#but bygones are bygones i guess

[vordemtodgefeit]

it is now less than 24 hours until my dissertation is due 🙃

[ancientbygone]

THE DEBT THAT I OWE

just fucking around with colors here reference photo credit: adamross williams from here

[spiceberrie]

i think what gets me is that in the oilers maybe nugey and nursey have been there longer than connor and they are both building families and a legacy outside of hockey so what makes ME sad it's that. well. connor loves that team he really does. like it's edmonton but he's so mild tempered that it doesn't register as badly as it could but it's HIS TEAM. that they built around him. the team that broke him in by unimaginable and ridiculous pain but he keeps signing up for it. so it's like #narratives and #marketing and #doomed but i don't think there's anything else he'd rather be doing than sharing the oilers' bad luck 🥲🥲 that's his team.

[iced-souls]

Bygones be bybones skele oc’s doodle pages part 1–

But my brain is getting bored of the skele pages so the rest/part 2 pages will arrive another time

Part 2!!!!

[x-i-l-verify]

Hm. Don't know how to feel about this.

Tagging: @whyoneartheven, @error-dream-was-found, @cha-ra-nui, @novelmonger

Would you like to find out what you would be the god of? Take my new uqiz to find out

[cranberrylane]

could've socialised so much better. im actually really upset

[ancientbygone]

hello and welcome to another episode of me being insufferable about the fact that i made a mask replica (iv edition). not much i can say except that it took a lot of time and effort and i had a blast working with airdry clay again. also i didn't watch the "making of" videos (tho i did get the original creator's blessing to make a replica of my own). we diy like men. hope you enjoy. pictures of it being worn pending.

[popppyfur]

cloudback whale.....

[yokelfelonking]

Post 9/11 Trivia

Most folks on this site were either children on September 11, 2001, or weren’t even born yet.  But America went crazy for about a year afterwards.  Here’s some highlights that I remember that might not be in your history books:

There was national discussion on whether or not Halloween should be canceled because…fuck if I know why.  After planes crashed into buildings in NYC it follows that 6-year-olds in Iowa shouldn’t be allowed to dress up like Batman and ask their neighbors for candy, I guess.  (Halloween wasn’t canceled, by the way.)

On a similar note, people asked if comedy - any sort of comedy - was appropriate anymore, ever.

People sold shitty parachutes to suckers “in case your building gets attacked and you have to jump out the window.” There were honest-to-God news reports warning people not to jump out of the window with shitty mail-order parachutes because they wouldn't work.

As a follow-up to the attacks, someone mailed anthrax to some prominent politicians and news anchors - you know, famous people - along with some badly-written notes about “you cannot stop us, death to America, Allah is good” and after that every time some random dumbass found a package in the mail they didn’t recognize they thought that the terrorists were targeting them, too.

Everyone was similarly convinced that their town was going to be the next target, even if they were a little town in the middle of nowhere. "Our town of Bumblefuck, South Dakota (population 690) has the largest styrofoam pig statue west of the Mississippi! Terrorists might fly planes into that too! It's a prime target!"

People started taping up their windows and trying to make their houses or apartments airtight out of fear of chemical and biological attacks. There were news reports warning people that turning your house into an airtight box was a bad idea because, y'know, you need air to breathe.

"[X] supports terrorism!" and “if we do [X], the terrorists win!” were used as arguments for everything.  "Some rich Arab you never heard of donated to his organization that backs Hamas which backs al-Queda, and also owns stock in a holding company that has partial ownership of the Pringles company, so if you eat Pringles you're supporting terrorism!" "The terrorists want to tear down our freedoms and our way of life and rule us through fear! Eating what you want is one of our freedoms as Americans! If you're afraid to eat Pringles, the terrorists win!" (I promise you that this sort of argument is in no way hyperbole.) (This argument is how Halloween was saved, by the way.  “If we cancel Halloween, the terrorists win!”)

People worked 9/11 into everything, and I mean everything, whether it was appropriate or not.  If you went to the grocery store the tortilla chips would remind you to support the troops on the packaging. Used car sales would be dedicated to our brave first responders. You couldn't wipe your ass without the toilet paper rolls reminding you to never forget the fallen of 9/11, and again, this is not hyperbole. My uncle, who lived in Ohio and had never been to New York except to visit once in the 70′s, died of a stroke about 8 months after 9/11, and the priest brought up the attacks at the eulogy.

On a similar local note, on the day of 9/11, after the towers went down, gas stations in my home town immediately jacked up gas prices.  The mayor had the cops go around and force them to take them back down.  I doubt any of that was legal.

Before 9/11, Christianity in America - and religion in general - was on a downward swing, with reddit-tier atheism on the upswing. Religion was outdated superstition from a bygone age. The day after 9/11? Every single church was PACKED. (This wasn't a bad thing, but the power-hungry on the Evangelical Right saw this as a golden opportunity to grab power and influence.)

EDIT: By Popular Demand - Freedom Fries. I initially left these off because they came a couple years after the initial panic and most people thought they were kind of absurd (and I don't recall anyone really going along with it other than maybe some local diners here and there). France didn't want to get involved in our world policing so some folks were like "TRAITORS!" and wanted to call french fries "Freedom Fries" instead, so as to stick it to the French.

Besides dumb shit like that…it’s really hard to overstate how completely the national mood and character changed in the span of a day, or how much of the current culture war is a result of the aftermath. (9/11 was the impetus for the sharp rise in power of the Evangelical Right, who made themselves utterly odious and the following backlash helped the rise of the current Progressive Left, for instance.)

And if all of this seems batshit...well, it was. But I want you to think for a moment how people react today over even trivial shit. People send death threats over children's cartoons. They call for blood if the maker of a video game had an opinion they don't like. If someone made a racist joke a decade ago when they were a teenage edgelord, folks will go after people who even associate with them. "DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND ALL THE HARM THEY'RE DOING!?"

Now take that same level of over-the-top histrionics and apply it to the unprecedented event of passenger planes crashing into crowded buildings in America's most populous city and killing thousands of people all at once. "DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT WE WERE ATTACKED!?"

[hexhomos]

The 'Talis' hypothesis

So I think the S2 trailer confirms something central about Arcane I've wondered for a while. This has plot bearings to it, namely what nebulous purpose 'Magic' serves in the story -- how they're changing the role Hextech has in the game lore, incl. its power system & ruleset -- and what kind of hubris is associated with it historically. But it also answers something that has always nagged at me: why the fuck did they change Jayce's name?

So let's talk about this picture. And I'm going to give you the rosetta stone in 5 seconds:

This is Hextech now. Like that is just an incredibly concise and complete descriptor of Hextech-in-Arcane, right. It 'harms' Jinx, it 'protects' Jayce in the snowstorm, it 'heals' Viktor to a degree. It is installed permanently in architecture; the Hexgates ARE the brand.

First off, we have this fucker carrying around a talisman from back when he was 7, and the cinematography of the show agonizes over showing you this throughout all of ep2:

Jayce's bracelet is a bang-on definition of a historical talisman. The way hextech *functions* in the show is inextricable from the promises and rites associated with talismans, a word appropriated/popularized by the French - which I'm going to conservatively argue Fortiche would be familiar with;

Which brings me to the subject of what Hextech is, and how Hextech was changed for the tv show (and what its possibly being retconned to in the game)

Hex'tech' is not technology. The name is a carryover from a bygone era of leagueoflegends speak; Hextech in Arcane, and presumably in expanded lore going forward (given Skarner's rework and other things) - is the study, development, and the building of an industry around the craft of practical Talismans. If you want to understand how this shit works you need to promptly abandon the assumption that it is 'manufactured' magic -- its pure magic. It's raw magic. The tech part is a red herring misnomer.

The beliefs around this already cover links to 'the Arcane' as another, ethereal destination realm with Inhabitants that learn and change, ontop of rune-carving as magical instruction;

This also covers Viktor's impending transformation and the changes made to his character.

IN MY OPINION, via the content released so far and what we've already witnessed in S1, Viktor has been shifted away from becoming 'the machine herald' and re-positioned to become the Herald of Divine Rune Alchemy or whichever name they end up using.

I don't doubt that he'll get the armor at some point, because that's a recognizable visual and as much fanservice as they owe his decade-long fans, but... I would temper my expectations around the thought of machine evolution. It's not what this Viktor does, and it's not what he (or the narrative,) is interested in -- My guess is that the armor comes into play as a secondary way to AVOID overusing limited magical power, as we've seen runes can be depleted, and the hexcore tends to kill things in exchange.

Now that we've established all that, here is the bridge that I'm going to sell you.

Now, for today's homework, I expect you to run off to do something useful and homoerotic with this information.

[shadowboom500]

ayyyyyy this sounds a lot like smth that happened to me a while back, so desbea if this is you.

tldr: if this is who i think it is, i cared about you but i left bc your "passing comment" made me feel utterly unsafe around you for your compete lack of respect for my bodily autonomy. this is an ESH situation bc i was admittedly an ass about the whole thing and could def have handled it better.

i will readily admit i did some shitty things and didnt let the argument go when i should have just ended the friendship peacefully. we had fundamentally different views that couldn't be resolved, even if we cared about each other deeply.

even my "im not your therapist" comments were intended to be "im a guy your age doing his best with other shit on his plate. ill do my best and will listen and advise but you need a professional and i am not that" and im sorry i wasnt clearer.

however, what was a passing comment for you was about these fundamentally incompatible views. i wont say what this was, as i made a goddamn promise that i will keep, and it'll bias the votes.

we argued about it multiple times, but we had a pinned agreement that "i want to stop this conversation" that we agreed would always be respected. you did not use it, at least not that i remember. i did, you were aware we could have stopped the debate any time. you could have started a discussion about how you didnt want to keep doing this. im sorry if you didnt feel safe to do so but im not psychic and i didnt know you wanted to stop bc you did not tell me.

and the final straw was you telling me that you would have no issue forcing me to go through a situation that i considered worse than death, with full awareness about just how much "worse than death" meant to me.

i felt horrendously violated and unsafe continuing to be friends with you while you held such a belief and told you as such, and THAT was what caused the insulting including "go fuck yourself with a cactus" and "cant see past your own fucking self-righteous nose", before i muted you and started barely talking to you. i "shunned" you because i was uncomfortable continuing to be around you but didnt have the energy or understanding of how to end things, bc we were both teenagers and this was my first friendship breakup.

eventually however i had the energy and told you what i was so hurt by, and either you would apologise for that or id end the friendship for my own safety/comfort.

you proceeded to guilt trip the hell out of me for it, whether consciously or not, and give me a half-assed apology about how you were "sorry i was hurt by what you said".

i responded by telling you, admittedly less than tactfully that that wasnt an apology, that was you being sorry your actions had conseqeunces you didnt like. (again. i was asking you to apologise for telling me youd be fine with forcing me to go through a fate i considered worse than genuinely killing myself.) i also said a comment i regret for being not what i meant about me "not wanting to hate you", when i meant i outright didnt hate you.

you started insulting me and then i blocked you.

i genuinely cared about and supported you, you were someone i considered a close friend and i dont regret knowing you or caring about you. you had abandonment issues and i promised i wouldnt leave you, but if you tell all your friends that even though theyd consider a certain fate the worst imaginable for them youd be down with forcing them through it, i can see why they left.

so yeah. im not a great person and should have handled this better, but fucking hell man.

AITA for ditching my best friend and not believing what they say?

My former best friend was great. We were the same age. We just got each other, and they never seemed to think I was weird as they were also autistic. They would regularly tell me they loved me and I trusted them. I trusted them to keep their word and to not be hypocritical, as they were also my confidant.

Not too long ago we got into an argument over a passing comment I had made about myself. They ended when they either took a break or I "won," but it didn't feel like winning. I was calm while they weren't afraid of insulting me. I thought we had agreed to disagree; I thought the best of them. But then they admitted that they would post things out of spite and ignore me even though they made a vent post about the same situation happening to them? (On this occasion they talked behind that person's back to a bunch of other people, then later said they talked it out)

Then they wanted me to "repent" about something i said a few months ago as a hypothetical, as in "an apology isn't enough" even though they already admitted beforehand that i was right and they agreed with me. They used our friendship as a bargaining chip. I don't know if it's related but they knew I had abandonment issues.

I was torn about choosing between my morals and their friendship. They were everything to me. I replied and left the internet for a few months, especially because they told me to leave the situation if I couldn't handle it. It was hard knowing that my depression before that incident was probably because they would regularly talk down to me and start arguments seemingly at random. I always responded to them and would send messages if they were "out of energy," when in reality they were shunning me.

It's a few months later and whenever I hear about anything they do I don't believe it at all, like them taking awhile to do something for a mutual friend. I don't even believe what they said before, that they loved me.

I feel bad about running away. I was having a breakdown and should've handled it better, but I fled like a coward. I also feel bad about the confidant thing--I was a burden for letting it show. They would sometimes say "I'm not your therapist" but also they were the one who inspired me to talk to people. (And they never said to stop telling them about myself)

It feels unfair to assume they're always wrong, too. Love to me is piecing together your friends like a puzzle and maybe not agreeing with them, but understanding.

I can't help but think they never loved me and instead wanted validation? Maybe I'm too harsh or I'm not understanding it, but the friendship was so bad at that point that I would barely flinch at the insults and instead compliment their "creativity." I hate to admit it, but I thought that them blowing up at me was... a privilege. Trusting me enough to show their true colors. I'll always remember how kind they were to me and I know I'll never find anyone else like them.

But still, AITA for running away? For unfairly assuming that they never tell the truth? One situation doesn't account for everything, right?

What are these acronyms?

[olderthannetfic]

You ever get a comment that makes you just sit back, cast your eyes upwards, and gaze at the ceiling as if awaiting answers? I got a comment on a fic I'm writing that has a (canonically) punk character and was informed that "real punks don't do arts and crafts", referring to the idea of 1. making your own patches 2. sewing them on 3. sewing clothes in general and 4. making signs in protest of/support of something. And I. I just.

My dad was in a punk band in the 90's, in the post-Soviet era of Central Asian punks when nobody had any money and were screaming into a microphone to work through the trauma the USSR put them through. Sometimes there wasn't even a microphone. Sometimes there was just a stage at a bar and decent acoustics and vodka. I promise you that they made things. I promise you they didn't just buy everything off of Poshmark that was marked Tripp NYC or put an order in on Temu for 5 yards of grommet trim. There was no internet access but more importantly there was no money. You know what there WAS? Anger. So. Much. Anger. Anger gets clothing torn and signs made and my dad onstage in a country where being queer is illegal to this day going, "We're the Maddest Faggots and this is our new song, 'Fuck Me Like Your Daughter'!"

They did "arts and crafts". They did so, so many arts and crafts. Shows don't advertise themselves. Someone has to draw and then photocopy a cartoon of the mayor sucking himself off and tape it up to every bus stop in Tashkent after the election. Drenching yourself in red paint and marching in protest of police brutality rarely works without paint.

I guess, in the grand tradition of punk, the counterargument is that no REAL punk would do arts and crafts, therefore, my dad was not remotely punk and neither were his associates. But if punk is so fragile that liking all the right music and being anti-authority and protesting inequality all counts for nothing if you so much as put one toe over the line into girliness... is anyone or anything punk? And is that a version of punk worth preserving?

It reminds me of people going, "Real punks don't have anything political on their vests/jackets!" and "No true punk would have that slogan on them, that's just stupid pinterest shit!" and "wow plaid lol. lmao, even. what a poser! go back to tiktok fr fr", etc. I get that these are all basically 'if I don't like it, it's not part of punk'. But diy is baked into punk. It had to be. That's what happens when your subculture involves a lot of poor people.

I am only 25 and I feel like an ancient being from the bygone days of yesteryear having kids interrupt me to say nuh-uh, that's totally not how things work.

--

People are incredibly embarrassing about punk in a very suburban US middle class way.

[teabagtoaster]

oldish twitter serenas from various bygone art memes. that orange fire emblem guy is there too i guess

a few bonus serena headcanons that you can't see in the first drawing: her hair is bleached/lightened and you can see the dark brown roots (when her hat is off), she eventually modifies her keystone so it's on a ring rather than the original bracelet, and she wears kneepads #SKATERGIRL (also shes a lesbian lol)

(also total unnecessary sidenote but since i can never tell if this is clear or not: sylvain is not implying that they should kill yveltal. rather in this nonsensical hypothetical yveltal would be doing the killing. no one has ever pointed this out or asked about it i'm just pedantic about my own stuff)

[tinfoil-jones]

Does Jerk_Ford ever get defensive(or get especially annoying) because someone was idk bashing/talking bad about his twin (in the multiverse i mean, so one of the other fords maybe?)?

His dimensions Stanley i mean, you already mentioned he didn't care about the other multiverses Stanley's

In the multiverse:

"Man, you must be a really sh***y brother if you're letting a different Stanley live rent free in your head like this."

In Gravity Falls:

Jerk Ford isn't particularly protective over his Stanley, he knows he can handle himself. Stan's mostly a normal dude in this AU, but it's not like he was ever weak or a pushover.

However, Jerk Ford also knows Stan's willing to let bygones be bygones, in situations where Jerk Ford would have been petty. And he cranks that pettiness up to eleven.

Only God can help Gideon if he still took the deed to the shack (or cabin in this case) like he did in canon, and then Jerk Ford hears about it when he comes back:

"Hey, so I heard you kicked my brother (and the niblings, I guess) out of my home." "Sure is weird that all of the cars in your dads dealership rusted over and became unsellable overnight." "I heard your parents are divorcing because your mom caught your dad with another man. Funny how stuff like that happens."

Jerk Ford leans down and whispers this to Gideon when no one else is around:

"I f***ed your dad, shitlips."

[thatanimeramenchick]

Yandere Vox x Secretary Reader Pt. 2

Eh, what have you guys done to me. I swear, we Vox fangirls are the thirstiest on the internet right now. Also, officially, I’m making this a three part series, but that’s it. So much for a oneshot. I'll make a title for this series, eventually. Also, if you want to be tagged, please put your age in your bio.

Part One - Part Three

Triggers: Dubcon-y vibes in scenes. Violence and threatening. Read responsibly, stuff is gonna get a little dark this chapter.

Word count: 3,142

---

Vox thought you looked perfect. For once, you were wearing something decent that he bought you instead of one of the plain outfits from before you had moved in. Somehow, you had been convinced to put on actual jewelry and makeup as well. The only flaw you held was the dirty look on your face, which you refused to face towards him directly, and it only got dirtier as you downed more and more wine.

���You know, you could at least attempt to have a good time after all the effort I put into this evening,” he said, “You haven’t even touched your food.”

“Not hungry,” you said, voice ice cold. It always was nowadays.

“If you’re not in the mood for dinner, we could watch a new production I oversaw,” he said, “I think you’d enjoy it.”

You snort at that.

“I’d rather listen to Alastor’s radio program than watch any of the hot trash your production company creates,” you said.

“I’m sorry? What was that?” he said, putting a warning hint into his tone.

“You heard me,” you said, “I’ve gotta say for someone supposedly so modern, you’re still just an old man. Alastor is what? Like twenty years older than you? And you think he’s elderly? You’re practically a decrepit bygone as well. You think anyone gives a shit about cable nowadays? At least Alastor has the decency to make stuff with class and not just forgettable, cheap cash grabs.”

Against his will, he felt a circuit spurt. His hand clenched around the glass and slammed it onto the table, causing you to jump. A small noise left your mouth, as panicked as the look in your eyes was now. You looked like you knew that you had pushed a little more than you probably should have.

“You know what?” he hissed, “You think you can just talk to me like that? Fine. You wanna play rough with me? Well guess what, I’m going to fuck that bad attitude right out of you!”

“Excuse me???”

You didn’t even look scared at that just shocked and baffled, as if that had been the last thing you had expected to hear.

“You heard me!” he grabbed you by your shoulders and shoved you flat onto the couch, “I’m sick of you fighting me. Well, you’re not going to after this.”

“W-wait, Vox, stop-”

He smashed his lips to yours, purposefully being harsh, biting you when you tried to keep your mouth closed. When you attempted to turn your face away, he grabbed your chin rough enough where he knew it would leave a mark before kissing you harder. You pounded your fist against his chest, but he ignored it, straddling you. He eventually used his other hand to grab your wrist and push it into the couch.

He didn’t know when it happened, but at some point in your struggle something shifted in the air. Changed. You had finally stopped fighting, slowly wrapping your arm around his neck, kissing him back. It was heavenly, you finally submitting to him. Yes, yes, yes… He paused to look you in the eyes, to see your timid gaze and red face. There was still a look of anger glazed across your features, but it was fading. He brought his hand up to play at the buttons on your blouse. You looked at each other for a second longer before you initiated a kiss for once, using the arm around his neck to pull him close. Your tongue felt so hot, so right, as if your body was as electric as his own and-

Vox gasped, a spark running through his head. He woke up alone in bed, a literal hot mess. He felt like his head was overheating, running a million miles a minute, despite the fact that he should feel cold from sleep. Mixing this with the slick sweat and fluid he was covered in, it was an uncomfortable feeling. Groping for the robe hanging next to his bed, he climbed out. What a dream. He needed a second to wire down from that before trying to go back to sleep.

He picked up his phone and opened it to check on you. The camera in your room showed you curled up on your mattress, blanket half off your body and arms wrapped around one of your pillows. It pressed into your dozing face, which held a peaceful, relaxed look that he rarely saw now that you had decided to go to war with him. His finger absently stroked your image on the screen.

Why did you have to be so difficult? He didn’t know what had been the powder keg that had kicked off your little rebellion, but whatever it was, all his attempts to nip it in the bud had made you more temperamental. Clearly his irritation with your behavior had seeped into his mind enough to create some… darker fantasies deep in his sleeping subconscious.

He shook his head. It was just a dream. It didn’t mean anything.

Besides, he already had been thinking about what to do next, to give you that little push you needed to be more agreeable.

---

Later that day he scoffed at how ridiculous his own morbid imagination was. The idea of you dressed all pimped up like one of Valentino’s whores. You barely got out of bed nowadays. If he was being honest, your imprisonment had caused your mood to swing between defiant temper tantrums and a hopelessly depressed sloth. Today, you were in the latter mood, still in pajamas that he swore you were wearing two days ago, lying on the couch and mindlessly eating as you watched some random reality show.

“Hello there, beautiful,” he said, trying to sound pleasant, “Looks like you’ve had a relaxing day.”

You glance at him for a second before looking back at the television. The blanket is pulled tighter around you, as if you were trying to hide any inch of yourself from him. Ever since his last attempt at showing his affection had ended in you headbutting him – hard – you had been particularly prickly at even the slightest hint that he might want to touch you.

“What do you want, asshole?” you said, voice lacking emotion.

Charming as always.

“Well, dearest, I was thinking. Now that you’ve had some time to think things over, I was hoping we could finally come to an agreement that would make us both happy,” he said.

“I highly doubt that’s possible,” you said.

He sat beside you, which caused you to curl your legs in tighter. You inch up on the arm a little, as if to sit as far away from him as possible without having to actually put any effort into getting up.

“We both have something that the other person wants, something that could be easily settled with a written contract,” Vox said, “You would like to be allowed to roam around this cesspool of a city and I-”

“Let me guess, it includes a whole paragraph about me never leaving your sight as well as a clause about how often you get to stick yourself in my various orifices?” you grumbled.

“You’re so melodramatic sometimes,” he said, “You always assuming the worst about people, F/N. Makes me wonder if you were double crossed a lot in your previous life.”

You don’t even respond to this, just continue to stare ahead. He’d noticed that lately you’ve been avoiding his gaze. He wasn’t sure how much you had figured out about his abilities, but you seemed to have pieced enough together that the more you avoided his eyes, the less direct influence he had on you at the moment. He was sure that it was one of the many reasons you were so moody lately; you stubbornly refused to be soothed by him. Regardless, whether you were trying to avoid his hypnotic gaze or not, it’s no matter. It’s not like you’re going to be able to avoid the overall influence he has over this city, especially if you spend your free time watching television he’s created.

“It’s rather tame, considering the situation you’re in. Contract or not, it’s not like you’re going to be going anywhere anytime soon,” he continued, “You’re lucky I care for you as much as I do, trying to work with you like this.”

“Hooray for me,” you said.

You really were a brat sometimes. Vox at times wondered if it was because he was too soft on you, and you didn’t realize the amount of actual power he held over you. Either that or you just didn’t care anymore. Whatever. It was all big talk because at the end of the day, you both knew you couldn’t do anything about your situation.

“You already have lots of benefits, which you would retain. Nice apartment, clothes, up to date tech. Besides that, you can come and go regularly, as long as you’re back here within twenty-four from when you last left. You can do whatever you want during that time. You also would be working for me a minimum of forty hours a week, with the occasional granted vacation at my discretion. That’s pretty much it, along with you occasionally being cooperative with my… desires,” he said, “So you’d have plenty of time to yourself. I didn’t put in anything that would force you to do anything too unsavory with me.”

Though he certainly would have liked to be more pushy in that department, he knew going too far could result in the kind of hate fueled relationship Valentino and Angel Dust shared. He honestly didn’t have the energy to have that much drama in his own life. Good night, he could hardly handle the drama that was in his life now. Besides, he was sure you’d come around willingly, even if it took a few centuries.

You glared at him as he finished speaking, as if to say, how generous of you.

From inside his vest, he pulls out the contract and holds it out to you.

“So, we have a deal?” he asked.

You sit up and take the paper, still avoiding his eyes. You seem to be reading it over, though your hold on it is lazy.

“… This still says you can fuck me at least once a week if you want to, or else I’m not allowed to leave the building,” you said, “Did you really think I wasn’t going to notice shit like that?”

He laughed a bit awkwardly.

“I mean, I did say I would like you to be at least a little cooperative,” he said, crossing his legs, “We could wait a little while if you’d like. I mean, you’d still have more freedom than you do now, even with that minuscule restriction. You should know by now that I’m a patient man.”

You stare at it again, forehead wrinkled.

“You know what… I see where you’re coming from,” you said, finally making eye contact, “Tic for tac, eh?”

“That’s a crude way for you to put it,” he said.

You shrug.

“Crude or not, it’s the truth,” you said, a sardonic smirk appearing on your face, “You want me to give a little to get a little.”

Before he could say anything you hold up your hands with more energy than he’s seen you have in days.

“No, no, no! I understand. I’ve been in hell long enough to know how people like you work. I get where you’re coming from, I really do. I’m not stupid! So trust me, I’m being completely serious when I say that I think you should take this lovely contract of yours and shove it up your glowing blue ass!” you ripped it in half on the last word, your smile still present but a nasty look in your eyes.

Vox felt his eye twitch as you continued to smirk at him, tossing the paper at him like you would throw trash across the room. You then lie back down and turn back to the TV, ignoring him again as if the last few minutes hadn’t even happened at all. Though you were attempting to pull your face back into the blank expression of earlier, he could see in your eyes a mixture of emotion, rage, yes, but also a certain smugness. What, did you really think you were tough shit for mouthing off to him like that?

He felt like his head was going to explode. Before he even registered how he was reacting, he had grabbed you by the hair and was pulled you back over.

“Ow! What the hell are you doing, Vox?” you yelled, the smug look gone from your eyes, “You’re hurting me!”

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you? I’m trying to be generous to you because I actually like you, but you know what? I’ve clearly spoiled you rotten already!” he fumed.

He was practically seeing red as he dragged you over, causing you to yelp. You try to kick him, but he only grabs onto your ankle and pulls you closer to him, spinning you around so that you were pressed against the back of the couch, his arms on either side of you. His fingers are still gripping your hair, forcing you to turn your head towards him.

“You know, you’re right, who needs a contract?” he said, “I can do whatever the hell I want with you, and what are you going to do about it?”

Your voice cracked as you attempted to speak, but he didn’t pay any attention to what you were trying to say. He could feel his systems overloading with the amount of rage he was feeling, shouting over you.

“I hope you like the view from up here, because you’re staying here for the rest of your miserable eternal exist. You can work and live here 24/7,” he said, “Anything else we should change in the arrangement? You didn’t like the idea of fucking me once a week? Fine by me. Why not once a day? Twice a day? Every hour? Would you like that better? Huh? Answer me!”

As he finished speaking, he finally heard what you were saying, “-m sorry! I’m sorry, please, stop!

As he heard your pleading, he felt himself being brought back down to earth. While his rage was still present, your begging brought him back to reality, and it was finally registering how upset you were. Hysterical. Terrified. You were sobbing, more afraid of him than he had ever seen you, even on the worst days of your fighting.

“D-d-don’t hurt me. I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry! Please, don’t hurt me!”

He released your hair with a rapid exhale, and you automatically moved your head away from him, arms shielding your face. Shaking, it was sinking in just emotionally distraught you were, as well as the damage he had done to the couch. He hadn’t even noticed he had been digging his claws into the polyester, a row of gnashes beside your head. The situation was completely getting out of control. He pushed himself off of you and turned away. He didn’t even say anything, just left the room and went through the wires to his office. His head was overheating, and he was going to crash at this rate if he didn’t calm down.

Damn it! He hated how out of control you made him feel. It was pathetic. There was only one other person he could think of that made him get near as frustrated as he was feeling with you at the moment. He wasn’t the kind to act out, and here he was acting almost as ridiculous as his business partner did. The only saving grace was that Vox at least tried to keep his infatuation as quiet and private as possible.

It was more than his emotional irregularity though. The fact that he felt this way at all about you was humiliating. Affection, fondness, it was a weakness, and he knew it. Valentino got away with just having simple lust and taking what he wanted, but genuine affection demanded gentleness and tenderness. It was beyond him just not being able to do as he pleased with you, he didn’t want to. He wanted you to come to him willingly. It was the thing holding him back from just hypnotizing you into his arms or using a “love” potion, and now he had probably set any progress towards your affection back significantly.

He rubbed his forehead, which was starting to cool down a little. What was going on up there? He was going to end up doing something rash, something he regretted, if he didn’t get things under control and under control fast. Something needed to be done, but he didn’t know what. Nothing had gone how he had wanted it to. He would need to rethink his approach.

---

You spent a long time shaking on the couch, arms and blanket wrapped around you, crying. You were an idiot. Clearly your brain was turning to mush just sitting around the house all day. Did you actually think you’d be able to get away with speaking like that to an Overlord of Hell?

There had to be a way out of this place. Had to. But the more you thought about it, the more impossible it felt. Even if you did manage to get out of the building in one piece, Vox had this entire city under constant watch. Every corner of Pentagram City was crawling with his tech and media. It would take minutes if not seconds for him to find you and bring you back by force. At this point, maybe you should just sign a contract with the douchebag. Surely, he’d get bored of you eventually, right? Maybe if you got lucky he’d even get killed off one of these days in an extermination, and you’d be off the hook completely.

But how long would that take? Decades? A century or two? What if he never tired of you? Eternal death or not, you didn’t want to spend that much time living and sleeping with some psycho you hated. No. That wasn’t an option. You weren’t going to do that. But what then? You had thought he was going to literally rip your head off just a few minutes ago for telling him no. You were pretty sure things weren’t going to get less volatile around here if you kept rejecting him.

You wiped at your tear soaked face with a tissue and tossed it across the room. It’s light material just sent it floating to the ground though. It looked as pathetic as you felt.

“Damn it,” you cursed, smashing your head into a throw pillow and lying back down, “I hate this fucking place.”

[ancientbygone]

i wish i could post my most recent oc token stuff but it is Sinful (artistic nudity)