#Because this shit is a motherfucking vibe

[anotherdescentintomadness]

Wang YiBo X the Cyberpunk Post-Apocalypse: An Aesthetic

GQ SS 2020

[tcfactory]

the obvious shenanigans that follow are well! if sj isnt going to socialise the poor beast then sy will! lqg staring like. "What is that." begging peak lord Liu's pardon, but this is a spiritual wolf that is meant to be under the care of peak lord shen. it requires socialising and i was informed you also possessed a spiritual wolf! the wolves, ofc, get on. sj wants to die when he finds out. he wont STOP them because that would make it worse but sToP WaGGinG YouR TaiL when liu-shidi comes over!!

Liu Qingge takes Shen Yuan at face value about the wolf - like, he knows Shen Qingqiu's daemon is a wolf, had seen its silhouette move in the shadows during night hunts, but this wolf is out in the open and is getting pets from Shen Yuan so he can't be Shen Qingqiu's Calamity (the wolf is actually called Harbor, like 'Safe harbor in a storm', but he would never admit to it so when people started making up names he just ran with the most menacing/powerful sounding one) - and during the next Peak Lord meeting he goes to confront Shen Qingqiu about neglecting a spirit beast in his care. How jealous does one have to be to hurt such a majestic wolf like that?! He can tell exactly what caused those scars and he will not stand for a fellow peak lord whipping innocent beasts!!

Shen Qingqiu can glare Yue Qingyuan into silence, but not quick enough to shut Shang Qinghua up before he can blurt out what's up. Liu Qingge demands that Shen Qingqiu prove himself by calling his daemon there. He's reluctant, but complies. Everyone is upset at the state of the wolf (did someone try to dock its tail to make it look a bit more like a dog?!?!!? yes, it was one of Qiu Jianluo's bright ideas to make them more obedient), most of them on Shen Qingqiu's behalf. Shen Qingqiu very much wants to strangle both Liu Qingge and Shang Qinghua, so Airplane reaches for the most convenient bombshell he has as distraction and blurts out what happened to Yue Qingyuan before he flees.

So now Shen Qingqiu has a regretful shidi (planning various nutritious and difficult to hunt monsters as apology gifts) a very regretful and kinda relieved shixiong (sporting one hell of a black eye) and a bunch of other mildly regretful and worried martial siblings and things are going to be fine. All thanks to one oblivious but very pretty hallmaster of his who he absolutely will not thank or fill in about what's up, no sir. (It's fine, it will take YQY and LQG maybe a day or two to get over their shock, realize what happened and start matchmaking, like the idiot sibling-types they are. Shen Qingqiu will have a supportive family whether he wants one or not, and we all know that he kinda really wants one actually.)

It's all going to be fine.

[bull-shit-suji]

not to like wax poetic about the literary nuances of Black Fucking Butler but i feel i need to point out how insanely campy it is. oh okay cool the butler is throwing butter knives at people with guns and winning. we're battling undertaker's zombie army by starting a boy band (we actually got the idea from the ZOMBIES' boy band). theres a curry making competition and its so important it needs an entire volume and a continuing motif dedicated to it. the Grim Reaper Death Gods are all cornballs with gardening sheers. the contradiction. the unintended irony.

i think the manga is like. toeing the line of camp. like its silly yet takes itself so seriously but its not too silly. my immersion is not broken by the silliness. but the anime is uncharted levels of camp. what the Hell was going on with pluto. you're gonna look me in the eye and tell me the phantomhives own a fifty foot dog thing and no one has noticed. simply one hell of a deer. ice skating. theres opium in funtom candy. the queen of england is maybe a little girl. speaking of which, the city of london just burned down. yeah the whole thing. the fifty foot dog was there too.

it's so ridiculously out of left field and the fact that none of the characters seem to notice or care feels like being gaslit. camp so visceral it's causing psychic damage. i am constantly begging the narrative to break character just once and acknowledge its silliness but doing so would negate the lack of awareness that makes it camp. its dated and timeless. an absolute milestone in camp history.

[ifidogaysomyself]

me, before playing cyno's second sq, knowing nothing about sethos, seeing the leak that he has a voice line about wanderer: oh thats hilarious, honestly good for them because god knows kuniboy needs normal friends lol

me, after playing cyno's story quest 2 months late to the party: oh god okay he's not normal. why did i ever think he was going to be normal. he and wanda are fully going to have the worst interactions ever arent they

[cat-mentality]

Love doomed Team Soulfire.

Because they all love so very deeply don't they? They love their children, they love their friends, they love their homes, they love the little peace they have found in the Island.

They love so deeply that they just want to go home.

But love can be a curse.

Love can lead to nothing but pain and disaster when that love blinds you.

The Entity says that their children's lives are at stake, that they must win if they ever want to see them again, that there is a cursed team and they cannot lose, that their lose is death to their children. And Team Blue cannot risk it, they cannot allow themselves to let their children be put at risk in case they are the cursed them.

For love, they would do anything.

And that was exactly what they did. When other's are getting their resources, when they are thinking about what to do, how to proceed, Team Soulfire already knew, they knew they would do anything for their children, they would kill and they would die.

Surely everyone else was on the same page wasn't them? Their deaths meant nothing as long as their children could be saved.

Love blinded Team Soulfire.

Love blinded them to the pain they inflicted on others. Made them unable to realize exactly what they are doing the moment they spilled first blood, because that? That was the moment Purgatory began.

Not when they landed on the desolate Island, not when they were separeted on teams, not when their children's lives were considered a prize in a twisted game.

That first death? That started Purgaroty. Because what Team Blue didn't realize was that not everyone else was blinded by love as much as they were, that for others killing wasn't their first goal, that for a brief moment people thought they could fight against the system, that they could try in other ways.

But after that? Oh no, there was no turning back from that.

They didn't realize that when you kill someone over and over and over and over again, without mercy, without pause, without thinking about the sort of pain you are inflicting on them, it doesn't matter why you are doing it. They wouldn't look at you and see a friend, they wouldn't see a person who just wants to go home, who just wants to end this hell.

They will see a murderer.

They will see someone who sees their suffering as a means of gaining points, they will see someone who doesn't care about anyone else.

They will only see betrayal.

They will only see a enemy.

You cannot burn your bridges and expect to find a way home. You cannot stab the people around you, even if you do it for love, even if you believe yourself to be doing it for good reasons, and expect them to open your arms to you when you need it.

Team Soulfire loves. They love so deeply, so intensely, so very much.

And their love doomed them to be hated. To be viewed as the ones willing to do anything, to kill and betray and destroy anything the others have. Their love blinded them to the suffering they inflicted upon the others.

And the most painful thing?

Team Soulfire does not realize others are not playing the game as they are. That when they try to even the scoreboard, when they try to make things "fair" they are just feeding an uncontrollable fire, they are just scattering the ashes even further, they are hugging the broken pieces of what once was and they don't realize that the blood coating their hands.

Oh my darlings, how they put so much faith in a verbal agreement about the safety of the egg statues. How they love the children so much that they could not imagine that others wouldn't see those stones the same way they did, that they wouldn't be petrified that there was the slight chance that hurting the statue could hurt their children, how they believed that people would feel the same, would respect it as much as they did.

But of course they didn't. Because Team Bolas Rojas has been stabbed in the back from all the sides multiple times, they could not phantom the idea of trusting the people who have hunted them for sport, who have killed them for points in their own home, who have done nothing but hurt and betray them, they don't look at Team Soulfire and see friends just trying to go home, trying to protect their loved ones, they just see the people who hurt them multiple times.

And Team Green Ninjas agreed to not kill the statues, they truly had never any intention of finishing the job, but at no point their ever promised they wouldn't try to win, because at the end of the day they too worry so fucking much they couldn't imagine the possibility of not trying to win to save their children.

So that leaves Team Soulfire isolated, burned by love, forever to be distrusted and hated and avoided because of the actions they took in day one, because they believed that anything done in Purgatory was done for love and would be forgiven because they all have the same goal, they all want the same thing, because they believed people would understand their motivations.

And they did! They do!

It just doesn't matter.

Because the hurt they caused is too deep to be soothed by that.

For love, they have caused what seems like irreparable amounts of pain.

For love, they doomed themselves to be the villains in the eyes of everyone they know.

[fanvoidkeith]

i know it's not NICE to have an irrational dislike towards someone irl. but it does feel good to feel vindicated when they turn out to actually be an asshole

[cluescorner]

Me: Into the Spiderverse was such a good movie! I’m so excited for the next one! I heard the animation is even better and-

Someone: Yeah, if only it was live-action.

Me, unreasonably angry: I’ll kill you. 

[isaacathom]

started playing trespasser for the first time and i want it known that i would die for josephine montiliyet and that the romance-related cutscenes with blackwall continue to be fucking hysterical but in the 'holy shit what kind of cutaway is that' way rather than the intentionally comedic

[arolesbianism]

Nails vc yeah the director burned some of my work to my face she must be so stressed out and sad :(

[samwisefamgee]

haven't done anything on Sunday for the past two fucking months because a friend has made plans for all of us then canceled them the day of or before every. fucking. time.

[makshu]

I lost my friendship with a friend of mine

I'm surprised it lasted this long. Dude, you're unbearable sometimes, and we have different worldviews. People never seem to believe me when I say I'm selfish.

[its-your-mind]

ALWAYS rotating TAZ: Balance around in my brain like microwave but ESPECIALLY with the announcement of The Suffering Game graphic novel

The dope thing they can do (and are doing) with the graphic novel series is sprinkle in moments of foreshadowing and hints to the reader about what REALLY might be going on here, which is so cool and I’m a huge fan of it, especially when you’re telling a story in this form.

But what is REALLY FUCKING TASTY about Balance as a story is that none of the motherfuckers telling it had any clue what they were doing when they started

Gerblins is dick jokes and not knowing how dice work and making fun of each other for voices. LICHRALLY the scene where Taako grabs the Umbrastaff is immediately proceeded by Clint trying different voices for Merle while Justin begs him to stop, as Taako. Merle gets launched across the room cuz he failed his save, and now Taako has an umbrella. The scene moves on.

Griffin brought them up to the BOB, introduced them to the Director, and gave them memories of a war fought over nameless, lost, powerful but mysterious artifacts. The memory that Taako takes from it is the idea of soured cream (ya know, for his taco quest).

And then they’re off, on different adventures, making friends, saving lives, making more dick jokes, and Griffin is in the background, slowly building in the meta-plot, as all DMs do.

But this meta-plot was HUGE. It was ALL-CONSUMING. It completely changes everything we know about this world and these characters. It takes the moments of dick jokes, and arguments about character voices, and flirting with death, and adds a layer of tragedy and complexity that just wasn’t present the first time they told that story.

AND THAT’S WHY THIS STORY KICKS ASS. The vibe of the story changed as Tres Horny Boys grew closer and closer to remembering the lives they had lost, as Griffin upped the stakes, as people started dying. They still don’t know shit for most of The Suffering Game, but you absolutely could not have predicted the tone of that arc after just listening to Gerblins. It sounds like a completely different story. And so when the other shoe drops, when shit breaks bad, when it’s the end of the world… again, and they have to reclaim their Stolen Century…

It makes sense. The tone has shifted enough to accommodate that kind of change. The characters have grown (back) into themselves enough to make this work.

Because TAZ: Balance is a tragedy. But the tragedy happened before the podcast even started, and had been erased. So of course it started off with goofs and dildo jokes. Of course the three of them started being standoff-ish with each other and making light of every situation that should have had a lot more weight. They didn’t know what they had lost, and we, the audience, didn’t either. So it was easy to laugh and joke… until slowly, it wasn’t so much anymore.

Plenty of people have praised Griffin’s storytelling abilities, but I think the thing that was most impressive to me was how he took the disparate threads laid out behind the Boys on their adventures, and followed them backwards, into the story they had lost, and forwards, into the ending they earned. I fucking love that he settled on Istus as the deity to interact with them, because I don’t think there’s a better representation of the story Griffin was weaving behind the scenes of the arcs.

Story and Song wasn’t really an arc driven by dice rolls and role playing - but it wasn’t railroading either. Griffin took every story they had told, every happy ending they had fought for, and twined them around and through each other. The world was saved not because of a lucky nat 20 roll, but because every person they had helped through the story came out in force to fight beside them to save their world.

And so in the end, the Stolen Century was a tragedy. But The Adventure Zone: Balance was a story of hope, of family, of the power that just a few loveable doofuses can have when they move through the world, making friends and saving lives. So when the world was ending and they needed help, there were dozens of people waiting to hear the Story and the Song that would give them the push they needed to fight, and the hope they needed to win.

[keeksandgigz]

the love witch

modern!eddie munson x fem!witchy!reader

summary: Eddie Munson is obsessed with his girlfriend. Hell, he's not even sure how he was able to get you interested in him in the first place. Despite him not really believing in your witchy practices, he's incredibly supportive, but that doesn't come without his cheeky digs. He agrees to a tarot reading for shits and giggles. You don't like that he doesn't take it seriously.

cw: no y/n, reader's nickname is 'witchy' , talk of the occult, wiccan practices, description of r's clothing, but no body description, reader has female anatomy, oral (F receiving), face sitting, sub!Eddie, dom!Reader, choking, slight biting, dirty talk, honorifics, unprotected piv (pls don't do that), ending leans towards the whole witchy vibe

word count: 4.8k

this and all my works are 18+ minors do NOT interact

Eddie Munson is one lucky motherfucker. 

Living in a small studio apartment in the Haight-Ashbury of San Francisco, which he got a damn good price on. 

He works at one of the many vintage record stores in the neighborhood, which pulsates with raw musical energy, almost as if he steps in the 70s every time he gets out of the front door of his apartment building.

Sometimes he just sits on his fire escape to fuck around with his guitar, inspired by the smells of incense coming from the crystal shops, the music coming from the vintage clothing stores and the pungent smell of lingering weed at all hours of the day.

And with the shaggy, long, brown curls, bullet belt and chains, his black cutoff band t- shirts and heavy lace up boots, he seems to fit right in- for the first time in his life. 

Next to his record store there is one of the many crystal shops on the high street, a tiny little nook he always walks by on the way to work and snickers to himself. There’s no way people believe in all that.

He stops doing that once he meets you. 

Eddie Munson is one lucky motherfucker because he crosses paths with you.

He meets you while he is on his lunch break, using those thirty minutes of peace to walk around and usually pick up some prerolls from the dispensary a couple buildings down, or he lingers in front of the guitar store on the other side of the street, ogling at a B.C. Rich or an Ibanez, spending his break in there, fucking around with a cool amp. 

He meets you on an off day. A day where he doesn't feel like walking around, so he just stands in front of his store smoking a cigarette. You're walking a longtime client out of the crystal shop next door. 

“Thank you for that dried lavender, Janice! I’ll set aside some of that incense for you when we get the shipment” he hears you say. He turns around, snickers at your words while Janice passes in front of him, disappearing in the Saturday afternoon crowd. 

“Something funny?” you ask. Your voice feels smooth like honey wine. He turns around, and suddenly he doesn't feel like snickering anymore.

You look so pretty, the kind of pretty that is almost otherworldly. Like you could’ve come up in his head while planning a DnD campaign. Purple bell sleeve top, a long, black, flowy skirt and lace- up boots. Dressed like his own elven high priestess. 

He realizes he’d been staring at you for a good silent minute. He nervously breaks eye contact to put out his cigarette on the sole of his Docs. 

“Sorry– heh, just don’t really believe in all that stuff” he says, shrugging. In doing that, his evidently too- short shirt rides up, exposing a sliver of the skin of his tummy, which doesn’t go unnoticed to you. 

You lean on the doorframe of the store “What’s your name again?” you ask, a feline smile creeping on your lips. 

He swallows “I um- haven’t told you my- It’s Edward- Eddie!” he corrects himself, you got him flustered “Nobody calls me Edward” he remarks. 

His stammer makes you smile, like he's a wounded puppy dog. 

“Alright Edward Eddie, see you around” and with that you disappear back into the store. 

It takes Eddie a week to learn your name, asking the owner of the crystal shop you work at with no luck, then running into Janice a week later, who kindly tells him your name and then raves about you for a good ten minutes. Quite the hypewoman. 

It takes Eddie another two weeks to ask you out on a date. You're wearing a long mauvish dress under a white cardigan when he sees you walk into the store. Your hair is pulled back from your face and he swears he sees stars in your eyes. 

You say yes and agree to meet at a coffee shop, and by the end of the day, he asks you for a second date. And then a third, and a fourth, and by the arrival of fall, Eddie Munson has a girlfriend.

Eddie Munson is obsessed with his girlfriend.

He even jokes with his friends that his witch girlfriend put a spell on him. Made him drink a love potion, because he can't justify him being so obsessed with you.

Another thing he can't justify is you actually liking him. Sometimes he still needs to pinch himself to make sure it's not all a joke.

A pretty girl that looks like she's straight out of his DnD fantasies is dating him? There's no way shit like that happens to Edward Munson.

Although his apartment is right above the record shop, which means sneaking away for a quickie whenever you guys have matched up work schedules, he loves your apartment.

Twenty minutes away from Haight- Ashbury, in Twin Peaks, there lies your apartment. In an old building from the sixties or seventies, you have it decorated with tapestries and sun- catchers and rugs and pillows and cushions. It's a joy for Eddie's senses.

And with dating you, came Circe, your black cat who seems to have taken an almost immediate liking to Eddie.

Your apartment always smells like incense and candles, a smell you bring with you wherever you go. A smell Eddie loves. There are plants hanging from the ceiling and a big purple couch in the living room.

Everything is antique, lucky finds from thrift stores or flea markets. The table, chairs. The bookcases that hold your witchy books and your crystals.

The first time he comes over he picks one up. A carnelian.

"So, these pretty rocks are supposed to... what?" he asks, toying with every bit and bob on your bookshelf.

"They're crystals, Eddie. And each different one has a purpose. That one you're holding is a carnelian" you say, pouring him a cup of loose- leaf herbal tea, and pointing at the crystal with your nose.

"Okay, and what's it do?" he asks, toying with the smooth surface and going to sit on the ground next to you. He blows on his tea and takes a sip. He isn't a tea enjoyer, but for you he could be.

"Well, a lot of things, but primarily carnelians help boost sexual energy-" you get interrupted by Eddie sputtering out his tea. Some of it lands on you, which causes you to let out a shriek.

The ridiculousness of the situation is both endearing and hilarious. The poor guy probably didn't expect you being so blunt about your use of crystals to aid your sex life.

A giggle escapes you while Eddie tinges a deep shade of crimson from the embarrassment. He shakily sets down the teacup and saucer.

"Shi-shit sorry, lemme help you clean it up" he says, scrambling for the napkins on the coffee table to clean his mess up.

"You got some on me, Eddie" you say as you move your hair from your face to let him clean up the spit- out tea from your cheek.

"Oh my god, sorry lemme get that" he repeats, flushed.

He's shaky in reaching for the napkin to wipe your skin, afraid that he might have ruined his shot at dating you just because he cannot keep his mouth shut.

"It's honestly not a big deal, Ed. It was just funny for the most part" you smile at him, reaching your hand to lay his head on your shoulder. He breathes again.

Once he's calmed down he continues his curious interview.

"So what, do you put it up your pussy or something?" The idea of it makes Eddie's blood run slightly hotter. You laugh.

He blushes at your reaction, feeling slightly embarrassed once he registers what he had just said.

A sheepish "sorry" escapes his lips.

"No, no it's fine" you chuckle "not exactly. You just kinda charge them and set intentions. Then you can take it with you on, like, a date, if you wanna hope for something more" you say. He becomes very aware of his hard- on when you say that.

There is a thick sense of expectation in the air once those words leave your mouth. It could be the thick incense smoke floating around the room, or it could be the way you're looking at him like you want to eat him whole. Your faces get closer.

"I brought one with me today, actually" you admit. And he has never taken his shirt off so fast in his life.

So every time you hang out, he carries a piece if carnelian in his pocket, in hopes to repeat what happened at your apartment.

With time, he learns to carry a rose quartz with him, too.

Soon after, you begin gifting him crystals and bracelets to carry with him. He likes his black tourmaline beaded bracelet the best.

"It's for protection" you had said. It's just very metal to him.

He never really believes in it, but it's sweet, seeing you show up to his apartment with little colorful rocks to put on his windowsill. You teach him how to recharge them and set intentions, but after the second or third time he just can't be bothered.

He quickly learns it's not just pretty rocks you're interested in. You're, like, a full- fledged witch. Hence, the nickname 'witchy' he'd given you.

You ask him for the time and place of his birth. He scrambles to text his uncle Wayne to ask if he remembers what time he's born.

After a couple days of searching, Wayne comes across Elizabeth Munson's old diary. Indianapolis, Indiana, December 21st, 1997 at 3:47 AM.

Eddie Munson has a birth chart.

Sagittarius sun, Scorpio moon, Aries rising.

Whatever that means.

You try to explain it to him, but to no avail. He doesn't really care much for the stars. Except the ones in your eyes.

He swears he can see them twinkle every time you're laying on your brocade rug in the candle lit living room. He learns you don't really use your couch, rather, you just lay on the floor, among a pile of pillows.

Sometimes you're watching TV together. You're sat in between his legs, leaning against his chest, while Circe lays on your lap. And you look at his palms, tracing the fine lines and ridges of his calloused hands.

"You have lines on the top of your hand" you whisper, kissing his fingers.

He blows the cigarette smoke out the open window, careful not to make your house smell.

"Yeah, no shit. We all have 'em, witchy" he places a kiss to the crown of your head.

"No, look right here" you say, tracing the faint lines right where his callouses are "lines like this means you're gonna have a long life" you kiss that spot on his hand. Coarse, but warm.

"Thank fuck, imagine if i just got hit by a cable car tomorrow?" he chuckles, going back to watching TV.

You trace a deep line that goes across the palm of his hand, you smile to yourself.

"Whatcha smilin' about, witchy?" he says, eyes still glued on the TV.

"You have a double heart line. Means you love a lot" you turn and give him a smile. One of those that make your eyes sparkle in the candlelight.

"If I have a double heart line, does that mean I love you more?" he asks, sickly sweet. He cringes at himself for swearing he wasn't going to be that guy, but when you look at him like he just hung the moon for you, he can allow himself to be disgustingly sappy.

You think about it, because he does have a point, but you don't want to make him win this two- month long game you've been playing, so instead you take his palm once more.

"Look, Ed" you say, pointing at a random prominent line "this line tells me you're an asshole" you laugh, as he pinches your sides and you try to squirm away, but his hands are holding you firmly while planting sloppy kisses everywhere he could reach.

Cheek, neck, shoulder. He inhales the curve between your neck and shoulder, and you swear your feel a bit of tongue poke out between his lips. Then he stops.

And you feel it. Deeply seated at the bottom of your back, pressing against the exposed skin between your shirt and pants.

Eddie loves the way you smell, intoxicated by the smell of lavender incense and some kind of berry perfume you wear.

He's convinced that perfume is actually just a pheromone concentrate, because he cannot stop the blood rushing to his dick everytime he catches a whiff of the sweet berries, nestled in the crook of your neck, behind your ear.

"And where's the line that tells me I'm gonna get a kiss?" Eddie asks, voice low and gravelly, a voice that fills you with need, makes your breath falter from your lungs, replacing it with water. But you kiss him nonetheless, and maybe him getting a kiss is written in the stars, after all.

He softly grabs your hair as he slips his tongue in your mouth. Honey- wine whimpers falling from your lips, as you try and get Circe off your lap and in literally any other room. The cat seems to be unbothered.

"Ed... she doesn't want to move" you whine, high pitched voice expressing annoyance, but also overwhelmed at how cute your cat is.

"She's the biggest cockblocker in history" he mutters annoyed, you laugh. A groan leaves his mouth.

"Leave her alone she's just a baby! Us having sex tonight just wasn't in the stars" you shrug, light and airy as you go back to leaning on his chest and petting Circe.

Fuck the stars. He huffs, accepting his fate

He waits for you outside of the shop when he's not working. Guitar case slung around his shoulders, so he can practice at yours, he picks you up and you take the train to your apartment.

"How was work today, witchy?" he asks, roping a hand around your shoulders and giving you a tender kiss on your head.

"Meh, a. bunch of wannabe Tiktok witches, a bunch of old ladies booking tarot readings and threatening to leave bad reviews because I told them their husband is cheating on them or something" you shrug getting on the bus "Janice came, though, she brought me some jasmine flowers so I can make love tea" you say, sitting down. He sits next to you.

You take out the small satchel of dried jasmine flowers, taking in the sweet scent of citrusy flowers.

"Love tea?" he asks "that what you give me when I come over to your apartment every time?" he dips his nose in the satchel, giving it a sniff.

"Yeah, you wish" you laugh "just peppermint tea. Don't want you accusing me I put a love spell on you" Eddie smiles and lays your head on his shoulder while you play with the tassels of your bag, letting you close your eyes for the twenty minutes of the train ride.

Once you're home he slings the guitar case off his shoulders and takes it out, sitting at the stools of your breakfast counter, while you empty the contents of your bag.

Herbs, oils and a new card deck.

"So, what do you need to do now?" he asks, pulling out his phone, looking for guitar tabs to practice on.

"'kay, so" you begin "I need to make tea blend, then putting stuff together for this new project I'm working on, and then break out this new deck I got from work" you say, lost in the mysticism of your to- do list.

Sometimes he finds it funny that the stuff you have to worry about is totally otherworldly to what he usually worries about.

He watches you break out the mortar and pestle while you measure a teaspoon of dried rosebuds, a teaspoon of dried lavender buds, a teaspoon of jasmine and a pinch of cinnamon. He mindlessly plays a couple chords from a song he heard at the record shop.

"What's the cinnamon for?" he asks, pointing at the jar.

"Spicing things up? Cinnamon is a spice, so could be. I'm trying out this new recipe" you say, grinding the flowers together.

"So what you're saying" he begins, looking up from his guitar "is that you're making sex tea" and the feline grin plastered on your face is enough to make you wanna smack him in the head.

"This is not sex tea, Edward" you interject sternly while pouring the contents of the mortar in a new jar.

You light an incense stick, a rose infused one, to set your intentions for this batch, then putting it to rest on your windowsill for the night.

"What are you doing, witchy?" he asks, following your gaze as you set down the jar.

"It's for the moon. Charges the tea" you say, nonchalantly "can you pass me that deck on the counter, please?" you sit on the carpet legs crossed, while Eddie reaches for the card deck and tosses it at you. You catch it.

He sets down his guitar against the counter to goes to stand in front of you as you take the tarot cards out of the deck and start shuffling them.

"What's that baby?" he asks, he swears he can never stop learning from you.

"My new tarot deck, I need to break it out. Want me to give you a reading?" you ask, hoping he'll say yes.

He truly thinks about it, because he doesn't believe in any of this stuff, but saying no to you and watching your eyes darken with sadness is something he doesn't want to put himself through.

He is a weak, weak man.

He shrugs. "Alright then" he says, sitting down on one of the cushy pink pillows on the floor of your apartment "gimme a reading, you little witch"

Your ringed hands shuffle the gold filigree cards.

"I'm gonna do a regular spread, 'kay? Just past, present, future" you look at him, and he swears he sees your eyes twinkling again in the light of the glass lamp on the side table.

You fan out the cards on the carpet and let him pick three cards.

He's reluctant about this, all he really wants is to cook dinner together and spend the evening with you.

You spread the three cards out and unveil the first one.

"Okay, so that's The Empress. Means you have a significant female figure in your life. It usually represents feminine beauty, abundance" you say, explaining it to him.

"You got some abundance, alright" he huffs a laugh, quickly silenced by a deathly stare. You didn't like it when he made fun of what you liked. You roll your eyes at him.

"Sorry, witchy. Keep going" he smiles, like he's about to crack another joke.

"Yeah, okay." you flip the middle card "what luck. You got the lovers" you say, unenthusiastically.

Eddie's eyes light up at the possibility of a joke "Is that the card that tells me I'm getting some sick pussy in the next five minutes?" he asks, his tone makes you want to throw the empty box of cards at his head.

"It looks like you're not taking it seriously, so what's the point" you go to stand up, but he stops you.

"Sorry, baby, please don't leave. I'm enjoying this, Sorry, I won't make any more jokes, I promise" he pleads, and a wicked idea sparks in your head. He sounds really pretty when he begs.

You let out an annoyed groan as you sit back down and you unveil the last card, his future.

Ace of wands. Sex really was in his cards tonight.

"What's that, baby?" he asks.

"Ace of wands. Looks like you're gonna get some 'sick pussy' after all, Munson. Lie down." You command.

He flushes red. "Huh?" you reach under your long skirt to remove your panties.

"I said lie down, I'm giving you what the cards said" you stare at him, expectation in your eyes as he lays down on the brocade carpet, unsure if he should feel afraid or like the luckiest motherfucker alive.

"Better put in the work, pretty boy" you say, crawling on top of him, he looks at you, eyes blown as you lift your skirt, climbing the length of his body. You reach a resting place right on top of his mouth.

It takes him a second to register that you're sitting on his face, and his tongue darts out of his open mouth, to shyly have a taste.

"C'mon now, Eddie, where is the passion? You seemed really passionate about cracking jokes earlier, didn't you?" you cooed, holding up your shirt to look at his eyes, twinkling and darkened as his tongue begins to lap up the length of your pussy.

He gets the hang of it as your hips begin to grind on his face, his tongue darting in and out of your hole as his nose bumps deliciously against your clit.

"Mmm fuck" you gasp as you raise your hips to let him breathe, but he just pulls you down harder. A gasp escapes your mouth as the sound of your moans and Eddie's slurping fills the room.

Even he hears it, because you can see his eyes roll to the back of his head as a resounding hum escapes his lips, vibrating against you, wet and sensitive.

A whine leaves your mouth as you begin to get more desperate, grabbing a handful of his hair, grinding your hips harder against his tongue.

"Doing so good for me, Ed." you say in a feeble attempt to keep the reins controlled, but his tongue works magic on you, making your brain turn to mush.

"There you go don't stop, don't you dare fucking stop" you command, and his tongue flicks against your clit, catching it between his teeth to begin to suck at it.

A mewl leaves your lips, feeling the familiar warmth in your belly begin to form as you pull harder on his hair, moans becoming more high pitched and strained as Eddie makes quick work of his tongue on you.

"'mgonna cum on your face, you want that?" you ask, a rhetorical question, because of course he wants you to gush all over him.

And so you do. You come with a silent scream, riding the orgasm out with the last few snaps of your hips, as your breathing stills and your vision goes white.

Eddie's also panting like a dog under you, aching in his pants for you to make him cum.

You get off his mouth, his chin coated with your fluids as he gathers them on his fingers and sticks them in his mouth. You can't help but mutter a "good boy" as you reach for the belt of his pants.

"Sit up" you command, as he goes to straighten his back and lean against your purple couch.

You take off his shirt "I'm gonna ride you, yeah?" he looks at you like you've just discovered that aliens are real.

"God, yes please, please" he says, looking up at you as you unzip your top off, and you swear his eyes grow bigger at the sight of your chest, your bra still on. A longing sigh leaves his mouth.

You unbutton his jeans and lower them to his mid thigh along with his boxers as his cock slaps against his tummy. He hisses at the feeling as he watches you align yourself on top of it.

"You want it, Ed?" you question, an aura of cool, calm control exuding from you.

He whines. "Please, I want it so bad. Please put it in" he begs, and you've never realized how pretty his voice sounded when begging. Whiny and high pitched, nasal, almost as if he were about to cry. A prayer for you to fulfill him, make him whole.

Like he is nothing without you.

Is that what it felt like for him to see you crying on his cock every night? A rush of power washes over you, as you motion to sink down on him, but quickly going back up.

He lets out a whiny cry, a bratty child without his candy.

"Uh- huh. Beg me to fuck you, Ed" you say. You swear you can feel him shiver, his cock jumping from underneath your skirt.

"F-fuck, please. Please fuck me. Please my love, my witch, my high priestess" he rambles, your hand creeps up his thick neck, wrapping around it "fuck mmm please, I'll do anything. I'll give you everything" a frenzied speech, his words speed up at the feeling of your nails scratching the skin of his neck.

He'd let you sacrifice him to the devil if you asked him.

Feeling his pulse point with your nails as you begin to squeeze the sides of it, a needy gasp escapes the pretty boy's mouth.

Flushed a pretty red, sweat clinging to the base of his neck and forehead, hair curling and sticking to his feverish skin as you begin to sink down on him.

Inch by inch, slowly feeling him fill you up, as a quiet "oh" escapes you once you've taken all of him.

His breath is quick and labored, quiet pleas rolling out of the sweetness of his tongue, where the taste of you lingers. The love potion you'd been administering him all along.

Eddie Munson is not a religious guy, but if he needs to pray to his goddess to get you to fuck him he'll do it.

But you start moving. A slow, feline movement of your back, almost as if you and Circe were the same creature, a shapeshifter from another world. A goddess, an empress of his body and mind. He was wrapped around your finger.

Your hands tighten around his neck as you grind yourself down on him, he whimpers.

"Mmmm, so big" you mutter against his ear, biting his lobe. And everything you do makes him whine and buck himself deeper inside you, hitting the spongy walls deep inside you, needing more of you. Needing you to swallow him whole.

And you comply, raising your hips and lowering them, bouncing yourself on him as if you were only using him to chase your own pleasure. The thought of it makes Eddie shiver and moan, a strangled sound coming out of his constricted throat.

He hopes your hand leaves a mark on his neck, so people know he's yours. So people know that the witch next door spelled him and he is now in love with her. He never wants to get away from her.

"You- you're so good" he whispers, hips rising and falling on his cock, head lolling as you feel yourself get close again.

"Yeah, baby? Thank me, then. Thank your goddess for making you feel so good" you command, and his hands travel through every inch of your body, feeling every ridge and crease and bump. Wanting to feel you, wanting to worship you.

"F-fuck, thank you, thank you, thank you." a prayer to his goddess, for making him feel so good. "Please more, I- I'm so-"

"You're close aren't you?" you coo, cradling the back of his head with your free hand. Making him look at you.

"'M so close, please let me let me let me please" he begins to chant, too far gone from the feeling of your nails digging on the sides of his neck, scratching his sweaty scalp, tongue tracing the outline of his lips as quick and labored breaths escape him.

"C'mon, cum for me" you whisper in his ear, letting go of his neck and latching your lips onto him, leaving a few purple bruises on his milky skin.

You feel him spill inside you with a whine, shivering, while you ride him for all he is, chasing your own release.

You follow him soon after, biting down on his shoulder. The taste of his sweaty skin lingering on your tongue.

You stay clung to him for a few minutes after, quiet and panting as he revels in the post- orgasmic feeling you've just given him.

"Never thought I would've been the submissive type" he huffs out with a laugh as you climb off of him.

"Well, you're welcome. Gonna go have a milk bath, be right back" you stand, reveling in the feeling of his spent spilling out of you.

He hears the shower turn on and as he's getting dressed, Circe comes to nuzzle on his lap.

He raises an eyebrow.

Where has she been the whole time? The rooms of your apartment were all open when you got back. She was probably just taking a nap in your bed.

He shrugs as he delivers a couple pets to her head.

Meanwhile in the bathroom, a spell book is suspended mid air as you look a spell to get rid of a hickey that Eddie had left on your neck.

mini taglist: @strangerstilinski, @stuckonthefiction, @elegantkoalapaper, @gravedigginbbydoll, @eddiesxangel, @reidsbtch, @bangaveragewhitewine, @chaoticharrington, @hideoutside, @monstxrteeth, @the-local-pendeja, @thornsnvultures, @strangerfreaks, @unverifiedmeatsuit, @strangerfreaks, @starlitlakes, @thebejeweledwatercat, @aphrogeneias, @chrrymunson, @amira0303, @paradise-summertime, @onegirlmanytales, @piecsesrising, @feralamdtiredrat, @m0llygunn , @angel-upon, @lavendermunson, @cowboylikemunson

[bondagebimbo]

girlies, if I have any shred of advice i want to give all of you, to save you from being hurt on this site for no reason whatsoever because it is never justifiable to fuck with someone’s head or emotions the way people do on here without a single bit of guilt or remorse, it’s this:

🎶 please, please, please 🎶 do not ever trust everything that tumblr man says to you. they are ALWAYS lying to some degree about something, or saying the same shit to 30 other women, and it’s typically something important (such as, I don’t know, A PARTNER IRL THAT THEY’RE INVOLVED WITH WHO ISN’T AWARE OF THEIR ESCAPADES ON HERE)

do. not. trust. them. and do not get sucked into their games.

also, use your block button liberally. for your own sake.

if someone doesn’t pass the vibe check, absolutely yeet them the fuck off your account, out of your DMs, everything. immediately. look out for your own well-being and safety, and block these motherfuckers at the mere nagging thought that something just doesn’t seem right somewhere with them. because it isn’t.

please. take it from someone that HAS gone through this on here multiple times because she’s an idiot and always ends up getting hurt. I want to see you guys safe and not fucked up over these fucking men.

keep yourselves safe. that man is NOT WORTH IT.

[deconstructthesoup]

Personal Ranking of the Fantasy High Moms, From Worst to Best:

Arianwen Abernant: -19999/10. She's not as bad as Angwyn, since she's convinced herself she's a good mother, but her "I just want the best for you" shtick isn't any better, and the fact that she's ignorant about how horrible she is doesn't make up for years of neglect. And she also attempted to rope her daughters into raising a being of pure nightmares because she lost her status, so.

Donna Applebees: 0/10. Conservative, racist, judgmental, only loves her kids conditionally... you get the gist. Also, she's absolutely a Karen.

Hallariel Seacaster: 3/10. Yes, I know, she's a MILF, she's got such an iconic vibe, she's a badass with a sword, but none of that excuses years of being emotionally absent from your son's life. She's not a bad person, but she unfortunately doesn't know how to be a mom. Sorry, Hallariel. I wish I could rank you higher.

The Last Phoenix: 5/10. Bird. She's a bird. We don't know enough about her except for the fact that she is the last phoenix, she started out as a "haha Arthur Aguefort is a crazy motherfucker" gag, and she gave us the incredible gift that is Ayda. I cannot rank her fairly, but given that she is Ayda's mom, she goes on the list.

Roz Last-Name-Unknown: 6/10. Same deal with Gorbag---we don't know enough about her for me to properly rank her, but we do know that she was a teen mom, and she's made the choice to reconnect with her son and be in his life. Props for that.

Sandralynn Faeth: 7.5/10. I am ranking her realistically, but let it be known that I love her so much. She is such a beautiful example of a flawed person who consistently tries to be better, and even though she does relapse into old behaviors, she's still growing---and outside of the serial cheating (that is a response to trauma, by the way) and occasional lapses in social skills, she's a pretty damn good mom, all things considered.

Cathilda Ceili: 8/10. She's the parent that Fabian needed, even if he didn't always realize it. She's sweet, she's caring, and if anybody hurts her boy, she will fucking rock your shit. (Also, the reveal of Cathilda being an incredibly fearsome and ruthless pirate outside of Solace was one of my favorites.)

Wilma Thistlespring: 9/10. She's a caring and supportive mom who writes songs, is sex-positive, and loves her son! Again, she does need to recognize when she's embarrassing Gorgug, and she needs to recognize that he's gotta learn how to be angry, but still! We all love her!

Lydia Barkrock: 9.6/10. While she doesn't quite get the full score due to the fact that her son was briefly an ass, it clearly was not her fault, and from what we've seen of her, she is a fantastic mom. She's a badass disabled powerhouse who cooks incredible spreads and cares about her son and his friends a lot. I love her a lot. She's amazing.

Sklonda Gukgak: 10/10. She took that spot in her very first scene, where she poured water in her cereal so Riz could have milk in his, and she's been holding it up ever since. Despite the fact that she's constantly swamped with work, Sklonda is literally one of the best moms you could ever ask for. She deserves the world and it's a constant injustice that she's not getting it.

Bonus: Garthy O'Brien, while having transcended gender and therefore not being able to fit into either of the "mom/dad" rankings, is an 11/10 parent---not just to Ayda, but to everyone younger than them who they've essentially adopted. Words cannot express my adoration for this person.

[honeekyuu]

squeeze. [sakusa kiyoomi x reader]

two. the devil.

previous. || masterlist. || next.

a/n. this au has me on my knees.

[playlists]. satin black || brews abridged || vibes

warnings: SAKUSA MOTHERFUCKING KIYOOMI.

✗ !!! minors do not interact !!! ✗

✗ !!! ignore timestamps !!! ✗

“Just come on-”

“Dude,” Hinata coughs, waving his hand in front of his face. “I can’t see shit.”

You roll your eyes, dragging him into Satin Black by the wrist. Cigarette smoke clouds your vision and stings at your eyes, but the dark glow of the tattoo shop makes it impossible to see, anyway. You’d started to get used to it over the last few weeks, but it’s still an assault on your senses every time. You blink it away, squinting into the hazy room.

The tattoo artists – the polite-looking one and the angry guard dog one – are standing at one of the mirrors. Akaashi Keiji and Iwaizumi Hajime, based on your interactions on Twitter today. You stop at the counter, watching them and barely noticing when Hinata stumbles into you from behind.

Akaashi’s shirtless in the mirror, a cigarette dangling between his lips and his eyes squinting down at the art on his own body, as though he’s examining intensely for imperfections. His jeans are slung low on his hips – you see that the dark trail of hair under his navel is flanked on both sides by symmetrical hip tattoos, the black ink stark on his pale skin. 

Iwaizumi is behind him, head bent and cigarette shedding ashes onto the floor as he digs a tattoo gun into Akaashi’s spine. He’s wearing an old muscle shirt with cigarette holes in it, tattooed biceps flexing every few seconds as he works and his frown deep with concentration. There’s a large outline on Akaashi’s back, the lines purple and thin and spanning the entirety of his upper back and curling over the tops of his shoulders. Half of it is filled in, pale blues and greens splashed over his left shoulder blade and Iwaizumi’s gun pressing a cyan color into his spine. Akaashi looks to be in absolutely no pain, his gaze empty as he mumbles something plainly to the other artist. Iwaizumi lifts his head and plucks the cigarette from his own mouth, another cloud of smoke filling the room as he stares down at Akaashi’s back and grumbles a response. 

The interaction is entirely inaudible, the grating guitar of “Crazy Bitch” screaming in your ears. Hinata has both ears plugged with his fingers, and he leans in close to yell to you.

“This is that one Buckcherry song you like!”

It catches both tattoo artists’ attention, and you have no idea how they’d heard your friend.

Cyan eyes find yours in the mirror – cyan like the ink being drilled into his back – and Iwaizumi’s angry gaze is whipping around to you and Hinata at the counter, the cigarette flickering with light and then shedding between his fingers.

“The fuck do you know about Buckcherry?” he barks, and you’re amazed you’d caught it. Hinata jumps beside you, and you feel him shuffle closer.

“Nothing! Uh-Sir?”

Iwaizumi finds that funny, it seems. His eyebrows lift, and you hear him snort quietly as he gives Hinata the once-over, but your eyes are trapped by Akaashi’s. 

The polite-looking one, who doesn’t look so polite now that you really look at him. 

He stares back emptily for a moment, and then – when he sees that you won’t break eye contact first – he smirks, the cigarette looking dainty in a smile that dangerous. 

“Suna,” he says quietly, and you wonder if there’s some black magic in the shop that makes hearing possible through the music. “Your favorite customer’s here.”

You only realize that the curtain across the room is closed when it flies open. Suna emerges on a rolling chair, shirtless with black sunglasses sitting on his nose. You wonder wryly if he knows it’s already dark in the shop without them. 

He’s clearly with a client, because he’s got black latex gloves on and a pair of forceps his right hand, but when he sees you, you get the feeling he couldn’t care less.

“I was wondering when I’d see you, sweetheart.” His smile is wicked, and you wonder, not for the first time, if he’s as harmless and stupid as he seems online.

He sets the clamp down and stands from the chair just as the song is changing, and that black magic idea becomes that much more convincing – haunting vocals ring in the shop, layered under a bass-y beat and quick rap, and the way Suna strips his hands of that black latex while smiling at you feels oddly like you’re being lured in by a siren that knows exactly what it’s doing.

His head twitches in Hinata’s direction, and you watch two tattooed fingers lift the glasses off his face as he stares down at your friend with lifted brows.

“You old enough to be in here?” he says with a smirk as he approaches. Hinata only leans toward you again, his arm hooking with yours.

“Is that the piercer?” he asks in a whisper. Suna’s face splits in a shit-eating grin, his double lip piercings spreading under the light when he presses his hips against the counter.

“Yeah. That’s the piercer,” the man says, his voice low and close. And then he flicks his gaze to you, and green eyes pin you to your spot. “Finally gonna let me pierce you, baby?”

You swallow and shake your head, clearing it. “I’m here about-”

“About the music,” he says, head tilted to look down at you. “I know. What’s wrong – you don’t like Saliva? It’s one of his favorites.”

You furrow your brows, frowning up at him. “Who?”

There’s silence, and then Suna’s grin is widening, face twisting into something terrible and manic.

“Oh,” he breathes, excitement making him lean ever closer. “You haven’t met him yet."

Oh.

Suna pulls out his phone and types out a quick message – you watch the black outline of a heart that sits on his thumb fly across the screen, and you remember to steel yourself despite the nerves. You’d come here for a reason.

Suna’s eyes find yours again. “I fixed that for you.”

“Fixed what-”

The door directly across the shop from you is wrenched open, and your gaze goes right over Suna’s shoulder. The man that comes out of that room walks in time with the echoing, ethereal vocals ringing throughout the shop.

Black Docs blend into black jeans, ripped at the knees and following lean legs that go on for miles. A black t-shirt that’s form-fitting and snug around tattooed biceps, every inch of those arms covered an ink, down to fingernails stained with black polish. Septum and industrial piercings glint under the single overhead light as he passes under it, and two ink black moles peek out from under the ink black hair that hangs over two ink black eyes.

Jesus Christ.

He’s in front of you before you can put together that you’ve been staring up into his eyes for too long.

“Can I help you?” His voice isn’t welcoming, it’s deep and rough and irritated. You wonder when the devil made hell so hot.

“Uh-” You swallow, and Hinata’s elbow digs into your side, urging you. “The music-”

The devil sneers, and your brain whispers a quiet ‘thank you’ in response. “You’re really interrupting my piercer for this? He’s with a client.”

You blink. You remember the devil has a name. He’s just a man, and you’d be damned before you fold for him.

I’d rather he fold me in-

“Maybe your piercer should be professional and not forget he has a client, then. He wouldn’t be standing here right now.”

You see Akaashi and Iwaizumi turn over their shoulders to stare. They’d gone back to tattooing Akaashi’s back, but the gun switches off now, Iwaizumi’s eyebrows high on his forehead as he stares in amusement. Akaashi crosses his arms, watching with a quiet, unnerving smirk. 

The devil–Sakusa Kiyoomi– leans down, planting his hands on the counter and leveling you with a glare that makes you shiver. “Is that all you can come up with?”

You drop your gaze, able to match anyone else’s but not his. Not his. 

Your eyes land on his marked fingers, and you notice a piercing on his right hand that slices through his middle finger, between the second and third knuckles. Suna has the same one, now that you’re looking.

“‘s cute,” you mumble, nodding your head toward it. You lift your eyes to Sakusa’s, slapping a disinterested smile on your face. “Boyfriends?”

He stares back evenly, unfazed. “Brothers.”

You need this man like you need air.

“Do you need something,” he starts, voice cutting through every thought flying around your head. “Or are you just here to waste my time?”

The haze of him crashes down over you, and you remind yourself who you’re talking to. 

It works. 

“If my wine glasses start shattering, you can expect a bill from me,” you say, crossing your arms in irritation. He only lifts his brows, looking at you like you’re stupid.

“How about you just move your wine glasses away from the wall?”

You bristle, leaning forward and planting your hands on the counter, too. Hinata’s hand slips from your arm, and he gasps quietly, whispering your name. You don’t hear it, too busy getting in Sakusa’s face.

He looks briefly surprised to see you come so close, and his eyes flick down to your mouth before finding your gaze again. You smile politely, knowing he’ll see it for the insult it is.

“How about you just turn your music down?”

He smiles back, leaning closer, and you swear you can smell his shampoo. 

“How about you just fuck off?”

You blink, eyes going wide. He’d said it with saccharine, but it stings across your skin like a slap to the face. You furrow your brows, hatred burning in you, but he’s sliding his eyes to the man beside you, looking at Hinata for the first time.

He gives the ginger a once-over, and then he slides his gaze back to yours, slow and purposeful and magnifying the whisper he lets out, breath fanning over your mouth.

“And get your little brother out of my fucking shop.”

He’s gone before you’re ready to let him leave, the door to his office slamming so hard that the windows behind you rattle.

You stare at it blankly, listening to Suna’s low whistle and Akaashi’s mocking snicker. Iwaizumi just shakes his head, visible in your periphery, and the tattoo gun starts up again. The song changes. Hinata tugs on your elbow, the words ‘let’s just go back’ said low in your ear.

You’re going to ruin him.

taglist = [open]

@mollyrolls @nectardaddy @onlytendoguesses @scinclaitnoir @marsoverthestars

@bookskeepers @choerry-picking @siheez @introvertsince2003 @eggyrocks

@atrashsith @beckixwsm @kakeru-eem @atsumusc0ck @seroh

@reignsaway @a-little-pebbl @bakingcuriosity @dondoncool @corvid007

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@softpia @strawbebbielu  @erinwillxoxo @myhyunniebun @kokoblep

@thiisisntlovely  @viscoolreal  @m3lonss 

she put my hand up on her throat and told me // squeeze that shiiii-

squeeze [ghostemane].