#For characters who play a small role in the story I sure do rotate the little morsels of info we know about them in my head. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kingofkingdom-archive · 3 years

Text

So Much Like Stars - Part ONE

Pairing: Boba Fett x Fem!Reader

Part ONE (read part two here!)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You’ve known nothing but snow and cold wind your whole life. When a mysterious hunter arrives at your village, you find yourself drawn to him.

Warnings: Explicit sex, p-in-v sex, vaginal fingering, breathplay, power dynamics/power play, royalty kink (?), dom/sub dynamics, naked female clothed male, come marking, unprotected sex, mentions of death (no character death)

Word count: 8.2k+

A/N: This fic is entirely self-indulgent. No one asked for it, but here it is. Boba Fett fucks and we all know it. Or maybe you disagree, in which case you’re wrong. Anyway, enjoy! As usual, there’s no use of Y/N here and please heed the warnings before reading.

Across the windswept, snowy plain, you watch as the ship approaches its landing. It slows, rotates, and then lands face-up on the flat expanse. It’s maybe a kilometer and a half away from the outlook you’re perched on; your binocs are old, no longer reading distance, so the best you can do is guess. The wind blows the snow towards the east, blurring the landscape into obscurity for anyone without a trained eye.

Your cloak, woven from the heavy fur of the Kintur that roam your planet, keeps the driving wind from seeping into your bones. Every inch of your skin is covered, from your leather boots and thick leggings to your goggles and well-worn face mask. You carry a pack, as you always do, to which are strapped your net-shoes that allow you to traverse over massive snowdrifts. At your hip is an old Republic-issue blaster and at your side is your staff, which often acts more as a tool to clear paths and knock snow from tree boughs than anything else.

This planet is nearly uninhabited save for the village you were born in. Seeing a ship is rare, and it’s even rarer to see one that’s unaffiliated with a galactic government. You take note of its location and strain to see if you can spot the pilot as he emerges, but you have no such luck.

You sigh, the wind whistling in your ears, the drifts of snow shifting and growing around you. Father will want you back soon. The newcomer is undoubtedly going to head towards the village, and you’ll need to be there when he arrives. You stow your binocs away in your pack and unstrap your net-shoes, attaching them quickly to your boots.

The trek back is one you’ve managed countless times before - that doesn’t make it any less dangerous, but the sheer cliff faces and howling, punishing winds are not strangers to you.

Your village is small by the standards of other planets in the galaxy, from what you’ve heard (the Elders’ stories of Coruscant never fail to amaze you), but in your eyes it’s vibrant and bustling despite the harsh climate. There’s almost always a tavern with its lights on and music flowing out, a friendly face and warm hearth never far.

It’s located in a secluded valley between towering mountains, out of sight of the vast plains from which the mountains seem to erupt without warning. There are no foothills; only flat land interrupted by harsh terrain. It’s very easy to find death in the mountains, but they have sustained your people for generations. Hunting is your main source of food, whether it be the Kintur that also provide their hide or the massive snow-bison whose fat and bones keep your diets regulated. In the warm season water flows endlessly - the streams that run from the mountain peaks are known to have healing properties, and often they seem to glow with a supernatural shimmer. There is a small mine some distance from the village where many men work, and though the job is a dangerous one, the mountains never run out of the ores you need.

Your people’s existence is not especially complex, but they are tougher than most. The landscape requires it.

You arrive back at the stone walls surrounding your village and greet the gatekeeper, a man who recently inherited the job from his father.

“Hello, Isrwill.” You plant your staff next to you and lean on it, taking your weight off of your feet. “Have you heard anything of the visitor?”

The man nods. He’s about a decade older than you, but underneath the goggles and mask his face is youthful, eyes kind and always merry. “Savakya returned not long ago. She says he will make it here within the hour.”

“Did she say anything of his appearance?”

“Only that he wears armor, and a helmet. She could not make out any features, other than that he’s shaped like a man.” Isrwill leans back against the wall.

“Ah,” you reply. “Well-dressed for the weather, then.”

He shrugs. “Yes, but also well-dressed for battle.”

You can hear the concern in his voice. The question is one you’re sure your whole community is asking: what has brought this foreigner here?

“Thank you,” you tell him, and he nods while pushing the gate open.

Once inside the walls, you remove your net-shoes as well as your goggles and immediately head toward the building where you know they’ll bring the stranger. Your father will already be there, conversing with the Elders and with the Committee to prepare for whatever news or needs this foreigner might have. There are protocols in place for such an event, but they haven’t been used in your lifetime. As you walk to the meeting-house, you try and recall the words you studied so long ago, when your father taught you your people’s laws and customs.

The meeting-house is constructed of solid, ancient wood, imported from a forest planet and stark against the gray stone that most of the village’s homes are built from. Inside there is a massive hearth cut from a single stone, the fire inside it already raging. In the center of the main room there is a curved table; on one side sit the Elders, on the other, the Committee. At the head sits your father, next to your empty seat.

“You made it safely, my child,” he greets you when you arrive, a swirl of snowflakes following you in. Smiling, you pull down your face mask.

“I always do, father.”

He smiles from his place at the table, giving you a look. “That does not mean I do not worry.”

Rolling your eyes affectionately, you lean over to kiss him on the cheek. The other people at the table chat amongst themselves, though you can feel the undercurrent of unease at the visitor’s imminent arrival.

You walk around to take your place, setting your pack, staff, and outer layers near the hearth to dry. You are left in a long-sleeved, high-neck shirt and tunic over your leggings, your hair done up in its usual braids. Usually you would go home and change into something more suitable for Committee business, but there was no time.

You turn to your father, who sits next to you with all the grace and poise befitting a benevolent leader.

“Isrwill told me the stranger is arriving soon. Do we know any more?”

He nods, though he doesn’t look entirely pleased. “Yes. From what Savakya described, it seems he’s a Mandalorian.”

The name isn’t familiar to you. “Is that a race?”

“No.” Your father leans back in his chair. His arched brows bely a concern that is rare to see on him. He strokes his white beard, staring off into space. “The Mandalorians are more of a culture, a people. I’ve only ever heard stories of them. They say they are fierce warriors, and that many of them are bounty hunters by trade.”

That’s odd. You frown, confused. “Bounty hunters? Why wo-”

You are interrupted by three sharp knocks on the doors. Beside you, your father calls out “enter! ”, and the doors swing open.

Two village men, two of the strongest of your people, flank a man clad in armor. His helmet has a T-shaped visor with a short antenna, and on his back is a rifle. You take note of the blasters strapped to his hips as well as something that could be a weapon at his knee.

Isrwill was right. Well-dressed for battle.

You sit up straight and keep your eyes trained on the Mandalorian. Though you are a member of the Committee, you are also well-versed in how to use a blaster, perhaps the best trained of any at the table. You are also a protector of your fellow Committee members, the Elders, and most importantly, your father.

“What business brings you to our planet, Mandalorian?” Your father’s voice is stern, strong in a way you hope to emulate when you inevitably assume his role.

“I am in search of a bounty, your excellency.”

The hunter’s voice is deep and slightly muffled through the helmet’s vocoder. He sounds weathered and rough, though you imagine that’s life as a man who fights and kills for a living.

“Sir will suit me just fine,” your father tells him, a hint of a smirk in his voice. “As for your bounty, it is highly improbable that any individual has survived outside of our village longer than a day. There is no stranger here but you.”

The Mandalorian sighs, looking down at the floor and then back up again. “I’m afraid I disagree, sir. The tracker isn’t wrong. He must be hiding somewhere in the mountains.”

Your father shakes his head. “Those mountains are impossible to pass without a guide. If he was there, surely he is dead by now.”

Though you can’t see his face, the hunter’s helmet is surprisingly expressive. He looks at your father for a long moment, and then glances around at the other people at the table. His gaze finally lands on you.

You set your jaw and stare back, unintimidated. A man with guns does not scare you, no matter how he tries.

“Alright,” he says, but you suspect he is not satisfied with this information. “Might I at least inquire about some lodging for the night?”

Later that evening, you find yourself in your favorite tavern, sitting in your usual booth, watching the townsfolk mingle and chat. Your drink of choice is a fermented ale that is produced in the warm season and aged for consumption outside of those short couple of months.

No one pays you any mind unless they’re a close friend or they have news. They know to leave you alone, to let you sit with yourself as you prefer to do.

You’re watching a young couple you grew up with dance to the music when the tavern’s door swings open. You glance over at it but do a double take when you realize who stands in the doorway.

The hunter.

Around you, conversation quiets as everyone takes in the stranger. His helmet scans the room, like he’s looking for someone in particular. Internally you scoff. The bounty would never show his face here, he’d stand out too much amongst your people.

The hunter’s visor stops moving, aimed directly at you.

Kriff, you think, taking a swig of your drink. He wants information, and he’s not going to give up quite as easily as he did with your father.

The Mandalorian walks into the room, headed directly towards your booth. People watch, heads turning to track the stranger’s movements across the floor. His steps are heavy, intentional, large frame imposing as he approaches you.

Certainly a man built for survival. For conflict. If he were a different person, you might find it attractive.

He stops when he reaches your booth, looking down at you just as you stare up at him, brow raised.

“This seat taken?”

You shake your head and gesture to it. “Not at all.”

From the corner of your eye you can tell the rest of the tavern’s patrons are watching, waiting. As the hunter sits, you wave your hand discretely, telling them to return to their conversations, to each other.

The noise picks up again.

“You’ve got some influence here, princess.”

The name both rankles and sends a shiver of something unwanted down your spine. Now that he’s closer, knees almost brushing your own, you really get a sense of how intense this man’s presence is.

A warrior, to be sure. None would debate that.

You narrow your eyes at him. “We are not the subjects of a king, hunter.”

He scoffs, leaning back and resting his arm on the back of the booth. “Forgive me. What are you to them?”

“I do not see how it concerns you.” The words are harsh but your face remains neutral. Your father taught you how to deal with men like this - how to steel yourself against posturing, against prodding, against teasing.

The Mandalorian chuckles. “I just like to know who I’m talkin’ to. No need for the theatrics.”

You don’t respond. He’s the one who approached you - you have no desire to get in his good graces.

He sighs, glancing over to the wall at your left, his right. “I’d never heard of this planet before the tracker brought me here, much less your people,” he tells you. It’s not a surprise.

“That’s how we like to keep it. We stand no chance against something like the Republic or the Empire. Our only means of survival is staying under the radar.”

His visor is trained directly on you, staring, studying your face. You stare back, wishing you could somehow get a sense of what he looks like underneath the mask.

“How long have your people lived here?”

You know it’s not because he’s genuinely curious. Your mind is buzzing with all the different reasons he’d have for asking - he wants to know how familiar you are with the landscape. He wants to know how well-established your system of governance is here. He wants to know if you know how your people arrived.

He wants to know how vulnerable you are.

“Generations. Since before the Elders’ grandparents were born. Memory of our arrival here has been lost to time.”

He tilts his head. “Is yours the only settlement on the planet?”

You nod. As far as you know, anyway. Attempts have been made to reach out, to try and see if any other peoples live in the outer reaches of the landscape, but none have returned successful.

The Mandalorian hums. He glances over into the tavern, at the other patrons and the bartender. You watch as the bartender, a woman a few years younger than your father, uses a rag to clean out a cup, but you can tell she’s watching your table from the corner of her eye. When she notices the hunter’s helmet turn towards her, her eyes flit up to you, then over to him.

The hunter waves, as if to signal that he wants something. The bartender glances back at you and you nod. She sets down the cup and begins walking over.

You look over at him. He’s already staring back, chin tilted down like you’re a riddle he’s trying to solve.

“What can I do for you, sir?” The bartender’s voice does not waver, but it’s tense nonetheless.

He gestures to your drink. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

The bartender nods and leaves. You take a sip of your ale, finding comfort and clarity in the warmth it brings you.

Across from you, the bounty hunter shifts in his seat, removing his gloves to reveal a pair of calloused hands. You glance down at them and follow their movement as they reach up, thumbs curling under the bottom of his helmet, and lift.

The hunter’s weathered face greets you. He’s a man, like any other, like you expected him to be. His brows are arched and dark, but the rest of the hair on his head has been burnt away by something that left scars across the crown of his head and his face. His eyes are cold, haunted, calculating as they look at you.

He sets the helmet on the table with a thud .

“You’ve seen death,” you observe, holding his gaze with your own. “Been close to it.” His brown eyes narrow and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, princess.”

Ah, you think. He underestimates me. He thinks you’re the coddled daughter of a village leader, fed by the kindness of your people and adored for your status. You raise an eyebrow and take another swig of your drink, smirking into the amber liquid.

You set the cup down on the table. “There is more in those mountains than snow and wind, hunter.”

He doesn’t move, save for a slow blink. “Tell me, then.”

You sense movement from the corner of your eye - the bartender has returned with his drink. He nods to her in thanks and she gives a tight smile, glancing at you before hastily returning to her station.

The hunter takes the cup and brings it to his lips. You watch as he takes a sip, swallows, and his eyes widen. A small cough forces its way up and out of his throat.

You smile at him, a hint of a grin that curls the corners of your mouth.

“A bit strong for you?”

He glares over the rim of the cup and pointedly takes another swig. He sets the cup down, large hand dwarfing it.

“What is in those mountains?” His voice has gotten lower, rougher, like you’ll be intimidated by a show of verbal force.

“Nothing you’ll concern yourself with,” you reply, refusing to back down. “Unless you want to encounter your own mortality again.”

“I am perfectly fine with a bit of a scare.”

You bark out a laugh. “You wouldn’t survive an hour out there without a guide. And no one here will take the job, not when the options are either a fruitless search for a dead body or a shootout between two criminals.”

He leans forward, face pressing close to yours, warm breath blowing across your cheeks. His nose is inches from your own.

His voice drops to a low murmur. “I didn’t come here for a bounty, little one.”

Your brow furrows and you draw back, pressing your shoulders against the cushioned stone behind you.

“Word has got out of a large deposit of kyber somewhere in this system. The Empire has not yet caught wind, but soon they will.”

You don’t recognize the name of the material he’s referring to, but you do recognize the Empire and know exactly what something like that might mean for a small, defenseless village such as your own.

It’s much different than a simple bounty hiding in the mountains.

“Why didn’t you tell the Committee this?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know if this is where the deposit is. I didn’t want to cause unnecessary concern, especially considering the… size and scale of your village”

You purse your lips and lean your head back, staring up as you consider this development. This man has come in search of something you aren’t sure exists, and if it does, it means certain death for you and your people.

You look back down at the man across from you. “Then why did you decide to tell me? You’d have been better off going to my father with this information.”

He huffs out a chuckle, then grabs his drink and takes a swig. He sets the cup back down and rests his arm on the table beside it. “Because I need a guide, little one. Someone with knowledge of the terrain, who I won’t have to watch out for. I’m willing to pay handsomely.”

The dots begin to connect in your brain. You raise a brow at him. “I have no need for your credits. They’re next to useless here. Besides, how can we know this - this kyber is there at all?”

“Is there anything unnatural about the mountains? Anything that would point to something powerful within them?”

You frown, thinking on it for a moment. All of the ores found in the mine are naturally occurring, the creatures that live on the peaks are all native, and the --

It hits you. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, and your heart rate increases. A falling feeling in your stomach takes the sensation from your legs for a moment, ice cold and burning all at once.

“The water.”

The Mandalorian tilts his head. You glance around to make sure no one’s heard you. Everyone in the tavern seems oblivious to the two of you, despite their stares earlier.

“We have to leave,” you tell him, fishing a couple of coins out of your pocket and depositing them on the table. “We can’t discuss this here. Come with me.”

Hastily you stand, taking your cloak from its hook on the side of the booth and pulling it on. The hunter follows suit, sliding his helmet back on and looking around the room.

You start towards the door, heavy footsteps following behind you.

You bring him to your home, the only place where you know you won’t be interrupted. You live in a small building tucked in a quiet corner of the village, between a storage silo and the village’s north wall.

Inside, the hearth has been going all day, fueled by coal and snow-bison waste chips. There are four rooms; three downstairs and a bedroom upstairs. You bring the Mandalorian to your study, where the fire roars and there’s a few soft chairs and a couch to sit on. He takes a seat on the latter and removes his helmet, watching as you search your bookshelves for something.

“Care to tell me what you meant by ‘the water’?” He slouches, thick thighs spread over the couch cushion.

Your eyes follow the movement of his legs for a split second. It’s supremely distracting, how inviting he looks right now. You glance up at his face and see a small smirk on his lips. A blush colors your cheeks, caught in the act of looking. To hide it, you turn back to the bookshelf, scanning the spines of your books.

“In the warm season there are streams that flow from the mountaintops to the valley. It pools in an area not far from here and forms a small lake, not much more than a pond, that freezes over once the cold sets in again. For centuries we’ve brought our sick and dying there to be healed.”

The hunter hums. “And it works?”

You nod, turning to look over your shoulder at him. “I was brought there as a child. I would have died of the fever had it not been for the water. Our Elders drink if regularly after they reach a certain age, once they haven’t been killed by the elements.”

“Are you saying your people live longer because of it?”

You pause. That has never crossed your mind, since using the water’s magic has always been normal to you, a yearly practice like any other. “I don’t know. How long does man usually tend to live?”

“It depends,” he says. “I’d say a hundred years at most.”

That has you taken aback. You look over at the bookshelf again - this is life-changing, world-shattering information. Dread begins to settle in your chest, like everything you thought was real is a lie.

The hunter leans forward, hands on his knees, concern etched on his scarred face. “How long do your people live, little one? How many years?”

You inhale and look over at him. “Hundreds. A thousand, if we’re lucky.”

“Kriff,” he swears, leaning back with a hand over his mouth and nose.

Turning back to the bookshelf, you resume your search to calm your racing mind. You find the book you were looking for, a collection of stories gathered by your family over generations.

“Here,” you say, sliding the book out of its place and taking it over to the hunter. He scoots over, but only slightly, so when you sit next to him you’re tucked snugly between him and the arm of the couch. His thigh is warm against your own and you get chills down your neck when he shifts to put his arm behind you, around your shoulders.

You clear your throat and open the book, letting it rest on your legs.

“There are a few accounts that speak of the water,” you tell him, flipping through the pages until you find the one you’re looking for. It’s half a page of writing, the other taken up by a crude map of the mountains.

“The waters are life-giving,” you read, tracing along the words with your index finger. “They shimmer and glow in the sun when it shines upon us. The source is deep within the mountain, covered by ice and snow in the cold season. No one has seen the source of the waters and survived. Many have tried. It lies in the heart of ongrol territory.”

“Ongrol?” The hunter’s voice is deep, low in your ear. You look up at him, absentmindedly biting your lip between your teeth.

“Yes,” you reply. “A vicious species of massive snow lion. It’s rare to see one and live to tell the tale. I’ve only ever seen their prints.”

He hums, eyes flitting across your face as he studies you up close. “How large are they?”

You shake your head. “We can only guess, but certainly bigger than this building.”

The Mandalorian nods, his eye contact with you intense and unwavering. You meet it head-on, the warmth you feel in your bones spreading into your thighs and your ribs and your --

You blink and turn back to the book. The map is shaded to indicate the creatures’ territory, with a dot to indicate the general location of where the source is thought to be.

You point to an area just outside the shaded region. “This is as far as I’ve been. I can get us to the source - it’s the ongrol that are the problem.” You look back up at the hunter. “You’re sure the kyber is what’s causing this?”

He nods. “It’s one of the most powerful materials in the known universe. Little else could heal your people the way it does.”

“How do we hide the signature from others, to keep them from finding it?” The unspoken question there hangs in the air as you speak; how do we protect ourselves from attack?

He furrows his brow, shaking his head ever so slightly. “I’m still trying to work that part out, little one.”

That does not do much ease your anxieties, but you have to accept it for now.

You close the book with a sigh and stand to return it to its place on the shelf. When you turn back, the hunter has placed his other arm on the back of the couch, spread out like a king on a throne.

He looks comfortable - at home, here in yours. It’s unlike you to bring a stranger into your dwelling and not feel uneasy about it. Yet here he is, and it’s like he belongs right there on your couch, armor and all. You cross your arms, observing him.

“Do you know the name Boba Fett, princess?”

You shake your head. “No, I do not.”

He smiles, like your answer pleases him. “It's mine.”

Boba. The name is unusual, but it suits the man before you.

“I’d tell you mine in return, but I’ve grown fond of the names you’ve chosen for me, Boba Fett.”

A deep sound pushes its way out of Boba’s chest through his throat - half a chuckle, half a growl. He gives you a once-over with his dark brown eyes, like he can see right through your thick base layer and loose tunic. You watch as he does so, trying to calm your nervous breathing. His gaze is so penetrating, so intense, that after a moment you have to turn away from him, towards the fireplace.

The orange-blue flames dance in front of you, warming your face even further. A mirror hangs above it, but your eyes are focused on the hearth.

You hear Boba shift behind you, metal on fabric. “Tell me, little one,” he says. You can sense him moving closer. “Do you have any suitors, here in the village?”

The question makes your heart race even faster. “No.” You refuse to look at him, knowing that what you see there will render words impossible. “I’ve not had any interest in them.”

“But have men tried? Asked to court you?” He’s right behind you now, the warmth of him nearly matching that of the flames in front of you. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end. You can see his shadow from the corner of your eye.

“Yes,” you nod. “They have tried.”

Boba hums. His hands come up to gently, but firmly, rest on your shoulders. He slowly smooths his gloved palms down your arms, taking them from being crossed over one another to resting loose at your sides.

You risk a glance up at the mirror in front of you. He’s already looking at you, eyes locked on yours. You meet his gaze and dip your chin ever so slightly, so you’re staring at him from beneath your lashes.

A ghost of a smirk dances across Boba’s lips. He breaks the eye contact and you watch as he looks down at the nape of your neck, one of few exposed pieces of your skin. His right hand brushes your hair from over your shoulder onto your back, gathering the long tresses together. The women in your village grow their hair out as long as they can, not only to use for braids, but also to keep warm.

Boba’s fingers brush lightly against you, the rough material of his gloves a contrast to the smooth skin of your neck.

“Why haven’t they been successful, princess?”

You clench your jaw. Boba looks back up at you, his hand resting across your nape, fingers curled ever so slightly. The feeling of it makes your thighs tremble, your core responding to this silent, easy display of authority. It shows on your face, how much you like this, and you know Boba sees it.

“None of them could give me --”

Your words are cut off by Boba’s hand snaking around your neck, firm grip tightening around the column of your throat. You gasp, a soft, breathy noise, and the man behind you chuckles. His thumb and forefinger press into your jaw, forcing your head up, though your eyes are still locked onto his reflection in the mirror.

You choke out the rest of your sentence. “-- Give me what I need.”

“Is that so,” Boba murmurs, the words a deep rumble in his rough voice. He presses just a bit tighter, and your eyes flutter closed in response. “I think I know just what you need, my dear.”

His words burn through you like fire on wood, like a cold wind rushing through an open window. Your legs grow weak and your hands grapple at him, trying to find something to hold onto. Your left hand catches on the gauntlet covering his arm and you draw it around, so his arm covers your hip and his hand rests possessively on your lower stomach.

“What a pretty thing you are,�� Boba mutters, sliding his hand lower on your front until his fingertips brush your mound. You let your head drop back against his shoulder at the feeling of him cupping your most private of areas, like it’s his, like it’s always been his. Your legs shift further apart to make room for his wide palm. “A stoic princess who desperately needs someone to take care of her.”

You whine at that, at what he’s offering you. It’s true; of all the eligible men in the village, not one has taken you to bed and been able to let you fully cede control to them. They see you as a leader, as someone not to be messed with, as someone to be respected above all else.

“Oh, yes,” Boba hums, curling the fingers of his left hand into your cunt, hooking them into you through your clothes. “They might follow your orders, little one, but you’ll follow mine.”

It sounds like paradise, letting him have you like this. You nod against the armor on his chest, movement limited and head growing dizzy thanks to the hand around your neck. Boba presses his lips close to your ear, his large body now curled around yours.

“Listen to me, sweetheart.” The pet name makes you melt against him. “I am going to go take a seat, and then you’re gonna take your clothes off for me. Can you do that?”

You open your eyes and there he is, in the corner of your vision, gaze dark and full of heated promises. You study his face for a moment, memorizing his features while he’s close like this, and then you nod.

“Yes, Boba.”

“Good,” he tells you. He then moves his hands away, and though you mourn the loss of his touch, knowing what’s to come keeps you patient.

He turns, walks back over to the sofa, and sits. He spreads his legs as he did before, arms on the back of the couch, watching you.

Boba looks so much like a king in that moment that it makes you want to bow before him, to prostrate yourself like you aren’t the daughter of the Chieftain. To worship him as he demands.

The thought crosses your mind as your fingers begin to unwrap your tunic, taking the woven material from its intricate adornment on your body. You feel a blush rising on your cheeks at the implications - what would the village think of their leader’s daughter, the one to assume his role in the future, imagining such things about a stranger?

Your mind wanders, racing, thinking of seeing him upon a proper throne, all silent confidence and heated gazes from behind the visor of his helmet. Maybe he’d bring you there, show you off to a court, hold you in his wide palms like a treaty. Set you upon his lap like a rare trophy from your far-off snow planet. You’d wrap your arm around the back of his neck and listen to his dealings while he kept a firm hand on your upper thigh.

Dignitaries and crime lords alike would watch, whispering, unable to look away.

It thrills you, to have these secret desires.

You deposit the tunic on the floor next to you and toy with the hem of your top, pulling it out from where it was tucked in your pants. Boba’s eyes zero in on the strip of skin that is revealed as you raise the shirt higher, higher, and higher, until in one motion you’ve slipped it over your head and off entirely.

He stares at your chest and it makes you smile. Men will be men.

Feeling emboldened by the way Boba is looking at you, you turn around and hook your thumbs in the waistband of your pants. You slowly slip them down your hips, over your thighs, and past your knees, bending over as you do so.

Behind you, you hear shuffling. You toss the pants to join the tunic and shirt and turn to see Boba’s codpiece and gloves removed, his hand shoved down the front of his pants.

“I’m enjoying the show, little one,” he says, and waves at you with his other hand, even as you begin to see movement at the crotch of his trousers. “Continue.”

You smirk, a sly thing at seeing the effect your bare form has on him. You tuck your fingers under the band of your bra and pull up. Your arms block your view of Boba’s face as your breasts are revealed to him, but the hungry look in his eye once you can see him gives you a good idea of it.

“Kriff,” Boba swears, jerking himself faster, rougher. The sight of it makes your breathing become heavy, the labor of it causing your chest to heave. His eyes drop from your face to your tits - somehow, you don’t feel embarrassed or ashamed like you might usually.

You just feel wanted. It’s intoxicating, that he wants you for you , not your title.

There’s only one article of clothing left on your body now. You turn around again, your back to him, and take the front hem of your underwear in your fingers. Slowly, almost teasing, you slip it over your hips, arching your back and pushing your ass out towards Boba. The underwear slips down your thighs until it falls to the floor.

You straighten up again and look over your shoulder at him. He gestures with his free hand, a ‘come here’ motion that you’re all too eager to follow.

“Beautiful kriffing body,” he murmurs as you approach. He reaches out and puts his hand on your hip, fingers curling into your ass cheek. His eyes stare at your mound, at the patch of hair there. “Bet you’re already wet for me, huh?”

He glances up at you. You blush, watching as he removes his hand from his pants and snakes it in between your legs, calloused fingers feeling the evidence of his effect on you. His fingertips catch on your clit, rubbing and feeling and stoking the fire within. You moan wantonly, comfortable in the privacy of your home.

“You are. Kriffing soaked. Just begging for my cock, aren’t you?”

His words make your pussy clench just as he slips one of his thick fingers into you, surely spreading his own fluids across your tight, hot skin. The girth of it forces a whine out of you, brows furrowed, and your hand flies down to hold onto his as he fucks you with his finger. Your other hand comes to rest on his shoulder, gripping his armor.

“Look at you,” he mutters, baring his teeth as he watches you writhe on his hand, using his thumb to rub your clit just so. Your mouth drops open in pleasure, sparks shooting down your legs and up into your belly at the feeling.

Boba hums, circling his thumb and flicking it over your puffy, sensitive nub. “What would your people think if they saw you moaning like a whore for an old man, hm?”

Your legs turn to jelly at the force of the arousal that hits your cunt. You sway forward, knees buckling, and Boba catches you as you fall.

He uses the hand on your ass to guide you into a sitting position on his lap, so now you’re straddling him, bare chest pressed to the cool metal of his armor. You tuck your face into his neck and revel in the feeling of a second finger teasing at your opening.

“You like that, little one?” His words cause his throat to vibrate, and the deep tone draws your lips in to kiss at it. Your nose brushes against the underside of his jaw as you move from kissing to licking, getting drunk on the taste of his sweat on your tongue.

Boba groans, sliding the second finger into your cunt with ease. You sigh, blowing cool air across the skin you’ve just wet with your tongue. “You do.” He runs his free hand up your thigh, holding tight to the firm muscle there, toned and strong from a lifetime in the ice and snow. “So desperate for my cock.”

You nod, though your lips hardly leave his neck. “Please, Boba,” you whisper into his skin, pressing yourself as close to him as you can get.

His fingers still their movements within you and you whine. Boba shushes you, and you have to bite your lip to keep from pouting when he pulls his fingers from your pussy. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and leans back.

“I want you on your hands and knees, princess. Right here on the couch.”

You nod frantically and there’s not a moment of hesitation in your haste to follow his order. You arrange yourself next to him, forearms propped on the arm of the couch and your knees keeping your ass aloft in the air.

Boba turns and positions himself behind you with ease, half standing with one foot on the floor, his other leg bent and kneeling on the cushion.

He may call himself an old man, but he’s got the physicality of someone half his age. It makes the spot between your legs hotter and wetter just to think of it. Your cunt throbs for him.

You look over your shoulder and watch as he reaches into his pants, hand spreading your wetness across his dick, and your eyes widen as he draws it out from the confines of his trousers. Your gaze zeros in on him; he’s thick and long, just as you suspected, and every inch is one you want to feel as deep inside you as possible. Honestly, it makes sense - you’ve always heard that the men with the most to make up for do so in their personalities.

Men like Boba don’t have to compensate, which makes them all the more attractive.

You glance up to his face. He’s smirking down at you, eyes traveling down to your ass, pushed out and open for him. He runs a hand along the soft swell of your rear, caressing you like you’re precious, like you’re prized.

“I could get used to this,” he tells you, guiding the head of his cock to notch at your opening. “Seeing a future queen all bare and ripe for me.”

Your eyelids flutter as you feel him press in further, deeper. The sight of him kneeling behind you, fully clothed while you’re naked as the day you were born, sends a wave of arousal through you. Your brain doesn’t even register what he’s called you, how wrong he is, because you can’t think of anything beyond his dick.

“C’mon, Boba,” you whine, his slow pace driving you mad. “Fuck me like you mean it, old man.”

The noise that comes out of his mouth is almost non-human with the way it reverberates around the room. His hands dig into your hips and he thrusts , unrelenting and rough, spearing you onto his thick cock until his balls slap your clit. You choke out a moan, your eyes rolling into the back of your head at how perfectly full you feel.

“Ah,” he grunts out as he immediately sets to fucking you roughly, deeply. “The little princess does want to be treated like a whore.” His words are accompanied by the lewd sound of his cock moving in your wet cunt, his hips slapping against your own. You moan, loud and uninhibited, unable to conceive of shame or propriety.

For your whole life you’ve been looked up to, treated as both fragile and untouchable.

Boba Fett fucks you like you’re nothing more to him than a pet.

He snarls his words into the air. “Woulda fucked you there on that table in the cantina, shown the whole village how well you take me.”

You keen, arching your back further to give him a better angle. He runs his left hand up your side, gripping your waist and pulling you back onto his cock in time with his thrusts. He’s deeper inside you than anyone’s ever been - you’re beginning to think men in your village must be small, or maybe Boba’s just unnaturally big, because you think you can feel the head of his cock bruising your cervix.

The thought of him taking you in the tavern has you clenching down on him even tighter. Maybe you would have gotten on your knees for him, hid beneath the tablecloth and kept his cock warm in your mouth.

“That turn you on, princess?” He slows his thrusts just slightly, drawing out so he can slam back in with even more force. You cry out, nodding, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

“Of course it does,” he grunts, and you can feel the crest of your climax steadily approaching as he speaks, letting yourself get lost in the fantasies he’s bringing to life. His thrusts speed up again, rough and brutal, just as you need.

“You were just waiting for someone to -- ungh -- come along and fuck all the thoughts outta that clever little head, weren’t you?”

You whine, because he’s right - your normally sharp, observant brain has been put out like water over a fire. Boba leans forward, placing his hand on the arm of the couch next to your elbow, and brushes his lips against the back of your neck. It changes his position enough that his cock hits you just that much deeper, pounding against that elusive sweet spot deep within your cunt.

“Kriff, Boba --” You barely get the words out, your voice hoarse and strained and your mind turned to mush. “So -- so big.”

Against your ear, you feel more than hear him chuckle. His teeth catch on your earlobe, hot breath skating down the side of your face.

“Yeah? You like having my big cock in your tight little pussy?”

You keen, high-pitched and desperate. “Please, Boba, I’m gonna --”

His teeth trail down the side of your neck, biting firmly enough to leave a trail of red marks across your skin. Once he’s satisfied with his work, he leans up again so he can grip your hips more firmly.

“Gonna come, little one? Go on --” his words trail off for a moment - or maybe your hearing fades out as the crisis within you rises to its limit. Right as you’re on the edge, your face flush with sensation and your cunt fluttering around him, his rough voice fades back in.

“-- wanna feel you, princess. Come for your king.”

You have no choice but to do as he says.

Boba’s words scratch that small, hidden itch in your brain you’d taken a glance at earlier. Your mind whites out for a split second, as blinding as a snowstorm, before you return to yourself.

He’s still fucking you. Using you. Oversensitive and trembling, your senses absorb the world around you - Boba's hands on your hips, the scrape of his armor against your thighs, the crackle of the fireplace somewhere over your shoulder.

The rhythm of Boba's cock inside you, chasing the same high you'd found moments earlier.

You moan, pushing back, encouraging him to find his release. A glance over your shoulder gives you the sight of his eyes focused on where he's thrusting into you, lip curled, a drop of sweat trailing down over his jaw.

Boba glances up at you and smirks, though the flash of teeth makes it more of a sneer. "Where do you want me, princess?"

A serene smile crosses your face and you pretend to think on it for a moment, lazy in your post-orgasmic haze.

"On me," you reply. "Wherever you want."

He grunts, looking back down, and thrusts a few more times, deep and bruising. As soon as he pulls out you mourn the loss of him, the fullness inside of you, but you're rewarded with a vision unlike any you've seen before. Boba takes himself in hand, and with a loud groan, cums across your ass, his spend dripping down your thighs and onto your pussy lips. He covers you with himself, marking you up.

Once he's finished, Boba runs a hand through the cum on your skin, pressing firmly and rubbing it in.

"Been wanting to do that since I saw you in the meeting hall, little one."

You hum, eyes fluttering closed at the thought of it. What a scandal - the Chieftain's daughter falling for the stranger, the first foreigner to visit the village in living memory.

Behind you, Boba shifts off of the couch. He stands beside you and then you register that he's moving you, strong hands arranging your limp body so he can pick you up. One arm slips beneath your knees and the other under your back.

"Bedroom's upstairs," you murmur.

He brings you there, tucking you into bed carefully and then turning to undo his armor. As you watch him methodically remove each piece, you get the feeling that you're privy to something rare. Though you're sleepy, your eyes remain open, intent on keeping this memory clear.

The thought crosses your mind that this man must know so much of the universe. He's probably been to hundreds of planets, has hundreds of stories.

You've only ever known snow and wind.

"Boba?"

He's just finished with the last of his armor when you speak. He sits down on the edge of the bed next to you and puts his hand on your side.

"Yes, princess?"

You gaze up into his eyes, dark but soft when looking at you.

"What's the most beautiful place you've ever been to?"

He smiles at that, letting out a soft chuckle. "I've been to so many places that it's hard to keep track, little one."

You pout. He moves to settle into bed next to you, under the layers of fur and fleece that keep you warm.

"You must have a favorite," you insist, curling up against him, head resting on his bicep.

He's quiet for a minute, thinking. You wait, though sleep threatens to pull you under. Boba's words lull you out of the beginnings of your slumber.

"I think you'd like Naboo," he tells you. You've read about it, about their system of governance. You can't recall seeing any pictures or illustrations, though.

"It's very green," he explains. "There's meadows and forests everywhere. Their cities are vast, the buildings beautiful in themselves. I traveled there with my father when I was young."

You want to ask more, to learn about this place so different from anything you know. Your mind is racing with imaginings when you fall asleep, cozy and warm against Boba Fett.

In the night, your dreams glow as bright as the sun.

#boba fett x reader #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett fucks #mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #boba fett x female reader #female reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction

149 notes · View notes

madeofitzits · 4 years

Text

In honor of the impending return of Brooklyn 99, here are 99 reasons that...

1. He was precocious enough to know, at 5 years old, that he wanted to change his name (x)

2. He has a bunch of nicknames: Sandy Amberg, Young Sandwich, etc. but the most endearing one is 'Droidy', his family's name for him (x)

3. He is still super close friends with people he's known since: Elementary School (Chelsea Peretti) (x)...

4. Junior High/High School (Kiv and Jorm) (x)

5. … Summer Camp (Irene Neuwirth) (x)

7. ...and Film School (Chester Tam) (x)

8. Before he met Joanna, he dated other famous ladies but - out of respect - he never discussed it/them (x)

9. He loves turtles and tortoises. When he was a kid, he had a pet turtle that he named 'Squirt' because the first time he held it, it peed on him. His Mom, Margie, accidentally killed Squirt when Andy was at Summer camp... (x)

10. … Maybe this is why, when shooting 'Popstar', Andy fell hard for Maximus (Conner 4 Real's turtle). He says they "had a good thing going" and that he wanted to adopt him. In the end, he decided against it because there are a bunch of coyotes in his neighborhood and he was worried the little guy wouldn't be safe. (Popstar: DVD Commentary)

11. Speaking of his Mom, despite being a super private person, he appeared on 'Finding your Roots' so that he could help her track down her birth family (x)

12. When he succeeded he cried (although we never got to see it on camera) (x)

13. That's because, like all good boys, he loves his Mama which is why - as part of the same episode - he said "My mom is basically the kindest person I know… and many people would corroborate that" (x)

14. Andy's Sisters, Hannie (Johanna) and Darrow, used to make him wear diapers and put his hair in pigtails until he was 5 years old. He says he didn't mind because he just liked that they were paying attention to him (x)

15. That's why he sees his identity in comedy as being 'America's kid brother'. When he was young, he would annoy his sisters until they laughed and he claims to have been replicating that approach to entertainment ever since

16. Although a bunch of his characters have 'Daddy Issues', Andy definitely doesn't. He's super close with his Papa (Joe) and has said "he's a good man" and "the best Dad in the world" (x)

17. Joe was Andy's youth soccer coach and in one scene in 'Hot Rod', Joe's favorite photograph can be seen in the background. It shows a very young Andy posing with a soccer ball, after "scoring the winning goal against Mersey" (x)

18. He's been a loyal Golden State Warriors fan since he was a little kid, living in Oakland (then Berkeley) and, in 2010, he correctly predicted that they would "win a Championship in my lifetime" (x)

19. The proceeds from his Umami Burger ('The Samburger') went to a deafness early detection program in Berkeley. This cause is close to his heart because Margie uses hearing aids and used to work in the special needs program, teaching deaf kids (x)

20. He, Kiv, and Jorm have made multiple donations to their old school district, including $250 000 to its theater program (x)

21. On the subject of The Lonely Island; Andy always goes out of his way to make sure that everyone knows how much he owes to his buddies. For instance, he told Marc Maron, during his WTF appearance, that "I get a lot of credit for what Kiv and Jorm have done" (x)

22. He makes this face when he knows he’s said something naughty…

(Gif credit: @andrewsambags)

23. During his 'Wild Horses' appearance, he said that he can't watch scary movies because they freak him out too much. He told 'Complex' that he's still scared of 'The Shining' (x)...

24. … Similarly, when he was at UC Santa Cruz he worked at the Del Mar movie theater and he had a hard time coping with screenings of 'Species 2' (x)

25. He fell in love with Joanna, the moment he met her, when she greeted him by addressing him as 'Steve the C**t' (x)

26. He listened to 'Ys', everyday for a year, before he and Joanna started dating (x)

27. He bought the original portrait that was used as the basis of the cover art for 'Ys' and gave it to Joanna as a Christmas present, so that she could hang it in her music room (x)

28. He loves birds and goes hiking and birding with Joanna (x)

29. Every new comment he makes about Joanna becomes an instant contender for 'most beautiful thing a person has ever said about their spouse' (x)

30. For example, he readily admits that Jake's iconic heart eyes are the result of him thinking about his amazing wife (x)

31. There are many stories about how incredibly romantic Andy and Joanna's wedding was and Jorm has said that it featured "the most magical vows I've ever heard" (x)

32. The Newsombergs now live in Charlie Chaplin's old house (x)

33. On the Emmys Red Carpet (2015), the year he hosted, they took a momentary break from posing for the world's press to whisper 'I love you' to each other (x)

34. At last year's Vanity Fair party, Andy carried Joanna's purse for her so she could grab a snack (x)

35. He was a semi-permanent fixture in the audience for her recent run of shows for the 'Strings/Keys Incident' tour, even officially confirming his status as the 'President of her Fan Club' (x)

36. He used his Golden Globes monologue to call out the government for framing and murdering the Black Panthers (x)

37. On the Carpet for the Guy's Choice Awards, he called the event "a ridiculous farce", adding that "men already have it so easy - it's insane that there's a show that celebrates them". That makes sense when you consider that he, Kiv and Jorm have made an entire career out of parodying toxic masculinity (x)

38. He once said that only "idiot-ass men" think that women aren't funny (x)

39. He’s been wearing glasses since 7th Grade and he has the most heartbreakingly cute habit of nudging them up his nose, (especially when he wears his Sol Moscot frames) (x)...

40. ... and of rubbing his eyes under them (x)

41. He barely ever wears glasses for roles but he also avoids contacts (because he doesn't like touching his eyeballs) which means he's almost always 'acting blind' (x)

42. He has worn his glasses in character a few times - as 'himself' ('Lady Dynamite'), as 'Paul' ('I Think You Should Leave') and during a very small number of SNL sketches (e.g. during his one appearance in a 'Gilly' with Kristen Wiig) (x)

43. He can't tolerate glare and when that makes him squint it's a sight that's too cute for words (x)

44. He owns about six outfits and has been rotating them for well over a decade (x)

45. He barely ever breaks during shooting/while performing, so when he does it's aggressively adorable. (x), (x)

46. He's a grown ass man who persuades people to come with him to the bathroom because if he goes by himself he'll get lonely (x)

47. He didn't announce he was leaving SNL, until after his last appearance, selflessly choosing not to detract from Kirsten Wiig's huge and emotional send-off (x)

48. He undertook a quest to smell like Lorne Michaels (x)

49. He's ageing like a fine wine (x)

50. To protect their daughter's privacy, Andy and Joanna never announced that they were expecting. They've never released their little girl's name or date of birth and most news outlets still report that they became parents in August 2017 (even though that's inaccurate) (x)

51. Although he's careful not to talk about his daughter often, sometimes he can't keep from gushing about her. For example, when asked about his first year of fatherhood he said: "It’s been the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Just like a beautiful, incredible dream. It has surpassed every expectation I ever had. It’s definitely been very blissful" (x)

52. After their daughter was born, Andy and Joanna spent the first 40 days at home with her (in a practice known as 'confinement'). He's described it as being "a really special time". (x)

53. Andy is famously mild-mannered but, when asked about what triggers his 'Dad claws', he admitted that if anyone attempted to touch his daughter, without permission, he'd "probably sock them hard in the face"…

54. ...Characteristically, he went on to add that he hopes that never happens, since he hasn't been in a fight since 6th Grade (x)

55. Cyndi Lauper was his first celebrity crush and he plays her record ('She's so unusual') for his daughter all the time. (x)

56. His is the very definition of a precious laugh (x)...

57. It's made even more wonderful by the way it makes his voice go high-pitched (x)

58. … and the way it causes his eyebrow to rise involuntarily

59. It's impossible not to smile at his impression of his Mom (x)

60. And laugh at his impression of John Mulaney (x)

61. He was so convinced he wouldn't win the Golden Globe for Best Actor in a Comedy or Musical, that he didn't prepare a speech. Instead, as he explained to David Letterman, he "just went… and started drinking". The resulting list of improvised 'thank yous' was perfect in every way (x)

62. As producers, Andy, Kiv and Jorm have given life to some amazing projects ('Alone Together', 'Brigsby Bear', 'I Think You Should Leave')...

63. … and gone out of their way to support women in comedy ('Party Over Here', 'PEN15') (x)

64. As well as being a comedy legend, he's a super-talented dramatic actor, who gave the performance of a lifetime in 'Celeste and Jesse Forever' but, after the movie wrapped, and it was time to do press for it, he was straight back to goofing around (x)

65. His lip bite should be illegal (x)

66. Even though he wears the same vanishingly small number of outfits, over and over, he has a vast collection of the most excellent socks (x)

67. He always gives 'editing notes' during his own interviews (x)

68. He has a super sweet and sincere way of thanking interviewers when they compliment him (x)

69. He adjusts his hoodie constantly (x)

70. The two most perfect Jake laughs in b99 are actually real Andy laughs 'https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=W38A_xuXaeg https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=sVm9nYrTWRQ

undefined

youtube

undefined

youtube

71. Virtually everyone who has ever worked with Andy has talked about what a wonderful person he is. This explains why so many of them have been involved with more than one of his projects (x)

72. It's not only his colleagues who talk about what a delight he is (x), (x)

73. This lovestruck fool wore his own wife's merch when he went out to dinner (x)

74. No one else uses the word 'dinky' quite like Andy (x). The same goes for 'snacky' (see point 70)

75. He does this with his tongue (x)

76. He still likes to play soccer but his eyesight is so bad that he has to keep his glasses on for it

77. When he lets his gorgeous floofy hair grow a little it sits perfectly over the arms of his glasses (x)

78. He gifted the world with Jakey's little curl (x)

79. At the James Franco Roast, he couldn't bring himself to be mean to anyone except himself (and Jeff Ross, a little!) (x)

80. In fact, he's always been willing to laugh at himself (x) and he still is (x)

81. He changes b99 scripts to make them more feminist (x)

82. Despite their humble insistence that they just benefited from 'good timing', the reality is that Andy, Kiv and Jorm (along with Chris Parnell) revolutionized digital media, when 'Lazy Sunday' popularized YouTube, increasing its traffic by 85% overnight (x)

83. He once attended the Vanity Fair party because his Mom told him to (x)

84. He has an amazing way of subtly but firmly shutting down inappropriate questions, like when this interviewer suggested that Holt being gay was something that could have been played for laughs https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=idQsYQfkR5o

85. He auditioned for SNL at the same time as Bill Hader. Hader thought he'd blown it because Andy had a bunch of props and Bill had none. In the meantime, Andy thought he'd blown it when he saw Hader and realized 'this guy doesn't need any props' (x)

86. His bromance with Seth Meyers is one for the ages (x)

87. Every single second of this video is proof of why Andy, Kiv and Jorm deserve the world (x)

88. He once dragged Mulaney up on stage for SNL Goodnights, even though writers weren't allowed to join in (x)

89. He has a hilarious phobia of pooping anywhere except his own bathroom (x)

90. His beautiful, beautiful, face: His smile (radiant), his eyes (caramel - hella disarming), his ears (adorably asymmetrical), his nose (perfect), His chin (the dimple… *swoon*), his jaw (could cut glass), The 'Sambeard' (another amazing layer of pretty) (x)

91. His body: His butt (x), his thighs, (x) his soft lil tummy (The ‘Sambelly’) (x), his hands. (x), his arms (x), his hips…

(Gif credit: @amystiago /@badpostandy on Twitter)

92. All signs point to the fact that, like Jake, Andy uses his glasses case as a wallet (x)

93. Jake's "cool-cool-cool-cool-cool-cool" is an irl Andy-ism that the writers worked into b99 scripts. What's even better is that Joanna does it, too (x)

94. He has a really good arm and is low key competitive, which is super hot https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=e32K_nBDy3Q

undefined

youtube

95. He's one half of the cutest Red Carpet pose of all time (x)

96. He barely ever seems to get mad but if angry Jake is anything to go by, maybe he should... (x)

97. He's a huge nerd, who geeks out over GOT, LOTR, 'Star Wars', 'Alien(s)' and anything relating to time travel (x), (x)

98. He has a gorgeous speaking voice, especially when he’s tired or a little sick. (Bonus points for any time he uses the word ‘correct’. See point 30) (x)

99. He’s still so committed to his b99 fans and fam, even after all this time and is as excited as the rest of us that...

#99 reasons to love #andy samberg #brooklyn nine nine #b99 #a masterpost for the best boy there is

421 notes · View notes

justasparkwritings · 3 years

Text

Illicit Affairs: You Made Me

Previous: Mercurial High

Pairings: Namjoon & Reader (Barely)

Genre: Angst

Ratings: PG17

Word Count: 2,292

Warnings: Manipulation, Abuse of Power, Swearing, Negotiations and Contracts, Mentions of Alcoholism, Rehab, Therapy

Summary: Namjoon squares off against Big Hit. There can only be one victor, and if Namjoon has any say, it won’t be Bang or Sejin.

Listen: illicit affairs by Taylor Swift

The five members stare at one another, eyes drifting as they catch reflections in the practice room mirrors. Their sweats adorn their bodies, different patterns, materials, weights hang off their frames as they sit, feet toward the center. It’s been weighing on their minds since Yoongi called Jin, who in turn told the rest of the group. They’d planned a time to meet, just the five of them, to discuss what happened, and what should happen next. Rather, what they could do to bide the time before management came down on them. Neither of them had endured a fight like this. Sure, they’d gotten into disagreements with one another, but a full-fledged brawl, with blood spilled over a decade’s long betrayal. They could barely fathom it.

“Someone has to tell management,” Jimin mutters.

“Yoongi was home when it happened,” Taehyung suggests.

“It can’t just be Yoongi, it effects all of us,” Seokjin says.

“You two are the eldest, can’t you?” Jimin looks at Seokjin and Yoongi, the latter having not uttered a word the entire time they’ve sat looking at each other.

“It’s our band, our future if they don’t their shit together,” Yoongi says, eyes finally meeting his brothers.

“How did it start? Why were they fighting?” Taehyung inquires.

“Too many reasons,” Yoongi responds.

“Jungkook found out about Namjoon playing God with Kook’s life, in a way Namjoon hadn’t intended, and he went for blood, literally,” Seokjin mutters.

“How?” Ho-Seok wonders.

“We were having a conversation about contracts, signing them, and going over the new proclivities. Namjoon was telling us about them, and Jungkook came home, heard it all, and laid in wait for Joon,” Yoongi informs them.

“Waiting?” Taehyung asks.

“Not literally, he pounced on Namjoon the second he could,” Yoongi corrects himself.

“The moment he was drunk enough,” Jimin scoffs.

“That is also true,” Yoongi agrees. Having been the only one home when the incident happened, besides Namjoon’s girlfriend, he had become the one in charge of passing on the story, one hopefully no one would hear about outside of the seven of them, Bang, Sejin and you.

“He just came home and hit Joonie?” Taehyung asks, mind still trying to understand what had happened.

“They had words, and I may have played a small role in it,” Yoongi says, shoulders shrugging.

“What did you say?” Seokjin demands, all humor gone from his eyes.

“Say? Didn’t he do something?” Jimin asks.

“It’s Yoongi, his words cut deeper than any knife,” Ho-Seok says.

“I said somethings to Kook, a few, nasty things.”

“You made it worse?” Jin demands.

“He was going off on Joonie about how he ruined his life, he was acting like a baby, so I called him out,” Yoongi shrugs, unwilling to apologize.

“You antagonized him,” Seokjin corrects.

“He had tunnel vision; he was mad at Joon when he should be mad at management. I wanted to deflect some of that anger away from Joon, it was clear Jungkook was going to pound him into a bloody pulp. JK has everything and he was beginning to lose sight of it,” Yoongi’s voice is curt, biting as he explains his decision.

“He has a right to,” Taehyung says, “He was a child when we started, we all were,”

“None of us were as young as him, he’s endured the most,” Hobi responds.

“Some of the things Namjoon did, though, are just horrific,” Yoongi says, eyes blinking quickly.

“We’ve all gone through some horrible things at the hands of management,” Jimin says, and they glance at him, all knowing what pains he went through.

“This feels like a Run episode gone wrong,” Ho-Seok says. “A Mafia game where we’re all casualties.”

“But none of us are safe from management,” Yoongi adds.

“Who’s going to tell management?” Taehyung repeats.

“It should be Jin and Yoongi-hyung, they’re the elders,” Ho-Seok determines, knowing full well a few months and it would’ve been him.

“We’ll schedule a meeting,” Yoongi agrees.

“As soon as possible, we can’t get anything done until those two agree to be in the same place,” Ho-Seok says.

“What do you think will happen?” Taehyung wonders. The members refuse to meet one another’s eye as they sit with the weight of what Namjoon and Jungkook have done.

~~~~~~~

Jungkook and Namjoon can see the steam pouring out of Bang’s ears, doubled by that of his team, fuming at the mouth, ready to pounce. Namjoon sits across from him, with Jungkook to his right. Neither man had looked at the other or been in the same space in the five days that passed after their fight. They rehearsed in separate time slots, they recorded independently, and spent time in living quarters as far away from one another as they could. Jungkook assumed this would go on until the reckoning, Namjoon knew it couldn’t.

The reckoning, either brought upon them by Bang and Sejin, or by the other members, was sure to result in swift punishment. The members had made their frustration known, going so far as to avoid both men until they figured out their problems, or resigned to the fact that they had to work together, no matter what, and acting like adults was the easiest option. But no one could understand the stubbornness of two Virgos, both ready to accept the fault and none of the blame. Not wanting to pick sides, the five men became cool, barely cordial in the days after. At first it was a trickle, Jimin, Ho-Seok and Taehyung not knowing the extent of the brawl. Then they saw Namjoon, and the maknae became furious with both men. Jungkook for beating up their leader, and Namjoon for taking it lying down. He had the power; couldn’t he have stopped it?

Sitting in the conference room, Jungkook didn’t know what else Bang could do to him. He already owned his life, every piece of art he’d made, every day for the past decade belonged to him, and Jungkook was broken because of it.

“We’re here today to discuss the incident between the two of you,” Sejin states, eyes boring holes in their skulls.

“It wasn’t an incident, it was an outright brawl,” Bang corrects, eyes solely focused on Namjoon. “Namjoon, care to explain?”

“No sir,” Namjoon shakes his head gently, eyes still down. If he fought Bang and Sejin, he could lose you. If he said something out of character or out of line, he could lose what autonomy he had within BTS and Big Hit. No more producer RM, lyricist RM… just, Namjoon.

“Jungkook, what caused this major act of defiance?” Bang wants to know.

“I learned, from Namjoon, that he had been controlling aspects my life for the last few years, and that he was in cahoots with you, about what those things were. He talked about how he had played into my insecurities, how a lot of my tendencies came from him leaning into my ticks. That he was required to by his contract, that he didn’t want to, but had done far worse things than he was willing to admit to,” Jungkook recites, having practiced numerous times in his head, in the shower, any moment he had free.

“How could you be so careless, Namjoon?” Bang snaps, ice in his tone.

“I didn’t know, when was this?” Namjoon looks up for the first time, glancing at Jungkook, whose gaze meets his. It’s cold and jagged, frozen in a perpetual moment of anguish.

“When you, Yoongi-hyung and Jin-hyung were discussing the contract,” Jungkook’s tone is level, honest, even.

“You were home?” Namjoon whispers.

“I came in, heard you and left,” Jungkook informs him.

“To get drunk no doubt,” Bang quips.

His words ring like fire in Namjoon’s ears and burn Jungkook equally as he glances at Bang.

“The dive bars you frequent, out of town enough, but not too far that we haven’t heard talk of them,” Bang tells him, “You have nearly destroyed this group and company too many damn times, Jungkook.”

“You have put your brother’s careers on the line, as well as the success of every other group at Big Hit,” Sejin scolds. “What happens when other Idols hear of your behavior?”

“What will they do when they get word that BTS’ star, the sun everyone rotates around, has become an alcoholic with a tendency for violence?” Bang ponders.

“If the media hears about this? You’re lucky you snuck into this room under the cover of masks and hats, otherwise the world would see the damage you did to Namjoon,” Sejin reproaches.

“You have created a disgusting, destructive habit and now we have to decide what to do with you,” Bang is livid, far past the point of any level of anger Namjoon has ever seen.

“Just fire me,” Jungkook says, looking the elders in the eye, “Fire me. I’m not enough for you, am I? No matter how much I work, how hard I push my body, my voice, it is never enough for you. I’d bleed for you, you know I would, I have! Instead, you’ve manipulated me like I’m some robot, the Golden Maknae incapable of meeting your demands because you’ve worked me to the bone. I have nothing, I am nothing, and it’s because of the three of you. So, fire me,” Jungkook lays it all on the table.

He has nothing to lose, and nothing to gain.

“What would BTS be without you?” Sejin asks.

“Would they survive?” Bang asks, “He is the crux of the whole thing, the both of them, how could you let this happen?”

“This is how it happened!” Jungkook yells, standing swiftly, knocking the table against his thighs. “You! You’re why this happened!”

“How much does he know?” Bang looks at Namjoon, eyes small.

“Not everything,”

“Jungkook, sit down,” Sejin tells him. He maknae does, running a bruised hand through his hair.

“Yes, we have done things, encouraged you, pushed you towards certain things in order to support your development. Yes, Namjoon was the leader of this, at our request,” Bang starts.

“It was a demand,” Namjoon corrects.

“Fine, a demand. You have grown into everything we could’ve hoped for, everything the band needs, what Big Hit needs,” Bang pauses to ensure Jungkook is watching him, “You are the Golden Maknae because we groomed your initial talent, we nurtured it. Sure, we caused some strife-

“You measured his food for two years. You gave me extra pay every time I convinced him to work out for an extra hour, and you gave Jungkook extra money for extra gym time without his consent. You gave me mantras to repeat around him, ones that stuck in his brain like porcupine needles. You had me switch out his clothes for the same outfit in a smaller size to create this illusion that he wasn’t small enough. You lied to him for a decade, you dosed his drinks you-

“You what?” Jungkook yells, head snapping up.

“They dosed your drinks, micro doses of different performance enhancing drugs,” Namjoon’s eyes are black, burning down everything in his sight. He sees it in front of him, his pawn advancing.

“What?”

“For, what, a year and a half? Drugs that were easily digestible, didn’t need needles when they could slip it into your coffee,” Namjoon’s eyes are squarely on Bang’s. This is not the reckoning they had in mind. “They gave you food poisoning, when you were eating too much of certain foods. They sent you to the states at the beginning to train, yes, but they told your trainers to demean you so that when you came home, they could build you back up. Every tick, every habit, they’ve controlled.”

“Kim Namjoon,” Bang’s voice is a warning shot, black queen’s pawn moves two, a counter movement.

“I am done being your mule. I am done damaging him, I am fucking sick of it. You wanted to ruin him, and you’ve ruined me too. If you want to play games, fine, but do it without me.” Namjoon’s trying to maintain his composure. Bang and Sejin were unaware that Namjoon had crafted his own strategy, his own method to get Jungkook and himself the help they need. His plan, crafted with his love in the wake of the beat down, has to take hold. Bang has to move precisely where he wants him to go in order for the opening to work. Namjoon has to give up everything to gain anything.

“It’s in your contract.” Bang snaps, rage hot throughout him.

Namjoon snarls, queen sides bishop pawn forward two squares.

“We will take away your dating privilege.” Sejin adds.

“I will date her anyway, hell, I’ll marry her tomorrow. I am done being a part of this,” Namjoon declares.

“You have seven more years of it, Namjoon,” Sejin says, contracts laying flat on the table.

“Then come up with a plan B,” Namjoon responds, eyes still on them.

Namjoon recognizes the look in their eyes: defeat. It’s the look he gave Jungkook as he spit at him, the wanton gaze that signifies whatever end game they had in mind will no longer work. Namjoon is no longer playing on their side, making moves to support their goal, abandoning his brothers for more hurt than growth, destroying his family like black mold, slowly seeping into every aspect of their lives, killing them. He no longer watches their moves and shifts to accommodate. No, no, the board’s been wiped clean, the pieces reset, and Namjoon is on the attack. His pieces perfectly in place, Namjoon is advancing, whether or not Bang realizes, his upper hand is gone. This is no longer a negotiation, a reckoning, but a decree. This, this is the queen’s gambit. And Namjoon will be the victor.

Next: Beautiful Rooms Pt. 1

17 notes · View notes

meloncubedradpops · 4 years

Text

Repo! The Corona Opera

For every rotation that Earth has completed around the sun since the dawn of humanity, humans have created art to cope with the realities surrounding our everyday life. We weave stories in songs, movies, plays, books, paintings, and so forth, that help digest the world around us and provide an entertaining escape from the cruelties we endure. Some stories take place in abstract universes or in the future, and we rely on what we know in our present reality to build upon these fantasy societies. My favorite movie, Repo! the Genetic Opera, certainly makes this list. We are currently experiencing perhaps the most surreal year of our collective lives, and with each passing day I argue that we find ourselves closer to the world crafted in Repo. I have seen this movie, at least 20 times. If you haven't watched Repo! the Genetic Opera or you haven't seen it in a while, I recommend giving it a view. The movie is unique in that it falls under three distinct genres: musical, horror, and sci-fi. And while the jury is out on whether our future society is going to go full on gothic aesthetic, I can say that the Repo! movie experience offers a glimpse into a dystopian fascist post-plague world wrapped in unapologetically hilarity with a heaping side of camp. It doesn't offer any spiritual cleansing that our souls collectively need, but it does show us what a new normal could look like if we really go off the rails.

As things stand, right now, so much of our daily lives and culture are impacted by the coronavirus. All of our institutions have been impacted, from school, to work, to family, to the way we interact with strangers, and especially our economy. We have all felt the effects in one way or another, and honestly? Most the impacts are of our own undoing, for better or for worse. I am going to write three pieces analyzing Repo! the Genetic Opera. First I will create the foundations that bridge our contemporary life and the world of Repo! Second I will explain how the Repo! universe operates under the definitions of fascism. And third I will weave together parts one and two into our contemporary world (particularly in the context of the United States) to highlight the dark path we heading towards. My viewpoints are of mine, and my own alone. Let's dive into part one.

Part I Repo! the Genetic Opera takes place in the year 2056. Humanity was on the brink of collapse as a result of a medical crisis that caused massive organ failure.

I never gave the premise much thought, at least not until recently. We aren't given much detail beyond the fact that entrepreneur Rottissimo "Rotti" Largo solved this crisis through his company GeneCo. GeneCo provides organ transplants that can be repaid through a payment plan. Witnessing the coronavirus unfold in real time and seeing its wrath, particularly on severe cases, honestly makes me wonder if the writers had some sort of "super plague" in mind when creating this universe. For the purpose of this analysis, I will assume that humanity suffered at least one infectious disease crisis. And just to reiterate covid-19 particularly, we really *don't* know what it's going to do to us long-term. Let the parallels begin.

The world in Repo! the Genetic Opera, operates as normally as the citizens possibly can, which appears to be quite limited. I have noted how dated some the technologies look.

For a world 30 years in the future, it lacks cell phones and easy access to internet. When we enter Shilo's world (aka her bedroom!) she watched Blind Mag sing on a busted up tiny ass TV and the program itself looks like an ad on Home Shopping Network.

The Graverobber is shown reading headlines on a newspaper. The news reporters shown in the ribbon cutting ceremony during the 1st Italian Post-Plague Renaissance have old school cameras with flashbulbs.

The most contemporary technology appears to be a Wish.com version of an Apple watch, and even that looks like a leftover prop from Spy Kids.

Obviously the people who made this movie intentionally inserted these anachronisms, but why? This is a science fiction movie after all. I speculate that they reverted back because the impact from humanity's crisis resulted in an overall professional "brain drain" from the sheer volume of professionals that dropped dead. In fact every scene depicting medical procedures looks dimly lit and lacking in sanitation. We will see this as we struggle to contain the coronavirus, at least in America. Healthcare workers have already died from this thing, and I am sure many prospective college students will have second thoughts about a career in healthcare. I mean hell, look at no other than GeneCo itself. That company employs workers called "Genterns" who are most definitely not in full PPE. I don't doubt their medical expertise, but they appear to be disposable (please see: that time Luigi killed one for NO REASON in "Mark it Up").

On that note, it really was quite incredible how China built the pop-up hospital in Wuhan in under 4 days, but it was also not the most safe or structurally sound building by far (it collapsed, people were hurt!). Maybe at this point, the people in Repo! don't have much of a choice. I am sure there were likely legit hospitals, but the fact that the Renaissance had gross surgery tents is a bit unsettling.

This is a world that is completely built upon the social more of valuing your health above all else. There had to be a turning point in the GeneCo business model where they really played on up-selling organs for the benefit of "genetic perfection". "I needed a kidney transplant desperately. GeneCo showed this single mom sympathy. This makeover came for a small added fee. Now I look smashing on live TV!" Imagine signing the documents for your power of attorney while actively going into renal failure, when your doctor chimes in with an up-sell for breast implants. When all is said an done, your body is now not only functioning again, but you're hot! Even in a post-plague dystopia we are still holding value to having a nice rack. What's not to love about GeneCo? Obviously we know right away that GeneCo has a dirty side. Rotti Largo personally lobbied to make organ repossessions legal, and he does not hesitate to recollect his property. The concept itself is, of course, wild. In America, our healthcare system is incredibly broken and expensive. You would wonder how it could get worse without us backpedaling many steps on the industrialization timeline. And in a lot of ways, I could see a company like GeneCo thrive here. We already hate the poor, and we have political think tanks that salivate over the idea of cutting social programs that keep people alive. Our president has wanted to repeal the Affordable Care Act while many people are unemployed during a pandemic. In Repo! we hear about those who don't pay, but obviously there are plenty of people who do. Those who can will happily pay, either for vanity reasons or to stay alive.

And while society cites Rotti as being a "hero" for humanity, we see more and more evidence that the crisis is both not under control and life is cheap.

His son murders multiple people, in front of others, with seemingly no repercussions. In the scene where Shilo meets the Graverobber for the first time, adjacent to the graveyard and tombs owned by wealthy families who could afford grave markers, lies a poorly constructed wall hiding thousands of corpses piled on top of one another. We even get a glimpse of a truckload pouring more onto the pile. I would not be surprised if there is a disinformation campaign there keeping the public in the dark (although you'd think the smell would be unbearable at this point).

There are multiple indications that propaganda works in society (still), and no one is getting the full picture of how much of a raw deal the people in Repo! have. We see poster after poster about GeneCo, in the literal absence of other corporations.

And a lot of them bear resemblance to 20th century Russian propaganda. It would be a real shame if the goals outlined The Foundations of Geopolitics: The Geopolitical Future of Russia were actually realized. Imagine going to visit your mother's grave and hearing commercials for hardcore analgesics play through the cemetery. Also, there's a police presence too. Apparently the police are called Genecops and have authority to execute any assumed graverobbers on site.

Imagine the hellscape it would be to live in a world where your loved ones may have died from a terrible pandemic, and you face a non-zero chance of an over zealous cop murdering you thereafter, and because their qualified immunity bypasses the judicial system entirely...oh wait. Anyways let's circle back to the Graverobber character.

Graverobber's role in Repo! appears to be minor on the surface. Rotti's daughter, Amber Sweet, appears to almost despise her relationship with him. And that relationship involves him supplying Amber with what he describes as the "21st Century cure". This cure you ask? A super effective painkiller with the clinical use to accompany GeneCo surgeries. This drug is called Zydrate, and it has a street version that he acquires and sells, with clients including Amber Sweet.

Graverobber makes his living sucking the glowy blue brain corpse goo and injecting them into people on the streets. Yum!

Not everyone who needs an organ transplant can pay for it all upfront. Luckily for them, GeneCo provides payment plan options! The caveat to this is if you fail to make those payments, legally GeneCo can come and repossess your newly acquired organs. If you find yourself past due, you will soon see the last face before your doom, the Repo Man. He will harvest GeneCo's property, and it won't matter where you are or what you are doing. There is no anesthetic, and you will likely die! This was all made legal through Rotti's lobbying efforts.

Society, as it's set up today, allows for property repossessions. This can be as straightforward as a repossession of your vehicle to as heartbreaking as a foreclosure on your home. At the end of the day, the impacts of that are difficult and life changing. Currently millions of people in America are out of work, and the threat of losing everything is at stake for many. We could lose our homes, our vehicles, and our sense of purpose. And while many government bodies have created temporary moratoriums, they have not provided any substantial financial relief to keep the proverbial repo man at bay. What went wrong in this dystopia to normalize the concept of death due to nonpayment? Fascism! Ah yes, the dreaded f-word. In my next essay, I will outline the 14 characteristics of fascism and how it relates to the universe in Repo! After I will relate that to our modern world so that we can try and stop this from becoming our reality.

50 notes · View notes

desiraypark · 4 years

Text

To Feel Something

Characters: Charlie Barber x Black Female Reader Content: A little world and story building/back story; N*FW - smut in your classy LA home; new lovers; secret lovers. Word Count: 2,883

All clear. Read at 10:48pm. You’d been in a good mood. In fact, the last few months were amazing. You were riding the wave of your first movie in four years. There was Image Award buzz, Oscar buzz, Globe buzz - all kinds of buzz. The director was getting high praise, too. It was Charlie Barber’s call to cast you as the love interest in his debut film. You, a 35-year old Black woman you’d thought the world had forgotten about. He said he’d loved you in Whiskey and Herbs (the movie that immortalized you as a “star” almost fifteen years ago) and felt that you were perfect for his new project.

You’d been in a handful of movies and television shows before that, but your role as Torey, the sexy-but-flighty Blockbuster employee in Whiskey and Herbs is what catapulted you to so-called superstardom. And it wasn’t even because the role was actually good (it was). All the world got to see your tits, and next thing you knew, you were on every red carpet and posing for magazines like King and Playboy. Famous designers were practically throwing their clothes and accessories at you, and you were on yachts, popping champagne with the best of them.

Then, you’d married at 24, had a kid at 26, and were divorced at 29. By 30, you were being pushed out of the way to make room for the new “it” girl. Because in those days, there was always only room for just one. The phone had stopped ringing, and soon, your movies were going straight to DVD, instead of to the big screen.

Now, you make most of your money doing stage plays, television guest spots, and even blogging from time to time. And you can’t leave out the conventions! Your role as Karla Rollins (aka Dragonfly), Hurricane Man’s “sassy” sidekick in the box office bomb, Hurricane Man, had a cult following. You’d need all the fingers in the world to count all of the photos of you in a blank spandex suit and creepy ass wings you’d signed.

But even after all of that, someone remembered you and thought you were great. Most of the fans never left your side, but something about being sought out by a director gave your confidence a major boost. The Divorce was an indie-film set to go straight to LuHu. Of course, you were super excited to co-star in a movie that would end up on such a big platform, but life so far had taught you not get your hopes up. So, when the film premiered to rave reviews--especially for your performance--you felt the need to throw a little get-together. You invited close friends and industry friends--old and new. But no one who’d dropped you like a bad habit when your career went in decline.

On the set of The Divorce, Charlie treated you like an A-list star. Not in a way like he gave you special treatment--but he asked for you and your co-star’s opinion. He made sure you were comfortable. It was the bare minimum, but it was more than any other director had done when you were actually at the top of the food chain. You and Charlie talked early in the gathering. Then, throughout the evening, you’d sneak glances at him, and he’d catch them. He’d sneak some at you, and you’d catch them. Caught glances turned into smiles--even when you were in your kitchen, telling your daughter “goodnight” over the phone. She was spending the night at her best friend’s house. Just as the night was winding down, you found that you didn’t want Charlie to leave. You wanted to be held, tonight. You wanted to feel something. So, you walked over to him while he was pouring himself some punch and asked if he could step out on the patio. He did, with his punch. As balmy as the air was, you still shuddered. You took your time. “Charlie...would you like to spend the night?” is what you asked. And he said “yes”. He left the party when everyone else started to leave and parked somewhere, waiting for your text that everyone was gone. When he got it, he made his way back to the house...

____________________ You opened the door and he stood on the other side--a full moon behind him, his eyes patient. He slowly stepped inside, and you closed the door. When you turned around, he was looking you over with narrowed eyes. Then, he stepped in close and pressed his lips to yours. You fell weak to his touch and wrapped your arms around his neck. You slipped your tongue into his mouth, and he greeted it with his own, and let his hands fall to your waist.

Charlie began to step forward, and you responded by stepping backward. You pulled your lips away, took his hand, and led him up your staircase. Your vintage Tiffany lamp was the only light on in your room. It filled the space with a warm, amber glow. Charlie pulled you in an embrace again and kissed you--drinking you in with passion and a hint of desperation. You stepped backward--pulling him with you by his shirt--until you fell on your mattress with him on top of you.

You kicked off your pumps and wrapped your legs around his waist, and he created a trail of kisses along your jawline and onto your neck. Kisses turned into sucks that made you moan and sent heat between your thighs. Soon, you felt a hand slither up your thigh and under your dress. He rubbed his fingers against your right inner thigh and against the crotch of your G-string. Aroused by your arousal, he quickly stood up--taking his body heat and the scent of cologne with him.

He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and retrieved a small gold square, then put his wallet back. As he unbutton his shirt, you reached for his belt and unbuckled it. You looked up at him, and he was smiling down at you. You blushed and removed the belt, unfastened the button, and as you tugged on his zipper, he’d dropped his shirt on the floor, revealing a black undershirt. You pulled down his pants and he stepped out of them. His dick was pressed against his boxer briefs, and you relieved it--peeling the briefs down just enough to make it pop out like a spring.

You grabbed the shaft and looked up. Charlie’s eyes met yours--his chest moving up and down. Air audibly left his nostrils. Without taking your eyes off him, you flicked your tongue against the head, then you wrapped your lips around it. Charlie let out a breath that almost sounded like a sigh of relief. You took more of him in your mouth every time you went down, until you had enough of him in to gag yourself. At the gagging, you pulled your lips away and watched the strings of saliva that clung to your lips and the head. You stroked the length, shining it up with your spit, then sucked him slow and tenderly. What your mouth didn’t cover, you stroked with your hand, and your eyes fell down to watch your own moves.

“Look back up at me. I want to see those pretty eyes,” Charlie said. His request turned you on and made you hum on over his length. You looked back up at him and he rubbed the palm of his hand against your cheek. Then, you picked up the pace. Charlie’s hand left your face and he threw his head back. “Fuck...” he mumbled. He looked back down and you were still gazing at him with suctioned cheeks and his stiff flesh disappearing and reappearing between your red lips. “Fuck...you’re amazing.” Charlie praised your skills as you exercise your jaws for a few more moments. You thought he would come right in your mouth when you began to squeeze and massage his balls. He moaned to the ceiling and held your face again. You realized that he really wanted to grab your hair--your perfect curls. So, you grabbed both of his hands and placed them on the sides of your head, and without hesitation, he held on tight and began to fuck your mouth.

“Tap my thigh if it’s too much, baby,” he said. He took his time at first--merely stroking your wet tongue with himself. Then, slow strokes turned into hard thrusts that made you gag and grip his thighs for supports. Your throat and your spit seemed to be in competition for who could make the most noise. When your eyes started to tear up, you tapped Charlie’s thighs, and he quickly pulled himself away. He stroked his dick and watched your chest move up and down as you caught your breath.

“I’m dying to taste that pussy, baby. Lie back for me,” he said. You scooted back some and fell against the mattress. Charlie got on his knees, grabbed your legs and pulled you back to the edge. He placed your legs over his shoulders, and lifted your dress some more. Cool air hit the puddle that lubricated every part of your pussy--the lips, the clit, the vagina. You were a leaking mess and Charlie was admiring it. He spread your lips apart with both hands, stared, and took in a deep breath. Then, he removed a hand, spread the lips with his thumb and index finger, and dipped his head inside. He licked a long, stripe over your folds with his flat tongue, then he flicked the pointed tip of it against your clit. “Uhhh...” you moaned, closing your eyes.

Charlie licked and even took little nips at your folds. He savored your clit like it was apart of the evening’s dinner spread. Any juice that leaked out of you, he licked it up and let his tongue absorb it. You were a moaning and screeching mess--your thighs kept closing on his head and the soft fabric of your blanket melted in your palms. You lifted your head a little, and Charlie’s eyes met yours. Your head fell back against the mattress as shock-waves rippled through your body at the sight of his face in your pussy. Charlie wrapped his arms around your thighs, and you could feel his tresses brushing against them as he rotated his chin over your folds.

“Fuck...fuck...fuck...” you whimpered.

Suddenly, you felt warm fingers slide into you. “Shit...” As he kept his mouth over you, Charlie stretched you open with his index and middle fingers. You lifted your body at the waist, took hold of his hair, and began to hump his face. As you smeared your wetness over his mouth, he made firm eye contact with you--the brown irises seeming to dare you to come in his mouth. He turned the pads of his fingers upward and rubbed “come hither” motions along the ridges at the top of your pussy. “Ahh!” you squealed, trying to squirm away. He pressed his free hand against your waist and relentlessly attacked your soaking pussy. “I’m coming...” you whimpered. Charlie closed his eyes and didn’t skip a beat. He maintained the steady, fervent rhythm over and in your pussy until you fell apart over his mouth--rasping out a scream that you were sure the neighbors could hear. Your legs fell limp on his shoulders and Charlie ate you through the fall of your orgasm.

He pulled his mouth away and while still knelt between your legs, he pulled off his undershirt. You sat up and pulled your black dress up and over your head, revealing a solid black bra - no lace or frills, just your pillowy bosom entangled in the smooth fabric. As you were pulling the dress off, Charlie had rose to his feet and pulled his boxer-briefs completely off. You unsnapped your bra and watched him pull off his dress socks, then reach on the bed for the condom. He opened the wrapper, pull out the rubber, and slid it onto his throbbing dick. Then, you scooted far back on the bed and opened your legs, impatiently waiting for Charlie to enter you.

“Fuck,” he mumbled. “You look so fucking good...”

You blushed and bit your bottom lip. Then, he climbed on the bed, hovered on top of you, and peppered your face with kisses. You ran your fingers through his hair and felt the absence of his right arm beside you. Something smooth and stiff rubbed against your slit, then pushed through your core--stretching you open with a sting that burned so good. He withdrew some, then slipped back in, and with every forward movement, he pressed more of his length into you. “Just ram it into me, Charlie,” you said breathlessly. He smiled and heeded your command.

He slammed all of his inches into your hungry pussy, making you moan loudly. Then, he picked up a steady rhythm and massaged your warm walls with his pulsing dick. He pressed his knees into your mattress and held your arms back over your head--digging into you just like you wanted. Like you needed.

“Yes, baby, yes...” you moaned in ecstasy. “Does it feel good?” he asked. “Yes, baby...” you echoed, head in the clouds.

“Tell me how it feels...” “It feels good...it feels so fucking good...don’t stop..please, don’t stop.” Charlie whimpered and moaned just as much as you did, if not louder. He let go of your hands and held your left leg back, giving him room to dig deeper into you. You cursed and moaned and screamed under the weight of him, and pressed your fingers into the flesh of his back.

“I want to ride you,” you blurted out.

“You think you can handle it?” Charlie asked, still drilling into you.

“Yes, I can handle it,” you said through clenched teeth. You bit down on your bottom lip.

Charlie pulled out of you and mumbled a lusty “Fuck”.

Then, he lied down beside you. You sat up, threw your leg over him and lifted your lower body. You lined him up at your entrance and sat down. With your hands resting against his torso, you bounced up and down--feeling every vein and every ridge of his dick gliding against your velvety insides. When you got a good motion, you were able to rotate your hips, and slide up to the tip--and crash back down.

“Fuck, you’re making me feel so good, baby,” Charlie groaned. He grabbed your breasts and massaged them.

“You feel so good in me,” you moaned back. Charlie released your breasts, and with his thumb, he rubbed soft strokes against your exposed clit. The sensation made you throw your head back and bounce on him harder.

“That’s right,” he said. He smacked your ass. “Bounce on that shit. Just like that...” “Yes, baby. Smack my ass again...”

Charlie gave your cheek a hard smack in the same spot, making you groan. He rubbed the stinging flesh and held on to it.

“Does my pussy feel good?” you asked.

“Your pussy feels fucking amazing...”

“I think I’m gonna come again...” you said with a squeal.

Charlie groaned and rubbed deep, hard circles around your clit. You bounced a little faster and took him deeper as he rubbed your hot, throbbing bud. Then, you felt the rush over your body. You lowered yourself to take all of him in and maneuvered just enough to hit the spot. “Fucckkkkk!” you cried out, as you gushed and squirted on over Charlie’s fingers and crotch.

“Shit!” he shouted. You felt him thrust up into you a couple of times, but he stopped so you could rest your knees at his sides. Then he pulled you down flush with his chest. As you rested over him, he wrapped his arms around your waist and dipped into you with slow strokes.

Charlie looked up at your sweaty face and its dazed expression.

“You okay?” he asked. You dropped your face onto his shoulder.

“Yes...” you whimpered.

“I’m about to fuck you hard, baby. You ready for that?” he asked.

You reached up and rested your hands on Charlie’s shoulders, and he tightened his embrace around your waist. Then, he picked up the pace and pummeled your sweet, dripping core--making you squeal, groan, and slobber into his shoulder. He was thrusting so deep and fast, that you could feel and hear his balls slapping against your ass. Eventually, he slowed his pace, but kept fucking up into you with deep, shallow strokes.

Charlie held you tight and sat up with you in his arms. Just when you lifted your head to see what he was doing, he’d placed you back on your back with your head at the foot of the bed. Next, he lifted your legs, crossed them at the ankles, and held them up. After he gave one of your Achilles tendons a kiss, he fucked into you again. The two of you moaned at the sensations of the angle.

Soon, the position morphed into him resting between your legs once more and thrusting into you until you felt him tense up. The unmistakable heat filled your core. Charlie moaned and stroked his climax to its end. He stared into your eyes and initiated the evening’s final kiss.

#charlie barber x black reader #charlie barber x black female reader #charlie barber smut

65 notes · View notes

redshirtgal · 4 years

Photo

You may remember seeing Lt. Farrell as one of the many rotating navigators on Star Trek. We saw him for the first time in “Mudd’s Women.” In production order, this episode would have been filmed before the “The Corbomite Maneuver” and originally Dave Bailey was supposed to have the navigator’s chair. But Roddenberry never knew in which order the scripts would be completed and aired. So to make sure there were no inconsistencies, he came up with the character of Lt. John Farrell in case “Mudd’s Women” aired after Bailey’s departure to stay with Balok.

And actually for a foreground actor, his role was fairly meaty in this episode. The actor Jim Goodwin was a friend of John D.F. Black, one of Star Trek’s Executive Producers as well as the first Executive Story Consultant. Black had often steered roles his way and this part was a good one for Goodwin to display his acting ability.

It appears Lt. Farrell is an excellent navigator at the beginning of the episode. He helps track Mudd’s cargo ship as it enters the asteroid field and suggests they put a deflector shield over it to keep it from being destroyed. A suggestion which Captain Kirk decides to take even though Scotty warns him it’s going to be too much of a strain on the ship.

The revised draft of this episode described Farrell as being “a super-conscious twenty-eight-year-old... red-haired, one of those people who fight to put out 100 percent all the time... which is too much sometimes."

Which means sometimes you get this reaction when Lt. Farrell is a bit nervous ... as in this scene when it appears all the lithium crystals are going one by one.

And another one - evidently Sulu and Farrell took a break and were in the corridor when the three beauties sashayed by. As Sulu leads a stunned Farrell back to his seat, he refers to him as Johnny-O. This is the only time we ever hear Lt. Farrell’s first name mentioned. This was not his original first name though. In the final draft, his first name was Jim and Sulu refers to him as James-O in the same scene.

Farrell’s judgment leaves him completely when Magda convinces him to hand over his communicator along with information about the miners. She turns both the communicator and said info over to Harry Mudd which allows him to blackmail Kirk. According to Memory Alpha, there were a few lines cut from this scene. In the final draft, Lt. Farrell tells the charming Magda as they stroll along that he has a girlfriend and also that he wants to grow a mustache. Later in the same version it appears Magda does have a heart when she tells Harry “ "I hope he doesn't get in trouble... he's really very sweet."

Poor Lt. Farrell can’t seem to shake off the effects of those gazes when the hearing ends and everyone returns to his normal station. He gets dressed down by Kirk because the captain has had to repeat an order twice. Which results in another Farrell wide-eyed expression.

All ends well by the end, of course. Farrell’s composure returns once Captain Kirk returns to the bridge after leaving Rigel 12. But it’s a lot of fun to see how often we see the whites of his eyes as he reacts to whatever stressful situation he is in.

Going by production order, Lt. Farrell appears again as navigator in “The Enemy Within.” (strangely, this episode appeared right before “Mudd’s Women”). There was a deleted scene in the final draft right after Geological Technician Fisher calls for help over the intercom. Spock and Farrell are shown on the bridge listening to his call. According to this script, Spock bolts for the turbolift doors and yells back for Lt. Farrell to take over. Alas, as mentioned, that scene was dropped. Which is a shame because it again establishes Lt. Farrell as someone who is competent and has the respect and trust of both Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock. He’s not just some overwrought officer who makes goofy faces. Instead, we don’t see Lt. Farrell until almost the end when the Evil Captain Kirk enters the bridge and sits in the Captain’s chair. Farrell’s above expression comes from Evil Kirk’s orders to leave the planet, even though that means stranding the other members of the landing party in sub-zero temperatures.

About this time, the real Captain Kirk along with Dr. McCoy walk onto the bridge from the turbolift. Knowing he has to act fast, Evil Kirk orders Farrell and James to arrest what he says is the imposter.

Once the real Kirk begins advancing toward his evil counterpart, Farrell is really confused and just freezes in position. At one point, he plaintively asks Mr. Spock what to do but Spock ignores him as he watches the drama play out. Notice that our Lt. Farrell is the only one who seems to actually rise or make any attempt to get up out of his chair during this scene. Another sign that despite his shortcomings in “Mudd’s Women” he really is a fine office.

About the time “Miri” was beginning to be filmed, John D.F. Black decided to leave the show. Which meant Jim Goodwin no longer had his friend and sponsor to steer roles his way. Lt. Farrell appears for the last time in this episode, although he is not in his traditional navigator seat. He has taken Uhura’s place at the communications station (Nichelle Nichols was considered a day player, not a contract player. So we did not see her in every episode).

But Lt. Farrell does play an important role in this episode. He is the one who relays all the information Spock gives him into the ship’s computer in an attempt to find a cure for the deadly virus that affects the inhabitants once they beginning entering puberty. Even though Jim Goodwin was assigned to roles originally meant for Anthony D. Call and for Nichelle Nichols, he was also on the receiving end of having parts meant for him given to other actors. Farrell had scenes in the first drafts of both Charlie X and The Naked Time. By the final draft, however, his part in Charlie X had disappeared. And his part in “The Naked Time”? It was assigned to a new character named Kevin Riley.

Jim Goodwin came to Hollywood by way of Boston, Massachusetts. He had begun his acting career long before Star Trek, making his first appearance in 1950 on the TV show Starlight Theatre. After that, he had a fairly steady stream of small parts in both television and film.

Before Jim Goodwin was seen on Star Trek, he had small parts in two episodes of a popular television western called The Virginian. In “A Man of Violence” he played the role of Corporal Perkins. The teleplay was written by his friend John D.F. Black. In the same episode, DeForest Kelley was cast as Lt. Beldon, the medical officer for the camp. And Leonard Nimoy played a bad guy named Wismer (seen above lying on his side).

Also before Star Trek, Farrell had two appearances in 1964 as a helmsman in the sci fi TV series Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea. The above screenshot is from the episode “The Invaders.”

As mentioned earlier, Goodwin did have small parts in a number of movies, including Ice Station Zebra (1968), The Reivers (1969), and Emperor of the North (1973), in which he played the part of Fakir (see publicity photo above). This would be his last movie, although he still was active in television up until 1979 and ended his career with a total of 50 credits.

Sadly the year after his last film, Jim Goodwin’s death notice appeared in the Los Angeles Times on May 20th, 1980. It is quite scanty but since he was not buried in L.A., it is possible that a larger obituary was seen in one of the papers from the Boston area and from Beverly, Massachusetts.

There does not seem to be any information about Jim Goodwin. Many Star Trek extras had other careers or jobs on the side and continued those when the acting parts began running dry. This may well be Jim Goodwin’s story as well. No mention was seen of him ever appearing in a Star Trek convention, which is a shame, because certainly avid fans would have remembered him and been interested in hearing about his days on the Star Trek set.

#Star Trek TOS #Lt. John Farrell #Jim Goodwin #Mudd's Women #The Enemy Within #Miri

30 notes · View notes

curious-minx · 3 years

Text

Denis Leary is making an animated vignette series based on Dogs Playing Poker and 10 Other Pieces of Kitsch Art That Should Be Turned Into TV

KITSCH auction house tremors and stampedes.

Dennis Leary basically discovered sex, drugs and rock n’ roll with his 2015 two season FX series Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll. Leary’s always been one of those guys that can’t be beaten down in spite of how dopey and cynical his edgy working class personal brand is. He’s got an entire deal set up with Fox, the flailing broadcasting company has placed all of their chips on a Denis with only one lousy “N” in his name. I can’t even with this fake Irish Bostonian droid. Relish in the delicate thought process of Leary and leftover former Daily Show producer, Jim Margolis, bringing up a Pinterest screen grab of the Dogs Playing Poker by Grand Master of Kitsch Cassius Marcellus Coolidge and money signs popping out of both of their heads. Here is a dramatic retelling of this thought process:

“Yo, get this Big D,” salivates the recently fired from Netflix Jim Margolis to Leary over a Zoom, “Fox got this Bento Box Animation Studio sitting around doing nothing but churning out animated interstitials for the Masked Singer, Paradise PD, The Prince, The Blues Brothers animated series, animated Harold And Kumar, Housebroken, The Great North, and ugh..um..Hoops..”

“I fuckin love Hoops, Jimmy! Why aren’t we pitching this on Netflix again?”

“Because Dogs Playing Poker is going to work so much better as pregame filler for live Sporting Events...on Fox.”

“Oh yeah. All of those rotten good for nothing grease monkey and lunch pail people will probably be giving each other Budweiser flavored Covid at the local saloon with these damn dog pictures hanging up. It’s like when old drunks would stay out late and watch the Flinstones at the bar, did you know that actual human male adults would sit in a town like Boston and waste away in a bar watching Flintsones. Can you believe that Johny?”

“My name is Jimmy, err Jim, but yeah Denis we’ll send you the scripts over. Any idea who we should cast?”

“Get me the hot blonde from Inspector Gadget 2, God dammit I miss Louie..are we sure we can’t get Louie back on air?”

“Afraid after Patton Oswalt dognapped his role from him in Secret Life of Pets, Louie CK has been banned from ever appearing as a talking dog again.”

“So bogus. Bobby Kelly will have to do.” Denis gets a text. “Dammit, Adam is getting all thirsty for this juicy delicious bone. Gotta throw a big bone to my dog Ferrera. Who else?”

“Ok. I’ll get one of those sad Daily Show losers. Um picking one at random, Roy Wood Jr. They’ll pretty much jump into anything, because John Oliver was in Love Guru they start thinking they can fail their way up.”

“I said no politics at the table! Paws off the table! This is going to be so fucking lit!”

////

Kitsch Art deserves so much more. George Lucas, retired American filmmaker, robber baron of childhoods and all around mensch has been heavily invested in the kitsch art of Norman Rockwell. There are a bounty of stories to tell. Too many of them are far too white and basic, but there are rich narratives to be found in his out of date even for his own time romanticism of The Old Masters. Hopelessly out of date could have been a failing of Rockwell, but his politics grew progressive as his career went on and fought against the system. Cassius Marcellus Coolidge is the man that operated the first bank in Antwerp, New York had the astronaut-like grace to wonder, “what if dogs played poker like people played poker?” A painting that dates back to 1894 used as means to sell cigars. What strikes me most about this painting is that they aren’t wearing clothes, but I bet when you try to imagine the painting you imagine these dogs fully decked out in some sort of work coat. There is a further anthropromized version of the ad called “His Station and Four Aces” that depicts a glimpse at a look at an entire canine furry society. His ideas of putting an animal in clothes remains to this day one of the most novel and surefire commercially friendly means of artistic expression. The original cynical man laughing all the way to the bank, his own bank that he founded to boot.

Seen above: An example of a Comic Foreground that also demonstrates the failings of having too few people in your party to properly partake in the comic foreground experience.

“Cash” Cassius wasn’t the first man to imagine a domestic pet in people clothes, but he’s probably one of the few to do so with such commercial finesse. The man also at one point filed the patent on the “Comic Foregrounds,” which is the technical name of one of those carnival boards with holes to stick your head in. In post Covid times how many more heads will be salivating and rushing towards those holes to pop their heads in to create a lasting memory, if only for a second. So when I start learning more about this remarkable weirdo Cassius Coolidge, a man according to his official website dogsplayingpoker.com’s Biography: “Trying to chase mischievous boys from an abandoned house, he fell from a window and hurt his knee, leaving him injured for the rest of his life.”

Flash forward back to 2021 and Denis Leary and his career a man with a wikipedia with fun entries about all the accusations of plagiarism and hate speech against autism I start to worry about the legacy of more Kitsch art falling into the hands of other greedy and desperate TV executives. That being said if you are a greedy TV executive who happens to be a maniac that likes reading rando’s tumblr pages do I have a list for you!

TOP TEN PIECES OF KITSCH ART THAT SHOULD BE TURNED INTO SOME KIND OF SOMETHING

“We Are Having a Heavenly Time” Columbian Bike Monkey and Parakeet by, once again, Cassius Coolidge

Coolidge’s anthropomorphic foresight strikes again! This time he effortlessly establishes a captivating duo that could be easily voiced by an endless combination of celebrity voice actors. PAUL RUDD as “Monkey” and ISSA RAE as “Parakeet” present “We Are Having a Heavenly Time” present a travel show. You could basically use whatever leftover footage you have lying around from the many Conan O’Brien segments and plug Monkey and Parakeet and their trusty bicycle anywhere for an irreverent glimpse into the foreign World around us.

2. “Clown and The Girl” by Haddon Sundblom

Now I know what you’re thinking, that title is miserable! I agree, but with a little reverse engineering you get The Girl and Clown, which could be a whole new addition to the Girl on a Train, Girl with a Dragon Tattoo, Girl with a Dangly Earpiece, the Girl-Verse! The girl appears to be quite fearless of this clown, which is good because we need someone to be brave for when the clown takes off his mask.

Sundblom is also the original artist for the Coke a cola Santa Claus and how is it that we have gone this many rotations around the sun without a single Coke a cola Santa Claus special is the real reason why Christmas will always be the saddest time of year.

3. “Clean Your Fornasetti” based around the artistic Plate collection of Pierro Fornasetti

Muk bangs, videos of people eating are a huge cyber traffic boom. People love watching people eat. Why not add the element of surprise by what kind of playful Fornasetti chanteuse is hiding underneath this plate full of gruel? Fornasetti is an artist with over 11,000 items created in his name and over 500 of them are based around a variety of expressions of a single woman. Clean Your Fornasetti is a deep and poetic rumination of the romance between the act of someone cleaning their plate and the reveal that the plate contained a visual feast all its own.

4. “Mickey’s Kinkade Playhouse” by the one and only Thomas Kinkade

The Kinkade Studios features over 63 “narrative panoramas” featuring Disney characters, but largely Mickey and Minnie, simply vibing. It’s time we stop pretending that small children like Mickey Mouse and market him for wistful older audiences that want to radiate in a nice long warm bath of color and sound. I am not sure I am even pitching an actual series but more of a Narrative Panoply. One thing that is missing from Disney Plus, and streaming services in general, is a severe lack of programming frills and flourishing. The iconic Adult Swim bumps are something completely lost to the dustbins of programming history left to remain in youtube compilations. Thomas Kinkade is a lot like Enya. Art critics treated him like a comedic punching bag for so long, but I doubt there’s an artist that grasps the kind of sterile enchantment people want after a long day of opioid benders. We’re all trapped inside doing puzzles why not do the bare minimum of slightly animating a pleasant scene of Mickey and Minnie roasting marshmallows or enjoying a breath of fresh Alpine air?

5. “Dust Lickers” by Odd Nerdrum

Quick! Get me Trash Humpers’ Harmony Korine on the Line Show him Shit Rock! The world of Odd Nerdrum is a harsh and primeval one that would make for an astonishing animated landscape. Odd Nerdrum himself feels like a worthy subject of some kind of documentary based around his imagery and insistence on making his art in the most arcane and old fashioned methods possible. Once again, maybe the visual world of Odd Nerdrum may not make for a full on narrative series, but once again would make for one hell of an animated segment.

6. “Homemade Pasta” by John Currin

A cozy Queer slice of life cooking drama based around the two charming fellows of John Currin’s Homemade Pasta scene. A series of vignettes based around the completely unfabulous and domestic version of bliss that was denied many people as a result of the AIDS crisis. You can’t tell me you don’t see those two nice guys getting cozy and making pasta together and you aren’t dying to see how they go about rolling out their own focaccia bread.

7. “The Velvet Elvis” by the Collective Conscious

David Lynch at one point in time was trying to crack into making his own Elvis biopic. I think it’s pretty safe to say that the age of a public wanting a David Lynch directed Elvis biopic has probably passed, but that does not stop Velvet art enthusiasts. TheVelvetStore.com is featuring a remarkable promo that could really bump up what a David Lynch Elvis movie could be like and the horror of having one’s soul trapped inside of a Velvet Elvis rendition painting seems like a pretty fertile place to begin a proper story about Elvis in America.

8. “Big Eye Bunch” by Margaret Keane

Yes, it was only a matter of time before Ms. Big Eyes herself, Queen of Kitsch, Margaret Keane would come up on a list like this. Tim Burton tried and sort of kind of captured what it so endearing about Keane’s work, but I think a fully animated dive into an orphanage full of sad Big Eye kids that time travel and meet other Big Eyed children version of historical figures is a Big Idea that could make a whole new generation keen on Keane.

9. “Banality” by Jeff Koons

An animated series based around the artistic sensibilities of Jeff Koons would be a tricky affair, but just the kind of gaudy whimsy that someone like Michel Gondrey could use to proper effect. A series based around someone trying to steal the fifteen million dollar Michael Jackson statue would also be appropriate.

10. “Groovenians reboot” by Kenny Scharf

Scharf is the only artist on this list that actually was a kitsch artist that caught the attention of early aughts adult swim. A tv show that only features the artistic sensibilities of Scharf but also a voice acting cast that consisted of Paul Reubens, Rupaul, Vincent Gallo, and Dennis Hopper. There’s also a theme song performed by the B-52s and musical direction by Devo’s Mark Mothersbaugh. One of the only known published reviews of the pilot describe the show as needing mind altering substances to enjoy and that it is essentially like “watching a cartoon reflected off of a funhouse mirror. This is basically a description of the modern tik tok addled twitchy type content that makes a killing on the Internet for millenial and zoomer types. Basically the whole aesthetic of a warped and broken looking cartoon is the exact sort of thing weirdos deep diving at youtube at four in the morning are looking for and seeing that this gets a failed pilot and Denis Leary’s Dog Poker vignettes get greenlit is exactly what’s wrong with the world.

3 notes · View notes

royallyprincesslilly · 5 years

Text

Title: Going Through Motions{3}

Title: Going Through Motions {3}

Steve Rogers X Reader OFC Korral “Korri” Evans

Warning: Plot, Cursing, Angst

Word Count: 1.9K

Summary: You and Steve had a hot, passionate, and wild romance seven years ago when you worked with the Avengers. It was the best year of your life; you’d never felt the things you’d felt in all your life. Then out of nowhere, Steve just ended things—in a letter. A heartbreaking letter, then the world deemed him a criminal, and he disappeared. Now, you’ve moved on and have gotten engaged to rich man Marc Spector. Tony brings you back to work with the newly rebuilt Avengers that is still led by Captain America who is definitely done asking for permission and not looking for forgiveness. Or is he?

Note: So, for this fic, we are going to alter the MCU timeline a bit. This takes place after Civil War, but Infinity War has not happened yet. Steve is off the grid for seven years before he comes back. {I know that’s a long time, but let me rock please} Also, I’m going to be introing/adding in Moon Knight (Marc Spector) in just because I feel like it and I want to start exploring other Marvel characters and of course I will twist him to serve my purposes.

**Loosely Proofread/edited**

**Interactive**

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tonight was the night of Tony’s party. You weren’t in the mood to party. In the last three weeks, you were a wandering ghost. Your role at Stark Industries was a unique one. In the beginning, you played more an executive role on the Avengers side, but when the Avengers broke up your position increased and blurred over to the industry side, you went into sort of executive to vice president, to employee relations to mission coordinator, and even mission operative. You wore many hats. These days the hat you wore was executive and vice president, you ensured the Avengers side of the company ran smooth, and everyone worked well. So, for the last three weeks, that’s what you did, you ensured the Avengers side ran smoothly. You spoke with world leaders and dignitaries about the reestablishment of the Avengers and what it meant moving forward and had meeting after meeting on various topics. You didn’t step foot into the compound; you remained in the city. Not that it mattered in the least your mind was everywhere.

While you continued to try to cut the red tape around them so they could freely do their duties, the rest of the team remained at the compound getting back into the swing of things. There were tons of new gadgets and weapons they had to get used to, Tony had been busy in the seven years. Tonight would be the first night the world would be able to see the new and improved avengers. It was so much of a big deal Thor came in to make an appearance, not that he’d miss a party if his life depended on it.

“You seem like you’re a million miles away. Are you okay?” You brought your attention to Marc, who was sitting beside you and smiled. “Yes, I am fine. Just trying to get into unwind mode.” Marc put his hand on your thigh and gently squeezed. “Is that something you need a little help with? We have another twenty minutes before we arrive, I can put in a little work for the cause.” You smiled and shook your head. “My god Marc, if people knew how much of a horny little teenager you really were they might look at you differently.” He chuckled and brought his hand higher on your inner thigh, the split on your dress afforded him plenty of access. “If people knew I was a horny little teenager they wouldn’t be surprised especially once they took a look at my beautiful, sexy, and brilliant fiancée.” With each compliment, he kissed you, first your jaw, then your neck and finally the exposed skin of your breast.

He always knew what to say. He’d always been like this, such a sweet talker. After Steve disappeared, you hadn’t wanted to get involved with anyone especially not another superhero. After a year and a half of courting you, he wore you down for a date and then after the four years of dating he’d convinced you to move in with him, and ten months ago he’d accomplished his ultimate goal of convincing you to marry him. Marc’s hand disappeared between your thighs and under the barley there lace thong you wore. Once his fingers grazed your sex, you gasped and slightly arched your back off the seat. “I do so love when your back arches Ri.” Moaning you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to enjoy the moment.

Marc’s fingers expertly swirled around the most sensitive part of you and with each passing second stroked the kindles of the fire he was igniting within you. “That’s it relax and let me do all the work, let me take care of you.” His husky voice was hypnotizing. Before you knew it, your legs were draped over his shoulders, and his head was buried between your legs. You tried your best to control your moans not wanting the driver to know what was going on in the back of the limo. He wasn’t having it though; it seemed he was doing everything he possibly could for you to scream out. After a few minutes, you felt the first desperate pangs of your oncoming orgasm. You grabbed Marc’s head, arched your head back and let the pleasure claim you and whatever stress you were holding on to.

By the time the car stopped at your destination, you were again the image of grace. “I can’t wait to get you home Ri,” Marc grunted as he tried to rearrange the crotch of his pants. Looking down, you could see his erection straining against the material. You smirked to yourself before you leaned over to him and kissed him making sure to suck his bottom lip into your mouth the way he liked. Marc groaned loudly. “God, you’re trying to kill me.” His door opened, and he stepped out to make his way around to your side. When he opened the door, you took his hand and walked arm in arm toward the entrance.

You and Marc walked through the crowds with smiled, politely greeting those you knew and those who recognized you. It seemed you couldn’t make it more than a few steps before someone stepped to Marc to shake his hand or get a picture or talk about his ventures. All you could do was smile, look pretty and play the supportive fiancée. It was a role you normally took pleasure in. Your phone buzzed, and you saw a message from Tony asking if you’d arrived yet. You shot him a quick message to let him know you’d make your way to him soon. You were in no hurry.

Thirty minutes, about a hundred handshakes, and plenty of well wishes on your impending union later you and Marc made it across the room up the steps to where Tony and the others were. Nat was the first to see you, then Wanda, then Tony. Once Tony saw you, everyone knew you were there. You greeted everyone with hugs and introduced Marc to them, but not as your fiancée. Since they’d been gone for seven years none of them, but Tony knew him. You quickly noticed Steve was nowhere in sight and part of you was relieved but the other part disappointed. Marc easily charmed them; you weren’t surprised it was part of who he was.

The next few hours went by with endless stories from all of them about their time on the run and even reminiscing about old missions. You sat and listened to the stories and did your best to keep a smile on your face, the never-ending rotation of drinks helped—a lot. When you’d lost count of how many glasses of champagne you’d had you heard a commotion down below. After looking over, you realized Steve had made his entrance, and he was being swarmed by people eager to talk to him. God he still looked good in a suit, you thought to yourself. Once the thought entered your head you felt Marc’s hand at the small of your back. You excused yourself and made it to the bar to get a stronger drink. You sat with your back to everyone and used the time to psych yourself up. You’d repeated to yourself in your walk-in closet that in order for encounters to become normal they had to keep happening. “Repetition breeds normalcy.”

“Repetition breeding normalcy is a crock of shit,” Natasha said as she sat beside you at the bar. “How you holding up?” You smiled and pushed everything away. “I’m fine. You look gorgeous Nat.” She rolled her eyes and looked over you. “Me? Kor, you are breathtaking, that dress my god.” Shaking your head, you rolled your eyes and downed the drink the bartender placed in front of you. “I know it’s been seven years since we’ve talked, but you do know you can talk to me still right? We used to be close, I want that again,” Nat expressed. You touched her hand and gently squeezed. “I know Nat I want that too. I’ve just—been on my own for the last seven years. Old habits.” She nodded and downed her own drink. “Marc seems nice.”

You smiled and nodded. “He is nice. He’s a good man.” Natasha sat there and scanned your face, and you knew she was trying to read you. She was a spy she was good at it. After a few moments, she nodded and looked away. “Congratulations, Tony let it slip about the wedding.” Nodding you stared at the diamond ring on your finger and smiled. “Thanks.” At that moment Marc came over wrapped a hand around your waist and kissed your neck. “Everything okay?” You smiled widely and nodded. “Of course, I was just congratulating her, now I can congratulate you,” Nat said. Marc beamed and accepted her well wishes. “Congratulate him on what?” Sam approached the three of you and with him brought the attention of those close, Steve included.

“Let me. Everyone let’s raise a glass please,” Tony began. Everyone did as he said, except you. Marc leaned to your ear and whispered sweet words about how amazing you were, and you smiled, he truly was a good man. “Let’s raise a glass to Korral Evans and Marc Spector and congratulate them on their engagement.” Everyone around you burst out in applause and cheers. You didn’t dare look to Steve, but you could feel his eyes. Marc again went to your ear and spoke so only you could hear. “I love you.” you smiled at him and allowed him to kiss you. It was to be a quick one, but Marc dipped you and intensified the kiss to everyone’s delight around you. Once he put you up right your eyes noticed the back of Steve’s head as he walked away back down the steps and Sam hurrying behind him. Cat’s out the bag now, you thought.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

-Steve-

You looked happy. Not a fake happy either, it looked like a genuine glow of happiness that was painted across your skin. You were as beautiful as ever. In the seven years, he remembered your beauty but either your image had slowly blurred just a bit disguising the full effect of it, or you’d gotten even more beautiful. He couldn’t figure it out. The seven years had been kind to you-kinder than they had been to him. He was a completely different person now. He’d had to change; he had to adapt. Every day there was someone new after him, every day he was on the move, and every day you were on his mind. There hadn’t been a single second where he wished things had been different, that he would have handled matters differently. It nearly killed him to write that letter, and it actually did kill him to leave. So many times he second-guessed it, so many times he thought to go back and take you with him but he couldn’t. He couldn’t put you in that kind of danger; he couldn’t submit you to that kind of life. There were days he was glad he hadn’t given in to his selfish weak needs because the things he’d been through and had to do to survive were hard. It was no life for you. You deserved better.

When he’d gotten word that it was safe to go home his first thought was of you, and he made a move to go back but he couldn’t. He felt sadness and shame, sadness because of the last seven years and shame for the things he’d had to do, shame that he was no longer the innocent, straight and narrow Steve Rogers you’d known. That man was gone. Running for one’s life unjustly did that to a man. He didn’t even know if he had a home to come back to. Countless times over the years he worried you’d moved on and found someone new, worried that he was just a faded memory of a man you used to know. He couldn’t face the possibility being a reality, so when the others went back he stayed away. He was scared. How could he face you again after all these years? How could he look in your eyes after everything? The things he’d said in that letter had to be said. He wondered if you hated him for it.

When he finally laid eyes on you, it was like feeling the serum course through his veins all over again. He wasn’t over you; he knew it then, and he knew it now. When he’d picked up and left, his feelings for you were at their peak. He loved you, hell he would have done anything for you. He would kill without question for you now. There was so much he wanted to say to you, so much he had to say, but you made sure to stay away and he didn’t want to crowd you. Things had to be done on your time; he couldn’t force things.

A fiancée, you’d moved on, and the thought of that killed him. “You okay?” He knew Sam would be the one to follow him. In the last seven years while Bucky was in Wakanda taking care of himself Sam was his go-to. He and Sam became tight, and he relied on him to have his back. That remained the same. “Yeah.” Sam snorted and sat on the roof of the Stark Tower with him. “You’re a damn liar.” He scoffed and nodded. “Yeah, I am.” They sat quietly staring out over New York. “Miss seven years, miss a lot huh.” He looked at Sam and gave him a “really” look. “Sorry, too soon?” He laughed to himself; he could already rely on Sam to give him a laugh even at times he didn’t want to laugh. He wanted to punch something. “It’s my own fault I guess.”

Sam looked at him and waited for an explanation. “I was the one who left right? I couldn’t have expected her not to move on.” It was true, he didn’t want her to move on, but he was realistic enough to know she would. He knew there would be a man who would see how incredible she was and fall head over heels for her like he had and hold on to her; something he hadn’t done. “You’re talking like you had a choice,” Sam began. “I did, didn’t I? I made the choice to fight Tony over Bucky, and I made the choice to draw lines in the sand--,” Sam kissed his teeth. “Man, your biology made that choice. You’re Captain America; you are goodness and justice. Bucky needed help, you saw that, and you did the just thing. You can’t beat yourself up over choosing the side you did. You did a good thing, and you were punished for it. If I had to do it all over again I’d do it in a heartbeat.” He studied Sam and knew he was being truthful. Part of him wanted to listen, but the part that refused was the hurt part, the part that just watched another man touch you, and kiss you, a man who was going to marry you, have kids with you, build a life with you. That hurt part was quickly turning into a bitter part. He’d given so much and gotten so little in return. The one thing he wanted and had the nerve to try to claim for himself he even had to that give up.

“All I’m going to say is, it ain’t over until it’s over,” Sam added. He looked to him again, trying to grasp his meaning. “What does that mean Sam?” He stayed quiet for a few moments but shook his head. “She’s not married yet. It ain’t over until she walks down the aisle.” He scoffed and shook his head, but the part of him that should have been appalled by Sam’s implications was silent or very near it. The part that spoke up was the part that was in agreement with him. Yeah, he was not the man he used to be anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!

TagList:

@quitepointless @yourwonderbelle @caramara3 @kaetastic @toniilaney @wildmindedbeauty32 @cltex84 @bellaamor88 @periodtcevans @peach-acid @queennanayaa @alyxkbrl @disneysdarlingdiva

#going through motions fic #Steve Rogers #Steve Rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x black reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #angst fanfic

147 notes · View notes

sazandorable · 4 years

Text

Slash: The Magnus Archives!

OK SO, since testing was A Great Success and we had a lot of fun with this at the francophone Magnus Archives meet-up this weekend, I’ll share how to play the game of Slash: The Magnus Archives!

(or Slash: anything else, but TMA works especially well for this particular game by virtue of having so many characters and many open or potential plot hooks)

First off, here is the real actual game that this is based on (... disclaimer: i have never actually owned or played that game, oops), and here is my twitter thread liveblogging our first few games (/!\ features spoilers up to S4 finale). You know you want to play it. You know you do.

Good news, it’s super easy!

What you need to make your very own:

a lot of index cards (or regular paper & scissors; I folded and cut about five A4 sheets into 12 small rectangles each)

a pen

~3 to ~6 friends in your fandom(s), depending on deck size

humour and imagination

somewhere you can be loud, because there WILL be screaming

(optional: dirty minds)

How to make it:

Write the name of a character on each card.

That’s it!

How to play:

The barebones:

All players draw the same amount of cards (we played with 6).

A card is put in play as the first half of the ship.

Everyone plays one of their cards. This is a character suggested to ship with the first card.

An OTP is picked from the suggested ships; the perpetrator gains a point.

Cards are discarded, every player draws a fresh card from the pile, and another round starts.

Optional rules:

(This is how we played): each round has a Matchmaker who chooses one of their own cards to play as the first half of the ship and is the one who selects their winning OTP.

We played with the Matchmaker role going around clockwise. You could also have the winner of the round become the next Matchmaker, etc.

Each player can defend their suggestion by describing a scenario. Essentially this game becomes a fest of crackfic scenarii and it’s just the greatest. Ask your friends to really sell to you the fluffy love story of Nikola and Sasha. Ask them.

A theme is also announced (drawn randomly, decided by the Matchmaker, decided by another player, ...). This can be anything: angst, fluff, roleswap, powers swap, magical girls AU, blind date, meet-cute, OT3, Hanahaki, A Leitner Made Them Do It, secret exes, arranged marriage, NSFW, “give me the ship name”, “describe their first kiss”, ... We had a whole list of tropes that we passed around for inspiration. This is my biggest recommendation and a huge part of the fun.

You could also play it closer to CAH, with less players or less time: no Matchmaker, the first card is drawn randomly from the deck, cards in play are put down face-down, shuffled, and all revealed anonymously at the same time, and the winner is decided by popular vote. (And the winner has to narrate a scenario now?)

Don’t reshuffle discarded cards into the deck, or only the losing cards, only winning cards, etc.

When you reach the end of the draw pile, continue playing with dwindling hands. Our last rounds, with everyone forced to play the very last card in their hand, were amazing every single time without fail.

For an OT3 (or more!) round, let people draw an extra card.

Let the winner or the Matchmaker create and put in a secret new card each round/game. (Untested, I just thought of this. IDK if I can actually recommend it. May be too dangerous.)

I don’t know how to make it work but I’m sure there’s fun things to do with only 2 players too, or OT3 rounds with 3 players, etc. Go wild and tell me how you did it!

Whatever you think of!

Recommendations:

Encourage everyone to do whatever they want. Swap cards around, skip a round, play 2 cards at the same time, react to someone else’s story, collaborate on storytelling, etc. If someone is struggling, ask them leading questions, throw them plot hooks ideas. Decide whether to completely ignore things like chronology or living status, or whether to take it as a source of inspiration (this is how we made Robert Smirker/Dinner guy work). The only goal is to have fun.

Go especially wild on the theme when playing Jon as the first half of the ship.

I made a “Statement-giver of your choice” card for a fun joker. Either the player can pick anyone, either the Matchmaker picks a character the player now has to sell to them.

I also put in “a Leitner”.

There are a few cases in The Magnus Archives of some names applying to various actual characters. You decide how to deal with that. Which Michael is that? Who gets to decide? The Not!Them and S4 finale spoilers can also lead to a lot of fun.

For ease of play, I wrote a short description to help remember who tf characters were, so cards would read for example: “Robert Smirke (XIXth century architect)” or “Joshua Gillespie (coffin guy)”

However it’s actually better, IMO, to refrain from putting in too many completely random characters, to keep it interesting. Coffin guy stops being that funny if there’s also dinner guy, government conspiracy guy and Peter Lukas’s mother in the same round.

We did make cards for all of the Entities, but same, it can complicate things depending on the amount and tastes of players. (Nelja’s round of shipping the Web was fun though.)

An option is to make those cards and rotate them in and out as they’re played to avoid having too many in play at the same time.

Optional: laminate the cards.

Have fun!! We sure did!!

#the magnus archives #slash card game #slash tma #aza's tma meta #i GUESS this counts #why is this the fandom that makes me make weird fanworks? idk but i'm having fun!

47 notes · View notes

thedeaditeslayer · 5 years

Photo

Bruce Campbell exclusive on reboot of Ripley’s Believe It or Not! for Travel Channel.

Fan favorite actor Bruce Campbell is executive producer and host of the reboot of Travel Channel’s new series Ripley’s Believe It or Not!

Filmed inside Ripley’s warehouse, each segment is a thorough concise look at unique individuals who blow people’s minds with their gifts. It runs the gamut from physical exceptionalism to flat-out death-defying deeds. Steering this eye-candy-licious ship is Campbell.

Over the film and television career of actor Bruce Campbell, we have loved his take on horror roles (Ash Williams in The Evil Dead franchise), perfectly honed dramatic characters (President Ronald Reagan on Fargo), and most recently as the critically acclaimed developer Gary Green in a three-episode arc on AMC’s Lodge 49.

Of course, Burn Notice fans loved him as Sam Axe, and legions of Starz’ Ash vs. Evil Dead fans are bereft over Ash’s recent cancellation and demise there.

This latest venture for Campbell sees him entering the production side of TV as well, and his instincts are dead-on accurate for what reality TV watchers want, well crafted true stories with no wasted frames, lots of heart, and plenty of jaw-dropping reveals.

We screened the premiere episode and were completely riveted to the tales.

Ohio native Rick Smith flicks playing cards at lethal speeds while dreadlocked Dai Andrews can swallow curved swords and live to talk about it. Tyler Scheuer takes it on the chin — literally — as he balances heavy odd objects.

Toronto native “Twisty” Troy James is a handsome contortionist who has worked in many TV shows (FX The Strain, CW’s The Flash) and movie roles, with his mentor Roberto Campanella referring to him as a “natural talent” and a “walking talking natural effect.”

The 10-episode, hour-long series is inspired by Robert Ripley’s love of the extraordinary in humanity, and Campbell is a good steward of this. We spoke to Campbell by phone yesterday for a fascinating interview:

Monsters & Critics: I’m incredibly jealous of you.

Bruce Campbell: Why is that?

M&C: Well, the Ripley’s Warehouse. You got to work in it… and poke around.

Bruce Campbell: Oh yes… I’ll never tell. I’ll never tell the secrets that I saw.

M&C: But what was the standout item that was a jaw-dropper for you?

Bruce Campbell: Well they always rotate displays. They had a [President Donald] Trump in the foyer. They had a life-size Trump. So I got a thumbs-up picture with that. So I’ve had a picture taken with a president.

They also had a life-size replica of the tallest guy ever. And when they do that, that’s different than a photograph. And they have all these great craftsmen that work in the warehouse doing prosthetics and doing these life-size replicas of things. And when you see that life-size of the tallest man ever, you go, “How does anyone get that big?” It really puts it in perspective.

So stuff like that was cool. I’m a sucker for enormous, oversized objects.

M&C: I think I saw that in the background on the premiere episode…

Bruce Campbell: Oh yeah, it’s hard to hide that guy.

M&C: I love that you’re serving as host, but you’re also wearing the executive producer hat. I’m sure someone like yourself, with a bazillion fans from every level, gets pitched a million things. Who contacted you? I know that you were aware of Ripley’s and you liked it as a kid…

Bruce Campbell: Oh, of course. Things come across your desk. They tracked down my agent, and then he throws it at you and you either ignore it or say yes, or no, or maybe.

And Ripley’s, soon as they said that, I’m like, “Okay, I’ve heard of that.” And, “Who’s it for?” “Travel Channel.” “Okay, I’ve heard of that.” So they were two for two, and that’s helpful.

I knew Ripley’s and I was fascinated by a lot of that stuff anyway. I felt it’s a pretty good fit for the Evil Dead crowd because we’re basically talking about people who live on the edge … these people who push it.

So it’s pretty good. It felt right. And the Travel Channel … it’s not your father’s Travel Channel anymore. So it’s a good fit for Travel Channel because they’re doing all these crazy, creep investigations now and stuff. I think it fits it right in.

M&C: Dovetailing on what you said earlier, I think we’re all fascinated with the human body. So much good, bad and otherworldly can happen in the human form; and afflictions, to gifts, talents.

Bruce Campbell: To DNA glitches.

M&C: Yes, exactly. And I think that that’s an interesting thing that the show… we don’t have “the freak show” anymore… but Ripley’s show, you’re kind of bringing back a Victorian freak show but in a much more humane and cerebral context...

Bruce Campbell: Well we don’t use the F-word anymore. We don’t, not in our Ripley world. Because you’ve got your ordinary people, and that’s you and me and our neighbor.

These people really are the extraordinary, beyond ordinary. What we’re doing is, we’re celebrating it. And my job as a producer… My input was tone.

So that you’re celebrating people who’ve overcome challenges; they are achieving great achievements just through tenacity and practice and focus. And a lot of life lessons in here. So the takeaway is very positive.

If it’s different from any other incarnation, it would be that — that people are not on parade.

Now granted, [there’s] no shortage of eye candy. There’s going to be a lot that’s going to make your eyes pop out. But in context, we want you to get to know these people, to understand, and in some cases respect their decisions.

M&C: Right. Each segment was really well-rounded for the time beat that it was, and you gave really good backstory. And it showed how people were prospering and making great livings, and absolutely celebrating their uniqueness. I like that you do that.

Bruce Campbell: It’s an incredibly dense hour. It’s a small hour. It’s like six or seven stories per hour. It’s crazy.

M&C: Yes. The first episode, Rick Smith with the flying lethal playing cards…The fact that he could lethally dismember someone’s finger…

Bruce Campbell: Yeah. He’ll kill you! At a press conference, he could kill you. He could kill you at a press conference. By the way, we’re going to try to drag some of these folks to conventions.

Because I told them, I said, “Look, this is what I do. You’ve got to…” How many boring movie panels have you witnessed, you know? Oh, it was very hot that day. Yes, my suit didn’t fit right. And we thought that was funny. “No, let’s get a panel of Ripley’s participants. I’ll give you a panel.” So we’re going to San Diego Comic-Con. We have a panel coming on, that Saturday.

M&C: You know it’s going to be standing-room-only. People are going to be hanging from the rafters…

Bruce Campbell: Well, it’s the right fit for that crowd too. And look, this is not Marvel. This is real, folks. These are real superheroes, for the most part.

M&C: When you look at your career, characters like Ash Williams, and Sam Axe… and then you’ve done very serious stuff in Fargo, and you had a great part in Lodge 49, which is a fun series. What kind of roles do you enjoy the most?

Bruce Campbell: Just mix it up. I think the fun is mixing it up. Because from Detroit, my hometown, as a factory worker you would hope that they had a thing called “job rotation.”

You’re putting tires on one week; next week, they move you to fenders; next week, you’re putting windows in. So you don’t go crazy. Because there’s a lot of rinse-repeat, in what we do. Television is done in a formulaic style, for the most part, at a certain speed, certain pace. And you have to kind of fold in, and get used to that.

But over the years, it’s been fun to also to exploit opportunities when they come up. Take something that is a little more out of the box. I’m doing Peter and the Wolf in front of my local orchestra, at the Britt Festival, here in Jacksonville, Oregon, this summer. And I’m all giddy about it.

I’m like, “Okay, yeah. Let’s do something with an orchestra.” So I’m going to narrate Peter and the Wolf. It is fun to actually live where you live. To participate. Because you can go hide, that’s pretty easy. But nice thing is, where I live, my neighbors… they could so give a crap about who I am or what I’ve done.

A neighbor… the week I moved in, he was a rancher across the street… he comes up the driveway. He goes, “I understand you’re a cowboy in a TV show.” I said, “Yes sir, I was.” He goes, “You know how to ride?” I said, “I think so.” He goes, “You want to help me run a hundred head of cattle up the road on Saturday?” I’m like, “Yeah, if you’ve got a horse.” “Yeah, I’ve got a horse.” I’m like, “Okay.”

So I met him on a Saturday. Met all the neighbors. We helped him run a hundred head of cattle up the road. And, there you go. I was a member of the neighborhood.

What’s nice is, you can actually just get out. As an actor, you actually don’t have to hide. Some actors spend way too much time hiding. I hide in plain sight. I’m behind you at the post office. I’m the guy with the cat hair all over his jacket.

M&C: Switching gears. So obviously I’ve trolled your Twitter feed. I’m looking for MK11 clues like everyone else…

Bruce Campbell: Oh, it’s gotten out of hand. It’s gotten completely out of hand. Here’s the absolute truth of it all: I’m a bad liar. So, here’s the truth of it.

There is an Evil Dead game that’s coming out. And it’s a fully immersive game. It’s going to be very intense. And we hope to be absolutely mind-blowing, like some new game.

But in the meantime what happens is, Evil Dead’s been reintroduced. Ash vs Evil Dead sort of made it relevant again. And there’s a lot of requests just to have Ash pop up, like a guest star, in a movie, or on a TV show. Have him pop up and do some crap.

So Dead by Daylight was pretty much that. Pop up, do a thing. But people thought that (a) I was a liar that, “Oh, I thought you were retiring Ash.” And then (b) that, “Oh, I guess Ash is now in this game,” like he was a fully immersed player.

And we started to see the ads for it like that. We were like, “Ahh, don’t misconstrue this.” I’m just popping in literally, saying like a dozen lines. Like, “Hey, come on baby,” or whatever. And he may pop up in other games.

M&C: Yes. Well, Mortal Kombat 11 (MK11). That’s where all the chatter is landing.

Bruce Campbell: It is.

M&C: And?

Bruce Campbell: Sure. Well, I would have to say that I can’t say anything officially. They have alluded to it because there’s a little chainsaw revving at the end when they allude to new characters. So there’s nothing I can say, but I can say that Ash has popped up in other games. And if he does pop up in this one, it’ll be in the same fashion.

It would be like a blink-don’t-miss it or load him for a quick little run at this, you know?

We’re saving full Ash. Full Ash is coming. We hope that this is just a warm-up, honestly. We’re actually doing it because… We’re saying it’s okay to do because it’s just sort of whetting people’s appetite for playing a game as Ash, which can be fun.

He’s a big trash talker. And he’s one of the few flawed heroes. He’s like you. He’s like your neighbor being a hero. It’s like you being a hero, just you putting a chainsaw on your arm. That’s what I think is cool.

M&C: It’s like giving a monkey a razor blade. Not a good idea.

Bruce Campbell: (laughs) Totally! Exactly. That’s dangerous. Give him a switchblade. That’s a better image. Like he pops it out, “Let’s go. Let’s rumble.”

M&C: Right. Your fans are something. Do the men meltdown easier than the women when they meet you in person? When I read interviews by fanboys who can’t hide it, it’s kind of cringey.

Bruce Campbell: It was mostly fanboys. My wife was always, “You have fun on your tours, with your fanboys.” Because she knew there was going to be no hotel-room keys being thrown my way because the demographics were like 90% guys.

And I’ve watched it go to 75-25. And now it’s basically 50-50, as far as fandom. And I’m saying that across the board, not just for me per se. Fandom is out of the closet. Geeks are out of the closest. The industry is currently run by geeks. It’s all good. It’s just, everything’s out of the closet now.

Our proof of our love of entertainment is out of the closet now. There’s more conventions than there ever have been, by 10 times. And the amount of TV that we actually binge is 10 times than we thought we were binging. It’s amazing.

M&C: To me, Ripley’s is almost like a history lesson, but time-traveling into the modern day…new stories…

Bruce Campbell: Well it’s seeing humans… What can the human body do? Question mark. What can it do? And this show answers some of those questions, in an amazing way. Blind kid just wants to ride his bicycle, just like another kid. Right?

He learns to echo-locate like a bat. Because bats fly around and go “click click,” little clicks, and it bounces off of the objects that they’re flying around. They can know how far away it is. Kid saw a bat do that. He was like, “Wait a second. I’m going to do that.”

So he starts clicking and bouncing sound off of buildings, and even trees. He knows how close they are, alleyways. And dog on it if he doesn’t learn how to ride a bike. And he gets so good at it, he’s teaching other blind kids how to do it so they can just ride a frickin’ bike. What a great story, what a great story.

Everything has to be a car accident, you know? These are really… I’d say 92% of our stories are uplifting.

M&C: Well I like you’re producing ethos. I hope you produce more interesting television, because boy, we sure could use it.

Bruce Campbell: Well I think you can have interesting and entertaining, and uplifting, at the same time, without even trying to be uplifting. If you pick the right subject matter, it is its own story. So these people are amazing. I hope the world can meet a lot of these people. I can’t wait to meet them. I haven’t met them.

M&C: Wow. Comic-Con. That’s going to be amazing. You’re going to be on a panel with them.

Bruce Campbell: Oh, yeah. It’ll be the first time for a lot of these people.

M&C: You’re known as a character actor, with these leading-man good looks, and you’ve aged really well. By the way, you look amazing. Whoever’s styling you and doing your hair, and suiting you up for the show gets an A. You look terrific.

Bruce Campbell: I’ll pass the word along.

M&C: No, you really do. You’re like the opposite of [Burn Notice] Sam Axe. You’re a sharp-dressed man as ZZ Top says. But who’s your favorite character actor?

Bruce Campbell: Jack Carson.

M&C: Who? Jack Carson?

Bruce Campbell: Yep, and that’s exactly… The response that you had is the one that I always get. “Who?”

But Jack Carson is your neighbor, he’s a cab driver, he’s the bartender. He plays a lot of the same characters, but he’s sort of the everyman. And he’s a guy that, you see him in a movie and you go, “Oh, that guy. I like that guy.” He’s not the steak. He’s the sizzle.

So that’s fun. There’s definitely guys that I look up to and go, “Who is that guy?” Because the guy had a great… worked forever.

#Bruce Campbell #Ripley's Believe it or Not

11 notes · View notes

hacks-and-heroes · 6 years

Text

Hacks and Heroes #3

For those who are unaware of it, Dishonored is a series of first person action stealth games developed by Arkane Studios. It is well known for its Victorian-style setting, and its intricate and Lovecraft style lore. Dishonored is one of my favorite game series to come out in the last couple of years. If nothing else, the art and design of the series as a whole is breathtaking and unique. One particular special thing is its “Whalepunk” technology; big, bulky wrought iron devices and ships, powered by the oil of speared and skewered whales. All of this and the way it captures magic and gods makes for an enthralling setting.

So how do you translate all of this to tabletop games. Dishonored hasn’t been fully hacked by anyone that I have ever seen online, not for lack of people asking about it. I suppose as a whole it isn’t a complex setting to convert. Most games you play will have the pieces, they may just need a bit of rearranging. I’m gonna start by talking about general ideas that apply to all games, and then delve into a few specific games.

World Building

Firstly, as mentioned Dishonored is of a subgenre of Steampunk, Whalepunk. Truly the only thing in the subgenre is Dishonored itself but the point stands. So what defines Whalepunk? Well like Steampunk it is all about technology tinged with magic. Everything in Dishonored is bulky and harsh like the whaling ships that enable the technology. There are also a lot of Tesla-like devices that are apart of Dishonored’s world. The Wall of Light and Arc Pylon are two whale oil powered devices that produce electricity in a way that would make Tesla very proud. Other important things about the technology of Dishonored’s setting is the use of a railway-like system, with carts and boxes on elevated rails that loop through the cities.

Let’s talk about some of the themes of the story telling in Dishonored. The main games hold a lot of themes about family, royalty and responsibility. As well, the subjects of political discourse and poverty are also made apparent in the world building. It helps when our main characters, particularly of Dishonored 2 when you play the Empress Emily, are they themselves royalty. In the DLC and spin-off games, more is put towards themes of loyalty, survival, and revenge. The first novel also has the classic theme of being unable to change the past.

So now I’ll get into the specifics of making a Dishonored game.

Magic

Magic is complex in the Dishonored world. All magical ability stems from The Void. The Void is another world. The mirror to the tangible. Inhabited by giant floating leviathans and ancient otherwordly beings. There are several ways to receive magical ability in the world of Dishonored. The most prime and prominent answer is to receive the Mark of the Outsider. A godlike being who roams The Void, the Outside may bless anyone of his choosing with a mark on the back of their hand, that grants them various powers, unique to them. If you were to wish a character to have an array of magical powers in a Dishonored game, this would be the easiest way of doing so. That being said, the powers tend to be limited and do not go beyond five or six powers (and a small array of supplemental powers). As well, the bearers of the mark tend to not be mages themselves, often being rogues and warriors who use the powers to add to their repertoire. For example, a Pathfinder “Magus” class may be an example of someone such as Daud or Corvo. However, this isn’t a perfect example, and a better way to portray this in a game with classes would be to allow character class of choice, and offer the powers in a separate way such as Feats or Abilities.

Another way to gain powers in the world of Dishonored is to have them bestowed upon you by the bearer of the Mark. Some holders of the Mark can share their abilities with underlings, giving them access to some or all of their powers. This is how it is in the case of Daud and Delilah Copperspoon. While this is more apparent in Daud’s assassins, whose powers are more clear cut, the Brigmore Witches seem a bit more uncertain. Their powers are different from Delilah in a number of ways and manifest differently from witch to witch. That being said, I’d say there is something to be said of Witch Magic that is certainly aided by the Outsider’s influence. In a game, I’d offer up Witch magic as its own entity that could be aided by Shared Power. Once more in a class system I’d offer Feats like the Mark, but with the caveat that the power can be lost if the giver dies, retracts, or loses their own abilities.

One more source of magical power lies in the Dishonored world. That is Bone Charms and Whalebone Runes. Runes in the games have always been away of improving your abilities, so in an RPG terms, these could possibly be conduits that aid your growth through perhaps ritual. The bone charms are a more interesting tale. There have been several characters who used bone charms to great effect. In the video game, they aided your current powers or gave you small buffs and abilities. However other characters, such as the gang leader Paolo made use of several bone charms and a powerful artifact that gave him Mark-like powers. The character Zhukov from the first Dishonored novel has several powers granted to him through the use of corroded bone charms and a magical dagger. These powers began to take a toll on him in their own right, however he is one of the most powerful people in the series at large. From a gameplay point of view, Bone Charms should range from weak magical items that provide small buffs and bonuses to powerful items that can bestow new powers themselves onto the wielder. As well, they should be able to be combined with other magical artifacts for even greater effect.

A small aside about religious power in the Dishonored universe. While the Abbey of the Everyman is vehemently against the Void and any kind of dark art is met with execution, they themselves make use of some Void magic. To begin they have in their control special Music Boxes that play a song that nullifies all powers in the area. There is also the point of the Oracular Order, a group of women within the Abbey suspected to have powers that allow them to make “prophetic visions”. They seem to be more in line with real world monks, highly educated, trained in battle, and viciously cunning rather than truly magical. However, one may say that through the use of hallucinogens and possibly magical substances, their powers become truer.

Equipment

Much of Dishonored’s base technology is in line with real world tech of the late 1800s to early 1900s. The second game sees the advent of an internal plumbing system throughout the cities. As well, city lighting is through the use of street lamps, and news is pumped through a mix of hanging metal speakers and newsprint.

When it comes to personal equipment available to your party, there is a series of options for sure. Firearms lie pretty much in the realms of pistols, though it is not hard to imagine rifles or blunderbusses existing as well. They are primarily wooden-hafted weapons, functioning like flintlocks and wheelocks. Emily’s pistol from the second game appears at later upgrades to become more of a break-action revolver deal. From a gameplay perspective, these weapons have a one shot magazine without upgrades, and require an action to reload. They also have a small spread when fired, hitting a small five foot cone with shrapnel (half damage to even just 1 damage). Other options for ranged weapons include crossbows (the protagonists all use intricate rotating hand crossbows, or similar wristbows). There’s also several options for grenades, special ammunition, and devices for distraction. The tallboys of first Dishonored game also a type of compound bow, making them an option available to your party as well.

As far as melee weapons go, the games show primarily sword usage. Each faction tends to have a unique weapon. As with the pistol, I believe this primarily for simplicity and design standards. In RPG form, it is within reason to see weapons such as axes and spears, though spears will be more rare, as they became in real life.

Other weapons include several forms of landmines, including the infamous springrazor. Essentially a short range landmine filled with spring loaded razorwire. There are no real options for vehicles besides personal boats (such as Amanda’s boat in the sequel) and if characters are nobles, a personal railcar, though there’s not much one can do with the railcar besides traveling around the cities specific pathways. One could possibly also obtain some of the Tallboy armor, which is a strange mix of armor plating and massive stilted legs. Most modern miscellaneous items should be available within reason. Things such as internet and tv are clearly out, but gramophones and cameras aren’t.

Things such as Walls of Light and Arc Pylons should be treated as traps and obstacles. The arc pylons function within a certain range, and automatically attack a single target in range with a high damage electrical arc. The wall of light is only passable by those attuned to the wall or if the wall is disabled. Those that pass through should either take a high amount of damage, or just to make a safe to be instantly killed. Regardless, if a person survives a wall of light (never seen in the game, but there’s room for cool things like that) they should come out maimed and horrificly damaged.

Specific Game Conversions

So I’ve talked about the ideas that are pertinent to game run in Dishonored’s world. So let’s now talk about what you have to do in specific games to replicate that feeling.

Dungeons and Dragons 5e/Pathfinder

So converting settings to class-based systems like these two can be complicated for a number of reasons. Such as the fact that in Dishonored as a whole, there are numerous characters who have magical powers who would definitely not fit into the roles of Wizard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Bard, etc. So how do we remedy this. Well as mentioned earlier, feats are a possible remedy to these issues. In Pathfinder something like the Drow Magic feat progression offered to Drow players is possibly option, with steadily gaining more magical powers as time goes on.

For example:

Outsider’s Mark

Prerequisites: 5th level or higher, Iron Will, must be contacted by the Outsider and bestowed this power

Effect: Allows the use of Dimension Door and one other 4th or lower Spell of choice up to 3/day.

Some players may be opposed to this though, as this robs them of feats they may feel fits their character better. In Pathfinder this is a completely understandable as feats are a major piece of what makes up your character. Now since feats in 5e are optional, this is a more viable option, if your players meet said prerequisites. You can always decide to give these feats and abilities for free as the story progresses, as long as you are okay with your players having an edge against other characters. That’s really all you can do in these particular systems without being restrictive. If you want, you could also just give the Marked players a choice of spells from their mark and they have a certain number of uses, like other casters. Since the Mark tends be based on the strength of the wielder, Wisdom or Charisma wouldn’t be too off.

One more thing of mention for D&D/Pathfinder; the options for classes should be restricted to primarily martial classes unless under specific circumstances. I could see a point made for things such as Warlocks and Bards for the for former, and a handful of the latters. However, direct magic users, such as clerics, druids, paladins, sorcerers, and wizards should be kept to a very limited number to preserve the setting.

For Pathfinder, there is plenty already around to represent the setting of Dishonored. You may have to come up with some miscellaneous items, but not stuff that’ll have much bearing. For 5e, I highly recommend the Steampunk Compendium and the Urban Arcana Modern Magic Subclasses. Both fit fairly well, give equipment examples and a possible class, the gunslinger.

Savage Worlds

So Savage Worlds is pretty easily one of the best games for hacks and conversions. Not just Dishonored. I have seen hacks for Savage Worlds from Star Wars to Weird War to Conan of all things. So if you are looking for something to do Dishonored in, Savage Worlds is quite good.

So about players and building characters. Giving your players the Outsider’s Mark, or another form of magic, all they need is the Arcane Background edge. From there they will have to take the power edges to gain new powers and points. Any of the Arcane Background edges fit the setting really, even weird science could be put towards characters like Jindosh or Sokolov, but that may be a bit much. However using powers in Dishonored is almost always a force of will scenario, I highly recommend making them Spirit based. With the rate that characters gain powers using power edges, you may think that may too slow for your game. If that’s the case, don’t be afraid to either throw your characters extra powers or advance them a little faster to compensate.

From there it’s just about getting gear and equipment right. The core book does have some stuff that will work. However, if you’re unable to due with those, both The Widening Gyre and Rippers have a mix of settings that you can pull from to build. Rippers especially will have a lot setting appropriate miscellaneous items to pick from.

Aaaaaandd…

Those are the best systems I can think to run a Dishonored based games. That being said, there are a plethora of other systems that can do the job but I did not list for the reasons that will follow!

Point-Buy Games

Both Mutants and Masterminds and GURPS could run this game. I’m not kidding when I say Mutants and Masterminds has been made to run weird. Seriously take a trip over to the Ronin Army forums and look under the pages for characters made using that system. Literally made characters from sitcoms. My sole advice for M&M is that you keep the PL a little higher for your players. This way they will have a reasonable amount of points and limits for their powers.

On GURPS I can’t say terribly much. I’m sure there are plenty of Steampunk settings for GURPS given its age, so you should have no problem hunting stuff down for it.

Story-based Games

So this is anything along the lines of FATE. Very minimal dice rolling, primarily a talkative situation, and self-described abilities and skills. For anyone who prefers a more story heavy game, and isn’t a big fan of the mechanics of other RPGs, check these out.

And that’s where I’ll wrap it for the week! Let me know what you all thought, send me your feedback. I know this is a lot talking and there aren’t really any hard conversions from myself this week. If would like to see actual statistical conversions of things from Dishonored or other settings, let me know and I’ll post some stuff up. Now with this, I bid you adieu. Next week we’ll be taking exchanging our Whalepunk aesthetic for an art deco dieselpunk and travel beneath the waves to a world of...Rapture.

#dishonored #dungeons and dragons #d&d #5e #tabletop rpgs #rpgs #savage worlds #rippers #fate #gurps #mutants and masterminds #hacksandheroes #hnh #dishonored 5e

7 notes · View notes

alylionheart · 6 years

Text

Valentine’s Day - Peter Parker

Summary: You have what’s possibly the worst Valentine’s Day ever and hope that your best friend, Peter, can make it better.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader (Tony Stark’s Daughter)

Word Count: 1,699

Warnings: Mentions of cheating

Author’s Note: I know this isn’t the normal way to write Reader stories, but here you guys go!

Masterlist

Stilettos clicked on the wood floor as she made her way down the hall. Her hair was styled up perfectly. She wore a shade of lipstick that complimented her skin, thick black eyeliner over eyeshadow that made the hue in her eyes pop. She'd squeezed into a black dress, thin straps, straight neckline that still showed off a good amount of her chest, and a length that ended just a few inches below her rear.

She bit her painted lip softly, knowing the expensive brand wouldn't stain her teeth, and knocked on the apartment door before her. She still held the weight of a freshly broken heart but had refused to cry and ruin an hour's worth of makeup.

The door opened, and Peter stood there, laughing and smiling. His joy dropped as he saw her, along with his jaw. His cheeks slowly turned pink and he cleared his throat nervously, suddenly aware of his Star Wars pajama set.

"Y-Y/N? What uh- um- wh- what are you doing here?" He nervously crossed his arms, then dropped them to shove them in his pockets, found he didn't have any, and crossed them again.

"I um..." What the hell am I doing here? "N-Nothing. Sorry-" She went to turn away, but Peter caught her wrist quickly.

"Hey, what's up? Why aren't you on your date?"

"Oh...he's busy." She said softly, smiling nervously at him.

"Busy? On Valentine's day? What could he possibly be doing?"

"Um...I think her name was Violet?"

Peter's eyes widened, and he frowned deeply, "What the hell. Seriously? Um...come in." He stepped aside, letting her walk in. They rounded the corner of the small entry way into the open apartment.

"Oh! I was wondering what was taking Peter so long! Hey, sweetie." Aunt May smiled widely, standing in the kitchen, pouring two wine glasses. "Should I pour a third?"

She nodded rapidly, "Yes, please." She walked over to the kitchen, smiling at May.

"You look incredible, hun. Are you just stopping by? Where's that guy taking you? What's his name?" May raised a brow as Peter rapidly waved his hands no at her from behind his friend.

She shrugged, "Don't remember his but I do remember hearing hers a lot of the butt dialed voicemail he left me."

May gaped and rolled her eyes, "Oh god. Men."

"I know." She took her wine glass and downed it almost instantly, setting it on the counter for a second fill.

"Save this one for dinner, kay? You came just in time! We're gonna eat pasta, drink wine, and watch all the Valentine's episodes of Friends!"

"That sounds so much better than getting wasted at the pub."

"I can imagine." May laughed, "Peter, honey, go get something comfortable for her to wear."

"Oh! Yeah, come on." Peter walked her to his room, still blushing. "You, um...you look great...and Ken's an idiot."

"I know." She smiled weakly, sitting on his bed, taking off her heels. He watched her for a second, his heart thumping hard in his chest, and went to get her his sweater that she loved wearing and an old pair of pajama pants, Toy Story themed. He sat beside her, setting the clothes between them.

"Are you okay? I can't even imagine..."

"Try not to. It sucks.” She let her hair down, then sighed and lay back, shutting her eyes, hair in beautiful curls above her. "I can't believe this...what's wrong with me?"

"W-What? Nothing. Nothing's wrong with you. He's the stupid one."

"Yeah, him, and Tim, and Mark, and Lucas, and Manny...what's wrong with me?" She asked again.

"Nothing." He bit his lip, staring down at her. "You're amazing...any guy would be lucky to even have a second with you...all those guys who were lucky enough to kiss you? They're idiots for giving up a lifetime of that...you're beautiful and brilliant and kind and funny and..." He blushed deeply as she opened her eyes, looking at him. His words began to sputter and fall out fast. "A-And um h-here's the pajamas. Y-You can take a p-pair of my socks if you w-want. I think I hear May calling. B-Be right there!" He laughed nervously and went to stand, stopping when she grabbed his hand.

She sat up and pulled him into a tight hug, sighing happily. "You're the best, Parker..."

He smiled, hugging her back. "I try..."

She pulled back slowly, staring up at him, gorgeous eyes inches from hers, noses so close he could feel her breath. He swallowed nervously, watching the way her eyes flickered down to his lips, her fingers tightening on his firm arms.

Then May really called.

He stammered out an apology and bolted, shutting the door behind him so she could dress. She stared down, then looked around his room. It was just the moment, she told herself. It's her broken heart, she insisted. She's looking for someone to kiss her, to hold her, to make her feel like she's first and not second like all the other guys did. She's just...not thinking straight. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Or maybe those stupid movies and songs are right...and everything I've ever needed has been right in front of me the whole time...

She stood, pulling her dress off, slipping on his sweater and pants. She tightened the strings around her waist and went to his dresser, pulling out a pair of low socks. She took off her jewelry, setting them next to the photo of Ben and May he had framed on the dresser. She smiled sweetly, looking at the picture beside it. Peter, probably around seven or eight, dressed as Luke Skywalker next to Ben as a very cheesy home-made Vader costume and May as Leia, a white dress with her hair in buns. They were such a sweet family...and that's all she ever wanted. Maybe that's why Peter was so good at this...being boyfriend material, so to speak. He had such good role models for love. Her, on the other hand...sure, Tony had Pepper now...but eleven years of rotating nannies took its toll on her.

The knock on the door drew her from her thoughts and she went to open it, "I'm ready."

Peter stared at her, possibly more captivated by her appearance now than before. She looked so beautiful in his clothes and it almost looked like she was his...

He cleared his throat, smiling nervously. "Um, M-May said the food's ready...come on."

She nodded, walking out with him.

----------

Two rounds of dinner, an empty wine bottle, and two episodes later, they were watching The One With The Birthing Video. The three of them were huddled under two blankets when May yawned.

"I know it's not that late, but I'm so full of pasta and wine that if I sleep now, I'll wake up on the sixteenth. Kinda wanna try that." She laughed, kissing Peter's head. "Y/N, honey, you're more than welcome to sleepover, okay?"

She smiled up at her. "Thanks. I think I will. That okay?" She looked at Peter now, who nodded.

"Goodnight, kids." May said, then retreated to her bedroom.

She and Peter both said it back and the third episode ended.

Peter frowned slightly, "That's all the Valentine's episodes...what now?"

"Oh, put on the one where Monica and Chandler get married. I love that one!"

He nodded, doing so. He didn't want to say it out loud, but the tv couple always reminded him of himself and her. It wasn't really the characters, though Peter's sarcasm heavily mirrored Chandler's. It was more their dynamic. The way they fit so well despite being the last pair you could ever picture together. Maybe they're what gave Peter that little bit of hope. He just hoped that she didn't have to get drunk to get with him.

She snuggled into Peter, watching the episode. Eventually, they just let the episodes play and barely watched it. She was falling asleep and Peter was just watching her. Her eyelashes fluttering as she fought to stay awake, the way she covered her mouth with every yawn. Which only gave away that he was staring considering he yawned every time she did. She looked up at him, raising a sleepy eyebrow.

"What's up, Parker?"

He blushed deeply, "N-Nothing."

"Liar."

"You, um..." He cleared his throat nervously. "You look so pretty..."

She blushed, smiling softly. "Thanks...at least someone got to enjoy my effort."

He rubbed her shoulder; his arm having been around her. "I'll always be here to enjoy it."

She smiled, leaning up to kiss his cheek very gently. After a minute of staring at the TV, they both thought of what almost might have been back in his bedroom. "Hey Peter?"

He looked down at her. "Yeah?"

"...would you be my Valentine?"

He slowly smiled, nodding as he pressed his head against hers. “Always…”

She blushed, feeling her heart race. “I’m gonna go to bed…it’s late.” She whispered, eyes flickering down to his lips again. She pulled back before it could turn into anything. Peter’s a friend. He’s an amazing one and she didn’t want to mess anything up. So, she refused to do anything about it. She pat Peter’s arm, “I call top bunk.” She said, then stood and walked off to his room.

Now it was Peter’s turn to dwell on his aching heart. He watched her walk off, dreamt they were in their future home, rings on their fingers, kids fast asleep in their own bedrooms. He wished it was true, and wished he had the courage to take even just the first steps. To ask her out on a date, to kiss her, to start something that could be real.

For now?

For now, he could get off this damn couch, go in there, and take the bottom bunk like a man. He could listen to her sleep and that soft snore she had. He could wake up the next morning and make pancakes with her and be the best friend he could ever be.

For now…he could love her from afar, as long as he could see her smile and hear her laugh and feel her warmth. That was good enough for him.

----------

Tags: @irndad @animelover929

#my fic #peter parker x reader #peter x reader #Spider-Man x reader #marvel

84 notes · View notes