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raeynbowboi · 4 years

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Why I Believe Angel and Husker Will (or Should) Be Endgame

As a shipper and a writer, I pride myself on finding the meat in shipping material, and despite how little official content for it is available, Hazbin Hotel’s juiciest pairing (by my observation, and not counting Charlie x Vaggie cuz that’s already canon) is Huskerdust or Angelhusk, the main mlm pairing in Hazbin Hotel between Angel Dust and Husker. While I’m a big fan of any mlm pairing no matter how small the serving size, this one is an absolute feast, and I want to explain why I think that is, because Angel flirts with multiple men in the first episode, namely Sir Pentious, Alastor, and Husker. So he just comes across as a relentless flirt, but I believe his destiny truly lies with the grumpy sourpuss bartender.

Given what we’ve learned about Angel Dust from the Addict music video and the prequel comic, it’s becoming clear that Angel doesn’t exactly love his situation. He pretends it’s fun and glamourous for his image, but it’s all an act. In the very last pannel for the comic, we can even see a box of dildos in his room with the words “for fun” crossed out, and the box being relabled as “work stuff”. I believe that Angel’s arc and character growth will be strengthened by having a love interest who cares about Angel as something beyond a sex object. Travis and Valentino clearly only see Angel as a piece of meat. Even Tom Trench one of the... less horrible denizens of Hell we’ve met, only recognizes Angel as a porn star, implying that he too only values Angel for his body. The creators have even verified that Angel will have a love interest in the series. So, that’s the easy part. Angel’s very clearly a gay man, and him having a love interest will help put the romance back in relationships with men for Angel. No surprises there. So why will/should it be Husker who fulfills that role as Angel’s redeeming lover?

In the simplest terms, it’s because their needs fit together perfectly. Angel needs someone to care about him romantically that also values his emotions, mind, and autonomy instead of just his body. Husk has likewise pretty much spelled out the flaw he needs to fix. He lost the ability to love years ago. Whether he just shuts out his emotions, someone broke his heart and now he’s jaded and bitter, or he freezes out his feelings so he won’t get hurt again, Husk has rejected love and his feelings. Learning to love and open up to Angel helps Husk to overcome those toxic coping mechanisms. Especially because his other vices such as drinking, are an extension of his core issue. His hang-ups with love. He drinks to forget and suppress. Overcoming his issues with his emotions will help Husk free himself of other sins in the process. Now the important issue though, does Husker even like boys? Yes, he does. Husker was confirmed by members of the crew to be pansexual, so he is capable of finding Angel attractive. Also, on a related note, Alastor is both Asexual and Aromantic, so he’s very unlikely to give Angel the core thing he needs, the tender appreciation of his romantic partner. That’s not to say Asexuals and Aromantics can’t date, it’s just less probable. And all the other males are either villains, or objectify Angel already. Which kind of leaves Husker as the best candidate for Angel’s love interest, at least currently. In fairness we know very little about Baxter, but that’s the thing. Without knowing anything about him, we can’t really weigh him against the other options.

Character design is very important, as it can provide visual cues about a character. Looking at these two, they share a lot of similarities. Starting from the top, while not visible here, there is a heart-shaped spot on the back of Angel’s head, and this heart appears as well on Husker’s forehead, palms, and wings. More importantly, I may be wrong, but I believe the only characters with hearts in their design are all connected to Angel. Only Travis and Val share this heart motif, two men Angel has had sex with, though in Valentino’s case, it's not always willingly. They share their wearing of a bow tie, but to be fair, Charlie wears one too, as does Sir Pentious, so it’s a weak connection. Color theory also matters. Firstly, they are Yin and Yang. Angel is mostly white with a few dark accents, while Husker is mostly dark gray/black with white accents. Angel’s left eye, bow tie, and shorts/skirt are also the same color (or pretty close) as Husker’s darker fur patches on his forearsms, ankles, ear tips, and whiskers. The stripes on Angel’s top also repeat in Husker’s ears. Finally, while not repeating on Angel’s design, Husker’s fur on his ankles resembles spats, a fashion trend from the early 1900s. Although this trend was pretty dead in widespread use by the 1940s, it remained popular with gangsters and mafia, so much so that it’s almost a streotype of mafia. Angel’s family was an Italian crime family involved with mafia dealings. So while it makes little sense for a man who died in the 1970s to be wearing spats, it connects him to Angel’s ballpark of time as well as drawing connections to Angel’s past and his family.

Hazbin Hotel has Instagram accounts for the characters, and using Husker (bar_cat75) Angel Dust (angie_fluffy_bootz) and Niffty (babyfeathrdustr), we can put together further developments in their relationship off-screen. Starting with one of Husker’s posts, we see Angel leaning on the bar offering him a ticket to his “peep show”. The next post shows Husker still at the bar, but now there’s drool on the counter, and we can see the back of one of Angel’s legs and the red smoke from the Addict video trailing behind him with the line “Fuck, I passed out. Did I miss something?” Next, there’s a post from Niffty of Angel leaning on the railing smoking as he does in the post-credits sequence of the Addict video. Granted, I can’t tell how much of Addict is prequel and how much is happening in real time following the pilot, but we know at least the ending is canonically after the pilot episode. Seems like Angel wanted Husker there (we don’t know if he offered tickets to anyone else) and he seems bummed that he didn’t go, with a later message from Husker (that I can only seem to find in Tumblr posts) with Husker realizing that he missed Angel’s show and feels bad about it. As “owing” Angel a favor for missing his show, Angel leaves his beloved pet pig Fat Nuggets in Husker’s care, who proceeds to eat all of Husker’s limes and cherries. Now it is very important to point out that Fat Nuggets seems to fill the dual role of “purse dog” and emotional support animal for Angel, so leaving him in Husker’s care shows a lot of trust because this animal means a LOT to him. There’s also apparently rumors that Alastor keeps trying to eat Fat Nuggets which... I haven’t found a credible source for. But if Angel is worried about Fat Nuggets’ safety, him trusting Husker to protect his pig only further demonstrates his trust in the grumpy old booze cat. Upset about all the fruit Fat Nuggets ate (because it’s not easy to get in Hell) Husker wants Angel to pay to replace what the pig ate, but Angel argues that because Husker owed him a favor it’s not his responsibility. Angel says he’ll pay him if Husker agrees to come to his next show, and they compromise to get milkshakes instead. The creators said Husker was a Tsundere, and it shows. Someone called their outing a date, and Husker was QUICK to shout that it wasn’t a date, just settling up on a favor. This almost plays out like an episode 2, turning the Addict Video into the jumping off point for a second story in the hotel. I don’t know how many full narratives will come out of the Instagram accounts like this, but it’s really cool how they’re approaching this almost like a multi-media story, and I’m curious to see if this will continue when the show starts airing on television. One last thing of note is that in Angel’s latest post, there’s pictures of Fat Nuggets, Cherri Bomb, and Husker on his bedroom wall, much to Husker’s annoyance. In all of these Instagram posts, Angel seems to now be training ALL of his attention on flirting with Husk, to the point that unless another character sweeps Angel off his feet or causes Angel to start flirting with them instead of Husker, I think this pairing is sailing quickly and unopposed toward the canon zone.

I hope I’ve provided sufficient proof to back up my wild accusations, but I sincerely believe all of the building blocks have already been assembled to create a compelling romance between these characters. The flaws they need to overcome interlock with each other perfectly, their designs draw connections between them, and their Instagram accounts weave together a narrative for a soft Episode 1.5. I believe all of this together points that these two are meant to become a romantic couple, and if they aren’t, then maybe the showrunners should consider it.

#hazbin hotel #vivziepop #angelhusk #huskerdust #angel dust #husker #husk #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel angel #hazbin hotel angel dust #angie fluffy bootz #bar cat 75 #babyfeathrdustr #angiefluffybootz #barcat75 #shipping #mlm #gay ship

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evilsanlang · 3 years

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thoughts on objectification as a theme in tgcf? like, bwx objectifying xl and trying to mold him into a mirror image of himself, hc attempting to objectify himself so he can be whoever xl wants him to be, hx objectifying sqx into a pawn in his revenge plan

I feel like a lot of people have indirectly touched on that while discussing those characters, so as not to repeat those points too much let's talk about how this objectification exists within an overarching theme in tgcf: the whole 'to ascend is human, to descend is also human' thing. as guoshi says in book 2, whether you become a god or a ghost, you're still nonetheless human - something that xie lian and hua cheng most notably struggle to come to terms with after the physical horrors they went through.

hua cheng first, since we don't get a lot of insight into his thoughts: he very clearly resents his once-human body, which he saw as weak and limiting due to his helplessness before the plight of a god; he regards the physical aspects of being human, our fragility and ability to feel pain, with obvious contempt, because those things caused him great distress while he was alive. from this perspective you can see why he treats himself as a tool: only after he shed his mortal body, only after being torn apart and welded together was he able to turn around. I think it's safe to say he treats his body as a tool as a way to compensate for his helplessness when he was mortal.

xie lian is very obvious about this too - ever since that night in the temple he's treated his body as a mere vessel to get him through, something that's to be crushed and pierced should the opportunity arise. separating himself from his physical body was his way of conserving his sanity throughout those 800 years. for both of them this objectification was a coping mechanism that took them far, but that they no longer need in the present story, and through each other they recognize this fact.

in xie lian's case this separation of body and mind is even more stark considering he's a cultivator through and through, and the importance of the human body in taoism is tremendous. you can't cultivate the mind without cultivating the body. and yet, despite maintaining his cultivation path for 800 years, trauma gets in the way of this lifelong habit. this is something that struck me today while thinking about this topic: it's ironic to think that, while upholding his ascetic lifestyle, xie lian wasn't benefiting all that much from it in terms of body and mind wellness; threading outside his vows, on the other hand, allowed him to experience things that reminded him that he is his body, which is much more beneficial in the end.

this is a part of their dynamic that falls under the 'to ascend and to descend' theme: they're god and ghost and they can withstand unimaginable violence, yes, but they're still human, not tools, and they should treat themselves as such.

(I tried to mull over the black water arc under this lens and couldn't come up with anything substantial, sorry! their situation is very different from the rest. even if he xuan went in with the intent to use shi qingxuan as a pawn, actually getting to know and spend time with shi qingxuan cracked his resolve considerably. he xuan is a grieving man after all, not an evil one; even though shi qingxuan was supposed to be a tool in his plan, I don't believe that's all he saw shi qingxuan as.)

when it comes to jun wu it feels like he always saw the people around him as objects, or at least he did since the wuyong disaster. he sacrificed his three friends because he did not allow them the right to be their own people once they broke apart from him. he crushed the previous dynasty and used their ashes as bricks, all to make a statement only he would hear for a long time. he tore xie lian apart literally and figuratively just to tell himself his struggle wasn't for naught.

I think the bottom line here is: it's incredibly easy to see the human body as an object when you've been on your own for a long time. it's easy to shrug off or even embrace hurt when there's no one to worry over you, and it's easy to see others as objects when you treat your hurt as the only one that matters. the way we care for an object and the way we care for a person are very different; a tool will not ask nor be asked are you alright? are you hurt? in this vein, to care and to be cared for is to remind ourselves that we are human.

#reply #Anonymous #tgcf #jsesus christ this got long

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jaceyneedsabetterusername · 4 years

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KILL4ME

Pairings: Johnny Depp x Reader (and kind of x female!OC but that’s not the main focus of anything)

Summary: You're a new actress trying to get your start. You end up getting your first role cast in a music video for Marilyn Manson’s “KILL4ME” music video but it turns out to be much more than you expected.

Warnings: SMUT (male x female, female x female)

A/N: 1) I made the reader straight with no prior female x female experiences. I don’t know why if I’m being honest but that’s how it is so please don’t come at me for it. 2) This is NOT how the film industry should work. If you’re trying to get into the industry, please stay safe, be responsible, and recognize red flags. Typically, randomly popping up pornographic requests is NOT professional or safe. This is just a fantasy I had while watching the music video and was written this way strictly for entertainment purposes.

Word Count: 5696

__________________________

This project requires nudity and sexual scenes. If you are not comfortable, do not apply.

The warning had been clear as day and yet, here you were, sitting in your car at the old mansion that was the filming site, nerves going off the charts and feeling less than comfortable with the imminent nudity and sexual scenes. You were an actor, you reminded yourself. This was the only job you’d landed since arriving in Los Angeles and, despite your promises to yourself and your family that you wouldn’t resort to full nudity for a project, there were bills that needed paying and your waitressing job wasn’t cutting it.

Besides, shouldn’t you be thrilled? This wasn’t just any music video you’d landed a role in but a music video for Marilyn Manson! He was a goth rock legend and you couldn’t hide your excitement when you’d found out who you’d been booked to work for.

But still, the nudity and sexuality made you uneasy. There hadn’t been a script or anything. Your only instructions were to come looking your best and with an open, ready to work mindset. So here you were, physically feeling like a million bucks but butterflies going crazy within.

Inhaling a deep, calming breath, you opened the door to your barely working 2008 Honda Civic, feeling even more self-conscious when you saw the other cars that were parked outside of the massive mansion were all beautiful and sleek, most of them black and very expensive looking.

Crew members stirred around outside, entering and exiting the house with lights and props and sound equipment, everything needed for the production. You walked through the large black door that led into the beautiful white mansion, opening into an equally fantastic interior. You audibly gasped, “This is beautiful…”

“Y/N?” A woman’s voice questioned from beside you and you spun quickly to face her, snapping out of your amazed daze.

“Yes.” You answered hastily.

She checked the clipboard in her hand, “Great, you’re right on time. Come right this way, we’re gonna get you into hair and makeup.” You were about to reply when she’d taken off down the hall without giving you a moment to speak so you followed, avoiding the moving equipment around you.

Before you knew it, you’d been whisked away into a small room that was full of makeup, hair styling tools, and costumes. Nobody told you what they were doing as they pulled your hair straight and did up your makeup, surprisingly simpler than you’d expected with just light eyeshadow and moderate eyeliner.

“Alrighty, now I’m gonna have you undress and put on that robe over there.” The man in charge of costumes directed.

Your brows furrowed, “How undressed?”

“All the way, sweetie. No panties, no bra. It’s all gotta go.” He must have seen the uneasy look on your face because he gave you an unsympathetic shrug, “You signed up for a nude project, hun. Welcome to Hollywood.”

“Y/N is here. I believe that’s it, Mr. Manson.” The same woman as earlier announced as you entered the room you were supposed to be briefed in. It took everything in your power to remain professional when you saw Marilyn Manson standing there, talking casually with another girl who you assumed to be a co-star.

Like you, his makeup was already done up and he was in full costume. His face was painted pale white with a black loop drawn across one half and his other half blank except for the unnaturally blue contact and dark panda-like eyeliner. His lips were stained bright red and you almost felt like you were looking at a picture of him online.

“Thank you, Yolanda.” None other than The Marilyn Manson (and yes, “The” was now an official part of his name in your mind) thanked the woman who you assumed to be an assistant. “Come on in, Y/N.” He beckoned you into the room and you tried to front your most professional, most confident face but the way you held your robe tight to your body gave you away.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Manson.” You came up, reaching to shake his hand, “It’s a real honor to get to work with you.” Kiss ass, you muttered to yourself.

Instead of shaking your hand, he simply waved his hand in the air, “Ah, the pleasantries. I hope it will be a pleasure to work with you as well.”

You retracted your extended hand awkwardly, unsure of whether or not that was a blow off or him just being mysterious and cool, and scuttled to stand with the other girl. She was beautiful and blonde, tall and thin. Model-esque. You felt insecure next to her, especially in front of someone as influential as Manson. You were just you, an inexperienced actress-to-be, on her first professional job with a bunch of people who definitely knew their way around a camera.

“Alright, so I know you came here with minimal details,” Marilyn began, a weirdly neutral look on his very painted face, his tone flat and low. It was hard to read him with his contacts in. “Hopefully, that’s a good sign this will work well. You’re both willing to take risks. You’re flexible. Well, I’m here to give you the details. As you know, there is nudity and sex required for this video. It will be between you two,” You stiffened up awkwardly as he gestured all too casually between the two of you, “And my old friend here.”

On cue, none other than Johnny Depp walked into the room. Your jaw visibly hit the floor. There is no fucking way. “Hello.” He greeted with a smile, the same smile that you’d seen millions of times in his movies that you’d binged every so often.

Were you the only one feeling so shocked? Why the hell was the actress next to you so calm? Why was Johnny so calm? You were about pretend to fuck Johnny fucking Depp!

Johnny stepped forward to shake your hand, “I’m Johnny, nice to meet you,” He introduced politely.

Starstruck, you took his hand, “Y/N. It’s nice to meet you as well.” Then he leaned down and kissed your hand, actually kissed your hand like a fucking gentleman, eyes never leaving yours. God, the way he looked up at you through his strands of middle parted 90’s hair… it was enough to make your breath catch.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he moved from you to the girl next to you, “I’m Marie.” She responded to his introduction politely. He brought her hand to his lips as well but, maybe you were crazy - just imagining some fantasy, but it felt detached and fast when he did it to her.

“Great, well now that we all know each other,” Marilyn interjected as Johnny moved back to stand by his friend, “I’ll continue. I’ve already shot my parts so I’ll be here to direct you if needed but I want this as natural as possible. Aside from a few artistic shots, I need this to be raw, primal, and absolutely fucking filthy.”

You and Marie listened on in intent silence, soaking in his every word. But you found it hard to focus when, out of the corner of your eye, you saw Johnny eyeing you. No, no, it couldn’t be. He was probably just zoned out behind you.

***

A few hours later, all of the artistic shots had been done. There were shots of you pulling up thigh high stockings that clipped onto the garter belts hanging from your nearly sheer black underwear and having a leather corset tightened tightly on your back, cinching your waist smaller than you’d ever seen it. You had put on massively high heels and large, luxurious costume jewelry.

Even though the outfit could be seen as objectifying, you’d never felt more confident or powerful in your life. After your last shot of just your nearly bare thighs, you were dismissed momentarily so Marie could film her sections.

You walked over to your bag and took out a water bottle, not realizing how much this took out of you, running the same seemingly simple shots over and over again under blaring lights. “How long have you been acting?”

Oh God. It was him.

You turned to see Johnny standing next to you, very close, much closer than was considered polite distance but not so close that you felt suffocated. He looked gorgeous, hair hanging perfect from his beautiful tan skin. Earrings hung from his lobes, dangling just slightly. His white button up shirt was only buttoned half way, showing off his smooth, toned chest that barely showed any signs of his older age (not that he was ancient but he was definitely on your list of celebrities over 45 that you would let rail you). But the cherry on top was the eyeliner. The fucking eyeliner. It took you back to so many of his characters that you’d fallen in love with but with the white shirt and earrings, you were getting almost a refined Jack Sparrow crossed with Sweeney Todd feeling and God you’d never been so turned on by a pirate/ serial killer.

“You okay?” He asked, and you blinked rapidly, totally horrified that you’d been staring.

“Oh! Sorry! Um, this is my first real shoot, actually. You know how Hollywood is…” You chuckled awkwardly, reaching your hand around to rub your neck. Of course, he knew how Hollywood was, stupid! You cursed yourself, hoping you didn’t sound as dumb as you felt.

He leaned a hand up against the wall, “Yeah, I know how that is. But don’t worry, this is a great place to start.” He reassured, looking away at the set oh so casually. Your eyes trailed up his arm that had planted itself just beside you on the wall. Was he really doing what you thought he was doing?

No! He was Johnny Depp. He could have whichever woman he wanted at the bat of an eyelash. Why would he want you?

“Y/N! We’re ready for your scene with Marie!” The director called to you from behind the camera and you perked up.

“I better go.” You nodded over to the set, walking away awkwardly, almost scared that you be perceived as rude for having to do your job.

He chuckled and waved you on. This made you blush bright red and turn to run off to set.

You found yourself directed to a bed, “All right,” The director began, Marilyn standing directly next to him, hand on his chin as he watched his vision be brought to life, “Now, first, we’re going to get shots of you making out. I need it hot, I need it passionate. I don’t care if you’ve never kissed a girl before, make it look like you have. Next, we’re going to do totally nude shots of you grinding.”

Your eyelids fluttered slightly in shock at what he said. Okay, you could do that, you hyped yourself up.

Before you knew it, you were lying on the bed, Marie on top of you. Her soft lips were against yours and her nails raked gently down your throat, sending shocks down your body. Even though you were acting, it was hard to separate the feelings that arose, regardless of your sexuality. It had been a long time since anyone had touched you like this. Your hands tangled in her hair and your eyes were screwed shut.

“Cut!” The director yelled and Marie immediately pulled back, snapping out of character and back into her over-professional attitude. You, on the other hand, needed a brief moment to pull out of character. After just a second, you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, Marie still straddling you. Your breasts filled the tight push up bra you wore but you felt surprisingly comfortable in it, even around all these people. That was, until you glanced over to see Johnny standing beside Marilyn, at first looking at a monitor and reviewing footage, but then over at you, his gaze stuck on your accentuated chest.

Your face flushed red as you quickly looked away, not seeing the amused smirk that graced his face. Little did you know, he was very aware of what he was doing and very pleased with your reaction.

“That was perfect. Now we’re gonna move onto the sex scenes.” He waved you and Marie over and you obeyed once she climbed off your torso.

Marilyn and Johnny too came over, completing the small group. Marilyn spoke, “Now you knew there was sex and nudity and I’m very pleased with how this is turning out,” He paused, giving you both a very serious look, “But now, I’m going to ask something of you that you probably aren’t comfortable with. Usually with sex scenes, there’s fabric in place to hide cocks and shit but I don’t want any of that. It distracts actors from the scene and there’s always the issue of whether or not you see it. I want raw, I want primal, I want absolutely fucking filthy.”

He was quiet for a moment, waiting for you and Marie to piece together his request, but filling in the rest when he saw both of your professional exteriors crack in confusion, “I want you to all actually fuck. Only if you’re comfortable with it but if you’re not you’ll be paid for the work you’ve done and we’ll find someone to replace you.”

You nearly choked, “Like… porn? You want this to be porn?” Johnny chuckled to himself, seeing your embarrassed, nervous reaction. You were so cute.

He looked pensive for just a moment before nodding, “Yeah, I suppose so.” He answered bluntly, “Like I said, only if you’re comfortable with it but, if not, you’ll be fired for the rest of the video.”

Oh God, were you really about to agree to porn? Like actual fucking porn? Three way porn at that! But three porn with Johnny Depp…. It was the one thing you told yourself you wouldn’t do. But then again, your rent was due in two weeks and you were $300 short. “I’m in.” You answered, almost regretting it immediately.

“Me too.” Marie agreed, long arms crossed across her chest.

“Good. Now let’s get to it.”

The lesbian sex scene had gone by relatively hitch free, save for a few awkward placement issues. Marie, being straight as an arrow, had no clue what she was doing, and you too were inexperienced in the department but with a little direction, the scene was finished.

She knelt on her knees, holding your naked hips up and grinding your bare core against her own. Your eyes were closed, trying to remember every previous sexual encounter and porno you’d seen to try and make the sexiest faces and the sexiest form.

Johnny couldn’t take his eyes off you as you writhed on the bed, completely naked and grinding up against another beautiful woman. Everything about you looked so authentic but innocent but dirty. He found himself craving you in the most unprofessional ways as he watched your breasts bounce with every roll of your hips.

When the scene was over, you nearly jumped off the bed and rushed for your robe. You were embarrassingly wet right now, the eye contact you’d made with Johnny while having your clit rubbed was just absolutely intoxicating and you were just thankful that you were able to control yourself enough to not get your juices all over Marie.

As they changed the scene around, you stood beside Johnny and Marilyn. “Method actor?” He asked.

You cocked an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

“You looked pretty into the scene up there. Wonder what you were thinking about…” He continued. Your heart was in your throat. His tone was dark and sultry and implied exactly what he thought you were thinking about and boy was he correct. “As a method actor myself, I completely understand your… position.”

Johnny looked down at you, his dark eyes unyielding as he dove into your very soul and could see you every fantasy.

“Okay! Everyone on set!”

Ignore the cameras, you screamed at yourself. You’re not doing porn, you’re just having a threesome with Johnny Depp and some girl named Marie. Yeah, that was a convincing story to tell yourself. Just relax in this totally normal situation. Pfft, as if.

But you were an actress. Then something occurred to you, the ghost of a voice spoke to you. It was actually words spoken by Johnny in an old interview you’d seen him do, words that had stuck with you as a foundation in your training: “The most important thing that an actor needs to do is not to act, but to react. That's what it is all about, and you do one of the most difficult things in the world, which is to just be--to be in the state of being.”

Just relax. React to the scene. Be in the scene. Hell, this wasn’t even a scene anymore. This was a secret fantasy you’d never known you’d had coming to life. There wasn’t even any acting involved. So just be.

“Action!”

Immediately in character, you caressed Marie sexually, hands running along her sides as you nipped along her neck. Now that you were the dominant character, her scantily clad body was putty in your hands. Your teeth raked along her skin and you felt her shudder beneath your touch, brushing her long blonde hair over her shoulder.

Then a quiet metallic sound drew your attention. You and Marie both looked over towards the ornate door to see Johnny standing there, looking in through the gold grated peephole.

Marie looked at you, her eyes full of question. Should you let him in? Honestly, you weren’t sure if your characters knew who he was. No! Stop, you’re not playing a character now. You’re you. You are the character.

You chewed your lip seductively and walked over, legs crossing and hips rocking as your heels clicked on the hardwood floor. You reached down, perfectly manicured fingers gripping the handle delicately and unlocked the door. Before he could even get ahold of his surroundings, you had him by the collar and pulled him in. He could play all the sexy flirty games he wanted, but right now, you were in control and you were going to make him want you more than anything, even if it all was just for the camera.

His hands found your hips immediately as he attempted to steady himself but, gosh, all he wanted to do was take you here and now, preferably without Marie or the cameras, but he figured that if that’s what it took to fuck you, he was more than willing to compromise.

You pulled him in, your lips finally crashing against his. At first, he was hesitant but only for half a second, before he returned the kiss with even more fervor than you’d gone in with. Marie came up on his side and nibbled his ear, hands roaming up and down his chest between your very close bodies.

Johnny pulled back from this kiss and twisted just enough to snake an arm around Marie’s thin body and led her to face you. Then his hands came to firmly hold the back of each of your necks and forced your faces together, pressing you and the other woman to kiss. You both complied obediently, a strange mix of submissively and dominantly, like you were submitting to him but then fighting between the two of you.

Her lips moved graciously against yours, smooth and soft. It was so much more different than kissing a man. This felt delicate still despite the absolute filth that was ensuing. Her hand shot out to hold you by the jaw and pulled you in roughly, Johnny’s hand almost not needing to do anything.

He watched in amazement as the two of you obeyed his every physical command, the way you both looked so lost in each other. He knew you were straight just by interacting with you earlier but you could have had him fooled now.

This wasn’t the first time he’d been in threeway with two other girls but this was definitely the hottest one. Before, it was all just to see if he could pull it off and then just to have the novelty of having girls bend to his will but this was different. You were different. He couldn't really explain it but he was completely enamored by you. An air of innocence surrounded you from the moment he set eyes on your otherworldly beauty but the saw in your eyes a fire that burned with the ability to be more than that. He was determined to see just how hot that fire burned.

He pulled you and Marie apart before bringing her to kiss him. While he did, his free hand absentmindedly groped your chest, your breasts spilling from the top of your push up bra. A twinge of jealousy went through you as you watched them kiss, although you knew how irrational it was. They were actors. You were too. There was nothing personal about this. But, for some unexplainable, unprofessional reason, there was for you.

You slinked behind the older man like a cat and ran your fingertips ever so gently across his closed shoulders and down his biceps. They trailed down his sides as his body moved from the intense makeout session with Marie before coming around to tease over his growing bulge. In his black well fitting pants.

His body tensed ever so slightly, barely noticeable except to you two, when your hand made contact with his erection. You smirked to yourself, a dark, sexy smile, the kind of smile you’d expect to see in a twisted Tim Burton film. You were finally the mysterious gothic beauty you’d always imagined yourself as in all of his stories.

With swift fingerwork and a quick, almost too skilled, flick of your wrist, you had Johnny’s belt whipped off him and held firmly in your hands. He pulled Marie off of him and shoved her roughly onto the bed, undoing the buttons of his shirt as you walked in circles around him, trailing your gaze up and down his perfect body and dragging the leather of his belt on his torso and thighs as you did so.

The way you looked at him, like a lioness about to devour her prey, made Johnny feel like he was on fire. You seemed so in control and confident and you had a way of touching him, as if you knew exactly what made him tick. It was intoxicating.

His shirt was unbuttoned in a matter of seconds and without warning, he had you pressed back against the mattress as well. He crawled over your body, rolling his hips just right against your clothed core. A small, quiet whisper of a moan escaped your lips at the sudden, well placed contact.

Your hands tangled into his hair as you pulled him down to you, forcing his head into your neck. He kissed and sucked and nipped and licked just right, like he had a map to your body. You were embarrassingly wet from just kissing and you secretly prayed that nobody noticed but you were too lost in the moment to do anything about it.

Your leg wrapped around his waist and pulled him into you again. “Fuck…” His voice was a raspy, low whisper, said just loud enough for you three to hear.

Johnny kissed down your neck and across your breasts, moving over to Marie’s chest, which he dove into with full force. She squirmed and moaned beside you as he assaulted her perfect breasts. You rolled over as far as you could and caught her lips in yours, swallowing her moans.

That was, until Johnny’s hand trailed down to rub your core. You gasped into Marie’s full lips and rolled your hips into his hand, begging for more. Suddenly, he sat back onto his heels and grabbed your hips roughly, flipping you over onto all fours like he’d done it a million times before. “Ah!” You squealed slightly at the sudden action.

He climbed off the bed and knelt just behind you, palms rubbing over your ass and admiring every inch of you. Marie adjusted to sit just in front of you, legs spread to reveal her bare vagina before you. You weren’t sure when she’d lost her underwear but low and behold here you were face to face with all she had to bear. You’d never eaten a girl out before but you’d seen enough porn and fooled around with yourself enough to know what might work as a good start.

Cautiously, you started a few kitten licks to her clit, noticing every flinch or shudder that left her lips. Just as you began to get the hang of it, there was a loud rip as you felt the fabric of your panties be literally torn from your body. You gasped loudly, looking back behind you to see Johnny with his tongue between his teeth, admiring your body.

Johnny ran his surprisingly soft hands up and down your ass before dragging his fingertips through your already dripping folds. You moaned against Marie’s clit, her hands pulling on your hair, as his fingers circled your clit. You pressed your hips back against him, begging for more, and he was more than happy to oblige.

Before you knew it, the three of you were a tangle of limbs. At all times, you were being touched by someone, whether it was groping your chest, your ass, or your pussy, but it was always a game trying to figure out who it was. The heat was becoming unbearable and you were grateful for the lack of clothing. Your body was slicked in sweat, both yours and Johnny’s mostly.

He’d taken a clear preference to you and you almost felt bad for Marie but you didn’t feel too bad, seeing as how your lifelong fantasies were coming true. When someone was touching you, it was almost always Johnny, although he didn’t let his bias completely ruin the shot. He was a professional after all.

Soon, after at least ten minutes of blind fingering and hand jobs, you found yourself straddling Johnny as he lied naked on the bed. This was it, the moment you actually had sex with Johnny Depp. He held his large erection in one hand, guiding it to your entrance and then moved his hands to grip your hips tightly, lowering you down onto this length.

“Oh my… fuck-” You hissed out, throwing your head back as you adjusted to him. You’d never felt so full before, so complete. Without even moving, he made you feel absolutely incredible.

He chuckled sexily below you, loving your reaction. This whole scene had been a game with you, fighting for who was seducing who, who was in charge, but here he was finally proving it was him.

You steadied yourself on his chest, soft hands splayed out against his surprisingly taught, tattooed skin. To look at him like this, you never would have guessed how much older he was than you. He could pass for a very handsome man in his thirties easily.

You swiveled your hips experimentally and clenched your walls around his cock. Johnny sucked in a sharp breath as his fingertips dug harshly into your skin, sure to leave little bruises in their place. You looked down and locked eye contact with him through your long eyelashes, your hair disheveled and hanging in your face sexily, as you squeezed your muscles around him yet again and moved your hips.

“Fucking hell.” He groaned out beautifully, short nails digging crescents into your skin. His grip moved to cup your ass cheeks from below, grabbing them firmly and moving you up and down until you found a pace that worked for both of you.

Marie lied on the bed beside Johnny, one leg strewn across his chest and the other behind your bouncing body, as she toyed with her clit with one hand and fingered herself with the other.

You reached down to play with her breasts, pinching and rolling her nipples between your soft fingertips but the action was half hearted at best. All you could focus on was how Johnny felt inside you, hitting all the right spots. How you had him at your will just as much as you were at his. His hair was strewn around his face on the pillows like a damn god, his eyeliner smeared every so slightly from the sweat. His eyes screwed shut every now and then but otherwise, he looked at you like no other man had ever looked at you before.

He reached between your bodies and found your clit, rubbing it in small, tight circles. Your walls began to clench uncontrollably as you felt your orgasm nearing. Your back arched as you leaned back, moving your hands to rest on his thighs as you rose and fell on his length. Marie leaned down, attaching her lips to your perked nipples and biting one gently, licking over the skin to soothe it before doing it again.

Johnny reached down to finger her roughly as she ravaged your breasts. You continued to bounce, the new angle hitting that perfect spot inside you. “I’m gonna-” Marie whined out, her voice high and seductive.

You nodded quickly, eyes screwed shut, “Me too!” You exclaimed, trying with all your might to stave off your orgasm for as long as possible but the pleasure was just building up too much.

“Cum for me.” Johnny demanded from both of you and that was all it took for you to crash over the edge. Hot flashes stroke across your body in electric waves as your body failed to keep moving. He continued to lift your body for you, helping you ride out your high but his fingers dug tightly into your skin when your walls spasmed uncontrollably around him.

“Fuck!” Marie whined out, her legs shaking against Johnny’s body as she came.

You reluctantly rolled off Johnny’s body when you felt him lift you off and rested off to the side, breathing heavily while you recovered. He got up onto his knees next to you and stroked himself quickly, aggressively, using your slick to glide his hand across his erection, before painting Marie’s body in white ribbons.

“And cut!” The director’s voice yelled out, harshly returning you from your daydream. Your eyes suddenly snapped as wide as a deer caught in headlights as the studio lights flicked on around you and the crew was visible again. The reality of everything came crashing down on you. Shit, that wasn’t some secret fantasy in your head. That was a pornographic threesome with Johnny Depp and some woman named Marie!

You glanced over to the more experienced actress and breathed out a sigh of relief to see her looking the same way you did, completely shocked and a little disappointed at what you’d agreed to, but too pleased and amazed at what you’d just done to care too much before.

Johnny, on the other hand, looked like he was already recovering with a cool exterior. He’d already begun climbing off the bed to get his clothes back on, leaving you and Marie alone on the bed to register what had happened.

“Fuck me, that was hot.” Marilyn stepped onto the set, completely comfortable and practically ignoring the fact that he’d just watched his best friend fuck two women. You blushed a bright red. Great, you forgot that Marilyn Manson now would have the image of you fucking in his memories for forever. Not exactly the impression you typically went for in Hollywood… Or was it?

The director watched over the footage, “They looked like they were enjoying themselves a little too much.” He snorted, pointing out something on the screen to Marilyn and you just prayed that it wasn’t a funny face you made in the heat of the moment.

Marilyn waved him off, “No such thing as too much fun with sex, Paul.”

Even though the crew were all doing their various jobs, you were convinced that every eye was on you. WIth a beet red face, you slinked out of the bed, hands covering your breasts and keeping your thighs as close together as you could, trying to shield your nudity from the room. It wasn’t that you were ashamed of your body, it was just the feeling of being so exposed to a room full of strangers that made the blood rush to your face.

You rushed around, trying to pick up whatever small scrap of clothing you could identify as yours. On the ground, beside the bed, was a crumpled heap of thin stringy black fabric. Your underwear! “Thank God!” You murmured to yourself, bending down to pick it up, only to have it fall in two, rendered unwearable.

Your face dropped when you saw it and sighed, starting to become more comfortable in your naked skin but more so because you had no other choice at the moment. Could you even request clothing from the crew? Where did your actual clothes end up? Why did you even think that was a ridiculous request to want your clothes back?

Just as you dropped the shredded underwear, ready to find a crew member and get your clothes back, you heard Johnny chuckle, low and sexy behind you, “You’re a great method actor,” He complimented with a wink and slight smirk, knowing damn well what he meant, the nonchalance of his entire being making you dumbfounded, “Perhaps, we could do this again under less professional circumstances.”

And with the invitation, said in the most casual way - as if inviting you for coffee, he pushed the last button through the loop of his pristine white button up, and walked to find his best friend, leaving you standing on set, naked, clutching the underwear he’d literally ripped from your body just minutes earlier, eyes on his majestic figure and trying to comprehend what the fuck just happened.

#johnny depp #johnny depp imagines #johnny depp imagine #johnny depp fanfic #johnny depp x reader #johnny depp smut #sweeney todd imagine #jack sparrow imagine #edward scissorhands imagine

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suituuup · 3 years

Photo

pieces - chapter one

Five years ago, Chloe dropped off the face of the Earth. Beca sees her again in the most unexpected place.

rating: M (drug abuse, mention of sexual abuse in later chapters) word count: 2,100

ao3 link

“Any messages, Gina?”

Beca Mitchell strode out of the elevator, high heels clicking on marble flooring on her way to her office.

Her assistant rushed to walk alongside her, notebook opened as she handed Beca her second coffee of the day, which Beca took with an appreciative smile.

“Mr. Mendes needs to push back his meeting to Thursday, and Mr. Hozier-Byrne is waiting for a call back, preferably before 2 as he’s five hours ahead.”

Beca rounded the corner to her office and dragged her leather desk chair back, shrugging off her woolen trench coat and draping it over the back. “Got it, remind me what I have planned today?”

“You’re having lunch with Mr. Zimmer at the Plaza to discuss Jesse’s project, and apart from the weekly team meeting at five, you’re expected at Edgy Reggie’s party from 10 pm at the Sapphire.”

A groan surfaced from Beca’s throat and her eyes slammed shut as she plopped down on her chair. “I forgot about that. Luke can’t go?”

Gina winced and shook her head. “Family dinner.”

“Family dinner, my ass. His whole family lives back in fucking England,” Beca muttered before she could help it, throwing her assistant an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Thanks, Gina. Hold my calls until ten, please?”

“Of course, Ms. Mitchell.”

As she did every morning while sipping her coffee, Beca listened to demos over the next hour, forwarding them to Luke if any of those yet-unknown artists spiked her interest enough to sign them into their label.

The rest of the day consisted of two meetings, a dozen calls, countless email exchanges, and not enough studio time. A thick blanket of darkness had veiled the city by the time she closed her laptop and called it a day. She stretched her neck and took a moment to gaze at the lit skyscrapers through her floor to ceiling windows, sighing softly.

It was sometimes weird to think about how this was her life. How the asocial, grumpy freshman from thirteen years ago had made it to the top of the music business and now co-owned one of the biggest labels throughout the country.

Scratch that, throughout the world.

Snapping out of her daze, Beca stood and slipped on her coat, plucking her phone off the desk to call herself a Lyft home. She had just about time to take a shower and eat dinner before heading to that stupid party.

Beca could think of a million things she’d rather be doing right now as she strode down the wet sidewalk towards the lit GIRLS red neon sign in the distance a couple of hours later.

She told herself one drink, an hour tops, then she could head home, put on her pajamas, and finish that true-crime TV show she started yesterday.

“Name?” A dude bulkier than the freaking Rock asked her as she made it to the club door.

“Um, Beca Mitchell. I’m Edgy Reggie’s producer.”

Her artist had privatized a strip-club for his celebration party over his album hitting Platinum, and Beca couldn’t not show up, as... well, he was an important client and brought her label the big bucks.

The guy checked his clipboard and nodded, hitching his thumb over his shoulder. “You’re good to go.”

Casting the bouncer a nod, Beca ducked inside the dimmed, crowded club, wincing at the crappy music heavily pumping through the speakers. Three girls in bikinis and heels stood on platforms, twisting their bodies around dancing poles as dozens of dudes reclined back in leather sofas, shamelessly ogling their forms.

Beca’s nose crinkled as she scanned the room for her artist.

“Yo, Beca!”

Her gaze snapped to the left corner, catching sight of Edgy Reggie (he didn’t want to change his stage name, no matter how much Beca insisted) waving her over.

“Hey,” she cast him a tight-lipped smile, tucking her straight hair behind her ears. She nodded at the other dudes sitting around the low table. “What’s up.”

“Guys, this is the girl behind the magic of my album,” Edgy Reggie explained, throwing an arm over her shoulders before Beca could squirm away. “She is fire. ”

Beca chuckled awkwardly, then pointed over her shoulder. “I’m gonna go get myself a drink.”

Maybe two come to think of it, so she could get herself through this.

She headed to the bar and ordered an old-fashioned, fishing in the inside of her coat pocket for her credit card.

“Thanks,” she muttered when the barmaid (also clad in a bikini that left very little to the imagination) came back with her drink, handing her her card just as the club’s speaker made an announcement.

“Ladies and Gentleman, please welcome to the stage… Ariel! ”

The crowd cheered and hooted, Beca glancing over her shoulder to see what all the fuss was about.

There was no amount of alcohol that could have prepared her for the scene unfolding before her.

There, on the main stage, strutted in a redhead, only wearing a silver g-string and high heels. Beca would have recognized that shade of hair anywhere, and while the lighting in the club was low, there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that this girl -- Ariel -- was her former best friend.

Her former best friend who had dropped from the face of the Earth almost five years ago, without so much as an explanation. She hadn’t just stopped talking to Beca, but to all of them, even Aubrey. She was nowhere to be found on social media and when Beca had tried calling her after six months without news, she found out Chloe’s phone number had been disconnected. It wasn’t like they talked on a daily basis before that. After three years spent living on opposite sides of the country, the texts started coming further in between, their communication coming down to a few check-ins a year and on birthdays, until they eventually stopped.

Fearing the worst, Aubrey had called Chloe’s parents, who assured her she was fine, working as a vet in NYC and in a committed relationship. While relieved, the news stung Beca, as it was clear Chloe had deliberately ceased contact.

It took some time, but Beca eventually stopped thinking about her so much, especially when she started getting successful as a music producer and pouring her time and energy into her projects. She soon won her first Grammys, Gold, and Platinum records featured in notorious magazines and talk shows. She could stop working tomorrow and money wouldn’t become an issue, but Beca didn’t like to boast about her fortune, or fame, for that matter.

Despite being insanely busy, she still kept in touch with the other Bellas in their group chat, but she hadn’t seen any of them in a couple of years, missing the last reunion because of her job.

Beca’s mind steered back to the present, where the once most important person in her life was currently dancing for money. Men were staring hungrily at her as she sensually moved around the pole or bent over with her ass in the air to collect dollar bills from the floor, and Beca suddenly felt sick.

This couldn’t be her dream job, right? Something had to have happened for her to settle for this.

Beca grabbed her drink and knocked it back, flagging the barmaid down for another as her mind reeled as to what to do.

She needed to talk to Chloe. In private. Tonight, as soon as she finished… parading in front of these disgusting fuckboys. Only… she wasn’t sure Chloe wanted to talk to her.

“Hey,” she said when the barmaid came back as an idea struck. “How do I get a private lap dance with one of the girls?”

The girl raised a surprised eyebrow. “Backroom, hun. Who do you want?”

“Ariel.”

The platinum blonde let out a curt laugh. “Ariel doesn’t do lap dances, babe.”

Beca’s eyebrows knitted together in a heavy frown. “Why not?”

“Because she’s the boss’ favorite.”

Beca didn’t know what that meant exactly, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out as another wave of nausea swept over her insides. “Is your boss here tonight?”

The barmaid scanned the room quickly, nodding. “He’s the guy over there in the suit.”

“Thanks.” She took her drink and headed over to where the fifty-something dude was talking to another guy. Stepping up to them, she ignored their glares over her interrupting their conversation. “Hey. Are you the manager?”

The dude who looked like he ran a mafia mob turned a bit more towards her. “What’s this about?”

“How much for a private dance with Ariel?”

His gaze flickered over Beca’s shoulder towards the stage, then sized Beca up, unimpressed. “She’s not available, kid.”

Beca gritted her teeth at the condescending tone of his voice. “Not even for ten grand for twenty minutes?”

He slow-blinked, then burst out laughing. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m being serious. Ten grand, twenty minutes. Alone in a room, just the two of us.”

The man’s expression hardened. “And I said she’s not available .”

“Twenty grand.” Hell, she’d throw half a million on the table if that’s what was needed to talk to Chloe. After a beat, she added, “And no touching. That’s not what I’m here for.”

The manager seemed to consider her offer for a handful of seconds. “You got the money?”

Dammit. She couldn’t withdraw that much right now, she needed to call her bank. “Tomorrow night.”

He smirked, snickering. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He turned back to his buddy, leaving Beca grumbling under her breath as she turned around and stalked out of the club. She couldn’t stay. She couldn’t stand the sight of Chloe objectifying her body for money.

As soon as she got home, Beca fired up her computer and typed in Chloe’s name in her browser. Apart from old stuff on the Bellas, she found nothing relevant. Chloe appeared to still be MIA from any social media.

Beca grabbed her phone and scrolled through her contacts, bringing the device to her ear.

“What’s wrong?”

“How do you know something’s wrong?”

“We call each other twice a year on our respective birthdays and stick to the Bellas chat for the rest.”

Beca nibbled on her bottom lip. “I found Chloe.”

A long stretch of silence on the other end of the line followed. “What?”

“I saw her tonight, Aubrey.”

“Where??”

“At a strip club. She’s… a stripper.”

“What? Did you talk to her?”

“No. She was performing on stage. But I will. I’m… buying a lap dance from her tomorrow. I figured… she’ll have to listen to me since she’s being paid for it.” Her eyes slammed shut, scrunching up her nose. “I don’t know. It might be a bad idea, but-- I just wanna make sure she’s okay, you know?”

“Yes, of course. Keep me posted?”

“I will. Talk to you soon.”

Beca shuffled to bed after that, but sleep never came. Her mind kept reeling about Chloe, about what she might say to her once they were face to face, and the possibility that Chloe might shoot her down and refuse to talk to her.

She spent her Saturday trying and failing to make some progress on an ongoing project, willing time to tick faster so she could head back to the club. Mid-afternoon, she headed to the bank to withdraw twenty grand, tucking the envelope in her purse.

“Why does it feel like you’re doing something illegal, Beca?” She muttered to herself on her way out of the bank, slightly paranoid about carrying so much cash on her.

The club was just as crowded when she got there around 10 pm. A different girl danced on the main stage and the manager was nowhere in sight, so Beca perched herself on a stool at the bar, ordering herself another old-fashioned.

“Is your boss around?” She asked the barmaid, a different girl from last night.

“Who’s asking?”

“Tell him the person who wants Ariel is here.”

The girl’s eyebrows shot up at that but she didn’t say anything, nodding before strutting away. Beca sipped at her drink for the next twenty minutes, keeping her back to the stage.

The manager eventually appeared in her peripheral, and he leaned an elbow over the counter, lacing his fingers. “So what’s so special about Ariel?”

Beca slowly set her drink down and fished for the envelope, pushing it towards him while keeping her gaze straight ahead. “I like redheads.”

He plucked the envelope off the counter and peered inside. Twenty stacks of ten hundred dollar bills in exchange for twenty minutes with Chloe.

He nodded. “Follow me.”

Beca finished the rest of her drink, the alcohol managing to muffle her nerves some as she followed the manager towards the back of the club, and down a set of stairs. Her heart pumped hard in her ears and her palms started to sweat as she was led inside a dimly lit room with a handful of sofa chairs and a small stage with a dancing pole, some kind of music that seemed straight out of a porno carrying through the speakers. A spiral staircase was tucked in the right corner, and she guessed that is where the strippers made their entrance from.

Beca wondered how far things usually went in these kinds of private rooms.

She wondered how far Chloe went.

She cast the guy a tight-lipped smile and a nod before he closed the door, and paced the room for a little while, eventually lowering herself on one of the leather chairs and wiping her palms on her designer slacks.

The clicking of heels over metal made Beca’s spine snap straighter. She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder as the steps grew nearer, digging her nails into her thighs as a new round of nerves gripped her insides.

“Good evening, sweetheart,” the huskiness of Chloe’s voice made Beca swallow, and she felt a hand run over her shoulders as Chloe approached from behind.

Glancing up, Beca met familiar, ocean blues.

#bechloe #bechloe fic #bechloe fanfic #beca mitchell #chloe beale #pitch perfect #pieces

142 notes · View notes

tg-headcanons · 3 years

Note

Hehehehe hohohoho..seidou alphabet?

He’s always looking submissive and breedable 😌

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex): when it’s over, he’s gonna be needing aftercare. He’s absolutely exhausted, he could use a little clean up and words of reassurance now that he’s no longer horny and probably embarrassed by how desperate he was to be fucked. A quick nap, being held by his partner and getting some ibuprofen is a must

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): on himself he likes his hands, and on his partner he likes tits. Male or female, if they have tiddy, he wants to drown in it

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically): he knows it’s kind of gross, be he likes to swallow. When he gives head he wants his partner to finish deep in his throat

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): he’s masturbated to the thought of Houji before and felt really awkward working with him the next day

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?): he’s not very experienced. He had a high school girlfriend who he lost his virginity to and a drunk one night stand or two, but it was always his partners taking the lead and he’s still awkward about making advances let alone doing anything sexual without blushing like a virgin

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying): any position where he’s bent over something. Being pinned between a surface and his partner’s body and unable to escape is the best feeling to him

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.): he doesn’t really joke during it, the most he’ll do are little jabs when he’s hoping to provoke his partner into a bit more roughness

H = Heat (what are heats like for them? How do they handle it?): his heats suck. He’s one of those ghouls who, no matter how many times he’s fucked, can’t seem to make the desperation go away. Even with two partners he outlasts them, ready to again seconds after finishing. With how bad it is, he just lets his partners secure him to the bed and do whatever they can for him, he’s okay with them having control when he’s like that since he can’t think rationally when that overheated and desperate

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect): he’s very focused on his partners during it, paying just as close attention to what they’re saying as what they’re doing to him. It’s romantic in the way being desperate for any word or sensation from someone can be

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon): he does it pretty often. He’s a healthy young man who doesn’t have much time after work for sex, of course he’s going to relieve himself. He usually does it in that same face down position he likes to get fucked in, biting the sheets to stay quiet. He hates that it’s usually insults from akira or praise from Amon that comes to mind while his hand is wrapped around his cock, but it does the job.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks): degradation and praise, being dominated, anything that makes him feel like he’s under the control of someone he desperately wants to please. Anything done to him is heavenly if it’s to please his master

L = Location (favorite places to do the do): I think it comes as no surprise that he’d love to fuck in the office. It’s always been a fantasy of his to get pulled into a storage closet during work hours and fucked against the wall, struggling to stay quiet

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going): praise and degradation. I don’t care that I’ve already said it this boy wants to get noticed and told exactly what is thought of him. If he’s good, he deserves a reward doesn’t he? If he’s bad, there’s gotta be something he can do to make up for it. Either way, any compliment or insult he gets from an attractive superior has him uncomfortably crossing his legs

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): being ignored/silence. He loves to feel objectified and used, but being completely disregarded as often painful things are done to his body makes him panic when it reminds him too much of being really objectified by kanou. As you can see, there is a dilemma here. He’s found out that he can handle being used as a toy so long as his partner talks to him. As long as he’s reminded that he’s recognized as a person who can give and revoke consent at any time, he can handle any rough treatment

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.): giving, and holy hell can he give. That boy sucks dick like he’s dying and the only cure is semen and eats pussy like it’s a four course meal. He loves the feeling of serving them, like it’s a job to prove just how much pleasure he can give and just how much discomfort he can disregard. Either ask him politely or put a spider gag in his mouth and fuck his throat, either way he’d gladly get on his knees

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.): As fast and rough as possible, he wants his partners to make him their bitch. He wants his legs to shake tomorrow

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.): loves them. Any time, any place, he’s ready to go. He can’t go as rough with these since they don’t have the time for the aftercare he needs afterwards though, but a gentle fuck in back room somewhere is it’s own type of exhilarating

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.): a big part of it for him is being forced out of his comfort zone. Having a vibe in him in public, getting choked, taking a toy inside him he’s pretty sure is too big, it’s all better with the very real embarrassment and nerves. It really could hurt, but he’s been given an order, and he wants to be a good boy doesn’t he?

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?): he can go awhile, it’s not that he has a short refractory period, only that he has no problem being fucked long after he’s already cum

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?): he’s never bought any of his own, but is down for anything his partner wants to use on him

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): he doesn’t tease, but loves to be teased. Edge him and deny him over and over until he’s a desperate mess

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.): he always starts with little grunts and groans, the demand for his partner to stop teasing and just get onto it, but little by little his submissive nature takes over, and those moans and cries flow freely by the end

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character): he is a very horny drunk. When enough drinks deep, he has no problem grabbing his partner by the collar and telling them exactly how he wants them to make a mess out of him in filthy detail. Doesn’t matter if they’re home or in the middle of a bar, he’ll be crawling into their lap and grinding on their leg. He’s always humiliated the next day, but in the moment he can’t think about anything but getting railed

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes): about 6-6.5 inches

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?): so horny all the time holy fuck This man is down horrendously 24/7

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): usually pretty fast, once his partner pulls out of him and gives him those gentle touches and words of praise that marks the beginning of aftercare, he’s rarely awake for more than three minutes. Half the time he’s only asleep for a couple minutes, but he needs that to recover and ease himself out of that submissive state

#tokyo ghoul #tokyo ghoul headcanon #notsfw alphabet #notsfw #seidou takizawa #seiakiramon

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girlsgonemildblog · 3 years

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Valley of the Dolls and Hollywood's Desire to Self-Protect

Poster from imdb.com

Valley of the Dolls (1967) tells the story of three young women working in show business in the 1960s. Originally adapted from Jacqueline Susann’s 1966 book by the same name, the screenplay was written by two women, Helen Deutsch and Dorothy Kingsley. The director for the film, though, was a man, named Mark Robson. The plot centers around three protagonists, Anne Welles, Neely O’Hara, and Jennifer North. Their stories connect and separate several times as they each navigate Hollywood, growing in stardom and fading into oblivion. All three storylines follow two themes, the role of women in the 1960s and the abuse of drugs by these women to deal with the pressures of their culture. The film largely stays true to the novel, but alters some important aspects in order to soften the critique that Susann originally proposed. Valley of the Dolls is an attempted commentary on societal demands on women in the 1960s, but is unsuccessful in its criticism due to continuing to perpetuate several misogynistic standards and Hollywood trying to alleviate itself of guilt.

Valley of the Dolls is one of few movies from its era that centers on multiple female leads without allowing for any male characters to come in and dominate the narrative. The story goes further than to just portray women, and even passes commentary on the harmful expectations put on them by society. There are messages about the workforce, body image, and marriage roles all present. Still, while the film may seem to have a feminist message for most of the plot, it falls short in its final moments. The two women, Neely and Jennifer, who are outwardly ambitious and more sexually promiscuous, are punished for their behavior, while the virginally pure and soft spoken Anne is the one who gets a happy ending, though not in the traditional sense.

The first woman to look at is Neely O’Hara (Patty Duke). Neely, the youngest of the three, is also the most talented and the most ambitious. While her two co-protagonists experience minor stardom, Neely becomes a full-fledged celebrity. As Neely begins her rise to the top, she is forced to work out, despite already being nearly rail thin. During her work-out montage, she even asks her trainer, “you call this acting?” This moment serves to show that for women, being an actor was not strictly about their talent, but also the way they looked. Working out is a part of the job for Neely because if she gains weight, people will no longer want to look at her and thus she won’t be able to be on stage or screen.

The affect of her ambition on her womanhood is also seen through the depiction of her first marriage to her hometown sweetheart, Mel (Martin Milner). When Neely gets her big break, she asks Mel to marry her, flipping the tradition of a man asking a woman. This is the first evidence of the gender role reversal that will be present later. In one scene, after Neely has made it and begun earning more money, the audience sees that Mel is now in charge of keeping house, a job typically meant for the wife at this time. The two get into an argument and Mel, sick of being bossed around by Neely, states, “I am not the butler,” to which Neely retorts, “you’re not the bread winner either.” The two get divorced shortly after. In the beginning of the movie, as Neely is about to be cut out of the broadway show, Mel gives her advice on how to handle the situation in a way that is both best for her career and best for earning money. Mel is more than happy to support Neely’s ambition when she is starting out and he is controlling her success. When Neely grows beyond his grasp, begins to overshadow him, and no longer needs him, the turmoil of their relationship begins. Mel’s male ego cannot handle having a wife who not only is not reliant on him, but who he is reliant on.

In contrast, Jennifer’s fatal flaw is not her ambition but her body. The audience is introduced to Jennifer (Sharon Tate) as she is scantily clad in a leotard with a giant showgirl headpiece on. Her first line is concern that she cannot walk, “I feel a little top heavy,” to which her director replies, “Dear, you are top heavy.” This is met by a chorus of laughter from the men in the room and clear distress from Jennifer’s face. Jennifer’s sin is simply her breasts and her beauty; she is punished for merely existing in her natural form. On the phone with her mother, she states, “I know I don’t have any talent, and I know all I have is my body.” She recognizes that she has no marketable skills, but with the way that society has commodified the female figure, she can use her natural assets to get ahead.

Jennifer’s plot line introduces the character of Miriam (Lee Grant), the sister of Jennifer’s husband, Tony (Tony Scotti). Miriam also manages Tony. This is interesting because all the other women in the film are controlled by men, but Miriam is not only not controlled by a man, but controls one herself. Jennifer, who seems not to have a manager, but operates as an independent, eventually is taken on by Miriam, emphasizing the way that Miriam acts as a male figure, controlling and dominating her world like men normally do. Miriam eventually sells Jennifer into porn. When Jennifer tries to protest, Miriam insists, “Tony wouldn’t know the difference.” Jennifer’s plea of “well, I would,” falls on deaf ears. Miriam views the world like a man, thinking only a husband should be offended by his wife’s immodesty, not recognizing that the woman is also a person with feelings about the exposure of her own body.

Jennifer’s whole life and career is based on her body. When she is diagnosed with breast cancer and must get a mastectomy, she states, “all I ever had was a body. All I know how to do is take off my clothes.” She is realizing that without her breasts, she will have no way of earning a living or supporting herself, as she has done her whole life. This drives her to suicide, deciding she would rather die than lose her body. The message of this scene is clear; despite the fact that society has deemed her figure the only thing that gives her value, her exploitation of it still must be punished by death. Women are supposed to surrender to the forces of the patriarchy, not use them to their own advantage.

The third protagonist, the redeemable protagonist, is Anne Welles (Barbara Parkins). Anne is introduced at the very beginning of the film through her own narration as she tells the listener that her family’s home has been around since the revolution, showing that she represents American tradition. The story of George Washington drinking from their well symbolizes that people like Anne are what give America life. This American idealization is what protects Anne throughout her career. As she enters the office for the first time to the slut shaming of a pregnant cat, the audience immediately knows that this place will not be very friendly to women. This is fortified when her boss tells her she is “too good looking” for her job and talks about getting her “broken in”. This is exemplifying the idea that beautiful women aren’t meant for work while also objectifying them by talking about women like they’re shoes.

Her romantic interest, Lyon (Paul Burke), who is also her boss, calls Anne, “barely pink” when he first meets her, admiring how young she is. He later tells her that jewelry is not for her, and that she should only be gifted flowers, specifically white ones. These are both attempts to preserve Anne’s delicacy, or “pinkness”. Diamonds and gold are too flashy for a soft spoken woman like Anne, and the white flowers clearly symbolize purity. Constantly throughout the entire film, the audience is reminded of Anne being special and unlike other “bad” women such as Neely or Jennifer. At one point Lyon tells Anne that no other girls compare to her because they can’t “stand up to her image”. Not her actual person or personality, but her image. Anne does not have actual personhood in the eyes of Lyon, but exists only as the idealized woman.

This is further exemplified when she becomes the Gillian Girl. The man who hires her says he wants someone known with Gillian exclusively. The idea here is they want her to be only an image of beauty and innocence; if she works with other brands or as an actress she becomes more than one-dimensional and people can discover that she may have flaws. Anne’s ability to maintain her image of perfection and purity throughout the entire film is why she gets to live happily ever after at the end, unlike her two counterparts. She returns to her hometown and lives out the rest of her life as the embodiment of American tradition.

This movie gets its title from the nickname that Neely gives the pills that she and the other two protagonists all become addicted to. The name, “dolls”, calls to mind a picture of girlhood and female adolescence, highlighting how young Neely is (only 17) when the story begins. Many movies of the 1960s, such as Dennis Hopper’s Easy Rider (1969) were depicting taking psychedelic drugs and having crazy trips. Valley of the Dolls shows a different type of drug use, the abuse of painkillers. Though the main characters are movie stars and models, their drug habit was likely more relatable to the suburban movie-going audience than that of Hopper’s characters. It was all too common for housewives to be prescribed “mother’s little helpers” to deal with what was condescendingly written off as “hysteria”. Another difference between these two movies is that psychedelic trips were portrayed as freeing, eye-opening experiences. In contrast, the painkillers are entrapping for the women and ultimately ruin their careers and end their lives.

The character who has the least interaction with the “dolls” is Anne. This is done to keep the idea of Anne as the “pure”, “good” character. The way she begins to take the drugs is interesting, though; she first picks up the bottle when she realizes that her long-term boyfriend, Lyon, is having an affair with her best friend, Neely. This serves two purposes. This first is that it shows that the pills are not used for pleasure, like psychedelics would be, but for numbing purposes. This also displays the corruptive force of Hollywood; it is not until the plot moves from New York to Hollywood that these women turn sour. Because of this city, Neely betrays her best friend and sweet, innocent Anne is driven to drug use.

Jennifer is seen taking the pills two times, twice as often as Anne is. The first time she takes them is when she learns about Tony’s illness. Again, they are used to numb emotional pain. The second time Jennifer is shown taking the pills is when she purposely overdoses on them to kill herself. This is the most extreme version of numbing difficult emotions a person can take, and the most obvious way that the movie could show that these drugs do not provide enjoyment but rather stop misery. What the “dolls” provide is nothingness, and Jennifer takes this nothingness to its maximum.

Neely is the character whose story is most entangled with drug use. She begins when her trainer gives her diet pills to slim her already thin figure. During this montage, the audience clearly sees Mel, the symbol of her pre-fame life, shake his head and tell her no, but she responds with a shrug, as if to say, “what’s the worst that could happen?” Shortly after, she tells Anne that she takes sleeping pills that are so strong, she has to take red pills to counteract them to wake up in the mornings, but then must take the sleeping pills again at night because the red ones have not yet worn off. Taking the pills is an endless cycle for Neely that will lead her to spiral to rock bottom.

In a following scene, Neely is seen being an absolute mess on the set of a movie, causing them to call for her husband to take her home because she cannot work under such strong influence of drugs and alcohol. When Anne and Lyon go to check on her, Anne lectures her about the danger of drinking while taking the pills, but Neely asserts that she must do so because it makes them work faster. This moment shows the desperation Neely has to stop feeling. Later on, after getting drunk in a dive-bar, having sex with some random nobody, and being robbed the morning after, Neely overdoses and nearly dies. Anne implies that this may have been intentional, despite Neely insisting otherwise. The audience is left to wonder.

During the third act of the movie, after Neely has gone to rehab and gotten clean, her older rival, Helen Lawson (Susan Hayward), brags about how she never needed pills like Neely did. Lawson claims her current sobriety is only temporary and Neely will eventually return to her old bad habits. The character summarizes Neely’s entire story with one line, “nothing can destroy her talent, but she’ll destroy herself.” Lawson’s words come true; Neely’s final scene sees her relapsing on opening night of the show she’s supposed to star in and being replaced by her younger understudy, the very thing she was afraid of. Her story closes on her drunk in an alley, screaming her own name.

To properly analyze this film, one must compare it to its source material, Jacqueline Susann’s novel by the same name. Though the movie stays true to the novel in most major plot points, there are distinct narrative changes and omissions that drastically alter the story. One of the most distinct examples of this is that Lyon refuses to marry Anne until the final scene of the film. In the novel, he marries her when they first reunite in Los Angeles. When he begins his affair with Neely, Anne is pregnant with their first child, which gives Anne a stronger motive to turn to the pills than she has in the movie. The book version of the two women are also much closer friends, which creates a more dramatic change in Neely’s character than in the film. Removing these two extremes makes Neely’s character arc less impactful.

Another aspect that was removed is Tony’s obsession with sex. An important part of Jennifer’s characterization is that she has always been made to feel that her body is her only source of value. This is added to, in the novel, by the fact that sex is the foundation for her relationship with her husband. This is only alluded to in the film with one line when they are walking in the park. In the novel, it is emphasized explicitly at multiple points. One of the reasons Jennifer chooses to kill herself rather than lose her breasts is because she believes she will lose even her husband’s love. The film likely made this change, as well as the marital change, to make the characters of Tony and Neely more sympathetic. While this goal is accomplished, it also softens the harsh realities that Susann was trying to expose in her novel.

One final difference between the film and novel is the ending. In the film, Lyon finally proposes to Anne and she rejects him, getting to move on with her life and live peacefully. She gets a happy ending. The novel ends with Anne and Lyon still married, her discovering that he is having yet another affair with a client, and her returning to the pills. This final note makes it clear that there are no happy endings for women in this city. The change is another example of Hollywood trying to show itself in a more flattering light than the one Susann placed on it.

Valley of the Dolls, the novel, was written by a female author as a way to condemn the mistreatment of women in the 1960s, specifically the mistreatment perpetuated by Hollywood on women in show business. The film adaptation tries to duplicate this commentary, but fails for multiple reasons. The first is that it chooses to save the “good girl” character. In the written work, all three stories ending in tragedy shows how no woman is safe from the effects of the patriarchy. Opting to protect the “pure” character alters the message completely so that it is no longer a criticism but a continuation of the idea that ambitious, promiscuous women deserve punishment and good, virginal women deserve happy endings. In addition, it omits important plot points that provide motivation for the characters self-destructive actions, such as Anne taking the pills for the first time and Jennifer committing suicide. By removing the catalysts, the characters are turned into cliché hysterical women. The film fails to adapt Susann’s novel correctly because it replicates the sensational bits while omitting the message. Unlike the book, the film serves only to entertain and not to critique.

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agent-cupcake · 3 years

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So happy you but up the headcanons! All of them are gems and I love them so much. Rereading the Dimitri and Felix rivalry hc made me want to ask for claude and yuri rivalry, but dark of course because both of these boys are sane and logical and would move on if they both caught feelings for you and weren't attached to you by a dark obession lol.

Sorry, I know you asked for love rivalry but I simply could not help myself and got a little carried away with seeing the so-called rivalry to his inevitable conclusion :3c

~Not that it’s probably necessary, but I had to consider the timeline for this. A rivalry between them wouldn’t fit in the events of the game because of Claude’s ambition, but he leaves the country in most endings. My solutions would be to have Claude split his time between Fódlan and Almyra as a politically active prince such as in his solo ending or to propose that Yuri would spend a lot of time in Almyra. Reasons for this could be that he went in aid of his good friend and military commander Balthus (Yuri would make for an awfully good royally sanctioned spy) or that he’s abusing the newfound system of open-market international trade for his criminal enterprise. Either way, Claude is powerful Almyran royalty and Yuri is a shady figure of the underworld. Not too unlike a story I’ve written, but this is separate from that. None of this really matters, ultimately, but whatever I like to think of how this would work out.

~Both men are powerful and ambitious. Both of them are emotionally isolated despite (or because of) their positions. They’re friends, or at least on friendly terms so there’d be a lot of overlap in social circles. And, really, they are quite similar so it’s plausible that they’d go for the same type.

~I’ve since changed my stance on reasons why Claude might develop a fixation on someone. He is concerned with the intrinsic value of a person. He values the thoughts, feelings, and especially the perception of people he is close with. Claude is also a loner, a fundamentally lonesome person who wishes to be seen and loved on his own merits despite the guard he puts up and the social games he plays. Not to say I entirely retcon my previous opinion, but I focused too hard on the idea that he would need to dehumanize you by zeroing in on utilitarian usefulness rather than be driven to darker feelings by his fear of being alone and need to find a connection.

~This all goes for Yuri too, although it’s easier for me to imagine Yuri getting his authentic feelings twisted up and dark. Yuri’s circumstances were somewhat similar to Claude’s, except that he was shown genuine affection by his mother and the old man. Therefore, he knows what it is to lose that. He learned early on what it is to have people die because of him, to shoulder the burden of guilt that comes with such profound loss. Yuri’s scarred by a brutal, painful upbringing where “love” was a commodity to be traded in for favors (even by his mother) and genuine, honest relationships became nearly impossible to comprehend. If he met you and developed those true, affectionate feelings, if he found a so-called light in the darkness, maybe it’d make sense that he’d do everything he could to keep it from losing it.

~Their similarities in this instance would work out for this scenario. Somebody useful to them, somebody authentic enough to appeal to their deeply ingrained sense of loneliness, somebody clever or interesting or fun… There’s a lot of reasons they could develop unhealthy feelings for you born out of an innocently platonic friendship.

~And it would have to be platonic on both counts. Yuri and Claude are too self-aware for them to make a move if you made a choice early on. Or, I don’t think it’d become as big of a production because they wouldn’t have emotionally invested so much in you. Leading them both on unintentionally just by having a normal human friendship is kinda sad but also kinda funny.

~They’d know that you were close with the other. Of course they would. Maybe it would hurt, but neither would express that feeling to you. Claude would ask pointed (but not direct) questions about your feelings and dazzle you with grand overtures. Yuri would work the seductive and sweet angle, trying to win your heart the old fashioned way. But, you know, with more uncomfortable subtext and innuendo.

~Something that has not changed is my opinion that Claude would be obsessive about his darker feelings. Not on a consistent, all the time basis, but more like a hobby. A puzzle he couldn’t solve, an itch he couldn’t quite scratch. He’d search for all of the pieces of you in the hopes that the final picture would allow him to understand his increasingly dangerous feelings. Claude’s not stupid, he’s really self aware. Enough to feel guilt, enough to recognize that what he’s doing isn’t right, and enough to justify himself out of the responsibility of doing amoral things for the right reasons.

~Yuri, on the other hand, wouldn’t be so… aggressive about it. He’d want you to come to him, to return to him again and again to prove to himself that what he feels isn’t wrong, to ingratiate himself into your life in a way that validated everything he felt for you and put you on more equal footing. He’d internalize everything a lot more, feel a lot of guilt about the intensity of his feelings, but he’d find ways to keep you close. Or, for you to keep him close.

~Don’t get me wrong, though, you wouldn’t get so much of a glimpse of this weaker, more vulnerable Yuri. He’d go the opposite direction of his guilt or doubt, wearing an impenetrable smiling, sarcastic, playful mask. My main point is that I see him as being more emotionally wrecked by having these dark feelings due to his self hatred. I also think Yuri would be more generally sensitive to unhealthy romance dynamics, especially if it became physical at all.

~In an interestingly twisted way, Yuri hypocritically recognizing Claude’s behavior as being dangerous would encourage him to be more proactive about his own feelings and feel less guilty about doing so. Being the protective type rather than the obsessive really just fits Yuri so much better, although I see it as one ultimately leading to the other.

~It’s not about winning. They’d be competing, clearly battling against each other for you in a way that would not only be creepily objectifying, but also emotionally strenuous, but they’d keep on insisting that it wouldn’t be about winning. They’d just want you to be happy, to be safe. They both would just want what’s best for you. And what is best for you? Just ask them.

~Claude’s argument: Yuri’s lifestyle is dangerous. He’s a good guy, Claude really does trust him, buuuuut he’s not exactly the type of man you’d be safe with, you know?

~Yuri’s argument: Claude’s not treating you right. He’s obviously manipulating you, how could you possibly miss that? You deserve better, don’t you agree?

~But in the same breath they’d both insist that if you didn’t want to be with them romantically, that would be fine. They both, truly and unselfishly, would just want you to be happy. Just want to stay close with you. Veeeeeery unselfishly.

~Their interactions with each other would be amazingly fake and aloof. Making small talk and smiling all the while vying for your attention in a nearly juvenile tug-of-war. Still, I don’t think, even through all of this, that they’d dislike each other. It’s not about winning, right? It’s not a game, right?

~Okay, so, I know the whole thing with scenarios like this is an inability to face rejection, but if you were to chose Yuri over Claude or vice versa, that’s where it would end. Committing yourself to one of them still wouldn’t work out super well because that’s the nature of giving into such dark and unhealthy feelings, but it would no longer be a rivalry.

~Let me propose, then, that you would eventually reject both of them. At first, the whole thing would have been so fun and so nice. Getting all of this attention from two powerful and attractive guys would be exciting. You’d feel so lucky, they’re both charming and friendly and kind. But then things would have gotten more intense and there’s this weird love triangle that is incredibly trite and uncomfortable and you wouldn’t have wanted to hurt either of them so it’s better to just leave it, right?

~Yuri would be more likely to use his personal feelings as a tactic of manipulation, I think. Worse, he probably wouldn’t see it that way. He knows, he truly knows, how dangerous and terrible the world could be and he’d do anything to shield you from it and his feelings would reflect that. Granted, if he felt you weren’t getting it, I don’t think Yuri would exactly be above veiled threats or bludgeoning you with fear tactics and even a dash of shame for how you’d played with both their hearts.

~Claude would do his best to convince you that you didn’t actually want to go. You didn’t have to chose either of them, but you couldn’t leave, either. That was way too dramatic. Besides… wasn’t it a little selfish? This was where you were needed, he relied on you. He trusted you. Sure, Claude’s a visionary, but what does that vision matter if the one who he shares his dreams with is gone?

~Maybe that wouldn’t work, though. Long term, it probably wouldn’t. I mentioned before that they wouldn’t hate each other, so if it came down to actually losing you, why not work together?

~Love triangles are for chumps, invest in a horribly unhealthy three person dynamic with possible kidnap and very overt tones of mental and emotional manipulation.

~That would solve all the the problems, wouldn’t it? Why would you try and leave them after they made so many compromises for you? Really, would you be that ungrateful and callous? They would both care about you so much, love you, even. Yuri and Claude would be trying to make it work despite the fact that it came down to essentially a tie in this bizarre game, why couldn’t you do your part? Landing such attractive and powerful guys, having them lay their hearts at your feet, you’d have to be a really terrible and selfish person to reject that. Not that you’d be given a lot of choice, but the devils in the details and if you fought them on this, it probably wouldn’t end up very pretty for you.

~Not saying either of them would hurt you. Physically, I mean. Probably.

~In some ways, the compromise would make the guilt easier for them to bear. The fact that they were also being forced to deal with something they wouldn’t necessarily want to would be a leveling ground for them to justify any of your unhappiness with the situation. Like, it was all an equal amount of compromise to make things work for all three of you.

~Claude would know how much Yuri meant to you and feel like the fact that he hadn’t taken that away from you absolved him of a lot of the responsibility of the other things he’d taken from you. Plus, Claude’s a distracted guy who’d lose track of things sometimes, always getting caught up in whatever project he was working on at the time, so he’d know that you wouldn’t be lonely during those times.

~Yuri would see Claude as being, in many ways, a better person than him. More out of a horrible sense of self perception than fact. So Yuri could have his piece of you with the recognition that Claude was there to balance the worst parts of himself and make you happy in ways this dark, twisty version of Yuri might not think he could.

~I don’t think that either Yuri or Claude would ever truly get along because of how similar they are and the fact that they both kinda lost to the other but I also don’t think that would be a huge issue. Their verbal sparring would be entertaining, honestly.

#claude von riegan #fe claude #yuri leclerc #fe yuri #yandere #yandere headcanons #claude von riegan headcanons #yuri leclerc headcanons #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #headcanons #i am trash garbage :)#yuri is so emo i hope it makes sense why

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hamliet · 4 years

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Who Are You, Who Who, Who Who?

Or, What Will Akugatawa choose? (The title of this meta is a song reference.)

But let’s jump in. The overarching theme of this entire arc seems to be about identity. In this latest chapter, Akutagawa and Atsushi got their asses kicked as expected by following their WWSD plan: What Would Soukoku Do?

The solution to beating Fukichi isn’t found in WWSD nor is it found in what Fukichi predicts: they need to find it in what what they can do. Both Akutagawa and Atsushi can’t be defined by other people if they’re to grow in their arcs. Yet, this is precisely at the root of both of their flaws. Akutagawa is still defining himself by what Dazai thinks of him:

And Atsushi, as Akutagawa himself points out numerous times, defines himself not just by comparing hismelf to Akutagawa...

but also by what his abuser/orphan master thinks of him...

...and also what people as a whole think of him. He needs permission to live.

Both Atsushi and Akutagawa need to grow into self-actualization, in which they recognize that they are both their own people who can make their own decisions. They can choose to live just because they exist, not only when someone tells them they can. Akutagawa may have yelled that at Atsushi way back in the Port Mafia arc, but the irony is this is Akutagawa’s problem too: he just only seeks it from Dazai.

Akutagawa claims that he hates Atsushi for believing he needs permission tolive. This claim is a projection of Akutagawa’s own somewhat-repressed self-hatred. Repression and self-hatred are both common elements in Akutagawa’s arc: for the former, think about how Rashomon, his strength, literally comes from something that covers him and he’s afraid to remove it even to bathe; for the latter, consider that Akutagawa often refers to himself as a dog yet is noted to hate dogs:

Akutagawa projects the parts of himself he doesn’t like onto Atsushi (who does the exact same thing to him; hence, they are each others’ Jungian shadow). Akutagawa projects what he wants to be onto Dazai. The irony of the latter, of course, is that Dazai himself struggles to desire to live and struggles with purpose just as much as his two proteges do. Which brings me to this scene:

Fukichi treating Atsushi like an object to hurt Akutagawa has two meanings. Firstly, it symbolizes exactly what Dazai did to Akutagawa when he was (in his mind) weak, and secondly, it illustrates what Akutagawa himself has done in treating Atsushi like a thing to be bought and sold and traded.

Dazai used Akutagawa for his strength, recruiting him for Rashomon, and then abandoned him, not caring how hurt Akutagawa was from not just the abandonment, but the abuse Dazai put Akutagawa through. (Canonically, said abuse includes mock executions.) He used Akutagawa for his strength, and then tossed him aside like trash. (Lest you think I’m ragging on Dazai, know that I love him and have written this about his arc.)

Akutagawa then repeated this cycle by treating Atsushi as a thing, defining him by his ability (even now, he still refers to Atsushi as “Jinko,” or “weretiger”), previously capturing him on the whims of others who want him for his ability. However, keep in mind that Akutagawa has not only been treated similarly, but he does not necessarily see himself as anything different. He objectifies himself, calculating his value to what he can do with Rashomon just much as he sums up Atsushi as “Jinko.”

Thus, Fukichi telling Akutagawa to kill Atsushi is like asking Akutagawa to do away with the part of himself that is weak, that questions his purpose, that wants to honor Dazai more than it wants anything else. It’s asking Akutagawa to cheat, if you will, to find an easy path back to Dazai’s side by hurting his weak side and pretending it doesn’t exist. Fukichi is asking Akutagawa to repress himself even further and to commit the ultimate act of self-hatred: killing a shadow. But at its core, Fukichi is asking Akutagawa who he wants to be: does he want to be Dazai, like he thinks he does?

See, notably Dazai did not keep his word when he abandoned Akutagawa, yet Akutagawa insists he is a man of his word. Fukichi offering Akutagawa a fast-track to ostensibly earning Dazai’s praise, via becoming just like Dazai (also keep in mind Dazai alienating Chuuya from the Sheep, which can be seen as a parallel to Akutagawa wanting to remove Atsushi from Dazai’s life)--is an excellent challenge for Akutagawa.

Killing Atsushi will not work, because there is a part of Akutagawa that has not given up the desperate desire for value in his own life. He knows this.

Choosing not to kill Atsushi would, later on, help jostle the pedestal Akutagawa still believes Dazai occupies, but for now it would be a good step in Akutagawa figuring out who he wants to be.

#bsd 86 #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #akutagawa ryunosuke #nakajima atsushi #akuatsu #shin soukoku #bsd theory #fukichi #bsd meta #jung #bungo stray dogs 86

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seancekitsch · 4 years

Text

Venus

A/N: warning for alc mentions, unprotected sex, some kinky slapping dom/sub stuff, my normal freak ass shit

Loving Klaus was easy, you found. Easy to have it open and known and free than to feel yourself wrestling with the feelings the way you had been a month prior. A month of ‘I love you’ and a month of really feeling like the two of you were a proper couple, at the very least like the two of you were real people. His siblings noticed it too, the shift. Like you were finally one of them, and it felt nice to belong. You really hadn’t ever felt that way before, not without drugs, and that was only belonging through wanting to get something out of someone else and not just the people themselves. Last week the holidays had come and gone, and you were honestly surprised his family had included you in the celebrations, despite the fact that you and Klaus had thrown them all a birthday party two months prior. Their holiday traditions were weird, donuts and eighties music and bickering, but it was nice. The week spanned on and turned to the final night, new years, finally the family happy to be seeing a year that isn’t some fucked up version of 2019 (one that Klaus has told you over and over his brother Ben was alive and absolutely cruel and you were married to your ex and clearly using) and finally ready to move on from it all. This timeline wasn't perfect, not by a long shot, but it was the one you both had together and it was the one his family fixed. Tonight was for celebrating, for dancing and drinking and forgetting your worries. It's fun, but it's only a matter of time before Klaus takes you home or to a forgotten spare room. Allison opens up her house in the city to her family and their guests. The night starts with dinner, which is a big potluck of foods that don't go together but all of the Hargreeves favorite foods. You can tell exactly who brought what, and no one is surprised by the insane amount of take out you and Klaus brought. There's cocktails which are actually made with care instead of mixed up sloppily like a child making potions out of shampoo in the tub.

It's around 11:25 when Klaus pulls you down the hall towards the guest room, shouting, “I am but a weary traveler! My Panacea and I need a respite before we keep entertaining you all!” which was met with rolling eyes and a few flinches at the abruptness of it all, but a steady fondness as the backdrop of it all.

Klaus drops to his knee the second the door is locked, and grabs your leg to hike it up. Your back comes to rest against the wall, jamming coats out of your way to get comfortable as he presses his plump lips to the shiny toe of your boot. His breath fans out, almost fogging the shiny fake leather of your boot before he starts kissing. He presses kisses from the tip of your toe up to where the arch of the side of your foot would be, then licks the rest of the way up to the ankle, moaning as he does so. A prayer, a promise, his devotion on display. This is Klaus wanting to be used, wanting to be objectified and made yours.

“I’m going to get famous again, baby.” He kisses the toe of your boot one more time before moving up and resting your foot on his bended knee. He pushes your skirt up, all the way to where your thigh meets your hip, and his hands are all over your leg as he speaks.

“Prophets gonna rise from the ashes, and this time I’m gonna build it all in your image,” his teeth rake the sheer tights at your calf, ripping at least one hole in them. They were new. “The whole worlds gonna worship you just like I do, fraulein.”

You’re halfway between a chuckle and a moan as one of his thumbs slides up into the back of your knee and the other presses a harsh circle to your inner thigh, right below where the panties of your lingerie begins, if you could even call them panties. They were a mess of mesh and lace that you saw in the mall and you just had to get them and their matching bra, even if now they seem a little gaudy. Klaus likes them, though, and got excited when you got dressed for tonight when he saw them laid out on the bed. He wanted to tear them off of you the moment he saw them, and he would do just that. His hand snakes its way up over your clothed cunt, making you groan at the contact, before he reaches the waistband of your tights and yanks them down with your panties as far as he can, pulling them to where your boots prevent them from coming off, essentially giving Klaus control of how much you can move during this tryst. Its now that he puts your leg down, letting you stand up straight again in front of his bent figure.

“Hit me,” he begs. Klaus’ eyes are blown wide with lust, even in the dark.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Hit me, slap me across the face,” he begs again, “Make me hurt, tell me ‘Klaus I want you to bleed for me’ I’ll do it.”

He gets this way sometimes. Arousal floods your system in the same vein as concern. If Klaus wants to be hurt, he’s usually already hurting.

“No, Klaus we don’t have time, let's talk about it,” You say, already sinking down onto your knees to join him, to cradle his face in your hands and to make him feel better.

“Doc, Doc there’s nothing wrong. I need relief. It's like, like a cure.Yeah. I’m hard as a rock, love, I need relief.”

Purely kinky. Consensual. If it's what Klaus wants, who are you to deny him of it? You rise up onto your feet again, preparing yourself to hit him. To Klaus, even in the darkness, he can make out that you look like something otherworldly, bigger and greater than human. You wind back, apprehensive but willing to do anything for him, something he recognizes not casually. As your open palm makes contact with his left cheek, a shuddering moan makes its way up from deep inside his stomach, out through his throat and past his lips orgasmic in execution.

“Again, please.”

And you indulge him twice more, until you're sure the hot skin on his face is reddened. There's a certain kind of thrill in knowing that your hands will leave a mark on him, that he’ll enter a new decade with your hands printed on his visage. Those three slaps are good enough to sate him for now, as he rises back to his feet, pressing his lips to yours as his hands go straight to your hair, any semblance of style you had put to it would be out the window in seconds. He backs you against the door until you hit it, then you both start to slide to the floor. He guides you down gently, taking extra care to remember the tights holding your ankles hostage, and lays you down against the hardwood, the warmth of his old faux fur trim jacket like a blanket to cushion you as he pushes your skirt back up to your waist.

He bends you in half, pulling your legs up to meet your chest; your boots clanking together on his shoulder as he pushes into you, immediately filling you to the hilt. This angle is nothing short of divine for you both, your legs pressed together making you feel just that much tighter wrapped around Klaus’ cock, and the angle leaving you mercilessly open to his thrusting.

“This is the tightest, wettest little cunt I've ever had the pleasure of serving,” Klaus whispers as he pulls out and slams back into you before setting his pace.

He's fast, working against the clock, and against every nerve ending in your body. You don't try to stifle the moans as his thrusts rock your entire body along the floor. He fucks like a man with a gun to his head, hitting you deep each time, a staccato of his name falling from your lips as he pants and growls in your ear. You feel your orgasm coming before you can warn him, and the spasming of your body surprises you both earth shattering, convulsing waves of pleasure hit you, and all you can do is cling to each other as it ruins you. The spasming of your muscles triggers him as well, and you can feel every drop of hot white cum that he shoots into you, filling you deep.

He kisses you, muttering little ‘I love you’s as he pulls out, gently pulling your thighs off his shoulder and pulling your panties up; rolling your ripped tights up with the utmost care and dedication before you reach for him again to help you stand, shaky knees and dizzy from his affections. Love drunk as well as martini drunk, ready to face midnight.

“Klaus, Klaus I need to find a restroom before we go back out there. I need to clean myself up.” You can already feel his sticky white dripping out of you, no doubt making an irreversible mess of those panties he liked so much. It would be uncomfortable to sit, to move unless you got to the bathroom and got yourself fixed up. Klaus whips back around to look at you as his hand grasps the doorknob.

“Don’t you dare, you venus in furs, let it be a reminder of what's going to happen when we get home.” there's pure evil in his tone and in his smile, “Plus, you'll miss midnight if you run off on me.”

He pulls the door open and leads you back out into the festivities.

#klaus hargreeves x reader #klaus hargreeves smut #klaus hargreeves fanfic #klaus hargreeves imagine

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years

Text

Title: In The Act {3}

Chris Evans x Famous OFC Cassia Drake

Warning: Plot, Cursing, Plenty of Words

Word Count: 5.5k

Summary: After the release of your hit movie “Roman Holiday,” you’ve become Hollywood’s new “It Girl.” Everyone wants a piece of you. While at a Hollywood event, you get pulled into an epic selfie similar to the one from the MET Gala with the megastars of Hollywood. The next day all anyone can talk about is this epic picture but not because of the star power in it, but what was happening in it.

Note: Yep, another one.

**Loosely Edited/Proofread**

**Heavily Interactive**

Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊 ❤️❤️

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 |

Thank god for slow mornings. You couldn’t think of the last time you were able to wake up without Pieter either standing over you or walking into your bedroom. He was the only one your mother trusted with you, and he just so happened to be a big shot entertainment manager. When you told your mother that you intended to pursue a career in acting, she was livid. She went on a tirade of the number of black actresses who either had to do questionable things to even have a minor break and those who just were used and turned away. She stressed the vast inequalities in the entertainment industry and worried for your mental and emotional health in the cruel industry. She didn't want you anywhere near the entertainment industry. She wanted you to fall into her second career field and be a lawyer.

It took months of you doing it on your own before you got your first role, it was small, but you played the shit out of the third black friend to the white lead actress then did it again and again and again. After your fourth role, your mother came around and brought Pieter into the mix. You knew of him from the industry. He’d been in a few tabloid magazines standing next to a few actresses. Your mother introduced him as her school friend from back in the day. You wanted to question her, but you knew better than that and just accepted the story she fed you. You always suspected there was more to it. The two of them sat you down for three hours to have a meeting on your goals with the industry.

After you went on and on for an hour, they went on and on for the next two outlining what needed to happen, how you needed to take things seriously, and put thought into the roles you auditioned for and so on. By the end of the meeting, you were on information overload, and that was when your mother told you the only way she’d be okay with you in this cutthroat town was if Pieter managed you. There was nothing in you that wanted to say no, so you said yes. That was two years now, and it had been a rollercoaster from the beginning.

Once in your kitchen still in your bra and panties, you perused the shelves in your fridge and took out the huge fruit salad you found there. After smelling it, you settled that it was still good and hopping onto the kitchen island and turned on the TV. As you ate, you flipped through the channels determined not to go to anything that required a brain cell. After a few moments of searching, you decided to finish the episode of Castlevania you’d started weeks ago.

You got lost in the lore of the Dracula themed animated series and the deliciousness of the fruit you were eating. You’d tuned everything out so well that you didn’t even hear anyone approach.

“Cassia!”

“What!”

You looked back to see Tiffany with her head poked around a corner looking at you.

“I think you’re gonna want to come out here,” she said with a look on her face you didn’t recognize.

“Uhh—why?”

“Just come look.” With that, her head was gone. Sighing, you pressed pause on the show, hopped off the counter, stabbed a piece of honeydew, and walked to where she’d disappeared. When you walked out of the kitchen and down the hall to your foyer, there sat a rather large floral arrangement.

“What the fuck is this?”

“What does it look like?”

“Flowers,” you answered before you shoved the fruit in your mouth to stand beside Tiffany.

“Duh.”

“Who are they from?”

You both stood there, just staring at it. They were gorgeous.

“I don’t know. I have been trying not to grab the card,” tiffany added. You looked at her; there was a wide ass grin on her face.

“It’s probably from Vouge thanking me for the photoshoot yesterday,” you surmised as you approached the arrangement. The scent of roses was powerful but not overwhelming.

Grabbing the card, you glanced at the front to see your name written across it. You didn’t recognize the handwriting. When you opened it, you scanned the words written, expecting to see “thank you.” Instead, you saw the words, “I’m sorry.” Bringing the card closer to your face, you read the words. Each word you read, your eyes bugged out even more and more until your jaw had dropped.

“What? Who’re they from?”

“Not Vouge.” Tiffany walked to you and took the card from your hands and read it aloud.

“Cassia, allow me to begin by extending my most sincerest apology to you for first my behavior the night of the fashion event and second the position I have put you in with the press. I am embarrassed and ashamed of my actions and behavior,” Tiffany began before she looked at you with eyes wide.

“Is this who I think it is? Oh my god, Cass!”

She dropped her eyes back to the card and continued. “I am embarrassed and ashamed of my actions and behavior, and I deeply regret them. I am very sorry, and I want you to know that in no way did I mean to objectify you or your body. I have two sisters and a strong Italian mother, and I was not raised that way at all. I hope that you can forgive me and my actions and not hold it against my family. Please accept these flowers as a token of my most heartfelt apology. Sincerely Chris Evans,” Tiffany finished with the squeal of his name.

“Oh my god! Cass!”

You’d been frozen in place for the last two minutes as she read the card. There were a plethora of things running through your head. One of which was the number of formal words he’d used.

“Oh my fucking god! Cass, is this his handwriting? It looks like it could be, it’s legible. Oh my god.”

You heard Tiffany reread the card, and as she did, you turned back to the flowers and observed them. You took notice that the flowers were all in your favorite colors. That made you wonder if he knew your favorite colors, or this was just a florist’s decision.

“Why are you so quiet? Why aren’t you freaking out?”

“Do you think he knows my these are my favorite colors?”

Tiffany looked back to the arrangement then let out a “hmm.”

“Do you think he specially researched you in order to send these? It is possible. this card sounds like he put a lot of thought into it.”

You took the card from her and reread it for yourself. She was right; the handwriting wasn’t horrible, by no means was it gorgeous, but it was nice. You began to wonder if he had, in fact, written it himself.

“Are you going to reply?”

That was the million-dollar question. You didn’t see a need to. Even if you did, what what you say? Thank you, Mr. Evans, for apologizing for looking down my dress. Though I enjoyed the attention, and I am flattered, It was highly inappropriate? Somehow that didn’t seem right.

“No need,” you answered before you walked away toward the kitchen and your fruit salad.

“What!”

Tiffany’s footsteps were loud as she trudged behind you.

“Why wouldn’t you reply? This could be one of the cutest meet-cute stories for your grandkids.”

“Oh my god, Tiff, grandkids? Are you insane right now?”

“Girl, don’t even try and lie and say you don’t think the man is fine.”

“I never said he wasn’t attractive.”

“Attractive? Cassia Anjelique Drake, you know you a damn liar. The man is more than attractive. He is gorgeous,” Tiff corrected.

“And he knows it, Tiffany. You can tell. I bet part of him thought he could have gotten away with x-ray visioning me, and no one would have called him out for it.”

“Cass,” Tiff began before you cut her off.

“—We’re not responding,” you finished turning back on Castelvania.

You knew Tiffany did not approve and also knew you hadn’t heard the end of it. You tried to focus on the show, but it was useless. Your mind only wanted to think of one thing—or person. Chris Evans.

Your day was just for meetings. Pieter had set you up with six meetings for the day. The first three were about movie roles he thought would suit your brand. They were all varying roles, one the lead in an action flick, another the love interest in a rom-com, and the third in a sci-fi type dramady. He said the worst thing in the world was being typecast. With Roman Holiday being a romcom, you knew he’d want your next role to be on the far opposite side of the spectrum.

The roles sounded exciting, and the scripts intrigued you. When they began talking about the expected salary for the films, you were impressed. They were practically throwing their money at you. You couldn’t believe the money actors actually received for a few months of work. Yeah, the schedule could be daunting and preparation never ending, but millions of dollars for maybe five to six months of work was just fine by you.

After the three movie meetings where you agreed to take the scripts and reread them before you got back to them, you moved on to a meeting with your team to discuss the next three months for you while going over the last three months. This happened quarterly, and you found the meetings insightful. They kept you on track with your goals and kept things in perspective. Your mother always said you are only as good as a capable team around you.

Your team comprised of your agent, Eduardo, whose job was to hunt down all the roles he could for you and field calls and interest from anyone and everyone in the business. Second, your publicist Julez, her domain was everything concerning your PR. Her job was to make sure that everything about you in the public remained favorable. She was good at what she did, and took her job seriously. Then was your lawyer, Martin, who was the second-best entertainment lawyer in the business. The best as far as you were concerned was your mother. His job was to keep everything legal and make sure no one tried to take advantage of you business-wise. Fourth, was your accountant, Greg. He was your money man. He made sure every cent you agreed upon with your contracts, was sent to your bank account and that every dime in your account was accounted for at all times. He even helped you invest that money, so it always grew. Then came your part-time stylist, Frenchie. Her job was to keep you looking incredible when she was needed. Finally, there was Pieter who oversaw them all. Tiffany nicknamed them Star Team, in honor of your name.

Though you’d learned to listen and follow along when they talked, you had to admit most of the information was boring to you, so you often drifted off. You never felt guilty about it because Tiffany was always recording the meetings and inventorying them for you if you needed to reference them later.

“Okay, is that all?” Pieter looked around at their faces around the conference table.

“One more thing, Julez began. “Have you decided how you’d like to move forward with eh-em, Boobgate?”

The murmurs around the desk picked up before Julez went on. “The media seemed to love your snarky, comedic comeback, Cassia. They are now doing most of the work for us by calling you good-spirited and easy-going for shrugging it off. A lot of the comments since are in good fun. I don’t see anything negative to come through, so I’m going to say we’re staying in good parameters. I have noticed though a great increase in searches about you and your overall name being mentioned. People love talking about you and Chris,” Juelz finished.

“Why wouldn’t they? They look gorgeous together,” Frenchie added.

“That seems to be the overall consensus. It is fascinating even those in his fandom do not seem to be spinning this negatively, which is always a concern with him and his team,” Juelz informed.

That was not news to you. When you had yet to make your big break, you followed celebrity discourse, and the Chris Evans fandom was insane. It seemed any little thing set them off, and once a fire was sparked, it would burn for weeks. With your rising fame, you worried about things like that on your end and being swept up in someone else’s insanity.

“So let’s leave it there. Let the media run with it where they will. We’ll do and say nothing on it. We’ll let this work for us,” Pieter finalized.

Everyone nodded before he called an end to the meeting, and everyone began to leave the room. Before you left, Pieter took the time to remind you about your last meeting of the day and share the news about a few other side projects he’d been working on for you. He shared that within a week or two, he hoped to be able to share the full news but that he was excited at the turn talks had taken today. You were curious but knew if you asked him to elaborate, he would only shoo you away, promising it would be a good surprise. He had your mother’s trust and had earned yours, so you allowed him to keep his secrets—for now.

After your last meeting, you found yourself home alone before midnight. This was the first time you'd been able to get any alone time. As you made it in your bedroom, you realized the flowers were now perched on your bedside table. They were even more beautiful in the glow of the moonlight that was shining through your balcony windows. Tiffany must have sent a message to the housekeeper to move them there.

You took up the card and reread it, all the while smiling. It was a sweet apology note and a kind gesture. You were surprised Julez didn’t bring them up in the meeting until it dawned on you that either she didn’t know which meant they came directly from him and not his assistant or team or she didn’t want to put you on the spot. While she technically answered to Pieter, she knew your money was what paid her salary. That meant you and her had an understanding about your PR needs. You liked discretion on things that no one else needed to know. This—you didn’t want Pieter knowing about. There was no need for him to know. It meant nothing.

The next day before you left your house, there was yet another bouquet and the card that accompanied it read; “Just in case you didn’t believe the first card I sent with the first arrangement I wanted to double down to make sure you knew that I am very much sorry.”

Tiffany didn’t say one word, all she did was give you a look, and that one look said plenty of things in one. “Heifer, you better reply to that man and live your life while swinging from his chandelier butt ass naked.” You had no intention of doing anything that look said.

The next day, another bouquet was waiting for you. this card was a little more amusing. “The first bouquet I could say you possibly didn’t receive. I know your life is busy, and anything can happen, but the second one, eh, less believable that you didn’t get no matter how much my pride is screaming at me that you didn’t just to save face. This one, I am sure you got, I had my assistant take care of it and attach a delivered and received receipt. So you responding is a purpose thing, and that makes me think I fucked up really bad, so bad that flowers won’t fix it, and you don’t forgive me. So I propose an alternative option. Allow me to apologize in person and explain myself. You pick the time and the place, and I’ll show up.”

When Tiffany saw this one, she lost her shit. She went on a full twenty-minute speech on why you should respond and accept his proposal. She went through exhibits A to Z as to why this was a good idea. She conveniently skipped the letter P knowing damn well the only thing you both could think of was Pieter. You knew that if he knew about any of this, he would flip his lid. When she included in her argument that you could make all of his dreams come true that he’s had all his life but was too afraid to inquire about.

You allowed her to go on her rant but still decided against responding or meeting him.

~~~~~~~~

-2 Days Later-

“So Cassia, everyone wants to know about this picture that is still the talk of the town. You haven’t made a statement, Chris hasn’t made a statement. What gives?” Ryan Seacrest’s question had you giggling.

“Nothing gives, Ryan. Not everything needs an explanation. Sometimes as humans, we have to learn to be okay with what is,” you philosophized.

Silence stretched for a full ten seconds before everyone around you busted out laughing, including yourself.

“Wow, I almost fell for that,” Ryan added, making you laugh louder.

“Darn, I almost got away with it.”

“You would have if I really didn’t want an answer,” Ryan slid in.

“Ah, everyone wants an answer, Ryan. I don’t have an answer to give.”

“You weren’t there?”

“No. It was my twin sister, Alicia.”

Another long stretch of silence filled the room. You could tell they were trying to figure out if you were telling the truth. “See, you guys are easy,” you teased, making them laugh again.

“So, you’re really not going to make a statement?”

“I went to an event and met a lot of cool people and had a great time.”

“Did you and Chris Evans leave together?”

“Not at all.”

“Did you exchange numbers?”

“Nope.”

Another silence befell the room, and you knew they didn’t believe you. For the next five minutes or so, you finished the interview while keeping tightlipped about the hottest topic. When you left, you were met with the paparazzi yet again, who were shouting new questions.

“Cassia, are the rumors true?”

“What rumors, guys?”

“That you’re in a relationship with Captain America himself.”

You tried to hide your shock before you quickly spoke.

“Who said that?”

Tiffany snorted beside you, no doubt thinking of her favorite gif.

“It is all over social media,” one of the paparazzo informed.

“That’s news to me,” you finished as your security got you to your truck. Before you got in one more question was screamed at you.

“How’d it feel to have Captain America checking you out?”

You couldn’t hide your smirk this time, and it was a smirk that only got bigger and bigger. Before you cheesed like a full-on idiot, you ducked in the truck.

“Your smirk said it all,” Tiffany said as you facepalmed.

After a quick trip to the market for some essentials, you made it home to finish reading the scripts you needed to have done in two days. When you walked inside, you ignored the second bouquet of flowers, Chris sent you the day after the first and went upstairs. Once in your bedroom, the third bouquet he sent yesterday caught your eye. The first one was a shock, the second a surprise, the third confusing.

After your shower, you walked back into your bedroom to find another bouquet that wasn't there thirty minutes ago. You knew they were from him. This was now amusing. What was his angle, you thought to yourself as you crossed the room to the flowers. Taking a deep whiff of them, you moaned. You loved the scent of Gardenia. They always put you in the frame of mind of romance and sensual rolls in bed. With that thought, you paused. Was he trying to tell you something?

Grabbing the envelope, you noted it was a lot bigger than the cards that accompanied the other bouquets. Once opening it, you saw a sheet of paper that felt heavier than standard paper, and with it came what you now knew was his handwriting. “Okay, after thinking about this for the last week trying to figure out what it is about me that you don’t like or won’t even entertain. Let’s start with the massive elephant in the room; I’m white.”

You had to laugh out loud for that. After almost a full minute of laughter that made you have to sit on your bed, you continued. “I know a major turn off, and unfortunately, it’s not something I can change. However, I can assure you that though I am white aesthetically, I am not fully white in any other department, and yes, that includes dancing.”

Again you laughed, dropping onto your back while flailing your legs in the air. He was on a roll; you thought before you continued. “Second, it must be you’re not into white guys. For that, the only thing I can offer is I’m not against wearing a paper bag to hide the fact that I am, in fact, white. It would be a case of none are the wiser. If, however, your gripe with me is my behavior from nights before, I promise I’m not a sleaze twenty-four hours of the day. I am capable of looking directly into your eyes for an entire conversation, I promise. Let me prove it to you. 424-947-5639.”

Your jaw dropped. Chris freaking Evans just gave you his phone number. You couldn’t move for the next ten minutes. You just sat there in a stunned stupor. You couldn’t believe this was real. Half of you was fangirling because hello not too long ago; you were a fan. You still were. The other half was freaking out because Chris Evans just gave you his phone number. Was he just being friendly, or was he shooting his shot?

MSG: Question.

MSG Tiff: Answer for two hundred Alex.

MSG: How does one shoot their shot?

MSG Tiff: What? Cass, has it really been that long since you’ve made the first move?

MSG: Do you know who you’re talking to? I’ve never made the first move. That is beside the point. I’m not talking about me shooting my shot. I mean when someone shoots their shot at you. What exactly does it look like?

You saw the bubbles knowing she was probably writing a long ass message. Almost a minute later, the message came in.

MSG Tiff: Uh, were you not present at the Laker’s game when the Sixers were in town, and Jonah Bolden stopped the game to come over and shoot his shot?

You laughed. You hadn’t forgotten that, mainly because it was everywhere the next day. The two of you talked for a few weeks, but your schedule and his had things fizzling real quick.

MSG: Yeah, but he was black, Tiff.

That was when the facetime call came in. you rolled your eyes but answered it. “So are we asking what it looks like when a white guy shoots his shot? Is that to lead me to think you mean a particular America’s ass?”

“Oh my god, Tiff. Just answer please,” you pleaded with exasperation.

“I need to know who first. White guys shooting their shot do not come in one size fits all. So who?”

Rolling your eyes again, you told her and prepared for the scream. It was as loud as expected.

“Okay, I knew he was feeling you. A man doesn’t look at any ol breasts like that,” Tiffany joked before she continued. “He looks like he could have game, but it could be cheesy game. Did he send you more flowers?”

You turned the camera to the new bouquet, and she melted. “Oh my god, those are to die for. They just get more and more beautiful. He definitely put research into this one. you love gardenias.”

It was true, and the thought had crossed your mind. When she asked what the note said this time, you read it to her. It had her laughing just as hard and long. When you mentioned that he ended it with his number, she screamed again.

“Call him!”

“No!”

“Cassiopeia Anjelique Drake! The man has shot his ultimate shot,” Tiffany shouted, using your entire full name.

You rolled your eyes and dropped back onto your bed.

“I can’t call. Pieter will freak,” you excused.

“Fuck, Pieter!” It came from the depths of her soul, you could tell. “This is your life, your pussy!”

You face palmed yourself again. She had to go there.

“I’m serious. I know you’ve heard the rumors from that comedian he dated, and he swears his fingering is accurate, and you have seen his beard. A man with a beard like that is good for one thing.”

You screamed and died again. She was in prime form right now.

“Cassia.”

Groaning, you sat up and sighed out. “I gotta go Tiff, I’m supposed to have a video conference in ten minutes, and I’m sitting here in a towel. I’ll call you later.”

“When you call me, you better be telling me that you talked to that man,” Tiffany shouted out as you were ending the facetime call.

You quickly got yourself together, and presentable then made it to your office to prep for the conference with the scripts. Seeing how far behind you were with the scripts, you show the participants a quick email to push it back by a few hours. Then you buckled down to actually get some work done instead of thinking about the real reason Chris Evans had a beard.

Two hours later, you were on the conference and going through the script line for line, film direction after direction. If one script would have taken an hour to go through, then three took you triple the time. By the time you’d finished for the day, you were all talked out, exhausted, and starving. Glancing at your phone, you saw missed calls from Tiffany and your mother and groaned at the fact that it was after one in the morning. If you’d have known following your dreams meant bye-bye to normal sleep hours, then you may have thought twice.

With the craving for the most unhealthy crap raging within you, you got into your car and went for a drive. While the time meant not many were out, you knew anywhere in the heart of LA would be a mistake. You drove half an hour out of the way to Pasadena to the burger spot you found by accident. It was no Shake Shake, but it offered two of your favorite things in one place, Burgers and Pies.

As you walked inside the small shop, you smiled, grateful it was practically empty. You walked to the back of the retro style burger joint and sat in the last booth. Deciding it was safe to drop your disguise, you took off your hat and sunglasses and took a deep breath of the glorious smell of burger and pies. You weren’t waiting long before a waitress came over with a note pad.

“Welcome. Can I take your order?”

“Yes, the Big Ben burger with the works, please.” She looked at you like you were insane.

“Are you sure? That’s a big plate,” she warned. You smiled and nodded.

“Oh yeah. I haven’t eaten all day,” you assured.

“Okay. How would you like it?”

“Very well done, please.”

She nodded as she jotted your order down. “Anything to drink?”

“Ginger Ale with a lemon slice, please,” you finished before she nodded and walked away.

You really liked this place. It was one of the few places that still had a jukebox. Digging into your purse, you pulled out a quarter then walked to the device that wasn’t too far from the booth you’d chosen. As you perused the selections of old and new music, you tried to gauge the mood you were in. It had been a while since you were able to sneak away on your own. You were in the mood for some relaxation but a bit of fun. You tapped in the key combination and turned the knob, and waited for the tune to play. When the oldie by Rihanna “Pon de Replay” came on, you began flicking your hips from side to side until you began winding it. You heard the distant ring of a bell that signified someone else had entered the restaurant, but it didn’t register, you were too into the song.

When you really got into it, you dipped it low as instructed and began singing along. That was when your entire body got into it, and you tapped into your own inner bad gyal. When you turned around, you yelped loudly, drawing the attention of the waitstaff to you. Before you stood the person, you least expected to see. The crooked quirk of his lip gave him the most roguish look you’d ever seen, a look that shouldn’t have turned you on the way it had—but it did.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Chris teased with an impossibly deep voice. It never sounded that deep in interviews, you thought to yourself before your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. His cerulean eyes fell from yours to your mouth, and you watched as his tongue slowly slid across his lips. Your nipples beaded painfully, and you didn’t need to look down to know that if anyone looked, it would be more than noticeable.

Why are you turned on right now, you questioned in your head. There was no logical reason for it. Yes, he smelled—incredible. There was no way anyone should smell that good; it was impossible. He smelled like fruits, sea salt, sunshine, vanilla, and a very appealing musk. He smelled like he took four showers a day and took pride in being groomed to perfection. The more you thought about it, the harder your nipples got.

“Cat got your tongue?”

Clearing your throat, it came out most exaggeratedly with a long high pitch. Chris’s brows wrinkled as he looked at you as if there might have been something wrong with you.

“Uh—are you okay?”

Instead of words, it was terrifying giggles that came out, making you sound like a deranged, cackling Hyena. The look on Chris’s face only became more concerned. You cleared your throat again this time more naturally and straightened your back.

“What’re—what’re you doing—here?”

“In a public restaurant?”

“Yeah, this public space,” you clarified before you crossed your arms over your breasts. “It’s mine.”

“Yours? You own it?”

“No, but it’s my secret place.”

“Ah, I see. If it was so much of a secret, then how did I find it?”

He was contesting you, challenging you. It was at this moment you got the vibe from him that he was the type of man who liked to debate, compete, and win. A man like that should have had your red flags blaring, but no red flags were waving. The only thing that was waving in front of you was a deep curiosity to know this man in a way that you hadn’t wanted to know anyone before.

Shrugging, you walked back to your table and sat. He approached you all the while, never taking his eyes off of you. You bit your bottom and tried to keep your thoughts boring. Before either of you could speak again, the waitress came back with your order.

“Big Ben burger with the works and fries and a ginger ale with lemon slices.”

When she put it down, she looked to Chris, who dipped his head low and pulled down his hat. The woman looked as if she might have recognized him, but she didn’t speak; she just peered closer. You cleared your throat and slid your plate closer. It was enough to distract the woman.

“Will there be anything else, honey?”

“No, thank you.”

“And you? Will you be staying or going?”

Chris looked to you with one eyebrow raised. Your eyes met, and you saw the question in them. It was a mix of a question and a challenge. He expected you to answer. It would give you the control of the situation, and it would also make it so you’d have to blatantly turn him down in front of his face rather than ignoring him as you’d been doing the last few days. You bit your bottom lip and took a deep breath. You had enough balls to turn him down right here. You’d done worse to other guys—a lot worse. The question was, did you want to do it to him.

When you locked eyes with him again, an amused smile spread across his lips. You bit your bottom lip again and sighed.

“He will be staying,” you answered.

The waiter looked to you then to him and nodded. Chris slid into the booth before you still keeping eye contact. The longer he looked at you; the more unnerved you became.

“All right, what can I get you sugar?”

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

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

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

Tag List:

@chaneajoyyy @caramara3 @sonjashuterbugjohnson @dangerouslovefanfic @maxcullen @momobaby227 @night-of-the-living-shred @naturalthrone22@redhairedfeistynerd @thotti3evans @jovanaprime @queenoftheworldisdead @queenshikongo3 @euh-say-what @mrsbarnes-rogers @jd-now-jq now @ashanti-notthesinger @90sinspiredgirl @evemej @minton131 @jamesbarnesappreciationclub@toniilaney @titty-teetee @areubeingserved @kikimiyazaki@nervousninjatheorist @cyntgefel01 @vintageembrace @smediumsmeatbae @naturalthrone22 @livinglifeformemyselfandi @onetwo3000 @ajspencer1892 @theskullgoddess@champagnesugamama @minton131 @pananegra @scoop93535 @try-n-pronounce-it @dumbchick @behindthesehazeleyes27 @blackmissfrizzle @nervousninjatheorist@dangerouslovefanfic @give-me-a-million-dollars-pls@thinkxlovexloud @chris-butt @starlite-starbrite @alyxkbrl@angrybirdcr @d1ff3r3nt-b34uty-official @twinx007 @a-dizzle777@ab-baybay @patzammit @kreolemami @aysha1447 @cutewylie @disaster-rose @wondersofdreaming @lo-cheu @livinglifeformemyselfandi @magdelen69 @snowpiercer21 @renfrewscorner @thevelvetseries @mery-be @hakunalive4eva @anandalambert @youurkryptonite @mizcaptainphoenix @bobbdylann @emilykjhgsj @littlepreciousangel @ssaarroonn @thummbelina @sweetlittlegingy @art-estrange @torntaltos @rynabarnesrogers @rororo06 @anotherblackfangirl @bernie-k @theonewithherheadintheclouds @hista-girl @coldmuffinbanditshoe @jennmurawski13 @deathstroke-terminated-deez-guts @shadyskit @someone-really-bored @thejemersoninferno @itsallyscorner @cristinagronk16 @shakemeupthanks-blog @acciolove724@straightforwardly @zsuzstyina @acevansss @evansgirl7 @rdjparker @deadlymistress24 @sunkissedebony97 @turn-thy-paige @amelatonin @nerdybitchpudding @amennariee @shar74nett @likesfairytales @vintageembrace @maverickabull @est1887 @periodtcevans @thotti3par7on @productofchina @winchwm @jesseswartzwelder @pivictorious @anat2507 @euh-say-what-now @raveviolet @actorinfluence @sadishdelray @ljstraightnochaser @041802 @evermcfearless @tashawar @dwights-new-plague @miss-jackson500@renfrewscorner @baby-iyania @brwnsugababe @evansshine @spideydobrik @laketaj24 @munteanhore @almosttherebutnot @priya212 @richonne4life @cyntgefel01@brownskinafro @chrissbabybunny @simply-heaven @queenoftheworldisdead @chrisevansfanfic @bforbbgirl @wowthatsbrazy @thejeneralvicinity @doublesidedscoobysnacks @richonne4life @cyntgefel01 @supernaturalvikingwhore @blackgurlkillinit @fanfictionaffair @sia2raw @nervousninjatheorist @wonderlandfandomkingdom @partypoison00 @rynabarnesrogers-reading @lady-x-red @ibe-erynn @nakusaych9 @madixii @chrisevansdaddycap @zsuzstyina @kittykatlow @queenshikongo3 @beccacupcakesxo @nakusaych9 @xoxloaveasre @naturalthrone22 @blackgurlkillinit @littlepreciousange @queenshikongo3 @blackmissfrizzle @supernaturalvikingwhore @littlepreciousangel @purplehairgawdess @readsreblogsfics @vlvtkyss @misz-adrii @wowthatsbrazy @deadpixie22 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @marvelatthis30 @chaos-crusader @coffeebooksandfandom @vintageembrace @perplexed3001 @iceebabies @smediumsmeatbae @naturalthrone22 @mrsbarnes-rogers @brownskinafro @winchwm @onetwo3000 @sarswilltakeyouout @crist1216 @itsjustyazz @deadpixie22 @cessamjrmr @simply-heaven @offrostandstarlight @shar74nett @cltex84 @minton131 @actorinfluence @nina-sj @mery-be @tenaciousperfectionunknown @chezdricks @fanfictionaffair @unknownmystery22 @marvelfansworld @pananegra

***There are a few that are bold that I tried to tag but your @ wasn’t coming up. I’m not sure why. I’m sorry.***

#In The Act fic #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x black reader #chris evans x ofc #black fanfiction #slow burn fanfic

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nevermindirah · 3 years

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I am but a sad little trans man who absolutely wants to know your thoughts on immortals capabilities to transition because I have thoughts and they make my depressed little trans heart hurt because how in the world could they transition if their bodies heal everything?

Hi! Sending you hugs because I've been struggling with the exact same thoughts! I wrote this lil meta last month but I don't like it and my brain keeps interrupting things like my job and trips to the grocery store to get me working on this puzzle.

From what we see in the movie, our elderly friends have regular-human healing, just faster and MORE, plus magic. We have canon evidence of how this works with wounds/injuries and can infer from there about how their immortality would handle infections, genetic/physiological/autoimmune/etc disorders, malnutrition/dehydration/etc, mental illnesses, and dental stuff, as well as things that bodies do that aren't necessarily bad but often need medical care — like pregnancy and gender transition. (I’m not a medical professional, just a nerd who loves a good Wikipedia rabbithole.)

Let's start with an easy one. Nile's hand healing after she stuck it in the fire is just a lickety-split version of what would happen to a regular human with a small skin wound: clotting, inflammation, rebuilding, healed.

When Nile yeets herself and pharma bro out the window of the topmost tower, we see the same thing happen again but bigger, plus we see several of her bones pop themselves back into place, and presumably any blood vessels that got torn up magically correct themselves under her skin. Humans have been surviving injuries like major bone fractures for a very long time but a bone that heals without medical intervention to realign the fractured pieces might heal at a new angle, meaning it doesn't work as well anymore, and it might cause damage to surrounding organs/tissues and leave a lot of scar tissue or a chronic wound. But Nile only needs Booker and Nicky keeping her upright for barely a minute and then she's walking around on her own just fine.

A large wound that breaks deeply through the skin, like Nile's sliced throat or Booker's exploded abdomen, can be survivable for a regular human if it doesn't irreparably damage critical organs and if you can get medical attention before you bleed out, but even with modern medical intervention the results are rough. Jay and Dizzy aren't wrong for being deeply weirded out by Nile's flawless neck: even with the best plastic surgeons in the world on the case, closing up a wound like that will leave scar tissue that affects both appearance and function.

So, we've got immortality magic moving bones back into place, restarting stopped hearts and lungs and brains, rebuilding major structures like arteries and intestines, healing up wounds without scar tissue, pushing out bullets, and otherwise handwaving the big stuff. But it's not a magic wand, it’s a process, and bigger wounds take longer. It's like these people's mitochondria have little gnomes in there with schematics to rebuild their bodies to factory default.

From how these bodies handle wounds we can infer that they'd handle pathogens / infectious diseases the same way: inflammation, white blood cells attack, byebye plague see you never. And if these bodies are resetting bones and rebuilding organs, they're probably also correcting genetic disorders and shifting around physiological problems like bone spurs. So let's keep on inferring.

What if, instead of every death erasing hormone replacement therapy and gender-affirming surgery and leaving a trans immortal detransitioned over and fucking over again, what if the magic that governs immortality considers dysphoria-causing body parts just like any other wound to heal?

What if Booker is a trans man, and he's got that sweet muscle mass and that height and that beard that comes all the way up his cheeks because he's been on the wonder drug that is testosterone for over 200 years? What if immortality was all "we see you've been hung from the neck until dead, and your eyes have been pecked out, and also you have all these hormones that turn your body into a shape that makes you miserable — we're gonna fix all that" and then regenerated his pecked-out eyeballs and unsnapped his neck and undid the results of months of insufficient food AND ALSO started pumping him with the fantasy version of HRT so his chest started to reduce and his fat redistributed itself and his beard started coming in?

Who's to say that's not how it works?

All my dysphoria is social — I'm fine with my body for the most part and I CANNOT STAND when people assume things about my gender, because of my body or for any other reason. We see pretty clearly with Booker that mental illness isn't magically healed the way physical injuries are, and I think that's because the causes of mental illness are a combination of physiology/chemistry stuff and things like our beliefs about ourselves and the world, our experiences of trauma, and our experiences of getting our needs met or not. If I were immortal I could maybe break up with my SSRI, but it wouldn't stop me from getting misgendered — I'd still have to find a way to cope with the ongoing trauma of that. Having to navigate hundreds of cultures' ideas about gender when my gender is "uhhhhh" sounds like absolute hell for me, no thank you, do not want.

But for my fellow trans people whose dysphoria is primarily body-related, and for my social-dysphoria pals whose gender is something nearly every human being would recognize and all they need is to pass, how about let's make an executive decision that immortality includes HRT for anybody who needs it, with no psych eval or begging your insurance company or poking yourself with needles, and just like with wound healing it's like regular HRT but faster and more. HRT so powerful and so magical that it gives you the best possible version of the results you want and none of the results you don't. If I had the option to go on HRT for just like one or two changes but not the whole battery of things I would fucking do that, and if I were to join our elderly friends, maybe I could.

This might be easier on transmasc immortals than transfeminine ones, because testosterone's effects are basically impossible to reverse. But also you can't just keep waking back up after repeatedly drowning for 500 years, so fuck it. We're making an executive decision here.

Estrogen that grows your breasts and softens your dick but doesn't lessen your ability to orgasm. Immortality magic that makes your beard go away and maybe shrinks your height an inch or two or six. Maybe Quynh is trans and one time a few thousand years ago she got injured in battle worse than Booker's grenaded belly and she woke up an hour later with a vulva and a uterus and now her body is just like that. Factory reset.

I subscribe to the "God made wheat and grapes but not bread and wine so humans could share in the act of creation" model of transness and I personally feel very weird about the idea of immortality magically giving a trans immortal cisnormative genitals the same way it resets bones. There's no one right way to have a pussy or a dick, you know? Maybe Quynh woke up from a catastrophic gut wound in like 800 BCE with a constructed vagina rivaling the best our modern money can buy, without a uterus but with a clit that's just as magical as anybody else's.

I've been thinking about writing a Book of Nile fic with trans man Booker, which is why the two of them are most of my examples here. It would include porn, because apparently I can't write more than 1500 words about them without writing porn, so I need to think more about what's going to feel good for me and other trans people who might read it and won't accidentally facilitate cis people objectifying us. Like, I've thought in a lot of detail about what a clit enlarged by that many centuries of testosterone might look and feel like, and that specific experience is not mine so I'm treading carefully.

Cis people are welcome to reblog this! Fellow trans folks are welcome to join me in the act of creation on this post ;)

#trans things #fandom friends #tog meta #tog #book of nile #fic ideas #transphobia #dysphoria #gore #long post #mine

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mynameisdreartblog · 3 years

Text

Analysis of Ween’s ‘Ocean Man’

Ocean Man is a song that Ween has described as something that formed together like magic falling into place. But like all magic, there are hidden mechanisms behind it that necessitate going being the scientific method. For a long time, this song has remained pleasurable but incomprehensible, yet I plan to decode it. The first life of “Ocean man, take me by the hand, lead me to the land that you understand”, while also being a reference to Echoes by Pink Floyd, is also an invitation to be taken to a world of wonder and whimsy. The world being referred to is what I call the ‘village under the sea.’ It was a term coined by Jacques Cousteau to describe his endeavors to build underwater habitats for humanity to experimentally live in, but it also applies as a general ontology of the ocean in respect to humanity’s place as a lifeform on Earth. It asks of us to view the sea in the ways that Indigenous Polynesians have, in that there is no separation of place by terrain: The sea is just as much habitable land as any continent or island.

In asking us to understand the land, we’re also being asked to understand the sea for ultimately there is no difference between land and sea other than that which comes from trying to objectify the oceans. “The voyage to the corner of the globe is a real trip” is contradictory because there are no corners to the ocean: It’s an entity with no boundaries except constructed ones. The trip you’ll go on is one that’ll take you into a worldview where you’ll be able to understand that you cannot objectify something as mighty and powerful as the ocean. Given the psychedelic context of this album, you will indeed ‘trip.’

“The crust of a tan man imbibed by the sand, soaking up the first of the land.” This is an indirect description of humanity, especially a man in the Western world in 1997. The human is imbibed by the sand, meaning the hot, dry sand is absorbing him, leading to him having crusty skin like someone who has tanned for too long. He’s soaking up the thirst of the land because man has become so familiarized with the essentialism of dry land that he forgets that life has managed to live successfully outside of it. It all reverts back to the desire to deconstruct these destructive Western terrain classifications that stopped us from appreciating the impossibly complex ecological harmony of the life that exists just below the surface of the ocean. The surface of the ocean has historically acted, to Westerners, as just inhospitable land that needed to be crossed. Cousteau radically challenged this view by using popular science as a medium to explore and document the ancient world that was right beneath us, introducing the technology of scuba to better aid the cause of inciting civilian interest in the oceans and thus a sentimental value to their preservation beyond the unforeseen economic ones.

“Can you see through the wonder of amazement at the overman?” This references the concept by German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche of the Übermensch originally described in Thus Spoke Zarathustra, which simply defined is a man who rises above the dogmatic moralism of conventional Christianity to create his own values that, out of resistance, refuses to impose it upon others. In the context of this song, it can have two meanings: One, the ‘ocean man’ as a figure is fascinated by seeing this external overman figure and is being questioned as to whether not he can overcome their own illusionment for what they really are, positioning the ‘ocean man’ as a symbol of native marine life and the overman as the Western man who has historically not cared for or acknowledged them. The transcendence of Christian morality could, in this case, be an acceptance of a worldview that objectifies the ocean and marginalizes ocean life and leads to the indirect destruction of Cousteau’s ‘village under the sea.’

Two, the ‘ocean man’ is also the overman, and that seeing through the wonder of amazement is recognizing that, as a human being, the ocean man sees the overman as a picture of what he can become if he sheds his Western ontology of the ocean and embraces it as a sacred element to his existence. Literally, this is transcending centuries of what Christian moralism has made of the oceans as mere barriers in the path of evangelization: To become the overman, the ocean man must embrace a journey to transcend this dogmatism and find a new morality constructed on his terms and his relationship with the ocean.

“The crust is elusive when it casts forth to the childlike man.” We’ve established before that the crust refers to the residue of life adjusting to living entirely on land, and it becoming elusive means it's hard to find. Reference to the ‘childlike man’ could be referring to a man who has shed these imposed ideas of how they should interact with the world, and thus become once again like a child with unbridled curiosity and earnestness about the world. The child doesn’t objectify the sea and obtains an ontology akin to Indigenous Polynesians, albeit in a much more microcosmic environment.

The childlike man is equivalent to a Western scientist, like Cousteau, who takes up a sudden and profound interest in the ocean and specifically the village that lies at the bottom of it. The crust is no longer there because the childlike man isn’t limiting his idea of home to just dry land, thereby minimizing the crust. It’s not a stretch to believe that, in some way, the character of SpongeBob functions as a cultural icon functions in this way: He’s extremely curious and earnest about the world in a way that differentiated him from most protagonists of ‘90s cartoons loaded with postmodern cynicism. SpongeBob is also the highly relatable protagonist in which we’re exposed to the world of Bikini Bottom, another representation of the village under the sea.

“The sequence of a life form braised in the sand, soaking up the thirst of the land” Braising is a method of cooking which involves lightly frying something and then slowly stewing it in a closed container. The light frying is the intermediate period of moving away from that Western, landlocked crust and preparing to enter into the village under the sea. While the slow stewing is, like a sponge, absorbing the ecological order of everything around you. The goal of this is to reorganize your idea of ecosophy (philosophy of ecological order) away from what Western ways of life have traditionally concerned themselves with.

The thirst of the land you’re soaking up takes on a double meaning here, in that you’re now soaking up the subconscious desire man has to understand the world it has moved away from. It desires to understand the ocean as a simultaneously new and old frontier: One more mysterious than even our own star systems. The thirst of the land is now being quenched by the childlike man who sheds the crust of Western natural ontologies and pursues intimacy with that it has evolved out of so many eons ago.

The last part of the song I want to touch on is every verse beginning with directly addressing this figure known as the ‘ocean man.’ I’ve heard some analyses before say that he’s a mythological hydrophile who symbolizes liberty at sea away from the laws and restrictions imposed upon land, but I think it's more specific than that. The 'ocean man' just refers to anyone who teaches you to rethink the oceans, whether that be Ween with the entire album, Jacques Cousteau and his series of pop science documentaries, or Stephen Hillenburg and his titanic cartoon series. All of these make the effort to try and change how Western society has historically thought of the ocean through some form of inquiry

In Ween’s case, I think it was some psychic force that influenced them on that night in Jersey Shore to write an album that pushed culture not only sonically but also subliminally like in the ways I’ve expressed in this analysis. All of it was made to make you understand that there's a village under the sea as much as there are villages above the land, and it’s ironic how recognizing this is considered ‘alien’ when this worldview is far more ancient than what we’re used to.

With this understanding, it makes a lot of sense why this song was chosen to be the ending of the SpongeBob SquarePants Movie, as the show was a culmination of influences that stretched from Cousteau to Ween on Hillenburg’s life. And what does SpongeBob attempt to do at the end of the day but teach us to become overmen to the ontologies imposed upon us? To children, SpongeBob is a character who first fills his heart with love and then tries to be himself as a departure from media that previously told children to be themselves blindly. What if your self is corrupted? What if it’s crusted from being so used to something as great and magnificent as the ocean being objectified and desanctified? When you take the ocean man’s hand (Stephen Hillenburg’s), you become SpongeBob, and your heart fills with a familiar sense of earnestness that he felt when he studied marine biology.

#ween #spongebob #spongebob squarepants #philosophy #nietzsche #jacques cousteau #cousteau #post-structuralism #ocean man #stephen hillenburg

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freebooter4ever · 3 years

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i’ve seen the discussion going back and forth on boundaries and sexual objectification, and i don’t have much to add to the conversation other than to say everyone is allowed to determine their OWN ‘lines’ and just because we don’t vocalize them doesn’t make them any less valid. but here’s the limits i set for my blog if anyone feels it is important for them to know (<3):

personally I consider ‘characters’ fair game for anything goes, with ‘public personas’ a little more iffy. ‘RPF’ isn’t new - it just takes on a new more accessible/visible form nowadays. i remember reading my first fic about a ‘real person’ back in my LOTR fandom days - it was a story in first person perspective about the main character meeting orlando bloom on a plane before he was ‘famous’. like a lot of these types of stories, it wasnt so much about the person as it was about the meet cute. the actor was just a convenient placeholder with a handsome face and some personality quirks thrown in to make the romance/dialogue more specific. i personally dont read much xReader fic nowadays, but mostly only cause i’m an old fart who can’t relate to the ‘you’ format. i miss the good old days when people actually created OC’s and then inserted them into things LOL. but also LOL if you think i’ve gone an entire year of quarantine without some imagined personal fantasies of joe mazzello (or steve aoki in the years before)(ramilicious can attest to this. she can also attest to most of these fantasies ending in friendship rather than anything explicit cause that’s just how i roll these days lol). the line i draw is i would never post these types of fics in a place where the subject could accidentally find them - you have to go looking for this stuff on tumblr, most fics are given explicit ratings and under read-mores. with the blacklist tags it’s pretty easy to filter things out. its even easier to add filters to ao3 searches. i am NOT going to do something like message steve aoki and say ‘yeah i watched that movie Ibiza like five times, here is my 1k fic where you’re the dj and i’m the one night stand’. but obviously people still enjoy imagining scenarios like these otherwise movies like Ibiza wouldn’t exist?

for art, i consider anything already on display up for grabs, we all know a certain person’s ass is all over the place...all you have to do is google ‘need for speed’ and rami’s name. HOWEVER, in the case of actors i personally would not draw anything more explicit than what’s already there. i’m not gonna draw full frontal nudity for rami (unless he gifts us with it in a movie, i suppose) or anyone. this is 100% a personal choice for me.

i was a sophomore or junior in college when i volunteered as a figure drawing monitor where i’d time the nude model’s poses and help them set up the stage and lighting and such. there was this one guy in his mid forties probably, a regular who came every week, and i always thought of him fondly till one day (the day after i ran into my Hot Programming TA during dinner and later sent him an email begging him to go on a date with me because i was desperate for kissing experience)(and Hot Programming TA emailed me back within minutes saying yes) this artist guy who i saw all the time and thought i knew fairly well, decided to draw me instead of the model. which would have been fine except he drew me naked. i was NOT naked at the time, i was wearing a shirt, and a bra, and a full prairie skirt with alternating calico and floral patterns. he drew what he imagined was underneath all that. he came up to me after the figure drawing session and showed me his drawings and told me i had been ‘glowing’ and my response was to laugh it off awkwardly and get the hell out of there as soon as i gave the model their pay check. but inwardly i was thinking a) i was NOT glowing for this creepy man twice my age and b) i did NOT give him consent to sexualize my body under my clothes and then SHOW me that objectification. i never said anything to him or anything else, i continued to be the monitor, and i continued to field off creepy advances from him including multiple job offers, but when i finally realized i could just...stop..and i passed the student volunteer monitor job on to my friend naeem, i also realized that what that older male artist did was NOT ok in my book. and it was probably not something he would do while naeem was monitoring.

nowadays im working in an industry that regularly objectifies female bodies. in the past year alone i have had to deal with requests to make breasts bigger, i have been given character rigs that in addition to the usual elbow, knee, and spine joints also have ‘nipple’ joints but ONLY for the women (to make them jiggle for animation), every time i send out a female pose i get it back with notes that push it further into the sexy type of body language reserved for women (twist the spine more! sway the back more! give it ‘energy!’), i have been told to erase wrinkles and fat and pores but ONLY for the women (men you ADD pores bc realism! and manliness!) and this is all me working for a company that is actually fairly progressive in terms of sexism compared to OTHER studios.

like it or not, sexual objectification is a huge part of specifically women’s lives and how we react to that is our business. for me, turning the tables and putting men on display feels like fair’s fair. i cant stop the men from doing it, so if i want to enjoy sexualizing male bodies, damn it im gonna! like dang it, boy do i want to send steve aoki a thank you note every time he posts a video of himself doing those ice baths during the sunset golden hour bc holy shit gorgeous or working out in his gym wearing VERY little clothes, but i dont because i know what its like when someone imposes their personal fantasies on the subject. or, god, there was that time i had to unfollow nicole’s insta for a while bc i had a very explicit dream about her and realized, shit, i need to take a break and get my emotions under control before i can refollow. and god some of the stuff i see dudes sending her during her live videos on mental illness/meditation is TOTALLY gross and not something they should be confronting her with. and she’s not even ‘famous’ famous. or how some fans send their idols explicit direct messages without consent. THAT feels inappropriate to me.

a part of me feels like i shouldn’t have to defend this. men don’t. they’re even encouraged in mass media to sexualize women. but i also recognize the importance of talking about consent. the importance of recognizing that a celebrity deserves to have their boundaries respected. these are my lines in fandom. other people have different lines they won’t cross, and that’s okay to me. i block or blacklist any blogs or tags i think go over the top.

heck, even in fandom-only spaces i still try to keep my own more sexual fantasies off this blog and only in private messages with my friends and mutuals, and i feel like that might come across as unintentionally prudish or judgmental sometimes. i’m not ‘horny on main’ very often. but like...every time i reblog that particular ‘washing machine’ gif of joe mazzello am i thinking about him naked and thinking about how he’s got very loooooong feet, and ‘gee i wonder if that means /other/ things are Too Big for my tastes’ but also ‘gosh wouldnt that make a pretty picture to draw’???? hell yeah.

i dont know who is gonna actually read this essay but yolo i guess :)

#journal shit

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