#DIAMOND WHY THE FUCK DID I SAY TRIANGLE

[martinas-hat]

heterosexuals ❤️

(reupload because i forgot martina's tattoo)

[cheer-nympho]

Steve had been conned into chaperoning the kids to a ren faire.

Admittedly with very little resistance, but he was keeping that to himself. Once there and with their bags packed away into some apparently theme appropriate tents he had shrugged on some medieval casual clothes and…immediately lost track of all of them,

But a figure he did spot was a long haired Jester entertaining a small entourage with juggling,

Steve finds himself laughing slightly condescendingly at the jingling man. Why do people find juggling so impressive?

He picked it up straight away with some hackey sacks while bored between practices. He’s just good with his hands.

When he looks back up to get another glance in however, the jester isn’t perched on top of his little rock anymore and the crowd has merged with the other dweebs.

Steve stares at the empty space for a moment before a jingle right by his ear spooks him into turning around.

“Art thou not impressed by my amazing skills, your lordship?” The jester asks, swaying on his feet and causing the bells all over him to ping, grin wide and mocking.

And up close Steve notices one very important, very dangerous thing.

This court jester is really fucking hot.

He looks like an idiot, a nerd, a dweeb. Its hard not to in a pointy hat. But he also wore it too well, looked too perfect like that.

Steve notices the…is that..? Yes, the corset wrapping tightly around the mans waist, red and black diamonds decorating the sides and leading to small puffy shorts. His legs are covered in tight black leggings which should look ridiculous. It should.

An obnoxious cough and head tilt-jingle make Steve aware that he has been staring at the mans waist for way longer than was ‘bro code permitted’

He looks up with a wince, expecting a look of disgust ranging from mild embarrassment to punch-your-lights-out.

He was, instead, greeted by a smug and knowing smile. The red and black triangles painted over the mans eyes warped where the grin reached them. “Or maybe thou art impressed, but skills are not what draw thine eyes.”

Shit. Fuck. The stupid hot nerd is using stupid nerd speak on him. And Steves stupid nerd, apparently ‘very accurate’ pants are getting tighter. He needs to say something. Anything.

“You’ve got…bells.” Okay, maybe not anything. He used to be better at this shit.

He is rewarded with a wild, joyous laugh as the jester throws his head from side to side. “I do! Isn’t it amazing?The staff insisted on it so they could hear me coming.”

“It certainly makes an impression-“

“Eddie, names Eddie. And what does my lordship go by?”

“Steve is fine.”

“That he is…” The comment was punctuated by a less than subtle glance, almost a leer. “However, Fine Steve seems unimpressed with my merrymaking. As the official court jester, I cannot let that stand.” He stamps his foot, causing another cacophony of jingles.” “Therefore…”

“…Pick a card any card!” A pack of standard cards was presented to him with a flourish, but all he could do was roll his eyes.

“Come on, really? This shit is basic. All I have to do it watch your hands. You’ll swipe my card out and put it back in later, or mark it somehow.”

“Ooo his highness has it all figured out doesn’t he. Well then, princess, you have nothing to lose by picking a card, do you?” And that was…true. Plus he could maybe try to fix his previous fumble and try to claw a number out of this disaster.

So with another bitchy roll of his eyes, Steve plucks a card from the deck and hides it behind his palm. Two of Hearts.

Then out of nowhere… “You know, Stevie, if you think I’m pretty you can just tell me. I know the kingdom would approve not of a noble like yourself marrying a commoner like me, but they need know little of how we…” He begins to reshuffle the cards, motioning for Steve to place his chosen one back in before making some very obvious, very crude movements with his fingers. “…get to know each other in the meantime.”

He was going to die. In the middle of a nerd fest.

“Well, my lord…” Eddie continues, circling him while dragging a finger across his arms and shoulder blades before coming to a stop in front of him. A very bold hand takes Steves jaw and forces his head up, pretending to inspect something on his costume for any bystanders.

“If you would like some more…close up demonstrations…” He leans in tightly, still holding Steve’s jaw in a tight grip. “You can pay me a visit in staff cabin 23 tonight.” He strokes a piece of hair gently behind Steve’s ear before pulling out a card, as if from said ear.

Steve was glad that Eddie took the initiative to carefully pull his hand up and place the card into his palm, because currently Steve was too preoccupied with staring like a fish out of water into Eddies eyes. Everything about him was just so captivating, so alive.

Maybe that’s why he did little more than step forward aimlessly, with small grabby hands when Eddie pulled away. Before Steve could even process it, the bells and jingles had mingled back into the crowd. But that was…that was okay. Cause he could go to the…cabin?

But how was he supposed to- Oh. He looks down. On the card was a loosely clipped room key with a ‘23’ crudely engraved into the edge as if by a pocket knife.

The card itself, to his horror, was the Two of Hearts.

Shit.

He forgot to watch the fucking hands.

[inkskinned]

the thing is there's like, a point of oversaturation for everything, and it's why so many things get dropped after a few minutes. and we act like millennials or gen z kids "have short attention spans" but... that's not quite it. it's more like - we did like it. you just ruined it.

capitalism sees product A having moderate success, and then everything has to come out with their "own version" of product A (which is often exactly the same). and they dump extreme amounts of money and environmental waste into each horrible simulacrum they trot out each season.

now it's not just tiktokkers making videos; it's that instagram and even fucking tumblr both think you want live feeds and video-first programming. and it helps them, because videos are easier to sneak native ads into. the books coming out all have to have 78 buzzwords in them for SEO, or otherwise they don't get published. they are making a live-action remake of moana. i haven't googled it, but there's probably another marvel or starwars something coming out, no matter when you're reading this post.

and we are like "hi, this clone of project A completely misses the point of the original. it is soulless and colorless and miserable." and the company nods and says "yes totally. here is a different clone, but special." and we look at clone 2 and we say "nope, this one is still flat and bad, y'all" and they're like "no, totally, we hear you," and then they make another clone but this time it's, like, a joyless prequel. and by the time they've successfully rolled out "clone 89", the market is incredibly oversaturated, and the consumer is blamed because the company isn't turning a profit.

and like - take even something digital like the tumblr "live streaming" function i just mentioned. that has to take up server space and some amount of carbon footprint; just so this brokenass blue hellsite can roll out a feature that literally none of its userbase actually wants. the thing that's the kicker here: even something that doesn't have a physical production plant still impacts the environment.

and it all just feels like it's rolling out of control because like, you watch companies pour hundreds of thousands of dollars into a remake of a remake of something nobody wants anymore and you're like, not able to afford eggs anymore. and you tell the company that really what you want is a good story about survival and they say "okay so you mean a YA white protagonist has some kind of 'spicy' love triangle" and you're like - hey man i think you're misunderstanding the point of storytelling but they've already printed 76 versions of "city of blood and magic" and "queen of diamond rule" and spent literally millions of dollars on the movie "Candy Crush Killer: Coming to Eat You".

it's like being stuck in a room with a clown that keeps telling the same joke over and over but it's worse every time. and that would be fine but he keeps fucking charging you 6.99. and you keep being like "no, i know it made me laugh the first time, but that's because it was different and new" and the clown is just aggressively sitting there saying "well! plenty of people like my jokes! the reason you're bored of this is because maybe there's something wrong with you!"

[eustasskiddsprosthetic]

I have a fic idea last night: why not Ace, Luffy and Law love triangle? Law's a travelling doctor, Ace and Luffy are essentially hitchhikers and they run into each other frequently on their travels.

He meets Luffy first and Luffy clings onto him like a puppy. They dine-and-dash at buffets, explore forests/natural sights together and most importantly make out! Luffy's annoying but Law admits that having someone like Luffy makes things fun and he genuinely enjoys the endless trivia of facts Luffy has about insects and nature. "Oh! This bug's poisonous, don't touch that! The last time Usopp touched that he had a stomachache!" "Did you know that this rock is full of diamonds? Nami says a small chunk of it's worth like A MILLION BERRIES!" "This tree's as old as Brook! We should climb it!" They travel together some days and sometimes Luffy looks at Law with a very soft, somewhat unsure expression with stars in his eyes. And sometimes, Law looks back and smiles.

Ace, meanwhile is aloof at first. He's decisively not as chatty but Law knows fuck-me-eyes when he sees them. They fuck in Law's hotel room. On the bed, on the counter, in the shower, on the bed again! They do not stop! It is disgusting and messy but dang it Ace's so hot!! "I know gorgeous when I see it," Ace says as he nibbles on Law's ear. "So fucking pretty. Drives me crazy." They (trauma) bond the next morning and that's when they become closer and on talking terms. Like Luffy, they go on dates but they're more chill. They watch busking performances and drink at quiet bars at one in the morning. They end every date with heated kisses. Although they don't want it to be, they're well aware every date could be their last...

Also, Law has no idea Ace and Luffy are related! Law had only met them seperately after all!

When Law finally settles down, he's neighbours with a white guy called Sabo. To welcome him, Sabo invites Law to a family dinner with his brothers. Imagine how awkward it is when Law sees Ace AND Luffy show up together...

[bitethedemon]

Daggers, Poison, and Shiny Things (Lucanis x Reader x Illario): Chapter 4

<-Last Chapter / Next Chapter ->

Link to this fic on AO3

Tags: Slow burn, De Riva Reader, Eventual Smut, Messy Love Triangles

Fic summary: You lost everything in Rivain: your family, your home, and your hopes of ever becoming a seer. Treviso offered you revenge, but you were not prepared for the loneliness you would find amongst the Crows. The busiest assassin in Antiva became your only friend. That is, until he died and left you alone to pick up the pieces of yourself and his devastated cousin.

Imagine then, that your dead old flame shows up after a year, very much alive, with a very loud demon at his side and a hot new boss, while you have to explain that you are now dating his cousin. Don't you just hate it when that happens?

The city had been in complete disarray, and the Cantori Diamond had been much the same when the information came in: a dragon had landed in Treviso. It was all hands on deck. Even you were ordered to go out there and fight, which was saying something about the level of fucked you all were.

Lucanis came too to defend his home. Everything was going completely to shit before Rook swooped in and saved the day.

When she arrived, they miraculously managed to make the dragon retreat. Parts of the city were completely destroyed, but it could have been much worse.

It’s not that you weren’t grateful. You were. Your home had been saved.

You just did not need to see the way Lucanis looked at her once it was over. Now you had to hear from everyone about how great Rook was. Apparently, she had let everything go sideways in Minrathous just to save Treviso.

You could not help wondering: Why?

She was a Mourn Watcher from Nevarra. She had no allegiance to Treviso. There was no other possibility in your mind than she had done it for Lucanis, and that thought was gnawing at your mind.

Between worrying about your partner acting weird and your jealousy towards Rook, there was no more space in your head for any other feelings. You could not let it go. Your mind was constantly buzzing with it.

There really was no sense to any of your worrying. Logically, you knew that worrying about Illario was a lost cause, as it had always been. Logically, you knew that Lucanis wasn’t yours anymore and he should do whatever made him happy. Your mind did not listen to logic though.

It was about two weeks after the attack that you heard a knock on your door.

No one ever visited your home, except Illario and he always used the key you hid in the flowerpot on the windowsill. Viago would not be caught dead in your neighborhood, so he never visited unless someone was dead or dying. No one ever knocked.

You opened the door and were surprised to see Lucanis there. The dark circles around his eyes seemed to only have gotten worse. He looked like he had never slept a day in his life. There was something more than just tiredness too.

“Is…” Lucanis began. “Is Illario here? I don’t want to intrude. Viago said you would be here.”

“No, he’s not,” you answered and opened the door more to let him in. “You’re not intruding. Please, come in.”

He gave a small nod. You led him into the living room and gestured for him to sit down before you went to get a cup of coffee for him. When you handed it to him and he didn’t complain about how thin it was, you knew that something was really wrong.

“What’s going on?”

His eyes flickered to you as if he had almost half-forgotten that you were there while he was seemingly lost in his own mind. Spite was looking around your house, examining the paintings on the walls one by one. He was a complete contradiction to his tired host with the energy he exuded.

“Nothing,” Lucanis said and shook his head. “Rook thought it would be a good idea if I came to see you.”

You forced your facial features not to change. Why would she suggest that?

He was going to tell you that the two of them were together now, or that he couldn’t see you anymore, you were sure of it.

Whatever it was it must have been something horrible.

“Why is that?” you asked a bit too quietly for your own liking.

He sighed and opened his mouth as if he wanted to speak before changing his mind and closing it again.

“Forget it,” he said and got up from his seat. “I shouldn’t be here. It is not fair to Illario, and in this state, with Spite—"

You got up too and stood in his way.

“Wait,” you said. “Please. What is going on?”

He was quiet for a long moment, just looking at you. He looked at you with such a broken expression.

He briefly told you about a mission they had been on in Weisshaupt. You only knew the gist of everything that was going on with the whole ‘elven gods’-situation from pieces of information you had stitched together from Viago and Illario.

“I missed,” he said quietly. “I had a perfect shot at ending a god, and I missed, River. I am no use to anyone, and it is driving me insane. I failed. I cannot even do a simple job.”

“Lucanis…” you said softly. “Killing a god isn’t a simple job.”

He groaned tiredly and ran his hand over his face before sitting down again.

“You sound just like Rook,” he said. “It is simple. I had her. And I still failed.”

“Okay fine,” you said. “But what does beating yourself up over it achieve? It happened. It’s over.”

“He’s not here,” Spite said, now looking directly at you. “Help US!”

You looked from Spite to him. You could not help asking, even though you knew it made Lucanis uncomfortable to talk about it.

“What does he mean by that?”

Lucanis glanced at Spite and then shook his head. He gave you a dismissive wave of his hand. To no surprise, he did not want to talk about it.

“Forgive me for bringing all of this to you, River,” Lucanis said. “I shouldn’t have. Rook insisted it would be good for me to talk to someone from home. I should have told her no.”

You sighed. It was frustrating how he always shut down like that.

“You can talk to me,” you said. “I hope you know that. I might be with Illario, but you and I knew each other first. We’re still friends, aren’t we?”

He looked at you for a moment and gave you a tired smile.

“How are you?” he asked.

You gave a bitter scoff.

“Let’s not.”

“You said the same last time,” he pointed out, his tone slightly lighter now that you were not talking about him. “You always said to me that I should talk more. Now I come here and talk, and you are quiet. You know I am a creature of habit. Don’t do this to me.”

You smiled at his attempt to get you to open up. The world really had gone upside down, because that was usually your job. You couldn’t lie to him. You had never been able to.

“Illario is being impossible,” you admitted. “He is driving me up the wall.”

“I know,” Lucanis said. “He is hard to talk to these days. I’ve tried. How is he?”

“He is losing his mind.”

There was a hint of worry in Lucanis’ eyes.

“How so?”

You couldn’t tell him about the First Talon thing. You had promised Viago. You could tell him about something else, but you really didn’t want to. You shouldn’t have said anything, but now you had to say something.  

“He uh…” you said. “He proposed to me.”

His eyebrows raised at your words. He looked at the floor in front of him for a moment before finding your eyes again and giving you a small smile.

“Congratulations,” he said.

Your eyes narrowed slightly at his reaction.

“I didn’t say yes,” you explained. “Because of the obvious political reasons and given who I am. It can’t happen.”

It took him a second to understand what you were saying. He shrugged slightly.

“That shouldn’t hold you back if you love him,” he said, not quite keeping eye contact with you. “My great aunt married a simple tailor, and eventually got the family’s approval too.”

“There is some distance between tailor and ‘Rivaini witch’,” you said. “Besides, you two are the only Dellarmortes left. That changes things too.”

“The other families would oppose it, yes,” he said. “And Viago would kill both of you in your sleep, but you would have my blessing at least. You should do it if you want to do it.”

You couldn’t believe he was actually trying to talk you into this. You found it frustrating for some reason. Your next words flew right out of your mouth:

“He also almost cheated on me after I told him no.”

His eyes narrowed at that. You heard a low growl of irritation from him.

“Illario, you idiot,” he mumbled and shook his head. “I am so sorry. He doesn’t think with his head.”

“Don’t tell him I’ve told you that though,” you quickly added. “I forgave him, and we’re fine now. He has been through a lot. He was drinking, so…”

“I won’t,” he said with a hint of anger still in his tone. “I should not get involved in you and his relationship like this.”

“No, I know,” you said with a sigh. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything either. It’s not fair to him that we talk about this.”

Lucanis shook his head and made a dismissive hand gesture at your apology.

“It’s my fault. I asked,” he said and got up from his seat. “I should get back.”

Spite suddenly jumped up as if someone had set fire to him.

“NO!” Spite hissed loudly. “No leaving. TALK TO RIVER!”

You jumped at the sound.

“What is his problem?” you asked.

“Everything,” Lucanis answered tiredly. “I cannot get a moments peace from him these days. Ignore him.”

Lucanis suddenly groaned in discomfort and put a hand to his head as if in pain.

“Lucanis?” you said and put a hand on his shoulder.

He pushed you away and the discomfort of whatever he was going through seemed to get worse. He was fighting against Spite for control, you realized. You weren’t sure what to do. Suddenly he stopped struggling.

“…Lucanis?”

He opened his eyes, and they were glowing purple. Spite in Lucanis’ body smiled at you.

“Now. We talk,” Spite said, his voice a mix between his own and Lucanis’.

“Get out,” you warned. “Now, Spite.”

“No,” he said. “Help Lucanis. Make him talk. Make him free us.”

“Free you from where?”

“He is not HERE,” Spite said firmly. “Never left. The prison...”

You didn’t understand. Lucanis was here. You vaguely remembered something from your training back in Rivain: spirits are beings of emotions. Mental and emotional states can be interpreted as very literal by them.

“Help US!”

“I…” you said. “I don’t know how.”

Spite let out a growl of frustration. You saw his body twitch and his eyes turned brown again. He looked at you with so much concern. He looked you over as if he might have hurt you in some way.

“I’m so sorry, River,” he said. “I should never have come here.”

He rushed out the door before you could even react.

Viago came and got you from your laboratory. He explained briefly that someone wanted to talk to you, but he was unsure about what. He led you into a room with Rook and two strangers. You froze a bit. One of the strangers was a Qunari. You frowned slightly when you saw them.

“You’re River, right?” Rook asked in that sugary sweet voice of hers.

“I am,” you answered coldly, still looking at the Qunari.

The Qunari were all over Rivain to the point that some of the societies there took to the Qun as well. Your village had not been one of them. Your village had stuck to the old pantheistic beliefs and shunned the Qunari and their faith. Needless to say, Antaam or not, you were not a fan.

The Qunari smiled at you.

“You’re a seer, right?” the Qunari spoke with genuine excitement. “I’m Rivaini too. Not a seer though, but I like the whole talking-with-spirits-thing. Are you the only Rivaini Crow or are there others? Do you think—"

“Taash…” Rook interrupted.

“Sorry,” they answered.

You blinked at them in slight confusion. It was difficult to maintain your frown with just how eager and interested they seemed.

“It’s…complicated, and yes, currently…” you answered them briefly and then looked at Rook. “What is this about? Is Lucanis alright?”

“That’s what we wanted to talk to you about,” Rook said. “Lucanis has briefly mentioned that you are able to communicate with Spite. Is that true?

You looked at the others and then back to Rook.

“Yes,” you answered curtly.

“Lucanis is…struggling right now,” she began explaining. “I’m not sure what to make of the whole thing and it’s not as if he is eager to share the burden with anyone. If you—”

You put a hand up to stop her.

“I won’t abuse Lucanis’ trust,” you said. “If he wants you to know something, he’ll tell you. I won’t go behind his back.”

Rook sighed softly.

“And I understand that,” Rook continued. “But I’m getting worried. We all are. We can’t help him unless we know what is going on.”

“Then talk to him,” you said a bit more harshly. “Look, I worry about him too and it is hard to get him to talk, but if he learns you went behind his back like this, it’ll only make him shut off more.”

Another sigh from Rook.

“I can’t talk to Spite, except for when he takes over Lucanis,” she said and then pointed to the other stranger behind her: an older man. “Emmrich can hear Spite, but he doesn’t know Lucanis as well as you do, so it’s difficult to make head and tails about what is going on.”

The older man stepped forward. He was a Mourn Watcher too, you guessed from his outfit.

“Spite says that he wants ‘out’,” Emmrich explained in a gentle tone. “He speaks about being trapped, but he claims that Lucanis is trapped too. This makes me believe that it is not actually a splitting of spirit and host that is Spite’s wish. We thought that perhaps you might have a theory to what is then?”

You looked from Emmrich to Rook’s pleading face. You hated this. Of course you wanted to help Lucanis, but you hated that it had to be this way.

“He trusts you,” Rook said. “Please help us help him...”

You groaned.

“Fine…” you said quietly.

You turned to look at Emmrich.

“Spite uses ‘we’ when he speaks about getting out,” you began explaining. “He has mentioned a prison. He says that Lucanis never left, and that they are stuck there, but I don’t think it’s a literal prison. That’s just how Spite sees it because he’s a spirit. He has asked me to help but…I’m not sure how.”

“Never left…” Rook mused. “He’s still stuck in the Ossuary but in his…mind?”

“Something like that,” you said and shrugged.

“Ah,” Emmrich said with a thoughtful expression. “So, Lucanis is stuck in the past, and Spite perceives the past as a literal prison that they need to be freed from. Without solving whatever unfinished business Lucanis has in the past, he will not be able to free both of them.”

Rook looked between you and Emmrich.

“So…killing Zara?” Rook said. “Would that do it?”

“Revenge could certainly be a start, I would imagine,” Emmrich said.

You nodded.

“Then that’s what’s first on the agenda from now on,” Rook said and made a gesture for them to leave.

The others went out of the room. Rook stayed behind for a moment to talk to you in private.

“And thank you for this,” she said. “I care about him.”

You sighed and nodded. You had figured as much…

“Me too,” you said quietly.

Rook gave you a small smile and started heading towards the door. You grabbed her wrist before she could leave. She looked from your grip on her to your face with a puzzled expression.

You weren’t even sure what you wanted to say to her, but something made you do it. Your breath hitched and you felt tears prick at your eyes before you looked up at her.

“I can’t lose him again, Rook,” you said. “Please take care of him for me.”

Rook’s expression softened. She turned around to face you fully and put her hand over yours. She gave you a gentle smile.

“I will. I promise,” she said and squeezed your hand. “Can I ask…? What were you to him? Before the Ossuary and all of that, I mean…”

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to stop the tears, but one rolled down your cheek anyway. You looked at the floor in front of you. No answer came out, but Rook knew anyway. She smiled.

“I thought so,” she said quietly. “With the way he speaks about you.”

Another tear rolled down before you could stop it. Gods, you hated crying in front of strangers. Especially her. You looked up at her.

“Things change,” you simply said.

She gave you a lighter smile.

“Things do change, yes. People and their feelings? Less so,” she said and squeezed your hand one last time before letting you go. “Thank you for this, River.”

It did not take long before Rook’s plans were set in action. You were in the laboratory when Illario came in. He came over and kissed your cheek.

“I’m leaving,” he said. “I will see you tonight after we are done.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion before setting down the equipment in your hands.

“It’s early,” you noted. “After you’re done with what? I thought you were finishing things up here like you said you would.”

He leaned in with a smile and placed a kiss on your lips.

“Rook and Lucanis are going after Zara Renata,” he explained and looked you in the eyes. “I want to be there.”

You pulled your head back from his close proximity a bit. You did not like the sound of that. Especially if this was Lucanis’ only chance at making peace with whatever was going on with him.

“Why? Why do you want to be there for that?”

Illario pulled his head back in turn, looking as if offended at the ridiculousness of your question.

“Venatori killed my grandmother and imprisoned my cousin,” he said. “Of course, I want to be there.”

You let out a small breath. It took everything to not roll your eyes. It took everything to not say ‘Illario, this isn’t about you.’.  In fact, he was the only Dellamorte that the Venatori hadn’t touched. If the revenge of what happened belonged to anyone, it was Lucanis who had been imprisoned and tortured for a year.

You shook your head slightly. There was no talking him out of it, you knew that much. You hoped that Lucanis would ask him to stay behind. You were worried that Illario might make a bigger mess of things than necessary.

“Just…” you began. “Be careful, yeah?”

“I always am.”

Joke of the century, you thought. He kissed you goodbye and left. The feeling that Illario would fuck something up haunted you after he left the room.

[ckret2]

Would Bill like

1. ABBA

2. Grateful dead

3. Mitski

4. Vocaloid (things like Kikou, Echo by Creeper-p, and Again also by Creeper-p

5. Kate Bush

Idk these were things I thought he'd like

For those of y'all just getting here, I'm using this list here as my guidelines for What Music I Believe Bill Cipher Would Like, Loosely Based On Canon.

1. Yeah I think he'd like ABBA (or, y'know, BABBA, as the case may be). He likes party music and that's like, party music of the 70s—though I imagine he lost interest in them as they stopped being contemporary.

But more importantly, it gives me the mental image of Dipper singing Disco Girl and Bill Fucking Cipher joins in like "I LOVE THIS SONG!" He'd be mortified.

Now I'm just thinking of parody song titles for BABBA. "Hand Me! Hand Me! Hand Me! (A Guy Late At Night)." "Mommy Mama." "The Loser Takes Nothing." "Dollars, Dollars, Dollars." "Superb Soldier."

2. Now, I've said I think Bill is all over well-known psychedelic music, so you'd think Grateful Dead would be top of the list; but when I sit and listen to their top hits, it makes me think less In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida or Jefferson Airplane, and more John Denver, so thus far I've passed over them. But digging a bit deeper I'm finding more stuff that gives me Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds vibes, so this is probably just a sign that I need to finally fill in the Grateful Dead-shaped hole in my mental musical library like I've been meaning to do for years. I'm gonna tentatively say "yes" just due to the fact that it's the Grateful Dead, but I haven't listened to them enough to say WHAT he'd enjoy.

3. I will grant that it's very funny to imagine Bill laying on a bed staring at the ceiling while "NOBODY, NOBODY, NOBODY—" blasts at top volume. However I think the main reason it's funny is because it's jarringly incongruous. Most of Mitski's music is dreamy-sounding, deeply introspective, and carried not by simple pop-friendly melodies but by the the complexity & poetry of the lyrics—and I think all of those are things Bill tends to steer away from. "Can you take psychedelics to it in the back of a van with tie-dye tapestries on the wall?" or "Can you rave to it?" covers most of his casual music listening.

(However, I do think he's got an ex girlfriend who did beat poetry that sounds kinda like Mitski lyrics as performed by a screaming death metal band. Someday I'll get around to drawing some of his exes.)

4. I say this as somebody who loves "Again" and "Echo"—I think he'd hate them, & probably most of Kikuo's music. There's a vast breadth of Vocaloid music—it's not really a genre so much as it is an instrument—and while I don't necessarily think he'd outright reject anything made with Vocaloid, I do think he'd steer away from the lyrically darker music. Like I said, I don't think he likes deeply introspective music. This triangle hasn't acknowledged or explored a negative emotion in a bajillion years and he's not about to start now. I mean, come on:

Cause I am on fire; a crying, burning liar; seeing nothing, nothing, but myself; and I'm the one with the lighter!

Is that about Bill? Sure, that's about Bill!!! You could insert it into the middle of the axolotl poem and hardly even notice.

(Making this was a mistake, in my head I started singing "if he wants to shirk the blame, he'll have to invoke my name" to the tune of "Again". Unplanned new headcanon voice for the Axolotl.)

However, "this describes Bill well" doesn't mean "Bill would like this." In fact, I think "this describes Bill well" almost guarantees that Bill would dislike a particular song. The fact that "Again" has such an apt description of him is exactly why he'd despise it. If you try to play this in his hearing, he's blowing up the speaker, burning down the house, turning your head into an ice cream cone and biting it off, and then telling his stunned silent friends that he got tired of this whiny boring music now let's go destroy something fun. Assuming he doesn't simply show no reaction to it at all so that he can avoid showing weakness.

Just about any songs about doubt, remorse, or bad feelings are gonna get the same reaction out of him. He doesn't wanna touch them with a ten foot pole. Music is for partying, music is for escapism. I can see him enjoying a darker song if it's framed in a way that invites the listener to derive voyeuristic schadenfreude from the singer's suffering—but if it's meant to confront you or discomfort you, or if listeners are expected in any way to personally identify with the lyrics, he's not touching it.

I could potentially see him listening to some of Kikuo's music if he can engage it STRICTLY as a party song. For instance, Gomenne Gomenne has sections that make it a solid dubstep song—with frenetic wordless singing on top, I think that'd appeal to Bill—so he might could put it on at a party... as long as the party is loud enough that he doesn't have to pay any attention to the lyrics about horrific child abuse and the resultant trauma. Maybe find a remix that leaves out all the lyrics about low self-esteem, brokenness, and worthlessness—but leave in the bits about rib soup, he thinks that part's funny once the context is removed. Violence is great, he just doesn't wanna be expected to pity someone.

It's a big stretch, though. If I had to pick Vocaloid songs for him, I'd look for either party-ready EDM with relatively bland lyrics or the really experimental pieces that do ear-hurting insane discordant things by pushing the Vocaloid program to the limits of the sounds it can generate; but I probably wouldn't pick Vocaloid for him at all.

5. I don't have anything special to say about Kate Bush, I just don't think anything about her music would intrigue him but there's nothing about it that would specifically deeply rub him the wrong way. Since I assume he's passingly familiar with most notable popular/mainstream artists, I'm sure he's heard her hits, he could probably sarcastically bang out a few bars of "Running Up That Hill" on the piano if he ever somehow found himself in a situation where sarcastic "Running Up That Hill" would be fitting; but the same could be said of any other chart-topping musician.

[yoinkschief]

Content Warning: Nudity (Nothing explicit or sexually motivated)

Also there's a gigantic fucking rant under here about this bastard I did NOT plan for it to be so long and I have this sinking fear the others will be just as, if not longer

Take this traditional ref sheet because I can't be bothered to make it digital right now

Sheet Translations and explanations cause I have shitty handwriting:

7'2"

Used to be 5'8" but you know how that goes XP

Whoag! He's tall! Seem experimentation can go a long way :)

★Strip/Mafia Tord is the only version of Tord who wears earrings anymore

I used to always draw Tord with earrings, specifically dangling earrings with upside down crosses on them, but more recently I've stopped doing that and instead draw him with only a tongue piercing that him, Tom and Edd all have matching (they tried to convince Matt to also get one but he was worried about it ruining his teeth), so as a way to homage to my previous design and because it fits him too well I gave him diamond studs :)

Hearing aid [picture]

Tord wears a hearing aid! On top of his eye sight being fucked in his right eye and not what it used to be in his left, his hearing also is shot! He needed a hearing aid on his right ear and on top of his processing issues from his ADHD he can't hear as well as he used to in his left ear (not that his loud bass music taste ever really helped)

Has no waist, giving the illusion he has hips (he doesn't)

Shawty's got no hips and no ass, the only meat he has is in his massive bohongas and the only meaty claw he has left, he already had a triangular shape what with his big ass rib cage and zero hips but going to the military made him even more top heavy so now he's even more triangle

Screen [picture]

His robot arm has a screen on it that's basically an apple watch but better because I fucking hate apple,,,, and yes it does say OPPAI on it, it's an inside joke between me and my lovely partner :)

Spectator Shoes [picture]

Because I think he would wear them, and it's a silly nod to his constant need to be in the spotlight and not sitting on the sidelines: that was the whole reason he left to go to the military in the first place, he was sick of being "Edd's friend" and not "Tord" if that makes sense, he needed an out (and just from personal experience of having people I know go to ROTC and/or join the military fresh out of highschool, it's a good wake up call for some, and a horrible fucking power trip for others,,, don't really know how that last one happens when the whole point is to get you to cry to your mom and beg to go home but hey, to each their own I suppose)

[picture] Power Core

Serves to connect to Tord's nerves, forming it into power to move his arm with

The logistics behind this are loose at best and a goofy thought I had at worst, but basically it's something like the workings inside of the bionic arm connect Tord's nervous system to the core which then converts his thought energy/brain's commands into actual movement, which is why he has one at his shoulder (to connect the nerves) and one on his hands (to connect to The rest of his arm, think of it as like the two power cores being connected via invisible string that gets manipulated to pull his hand up, down, to the side, and so on, and the bicep and forearm connected with the elbow allow it to bend more naturally). That's the best way I can explain it

[picture] The coat he wears on his shoulders,,, meant to pay homage to the coat he wears in his 2004 design

Pretty self explanatory, but since he doesn't have his OG coat (because Edd now wears it, more on that when I get to his ref sheet) this is what he's wearing, a big ass mob coat with gold trim as the accents,,,, I spent way too long drawing Zenigata's mandatory oversized detective/inspector trench coat to not somehow find a way to bring it to someone else's design

OMG! He nakey!

Yup. I'm very mature.

Dragon Tattoo [pictures]

Ahh the infamous dragon tattoo HC,,, at least I think it's infamous- I've seen a lot of people with it so, lol. Additionally, he also has a tattoo of Jason Voorhees' mask at the base of his neck/top of his spine, but it's covered by his hair so I didn't think to add it but there's a very cute story behind it: Tord used to have a snake (he bought it as a ball python,,, it was not,,, it was a reticulated python, and he only found out when he didn't stop growing) who he so lovingly named Voorhees because he was white with a grey splotch on his face that Tord swore looked exactly like Jason's mask, so, he got a tattoo to match with his pet snake. Like a queer.

✨Trans✨

I will never miss the opportunity to make Tord trans masc I love him so

[picture] Leads with his chest

Machismo or something, I dunno, but he has the cocky confidence of a bastard type air around him and so in later years he starts leading with his chest after he goes to the military, versus his past, more laid back, lead with his hips. And by laid back I mean both he was more "devil may care" and trying to get laid, because he's got the libido of a dog in a heat thinking he was doing something leading with his hips because all the snoody whores do it in his anime and he hasn't touched grass since he was in college,,, boy howdy was that military a good idea to knock some sense into him (even if that did come with giving him an excuse to be even more power hungry and that much more of an attention whore)

Still has no ass

Yeah. No amout of drills can give him muscle there, and trust that he's tried (mostly out of spite because Tom always made fun of him for having a flatter ass then Matt, a literal twink with scrawny limbs,,, though you shouldn't let that fool you, he's far too strong for how thin he looks. Anyway look at how that turned out: it didn't lmao)

Ouroboros Tramp Stamp

Another fun story to tell :) so, back when Tord lived with Edd and the gang, he got super hyperfixated on Vikings and their symbolism and artworks and whatnot (he recently rewatched all of the How to Train Your Dragon movies and it lead him down a rabbit hole leading him to want to learn more of his ancestry seeing as most Norwegians came from vikings,,, if I remember correctly, do correct me if I'm wrong) and texted them about what Viking tattoos they should get: Tom's was the Viking rune for "Wolf", Matt's was the Yggdrasil, and I can't remember what Edd's was. The reason Tom was Wolf because it just fits him, he's got that "lone wolf" energy to him but he's just a dork who enjoys being around his friends whether he'd say that to their faces or not, and he's fiercely loyal to them to the point where it anyone would be the first to die for their friends in the group it would be him. Matt's is the Yggdrasil because,, well I can't really explain this one, it's just cause it fits really, I dunno how to explain it. Tord is ouroboros because mmmmm the snake that eats itself is just fucking spot ON for Tord, and having it as a tramp stamp is the sweet cherry on top, self destructive habits and a drive to run himself into the ground to satisfy his insatiable need. Tord has no idea if the others got these tattooed on them (they did, and to everyone's surprise Matt also got a tattoo,,, though no one knows that any of the others got their tattoo save for them knowing Tord got his cause duh)

An interesting thing to note if you want is that often times people will get a tattoo of Ouroboros surrounding the Yggdrasil, so you could say Matt and Tord kind of have matching tattoos. And for the storyline, that can be seen as important

Also fun fact: Tord's original tattoo was supposed to be the symbol for lightning as a way to nod at the fact his name "Tord" is a shortened version of "Torden", at least in my headcanon, which means "Thunder" in Norwegian,,, but then I found out that symbol has become a N*zi dog whistle and by god this man does NOT need any more fucking N*zi symbolism in his design can we fucking stop with that. Besides, ouroboros is much better anyway, I think

EDIT: I REMBER NOW - Edd's tattoo was the Web of Wyrd due it being created by the Nords, the Norse mythos' equivalent to the fates, the symbol representing fate and the fact that your past actions have consequences on your future (something something obligatory EDDS-world joke and WTFuture joke) but yeah Edd's got this one like how the others do

- Hand Me My Shovel, I'm Going In!

Will Wood + The Tapeworms

- Dogs // Still Bummed

nouns

- BAD LUCK!

Jhariah

- Selfish Hate

JAWNY

Just some songs I was listening to while drawing that I thought fit him a bit and the vibes I was going for, I highly recommend you listen to these songs if you haven't already,,, P.S. for everyone who loved Panic! At The Disco when the band was still together and before Brendon started writing his own lyrics, ruining his voice and came to light to be a piece of shit, I HIGHLY recommend Jhariah, he's him but so much better I fucking love his dogs, his albums give the same vibes as the Vices & Virtues and A Fever You Can't Sweat Out albums,,, and I couldn't help myself I love Will Wood holy shit

Time for an info dump about Tord in this AU,,, be prepared it's so fucking long this has been stuck in my head for forever pleASE-:

Obviously, The End Part 1 & 2 are canon in this series, but Tord has absolutely zero regrets about it - he can't, otherwise all the work he's done is for naught,,, although it wasn't planned; his original plan WAS to move back in with Edd, settle down and continue his operations in London with his buds without them ever knowing cause he missed them, however, they got to nosey and so he had to abort with what he was hoping to have finished (the giant robot) but was unable to due to, well, Tom

"but how come Tord was trying to kill Tom, then, if this wasn't what was planned?" Because it was fucking funny, Kyle/ref,,,, also because as a side note: Tom canonically cannot die, or at least, hasn't found anything that can yet and he's not at the old age for that yet. He has what I like to call "Deathly Immortality", or "Cartoonish/Looney Toons Immortality" where he "dies", but then comes back like nothing happened and no one mentions it as any different

Tord has something similar, as well, but instead it's more of "Unfortunate/Spiteful Immortality" or "Anime Immortality" in the sense of where Tom dies and pops back up like a toon character, Tord is like an anime antagonist who just won't die, like William Afton he always comes back but in worse and worse state (He also got sick an ungodly amount in his youth until his body was like fuck it and actually gained an immune system for every illness he kept getting lmao,,, pollen still wrecks his ass though)

Afterward The End Part 1 & 2, Tord poured his full attention into his mob, experiments, and his projects, the thing he was basically trying to use his friends as a front for before Tom got too smart, since he was having trouble not being homesick for his previous life before he went to the army and got power hungry,,, guess you can't be homesick for something that doesn't exist anymore LMAO, anyway- in pouring himself into his work, he buys an "entertainment building", as he calls it, to launder his money: Midnite. Because he thinks he's clever or something misspelling Midnight. Midnite is basically like, all sorts of things rolled into a skyscraper, each floor has a different thing: A restaurant, a casino, an arcade, a strip club, wink wink nudge nudge, but basically this is where he holds meetings and such with his money laundering

Strip/Mafia takes place I'd say... Three? Years after The End? Long enough for Tord to get way too much shit done but short enough that bitter feelings are still felt between the gang for Tord and from Tord

Yes TomTord is canon, but let me tell you this is god's slowest candle wick, because Tom fucking GOES THROUGH IT in this story man, cause everyone's going every which direction, suddenly changing and leaving and he hates it in general because mmm parental issues of dead parents who left too early, the fact that he's autistic and fucking hates sudden changes, the fact Tord is alive is enough to piss him off, it's just all around not a good time for him and so the TomTord is very Tord sided. He's always had a fascination with Tom since highschool, but didn't really understand what it was until he had to be told to his face by who was supposed to be his significant other 💀 but Tord enjoys Tom because he truly is the only one who was able to keep him on his toes in his youth as he got older it grew deeper and he gained a bigger appreciation for Tom and his knack for always being able to throw Tord off his guard,,, to be fair though that's mostly because Tord relies on his quick wit, luck, and the gullibility of others; he's not really good at long term planning and thinking versus Tom who is amazing at pattern recognition and planning long term and for this that could go wrong, in other words, thinking and planning ahead

Additionally, Edd sided TordEdd, too, because love triangles or something, except they both are like bordering narcissistic personality disorders so it really would not be good for either of them to get into a relationship with each other, not that Tord really wants to (anymore? He kinda had a thing for Edd in highschool at the beginning but fell out of it pretty quickly, which, fun fact, is an ADHD thing: Edd gave him instant gratification and euphoria so, like people with ADHD tend to do, he fixated on it, but slowly fell out of it once he stopped thinking with his excitement about having a new friend who actually paid attention to him), but Edd is CONVINCED Tord is just doing all of this for attention from him like he's begging Edd to "save him" (he's definitely not) because Edd "doesn't have a savior/hero complex, stop telling people that omlll" so that's always fun

Errr trying to think of more to say without just writing out an entire book or just showing pictures of the OG script I wrote for it JGXXGJJXG

Feel free to ask any questions oml this AU is stuck in my head I seriously can't keep it contained any longer

OH

Drag/Street racing exists and is a big(?) part of this lmao,,, I mean kinda, it kicks off Tom slowly beginning to rekindle his feelings for Tord and shows Tom's relationship with Paul and Patryck from when they met in college along with Tord

Hooo boy college alone would be a lot to explain, so much shit happened in college but it technically isn't super important to the story? Besides the Paul and Patryck meeting Tom and Tord thing, ofc, but like what happened in college follows my general timeline headcanon of Eddsworld and it's a lot to explain when most of it just gives reason as to why Tom and Tord hate each other/bicker a lot when they move in together and gives a more in depth reading of their relationship and behaviors, moreso as to why they fell into stuck a pitiful state (butterfly affect baby, ONE action called them to both fall over the edge)

Also, I have a list of people I've based/referenced for Tord as Red Leader and it goes as follows:

Gustavo Fring - Breaking Bad/Better Call Saul

Professor Venomous - O.K. K.O., Let's Be Heroes!

Lord BoxMan - O.K. K.O., Let's Be Heroes!

Bill Cipher - Gravity Falls

Dr. Robotnik - Sonic Franchise

Yes I'm aware how chaotic that listing is lmao, but to be fair when I think Red Leader I think calculated and cunning like Fring and Venomous, but also stupid loony silly like BoxMan,, and of course a menace to society like Cipher and Robotnik

That's all for Tord I believe,,, I'll do more soon I'm sure

One last Tord appreciation:

Have I expressed how much I love drawing people's torsos, I think they're gorgeous

[booksandchainmail]

Pale 10.2

“Go, go, go,” Lucy urged, whisper quiet.  Snowdrop and Avery came down from upstairs, their eyes the inverted white pupils, pink irises and black surface of Snowdrop’s Sight.  Lucy gave them a nod, then guided Melissa toward the door that went from inside Edith’s cabin to the porch.

interesting. Why are they back here? And why bring Melissa?

Avery had made it a fair bit ahead of their group, but that was what Avery always did, Snowdrop was close to Avery, and Lucy had been ahead of Melissa, waiting for Melissa to catch up.  Putting Melissa at the rear of the pack, closest to Nibble and least able to run away.

this is why we need Verona here, she can be trusted to lag behind the group

Nibble went on, “She’s close to being Aware, if she isn’t there already, but she has the inherent innocence you can’t give up unless you…”

I'd hope that having an innocent there would fend off the witch hunter, but I think he probably doesn't care. And not being a practitioner or Other means he doesn't have to worry about the karmic backlash as much

“Melissa, please,” Lucy urged.  She paused, trying to think of what to say or what to ask for, then said, “please.”

I like how bad Lucy is at reasoning with Melissa

“How do we set the table without ringing the bell?” Avery asked.  “Melissa?” Melissa was standing by, watching, a frown on her face. “Table?”

I'm lost too.

oh, no I figured it out! They want to use the diagnoses tools Nicolette showed in the extra materials to figure out what the bell does. Talk about a field test.

Lucy reached for the bell.  It swayed away from her hand as she got about a foot away. Avery tried. At about two feet, it started moving gently away from her hand, dangling, as if she was holding a strong magnet.

Guessing that having a familiar makes Avery more Other in a way that trips the alarm sooner?

Jack of diamonds, ace of diamonds, two of clubs, jack of diamonds. “That’s two of the same card. Did you mix two decks together?” Melissa asked. “Nope,” Avery said. “Defective production, maybe?” “What does it mean?” Lucy asked. “No idea.”

I know this is in reference to not knowing what the duplicated card means, but I love the idea of doing a fortune-telling spread of cards and just going "fuck if I know what that means"

Huh. I wonder if the duplicate card is because they're using a french deck of playing cards instead of tarot minor arcana, which is more what I'd think of for divination. It could be trying to map both the page and the knight of coins onto the jack of diamonds.

In which case, the elements are: fresh eyes, small steps, patient observation, enhanced endeavors due to resources (possibly swap the first and last entries). Which makes sense for these alarm detection bells!

“Do I get a love triangle?  There was that show where the girl found out she was a half centaur and that’s why she was so good at riding horses-” “I liked that one,” Avery said.

yeah that tracks

“I’ve been meaning to ask, why is this kid so obsessed with opossums?” Melissa asked.  “She’s worse than Caroline from school, with her horse obsession.  Hey, do you think Caroline watches the centaur show?”

I was thinking that this rambling seemed out of character for Melissa, who has consistently been more gloomy than annoyingly unfocused. And then I looked up codeine side effects, and restlessness and talking with uncontrollable excitement are both listed.

She laid the page on the ground, then reached over, finishing the core rune.  The triangle of air.  “For the protection of Kennet and its population, human and otherwise.” “We draw on what we’re owed,” Avery added.

Verona’s absence was very much felt.

But they picked up, and soon, all across the clearing, bells were chiming, each with a high, sweet sound that carried in a way that would let it be heard from a mile away.  Grass blew and trees swayed.

I'm returning here after a week hiatus while I was on vacation, and this visual stuck with me whenever I was thinking about Lucy

The Witch Hunter found his feet again.  One member of their group stayed down.

can't believe I paused for a week on this cliffhanger

“I mean, you’re into music and you have this… image?  A crafted self-image, you know what I mean?”  Alyssa floundered.  “Confident, specific style.  Reminded me of friends who were in a band.”

I bet you could use band as a collective noun for a group of practitioners

"You’re always going off to meet with your friends. They have similar images. Well, Avery more. Verona wasn’t so hot when she came by, but even with her, a bit.”

interesting that the kind of self-definition you do as a practitioners is noticeable to people in the mundane world. I wonder if it's just that you get used to putting forward a specific version of yourself even in normal circumstances, or if there's some reinforcement from spirits who you've shown what face you want to present

“Just… easier to think I was a screwed up, paranoid kid, than to think the world was that gross."

Thinking about something I read about how CBT? or maybe some other form of therapy often fails people of color, because it focuses on "stop being paranoid, the world isn't out to get you, that's just your anxiety etc. talking." But sometimes the world is out to get you!

“I’ve run into that.  People in dark places don’t always want to accept the help.  The darkness can be more comfortable.” An image of Verona darted through Lucy’s mind’s eye.

and in Verona's case, she doesn't have a better future (outside of becoming an Other) that she feels she can realistically aim at

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly a bundle of warmth and cuddles.” “You sure?” Alyssa asked, matching Lucy’s posture, elbow on table, hand on cheek. “You’ve got a lot of warmth reserved for your mom, Booker, and Verona.”

awww

Verona’s dad stood on the edge of the lawn, dropping off garbage at the curb.  He stopped as he saw her.  She stopped as she looked at him, wearing her fox form, breathing hard. Emotions roiled inside her, flaring, boiling up.

I think Booker going back to college is making this worse: Lucy was already feeling like the people in her inner circle are leaving, and now Verona is gone too.

Then he walked down the stairs, crossed the lawn while sliding the phone back to his pocket, and set the recycling bin down.  Almost as an afterthought, he said, “Hi, Lucy.” “Hi.” Then he turned to go back inside.

this is rude, but also very funny. Just not engaging with the angry 13 year old who just appeared where a weird fox was.

Start from compassion, Lucy thought, thinking of Alyssa’s words. “Fuck offffff!” Lucy raised her voice. “And fuck you!"

lol

She found Avery, who wore a jersey top with a sports bra, shorts, and her running shoes, hair down.  She had her bag slung over one shoulder.  It looked like Avery had grown up by a year or two in just the short time they’d been active.

Welcome to puberty! And also being under life-threatening stress basically nonstop for a few months. Both will age you!

“You wish this was all easier?  Mannn, you have no idea.  I have whole days, days I feel more shitty and miserable than I ever have, and my parents are bored, bored of me being sad.  And you know who’s more bored?”

... No, I think Avery and Lucy are still winning the "how bad are things going" competition

“That Melissa might be a trainwreck no matter what we do.  She’s getting into trouble no matter what, but at least she’ll be one we can sorta steer or manage if we step in.  And maybe she’ll even find some joy in it?”

I mean, trying to steer her away hasn't worked for the past six arcs, so.

“…I care about belonging to something.  I don’t belong to family, I don’t belong to the Dancers, I don’t fit in with all those older teens who’re drinking and shit.  I don’t belong to- there’s no- there’s no me to belong to, I don’t fit to anything.  I’m so lonely it feels like my heart doesn’t beat anymore.”

this sucks! The thing with Melissa is that she is incredibly annoying for our protagonists, and also is probably not in as much trouble as they are, which makes her complaining seem petty. But also she's right that her life got fucked up, and she's miserable, and it's a shitty situation to be in for anyone, especially at fourteen.

“Help us solve a mystery, Melissa,” Lucy said.  “Help us connect some dots, how’s that?” “You’re just using me, aren’t you?” Melissa asked. “A bit. But I also want to help and if this is your road to happiness… fuck it.”

huh. That could be one way to put thing together with the Carmine Beast murder. And I guess this explains why they take Melissa to Edith's cabin

“I’m not complaining,” Melissa said, mumbling a bit.  “I want to be used.  I want to be useful.  I want to be wanted.  Awesome.” I think it’s good we got you away from that party and those older boys, then, protective cousin or no, Lucy thought, looking back.

yeah

“I am in a very going-along state right now,” Melissa said, raising the bottle she still held.  “You have no idea.”

YEAH

She dug fingers into wet, sucking blood, and found it a tangle inside, stuff getting caught between her fingers, parts that felt like they were the way further in or between bits of internals until they really didn’t. Lucy snarled, pushing until her finger hurt, but a strand of something broke and she could work her hand in, nearly wrist deep. Fishing, groping, searching for something. A bit of solid, no, that was deceptively tense tissue. She growled, face contorting, as she pushed her hand in deeper, another inch of give.  It was so hot inside.

this is also a place where Verona is missed

You’re doing more than being slow, Lucy thought. Melissa had found something.

OwO?

“I have.�� Most of us have.  People, broken by them, until we’re a little more and a little less person.  I’m honorable.  If you step out of my way, I’ll give you five percent.”

I was hoping Melissa's presence would dissuade the Witch Hunter. Seems to be working a bit? And his training must have had a hell of a lot of work dehumanizing practitioners, because there's zero hesitation in viewing Lucy as an enemy combatant/monster despite her being very human.

“My own fault.” “Is that what they told you?” he asked. “No. Not at all. This is all what they’ve set up and made over centuries. It’s only your fault according to them, because that’s how they arranged it.”

I mean yes, in the sense that this is the way the world works (and damage Nicolette did) and isn't anything wrong that Melissa did. No, in the sense that this isn't something that the Kennet Trio in particular set up. Or that anyone arranged on purpose!

"And to you… Lucy or Melissa, it’s not your fault.  There’s better ways and better things.  I can tell you things they never will, and show you ways to deal with the threats that are going to be lurking in the shadows all your life.  I can show you how to feel empowered again.  I’ll be around.  I’ll come to you if you come looking for me.  Whether you want answers or a ticket out of… this.”

well that's a hell of a temptation for Melissa. I hope that bonding experience investigating the murder cabin was good for her?

The syringe was sturdy, with fine, dark filigree all down the glass, denser toward the end with the needle.  Artistry that could only come from the one place.  Inside was a oily slick of darkness, glistening, strands and clumps gathering into shapes suggestive of body parts.  And one blob of white that moved through it, to the surface of the glass. The blob of white had a face. Edith’s.

what the fuck

ok, so Fae artistry on the syringe? and I'm guessing Maricica, since it's dark filigree. And that clump of darkness... it makes me think Alpeana, but I'm hoping it's from someone else.

And why is there a blob of Edith in this? was the syringe extracted from her? Why? Who is it meant to inject? are they going to put Edith into a host who will become the Carmine Judge?

[fan-kingdoms]

reposting my rant about sirenix and why s5 ROBBED US

so i wrote this rant a while ago in an addition to a personal post and i figured it deserved its own post. basically i have a lot of feelings thoughts and anger over sirenix as a fairy form and i think a better-executed harmonix would've been a better sirenix. here we go:

IN DEFENSE OF HARMONIX: Plot-wise

so we can’t just start on sirenix without first talking about harmonix, which is a big part of my anger towards it. while i do find the idea of a “stepping-stone” fairy form that builds up to a more advanced form interesting, the whole concept falls apart when the endgame form is such an obvious downgrade from the preliminary form. let’s look at harmonix for a minute.

the two main criticisms of harmonix are that it's A. unnecessary and B. very same-y in terms of character design. it is kind of unnecessary but that doesn't mean it can't be fun! i think the whole "temporary form" thing could have been handled better than just getting it when they open the book. it's like the winx equivalent of "it's dangerous to go alone, take this! *gives link a sword*" which makes it feel incomplete. it could've been really cool if harmonix posed some sort of challenge that forced the girls to grow into their powers or think of new angles of using them, in addition to the whole "find these gems before the month is up or lose your powers forever" thing. i would've liked a plot where the girls have to prove that they're worthy of sirenix not necessarily through getting some crystals, but by mastering harmonix first. but hey we can't really expect fantastic writing from winx club (affectionate) so sometimes we gotta deal with the fact that a fairy form is there to sell some dolls and look cute

AND SPEAKING OF LOOKING CUTE!

2. IN DEFENSE OF HARMONIX: Design-wise

first off i really wanna say that harmonix really slayed with the transformation sequence, SO aesthetically pleasing. you can tell the girls are becoming water nymphs it's so flowy and graceful, plus its nice to see them with wings Not the size of a fucking truck. i see the samey-ness here with the design but i actually think they did a really good job with it, and that it's suitable for the concept

first off, harmonix is a temporary form that only lasts maximum a month, because that's how long you have to complete the sirenix quest before losing your powers forever and never having a fairy form again. with this logic, it makes sense for harmonix to be a one-size-fits-all costume to slip into for a bit— it doesn't have to be properly tailored to the girls' individual selves and styles. yet, it does a much better job than sirenix at doing that!

when you look closely, each harmonix outfit calls back to the girls' older fairy forms. look at bloom— she's the only one with a tiara, bringing to mind her magic winx crown, and her skirt has all these layered ruffles, reminiscent of her enchantix dress and even her believix skirt. stella's got the same ruffling that matches her believix skirt, and if you look at her wings you can tell they're modeled off her magic winx wings. flora's dress has that light pink triangle on the top, which exactly matches the design of her magic winx dress, and her skirt has these flower petal shaped pleats which echo back not only to her powers but her believix skirt. as for musa the diagonals in her dress remind me of the mesh cutout in her magic winx dress. tecna's wings are clearly modeled off her past wings, and so are aisha's, that jagged shape from magic winx is there even with the gentle style of harmonix. she's also got the one-shoulder top with the strap on her right side, like in magic winx. it's really subtle but the resemblances are there! also, i love the way each girl has unique sparkle effects on their wings (bloom's hearts, stella's stars, flora's flowers, musa's notes and treble clefs, tecna's diamonds, and aisha's swirls)

and no matter what you say about harmonix you have to admit the spells are BANGERS. thirteenth seal? diapason? incredible.

and now we can finally move onto the main event

3. WHY I HATE SIRENIX SO MUCH!!- Design

honestly this should speak for itself i shouldn't have to explain it. fashion? gone. individuality? gone! CHARACTER COLOR SCHEMES??? GONE. it's just so terrible. what in the 2012 justice store fashion is this.

why is there so much purple. the only one who's actually in her own color scheme is flora, and even her colors are slightly off. why is there so much purple in bloom and stella's outfits purple has NEVER been in either of their color schemes. what is with musa's lime green skirt. WHERE did those blue-green colors in tecna's leggings and wings come from. even aisha's purple isn't right, her purple has always been very pink, the magenta morphix color. why are the streaks in their hair like that.

it's the same massive wings copy-pasted onto everyone, high ponytails across the board except for flora and tecna, same weird mesh cutouts?? like what's happening here. they look like they're wearing tacky patterned leggings. despite the uniformity in outfits among the girls, the outfits themselves aren't cohesive— they're chaotic and look like they've been thrown together without any regard for actually looking good. and looking good means a lot to the winx!! and what's more it just looks so… immature compared to harmonix. they go from these mermaidlike, gorgeous, graceful creatures to the garish eyesore that is sirenix and it just feels like a regression. if getting sirenix makes them these powerful fairies that can coexist with the ocean, make the outfits reflect that growth and that power

4. WHY I HATE SIRENIX SO MUCH!!- Plot

i really hate the way sirenix fit into the overall story. it really isn't any more powerful than enchantix, only better suited to water, so why would the ancestral witches have to curse it? why was that the trump card power daphne was going to use against them? like she definitely has enchantix why did she need sirenix on domino while the witches were attacking?? and daphne is another reason why the sirenix designs are so heinous!!!! daphne is THE sirenix fairy, we assume it was her favored form (though i don't know WHY), and we always saw her in nymph dress, with her flowing gown and mask and general ethereality. if it weren't for her coming back to life (and believe me i also hate her human character design i barely even consider it daphne) and transforming, i would not be able to imagine her wearing anything like the sirenix outfit. you're telling me that daphne, nymph of magix and previous guardian of the dragon flame, beautiful goddess older sister, would be wearing that tacky legging-ribbon-bathing-suit abomination??? absolutely fucking NOT! it just clashes with literally everything we know about daphne up until that point (s5).

lastly. why the hell do the winx keep using sirenix post-s5. they hardly Ever go underwater after that please god just use enchantix again

in conclusion harmonix was good actually and we all got robbed by sirenix they should have switched the designs and the spells

[johnny-and-dora]

some ted lasso finale + s3 thoughts under the cut

i geniunely didn’t hate the finale as much as twitter convinced me i would, although maybe being resigned to no tedbecca OR roykeeley before going in softened the blow a little

generally i thought it hit most of the emotional beats well, everyone keeping a piece of the believe sign and putting it back together was lovely, trent’s book, colin’s boyfriend, issac’s penalty and roy finally joining the diamond dogs were all great as well as little things like ted finally understanding the offside rule 

HOWEVER. this season’s biggest weaknesses for me have been nate’s arc and keeley’s arc (and how that fucked up roykeeley), and there were no good resolutions here!

nate just...coming back as an assistant kitman is so weird, it’s like nothing’s changed for him at all and he’s back to who he was at the beginning with no real change or him learning anything from being a massive asshole for a year. i expected him to assert himself a little more but in a less aggressive way, have a meaningful exchange with rupert or even help come up with the final play, but instead he was just kinda...there. i was never against a redemption for nate and fully expected it but it really fell flat for me

i hate roy and jamie fighting over keeley - love triangles are stupid and cliche enough but both jamie and roy barely interacted with keeley until these last two episodes, jamie/keeley hasn’t been a thing since early s1 vs roykeeley being such an integral part of s1/s2 so it didn’t feel balanced at all, and what they brought up in their argument over who should date her was so gross

i know it’s the viewpoint of keeley and the show that the fight is gross, but they didn’t even have keeley assert her independence or the fact she doesn’t want to date either of them, they didn’t have her say anything at all and then it’s just...not resolved? i am biased because roykeeley was one of my favourite parts of s1/s2 and i’ve been so mad not to have them but they were such endgame material and it feels like such a waste not to have them together or to have spent much more of this season exploring their relationship instead of having them barely interact

in my opinion, rebecca should have been the one to have the independent “girlboss” ending instead because so much of the last few years of her life have been tied to her failed marriage and divorce, surely it’s more fufilling to have her happy with her indepedence and her family at richmond and keeley and roy happy together having changed and grown and come back to one another having worked on themselves during their time apart

while i’m at it, i cannot believe rebecca wasn’t keeley’s investor this entire season!!! i’m all for bi keeley but everything with jack felt so pointless and it would have been so much more interesting for both characters if they’d had to deal with how that would obviously affect their personal relationship, and would have kept keeley at richmond more often so the season felt more grounded and not like it was constantly getting sidetracked

it’s so weird that ted felt quite sidelined this season when he is literally the protagonist of the show, if the show was called “richmond” or something it would make more sense but i can’t believe they didn’t spend more time on his decision to go back home, it really feels like something he does because of one (1) thing his mom says

finally, i suspected we wouldn’t get tedbecca endgame bc it seems like something the writers’ have never taken seriously (i honestly don’t know why) but it geninuely did seem like they teased it a lot this season with that psychic bullshit and the green matchbook/army man and even at the start of the episode and it does feel odd to not even consider it as a possiblity 

against all odds i actually did like the finale but i don’t really see myself revisiting the show any time soon, there was so much potential with what they set up at the end of s2 and i feel like they just did so little with it which is!! so frustrating. idk let me know what you think!

[kafus]

Hopefully I'm first to the scene so I can ask the obvious option: KAFU!

you were not the first to ask but you WERE the first to send in kafu so congratulationsdfjsdfk

favorite song: oh lord that's a tough one i have a kafu playlist with over 2000 songs in it. what am i supposed to do here SDFJKFSD there's a lot of songs i like, but i have to say that mikito-p's song Who are is really high up there. i'm biased because i love mikito-p more than i love myself but it's just so good

ships: i want you to take a wild guess (lighthearted joke) no but really the obvious answer is kaf/u. i should really go on a whole rant sometime about how i got into this ship and why but in general i've always been a mirror image shipping enjoyer (rinlen was like the only not-wlw ship i cared about as a kid lol etc) and i got into kaf as an interest intertwined with kafu, like i found out who kaf was by hearing one of kafu's demo songs and looking up her voice provider and being like "oh why are their names so similar and why do they look similar" so i just kinda... developed my interest in both alongside each other and as kamitsubaki kept putting out official art that was looking extremely gay and then COVERS (lord i need more real-person-duets-with-vsynth songs) i could not resist. there are so many things i love about this ship both within my fan interpretation of them and like. in the context of the "meta" of how kamitsubaki interacts with vsynth culture but this paragraph is already getting way too long.

stuff i don't Actively Ship but still enjoy is kafu/rime (kaf/rim parallels lmao) and kafu/miku. also kafu/rei but that's more of a crackship just because i really like adachi rei and i want my robot girls together. because kafu is a robot in my mind

favorite part of design: i love kafu's design a Lot but i am obsessed with her hair... diamond... things. in my AU that i'm really attached to they're mics/atmospheric temperature sensors but just in general i think they're cool and really stand out. kafu looks wrong/naked without them lmfao. and i like how they can be interpreted in different ways/used in art in different ways - both stuff like... the yellow triangle can be used as a symbol, but also whatever the fuck this is. whatever this gay shit is going on here!! official art btw!! the wires aren't even canon to her design kisumi rei just made that up and thank god they did

random headcanon: (talking about my android AU here) even once the option is presented to her to upgrade her body and make herself appear more human, kafu chooses to stay in her prototype body because she's become attached to it over time and would feel wrong in anything else. (of course kaf loves her as she is)

i have a lot of kafu headcanons because i have a whole AU with more plot and world development than some of my own ocs oops

[emystic-old]

❤️◇ for the Munday meme!

the salty af munday meme / Accepting

@alm1ghtysea wanted some salt: ❤️◇ for the Munday meme! ♥ What's the WORST thing that has happened to you rp wise? ♢ Has anyone ever tried to steal your blog? Your headcanons? Icons? All that jazz (I think it's this I'm sorry if it's not the diamond emojis for me looks different for me on the meme thing)

This is not going to be a ragging fest on one person and it's probably not the worst thing, but still something I wasn't down with AT ALL. This old writing partner has done this sort of stuff before and I try to let it slide cause I would DM him about this shit. This is why you don't give people multiple chances sometimes. My side characters and the NPCs in my character's life are not for anyone to control.

My old muse Khianna had a sickly younger brother named Marques, so homie thought it was okay to just put him in critical condition and be close to dying. They always loved to do this my muse to have a situation be used to have MY muse always look like the one in the wrong or the person that needs help in the end. She's yelling at his character to leave her alone, cause that's the meme prompt I gave I think so let's just hit her with "You don't have time to be cold to me and be a bitch, YOUR BROTHER NEEDS YOU." At least ask me if that's okay to do Marques is still MINE.

♢ Has anyone ever tried to steal your blog? Your headcanons? Icons? All that jazz (I think it's this I'm sorry if it's not the diamond emojis for me looks different for me on the meme thing)

Again, I hope this is the right symbol. But it was some odd things that happened before I don't know if I would equate to stealing because I never knew what the intentions were but it was two weird incidents.

One was when my mythos was being reblogged constantly by one person with a Lego Ninjago character they headcanoned as Inuit. Shanice and Iqniq (who isn't here anymore) are Inuit OCs I got and a lot of my personal mythos for them were inspired by Inuit folklore. The keyword is inspired though, it's not actual Inuit folktale facts so I told them that through DMs.

Another one was more recent with my first emystic blog before I restarted with this one. Someone just decided to follow me, like a bunch of my Muli character facts, and then unfollow and I think they even soft-blocked me and I always felt weird about it. Their OC was a purple alien girl just like Muli, but that's the only similar point they had is being not from Earth and associated with purple. Which ain't really unique. I don't know what was the end goal but if they did try to use Muli's image for their own purple alien fuck them.

[honorabledeleah]

Men like him (the worse)

Pairing: Ran Haitani x Reader, Sanzu Haruchiyo x Reader

Content warning: None! Just a little…friendly competition :)

Word count: 2.8K

Summary: Ran and Sanzu, and their thoughts about each other concerning you.

Note: Being in a love triangle with Ran and Sanzu feels like one of the most exciting things in the world, I just don’t think it’ll have a very good ending. One of them will be lonely for the rest of their life, I assure you.

Sanzu doesn’t make a habit of showing up unannounced.

But he’d thought he’d surprise you, as silly as that sounded. Because normally, Sanzu Haruchiyo doesn’t do surprises. But for you, and just for you only, Sanzu could be caught doing things that one would ever dream of him.

So here he is, standing right outside your apartment, fist getting ready to knock, and takeout in his other hand. It’s your favorite, hopefully you’re in the mood for it today.

His fist hits the door two times, loud, solid knocks that he knows you wouldn’t miss. Not too loud though, he doesn’t want to frighten you. Just get your attention. You’re most likely tired from work, and by now, around this time, you should be lounging around your house relaxing.

There’s a soft pitter-platter of feet coming to the door, and sure enough, when it opens, it reveals you—you in your pajamas, a face mask adorning your face, and a look of puzzlement as you blink once, twice, and the final third time.

“Sanzu!” You exclaim in surprise, clearly shocked with his sudden appearance. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Of course you weren’t. It wouldn’t be a surprise if you knew he was coming. The shock on your face dies down once your eyes flicker to the bag in his hand. “Is that…food? My favorite?”

Recognizing the bag, he watches as the excitement and happiness floods your eyes—they were practically sparkling, with how delighted you were.

And yeah, that was what Sanzu wanted to see. That was the reason why he stood in line for 47 minutes, stared at the menu for another 10, before just deciding to buy a little bit of everything from the restaurant. That way, he’d get your favorites (all of em) and maybe you’d even find new things you’d like from there.

“Yeah. I was passing by the area, you didn’t eat breakfast, right?” Complete utter lie, everything from that sentence was. For one, he knew you didn’t eat breakfast because you never do. Second, he finished his mission two hours early just so he wouldn’t run the risk of the store closing.

“No, I didn’t.” You say happily, taking the bag. “Thank you Sanzu.” 

So cute. So adorable. Everything about you felt like a drug he didn’t know about yet, but it’s stronger then what he’s ever taken in his life. He can’t stop, and the promise of being addicted to insanity is something that Sanzu couldn’t turn down, especially when it comes in the form of you.

But just before he could say anything else, a voice interrupts him.

One that he knows very well.

“Who’s at the door, doll?” 

The low timbre, deep, yet oddly teasing and mellow at the same time, Sanzu would’ve been a fool to miss the voice that he hears everyday—because it belong to Ran fucking Haitani. Who appeared just right next to you, his back pressed against yours, one hand on the frame and the other on the door right behind you. His eyes zones in on Sanzu before his mouth stretches into a small smirk. 

What the fuck.

Wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, his hair dripping wet, Ran looks like he just came straight out of the shower. (Which he most likely—definitely did) Somehow, he makes it look gentlemanly, like if he were to stroll into a high end restaurant like that, no one would blink twice at it. If there was anything that the older Haitani does better than all the other Bonten members, it was to appear as classy as a high class diamond. Or really, to appear as anything other then what he actually was—a dirty, fucking, criminal. 

A devil in Saint robes, a wolf in sheep's clothing, Ran’s smile looks everything like a sweet, friendly one that you would give to a colleague. Even if his eyes are telling an entirely different story completely.

It seems that he didn’t like the fact that Sanzu was here either.

“Ran, you’re done already?” When you turn around, your eyes met his face before it lowers, and lowers—until it lands on the thin towel that hung low, showcasing his abs and his deep, set V-line, decorated with tattoos that only lingered on the right side of his body.

And you blush, right down to your neck and collarbone, turning your face away and looking down as if ashamed of where your gaze ended. 

In the back of his pissed off mind, Sanzu wonders if this was the type of men you like. Men who show a certain charm of elegance in everything they do, in every word they whisper or say. A clean, sophisticated look, never a hair out of place and the smell of cologne always prominent. A promise of a high end life with a higher end man. 

Is this what you wanted? Men like him? 

It was no secret that Ran Haitani had buried his dick in some of the most incredible women in the world. He’s been with countless girls, and he’s made just as many cry. It baffles Sanzu when he hears some of the members say that he was the worst of them all, because how could he be when Ran was here? 

At least with Sanzu, he doesn’t pretend to be what he’s not. He sleeps and he’s gone by morning. But Ran? 

Ran liked to play the long game. Liked putting lights into girls eyes, and loves taking it away when they least expect it. “Let yourself get hungry, and the food will taste even better.” is what he would say, that smile that girls find oh so charming on his face the entire time.

Sanzu thinks it’s disgusting, but you…

You like it, and Sanzu hates that it only took him one look to know.

“I’ve been done for a while,” Ran replies, his smile widening. “But the clothes you gave me didn’t quite fit.” 

Nodding in understanding, you turn to Sanzu. “I’ll be right back, let me get Ran some clothes!” You rush away, leaving only him and Ran in the doorway, Sanzu breaks face.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” His questions comes out scratchy and venomous, just as every bit as he intended it to. Ran, however, doesn’t seem fazed. 

“I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to be here,” There’s something about the way that the smile stays on Ran’s face that makes Sanzu really want to wipe it off. Whether with a gun, or a knife, anything will do at this point. “I’m just keeping my beautiful doll company, that’s all.”

It’s really sad that Mikey doesn’t allow in-fighting, or else Sanzu would’ve strangled this fuck head by now. Especially the way that he says, “My” like he already owns you and has you wrapped around his perfectly trimmed fingers. “She’s not one of your dolls, so you can fuck off with the prince charming act.”

Sanzu doesn’t want to see it, he doesn’t want to see what he’s seen so many times before. The women that come chasing Ran, desperate for the attention that he once gave them. Driving themselves mad for a man that didn’t really exist—one that was just playing a game the entire time.

He does not want to see that look on you. Sanzu didn’t care about it on other women. Every time those girls came knocking on their headquarters, Sanzu never once hesitated to kick them out. Only a small portion of him felt pity for them, but he never blamed them for falling as hard as they did. Ran Haitani played the role of the perfect lover too perfectly, and god knows that one goes crazy for love—from love.

To his utter amazement, Ran’s face clouded. Shaking his head, the lilac eyes that Sanzu has known to carry little to no real emotion hardens. “I’m not acting. None of what I do with her is an act.”

Sanzu could handle being electrocuted—he has been, once. When he got caught in an enemy base and they attempted to get information out of him. One time, he’s even been maim by a lion—courtesy of Koko’s pet. Those things? He could handle it just fine.

But Ran Haitani, saying something like that and looking like he actually means it? Now that was something that left him reeling.

It could all be a lie, it could all be another act or ploy. But if there was anyone in the world who could change Ran, then it would be you.

Because you changed him, Sanzu Haruchiyo, into someone he didn’t recognize. So was it really surprising that you did the same, for Ran?

“Go home, Sanzu.” Ran says, he’s tone firm. “Let me have this.”

Immediately, Sanzu understands.

Men like him really were the worst.

When you come back, bigger clothes in hand, you come in just in time to see Ran closing the door. Somehow, the gentle clicks rings all throughout your apartment, as if it was signifying something.

“Huh? Did Sanzu leave?” You ask, disappointment lacing your voice.

Ran doesn’t like that, he doesn’t like it at all. But he smiles anyway. “Yes, busy man, isn’t he? Kind of him to drop this off for you though.”

The takeout box that Sanzu brought sat on top of the shoe box near your door. The familiar title of one of your favorite restaurants is printed on the bag in big, bold letters. “Oh? It’s from your favorite restaurant, too.”

It’s famous—this restaurant. And one you don’t typically visit because of the price, but Sanzu knew it was your favorite. He knew that you enjoyed it, and he most likely waited in line to get you everything.

Everything, because Ran thinks that Sanzu quite literally brought everything from the menu.

If his smile falters upon this realization, Ran hopes that you don’t take notice.

“Yes, Sanzu is very sweet when he wants to be.” There’s a fond look that glazes over your beautiful eyes when you say this. And Ran usually loves it, loves any expression that points to you being happy.

But when it’s Sanzu who brings out that look, Ran thinks, rather selfishly, that he’d rather see you frown.

He really is a bad man, a bad man through and through.

“Well? Should we finish our movie? It might turn off if we’re away for too long.” As you say this, you grab the take out box from his hand, turning around as you attempt to make your way back to the living room.

With Sanzu’s sudden appearance, Ran completely forgot about the movie that you guys were enjoying. You’ve been wanting to see it for a while, and when you asked him to join, Ran did not hesitate for a second to say yes. (Because he never tells you no, he doesn’t think he can. The thought of denying you anything you want, and possibly making you sad, makes him physically ill.)

But right now, the movie is the last thing on his mind.

From behind, he envelopes you in an embrace. Burying his face in your neck as he hugs you. Even if he had to lean down and crane his neck uncomfortably due to the height difference, Ran doesn’t care. 

He just wants to know the answer to his question, because he’s never been the one to shy away from confrontation. “Do you like him? Men like him?” He asks, and you still.

“Him?”

Although you repeat a part of the question back, Ran knew you understood what he was asking about.

Sanzu Haruchiyo was a lot of things.

An attractive face, the perfect balance of masculine and femininity. From his long lashes to his clear, porcelain like skin, Sanzu was a doll that came to life. The picture perfect one that all girls in their childhood years wished to own. To even out the planes, he had a sharp jawline and strong nose, making him fierce as he was delicate. 

In every sense of the word, Sanzu was a delight to look at. 

But he was dangerous. And he possessed a certain edge that Ran knew he would never be able to offer, will never be able to pull it off quite as cleanly as Sanzu did. There’s a special charm that Sanzu owns, one that defines him and makes him unapologetically him. And maybe it was the vicious smile, or his electric blue eyes, hell, maybe it was even his savage personality. 

Whatever it may be, it had girls groveling at his feet, kissing the floors he walked on as they swore Sanzu was the thrill that all humans needed to experience at least once in their lives. 

The thrill to feel alive.

Ran hopes, truly with all his heart, that you don’t want that.

You don’t want danger, you don’t want the constant excitement and loom of a wild adventure.

Ran thinks there’s a limit of people who he could lose against. For one, Mikey—his boss, who drew people to him like bees to a golden pot of honey. Izana, his previous boss, who tiptoed the fine line of being charming yet devilish. And his mother, who wielded her beauty like a blade, her enchanting personality like a chain. It was the reason why Ran came out the way he did, all from watching his mother. Observing the type of men she brought home, the ones she liked and seemed to dislike, the ones that stayed longer then others.

It’ll be like admitting defeat, and if there’s anything in the world he won’t give up on—it would be you.

So, it comes back to this question.

“Answer me honestly, doll. Do you like him? Men who reek of danger, sin and the unknown?” You say not a word back, so Ran continues. Hoping to coax the answer he wanted to hear out of you. “Sanzu is everything that I’m not.”

It couldn’t be more true. If there was a spectrum of some kind, then Sanzu and him couldn’t have been any further apart.

If you liked men like Sanzu, then Ran stood not a chance.

Though, you seem to not think so.

“…You and Sanzu are much more alike then you think, Ran.” You say, turning around to look at him. There’s something in your expression that warns him of something, and oddly enough, makes him feel vulnerable. Like you’re seeing right through him, right down to the very depths that he wants no one to ever lay eyes on. 

Subconsciously loosening his hold, Ran tried to connect the meaning to your sentence, read between the lines.

Him? Sanzu? Alike?

“Would you leave me Ran? If you knew I was all alone with a man?” The sudden question catches him off guard, and Ran had to blink to register it.

“…No, I wouldn’t.”

You smile, and it’s beautiful. So ethereal that it blinds him for a second, stops his breath and halts his heart. “Sanzu wouldn’t either.”

He has not a clue where you’re going with this. Sanzu had already left minutes ago, and he certainly won’t be coming back anytime soon—

A knock on the door stops his train of thought.

…No way.

Perhaps he imagined it. Maybe Ran was thinking into this a little too hard. 

But then, he heard it again. Three knocks, this time more aggressive than the last. 

Your smile stretches, and you help his arms fall limply to his side. “See? Much more similar than you know.” Walking to the door with a curve to your lips, Ran had a feeling that you knew much more then you let on.

The door opens with a small creek, and someone speaks with a melodic, yet deep voice. “I had more food to bring up, you don’t mind if I join? Right?” 

There, crazed grin and clear blue eyes and all, was Sanzu. When he sees Ran, he gives him a little mocking wave. It seems that he did the opposite of what Ran told him to do, he came back.

Turning around, you flutter your eyelashes in a way that makes Ran’s knees go weak. He knew immediately then that it was game over. “The more the merrier, right Ran?” 

Ran Haitani couldn’t imagine losing to many people, but there’s now a blinking name on the list, one that starts with an S and ends with a U. 

Ran, for the life of him, doesn’t want to fill it in. 

And he won’t.

“Of course,” Flashing both you and Sanzu his best smile, Ran moves a little to the side as a gesture of welcome. “Welcome back, Sanzu.”

Men like him were the worst.

[agathaharkussy]

A Proposal and a Half

Ships: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: You've lost the ring you're supposed to be proposing with. Goddamnit.

Word Count: 827

Warnings: none

Additional Notes: I would like to give many big thanks to @p-nymph who helped me by being a sound board for what rings I should go with. So. Many big thanks! 💜

You let out a frustrated huff as you open the middle pouch of your bag, grabbing at the papers and wrappers and who knows what else by the handful, not caring where they landed as you tossed them to the side, piling on top of the junk from the first section of the bag.

“What are you doing, love?” Agatha asks, clearly confused as to why you're making a rather impressive mess.

“I lost something.” You explain, holding back an angry growl as you reach the crumbs at the bottom of the bag.

You open the last pouch, before tossing the empty to the side as it reveals a grand total of a forgotten pair of hoops, entirely starting to panic.

“What did you lose, exactly?” Concern and wariness color your girlfriend's voice.

“A box. A small box.” You reply, running a hand through your hair.

“Like the ring box that's sitting on our nightstand?”

You give yourself whiplash as you turn from glaring at the wall to staring at Agatha in shock.

You're up the stairs before you could even think.

You wouldn't have left it there - hell, you don't even remember taking it out of your bag!

But sure enough there it is, sitting ever so innocently on the nightstand.

“Goddamnit.” You sigh, rubbing an eye, before grabbing it and going back down to the living room.

“Well?”

“Found it.” You grumble. “This was supposed to be romantic. You weren't supposed to know.”

“My answer would still be no, hon.” Agatha says.

“W-what?”

“Mmm… It may or may not have to do with this little thing I've been carrying around for a year or so now.” She grins slyly and pulls out a very familiar-looking box from her sweater pocket.

“Will you marry me?”

“Are- are you fucking kidding me?!" You aren't upset, just exasperated.

“Is that a no?” Agatha arches a brow.

“NO!”

You glare at Agatha as she starts to laugh, well aware it's you that she's laughing at.

“It's not funny!” You protest.

“‘This was supposed to be romantic.’” She says, mocking you.

“You're being mean.” You pout.

“And you're still going to marry me anyway.” She replies smugly.

You sigh. “Yeah. Yeah, I am. Unfortunately, I got this thing called head over heels when it comes to you.”

“Unfortunately?” Agatha asks.

“I said what I said.” You defend yourself.

“Maybe I'll just keep this very pretty, very expensive ring I got you then, angel.” She pretends to threaten.

You let out a disbelieving snort.

“And never see the ring I picked out for you? Babe your curiosity would kill you.”

“You're assuming I won't just take a look.” Agatha replies, wiggling her fingers.

“I'll donkey kick your shins off.” You reply before you could think of the words exiting your mouth.

There's a few moments of sudden silence and then you both burst out laughing.

“You'll donkey kick my shins off?” Agatha howls with laughter.

“Well what else am I supposed to do?” You demand between gasps for air.

“You're absolutely right, I am so sorry.” Agatha says, starting to catch her breath.

“You should be.” You sniff, before you zero in on the box still clutched in your girlfriend's hand.

Agatha, who never fails to notice anything, just smiles softly and opens the box as she closes the space between the two of you.

Your eyes widen as you take in the ring.

It's nothing ostentatious, and rather simple in its design, but that only lends to the intricate beauty of it.

The center stone is clear, cut in an oval shape, with a small halo of diamonds surrounding it. Two strands of white gold on either side form triangles before they connect with a small square cut purple tanzanite, crossing over themselves until it connects again to form the rest of the ring.

“Do you like it?” Agatha asks after a few moments of silence.

“I- yeah. This is…” You look up at her, her features soft, a small smile gracing her lips.

“Would you like me to put it on for you?”

You nod, and hold out your left hand, allowing Agatha to gently slide the ring onto your fourth finger.

You both stare at it for a few moments before you remember the box in your hand.

“Here.” You say, getting your fiance’s attention.

Agatha glances up at you, and you grin as you open the box.

Within it rests two gold bands, the first holding a purple diamond cut in a teardrop shape, framed on either side by two smaller circular white diamonds. The second band curves, seven circular white diamonds gracing the front of the ring, smaller ones bracketing them, paved onto the band.

“You have good taste.” She mummers, holding her left hand up in clear invitation.

“I should hope so, I'm marrying you after all.” You tease softly, slipping the rings onto her ring finger.

“The best taste then.” Agatha decides.

You laugh into the kiss she pulls you into.

[messwriting]

Written for The Smut Pile Collab: Mafia AU | MASTERLIST HERE.

POISON AND PLEASURE

Osamu Miya (Post-Time Skip) x Mob Boss! Female Reader

“Backed into a corner, Osamu makes a deal with the devil -- you.”

Rating: E for explicit | Don’t read this if under eighteen.

Warnings: oh boy. Dub-con (Osamu does consent, but it is coercion); MANIPULATION AND EXTORTION; slight gun play, lasts for a moment; Rough sex; Hate-fucking; Degradation/Humiliation; Spanking, also just for a moment; Oral sex, fingering; Orgasm Denial; Choking; Violence; Dash of corruption and prey/predator; Deep throat; Facial. Fucking in a kitchen/public place. Also, just in case, toxic relationship and money talk (lol). 

Word count: 9,889 (such a nice number)

A/N: Oh, this has been a ride. This is my contribution to The Smut Pile Collab, hosted by the lovelies @present-mel​, @pleasantanathema​ and @linestrider​. I’m very excited to participate, since it is my first collab and they are my (home) first server. Big, huge, gigantic thanks to Lauren (my wife) for reading this over and beta-ing for me. <3

Well, Osamu fuckers unite! :insert elmo fire: (i’ve been on discord too much)

Osamu gets up from his seat inside his small office, looking from the small window on his door inside the already closed restaurant lit only by the lights that come in through the windows, the time being well after closing. Shady deals are mostly done late at night, he thinks. Right as he’s leaving the office and closing the door behind him with a key, the movement outside catches his eye and Osamu turns just in time to watch as the black BMW sedan of the year quietly comes to a halt right in front of his store. He frowns, knowing who that means. He'd much rather deal with the soldier responsible for his loan initially than with you.

Two men emerge from the front doors of the car, one immediately heading for the passenger door while the driver checks the street; they exchange a small nod before the man on the side of the sidewalk opens the passenger door and when he does, he positions himself behind it and immediately out of the way. Osamu could be intrigued by the action if he didn't feel so represented by it - he, too, would prefer to always be out of your way.

There’s power in the way you move, ingrained in your body as you descend an expensive white heel onto the concrete beneath you on the sidewalk, the other following suit while you propel yourself out, holding the frame of the car for support. It’s late at night and the street is fairly dark, but your simple presence, clad in an impeccable white suit with a deep neckline showing immaculate skin, is enough to brighten the place. There’s an elegant, expensive-looking and equally unnecessary coat draped over your shoulders and your hair was flawlessly styled.

You draw attention as the color black absorbs light-- from all and everything. Maybe it is because of your soul, he muses.  

Once you were standing outside the car, your driver marched to the door of the onigiri restaurant, holding it open for you while you strode inside, heels clicking on the pavement, the sway of your hips something Osamu may think beautiful to watch if it weren’t you.

“Hello, Miya-san. Hope you have better news for me this week.” You state as cheerfully as you can, calmly entering the establishment in a glory of white. You shed your coat once you passed the door, the driver catching it while the second man seemed to survey the outside area a little more before entering.

"Hi." Osamu extends his hand with the brown envelope. But you go around him and walk to the counter, calmly sitting down on one of the high stools while absentmindedly looking around his small restaurant.

“I missed my lunch today, so I hope you don’t mind me grabbing a bite before I leave.” You don’t look at Osamu when he doesn’t move for his place behind the counter immediately.

“We’re closed.” He says and you turn around just momentarily, piercing eyes on his profile. One of your men is still by the door and the look he gives the twin is also very compelling. Osamu feels his teeth gritting against the pressure he makes to shut his tongue. "Sure."

One of the goons comes closer and takes the brown envelope from his hands, without you even looking back as the burly tattooed man sits in one of the booths and starts counting the money.

“So, how’s business? I’ve heard you had a hard time these last two months.” You try to make small talk while checking the menu over the counter, carefully done nails threading along the restaurant menu. You only press a long nail against what you want and slide it to him, the 18K diamonds on your small and discreet Cartier watch and matching trinity ring on your finger catching more of his attention than your watchful eyes. Your jewelry is discrete, tasteful, and still amounting enough to buy the whole building where the Onirigi’s shop is located. Osamu's throat moves around nothing in reflex.

"Isn’t it obvious?" He grumbles while working against the counter, starting once he cleans his hands on the sink. He’d like to say his eyes keep diverting to your neckline because of your shining jewelry.

"So rude, Miya." you chuckle. “And I’ve been nothing but nice to you. Didn’t you pay for your little plumbing problem with my money? Is it only dirty to you once I’m present?”

"I don’t like people like you." Osamu doesn’t beat around the bush. And once he’s done with this payment he’d be completely free of you anyway, he doesn’t feel the need to pretend.

“Like me? You mean kind? All I ever did was help you out in a time of need.”

Osamu’s snort is disrespectful. The big man by the door moves but a simple turn of your hand in the air has him standing back, carefully looking down on Osamu, but unmoving. The other’s still counting the money rather calmly, the booth he’s seated unseeable from the shop window.

“You see, disrespect won’t take you far.” You say offhand, your watchful eyes on Osamu’s every move but with no real worry. You don’t trust him, but you know he’s not stupid.

"I don’t plan on it." He answers you after a beat, finishing wrapping the Salmon onigiri, disposing it carefully on a plate, and depositing it in front of you, accompaniments arranged around. Osamu doesn't use the fact that he doesn't like you as an excuse for a half-ass job; he's not the type, which is refreshing. Is what you like about him.

“Get started on a few others. I trust your recommendations.”

Osamu chooses to work quietly, in silence. You, however, are happily chatting away at his high stool as if this is just another day of bullying patrons. Maybe, for you, it is.

“You work very diligently.” You observe, eyes trailing from his toned arms to his deft fingers diligently working on the rice ball. He’s fast and experienced, rolling the nori around the triangled shaped steamed rice after successfully filling it with whatever he chose. Osamu just grumbles out something, or tsk, even when the way you look at his fingers takes an unexpected appreciative turn. 

“Maybe I should have you working overtime more.” You muse when he finishes the new onigiris and carefully places them in front of you. Osamu eyes you nastily, clearly displeased at your comment, which makes your lips split in a bigger smile despite your teeth closing around the rice ball. Even so, you’re pleasantly surprised by their flavor. 

“See, this is why I like you, Osamu.” The man frowned at your loose use of his first name, the way it rolls off your tongue so nicely. “You always deliver good work.”

“It’s my job.” Osamu retorts, unamused. “I do it right even if it’s for…” He catches his tongue right in time, his eyes catching movement from the man seated down at one of the tables, almost biting his tongue in the process. “--people like you.” 

Osamu watches while the burly man with tattoos moves discreetly despite his size, bends down so his mouth can be on your ear level, and murmurs something to you that he doesn’t quite catch. Your steely eyes are momentarily looking down when they blink and fly back to his face, a deep, blank stare that makes Osamu’s brows furrow. His back becomes straighter, a gripping feeling in his gut that triggers his fight or flight. 

He presses the urge down - tells himself he doesn’t have anything to fear.

He’s looking down at you, but Osamu feels small under your steady glare. Which in reflex, after several years of being stupid in pair, makes him want to act up.

"Seems to me you forgot some money, Miya."

"What?" His shocked tone is harsh and his eyes dart between you to the two men behind you, looking as steady as his walls and just as broad. "I counted it twice, everythin’ I owe ya ‘s there." His accent comes out pretty hard when he’s agitated.

"You only have fifty thousand here."

“I owe ya fifty thousand.” Osamu deadpans, almost sneering. “What ’re ya sayin’?"

“No, Miya. Fifty thousand is what you owed me two weeks ago.”

"You gave me an extension." He argues, brows furrowed.

"Exactly. I never said anything about the interest.”

"What?"

"You forgot the interest." You talk to him as if he’s a child, lips turning upwards at his confusion. Osamu has the gut feeling you’re enjoying every second of this. Every little moment of his deep discomfort. “You were informed about them when you accepted the loan, you know how they work. If you don’t pay on the due date, 10 percent interest each extra week you remain in debt.”

"Are you telling me I'm missin’ over 10K in interest rates?

"Yes." You say, smiling while tilting your head sideways, analytical. "Because you are."

“I'm paying you back,” Osamu grits through his clenched teeth, almost as if he’s willing it to be true, “Everything I owed ya is there. ”

"Not quite. You’re paying me back about--” You smile and press your lips in thinking, eyebrows furrowing while you calculate on your head the exact number.  “-- 82 percent of what you owe me.”

Osamu’s fists close, veins bulging while his heart picks up with the adrenaline rush of a fit of rage. Aggression flows on his body to the point where his entire frame trembles. His teeth are clenched, tightly forced together by his pressed jaw. His brain cannot reason beyond the need to vent that outrage, and with every second he spends looking at your pretty-faced indifference sitting in front of him at the counter, his outrage slowly merges into fury. Osamu stares back at your emotionless eyes, turns, and walks two strides before burying his fist in the nearest plaster wall, the pain grounding him, soothing his nerves. 

Pain is familiar -- what Osamu doesn’t like is to feel so deranged.

"Fuck!" He exclaims loudly but still controlled, turns his broad back to you, breathes deeply a few times, and then settles. You watch in delighted silence as he moves to the freezer, grabs an iced pack of random food, and puts on his busted knuckles, his eyes on the hole he left on the wall; The twin sighs audibly, then walks back while coldly regarding you and your two watchdogs who look over to him carefully, almost startled.

You, however, didn’t even flinch.

"So how much do I still have to give you?"

“I think the better question is: Can you pay?”

“I’ll figure it out.” Osamu grumbles out, his clenched jaw working over grinding teeth.

“That’s not how this works, Miya.” You tell him, your spine regally straight on the high seat as if it is your throne. Your lips move around the next word with malice. “When.”

“I--” Osamu stops to think for a moment, coldly calculating his financial situation. He has no way to withdraw money from the main branch to try and cover the losses of this branch, that would be simply stupid. There is no way for him to borrow money from Atsumu, who doesn’t know the concept of savings; Kita can not help him with such a great amount and he can’t recur to his poor parents. He also doesn’t want to resort to a bank at all, which doesn’t leave him many options. A new extension raises interests and he doesn't think he can do it beyond the amount he would need to add. Osamu's chest slowly fills with dread - he knows what’ll come if he doesn’t pay and he refuses to let his business become a Mafia parlor.

You watch Osamu slowly and quite meticulously calculate his options while engrossed in reasoning his dreadful situation; it’s thrilling, you almost can’t hide the contentment blossoming in your chest at his desperate situation. 

His expression shifts and turns sour, before slowly building back his blank façade but it’s too late, you already know his conditions and capacities - it’s your job to know. And you pride yourself in never making bets, just assuming calculated risks, so Osamu is right where you wanted him to be.

You do suspect the black-haired male is the same, that disinterested stare in his handsome face nothing short of sharp, his aloof behavior making every second of rilling Osamu up to this manifestation of discomfort all the more delightful. His only problem is that the man plays by rules you don’t. And what you want, you take.  

“I’ll need an extension for the rest.” He finally says, so absolutely angered it’s almost a curse. Even the hostility in his tone makes a shiver run down your spine, all the hairs on your arms standing on edge while your insides slowly melt, fed by the images in your brain.

“Really?” You playfully answer, faked surprise not made to convince anyone. Osamu seethes in place, labored breathing making his chest move up and down. “See, now I can’t help you out. I told you disrespect would only take you so far.” 

You get up from your seat, a show of touching your expensive black plump Louboutin on the ground. “I can’t let you out like this, not when you did such a show of being… rude.”

“What do you want.” Osamu almost spits at you once you’re rounding his counter, entering his space, closing on him. But he holds himself in place by pressing his nails hardly against the inside of his palms.

“First, some respect.” You sultrily say at him, much as a viper luring its prey. It rolls off your scarlet lips while you look up at him from your long lashes and perfect face. It makes Osamu want to wreck it.

“I don’t respect you.” He says in undertone since you’re close, sounding much like a hiss. 

“Doesn’t seem like a smart thing to say to someone to whom you owe so much.” You purse your lips, fake pout. “And you seem like a smart man, Miya. Or am I wrong?”

Osamu blinks, brows furrowing while he looks down at you, his mind working.

“Where are you going with this?” He eyes you warily, his eyebrows furrowing, his mind trying to gauge the target of your wicked intentions. “You want something.”

 You smile, pretty red lips stretching to show a beautiful line of white teeth and he’s surprised that the poison isn’t dripping. 

“See, I knew you were smart.”

“I’m not giving you my business.” Osamu hisses, like a cornered animal, but his instance shows he’s more prone to fight than flee. 

“Don’t want it.” You’re quick to tell him, innocence so out of place that it makes even clearer that you’re being honest. “I may need… services, though.” 

Osamu’s spine shoots straight once again, his eyes sharp boring into your face with cold disdain.

“I’m not laundering your money.” 

“Money launder, Miya? That’s a federal felony.” You lean back, supporting yourself on your forearms against the balcony, vigilant eyes zooming on him. “Are you saying I’m a criminal?” 

Osamu stays silent for the first time. There’s a predatory glint in your eyes that he understands as a warning, but that doesn’t stop him from upturning his brow and tilting his head in a small challenge. Osamu is appalled at what your upturning lips do to his guts, swallowing the saliva that pools in his mouth. He must be wrong in the fucking head to feel anything else than disgust in your sight, but even so, there’s no denying the way there’s a devilish pull around you, like the temptation of a capital sin.

“What I mean is… I have a specific service for you, personally. So you could pay me in...” Your tongue snaps against the roof of your mouth with a small noise, lips turning up in vile intention, “Different goods, per se.”

Osamu refuses to accept his train of thought, eyes pressing into slits while he watches you. His tone enunciates every word of his question. 

“What do you mean?” 

Your answering smile is sordid.

“You know what I mean Miya, we’ve just established you’re not stupid.”

“I’m starting ta’ think you are, though.”

Your laugh is loud, cheerful even. It makes him look at you as if you’re insane.

“Maybe.” You chuckle, retreating your arms back and straightening your posture on the tool, your neck tilting to the side. “But when I want something, I want it. So why deny myself that? I find the whole point of self-control to be so… pedestrian.” There’s this contempt in your tone at the word, mixing into trivial once your shoulders shrug your consideration for a whole chunk of what living in a society means. “Why hold myself to it if I’m above?” Osamu chooses to ignore that question.

“And what if I say no?” 

“You’re free to do what you want, I don’t own you.” Yet, you think, smiling. “Then again you still owe me 10k in interests and with your measly weekly 5k profit and the increased interest percentage with the second extension, we know what’ll happen to you…  And I’d hate for that to happen to you.”

The silence is heavy and acidic, burning on him. And you let the seconds pass, relishing in the way he seems to grow aggravated, jaw overworking around nothing to bite, hands in fists by his side. 

Oh, you’re close to defiling the pristine white of your designer clothes, the feeling brewing inside you threatening to spill between your thighs. Osamu looks absolutely delicious while being so emotional. 

You can see the gears turning inside his pretty dark-haired head, his eyes looking around and back at you, threading down your face, to your neck to the plunging neckline of your suit - you elongate your body while he watches, pleased to have his eyes on you, especially when they're burning with unattended violence and aggression. 

Osamu’s always so detached from the events happening around him, so unshakable in that aura of apathetic tranquility that it has caused you to develop an almost macabre interest in making him desperate. And now you are continually enjoying the result, the awakening of the flames that you always knew existed inside the small business owner.

 A few minutes pass while you’re just content to watch, the knot in your stomach growing tighter as you appreciate the size of his shoulders, the strength hidden in the strong biceps, the broad, defined torso that you know exists under that simple black outfit simply by gut feeling alone. You are tempted to ask him to turn around so that you can also enjoy his backside.

“Ok.” He says in a breath that seems more like it was ripped out of his chest. Like a dead man last world. You like this analysis. But of course, he can’t have it so easy.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear. Did you say anything?”

Osamu purses his lips in discomfort, almost bites his tongue in the process of not telling you to go to hell.

 “I said,” he entones again, though his disdain is showing. “Ok”

“Ok, what?” You press. Oh, the way how his veins bulge on his forearms when his nails press on his palms have your hairs standing on end. You blink at him with a smile, all too pleased with yourself.

“Ok, I’ll do it.” Osamu squeezes out, brows furrowed in discovering your intentions. You’re leering with wicked prowess. 

“I don’t think that's how you say it, Miya.” Your brows go up in the tiniest indication of irritation. Your voice is calculated, though unable to hide the elation.

“Ok… Miss. I’ll do anything you want.” The words come out of his mouth sounding nothing like submission and much like he just cursed your whole generation, teeth grinding. Still, it makes you smile. You don’t want to break his spirit -- that’s why you chose him.

“That’s what I like to hear.” You say, pushing yourself out from the counter where you supported yourself. Coat long forgotten on top of it, you cross your arms in front of your breasts, knowing exactly how you look and very pleased at the way his eyes ever so slightly thread down your plunging neckline. “But not so fast. I didn’t tell you I’d accept it-”

“Ya just--” Osamu almost explodes, the arms he holded closed in front of him being thrown in the air as if he’d be ready to grab you. You just turn a hand up and reels at how he actually shuts up right after.

“I just told you, you could pay me in services.” You continue, one step closer to him in your expensive shoes, plump red lips dripping wicked intent. 

“But,” You start, closer to him enough that your breath is touching his heated skin and you can smell the sweat his aggression produced, your mouth salivating at the thought of tasting it on his skin. 

Your finger rests on his chest and you thread it up while speaking, looking him in the eyes, so pleased at finding so much life in his usual dead stare, “I don’t know if you’re good enough for the job yet.” 

Osamu stares back at you, hands in fists forcibly stuck next to his body, feeling the way your hot breath trails on his jaw and hating himself for what it brews in his insides. 

You stretch up in your heels, mouth dangerously close to his, which rests ajar to let his breathing out, enough that he can taste your mint breath on his tongue. 

“I think I may need a little…”  Your eyes thread down to his mouth and then back to his eyes while you speak your next words, “--taste, you know?”

Osamu flexes his fingers, swallows dry around his closed throat, stares at your face -- so close the downright devilish smile on your red lips seems to narrow his field-view -- and he blinks. 

The Miya thinks how he wants to wipe that smile off your sinful lips. How he wants to have you trembling, unattended, and disheveled. He thinks about you begging with his name on your tongue, for a release that he’ll keep denying at his disposition. Osamu thinks about leaving you sore and marked, thinks about wrapping his hands around your neck to watch as you struggle, turning purple, life evading you while he fucks you; consider this may be the only way he’d ever had the opportunity to get even close to a payback. 

Osamu wants you to experience mind-numbing pleasure you’d never before, uniquelly brought by him… and suffer through the rest of your fucking disgraceful life without being able to taste it again once he’s done paying his debt. Because Osamu swears on his fucking name and whole life, he’ll never give it to you again.

He can see your future already and in it you’re fucked - both by him and for him, while he’s the one who gets away. The twin wonders if you ever lost anything like this in your life, can feel himself growing hard at being the one to make you cry. 

“Sure.” Osamu smiles, lopsided, the devil himself being safer than him. “I’ll give ya the taste ya deserve.” 

Your eyes press slightly closer in mistrust, the wicked intention pouring from his body so close to yours impossible to miss. Either way, it's your win; that’s exactly what you’ve been bargaining for, despite your game being rigged from the start. 

You bring your face close to his as if you were going to kiss him and you are delighted when his eyes go down, although not completely closed, his pupils focusing on your lips. 

You smile and retreat, turning to your men still positioned exactly where you left them, behind the bench where you were sitting previously. They remain so observant and sharp as ever, despite looking more like gargoyles than men.

“I’ll need a moment.” You tell them in a serious tone, calm. They both look at you for a second and nod, their stances changing very little despite it. You turn back to him but walk inside his establishment as if you own the place, pushing through the doors that lead to the back and inside his small, equipped kitchen. Osamu follows in silence, briefly wondering if he’d be able to snatch a knife and bury it in your chest. 

There’s not much outside cooking paraphernalia, with two big counters and taller than normal table in the center. You stop right in front of it, your hand threading over it for a moment. 

“That’ll do.” You say while you turn around to look at him. You look so strikingly bright in the middle of his rather normal kitchen, clad in both lavish clothes and unblemished skin; he wants so much to be able to say your sight doesn’t thrill him -- but he can’t lie to himself. 

But then you pointedly eye him and then the ground in front of you, “Kneel.”

Osamu considers his previous thought about burying a knife deep in your chest but walks, stiff, to where you indicated. He kneels with even less disposition than when he walked towards you, the descent slow until the ground’s hard tile is registered against his knee. He makes a point of looking into your eyes as he lowers, hatred overflowing in waves that seem to give you a sick satisfaction, your eyes becoming slightly out of focus.

The Miya’s about to ask what you’d want him to do next, like pledge himself or some shit, when your hands move to the hidden zipper on the side of your impeccable white pants. 

It drops to the floor in one go, displaying the graceful planes of your hips, appeasing spanse of flesh, a small triangle of silk hiding your most private parts. Saliva pools in Osamu’s mouth at the sight, his teeth pressing against one another to avoid betrayal. He’s still unsure of what’s his next step until your heel digs on his shoulder painfully, using him as leverage to prop yourself up on the high table. 

His eyes snap to yours while he bite his tongue to not curse you out loud.  There’s a gun on top of his head that is a big warning for Osamu to behave -- not that he’d have the chance to escape with the watchdogs outside his only exit. If he had, you could be dead already. 

Your suit threads up when you move up and slide on the table, the white silk panties peeking in between your open thighs. You move your beretta calmly off his face and thread it slightly, almost fondly, over your naked thigh. 

You make a small show of removing your finger from the trigger and depositing it far on the table, enough to be out of his reach and almost yours too. You look back at him once you’re empty handed and just so open right there on the table for him. 

“Behave, Osamu. You know you wouldn’t make it very far.”

Osamu grits his teeth but nods, your heel still supported on his shoulder but not digging on his skin anymore. You lay slightly back against his tabletop, forearms resting on the surface carefully. Dressed in a white, stylish suit like the last trend, the skin in between so bright it feels like a taunt, the curves of your breasts so ripe he wants to taste, the closed lapels looking like his own pathway to sin. He can feel his blood boiling, aggression throbbing, and he wants to paint you in red.

“Well then,” You start, happily above him, spread like a meal, “Show me if you’re good enough to pay your debt. Consider this your warrant.”

“Don’t worry.” Osamu drawls out with dripping distaste, his hand slowly, almost bored, threading up from your ankle to your knees. “I’ll fuck ya like you want it. Within an inch of your life.”

His hands lock on the back of your knees and he parts them forcefully, while you leave a yelp followed by laughter, your head thrown back with glee. 

You smell of flowers and spice, so expensive he was surprised that you weren’t dripping fucking gold. His palms slide through the back of your thigh and the skin under his fingertips is soft and firm, all shapes of heaven despite being in sole service of the devil. 

Osamu starts slowly, the table leaving you open just at the height of his neck while he’s kneeled on the ground, at the perfect height. His thumb presses on your skin while he holds one of your legs up, brings his lips to your knee. There’s a welcoming stain on your panties, and he scoffs at you despite the way his cock responds on his trousers. 

“I haven’t even started and you’re already wet?” The way you smile at him is both infuriating and bewitching. 

“What? Didn’t you enjoy our little foreplay earlier?” You tease him, plump lips locked under a row of teeth with mirth. His skin feels prickling and Osamu decides he needs more room, roughly pushing on your thighs until he can fit between them with room to spare.

It’s not fair, how good you feel, the delicious smell of your skin, the way your taunt alights him with fire in his veins. 

Osamu knows it’s bait -- and he’s willingly falling for it.

When his lips start to thread on the inner part of your knee and up, the twin does it with the intention to mark; he sucks instead of kissing, licks instead of caressing, and bites once he finds the plush meat of your inner thighs.

It stings and you let the smallest of sounds, but Osamu feels it in his gut, brings his hot tongue to soothe over it, bask in the way you tremble under his fingertips just enough for him to sink his teeth and revel in the pain on your groan. 

His nose treads along the furthest expanse of the joining of your thighs, touches the silk of your expensive panties, senses the way you tense and watches while your pussy trembles, even while still covered by fabric.

He considers holding back his tongue, but Osamu has never been the type to be held back by the threat of punishment. And you’ve shown to clearly enjoy his fiery side.

“Such an eager pussy right here, isn't it?” He threads his nose against the wet patch in the silk, carefully breathes against the covered lips. Osamu lets one of his shoulders bear one leg and brings his thumb to pass over the growing wet patch. “Sticky.” He presses it from the wetness to the place where your clit should be, watches as you respond to his touch with aborted movement. “Such a slut.” It’s supposed to be degrading, but there’s a hint of appreciation in his words that isn’t lost on you. “Is this all it takes for my debt? It’ll be finished in a second then.”

Your mouth opens to retort but closes in time to withhold a moan before it falls through your lips. His thumb’s pressing against your clit in tight circles while the index of his other hand threads over your covered cunt. Turns out Osamu has moves to back up the big talk. 

He’s methodical, clearly good and deft with his fingers, controlled pressure applied in a way that has you writhing on the table despite your intention to make this hard on him. Your desire to make him work for it, apparently, is no match for his. 

Osamu presses the tips of his fingers on your clothed entrance, enough force that it barely breaks inside you but the teasing has you churning on the table for him, legs trying to part beyond limits, body arching where it’s been relegated. Your chest feels hot and heavy despite the little clothing. You’re hoping for the moment where he’ll tease the hard nipples pressing against the flimsy lace of your bralet and the inside of your suit with the same intensity he’s depositing on your cunt.

Osamu, on the other hand, has no rush. You did this, gave this opportunity for him to wreck you, and he plans on enjoying it to the bitter end. He’s fairly surprised at how responsive you are, how quickly you melt for him, how vocal you can be despite doing little more than grunts and sighs. A thought flashes through his mind when he feels a renewed wave of wetness blossom against the fabric where his fingers are pressing, his lips turning in a self-satisfied smirk.

“Have you been so desperate for a good cock you’ve resorted to blackmail?” Your eyes snap open at his voice, a warm wave of something that you refuse to believe in being embarrassment depositing in your cheekbones. Osamu’s fingers prod harder against your entrance, fingers spreading against the wet fabric to your outer lips while his thumb keeps drawing endless circles around your clit. “Tsk, what a dirty move from an even dirtier slut.” 

He slaps your clit once, then twice, his bulking frame preventing you from closing your legs against the sudden pain. Your body trembles on unsteady forearms. You choke on a breath and then release a moan, the sound outrageous to Osamu even as his cock throbs from it. 

“Maybe I’ll give ya what you want.” The Miya teases, his voice sounding even despite the turmoil inside him. You look up at him with such eyes he could fool himself into thinking he wanted this. 

His fingers teether on the edge of your underwear, rough fingertips just daring to cross into the emanating heat. Your hips twitch, the emptiness inside you accentuated by your muscles clenching around nothing, desire pouring out against the prodding fingertips. Osamu snorts, throws you a hard stare that is equal parts fire and contempt. 

“You’re so wet. Are you enjoying this that much?” It drips acidic from his tongue against your neck, after he bends himself over you. From so close, Osamu’s warm breath is the same as a caress, his tongue teasing you with the way it threads over his lips but doesn't extend the courtesy to your skin. “You’re rather easy to rile up, hah? Or is it that you enjoyed playin’ with me before?” His teeth flash white above your head and you swallow around the desire of having them plunging on your skin. “How was it ya said? Foreplay, hah?”

You feel weirdly wound up inside your own skin, as if there’s not enough space and still a growing void inside you waiting for him to fill. It’s insane, it’s delicious, and a loud moan breaches your throat when Osamu plunges two fingers inside you without warning. 

Your body arches in such a curve your breasts press against his chest, the relieving brush too shallow to register in your brain when you’re hyper fixated on the sensation brewing inside you. 

It doesn’t even sting, instead you feel like your hunger escalates, fed by such little push that your want becomes need and for the first time in forever you actually consider asking for something. 

Your mouth opens, and Osamu snickers. “What?” He presses his thumb over your clit fast, relinquishes in the way you groan, feels the way your insides beg him to keep going. 

Still not enough though. He wants it ruined for you. 

“Maybe I’ll just make you cum on my fingers right here.” He spreads, scissor and twists them inside you, enjoying the feeling of your tight walls clenching around him at his every move. Osamu’s skin feels on fire, body overheating, and the way your lips turn up to reveal a line of white teeth in glee has his gut twisting. 

“You have a pretty loose tongue for such a quiet guy.” You look at him with semi-closed eyes, the victorious smile of the cat who got the mouse. “Maybe you like me more than you thoug--ahhhhh!”

Osamu shoves and prods around your insides for that special place even demons like you have and his assault is nothing short of merciless. Your eyes snap open at the force of his ramming, eyebrows furrowing at the way your pleasure seems to have forgone climb to skyrocket instead. Osamu watches in begrudging enchantment while your lips fall open to suck air into your breathless lungs and your eyes grow unfocussed, shoulders falling against the table so your hands can come to hold his arms but for what he doubts even you know. 

He’s not stopping. Until he does. 

You let out a noise like a wounded animal, tethering on the edge of mind numbing pleasure he won’t give you and when your body trembles from exertion of a denied orgasm instead of bliss, Osamu’s chest swells in pride.

“Whydidyoustop?” You lament in one breath, eyes are blinking back into focus, sweat and - oh he hopes those are tears - droplets dripping from the corner of your eyes while you turn to press your face on the cold metal surface of the table. “I was so close!” This time you rage, nails pressing against his skin enough to hurt.

“Wadidya mean?” Osamu tilts his head sideways, patronizing. “You didn’t ask for it. I’m just doing what you told me: being respectful.”

You laugh, still breathless, and turn to him in disbelief. “Fucker.”

“Not yet,” He corrects you, nuzzling his hips on your thighs. “Maybe if you ask nicely enough.”

Osamu retreats while you regulate your breath, letting your useless legs fall limp while both of his hands come to help your panties down, marveling at the way they’re peeled off your wet pussy lips. His cock aches and demands, but he’s used to reining in his dick. And he’s just started, anyway.

The Miya pushes you forward on the table, opening your legs wide like a treat. Your pussy is glistening, rhythmically calling for something to fill it while you leak. He plunges a finger back inside to watch you tremble, stimulation enough to make your eyes fall closed, long black lashes against beautiful sweaty skin. 

“Look at this.” Osamu plunges a second finger inside, opening them wide enough to sting. “What a desperate whore.” 

Your mind is swirling in urge, but you refuse to spill the words on your tongue. It would give you what you want, but at what cost? Osamu looks positively ferocious above you, dark eyes focused on your every move; it sends shivers through your spine, your body trembling and blossoming for him once again. You’re in your personal heaven, in company of the devil himself.

Osamu kneels again in front of your open legs, hook one on his shoulder while he holds the other thigh forcefully up with a grip so hard your muscle aches under his fingers. But you don’t care, in fact  you sigh “more” for him right as his breath teases your folds.

“No.” He tells you, two fingers pumping at leisure. His tongue slurps at your inner thigh, teeth closing in a bite with nothing to sooth. 

“Fuck.” You breathe out in a groan and his smirk is pronounced against your skin. 

Osamu, as you’re learning, is a tease.

His moves are soft, lacking in everything but aim; his tongue moves along the sensitive parts of your body you’ve never really cared for, like the plush flesh of your thighs, underside of your ass, the juncture of your groin. He has yet to taste you but you feel wounded, body constricted under weak ministrations, feather-like teases. It sinks with a piercing revelation that you could cum like this -- in an unfulfilled manner with not-good-enough touches that somehow have made your body feel raw like an exposed nerve in which the minimum touch would be enough to warrant waves of pleasure.

When his tongue comes to thread along your slit slowly, nose caressing along his way, your body clenches and threatens to spasm around unmoving fingers. You’re so close, so close, your body is ready to burst, fraying at the seams of a control you’re not using, your hands flying to try and find your clit at the same time Osamu’s eyes flash and he holds it, presses it forcefully against your belly while his lips slurp at your folds, circle your clit, but it’s so soft, it’s fucking unfair.

“Goddammit, Osamu!” You scream, enraged at the way your second orgasm flies away from you as his fingers leave your quivering hole, his mouth doing nothing more than lap at your overflowing juices with no real worry, no urgency.

“Oh, look at that.” The Miya smirks, drawing back up to look at your disheveled state; flustered, sweating, dripping and unattended. “You wanted a taste.” His hand comes back to your cunt, fingers thread along puffy lips. “I’m giving it to you.”

“You bastard.” His fingers leave your heat just to plunge inside again, a loud gushing sound following it. “Shit.” You sigh while falling back, and Osamu feels his cock throb once more at how breathless you sound. 

Your mind works around the feeling of being spread so far you feel as if you’re paper thin. Your mind goes rushing in its last attempt at working. Osamu looks self-satisfied, almost content, so you know where to hit. You want it, so you find a way to have it. 

“Oh, poor Miya--” You coo at him with a hoarse voice in glazed eyes, but the condescending tone is clear as day. “Are you trying to hurt me?” You plant a hand on his black hair, pulling at it enough to hurt.  “‘Cause I like pain.”

Fire explodes in his eyes and you tighten around his fingers in response, but other than his frown, Osamu remains calm. 

He slams three fingers inside before you can mouth any new words, smirks down at you with mischief when you tremble and bite your lips to hold the noises in, eyes falling back closed to hide the way they turn inside your skull. His other hand is holding your thigh forcefully open once again and his palm presses with hurtful intention, fingertips buried in your flesh so hard his digitals may mark you for days.

“Let you cum on my fingers and nothing else, is that going to be enough for you?” Osamu snarls against your ear, hot breath tickling your jaw. His hips hold you open to his assault at your pussy and his hand abandons your thigh to glide over your body and close around your throat. 

Osamu squeezes hard.

“Then again I could ruin your orgasm for the third time.” He bends over you, his lips right in front of your sight; eyes looking down at you with such fire you almost wonder if they’re the cause for the burn in your lungs. “Leave you writhing on the table, empty, until you learn to have a little respect.” 

This. 

Your lips spread in a smile almost maniacal, goosebumps rising on your skin as if you’re electrified. This is what you’ve wanted all along -- passion, fearless assault of words, electrifying pleasure; and also, the detachment, the murderous intent, all merging together in one perfect Osamu Miya. Shit, you think to yourself, at this hate you may actually come from his teasing alone.

“You talk too much for someone who didn't make me cum yet.” You pour gasoline into his fire. 

Osamu pulls you up by the lapels of your suit, button flying open at the hastiness, your breasts protected by such a flimsy piece of lace you’re surprised it doesn’t turn to ash at his stare. Your hard nipples mark the white bralet, the air feeling cold at how hot they are. 

A hand covered in your juices closes on your cheeks, forcefully opening your lips at the threat of pain, his fingers with lingering heat from your insides.

“Such a big mouth, should I shut you up?” Osamu asks you, eyes boring on yours. The plea is on the point of your tongue as if he’d shoved his hand inside you to yank it himself, and it tips out when his dark eyes steal one single snippet of your smeared red lips open by his hands.

“Fuck me.” 

He nods negatively, presses hard enough that your teeth could cut your inner cheeks. He relents and your tongue grazes your lips, moistening them for his eyes.  

Osamu smiles, a tilt of his lips up but so earnestly you’re almost hopeful, then: “No.” 

Even if as he says it, it’s a lie. He knows he’ll fuck you, but right now he’s enjoying the build-up, toying with you as if you’re his plaything and not the opposite. You growl and curse, head falling back when he palms at your covered breasts, push the lace up, hears the way it strains and threatens to rip. 

It’s oddly relatable -- Osamu also feels taut, stretched around a fleeting control that he feels will slip with one dip inside you. His past sexual experiences involved partners who he cherished and few one-night stands which, for the small time his dick was inside them, he was mindful and cared for their pleasure. 

Right now, while he pinches and palm at your body, he has not a single worry about your pleasure and all the concern about his. This is for him. He bends his head over your bosom, sucks a nipple inside the hot cave of his mouth and bites. As his cock twitches and aches inside his trousers, he relishes in the pained noises you leave, even when they’re marked by breathless arousal.

“You sure are fucked up. Look how much you’re enjoying this.” His fingers force the howl of your cheeks, feeling your teeth nicking the insides of your mouth even through layers of flesh. There’s an infuriating elation in your expression, and Osamu retaliates by sucking harshly on your skin, teeth finding soft places to close on.

You moan loudly and his hand slides back onto your throat in the motion. Your hand shots up from the table to find his hard dick and your laugh makes his blood boil. “Clearly I’m not the only one.”

His heartbeat spikes at the words, even if Osamu knows it. The twin pulls the suit jacket half-down your arms and slams your body on the slight cold surface of the metal table, noise sounding thunderous but still no one comes after you. 

Your skin erupts in goosebumps at the aggression, blood flying so fast through your heart you feel lightheaded. You’re about to spit some more fire into Osamu when two of his fingers gag you, other hand descending on your ass with such force and so unexpectedly your legs give out, dangling from the table as if you’re a ragdoll.

Something remarkably close to a whine turning sob slides through your throat and dies at Osamu’s fingers, just as something big and hot surges over your ass cheeks. Something coils on your chest, the emotion makes your eyes water and for a moment you blink it away, thanking the new position doesn’t let Osamu catch that. 

Too soon. Osamu pulls your head back as his hand peels the globes of your ass apart and before you can breathe, the little air inside you is being knocked out with one thrust of Osamu’s hip.

He forces his dick inside you, tearing you open as your walls make way for his aggression, wetness dripping while Osamu fills you to the hilt, because yes, that's what you want. You want his hate, his passion, you want Osamu to tear you apart while you enjoy every second of it.

“‘Samu!” His name is on your lips as your eyes roll back, whole body tensing until you’re falling, just like that. 

Then he retreats. “Fuck! Fuck no!” This time it’s a wail, a sob as your third orgasm turns to ashes, your insides trembling with nothing to hold, empty and meager pleasure. 

“Wha--Cummin’ already? Nope.” The twin laughs above you, hands tilting your head painfully back. “So embarrassing.” Osamu mocks you and you swear you can feel a renewed wave of cream slide down your insides to greet the head of his cock, nudging along your swollen lips. Your tongue feels so heavy on your mouth, parched and breathless all at once, no way out but silence. 

“You are disgusting, you know that? Such a greedy fucking pussy doesn’t deserve to be this tight.” 

Your laugh turns into a deep moan when Osamu hits deep inside you. “God yes.” You twist one hand out of the suit’s sleeve just to pull him by the hem of his blouse, your nails digging against the skin of his neck, blooming red yelts. “Talk shit to me Osamu. I know you have better lines.”

“Fuck you.” The twin spits, his hips pistoning harder against yours until he just stops the motion, leaves you open and gapping for him to fill you again. “Of course a pig like ya has the hots for humiliation. Look at that, the slut’s pussy squeezing around my dick because she thinks I'm doing this for her pleasure.” His hand comes down on the other side of your ass, where he hasn't hit yet. It stings, but the way his palm massages and grabs at it before almost soothes the burn. “Disgusting sluts don’t get to say anything, not even begging will get you what you want. I decide what you get."

You look back from your shoulder to see his cock is standing proud and angry, swollen head shining red and dripping translucent white, as if he hadn't been wet from your juices before. Osamu’s big, especially thick and he presses inside you again without giving you time to adjust, unforgiving pace right from the start.

You curse at the way one of your hands keeps locked behind you by your suit, your nails digging on your own skin without anything else to find purchase on; the other tries to grab onto Osamu to no avail, falling on the table to help support yourself at the strength of his pounding.  Your mouth is open, divided between sucking breaths and puffs of air. Osamu’s hand has since found purchase in your neck, the way he forces it back painful, the pressure on your throat growing and ceasing as he wishes. 

Still, you can’t think. Your mind is lost in a sea of searing pleasure, your nipples pressed against the metal surface as Osamu finally fucks you as you’ve been dreaming. No, maybe even better. The past men you’ve fucked had all been afraid of hurting you, careful with retaliation. As Osamu fists your hair and forcefully presses you against the table; you think you may be having a religious experience. Your eyes water from the force of his manhandling, tears spilling while you left unbelievable noises fall from your lips. You want to scream and laugh, a hot sensation spreading from your fingertips to your core. 

The wave of the orgasm is forming quickly, your toes curling against the insides of your Louboutins enough to hurt, the incessant pounding of Osamu’s hips against your ass sounding downright pornographic. As the peak approaches, doubt gnaws at your chest for the first time in forever. 

The simple thought of Osamu robbing you of your orgasm this time is enough to make your whole body tremble and recoil, your mind too slow to catch on to his intentions. You consider biting your tongue to hold the plea in, but as you bolt into mind-blowing pleasure you’ve never even imagined before, the alternative feels like dying.

You’re tethering the edge and you feel Osamu pressing harder against you, and you break. “Please!” You cry out, “Pleasepleaseplease, don’t stop.” His movements slow down and halt, and the hand on your ass slides around you, a single finger taps repeatedly on your swollen clit. 

“Say it.” He all but howls at your ear, bites on it for good measure.

“Please, ‘samu, let me fucking cum!” You beg but you’re already falling over, whole body shuddering just from the way he nudges his hips against your ass and taps on your sensitive bundle of nerves. Panic surges in between your pleasure that he’ll ruin this one when he retreats from your quivering insides, but Osamu rams back inside you with such power that your head rattles, hips hurting from the impetus of his fucking. 

Sound rings in your ear while you drown in the thunderous waves of your pleasure for what feels like forever. It flows and flows and flows to a point you can’t tell if you’re seeing black or just closed your eyes. 

Osamu watches, enthralled, how you go completely boneless under him. Your insides have stopped squeezing him tight but his hard, aching cock still throbs inside your heat. It’s honestly unbelievable how tight you feel around him, how fantastic he feels buried balls deep inside your walls. He had to stop trying to fuck you through your orgasm in worry he’d may cum. Poison and pleasure curl in his chest at the thought. Osamu feels like spanking you, choking you, to punish you for this undeserving heaven you have between your thighs.  

But he’s not done yet.

Osamu retreats, the slide of his cock leaving your delicious walls -- cold air from outside so less welcoming -- and you sag on the table. He pulls you up on unsteady legs and smirks, proud. Your bare feet touch the ground and Osamu spins you around, swallowing on a tight throat after one look at your disheveled blissful state, but then he retreats and let’s you collapse to the ground.

The image of your legs sliding open on the cold tiled floor, unsteady hands finding purchase to hold your torso up while your head looks up at him in outrage is one he sears in his mind, a wicked satisfaction sliding over his spine at the sight alone. The wreck of you at his feet, by his hands, nothing short of perfect. 

His cock throbs and pulses in front of your eyes, dragging your attention and Osamu steps closer, poses one hand on the top of your head, ruins the rest of your styled hair by dragging fingertips in it. 

 You’re still lightheaded, shockwaves making you twitch on the cold floor and Osamu is elated at how wrecked you look, makeup smeared, hair disheveled, body holded up by unsteady arms. Your lips are open, between breathless pulls of air and heavy exhales, but Osamu doesn't care, hands forcefully tugging your hair back and angling your mouth at his swelled cockhead. He counts as a win that you don’t bite him, your tongue threading flat on the underside of his length as he buries himself on your throat. 

There’s resistance, so the Miya retreats, forcing it back a few other times until it finally slides a few inches more inside. While he maintains the force over your hair, his other hand engulfs your chin, thumb breaching your lips to hold your mouth open despite the fact you don’t make any move to close it. 

It feels his chest with acidic bitterness that you welcome his aggression, glazed, tearful eyes looking up at him as if the fact he’s using you as little more than a cocksleeve is the brightest part of your day. Still, Osamu’s skin feels close to tearing under the sheer amount of pleasure flooding his insides. His hairs are standing on end, heart beating so fast his lungs burn, every muscle on his body tensed at his mindless pursuit of his high. He buries his cock deep inside the tight space of your throat, your gurgles and groaning enhancing his sensation. It looks painful to you to hold him inside, tears ending your makeup, face turning red at the lack of air. He closes both hands behind your head, making you nuzzle his pelvis even as your nails close on his thighs threatening to break skin.

He retreats to let you breathe just as your eyes go unfocused, feels something squeezing inside as you cough and wheezes and his throat squeezes a large gulp of air when you look up at him, tongue hanging out with a wide-open mouth just offered for him.

Osamu feels like hurting you at how good you are, infuriatingly obedient and willing to be at the end of his aggression. So he buries himself back inside at one go, both hands holding your head for him. There’s too much chaos inside of him, so he decides to pour some out through words.

“You like being used like this, huh? Like little more than a fucking cocksleeve for me.”

“What is it? Does being in power make you this needy? Does being wrecked make you feel this good?” Your groan makes your throat tighter around him, your eyes rolling back from his fucking and degradation.

It’s unfair, infuriatingly so, that this might be the most unbelievable great sex he ever had. 

Osamu can’t hold back much longer, everything feeling just too good, his skin burning at the stretch of the tourbillion of emotions inside his chest, the captivating sight of tears dropping from your jaw and coating your long lashes as your face darkens by the lack of air, swollen lips stretched beyond capacity around his cock while you willingly let him go harder, faster, into your tight throat. There’s a warm sensation flowing from his limbs to his spine, melting his bones and weighing on his balls until it spreads over Osamu’s whole being.

He pulls back from your throat in time but presses his hands on your jaw and hair to keep you up and open as he coats your wrecked face with hot spurts of cum -- the final touch to the perfection of your wrecked image at his feet.

It lands haphazardly over your lips and even your eyelashes, tear-stained mess of a face marked by his essence. Osamu tells himself he could never feel anything towards you, but for a second there’s a hint of territorial pride at how you look -- and how it is all his doing. The twin is still swimming in searing pleasure as you lick over your lips, hands almost fondly landing over his as if you're assuring him that he can let go.

He does, trying to step back and slowly descending onto the ground when his knees give out. His eyes are glued to how his cum is dripping from your chin onto your chest, how you bring your fingers to sweep over it and end it by cleaning the digits with your tongue. If Osamu’s cock wasn’t so spent, he’s sure it’d swell right back up at the sight alone.

“Can’t say what’s better,” your hoarse voice is barely above a murmur, “the taste or the feeling.”

As you’re standing on unsteady legs and already fixing yourself while he sits on the floor questioning his life choices, Osamu feels as if he’d made a deal with the devil, and you’ll be coming back to collect his soul.

“Seems like the start of a nice partnership, doesn’t it?” 

-- 

[whatthehelliswrongwithme]

Voltron Part 39

Time for this thing to get wrapped up! Let’s start with season 8! After a pretty mediocre S7 that was a follow-up of a great S6, I’m hoping for something better. But, well. The general consensus seems to be, that this season sucks. But lemme paint my own picture first. Episodes 1+2 let’s go! :

Was the Tv-show a refernce to the 80s Voltron?

I like Altean Evangelion pilot’s design

YES! More Romura crumbs!

Lance has got some angst to work through

Okay, it is a direct refernce to 80s Voltron. And Lance is not supporting Kallura, 

And I guess that’s also an Allurance and Klance moment, cause Hunk joked about a love triangle

(Yes, for a love-triangle there needs to be at least one queer person. Y’all just don’t get shapes)

Was the comment about “getting Allura a little wrong” supposed to be about the change of her skin colour? Cause if so. Well. yikes

Does anybody else think, that it’s weird for the Garrison to send these kids back into space, to end a war?

Gosh, why are Shiro and Keith so serious?

This episode is very clearly pushing Allurance, but I’m just sitting happily over here, with my Romura crumbs

Lance, why are you taking her to your family? On your first date?

Pidge reacted weirdly upon hearing the news. Jealous? Plance?

The banter scene between Pidge and her mom was weird...

Girl’s night out! They’re even joined by Maru and Maniac Pixie Dream Girl

Nice to get to know them more. Maru seems fun and I absolutely adore MPDG’s outfit

Moustache man is a “Hurt my kid and I’ll kill you”-sort of dad. And I’m here for it

I’ve never seen 80s Voltron, but I believe that Pidge’s and one of Allura’s outfits during the makeover scene, may be a reference???

The sunset-scene feels like it was written specifiacally for the Klancers

Their date is kinda cute

Random relative of Lance, who’s forced to sit at the kids table: I feel your pain

Keith x Secretary Lady? Okaaaaayy?

I’m here for Sailor Moon being more relevant again. But also, Evangelion Lady screamed so angrily, that she died... What is this? Grey’s Anatomy?

I’m so fucking angry right now, about Allura angsting over not having a family anymore. Not having “anyone” to return to. Meanwhile, Moustache man is right there!

Oh god, Lance dropped the L-word

I still don’t know how to feel about Allurance, because it were simply unrequited feelings for sooooo long

But good for the Allurancers for getting their ship canon

The Paladins each got their own colour-coded Garrison uniform. Good for them

I know, that Keith’s supposed to be the leader of Voltron and all. But why was he talking during Shiro’s goodbye speech?

[If anybody wants to fill me in on all the 80s Voltron-references I didn’t catch, they’re very welcome]

.-•-°-•-.-•-°-•-.-•-°-•-.-~☆

Things I did not expect: A space witch-centric episode

It’s the cat! It’s the fucking cat! It’s Furry’s cat!!!

(I think it was originally space witch’s cat. But idc. It’s Furry’s cat. Bring her back!!!)

Smiling, young Zarkon looks so unsetteling...

Awww, she actually cares about her asshole-son

Space witch deadass just said: “Bitch, I don’t wanns be queen”

Lotor got his name, because both of his parents are mythology-nerds

Okay, so during the whole Quintessence-immortality ordeal Zarkon and space witch lost their memories. And space witch just took on the first name she heard. Cool, I guess???

That birth-scene is just the beginning of Wicked (Too bad, Lotor is purple and not green) (Seriously. The whole “Take it away”-thing and all!)

How many timmes are they going to say “Quintessence” this episode?

New outfit for space witch... nice

Space witch murdering those Galras... Gosh, she really is the difinition of Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss

Child-Lotor is probably supposed to be cute, but I still don’t like that bitch-ass motherfucker

Space witch is really fucking pissed at the Galra

Lotor took space witch’s kitty cat. God, even as a kid he was an asshole

The Altean Colony should really stop with their whole “glorifying and worshipping a single person”

(Good for Sailor Moon, that she got out of there)

How did random Altean village girl manage to get onto the magic-planet? Weren’t only the chosen ones supposed to be able to do that?

Did space witch use the magic-planet’s defences to create the Evangelion robot. Or was that just an extra thing she did?

Ooooooohhh. Lotor pulled a Pink Diamond and fucked up his first colony by not destroying the planet

I’ve said it since season3, but: The. Entirety. Of. Lotor’s. Family. Needs. Therapy.