#these terms seem way too unclear | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sanjisboyfie · 8 months

Text

∞ SNSTV : first year, first mission

this is the first chapter of my series "sensitive" (SNSTV = sensitive). since it's a series, this first chapter is going to be pretty "boring" in terms of romance, but it still full of satosugu interactions with reader...but probably not favorable ones as you'll see soon lol. anyway ! stay tuned for the next chapters because i will have a lot of fun fleshing this out hehehe

first year satosugu x male reader

-> prev

( if u squint )

“since shoko is a very valuable sorcerer, she must refrain from participating in highly dangerous missions,” the only girl in the room smiled at the information, sneakily flipping off her male classmates. satoru was annoyed, suguru was indifferent, and [name] seemed to be the only one with half a mind to care for the woman’s safety.

“her abilities are quite special,” he compliments, making yaga hum in agreement and shoko wink at him in appreciation.

satoru pretends to barf in his mouth.

“that leaves the three of you, [last name], gojo, and geto — this mission is going to be your first one without supervision. it should show to be easy enough. you are to simply monitor and oversea a specific section of the closed down mall and exorcise any curses that are roaming. it has been closed down far too long and kids are starting to wander in there without any idea of what they’re walking into. for the safety of the people and the community, you must exterminate every curse that dwells there. you are all permitted in using any cursed tool, if you wish, but we highly encourage you learn to harness your abilities as soon as possible.”

satoru pretended to barf in his mouth again. doing things for “normal” civilians was never his most ideal way of spending his time. but unless he wanted to hear a nagging from yaga, he had to suck it up. formal missions were hard to dodge, anyway. meanwhile, suguru hummed in understanding, seeing why this would need an urgent team.

and [name] was just excited to finally get his hands on his cursed tool again.

the three were escorted to the abandoned mall via their driver, who told them to call him if anything were to happen and they needed immediate assistance.

“i don’t get why crybaby over here had to come,” satoru huffs, looking at the mall with disinterest. it’s unclear whether or not he’s talking to himself or his other classmate. either way, it got a reaction from [name] who was within earshot.

“why don’t you just go fuck off gojo,” [name] snarled, holding onto the scythe in his hands with a tight grip. he expertly twirled it around, using the weight of it and basic understanding of gravity, to make it so that the sharp blade was pointed right at gojo’s neck.

hiding his surprise at the sudden action, gojo just smirked and glared at [name].

“you’re just scared because you know i’m right. the moment things go to shit, you’re gonna go running with your tail in between your legs like a poor puppy. and i’ll be there to laugh,” gojo said with a taunting cackle, the ugly sound rising from his throat making both suguru and [name] cringe.

“i’ll slice your throat open, i mean it.”

“love to see you try, piece of shit!”

“alright! enough fighting, the both of you! seriously? are we on a mission to exorcise some curses or is it my personal responsibility to babysit the two of you?” suguru sighed, rubbing his forehead in stress, “can we all just do this and go home? i think it’s obvious neither of you want to be here any longer,”

satoru rolled his eyes at suguru’s “nice guy” perona, internally calling bullshit on his entire personality. god, satoru hated those type of guys the most. the ones who think they’re superior just because they’re more mature. it pissed him off that suguru had an ability so strong too...talk about waste of potential!

well, too bad for both [name] and suguru because the one who was most superior was obviously him! he was gojo satoru, after all.

“whatever, weaklings. why don’t you sit back and just let me take care of this? there’s no need for your abilities when i could exterminate every curse in the vacinity,” satoru was confident when speaking his words, but if you were to tell him to actually do that…he might not have been able to.

hey! he was a first year and just recently allowed to go completely “ham” on using his powerful abilities. he didn’t have the bestest grasp on control or output, but he did know that his technique easily overpowered the other twos’.

“hm, to make it interesting, why don’t we have a competition?”

the competitive side of [name] and satoru shone bright after suguru said that. taking their perked up heads and attentive ears as a sign to continue on, he proposed, “whoever exorcises the most curses won’t have to do chores around the dorm for a whole week and all that responsibility will fall onto the losers.”

“a whole month,” [name] bargained, earning a shrug of approval from suguru. and satoru laughed that obnoxious laugh of his again, shouting a “bring it on” before putting on his sunglasses.

“you two are going down!”

“what does cockiness get you besides hateful stares, gojo?”

“geto-san’s right, you gojo bitch! bite your tongue and choke on your own blood, fool!!”

on the count of 3, the three students were setting off into separate directions of the mall and finding as many curses as possible to exterminate. for how vast the entire property was, this could take as long as a couple of hours…if the three students were normal jujutsu sorcerers.

but when you put a narcissist, someone with a superiority complex, and a hot-headed individual in a high stakes competition, you get the mall that was full of curses being free of said curses in under two hours (an hour and ten minutes, to be exact. to cover a 800,000 square feet land full of extremely lower grade curses).

at the beginning of the competition, [name] would lure out the curses by simply baiting them with his “naivety” of them being there. they’d pounce to attack, happy to find an unsuspecting prey, before [name] would slash them across their forms and kill them with his cursed tool. he imagines by the end of the hour, he had already taken care of over a couple dozen very low grade curses.

just as he was about to maneuver around and slice another one up, something had already took care of the problem.

“gonna need to try harder than that, crybaby,” satoru taunts, smirking from a floor above as he easily blew up the curse that was about to attack [name]. the man grits his teeth in annoyance while the white haired individual just shrugs in pride, “you can’t even look out for yourself, need me to save you, huh?”

“fuck off!” [name] sent a strong gust of wind satoru’s way via swinging his scythe towards satoru, creating almost a slash of air. his tormentor only laughed at the attempt in attacking him, flipping out of the way and then walking past [name] with a smug grin.

as he disappeared from [name]’s sight, he felt himself get more and more annoyed and angry at his predicament. of course, he had to be stuck in an abandoned place with his bully and not be able to leave until the ending of their mission. [name] huffed, feeling an unfair amount of tears reach his eyes.

at least satoru wouldn’t be around to see him cry like a pathetic loser, he thought to himself. he shook his head a couple of times, forcing the tears down with a clearing of his throat and rough wipe of his face. it was a pain to live such an emotionally unstable life — as if he had any control over things like that.

“so you really are a crybaby?” suguru’s voice broke his silent sobs, making him whip his head up and glare at the man approaching him. seeing his obvious apprehension to him being there, suguru put his hands up in surrender to show he meant no harm, “there’s no reason for you to be crying, why are you crying?”

“obviously i know i have no reason to cry, idiot, how annoying do you think it is for me to have to do it when i have no reason to?!”

suguru blinked, confusion panted on his face, “you have to cry?” putting emphasis on ‘have’ it was obvious suguru didn’t see a point in such a thing, especially right now.

“you wouldn’t get it, so just leave me alone,” [name] said, waving his hand and turning around to look for more curses. suguru had an odd look on his face as he watched [name] walk away, an unreasonable amount of cursed energy surrounding the previously crying man.

the ravenette truly wondered what his life story was, he was just so intriguing. a sorcerer coming from one of the strongest clans in the jujutsu world was walking away from him with his head held down, shoulders shaking, and tears dripping onto the floor.

“what’s his deal,” suguru hums to himself, flicking his wrist in the direction of a miniature curse that was coming towards him and easily eliminating it from the picture.

[name] continued expertly swinging his scythe around whenever he saw a curse coming towards him, not flinching as it died in front of him each time. it was obvious he was most comfortable with such a weapon, despite it being a couple times larger than his smaller frame. with how easily he handled it, though, it was somewhat obvious that he had been training with the weapon for a long time.

“oiii!!! i finished up on my part of the mall,” satoru shouted, his whiny voice echoing in the empty walls.

“same here!!”

[name] looked down at the pathetic curse that was shyly standing far away from him. it had an odd figure, a spherical body that was being held up by skinny blue legs that were wobbling from the abnormal amount of weight that they had to hold up. it was muttering some stuff about the fitting room and how the clothes weren’t fitting, making [name] believe it probably formed from the stuff people would feel about themselves in the fitting rooms.

he sighed, walking ahead and crouching in front of the curse. the scythe remained unmoving as it was leaning against his shoulder, weakly swinging in the air at the heavy weight of the blade hanging behind his head. he kept it secure with his arm over the handle portion, making sure that it didn’t fall over.

the curse reached its arm out to touch him, but with a simple shifting of his head into the opposite direction, [name] stopped the possible contact. instead, he just put his finger to the pudgy flesh of the curse’s body, grimacing at the feeling. and with a simple “shot” coming from his fingers, the curse began to flail in pain and agony. until it turned into nothing but ash and dust, being blown away by a passing breeze.

“hey, what was your total count?” satoru’s voice taunted from behind him, not really reading the energy in the room. [name] stood up, a completely dead look in his eyes. it almost shocked satoru enough to shut him up, but it would take more than a miserable face to ever make him close his loud mouth.

“i came up to about 60,” suguru said, “a bunch of small insignificant ones, really,”

“and i got to the eighties,” satoru grinned, roughly shoving his shoulder into suguru’s. the black haired man only rolled his eyes, “what about you? i doubt above thirty, am i right?”

in reality, [name] had killed more curses than the two combined. but he susposes that he had an advantage, wielding a cursed tool rather than using his actual technique. well, except to kill that last one. plus his high sensitivity in reading where the curses were gave him an advantage in finding the prey faster than the other two.

but instead of telling the truth and gloating, like he should have done, he just shrugged, “i didn’t keep track — i guess you win, gojo,”

that made the strong sorcerer pump his fist into the air, chanting about how [name] and suguru were going to be stuck doing his laundry for a month. he was too caught up in his celebration to notice how sunken in [name]’s face really looked.

it wasn’t just his eyes that appeared dead, but it was as if the color drained from his face, his eyes turned bloodshot, and he was weakly walking towards them.

suguru noticed, though. and it intrigued him as he peered behind [name]’s subtly limping figure, catching a pile of ashes that was blowing in the wind. he couldn’t connect the dots completely, but he did know that the two things he noticed were connected in some way.

“feeling alright? losing sucks,” suguru asked, trying to talk about more light hearted things in the face of his incredibly sullen classmate.

“yeah, it’s whatever, i guess,”

there was definitely a difference. less colorful choices of vocabulary were being used and suguru thought that was the most noticeable change in [name]’s demeanor. he wasn’t cursing satoru out for being an egotistical piece of shit with the biggest ego in the world. he was just blankly walking past the bragging man with not a care in the world.

suguru bit his lip, stopping himself from asking more questions and instead reaching into his pocket to contact their original driver to tell them that the job was done. and while suguru was theorizing all of these things to himself, it was obvious satoru didn’t even spend a second thinking about it. if anything he welcomed the new, depressed [name]. it made for perfect bullying material for him!

that sadist, suguru grimly thought in his mind as he listened to the phone ring. he informed the driver to come pick them up before turning back around to watch satoru and [name] interact with one another. with how off he was acting, it was a surprise to see satoru still adamant on tormenting [name]. wasn’t it obvious already he was not himself? couldn’t gojo just give him a break? but then again, why wasn’t [name] sticking up for himself? he wasn’t a little kid that needed suguru’s saving, but at this point, he might as well.

“c’mon, gojo, quit it already,” suguru spoke up, lightly slapping the man’s shoulder. satoru didn’t like that, though, obnoxiously stomping over to stand toe-to-toe with suguru.

“hah? c’mon, geto, you’ve got to see that this is a real pathetic scene, isn’t it? he can’t do anything in his life but constantly lose. it makes you wonder how it’s even possible for us to exist in the same world as him; the strongests and the weakest standing to be in the same jujutsu class? what a joke,”

suguru grimaced, pushing satoru backwards to create some space in between them, “that’s not even funny, what’s your issue, gojo? can’t you just shut up for a couple of seconds? would it really kill you?”

satoru pretended to barf, glaring at suguru, “oh, c’mon, don’t tell me you’re one of those righteous folks that sticks up for the weaker people?”

“i don’t have to explain shit to you — i don’t even know you,” suguru mumbles, not wanting to entertain him further. creating an argument would only make their moods worsen and become more bitter towards each other. in the midst of his annoyance, suguru glances towards [name] and scoffed to himself.

it was a bit pathetic of [name] to not even speak up for himself, he’ll admit that. but he wasn’t going to bully him just for that. he just wished that he had spoken up for himself in this moment, it would’ve at least been a sign to satoru that he wasn’t to be messed with. that he was strong, to some extent. but instead the man just stood there and took all the insults.

it made suguru both annoyed and angered.

why couldn’t [name] stand up for himself now? he was doing so before so easily and naturally. but now, it was as if all the energy was sucked out of him…

the ride to the jujutsu high was silent. and [name] seperated from the two the moment they stepped foot onto the school grounds. suguru remained stoic as he watched [name] walk away while satoru next to him only hummed in disinterest.

”i’m telling you, suguru, to not waste your time defending him. he’s got no place in the jujutsu world, weak sorceres like him that prove to be useless have no place standing next to us — or even shoko for that matter. she may not have fighting prowess, but her natural ability is remarkable. with [name]…there’s nothing remarkable about him. it’s as if he’s a normal human, he’s ordinary and dull. don’t waste your breath with him.”

that was all satoru said to suguru before walking off, his hands behind his head as he walked in such a lax position. suguru stood silent for a couple of moments before snapping himself out of his stupor and going to his room.

he looked at the room a couple of doors down from him, [name]’s room, and his lips were drawn into a thin, straight line. he entered his comfortable room without wasting another second.

he didn’t know that behind [name]’s door, the man had his knees brought up to his chest as he sobbed his heart out on the floor. the screen of his small tv was blaring back at him in the dark room, the screen being the only source of light. he was watching his favorite show, one that made him laugh and happy. but tears streamed down his face as he had to choke back on his sobs.

he tried forcing a smile on his face, making an unsettling expression a couple of times before he gave up.

he always hated this part.

but he had to persevere. he moved to his small music player at his bedside, grabbing the headphones that worked alongside them and falling onto his bed. he put the flimsy over-ear devices on, sighing as he looked up at the blank ceiling. soon, a compilation of his favorites songs filled his ears and he tried to be content with the feeling.

‘immerse yourself. and you’ll be okay in the morning.’

it was a mantra he repeated to himself until he felt himself fall into sleep.

he really hated his innate cursed technique.

sorry if u hate emotional mcs...this guy is gonna be one. but for explainable reason, trust! he's still going to be strong, too, though, so look forward to that! i can't wait to make him go #insane <3 but other than that, really fun to write since it shows the dynamic i imagined satosugu to have in their first years of jujutsu high !!! since the whole incident happens in their second year i rlly wanna focus on building the relationships in the first year and stuff, so things might be a lil slow to start, but when it starts ... it'll start, trust. tysm for being os patient w this even if it is short affa. i look forward to writing longer, more deeeeeep chapters in the future. much love <3

#≡;- ꒰ ° sensitive series ꒱#jujutsu kaisen x male reader #jujutsu kaisen male reader #suguru geto x male reader #suguru geto male reader #suguru male reader #geto male reader #satoru male reader #satoru gojo x male reader #satoru gojo male reader #gojo male reader #gojo x male reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk fanfiction #jjk fanfic #jjk male reader

656 notes · View notes

twirlingsmilingwriting · 9 months

Text

Tolerate It pt 2 || Young! Coriolanus Snow X Reader

"Now, you're runnin' down the hallway and you know what they all say You don't know what you got until it's gone" You don't need to read pt 1 to understand whats happening but if you want to ITS HERE

https://www.tumblr.com/twirlingsmilingwriting/737294906027098112/tolerate-it-youngcoriolanus-snow-x-reader?source=share

TLDR: Truly feeling like the luckiest person alive when your former classmate and short term boyfriend asked you to marry him. Not even a year into the marriage and also a year into his presidency does the original love and admiration you felt from him start to dissipate. You can't help but feel trapped and tricked into a marriage in which he may have never loved you to begin with.

Warnings: Angst, Love-Bombing, marriage, gender ambiguous reader, typical snow tags (manipulation), alcohol, alluding to sexual acts but not described at the end, kissing, unclear motives, capitol parties, crying

Word count: 3k

a/n I was not going to make a part two to this story originally because I thought it was a one shot but some people asked for a part two and my big juicy brain started making up ideas!! lowkey wanted to title this one "You're Losing Me" for the next part but then it'd be hard to find. Let's pretend its called "You're losing me" :') ~

Dazzling lights decorated the gardens of the capital. I stood on the balcony feeling the wind blow through my hair and the satin of my frilly and extravagant blouse. The sounds of music and people chattering from below filled my ears. I closed my eyes and hummed tuning into the moment. I could hear his voice. He was talking to guests in the plaza. I could hear the smile on face in his voice as he charmed the guests, his charisma grew with each passing day. It was the same charm that led me down the path of falling in love with him. I exhaled the breath I didn't even notice I was holding and opened my eyes to take in the sight again. My eyes followed the sound of his voice and I spotted my husband down by a catering table. His tall, slender figure danced delicately through the air. His posture was different from when I first met him. He was always confident but the air around him felt different now. His aura was different but I truly had no right to judge the character of a man I rarely spoke to these days.

A heavy, dragged sigh escaped my lips and I sat back and watched his tantalizing smile and words tease and enchant the party guests. He parted his hair a different way today. I noticed every aspect of him, the way his shirt fit so snugly around his broad shoulders and draped over his thin waist. The gold watch decorated his wrist ever so gently. Truly, his beauty was delicate. He had such a whimsical and frail appearance but his energy made him seem like he was three times the man he was, the man he wanted to be. His head tilted up and his eyes met mine. I froze like the ice the color of his eyes were. His smile dropped and he nodded at me, letting his eyes do the talking.

'Smile more and come down here'

Instantly, a curated diamond-encrusted smile plastered my face and I dusted off my satin shirt and walked down the stairs of the balcony to the main area ever so carefully. Floating down the steps and through the crowd, my body finally reached his side and I interlocked my arm with his. He smiled down at me and I felt my heart beat a little faster. It felt real, at least to me. I loved it when we had parties because Coryo would adorn me with the affection I missed from him. His hand smoothed down to the small of my back and I looked over to smile at the party guests.

"Good evening y/n, you look dazzling," the capital man said, I'm sure I knew him from somewhere but his face was unrecognizable from the copious amounts of fillers he had put in it. I bowed my head to thank him without saying a word. I wasn't too sure if I was allowed to speak yet. That question would soon be answered when I felt a tug at my arm and I looked up to see my husband smiling at me.

'talk more smile less'

Swallowing my breath, I turned my attention back to the man. "Thank you, you also look fabulous, it is my pleasure to be able to serve such fine guests such as yourself at this party tonight," I spoke softly and confidently. I felt Coryos' nails dig slightly into the flesh of my hand. 'you're talking too much'. Mild frustration bubbled in me but it was cut short by the laughter of the party guest. "wow Snow, you truly know how to keep your partner in check huh?" He joked and Coryo started to laugh too before brushing off the comment and continuing to chat with the man about business, politics, and violence. I started to feel a little awkward but once I felt my husband release his hold on me and tap my hip three times, I knew I was done being his arm candy in this moment. Bowing my head, I excused myself and made something up about how I had to 'tend to the roses'.

Walking through the crowds of people I made sure to smile and wave at the happy partygoers while parting through them like the Red Sea. Arriving finally at a bowl filled with some sort of fruity and alcoholic concoction, I flimsily started to fill myself a cup. Leaning against a pillar by the bowl, I started to sip my drink and watched the people dance when suddenly, I heard a man's voice speaking to me. My eyes drifted to meet his and he started to walk over to me extending his hand out for a handshake.

"Wow... truly I am delighted to be in the presence of the right hand of the ruler of Panem. Hello, y/n, It is truly an honor to make your acquaintance" He said, a cheeky smile spread across his face. His orange curls decoratively fell upon his forehead and he had a certain glimmer in his eyes. He was clearly overjoyed to see me and that made me feel... nice?

"Oh goodness please, save me the formalities. And what might your name be?" I asked taking his hand in mine and shaking it. "Curtis"

"Short and sweet, I like that name"

He smiled even brighter than before and laughed, throwing his head back and retracting his hand from the handshake. He was tall, very muscular, and he just had the most shimmery of brown eyes out there. His appearance almost reminded me of a former classmate of mine, Sejanus but ginger. I smiled back and started to giggle a little from just his laughter.

"Have you been enjoying the party?"

"I've been trying, isn't the night just gorgeous?

"Pardon my boldness, but it truly doesn't compare to the beauty that you are. The night looks good on you." His words were stern and it felt like his voice was dripping in honey. A soft blush danced across my cheeks. It had been so long since the last time I received a compliment that felt so genuine. I chuckled a little and shifted my eyes away from the ones of the man with all the right words to say.

"Coriolanus is a lucky man in so many ways but truly, ending up with you must be his proudest achievement. I'm honestly shocked that you're standing by yourself here now. He is a smart man but not a wise one to let you start to slip away" he continued. I was truly at a loss for words. I felt my heart start to beat faster and I felt guilt bubble up inside of me. I was married and this stranger of a man was making me feel a way I hadn't felt since my wedding day. A chuckle escaped my lips and my eyes reconnected with the brown ones of the man in front of me.

"Please don't flatter me here... I can assure you my husband is a talented, smart, and wise man."

My breathing started to slow down as I tried to calm myself down so the obvious blush would remove itself from my face. I toyed with the cup in my hand and took the last sip. He noticed the cup was empty and offered his hand out to take it from me. He said he could refill it for me and I cautiously handed it over to him watching as he poured me another cup of the fruity drink.

"Here you go"

He handed it back to me with two hands and let his other hand rest on top of my own when he handed it back to me.

"Thank yo-"

My words were cut off quickly by the feeling of cold slender hands on my waist, pulling me back. "y/n, darling, I was looking for you" Coryo spoke lightly and spun me around to face him. His hands ran up my body and rested on either side of my face. His blue eyes stared into my own and a soft smile met his lips. "We have a toast to make sweetheart, who is this?" His cold fingertips rubbed either side of my cheeks and I melted right back into his touch. "This is Curtis, I assumed you invited him." I spoke gently and watched his face. He glared at Curtis and his Adams apple bobbed while he clenched his jaw. He tilted his head slightly at the man then brought his gaze back to me and then looked back at Curtis. His fingers interlocked with mine and instantly a joyful light-hearted feeling filled my body. It was the hand Curtis was just touching so I knew Coryo was trying to prove a point here but god, it felt so good to have him touch me so intimately again. "Well Curtis, I'm a little shocked no one ever told you to stay away from things that aren't yours." His words spoke venomously in my ears and a shiver went down my spine. Mild anger was spread across his face as he held me even closer. The ginger man said something in response but I was too enchanted by my husband to process any of it.

Coryo brought his attention back to me and I felt his hand slide up my body and hold onto the back of my head. It happened so quickly when he leaned in and pressed his lips against mine harshly and aggressively. I gasped into the kiss and brought my hands up to either side of his face, holding him ever so gently to not overstep my place. His other hand went right onto the small of my back and he leaned forward more, dipping me. This felt like a scene out of a movie. Warmth started to build up in my breathless figure and he pulled away slowly, scanning my face before he smirked slowly. Some time during the kiss, the man had left and it felt like it was just me and Coryo in the crowd now. I felt a little dizzy, dazed, and confused. My thumbs continued to rub little circles into his cheeks and I smiled and whispered, "I love you." His smirk dropped and he pulled away fully and looked around. I felt his fingers wrap around my wrist and he started to drag me to the stairs leading up to the balcony.

I was stumbling over my feet a little trying to keep up with him. When we reached the top of the balcony, Snow looked over at me. His cool and calculated eyes looked me up and down to make sure my appearance was on par with his standards. He exhaled heavily before turning his attention to the people still partying. His booming voice halted the night and the music stopped. The capital guests turned their attention to us in confusion.

"Everyone, I am sorry to end this night so early but I'm afraid circumstances have mixed with their consequences. Before you all disperse, I'd like to make a toast. First, a toast to my beautiful spouse whom I could truly not do anything without"

My heart melted and a warm smile spread across my face. Coriolanus only glanced at me before continuing.

"and lastly, a toast to you all for attending tonight."

He picked up a glass cup that he had resting at the top of the railing and lifted it to the sky. Everyone toasted and took a sip of their drinks. Coryo not so subtly didn't but he placed the cup down and issued another goodbye to the guest before turning to me and placing his hands on my waist again and looked down on me. His expression was unreadable to me. The rest of the party guests started to file out. I heard one masculine voice start to cough violently but as I started to turn my head to look over at the source of the sound, Coriolanus took me by the hand again and dragged me into the house.

He dragged me up to the bedroom and slammed the door. A thick silence started to fill the room. His head was tilted down low, staring at the ground. I stood still and started to fidget with my sleeve. Finally, he broke the silence.

"Do you make me out to be a fool, y/n?"

"W- what?"

"Oh don't play stupid with me now. You have one job and it is to be my partner and I leave you alone for a second and you know what you go and do? You disrespect me. You so aimlessly let another man flirt with you in front of everyone at MY party"

"Coryo I love you so much, another man could never replace you in my heart I promise. I am so lucky to have you" I started to ramble and stammer over my words. He brought his head up slowly to look at me from his side of the room. He looked haunting.

"Look at your hand" he demanded. Nervously, my gaze dropped down to my hand and I noticed it.

"You're not wearing your wedding ring. You can't even try to pretend you like me. That ring shows a promise that we are supposed to be together forever, you are supposed to serve me forever, and you go around, letting other men flirt and flatter you and without your ring above all things. Clearly, this means nothing to you. How am I supposed to tolerate this kind of behavior. You ungrateful piece of-" Tears were welling up in his angry eyes as they threatened to spill from mine. I yelled so loudly I scared myself,

"Stop! Stop! please stop I can't take it! You're losing me Coryo you're losing me! I don't understand. I have given you everything. I have given you the best of me, I polish everything in your life to paint you a blue sky and you have done nothing but blow dust onto the pages of what was supposed to be the story of our love. I don't understand how I am letting myself stay with you, with this man, no this stranger who is nothing but an empty shell, a reminder of what used to be and the relationship I was manipulated into. Coryo I- I want out. I can't be with you anymore" I was crying furiously and shaking. I moved to sit on the edge of the bed and tried to recollect myself. Coriolanus said nothing for a moment before I heard a crack in his voice.

I hadn't noticed that he had moved his way across the room and he now stood by my feet at the edge of the bed. Hot tears streamed down his face. It didn't feel angry anymore though, it felt sad. He suddenly dropped to his knees in front of me and held my hands in his. He cried into my knees and I felt my heart shatter.

"I- I'm so sorry y/n... I had no idea you were feeling like this. This is my fault I should be a better husband. Please don't leave, I'll give you everything, every last breath in my chest if I can, I love you... I love you... I love you..." He cried out desperately and I started to cry more too. His sobs were being muffled by my legs. My fingers reached his hair and started to stroke it softly.

"Coryo.... Coryo I love you too... I love you so much. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I'd never leave you I promise." He slowly looked up at me with his bloodshot and puffy eyes. His plump lips were lightly parted and his eyes searched mine. I blinked away another tear and reached my arms out to hold him close. His eyes welled up with tears again and his lips pressed downwards into a frown before he stood up again and he leaned down into my arms. I stood up to try and match his level and started to cry into his chest while he cried into my shoulder. His behavior was like a switch, one moment he was angry at me and the next he was so incredibly sad. I can't stand to see Coryo hurt. I love him too much, need him too much. Our bodies rocked back and forth before I whispered another "I love you" into his chest. I felt his lips on my neck for a moment when he smirked against my skin and stopped crying. I was still sobbing into his chest and whispering a mix of sorry's and sweet nothings. Coryo kissed my neck and pulled back.

"It's okay... stop crying, you're an ugly crier for a beautiful face. I love you" He said softly. I couldn't process the legitimacy of anything in this situation. His face relaxed fully and he was looking at me with a blank expression now. I wiped my tears and he smiled weakly before planting a gentle kiss on my lips. I fell into his warmth and fell in love with him all over again in that moment. He pulled back and gave my forehead a little peck.

"Let me show you how much you mean to me darling..." He spoke softly and I nodded and wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug he mumbled a word into my skin but I couldn't make it out.

"easy..."

PART THREE

#coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #tom blyth fanfiction #tom blyth x you #tom blyth x reader #the hunger games #tom blyth imagine #tbosas #president snow #young president snow #fanfiction #fanfic #angst #hunger games #thg series #thg

353 notes · View notes

suzukiblu · 13 days

Text

WIP excerpt: “Match is technically also a Luthor”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Match slants his eyes back to Luthor, who still just looks indulgently amused and does not seem inclined to correct his . . . whatever Lena is. She called him “Father”, but since Luthor’s also referred to himself as both Superboy’s and his father, that isn’t necessarily trustworthy intel.

Also, if nothing else, Lena clearly doesn’t know his assignment or understand his purpose here any better than he does, so that also implies her to be a poor source of intel.

“Am I her replacement bodyguard?” he asks Luthor skeptically, because admitting he doesn’t know something is better than making a mistake.

Probably.

“Right now, you’re her babysitter,” Luthor replies dryly, then pauses and amends, “Or she’s yours. I’m still unclear on your capacity for long-term independent function, to be honest, and I wouldn’t trust the opinions of the idiots who plagiarized you even if I had bothered to read them. We’ll fit in some independent cognitive tests at some point this week, I suppose.”

“. . . ‘cognitive’ tests,” Match repeats blankly. “Cognitive” is the last thing the Agenda ever cared about testing him on, because he isn’t supposed to be–he isn’t thinking about anything. Obviously.

Physical tests would make sense. Combat assessments, physical readings, DNA scans; that kind of thing.

. . . then again, he supposes Luthor already knows everything that’s in his DNA, doesn’t he.

Assuming the Agenda “plagiarized” him well enough, anyway.

“To start, yes,” Luthor says. “For now, if anything goes wrong, the security system will alert me. Don’t let her eat too much sugar. Or eat too much sugar yourself.”

“. . . I have no idea what ‘too much’ sugar is for either of our metabolisms,” Match says.

“I’m sure you can google something,” Luthor says, giving him a wry look.

“I have no idea what that is either,” Match says. He doesn’t like admitting not knowing things, for obvious reasons, but also there is no possible way that Lex Luthor can’t pronounce “googol” correctly, and also he can’t imagine how a googol would even be relevant to whatever the hell Luthor is saying anyway.

“Hm,” Luthor says, his eyes narrowing slightly. Match does not let his hackles raise. “I should’ve murdered more people in that lab, apparently.”

“Google Search is a web-based service operated by the American multinational corporation Google LLC as the most popular search engine globally and most-visited website in the world,” Lena informs him promptly, ineffectively pulling at his hands again and using her full weight in a entirely fruitless attempt to get him to move. “It has a share of ninety-two percent of the search engine market and its parent company’s current net worth is valued at 1.97 trillion dollars.”

. . . that seems like something that should’ve been covered in his uploads, yes, Match thinks, eyeing her warily. Assuming she’s actually correct, anyway, which–again, she’s been a poor source of intel so far.

. . . is that even normal information for a kindergarten-aged child to have, either way? Especially one who’s not even intelligent enough to realize how futile trying to drag a telekinetic metaweapon twice her size around without any enhancements of her own is? Match has no idea.

#dc match #lex luthor #lena luthor ii #wip: match is technically also a luthor #superfamily #you know like arguably lol #superfamily RELEVANT at least?

85 notes · View notes

itzkawaiiduh · 10 days

Text

discussion about neutral spectres

I have been thinking about the spectre alignment system, and want to put my thoughts about neutrals here!

Neutrals seem to have a more "watching from afar" role in the alignments, and it seems to fit with their roles.

appearances:

Duke's spectre is a Harlequin, an aqua and purple harlequin with lock and belt motifs throughout his costume, respective to his death, and a clear homage to the short story Cask of Amontillado with his acting persona Fortunado.

Pluto's is a black cat, having the appearance of one. He's a Cryptid, obviously off his story The Black Cat.

William's is a mannequin with ribbons and theater masks, a Doppelgänger, clearly based off of his story William Wilson.

Two have acting personas (actor vs. performer) and one is a black cat. One of the many things these three stories have in common are that they all have unreliable narrators:

The pseudonym William Wilson, explaining in his letter how he ultimately "murdered thyself" but choosing not to sully the page with his true alias, already informing the reader that this is a confession, but we are not sure how much is the truth if he chose to remain a John Doe.

Montresor in the Cask of Amontillado, explaining how Fortunado wronged and offended him, and how putting him behind a wall is the only way to get "revenge" for his previous, unnamed actions.

The man in The Black Cat pleading ignorance and that his actions were justifiable, imploring to the reader that he is not insane as he murdered the wife and attempted to murder the cat, but how it ultimately backfired on him.

Think about alignments in terms of a fight. You have the offence (malevolent), the defense/support (benevolent) and the ones who watch from afar (neutrals). They bring some role to the table, but unclear what it is as their alignments keep changing: you aren't sure of their alignment of being "good" or "bad", they are just there.

Will's mimicry, Duke's invisibility, and Pluto's blink are examples of these: they are more of the hiding aspect: One to hide in plain sight, one to hide completely, and one hiding quickly before they can be seen.

In a different perspective, Montresor's Possession, Annabel's Kiss of Death, Ada's Fear Itself, Prospero's spectral rats, and Berenice's Intoxication are examples of abilities intended to harm others/induce some element into them to make them feel fearful while Benevolents are to help others (ex. Morella's convalescence and Eulalie's dispeller of evil spirits), and Neutrals to help themselves, but their purpose can switch. (ex. ribbons on Will's body flying off, showing the entanglement is for others and not himself, but can be used on himself. Duke's levitation on others AND himself, and Pluto's unlucky.) Imagine if he gets the effects of Unlucky of he uses it. Oof-

With another set, Will's duplication, Duke's hypnosis, and what I presume to be Pluto's unlucky (perhaps his Evil Eye) have a "oh, you need me? okay I'm here" vibe. One to bring a duplicate to get you information, one to induce information and possibly extract it, and one to cause chaos.

Duke's hypnosis seems to bring an outside focus to the table (e.g. Duke telling Ada that she can show Monty's worst fear to prove Duke wrong) to induce a sense of purpose and can extract information from the subject unwillingly.

It is unclear what Pluto's Evil Eye does, but his Unlucky is self-explanatory; it's bad luck, and it thwarts plans, as seen in the manor arc.

Will's mimicry, if utilized proficiently, can gaslight, and make you psychologically question if what you saw was really there, like William Wilson. It can also induce and extract information for your personal gain. (ex. Will knows Lenore's group have a hideout). I love this comedically unremarkable man. He's also forgettable too, who even notices him?

But, he isn't what we perceive him as: we don't see his reaction at the dinner in episode 38 (along with Annabel's) his fairly simple meal, and the fact he doesn't have a roommate. Since he is so unremarkable, I would not be surprised if the creators made one concept of him and were like "okay, this is perfect we will add nothing else."

In my own view, I find this fitting. But I begin to wonder: is he the doppelgänger or William Wilson in this webcomic? Or both?

We know that how you died & the emotion you felt correlates with your alignment (ex. Monty's anger/tied to the tracks, Annabel's sadness/gunshot to the chest, and Prospero's queasy and likely brutal death, Morella's need to protect, and Pluto's relief/presumably hanged.) It's likely that neutrals felt a feeling towards themselves. Like they died alone in their final moments, or alone with their thoughts.

In Duke's final moments, despite being surrounded by an audience, felt trapped, and possibly regret as he drowned, realizing he overestimated his potential and it led to his demise. Perhaps his assistant had confidence in him, and knew not to help because Duke is the Fearless Fortunado! Perhaps the assistant organized his death? Who knows, maybe we'll find out!

And for Will, we have nothing. Literally. A fly flies out of the folder of the wonderful William Wilson. This man is literally the most average guy ever. Nothing remarkable about him at all. He can have his peaches and eat them too, because who cares about him?

I am very curious to see neutral spectres put out on the field, like with Duke and Pluto currently with the Wild Hunt, and what sort of outside perspective William brings to Annabel's group as the only Neutral.

#my post #nevermore webtoon #duke nevermore #will nevermore #pluto nevermore #literature

71 notes · View notes

bixbythemartian · 1 year

Text

This is About Oceangate

...kind of. Like, heads up for people who are sick of hearing about it or are too disturbed by this, just scoot on by, that's fine.

Like everybody else my age who had a middle school special interest in the Titanic that was further fueled by the James Cameron movie (and that sounds very specific, but I absolutely know I'm not alone), I've been following this story fuckin voraciously.

I think everybody I know IRL and online is fucking sick of me talking about it. I have been actively trying not to blog much about it here because I'm so obsessed with it that I'm annoyed with myself. I would like to not be this interested in it.

But a lot of the stuff I can think of to say has been said by a lot of people already, I don't want to add to an already noisy environment if I've got nothing new to say.

So, instead, I want to talk about what I haven't seen very many people talking about- something that's stood out to me about the way the media has been handling this story from the get-go. So, finally, I'm inflicting my days long media binge on you.

The media's handling of this was bad. Like, comprehensively fucked.

For the uninformed, a primer on the situation- feel free to skip down if you know all this, there's a bulleted list right after I get done with this part, look for that. But some of this is important to the terms I use, so I wanted to lay it out. (Also I just want to get a lot of this out of my system, please just let me have this.)

The Titan is a 'cyclops-class' submersible. As far as I can tell, 'cyclops-class' is unique to the people who made this submersible, it's not a widely recognized thing.

The Titan can carry up to five passengers. It was supposed to be rated to reach depths of up to 4000 meters below sea level.

The Titan is/was owned and operated by a company known as Oceangate. There's a lot of questions regarding the safety of the submersible, where the math came from on their depth rating, and- basically everything about the Titan is in question, at this point. There's a lot of questions, but that's not what I want to talk about.

Right now. Maybe later.

A submersible is distinct from a submarine in that it requires a surface support ship for many things- the Titan moved too slow to leave port under its own power and go to the site, it didn't have enough life support to do that kind of thing, etc. A submarine is self-supporting and can operate independently. Kind of pedantic, I know, but the Titan is a submersible, not a submarine.

The Titan had a planned expedition to the wreck of the Titanic on June 18, 2023- this past Sunday, at the time of writing. The expedition was supposed to last around 10 hours. It chartered a ship- the Polar Prince- to act as mother ship, the on the surface support that the Titan requires. (The Polar Prince is owned and operated by a different company than the Titan.)

1 hour and 45 minutes into the expedition, as the Titan was still making its way to the sea floor, the Polar Prince lost all contact with the submersible.

The Titanic wreck is at just under 4000 meters deep, right around 2.5 miles.

Now, my understanding is that the Titan was not fully at the ocean floor at the point contact was lost, but it's not clear how deep the Titan was at that time. We may not ever know this for certain.

When the Titan was reported as missing to the coast guard is kind of unclear, to me- I heard 6 hours after they lost contact, I heard 12 hours after they lost contact, I saw something that indicated they reported it missing immediately- I don't know for sure. When the coast guard report comes out, I'm hoping we'll get a more accurate timeline.

However, as soon as it was reported missing, a massive search and rescue operationg was started. Complicating the search efforts were the fact that the submersible seemed to have no type of emergency distress locator beacon (I'm not sure what the precise nautical terminology would be for this).

The search included visual searching of the surface, dropping buoys with microphones, and ROVs (unmanned remote operated vehicles, deep sea robots operated by crew on ships at the surface) searching the floor, and probably some other stuff I'm forgetting. Deep sea radar etc etc, every tool they had access to.

The search and rescue concluded on Thursday (June 22, 2023) around midday, when they definitively found pieces of the destroyed submersible's pressure vessel (the part of the submersible that held pressure and kept the people safe and alive) in a debris field, approximately 1600 feet away from the Titanic.

The destroyed pressure vessel and reports from the Navy on hearing sounds consistent with implosion at the time the Titan lost contact indicates that the submersible underwent what is being called a 'catastrophic implosion'.

It is now an investigation and recovery operation, while they try to figure out what exactly went wrong.

The five men in the sub are dead. In all likelihood, they died so quickly that their nervous system didn't have time to process what happened. What happened to their bodies during this was probably gory and kind of horrifying, but it's unlikely they experienced any awareness of this.

There were five extremely wealthy men on the submersible- they were not all billionaires, but those that weren't were worth hundreds of millions of dollars. If you want a rough sketch of their biographies, there's a link here. Other than them being pretty wealthy, who they are doesn't play that much into what I want to talk about, so I don't feel the need to go into it right now. (Again, as more information comes out, I may come back for another swing.)

So, my complaint. The number of times I saw a news interview with an expert that went like this is not small:

news host interviews deep ocean expert of some variety (who is not involved in rescue)

host asks expert what chances are that the dudes are alive and will be recovered alive

expert, being honest, says something like 'slim to none'

host responds with some amount of sincere-seeming disappointment, then after interview, pivots to the ongoing search for the definitely still alive people

There were news programs with clocks counting down how much theoretical oxygen was left. There were frequent updates to news stories with nothingburgers of additions, just to pad it out. It was, if they were alive at that moment, fucking ghoulish. That they were dead makes it even more horrible.

And I cannot emphasize enough how many experts said, to generalize and paraphrase here: "Unless they are found bobbing on the surface in the next n hours, they are dead. Even if they are alive right this minute, on the bottom of the ocean, there is no hope to rescue them in time."

This is not a failure of any of the rescue entities involved, by the way. The environment they were presumed to be in- 4000 meters under sea level- is so extreme that there are very few vehicles in the world with the capability of even getting to that depth. Like, 10 or less. As far as I know, none of them are designed to do any kind of deep sea rescue- which would have involved carefully scooping up or netting the Titan and hauling it up very slowly. There's no way to transfer personnel between ships at this depth, and the Titan had the largest passenger allowance at this depth, afaik. Like, the odds were incredibly, vanishingly small that these men would live.

The media, at large, never ever really allowed that to change the way they talked about this story or treated the participants in the story. At around 11 am or noon (central daylight time) on Thursday I saw them talking about how 'oxygen is critical'.

Oxygen was critical 24 hours prior. Even by the most generous of expectations, they were out of breathable air. Given how, to put it mildly, janky the submersible seemed to have been, there was absolutely no guarantee that they had even the 96 hours that Oceangate claimed.

Their likelihood of being rescued alive from the ocean floor was minimal on Monday. By Thursday, they were dead- again, unless they were found on the surface somewhere and had managed to carefully preserve their air somehow, they were already dead.

The media didn't really allow for the reality of the situation to be clear until Oceangate and the USCG came out and said 'yeah, they're dead'.

"Well, what's the problem with that?" you might ask. "The United States Coast Guard was the one who was saying it was a rescue up until that point."

Sure. That's their job. Their job is to treat it like an urgent rescue until it is certain that it is not. A significant amount of what they do is to rescue people from doing damnfool things in the water, and keeping hope alive until they find bodies, or evidence thereof. They were doing exactly what they should be doing.

(Whether they do this to this extent for everybody lost at sea is another conversation that's absolutely worth having, as well as their role in border patrol, but I have no bone to pick with the USCG in this particular instance. They did their all until they could do no more, that's the whole point of them, this is how they're supposed to operate.)

The media was not doing what they should be doing. There's an old quote somewhere that I think is just a journalism truism (everyone I've heard talk about it says their journalism professor said it)- if someone tells you it's raining, and someone else tells you it's not, your job isn't to report that, your job is to go outside and see if it's wet.

James Cameron- director of the aforementioned Titanic movie, as well as being a Titanic and deep sea submersible expert, knew they were dead on Monday.

He reached out to some people, he found out that the mother ship lost contact with the crew as well as their location at the same instant, and that the Navy heard a sound consistent with an implosion at around that time.

The information that the Navy heard the implosion was not classified information- they heard it via a listening system that was declassified in the 90s, I believe. Like, I knew about the system just kind of casually because I know random Navy stuff. (My dad was in the Navy, it's mostly osmosis.)

The people on the scene were informed as soon as the Navy knew. (When that was, I'm not sure, except it was before Monday. Probably they had someone go back and listen to it and weren't actively monitoring it, but it's hard to say.)

The deep ocean submersible community knew, well enough that James Cameron could call a buddy and find out. He was telling people on Monday to raise a glass to them.

The media could have had this information, if they did not have it. Either they didn't want to know, or did know, and didn't say it. And I can't say for certain they were suppressing information, but I do know that they frequently downplayed any evidence that these people were dead.

I know on CNN they ran a story about FADOSS- the FlyAway Deep Ocean Salvage System- that was shipped out to Newfoundland. It arrived Wednesday afternoon. Description in the alt text, link here.

At the time this story was published, the people in the sub would have theoretically had less than 24 hours of breathable air. They hadn't even chartered a ship for the FADOSS, at this point. And the port in Newfoundland is hundreds of miles from the site. I'm not sure how many hours away but, like, hours away. I think I heard it's a 6 hour trip, but I'm not certain on that.

This system was referenced in the news as if it was going to be part of the rescue process. Very clearly, this was never going to happen. The quote, 'a process which can take a full day' is a mild understatement, here.

It could, theoretically, be done in 24 hours, but was much more likely to take longer, unless they had enough crew in Newfoundland to do round-the-clock welding.

The response to the question about recovering someone alive is a polite way of saying 'that's not what we do'. They were not part of the rescue operation and were never intended to be, as far as I can tell.

(If you're wondering what part the FADOSS is going to take in the recovery and investigation process, it's not. It's used to lift heavy objects off the floor, and the Titan broke into small enough pieces that the ROVs are believed capable of handling it. FADOSS is on its way back to wherever it is kept. I suspect it was brought out in the edge case that the submersible was found intact with dead crew, to retrieve the vessel whole, so that the families would have bodies to bury.)

Setting aside the 'oh they definitely blew up' news that seems to have been available the whole time, every single piece of evidence and expertise pointed to these people being dead, and yet the news persisted in sort of breathlessly (sorry) talking about the rescue efforts and how much time was left. They persisted in talking about how definitely still alive these people were until they could not do that anymore.

Other examples of this issue are the knocking thing. There were reports of some of the buoys picking up something that could be described as 'knocking'. Some said it was 'every thirty minutes' but we don't know how precise a measurement that was. As soon as they started talking about the knocking, I looked into it.

As it turns out, this is just a thing that happens. The sea is very noisy, and it's hard to determine the source of a sound. Some geological things sound manmade, vice versa. They had a lot of ships cooperating together to work the search area, it's possible that they were hearing noise from those, or something from an oil platform a jillion miles away, because noise travels far and is hard to pinpoint. They had this issue while searching for the sunken USS Thresher and it was one of the ships doing the searching. Given how many different moving parts there were in this search operation, it's hard to say what the knocking was. This is just a thing in the ocean, there's a lot of fuckin noise and experts can't always pinpoint it down in location or even what it might be.

This is why, even though they heard sounds that were consistent with implosion, at the time that the Titan lost total contact with the mother ship, it was still treated as if there was a live rescue operation. Because they couldn't be certain.

But the odds were extremely poor that these men were alive, and almost everybody involved knew that fairly early on. Again, the rescue operation had to go forward like they were looking for someone alive because that's how that works. The media, on the other hand, handled this in a very irresponsible way.

And, like, I know, news media is bad at being news is not some like hot new thing, I've just been building up frustration for days and so it had to come out somehow.

I'm not sure how much of this was just because they're very wealthy men- only one of whom I've ever heard of before- and how much of it was because it was a very bizarre and unique ongoing situation, how much of it was the intersection of that.

But pretty much everybody with enough knowledge to be worth talking to about this knew, like, Monday that even if they weren't dead right then, they were very unlikely to make it out alive, and watching the news wind a bunch of people up over the hopeful outcome was revolting.

Okay. We'll see if I can go 24 hours without talking about this. If you made it to the end of this absolute fucking novel, congratulations and/or I'm sorry.

#oceangate #titan submersible #this is just a personal rant about the media involved

557 notes · View notes

tossawary · 2 months

Text

A handful of random thoughts about the "Ultraman: Rising", with some vague, marked spoilers here and there:

I like the fact that they didn't explain kaijus or where Ultraman came from. After so many superhero origin stories where we have to be slowly introduced to the existence of the supernatural, it's refreshing to get dropped in the middle of a "second-gen" (unclear how many generations of Ultramen exist in this universe so far) superhero's story. The movie isn't apologizing for its genre or its premise. It just goes, "Yeah, you know what a superhero is and what a kaiju is, so let's go already. No, we're not even really going to explain how Ultraman's powers work. That's not what this is about!!! It it about our protagonist's daddy issues!!! Keep up!!!"

If I think about the world building, I do have some questions, like who built the protagonist's fancy tech house that's also a superhero base, but it's not too important. I assume his dad built it and then moved out to give his kid space? OR: "Why do the kaijus seem to attack this place specifically?" This movie works mostly because it's like "this is classic superhero stuff and we're just not dwelling on the logistical setup too much"! It leaves you to fill in some blanks on your own or just suspend your disbelief, which works.

The pacing was a little weird in places and the movie does get a little ridiculous in parts, I'm never quite sure of what the capabilities of these characters are, but it's a superhero vs. kaiju animated movie and that's to be expected. I still enjoyed myself well enough.

A few of the character designs didn't super work for me, like the big-headed kid characters. The kaiju baby is maybe a little too cutesy, but she was very cute and I've forgiven them because they didn't shy away from babies being gross. (There is... A LOT of baby kaiju vomitting.)

I did really like some of the other character designs. I liked the protagonist's big nose and pierced ears and bangs falling in front of his sharp face; he looks like such a dirtbag pretty boy. I like the lean in the industry right now towards more stylized and geometric 3D character designs in general, because I think that the shapes are fun and they'll age better this way.

Dirtbag guy to single dad is a winning story formula, huh.

They did a lot of 2D-style effects in this movie that I thought looked fun. I dig that trend in the industry right now as well. Some of the scenes were a little clean, almost bare, in terms of environmental design, but the colors generally looked great. Some of the scenes were really bright and vibrant and pretty.

(Mild vague spoiler?) There's no romance in this movie, which was surprising when they definitely set up a female journalist in the position for a love interest. No, it's a "strangers to friendly acquaintances" relationship for them. The female journalist is also a single mother, which was interesting, because you don't get a whole lot of career-minded single mother love interests in animated movies.

(Unimportant spoiler:) She told the protagonist to his face that she thinks he has daddy issues. Not stated quite like that, of course, but it was pretty funny. She was also right about that.

The emotional focus in this film was instead about the protagonist, Kenji, repairing his relationship with his father and also taking care of the kaiju baby. Kenji's only friend and co-parent for a chunk of the movie is an AI assistant (Mina) his parents made.

(Unimportant spoiler:) Stumped by an issue, Kenji makes a frustrated comment about how maybe he should ask Siri instead. Shortly after, in response to a different statement, the AI assistant Mina makes a passive-aggressive comment about how maybe he should ask Siri instead. I found that pretty funny.

(Mild spoiler:) Ultraman in this universe is a known and popular superhero and has been for decades. At one point, the baby kaiju gets out into the city, and Kenji has to go get her before she gets hurt or hurts someone else, and he publicly tells her to "Come to Daddy." And this is overheard by a bunch of nearby civilians, who gasp loudly. It is quite funny. It doesn't really come up again, but even if that wasn't recorded, you just KNOW that the news and the internet went wild over that revelation. "Ultraman had a baby with Gigantron???!!!"

(Another mild spoiler:) At one point, Kenji asks the female journalist for some parenting advice, and she IMMEDIATELY asks him if he has a secret love child. (No one is quite sure why this baseball star suddenly came back to Japan from the U.S., as they don't know he's Ultraman.) Kenji denies it, but I'm pretty sure that she must still think that he does.

(Continuing:) Kenji's baby kaiju parenting struggles (along with his ego) are fucking up his baseball career, due to stress and lack of sleep and conflicting commitments. We aren't shown a lot of interactions with his team, but I desperately hope that he also asked a couple of his teammates for parenting advice or something, so that his team could also immediately assume that he has a secret love child.

Like, "Yeah, yeah, Kenji Sato's secret love child, we all know about it. The poor kid is really bad at hiding it. We're trying to keep it hidden from journalists for him, but the whole team knows he's a new dad, for sure." (They do not know that Kenji is Ultraman and the baby is a kaiju.)

All in all: this movie was fun! Very silly, but cute! I think that I might try to pick some other "Ultraman" shows or films out of the dozens that exist, and try some of those ones out. The property seems to exist in a similar vein as "Transformers" where Rule of Cool rules world building and canon is whatever the newest iteration wants it to be.

#tossawary watching #spoilers #ultraman rising #tossawary ultraman

81 notes · View notes

necronatural · 1 year

Text

What's Up With Dante's Name Anyway

It's fairly evident from the start Dante's name is not actually Dante. They express superficial "I've kind of heard of it, but idk what that is" reactions to a number of things, but make it clear that "Dante" is completely alien to them. Their own name!

Notable is that the sinners will write/embroider? their own names on their coats.

You can see Rodion uses her nickname, how she would like to be referred. DonQui's as the standard, a little uneven but clear and readable. Yi Sang wrote his in lowercase. Ishmael started writing hers, then before she finished tore the lower half of the coat off, preventing her from finishing her name. Gregor's is distorted; why that is is unclear, but the top 2 options are "he's right-handed and couldn't fix it once the mistake was made" and "he never learned to write to begin with". His profile seems to be the only one that's been typed out, so either way, he physically struggles to write, thus proving these are written by the Sinners personally.

Now look at Dante's.

They've interpreted the name phonetically. It's so alien to them they don't even know it's Italian. This is absolutely not their name.

Now, important to note Dante is a sinner too! They're in the lineup as #10, and they have a subtitle name just like the rest of them, "DURANTE". Durante is the poet Dante Alighieri's full name; "Dante" is a nickname, a term of familiarity.

Coincidentally, while their profile doubles down on "Dante", their jacket in that profile is written with...what's this??

DURANTE. The subtitle name.

Now, the subtitle names (purpose unknown) are also written out on the sinners, also clearly written by the sinner themselves, in their native language. On their weapons! (Mostly; Yi Sang's is on his bag, and as his knife is sheathed and obscured we can't tell if it's on there as well.)

Notable is Outis, of course;

Her subname is just her name. That's because she's based on Odysseus; "Outis" is a pseudonym, the written word's first John Doe.

This makes the reversal a little strange; going by a LC-assigned pseudonym, but your subtitle is your true name? That doesn't sound right. While it's obvious Dante can't go by their real name (their identity is being withheld for a reason, as mysterious as it may be), something is up!

My current theories are

Funniest possible option: They've been provided with a nickname as their alias, which is alien because absolutely no one has ever referred to them by nickname before

Durante is a surname; they would never be referred to as "Dante" because their first name (notably missing from their promo art's coat) is the one that would get a nickname. Notable that Durante is generally a surname nowadays.

Durante is just an alias, just like Outis', but can no longer be used due to the secrecy around Dante's previous identity

Durante is the name of D corporation (D-corp being where Dante was found, and the region that is soon to experience a mass-death-event of around 200,000 people in June of 985), which they are the CEO/Face of

Durante is the name of a specific role within the D Corporation that is self-evidently very high up, possibly tasked with being the interface for their Singularity (their Star?)

#limbus company #limbus meta

463 notes · View notes

stephanythedramaqueen · 2 months

Note

Hi! I love your Osha and Qimir posts sm! I am obsessed with them and really hope the show gets a S2. 😭

Sorry if this dumb a question, but why is Qimir so desperate for a pupil? I’m rewatching the season and the way he says that line to Sol just sounds so angry and frustrated.

Is it just because he’s lonely or because he’s following darth plagueis orders?

Hi! I’m obsessed with oshamir too, dw. The brainrot set in deep!

Okay so the simple answer here is that Qimir wants the Power of Two. And he was angry in that scene not bc he was super frustrated about not having one, but more likely bc he invested all that time and energy training Mae, which might have been years for all we know, and she ended up betraying him and thus ending her apprenticeship under him. That’s years and time and energy wasted. I would be angry too.

Going into depth about this, in Sith theology the Rule of Two is one who holds the power and one who craves it. A master and a pupil. A teacher and student. A paragon and acolyte. It’s a very power grabbing impersonal dysfunctional power dynamic.

However, I find it very important that the wording here in the show should be taken into account. Qimir doesn’t want the Rule of Two, which is what the Sith crave. What Qimir wants is the Power of Two. And the way the Power of Two is described in this show in particular sounds more like a Force Dyad, before this term was invented. The Rule of Two has always been about power imbalance. The master who holds all the power and the pupil who wants it. But the way the season ended between Osha and Qimir is that they’re equals. As per Leslye Headland’s own account:

Mind you, the Rule of Two never affords any equality whatsoever.

The witch coven describes the Power of One, the Power of Two, the Power of Many, a connection between each other through the Thread (aka The Force) which makes them stronger too. Now it’s interesting that the Jedi would call their power of the dark side. The same way Qimir is. But not all Darksiders are Sith, the way he never technically identifies as a Sith. The way its described, this unique bond through the Force/Thread is more aligned with a Force Dyad. And if we’ve seen anything what Rey and Ben over there has shown in the movies, it’s a strength and bond capable of great feats. And that is what Qimir wants. The strength, the power, the capability of greatness with another through the Force, so he could have the freedom to exercise his Force the way he wants without restriction from the Jedi or the Sith. And in order to get that, he would’ve needed someone who knows his craft and has the strength in the Force the way he does; someone who needs to learn this.

Now is Qimir lonely and suffering? Yes. Does he recognize this pain and despair in Osha? Yes. Is he eager in his connection for someone to understand him the way he understands her, like no one else ever would? Also yes. Did Darth Plaguis sent him to do it? Unclear. Unlike what the internet has been spreading as per yesterday, it is not confirmed that Plaguis is Qimir’s master. Leslye Headland, the showrunner, has been vague about Plaguis role in this. In one interview she seems to imply Qimir doesn’t know Plaguis is there at all and Plaguis is just spying on them. In another, there’s a hint that there’s more going on between Plaguis and Qimir.

Either way, that’s an answer that can only be answered in season 2. Leslye isn’t so foolish as to spoil that.

#oshamir #the acolyte

54 notes · View notes

navigatebetweenthelines · 3 months

Text

Because a lot of you seem to be conflating intelligence to mean a single thing im going ro spell it out for you

DAZAI!

quick on his feet. He reads body language pretty well. he knows what to expect. His disadvantage is that he tends to project his own expectations onto others and this clouds his judgement. He is "intelligent" in the way thar he has a great capacity to improvise in tricky situations. He doesn't know everything he just always makes sure to have a plan B C D E F and G. Thats it

RANPO!

he knows all the facts about any given situation. His biggest disadvantages are that his judgement is shoddy at best and he doesn't always know what to do with that information. He is used to disregarding information for the sake of peace but that often means he ends up too close to the wrong people. He forgives EVERYONE he gives everyone a second chance. For as much as he sees the bad in a person he sees the good. He is unreliable and inconsistent. The good this about him is that as soon as he realizes his mistake he never makes it again.

POE!

JUSTTT as smart as Ranpo. He can GATHER as much information as Ranpo but it takes more effort. He has a lot of resources and technical know how. He knows technology, he knows politics, international law and most importantly people. His biggest advantage is that he knows exactly how to pressure people into doing what he wants. His mysteries are tailor made so that people can only escape when they realize what he wants them to. It is becuase of this that he saw society as a farce. That's why Ranpo and him are such a good team. Ranpo can see everything and Poe knows what to do with it.

Louisa!!!

She can slow down time when she's focused THAT'S her ability. She is capable of thinking of every possibility and coming up with dependable statistics. She's smarter than Dazai but less of an asset because her analysis relies on what she is aware of. In the world of BSD there is ALWAYS something no one is aware of. She isn't as capable of recovering quickly from a miscalculation so she really only has one shot.

Chuuya!!!

He doesnt need to use his intelligence most of the time because he can pretty much brute force his way out of most things. His intellegence relies on instinct. He has GREAT instincts. He knows when a situation has gone sour. Of course he doesnt usually verbalize it because with Dazai he doesn't need to and when he's alone why would he announce it to an enemy. He knows when he's safe and when he isn't. His biggest disadvantage is that he doesn't always listen to those instincts. In terms of priorities he almost always puts himself last and that leads to a lot of problems.

NIKOLAI!!!

Nikolai is similar to Chuuya except a bit more extreme because no one's life is his priority. His motivations are unclear and he always goes for the most imoral option. He isn't concerned with a specific desired outcome it is the inconsistency of his own actions that drive him.

FYODOR!!!

Kinda like Poe, in that he knows how to work people, but to a lesser extent and a little like the chameleon that Dazai can be but to a greater extent: he KNOWS people. He knows what a person wants more than anything and he promises that to them.

His biggest advantage is that he is smart enough to ally himself with people who have nothing else to live for. Sigma, Nikolai, Bram (before Aya), Nathaniel and Fukuchi are all outsiders. They are alone but desperately want to feel like they belong. Fyodors biggest disadvantage is that if those people find belonging elsewhere his influence on them shatters. He seems to be aware of that? Idk it's too soon to tell.

Mori!!!

He isn't crazy smart. He's just sadistic and cruel. He picks easy targets (children) and slowly takes away their agency. He undoes them until they have nothing to live for and they then become perfectly obedient adults. His biggest disadvantage is that he relies on the chain of abuse and that isn't sustainable as a dynamic for power. Chuuya and Akutagawa have no one above them to preassure them to listen to orders now that Dazai is gone. Also the extreme amounts of abuse he relies on is impossible to ditch out to EVERYONE. That's why he relied on the chain of abuse but that's failing. Mori isn't smart. He's a coward. He takes the shortest path no matter the resistance.

FUKUCHI!!

isn't smart either. He is just THE BEST chameleon. He hid in plain sight. He knows war and war tactics. He's a great spy and facilitating a strong bond with the target is a spy strategy.

They are not all the same stop conflating their perspectives as "knows everything". It leads to a lot of misunderstandings and a lot of misinformation. DAZAI IS NOT RANPO! He doesnt know everything. He's just really good at pretending he does.

#bungou stray dogs #bsd ranpo #bsd poe #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #bsd fyodor #bsd analysis #bsd louisa may alcott

62 notes · View notes

raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 months

Note

Hi Raven! I just had a quick question because I was hoping to clear up some confusion for me.

In book 5, when getting ready to audition for the VDC and the actual audition, I interpreted it as us just helping and being moral support for ADeuce. However, with some of the things I’ve seen, we, the MC, might’ve auditioned? Bc I really hope not lol I have no musical talent and would be so embarrassed I know I’m a bad singer I don’t need Vil the Queen telling me

Thanks! Have a good night/day :>

Good question! I went back into the game to check and… well, it’s more complicated than you might think! Let’s go through it all.

So beginning in 5-4, you first learn about the VDC/SDC. Grim expresses his excitement: “I want in on this competition!” In Japanese, you’ll notice that Grim uses “ore-sama” which is an uppity way to refer to oneself in the singular. Here, Grim is talking about his own intent to join the competition both in English and In Japanese.

Now let’s jump ahead to 5-9. This is the part where Adeuce and Grim are practicing their dance moves on the basketball court. After witnessing how bad they are, the player is granted two dialogue options, one of which makes use of the word “we”. This could imply that Yuu is practicing dancing with Adeuce and Grim. Important to note, however, is that the Japanese version includes no such subjects and could be interpreted as not including Yuu because of this.

Also!! Jamil comments on the dancing abilities of the other boys in both EN and JP, but not on Yuu at all.

In 5-11, Jamil asks if “you” have applied for the audition yet. In JP, Jamil uses the phrase “kimi-tachi”, which is closer to “you all” (ie more than one person). He does not make specific reference to Yuu, nor does he single them out with the “you”.

Then in 5-12, Adeuce, Grim, and Yuu approach Rook to sign up for VDC/SDC auditions. Rook announces their personal details and then tells them "Since you have informed me of your intent, you do not need to fill out any paperwork". In Japanese, the subject "you" is not present, but the implication is that he's referring to at least Ace, Deuce, and Grim as a group. There's not much here to implicate that Yuu is also signing up.

When the actual audition happens in 5-16, Rook announces that Ace, Deuce, Grim and Yuu "may enter". This could imply that Yuu is there for moral support or that they, too, are auditioning.

In 5-18, a little while after the auditions, Yuu has a dialogue choice: “Did we flunk?” The use of “we” here could imply Yuu auditioned, or it could refer to their group of friends + their efforts to cheer them on. It should be noted that JP lacks pronouns in these same options, so it’s unclear whether or not Yuu is referring to themselves and/or the group.

5-20 perhaps gives us the most definitive answer. Grim gets annoyed that he was summoned despite not being accepted into the NRC Tribe. More specifically, he points out that he and Yuu were left out of the conversation. Grim then says “Why’d you call us over when we already flunked out?” Given that every other student present has been accepted, the use of “we” here HAS to refer to Grim and Yuu. In JP, Grim uses the term “ore-sama tachi”, which makes a plural or group of people. So here, both EN and JP are very clear and agree with each other; they seem to suggest Yuu auditioned and failed.

It's very easy to miss this if you aren't paying close attention! (I overlooked it myself, www) I wonder if the writing was intentionally vague or dragged its feet up to part 20 because a lot of details surrounding Yuu are left vague to allow for as much or as little player projection as they like. That way, people who have no interest in it can imagine just sitting out while the people who are interested can imagine performing their heart out. I know that there's some fan art of individual people's Yuusonas auditioning, but the majority of the fandom seems to be satisfied with Yuu fulfilling more of a support/cheerleader or managerial role for book 5.

Interestingly, Yuu failing the auditions here can support a line that Azul says in book 3 when they're negotiating the terms for a deal (in 3-10). He states that Yuu is "not gifted with a beautiful voice [...]" but doesn't remark on their dancing abilities. So... Yuu might have been mediocre at the singing part of the audition?

Ace, Deuce, and even Grim seem to have improved a bit thanks to Jamil's coaching earlier in book 5, but since Jamil did not comment on Yuu... er, maybe Yuu didn't see a little improvement and so didn't get accepted into the tribe? Not sure why Grim wasn't either, especially since Vil was convinced by Rook to go for "unpolished" gems to make himself shine even brighter; maybe cuz he's a lil' cat and would steal all the attention/j)

93 notes · View notes

the-lincyclopedia · 2 months

Text

In Defense of Juliet

I just read Romeo and Juliet with @socialshakespeare, and I felt like I understood it for the first time, since it’s a play I’ve never studied, and I’ve mostly been exposed to it by seeing it performed a couple times. And I am so angry on Juliet’s behalf. She has been done so dirty, both by the adults around her within the world of the play, and also by the way she’s been remembered in pop culture. She’s not a foolish, simpering teenager the way she’s often thought of as being. I honestly think that Juliet is the most reasonable and pragmatic character in the play, and that there aren’t any major decisions she makes where she truly had a better option.

Romeo and Juliet, the characters, are both often mocked for how quickly they fall for each other. And I do think there’s something to that when it comes to Romeo, especially given that he was professing love for Rosaline literally hours before meeting and apparently falling for Juliet. But Juliet? What people often forget is that, right before she meets Romeo, Juliet is informed by her father that he has arranged a marriage for her, and that she has to marry Paris whether she likes it or not.

Now, a few notes on this:

Juliet is 13 years old. There are plays and books where you have to kind of guess at characters’ ages or figure it out from context clues, but this is very much not one of those times. Juliet being 13 gets talked about, explicitly, a lot in this play.

It was not normal for girls to get married that young, even in Shakespeare’s day. Here’s a great essay on that.

Paris is definitely older than Juliet. It’s unclear by how much, but it could be over a decade, maybe by a substantial amount. He’s also canonically pretty skeezy.

Even in many cultures where arranged marriages are common, it’s also common for the consent of the couple to matter. “Arranged marriage” does not by necessity equal “coerced marriage,” and indeed, the Church in Shakespeare’s day did (at least in terms of doctrine) require the people being married to consent in order for their marriage to be valid. (See the essay linked to in point 2.)

So here Juliet is, knowing she’s going to be forced into a marriage she doesn’t want. Her options are basically to go along with marrying Paris, or to do something that her parents can’t undo that will make the marriage to Paris impossible. What are her options for that? Well:

She can become a nun. This isn’t her first choice, and she’s not too keen on it even later in the play, when her options are much more limited and Friar Lawrence suggests it.

She can run away but not become a nun. This would basically mean she would be destitute and incredibly vulnerable. It’s not surprising she doesn’t choose this option.

She can kill herself. Again, unsurprising that this isn’t her first choice.

She can quickly and secretly marry someone who isn’t Paris and present the marriage to her parents as a fait accompli.

It’s really, really not surprising to me that her first choice is option (4). I mean, personally I would have considered becoming a nun, but I’m ace, and Juliet seems to, uh, probably not be. So, okay, you’ve got Juliet, literally fresh off a conversation with her father about how he’s going to force her into an unwanted arranged marriage, and she’s trying to figure out how to get out of it, and then this guy approaches her at a party and seems totally into her. Like, are she and Romeo hasty and probably hormonal to think they’re in love this fast? Yeah, probably. And Romeo a) was professing love for someone else this morning, and b) does not seem to be under urgent familial pressure to marry. But Juliet is desperate to marry someone who isn’t Paris, as soon as humanly possible, and Romeo seems both interested and more tolerable than Paris. Is it surprising that she’s all in?

So then Romeo and Juliet have the balcony conversation, and then the next day they get married in secret at Friar Lawrence’s. Cool. Now they can break the news to their respective families, Juliet won’t have to marry Paris, and everything will be fine. Right?

Except then Juliet’s cousin Tybalt picks a fight with Romeo’s friend Mercutio and winds up killing him, so Romeo retaliates by killing Tybalt. Romeo, by law, should be facing capital punishment, but the Prince commutes his sentence to banishment. Which is still a problem for Romeo and Juliet since they’re newlyweds and the Friar and the Nurse are the only ones who know. After spending the night with Juliet in secret, Romeo leaves town because he doesn’t really have a better choice.

Meanwhile, Tybalt’s death has significantly increased the urgency of Juliet getting married (which her parents don’t know she’s already done). Tybalt and Juliet are the only two in their generation of the Capulets, so Tybalt was The Heir, which means that now that he’s dead, Juliet needs to marry immediately, because, as a girl, she can’t inherit. Ideally, she needs to start producing heirs as soon as possible. Her father suddenly moves the date of her wedding from some inexact time in the future to this Thursday.

So Juliet’s close cousin has just died, her husband has been exiled, and her second (and, by the standards of the time, inherently sinful) marriage is suddenly very, very soon. She tries to talk her parents out of forcing her to marry Paris, and her dad is still very much not having it. She is, understandably, desperate. She goes to the Friar’s place and starts talking about suicide.

The Friar tells her not to kill herself, and he gives her a potion that will make her seem dead for a couple days. He tells her to take it before she’s supposed to marry Paris, and then instead of getting married, she’ll be buried, and then she can wake up and get smuggled off to join Romeo in exile. Juliet goes home and takes the potion as instructed.

But unlike Much Ado about Nothing, this is not a comedy. The potion works; Juliet’s family finds her “dead” and holds her funeral, and Friar Lawrence sends a letter to Romeo informing him of the plan. But the letter doesn’t make it--the friar carrying the message is quarantined for fear of plague--and meanwhile Romeo hears that Juliet has died. He comes back to Verona, duels Paris at Juliet’s tomb, finds Juliet seemingly dead, and kills himself. Juliet wakes up, finds Romeo dead, and (despite the deeply inadequate arguments of the Friar, who leaves Juliet by herself when he hears someone coming) kills herself.

And like, what the fuck else was she supposed to do? At any point? I thought of the musical Six a lot during today’s read-through, and Anne Boleyn’s line “Like, what was I meant to do?” feels so appropriate for Juliet (as does "All You Wanna Do," for other reasons). She couldn’t just keep living with her parents and being a teenager--she was going to be forced into an unwanted arranged marriage unless she could find a way to make herself permanently unavailable for marriage to Paris. Marrying Romeo seemed like a better idea than becoming a nun, running away and becoming destitute, or dying. Taking the potion of living death and then joining Romeo in exile seemed like a better idea than entering a sinful second marriage. Maybe becoming a nun would have been better than suicide, in the end after Romeo has died, but Juliet has been through an incredibly stressful few days at this point, her cousin is dead, her parents clearly don’t care about her happiness or well-being, and, oh yeah, she just woke up with her dead husband in her lap--I think she’s allowed to be Done at that point.

I’m not sure that Romeo and Juliet make a good couple with long-term potential or whatever. But this is absolutely not a story about how teenagers are dumb and impulsive. The adults are the ones making terrible decisions--the Montagues and the Capulets for having a deadly feud, the Prince for not doing more to end the feud earlier, the Capulet parents (especially Lord Capulet) for trying to force Juliet into an unwanted marriage at a very young age, Juliet’s Nurse for encouraging Juliet to marry Paris even though she knows Juliet is already married to Romeo, Paris for continuing to try to marry Juliet when she’s clearly unhappy about it, Friar Lawrence for leaving the tomb before Romeo arrives and then leaving again when Juliet wakes up and is freaking out--literally all of the adults suck, and Juliet is trying her best in the face of some seriously awful circumstances.

If the throughline of tragedies is that they couldn’t have gone any other way, I think that’s especially true for Juliet, specifically. She’s so smart, and she’s trying so hard, and there is no way out.

#a lin original #shakespeare #romeo and juliet #suicide tw #juliet capulet #death cw

72 notes · View notes

be-my-ally · 1 year

Text

Big Bunny

Playboy Bunny Reader x Elvis on the Playboy jet request

it might be 3:30am here, i may have work today at 9 and i may have to proof read over this again tomorrow but still, here, have a bunny themed fic - very apt for a slightly (at least for where i am) belated good friday gift (for those who celebrate and a spring themed passover/ramadan/weekend gift for everyone else) !!

I genuinely did not expect to end up doing nearly as much research for this as I did - and therefore there ended up being significantly more back story than I anticipated for what I had planned to be a short smutty one shot lol so… here’s a p ridiculous 9.8k fill xx

pairing: jet bunny reader x 1973-4 elvis (yes we are going that specific this time) - early big daddy era.

summary: freshly hired shy new playboy bunny reader and elvis get up to some fun away from the other passengers on Hugh Hefner's private plane, the aptly named 'Big Bunny'.

warnings: 18+, 18+, penetrative sex (p in v), oral (v receiving), lil bit of fingering, gratuitous use of the term 'bunny' and all accompanying euphemisms, elvis (as always in my writing) refers to himself as daddy.

wc: 9.8k

You nervously adjust your scarf around your neck; it’s windy, and you’re worried about your hair—that its carefully styled easy look might be ruined by the breeze. You roll from one foot to the other in anticipation; you can already feel the leather of the new, tall boot starting to rub behind your knee, and you’re hopeful for the chance to switch it out for your regular heels on board. The other girls are quiet, and that’s how you can tell that they too are nervous or excited—anticipatory perhaps. Usually, they would be chattering away right now—at least, that’s your experience from the last few flights you’d worked. But for some reason, the knowledge of this special guest had made them all fall silent, worrying their scarves or hair, and checking one another’s lipsticks, even more so than when Hugh was on board. Perhaps it was, like the Bunny bible said, because there was the knowledge that you were all representatives of the brand, and that was even more true for someone who wasn’t the owner of the brand, or perhaps it was simply because it wasn’t just any boring old investor but Elvis Presley flying on board today.

You’re all too young to remember much of him in his early prime or his dizzying launch to success, but you know that every girl in this line-up had watched the ’68 special, probably at a similar formative age to you, and had an experience; it had been impossible not to. You had been on the cusp of being 16 and were utterly gobsmacked and captivated by the television set as you watched him gyrate in a full black leather suit. Your mind had gone blank, and you couldn’t have told anyone what your father had said about it—you honestly couldn’t hear him because you were so shocked and excited by what you were seeing. Suddenly, you understood. You’d all discussed the marvel of the possibilities of the use of the satellites for the Aloha show only a few months ago, and you knew you weren’t the only bunny in the group who still found him almost alarmingly attractive. The concept, therefore, of being loaned out to him with the plane made you more than a little nervous. Another fragment of your anxiety for this flight also revolved around your new uniform—you weren’t comfortable in it yet; a teeny leatherette dress that somehow seemed far more revealing than your corset had ever seemed. Perhaps because it felt less like a costume in some way, perhaps because it simply was so unlike anything you would wear in day-to-day life—the over-the-knee boots were uncomfortable still too.

It’s unclear how you’d become so attached to the little corset costume when you were still so new to the plane and to this life as a whole. You’d been well-trained and ready to use your newfound, extensive bar knowledge while working as a table bunny in the club in LA. Although you had hoped that you might be spotted and bumped up to a more senior position in a little while—that one day you might be able to work your way up to the mansion or maybe even be handpicked to be a playmate—it all seemed so glamorous, and the attention was so exciting. You’d never dreamed you would, after only working a month, be handpicked as a jet bunny. It had been one of the most exciting moments of your life. Since then, you’ve not been flying for very long, although the training had been intense and your first flight had only been two weeks ago. And it had been a pretty slow start, with just Hugh and a couple of colleagues on board. They had their favourites, and while you had been chatted to and flirted with—treated well—you had also been mostly ignored.

Elvis, as far as you could tell, didn’t have favourites; he hadn’t requested anyone in particular from the thirty or so girls on regular rotation for the jet, and it made you relieved to think that you were on a mostly even keel with the other girls. You’d gossiped about it as you packed your bags onto the plane before you’d all ended up where you were now: standing in a row waiting for him to pull up, having been given word that he was mere minutes away. When you looked down at the other girls, you couldn’t help but wonder why, as one man with a small entourage for the flight, he really needed the bunny equivalent of five stewardesses. But, you think to yourself, at least he did because, as the most junior of the bunch, you definitely would have been the first to be bumped from the flight.

It’s only another few minutes until his long, sleek, white Cadillac pulls up in front, another car close behind, and his long legs are immediately sliding out of the car, almost before its even come to a complete stop. He seems eager to be away. He’s arguing with someone and barely acknowledges any of you as he starts to storm up the stairs towards the jet entrance—clearly familiar with the plane already. It becomes pretty clear pretty quickly that he wasn’t arguing with someone physically with him but was instead recounting what had been discussed on the phone in the car—you could hear him swearing as he went inside,

"I fuckin’ asked her to come out here with me, and now she’s being all cold, just then she was sayin’ she don’t wanna see me -" You can’t hear anything more, and you look down the row before Darla in front shrugs her shoulders and starts greeting the other couple of men still coming out of the car, and in the car behind, there were around a dozen guys in total, no women other than you five, which wasn’t unusual on the jet but wasn't entirely expected either.

A moment later, Elvis is hurrying back down the stairs, panting slightly as he comes. He arrives back in front of you, the last in line, with a series of apologies.

"Lord, where are my manners? I’m so sorry, girls. Hello, nice to meet ya; well, aren’t you all pretty little things?" You blush, and he catches your eye, winking at you as he presses a kiss to your cheek. He smiles at the rest of them, and Darla launches into her ‘Welcome to Big Bunny’ spiel as she directs him back up the way he just came. Your mind is racing as you follow them all up the stairs, and you’re more than a little distracted as you close the door and conduct the safety checks. Does that mean something? That he singled you out?

You weren’t meant to be his main assistant; of course, the main focus for today was keeping him happy, but you’d been specifically told that your purpose was to make sure the other passengers felt that they were getting similar attention. You didn’t have the experience, as Darla had told you, to understand how to deal with men like him. Those that think they’re special or that just because you’re wearing a bunny outfit they have some sort of claim on you, that you’re all the same and your centrefold is owed to them. And also, she’d flippantly added, you were still very inexperienced, and first and foremost she had to consider the brand. Now as you watch her take his arm up the stairs, you think you might be understanding her motivations a little more; her hips swaying more than they usually would. But you can’t say you blame her or that her other observations were wrong. You were inexperienced, both in flying and with men. But, as you’re locking the door shut and heading around to fetch towels and drinks before the pilots engage the engine, you can feel his eyes on you, and you think, I know what that means.

It’s a pretty long flight for a domestic flight—four or five hours, depending on the route the pilot takes—so you have plenty of time to get to know the passengers and ensure they’re all well taken care of. You’ve heard rumours from some of the other girls that this kind of flight can often go one of two ways: either the men are rowdy, raucous, and handsy, or they’re quiet, appreciative, but distant. You had assumed Elvis and his entourage would be the former, but from the way he quickly gets himself situated and settled in the forward compartment, you’re inclined to believe it will be the latter. You can’t help but notice he’s sequestered himself in the back; a couple of the men are with him, but the rest are a series of seats away. It seems like even the inner circle has an inner circle.

Before serving the drinks, you have a chance to look over at him. Trying to be inconspicuous, you’re surprised at how large he is. You’ve never realised how tall he really is, but he’d remained a few inches taller than you even in your heels, and while the plane is more spacious and furnished less compactly than the average, it still serves to make him seem bigger in contrast to the environment. He seems to take up more space than his body needs too, like his presence needs allowance; he looks incapable of staying on one seat, and the way he spreads his legs, his knees falling open, it’s like he doesn’t even realise he might be taking up more than his fair share of space.

You don’t realise how long you’ve been standing there, peering behind a partition wall, pretty much directly at his spread thighs. Until you move your eyes up, tracking up his body past his famously large belt to his open collared shirt, through which you can see tiny wisps of chest hair peeking through. You assess how his shirt is lying on him, clinging but well-tailored, and his trousers too, tight around his thighs and well-fitted on his waist but equally well-tailored, looking comfortable and well-fitted. Your eyes continue to roam over him until they come to rest on his face, and you realise he’s been watching you look at him. He’s smirking at you, clearly used to the attention but perhaps still flattered that he inspires it, and winks through his lavender-coloured glasses. You immediately duck back, taking a moment to gather yourself from the embarrassment of being caught out, before heading back out with the first tray of drinks.

It wasn’t your place to be, but you couldn’t help but be pleased when he showed himself not to be the type to start demanding wildly complicated cocktails—in fact, rolling his eyes when one of the men, Red, perhaps his name was, asked for a mai tai—and at his clear desire to remain sober, simply requesting a Pepsi. You take a breath, plastering your customer service smile on, determined to ignore any embarrassment, and swing around with the tray. Praying you don’t trip or spill anything in front of him.

Thankfully, you make it around without consequence, your thorough club training coming into play and keeping you steady even when there’s a mild bump as the plane engines start to roar. He grins up at you when you hand him the drink, and you can’t help but return it, beaming at him, forgetting your practised coquettish expression. You have to head back, sit down for a moment while the pilots announce your takeoff, and try not to grimace, knowing that your face can be seen from the compartment, at the feeling of taking off. You’re fine in the air, but that whooshing feeling of the plane jetting forward and up, the moment where you can feel the balance of the wings against the air as the engine battles its way up, still sends a wave of anxiety over you. Maggie brushes her hand over yours where it lies on the little armrest between the steward seats, and you thankfully grasp it, taking deep breaths. Once the pilot has announced you are officially flying and will be for approximately four more hours, you’re pleased you can finally stand up again and relax somewhat.

You’re not really needed for much for a little while, so you bounce about, chatting and keeping them company, talking with some of the other girls as you help to serve more drinks and food, and setting up the games tables when asked. Elvis has demanded the theatre be set up, so you arrange that, praying that when you return to the room he’ll have picked one of the latest cinematic releases and not, as you feared, one of the many adult releases available. You’re not sure you could keep a straight face if you had to watch him watch Deep Throat; it would just be too much to bear.

So you’ve avoided the lounge by staying in the forward compartment and helping the men there. Before you were sent on a mission to see if there was any peanut butter on board, a special request had apparently been made, but whether it had been complied with was yet to be seen. When Michelle, one of the more senior girls, suddenly appeared beside you, grabbing your arm and speaking in a hurried, hushed tone, she told you that you really ought to change. You panic for a second that something was wrong with your dress, but she’s quick to assure you that it was nothing like that. But Elvis had taken her aside and mentioned that although he "love[s] your yittle skirts, like yer spies or somethin’," he was "missin’ them little bunny outfits" and had left that with her. He hadn’t specifically requested anyone should change, but she’d successfully read between the lines of the very obvious hint and was, therefore, suggesting that you, Daisy, and Maggie change into your bunny corsets. You’d all planned for this possibility, so it wasn’t entirely unexpected, but you were still slightly surprised. You’d not been given the impression that Elvis had been that bothered by the theme of the plane, of you, but rather was utilising the plane for the luxury and convenience of the travelling experience. But if he was requesting your bunny outfits, clearly he was more into it than you thought.

It’s not long after that you do as requested and emerge from the powder room in your little patented corset teddy, the black silk highlighting your complexion and the little collar and bow emphasising your neckline. You were slightly annoyed that despite your careful packing, your little cottontail puff had been flattened, and so you’d had to spend way too long fluffing it to bring it back to life. This also meant that you were the last to emerge, and there was no way you could deny noticing that Elvis himself was sitting back in the forward compartment, turned so that he was practically facing the powder room door, watching you exit with a satisfied smirk on his face. You try to ignore him, listening to the conversations happening around you and trying to anticipate everyone’s needs. In your absence, more substantial snacks have been served, and you can see the remnants of some sort of peanut butter sandwich situation dotted around the room, so clearly that had been found too. There’s now a discussion happening about whether you should turn on the lights in the disco room or wait a little while to eat first. Eventually, it’s decided a proper meal is imperative at some point in the flight, but that right now? They wanted music.

So you all move down the plane. You end up walking directly behind Elvis, and when the plane bumps up and down briefly in the tiniest spot of turbulence, you trip into his back. You right yourself with help from one of his arms, apologising, but you’re flustered. It’s only worse when he turns to you.

"No need to be sorry, doll; you can fall into my arms whenever you like." It was one thing to imagine how he felt, but to be able to remember the feel of him, even from behind, even from just a brief moment of contact, was a heady feeling. Especially when he felt just as you’d imagined he would—soft but firm and broad. So broad. Walking behind him like this also made you nervous for another reason: it made you feel as if your movement down towards the intimate bedroom quarters at the end might be signalling something. The cosiness of the rooms between -- the disco and the lounge, perhaps reflective of the internal struggle you’re facing; the disco the butterflies in your belly.

You know you won’t be able to prevent meeting his eye again. The thought worries you; you’ve been around attractive men before, of course, but never one that, just by looking at him once, has made you feel like you would risk giving up everything for a few hours of fun. Lose everything you have simply for the pleasure of touching him. Maybe this was what Darla was concerned about; you can see her glance over to you every now and again, checking in, and you can tell she’s a little bothered by something.

Once you’re in the disco, the girls and you are well-practised at setting it all up, making sure there are enough tracks ready to be played and that there was easy access to free-flowing drinks and bar snacks. You’re also all very used to essentially having to start the dancing yourselves, having to encourage the others to join in despite their enthusiasm in suggesting the disco. You hang back slightly, holding a tray, when Elvis lightly grasps your elbow. You jump, having not seen him come to your side, and look questioningly at him.

"Dance for me, baby?" You’re not a stripper or a go-go dancer or anything like that, but it’s not a request that’s unheard of in the clubs. And you enjoy it; you wouldn’t be in the job if you didn’t get a slight thrill from being looked at, watched, wanted. So it’s easy to agree, especially when you’ve always found it hard to ignore a man when he adds a pet name, and besides, you want to. So you do. Elvis sits himself down, and a few of the men join in, and you and Maggie and Daisy all dance around them. You prance and shimmy, and soon most of the passengers onboard are dancing around to the music that plays from the surround system.

The group cheered and laughed when Burning Love was played on the 8-track, and Elvis sang along, laughing and joking when he missed one of the high notes ("God almighty, that’s high"). You notice that after a while Elvis has disappeared back into the living area and looks like he might be close to nodding off; sat there with his head back. You suppose he must be tired—you don’t know what he was doing prior to the flight this afternoon, but you do know he was coming off of the back of a week straight of shows and heading towards another one. You again know it’s not your place, and yet you still can’t help feeling like you ought to check on him.

You head over, leaning over, and crouching in the way you’re told to, almost in a bunny dip. He blinks up at you when you touch his shoulder.

"Lord, you’re a vision." You’re taken aback and can’t do much more than crouch there, stuck in place. "Talk with me, honey?" He pats your arm, and you nod, standing upright again and looking for a place to perch. There’s nowhere for you to sit down, or perch, few seats as there were in this living area, attached to the disco, and with the other men and girls also collapsing around you, you awkwardly look around for a moment before Elvis’ hand comes out and wraps around your thigh, pulling you down onto his lap.

"Oh!" You gasp, "Oh, I—I, uh, don’t think you’re meant to touch me, sir."

"Bunny, for the next three hours, I own you." He chuckles but removes his hands from your legs, although he makes no attempt to shift you from his lap, instead sitting further back, causing you to fall more securely onto his lap. You avoid what is sure to be judging looks from the other girls as they hand him drinks and chat with the other boys on board. You’re wrong about them watching you and judging you; of course, all the other girls are distracted, and even when they do glance over, it’s mostly to check that you, as the new girl, are still doing okay. Despite any jealousy they may be feeling about the attention he’s giving you, they still know how shocking and abrupt all of this can suddenly feel when you’re being confronted with men like him.

He’s surprised when you look shy, and you know the rumours abound—about how you’re all able to make extra cash—the private parties for the number one keyholders. But it’s not something you’re forced into just by virtue of being a bunny, and it’s not something you’ve been interested in finding out more about. Still, being perched on his firm lap, the seams of his suit rubbing against your silk tights, you can’t help but wish that you had asked more about it; found out if there were expectations. You wouldn’t want to let him down. You awkwardly sit there a moment before opening your mouth,

“So, uh, what did you wanna talk about?” He smiles,

“Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself honey.” So you do, giving him the basic information of your life, while he hmms and uh-huhs in all the right moments to show he’s listening to you. You’re starting to run out of steam and you’re about to ask him to tell you something when you’re distracted by him reaching to the side of you, jostling you a little.

He lights a cigar, and you can feel the heat of the tip. You shift the tiniest bit; you don’t know why it’s getting you so hot. You’re suddenly grateful for the subtle but multiple layers you’re wearing. Thankful for the fact that you’ve never listened to the few girls who swear it makes more sense not to bother with panties; you’d never been convinced that it wasn’t asking for trouble—something was sure to slip or become exposed. But you also always wore a double layer of pantyhose. He grunts the tiniest bit as you bump back into his stomach, and when you pause for a moment, you can feel a dampness growing between your legs. Through all the layers, he can’t feel it, thank God, but he does murmur to you: "Lord, are you a hot little Bunny." He strokes the small of your back, and you somehow know he doesn’t just mean it in the attractive sense, but that he can feel your heat.

You wriggle back against him, thinking, - don’t waste your chance, girl; don’t do it; you may as well go for it. All of your sense of propriety is lost, and you’re suddenly completely ignorant of the happenings around you. You can feel where the rubber around the edge of the leg bands of the teddy is starting to roll, being unable to stay put on the slippery tights and causing it to fall further away from your thighs riding up. You know he can feel it too, as close as you are. And while you’re still theoretically clothed, you can feel his trouser leg better on your thigh after it rolled up; he said you were hot, but he’s burning, it feels like. You push back onto him, feeling his tummy nudge against you, and under your tail, what felt like a growing erection. You don’t know what’s come over you, where this sexual confidence, this determination, this lack of self-consciousness, has come from. You wonder if it could just be the adrenaline of being so close, but you still go with it, and you nudge your ass back to him, grinding a little.

"Don’t baby," he pushes you forward a little, with his one free hand, blowing smoke past the side of your face, and you giggle, putting on a faux deep voice.

"Don’t procrastinate; don’t articulate…" You can’t even get the words out of your mouth you’re giggling so hard, wiggling in his lap, and it sets him off too, shaking his head and murmuring against your ear.

"Lord save me, girlie, you’re trouble, ain’t ya?" He holds you still. You try, but you’re practically incoherent because you’re laughing so hard.

"If you're lookin' for..." But your laughter cuts off when he hooks a finger in the corset and strokes it down your inner thigh—somewhere that you would have slapped anyone else and whispers,

"You came to the right place." You gasp, head going back, and his own tucking into your shoulder - he holds out the cigar, and, despite having barely lit it, rests it in the tray to the side of you so that he can use both hands to grip your waist. It’s ridiculously cheesy, and you don’t want to think about how many times and with how many girls he might have used similar lines, or how easy it must be for him.

"You want me, Bunny?" You still don’t know if you should be playing hard to get or if you should just give in to the inevitability of it all. "Can feel your little tail pressin’ into me - little puffy thing. Twitching ‘gainst me;" You wrinkle your nose cutely at his words, and he smiles into your neck: "Even a little twitchin’ bunny nose!" he presses a finger to it, and the strokes down to your lips. He rests it there for a second, "Do you wanna do this, bun?" You decide you may as well give in and nod—there's no point trying to play it cool when you’re sitting on his lap. You open your mouth, trying to catch his finger in your teeth as he fools around with you. He pulls you around, so one of your bent knees is now pressed against him and your other is resting on the seat, facing him. You shiver, loving how his sturdy hands manhandle you. You lean forward, as if to kiss him, when he stills you,

"Baby, we’re surrounded." You glance up, confused expression on your face, and a question in your eyes: Why would it matter? They all know the score. He shakes his head. "It’s your job isn’t it? You can’t - we shouldn’t?" You shrug your shoulders, he’s technically right and mere minutes ago you’d been worried about it yourself, but... It’s also not completely true to say that you would be discouraged from doing this with him.

"Say doll, how’d’ya - how’d’ya feel about joinin’ me?" Your heart flips, you glance around, but it appears the other girls are either preoccupied or purposefully avoiding looking at you. Plausible deniability. You’re frozen, and he stands up, pushing off of his lap, and leaves without looking back at you, only stopping at the door to the bedroom to call back,

"You coming or what?" So sure that you’ll follow him in. You glance around, and only Darla catches your eye. You’re wide-eyed and panicked at being caught, but she looks at you for a moment before nodding slightly and winking as she turns away. Somehow, it untangles the ball of anxiety that you didn’t realise was holding you so tense. Seconds later, you stand up, clearing the empty glasses from the tables around you, when Michelle swoops in, taking them out of your hands and nudging you with her hip towards the bedroom. Right then. You follow where Elvis had gone only a minute or so ago, and you cross past the little faux wood door into the bedroom. You look around but find that he’s already in the bathroom—perhaps so certain that you would follow that he didn’t even need to check that you had come in.

You sit anxiously on the big, round, fur-covered bed as you wait for him to reappear. You cross your legs before immediately uncrossing them and standing up—wondering if it was too presumptuous to be sitting there waiting for him. A moment later, leaning against the wall, you change your mind, deciding to sit on the edge again. It really did make the most sense. And while you didn’t want to make it seem like you were assuming something, you doubted he’d invited you back here to play checkers. He comes out and watches you for a brief second before coming over to stand in front of you, mere inches apart, so you’re forced to crane your neck up to look at him.

You’re a little skittish, and he can tell by the way you tremble when his hand comes up to touch your shoulder; he leans forward as if to kiss you, and you pull back. He pauses.

"What’s the matter, little Bunny? Why are’ya so twitchy now?" He doesn’t want to force himself, but he also can tell you want him, even before you willingly followed him here. He also knows that you must know the score—you can’t be that innocent in your role—and you must understand what he’s asking of you.

"I’m, I’m just -- it’s just a little surreal, you’re Elvis Presley. I don’t know how to, I've never been with anyone famous." He smiles, thankful that he hadn’t misread the situation — god forbid what the newspapers would have said about that if it had leaked: Elvis forces himself onto Playboy Bunny, BANNED from Hefner’s jet. It doesn’t bear thinking about. So he does the one thing he knows he can do well — can do so well that most women forget their worries and tilts your chin up to kiss you. He brackets your body with his thighs and cups your face in both hands. He’s masterful at it, knowing all the right moves, just the right amount of tongue forced into you, mapping your mouth. His lips are so soft, and his little nibbling bites on your lower lip hurt just the right amount for you to be totally consumed by his actions. He nudges you to move further up when you break apart, and you shimmy up a little, your legs coming up so that only your ankles are not on the bed. He presses one knee between your legs, balancing so he can move forward enough to kiss your cheek, his own high cheekbones rubbing against your face, and whisper,

"I’m just a man, hon, just like any other — don’t, don’t worry ‘bout it." He leans over and you’re forced onto your back, his hand catching you and lowering you down gently onto the fur coverlet. You lean up to kiss the exposed part of his neck, your nose nudging against his high collar.

"I, uh, god, I haven’t been around that many men in general — not like this, so that doesn’t actually make me feel a whole lot better. " You respond quietly. He pauses where his hand had been starting to fiddle with the zipper on the back of your corset. Pulling himself up to look you in the eyes.

"You, have - you have been with a man though? Right Doll?" You nod, frantically, you might be nervous but god don’t let him stop now.

"Yes - yes, just, just only the one." He moans on top of you, clearly liking the answer. You feel the zipper come down, and your chest is finally allowed to expand properly again, free from the restrictive boning. You suddenly panic, holding the garment close to your chest as you force him back a little. He rolls sideways, onto his elbow, to watch you;

"What’sthe matter baby?" He looks concerned as you force yourself up into a sitting position,

"Uh, could you - could you just close your eyes or something while I take this off?" He frowns,

"Well, sure, but… I don’t think you need to worry ‘bout modesty right now." You smile nervously back, trying for a blasé air —

"No, no, I know it’s just — it would just make me feel better." He looks at you, clutching the corset teddy to your chest. He nods, starting to close his eyes and you let out a sigh of relief, immediately standing up and wriggling out of it. You’re bent over, folding the fabric over itself when he starts to talk,

"I ain’t got a problem making you comfortable, babe, but if it’s about them little cottontails stuffed down your top I already know." You pause. Whirling around to see him peeking through his lashes at you. You forget to be shy, stood there topless, braless in nothing but your pantyhose and heels and you put your hands on your hips.

"How on earth —“ He laughs at you, opening his eyes properly,

"I’m not new to this game sweetheart." You can tell he’s teasing, but now he’s made you slightly worried that it's always been obvious thatyou weren’t quite as endowed as you were claiming,

"How’d you tell though?"

"You’re not the first girl meeting me with something stuffed down their shirt, darling, you just, sometimes you can just tell— I don’t know what you’d be stressin’ over though," He takes a moment to very obviously look you over, "they’re some pretty little tits." You’re pleased, but annoyed that he’s still decided to use the term little.

"Well - isn’t that why! Little!" He laughs at your indignation, reaching a hand out to pull you back to him, but he can barely speak through his giggles.

"No, no, no I didn’t mean it like that." You frown, but his amusement is infectious and you find yourself also giggling - "See, see, there’s a good girl - no reason to be sore about it, much more than what you’ve got’sa waste anyway mama, you’ll see."

He puts you back where he wanted you to start with - on your back, as leans over you. The feeling of him still being fully clothed against your chest, your near nakedness, makes you tremble - the soft silk of his shirt rubbing against your nipples. You can smell him, the slight musk of the day masked by cologne - perhaps reapplied in the bathroom a moment ago. His hair is looser than you expected it to be and it’s already starting to flop forward, it unnerves you slightly because it allows you to somehow forget who it is lying over you - the loss of that trademark making you forget that he’s practically a patented figure at this point. Until you catch sight of his blue eyes or his little curled lip and you’re reminded all over again. He strokes up from your waist to your neck and then back down, gentle fingertips dancing over your skin. He leans down to kiss you and your arm winds around his neck, pulling him closer. You’ve never felt a hunger like this. Desire like this before. You’re suddenly desperate to be closer, forgetting to play it cool you’re tugging at his shirt,

"C’mon get this off!" He laughs at you again, but stands up, ignoring your request. You lie there on your back looking up at him as he assesses you. You can’t help but puff your chest out a little and curve your back. Then he bends to grasp your left ankle, slipping your heel off. You yelp at the unexpectedly quick motion but the relief is almost immediate. He grabs your other ankle to take the other heel off, flinging it against the wall of the plane. Then his hands are immediately going to your black tights, he tries to pull them from the ankle but quickly realises that’s getting him nowhere, unable to get a proper purchase on the slippy material. So he works his way up to the waistband, grasping it and tugging it down. His finger catches by your knee, the rough bitten edge of his nail snagging and you hear the tell-tale ripping sound of them laddering, He laughs as you groan,

"Oh, no! Those were my last good pair; they cost me nearly seven dollars!" It only makes him laugh harder as he tears them off of you.

"Tell you what, honey, I’ll make sure you have ten new pairs by the time we land." He throws them somewhere near the rest of your clothes and turns his attention back to your stomach, only to be surprised when he’s met with another pair of pantyhose — this time in a sheer nude.

"Lordy! How many layers’is there?" You laugh at him, as he begins the process of rolling them down too — lifting your hips to allow them to come down easier than last time; it’s not that you don’t believe he would replace them, but just in case you’d prefer not to rip these too.

"Not meant to be being touched am I, Mr Presley?" It’s like, as he exposes more of your skin, he can’t help himself from pausing — the tights stay rolled around your knees to allow him to kiss your thighs, or the patch of skin between your belly button and your panties. You lift your leg, allowing him to roll down the last of the hosiery. He rubs over the arch of your foot and you moan at the relief — you may be getting used to the heels now but it didn’t mean that your feet didn’t still ache as soon as they came off. He gives the same attention to the other foot, rubbing firmly, before physically pushing you up the bed.

"Oh darling, call me Elvis." He strokes up your calves, before he stops again at your feet, "God, has anyone ever told you you’ve got real pretty sooties, Lordy these little toes are gorgeous." You wiggle them at him, you’ve never given much thought to your feet other than deciding what colour to paint your nails. He pulls your foot towards him, lifting your leg up. He kisses along the ball of it, before taking your big toe into his mouth.

You had never, ever, been turned on by the thought of someone playing, or sucking your feet, but suddenly it’s like electricity zapping up your legs to your tummy and core — you can feel yourself growing damp just from his gentle tongue lapping around your toes and you can’t help little moans falling from your mouth. You’re normally ticklish but this time the sensation forms little jolts through your tummy, making it flip slightly, and butterflies form. He lets go with a little pop, his lips forming the perfect round little ‘O’ of suction and the warm wet heat is suddenly released, causing the air to feel colder and your feet more sensitive than ever before. When you look at him standing there, holding your ankle, caressing your calve you have a sudden flash of what it must be like to be a man — and suddenly you think you can understand why men love being sucked so much. The sight of him, his lips red, your toes wet, is overwhelmingly erotic.

He keeps going - right up your foot, before he holds your leg up, kissing up it before he put his knees on the bed again, lowering your limb to allow him to kneel over you. He places little kisses up your thighs, and you can feel his chin rubbing against your stomach as he kisses his way up there, he uses one elbow to lean on, keeping himself somewhat horizontal, but his other hand is following his lips.

"Time to prove it to you, little bun-bun." He whispers against your sternum, before turning his head, licking a line across your breast and capturing your nipple in his mouth. His hand reaches to squeeze your other, pinching the nipple until it hardens into a little nub. He pulls off of where he’s been sucking and blows onto you. The cool air over your wet nipple sends a jolt straight to your pussy — it’s clearly an education for you tonight since you’d also never before known how sensitive your chest really was. He laps at the other side, giving it a similar treatment, palming the breast around it. While you gasp and wiggle underneath him you can feel his length straining in his trousers, and the slight feel of his lowly buttoned shirt, allowing you to feel a slither of the hairs on his chest and tummy is enough to send your arousal into overdrive. You start tugging at his top and trying to feel around his waist to undo one of the belts that had become synonymous with his image, far more insistently than before. Demanding he takes it off, even as the words fail to make it out of your mouth alongside the moans and gasps caused by his ministrations. He pulls back, planting one last kiss on the side of your chest and laughs at you when you beg.

"Please, gotta see you, wanna see all of you - please Elvis, dreamed about this, gotta see it." But still, he complies with your request, sitting himself up to strip off his shirt; unbuttoning the last few buttons and then standing to kick off his trousers, pulling off his belt. You stare at him. Incapable of doing anything else. He’s carrying more weight than before, especially around his middle, although he’s still clearly a man of generally slim build, padded tummy over muscle. But regardless of his weight, or maybe because of it, he’s still beautiful. You reach for him when he lies back down, stroking the hair on his head - the hair that ensures you recognise that this is no longer the slicked-back hair of his Hollywood days and that he’s no longer a boy in anyway but a man and you need only look at his chest to remind you of that. The few sparse hairs that used to be there have been joined by a collection covering his chest and stomach in a soft carpet.

His hands move back down the sides of your body and he whispers to you, "Lift up baby," as you would while trying to undress a child to pull your panties down and off of you — throwing them god-knows-where also. You wriggle, nervous and self-conscious as he stares at you. He’s flushed pink down his face and chest, and he looks you over, assessing. He nods, clearly satisfied and smiles when you breathe a sigh of relief. You bring a hand down, and he follows with his own, going to stroke you.

"God Bunny, you’re dripping." And it’s true, your inner thighs were already sticky with your own slick and you’re genuinely not sure you’ve ever felt this wet without having even touched yourself. He brushes over you lightly, circling your clit, before going to press a single finger into you. Your own hand rests on top of his, ostensibly as if you were guiding him, but really being dragged by him. You let out a moan as he pulls your hand down to join his, directing and tugging your finger to join his, pulling them both out and pushing them back in together as if your two hands made one. It feels wild, it’s so out there, your soft hand intertwined with his rougher fingers pressed against one another as they delve into your most intimate place.

You’re not unused to the sensation in general but his singular finger alone was similar to two of your own and so you can feel a slight burn at your entrance, a barely-there sting that cuts through the pleasure. Like a pinch of salt atop a cookie, it only enhances the flavour — the feel andyourhips circle around as his thumb finds its way up to rub at your clit.

"Gotta make sure you’re nice and loose for me huh baby, just like a new set’a wheels gotta grease you up." You moan at his words, the objectification for some reason really doing something for you. He uses his other fingers to stroke gently at you and the tickling sensation is almost enough to tip you over the edge. He seems to hold you there for a miraculously long time, and you realise you probably ought to be trying to return the favour so you reach down to tug at his hard cock. It’s a different feel than what you were used to, you’d never been around an uncut penis before, and you didn’t really know what to do with it other than pretend that it was exactly the same as the two others you’d touched. He winces slightly when you roll your palm over before his foreskin has retracted back causing you to roll the skin around, pinching him as you try. He bats your hand out of the way, pumping himself. You take note and recreate his actions as best you can, and you know you’ve hit the sweet spot when his own hips jerk and his hand tightens around your wrist. He pulls his fingers out from you, dragging your hand back with him and flings your arm away, before going back down with three fingers, he prods them at your entrance, testing the boundary before slowly sinking them in. You whine at him, panting,

"Please, god, Elvis, you gotta, I’m ready for you, I swear I’m ready for you," he pulls his fingers out, and pushes your hand away from his cock, rolling you firmly onto your back and kneeling himself up again.

"Ok, Ok, Bunny, ok, I hear ya, I can feel you’re ready for me, just, just didn’t wanna hurt you, just wanna make you feel good little Bunny." He pulls your hips towards him and lines himself up.

He thrusts into you, pulling you onto him and you whine as you feel his sticky head stretching you open. Despite your claims of being ready for him it has been a while. His stomach is resting on yours, his tummy pressing down on you. It’s almost like he’s smothering you, he’s entirely enveloping you. His hands are holding your waist, bracketing you to him. If it were anyone else you think you might find it claustrophobic, so close together that your breath is mingling, you can see his pores, feel his belly button. But for some reason it just makes you want even more of him, getting as close as humanely possible, desperate for however much you can get. His taste, his smell, his everything.

"Oh god," as he pushes in further, devastatingly slowly, "Tight as a fucking virgin aren’t ya… you sure you haven’t still got your cherry? Sure I’m not about to - ah - pop it ‘gain?" You moan, trying to relax your breathing from its quickened state as you adjust to him inside you. He moves one of his hands to touch you, feeling where you’re spread open and up to press your clit, and you buck up involuntarily at the contact, forcing a few more inches of him in. He groans at the unexpected tight pressure and heat. You clutch at his shoulders as he responds with his thumb speeding up on you. He drives into you, and you clench down as you start to feel his fingers doing their job, along with his cock jabbing against your internal walls. You don’t recognise the noises coming out of your mouth, they’re not the practised noises that you might expect from a woman of your occupation, but the very real moans and groans from a woman surprised at how this could feel.

He’s breathing heavily, and you can see the sweat starting to form, but he keeps the pace — clearly, his near-constant performances have maintained his stamina. A bead of it starts to form on his brow and you watch it drip, slowly, down his cheek towards the little patch of sideburns. You suddenly yearn to taste it, it’s sure to be salty, and maybe a little sweet, but his musky smell is already filling your nostrils and you can’t help but want to lick it. You try to distract yourself, don’t want to embarrass yourself like that, how unbecoming that would be. You try to look at a point beyond his shoulders, but you fail when you feel his hot, large, heavy, hand on you - cupping your cheek and drawing your eyes back to his face.

"Where ya going little Bunny?" He huffs, "Stay with me." He’s pleading with you and it immediately catches your attention. You nod, frantically, as his hips rock back and forth into you. He grips your waist and hips tight and leans closer, pausing in his rutting to press into you, deep, and catching your mouth with his. When he pulls off of you, he goes to kiss the side of your face, curving over himself to kiss your neck and you can see another drip of swear forming. It’s too much to take and you reach with your hands, both of them cupping his head, pulling him back up to your eye level from your shoulder. He looks up slightly confused at why you’ve stopped him but his eyes quickly roll closed as you lean forward,

"Wanna taste you, let me taste you daddy." He nods, and you hold his head in place, kissing the side of his mouth, before licking his cheek, little kitten licks before a broader stripe up to his temples, where the sweat is forming. You were right; it’s sweet and salty, manly. His hips stutter a little and you can feel him twitch inside you, your own walls fluttering and clenching a little in response to his feel and taste. He pulls back a few inches, about to thrust back into you but you put a hand on his chest. He frowns down at you, disappointed that you were blocking his movements.

"Let me, let me — can I, wanna ride you." His eyes roll back and his bitten, pouty, lips fall open in pleasure as he doesn’t say anything but starts to remove himself from you. When his cock pops out, bobbing between you he rubs it against your folds, cockhead bumping your clit. You grind against him, before moaning at the loss as he sits himself at the head of the bed, sliding down to be in a semi-reclining position.

"C’mon then doll, have at it." He gestures with both hands at his crotch. "Hippity hop little Bun." You grin, you don’t normally love the bunny jokes and comments — you’re not ashamed of your job and in fact, you’re normally quite proud of your career, but you do like to keep it separate from your private life; it’s still your work, and you’re more than just a playboy bunny. But coming from him? If Elvis wants to call you Bunny, he can call you a bunny — hell you’d hop about the room, eating a carrot, until he was satisfied if he asked.

You sink down onto him, your slick and his precum have lubricated your entrance enough by now to make it far easier than his first push into you, although your mouth still falls open at the feel of the stretch. You moan at the feel of the different angles, hitting different parts of your walls as you bottom out before rising back up, only to rock yourself back down again. You try to pay attention to his face, work out what feels the best for him but honestly you’re too distracted trying to get the angle right for yourself. He seems content, though, to let you do the work, offering you a near-constant stream of praise;

"Uh-huh that’s it, good girl, good fucking girl.” You circle your hips in response, grinding down and he’s moaning at you, telling you that you’re "treating’ me so nice, oh god, oh yes." You bounce on him until your thighs are shaking and you’re so close, but you just need a little more something. You’re about to say so, and you’re reaching down one of your hands that had been on his shoulders to touch yourself when he says,

"It alright bunny if Daddy takes over again now?" You feel yourself clench, his slightly condescending tone for some reason heightening your arousal even further, and you nod rapidly. He lifts you off of him, his forearms flexing, and manhandles you into turning around - pushing you down onto all fours. Your arms are a little shaky and you lean down onto your elbows to compensate.

"Arch your back baby, that’s it." You comply with his request, feeling a little like a whore and how strange it was to feel, as fucked open as you were, the air running past your pussy. He grips your hips and lines up again, one hand staying around your hipbone while the other strayed around to hold you close to him, palm splayed across your lower stomach as he pushes into you again.

He slides in, the stretch lessening each time — you can still feel him, of course, but it’s less of a burning sensation and more of a gentle pull now. He’s constantly talking — praising you, telling you you’re "so goddamn fucking pretty" that "you were born to take this," and that you were "such a good girl." You’re not used to the noises he pulls from you, and you probably should be more concerned about how thin the walls are - he reminds you a few times that you "gotta be quieter baby, gotta quiet down, be a quiet little Bunny for me", but when his balls are slapping against you, his tummy knocking into you, and his cock is stretching your hole you lose the ability to stay quiet.

A stream of swears and words of approval coming from your own mouth, "C’mon, please Daddy, please, that’s it, that’s it, give it to me Daddy."

He reaches around, stroking you and rolling his fingers over the little silky soft patch between his cock and your clit, feeling around where you’re joined. It’s filthy - and unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, and when he reaches down with a hand - rubbing his fingers over you just so you’re reminded that you’re not the second person he’s ever fucked. He seems to know all the right moves to get you where he wants you, your head turned against the bed, gasping. You’re knocked momentarily silent when he pulls out, rubbing his cock up and down your folds, jabbing it against your clit before he presses a hand agaisnt your back, forcing your ass up higher and presses back inside you. This time he’s aiming, going deeper than his shallower thrusts before, and he knows he’s aimed true when you wail as he hits the bumpy little spot inside you. He breathes a laugh like your reaction is amusing to him — perhaps because of the sheer shock in your tone and he continues at the same pace. Hitting that same spot and focusing his fingers once again on your clit.

He circles his middle finger and thumb around, moving closer and closer before eventually, finally, brushing directly over it. It’s enough to make you cry out, thrashing around a little, legs jerking, as you come — your hole clenching around him causing him to groan in time with you. Your body goes slack against him, as he continues to pummel into you, although he does slow down, letting you ride the waves of your orgasm back down. He shifts slightly, pulling you up, and holding you by his grip on your waist and pussy as he kisses the sweat on your collarbone. Before abruptly shoving you back down onto the bed. Your face rubs against the fur as your arms give way, and you grab fistfuls to hold onto as he grips your hips, so tight you’re bound to bruise, and starts to pound away at you. You’re oversensitive and his rapid pace is a little uncomfortable, but as he starts to swear, and you can feel him drawing near he reaches down with his left hand, and nudges your folds open again. He rubs your clit at a pace that would normally have made you shove the guy off of you, so little attention given elsewhere, but that matches his own hips perfectly and is apparently just the right amount of abrasion to send you careening to the edge again. You convulse on his cock at almost the exact same moment you can feel him rapidly pulling out, to shoot his own cum across your ass and back.

"Now you got your own little white tail Bunny." He doesn’t let you rest. As soon as he’s stopped spurting he’s pushing you over, rolling you onto your back and diving between your legs. He tongues your sloppy, open, hole and he licks his way up and down your folds, before tongue-fucking into you. His fingers coming up to replace his tongue, scissoring into you, so that he can lick up to your clit, sucking on that little nub and sending your oversensitive self straight through to a third orgasm. You scream, unable to remain quiet any longer, clutching at his hair and holding him tight to you as you writhe against his mouth. He licks you out like a man possessed, like he’s been told it’s essential for the good of humanity, and you’ve never had someone do this to you before; you had no idea this was how this felt, but to have someone so dedicated to the task was a feeling almost as heady as the orgasm itself.

He flops back, resting his head back onto your inner thigh, and you pat gently at his head, still breathless and unable to speak as you blink away black spots in your vision. He’s breathing heavily and you can feel his sweaty forehead on your fingertips. You can’t believe it’s his soft, sweaty hair in your hands. God, you wished this plane would never land. He sits up, and looks down at you, patting at your pussy lightly, as you would a pet, affectionately. You look over at your clothes, wondering if you’ll even be able to contain your puffy folds in the tiny gusset of the corset teddy when he distracts you by leaning down and pressing a kiss against your forehead.

"If it’s alright with you, darling, I think I might request you on my crew every time I fly."

#elvis fic #elvis fanfic #elvis smut #elvis x reader #elvis x you #elvis presley smut #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley x you #elvis presley fanfiction

691 notes · View notes

kevin-the-bruyne · 1 month

Note

Isn't the thing that's different about First in the brand pair universe is that he's in a small group at GMMTV to have fully played both sides of the "heteronormativity spectrum" in queer roles within GMMTV? (Other examples: Fluke Gawin, Tay...and soon Mark Pakin)

But what is actually unique is that the "heteronormative ambiguity" (for lack of better term) has baked into First's off-screen persona in a way that it hasn't for anyone else in the aforementioned group. It is so pervasive that it even became the source of the **incredibly problematic event** on Safe House (as you probably remember, this was in reference to Tay, NOT Khaotung or anyone else he's actually worked with, which is a whole different thing to unpack.)

I think this unusual image pairing played a big role in shaping what we see as First and Khaotung's commercial dynamic; both in reference to themselves but also in comparison to other brands at GMMTV. Maybe even Thai QL in general.

oh friend you are fully in the clown circus no need to mince words, do you mean that he's the only guy who's in the has romanced women AND men and/or is the top in their relationship category but still has gay rumors and gay jokes made about him? There's a reason I steered clear of discussing this because it gets dangerously close to making insinuations about his actual sexuality (which is both a personal no no and not exactly what you're trying to do either) but I think it's fair to say that First has had a little bit of a bullying problem. It seems very gray area though and the why of it is very unclear. Khaotung has made comments that boil down to his kindness makes him easily exploitable. What can I say that's concrete about it? My only thought is that in addition to the fact that he's too tall to be Khaotung's 'bottom', his filmography would also suggest that he was originally being pushed into the free market of grab bag sexualities - the gay one in straight shows, side character in straight shows, outright straight in the straight show but styled like a drag king. I think the company would love it if he acted more like Joss Wayar and there is a conceivable world where he could have actually been marketed more like Mark Pakin and Gawin Caskey. I mean First had the option of pairing with Gawin if his primary life goal was mainstream popularity [which once more I do think he's quite popular even domestically]. But First is all soft soft queer boy and middle child anxiety and unable to live a single moment where khaotung doesn't occupy his whole mind and yes the last part has always been true even before their official pairing (which I know you know but mentioning for the benefit of the circus audience tuning into this for the first time)

#first is a besotted wifeman first and human second #nani answers #first kanaphan

40 notes · View notes

sunderingstars · 1 month

Text

☆━━━━━ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ◯ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ━━━━━━☆

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ PENACONY VOICELINES ⌝

sampo analysis m.list

— what the stars reveal: analysis, elation!sampo

— word count: 2.2k

— overview: (as of 2.4) a look at sampo’s voicelines throughout penacony, focusing on identity, views on the masked fools, sparkle, and masks.

— i will not be focusing too much on the dream bubble since that will have its own dedicated analysis!

☆━━━━━ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ◯ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ━━━━━━☆

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ IDENTITY REVELATIONS ⌝

Note: I am still slightly unclear on the delineation between Sampo and Sparkle!Sampo during the Trailblaze Mission, so this analysis will be assuming Sampo is the one who takes us to the Pepeshi Salon & Dream Bubble, or that Sparkle!Sampo is at the very least capitalizing on connections and motifs that Sampo already has during these scenes.

Starting off with a bang, let’s talk about perhaps the biggest theme of Sampo’s on Penacony: identity. Up until this point, Sampo being a Masked Fool was largely unexplored; with the exception of the Aetherium Wars dream bubble and Rivet Town TV screen scene, there wasn’t much detail given to his function within the Fools. However, there are quite a few things we can take from the Penacony quest(s):

He has a VIP card to the Pepeshi Salon and seems to be on good terms with an important person there.

He wants to “reveal the truth” through convoluted means and implications.

He is an “old timer” and Sparkle is in possession of his mask.

From this, we can reasonably assume that his status (or charm skill) is high enough to land him a VIP card for a place that is extremely strict about who it lets in. He obviously holds some type of sway in Penacony beyond just another member of the Masked Fools, as shown by him eventually being able to get the items he needs.

Furthermore, the theme of age is continued from its usage in Belobog, with Sampo referring to himself as an “old timer” to Sparkle. What is notable about this, however, is that it is a departure from the more general use of “old pal” and “old guy” to something with a specific meaning — “old timer.” “Timer” is often used in reference to profession, and usually unique to experienced positions at that. Different forms of media often use “old timer” as a way to delineate an experienced member of a group; for example, if someone refers to themself as an “old timer” in a mafia movie, they are definitely someone to watch out for, usually an experienced hitman or former boss. It has become a way of showing how characters downplay their power to those around them — “oh, I’m just an old timer” (said right before they take out an entire crime syndicate solo). After all, the oldest tend to be the wisest and most practiced out of everyone. While it can still be used in more common settings (like old members of a group just being stuck in their ways), I think it’s clear that this isn’t Sampo’s case. Taking into account everything present in Belobog’s story, it’s reasonable to assume that “old timer” is a way of him referencing a more powerful or experienced status.

Which leads us to the dream bubble. Sampo’s dreamscape is interesting, to say the least, with heavy indications of wanting to say something that can’t be said. He constantly circles back to the idea of “revealing” the “truth” — not merely hinting at it, but fully uncovering it for others. However, he doesn’t seem to be able to do this in a straightforward way. Instead of just saying what he wants, he has to rely on the metaphor within a metaphor of the dream bubble. It isn’t entirely clear if the “truth” he wants to show has to do with Firefly, his own identity, Penacony as a whole, or some combination of the three. One thing, however, is clear: he is very insistent. This seems to be something important to him, important enough to go out of his way to formulate and guide us to experience.

Which is why it’s so strange that he doesn’t use that silver tongue of his to “reveal” it directly. If it’s so important to him, why not tell us? Why not, at the very least, imply it with his own mouth? My theory is that he can’t. Not that he won’t, or doesn’t want to, but that he is physically or mentally incapable of doing so. This may be due to the potential repercussions he’d face from others, or it may be due to a more eldritch power binding him shut. To me, the dream bubble seems like a scream. Some part of him trying to reach out to us, to tell us something important, despite being separated by soundproof walls. His insistence on truth seems less like a bit and more like a cry for help, trying to get through to us despite us having no way of knowing the real situation going on.

Whatever his identity is, he’s trying to let us know in the only way he can. Personally, I see a direct tie between the size of “big Sampo” and Phantylia, so perhaps the “revelation” is of Emanator or Aeonic status (but that’s just me!). Either way, there’s definitely something he wants us to know. There are limitations to his identity, but that won’t stop him from trying to find workarounds.

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ "CLOWN'S ITEMS" ⌝

Let’s take a detour for a moment and focus on the items Sampo requests from the Pepeshi Salon. Given that these items are used to directly create the dream bubble (which relies on Sampo’s personal dreamscape), they seem important to discuss when talking about his identity and potential backstory.

(Note that these are labeled the “Clown’s Items” — not the “Fool’s” items. While Masked Fools are often referred to as “Fools” (and Sampo is specifically referred to as this by Sparkle’s team voiceline), these items indicate a higher status. A fool is often someone who is unaware of their foolishness, someone less aware of their own antics than that of a clown. It is also important to note that clowns are often experienced performers who are paid to do a job. Simply put, “clown” would be a more sophisticated way to refer to someone within the Elation, a more serious and dedicated title.)

Similar to Sampo’s eidolons, I see these three items as taking narrative form.

First: “The Moment of Betrayal.” This likely refers to an “inciting incident,” something that completely turned Sampo’s world upside down. With all of his emphasis on trust throughout his dialogue, it would make sense that he potentially has a rocky relationship with it; or, at least, trusting someone that eventually would betray him. This could go several ways — the ones that stick out to me are: Aha as an Aeon somehow being upstaged or betrayed or otherwise lured into a joke that turned sour (the specifics of this could get iffy, but given Aha’s proximity to mortals wouldn’t be entirely out of the question, especially if They were lured into mortal form or into taking power away from Themself as a joke); a part of Aha being betrayed by another part (betrayal of the self), something akin to the masks casting the silhouette out or the mind leaving the body behind; Emanator!Sampo being hurt or otherwise led astray/stripped of power by Aha or another Emanator (being the butt of a traumatic joke rather than the one making it); a Sampo that, after being constantly mistreated by the Elation, was subject to a moment that “broke the camel’s back”; and general abandonment or deception that led to a horrifying revelation.

Second: “The Cloud of Doubt.” After the betrayal occurred, doubt began to set in. Sampo’s faith in the goodness of himself/others/the Elation began to wane, most likely taking the form of a confused haze similar to a “cloud,” an ever-present reminder of loss. It also implies a state of dissociation, of shock, the quiet, stretching time after something occurred that he couldn’t quite process yet. But the doubt was still there, hanging in the background, fermenting.

Third: “Everlasting Hatred.” Eventually, this doubt would morph into hatred, either turned inwards or outwards depending on the specifics of the betrayal. Sampo would carry this within him, always keeping his target in mind. The “everlasting” quality of it, the inability of it to fade, would lead to it further strengthening, further fermenting, most likely influencing his overall plans and endgame goal. This is most likely where we are in the present, with the “truth” he so desperately wants to reveal to us potentially including details like these.

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ VIEWS ON THE MASKED FOOLS ⌝

To put it simply, Sampo is tired. Worn out. Exhausted, even. He constantly carries the air of exasperation when talking about the Masked Fools, the kind of energy reserved for a parent watching their kid flush car keys down the toilet again. We know he places an emphasis on dignity and respect in his own view of Elation, so obviously he would butt heads with the idea of a group like the Masked Fools who are dedicated to sowing chaos purely for the sake of laughter. We see most of this in Black Swan’s companion quest, with Sampo calling the smoked red herring a “cringe joke,” then asking “Have you dealt with many Masked Fools before?” when Black Swan says Sparkle’s sense of humor sticks out to her. This seems to be his way of generalizing Masked Fools as 1. telling “cringe jokes” (i.e. being unfunny) and 2. being all the same, not necessarily unique but instead sharing the same sense of humor — “cringe” humor at that (this could alternatively be read as all Masked Fools having extreme and unique senses of humor, which in turn makes them all “similar” in their uniqueness).

Additionally, in his conversation with Sparkle, he wants her to stay away from Belobog and even says, “… the Elation Miss Sparkle seeks… isn’t something ol’ Sampo can stand by.” While this is a conflict with Sparkle specifically, it can also be applied to the Masked Fools writ large since Sampo seems to see them as similar to each other. (It can also be reasonably interpreted based on the Masked Fools subscribing to a shared ideology.) In this way, the Masked Fools’ idea of Elation is not just something that Sampo disagrees with ideologically, but is something he is actively trying to keep away from the people and places he cares about. “Stand by” additionally implies a source of frustration or anger spurring him to take action; being so overwhelmed by emotion that he can’t put up with it anymore and refuses to support this ideology. Sampo presents a more mature and balanced idea of Elation, while the Masked Fools are pure youthful insanity. It’s clear that while he technically respects all people’s ideas of Elation, he doesn’t have to support or tolerate what he views as too dangerous.

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ SPARKLE & MASKS ⌝

Lastly, there is definitely something going on with Sparkle in relation to Sampo. It is never revealed why Sparkle has his mask or how she got it, only that it’s in her possession and she gives Sampo the means to find it. It’s unclear if Sampo gave her the mask to begin with or if she stole it, or if it simply made its way around to her through other means. We also aren’t clued in on if Sampo potentially left it with her for safekeeping — essentially “giving up” his power willingly with the intention of coming back for it — or if he gave it to her as a way to specifically keep it away from himself. Alternatively, we don’t know if Sparkle could have taken his mask just to fuck with him, or if there was a deeper reason for her to hide it.

The idea of Sparkle “giving” the mask back to him after he does something for her could support the theory that she took it originally, but the following line from her asking why he “suddenly want[s] to take back [his] mask” could point to more intention on his part of handing it off to her. There seems to be somewhat of a disconnect here; Sampo’s lines seem to see Sparkle as having taken or otherwise having full control of his mask, while Sparkle’s lines seem to see the mask as something she was just holding onto for Sampo until he wanted it back. “Giving” and “take back,” after all, mean two very different things. “Giving” implies authority on behalf of the giver, whereas “take back” implies authority on behalf of the taker. Either way, Sampo wanting his mask back seems to be a surprise to Sparkle, most likely because he hasn’t expressed any want to use it for a long time.

Whatever is going to happen on Belobog, it’s clearly bad enough for Sampo to need more power than he currently has. The severity depends on his status — if his higher status is only by experience and title, then the issue is mild. If he’s an Emanator, it’s more serious. And if he’s an Aeon? Whoo boy. Whatever makes an Aeon risk complete transformation back into an eldritch entity is a huge problem indeed.

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ MISC. ⌝

Firefly’s hilarious Wattpad introduction for him: “large palms,” fingers that are “slender and nimble, “emerald eyes.” I’ll say it, she absolutely sold me on the dramatic aspects of his appearance. Like, noting that he “walks in long strides, but his steps are light and barely audible” so he doesn’t leave footprints reminds me so much of that one Twilight scene LOL. Also, that description is so hot wtf?

More “old friend” references scattered throughout the quests (for more explanation, see Sampo’s Belobog Lines).

“Entertainment for grownups”? “The adult side of things”? Don’t mind if I do ;)

(I think 99% of the problems in my life could be fixed by making out with him sloppy style.)

Sampo distrusts Firefly, perhaps almost omnisciently, but Firefly also distrusts him. As much as he tries to help, he’s not completely in the clear.

In her voicelines, Sparkle mentions Sampo having “lines he won’t cross” — while I’ll explain this more in another analysis, the main question I pose is: Won’t? Or can’t? Aeonic or Emanator restrictions could look an awful lot like being a buzzkill to an outside observer.

The dream bubble is a dream within a dream — dreamception. Perhaps this links to Sampo’s own identity — an Aeon within an Emanator within a Masked Fool (or any combination thereof).

Sampo, despite eventually making that deal with Sparkle, is a lot more straightforward in this quest. Not in the sense that he’s any less cryptic or confusing, but that he doesn’t seem to be trying to outright deceive us as much. In fact, he’s trying to guide us and look out for us — even going through the whole dream bubble thing as a way to warn us about multiple things.

— There are heavy themes of disguise throughout Penacony; we know from Sparkle that the Masked Fools are already capable of disguising themselves easily (or at least she is). I wonder how much more powerful or adept at disguise Emanator or Aeon status would be. 👀

Overall, I feel Penacony brought a lot of great information for Sampo’s character. Unlike Belobog, his scenes here focused more on identity and function within the Masked Fools, which I found to be a nice way to balance out the more “personality-heavy” scenes of Belobog. I’m very interested to see what more is revealed in future plotlines!

☆━━━━━ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ◯ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ━━━━━━☆

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ જ⁀➴ thank you for reading to the end!

☆━━━━━ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ◯ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ━━━━━━☆

#⌞ ✎ sunder.writes ⌝#⌞ ✧ super.nova ⌝#⌞ 🎭 ⌝#hsr #honkai star rail #honkai: star rail #sampo #sampo koski #sampo hsr #hsr sampo #sampo honkai star rail #analysis #hsr analysis #hsr theory

40 notes · View notes