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uchihacore · 4 years

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newton’s third law

PAIRING: keishin ukai x reader SUMMARY: every action has an equal and opposite reaction WARNINGS: nsfw, pegging, blowjobs

You frown at your reflection in the tiny rearview mirror, rubbing at the edge of a purple mark peeking out of your shirt collar. You hadn’t noticed it last night, but then again, you hadn’t really noticed much outside of Keishin calling you ‘Princess’ as he sat you in his lap and pressed a vibrator between your legs. And really, can you fault yourself for that?

Lucky for you (or rather for lucky for Keishin), you always carry a tube concealer in your purse, just for these types of situations. You pull out the tube and dab some concealer onto your tender neck, gently patting away the cream until it blends with the rest of your skin.

“Sorry 'bout that,” Keishin says from the passenger seat. You can see him from the corner of your eye, and he’s grinning like an idiot, which makes sense because he is an idiot.

“No, you aren’t,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. You need to get him out of your car before he makes you late for work, or worse, a student sees you with him. You pack the tube away, pulling out your lipgloss as Keishin shrugs unapologetically.

“Nope, not even a little bit. But really,” he says, leaning in closer until you can feel his breath on your ear, “can you blame me? Seeing you all marked up, having to hide my hickeys at school, it’s so hot.”

“Nice to know you’re turning into a caveman, Keishin,” you say. And blush because the heater is on and not because of how close he is, the bruise on your neck tingling, “but not everyone gets the luxury of working for our mommy. Some of us have real jobs.”

(Which, admittedly, is a low blow. Especially considering he coaches the boys’ volleyball team for practically nothing, and gives Karasuno students discounts on like half his inventory.) You purse your lips together to rub in the lipgloss, fighting back an apology.

“And yet, here you are,” Keishin notes, seemingly unruffled. “Hiding my artful love-bites under a layer of makeup. Real job and all.”

“Get lost, Keishin,” you say, rolling your eyes. You toss your lipgloss into your makeup bag and turn to him. “I have classes to teach.”

“Of course you do. Have a good day at work, Princess.” he says, and the ballsy bastard actually kisses you before getting out of your car. You give him your best-unimpressed glare, and his smile widens when he turns and sees your expression before heading into the store.

And okay, yeah, maybe you a part of you is blushing and giggling on the inside like some idiot schoolgirl, but only because you’ve been treated like many things in your lifetime, from bitch to queen to child, but no one had ever made you feel like the Keishin does, like an actual, honest to God, princess.

But the other part is trying to figure out when he got so cocky, and how you’d allowed that to happen. Before you can contemplate further, a group of third-year students passes your car, and you put the car back into drive. Suddenly self-aware of how strange you must look mooning after the Sakanoshita Store guy, of all people.

You ponder it on the walk to your classroom, your sex life, or whatever it’s called, with Keishin Ukai is excellent, you’ll be the first to admit. He’s the first man ever to make your voice hoarse from moaning. But the last thing you want is for him to get a big head over it. He’s annoying enough as it is, thanks.

No, you need to get Keishin back down to Earth, somehow. He needs to be taught a lesson, taken down a peg.

And just like that, it hits you. Throwing a glance at your class, who are all too busy with morning pleasantries to notice, you pull out your phone and do a quick google search, you find the article you’re looking for and skim it. You’ll need to do some after-school shopping, but you’ll gladly sacrifice that cute skirt from H&M for this. You put your phone away and neatly write a line of notes about the kinematics on the chalkboard, drawing a smug little smiley face in the corner. Oh, this is going to be fun.

Your next 'meeting’ (because what the fuck else are you supposed to call it?) with Keishin is on Friday, and today is Tuesday. If you stop at the sex shop tonight and get the supplies, you’ll have two nights to figure them out. Which is essential because the last thing you want is to be unskilled in front of Keishin. He’d never shut up about it.

The school day passes by in a blur. You faintly remember scolding Nishinoya for using Tanaka as a springboard and a brief conversation with Hinata about the ‘epic highs and lows of high school volleyball’. Also, the concept of mitochondrial DNA had been clunking around your headspace for most of the day which was odd because you don’t even teach biology. Still, mostly you were just focused on the tantalizing idea of giving Keishin a taste of his own medicine.

You drive to the sex shop two towns over, as opposed to the one just off the highway, partly because it’s cleaner, but mostly because there’s less of a risk of seeing someone you know. You’d hate to have a student catching you buying a strap-on. Oh, the rumors.

The salesperson is a heavily tattooed girl with electric blue hair and a black heart stamped on each freckled cheekbone. She’s really helpful, though. She takes her time explaining just how all the buckles work, and which dildo to buy to fit into which harness, so do your best not to judge her too harshly. She also recommends buying silicone-based lube over water-based lube, because apparently it lasts longer and isn’t harmful in anal sex the way it is in vaginal sex.

So you give her a five-dollar tip for her troubles, to which she responds by giving you the toothiest smile you’ve seen in your entire life and telling you your boyfriend has no idea how lucky he is.

Which you give her another three dollars for because she’s completely right.

(About Keishin not knowing how lucky he is to have you. Not about him being your boyfriend, because he’s fucking not, okay?)

You bring your goodies home, feeling like you always feel after shopping: like you’ve just gotten a load of Christmas presents, and they’re waiting to be unwrapped. You have the presence of mind to hide the black and red bag in your oversized purse before entering your building. Just in case you happen to share the elevator with one of the old ladies on your floor.

Once you get into your apartment, you lock your door and layout your purchases on your dining room table, immediately picking up the dildo to test its weight. You’d picked a sparkly ribbed one, not because you particularly like it, but because you can’t wait to see Keishin’s face when he saw it. You’re pretty sure it’ll end up somewhere between shock, reproach, and begrudging amusement.

It’s the same abrasive yellow as Keishin’s bleached hair, average-sized, chosen more for entertainment value than anything else. You slot it into place then give the shaft an experimental tug to see just how well the metal ring in the harness holds it in place. Satisfied with the result, you examine the nubby, double-pronged vibrator on the opposite end of the harness. It’s supposed to go inside you when everything’s in place, so you get something out of it while you fuck Keishin senseless.

Though you’re reasonably sure that the very act itself of fucking Keishin senseless would have you curling your toes, you’re not about to deny yourself some extra stimulation.

You test the silicone lube between your fingertips. It feels weird, like the silicone-based face primer you’d used in high school, though this was less powdery and more expensive. You test on the skin above your knee, curious to see how long it takes to dry off.

While you wait, you take all of your clothes off, hanging up your blazer and throwing the rest in the hamper. You examine the harness, it’s an intimidating contraption of black nylon and silvery buckles, but that doesn’t deter you. You’re a high school science teacher, thank you very much. You explain physics to teenagers all day. This is nothing compared to that.

And actually, when you fit it onto your hips, it’s not too bad. A strap goes around each thigh, like a bikini, and one loops around your waist. You tighten the straps and peer down at the yellow, glittery penis now hanging heavily at the apex of your thighs. Huh. So this is what penises are like?

You grip the base and stroke up, grimacing at the sensation of your hand skidding over the rubber. Oh. Lube. Right. You squeeze some lube onto the dildo and start stroking again, much smoother this time. You hate how good the angle is; no wonder guys get so picky about handjobs. You fist it for a few minutes, feeling the vibrator bump against your clit. Which, considering its not even on, has no right to feel that good.

Once you get used to the way the dildo moves within its ring and how to compensate for the way the straps shift on your hips, you take the strap-on off and clean the dildo of lube. The stuff is way better than water-based lube, and you can’t wait to see it in action. You pack the strap-on and the lube back into the bag and leave it in your bedroom. Then you take a seat at your dining room table, pulling out a stack of ungraded papers instead. Time to spend some quality time with Marie Curie.

The next two days are validating, if nothing else. Keishin’s decided to go full little shit and keeps sexting you in the middle of your lectures like you’re supposed to just be able to explain oxygen theory of combustion after receiving a text detailing just how hard his cock is. You’d given him your best glare and sent a lengthy email telling him to fuck off, but to no avail. Plus, yesterday, he showed up at your office hours after practice, covered in sweat, and looking ridiculously hot, “just to say hi.” You won’t let it bother you, though. He’ll get what he deserves soon enough.

By Friday afternoon, you’re a mass of nerves and vindictive anticipation. Keishin’s been shooting you heated smirks all day. At lunch, he purposefully spills a packet soy sauce all over his hand just to seductively lick it off each of his fingers. You think it really speaks to your libido that, under the righteous indignation, you were actually pretty turned on by that. Stupid fucking Keishin, getting you hot and bothered with convenience store dumplings, of all things.

You’re practically vibrating when you open the door to your apartment at seven sharp, tamping down on your anxiety. You give Keishin your most relaxed, most expectant smile, and he responds by giving you that stupid(ly sexy) smirk and thrusting a bottle of cheap wine your way.

“Hey, Princess,” he says, bending down to peck you on the cheek. “How was your week?”

“Um,” you blink at him owlishly, thrown, “fine?”

“Really?” Keishin asks, stepping into your apartment and closing the door behind himself. As soon as the lock clicks into place, he’s on you like a starfish, head tucked into your neck. “Because mine’s been torture. All I can think about is how gorgeous you look under me. Over me. Everywhere. God, you drive me nuts.”

You feel something heavy in your chest. You bring your hands up to card through his hair. “I know the feeling.” Because all jokes and exasperation aside, Keishin’s under your skin in a big way, pumping you full of something that tastes like burnt, thick sugar and smells like Valentine’s Day chocolates. You’re drowning in Keishin Ukai, and you fucking love it.

“Do you now?” Keishin stills, then his hands change directions on your back, one scooping down to you ass and the other up into your hair. “And how does it feel, Princess?”

Oh, and there’s the smarmy little imp that’s been harassing you in school. Your lips curl into a devilish smile, out of Keishin’s line of sight, and you lean your weight into his hold. “Oh, I’m not sure I can even explain it, Keishin,” you sigh woefully. “Maybe I should just show you instead.”

“I think I could get behind that,” he agrees, pulling back. “Maybe even literally.” He leers down at you, eyes dancing with mirth.

“Classy, Ukai.” You snort despite yourself. “Remind me why I ever agreed to have sex with you?”

“Is that a request or an invitation?” His hands fall to your hips, thumbs rubbing lazy circles into your hipbones, “I accept both.”

You purse your lips, whether to fight a grin or a scowl, you’re unsure. “Let’s take this to the bedroom,” you suggest. “I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” Keishin grins. “Lead the way.”

You set the wine bottle on the table and lead him by the hand to your room, hips swaying, nerves were forgotten. This is going to be so much fun. You open the door to your room, watching Keishin leap onto the bed. “Close your eyes and take off your clothes,” you order, unbuttoning your blouse. Keishin inhales sharply, eyes falling shut as he peels off his shirts and wiggles free from his pants. He’s already half-hard, boxers just beginning to tent.

“Can I open my eyes yet?”

“Not yet, no,” you replied, opening the drawer and pulling out your bag of tricks. you slid the strap-on into place, tightening the buckles with confident, practiced accuracy. “I thought we’d try something different today. Just the thought of it has kept me wet all week.”

Keishin twitches in his boxers, fists clenching on the edge of the bed. “Now, I’ve got to know. ”

“Open your eyes.”

Keishin blinks them open, freezing when they land on the dildo. You stroke it slowly, delighting in the way a ruddy blush works up his toned chest.

“Oh,” he says, sounding faintly disappointed. “I thought….”

“You thought you could tease me all week at school and get away with it,” you supply, baring your teeth when he flinches. “Newsflash asshole, every action has an equal and opposite reaction. So, what do you think of my cock, Keishin? I picked it out special, just for you.”

Keishin shudders, bowing his head in supplication. “Tell me what to do,” he says, voice gone hoarse.

“Answer the question.”

“It’s, uh,” Keishin stammers, glancing up at it, “it’s very… pretty?”

“Damn straight, it is,” you growl, striding toward the bed in long, slow steps. “What are you going to do with such a pretty cock, Keishin?” And wow, where is this coming from? You’re just supposed to fuck him and get it over with. This aggression is all-new, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel good. And, judging by how hard Keishin is, you assume the feeling is mutual.

“Can I suck it?” he asks meekly, eyes pointedly not meeting yours. A total display of submission. You approve. You move to stand in front of him, positioning the cock at his lips, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Keishin groans, reaching out to suck the head into his mouth. He bobs his head, working deeper down your shaft each time. You bite your lip, feeling a hot wave of arousal work down your spine. He’s beautiful like this, cheeks hollowed around the length of yellow, sparkly rubber. Your hand leaves the base to cup the back of his head, and his hand takes its place. He pulls back to suckle at the head, eyes looking up at you heatedly.

Fuck.

“So pretty,” you sigh, hand petting the dark hair on the nape of his neck. “I can see why guys like this so much.” Keishin’s eyes flutter shut, lashes long against his cheekbones. “What do you think, Keishin? Do you like sucking cock?”

Keishin moans, sucking as deep as he can go. When his eyes meet yours again, they’re desperate. His free hand moves to his own cock, pulling it out of the gape of his underwear.

You freeze, pulling his head back by the grip in his hair. “Did I say you could touch yourself?” Keishin shoots you a pleading look, but you’re already pulling out of his mouth, dildo shiny with spit. “Take them off, get on the bed. Hands and knees.”

He stumbles to do your bidding, cock dark red and angry-looking. You pick up the lube from where you’d placed it on the nightstand and kneel behind him. The lube opens with a wet click that makes Keishin jerk in surprise. You spread the lube liberally on your fingers, reaching out to trace one over his hole, teasing. Keishin mewls and pushes back, eagerly. You feel another gush of heat between your legs, pushing the finger in slowly. You work the finger in and out, curling it down to find his prostate. You find it on the fourth try, judging by the way he keens and clenches around you.

The second finger is met with a little resistance, and Keishin takes in a deep breath to relax his muscles. You kiss the small of his back in praise, scissoring the fingers once you’re able. This is a lot more intimate than you’d expected it to be, working Keishin open like this. It fills you with a strange sense of responsibility, you want to do this right, you want to make it good for him.

“Just relax, Keishin,” you whisper, as he whines and clenches around your third finger, “you can do this. We can stop anytime you want.”

Keishin heaves a great, shivering breath, but he relaxes. You work as slowly as you can, pushing against his rim more than thrusting in until he’s loose enough to take you. You squirt more lube onto your fingers, pushing them slowly into him until he takes them all the way to the knuckle. You make sure to graze his prostate every few thrusts, only content when he’s moving back to meet you thrust-for-thrust.

“M'ready,” he whispers, sounding wrecked. You pressed a kiss his hipbone in sympathy. “Want you.”

“Okay,” you say softly, pulling your lube-slick fingers out of him. You lube up your cock quickly, pressing the tip to his rim. “You sure?”

“Do it, Princess,” he says, wriggling his hips, “or I’ll start bringing bananas for lunch.”

You huff out a laugh, rolling your eyes. “Idiot.” You hold the cock firmly in one hand, pressing it carefully into him. His breath hitches and stops, and he leans into the intrusion. You press a wet kiss to the back of his neck when the head slides in. “How’s that?” You ask, moving slowly until the base of the dildo is pressed against his ass.

“Gimme a minute,” he manages, shoulders locked with tension. You hold your position, rubbing soothingly over his back and down his flanks. After a minute, he moves, shoulders relaxing. “Go slow, okay?”

You murmur an “okay” and pull out an inch. You move back in, starting a rhythm of tiny thrusts. You only lengthen them when he grows impatient and flails a hand at you. You pull out almost all the way, then shove back in, gasping when the vibrator buzzes to life over your clit.

You begin moving in earnest, grinding into him to feel the vibrator flutter against your clit. God, it felt good. You shift to the right a little, and Keishin moans, all high and whimpery and divine. You move to hit that spot again, grinning when he chokes out another moan. You angle yourself so that all of your thrusts will meet that spot, draping yourself over his back to work a hand on his cock. He’s hard as a rock and dripping pre-cum as he twitches under your touch.

Keishin makes a broken sound and works his hips, thrusting back onto your fake cock and forward into your fist. You feel the world spin around you; this was by far the hottest thing you ever done with anyone.

And you think Keishin might agree because thirty seconds later he starts babbling:“ fuck, I’m gonna cum. Shit, feel so perfect inside me, please, let me cum, tell me I can cum, please. I need you to say yes, please.”

You suck in a breath through your teeth. He wants you to give him permission? Oh, fuck, yes. “Cum for me, Keishin, wanna see you cum around my cock,” you command, voice deeper than you’d ever heard it. Keishin whimpers, and he’s cumming, hips spasming. You watch his hole clench around your cock and feel yet another gush of heat, this one dripping down your thighs. You continue to move inside him until he gasps and pulls away. You pull out slowly, groaning at the way his skin tugs around the length of you.

He flips onto his back as soon as he’s free, fingers racing to undo the buckles of your harness. “You didn’t come.” He huffs, tugging at the straps, “I wanna make you come. Please let me.”

You shove the strap-on away, throwing it half-way across the room. “How do you want me, Keishin?”

Keishin collapses, rubbery, on the bed. “Sit on my face, Princess.”

Fuck. You can do that. You move up until your knees bracket his head and hold yourself over his face. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he whispers, kissing the dampness from your thighs, working up to your center.

He licks into you delicately, mopping up all of your juices. You’re hypersensitive already and gasp into his teasing touches. Keishin slides his tongue inside you, curling it upwards. You keen, grinding down onto his mouth before you can stop yourself. You move to pull off to apologize, but Keishin holds your hips down, face more blissful than you’ve ever seen it. You run your fingers through his hair, swiveling your hips over his mouth.

“Need you on my clit,” you gasp and Keishin hums (which, okay, wow) and sucks your clit between his lips, sliding two thick fingers into you. He licks and sucks at you, pushing you farther and farther closer to the edge, but it’s the gentle nibble that finally pushes you over it. You scream soundlessly, fingers scrambling for purchase on the bed. His hands keep you from falling off his mouth as he licks you down from your orgasm. When you mewl in discomfort, he presses one last kiss to you clit before pulling away.

You collapse next to him, thighs sore and blissed out.

“Learn your lesson?” you asked him sleepily, eyes closing.

“No wonder none of the boys are failing physics. You’re quite the teacher,” Keishin nods, still panting slightly. “Though, I think you may have to go over it again sometime.”

You laugh and turn to look at him. He’s smiling back at you, eyes soft and happy. The heavy feeling in your chest returns, and you feel like you can’t breathe. You lean in and kiss him, ignoring the way he tastes like you. His own flavor was much sweeter. “I think we can manage that,” you whisper against his glistening lips.

He lazily tangles his hand in yours and brings it up to kiss you knuckles. “Good.”

When you wake the next morning with muscular forearms wrapped around you, you panic for a moment before remembering who it is and relax into Keishin’s embrace.

#keishin ukai x reader #keishin ukai imagines #keishin ukai scenarios

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rubyredsparks · 3 years

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An Imposter’s Heart

Relationships: Anxceit (Platonic), everyone else is just friendships

Characters: Virgil, Janus “Deceit”, Patton, Logan, Roman, Emile, Remy, various ocs

Tags: Among Us, Video Games - Freeform, Magic, Friendships, Queerplatonic Relationships, Cursing, Platonic Relationships, Chronic Illness, Card Tricks, Mentions of Quarantine, mentions of burn scars, mentions of vitiligo

Word Count: 3175

Summary: Quarantine sucks, especially if you're a chronically ill streamer and let's player. But it's nice to have friends and partners there to support you all the way.

And to accuse of murder.

AO3

"Is this your card?" Janus smirks when he holds up an eight of hearts, his audience clearly freaking out when it inevitably becomes clear that it is in fact their card. “I thought so, goodbye.” He clicks the button that takes him to the next participant.

“Hello,” he says, tipping his hat. While it has become difficult in getting gigs booked when he’s an amatuer magician (he’s not so much amatuer but young) becoming a MeTuber actually has become a much more entertaining way of living his dream and fucking over other people’s minds with illusions.

It’s much more fun, and much more lucrative.

“You’re that— that magician snake guy. Uhh, Deceit, right?” the participant says, clearly recognizing him. “I recognize you because of your whole—” a hand waves in front, gesturing towards a cheek.

Janus has never been one to shy away from his scars or his vitiligo, embracing them as his aesthetic and as much of his character as he can. And Virgil says it reminds him of scales and he definitely plays that up with makeup, adding to the whole snake character.

Janus nods in the affirmative, “I’m just here wondering if you can guess how I do this card trick. Would you like to guess?”

“Yeah! My grandpa was a magician and really liked to do card tricks. Maybe I can guess it!” they say eagerly.

Janus chuckles, flipping a card back and forth with his fingers. He doubts it. This trick he came up with all on his own. “Wonderful,” he murmurs. He singularly flips one card between two hands, forming a diamond with his thumb. He does it a few times, making sure that his participant sees the card appear and reappear a few times.

“Oh! I know how you do that. You— you take the card and put it between your fingers on your other hand behind your palm—”

“Really?” Janus says, doing it again. He looks down at his hands, feigning looking them over, spreading his fingers wide and then turning his hands back and forth to show that no card rested behind his fingers. “How do you do that?” he scratches his head, biting down a smile when his participant gawks at him.

“No, really, how do you do that?” Janus says with a faux sincere smile.

“I cannot,” his participant says, ducking their head and logging off to show the loading screen.

He chuckles, logging off of Omagle. Turning towards his camera, he smiles mysteriously. “Thank you for watching, I hope to see you on the morrow.” With a flirtatious wave, Janus turns off his camera.

With a sigh, he slumps back into his chair, groaning at yet another video he has to edit soon if he wants to make his weekly update. Being a MeTuber, as fun as it seems and is at times, is utterly exhausting. Not to mention what his roommate and partner deals with on a constant basis.

While he has gotten a bit of a subscriber jump ever since he played a few games of Amidst Us with the Sanders Shows gang, he won’t even begin to explain the hoops and valleys that his roommate went through to get such a jump.

Virgil, or as called by his online persona Corpse Emo, has gotten a 3 million subscriber jump ever since the normies as Janus liked to call them got addicted to his deep and soothing voice. Generally anxious, Virgil had freaked out. A Lot.

But Virgil loves being a MeTuber, Janus knows. He loves reading scary stories and making conspiracy theories about cryptids and other spooky things. But Janus also knows that Virgil gets freaked out by large numbers and performing if he doesn’t have everything handled.

Which is why he’s a faceless MeTuber and just a deep, soothing voice that people love to listen to. Something that Virgil is able to handle and control, to an extent. He obviously can’t help the fact that he has an incredibly recognizable voice or hair or hands.

So he compensates by being the main source of income and stays home while Janus goes out and gets the groceries and food. The little shit is lucky that Janus cares for him.

He hears the door to Virgil’s recording room open, and he blinks lazily. Groaning, he pulls himself up and stretches on his way out, only wearing half his usual attire and layers. With a scratch to his cheek, he leaves to meet Virgil out in the hallway.

“Gamer bladder?” Janus asks dryly when he sees Virgil zip through to the bathroom. He looks much too freaked to truly be in need of the restroom, eye bags darker than usual, so Janus assumes that Virgil needs to de-stress and take a moment to himself. The needs of the people too great and demanding. Janus can sympathize, fans can be the absolute worst sometimes.

Virgil flips him off, closing the door with a sharp thud. “Go entertain my chat,” Virgil’s words come out muffled behind the door, “they keep asking when Snake-Eyed Deceit is coming back on to play. It’s so fucking annoying.”

Janus would believe the indignation if Virgil doesn’t sound so fond. “You know I’m not much of a gamer, Virge,” Janus reminds him patiently.

“Just talk to them,” Virgil mutters, and Janus imagines Virgil curling into their bathtub with his hoodie drawn tight around him, lights turned off to complete the room. “Play a game if I take too long. It’s proximity anyway.”

Janus raps on the door lightly, “Just remember to drink some water. Did you take your meds?”

“Yes, mom,” Virgil rasps out, voice scratchy. “Fuck off.”

With a sigh, Janus raps an affirmative on the wood door and meanders his way down to Virgil’s recording room. He taps out a few greetings in chat, and then moves Virgil’s character blob in game.

“Emo, you’re back!” one of Virgil’s streamer friends cheers, doing a little wiggle in game.

“Not exactly,” Janus says into the mic lowly. A glance down at the chat shows them exploding in greetings to him with which he responds back politely. Doesn’t hurt to try and get new followers.

“Oh, it’s the Snake guy,” another says, and this voice Janus knows all too well.

“Hello to you, too, Roman,” Janus purrs. “Or should I call you Valkyrome? What a particularly creative name. Combining mythologies. Tell me, did you want to be a Valkyrie as a child.”

Roman puffs up, voice flustered, “Perhaps, they are one of the greatest warriors in Norse myths.”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure,” Janus says. He moves into the customization section of the game, changing from Virgil’s signature black and cat ears to yellow and a top hat. He keeps the name however, too lazy to change that. “How is everyone? It’s been a while since I’ve talked to you all. Yes, hello to you as well, chat.”

“Salutations, Snake,” Logic or Logan says monotonously in greeting. “I’m doing well.”

“HI, JAN!” Cupcake Harts, otherwise known as Patton Hart, cheers. Janus can’t help but twitch at the exorbitant cheerfulness, grating on his nerves a bit. Nothing against Patton, but the relentless sunshine can burn just a tad overwhelming sometimes.

Nevertheless, fondness tugs at his heart, “Hello again, Cupcake.”

“Is Corpse okay?” he asks, concern lacing every word. “He didn’t sound so lively last round. Is the kiddo good?”

“The Emo will be alright, but he gave me permission to play a few rounds as his little character for a bit if that would be alright.”

“Of course!” Patton says happily. “We don’t mind, do we?” Everyone else starts to overlap with words of reassurance at that, and Janus smiles. If anything, Janus is glad that Virgil was able to make friends this year. It has boosted the man’s confidence much more than it had been even if there is still some of that self-consciousness and anxiety that lingers.

“Alright, let’s start.” Logan cuts through the cacophony and the game counts down from five to begin.

---

“CUPCAKE WAS FAKING TASKS!” Roman screams when the meeting is called up, repeating it as much as he can. He clicks to vote instantly, not letting Patton explain.

Janus snickers at that, knowing for a fact that he was the imposter along with Remy.

“Roman, kiddo, do you really think that I would fake tasks with so many people in the room? I mean I could be the imposter, but I was alone so many times with Jodie.”

“He was,” Jodie confirms, “I don’t think that Cupcake is the imposter, he could’ve killed me so many times in specimen.”

“No, no Jodie, I mean I could be the imposter but that doesn’t mean that I couldn’t marinate you. I could just be playing a long game.”

“Ugh, he’s doing that double speak again,” Roman groans. “Cupcake, are you the imposter or not?”

“No, but I mean I could be,” Patton says with a mischievous tone that made Janus roll his eyes.

Janus skips his vote quickly, “Let’s just skip, there’s only one person dead.”

A murmur of agreement follows Janus’ declaration.

“Let me postulate this, but I think that the imposters are Deceit and Sleep.”

“How dare you—?” Remy immediately starts in on Logan, false offense filling up his words and making him much louder. Incessant clicking from their keyboard as rage fills their heart. “I will have you know that I was nowhere near the kill. You know what, I think it’s Specs, actually, he keeps framing me.

“Well, let’s settle down now,” Emile, otherwise known as Dr. Stitch, tries to intervene. “It’s only the first round of the game after all.”

“Uh, no can do, doc, not when my integrity is on the line.”

“What integrity,” Virgil mutters, and Janus whirled around in Virgil’s desk chair to see him leaning on the frame of the door.

“Is that Emo??” Patton squeals happily, “Hi! Are you taking over for Deceit? The game’s just started.”

Virgil shakes his head even though the only ones who can see are himself and Janus, his thick purple-brown curls falling in front of his brown eyes, “Nah, let Dee have a turn murdering everyone, I know he enjoys it.”

“Liess and slander,” Janus hisses, purposefully elongating his ‘s’ to make him seem more snake like.

“Does that mean Dee’s an imposter!?!” Roman screams as the meeting panel falls away and the little characters start running around crazily.

“I’m not the imposter, I’m not the imposter,” Janus lies reassuringly, shooting a dark glare at Virgil behind him as the taller one stifles his giggles, hiding the amusement in his eyes behind his hair.

He settles into Janus’ lap, completely obscuring the screen and his view of the game. “Emo, please let me play the game.”

“Hmm,” Virgil hums, tucking his head underneath Janus’ chin, a feat in and of itself given the height difference, “no, I’m comfortable. I’ll just sit here and talk to chat.”

With a sigh, Janus continues the arduous task of running around in the game with the much difficult challenge of having an emo in his lap. Virgil, for his part, looks very content and Janus can’t help but run his fingers through curly purple-brown hair.

“Hello, Roman.”

Roman yelps, “Who said that? How can you see me?” The lights in the game have been turned off and have been for a while, and Janus is taking advantage of the fact that Roman has been left in the far left hand corner of the map where people rarely go.

“Oh, Roman, Roman, Roman,” Janus says, tongue curling on his name with a knife. Roman screams, protesting and shouting for Janus not to do it. “Sorry about that, Ro,” Janus says with a manic giggle as he slices through Roman’s character.

“Big yikes,” Virgil murmurs. “No, chat, I’m not gonna do that, stop suggesting it. Anyway, yeah, I’m gonna be having some major collabs soon with some artists and I have so many cool projects on the way. Thank you guys so much for everything. We wouldn’t have gotten this far without you.”

“Aww, is that you, Emo? Are you talking to chat while Deceit plays?” Leslie pipes up, running close and in circles around Janus’ little blob character.

“Yup,” Virgil pops the last letter, “and guess what?”

“What?” Leslie asks just as Janus’ kill cooldown hit zero.

Janus clicks kill and Leslie screams in protest, her outrage cutting off when the body flops down onto the map. Virgil snorts out a laugh, cackling as Janus smiles indulgently, running around crazily on the map.

A new meeting is called up, this time two people have been killed, clearly shown on screen as having died: Roman and Leslie.

“Guys, guys, guys. I think Remy is the imposter,” Patton is saying. He’s the one who reported Leslie’s body“I’m pretty sure I saw him vent in electrical.”

“Excuse me, Kingdom Hearts!” Remy interrupts rudely. “I wasn’t even in electrical this round. You should get your prescription checked.”

“We needn’t vote here,” Logan interjects sagely. “We are, after all, on seven. But, need I remind you that Remy has been suspicious two rounds now and this time two bodies have been killed. I believe it would be wise to vote him off.”

“Uh uh, glasses here. I know you’re Mr. Big Brain and everything, but I am telling you that it ain’t me,” Remy takes a large sip of whatever drink he has on hand to emphasize his point.

With almost agreed silence, everyone votes and it’s an almost unanimous decision to vote off Remy, causing him to squawk.

“Oh no, you guys really voted for him? You guys voted him off?” Patton is saying as Remy starts screaming curse words and regret.

“What do you mean? You’re the one who said that you caught him venting—”

Janus starts to walk off, the conversation dying out the further he went. He walks to a secluded side of the map, making sure that no one can see as he waits for the cooldown.

“Think you can pull it off?” Virgil asks.

“Without a doubt,” Janus responds.

“What are you guys talking about?” Jodie walks up, suspicion in her question.

“Oh nothing,” Virgil starts, “except this—” and Janus clicks to kill.

Virgil starts talking to both chat and the other players as Janus starts his murder spree quietly. The two of them work as partners, Virgil talking and distracting the players as Janus offs them one by one.

Janus accidentally kills a person in front of someone else, but luckily he didn’t seem to see. “Okay, so I think this was Dragon,” Jace is saying.

Dragon immediately protests, “What do you mean? Where’s the body?”

“Emo, you just walked into admin, right? Did you see Dragon run out?” Jace asks.

“Um, maybe, I think so, yeah?” Virgil says, playing dumb.

“Then it’s Dragon. They were the one to kill, I saw them run out of admin just as the body flopped. Emo, back me up here.”

“Wait, what? I wasn’t even near—”

“AND they were sus last round, so.”

Quite easily, Dragon is voted off, but the game continues.

“I don’t get it, I thought it was Dragon and Sleep,” Jace says.

“Unless it was a self-report,” Logan posits. “You could’ve been caught by Dragon or Emo and you just reported to throw suspicion off yourself.”

Janus called up the meeting button, and Virgil got ready to speak, “Well, we could always 50/50 it. One of them has to be the imposter, right? We’re sure we got out one of them earlier with Remy and if it wasn’t Dragon, then it has to be Jace.”

“No, listen, Emo, I am begging you. I am on my knees, literally in real life right now, don’t vote for me, I am innocent. Please, I’m literally on my knees right now! It’s not me!!”

“Patton, I’m trusting you here,” Logan says. “Do you really think it’s Jace and not Emo?”

“Emo wouldn’t do that to us,” Patton says, though a bit unsurely, “and here’s the thing if Emo’s the imposter then he’ll win and get his video, but if he’s not then we win as crewmate. Either way, it’s a win-win situation!”

“What? Guys! That’s not how this works,” Jace pleads. “Please, it’s not me! I’m serious.”

But too late, the votes come in and Jace is voted out, his character yeeted out into space. And the game continues.

Logan screams in realization, “Patton, I trusted you! It’s Emo, it’s Emo. Oh my goodness. Patton, run! Run!”

“Logan, I have been waiting for this moment my entire life—” Virgil says manically as Logan starts to lose it, running around and screaming at Patton that he trusted Patton and that they voted off the wrong person.

Virgil calls a sabotage and starts to really race after Logan.

“Logan, I was right!” Patton says, slowly trailing after them just to keep up with the conversation. “That means Emo does get to have his video. And I get to be in it! Either way, it’s a win!”

Janus loses it, laughing just as hard as everyone else when Virgil finally manages to click the kill button, the victory screen loading up just as quickly as everyone’s voices come back loud and cheery.

“Good game, everybody—”

“Emo, that was hilarious—”

“Patton, I trusted you—”

“YOU GUYS VOTED ME OUT???—”

Virgil smiles up at Janus from his perch on Janus’ lap, contentment swimming in those brown eyes. Janus is helpless to smile back, even if he’s a bit overwhelmed by the noises. He nuzzles the top of Virgil’s head, burying his face in dark purple-brown curls.

“That was an amazing game, oh my gosh—”

Virgil buries himself into Janus’ warm body, a catlike grin stretching across his face. “Good job, Jan,” he whispers, making sure that chat doesn’t hear the name.

“I think you should be getting that congratulations, little Emo nerd,” Janus says dryly. “You got the final kill of the game after all.”

“Hey, Emo and Dee cheated! They worked together—!”

“We were using one character, jackass! It’s not our fault you guys didn’t think it was us!” Virgil yells back in retaliation, laughter edging on his words. More protests and compliments and whatnot continued as the gamers started arguing over each other again.

Warmth wraps around Janus like a warm hug and he wraps his own arms around Virgil as he continues heckling and joking around with friends, a new game already started. Virgil squirms in his hold to sit in his lap properly so that Virgil’s back is to Janus’ chest, moving to get comfortable.

“Alright, we won’t play together again—” Virgil is saying. Janus just holds Virgil in his lap tightly, contentment curling around him and settling into his stomach like a warm meal.

Sometimes life sucks, giving you chronic illness or vitiligo and burn scars. But sometimes life doesn’t suck so much when you have friends by your side and laughter surrounding you.

A/N: @sanderssidesgiftxchange Hi, @emo-does-things!!! I was your Secret Sanders this year and I hope I was able to fulfill your wish! I honestly couldn’t decide between the two things that I wrote, so you get two fics! Happy Winter and I hope you’re staying safe and that you enjoyed this!!!

#anxeit #anxiet #virgil sanders #janus sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #various ocs #among us #emile picani #remy sanders #sleep sanders #secret sanders gift exchange #my writing

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clubofinfo · 7 years

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Expert: While supporters of our two-party system wring their hands over the sensationalist nonsense reported by the mainstream media, we thought it might be worth touching on the most dangerous lie of all-time: capitalism. It’s an all-encompassing delusion, including: the myth of continual technological progress, the mendacious assumptions of endless economic growth, the lie that constant bombardments of media and consumer goods make us happy, and the omissions of our involvement in the exploitation of the planet and the resources of distant, poorer nations, among other things. We’ve taken the time to hash out some of the most pernicious mendacities we’ve come across in our (relatively) young lives, in the workplace, in our private lives, and in the media. *** Please share these counter-arguments far and wide, in order to educate your fellow citizens, and, if necessary, to provide the intellectual beat-downs needed when arguing with pro-capitalists. So without further ado, here is our list of the most devious “Lies that Capitalists Tell Us”: 1) Wealth will “trickle down” It’s hard to believe an economic policy that conjures images of urination could be wrong, but the idea is as bankrupt as the lower classes who have been subjected to the trickling. Less than ten people now have the financial wealth equivalent to half the planet, and the trickling seems a lot more like a mad cash-grab by the (morally bankrupt) elites. Rather than trickle down, the 1% and their lackeys have hoovered up the majority of new wealth created since the 2008 crash. After 40 years of stagnant wages in the US the people feel more shit on than trickled upon. It’s not a mistake that the elite reap most of the profits: the capitalist system is designed this way. It always has been, and will be, until we the people find the courage to tear it down and replace it with something better. 2) I took all the risks It can be argued the average employee takes far more risks in any job than the average person who starts a business with employees. The reason being is that the person starting a business usually has far more wealth, where most Americans can’t afford a 500 dollar emergency; meaning if they lose a job or go without work for any stretch it means some tough decisions have to be made. A person with even a failing business cannot be fired, but the employee can be fired for almost any reason imaginable. They are operating without a net at all times. The capitalist uses all sorts of public infrastructure to get his/her company off the ground. From everything to the roads to get you to your job, colleges, public utilities, tax breaks, electricity, etc. Even the internet itself was created from public research. Yet elite business owners still have the audacity, and are so full of hubris, that they believe in the hyper-individualist, macho, rugged-cowboy/pioneer facade they affect. 3) I could pay you more if there were less government regulations Many capitalists argue that layers of government bureaucracy prevent them from paying their employees a fairer, living wage. This is a huge whopper, as our regulations (like no child labor, a minimum wage, disability and worker’s compensation, basic environmental impact studies, etc) actually provide safety against the worst type of exploitation of workers and destruction of the land by corporations. Without these minimum regulations, an age of even more outright neo-feudalism would occur, where employees could be laid-off and rehired ad-infinitum, based on downward market wage forces, at the wishes of ever-more capricious owners, management, and CEOs. 4) If you work hard, one day you can be rich like us (We live in a meritocracy) America is not a meritocracy, and no one should think it is. There exists no tie to the intelligence of work done or the amount of it that guarantees success. Rather to be rich depends more on either being born into it, or being exceptionally good at exploiting others so one may take the bulk of the proceeds for themselves. This is the magic formula for wealth in this ever so “exceptional” land – exploit, exploit, exploit. Inheritance and exploitation is how the rich get rich. To understand the exploitation aspect takes some understanding of how the rich function. Next to none of the super rich become that way solely by meritocracy. Their income is created through complex webs of utilizing leverage usually to extract some form of passive income. They are the rentier class or con artists, or both. You only have to look at what the rich are dabbling in. Like Robert Mercer, for instance, who made his money via “a hedge fund that makes its money by using algorithms to model and trade on the financial markets.” Skimming money off corrupt financial markets hardly seems like a worthwhile activity that contributes anything to humanity. It’s a hustle. Or take Bill Gates, who did some programming for a few years, poorly, and became rich by landing a series of deals with IBM initially, and then by passively making money off the share values of Microsoft. The late Steve Jobs may have been one of the more hands-on billionaires, but even he required thousands of enslaved Asian hands to extract the kind of profits Apple was able to make. Casino magnate Sheldon Adelson almost certainly has organized crime links, as if owning a casino wasn’t enough of a con to begin with. Rich DeVos became a billionaire by running a pyramid scheme most are familiar with called Amway. The Walton family, owners of Wal-Mart, pays a median wage of 10 bucks an hour (far below a living wage), they strong arm vendors, and also rely on products made with working conditions that resemble old world slavery, while having more wealth than the bottom 40% of Americans. There’s just no way to make that kind of money without having a major market advantage and then profiteering off it. Lie, cajole, coerce, manipulate, bribe, rig, and hustle. These are the tools of the rich. No one is worth this kind of money and everyone needs each other’s help to function, but in the minds of the rich they consider themselves the primary cogs in the machine worthy of their money for doing not much else than holding leverage over others and exploiting it. 5) This is as good as it gets (there is no alternative, TINA) Through a process of gaslighting and double-bind coercion the choices we are fed are propagandized via controlled media outlets owned and operated by elites. We are told our choices must be between the democrats or republicans, attacking the Middle East or face constant terrorism, unfettered capitalism or state run communism. We are given binary choices that lack all nuance, and nuance is the enemy of all those who seek to control and exploit. They feed us a tautology of simpleton narratives which unfortunately do exactly what they hoped, keep people dumb and biting on their red herrings. Capitalists make it seem as if there is no alternative because they hoard all the money, have all the hired guns, and pay off teams of servile lawyers, judges, and lobbyists to write and enforce their anti-life laws. Capitalists demand “law and order” whenever their servant classes get too restless. In general, the most hardened, dogmatic capitalists exhibit bewilderment and/or disgust at genuine human emotions like joy, creativity, spontaneity, and love. Many capitalists have an unconscious death wish, and want to drag the rest of us and the mother Earth down with them. Capitalists have stolen all the farmlands, hold all the patents to technology, and don’t pay enough to mass amounts of citizens to get out of the rat race and get back to live off the land. The screws are turned a little tighter every year. If we are not done in by massive natural disasters or an economic collapse, expect a revolution to occur, hopefully a non-violent one. 6) We give back to the community Corporations set out to create non-profits as a public relations move. They cause the problems and then put small band-aids on the gaping wounds they have directly contributed to and use the charity as a source of plausible deniability to obscure the fact that they are exactly what we think they are: greedy. Handing out bread-crumbs after you’ve despoiled, desecrated, and bulldozed millions of hectares of valuable habitat is not fooling anyone. The elite one-percenters are the enemies of humankind and the biosphere itself. 7) The system (and economic theory) is rational and takes into account social and environmental costs People tend to think someone somewhere is regulating things to keep us safe. They look around and see sophisticated technology, gleaming towers in the sky, and what they believe to be is a complex intelligent world. But in truth no one is running the show. The world functions as a mad cash grab driven by neo-liberal ideology. Our leaders are driven by power, fame, and money, and exhibit strong psychopathic, sociopathic, and narcissistic traits. The problems of modern industrial capitalism and its impact on the world are clear – our exploitation of the resources, people, and other species are a direct result of our consumer-based infinite growth model. Just a few of the problems we face are species extinction, climate change, ocean acidification, and a toxic carcinogen filled trash dump of a planet that reached population overshoot decades ago. If the system was rational, we would begin planning to lower birth rates to decrease the world’s population, and voluntarily provide education, decent, dignified jobs, as well as birth control and contraception to women worldwide. We live by money values, and think in money terminology. When we discuss healthcare the topic arises about how to pay for it before nearly anything else. The priority isn’t on saving lives but how to pay for things. Yes, how will we pay for healthcare when banks can create money on a computer through the magic of fractional reserve banking, which they often use to bail out their crony friends. The money isn’t real but the implications of restricting it from the populace are. Money is created out of thin air by the magic of the Federal Reserve, yet we have all heard our bosses, and the pricks in Washington complaining that “we don’t have enough money for that” when it comes to healthcare, improving schools, and humanitarian relief for the poorest parts of the world. Again, if the system was rational, world poverty would be solved within a few short years. Money destined for weapons and “defense” could be used domestically as well as abroad to Africa, South Asia, and Latin America, and there is more than enough money (75 trillion is the annual world GDP, approximately 15 trillion in the US alone) to pay for a good home, clothing, and food for every family worldwide, with an all-renewable powered energy grid. 8) The future will be better When Trump’s slogan “make America great again” was on the lips of every alt-right fascist, most of us stopped to ask, when was it great? The truth is that politicians have been promising something better since the inception of this country and “better” has never arrived. There is always another expensive war to fight and another financial meltdown occurring on average every eight years. Wait, you might say, what about those sweet post-WWII growth years brought about by the New Deal? The sad truth is those years were only materially beneficial to white, middle-class men, who were highly sexist, racist, and complicit in incubating today’s consumer-driven Empty Society. The post-WWII era was an aberration in our history and the result of having more jobs available than people, but as the country rapidly exploited its natural resources and reached the limits of linear growth while the population exploded the leverage that allowed people to have higher wages receded. Even though efficiency increased enormously, the people lost leverage to demand higher wages. Without leverage held by the people capitalism will return to its status quo goal – exploit, and that’s just what it did. In the US, corporations grew richer and the people grew poorer starting from the mid 1970’s to the present. 9) It’s Just Business Employees devote years of their lives to companies and when they are let go they are told it’s nothing personal, it’s just business. This is how all bad news is delivered even when personal. It says we are cold-hearted organizations that adhere to a bottom line first and human needs second. So know when they say “it’s just business” what they are saying is understand we are sharks, and acting like a shark is just what we do. This is also the logic behind defending war crimes and similar atrocities. Nations like the US claim they have a “responsibility to protect” civilians from terrorists. Then, when American bombs kill civilians (or their proxies use US-made weapons), they are referred to as “collateral damage”. 10) Financial markets & debt are necessary The health of the entire economy is too often gauged by the stock markets. But the reality about financial markets is they are extraneous gambling machines designed to place downward pressure on companies to post good numbers to elevate share prices. These financial markets funnel capital to a smaller and smaller number of multinational corporations every year, and perpetuate non-linear economic growth (and therefore more pollutants, CO2, pesticides, strip mining, razing of forests) that is killing the planet. Debt is the most fundamental lie in our economy. Money is only supposed to be a tool to move goods efficiently around a market, but for money itself to be a wealth engine is a Ponzi scheme. And we all know how that ends. *** For a wider taste of our oeuvre, visit Reason Bowl Radio to watch Jason expose the Trump administration for the sorry sacks of shit that they are and discuss current events, as well as Jason and Bill’s commentary and ramblings about topics such as psychedelics, the nature of consciousness, and reflections on how to effect social change. http://clubof.info/

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thesinglesjukebox · 7 years

Video

youtube

ZAYN & TAYLOR SWIFT - I DON'T WANNA LIVE FOREVER (FIFTY SHADES DARKER) [3.84] We shift from our BBC Sound Of 2017 coverage to the pop charts, but we're not any nicer...

Lauren Gilbert: This is Bad. For all that "Love Me Like You Do" felt like Lights Redux, it was a perfectly solid song outside of context. This features Zayn wailing (someone needs to tell him falsetto isn't always a good idea) and Taylor utterly failing to save the track. It feels like someone told her to write something cinematic, and you can indeed picture the scenes from Fifty Shades Darker that this will soundtrack: Dakota Johnson looking sad in an art gallery, Dakota Johnson looking sad in a cab, flash of Jamie Dornan looking Imposing and Sexy, Dakota Johnson looking sad in a different art gallery. Movie soundtrack singles aren't required to be this dreadful. [2]

Katie Gill: Confession: I adore the Fifty Shades of Gray soundtrack. It's the only place where awful Beyoncé remixes can sit side-by-side with various Top 40 artists trying to be "sexy" but in a watered-down, approved for Clear Channel radio type way. And speaking of Clear Channel-approved sexiness, there's this song! It's kind of awful! Zayn is desperately trying to do his best Prince with that falsetto and Taylor Swift is straight up phoning it in. It's a half-assed mess and I LOVE IT. Every time the chorus starts up with "I DON'T WANNA LIVE... FOREVER," I break out into giggles. Which granted, isn't the intended effect of the song, but don't make your song sound so silly and I won't laugh at it. [3]

Maxwell Cavaseno: There's a way to take narcissistic angst and self-torment and make it work. Last year Kehlani turned the grotesquerie of the IG Meme Disease of Harley Quinn and Joker's Bonnie & Clyde archetype into a perfectly tragi-dumb song like "Gangster" for Suicide Squad. The year before that Beyoncé made "Crazy in Love" go all overwrought and comically grave for Fifty Shades of Grey's soundtrack, and the Weeknd finally got to take his supplanting of a personality with kinks to the top 40 for that same project. This formula is not foreign in pop of the 21st century -- that indulged feeling of inner darkness and putting on that King/Queen of Pain crown is pretty common. Heck, Swift even knows how to mock it. So who do I blame for taking such an obvious task and somehow screwing it up into an over-eager romp mistaking "darkness" for some sort of just plain ol' romantic tension? Is it Antonoff, who thought he was trying to make sadomasochism "fun" (ha, double entendre)? Or is it Malik, who we've spent a good amount of time trying to draw fake depth from like water from rocks? It's a simple enough scheme, and there's a whole sea of edgelords who'd gobble it up with appreciation. Why couldn't anyone realize that here? [2]

Crystal Leww: I'm one of the handful of people who thought that Zayn's debut album wasn't a total trainwreck -- while the album was 80 per cent filler, it also had its moments. Taylor Swift, despite her general media personality, is a phenomenal songwriter and a pretty good pop star. She's proven that she can effectively pen songs for other people to make their own. So why does "I Don't Wanna Live Forever" sound like the worst parts of Zayn have dragged Taylor Swift into the hole of boring anonymity. This is so slow, so long, and so unsexy. The lone bright spot is "I been looking sad in all the nicest places," which like, fine, we get it, you're Taylor Swift, but at least it's declaring who they are as artists. [4]

Claire Biddles: Like "Pillowtalk," this is trying so hard to be sexy, but it's so unconvincing, and like "Pillowtalk" it's because of the deeply unsexy performances. Both Zayn and Taylor come across as pretty asexual to begin with, but the constant forced falsetto makes for a really unpleasant listen. I guess at least if you went back to someone's flat and they put this on you'd know to make your excuses and leave before the boring sex began. [2]

Olivia Rafferty: Because when I'm commissioning a big, sexy number for my big, sexy film, I obviously think of Taylor Swift and Zayn. The lyrics barely grasp at anything that resembles a sentiment, and the "oh-oh oh oh" refrain is an ironically vapid space-filler. The biggest crime is that at some points the song actually has a little charm: that breathless, "baby, baby/I feel crazy," or Taylor Swift's verse. And then for some reason it was decided that Zayn must screech falsetto on the chorus, and TaySwift must sing the most criminally Swiftian lyric I've ever heard: "I've been looking sad in all the nicest places." A half-hearted attempt to follow the anthemic "Love Me Like You Do" and a half-decent soundtrack the first time 50 Shades rolled around. [4]

Megan Harrington: Overwhelmingly, duets between men and women are in service to a romantic narrative. And on the surface, "I Don't Wanna Live Forever" is no different, a supposedly lusty song tacked onto a supposedly lusty movie. But are there two performers any less sexual than Zayn and Taylor Swift? The two share a vocal chemistry similar to the rush neurotics feel when they stumble on a perfectly organized shelf of books -- and that's their only chemistry. The song, then, must be about something else, something other than desire and lost love. The refrain "I just wanna keep calling your name/until you come back home" suggests that we might have our first duet in service of finding a lost puppy? [7]

Ramzi Awn: The right kind of anthemic also happens to be the kind that makes Taylor Swift sound good. [9]

Alfred Soto: Although Taylor Swift's name is in the songwriting credits, this soundtrack theme has the fingerprints of men who would destroy the world with a blank falsetto if only she'd stop the nonsense and Come Back Home. The Weeknd. Drake. Everywhere I look, this po-faced pair: immobile with anger, confusing churlishness with pheromones. [4]

Jonathan Bradley: The Fifty Shades franchise offers pop royalty the chance to roleplay their unconventional fantasies, mixing sex and power, darkness and destruction. So goes the theory, anyway: the results (The Weeknd's "Earned It," for instance) have tended towards pouting and murk with neither titillation nor intrigue to compensate. Zayn has yet to evince the ability to project himself beyond the blank slate of his good looks -- his falsetto "baby, baby/I feel crazy" on "I Don't Wanna Live Forever" has none of the desire or desperation that even a novice R&B singer could unearth from those words and their attendant post-Timbaland, click-clack rhythm. Taylor Swift is a smarter vocalist; even if she's had little experience with R&B cadences, she still knows how to suggest a lyric like "I've been looking sad in all the nicest places" conceals fathoms of feeling beneath its surface. But Swift the writer doesn't play nice with the other kids; her perfectionism and her steely-eyed creativity doesn't well accommodate an equal partner, to the extent that her most triumphant 2016 work was "Better Man," where she was the most powerful voice on a song in which she did not appear. Swift might well have within her a tantalizing reflection on sex and mortality, but a shared promo single for sequel Hollywood erotica, released in her gap year, is not where we'll hear it. [5]

Andy Hutchins: One of the greatest stratagems of Taylor Swift's genius-level career was befriending Lena Dunham. Despite Lena Dunham being Lena Dunham, that brought Swift into pop maestro Jack Antonoff's orbit at almost the precise moment when she was transitioning from pop-country to pop-pop, and when he was just done being trained in frequent Kanye collaborator Jeff Bhasker's style on fun.'s Some Nights. (I mean, it's either that, or living with a woman who is now dating the First Daughter's strenuously Democratic brother-in-law, or being born to millionaire parents. It's hard to weigh artistic and social positioning and inherited privilege with Tay!) Since Red -- which Bhasker worked on, naturally -- Swift has worked in Antonoff's milieu, even if her biggest singles have been Max Martin specials: Shadowed gloss-pop, with just enough darkness contrasting her natural brightness to make her "edgy" and "fun" without also being sloppy. ("I been lookin' sad in all the nicest places" says plenty about Swift's conflation of status and composure with happiness.) "Forever," -- "Come Back Home" in a less fatalistic world -- showcases how well she fits there, her breathy anonymity as a singer well-shrouded by the misty production and Zayn, whose far stronger falsetto is the star of the song itself. But he's been here in the twilight, and Swift is only still immersing. [7]

Anthony Easton: I love how his voice slides up when he sings "baby" -- like Michael just a little bit -- and I love how that is the only attempt at overshadowing her. In fact, a sample of both of them singing "baby, baby" to each other is a fascinating competing example of pop history as pop performance. The rest of it is disappointingly anonymous. [6]

Mo Kim: "Gimme something," yelps Zayn in the first verse of this track, a pre-mortem for a slog that (save a few nice twinkles in the production) gives us nothing. [1]

Katherine St Asaph: Every generation gets the "Once in a Lifetime" it deserves, and fails to get the "Who Wants to Live Forever" they so achingly want. [3]

A.J. Cohn: Likely, this is meant to sound dark, achingly romantic, and sensual -- notably not typical descriptions of Swift's music. Unsurprisingly, her vocals are thin and uncomfortably breathy. Her chemistry with Malik is similarly unconvincing and not for his lack of effort. Using his exquisite falsetto to full effect, he seems to be trying his sexy best to make a slow jam out of a sub-1989 bonus track. [4]

Will Adams: Ah, it's easy when everyone contributes equally to the disaster. Jack Antonoff's production is like a 1989 demo, with unfinished ideas (that false climax before the last chorus, like Zayn came too early, is the worst) and a sluggish arrangement. Zayn's yelped falsetto hasn't gotten any better, and Taylor Swift's attempt to display versatility is just as laughable. As a Fifty Shades song it's perfect, in that it's trying so hard, but "I Don't Wanna Live Forever" is so sexless, detached and inept that I can only imagine that Zayn and Taylor recorded their respective vocals with a mirror in the studio. [1]

Joshua Copperman: There's a specific kind of electro-pop song that goes for maximalism, where, to paraphrase Rick McCallum, every second has so many things going on. Jack Antonoff and Swift's last single together, "Out of the Woods," is one of those beautifully overwhelming songs. They reunite here, but for an R&B slow jam that plays to none of their strengths and seems to go out of its way to be "darker," and not joyfully bombastic, which both singles from the previous movie were. Every time it sounds like it's going to explode, it pulls back, like they want to try this whole minimalist thing out, but don't know how to pull it off. The deliberate, yet misguided, attempt at minimalism would also explain the decision to not autotune Zayn's falsetto. (Zayn and Taylor sound nearly identical anyway; if I'd heard that this was actually sung by the Ten Second Songs guy, I wouldn't be entirely surprised.) The defining moment of this whole trying-too-hard-to-sound-effortless thing is the anti-climax at 2:58, inexplicable and inexcusable -- everyone involved is capable of great pop music, but that moment was where I stopped trying to give them the benefit of the doubt. As long as Taylor doesn't go down this route for her next album, this experiment can be forgiven, but experiments should not sound this formulaic. [4]

Thomas Inskeep: My partner, upon first hearing this, suggested that he could barely hear the difference between Zayn and Swift, particularly on the chorus, and he's not wrong. Neither of them should be centering their singing on their falsettos, both of which are incredibly unappealing, and additionally it sounds as if Swift stripped all of the personality from her voice before entering the studio. This song is all bombast, if the bombast were made from tissue paper. And since Jack Antonoff is involved, it of course has the predictable "boom-boom-boom-boom" drum track he's been recycling since fun.'s "We Are Young." Nothing, absolutely nothing about this is any good; fittingly, since it's soundtracking a new Fifty Shades movie, this is the musical equivalent of an empty-calories Hollywood blockbuster. [0]

Nellie Gayle: Did you ever see that one painfully awkward interview between 50 Shades costars Jamie Dornan and Dakota Johnson? Never have I seen two people less likely to generate brutal lust and desire in a believable way. That is, until I heard Zayn and Taylor were collaborating on a song for the same franchise. While Zayn's favorite habit is snaking his way around R&B tunes in an overreaching falsetto, Taylor prefers to lend her reedy vocals in the spectrum of pop-country to Top 40 bops. One thing both Zayn and Taylor accomplish very well in their respected fields is relatable anguish. Taylor's vocal thinness translates into despair, while Zayn's insistence on turning every lyric into a gymnastics exercise for his vocal chords. The production involved is really what transforms this song, and it's clear that this is a surface-level reflection on a franchise neither star has any interest in or connection to. The 50 Shades empire is about presenting dangerous ideals to bored and titillated white women around the world, and this song manages to tease any sweetness or tenderness out of that narrative and turn it into a sultry, almost danceable banger. It's Taylor's riskiest bet yet -- if you listen hard, you can hear the wails of Republican mothers around the country in the chorus as they wait for their daughters to be corrupted by this song -- but it still remains a tame anthem to romantic melancholy more than anything. [5]

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#Zayn #Taylor Swift #I Don't Wanna Live Forever (Fifty Shades Darker)

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