#drunk drivel

[shitpostroundhouse]

What is another word for drivel? | Drivel Synonyms - WordHippo Thesaurus

nonsense hogwash

twaddle balderdash

rubbish poppycock

garbage malarkey

baloney claptrap

blather bunk

piffle codswallop

bull rot

tosh bunkum

guff trash

hooey crock

hokum flapdoodle

moonshine bilge

humbug folly

boloney bosh

fiddlesticks applesauce

tommyrot gibberish

horsefeathers blither

crapola foolishness

blarney silliness

senselessness blah

stupidity malarky

slush fudge

hokeypokey jazz

muck nuts

flannel tripe

taradiddle trumpery

drool hoodoo

tarradiddle blatherskite

buncombe fiddle

beans falderal

eyewash cobblers

folderol nerts

punk phooey

wack waffle

[ericsprincess]

open the keys, open the mind

nc-17, Jeong Jaehyun/Reader, Na Jaemin/Reader, Jeong Jaehyun/Na Jaemin, step-sibling incest, Jaehyun and Jaemin are step-brothers, modern au, m/f/m threesome, vaginal sex, oral sex, cunnilingus, 

~~~

Your boyfriend brings you home for the first time. 

~~~

Oh damn, you curse in your head and congratulate yourself on this absolute catch, as your hand sneaks under Jaehyun’s cozy sweater and you discover that he has a set of very chiseled abs that he was until now successfully hiding under his cute hoodies and grandpa sweaters. You can’t resist running up his body with your hand almost up to his chest, savoring the feel of each hard separate muscle, feeling the divots between them and the warmth of his skin. He likes it, likes being touched and sighs into your mouth as you kiss and touch him and the sound of it makes you smile a little. His voice is so nice. He, in his entirety, is just so nice.  

You have him pressed against the door of his apartment, kissing him desperately with one hand on his neck, pulling him down, closer to you, and the other one wherever you can reach, while he is trying to blindly put the key into the keyhole to let you both in. He’s not even close to his target, just barely poking the door with each failed attempt, but neither of you pays much attention to it, despite the urgency you’re making out with - you both want more, both want to quickly get into the apartment, into Jaehyun’s bed where you can finally tear the clothes off each other, but neither is yet willing to take even a quick pause to unstick from the other to get an actual move on this. 

But the desperation is real though - you and Jaehyun have been dating casually for three months and just last week you have mutually decided that you like each other enough to make it official. And it made you really happy. Everything with Jaehyun is just so comfortable and easy. So much, it even feels too easy at times. At first you weren’t sure about it, you were afraid he would turn out to be a pushover, or worse, an indecisive manchild that will expect you to do all the work in the relationship, but he’s far from that. His assertiveness is quiet, his boundaries are firm and his opinions are always there, even if he doesn’t always feel like expressing them. So for the most part, he’s happy to let you decide about everything you want, simply taking pleasure in watching you getting your way, but ever so often he likes to surprise you with something of his own initiative - whether a date idea or an unexpected, very thoughtful gift, clearly remembering all of the drivel you’ve been flooding him with. Not only that, but despite him not being that much of a talker (unlike yourself), you always manage to find out something interesting about him. You’re always looking forward to getting to know every little random fact about him.  Which means you’ve been complementing each other very well so far - he’s not stifling your spirit, rather enhancing it. He makes your days brighter. And you hope that it’s mutual. 

So today, after your first real date as a couple, there is an event you’ve been both carefully skirting about and silently anticipating with somewhat unspoken agreement - it’s going to be the first time you’re going to have sex. Well, not technically, since, to your endless shame, your first meeting was a random (very) drunk hook up in a dirty club bathroom, where you let Jaehyun fingerbang you until you saw stars, while he was humping your thigh like a horny dog and cumming in his pants. You don’t remember much else from that evening, just that you somehow managed to exchange numbers and then the morning after you woke up with the worst hangover in your life and one unread message - “hey, it’s jaehyun. do you remember last night?”

At first you felt too embarrassed to reply, but hey - it’s not like he wasn't there with you, doing all those things together. So you replied and a day later you found yourself sitting in a cafe with a very handsome man whose oddly preppy clothes and calm demeanor would never hint on the fact that he would hook up with someone in a club bathroom. Or that he would even go to a club in the first place. But he was cute and funny and you were sold on him from the beginning. And when you blushingly suggested that if anyone asks, you should just say you met on Tinder (“like normal losers”), he laughed with his deep warm voice and when he nodded with a smile that had his dimples showing, you felt it in your heart. 

Which brings you here - into the poorly lit hallway in front of Jaehyun’s apartment when he’s finally managed to open the front door. You stumble inside together, laughing as Jaehyun is hastily trying to take the key out and close the door at the same time, but when you turn towards the living room, you both stop in your tracks at the unexpected sight. 

There on the sofa in front of the TV lies a young man, lazily splayed, with one hand in a bag of chips and the other scratching his belly. He looks up from the sofa as you interrupt, but his face shows only indifference. And he’s very handsome - with bleached blonde, almost platinum hair and a beautiful, doll-like face with big eyes. He seems to be younger than Jaehyun (a student, maybe?), dressed in just a t-shirt and sweatpants and looks like he’s at home, which is strange, since as far as you know, Jaehyun is supposed to live alone. 

“Hi,” the stranger greets, with a surprisingly deep-voiced drawl that does not match his pretty face at all. He smiles a second later, as if he’s suddenly remembered he’s supposed to do so, but it’s not a sincere or a warm smile, rather an oddly predatory one, full of teeth. It makes you almost nervous, despite nothing about him being outwardly hostile, not by a long shot. 

“Oh..hi?” you answer. “Who is that?” you whisper to Jaehyun, confused. You didn’t expect a visitor putting a damper on your plans. 

“I don’t know him,” mumbles Jaehyun, while scratching his nose. 

“I’m his brother,” drawls the man from the sofa, not bothering to get up to properly introduce himself. He does put away the bag of chips though and brushes off the crumbs off his t-shirt.  

“Stepbrother.”

“Same difference,” replies the stranger. 

An awkward silence falls onto the room. Nobody is saying anything. Jaehyun seems fully focused on an imaginary spot on the carpet and you don’t feel like it’s your place to speak up, since you’re the guest here. So you’re just kind of standing awkwardly, not entirely sure how the atmosphere suddenly got so tense. Why is it so tense even? you think. It’s just a brother. You don’t understand why Jaehyun is suddenly acting almost like a child caught stealing cookies. 

There should not be a reason for Jaehyun to be so awkward at the situation of his brother meeting his girlfriend. Ironically, the stranger on the sofa does not seem awkward at all. In fact, it’s almost as if he’s enjoying the weird atmosphere.  

He’s looking at the two of you with interrogative eyes and you know he’s already put two and two together. His older brother, Jaehyun, brought home a woman and the purpose of the visit is clear as a day, from the way you stumbled into the apartment, the way how your clothes are already a bit messed up and your lips are red from kissing. 

"Can I watch? There is nothing on TV right now," he asks suddenly, not bothering with any pretense. His unwavering smile is unsettling and you feel as if his eyes could see right through you and straight up read all your thoughts.  

“Just ignore him,” says Jaehyun, suddenly awakened from his thoughts, but looking very tired and grabbing you by your hand and pulling you along as he’s heading out of the living room. “Don’t bother us Jaemin, I mean it.” he throws over his shoulder, not waiting for Jaemin’s reply.

He pulls you into his (nice, tidy and clean, as you quickly take a notice) bedroom and closes the door behind you. He sighs and rubs his hand over his face. 

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t expect him to be here,” he apologizes. 

“Does he not live with you? He looked all cozy there,” you ask, confused. 

“No, thank god. He has summer vacations and knows how to pick a lock. He comes and goes whenever he likes and usually it’s not a problem. I guess I did not think about the possibility that he decides that today he likes my sofa more than our parents’ one,” he shakes his head. “Sorry for the surprise. We can postpone the…” Jaehyun vaguely waves his hand, still not quite able to put it into words “if you are not in the mood anymore. I can either drive you home or we can just chill,” he suggests. 

“Are you crazy? Our...plans…are still on,” you step closer to him, pulling him into your arms and kissing him softly. “There is nothing that could ruin the mood for me, not with how much I’ve been wanting you ever since the first time, you know?” you laugh into the kiss and he gently squeezes your waist, agreeing. You’re glad he’s also not being deterred by the unexpected company. “I’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” you admit. 

And you will not say it out loud but…the thought of Jaehyun’s hot baby brother possibly overhearing you two having sex sounds more appealing than it should.  

From then on it’s almost a whirlwind, Jaehyun quickly tears all the clothes off you and pushes you on the bed, letting you softly fall on your back. He takes off his shirt, but is way too impatient to deal with his trousers. His shirt hasn’t even landed on the floor and he’s already kneeling in front of the bed, spreading your legs and diving face first. 

He’s eating your pussy with laser focus, as if it were the only thing that mattered at that moment. And he’s clearly not new to this, he knows how to start slowly, how to entice and make you want more. It doesn’t seem like he will need any kind of guidance whatsoever, so you just lie down and enjoy the warm and wet feeling and the stimulation of his tongue and lips on you. 

But then, a few minutes into this, when you’re already warmed up enough and you can feel the arousal building, the bedroom door behind Jaehyun slowly and silently opens, revealing Jaemin, standing in the doorway. He doesn’t announce himself and makes no sound - just leans his shoulder on the doorway and watches. 

You gasp from the surprise, but you realize quickly you don’t want Jaehyun to find out, not yet. So you distract from your mistake by grabbing a fistful of his black hair, pushing you more into your pussy. And he likes that, he enjoys the pain of his hair being pulled, you can tell from a muffled moan he lets out and the way he squeezes your thighs, holding you firm and close to his face. 

A minute passes, with Jaehyun dutifully eating you out like a last meal, not knowing that you’re squirming so much not only because of his tongue getting you close to your orgasm, but also because of the way Jaemin is staring at you. Intense, contemplating, prying cold eyes cataloguing every reaction you make whenever Jaehyun changes the tempo or flickers his tongue just right. 

“Is he good?” asks Jaemin casually, as if he couldn't tell from the obvious way you’re enjoying yourself.

You can feel Jaehyun tense for a second, but he doesn’t stop doing what he’s doing. His eyes open and flicker up to take a quick look at you though. He doesn't need to check for your comfort, you’re not in distress, rather the opposite. The combination of Jaehyun’s skill, the unashamed voyeur and the fact that Jaehyun won’t stop despite knowing he’s being watched by his brother is so powerful, that you are coming almost immediately, holding on to Jaehyun’s head for dear life as you’re twisting in pleasure, that’s so strong you don’t even remember the last time you came like that. 

With Jaehyun’s help you slowly come down, and when your orgasm is finally done, you let his hair go. He straightens up, sitting on his heels in front of the bed. His hair is a mess, he’s blushing red up to his chest, sweaty, with his face wet and glistening from your juices. He’s still catching his breath. 

Jaemin moves from the doorway and sits on the bed right next to you. He looks at kneeling Jaehyun who looks up back at him. 

“Can I have a taste?” he whispers and leans forward, as if he were about to kiss him. Jaehyun flinches at the last moment, but he realizes he’s being fooled when Jaemin only licks him up the cheek playfully. “Tasty.” he winks back at you, smiling his shark smile again. 

Jaehyun looks at him questioningly, with one eyebrow raised. 

“There is still nothing on TV,” Jaemin shrugs, as if the explanation should have been obvious. 

Jaehyun stares at him, contemplating, and then at you. You can see the imaginary wheels spinning in his head, trying to sense out whether you’re ok with his brother being here. Whether he’s ok with his brother being here. 

“Y/N, what do you think?” he turns to you. Oh. He’s in.

You take a second to pretend you’re actually thinking, even though there is absolutely no need to. 

“What do I think? I think you should go kiss your brother,” you smile smugly, almost vibrating with anticipation of Jaehyun’s reaction.  

“Stepbrother,” he whispers, grabbing Jaemin roughly by his jaw and kissing him, pushing his tongue into Jaemin’s mouth immediately. It’s not like any of the kisses he’s ever shared with you. It’s a lot more aggressive, and you can see how Jaemin melts into it, immediately submitting to Jaehyun’s silent power. You realize you’re similar in this - both full of talk and attitude, but ultimately giving in to the stronger one. Maybe that’s why Jaehyun likes you. 

They kiss for a while for your enjoyment, Jaehyun keeping Jaemin firmly under his lead, but eventually letting the kiss become more gentle, almost sweet. It ends with a few cute sweet pecks that Jaehyun gives Jaemin, whose eyes are closed. He’s smiling a little. 

“I’ve been thinking about this for years,” Jaemin whispers, almost soundlessly, as they finally separate from each other, and you would laugh at the shared sentiment, except you find that you don’t really want to ruin the moment, But you really get it. It hasn’t been that long for you as for Jaemin, but it doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. 

Jaehyun reaches back to his jean pocket and takes out a little foil square. He hands the condom to Jaemin.

“Be good,” he says. It sounds both like a permission and a warning. 

Jaemin strips himself in a flash, revealing a bit of his impatience and youthful enthusiasm in an adorable way. One second he’s sitting clothed on a bed, the next he’s naked, settling between your legs while ripping the condom wrapper with his teeth. His body is beautiful. He’s a bit shorter than Jaehyun and he has less muscle too, but he’s not behind in beauty. Just different, younger, not yet having caught up to his older brother. They pose a nice contrast next to each other - gloomy-looking Jaehyun with his black hair and pale skin, the epitome of Snow White beauty, while Jaemin’s skin is golden, hair almost white and his smile is blinding. Handsome pair of brothers, even if not alike at all. 

“How does she usually like it?” Jaemin asks Jaehyun as he’s rolling the condom on. “Missionary? From behind?” 

But Jaehyun doesn’t answer, instead he looks at you, prompting you to answer by yourself. And of course, Jaemin is quick to catch on that, before you have the chance to reply. 

“Oh. You don’t know? Was this supposed to be the first time? And you let me have her before you do?” he scoffs. “Well, aren’t you the perfect boyfriend?” he grins at his brother. 

Jaehyun just nods in pretend solemnity. 

“Of course I am. And I take care of what’s mine. There will be many other times,” he replies.  

“Then missionary will be perfect,” decides Jaemin. “I want her to see me well. First time with a new boyfriend should be memorable.”

He doesn’t waste more time and pushes in. You’re still so wet and relaxed from your first orgasm that there is no resistance or discomfort at all. And you have already started to get aroused just from watching them kiss. 

Jaemin feels good, you barely had time to take a glimpse at his cock, but it feels adequate, filling you well and reaching all the right places. His tempo is fast from the start, no doubt thanks to him being too pent up already, but you can’t complain as he’s not being rough with you at all. Not only he fucks you well but also the sight from under him is stunning, as his skin breaks into sweat and glistens, his abs and biceps straining to hold him up. You bring your hands up to grope at his pecs, pull and pinch at his nipples to spur him more, to make him lose his mind. He’s trying to hold his moans back, but every sound he’s not able to contain sounds like music to your ears. 

In between being fucked very thoroughly and a sight for gods thats being provided to you, a crackling sound of metal zipper brings your attention back to your boyfriend. Jaehyun unzips his jeans and kicks them off together with his underwear, revealing his hard cock, big and pale with flushed red tip. He’s been hard for so long his precum is dripping in slow sticky drops on the floor. You can’t take your eyes off it and you have a hunch you’re not the only one. 

Jaehyun steps closer to the bed next to your head and you don’t wait to be asked. You open your mouth and let him feed you his cock, while you take one hand off Jaemin’s tits and put it on Jaehyun’s cock to suck him better. You savor the taste of his precome, licking it off the tip, letting it drip into your mouth. 

It feels like a bliss, being both used and serviced by two hot men, worse, brothers. You’re barely thinking as you’re just enjoying the taste and the presence of your boyfriend’s cock in your mouth and the cock of his brother in your pussy, getting you close to an orgasm. 

Your eyes are closed, but as you sense a movement next to your face you blink them opened. Jaemin is leaning forward, his face close to yours and he looks like he would be about to kiss you, were your mouth not full of Jaehyun’s cock. But you know what he’s after. You pull Jaehyun’s cock out of your mouth and offer it to him, letting him lick and suck it along, together with you. 

You glimpse up at Jaehyun, who’s been watching all of this unfold, as he immediately, reflexively grabs Jaemin’s hair and you see he looks conflicted whether he should pull him off or push him down to suck his dick more thoroughly. But he notices your eyes and you wink at him playfully and that’s what does it. He pushes Jaemin closer. 

Jaehyun, having made up his mind, is now unashamedly moaning, as he’s watching his girlfriend and brother suck his cock together, occasionally sharing a little kiss, tongues touching over him. He’s been close for such a long time and he has barely the mental presence to warn you before he’s cumming all over your face, Jaemin catching some of it in his mouth too. Jaehyun slowly pulls away, squeezing out the last drop into your open mouth and then Jaemin is kissing you full on, spitting Jaehyun’s cum into your mouth too and then licking it all back, all of that while he’s fucking into you, frenzied and wanting nothing else, just to finally cum. You embrace him with both of your hands, one sliding down to squeeze his ass to push it deeper into you and then you’re both coming at once. You feel him twitch inside you as he’s pumping the cum along with your pussy spasming and it feels like double the orgasm for you, and at that moment you’re truly like a one body.

~~~

You’re just about to fall asleep. The bed is so soft and comfortable and you have an armful of a young blond man already fast asleep, with head right on your boobs, the rest of his body wrapped around you tightly like an octopus. Jaemin seems to have taken a liking to you in a matter of hours and has no reservation about showing it. He already planned somewhere where he wants to take you for dinner, while you were idly chatting while waiting for Jaehyun. He refused to tell you where and he didn’t call it a date per se, but…The glint in his eyes was telling enough. 

The bed dips a little on your other side as Jaehyun comes back from his shower, smelling all nice and clean and lies down next to you. He reaches over to kiss Jaemin’s forehead and pet his hair gently, then he gives you a sweet good night kiss and turns off the light. 

And then you sleep. 

~~~

a/n: a wise woman once said “you can’t spell incest without nct”. 

[sterekcollabang]

Paw's Rewind

Writer: @definitively-different-drivel

Artist: @lalaithquetzallicaresi

Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Claudia Stilinski/Sheriff Stilinski Characters: Derek Hale, Peter Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Claudia Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski (Teen Wolf), Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Camden Lahey, Jackson Whittemore, Lydia Martin, Danny Māhealani Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical underage drinking twice, Good Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Everyone Is Alive, Time travel fix most of it, Minor Scott/Allison/Isaac, Minor Jackson/Lydia/Danny with Jackson in middle Summary:

A gangly kid sat, unnaturally still, save for solemn hazel eyes that tracked the pair of kids playing on the swings. He'd fill out later. He knew this. He didn't know why he did, just that it was an immutable fact, like the fact that Laura was the next alpha, or the fact that sometimes, he missed the scents of strangers so deeply it hurt, or the way he dreamed of horrible things that he knew in his heart would never come to pass. Scott pulled Mischief to stillness with a whisper. "It's that weird kid again. Should we call your dad?" A young Derek finds himself with strange memories and symptoms, estranging him from his family of birth, everyone except, of all people, Peter. Claudia Gajos takes note. Between the Stilinskis and Peter, things get rough a few times over but everything ends up ok in the end. Note: Three parts split into 5k chapters. Chapter 1: Derek is 10, Stiles is 7 Chapter 2-3: Derek is 13, Stiles is 10 Chapters 4-6: Derek is 21, Stiles is freshly 18 Mature for language, older teenagers getting drunk, and references to sex/sexual acts; nothing explicit on screen.

[Read Here]

[hunnie--bunnie]

𝗺𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗿 ❥ 𝗹𝗲𝗼𝗻

𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗹𝘂𝗱𝗲𝘀 ❥ alpha!leon, omega!f!reader, butt-plug, mentions of knotting, pussy-drunk, praise, mentions of breeding/pregnancy, manahandling, light size kink, hint of overstimulation, squirting, daddy/mama because Leon trying to make you his baby mama 😮‍💨😤

𝘀𝘂𝗴𝗮𝗿’𝘀 𝗿𝗮𝗺𝗯𝗹𝗲𝘀 ❥ i can’t stop thinking about this beautiful man, so I’m going to indulge myself because why not

Shallowing thrusting just butt-plug’s tip smearing lube inside of your tight asshole. While telling you, “My cock is throbbing watching you stretch to fit the toy. Do you think you can fit it all for me?” While pumping two long fingers past your soft wet lips.

You're so full from just two fingers. The thickness of both of Leon's fingers stretches your pussy into an oval shape. While your pussy squelches as his palm rubs your wet lips.

Leon strokes your clit with his thumb, which is rough against your sensitive, soft clit. Curling your toes, trembling, and pushing your hips back. Your mouth falls open with a loud moan, “Yes sir, ngg fuck my ass loose so it can fit fat daddy cock.” Leon rubs small tight circles into your sweet spot.

Trembling from the rapidly building sweet tingling pressure between your legs. Leon's raspy groan, right before prompting you to beg, "You want to fit my fat daddy cock in both your beautiful sopping little holes?" Lightly biting your cheek, dragging his sharp fangs leaving thin scratches.

Sinking his teeth in while pleasure-drunken drivel slips past your lips, "Give me every veiny inch, and let me feel the pulse in your cock as you cum. Please Leon I need to make you a daddy! Fill both my holes and let me feel your thick knot struggling to slip out with each thrust!" Chased by a mix of whines and moans.

Leon pulls away to watch your other hole stretch wider to take half of the cone-shaped butt plug. "Need to? You need to have your tight, beautiful pussy bred by your daddy?” Quickly the pace of his fingers.

There is a pleasurable mixture of his fingers rubbing your squishy pussy, and the roughness of Leon's fingertips stroking your sweet spot puts you in a lust-filled haze. As a fire erupts within you, Leon points out,

“You need my cum that badly you’re going into heat for it?” Before you can answer Leon confesses with a needy, aggressive grunt of, “I fucking love how you smell!" Burying his nose between your lips. Licking your hole clenching around his fingers.

Gushing on Leon's fingers which he slips out pushing his tongue past. While pushing the plug to its jeweled hilt inside your other hole. Pumping his warm tongue inside you, groaning. His sexy rough groans into your pussy sending sweet vibrations into your sensitive pussy.

Pulling your hips away as Leon grabs your hips. With ease, Leon flips you onto your back and pins you in a mating press. Pressing his thick cock to your soft pussy, pumping his hips. While Leon rambles,

"Does it make your pussy flutter when I manhandle you and throw you around?" Leon’s sweet musky scent of sandalwood and patchouli and his blown wide pupils indicating his rut. And without a second thought your exposing your neck for Leon to mark.

Leon's kissable, soft lips spread into a love-sick smile as he confesses, “You’re so damn intoxicating sexy mama my knot is swelling without being inside you.” There is a wet sound as your lips part with each swipe of Leon's cock head. But it's the part when his swelling knot drags along your burning pussy that drives you wild.

❥ m.list

[max1461]

Thought for a moment in the 2010s that we were entering a new serious era (e.g. 1920s, 30s, 40s), but it seems that we're instead in an increasingly tacky era (50s, 60s, 70s). Like look at the change in YouTube. Well you all are textheads you don't do video, I know that. But like. In 2017 there was ContraPoints. Agree or disagree with her opinions, what she was doing was conceptually and aesthetically serious. Even her early, low-production-value stuff. She was talking about incels and other internet shit, but the internet is part of the real world, that's fine. In fact that's what gave me hope for another serious era, people were finally talking about internet stuff the way 1920s German intellectuals or whatever talked about the cultural trends of their day. Maybe because Contra has half a philosophy PhD and was explicitly influenced by those German intellectuals.

Another example from a totally disjoint cultural niche was Digi a.k.a. Trixie a.k.a. Ygg Studios or whatever they go by now. Drunk, smelly, and unkempt—yes. Or at least so went the persona. Talking seriously about anime—also yes. When they claimed they were the only good anime reviewer on the internet it made a lot of people mad. But they were right!

There were thinkers, we had thinkers. My generation, or roughly my generation, had thinkers. To be clear, when I include Contra here I'm not including all of her ilk, I'm not including the leftist-theory-regurgitators and so on. But Contra herself was a thinker! Digi was a thinker! We had thinkers.

But that era is over now, on YouTube at least. I go on there and it's all algorithmic drivel. I look for anime content and as I've explained it's all about #hype and #epic and how the new season of whatever #hits different and other empty meaningless bullshit. No analysis, no thought, fundementally unserious bullshit. Tacky! It's tacky! The the YouTube thumbnail O-face is fucking 70s-ass fake wood paneling tacky bullshit!

MrBeast. I've never seen a MrBeast video but I hate him for what he represents. I used to watch this channel called Wranglerstar, he made videos about different types of axes and forest fire fighting equipment and various other stuff. "Modern homesteading" I believe was the tagline. And it was always evident that he was a far-right guy but who gives a shit, his videos where good. Serious videos about interesting topics, that a fucking normal guy might watch. Well around 2020 he basically started flooding his channel with covid conspiracy bullshit and "the Chinese are going to attack us any day!" bullshit and other unserious crap. And I had to stop watching. How could I find any of that compelling? It's vapid nonsense.

And I don't know if it's a shift in the algorithm or people becoming more savvy to the algorithm or what, but all of YouTube is like this now. Vapid clickbait empty meaningless bullshit for another tacky commercialized bullshit era.

And you know, I felt like it might just be localized to YouTube for a while, but I started to look around, and it just feels like everything is like this. Backsliding to the tacky times. God I hate tackiness. I hate unseriousness. I'm having a little meltdown. At least SMW kaizo hacks are having a renaissance. People are doing serious shit in that space, serious shit that is also not anachronistic, you know, it's kept up with the modern world. It addresses modern concerns (fun to play hard Mario). But it's serious. People are serious. One of the few serious things happening in my orbit.

Even in science it feels like people aren't serious anymore. You know, standard Sabine Hossenfelder complaint about particle physics. But I don't really know enough about that to say. Get the vibe that biology is still serious these days.

To be clear, everything I'm saying here is pure vibes. I'm just saying shit. I'm just saying shit that I feel. But I'll be deeply disappointed if I have to live my youth in another tacky era, god damn it. Even the 80s seem like they were better than this.

[jomiddlemarch]

For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought

“You’ll be late for practice, Blythe,” Charlie said, once again using Gil’s surname as if they hadn’t known each other since their mothers had had them in lace-trimmed dresses. Gilbert scowled, partly at Charlie’s attempt at bluff heartiness, but mostly at the lines in front of him, which wouldn’t scan. Or rhyme. Or behave in any way as a sonnet should, which Gilbert, who genuinely enjoyed reading Spenser and Donne as much as attending biology lecture, knew well enough.

As Anne would know even better.

Queen Anne, his own Faerie Queene, with her glorious bright hair and her shining eyes, her delicate eyebrows drawn across her fair skin like chalk—

Like chalk. It was drivel. Worse than drivel—senseless and thumping and everything Anne was not. He slashed through the words instead of crumpling up the paper and throwing it aside. He’d wasted too much already, his mother would frown most decidedly and then snort if he admitted what he’d been doing, reminding him the stable could use a good mucking out if he wanted much to do with manure.

Charlie was likely to snort as well, unless he was still doing the Redmond act he’d whipped up after the first fortnight away from Avonlea, right around the time he started growing a mustache and using slang with an affected nonchalance.

The mustache was more convincing.

“We have a little time left,” Gilbert said. Perhaps the answer was to drop the reference to her eyebrows. Nothing rhymed with eyebrows, unless he picked the singular and then used “highbrow,” but Anne would laugh and then offer to never speak of the sonnet to anyone, not even Diana, whom Gilbert was fairly certain would give him credit simply for attempting to write a poem for Anne, rather than the actual product.

Your eyes my North Star, he wrote, then lifted the pen. There was something there, but how her two eyes equaled one North Star was an offense to astronomy as well as being markedly short on iambs and dactyls. 

At the very least, his growing frustration might be useful on the practice field, where the coach often complained Blythe was too careful of his fellows and wouldn’t be prepared when it came time to challenge an opposing team. Charlie leaned in, peered over and managed to read a little before Gil pulled the page back.

“You don’t forget mine own wingéd creature nearly brained you for pointing out she was a redhead,” Charlie remarked.

“She still is,” Gilbert said. “And she didn’t nearly brain me. I had a worse goose-egg from that time Moody chucked a ball at me after Sunday School—”

“She did break her slate,” Charlie said. “Anne of the wings and the whatchamacallit, gleaming albatross—”

“Alabaster, you dunderhead!”

“She had quite an arm on her, we all thought she’d take your head off,” Charlie said. 

“I know. I was there. I still liked her then and I do now,” Gil replied, letting his exasperation with his lack of poetic ability find a release in sniping at Charlie Sloane. Anyone in Avonlea would have understood the satisfaction therein, except maybe for Josie Pye at her Pye-est, as Anne would say. 

“Come on, leave it, go to practice with me and then to the pub,” Charlie said. “Your chicken-scratch epic on Anne Shirley’s orange symphony of tresses will be waiting and maybe you’ll have a better idea. In vino veritas, they say.”

“I’d have to be drunk to keep writing this,” Gilbert said.

“That’s the spirit, Blythe! Come to practice, get pleasantly addled with me, and then see what poetic flight of fancy a pint of ale makes possible.”

Years later, some golden afternoon at Ingleside when the children were all running about in Rainbow Valley and Anne was left to her own devices and a garden that required no deadheading, Gilbert returned home to find her at his desk in the library, squinting as she leafed through a collection of yellowing pages; she had finally embarked upon her long-awaited plan to organize their college memorabilia, which he knew was a polite way of saying clearing out some more space for the latest shipment of books Paul Irving was sending up from New York.

“Does this say ‘albatross,’ Gil?” she asked, her amusement only lightly mixed with the confusion engendered by his poor handwriting. She often said he could have no other career than medicine, given the hand he wrote and the physician’s reputation.

“Alabaster,” he said. “I was a poor enough poet, but I would never have compared you to an albatross.”

“It might have been an allusion to Coleridge,” she said.

“It wasn’t,” Gil replied.

“You poor dear darling man. Boy really, this was our first year at Redmond, yes?” she said, those grey eyes of hers bright, still his North Star though he’d never resolved the quantity issue to his satisfaction.

“Yes. But before you console me too generously, I’ll have you know someone else also thought it read albatross,” he said.

“Who?” she said, a puckish smile on her lips, one that would make Susan Baker shake her head at Mrs. Doctor’s incomprehensible ways and then serve even larger slices of her strawberry rhubarb pie to set the world straight.

“Charlie Sloane,” Gilbert said.

Anne burst out laughing and Gilbert joined her. When they’d both caught their breath, she spoke first.

“That’s me put in my place.”

“Not quite,” Gil replied. “You’re too far away—”

“Shall I fly to you then? For I am a wingéd creature,” she replied.

“You’re a belle dame sans mercy and well you know it, Anne-girl,” he said.

“I can be merciful,” she said. “I’ll show you. I’ll pack all these poetical endeavors away and I won’t show the children until we’re very old and very grey.”

@gilbertsmustache see what thou hast wrought! Or, be careful what you prompt for :)

[ladyantiheroine]

You Taste Like Stars

Summary: Natasha sneaks Steve off during a New Years Eve party at Avengers Tower.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff

Requested by @exhausted-electron

Tags: Pegging, femdom, cunnilingus, lingerie, oral sex (fem receiving), Steve being a himbo.

Author's Note: I'm not actually a big Marvel fan, I wrote this for a friend. If I get some stuff wrong, please don't be mean to me, Marvel fans.

————————————————————————— Natasha had been eyeing the clock on the wall for what felt like hours. She wasn’t sure how long one had to stay at a party before it was no longer considered rude to lead. The tall champagne glass in her hand was down to a few drops and in the time it took her to finish it, she hadn’t gotten less bored.

From the windows atop Avengers Tower, she could get a beautiful view of the city below. Billions of glittering, golden lights that made you feel like a god looking down on the heavens. No doubt the kind of feeling that a guy like Tony was going for.

Tony was hosting the event, a New Year's Eve charity gala featuring the city’s elite at the very top floor of the former Stark Tower. He’d invited the whole crew over and Natasha felt obligated to go, even though hanging out with a bunch of rich assholes wasn’t her idea of a fun evening.

Hence, she found herself on a Saturday, standing on the edges of a party of formerly dressed socialites laughing over overpriced booze. She turned her back to the main room and stared out into the cityscape. Her reflection in the window stared back at her. Her red hair was neatly curled at her shoulder, and a new dress for the event. Long black velvet, off-shoulder with a slit up the skirt, and pearl necklace and earring to top it off.

Empty glass in hand, she turned and her gaze trailed across the room. Tony was in the center of the room, life of the party as always, spreading his arms wide as he explained to some investors about some of Stark’s newest projects. His audience of rich pricks stood in rapt attention.

As for the others…Thor was pounding back drinks at the refreshments table while the server licked her eyes up and down his body.  Bruce was already drunk and stumbling around and Clint was holding him up. Nick Fury was in the corner, speaking to three men in black suits who were clearly uninterested in champagne or chatting or watching Tony listen to the sound of his own voice.

And then, there was Steve.

Steve was standing with an unzipped glass of champagne in hand in front of two women who were clearly chatting him up. At least, clearly to Natasha. The two women stood close to Steve, asking him questions and touching him in small ways that were just subtle enough to be socially proper but communicated something flirtatious. They were smiling and giggling at Steve’s lackluster jokes.

Steve, of course, was oblivious. As far as his words and body language suggested, these two girls were just very friendly and very interested in his new tux. Natasha had been watching him on and off all evening. A part of her was amused by it. Poor Captain had no idea those girls were flirting with him because he was too sweet to think that such nice girls could have ulterior motives. But there was another part of her, one that curled darkly in her stomach, that she couldn’t quite explain or suppress with alcohol.

Finally, the two girls got tired of Steve’s unresponsiveness to their flirting tactics and they turned their attention to the circle surrounding Tony. Steve was left alone, looking slightly confused. Then, he turned and saw Natasha staring at him.

Natasha’s breath hitched and she averted her gaze. Steve sauntered over to him, a friendly smile on his handsome face.

“Never pegged you as the wallflower type, Miss Romanoff,” he said.

Natasha smirked and rolled her eyes.

“Not much else to do while Tony commands the room,” she said.

“Yeah, the guy’s not a sharer, is he?”

Steve stood by Natasha and crossed his arms as he watched Tony dazzle the crowd with more drivel about tech and numbers. Natasha pretended to watch but flicked her eyes over to Steve. She had to admit, he cleaned up nice. His blonde hair was neatly combed back and he was dressed in an impeccable black tuxedo. 

“Think someone should remind Tony this is a charity benefit?” Steve asked. “And therefore, not everything is about him?”

“Sure,” Natasha said. “And then we can explain calculus to a fifth-grader.”

Steve chuckled, a pleasantly deep sound in his throat.

“He’s the only one of his us having any fun,” Natasha continued. “Well, except you at least.” She paused for a second before that feeling curled in her stomach again. “I saw those two girls talking to you.”

“Nancy and Barbara?” Steve said. “Oh yeah, they’re super nice. Nancy’s dad is one of Stark’s investors and Barbara is a sorority friend of hers.” Steve pulled at his sleeves. “They kept asking me about my new suit and where I bought it. They must be fashionistas or something because they kept touching my blazer. Tony got me this for tonight, so I told them I had no idea who the designer was.”

Oh, sweetheart, Natasha thought.

“Did they ask anything else from you?” she asked. “Like for your phone number?”

Steve gave Natasha a funny look.

“Why would they need my number?” he asked. He chuckled. “I mean, I’m not sure what a sorority house would want from me.”

Natasha stared at Steve for a full minute. Steve Rogers was never the…brightest member of the team. Maybe he was always like this, maybe it was that experiment back in the forties that took a few of his brain cells. Regardless, Natasha looked at that man in his puppy-dog blue eyes and was suddenly hit with the urge to kiss him.

“Nat?” he said. “You okay?”

Natasha realized she was staring and shook her head.

“Sorry,” she said. “Champagne.”

“I can take the glass for you,” Steve said. “I don’t like drinking much. Makes me feel dizzy.”

Natasha let Steve take the tall glass from her hand and take it to the refreshments table. The server took the glasses from him. Thor saw Steve’s untouched glass, plucked it from the server’s glass, and slammed the whole thing back.

Natasha watched Steve the whole time. Her face was hot and her lips still buzzed since that image of kissing him crossed her mind. Her eyes lingered on him as he stood with his back to her. Those broad shoulders fitted under the black coat, those muscle round under the sleeves, those pants fitting very well over his nicely shaped ass.

She always knew that Steve Rogers was attractive. Anyone with a working vision could see that. The man was a blonde, All-American Ken doll with the strength of a G.I. Joe. He was all sparkling white smiles and kind blue eyes and sweet as apple pie. To someone used to being cold and hardened like Natasha, he was like a warm sunbeam on a winter day.

And she felt hot just looking at him.

Steve returned to Natasha and as soon as he was standing close to her Natasha’s lips began to buzz again. She kept staring at his mouth while Steve, oblivious, kept talking.

“That poor waitress,” Steve said. “Thor is giving her hell over there. I guess that don’t have champagne in Asgard.” He chuckled. “Maybe he’s trying to see how much he can take until the bell drops.”

The bell drop. Natasha had completely forgotten about that. When the clock struck midnight, couples all over the world would be locking lips to welcome in the new year. The image in her head did nothing.

“Alright, everyone!” Tony called. “One minute until midnight, get your glasses ready!”

Everyone in the room moved to the wall with a giant gold clock on the wall. Even Thor paused his chugging to follow everyone. Bruce, Clint, and even Nick all joined the crowd for the New Year's countdown.

Steve took Natasha's arm and urged her towards the clock.

“C’mon, Nat!” he said. “Midnight time.”

Natasha followed Steve and the two of them stood at the back of the crowd. The bronze hands of the clock ticked towards midnight. The servers popped more bottles of champagne the the room filled with foamy fizz.

Ten seconds. The crowd began to count.

“Ten! Nine! Eight!”

Natasha flicked her eyes over to Steve. His smile was beaming and he chanted with the rest of the crowd.

“Seven! Six! Five!”

Her face flushed red and she bit down on her lips. She couldn’t. They were teammates. This could fuck up their friendship. This could be a point of no return.

“Four! Three! Two!”

But it was her only chance, and she was so done resiting.

“ONE!”

A burst of sound filled the world. The crowd cheered, more bottles popped, fireworks illuminated the sky outside the windows. And Natasha took Steve’s face in her hand and pulled his mouth to hers.

Steve made a startled, muffled sound as Natasha suddenly pressed her lips to his. His heart ricochet in his ribcage. Natasha’s mouth still tasted like champagne, cold and sparkling like a mouthful of stars. His eyes fluttered shut and he sunk into the kiss.

Time seemed to melt away into golden candle wax. The cheers, the fireworks, the popping bottle, and the sizzling champagne pour turned to a distant buzz. When their lips came apart, Steven and Natasha stared at each other. Steve was hot in the face and breathless. Natasha felt electric and her heart raced in her chest.

“Nat…” Steve said. “I…”

Natasha couldn’t stand it anymore. Fuck it.

She grabbed Steve by his tie and dragged him away from the crowd of attendees. There was a door in the far corner that led to a staff closet. Natasha pulled Steve inside and shut the door before anyone could see them.

“Natasha,” Steve said. “What’re you—”

Natasha shut him up by pressing her lips to his again. Steve immediately melted into her touch and let her push him up against the opposite wall. Her leg slipped through the slit in her dress and pinned between his legs on the door. Some valve had opened inside her and now every intimate thought Natasha ever had about Steve came out through her hands and mouth. Her hands groped him all over, tracing his muscular body under the fabric of his suit.

Natasha kissed Steve from his mouth down his jaw and along his muscular neck. Steve tipped his head back and released a shuddered sigh.

“Fuck…” he sighed. “Nat, please…”

His voice sent a hot flash through Natasha and the blood in her body surged. While she planted pink lipstick stains on his neck and face, she pulled his tie from his neck and began unbuttoning his shirt.

“Nat…” Steve breathed. “What if they hear us?”

Natasha pressed a hand to Steve’s mouth. She leaned close to him and whispered between the spaces between her fingers.

“Then we better keep quiet,” she said.

Steve looked at her with those big blue eyes and didn’t resist as she moved her hand from his mouth to his head, grabbing a handful of that golden hair. Steve winced in pain as Natasha pulled him backward with her. She moved her back against the closet door, thumping against the wood in a way that no doubt anyone on the other side could hear.

Maybe Natasha didn’t want to stay quiet.

Maybe she wanted to hear everyone in Stark Tower fuck their precious captain’s skull in.

“On your knees,” Natasha said, her voice a breathless wisp.

Steve, ever the obedient soldier, dropped down to the floor. Natasha lifted the black velvet of her skirt and bunched it at her waist, while Steve pulled her underwear down her long, muscular legs. He let out a luscious sigh.

“God…” he said, drooling at the sight of her naked pussy. “You’re so incredible…”

Natasha threaded her fingers through Steve’s hair, tightening her grip.

“Don’t tell me,” she said. She moved his face between her thighs. “Show me.”

Steve kissed up Natasha’s inner thigh, making her shiver and her hair stand on end. Natasha moaned and tipped her head back against the door. Her eyes fluttered shut as Steve slipped his tongue between her folds.

“Fuck…” Natasha sighed. She gripped both hands in Steve’s hair. “Right there, baby…just like that…”

Steve smoothed his hands up her legs to grip the side of her thighs. She tasted divine, hot, and dripping wet down his throat. Steve had imagined Natasha fucking him so many times he lost count, but he never thought it would actually happen. They were teammates. There was too much at stake. But at that moment all he wanted to do was lick every drop of her.

Natasha jerked her hips and pulled Steve’s head harder against her. Her thighs spread to make room for his head and she moaned as he swirled his tongue right over her clit. She wasn’t sure how experienced Steve was, but his tongue was long and velvety and knew right where to taste her.

Steve grunted deep his his throat. He gripped his white-knuckled hands against her thighs as she fucked his face. He didn’t want anyone to hear them, to catch them, but the sound of Natasha’s pleasurable moans was music to his ears.

“Steve…” Natasha’s voice pitched. Her nails dug into his head. “Fuck…”

She was getting close. Steve could feel it in the way her thighs tightened around his head, the desperate tone of her voice, the exquisite pain her hands nailed in his head. He growled and began eating her like a starving man. He licked and sucked and didn’t let a single drop of her go to waste. Natasha arched her back against the door and tipped her face up to the ceiling.

“Steve,” she moaned. “Fuck…right there…just like that…keep going…”

Natasha’s body was shiny with sweat, a bead of perspiration dripping down the front of her dress. She was hot and glowing and didn’t care if the party could hear them because all she could think of was cumming on Steve Rogers’s tongue.

When she came, it was like a glass bottle shattered against a wall. She bucked her hips into his mouth, fucking his wide mouth until every hot drop was trickling down Steve’s throat. Her breaths came out in heavy pants and Steve grunted and moaned into her pussy.

Slowly, oh-so-slowly, Natasha’s body simmered to a stop. She was sweaty and warm and she pressed against the door to stay standing. She dropped her head down to Steve, who was looking up at her with the big blue eyes and his lips dripping with her cum.

Steve spoke first.

“Did…” he said. “Did that feel good?”

Natasha’s heart swelled in her chest and wanted to push him against the wall again and smother him in kisses. Instead, she put a hand on his cheek. Steve nuzzled into her touch like a puppy.

“Yeah,” she said. “You’re good at that, Rogers.”

A small smile bloomed on Steve’s face. Just then, someone knocked on the closet door and Natasha jumped at the sound.

“Steve? Nat?” Tony called from the other side of the door. “Everyone’s leaving. You two in there?”

Natasha and Steve looked at each other. Neither of them knew if they wanted the rest of the team to know about this, whatever this meant.

“Yeah,” Natasha said. “Steve’s feeling sick. Must have eaten something.”

“Yeah, I’m really sick,” Steve called.

Natasha gave him a look that said “Hush.”

“I’m helping him, don’t worry,” she said.

That must have satisfied Tony because his footsteps disappeared from the door. Natasha turned her gaze back down to Steve. He was still flustered and cum-wet, but her eyes focused on the bulge at the front of his pants. Outside the door, everyone was making their way towards the elevators to leave. Natasha didn’t have time to deal with Steve here.

So, she’d have to take him somewhere else.

“Meet me at the compound in an hour,” she said. “I’ll return the favor. Okay?”

Steve’s brain was soup. All he could do was look at Natasha in her beautiful face and say, “Yes, ma’am.”

Before Steve could ask any further questions, Natasha straightened her dress and hair, then disappeared out the closet door, leaving him alone with a humiliating boner and a face as red as apples.

~

Steve mets Natasha exactly where she told him. He arrived at the Avengers Compound an hour later. It was long past midnight but Steve was too restless to be tired. He’d been fighting the aching erection in his pants the whole ride over and the memory of Nastaha touching him did nothing to help.

Natasha was not the kind of woman to waste time. On the front door of the compound was a note written in Natasha’s scrawl: SECOND FLOOR. MASTER BEDROOM.

Steve made his way upstairs. When he reached the bedroom, he rapped his knuckles on the door.

“Natasha?” he said.

“It’s unlocked.”

Steve opened the door and stepped into the bedroom. The room was dimly lit, only a single golden light from the lamp on the end table. But the light was just enough to catch the outline of Nastaha seated on the end of the bed, one leg crossed over the other. Her dress was gone, replaced with black lingerie complete with thigh-highs and garters.

Steve had often been called a “golden retriever” as a joke. But he was moments from collapsing to his hands and knees and barking like a dog.

Natasha's eyes assessed him up and down.

“I can’t fuck you with that suit on,” she said.

Steve composed himself long enough to respond.

“You did back at Stark Tower,” he said.

Natasha smirked and twirled her finger at him.

“Strip for me, soldier,” she said.

Steve’s face burned bright red and he wondered if Natasha could see his blush. He reached his hand up to his throat and slowly pulled his tie off. Then, he stripped his coat off his shoulders and unbuttoned his shirt, letting everything fall to the carpet at his feet.

Natasha watched him as he undressed. Captain American, a pinnacle of strength and power, was completely at her mercy. The power sent a rush through her like she could start glowing in the dark. She licked and bit her bottom lip as Steve stepped out of his shoes, unbuckled his belt, and let his trousers fall to his ankles.

Steve stood before her in the dim, golden light, completely naked down to his boxers. He looked like a statue come to life, the kind of striking beauty that was almost hard to believe in a human. 

But Steve Rogers was very human. And therefore, he was entirely breakable.

Natasha rose from the bed and approached her. Steve stood still before her, watching her with an anticipating look in his eyes. He could practically feel her gaze on him, as physical as a wet tongue licking along his body.

Natasha placed her hands on Steve’s shoulders. She smoothed them up to his neck and then pulled him down into a kiss. Steve surrendered to her touch, moaning as she bit hard on his lip and caressed her hands along his body. His cock was aching in his boxers and he whimpered when Natasha brushed her hands against his boxers.

Steve froze as Natasha circled around him, trailing a hand along him, looking at him like she were a dealer appraising a work of art. She stood behind him and placed her chin on his shoulder.

“What’s this?” she whispered in his ear.

Steve gasped as Natasha's hand slithered down the front of his body and curled her fingers down his bulge. His body went stiff as a board and all of a sudden he couldn’t feel anything except Natasha’s hand on his bulge. She teased and played with his cock through the thin grey fabric on his boxers.

“I…urg…ahhh…” Steve couldn’t speak. Natasha pressed her body against his back and he thought he could cum from that alone.

“I did leave you hanging, didn’t I?” Natasha whispered, her sultry voice made the hair on the back of Steve’s neck stand. “I should fix it, shouldn’t I? After all…” 

She moved her hand down under the seam of his underwear and Steve whimpered when he felt her fingers wrap around his cock.

“…this is mine, isn’t it?” she whispered in his ear.

Steve gulped, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s yours.”

“What are you willing to do to get it?”

Steve was trembling. He worried his legs would buckle and he would collapse to the floor in a puddle of cum.

“Anything,” he whimpered. “Please…Nat…I need it so bad…I need you so bad…”

His words were enticing. Natasha watched him whimper and tremble as she stroked him slowly, agonizingly slow. She had an idea of what to do with him. Something she wanted to do with him ever since the first time she ever watched him bend over to pick something up. The first time she got a look at that muscular back of his.

But first, she needed him needy and desperate. She began stroking him a little faster, and his whimpers turned to little cries. Without an audience behind a door, Steve’s inhibitions melted away.

“You’ll let me do anything to you?” she said, so softly in his ear. “Anything to get you off?”

“Yes,” Steve moaned. “Yes, anything you want.”

“Would you let me ride you on this bed?”

“Yes.”

“Would you let me handcuff you to a chair and suck you off?”

“Yes.”

“Would you let me just stroke you here and make you lick the mess off the floor?”

“Yes.”

Steve’s hips were twitching into her hand. Any second now, he was going to cum between her fingers. Natasha decided to go for the kill.

“Would you let me fuck you from behind?” she asked.

Steve paused before answering. Either because he wasn’t sure or because he was too close to an orgasm to muster any words.

“Will you?” Natasha asked again, colder this time. She pulled her hand out from Steve’s boxers and he whimpered in agony. 

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, you can do whatever you want to me, use me, make your plaything, I don’t care just please Natasha….”

Steve was hard to the point of pain. The poor man was even tearing up a little. It was time to put him out of his misery. She brought her lips right to his ear.

“Then bend over for me,” she whispered.

She pressed a hand between Steve’s shoulder blade and bent him over the edge of the bed. Steve’s face hit the mattress and he moaned as Natasha smacked him on the ass.

“Lay still,” she said. 

Natasha sauntered to the end table. She brought the supplies with her just in case. Inside the drawer, she pulled out a black leather harness with silver buckles and a thick blue dildo attached. 

Steve turned his head in the bed to face Natasha. He watched her step into the harness and adjust the girthy cock at her crotch.

“Do you know what this is?” Natasha asked.

Steve stared at it for a moment and then shook his head.

“This goes inside you from behind,” Natasha explained, running a fingernail down her considerable length. “I’ll lube it up so it can slide in easily.”

“Does it hurt?”

Natasha shook her head.

“No,” she said. “Not if you use it right. The lube will help. Besides, you’ve endured worse.”

To Natasha’s surprise, Steve seemed disappointed. She snickered and walked closer to the bed. She grabbed his chin and made him look up at her.

“Or I can fuck you so hard that you squeal like a pig,” she said.

Steve looked at her with those shimmery blue eyes and nodded. With that affirmation, Natasha grabbed the bottle of lube and began lathering the dildo. Steve watched, drooling at the corner of his mouth while Natasha’s fingers slicked the cock wet.

Natasha walked behind Steve and grabbed the hem of the boxers. She dropped the whole thing to his ankles and then pumped some lube onto her hands. She ran her non-sticky hand down Steve’s back.

“Spread your legs,” she said. “Relax for him.”

Steve did as she said. He spread his legs apart, perking his rear up. Natasha slid a moist finger inside and Steve shuddered.

“Does that hurt?” Natasha asked.

It did, a little. But Steve loved it and he didn’t want Natasha to stop. He never thought pain could feel so good when it came from the right person.

“No,” he said. “Keep going.”

Natasha nodded and slid a second finger inside. She used her free hand to stroke Steve’s back.

“Open up for me, baby,” she said. “I can’t get it in if you don’t open up.”

Steve pressed his red face into the mattress. Once Natasha got him nice and open, she readied her shiny cock at his hole.

“Hold still for me,” she said. She pressed a hand down on his lower back. Her voice softened. “Trust me, Steve. This’ll feel good.”

With that, Natasha shoved herself inside Steve and immediately began swerving her hips. Steve let out a croak of pain and melted onto the bed.

“Nat…” he whimpered. “…fuck…”

The mattress springs sang beneath them as Natasha fucked him into the mattress. Natasha watched Steve whimper and writhe, his muscular back twisting and contorting, pushing his rear harder onto her cock.

“That’s it, Rogers,” Natasha purred. She smoothed her hand up his back before grabbing his hair. “Take all of it for me.”

Steve arched his back and moaned. Natasha started viciously pounding into his ass, thrusting her hips until Steve started crying out. His head filled with exquisite pain as he pulled him back by his hair.

“Natasha please,” he blubbered.

“Shut it,” Natasha hissed. She clasped a hand on his mouth and ducked him harder. “You don’t talk until I make you cum first.”

Steve whimpered against her hand. His tortured cock was burning red and he could feel Natasha fucking an orgasm into him.

“Look at you,” Natasha purred in his ear. “The sluttiest soldier in the U.S. army.”

Those words pushed him over the edge. Steve cried out and Natasha shushed him by shoving his face into the duvet. She fucked him harder and harder, Steve’s hips humping into the bed, until with a cry he finally spilled onto the mattress.

“Fuck...fuck…fuck..” Steve panted.

Natasha slowly pulled her cock out. She looked down at Steve as she stepped out of the harness. The poor boy was sweaty and trembling like a puppy. She traced her fingertips down his back.

“You okay, Steve?” she asked. All her sadistic bravado faded away and her voice cooed over him.

Steve rolled onto his back, grimacing leaving a sticky mess on the mattress when he came. He looked at Natasha, the way the light haloed her red hair, her eyes that made him feel so open and naked. He gently took Natasha by the wrist and pulled her down on top of him. She yelped, then giggled as she nuzzled into his neck.

“That was…” Steve struggled for words. “That was...

He couldn’t articulate how he felt. He felt like a different man. He felt like he wanted to bend over and let Natasha destroy him again and again. But he was too spent to say, so he held Natasha close and covered her in kisses.

Natasha grinned and held Steve’s face in her hands.

“You should probably clean the sheets,” she said. “Someone might come in tomorrow and see your mess.”

Steve smiled and pressed his forehead to hers.

“Yes, ma’am.”

[a-very-tired-jew]

One of the communities I'm in has a Discord server. These are people I see multiple times a year at events, many of whom I've known for a decade or more, and it's actually so large that I haven't met everyone as more people join each year. However, there are those of us who are regulars in the server itself and we're quite familiar with one another.

We have a domestic and international politics channel. We have several Israeli Jews and Diaspora Jews in the server. We also have several ardent antisemites anti-Zionists as well.

I've noticed a trend that when something is posted in the international channel that is anti-Hamas and/or doesn't paint Israel in a bad light it has no reactions whatsoever. None of what is posted is as critical of the various organizations relating to the war, the double standards of the international community, and all the other stuff we talk about here on jumblr. But the Jews in the server, including myself, have this unspoken agreement that we're just not going to react or expand upon anything.

Why? If something gets posted that is distinctly anti-Israel and/or rife with antisemitism it will have the same 6-8 people reacting to it. These same persons routinely respond with the standard claims of genocide, deny indigeneity, and so on. All the same canards and tropes we've heard since October. Myself and others in the server have tried to address it, but to no avail. Rather than burning everything down we just let them dig their own graves repeatedly.

I imagine it'll come to a head at our next in person gathering in a few weeks and they'll either get kicked and/or offer fake apologies to stay. The likelihood that they say some outright antisemitic drivel while drunk is very high. Most of us have started putting them at arms length more and more because it's clear that they're getting their information from pro-terrorist propaganda sources and that they believe in antisemitic conspiracies.

The silver lining is that I know I likely won't interact with them at an upcoming event where we all gather as they're not part of my circle even within our community.

[lookmomiwrite]

Art by @robustaart. Check them out! They're very talented and do commissions.

I found this art on Reddit and after reading thirsty comment after thirsty comment, I was inspired to write a story with this character. Enjoy! And follow for more.

The Serpent of Selune

The doors of the tavern swung wide and rain sprayed across the old wooden floor. A young woman followed, head held high and her veil dry, despite the raging storm. The typhoon stayed even the most daring captains from leaving port and forced sailors to take refuge in taverns along the harbor, gorging themselves on food and drink in a gluttonous celebration of respite. Sarelin let the doors shut behind her as she left a trail of watermarked bootprints in her wake. She stood for a moment, eyes scanning the patrons before her.

Their eyes latched onto her and murmurs spread through the groups of sailors and dockhands; though, most returned to their games, food, and drinks. A man stood from a table sat in a dark corner of the tavern and made his way to Sarelin. He was covered in ragged clothes, pants ripped above the ankles, boots with holes, and a sweat-encrusted shirt with its sleeves haphazardly rolled up to his elbows. He stopped before her, bottle of rum in hand, and swayed side-to-side as he drank.

“Miss, you’re standing before Dungan, known as Blackburn, The Prince of Pirates,” he said with another swig of his bottle and a stifled laugh. He swung around to face gawking patrons, hands held high in an expectation of praise and applause, but when none was received he turned his attention back to Sarelin. “Why don’t you come join my boys over there, we’ll show you a good time.” He reached for her with an unsteady hand but Sarelin swatted him away before he could make contact.

“You smell like a stray dog.” Disgust filled her voice as she spat those words at him.

Sarelin pushed past the drunk and he stumbled back. Onlookers mocked Dungan with laughter as he retreated to his table. She carved a path through patrons to sit at the bar next to a man dressed in a fine leather tunic over a white sailor’s shirt, both opened in the front, which revealed his bronze skin below.

“Do you always have to dress like you’ve just left a brothel?” She asked.

“Only when I want to annoy you, Sare. Besides, if we’re talking about sex appeal, I’m completely outmatched. Half the tavern still have their eyes on you. No one but that drunk has noticed me.” The man chuckled as he motioned to Dungan — in a way someone laughs when nervous to meet an old friend — and downed the last of his ale. His solemn countenance returned. “I take it since you’ve traveled all the way from Alomont, you’ve accepted?”

“I just thought I’d hear you out in person, Garrick. Besides, I’ve missed our little adventures and the hunting grounds in Alomont are becoming sparse.” Sarelin removed a mirror from her bag then adjusted her veil. She shifted the mirror to look over her shoulder, the image behind her dim but still bright enough to reveal the sailor who harassed her. “It looks like poor Dungan had his feelings hurt.”

“Ignore them, they’re not worth your time. Tonight should be about reminiscing of the past and looking to the future. I’ll buy you a drink and tell you about the plan, they have a special ale here that I’ve—”

“No, not yet, there are matters to attend to before we start. Excuse me for a moment.” And before Garrick could try to stop her, she was halfway to stairs that led to the guest rooms. Unlike the well lit and noisy dining hall, the maze-like hallways of the upper floors were calm, dark, and empty. The noise of patrons below faded as Sarelin walked deeper into the labyrinth, replaced by bellowing winds and taps of branches against walls and windows — an otherwise cozy place if not for the foul smell of the fish market.

Sarelin spun at the sound of floorboards croaking and met the glare of Dungan. His breath reeked of rum and vomit, his gait wide and boorish, his words slurred nearly to the point of drivel. Dungan dropped his empty bottle and grabbed her hands. “It’s dangerous for a little lady like you to be alone at night—“ he paused a moment before feigning spontaneous thought, ”I know, how about I help you find your way back. I’m the Prince of Pirates after all, what is a prince if not chivalrous.” Dungan belched out a drunken laugh and pulled her towards a nearby room as she screamed. *** “Ho! Innkeeper, a pitcher of Holn White Ale, will you? Heard it’s your new specialty.”

“Aye, Garrick,” the Innkeeper answered, “Haven’t seen you in years, what brings you to Holn?” The Innkeeper was a heavier set man and renown for his ales. Twenty years of serving up food and drinks from his family run tavern made him a man of secrets, and not just of the brewery.

“Just a bit of business, as usual. Anything interesting? Rumors, bounties, murders maybe?”

“Murders, ay? There is a new killer. Guards found bodies two weeks ago. Already been five deaths since. The Serpent of Selune, they call ’em. Leaves the bodies shriveled up like jerky, no blood or wounds, say’n it’s a vampire — I’m not sure what to think but the church put a thousand gold piece bounty on the killer’s head. Not sure about you, but I’ve never seen a bounty that high for just a vampire.” The Innkeeper paused before being called by another patron. “Busy night, lad, tell me some stories when it dies down. If you want the bounty, I’ll give you the bishop’s calling card. White Ale, on the house.”

Garrick gave the man a nod and drank from the wooden tankard. The tavern was as lively as ever. Years ago, Garrick brought his own crew to shelter under the same oaken roof. Six long years traveling the world by ship, making a name for himself that would become his legacy, and returning here for rest. The sound of heavy-footed drunkards freed from his thoughts and he set down his ale as Dungan’s crew surrounded him.

A man leaned over the bar and smiled as he propped himself up by his elbows. “Where’d your lady friend go? Hope nothing bad happens while you’re away.” The men laughed on cue as if they rehearsed their petty threats beforehand.

Another one spoke, “What? Can’t hear or someth’n?”

A third joined with a crooked grin, “We’re say’n we’re gonna join the captain. You gonna stop us?”

Garrick turned to the men and raised his tankard. “That lady friend is a woman who needs not the protection of a man like me.”

Dungan’s crew glanced at each other, faces contorted, trying to grasp Garrick’s reluctance to help a woman they thought he was acquainted with. Each shrugged and stumbled to the stairs. “Guy’s not very fun. Was hoping to step outside and teach him a lesson,” one muttered. *** The door swung open and Dungan’s crew walked in, met by a woman sat in a chair next to the bed, one leg crossed over the other and her head resting in her hand ��� bored. Dungan hunched over a pillow in a dream-like state, humping wild as he cried out for his men to join him. The men cackled in unison.

“Control yerself boss,” the lead man said.

“Too worked up to see he’s fuck’n a pillow.”

“A bit too much rum,” another said.

Tears rolled down their cheeks as they verbally lashed their boss. Sarelin straightened in her chair and placed her hands into her lap. She looked to the trailing crew member, a scrawny man with scars that lined his body and gave him an air of authority among scoundrels. “Close the door.” Her voice cracked like a whip and her eyes glowed yellow. The man stiffened and shut the door behind him immediately.

The other men turned on the man as they laughed, Looks like the captain isn’t the only one who's overeager. Good boy, Vernon.”

“Silence.”

Dungan and his crew froze and the room fell to silence. Sarelin stood from her seat. “Men like you are pathetic. You drink a bit of alcohol and lose control. You believe you are strong and I am weak. But here you all are, frozen with fear, charmed by a woman far more dangerous than the seas you hide from tonight.” She turned towards Dungan and placed her hand on his head. Her fingers bit into his flesh as she squeezed, but they did not pierce the skin to wound him. Instead, they passed through like a phantom in the mists, doing damage not physical but ethereal. “There are things much worse than death — Watch.”

Sarelin pulled her hand away and a flash of red light filled the gap. Dungan’s body began to shrivel. The light grew dim and took his form, shrunken by Sarelin’s black magic and malformed, closer in appearance to a tumor than a man. She ripped her hand away and held it high. Dungan’s body slumped over the pillow. “This is a soul. An ugly one, made grotesque by his actions. And I’ll have each one of yours soon enough.” Sarelin walked to the leading man, her gait light, each step slow and deliberate. She seemed more a queen than the demon she was. A tear rolled down his cheek. A relic of the laughter the men shared moments ago or from the fear he felt now, Sarelin couldn’t tell — nor did she care. *** The dining hall quieted as guests retreated to their rooms. It was nearly midnight. Sarelin strolled down the stairs, her face bright and lively despite the hour, eyes sharp and focused as she took her place next to Garrick.

“A full meal tonight… Guess I’ll order for myself then.” Garrick said with a smile. “Why not have a drink? The Holn White Ale is quite good.”

“How chivalrous of you, to notice a parched lady’s thirst. I expect nothing less from the true Prince of Pirates.” She leaned into Garrick and wrapped her arms around his. “Now, let’s hear about your plan to plunder the church’s treasury.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If you made it this far, thanks for reading! Please, follow for more stories and if you have a request, leave a comment!!

[nymphoheretic]

˜”°•.˜”°• Deadly Games We Play •°”˜.•°”˜

Warnings: 18+ content, smut, teasing, dirty talk, fingering, orgasm control/denial, edging, nipple play, oral(m–>f), spanking, blood, major character death, weapons (knife and gun), gunplay, pet names (princess, sweetheart, love)

Pairing: Mafia Boss!Rengoku Kyoujuro x Assassin Fem!reader

Word count: 4k

Tags: @bakugosbratx @yeahitzally @comatosebunny09 @auraee @cherryblossomsenpai @babiefwuit @linpunny @kyojuro-my-wuv @lovely-shimmers @sassysaxsolo @sailewhoremoon @unknownspecies @craftycheetah @neji85 @renhoeku

Network: @tokyometronetwork

As usual Kyoujuro was bored. He sat on his throne-like chair listening to his Generals, Shinazugawa Sanemi  and Iguro Obanai, argue over who’s turf the other infiltrated on. He was ready to pull his hair out at just having to listen to them. Finally having enough of their senseless drivel, Kyoujuro stood from his seat, his katana in his hands. 

Without a word, he appeared in between the two generals, knocking them both to the ground before pinning Sanemi under the heel of his black Testoni shoe while pointing the sharp tip of his blade at Obanai’s throat.

“If I have to listen to you two go on about some useless turf war between our family, I will kill you both, understand?'' His voice dripped with venom as veins throbbed on his forehead as he glared at them. 

When it looked like Sanemi was going to argue, Kyoujuro pressed his heel deeper into the silver-haired man’s windpipe. “I said, do you understand, Shinazugawa?”

Sanemi wheezed from the pressure on his neck. “Sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.” he coughed out, his liliac eyes going wild from the lack of oxygen to his lungs. A whoosh of air filled him when his boss suddenly removed his foot from his throat, allowing him to breathe again. Sanemi quietly went back to his seat and remained quiet for the duration of the meeting. He glared at anyone who stared at him or the dark purple bruise that was spreading down his neck.

Kyoujuro then turned to Obanai who was staring wide-eyed at the tip of his katana. He used the sharp blade to nudge the man’s face to meet with his eyes. “Understand, Iguro?” His words were almost as sharp as his katana, and they nearly paralyzed the shorter man. 

Obanai nodded his head as he readjusted the white mask he wore over his lips. “Yes, sir. Understood.” He let out a breath he did not know he was holding with the Boss’ face quickly morphed back into his normal pleasant smile as he sheathed his sword.

“Good.” The blond announced as he went back to his in his gold-ladened chair. He crossed his legs, placing his foot on his knee. He looked at his generals with a sharp gaze. “As you know, Muzan is trying to take my life again, but just like the last time, the attempt failed.” He said, giving Tengen a pointed glare when the larger man looked like he was going to speak out of turn. “I am not worried about my life, but I do want to double the security of my mother and younger brother.”

“And your father?” Tomioka Giyuu asked.

Kyoujuro arched his brow. “What about him? Father can take care of himself. He has his own elite bodyguards. I doubt the assassin could penetrate through them.”

-0-0-0

You cursed silently as you eyed the numerous guards surrounding Rengoku Shinjurou. The former boss was a very careful man and always had his defenses up. Even when he was sloppy drunk, it would seem as if his senses were still on high alert. You wiped the sweat collected on your forehead , watching as the older man walked to the luxurious limousine. 

You tried to come up with a better plan than to use your rifle to take out the former boss. You need to kill at least one Rengoku to show Muzan your progress. Judging by the current circumstances, it would seem that you would have to use a sniper rifle if you wanted to kill the father. It wasn’t that bad of a shot, but you hated resorting to guns. They were unnecessarily messy and loud. You hated how they split too much blood compared to a knife or poison. But nothing came to your mind. 

Sighing, you stood up from your lookout perch, dusting off your black leotard and slipped your poison darts back into the pouch attached to your belt. You’d have to go back to your base and get your rifle and return later tonight to finish off the job. You grabbed the red trench coat and black fedora you wore to conceal your identity as you hurriedly made your way to the exit. You did not want to be spotted on top of the roof by one of Shinjurou’s guards.

You let out a groan when your cell went off with a notification, knowing that it was Muzan asking for a status report. Digging the burner cell out of your coat pocket, you glanced down at the screen and read the message your employer sent you.

“Did I hire the wrong person? First you failed to kill the older brother and now you’re delaying on killing the rest of the family. Do I need to send Akaza to assist?”

You quickly sent back your reply. “I’ll have Rengoku Shinjurou’s head delivered to you on a silver platter by tomorrow. Do not send that pink-haired basketball faced freak anywhere near my targets.” You put the cell back into your pocket, biting your lip. 

Muzan was not happy with your progress and you were supposed to be a top assassin, yet you let one of your targets not only get away, but seduced you out of your clothing and between your thighs. Your core still throbbed uncomfortably whenever you thought about what Rengoku Kyoujuro did to you.

Ignoring the pulsing between your thighs, you opened the door that would take you to the ladder that would lead you to the floor below. After you had climbed down, you peeked my head out of the door to make sure it was clear. You walked out of the stairwell and made my way into the building. 

Pushing your shades up over your eyes, you walked down the long corridor tha led to the elevator.  You thought about if you could ever get the former Mafia boss alone to utilize your poison, you really did not want to rely on your sniper rifle. Your mind was too occupied to notice the small crowd of men approaching you until you had bumped into a solid chest.

“Oh, excuse me.” you said, keeping your head lowered. 

“It’s okay.”

The voice made your eyes widened as a low curse was on the tip of your tongue. That voice belonged to Rengoku Kyoujuro! Your loins began to ache and throb with the memory of his touch and how he denied you of an orgasm. You needed to get away from him! Now!

Lowering your head even further, you moved around him at a hurried pace. “Excuse me.” you said as you walked down the corridor and away from your main target. Your heels clicked loudly as you hurried to the elevator. You pressed the button to go down to the first floor rapidly as if that would make the damned thing move any faster.

You let out a sigh of relief when the light flashed with the number of the floor you were on. 25th. Just as you were about to get inside the door, a black gloved hand covered your mouth as the cold steel of a gun pressed against the small of your back.

-0-0-0

Kyoujuro blinked in confusion at the small woman who had left in such a hurry. What was a woman doing on his private office floor? He was about to brush it off as she must have gotten lost when something about her seemed familiar. Kyoujuro wondered if she was a call girl that he had recently slept with, but the last woman he had teased was... A smile curled at his lips. “It’s tha assassin.”

Remembering his little bet with you, he quickly went into his office to grab something before going back down the corridor. Kyoujurou followed the sound of yourheels clicking on the floor until you reached the elevator. He eyed the red trench coat that covered your body and the fedora hat you wore to conceal your features even more. The dark lens of your shades hid your eyes; If he hadn’t heard your sweet voice, Kyoujuro probably would’ve let you slip past him.

He waited around the corners, watching as you rapidly pressed the elevator’s button up to the top floor. Judging by the way he was looking at you, it would seem that he was practically stripping you with his eyes while watching you tap your heel against the floor, impatiently waiting for the elevator. 

Kyoujuro pulled his gun out of the holster when the elevator reached the top floor. Before you could walk  inside, he quickly grabbed you, wrapping his hand around your mouth as he pushed his gun against your spine. The blond smiled as he leaned over you to whisper in your ear. “Looks like I’ve caught you this time, Angel?”

Your body went rigid at the sound of his voice in your ear. Fuck! When did he realize it was you? You thought about the schematics of the building you were in, trying to remember just where you was. My eyes widened when you realized that you was on his private office floor. ‘How could I make such an idiotic mistake!’ I cursed myself mentally.

You looked at him over your shoulder, heightening the pitch of your voice slightly to try to fool him. “Wh-what?” you cried out, slightly muffled by his gloved hand. “I...I’m sorry. I got lost and ended up on this floor.” you bit back a gasp when he suddenly uncovers your lips and yanks your fedora off your head, your hair falling to frame my face.

“Nice try, princess.” He smiled, pushing youinside the elevator and letting the doors close behind you two. “But I’d recognize your cute voice anywhere.” Kyoujuro purred as he turned you around to pull your shades off of your beautiful eyes. “There's that pretty face. Did you miss me?”

You scoffed at his words, your hands inching closer to the poisoned darts in the pouch strapped to my utility belt. “Of course I did. You got away without letting me have your fucking head on a silver platter.”

Kyoujuro chuckled as he slid his gun down your belly until the cold steel pressed snugly against your crotch. “I was talking to her.” He purred, rubbing the tip of the gun against your clothed clit, smirking a bit when you gasped. “Oh, what’s this?” Kyoujuro pulled open your trench coat to reveal the black leotard you were wearing paired with your thigh high heeled black boots. “Is this for me?” He smirked, pressing the gun deeper into your cunt.

“Hell no.” you bit your lip to stop the sudden moan from leaving your throat. You clenched your legs closed to keep the cold metal of the barrel from moving any closer to you. You cursed your treacherous body for heating up at his words. 

Your core ached with the reminder that you still haven't found release since his teasing the other day. You moved to stomp on his foot, but he was faster than you and quickly shoved his knee between your thighs, prying them apart.

He smirked at your little attempt to get away from him as he bit down on the index finger of his glove and pulled it off with his teeth. Once the leather was removed from his hand, he touched your face, cupping your warm cheek in the palm of his hand. “I could snap your neck, y’know.” Kyoujuro’s breath fanned against your face, the sweet scent of the tobacco of the cigar he had smoked earlier flooding your senses.

His hand went to squeeze at your delicate neck to show that he was telling the truth. “But instead I’m offering you the choice of falling in love with me.” The Mafia boss trailed his fingers up to your pouty lips. “I didn’t forget your silly little rules either.” 

Kyoujuro sent you a smirk as he used his gloved finger to slip the thin little strip of fabric that hid your heat from him to the side as he shoved his two of his other fingers past your supple lips. “Be a good girl and suck for me. I wanna imagine it's my cock those pretty lips are wrapped around.”

You shivered when his fingers pressed down on your tongue as his gloved fingers circled your clit. You could feel your defenses fall as you slowly succumbed to his hot touches. Your body craved the release he denied you last time. You whimpered around his fingers when the cold metal of his gun pressed against your thighs.

Kyoujuro leaned in and sucked his dark marks that had begun to fade along your neck back into your flesh. He trailed his kisses down to your chest and removed his fingers from your mouth, wanting to hear those pretty moans he knew you had. With his fingers still glistening from your saliva, the Mafia leader tugged at the sides of your body suit until your breasts were exposed.

Your strength seemed to disappear whenever this man touched you. You would lose all ability to fight back, becoming a puddle in his arms. You gasped when he pulled the sides of your leotard to the center of your chest to free my breasts. Biting your lip to stop the moan from escaping when his hot tongue flicked over one of your nipples. 

You cry out his name when you felt the cold steel of his gun rub against your inner thighs, trying to spread them. “W-what are you?” you pressed your head back against the cool wall of the elevator when his tongue swirled over your nipple before he tugged at it with his teeth. “Ah~ fuck!”

“Have you fallen for me yet? You gonna let me fuck you now, pretty little assassin?” Kyoujuro whispers in your ear after releasing your nipple with a wet, lewd ‘POP’. He looked into your eyes, smirking at the way your pupils were blown out and your chest heaving from the pleasure he was giving you.

A grin spread over his lips when you shook your head, denying his claim. “Well then, if I can’t fuck you with my cock...” Kyoujuro trailed off, using the tip of his gun to move that thin strip of fabric that hid your pussy back to the side. “I’ll just fuck you with this.”

Ypur eyes widened when you felt the cold metal of the gun press against yourslit. “W-wait!” you grabbed his wrist, trying to stop him, but your mouth dropped open in a moan as it brushed over your clit. “Kyoujuro...” you gasped out, your other hand gripping his shoulder. A shocked moan left you when he slowly began to ease it into your dripping hole. “Fuck...”

Kyoujuro grabbed your leg and lifted it to wrap around his waist as he pushed the tip of his gun into your tight little opening. He grabbed your chin so that he could watch every expression that crossed your face. Licking his lips as he pushed the barrel a few more centimeters inside, making you gasp and cling to his shirt. “Gonna let me kiss those pretty lips of yours now, princess?”

You were stunned and dazed by the gun pressed so snuggly inside your cunt that you barely registered his words? “Wh-what? No. I..fuck, please, no more. I can’t take it.  It’s too big.” you whined, hoping that he would pull it out.

“This gun is nowhere near as big as me, sweetheart.” He slid the gun out before pushing it back in deeper, making your back arch away from the elevator wall. “If you can’t take it then I’ll need to stretch you out nice and proper.” Kyoujuro set a steady pace as he fucked you with his gun, pushing the barrel deeper inside with each thurst. He could feel you becoming  soaking wet, your juices sliding down the handle and coating his hands. “Look at you and this slutty pussy getting so wet. You like getting fucked by my gun?”

You shook your head side to side in denial, even though you could feel your slick gush out with each push and pull of the steel.You were so drenched that one could practically hear each time he plunged the gun into your cunt. 

“No...” you lied, your hips beginning to buck up in tune with the gun’s pace. Your walls clenched around the thick barrel, as if trying to suck it in deeper. Tears began to burn in your eyes as you could feel your high approaching.

Kyoujuro watched as your nose scrunched up, your hands curled into claws as nails clawed at the wall. “I bet you want to cum so badly since I denied you one last time, huh?” He teased, speeding up the pace of his trusting as he kissed your shoulders before sliding down to his knees.

His tongue slipped out to tease her clit with quick flicks, as he pushed the gun in and out at such a pace, your breasts were wiggling outside your leotard. His fiery eyes looked up at the fucked out expression on your face as he sucked on your swollen clit. Kyoujuro pulled back and gathered his saliva in his mouth to spit a glob onto that sensitive pearl of flesh. He chuckled when you let out a little whine. “You’re gonna cum, aren't you my pretty little assassin?”

My head fell back as my mouth dropped open, a bit of drool seeping out of the corners. you wanted to say yes so badly, but you knew that if you did the bastard would stop again. If you could keep silent, you could have your oragasm then stab him in the neck with your poisoned blades hidden in your boots. You reached up to cover your lips with your hand, teeth embedded into the fleshy part of your palm, you muffled your cries as you shook your head at his question. You would not give him the satisfaction of hearing how needy you were.

You clenched around the barrel as he pushed it deep until the trigger was brushing against your clit as his tongue flicked under it at your drooling hole. Kyoujuro lapped up any slick that escaped from around the shinty metal, groaning softly. You could feel your high coming closer as you clamped down hard, the hidden blade in the heel of your boot sliding out.

As soon as you get yours , you’ll stab him.

Kyoujuro’s keen hearing picked up the small sound of the blade in your heels coming out. He smirked against your clit as he bit it softly as he reached up and ripped your hand away from your mouth. Grinning at the loud cry you gave, the fiery blond pulls away from your body, taking the gun out of your quivering walls. “Sorry, love.” He licks your slick off the side of his gun before pulling out his handkerchief and wiping the weapon clean. “This is my floor and I have a very important meeting to get to.” The elevator dinged as the doors slowly opened. “Until next time. I’ll even treat you.”

Watching as he left the elevator, you cursed him, the ache in your empty cunt fueled your anger. “That fucking bastard!”

-0-0-0

You stomped into your weapons room, your eyes narrowed into slits of rage. Even after scrubbing your body raw, you could still feel Kyoujuro’s hot touches all over your body and that ache in your lower belly was still unquenched. You grabbed your rifle off the gun wall and carefully broke it down to fit into the case. You were going to kill that man.

Today. 

You wouldn’t let him continue to toy with you. Removing everything that could make any noise, you changed into a black shirt and shorts. Pulling on your black arm guards and mask, you were ready.

Climbing the outside ladder up to the rooftop of the adjacent building your source told you that the Rengoku family would be, you set up your rifle and scope. You frowned when you couldn’t get a clear visual on your target and would have to rely on the heat detector. Pressing the button on your scope to turn the thermal setting on, you could spot five different body shapes.

“Dammit.” you cursed when your phone buzzed in your pocket. Tugging it out, you flipped it open without looking to see who was calling you. “It better be fucking good.” you growled, already highly annoyed that you still haven't been able to cum nor kill that object of your frustrations. 

Muzan’s voice rumbled in your ear. “Is that any way to speak to the man who is paying you.”

You cursed softly. “No, sir. I’m just in the middle of something. I’ve got a target in my sight.” you told him, hoping that would appease him that he’ll soon have one less enemy to worry about. While your talents were superior in poisons and blades you were still a trained markswoman. You rarely ever miss your shot. You lined up your shot to take out the tallest of the five bodies. Kyoujuro was fairly tall, ‘Especially when he was hovering over me with his gun stuffed- STOP IT!’ 

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you lined up your shot. Letting out a slow breath, “Lining up the shot.” Your finger rested on the trigger as you waited for a clear spot at your target. “Target in visual...” you murmured softly. Every nerve in your body was alight as you pulled the trigger. The bullet flew through the air and penetrated your target through the chest. There was very little blood other than a splatter that struck one of the others in the face, judging from the scream it was the mother. “Target eliminated.”

“Good job.” Muzan’s voice chimed before the call went dead.

You rose back to my feet as you began to break down my gun to put back up into my case. “Good riddance. Now, I can focus on killing the rest of the family...” you walked over to pick up the bullet casing when you happened to glance over at the ground. “What!”

There he stood, arms wrapped around his mother as he consoled her. Rengoku Kyoujuro. Meaning... “I fucking missed? Then who did I?” you scanned the area, waiting to see who you shot. “Fuck Muzan is going to be pissed if I shot a civilian on accident.” you pressed your hands on one of the brick pillars of the roof as you waited with bated breath to see who was killed. An immediate sigh of relief left your lungs when you saw the red tipped blonde hair of Rengoku Shinjuro peek out from under the sheet they covered his body with.

Feeling relieved that you took out one of you targets, you left the site quickly.

-0-0-0

Kyoujuro knew exactly who shot and killed his father. His pretty little assassin. He wondered if that shot was meant for him. A chuckle left him at that thought. Of course it was, you had made it very clear that you would kill him before he succeeded in making you his. He held his crying mother closer with one arm as he squeezed Senjurou’s shoulder softly. 

“That was one hell of a shot, princess.”

“What did you say, big brother?” Senjurou asked, looking up at his older brother with frightened eyes.

“Nothing, Senjurou.” He smiled down at the youngest Rengoku. “Come. Let’s get you and mother home. We need to plan our father's funeral.” As he led his family away from the scene, the only thing that went through his head was how he was going to make you fall for him so hard that you won’t be able to live without him. ‘Maybe I should give her a taste of the sheer ecstasy only I can give her.’ Kyoujuro licked his lips as he thought of the many ways he could do just that.

Game on. 

© nymphoheretic 2023 All of the following works belong to me. Please do not copy, edit, or steal any of my content. Do not advertise on Tiktok or any other social media.

[iamapoopmuffin]

Reflection

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Characters: Astarion, Tav/OC Relationships: Astarion/Tav

Astarion has long since forgotten what, exactly, he looks like. His boyfriend wishes he had a way to share exactly how he looks to him, and one night thinks he may have figured out just how to do it.

[Using my player character for BG3, Jacquimo, a half-orc bard uneducated street urchin disaster bisexual aligned chaotic neutral-chaotic good.]

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54702118

As much as Jacquimo would have liked to have said it was a quiet, peaceful evening, the fact was their bed and board above the Elfsong Tavern was typically anything but. Between the lingering vampire spawn blood housekeeping hadn't been able to get out of the furnishings (for which he claimed to be very sorry) leaving a bit of a smell in the air and a stickiness on the floor that he would rather not think about, and the sounds of the raucous drunks below either enjoying themselves or drowning their sorrows, it made for...quite the atmosphere, to put it lightly. Still, compared to what the half-orc was used to, this was heaven. He'd all but forgotten what it felt like to sleep in a proper bed, and the streets had always been plenty noisy as well.

Sat on his bed, scribbling away in an old notebook, everything else faded out to a strange ambience. This had always been Jacquimo's element. As a bard, he excelled in spinning stories and conveying tales through word, song and poem. Over his years, he'd written and performed many a yarn, ode or sonnet, and some of them were even halfway decent pieces. He'd never had such inspiration like that gifted to him by his most recent journey though. This past week alone he had written so much, the stories and legacies of his new friends, songs on hardship and survival, music he could hear the notes of carried on the wind. One particular piece had been a problem for him, however.

It was a simple poem, words spun like silk to form a painting in your head. An Ode To A Star, he called it, and he had been working on it ever since Astarion told him he could no longer remember his own face. Karlach had suggested someone draw his portrait, but Jacquimo had never been good at that. So he tried to write it. Descriptive art to show his favourite person, the love of his life, exactly how he looked to him.

Let me be your mirror

Let me show you through my eyes

The most beautiful a being

The gods ever did devise

Let me show you every detail

Every wrinkle, every scar

Utter drivel, all of it. Resisting the urge to rip the page out, crumple the paper and throw it aside, Jacquimo cast his gaze to the window, thinking. What could he possibly say to truly convey what he needed to? Words would never be a true substitute for actually being able to see himself. And the wrong words would just cause upset. Mentions of wrinkles, for one, even if they were something Jacquimo liked about his lover. Character. Experience. All part of one damned gorgeous man.

Eyes flitting between the words on the page and the dark night outside, he paused when he caught sight of his own reflection in the glass.

Let me be your mirror.

If only it was that simple. If only he could truly show Astarion exactly what he saw when he looked at him. It wasn't like he could be like the glass in that window. It wasn't like Astarion could really see through his eyes.

Wait.

Except he could, couldn't he?

Jacquimo snapped the notebook shut and looked across the room, at each of his companions. Those who shared the tadpole infection were able to connect their minds together, weren't they? He remembered seeing himself through Lae'zel's eyes on the Nautiloid. Seeing Astarion's memory of watching him walk through the confines of the pod. Giving him his memories of breaking free of his own pod in response. Seeing paths carved through the hells through the eyes of Wyll and Karlach. The tadpole connection allowed them to see through each other's eyes, see thoughts and memories, feel what each other felt.

An idea in his head, the bard placed his notebook back in his pack and got to his feet, making his way over to where Astarion had set up. He clearly heard his lover's approach, as he closed the book he was reading, looking up to meet his eyes. "Always a pleasure to see you sauntering over. Did you need something, my dear?"

"I had a thought. Or an epiphany."

There was a subtle twitch up of the vampire's lips. "Using that brain of yours, are we?"

"I know, I know, a rare novelty. Really, though, I think I might have figured something out. How I can show you your face again."

A nearly imperceptible shift in his eyes. Interest. Curiosity. Hope? "Really now? Well, I have to say, you know how to pique my interest, darling." His voice held no sarcasm, the thought of seeing his face once more undeniably enticing.

"It's rather obvious in hindsight." Jacquimo mused, more to himself, before addressing the elf properly. "I can't promise you'll like it, but it's an option if you want to use it. The tadpoles. They give us that connection, allow us to see each other's memories. You could look into my memories, or perhaps even see through my eyes now. See yourself."

He froze, processing the words. It seemed almost ludicrous, but he was right, everything he said was right. "You would let me into your head, just to see my face? You'd let me just...poke around inside your mind like that? I could find anything in there."

"I would." He didn't even hesitate. "I trust you. I would trust you with my mind any time. And I want to do something for you."

Astarion reached up, ghosting his fingers across the bard's cheek, his voice coming out soft and vulnerable. "You have already done many things for me, you know."

"Then what's one more thing?"

"And you trust me far more than you should. It isn't wise, darling."

"Who ever said I was wise?"

Astarion retracted his hand, glancing around to ensure none of the others were eavesdropping. When he spoke, it was quiet, and completely serious. No teasing, no lighthearted foppery, no sarcasm. "And you're sure about this? About letting me into your head? I...I don't want you feeling you have to do this. You are far too self sacrificing, do far too much for others, I don't want to do this unless you're entirely comfortable with this. This is your mind we're talking about, every inner personal part of you. Just...please tell me you're sure about this."

Jacquimo nodded, confident. "I'm sure. You're only looking at my memories of your face, that's all I'm showing you. I trust you not to go anywhere I don't want you going, and I think I know how to keep people out of things when I need to - I was able to block Z'rell, Minthara and even the Emperor out of certain thoughts, and they were trying to dig into things I didn't want them seeing. I think even with the connection active we can respect each other's privacy just fine, I don't think either of us have been ones to pry. I wouldn't offer this if I wasn't sure. As much as I joke that I am an idiot, I do think things through, you know. For the most part, anyway."

A smile graced those beautiful features. He so wanted to see his face again, to remember that part of himself long forgotten, and it seemed this reward was worth the risk. Jacquimo had a way with words, of making him feel like it would be okay if only he put his faith in him, and it seemed it was time to put his faith in him again. "Then yes, darling. I would like to try it. It's about time I saw how beautiful I really am, after all."

The decision made, the bard gently reached out and took the rogue's hands, eyes meeting and holding each other's gaze as they opened that connection, reaching out with the squirming, wriggling tadpoles within, a power none too pleasant, but this time for a worthwhile cause.

And then there he was, right where he could see himself.

Astarion turned his head this way and that, taking in every inch of his own face as seen through his lover's eyes. Jacquimo let him in, focusing on memories, on that face. On the line of his jaw, the bow of his lips, the curve of his brow. On delicate lashes framing piercing red eyes that could grow so round, almost doe-like under the right circumstances. The laugh lines that made themselves known during moments of joy, the way the edges of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. Soft curls framing pointed ears, almost shining when the light hits them just right. And not just the way he looked when happy, but sad as well. When he cried, or knew he'd gone too far, when fear and anxiety took hold. The way anger could peel his lips back in a snarl. Baring fangs in threat. That first meeting, that look of suspicion. Plotting looks, teasing glances, moments of internal conflict. Everything. Every part of him, of who he is, of who he was. Every fine detail. Everything he'd lost and forgotten in all those years of torment. Bringing a hazy, indistinct image into focus, making it clear once more.

Letting himself be the mirror Astarion wanted, needed, for as long as he wanted or needed.

[atlasarcana]

echo bren, act 2 fic 1 snippet (since it's been a while!)

Sydenstar 3, 839 P.D.

He arrives in Ank’harel a few days prior to the ceremony, thinking himself a good student for taking the time to scout. He gets a towel and an empty glass in his hands as a reward.

Bartender work. Well — there’s nothing wrong with scouting in disguise, in fairness. And it is a quick way to learn the clientèle. To overhear conversation and catch words where they escape secrets. More than anything, to make notes.

He spends three days bored out of his mind wiping down the wet bar of a long and golden casino room. He takes orders, he compliments the early-arriving guests. Technically on duty as Volstrucker (though when the duty ever ends is beyond him), he marks easy targets for cornering and conversation. A noblewoman here and there touches his collar too closely, champagne too heavy on her breath, and he takes her to the back room to see the estate wines, of course, and peeks into her mind — only a gentle folding back of paper, not a terrible knife-intrusion — and pockets the rumors and the drivel for himself before spinning her back out to the main bar without a break in charisma.

Twice he escorts a drunk out of the bathrooms. Thrice he rips down Missing posters nailed up in search of some halfling boy.

They smoke a great deal here in Ank’harel. That was the one thing he wasn’t expecting. On a mandated smoke break — a perk he ought to campaign to Ikithon — he steps out onto the great big flat white patios overlooking the great big flat fucking lake of a pool in between the buildings on either side of the property, and gets struck with the thought of diving in from the third storey. Which would be silly, and maybe suicidal, and he does not trust himself to know the difference. The white sun is a ball of eternity in the radioactive blue sky, and every shadow it casts grows long and crisp against all the other pale clay surfaces in a way that reminds him distinctly of ink on parchment. Out here on this patio, a hundred feet from the ground with layers of sandstone between himself and anything that makes a sound, he suddenly feels suffocatingly alone. The property is smack in the center of the Sand-Herald district, which is where all the money and noise is, and yet the two palaces of the resort are such tall, bright, architectural knives that the thousands of civilians beneath him are more like ants than anything. He could shut his eyes and only hear the birds and the breathing swell of the city. The slow, industrial chugging. A far-off clang. A distant splash as someone falls unceremoniously from the diving board.

Days like this made the rest tolerable. But days like this would end. And he would wake up somewhere new again, with another sin tallied under his name somewhere by an accountant in the Nine Hells.

He’s lost in thought for a while until a seagull lands by his feet. Quite a bit out from any ocean here, friend. Though, upon closer inspection, it isn’t a seagull — it’s just a white desert pigeon. Pretty little thing. And clearly, Nicodranas is still in his head if he first went to seagulls. He doesn’t fault himself for it; he doesn’t remember the last time he had so much vacation sex. Or a vacation at all.

Bren stares at the pigeon. He inches closer. He stoops.

On a whim, he uses the hand that isn’t holding a cigarillo to swish Sending into the air.

“Beloved,” he says, staring straight at the bird. “My goodest and greatest and sweetest friend.” He pauses. “Food. Ank’harel. Recommendations?”

He knows what he gives with this information. It is possibly the most treasonous thing he has done in years, and in as little as a word. But he cannot find himself to care.

The bird cocks his head at him. For a long moment, the spell doesn’t seem to take.

Then, the receiver picks up the line: Essek’s voice spins in his head.

Ank’harel… says the Shadowhand, very slowly and direly, as though still digesting his morning evil on the other side of the world.

The bird twitches its head this way and that. Essek’s voice could be speaking through it if Bren tried to overlap them in his mind. He experiments with the idea, squinting.

Well. Anything but a kurrak fruit, says Essek.

Essek-Birdy moves its head in a way that could look offended, and, oh, yes. It is quite funny.

They say it tastes like mango.

Liars. Curs. More like rotten eggs.

Avoid. At all costs.

Essek-Birdy pap-paps its feet on the ground. Pecks at Bren’s boot, thinking it a big brown worm. At the illusory-to-physical difference between a bartender’s boot and a Volstrucker’s boot, the bird spasms with perplexity. Then it flies away.

No kurrak fruits. Well, alright. At least that was one insider fact he hadn’t wormed out by sleeping with the Essek of another timeline. Bren puffs his cigarillo and throws it into the midden by the door.

He’d normally throw it over the side of the building, but he fears the bird picking at it later. He goes inside.

[fuckmeyer]

If you’re still doing the BTS asks, I’d love to hear more about this:

“I walked,” he said.

“What?”

The patter of heavy rain became a light pittering drizzle.

“After making the worst mistake of my entire existence,” he said quietly, “I walked. From Washington to New York.”

"Walked? As in… walked ? Like a human?"

"I was in no state to face my family. Anyone, really. I didn’t dare go back to Forks for my car; I knew I’d go right back and beg you to forget whatever idiotic drivel had come out of my mouth. I couldn’t very well take a bus or a plane or a train—”

“Or run?”

“I was extremely disoriented,” he said. “Dizzy. It was as though I had…what is the human condition when the world seems to spin as though you’re drunk?”

“Vertigo?”

“Ah. Vertigo. Yes. So, I thought I might take some time to...collect myself.”

My questioning side eye gave him a chuckle. The silent response seemed loud enough.

“Pride,” he answered with a small smile. “Ego. My family believed I was making a terrible mistake leaving you behind. I didn't want them to think they were right.

“Of course, 800 hours later, nothing had changed. I could have killed eight minutes for all the good it did me. The second I walked through the door everyone knew I was…unwell.” Edward shrugged. He said no more.

"How unwell is 'unwell'?"

“Unwell, as in, had my family not regularly intervened, I would have lain on the same couch staring out the same window until it rotted away underneath me. It was the best shot I had at making it to the heat death of the universe.”

I knew he meant it as a joke, but I couldn’t bear to look at his weak smile.

“I was desperate to be unobtrusive. Silent. Nonexistent. I didn’t want to hang like a dark, poisonous cloud over everyone. But I did. It wasn’t long before Jasper had to leave, so paralyzed in the face of my overwhelming pain that he could barely function himself. Alice obviously left with him. Emmett and Rosalie followed suit after she and Carlisle got into a row over me. Even he and Esme began fighting over how to…handle me.” Bitter disgust permeated the air. “That was what hurt the most. Carlisle never gave up on me. He has remained faithful in my worst hours, always, and I…within months, had ruined everything he had spent decades building.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” I said quietly.

“I know this man as well as— arguably better than— Esme. Carlisle is a wonderful leader, make no mistake. But he would have let it all burn. For nothing. I cannot even say he was doing it for me because it wasn’t me. He was giving up everything for a husk. No matter how sick I was, I couldn’t bring myself to leave Carlisle after everything.

COME NIGHTFALL EPILOGUE: PRELUDE - DVD COMMENTARY

“I walked,” he said.

“What?”

The patter of heavy rain became a light pittering drizzle.

“After making the worst mistake of my entire existence,” he said quietly, “I walked. From Washington to New York.”

"Walked? As in… walked? Like a human?" [no, walked like a penguin]

"I was in no state to face my family. Anyone, really. I didn’t dare go back to Forks for my car; I knew I’d go right back and beg you to forget whatever idiotic drivel had come out of my mouth. [New Moon AU where Edward comes back within an hour of breaking up, like, "ok that was a mistake"] I couldn’t very well take a bus or a plane or a train—”

“Or run?”

“I was extremely disoriented,” he said. “Dizzy. It was as though I had…what is the human condition when the world seems to spin as though you’re drunk?” [i go back and forth on whether i like this version of Edward who has no medical background. i edited his backstory in part to close one of Twilight's plot holes. (why does Edward suck out the venom if he also has medical training? why can't Carlisle clean her blood while Edward sets her bones? honestly, i find it rather cruel that canon Carlisle would convince Edward to drink his dying singer's blood.)

ultimately, it's an interesting character choice. Edward, a giant know-it-all who spent the last century acquiring all sorts of knowledge, suddenly finds himself dating a girl whose species he's learned little about. she confounds him in more ways than one. a concept!]

“Vertigo?”

“Ah. Vertigo. Yes. So, I thought I might take some time to...collect myself.”

My questioning side eye gave him a chuckle. The silent response seemed loud enough.

“Pride,” he answered with a small smile. “Ego. My family believed I was making a terrible mistake leaving you behind. I didn't want them to think they were right. [it felt like the only way to make the family less culpable in abandoning Bella was to have them vehemently disagree with Edward's choice. yes, they could have said "fuck it" & stayed for Bella's sake. but i think, as much as they disagreed with Edward, they wanted to support him as he has supported them through the years. i think they were afraid that sticking around for a human girl they barely knew would drive a wedge in the coven. little did they know it was unavoidable.]

“Of course, 800 hours later, nothing had changed. I could have killed eight minutes for all the good it did me. The second I walked through the door everyone knew I was…unwell.” Edward shrugged. He said no more.

"How unwell is 'unwell'?" [hoo boy]

“Unwell, as in, had my family not regularly intervened, I would have lain on the same couch staring out the same window until it rotted away underneath me [oh no, ambiguous pronoun :( i'll edit this]. It was the best shot I had at making it to the heat death of the universe.”

[this is inspired by /@gisellelx's Ithaca is Gorges (notably, Chapter 3: Paternity), as well as P.A. Lassiter's New Moon (Chapter 9: There). think: sad sack on the couch, spending hours & hours counting leaves & being held by his creator who hadn't fully realized (until it was too late) the kind of heart-ripping pain Edward would be in after leaving Bella. see also: a botched vivisection, animalistic catatonia, Alfred Schnittke's "Piano Quintet: IV. Lento"]

I knew he meant it as a joke, but I couldn’t bear to look at his weak smile.

“I was desperate to be unobtrusive. Silent. Nonexistent. I didn’t want to hang like a dark, poisonous cloud over everyone. [literally. i pictured his "bedroom" in the attic.] But I did. It wasn’t long before Jasper had to leave, so paralyzed in the face of my overwhelming pain that he could barely function himself. [idk if i've ever said this in the ITA series, but i've always seen Jasper as a synesthete. he tastes the emotions he feels, or certain emotions are associated with colors, or sounds, etc. so not only would Jasper be feeling Edward's pain, but he might be tasting a constant bitter/sour taste, or hearing a constant, clashing discord.] Alice obviously left with him. Emmett and Rosalie followed suit after she and Carlisle got into a row over me. [tl;dr Rose thinks coddling Edward won't make him better. she hates that everyone's acting like he's dead. it's his own fault he ruined himself, & Carlisle is bringing the rest of the family down with his son.] Even he and Esme began fighting over how to…handle me.” Bitter disgust permeated the air. “That was what hurt the most. Carlisle never gave up on me. He has remained faithful in my worst hours, always, and I…within months, had ruined everything he had spent decades building.” [love this line. buddy, you also helped build everything he has today!]

“You didn’t ruin anything,” I said quietly. [WELL...]

“I know this man as well as— arguably better than [lol]— Esme [and yet...i can see it 😏]. Carlisle is a wonderful leader, make no mistake. But he would have let it all burn. For nothing. I cannot even say he was doing it for me because it wasn’t me. He was giving up everything for a husk. No matter how sick I was, I couldn’t bring myself to leave Carlisle after everything.

[ok, i LOVE the messy, complicated beauty of this Edward/Carlisle. i love that Carlisle would burn Volterra down for his son. i love that Edward would follow Carlisle off a cliff despite his doubts. yes, after 90 years together, they took each other for granted - Carlisle perhaps saw Edward as a permanent fixture, & Edward has admitted to not fully grasping the complexity of Carlisle's role as coven leader. but in the end, they would rather poison themselves & each other with love than be without each other. Neat & Cool]

send me 500 words of my fanfic & i will give you the equivalent of a DVD commentary on that snippet

[tinkerbclla]

Eddie Munson made it.

He did everything that his teachers had always told him that he wouldn’t. It was always “You’ll never make anything of your life if you don’t buck your ideas up!” and “Making music is such a longshot, do you have a backup plan?” and “Edward Munson if you don’t shut your mouth this second –” 

Eddie Munson didn’t shut up. And now, he was a star.

His first EP ‘The Upside Down’ had been an instant hit. ‘Vecna’s Curse’ made it to number one on the rock charts and stayed there for three consecutive weeks. He’d had two successful albums since, been nominated for countless awards and even won a few.

But he wasn’t happy.

Eddie Munson was bored.

Well and truly bored.

He filled the days however he could. His music wasn’t fulfilling any more. It was bland and repetitive and he hadn’t been inspired for a while now. He was writing, sure. He was writing more than anything. He’d filled two notebooks in the last week alone. Then he flipped through them and ripped out every single page. 

“It’s all drivel!” he complained to Gareth one day. “I’ve lost my touch! My edge! It’s gone forever!”

He’d met Gareth in high school. They were the best of friends, really. They’d formed a band together and they stayed together until Gareth went off to college to study music production. He emerged a new man and Eddie –

Eddie had still been playing for the same five drunks in the same dingy bars.

So Gareth had taken him under his wing. Gareth had a good knowledge of music production now and he became Eddie’s manager. He was signed to a label within six months.

It had all moved rather fast from there. Eddie had lost track of the time. It melted away, sped past him like the stars in the window of the Millenium Falcon as it shifted into hyperspeed. He’d been on every continent, played most major cities, sold out arenas that held more people than lived in his hometown.

And he was so fucking bored.

That’s how he found himself with – Jace? Kyle? Marc? 

He didn’t know. He wasn’t going to see him again, so it didn’t matter. For now he would call him sweetheart and hope for the best. He couldn’t complain much from his position, with Eddie’s cock sliding further down his throat.

“Just like that, baby,” Eddie crooned. “You take it so well.”

There was a muffled cry beneath him that sent vibrations up his shaft to pool in his gut. 

Eddie fucked into him harder, trusting his partner for the night to tap out if he needed. Eddie was a rockstar, he could take, take, take what he wanted. He gripped onto the blonde locks in front of him as his knees started to wobble. He wished he could give the other guy some credit, but Eddie was doing all of the fucking work. 

Eddie drew himself out of his partner’s mouth. He was even bored doing this, and god, wasn’t that just the most depressing thing?

“Lie down on the bed for me, sweetheart,” Eddie tried with all his might to inject some interest in his voice. “Let me fuck you.”

The blonde nodded at him dumbly, looking fucked out and lovestruck despite Eddie’s apathy. 

Eddie watched him for a moment, before retrieving a condom and some lube from his nightstand and finishing what he’d started.

*

If Eddie sat and thought about it, he realised that he spent too much of his time thinking about love. It was always something that had been so out of reach. 

When he was young – really young – he spent a lot of his time vying for the love of his parents. He acted out, mostly. Got scrapes and bumps and bruises on purpose, because he’d seen how his friends’ mothers fawned over them when they were hurt. His parents were too lost to fawn over him. Eddie being hurt was nothing more than a nuisance. He stopped showing them the scrapes.

When he first moved in with Wayne, the uncle who had always seemed so distant before, whom he barely knew, he turned away from the love. Wayne was determined to cook him a decent meal every night, so Eddie complained that he wanted take-out. Wayne bought him clothes to replace the ones that were becoming threadbare, so Eddie screamed when he realised his favourite t-shirt was gone. He pushed Wayne’s love away until Wayne came home with a gift. He pressed the fabric into Eddie’s hands wordlessly and Eddie scoffed in the way he was wont to in those days. 

And then he saw it.

Wayne had located an exact copy of the old Judas Priest shirt that he’d thrown out because it had a hole in the armpit. It looked brand new. It knocked the wind out of Eddie, he was totally in awe of Wayne from that moment. It was the most unambiguous sign of familial love he’d ever been shown. He stopped pushing his uncle away after that. He accepted the love.

The thing about love was that, as soon as Eddie had a taste, he wanted more.

He watched as his friends got girlfriend after girlfriend in middle and high school. He wanted what they had; he wanted soft hugs and gentle kisses on blushing cheeks. He craved affection more than he’d ever craved anything. 

He didn’t get it.

One day in high school, some of the guys on the football team had gotten hold of the information that Carter Anderson was gay. He’d been spotted holding hands with his secret boyfriend under the bleachers, totally innocent shit, but he was immediately ostracised. He was either sneered at or avoided completely. Eddie didn’t know which was worse. 

He’d wanted to comfort Carter, but he couldn’t have anyone know that he was the same. He was already a freak, Eddie didn’t think he could handle being the gay freak. 

He’d come out eventually, once high school was over and he was no longer bound by a hierarchy that was controlled by meaningless things like who had the most money, or who was able to catch a ball accurately. He’d even had a couple of relationships that went nowhere. 

He still craved something real, something permanent. 

It seemed impossible to find, especially as a famous musician. People wanted fame and people wanted money. It didn’t matter much to them how they got it.

The thought crossed his mind again when he was in a meeting about his upcoming tour. He’d chewed on a pencil until the yellow paint had chipped off and he’d most likely swallowed some of it, while the tour manager droned on about their schedule and the record label representative chimed in with the demand that Eddie keep working on his new album while he’s on the road. They kept talking until it was all static and Eddie’s mind drifted to love. Or his lack of love, to be more accurate.

It made him laugh to think of how he’d changed since the start of his career. A meeting like this used to hold his attention. It was new and exciting; he was getting to share his love with the world. But he hadn’t felt the love in his music for the past two albums now. He was surprised that his fans hadn’t noticed, yet he seemed to be as popular as ever. More popular, even. He was selling more than ever.

And he hated it. None of it felt authentic. None of it felt like love.

Eddie let out a sharp gasp of pain as Gareth elbowed him in the ribs, bringing him back into the room.

“Oh, uh –” Eddie scanned the room quickly in an attempt to figure out what had been asked of him. “Sorry, run that by me again?”

The executive in front of him rolled his eyes, obviously growing tired of the meeting and Eddie’s habit of daydreaming, “The tour schedule was confirmed by your manager, Mr Emerson, we just need a signature.”

“Right,” Eddie nodded, dragging the paper over to him. “Sure.”

Eddie wished he’d listened to at least some of the plan for his tour, but he couldn’t help it. The whole thing made him feel listless. Miserable. Apathetic. He’d ask Gareth for the details later, but honestly?

Eddie Munson wanted a fucking break.

He wanted to find the love in his music again, and he couldn’t do that while playing the same songs that had made him lose it. 

Eddie signed his life away and left the meeting without another word.

*

It was a dumb idea. It was reckless and stupid. Eddie knew that, but it wasn’t like he had any better ideas. Eddie sat at his desk and stared at the laptop screen in front of him. It was probably the only time he’d actually used the piece of furniture for more than just storage space for a thick layer of dust. He’d had to wipe it down thoroughly before he even thought about putting his laptop on it. The desk had sat in the corner of his music room unused; both Wayne and Gareth had insisted that he should have a desk to work at, but Eddie had written most of his songs either on the couch on the opposite side of the room or sprawled across the floor. A desk wasn’t exactly in tune with his creative vision. 

He wasn’t writing now, though, he was researching, and that was a task suited to the rigid conformity of a desk. Eddie opened up a browser window with a swift click and began to type.

How to stop hating mys–

No. He erased the words before he’d even finished writing them. They sounded too pathetic, but so did every other combination of words that ran through his head.

But how could he make them sound less pathetic? There was no admirable way to admit that you felt as though you were drowning in everything that had once been your dream.

How to feel less lost

That search was a dud. Eddie was willing to accept a lot of advice, but “accept that it’s okay to feel lost” was probably the most useless advice he’d been given in a while. He was past acceptance. He wanted change. Needed it with every fibre of his being.

He strayed away from the searches that would give him identical results touting mindfulness and going out for a walk as the cure to all mental health issues. He’d done it all. He’d even been to therapy. He needed something different, something fresh. He racked his brain until he settled on his next search –

Find writing inspiration easy

Eddie waded through pages of awful advice, telling him to look at writing prompts or to exercise (how was a jog supposed to help him come up with a hit song, exactly?).

Then came a beacon of hope. His answer.

A writers’ retreat.

The idea sparked a wave of hope that hadn’t washed over Eddie in a long time. He didn’t want to go on a specifically planned writers’ retreat, to be surrounded by twelve other writers who were constantly asking him what he was writing and what brought him to their little commune – he shuddered at the thought. Definitely not.

But to be able to escape? To book a flight to Bumfuck, Nowhere and exist among people who had no idea who he was? To hole up where no one would be able to track him and demand photos and autographs? He’d been asked to sign someone’s tits when he was out for dinner, for god’s sake, and he just wanted some quiet. The idea of quiet was thrilling.

A new Google search: Rural towns in the Midwest.

The Midwest was probably the most boring place that Eddie could think of. He lived in L.A., and the West coast was somewhere he wanted to get away from. If he went too far East, he’d end up with New York, and he wanted to avoid that just as much. In fact, he was probably supposed to go there on the tour he’d blindly agreed to. 

Eddie didn’t want busy. He wanted boring. So: the Midwest.

He clicked through a number of websites, waiting for a name to stick. A small town that sounded like it had some charm to it, something that would leave Eddie feeling in love again. 

He found what he was looking for in Fairland, Indiana. The whimsical name was already enough to send soft flutters through his chest; he felt the inspiration already, felt the love that radiated from the small town. He trawled through the pictures that he could find. There weren’t many – even the Trip Advisor page for the town only had two entries – but Fairland seemed quaint.

Eddie was sold.

He was opening up a new tab to browse AirBnB almost immediately. In the back of his mind, he was aware of the reaction his plan would solicit from Gareth and everyone else who worked for him. He knew that this was impulsive, that there were a litany of fans who had paid for tickets to the tour already. The idea of disappointing his fans caused an ache that settled in next to his heart, but he couldn’t keep showing them this watered-down version of Eddie Munson. They deserved his love. He owed it to them.

The only issue with choosing such a small town was that the AirBnB options were few and far between. There was only the one option, actually. A home that Eddie could only really describe as cosy, as close to a cottage as he’d ever seen. Eddie thought that cottages only existed in fairytales, or, like, England. But it was there, right in front of him in a high-definition image. An honest-to-god cottage with ivy growing up the grey stone walls. Eddie hadn’t seen a brick house outside of Chicago; it added to the charm of the building. It felt like a hidden gem, a treasure that he needed to snatch up immediately.

He scrolled further. The room for offer had a double bed, the house itself boasted a large wood-burning fireplace and a private garden. The pictures looked ethereal. He quickly found the contact button, barely taking notice of the reviews (there weren’t too many anyway – Fairland apparently wasn’t particularly popular). His eye did catch one note under the owner’s profile, though: The owner lives in the main house. 

It almost stopped Eddie from messaging, but surely he could put up with nodding politely at the man when he saw him in the shared spaces of the house? It was still rural and beautiful and everything he needed.

Eddie swallowed any hesitation and typed out his message.

Eddie: How soon would this room be available?

He immediately and deeply regretted forgoing a greeting, realising how rude and demanding he must sound.

Eddie: Sorry! Hi! Just very excited about your lovely home!

Eddie banged his head on the desk. Twice, for good measure. He was about to delete his entire profile when the reply came through.

Steve: Hi there Eddie! It’s available now and there aren’t any upcoming bookings. So I can accommodate you whenever.

He didn’t think before he replied, didn’t give himself time to.

Eddie: Would you think me insane if I suggested tomorrow?

Steve: I can get the room set up by then, no problemo!

Eddie: And if I don’t exactly have an end date to my stay?

Steve: As long as I’m getting paid, stay for as long as you want.

If he hadn’t been convinced before, he definitely was now.

Eddie didn’t have to think too much about money these days; he was impulsive and spent as much as he wanted to. He’d bought Wayne a house – an actual house with more than one storey and everything – without a second thought. He gave him an unlimited budget to furnish it and went to Ikea with him in disguise (it was a cap and sunglasses, very original and not the least bit effective). 

Still, this was the fastest Eddie had typed in his card information in a long time. He paid for a month up front to sweeten the deal for his host and immediately switched tabs to look for flights.

*

Eddie was buckling himself into a plane seat before he let anyone in on his plan. He’d been putting it off, knowing exactly how much he was going to screw them all over. Gareth didn’t deserve it, the fans didn’t deserve it, but Eddie struggled to feel an inch of sympathy for any of the other executives. 

Besides, this was going to be for the best. For both Eddie and his fans. 

With a steadying breath, he opened up his messages to Gareth.

Munson: I’m not doing the tour.

Munson: Don’t look for me. I’ll be back, but not any time soon.

And then he turned off his phone before the barrage of texts started to flood in.

He’d been clever about it; he’d covered his tracks. Eddie’s laptop stayed in his penthouse apartment, but the history had been completely wiped. He had logged into his banking app and changed his password, just in case Gareth knew the old one. He’d even phoned the bank to make sure they wouldn’t give out any of his information. He told them, and the police, in no uncertain terms, that he was not missing and none of his information was to be shared. He wanted to cover all of his bases, because the men in suits were vultures and they wouldn’t stop until they found Eddie. So he had to make sure that he wouldn’t be found.

He was pretty sure that he’d done a good job.

***

The opening scenes from 'The Unloved Ones' by tinkerbclla on ao3.

LINK

[jellogram]

I'm a writer. I want everything to fit together. Chekov said you shouldn't mention the gun unless someone gets shot. But normal life is full of guns that never go off. You just sit there, watching them, waiting for the boom.

I think about that polaroid of me at the Golden Gate bridge, smiling next to three guys I used to love. I only ever speak to one of them anymore. The other two want me dead. It wasn't a gunshot, it was a creeping dread that cut between us. And I've never been good at writing a slow burn.

I think about every patch of grass I've laid down in drunk. I wish they fit together like puzzle pieces. My dad used to bring home strips of turf and lay them out over dead patches of grass. The new grass never quite melted into the old. I lay these drunken naps together like I'm expecting an order. Like I'm expecting a picture to form. And all I get is white noise, static, the TV turned to no station. Unpublishable drivel.

I think about the girl at my middle school who died. I looked for her, on the first day of eighth grade. I turned around in my assembly seat and searched the crowd. I didn't see her. I figured she must be sick.

She fell asleep in the bathtub and a candle burned down her house. The smoke in her lungs forced out the oxygen and she died without ever waking up. It's been thirteen years and I've never known where to put that memory. The memory of looking back at the crowd for her face, when she was dead in the ground. I don't think I'll ever know where to store it, what narrative it fits into. In a novel it would be a defining moment, a conquered terror or an ominous warning. But in my real life it's just a memory. Just something that sits on my heart and comes out whenever it sees fit.

And there's even harder, deeper, bloodier memories. Ones that I would write into a character like it was nothing, but that I shudder to remember myself. Things I ignore. Things I don't want in my story. Things that would make a good novel, but never a good life. They must sit silently, until I find a place for them in the plot.

Maybe one day the gun will go off and everything will make sense. Or maybe real life just means sitting by the fire, staring at the mantle, and wondering if that rifle is actually loaded.

[purrplewitches]

the course of true love (never did run smooth)

Pairing: Geto/Shoko, Gojo/Utahime Rating: M (eventually)

Summary: forcing two jujutsu sorcerers to live together is a dangerous game. Shoko and Utahime are just hoping to make it through the year - the last thing either expects is to fall in love

ao3 link

"I wish you could visit us in Kyoto more often, Shoko," Utahime sighs wistfully, appearing in the kitchen doorway with three bottles of wine in her arms, "This almost feels like one of our student-day get-togethers. Ah, what a time that was!"

Utahime's deep in her cups - she, Shoko, and Mei Mei have been drinking at her apartment since late morning, enjoying the rare day off together - and Shoko cannot help but chuckle when she meets Mei Mei's knowing gaze - Utahime's has always been an overly nostalgic drunk.

"I wish I could come out here more often, too," Shoko says, leaning languidly against the armrest of the couch, "But, thanks to Principal Yaga and certain idiots who seem to think that getting injured on a mission is a requirement, I barely get any days off without getting called back to school to treat someone."

"Just don't pick up the phone when you are not on the clock. The way I see it, if you aren't getting paid, it's not your problem," Mei Mei smiles, taking a drink of her wine, "Perhaps, realizing that they can't always rely on you will teach certain sorcerers to think twice before blindly rushing into a battle."

"I'm not sure there's anything that could get through their thick skulls," Shoko sighs, shifting in her seat to let Utahime settle down on the couch beside her.

"No one's immune to a lesson that's taught the hard way," Mei Mei tilts her head to the side, studying Shoko's face.

Shoko hums, considering Mei Mei's suggestion - perhaps, there's some merit to her words. Utahime shifts in her seat, distracting Shoko from her thoughts, and offers her wine. Though rather tipsy, Shoko doesn't refuse.

"Thank you," Shoko murmurs when Utahime generously fills her glass almost too full. Taking a long, slow sip to ensure it doesn't spill, she continues, "Still, despite all my grievances, I'm grateful at least that I'm only a doctor and not a teacher. With patients, once they are out of the clinic, they are off my hands, but with students, it seems there isn't a single moment when you don't have to worry for them. I don't know how you do it, Utahime."

"Working with students can be very rewarding. And there's never a dull day when you are teaching young sorcerers," Utahime smiles, slumping against the back of the couch, "Though, at times, it could be a little tiring."

"So, it seems you two are in desperate need of a vacation," Mei Mei chuckles, pouring more wine into her glass, "It could be fun to travel together this summer… I'm thinking somewhere warm, with a nice beach."

"I'd love to go to Bali or Malaysia," Utahime sighs dreamily before turning to Shoko, "But you just reminded me of something."

"Huh?" Shoko says, confused.

"When you mentioned the students, I thought of my conversation with principal Gakuganji just two days ago," Utahime explains, "Apparently, we most likely won't have any first-year students this term… Do you know if Tokyo's getting any first years?"

At Utahime's words, Shoko frowns, remembering the faculty meeting she'd been forced to attend a few weeks prior. She used to try to get out of the faculty meetings - after all, she didn't teach, so there was no reason for her to be there - but Principal Yaga always insisted that it was essential for everyone working at Jujutsu High to attend, which left Shoko with no choice but to comply begrudgingly.

Most of the time, these faculty meetings consisted of mind-numbing drivel that Shoko could easily tune out. Still, the one that Utahime's words brought to mind stood out against the rest - she'd never seen Principal Yaga quite as grim as when he'd told them that there would be no first-year students starting at the school come April.

"I thought we were the only ones not getting new students," Shoko places her wine glass on the low table in front of her, "I actually assumed that your school must be getting students since we aren't."

"Well, it's not certain quite yet," Utahime replies, crossing her arms before her, "Principal Gakuganji said they'll keep looking - but with the school year looming so near, I don't think they'll be able to find anyone."

"I suppose this shouldn't come as too much of a surprise," Shoko muses, "After all, the classes have been getting smaller for years - I can't remember the last time we had more than four students at the school at the same time."

"And I thought our grade was tiny since there were only two of us," Mei Mei laughs, brushing her hair out of her face as she leans back in her seat, "But, perhaps, instead, it was way too crowded."

Shoko chuckles, nodding - though there were only three people in her class, Gojo and Geto's antics often made it feel as though there were a dozen. And the only reason they've gotten away with those antics was because even as students, they were as powerful as at least a dozen fully-fledged sorcerers.

Though somewhat concerning, the revelation that neither Tokyo nor Kyoto schools are getting new students is not surprising to Shoko. After all, people who could see cursed spirits were exceedingly rare - and, among them, those with enough cursed energy and enough talent for using cursed techniques to become career jujutsu sorcerers were rarer still.

And, even among those with innate talent and abilities, only some were ready - or willing to take on - the burdens of a sorcerer's life. Looking back, Shoko sometimes wondered if she'd still choose this path if she knew then what she knows now.

"I just hope this will be a one-off year if they don't find anyone," Utahime says, distracting Shoko from her thoughts, "I'd really hate for this to become a…regular occurrence."

"Oh, trust me, it won't," Mei Mei chuckles, leaning against the armrest of the couch and resting her chin on her hand, "If the higher-ups notice the flow of new sorcerers running dry, they'll send Principal Gakuganji and Principal Yaga - and, perhaps, the rest of us too if we are ever so unfortunate - to scour the ends of the earth for new students. And that likely wouldn't even be the worst of it if they ever decide that there just aren't enough sorcerers around."

A shiver runs up Shoko's spine at the thought. Though the higher-ups and their decision were largely unpredictable, one thing was for certain - they could always be relied on to make an already bad situation worse.

"Let's not dwell on such dreadful scenarios," Shoko says decisively, "How about we discuss something less morbid?"

"Like that summer vacation you mentioned," Utahime chimes in.

"Very well," Mei Mei smiles. She gets up from her seat and walks over to the couch where Shoko and Utahime are sitting and gestures for them to make space for her, "I want to show you the hotel I stayed at last year when I went to Malaysia - I think you'll like it."

"Can't wait to lie on the beach all day and do absolutely nothing, "Utahime says, shifting over and letting Mei Mei sit between them. Shoko nods in agreement - perhaps, if she's in another country, too far to be called back to the school's clinic in the middle of the night, she'll finally be able to catch up on sleep.

Just as Mei Mei's about to pull up the pictures of the hotel, Shoko's phone rings. She doesn't want to pick up - after all, it's her well-deserved day off - but when she sees the caller's name, an all-too-familiar uneasy feeling uncoils in her chest.

"Who is it?" Utahime asks, frowning as Shoko gets up from the couch.

"It's Yaga," Shoko sighs, downing the remainder of her wine, "Which means one of those idiots has likely gotten into some sort of trouble… I'll be right back."

With that, Shoko heads over to the kitchen. Her phone doesn't stop ringing, not for a moment, and Shoko knows it must be something serious. Taking a deep breath to ward off the uneasy feeling welling in her chest, she picks up the call.

"Took you long enough to answer," Principal Yaga says instead of a greeting, "Are you in Tokyo now? Can you stop by the school?"

"I'm in Kyoto, so it will take at least a few hours before I can make it back," Shoko responds calmly, "Is someone injured?"

Principal Yaga doesn't respond, not for a long moment, and the silence that stretches between them does little to quell her unease.

"Are you with Utahime?" Principal Yaga asks suddenly.

The question catches Shoko off-guard - why does he need to know that? Worrying thoughts swirl in Shoko's head, but she chases them away. Perhaps, it's nothing too serious; maybe they are just getting sent on a mission together…

"Yes," Shoko says, "And Mei Mei's here too."

"I see… Has Principal Gakuganji contacted them yet?"

Why would he? Unless…

"Has someone died?" Shoko asks flatly, unable to stave off her unease any longer.

"What? No, no one's dead; why did you think that?" Principal Yaga replies, clearly frustrated, "I knew this would be easier to explain in person, but since you're in Kyoto, I suppose this will have to do. Can you put the phone on speaker so the others can hear?"

Shoko frowns, confused. If no one's injured or dead, why is he calling her on her day off? What could possibly be so urgent? And why do Utahime and Mei Mei need to listen in on the call?

"One moment," Shoko says, "They are in another room - I'll go there now."

Muting the microphone, she walks out into the living room. Mei Mei and Utahime are still sitting on the couch, scrolling through the pictures of different hotels, their focused expressions betraying just how seriously they take the selection process.

"Is everything alright?" Utahime looks up at Shoko, concerned.

"I'm not sure," Shoko replies, frowning, "The only thing I know is that no one's injured or dead, but whatever it is, it must concern all of us since Principal Yaga asked to include you two on the call…"

"There's only one way to find out," Mei Mei says, and Shoko nods. She approaches the couch, settles down, and, taking a deep breath, unmutes the phone.

"We are all here now," she says.

"Very well," Principal Yaga says after a brief pause, "I will be frank; I do not think there is a way to broach the subject delicately, so I'll get straight to the point. This morning, the higher-ups called for a meeting that Principal Gakuganji and I attended."

Shoko looks up from her phone, her gaze shifting between Utahime, who's hugging her knees close to her chest and nervously twirling the bracelets on her wrist, and Mei Mei, who's lazily leaning against the back of the couch, taking a long, slow sip of her wine.

"As you may know, no new students are enrolling in either Tokyo or Kyoto Jujustu High this year."

Shoko exchanges surprised glances with Utahime and Mei Mei. Is that what this is about? Mei Mei better not have jinxed it - the last thing Shoko wants is to travel to some god-forgotten village in search of potential new students for their school.

"The higher-ups have expressed their concerns regarding what this means for the jujutsu society… Especially since fewer and fewer sorcerers are born every year," Principal Yaga continues.

Mei Mei chuckles airly at these words, and Shoko can only scoff - it is hardly a surprise. Only a union of two sorcerers could guarantee a sorcerer offspring - but unions like that were exceedingly rare, and for a good reason. Jujutsu sorcerers lived hard, short lives that often ended in a horrifyingly macabre manner. Of the many willing to walk this difficult path, few were ready to entrust their hearts to someone else bound to this gruesome fate, and Shoko could not blame them.

For her part, Shoko much preferred dating outside the jujutsu sorcerer community. The secrecy required by their profession all but guaranteed that those relationships would not last, but it's not like Shoko was ever looking for something serious or long-term. She'd gladly do short, meaningless flings all her life if that meant she'd never get a heart-wrenching call in the middle of the night telling her that the person she loved the most had just been ground into a fine paste and smeared around the block by an unexpectedly present special grade curse.

"…And so a decision was made," Principal Yaga says, distracting Shoko from her thoughts, "To ensure the continuation and proliferation of the jujutsu sorcerer society, all unmarried jujutsu sorcerers are to find a match with whom they must form a union that shall last at least a year."

Shoko blinks slowly, wondering if the wine has finally gotten to her head and made her imagine things. To her chagrin, judging by Utahime and Mei Mei's expressions, it seems she heard Principal Yaga correctly.

"You can't be serious!" Utahime exclaims, a bright, angry blush rising high in her cheeks.

"I wish I was, even if this would make for a terrible joke," Yaga replies grimly.

"Huh, now that's something I didn't expect," Mei Mei chuckles darkly, "A puppy mill, but make it jujutsu sorcerers… Those old men really are some twisted creeps."

It is not common for Mei Mei to be this crass, but then again, this is no ordinary situation.

"Don't be rude," Principal Yaga says, but there is no force behind his words, only exhaustion, "And don't twist my words. No one is demanding that any of you have children within the year. The official order only requires that each unmarried sorcerer finds a match - and that they live with that match for at least a year. Of course, ideally, this arrangement will become permanent and will result in children. But, if in a year's time, you no longer wish to live with the person you picked, you are free to leave without suffering any repercussions."

"That hardly sounds any better," Shoko scoffs. There are few things she appreciates in life more than having her own space, and the thought of sharing her apartment with someone for an entire year makes her highly annoyed.

"Another important thing to mention," Principal Yaga says, ignoring Shoko's words, "You are free to pick whoever you want as your match. If they agree, you'll need to come to my or to Principal Gakuganji's office to register your union. There's only one restriction - if someone who is a higher grade sorcerer than you requests you as their match, you cannot decline."

Shoko almost laughs - as it turns out, being a grade one sorcerer was good, at least for something. At least no one could force her into a match.

"Those who have not registered their union by Friday, two weeks from now, will be entered into the lottery for a random draw," Principal Yaga concludes.

"I'd like to clarify - just so there are no misunderstandings," Mei Mei's voice is calm and businesslike, her face focused - however shocked she may have been at Yaga's announcement, she's clearly pulled herself together and was already making plans, "All this new order requires of us is to find someone to live with for the next year - is that right?"

"That's correct," Principal Yaga replies, "But the underlying expectations of the higher-ups are as I discussed. And, since this is an order, new living quarters will be provided to all the couples as well as some extra compensation. With the deadline looming so close, I imagine you have a lot to think about - and I have a few more phone calls to make. Just make sure you don't delay too long."

Silence falls upon the room as soon as the call disconnects. Shoko slumps against the armrest of the couch, resting her chin on the palm of her hands. Whoever cautioned people to be careful of what they wished for was right. As much as she didn't want to be called into work because some idiot got into an avoidable scuffle with a cursed spirit, that would have been much better than whatever just happened.

For the first time in weeks, Shoko almost regrets the promise she made to Utahime to try and quit smoking - the more she thinks of Principal Yaga's words, the more she yearns for a cigarette.

"I need a drink," she says, finally, trying to distract herself from the urge to smoke. Mei Mei nods, then picks up a bottle and pours her a full glass.

"I know we've long suspected it, but this seals it," Utahime's voice is full of anger, and the next thing Shoko knows, she's pacing the room, "Seems these old men have nothing better to do than to torment us. This order is an atrocity!"

"It's quite annoying," Mei Mie offers calmly, "But if you think about it, it's not that bad."

"Not that bad?" Utahime almost hisses.

"As you've heard, all the order really requires is to find someone you can tolerate living with for the next year - and, after that, both of you can be on your merry way. As long as you find someone who views this the same way you do, I'm sure it won't be too difficult to come to an understanding," Mei Mei drawls, taking a drink of her wine, "While the situation is far from ideal, I'm sure an acceptable arrangement is possible."

"Easier said than done," Shoko chuckles. Utahime and Mei Mei were, perhaps, the only people she could fathom sharing an apartment with for an entire year, but, much to her chagrin, that would not be allowed.

"Yes," Utahime agrees, "You are saying it like it's so easy to find someone "tolerable." Have you met most of our colleagues?"

"They aren't all that bad," Mei Mei laughs airily, leaning against the back of the couch, "You just need to know how to look."

Shoko looks at Mei Mei with curiosity, wondering if she has someone specific in mind, but she doesn't ask - the last glass of wine has finally gotten to her head, leaving her very tipsy and a little tired.

"Sure," Utahime scoffs, crossing her arms before her, "And then there's the lottery… Do you think there's any chance that one won't get paired up?"

"There are more male than female jujutsu sorcerers," Shoko says, placing her wine glass on the table, "So, as a woman, I'd say your chances of not getting assigned a match through the lottery are zero."

"Besides," Mei Mei interjects, "Why would you want to leave something like this up to chance? If you get a random match, it's far from guaranteed that the two of you will see eye to eye on what this order means… Which may cause very undesirable issues."

"This order really is a way to cause a short-term demographic problem in an attempt to solve a long-term one," Shoko chuckles darkly, "Given that none of us are exactly above murder. I'll give it a few months before everyone's at each other's throats - let's see what the higher-ups do then."

"All the more reason to pick someone you can tolerate," Mei Mei shrugs, "Getting rid of bodies can be quite cumbersome. Now then, shall we continue looking at the hotels? I liked the first one we saw, but I want to stay somewhere I haven't been before."

"You still want to go on a vacation?" Utahime asks, surprised.

"Of course," Mei Mei chuckles, "Now even more so - given everything we have to deal with, we absolutely deserve it."

Shoko hums appreciatively - she's always admired Mei Mei's eye-on-the-prize attitude. It seemed like nothing could ever sidetrack her from something she really wanted. And, given everything that has just transpired, she could really use a distraction.

"I suppose you are right. "After all, that would be the perfect excuse to get away from those thrice-cursed matches the higher-ups want to saddle us with," Utahime muses momentarily, then looks at Shoko, "Are you in?"

"Of course," Shoko nods. Principal Yaga's words are weighing heavy on her mind, but Shoko pushes them away and smiles, "At this point, I'll do anything that will let me catch up on sleep."