#theatre hits in such a specific way

[liones-s]

the experience of tragedy in plays specifically because ‘maybe it will end differently this time’ feels possible. This isn’t pre-recorded. This isn’t set down in time and film. This is live, this is now, these people are real and maybe this time when they open the letter it won’t say ‘kill the messenger’. Maybe this time they get to live

[broke-on-books]

☕

The live action Scooby-Doo movies?

I did not see this ask until RIGHT now (first time on desktop since crab day, second time since Nov 5 2020 [which was DOUBLY experience since I got my phone taken the same day]) so I'm going to assume this ask got eaten on mobile because tumblr, HOWEVER you poked a bear with this ask anon (as I'm sure you knew when asking) SO without further ado: my Scooby Doo live action opinions

So when you say 'live action Scooby-Doo movies' I'm assuming you're talking about the James Gunn films, starting with Scooby-Doo (2002) followed by Scooby-Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed, just due to like, generally popularity and also the fact that I have actually seen those films. However shoot another ask if you wanted me to include Curse of the Lake Monster in this (because I will if anyone cares and turn this into a live-action scooby dissertation, i'd just need to like. watch the movie first) But anyways where I'm going with this is that this post is about the Gunn movies aka the ones with SMG, Freddie Prinze Jr., Linda Cardellini, and ofc our #1 man, Matthew Lilliard.

Okay so my take on these movies is... complicated. I wouldn't say it's as complicated as my feelings towards SDMI, because I watched the live actions way less as a kid and generally care less about them, but still no matter how much shit I throw at these two movies there are parts that I generally like (even love) that stops me from totally condemning them wholesale. Like the fact that these movies are FUNNY! There's so many moments from this duology that are just beyond iconic "like, that's one of my favorite names!" the whole thing with Scooby in the dress at the airport, ET. CETERA (like I can go on!)

The Gunn movies are genuinely SO fun and I can 100% see and understand how they've stood so well in the public view as a representation of Scooby. HOWEVER, this is where you start to see my problems with them. For the general American, (because that is the audience I'm familiar with) ESPECIALLY millennials and younger, who happen to make up the majority of both people on this site AND people I talk about Scooby with in real life, these movies, and the elements they introduced as "quintessential scooby tropes" are the base of their understanding of the Scooby franchise, along with likely some miscellaneous WAY episodes and maybe SDMI.

Which is where I get pissed off. In the pushing of the narrative of "breaking away" from the Scooby norm, Gunn basically invents (aka totally makes up) an idea of what classic era Scooby was like, cementing an idea of classic Scooby into the public mind that is totally disingenuous and just straight up false. For example, in attempting to portray Daphne as having taken strides to be seen more seriously in solving mysteries and defending herself, it pushes the narrative that in the classic era she WASN'T taken seriously, and only existed as a damsel-in-distress prop of a character, which is just not true??? Like yes, Daphne is clumsy, that's a part of her character, and her friends (because, fun fact, the gang ARE friends) joke about it sometimes because that's what friends DO. Framing that in some kind of sexist "that's all she does" lens is just total bull, especially as gang members fall into secret passageways/get lost etc. in WAY ALL THE DAMN TIME because that's how the plot functions! Like are we calling Velma ditzy for losing her glasses every other episode? Of course not, and Fred falls into passageways all the time, not to MENTION Shaggy and Scooby and all they get up to. Also one last thing on the topic of Daphne, like this idea of her mystery solving skills not being respected by the gang is just so supremely bullshit it amazes me sometimes, especially when she was the LEADER (or leader adjacent) through pretty much all of her appearances in the 1980s [Not that James Gunn could look at '80s era Scooby without spitting on it, but I digress]

AND THIS IS JUST DAPHNE! Like the perceptions pushed towards Fred (and Velma, but mostly Fred) through these movies are just as bad! Like okay, with Fred---In these movies Fred is just an asshole. I hate Gunn Movies!Fred. I mean yeah he can be funny but it's almost always so mean! Almost nothing makes me madder than a mean Fred by the way. If he's putting other gang members down (even halfway, like with his whole "dorky chicks like you turn me on too" line, which... ew) then to me something has gone very, very, VERY, wrong in your basic understanding of Frederick Herman Jones as a character. Like he's the cheerleader! He puts himself in between his friends and danger! He loves nets, and traps, and Elvis impressions, and wrestling, and the trapeze, and cars, and most of all he LOVES sharing the things he loves with his friends! (Sometimes to a bit of an extreme. No one wants to hear about your net facts, Fred) And the live action movies just don't understand that at all. And I know there's maybe something to say I suppose in that some of those aspects of his characterization hadn't been "established yet" by the time "Scooby-Doo" came out in 2002. But it's there if you look. For Fred Jones, being the leader means being the caretaker, (he's the Mom friend what can I say) and any version where he's cruel and arrogant and just DOESN'T CARE about his friends in the way he's shown to in the Gunn movies is just so far from Fred to me it's not even funny. And what makes it even worse for me is that this (or at least something similar) is the idea of Fred that has really spread to the popular culture. Just the "leader", the jock that makes the rules, the one that [insert X adaptation here] finally gave a personality and made interesting (something that has been said more times than I can count for pretty much every gang member, save Shaggy and Scooby).

And I haven't even touched on Velma, and how they gave her a bit of a early 2000s smart superiority girl complex against Daphne, plus the whole makeover thing and etc. etc. The Gunn Movies are pretty much what would happen if you took someone who hadn't seen Scooby since they were 7 years old (and honestly had a pretty negative outlook against it then) and tried to "fix" it, only his memory was so bad he just made up problems (and threw in a good helping of early 2000s style sexism with it) convincing pretty much the entirety of the popular culture that said problems exist and that Gunn was absolutely brilliant for fixing them (and then bringing up said "problems" whenever anyone wants to talk about Scooby) and this entire rant has been without even fucking MENTIONING what is probably the reason you, anonymous tumblr user sent this ask in the first place, to I, Swishy "Scrappy Doo Redemption Arc" Broke-on-books (dot tumblr dot com), which is his HIGHLY SUCESSFUL and utterly sadistic character assassination of my number one man, Scrappy Doo.

And I am going to try my damnedest here not to get totally into my highly passionate opinions over what James Gunn did to Scrappy in the first of his Scooby movies and how thoroughly it has pissed me the fuck off because I have been writing this post for over an hour now and if we start to really get into my feelings on this topic it will certainly be a couple of hours more but like. That Fucking Bitch. I give James Gunn personally a solid eighty-five percent of the blame for making my life as a Scrappy Doo fan UTTERLY unbearable with this stupid fucking movie alone, and just his Scrappy crimes would honestly be enough for me to say that I hate this movie, not even considering the numerous Scooby crimes I've been talking about here for the past million paragraphs, but the part about this movie that makes me the MOST mad the most pissed off is that it's actually a good fucking movie. James Gunn wrote two hilarious and entertaining movies that have become beloved in the popular culture for their successes in that arena, while at the same time pissing all over the core themes and messages of the franchise of which it was based, that of friendship.

TLDR; The Live Action Scooby Doo movies (written by James Gunn) are highly entertaining and fun pieces of media to watch, and are widely loved by the general public and looked at with fondness and nostalgia because of that. However, as a hardcore Scooby Doo fan (writing that phrase sounds so ridiculous but oh well) the existence of these movies and their impact on the popular culture can be extremely frustrating (despite any personal nostalgia said fan may have) due to their spreading of a misinformed picture of what "typical Scooby Doo" looks like. This picture is especially frustrating due to the fabrication or exaggeration of problems present in classic Scooby (such as sexism in regards to the girls), as well as giving more ammunition to other problems in Scooby fandom (such as oversexualization, and sexualization in general, which no one wants to see in regards to their children's cartoons, like HONESTLY.) Discussions of sexism and sexualization in Scooby (both of which ARE present and are issues, although not at their worst in WAY) can often lead to an overlooking of the issues that are very present and clear in WAY and have continued since then with far too little resistance (I'm 100% talking about the racism here) HOWEVER that topic deserves at least a dozen posts of its own that I am no way informed or qualified enough to even begin to think about writing. The Gunn Movies are frustrating to many longtime Scooby fans because of these reasons, but for me, and fellow Scrappy Doo fans there is also the added aspect of the demonization of Scrappy Doo in the live action movies and the affects that has had on the popular culture as well, making it uniquely inhospitable to like or enjoy the character of Scrappy. End post.

[trinitea-fics]

changing my major really is one of the best love songs in all of musical theatre methinks

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

something something Veronica in Seventeen Reprise, DIRECTLY after JD has literally self-destructed in lieu of the rest of the school, decisions which were all (including the decision to take the bomb and die instead) made out of claimed "love" for her, telling Martha "my date to the pep rally just blew- ...me off" while audibly wincing and struggling with the fact that the guy who said he loved her just BLEW HIMSELF UP, something something her then saying "if no one loves me now, someday somebody will," .....is this anything?

[prettycottagequeer]

ok maybe I'm a little late to this BUT I'm gonna do a to-do list motivation thingy because I've had the worst two weeks since I started college :)

SO these I should start on asap:

50 I make the snack I really want but I haven't had the motivation to make

100 I clean my dorm. another thing I've been meaning to do for a week

150 I do the presentation about mid-victorian fashion I've been putting off (due Monday)

200 I start memorizing the monologue that was due a week ago (now due Tuesday)

these can wait longer:

300 I spend time outside. It's so nice but I'm getting stuck scrolling because I feel like shit. vicious cycle ect

500 I start setting a better weekend routine (aka getting up before noon)

1k I start working out again. I was doing a routine to get more masc and build muscle and I liked it but life hit me like Crowley driving the Bentley and I've missed like 3 weeks

2k I buy my first binder. I've been coping with sports bras for almost a year now and I haven't been able to justify spending $50+ on a binder even though I know I'd love it and use it everyday.

Do I tag people? I don't know but I'm going to. @the-globe-theatre-maggot @weirdly-specific-but-ok @howmanyholesinswisscheese

here's just some context if you want to read, feel free to skip. some of this I've talked about in the maggot server, some I haven't, but I really just need a place for this to go that's out of my head. tw homophobia, transphobia, car crash(??)

How I Have Been Run Over By The Bentley Going 90 In Central London What Feels Like 50 Times In The Last Two Weeks

I'm going to college about 4 hours away from my parents, and it's been really nice. They.. suck, to say the least. transphobic/homophobic ect, super traditional conservative catholic, racist, all of it. so i tried to move somewhere where I wouldn't have to think about them and I could be myself and do what I can to be happy. March 1st was the start of my spring break, which meant going home because the dorms close. I was already not excited, but I was prepared. the problem with being away from home is I forget just how bad they are. My optimism gets the better of me and I think maybe this time they'll be better. so I decided to not hide my septum piercing.

that was a mistake. it starts a whole fight where they say we know you're trans, you're actually a girl and you always will be, we have the bones argument, they think I'm being influenced by demons or something (if only they knew about crowley) because I want to change my name, and they tell me that going on t will completely ruin my body and give me cancer and other things. They're also mad about my dyed hair, septum, and general style, and say I'm setting a terrible example for my (5) younger siblings and make it a point to tell me just how much of a disappointment I am. I think I'm pretty cute and fun but y'know, whatever. very fun time. I lie so much, don't give them any more details about my identity, and say I'm not planning to go on t to save my ass. which is all on instinct which makes me feel worse because if I'm really trans I should be able to stand up for that, right? maybe I'm faking the dysphoria.

the next morning I wake up really sick, and spend the rest of the week sick and feeling like shit because I'm home and back in the same place and situation I was a year ago that I thought I escaped. at one point I pretty much lose my voice but also kind of get gender euphoria from it. it's weird.

On Friday it's time for me to drive back 4 hours to school, and I make it about 3/4 of the way when google maps takes me on a random gravel road and I crash my car, really crash my car, like sideways-in-a-ditch-windows-broken-crawling-up-out-the-door crash it in the middle of nowhere. (I was fully paying attention to the road, it was raining and super slick) I call my parents because I have no one else to call and I sit in a Subway for 3 hours while they drive to get my car. when they get there they're (understandably) really mad, and they tell me that I'm not mature enough to be going to school so far away and I need to get my shit together and stop depending on them. which. is probably true. but made me feel even more stupid about the fact that I crashed my car. I get back to school and I'm still Very Sick with no energy or motivation to do anything. So I've spent the last week trying to get better and honestly to do anything. it hasn't really worked. I'm a lot better health-wise (Not emotionally), still sick but I have a lot of work due, so I really need a push to get started

[thedarklyblue]

i love it when guys (circuits) are so fucked up

[tossawary]

One of my favorite Discworld books is actually one of the more obscure ones, "Moving Pictures", which is about the invention of films and the movie business in this fantasy world that has dwarves and trolls and wizards and so on. It has its rough patches like every early Discworld book, but Ginger's speech about people who were born in the wrong time or wrong place for their dreams really gets to me in a good way, and I love all of the references to classic films and commentary on fame and creativity. It also has classic characters like Gaspode the Talking Dog and C.M.O.T. Dibbler, and it introduces Detritus's romance with another troll named Ruby.

Perhaps most importantly to me is that this book introduces Ponder Stibbons, who is a wizard, and who goes on in later books to be one of the most important members of the Unseen University (he holds like twelve different positions), in that he's one of the few people who can competently manage a project and so ends up managing nearly everything. (Bear with me, it's been a while since I read any Discworld and my memory is a little rough.) In "Moving Pictures", Ponder is the classmate (roommate?) of a fellow named Victor Tugelbend, who is one of the main characters.

Victor begins the book as a career student, in that a wealthy relative left him a great deal of money exclusively for school; so as long as he STAYS in school, all of his living expenses are paid for. If Victor graduates, that's the end of the money. If Victor drops out, that's the end of the money. But if Victor manages to hit a specific mark range in the 80s every year, then he gets to stay on for another year and try again, and so Victor is perhaps the most dedicated and knowledgeable wizardry student in the university's history, because you have to know what the right answer is in order to intentionally get a certain number of the questions wrong, so that you can continue to coast along on your college fund.

Ponder's graduation is (accidentally) Victor's fault, because Victor runs away to get into the movie business. (I won't spoil what happens, but it's VERY funny.) Now, I like to imagine after the events of the book, after Ponder holds a faculty position in the university, Victor comes BACK to the university occasionally as a disgustingly well-paid external consultant, which drives Ponder UP THE FUCKING WALL. Like, people are so stingy all of the time but SOMEHOW the university budget has room to bring your offensively handsome dropout roommate back just to say, "Hmm, yes, that looks bad. Have you tried turning it off and on again?" I'd throw a fit, honestly. (As soon as Ponder has enough seniority, he probably puts his foot down to stop this if Victor isn't actually useful. Maybe he is, idk, but maybe not for THAT consulting fee.)

I also like to imagine that Victor Tugelbend and Theda "Ginger" Withel are still together, maybe even still acting (badly? mediocre-ly? decently?) together, in some dingy little theatre (Ginger is the director and runs their acting troupe like a tyrant) where the front seats are regularly filled with middle-aged folks who still sigh over the memories of moving pictures. (Moving pictures are now, presumably, VERY illegal in Ankh Morpork.) Victor and Ginger have only because even more attractive as they've gotten older, which is EVEN MORE OFFENSIVE to poor Ponder because his former movie star former roommate is married to another gorgeous former movie star?! I'd throw another fit.

Anyway, I think Ponder deserves to have an affair with a pair of aging former movie stars. I like to imagine this purely because I think it's funny. He seems kind of busy for marriage, so joining someone else's marriage part-time might be good for him. It probably makes most of the rest of the Unseen University faculty breathlessly envious and that really does it for him.

And I think that this affair would OF COURSE be covered by every newspaper and tabloid in the city, including The Times, and William de Worde and Sacharissa Cripslock don't fully understand why their entertainment reporter is so breathlessly excited about people who were famous over a decade ago? (Supermarket tabloids love to tell me about alleged affairs of people who were famous 20+ years ago.) The article on Victor Maraschino and Delores De Syn's failing marriage* is their bestselling newspaper in months and William puts his head down on his desk in despair. (He's fine. This happens on a weekly at least basis. He just needs a minute.)

*Victor and Ginger are very happy with this situation, actually. They're going to take Ponder to dinner to go on a double date with Ruby and Detritus soon. Victor and Ponder are going to get distracted arguing about some of the Inadvisably Applied Magic research projects, but that's fine, because Ginger wants to talk to Ruby about this one-troll-woman-show concept. (Detritus will proudly hand out tickets at the Watch station and accidentally intimidate all of his coworkers into accepting the invitation.)

[project-sekai-facts]

i recall some kind of theory or pointing out of the fact that tsukasa's focus sets have had him getting less and less authority each time, and with the role of a minor character, it seems to have been intentional

oh i remember a lot of players on JP and KR side pointing that out when Phoenix released! and yeah I think it's definitely true

he went from king -> commoner -> jester/circus performer (for the king) -> a shadow

actually i have a lot of thoughts about his new card and i doubt this set will get an official blog post so i might just ramble a bit. (ftr: haven't read the event yet, sekai.best isn't updating and i surprisingly haven't really found anything from looking through JP/KR side either). specifically, i have a few thoughts about tsukasa being a shadow in this card because it's actually way more than that. oh to be a media student

first off the costume name: phantasmagoria. according to wikipedia, this was an old form of horror theatre that involved projecting scary images. (it's quite interesting actually you can read the article here). the effects in phantasmagoria productions would be done using magic lanterns, the ones you slide a disc with a picture into so it projects it onto a wall. usually, they'd use rear projection, where the lantern is placed behind the surface it's being projected on (so the surface would usually be smoke or some sort of semi-transparent screen) to keep up the illusion (rear projection is how old movies did backgrounds for reference).

now here's where the light in the card comes into play. for starters, rear projection clearly isn't being used here because he's on the stage-thingy (that will be relevant later). also instead of the light shining at him as if he were the subject being projected, it's shining down on him. while partially this was definitely done in part for composition cool points (the composition on this card is so fucking good actually it has nothing to do with symbolism but like holy shit), it's very reminiscent of a spotlight. as i said, i haven't had the chance to read the event yet but i'm assuming this will connect with him having to play a minor role (or play the shadow as the gacha says) and still putting himself in the spotlight.

i like that idea actually because if you link the fact he's standing in the spotlight that means he is still casting a shadow. it may appear to the viewer as if he's the centre of attention - he's right in the light, literally hitting all the composition marks to make him the sole focus of the card - but he's still just a shadow in a larger phantasmagoria. and actually, the spotlight sort of goes around him, he's pretty much cast in darkness despite being in the light and i love how that reflects him being part of a smaller role or "shadow". he stands in the spotlight and puts on a great show no matter if he's truly the star.

lastly: the pose. now look at this 4koma where he does a bird pose:

familiar? while in this 4koma he's meant to be imitating an eagle, i can't help but notice some striking similarities in how he's posed.

also the gacha has a feather! specifically a black one. unfortunately since there are no actual birds on the cards, nor are there feathers, I can't tell you exactly what bird he is meant to be..,

although if you wanted to really grasp at straws then his last event was called Towards the Phoenix at the Sky's Edge the play from that event was called Happy Phoenix and both the play and the lead role in it are incredibly significant to Tsukasa personally and he ended up cast as the lead role in that play and even though the lead role isn't the phoenix that bird is still significant to him in some way.

also going all the way back to the original point of his class decreasing with every set i think while yes in this set he has been reduced to nothing more than a prop, or even less so a mere shadow, but at the same time if you chose to go with that incredibly reachy phoenix idea, it's a comeback. the phoenix rises from the ashes, tsukasa can be reduced to nothing and still be the star owning the spotlight, the most powerful one in the room. hell, he's still on a stage despite everything. i think it's super neat actually that despite this being him at the lowest rank, he's actually in the place where he belongs.

i believe i've only briefly mentioned it in passing on this account before, but theatre is his life. above all else Tsukasa is an actor and the stage is where he thrives. i think it's so interesting how with each set he loses authority, but he also gets closer to being on the stage. the king is at (well, near) his castle where he leads (link to WMS), Torpe is at his piano where he performs (link to Dazzling Light), the Jester is at the circus where he performs, and then you get the one that's hardest to define as any set character. it's not a king or a pianist or jester, it's just some performer on a stage. this time there's no character, and it's not just "some performer" because this is tsukasa. it's still another role, but this time the role is, as the event synopsis states, more "real". this is tsukasa where he belongs, he never needed any sort of power or to play the role of another performer in order to shine because he himself is a performer at his core. Torpe is a performer, but Torpe is not Tsukasa. Tsukasa is Tsukasa, and Tsukasa is a performer. Something like that.

sekai.best please update

[doctorsiren]

Ace Attorney Les Miserables!

I had this idea like a month ago, and it was the same day I began my “Javert’s Soliloquy” animatic with Miles Edgeworth (which I still need to finish, but school and other work has been in the way)

Les Mis was the first musical I listened to back around 2015 and I became OBSESSED. I would listen to different CD recordings of it from my public library using a CD player because I didn’t have a phone at all. Les Mis introduced me to loving musical theatre, so it is Very Special to me 💖

Anyways! I have two different scenarios based on which act you look at. The assigned characters for act 1 can’t easily just go into act 2 UNLESS you continue to focus specifically on the dynamic between Valjean and Javert. If you focus on the dynamic between Marius and Cosette, then I’d go with my Act 2 assignments because it just fits better for an act 2-specific focus.

Act 1!

I drew this about a month ago, but I never posted it bc I hadn’t gotten around to the act 2 doodles. Here are the characters:

Phoenix Wright is Jean Valjean

Miles Edgeworth is Javert

Mia Fey is the priest / bishop

Thalassa Gramarye is Fantine

Trucy Wright is Cosette

And I’m thinking about the Confrontation between Valjean and Javert…like dude what it fits where Javert is like “You know nothing of Javert! I was born inside a jail! I was born with scum like you! I am from the gutter too!” But instead of jail and such, it’s Edgeworth talking about how his father was a defense attorney, which he sees (now that he is a prosecutor) as “scum”

If we continue to focus on the dynamic between Valjean and Javert into Act 2, then Javert’s Soliloquy,,,don’t worry guys I’m doing a full animatic (it’s with normal AA, not with this AU, but it’s still using the song)

Act 2!

If focusing solely on Act 2, it’s easier to reassign characters than to continue on with what there was because dynamics. So the new character assignments are:

Phoenix Wright is Marius

Miles Edgeworth is Cosette

Iris Fey is Eponine

Gregory Edgeworth is Jean Valjean

Manfred von Karma is Javert

Pearl Fey is Gavroche

Mia and Maya Fey are the other Barricade Boys

So in this version, I guess Valjean wouldn’t have adopted Cosette?? Unless we wanna make Gregory be the adopted father of Miles and not his actual father. But hey uhh weirdly a von Karma redemption? Very very very rare to see that from me

Also!! I was assigning characters and was like “hm well ofc Iris would be Eponine if Phoenix is Marius bc 😭 she loves him” and then as a separate thought was like “well Pearl would obviously be Gavroche bc little child” AND THEN I WAS HIT WITH THE REALIZATION THAT IT WAS PERFECT?? Because Gavroche and Eponine are siblings!!!! IT WAS UNINTENTIONAL

Anyways I’m just super big brain

Oh yeah and that uh

Means all the Feys die :(

[thanatika]

an interesting lens to analyze pathologic would be through the ways it references commedia dell'arte. part of it is that the conventions of commedia have left a lasting imprint on theatre, puppetry, and performance in general, but i think there are some very specific nods as well.

for an obvious point, farcical character archetypes represented by masks were an essential aspect of the art form. pathologic not only uses that concept in mark immortell's masked plays, it also uses the same two types of masks: a flat mask that covers the face with holes for eyes and mouth (also comparable to ancient greek theatre masks), and a mask featuring an exaggerated, beak-like nose.

i'd say there are also references to the commedia archetypes in the actual characters themselves. for example, i'd be surprised if "vulgar comedies" wasn't an intentional reference:

(i don't have a clear translation of "площадных комедий", the term that clara uses for "vulgar comedies" in russian, but the russian wikipedia page for commedia dell'arte is the first thing to come up when I google it.)

that's not to say i think the game is trying to completely frame dankovsky as il dottore, the laughable caricature of a psuedointellectual. but clara certainly sees him as one! and arguably his characterization is closer to this archetype in her route, as well as in the pathologic 2 haruspex route (mister "i was blessed with a naturally high intelligence", among other hits). these differences are possibly an indication of unreliable narrator.

after all, changeling's route is from the POV of a religiously-fixated teenager who sees the world in terms of stark good and evil, and whose character is bifurcated between pure good and pure evil herself. arguably the NPCs in her route act as elevated, exaggerated versions of themselves due to her perspective. and pathologic 2 leans harder on the "it's all a play" framing device than the original game did, giving the player a role to embody and making NPCs feel more like characters who exist for the purpose of the play (and for artemy as the protagonist) than as fully realized people. hence how in p2!artemy's first and last confrontation with the bachelor, you find him staged dramatically in a room cast in mood lighting as though his sole purpose is to wait there for you to enter. (well, either that or it's just that he's a drama queen.)

at least, that's one interpretation of why he comes off as more of a pompous twit depending on the route. another aspect of commedia dell'arte is that the protagonists often go unmasked, and relatively unexaggerated, compared to the masked villains and comic relief characters. bachelor is the protagonist of his own story, and arguably the deuteragonist of the haruspex route. but in changeling route and p2 his role is more of a bit player among many, cranked up into the role of learned fool.

[hippielovinlife-blog]

Just saw John Wick and let me tell what this movie is and isn't.

John Wick is:

A love letter to Asian action films

A love letter specifically to the wuxia genre (they even call it out in the film)

A nostalgia piece if you grew during Saturday Kung Fu theatre times (about the mid 80's). What would happen is, you'd get up on Saturday, watch cartoons, then watch Kung Fu theatre, which would be badly dubbed wuxia films primarily, then you'd watch the westerns that came on right after that.

A chance for Keanu Reeves to get together with all of his favorite people and idols and spar and do stunts on the streets of beautiful cities.

A truly epic stunt adventure. The stunts in this movie are top notch. Great physical effects and wire work.

A great spaghetti western

An opportunity to see some of your favorite action stars do some of the most aesthetically pleasing and matter of fact sword work and hand to hand fighting ever put on film

A chance to see Donnie Yen having an excellent time with a fabulous character

A chance to meet a character who's sole purpose in the film is to be cool and to help out John from a distance.

Filled with plot armor

What John Wick is not

Short

In any way, realistic

Not for the faint of heart, blood wise

Complicated

The jist of it is this film was a laugh riot. I loved it! But it's right up my alley. I loved the set pieces. I loved the fact that there are no normal people in this film. I love the fact that one of the faceless army gets a chance to shine. I love the fact that new characters are introduced and you ask yourself "what's this guy's deal" and you never find out. I love the fact that the revenge cycle continues. Very wuxia. It was great. There was a lot of mutilation, some quick torture. But no dogs are killed. It's full of plot armor. Don't ask why some people can be hit by a car and be okay and some people can't. Just go with it. The ending has a very Asian cinema aesthetic w/ a little spaghetti western thrown in.

There is an end credit scene.

Have fun and enjoy the battles.

[a-lilypad]

@jegulus-microfic | april 5: slap | 1.3k words

a little theater rivals to lovers au where reg and james are double casted to the same role and james rips the only costume they have the day of regulus' opening night (cw: slight violence)

big big smooch to @ecstarry for the idea ily <3

A loud ripping sound echoed through the auditorium, causing everyone to immediately stop what they were doing, despite being in the middle of a scene. Even in the shadowed wings, Regulus’ expression was very visible and did not bode well for the rest of the cast. 

Or more specifically, for James Potter. 

Regulus’ jaw had dropped slightly, leaving his mouth agape, and a look of complete disbelief in his eyes. Shaking his head slightly, he seemed to come back to himself, shock morphing into an intense red-hot rage. It ran through his veins, replacing his blood, burning through everything in its path and was radiating from him in waves. 

Creating pure destruction and leaving only anger clouding Regulus’ mind, shown by the hardening of his eyes and clenching of his fists. 

He felt his nails dig into the soft flesh of his palm, nearly piercing the skin but instead forming harsh pink dents. Though they’d be nearly impossible to see through the already purpling bruises there.

Maybe Sirius was right and he needed to find better coping mechanisms�� he could unpack that at a different time.  

At that moment he had more important things to deal with, such as James Potter, his theatre rival of three years, ripping the only costume they had the morning of their performance opening. 

“I can not fucking believe you, Potter!”

He started towards the horror-struck boy, stomping across the stage, and swung his arm with as much force as he could garner. The sound of the slap masked horrified gaps from the cast members on stage, but couldn’t hide the way Potter’s head flew to the side. 

Huh. Maybe Regulus was stronger than he thought. 

As Potter stared at him with an emotion he couldn’t quite identify, (because, while he knew Potter wasn’t the sanest of people, there was no way he was crazy enough to be looking at the person who’d just slapped him hard enough to knock him back a few steps with awe) Regulus shook out his hand with a wince. That had fucking hurt. 

“REGULUS!” his Drama teacher, Mr Slughorn, shouted. He had an annoying nasally voice that went right through him, he genuinely hated the man but he usually loved acting enough to let it slide. This was not one of those moments. 

“Wha-why-you” he rambled, hands frantically waving around “Why on Earth would you slap Mr Potter?” 

“He just ripped my fucking costume! We don’t have another, what was I meant to do? I can’t go on stage naked,” Regulus complained. 

He knew it was a bad idea the minute Slughorn had suggested Potter run through a final dress rehearsal. He was B cast! It was A cast’s night which meant it was Regulus’ night. 

Potter was looking at him strangely, his brows were furrowed slightly, almost as if he too was confused. He was staring at him with both reverence and irritation. Then in a split second, the irritation took over and he came out of his stupor. 

“You could have maybe, I don’t know, not fucking hit me?” he snapped, “it’s not like I did it on purpose!” 

Regulus scoffed, “You definitely did!” and stepped even closer to Potter, pointing his finger at him and pushing it into his chest, “You’ve been praying for my downfall since the second you saw me beat you, just admit it, I am better.” 

“ENOUGH!” bellowed Slughorn, Regulus had completely forgotten he was there, in fact, he’d forgotten anyone else was in the room with them. That was weird. “Both of you are to go to the supply closet and find something else for Mr Black to wear tonight, we’ll have something somewhere.” 

Huffing and sending Potter a death glare, Regulus swiftly turned around and stormed off stage, hearing Potter’s footsteps behind him as confirmation he was being followed. 

Great. This was exactly what he needed. Alone time with James Fucking Potter. He hated him. He had since the first time Regulus auditioned for a school musical in year 8. 

He remembered being so scared, he was shaking and praying he wouldn’t vomit up his organs, then Potter flounced in, all big hair and a cocky smile. He barely even spared Regulus a look before announcing to the other people in the room that Regulus would never get the part and he’d be stuck playing a tree in the background. 

He was right of course, Regulus had been so nervous he’d fucked his audition completely and had ended up not even having a single line. 

Potter got the lead. 

He vowed that day to never let Potter beat him to a role again, and so far he hadn’t, managing to get the male lead in every performance since. 

Ranting under his breath, Regulus continued listening to Potter’s footsteps, praying that he’d trip over something and fall flat on his face. Sadly, that did not happen and they both arrived at the storage closet unharmed.

Well, except for Potter’s face, a bright red mark was blossoming across his cheek. In his room, Regulus had a shelf of little trophies and awards he’d earned, but this was the most valuable. He wanted to take a picture of it and display it like a tapestry. He’d wanted to knock the crooked smile of his face for years now.

“What the fuck are you smiling about, this is your fault” Potter snapped, reaching forward to push the door open, having to bang it a bit, it had been given to the drama department after the lock had broken leaving it so that you can only open it from the outside.

“My fault?!” Regulus seethed, anger rearing up again as he followed Potter into the closet, “I’m sorry, did I rip the costume? Because, now forgive me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure that was you!”

“I’ve said already it was an accident, god you’re insane”

“I’m insane? Are you fucking joking? I’ll show you insane” Regulus snapped stepping into Potter’s space.

The door slammed behind them and a loud click told them it had locked. 

Well fuck.

Potter stared at him for a second before bursting into laughter. Curling over, wiping away tears, booming laughter, while Regulus wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball and disappear. 

“What by locking us in a confined space together? Great plan Reggie” he choked out, still cackling.

Regulus ran a hand through his hair, messing up the precise curls. “Don’t call me that!” then turned to start pulling at the door, desperate to set them free, but no matter how hard he pulled at the handle it wouldn’t budge.

“Stop laughing at me” Regulus mumbled, hitting his head against the door and groaning, the situation was embarrassing enough without Potter taking the piss.

The laughing trailed off suddenly and Regulus cocked an eyebrow suspiciously, not expecting to actually be listened to. Potter was gawking at him, eyes sparkling, his jaw dropped slightly. 

Narrowing his eyes, Regulus met his gaze, “What?” he sneered.

Potter slowly moved towards him and tucked a stray piece of hair behind his ear, his face fell from anger to confusion and Regulus was holding his breath. He wasn’t sure why. It felt like all of the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. Their eyes locked and the world around them disappeared.

Then they were kissing, lips meeting bruisingly, and Regulus didn’t know who had moved first. It was desperate and hungry, tongues exploring each other's mouths and breathy gasps being shared between them. Potter’s hands threaded through his hair and pulled, causing his lips to part around a guttural moan.

He grabbed Potter by the shoulders and shoved him slightly, leaving about an inch between their faces, “This means nothing, I still fucking hate you” he mumbled into Potter’s mouth then he grabbed his face and pulled him in again and proceeded to practically eat him alive.

[meraki-yao]

RWRB Movie Thoughts: Choreography and Rehearsals

There’s been a couple of great essays on the one-shots in the movie and the theatricality of those scenes (see here, here and here), and I just want to talk a little about choreography and ferally scream a little about rehearsals.

Taylor mentioned in one of their interviews that a lot of the intimate scenes had a certain musicality to them, and as the boys both have theatre experience, Robbie communicated with them on the subject almost like creating a dance. It’s essentially, choreography. So here’s my interpretation of the choreography part.

I love dancing and took ballet classes for 14 years, and something really important in dancing and choreography is beats. And there are two ways to go about this.

One is literally every beat is a specific motion, it’s a series of sharply changing movements. It’s very apparent for Henry/Nick during the first section of their first hookup in Alex’s room. You can literally count 8 beats as you would for a piece of music, and for every beat, Henry/Nick is doing a specific move:

1: Block the door -> 2: Push open the door -> 3: Right Hand grab Alex/Taylor’s Neck -> 4: Kiss -> 5: Left Hand Grab Alex/Taylor’s Arm -> 6: Left Hand moves to Alex/Taylor’s Neck-> 7: Blank/No New Hand Movements -> 8: Left Hand in his Hair

You can literally count the beats, and hell, in this scene in Henry/Nick’s case, the beats are fairly even. You can almost follow the motions with a metronome.

The other kind is hitting marks: as in there are “key poses” to strike at certain times, but how to get from one pose to the other is more up to the actor. (There’s a great video explaining this idea in fight choreography/sword fighting: check it out here) I think that’s what the red room kiss counts as the boys have certain marks to hit: both of them hitting the wall, Alex/Taylor grabbing Henry/Nick’s thigh, then pushing him onto the table, then grabbing his waist while Henry/Nick grabs his hair etc. They have specific places for their hands and legs and well, themselves to be, but everything in between is pretty continuous motions that I don’t think can be precisely designed. You can still sort of count a beat, but it’s much less clear than the example of Henry in Alex’s bedroom.

 

So here’s my question.

How many of the scenes in the movie are choreographed, and what scene was which kind of choreography?

There are the two literal dance scenes, and then most of the intimate scenes go without saying, because it’s not just a matter of the choreography, but also requires discussions on intimacy and boundaries. Among the photos Matthew posted about rehearsals, I’m assuming all photos with the boys on a couch are the intimate scenes. (Matthew said the first hook-up was shot exactly as rehearsed)

But another photo Matthew posted was the hospital storage room scene, the absolutely adorable photo with Nick and Taylor squeezed together in the middle of a bunch of chairs.

Which means the mess of Henry and Alex falling into the storage room then flailing their limbs trying to figure out how sit properly without crushing each other was choreographed. And honestly…how? Because that scene looked like such a mess and so damn chaotic, I really can’t imagine any part of it being designed besides the general idea of “fall over, push each other a bunch, end up with Henry/Nick on the right and Alex/Taylor on the left.”

Also the Paris scene. Of course that has to be choreographed, but I just… can’t imagine how? Like the red room scene, Alex’s room, the polo tack room, if I don’t immerse myself in the movie I can sort of see the performance, the directing aspect of the scene, but the Paris scene, I completely can’t. It’s so well done, it looks so damn real. Of course, I know it’s not, but I can’t see it. That’s how well done the scene is. How in the fucking world did they do that? On top of that apparently, people who went to the March screening said there were three positions (which, please fucking release everything PLEASE), so again, how the fuck did they do that?

What other scenes were choreographed? They had two weeks of rehearsal (although Taylor said he got Covid on the second week so I don’t know how they went about that), how much did they do?

God I know Matthew’s slowly releasing behind-the-scenes footage and I’m guessing a, he has a lot, like a lot b, he’s understandably taking his time, but I wonder if he’ll ever let rehearsal videos see the light of day. Besides my own curiosity about how their rehearsal worked, there's also that one adorable picture of what looks like Taylor said something that made Nick laugh which is just so cute, it would be nice to see what the boys themselves were like during rehearsals and what their banter was like

Anyways all this to say MORE BTS FOOTAGE PLEASE 

[boop-le-snoot]

🔹masterlist🔹

dazed & confused

wanted a woman, never bargained for you // lotsa people talking, few of them know // soul of a woman was created below (i like it)

sorry this took so long, i got horny multiple times while writing this & had to seek jesus (couldn't find him)

most smut fics are love letters, this? this is hate mail. to stephen strange, specifically. consider this my honest attempt at enemies to lovers. pushing my three favourite agendas: doctor stephen strange, pasta and led zeppelin.

spotify link to the recommended record to play.

warnings: enemies to lovers, trust issues, overthinking/insecure!reader, 18+: face-sitting/riding, dirty talk, stephen's whore mouth, pet names, hitting it from the back sorcerer style, some light bondage, creampie, just filth, okay? softdom!stephen that knows you can be a good girl if you put a little effort into it. brat taming, maybe? word count 8.5k

"Open up. Open wide," Stephen's stern voice instructed, rolling over you in a wave of exasperation.

You hummed to convey your indignation but relented, parting your lips until the bones of your jaw creaked and the muscles in your cheeks grew taut. Saliva gathered at the back of your throat, tickling it, as you concentrated on not swallowing. Some of it spilled into the corners of your mouth; any other time, you would be mortified as droplets of it slid down your cheek, with Dr. Strange so close to your face that subtle whiffs of his cologne were beginning to reach your nose.

It twitched. So did Stephen's lips.

You could sense the snarky remark bubbling up to the surface of his throat before he even made a sound.

"Be. Still."

I AM TRYING! You attempted to convey, humming angrily and rolling your eyes.

Stephen kept eyeing the runes burnt into the sides of your cheeks and the roof of your mouth all the while his hands kept up a rapid pace, their glow casting a theatre of shadows on his angular face. His cheekbones popped. The treacherous, red curve of his mouth was tense, chapped lips pursed, silver hairs gleaming in his beard that adorns his Cupid's bow.

As your eyes adapted focus, you noticed the large amount of discoloration. It was like Stephen glittered in the golden shine of his spellwork; as it exploded into trillions of little sparks, they set his entire face alight. Like the sun itself had split into opaque gemstones to adorn him.

You forced your eyes to focus on a crack in the ceiling, letting your breath slowly, shakily exit through your nose.

Stephen Strange was a beautiful bastard.

You've told him so - patronisingly, of course, as part of the frequent verbal stand-offs you two had. It was a tale as old as the world: he'd play the superior card, you'd quietly roll your eyes and continue to do your thing - Stephen would annoy you until you were forced to acknowledge him; you, being no blushing maiden, spared him not from the sharpness of your tongue and your wit.

Still, you were glad he wasn't reckless enough for his ego to get in the way of saving people's lives. Most of the time, at least. If you were forced to pair up, there was a reasonable truce until the immediate threat was removed from this universe. The banter during clean-up, you could deal with. It was fun sometimes, even, Stephen's short fuse making him an easy target to unload some pent up frustration onto.

Worstie, a word of the slang variety, snuck into your head as you contemplated the sickly-beige paint on the ceiling. A quick amused chuff escaped you, causing Stephen's focused face to turn down.

"Are you seriously laughing right now? Most of your mucosa is covered in second degree burns."

It was the accusative amusement that had you reeling, internally of course. You briefly set your eyes back on his, making sure he knew your spirits remained as high as ever.

Strange offered a noise of his own. The corners of his mouth upturned again.

"You know, I find you more agreeable this way. Finally, some peace and quiet around here," he remarked conversationally, placing a large, cool, glowing palm over you throat that immediately soothed any lingering discomfort from the enemy's spell. "You could even pass as cute when you're not talking." Evidently, he was enjoying your temporary shift in dynamics.

Temporary, it's only temporary, you told yourself, keeping your breathing even as Stephen obviously tried to make his best of the situation and get a rise out of you. The realization of him being able to win, proverbially speaking, only when you were incapacitated, filled you with no small joy.

"... but that's the good news," he picked up. "The bad news is that I can fix this, but it is going to hurt. A lot."

"Zo it," you rasped, feeling your mucous membranes crack and bleed simply from uttering two garbled syllables.

The sorcerer's pointed look lingered on your face, uncomfortably close and soundlessly loud. His fingers twitched along your jawline.

"Alright," he nodded, to himself, and withdrew to perform a set of complicated hand gestures over your prone form.

It burned, worse than the wretched curse itself. The skin was peeling off you, quite literally this time, taking the runic markings with it, cleansing your vessel with fresh blood. The urge to gag was overwhelming as iron and copper flooded your mouth, dribbling crimson down the corners of your mouth. Your hands clutched at the sides of the chair until your knuckles lost all color; round, fat teardrops slid down your cheeks as your chest heaved.

Stephen observed you with a clinical eye, blinking rapidly as the spell lit up for the final time before dissolving in on itself and taking most of the pain with it. You could breathe again, even if the cool air in the room felt like ice directly over the burns. Sharp and stinging.

"Fanks," you rasped, testing out your vocal capabilities and pain levels, both of which you found bearable.

"Alas, peace never lasts long," the corners of Stephen's mouth returned to their usual, condescending position.

His hands found their frivolous way back to your face, holding it in place as sharp eyes examined the tender inside of your mouth. A long, slender finger reached out for the corner of your eye, wiping a stray tear away from your fluttering lashes, followed by his thumb diligently flicking off the blood at the crest of your lips.

If you wouldn't know any better, you'd think the touch was caring. Tender, even, as the sorcerer's oh so earnest stormy blues traced the fine lines of your face. But you did - know better. It was humiliating, being treated for your boo-boos like a moody child.

You closed your mouth, hands immediately flying to massage the sore, tense muscles of your jaw.

Stephen withdrew his fingers rapidly, clasping them over his stomach.

"Wong took care of the stragglers?" You murmured, carefully enunciating your words. Chit-chatting was going to be out of the question for the next couple of days.

"As always," Stephen's reply was curt, his eyes cast on the wall.

"I guess I'll go sleep it off then," you conceded, spying the clock, its arms showing a little past midnight. Why couldn't the bad guys pick a better time of the day to execute their nefarious, stupid plans?

"That would be best," the sorcerer shuffled in place before clearing his throat. "Doctor's orders."

The tongue-in-cheek remark had you obstinately emit a scratchy laugh. Insufferable, as always, no stress or tragedy could put this man out of his saucy commentary.

You voiced your thoughts on the topic. "Cheeky bastard!"

With a shake of your head, you conjured up a portal directly to your bedroom, stepping into it and lifting up an arm to say goodbye as it closed up behind you, totally missing the long, tired sigh coming from the tall man.

Your apartment greeted you cold; a beeline for the shower and clothes thrown carelessly onto the ground, the smell of French vanilla and sandalwood from your favourite candles - their flames danced, casting moving shadows over the walls. As you paused to remove the last layers of sweat-soaked fabric, the angular obscurities caught your eye, freezing you in your tracks.

Some sorcerers found shadows jarring - it was the reason for the Sanctum's skyrocketing electricity bills - the moving, dancing spots reminded the dimension wanderers of places better left unseen. And you jumped, too, at first, but then a brief memory crossed your mind.

Stephen's sharp features. The way that light, any light, drew immediate attention to his sculpted bone structure and straight, regal nose. When he had leaned over you, as close to share a breath, you traced the smile lines on his skin, the odd scar over his lip. He was sharp, as in mind, so in body. Even the hair he so meticulously styled (must've taken all morning) was divaricate in it's curve.

Under the hot, soothing spray of water, in the privacy of your shower, you allowed yourself to entertain thoughts that usually were kept at bay. Images of Stephen shirtless, dripping with the blood of your shared enemies; chest heaving and strong, defined muscles of his back tense. The way clear sweat rolled down the groves along his spine just to disappear beneath the waistband of his pants that slouched low on his hips.

"Fuck," you muttered, sticking your flaming face right beneath the spray. The droplets bounced off it as you held your breath.

An arduous pull, deep and low in your belly, the kind that rode on the tailwind of an adrenaline rush, had quickly blossomed into a heaviness that sat like a two-tonne blunder, immovable and annoying. Only pure spite and the rumbling of your stomach gave you the willpower to push the knob, turn the water off and throw on some sweatpants to depart for your kitchen.

Briefly flicking through a take-out app, you abandoned the idea of ordering food at this ungodly hour, deciding to throw together some ingredients for a quick and delicious pasta.

Thoughts of Stephen still lingered on your mind, stubborn as the man himself. You didn't want to give into the feelings, completely unwilling to admit the man had somehow found a way under your skin. He still had regular coffee dates with his ex, for fuck's sake! You deserved better than someone's leftovers.

As you felt yourself begin to think in circles, your hands groped for your phone again, connecting it to the Bluetooth speaker and turning it up to highest acceptable volume in the dead of the night. Sultry guitar, intermingled with god-tier vocals, was exactly what you needed to silence your inner turmoil.

Hand busy with cutting and chopping, your legs swayed your tired body to the rhythm as it partook in the mindless task.

One song blended into another as your peace was suddenly disturbed by the sound of your doorbell ringing. Startled, you waited for the shrill noise to repeat itself; it did, more insistent the second time.

Ashamed, you turned down the music somewhat, hastily rushing to the door with a polite smile glued to your face and apologies ready to go. As quietly as you could, you cracked the door open.

"Hi," Stephen was leaning on the wall next to your door, forearm raised. "Took you a while."

"Don't tell me there's another emergency," the smile slid off your face to be replaced by surprise at the choice of his attire.

The ever-present Cloak of Levitation was draped over a baby blue hoodie with a Columbia logo on it. Stephen's sweatpants looked soft and worn and the brand name tennis shoes screamed "upper class middle-aged man". You've seen him in jeans in cardigans, sure, but like this? He looked like he'd just rolled out of bed.

"Sort of," he looked over your shoulder, eyes darting over the items in your apartment. "Wong forgot to renew protective wards. The Sanctum is snowed in. I've got some apprentices rounding up the penguins as we speak," at least he had the decency to look sheepish.

"Penguins?" You wondered, lips twitching at the funny way he was saying that word. "And what does that have to do with me? I'm on sick leave," your eyebrow rose.

"I thought I could bum on your couch?"

No please, no thank you. Both of your eyebrows now rose, appalled at his audacity. You contemplated telling him to book a hotel room, but hesitated, remembering the quick and efficient way he dealt with your wounds a few hours ago. With a sigh, you opened your door, leading him into your apartment.

"Leave your shoes in the corridor and lock the door," you walked back into the kitchen, eyeing the unfinished pasta. A quick survey of the items, you deduced it would be enough for both of you with some to spare. After all, you weren't raised in a barn.

Unlike some people.

Stephen ogled the various knick-knacks scattered around your kitchen and living room without reservation, coming up as far as to pick up and study every photo you had on display. To mask your annoyance, you turned the music back up, pointedly ignoring the creeping feeling of impending doom.

"Is that you as a baby?" Stephen could not hold back his curiosity anymore. He held up a framed photo of a grinning, chubby toddler.

"That's my cousin," your voice dripped with irritation. "Hasn't anyone taught you not to snoop?"

"It was on display," he retorted without missing a beat, but nonetheless put the frame down and approached you, eyeing the chopped onions with suspicion. "Should I worry about getting poisoned?"

"Yes," the deadpan response made him bark a laugh. "But I have one bathroom, so I'll save it for the morning."

"Who said I won't spend the day?" Stephen crossed his arms, staring you down from where he leaned against the counter. "Squatter's rights."

"My neighbours love death metal," the garlic plopped next to the onions and went into the pan, rich aroma immediately filling up the kitchen space. "Especially at eight in the morning. Teenagers, right?"

You could hear the smile creep into Stephen's voice even though his face didn't change one bit. A cherry tomato was quickly snatched from under your knife and plopped into his mouth without as much as a warning.

"Nothing wrong with death metal," his baritone dropped. "I prefer classic rock, but to each their own."

As you prepared to fire off a few choice words about his delinquent thieving tendencies, Stephen pointed at the Bluetooth speaker:

"Led Zeppelin, Dazed & Confused, playing live in Los Angeles in 1972. With bits and pieces of Walter’s Walk and The Crunge," he rattled off, looking, for once, exceedingly proud of himself.

"Huh," the knife froze in your hand as you processed the influx of information. Not knowing what to add, you settled for a flat, "good song. Now stop eating the ingredients."

Stephen laughed once more, no trace of the usual snark and condescension audible in his voice.

"Robert Plant was only 23 when this was recorded."

The water had come to a boil; you dumped the pasta in, stirring the sauce with your other hand. It smelled heavenly; you prayed the music was loud enough and Stephen couldn't hear the chorus of growls coming from your stomach.

"Nerd," you accused him, for a lack of better things to say.

His presence behind you was felt, not seen. With his larger frame inches away, you could smell his aftershave and the leftover crisp of snow he must've brought from the Sanctum. It made your shoulders tense: for the second time today, Stephen was so close, your body involuntary flooded with molten led, warmth spreading from all the small places where you two almost touched.

You felt your knuckles begin to creak with how tightly you had been holding onto the spatula; it took a criminal amount of care to place it on the side of the pan without causing a flurry of noise.

An arm wrapped itself around your waist, letting your back connect with Stephen's chest. The shock froze your limbs and you let yourself be swayed along to the music, electricity sparking up your spine, a slow current running through your heart, your stomach and your hips.

"Everybody's been talking and I swear they been talkin' trash..." Voice low and quiet, the singing coming from the man was more of a hum.

It was still enough for you to strain your hearing, for the rich baritone to add more fuel to the fire of sudden craving.

"The way you push me, I can't take too much of that," another hand, large and warm, took hold of your own that hung limply by your side, bringing it up.

C'mon, c'mon, show me the way! I want to make love to you, little girl, twenty-five hours a day!

You felt true to the song title: dazed by the sudden display of affection and confused by Stephen's unbothered, easygoing attitude. He shelved his vitriol the moment his working hours were over, it seemed. It put you on edge.

Somehow, you thought, that if you'd respond with your usual snark, he'd double down on this strange amicability. And you weren't sure you'd be able to take that. Had he finally realized that the best way to get under your skin would be to play nice? To be friendly right up until you let your guard down and strike right then and there?

"Do I really repulse you that much?" His words startled you out of your negative spiral.

You shook your head, annoyed at yourself and at him.

"You infuriate me," honesty was better than an obvious lie in this case, you decided. Rationed honesty. You weren't about to tell him of the thoughts you entertained in your solitude.

Stephen let go of your waist but kept your hand in his. Without any effort, he spun you, once, slowly, for you to see a wicked smile plastered on his face.

"The feeling's mutual."

You stayed in position, looking up at his face for the longest moment. His neutral-positive expression had you walking a high wire over the abyss of his stormy blue eyes: if you allowed yourself to be distracted, you'd lose all sense of balance and fall, fall, fall...

The sauce was begging for attention at this point and you turned to tend to it, using the few moments of your face being hidden to realign yourself from the bastard's attempts to throw you off-kilter. Who knew it would be sudden tenderness to be the one to put sticks in your wheels? You had done a great job of keeping unnecessary crushes in check before he came along.

The silence became pregnant and you hated it.

"If I had the chance to time-travel, you best believe I wouldn't go kill baby Hitler and shit. I'd go and see these guys live, it would be by far more emotionally satisfying," you offered the first thing that popped into your mind, eager to aid the awkward moment.

"Isn't that right?" He sounded a little too jovial to be surprised. "A wise choice, considering you've studied the effects of time. Intervention in the flow of it would be unwise. You'd look great in flared pants."

"Nerd," you repeated yourself, this time without any heat, choosing to disregard the odd compliment. "Some things are just about enjoyment, for the kick of it. Without any second thoughts. Do you not have hobbies you enjoy?"

"Protecting your reality is a full-time job that demands an unfair amount of overtime," the sorcerer deadpanned, coming up and taking the pot of pasta to drain it without being asked.

"No wonder you enjoy making my life difficult if that's the only thing you do," your mumbling got lost in the sounds of pouring water. Or so you thought.

"And you don't?" As he set the pasta next to the saucpan, his expectant eyes turned to your face, scanning it with rapt attention.

A sigh, one of many when it came to him, left your mouth. You dumped the pasta directly into the sauce, giving it a good stir, before taking the pan off the heat and putting a lid on the food. Mimicking his defensive stance, you leaned against the opposite counter, crossing your arms.

"I'm not the one to yield."

Stephen advanced, trapping your body between it and himself by resting his palms on the counter and lowering himself to your eye-level, an annoying little smirk curving his mouth and drawing your eyes to his lips.

"As a matter of fact, there is something I enjoy," the sorcerer spoke, his breath fanned over your face, landing directly onto your lips.

Your tongue darted out in response, wetting them, as your mouth had suddenly gone dry and heartbeat rose upward in your chest, sitting uncomfortably close to your esophagus.

Seemingly unbothered, Stephen continued, "and that is you. The way you scrunch your nose when you're mad..." His eyes briefly slid down to it, "adorable."

You could only blink, mouth parted and chin lowered. The more you stayed quiet, the wider his smirk grew.

"Your idea of flirting is pelting someone with insults?" Not being one to back down so quickly, you voiced your bafflement.

"And yours isn't?"

No, you wanted to say, but that would have been a lie. Your standoffs, for that they were annoying, definitely had done the job and brought you two together. Closer than ever, in fact. Stephen was barely three inches away from you, lips inviting and face earnest. In his own way.

To back down right now would be to lose.

Eyes squeezed shut, you tasted the offered fruit of Stephen's lips by slotting your mouth over his, surpassing any attempt at finesse. Months of pent-up frustration and a sense of determination stronger than your fear of rejection pushed you to break your number one personal rule of not getting attached to things that could be bad to you.

And Stephen was bad. In the split second it took for your lips to connect, one of his hands flew up to cradle the side of your face, holding you in place as his mouth sinfully devoured yours. It seemed like he had gotten used to holding back, too, evidenced by the sheer hunger that twisted his tongue around yours in a dance of lust and longing.

Blood rushed to your head as the realization set in. Stephen had been pining, maybe even helplessly clutched at the tiles in the privacy of his shower, chasing the hunger pangs for your body with fleeting moments spent together, straining to see things he thought weren't there.

Those sinful images of his bare back flooded your head: skin like caramel, clear droplets sliding down the hills and valleys of strong muscle littered with freckles and moles; like melted sugar or molasses, you craved to collect every sweet drop with your mouth. A low moan rose from your throat, immediately absorbed into the kiss.

Stephen withdrew, panting and flushed, lips glistening with spit.

"Your mouth, does it hurt?"

Aside from the pounding in your temples and the inferno raging in your abdomen, you could feel absolutely nothing. He'd consumed you completely. Not trusting your mouth, you shook your head negative, blinking as it swam and black dots appeared in the field of your vision.

"Good," a curt nod and his hands were back on your hips, figure looming over you and piercing blue eyes staring you down with an expression of exasperated longing.

Before you got cold feet, you decided it best to take matters into your own hands. His stomach tensed under your palms as you placed them, pushing on his body until he took a step back. And then another, this time seasoned with a small noise of confusion.

"Bedroom's that way," you waved your head in the direction of the door, biting your lip at the eager way he immediately turned and, for the lack of a better word, towed you towards it.

Candlelight still danced in the twilight of your bedroom, the space warm and smelling divine. You reached for his hoodie, pulling it upward before the back of his knees hit the bed; blue fabric dropped at your feet the second Stephen landed on your mattress, hands flying up to your waist to steady himself. The simple white tee did nothing to hide his toned physique.

Your hands brushed the immaculately groomed beard, traversing his strong jawline before setting down at the juncture of his neck. You leaned in to place a chaste kiss on his lips, mesmerized by his face in the candlelight. Stephen was just like the sun, for staring at him for too long was dangerous.

"You beautiful bastard," you whispered against his lips, met with a resonating chuckle. Your fingers tangled in the hair on the nape of his neck.

"That's a new one," in retaliation, he bit down on your bottom lip, soothing the sting immediately afterwards by sucking the skin into his mouth and pulling you head-on into another passionate kiss.

Stephen abandoned the curve of your waist in favour of sliding his hands up, mapping the broad of your back and tracing his fingertips down the knobs of your spine. The t-shirt you wore did very little to shield your skin from the electric sparks that his touch brought to your skin. Rows and rows of goosebumps followed in it's wake.

You swore your brain short-circuited when he reached under your shirt. No amount of fantasy could have prepared you for the response of you body when Stephen traced the outline of your breasts, clever fingers immediately finding your nipples pebbled and standing at attention, begging for it as you were driven to push up and into his touch.

Lips migrated from your mouth to your neck.

"Someone's eager," the hot whisper tickled the shell of your ear before Stephen's teeth scratched the tender skin of your neck.

Defiantly, you pressed your knees further into his lap, coming to something unmistakably hard between his legs. The breath he was holding got stuck somewhere between his nose and his throat, erection twitching in his sweats.

"Yeah," your voice was scratchy, snark bleeding into a noise of approval as he squeezed one of your breasts, pinching the other's nipple just shy of painful.

Unclutching your hands from his shoulders was difficult, when you felt like you had to fight to remain in this plane of existence least your arousal shut down all your senses except for the ones needed to experience the torture of his touch. You could spend an eternity like this, in his arms, like a musical instrument in the hands of a prodigy, being expertly, effortlessly brought to a steady crescendo.

"Greedy, greedy girl," Stephen rasped as your hands slid down his chest, fingers and nails mercilessly raking down it and messing up his shirt. He used momentum to rid you of your own top, surfacing bleary-eyed and with toussled hair. "Gonna fuck all that attitude out of you. Isn't that what you need, huh?"

With an impish grin, he wrapped his lips around one of your nipples, applying blissful suction.

Your hands roamed his chest, squeezed the tightly knit muscles of his shoulders almost vengefully. You caught his moan in your mouth, not wanting to give him the satisfaction just yet.

"I can name five better things for your mouth to do rather than talk smack." The impatience, the need you felt demanded a way out. You winced at how needy it made you sound.

Stephen scratched you nipple with his teeth, hiding a momentary grin between your breasts to surface flushed and smirking. His hands found your hips, pushing down your pants with ease, lifting your leg one after the other.

The moment his knuckles touched the soft, sensitive skin of your inner thigh, you shuffled in place - he was so close, almost at the apex, where moisture had left a wet spot on your underwear.

It didn't go unnoticed by him.

"Aww, you're already spreading your legs? Darling, I just touched the inside of your thigh and you're already presenting for me, huh?" Stephen mocked your wide-eyed wonder. His fingertips traced the outer seam of your panties, causing fine hairs to stand up all over your body. Finding you mum and defiant, holding your breath, he reached out a thumb to swipe right at the rapidly growing wet spot. "Showing off for me?"

Your full-bodied shuddering didn't escape the rapt attention of the doctor, either: his hawk's eyes watched you, documenting the conflicting microexpressions, your consideration to just giving in and your inherently stubborn nature.

"Stephen," you warned, threatening not sure what.

The man rubbed a few circles over your clit, delighting in your soft trembling, before placing a chaste kiss on your tummy. The energy between the two of you was electric; like the stand-still air before a storm.

You stumbled when he suddenly grabbed hold of your ass, pressing you into him ass he used his mouth, lips and teeth to mark the expanse of your stomach.

"You were saying, darling?"

You grabbed his hair, pulling it in retaliation. It was not fair how quickly he turned you into a mindless puddle of lust.

"You're an ass."

Stephen chuckled, using his larger form to pull you into him even further, forcing you to crawl onto your bed, only coming to a rest when his head hit the middle of your mattress and you were kneeling between his spread legs.

The outline of his cock in the dark grey sweats immediately drew your attention; it looked thick and long. You audibly swallowed the saliva that gathered in your mouth at the sight.

"None of that," he caught on sternly, pushing you higher up his body, until you were straddling his midsection. And higher, placing your core almost over his face. Your noise of confusion was met with a smug smirk. "You want to shut me up. Do your worst, baby."

There was little more to do that blink; in a second Stephen pressed his nose directly into the soaked gusset of your panties, taking an obscenely loud and indecently long breath. The sculpted appendage brushed your clit, sending little sparks deep into your pussy.

Your eyes fluttered shut, hips involuntarily sinking down, seeking more friction as you became hyperaware of the throbbing in your cunt.

"Nu-uh, keep your eyes open. Look at me, baby," his voice hoarse and slightly muffled, Stephen gripped the meat of your ass to grind you against his face, using his teeth to move your panties to the side. "Make a mess."

Fuck me up, was what you really heard. As soon as your bare skin came in contact with the roughness of his chapped lips and his beard, what thoughts remained quickly took the exit. Experimentally, you ground down, wincing, hearing the slick noises coming from your body.

"Fuck," you groaned through gritted teeth, gripping the man's shoulders for support. Having gotten a sample taste of him, you couldn't stop.

Stephen stuck out his tongue, eagerly lapping up what slick you produced, not caring about it dripping down his chin and glistening his cheeks. The increase in speed and desperation coming from you only egged him on.

"That's a good girl," the sorcerer honest-to-god moaned in between strokes. "You love it like this, don't you?"

"Yes," you rasped, chasing your fill of pleasure. His nose was positioned just right, catching onto your clit with every upstroke and brushing over your labia as you desperately fucked your sloppy hole onto his tongue. "So good."

The grin made an appearance once more; he held your eye, watching with rapt attention as your own vision drifted in and out of focus, swayed on the waves of pleasure.

You were sure his fingers on your ass were going to leave marks for days.

He was holding onto you as fiercely as you rode his face, blue eyes shamelessly documenting every bit of desire on your open face.

The tip of his tongue flicked around your cunt, dipping into the hole to collect the moisture and immediately diving back, over and over. You'd never been devoured so completely and it turned your legs to jelly. Your thighs shook, breasts heaved in rhythm with your hips.

Stephen winked, dragging your pretty much useless form over his face, sucking your clit into his mouth.

You eyes flew shut. The direct assault on your pulsating, sensitive clit was too much; you couldn't take it, torn between pulling away and putting more weight to allow yourself to finally get what you had been craving ever since stepping foot in the shower.

"Stephen, I want to come," you demanded, movements growing sloppier with each passing second.

"What's stopping you?" His innocent inquiry was overshadowed by more and more wet, slippery noises and satisfied groaning.

"It's-" a whine escaped you, thought process interrupted die to his wet beard dragging along your engorged labia majora, "I need more!"

As your bottom lip disappeared behind your front teeth, you could only blink in a lust-induced stupor as golden ropes entwined parts of your body. Suddenly, you found yourself staring up at Stephen, the familiar, soft fabric of your comforter under your back.

Lips shaking and face completely drenched, the sorcerer tore the magic binds, grinning dangerously at your prone form.

You swallowed, legs twitching around his waist. The rapid change in position gave you slight vertigo as blood rushed from your cunt back to your head.

"My, my, what do we have here?"

Stephen used a single finger to move stray hairs, that had been stuck to your clammy cheek, out of your face. The sorcerer's grin only grew as his eyes darted to your flexing throat.

"Aww, baby, I know you need to be filled up to come," he cooed, watching your lips part to take in a shuddering breath, "that little hole is practically begging for me to put something in it. Will you be good for me?" Eyes round and voice soft, Stephen had your full attention. "I know you want to be good for me."

You could do little more than blink, having been pushed further and further into mindless lust by the doctor's honeyed, filthy words. His eloquent speech patterns, wrapped in that deep, velvet baritone, had permanently elevated your standards for dirty talk in just two sentences. You dripped from his voice alone.

The thick, hard flesh of his cock slapped against your tummy, immediately forming a wet, sticky spot under the round, leaking tip.

You arched into him. "I'll be good," you mumbled, swallowing the last remnants of your pride.

"What's that?" He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, kicking off his pants completely, covering you with himself, trying to touch as much of you as physically possible. "Didn't hear you, baby."

"I'll be good for you," you looked up at him through your lashes.

The change in him was instantaneous. The angles of his face grew sharper than ever, lips pursed into a firm smirk. The glint in his eye was positively demonic as he leaned down to pepper your face with more light, airy kisses.

"If I had known before, that all it takes for you to be sweet is putting my mouth on your cute little pussy," he began to grind his hips slowly, angling his cock to hit the spot between your pubic bone and your thigh. "I woulda pulled up one of those patterned skirts you wear right in the Sanctum's kitchen and bent you over the the counter until your word vomit ceased completely."

Despite the cruel-sounding words and the attitude, you sensed no malice coming from the man above you. Your arms had wound around his neck, your hips clumsily attempted to match the pace of his rutting.

Stephen nuzzled into your neck, inhaling the scent of your sweat and smearing your own arousal all over. "You taste divine."

His confession had you take in a shuddering breath, mewling, as his cock slid right over your pussy, giving a touch of barely-there pressure over your engorged clit. Your hips had a mind of their own, chasing after him, fevered and yearning, core hungry and hollow.

"Stephen," your voice cracked with the force of need pulling you taut like a string.

He wasn't done talking yet, but the pace and force of his hips increased, now applying more and more friction to the outer parts of your cunt.

"I know, baby," he soothed, taking hold of your hand and placing his palms over them, leaning on his forearms next to your head. "I'll make it all better, all you have to do is ask. Beg, pretty girl, beg me and I'll give it to you."

Figures. It would be exactly like Stephen, to demand the impossible. You exhaled a slow breath through your nose, mustering up a miligram of dignity to stare the smug doctor down. You sure as hell didn't beg!

It was obvious he had expected some kind of pushback. His grin turned sadistic as his cock slid lower, brushing over your sopping entrance: he froze in place, keeping you at the tip of his cock, heat pouring off him in waves, chest rising and falling rhythmically.

In a split second decision, you attempted to wiggle your hips to get as much of him, as quickly possible.

"Nu-uh," he pulled away from the immediate wiggle zone. "You promised you'll be good," he reminded you, rubbing his damp facial hair, tickling you in the process. "Only good girls get to come on my cock. And you can be so, so good darlin'..." He trailed off, carefully pushing himself back into your space.

You evaluated your options, quickly and painfully coming to a realisation there was no other choice but to swallow the lump of pride and put some work into your own release.

"Please," you mumbled, cheeks ablaze. The words rolled off stiff and clumsy off your tongue, quiet in their novelty. "Please, fuck me."

"We're getting somewhere," his powerful thighs opened you up to him, cool air spreading over your heated sex, "you're being so good for me," another kiss landed over your parted lips, more breathless than the last, "now one more time, show me you mean it."

"Please, fuck me, Stephen," the force of your desire seeped into your words, finally breaking through the dam of embarrassment and trepidation. You mewled again, a high, soft noise, as the fat head of his cock sunk in an inch into your wet cunt.

"Fuck, baby," he grunted through gritted teeth as his eyes squeezed shut. "You have no idea what you do to me."

Slowly, Stephen slid another generous two or three inches in; about halfway through.

The muscles of your sex spasmed, accepting the intrusion and eagerly flexing around his cock, attempting to suck him in for all his worth. You felt every ridge and vein on his girthy, heavy cock, his face blurry in front of your eyes.

"Oh God," you uttered, sensing the gargantuan amount of restraint it took him to not just slide in: Stephen's arms trembled, tummy taut and tense.

As your body accepted the intrusion, he wasted no time in slamming his hips into yours, bottoming out with a single, powerful thrust. Stephen pulled back almost completely and forced his way inside again, allowing himself to enjoy the hot, snug grip of your cunt.

"My sweet girl," his voice little more than an unintelligible growl, his head dropped in a search for your lips. "I got you baby, I got you," sensing you teetering on the brink of overstimulation, he captured your mouth and shoved his tongue down your throat, uncaring about the guttural noises clawing their way out of it.

Stephen fucked you with languid, powerful thrusts that shook your bedframe and slid your body upwards as his cock nosed at the deepest parts of your cunt, a wet, sloppy noise echoing in the room every time he pulled away from you. Your lust flowed freely, soaking your thighs and his, causing your bodies to stick together.

He shifted his hips one way and another, groaning into the kiss with every noise you made, humming as they grew in volume.

And then your world briefly stilled. Your tummy clenched and pussy gushed as Stephen's cock touched a spot that had been often left neglected by your past partners; the scratch of Stephen's trimmed pubic hair brushing against your clit amplified the sensation tenfold, your pussy flexing around his cock.

"There we go," Stephen chuckled breathlessly, and shoved his cock right up against that spot again.

And again, and again, and again...

All you could do was keep your mouth open for the most needed oxygen to get to your lungs; quite literally, the man had stolen your breath away. Noises of intermediate volume left you on the exhales, but you paid them no mind, the sensation having had demanded your full attention. Eyes wide open, they stayed firmly on Stephen's flushed, kind face.

"You look so beautiful when you're about to come," the corner of his mouth lifted into a sheepish grin as he kept up the same even, brutal pace with his hips.

Shit, you realised. You really were about to come.

"S-Step-phen," you voiced your surprise with slurred syllables. "Doc, whas'.."

"Shh, baby," his smile grew. "Don't force it. Just let it happen. You'll feel so good, I promise," he punctuated the softness of his words with a kiss to the slack corner of your mouth.

You obeyed. Despite the aching, pulling desire, you choose to obey his words, letting go of the tension in your abs and hips. The relaxed state of your body allowed Stephen to settle in even deeper between your legs as they fell open, ravishing you; the good doctor had just the perfect cure for the tension you carried around all day, every day.

"That's my girl, you're doing so well for me, so precious, so sweet," the sweet nothings whispered into your ear was like taking small sips of nectar on a hot summer's day.

"Fuck-" you whisper-shouted, body immediately responding to the hold Stephen's words had on your mind.

It seized as your orgasm began: waves that rocked your entire being, starting as small contractions in the bottom of your cunt and spreading throughout your stomach, wave after wave of bliss, until it reached your toes and made them curl in utterly sweet agony. The tide was strong and high, sweeping you under the water and carrying you through the afterglow all with the help of Stephen's gentle, passionate words.

His hips has slowed down somewhat, the motion becoming more fluid in nature; thump-thump-thump of his heart pressed against your chest. He was everywhere, savouring your release just as much as you had enjoyed the supernovae of his skillful touch.

Words didn't come easy to you, but you tried nonetheless. "Stephen, please," you weren't sure what you were begging for. On one side, your sensitive cunt still throbbed and gushed; on the other, you longed to feel the man lose himself in you like you'd lost you mind in his arms just moments ago.

"That's my girl," he chuckled weakly, delicately gripping your hands and giving them a light squeeze. His cock slid out of your hole, leaving you clenching around nothing.

"Mmm," you protested weakly, limbs heavy as you attempted to reach out to him.

"I'm right here," Stephen tapped the top of your pubic bone frivolously, sitting back on his heels. The majestic curve of his cock glistened with your juices; it attracted your attention immediately and Stephen chuckled. "Staring is rude. Now come on, hands and knees."

Your eyes shot up to his face for a second before you looked away, willing your tired body to just cooperate. Lifting your arms and legs seemed like an impossible feat after the earth-shattering orgasm that Stephen had talked you through. One leg after the other, you slid down, rolling into your tummy and squirming at the wet spot right under it. It was all you: reduced to a mere leaky faucet in the sorcerer's presence.

Calloused hands gingerly pressed on your calves, raising your ass in the air.

You squirmed again, wide open for him to see, cold air hitting your sore, abused cunt and causing it to twitch.

A loud, shameless smooch was placed right on it by the man, followed by a long tongue sliding up and down your slit.

You whined, embarrassed and sensitive, shifting you weight away from his mouth as your back arched. It felt almost too much but the memories of that wide, nimble tongue still remained fresh and left you aching for more.

"I'm right here," Stephen patted your bottom. "I'm not gonna hurt you baby, okay? Tell me if it hurts."

His cock was nosing at your entrance once more; as you pushed back onto it, Stephen slammed his hips into yours, fingertips digging into your ass cheeks as he pulled them apart. You didn't need a mirror to know his eyes were trained on your cunt, the place were it hungrily swallowed the throbbing meat of his cock.

Eyes shut, you let your thoughts wander, examining the image in your mind's eye. The way his brow furrowed when he focused on something, smile lines more prominent than ever. Did Stephen bite his lip when he encountered something unexpected?

The bed shook with the force of his thrusts and you with it. Each one aimed well, deep and powerful, it made small, quiet noises leave your lips as his balls slapped harshly against your swollen clit.

"Ahh," your cunt spasmed as he found that spot again. You're were beginning to get sore, but it was a welcoming sort of pain.

"Shh, baby," Stephen panted, voice low and rugged. "I'm almost done. Just a little more, I know you can be good for me. So, so good..." He trailed off, topping it off with a low moan as he bottomed out inside your swollen cunt once again.

You swore your eyes rolled back in your head on their own accord. Blood rushed to your cheeks, your chest, hands gripping the bedsheets desperately and uselessly. Your mind was sluggish, barely comprehending the fact Stephen was using your cunt to get off: the idea felt so, so wrong, but you'd be a rotten liar if it didn't ignite another small storm in the pit of your belly.

"Arms behind your back," Stephen barked suddenly and you winced at how quickly you obeyed. Magic wound around your body once more, securing them into a position that allowed the sorcerer to tug you up: your knees firmly planted on the bed and your top half suspended at his mercy. "Just making sure you don't get lost in that pretty little head of yours," the amount of control this man had was unfair.

His cock kept up pace inside of you; you swore you felt it swell even the moment you mindlessly obeyed his command. The angle let him touch even more of you, both inside and out. You tasted the sweet, hot sweat of your coupling.

The string of magic tied to you was a lead in one of his hands. He eagerly dragged you onto his cock, over and over, the golden binds wrapped around your arms and chest like a straitjacket. A sexy straitjacket.

There wasn't much room for thought when all you could feel, sense and hear was Stephen: his sinful groaning, panting, the obscene sounds of your flesh slapping together. You thighs shook, spit collected in the slack corners of your mouth: you panted out, tongue stiff and uncooperative.

You wanted to feel him come, to fill you up completely, until you burst.

His movements turned sloppier and sloppier until his cock was disappearing into you at a rapid, disorganized pace, the bulbous tip sliding deep inside.

"Fuck, I'm gonna-" the groan he emitted was so close to your ear, you felt it in your cunt.

Starts burst behind your eyelids for the second time as he throbbed inside your spasming cunt, your combined contractions echoing back and forth until the pit of your belly felt warm and full. Some of his cum leaked out immediately, dripped down your labia and down your leg.

Noisily, he let go of the binds and your combined bodies gracelessly crashed onto the bed.

You weren't sure how long you laid like this, warm and safe, full inside and out. Minutes went by lazily, stretching into what felt like eons. You floated above time, above space, lulled by gentle, low murmurs in your ear.

Trembling hands gently parted your legs as cotton brushed over your raw cunt. Noises of protest died on your lips as Stephen shushed you.

"Take it easy," he placed a kiss on your tailbone, doing his best to clean up the biggest part of the mess.

You haven't even noticed him pull out. "Wha?"

The bed dipped next to you, his red, grinning face slowly coming into focus. "You're thinking so loudly."

You weren't? Having thoughts wasn't anywhere on your to-do list in the nearest future. For once, your brain had ceased it's usual violent tapdancing and you could breathe freely, the burden of anxiety removed.

"You did so good for me, baby," Stephen looked so proud and happy, crow's feet around his eyes deep and hair sticking in odd directions, silver strands mixed with dark browns and chestnuts, dying candlelight adding golds and ambers into the view.

Even like this, he looked sinful. Like a fallen angel.

"You're so pretty," was what your brain came up with. You wanted to fall through the face of the earth as soon as the words left your mouth.

Stephen chuckled, placing a kiss on your nose, then one more on each cheek and a final smooch on your forehead. "Says you."

Embarrassed, you hurried to nod your head to hide in the crook of his neck.

"None of that," promptly, you were returned to be displayed to his clever eyes. "Stop overthinking."

"But-" you argued weakly.

"No," his finger, scarred and shaky, poked your nose in what only could be described as petty defiance. "You're not this dense. I know you can do better."

The angles of his face acutely on display, you weighed your options. It wasn't looking good for you: come morning, he'll be gone, odd display of affection pushed aside, and you'd return to work to once more be greeted by the stoic, sarcastic man who's hobby included insulting you for sport.

And as much as you hated admitting it, he was better than you in most things: sorcery, looks, accomplishments. Some people just had it going for them.

"You can do better," you frowned. "You're you, doctor Stephen Strange, surgeon extraordinaire and sorce-"

His lips landed on yours, chapped and puffy, swallowing any protests that your brain could come up with on the spot, leaving you no option but to surrender to the sweet torture of the kiss.

"No," his eyes caught yours, firm and fiery. "And if you don't know what's good for you, well, I'm going to have to show you. You did so good today, after all, and it would be a shame to waste all that potential." His grin turned wolfish.

Shame and arousal flooded your senses as you closed your eyes mutely, finally, finally convinced yourself that sometimes, giving in might be the better option.

Stephen Strange taglist:

@mikariell95 @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins2 @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @couldntbedamned @xoxabs88xox @tatestripedsweater @stuckybarton @biiskuitx @heyarely16 @bdffkierenwalker @rosequartzwriting @auroralush @heart_charming @pshychadelichues @dilftallica @starkiller-queen @inas_thing @laura-naruto-fan1998 @lalaooopsie @brwn-sgr @altriestowrite @devilslilbabysblog @pervhotch @treegobonk @agathaharknesslut @persephonewritessometimes @endlessthxxghts @milena-xoxo @popeheywardssecretgf @inas-thing @fuckingarsonistbitch @pathetic-simp @sparrows-corner @turkisherlockian @srapalestina @sourlemonsandlimes @emlynblack @meeksmusic83 @chaoticevilbakugo @vane28282 @saturdaynightzemo @luminevans @danzalladaggers @viva-asgardia @sobeautifullyobsessed

[kaleb-is-definitely-sane]

Now it's your turn :))

orchid ⇢ what’s a song you consider to be perfect?

cactus ⇢ something you’re currently learning (about)?

bamboo ⇢ do you change into a different outfit when you get home?

abelia ⇢ do you have a particular piece of jewelry you always wear or can’t part with?

daffodil ⇢ do you have siblings? if yes, in what ways do you think you’re similar to or different from them?

mahonia ⇢ what place, thing, activity inspires you most and how do you express yourself when it does?

chia ⇢ what’s an inside joke you have with someone else?

sage ⇢ what ‘medium’ of art (poetry, music, fiction, paintings, statues etc.) is the most touching to you? why do you think that is?

edelweiss ⇢ how’d you think of your url/username? what’s it associated with to you?

camellia ⇢ what were you like when you were younger? do you think you’ve changed a lot?

jasmine ⇢ do you have a movie or book you loved but will never watch/read again?

ivy ⇢ what are your ‘tells’ for your emotions and moods? how can someone tell you’re happy, annoyed, upset or tired?

chamomile ⇢ what kind of things do you like receiving as gifts?

aloe vera ⇢ what’s something (mundane) you really want to experience in life?

palm tree ⇢ do you have a fictional villain you shouldn’t like but love regardless?

nutmeg ⇢ how’s your room/home decorated? do you have a specific theme or style going on?

papyrus ⇢ if you put your ‘on repeat’ playlist on shuffle, what’s the first song that comes up? what do you like about it / associate it with?

taro ⇢ if someone called you right now to catch up, what’re the things you’d tell them about?

orchid ⇢ Oh gosh, I love sooooo many songs. A song I consider to be perfect... idk. I'll have to say Always Be My Baby by Mariah Carey because it's my current obsession lol.

cactus ⇢ The Philosophy of Love. It's so cool. The Biblical Philosophy of Desire and Knowledge, Plato's Theory of Love and Becoming, The Medieval/Arabian concept of Courtly Love. They are all sooooo cool and sooooo fascinating and I love them all dearly.

bamboo ⇢ I go to school at home so I never really leave. And when I do leave to go somewhere on the weekend or such, I take a shower when I come home.

abelia ⇢ Not really, aside from this sterling silver cross necklace I got for my birthday last year. It's really cool and I love it hehehe

daffodil ⇢ So I have 3, all sisters. I don't really think i'm that similar to my older sister. Aside from sharing the same father, we're pretty different. With my two younger sisters, I look like the older of the two, however I'm nicer like the younger one.

mahonia ⇢ I try to take inspiration from literally everything. So... anything you can imagine lol. Whenever inspriation hits me I just start talking out loud. Usually it becomes a line for a poem. And i just recite that line out loud over and over until i get more lines. And then repeat. Usually i end up with a couple stanzas, constantly editing and revising in my mind the entire time until it's perfect. Or, near perfect as it can get.

chia ⇢ Me and my baby sister (she's 8 but always the baby) will constantly recite Benedick and Beatrice's lines to each other. Especially their first conversation in the play. Much Ado About Nothing is soooooo good loll. And then with @jordie-is-definitely-sane, we have incest is wincest lol. Because I love traumatizing her hehehe

sage ⇢ haha. I can't choose either. How could anyone??? I'm an aspiring actor, poet, and author, so obviously my favorites are theatre, poetry and prose fiction. But also music, paintings, sculpting, dance, et cetera all have such splendid things to offer as well. And i would love to learn how to do them all! They're all art and they all touch somewhere hands can't: into the deepest most inner part of your being. How one can say which is individually more touching? I can't fathom.

edelweiss ⇢ It's just my name + is definitely sane. Which is definitely a lie lol. My older one's were a lot more interesting but because of that i also constantly changed them lol. This one's more basic, but i'm never changing it

camellia ⇢ I'm not sure. I was happier as a kid, I used to run around more and talk more and I had a lot more friends irl. Now? I don't really know how to hold a conversation (T-T), I definitely talk less (not because i have less to say tho lol. Trust me I could talk for hours and I do when i'm alone), I definitely don't run around as much. Tho i'm not as sad about that last one. I have started dancing in the rain again like I used to so that's good :). I still read and write, in fact I do both of those even more then when i was younger. I still find beauty in everything. I still have an incredibly idealized view of nature and childhood. I still have a deep sense of needing to be myself (who that is? idk. but i need to find it) I think deep down I'm the same person. Just, kind of mellowed. I can't think of childhood and growing up without think of Trenton Lee Stewart's Riddle of Ages; he says that he doesn’t believe we become different people as we age. No, he says he believes that we become more people. We’re still the kids we were, but we’re also the people who’ve lived all the different ages since that time. And I think that's a beautiful sentiment.

jasmine ⇢ No. Absolutely not. If I loved it, im going to watch/reread it a thousand more times.

ivy ⇢ Body language, eyes, mouth, tone, the language they use (are they talking differently then usual), hands, etc.

chamomile ⇢ Books, chocolates, sweaters/hoodies, necklaces and bracelets (i love expensive shiny stuff but also that homey handmade stuff. I eat it up), MONEY$$$$$ lol. But like seriously.

aloe vera ⇢ I just want to know and be known. Which, though it sounds really mundane to others, I think is actually one of the most special, transcendental and divine things one can do in life (can you tell I've been studying the philosophy of love lol?). I genuinely believe in the Avicenna's concept of the ennobling power of love. With all of my heart.

palm tree ⇢ I mean... I can't really think of one? I love the Percy Jackson series and I love Luke so, i guess him? I have strong thoughts about him (bbg hates the West so much but is such a western tragic hero lol), he's so fascinating as a character and even moreso as a concept lol

nutmeg ⇢ My rooms pretty basic so no lol.

papyrus ⇢ I don't have one T-T. So i just picked a random song: ICU by Coco Jones. I associate it with @mera-mann-kehne-laga. No context.

taro ⇢ I'd probably tell them that I'm writing poetry, I'm working on 2 books, and that I scored a 28 on the ACT. I'm very bad at conversation so I probably just let them talk and listen to them, ask them questions to prod them, etc.

Thank you for the ask @memory-the-unconscious <333

[a-crochet-spider]

Matthew Patel headcanons but I'm vaguely mean about it

I really do love him you guys I swear the brainrot is real

• Talks in all caps all the time. He does not know what the word chill means and he never intends to learn.

• Very expressive, especially with body language. Has hit people in the face because of his gesturing and doesn’t apologize.

• As he is a very intense person, his feelings towards people are also very intense, so he is either completely enamored with someone or hates their guts, no in between.

• Sure, he’s super over the top most of the time, but privately he’s the most pathetic sopping wet cat of a man you’ll ever have the (dis)pleasure of meeting.

• His music taste is evenly divided between musicals and 2000s emo music (it was not just a phase and he didn’t grow out of it). He also won't listen to anything else no matter how hard you try to make him.

• He likes Mindless Self Indulgence a lot

• He either dresses in suits or like a homeless teenager. Again, no in between.

• He knows how to knit but if you ever walk in on him doing it he will yell at you to leave (and maybe apologize later for yelling if he likes you).

• Feral bisexual, obviously.

• He’s a trophy husband for sure. He hated being a CEO, he hates working, he just wants to either put on his silly little musicals or stay home.

• He puts so much product in his hair to keep it the specific way he likes it. During the day it’s very crunchy.

• On the topic of personal hygiene, he is extremely on top of taking care himself. It takes him an hour to get ready to go anywhere. His eyeliner is put on with unbelievable care. He picks out most of his outfits with a very specific ideal in mind. He probably has a skin care routine.

• He probably smells nice too. He uses a normal cologne, but it’s probably wildly overpriced and smells really good.

• Quality time is his love language.

• He’s obviously extremely confident in himself but specifically when he knows he’s in charge. If there’s any doubt he will trip tf up.

• Probably knows how to cook. He can and will brag about this.

• Has had a Tumblr blog since middle school where he posts all of his theatre kid brainrot. Nobody knows about this except Ramona, who has graciously not told anyone yet.

• The LIGHTEST sleeper ever. The tiniest thing will wake him up. If you slightly nudge him while he’s asleep he wake up instantly.

• Only likes touch from specific people or if he initiates it first. Anything else results in someone getting physically injured.

• He is incapable of sitting like a normal person. He just bends himself in so many weird ways that he’ll end up taking up the whole sofa if he isn’t stopped.