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blkkizzat · 1 year

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ꨄ︎『Toji x TumblrSmutWriter!Reader』ꨄ︎

Toji x TumblrSmutWriter!Reader

18+ Minors - DNI

Summary: You shouldn't have left your phone out in the open bestie because now Toji just discovered his cute lil gf has a big slutty imagination and that means you're really in for it ❤︎ . CW: daddy/dilf kinks, humiliation, backshots, outdoor sex, toys, voyerism, breeding, overstimulation, lots of mentions of various kinks, light spanking, light spit play, meta concepts WK: 4.2k Black fem reader coded but no descriptors.

A/N: Y’all can blame my forgetting to take my adhd meds and my hangover yesterday for this one. I was laying on my bathroom floor regretting life choices, waiting on McDs Doordash and thinking up outlines for kinktober when this popped into my head. I thought it would be a quick drabble like 1k words to help my writers block with the "Bumpy Ride" Geto fic but lord knows I can't write shit under 3k, who am I foolin? I don’t even have a song inspo for how spontaneous and random this shit was lmfao but I still had to do a graphic for this one regardless (editing those notifications were hell). Edit- I lied the song inspo is: Girls Need Love Remix - Summer Walker ft. Drake.

Enjoy!

Imagine you are dating Toji and he finds out you secretly write Tumblr smut fics on the low.

He comes over to your apartment one night after one of his ‘jobs’ ran late. He has a key, but is wondering where the hell you are as you usually greet him at the door. Going into your bedroom, he finally hears you in adjoining bathroom shower.

Toji begins to strip down in order to join you but he barely has his shirt off before he notices your phone blowing up.

Picking your phone up off the bed he sees 206 notifications from an app called “Tumblr”.

Toji has no fucking clue what the hell a Tumblr is but his jealously starts to soar. He already made your ass go private on Instagram and deleted your Tiktok dances. He got tired of threatening every loser who tried to slide in your DMs or even leave a comment for that matter.

Imagine his surprise when he unlocks your phone (of course he had made you give him the password) and instead he finds out his new vanilla-as-fuck girlfriend is actually a kinky cockwhore who loves writing character x reader stories about fictional men plugging any n' every one of her holes. Sometimes it was multiple men simultaneously, with their massive cocks bullying your readers until you had them crying. Not to mention them fucking you absolutely stupid in every scenario imaginable, with a huge daddy kink/love of dilfs to top it all off.

Y/N clearly has type, Toji thought smugly as he saw some art on your page of these animated dilfs that looked similar to him.

But goddamn, some of this shit even he hasn’t considered doing with you yet. Honestly, he’s been holding himself back for your sake as you had been pretty shy at first. His sweet naive little college girl, yet here you were a filthy closeted slut this entire time.

Tsk, Y/N been holding out on me, eh?

At this point you were probably a bigger freak than he was, he mused with an arched brow as he scrolled through what you called your ‘masterlist’.

It was nothing but a collection of pure unadulterated filth.

More than anything though while going through your Tumblr, Toji is rather impressed at how popular you are. He reads your intro post where you deem yourself the ‘Self-proclaimed DILF Smut Queen’ and an evil grin appears on his face.

Toji abandons his plans to join you in the shower and he waits for you on your bed while he links-surfs through more of your so-called fics, drabbles and thirsts.

You made your own little pictures to go along with your dirty stories too? Aw, what a sneaky yet talented little whore he had.

ꨄ

When you finally exit the shower, wrapped only in a big fluffy white towel and your hair pulled back into a ponytail, you are surprised to see Toji sitting shirtless on your bed.

Toji had promised to be here hours ago. He never even sent a text saying he would be late and you’ve been bored waiting for him all evening so he could give you some of the attention you've been craving.

Your body is already warm from the shower and your legs rub together as you are already feeling a bit horny just seeing him bare chested.

Walking toward the bed you are eager to go pounce on his lap. That is, until you see it’s your phone he’s scrolling through again without your permission.

You loudly sigh which made his head snap up to look at you.

You’re so ready to tell him off again and remind him your Insta is still private and you only use TikTok to mindlessly scroll, not post dance videos anymore when gives you a dangerous look.

You stop dead in your tracks.

Your eyes grow wide as saucers as you recognize what he’s actually looking at when waves your phone around tauntingly in his hands.

No.No.No. Not this. Please god, not this!

But your worst fears are confirmed when he starts reading aloud with a huge shit eating grin.

“You moaned loudly as you threw your head back and bucked against him hungrily. You knew you had to finish quickly unless you wanted his wife to come home to discover the babysitter on top of her husband, making a mess all over his face. His thick tongue lapped into your drenched folds and he spread your puffy pussy lips wider to suck and nip at your swollen clit….”

Your mouth was agape in shock. You were a deer in headlights.

A million and one thoughts raced through your mind as Toji continued on. He swiped over to the next one, this time a daddy and breeding kink drabble.

“Or how ‘bout… ‘Take it all like the good little slut you are for daddy, Y/N’. ‘N-No daddy, please I can’t cum anymore!’ You babbled as you succumbed to the overstimulation of him ruthlessly breeding your stretched cunt and filling you as you squirted on his dick for the fifth time that night…”

You could only continue to stand there and gawk at him. This couldn’t actually be happening to you right now.

“Ya really wrote all this nasty shit, Y/N?” Toji teased while still looking at your phone as he found more of your filthy smut to read aloud to you despite the horrified expression on your face.

You of course had written all that ‘nasty shit’ but most of it was before you started dating him, breaking a long dry spell.

You really weren’t one to run the streets and sleep around but you had some kinky ass fantasies and you not getting any action had you needing to express them somehow.

It’s not like you didn’t eventually plan to open up and share a few of your kinks with Toji down the line. But this was a relatively new relationship and Toji was still a bit intimidating to you. Even though Toji treated you with way more care and concern than he did anyone else you’ve seen him interact with, you still had an insecure fear that he would reject you for a few of your kinks.

Your last boyfriend had called you a weirdo for wanting to call him daddy in bed, so you resolved then to no longer share that part of you.

Hell, not even your IRL friends knew what you got up to. Only the Tumblr followers and moots, who you all shared peaceful anonymity with, were familiar with you and your writing.

Fuck. You had finally found the perfect DILF daddy too, you didn't want to scare him away.

You cursed yourself for even opening Tumblr earlier. You did so out of restlessness waiting on his ass to come over. You just were going to read a few fics before you realized you had a story in your drafts you never posted that just needed to be proofread.

Wanting to kill time you decided to edit and post it on a whim, not knowing the mess it would be getting you into now.

“Earth to, Y/N.” Toji snapped his fingers, interrupting your thoughts.

"Where did my perverted baby’s little mind go off to now, huh? So obsessed with being ruined by imaginary cocks you can’t even respond to your own daddy.”

You could have combusted on the spot as you were sure there was more steam coming off you from embarrassment than from the hot shower you had just taken.

But wait– wtf, your frazzled mind just connected the fact Toji had referred to himself as your daddy.

Those words sinking in made your entire body tingle. Your pulse quickened as you chewed your bottom lip and fidgeted with the edge of your towel.

Was he also into this?

The fact was Toji was very into this and you were about to find out just how much he was.

Enjoying your reactions fully, Toji stood up and made his way toward you with a crazed look on his face.

“You’ve written 96 pieces of filth Y/N…”

He inched closer and you instinctively moved back. Every fiber of your body sensing the danger in front of you. You wondered if this is how the targets of his ‘jobs’ felt when he approached them. Toji never lied to you about what he did for work but you never felt like you were his prey, until now.

“You’ve been a very naughty girl, have you nothing to say for y’erself, princess?”

“I-I-I-”, you stumble over your own words. This was all way too much, way too fast, for you to process in order to say anything coherent back to him.

“I-I-I-” Toji mocked your pathetic tone, an evil grin back on his face.

“Lost your words, Y/N?”

Your body instinctively keeps moving back to keep distance between the two of you as he continues to advance on you.

“But you have so many words to say here, isn’t that right slut?”

Toji toyed with your phone in his hand, spinning it around.

“Slut. That’s what you liked to be called in these stories, eh? The dirty slutty whore with a sloppy cunt just ready to slime all over her daddy’s cock, yeah?”

You gulped as your back hit the glass of your bedroom balcony door with a ‘thud’. You had no more room to run while Toji closes in on you.

He pressed both of his massive hands against the glass as they framed your head, his body hovering over you. You couldn’t help but notice how much bigger than you he was as his frame enveloped you and blocked out the rest of the room. You were trapped.

Too nervous to look him in the eyes, you settled for his chest and Toji’s muscles flexed tantalizingly under your gaze. You lost yourself for a moment as the familiar scent of his heady masculine musk invaded your senses.

Your eyes roamed lower and lower before resting on the bulge beneath his sweats and you softly pant.

“You’re staring at my dick like you want me to stuff that pretty little throat cunny of yours full. You aren’t making good use of your mouth right now anyway Y/N, might as well see how much of me it can fit.”

You looked away from him completely but that only ignites Toji's flames more.

“Look me in the eyes little girl...” Toji’s hand roughly grabbed your jaw and squished your cheeks together as he brought his face closer to yours.

“This shy act won’t cut it anymore, slut.”

His intensity was overwhelming you. Various emotions threaten to bubble to the surface as you squirm in his grasp and your eyes become glossy with tears.

“You didn’t think you finally had a man who would be into this wild ass shit, now did you?”

You wanted to question him further but you felt your gravity shift as the balcony door whipped open behind you. Toji ripped off the towel covering you as you practically tumbled backwards onto the small landing buttass naked.

The crisp fall night air hits your dampened skin giving you goosebumps. You shiver and immediately drop down in a crouch to cover yourself.

“T-Toji!! Are you insane?!” You gasped at him in a hushed tone, your silence finally broken.

Promptly, you scan the seemingly deserted neighborhood streets through the railing for any sign of movement or signal that someone else was outside.

To your relief there was no one in sight.

Thankfully this was a relatively quiet neighborhood and no one was ever really out at this time of night. Nevertheless the shock of it all was sending your nerves into overdrive.

“Toji my ass bitch. It’s daddy to you moving forward–,” he roared jerking you up off the ground, “–and we are going to do every single fucking thing your slutty mind has ever fucking written starting NOW.”

Your eyes darted as around him if you wanted to run back inside but there was no getting past his brutish build as he quickly slammed the door shut, shaking the frame.

Frankly, you didn’t know whether to be thrilled or terrified as you had written some depraved ass shit over the past year in the midst of your cockdrought. Some of it you had never even seriously thought of actually doing IRL.

“Let’s start right ‘ere, eh? Did you think I wouldn’t notice the description of the place in your little balcony story matched your own?”

Your eyes almost popped out of your skull as you recalled what you wrote in that particular smut fic.

ꨄ

“A-AH! N-NOOO TOJI, W-WAIIIIIIIT!” You whined through gritted teeth.

You tried (and failed) not to release any noises from the unrelenting backshots Toji was currently giving you as he folded you over the balcony railing. The tips of your toes barely rested on the cold floor as your ass bounced back into him and had your clit throbbing when his heavy balls smacked against the sensitive nub.

You had previously only fantasized about Toji being this rough with you, but now that it was actually happening for real you couldn’t think straight. Your lungs burned from sucking in the frosty night air and your cunt pulsed from his thick girth stretching you open.

Shockwaves ran along your body with every cruel thrust of his hips. The force of it reduced your legs to jelly and you were sure you would have collapsed had he not had you suspended like you were, between him and the railing.

Toji seemed both unfazed by the cold and your cries for mercy as he shushed you with a harsh spank. He enjoyed the way your fat ass rippled under his heavy hand in the moonlight so much he gave you a few more for good measure.

Your tits violently swayed over the edge as one of your hands grasped the railing for stability and the other held your phone in front of you. Toji was making you dictate your story for him as he reenacted the play by play assault on your cunt.

The bright screen you held was near blinding to your teary eyes. You mentally cringed as you knew it would act as a shiny beacon to view your activities if anyone walked by the small apartment complex or hell, even stepped out on their balcony.

“T-Toj- Daddy, w-what ‘bout– neigh-h-b-bor-s?”

You managed to croak out over the sloshing of your cunt and slapping sounds of flesh that echoed into the atmosphere everytime he rammed into you. You couldn’t bear to look around to see if any of your neighbors had started to investigate.

“Pshhh, Fuck your neighbors Y/N! They clearly don’t have a cockcrazed baby to please that writes dirty little stories about imaginary men like I do.”

If you didn’t know better you would think he was actually jealous of the DILFs in your stories too from the way he was sadistically fucking into you.

His thrusts caused your icy tears to run down your face and sent your tits bouncing into the wind. Your cold and neglected nipples hardened in the chill to the point of delicious pain.

“B-but- it's too c-cold out D-Daddy!”

“Mmn, yet your pussy feels warm enough, Y/N. Too hot even. This is for your benefit, you know–,” Toji stated matter-of-factly while he increases the speed his pounding into you, “–So you remember you have your own Daddy who will fuck you anyway you want, anytime you want…just, fuck, tell Daddy what his slutty baby needs.”

The way his hips are driving into your core knocks the wind out of you. Toji tightens the already brutal grip on your hips which assists him in pressing deeper into your cunt. The movement has you almost slipping. You nearly drop your phone off the balcony when your toes stepped in the growing pool of shared juices flowing down your legs and collecting at your feet.

“Hold that shit tight for daddy baby, got it? You drop it and we gotta start over, yeah? I’ll make you walk downstairs ass naked just like this to get it too,” Toji breathed out huskily.

You realize you’ve never heard him sound this needy before now.

“What’s next, in y’er lil’ story huh?… Speak up so I can hear it over this messy cunt.”

There was an edge of desperation for you clear in his tone. Although to your dismay it causes your body to gush around him harder meaning you would have to speak up even louder as your pussy squelches grew more vulgar in volume.

You nearly shouted out the next part groaning and mixing in incoherent babbles throughout the smut filled paragraph as Toji doesn't slow to help you. If anything Toji picks up speed and grows even harder inside of you as he's encouraged by his baby's filthy words.

“...H-he- lifts your leg, r-resting your knee on the edge of the bal-c-cony. T-T-The angle allows h-him, fuck, deeper access to your c-cunt. Ah-h-h-a clear view of his c-cock badgering your core f’er a-anyone who happens to p-pass belowwww-ohmygod. Y-you seeeeee s-stars as he callously s-slams into your c-cervix, shitshitshit, n-nearly fa-fa-fucking you off the balcony if not for his s-strong hold on youuuu–ah. Y-you violently t-tremble as you c-cum s-screamiiiiing, not fuckdaddyfuckkkk, caring if your n-neighbors could s-see or h-hear you any l-longer.”

“HA! Is that so–” Toji lifts your leg just like you wrote in your fic, “–guess I am gonna to have to keep fucking this tight cunt until you no longer give a fuck about anything else but this dick, eh?”

You hear what sounds like a door slide open near you and you begin to whine about your neighbors again before Toji jerks your head back by your ponytail to whisper in your ear.

“I wouldn’t worry that nasty, pretty little head of yours about these neighbors babydoll…”

The new angle allows Toji to bury himself deeper into you just like you told in your story and his tip hits your cervix so hard you think he might actually penetrate.

“...if I were you Y/N... I would think about how daddy’s needy lil whore is gonna make it through an entire day of classes tomorrow with clamps on your nipples and a remote control vibrator up your cunt.”

He licked the side of your face and spit in your mouth before carelessly pushing your head back. You loudly moaned as his bruising grip returned to your meaty hips as his nonstop aggressive assault on your cunt proceeds.

You feel yourself getting close, your eyes rolled back into your head and drool seeped down the corners of your mouth. You cursed your weakness for this shit as you felt yourself give into the pleasure. You surprise even yourself as you never actually thought this kinda sex could be so fucking good you wouldn’t care about shit else for real.

“Goddamn mamas, squeezing me so hard–” Toji’s hips snapped into you with every syllable, his voice becoming more animalistic, “–you want me to fill this pussy up? Mmm, I fucking know you do the way she’s milking me. Fuck, might even put a baby in you, give ‘gumi a sibling. We won’t be able to do some of that kinky shit you wrote unless I knock a baby up in this cunt, ya know.”

Of course, Toji being the sexy ass DILF straight out of your dreams would love breeding kinks too.

His ramblings cause you to tighten and clench around him even more. You’ve wanted to beg for him like this since you first started dating. Just thinking of the words spilling out of your mouth nearly pushed you over the edge.

You were so close to release.

“I-Inside me D-Daddy pleasepleaseplease!,” you slobbered out, struggling to make sentences from all the pleasure within you.

“F-fill me– fill me D-Daddy, knock this tight little cunt up, w-want it– want it– w-want it–!!!”

Your voice caught in your throat and you nearly choked once you felt your peak hit. Your pussy sent tremors around his dick as you creamed around him. You can't think of anything else but him inside of you.

You just came but Toji allowed you no rest. He still pummeled inside you as he chased his own high and slurred vulgar curses of praise for his pretty lil’ whore's dirty mind, while planning the next debaucherous smut for you both to reenact.

“Ya think it's too late now f’er prime next day delivery for those toys, baby? Fuck, look that up while y’er still holding that phone.”

You didn’t even realize you still had your phone in your hand but were just thankful you didn’t drop yet. You didn't think it would survive the fall.

Groaning you tried to rally the strength to even lift the phone to face unlock when you locked eyes with someone below. You instantly recognized the person as the elderly woman with the flower garden from down the street.

The old lady had always been very kind to you, making pleasant conversation, offering you fresh flowers for your kitchen and praising you for how reminded her of her own sweet young daughter at your age.

Unfortunately for you both, she was casually walking her two mini poodles when her eyes were affronted with you practically hanging off the balcony. A blissed out expression plastered across your face while Toji held you, battering your slick pussy full of his thick cock.

The old woman’s eyes widened in terror as if she actually witnessed a crime scene as she panicked, yanking her two dogs away swiftly back in the direction of her home. You knew you would have to take the long way home from now on.

Nevertheless Toji, who was none the wiser and wouldn’t give a single fuck regardless, merely continued planning out your next smut fic enactment.

“Nah fuck it, we’re going to the library tomorrow. See how many pages you can read of that dull ass biology book while y’er warming my cock... Tch, or should we do the one where y’er fucking the coach in the men’s locker room, whacha think baby?”

"Hmmmnmmrgh", you could only moan in reply.

You were already near hyperventilating from your own climax, the shame of now having to avoid your neighbor for life and Toji’s fiery body creating a storm of friction clashing with the freezing temperatures.

But your senses were now wholly overloaded once you felt him reach down to pinch and rub at your clit.

“Cum again with Daddy baby, shit, can ya do that f’er me?” Toji sounded like he was close and he slapped your clit even harder causing you to scream out.

Cockdrunk and overstimulated you could no longer communicate as your entire body felt like it was an extension of your pussy. The thick fluids flowing out of your body increased the sizable puddle already at your feet. You utterly surrendered to the feeling and your body wrecked with pleasure electrifying you.

You almost blackout as you feel his cock bust hot seed into your tummy melting your insides and causing you to cum all over again.

"Fuck, that’s it, take it all. Can't wait to see this belly and these tits full mama."

The aftershock of your orgasm feels near endless as Toji continues to fuck thick ropes of his cum into you.

Losing track of time you weren’t sure how long it was before Toji finally pulled out and took you off the railing. Holding on to you so you can balance and turning you to face him he places you down on your unsteady feet. You immediately bury your head into his chest as his heat envelops your cold skin. Your breathing finally starts to calm in his embrace.

“So good f’er daddy babygirl,” he murmurs into your hair, savoring your scent.

“Warm bath, yeah?”

“Sure, but you gotta carry me daddy.”

You yawned while Toji’s already lifting you princess style in his strong arms. You were exposed still in the night but at the same time you have never felt safer.

You curl further into his warmth as he kisses your forehead and finally brings you back inside.

Once inside the bathroom Toji sets you down on the edge of the tub while the water runs and he leaves to grab some fresh towels.

You can’t help but feel euphoric as you smiled to yourself. You are too giddy!

You finally have the DILF daddy you always wanted and could be open about your kinks without any judgment.

However your mood shifts when Toji returns. You give him an incredulous look as you see your pink waterproof vibrator in his hands.

Toji turns it on and saunters over to you, his scar twisted into a devilish smirk.

“95 more fuckfics to go ma’, we don’t have time to waste…”

Fucking hell, you had entirely forgotten about the overstimulation in the bath drabble.

You quiver in both anticipation and distress as you aren’t sure how your completely spent and nearly frozen body is gonna be able to cum four more times tonight.

Could there ever be too much of a good thing?

You weren't sure what those limits were exactly.

“Ya know, Y/N–," Toji started slyly, interrupting your thought.

”If I hit up Shiu and you asked him nicely with that pretty lil' mouth, I’m positive he would be down for some double daddy Eiffel Tower action.”

However from the feral grin on Toji’s face he appeared determined to test those limits with you.

You could thank your Tumblr smut fics for that.

© ʙʟᴋᴋɪᴢᴢᴀᴛ 2023. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ, ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ ꜰɪᴄꜱ, ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ, & ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ.

A/N: I honestly have to say I am a bit impressed with myself as I’ve never finished a story in one day before ever (although it took most of today to proofread and I still think there might be errors soz). Hopefully this is a good sign for powering through those Kinktober fics once classes start up again this Weds. Also If there is any interest possibly a PT 2 after Kinktober featuring a threesome with Shiu at his office.

Edit: errors/grammar fixed as of 9/26.

This one goes out to all of us dilf smut queens who simp Toji ❤︎

Please reblog to have DILF Daddy Toji dick you down, but likes and comments are always appreciated just the same!

4K notes · View notes

macfrog · 1 year

Text

state-of-the-art sex on fire chapter two

*chants* ceo joel ceo joel ceo joel

part 2 to you shook me all night long!!! massive credit to @whore-4-pedro again for the concept this is SO much fun. work trip coming soon babies!!! masterlist here, ao3 here 💓

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel’s had a rough week at work. you figure you know the perfect way to relieve some of his tension

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) more teasing and touching, oral (m receiving), getting handsy in public + fingering, unprotected semi-public piv sex, creampie, daddy kink, softdom!joel, age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), cursing, workplace relationship

word count: 6.6k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

The stretch is too much; he’s all the way in down to his knuckles, curling and then uncurling his fingers deep inside you. Your hips are slowly circling by instinct, rutting against his hand as it fucks you, sending fluttery waves of pleasure all over your body. You ball up your fist, nails digging half-moons into the skin of your palm, attempting to fight the tidal wave fast approaching as Joel’s fingers snap harder into you, a third beckoning your orgasm nearer and nearer. You’re there – right where he wants you, almost throwing your head back with the feeling he’s giving you. And then you make the mistake of looking at him, catching that ever so Joel smile when, shielded from the others by his hand, he breathes, “There’s my girl.”

The black mug. Not the one with the gold handle – that’s one of Martha’s. She doesn’t use it much – at least not as much as the one with her granddaughter’s face printed on it – but she once left you with a stack of paperwork to shred all by yourself just ‘cause you made yourself a tea in it.

No. Just plain black all over. No words, no pictures. Plain. Black.

Few spoonsful of coffee into the filter, hard granules sprinkling over the white paper. Close the lid, flick the switch, and then wait for it to brew. Once it’s done, fill the mug almost to the top – until the coffee kisses the bottom of that one chip in the ceramic. No sugar. No sweetener. No nothing.

Just plain black.

“Thanks, darlin’.” Joel takes the mug carefully from your hands as you wander over, then you perch yourself by his side on Martha’s desk. He takes a sip and nods like usual, confirming what you already know.

You make a damn good cup of coffee.

“You’re worth, what, a few hundred million? You can’t buy a better coffee machine?”

“’s wrong with that one?” he asks, mug on his bottom lip.

“Works like it’s from the eighties or something.”

Martha clears her throat behind you both. “I am gonna give you five seconds to explain what you mean by that.”

“I mean…it’s not exactly state-of-the-art, is it?”

Joel’s jaw drops dramatically. His head wobbles like it’s about to implode, hearing what you just said. “You hear that, Martha? We ain’t state-of-the-art anymore, you ‘n me. We’re older ‘n that coffee machine, you know.”

Martha’s shaking her head, clicking away at her computer.

Joel nudges your arm with a soft chuckle and you sigh, turning away to watch the four men in his office; stood an awkward distance apart, small talking, pacing, adjusting their suits. One of them is messing with some trinket on Joel’s bookshelf.

“You think they’re nervous?” you ask, and he laughs from behind you.

“I reckon they’ve a lot to be nervous about.”

“Was it that bad? On Monday?”

Joel had spent the better part of four hours locked in that conference room, right after you two – you know. He was late for lunch by the time he was ushering them out, collars loose, jackets slung over arms. It was probably a good thing you’d tired him out a little beforehand, or he’d have been way more unforgiving than he was.

Three departments in Joel’s company have gone over budget. It isn’t a huge deal. He has the money. Just, he wants the right people in charge of it, and right now…he clearly doesn’t have that. Honestly, you hate to admit it, but it makes sense. You’re kinda on Joel’s side.

He’d given them to the end of the week to come up with action plans, figure out how to undo the mess. This is the end of the week. This is supposed to be the big reveal.

Joel runs a hand through his hair, palm hooking around the back of his neck.

“Wasn’t great,” he mutters.

You knew that much. You’d asked what he wanted to eat as he passed your desk en route back to his office, and he’d waved his hand and told you to order whatever you wanted with his card. When his door closed, you glanced over to Martha, who shrugged, and went back to playing solitaire.

You figured he wasn’t down for more sex. He didn’t reappear until five o’clock, when he walked you down to the street, carrying your jacket for you, and helped you into your cab.

The elevator dings and the brass doors separate, revealing a figure behind.

George Mackley. Short. Stout. Obnoxiously bright red tie. Head of marketing.

He waddles in a hurry toward the three of you, nodding curtly to Joel as he passes. His shaking hand fumbles around the handle of the office door, which he pulls on instead of pushing, and gives an awkward chuckle before rushing inside.

“Fuckin’…finally,” Joel grunts, passing you his mug and standing up.

“Should I order my own lunch again?” you ask, looking up at the man stretching his arms out before you. Like he’s about to go in and punch sense into them all.

You’d probably love him to do that. It’d make for some great sex afterward.

“I’ll be takin’ a lunch break,” he replies, tapping your knee, “whether we’re done or not. Be out at one.”

You nod, and he stalks off to his office. His mug’s still warm in your lap. You’re still staring when he enters the room, watching how all five men immediately file into the couches across from his desk just at the sight of him. Watching how Joel’s lean figure sits back against his desk, his ankles crossed. His arms folded at his chest. His broad shoulders beneath that tight white shirt.

He has that way about him. Commanding, confident. Strong. It’s probably what convinced you to fold, if you’re honest. Sure, he’s kind, and he’s a good boss, all things considered. He’s funny. But he’s cool. It takes a lot to shake Joel.

This meeting? It’s not shaking him. He’s barely even giving these guys enough attention to sit up straight. He’s so damn breezy, so laidback that when he pushes off of his desk and stands up, you give a small gasp.

You lift his mug, drinking from the same spot his lips touched only minutes ago.

“Thought you hated black coffee,” Martha murmurs.

“Stress sipping,” you reply. “Fucking hell…”

Joel’s erratic. Waving his arms, pacing around the room. You swear the men cower as he approaches; shoulders hunched and heads low until he’s past them.

He looks…Yeah. Fuck it. He looks a little shaken.

Martha tuts. “Shouldn’t be idiots with his money.”

“He has money, though,” you offer. “Like, this ain’t that big a deal, is it? He can afford to go over budget sometimes.”

“Joel doesn’t like anyone messin’ with what’s his,” she tells you. “Doesn’t like other hands on his toys. It’s not the overspending he’s pissed about. It’s the crossin’ the line.”

Your eyebrow cocks. She can’t see your expression, and good thing, because it’d probably give you away. Doesn’t like other hands on his toys.

A flash of movement from Joel’s office drags your eyes from the dregs of his coffee back to the transparent wall between you. He’s whipping the shades closed one by one, putting a barrier between his office and the outside world.

It can’t mean anything good, right? It doesn’t look like they’re about to sit in a circle and braid each other’s hair. Sure as hell aren’t about to see Joel’s good side.

“I gotta go in,” you declare, lifting off of Martha’s desk like you’ve taken flight.

She calls your name, almost tired of your antics. “I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

But you’re already scooping up a notepad, slipping it under your arm and fishing a pen from your desk. Already walking over to the office door, hearing the dangerous hum of Joel’s voice through the wood.

Your knuckles rap three times. You don’t wait to be called inside. Just push the handle down and slip in.

He’s stood against the frame of one of the windows, hands in his pockets. When you materialize from behind the door, his face relaxes. Brows loosen, jaw slackens. Lips almost tug into a smile.

“Sorry I’m late.” You sidle over to his desk and sit down in his chair, biting on your bottom lip, casting an unsure glance around the room.

Five pale faces turned to you. George Mackley looks like he’s about to weep.

Joel thanks you and then steps forward. “So, Ken, we were at last month’s sales.”

“Uh, yeah…” Ken draws his gaze from you when Joel moves in front of the desk. As he waltzes by, he spins slowly, giving you a look as he passes.

Kill me, he mouths, rolling his eyes. You smile, looking down at your blank notebook. You’re not here to take the fucking minutes. You know that, Joel knows that. You’re only here so he has something to keep him from losing it. Something to sit and look pretty, and calm him down.

Also: you kinda want the gossip. What the fuck did these guys do with all of Joel’s money, right?

Almost two hours in, a dozen games of tic-tac-toe against yourself, and one very crude drawing of Monday morning’s activities, Joel startles you by slamming a file down onto his glass coffee table.

“And you think that’s a solution?” he spits, voice laced with fury.

“Joel, you gotta see it from my side. I’m managing thirty people down there, it’s–”

“’n I’m managing five idiots from up here. Mackley,” he turns to the face as red as the tie below it, “you got anythin’ else for me?”

George Mackley shakes his head. His hair’s unkempt; it was gelled flat to his head when he arrived, but his hands have been through it more times than Joel’s lapped the office.

“Alright. Y’know what,” Joel seethes, backing up and motioning for them to stand, “everyone out. Meeting’s over. Go.”

“Joel–” A tall man with blue eyes stands up.

“If you ain’t about to offer me somethin’ that can fuckin’ fix this mess, then shut your mouth and get out of my office. All of you.”

The men sheepishly collect their briefcases, their documents, themselves, and stand, filing out of the door one by one. You rise from Joel’s chair, taking your notepad between your fingers, and slowly wander around the desk.

He’s standing with his head in his hands, shoulders swelling with his breathing. Does he want you to leave, too? You don’t want to rile him more; certainly don’t want to be the first face his angry self sees. But you want to make sure he’s okay. Want to check on him.

Plus, he’s kind of hot when he’s pissed.

You’re tottering toward the door when Joel drops his hands from his face, notices you, and says, plain as the coffee in his mug, “Not you.”

You turn back, pushing the door closed behind you.

“Didn’t mean to yell.”

You don’t reply. Your hand lifts to find the lock blindly behind your hip, and you click it. Now there’s nobody, no one to disturb you both. No one to walk in, no one to see.

You approach him.

He’s still talking: “Didn’t want you to have to hear all that. I spoil your morning?”

Your head shakes and you mutely take his hands, leading him around to his chair and pushing him back into it.

“Baby, what–”

You part his legs with your own, his fingers still interlocked with yours. Then you think he gets it. Understands where you’re going.

You sink to your knees between his thighs.

“They were bein’ idiots,” you say, fingers undoing his belt. “’n you didn’t spoil my mornin’. You gave me a little bit of excitement.”

Joel’s breath shudders as he watches you tug his belt through the loops of his pants and drop it to the floor. Still, he laughs, and asks, “Is that so?”

“N– Oh, fuck. Not like that. Like–” You pause, breathing out a sigh.

Yeah, okay. Like that, if you want. I’m down if you are.

His pants are open, lying loose on his hips. The waistband of his boxers visible. You hook two fingers over it and peel it down a fraction, following Joel’s happy trail as it grows thicker and darker, when he puts a hand over yours and breathes your name.

“Relax,” you mutter back, nudging his hand off of yours. “Just let me take care of you.”

His head falls against the back of his chair and his shoulders sink into the leather. You pull on the elastic and take hold of the base of his cock, already stiff, slipping it out from beneath the black cotton.

Joel’s knees fall slack when you take a hold of him. Two hands, because he’s so fucking big. Your fists pump him a few times, feeling him harden in your grasp, warm skin rock solid in your hands. You lean forward on your knees, thick bead of saliva falling from your lips onto his head, dribbling down his smooth shaft.

Joel’s watching through hooded lids. Caressing your hair, petting you. Your fingers collect your spit and drag it up and down him, and you swear he almost fucking whines.

Almost isn’t enough. You want to really hear him. So you slacken your jaw, part your lips, and slide them down, tongue flat against the underside of his length as he fills your mouth. Joel’s fist tightens, pulls harshly on your hair for just a second, until he’s breathing out again in relief, body relaxing to the feel of your wet tongue around his hard cock.

“Don’t need to – do this, babygirl.”

“Mhm,” you mumble around him.

“Fuck…” he whispers.

Your elbows are hooked over his thighs, holding yourself up in place between his legs. He tastes salty; skin warm, smooth. Your tongue flickers over his head, collecting precum, and Joel groans.

You pull off of him and lick your lips.

“What you gonna do?” you ask, fingers squeezing and dragging saliva and Joel’s arousal up and down. “About the budget stuff?”

His chest is heaving, hips lifting out of the seat almost like he’s trying to put himself back where he belongs. “What…can I do?” he asks through desperate pants. “Can’t – fuck – can’t drum sense into ‘em.”

You wrap your puffy lips around his tip, kissing it, tongue playing with him again. Swirling around, gathering him on your tastebuds. “Why don’t you cut ‘em loose, then?”

Your head dips again, lips sucking around his shaft, tongue still darting around his swollen head.

He can barely fucking answer. His eyes close over and, with a groan either side of the sentence, he replies, “’s not that easy, baby. Fuck. Keep doin’ that.”

You loosen your lips enough to let your reply pass them. Your voice is muffled, thick. “Sounds easy to me.”

“Shut up,” he grunts. “Keep fuckin’ – usin’ your tongue.”

You obey, running your tongue up and down his length and coming to rest to pay more attention to his tip.

“Yeah, just like that. Good girl.”

You hollow your cheeks and let your lips trickle up and down for a bit before releasing him with a pop. Joel’s writhing underneath you, leaning almost horizontal in his chair.

“Gonna cum, daddy?”

He nods, eyes still screwed shut. “Yeah, pretty girl. You want it down your throat again?”

“Mhm.”

“Fuck – dirty girl.”

It’s all the encouragement you need. You widen your jaw, taking him in your mouth in full, until he’s choking you down to what feels like the bottom of your fucking neck. You fuck him with your throat, bobbing up and down, his fist in your hair pushing and pulling even though you don’t need him to. Your mouth meets the skin at the base of his cock over and over, dark hair brushing against your glossy lips.

Joel’s moaning each time, when his cock kisses the back of your throat, when you involuntarily choke around him, when your tongue drags along his length as he pulls you up and down. And soon his breathing loses rhythm, hips tense, and you know he’s there.

He cums, hard, at the back of your mouth. Warm release spilling out over your tongue, neatly running down your throat as you wait for him to still. His cock throbs with each shot of cum, swelling and jerking between your lips. When Joel sinks back into his chair again, you slip him out of your mouth and back under his boxershorts.

Your head lulls to the side, resting on his big thigh as you swallow him with a smile on your lips. His grip on your hair loosens, turns instead back to soft stroking, chest still panting as he comes back down. You watch him through glazed eyes; his shoulders rising and falling, breaths passing his lips like waves at the beach.

He’s twirling your hair gently around his finger, looking down at you like you’re made of twinkling gold dust.

Eventually, Joel takes a deep breath and sits up straight, beckoning you to do the same. He tucks his shirt back in, redoes his pants, then leans forward and hooks both hands under your arms, pulling you up to him.

You giggle as he lifts you onto his lap, straddling him with your knees either side of his waist. Your elbows rest on his shoulders, hands linking at the back of his neck.

His jaw turns upward, and you lower yours, your lips meeting in a soft embrace. You laugh against him, letting his tongue slip into your mouth, pushing yours into his.

“Better?” you ask once you part.

“Better, darlin’. Thank you.”

He kisses you again, a little more rushed, little less tender. Then his hands squeeze your ass and you squeal into his mouth, jumping up off of him.

You pass him his belt and lift the empty coffee mug off of his desk. “Refill?”

“Yeah. Sure. Thanks,” he says, slipping the leather through his belt loops. His shoulders are lifted, tummy sucked in as he feeds it through. He almost looks cute.

You smile and then turn on your heels, wiping the corners of your mouth as you emerge from the office.

—————

“Is he comin’, or what?”

“Huh?”

Martha jerks her head in the direction of Joel’s office. She’s stood at your desk, hands on her hips, bag over her shoulder.

“He’s…Yeah, he said he would be. Let me go check.”

You close over the budget report file you’d been reading through and shimmy out from behind your desk, trying to amble as casually as possible over to the shuttered blinds.

You turn the handle, poking your head around the door.

He’s stood at his desk, raking a hand through his hair, top button of his shirt undone. Tie sitting loose around his collar. He spots you and gives an apologetic smile.

You comin’? you mouth.

Joel points to his phone. Some panicked voice fills the silence between you both.

“…so I gave the two of ‘em a tellin’; they shouldn’t make any more purchase orders without my permission. Without your permission, Joel, I mean…And about last month’s sales, too…”

You step over to his desk, slow, suspicious. Mischief on your mind.

“Sorry, baby,” he whispers, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

You cock your head, brows furrowing. You’d been looking forward to lunch with Joel all day; something to take his mind off the meeting this morning.

Martha had called his favorite restaurant, they’d told her they had no space, she’d mentioned it was for Mr. Miller, and a table had magically opened up. Then you’d encouraged her to ask Deb, knowing she’d inevitably ask James, her admin assistant, and, before you knew it, your small lunch was a party of five.

Worked for you. You and Joel would probably be too caught up in each other’s company to notice the rest.

Except, the way things are looking, Joel isn’t getting off this call anytime soon. Soon meaning within the next thirty seconds, given the reservation is in ten minutes.

You’re growing desperate. Running out of time, knowing if you don’t do something to shut this guy the fuck up, your little daydream of sitting side by side with Joel, so close you can feel the heat off of him, feel his chest vibrate when he talks, maybe even feel his hand trailing up your thigh…won’t come true.

“What if you just…” Your fingers walk along Joel’s desktop, heading for his phone. “…lost…connection…?”

He doesn’t say a word, but the smirk that forms across his lips grants you all the permission you need. Your fingers clutch the receiver, lifting it barely an inch, then drop it back into its cradle. The panicked voice cuts.

“Oops.” You shrug, straightening up in front of Joel.

“Oops,” he repeats, wrapping his strong arms around your shoulders and pulling you into him again. You lift your jaw to kiss him only quickly, before you’re pushing yourself off of his chest and dragging him away from his desk.

“Sorry, Ken!” you call as Joel yanks the door open, the pair of you laughing like schoolkids.

You meet the others outside the building, huddled together at the bottom of the concrete steps. Deb puts her cigarette out on top of a trashcan when you both approach.

“Well, we thought you weren’t comin’,” she utters to Joel.

He lifts his eyebrows in response, hands slipping into his pockets, and glances around the group. “We goin’?”

“Waiting for your driver, Mr. CEO.” Martha winks.

“Aha,” Joel replies, face unmoving, “funny.”

“It’s, like, two blocks, we can walk,” you say, setting off down the street. Joel’s quick to follow, strolling at your side, but there’s a chorus of groans from the rest of your party. “Come on!” you yell over your shoulder.

“We’re supposed to be dining with the head of the fuckin’ company!” Martha cries, and Deb cackles.

“I gotta live like the rest of y’all sometimes,” Joel shrugs, walking backward, “keeps my feet rooted, doesn’t it?”

“I hate you,” you mutter, and he knocks into your shoulder with his own.

The Courtyard is bright, modern, and…beige. It’s only Joel’s favorite because it was a buddy of his from grad school who opened it, but you’re the only person he’s entrusted with that information. It’s decent food – they do a great chicken risotto – and it is always busy, so Drew must be doing alright with it.

You walk under a fake ivy plant covering the entrance, past twinkling fairy lights and to a rustic wooden reception area. Some hyper server comes bounding over and introduces himself as Jake, before Martha gives the name of the reservation and he batters it into a keyboard.

“Lopez?” you ask Martha, screwing your face up.

“Yeah. Comma Jennifer. I like to make it exciting.”

“If you wanted exciting, go for Beyoncé, or something. Lopez?”

“You really think Beyoncé is gonna come eat here?”

“You really think Jennifer Lopez is?”

She bats you away, turning her attention to Deb, who finds the JLo joke hilarious. When Jake springs off, beckoning you all to follow him, Joel leans in close to you.

“She used to use Pamela Anderson. Glad she’s evolved a little.”

You snort and follow Jake toward the same table Joel always sits at: the very back of the restaurant, quieter, separated by screens of more fake greenery. Windows looking out over the busy streets. Bare lightbulbs hanging from unnecessarily long wires over the tables.

Joel pulls your chair out for you and slots in beside you, on your right. Martha, Deb, and James – who hasn’t said or done much more than chortle at anything Joel’s said – sit opposite. Jake borderline frisbees the menus at you guys and tells you to give him a shout when you’re ready to order.

You turn to Joel who shakes his head, hand cupping his chin.

The five of you scan down the menus – at least, you, Joel and Martha pretend to. You’ve been coming here regularly enough for long enough that you know what you’ll inevitably end up ordering. James is asking Deb if the steak might fill him up too much before his squash practice later on tonight when you feel a familiar heat on your leg, and look past your menu to see Joel’s hand curving around your thigh.

You hold back a smile, pretending to be really into the laminated sheet in your hands. So long as he keeps it PG, and James keeps rabbiting on about squash being good for your hand-eye co-ordination, this is fine. This is…enjoyable.

This is exactly what you fucking wanted, when you organized lunch.

But when Jake returns to collect the menus under his arm then scurries back off, and Martha and Deb start discussing some TV show they’re both hooked on, Joel’s hand begins to rake higher. Taking the hem of your skirt with it. You suck in a deep breath, pretending to watch the two women and trying your best to listen to the words they’re saying, but he’s getting dangerously close to your–

“You ever try squash, Joel?”

“Huh?” Joel’s hand halts instantly. You exhale.

James is sitting forward, elbows on the table, nodding with a perfectly innocent smile on his face. “Squash. Yeah. I play every Friday evening, straight after work. It’s fantastic for shakin’ off that week-long stress, y’know? Not that workin’ here is a stress, but sometimes it can build up, sometimes you just need something to…” He balls his fists and jerks them, gritting his teeth.

You choke on a laugh and play it off as a cough.

Joel shifts a little in his seat, his palm still clamped around the top of your thigh. “Never played squash. More of a golfing guy.”

“That what you’re gonna do this weekend? Burn off all that stress you’ve had with a round of golf?” you ask Joel, lips almost trembling with the effort it’s taking you not to burst out laughing.

“Not what I had in mind, naw,” he almost spits back.

“Well, if you ever wanna try it, you know who to call. Squash, I mean. I mean – sorry, I don’t mean call squash. I mean call me. To try squash. You won’t find a better stress reliever.”

“Thanks, James,” Joel mutters, fingers fumbling with the cutlery on the table in front of him.

You could fucking burst. No better stress reliever than squash, right Joel? Nothing like it. Not even the one sitting next to you, her thigh under your grasp. Nope.

You’re thankful when Martha calls your name and averts your attention.

“You have got to watch it. I reckon she’d really love it, right?”

Deb nods eagerly.

“What’s that?” you ask.

They both start chirping away, describing the plot of some mystery thriller. It’s hard to keep up, what with them both speaking over one another, deciding which parts are safe to tell you and No, we can’t tell her that, that’s a spoiler, which actors are in it and how many episodes it took for them to really get into it.

Not to mention Joel’s hand, which has resumed its climb up your leg.

“There are three seasons,” Martha says, finger drawing shapes on her placemat, “and do not go lookin’ online for anything, because at the end of season two, there’s a massive death, and…”

Your thighs are bare again, skirt rolled up and held at the top of your legs by Joel’s wrist. He’s squeezing as he goes, massaging, driving you fucking insane as he adds more and more pressure. Still, your legs part for him the higher he goes.

“W-what– where can I watch it?” you ask, your eyes closing over as Joel’s fingers loosen their grip.

Deb says something, but it’s muffled. Drowned out by the ringing in your ears. Joel’s right hand sits under his chin, elbow propped on the table as if he’s musing over the weather or considering what to do with his weekend.

His left moves swiftly over to run along the elastic of your panties. Sift his thumb down below them. Fingers drop to cup you over the lace fabric. Suddenly, you’re sitting upright, your arms propping on the table, then falling to your lap, then one elbow up, then both down again.

What the fuck– how the fuck do you make this look casual? Being touched by your boss at lunch, with three colleagues sat opposite you?

Joel seems to be enjoying watching you squirm. You hear him breathe a laugh into his hand, and then his fingers begin to travel even further south, moving your panties to the side to sift through your folds.

Which are, regrettably, fucking soaked.

“Hm,” you hear Joel hum, and you can’t look at him. Knowing he’s found exactly what he was looking for. Knowing he’s achieved exactly what he set out to do.

You sit stunned, staying completely still for fear you might draw attention from your company. But then he’s dipping a finger in, pushing deep inside you, and your jaw falls loose, a silent moan escaping in the form of a sigh.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Martha addresses you and Joel, “as requested, flights organized. You leave for Paris next Friday morning, fly home Monday afternoon.”

“Yep,” you reply, shuddering slightly. “Sounds good.”

You’re not fucking listening to a word she’s saying.

“Thanks, Martha,” Joel says, as casual as if he were telling her the time. Almost bored.

You drop your hand and it clamps around Joel’s wrist; you’re sure you’re scratching him, but you don’t care. Not only does he deserve it, but it’s all you can do to stop yourself from screaming out when he inserts a second finger.

You ball up your fist, nails digging half-moons into the skin of your palm, attempting to fight the tidal wave fast approaching as Joel’s fingers snap harder into you, a third beckoning your orgasm nearer and nearer.

You’re there – right where he wants you, almost throwing your head back with the feeling he’s giving you. And then you make the mistake of looking at him, catching that ever so Joel smile when, shielded from the others by his hand, he breathes, “There’s my girl.”

It’s the last push. The last fucking shove.

Your walls clamp around his fist, your entire body screams, a scream that forcibly dies out in your throat as you lean forward and –

You slam your fist down on the tabletop, the sudden jolt of cutlery and glass making the three opposite you jump.

“Are you– what’s wrong?” Martha asks, leaning closer.

“Cr– fuck– cramp,” you mumble, eyes screwed shut, hand still gripping Joel’s wrist. He slowly drags his soaked fingers out of your tight cunt, casually maneuvering his arm back where it belongs whilst the table’s attention is still on your head and shoulders.

“Cramp?”

“My – fucking – leg. I’ll be – right back.” You’re almost hyperventilating as you shakily stand, shoving your chair back with your legs only for it to be caught by the hand Joel had inside you seconds before.

You waddle off to the front of the restaurant, nearly breaking out into a run when you reach the hallway leading to the restrooms. The door to the ladies room bursts open and you throw yourself against a sink, gripping onto the ceramic, chest heaving, shoulders hunched. Your cunt is still throbbing, waves of your orgasm slowly losing power and retreating.

You wave your hand under the faucet and cold water automatically flows, filling your cupped hands, cooling your blood, cooling your skin when you dab it onto your cheeks. You sigh with relief, leaning against the sink, catching pathetic glimpses of yourself in the mirror.

And then, the door pushes open. And his silhouette sneaks inside. He leans back against the wall, hands in his pockets. Face with a smirk you want to slap off of him.

“How’s the cramp?”

“Are you fucking–” You flick your hands toward him, splashing him with water as he throws an arm up to dodge it, laughing. That fucking laugh.

He wanders around you, looking your shaking body up and down, and comes to a halt with his chest against your back. His chin leans into your shoulder, and you look at each other in the mirror.

It takes everything in you to fight the smile growing on your lips, but when Joel mirrors it, you can’t help it.

“Fucker,” you whisper, and he kisses your shoulder. You lean back into him, ass pressing against him, feeling something you already suspected would be there.

“Feel what you did to me?” he asks, voice muffled into the cotton of your shirt.

“Mhm,” you reply, and you drop your hand to take the outline of him through his pants.

“You wanna fix it for me?”

Your head rolls back against his shoulder, smutty grin melting across your face. “Yeah, daddy.”

“Good girl,” he tells you, lips dragging across your neck, hands at his belt.

Your fingers clutch your skirt, still hiked halfway up your thighs, and pull it further. Joel’s hands replace yours on your hips and he shoves his pants apart, lining his bulge up with your core. Then his palm is at the bottom of your back, pushing you forward into position. Your knuckles whiten around the ceramic sink.

“Fuck,” you whisper when you feel his tip at your entrance. You’re already soaked through, no need for him to take his time. Not that you have time, anyway, with three coworkers out front waiting for the two of you.

Joel thrusts forward, entering you in one go, filling you up so fast you nearly double over. He keeps a tight grip on your hips, dragging you up and down the top of his cock a few times before slamming all the way into you again, eliciting a cry from your lips.

“Quiet, babygirl,” he says, low, dangerous. “Just gettin’ you warmed up.”

“Your hand wasn’t enough of a warmup?” you throw over your shoulder, and he takes your arms and pulls you flush against him.

“You gonna run that pretty mouth the entire time we’re in here, or you gonna let me fuck you?” he breathes around the shell of your ear.

“Both.”

You bite back a whimper when his hips buck into you painfully. A telling: don’t start.

Joel establishes a pace quick enough, both of you aware you can’t take too long in here. His grunts match the rate his body snaps against yours, your panting matches the rate you bounce up and down on him.

You’re watching the sight reflected in the mirror: Joel hooked around your shoulder, lips against your ear, whispering praises and filth, and you, leaning back against him, rutting on his hard cock with a thick smile on your lips.

“Daddy…” you whine, and Joel’s vice grip tightens even more.

“Good girl,” he pants, “so fuckin’ good for me.”

It’s not long before that heat is swirling around your core again, sparks of lightning jolting through the whirlwind of pleasure Joel’s hips create between yours. You take a hold of his arms for stability as you begin to feel your orgasm crest the horizon, knowing by the sounds he’s making in your ear that Joel isn’t far off, either.

“Cum in me,” you whimper, watching for his reaction in the mirror.

He pulls a face that’s almost…defeated. Groans like you’ve given him an impossible problem to solve.

You plead with your eyes. “Cum – in – me.”

It’s like you’re pressing on the weakest part of a porcelain vase; daring it to break. Daring it to fall apart. Joel knows he shouldn’t, knows it’s more sensible not to. But the way you look, body against his, whining and whimpering and fucking smiling right back at him – the way you feel, so warm and wet, squeezing him so tight he’s surprised he’s even lasted this long…

He can’t fucking help himself.

He moans and his hands clamp on your waist, forcing you forward as he ruts into you once, twice, three times before he’s twitching deep inside, warm seed spilling out and coating your walls. Your release floods over you, then, too, your head falling forward as your legs give for a few seconds, Joel’s grip the only thing keeping you upright.

Stars in your eyes, you pull the strength to lift your head and look at your reflection; Joel behind you, face to the ceiling as he slowly stills between your legs.

Your cunt throbs, and you move your hips back and forth gently, drawing a noise from Joel that you wish you could never stop hearing.

“Baby,” he lulls, looking down to watch as your dripping cunt rocks back and forth, taking him all and then letting him go again.

It’s a minute or so before you both return to reality. Bodies still connected, Joel places a steady kiss to your cheek. You lean into him, turning to place your lips against his. You’re both hot, sweaty, it’s probably pretty noticeable you just fucked.

And you don’t care.

Joel slips out of you and backs up, letting you fix yourself in the mirror as he stuffs himself back into his pants.

“You think you can walk back to the office?” he asks, smirking.

“Call Rand,” you reply, and his head tips back in a laugh.

He nods toward the door and the pair of you slip out discreetly, you first to check the coast is clear, and Joel right behind. You walk along the hallway, heels clicking, like you’ve just come across each other right outside the restrooms.

“Hey, Joel,” a voice says from behind you both as you wander past the bar.

“Drew,” Joel replies, and shakes the hand of a tall blonde guy in all black. His t-shirt’s so tight you can make out his pecs underneath it.

“How’s it goin’? You been in long?”

“Just waitin’ for our food,” Joel says, “it’s probably out by now.” He glances over at you and your legs clench subconsciously. He introduces you then, says, “My assistant. Best assistant I could ask for,” and your lungs close up.

Drew shakes your hand and then turns back to Joel. “Don’t go without catchin’ me, ain’t lettin’ you pay a thing. How’s business?”

Joel nods. “Good, good. We’re, uh, we’re heading out to Europe next week, so.”

“Jean-Marc?”

“Yep.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah. Place is lookin’ good, same as always.” Joel glances around, pointing randomly to the light fixture above your heads.

Drew does that thing men do when trapped in a dry conversation: folds his arms, looks to the floor, and nods some more. Waiting for Joel to say —

“Alright, well. Great seein’ you again. Thanks for lunch.”

He puts an arm around your back and guides you off back to the table.

“Nice meetin’ you.” You smile at Drew as you pass and he returns it, turning back to the bar.

Once you’re out of earshot, you look over to Joel.

“Something going on there?”

“Huh?”

You scoff. “You two couldn’t wait to be away from each other. Why’d you always come here if it’s so awkward?”

“Well, if I see ‘im, I get free food.”

You slap his arm as he pulls your chair back out for you.

“Feelin’ better?” Deb asks, pushing French fries around her plate.

You nod, pulling your seat in beside Joel, who’s still laughing at himself. As you settle, you feel the warmth he left behind spill out of you a little, pooling in your underwear. And Joel seems to notice, whether from some sexual sixth sense he has when it comes to you, or just the way you awkwardly shift in your seat. He hands you a smug smirk, nudging you with his elbow.

You narrow your eyes at him and turn back to Martha.

“So, you were saying you fixed the flights for Paris?”

----------

taglist: @regalwhovianbrowncoat774 @casa-boiardi @earthtogrogu @sexygaypalpatine @serenaxpedro @brittmb115 @pascalpvnk @jediknightjana @mrsquill @uncassettodiricordi (lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #ceo!joel miller #ceo!joel #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #the last of us hbo #tlou hbo #softdom!joel miller #softdom!joel

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chaoticbardlady99 · 10 months

Note

Hello! I really enjoyed your fic with the Tav who couldn’t see well. It was really sweet! If you’re still accepting requests, may I request a similar one where the reader needs glasses to see and during a battle they break or get lost. Now they can’t see well and they’re trying not to panic while there’s threats everywhere, but thankfully Astarion notices something’s wrong and helps them. Thank you!

Admiring from Afar (GN! AFAB Reader x Astarion) Part 1- MDNI 18+ ONLY

Part Title is inspired by the song “She” by Dodie (I feel like it reflects Astarion’s POV/feelings towards Tav in this story)

This was not originally supposed to be as long as it is, but the concept started taking on a life of it's own. I hope you enjoy! I will hopefully be positing Part 2 within the next few days!

CW: Angst (?), violence, jealousy, fluffy (hopefully very? But who knows), smut because apparently I’m in a giving mood (I’m sorry I had to make the joke.), MDNI 18+ only, dom/sub sexual relationship.

Note- this is Unascended Astarion x GN! reader

*This has been proof read one time. It is 2:04 am and I have work in 6 hours LMFAO

Gif belongs to- ibacchante from Tumblr!

The campfire crackles in the distance and you think you even hear the faint sound of music. You desperately yearn to be near the warmth of the fire talking to or watching one of your companions give a dramatic retelling of their experiences in battle.

The warmth of your companions made places like the Shadow-Curse Land feel a lot less scary and foreign- they provide some normalcy in this strange journey.

Unfortunately, you are hunched over in your cold tent with nothing but a light cantrip and your will power. You squint as you etch details into the oxen bone, taking the time to add the touches of silvery white dye to add an ethereal effect. Your hands cramp as you work to keep the paint within the designs you carved into the bone.

You have been painstakingly working on this necklace for a little over a month- maybe two? You have lost count at this point, but the calluses on your fingers tell you it’s been a while now since you started this project.

You polish the bone with your cloth, wiping away the debris from your knife. You admire your handiwork; a perfect carving of the Elven Rune- Cadaith. You were able to create a loop at the top of the necklace for the long, thin, black leather strip you had been holding onto since the day after the Tiefling party- the same day you decided to take on this hand numbing project.

You and your crew of oddballs had come through for the locals and obliterated the Goblin Camp Leaders- the tieflings had come to your camp and had decided to celebrate.

It wasn’t that you were opposed to parties, but you’re not the most social person despite your profession as an Artisan. You miss the calm, quiet group of Druids you used to travel with- you even miss the hardwood floor of the Caravans and how much of a pain in the ass they were to fix. You miss not having to spend every waking moment and all of your strength on battling and the art of deception. You miss your tools and the landscapes you use to find your resources. You love to make crafts out of anything in the wild.

Back to the rowdy tiefling party- again, you aren’t necessarily against parties, but they are overwhelming.

And the men! They are entirely too vulgar after a couple drinks. Silvanus help you if you had another drunk man stumble up to you and ask if he can, “fuck your brains out.”

Another man had begun to make his way towards you when you felt a cold hand grab you by the elbow and haul you off into the forest. It had been Astarion- who you had agreed to share a bed with that night. You had shared a bed before- after a camp party to celebrate killing Auntie Ethel, but nothing could have prepared you for the second time and how mind-blowing it would be (you had been excruciatingly awkward as it was your first time ever- he was pretty understanding thank Gods).

“Astarion-”

“Yes Darling?”

He stops and looks at you- you look around and realize you are far from camp. You fiddle with your hands nervously- picking at your nails.

“I um-” you clear your throat, “I really appreciate you- well- um… coming to my rescue, but I really don’t want to be a bother to you- you don’t need to stay wit-”

You hadn’t been able to finish your sentence before he was gently kissing you. Your body feels like it’s on fire, your glasses are entirely foggy from your breathing and you smile at him coyly as he pulls away. He gives you a genuine, real laugh before taking your glasses off and wiping them clean for you. You put them on, your eyes back in focus as you avoid his eyes.

He leans in and begins kissing along your neck, along your jawline, and back to your lips. He kisses you roughly, his tongue flicking across your lower lip, asking for access. He lifts you up from under your thighs before backing you into a tree.

He grinds up into you- his erection pressed against the burning heat in your core. He pulls at your shirt strings and gives you a look as if to ask if he can continue. You grab his face in your hands and kiss him as an answer to his question.

He discards your shirt and makes quick work of your trousers and under garments- all while kissing you so deeply the world is spinning and your entire body feels numb.

Suddenly he has you on your back as he smiles down at you mischievously. You look away, embarrassed as he takes in the sight of your body; a breathy chuckle leaves his lips as he gets up and makes quick work of his own clothes.

You feel the space between your legs grow warmer and needier as you watch him stroke himself before he settles himself between your legs. He presses soft kisses all over your face as he inserts a finger between your folds and begins to toy with your clit. You whimper and moan as he pumps his finger in and out of you.

“Good girl,” he growls into your ear and inserts another finger, picking up the pace.

A soft, gasp escapes your lips as your walls stretch to fit around his other finger- getting to the point of borderline tears as you feel your orgasm get closer and closer. Astarion watches you use a stream of profanities, your hands gripping the grass so hard it's ripping. He kisses you on your forehead then- he stops.

You keen in protest from the emptiness between your thighs, but your words die on your lips as he pushes himself all the way between your folds, all the way to the hilt. You claw at his back, a pleased whimper escaping your mouth. He begins to kiss your jaw before you capture his lips with yours- he’s still not moving inside of you as you kiss him feverishly- your hands entangling themselves in his hair. He groans against your lips, holding you down by your waist and not allowing you to move. When you attempt to move your hips upward, desperate to get some friction, he groans in your mouth before pulling out completely and then thrusting himself roughly back into you. You look at him in anticipation as he gets off of you, still inside you as he adjusts your left leg so that he can get more access and he begins to massage your sore, neglected nipples with his fingers.

You are desperate for any movement from him and you can tell he knows it- even in your drunken haze.

“Please.”

“Please what, my dear?”

He says before pulling out to thrust into you completely again. You cry out, tears streaming down your face as you look away from him, trying not to let him have the satisfaction..

He hums as he roughly grabs your jaw, making you look him in the eyes.

“Tell me, Darling,” a sly, teasing smile on his beautiful face, “do you want me to fuck your brains out?”

You nod and he pinches your nipples roughly- you arch your back and you feel him lift your hips up before spanking you hard.

"You don't get anything until you answer my question," he goads, his hand snaking it's way around your throat, "so tell me, do you want me to fuck your brains out?"

"Y-es. Yes I want you to fuck me ple-" he cuts you off with a snap of his hips.

He grabs your jaw roughly with his hands, "You know that's not what I asked you."

He begins to slowly move in and out of you, teasing you mercilessly. You groan in frustration- he knows he’s the only person who can say this to you and demand you to say it back to him.

"Please Astarion," you say tearfully, your need for pleasure taking over, "please fuck my brains out."

He smiles at you widely, "it would be my pleasure."

You whine and he pulls out of you, rolling you over onto your hands and knees. He comes up behind you and his hands find purchase in your hair as he begins to pound into your mercilessly. You lose yourself in pleasure- surely alerting everyone and their mothers to your activites- and if it's not the vulgar moans, it's the filthy sound of your bodies colliding.

He pulls you up to his chest by your hair, switching to putting his hand around the upper part of your throat, and puts his fangs to your neck, teasing the skin as he fucks up into you. You have one of your hands wrapped around his arm as he chokes you and the other is touching your clit- the coil of pleasure building up in your stomach as you whisper your consent between moans for Astarion to drink from you. He gives you a pleased hum in response.

The moment his fangs are piercing your neck is the same moment your orgasm rips through you and you have to fight not to slump against him. You feel his strong arms hold you up as he keeps fucking your sensitive mound, chasing his own orgasm. He stops sucking from the bite marks on your neck, lapping up the blood that begins to slowly trickle down towards your shoulders and chest. He let’s go of his grip on your throat and pushes you back onto your belly before roughly inserting himself inside you again.

"You are such a good girl," he grunts, "you are taking me so fucking well."

You begin to feel lightheaded when he finally cums inside you. Good thing you have a potion for that.

You both get your clothes on and he whisks you away to his tent- where you cuddled and talked for almost the entire night.

The sex, as noted, is amazing, but you also enjoy so much more of him than just his body. You know Astarion struggles to believe you find anything about him interesting outside of sex, so you make a point of reminding him about all the other wonderful parts of him and you don't ever ask for sex or sexual favors. That ball is in his playing field as far as you are concerned.

You find yourself gravitating back to Astarion’s tent every night to listen about a new book he is reading or just to let him shower you with (arguably) questionable knowledge about the higher ups in Badlur's Gate . Sometimes you just talk about your lives, tangled in each other’s embraces, and falling asleep that way.

You had begun sleeping in the same tent shortly after he drank from you for the first time. You had been scared during a storm one night and he had heard you sniffling in your tent. You missed the safety of your Caravan during those first two weeks.

He had quickly dragged you over to his tent- griping about his hair, how “I told you that you needed better camping equipment”, and “really darling? Why are you wearing clothes with holes in them? No wonder you’re scared.”

You have had an incredibly close bond ever since and you speak very freely with one another. You still become closed off every now and then (mostly from being socially and emotionally exhausted) but he was content to sit in the silence and just be in each other’s company. If he's in a grouchy mood, you sit with him in silence or let him just talk at you, and you support him when he wakes up from a particularly grueling nightmare. You rarely, if ever, go to your tent or stay in your tent anymore.

However, your current passion project was not to be seen by his eyes until it was completely finished- hence the reason why you are in your freezing, semi abandoned tent. You enchant the amulet with “Invisibility” and after a test, you can proudly say your necklace for Astarion is ready.

Shortly after the fight with the Goblins, Astarion had been complaining to you about how Gale “ate” the last necklace of Invisibility that they had found.

“He did call finders-keepers.”

“Finders-keepers my ass, Darling. If he really believed that rule he wouldn’t have inhaled it the way he did right after finding it.”

“It was rather unbecoming of him, wasn’t it?”

“Cazador has done a lot of horrible, vile things to me over the last two centuries,” he scoffs, “but, Gale eating a perfectly good Amulet of Invisibility has somehow landed in the top 20 of worst things to happen to me.”

After that, you began your work on the Amulet and now that it’s finished- you get to give it to him.

The idea makes your stomach turn.

What if he hates it?

It’s not really his style, but you don’t make gaudy jewelry and you tried your best to make it look like it shimmers (you succeeded FYI, Nat 20 all the way). You hope he appreciates it on principle alone and doesn’t criticize you too harshly if he dislikes it. When you ran the idea by Karlach and showed her your sketch, she was immediately convinced that he would adore your gift.

“Don’t worry about a thing Soldier,” she said cheerily, “Fangs is going to adore it as much as he adores you!”

You wrap the necklace in the nice, silk handkerchief and stuff it into the little leather bag. You take one final deep breath before pushing through the tent flap. You look around camp and see that mostly everyone is in their tent- Astarion included- but Wyll is by the fire dancing. You remember joking about him giving a demonstration for the camp. As you begin to walk towards Astarion’s tent- Wyll calls out to you.

“Tav,” he says brightly, “join me for a dance?”

Another thing you love about Astarion- he is very good at telling people ‘no’ for you. Yes, you should be sticking up for yourself and setting boundaries on your own. You are so wired to make everyone else happy that it impedes your ability to say no. Astarion is helping you learn and supports you when you freeze up, but Astarion is not here in this moment and if he hears what Wyll has said to you- he has made no indication of it.

You smile tightly and put the pouch in your pocket before taking his hand. You are basically robotic as you go through the motions and yet- for some Gods forsaken reason Wyll plants a kiss right on your lips. As he pulls back and sees your look of absolute horror- he begins to apologize profusely.

“Honestly Wyll,” you awkwardly squeak out,”it’s totally fine. I just- um- well… I really like Astarion and I’m not looking elsewhere.”

“I understand and as disappointed as I am- I am grateful for your forgiveness and I hope we can remain friends.”

You smile brightly, “Thank you Wyll and of course. Good night.”

He bids you farewell and you walk with extra pep in your step. You set a boundary and you are over the moon excited to share with Astarion.

Except when you get inside the tent- all of your stuff is right in the entryway. Astarion has his back facing you and is pretending to be interested in a book. You frown.

“Star?”

“Oh don’t worry Darling- I figured I would save you the uncomfortable conversation,” he says with apathy in his voice, “we both know those aren’t your strong suite.”

You flinch at his cold, blank tone and the harshness of his words. You feel yourself becoming consumed with confusion and hurt. Your hand is clutching onto the pouch in your pocket. He looks at you and he looks far away despite the smile on his face.

“Well go along now, I’m sure your new lover is waiting for you. I’m happy for you honestly,” he pauses, giving you a cold, malicious grin, “pretending to be invested in this connection has really been bothersome these last couple weeks.”

Logically, a part of you knows he is just jealous and is lashing out. You should stay and try to explain what happened- reassure him even?

Emotionally? You feel like you just got stabbed over and over again. Oh and then someone came up to you and used a shocking grasp. You try to open your mouth, the tears welling in your eyes as you look at him.

He just looks at you coldly, “Well, leave.”

You wordlessly nod, dropping the leather pouch back into your pocket and you grab your things and numbly head back over to your tent. You roll out your bed roll and stare up at the dark tarp above your head; you let the tears stream down your face as silent sobs wrack your body. You already miss him.

_________________________________________________

You didn’t sleep well that night- you woke up with puffy eyes and a sore throat. You had spent the majority of the night freezing and jumping at every noise. You would get the occasional thirty minutes of sleep here and there, but if you weren’t scared awake, your bruised, broken heart woke you up. Your heart thumped unevenly all night- worried the bumps in the night were Astarion packing up his things and leaving.

Your chest aches as you get ready to leave and you are grateful that the Shadow-Cursed Lands are so poorly lit because it allows you to hide the rough night you have. You are also grateful to see Astarion is still here.

You, Astarion, Shadowheart, Karlach, and Wyll set out to explore more of the Shadowlands. Karlach told Astarion he didn’t have to go if he didn’t want to- you were too tired to say anything in response to his complaints and you suppose Karlach became fed up. He’s quiet after that, so quiet you think he might have left. Except you hear him chatting with Wyll during a short rest.

Shadowheart walks happily next to you- chittering about Dark Justiciars and how she can feel Shar or whatever. You are just trying to focus on her and stop thinking about him. You have been successful in avoiding him and not looking at him for the entirety of the morning and you need to keep it that way.

_________________________________________________

Astarion can’t place where in the conversation he went wrong, but the fight with Malus Thorm has been nothing short of a disaster. The Sisters are ruthless and Malus is much stronger than any of them anticipated at first glance.

Astarion usually fights right at your side, but he assumes that your new lover will be keeping you safe. He suppresses the bile and tears that threaten to come up. He has your protection still and he knows that because Wyll would have thrown him out of camp otherwise. He was never meant to end up with you- you were always meant to be a means to an end.

If anything, he should be thrilled for you. Wyll is a good, decent man and much worthier of your affections than Astarion could ever be.

So why does it hurt so fucking much? And why did he want to kick Wyll over a ravine when he kissed you?

He shakes the thought as he strikes down two more Sisters. He steals a glance in Wyll’s direction (to check on you) and immediately notices that you are nowhere in the premises and the Blade of Frontiers was battling with Karlach. Astarion scans the room in a frenzy of panic.

He turns around just in time to see Malus lift you up by your neck and fling you into a column. Your glasses fell to the ground as your back makes contact with the stone and the sound of shattering bones echoes through the room as the Sisters begin to move forward.

Astarion watches in horror as you are struggling to pop up and begin touching the floor around you , but by the time you seem to realize finding your glasses is a moot effort- the Sisters descend on you as Malus turns his attention to Wyll and Karlach.

Wyll acknowledges what just happened, but doesn’t go to help you. Anger rips through Astarion like a wildfire as Wyll turns and tells Shadowheart you need help. He’s about to help Malus take out Wyll- until another scream for help pierces the air as you throw random cantrips at your attackers.

Astarion rushes forward, cutting his way through the remaining Sisters in the middle of the room. He really could give a shit less at this time if it pisses Wyll off that he was the one who protected you- in fact, he’s probably going to be stabbing Wyll when you all get back to camp.

Astarion destroys the Sisters surrounding you in a flurry of gore and steel. He ignores his other companions as he searches for you frantically.

You had disappeared by the time he came to your aid. Astarion knows that you have a tendency to slip into your Cat form when you are particularly scared and can’t see- using the animal’s powerful nose to guide you away from danger.

Astarion goes near the beds and crouches down- a sigh escaping his lips.

All 8 pounds of you and your black fluff is crouched under the bed and you hiss in surprise when he clicks his tongue at you. You squint your eyes at him before sniffing the air. You cautiously walk forward and sniff his outreached hand. You begin to purr loudly and rub your head against his knuckles.

He laughs with a mix of hysteria and joy as the realization that you are okay settles into his bones.

“It’s okay Little Love, the Sisters are dead,” he says softly, “I’m so sorry, I should have been next to you. I just assumed a beast with such prowess as yourself would be able to fend for themselves.”

You meow in indignation as you climb on top of him to bite the tip of his nose and he can’t help but laugh.

“Does your ego hurt less now, Little Love?”

You give him an amused look that makes him bust out laughing again.

He had asked you once why you were just a Black domestic cat instead of a Panther. You had argued that you are just as ferocious as a Panther in that form. Not to mention, you would have a better chance of shooting an arrow straight than turning into a Panther, but you weren’t about to admit that (even though he knows).

Astarion scoops you up in his arms and pauses- the smell of your blood floods his senses. He grabs you by your scruff and you yelp as he inspects you for injuries.

You scratch at his hand and he drops you. You yowl in pain and leer at him as you begin to change back into your humanoid form.

If Astarion was capable of feinting, this would have been that moment. He drops to his knees beside you and begins trying to find a healing potion to take the edge off.

You have a compound fracture where your shin was and it’s bleeding heavily. Your right shoulder is out of place, your left wrist is twisted in an atypical fashion, and your left cheek is blooming with an angry, purple bruise. He winces when you inhale a sharp breath as you try to breathe in, clutching at your rib cage.

He doesn’t catch the choked gasp that climbs up his throat in time- your eyes search for him in the dark before finally settling on him.

“Your beautiful eyes are really helpful when it’s blurry.”

Your voice is so tired and he can hear the pain in your voice.

“How come?”

“I can actually find you,” you pause, “you make me feel safe.”

You look at him, your eyes glassy with shock. You smile brightly at him and he smiles brightly back at you. He never thought anyone would associate him with protection, safety. Your words echo in his brain.

You’re make me feel safe.

You go to say something again before you look at him with wide, scared eyes and promptly lose consciousness. The scream that comes out of his mouth is foreign to his own ears. It sounds fearful, angry- heartbroken. Astarion tries to shake you awake, yelling your name over and over.

“Please wake up Darling- you’re safe,” he whispers through choked sobs, “come back to me please.”

Nothing. He can barely tell if you are breathing still as your heart thuds softly in your chest. He calls for Shadowheart two, three, four more times.

"Please," he whimpers, "I don't want to have to be without you forever- I can't be."

The weight of his words hits him like a train- his plan had well and truly failed. Under normal, non- life threatening emergency situations, he would probably panic about the strength of his emotions. Instead, he sits here begging for the chance to be able to tell you how he really feels. He wants to move so badly, to drag Shadowheart over here to heal you, but he can't bare to leave you in your vulnerable state. He keeps calling for Shadowheart- his voice begins to crack.

Astarion feels the worst of his anxieties vanish as you suddenly start taking long, ragged, tired breaths. He grabs a healing potion out of his pocket and tilts your head as he pours it into your mouth. You swallow the fluid gingerly. Your eyes are barely open when he hears you communicate through the tadpole.

Thank you for saving me. Again.

Astarion slowly strokes the side of your face, brushing the flyaway hairs out of your eyes.

"I saved you for my own selfish reasons," he whispers, while taking your right hand gently, "close your eyes and rest- I will keep you safe. Shadowheart is coming."

You nod lazily before closing your eyes, your hand in his still. Astarion sighs in relief when your breathing gets stronger, but he is no healer. Where the hells is that damn Cleric!?

“Shadowheart!!!!”

#baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #astarion romance #astarion x tav #bg3 spoilers #astarion x you #bg3 #karlach #smut #shameless smut actually #astarion acunin #bg3 tav

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kingcandyscrown · 27 days

Text

You know what really grinds my gears

When people turn turbo/ king candy/cybug candy into a dommy daddy with abs it’s so cringe first turbo is a guy who would have to jump to even get the door handle and in concept art king candy used a stepping stool to intimidate Ralph and cybug candy just isn’t dominant at all he’s just cracked out on that white stuff like the cybug turned him into a tweaker he also was gonna make Ralph watch vanelope die which is just psychotic not dom. Also they’re silly as shit turbo screams his catch phrase anytime he can he’s literally autism incarnate so is king candy so idk why people make them go “mmh baby girl omega daddy’s home (with rizz)” I hate it let the silly old men be silly old men

I saw yall liked my rants so I made another

#king candy #wreck it ralph #turbo wir #king candy cybug

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wen-kexing-apologist · 1 year

Text

A Pause for Reflection: Part 2- Only Friends, Racism, and the Commodification of Queer Asians

Hello! It is me, your friendly neighborhood wen-kexing-apologist. Before Only Friends aired, knowing how sex heavy this show was setting up to be, I decided it might be kinda funny if instead of posting my initial reactions to the episodes, which I knew were going to be something akin to an incomprehensible key smash, if I instead committed to a bit where I wrote very dry, academic essays on sex and sex imperatives in Only Friends.

Well, I wrote an essay on Boston, his cruising habits, and my speculations around him being an embodiment of older queer culture expecting like…three people maybe to make it through legitimately 13 written pages with block text citations. But it did surprisingly well, and so now I have decided to full send.

In my first Taking Pause post, I wrote about respectable promiscuity and the way I felt that concept impacted perceptions of queer people and queer culture, especially as it relates to engagement with Only Friends. This time, I want to dampen the mood a bit further, and discuss racism and its impact on perceptions of queer Asian characters in the BL industry. This was spurred by Only Friends and especially inspired by the posts I have seen going around that project false purity on flawed characters, but will cover Asian BL engagement more broadly as well.

Disclaimer: I am a white Westerner, addressing this post primarily to white Westerners, and using Western sources.

The Commodification of Queer Asian Men

Racism is a complex subject, and while people of color are not absolved of white supremacy mindsets through colorism, this invitation for conversation is mostly geared towards my fellow white Westerners. Racism is persistent, pervasive, and insidious in part because we do not always know when and how our own personal biases and learned racism impacts how we interact with the world, or in this case media.

With the increasing mainstream acceptance of gays and lesbians, and the increasing visibility of LGBT folks more generally, gay space and straight space, gay sociality and straight sociality, are increasingly blended (Dean, 2014). The commodification of gayness is only one example of this. (Ahlm, 2017)

We are frequently spoiled by BL because of how much exposure to queer people in stories we are allowed to see. These stories are not primarily or inherently made for queer people, but what this massive index of gay shows gives the general public is large amounts of exposure to the concept of gay people (about queers), and growing popularity allows for a rapid commodification of queer Asian experience.

I want to take a second to show the definitions of commodification, so anyone reading this is aware of what lenses I am working from.

Commodification: to turn (something, such as an intrinsic value or a work of art) into a commodity (Miriam-Webster)

Commodity:

an economic good: such as…c. a mass-produced unspecialized product

a. something useful or valued; b. convenience, advantage

a good or service whose wide availability typically leads to smaller profit margins and diminishes the importance of factors (such as brand name) other than price

one that is subject to ready exchange or exploitation within a market (Miriam-Webster)

Personally, I think it is reasonable to argue that BL and BL branded pairs are exploited by and are an exploitation of the market. We have seen the number of in-universe ads in our standard Thai BLs, the number of BLs being created every year is increasing with the understanding that these shows can be profitable, sell products, sell concert tickets, sell out theaters, make money on fan events, etc.. I think many of us have begun to love when Oishi Green Tea, Nivea Micellar Water, or Canon printers show up in our BLs, but it cannot be denied or ignored that those are commercials for products being sold to us through the images of queer characters and within queer stories. Meaning, the queer stories we are able to interact with en masse are there to sell us a product as well as a story.

How does this relate to racism? By making queer characters of color sell products within the stories they exist in, we establish a relationship to queer characters of color that extends the commodification of queer men of color themselves beyond what already exists by nature of racism and white supremacy within queer spaces:

It’s almost as if no gay men of color exist outside of fantasy cruises to Jamaica, Puerto Rico, or the ‘Orient’. And even then, they exist only to fulfill the sexual fantasies of gay white men. ‘Exotic’ vacations to far away places are marketed to rich white men and [low income] colored bodies are only another consumable product easily purchased with western dollars. As such, gay men of color, whether found within western borders or conveniently waiting for white arrival in the far off corners of the globe, are nothing more than commodities for consumption. (Chong-suk Han, 2007)

How many shows have we gotten out of GMMTV in recent years that are absent, or near-absent of in-universe ads? Three? The Eclipse, The Warp Effect, and Only Friends? What themes are at the center of these shows that may make them distasteful to corporations trying to sell their products?

Now, I entered the BL scene after The Eclipse aired, so I don’t know what its reception was like at the time. But I am pretty certain it was a popular show. Yet, I have personally witnessed the adverse and negative reactions to, especially Ayan, when Our Skyy 2 x The Eclipse aired and we saw Ayan keeping a secret that was hurting Akk’s feelings. I saw the sheer amount of posts coming out of tumblr about how Akk and Ayan were characterized so wrong in this show. And, I am trying to be polite here, but there were just grossly misrepresentative takes on tumblr about the characters we got on screen in OS2, who were extremely in character based on the source material, and not the idea of the characters we have built up in our heads as the lines between Ayan and Khaotung or Akk and First blurred over time.

The Warp Effect is a show I have constantly been asking people to watch as Only Friends approached and continue to market as required viewing while we are still in the early stages of Only Friends, but it was not widely watched as far as I could tell from the activity on my own tumblr feed and from the number of people I saw reblogging my Case for Watching TWE post who said they had yet to see it. And I get it, it was marketed more as a heterosexual show rather than a BL, but I will go down swinging to defend my position on that show as The Queerest Show of 2023 (so far).

I think about all the ways people on tumblr have re-written certain characters in their minds to be purer, less morally dubious, more babygirl in order for them to justify loving and supporting a character that is either objectively a terrible person or who has made any number of mistakes that have gotten themselves or others hurt. Listen, my most beloved gay boys are Wen Kexing and Akk but I will be the first to tell you both those men are war criminals. That is not a joke. I love Akk to death as a character, and he let a car roll into a crowd of protestors.

Which is to say, that I am personally made to feel very uncomfortable when I see people twisting the realities of who queer Asian characters are in order to create a false, more pure and innocent version of who they want queer Asian characters to be. Why? Because it treats queer Asian male characters like dolls, like objects to manipulate and control, rather than as the people they are written and intended to be, and the fanservice that is expected of the actors that portray them is not much different:

At the same time that they are invisible, gay Asian men are also seen as being exotic, submissive fantasies for white men. However, being seen as exotic and submissive is yet another form of subtle racism where gay Asian men are not seen as individuals but as a consumable product for white male fantasy (Ayres, 1999). (Chong-suk Han, 2007)

And yeah, I know some of you may try to deflect this by saying or thinking “wka this quote is about white men and thus does not apply to me” it does. It does apply.

On the Subject of Fan Service

These production companies make a lot of money off of selling the fanbase the idea that these actors are romantically involved outside of their acting careers. GMMTV and Idolfactory are perhaps the most committed studios to fanservice that I have seen, often to the detriment of the health and safety of their talent and potentially their own financial interests. He’s Coming to Me was delayed, and had it’s distribution fucked with because fans protested Singto being separated from Krist and paired up with Ohm for one show. Freen was recorded and blackmailed with a video that showed she was in a romantic relationship with Seng. Articles were published making it seem like it was a truly wild concept that Man Trisanu and Ben Bunyapol were acting to create the chemistry they get on screen. These companies know they can make money off of the fictions they create, both the ones we see as television shows, and the ones we see in fan meet ups. These people are actors, some may date, some may not, some may be really good friends, some may hate each other’s guts, but the fact of the matter is we will never know for sure. Everything we see on camera is a performance.

How Objectification of Queer Asian Men Relates to Only Friends

I mean…

I don’t know about you all, but I have seen post after post of people projecting images of purity and perfection on to Mew, twisting themselves forward and backward to justify a character’s objectively terrible decisions, or finding scapegoats to blame for their blorbo’s actions. I have seen people truly, legitimately struggle with seeing their favorite acting pair engaging in intimate scenes with different scene partners. And, to me it reads like some audience members are physically unable to separate the actor from their character, or to accurately identify reality from fiction. These are actors, they are playing characters, we know how good of actors they are. We are all aware of how much of a chameleon First is with his roles, how powerful Khao is at portraying grief on screen, how expressive Book is, etc.

Force and Book are not fucking, Book is not stringing Force along, Force is not fucking Neo and potentially breaking Book’s heart. Top and Mew are fucking (or will). Mew is stringing Top along. Top is fucking Boston and potentially breaking Mew’s heart. Khaotung is not ditching First to go rescue Book, First is not trying and failing to maintain boundaries with Khaotung. Ray is ditching Sand to go rescue Mew, Sand is trying and failing to maintain boundaries with Ray.

Harkening back to fanservice. Personally, I believe that only ever marketing “love pairs” (aka Force and Book’s characters as a romantic couple or First and Khao’s characters as a romantic couple on screen) severely severely limits the acting potential for any and all of the performers involved in those couplings. Can you imagine what Only Friends would be like with Neo and Louis, rather than Neo and Mark? Louis is great, but I’m not sure that he could do pining simp, or angry revenge the same way Mark can. You can see how good of a match up Fluke Pusit was with Thor in The Warp Effect and you can see how good Fluke Pusit was with Ohm Thipakorn in A Boss and a Babe.

As I mentioned in Part One, Jojo has said there is going to be sex in every episode. We know these boys have already hurt each other and will continue to hurt each other. We know these boys have already slept around and will continue to do so. There is no need to vilify a character for being a flawed human being. There is absolutely no need to vilify an actor for portraying a character who is a flawed human being. We don’t need to uplift the characters that are withholding their sexuality from others as inherently good, moral, victims of the inherently bad, immoral, predators ruining their lives with their high sex drives.

…popular culture is permeated with ideas that erotic variety is dangerous, unhealthy, depraved, and a menace to everything from small children to national security. Popular sexual ideology is a noxious stew made up of ideas of sexual sin, concepts of psychological inferiority… and xenophobia. The mass media nourish these attitudes with relentless propaganda…

All these hierarchies of sexual value- religious, psychiatric, and popular- function in much the same way as do ideological systems of racism, ethnocentrism, and religious chauvinism. They rationalize the well-being of the sexually privileged and the adversity of the sexual rabble…this kind of sexual morality has more in common with ideologies of racism than with true ethics. (Rubin, 1984)

I am begging people who are having difficulty seeing their favorite actor be shitty on screen to take a pause, take a breath, remember that they are actors, playing a fictional character in a fictional role. Fictional characters performing fictional actions has not, does not, and will not ever be a true and definitive indicator of that actor’s own personality, morals, or beliefs. Boston being an asshole does not mean Neo is an asshole. Ray being an asshole does not mean that Khao is an asshole just as Gaipa being kind does not mean that Khao is kind. Jojo and co are not monsters for creating a manipulative character(s), or including physical fist fights, drug use, promiscuity, cheating, sexual assault, abortion, kink, fatshaming etc. etc in to their works. You are not a bad person for liking imperfect characters who engage in bad actions, and you don’t need to create scenarios that place blame for those actions on others in order to justify liking a character. Everyone on that set appeared to have a great time, and Jojo stated very clearly that all scenes were run by the actors in those scenes and anything the actors were not comfortable with being shown to a broader audience were immediately deleted. The actors were granted agency and autonomy that is not usually seen and we are seeing the performance they want to share with us, the performance they liked. That does not mean they themselves approve outside of fiction of the behaviors their characters may portray.

Conclusion

We all need to, but white Westerners especially, be extremely careful and introspective with the ways we are engaging with queer Asian media. We need to be careful and introspective with the ways we are engaging with queer Asian characters. Asian BLs, Thai BLs especially lean heavily in to the commodification of queer Asian stories and characters. GMMTV sells products, and uses their talent as the salespeople, which I personally believe makes their talent, and the characters in their stories far more susceptible to objectification than, say, Japanese BLs that do not distribute their work as easily, or cater as readily to international audiences.

As @bengiyo said in his post, it is totally totally fine if you do not like something. Only Friends could not be your style, there could be themes that are triggering for you, etc. that’s fine. But if you are refusing to engage with this Only Friends because Force as Top acted like he was fucking Neo as Boston, or squirming about whether or not you can watch other shows these actors are in going forward because their performances as dumb, horny college students in Only Friends made you question the actor’s morality, then I truly, deeply, and fully beg you to pause, take a step back, and reflect upon what it is about witnessing these behaviors that is causing your reaction.

I want to end with the following quote:

Thus, white men can choose when they want to be objectified, but men of color are simply objects. As discussed above, existing only as props for white male consumption represents another subtle form of racism. As Tony Ayres notes: First, there is overt belligerence…The second response is the exact opposite of this racist antagonism. It is an attraction to me because of my Asianness, my otherness ... This has nothing to do with my individual qualities as a person ... It is the fact that I conveniently fit into someone else’s fantasy (1999, p. 89) (Chong-suk Han, 2007)

As a reminder that we as fans, need to take a step back and consider if, when, and how we are objectifying queer Asian men. We are seeing a huge period of growth in the Asian BL industry, which means we are very likely to get more shows where we are going to see more stories like Only Friends that center realistic depictions of gay Asians as written and directed by gay Asians. And we have to check our privilege, homophobia, and racism at the door.

Sources

Ahlm, Jody (2017) Respectable promiscuity: Digital cruising in an era of queer liberalism, Sexualities, DOI: 10.1177/1363460716665783

Chong-suk Han (2007) They Don't Want To Cruise Your Type: Gay

Men of Color and the Racial Politics of Exclusion, Social Identities, 13:1, 51-67, DOI:

10.1080/13504630601163379 Rubin, Gayle (1984) The Thinking Sex: Notes for a Radical Theory of the Politics of Sexuality- Chapter 9: The Sex Wars.

(thank you to @bengiyo, @lurkingshan, @neuroticbookworm, @so-much-yet-to-learn, and @waitmyturtles for your beta readings!)

#only friends #only friends the series #ofts #sandray #topmew #topboston #bostonnick #forcebook #firstkhao #neomark #wka long post #jojo tichakorn #the eclipse #the warp effect #the eclipse the series #twe #our skyy 2 #our skyy 2 x the eclipse

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baxterstockmanisthecenterfold · 8 days

Note

Thoughts on the Baxter being black or white discourse?

Funny you send this ask anon because I won't lie to you I was LITERALLY Planning on making this post on my own one day when I got the time to. But uhhhh looks like you just sped up that process so let's just get down to it then.

First starting with a history lesson. All starting and going way back to 1984 when Baxter was born. (Well. In our world at least. Cus in actual comic continuity he was born in 1948.)

After the first issue of TMNT was a success, Kevin Eastman & Peter Laird of course got to work making another comic so it can be an official series. And when you have a new hero or heroes, you gotta have more villains for them to fight. And that second big baddie happened to be Baxter.

We can see here in this image above us that during his designing phase, Baxter funny enough had 2 different designs. One white design & one Black one. Showing us that it actually would have been an either or decision with how he would have ended up as. But of course, the 2 men obviously settled on the black one

And for a good couple of years that's just how it always was. At least until the 87 cartoon came out & we were re-introduced to Baxter looking noticeably different..

Baxter in his first outside comic book appearance had been one of the first of many POC characters to have been whitewashed (those unaware, whitewashing is when a character of a certain ethnicity/race is portrayed or designed as a Caucasian). And the reason for this massive change is STILL, to this day is a bit of a mystery. Like you & many suspected, why not go up to Kevin & Peter themselves & ask them why this happened? Or if they even had a role in it? From every source I could find & the only answer I really got was that Kevin & Peter had no idea why they changed him either! BUT they actually didn't really mind or care because if we go back to Baxter's concept art, he was ALMOST Going to be white anyway so if anything the show just made their "what if" choice a reality. At the end of the day, they didn't really care & I don't blame them since Baxter's race wasn't really a key part of his character. But I'll get to that in a minute.

Another consistent answer or rumor I hear about this change is because the showrunners didn't want the risk of being labeled as "racist". Because Baxter's role in the first cartoon was simply a "Weak subservient henchman who constantly refers to his boss as "Master" ".

*winces teeth* yeaaaaa I can kinda see what they mean by that looking bad..

But hang on now, then what about Bebop?

Before his mutation, he was noticeably black & he was turned into a pig that's ordered around & takes tons of verbal & physical abuse from his master and even called him that once yet nobody's batted an eye about that??? (Plus said Master is Asian Soo)

Well my personal best guess on why Bebop is overlooked could be for the following reasons:

He's a mutant. Yes he started off as a human being. But for the rest of the entire series aside from 2 instances to my knowledge, he's a mutant warthog. And not exactly a brown one either.. So for people starting off watching TMNT, they probably have no idea he was human or even black for that matter.

Some people don't even know he's black! Again. I imagine most people's first introduction to him was from a random episode & they never saw what he looked like as a human. And it's not like his voice actor was convincing of being otherwise either. Barry Gordon is obviously not African-American nor did he sound like one like most modern non black voice actors. In fact Bebop's voice is far from it. As a black person who has grown up in multiple areas of NY. Including the bad parts where thugs like Bebop reside. I can say. I have never once met or even heard another black person talk or sound the way he does.

Oddly enough, Bebop has actually been whitewashed himself two times. In the Archie comics & even in one of his first action figures to which again I personally chalk this up to people just not knowing he was black

3. And finally last. Rocksteady. Bebop is just tweedleDee of TweedleDumb. Rocksteady is his just as stupid best friend & are rarely to almost never seen separated from each other. So he's given the same treatment as Bebop & written just as much the same. You can't really tell the difference between the two. Or I can't really since I don't know or care much about their 80s counterparts. They're pretty much the same character. Henchman/Comic relief goons not really meant to be taken or thought of that seriously. And it's because of these reasons why I think Bebop is pardoned from receiving racial backlash. He's just a funny mutant goon & like Baxter, being black's not really a big key part of his character. Which again. I'll get to.

Back to Baxter. Whether it was because of avoiding backlash, or because they wanted to give his mirage concept art a chance, or they just wanted to cash in on Back to the Future.

Baxter Stockman was now a white man & that was just the way it was for a VERY VERY long time.

In fact, I came across at least 5 80s & 90s kids that GENUINELY Thought Baxter was ALWAYS a white guy. The damage had already been done that severely until 2001 teased what would eventually be the 2003 series & Baxter had at long last returned to his true African-American roots.

And it's been the go-to norm ever since (with a few occasional slip ups)

But it's because of these slip ups that a little bit of controversy started regarding Baxter's race. Especially with the possibility of turning him white again in a random adaptation. Most people prefer it while others are strongly against it especially on account of the fact that TMNT completely lacks black characters to which, they are not wrong about. At all!

Aside from Baxter & Bebop. The only black characters in TMNT we had for the longest was Angel & Xever (He's Afro-Brazillian before you idiots come at me) & it's opened up a pretty collar tugging realization the only black characters in TMNT all seem to be bad guys. It's honestly no wonder why people want to make more original ones like Sunita from Rise & make April Black like said Rise & Mutant Mayhem. April herself actually falling into this similar category as Baxter because she's actually had a bounce back & forth from being black & white in the mirage comics. (But I am not going to get into that because that whole thing is honestly ITS OWN Very confusing can of worms that literally anybody else can cover if they want to)

From what I've seen & gathered, Baxter remaining black is a big deal for most people because it branches out the black diversity in the TMNT mythos & it's just a core part of his character. Which I'm finally going to get to.

The thing is... It's really not.

Yes Baxter Stockman is an African-American man. But. That's not ALL he is. He's a super genius, he's intimidating, he's only looking out for himself, he doesn't care how much stronger or powerful you may be than him, he'll find a way to take you out or use you for his own benefits. Any piece of technology in his hands equals horrible news! He's your textbook definition of an evil genius! He just HAPPENS to be black! It doesn't matter what color he is, Baxter Stockman will always be Baxter Stockman. I feel like he would have been the same character regardless if Kevin & Peter DID go with his white design way back in 1984! Realistically, what difference would it have made?

In every single adaptation that Baxter's appeared in, in every single story focused on him, where he himself is the main character: His race has never ONCE been brought up.

Not a SINGLE TIME has him being a black man affected his life, development or any other aspect of his livelihood. Of all 20 interactions that Baxter has appeared in. Not ONCE. did he ever bring up being black. Nor did somebody else bring up that he's black. Not a single time, has that ever been a focus or key part of his story. For the same reason why any other characters like him or not like him haven't. The same reason why Dr. Robotnik/Eggman being white isn't brought up or focused on, or why Medic (TF2) being German isn't focused on, or even Willem Viceroy iii (Randy Cunningham) being a black scientist himself isn't even touched on! Their races aren't their characters, it just happens to be a fact about them! And the same should go for Baxter! Especially when you take in & remember the fact that he was almost never gonna be black in the first place.

Now I'm not saying that you shouldn't care about him being black or white, or that him being black shouldn't matter to you. I know from experience that we see ourselves in some fictional characters, good guy or bad guy. Especially if they share the same skin color as you. I probably wouldn't have latched onto Baxter like I did if it wasn't for him reminding me of my then afro wearing, nerdy 12 year old self at the time, but I know he's more than just his race & that's what I do want the fans to see when it comes to talking about him.

Now because I know I'll get this question either later on or in the comments of this post I will answer it beforehand.

Do I like Baxter better as a black person or a white person?

And to be completely & Brutally honest with all of you: . . . I genuinely don't mind either or. 🤷🏿‍♀️

I honest to God. Don't mind what Baxter looks like. I WILL admit, I do heavily prefer he be black. But if he happens to be white, then I don't mind it tbh. To me. When it comes to an adaptation of Baxter Stockman. The only thing that really matters to me is how he's written. As long as he's written well I don't mind or care at all what color he is. But again. I would prefer him black, still either or is fine by me.

What about you guys tho? I'm genuinely curious/interested about how YOU 🫵🏿 prefer he look like? Do you guys like him better being black? Or white? Can be any reason why. Could be cus you relate more, or you grew up with him being that way. Just as long as it's a reason. Be fun to discuss 🤗

#ask #anon #eli rambles #tmnt #1987 #2003 #2012 #idw #mirage #baxter stockman #bebop and rocksteady

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iamdispleased · 1 month

Text

Deciphering the Black Book pt. 2

BLACK BOOK ART CREDIT: @thirdchildart

Part One.

It’s the table of contents, y’all! Let’s do this.

Spoilers: Hatchetfield. At this point, it’s just Hatchetfield. It’d probably be easier to list what I didn’t talk about or allude to.

I’m not going to, but it’d be easier.

Ment.: H.P. Lovecraft

This is will be broken into parts, and then my analysis will follow!

Part One - History and [S?t_f_d]

[?]

theatre

Part Two - Into the black

[Th?]/Kingdom

oblivion

Analysis:

The word ‘theatre’ shows up three times and the word ‘oblivion’ shows up twice in the table of contents. The Starlight Theatre is obviously super important to point where I don’t really need to say anymore on that right now.

Not gonna lie, at first, I thought it said ‘Random’ and pictured Willabella Muckwab writing random thoughts. I’d really like to see those. I bet she has crude doodles. Anyways— Kingdom!

‘The Summoning’ - “We dance around the pentagram, and take all our kingdoms back”

‘Oblivion’ is not just a word, but a concept heavily explored by H.P. Lovecraft and Isaac Newton, and the musicals themselves.

To some, oblivion is the state of total blackness, a place where everything is and is not, it is nothingness, and the knowledge that something resides within it. Take your pick. The point is to find what that means to you.

(totally stolen from: @hatchetfieldtheories)

Part Three - the men

The contents of this section are the same as part four. It was just flipped.*

Analysis:

If it is ‘the men’, I assume it’s about the Hatchetmen. Maybe some family history and stuff like that. Weaknesses, favorite characters from Alf, your guess is as good as mine.*

A[?]

1 - [?]

2. Theatre

3. rea[lm] of [?]

4. america

oblivion

Analysis:

Oop! Here’s ‘theatre’ and ‘oblivion’ again! Honestly? Shrug emoji. My closest guess would be places that are susceptible to the Lords in Black/the Black and White. Why? Because of the words ‘theatre’ and ‘america’. Let’s take a look at this simple snippet from Black Friday:

“Only in America could Wiggly take root ... You think that in the Netherlands, they’d give a shit about some toy? No, they’re too busy on their paid vacations and the free healthcare.” - Uncle Wiley (spitting bars)

Number one looks like the same scribble as the first bullet in Part One, though.* For number three, I see ‘r-e-a’ pretty clearly, so ‘realm’ is context clues based. We’ll mosey on over to Hatchetfield’s little bio.

“In a realm outside of reality, somewhere in the crossroads of imagination and nightmares, there’s a place— a small, mid-western town, where the forces of evil and chaos tug at the fabric of reality. Welcome to Hatchetfield.” - Nick Lang

Part 4 - The Lords in Black

Pokotho

theatre

believe

[?]

never

[Nibbly/Nibbles(?)]

[Queen?]

[?]

Analysis:

The contents under Part Four are the same as Part Three, but were flipped by the actual artist to fill space (I assume).

Here is that word ‘theatre’ once again! Why do I think the word under it is ’believe’? Simple! In the song ‘The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals’, we get this line nearing the end:

“You gotta believe in something, Paul, gotta believe in stupid Paul”

It looks like ‘never’, it reads like ‘never’, and the word ‘never’ just fits the vibe.

Okay, wait— I was going to write about Nibbly and the Honey Festival, because while the Honey Festival wasn’t founded until 1945, Nibbly and the word ‘queen’ could still coincide for whatever reason, but even with that, the Lords are usually listed in the order of ‘Pokey, Blinky, Tinky, Nibbly, and Wiggly’, but that might be one of the outliers, but I just remembered the Queen in White and something about that made me excited. We’ll see. What I was going to write about Nibbly still applies, though.

Help Me Don’t [go]

In The Black, Po[kotho?]

wants me to

Analysis:

Not everyone wants to tango with the devils. It might be ‘Pokey’, but it’s the same either way, and the person who wrote this was most likely not Willabella, considering she seemed pretty chill with the Lords in Black and it’s coloring is different. Still looks like it was written in blood though. When you dabble in the dark arts, don’t forget to take a pen with you.

Overall:

My question is— what counts as lore? I think this does. Anyway. Again. If anyone figures out what the fuck that word is after ‘History and ????” in part one, hit me up. I’m gonna challenge the word to a duel. What’s it gonna do?? Fight back?? Part three will be out at some point. Okay, bye.

* I assume the artist occasionally used the same art, but warped it to make it look different, so more space could be taken up, and there would be no pain of having to go through It All. I think Part 4 - The Lords in Black is the proper way to read it, though.*

#hatchetfield theory #npmd #tgwdlm #black friday #nightmare time #do they still teach cursive in elementary schools?#it’s like caramel if it was lettering #i liked it #but i also have a favorite font and sizes #so maybe it’s just me #hatchetfield #starkid #zoë overthinks things #if i’m wrong then maybe i should own up to it #but i’m not gonna #if i’m wrong then i wasn’t here #zoë loses her sanity over hatchetfield

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racefortheironthrone · 9 months

Note

Considering superhero comics predate the invention of spandex, when did the idea that superhero costume are made from spandex come from?

Great question!

To answer this question, I first need to backup and do some history about fin-de-siècle strongmen and the origin of the "superhero costume" as a distinct cultural concept. In the late 19th/early 20th century, circus strongmen were not just huge draws but celebrities and cultural icons in their own right, part of the whole obsession of anxious masculinity in that era, along with the emergence of bodybuilding and quite a bit of racist eugenics (think "Passing of the Great Race" stuff) about how industrial civilization was making white men effete and degenerate and thus vulnerable to the Other.

However, the strongmen had something of a fashion problem: in order to do their shtick, they often wore close-fitting silk tights and shirts in order to show off their musculature, and these had a tendency to split when they were flexing. This could run the risk of leaving the strongmen hanging in the wind, as it were, so they adapted by putting on wrestler's unitards over their tights to keep themselves under wraps.

Throw on a cape, and you literally have the archetypal superhero costume. But if you take a look at how these costumes look on an actual human body, they're not literally skin-tight. You can see some muscle definition in places, but there's also visible wrinkles and folds at the joints and other places where you need more flexibility. It's just not quite there yet in terms of evoking the whole George Sandow aesthetique.

And then in 1958, spandex was invented as a much more elastic fabric that could be truly skintight without splitting, so you could really see the musculature much more clearly. Add this to the expanding and increasingly professionalized and advanced culture of postwar bodybuilding, and people's expectations about what their superheroes could and should look like began to change. Thus, starting in the Silver Age and into the Bronze Age, superheroes start to look a lot buffer and their costumes look a lot tighter so that the reader can see every damn muscle (and curve) on superheroes' bodies - because artists and editors and publishers realized they could make more money by making comics that were a bit sexier, thanks to the magic of "spandex."

Now this gets us into the economics of the comics industry and changing generational cohorts, but as we passed from the Silver Age to the late Bronze Age, you started to see a shift from comics artists who worked in comics because Jews and Catholics weren't welcome in the Art Departments of Madison Avenue, to comics artists who worked in comics because they had grown up reading comics and learned to draw from comics.

This had an impact on superhero costumes, because the older artists tended to be plugged in more to fashion and fashion art and thus drew superhero costumes as clothing with real three-dimensionality to it and the younger artists found it easier and faster to just draw familiar superhero bodies naked (with "spandex" as the figleaf) and then put in a few lines showing where the costumes end - and this easier and faster style that turned up the dial on allowable sexiness was more profitable for the companies.

Once you get to Jim Lee, Rob Liefeld, Todd McFarlane, and the other "Image Kids" of Nineties Comics, the spandex-ification of superhero comics had reached its peak because now the hot new trend was stuff that wouldn't work even with real-world spandex, hence the phenomena of the boob sock and the logical extension of the swimsuit/bikini for superwomen to the battle thong.

So ultimately it all comes down to the combined pressures of culture and economics.

#comics #comics meta #superhero costumes #silver age #bronze age #nineties comics #cultural history #superhero comics #marvel #dc #marvel meta #dc meta #image comics

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mask131 · 10 days

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So many lasting Greek mythology misinterpretation today could be avoided so simply if people just thought about what they are saying and doing. Really, it's just a question of thinking in a logical way.

Like Medusa, you know? There are so many people who literaly didn't notice that there was a slight problem when you said on one side "Medusa was the daughter of primordial two gods, and the sister of many monsters and dragons of Greek mythology" and on the other "She was a regular human priestess turned into a monster by the gods". For them it was just... normal, I guess? When the answer to this incoherence is just quite simple: Medusa started out, in Greek mythology, as a divine monster born out of the primordial forces of the world ; the story of Medusa as a human priestess comes from Roman literature when they reinvented the Greek myths. People just confused the two: as simple as that.

But people don't want to look at the incoherences of the "popular culture" version of mythology, apparently. I was doing this post initially upon seeing yet again depictions of Zeus and Poseidon as old men with white beards. Which is something that always bugs me for one simple reason: Everybody agrees and says the Greek gods are eternally young and cannot age. Why then are Zeus and Poseidon, THE gods by default, always depicted as old men?

For many people it's simple and clear-cut, somehow, but it is such a massive incoherence, especially since all the other gods are shown as young. And the answer is so simple if people just bothered looking for it: Zeus and Poseidon, were bearded men in Ancient Greek art, but had BLACK beards (or "blue" depending on if you understand literaly the Homeric names). They were adult men, but not OLD men (as opposed to the "beardless youth", who were basically in their 20s whereas the "bearded gods" are like... in their 30s or something).

The whole "old thing" is just resulting on the HUGE reinvention Europe made of Greek mythology from the Renaissance onward, mixing the "All Greek statues are white, so the gods were white-like" misunderstanding with the old, "acceptable" concept that god-rulers had to be like the Biblical or Christian patriarchs, elderly men with white or grey beards.

I don't mind per se the idea of Zeus or Poseidon being an older guy, because it is indeed now part of popular culture and it has been around for too many centuries to ignore or reject. Plus, it can be a good way to fight the ageism inherent to Greek mythology by depicting gods as elderly but still beautiful and "perfect" (which is what Renaissance art onward actually did). But it doesn't change the fact that it is not accurate to Greek mythology, and that it is HUGE and ancient misunderstanding.

Like Dionysos or Aphrodite being fat - it is something acceptable and understandable today, and it is justifiable in many ways (from cultural precedent to positive evolutions of our modern era)... But it is still a reinvention of Greek mythology, and not a faithful reproduction or an accurate depiction of how the Greek gods were. Because Ancient Greeks were fatphobic as fuck, to use modern terms. But beyond that, we enter into the whole debate of the artistic freedom, and the importance of reinventing and playing with myths and legends to keep them "alive", and that's an entirely different topic.

(Funnily enough, since I am bringing the Aphrodite business: yes, making her fat or middle-aged is not accurate to how the Greeks saw her, and is bringing modern era ideals, if Renaissance can be considered "modern", to Ancient matters. At least with the Romans, there's something justifiable because they had a "mother-goddess" thing going on with Venus, but for the Greeks Aphrodite was young and fat was ugliness, that's for certain. HOWEVER! The funny thing is that all those comics and movies depicting Aphrodite as a literal pin-up with a tiny waist but a huge butt and enormous boobs is just as inaccurate and "wrong" compared to the Ancient Greeks beauty canon. Because while Ancient Greeks hated people being too fat or too skinny, considering this "ugly", they also disliked people being too "developed". When a guy was too muscular, or had too large of a dick, he was considered ugly and visually "vulgar" (which is why grotesque figure like the satyrs had these huge sexual organs, and statues of the gods had tiny ones ; and Herakles doesn't look as much of a bodybuilder as super-hero comics depict him). So to have Aphrodite as just big boobs and butt on a stick is basically also making a goddess that the Ancient Greeks would have deemed ugly and "vulgar"/"grotesque", if not repulsive.

So you know... We can criticize the mainstream media alongside the new reinventions of today, because EVERYBODY'S WRONG and that's the fun of it Xp)

#greek mythology #greek gods #the art of the myth #zeus #poseidon #medusa #greek mythology misunderstanding #greek mythology adaptations #greek mythology misinformation #aphrodite

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honourablejester · 2 years

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Oh, I’ve been waiting to rant about this for years. Dracula, October 3rd, and why I hate Dracula/Mina as a concept so fucking much. Spoilers and extremely triggery bits under cut:

I’ve been waiting for everyone to get to this scene, Dracula half-turning Mina and every horrible detail it entails. I want to talk about how it is not a seduction or a trance or anything of the sort, of how it is directly brutal and violent and coercive and aimed to punish Mina for daring to go against Dracula. There is no romantic fucking vampire in this room. This scene is awful, and how the Dracula/Mina romance ever sprung up in its wake baffles and upsets me.

There is so much that Dracula is doing to both Mina and Jonathan in this scene, and all of it is horrific. I just … I’m gonna break it down a little bit, exorcise an old rant.

First, and I’m going to come back to this more later, but this scene takes place with Jonathan in the room. This was a choice, on both Stoker and Dracula’s parts. It is a massively impactful choice that seriously ramps up the horror. I’m gonna come back to why, but this one detail is going to be a huge theme for this rant. So many adaptations avoid this, because it makes everything Dracula does significantly and explicitly worse.

Second, I’m going to talk about the physical violence of Dracula towards Mina (and Jonathan). Because it’s the first thing we see. It’s the first image the men get when they burst into the room. This scene starts with violence.

“His face was turned from us, but the instant we saw we all recognised the Count—in every way, even to the scar on his forehead. With his left hand he held both Mrs. Harker’s hands, keeping them away with her arms at full tension; his right hand gripped her by the back of the neck, forcing her face down on his bosom. Her white nightdress was smeared with blood, and a thin stream trickled down the man’s bare breast which was shown by his torn-open dress. The attitude of the two had a terrible resemblance to a child forcing a kitten’s nose into a saucer of milk to compel it to drink.”

Dracula has her arms dragged all the way out to the side, at full tension, using his full supernatural strength to ensure that she can’t fight him. Because she’s trying to. He’s forcing her head down, forcing her to drink. There’s … an explicit thing this resembles, and it’s horrifying. Her nightdress is covered in the evidence of his violence towards her. As the others approach, he flings her down ‘as though hurled from a height’. Afterwards, when they drive Dracula off:

“Van Helsing, Art, and I moved forward to Mrs. Harker, who by this time had drawn her breath and with it had given a scream so wild, so ear-piercing, so despairing that it seems to me now that it will ring in my ears till my dying day. For a few seconds she lay in her helpless attitude and disarray. Her face was ghastly, with a pallor which was accentuated by the blood which smeared her lips and cheeks and chin; from her throat trickled a thin stream of blood; her eyes were mad with terror. Then she put before her face her poor crushed hands, which bore on their whiteness the red mark of the Count’s terrible grip, and from behind them came a low desolate wail which made the terrible scream seem only the quick expression of an endless grief.”

Her hands are crushed by his grip. She’s screaming with horror and terror and physically beaten. From a standing start, there is nothing romantic in this scene.

They wake Jonathan from Dracula’s stupor, and as he lunges up Mina reaches instinctively for him, and then pulls back, huddling away from him. Jonathan is shocked and horrified by this, and is lunging out of bed to go hunt Dracula down, and then:

“No! no! Jonathan, you must not leave me. I have suffered enough to-night, God knows, without the dread of his harming you. You must stay with me. Stay with these friends who will watch over you!” Her expression became frantic as she spoke; and, he yielding to her, she pulled him down sitting on the bed side, and clung to him fiercely.”

And this …

This is why it was so much fucking worse that Jonathan was there. Because Dracula’s violence wasn’t just pointed at Mina. It was pointed at Jonathan, and that was how he coerced her.

“I knew him at once from the description of the others. The waxen face; the high aquiline nose, on which the light fell in a thin white line; the parted red lips, with the sharp white teeth showing between; and the red eyes that I had seemed to see in the sunset on the windows of St. Mary’s Church at Whitby. I knew, too, the red scar on his forehead where Jonathan had struck him. For an instant my heart stood still, and I would have screamed out, only that I was paralysed. In the pause he spoke in a sort of keen, cutting whisper, pointing as he spoke to Jonathan:—

“ ‘Silence! If you make a sound I shall take him and dash his brains out before your very eyes.’ I was appalled and was too bewildered to do or say anything. With a mocking smile, he placed one hand upon my shoulder and, holding me tight, bared my throat with the other, saying as he did so, ‘First, a little refreshment to reward my exertions. You may as well be quiet; it is not the first time, or the second, that your veins have appeased my thirst!’”

If you make a sound I will dash his brains out before your eyes.

She wasn’t alone. Her husband was with her. But Jonathan wasn’t her protector when it came to it. He was Dracula’s hostage against her. And for the sake of his life, she was forced to betray him, while he lay beside her.

“On the bed beside the window lay Jonathan Harker, his face flushed and breathing heavily as though in a stupor. Kneeling on the near edge of the bed facing outwards was the white-clad figure of his wife. By her side stood a tall, thin man, clad in black.”

And this is why she’s desperate that Jonathan doesn’t go looking for Dracula. Why she’s ashamed to touch him. Why she thinks herself unclean. Dracula forced her to betray him, to become what he most feared and hated, while he was right there beside her. Helpless, the tool to force her obedience. She was forced to betray her husband essentially in their marriage bed, over his unconscious body.

“Unclean, unclean! I must touch him or kiss him no more. Oh, that it should be that it is I who am now his worst enemy, and whom he may have most cause to fear.”

(And Jonathan, beautifully: “Nonsense, Mina. It is a shame to me to hear such a word. I would not hear it of you; and I shall not hear it from you. May God judge me by my deserts, and punish me with more bitter suffering than even this hour, if by any act or will of mine anything ever come between us!” It was done to her, not by her, and he will not let the perception of it come between them)

There is such a hideous ball of horror that comes from Dracula violating her, body and soul, in their marriage bed, with the threat of her husband’s life on her obedience, and with said husband lying unconscious only inches away. He forced her to feel she had betrayed someone she loved, become what he most feared and hated, and that was the point. That was explicitly Dracula’s point.

“And you, their best beloved one, are now to me, flesh of my flesh; blood of my blood; kin of my kin; my bountiful wine-press for a while; and shall be later on my companion and my helper. You shall be avenged in turn; for not one of them but shall minister to your needs. But as yet you are to be punished for what you have done. You have aided in thwarting me; now you shall come to my call. When my brain says “Come!” to you, you shall cross land or sea to do my bidding; and to that end this!’ With that he pulled open his shirt, and with his long sharp nails opened a vein in his breast. When the blood began to spurt out, he took my hands in one of his, holding them tight, and with the other seized my neck and pressed my mouth to the wound, so that I must either suffocate or swallow some of the—— Oh my God! my God! what have I done?”

He was punishing her for standing against him, punishing the others through her. He is making her his slave, his thrall, to come to him when called, and to know that she betrays them by doing so. The entire thing is designed to make her feel guilty, feel shamed, feel betrayed and betrayer both. To damn her for all eternity.

There was absolutely no seduction in this, no desire to have Mina by his side, no care for Mina in the slightest. This is all a matter of pride and punishment, to show Mina, and Jonathan, and all the others, the absolute folly of standing against him. He is explicitly damning the one they love most to force her to destroy them or them to destroy her. To force them to betray and keep betraying each other. To break down all that is sacred between them.

He wanted her to feel violated and shamed and like she had done wrong. And he wanted the rest of them to know how deeply they had failed and damned her. Jonathan was right there. Right there. And he couldn’t protect her at all. He was helpless, and used against her. His life hung in the balance, and Mina had to sacrifice her very soul to try and protect him. Everything is aimed to show them how weak and stupid and vulnerable they are. How pathetic.

This was violence on every fucking level. Physical, emotional, moral, spiritual. A brutal, direct, snowballing assault on everything they held dear. Because they dared stand against him. They dared ‘play their brains against his’. Dracula cares absolutely nothing for Mina, she’s merely the most direct and damning route to demonstrate his dominance over all of them. He wanted them to destroy each other, for guilt and horror and remonstrations and all the physical violence of Mina’s burgeoning vampirism to splinter them apart. It was fully intended as a snowballing assault, to damn one of them so as to damn and break them all.

He hurt her. He threatened to murder her husband in the bed beside her. He violated her. He used her to violate her husband. He used her husband to violate her. He damned her soul to damn those around her. There’s nothing … There’s nothing you can get out of that, besides pride and monstrous delight in hurting people. He was deliberately and specifically aiming to do as much damage in a single act as possible, to use each and every one of them to hurt each other.

And it does work, to a degree. This, this, is where Jonathan’s hair turns white. This is where the cumulative shock finally overcomes him. As he sits and listens to Mina describe her violation, and how he was used to further it. Everything he went through in the castle, at least he could imagine Mina safe and well in England, even if he perished himself. But here … The worst, the absolute worst has happened, and he was there, and he worsened it. He didn’t help her, he didn’t protect her. He lay there in a stupor, and Dracula used the threat of violence against him to steal her soul. And Mina, she feels polluted, stained, ashamed. She’s terrified of Jonathan leaving, of Dracula bashing his brains in the second he’s out of her sight, but she’s also afraid to touch him, in case she’s too unclean and monstrous now to deserve it. She’s everything Jonathan is terrified of, now, everything he wrote about in his journals, every horror that has previously scarred him. She was forced into union with a monster in their bed and was made one with him. In one single move, Dracula does so much fucking damage.

But it doesn’t … it doesn’t work. It doesn’t. Not the way he intended it to. Because they rally, they don’t fall apart. Instead of crushing them and proving Dracula’s dominance over them, this is the moment that every single one of them becomes absolutely, unequivocably determined to see him dead, because that’s the only way to save Mina’s now-imperiled soul. No one reproaches her, no one flinches from her, no one calls her unclean or lets her call herself so. No, this is all on Dracula (and themselves, but for stupidity, not betrayal), and by God that vampire is going to finish this dead. Extremely, irrevocably dead.

They rallied. They rallied to her. And God, but that they could have done that just a little bit sooner, but still. They’ve gotten there.

“It may be that you may have to bear that mark till God himself see fit, as He most surely shall, on the Judgment Day, to redress all wrongs of the earth and of His children that He has placed thereon. And oh, Madam Mina, my dear, my dear, may we who love you be there to see, when that red scar, the sign of God’s knowledge of what has been, shall pass away, and leave your forehead as pure as the heart we know. For so surely as we live, that scar shall pass away when God sees right to lift the burden that is hard upon us. Till then we bear our Cross, as His Son did in obedience to His Will. It may be that we are chosen instruments of His good pleasure, and that we ascend to His bidding as that other through stripes and shame; through tears and blood; through doubts and fears, and all that makes the difference between God and man.”

There was hope in his words, and comfort; and they made for resignation. Mina and I both felt so, and simultaneously we each took one of the old man’s hands and bent over and kissed it. Then without a word we all knelt down together, and, all holding hands, swore to be true to each other. We men pledged ourselves to raise the veil of sorrow from the head of her whom, each in his own way, we loved; and we prayed for help and guidance in the terrible task which lay before us.

Do not come near me with this romantic Dracula shit. What he did to her. To all of them. But this, here. This is what I love about this book. These terrified, wounded, violated soldiers of light banding together, protecting each other, supporting each other, loving each other. Freely and openly. They’ve made mistakes, horrific mistakes, and several people are dead for it, and Mina’s soul literally in the balance, but when the push comes, they don’t flinch, they don’t despise each other, they don’t break. They swear to be true to each other. All of them.

How can you look at this, at all of this, the horror that is Dracula and the love that is everyone else, and pick the romantic fucking vampire angle???

I can’t. I’ve been wanting to rant about this scene for years. All the things you see in the adaptations, the seduction, the trance, the reincarnated lovers, the absence of Jonathan and Dracula’s threat to him, the absence of the horrific, brutal coercion of it all. The absence of the love and comfort and guilt and determination afterwards. How it never shows the way they don’t blame or shame each other, even where they should, and cleave together instead. How they offer forgiveness, support, a pure willingness to die or be damned for each other. Mina, willing to kill herself, rather than hurt them. Jonathan, willing to damn his soul beside hers rather than leave her alone in darkness. Van Helsing, the others, willing to track down, fight, and die to kill the monster that has done this, now, immediately, before her soul can be lost, because it’s her soul that might be lost.

So much of this book is lost when you take away the raw gothic horror that is Dracula, the raw brutality, physical, emotional and spiritual, of what he does. He is horrific. He deliberately hurts them to the soul, brutalises them body, spirit and mind, uses them to hurt each other, turns them not out of any personal desire for them but because turning them causes the most pain and violation to the most people. He says, explicitly, that what he wants from Mina is a slave, that he wants to punish her for challenging him, that he wants her to betray herself and all that she holds dear. He has no care for her or for any of them. He threatened, completely casually, to bash Jonathan’s brains in where he lay sleeping so that she’d shut up and do what he wanted. He is the monster, and not only because of what he is, but because of what he does. Mina’s hands are crushed from his grip. Her body is tainted by his violation. Her spirit is almost broken by the way he forced her to betray those she loved most while they lay helpless. She is scarred, physically, mentally, emotionally, by his actions, and she may be enslaved and damned for all eternity as a result.

If you somehow got romance out of that, I want to … rant at you for a considerable length of time. Sure. Let’s go with that one.

I want the team. In an adaptation. I want the team so much. I want to watch them cleave together, I want to watch all the little ways they support and cheered and helped each other along the path. How they bowed under this hideous, hideous threat, and all it does to them, but then rallied, then came together, then fought.

I do not care about Dracula. The vampire. I don’t care about him. I want them. Just once, one adaptation, I want the full, delightful, supportive polyamorous glory that is them.

And I really wish I had any hope of getting it.

#dracula #dracula daily #spoilers #triggers for assault #and probably a lot of other things #i've been bottling this rant for YEARS

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nothoughtsonlytrance · 4 months

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Hey everyone! Here is my submission for the Dan and Phil Phasquerade Tumblr Event! First off, as a surprise, I made not one, but TWO songs for the event!

youtube

The first one is the main theme song for the event as requested by @wdapteo! 生き甲斐 (Ikigai)! It’s not fully orchestral but I put a bit of strings and horns in there, so I guess it counts lol! I decided to go with a theme that was mainly based around guitars and synths. I also put in a few Asian instruments such as the koto to represent their trips to Japan. The title “Ikigai” is a Japanese concept that refers to one’s sense of purpose or reason to live and is a combination of the words “iki”(to live) and “gai” (reason). This concept can include people such as friends, families, and partners, as well as activities such as one’s hobby or pastime. It basically means that one can find joy in their life by being aligned with their purpose. I thought this concept would be perfect for the phasquerade because Dan and Phil’s ikigai or reason to live is each other. 🥰

As for the background image, I found a picture on Adobe Stock Photos of two masquerade masks that looked PERFECT for Dan and Phil. (The black one is Dan’s and the white one is Phil’s, obviously, lol 😂) Phanartists, feel free to use those masks in ur art! 👌🏻

The second song I made is an orchestral ballroom version of JVKE’s Golden Hour! It took me around two days to do, along with constant listening to the song to get the chords right and then add my own bits on top of it 😂 I’m really proud of this version because lemme tell ya, making orchestral music on Garageband IOS is harder than it looks 😭😅 I still can’t believe how far I’ve gone with making music on this app bc I started using it in 2018 and back then, I had a hard time navigating everything but I slowly worked my way up to where I am now, and tbh I still have far more to go! The background image I used for this is another stock image I found on Pexels that fit the vibe of the song! (Also the two men in the picture looked like Dan and Phil haha 😂)

Anyways, here's a little introduction of me: I’m Kristy, aka @nothoughtsonlytrance. My pronouns are she/they and I am pansexual! (Fun fact, I found out I was pan around the same time that Dan and Phil came out in 2019 lol) I’ve been watching Dan and Phil since around 2012/2013 (so when I was around 12 or 13 years old) because that was the time when I really started watching YouTube and eventually found their channels. I vividly remember watching the Photobooth Challenge video and crying with laughter because it was so hilarious. I continued to look forward to seeing their videos after school and finally got to see them on stage in 2018 for their Interactive Introverts tour when they came to Richmond, VA. (didn’t get VIP tickets for the meet and greet tho so I still have yet to meet them in person 😭🤞) It continues to be one of my favorite memories of them and I remember crying when seeing them on stage. Their videos mean so much to me and I even made my quote for my college graduation cap “Embrace the void and have the courage to exist” because their videos got me through the last two semesters of college!😎👌🏻(Which got noticed by Dan and Phil in their Phan Twitter Memes 2 video!) Words cannot express how proud I am of them, especially after their coming out videos and how they feel more free to be themselves! And I can’t wait to see what the future has in store for them! (And also us haha)

I think the song that will be playing when I take the stage is “Once Upon a December” from the musical Anastasia! It is one of my favorite musicals and I even got to see it in NYC with my family a few years back! Also, as someone who was adopted from Russia, this song really speaks to me personally. I don’t speak Russian fluently, only a few basic words and phrases that my parents taught me that they learned when they were adopting me, (I only speak English) but I’ve been trying to learn the lyrics to the Russian version of the song so I can sing along with it too. (Pronouncing Russian isn’t easy haha)

Anyways, here’s my post for the phasquerade! Hope you all enjoy the music! I had so much fun being a part of this and thank you so much to @serendipnpipity for planning and organizing this!

#dan and phil #dnp #phil lester #daniel howell #dan and phil games #phan #amazingphil #dan howell #phasquerade #original music #golden hour #Youtube #Spotify

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daisiesonafield-blog · 2 years

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Hi Daisie,

do you know if any of your followers has access to the full article?

https://www.telegraph.co.uk/music/news/harry-styles-album-year-grammys-speech-beyonce-white-privilege/

This doesn’t happen to people like me very often.” So said 29-year-old Harry Styles, accepting his Grammy Award for Album of the Year on Sunday night. Most normal people assumed that by “people”, Styles meant a boy born outside of Birmingham and brought up in between Crewe and Manchester, far from the bright lights of London and the Brit School. But the internet is not full of normal people, and outrage ensued, as critics claimed that Styles was ignoring his white privilege – and, worse, having a pop at Beyoncé.

Styles also drew ire by arguing that “there’s no such thing as ‘best’ in music”, and refusing to say that he thought Beyoncé would win, instead saying merely that “you never know with this stuff”. The critics didn’t hold back. “‘This doesn’t happen to people like me’,” wrote the American podcaster Sam Sanders, “is the most white privilege-iest thing to ever be uttered at an awards show ever for all time [sic].” “Beyoncé continues to be boycotted, without AOTY [Album of the Year] and used as a token to disguise the Academy’s racism,” complained the pop-culture website Pop Tingz.

Styles may have had a wobbly night – not least because the turnstile on which his dance number was meant to be performed rotated in the wrong direction – but an attack on “Queen B” this was not. To most Britons, Styles’s accent is the clue that he’s different from many a young London silver-spoon star; yet this subtlety is almost entirely lost on Americans. True, that Cheshire accent has been muddied by his recent attempt at a transatlantic twang while filming Don’t Worry Darling.

And having a finance director for a father hardly puts you in league with British pop’s history of working-class heroes, from The Beatles to Oasis. Yet these days the industry has changed, and Styles is quite clearly different to the likes of Florence Welch or Marcus Mumford, who seem to fit into the world of fame as if they were born to it.

We’ve been here before. In 2019, when Sam Fender, born in North Shields, dared to explain why “white privilege” sounded like a difficult concept to the white men with whom he grew up, he was labelled tone-deaf and racist. This is the success of the “white privilege” label: admit it and you’re damned, deny it and you’re deluded. But in importing a particularly American brand of racial politics, discussion about success within the British arts only becomes skewed.

Unlike in the States, class is a greater defining factor of success in Britain than race or gender are – a fact that many commentators seem to want to forget. “The debate raging online about where Styles sits on the class spectrum is a fascinating insight into Britain’s class obsession,” wrote one writer in The Guardian. That sound you can hear is a nation of working-class music-lovers choking on their own scorn.

Styles, in truth, is both right and wrong. Poor boys and girls have often made it to the top, though often that has been on account of the sheer tenacity of their talent. Barry Keoghan is currently flavour of the month in Ireland for his performance in Martin McDonagh’s film The Banshees of Inisherin, despite his extremely tough and poverty-stricken upbringing, which involved going in and out of the care system.

Bands have often capitalised on class difference, too – admitting whether you were an Oasis or a Blur fan was as much a class signifier as the tea-vs-supper debate, and it did neither band any commercial harm. Some fans have also pointed out, amusingly, that Adele, who was also up for Album of the Year at the Grammys, was born and raised in Tottenham.

A working-class hero Harry Styles may not entirely be, but he certainly isn’t a white-privilege villain either. And we would all do well to remember that awards ceremonies, and the speeches made at them, may be full of glitz and glamour, but they bear little relevance to the politics of the real world – or to the real people who live out there.

Full article. Link here. No paywall link.

#here you go anon #grammys 2023 #ella whelan #she said: pipe down #harry february 2023 #feb 7 2023 #feb 2023

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viewfromthelake · 27 days

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Last night's before-bed comic book reading brought me through to the end of X-Men (2021) #35, which closes out the Krakoan Era finale. So, wow. What to say? I talked a bit in previous posts about how this era seemed to be suddenly sprinting through a lot of concepts to get to the end. And now with the war with Orchis over, we spend this extra-long issue on what the state of things is shaping up to be as the dust settles. It's bittersweet. The art is a mix of various X-Men artists old and new. SPOILERS AHEAD: I think I like what they did as far as settling the fate of Krakoa. One thing that always feels weird is getting to the end of a big run that had lots of big things going on, and everything sort of falling apart to return to something resembling the old status quo. Here, they get to do a big reset but also have the Krakoa era matter and have consequences, as the civilian residents of Krakoa have actually been building a pacifist Krakoan society for 15 years in a dimension outside of time and space where time passes differently. Comics! Anyway, they've deemed that Earth isn't read for them yet, so they just returned to space/time briefly to drop off any mutants who have families and lives they want to return to on Earth - or who just miss the whole crazy mess that is life on this wacky planet - and then head back to The White Hot Room, realm of the Phoenix Force. Various characters spin-off into their various new lives post-Krakoan era. Xavier is arrested and held in an ultra-secure facility for turning supervillian and colluding with Orchis to murder humans as part of a plot to stall them so the Phoenix could wipe them out. It's… really sad to see Charles brought so low. Charles astral form checks in on his former students and is convinced they are ready to carry on the dream of the mutants. And then he either kills himself or feigns brain death as part of a longer plan. We'll find out, I assume, whenever a writer decides to pick up that thread and do something with it. So that's the wild ride that was the Krakoan Era. I do have some gaps that I feel like I need to go in and fill sometime in my reading. And maybe I'll do that. Or maybe I'll focus on following this new era that is beginning (and hoping that it involves less having to hop from book to book to book in order to have any hope of it making sense. One issue I have with the Krakoan Era is it often made the X-books feel like a big summer event crossover, but one that lasted for years and years). I don't think I'll be reading these day-and-date, though. I've gotten used to waiting for stuff to hit Unlimited and I find that reading experience on my tablet to be great. Has anyone been starting to read any of the new stuff yet? Like it?

#comics reading #x-men #krakoa #marvel comics

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tsuchinokoroyale · 4 months

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I’d love to hear more about your thoughts on JJK. Admittedly, I’m not well versed in shonen, so I never even considered that it was trying to subvert the genre.

P.S. Thank you for the consistently thoughtful takes and hot ass 😘

Ooooo boy I hope you’re ready for a whole ass essay 😎😎😎

Shonen as a genre has changed over time as any art form does, but it is still mired in tropes that can be traced back to the classics. The shonen genre is thus named bc its target demographic is boys to young men, for our discussion we’ll say teenage boys. While it obviously has big appeal for other demographics, it is mainly designed to both appeal AND communicate life lessons to that crowd of impressionable kids.

Because of this dual function you get this really odd genre full of super powerful special boys who love their friends but have no qualms about slaughtering their enemies. They typically espouse lessons about the merits of hard work, sticking to your beliefs ((so long as your beliefs are beneficial to society at large)), of goodness and friendship triumphing over evil. Look no further than DBZ and Naruto which can broadly be divided into Battle Arcs and Training Arcs, upping the ante for our special boy main protagonists until we literally have them fighting gods as the logical extreme of continuous escalation.

The Standard™ Shonen formula has a boy main protagonist who’s got some sort of motivation that is so ideologically pure that he’s basically impossible to defeat. Goku loves to fight, Naruto wants to be hokage, Tanjiro wants to cure his sister and slayer all the demons, etc. He forms/joins a band of merry outcasts with their own tragic backstories and sets out to defeat whatever villain appears for that arc. If they win, arc is over move onto training arc, if they lose, they train, fight and win, then train some more. The fun of the genre comes from the colorful side characters, and the little twists that come with each battle system, which brings us to Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure.

At the time JJBA was being published, the big influence on manga was big beefy male led 80s action movies and Fist of the North Star, a manga about a beefy martial artist named Kenshiro going around beating baddies in a post apocalyptic world. Battle systems in Shonen were usually incredibly soft, most tied to physical combat enhanced by some poorly defined life force energy that could be called upon to even out fights and give big climactic finishes, like Ki from dragon ball and their iconic kamehamehas. Even JJBA starts off this way, with our beefy boys learning Hamon/Ripple and duking it out with vampires, til my man Hirohiko Araki was like “mmmm this is kind of limiting. Time to Change Everything~” and he came up with the concept of Stands, incredibly limited psychic/magic abilities that manifest as furries or sexy robots or a Lego version of the White House (?). You can see this idea really grow and expand within the part it’s introduced, going from “fire furry” and “robot knight with sword” to “guy whose stand turns into a ball that immediately erases anything it runs into but he can’t really see what he’s attacking since he has to be inside his stand in order for it to work also his name is Vanilla Ice and he’s a vampire in a thong.”

You can FEEL the impact this had even to this day. Stands became Jutsus in Naruto, quirks in MHA, Nen in HxH, Cursed Techniques in JJK. And part of what made it fun was that it added strategy to the mix! Str8 physical fights are hard to strategize bc it’s basically just a numbers game, right? Like bc his power level is over 9000, it’s going to be a tough time until some plot contrivance and/or training occurs to drive *my* power level over 9000. But now there is an additional layer of *how* these powers interact.

My ability is to blow bubbles and his ability is to turn a single person who comes into contact with bodily fluids into a mindless zombie? Create bubble shields so they can’t splash blood on you. My ability is to fold anything into origami and if you touch the origami you begin to see one object as something else and his ability is an automatic tracking stand that hunts me down by creating face shredding tornados when I breathe? Make a city bus look like my dad ((part 8 is fucking nuts)).

As you can tell, JJBA really burst open the dam on creativity, but as per the examples I’ve given they can often feel very… silly and contrived. The Serious Anime Fan™ will complain and say those fights are full of asspulls, which they are, but that’s very much part of the fun of the series. BUT because diversity is the spice of life, you also get artists who are less interested in adhering to the Rule of Cool and more interested in making things explicitly “logical” which is how we get Hunter x Hunter.

While JJBA dabbles in using stands for characterization, HxH goes HARD into it. Nen abilities are ((usually)) manifestation of their user’s idea of power, creating a direct link between who that person is and what they can do as a result. This is balanced by people having innate Nen types which means the kinds of abilities they can use are limited, though there are rules restrictions and exceptions to this as well. We know all of this bc mangaka Togashi literally gives a college level lecture on Nen in the story, describing how it manifests, how it works, what it can and can’t do, and how individual rules can supersede the basic set of rules and the rules for doing that. I call this style Erudite Shonen, bc bitches be TALKING. In erudite Shonen, powers usually fall on the complex side, even Bungee Gum, which has the properties of both rubber and gum, can be used in insane ways like ricocheting bullets, gluing minors together, and/or cheesing a game of dodgeball and it’s all both shown AND told.

Now where does JJK fall into all this? Listifying the common Shonen tropes we have A Special Boy main protagonist with a pure motive, a crew, goodness triumphing over evil, prioritizing bonds and community over selfish gain, and the winning power of hard work.

Early JJK fits the mold pretty well. Yuji Itadori starts off the series special, with superhuman fitness before he ingests sukuna’s finger at which point he becomes a Naruto analog, where he is strong because he has a powerful spirit trapped inside him. He has the rather off kilter but still acceptable goal of “dying a proper death”. His squad of mentor Gojo, Fushiguro, and Kugisaki is established by episode 3. The villains are cursed spirits who want to eradicate humanity, the good guys are the jujutsu sorcerers who say “no u” to that. Yuji wants to gain power to protect others instead of just becoming powerful himself. And there’s a training arc! Sure, it happens after Yuji gets his heart ripped out, but he’s not even dead that long. Even the powers in early JJK present themselves as pretty simple, Fushiguro does shadow summoning, Kugisaki does hammer and nail resonance, panda, Inumaki does cursed speech.

It wears its darkness on its sleeve however, presenting Junpei as a potential future team member only to shockingly kill him. The whole star plasma vessel incident casts an unflattering light on Jujutsu society. But none of that COMPARES to the shitshow that happens in Shibuya, where JJK finally shows its real hand.

Over the course of the Shibuya arc, we watch our protagonist mount an offense against the villains that have been building themselves up over the course of the show, sacrificing so so much just to ultimately… lose. The Shibuya arc subverts not just idiosyncratic plot beats but story telling traditions as well. “The strongest” loses, multiple fan favorite characters are either taken out of commission or outright killed, the story progression slams the fast forward button as Yuji goes from having ingested 4 out of 20 fingers to 15/20 resulting in mass civilian casualties because his version of the 9 tailed fox is an actual monster, and ((meta-narratively)) worst of all, Yuji doesn’t even get to defeat his arch-rival, Mahito. Instead Mahito is unceremoniously absorbed by other big bad Geto/Kenjaku. It’s supremely unsatisfying and the weight of the tragedy is so immense you wonder how our heroes are gonna come back from this.

And thus begins the “deconstruction” phase of JJK. Cuz they just… don’t. As dark as Shibuya got, a standard Shonen would then go on to give the heroes a big fat W, some sort of come back after all that. But not JJK! Bc JJK is subversive 😏 this means the fact that the story is super unsatisfying is like, the point mannnn. This isn’t the worst thing that can happen. Chainsawman is also a story of major L’s and minor W’s and it’s my #1 favorite modern manga series. The difference is in intent, however. Chainsawman works as well as it does bc at its core, it loves Denji. He REALLY goes through the ringer, but it’s all in service of understanding what life is like for someone trapped on the hedonic treadmill and how one can ((attempt anyways)) to break out of it.

And then there’s JJK. It truly feels like the manga is designed to tear Yuji’s self sacrificial mindset to shreds for the sake of making him suffer and for the reader to feel bad for ever feeling like good has to triumph over evil. The real problem is, it feels as if the series is bending over backwards to make this shit happen.

Part of the change over is what was a previously simple-ish battle system goes full Erudite Shonen. There were hints that cursed energy could get more complicated, what with domain completion competition and guaranteed hits and simple domains and that one guys FPS ability I can’t explain. But we go FULL HxH level afterwards. All of a sudden oxygen delivery to the brain becomes important to cursed technique, there’s domain range and boundary fidelity and incomplete domain properties, disruption of somatic components becomes a factor, and… it honestly feels like utter nonsense at times.

Complexity isn’t bad, like I mentioned I LOVE HxH and could probably explain the chrollo-hisoka fight if you gave me a few hours to study, but I could not tell you all the new rules for cursed energy that seem just kind of invented on the spot in random chapters during this back half of JJK. Bc they involve concepts never really mentioned before, it feels like an asspull, like this was something made up to force the situation at hand. Thing is, more of those situations only benefit the villains. You get shit like a character winning a battle at the end of one chapter and then starting the next one to find they were killed off screen moments later, actually. It’s just like yeah it’s subversive, but the reason stories aren’t told like this is bc this shit sucks lmao. I think out of all the plans the heroes make like only a handful of them are actually successful, and even then they get so unwound by the next step in the plan that they may as well have not happened. It doesn’t help that the abilities are so complicated now you’ll get a chapter dedicated to explaining what one guy can do just to have him wiped off the face of the earth the next one.

So the crew is gone, our special boy is actually the most disempowered guy ever except for the fact that he can’t be killed for some reason, the good guys are NOT doing a great job standing up to evil since like 86% of their plans fail or have bad results, a gag character wins one of the most important fights in the story and it’s unironically the best thing JJK has done in a while, and it’s all just a very confusing slog to read. This is the danger of writing subversion for the sake of subversion with intent for contempt, kids 😮‍💨

Granted we aren’t at the end of the story yet so maybe I’ll be wrong and there’ll be like a reset button that fixes everything (( which would also suck )), but yeah. JJK wants what HxH did in the chimera ant arc but forgot that that story was possible bc it was fundamentally about humanity and love, not just the parts about how people suck and goodness can fail.

If you made it this far congratulations you’re entitled to one big kissy on ur forehead from me and barnaby 😚😚😚

#no one is allowed to tell me how many words this is I don’t want to know #0 note post here we fucking gooooooo #this one goes out to the girlies who don’t understand why I’m single I’ve got yer explanation right hereeeee 😅

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