#easy -- it wasn't there business but it is now

[thewistlingbadger]

All the shade in the world when we say we want complex women characters we want more Ellie Williams and other characters whose actions make our insides twist, not frustrate us. We want characters that we hold beloved to become corrupted by fate but still have the opportunity for some redemption.

Caitlyn Kiramman is an interesting character, but she does not fit the bill for the "complex female characters" we desire. Jinx, Vi, and Mel better fit that bill. All three of those women have given us reason to both love and despise them. Many a difficult conversation have they been the subject of. And to me personally Cait just falls flat. And I don't think it's her own fault I think it's the writing. Season 1 cait is 🔛🔝 but season two cait? I understand that she's grieving her mother, HOWEVER, we barely saw any interaction between the two of them and the little that we did see showed us that she wasn't fucking with her like that/they had a complex and somewhat negative relationship. Imagine how the season opened with Cait actually finding her mom's dead body. We would all feel sick, and we'd all pity her. Or imagine had we been given a flashback between her and her mother when she was a child in the garden, having a good time. Or imagine how they just even mentioned the fact that their relationship was strained. Losing a parent is bad, what makes it worse is having unfinished business with that parent (which is why people love the story of Ellie Williams, it's why we understand why she wants to go after her father's killer other than the fact that the killer murdered her father). Caitlin only having one motivation to go after jinx, to descend into hell, to avenge her mother is not even. "Jinx killed mom now I kill Jinx" there's nothing compelling about that. We've seen the story several times.

Just to give a direct comparison.

Jinx's dad was a man she had an extremely complicated relationship with and this relationship was showcased throughout the season. The fact that she essentially lost her sister and killed her father at the same time is what pushes her over the edge. We completely understand why she's going to burn the world down because the show told us over and over and over again. Jinx always manages to lose the people she loves the most, and this time it's happened directly by her own hand.

Jinx's missile only kills three people, blows up a building, and inspiresb fear in the hearts of pilties and amazment in the hearts of Zaunites. Her actions were bad, but ultimately very few people actually suffered from her actions. The council only lost three people, it's not like pilltover's governmentless now (like how zaun is). The damage to the building wasn't that bad and it's easily repairable. And overall from her actions alone the citizens of pilltover are still safe.

Now let's look at cait. She's actively ruining the lives of zaunites by mass gassing them (we also how many kids were on the street. We all know how many homeless and disabled people there are in zaun. Now they're all negatively affected due to cait's lust of vengeance) and by arresting them when they've committed no crime. She's parading around the city with deadly weapons, under the authority of which she does not have! Cait abuses her name and her position as an enforcer to DEMAND that the council follow her plan. She had absolutely no right to storm into there and act like she had the power to call shots. What's even more gross is that she completely lied to them! Her goal was never to locate jinx, it was always to kill Jinx. If she truly cared about bringing jinx to proper justice, she would have ensured she be brought alive. If she truly cared about dismantling shimmer, she would have done that first bc A. Vi knows exactly where the factory is and B. According to silco, the last attack already cut the supply in half. It would have been easy to finish that off. Caitlyn acts like she's judge, jury, and Executioner the entire time she's down there. Her prejudice increases exponentially AS does her willingness to he openly prejudice. She literally refers to Vi's countrymen as animals, and accuses vi of being disloyal several times! and must we truly mention the assault she did? Must we mention that she was willing to kill a kid? That's a line jinx herself has not even willingly crossed yet, and she's practically crossed all other lines.

At the moment Caitlin is not a character who's doing the wrong things for what she believes is the right reason. She's acting out of complete selfishness. Even jinx, who committed an act of terrorism, didn't do it for herself. She did it for her dad, who worked so hard to bring down piltover and didn't live to see it because he refused to trade his daughter for Independence and peace.

So these are just only a few reasons why people don't support her this season. And her level of oppression, arrogance, and maliciousness is exactly why people are calling out those who defend her, because the majority of her defenders are privileged and white.

"We want more complex female characters" you can't even handle an angry, grieving daughter who just had her mother killed by her future wife's sister, shut the fuck up

[impactrueno]

Beetlejuice clearly wasn't interested in Lydia when they met, so when do you think he actually fell for her? Was he so impressed by Lydia defeating him that he developed a little crush?

i think this might be the biggest thing i've been turning around in my head since the sequel dropped. how did bro get to this point. i need to know. you weren't like this where we left off, what happened during that huge time gap????

this is where canon ends and conjecture begins, you just have to theorize and fill in the gaps yourself with whatever makes the most sense to you, which is what i've been trying to do this whole time. so please bear with me here.

i don't know how much i want share or save for my comics because i don't know how much he would actually reveal about this but whatever we ball

edit: ok so i scrolled back up to this after finishing writing this and as it turns out i have no self control and i ended up sharing everything that crossed my mind. craziest stream of consciousness i've ever written down. strap on and keep your limbs inside the ride at all times. whatever. we BALL.

let's review their first encounter from his point of view:

you're hired to scare the deetzes, right? so you do just that. excellently you might add. just when you're about to terrorize their teenage daughter, barbara banishes you and the party is over. what fucking losers right? you get the sense that adam and barbara care about this girl so you make some remark about her and it pisses them off. haha. also whoa where did this place come from? damn adam, who could've guessed he had it in him. you forget about everything else and dance your way to dante's inferno room.

after spending a respectably tasteful evening with those ladies, you're chill now. relaxing under your little sun lamp to work on your tan.

someone walks in looking for adam and barbara. don't they know they're dead?

"are you a ghost too?"

"i'm the ghost with the most, babe."

hold on a sec, who's even—

...well hey. it's the girl.

the girl who can see ghosts, and she's talking to you.

target acquired. this one's your ticket out of this hellhole.

"you look like somebody i can relate to," you tell her. relate how? doesn't matter. you're ensnaring her with your affable demeanor like you always do, make people feel like you're pals with them first and foremost. she seems like a nice girl, so this should be easy. you tell her upfront that you want to get out of there and you need her help to do so.

"i want to get in," she says.

whoa there.

what? she wants to get in? she says that in response to you saying that you wanted out. she really has no idea what it's like on the other side, huh. but shit, that kinda stops you in your tracks a bit. this girl wants to die. this young? that's not right. makes no sense.

"...why?"

she just looks at you and says nothing. jesus. ok maybe it's none of your business so let's back it up. you're losing control of the conversation and you're on a mission here. you figure if she helps you get out, you might as well talk her off that ledge or show her how shitty it is on the other side or somethin'. frankly, you can't afford to care right now. you're not entirely sure why she thinks things would be better on the side you're so desperate to get out of, but alright. doesn't matter, right now you gotta get her to summon you. so you begin your little game of charades.

after she correctly guesses your name and almost says it a third time, she recognizes you as the snake that terrorized her family. god fucking dammit. you're losing her. you're getting impatient. your affable act is over. "nah...i want to talk to barbara," she says and now she's REALLY getting on your nerves because fuck barbara, fuck adam, you're SO CLOSE to getting out and you're not gonna let this go now, go go GO GO SAY IIIIIIITTTTTTT

adam and barbara walk in because of course they do. womp womp

ok well that didn't work, but you're not gonna give up so easily. sooner or later another opportunity will come and soon you will be free.

wait why are they moving the model— where are they taking it—

ooohhhhh. business meeting. get a load of these yuppies, trying to turn winter river into a town-sized Ripley's Believe it or Not. a talking marcel marceau statue? and you thought you were a con man. no wonder the deetz girl wants to die, it's bleak as hell here too. but if you get out...you can fix that. hell, you can fix anything.

these bozos are here to see some ghosts, but the girl says they're not going to show up unless the fleshbags stop making a mockery out of the whole thing and that maybe they can all live happy together in the house. ain't that sweet.

of course no one's taking her seriously. she's a kid, what does she know, right? they'd rather listen to the most obnoxious guy in the room (besides yourself) who has no idea what the fuck he's talking about, but somehow, he's got his hands on the handbook.

the girl panics, then immediately says completely deadpan "wait, what am i even worried about, otho, you can't even change a tire" and you're surprised they didn't hear how hard you cackled at that.

despite all that, they seem to have started a séance with their old wedding clothes. bad news for the maitlands. they're about to be dead-dead. the girl cries for them to stop, and these guys are just sitting there scared shitless. you're hearing everything. you knew a new opportunity would arise, so you wait, because this is the part where people remember how good at your job you are. they always do.

she knows you can help. you're the only one who can help. so here she comes. those wedding clothes give you an idea. plan B is now in motion.

well well well.

look who came crawling back.

she asks for your help, and you're happy to oblige, under one condition of course. after all, you don't do anything for free, and she's the only one who can help you with your problem. how serendipitous.

once again, you lay it on her, straight up. you want out. and a way to do it (thanks adam and barbara for the reminder) is through marriage with a fleshbag. you need to get married. a green card marriage, if you will.

she's immediately disgusted by the idea. you don't take that personally, of course, because it doesn't matter. she's just a kid and it's not a real marriage. she just happens to be unlucky enough to be the only one around who can assist you with this, the poor girl. it's a marriage of convenience—or rather, inconvenience—and you're not planning on sticking around because you will get the hell out of there as soon as you can. so there shouldn't be a problem, right? besides, does she know how many women would kill to be in that position? she gets to brag about it to her friends, what's not to like? it's a totally even deal.

the clock is ticking and the maitlands aren't getting any younger. she agrees to the deal. you win, at last.

she already knows what to do, so you sit there patiently with a shit-eating grin on your face, awaiting the three little B words. gloating.

Beetlejuice........Beetlejuice...........Beetlejuice.

it's showtime.

this is your favorite part. you love a dramatic entrance. you decide to show the deetzes and their greedy friends the circus they so wanted to turn this town into. horrible as you are, you're also pretty damn good at calling out other people's horribleness, and you do love an ironic karmic way of dealing with someone. for example tubby here thinks he can escape, but not before you change his sleek black suit into a tacky white leisure suit. the horror! this is why you're a professional at this.

you effortlessly end the exorcism and the maitlands are saved. a little pruney right now but they'll be fine. everything is taken care of, you have fulfilled your end of the deal like you promised. only one thing left to do.

"shall we?"

there's really no need to make a whole show out of this, but you're a showman first and foremost and as a 𝒥𝓊𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒾𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝒶𝓁𝓊𝓂 you'll be damned if you're not gonna let yourself have a little fun with this. everyone looks terrified. this is why you're a professional at this.

witnesses and reverend in place, you can finally begin the ceremony. you're having fun, yes, but let's try to pick up the pace a bit, okay? the closer you get to your goal, the more impatient you get. the girl isn't finding any of this very funny at all and she protests. the maitlands butt in and are now kind of twisting your arm a bit, but you deal with them harmlessly, until they get on your last nerve so you send adam to the model and barbara to saturn. all of this after you honorably fulfilled your end of the bargain and saved the day. jesus christ, are you the only one with some integrity around here or what.

you forget the stupid ring. shit. you're pretty sure you have it on you somewhere, ever since you chopped up delores into pieces for poisoning you. you kept her ring finger as a trophy and as a reminder to never get married again, and yet here you are, but desperate times call for desperate measures. finally, you find the ring (still on her severed finger) and hastily tell your new bride-to-be that delores meant nothing to you. in case she even cares. she doesn't seem to. not even a chuckle? oh well.

almost done with the ceremony. almost there. you're holding the girl's hand with an iron grip to keep her in place as you're about to put that ring on her finger. "i now pronounce you, man and—"

a tiny car crashes against your foot and it catches on fire. you scream. a fucking sandworm crashes into the room through the ceiling. everyone screams. you scream LOUDER.

you're sent back to the afterlife waiting room.

not your first rodeo with a sandworm, but that doesn't make the experience any less shitty. the real annoying part is being in the waiting room again. this could take ages. you're number 9,998,383,750,000 and they're serving number 3 right now. you trick the guy next to you and steal his ticket (number 4) but he's not too pleased about that, so that didn't work.

a long time sitting here it is, then.

movie ends, credits roll.

for reference, that was 1988. winona ryder was 15 when they were filming in 1987 so while lydia doesn't have a confirmed age, i think we can safely assume that she was the same age as winona at the time.

36 years later, it's 2024. or 34 years later, it's 2022. we don't know the exact year because while bob's in memoriam credits scene says 2024 and all the interviews talk about how 36 years have passed in universe as well, there's this other one tiny detail.

jeremy's death passport says he died on march 11, 1999. jane butterfield says he died "23 years ago," putting the movie in 2022. they did film it in 2022 so the math is mathing correctly there. given that the in memoriam scene was more of a joke and jeremy's passport is a canon prop in the movie, i'd say 2022 is the canon year the movie is set in. (small sidenote; the passport also has the roman numerals DCLXVI which is 666. cute detail i loved it)

in the sequel, beetlejuice says lydia has been ignoring him for 30 years. i always thought that was curious because outside of this claim, they always specify how many years exactly have passed since. he doesn't say 34 or 36, he says 30. and for his degree of obsession (and the fact that he remembers exactly how many times he's watched The Exorcist) i think he would be counting even the days so i think he did really mean 30 years. so this would mean at least 4 years passed between getting sent back to the waiting room and the beginning of his stalking.

AND NOW that we established all that, we are finally getting to the answer to the question, "when and how did this all start?"

so okay, he spent a while in the waiting room. a lot of time to think. probably replaying the events at the deetzes' in his head over and over, how he got here, where he fucked up, what's he gonna do once he gets out. cursing the maitlands for ruining his plan when he was soooo fucking close. wondering what ever happened to lydia deetz.

lydia deetz, the young girl who told him she wanted to die.

...

is she alright?

i don't think he's capable of feeling guilt, but we can probably argue that he's not entirely heartless. what she said about how she wanted to "get in" must've stuck with him from the way he reacted when she dropped that bomb. she never showed up in the waiting room so he knows she didn't follow through with that. still, he used a vulnerable young girl for his own selfish gain. ironically enough, he knows exactly how that feels, because he also got tricked into marriage and got used for someone else's gain. the difference being that he dealt with that shit with an axe.

much much much to think about for mr. juice.

after years of ruminating in that waiting room, he's finally out and back to the regular day to day afterlife. definitely gets chewed out by juno, maybe forced to do community service or labor or what have you, he basically just needs to clean up his act now. this freelancing shit is becoming more trouble than it's worth anyway.

he's still wondering about lydia deetz. should he check in on her? maybe he should, he's too curious now.

at this point, lydia is now about 19-21 and in college. maybe he manages to sneak into the model one time she's back home for the holidays or something. and oh my god would you look at that, what a beautiful young woman she's grown into. she's radiant. she's happy. she's no longer that gloomy suicidal kid he met in the attic. seems like what she said about the deetzes and the maitlands sharing the house did come true after all.

that's nice. very sweet. good to know.

maybe he wonders if she remembers him and tries to get her attention somehow, give her a little scare for old times sake or whatever. for a brief moment it seems like she saw something and her expression changes, but she shrugs it off and continues on chatting with her two sets of parents. no such luck.

oh well. curiosity sated! and beetlejuice goes back home and doesn't return.

until the next time he returns.

and he keeps coming back to check in on her, telling himself he's just making sure that she hasn't killed herself or something. and he's not above admitting that with every year that passes, she keeps getting more beautiful. and to think they almost got married, huh.

he constantly tries to get her to notice him somehow, and sometimes she almost does, but ultimately he never really succeeds beyond making her do a double take. very rarely she does catch a glimpse of him. he's seen her mutter to herself that she's just seeing things and she seems a bit frightened every time this happens, but there's nothing to fear, honey, it's just good ol' beetlejuice. he won't lie, he gets a bit of a rush every time and it makes his dead heart beat faintly. he's gotten this far, he can't just stop now. in his mind, this has become their little private game of cat and mouse, where the mouse ignores the cat. but aren't they cute? he thinks they're cute. this is not creepy at all!

before he realizes, he's already learned everything about her. he knows about richard and even watched their wedding from afar like a loser. he knows she gave birth to a healthy baby girl named astrid. he knows they have a blast on halloween. halloween is lydia's favorite holiday, and his too. sometimes he can't help but see the three of them happy together and think it could've totally been him. even if he and richard are nothing alike (in fact could not be more opposite) and the circumstances of their unholy wedding were nothing short of grim and a farce. but in his mind, he's starting to convince himself otherwise.

maybe it's his jealousy speaking, but lydia doesn't seem to be that happy with richard despite everything. even though richard is like, the perfect guy. then one day his suspicions are proven correct: neither of them knows why it happened, but after having a long and emotional talk (that he watched with a bucket of popcorn) they decide to get a divorce. he pumps his fist, feeling victorious for some reason. sure he's a little sadistic at times, but why is this giving him so much glee?

the divorce is hard on lydia's kid, who was always more attached to her father, but they still spend a lot of time together. sometimes the three of them, since richard and lydia kept things amicable after the divorce. lydia tries to move on and see other people, but each relationship fails before it even starts. mostly because she keeps holding back and so fails to connect with anyone else, but also sometimes because, well, he can't help himself but to scare them away from her from time to time. it's fun. in his mind, he's just being protective of her, as a gentleman should for a lady.

then richard dies. fell into a piranha infested river from the looks of it (he saw him at immigration one day, don't ask what he was doing around there, force of habit after constantly making sure lydia hasn't killed herself yet.) it's devastating for both lydia and astrid, straining their relationship even more for the next few years as they both try to cope with the loss. the shock proves to be too much for lydia, so she goes to a survivors retreat to work through her trauma, both from richard's death and "unresolved feelings."

then lydia, at her most vulnerable, meets rory.

beetlejuice was able to clock him immediately. a textbook manipulative opportunist, he himself knows the tactics very well. swoop in to "help" someone in a vulnerable position, pull the wool over their eyes and begin taking control so you can get what you want out of that person.

he wouldn't admit it, but this really irks beetlejuice. you know when you see someone who reminds you of the worst parts of yourself, so you despise them? yeah. he's been there, and he's also been him.

but rory is somehow even worse than beetlejuice. see, rory is her manager, and boy does he manage to get on his nerves. he takes her phone. he controls what medication she takes. he blames and guilt trips her about every mishap that HE causes, making himself look like her benevolent savior and making her feel like she would be lost without him, confusing her with his psychobabble. on top of all that, he's forcing her to do this hacky show called Ghost House where she "hunts ghosts" or whatever. the houses he's been helping newly-deads with in his day job as a bio-exorcist (now with a fleet of employees,) she's "hunting" those ghosts now. it's so dumb. it never works. beetlejuice doesn't even know what the hell she's doing, she's phoning it in most of the time and she knows she's become a sellout. what happened to that "strange and unusual" girl who stood up for her ghost friends when those suits wanted to profit off of them back in winter river?

he needs to bring that back. he's the only one who can.

in his mind, beetlejuice has already rewritten the events that transpired. in his mind, lydia has been his wife this entire time, it's just, y'know, one of those open long distance relationships and she doesn't always remember him, but that's okay. in his mind, they share a psychic bond that allows her to sense his presence or see him in her dreams from time to time. he's got nothing to be jealous about, because other men can't compare. no one else can match what they have.

sure, part of him knows he's lying to himself a little bit. but he's already clung to this idea; these past 30 years wouldn't make sense otherwise. he's in love with lydia deetz. this isn't insane of him to say at all. and if it is, well, you know what they say, love makes you do batshit crazy things.

it's not that complicated, no matter what they say you'll never meet another me it's not that difficult to get my head around i'll never meet another you

the end

don't trick me into writing a fanfic again

[fictionismyreality3]

Penpals with the 141

Warnings: stalkerish behaviour at the end teehee 🤭

Notes: if only I had a hot military man or men to send letters to 🤷🏻‍♀️😩

It started out as just another way to keep the boredom away. Sending care packages to military members was also a plus. You'd be staying busy and doing a good deed at the same time. You found some trustworthy-enough organization, signed up, and sent out your first letter along with a few goodies like choclates and warm socks.

The 141 had never really thought much about getting care packages from civilians. In their eyes it was just a good way to get the things they missed out on while on deployment. Most of the letters got tossed as soon as they opened the box.

That was until they got yours.

The stupid little smiley face drawn on the cardboard shouldn’t have stopped Simon in his tracks, but he found himself staring down at the doodle.

"L.T? Y'been standin' there fer a good 15 minutes." Soap remarked.

"S'that your favourite candy, right?"

Soap was swayed by the chocolate oranges, finding himself reading your letter as he scarfed down each wedge. The curly handwriting, the crossed out and rewritten words had him showing the letter to Gaz, and then Price. Soon you found yourself in an almost penpal situation. Over the exchange of more and more letters, you were able to dicern the personalities of each man who was writing to you.

There was Soap, who wrote in barely legible chicken scratch, often skipping words or even entire sentences, like he was thinking too fast for his hand to keep up. Always calling you 'bonnie' or 'lass'.

Gaz, who wrote much more formally. His hand writing was the best to read, neatly printed on the lines of the paper. You got the sense that he sat down and put his whole attention into writing back to you.

Ghost, who's name you were yet to learn, tacked on his responses at the end of the paper. It was rare to get more than a few sentances from him, and even rarer for them to be anything but small talk. Slowly, he began to open up, asking you how you were or if your boss had resolved that HR issue yet. How did he know that?

Price, who'd quickly insisted on you calling him John— makes me feel old, luv— was the one who you seemed the most interested in your life. You chalked it up to him wanting to have something to think about other than his life threatening job.

Questions about your living situation, your job, your hobbies, it all seemed like small talk. Easy enough to look over. And then came the questions about your bills. Does your job pay enough? When's the last time you've been on vacation? What does your ideal living situation look like? Are you in a relationship?

It wasn't just John who was asking. So we’re Gaz, Johnny, and even Ghost began to inquire about more personal details. Every time you got a letter, it was almost a pavlovian response for your cheeks to blush. You looked forwards to the letters from your far away military men, and they even sent you gifts!

A watch, just like the one on your pinterest, wrapped up in a pretty pink bow. They added on such a sweet note too.

"Synced up to our watches." Ghost.

"Thought you needed a little treat." Gaz

"Here you go, bonnie! Now you can know when we're awake!" Soap.

"Let me know if you need it tightened, sweetheart." John.

They didn't feel the need to tell you about the favour they called in with Laswell to get the micro-tracker added, or about the camera and microphone they planted in the watch face. You looked so pretty with it on anyways, they'd need to make sure nobody stared too long.

[m-ilkiee]

Game Over: Tetta Kisaki + Hanma Shuji

Pairing: Tetta Kisaki x Fem reader × Hanma Shuji

summary: you can run forever, but no one escapes their past or the consequences after.

warning(s): NSFW, dark content, smut, set in a Toman future, fem reader, dubcon/ noncon, character death, childhood bullying, kidnapping, depiction of cybercrime, human and sex trafficking, violence, drugging, power imbalance, threesome (mfm), finger sucking, fingering (f. receiving), oral (m. receiving), unprotected sex, spit roasting, over-stimulation, dumbification if you squint dacryphilia, use of ‘slut, whore good girl’, blackmail, misogyny

word count: 7.1k words

r-18+ not suitable for 17 and below. mdni

layla's notes: ik this isn't a monsters update but I have to post something this month at least. thanks for 500+ followers btw. lets keep the fire burning.

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TOMAN had brought an era of bloodshed, violence, and change to gangs and you saw it happen before your very eyes as they grew even more heartless, greedy and bloodthirsty with every passing victory.

It wasn't enough to just take down gangs at some point, they had to run down anyone that came in their way of continuous success or had any connections with them at all in the past.

Including your brother, that was six feet under.

As you stand in front of your late brother's grave, you can't help but think about everything that led him there. Since your parents died in an accident, your older brother became the breadwinner, doing illegal things just to send you to school and spoil you. You were helpful in creating gambling schemes at a young age and later during the age of the internet, creating even more ways to swindle people out of their money. Being the much more tech-savvy and intelligent sibling, you helped him out in arranging and mapping out easy targets to scam without getting caught, while he was the brawn of the team, street smart enough to get people to fall for it.

Sure, you weren't happy being a thief, but as long as it helped you both from starving, you would manage until the two of you could get a more honest way of living eventually.

He was your world, your everything until Tetta Kisaki came into your life and turned it upside down forever.

He would stay out so late at night and during the first few weeks of his new lifestyle, you would wait for him by doing all your homework until he'd come home, bruised knuckles, a bloody shirt, and the scent of smoke and metal assaulting your nostrils. Your brother's once happy expressions soon turned grim and he rarely paid attention to you when he was around, so you figured that it was just better you caught some sleep before you had school in the morning instead of wasting your time on bothering your elder brother.

Then strangers would troop into your house and ask about his whereabouts; they were menacing, imposing their presence on you as if to intimidate you into cowering away fearfully. You shocked them by giving them a curt answer followed by slamming the door in their faces. You owed them no respect and you feared nobody, not even the top shots in the gang world. Until tragedy struck and Kisaki showed you that he meant business when he sent your brother's mutilated body to your doorstep.

Now, you can't hear "Toman" on the news without your eyes widening a fraction and your body hair standing at attention. Your heart raced whenever there is another news of a gang crisis, especially those closer to Kyoto, thinking that Toman would decide you were the next to die.

You shake your head in dismal as you walk into the street, flagging down a taxi. You've laid so low all these years ever since, hoping that living quietly and working as a waitress in a small resturant would be enough to get them off your back. You had moved into a quiet rundown apartment and unless for work or to visit your brother's grave, you don't go anywhere else.

If someone had told you that you were going to live in so much fear all these years ago, you would have laughed at them to scorn. But look at you now, a shadow of yourself, all because your brother fucked around with the wrong people.

You push back your anger at the back of your head when the taxi halts in front of you. There is nothing you could have done differently in the first place to change your fate anyways, you were doomed to live like this till you either left the country or died trying.

You open the car and enter it half-hazard without thinking. The engine hums, moving away from the graveyard and onto the rather desolated pathway that led to it while you rummage through your purse for some cash. You hoped that it would be enough to get some food after you return from the bus stop and you can save the rest for your relocation.

Once you move to another country and start a new life there, you can finally have a semblance of normalcy after all you have gone through.

"Where to?"

"The railway station " You said absentmindedly, counting the cash in your hand. He hums in response, turning on the AC to cool down the hot interior, to which you are silently thankful to him, and you put the cash in your purse, sitting upright and leaning on the window.

A smile rests on your lips as you look out and see the lush green trees lining the street; you always did love nature a lot and times when your father would take your family to the forest for camping trips were one of your fondest memories. Your mother would yell at you for doing tree climbing competitions with your brother, saying something about being too reckless with your life.

It's been a while since you recalled that memory.

It suddenly popped into your head now as your eyelids feel heavy and your vision blurs out. You don't like the way the trees are muddling with one another until it becomes nothing more than a green and brown mixture. You want to remember what happened after your mother yelled at you but your eyelids feel so heavy.

Your hands slipped from the tree and you remember falling straight to the floor with a loud shriek, like how you're falling into the dark abyss no matter how hard you tried to fight it. The only difference is, before you could open your mouth this time, your head hits the plush backseat with a dull thud.

'It's so dark'

IT didn't take much to realize you are blindfolded once you felt the soft cloth resting on your face.

You attempt to move your hands bound behind you, only to be greeted with a searing pain on your wrists, earning a hiss of pain from you.

You stop all movements when there is a loud 'clunk' on the door, followed by a creaking. A shiver goes through your body as the cold air assaults your scantily clothed skin, hairs standing as multiple footsteps echoes through the room. You could hear men talking loudly

"These are the people for the next sales Shuji-san. They were drugged as you requested."

'People?'

'Sales?'

'Shuji?'

You struggle to stay still despite your heart hammering against your rib cage hard. Your mind ran in circles while you thought of who else could bear that name other than the Reaper, the one person that made your blood run cold just with his presence. You were always his punching bag as a kid until your early teens because no matter how hard he hit, you would never faint like the other kids and he thought that was interesting. Your brother would only brush it off and tell you to hit him back if you really wanted your bully to stop.

You can never forget the feeling of his hand “punishment” on your face when you tried to defend yourself.

Whatever god could hear you, you prayed that whomever that man is, it shouldn't be Shuji Hanma.

"Good, because if I heard another bitch whining about how they want to go home, I would have put a bullet in their head."

Your blood ran cold on hearing the deep baritone reverberating in your eardrums. A sudden weakness overshadows your muscles and before you can control yourself, you feel something hot running down your legs, pooling around your body.

'No, no, no, no.'

Horror slowly set in the moment the two men turned their head, eyes raking from your shaking figure, to the liquid pouring down your legs to the floor below you until it ceases completely. The silence that follows is deafening, your mind is racing with last prayers and pleas of mercy are spilling out of your lips before you could stop yourself. Your screaming and begging for him not to shoot only gets louder with the rustling of clothes and the cocking of a gun probably aimed at you.

Maybe it was better to die this way. A quick shot to the head before Hanma can recognize you and prolong your death was much better.

"I thought you said you drugged all of them. So…"

It was obvious Hanma is pissed, you've spent enough time around him to know that his voice deepens a few octaves when he's really furious to the point he is out for blood.

This time, he is really going to kill you.

You hear stomping, the light splashes of something wet between your thighs and the imposing presence of a bloodthirsty man squatting over you. You can feel your body go into overdrive with terror once the cool metal meets with your forehead in a gentle kiss, tears rolling down your cheeks while he spoke;

"...why is this one still talking?"

Dread fills you when he adjusts the gun on your head, and you register in your head that the next thing that comes out of your lips is going to be your last. You don't comprehend when the words tumble out of your trembling lips until they are out of your lips.

"You're also going to kill me too, Hanma Shuji?"

You wait for Hanma to pull the trigger, but the click doesn't come. Instead, the cool metal of the gun barrel leaves your forehead and is replaced with deft fingers tracing lines on your face before grasping your chin in a vice-like grip, forcing your faces to be inches from each other.

Your heart rate has skyrocketed to the point of no return as you feel his intense gaze burning holes into your exposed skin. Your body violently shakes as you imagine what kinds of ways he would want to murder you.

"That whiny voice, I'll be damned…"

You flinch when the blindfold is snatched over your head. Your eyes slowly adjust to the dimly lit room that you found yourself in, now looking directly at the man squatting in front of you. It's the same black hair with golden streaks, now falling on his forehead instead of standing straight up.

He's wearing a pinstripe suit, something you never imagined him wearing in your wildest dreams, the glasses perched on his nose and encased his eyes would have given you the wrong impression that age mellowed him out, if his purple irises weren't so blown out of proportion in glee as soon as he recognizes you.

His laughter is mocking and loud, ringing in your ears and echoing around the room. Hanma lets go of your chin, letting your head hang in shame and fear, still barking loudly at your humiliating position. Tears sting your eyes again and they stream down your face, which seemed to amuse him even more.

The gun makes a harsh contact with your temple and your head twists to the side while you bite your lip to stifle the cry of pain threatening to escape your mouth. Your vision blurs out for a bit, before coming back and blood rivulets dribble from your head, down on your shoulders.

'Is he going to beat me to death?'

"So that hard head of yours still is useful after all?" He laughed at your pathetic state, tapping your face lightly with the gun, before hitting you across the face again, hard. The force made you bite your inner cheek and blood pooled in your mouth this time around, spilling from your lips. "You've always been such a good punching bag. Well, my favorite punching bag. I missed you so much. How are you coping after I killed that waste of space you called a brother?" He smirks, now grasping your bloodied face in his hand marked “sin.”

Now you remember why you hated Hanma the most out of all your brother's friends.

When you don’t answer him, Hanma clicks his tongue and violently pushes your head back to hit the wooden pole behind you with a loud thud, before getting up and signaling the man who had been standing across the room to come forward. 

"This one is coming with me."

He adjusts his suit and tie, placing his gun in his suit pocket. "Get her cleaned, and send her to my house." Hanma turns around and smiles at you one more time, sending shivers down your spine. "She's a tough one, give a stronger dose." His smile becomes even more sinister and evil when he finishes his sentence. "And a little something else."

Before you can comprehend what he said, a sharp pain pricked your arm and you soon drift into darkness once again.

"I'm sure Kisaki is going to love seeing you again."

‘Fuck’

YOU wake up to find yourself in the interior of a completely unfamiliar moving limousine, clothed in nothing but a sheer lingerie that clung to your skin, bringing out your breasts and hugging your curves, coupled with being gagged and a collar attached onto your neck

You remember briefly waking up halfway in the middle of a huge bathtub, your entire body scrubbed raw by multiple people who now, you assume was Hanma's staff. In your hazy state, you could recall seeing him watching everything with careful eyes, and with him someone that awfully looked like an older Kisaki Tetta, who was rather surprised seeing you after all these years. Words like "bidding", "sales" and "customers" echoed around your head, before you drifted back into a dreamless sleep.

What had happened to you while you were out of it? How did you get here? And why did your body feel so hot and bothered, to the point the new underwear you had on was soaked?

Kisaki, who is sitting opposite you, is the first to notice you have woken up, eyebrows raised at you while Hanma is on the phone talking about something you cannot understand. He merely turns his head to make eye contact with you and smirks before he continues what he was talking about.

"You're awake." Kisaki voices out, now reaching out to touch your cheek, bringing you back to reality. You wince when his fingers brush against the bruised part of your cheeks, hidden by makeup, before he grabs your chin to further inspect your face. Every touch made your body react in some kind of way that got you extremely confused, to the point you're rubbing your thighs against each other to try and relieve yourself.

Sure Kisaki had gotten attractive over the years despite being the shit stain that had orchestrated your brother's murder, but you do not still think of him in any way that is sexual.

Right?

This is wrong; now is not the time or place for you to be this extremely horny or needy for sex and especially not with someone as vile as Kisaki or Hanma, who is clearly enjoying your suffering as he watches you grind against the plush leather seat from the corner of his eyes with a smug grin.

Not when your life it at stake.

"You shouldn't have hit her too hard," Kisaki scolds Hanma, still observing your bothered and flustered features, even though he is only doing it for the fact that he hated having to explain anything to anyone, not that he cared about you. "I don't like my goods damaged at all, not when I'm about to sell for a good price."

'They're going to sell me?'

"Mmhmh '' you muffle, shaking your head in disagreement. Kisaki raises a brow at you again, before momentarily pulling off the gag to hear what you are trying to say. You pant heavily, spit dripping down your chin like a wild dog before looking Kisaki eye to eye while begging him. "Don't sell me please! Do what you want with me, but please don't sell- mmhmphf."

"Much better." Kisaki mutters after putting the ball gag back in your mouth. "I always hated hearing the sound of your voice. There's never a time you weren’t whining like a bitch to anyone that would care to listen."

You hang your head in shame, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. Your head feels woozy at the thought of getting sold off to some random man in a club who would do god knows what with you. Your body still feels hot and needy from one of the numerous drugs that was forced into your mouth while you were fading in and out of consciousness, and you can't focus on anything without rutting your hips against the plush car seat or squirming around.

This isn't a situation you can run from anymore. No, this time, you're trapped and no one is coming to save you

KISAKI can't help the feeling of power coursing through his veins as he paraded you around the VIP section of one of Toman's biggest clubs with Hanma by his side, a leash around your neck and lingerie that only seemed to accentuate your curves.

This is all he's ever wanted; Power to make any and everyone who had blocked his path or stepped on his toes in any way to pay for it. You had been one of them, thwarting his plans to make your brother the leader of one of his side gangs to move his plans forward, which seemed to be what mellowed your elder brother down whenever Kisaki thought he had the idiot underneath his thumb.

You were such a thorn to Kisaki's side for so many reasons, from your wagging tongue to your body and those atrocious clothes when you were younger that only seemed to hug your body or reveal a bit too much when you're prancing around the house. Those hateful eyes of yours glaring at both him and Hanma whenever they came around.

Kisaki hated to admit that he fantasized about you sometimes when he pleasured himself in moments of weakness.

You were something forbidden, an unreachable, non-negotiable thing that Kisaki couldn't afford to get his hands on because he needed your brother on his side. The power you held over him made him feel weak and irritated, that of all people, you would sink your filthy claws underneath his skin and rile him up.

To see the once proud and haughty (name) being treated like a pet - his pet that he could get rid of at any time for a huge amount of money, had his cock slightly twitch in his pants.

"You know, we can keep her."

Kisaki turns his head to face his right hand man standing beside him, Hanma's greedy eyes flitting from the flesh of your ass to Kisaki's face before he continued his suggestion. "I've got another one, a girl, on standby in case you change your mind." He shrugged. "You know that (name), as much as she's a bitch, she can be of some use to us."

"Hanma," Kisaki begins in a cold voice, clearly tired of Hanma's persistence in keeping you, his eyes narrowing. "If it's a whore you want, you can call one from your con-"

"Kisaki, you know that's not what I'm talking about."

For the umpteenth time tonight, Kisaki Tetta goes completely silent. In his head, Kisaki regrets ever telling Hanma that you had actually gone to University, the last update when he could still track you, a dream you achieved because your brother was selling information from Toman to the police. You were always very good at technology  and things that had to do with the internet, an area Kisaki himself lacked in and hated you for being better.

All these years he wasted time with your useless brother, when you were the real goldmine.

Kisaki notices that you are slowly giving into the aphrodisiacs after fighting it for so long, and the greedy eyes of all the important wealthy men that happened to come to this shady club are fixated on you. Anger begins to bubble in his chest when you begin to bat your lashes at one of the men to help you relieve your urges and without giving it a second thought, he yanks your leash as a warning, tightening the collar around your neck. You muffle in pain and stumble, before turning your head to look at him with apologetic eyes.

Hanma doesn't miss the way Kisaki tucks his free hand in his suit pocket to hide his boner.

"We both know that Toman needs someone modern, especially someone that would be most loyal to you. With the police now putting more tracking devices and bugs in our system, we need her to combat it. She already escaped being found the first time by removing her own information out of all systems." He continues, eyes now resting on your trembling figure, struggling to walk straight towards Kisaki's private room. "Unlike that idiot of a brother, (name) is intelligent. She knows what is really at stake."

Hanma leans in and says something only to Kisaki's hearing. "Say the word and I'll make (name) follow accordingly, like old times."

Why Shuji Hanma will always be useful to Kisaki is that he knows him like the back of his calloused hand.

Kisaki glances at you once more, contemplating on Hanma's suggestion. Your market value working for Toman is worth more than whatever those old perverts could pay him, supposing you would be good and do as he says. Under his supervision, Kisaki can hold more power beneath his thumb with your help, that much he knows.

"Like old times."

YOUR knees hit the plush rug the moment Kisaki pushed you inside one of the executive club rooms. From the corner of your hazy vision, you can see the blonde haired man walking past you and sitting on the king sized bed right in front of you, his legs on either side of you in a manspread. The door behind you clicks shut and you hear heavy footsteps walking towards your direction before stopping behind you.

"Look at me." Kisaki commands.

You hesitate to follow his command, still trying to control your breathing after being tossed around and choked by that damn collar still on your neck. Hanma is quick to correct you by wrapping his hand on the leash and yanking it back, forcing your head upwards to face Kisaki. Your strangled cries of pain come out muffled to the amusement of Hanma, who doesn't let up with his grip on your throat until Kisaki signals him to ease up a little. Your head falls a little, but it is high enough for Kisaki to look you in the eye and drive home his point.

"You're still as stubborn as I remember," Kisaki scoffs, his hand placed on his chin, amber eyes gazing down at your tear stained face and trailing down to your lipstick smudged with spit from being gagged for so long. "you’re lucky you’re hot." He cradles your face contorted in discomfort with one of his large well-manicured hands and goes ahead to stroke your cheek with it.

It's the most gentle way Kisaki will treat you tonight.

At this point, you don't care what Kisaki would do, not when your body can't handle the pain of being so bothered and your mind is clouded by so much lust, you aren't thinking straight. It pains you to know you are susceptible to whatever he places on the table and you cannot control the narrative this time around.

You shiver when his hand unclasps the ball gag from behind your head, pulling it out of your mouth and throwing it aside. You do not break eye contact with him when he puts two fingers in your mouth and tells you to "suck"

A warning tug on your leash from Hanma is enough to make you obey Kisaki's order without hesitation. You swirl your tongue around his fingers, bobbing your head up and down the digits with blown out eyes as the tip of his expensive shoe nudges your clit lightly.

Electricity shoots through your veins from your lower region and you quickly place your cunt above his shoe, lowering your thighs to rest your clit above the shoe just to get that rush again. Kisaki's breath hitches on seeing your dangerous, lustful gaze.

The sight of you being needy to cum has his dick hardening by the minutes, pre leaking from the tip at such a dirty scene.

Hanma is no better, he's impossibly hard from watching your ass move and jiggle when you grind Kisaki's shoes and if he isn't careful, he might actually get off from this.

It's humiliating, the way he has you desperately humping his shoe to get off while sucking off his fingers and yet, you can't stop yourself.

Kisaki pulls his fingers out of your lips and trails them down between the valley of your chest where the lingerie is tied in the middle and with the flick of his wrist the front opens, exposing your bare chest to him. Hanma kneels beside you, not letting go of your leash and leans in to meet your trembling lips in a hot kiss, his tongue invading your mouth and playing with yours. Kisaki's hand finds your breasts and gives a light squeeze with his calloused thumb grazing against the nipple, earning a muffled moan from your lips to Hanma's.

"Aren't you obedient?" Hanma mocks the moment he pulls away and stands upright, loosening the collar on your neck. You bite back any insult that crosses your mind when he adjusts his suit and heads off to the door. "Kisaki, I'll handle the auction tonight, my phone is buzzing with those greedy old farts calling me," Hanma says to his friend, before turning to look at you condescendingly, his lips in a crooked smile when he opens the door and nods at you. "I'll be back as soon as possible."

You do not get to think much about what Hanma said the moment the door clicked shut because your back collides with the plush rug on the floor and Kisaki attacks you with harsh kisses from your jaw to your neckline. His teeth dig in between your neck and your jaw, earning a soft gasp from you that soon turns into moans of "more Kisaki" when his lips suckle on the bites. You take advantage of his thigh between your legs and you drag your wet cunt over it with nothing but the need to cum.

His hands are greedy and impatient when they find your breasts again, capturing them in his two large hands and letting his thumb roll around the hardened nipples as he fondles them. "Desperate whore. Humping my leg like the damn dog you are."

Every word leaving his lips to your ears is like fire on your skin, only riling you up while you grinded his thigh to get off. Your moans are music to his ears, begging him just to help you out with this burning sensation in between your legs, even if it's just a little.

"All the times you'd wear those -fuck," He presses a wet kiss onto your lips and the taste of the cherry lipgloss he picked for you had him weak in the knees. "-those revealing clothes like a trainee whore whenever we came over to see that bastard you called a brother," He huffs, pulling himself off your body before kneeling in front of your legs. He grips your ankles hard, nails digging into your flesh. "with that stupid attitude of yours, it always set me off."

You gasp when Kisaki pries your thighs open further without putting much effort. You've always thought that there was no ounce of strength in Kisaki's body, since he was nothing but a coward that made everybody do all his dirty work for him while he remained uninvolved and unscathed. Seeing Kisaki inspect your clothed soaked pussy while holding your legs apart by your ankles was clearly a rude awakening.

Kisaki really holds the power here and all you could do is moan like a bitch in heat if he as much as blows air on your cunt.

"Pathetic," your legs tremble at the sound of his scathing voice as he positions himself in between your legs. Your eyes widen a fraction on seeing his cock straining against his slacks, the size clearly shocking and scaring you a bit.

"A little pill got you this wet for me," He pushes your legs nearer to your chest, making you even more uncomfortable with the position he's trying to put you in. "I guess I was always right about you being a slut all along."

You move your mouth to protest when the door flies open and slams shut behind Hanma. "I got Akuun to handle it- woah," his eyes flicker to your folded figure, a sick smile creeping on his darkened pink lips. "didn't know you're that flexible, good grief." He commented, falling on his knees beside your head. Hanma grabs your calves to maintain your position and Kisaki releases your ankles before grabbing the crotch of the lingerie.

"I'm not!" You whimper softly, turning your head away from Kisaki's focused gaze to hide your embarrassed face. A loud "rip" of the material courtesy of Kisaki tearing it off, followed by Hanma pushing your legs to your chest, exposing your wet pussy for the two men to see only seemed to further your humiliation and your need to be fucked.

Now.

"You will be soon." Kisaki mutters to your hearing, his long fingers parting your folds a bit before sliding his ring and middle finger inside your sopping folds. You thrash around at the foreign intrusion, cries of "wait…wait…wait…" escaping your lips while Hamna holds you down by your calves. "Shh shh, you can take it." Hanma coos at your teary expression, now clamping down on your calves hard and folding you into two.

The initial pain of his intrusion slowly gives way to pleasure as he works your pussy open, fingers curling against your spot. Kisaki uses his thumb to play around with your clit, his fingers moving simultaneously with every thrust and rub. Your breathing becomes heavier, eyes rolling back to your head as Kisaki inches closer to your g-spot.

"Deeper." You moan, your back arching slightly. "Go deeper Kisaki, please." You beg and Kisaki complies, adding a third finger into your pussy and curling them into a specific spot that has your back arch perfectly. "Yes, yes, more, more." You cry out, body trembling with every thrust that touches your g-spot. Kisaki can't get enough of finger fucking you or rubbing your pulsing clit wuth his thumb; the sight of you writhing underneath him, begging him to keep going had him hooked.

"What a fucking whore." Hanma curses underneath his breath, his grip on your thighs tightening as he struggles to control himself and his aching cock. "You gonna cum on his fingers like a slut?" He taunts, spreading your legs wider for him.

"Yes, oh yes-" you sob out, tears are practically rolling down your cheeks once you reach your high.  "I can't … I need to cum, need to…"

Your pitch is high and your pussy flutters around Kisaki's fingers when you finally cum. It feels hot and for a moment, you can only see white before your vision returns to normal when you come down. A "thank you" escapes your lips, accompanied with a sigh, your shoulders heaving as you catch your breath.

Kisaki's fingers are slick with your essence, entranced by the sticky substance that coats his fingers when he pulls out of your cunt and he taps your lips with them once again. "Taste yourself." He commands. You gratefully lick up his fingers and engulf them in your mouth, suckling with a satisfied "mmh" from your lips.

"Good girl." Shuji murmurs, watching Kisaki pull out his fingers from your mouth with a loud 'pop' sound. Was this all it took to make you pliant? Getting you on your back and finger fucking you? Making you cum?

Was it really that easy?

His aching cock brought him back to reality. Whether you're pliant or not wasn't what mattered now; he just needs to blow his load anywhere in or on you.

One minute, your legs are against your chest in a mating press and the next minute, you feel Kisaki and Hanma flipping you on your hands and knees, bare cunt facing Kisaki and your face buried into Hanma's slacks. Simultaneously, you can hear belts hitting the floor and zippers going down. Hanma's cock, pale, veiny and long with an angry purple tip hits your lips lightly, as if telling you what he's thinking. You can feel Kisaki's heavy cock leaking with pre resting your inner thigh, teasing your sensitive clit.

Was this really happening? Two of them at once?

"What's the matter (name)," Hanma asks with faux sympathy, stroking his cock with his large palm. He can see the panic in your eyes as the situation dawned on you. "you're a big girl, you can take it right?" His eyes narrowed at you while using his tip to slap your lips lightly. At the same time, you can feel Kisaki line his cock against your entrance with one hand and gripping the flesh of your ass with the other. "You can take us, right?"

You want to say no, but you know it won't matter to them.

"Doesn't matter," Kisaki's voice is cruel as he pushes the tip of his cockhead against your ring of muscles. You choke out a sob from being stretched out after a long while of not having sex, begging for Kisaki to stop while he sheaths himself inside your wet walls. "You will take us, even if I have to teach you how."

You gasp the moment Kisaki sheaths inside your cunt fully and Hanma takes this as an opportunity to slip his cock into your waiting mouth, hitting your gag reflex intentionally. You can barely breathe, or think or move with all the excruciating pain of being split open and taking such a huge cock in your throat. It's too much, even as the pain is giving way to pleasure, you are not sure if you can handle what will come next.

Kisaki is the first to move, drawing out his dick completely, before slamming back into your cunt, emanating muffled moans from you. Hanma is just as unforgiving, from shallow thrusts to pressing your head against his hairy pelvis whilst fucking your throat hard.

The noises from the room are nothing short of sinful. The slapping of skin against skin as Kisaki picks up his pace. He's horny and he wants to devour you over and over again as he pounds into your wet carevan, hands digging into your ass with every thrust and squelch. "You like that?" He mocks you, breathing getting louder as he hits it from the back. "You like how we fuck you like a slut?"

You want to shake your head no, but Shuji's pacing is beyond human. He's face fucking you with a certain precision, your breathy moans from Kisaki abusing your g-spot sending vibrations down his cock with every thrust. "She loves it… She loves being bullied by two cocks like the whore that she is." Hanma grunts, rocking himself back and forth in your mouth. "You're gagging way too much, relax that throat or you'll choke to death sweetheart. Breathe through your nose."

You follow his instruction, trying to relax a little and breathe through your nostrils. "That's it, good girl."

You need to at least survive this night.

Kisaki's left hand circles around your waist until his fingers are in contact with your clit again. You feel your legs quiver in anticipation the moment he brushes a thumb over it, before rubbing tight circles against it. You moan, eyes rolling back as your senses go into overdrive.

"Shit, all these vibrations are gonna make me-" Hanma is the first to cum; hips stuttering as he pumps himself into your mouth, head thrown back, cock twitching and a loud "fuck, fuck, fuck". The hot salty semen pours down your throat soon after as he fucks himself through his high until he is spent, dragging out his flaccid cock from your lips.

Post bliss Hanma leans back on the bed, patting your head somewhat affectionately while he gathers his senses and tucks his cock back. Your relief is short-lived when you feel Kisaki thrust deeper than before, knocking the air out of you. Hanma finds pleasure in seeing you fucked out, unable to form coherent sentences while Kisaki bottoms out into you. "You look so pretty like this babe, keep it up." Hanma coos at you, running his thumb over your lips.

You've never felt so much intense pleasure, your toes are curling with the angle Kisaki is fucking you, his fingers playing with the sensitive bundles. The way Hanma is staring at you, whispering all those dirty words to your hearing, everything is too much for you.

"I'm gonna- Kisaki pull ou-"

Your legs tremble yet again and Kisaki lets you ride your high on his cock. "That's it, let go, let it all go," his voice shakes and his hips stutter, chasing his own high. Your breathy moans and his heavy pants bounce through the room as you two cum together until you're both well spent.

Heavy breathing echoed through the room as both you and Kisaki tried to catch your breaths. The aphrodisiacs in your systems has worn off from you and you collapse on the floor weakly the moment Kisaki pulls out from your cunt. You feel him eyeing the cum leaking down your cunt to your thighs and staining the carpet while adjusting his pants and belt.

Post nut clarity hit you hard, you had just been fucked senseless by the two people you despised the most.  You feel humiliated that Kisaki and Hanma of all people have reduced you into a cum dump.

The two people who killed your brother.

"Can you stand?" Hanma knows you can't, not with the way your body lays helpless on the floor, but it's just like him to ask after ruining you. When you don't give an answer, he kneels beside you and pulls you up by your arm, slinging you over his shoulders.

He looks at Kisaki, who is standing over the telephone and speaking to room service. "I'm going to get this one cleaned up and possibly back to her senses again." Hanma states and Kisaki nods in approval. "I'll talk to her, give me a minute to call Manjiro." He replies, putting down the landline.

The next thirty minutes blurs out. Hanma puts you on the toilet and tells you to urinate while he sets the bathtub and you numbly comply. When he is sure it's ready, he picks you up from the toilet seat into his arms and lowers you into the bathtub gently. "Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone." Hanma advises, his purple eyes flickering to your spaced out eyes. "Not that you can do shit in this state."

The door shuts and you are left alone for the first time throughout today. You overhear voices talking in hushed tones about you in the other room and you decide to tune out whatever they had to say.

Not even death could be worse than what had just happened to you now.

Hot tears pour down your cheeks unconsciously and you don't bother to wipe them off, even when the door opens again. Kisaki and Hanma walk into the bathroom again and you sink into the bath water further to hide your shame, hanging your head low.

Kisaki stands beside the bathtub and makes eye contact with you, an odd glint in his eyes. It's satisfying to see you broken and lonely, with no one else to depend on but him alone. "I hear you're good with technology. So good, you wiped your name out of every record, like you never existed. It was hard to look for you, you know." He is nonchalant and it irks you, but you say nothing. "You should know where I'm going with this. Not like you can run away from me ever again."

Your tone is bitter, but controlled and soft. "You want me to work for you. After what you just did to me."

"Manjiro wanted you dead but I put in a good word for you. Be grateful."

You scoff at him, hugging your knees to your chest in the bathtub. "Maybe you should listen to your leader."

Kisaki narrows his eyes at you and before you could apologize, Hanma's palm connected with your face. Your head snaps to the side and you cry out, grimacing in pain as your hand flies to your hurt face. Kisaki leans in again, now eye to eye with your teary, fearful eyes. His voice is cold and leaves no room to even argue with him anymore.

"I can kill you, or I can let you go and post that video of you whoring yourself out to me with only your face showing." Your face drops in horror when you realize he recorded you. smirking. "No one will ever give you a job. Not here, not outside Japan. Nowhere. No one wants a whore in their IT department. So you're going to be useful and buy my silence by throwing off the police from Toman's trail."

Hatred burned in your guts. Hatred for yourself, cowering in fear that Hanma would hit you again if you don't comply. Hatred for Hanma Shuji who tormented your life and brought you to Kisaki. Hatred for Kisaki Tetta who is the reason for your brother's death and who used your body as a cum dump.

Hatred at your own weakness and fear of death, that you could never win against Kisaki no matter how smart or how much effort you put in telling your brother the truth. Hatred at your own carelessness for not checking the taxi you entered this morning.

Hatred for your dead brother that put you in such a bad place.

"You work for Kisaki, bitch. Understand?"

With fresh tears, you give a quiet nod of approval.

"That's a good girl."

Taglist: @officiallyjaehyuns @haikyuusboringassmanager @ilybbg @merrymerrykiss @cockonoi @Rindou24689 @short-cxke @kokoch4n3l @GenAwi @ryuguji-sana @nuyoo @reiners-milkbiddies @kiwixpi @gh0stgirl333 @brisssaaa009 @fushiqruo @damidamimongalam @kawaiikoalagarden @raven-nevra @ilovetwodmen @kodzubaby @straightfromheaven @manchie55 @pikibee @tomeyano @matchamilktea-05 @tenjikusstuff4 @m0onz1 @hapikiou @rainnyzz @lovelyartist123 @lik0

[dresshistorynerd]

Yes I feel the struggle in my bones. And you're absolutely right, wool wasn't this expensive historically compared to other materials. For a long time in Europe wool was the cheapest option. Wool was less expensive than cotton. Cotton was in fact a very expensive fabric in Europe particularly before industrialization of cotton which happened over the course of a century from very late 1700s to late 1800s. Cotton is a sensitive plant, which doesn't grow well outside specific conditions, and it's production from plant to fabric is notoriously labour intensive (hence all the slavery used for it to this day). So naturally cotton was an expensive fabric especially in Europe, where it can't grow at all, but to lesser extend in South and East Asia too where it grows naturally. Wool was comparatively cheap for very natural reasons. Woolen animals strive in most climates, including in Europe, so wool is easily available. Wool is also comparatively easy to process. Growing woolen animals does require land and resources, so that's what causes most of the cost, but compared to other fabrics making wool fabric is not very labour intensive even without industrial production.

There's several reasons why wool is now comparatively so expensive. You can't automize the most costly part of the wool process, growing the animals. This means that while mechanization has made wool production cheaper, it's never going to be lucrative business as turning oil to fabric or producing cotton with which you can cut the costs of the most costly part (picking cotton) by using slavery. So producers will prefer the materials with which there's room to cut costs and grow profits still a bit more. This also makes wool more profitable, so it's a win-win situation for them. Because there's less wool on the market, it has higher demand compared to the supply, meaning they can ask higher prices. It's not a bug, it's a feature.

It's true that across the board clothes are less expensive. The prices have been dropping for decades. And people also own more clothing that before. But comparatively wool is more expensive than it was before. Even after cotton became very cheap and the standard fabric, it took a while before wool was turned fully into luxury. I have inherited several vintage clothing from my grandmother, mostly from 1960s-70s. One of them is a gorgeous circle skirt made from a very fine and light tightly woven wool, that's almost sheer. You don't see that kind of wool today anywhere, I'm not sure if anything like that is even produced anymore. But it wasn't an expensive dress when it was bought, it was a made by a local Finnish clothing factory, which had affortable prices that most working class people could afford. That was of course different then that what it's now. Now it would probably be fairly expensive, certainly not fast fashion prices, but people could afford that since the clothing would last and they didn't need to buy new clothing to replace the old so often. People also knew how to mend clothing and how to properly take care of them.

I hate how doing any kind of yarn craft basically means you can only produce plastic clothes or it's going to be 300$ in yarn minimum. Every yarn has some acrylic and the natural stuff is so wildly expensive. I would love to use 100% natural fibers but the options are limited

God, yeah. The price of natural-fiber materials is insane.

My average budget for like a full silk gown, trim and notions included, is around $200- and that's ONLY because I live near a discount fabric store that gets bolt-ends from big fashion houses and sells silk for like $10/yard. Wool is insane, for some reason- that place only has coating (heavyweight) and suiting (lighter but feels like plastic even though it's not), so making a dress or anything not outerwear from wool involves shopping online and some painful spending.

I just bought 6 yards of wool to make my Dream Dressing-Gown. It was $210 for JUST the wool- I still have to get lining fabric, possibly an embroidery machine pattern, embroidery thread (because my friend who's generously letting me use her machine only has polyester and rayon). Part of that was shipping from freaking Poland because finding a website that has non-stretch, dark green wool at any weight below "snow gear" in the States is nigh impossible.

(Or that actually discloses the weight in a meaningful way; that's another problem I've encountered. "Brushed wool!" Great, but how heavy is it? "It's wool!" Not helpful. It's like they can't fathom wanting to use wool for anything besides heavy outerwear. Which they probably can't, because that's all we're accustomed to seeing it as nowadays.)

Like I'm tempted to blame militant v*gans for the inaccessibility of silk and wool, but honestly, capitalism was probably just waiting for the excuse to turn all our clothes to crap. I doubt there's been enough outcry about them to push those fabrics out of reach, the way there has been for fur and leather (to clarify: pro-treating animals humanely, anti-plastic clothing, not opposed to the use of aforesaid materials if those animals are properly cared-for and humanely killed).

At least you can still find cotton and some linen things in stores- for now. They're still more expensive, though, and limited in what weaves are often seen. Cotton velvet, for example? Forget it.

It's so disturbing and frustrating.

[mellosdrawings]

I'm feeling like rambling about AI on main, ignore me if it's not your cup of tea.

So a while ago, I did check out those art prompts AI, because when I pester about something, I like to know what I'm rambling about. I like to do a minimum of research and, if possible, try the thing out before making my opinion. For AI art, my opinion was already pretty solid, but I still wanted to check it out.

I found a free prompt stuff online, asked it a super easy prompt, and asked for a handful of different images. Just to see.

The prompt was [character tripping]. Really. Super easy, right? I wanted the thing to have as much liberty as possible.

It's not just that though. I chose this prompt because it is something I did in art school. Our teacher would give us simple prompts, and we would have to draw doodles in 5 minutes or less. Imagine a class of 15 exhausted art students full of caffeine being told to draw someone tripping.

The 15 art students' results? Little boys tripping over tree roots, teenage girls falling while rollskating, business men tripping on their papers and burning themselves with coffee, old ladies cracking a hip, comical falls backwards with a leg up, realistic falls forward with pained expressions, etc etc.

See, our fast doodles weren't any better than AI anatomically speaking. We were missing hands and our faces were distorted and a foot was bigger than another, things that are also common with AI. But the DIVERSITY. I remember being flabbergasted by it. We all had the same prompt, but none of us drew the same thing. I remember drawing the good old banana peel slip from the old comics I read when I was a kid. My best friend drew a kid falling in mud.

We did several prompts like that as training, and I always loved to see what everybody was doing, because it was always so different.

Now, here was the AI result: 5 anime girls in a running position at an angle, making shocked pikachu faces. Every. Single. One. Of. Them. The angle and the running poses were the only things that changed, and even then just slightly.

The AI only did 5 times the same stuff. Art style changed a bit from one to the other, but always the same vibe, always the same composition, and always that godsdamned shocked pikachu face. It was very underwhelming.

I don't care about perfect anatomy and lighting. But I care about creativity. I love seeing things that I would never have thought to do myself. And the AI didn't provide that at all. Coz AI has no creativity whatsoever. If you don't further your prompt to be very specific, it will just reheat the same bland stuff again and again. It's just boring.

I have a lot of grievances about AI. Art theft, environmental blunder, artists being paid even less than they already were (as if people and companies suggesting to pay us in visibility wasn't bad enough). But even on an emotional level there's nothing. Yes, it's great to see one's character/idea brought to life when one cannot draw. But it'll be the blandest stuff ever. That's just a shame.

[farieofshampoo]

THE WOLF & THE DRAGON (6/?)

series masterlist, chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5

summary: To dance with dragons is to play with wolves. After surviving her own assassination attempt, Alarra Stark endured a large scar across her face, slicing her face in half. For years after Alarra was now known as "Alarra The Fierce" due to her ferocity at the young age, defending herself valiantly at merely thirteen-years-old. After then, she spent years training with her older brother, Cregan Stark, so that one day she could avoid the pain and suffering of anyone in her family; including herself. But, after those years spent training with men much larger than her, she is sent away and betrothed to Joffrey Velaryon for alliance towards the rightful heir to the Iron Throne: Rhaenyra Targaryen. Accompanying the family to Kingslanding, Alarra realized maybe marrying the young Velaryon boy wasn't so awful. But that was until she met a peculiar "one-eyed" prince.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!OC

word count: 4.2k

tags: slow burn, forbidden love, canon Aemond, enemies to lovers, long fic, original characters, war, arranged marriage

rating: 18+, !MDNI!

Blood upon the snow

To my dear sister Alarra,

The days are longer without you here. Ser Wildrow seems more bored than ever, not having you to torment him. I hope you are well and I hope your sword has not touched the scales of any dragons yet. I have been busy with duties so I have not had the time to write. I assume you are just as busy as I have not received a raven from you just yet. I hope to hear from you soon, I am only a raven away after all.

Cregan

Alarra set the letter down, leaning back in her chair. She missed Cregan terribly. And now the guilt was beginning to eat away at her. She didn’t know exactly what to say to him. She could tell him the good things, how great things were with the little princes. She would not tell him about how awful Ser Criston Cole was, how he tormented her at every waking moment. And she doesn't know why. She assumed he was envious. But why should a knight be envious of a princess? Alarra picked up her quill, filling it with ink before she started to write to her brother.

Dear Cregan,

I am angry at you for not warning me of the waves. They made me terribly sick. My food did not rise like the others but it was still awful! I am well, my dagger has not been in use just yet. I do miss pushing you to the ground. The princes have been a pleasant replacement for you. Jacaerys reminds me of you. I want to come home

Alarra erased the last bit, putting a thick line through it. She crumpled up the piece of parchment, throwing it somewhere across her room. The door creaked open, a knock sounding after.

“Still in your nightgown, my lady?” Eyla entered the room, heading for Alarra who was sitting in her vanity, her hair a tangled mess. “‘Tis early.” Eyla countered, her hands running through Alarra’s hair before she reached for a brush on the table. Eyla noticed a pile of crumpled paper by her bed and let out a tiny snicker.

“Writing is not as easy as it seems.” Alarra grumbled as Eyla tugged through a rough knot in her hair.

“Not as easy as swinging a sword, is it?” Eyla teased, working through the knots. Alarra sighed, leaning her head back as the brush glided through her hair, the knots disappearing slowly. “Just tell him what you truly feel. That is what letters are for are they not?”

“But I do not want him to worry. He already was skeptical about this arrangement-”

“Your brother cares for you, my lady. He only wants to hear from you,” Alarra glanced at the discarded letters on the ground, the words “I want to come home” still etched freshly in her mind. Alarra was still unsure of what to say to Cregan. Maybe she should just pour her heart out to him, telling him exactly how she felt. But, Alarra would not do that. That would only make the girl seem weak. And Alarra knew one thing for certain: she was not weak.

“Jace, you need to fix your posture.” Alarra reprimanded the boy, standing behind him as he was hunched over slightly. Alarra pushed his back lightly, so that he would stand up more. And he instantly stood up, turning his head to glare lightly at Alarra. Alarra grabbed a wooden sword from off of the ground, the one Lucerys had been previously using, and set it between Jace’s shoulder blades, within his arms. He looked like a duck flapping its wings, and he groaned, turning annoyingly to Alarra.

“How am I supposed to yield a sword now?” He slashed mindlessly and unsuccessfully (the sword barely raised above his head), unable to move his arms properly.

“You have to keep your body upright. No more slouching. This will teach you.” Alarra was now in front of him and he gave her an unsatisfied look.

“Go on!” Alarra waved a hand, gesturing for Jace to swing his sword. Lucerys was lightly giggling from behind Jace, and Jace whipped around facing his younger brother. Lucerys quickly stopped laughing, and cleared his throat.

“What is funny Luke?” Alarra had instructed Luke to work on his balance by standing on one foot. He was no longer doing that, and was laughing at his brother instead. Luke straightened up, looking at Alarra with wide eyes. He quickly stood back on one leg and Alarra tried to hide her laugh.

“Alarra?”

“Yes, Luke.” Alarra sighed, her hands on her hips. She had decided to wear a tunic and pants today, for she and the princes were alone in the courtyard early that morning. No one else was to be around, so Alarra deemed it appropriate.

“How much longer do I have to stand like this?” He was wobbling slightly, starting to fall but he caught himself.

“Until I say,” Alarra responded, and Luke paled, starting to wobble more. Alarra let out a laugh, approaching the boy. “Alright, that’s enough for today.” Luke sighed, standing on both of his feet. Alarra had been training the boys for about a week. They were both skilled in swordsmanship but they had a lot of improvement ahead of them. Alarra enjoyed spending time with both of them; they reminded her of home. Alarra felt like Cregan whenever she reprimanded them. She felt closer to him every time she picked up a sword. Jace and Luke left the courtyard after thanking Alarra for her time. Alarra always told them to not thank her because she was glad to share her skill with others. She was happy to help them, it may help them later on.

Alarra was walking through the halls, ready for a bath after sweating all morning, when she passed by a room, the door slightly ajar. Coughing was coming from the room, loud and it echoed into Alarra’s ears. She jolted for the door immediately, instantaneously thinking of her father. The door creaked open loudly, and the king was hunched over his desk as another cough rang out of him.

“Your grace!” Alarra rushed over to him, her hands reaching for his shoulders. The king waved his hands before Alarra could help him, a cough coming from him again before he spoke.

“No, no I am alright!” The king was irritated, his voice coming out harsh like pebbles hitting rocks. He coughed again, breathing in a ragged breath. It was quiet while he breathed in and out and Alarra cleared her throat.

“I apologize, your grace. I was only concerned-”

“What is your name?”

“Alarra, your grace.” He hummed, sitting down harshly in his chair.

“And you are a servant? What are you doing in these parts of the Red Keep?”

“No I-”

“A harlot then? Get on your way-”

“No!” Alarra’s voice was louder than she proposed, and her face was contorted into one of pure disgust. She cleared her throat, wiping her face clean of any open expressions. “Your grace.” She muttered, stepping back a foot.

“A handmaiden, perhaps?” Alarra rolled back her shoulders, tucking her tongue beneath her throat holding in a remark.

“Yes, a…handmaiden.” He clicked his tongue. Alarra figured he wouldn't remember her anyway, a tiny lie would not hurt. He was old and deficit, his brain slower than molasses.

“I knew I’d seen you before.” He muttered quietly to himself, staring at the desk in front of him as he smiled, hundreds of papers laying untouched. Alarra hesitated, glancing at the frail, hunched form of the king as he looked over the pieces of parchment. The king was barely recognizable now, weakened and tired, his hands trembling as he rose them. Alarra slowly backed away, turning to leave the room when the king rang out once more.

“Faces are a blur, and names fade yet you remind me of...” Alarra stopped walking, turning around to look at the king again. The king shook his head, mumbling something before turning back to the scattered pages. “A woman with pants! Now that is a sight to see.” The king yelled as Alarra left the room hurriedly, closing the door tightly. She stood outside the room, looking around the halls to find no one in sight. Alarra really needed that bath.

Otto Hightower scoured the halls, the king nowhere to be found. The king couldn’t have wandered off, somewhere not too far. The hand stopped walking when he heard a cough from inside the king’s study. Otto burst open the door, scaring the king slightly. Otto bounded towards the king, looking exasperated.

“You are assigned bed rest, your grace. You cannot just-“

“I am the king! I will do what I want.” Viserys looked up from the desk at the hand, dropping the papers that were in his palm. Otto glanced at the pages among his desk.

“I told you- the council and I will take care of your affairs.”

“Only I can take care of my affairs. I don’t need you or a girl with pants and a sword at her hip to tell me what to do.” Otto ignored the last part: the king was old and sick after all.

“You can barely speak or walk. I will get a guard to carry you to your chambers.” The king was silent and Otto left the room to find a guard.

Alarra stood outside her chambers, just about to enter when she noticed her door was left cracked open. Alarra knew that she locked her door, she knew for certain that she shut it at least. Her hand hovered above the knob, gazing into the thin gap.

Someone was in there.

It was now nighttime and Alarra did not remember the time of day and how the sun had slipped past her. The room was dimly lit with candles in every space and crevice lighting up the room. She ventured into the room and realized it was unfamiliar.

This was not her room.

Alarra felt that everything was strangely distant, as if veiled in a cloud of mist. Alarra walked further into the room and pale blonde hair appeared in her view. The figure turned around and it appeared to be Helaena who was in her room. She looked deathly afraid, her lip trembling slightly.

“Helaena-” A babe’s cry erupted from Helaena’s arms.

“Protect them.” Helaena whispered, soothing the saddened babe as the crying got louder and louder. The babe had a head of black hair and Alarra gasped as the room seemed to shift, Helaena and the babe now gone from her sight. Alarra’s hand reached out but all that was in front of her was her own hands. She looked down at herself to see a thin white nightgown on her body. When had she put that on?

“Helaena!” Alarra turned, her breath getting caught in her throat. She was now in the hallway but not in the Red Keep but Castle Ward. Her home. Alarra's heart pounded as she took in her surroundings. She hadn’t set foot in Castle Ward in months, yet here she was, standing in the very corridor she knew so well: the cold stone walls, the flickering torches casting shadows along the tapestries she remembered from childhood. The familiar scent of pine and firewood lingered in the air, yet everything felt unnervingly hollow, as though a fog hung over the hall, dulling its colors and muffling its sounds. Alarra paused at an unfamiliar painting. It was larger than the rest and Alarra realized quickly that it was a painting of herself.

Alarra froze, staring up at the painting that loomed over her. In the waving torchlight, her own likeness gazed back yet it wasn’t quite her. The face was familiar, yet older, with shadows cast beneath her eyes and a hint of sorrow etched into her expression. She looked regal and hardened, her hand resting on the hilt of a sword, her posture proud yet burdened. She wore armor emblazoned with the sigil of her house, though it was marred by scratches and dents, as if she’d been through a long, grueling battle. Alarra’s fingers brushed over the frame hesitantly, feeling a chill run through her as she did. A low, distant sound, faint but clear, echoed down the corridor. It was the cry of a babe, the same haunting sound she’d heard moments ago.

A bright light shone down the end of the hall, and Alarra followed the path, the wails getting louder. Alarra peeled open the door at the end of the corridor to find the source. What lay in front of her now was her mother, laying on a bed with a babe in her arms, the crying ceased. Alarra’s eyes shimmered, able to see her mother again now. Tears pricked at Alarra’s eyes as she took in the scene before her. Her mother lay on the bed, looking as she had in Alarra’s memories: soft-eyed and gentle. Her mother held a newborn, swaddled tightly in soft cloth, the babe’s tiny fist clenched around a lock of her mother’s hair. The child’s cries softened at the gentle touch, settling into soft whimpers as her mother rocked him, humming a lullaby Alarra hadn’t heard in years.

“Mother.” Her mother did not notice her, for she was engulfed in the baby before her. Her mother spoke quietly.

“I shall name you…” And then her mother was gone, and Alarra let out a muffled cry, shaking her head. Alarra’s fingers passed through the empty mist that was once her mother and she staggered forward falling to her knees as the ground turned soft. Alarra was in a field of long thick pale needles and flowers of marigold and plum. Her fingers whispered amongst the shrubbery, lightly feeling the tall grassy hill. It was vast, and spread all around her but she could not see too far in front of her for a thick fog encapsulated the air. And then it started to snow.

She first saw a tiny spec of ice fall from the sky and land delicately in her hands. And then the ground was flooded with snow, encasing her legs as she knelt on the ground. It was not cold nor was it hot. Alarra felt at peace. Alarra closed her eyes just for a moment. For what felt like a second, letting the cool icicles settle on her skin as they softly melted away at the touch of her warm face.

The atmosphere around her was still and tranquil, almost as if Alarra was suspended in time and nothing could disturb the serene spirit of the snow. Alarra opened her eyes, the pure white snow had now been stained with a dark crimson color. The snow had been littered with blood all around her and Alarra’s breath caught in her throat again and again. She gulped in the air, turning head in a panic to find more blood scattered in the snow.

“Blood?” Alarra whispered to the emptiness and of course there was no answer for only the stillness of the snow clung to her.

“Vezhvenor.” A figure had appeared through the mist, approaching Alarra. Alarra’s head rose as she looked around her, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. Helaena was with her once more and she kneeled in front of Alarra.

“Wolves bite…” She started, her eyes scanning Alarra. Alarra finished the sentence for her.

“And dragons take flight.”

Alarra jolted awake in her bed, the sweat slick on her forehead. She was breathing heavily, and she felt her heart as it beat out of her chest. Alarra swung her feet over the edge of her bed, trying to comprehend her dreams. Her visions. The book she had been reading was frozen on her nightstand, and it lay untouched since she had grabbed it from the library. She was scared to read it. To see what it had within its pages for her to read. Alarra rose from her bed to grab a lit candle by her desk, returning to the edge of her bed. She sat the candle next to the book, reaching for the spine.

She sat the book in her lap, flipping open the first page. A picture of Bran the Builder was printed, and she traced the picture. Alarra grew up hearing stories of her ancestors. She knew almost everything about her family. Except what Aemond had shown her. And she was afraid of what the rest of the prophecy entailed. She had marked the page and she played with the book before turning open to the page of the prophecy. She scanned the page, reading the prophecy as a whole.

A prophecy forgotten by the Gods…

A Wolf from the North will bleed into the South.

Blood of a Wolf can start wars, but the blood of a Dragon will end the realm.

When one dragon meets fate, a Wolf will seek refuge.

Packs are large but dragons are much larger.

A Wolf from the North. A Dragon from the South.

Wolves bite, and dragons take flight.

The dragon's flame will burn the sky,

But in its ashes, a Wolf will rise.

Beneath the door, a path will unfold,

A bond of blood to be known by both shadow and light.

The Wolf will reign where it once bled.

For blood and bone is thicker than fire and steel.

Alarra finished reading the page, looking to the next to find that the rest of the next page had been ripped out. Alarra flipped through the rest of the book and it contained nothing but her past. Her house's legacy. Alarra scoffed, slamming the book shut. She knew exactly who did this and where he would be.

“Why did you rip out a page in this book?” Alarra slammed the book down in front of Aemond and he raised his eyes to meet hers, an irritated look on his face. He glanced at her before looking back down at the book on the table. His hair was draped carelessly over his shoulders and Alarra watched as he paid no mind to Alarra’s intrusion.

“That book is centuries old-” He started but Alarra would not have him avoid her inquiry.

“Answer the question.” Alarra bent down, setting her hands on the table inching forward towards Aemond. Alarra knew that she could not intimidate the prince but she still tried.

“The book was like that when I read it.” He responded while maintaining a steady gaze with Alarra. Alarra pushed herself backwards, away from Aemond. She huffed starting to get agitated with him. Liar.

“You are deceitful. And a liar-”

“I do not lie.” Alarra’s gaze hardened.

“That was a lie. All men lie.”

“Well I do not lie.” Alarra paced the floor while looking through the slim windows at the shine of the moon. How had she found herself alone with Aemond again?

“Do you dream during the moon’s rule, my prince?” Alarra raised an eyebrow at him and Aemond froze for a moment before responding softer than before.

“Dreams are not real.”

“But they can be. Your sister-”

“Do not bring my sister into your nightmares.”

“I never said they were night terrors.”

“I can see on your face that they were not pleasant,” Alarra gripped the table with her hands, a flash of anger contorting her features. “Alarra the Fierce scared? I did not think I would rue the day to see such a frightening individual cowering at ink on paper.” Alarra turned around from staring through the window to shoot him a sharp look.

“I am not scared.” She gritted below her teeth.

“Mhm, you call me a liar but you are a liar. Something is bothering Alarra the Fierce.” He said her name like he was mocking her and Alarra’s eyes hardened even more.

“You mock me.”

“I mock no one.”

“You lie again!” Alarra yelled, starting to move gradually towards Aemond. “I knocked you on your royal arse and you would be wise to not humor me.” Aemond stood from his seat, a small smirk on his face.

“Is that a threat?” Alarra was getting hot now.

“A promise.”

“You speak with such certainty…like a dog.” He snarled, slowly making his way over to Alarra. He now stood in front of her, his body towering over hers slightly. Alarra did not know what to do at that moment but remained still. “Do you obey your master like a dog as well?” He questioned, his head tilted to the side. He wanted to get a rise out of her. His hand rose as if he were going to grab her, and Alarra flinched. Aemond hummed lowly, his hand sinking back at his side. Aemond leaned down his face dangerously close to hers. Aemond didn’t know why he touched her. Why did he feel the urge to trace her scar, her face? Why was he so close to her?

The proximity was close; too close and Alarra held her breath for what felt like minutes; hours, waiting for the prince to speak. Aemond’s eyes scanned her face and his hand rose to her face, tracing the line of her scar. He dug his finger, his nail catching the healing skin, and Alarra blinked rapidly, her eyes watering, biting her tongue to swallow down a low groan of pain.

“Threaten me again and you will learn to obey.” His breath fanned over her face now, and Alarra swallowed as his finger traced her scar towards her lips before his hand stopped abruptly and he pulled away from her. He looked at her for a pregnant pause before swiftly turning and leaving the library. Alarra stood there, her thoughts a mess inside her head. Aemond had touched her. He had touched her face. Her scar. He had reached his hand voluntarily to touch her. Alarra raised a hand to touch her scar, feeling the blood already dripping on her cheek. Aemond was provoked by Alarra. But, Alarra was not angry.

No, she was fierce.

In the morning, the first thing Alarra did was visit the princess Helaena. She felt obligated to speak to the girl after her odd dreams. She wanted answers. And she thought that Helaena would give them to her, no matter how confusing her words might be. Helaena was standing on her terrace staring outside at King’s landing before her. At the structures and buildings, at her city. Alarra was behind her and Helaena turned, unafraid as if she was expecting her.

“Lady in Red.”

“Princess, I don't mean to intrude-”

“We spoke last night.”

“I'm sorry, I do not recall-”

“In the mist, we spoke in the mist.” Alarra approached the princess slowly, setting her hands on the railing of the balcony as she looked out into the city. Birds flew past in the morning dew and the sun was just starting to rise from below the skyline.

“I’m…scared.”

“We should all be scared for what is to come,” Helaena walked towards Alarra, standing next to her as Alarra still stared at the city.

“But, why-”

“I do not know. Answers are a precarious thing. Answers are something we seek but cannot find. They are hidden for a reason,” Helaena paused, seeming to gather her thoughts and sucking in a quiet rasp. “I dreamt of you, Lady in Red.” Alarra was getting slightly agitated now.

“Helaena, I do not wear red.” She said swiftly but Helaena’s eyes widened as if she were on the verge of tears and she grabbed Alarra by the shoulders tightly.

“It is not red that you will wear but the blood of those you have slain. Alarra the Fierce; Lady in Red,” Helaena shook Alarra as she held her and Alarra blinked, her face scrunched up in pure astonishment. “You, Alarra, have already begun the path. The door has closed and there is no return from what is to come.”

Cregan,

I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home.

A/N: Thanks so so much for continuing to read! I'm really excited to get more into the fantasy aspects and what roles Helaena will play in this story.

Tags: @mamawiggers1980, @kritara

[jesswritesthat]

Sakusa Kiyoomi: Part of the Plan

Fandom: Haikyuu!! — [ Masterlist ]

Summary: ~0.8k, fluff

• You didn’t think helping a friend would ever lead you to be in demand from elite athlete Sakusa Kiyoomi, yet here you are.

Warnings: Post time skip spoilers.

>>>>——————————>

It was a soothing walk home you'd taken that evening, enjoying the fresh fragrance of the season when a brief interaction outside your apartment building caused you tilt your head and slow you pace.

"Oh here they are now!"

Your neighbour giddily shouted, pointing in your direction as evidence to the tall man beside her who then turned around. You recognised the athlete immediately, even without his signature teams' clothing draping his toned form.

"You made this meal plan?" It was direct, straight to the point, with recognisable scribbles held out before you.

It was apart of the plan you'd tailored for Atsumu, covering various nutritional aspects to help maintain energy and physique during the upcoming volleyball season. That damn blonde must've left it lying around at practice. You’ll get him back next time you hang out together but right now you held the prickly attention of his teammate.

"Oh yeah, I thought I was missing a page." Gratefully, you accepted the parchment with a polite smile whilst Sakusa shoved his hands in his pockets and spoke observantly through his mask.

"It's detailed, you know what you're doing."

"It's nothing overly professional but it does the job."

"It does more than that, I remember you always used to help out the volleyball team in middle school." He'd offhandedly mentioned, tilting his head slightly as if reminiscing - he was right, you were a year below and had volunteered to help the sports clubs when you could but you didn't think it'd be memorable.

Let alone to someone as antisocial and incredible as him, a top 5 Ace of the nation in Itachiyama.

"You recognise me?"

"You used a Hello Kitty plaster for my graze when first aid had run out of proper ones." This was said with what you assumed to be a disgruntled look since you couldn't see beyond his mask.

"It was a proper plaster. Just with more personality." You quipped back rather proudly, the player furrowing his brows slightly and responding with a hint of bemusement (you'd hoped).

"You said something similar back then, and I still disagree."

It was a slightly palpable silence that remained after that, unsure of how to react to Sakusa as a person rather than someone you'd considered out of reach quite yet. Thus he continued with an awkward clearing of his throat.

"Anyway, I was looking for you."

"To return my meal plan?" You instantly questioned, as if trying to aid the situation but he only shook his head before elaborating.

"To ask if you'd personalise one for me."

"Don't you have professionals for that?"

As a MSBY Black Jackals player, you’d expected them to have every amenity available to them in order to maximise performance - so for him to request such expertise from you was rather perplexing.

"I'm a picky eater." It wasn't as forward as answers you'd previously received, suggesting he was a little embarrassed about this disclosure.

"You're really gonna make this easy for me if I accept, aren’t you?" You retorted sarcastically, a raised brow sent his way but he remained unphased.

"I thought you may be looking to do this as a career, become a sport nutritionist?"

"Well I hadn't really thought that far ahead..."

Sakusa studied you thoughtfully, as if you were a new concept to his world that he didn’t understand yet, but he certainly wanted to try.

"Well as I progress, people will be interested in what I'm doing unfortunately. But it'll bring business your way."

It was considerate of him (even if he was repulsed by the idea of attention) to think about how the arrangement would benefit you also, it is an aspiring nutritions dream offer after all. Yet he presented no pressure, waiting patiently even if your casual shrug and acknowledgment wasn’t a conclusive decision.

"I mean as a Division 1 player, you're quite popular already."

"Think about it. Here's my number, give me a call if you change your mind." Sakusa gave you a slip with his contact information, burying his hands deep in his pockets once more and diverted his gaze away from you. "Or even if you don't."

"Thank you Sakusa, it was nice talking to you again."

The Spiker didn't respond verbally, instead nodding softly accompanied by a wave of his hand when walking away.

Your neighbour rejoined your side from where she’d retreated to, previously leaning against the building entrance steps with a joyous skip toward you and girly squeal to match.

"Did you just get Sakusa Kiyoomis' number?!"

"Yeah. For work."

"He came looking for you, he literally asked Miya-san for your address to return your plan himself. Then MSBYs' top spiker Sakusa Kiyoomi gave you his personal number." She reiterated again, adding emphasis and dramatics to the statement as if you'd failed to realise the weight of it.

"..." You glared discreetly, your neighbour far too enthused by such a thing, which was translated through your deadpan tone. "You're too excited about this."

"I don't think you're excited enough about this."

You ran your thumb over his elegant writing as you looked at the slip once again, a gentle smile subconsciously working its way to your lips at the thought.

“Maybe you’re right…”

<——————————<<<<

[ Masterlist ]

A/N: I have more… if you want…?

[carlzy-berryz]

Neo 3 ^^

Ref sheet done, lol. This took forever ahhh!! Ik it's not the neatest, but it gets the job done XD.

I'll go into more detail under the cut.. (lore)

Everleigh used to live in Inkpolis Plaza but her family had to move to the Splatlands a couple years back, to take care of her grandma. Her life kinda changed from then XD. The treatment for her grandma was expensive and turf war just wasn't cutting it anymore... so her parents suggested Salmon Run (Everleigh had no idea what this was at the time) but she agreed, nonetheless, after all if it pays well it can't be that bad, right?

Well this is where she developed weird "attachment issues" to the salmonids, she thought they were cute (especially smallfry), and wondered why so many people wanted to take their eggs, they didn't deserve that... So she started slacking off, not getting quota on purpose, giving eggs to snatchers, not reviving teammates ect... nobody ever suspected her though..

How she met Waffle..

One day at the end of a shift, Everleigh noticed an injured Smallfry near the shore, struggling to move, she went to help him but she could hear the helicopter about to leave, so she put him in her bag and scrambled back. She looked after him for weeks and weeks, feeding him, giving him a place to sleep, going on morning runs all to get his strength back! It wasnt easy though, as she had to hide him from everbody, she even took him to work (while bribing him with food as a reward, lol) he just stayed in her bag the whole time!

Eventually he was back to his bubbly self and fully recovered which meant Everleigh had to return him to the sea... She had always intended this, but she had grown far too attached to him, she couldn't stomach the thought of a co-worker killing him.. so she decided to keep him and named him Waffle!

The day she became an agent...

As usual she was on her way to work with Waffle, she was about to walk up the stairs when she heard a voice, it was coming from a manhole, she looked over and a strange old man was signaling her to walk over, he disappeared down the manhole and they follow him...

*I'll spare you the whole story mode Alterna plot you already know what happens XD*

After defeating Mr Grizz she knew for a fact she couldn't work for him anymore. She told her parents that she wanted to quit but they wouldn't let her, they said it was too much money to give up, then they started guilt tripping her saying things like "you really don't want to help your grandma..?" This made her feel terrible and she reluctantly continued working for a few more weeks... until she just couldn't take it anymore, she stomped into grizzco, slammed her things on the desk and shouted "I quit!" and she never set foot in there again. She traded the gold scales she'd earned over the years to a random octoling for money, (she sure wouldn't need those anymore) and managed to pay for her grandma's treatments! She now lives with her grandma and Waffle in a small apartment and works full time as an agent, getting paid now by the captain! She rarely speaks to her parents and will leave the apartment when they visit.

Side effects of becoming an agent..

.She doesn't have much time to do things anymore as she's always busy doing missions

.Her hair now looks a little fluffy, this is due to all the fuzzy ooze she fell in..

.She kinda developed ptsd from fighting her way through the missions.

.Feels like she can't meet Waffle's needs and doesn't want to overwork him.

These are just a few things, but she can't say she regrets anything, after all, it was her release from everything. She made new friends, defeated Grizz, participates in turf and anarchy again (with the other agents) and best of all she's happier now, that's what really matters!

That's about it really, sorry for the long story, 😭 I just wanted to get it out there since she didn't have much character development before, so if you made it here,thank you so much for reading the whole thing, I appreciate you!! ^^ I apologise if it didn't really make sense...

Here's a close up of Waffle as a reward XP

🫶

[doctorbrown]

DOCTOBER '24 ⸺ 「 1 / 31 * RED-LETTER DATE 」

“Hey Doc? I wanna ask you something.” 

Emmett doesn’t pop his head through the doorway to acknowledge his friend, too focused on topping off one of the mugs of hot chocolate with a generous helping of marshmallows, but he does shout, “Of course, Marty,” into the air. “You know you don’t have to ask. Let me bring Verne his cup and then you’ll have my undivided attention.”

Marty makes a vague noise that many years of friendship has taught Emmett means sure thing, Doc, and it takes him barely three minutes to drop off the hot chocolate to Verne, who smiled like it was Christmas morning when he saw the mountain of marshmallows floating at the top, and join Marty in the living room, carrying the tray with their own drinks. He passes one of them off to Marty who accepts with a smile and a nod and then takes a seat opposite him, fixing him with an expectant look.

“So, what did you want to ask me?”

Marty’s eyes immediately drift to the shelf, where Emmett and Clara’s small assortment of family photos sit, arranged in elegant wooden frames. In the centre is a black and white photo that has started to yellow around the edges, looking paradoxically fragile and yet able to withstand even the most rigorous tests of time, holding onto that frozen memory for all eternity. Emmett turns his head to follow Marty’s attention, his eyes alighting on the single photo he expects will be the topic of their conversation.

Ah. Out of all of them, there is only one Marty was never able to be present for.

For once, Emmett manages to look perfectly natural in a photograph, even dressed to the nines in a sharp suit. His smile stretches from ear-to-ear, making him look at least ten years younger, and though his face is angled away from the camera, his eyes are bright and alive, brimming with love and warmth. Marty could even imagine the photographer trying to get Emmett’s attention, demanding he look at him for the photo, only for every single word to go in one ear and straight out the other when Clara was standing beside him, smiling, the picture of radiance as she regards her husband with the same fond warmth. Her wedding dress was no more intricate than any of the outfits Marty had seen her wear during his few days in the Nineteenth Century, yet it seemed to be made for her and her alone, perfectly tailored and somehow able to put even the outfits of royalty to shame.

If Clara was the sun, Emmett was the moon that revolved around her. In that single moment, forever frozen in time, they were the only two people on Earth. 

“I had been wanting to ask for a while, but–”

“No, no, of course. You didn’t get the chance to see it, and I’m sorry for that, so I’d be happy to fill you in on the details.”

Marty curls his fingers around the warm mug, shuffling somewhat in his seat, and Emmett waits patiently, noting each one of Marty’s nervous habits as they arise. There are a hundred and one things Marty wants to say, Emmett can see them written across his body, written into every small movement, and, equal and opposite, there are a thousand things Emmett wants to say in return, things he makes an effort to hold back until Marty speaks first.

“I’m happy for you two, Doc–really, I am. Clara’s–well, Clara’s amazing. And I’ve never seen you so happy before. I was afraid that–” Marty shakes his head, his eyes focused on the photographs. “When I first saw the picture, I was…” He forces a laugh, but there’s no humour in it and Emmett would know that self-depreciatory tone anywhere. 

“It’s stupid, I know. I didn’t realise it at first, but I was jealous. Can you believe that, Doc? My best friend is happy, he’s got a family for Christ’s sake, and I was too busy at first being afraid that now you’re–you’re just gonna forget me because you’ve got Clara and the boys and the house and there wouldn’t be a place for me.”

Emmett’s eyes widen despite knowing the blow was coming and before he can open his mouth, allow the words that have been building up on his tongue to break free, Marty shakes his head and continues, reinforcing the wall and keeping the words at bay just a little longer.

“I know what you’re gonna say, Doc. I already said I know it’s stupid but I couldn’t help feeling that way. And I should have asked you about your wedding and everything a lot longer ago but I-I just couldn’t. And that’s fucking stupid, right? I want to know because I couldn’t be there for you and you’ve always been there for me.”

Marty’s words are a blade driven straight through his chest, each word twisting that razor-sharp blade a little more. He can’t help the pang of guilt he feels echoing in his ribcage, scraping against the bars of a prison he will not allow it to escape from, not now. This conversation was a long time coming–he’d almost expected it sooner rather than later, but he knew better than to push, knowing Marty would open up when he was ready–but no amount of anticipation could have prepared him for the blow that hearing it put to words would strike.

The Time Machine’s destruction had not been an accident. Everything had been carefully orchestrated to prevent any further corruption of the timestream, to spare himself the temptation–the broken heart–of trying to go back against all rational, scientific thought.

Ultimately, Marty couldn’t stay in the Nineteenth Century, not if he wanted to live a normal life, not if he wanted to be happy. And he couldn’t allow Marty to become another unsolved disappearance, leaving the McFlys to wonder and agonise over their youngest son who vanished from the face of the Earth without a trace.

Emmett may not have planned to stay, but even he couldn’t predict Clara’s intervention. 

Life had to go on, even under extreme or difficult circumstances. There was only one choice available, then.

Still, Emmett doesn’t hesitate.

“Marty, I could never forget you. Whether we’re in the same time period or separated across the timestream, you will always be my best friend. And I will never stop caring about you. I know things have been busy lately, both for you and for me, what with your college courses and the boys’ schooling and Clara’s acclimation to the Twentieth Century and making the necessary repairs on the house–” Emmett stops himself before he runs off the entire list of seemingly infinitely-growing projects on his list. 

“The point is, nothing is going to change that. And I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel neglected or unwanted at any point, because that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

Marty nods, finally pulling his eyes away from the photo to take a good long look at his best friend. 

“I know, Doc. God, I know. You must think I’m an asshole.” 

“You’re not an asshole. Far from it.”

Marty actually smiles at that, swirling his hot chocolate carefully in the cup. “So… You’ll still tell me about your wedding day?”

“Of course I will, Marty.” Emmett pauses for a moment, a thoughtful expression working its way over his face. Then, he smiles, almost conspiratorially as he recalls something of particular note. “The minister certainly wasn’t pleased when we changed until death do us part to something a little more fitting–until the end of time—”

@bttfdoctober

[zombiesama]

I plan on making my own patches for my jacket so I printed + cut out a couple stencils at work today lol

[britneyshakespeare]

i am like. unreasonably mad right now.

[robotblues]

sounds fake but i'm starting to think i'm immune to chemical addiction

[vaguenotions]

I really hate feeling irrational and upset over food. One of the worst things to be upset about. It feels SO fucking stupid.

[deadpresidents]

"What emerged in two interviews with Trump, and conversations with more than a dozen of his closest advisers and confidants, were the outlines of an imperial presidency that would reshape America and its role in the world. To carry out a deportation operation designed to remove more than 11 millions people from the country, Trump told me, he would be willing to build migrant detention camps and deploy the U.S. military, both at the border and inland. He would let red states monitor women's pregnancies and prosecute those who violate abortion bans. He would, at his personal discretion, withhold funds appropriated by Congress, according to top advisers. He would be willing to fire a U.S. Attorney who doesn't carry out his order to prosecute someone, breaking with a tradition of independent law enforcement that dates from America's founding. He is weighing pardons for every one of his supporters accused of attacking the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021, more than 800 of whom have pleaded guilty or been convicted by a jury. He might not come to the aid of an attacked ally in Europe or Asia if he felt that country wasn't paying enough for its own defense. He would gut the U.S. civil service, deploy the National Guard to American cities as he sees fit, close the White House pandemic-preparedness office, and staff his Administration with acolytes who back his false assertion that the 2020 election was stolen."

-- "How Far Would He Go", TIME Magazine's interviews with Donald Trump, April 30, 2024.

I know we're saturated in coverage of Trump and it's easy (and probably better for our mental health) to usually ignore most of the articles when we see them, especially since he's so full of shit and infuriating. But it's also important to recognize that he is going to be the Republican nominee for President and he could absolutely be elected in November, and if you thought his first term was scary and dangerous, you need to understand that in a second term he's going to have people around him that are better prepared and VERY willing to do the crazy shit that he wants to do to this country. They aren't even hiding the fact that they are seeking vengeance against political opponents whom they feel have wronged them, and are ready to fundamentally dismantle the democratic foundations that are barely holding this country together after nearly 250 years.

Just look at what Trump says about the people who he incited to attack the United States Capitol in an attempt to overturn the results of the 2020 election and halt the peaceful transfer of power that has happened every four years since 1789:

"Trump has sought to recast an insurrectionist riot as an act of patriotism. 'I call them the J-6 patriots,' he say. When I ask whether he would consider pardoning every one of them, he says, 'Yes, absolutely.' As Trump faces dozens of felony charges, including for election interference, conspiracy to defraud the United States, willful retention of national-security secrets, and falsifying business records to conceal hush-money payments, he has tried to turn legal peril into a badge of honor."

Oh, and please note that Trump -- a former President of the United States and possible future President of the United States -- said on the record in these interviews with TIME: "There is a definite antiwhite feeling in the country and that can't be allowed either." We are at a point where political leaders are outright saying that in this country again, and it's because of Donald Trump.

So, take the time to recognize that Trump is straight-up telling us the country we're going to be living in if he wins again in November. And understand that your vote matters -- and WHO you vote for matters -- because, as I've been saying for years now, ELECTIONS HAVE FUCKING CONSEQUENCES.

[ddejavvu]

this is depraved, but grinding on logan’s happy trail to get off 🫢

Hands Free - Logan Howlett x Reader

send me logan requests!

contents/warnings: smut, minors dni, mean!logan, drinking, don't like don't read.

You've caught Logan at a bad time. The surly mutant is a complicated man, and one with less psychological damage than him might be eager to whip it out whenever, but Logan isn't. He's busy brooding, and he's not to be interrupted when he's got a bottle in one hand and a cigar in the other.

But you need him. There's a pit in your belly that's only made worse by the scowl on his face, and your cunt aches beneath your now-slick panties for something to envelop. You're desperate for Logan to fuck you, but there's no way you'll convince him if he's not in the mood.

"I can feel you staring," He grumbles, eyes still cast to the floor as he takes another swig of burning liquor, "What do you want?"

There's no polite way to say you.

"Uhm," You shift on your feet, thighs clenched, "I'm just feeling- I'm a little, um, I-"

"Spit it out."

"I need you." You breathe, ashamed by the sentence, but Logan's face remains untouched, nothing moving but the lingering smoke from his smoldering cigar.

"I'm not in the mood." He grunts, like it isn't obvious.

"I- I know." You fall awkwardly silent again, rising onto your tiptoes and falling back to your heels. Up, down. Up, down. Up, down. Up-

"Don't make a mess." He shifts in the chair, lowering his hips until they're level with his abdomen, offering you the best seat in the house.

He's shirtless, which means that if you can't have his cock, or his fingers, you can get the next best thing. A combination of the friction from the waistband of his jeans, and his toned abs, blanketed with coarse, wiry hair.

You mount him eagerly, which isn't hard to do seeing as his chair has no arms. It's got a back so that he can lean against it, but your support system is his chest, where you firmly plant your hands in preparation to get yourself off.

There's a dark line of hair that trails from the bottom of his navel and disappears beneath his waistband, flanked on either side with a sharp line of muscle that tapers down towards his cock in a V. His body is a work of art, and you only wish his equally gorgeous face was pointed your direction.

No matter- you won't push. You're lucky he's letting you get off on his lap, you'll take what you can get.

"Easy," He grumbles, rocked by the sudden jerk of your hips. As you settle into a steady rhythm you realize you've already failed his one directive of not making a mess, but there's no way to stop or slow the steady stream of slick that's pouring from your weeping cunt. It's sobbing, slobbering, begging for a cock, but you drag it flush against Logan's abs and mat his happy trail down with your translucent arousal.

"One fuckin' job," He gripes, reaching down to swipe two fingers through the slick that's glistening on his stomach as you find better friction near the waistband of his jeans. The texture of the denim is rough, and you realize with giddy desperation that he's getting hard in his pants despite his insistence that he wasn't in the mood.

He sticks his fingers in his mouth for a taste, his cigar left behind in its ashtray on the side table. He doesn't relinquish the bottle, but he takes equal sips of that and of the mess you're making on his abs.

Finally, thanks to the sizeable bulge in Logan's jeans, you're able to hump your way to completion on his stomach. It's not hard, considering you'd been achingly horny before, but without something inside of you your release feels empty and wasted. You'd use your fingers if you could, but you can't move your hands or you'd faceplant on Logan's chest, and you don't want to invade his space any further in case he decides your privileges have been revoked.

"Poor thing." He murmurs when your hips slow and you're panting against his chest. You glance at his face but he's staring at your cunt, not at you, "She's so hungry."

It takes him one, two, three seconds to reach for his belt, "Well, c'mon. Up now, there y'go." As you shimmy up his abdomen, slicking his happy trail up with your release once more. As soon as he's able to free his cock he slides a hand under your ass, boosting you up so that you're finally able to sink down onto his red-tipped, leaking cock.

"Jesus, she's sucking me in," He grunts, his voice gruff and ragged, "How long were you waiting to ask me?"

"Too long." You whine, pussy already sensitive from your first orgasm, and now in utter bliss from finally being penetrated after all that teasing, "I- hnngh! My toys don't work anymore. They're- they're nothing like you, I can't use them. I can't ever finish."

Logan scoffs, still in a mood as sour as the liquor on his breath, but his hands find their place on your waist as he helps bounce you on his cock, "Shame. Those were supposed to keep you busy. Guess I'll have to do it then, hm?"

You nod vigorously against the crook of Logan's neck, your nose buried where his neck meets his shoulder, and where sweat accumulates sticky on his skin. You lick it up, and Logan hisses against the mouth of his bottle as he takes another swig.

"Fine." He grumbles, butting the bottle up to your head and forcing it against your lips, "Take this, take a nice big- there you go. That'll make you sleepy," He vows, and the head rush comes just like he'd warned. His hips begin shifting, circling slightly in gyrations that only add to the pleasure of bouncing on his dick, "And this'll knock you out, crazy."