#MY LOVE FOR POISON HAS RE EMERGED-

[lolitakirstein]

Hey Neighbor Part 12

AN: Sorry this took so long to get out. I hope you enjoy it

WC: ~1.2K

Content warning: mentions of death and violence.

AO3 link

My dearest y/n,

By reading this, I assume the conditions are right for you to be informed of certain circumstances. I also assume that you have made yourself at home in my house–which makes me proud– and have been acquainted with Mr. Toji Fushiguro. The reason for this letter is to express to you that though I am no longer there and cannot keep harm from you, I have my utmost faith in Mr. Fushiguro’s ability to protect you and provide for you. Mr. Fushiguro is a man of integrity and respect. Therefore, I will rest well knowing he will be a loving husband and provider for you. This was not an arrangement made in haste and was given much thought both between Mr. Fushiguro and myself. After the death of your parents at the hands of a community I believed to be my family, I have sought only the best to look after you for fear they would come for you. Doing so also ensures the continuation of a long bloodline of elites in the business of espionage as well as merging with a bloodline of powerful marksmen. These two abilities could reign in a new era for the Society. Although it saddens me I will not be able to see the fall of the corrupted poison that has slowly tainted what once was a community of steadfast honest agents, I am hopeful that you will be able to restore it to its origin. I’m sure this poses more questions than it answered but with time you will become aware of your abilities and importance. 

All of my love forever,

Grandmother.

~

You blink. Once, twice, thrice. You wretch. You pinch yourself, slap your face, douse ice down the back of your shirt. Anything that would indicate that this is a dream. You don’t know how many times you re-read this letter. Scouring it for a sign that this is a joke or perhaps a delusion thought up by your grandmother in her old age. But too many things made sense—though much more didn’t. You don’t think Toji would allow her to make these bold statements if she wasn’t in her right mind. 

Again, you read the letter. Many of the words become foreign to you as a way for your brain to block them out. 

Protect you. Espionage. Marksmen. Society. 

Death of your parents at the hands of a community

Your parents' death was tragic enough. An unfortunate accident, an ice storm caused their car to slide off the road, killing them instantly. To think that it might have been intentional? And that the same people could possibly come for you–? You shake the thought off. 

But the words that make you queasy the most were, that shifted the world on its axis: Arrangement. Loving husband. 

Could she really be insinuating that she and Toji had consulted each other and arranged a…marriage? 

How serious was this deal? Surely, toji was just being kind to her. Agreeing to wed her single granddaughter. It was a classic setup, a blind date of sorts. Right?

Right?

You need to know you aren’t crazy. The phone shakes in your hand as you dial Toji’s number, hoping to get more clarification on this. 

“Fuck,” you grunt after the phone comes up as disconnected. 

This letter, indeed, raised more questions than it answered. You didn’t even know where to start. If you ever wanted to. This seems like a Pandora box, a hydra. Sort one thing out; a thousand more emerge. 

~Toji~

“I’m sure she will be calling you with more questions,” Toji hefts the duffel bag on his shoulder. “Don’t intimidate her.”

Shiu walks with Toji on the tarmac, arriving at a sleek private jet with the door laid open.

Shiu laughs, stubbing out his cigarette. “The most feared and intimidating killer of this decade is giving me advice to go soft on a subject.”

“She not a subject. She’s—” Toji trails off. “And quit saying killer.”

“I fear you are becoming soft, Has she weakened you that much,” Shiu continues to tease. 

“A weak man wouldn’t even give her the letter and force her into a marriage. Take her. Breed her out. Drop her. Like some of the bastards in your community.” Toji barks. 

“It’s still your community too. You can run and live on the periphery, but you are still one of us.” Shiu stabs his finger into Toji chest. 

Toji scoff. “I’ll never be like those barbarians. She gets a choice. If she wants to go through with it, that’s fine. If she doesn’t then.... I’m not going to force her.”

“Not upholding a contract is a serious offense, Toji.”

“I fucking know.”

Shiu holds his hands up. “Forgive me. I just worry for both Megumi and you. Traditions of contractual arrangements of marriage are sacred within OUR society.”

“Your society practically shackles its women. Turning the smartest of them into punching bags and housemaid for those men. I refuse to take part in it. I fought my way out this far. I plan to keep pushing to remove myself completely from it.”

“At the expense of putting a target on not only your back but Megumi and now, y/n’s?” Shiu pushes. 

Toji glares, turns on his heels, and climbs the plane entranceway. Before entering the cabin, he halfway turns back to Shiu. “Your society is rampant with internal conflict. Your guys are hiring outsiders to take out others, ensuring them more jobs.”

“Competition has always been a problem, keeps up the morale,” Shiu seems unaffected by the statement. "You are aware that killing one of our own is a death sentence"

“They found a loophole by having someone else kill their competition. The guy y/n’s—seeing. I think he’s been planted. Hired by one of your men. Either to gain her trust and make her forfeit her role, giving it to whoever hired him or to.." Toji pauses, the words catching in his throat briefly.

"To kill her?" Shiu finishes when he notices Toji struggle. "What would be the benefit of that."

"Eliminate her from rising to power in this fucked up world of ours. Finishing what her grandmother started before she was excommunicated for actually giving a damn about loyalty and 'family'”

Shiu is quiet for a beat, crossing his arms before finally saying, “You care for her.” Not a question. A statement, fact.

“I don’t. I’m only doing what I was contracted to do.”

“That kiss said otherwise.” Shiu cocks a brow. 

The two men stare silently at one another for a moment, before Toji turns and walks into the cabin of the jet, throwing over his shoulder, “Just keep an eye on her while I’m gone.”

~

Finger shaking, you hold the piece of paper in one hand and your phone in the other. The numbers on the paper blur as you fight back tears. It had laid on your entryway table untouched since Toji placed it there the previous night. No note, no name, just a number. 

Call it if you need it or something—happens

You press in the final number and press call. Secretly you're hoping it’s Toji. Perhaps he’s using a burner phone? 

No answer. The call goes to voicemail, a male voice comes on the greeting. 

“This is Shiu, leave a message.”

The voice sounds familiar, the man that greeted you earlier on the sidewalk.

At the tone, you debate whether you should hang up or scream into the line “What the fuck is going on.” Gathering and swallowing the urge you try to keep you voice as calm as possible. 

“Hi, this is y/n. Uhm…Toji gave me this number if I needed something—” You pause, what exactly is it you are needing? Answers? A slap to wake you from this bizarre dream, a drink, a hug. Your resolve slowly crumbles. “Please, if you can call me. I don’t—I don’t know what’s going on. I’m–I don’t know. I’m fucking confused.”

Tears burn down your reddened cheeks as you end the call. It was embarrassing ending it with an outburst and cursing but dammit you deserved to curse. Deserve to throw a hissy fit.

You deserve the answers you are seeking. 

[judesmoonbeauty]

Yves Kloss - Act 2 Ch. 11 - Dramatic Summary

Fan translation only. Not 100% accurate. Please expect grammatical errors. Cybird owns everything. Feel free to re-blog, but please do NOT post my translations elsewhere. Also, feel free to ignore my random commentary. I know this Master List is delayed, but eh, it was my first translation project, and I had no idea of what I was doing.

Please note: Only his common route and Dramatic route are translated/summarized.

Alt translations are marked as ///

T/L notes are notated at the bottom of the post with***

???: “Since you have sublimated into a rose that will not wither then you must’ve known a very strong love”.***

???: “But love is a curse that drives people crazy. The stronger it is the more it becomes a poison that eats away at you.”

???: “Jealousy, possessiveness, fear, madness, love is never just a beautiful emotion.”

Emma (inner thoughts): I suddenly remember the words someone uttered to me in a dream. I understand their meaning, but when I met Yves I learned so much about love, and I would protect him with my life. I don’t think this love is a curse for me, and I can’t imagine being unhappy with this love. 

Emma returns to obsidian palace without incident and reports to the princes what happened. Leon -the ever valiant hero- decides to go get Yves. He says that Chev can remain at the palace as the ambassador in the meantime. 

Chev chimes in and says that he isn’t going to be told what to do. Ragna then offers to show Leon the way to Yves. Emma asks Leon to let her come. She’s been taught how to defend herself and doesn’t want to sit still and look pretty. 

Leon agrees so long as she promises not to do anything brash. Since they can’t leave a right then and there he tells her go change. As she’s getting ready she notices how terrible she looks, and as soon she starts feeling down she holds the earring again. She chants to herself that they are going to save Yves and after slapping her cheeks, she leaves the room. 

In the corridor the sound of her footsteps are met with a resounding “CLUNK”. 

Gil: Good evening, little rabbit.

*FLASHBACK*

After Yves and Emma split from each other Yves drove a separate carriage alone to intercept Horst at an abandoned  village he usually stops by on his way back home. He touches the plait Emma braided for him to have courage. He stops the carriage when he notices how eerily silent the peddlers street that he’s traveling down is. Soon the carriage is shot at by flying arrows and a swarm of men carrying weapons emerge from the shadows of the buildings. When Yves tries to escape with the carriage, there is a huge flash of light. 

*FLASH BACK ENDS*

Gil asks Emma if she’s going out. Emma has many questions for him, but chooses to make Yves priority. She says yes and excuses herself. As she walks past him he gently picks up her hair to look at her earring. He asks her if she has anything she wants to ask him.

Though perturbed by his ability to seemingly read her thoughts, she makes up her mind to ask if he has anything to do with Horst and company’s actions? Gil asks her what she thinks. 

She says at first she thought so, but Horst’s actions were that to assassinate them. However, now that Tanzanite, Achroite and Ruby are forming an alliance Gilbert wants to avoid as much trouble as possible. Killing Yves though he hates him wouldn’t make any sense. Gil says that if she knows that much, then why ask?

Emma recalls Gil’s words when he hurled his cane to Yves neck - “I don’t do favors for people I don’t like”. Em wonders what triggered him to say those words. Gil seems to read her mind again. He says that it wasn’t intentional just that he let his words slip because her king put him in a bad mood. 

Emma reason’s within herself that Gilbert did speak those words intentionally because he didn’t want to take the trouble to kill Yves himself, so he incited Horst to do it with those words. He is determined to kill the last member of the Kloss family without directly doing so. 

Gil: Shouldn’t you hurry?

He asks her while smiling.

Emma: “What?”

Gil: “If they didn’t get him the first time, they’ll get him the second time. I hope you make it.” 

She leaves him running.

***Sublimated- to change form, but not essence. It is another term for sublime. Azel is stating that because she has achieved the highest sense of her love, it’s like a rose that won’t wither.

[Previous] [Next]

[harlivycentral]

Harley & Ivy in Heroes in Crisis: Summary & Excerpts

A continuation of my series of collecting summaries and excerpts of all the relevant comics leading up to the new solo run of Poison Ivy.

"Heroes in Crisis" is told very non-linerally, but I'll sort of cut to the chase with this one. It's a fairly widely disparaged arc, and you can search "Heroes in Crisis" on r/Comicbooks or r/DCComics if you want to see a million people breaking down why everyone hates it so much. I'm just here to summarize the parts of the story that are relevant to Harley & Ivy's continued plot!

CW for brief discussions of (time-travel aided...) suicide (which is averted/not shown)

Okay, fine, a TINY bit of editorializing from me. I overall don't like the characterization of Harley Quinn & Poison Ivy in this arc--at one point Harley says she "doesn't believe in trauma," which is... ??? (She is a [formerly] licensed therapist with an abusive ex-boyfriend. LMAO.) But we're NOT here to dwell on that, we're here to summarize the plot points that are relevant for following arcs!

In short, "The Sanctuary" is a super-secret facility that the Justice League created so that heroes could get "therapy." I say "therapy" in quotes because the "therapist" is a robot that they programmed to a) do talk therapy with the heroes b) each hero is kept separate from the others but has a special room that can manifest anything/person/scenario holographically (think The Danger Room from X-Men). Most of the heroes use this to spend time re-living their trauma. We DON'T have time to get into how poorly written this series is.

As we saw in my previous posts summarizing "Everybody Loves Ivy," Ivy was sent to The Sanctuary. In flashbacks, we see that Harley (agains the rules of the sanctuary) showed up to visit Ivy. We see her interrupting Ivy's "therapy" and hanging out in Ivy's room.

However, by the time the series starts, everyone who was at the Sanctuary (except Harley & Booster Gold) was killed. Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman are investigating. Harley has reverted to her most murderous clown self, and we see her trying to kill Booster Gold while speaking in nursery rhymes.

We learn that Harley Quinn & Booster Gold are the primary suspects for the murders, but both of them think the other did it. It's revealed that Harley is acting so murderous and unwell because Ivy died.

We also eventually learn that it's actually Wally West (The Flash) who killed everyone. It was an accident; re-living his trauma caused a buildup of energy, which set off emergency alarms, and everyone in the Sanctuary who heeded the alarm and exited the sanctuary found The Flash outside, only to be killed when he couldn't contain the energy and released it in a burst that killed them all. We see that Harley was hanging out with Ivy in her personalized holographic room, but didn't go with her when the alarm went off, hence her still being alive.

We get a scene where Harley mourns Ivy:

We do get one scene that I really love. Harley is still trying to murder Booster Gold out of revenge, and she's being chased down by the Justice League. But then Batgirl appears, comforts Harley, and they decide to team up. Eventually, they realize Booster Gold isn't the killer either, start working with him, and realize that the Flash framed both of them to buy himself some time to make things right. They realize that, after five days on the run, he's going to go back in time, kill his past self, and plant the body at the crime scene to make it look like he wasn't the killer.

Louis Lane publicizes the existence of The Sanctuary, and during a voiceover from the Justice League addressing the public about it, we see the Flash discover the rose Harley dropped in the water while mourning Ivy. Over the course of a few issues, he plants it, and Ivy regrows.

He then apologizes to Ivy, and we realize it's his future self talking to her, about to kill his past self.

BUT Harley, Batgirl, and Booster Gold have figured out what's happening and appear in time to stop the Flash from killing himself. Harley sees that Ivy is still alive and they reunite.

That's pretty much the end of their storyline. The Justice League shows up, Harley and Booster Gold are implied to have their names cleared while the heroes both comfort Flash but also cart him away to atone for his crimes (again, we don't have time to get into the mess that is this comic).

We see them walk off together, and that's the end of that arc for them! Next up: Harley Quinn & Poison Ivy (2019-2020)

Click here for my master list of posts excerpting Harley & Ivy's cameos in various Batman comics leading up to the current Poison Ivy run

[gatoself]

A lot of terfs are trans men and nonbinary people with internalized transphobia and colonization.

Not all, but a lot. This includes those with undiagnosed autism where rigid definitions have such a hold on them. I was one of those that would say "why can't I just be a masculine woman, why can't they just be a feminine man?"

I met my best friend in a terf circle jerk here on Tumblr years ago when I was a depressed alcoholic trying to heal from internalized misogyny, decenter men, and find camaraderie when I felt alienated.

It didn't help that I had just recently had some traumatic experiences that made drinking the poison Kool-aid of terf ideology more palatable.

Fast forward years later I was in a women's coven for Aphrodite and I had cooled it on the transphobia after trying to decolonize my mind and learning about gender variance around the world throughout history. I've always held Aphrodite to a sacred standard and after overcoming alcoholism and giving up amphetamines that's when I developed real self esteem.

And part of that self esteem and love for Aphrodite (who happens to have queer and gender nonconforming myths about her), was the fact that I'd known I was nonbinary since before I fell into a decade-long spell of alcoholism. Suppressing my nervous system with tequila sodas helped ease the pain of both dysphoria and the fear that being my real self would make me hated and treated like a pariah.

I had planned to have top surgery for years even before I re-emerged as nonbinary for the first time in ten years for other reasons, and part of my self love was saving up for that. Aphrodite encompasses all forms of love and led me to true self love.

My coven's founder didn't like that and spewed all the same mild terf isms that I had said before. Talk about an ironic slap in the face!

I worked my ass off past my limits and got top surgery last year. It's one of the best decisions I've ever made and has given me the confidence to do greater things in my life that are more fulfilling.

Oh and my friend that I met in the terf group? She's trying to learn Spanish and called me mije the other day. She didn't even question it. She grew out of that mentality as well, and has been so respectful and loving, and she was deep in the shit too back in the day.

People DO change. Now I spend all the time I can on the toilet arguing with transphobes when my ibs is acting up. I have a new perspective so when faced with terf rhetoric I feel like I have more tools available to combat it. I try to read as much as I can.

Eventually when I have the language to convey more obscure concepts surrounding the topic I want to write a book that can hopefully break the spell for others 💕

[dearmahiru-archive]

YOUR COMFORT CHARACTERS ARE SO SWEET snow white.. thats so lovely im gonna cry. im forever going to have bluebirds and apples come to mind when i think of you beloved mutual cinnamon

this was around midnight for me and you must understand my sleep-deprived attempts to coherently explain why snow white is the best character ever to exist. because she is. i love her!! (and therefore i went to sleep before answering this because it's what she would've wanted).

snow white gets so much flack for being a "bad role model" but like... she's not! she's absolutely not! i can't believe how much the narrative was rewritten because, at its core, the story of snow white is an abused child who's protected by the love she gives to the world.

snow white, on her way to the forest, hums the love song the prince sang to her as she picks wild flowers. when she expresses kindness to a baby bird that can't fly, the huntsman is filled with so much guilt that he warns her to run away.

snow white, sheltered and fourteen, is running through a large forest terrified of being killed. when she inevitably breaks down crying, she apologizes to the nearby animals for scaring them! after singing a song about learning how to smile, this is what compels them to help her find the dwarves cottage.

snow white finds the cottage in dissaray and is initially taken aback... but then she realized this house could belong to orphaned children without a mother. because she's an orphaned child. it's not out of a gender obligation that snow white cleans the house—she feels awful for the "children" and these are skills learnt from being a scullery maid.

and then the dwarves come home and a bunch of shenanigans occur. when the dwarves meet snow white, she's the sweetest little thing and offers to earn her keep. once again, there's no gender obligation, it's a bargaining chip for letting her stay!

and i could go on such a large ramble about snow white's relationship with the dwarves—the BEST part of the entire movie—but it'd be way too long to note everything. one thing i'll say though, i'm one of the few people who likes snow white's prince but it's the dwarves who saved snow white!

when snow white is poisoned by the evil queen, who scoffed at the idea of true loves kiss, it's the dwarves who refuse to bury her. that's the child they've come to adopt and they spend many seasons creating a glass coffin for her. the coffin is carved with her own name (like the dwarve's bed) and angels which bashful dotingly called her.

and it's this act of love that ultimately allows the prince to wake her up. and say what you will about the kiss (it was a good-bye kiss) but isn't this ending just perfect for snow white? snow white who's saved again and again and again from nearly dying by expressing her love, to be saved from literal death by love itself? cursed by her step mother and saved by her newfound family?

like how cinderella has been acknowledged as an abuse victim story (we love cindy in this house), i hope snow white manages re-emerges in the public eye in a more flattering light. there's so much to her character and film and i wished people would stop reducing her to a six-minute scene at the very end of the movie!

[themowearchives]

News Archives, Part 1

Band notes from the start in 1998 through 2006 ....

september, 2006

my own worst enemy is once again invited to play the new england pop music festival. sue and popfest is featured in the weekend edition of metro.

august, 2006

my own worst enemy spent three glorious days at verdant studios in athens, vermont, working on recording some new material for an upcoming release. naturally, pete weiss was at the helm. alot of tracking was done, but the songs have not been mixed yet. the session was followed by a well-attended saturday night show at the kirkland cafe, which featured special guest star and good friend lindz on percussion and backup vocals. we think the t rex cover was a hit! thanks to everyone for coming out...we really, really appreciate all your support over the years. mowe is also looking forward to playing the new england popfest in september. 

may, 2006

our new best friend and fans, liz borden and carmelita of 107.3 fm waaf featured mowe and played the track poison on their local music segment the girl's room.

march, 2006:

two video clips from a recent kirkland gig taken by roy are posted but have since been taken down due to poor sound quality. also annonced this month: do you know about pandora.com? a very groovy website which allows you to program/format your own streaming music, and no guarantees has just been added to their playlist. from what we can tell, mowe (and the track 'poison') is heard the most during sleater-kinney stations, pretty cool! so tune in and turn it on...

november, 2005

a brief update on our song mia and it's inclusion in the gits movie...producer jessy bender reports that the closing credit/gag reel has been re-cut to the band's liking, where our song is once again slotted to appear. best of all, the movie has been selected for the 2006 boston independent film festival! this is happening in april and we'll have updates as the event gets closer. last, steve's top secret alter-ego, wet paint forever, will be featured in episode seven of the lumberyard, a really cool bi-monthly radio program on whus, 91.7 fm, broadcasting from the university of connecticut. the show will use four wpf compositions, two instrumental tracks and two vocals tracks. tune in on tuesday november 29th at 5pm for the live broadcast, or check the lumberyard archives (click "podcast") if can't catch it.

august, 2005

mowe joins myspace and announces "be our friend! visit our myspace page and we will love you forever!"

june, 2005

more gig announcements and yet another review of no guarantees has surfaced...this time from pop culture press. check it out.

april, 2005

the winter-long search for a new drummer has finally ended: a.j. will be joining my own worst enemy behind the kit, and we couldn't be happier. thank you to everyone who found out about us and tried out...everyone was good, it was a really tough decision. sue, steve and a.j. will be back at work in the rehersal space to emerge in the coming months on the live stage. what elese can we say? it just feels good to be playing the rock and roll again. for those wondering what former drummer johnny is up to, look for him dashing down beacon street in april as he'll be participating in yet another boston marathon.  secondly, we've got more good news for fans of the mowe song, mia. a recent email from the gits movie producer jessy reports that not only has the song made the final cut, but the film's worldwide premiere is set for may at the seattle international film festival. we can only hope that the film makes it's way to the east coast soon, and we wish jessy and her crew much success! you can view a trailer for the movie here. 

october, 2004

jessy, producer of the gits movie writes: "hey ya'll, your song mia is in the cut we are sending to the sundance film festival. it's very fun, our gag reel plays during it, quite hilarious. it's looking quite good that it will stay. it really helps to lift your spirits after such an intense ride. thank you!!!"  no, thank you jessy! we've said all along that just being considered for the movie was an honor in itself. if you're still not familar with the story behind the song mia and how my own worst enemy hooked up with west coast filmmakers....

MIA ZAPATA: THE PERSON, THE SONG, THE FILM

mia zapata was an amazing, energetic, charismatic punk/rock singer who fronted an equally ferocious band called the gits, from seattle, circa early 90's. adorned by critics and a growing global fan base, mia and the gits were "on the verge" as they say, but it all came to an abrupt and tragic end when mia zapata was found raped and murdered one evening in 1993 on the streets of seattle. her case went unsolved until a dna match turned up in 2002, and the man responsible for mia's death was convicted and sentenced to long-term jailtime. 

that justice, however, offers little solace for those who loved mia and appreciated her talent. in the 90's, many musicians and fans discovered the music she left behind. sue and i were two of those fans. so, we wrote a song about her. the lyrics to mia tell the true story of one late july fourth afternoon in 1997. we were vacationing in seattle, walking around the city after a free mudhoney concert in a park near the space needle, looking for a place to drink. by chance we wandered into the comet tavern. little did we know this was a legendary rock hangout; seattle's version of cbgb's or the rat, if you will. after a while, sue went to the restroom where there was a ton of graffiti about a woman named mia, "mia lives forever" and what not. a woman in a gits sweatshirt was at a table across from us...probably a friend of the band. back in boston and by using the internet we learned about mia's story, how she was killed after drinking at the comet and how this was where all the gits hung out and drank. so, we wrote this song:

mia (verse 2) well it was at the comet tavern / on the 4th day of july / we were drinkin' tea, sympathy, and a little bit of whiskey / i didn't know your life so well / i barely knew you at all / caught a glimpse of your legacy / it was written on the bathroom wall / missing you tonight / listening to your records makes me wanna start a fight / missing you alot / just to watch you sing again, i'd buy you one more shot / mia / mia zapata...

we recorded that song plus two others over a weekend in 2001 and mailed one out to gits drummer steve, thinking he would get a kick out of it. he wrote back with a link to the gits movie site, putting us in touch with the film's producer, jessy bender. we learned that the people inspired to make a film about mia came upon her legacy in a very similar manner as we did. we asked if they would consider using our three-chord punk/pop tribute song and well, the rest is history...let's hope for the best for their movie as it tells a story that must be heard!

also announced in october: mowe hits the road for new york city to play with elis eil labelmates world war ix at a punk-rock tiki lounge in the east village called otto's shrunken head and returns to play the kirkland with butterknife and din. this is johnny's last gig. 

september, 2004

my own worst enemy plays the new england pop music festival. 

july, 2004

the big news this month came by way of indie-music.com and their glowing review of no guarantees. they went the extra mile to make us a featured artist on their website for the month of june. you can read the kind words on our press page.  also in june, sue had the great honor of meeting and hanging out with the legendary patti smith, after her recent show in boston at the paradise. it was an amazing experience for sue, to say the least. patti's show was fantastic, as always, and so is her latest record, trampin'. highly recommended. pattismith.net  here's SUE'S ENCOUNTER WITH PATTI SMITH:

so there we were – steve, laura (our friend) and me – hoarse and sweaty after singing and dancing our butts off to a ferocious set by the one and only patti smith. suddenly, we realized we’d been so enraptured (and quite trapped in position at the front side-stage) that we’d forgotten to drink during the show! easily remedied. we moseyed just a few steps on over to the paradise lounge and ordered a round. along came lenny kaye and tony shanahan (of patti’s band) for their own post-show brew. we were good. we let them drink in peace. they departed shortly thereafter. on my way to the upstairs restroom, i noticed oliver ray (also of the band) and tony with a few folks at the upstairs bar. again, i was good and just let them be. as i sat back down (at the table, people, at the table), fortified and emboldened by further spirits, i asked steve and laura if they thought i should try to see about having patti sign my first edition seventh heaven, an early poetry book of hers. their response – why not? so off i went back upstairs. by that time, no one was at the bar, but tony was coming up the stairs from the stage area. i asked if i could ask him a question (such a silly query). “of course,” he replied. i began, “well, first off, let me say the show was amazing! as it always is. and…er…ah…do you think patti would sign an old poetry book of hers for me?” “as long as you approach her politely, i’m sure she’d be happy to. all we ask is for people to be polite.” then he kindly escorted me downstairs. patti was sitting on the stairs at the side of the stage looking absolutely spent from the show and leaning on gentle oliver. lenny sat on a stool contently eating a banana. j.d. daugherty (the drummer) was just chillin’. tony said to patti, “this young [bless you, tony] lady was wondering if you might sign an old poetry book of yours.” i awkwardly said hello as i felt my knees go weak. “sure, sure,” said patti in a tired but ever-so-gracious voice. i approached her with a grin that truly extended from ear to ear and handed her the book. oliver seemed fascinated, “wow. it’s an old one. turn it over. look at that. wow.” patti agreed, “yeah, cool.” by this point, i found myself crouching at patti’s feet (dare is say kneeling before the goddess?) and reaching forward to gently grasp her left calf. she didn’t even flinch, just went ahead with the autograph, so i held on. surprisingly enough, i found words that were both heartfelt and intelligible. “i just want you to know that you are such an inspiration to me, and in a world gone wrong, you’re one of the things that’s still right.” (not bad, eh?!) with a sincerely humble flip of her hand, patti said, “i’m sure there are other things.” “i know there are, but you’re on the top of my list,” i respectfully retorted. “thanks,” she whispered with the sweetest smile. “thank you!” then i swiftly slipped our cd out of my bag and into patti’s hands. i explained it was my band’s cd. oliver pointed out the design, “i love that photograph.” “cool cover,” chimed patti. “thanks,” says i, “and i’m not giving it to you like ‘patti smith, make us famous,’ it just would be amazing to know you’ve heard our music. that’s all.” the words “cool” and “thanks” bounded about. i then humbly took my leave, expressing repeated gratitude. i proceeded back up the stairs where i met steve and laura. i felt bewildered, adrenaline-rushed, buoyant. they guided me to a table, where i sat in semi-disbelief shaking my head, pinching myself and crying at the joy of meeting one of my heroes. damn, that was sweet!!!!

speaking of new cds, one of steve's personal songwriting heroes is tommy keene, a maryland-based singer who steve has been a fan of ever since places that are gone was played by oedipus on wbcn's nocturnal emmissions sometime in 1984 when steve was just fourteen. steve tracked down the cassette ep via dolphin records- this turned out to be his first ever indie purchase and is still a favorite today. tommy's sound is pure power-pop, and his latest cd drowning (not lame records) credits steve with a photograph taken of tommy's guitar at tt the bear's place back in 2002. www.tommykeene.com. steve is also credited with album artwork concept for senor happy's new cd, i'm sorry, out this week on q division records. senorhappy.com.

april, 2004

jessy bender, producer of the gits movie, contacted us to make sure we knew that on march 25th, 2004 a jury convicted a 49-year-old florida man for the murder of the gits singer mia zapata. it's a bittersweet victory. while nothing can bring mia back, at least someone is finally going to pay for her death.

january, 2004

sue and steve performed "ballad of big nothing" at the elliott smith tribute show at tt's last month. you can see more pics (taken by candy and brad) at sweet adeline.

lso, people have been asking to see the songlist from our jan 7th radio set on wmfo. here it is...

who knew

hey hey sunshine

green apple

throw it all away

why not beautiful

late show

poison

yearbook

not the one

cry for frances (chill version)

mia

december, 2003

tt the bear's place in cambridge will be hosting an elliott smith tribute show on sunday, december 21st, to honor elliott's memory and raise funds for his foundation for abused children. this will be a wonderful opportunity to come together both in mourning and in celebration of a beautiful man who gave us so much through his music. mary lou lord, local music queen and longtime friend of elliott, is organizing the event and performing along with numerous other local musicians and elliott fans. sue & steve will be contributing a tune, too. the afternoon will include music, as well as a screening of strange parallel and video footage from elliott's first tour. also from this month: no guarantees has broken the whrb 95.3 fm (harvard university) top 30. it charted at #30 for the week ending 11/24/03 and jumped to #12 this past week. hopefully, it will continue to rise. so keep tuning in to the record hospital sun-fri, 10pm - 5am, and keep requesting your fav mowe tunes. joe s. harrington, special guest on the 12-05-03 edition of the show, hailed mowe "the rightful heirs to the indie rock throne." special thanks to allison (aka deejay squishy) for her support of the new record!

september, 2003

the 23rd marks the offical release date of no guarantees, thirteen songs of sonic glory that walk the line of pop, rock, punk and the blues. we have partnered with the folks at cd baby to handle online sales.

august, 2003

did you know we run with the hip in-crowd? neither did we, but don't tell stuff at night, who recently featured many great pictures from last month's sonic cool reading/art opening/gig the paradise lounge, including one of yours truly. 

june, 2003

details of the up-coming record and avalon hotel photoshoot (the pics we used forthe cd artwork) are disclosed. we also talk about one of our songs, mia, being considered for a film about mia zapata.

april, 2003

myownworstenemy.net version 1.0 is launched and pete weiss provides our first decent copy from his production newsletter. says pete, "(zippah) recently wrapped up work on the second cd by this powerful, bass-less trio. the band and i recorded a handful of tunes in my vermont barn studio on the radar system (in fact, the band was brave enough to play the role of 'rock and roll guinea pigs' in the barn studio - they were the first band to record there; it sounded great and went to 'tape' without a hitch) and brought them back to zippah for overdubs and mixing. these were combined with songs we had previously recorded on 2" 24 track at zippah last summer to make the full length cd. huge drums by john, passionate vocals by sue and steve, & guitars ranging from buzzsaw to beautiful." thanks pete!!

february, 1998

live debut at o'brien's in allston, ma. opening song is a cover of nick drake's "know."

[veale2006-blog]

I see people blaming Trump again for the Vaccines… So I put together a video compilation of Trump statements re: The Jab

LISTEN closely and read every single word in this post.

VID HIGHLIGHTS:

Booster - “I’ll wait and see, later says he won’t get it.

“FDA is bureaucratically run. It would have taken 5+ years.

“I learned things, the FDA is virtually controlled by Pfizer.

Trump got Pfizer. But he also took Regeneron.

He has natural immunity because he got Covid… Regeneron treatment.

“I want people to have their freedoms.”

“Very early on I took therapeutics, I SHOWED THINGS to the country; therapeutics.”

Don’t get angry, we did it in 9 months… compared to 5-12 years…

“I think the other side poisoned people on it.”

“Vax Manufacturers Should Release Their Vaccine Data“

“Vax Manufacturers are Holding Back Information. Not Good”

“Some love the vax. Some hate the vax. I understand both sides”

“We will not comply…. No mandates”

“Some day we’re gonna have to sit down and have a little talk about vaccines”

⚫️ MY THOUGHTS:

Do you understand that we are in a War?

Does everyone understand that Trump is not a doctor or a virologist?

How DID YOU FEEL WHEN THE PANDEMIC BEGAN?

How many people have you known who are/have been wearing masks, got every booster?

How many friends, family members, coworkers, have you tried to redpill about these jabs but didn’t work?

What if Hillary won?

Final question— imagine if Trump DID NOT become president & said he was done fighting for our country.

How does that make you feel? Who then do you blame?

FULL STOP!

We are in a WAR for humanity.

Trump Is a wartime president. Wartime decisions are not easy. Wartime generals have to decide which decision(s) will ensure a victory & the fewest casualties.

TRUMP DID NOT MAKE THESE VACCINES! And he damn sure did not force anyone. Stop blaming him!

They wanted everything locked down for many years, until a “vaccine” could come save the day.

If Hillary won in 2016, THEY would have gotten 3 SCOTUS judges, Hundreds of federal judges.

Can you not see the damn problems we would have had if she won?

Never ending LOCKDOWNS that would have absolutely destroyed the middle class & would have suffered a catastrophic economic crisis. NO JUDICIAL HELP!

As much support & love Trump has, ALOT of people support vaccines. They STILL DO.

Trump DID try to go against the narrative when the pandemic began & he was vilified.

He wanted people to have a choice on masks & jabs, but he was villified.

He wanted life to go on & the economy to stay open, but he was villified.

He offered HCQ & other preventive treatments, ensuring we had EMERGENCY USE AUTHORIZATION, but he was vilified.

Nothing was good enough. Americans bought into the MSM BULLSHIT narrative we needed a Vaccine to feel safe to open the economy back up.

Imagine what life would be like if the economy, businesses, were STILL closed today.

Many WILL NEVER accept the truth. They won’t accept it until MSM tells them so.

HELL, people still walk around with masks, BY THEMSLEVES, because the MSM has people scarred to death.

Trying to speak common sense to Americans DID NOT WORK.

When Trump says these “vaccines” saved countless of lives, you better fucking believe he’s not talking about the jabs.

OPERATION WARPSPEED wasn’t about a vaccine. It was about giving people the confidence to open the world back up & stop CONTRIBUTING to their own fucking demise.

To avoid never ending lockdowns. To stop the collapse of America, the world.

We were slow boiling Frogs.

Trump simply turned up the heat & all of us Frogs jumped the fook out and we are pulling other frogs out every damn day.

Everyone had a choice. Trump sure isn’t making it for us.

So Blame ourselves for being asleep. Not the man who did the best he could to give us options between a rock and a hard place.

Donald Trump Compilation of Statements on the Vaccines https://rumble.com/v4i0e5z-donald-trump-compilation-of-statements-on-the-vaccines.html

[poettrista]

Next of Kin

This is a re-written Nigerian scam e-mail. Yes, that makes it another shitpoem and I will not apologize for doing this!

With all due respect, I beseech your aid, To unravel the web in which I am waylaid. I have been abandoned by fate's cruel hand, An orphaned soul in this desolate land. Once, my father, a wealthy dealer of cocoa fame, His riches adorned with a tainted name, Met his demise, poisoned by treacherous men, In pursuit of power, their hands blood-stained. My mother, too, fell victim to death's cruel wrath, As I emerged from her dying breath's aftermath. In this world, bereft of maternal grace, My father's love became my saving embrace.

Before death's sinister call, he unveiled his truth A secret bequeathed to me in his final sleuth Hidden in shadows, a sum of vast wealth, $7.5 million, held hostage by my own stealth. A suspense account, guarded by the hallowed bank, A legacy intertwined, this secret sank. Foreseeing their treachery, he devised a plan, To shift this fortune into foreign hands. He chose me, his only daughter, as the heir, To seek a foreign haven, this wealth to share.

I implore you now, with trembling despair, To lend me your strength, if you would dare. A foreign partner, a sheltered abode, To escape these lands where darkness strode. I beseech thee, to offer thy bank A vessel to ferry riches, my life it outranks. To serve as guardian, protect this sum, Shield it from a world that malice has become. In return, dear benefactor, this I pledge, Thirty percent of the sum, as gratitude's edge.

[nityarawal]

11/4/2023

Favorite Prototype

Morning Songs

Happy Saturday

Thankyou Anyway

A Week Of Cray Cray

We Wouldn't Wish

It On Anyone

Estrangement Sin

We Keep Saying

Avert The Danger

Don't You Hear

4 Billion Moms Screaming

Put The Prude

Back In Pride

Avert The Danger

Don't You Hear

#4BillionMothersStrong 

"Avert The Danger,"

Maharishi Said:

"That Has Not Yet Come,"

Prudent Moms

9/11 Was A Red Flag

911 Number 

Emergency Services

Even Worse

Jihad Smears

From Courts

A Curse

On Any

Mixed American

Other

Or A Brown Mom

Unwanted

But For AI

Confusion

Taunted

For AI Dolls Like Us

#FreeBritney Delusions

Brands

For Poisons

Courts Don't Call 

Back

We Know About

Rats

King Henry

Didn't Matter That

Princess Diana Procured 

2 Perfect Son's

She Was Still

Killed By

The Monarchy

So We Scare 

For Starter Wives

Apartheid

Who Wouldn't 

Want To Be A

Disney Princess

Sing Your Boys Home

Pull The Plug On

Fighting

Wars

Dance With #FreeBritney 

Spears

Yellow Snake

Kardashian

Belly Dancing

From The Sandiego 

Zoo

Let Him Free

Just For A Few Minutes

With You And Me

Dancing

Shiva's Leopard

Cobra

Dancing Free

He Must Be

Grateful

Dreams

Of

Henna Tattooing

Private Parties

Only Women

Like Middle Eastern

Sacred Sisters'

Nights

Dancing Free

Mystical

Bringing Mitraism

Back

How Many Ways

To Be A Man

And Clap

For A Dancer Graciously

Kvon Prince Will Tell You

In Comedy Clubs

Clap

Tip

For The Women

For The Comedians Cry

Often No Alibis

At Misunderstandings

To Sufi Tribes

On Courts Bribes

Persian Men Clap

Dance Like Elvis

Eyes Sparkle

"Baraye,"

Twinkling Something

Transcendental

"Peace Love Liberty,"

Sufis Of The Middle

East

What Is That Unknown

Flicker

Knowingness

Please

Prince Cousins

Royalty

Tell Us

Please

Merci

Mitraism Lucky Ones

Remembering

Mystical Songs

Dancing Jigs

Hustling From Morning

Till Dawn

Jiggling lt

Skiing Writing Jokes

Swimming

Near Olympic Athletes

Models

Hiking 

Cleaning

Out

Cleansing

Teaching

Preaching

If You're One Of The Lucky

Ones

Free For A Moment

Here Today

Now

In Your Dressing Trailer

Too

Send A "Tootsie," Photo

To Me

#FreeJosh

I'm Sorry What

Israel Did To Thee

In Your Dressing Room

If You're Really

#Free

Send Your Favorite

Most Beautiful

#FreeBritney Photo

Remember Me

Lightly

Sophia Loren

Gwyneth Paltrow

Gwen Stefani

Lady Saw

Gwen Stefani 

Lady Gaga

Beauties

Claudia Schiffer

Brigitte Bardot

Guess Ads

If You Got A Little

Legally Blonde Light

For You

Let Her Out 

Please

Legally Blonde

Legally Brunette

Full Disclosure

I Know You Danced

In My Shoes Once

The Odds

Are Strong

Dance Me A River

Dance Me To Freedom

Dance With Me

Forgive Me

Polarity A Blessing

Men Are For Mars

That's Why You

Tell Us

Calmly

Freedom Of Speech

Is A Good Light

And You Bought It

What About China

What About The Middle 

East

What About Apartheid

America

What About Me

What About The Microcosm

The Little Mom

In Every Family

What About My Sisters

Crying In Their Pillows

Because It's Illegal

For Them You See

Mamma Lost Her 3

Baes

She Told Me Yesterday

At First She Coached

Them Full Disclosue

Then Tell Them

Not

Scared

Stopping Foster

Wars

Sexual Assaults

Not Dad

He's Innocenr

Officer Aikens 

Stole Her Car

Like Enoch The Pig Stole

Mine

Her Home

Her Husband

It's Been A Month

3 Babies Trafficked Too

CPS Promising

Re-Unification

Not Showing Up

Raped

Middle Man

Got Mammas Worried

4 Billion Strong

She Looked Like My

Best Friend Under

Her Stressed Mom

Exterior

She Looked Like My

Best Friend

A Mothers Heart

Freckles

Worn

Maybe Native

Once

She Looked Like My

Best Friend

Big Lips

Near Cahuilla

Why'd These Officers

Ever Think

They Had Carte

Blanche To Kidnap

Her Kids

Or Mine

They're Not #FreeBritney

Intelligence

To Barter

Who Was Your Favorite

Prototype

Of BBVA Then

PNC

Displayed

Wells Fargo

Fidelity

Blue Cross

IEHP

How Many Banks

Oxford

Silencing.org

Cambridge Analytica

Insurance Companies

Nurses

Dr's 

Pleas

BBC

Scams On

#Nitya4Eternity 

Or Was It Teen

Paris Hilton

Reality Winner

Winona Ryder

Alicia Silverstone

Jessica Alba

Who Was The Favorite

Robot

Cybergal

Madonna

Cindy Lauper

Taylor Swift

Which Singer

Wooed You All

The Prudent Firm

Nanny

That Put A Stop

To The AI

Usurping Protocall

Peace

All

Peace,

Nitya Nella Davigo Azam Moezzi Huntley Rawal 

[thesolotomyhan]

Playing with Fire

Roberto Poison Ramos  x F reader

Credit to gif maker | words: 849

Warnings: Aside from the show and associated topics, none at the moment.

AN: I’m so happy to write this for you. Sorry you had to wait sooo long for it. 💜 this is my first time writing for Poison! I hope y’all like it. @fleurfatale89​

As always, though I write for this show (and will continue to do so for as long as I please)  I do not in any way condone the actions of the real life persons. They did terrible awful things that still affect and hurt people today. So, I’m just getting that out of the way. It is common sense but saying it in case it needs to be said. Damn Netflix for casting sexy men to play downright despicable people.

About: Reader meets Poison when she’s assigned to manage a drop off  (this could potentially be more or added to in the near future, this is one of what would be more encounters)

No man had the right to look this good. Sure, you’ve seen your share of attractive yet dangerous men before but this one? This one was pure sex on your eyes, the sight of him burned away any bit of purity left in your soul and ignited a desire in you so deep, so primal, you could barely stand still.

Keep reading

[valleydean]

Re your tags on that Twitter post: so I studied anth in undergrad and a lot of professors would say pretty much the same thing (also included the emerging website when I did an ethnology on microblogging / tumblr) —Twitter being THEE place for immediate / on ground / in culture / from first perspective information - where info can be instantaneously debated / fact check / debunked or better cases supported

Wild to think that fucker could so easily throw a poison dart into a system so essential to our like, /functioning/ of the current zeitgeist.

yeah, like look, twitter has a lot of faults. many, many faults. but the fact of the matter is, it is vital to the modern world. and truthfully, people coming to tumblr isn't the answer because tumblr lacks the infrastructure to get across the same information and purpose twitter fulfilled. this is more of a creative site, not an informational one. you'd have to completely overhaul everything tumblr is in order to slot it into twitter's role - which is personally not something i want, because i love this site. and i don't want this site to be bogged down with ads and brands. and, not to be a selfish bitch, but this site is the last space on the internet where i can have anonymity from the "real world" like my irl friends, family, and job. i kinda don't feel like i have to alter myself or to create a persona on this site. and i don't want that to go away!

so hopefully twitter gets its act together or something creates an alternative to it where the masses can go to fulfill the twitter role. because tumblr ain't it

[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?” 

-- 

[hollenka99]

2021 Fic Rec

Since it’s Valentine’s Day, I’m going to show my love for fics I read last year. There’s the recs I made in August, October and December last year, along with the fics below that were going to be included in an overall 2021 fic rec I wanted to post at the start of the year but never got to finish the summaries.

One Shots

Just add water let me go by trying_to_spell_both_our_names_at_once - T, 3k (Tommy gets killed in the L’Manburg explosion and Tubbo finds him)

Mayday, Mayday by Siempie - T, 7k (Wilbur gets hurt while escaping L’Manburg so Tommy takes care of him)

red run cold by arcadianwriter (noxstories) - T, 3k (Rustbur has radiation poisoning and is trying to prepare Tommy for after he’s gone, without letting him know he’s sick)

dear god (it's me, karl jacobs) by bruisedbutlovely - T, 2k (While in the Inbetween, Karl meets Wilbur who tells him all about the Sky Gods)

bones of my bones by patrichor - M, 4k (Several occasions where Wilbur refuses to let his family see him dead before respawning)

flight risk by angeldemonsducks - T, 6k (After coming back from the dead, Wilbur’s wings emerge but the void calls to him)

Little One by RockyPond - T, 3k (Death grows fond of Wilbur after he narrowly survives a childhood accident and visits him several times throughout his life)

i'm what's left when children go to war by citrus_cola - T, 4k (Tommy and Tubbo are child soldiers who hear stories of Death taking the fallen to a place of their dreams)

the skeleton living inside your head (rattling and gasping, coming up for breath) by patrichor - M, 10k (Wilbur is stuck in the button room and no matter who tries to stop him, he still sets the explosion off and resets with someone new)

Multi-Chapter

i'm trying to ignore the skyline by ghostbandaids - T, 20k, completed (Tommy is a phoenix who gets a chance to heal after a childhood spent being mistreated by the facility he was raised in and various former foster homes)

the little children raise their open filthy palms by thanotaphobia (blue000jay) - M, 53k, completed (Phil takes in a couple of teenagers during the zombie apocalypse and continues to expand his found family as they travel)

The Half A Decade Inbetween by herewandering - G, 26k, completed (Tommy runs away from the smp and over the next 5 years, he accidentally goes on an adoptive dad arc)

If Tommy Stays by Doctorpants - T, 30k, completed (An ‘If I Stay’ au where Tommy is in a coma following a bad car crash and watches his loved ones gather in the hospital while he debates whether he wants to leave them)

One More Step Out of the Pit by AdrianaintheSnow - T, 91k, completed (Superhero au where Tommy offers to be kidnapped by the villain team of SBI in Tubbo’s place, after which found family ensues)

your wayward children by Khio - T, 82k, completed (Wilbur’s soul is the dark spirit Phil has been hunting for years but when the truth comes out, he has to take drastic measures in a bid to survive)

i wanna hear it's alright by bunflower - T, 114k, completed (A collection of emerald duo whump with Phil as the whumpee)

oh dear, can you see me? by findingkairos - T, 70k, completed (Phil is a teenage soldier who gets taken in by Techno after his old master loses the war they’d been fighting and is allowed to gradually heal)

Hush Now (You Were Lost but Now You’re Found) by CorpseArt - E, 162k, ongoing (Red Chaos saved Siren’s life and got abandoned by his mentor Dream because of it. As Tommy, he befriends Wilbur while as Red Chaos, he tries to get back in Dream’s favour and restore his reputation)

What Remains, However Improbable by 7CxRhye - T, 90k, completed (After Wilbur gets framed for Quackity’s murder, he lays low with Tommy as they use their expertise as consulting detectives to solve the mystery and clear their names)

the long way home by fensandmarches - T, 11k, completed (As a time traveller, someone who regularly gets reborn and an immortal, SBI keep meeting each other but keep wishing they could see Techno again)

(Re)Mission by attentiveanxiety - T, 67k, completed (Dream had leukemia as a child and it has come back in adulthood. It is rpf but written long before anyone knew about cc!Techno being sick, just as a disclaimer)

postmortal by Khio - T, 47k, completed (Tommy’s ghost haunts Revivebur while beeduo keeps Wilbur confined to living in Snowchester)

Till There's Nothing Left to See by backtopluto - NR, 60k, completed (During the American war of independence, Dream is a spy who has to be careful when he is made to share his home with George, a British soldier)

From Eden by cedarblocks - M, 33k, completed (Techno and Wilbur grew up in a cult but now with Phil as their foster parent, they have a chance to learn how to heal)

It’s not kidnapping if he is us by SilentTeyz - NR, 102k, ongoing (Alternate versions of Tommy are sent back to when a fourth one was 14 so they can hopefully prevent him from suffering similar misfortunes to those they’ve experienced)

If we don't leave this town, we may never make it out by grasstrastic - NR, 35k, completed (Wilbur wants to get away from the stifling atmosphere of home by going on a road trip. He travels around America with his new friend Tommy who stowed away in his van)

There's Blood in your Web, Theseus (wipe it out) by spookyserpent - M, 161k, completed (Theseus was raised to be a merciless assassin, the only one of his class to survive training. But he's escaped and is trying to make a new life for himself as Tommy, ever aware the Red Room will drag him back the first chance they get)

Apologize for Collateral Damage by LittleParadox - T, 120k, ongoing (Tommy gets odd life lessons from his older brothers, completely unaware they're preparing him to join the family business as part of the mafia)

careful son (you've got dreamer's plans) by angelsdemonsducks - T, 159k, completed (Wilbur is revived and has to deal with not only relationships that need mending but a parasitic egg that keeps getting in his head too)

tommyinnit’s clinic for supervillains by bonesandthebees (bonesandcacti) - T, 188k, completed (Tommy heals the villain known as Siren one night then finds himself becoming the healer for the Syndicate which inevitably lands him in trouble with the heroes)

New Deceit’s an Old Design by Sundial_At_Night - T, 38k, completed (Wilbur gets terminally ill after issues with his powers and if Tommy has to take drastic measures to get him the cure on time, he will)

A Broadcast In The Apocalypse by Echereon - 24k, ongoing (Wilbur gets a radio working during the apocalypse and tries to regularly update any listeners he has on the daily goings-on of the area)

[hartigays]

rafebarry prompt: not canon compliant but rafe and barry are trying to get away from ward but barry gets hurt so rafe begs sarah + pouges (not on good terms w each other) to help them escape bc he loves barry<33

just a little something i thought about! totally up to you on how this all goes down if you decide to write it, anything you write is amazing !!

this was a stupid fucking idea. stupid, stupid, stupid. rafe knew from the beginning, he should’ve never agreed to this.

there aren’t many things that he and barry don’t agree on, surprisingly. even if they start off disagreeing about something, they generally always end up on the same page. but this plan had been something they’d gone back and forth on, never settling on a definitive decision.

in the end, barry had simply manhandled rafe over to the place he’d formerly called home - before ward booted his ass out - and waltzed them through the front door like they owned the place.

all to steal from ward, to get more money for coke and groceries (re: booze and hot pockets) and whatever other fleeting indulgences they could think of.

rafe had disagreed with this plan throughout its development and execution, not wanting to cross the one and only person in the entire world who scares him: ward cameron. and he’d been right to, because now barry is gasping for air, holding his side while blood spills from between his fingers.

they’re racing through the woods, trying to get as far away from ward’s long-range hunting rifle as they can.

rafe doesn’t know if ward knew he was barry’s companion in this little venture. he’d insisted they wear bandanas over their faces, but rafe is pretty sure ward would know his son in a heartbeat regardless.

he doesn’t even want to think about it. about the fact that ward shot barry, or that he probably would’ve shot rafe too if rafe hadn’t had the presence of mind to shove both barry and himself out of the nearest window, plunging into the bushes below before ward could get off another shot.

another shot on the person he more than likely knew to be his son.

ward had continued taking shots as rafe dragged barry across the yard and into the treeline, disappearing from view.

now, they’re back at the main road, barry collapsing against a tree as he clenches his hand around the wound in his side.

“let me see,” rafe demands, kneeling down and peeling up barry’s shirt despite barry shaking his head.

“ain’t got time, country club,” barry wheezes, trying to push rafe back so he’ll stand up and keep moving.

rafe doesn’t budge, just swipes at the blood with his shirt sleeve to get a better look at the wound. the bullet just grazed him, but it’s enough to warrant stitches at the very least.

“you’re not going to make it to the emergency room like this,” rafe comments absentmindedly, pulling out his phone a firing off a text to topper letting him know he’s going to need to borrow his car.

barry manages to push rafe back an inch this time, shaking his head furiously. “ain’t no way i’m goin’ to no damn hospital. i ain’t got insurance and your daddy done cut you off months ago. how you gonna pay for my little siesta in the ER with them empty pockets?”

and okay, he has a point. rafe will admit that. not to mention, ward has people all over the OBX, and if he sends out word about looking for his son, they’ll surely be caught if they’re trapped in the emergency room.

there’s only one other place rafe can think to go. one place where ward won’t know to look, one place where barry can get some medical help without having to shell out a fortune.

rafe may have to grovel a bit (or a lot), but he’ll do it. damn it, he’ll fucking do it because barry is going to bleed out if he doesn’t and that would really fucking suck because rafe was just starting to sort of like him.

he must’ve said that last part out loud, because barry manages to glare at him and say, “quit that shit. we been dating for a year, dickhead.”

then barry sort of slumps to the side, and rafe has to all but carry him to topper’s place.

rafe has just gotten the keys topper keeps in the cupholder into the ignition when he looks at his phone, seeing a text from top.

can’t let u borrow the car tonight, have a thing in the morning. srry bud.

rafe glances over at barry, who’s blacked out in the passenger’s seat, fresh blood still seeping out of his shirt.

“sorry about this, top,” rafe says to himself, turning the key and hearing the engine roar to life. “i’ll get you back later.”

he peels out of the driveway, speeding down the familiar streets until they become more and more unfamiliar, figure eight bleeding into the cut.

he zooms past more and more unfamiliar houses, searching for the only one he knows, starting to feel hopeless, starting to really worry that barry might actually die in the passenger’s seat of his car.

or topper’s car, rather. it’d be super annoying to have to apologize for that on top of having to apologize for stealing it in the first place, to be honest.

then suddenly, rafe is idling outside a house that is both familiar and unfamiliar. the few times he’s been here before, he’d been fucked up beyond belief and fueled by violent anger. it seems almost foreign to him now, while he’s sober as a judge (only due to his current circumstances, mind you) and fueled by nothing but pure adrenaline.

rafe practically drags barry to the house. there are all sorts of lights on, both inside and out, and rafe can hear the sounds of music and laughter drifting out from an open window nearby.

he only hesitates for a moment before circling around the house and banging on the door.

john b answers the door with a smile, a small wad of cash in his hand, clearly expecting some sort of food delivery. his smile fades instantly when he realizes it’s not his pizza or what the fuck ever, and is in fact rafe cameron and a half-dead barry.

“no,” is all john b says before trying to shut the door. rafe kicks his leg out, foot jamming between the door and the frame, preventing john b from closing it.

“fuck off, rafe,” john b grunts as he tries to shut the door. rafe can hear concerned voices from inside the house. “you’re not dragging us into whatever shit this is! literally fuck. off.”

“sarah!” rafe shouts, ignoring john b’s protests. “sarah!”

footsteps, and then sarah is pushing john b out of the way gently, looking at rafe in confusion, then at barry in horror.

“rafe? oh my god, what happened?”

sarah ushers them into the house, and rafe is literally dragging barry at this point. still, no one helps him get barry onto the couch. he manages regardless, but he’s panting when it’s all said and done, sliding down onto the floor with a grunt.

“i need you to help him,” rafe says, and he’s looking at pope, who’s seated in the corner beside jj, a guitar that he’s no longer strumming still sitting in his lap.

but john b is the one to answer, shaking his head. “no. besides, we can’t even help him. we don’t know how to do shit like that.”

“he does,” rafe says, still looking at pope, who’s now looking at barry thoughtfully.

“what?” kie laughs, looking bewildered. “pope may be smart, yeah, but he doesn’t have a medical degree. this guy needs a doctor.”

“i know how,” pope sighs, and rafe suppresses a smug smile. “i volunteered at the hospital last summer, remember?”

“and you knew this how?” john b asks rafe, accusatory.

“he was on my rounds once,” pope says calmly, leveling rafe with an unreadable look. “alcohol poisoning and a drug overdose all in one night.”

rafe fights the urge to look away, choosing instead to shrug nonchalantly.

“just another night in the cut, right?” rafe asks, arching one brow. “look, we can dredge up my poor life choices later, if it’ll make you all feel better and get your fucking panties out of a wad. but right now he needs help, so are you going to give him that or are you going to let him bleed out on your ugly ass couch?”

“i say let him bleed out,” john b snaps, clearly irked by rafe’s demands and insults.

rafe wants to knock the guy’s teeth down his throat, but he just breathes steadily through his nose. just like barry has been teaching him. “we can’t go to a hospital. no insurance, and ward’s hunting us down as we speak. so do i want to fucking be here? no. but i have to, so name your fucking price and we’ll pay it.”

“besides,” rafe continues, turning his eyes to sarah, challenging her, “you’re not just going to let someone die, are you?”

sarah narrows her eyes, hands perched on her hips. “no, that’s more your style, isn’t it?” then, she looks at pope. “come on, help him. he isn’t dying on john b’s couch. that’s way too creepy for me to deal with right now.”

pope nods and disappears from the room as sarah and john b bicker quietly. kie and jj glare daggers at rafe, while also eyeing barry, lying on the couch looking far more dead than alive.

when pope reappears, he has a first aid kit in one hand and a sewing kit in the other. he shoos rafe out of the way. rafe just scoots a little further to the left to give pope room, but stays close to barry.

“rafe, we need to talk,” sarah says after a moment. “outside?”

rafe shakes his head. “not until i know he’s okay.”

the room falls silent, and rafe looks around, glaring. “what, it’s illegal to care about people now? fuck off.”

“so do you want us to like… give you a room, or something? maybe some champagne and rose petals? we could get some ambient beats going, really set the mood, you know- ”

kie throws a pillow at jj, effectively shutting him up. “gross, jj. don’t put that image into my head.”

“look, whatever,” sarah interrupts, rolling her eyes. “but once he’s patched up, we’re having a conversation.”

rafe puts his hands up in mock surrender. “your house, your rules.”

he’s only trying to irritate john b, and it works. rafe smiles to himself when john b starts grumbling about it being his house actually, storming off to his room, undoubtedly to pout. sarah follows, and kie and jj trail after them a moment later. jj is the only one to look back, throwing a concerned look in pope’s direction before inevitably disappearing into john b’s bedroom.

rafe looks back at barry, all smugness disappearing from his expression when he sees just how bad the wound really is now that pope has cleaned it up a bit.

he really doesn’t care if he has to talk to sarah later - all he knows is that if barry dies, he’s sure as hell not going to be outside listening to sarah bitch at him when it happens.

rafe takes one of barry’s hands, ignoring the way pope’s eyes flicker down to the movement before returning to his work, remaining silent.

“you love him,” pope says suddenly, still not looking at rafe. he’s began sewing up the wound, his hands surprisingly steady.

“what’s it to you?” rafe asks defensively, but he curls his fingers tighter around barry’s, a little possessively.

pope just shrugs, like he doesn’t really care one way or another. “just an observation.”

he ties off the thread and cleans up the remaining dried blood from the wound with a rubbing alcohol-soaked cotton ball before applying a bandage and tugging barry’s shirt back down. it’s a lost cause, the shirt, but rafe appreciates the gesture anyway.

“it’s good to know you care about someone other than yourself,” pope says, finally turning towards rafe and giving him a hard look. “maybe there’s hope for assholes like you after all.”

rafe opens his mouth to say something bitchy back, but pope just claps him on the shoulder, stands and cracks his back, then leaves the room.

it’s just rafe and a passed out barry now. at least this way he can openly worry about his boyfriend, gnawing on his lip as he thinks about what it’ll be like if barry doesn’t make it.

rafe has been living with barry for some time now, ever since ward kicked him out. it’d started with sarah - she’d ran away and no one had known where. rafe ended up finding out through topper, but never seemed to get around to telling ward. don’t ask him why - he really doesn’t fucking know.

after sarah’s disappearance, ward’s temper reached its peak and rafe was kicked out mere weeks after his sister had gone missing. he stayed with topper for a while at first, often making trips to the cut to harass the dirty pogues who’d whisked his sister away from their supposedly happy family and her happy relationship with one of rafe’s closest friends.

when topper’s mother got sick of rafe loitering around her house, the only place left to go was barry’s. it’d helped that they’d already been screwing around for a while, initially so rafe could get discounts on coke, then turning into a full blown something over time.

their relationship has a definition now. barry had manhandled rafe into bed one evening and declared them to be officially official. meaning a relationship, meaning a bunch of figuring shit out as he goes because rafe sure as shit has never done any of this before.

he’s also pretty sure other relationships don’t involve hard drugs and robberies and shootings, so he thinks he’s got a few more obstacles to overcome than most when traveling the rocky road of a first relationship.

“rafe?” sarah calls, suddenly re-entering the room. “think we can talk now?”

rafe looks at her for a long moment. she looks different - happier, maybe? rafe wonders if he looks the same. maybe not right at this moment, with barry’s limp, clammy hand resting between his own, waiting on bated breath for barry’s eyes to blink open.

the need to hear barry’s slow drawl of coUnTrY cLUuUb is almost too much to bear, so rafe cuts his line of thought off, nods at sarah in answer to her question, and follows her outside.

they don’t talk for a long while, just staring out across the yard in silence. it’s not uncomfortable, per se, but rafe still wishes she’d say what she wants to say so he can get back inside. back to barry.

“this is a one time deal, you know,” sarah finally tells him.

when he looks at her from the corner of his eye, she’s staring directly at him, her expression serious. “i know,” is all he can come up with.

“i expect a thank you, just so you know.”

“i’m not thanking you,” rafe says immediately.

sarah actually smiles, just a little bit, then parrots back, “i know.”

“what did you want to talk to me about?” rafe asks eventually, pulling a cigarette from the pack he keeps in his pocket and lighting up.

sarah doesn’t answer for a moment, then shrugs, looking down at her hands. “i hate you, for the way you’ve treated me. and my friends. but sometimes i miss you. i miss my brother. what happened to you?”

it’s almost like she’s just thinking aloud, but rafe knows it’s a genuine question. one he doesn’t have an answer to. because he doesn’t really know where he went wrong - just that he could never seem to get anything right. not as a kid, not as a teenager, and not now as an adult.

“i don’t know,” rafe answers honestly, for the first time in a long time. he doesn’t know what else to say, so he tells her, simply, “but thank you for helping anyway.”

yeah, yeah. he wasn’t going to thank her, blah blah blah. whatever, shit happens.

the back door swings open, and rafe and sarah turn to watch barry stumble out of the house, still clutching his side but finally looking like a living, breathing person instead of a corpse.

“ain’t i tell you them things gonna rot your lungs?” is the first thing he says, plucking the cigarette from rafe’s lips and taking a drag.

rafe rolls his eyes, but lets barry rope him into a hug, careful not to bump into his wound.

“ugh, gross,” sarah huffs, making fake gagging noises before going back inside. rafe doesn’t miss the small smile that’s playing on her lips, though, and he’s suddenly filled with warmth.

it’s disgusting, and he’s surprised that he’s missed it. and that maybe, deep down, he’s missed his sister, too.

she said this is a one time deal, but maybe there’s a possibility of reconciliation. it’s a thought to revisit at a later date, rafe decides, wanting to focus on this moment right here, where barry is blessedly alive and safe.

so rafe just leans down a bit and buries his face in barry’s neck, taking a deep breath, feeling barry inhale and exhale around his cigarette as they stand in each other’s arms, companionable silence falling around them.

“you done saved my life, country club,” barry says, the first to break the silence.

rafe smiles against barry’s neck at the nickname, pressing a kiss to barry’s pulse point before pulling back a bit to look at him.

“yeah, you’re the only one who knows how to empty the septic tank,” rafe replies, deadpan.

barry throws his head back and laughs, one hand coming up to cradle the back of rafe’s head, pulling him down gently so he can press a kiss to his forehead.

“damn good thing you saved my ass, then.”

“sure is.”

when barry kisses rafe, he tastes like tobacco and blood, sour and metallic on his tongue. rafe should think it’s gross, but he just kisses barry harder, trying to scrub all the thoughts he’d had about barry dying from his memory.

it helps to have barry here, real and solid in rafe’s arms, lips soft against his own.

“can we get outta this shithole and back to our shithole?” barry asks when they separate, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “‘m pretty sure them shits would object to us christening their couch.”

rafe, for a moment, is tempted to try just to see what kind of reaction he’d get. but instead of following the urge, he lets barry guide him back to topper’s stolen car.

“who’s ride is this?” barry asks when they’re both buckled in, backing away from the routledge property.

“topper’s,” rafe explains, smirking to himself. “i, uh. borrowed it for the time being.”

“for the time being?” barry questions, and when rafe looks at him, barry is looking right back, brows raised and amusement written all over his face.

“mhm,” rafe confirms, matter-of-factly.

barry just glances around the car, a slow smirk spreading across his lips. “sweet ride. think ol’ topper’d object to a little christening, too?”

rafe starts the car, letting his own smirk grow. “as a matter of fact, i think he would.”

barry blinks at him, then stares at his nails casually.

“so where we gonna park her?”

rafe just smiles, peeling away from the routledge house, cruising into the night.

“i know just the place.”

[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 33

Pairings: Sirius B, F!Reader, Remus L   Warnings: Swearing, unhealthy defence mechanisms

【 Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Playlist 】

Chapter 33: Betray The Moon as Acolyte

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

September 8th, 1976

Remus peered up to the night sky, resplendent with a coruscating kaleidoscope of stars and the full moon. He yawned, acutely aware of his bones shifting, aching and cracking. Resting on a small cot pressed against the wall in the corner of the shrieking shack, Remus felt his temperature rise and skin stretch too thinly across his body.

“I’ll be back once the sun rises, dearie,” Madam Pomfrey called out, the door millimetres from locking shut.

“Wait,” he said and Madam Pomfrey re-opened the door with a warm, motherly smile.

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For always helping, I know it can be… tiresome.”

How long has it been? That Pomfrey had been helping him out, every full moon — had known of his affliction and been there to assist? It was years now, countless hours of her time wasted on him.

Was he that much of a burden? The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, that made his face pucker and heart lacerate itself in fresh wounds.

“Don’t concern yourself with me, honey.” Then the door clicked shut and he heard her utter a spell; to confine the beast within the four walls.

The tormenting plague increased every minute as the countdown to his transformation loomed. His heart thudded stridently and his breathing was ragged and strained. His teeth grinded against each other and his tongue swept across them, feeling them elongate and reshape in preparation.

Remus grabbed the hem of his jumper, exasperated by the overwhelming heat and because he didn’t want to shred it in the process. As he slipped out, feeling the adored red fabric, tattered with holes and frayed yarn in his hands, the door opened and he could already smell Peter and James. Subconsciously, he shielded his body from them, to avoid them from seeing all of his scars.

Remus became dizzy instantly. James wore a particularly strong perfume that day.

More than anything, over the pain and hint of repugnance, he was nervous. It would be the first full moon since… the prank that the Marauders would be together for his transformations. Or all the Marauders aside from one and nobody wanted to address it.

A sharp pain thundered through his skull and he knew time was slipping from him. Remus couldn’t recall the last time the moments before his transformation were that painful.

“You okay, Moons?” Wormtail asked, dropping down beside him. Prongs followed in suit, taking his sweater and folding it neatly.

“I’m fine — umph —”

“Shit! Prongs, get back and turn. Now!”

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

After a week of lessons, there were considerable adjustments to the curriculum. Everyone noticed and it quickly dispersed a sombre milieu on all of Hogwarts.

Classes were smaller, many parents deciding to transfer their children to other magical schools around the world. Y/N even received a few worried letters from Matthew that there was an abundance of new British students attending Ilvermorny.

In his worried letters, Matthew informed her that the MACUSA and French Ministry of Magic had been stepping in, fighting forces against the wizarding war. It was all news to her. Ever since James’ parents cancelled their subscription to the Daily Prophet after their beliefs that they were biased, she hadn’t been able to catch up.

More defence and attack spells were taught and everyone became well aware of why someone of Professor Elway’s reputation and skill was there. The same went for the Duelling re-opening and even Flitwick initiated small tutorial sessions for students of all grades to teach them defensive spells.

Defence Against the Dark Arts became nothing more than a Muggle military camp. Elway drilled the students; attack and defence spell after the other, never stopping for a second. Transfigurations focused more on concealment and vanishing charm and every day McGonagall looked as if she aged a decade by the solemn, haunted look that nowadays was permanently carved into her.

Herbology went over a vast majority of life-saving plants, herbs and how to make their own medicine. And Potions heavily focused on identifying spiked potions with poisons and how to create reversal serums in case of emergencies.

The students of Hogwarts weren’t brainless. They knew they were training them for war.

She tried to ignore it, but if anything Y/N felt foolish. The magical world was meant to be an escape, not a guardhouse.

It didn’t help that the murders from the summer played heavily in her mind along with the rumours of Voldemort recruiting students from Hogwarts, prompting a spike of distrust to spread rampantly. It wasn’t time to fight or lose people but to keep those you trusted and loved close. So Lily keeping her distance had her worried.

Sorted into the same dorm as last year, she reckoned she would have some time with Lily but every day it seemed like she was busy with prefect duties, or had homework, or reading, or a new study group she needed to rush off to. She and Lily hadn’t resumed their usual nightly routines either, hadn’t sat with her in the Great Hall since the welcome back feast and hadn’t said more than a word to her.

It was evident that Lily was avoiding her and only her.

Maybe Y/N had gotten clingy, got too close too hastily because it felt too similar to how her mother treated her. It caused the imminent, spine-chilling feeling of wanting to push everyone away.

Extreme distress was starting to pile up.

Luckily, James stayed a constant consistency in her life and a lot of her pent-up fears dissipated by his presence. He never ignored her, if anything he went out of his way to be nearer. Even Peter and most notably, Remus, had become part of her daily life more than ever.

It was terrifying and everything told her to run. Don’t get too close, don’t get too comfortable. But it was hard not to.

That morning, James crept up to her dorm, knocking softly as she popped out, ready for the day. He looked exhausted; his eye bags were prominent, darkened and cradled in his arm, he held Remus’ rabbit.

“To keep him company,” James explained, yawning while escorting her down the staircase, passing the rabbit over. “It was a rough night.”

It would be the first time they would try to incorporate Y/N into replacing Black and balance out James’ other priorities with Remus’ moon cycles. And unable to reschedule Quidditch try-outs to another morning and James forced to leave prematurely, she would have to step in.

But her fears skyrocketed. Were they pushing it? She was only visiting him… It wasn’t out of pity and she genuinely wanted to be there to support Remus.

“What if he doesn’t want visitors?”

James rolled his eyes. “It will be fine. He’ll appreciate it more than he’ll let on.”

But then a faint floral and citrus smell flowed through the distilled air as she took a deep breath.

“James, you smell really good... Are you wearing perfume?”

His frown transformed into a prideful simper. “Bought the same perfume as my mum. Helps when I miss her.”

She gasped. “A mama’s boy!” And then pinched his cheek.

About to step out of the portrait, James must’ve accidentally activated a prank because the moment his hand brushed against the portrait, four Muggle stereos floated above his head, blasting break-up songs on the highest volume. It rattled the walls and made their ears bleed.

“Fucking hell!” James shouted, his wand swishing around to stop the music while Y/N stuffed Remus’ rabbit inside her bag and bewitched a silencing spell around it.

“Students are sleeping!” Lily shrieked, rushing down the stairs and charmed away the stereos.

“Oi! You think we don’t know?” James retorted, a hand clutching his ear. “Emmeline…”

“Emmeline?” Lily repeated, shaking her head. “May Merlin himself save the poor girl daft enough to end up with you.”

The only enlightened that took away from the war and recent murders was Emmeline and her friends pranking and wreaking havoc like the Marauders onto James as a punishment.

He deserved it and even James agreed.

“Where are you two headed?” Lily inquired and for the first time since the train ride, she addressed Y/N head-on.

A glimmer of hope.

“Aw, finally starting to care about me, Evans?” James joked although it’s laced with uncertainty.

Y/N cut off Lily before she had the chance to speak, eager to answer her question. “It’s Remus.”

Recognition filtered through her, gaze shooting up to the large grandfather clock beside the bookshelves. Lily’s head bobbed repeatedly, pressing her lips together sympathetically. She considered James for a moment.

“Will you be back in time for lessons?” Lily then whipped her hands around. “Y’know what, forget it. I’ll take notes for… both of you.”

Y/N felt James nudge her foot, simultaneously forcing out a cough. His hand went to scratch behind his neck. “R-right. Erm, I — we appreciate it, Evans, but ugh — we have a free period this morning.”

Lily’s jaw dropped. “Oh. Sorry.”

“NO!” James said a little too loud. “I mean, no. It’s fine. Thank you.”

Y/N pursed her lips, her neck bending as her shoulders tensed while watching their interaction play out. “Alrighty, we should go. Thank you, Petals.” She interjected. Her hands spun James around as they walked out of the common room and to the hospital wing.

Both students groaned out loudly. Black was there, sitting on the ground and back pressed against the wall to the wing.

“He doesn’t want to see you,” James challenged. His feet pivoted to Black, before her hands pressed against his chest, preventing him from touching Black and starting yet another fight. “Leave it.”

His eyes flickered from her to Black. Sighing, he made a slight rearward movement and removed his glasses to rub his eyes.

“Just don’t follow us.”

They walked inside without sparing him another glance.

“Here comes the fucking sun, Moons!” James chirped, his mood altering drastically. But she staggered behind a beat.

Remus was already awake, quietly chatting to Peter. His bed curtains were half drawn and she took his rabbit from her bag, pulling it close to her chest.

His head snapped in their direction, but instead of his eyes landing on James, it went squarely to her. She smiled, eyes analyzing every ripple of expression. He didn’t seem angry. No, not at all, but stunned.

Once James realized she wasn’t by his side anymore, he turned and looped an arm over her shoulder. He whispered, “Moony won’t bite. It’s okay.”

“I wasn’t expecting you.” Remus finally said, smiling.

“Of course I’d come.” Confidence now circulated her body as she approached him, handing over his rabbit. James was delighted at his response while the rabbit nuzzled its way into the crook of Remus’ neck, tickling him. She murmured into his ear, not wanting to peer pressure him by others' wants, “You don’t mind me being here, do you? I’ll leave, no hurt feelings.”

Remus shook his head, petting his rabbit. “No, please stay.” He croaked, voice deep and tired.

“Oi!” James said, albeit quietly.

“Flirt somewhere else,” Peter added with false annoyance.

James nodded. “So, little Moony —”

“Little Moony?” Remus groaned. “What?”

“Aw,” she teased, “Is moody Moony making an appearance?”

“Did you come just to make fun of me?”

But then Peter grinned cheekily, moving to softly slap his hand down on his thigh in the same tempo as Here Comes the Sun. Y/N and James immediately caught on, ready to chagrin while Remus shook his hands in front of his face to get them to stop.

“Don’t you —“

“Here comes the sun, moody Moony —“ “Crikey.”

“Here comes the sun, and we say it’s alright!” They sang, keeping their voices to a minimum to not worsen his potential headache. They had to hold back their laughter as Peter began to replicate the horrible instrumental with his voice. James sang the loudest. “Little Moony, it’s been a long cold moon cycle.”

Madam Pomfrey poked her head from her office, ready to tell the visitors to be quieter than a mouse — or kick them out in favour of Remus’ rest but she froze. Remus was poorly attempting to cover his smile, his cheeks burning a bright red and she hadn’t seen him that happy after full moons. And after what happened last year, his happiness was all she wanted. So she sat back down, smiling to herself at the horrid sing.

“Little Moony, the smiles returning to the faces —”

“Guys!”

“Little Moony, it feels like years since it’s been here.”

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

James eventually left, rushing to tryouts with Marlene with a great deal of apprehension. When the bell rang, students rushing down for breakfast, both Y/N and Peter departed momentarily to the Great Hall, grabbing a few snacks and tea Remus requested.

But the moment Peter stepped foot outside the hospital wing, it was as if any sort of energy left his body. He became sluggish, moving slowly and yawned multiple times.

“Pete, go back to him, I’ll get everything,” she implored. “Or get some rest. I can’t imagine staying up all night can be good.”

“It’s —” A yawn. “— Sorry. I’ll be fine.”

She didn’t push. They made their way around fast and exited quickly before a group of seventh and sixth years swarmed Peter. A few even greeted her, attempting to strike a conversation.

Peter sent her a dejected look, passing her the rest of the snacks and teacup.

“I’ll meet you there.”

She rushed back in record time. Black was still sitting outside the wing and she could faintly hear him muttering her name but she disregarded him wholly.

But the sight inside the hospital made her heart shatter.

Remus was haggard, dishevelled and face screwed together in pain. He tried to push himself up multiple times to reach behind his head, to his pillow. But it was futile.

The crinkling of the wrapper in her hand made her wince; it became the loudest object in the world at that moment. It forewarned Remus and she gently padded over. She sat down gently on the edge of his bed, setting down everything on the metal tray.

“Don’t push yourself — here, let me.” Remus visibly reclined into himself, covering his scarred arms with the blanket coiled by his side. But he listened without complaints as she reached behind his head, fluffing his pillow and helped him lay back down gently. “Not feeling too good?”

“Like shit.”

It became awkward fast.

“Um… Peter’s coming. Was held up with a couple of seventh years.” “You can leave if you don’t want to be here,” Remus blurted out, “I won't force you —”

“Woah there!” She felt as if she was slapped by him. The sudden change had her wheeling. “Who said you’re forcing me? You’re my Moony, no?”

He breathed out a chuckle and shifted towards her. She glanced at the tray with a few potions. What he said stuck to her.

“Do you mind if you can pour those into my tea? Thanks.” Remus croaked.

She nodded, unscrewed the cork to the vials and mixed it into the drink. The clinking sound of the spoon tapping against the porcelain cup.

“What is this?”

“Um… a mixture of powder silver and Nightshade,” grumbled Remus, trying to push himself up as she handed him the cup. “Helps with the pain and fogginess.”

Her mind was restless. “Can I ask some questions?”

His eyebrows knitted together. “Questions?”

“Y’know, about being a werewolf.”

He took a giant gulp. “Did you just skip all the Werewolf questions on the OWLs?” Remus laughed.

“I bet half of it’s false.” She admitted truthfully. “Besides, how am I supposed to help next time if I don’t know?”

Remus stayed quiet for a long time after she said that and she wondered if she pushed a boundary. But then he nodded, urging her to continue.

“Okay… so silver doesn’t hurt you, right?” She watched as Remus sip his tea before having to put it down to laugh.

“Myth.”

“So all the silver bullet stuff..?”

He gave a full-body laugh. “Myth. Sorry, not what you were expecting?”

“No,” she admitted after a bit, embarrassed. All those children's stories were false…

“Silver can’t hurt me, I don’t grow hair rapidly. I like eating rare meat; I have trouble sleeping, I don’t have curved fingernails or low-set ears. I can’t run super fast but I can see better in the dark, can hear, smell and am stronger than the average Muggle or Wizard.”

“Can you always smell or hear better? Or does it increase near the full moon?”

“It becomes stronger near the full moon and after for a while.”

“Wait… Does that mean you can smell people. Like me?!” She was appalled and crossed her arms over herself as if the action would suddenly cover any scent.

Remus barked out laughing before wincing as a dull pain shocked through his system. “You smell fine. Don’t worry.”

Her hands found their way to cover her mouth. She was mortified. “You have a way with words, Lupin.”

Remus was on the verge of tears, nearly choking on himself to prevent laughing. He endured the deep bruise on the side of his ribs digging into him but he couldn’t stop.

She slapped his arm playfully and took the now empty teacup from his hand, setting it down on the metal tray and ushered him to slide over in his bed. He doesn’t hesitate.

Y/N slid beside him, and she could feel the fluctuating rise and fall of Remus’ chest as his chuckles came to a slow halt. She took the rabbit from his lap, holding it in her arms carefully.

“Does she have a name?” She questioned, scratching behind its floppy ears. Remus chose the least threatening rabbit.

“No.”

“We should think of one then.”

Remus watched her, listening to the words pouring out. But then he cringed inwardly, reminded of his cruelty to her a couple of months ago. He wasn’t expecting her to visit and it came as a pleasant surprise. It made his heart flutter. She wasn’t scared. She hadn’t been lying that night. He was accepted.

He tuned in to her heartbeat: steady and calm. Slow.

Her words echoed in his head. I feel safe with you.

Safe.

Remus felt a whisper of a smile worm it's way onto him. As soon the realization came, the dull ache in his body subdued, the burning in his throat faded and the hollow ache in his heart filled with a golden glow. Just a bit.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

September 10th, 1976

“I’m sorry,” Black said, his eyes wide and pleading as he sat beside her in the Great Hall. She ignored him.

“I need to explain, please,” Black begged in a hushed voice while she searched the library’s premises for Regulus. She ignored him yet again.

“Tesoro mio,” Black flirted, both sitting in the common room as she added notes in the werewolf section in her textbook. His new tactic caught her off guard but she prevailed, getting up and leaving.

“Talk to me,” Black whined. “Please.” She ignored him, continuing to walk to class calmly and held her head high. She just left the hospital wing and Black was trailing her.

But he grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a nearby broom closet and closed the door.

“Get off of me!” She nearly screamed. Thankfully, he was smart enough to keep a healthy distance away. She kept her hands balled into a fist, preventing herself from taking one of the dust brooms and smashing it on his head.

“Sorry! But you won’t talk to me any other way!”

Darkness enclosed them, only the light seeping through the cracks of the old wooden door illuminated Black as every ounce of restrengthen was pushed to the edge.

A flurry of apologies fell from his lips but she wouldn’t have it. Simply looking bored at her nails and tapping her foot against the ground.

“I know you’re mad — you have every right to be! I get that, I understand.”

“Then leave me alone?” She jeered sarcastically, handing grazing the doorknob.

“Wait! Please, just hear me out — let me explain —”

“Explain what?” She lashed out through gritted teeth. “You should count your stars that you don’t have an attempted murder charge.”

Her heart thumped rather fast and would have been distressing had she not been controlled by anger. Everything was overshadowed by a grim penumbra sweeping over them, closing in on her and Black and it wasn’t because of the lack of light in the dingy closet.

She was revolted by him. Sick of seeing his sad face, moping around the hospital wing or looking at her or the other Marauders in yearning.

“Do you think I’ll care about what you want to say?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Apology not accepted, dipshit.”

His head bowed. “I deserved that.” “You think?”

“It’s just that —”

Her temper spiked to the highest level and her hand drifted to her back pocket and grazed the tip of her wand.

“I —”

Something in her snap. “Shut up. Shut up! Stop trying to defend yourself! Stop it! I don’t want to hear it!”

Black was visibly shutting down. “Please, just calm down…”

And then everything poured out.

“Calm down? Calm down?! I gave — I put my trust in you and you immediately ran with it, breaking it twice and then broke everyone else’s! How am I supposed to talk to you like everything’s okay? I get that you don’t like me, that you don’t like Snape, but really? What do you not understand?!”

He was nodding his head, taking it, never once trying to defend himself. His head hung similar to a child being scolded, hands curled around himself.

“You must have never cared for them.”

Black went oddly still. “That's a bold lie and you know that.”

“Do I?” She ridiculed. “Do you want to know the funny part? I was starting to care for you. Apparently, you never did.”

“That’s not true.”

There, a flicker of rage. Finally a reaction other than pathetic regret and guilt. Something cold crept into his eyes, hardening and entirely stormy and silver, reminding her of last year where they constantly fought. But then, it was washed away with a blink.

“I was nothing but a toy to you!”

“Y/N...”

“You. Never. Cared. About —”

“Stop it! Of course I —”

“— Me. Or. The. Other —”

“— fucking cared —”

“— Marauders —” “ — about you!”

Her eyes stung with bitter unshed, frustrated tears and her throat burned, constricting together. Emotions she hadn’t taken a moment to consider hit her within seconds and everything was too overwhelming.

The material of her shirt suddenly turned itchy. Her skin was too tight and she felt herself rock back and forth in a way to calm down.

For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer as it fell silent but she struck a nerve.

“Stop saying that!” He shouted. Now not breaking her stare and took a step forward.

“You’re fucking selfish. You betrayed them.” A step forward.

“You only cared about yourself.” Black shook his head. Another step forward.

“If you ever cared about me — about anyone else you’ve hurt — you wouldn’t have done… that.” A step forward.

They were the closest they had been in months. Their breaths were laboured and ragged. Being that close to him raised all the hairs on her neck in a way she used to love but now hated herself for.

The very notion made her nauseous. Disgusted.

She missed him. Truly. It was such a profound hurt and longing that ran deeper than wanting a quick snog or shag. But that was her problem that she was going to have to hide, bury in an air-sealed chest and throw away.

He opened his mouth and he leant forward inappreciably. But whatever words he was about to spew, he stopped himself. She could feel his breath fan her face, both of their chest raised and fell rapidly.

They stayed like that for a while and she held back from crying, feeling her heart pound in her chest.

“Is there anything else you want to say?” He asked dejectedly.

Why did you have to be so stupid? We could’ve… you could’ve had everything.

Do you miss me?

Did you ever care, even a little?

“This time,” her voice was no louder than a rustle, “I mean it. I hate you. Truly.”

Lie.

Black gave her one last glance through heavy, desolate, half-lidded eyes, closing them shut. “Ti voglio bene.”

Her frown doubled, wondering if he mocked her. Why did he always do that?

“At least you’re consistent in one thing.”

She slipped out, her hand on the door and cracked it open, leaving him there.

“Being a fucking liar.”

She slammed the door shut with so much violence that it made a couple of bystanders passing by yelp and stare. The shattering of glass from within the closet echoed and it made her breathless.

She had to lean against the stone wall, her body buzzing and numb from the adrenaline.

Sometimes everything in her life seemed so… random. What if everything could have been avoided? One simple word, maybe if she said something different, or did something different, would the outcome have been better? Or worse?

What if she had two parents? What if she had been raised by a loving mother? Would she have been that hurt by his actions if opening up was less… impossible?

What ifs…

She stumbled her way to class mindlessly, horribly late. The floorboards creaked, cutting Slughorn off while she lurked in the doorway. The teacher’s head, along with everyone else in the room, snapped up.

Lily looked at her worriedly and concern was written in every inch of her face. James had a double-take and became alarmed while Marlene on the other side of the class looked around nervously.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“No worries, m’girl!” Slughorn smiled. “Please, take the seat next to… Severus! Now, I was saying, I have a small tradition I’d like to do every year with my students.”

Y/N didn’t even interject; too drained after what happened and sat by Snape.

“Can anyone tell me what this is?” The professor held up a tiny bottle. “Or can anyone tell me what Felix Felicis is?”

Lily raised her hand, casting a concerned gaze to her before answering. From the corner of her eye, she could see Barty and Avery, along with a few other students whispering to each other as Lily spoke; all of them forcing down a smile. Y/N vaguely sensed herself prickle.

“It’s known as Liquid Luck. As the name suggests, it makes the drinker lucky.”

“Beautiful answer! Quite right! Ten points for Gryffindor! Now, whoever brews the Draught of Living Death the closest will win this prize at the end of this lesson. Off you go!”

The class was scurrying off quickly while she made her way around leisurely. Snape’s sopophorous bean had been hitting her multiple times.

“Would you fucking —” she grabbed the bean with her hands and threw it at Snape and he hissed at. “Just take your knife blade and squeeze it down on the side with your dagger.”

Snape scoffed. “That’s not going to work you d —”

Snape shut up immediately as she crushed the bean with a sharp knife and flicked the juice into the cauldron.

“Now stop hitting me or I’ll pour your potion on the ground.”

Snape’s attention wasn’t on her, instead of trying to decipher her scribbles before taking her book away from his eyesight. She hit him with her book.

She completed the rest of the potion with ease. Snape was nearly done with his potion, she could tell he was on the right path before Slughorn sauntered around the classroom to observe the students. At James’ cauldron, he made no comment but instead helped stir his potion. Lily was given an approving nod, announcing to the class that she earned Gryffindor a few house points until making his way over to their table, peering into the cauldrons. At Snape’s concoction, he gave a bright smile and opened his mouth until he saw hers and a look of pure delight spread over him, his hands clapping together.

“Oho! Excellent! Miss L/N has done it! We have our winner!”

A small round of claps went around meanwhile James and Marlene cheered loudly, effectively embarrassing her.

“Show off,” Snape sneered. She ignored him.

Once the bell rang, Slughorn called her over to collect her vial of Liquid Luck. She slipped the bottle into her pocket for safekeeping.

But before she left, she stopped and spun around. “Professor Slughorn?”

“Yes?”

“I read in my Advanced Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook, but I found that there’s no Potion to help Werewolves. I was wondering if that’s still true? I know books can be outdated.”

Slughorn gave her a pensive look. “I think that’s a matter for Madam Pomfrey. Is there a reason why?”

“It’s just —” She made up a lie quickly. “I’m nervous about NEWTs and how I’ll do in my studies and it’s merely an interest.”

“Oh, my girl! You are excellent. By far one of the best students I’ve ever had. You don’t need to worry!” Slughorn cheered. Slughorn seemed genuine and she smiled at the praise. “And for your question, no. Sadly there isn’t.”

“At all?”

Slughorn thought for a while. “If I recall, there have been recent developments with stewed Mandrakes. It’s rumoured to help lycanthrope individuals ease their way back into the original human state.”

Y/N stored the newfound information in her head. She thanked him, turning to leave until calling out again. Slughorn twirled his head.

“I was wondering if I could practice more — like I said, I‘m nervous about my NEWTs.”

There wasn’t even a delay and Slughorn beamed. “Of course! As long as you clean up after yourself, you may come and go as you please. I’ll make sure to leave the doors open until curfew.

“Oh! I’m planning to host another Slugclub dinner soon, I expect you to be there?”

“... Of course, sir.”

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

【 Next Chapter 】

Translations:

Tesoro mio = My treasure or 'honey'

Ti voglio bene = 'I love you' but its not like what you think. It's more of an unconditional and selfless love that means 'I want you to be well.' It places an emphasis on the tender and affectionate feelings you have for the other person. It's the safer option to say to your significant other if it's a very new relationship.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

© gotkindabored 2021. Do not repost or modify

[callmebrycelee]

NEW AMSTERDAM REACTION

This reaction is for the season 5, fifth episode titled "Grabby Hands" which originally aired on October 18, 2022. The episode was written by Graham Norris and directed by Lisa Robinson. Spoilers ahead!

Since my last reaction got a bit longish, I'm going to keep this one as short and sweet as possible. I want to start off by saying I really liked this episode. With each episode we are getting in this final season, I'm reminded why I fell in love with this series in the first place. This week's episode is all about good intentions and how our desire to help those we care about can result in them getting hurt or worse. Let's start with Dr. Lauren Bloom.

Lauren moved in with her sister at the beginning of this season despite protests from her friends and colleagues. Lauren wants to reconnect with Vanessa (Kathryn Prescott). Both of them have endured immense amounts of trauma which has resulted in them both becoming addicted to drugs and alcohol. Thankfully, Lauren has been sober for two years and has somehow miraculously remained so while rooming with her sister who seems perpetually drunk and high. Lauren has been faking taking shots just so she can win her trust. While Lauren's desire to re-establish her relationship with Vanessa is pure, her approach is all wrong.

At the end of the episode, Vanessa finds Lauren's sobriety chip and flips out. I felt so bad for Lauren in this moment but I also understand why her sister is upset. It would feel super violating to have someone come into your home, cozy up to you, and lie to you daily. What Lauren's done for the past four episodes can be filed under the category of manipulation. Again, I get that she wants things between her sister to be like they were before both their worlds came crashing down, but Lauren also needs to realize that her sister is an addict and just as she made the decision to clean herself up, Vanessa will need to make a similar decision. Sorry, Lauren. I'm #TeamVanessa on this one. I do hope things between these two can work out in the future but a lot of healing needs to be done.

Next up is Dr. Floyd Reynolds. When three patients arrive in the emergency room exhibiting the signs of a rare poisoning. When Max and Lauren figure out that the three patients live in the same building, Floyd leaves New Amsterdam and makes his way over to the apartment building. What follows is a montage of Floyd interviewing the residents of the building and learning about all the things that are wrong. Apparently the place is laden with black mold, rats, spiders, and a host of other issues that made me think perhaps maybe the building should be condemned or burned to the ground.

Allow me to digress for a bit. I get why New York City is so appealing. Having visited there back when I was in high school, it was a nice change of pace from living in a smaller town in the south. I loved how much culture was there. On any given day, there's so much to do. Museums ... Broadway plays ... sports ... the best restaurants ... I get why people visit the place. What I don't understand is why anyone would want to live there. On top of the rent being sky-high, it seems like everything is so grimy and miserable. Hearing these characters talk about all the money they pay just to live in a rat-infested hell-hole made me so appreciative of my small town life.

Once again, we have another doctor at New Amsterdam with good intentions. For some reason that's not readily apparent, Floyd becomes invested in wanting to solve each of these residents' issues. He suggests that maybe they pay extra in rent so the owner can afford to fix their apartment up. Naturally the residents poo-poo this idea because they barely have the money to pay rent as is on top of paying medical bills. Just when things are starting to feel hopeless for Floyd, he comes up with an idea that would involve the residents paying more, only instead of them paying rent, they would be paying a mortgage. New Amsterdam would foot the bill by giving them a loan. I do find it funny that the whole narrative of New Amsterdam, since season one, has been how broke the place is yet they are able to give out substantial loans to random people in the neighborhood but I suppose I'll overlook this detail in favor of celebrating what seems like a win for Floyd. 

A part of me thinks that when it comes to his personal life, Floyd feels helpless. Every relationship he has never seems to work out which is why he is too scared to try something new with Gabrielle, the new nurse at the hospital. By the end of the episode, it seems like he may be open to trying something, even if it's temporary. Oh, another funny part of this episode was Floyd trying to figure out what her name is after she didn't tell him in the last episode. Him making guesses felt very Rumplestilskin to me. Up next is Dr. Iggy Frome. While Max, Lauren, and Elizabeth are holding things down at the hospital, Iggy takes four of his teenage psych patients out for a day in nature. As he tries to garner some enthusiasm out of them, he notices they are more preoccupied with their phones than with whatever he is talking about. He pulls over and demands they turn over their cellular devices and he hands his own phone in out of solidarity which is such a bad idea. 

Speaking of good intentions, Iggy is concerned the teens may be too focused on their technology instead of the world that's around them. This is a valid concern, especially from a behavioral health provider. However, rather than be reminded of the saying, everything in moderation, Iggy overcorrects and his actions result in the five of them getting lost in the woods. Well, you know what they say, when it rains, it pours. Literally. After huddling near a tree during a pop-up storm, Iggy and the teens build a fire in the middle of the woods. What's interesting is that no one seems too terribly upset with Iggy for getting them lost in the woods.

Perhaps the funniest part of the episode is when a notification goes off and everyone looks at one of the teens who assures them the sound they heard was a bird. The notification goes off again and finally the kid reveals that while he did turn in his phone, he kept his iPad which has both power and a signal. With iPad in hand, Iggy is able to lead the kids back to the van and back to civilization. Iggy, it seems, has learned a valuable lesson. His good intentions backfired on him and someone, including himself, could've gotten hurt in the process. One of the biggest complaints about Iggy is how impulsive he is, especially in his personal life. Often his actions result in those around him - his kids, his soon-to-be ex-husband, Martin - getting hurt. I hope we get to see him spend the rest of the season growing because as I've said before, Iggy Frome is my favorite character on the show. 

Last up is Dr. Max Goodwin. Last episode, he got some pretty unsettling news concerning his health, however, we don't really get to deal with that this episode. Instead, we start the episode off watching him and Luna making breakfast. Luna is little and wants to help out but Max is too focused on making sure she doesn't climb up on anything or make a mess. He wants to keep her safe but ultimately she still gets hurt when she picks up a knife and cuts her finger.

Max takes Luna to work with him and Auntie Lauren patches up her finger. I loved seeing Luna interact with Lauren because it's yet another reminder of how the doctors are each other's family. With Luna's problem temporarily fixed with a finger stitch (ha, that rhymes), Max has to deal with one of his nurses getting arrested after she accidentally administered a fatal dose of a drug that killed a patient. The nurse's arrest has a ripple effect around the hospital when other nurses start second-guessing their actions out of fear of making a mistake that could get them sued or worse. 

Max is at his wit's end. On one hand he understands why people would be concerned. Nurses are the first line of defense in healthcare and if a mistake is made, especially one that results in a patient getting hurt or worse, the blame is almost always shifted to them. Max understands why these men and women are concerned but he doesn't think that healthcare providers should prioritize themselves over their patients. While I get where Max is coming from, a part of me thought to myself during this episode that it's easier for Max to have this view because he's a doctor and it's nurses who are feeling the brunt of this.

For once, there are no easy solutions to this issue and it's quite refreshing to see Max not be able to charm his way out of this issue. This is a very real issue and I'm sure there are nurses who watched this particular storyline and felt seen and heard. Ultimately Max's solution is to keep fighting which doesn't really feel like a solution at all. Accidents will keep on happening because accidents happen and fingers will yet again be pointed at the nurse who was involved. It's just a fact of life. However, with that said, Max's non-solution felt very realistic. So much of what's wrong in healthcare and in society, in general, is unfixable. The way the system is configured makes it next to impossible to implement any positive change and I'm glad this show is finally acknowledging that. It's a bleak ending to this particular storyline but at least Max is able to fix things at home.

At the end of the episode, Max explains to Luna that he loves her and wants to protect her and always will want to protect her. He also tells her that he has to find a way to let her be more independent without letting his concerns get in the way. See, Max gets it! Balance is the key! At the end of the episode, Max finds a way for Luna to help out with making breakfast that gives her independence while in a safe environment. I love seeing Max and Luna together. I know it must be rough being a single parent. I just hope that whatever is going on with his health is curable because Luna has lost so much and I don't want her to lose Max.

As I said earlier, this was a great episode. Sure, some of the plots were a bit shaky and the resolutions were a bit questionable, but ultimately I was thoroughly entertained by this episode. What made this episode particularly enjoyable is getting to delve deeper into these characters we've grown to love. Each of our characters learned valuable lessons about good intentions this episode and a few of them got hurt in the process. I do think Lauren will be able to make peace with her sister, even if it means they don't have a relationship. I think Reynolds will finally find what he is looking for, which is someone to love and for the person to love him back. Iggy is finally starting to learn that simply having good intentions is not enough. He's hurt a lot of people, including himself, and it was nice to see him take some accountability for once. As for Max, he's learning that life isn't fair and that sometimes instead of fighting to win, you have to fight to maintain. I can't wait to see what happens next! Until next time ...