#i cannot express ENOUGH how hard you need to listen to this song if you havent | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

artist-issues · 5 months

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Yeah, again, you can tell that the creators of Wish wanted certain moments to be impactful and to hit as hard as any other animated Disney movie’s moments did. But they didn’t. Because there was no convincing build-up for the moments to peak on.

You can tell which moments they are.

When Asha and the King sing “At All Costs” - If you listen to the song on its own, and you have no context (which is to say, you make up the context on your own) it is moving. Because it’s a pretty-enough song with vaguely passionate lyrics, once you assign meaning to them. But the movie doesn’t build up why this song should be an impactful declaration for either Asha or Magnifico. We already knew that Magnifico made it his job to “protect” the wishes (which are the subject of the song.) Asha, on the other hand, has only just been introduced to us, and we know she “cares too much,” so we already knew she’d protect people’s wishes. The song isn’t giving us a deeper understanding of them, or a more interesting angle to look at their motivations.

But, that’s not really the problem. The problem is that the wishes are the subject of the song. And that whole concept, of wishes being tangible objects that hold the most important and beautiful part of people’s hearts, but when they’re tangible, they remove that part from the person, is bad. It’s not good to try and build a story of stolen-treasures on.

Because that’s how they’re treated. Like treasures that the king is hoarding, after manipulating the people of Rosas into giving them up. And you know what? That’s a terrible thing to sing a protective love song to.

Just think about it this way: the story is about a King who takes everyone’s favorite keepsakes (family jewels, ornaments, old photos) and promises to protect them, but in actuality…for some reason…the moment they hand the keepsakes over, they forget whatever made the keepsake important to them. And then the King and a young woman sing a heartfelt song to the photographs and old brooches about how they will love and protect the photographs and old brooches.

Do you see why this song is pretty but not impactful in the story? They shouldn’t be singing to the wishes. Even Magnifico. They should be singing to the people. The movie plays it as if that is what they’re doing—singing a heartfelt promise of protection to a person, or a people. But that’s not what they’re doing, and do you know why?

Because the people have forgotten their wishes.

By definition, the actual human beings in Rosas cannot care (believably) about the bubbles in King Magnifico’s tower. They can only vaguely care about the chance of being happier than they are now, someday, if the wish they don’t even remember is granted. And what a terrible lesson, never mind plot point.

Anyway.

I digress. The point is, for a personally-worded, vow-of-protection-song to hit the audience meaningfully, it needed to matter to the person receiving the vow. But there is no person receiving the vow. Because of the narrative and lazy concept, only Asha and Magnifico care this much about the wishes. Because the people who made them have forgotten them. (More on this when I talk about Asha’s mom.)

When Sabino’s wish is not granted - This is supposed to be like a “Tiana’s restaurant gets taken away from her when she’s outbid” moment. The character is crushed when the thing they wanted and really believed they would finally get is taken away.

Doesn’t work in Wish, though. Because of a few things, but the main two are:

The audience has no reason to believe this means so much to Sabino because he hasn’t been shown really longing for his wish to come true.

This movie avoids any vulnerable emotion in facial expressions.

When Tiana loses her chance to have her wish come true, it is also unfair—she was already promised the property, but the brokers accepted a larger offer anyway, and it’s implied to be because of racism. Similarly, everyone acts like Sabino is entitled to (“promised”) having his wish come true because he’s so old and it’s his birthday. Plus we, the audience, know that Magnifico isn’t rejecting his wish for good reasons, and that Sabino’s wish is unselfish. So it’s meant to feel unfair and sad when he doesn’t get it, but it’s not. Not like it felt with Tiana.

Not only does the lazy concept of wishes and forgetting them once they’re tangible hamstring all of this—but the fact that Sabino has had nothing but a handful of sparse lines (ones like “we don’t know for sure that I’ll get my wish granted”) to convince us that he really cares about this hamstrings it, too.

When Tiana loses her restaurant property, it’s only about 24 minutes into The Princess and the Frog, and we have already had:

1 - A song about how hard she’s worked for it. 2 - An opening scene where her relationship with her father connects the restaurant to a deeper, more personal meaning for her.

3 - Several scenes where she is shown doing drastic things to get enough money for it; her drawer full of tip money; the two jobs she works with only a minute’s sleep in between; her friends asking her to come dancing but reiterating the fact that she often loses time for fun and their good feeling toward her because “all she does is work.”

4 - We are also shown that people don’t believe she’ll get it. The cook at her job mocks her for her wish, which makes it all the more important to the audience that she gets it—to prove the jerks wrong.

Of course, it doesn’t hurt that the restaurant is directly tied to Tiana’s character flaw AND her strengths, at the same time, so that it’s killing two birds with one stone—we’re shown who Tiana is, and we’re convinced to empathize with her when something sad happens to her.

Sabino has zero of those things going for him. No character details or set pieces to hint to us that he wants the wish to be granted so badly—no speeches about what it means to him—no memories tied to how he began to wish for this thing—because there can’t be. Because he’s spent 82 years not wishing. Because he’s lived the majority of his life totally forgetting what he wanted. You couldn’t logically show any evidence that he wanted it that much, then, could you?

So Sabino can’t be shown caring too much about not getting his wish. Therefore the audience doesn’t care either. We’re shown a glimpse of his sad face, and Asha’s sad face, and then told, “now feel sad!” But the work wasn’t put in to make it happen.

They cut their legs out from under themselves.

Now you could say, “well it wasn’t really about Sabino’s disappointment, it was about Asha’s disappointment.”

Yeah, but that doesn’t really hold up either. I’ll explain how in the next moment-that-should’ve-made-us-feel-something failure:

When Asha’s family doesn’t believe her - This scene is very clearly supposed to be like the one where Mulan has an argument with her family about her father going to war, and knowing her place, and he yells at her and she runs out distraught.

You definitely feel for Mulan and care about how she’s feeling in this scene—you might even cringe at the part where her dad yells at her. Part of that is because the scene is so well-done—there’s the buildup of tension as the camera cuts between each family member quietly drinking their tea, refusing to talk about the day’s devastating events. Then Mulan bursts out by slamming her teacup down and starting the yelling, herself, in outrage. Her dad stays quiet and steady like he has the whole movie up till now, so then when he stands up and shouts at her, about the exact thing she has been so upset over since the Matchmaker’s, the audience really feels the impact.

You don’t feel the same way about Asha, and it’s not just because her family argument scene wasn’t done as well—it’s also not just because, as you can see above, the movie keeps tiptoeing away from emotional vulnerability in the way the characters look.

It’s mostly because there’s been no impactful buildup to this scene. Again.

When Mulan has an argument with her father, you know what it means to her to have him yell at her about doing what’s right in her own place—you’ve had the whole first few scenes of the movie to convince you of it.

Mulan is upset because she wants to find her place and she loves her father very much. But she does not, ever, say the words “I love my father so much.” She doesn’t even outright say things like that before the argument. She doesn’t say to the Matchmaker, “Won’t you please give me another chance? My father has been praying about this for weeks, and I can’t bear to disappoint him. My father is a great man; he fought for the Emperor and was wounded in the wars; for his sake, can’t you help me?”

Asha does. Asha says to King Magnifico (but really, to us, the audience) “My grandfather’s wish! It’s beautiful.” And “Your Highness, couldn’t you grant his wish?” And to her friends, and to her mother, and to her grandfather himself—over and over she just reminds us with flat, “okay-we-get-it” dialogue and exposition of what she wants.

Whereas Mulan shows us. She convinces us. She runs up to her father, in the very first scene, and we’re shown that even though she has trouble remembering what she’s supposed to say to the matchmaker—even though she has trouble remembering what time it is and getting her other chores done—with this one part of her life, her father, she can remember exactly what the doctor said about how much tea he needs to drink. And she is prepared for her own clumsiness to make sure he gets it.

And even after she doesn’t get what she wants, and is shown to be so ashamed she can’t even look at him (because that’s how much she loves him and cares what he thinks) the only thing that makes her feel better is when he carefully compares her to a late-blooming flower and basically promises that he believes in her, anyway. We know how much Mulan cares about her father because we’ve been convinced by the way the movie artfully and carefully shows it.

We also know that she cares about knowing her place, specifically because of her family’s wishes for her. So all of this combines to prove to us that having her father shout at her about knowing his place and why he’s going to die willingly is a devastating thing for her. Enough for her to run out of the house sobbing and cling to a pillar as if she can’t hold herself up.

But when Asha runs out of the house (barely sobbing, just kind of breathing fast, because there’s no vulnerability in this movie) and stumbles up to a tree in the same way, we don’t really believe something so devastating has happened to her.

Everything happened too fast. She just kept saying she cares about Sabino’s wish coming true, and that she loves him. When he explodes at her (and really out-of-nowhere asks if she wants to “break his heart”) it’s the first time he’s shown any kind of intense emotion, either toward her, or about his wish.

There is no build-up. So it just feels awkward, and kind of like a high school production where one of the kids hasn’t even been trying to act, but in one scene, he suddenly starts yelling because that’s what his character is supposed to do. And it’s just cringe because you haven’t seen that level of energy, happy or sad, good or bad, at all up until now.

And that’s a problem because it leads right into Asha’s “This Wish” song, which is supposed to be like her “Mulan riding off to war” moment. But it’s not set up well by the emotions tied to the family argument, or the emotions tied to the conflict with the King, so you don’t really care.

Moving on to the next emotional-moment failure:

When King Magnifico threatens Queen Amaya - I don’t have much to say about this one; I think you’re getting the point. When there’s nothing but bland words and one-liners spoken to convince us that the characters are thinking and feeling how they’re thinking and feeling, moments like this one just feel boring and forced. And try-hard.

Like, the lighting? The music? Fine. Good. When he points his new magic wand at her threateningly, and clearly appears ready to betray her? All that stuff is fine. It just hasn't been built up to, so it doesn’t hit.

It’s like, “that’s it?” He just says one line about, “Are you betraying me?” And she pours forth a bunch of lines like “no I’ve always believed in you and in Rosas.” And then he’s basically like “okay, I’m convinced, moving on” which of course is him already knowing that she’s betrayed him and already having a plan to trap Asha…but still. From Queen Amaya’s point of view, there’s nothing emotional here.

We’re supposed to believe they’re madly in love and that she trusts him wholeheartedly, so that when he falls to dark magic and she chooses to side with Asha it’s this big moment. But it happens so fast.

There’s no moment where Queen Amaya grieves her husband. There’s no real sense of loss, or even of impactful betrayal. The voice actress delivers every line like she’s trying and failing to feel what the character feels as she reads the lines to a 5 year-old who needs every concept spoon-fed to them.

And King Magnifico drops her like a bag of dirt instantly. No sense of loss from him, either. He’s not even condescending to her, like, for example, Mayor Lionheart was to Dawn Bellwhether in Zootopia. Or like Jafar was to Iago. All of those things would’ve made their quick severing of bonds to each other make more sense.

But we’re not shown that Queen Amaya has sensed any darkness building in her husband over the years, and is just now realizing that this is the last straw and maybe he was never the man she thought he was. She treats him like she adores him (blandly) for the whole first half of the movie. No hint of doubt. Even when he goes for the forbidden book the first time, she easily convinced him not to and then wandered away like “well, took care of that.”

When Asha’s mother loses her wish - The biggest problem with this moment is still lack of buildup, and that is because the tangible-wish forgetfulness thing is stupid as we’ve established. We don’t believe she feels grief, even when she says she does, because we don’t know this woman at all. We don’t know what she wants, or how badly she wants it—we certainly don’t feel that she’s been missing her wish.

But the other offenses are worth mentioning. When Asha’s mother’s wish is broken by Magnifico, she just…gasps. And her father-in-law says her name, and Asha yells something typical like “no!” She looks a little weak in the knees, like maybe she can’t walk for a second, so the 100 year-old man supports her.

But the cameras spend no time on how this is affecting her. The shots of the family escape in the immediate aftermath of this world-shattering thing don’t let us see Asha’s mother’s face. Not that her facial expression is that devastated, anyway. It’s just “typical sadness” expression. There’s a shot where they’re going from the house to the stolen horses and if I remember correctly, Asha’s mother has her back to the camera the whole time; I was looking at her because I was like “something devastating just happened; this is the most interesting part of the scene.” But there was nothing to see.

They could’ve had her visually turn grey. They could’ve had her go mute, stare off into space, suddenly become scarily unreachable. They could’ve had her weeping uncontrollably. They could’ve just had her go catatonic—after all, we’re supposed to believe that even the chance of having “the most beautiful part of her” returned to her heart was just destroyed. Wouldn’t that logically make a person…cold? Calloused? Unfeeling? Uncaring? But no. She’s as just keen to express concern for Asha and apologize for being wrong about Magnifico and urge Asha to keep believing in herself, passionately, as she would’ve been before. No big deal, just lost the most beautiful part of myself forever.

Doesn’t help that we never knew what the mom’s wish even was, so even we can’t miss it.

So when she gets her wish back at the end, and she’s like, “come home.” It’s just…cringey.

When Asha convinces the crowd to wish for Magnifico’s defeat - The idea of the movie is that “the power of the stars is in you because we all came from stardust, so keep wishing and working toward it even when it’s hard.” So this moment is supposed to be impactful.

But it isn’t. Because that kind of thing isn’t impactful. They literally sing a song, glow, and Magnifico is defeated. Even if we were supposed to believe Star was dead, and this is bringing him back like Tinkerbell coming back to life, it’s still not impactful. Because one, it happens way too fast. And no character really emotes about it, like Peter did when he thought Tink was dead.

Two, that hasn’t been the point of the whole movie; the main character never had trouble believing that she was powerful enough to enact change. She barely doubted her own wish. If they wanted us to be excited that she could win based on the stardust in her heart, and in the kingdom’s hearts, alone, then they should’ve given us several scenes where it’s like “Asha is relying too much on Star’s power.”

But no, doubt and disbelief and reliance were never character flaws of hers for this moment to overcome. She doesn’t really have any character flaws, let’s be honest.

Even if you want to say “well sure, Asha didn’t doubt her own power, but the kingdom did! Otherwise, why would it’s citizens have put so much reliance on King Magnifico?” Okay, that’s nice, but 1) that is never solidly or impactfully alluded to in the story, beyond jokes about how handsome they think the king is and the literal plot point of trusting him with their wishes. And 2) having a whole kingdom of background characters believe something false and then get their minds changed in a split second is not nearly as impactful as having the main character’s mind changed first—and then she passes that knowledge on to them.

Like Judy Hopps learning to try to understand Nick, then encouraging all of Zootopia to try and understand each other. Like literally any good story where a whole kingdom needs to realize something.

Also it is never a good idea to defeat your villain just by singing about how you want to defeat your villain. Nobody should have to tell Disney that. They wrote the book on this.

But this movie was made by a company that no longer knows itself.

I could say more, like about the moment where Asha supposedly is at her lowest, or the part where Star “leaves,” or when her friends work together, or the “Knowing What I Know Now” song, but it’s all the same problems.

#Wish #Disney’s wish #character analysis #meta #Mulan #Disney’s Mulan #Disney #wish Disney #wish movie #animated movies #spoilers #review #Valentino #Asha #ariana debose #Disney’s the princess and the frog #the princess and the frog #Tiana

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cinebration · 8 months

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Got the Rhythm (Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader) [One-shot]

Premise: You challenge Rooster to a piano duet.

Warnings: none

Gif Source: paperjunk

When Rooster walked into the bar, you hardly paid him any mind—not with that terrible mustache, anyway. He had an undercurrent of the same cocky swagger you expected from all the pilots, somewhere on the spectrum between Hangman’s palpable arrogance and Bob’s quiet competence. In other words, he was a flyboy, and they were all trouble.

You glanced back to your girlfriends, noted how their gazes swept the room for the faces they liked the most. One of them elbowed the other as Rooster strode up to the bar.

“Him?”

“How doesn’t love a thick neck and a mustache?”

Your nose wrinkled. “Sometimes I forget you grew up watching Magnum, P.I.”

“Short shorts needs to make a comeback, that’s all I’m saying.”

Shaking your head, you glanced back at him. “He’s okay. “ You effected our best Mr. Darcy impression. “‘But not handsome enough to tempt me.’”

“You never know, maybe he’ll surprise you.”

“Doubtful.”

And then Rooster walked over to the piano and sat at the keys.

That caught your attention immediately. Pianists had always been attractive to you, not least of all because you happened to be one yourself. Leaning back in your seat, you waited for the show to begin, half hoping he would be terrible just so you could laugh about it and not have to reevaluate him.

The first chord struck, and he was off, fingers flying over the keys with the passion of someone who truly enjoyed music. To your dismay, he wasn’t half bad.

And then he started belting out a song.

“Oh dear Lord,” you muttered, turning away from the performance. Your chest constricted with the strength of the cringe you felt.

“I don’t understand you,” one of your friends said. “You can’t even handle it when people sing in movies.”

“It’s just so…” You waved a hand vaguely. “The cringe is strong, ladies. I’m dying here.”

“Then go shut him up.”

Frowning at her innuendo, you twisted your lips at her in a mock sneer and physically cringed again as you listened to Rooster crow. He sang well, but it didn’t change the fact that you wanted to flay the skin off yourself and flee the room.

Clearly you had to shut him up.

Shoving back hard from the table, your chair scraping loudly against the floor, you strode over the piano, interrupting Rooster’s serenade as you hip-checked him across the bench to make room for yourself. His fingers faltered on the keys, the song dying in his throat.

“Hello?”

“I thought you might like a challenge,” you answered, gently shaking out your wrists. “An improvised duet.”

His eyebrows rose. His friends that weren’t already circling the piano drew closer, a quiet “Ooooo” echoing in the background.

He laughed. “Dueling pianos?”

“Well, we only have the one, unfortunately. So it’ll be a fight for keys and elbow space.” You flashed your teeth at him, more challenge than smile. “If you think you can handle yourself.”

A chorus of “Oooos” swelled around you.

Hangman leaned his forearms on the top of the piano. “Let me give you a tip, beautiful.” He cast a sidelong glance at Rooster. “He has a speed problem.”

“Oh?”

He turned back to you. “He’s too slow.”

“Ohhhhh.” You nodded sagely. “So, he can’t keep up.”

“No, ma’am, he most definitely cannot.”

You watched the muscle in Rooster’s jaw flex.

“Let’s find out, shall we.” And you let loose on the keys.

Jaws dropped as your hands moved with an almost preternatural speed, coaxing surprising melodies from the ivories. You lost yourself in the music, in the feel of your fingers creating and maintaining rhythm. For a moment, you forget it was a competition, that even Rooster was sitting beside you on the bench.

A deeper harmony swelled up alongside yours, not quite as fast but still acting in concert with what you were putting down. You risked a glance at Rooster, jolted out of your musical trance, and saw him fixated on the keys, concentration write large on his expression.

A smirk tugged on your lips.

Your hands flew faster.

Roster increased his pace, sweat dotting the hairline on his forehead. To your surprise, you found yourself straining too, putting your all into the piece, throwing complex melodies at him in the hope he wouldn’t keep up, that he’d get up and leave you alone at the piano.

Yet he persisted, his elbow jostling yours as he laid down a heavy rhythm almost in harmonious counterpoint to yours.

He glanced aside at you, his gaze meeting yours. Despite the furrow in his brow, his eyes were bright, joy and excitement vibrant within them.

You brought the piece to a sudden crescendo and a resounding ending, Rooster echoing it with a few final chords.

You were surprised to find yourself breathing heavily, sweat trickling down the back of your neck in a tiny rivulet. Rooster’s chest heaved beside you, his face flushed with the exertion.

“Well,” you managed to say, your voice thick, “aren’t you full of surprises.”

“Surprise is my middle name.”

Hangman snorted and pushed himself away from the piano, shaking his head.

Rooster leaned forward into your space, as though drawn into your orbit. Surprise flooded through you as his nose nearly touched yours.

You slid off the bench, narrowly missing the kiss. He looked up with a frown.

You turned to leave, then hesitated. Snatching up a napkin, you scrawled across it. “If you want to duet again sometime, here’s my number.”

A stupid grin unfurled across his face.

“I like a man with good rhythm,” you murmured, and you returned to your table of friends, ignoring their snickers.

“See, he did surprise you,” one of them said.

“Shut up,” you groused, but a smile played on your lips.

Rooster stared at you all night. Thankfully, he didn’t resume singing.

#Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader #Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw #Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw imagine #Rooster x Reader #Rooster imagine #Rooster #Bradley Bradshaw x Reader #Bradley Bradshaw #Bradley Bradshaw imagine #Miles Teller x Reader #Miles Teller #Miles Teller imagine #Top Gun: Maverick #Top Gun Maverick #TGM

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rustyvanburace · 16 days

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you know I gotta suggest Navarre for the character ask! and asahi if you’re feeling up to it :^D

Thank you so much!

favorite thing about them: I love how much PIZZAZ he adds to the early game! How can I not like a character with such a flamboyant, demanding personality whose very presence is enough to make everyone react with shock, contempt, laughter, and awe? Navarre is an ass, but a necessary ass to carry the early narrative and add so much excitement to it. I cannot help but giggle to myself everytime he appears. AND THEN, all that character growth in IVA towards becoming a better, more self-aware ghostie. Ohhh I love he so muuuch~

least favorite thing about them: Definitely the unnecessary perversion in IVA. Enough said.

favorite line: The "dawdling Casualries" line will always hold a special place in my heart, but I am also really fond of the stuff he says when you speak with him during the training drills in one of the rest spots,

"O-Oh, it's you… I thought you to be a demon. Don't start me so… I've never carried a blade any heavier than a knife before. If Mother were to see me dashing about with such a weapon in hand, I think that she would faint…"

And

"I landed a critical blow when I accidentally tripped… The next quest was much simpler, since as you might expect, money is no object to me. 'Twas actually easier than the first. But the final challenge all depends on one's strength, and that's a field I'm particularly lacking in… S-Someone else may have first place, I care not whom. Merely let this debacle of a training exercise be done with!"

brOTP: Nanashi and Navarre are best BROS!

Bad edit aside, can't forget the actual bros, Navarre and Gaston lmao. I really enjoyed their sibling relationship and it opened up so much insight into their familial life and personal struggles. I'm so so happy they got to rekindle at the enddd, it was so sweet

OTP: Everyone knows that I am the sole resident of the Issachar x Navarre Crack Ship Kingdom!! Idgaf that they've never canonically met nor even know of each other's existence, the POTENTIAL between them is enough to keep me content and well fed! We support random rarepairs in this house!

I also really like Flynn x Navarre too and they're my second fave Navarre ship, for much the same reasons!

nOTP: Needless to say, my NOtps would be pairing Navarre with his brother or any of the IVA kids. Eeeugh. Enough said.

random headcanon: It's something I've been wanting to analyze in more depth, and IDK how much of this is actually canon or headcanon considering, but I very much fancy the idea of Navarre always having close connections with the Samurai seniors and keeping close tabs on the Rite and new inductions. He's very astute with the going-ons in Samurai business and likely has been anxiously watching them for quite some time.

unpopular opinion: I understand that Navarre is a very unlikeable character, and he's supposed to be! But it honestly does get really bothersome seeing how much dismissal, if not outright hate, he gets in the fandom. Navarre IS an important character within the early game! It is his very antics that adds the necessary tension and tone needed to carry the early narrative and worldbuilding. It does admittedly make it hard for me to approach other SMTIV fans because I like this bean so much.

But that is okay. I am perfectly content with those who seek out, stick by, and enjoy my bean musings. :)

song i associate with them: Tbh I'm pretty bad at that sort of question, lol. I don't really have one for him right now, so pass? (Open to suggestions though! I want more tunes to listen to.)

favorite picture of them: SO MANY panels of him from the Prayers manga FOR REAL. He's SO expressive in that and has TONS of good moments!! But I am especially fond of the mini bonus chapter that features Navarre~

Masataka Miura can agree: Navarre can have a little moment in the spotlight as a treat~

Thank you again so much for the ask! I think I've written quite at length here, lmao. I'm a bit tired now and I don't think I can fit Asahi here, but I could post hers later on!

#thank you again so muuuch!!!#shin megami tensei iv #smt4 #navarre #rusty answers

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kasperbunny · 1 month

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3 for all your ships!! Aand 6,9 13 and 14 for anyone you want :)

oh god hi hello. putting this under a read more bc it got long

What would their song to each other be?

i dont have an answer for ALL my ships but, heres just a few. and these are more like...songs that describe their dynamic or make me think of them if that makes sense!

danse/art - put your head on my shoulder by paul anka. this song isnt necessarily fitting to their dynamic, but...i always come back to this song bc it makes me think of the soft, more calm and sweet moments between these two. i can picture them listening to it and slow dancing clumsily together, whether theyre a lil drunk or completely sober i dont know, but it always puts that image in my head and makes me happy.

shane/elfie - froot by marina. listen. this song is just straight up longing/horny from elfie's pov and i love it. this song is just fun and i like thinking about how BADLY she wants this dumb lil guy. thats her man and shes gonna TAKE him. also this song slaps.

shane/me - loser by charlie puth. UGH THIS SONG. THIS SONG. i feel so self indulgent when i listen to this song. thinking about shane longing for me and wanting me when im with my other f/os. his jealousy and anger and self loathing is just in hyper drive when he sees me with danse or arthur or whoever. i love torturing my husband <3

What small quirks do they love about each other?

i'll do this for shane/elfie. hmm...shane likes how emotive elfie is sometimes. she plays with her hair when shes nervous, she talks with her hands, she wiggles/wags her tail when shes excited or curious.

i...am blanking on any little quirks shane has im so sorry.

How did they know they were right for each other?

can i answer this for danse/me!!!! because like. god. i remember before i played fo4 i would watch my bf play it and he had danse as his companion a lot and. i just started watching him play more and more bc i started to feel IMMEDIATELY safe and protected by danse. my crush on him was instant. i started thinking about danse more and more. i barely even knew him yet but i felt so infatuated and longed for him. it just felt good right away, and i knew he was right for me. my love for him is unconditional and i hope he feels safe around me too. im sure thats how he knows im right too, he doesnt have to be or do anything different, he can just be himself and i'll love him regardless. even if hes a shit head sometimes <3

How do they express their feelings (Words, visual art, a song, etc.)?

answering for danse/art. neither of them are very good with words. danse is a very "acts of service" type of person. if art has a piece of equipment or something that needs fixing, danse already has it jotted down in his head to fix it later. art doesnt even have to ask, danse is already on it and tinkering with art's gun or armor or whatever.

meanwhile, art is very touchy if hes close with someone. he used to be better with expressing his feelings thru words, but it got hard after everything he went thru. so he sometimes just touches danse on his shoulder, his arm, his back, or holds his hand when he needs attention. danse had to get used to being touched all the time, but now he picks up on when art needs something or is trying to express something because he'll just give danse little touches or stand/sit close enough that theyre touching in some way.

Where would they go on a 3am adventure?

this screams shane/elfie. elfie calls shane at 3 am asking if he wants to come over. hes like elfie, its 3 am, why. she says she misses him and she wants to see him. he absolutely cannot say no to her so hes throwing on his sweats and jacket and booking it to her farm. i think theyd just chill together, so not really...much of an adventure. but i can also see her calling him up being like "wanna go explore that cave on my farm? :)" and hes like. what the fuck, but okay.

#inbox #shane/elfie #danse/art #i feel like i missed something but oh well

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kmclaude · 10 months

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How much do you want your own unique personality to come through in the art that you make? How much do you want people to separate your art from the artist?

Can anyone separate the art from the artist? And if so, when?

Take J. K. Rowling -- fucking cunt. Absolute shithead. Singlehandedly lit on fire all goodwill and went right to goose-stepping. Regardless of how intrinsically linked Harry Potter was to my childhood and adolescence (and to me creating online! Literally!) like...her as a human being actively championing destruction of trans rights not just sours the media for me, it makes it radioactive to me. It cannot be separated. She is shit and as such her art reeks of it.

...but then again she has literally stated that support of her art is support of her views (she's already made her money anyway) so is it her attitude? Would it be different if she was a shit human being who didn't actively link artistic support to moral support? Is attitude all that makes it separable? Would it be different if she didn't profit (and at this point again she's made her money -- it's about the same as if she were dead and not making money, you know? Drop in a bucket.) Would it be separable then? Would I be just as hard pressed to separate her the artist from her art if she were Joanne, just Joanne, self publishing and writing blog posts and making a wee side hustle?

(Would I be just as hard pressed to separate art and artist if her views and shitfuckery didn't directly impact me, a filthy little transsexual?)

Not to get all philosophical. I just tend to sometimes ask myself this. Hell, listening to Marilyn Manson's been kinda hard to do post the latest accusations -- yet I can listen to some of the earlier stuff that really just SLAPS -- and is it because besides Pale Emperor, most of the albums past Holywood bar some songs just don't do it for me? Is it because it's hard to reconcile the artist whose art meant a lot to a weirdo like me and who became the face of a witch hunt because of his art (which means a lot to an artist like me) WITH the person who allegedly was basically telling on himself with his art? Is it a sense of personal betrayal (its own bit of parasocial relationship) that causes the separation?

And of course this is all with the assumption of separating art from artist purely as a "this guy sucks ass but I like what they make, how do I cope" POV but obviously there is the general idea of Death of the Author which your question seems more geared on: how much of my corpse should influence, if at all, a reader's reading of my corpus?

So back to your question -- some of my art (think diary comics for example as they're autobiographical) you really could not separate from me the artist. You couldn't. It's impossible given the nature of autobiographical works. Who I am, who I was, what my intent is -- very much intertwined there. At the same time, there is the room and space to separate out the autobiographical art as a pinpoint in time for the artist from the artist as a living being, ever changing in spacetime.

Most of my work...you could, I think, separate art from the artist. I'd encourage it in the sense that like...it'd be foolish to read into many of my comics or illustrations and think they are 1:1 expressions of me, my feelings, my experiences, etc. I think of it like the speaker of a poem vs the poet -- this is like basic English Lit class concepts, right? The speaker is not the poet. The artist is not the character. It'd be actually dangerous (and stupid) to scour my works, my illustrations, my writing, and try to make assumptions on me; I also think it'd be rather punishing for all involved to desperately need a listing of my pedigree, my biography, the minutiae of my intent to be able to interpret my works. They can stand pretty OK on their own; their neck muscles are firm enough to hold their head upright.

But...at the same time... my person informs my work. My intent informs my work (whether I succeed or fail at what I intend is another matter.) The works did not form fully grown from the ether onto your computer screen. They came from a person, me, about whom you (general you -- you specifically Idal know a bit more about me by virtue of our friendship) know some tidbits of information I've given here and there. These things inform it all. Those bits of information may be relevant in your interpretation; they may not be.

That's all intent however. In terms of my personality coming through: I think all artists' personalities come through in a work. Something of it. Maybe it's the character they play -- but even that is telling. There are people who write my characters better than I, and with their writing they leave a part of their personality in the words; likewise, there are people who draw my characters better than I and leave part of themselves in the linework. Those works imbue a part of their creators in them, even if my work (with part of me in it) provided the dolls to play house.

#kmclaudereplies #kmclaudereplies to ask #idalwaves

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randomstarmuffin · 1 year

Note

Hm. What’s this? I seem to— drop something— oh! It’s the number 6. On a rug. Arug. Interesting :39

Spotify wrapped inbox prompt! Accepting (...but if anyone else is interested please do not expect it to be quite this long it very well could be but I am not capable of making length promises you really cannot trust me)

6. “Adhd” by Truslow (39. “Tonight You’re Perfect” by New Politics)

aw, geez, not on the-- i just had that steamed... now look what you’ve done, there’s a big ol 6 on the carpet. are you happy??? (actually though, i’m going to need to know how you somehow wrote 2 numbers -- I am counting the number you hid secretly in the emoticon -- of songs which are NOT on my arug playlist, but which DO completely fit. howd you do that huh??)

Sorry, there’s a clear reason I don’t post fics to tumblr usually lol. Behold, something that FAR exceeds drabble territory:

“Stop!”

Doug drops back on his heels, instantly obeying. He already felt a bit winded, but now his lungs constrict in a terrible little squeeze that has nothing to do with running up a staircase and hiding in a tiny alcove under the hush of night sky where only the full moon can see them.

Maybe he’s stupid, especially compared to Arthur, but he’s pretty sure even he couldn’t have misread such an obvious sign. An obvious, bright and shining KISS ME, STUPID sign in the, like, atmosphere or whatever: the way Arthur had been looking at him, in how close together they’d been, in the way the conversation had naturally petered out and Arthur had glanced at his lips and leant in and closed his fucking eyes and–

And put up his hands to push Doug away by the shoulders not half a second later.

Which, fine. Doug can roll with it, and it’s not like it would really bother him if Arthur had actually changed his mind or just realized he wasn’t into it or wasn’t as comfortable as he’d thought at first or whatever.

But.

The way he won’t meet Doug’s gaze anymore, and the way his posture straightened up—not just to stop bending down toward Doug, but also in that stupid way he gets when he’s feeling awkward or like he has something to prove. The way his expression is stabilizing into that level, flat, stupid mask he tries so hard to keep up all the time, and for what? His real smile—a little lopsided, a little crinkly in the nose in a way that makes his glasses ride up ever so slightly, if you’re watching for it—is a much nicer, more welcoming thing. It’s gone now, though, as surely fallen away and lost as tree leaves in winter.

The problem isn’t that Arthur’s drawing a line about the attempted kiss. The problem is that Doug can see in his eyes that he doesn’t feel differently; he’s feeling what Doug’s feeling, and he wants it as badly, and he fucking won’t go through with it.

That’s what hits Doug like a punch to the gut. He’s not worth trying.

Arthur’s arms drop back to his side, and then seemingly feeling that wasn’t enough to dispel the awkward tension (it wasn’t), he clasps them behind his back, too, for good measure. What, was he worried Doug would try to hold his hands?

“We… We can’t– We shouldn’t be doing this. I should…” he makes an aborted gesture indicating he means I should be going.

And, man. Fuck this.

Doug laughs humorlessly. “Why? I’m not on your list of pre-approved suitors, or whatever you do in your fancy ass castle? Can’t be seen ‘consorting’ with the hired help?”

Arthur flinches a little. Good.

“Doug–”

“No, Arthur, you listen up,” Doug interrupts, crowding into Arthur’s space despite his half-baked attempts to back away. He jabs a finger into his royal highness’s chest, hard enough that with any luck he’ll be feeling it far longer than only while it rests there. “Save that shit for your subjects, or whatever the hell. Don’t fucking tell me what I should or shouldn’t be doing. You don’t get to decide that for me. Sorry if that’s not what you’re accustomed to.”

“I’m not–” Arthur grits his teeth, just slightly, barely visible in the pale moonlight, a tick of irritation even he can’t mask completely. He takes an ever-so-slightly shaky breath. “I fail to see,” he amends carefully, sounding no more put off than he is delivering the upcoming week’s weather forecast (and all the more out of place because of it), “the need for you to– to be– like…this.”

He steps back again, and this time pushes Doug’s hand away as well. In its absence, he pointedly does not rub at the spot Doug’s finger had been, despite the fact that Doug’s 90% sure he accomplished his goal of making it bruise.

“Like what, Arthur?”

“Like– Just– Agh.” The little noise of aggravation he lets loose would be more gratifying if he weren’t literally turning away at the same time. “I should hardly think I’d need to tell you that.”

Doug crosses his arms and follows right along, keeping the same amount of distance between them. There isn’t much room up here on the observatory’s top deck for him to really go anywhere, after all.

“Oh? Don’t underestimate how stupid I can be. Try me.”

“You’re not–” Arthur takes a breath. “Do not put words into my mouth.”

“Ha!” Doug crows, triumphant. “So don’t put them in mine either, asshole.”

“I– Hff.” Arthur runs a hand up the bridge of his nose, under his glasses, knocking them askew. “Just– Forget it, okay. I… Please, Doug. Just forget about me, we can– We can just act like nothing ever happened.”

“Like nothing ever happened,” Doug repeats. Slowly.

“Yeah—Yes. I will just… We can avoid… That is, if I leave first, you can just wait here for a few minutes before following so Volcanon doesn–”

“Fucking hell, Arthur. Seriously?! First of all, you do realize that pretending we don’t fucking know each other is ten thousand fucking percent more suspicious in a town with a fucking population of twenty fucking people! Which we showed up to together, at the same fucking time? What do you want me to say, I tripped and fell over and—oopsie!—lost my memory, too? Fuck.”

Arthur frowns at him, and for as happy as Doug is to get some kind of reaction, a silent little frown is not going to cut it.

“Is that it, then?” Doug demands. “Or what, are you firing me? How much do you want me to pretend I have no godsdamned clue who you are, exactly? Should I re-introduce myself? My oh my, would you look at that, a real bona fide prince, how very exciting!”

Arthur’s frown pinches in the corner. “Do you want to be fired?” he asks, seeming to surprise even himself a little with the question. Doug would actually have really gotten a kick out of it, if only he’d asked several minutes ago when they were still laughing and the mood hadn’t gone to shit.

“Don’t change the fucking subject.”

“No,” Arthur says. “No, I want to know this. You keep bringing it up. If that’s what you want, I won’t stop you–”

“Do you remember that thing we just talked about, where you keep putting damn words in my mouth?”

“–as after all, it’s not like you really…” Arthur blinks at him, trailing off.

Doug rolls his eyes. “So that’s a no, you don’t.”

“I simply,” Arthur says, grimace very briefly twitching across his cheek, “do not see the point in keeping up the—let’s face it—ruse, if you will, when that is clearly not what you want.”

“Oh? Then, tell me. What is it I do want, huh?” Besides a single measly kiss.

(Which he’s clearly not going to get. And it’s so stupid, so stupid, because it’s not like he was even planning to act any differently, after. Nothing had to change—nothing would have changed—if Arthur had just let it happen to begin with. A kiss isn’t really a big deal, even if Doug’s skin is still crawling with the retracted potential of one. But now, well…)

“I believe I was recently informed how distasteful it is to speculate on behalf of other people,” Arthur replies, snippy and over-enunciated. Good. Doug wants snippy.

(It definitely doesn’t tickle that missed-potential itch.)

“Yeah? Well surely they also ‘informed’ you that it’s different when you have permission, right? Go on, lay it on me. Tell me how it is, oh imperial scholar, oh ye of infinite wisdom who always knows best. Hit me.”

It’s gratifying that Arthur, of all people, looks for half a moment as though he might have been considering taking him up on it, literally. Of course, he would never, but it’s the thought that counts. Especially with Arthur.

“Mmn. If I had to speculate. I would say what you want, what you have been expressly complaining about in no uncertain terms since we left the capital, no less, is for me to ‘get out of your hair,’ as I believe you once put it. I fail to see the problem with fulfilling those wishes now, is all.”

“Hah. Do you.”

As though that weren’t ages ago. As though everything hasn’t changed since then.

As though Arthur doesn’t know exactly how little Doug had been hoping Arthur would ‘get out of his hair’ moments ago, huddled in that alcove. As though he doesn’t have eyes and can’t see how little Doug wants that now, either, despite Arthur’s best efforts.

And, really. It’s insulting and he knows better. He’ll have to try much harder than this.

“I merely wish to be conscientious.”

Doug snorts. “Sure. Call it what you need, buddy.”

Arthur opens his mouth, but falters at the last second before he can say anything more.

And Doug could almost scream, because he realizes a half second before it happens that he’s lost. That he’s lost Arthur, lost him to himself, to his thoughts and worries about every godsdamned thing except the one thing he ought to be looking out for: himself.

And not what he thinks that should mean, not how people see him and what they think of him and how his actions will reflect. Him.

Doug watches Arthur slam the door on himself, not for the first time, and, for the first time, wonders if Arthur even knows what that means. If he even knows what he’s doing to himself.

Doug’s been playing this part for a while now, pretending to be the sort of stalwart companion they both know he obviously isn’t. He would even say he’s been doing a good job of it, that it’s worked out well for the both of them, all things considered. And, fine, he can admit it—he was trying. He didn’t have to put as much effort into it, not when they’d already left the capital and there wasn’t anyone else around who could have filled the role even if Arthur had wanted them to.

But Doug had tried. And that’s not easy to admit because it is quite clearly contrary to his cause, but– How could he help himself when he’d caught a glimpse of what he could find behind the façade?

And where exactly had that gotten him?

Whether Arthur can see Doug’s turmoil, he can’t be sure, but either way he is unmoved to change his mind and continue talking. He takes a breath and with naught more than a prim nod turns gracefully on his heel and resumes his approach of the exit, neither too hurried as to betray frustration or anger nor too slowly as to betray hesitance or remorse.

Unbidden and despite the fact he’d known to expect this as soon as he saw the shift in Arthur’s expression, Doug scoffs, a sound of disgust and scorn and deeply unpleasant surprise.

And maybe some unpleasant surprise at the unpleasant surprise, too. Like… It’s not really that important. Doug doesn’t care that much about this. About Arthur.

And really, even though he does, what had he been expecting all this time? Why let it get this far? He knows what has to happen. He’s always known! He’s worse than Arthur’s being right now, if he really deluded himself into thinking he could have this and achieve his goal at the same time and everything would stay all hunky-dory. If he thought he could get this close and expect there to be no consequences.

Because now, as Doug watches Arthur rebuild his walls twice as high and twice as thick, he realizes he can’t do this.

Sure, he shouldn’t do this, he’s always known that, deep down. He let himself do this for far too long, it’s true. But all this time, it’s been because he could do it, because there wasn’t anything to stop him, because he could keep idly poking and prodding and being rewarded with more pieces of the puzzle.

But he can’t. Not anymore.

It’s not that he thinks those walls are insurmountable. Frankly, given enough time just standing here staring him down, Doug thinks it would be pretty easy to bring them crumbling to dust again. Not like it’d be the first time, after all.

And it’s certainly not that he’s seen a side of Arthur he finds repelling—if anything, he’s seen more evidence tonight that Arthur is capable of fighting for himself than not, which is… Well, not worth examining further, right now, however it might make Doug feel about him.

He can’t do this because Arthur is capable of being this person Doug can see, so clearly, who has so obviously been dying to get free, all this time, but he keeps choosing not to be.

And Doug is too in l–

He. Is too…involved to keep watching him do it.

If Arthur wants to keep doing this to himself, then, hey, that’s great. It’s not like it has ever once been Doug’s place to tell him what to do with himself. (Not like he’d ever listen even if he tried.)

But it is Doug’s place to choose what he does, and he can’t let his choice be to watch someone take everything they have to offer and smother it, over and over and over and over.

He’s lost too much. He can’t keep losing Arthur, again and again.

(If his revenge consists of getting rid of the people responsible for his losses, paying them back, giving them as good as what was got, how could that possibly figure in this? Who is he supposed to be mad at, if it’s all one and the same? What is he supposed to do about it?)

Much better to just be done with it than stand around and let it happen.

So, Doug watches Arthur retreat, chin high and immoveable and untouchable, as he’s done several times before. And he knows it’s not enough. There’s no finality in it, there’s only Arthur’s expectation—whether Arthur is aware of it or not—that eventually Doug will, once again, follow his lead, no matter how plentiful or loud his grumblings about it will be. He’ll still be there anyways.

And for just one second, Doug allows himself to imagine that things are different. That he can and will do just that.

Maybe it wouldn’t have to be just a daydream, hidden in a secluded area under the moonlight.

Maybe it’d be something they could figure out in concert, in harmony, more than the first draft of a melody only they can hear, something real and open and true.

Maybe it’s something they could learn to do together.

“Maybe it’s time to just admit it,” Doug says coldly, freezing Arthur’s retreating back in place on the stairs. Like this, they’re about the same height, and Doug appreciates how it makes boring holes into the back of that stupid, entitled, idiotic blonde head easier.

“…Admit what?” Arthur asks slowly when Doug doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t turn around.

“Admit that we’ve done all we can do for each other. We made it to Selphia, like you wanted—woulda been nice to have a head’s up there, by the way! And you already know I’m not really here because I cared about…attending to you, or honor, or whatever. So we’re good,” Doug replies dismissively.

Arthur still does not turn. “…We did achieve the first aim I intended to pursue, yes. And as I said, I will not stop you if you do not wish to retain your position. However, if you are under the impression I have accomplished everything I set out to do, you are mistaken.”

“No, you’re right,” Doug agrees.

Arthur is playing the specifics close to his chest, so Doug may not know everything, but he knows Arthur is clearly up to something when late into the night most nights, he can still be found pouring over records and receipts and maps and recovered journal entries by candlelight. Doug doesn’t really get where all of the documents even come from, but he knows there’s a kind of rhyme and reason to the haphazard way they end up in towering stacks on one side of Arthur’s desk, same as the so-called organization of his extensive collection of glasses.

What exactly Arthur’s secret agenda is isn’t important, though. The problem is and always has been Doug’s agenda. Selfishly, he hopes Arthur is clever enough to figure that out himself.

“But,” Doug continues, biting out the words, “as far as what you wanted—why bother pretending that it’s—that we’re—nothing when, clearly, it really was nothing. So. Later. It’s been real.”

Arthur turns around then, stricken. Doug has never seen such an expression on his face. Maybe he shouldn’t like the heady curl of pleasure he takes in having caused it, considering the circumstances, but oh, does he.

Maybe it’s not fair, when he’s decided to be this way not because he doesn’t care, but rather because he has all at once discovered he cares entirely too much. But that angry part of him—the part that wants to just grab Arthur by the scruff and wring him around until he realizes how stupid he’s being, the part that hates being so entirely consumed by something ultimately futile, the part that just wants to take all the things burning him up inside out on everyone, someone, anyone, around him if only so he isn’t the only one in flames—that part of him wants Arthur to hurt, too. Even if it isn’t fair. Even if he doesn’t figure as much to Arthur as Arthur does to him. (Even if, improbably, heinously, unforgivably—he does.) He should still have to feel something at Doug’s absence.

“No, no,” Doug says, deciding to screw it, to let that part of him take over, “Go on, now. Please, don’t stop on my behalf.”

Yet.

It’s petty, and it’s desperate.

But the other part of Doug?

It really, really hopes he does. Please.

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

Arthur can’t stop.

Arthur would do a lot of things, ones he’d never really thought he’d have reason to, much less want to, on Doug’s behalf.

Just, not stop.

If he stops, he may never start again. If he stops, and admits that he—enjoys? Covets? Anticipates?

Desires, ardently?

—the time that he spends in Doug’s company, that he wants nothing more than to go back to that quiet, shining moment in the alcove across the observatory deck and freeze it and trap it in a jar and hold it close so he can live in it forevermore? If he admits that, he has to admit that there’s no purpose to what he’s seeking out, that finding it—finding her—won’t give him what he wants. That he’s spent all this time searching for something in the entirely wrong places.

That the thing he wishes for above all else wasn’t really anything special, that there wasn’t a deeper meaning behind it, that there wasn’t a reason he can point to. That it’s something one can just happen upon by accident. That there’s nothing to earn, nothing to prove, no epic quest required to win the right to glittering riches unimaginable.

That it’s incidental, and small, and plentiful, and common, and he’s spent so long chasing a dead end lead with such single-minded focus that he’d missed it every time it’s been right in front of him. Or if not it, then—the truth of it, which is something of equal, or perhaps even greater, import to him.

He can’t admit that. He knows it can’t be true. He has evidence, eyewitness testimony. It’s a pledge and it’s a duty and it’s a struggle and it cannot be easy or else how much time will he have wasted?

It’s difficult. Everyone says so. He knows it to be so.

But, says the errant little voice in his head, did you ever think to ask in which ways it should be?

Arthur can’t stop, and there’s a reason he’d had to beg Doug to do it earlier, to stop, instead of pulling away from that almost-kiss on his own.

Kiss. Had they really almost…?

Not that it means anything, necessarily. There are plenty of reasons to do something like that. Plenty of reasons that aren’t the only one Arthur can seem to conjure up, which is really more of a laughable non-reason than anything concrete or real.

He had simply wanted to.

They had been so close, and Doug had been right there, and that had been the only thing he could think—not even really think, truly. More like, he hadn’t been thinking, or couldn’t think, and had only possessed an impulse to do it, and… Well, and nothing else. Scarily, he doesn’t think he has a better justification to point to.

So, it’s– It’s good Doug had listened to him, that they’d avoided it. How unnecessarily complicated; how improperly had Arthur been willing to take advantage of someone he held a position of power over.

(…Technically. Sort of. Not that it means anything in practice. He thinks, if the mood were different, Doug would laugh himself to tears if he suggested this aloud, and say something about how Arthur wishes that were the case.)

Arthur doesn’t suggest it aloud. Instead, he meets Doug’s eyes, belatedly realizing they’re at height with his own, owing to his being on the steps. They catch on the moonlight and flash that fascinating striking silver; there’s steel in them, too, now, but also something else, molten and alive and demanding, all at once anvil and ingot and hammer alike.

If only Arthur could figure out which shape they’re being stricken into.

Something is different about this, as compared to every other time Doug has complained and threatened to leave Arthur’s “sorry ass” behind to be torn apart and eaten by palm cats on his own, that he has better things to do than babysit a “grown-ass” man all day.

(Are all of Doug’s insults ass-related, now that Arthur thinks about it? It’s not something to ponder on right now, but it’s hard not to consider all the same.)

Arthur really must be out of it, but either Doug doesn’t realize or doesn’t care that that’s the case, because he seems to take Arthur’s continued silence to be its own kind of answer. Something changes, a shift in his weight or a twitch in his expression, something Arthur can’t quite put his finger on but can’t help noticing all the same.

Doug blows an angry huff of air, and Arthur can tell he’s hesitated too long. He’d thought they could salvage this and just go back to how things had been, but he misstepped somewhere, and he just can’t figure out where.

He doesn’t exactly get a chance to mull it over, though.

Under his breath, almost like he doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but also sort of like part of him absolutely does, he says, “Figures you’d leave too. I guess that’s all you ever learned to do, huh?”

Arthur nearly doesn’t recognize the nasty voice lowly gutting him in an afterthought, pulling apart every single piece of his insides, sizzling as it cuts through him, but he doesn’t have time to dwell about the tone or the speaker when the words have seized him to the point of gasping for air.

It’s a swift, violent thing. For the way it dismantles every conscious thought and sensation in his body, if he had the slightest bit left of his propriety he’d almost say it was a mercy, such an expedient—such an accurate, precise—execution.

But he can’t breathe, doesn’t remember how, isn’t sure if he wants to, so how can he possibly be expected to respond?

But an assassin’s job isn’t to torture, is it? Get in, finish it, get out. Arthur still doesn’t know the whole story, but it may as well be the truth, too, for everything he does know about why Doug dropped himself onto his doorstep in the first place.

Regardless of how well-trained for it he is, Doug wraps this hit up quietly, short and to the point. And Arthur almost wants to thank him for it.

“Don’t worry,” Doug says, voice so close to Arthur’s ear and so very, very far away. “I’ll save you the trouble.”

And he shoulders past Arthur and just.

Leaves.

Arthur isn’t sure how long he stands there, feet on stairs at different heights, nearly-but-not-quite-by-a-step-or-two on the observation deck all alone, growing cold in night air. There’s a chill in it, absent of a breeze but rather of the type that merely sinks directly into your bones without any motion, the kind your body involuntary soaks up like a sponge. He doesn’t remember how Doug left, exactly, though he supposes, with no shortage of hysteria, that he must have used the stairs to do it.

(With no shortage of hysteria, he’s very briefly struck by the thought that he wouldn’t, technically, have had to do so, necessarily, but he shuts that off before he can picture how such an improvised exit would end. He can’t even think it.)

(Besides, how could he have done that when Arthur knows Doug had pushed past him on his way out?)

(He had. Surely, he had. Arthur can feel the phantom burn of his touch blistering his side. He hadn’t imagined that.)

(Right?)

Arthur is on the floor of the observatory deck, the Selphian observatory deck, and he isn’t quite sure how he got there, but all he can think is that this is what he wanted, this is what he asked for.

He’d been begging for this, to be alone, to have his legs collapsed out from under him (somehow, miracle of miracles, not on the stairs but on flat, solid deck, though he’s not sure when that happened, either). His knees, he realizes, sting from the impact of falling on them. He wanted… He wants–

He needs help.

It’s so simple. How he hadn’t realized before is impossible to know. He can’t do what he came here to do on his own.

But things had changed, hadn’t they. Without his noticing, without his permission, without his appreciation, Arthur had gained something he’d never once in all his 19 years had, and he hadn’t even realized it until it was gone. Someone who truly listened, and cared, and not because they were on a payroll, and not in spite of it. Someone who stuck around despite all-too-oft expressing frustrations about situations he’d put them in. Someone who hadn’t known him all his life, and hadn’t asked to hear about it, but had remembered anyway. A confidant.

A friend.

And maybe…

If Arthur hadn’t been so stupid, and blind, and senseless, maybe tonight he could have even been more. Maybe he already had been, and Arthur simply and foolishly had insisted he wasn’t. Hadn’t let him be.

Maybe, despite everything Arthur’s ever known telling him otherwise, maybe that fleeting moment, that moment-before-a-first-kiss, in which everything had felt perfect–

Maybe it really had been?

He struggles with it, but at least the air comes easier to breathe, now. Nothing that feels perfect ever really is. Arthur knows this. He’s always known.

Focusing on the basics always helps. Perfect is imaginary. It’s not real. By definition, it is untouchable and unquestionably impossible.

But.

But the stars shining in Doug’s silver eyes, iridescent in the moonlight. But the lingering echo of his muffled laughter, like a barrier holding out the rest of the world aside from just them two. But the gentle weight of his touch, branding Arthur’s forearm where he holds it.

Perfect is a fabrication, it is a standard to be upheld, it is expected.

Perfect is not something that knocks you so hard off your feet that you tear through the knees of your trousers, that catches you so unaware that you haven’t even realized you’ve fallen until you hit the floor.

Arthur knows this. He knows many things, and he knows this.

But.

Oh, but.

But he believes, for the first time in a long, long time—a startlingly, shockingly, quakingly long time—he believes tonight. He believes tonight had felt perfect.

Being nearly caught by Volkanon after assuming the head butler would have already been asleep, immediately after they’d stolen out of the castle with an assortment of documents even a visiting prince really shouldn’t have been privy to, which they’d filched from the castle basement and which had still been very much on Arthur’s person. Doug snatching his arm when he’d frozen stiff, quickly but discreetly dragging him away in the opposite direction. A near miss with Forte coming around the corner on patrol, Doug yanking Arthur back into the observatory stairwell just before the Dragon Knight could spot them.

Of course, it’s not like they’re fugitives. There would have been no reason for Forte to think anything amiss even if she had seen them, and as Doug himself has pointed out, it’s more suspicious to draw attention to the issue by pretending something obviously untrue. If they had just kept walking, no one would have stopped them from a pleasant if somewhat late night out strolling Selphia’s streets. Even Volkanon would have likely only had an exuberant greeting for them and asked how their night was going, none the wiser about what Arthur was concealing in his coat.

But had that mattered? Had it mattered that it had been unnecessary when Doug, face flushed with adrenaline, had started wheezing quiet giggles about the overreaction, had turned to Arthur, eyes bright, and said, “Race you to the top,” and taken off up the stairs before Arthur could stop him.

Had it mattered that they could have kept walking, when Arthur finally made it to the top (a bit more out of breath than he’d like to admit) and realized he couldn’t see Doug, and he’d wandered onto the deck apprehensively, halfway through quietly calling his name a second time when he’d been bodily tugged into an alcove he’d never once even noticed before. When he’d stumbled into Doug, who had been been right up against him, laugher still singing in his eyes and the crinkles in his face, and Arthur hadn’t been able to help himself from laughing too.

It hadn’t mattered. It hadn’t been anything noteworthy at all, in fact, not any part of the whole thing.

And it had been—wonderful. Exciting. Thrilling for no reason in particular, not due to any real danger, not for any reason Arthur could think to give. It had just been…unreal. Perfect.

And Doug—Doug had been perfect.

No, not just that—Doug had made Arthur feel perfect, too. And that’s nothing anyone’s done in… Since…

Has anyone ever?

Has he ever felt such a perfect, whole sense of belonging, such a perfect reason to just be, to screw all the other noise and nonsense and not worry about everything else around him and just be, there, in the moment, with someone else by his side? The way Doug, without even trying, had done tonight?

At least, before Arthur went and ruined it.

Ah.

Right.

What does it matter, what does it matter, for Arthur to realize any of this now? Doug already left. He isn’t there to help Arthur back on his feet. He isn’t there to tell Arthur if he should keep running, or if he should stand and fight, or anything else.

How unbearable, to only realize how far and fast and deep he’d fallen after he’d already absolutely screwed up his best chance to do something about it, tonight.

Arthur rearranges himself carefully, mindful of his scraped knees. Out of habit, he pats the pocket of his coat containing the documents that had gotten him into this situation in the first place. They’re still there, safe and sound. He sits leaning back against the observatory railing and tips his head to gaze at the stars above him.

Arthur sighs. What Doug had said—that last part, at least—that had hurt. And the irony of saying it and then leaving himself? With a clearer head, Arthur can now say that was far worse.

And isn’t that just something. People say these sorts of things about him, have said them since he was a child, and he’s never paid them much mind. Sometimes they sting a little, he can’t help that, but never any worse than a prick of the finger. But tonight? But when Doug was the one saying it?

The worst part is, Arthur isn’t sure if he was wrong—about any of it. About Arthur running away, about them having already done all they could do for each other? About Arthur putting words in his mouth and expecting things from him that he’d never promised?

And had he truly meant it, that there was nothing between them? It hadn’t felt that way. The fire in Doug’s eyes hadn’t made it seem so. But how can it possibly be, that someone as direct and shameless at Doug would lie so unflinchingly, now, after all this time?

Unless…all of it had been a lie?

Arthur knows that could be true. Hell, maybe it’s even likely, given what little he knows about Doug and how very much he doesn’t.

He just…doesn’t believe it.

The stars twinkle on, laughing at him, and the moon watches, still and silent and calm. The clear, cloudless sky itself offers no great insights—though it does remind him that there is supposed to be a storm blowing in sometime in the next few days.

Calm before the storm, indeed.

It’s a little silly, but Arthur doesn’t have any energy left to combat silly, so he mutters, “If you were going to send a sign, wish you would’ve been a little more clear about that,” at the sky.

Predictably, he does not receive an answer.

#AND YOU THOUGHT YOURS WAS LONG BEN. HUH. HUH?????#absolute insanity. this is the last time i sit down and insist i'm capabale of writing a drabble #why do i persist in my hubris and folly like this #uh. idk what to tag this lol. a mess. a good one but still a mess hahaha #my words #asked and answered #patt speaks (too much)#idk that feels like a tag i could get a lot of use out of lol #ask game #rf4 #rune factory #rune factory 4 #spotify wrapped #rf4 arthur #rf4 doug #arthur x doug #ummm. yeah idk. the arug sickness #love you too buddy lmao. dont have anyone id rather keep fucking doing this with <3

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anyways-wonderwall · 1 year

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Album of the Week #56

eat ya veggies

(2021)

by bbno$

Overall Rating: 8.5/10 TL;DR: Fun songs that never fail to put me in a good mood. I love you Alex :).

(the cover is simple, yet says so much. 7/10)

School over! Next week my thoughts on Eurovision 2023!

Overall Thoughts I would like to come forward and admit something. I love bbno$ (and to a lesser extent yung gravy). So much so that I saw them live in concert, which was such a weird and fun time and worth every penny. This is my true guilty pleasure music, one that my friends nag me for but I cannot stop listening to. I don’t know why part of me didn’t think that I’d like this album (it’s not embarrassing if I only like the hits right?), but that part of me was dead wrong. I think that what I love about bbno$ so much is that he really just seems like a guy that gets to make whatever music he wants and is having so much fun doing it. While its clear that a lot of these songs are jokes, and just messing around with friends, the ones where he is genuine are just as good, something that is so hard to do. Most of the album falls into the first category, a self-aware joking around vibe that is infectious. Even though some of the songs aren’t amazing musically (“brainless,” “u mad!”) how funny they are kind of makes up for it. Like since Alex Gumuchian (yes he is an Armenian king) is having fun I am too. A lot of these songs are really incredible though! I don’t know if he is the one completely making the backing tracks but pretty much all of them are flawless. I found myself nodding along to every one of these songs when I was listening to the album in public. “Resume” uses samples so well, with a super well crafted riff, “black eyed pees” is abrasive but switches it up enough to keep you interested, and “check up” is a genius use of samples that I’m desperate to know the source of. I am not at all a connoisseur of rap or hip hop but when he raps it actually sounds good! The rhymes are fun and when they are nonsense that makes it even more fun. Mix that all together and you have some fantastic songs. There are four songs on this album that I am absolutely obsessed with(pretty impressive given there are only 12). “yoga” features the one and only Rebecca Black singing seriously this time, and a super catchy chorus and hook that both of them get to sing (also slap bass!!!!). “wassup” may be one of my favorite songs of all time, and has never failed to make me smile and sing along. Like I am contractually obligated to groove and dance to this example of peak Baby Gravy. “i remember” is the introspective not rap song on the album that is INCREDIBLE. I did not expect his serious songs to actually be good but I am in love with this song. And last, but certainly not least, my most listened-to song of 2022: “edamame.” I don’t think I can express in words my love for this song. The backing track is a perfectly crafted fast track with horns and so many layers that I still notice things for the first time when listening (listen for the kids cheering stock sound after each chorus), and Rich Brian and bbno$ absolutely kill it. Even John Green knows the words, what else do I need to tell you to show this is a masterpiece.

Final Thoughts You know what? I’m a bbno$ fan, but how can I not be. All of these songs are absolutely incredible and never fail to put me in a good mood. That’s something I need more of.

#album 56 #album of the week #album review #album recommendation #music review #bbno$#baby gravy #eat ya veggies

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andiwriteordie · 1 year

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okay i'm finally reading i know better (but you're still around) and i also happened to be listening to this cavetown song on repeat

and it just reminded me so much of Mike in your fic ??

so the first part/chorus is Mike telling Dustin and Lucas about what he thought happened to Will and them basically thinking he's delusional and laughing in his face (Mike tends to exaggerate i get it)

and the “god i wish i was happy” is obviously wanting Will back bc without Will things have been... Not Good for Mike. he also mentions a few times that he feels incredibly bad and like the worst person in the world for giving up on Will (even though he didn't) and bc he stopped looking for him which i interpret as the “crushing me from above and underneath” line

from personal experience (and like the website says haha) i interpret this to be about “derealization and how a person can feel like they're not a part of their environment anymore” Mike often mentions how he feels he's watching things play out from outside his body and things like that

also in some cases grief can make meals hard (as we know), especially eating with people which, if i remember correctly, is why Mike mostly took his food up to his room and at times didn't eat at all. eating just feels like it takes up too much energy , energy you don't have so you just sink into your seat, stuff like that

nobody's listening to his theories about Will, also how he feels like he kinda ruined the party bc they're not as close as they used to be so no one to really listen to & understand his thoughts & everything about Will since they have an unspoken rule not to talk about it etc etc

okay the friend he's imagining is Will, like imagining Will is there or that Will can hear him when he speaks to him & stuff

okay these lines remind me of Mike so much. we all know he tends to explode when he's upset and say all kinds of stuff that he doesn't really mean and end up apologizing afterwards .

there were these scenes where he and Lucas were having a yelling match & this other one where he was yelling at Max & another he was yelling at Lucas and Dustin both pre and post saving Will from the Upside Down and he's saying lots of hurtful shit and yeah they get that he's grieving and hurting a Lot but also he kinda really hurt their feelings sooo

he apologizes (sometimes reluctantly, sometimes without actually saying the words “im sorry” but they're apologies nonetheless)

sertraline (y'know thr antidepressant that treats lots of anxiety/depressive related disorders) is a thing that i think Mike would need i mean obviously especially in this fic but the way his grief and pain is described ?

it's literally so fucking heart wrenching and excruciating for me the reader so i cannot even begin to imagine what Mike was feeling . so yeah sertraline's effective but the grief seems More than it and like even more effective which sucks.

um so yeah this is the lyrical analysis of this song you've maybe never heard of that you didn't ask for :D is this anything ? no idea i just wanted to share

oh okay

🥺🥺🥺

FIRST OF ALL. cavetown is very mike wheeler coded. like i can name 3 songs off the top of my head (home, idea of her, it's u) that are mike wheeler so. thanks? for adding ANOTHER ONE? to my list.

also yay!!! i hope you enjoy (well... that might not be the right word) the rest of the fic!!!

literally though this analysis is so good like holy shit, that's it. also like super honored that you resonated enough with the way i portrayed mike in that fic and connected it to this song!!! it's just like... this song is such a raw expression and explanation of grief and mental health issues, and you literally hit the nail on the head with the analysis and where i was trying to go with all of mike's thoughts throughout his journey in this fic!

where were you when i was writing the fic so i could've put this on my playlist (kidding but wow seriously wish i had found this earlier? i LOVE IT)

now this is me trying to find a way to include it in the sequel fic. thinking thoughts.

thanks for this ask, my friend!!!! ❤️🫂

#andi's asks #tw depression #tw grief

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taetaespeaches · 2 years

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look at this bible and i haven't watch festa LMAO

ill do it tonight and ill share my updated report tomorrow

this could be not so well written, bear with me, there is a lot in my mind

and now we're looking into the definition of "hiatus", mistranslated or not lmao here it is

SO i was thinking this in the morning when i was driving, (listening to proof with intensity i gotta say)

they are people, each of them are even very different from each other

people who found a family while looking for their future, for a career they love, something that it's in their veins and their hard work, looking out for the same dream

people who bled, fell and got up for it countless of times

suddenly one day their dream found a way to get to us as fans, we surely are connected, yes

they owe us as much as we owe them

but we cannot expect them to live only to us and for us

and i know i don't speak only for myself when i say that i can feel their gratitude to us, //sadly a lot of it we see it in their worry for us to understand how much they love us//

we feel it in every song, every message they sent it has found somebody who needed it, every time without fail

i am not good at all at expressing myself at all, GOD i am the worst, it takes me a long time to find out what im feeling, what im thinking even, what i want to do or say its a whole hard process for me, and it has got me in some messes :)

then they come here and i can feel that they don't need me to be right every time, that i dont have to listen any judgement about it, that i can just feel, be myself, 'cause ill be just fine

i love army community, i love i can wear my bts hat and a girl came to me really excited to say I LOVE YOUR HAT! i love that, i love her, i love army, i love we can share this love with each other, yall are adopted as besties from the start, and we're in this army shit for life

bts formed an army that is right here right this moment thinking, worrying about them

but actually we as army are for each other as bangtan boys are for each other, and then bangtan and army are for each other

i don't want to talk about the comparisons to 1d but at least from my experience all i have to say is something ive been thinking ever since bts came into my life

"it's so different"

not only them and their story

but me, im different,

and let me tell you something, im sad, yes i am, it's fucking scary guys, it really is, i know

but im also so so fucking thankful

the evolution my life went through welcomed bts with an open heart and im gratefull

ive never been the fan who stays up late to catch up, to spend every penny i have on merch, i can't be pending on every announcement, on every selfie, tweet or candid leaks

it was just two years ago i finally learned the names, couple months ago i heard old songs i didn't know existed lmao, everyday i see something i didn't know before

and God, two years is really not enough to catch up with 7 energetic amazingly talented passionate boys that already had 7/8 years of history its crazy

were we so spoiled getting something new everyday we are scared of not knowing it all lol,

but guys it's ok, it's really ok, im sure its not a step down, its not a step backwards, its a "hold on" we're going somewhere just hold on, yes we're good right here, but we have to go better

bc the next comeback doesn't have to be higher in a shocking show business fantasy circus way, anything new it's gonna have soul and truth and different energy bc its necessary, processes are necessary

we're invaluable we have to take care of our own and we can because

these bulletproof boys made a bulletproof army

we can take it

i love you liv, i love whoever reads this ♥

Perfectly said, my love! I don't have much to add, but thank you for sharing this <3 I agree that we can't expect them to live for only us and anyone who is expecting that needs to go take a break from all of this and figure some shit out lol. I'm just very grateful for all they've done for us over the years, and also that they used festa as an opportunity to talk to us like they did. They could have had the company announce something and left it at that, or they could have even had the company announce it before festa where they would then elaborate. But instead they told us during festa so they could be the ones who told us and explain their reasons why they're making this decision. It's just very cool and speaks volumes to the relationship bts and army share.

Simply put, we're in this bangtan shit for life <3 and I love you too, lydia!

#stainofpaint #asks #lydia🤟#they love us as much as we love them and that's always been the super cool thing about this whole bangtan thing #i love when the feelings are reciprocated <3

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girlreviews · 2 months

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Review #485: Continuum, John Mayer

The thing you need to know first about my listening to this album is that I truly have never heard it, or any songs on it, ever. John Mayer was really not a mainstream thing in the UK where I grew up and any releases of new music from him happened without anyone on that little island being particularly aware of it, with a few exceptions here and there. So please imagine how weird that is when the opening track is, apparently, one of those ones that is so overplayed and recognizable in American culture that is provokes a visceral and physical response in people. But not me. I thought it was fine.

I actually hoped to like this album, because unfortunately for me, John Mayer’s “Sob Rock”, I genuinely believe has not yet had it’s day, and it’s one of the better works of art to be put out in the last decade. It was smart, conceptual, beautiful, serious and unserious and just really fucking good man. Whenever the question of what to listen to cannot be answered, the answer is Sob Rock. AND EVEN THAT has a banished song on it, because he can’t fucking help himself. John. It was 2021. It was following a year of reckoning for us all. And you thought it was funny or cool to put a track on there and unironically call it “Why You No Love Me”. Get the fuck out of here John. You’re honestly lucky the rest of it is good enough that I will tolerate this being on there at all. And it’s terrible. Get help. Get therapy. Get a lobotomy. Whoever she is, stay away from her.

I reasonably expected that this would be as good as that in a different way if it made its way to the Rolling Stone’s Top 500, but, I don’t get it. I really sat and asked myself what the appeal is for a good long while too.

There are some, SOME, like THREE tracks that I think are pretty decent songs. They’re interesting. They have depth. The rest of it is coffee house music or a guy who is trying really hard to convince you he’s a deep, romantic, misunderstood thinker. And I’m not picking up what he’s putting down. You’re a fraud my guy, I can feel it in these songs. They’re shallow. They’re a performance. But not in a good way.

This is the same John Mayer that proudly expressed in an interview (with Rolling Stone!) “My dick is sort of like a white supremacist. I've got a Benetton heart and a fuckin' David Duke cock. I'm going to start dating separately from my dick."

Yeah, so I don’t think we are going to be reading into any of these soft boy coffee house Nora Ephron “missing each other” montage soundtrack vibes (listen to “Gravity” and tell me you can’t just see Meg Ryan drawing her curtains closed lamenting why Tom Hanks or Billy Crystal hasn’t called or emailed yet).

So look, it’s barreling towards mediocrity on all fronts, it’s especially full of shit conceptually, and I just think he needs to leave this kind of thing to Norah Jones, who isn’t really my cup of tea either but she’s not out there using the n-word in interviews, name-dropping David Duke, referring to past girlfriends as “sexual napalm”, or dating girls more than ten years younger than him that are barely adults. Just shut the fuck up John. If you’re not going to make something self deprecating that at least acknowledges what a garbage guy you are, then I’m not gonna be able to hear anything in it that’s good. That’s why Sob Rock works, you know that, right John? Cus you’re kind of a garbage guy and you’re kind of self aware in it. You’re in your forties now and this shit was never cute but I can promise you it’s just ugly now.

Honestly, I have no idea why this is critically acclaimed and the only thing I’ve got is that he is generally revered to be a prodigy of sorts on the old axe, is appreciated by his (male) peers for this, toured with the Grateful Dead etc, and this guitar is incorporated into this dull droll coffee house music. Here’s my response: so what?

Last thing on this. I once listened to Sob Rock for the bazillionth time, but I was laying in bed with it playing through my projector. I was very high. Spotify did that annoying thing it does where it puts a short animation up with the music and it was just giant on my wall. All I can say is that the vibe was ruined by John Mayer’s massive and disturbing lips. This is the duality of separating the art from the artist. Sometimes we love an album and we hate that we love it because they are such a dick and have weird lips that freak you out. If John Mayer was walking towards me on the street I would recoil in horror and run the opposite direction because his lips strike a primal fear deep in my heart. Is it rational? No. Is it true? Yes.

I listened to Continuum a second time to be thorough but it’s not gonna get a third go. But I will start a letter writing campaign insisting that the next iteration of the top 500 replace Continuum with Sob Rock and I’m pretty serious about that. My brain can’t make sense of this being better than that. I would say I’d die on that hill but I ain’t dying on no hill for this fool.

#music review #music #album review #continuum #john mayer #rolling stone top 500 #sob rock

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lycheesouphq · 3 months

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wiener dog, wiener dog, how didya get so long!! wiener dog, wiener dog, come listen to my song!! :3

1/28/24

i feel so often like a pathetic stray nipping at his heels and whining for just a spare glance, just a single nibble of love

and he loves me, i know he does, he loves me as big as he can, but my emotions are just so much bigger. it's never enough for me - what drowns an average person only gives the borderline the slightest reprieve. so i give and i give and i give because it's all i can do and he chokes on it and i beg and i beg and i beg for more but he doesn't know how to give me what i need

he tries so hard to show me love and affection when he is not naturally a very expressive person and i see his effort. it is just that i am faulty. i am selfish and all i do is take. toss me one pitying bone and i'll trail behind you begging for more no matter how many times you kick at me. give me love and i'll latch onto it like a leech to blood

i love so much i end up on the other side sometimes. i don't like this personality disorder. it makes me mean

i know that i do not hate him when i feel like i do. it is my twisted way of protecting myself. it is easier to be discarded when you don't care about the person throwing you away. but it is hard because all the threats of abandonment i perceive are of my own making. it is not real. i cannot trust my perception of the world and it makes me feel crazy. what if one day i truly begin to resent him and i still stick around and irreversibly damage both of us in the process??? or what if one day i leave, and it turns out that it was just my own mind playing tricks on me again??

i am too complicated even for myself to decipher. i am often tired out by my own presence - how can i hypocritically expect another, especially someone with such a different background, to do so?? it is unrealistic. but i want him to love me. perhaps i am only idolizing him and in a year i will come to realize that once again, this disorder has warped my view of the world beyond repair. who knows?? i wish i was a dachshund. a little sausage dog curled up in a big warm bed with not a worry in the world.

#borderline personality disorder #i am not a fan of beautiful princess disorder #chat how do i stop splitting #chat how do i stop idolizing???#bpd problems

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mmmcheetos · 6 months

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https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2bw85cjBOzhXwMflMumwe4?si=b4fa8ff4dc1049a6 - idk if i've ever shared the jinxue story playlist with you so here!! (yes ik there is a disturbing amount of fnaf songs, i'm on tumblr, what did you expect?)

If i may be so bold, I'd like to elaborate on the song choice 'Main Character'! It's Jin Yuran 1.0 and the song is him sloooowwwwlllyyyyy descending into insanity while trying to keep positive because he's the beaming eldest son made of sun rays. However, the bridge is when he properly loses it, and i've assigned little lyrics to people in my head so forgive me briefly while i explain it to you like a goddamn film script: Lai Yingxue: "Judge me by what my cover shows/" (practically emotionless on the outside and this is how everyone percieves him) "author becomes beyond reproach/" (Because of his disposition, he's talked ill off) "you don't know the prose or is the spine is still intact" (No one ever actually bothers to get to know him, his thoughts and feelings are ignored due to his demeanour, a book never read because the words look too long)

JYR's Dad: "...The Royak We/demand a standard of loyalty/in order to be reverent, lick the emperor's new boots" (Forcing the guoshi all to listen and obey and basically suck up to him, at risk of their loved one's lives)

Mai Guiying: "The court's fool got the guillotine" (1, his head was cut off, 2, he is the 'fool' of the court, naive and trusting but too scared to actually seek help until, eventually, he goes to the wrong person)

all guoshi: "we all do what we need to to get through/" (them taking their anger out on the children, slowly becoming cruel and bitter as being held hostage in a gilded cage put on display makes them slowly begin to lose any care they had for being in the moral right, just desperate for catharsis) JYR, in the immediate following lyric: "But I ain't done a fucking thing to you!" (He's an innocent bystander who was caught as a ransom in a war he didn't know existed - he never hurt anyone until he broke)

Also JYR, fast forwarding a few lines: "I mean, imagine if antagonists lacked any evil scheme!" (This one is a scene in my head of emporer JYR holding a hostage LYX's face, screaming desperately into a blank expression - the impact of the line comes from the irony: LYX was no antagonist, he didn't have an evil scheme. He and his friends lashed out and it hurt the wrong person. JYR was never part of the equation but he was the one who ended the game by destroying it. His descent to madness was an accident, not deliberate, but he cannot see it any other way because he simply doesnt know. In his decimated mind, LYX is a man of no love, empathy or kindness; he is a true villain)

Yikes, i just went english student-ish on you my apologies-

anyways, enjoy my thoughts!!!

🐉

au contraire there is not enough fnaf songs (i am on tumblr too my friend). there are so many bangers in this playlist tho love to see it

also don't apologise !!! i loved reading through this (especially after a ridiculous amount of math, i think i'm descending into insanity)

i'm now thinking about what you said ("while trying to keep positive because he's the beaming eldest son made of sun rays.") and how "i'm the main character, you have to like me" applies to jyr bc he's he prince! he's trying so hard to impress his tutors! and yet, they all hate him and make him suffer. and his second chance at life is a chance for him to be that likable, o.p. main character. idk tho i am not the english student here i have lost the ability to analyse texts

#ask ever

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chienlicencieux · 11 months

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sometimes it’s just so hard to deal with the fact that I never actually once learned to speak so much as I sat still and listened and learned to parrot and copy and sometimes it’s so frustrating that I can talk and talk and talk for literal hours on end and say nothing of actual value but then when it actually matters I simply cannot come up with my own words to describe my feelings or my wants or my needs or myself and I constantly circle back to

parroting and copying

song lyrics and movie quotes and lines from books and words in other languages without direct english translations

because how am I supposed to express how i feel when how i feel is just the emotion closest to i speak in smoke signals and you answer in code 5 4 3 2 1 watch for the flak like what words exist in the human language to convey my feelings when sometimes the closest i can even get is i’m just trying to keep it together but it gets a little harder when it never gets better because even these things aren’t right but i can’t get any closer

and i know that i won’t start to stop hating myself until i actually take care of myself but it’s so hard and i’m so tired i’m still so tired i’m always so tired but the time will pass either way and i can’t even fucking properly communicate or express myself

a walking dictionary and i still don’t have enough words

i literally have no idea what i’m even trying to say right now. i wanted to try to vent or journal or ~*practice mindfulness*~ or what the fuck ever but i just feel like i’m going insane. i couldn’t cry in the shower no matter how hard i tried and so much of my body hurts and no matter how hard i try i can’t seem to get it under control and it’s not just that it’s fucking everything like i’m getting by i’m surviving but it feels like it’s always just by the skin of my teeth always that no matter how hard i try i’m just unable to get anything under control i just can’t get anything right or behind me even though that’s not even true and i know it’s not true and i have proof it’s not true but none of that changes the fact that i feel this way

that i want to say i’m sorry for stuff i haven’t done yet

that i always feel like i’m one mistake away from ruining everything for everyone. that one of the only things that makes me feel any better is to eat. that i desperately want to get enough sleep even though i’m just so bad at it. that it still feels like my mom is standing in the doorway, lingering, staring me down, often, often, more often than not

#x #whatever. good night #mine

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ropeadope · 2 years

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New Music | Sirintip

After three years of climate research and patient self-discovery, Bangkok-born singer, producer and multi-modal artist Sirintip issues her sophomore release, carbon. Weary from headlines that preach and scold, the internationally acclaimed composer of Thai Swedish descent sought a new method of engagement. carbon, to be released on October 14, 2022 via Ropeadope, presents thirteen tracks of original music as an invitational gesture, an appeal for a new kind of conversation around climate action.

carbon by Sirintip

“I didn’t want the project to be preaching, ‘You’re not good enough,’” says the Manhattan based artist. “That’s what the news does. So I thought, ‘What if I don’t put the message in the lyrics? What if I compose it into the music? Then maybe people — including me — might become more curious to learn new ways for us to interact with our planet.’”

carbon would emerge as ambitious and interdisciplinary, bonding visual art and moving image, as well as audio-visual installation. For the music video release of “plastic bird,” Sirintip received funding from New York Foundation for the Arts, in addition to project support she’s received from Swedish Arts Council, STIM, Lower Manhattan Cultural Council, and Sitka Center for Art and Ecology. Borrowing from the tradition of hip hop, the record features a number of found instruments, including plastic water jugs transformed into percussion, processed recordings from backyard wildlife, even sand. “I’ve always been interested in nature and science,” says the 2015 Monk Competition finalist, who ultimately chose to pursue music over neurosurgery. “I think I’ve been working on this project subconsciously for a very long time.”

Communicating urgent messaging in so subtle a way would require musical contributions from empathetic, visionary artists. Sirintip, who has toured with Snarky Puppy and performed with Benny Andersson of ABBA, assembled a band of fresh voices, including Michael League on bass; Chris McQueen (“aqi,” “hydrogen,” “i cannot escape,” “red eyes,” “unspoken gold”) and engineer and GRAMMY Award-winning producer Nic Hard (“hydrogen”) on guitar; Nolan Byrd on drums, plastic trash and programming; Daniel Migdal on violin and viola (“hostage); Alex Hahn on flute (“plastic bird”); Owen Broder on baritone saxophone (“unspoken gold”); and pianist Kengchakaj Kengkarnka who helped integrate elements of Sirintip’s Thai heritage into the music. “During the pandemic, he figured out how to incorporate traditional 14-tone Thai tuning into the Moog synthesizer,” she says.

The artists spent nine days at Manifold Recording Studios in North Carolina, taking full advantage of its carbon neutral solar-powered atmosphere and location. “I like when I can live in a studio,” says Sirintip. “At Manifold, we lived in a guest house and worked from 9 or 10am until 2 or 3 in the morning.” During that time, they repurposed a parmesan container as a kick drum and shaker, collected handfuls of sand from a neighboring construction site and fitted the studio’s backyard with recording devices to capture crickets at twilight. “You can turn anything into music. It doesn’t need to be a musical instrument for you to be able to make music with it.”

Music heavily informed by research often features a mathematical expression as a vessel for artists to develop patterned ideas and improvise. But carbon presents a suite of music through which science elevates Sirintip’s lyrical musicianship. Her compositions breathe. With purpose, they intensify. Her ability to communicate through shifting mood chambers and crystalline soundscapes transports listeners to points of sensory and emotion, at once vast and intimate.

Photo Credit: Ashira Bonchoo

Two of carbon’s data-driven songs, “1.5” and “aqi,” integrate statistics into blossoming, melodious gestures. Inspired by information from sonic data app Twotone, “1.5” expresses the planet’s steady ongoing rise in temperature, pulling NASA data from 1880 through 2012. “It felt too obvious to me to portray the temperature steadily increasing the way it looks on the diagram," says Sirintip. Instead of composing within the linear increase, she identified different years that felt significant to her, exploring what each “sounded like,” and anchored her composition around those selections. “aqi” engages an entirely different system for sonifying data: “I decided to look at the data from another perspective: the worse the air pollution, the more dissonant the interval; the better, the more harmonious.” The song feature’s Kengkarnka’s Thai scale-tuned Moog, as well as samples of traditional หมอลำ (Mor lam) singing. Ending in a cloud of “reverb fog,” the music pays tribute to many Thai women whom Sirintip considers circumscribed and desiring to break free from the norms society imposes on them. “It’s like they’re living their lives in the smog that hovers over the city,” she says. “They’re only able to see what those in power allow them to see; when you can’t see what else is out there, how can you break free from where you are?”

Across the album, figurative language serves moments of tension and contemplation. Sirintip’s vocals inhabit endangered tigers, artificial birds, even Mother Earth, giving urgent voice to biodiversity. “red eyes” incorporates Thai drums into distinct patterns and a commanding groove that engages Sirintip’s dynamic expression. Hahn’s flute soars over sections of “plastic bird,” which integrates recyclables as well as rhythms from the Black Sicklebill’s mating dance into the vocal loop out front. Featuring crickets chirping outside the studio, “hostage” spotlights Sirintip’s exposed vulnerability, and serves as a solemn plea for climate action. Composed for the dire consequences of drought, “oasis” includes iterations of percussive sand, while “unspoken gold” samples frogs singing after the rain in Sirintip’s childhood backyard in Bangkok.

Because she views carbon as a call to action for herself as much as her listeners, Sirintip centers self-disclosure throughout the recording. Lyrics for “it’s alright” emerged from text messages between the artist and her best friend who passed away tragically at 28. “The song’s connection to climate change is in the plastics instrumentation,” says Sirintip, “but the message is more universal: We don’t need to be perfect.”

This messaging, in part, is what the artist-composer hopes listeners will receive from engaging with carbon. “Climate change is something that affects everyone. It shouldn’t need to be ‘activist’ work,” says Sirintip, who seeks to release the project while creating as minimal impact as possible. She recently performed a solar powered concert this summer, and is currently researching strategies for touring more sustainably: “It’s hard to be perfect. We don’t currently have the infrastructure for all of us to live like Greta. But trying is so much better than giving up. Everything counts — understanding our personal carbon footprint so we can limit them, even something as simple as deleting 10 emails and off-loading the servers from powering information that we don’t need. That’s what I’m trying to remember every day, and what I’m hoping to inspire others to consider when they hear this recording.”

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piecksz · 3 years

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prove it | (m)

pairings: modern!jean kirstein x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, mirror sex, penetrative sex, saliva, fingering, finger sucking, handjob, slight mentions of breeding, explicit language

words: 3k+

summary: your jealousy sparks a bitter argument between you and jean, but he shows in more ways than one, that you’re the only person he’s infatuated with.

a/n: as always, if you wanna fully immerse yourself in the smut hehe you can listen to the songs i looped incessantly while writing: girls need love too by summer walker and excitement by trippie redd and PARTYNEXTDOOR (you cannot tell me that jean wouldn’t listen to either he’s so sexy omg pls free me from my brainrot)

You gripped the fabric of your dress, hiking it up above your ankles to make sure the material didn’t get caught under the sharp heels of your shoes while you stormed into the house. Seething with outrage, you swung the front door shut behind you, savoring the few seconds of solitude you had before Jean trailed behind you clamorously.

“I already told you, and I’m telling you—again—I didn’t know she was going to be there!” Jean was insistent, his footfall demanding on your tail as he followed you into the kitchen. His fingers were carelessly twined in his hair, an overt demonstration of his stress.

You hastily tossed your purse onto the counter, paying no mind to the way it slid across the granite and almost toppled over its edge onto the floor. “Bullshit Jean. It was your fucking event, how did you not know she was gonna be there?” You spared him an irate glance, it was the first time you’d looked at him since the two of you left the venue.

The entire ride home, Jean had attempted to make conversation, asking you if you’d enjoyed yourself and trying to solicit your opinion on how he’d done coordinating his company’s milestone event. Following the successful closing of a large venture deal and the expansion of the corporation, his boss had entrusted him to organize a company soirée to celebrate, and if Jean’s event had managed to go off without a hitch, a possible promotion was in the cards for him. However, much to Jean’s confusion you were quiet in your responses, mainly giving one word answers and little praise.

After relentless prodding, you snapped, admitting you were irritated after seeing Jean talking to Mikasa, an old coworker and friend of his. You’d disappeared for only a moment to use the bathroom, but when you returned, the two were engrossed in what seemed like interesting chatter. Seeing the way Jean laughed after everything she said prompted the agitation in your lower stomach to boil up into your throat. Nothing was that funny.

“Maybe I overlooked her name on the guest list.” Jean’s fingers left his hair and wrapped around his tie, tugging to loosen it.

“Oh, you sure looked over her while you two were talking and laughing.” You stood on your toes to grab a mug from the cabinet before slamming its wooden door shut. “What was so funny? The fact that you used to fawn over her like an idiot?”

You shuffled back over to the sink, flipping the faucet and watching as the mug filled with water before bringing the cup to your lips to take a long drink. You sighed as the liquid quenched your dry throat, raw from yelling. You peered over the top of the mug at Jean, eyes following him as he made his way over to the selection of hard liquor against the kitchen wall.

“There you go. Name calling like a fucking child.” He poured himself a generous glass of booze, chuckling wryly and taking a sip.

You pulled the mug away from your mouth. “You—are so—,” you started, but your words disbanded into a loud and frustrated groan.

“I’m so what?” Jean swirled the auburn liquid around in his glass, pretending to look more interested in the way it moved than in the conversation you two were having.

“You don’t want me to finish that sentence, Jean. You really don’t.” You set your cup down loudly, so forcefully it might have shattered with just another ounce of force. “Stop acting like I’m overreacting. You know I’m not the jealous type, you fucking know that. I wouldn’t care, but you know you guys have history together.”

“Yeah, history means that it was in the past,” Jean retorted. “It was in the fucking past.”

You leaned forward on the counter, dipping your head low as if to question the validity of your boyfriend’s reply. “You’re telling me you’d be okay seeing me with an old flame?” You laughed humourlessly. “You complained for ten minutes after a waiter called me sweetheart.”

Jean took another long sip, then exhaled. “Because he clearly couldn’t tell the difference between horny and hospitality. Now you’re blaming me because you couldn’t see that?”

You nodded sardonically, a disbelieving smile shadowing on your lips while you reached behind your neck to unclasp your necklace. “And how’s that any different from this?”

“Mikasa never liked me back, what’s the problem? Did you just pick a topic out of a hat to bitch about?” Jean downed the rest of his alcohol, and then returned the short glass to the display. He wiped at his lips with his thumb and started back toward the kitchen.

“Fuck you, Jean.”

He let out a low chuckle while he rounded the length of the counter, sauntering in long strides until he was behind you with his large hands planted on the curve of your hips. He dipped his head, letting his mouth ghost by your ear. “You know, you’re kind of hot when you’re mad.” His palms began roaming, first gliding across your stomach before moving to your backside and cupping your ass in the curve of his hand. “Especially in that dress. You look really fucking good, baby.”

You barely cracked a smile. “Yeah?”

Jean’s low voice rumbled against your back. “Hell yeah.”

You turned around to face him, gazing up at him from behind sultry lids. “Then how about…,” you started, teasing him by fiddling around with the loose buttons on his shirt. “You sleep dreaming about all the things you wish you could do to me tonight. Because you’re not getting any.” Your seductive expression fell, and you pushed him backwards so you could slide out of the space between his body and the counter.

As you retired into your bedroom, you heard Jean’s weary voice echo from outside. “You’re cold.”

“Good,” you responded back resoundingly. “Maybe Mikasa’s free.”

“Maybe she is!” he retaliated, and although he wasn’t in front of you, you could nearly see the way he rolled his eyes at your spiteful jab.

You rolled your eyes back. “Shitforbrains.”

You removed your earrings, throwing them onto the dresser with your necklace before slipping out of your heels and stepping out of your dress. You struggled to make haste, trying to get ready for bed as quickly as you could before Jean entered the bedroom and had a chance to say anything that would incite another feud. Lazy and clad in your undergarments, you hauled yourself into the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror lethargically while you brushed your teeth and removed your makeup with halfhearted effort.

“Do I need to prove it to you?”

You removed the cold wipe from your lids, opening your eyes and watching as Jean wandered into the bathroom. He continued walking until he met you at the sink, and he wrapped his long arms around your frame again.

“Come here,” he said, pulling you into him until the space between your bodies waned. You gave him an unamused glare through your reflection in the mirror, and resumed rubbing away at your persistent eyeliner.

“Should I mark up that pretty neck of yours?” Jean nestled his face into the curve of your neck, pressing messy, carnal kisses along the side of your throat until his lips met the dip underneath your jawline. He lightly brushed over it, knowing it was your sweet spot. Every time he wanted to turn you into a frenzy of moans, that spot was the easiest way he knew how.

“Or maybe I should have you carry our child.” His hands were hot against your stomach, the soft pad of his finger drawing a delicate circle around your navel. You were glad it didn’t tickle enough to make you laugh.

“You’re pissing me off,” you said, simply.

Jean released a husky groan that vibrated against the hollow of your throat. “You’re turning me on.” He hummed. “You feel that?”

You did. Against your ass, you could feel the prominence of Jean’s hardened cock through his pants, digging eagerly into your backside, and he did nothing but continue to fuel his lust by rubbing his erection against you.

“You’re the only one that can get me hard like this,” he strained, grunting at the discomfort in his briefs.

“Look how pretty you are.” Jean took your chin in his hand and prompted you to look at yourself in the mirror. He hovered over your shoulder and looked on, like he was only spectating. “Do you think anyone compares to you?”

His eyebrows creased while amber eyes fixated on your skeptical face. After a lack of response, he jerked your chin, forcing your attention back to yourself. “Answer me.”

“No,” you said quickly.

“Exactly. Good answer.” Jean’s thumb swept gently across your chin while he withdrew his hand.

Your timid eyes drifted over to him, observing as he slid two digits into his mouth, glazing them generously with saliva before lolling his tongue and pulling his fingers out. A thick string of spit lingered until his hand dipped and slid itself into your underwear.

You choked back a desperate cry once you felt Jean part your folds, using his wet fingers to pet the sensitive swell of your clit. Instinctively, you wrapped a sweaty, tremulous hand around his wrist, but it did nothing to quell his painfully tender ministrations.

“Jean,” you murmured. Your voice was breathy, just barely above a whisper while you gave in and rolled your hips against his hand. “Fuck, wait—Jean—”

“I love the way you say my name.” He placed his free hand on your breast. His fingers hooked onto the delicate fabric of your bra and tugged the material down, freeing your nipple. “Say it louder.”

“Jean,” you mewled loudly as he began flicking the hardening peak of your chest with a ginger touch. His movements were delicate and sensual, as though he wanted to kindle an impatient desire within you.

Jean’s fingers continued to rub slow, tortured circles into your clit and he eased into you every few seconds to make sure he was keeping his fingers slick. Once he heard your whimpers begin to ebb, he would stop and switch the direction of his motion, sending you into another flurry of moans and taking pleasure in the filthy-wet mess he was creating in your panties. “Louder.”

You bit your lip and closed your eyes until the darkness of your eyelids melted into white heat. The familiar torrent of quivers shook your body, and the surface of your skin tingled with the onset of your orgasm. You dug your nails into Jean’s forearm, and in the haze of your high you forgot about all of your concerns.

“Jean!” You cried his name again, your wail echoing off of the bathroom walls while you writhed against his hold. You moved restlessly, looking for absolutely anything to cling to in an attempt to steady yourself until your climax subsided.

After you came to and regained your soundness, you scrutinized yourself in the mirror through misty tears, chagrined at how easily you’d submitted to him. You were situated limply in Jean’s arms, bottom lip swollen from persistent biting in your best efforts to veil how good he was truly making you feel, but from the sickeningly-smug simper on his face it was obvious that now Jean knew his fingers were more fruitful than an apology. Which meant this episode surely wouldn’t be the last of its kind.

He slotted his fingers into his mouth for the last time, sucking the silken coat of your arousal off of them before releasing them with a quiet pop, then Jean’s other hand crept up your neck until his thumb drove itself to part your closed lips, just wide enough so he could stick his lubricous fingers inside.

“Mhm,” he encouraged, nodding at the way you meekly looked to him for direction.

Jean’s fingers were warm and sloppy in your mouth as you sucked and he watched you intently, undoubtedly wishing that his cock could receive the same treatment. He sighed heavily as you wreathed your hot tongue around his knuckles.

“Good girl,” he breathed, pulling his digits from your jaws before his urge to stick them down your throat and watched as you gagged through tears became insatiable.

Jean worked one hand against his belt, unbuckling it skillfully before impatiently forgoing his buttons and tugging on his zipper instead. His breathing grew labored while you watched from the mirror as he shuffled behind you, and you canted yourself to the side to provide yourself with a clear view of Jean’s cock in the surface’s reflection.

His thick length pulsated, convulsing even without contact, and every time it did so, a fresh stream of precum dribbled from the swollen, red crown of his tip. With a light hand, Jean tapped his cock against the side of your thigh, prompting you to take him in your palm, and when you obeyed, it elicited a lengthy groan from him.

“Fuck, Y/N.”

You weighed his hot and heavy cock in your hand before beginning to move slowly, flicking your wrist and evoking the jerking of Jean’s hips when you did. His head hung forward and loose strands of his neatly tucked hair billowed around his face while he watched as your hand worked against his throbbing heat.

Jean delivered another set of kisses to your neck, kissing along your jawline until he stopped at the corner of your mouth to take a brief second to acknowledge his own pleasure. “Shit,” he grunted, his fleshly pants now becoming uncontrollable. “Okay, that’s enough.”

You loosened your grip around Jean’s cock while he curled his fingers around the cloth of your thin underwear, pulling it down until he stopped midway past your thighs, then his large hand settled between your shoulder blades to bend you over.

His palm collided with the pert curve of your ass, delivering a mild spank, and then he ghosted his touch over the stinging pain, blithely enjoying the way you whimpered his name ever so quietly. Jean positioned himself at your dripping entrance, prodding the tight hole with his tip over and over again just to taunt you until you glowered uncomfortably at him through the mirror.

“Stop it,” you heaved, your longing now turning into an unbearable itch.

Normally, you knew Jean would have loved to tease you, disregarding your begging and instead working even harder to rouse you, but you could tell by the sweat that beaded around his hairline that he needed relief too. So Jean spared you, grip tightening on your hips, and he pushed himself into you with a husky and guttural moan that overwhelmed your delicate whines.

He wasted no time and began moving, gradually picking up his pace until he decided on a moderate speed, not too rough, but just forceful enough that your breasts jounced and your body lurched against the sink whenever he thrusted into you.

“I always tell you how good you feel, do you need to hear it again?” Jean murmured, watching as his cock disappeared inside you and whenever he pulled back to rock his hips forward again, it glistened with a new layer of your arousal. “Your pretty pussy always takes me so well.”

He leaned into you, wrapping an arm around your waist and placing his hand on your shoulder, holding you in place while he fucked himself into you, over and over again. You tugged at Jean from deep inside your well, tightening your walls around his cock and causing his jaw to go slack with bliss.

“The way you fucking milk me, I could cum right now.” His balls slapped ceaselessly against your skin, and the sound of two sweaty bodies married together saturated the thick sex-tainted air. You struggled to watch yourself in the mirror, mouth wide open and eyes bloodshot from your tiredness and tears. Jean’s lips brushed against the shell of your ear and sent a ripple of goosebumps down the expanse of your back.

“I wish I could take a picture of you right now and keep it for later.” He panted into your ear. “You’re the only thing I can think of when I jerk off, it would be nice to have a visual.” When you said nothing he smiled, tugging at the softness of your lobe with his teeth. “Maybe next time, yeah?”

You could only give a weak and disoriented nod, and when you felt Jean’s cock twitch inside you, coupled with the way his muscles tensed underneath his skin, you knew he was close. You wrapped your hands around the arm curved about your waist and nodded at him again, cueing that you wanted to feel his release inside you.

Jean arched an eyebrow, his thrusts becoming sloppier, but he made no efforts to slow his cadence. “Yeah, you’re gonna let me cum inside you?”

You nodded silently for a third time.

Jean delivered a few more generous jerks before the small of his back tightened and he came inside you, amply flooding your chafed walls with his hot seed until you overflowed, and the creamy, white liquid seeped past the girth of his cock and began dribbling down the inside of your thigh.

Jean pulled his now limp cock out, wiping his essence gently on your folds before pulling you into another doting embrace. His clinch was tight, warm cheeks pressed against each other while he looked at you in the mirror with complete and unadulterated adoration.

“I love you,” he affirmed before flipping you over in his arms to face him. He bent down to press a salty and clammy kiss to your mouth, his lips stalling for a few moments longer before he pulled away and then delivered another kiss to your forehead. “Alright, stupid?”

You bobbed your head briefly, now embarrassed at your earlier outburst. You sunk into Jean’s torso, head against his chest, and mumbled sheepishly. “I love you too.”

The two of you stood together, arms encircling each other until Jean carefully broke his caress and began tugging you in the direction of the shower.

“Come on baby.” He grinned. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

#jean kirstein smut #jean kirsten x reader #jean x reader #jean smut #aot smut #attack on titan smut #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #jean kirstein au #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirschtein smut

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