? We've heard nothing about him having corrupting magic. Besides, what would he gain from it? Sectonia could've already been somewhat unhinged before she got the mirror and this was just the beginning of a domino effect. Remember, the mirror you fight him in in Triple Deluxe seems to be the one that was in the middle of the Central Circle, not the entrance of the Mirror World. That's the one Dark Mind was hiding out in and judging by how destroyed it still looks inside it's also the most likely place for any corruption to linger. (Luckily for the other inhabitants, I'd say. Not so lucky for him or poor Shadow, who in DMK's absence was likely left alone to defend the Mirror World and therefore grew more agressive like we see him in other games. He had no allies and no choice but to learn to fight.) I think that Shadow spawned when Kirby first entered the mirror, but DMK was likely around at least a little longer than that, judging by how he seems to have a pretty good grasp on his abilities already.

So. Since Triple Deluxe is clearly inspired by fairy tales, (Consider the Dreamstalk/beanstalk, a palace in the sky and a wicked beauty-obsessed queen with a literal magic mirror!) why not spin a little tale of our own?

I want you to imagine being Dark Meta Knight for a moment.

Mirror, Mirror, From the Sky — Who's the Wickedest and Why?

Once upon a time a dark force secretly infested your world. Depending on how long you've been around, you either spawned as a flawed clone, or you got to feel yourself being corrupted. You may not even know who you are, other than what the wisps of your inherited memories and skills tell you. Either way, the heydays of good fortune, friends and fair weather are nothing but a burning memory to you.

Dark Mind, the force calls itself and it takes an interest in you, since it could use a strong henchman. Now you have this flaming eyeball breathing down your neck, playing at being your master and ordering you around. Tsch. Do you dance like a pathetic little puppet? Do you plead with it using the fancy words you find on your tongue, but did not learn yourself? Do you obey to save your own skin, or resist and risk having your mind broken and hollowed out further? Do you have it in you to become a double agent? You are a scared toddler who only just learned how to walk. You are a hardened knight who has no patience for this. The armour you wear shows traces of battles you haven't fought. You cling to it in preparation for what's to come.

It sends you to go remove some obstacles. A pink child and your own doppelganger. Fueled by bitter resentment and childish petulance you dare to bend your orders just slightly. Rather than rend the child into pieces, you refract him into four. Rather than sending your doppelganger back to his maker, you lock him in with yours and break the mirror to prevent his escape. (As well as Dark Mind's escape, that is.) Your master is angry. That's fine. You're already wrong and broken and don't give a crap.

Eventually the child and his refractions fix and enter the mirror and your master gives you an ultimatum. Twice it told you to get rid of the brat and twice you have failed! Now, to prove your loyalty you must put your life on the line. Beat the brat. At any cost. Surrender is not an option! You shed the veneer and take out your frustration on the child. But he's too strong. You can feel your body give out! You remember how to beg. "Master, please, I can't take any more!" It's no use. Its fiery gaze scorches you, it widens the cracks in your mind and forces you to continue, miserable marionette that you are.

You shatter and your consciousness fractures. Where did you go so wrong? Why did this have to happen to you? What will become of that strange charcoal child you saw stalking you? You want to go home. That home isn't yours. What does your counterpart think? Like the allegory of the prisoners and the shadows on the cave wall you don't know more than what little you can infer. His flickering gaze is unreadable. There is no cave. You are the shadow. You have no idea what philosophy is.

??? days later you somehow wake up. You get your bearings. You're still in this ruined miniature dimension, but your master is gone. You're alone. Tsch. Figures the brat and your blue bastard of a counterpart would abandon you. What's wrong with them?! (What's wrong with you? Are you really that disposable? Maybe they didn't know you still had life left in you either. Did they mourn for you?) At least the mirror portal is right there. You'll go back to the Central Circle, find something to eat and then you'll plot your revenge against the world that failed to welcome you! You just have to step out...

...into a large bedroom. You look around. Fancy furnishings that would befit a palace. A breathtaking view of the rising sun, which drapes the room in purples and oranges. It hurts your eyes. You look down. A vanity? Where the Shards—

You don't get time to think before a piercing shriek rends the air. You look to your left and see a strange spider-like creature charging at you, wielding twin rapiers! You quickly leap out of the way and draw your own sword.

The woman stops in front of you, clad in a simple but refined silk nightgown, her four unoccupied hands balled into tight fists. She stares you down with her four front eyes. Is this spider as afraid of you as you are of her? She's Princess Joronia, you soon learn. She received the mirror as a gift.

She sympathises with you and offers you a cup of herbal tea to calm your nerves. You've never had tea, (not-you remembers the taste) but by the Mirror's mercy do you know you're thirsty! You accept it, if only to buy yourself time to figure out what's going on and come up with a way to escape with the mirror. The tea soothes you, although it has a strange aftertaste and Joronia's smile is gentle, if a bit too practised. Her gleaming upper eyes gaze patiently into yours. She doesn't drink. You're tired, so tired.

The next day you wake up inside the mirror and try to leave again. Joronia didn't seem so bad. Maybe you can convince her to let you return the mirror! You find it's been magically sealed.

"Oh, don't worry," says 'Joronia' through the glass, her eyes and smile just a little darker and haughtier than they were yesterday, "it's only a safety precaution until we get to know each other better." But months later she still hasn't let you leave with the mirror. Instead, she's been staring into it more and more, fussing endlessly over her make-up and increasingly ostentatious outfits. She laments to you as if you are nothing but a pet she can vent to freely. "Uhuhuhu~! Didn't I look simply unacceptable before? I just couldn't stand my dull reflection. Tell me how gorgeous I am! Then I might even feel generous enough to feed you."

You grow bitter. How trapped you are! Behind you is the ruined hellscape where you were broken and humiliated. In front of you is an increasingly deranged self-obsessed woman who you're forced to ingratiate yourself to for scraps. Tsch! You are caged and seething! The day you find the person who subjected you to this your sword will taste blood! Soon your vibe arsenic joins the maddening sulfuric stench that abhorrent eyeball left behind. Your mind and the mirror grow ever darker in a vicious cycle. It's been years. You yearn for sights you have only seen in dreams. You cannot die.

The reborn and remade Queen Sectonia doesn't care. She's too busy solidifying her power and enhancing her own grotesque beauty to pay attention to the machinations of naughty little strays. Your sharpened tongue pleases her just enough to spare you and coax out news of the outside world. You are her obedient pet. The keeper of her innermost secrets. More loyal than her advisor. You hone yourself and your blade when she's not looking.

So when Sectonia dies and the seal goes with her, you are ready. You don't care who's on the other side. You. Only. Want. REVENGE.

* * * * *

Headcanon time!

I see DMK as leaning into using his mirror abilities, not so much because he wants to prove himself superior to Meta Knight, but because that's something only HE can do. Something he 'earned', not inherited. He wants to be the best at something without needing help.

When he spawned he already knew how to speak, move and wield his sword. Or rather, the second he attempted to do any of these things he 'remembered' how to do them.

Wouldn't it be funny and tragic if so much of his life consists of discovering skills he didn't know he had, that belong to someone who isn't quite him? What surprises will his memory give him today? Amnesiac roulette.

Imagine: he's just idly fidgeting with a sheet of paper and looks down to see he's accidentally folded a perfect little origami crane. He crushes the crane. Tsch. Another skill he didn't earn! (Later he secretly learns to fold something Meta Knight hasn't folded before, just so he can say he made the skill his own. He will deny this.)

He didn't know he had the ability to mend his cape. Yet when he found needle and thread his hands traced the movements with practised ease. He refuses to mend his cape and claims it fits his rough-and-tough aesthetic. (He collects scraps and quilts a cozy blanket for his hideout. He claims to have found it in the trash.)

He comes across a book in a language he has never seen before. He can read it! The contents make little sense to him. He tries writing, but discovers his handedness is opposite to Meta Knight's. Ink smudges his left glove as he adjusts. (It shouldn't matter. He's ambidextrous! Try as he might, he still cannot draw or write with his right hand.)

Infodump about memory function incoming! (TL;DR: there are several types of memories, some about life events, some about sensations or skills.) I hope I can explain this correctly using an example.

Imagine you're going for a stroll in the park. You don't have to think consciously about every movement you make because you already know how to walk. You decide where to go and your brain handles the details automatically. (Procedural memory. This is what let him immediately move and fight.)

You spot someone walking a dog. Your brain goes: "Dog!!!" You don't have to analyse every feature of the animal to know this because the holistic concept of "Dog" in your brain immediately lights up and couples it to the language part of you to remember the correct name. (Semantic memory. This let him recognise the world and understand speech.)

You consider petting it. Your hand experiences the ghost of fur underneath. It just stopped raining, so your nose anticipates the wet dog smell as well. (Sensory memory. He gets whiffs of sensations and tastes he hasn't experienced himself.)

You approach the dog. Suddenly you realise you've seen this dog before! It was last week and when you pet it wrong it snapped at you. You remembered a specific event. (Episodic memory. He didn't get this one and therefore doesn't remember Meta Knight's life. He has to puzzle out what his 'original' is like from the other remembered scraps he got.)

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