#except the people she finds sketchy

[talontheacedragon]

constantly torn between

wanting to play good girl characters who just want to help everyone they come across sometimes to the detriment of themselves who over the course of her story learn to love herself a little bit and say no and figure out that she can't always please everyone but that is okay and she can put herself first

vs

wanting to play as evil stinky bastard man that somehow everyone likes and believes is redeemable who only truly cares about what he wants and will do anything to get it at the expense of everyone else who learns that being on the outside and alone in the world is not what he wants and all the riches of the world cannot make him happy when he is so deeply alone

[silkscreaming]

[ID: Trigun fanart of a Pushing Daisies AU. Vash and Knives are shown in a cafe, both wearing aprons. Vash is smiling at Wolfwood as he prepares a strawberry pie, and Knives scowls at Vash while holding a covered box which flies are buzzing over. Over them is the cursive text "Love and Pies." In the background, Wolfwood is staring at Vash with a lovestruck expression, and Kuroneko is sleeping on a diner chair. End ID]

there once were two pie makers who shared a gift: a touch that brought the dead to life.

the facts were these:

-the twins share the power. they discovered it as kids when Rem died suddenly, and learned its limits when vash hugged her goodnight. he blames himself, and doesn't like toying with the power.

-nai got involved in some unsavory business trying to find clues after their sister tessla went missing.

-enter wolfwood: a man with ties to the organization that has to do with tessla's disappearance. except: he's dead.

-nai brings wolfwood back to question him right as vash walks in to the wake. nai is unable to kill wolfwood again within the 60sec time limit. (he also has extremely foggy memory of his death and the events leading up to it)

-vash is a slight exception to the rule: he can give his own life force to bend the cost rule. nai loses the minute holding vash back from giving his entire life to keep wolfwood alive and spare the cost of someone else's life.

bonus things that didn't fit in my twt thread:

-nai is in touch with milly and meryl's detective agency to keep a tab on any clues. they are frequent customers at the pie shop.

-vash brought kuroneko back to life when they were kids. she immediately chomped on his finger. vash freaked out thinking she would die again but black cats have 9 lives and are also exceptions to the rule because i think its funny.

-like canon, vash can be pretty reckless when it comes to helping people and avoiding deaths. running into burning buildings and pushing people out of the way from cars running lights.

-wolfwood wears his sunglasses to hide his identity. it is extremely hilariously not effective.

-vash still has a prosthetic arm. wolfwood can hold One hand.

also here is the first sketch i drew of this concept way back in april where i simply had not figured out how to draw these two yet lol

[ID: Slightly sketchy Trigun fanart of Vash and Knives from the same AU, shown walking past each other against a light pink background. Vash smiles as he looks at a strawberry which is surrounded by sparkles, and Knives is scowling while carrying the box flies are buzzing over. End ID]

[worldume]

TWO DEMONS AND AN ANGEL….

˖┊ spotlight: yamato endo & chika takiishi.

˖┊ synopsis: (name) is endo and chika's favorite coloring book! they love to bully their sweet little lamb into doing things she’s not comfortable with. why? because they can & its fun!

˖┊ content: dark content, power imbalance relationship, bullying, themes of humiliation, implied polygamy, toxic relationship, coerced piercing, christina piercing, needles, alcohol transfer from mouth to mouth, afab reader, she/her pronouns, canonverse but endo and chika own a sleazy tattoo shop, tattoo artist endo, piercer chika for lore purposes, all characters are adults/aged up, endo and chika are awful!

˖┊ word count: 2k.

“you scared?”

“n—no but—” (name) stammered under his gaze, her voice cracking as she struggled to find her words. she averted her gaze from him, finding a sudden interest at chika moving about through the room as he gathered a few things around their shop. it was tucked away in a narrow sketchy alley in japan that looked like the kind of place only those in the know would visit— covered in graffiti and old posters with a flickering neon sign. the place had the vibe of a dive bar.

there was a small furrow in her brows and her lips tugged slightly in a glossy pout. no fair.. no fair!

looking at endo was so.. difficult for a couple reasons. number one: he was so fucking attractive. the kind of attractive that made her shy away from his gaze because she started to feel self conscious about everything little thing. did he like her hair? her makeup? the outfit she wore today? but more importantly, he could be just so mean if someone caught him on a bad day— he was finicky with his moods. and sometimes he didn’t want anyone looking him directly in the eye.

she’s witnessed first hand how brutally yamato beats people into a shell of themselves— weak people who he believes test who’s a poser and who’s not. endo is a pretty laid back guys for the most part, but, he has very little respect and tolerance for those who are weak. he thinks they’re boring, a drag and a complete waste of his fucking time. weak people get under his skin. weak people disgust him. weak people don’t deserve to call themselves human. and he couldn’t stand when weak people paraded around as though they weren’t.

but (name) was weak. so it makes her wonder why he keeps her around— why the both of them keep her around.. they’re not laughing at her behind her back right? she helps around.. sure she wasn’t the strongest person physically but she has uses.. or at least that’s what she tells herself.

you see, (name) is a pushover. a people pleaser. and a pathetic excuse for a spine. which is precisely why endo initially took such an interest to the girl— the irony, right? endo was just.. so tickled by it he giggled like a little kid who was told their first joke. he’s never seen anyone quite as pitiful as her. but he supposes women were an exception, right? endo almost found it.. cute? (name)’s looks were really the cherry on top of it all— a pretty little bow to wrap his present. just how could someone as pretty as her be such a.. disappointment. endo almost found it to be a waste of a perfectly good vessel, but.. he found that he gained some sort of sick gratification from bullying (name).

it was fun for him. and something to help pass the time when there’s nothing interesting going on. it was sad really— some of the things they made her do were nothing more than mere humiliation tactics that served no real purpose other than to see her actually do everything she’s told. no questions asked. like controlling when she use the bathroom, a “dress code” that usually consisted of micro mini skirts and the requirement of no panties, making her call herself awful things when she fails (bitch, slut and whore are some of noroshi’s favorites), her mouth being used as an ashtray— the list can go on.

‘how did such a sweet girl like (name) get caught up in this crowd?’ is what all the sweet townspeople of makochi ask amongst themselves when they see her on an off chance visiting her mom. but no one would be able to guess that she devoted herself to these men by choice. (name) felt as though she were indebted to endo and chika. that she owed the both of them all of herself because they saved her.

there had been a night where she had found herself walking alone after a night out with her friends, she was a little bit more than tipsy and stumbled across an alley she shouldn’t have. (name) remembers it well— stopping to pull out her phone for her gps. (name) hadn’t have been familiar with the area so she hadn’t been quite sure where she was. there was a voice behind her and all she knows is that she was being grabbed— she remembers screaming for help and thinking that it was her end. but that’s when they came to help her.

she remembers endo’s eyes that night when he got on one knee to match her level— her eyes drifting to chika who stood behind him. (name) couldn’t have been more thankful, they were her saviors..

that was then but now (name) felt as though she were walking on a pit of eggshells and thin ice— something seemingly so simple as holding the eye contact he was so insistent on made her feel uneasy sometimes which was so unfortunate because he has such pretty eyes. as much as she admired him, endo often used eye contact as a tool for intimidation— borderline a threat specifically for her alone. probably because he knew the only real thing he had to do was give her a look and she would submit— cowering like a scared little lamb so scared of getting gobbled right up by the big, bad wolf.

endo followed her gaze, tilting his head as his eyes bored into her own. he could admit that she was more than a looker— that sad, kicked puppy look really does something for him.

“but? but but but? but what.” it was a nasty sneer that left from endo’s lips as he mocked her. his lip curling in a way that screamed he was becoming more and more agitated by her hesitation— her lack of immediate compliance. this wasn’t their obedient little love— she was starting to piss him off.

“nothing— i just..” she trailed off. “will it hurt..? what if i cry?” she asked, looking up at him with the sweetest look. (name) were so naive it hurt. god— he could skull fuck her right now and he knew she’d absolutely love every single moment of it.

“sweetpea, you said you’d do anything for us. you didn’t lie to me did you?” he asked, brows furrowed as though he were actually hurt at the implication he just pulled from his book of manipulation.

“no..! of course not..!” she shook her head quickly.

“then a little pain shouldn’t be an issue, right? all the fights and trouble we get in for you isn’t even comparable.” there is was— he always did this. make her feel like she didn’t appreciate all that they’ve done for her which was her biggest fear.

“yeah, you’re right.. o–okay.. okay.” she let out a shaky breath as she nodded, a small smile growing on her lips as she felt endo’s hand pat her head.

“takiishi~ our little love’s all done bein’ a crybaby. c’mon.” he said.

chika sits down onto the roller stool, scooting over smoothly while the wheels squeaked over the cracked floor tiles so that he’s nestled in between her legs now. he spreads her lips apart, his eyes low as he watches how she clenches around nothing. hm. was she scared or was this arousal? it wouldn’t be the first time chika’s suspected she gets off on that kind of thing..

“wait— please!” panic rose in her chest, her cheeks heating up as she captured chika’s eyes. her pussy was completely bare before him, her thighs raided with tattoos that were more like brands as they stated slogans like ‘property of noroshi,’ ‘endo was here :),’ chika’s initials, and other dehumanizing phrases tattooed on her. to anyone else these could be perceived as insulting and degrading but for (name), she wore each proudly. of course the first time endo talked her into she had her reservations but she really just couldn’t say no, could she?

“will it hurt?” chika hadn’t responded, only opting in for a stare before endo spoke up once again.

“how about this? we’ll give you somethin’ that’ll take the edge off, alright?” he clasped his hands together before spinning on his heel to walk over to a counter where he snagged a bottle of vodka. “some old fashioned anesthesia.” endo smiled as he turned back around, walking back over to her where she laid.

she eyed the bottle with a look of hesitation on her face— it’s contents half full as the clear liquid sloshed around in the thick glass container. “yamato.. i don’t like to drink..”

“what?” he raised his brow as he twisted off the cap. “you know, you really shouldn’t mumble, sweetheart. i can’t hear a damn word you say.” but endo knew good and well that heard her as clear as day.

“n—nothing.. ‘m sorry. let’s do it..”

“no shot glasses or anything fancy like that but— i like doing it like this.” his hand finds its way to the crown of her head to tilt her head at an angle. he takes a swig of the vodka, holding it in his mouth for a moment before leaning in close to her and pressing his lips to her own. endo transfers the liquid in a slow controlled flow, the alcohol passing from one mouth to the other.

“mmf..!” the taste is awful and (name) told herself she’d never be able to get used to it but the warmth she was starting to feel a few seconds later seemed to help with her anxiety just a bit.

endo crouched down a bit to her level on piercing bed, an obnoxious smile on his lips as he watches on.

chika’s gloved hands aligned the needle, hovering just above the skin as the sharp tip gleamed under the light. his moment is skillfully controlled, fingers firm but gentle— the cold metal of the needle presses lightly against the flesh, the sensation a mix of cool steel and the warmth of skin contact. just before the needle penetrates, there’s a brief pause..

(name) let out a shriek as she felt the needle pierce through her flesh— the initial sensation was sharp, a pain unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. her toes curled and her hand flew to endo’s dark locks, involuntarily pulling his head back as her body started to writhe and lift at the pain. but it had been over as soon as it happened— chika’s fingers were nimble and worked quickly as he threaded the dainty jewelry through. the pain shifted into a dull ache and a sense of relief washed over her when chika spoke: “it’s finished.”

“fuck yeah— let’s see it.” endo said as he reached for the hand mirror sitting on the tray stand beside chika. (name) couldn’t help the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, a sniffle or two escaping from her lips.

there was slight throb where the jewelry laid as she sat up to look down at the mirror. the gem was her favorite color— she had to admit that it looked pretty good.

“she’s gonna be outta commission for a while, baby.” endo cooed at her. “you like?”

“yeah.. it’s cute.” she giggled breathlessly. “i did.. i did good, right?” (name) asked, her eyes screaming for approval.

“so good— let’s take a picture and show the guys, yeah?”

© all content belongs to worldume 2024. do not, translate, modify or repost to any other platforms.

[tsumuhours]

AMERICAN JESUS PAIRING: suna rintarō x fem!reader TAGS: alternate universe – gang world, smut, oral, flirty suna WORD COUNT: 10k

Life always has a weird way of fucking you over.

Whether it be in the form of finding an injured member of a notorious gang near your apartment, or trading silence for safety, or how he pulls you into a complicated relationship which goes against integrity and... possibly laws.

mature content !

Life always has a weird way of fucking you over.

Not to say you haven't deserved half of the mandated karma – you haven't always been the best person, given the borderline psychopathic attempt of climbing to the top – but a break, or a nice surprise would be a great change in routines.

Whoever said success is a lonely road was, painfully, correct. To think that you spent your high school years working hard to get into an ivy league, spent those four years working at internships to make those desired connections people dream of!

Only to get out at the age of twenty-two and spend the next year as some glorified, under-paid, under appreciated, assistant. And no, that's not what the job description is supposed to entail, you're meant to be an associate – associates are not supposed to run around getting coffee – with the main purpose of developing your career and hopefully making partner in seven to ten years time.

Not to mention, since the city has unbelievable prices of living, you had to move to a neighbouring borough just for the possibility of having a studio apartment that isn't the size of a closet for the same price. Is it the most convenient?

No, not really, considering the fact the commute is over thirty-minutes and you have to go back and forth from work at unreasonable hours because your boss insists on bringing you to every little, insignificant meeting, or post-work drinks at nine at night – which is an excuse for the woman to spiral further into alcoholism – where you will inevitably end up carrying your boss back to her penthouse on the upper east side.

And no, it doesn't get better, because afterwards, after spending two hours at an expensive bar with the drunken, divorced, mess of a boss you have by the time she gets home safe, you're expected to deal with the city's delayed – and inconsistent – subway times at this ungodly hour and spend the next thirty-minutes in a train with rando's and sketchies.

Oh! No, that's not where it ends, because by the time you get off the subway, it's almost midnight, and you have to take a lovely – scary – ten-minute walk alone to your apartment, but walking anywhere at night is terrifying... Except for the rumour, or fact, that violence has been making its way around the borough, and according to new statistics – regarding the quarterly crime rate review – it's been looking a bit too stabby for your liking.

Now, this walk home is nothing different to how it is every day. You stride down the street with purpose, clutching your taser, and eerily aware of your surroundings. Although, remember how life always has a new way of fucking you over through some odd, irrelevant, way of testing your resilience?

This is one of those occasions.

Let's say it's not common for a man to be curled up in the small alley where residents keep their trash, but then again, crime rates have increased by a percentage that can make anyone uncomfortable – still, committing those types of crimes in a residential neighbourhood where people are simply trying to live their lives is ridiculous. Have some class.

Sure, as a law abiding citizen or natural samaritan would help, but no, not you. Living in a densely populated city means one thing, and one thing only, keep your head down. It's a game of see nothing, know nothing. Everyone minds their own business, that's how you stay safe and avoid danger – including scammers, or the random cult recruiters.

So, you intend on reaching for your keys to the front entrance of your small building, until you hear a small groan come from the neighbours dumpster alley. Sighing, you swallow your pride – and maybe your safety – holding your phone in one hand, and taser in another, and go over to look. The flashlight turned on, as you flash it on the curled up body.

You cannot see his face, but you instantly recognize the leather jacket and matching bandana. Of fucking course, out of everyone in the world, you happen to come across a member of a gang – as if this is some cruel joke from the universe. What do they call themselves? The Foxes? That awful group that parades around in black and maroon, with their emblem of a fox printed on leather jackets that they display for the world to see.

You're reluctant to step forward, maybe it's the threatening affiliation this guy has wound himself with, or the blood on his hands – literally and figuratively – as he grips onto the side of his stomach. The thing is, you've got a massive report to read over and playing doctor with someone is not on your list of side-quests – as it doesn't benefit your position, or reputability on the job any better. However, people are always watching, so if word were to magically get out that you saw a member of this notorious, tight-knit gang and ignored him, that could put a dangerous target on your back.

But, if you help him, you can probably lawyer your way into securing safety for your silence. You could exchange saving his life, for him, inevitably, saving yours in turn – ensuring that you're home, your spaces, where you are at all times is a no-go zone. Sure, that means turning your back on the entire legal system you've spent studying is thrown on the backburner, but you need to look out for yourself.

What is success if it means you've got strangers pinning a vendetta against you, and watching your every move before they strike? How could you ever reach partner if you get killed? How could you ever live with the benefits of making partner, if you get killed before you can exercise those benefits?

The short-term pride is not worth it if you don't get to brag about it... and silence for safety seems like the best option on the table. No one ever said that law always has to be good, it's unjust – at times – unfair and just as corrupt. Only ten percent of people who go into this job do it out of the good of their heart, the rest, the majority do it for the money and respect.

And it isn't part of your job description to be a good person, you're not a doctor. You didn't pledge to an oath about refraining from causing harm or hurt, or to act honestly and responsibility. No, you are conducting yourself with dignity and conscience – and as far as you care, freedom of speech and association still exists, and what you're doing isn't necessarily illegal unless you get recruited or actively participate in a crime.

And since when helping someone not die a crime? He's part of the Foxes, for christ sake. They can invoke power anywhere, he can potentially make you untouchable. You can live your life somewhat more peacefully if it means that safety is a guarantee. If you save one of them, they have no choice but to repay you. That's how the system works.

Sighing, you step closer, bending down to get a better look at him. Flashlight illuminating the severe wound on the side of his stomach, the blood surrounding his black top and his hands. "Fuck my life," you mutter. He's practically losing consciousness with every second, you doubt he's capable of standing up by himself, and there's no way you're going to attempt to fix him by a pile of trash.

So, you do what you can, gently lifting up his upper body, draping his arm around your shoulders as you begin to stand. God is he big, and getting him up the stairs will undoubtedly be a struggle. Still, as if on impulse, his feet start moving as you carry more than half of his weight towards the front door of your building, up the stairs to the second floor – where your apartment remains.

Forcefully, pushing open the door, you find all the strength in your body to lead him to the couch – internally crying at the stain that will taint the grey cushions – where he falls over and lays on his back. Absolutely winded, you walk into your bathroom, searching for that old – raggedy – first aid kit in the cupboards along with cotton balls and comically large band aids that you have no reason for owning.

God, it's as if this was planned, fucking written in the stars. Yes, you were meant to end up in this situation because you are one of the only people in the world who thought it'd be fun and convenient to own large band aids that can temporarily cover a stab wound. Good going!

Gathering all the materials in your hand, you walk over to the couch where he remains in limbo. Again, you're no medical professional, no, the most training you have consists of a short one hour life skills lesson and a topic on human physiology that was part of your biology course in high school. So, yes, you're a bit rusty – but that doesn't mean you're incompetent.

Kneeling down on the floor, scattering the items next to you on the floor, reaching for the cotton balls and bottle of disinfectant. But as your fingers graze over the skin on his torso to lift up his shirt, he flinches, and for the first time since running into him, you look at his face with an offended look on yours – as if he's able to see you through his shut eyelids.

He catches you off guard, the delicate and mesmerising features. Strong jaw, dark hair, furrowed eyebrows that mix in well with the discomfort he must be feeling. Yes, he's beautiful, but he's also bleeding out on your couch and part of an infamous gang that got himself stabbed. Letting out a frustrated, hmph, you lift up his shirt to examine the wound – as if you have any idea what you're doing.

First, you need to unarm him. You run your hands through the pockets of his cargos, pulling out a phone, wallet, and pocket knife, then dig through the pockets of his leather jacket finding nothing alarming.

Next, you cover your hands with latex gloves, then get to work. Letting the cotton balls absorb the disinfectant before running it along his skin, in which he finches in response. "Stop flinching, I'm helping you." You mutter, sure, maybe using water would be a better alternative than bathing him in on the shelf disinfectant, but water is not going to effectively clean him up.

You don't even know what you're doing, and your body, mind, even fucking adrenaline knows that by the way your hands shake. Do you need to stitch him up? You don't know how to suture a wound, you don't even know how to stitch! You don't even own string, yarn yes, but you doubt that sealing someone up with lilac yarn is the most sanitary or safe.

So, of course, you do the most reasonable thing and search it up, and given the short research it confirms that you don't have to do anything – then again, how many people get stabbed and don't receive certified medical attention?

Hands still shaking, you dive into the medical box, looking for antibiotic ointment. "I hate you, you know?" You begin speaking to yourself as you uncap the cream, "You're bleeding out on my couch. Is it a good couch? No, it is uncomfortable, and by the way your legs hand off the arm rests, it's not the biggest. But it's my couch, I found it on the street."

You apply the cream around the puncture, hearing his quiet groans and incoherent murmurs. After that, you reach for the band aid – or non-adherent pad as they call it – peeling off the back and gently placing it over the puncture. It's not a good replacement for proper medical care, but it will suffice until he manages to crawl his way back to wherever he lives and gets professionally treated.

"You better pay for a new couch, or a deep cleaning." You continue, beginning to pack up all your things before standing as you remove your gloves, and move to the kitchen to toss them out. "I have things to do, you know?" You say from the kitchen, washing your hands thoroughly.

That's partially a lie, the things you claim to have insist on reading a fucking brief or case while sitting on your couch watching something on Netflix – because cable is a waste of money – with one of many microwave meals stocking up your small white fridge. Still, this momentary distraction has moved those plans to tomorrow night. A Saturday night.

"I don't know who you are, or what your rank is in this stupid gang of yours, but I don't care." You continue your rant, grabbing a glass of water and pain-killers – placing them on the small cushioned ottoman, because who has the space to own a coffee table? – pacing back and forth in your apartment, where you can finally kick off your shoes by the front door and grab the purse you discarded by the small circular dining table next to the fridge. "I have work to do."

You storm towards your bedroom, dumping your purse on your bed and digging through it for your laptop and thick file, then you grab a highlighter sitting on the bedside table. And hopefully by the time he wakes up, you would have done something worthwhile and beneficial to your career.

So, yes, in conclusion, life always has a weird way of fucking you over. 

An hour has passed since you fixed up the stranger who lays, practically comatose, on your couch. Since then, you've changed out your clothes, showered, and gone through at least fifteen pages of this case you're supposed to assist with and eventually write a report for. Sitting in bed, music softly plays through your laptop as you bite on the end of a highlighter, re-reading the same paragraph over and over again.

It's safe to say that your mind is a bit distracted, maybe it's the fact you're harbouring a criminal in your apartment, waiting for him to wake up and possibly kill you. The Foxes are notorious for many things, heists, robbery, petty murder, but particularly famous for the sale of illegal goods – whether it be drugs, or unlicensed arms – and you happen to have one sitting in your living room.

All for what? The fear of getting murdered? Having a target on your back? Trading integrity for safety? To be fair, those are all valid reasons why you've decided to take him in. You can call the police, turn him in, do greater good for the grand community. He's docile and helpless right now, you've searched him for weapons and you keep his belongings hostage on your bed. But, what are the cops going to do?

You hear a groan coming from the living room, and immediately shoot up from the bed, swinging your feet over the mattress and feeling them hit the cold wooden floors as you turn around to grab the baseball bat leaning against the mattress.

The first, and big thing he feels is pain. An unbearable type of pain on the side of his stomach. He places a hand over the plaster, expecting to feel blood or an infection, but jolts awake when he's proven wrong. He sits up, painfully, and scans the apartment for any sign that will tell him where he is. The messy decor of the room, the glass encased bookshelf that's filled to the brim with trinkets, novels, DVD's, CD's, and records. Behind him, on the wall are framed movie posters and paintings. Lamps, candles, and a full wall tapestry behind the tv. A plethora of coats and bags hanging on the door. So much clutter in this little living room.

He turns his gaze to the small kitchen, a shelf lined with snacks, spices, a bowl of onions and garlic, and a concerning amount of liquor. On the counter, are dishes, coloured pots and pans, empty jars. Whoever lives here loves their fair share of pink, grey, and light blue cups, bowls, and plates. They apparently also love their fair share of tea and instant chai latte mixes, and colourful string lights.

He has no idea where he is, or who happened to pick him up from the streets. All he knows is that he was ambushed by the Crows and left for dead, talk about sending a fucking message. Understandably, he turns his head to look behind him, where you stand holding a baseball bat to your side. He reaches for his pocket, where his knife always remains, only to feel nothing. You've disarmed him.

While he should be focusing on that thought. The logical sense that you must know who he is; hence why you've hidden all his belongings and why you're holding a baseball bat for defence, or the fact that you must've called the police by now. But no, his mind is focused on who you are, why you've brought him into your apartment to avoid death, and how those little shorts look on you. Those little black shorts, that tank top, and that big knitted cardigan.

So what if he's about to get arrested, he loves this sight.

"You brought me here?" He asks, watching the way you nod your head.

"You were bleeding out near a pile of trash, and while I considered leaving you for dead, I figured that I could get something out of saving your life." You explain nonchalantly, well as nonchalant as you can given that you've invited a known criminal into your house.

"Who do you work for?" He questions. There are always upcoming rivals or new recruits circling the scene, they love dirty work and favours – an eye for an eye – and will extort, abuse, and come up with the worst reparations. While you don't look threatening at all, especially in that little outfit, he can't underestimate you.

"Specter and Hastings, the law firm." You reply, causing him to laugh out of pure irony. Out of everyone he could have gotten entwined with, it had to be a lawyer. The universe really loves to play games on him, doesn't it?

"What do you want?" He sighs, "Names? Operations? You want me to snitch?" He'd rather die than rat out his friends, his family, just cuff him and take him down to the station because he's not speaking.

"No." You say, "I want safety." A flash of curiosity flashes across his face, allowing you to elaborate. "I want to make sure that wherever I go will be unharmed, untouched, or fall victim to whatever wars you guys get into. I want to be left out of danger, and never have to worry about getting followed home, mugged, or stabbed. I want the guarantee of safety... for my silence."

"What?"

"Is it so hard to understand?" You huff, "I save your life, you look out for mine. And in doing so, I will pretend that I didn't potentially break a law by not turning you in, I will turn a blind eye and ignore that tonight ever happened."

She's looking out for herself. He can't blame her. If anyone were to find out that she left him for dead, she would be a target. However, as someone whose job literally regards the law, you can't blame him for thinking you're hypocritical and maybe the slightest bit untrustworthy. If you can't even stick by your career, how can he expect you not to snitch on him?

"So?" You say, "Is that a good arrangement?"

"I can't guarantee anything sweetheart," he claims.

"Fine, then can you at least keep the stabbings out of this neighbourhood?" You question, "When I get home at night, I'd rather not come across another bloody body and risk getting more blood on my couch out of fear of being targeted."

That he can do. He can tell the guys to avoid this particular area, in exchange for a stranger – who happens to be a lawyer – that saved his life. Not to mention, you didn't call the cops, didn't turn him in, and you're supposedly open to turning a blind eye. In regards to the blood he got on your couch, he can easily fix that. He nods, "That I can do." There's no reason why he should deny anything, you already know he's part of the Foxes – that's the only reason you bothered saving him – and you are well aware about the culture and how no good deed goes without payment.

"Okay, great." You nod, resting the baseball bat against the frame, you've negotiated poorly, and your terms and conditions are promised to be met. Now, you can move along with your life. "Excuse me for a moment," you say, disappearing back into your bedroom to gather up all the things you took from his pockets.

In your short-lived absence, the man glances over at the painkillers and glass of water on the ottoman. He grabs the packet, reading the warning on the bottom half of the box that informs the users of the small percentage of codeine and its addictive properties, only to ignore it and swallows down the pill. It's drugstore painkillers, so of course, it's not going to be the strongest but when it kicks in, it'll help.

You return holding his things, hanging them to him before sitting on the curved back armchair next to the couch. You are unsure of what to do, or say to the brunette. You've never been put in a situation where a gang member is sitting in your apartment, wounded, and you've offered up your silence in turn of safety. Is it time for you to kick him out, or should you try to make conversation?

He, on the other hand, glances down at his phone, texting away to his friends about what happened and how he'll be back soon. There's no doubt that they're all mad about the situation, how he got ambushed by their rivals, and left by a pair of trash bags to bleed out. Though, it's not all that bad, he got saved by a pretty girl who graces him with skimpy shorts and a tank top that loves to plague his imagination. Better yet, this girl happens to be a lawyer, and if he plays his cards right, he can get a run down of loopholes and secure defence.

"So, do I get a name?" You ask, wrapping your cardigan closer around your body. "Or is that confidential? I'm not going to rat you out, I'm barely a lawyer, let alone a narc. And I need a solid ally in case anyone part of your... um, group ambushes me."

"We're allies now?"

"Are you going to give me a name or what?"

You've already seen his face, and he doubts you'll ever be able to say anything to the authorities without ratting yourself out in the process. Also, he's sure he's never going to see you again, or the maximalist, messy design of your apartment... including the row of CD's and records that you keep in that bookshelf despite being in the age of digital streaming.

"You can call me Rin," half a name, but one nonetheless. "Yeah, Rin is good, or Suna, whatever floats your boat." If he could, he'd try and leave, but he doubts he's in a good enough physical state to do so. Also, being stuck in an apartment with a pretty girl makes him want to stay even more. "Do I get a name from you?"

"No."

"Whatever you say sweetheart," Suna shrugs. "So... a lawyer, what made you go down that route?" He questions, wanting to get his mind off the unbearable ache in his body and sharp pain on his side, as he lays back down on the couch. Might as well get some information on you while he's here.

"I'm doing it for the money." You reply, crossing one leg over the other – unaware of how his eyes follow your movements – as you lean back against the seat, finding some sort of strange comfort in talking to a criminal. "I'm an associate, and in ten years I hope to make partner and move out of this place to somewhere closer to my job. I'm aiming for an apartment on the upper east side, maybe west."

"Is that all?" He hums, watching as you glare at him, "Just for the money?"

"Isn't that why we do anything?" You remark, "For the money, so we can sustain ourselves and live. And it's not like I'm doing court law, or criminal justice, I'm mainly interested in business law – contract and tort law – which is what my firm focuses on, including divorce law, because that's where all the money is."

"So, you're just a lawyer who conveniently knows how to bandage up a wound and goes around saving gang members?" Suna comments, "Oh, and how can I forget the whole trading a life thing for safety."

"Well, it's better than running around on the streets causing havoc." You retort, "Besides, becoming a lawyer is in my blood, meaning both my parents are lawyers and I was told as a young girl that I'd be a good one. Whether or not that was a compliment, can be debated. It's a stable career, a respectable one, and once I move up the ranks, I'll be able to order myself town cars."

"And law is something you really want to do?"

You're quiet for a moment before getting up to walk to your kitchen to brew yourself a cup of tea, "Yes. It is. I don't see what else I could do; the arts are a dying career where only one in a million makes a name for themselves, I don't plan on being the next big entrepreneur, and I hated biology and anything medical." You flip on the kettle, hearing it begin to boil as you dig through your tea bags. "Besides, law seemed easy enough, and there's nothing wrong with sitting through prenuptial meetings."

Suna feels a lot better about getting trapped with a lawyer now. He was initially scared of getting trapped with a potential narc with a six-foot pole up their ass, but you, you're just like every other sleazebag lawyer who's in it for the money. It's refreshing.

"Yeah, and I guess there's that whole thing of justice, but I don't even work in that field." You continue, "The justice system is fucked up anyway, and why would I want to contribute to that? I mean, I could get an innocent life out of prison but then again, I could fuck up and let a guilty person run free or risk them getting a reduced sentence. But, I don't work in that type of field, I just praise the people who do."

You wait for the kettle to finish boiling, and once it does, you pour the water into your mug, adding in honey or sugar into the mix before walking back to the living room. Not before grabbing a bag of chips from your shelf, tossing it at him. He is a guest, can't be that rude.

Reluctantly, Suna accepts it. He hasn't been around you long, but the way you've abandoned your baseball bat and returned all his belongings must mean you don't see him as that big of a threat. Well, how could you? You saw him at his weakest, and he hasn't given you a reason to be afraid... or he hopes he hasn't. Additionally, you're not that much of a threat either, you're smart enough to get through law school, attend an ivy, and work as an associate at a well-known firm in the city. And while he doesn't see much of what you do in your private life, he can see the few small framed photographs on the lamp tables next to him.

He can see you partying with friends, clearly drunk at the time when the photograph was taken, which must mean that you do know how to have fun in whatever spare time you have. Also, your refusal to give him a name eliminates the idea of him ever searching you up online. Meaning, whatever worries he's supposed to have can easily be debunked.

"So, what exactly is your role?" You ask.

"I work in the background, I help plan out whatever, I stay on guard, I'm there to protect them." He explains as vaguely as he can, not wanting to give the gorey details of his role or job description. By the way you nod, it's clear you accept that fact since you don't bat an eye or demand an explanation. Both of you know that the less you know the better. "Are you not scared of me?"

You can't blame him for wondering. Usually, you'd be terrified or the slightest bit frightened, but enough has happened tonight to make talking to a criminal the most normal thing. However, he's not exactly the worst presence. Sure, you can see the way he's looking at you, feel his gaze burn into your skin, how they trail up and down your body – and while it gets a piece of your heart racing, at least you know that he isn't planning on harming you.

"No." You shake your head, "I mean, you probably would scare me if I were to be walking alone on the street at this time of night, and I would definitely be terrified if you happened to be with all your friends. But you're alone, in my apartment, I can see your face, and you're wounded. You can't hurt me, at this point in time, I'm a lot stronger than you."

Unfortunately, you make a good point. He doubts he can walk comfortably, let alone act as a proper threat. "Right, of course," he hums, noticing the obvious blood stain on your couch. "Sorry about that, sweetheart." He comments, "I'll get you a new couch."

"Good," you say, biting back a smile. "I'd prefer one in cream, or even this light grey. In terms of style, I'd like one with a wider back and comfy cushions – like a cloud couch – if you can find one that will fit this apartment, that'd be great."

Suna's lips twitch up in a smile as he listens to you give him a detailed description, you avoid his eyes, staring down at the steam coming out of your mug. He tries to sit up to get your attention before it fades away – and for the act of dramatics, he lets out an exaggerated groan, which causes you to rush towards him – you place your mug on the lamp table behind you and crawl onto the floor in front of him.

You push him back down onto the couch, the force being more painful than when he tried to get up, you lift his shirt up to examine the damage you poorly tried to cover up, it looks fine physically, but you can't imagine what he's feeling. "I can't do much, as I said, I'm not a licensed medical professional." You say, moving down his stained shirt. Your touch ignites a trail of flames along his abdomen that takes all his willpower to fight.

"At least, I'm alive and not curled up by a pile of trash." He remarks.

"Yeah, but who's to say that's going to happen again?" You question, "Next time you get into a situation like this, I can't guarantee that someone will be there to patch you up in time."

"If it's not you patching me up, I don't want to live."

"Oh," you say, surprised, backing up from him. "Well, that doesn't give you an excuse to show up to my doorstep all bloody if it does end up happening again."

It has been a week since you've seen Suna.

Last friday you were nursing a gang member back to life with the promise of safety for silence, and a new couch – both of which you aren't sure you're going to get anytime soon. Instead, you still clutch your taser while you walk home, and you've done your best to wash the stain on the couch cushion. However, nothing is getting rid of that disgusting, faded stain, so you've opted to flip it over and hope time will make you forget.

The individual lamps and overhead lights illuminate the apartment, the candles flames are burning– casting a mixed scent of florals, vanilla, and lavender – creating the perfect ambiance for a Friday night in.

You sigh, collecting a mountain of rice – from your ready-made curry – on your spoon, curled up on your couch, gaze fixed on the television that plays an old show you were obsessed with in your teens. Beside you, is a glass of wine filled with ice cubes, and the bottle is placed on the floor awaiting refill. What else is there for you to do than stay home on a Friday night?

"Previously on Pretty Little Liars," you hear play through the speakers, shoving a mountain of food into your mouth, "It's Mona– Hanna won so Mona loses..."

You sink down into the couch, suddenly engrossed in the recap. It's been a while since you've had time to catch up on television, so the recaps serve a well-needed purpose to remind you of the over-the-top drama and plethora of plotholes. There is nothing better than unwinding after a long, long, week at work. Grabbing the wine glass, ice cubes clinking as you bring the drink up to your lips.

It's an odd combination, putting ice cubes in wine– that's unheard of – but you don't mind the diluted taste, also, you aren't the biggest fan of wine, it just seemed classier than making yourself a sad looking cocktail. Though, given the fact you're watching one of the more questionable teen mystery dramas, wine with ice does not seem like the worst situation.

You could have easily gone out, but all your friends are all too tired to go out, and drinks at bars are far too expensive. And let's be honest, going out by yourself is possibly one of the most depressing things a person could do, also that would mean walking home by yourself intoxicated. Obviously, that's not the smartest or safest decision, given the current rise in crime.

Engrossed in the show, absentmindedly feeding yourself until you're scraping the plastic container with your spoon picking up scraps. Sighing, you slide off the sofa, dragging your feet towards the kitchen where you toss out the empty container and dump your spoon into the sink. Half of your attention is still focused on the television, not wanting to miss anything going on.

Drifting back towards the couch, leaning against the armrest as you refill your wine glass, bringing the bitter alcohol to your lips and tasting it on your tongue. This will be your second glass of the night, the first glass came and went as quickly as the previous episode did.

A loud knock on the door sounds throughout the apartment, causing you to choke on your drink. Frightened, you place the glass down on the lamp table, pushing yourself away from the couch as cautiously and quietly as you can. Walking on your tiptoes back to the kitchen, reaching into a drawer for a knife.

Of course you're not going to open the door, you're not stupid. You're simply going to sit against it, clutching the knife until whoever is on the other side goes away... like a responsible, intelligent, adult. It could be someone with the wrong address, despite how persistent they are on knocking. And no criminal would think of knocking either!

Maybe you should turn off the television, give the illusion that no is home, or alternatively, you could turn the volume all the way up and drown out the sound of their fist pounding against wood. Nevertheless, hiding out in front of this door with a knife seems like the safest option. If things go wrong, and the intruder does break in, you can stab them and leave their body on the street.

Crime isn't news around this area, unfortunate things occur all the time! And the police, being police, won't bother stepping in. It's an accidental murder in a bad part of town, or another victim to gang violence, they won't bother finding out it was a kitchen knife that caused the death. Morally, will it crush you? Yes. It will.

You lean back against the door, the continuous knocks do not falter... Until they do, you hear them rest their head against the wood. Maybe they've finally given up. Slowly, you get up from the floor, the faint noise of police sirens flying by. You backpedal until your back hits the counter, reluctantly, you place the knife on the surface behind you.

Heart racing in your chest, then you hear it. You hear him. "Sweetheart, open the door." His voice is muffled, but a simple piece of wood is not going to hide the exhaustion lacing his tone. "Please," he adds.

You hope that your home isn't the new hideout for gang members running from the police, but you can't stop yourself from quickly striding towards the front door and swinging it open. "Oh my god," you gasp, catching him in your arms before he plummets onto the floor. Stumbling back, you quickly catch your balance and drop him on the couch – the same way you did last week – where he falls back, arms resting on the back cushions.

Apparently, Suna has taken an involuntary liking towards you and insists on showing up outside your apartment, and door every time he gets hurt. At least, this time around, he's not shot, stabbed, or badly wounded, he just looks a little... beat up. Busted lip, and black eye that's beginning to form. You know this is not the time, but god does he look so good.

Lord knows what he's gotten himself into, why he's bruised or why out of all the places he could run, he ran here... to you. What happened? Why is he suddenly out of breath, unable to stand, and exhausted on your couch? You climb over him, straddling his lap, and grab his face between your fingers, forcing him to look at you. "What the hell have you gotten yourself into?" You huff, slapping the side of his face to jolt him awake, "This is no time for a nap Rin, you need to tell me what happened."

Even in this dazed state of mind, even after running five blocks, being chased by both the police and the Crows as a distraction while his team can get away. Getting cornered, beat up (not as bad as the others), picking the lock to get into your building, then running up the stairs, and waiting for you to let him in. He can still appreciate the sight in front of him, including those shorts, his hands running up your thighs, leaning his head back while his lips turn up into a smirk.

"Sorry, sweetheart, I had to run, and believe it or not, this is the safest place for me." He mutters, sitting up to lean in close to you. "And I know you won't refuse me," he hums. Suna's breath is hot against yours, his touch running up and down your thighs setting a fire to burn and a shiver to involuntarily run down your spine. He kicks off his shoes, opting to make himself comfortable on your couch.

"This is not your safe haven," you scoff, pressing a hand flat on his chest to push him back from you as you climb off his lap. You storm over to the kitchen, opening the small freezer hatch on your fridge to pull out a frozen bag of peas for his eye. Sure, it's not your job to care for him, but you can't help doing it – as if it has been engraved in your memory after one experience. You toss the frozen peas at him, which he luckily knows what they're for. "I did you a favour, which you have yet to return, by the way."

He holds the frozen bag of peas up to his eye, this is not the warm welcome he's been expecting, and for your information he has kept up one side of his deal. He has kept your street a no-go zone, and he has been making sure that you are safe. Sure, his methods are a bit stalkerish, he's been trailing you to and from work – lurking from the shadows and wiping out any potential threats that come your way. In terms of the new couch... he's working on it.

"Don't tell me that you're running from the police," you say, beginning to pace back and forth in your living room. "What do you think you're doing?" You exclaim, "You can't keep coming here to hide from the police! Do they know what you look like? Do they know that you came here? Do you know that my entire career can be ruined?"

"Calm down sweetheart," Suna hums. "No one knows I'm here, you're fine. And speaking of the police... yeah, I'm running from them, but I managed to get away through a couple short cuts. Trust me, you're safe." He stands from the couch, one long stride taken to reach you, his hands running down your arms in a somewhat reassuring manner. With one hand tilting up your chin, "And I wanted to see you."

His eyes are mesmerising, a perfect combination of green, yellow, and grey. It's hard to not melt under their gaze. Your hand wraps around his wrist, moving his touch away from your face before turning on your heel to walk towards your bedroom. He hates to see you leave, but he loves to watch you walk away. Maybe this is the universe repaying him for almost dying, it sent an angel in the form of you.

"Wanted to see me," you mutter to yourself, packing up the mess on your bed. The files, loose papers, highlighters, notes, and your laptop. You move them to sit on your cluttered vanity. "As flattering as that is," you continue, "I'd rather you come see me when you're not running from law enforcement. You owe me."

"Sorry to add insult to injury, but I was wondering if I could camp out here for the night?" Suna asks, leaning against the doorframe of your room. He knows you're not going to deny him refuge, whether you want to admit it or not. You don't have it in your heart to leave him out in the rain. Even if you want him gone, he's not going to leave. He's never been that good at taking hints – hence the black eye and busted lip. "Just for the night."

"One night." You sigh, "Only if –" there's always a catch "– you avoid robbing my bank, and stay clear of where I work, and make sure that everyone knows that. And no more attracting police to this side of town," you list. "And if you're going to stay here frequently, I'm going to need some sort of compensation."

"Is that all?"

"Yes." You nod, "now," you begin pushing the brunette back into the living room and onto the couch. Since he's here, may as well check up on how that old stab wound is going. You force him down onto the sofa, his back hitting the cushions – the wind escaping his lungs – as you lift up his shirt. There's still a nasty cut that's bound to turn into an even worse scar, but at least it's healing correctly.

"You sure are quite aggressive," he comments, propping his head up with his hands as he looks up at you. "I don't mind, kinda like it." He purrs, softly laughing at the way you pull his shirt back down and storm up off the ground, grabbing your wine glass and downing the rest of the contents. "I was just teasing babe, no need to overreact."

"Are you aware that you're an idiot?" You comment, placing your glass and the wine bottle on the kitchen counter.

"Do you like that I'm an idiot?" He retorts. He's got a bit of a little infatuation with you. A hot shot associate with a morally grey high ground, and a weakness for criminals like him. It is not everyday a pretty normal girl like you fixes him up and lets him into the apartment while he's running from the cops.

"The same way I like how I continuously find myself harbouring a fugitive." You reply, "It could be better. And can you please either use the frozen peas or put them back in the freezer."

You have better things to do! Sure, the situation could be worse. At least Suna is decent to look at, and he's alright company who doesn't want to kill you, and you have felt the slightest bit safer on your walks to and from work. Though, it's not like you're thrilled to have him in your apartment.

He gets up from the couch, places the peas back where they belong, then slides in next to you. He grabs the wine bottle, taking a swig from the bottle. You watch him intently, the way his Adam's apple moves, the beginning traces of a bruise forming around his eye, and the cut on his lip. He still wears that stupid leather jacket, but at least there's no blood on his hands, legs, or torso. Suna glances at you from the corner of his eye, holding the bottle firmly in his hand, "Take a picture. It lasts longer."

"I would," you say, "but that would mean proving a direct affiliation with you. And lord knows if you ever get caught, I'd rather die than testify in court and risk losing all respect I have in this industry."

"I get it," he shrugs, "I'm bad news, but that doesn't mean I'm necessarily a bad person. I mean, you make money off people's brokens marriages, shouldn't that equate to something? I think that we both do bad things, but we're not bad people."

"Comparing me to you is a low blow," you snort. "That's like comparing apples and oranges."

"They're both fruit aren't they? They both grow on trees, they both make juice." Suna argues, "One is sure, significantly better than the other, but that all depends on personal preference."

You meet his eyes, seeing nothing other than the greyish-green hues. He's got that tough exterior that can draw any girl toward him – including you – the danger that people write about, the allure and flirty personality that makes him less of an asshole and more human. He is the fallen angel that the universe sent to you as a form of twisted karma and dilemma of morals that cross a line. He's beautiful, prideful, a criminal, but has got a strong sense of loyalty and protection. Why else will he make himself the scapegoat to every situation?

"Yeah, well, anyone with a brain can tell who's the better one of the both of us."

"If this is about breaking the law," he says, placing the bottle down on the counter. He steps in front of you, trapping you between his arms, pushing you back against the counter as his body presses against yours. "You're breaking a lot by being here with me, hiding me from the law, trading silence for safety, I'm sure there's something in the constitution that you've broken by not turning me in." He lowers his voice, dipping his head down to yours, "I'm sure if I string enough together, you can be charged with aiding and abetting."

"That's one thing out of the many covering your roster."

He bends down, lips brushing against your own. Heart pounding against your chest. He's so close. Remnants of his cologne fill your senses; oak, wood, musk, sweet amber, cardamom, raspberry. He's addictive in all the ways he shouldn't be. A real fallen angel. Beautiful, perfect, but dangerous, treacherous, and duplicitous. But what does that make you? You're addicting, the light in his dark tunnel, his bittersweet obsession that he cannot indulge in.

"You don't care." He rasps, "If you did, you would have kicked me out. You like me, you like having a dirty little secret, you fucking revel in it."

You don't respond, verbally that is. You break the small gap between the two of you. He reciprocates the action, deepens the kiss, presses you further back against the counter. A hand gripping your hip, while the other travels up your neck, holding under your jaw tight between his fingers. His body against yours, fingers wrapping around the belt loops of his jeans trying desperately to pull him closer. It's messy, driven, and lustful.

Your hands travel under his shirt, feeling the burning skin and the shiver that runs down his spine. The hand he has on your hips, his fingers dig harder into your side while the one around your neck shifts to the nape, reaching up to tug at the roots of your hair. The throaty moan that he elicits from you sends him into overdrive, fuck you're addictive. He wants you, so bad. He needs you.

Palms placed flat on his stomach you step forward, pushing him back onto the couch. He takes in the sight of you, standing over him in those little shorts and tank top that hugs your body so well. You climb on top of him, straddling his lap, and his hands instinctively run up the back of your thighs, sliding under your shorts. Rough hands making themselves comfortable, holding the flesh in his hands, squeezing hard as he helps you grind down onto him. He's hard as a fucking rock, and your moving against him so needy. The friction against your clit, slow and tortuous, small whimpers and staggered breaths that Suna swallows.

Your hands move to move the leather jacket off his body, which he tosses across the living room, leaving him in a black muscle tee that shows off all the hidden, scattered tattoos on his arms you've never had the pleasure of seeing. His fingers grab the front of your tank top, tugging down the fabric to expose you to him. His cold hand cupping your tit, the pad of his thumb running over a hardened nipple as goosebumps scatter down your body and you press down further into the bulge in his jeans.

"Fuck," he groans at your reaction, breaking away from your lips to kiss down your jaw, neck, collarbones, before his lips wrap around your chest. His tongue pressing against you, teeth grazing your skin, while his hand continues to work and massage against the other.

Your back arches, hands tangling themselves in his brown hair, continuously grinding against him as his leaves scatter hickey across your chest. "Sweetheart, you're killing me." He murmurs, reconnecting your lips together. You hum against him, lifting your arms in the air as he pulls off your top, throwing it across your apartment before he does the same with his shirt.

You begin to kiss down his chest, his torso, his stomach, falling down to the floor in front of him – between his legs – as you undo his belt. Suna's eyes fixed on you, the sweetly dangerous glimmer in your eyes as you unbutton and unzip his jeans. He lips his hips, allowing you to pull them down – jeans and briefs – letting his clothes drop to the floor. He shudders the second your hand wraps around his dick, head dropping back and hands gripping onto your hair.

Wrapping your lips around the sensitive tip, you tease the spot hearing desperate whimpers escape his throat. Tongue flat against him, head beginning to bob back and forth, cheeks hollowing out as you literally suck the soul out of him. The salty taste of pre-cum on your tongue, his hands firmly entwined in your hair as he lets out a strain of whimpers, bucking his hips up, controlling your movements making you take him deeper in your mouth, his cock hitting the back of your throat repeatedly.

Tears begin to prickle in your eyes. Head moving back and forth at a faster pace, his hands knotted in your hair as he takes control, fucking your mouth. Looking up through teary eyes, laying eyes on a sinful sight. His abdomen flexing, head thrown back, eyes shut, and Adam's apple moving at every repressed whimper and moan. You grip onto his thighs as he increases his pace.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Breathless moans coming out in repeated pleas that chase a high. He's so close, impatient, and seeking a heavy and desperate release. "Just like that baby, keep going."

You don't stop, you continue as a mess of fallen tears, pre-cum and saliva. You can't breathe, throat filled with his cock. He fucks your throat, using you for pleasure. He fucks your mouth, swollen head hitting the back of your throat, shuddering as you to swallow or gasp for air. You feel his dick twitch, and in seconds a hot load is shot down your throat and his grip on you loosens. You swallow down his cum, tongue and lips cleaning him up. Once, your lips remove themselves from his cock, he wastes no time to pull you up and reconnect your lips, tasting him on your tongue. You stand from your knees, and he pulls down your shorts along with the simple black panties, then pulls you down onto the couch, laying you on your back.

He hovers over you, hand wrapping itself around your throat as he kisses you. The other, spreads your leg, calloused rough fingers pressing against your cunt. Using the arousal to rub against your clit, a harsh play of light and rough. Fingers pressing hard against your clit, causing a strained moan to sound through the living room, he rubs against the bud. Playing between teasing movements, to forceful mechanisms. He's fast and slow, teasing you, edging you.

"Rin," you muster out, biting down on his lip which pushes him to give you what you need. Working his fingers swiftly, skillfully, roughly against your clit. You squirm beneath him, he's vicious against you, his free hand kneading your tit in a hard grasp. "Fuck, Rin." You moan, chest rising and falling, as he quickens his pace. Eyes rolling to the back of your head, you grip onto the armrest of the couch, mouth agape.

Legs twitching, as he brings you to an insatiable climax. His fingers are covered in your slick. He brings them up to his mouth, getting a taste of what he's missing out of. He doesn't waste time, wrapping your legs around his shoulders before he buries himself in your cunt. Lips wrapping themselves around your clit, sucking on it, his tongue moving at a rapid pace. He feels how sensitive you are. Fingers digging into your thighs, sucking your clit into his mouth.

You're a mess, a writhing, mess. And the way he looks up at you through half lidded eyes, buried between your thighs. You sink your hands into his hair, looking for something to hold onto. A groan rumbles in his throat, sending you farther over the edge. He increases his pace, devouring you like a starved man who hasn't eaten in years. He's pushing you over the edge, your heels digging into his back, pulling at his hair, forcing him deeper into you.

To add fuel to the fire, he thrusts two fingers inside you, curling into your sweet spot that has you bucking your hips into his mouth. He pumps his fingers in and out of you, perfectly matching the pace of his tongue. He continues until he feels you come undone, pleasure and heat clouding your vision as he pulls away from you. He examines the sight, leaning in close to you.

"I need to feel you." He pleads, the blood already rushing back to his dick, "I need you sweetheart."

You nod, "Please." Whispering, "It's fine, I'm on the pill." You reassure.

He almost collapses right there and then, letting out a whimper as he slides into you. Feeling you raw and whole, he's going crazy, losing his mind at the way you suck him in. Your walls around his dick, warm and so good that he could come right there and then. His find is spinning, he's going absolutely feral over being in you. He slowly moves out, before bottoming out, stealing your breath in the process. That's all he needed, the feeling of having you grip around him.

Suna thrusts into you, picking up a faster speed and your ragged breaths urging him on. He revels in the way your tits bounce, his movements causing the sinful shake of your body. Your nails digging into his back, scratching the skin. If he could save this as a permanent memory in his mind, he would, and he'd replay it over and over again in his dreams. He bottoms out, rolling his hips each time he does so, thrusting in and out at a faster speed and pace.

He then pulls out, the lack of touch jolting you back from your daze, only for him to flip you over onto your stomach, harsh grip on your hips as he lifts your ass in the air. He grips onto the flesh, holding it in his palms while he tugs them towards him in a big thrust. You let out a moan, face buried into the couch cushions, as he pounds into you.

Dick reaches deep into your cunt, watches you shake under him, the couch shakes, and the lamps shake. He holds both your wrists in his hands, pinning them behind your back, as he pushes himself faster, rougher, crazier than he did before. The sound of skin slapping on skin echoing throughout the apartment, mixed in with your strained whimpers and his throaty groans. "You like this?" He mutters.

This is so much better than he imagined. All the nights he spent with his hand wrapped around his dick in the shower and in bed. The thought of you crumbling beneath him, moaning out his name, becoming nothing but putty underneath him. The thought of him pounding into you relentlessly, feeling you bare and raw, the way your walls wrap around his cock. Imagination never could have prepared him for this, it's so much better than he imagined.

You're so wet around him. He fucks into you, in and out so quickly that you can't even grasp onto the feeling despite your cunt quivering and tightening around him every time he fills you. He lands a hard slap on your ass, only to rub over the red spot, roughly massaging and kneading the flesh. Suna continues to go harder, faster, more feral, moving both your hips to meet. Back is arched and he pushes you further down into the cushions, if that's even possible.

"You're no saint sweetheart," his hips stuttering, "you fucking love getting fucked dirty by a criminal." He rasps, tugging you up by your arms, whispers close to your ear sending a shiver down your spine. "Tell me how much you love it," he instructs. "Go on."

"I love it." You breathe out. Suna forcefully pushes you back down onto the couch, harshly pounding into you, "Fuck, so good."

"No one's ever gonna fuck you as good as I will. I'm going to make you mine, I'm going to corrupt you, I'll protect you." His voice falters at the feeling of you tightening around him, his cock twitching in response. "Fuck, you're mine. Mine only, and I'll fucking kill anyone who comes near you."

You listen to him, losing all sense of strength in your body. You're so close, he knows you are. "Rin, please keep going, I'm so close." You whimper, and he endures, picking up his pace and pushing into you faster, deeper, and harder until you become a limp mess, tightening around him, giving him the greenlight to release.

He cums inside you, white liquid filling you and dripping out as he pulls out. Your hips fall to the couch, as you flip over in time for him to collapse on top of you. If you didn't need a new couch before, you definitely need one now. His arms wrap under your body, he lays between your legs, head resting on your rising and falling chest, hearing your heartbeat in his ears. You brush your fingers through his hair.

He meant what he said. You're his, and he will fucking kill anyone who comes near you. 

[deramin2]

Bell's Hells had a mental health crisis on the eve of their deployment to the global crisis front lines, and went to a HAG for help. Protected only by being with her granddaughter (mob boss's granddaughter core). Specifically one who delights in voyeurism of bumbling awkwardness and failure. She treats people like her own personal soap opera. Allura said she's known to feed off misery. They tell Mori her intervention could influence the entire fate of the gods and the world.

FCG makes a deal with the hag and ASKS to have their memory wiped so they'd get to be surprised about what happens. Likely the payment was them being sufficiently interesting and dramatic for her because they implicitly trust her to help them.

The hag then tosses a magic lens into an ordinary feywild ravine with three magically enforced rules: they must bring her the lens to win. If they speak truths, a path will appear upwards. If they tell lies a new thing will go wrong for them. She then watches them escalate her high-stakes truth or dare game into telling each other their rawest internal shit they were keeping to themselves but were coloring their feelings. Fair or not. They do this remarkably willingly under her trap.

Then she sets them up on a video game platformer challenge where you have to physically navigate a path overa casm blind protected only by your friends in co-op chat looking the map. She sets up thunder hornets nests to punish themIf they have natural human reactions of concern. They win two rounds and then lose one. So she makes a new rule that they can take the loss (and unknown consequences) or try one more time but instead of it being safe game rules it's now potentially deadly. They agree. This time they win through expert teamwork and suppressing their emotions.

Last the hag sets them up with a game of TF2 vs. a spy team but no one knows who's missing. They have to capture three briefcases while KNOWING some of their team mates are working against them. Orym has to execute those contingency plans while uncovering whose a traitor and who's actually on his side but as sketchy as usual.

This is what they've all discussed as their nightmare scenario. This is what they are so afraid to go through that the misery is tearing them apart. She's forcing them to go through the thing they least want to face. As a practice run. Because the fear underneath is not just of betrayal, but failure. That if they can't work together they will fail to save the world, and thus everyone in the world. What's that really look like if that happened and you could lose for real? And not know what happens to them if they fail.

Some A+ reality TV content produced by Mori Entertainment. They might win an Exandrian daytime Emmy. Look at all that abject bubbling missery being created. An incredible feast willingly given. All they have to do is be normal for them in her vicinity and they basically asked her to feed off them as a favor to try an unsanctioned new therapy method on humanoid subjects. If she does nothing to hurt them except giving them games they asked for, she still gets a gourmet meal.

Nana Mori is simultaneously being a doting grandmother and a terrifying fey nightmare and Bell's Hells are like "please grandmother I think your death traps could fix me."

Will dopplegangers fix them? That remains to be seen. Depends on how they handle it. But they'll have a trial run to know for sure. That gives them time to break for real or adjust. Mori IS the fate stitcher, and thread came to her begging to be sewn. She plucks the strings that she finds most interesting. And whatever else they are, Bell's Hells are very interesting.

[halcyon-autumn]

Okay new theory in the vein of "The Ratgrinders are Jace's pawns" - I wonder if Kipperlilly might be trying to protect all of the Ratgrinders, the same way she's trying to protect Oisin while she acquires spell components.

I'll buy that the at minimum Kipperlilly was involved with Jace's plan to restore a corrupted Ankarna from at least Sophomore year, perhaps swayed by the idea of bringing back a goddess of Justice (she's talked about wanting things to be fair at the school). Rueben's potential to musically harness lots of people's rage would also make him a natural recruit. Lucy would be necessary as a cleric, but probably a hard sell since Yolanda Badgood was convinced that she'd never change her deity. I'm imagining the following scenario:

Kipperlilly acquires the Devil's Honey for Jace, not for herself; Jace was using her to do the dirty work the way Kipperlilly is now using Aelwyn.

Jace convinces Lucy Frostblade to change her deity, perhaps using the Devil's Honey himself, or maybe magically. Maybe he was planning to give Lucy the honey to have her lie to Ankarna and say she believes in her, maybe it was a way around Oblivati Mori, or maybe Jace wants it for himself. Idk.

Jace is the one to sign the Ankarna glyph on Lucy's paperwork (the one that the Bad Kids initially couldn't read). Yolanda says that such paperwork would have needed her signature, but maybe not if the Vice Principle of the school signs off.

Lucy changes her mind/breaks free of control and withdraws her paperwork.

Jace kills Lucy, and Porter helps (sorry but it's sus that he was talking to Arianwen and Kalina after Kalvaxus died). They either blackmail or magically coerce some of the Ratgrinders into helping - at least Kipperlilly, probably Rueben as well. Maybe all of them? He could have blackmailed Kipperlilly with the sketchy stuff she'd been doing for him.

Jace, a powerful sorcerer, is the one to brand poor Lucy with Ankarna's symbol, the same symbol he put on Lucy's paperwork.

Reuben uses the devil's honey to convince himself (and maybe the other Ratgrinders except Kipperlilly) that they had nothing to do with Lucy's death (hence the devil's honey that Fig saw bleeding out of his mouth during his Dream). Kipperlilly could have been the one to do it, and maybe the Dream indicated that Rueben had been affected by the Devil's Honey?

Reuben now doesn't know about Lucy's death, and Jace either by magic, force of personality, or blackmail gains enough power over Reuben's life to start convincing him to do things like demand that Frosty Fair be held at the Thistlespring tree. Idk how aware Reuben is of the weird magic rage symbols.

Kipperlilly decides to run for Class President to get enough power to protect her friends from Jace and Porter. It would explain why she's absolutely furious that Kristen, who doesn't care, is upstaging her.

Kipperlilly is either still forced to collect stuff for Jace OR she's collecting stuff for her own ends, but now she's using Aelwyn the way Jace used her. Maybe all of the money she has is either money Jace gives her to purchase stuff OR he tried to buy her off or something?

Jace uses a powerful spell to kill Yolanda Badgood when she finds Lucy's body and brands Yolanda's body with the same symbol of Ankarna.

It would make Kipperlilly such an amazing foil to Riz - taking on more and more stress to try to protect her friends, trying to work her way through an impossible situation. And the idea of the Ratgrinders all murdering Lucy never felt right to me - I think that even if some were involved, it's more complicated, and the big bads are Jace and, unfortunately, Porter.

[kandicon]

The more I think about how a human, modern au Toy Soldier wouldn't work the more obsessed I get with TRYING to make it work and frankly there's only a few more loops in this self dooming cycle before I make a college au for all of them.

-

Okay I saved this post to my drafts and then immediately had more thoughts on this hypothetical college au. All the mechs should be as close to their canon events/back stories as possible to avoid having wildly different personalities (obviously there will still be very differing personalities due to not being immortal space pirates, but this would be easiest). It would be a extremely sketchy comedy of errors.

Obviously this takes place in community college because community colleges are just like that™

Put under the cut because it got a bit long.

Jonny:

Still killed his dad and the entirety of the casino.

Using the money he got from the casino and Jack to fund his way through a college hours away from his hometown.

Is constantly paranoid over someone coming after him for his murders or finding out that his highschool diploma is a forgery (he didn't finish his last two years because of said murders).

Ashes:

Being put through college by the Lucky Sevens, and still does tracking work for them despite only being able to physically visit their turf over break.

Smooth Mickey has only just started working with the Aces in Ashes' freshman year.

It is going to be a WILD senior year when Ashes breaks open Mickey's scheme.

Banned from the card games club.

Tim:

Transfer student from London that only entered college in the first place to dodge the draft. He never expected to enter college in the first place and is therefore woefully unprepared.

Wildly protective over Bertie, who transferred with him and is the reason he dodged the draft in the first place.

Not as murderous as the canon Tim, but certainly getting there over immigration and transfer laws in the US.

Still has the first name of Gunpowder.

It is gonna be a WILD senior year when he and Bertie get caught up in the Lucky Sevens debacle and Bertie dies.

Raphaella:

Nobody knows what major she's taking, because by all intents and purposes it appears to be all of them.

She's breaking into the chem lab and making lsd after hours to fund her way through college.

Has cute little wings on her backpack that she made herself, but in reality they're just hidden storage compartments that she's been using to steal lab equipment.

Ivy:

Nothing about her is different except for the fact her autism is diagnosed this time.

She works at the community library and the college library. She started her major in library sciences, only to discover that she already knew more about it than her professors, so now she's an English lit major.

Marius:

Also got in on forged documents, but his are significantly shittier than Jonny's or Ashes' because he didn't have the money to pay someone for it. Still nobody comments on the birth certificate with "Byron" covered over with off-color white-out and replaced with "Marius.

He also completely erased the gender category while he was at it. Again, nobody who actually looks at these documents is paid enough to care.

Still missing an arm and he has broken up AND started fights by hitting people with his prosthetic.

Getting his doctorate in computer science, but usually does not tell people exactly what he's majoring in when he tells people he's going to be a doctor.

Nastya:

Fleeing a Russian rebellion and very obviously comes from wealth.

Her backstory is the same, just without the robots. Her history of wealth and terrible attempts at hiding her accent are painfully obvious to everyone she interacts with.

Double majoring in engineering and computer science. Unintentionally breaks Marius' scheme open when she asks to copy his notes when she missed a day for a class they share (she would have broken it faster if she knew what he was doing).

Was assigned as Raphaella's roommate and she gets free estrogen in exchange for ignoring everything else that's going on.

Got dragged into the friend group by Jonny after he came over one day to hang out with Raphaella and they bonded over disabling circulatory issues.

Brian:

On the run from the religious cult he grew up in, which he was kicked out of because he got internet access and started learning about reality.

Still has a hard time believing most people he'll talk to will accept basic facts like "the Earth is a sphere"

Did not have to forge papers to get in, but he would later get recommended to a good forger by Jonny and get some restraining orders out of it.

Ambulatory wheelchair user (because it makes me happy) with an extreme case of moral ocd

The Toy Soldier:

Holy shit this bitch had a bad childhood

In a dissociative state a good 90% of the time and has huge sensory issues with the feeling of its own flesh

Goes by "TS" and adamantly refuses to tell anybody why.

Being put through college by their wealthy adoptive mother. Definitely lied about the college being prestigious and doesn't want to examine exactly why it did that or why it felt so soul-crushingly important to get out of the country.

Was adopted by the widow after her husband died at war. Was basically treated as one family member swapped for another and was expected to grow up in his image and to be proper.

Walking on eggshells 24/7. Orders might as well still be a physical necessity to it for how much of a compulsion they are. Will jump to do anything to appease the people around it if they show any indication of being upset.

Tim becomes its first friend because him and Bertie are the only other transfer students from London. It rather likes talking about guns with him and giving away all its care packages to him so it doesn't dwell on why they make it so uncomfortable.

Starts off majoring in military studies over the ages, but will switch to general music studies after meeting the Angel.

Spoiler alert: it will still kill the Angel after she gets into a relationship with someone else, but thankfully this just makes a wild junior year instead of adding to the already wild senior year.

Obviously they're all still in a band together. And they're the most dysfunctional friend group this poor college has ever seen.

[pocket-watcher]

I have a little request if that's okay! A group of friends ( or maybe just two or three people) getting lured in by a hypnotist that is an animal lover. And finds people to hypnotize them to become different animals. And the friends group is next.

Or if it's too much people maybe one or two people finding their friend who got lost in the woods and found the hypnotist

Of course it’s okay!! This one might gently tread into pet-play territory, but won’t be sexual! Just a heads up for anyone reading so you don’t get side swept by it haha…

On Thursday they found a flyer for a travelling zoo.

Kieran thought it’d be a better way to spend their Saturday than pushing their way through crowds at the mall, so they all agreed enthusiastically.

Except for Jodie. She was dragged along, complaining the whole way there.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Mac said, eyeing the chainlink fence as he brought the car to a halt.

“I’m telling you, it’s sketchy as hell and I hate it.” Jodie huffed, in the back seat.

“No one cares what you think, Jodie. Yeah, this the address on the flyer.” Kieran pointed out.

Mac drove onwards.

The further up the dirt road they got the more it began to look like a zoo. Big tents, refreshments, and a very dapper man sitting in the ticket booth.

They parked the car. Seemed like a busy place, with quite a few also parked around them.

“Five tickets, my good sir!” Kieran said, slapping the money down on the counter.

Jodie rolled her eyes, as Willow nudged her, giggling, into Lexie who was on her phone.

With an unblinking stare they were handed 5 tickets and ushered inside the first tent.

Which… is where things got odd.

The tent was not full of animals, but instead, full of people.

“…what the fuck.”

Immediately in front were two people in a cage acting like monkeys, one grooming the other’s hair.

Jodie immediately jumped into action. She waved her hands in front of their glazed over eyes, and nothing. The people in front of her simply continued on whilst screeching occasionally like chimpanzees.

“What the hell is this…” Mac said, staring at what he guessed was supposed to be a “lion”. The woman watched him hungrily from behind the bars.

“It’s fucked up is what it is, they’re like brainwashed!” Lexie said, snapping photos on her phone.

Kieran simply stared on in horror. All these people were trapped in these cages.

That’s when it hit him.

“Uh, guys…? Who’s got eyes on Willow?”

The group panicked, looking around, before spotting a small exit flap at the back.

“…Willow?” Lexie called out, reaching for the curtain,

A body slammed into her, throwing her backwards.

Lexie fought for a second to get her attacker off of her, before she realised they were licking her.

“Ew! Ew! Get them off me!!” She yelled, as Mac pulled Willow off the poor girl.

Willow panted, tongue out. No recollection behind the eyes.

“A dog, yes. Not exactly fit for my zoo but she’ll do nicely.” A voice said, the ticket booth operator stepping into view.

“What the hell did you do to her?!” Kieran asked.

The man laughed. “Does that mean you want to see my little trick?” He looked at Lexie and snapped his fingers.

She gasped, head dropping instantly.

She dropped her phone, and immediately began squawking like a parrot, preening herself, strutting around.

Mac, who had let go of Willow, stared unnervingly at Jodie and Kieran.

They were 20 feet from the other side of the tent. From freedom.

“It’s a funny little thing. I didn’t mean for my collection to grow so fast, but,” his eye twinkled, “ah well. I like a full set, what can I say?”

Mac was staggering backwards, away from the mad man. He backed up against one of the cages, only for the person inside to lunge at him, clawing between the grates.

“Jumpy, aren’t we?” The man said, fingers ready to snap.

“No, please, no. Don’t - “

SNAP.

Mac fell to his knees, mouth open, like a zombie. He then dropped to his hands and began moping like a cow.

“Jesus Christ…” Kieran heard Jodie whisper, before she looked at him with survival in her eyes.

She pushed Kieran over and made a run for the exit.

SNAP.

She was two steps too slow.

She slowly stopped, before turning back inside and sitting down comfortably and lazily, like a panda or a sloth.

That brought the man’s attention to Kieran. The last one.

He stared in horror as his friends were turned into animals. And he knew he was next.

“Don’t you want to plead? Or grovel? Maybe try your luck at escaping. You look faster than your friend.” The man teased.

Kieran simply froze in place.

“Ah. Very well then. If it means anything, I don’t think there’s any shame in giving in to your more animal instincts. Prey knows when predator has it cornered.”

SNAP.

[ifitmeanslosingyouthenno]

au in which nathaniel is married to riko

okay so

in this universe there's no mafia, the moriyamas are just filthy rich businessmen, but nathan still is a serial killer

things go a bit different in the sense that nathan kills mary when neil is 10 bc he loses his temper and keeps neil practically captive in that house, torturing him endlessly until nathan slips up and somehow the fbi finds the evidence they need to raid the house when neil is idk 15 ish and they end up killing nathan and neil is sent to foster care

he doesn't have as bad a time in foster care as andrew did, some parents like slapping him around, but some are genuinely nice people

ultimately tho he's not adopted by anyone by the time he turns 18 (he tells himself he doesn't mind, who would want a damaged and quiet and sketchy and flighty kid in their family anyway?)

he's left on his own, to figure out how to be a real person, an adult, with no home, no place to stay, no friends, no family, nothing but himself

he goes through a few years where he just lives on the streets, spending the little money he has left on food, going to shelters when he can, traveling through states until he gets to new york

he's attacked and harassed by some guy at some point outside a bar or something and he's so dazed he cant even fight back, but someone fights back for him

and its riko moriyama, famous fucking exy star and professional athlete

he saves neil and he takes him to his place, where he lets him stay and recover and hey, he's actually kind of sweet, and he really cares about neil, and maybe it wouldn't be so bad to stay with him? and when riko kisses him the first time maybe its not so bad? and maybe when they start dating he's incredibly loving and he gives him gifts and it's the happiest neil has been? and maybe when riko proposes neil says yes and they get married and they're happy? genuinely happy for once?

except that at some point, the love becomes anger, the sweet gestures become punches, the care becomes jealousy and control and pain, and what was the best thing in neils life becomes a nightmare once more

(and maybe he blames himself, maybe its neil thats the problem, maybe its him who brings out the worst in people, maybe he's doomed to this cycle of abuse)

its not until riko beats neil withing an inch of his life that neil runs

OH SHIT WAIT LMAO I FORGOT TO SAY

neil doesn't actually go by neil throughout all of this, he still goes by nathaniel, his legal name, nathaniel wesninski is married to riko moriyama not neil josten

so neil runs and runs and runs with what little money he could steal from riko and he adopts neil josten's identity until he physically cannot keep going

luckily for him, his collapse happens far enough, all the way in seattle in the same pharmacy that medical intern aaron minyard was buying some supplies

so yeah aaron freaks out and almost calls an ambulance but neil stops him bc he's scared bc riko might not have mafia connections in this universe but he has so much fucking money

and it takes aaron and katelyn and abby on the phone for them to fix a heavily beat up neil who should definitely go to the hospital but this is the best they can do

(aaron just assumes he's homeless, and he cant pay the hospital, and he's a fucking softie deep inside so he does everything he can to help how he can)

and maybe when kate catches neil sneaking out one night, she does everything to stop him and offers him safety and maybe the exchange some truths, maybe kate guesses that neil had someone that abused him, maybe someone he loved and neil is scared and he doesn't feel like he can trust anyone but something about kate makes him break down and tell her what he can while making sure he doesn't reveal much

and im taking too long but basically aaron and kate take neil in and they introduce him to the foxes and to the legendary kevin day and andrew minyard, professional exy players for the seattle exy team

and well it takes time and lots of trust before neil lets himself open up again

but its in the form of andrew minyard and the way they can both respect each others boundaries, and neil tells andrew about nathan, but never reveals the truth about being married or anything about riko moriyama

until andrew asks neil to marry him and well

it all goes to shit lol

neil cant bring himself to tell andrew the truth and it all becomes a mess and andrew breaks things up and neil becomes a mess as well

(bc its true, it's on him, its always on him and god he never learns, he never fucking learns, he doesn't fucking get happy endings, he doesn't fucking get good things)

and he tries to leave aaron and kate's place again, and he's successful this time and he's on his way out of seattle when he stops by a gas station to get some food and he has no idea of where he's going and he hesitates for a while, until he catches the eye of andrew on his car outside, and andrew just looks away and leaves and-

and if neil was hesitating before he's sure now and he has to leave for good and he has to leave and get away and never come back and

and he runs right into riko moriyama as he's leaving the store

to be continued maybe??

[crimsondestroyer]

Ryu Number: The M.C. from The Under Presents

Alright. I've done a few Ryu numbers in the past, but none as elaborate as this one, so for once, I figured I'd make my own post explaining the... elaborate, to say the least, path I took to get here. Several dead ends and a couple weeks of research later, here we are.

So. To those of you who don't know anything about the Under, hi. I'm crimsonDestroyer. One of my many hobbies is playing VR games, and one such game is The Under Presents, by Tender Claws, a game I play somewhat often and speedrun periodically. A while back, I wondered in passing if I could figure out a way to connect any of the Under's characters to Ryu, like, say, The M.C. This seemed like a simple question at the time, but, well, let's see.

To start off with, there's a fairly simple Limited route. One aspect of The Under Presents in the past was its live actors, in-game characters played by real people who would interact with mute player characters in the game's multiplayer areas. Unfortunately, the actor run has since ended, and though there's been brief returns of actors here and there, it seems to be mostly over. However, one such actor-played character was a skeleton going by the name of Amelia. As Amelia's lore would later highlight, she is, in fact, the one and only Amelia Earhart, prior to her death and entrance into the Under. There are many hints around the game's world that Amelia Earhart was in the Under in the past, but she herself is nowhere to be found - except for this live actor. Given this was, by its nature, a time-limited occurrence, this would give the M.C. a nice, clean Limited Ryu Number of 3.

However, Limited Ryu Numbers are lame. Can we do better?

One of the many locations you can visit in the Under is the Crob Pit. There, by solving a puzzle with some fellow players, you can summon a massive crab monster who will eat you, sending you to the Den, inside him. There, you can find an assortment of crab bones and other gruesome things, in addition to one peculiar fixture.

This is the only intact human skeleton in the entire game, within the stomach of an enormous crab. Now, given the fact that Amelia Earhart is mentioned excessively by props around the setting of the game, with items such as her plane and a banner for a show featuring her scattered all over the place, her physical absence within the Under is quite suspicious. Additionally, the actor-played character was created after the game released, and it's implied that the actor characters have some degree of the supernatural to them, meaning the existence of the actor in no way means that the character's physical body cannot remain elsewhere in the Under. Given the popular theory that Amelia Earhart's body was never found in real life because it was eaten by coconut crabs, this seems... intentional. If you consider this to be Amelia Earhart's body, the M.C. has a Ryu number of 3.

However, given the complete lack of any verbal confirmation or hints to this skeleton's identity, and this being solely based on context clues, I'm not confident calling it for certain, so let's keep digging.

One feature of the Under is the scripted stage shows, which play on loop on the main stage in the game's theater area. One such show features a man by the name of Sal Sisyphus. Sal's act consists of him rolling a boulder up a hill while giving a motivational speech that inevitably descends into nonsense after he slips and drops the boulder back down. That sounds quite a bit like traditional Sisyphus - endless torture, endless repetition, endless suffering, pushing a rock up and down a hill forever. Plus, as far as I can tell, the mythological Sisyphus has no second name given, so who's to say Sal isn't his first name? If you buy into that, the M.C. also has a Ryu number of 3.

But this one DEFINITELY felt pretty sketchy to me, so I went back to the drawing board once more.

Finding a way out of Tender Claws is... hard. See, Tender Claws has made three big commercially-released VR titles: The Under Presents, Virtual Virtual Reality, and Virtual Virtual Reality 2, all of which can be linked without much issue. A sentient skeleton named Tina works in both a stage act in the Under, and her namesake bar, Tinas', in VVR2's setting, Scottsdale. And, as a sequel, VVR2 features numerous returning characters from the original VVR. All you need is to find one character, just one, across those three games, and you have an out. There HAS to be something.

It was at this point that a friend mentioned that Elon Musk is in Virtual Virtual Reality 2, and I had to do a double-take.

Meet Elon. He's a talking onion. More accurately, he's an AI upload of a human consciousness who takes the form of a talking onion in the digital world. Between his name, his personality, his mannerisms, the fact that he was the second human to ever upload himself (after an extremely important character from the first game), and the fact that VVR2's virtual worlds are referred to as "metaverses", the implication as to who he is seems to be pretty obvious. I didn't know he existed, because I never finished VVR2 due to some technical issues. Regardless, here he is!

With a proper pop-culture figure in our hands, we can finally find our way out of Tender Claws. Elon Musk is still a relatively modern person, so there aren't many games with him in them yet, but with some clever googling and the help of TV Tropes, I tracked down an obscure little game called Good Pizza, Great Pizza, released for mobile and later ported to PC and Switch. In this game, you make pizza for an assortment of customers, real and fictional, which just so happens to include one Mr. Musk. From there, it was just a matter of tracing the rest of the way to Ryu from one of the other noteworthy characters who appear in the game. There was a tempting Dracula connection, but unfortunately, he's exclusive to a time-limited Halloween event. How ironic, that the first and last dead ends would both be time-limited characters. In any case, Albert Einstein will do the job of giving us our final two jumps nicely, passing through Mario's Time Machine, and finally bringing us home.

The M.C. has a Ryu number of 3/5, and a Limited Ryu Number of 3.

[bubblesandgutz]

Every Record I Own - Day 827: Shellac 1000 Hurts

This is a long and tough one, so I'll spare your timeline and force you to make the jump.

On February 21, 2001, one of my husband's closest friends was murdered by a man named Michael Gargiulo. She was stabbed 47 times.

Not surprisingly, my husband does not share my appreciation for slasher movies. I still feel like an asshole for dragging him to a midnight screening of the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre on my birthday years ago. I was an idiot for not realizing that someone who lost a loved one in a brutal act of violence wouldn't find a film recreating that kind of violence entertaining.

"I don't enjoy the sound of people begging for their lives," he told me after the movie. I can't blame him. Even music with "tortured" vocals tends to get an immediate "can we listen to something else?" from him.

Transgressive art is a weird thing. People will always be drawn towards art that's shocking, forbidden, or taboo, but I also assume most people have a line they don't want crossed. I love Texas Chainsaw Massacre, but I hate Cannibal Holocaust. As far as music goes, I have a much easier time ignoring the cartoonish violence of death metal than I have sitting though music laden with brazen sexism or homophobia in the lyrical department.

Content aside, art gets even trickier when the artist's life comes under scrutiny. Again, I assume most people have a line they won't cross. You might not have an issue listening to Michael Jackson, but you would probably have a major issue listening to an artist who assaulted a member of your family. Or maybe you do have an issue listening to Michael Jackson. Maybe you also have an issue listening to an artist because of their political alignments. And maybe you have an issue with an artist simply because of something they've said in the past. There's no shortage of music out there, so why give your attention and money to assholes? On the other hand, artists are human beings, which means they've inevitably hurt someone in the course of their lifetime, so if we blacklist every artist who's ever done something hurtful, we're eliminating art from our lives. Everyone has a line, but I think any rational individual understands that the line will vary from person to person.

I've been thinking about transgressive art a lot since the passing of Steve Albini. The public overwhelming seems to mourn his loss, but I've seen a few people weigh in online with some valid criticisms: he was in a band called Rapeman; he said some sketchy things about child pornography in a zine back in the '80s; some of his lyrics reflected racist elements of society without taking a clear stance against them. Albini addressed these incidents later in life, acknowledging that though he was not advocating for the kind of behavior he was portraying in his art, the ambiguity that made his songs feel dangerous could also be construed as promoting or celebrating the subject matter.

By the time Albini got around to forming Shellac, he seemed to have shed the dodgiest parts of his confrontational persona. That said, I know a few people who take issue with Shellac's most popular song: 1000 Hurts album opener "Prayer to God." True to the title, the song is a literal prayer to God asking for the Almighty to kill the singer's cheating lover and her partner. It's essentially a murder ballad without the actual murder. Or maybe it's more in line with The Beatles and Elvis singing "I'd rather see you dead, little girl, than to be with another man," except in Albini's case the majority of his ire is aimed at the male lover. It's a visceral song, and while it might feel cathartic for someone who's been betrayed by their romantic partner, it might feel too harrowing for someone who's actually dealt with a potentially dangerous jilted ex.

I played "Prayer to God" for my husband once. He wasn't a fan. To be fair, I don't think Albini's brand of minimalist tone-scrutinizing math rock was ever gonna be his cup of tea, but the lyrics certainly weren't going to help. Consequently, I reserve 1000 Hurts for times when I have the house to myself.

And ultimately, I would hope that his reaction to Shellac would be the kind of response we'd see in people who take issue with Albini. Simply put, it wasn't my husband's cup of tea, but he didn't try to convince me that I shouldn't enjoy it. Yes, Albini dealt with some ugly and uncomfortable themes, and by his own admission he took some of it too far. But his music was both a reflection and a reaction to the things he saw around him. Just as the slasher films of the '80s were a reaction to the era's conservative bent and puritanical attempts at censorship, so were Albini's songs (particularly with Big Black) a rebuttal of that decade's benign soft-rock FM radio staples, PMRC campaigns, and right-wing fundamentalist attempts to whitewash the media.

Much like those slasher films, Big Black has aged with an unexpected patina. Yes, there is something still "dangerous" about it, but that danger seems less rooted in pushing back at "the establishment" and more like it's picking at the wounds of the most vulnerable and injured parts of our society. Given even a minimal amount of context, I'd think the average person could appreciate its attempts to say "no, this world isn't perfect and we're not going to pretend that it is," even if those attempts are admittedly a little ambiguous and sloppy at times. But that kind of context doesn't arrive as a disclaimer on the album packaging, so its reasonable to understand how someone could find Big Black's unflinching first-person villain profiles to be a little problematic.

Consequently, I completely understand why someone would take issue with Big Black's "Jordan Minnesota" or Shellac's "Prayer to God." On the other hand, I want art to be uncomfortable sometimes, even if that unease is unintentional. There's no shortage of art out there that aimed to be progressive but aged to show the inherent biases of its time. Just consider the contingent of people wanting to change the racist language in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. I'd argue that sometimes the shortcomings, biases, and outdated perspectives in an artist's work are as much a statement on the times as the actual subject matter.

Everyone has a line. And for a lot of folks, Albini probably crossed it a few times in the course of his career. For me, listening to Big Black or Rapeman or Shellac is like watching Texas Chainsaw Massacre---I don't need Steve Albini to explain his lyrics anymore than I need Tobe Hopper to explain that we shouldn't cut people up with chainsaws and turn them into human barbecue. But Albini also dealt with minor horrors that impacted a far greater percentage of the population, and that's something he had to reconcile and acknowledge later in life. For me, his charity work, fierce advocacy for marginalized people, and willingness to stand up to bullies in public forums offset any of his early artistic missteps, but I also understand that making art about human suffering is always going to elicit pain from people who have endured those particular trials.

Everyone has a line.

[earlgraytay]

For the Reverse Unpopular Opinion Meme, give me Dark Souls.

Gwyndolin and the Witch of Izalith are both fascinating characters, and I really wish they got more fandom exploration.

Specifically, I wish fandom would explore the villainous/vengeance-focused side of Gwyndolin's character more often, and I wish that fandom would explore the Byronic/Prometheus/hero side of the Witch's character more often.

Gwyndolin's carrying on his family's monstrous legacy, mostly out of inertia. He's sending so many humans- "heroes" all- to kindle the flame and die in the process. And for what? Gwyn's dead, the Nameless King isn't coming back, Gwynevere is somewhere far away, and Velka fucked right off.

(Velka's another character I wish fandom would explore more. The concept of a goddess of sin is fascinating, especially given what little we know about the concept of 'sin' in Dark Souls... and the implication that she's the mother of Gwyn's children. But that's a whole nother kettle of fish.)

Point is, Gwyndolin is doing some truly monstrous things, in the name of propping up the old order. The old order that's never been particularly sustainable, and is becoming less and less so with time. The old order that full well half the playerbase wants to see torn down. His personal world's basically as over as the Age of Fire is, and keeping things The Same As They Always Were isn't making anyone happy.

Out of all the people left alive in the setting, Gwyndolin is probably the person best equipped to try to find a new way to keep the world running. But he's not even trying! He's just keeping things the same, and meteing out vengeance to anyone who gets in the way of that. For gods' sakes, the Blades of the Darkmoon cut off sinners' ears and bring them back to him.

I find Gwyndolin a deeply tragic and sympathetic figure, but I wish people would engage with this side of him, rather than just "oh, he's got a soft voice and is some kind of trans, let's assume he's never done anything wrong in his life." I'd love to see more people explore just how much of a miserable monster Gwyndolin is. How much fuckery he's doing, while not even seeming to enjoy it. How much agency he's given up to (his interpretation of) the whims of dead people, and how the nature of godhood means that giving up that agency is the worst thing he could possibly do. And how giving up that agency is honestly the politically savvy thing to do! Except that politics is dead and he should know that by now.

Similarly? I'd love to see people explore the Witch of Izalith as a tragic hero. Because, like, fandom doesn't do shit with her, but she's the one person in the setting who even tried to do (what most of us think is) the 'right' thing.

The Witch of Izalith is the one person in this goddamn world who tried to solve the trolley problem by derailing the train. The world depends on the First Flame for everything that humans need to thrive? The First Flame's going out? Okay, let's make a new fucking Flame, then, what are we waiting for?

She sacrificed everything- her followers, her daughters, her son, her husband, even her own physical form! - to try to make this work. She gave everything she had to save the world, making way more sacrifices than Gwyn or any of his children made, trying desperately to save the world-- and it was all for nothing. Her creation of demons made everything worse for everyone. But she kept going anyway, because what other choice did she have?

The Witch of Izalith's like a much more sympathetic Laurence. Sketchy, conniving, yet incredibly idealistic and passionate? Incredibly learned, but in ways that let her do more dangerously stupid stuff faster and more efficiently? Crazy enough to think this just might work?

I love her. I would love to see more fandom love for her, and her daughters, and the witches of this series in general. I get not seeing it from Tumblr fandom- we ship twinks here, sir- but honestly, I don't even see it from the reddit side of fandom that likes to ship the fromsoft waifs, and that makes me really sad.

But yeah. More love for the fucked up parts of Gwyndolin's character. More love for the Witch of Izalith and her passionate intensity.

(ETA: I realized while writing this that this turned into more salt than gushing, because my unpopular opinions about Dark Souls get salty- buuuuuut I do love me some evil Gwyndolin and some Witch of Izalith, so this stands.)

[rougepancake]

Constellations

Eriks!Vash x Ex bounty hunter!Afab!Reader

Not proofread because who was time for that

I’m also not that confident in it lolol-

Warnings: Vash is in plant heat, monster fucking??, breeding??? (TEE HEE), weird plant biology in general????, overstim, mentions of fingering. Let me know if I missed anything.

Summary: Eriks typically helps out delivering rations to everyone in town, and he just can’t help himself from being drawn in by you. However, you find people truly insufferable.

“Hey Lina, why don’t you go help Eriks with the deliveries today?” Sheryl suggests, placing a hand on her hip as she stares down at her granddaughter. Lina gives her a mischievous smile and runs out of the bar, having no intentions of helping him. She’s a troublemaker, that girl. Even if she means well she’s still constantly endangering herself.

Lina runs out into the streets and chases after Eriks, grinning from ear to ear as she jumps up and smacks him on the back. “Found ya!” She giggles, following him around the town with a smile.

It’s the same thing every day. The same people, the same route. Everything.

Except for today.

Eriks looks down at the order list, raising an eyebrow when he reads a name he’s not familiar with. He bends down and points it out to Lina.

“Where is this person’s house?” He asks her, curiosity shining beneath his glasses.

“Oh you’re not gonna like her! She’s mean!” Lina laughs and points to the house, which is on the far end of town, away from everyone else.

“Really? How so?” He tilts his head. The house looks nice from a distance… surely it can’t be all that bad.

“The rumor has it that she used to be a big bad bounty hunter!” Lina explains, her expressions over exaggerated as she speaks. “She hasn’t spoken to anyone since she moved here years ago and only comes into town when she needs more rations.” She pauses, tapping her chin in thought. “I bet she’s happy to find that someone is delivering to doorsteps now.” She shrugs,

Eriks looks out at the house, curiosity striking him. “Alright thank you Lina, I’ll be on my way now.” He gives her a wave before picking up the box of rations and heading out towards the house.

It’s a good ways away on the outskirts of the town, making him wonder if this person really did hate the people that much.

As he approaches the door, he raises a fist to knock on it gently, shouting to let them know that their rations are here. He hears a grunt come from the other side of the door and smiles in anticipation, only to be met with your gloomy and indifferent expression.

“What do you want?” You ask bitterly, looking him up and down to see if he’s armed.

“Oh! Your rations are here.” Eriks points to the box on your porch, his eyes not leaving yours.

“Okay thanks.” You huff, slamming the door in his face only to hear an ‘ouch!’ come from him. You look down and see that his foot was between the door and the frame. What a dumb decision.

“H-Hey! I would actually like to talk to you!” He stammers, smiling nervously. You can tell he’s doing his best to hide the pain in his foot, and he’s actually doing a good job doing so-

Until you put your foot on top of his.

“Listen, partner.” You grumble, leaning in close to make a point. “All I know about you is that yer the sketchy fella that Sheryl took in. And I’m not about to let a stranger like you into my house for a little chit chat.” You poke his chest with an annoyed huff. “You got that Blondie?”

He looks into your eyes, surprised that you would be so bold. There’s something odd about it… about how cold you are… how you live alone and away from the town… it’s all so strange.

“Is what Lina told me true?” He blurts out the question, his hands quickly coming up to cover his face and hide the embarrassment he’s feeling. You pause and just look at him, unsure of how to answer.

After a long moment, you shrug and turn around, looking over your shoulder at him with a smirk.

“Anythin’s true if you want it to be, partner.”

“Eriks.”

“‘Scuse me?” You stop in your tracks, now turning your body around as you face him. He’s freakishly tall, and you nearly break your neck trying to look up at him, but you manage and continue to stare.

“My name. It’s Eriks.” He smiles and sticks out his hand, waiting for you to shake it.

You look at his hand and then back up at him, raising a brow as you cross your arms stubbornly. Behind him, the sky darkens and the wind begins to pickup, signaling that a sandstorm is brewing.

“Get inside.” With a grunt, you grab your box of rations and push him into your house, ignoring his questions as you lock the door behind you. Quickly, you close all the windows and shudders. The sirens blare outside, and you swear you could have heard someone shout that it was a class four storm, which would mean that you and Eriks would be stuck together longer than intended.

You turn around to take care of your rations, pushing past him and into the kitchen without a word. It gave you something to do, and something to take your mind off of the howling storm outside. However, it was quiet in the house.

Too quiet, given how talkative your guest had been at your door.

“Ey. You still alive out there?” You call, peeking your head out of the doorway to the kitchen to see if he’s out there.

“…yeah…” How odd. He seems much more reclusive than before, and seems to be keeping his distance from you. He’s in the far corner of your living room, his knees to his chest as his eyes glow brightly, watching you closely.

It’s unsettling, to say the least. You’re stuck in your own home with a man you just met, who, funnily enough, is acting quite strange.

“Are ya afraid of sandstorms?” You ask from the kitchen, almost done shelving your items. The sound of silence reaches your ears again, and you can’t help but lean back to check on him.

“No…” He mumbles, his eyes meeting yours once again. The look in his eyes sends a shiver down your spine, the unnatural glow causing goosebumps to spread across your body.

You take a step out of the kitchen and into the living room, freezing when you see him back away further. “Then why the hell are you in that corner?” The question sounds harsh enough, but it’s laced with curiosity as you take another step towards him.

“Stay back!” But you couldn’t. It was like you were being attracted to him, being drawn in by how… mesmerizing his eyes were…

“I said stay back!”

You had stopped moving closer now, but you were still looking at him. There was just something about him that you couldn’t quite grasp. And what was that smell? It was like a mixture between honey and some form of candy, which almost made you wonder if you had left one of your jars out.

You toss your curiosity to the side as the wind slowly dies down outside. “Right. Whatever. Get out of here and go back to Sheryl.” You do your best to sound as uninterested as possible, but it’s just so hard. Why was he luring you in? You hadn’t cared him before, so why do you care now?

Without a single bit of hesitation, Eriks stumbled out of your house, that look still in his eyes. He ran and ran until he was well out of town, making you wonder if he actually did have a death wish.

For a while after that, you didn’t see him around, not even with Lina or Sheryl. It seemed that he had disappeared from your small town entirely, which you didn’t mind, but you still felt… curious.

What was he? And more importantly… what was he hiding?

Oh you just couldn’t get it out of your head. That look in his eyes… the sudden urge to be near him… You didn’t know what had come over you in that moment, but you wanted to. You wanted to understand why he left so quickly, especially when the sirens hadn’t officially stopped yet. He was in such a hurry… but why? Was it you? Had you done something to upset him? You didn’t think so… but maybe he just had a thing for closeness…

Days had passed… turning into weeks where he avoided coming near your house, dropping your rations off at the porch and leaving without a word. It was odd, but then again, his whole existence was odd, so you didn’t really mind.

Until he knocked on your door at three in the morning.

It was dark, and the wind was howling outside again, signaling that another storm was on its way. When you opened the door for him, his striking blue eyes met yours, shining with such intensity that you felt a shiver run up your spine. He towered over you in your doorway, taking small steps towards you as you backed away. What in the hell was he up to?

“I haven’t… been able to stop thinking about you…” His voice is deep and seductive, his breath seemingly heavy as if he ran all this way to be in your presence.

You’re unable to say anything, words failing to leave your mouth as he locks the door behind him and the storm sirens go off in the background. It’s a class six. Dangerous and deadly.

“Please… let me ride out this storm with you…” He bends down and attaches his lips to your neck, not even waiting for your response. Your breath hitches in your chest and you freeze, slowly turning your head to look at the man on your neck.

It’s as if he’s snapped back to reality, fear filling his eyes as he presses himself against the door suddenly, guilt filling his tone. “I’m sorry… I… I need someone… for the night… or for a while…” Eriks whispers in a breathy voice. His hand twitches, wanting nothing more than to grab ahold of your face and take you. To claim your lips as his and ravish your body.

He can already feel himself losing control, but holds himself back, biting the inside of his cheek painfully as he waits for you to answer.

And you just can’t say no…

He’s drawing you in… and like a moth to a flame, you can’t turn away…

“You may stay.” You barely manage to get the words out of your mouth before his lips are on yours, his arms snaking around you and pulling you close. He seems hesitant… like he doesn’t want to hurt you… but he just can’t stop. He’s in too deep now.

Your movements blur together, and before you know it, your back is on the couch, your shirts tossed to the side as you both become a panting mess. His long blonde hair hangs down, tickling you as his face overs above yours. You can feel him shiver at the feeling of your fingers tracing lightly over his scars… closing his eyes to relish in the feeling.

It was amazing, really. Each scar told a different story, stories that you would never understand, but stories nonetheless. Each one held a different memory, one filled with pain and sadness, you were sure.

“S-Stop…” He whispered weakly, turning his head away from you in embarrassment. “I… won’t be able to hold myself back…”

Did it really matter if he was able to? You could tell he needed this, so who were you to deny him of that? He was just such a gentleman… it was simply intoxicating.

“Don’t then.” You grabbed him by the chin and forced him to look into your eyes. He was scared, the fear and nervousness in his eyes an image that you would never forget.

He leaned in to kiss you again, much more passionate and tender than before. His tongue was sweet against yours, something similar to what the gods would have called ambrosia. Oh it was amazing.

His tongue moved against yours, his hips moving in sync with your own as he dry jumped you. A low, primal groan escaped him, and you felt what seemed to be roots slowly curling around your body.

What the hell was this?!

You looked at him and at your body, squirming at how they were moving. It tickled, but in a weird way that sort of turned you on. However, Eriks pretended that it was wasn’t real as he practically tore your pants off of your lower body. He was antsy… it was obvious.

“E-Eriks…” You whispered, your eyes widening in shock when you felt him shove two fingers in you without warning.

“Vash.” His voice was deep, his expression serious. It made you writhe in anticipation.

“E-Excuse me..?” You stammered out, your breath heavy as you tried to focus on his voice rather than his fingers inside of you. He curled his fingers, dragging the tips along the sides of your walls, eliciting a low moan from your throat.

“Say it.” He leaned in and kissed your neck as he hurriedly unbuckled his belt, sliding his pants down to his knees before aligning himself with your dripping cunt.

“Vash-“ Without any sort of forewarning, he thrust in, sheathing himself in you with a moan. He threw his head back, as if to savor the moment, but you could tell he was purposefully holding back.

In the dark, you could see markings on Vash’s skin glow, weird, feather-like things sprouting from his body as he began to thrust into you. It was entrancing, almost hypnotic.

His pace was desperate, his moans high pitched and needy. Your nails scratched into his back, leaving red marks in their wake as he pounded into you relentlessly.

Two of the roots that had been curling around you now cupped your breasts, as if to pleasure you further. It was a strange feeling, but you couldn’t help but moan at the contact. He had you wrapped around his finger, your mind blank and his name falling off your lips like a prayer.

It seemed like hours later that he finally finished rearranging your guts, collapsing onto you with a huff. All of the weird features such as the feathers and the roots disappeared as his breathing calmed, his face buried in the crook of your neck and his breath warm on your skin.

You couldn’t think straight- hell you couldn’t even breathe. There were tears of pleasure in your eyes and your legs had been shaking since you had cum the first time.

“What… are you..?” You managed to ask after finally regaining your breath.

“You’ll find out in time…”

You patted his head gently and decided that he was some sort of angel. One that was never meant to be understood by the minds of humans. One with needs and desires so strong that they’re incomprehensible to the human race. You dubbed him a divine being of the highest authority, beautiful and powerful.

He was an angel. Just not in the way you would have thought.

“Your secret is safe with me, Vash the Stampede.”

The words hung in the air, and you felt him tense at the sound of his name. He hadn’t expected that you would have figured it out… but he didn’t mind. He’d worry about that later. All that matters now is this. This moment right here. Of his skin on yours and your arms wrapped around each other.

You swear you heard him crying softly, his shoulders moving occasionally as you rested.

All that mattered to him was now. It was all he needed, all he had ever dreamed of. Physical contact.

“Thank you…” His voice came out in a soft whisper as he lifted his head to give you a smile.

He sounded so fragile… so broken…

You couldn’t let anything happen to him, regardless of who or what he was. He’s yours and you’re his until he moves on to the next town.

Until then… you’ll just keep being drawn in by him, doomed to repeat your mistakes.

[impishjesters]

Pomni x Reader who doesn't wanna leave

warning(s): implied panic/anxiety attacks, implied Reader's life prior to the Circus might've not been so great A/N: I'm not really good at words of comfort, so hopefully this isn't too bad... request: I have a request for actually pomni instead of jax- a reader x pomni sfw thing where the reader doesnt actually wanna leave the place but understands why pomni wants to leave so they just try to help her with anything and is very comforting to her. (basically a extremely sweet and calm reader with a nervous wreck pomni)

It’s easy to see why one would freak out about being permanently trapped in a digital hellscape in a body that doesn’t require sleep or food.

You feel for Pomni, you really do, but unlike her, you enjoy living here. There’s little to worry about compared to the struggles of living in the real world, the life you had before this was nothing but stress and exhaustion.

Though it’s easy to see why that might be the issue for some people, sure you lose out on all the things the real world can give you, but for every pro, there’s a con. Something you can accept, but not Pomni.

She’s such a sweet girl when she’s not on the verge of a panic attack, even if you don’t want to leave you continue to reassure her that there has to be an exit. “Can’t have an entrance without an exit.”

The best you can do is reassure her verbally and try to bring some sense of normalcy to the place. Just last week the two of you went for a walk outside the tent and did some nature gazing, it’s a little trippy how realistic the ambiance was. Though it seemed to do just the trick to help Pomni, the fake birds flew around and chirped, accompanied by the screams of obnoxious bugs.

Then there was just a few days ago when the two of you sat and listened to music while having a fake little tea date. The tea set was real—or as real as anything in this place could be—similar to a child’s play set it was just decoration as the two of you chatted over empty cups of tea.

It always seemed like talking and acting like everything was normal was a big help to her, you know if you get past the fact that the person across from you doesn’t look remotely normal.

Today, however, Pomni had been a wreck all day—the nature walk and tea time offers weren’t enough to distract her. Instead, you settled down nearby careful not to touch her, and simply took it one step at a time. Pomni disliked physical touch so you made do with talking her through it, through what was currently on her mind all while making sure to steer the mindset from sketchy abstraction territory.

“How are you so okay with this?” She looked over her knees in your general direction, not really looking at you or anything in particular.

“I mean to say I’m okay is an understatement. But it’s an improvement in some departments compared to my life before… I understand not everyone can see it that way though. But for me, I’m pretty okay with the whole situation.”

Nobody had really opened up about their lives prior, whether they could remember or not it just never came up. It felt almost taboo for some reason.

“Like I told you before, every entrance has an exit. And if I find one, you’ll be the first person I tell.”

It’s not an entire lie, you would tell her if you actually found one, but not every entrance had an exit. In some cases, the only “exit” so to speak would be death, but saying that would only make the situation worse.

“H-how do you know that though? Nobody’s seen one except for…well Kaufmo and me..” Pomni bit her lip, squeezing her legs tighter. “And i-it wasn’t even a real exist… Caine said—”

“Sweetie Caine’s about as smart as Jax is nice.” That gets a hesitant little giggle out of her, it’s rude but true. “There’s an exit I know it, that said there’s a chance Caine doesn’t know where it is or how to access it. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

“I…I guess you are right…”

Pomni relaxes the death grip on her legs, letting them dangle off the couch. She’s still stuck in her head but it’s progress, and you are patient to work with her.

“Wanna go down to the kitchen and make something?”

Her head snaps in your direction so fast you swear she’d get whiplash if she could. “What?”

“You heard me.” You give her a weak shrug and lean on the armrest of your chair. “We can’t eat but that doesn’t mean we can’t cook—it’s not the same but we can still do it, sorta.”

Her expression is pure confusion, did she not know you could still cook or that there was a kitchen? Have those idiots shown her nothing??

“Mhm, maybe we could bake something for everyone. Again, can’t eat it but it’s the thought that counts yeah? I’m sure the others would enjoy that, we can all sit down with a slice and maybe have a nice chat.”

That sounded nice, domestic, and more importantly, normal. She can’t remember the last time she cooked or baked something, and while it would suck to not be able to eat it, enjoying the company of the others would be nice. Well, mostly nice.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

The two of you stood and you gave her a warm smile before gesturing her to follow. Before you made it to the door she called your name, giving a weak smile as she approached. “Thank you.”

“Any time Pompom.”

[penny-the-pissed-poltergeist]

Hey! Figured I'd send in an ask since you had indicated you wanted some. With the company now defunct, it seems like a good time to reflect on RWBY and examine it more closely. As such, I wanted to ask what are your top three most favourite and least favourite parts of the show? It can be a character, a specific scene, a particular detail, anything you want. More importantly, why do you like/dislike those parts respectively?

things I liked

The Yang and Weiss reunion in VOL.5

"Your MOM kidnapped me! YOU KIDNAPPED HER" is still one of the (intentionally) funnest things in the show. The hug is just really cute and beautiful, I love how the home leitmotif is playing and it's main reason both me and many other people like freezerburn. (even if there is a platonic explanation if you're not a coward)

Ruby's character post VOL. 8

You can tell she's a good character because even when the writing is really bad she's still at least KINDA compelling, I genuinely enjoy her arc in VOL.9 despite how bad it makes her team look, before they stumble at the end at least (I don't blame that on it being rushed, ascension is just that fundamentally bad of a plot point)

even in shit like the JL movies she's still one of the characters I like having on my screen the most, I'm really glad she has officially left her era of barely doing anything important in her own show. she's one of my blorbos now because I relate to the whole not liking yourself thing

The vibes and world

the world of RWBY is such a unique setting, not quite fantasy, not quite sci fi, even a tiny bit superhero. No one else in fiction who looks and fights exactly like Ruby Rose or Weiss Schee or Pyrrha Nikos. The world felt so unique especially in the OG trailers

bonus round: Penny

OH MY GOD I LOVER HER SO MUCH AUTISTIC QUEEN HXHXAJHSA (that's it that's the whole entry)

Things I really didn't like

Jaune Arc

You know all that stuff I said about how unique the setting and character's are, yeah like ignore all of that. here's a generic white guy swordsman with a regular sword and shield who's is incompetent and has no powers in first 3 volumes and only exists to make unfunny jokes and get explained at by a character who's 5x more interesting than him, he's only here because they couldn't find a way to naturally drop exposition even though they literally in a school. He might as well have dropped in here from the real world after getting hit by a truck.

Then his (almost) GF dies and he's the only one allowed to morn her except Ruby like once, and then Jaune is given so much important screen time that he feels more like the main character then Ruby ever did and becomes a bully because angst. he finally becomes a character I can enjoy in VOL.7 and most of 8, before he kills Penny and my faith in his character along with it, he immediately gets like 5 other things to get traumatized by in the ever after and gets explained OFF SCREEN so you don't even get conflict from it. god that wasn't even everything, I'll stop now.

The white fang (or Fannus in general)

You can point out literally anything to do with this subplot and it would be offensive in some way. From animal people being race allegory by itself being sketchy at best to even Blake's mom's name being a slur in some contexts. People still try do defend it even though the WRITERS THEMSELVES admitting it was bad.

I think we should just stop trying to make truly divergent species direct race allegories, it's never worked

that one "Maybe you lost some brain cells along with that arm" scene

started with a good Yang scene, ending on a bad one. Oobleck is here (YIPPY) and Port too (god damn it) and they are joking about how funny that one time they put Qrow in a dress was because man in dress funny (ugh). So Yang gets some mediocre advice and gets insulted by the "maybe you lost some brain cells along with that arm" line and finds it funny. yes disabled people are allowed to make jokes about their own disability but there's a big difference between that and able bodied writers having an able bodied character make a joke at a disabled character's expense and saying the disabled person is fine with it. maybe I should be happy that they cut down on Yang's recovery arc if we were gonna get more of this, no matter how stupid that was.

Bonus: Coco

They really based one of their few gay characters on an IRL nazi and then made her predatory and sadistic in the not fun way...

[ladysisyphus]

Okay! Now that we have finished it, I would like to take this moment to recommend the Chinese drama The Disguiser.

It is a must-watch if you liked Nirvana in Fire, because of course it's the same director and a significant chunk of that same cast, except all playing significantly different roles with different dynamics.

For normal people, you should give it a go if you like:

spies

suits

spies in suits

the amazing east-meets-west aesthetic of late 1930s Shanghai

international incidents

acknowledgements that non-marriage-trajectory relationships can still be important and intimate

minimal unfounded valorization of heterosexuality (like, I can't really explain this one without spoilers, but trust me)

but when the heterosexuality happens, it's cute? so you can't really begrudge it for happening

pretty men getting tortured horrifically

some amazing female villains, like seriously, most of the main bad guys are ladies and they're powerhouses

transparently hilarious try-hard patriotic shit

the inherent eroticism of having someone who loves you shoot you with a sniper rifle

did I mention the suits? because damn

an ending that is satisfying and not relentlessly, senselessly tragic

For perverts, let me sell the show to you like this:

大姐. Elegant and terrifying. Will make you kneel and hit you with a flogger, but only because she loves you. Mommy? Sorry. (Not sorry.)

大哥. Executive homosexual. Will bend you over a bench and paddle you in the foyer, but only because da jie told him to.

弟弟. Should not, from what I understand of the book (and the musical???), be the main character, except he's Hu Ge, so of course he's the main character. Spoiled little gremlin. Everybody's baby. Has a real weird daddy thing going with a very bad man, if you're into that. Bisexual slut powers activated, but only patriotically.

弟弟 #2. Adopted when he was ten. Just like a member of the family except when he's not. Faithful right hand and subordinate of da ge, whom he tops so hard. (But seriously, they're in love.) (No, really. They're basically married.) (I sense the source material has him a little saltier about his station in life, but in the show, he never shows an inkling of being anything but perfectly content doing what he does.) Sultry baritone. Will hold you down so da ge can spank you.

And I'm going to say that pervert shit runs strong throughout what little fandom there is, at least as AO3 would have it:

Which is what happens if you include everything tagged for the Disguiser. If you filter it by English-language works only...

And some of those that say they're in English aren't even in English! They're just pretending to be in English! What I'm saying is, if you feel like making kinky things for a bitty little fandom, this is the place.

Now! If I've sold you on it, here is how to watch it:

Option 1: KissAsian. Upside: Subtitled by the same Viki team that did the Nirvana in Fire subtitles, so they're absolutely readable and like 98% comprehensible. Downside: Slightly sketchy site.

Option 2: YouTube. Upside: It's YouTube; different translation that's also perfectly okay; hardcoded Chinese subs. Downside: Whoever formatted the hardcoded English subs did not put anything behind the plain white text, so any time the English text appears over a bright background (which is curiously often), the words disappear.

Also there's a musical??? that came out in 2021????? If I find a link to a full production of that, I'll come back here and update. The clips I've seen of it look great, though.

Look, this is not a show for everyone. It's got some gore and torture and onscreen injury that's pretty disturbing. It portrays the truly awful realities of Japanese occupation of China during this period. The rah-rah communism! bits are at best hokey and at worst distasteful. It can be slow at times and way too condensed at others. If you're not familiar with this period of history, it's tough to keep track of all the various resistance factions. Because of the spycraft and double-agent business, it can be legitimately tricky to remember who's lying to whom about what at any given moment.

Nonetheless, pervert shit aside, it's a solid story about a complicated quartet of siblings who love and also injure one another, and all the people who love/hate them. There are plenty of genuinely tense moments. The hairstyling and costuming are perfectly on point. The actors turn in some stellar performances. As I alluded to in my bullet points, it has an ending that includes some tragic elements, but not so many that it'll sink all your ships and ruin your day. And I tell you what, this show is legitimately horny for everyone in this car:

So if you watch it, let me know what you think!