#headers knives out

[krirebr]

Lips Like Sugar Masterlist

Pairing: sugar baby Ransom x late 40s female reader

Summary: Finally cut off by his mother and grandfather, Ransom has to find a new way to access the lifestyle he's accustomed to. He figures it won't be too hard to find some rich old lady willing to bankroll him in exchange for sex. You aren't exactly what he expected.

Warnings: sugar baby au, sex work, d/s relationship, more to be determined—All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

One

Ongoing series

[rafesurto]

madelyn cline headers.

[allfavz]

glass onion knives out headers like/reblog if you save

credits @aIfasquad on twitter

[iconsfilm]

did you have header for this icon? if you have thank you 🤍

like or reblog if you save | headers not mine cr to the owners

[2kiran]

❛ I KNOW YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL ❜ ➖ ch1-ch2.

series masterlist | ghostface x reader | nsfw

IN WHICH THERE is only one way to live: take his virginity.

content: 18+ DDDNE: DUBCON, male!ghostface, top male reader, canon timeline, mentions of heterosexuality (?), death threats, physical violence: ghostface injures reader, freeze response, coercion, virginity loss (ghostface’s first time), unprotected sex, creampie

›› previous | v.ao3 | red headers

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

You pause momentarily. Titles which have no peculiar prestige in elements echo through your mind, and the back of your throat vibrates loudly with your humming. “I don’t know.”

“You have to have a favorite,” Ghostface answers in time, his palm soothing over his hardening cock hidden beneath thin layers. It was naught but of deviance, sick, and worthy to be indicted of indirect defilement, “What comes to mind?”

Clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth, you settle on one and mutter it out. You return the question, “What’s yours?”

“Guess.”

“Hm,” in the forsaken trenches residing within your brain, you are able to vacuously sense an anomalous presence stalking you in every corner. Though, you decide on not to dignify it, considering your brain may be simply playing tricks on you. “A Nightmare on Elm Street.”

“Is that the one with the guy who had knives for fingers?”

“Yeah, Freddy Krueger.”

In spite of the known fact that it was inherently basic knowledge that anyone could possess with disregard to tolerance of such movies, Ghostface almost groans out in pleasure, digging his palm against himself firmer. You had no idea how proud he was.

“Freddy!” He cheered breathlessly, his gaze seemingly fixated on the bulge that resided on the front of your pants, inevitably causing his own cock to throb and his hole to clamp around nothing with want, “That’s right. I like that movie. It was scary.”

Buzzing resonates slowly from your throat, born out of you humphing thoughtfully in agreement. “Only the first one.”

There was thrill in this conversation, in spite of the certitude that this person was no woman.

“So... you got a girlfriend?” Ghostface interrogated through a ragged breath, the puff hitching at the end as he patted his growing bulge lightly as though to reign in his aggravated nerves. Haunting murmurs of jealousy brewed inside of the storm that was currently ravaging his brain at his own question.

It shouldn’t bear any significance. He’ll kill your lover if you have one.

With great and exceeding self-restraint, you hinder yourself from laughing out loud in surprise. The corners of your lips threaten to curve upwards, “Why? You into me?”

Perverted, outrageous excitement courses through the killer’s body as he steels his knees against the dirt to halt himself from humping his palm. He needed you to be with him—even better, have you inside of him for as long as he needs. “Maybe. Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No,” you answer honestly.

“You never told me your name.” He stated, despite already owning the knowledge of your identity.

It’s only a few more minutes until he’ll get to the love of his life; until he’s granted the luxury of being freely able to caress you, to trap you to his body with his arms, to make you carve your initials into his flesh with that soon-to-be familiar weapon of his, and so many other endless possibilities.

“Why do you wanna know my name?”

“Because I wanna know who I’m looking at.”

Oh, fuck.

Warranted fear seizes your heart, your body abnormally stilling for a moment as your breathing halts. Driven by shock, you steer your gaze towards any and every window that may allow anyone to peer into your home. To your dreadfully cursed luck, darkness completely embraced the outside.

“What?”

“I wanna know who I’m talking to.” The anonymous voice residing on the other line confirmed.

“That’s not what you said.” You mutter, departing from the counter behind you to seek for a weapon.

“What’d you think I said?” He rises from his knelt spot, pacing towards an unfortunate entrance of your home. With the aid of his current location, he still has the ability to watch as you fumble with a knife in your trembling possession, your shoulders stiff with alertness. God, you’re beautiful.

“What? Hello?” He prompted, a hint of impatience seeping into his tone.

“I gotta go.”

“Wait, I want to go out with you.”

“No, I don’t—”

“Don’t hang up on me.” Ghostface demanded, a precipitous dawn of anger crossing his heart when you still doggedly ended the line.

You needed to set the phone down somewhere or at least dial the police. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You’re not alone.

You’re not alone.

The unceremonious deathly rattling of the communicator startled you, your knife almost brutally descending from your grasp. You draw a tattered inhale, sweat naturally developing on your forehead as you reluctantly answer.

“Yes?”

“I told you not to hang up on me.” You didn’t know it consciously, but Ghostface was getting closer and closer.

“What do you want?” You force out, your fingers tightening around the handle.

“To talk.”

“Go dial someone else. Listen—”

“No, you listen you little bitch. You hang up on me again, and I’ll gut you like a fish. Understand?” Ghostface’s voice rose in temper, aggressiveness clutching the edges of the menacing syllables that probed their way out of his mouth. He chuckled upon noticing your shaken silence, “Yeah...”

“Is this a joke?” You ask, frantic. Like a man in dire need—perhaps, you were—you comically rush around your house to guarantee that every lock was activated.

“More of a game, really. Can you handle that, baby?”

If the situation did not concern your life status, your heart would’ve pleasantly fluttered.

Eventually, you arrive to a halt at a corner in the hallway. You glance towards the windows in your kitchen, attempting to gauge any sign that could denounce where he was lurking.

“Can you see me?”

“You know I’m going to call the police.” You warningly interrupted, the life-stealing metal that you delicately cradled was taunting you that you wouldn’t be able to strike the criminal. You were certain of it.

“They’ll never make it in time. We’re out in the middle of nowhere.” He painstakingly emphasized the last word, to which your abdomen churns with regret.

“What do you want?”

“To see what your pretty insides look like. But if you agree to play a game, I’ll let you live.”

A game? Is that what all this was?

Your capacity to laugh was dutifully robbed from you.

“Here’s how we play. I ask a question, and if you get it right, you live.” Ghostface beamed, soundlessly climbing through the window you well-conveniently failed to inspect.

“Come on, it’ll be fun. It’s an easy category: movie trivia.”

An instinct you did not know existed was nagging you.

He’s here.

“Let me give you a warm-up question. Name the killer in Halloween. You can do this.”

“Michael Myers.” You blurt out without thinking, a sharp exhale passing through your nose as you steeled yourself to not allow a hint of vulnerability to be brought into your voice.

“Yes! Very good. Now for the real question.”

“No—”

“But you’re doing so well. We can’t stop now.” Ghostface encouraged, his footsteps deliberately light against the floor.

“Same category. Name the killer in Friday the Thirteenth.”

“Jason!” You almost yell, both of your hands tirelessly seizing the communicator as if it was your dim lifeline, accompanied by the knife you can’t let go of in fear that he will come to terrorize you any moment.

“I’m sorry, but that’s the wrong answer!”

What?

No.

Please no.

“No, it’s not. It was Jason.” You outwardly panic, the beat of your steady heart amplifying. Adrenaline crashes into you like a bullet, practically rendering you free from all movements.

“Afraid not. No way. You should’ve known that Jason’s mother was the original killer.” Ghostface lightly scolded, the head of his cock babbling out small bursts of pre-cum in response to your perceptible horror.

“Lucky for you, there’s a bonus question. What door am I at? Go on, it’s your call.”

He’s here.

Before you’re able to respond in any form, a hasty crash of intricate glass scattering across the ground resounded through the halls. You tense automatically, your shoulders wincing when you see a glimpse of black cloth in one of your doorways. Involuntarily, you lose your grip on the phone and abandon it once it hits the floor with a dull echo. You don’t have the time to spare, so you dash up the stairs.

There’s only about four or five steps left until you reach the top of the staircase when ominous and foreign fingers curl around your ankle, yanking you back down.

“Fuck—” you grunt, twisting around and kicking against the grasp with the lack of precaution.

To great luck, your foot collides with the chest of a figure decked out in long, black, lurex robe with tattered edges at the bottom. It was graced with a metallic-like sheen, the fabric catching in the low lighting. Then, you glance to see the intruder’s face, only to be confronted by an eerie white mask that sustains a permanent and exaggerated horrendous expression that’s guaranteed to be engraved into your memory.

You hear him yelp from the force, followed by the sight of him stumbling. One of his dark boots skidded against the edge of the tread of the step, and it eventually resulted in his fall.

Seizing this opportunity, you steadily—if you can even call it that with how you almost trip over yourself several times—run up to the second floor.

The stranger rapidly shook his head, regaining his consciousness in spite of the near-television static consuming the foremost area of his racked brain. He shoves himself upward a tad too quickly for it to be good for him, and he trails after you like a man on a vengeance-fed rampage.

You’re able to take only a couple of steps inside of your bedroom before Ghostface tackles you on the ground, one hand of his weighing down on your chest while the other holds his knife—your own clattering someplace else—to your vulnerable throat. He straddled your lap, the sides of his knees digging against the outer areas of your thighs. The scent of death awakened; the infamous weapon was now a hair’s breadth away from prickling your skin.

You don’t think you can breathe.

Your knee nudges up, attempting to buck him off of you, to no avail. He assertively settles his weight down on top of you, angling the flat of the metal to your jaw with the sharpened part just barely managing to graze your chin. Your breathing locks in your throat, and you stiffen up to prevent erroneously giving yourself a fresh cut.

“You lose.”

It was nothing short of an exuberant declaration of your defeat. You didn’t need a view of his face to be aware that he was grinning unabashedly.

“There we go, stop struggling. If you wanna live, you have to listen to me.”

At that, you are overcome with the need to retain your life, and you reluctantly exorcise all means of vigor your body previously contained. You lay there, demeaningly underneath him, with the active withholding of delivering a brute hit to his obscured face. Your hands ball into tight fists and the intruder immediately takes notice. But it didn’t matter much to him. He knows you’ve given in.

A giggle, a demoralizing sound that is seemingly altered by what you guess is a voice modulator of some sorts, reverberates from his chest and up through the elongated, wide-open mouth that abominably expands the jaw. The eyes of the mask were hollow and dark; yet, nevertheless, they were piercing your form enough to make you slightly squirm.

Ghostface’s reaction is immaculately swift. He clenches his thighs around yours to force you to still, and that’s when you feel it.

Oh.

Oh.

He was hard.

His cock pressed against your thigh, the sensation remarkably solid and warm through the decently wispy material of his costume. He sees your gaze darting towards his groin, and he doesn’t know how to outwardly react, but he knows you’re staring. The hand that’s on your chest reaches up to take hold of your chin, tilting your head towards his own and away from the neglected ache in between his legs. Gloves—black gloves that are terrifyingly smooth against your skin conceal his hands, you silently note. He lifts the knife away from your body, but he did not discard it next to your forgotten knife. He was granting you some respite.

“I think you know what I want now.” Ghostface pinpointed, experimentally jutting his hips forwards and backwards once. It was uncoordinated, providing minimum pleasure for him but none at all for you. The realization that your hands were still unbounded has you hooking your hands on his waist, to which he let out a hoarse moan in delight.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Hearing your question gifts him the audacity to groan in exasperation. He twirls the weapon around in his hand, idly swinging it with no true objective. “Don’t be stupid. What do you think I’m talking about?”

Before the urge completely registers in your brain, your right hand deviates from his side and flings upwards to connect with his jaw. He jolts, faltering on top of you as his palm gripping the weapon falls onto the floor to maintain his balance. It was an opening, and once more, you attempt to turn your positions around but he’s suddenly locking his legs around you. He slaps you hard across the face, averting you from retaliating in time, and uses his index finger, middle finger, and thumb to slightly compress your cheeks together.

Without a warning, he slashes a line with the steel blade over your cheek. You gasp, the dart of pain firing through the entirety of your face along with the stinging hit given to you just moments prior. The cut was relevantly shallow, light, and not at all intended to scar, but it still mildly hurts you. Beads of blood begin to dot along the cut and slide down your cheek. The scent was distinctly metallic, hitting you in the nose in a way that makes you want to hurl.

“Do that again, and I’ll fucking kill you! Now, stay still and keep that pretty mouth shut.” Ghostface reprimands as he repositions himself, the volatile duality of his behavior startling you into obeying his whims. You deliberately allow your hand to slip off of him, and he doesn’t seem to take any offense. Again, he rolls his clothed hard cock against your still-soft groin, albeit a tad too gentle for either of your liking.

“Fuck… you feel good. Real good,” He praises under his breath, slowly grinding against you. Using his thumb, he swipes the trickle of blood up, cautious as to not inadvertently brush the wound. He raises that hand and tucks it underneath his mask, grunting in appreciation as his tongue—not that you can see it, but it’s a prediction—flicks out to lick the vital fluid that belongs to you, and he mumbles, “Taste good too.”

In that moment, you were suspended in an unyielding trance, unable to respond or move from mere shock. What the hell was going on?

Ghostface sighs, long and drawn-out and agitated. For apparently good measure and to liberate you from your ephemeral hypnosis, he strikes your cheek a second time. It was delivered with a lower level of physical power but a higher level of intention to snap you out of whatever train of thoughts are booming through your head. It works as expected, your head briefly jerking to the side then back to him.

“I want you to fuck me,” he abruptly blurts out.

You sputter, heat skulking to your bloodied face and you half-expect to be hit again for the never-ending length of your stupidity, “What?”

“If you wanna live tonight, baby, you’re gonna fuck me. Sounds good?” Ghostface rephrases for your sake, tilting his head off to the side as if he was scrutinizing you.

“Why do I—”

KRNKKKK!

He stabs the knife into the floor right beside your head, the weapon scraping as it splinters the floor slightly. You flinch, instinctively trying to firmly separate yourself and the killing tool, and he considers that as a cue to intensely ground his groin against yours to hoist your attention to him and him only.

“Do you wanna live or not?”

“I—”

Your nth mistake.

You’re too slow in telling him what he desperately needs to hear. Driven by furiosity, he smacks your injured cheek, hard, your blood splattering all over his now crimson-stained glove—one that he’s neither throwing away nor throwing into the washer—and you loudly grunt out a pained curse.

He coils that same hand around your exposed neck. Not to strangle you. At the very least, not yet.

With his unoccupied hand, he reaches down to loosen the strings sticking out of your waistband. You want to argue, you should argue, but you realize that you’ll only grant an audience with your end if you dare voice out your disapproval.

“Take me to your bed.” Ghostface demanded, his fingers ghosting over your cock prior to grasping his knife once more. You were growing hard under his attention, inevitably. Your hands curl around his powerful thighs, the flesh flexing with anticipation as you sit up. Whether or not you were able to withstand such weight underneath your palms, it didn’t matter. You are obligated to hoist him.

He dutifully slings his arms around your neck, his legs wrapping around your waist to support himself upright. You carry him to your bed (just as he had ordered like you were some sort of rabid animal to be tamed) and drop him onto the mattress. The furniture creaks as Ghostface’s back connects with it, bowing a little in protest to an unwanted stranger. He kicks his knees up, pushing himself backwards for his boots to dig onto the sheets.

His hands reach down to take the bottom of his costume and yank it upwards, the material pooling around his middle as his lower half is exposed to your supposed-to-be uninterested gaze. His arousal prominently strained against his boxers, a damp spot residing where the head of his cock was. You had expected an unsightly creature to unveil themselves to you. Alas, his skin, of what you were permitted to view, was normal. Human. Soft, even.

He allows his weapon to fall next to him, deliberately within his reach in case he finds use for it.

“Well?” He prompts, hooking his thumbs beneath the band of his boxers and pulling them down until they are all the way around his ankles. He languidly hangs it around one of them, before booting it off of him. His palms smooth under his knees, lifting his legs up to exhibit his rim for you.

Shit.

There was slickness glossed over and inside Ghostface’s hole, which was seemingly stretched out. Putting it to a test, and you weren’t even aware that you found yourself allured by the sight that you should’ve felt repulsed towards, you rub the pad of your index finger around his entrance to gather bits of the lube and push it into him. No resistance, if you ignore how he squeezes down onto your digit with a strangled moan.

“Yes, fuck,” he gasped out through a distorted rasp of his voice changer, his walls tense and amazingly more welcoming than any other used cunt. “W-Worked myself open just for you and your cock. Mmn, you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

Waiting? He’s been waiting?

You feel absolutely sick. For weeks, possibly for months, he has been stalking you without end.

And you’re the one who has to pay the price for his attention.

October 31st, 2:01 A.M.

Soon enough, your hips are snug against the backs of his thighs while your wet cock traitorously throbs inside of him.

Ghostface forced you into his untouched body without any remorse; his being born from sin ushering you to where you are now. You hold the advantage over him, with him being in a more vulnerable position, but you are physically and mentally departed from every means of control. He threw his legs over your shoulders, straining himself for the reward of pleasure that he’s selfishly making you give him. He beckons you to lean over him, and you follow.

“That’s a good boy.” He praises, his head tipping back against the sheets.

The sensation by itself is strange. You pilot your hips backwards until half of your girth is being clung onto by his too-tight rim, before you snap into him once more. That wrecks out an appreciative moan from him, his thighs twitching against your upper half. Your length glistens with the lube he had graciously fingered into himself earlier, causing the strokes to be much smoother.

The head of your cock manages to rub against his prostate, his reaction immediate. “Fuuuc—ah!” Ghostface babbles, the small of his back arching off of the bed as his hole can’t help but clench down tight around you. Granted, it has you buck into him, the veins that run across your length brushing against sweet spots that have his boots digging against your back.

You’re compelled to leisurely roll your hips, your dick slipping further inside of his spasming hole. You grind into him, ensuring that just the right amount of attention is driven into the certain bundle of nerves that has his pretty hole trembling around you. He whimpers, tears welling up in his eyes because, fuck, you’re too handsome and your cock is too thick for his brain to comprehend. The crease that’s formed in between your eyebrows due to them knitting together makes him want to rip off his mask and kiss you.

But that’ll wait for another time.

Once he loosens around you, becoming docile underneath the presence of your body, you resume to your previous pace. The unattended cut across your cheek stings as your teeth grit together, a drying stream of crimson trudging down to your jaw. He whines, his hand lifting to wipe that trail off of you and rocks forward to meet your thrust. “Best f—hngh— f-fucking cock I’m ever going to have,” Ghostface mumbles under a tight breath, his own length pulsing with the need of release against his flexing abdomen.

“You’re sick,” you grunt, pausing your movements to grab the base of your length and pull out. His lips part to retort, but you slide back into him with an abrupt slam.

“I—fuck!” He curses, a noise torn in between a pathetic moan and a scream. Ghostface laughs, his chest rumbling upwards as he uncontrollably contracts around you, “We are both sick. You’re gonna cum inside of me sooner or later, and you won’t be telling a goddamn soul about what happened between us, ‘less you wanna—”

You repeat the previous motion; your leaky tip slamming against his sensitive spot harder than before.

“—hnnngh—! Shit—” Ghostface gasps, interrupting himself as his legs slide off of your shoulders as they helplessly spread apart. He looked almost pretty like that, his cute rim squeezing onto every inch of your throbbing cock to coax out your own release. Your skin and hand was wet with him, the lubricant combined with your pre-cum was gushing out of his entrance and conveniently slicking you up.

He felt so utterly full.

Killing you will be a damn waste, and he couldn’t possibly get rid of his Sweetheart now.

His hands rush downwards, his fingers gathering the gentle sheets for leverage. He struggles, squirms, when he senses a rapid euphorical coil bundling within his lower abdomen. He whimpers, the vocal modulator barely managing to modify the noise.

“S’this okay?” You pant out the words sarcastically next to his ear, slowing your thrusts into harsher yet deeper ones. Ones that shove his body further up your bed and nearly bang the top of his head against the wall.

“Y—Yes!” He cried out, his voice gravelly and hoarse and raw. Squelching sounds came from the apex between his legs, from where your body was intertwining with his, and he zones into that sensation of you filling him up over and over and over again until his thighs flail and lock around your waist.

Suddenly, his body jerks once, before cum dribbles from his slit. He shudders all over, trembling breathlessly as he rides out his first high by rolling his hips just in time for the head of your cock to breach him. He clamps down there, purposely, to trigger your climax — just as he wanted.

It’s wet and warm. Ghostface can feel your cock twitching against his walls, and he has to physically prevent himself from forcing you to fuck into him again. He unwraps his legs, exhaustedly slumping against the bed. You pull out of him, rather too quickly to go on unnoticed, and practically collapse next to him.

He feels boneless, with your cum trickling out of his stretched hole.

You might’ve just successfully saved your life and a few others.

[little-diable]

Kinktober Day 1 - Jasper Hale

Here we go – my favourite month is finally upon us! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

🖤 Blood 🖤

Warnings: 18+, smut, rough piv, blood play

Pairing: Jasper Hale x fem!reader (700 words)

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

header by @theanythingbuthuman 🤍

The room was barely alight, only a few candles were offering some flickering guidance. (Y/n) had lost all sense of time, unsure how long she and Jasper had been hiding away in her bedroom, finding comfort in one another’s presence as they chased one high after another.

“Can you take another, darlin’?” His voice had a slight condescending touch to it, leaving her choking on a “Yes”. The vampire smirked down at her, losing himself in his thoughts about his mate - seconds she used to flip him around, straddling his waist.

“It’s my turn now.” Not once had she done this before, preferring to have Jasper guiding their moments together. But something had shifted inside of her today, something that left (y/n) ending up right here, sinking down on his cock while his eyes turned into a darker shade. Her walls fluttered around him, holding onto his cock while he impatiently bucked his hips.

(Y/n) could tell that Jasper was struggling to hold himself back, but perhaps it was also the fault of the small dagger she reached for. Somewhere along the way, they had begun to include knives into their back and forth, Jasper liked to tease her with the cold metal, seeing the excitement swim in her pupils. But not once had he cut her, always careful not to harm her.

Her fingers trembled as she brought the tip of the dagger up to her pointer finger, smirking down at Jasper. (Y/n) knew that she could trust him fully, knowing that he would never risk her safety, and yet her heart still skipped a few beats the second she lightly cut her skin. The groan leaving Jasper made her gasp, keeping her eyes focused on him before bringing her bleeding finger up to his lips.

They held eye contact as he parted his lips, eyes filled with an unfamiliar sensation she hadn’t seen thump through his system until this very moment. He was struggling, knowing that he needed to do something before the predator inside of him could gain the upper hand, so he flipped her around again, hovering over (y/n) to roughly fuck into her.

“Oh, fuck, Jas’.” She was close to screaming, wide eyed staring at the man who fucked her harder than ever before probably. He was high on the taste of her blood, knowing that he would be forever addicted to it, unable to ever forget about the no longer foreign taste.

Sounds she couldn’t pinpoint left him, blending together with the sounds of their bodies meeting with every ferocious thrust. (Y/n) knew that her overstimulated body wouldn’t be able to hold on for long, not expecting him to react like that to her taste, a single drop which had elevated his mood to new levels.

She felt him deep inside of her, close to destroying the metallic frame of her bed with how roughly he moved. And yet she didn’t find it in herself to complain, both were too far gone, (y/n) with her body trembling with need, Jasper with eyes that were close to turning so black that even night itself would fear the depth of the darkness he emenated.

“Jas,” (y/n) choked on his name as she came. With her head thrown back, with her fingernails scratching at his skin, she let her orgasm clash through her. Jasper kept snapping his hips against hers, burying himself inside of her with a strength he’d apologise for later on.

(Y/n) lost her grip on reality, allowing him to use her body while he came himself, falling over the edge with a choked out groan. With her last ounce of strength, she pulled him down for a kiss, letting their tongues meet while he pulled out of her.

“Are you hurt, darlin’?” Jasper’s voice was rougher, lower, still high on the scent and taste of her blood. She could only shake her head, too far gone to put her thoughts into proper words, and yet (y/n) couldn't help but pull Jasper closer, needing to feel him with his arms wrapped around her to guide her to safety.

[love44lew]

All mine . sir lewis hamilton

彡drivers sir lewis hamilton

彡genre ferrari!lewis hamilton x tired!reader, fem!reader, phone s3x, sir k1nk

彡summary you had to miss out on attending suzuka gp and you accidentally miss qualifying due to being overworked and you call him

၊၊||၊ i literally read like a scenario based off of this and it moved me so much i came out of hiatus again 😭 lmk if yall want the part two, other than that enjoy and ty for reading!! ၊၊||၊

彡warnings sexual content

his job required many demanding attributes. not just from his body which is the reason of his toned figure, but also his life too. you knew what you were signing up for when you started dating him, but you didn’t mind. it was an excuse to go on many vacations and hopefully expand your cultural palette. you didn’t learn arabic for nothing, right?

The only thing you wanted from him was to just make it worth all the missed time together. Try his hardest even if it doesn’t give the results he wanted, its better to fail knowing you gave it your all then to never even try. He’s always gonna improve next time and wherever you are, you’ll be there to watch it.

It did get hard though, especially when he had to be gone for a really, really long time. you were unable to go with him to japan this year because of work and it crushed you. it was last minute stuff and it wasn’t something you could handle on a zoom meeting or over the phone. though, thankfully you were able to attend the next two grand prix the plan was to spend all 3 weeks of the triple header together.

lewis told you not to worry for he would always have his phone near in case you needed to call (except for when be was in the car of course)

Every night of that week in japan you called and talked every day or night. Sometimes you would wake up at 2am and you’d talk until day break. you understood that sometimes he couldn’t get back to you but you didn’t worry because you could see him working hard in the garage and you would text him a picture of himself sending a creepy text like “i see you hehe~” and then he would smile at you through screen.

the worst part of missing a weekend like this one is the once-a-year-date you guys would go on which was drifting through the streets of tokyo on a rainy night. you especially loved racing him and then winning for two reasons. one, you could tell people that you beat an f1 driver in a race and two, it was one of the few things you were better at

this year he had to do it without you which broke your heart, and his.

you were thankful all the race events were late from where you were so you could get home and turn on the tv. you didnt really mind missing fp but you always made sure you were on time for quali. but tonight was different, they had worked you to the bone and you were so done you contemplated even getting in the shower because you were so tired.

you flipped on the television and decided to watch just to see ferraris pace before qualifying, especially lewis’s.

you dont remember anything beyond a couple laps and the timer being 40 minutes.

when you’d awakened the clock on your phone read 4 am and espn was playing cricket on your screen.

oh no.. you slept through quali.

you hopped in the shower before you got into bed and called lewis.

“goodmorning pretty” a low soft toned voice spoke from the other end

“afternoon, handsome” even though you’d spoken to him just hours ago before fp3 but it doesn’t stop your heart from fluttering at the sound of his voice

“how was your day beautiful, i miss you so much” his words hit you like knives to your heart, he would usually say that when you’d come home from a long day. his strong arms capturing your waist and his lips brushing soft pecks across your face and neck. his fresh aroma filling your senses making you melt right into him.

you missed him so much

you bit your lip and pressed your thighs together in hope it would relieve some of the longing tension your body created for him

“it was long, i wish you were at home waiting for me” you sighed out

“id love that right now..” he sighed tiredly

“is everything okay?” his answer arose concern in you “you can tell me anything”

“no, no i promise everything is fine i’ve just been having some troubles with the car thats all” he quickly responded to not worry you

“oh, okay.. you sure?”

“yes love, i promise” lewis reassured you

“you left at the worst time ya’know” you sighed

“why’s that?”

“because..” you stalled telling the truth

“hmm? talk to me beautiful” his soft tone flowed through your ears like good music.

your whole body shook at his voice. if only you could jump on him right now…it didnt help that he was literally talking right into your ear

“they’re slaving me out here, i need a vacation” you fake cried “come save me my prince” you put a hand on your head dramatically, even though he couldn’t see you could hear his low chuckle

god, his laugh

at this point he can burp right into the mic and you would feel a little wetness between your legs. you had a rabid tiger down there that was begging to get out and you could no longer tame her

“you need saving princess?” he cooed

“yes please”

“im at your service” his accent peeked through, you couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not

“need you” you whined, the tension between your thighs becoming unbearable

“in what way my love” his slight naivety to your situation was heavily frustrating

“lewis— sir, please” whimpers escaping in between words as your fingers smushed against your needy clit, you felt so embarrassed to get off at just the sound of his voice

“pretty, i can help you but you have to listen to me okay?” he spoke affirmatively but still in his soothing tone “can you be a good girl for me and do what i say?”

“yes sir” you bit your lower lip hard

“stop rubbin baby, don’t want you gettin sleepy” you hesitantly took your fingers away

“okay” you responded to let him know you did so

“I want you to slowly rub over your panties, not too hard, slow, gently” you obeyed, allowing a small moan to escape letting him know that you listened

“y’know when im kissin it before eating you out” his words put imagery in your head, making your legs shake for a moment, remembering past times

“mhm” your jaw clenched

“move your panties and only put one finger in” you did it, even though a digit wasn’t nearly enough

“dont touch your clit baby” he instructed which you whined in disapproval

“i know, i know, soon baby i promise” he cooed “you’re doing so good for me”

you dont understand what he’s trying to do but you hated that he was doing this to you. things are so simple when he’s home, you’re horny, hes bored, he eats you out. you both are happy.

when its like this though, he takes advantage of your needy-ness that gets worse when he’s gone—your yearning to be held and loved by him again. you hated him for that but still you let him do it because it feels so good in the end and the sex when he gets back is.. yeah theres no words for that.

“you can add another finger for being so good” he directed, now two was more manageable

“cant wait til i get back so i can take care of my pretty girl” his ambition to finish the weekend made you excited too. you couldn’t wait til you were free from the shackles of loneliness and you could be loved on properly again.

“i miss being inside you, your perfect little pussy taking all of me so well” his lewd descriptions made your head spin “you’d love to do that huh? be full of me?”

“hmmph” you whined

“tell me how much you’d love that”

your moans filled the room as you curl your fingers imagining being stuffed by him and how being away for some time would mean you’d have to adjust to him all over again. you’ll probably be so wet that you wouldn’t even feel it though

“lew m’ s’close” you cried, trying so hard to hold it in

“not yet” he instructed

“sir, please i cant anymore” you were basically begging at this point

“just a little longer, you’re doing s’good” your legs began to twitch, your body barely holding on

“take your fingers out ‘n rub your clit” the relief of finally being able to pleasure the bundle of nerves almost made you finish right there and then

“slow baby, slow” his soft voice blessing your ears once again

“c—c’you keep talkin” you asked politely, your voice quiet despite the loud sounds you were making before

“of course beautiful”

“you moan so pretty y’know that? i love when you say my name, let me know whos makin ya feel good” lewis loves to act humble and surely he is but he’ll never admit that like every man or athlete, he’s a bit egotistical. you appreciate that he likes the stuff you do to make him feel good, not just physically but about himself. he gets doubtful really easily so you always want to make sure he knows that he’s the only man to ever make you feel this way

“you lewis” you say between moans, that familiar feeling building up in your lower stomach

“i do? whos pussy is that then?” he asks

“a’yours baby” you pant, your limit beginning to reach

“yeah? fuck—i love you so much, cum for me beautiful, let me hear you” his wish is your command

your back arched off the bed as your cunt spilled ecstasy, followed by a series of his name flowed from your lips into the phone mic

“thats it my sweet girl, m’so proud of you” his praises made the aftershocks easier, your tense body relaxing because of him.

“thank you, i love you more and i wanna see you really soon” you responded after coming down from your high

“soon baby, i’ll make you feel s’good i promise” his words brought tingles all over your body

“i’ll be waiting, but for now its my turn” you giggled, biting your lip happy to return the favor

——-

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Hi, doll, I was wondering if I could request a Steve Rogers x Reader in which the reader is the daughter of some-one Bucky killed and he say 'sorry' to her on Raynor's orders. It's awkward because Steve wants Bucky away from her. And Bucky ends up saying 'sorry' to her at one point.

I hope this makes sense. I just had this idea in my head.

Making Amends » Steve Rogers/Captain America and Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Boyfriend!Steve Rogers x Girlfriend!Reader, Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky tries to make amends with you for what he did as the Winter Soldier, but Steve wants Bucky to stay away from you and he ends up apologizing to you at some point.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, language, mentions of HYDRA, mentions of murder, nightmares, flashbacks, slapping (once), crying, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the request @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers 🩵

A/N #2: Italic text is nightmares and flashbacks.

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIFS ARE NOT MINE! Gif credits go to the creators.

“I made amends with almost everyone.” Bucky tells Dr. Raynor.

“Everyone, including Y/N?” Dr. Raynor says.

Bucky cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. He looked down at his lap, fiddling with his gloved fingers.

“I’m taking that as a no.” She says, writing it down in her notebook.

Bucky rolled his eyes when she started writing in her notebook.

“Does Steve know?” She asks.

“Does my best friend know that I killed his girlfriend’s parents when I was under HYDRA’s control? Yes, he does know.” He says.

The horrible memories of what he did to your parents constantly flashes through his mind. The horrific scream he heard when you saw him and the blood of your dead parents.

You opened the door to your house, only to find it kicked in. You cautiously walked in the house.

“Mom? Dad?” You say.

You found boot prints leading to the dining room. You followed each one, finding a man with a metal arm, wearing tactical gear, and had guns and knives. Your eyes widened when you saw your parents laying on the floor��� dead in the pool of their own blood. You screamed, startling the man. He spun around, only to see a horrified teenage girl with tears streaming down your face. You quickly recognized him as the Winter Soldier, due to the red star on the shoulder of his metal arm. Usually, he kills any witnesses during missions, but this time, he didn’t. He bolted out of the house, leaving you alone with your dead parents on the dining room floor.

“James?” Dr. Raynor snapped her fingers, pulling Bucky from that horrific memory. “You still here?” She asks.

“Y-Yes.” Bucky says, clearing his throat again.

“You were thinking about Y/N’s parents again, weren’t you?” She says.

Bucky nodded.

“Make amends with her.” She says.

“How? She won’t even talk to me, let alone look at me.” He says.

“Try everything you can think of.” She says.

Bucky sighs and nods again. He wishes that he can just walk up to you and apologize for what he did, but it’s harder than it looks.

Bucky walks in the Avengers compound with his hands in his jacket pockets. He seen Steve. He’s just hoping you’re there too.

“Hey Steve. Is Y/N here?” Bucky asks.

“Yes, but you know she hates you.” Steve says.

“I know.” He sighs. “I want to talk to her.” He says.

You walked in the room, freezing when you seen Bucky talking to Steve. He seen you and Steve turned around.

“Y/N, I-” You walked past him before he could say anything else.

Bucky followed you and so did Steve.

“Y/N, I want to apologize.” He says.

Bucky put his hand on your shoulder to get you to stop walking. You stopped in your tracks and turned around, smacking him across his face.

“I don’t want to hear a god damn word from you! What you did is unforgivable. Just because you’re best friends with my boyfriend, doesn’t mean you and I are friends.” You say, your eyes tearing up.

Bucky didn’t dare to say anything. He just nodded and watched you leave the compound.

“I was doing what Dr. Raynor told me to do.” Bucky says.

“I understand that, but I think it’s best that you stay away from Y/N.” Steve says.

“Ok.” He whispers.

Bucky doesn’t want to upset you anymore than you already are so he’ll keep his distance for now. He just needs to think of a way to talk to you so he can apologize.

He waited a couple days before apologizing to you again. He went to yours and Steve’s apartment, hoping that you’re home. He knocked on the door and patiently waited for you to open it. Instead of you opening the door, Steve did.

“Is Y/N home?” Bucky asks.

“Not yet.” Steve answers. “I told you to stay away from her.” He says.

“I know, but she’s the last person I need to make amends with.” He says.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Buck. She hates you enough as it is and she doesn’t want to hear anything you have to say.” He says.

Bucky looks down and sighs sadly. He just left instead of fighting his best friend about apologizing to you. He so desperately wants to make amends with you. That’s all he wants to do. He hates that he put you through this. Bucky heard the elevator ding. He looked up to see you getting off of it. He opened his mouth to say something to you, but you held your hand up before he could say anything to you.

“What part of me hating you and not wanting to talking to you, do you not understand?” You say.

“I’m just doing what Dr. Raynor told me to do. I made amends with everyone else. I need to make amends with you.” Bucky says.

“I don’t give a fuck about what she told you to do! I can’t make amends with someone who killed my parents!” You say.

You walked past him, going straight for yours and Steve’s apartment. You opened the door and slammed it behind you. You leaned against the door and started crying. Steve wrapped his arms around you before your legs gave out under you. Now, Bucky has to tell Dr. Raynor tomorrow during his therapy session that he’s made no progress on making amends with you. He laid awake most of the night and stared up at the ceiling, thinking about what he did to your parents. Meanwhile, you were tossing and turning from a recurring nightmare you’ve been having for years.

“Sweetheart.” Steve whispers, gently shaking you. “You’re having that nightmare again.” He says.

You woke up and quickly sat up, tears streaming down your face and your breathing uneven. Steve wrapped his arms around you and pulled you onto his lap.

“I know Bucky is your best friend, but I hate him.” You say.

Steve rubbed your back and listened to what you were saying.

The following day, Bucky went to his therapy session with no progress on making amends with you.

“Did you make amends with Y/N?” Dr. Raynor asks.

“No.” Bucky answers. “I tried, but Steve told me to stay away from her.” He says.

“Ok.” She closed her notebook. “Text Steve and tell him to bring Y/N here.” She says.

Bucky took his phone out of his pocket and texted Steve. Steve texted back, telling him he’s on his way with you.

“Who texted you?” You asked curiously.

“Bucky.” He says.

“What does he want?” You mumbled.

“He said Dr. Raynor wants to talk to you.” He says.

“Why? I don’t need therapy.” You say.

“No one is saying you do, honey. Let’s go to see what she has to say.” He says.

“Fine.” You mumbled.

After a while, you and Steve got to Dr. Raynor’s office. You should’ve known what you were walking into when you seen Bucky.

“No.” You said.

“Just sit down and listen to him.” Dr. Raynor says.

You stared at Bucky silently, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Fine.” You mumbled.

“I’ll be in the waiting room.” Steve says, pecking your lips softly.

You sat down on the couch next to Bucky and waited for him to say what he needs to say.

“I am so sorry about what I did as the Winter Soldier. I was given a mission and I did it. You weren’t supposed to be there.” Bucky begins.

“Except I was there. Do you want to know how horrifying it is to come home from school to find your parents dead in the dining room and the person who killed them? That day has been haunting me for years.” You say, your eyes tearing up.

“It’s been haunting me too.” He admits. “If I would’ve known they had a kid, I wouldn’t have gone through with the mission.” He says.

“You didn’t see the pictures on the walls?” You asked sarcastically.

Bucky shook his head no.

“Thanks to you, I had no one. You took my parents from me. I was lonely for years until I met Steve. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you and I don’t think I can see us being friends.” You say with tears rolling down your cheeks.

Bucky wasn’t sure what to say next in his apology. He hit a roadblock.

“Can I go now?” You asked Dr. Raynor.

“Yes.” She replies. “So can you, James.” She says.

You stormed out of the room with tears on your face.

“I want to go home.” You say, walking past Steve.

Steve stood up and looked at Bucky as he walked out of Dr. Raynor’s office.

“What did you say to her?” Steve asks.

“All I did was apologize.” Bucky says.

“Whatever you said made her even more upset than she already is.” He says.

You were quiet for the rest of the day. That night, you were staring at the wall in the dark. There was something about Bucky’s apology that you were curious about. You assumed your dad had some kind of involvement with HYDRA, but what did your mom do? She had nothing to do with HYDRA. She was just a woman who was married, had a daughter, and a job. You wanted more answers so you grabbed your phone and texted Bucky.

You: Are you awake?

Bucky: I am now. What’s up?

You: Can you come over please? I want to talk to you. It’s important

Bucky: I’m on my way

You shut your phone off and quietly slipped out from Steve’s hold on you without waking him up. You went to the kitchen and made coffee while you waited for Bucky. It didn’t take long for him to get to yours and Steve’s apartment since he lives a few minutes away. Bucky texted you that he’s there so he didn’t accidentally wake Steve up by knocking on the door or ringing the doorbell.

“Come in.” You stepped aside after opening the door. “I made coffee. Do you want some.” You asked.

“Yes please.” Bucky smiles.

Bucky went to the living room and sat down on the couch while you went to the kitchen to get you and him coffee. You came back with two cups and gave him one.

“You said you wanted to talk about something important?” Bucky says, taking a sip of his coffee.

“It’s about the day you- the Winter Soldier killed my parents.” You say.

Bucky froze in his seat.

“I knew my dad had some kind of involvement with HYDRA, but I don’t know what it was. I was hoping you would know.” You say.

“He was a scientist for HYDRA who worked on the Super Soldier serum. He had files of the serum HYDRA wanted back so I was sent to kill- take care of him and get the files back.” He explains.

“What was my mom’s involvement?” You asked.

“She had no involvement with HYDRA.” He says.

“Then why did you kill her?” You asked, your eyes tearing up.

“I was told to kill any witnesses.” He says.

“Why not me?” You asked in a shaky voice. “I was a witness.” You say.

“I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Besides, you were just a kid.” He says, his voice cracking.

Bucky heard your breathing become uneven and seen your bottom lip quivering. You couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks.

“You know…” You sniffled. “After hearing what you just said, I feel a weight lifted off my chest. I finally got the answers I wanted.” You say.

You were full blown crying now. Bucky wasn’t sure if he should hug you or not.

“I am so sorry for what I did as the Winter Soldier. You didn’t deserve any of that. If I could go back in time and change it, I would.” Bucky says, tearing a rolling down his cheeks.

You put yours and his coffee cups on the coffee table before hugging him. Bucky was caught by surprise, but he hugged you back.

“I’m sorry.” He apologizes again.

“I know you are.” You whispered.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life earning your forgiveness.” He says.

“You don’t have to do that. I forgive you.” You say softly.

Bucky was taken back. He looked at you with a confused look on your face.

“You forgive me?” He asks, making sure he heard you right.

“Yes.” You replied. “After hearing your explanation, I now understand that you weren’t under your own control.” You say.

“But I still did it.” He says.

“It wasn’t you. It was HYDRA.” You say.

You hugged him again. Bucky felt a new warmth in his heart.

“I’m willing to give friendship a chance if you are.” You say.

“I’d like that, doll.” Bucky whispers and smiles.

You smiled and kissed his cheek. You two ended up dozing off a moment later.

A few hours later, Steve woke up to feel your side of the bed cold. He lifted his head and frown when you weren’t in bed. He rubbed his eyes and stretched before getting out of bed. He seen two coffee cups on the coffee table and then seen you and Bucky fast asleep on the couch, your legs across Bucky’s lap and a throw blanket draped over the two of you.

“Sweetheart. Bucky.” Steve whispers, gently shaking the two of you awake.

You and Bucky stirred in your sleep before waking up.

“Good morning, Stevie.” You smiled, standing up to give him a morning kiss.

“Good morning, honey.” He kisses you back. “When did you get here?” He asks Bucky.

“Around 1:45am.” Bucky answers, rubbing his eyes. “Y/N texted me to come over and talk.” He says.

“I got the answers I’ve been wanting for years. I accepted Bucky’s apology and forgave him. Him and I are friends now.” You tell Steve with a smile.

Steve rose his eyebrows in surprise. He didn’t think you would forgive Bucky for what he did.

“Really?” Steve asks, looking from you to Bucky.

“Yep!” Bucky smiles.

“Well, I’m happy you got the answers you wanted, sweetheart and I’m happy that my two favorite people are friends now.” He says with a smile.

You tugged on Bucky’s vibranium arm to get him to stand up. He stood up and you gave him a hug. Steve smiles at the two of you, happy that his best friend and his girlfriend are finally getting along.

“Do you like pancakes?” You asked, looking up at Bucky.

“I fucking love pancakes.” Bucky says with a smile.

“I love pancakes too.” Steve says, pulling you against him, making you giggle.

“That’s what we’re having for breakfast.” You say.

“Yes!” They say excitedly.

Overall, you’re happy that you finally got the answers you’ve been wanting for years. Bucky was more than willing to provide those answers.

🩵💙🩵💙🩵💙🩵💙🩵💙🩵💙🩵💙🩵💙🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[love-at-first-sight-23]

Obx Headcanons Part 1|What Gifts to Give them

Any gender, SFW, romantic or platonic, no warnings (except JJ and Rafe by themselves?)

—Header from saradika-graphics—

JJ:

Get him a new surfboard, surfboard polish, a surfboard stand— ok, we get it, he loves surfboards. 

A new pair of sunglasses or a skateboard would also send this man crazy.

(And if we’re being honest, he’d love a nice shiny new gun 😂.)

He’s likely to be pretty chilled out about receiving gifts, unless his inner child happens to be out and he starts running around the house like your dog when they get the Zoomies.

Kinda like this.

Rafe:

(Help, it keeps autocorrecting to Rage.) 

Rafe would be surprised to get a gift from you in the first place, but don’t take his awkwardness as him being ungrateful. 

He’d appreciate anything you get for him (hopefully) and try his shot on finding something for you as well. It’ll be store-bought but hey, it’s the thought that counts.

As for what to get him, let it be anything but cocaine or alcohol. We all know the reasons why this is a bad idea. 

Just find him a nice tie or fancy ring, and he’ll be perfectly happy. Cologne, anyone?

Kiara:

Kiara, whether you’re a friend or dating, would be super grateful about receiving a gift no matter what it is.

In the case that she doesn’t like it, which isn’t likely, well, at least there’s the gift receipt. (Right?)

She’d love some handmade jewelry or something crafty, possibly something nature-related per her activist persona. (Maybe a small wooden whale to place on her nightstand?)

If it’s jewelry, you can expect her to wear it every day of the week and show it to her friends —(“Guys, look at the ___ y/n got me! Isn’t it gorgeous?”)— whilst taking good care of it.

Pope:

Pope is probably one of the best when it comes to gift giving— He’ll be chill with a smile on his face, polite as he always is.

Really though, he’s grateful. If you’re dating, don’t be surprised to see a blush on his face. On second thought, he might blush anyway out of embarrassment.

A nice book or a quality pack of pencils is all you need to make him happy.

If you’re leaning away from the nerdier side, how about a new hiking backpack or a fishing rod?

John B:

Awkward about receiving gifts? Yes. Happy though? Also yes.

He’d love a surfboard like JJ or something that reminds him of his friends. That’s part of the spirit of Christmas, isn’t it?

A picture frame of his closest friends, a bracelet with your names on it, or a photo album of all you guys waving to him will hit right home.

Booker is John’s middle name, so he might just book it on out of there he’s so emotional— no? Nevermind.

(Side note: don’t buy him a gun like JJ.)

Sarah:

Sarah is the best at receiving gifts— case closed. She’s the sweetest thing ever; the only thing she enjoys more than recieving gifts from you are giving them. True beauty of Christmas.

Sarah will literally squeal with delight when she opens the beautiful gift you’ve wrapped just for her. Expect hand-written thank you cards sent to your address.

Cute jewelry, a stylish new sweatshirt, or her favorite box of chocolates fit her vibe.

Have a blast shopping for/with her for the holidays!

Cleo:

Gotta include my fave girl boss!

Cleo will take anything you gift her to heart. Trust me, this woman will never let an act that means so much to her go to waste.

Cleo’s gotta admit, her new friends grew on her. She’ll treasure that present of yours forever. A hug or a thank-you card good enough for thanks?

Make her something with the shells from the beach or a glamorous woven-style bag to feel unique and extra-special to her ❤️

Ooh, don’t forget about some sharpening tools for her knives~

[asmutwriter]

My Angel (Part 1)

DESCRIPTION: You go about your day as usual. Getting some cash for your stolen items from the previous day. Little do you realise you may steal from the wrong person.

A/N - Header may change depending on how the story goes but for now I will keep it as this - enjoy

WORD COUNT: 2550

Next / Master List  

WARNINGS: Swearing, mentions of prostitution/sex, talk of low income, petty crime (stealing), a small fight if you squint (no one gets hurt), self defense

DISCLAIMERS

- This is fiction. Please always talk to your partner before doing anything and make sure they are ok with what you are doing beforehand

You let out a soft grumble. The thin sheet covering your body not doing much to keep you warm. The bare windows allowing the early morning sun to come in and tease your eyes open. You rub your face. Burrowing your head into the hard pillow.

"Come on. Get up" you mutter to yourself. Eyes stay shut as you push yourself up from the bed. Twisting your nude body to exit the bed covers. Finding your various clothing items you scatted on the floor from the events of last night. Picking up the small wad of cash your regular customer had set aside for you. Stuffing it into your bra before you bundle yourself with layers.

You walk in the brisk air. A breath leaving your lips in a cloud of fog. Ears turning red from the cold nipping at them. You'd forgotten your hat and now you were paying the price. Your hands were firmly planted into the pockets of your thick coat. Trying to gain the warmth from your palms and transfer it to your head. Plus you could hug your keys in your fist this way.

Sadly it was common for you to get cornered. You soon got used to dealing with it though. Your keys being a good choice. Couldn't be charged with a planned assault with keys. Knives and other weapons could be. But that's not the point. You get to your home. Unlocking the front door.

It wasn't much but its been your home for 4 years now. Nearly 5. Two rooms. One small one to the side for a toilet and shower. The other, bigger room. Containing a bed, fridge and sink. Once you lock the door behind you again you go over to the bed. Emptying your pockets (and bra) onto the brown blanket adorning the bed covers.

Two wallets, a necklace, plus the fifty you made last night. You sit on the bed. Going through the wallets. Giving an annoyed huff. "Great". You throw the leather onto the bed as well as the contents. "I've made an extra seven bucks and a Starbucks voucher". You give out an annoyed sigh. Bringing the item up. Looking at the faded cardboard. "What a shitty day" you mumble. Flopping down onto your bed. Head hitting the creaky mattress below. Fingers fiddling with the flimsy item still in hand. Picking at the rough edge of it. Glancing your eyes to the bedside clock. 7:07am. "Yep. A shitty day".

You give an annoyed groan. Your hands coming up and covering your eyes. "Fuck. Ok" you keep your eyes closed as you process your day out loud. "So bad start. Its ok. We have spare cash from last month that we can use for rent. We can go and get our-" you bring the card back up. Glancing at it through a squinted eye before flopping your hand back onto the bed. "Free coffee or hot beverage and decide what to do from there". You sit up. Bouncing to your feet as you grab a coat and remembering your hat.

Bounding to the door as you unlock it and swing it open. "Shit". You go back over. Grabbing the necklace too. The shiny silver being a harsh contrast to your grime covered fingers. Shoving the jewel into your coat pocket. "I can swing by Liam's before coffee. See how much this bad boys worth". You go out to the street. Locking your door behind you. Turning once again to start your confident stroll your foot meets a rather large and muddy puddle. Splattering up your leg. You stand still. Annoyance coursing through your veins. Giving out a shaky breath as you try to remain calm.

"I can see Liam after coffee" you correct yourself. Shoving your keys into your pocket, but making sure you have a firm grip around them as you stroll down a few blocks. Coming to the coffee shop in question. Going inside and getting your free beverage. They were so busy they ran out of clean mugs. So you settle for a large take out cup.

You find the only space you can in the small and mildly crowded shop. Briefly paying mind to the elderly woman you sit next to. The seat to your left being free still as you sip your drink and do some people watching. Looking out the large window in front of you. Completely in a world off your own it takes you a little while to process that someone is actually talking to you. Turning you meet a pair of blue eyes. A soft smile adorning his defined features. "Hmm?" you say softly. He smiles more.

"Can I sit here?" He repeats. You note his drink and food in hand. Giving a nod as you smile back up at him.

"Of course". He sits beside you. Watching as he sits down. You tilt your head slightly. He attempts to take a sip of his drink. Seeing the regret flash through his eyes as he burns his tongue. You try not to laugh. Giving a small smile as you start speaking. "I know most of the locals yet you I don't recognise. You must be new". He gives a small chuckle. "I'm Mia". He turns to look at you as you outstretch your hand. Taking it in yours.

"Steve"

"So what is a guy like you doing out here then, Steve?" He gives a small chuckle again. Shaking his head slightly.

"I'd rather not get into that at the moment" He faces you again. Eyes scanning your features. "How long have you lived here for?"

"What made you think I live here?"

"You said you recognise the locals. Only people who live in the area recognise locals. Its either that or a poor attempt at a pick up line". Now its your turn to give out a soft laugh. Sipping your coffee.

"Could it be both?" He smiles. Turning his head back to look out the window. "I've lived in the area for five years now. Well, five next week". His brow scrunches slightly. Turning to look at you.

"You are either way older then you look or you moved here when you were very young". You smile. Resting your head on your palm as you continue to look at him.

"I moved here when I was 17 but we don't need to get into all of that". You turn to look out the window. Drinking your drink as fond memories of your past flutter through your mind. Before everything turned dark and gloomy. You mentally shake yourself. Turning back to smile at him.

"So you're 22?" you give a small nod. Smiling as you quickly dart your eyes to his lips.

"Smart man". He smiles at the compliment. His eyes steady on yours. "How old are you then Mr Steve?" He gives a low chuckle.

"Too old for you" you smile. Turning back to your drink as you down the rest of your beverage.

"You're probably right. Besides-" Watching as you plop the now empty drink down onto the table. "You seem way to nice for me" you smile as you look at him. He turns his head. Looking at the table as a small smile and laugh escapes his lips. Your eyes quickly dart over his features. Giving out a small sigh before planting your hands onto the table.

"Right. Work calls" You push yourself up with your arms. He watches as you stand. "Its been lovely chatting with you but I got to go and make some money" he gives a low chuckle. Nodding as he smiles at you.

"Good luck" he says. A genuine kindness in his voice. You smile back. Picking up your empty take out mug you squeeze past him. Going to the bin. And hand going into his pocket. Swiping his wallet and pushing it up your sleeve as you head to the bin. Chucking it in before squeezing back past.

"Hope to see you around Mr Steve" he gives a small nod. Giving a small wave to you as you head out the door. He watches you out the glass window as you start walking to Liam's.

Going a few roads away from the cafe. Coming to a dodgy looking house. You go up. Giving it three hard knocks before stepping back. A few moments pass before the door opens. A scrawny man with a tattoo on his neck opens. White wife beater and grey sweatpants. He smiles as he removes the lit cigarette from his mouth.

"Mia!" he smiles at you. Eyes going so gracefully to your chest. "What do I owe this pleasure?" You smile. Bringing your lip between your teeth as you reach into your pocket. Taking out the necklace from your pocket. His eyes stop staring at your boobs as they go to your hand. Giving out a whistle as he nods.

"How much for this?" He places the smoke back into his mouth. Outstretching a hand. You place them into his palm. His hands also a harsh contrast of dirt to the delicate jewellery.

"20"

"Fuck off"

"Thats the best I can do"

"Its worth atleast 100". He gives a small chuckle. Looking back up at you.

"30"

"80"

"40"

"I ain't going lower then 50. I'm not an expert with jewels but those-" you motion to the item in his grasp. "Those are worth the big bucks. The kinds that kings and queens wear". He gives another soft chuckle. Leaning against the door with his back as he pushes it open. Grabbing out a wad of cash. Counting out the money loudly.

"$50" he hands you the money. You smile. Taking it from his hand. Undoing the zip of your coat slightly and managing to shove the money int your bra. His eyes watch as you zip the coat back up. "I'll give you an extra 30 if you come inside". You give a scoff. Shoving your hands back into your pockets. If you did then you would be able to pay off the next couple of weeks rent. Plus have some left over.

"50". He smiles. Hand still holding the roll of cash. He takes out the money you asked. Handing it to you. You go to take it. He moves the hand away. Smiling at you.

"100 if you let me do it raw".

"No way. I ain't risking that" He gives a chuckle. Nodding as he hands you the money. Moving aside as he motions with his hand for you to enter. This wasn't your first time doing this with Liam. You knew where to go to find his bedroom. Plus you knew what he liked so the ordeal was over and done with after ten minutes. Putting your clothes on as he rests in bed. Throwing your coat back on. 100 dollars firmly wedged between your bra and skin. You wish him farewell as you head out the door.

The smell of his cigarette smoke stuck to you. God you would need a shower when you get back. Thankfully you could afford the bill to have a nice hot shower so you deemed it as a necessity. You start to head back to your home. Walking down the alleyway. The one that was normally empty besides the odd drug deal. Today it was empty though. Your lucky day. You smile as you head to your home. Unlocking and opening the door.

You reach into your pocket. Taking out the wallet from your earlier swipe. Opening it. You think its strange that he didn't have an ID or anything but didn't think to much of it. Your mind was set of the cash. your gleeful smile turns to a frown as you open it up fully. "Fucks sake" you mutter. You take out the single note. Twenty bucks. Feeling the little zip part of the item and opening it. 43 cents. "Great. Handsome man is a broke bitch". You chuck the wallet onto the bed with the cash and coins.

"I really need a shower". You sniff your coat. "Ew" you mutter. Smelling strongly of cigarettes you shrug it off. Going and pulling the curtains shut to your main room. Darkness other then the small light emitting from the bathroom. Reaching into your bra as you take out the wad of cash. Also throwing that onto the bed before starting to strip. Chucking your clothes into the dirty pile on the floor. You'll take them to the washer dryer tomorrow. Right now you needed a quick shower. Hopping in. Letting the hot water stream down your body. Washing the smoke out of your hair before getting out.

Towel drying yourself before heading into the bedroom living area. Grabbing some clean clothes out the drawers. Pants then bra. Socks. Then shirt. You go to put a leg into your jeans when you hear a noise. Your front door. The door handle jiggling. Hearing people talk outside. Two voices you think. You quickly pull your jeans up. A difficult feat but you manage it due to the rushed nature.

You try and be quiet as you go over to the door. Picking up a bat from beside your bed. Going over and standing beside the door. Trying to look intimidating. You go to bring the bat down as soon as it opens. A hooded figure. The person has quick reflexes. Grabbing the bat and pulling it. Disarming you as it gets thrown the into the hallway outside your apartment. You don't hesitate as you bring a foot up. Squaring it into their stomach. Winding them as they fall into the wall by the door. The person behind goes to grab you. Catching your wrist before you can react to anything else.

You twist your hand. Moving it to break from their grasp. Exchanging your wrist for theirs as you take a tight hold of their arm. Other going to their upper arm as you bring them up and over your shoulder. Knocking them onto the floor beneath you. You turn. Going into the hallway. Grabbing the bat from before and holding it up. Shutting the door as you stand by it. Eyes frantic as you look at the two bodies on the floor.

"Who the fuck are you and why are you in my home?"

"I know that voice" a female says. Obviously winded. She was the one you kicked. Your turn your head between the two of them.

"Answer my damn question or I'll start swinging"

"Wait. Wait a second" the other voice - a male voice - says below you.

"Who the hell are you?" There's a small pause. Too long. You bring the bat back. Swinging it against the wall. "Answer me"

"Mia?" The female voice says. You just can't quite out a face to the voice.

"Mia?" the male mimics. Almost disbelief. You recognise that voice too but are again unable to pinpoint who they belong to. You give out a sigh. Still on high alert and adrenaline. You reach behind you. Turning on the light. Turning back. Seeing your good friend Natasha bracing herself against the wall. The man you met earlier lying beneath you. You drop the bat. Making them both flinch as it hits the floor.

"Fuck"

Next

TAGS

@wonderlanddreamer

[sharp-silver4795]

Jane the Killer HCs

General:

Mommy- sorry. (x6)

We love her so much.

She’s a mom to the babies.

She makes grown men feel inferior.

79kg and 182cm- this woman is a beast.

Honestly tho, she’s a sweetheart. She won’t be mean to you if you aren’t mean to her.

If anything, she’ll spoil you.

Cool (but wholesome) Aunt vibes

Nina is the one that gives you weed

In the Mansion:

She is a giant tank.

She is just used to raise hell and she is really fucking good at it.

She’s not big on stealth, not because of skill or anything- she definitely could, it’s really just not her style.

Truly, a lot of non-proxies are naturally really well rounded. However, they’re given specific jobs/missions depending on their strengths.

Jane’s strength is “tracking.”

She’s really fucking smart and can put pieces together pretty easily.

She mainly goes on partner missions (usually with Clockwork) where Natalie is usually getting the person “trapped” and Jane- having more muscle- grabs them from behind.

Relationships, Partners, Etc.

She’s besties with Clockwork.

They complain about men a lot.

Nina is…. Complicated…

They bond over their hatred for Jeff, but she doesn’t like to hang out with Nina’s friends.

Nina does not realize that 85% of her friends are toxic as hell, and Jane doesn’t want that negativity.

Jane is our fav lesbian~

Clockwork and her have occasional benefits…

Murder:

Like is said, a lot of non proxies are well rounded and Jane is no exception

Her outfit is very similar to Nina’s due to the fact that they both do similar movements when they fight/work.

However, she doesn’t have random blades hiding in her clothes…

Instead she has 5 belts that have knives, blades, g^ns, and more.

She is another one that I wanna draw so so bad.

Divider Credits: Sister Lucifer

Header Creds: Dumpitos

Asks and Reqs are OPEN!

[rafesurto]

madelyn cline headers.

[brucebocchi]

Ranking every new anime I watched in 2023, Pt. 3: #10-6

hey, i just started a ko-fi for my writing and possible other creative outlets. this post will also be available there, so please check it out and consider tipping/donating as i'm currently between jobs. the tumblr version of part 1 can be found here and part 2 here.

I didn't mean to drag this out quite so much, but I ended up writing a TON for the top 10, so for the sake of everyone's attention spans (and so I can buy some time to finish my top two) I broke it up into two more posts.

​ALSO! I've embedded a link to each show's OP in the title of each entry. I wanted to give more of a visual element to each show outside of the header images, plus there have been some incredible OPs this year. I've gone back and edited them into the prior posts as well.

10. Trigun Stampede

It’s funny, I had fond memories of watching Trigun on Adult Swim in my adolescence, to the point where I used to count it among my all-time favorite anime for a while, but I didn't realize until this year that I hadn't actually sat down and watched it from beginning to end. It’s honestly a very uneven watch, and it’s clearly split into two parts: The first, a dieselpunk western revolving around a mysterious goofball with a big-ass gun and a bounty on his head, and the second a slightly more somber revenge quest as he is forced to survive his way past a rogues gallery while vowing not to take any lives. Still, it was a hit among western anime fans for a reason, and it was formative to me even back when I thought anime was kinda cringe.

Trigun Stampede is far from a faithful reinterpretation of Yasuhiro Nightow’s manga nor of the original Madhouse production. Meryl Stryfe is no longer a jaded veteran insurance adjuster but a much younger muckraking journalist. She’s no longer tailed by the gentle giantess Milly Thompson, but rather following her senpai, the gruff, bleary-eyed Roberto De Niro (the names in Trigun have always rocked). Nicholas D. Wolfwood isn’t an affable priest with a dark past; he’s all dark past now. And Vash the Stampede, now rocking a fuckboy undercut, is less of a mercurial wisecracker with a soft side and more of a reluctant gunman freaking it in a sensitive style. 

Stampede wastes no time differentiating itself from any previous version of Trigun. Vash’s history is no longer a mystery waiting to be uncovered; it’s a driving factor of the plot as his brother Knives seeks revenge on humankind for their use and exploitation of “plants,” an alien race to which the two seem to be connected, as an energy source. This was always an element of the original anime that I felt went unexplored, so it was fascinating to see Stampede dive right in. It’s a great introduction to the story for people who haven’t seen the original, and full of unexpected turns for existing fans. It’s still built on the bones of Trigun as we know it, but it is very much its own thing. 

People made a lot of hay about Vash’s new appearance, but I think it works. The huge pleather trench coat, spiky flat-top, and tiny glasses remain an iconic 90s design, but I believe the 90s is where it belongs. This take on Vash is just as capable but much more self-effacing, tortured, and averse to violence. This is a younger Vash, and it’s clear that his history with Knives is a much fresher wound, rather than the dull, nagging ache in the original. This is a gentler (but no less talented) Vash, so I think the softboy look suits him this time around.

I also spent most of the season quietly insisting to myself that the original version of Meryl is much better (and cuter) than the Stampede variant, and I still stand by that, but the updated version definitely grew on me. I mean, just look at that hat. But it’s clear from the jump that Stampede’s first season is very early in this version of the Trigun story (you may notice that the bounty on Vash’s head is much, much less than the famous 60 billion double-dollars), and Meryl has some growing to do (and presumably a whole lot of professional frustration) before she becomes something like the one we knew and loved around the turn of the 21st Century.

I’m still yet to watch Beastars, but it’s immediately apparent why Studio Orange was entrusted with the Trigun IP. This show looks incredible. This is some of the best CG animation I’ve ever seen outside of a Pixar or Spider-Verse movie. Characters are amazingly expressive and oscillate between naturalistic, weighty movement and cartoony flailing. Action scenes are inventive and dynamic and stand up to even the wildest sakuga. And yet, it still looks like an anime. It still retains the classic 24fps look and even occasionally trades in the CGI for hand-drawn animation for effect. We are long past the botched Berserk revival: This is what CGI anime should look like.

It’s plainly obvious that Trigun has always carried influences from landmark western media like Mad Max and Dune (not to mention Fist of the North Star, but that one always wore its Mad Max influence on its sleeve), so it’s been an unexpected delight to see those influences take a new shape now that both franchises have seen major updates since the last iteration of Trigun went off the air. For all of the alien technology and technicolor glowing lights, Trigun takes place entirely in a desert setting, and it’s impossible to see these chase scenes and not immediately think of Fury Road, or halfway expect to see Villanueve’s take on the Fremen popping out of the dust clouds. 

Stampede is a very welcome entry to a franchise long believed to be well and truly over, and the more eyeballs on Trigun, the better. It’s evident by the end of this season that this take on the story is only just beginning, and it has already taken unexpected departures from the story as we already knew it. I can’t wait to see where it goes from here, but that’s mostly because we have confirmation that Milly will be in the next season. It can’t get here quickly enough.

9. Insomniacs After School

I watched and read a frankly absurd amount of romance-centric anime and manga this year, especially of the slice-of-life variety, to the point where even by the early summer I thought I'd had my fill. I'm overjoyed to say that Insomniacs After School proved me dead wrong.

What a treat this was. It's a simple enough premise: A boy with insomnia is sent on an errand to his high school’s abandoned observatory, where he finds a classmate sleeping because she suffers from insomnia as well. They quickly find out that the observatory is a perfectly quiet environment for the both of them, and that they actually get restful sleep around one another. In order to get away with making use of the area, they resurrect the school’s astronomy club and find a genuine love for astrophotography and, you guessed it, one another.

You couldn’t have picked a more apt studio to adapt this work than Liden Films. Call of the Night made a splash last year for its saturated, vibey nightscapes, and Insomniacs’ gorgeous astral visuals carry that mantle. The nighttime backdrops of the quiet suburbs, wide-open beaches, and lush countryside are nothing short of stunning, and Isaki’s adolescent wonder at the world’s hidden beauties reminded me, and I do not say this lightly, of something Miyazaki would’ve animated.

On a couple of occasions this year, I’ve been able to step back from an anime, take a breath, and simply say “That was beautiful.” Insomniacs gave me one such occasion. Even putting the visuals aside, the story itself is lovely and would have made this the feel-good anime of the year, if not for the next entry on this ranking. I would have more to say, but Insomniacs After School speaks for itself. Give it a shot.

8. Skip and Loafer

There are so many standalone adjectives I could use to describe this one, and most of them are ones that would normally make me want to impulsively run the other way like “comfy,” “feel-good,” “wholesome,” what have you, but I think the most comprehensively I can boil it down to a single word is “lovely.” Everything about it just gives you the warm fuzzies, and almost makes me think that the “I want more stories with no conflict” dorks might actually be onto something.

It’s a simple one: Mitsumi, a dorky teenage go-getter with her entire life planned out, moves to Tokyo from her no-horse beach town to attend one of the country’s best prep schools, but much like everyone who played the first two hours of Persona 5, she quickly gets lost in Shibuya’s subway station on the first day of school. She runs into Sousuke Shima, a laid-back boy from the same school who’s also running late, because that’s, like, what he does, and manages to wrangle him into running to school with her.

Mitsumi quickly draws attention from her classmates, not only from delivering a speech as the incoming class representative (and subsequently barfing all over her teacher), but because she inadvertently made fast friends with the hottest, most popular first-year in the school. This attracts the attention of social climbers and jealous hangers-on, but Mitsumi hardly notices. She’s used to knowing everyone in her school back home, so she wastes no time reaching out and seeing what’s up with anyone who’ll give her the time of day.

A lot of Skip and Loafer revolves around the roles for which we think we’re destined in a controlled social environment like high school, and how easily the preconceptions you have of other people can be shattered if you just get to, like, talk to them for 20 seconds. Mitsumi’s friend group quickly fills itself out with people who wouldn’t give each other so much as a passing glance at first, but come together so naturally that you almost can’t believe they weren’t friends already.

Shima, for his part, also struggles with those preconceptions; for as laid-back as he seems on the surface, he’s a habitual people pleaser and is constantly playing a role. He’s so caught up in the performance that he doesn’t quite know what’s going on half the time or how he really feels about most things. Mitsumi is so naturally magnetic, though, that he does seem to genuinely enjoy his time with her, and vice versa. You can see where this is headed, if the gorgeously-animated dances they do together in the OP weren’t enough of a tell.

Everything about Skip and Loafer is just downright pleasant. Character models are simple and sketchy, the color palette is awash in pastels and neutral tones, and the soundtrack is peppy and whimsical. It’s a warm hug of a series, and at no point does it feel cloying or manipulative. High school slice-of-life is pretty bloated as a genre, and I watched a ton of those this year, but there’s just something so charming and magnetic about Skip and Loafer that instills in me a sort of false nostalgia for the ideal high school experience I never had.

Also: Nao-chan. Exceptional trans representation. We do not get enough of that in anime and she is a breath of fresh fucking air. I would die for her.

7. The 100 Girlfriends Who Really, Really, Really, Really, Really Love You

And now for something much less wholesome.

I really don’t seek out harem anime. Tenchi Muyo was formative to me as a tween, and a rewatch last year ended up being a major catalyst in getting me back into anime, but despite it being widely considered the second-ever harem anime, it hasn’t left much of a legacy in the ones that followed. Harem anime from the 00s onward has largely been formulaic wish-fulfillment slop that runs itself in circles as a perpetual money-making machine rather than developing any sort of plot (see: Hina, Love and Girlfriend, Rent-a-). I know I covered Girlfriend Girlfriend earlier, and while that’s nothing like Tenchi either, it does scratch an ever-present itch for stupid, madcap, relentless anime bullshit.

The 100 Girlfriends Who Really, [...] Really Love You, meanwhile, sees that itch and takes a fucking chainsaw to it. To say everything about it is over-the-top would be an understatement: The top is Hyakkano’s floor. This show gives you everything you could ever want in a harem comedy, but to the extreme: It is your dad making you smoke the whole carton. It is Hell’s donut machine, and you are Homer Simpson. Satire is often at its best when it pushes the boundaries of absurdity, and 100 Girlfriends revels in that push like a horny bulldozer. This is not genre subversion, it’s genre explosion.

The headcount isn’t the only wildly outsized element of this series; every single member of the titular harem, each a tick on the checklist of every -dere archetype you can imagine, pushes the slider of each of their character tropes so far to the right it’s breaking the track. The deredere is a ball of deranged horniness, the tsundere betrays her intentions so compulsively that she’s functionally incapable of lying, and the kuudere is so robotically devoted to pure efficiency that it’s salient to mention that her name is literally pronounced “Nano A.I.” If you can think of an anime girl archetype, she is in this (or will be in future seasons), and she is the apotheosis.

And yet, this show still bothers to make each one of them an actual character. Harem anime has such a low bar to clear on that front, yet most entries in the genre still bang their dicks against it. Hyakkano's titular girlfriends, at least the ones introduced in the first season, are actual characters with actual backgrounds, actual motivations, actual growth, and actual reasons to like the protagonist beside the premise. They’re all founded on stock anime tropes, to be sure, but the original manga’s author actually put in the work to give them, you know, personalities. And above almost all else, they actually like each other too! This isn’t exactly a full-on polycule (though two of the girls are prone to making out with each other on occasion), but for as deeply weird as this family unit is on paper, they actually come across as a group of people who love and care for each other rather than everyone cattily jockeying for the same position. 

And not for nothing, but Rentaro is easily one of the best harem protagonists I’ve ever seen, and again, this is coming from a Tenchi Muyo fan. I do enjoy Naoya’s over-the-top earnestness in Girlfriend Girlfriend, but Rentaro is the gigachad version. He is exceedingly patient, kind, and understanding of each of these girls’ unique quirks and qualities and quickly grows to learn to manage them in conflict and help them work through their insecurities, and he loves them back in kind and puts in the work to make equal time for each of them. He doesn’t want to “fix” these girls; he sees them for who they are and proactively does everything in his power to accommodate them. He's like if Tadano from Komi Can’t Communicate actually got the harem he deserved. Putting aside the fact that he’s, y’know, 100-timing his girlfriends, he comes across as just a really good partner.

I also want to be clear: For its rampant, fanservice-laden anime bullshit, this show is genuinely hilarious. It’s not some kind of “how did this shit even get made” trainwreck; it is a comedy first and foremost, and the comedy hits exactly as intended. The comic pacing is buckwild, the visual gags are so rampant that they’re almost difficult to keep up with, and the translators, at least in the version I watched, did an outstanding job of localizing the constant wordplay. It’s also so unapologetic in its horniness that you can’t help but admire it a bit; 100 Girlfriends knows exactly what it’s about, and it dares you to say something.

There’s a very good chance this won’t be for you. 100 Girlfriends is constantly pushing the boundaries of good taste, but never in an offensive way and never truly at its characters’ expense. Geoff Thew calls it the “most 'harem' harem anime,” but I'd argue that it’s the most "anime" anime: It is every trope you’ve ever seen in romcom anime cranked up to a thousand and smushed up against your nose. This shit hits like Panera lemonade. It is peak trash. If you have a tolerance for anime bullshit, this show may very well test that, but I still cannot recommend it enough.

6. Heavenly Delusion

Didn’t think I’d be getting into more than one post-apocalyptic anime this year, but I’d seen this one recommended so many times that I felt this list would be incomplete if I didn’t watch it. Don’t ask me about Pluto.

Heavenly Delusion (Hulu lists it under its Japanese title, Tengoku Daimakyo, for some reason) splits its runtime between two different stories: The first, a pair of young travelers making their way across a ruined Japan in search of nebulous goals neither is sure even exist; the second surrounding a group of adolescents in an unnervingly idyllic walled garden in some sort of school setting. The narrative flips between these two sporadically, rarely ever showing its hand in how they are even remotely connected.

On the post-apocalypse side, we follow Maru and his bodyguard-for-hire, Kiruko, as they trek across the country to deliver Maru to someplace called “Heaven,” while at the same time, Kiruko is in search of a pair of men from their youth. They are often beset by bandits, cults, and most crucially, horrifying monsters called “Man-Eaters,” which Maru has the unique ability to kill. On the school side, we see a group of gender-ambiguous kids in an enclosed space, constantly monitored and kept in a very controlled environment. Everything feels… wrong. Nobody seems entirely human. There is a lingering and seemingly taboo curiosity about what lies outside the walls. I hesitate to say any more.

There is phenomenal human drama in here, and sparks so many conversations about transhumanism and human nature, gender, trauma, community, all things I’m not smart enough to really dive into. But to even address these topics here is to give the game away, and Heavenly Delusion is a story better left unspoiled, even if, a full season in, I’m still not 100% sure what’s going on.

This show is gorgeous in ways I’m still struggling to articulate. The character designs, animation, lighting, and cinematography are so immaculate that I repeatedly had to remind myself that I wasn't watching a movie. Heavenly Delusion looks like a grungy Shinkai film: Character models are immaculately realized and fluidly animated, the light and shadow effects are some of the best I’ve ever seen in TV animation, and action sequences are visceral and unpredictable. Maybe all I needed to say is that it was made by much of the same Production IG staff in charge of Psycho-Pass.

I want to say as little about what happens as possible, because the mystery is the main draw of Heavenly Delusion, but I feel the need to warn that there is a very dark and sour turn near the end of the season in the form of some strongly implied sexual violence. It was thematically unnecessary, and once that side of things is resolved, everyone just kinda… moves past it. It doesn’t ruin the show, I still recommend it heartily, but be forewarned. I found it upsetting, but more in the “did this REALLY need to be in there?” sense. The mounting tension and slowly-unfolding existential horror in this series are otherwise expertly woven into the narrative, and this part landed with a wet thud.

This is a much longer story than most of the season would have you believe, and it ends with far more questions than answers. One side of the story leaves off with an open end, and the other with a massive cliffhanger, which left me a little cold but with interest piqued for the next season. For what it is right now, though, Heavenly Delusion is a nearly perfect, endlessly thought-provoking mystery and one of the most gorgeously ugly things I’ve seen this year.

[chris-continues]

Maybe another idea if u would like :P

What if Vash or Nai get into a big fight and is loosing a dangerous amount blood, maybe the reader could offer help?

What if Nai turned feral because he hasn't been drinking enough blood because of how much he hates wolfwoods blood?

OH HO HO FERAL NAI HHEEHEHEEH U KNOW ME SO WELLLL LUNE MWAHAHAHAHAH

ahem.

*straightens out papers* shall we begin?

Suggestive?? But not really- Nai is hot and cold (when is he not tbh) pining (do we know if it’s mutual? OOoOo) (the header is lowk satire but also not)

TW: blood, biting (although that’s expected so)

TAGS: @lune010 @vashfantasy @coffinbeananteiku

“You, with your kind words and wonderful laugh, and Nai hates, loathes you even. Do you taste as sweet as you act?”

Nai hated having no sense of control.

Control was what he craved, every second of the day. The hedges in front of the manor were to be trimmed in this exact manner, the books organized in their usual fashion, and his collar straightened out just the way he liked.

His urges, feeding- that was one thing he could not control.

While Vash found it plenty fine to feed from an undertaker such as the human he’d welcomed into their home once a week to feed, Nai turned up his nose plenty times at said offering. It wasn’t like anyone was clamoring for him anyway- all of said visitors only came for Vash’s company, bright smiles and joyous laughs. He was so pathetic in that way, pleasing them as if his company wasn’t enough.

Hmph.

Well, aside from their usual visits, now he had you. You resided in the castle amongst them, entertaining Vash with your feeble presence and conversation- tending and assisting wherever and looking into the library whenever.

How did you plan to pay them back? You couldn’t just live here for free. You cleaning up every now and then didn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things, as servants tended to such matters all the time, clamoring to his feet as head of household.

The minute Vash had offered some of Nicholas’ blood to him, he adamantly refused. The man reeked of cigarette smoke and musk from outside, and the scowl he’d been giving him was returned in full.

His hunger continued to grow.

Vash could tell- the chew of his lip constantly, his slight jumpiness to his straight dazed state on occasion- he was losing control.

Slipping.

Vash truly believes his cravat being tucked slightly to his dislike would drive Nai wild, minuscule irks seeming to irritate him to no end, even more so than before.

And that’s where you come in.

Sweet and attentive, truly just wanting to help- he hopes Nai has taken more of a liking to you than Nico. Would you be preferable to him? He truly doesn’t know, but he’s hoping for the best. Seeing his brother starve before him isn’t something he finds enjoyable, worrying him greatly into the hours of day and night.

When Vash proposes the idea, a hand gesturing to you in a flourish (as if marketing a new product), Knives’ eyebrows furrow further in rejection of the idea.

“Absolutely not.”

Depending on you? A human? Knives’ supply of blood began to run low awhile ago, the dwindling amount that had gone to 0 fluid ounces a known fact that he had tried to lock away in the recesses of his mind- as he did with every other issue.

“They just want to help, and you do need the blood.. it’s either them or Nico, Nai.” Vash’s voice is patient, as it always is, but he can detect a hint of pleading.

And he supposes you’re a bit less insufferable than Nicholas, and your neck is exposed revealing any moles or freckles or-

No. No. He cannot accept. No.

The smell of you is intoxicating. The way you saunter from one room to the next, cheeky comments and, god.

Vash doesn’t comment on his refusal over the next few days. But by god does he note the antsy habits of Nai starting to kick in. Drumming his fingers against the hard cover of a book or his mahogany desk in the study, his study, where you sat now with one of his books.

“I apologize- Vash handed it to me as a recommendation.” Which you’d found strange, considering he wasn’t one for literature, unlike Nai, who found comfort in the world of reading often.

His face was unreadable. Eyes set on the book in your hands, forearms resting on it as it lay on your lap, silence thick and swimming in the room.

“Uh, here you go..?” You stood up, chair moving back as you rested the book onto his desk. Your wrist was so close, he could grab it and take a bite if he really wanted to. Your outstretched wrist was practically dangling before him, and before you knew it a large hand clasped around your wrist and tugged you closer, your hip bumping into the front of his desk as he brought your pulse point to his lips.

The thrumming of it was routine, he noted silently, flow of blood felt against his lips as he takes it in, snowy eyelashes fluttering closed in temporary relief. From your point of view? He was absolutely ethereal, comparable to a seraph with his angelic appearance. He’d always been painstakingly beautiful, and unbelievably cold, but for some reason his touch felt.. warm. Well, as warm as he could be.

“…May I?” His eyes open in questioning up at you, and despite the fact you’re towering over him as of currently (as he’s still seated in his plush armchair), he still exudes some sort of power.

At least he’s trying to.

“May you what? Hold my wrist?” A breathy chuckle escapes you, a huff leaving his lips. You can feel it on your skin.

He speaks as if he’s exposing some inside joke you should’ve gotten by now, “Feed from you.” His voice is uncharacteristically small to its usual commanding tone- it’s quite the change of pace, adding onto the surprise striking you. He doesn’t miss how you swallow thickly, he can hear it. Doesn’t miss how your heart picks up, he can feel it,

He doesn’t miss how you nod, hesitance evident in your mannerisms yet he pauses once more, “Pull up your chair. It’s better when you sit.” He instructs curtly.

Had he fed from many people before? Vash never disclosed such details with you, but the thought still crosses your mind as you sit back in your chair, scooting it closed until your knees bump into the wood and your elbows rest comfortably on the surface of his desk. His fingers clasp around your wrist again, lips meeting with an unexpected tenderness as he.. kissed your pulse point.

The rhythm of it is almost soothing, the motion almost too sweet. Maybe he’s being considerate for once and preparing you for the pain, you think, as he checks for your reaction once more. Pecks meet your wrist once more, your palm grazing his cheek as he wonders what you’d taste like.

And he was just beginning to satiate that need as his fangs dug into your skin, the initial bruising soreness nothing as painful as you’d imagined. In fact, you’d studied from the books in the castle’s library that high class vampires had the ability to calm who they fed from, injecting some sort of substance to momentarily comfort their prey.

Although strangely, you didn’t feel like prey. Rather, he worshipped you in some strange way, even with him continuing to suck greedily on your arm, you could feel the blood leaving you but the needy grip on your wrist was telling.

He needed this.

His other hand came up to grip your arm, holding you still. As if you’d pull away. It didn’t truly hurt besides the starting sting of the bite, which had faded into a dull ache by now. His thumb was against the back of your hand, stroking the skin. Perhaps it was in hopes to coax more blood out of you? Or maybe do you wouldn’t attempt to struggle, to writhe in pain and try to hide away? There was the idea he was being loving, but that most definitely wasn’t true. Not with him. He clearly held a distinct bitterness for most, and that included you. Sadly.

But as he pulled away, slight daze in his gaze as he looked up before you… with his lips stained cherry, tongue laving at the wound in hopes to get one last taste- the sight alone caused your breath to hitch in your throat. An understandable reaction, you’d say.

He forced himself away, curling back into himself and laying in his armchair. “..you’re free to go now.”

“Ah. Yeah.” You respond curtly, having no true idea on what to say.

The minute the door to his study closed shut behind your person, his eyes closed as his hand covered his brow bone, tongue running against his teeth and lips to taste the remnants of you.

You were a nuisance, remaining in his study and conscience even when you weren’t truly present.

The next time hunger strikes him, it’s around a week later.

Vampires are supposed to feed multiple times per week to sustain themselves- how Nai had managed to curve that hunger for so long was either through status or sheer willpower and determination.

Hunger hides for nobody though, as one night you find neat stationary underneath your chamber door. A black wax seal is pressed into the parchment, the initials, K.M. , in rich lettering engraved into what must be a seal stamp in one of his fine desk drawers. The parchment is thick and rich beneath your fingers- even his letters were extravagant, his neat handwriting detailing:

Arrive at my study tonight, 6:45 o’clock.

-Knives

How informative of him. No hi, hello, or perhaps even a basic explanation as to why, but Knives was above the formality of a simple greeting, pfft. With a roll of your eyes, you focus on the letter once more. Hm. His signature was rather elegant, swooping K ending with a sleek S.

It suited him.

Being punctual was something Knives appreciated, your timid form knocking at the double doors of his study, knuckles hesitantly knocking.

“Come in.” He sounded almost.. bored, (although that was far from the truth), fang prickling his tongue in preparation for what was to come. His trenchcoat and outerwear had been hung neatly on the coat rack beside his desk, cravat a bit looser around his neck as if he had been trying to destress.

You seated yourself before him like last time.

“..any reason why you requested my presence?”

It had occurred to you a long time ago Knives loathed explaining himself or his behaviors, believing he could go about as he pleased. To an extent? That was true. But he couldn’t just summon you and not have any sound reason.

His eyes darted to the side before settling onto you once more, eyeing you wearily. “..your blood.” He muttered, hand crossing over his chest and sighing.

…you waited for further elaboration, but clearly none was to come.

“You.. you need to feed again?”

“Yes, I need to feed again.” He exhaled in exasperation, “Is your offer still on the table?” It was amusing how depraved he must be, and it entertained you until at the end of his retort you caught a glimpse of his fangs peeking from his lips once more. He was clearly annoyed with you, but something else seemed to irk him moreso than his usual pissy self.

It was probably just the hunger talking.

Scooting your chair forward, you allowed your knees to bump the front of his desk once more, extending a hand silently in waiting.

“Close your eyes,” he muttered, moving his lips to your skin. His breath cascaded upon you, leaving you to quietly savor and relish in each ministration. Do vampires have the ability to do such magic? To entrance whoever they feed upon? If they do, Knives’ surely must be strong.

He’s a high class vampire, one of his kind, so it truly only makes sense.

Your eyes flutter closed at his command, awaiting a bite that doesn’t come. Instead, he continues to kiss your wrist once again.

But he doesn’t stop.

Plush lips laying chaste kiss upon kiss up your forearm, hand holding your wrist before moving to encapsulate your smaller fingers in his as he twirls..

Closer to you now. His footsteps are practically silent, as terrifying as that may be it only thrills you. His palm on your shoulder is the first solid touch you feel aside from his hand holding yours, breath shaky as he takes you in.

His nose nudges your jaw, free hand laid upon your collarbone. Each sensation astounds you, coalescing and building upon one another and leaving your mind in a heavy fog alike to the smog surrounding the manor.

Hands cool against your quickening heartbeat, he barely has the patience to feel it with his hands, then lips, then his fangs.

His proximity is intoxicating. Almost pressed against you, he can hear and feel your chest below his hands as your breath hitches from his teeth digging into you. You flood his senses like no other, it’s a nuisance, truly, and this is the only way he can subdue it.

With his fangs hitched into your neck and him relishing in the slight gasp you give, pulse quickening with a silent hum of his lips.

A depraved, guttural groan leaves him as he holds you by the junction between your shoulders and clavicle. Thoughts of you have been running rampant in his mind for what feels like an eternity, painstakingly on loop in his mind constantly- with you holding him closer, as if you.. enjoy this.

That thought alone twists something within him as he forces himself to pull away, a few stray drops of blood dripping down his chin and dirtying his cravat.

“You.. you are dismissed.” He cooly disgregards you-

You and the split crack in his composure you cause in your wake, as he loosens his cravat around his neck once more, desire thickening. It’s soon to become palpable, as your presence in the castle is more apparent.

[sikudastoner]

The Lion and The Lamb

@rainwingmarvel7 We back! Hope you like this. Thank you for editing the header, answering all the questions I asked and helping with the title.

Divider by @strangergraphics

TW: fatphobia Darren's hairline is receding as we speak, mentions of CSA, implied consummation I tried writing it, it was too uncomfortable, mentions of miscarriages/unborn children, sibling bullying, mentions of rape, Darren just being insufferable as always

If I missed any trigger warnings, let me know!

Part III. The Feast of Lions

One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever. The words of the septon rung in his head, his temples throbbing with a nuisance he called despair. How Darren once thought he was well acquainted with despair, it snaked around his neck and sucked all the air out of his lungs. Now, he was bound together with a traitor who’s damned green eyes would water every time he caught them.

His nowhere gaze blurred with the rest of the hall around him. The laughter, music, conversation, sounds of lips smacking and knives cutting through crusts of mushroom and leek pies. He had his fill of nonsense before the day began. The performative rapture of the wedding guests when his sword cut through the pigeon pie irked him. He smiled at the birds who soared free, feigning pride of the ones he demolished, and commenced the feast to start. He wished he mounted his horse and rode away for the day, he cloaked the girl already, why all the festivities?

He glanced down to the venison rib webbed in his fingers as he chewed down a piece in his mouth, he didn’t realize that the flavors were absent on his tongue. He stole a glimpse of Nadya’s plate. Steak and kidney pie, peasant pottage, salmon dressed in garlic butter, sides of plums, peaches, honeyed apples and a slice of lemon cake left untouched. Her hand clutched onto a serviette with a vacant stare, the sleeves of her golden gown rolled up to reveal the bruises on her wrist. 

Darren scoffed as he leaned over to cover the bruises, cursing to himself as the sleeves of his doublet dipped into her pottage. “I will not have a fat bride.” He hissed at her as he took the lemon cake from her feast to hand over to a passing serving wench. He took a serviette to wipe the cake crumbs from his fingers and to pat out the stain on his sleeves, his eyes flickered over to assess her body to his taste. She wasn’t near fat, the Hightower bitch dressed her well for her fragile condition. Regardless, his memory of the shrinking swell of her stomach days prior didn’t fade.

“If you’re to be the Lady of Casterly Rock, you cannot waddle around my ancestral seat like my Aunt Genna.” He asserted, his voice sharp with disdain. He saw a flash of panic in her eyes as he reminded her of what was promised, to stand by his side as he ruled over Casterly Rock. Her lips separated to speak her part, but something was holding her back. 

“She would like Aunt Genna, it’s a pity she’s not here to celebrate with us.” The groom rolled his eyes as his elder brother disrupted his conversation, his hand latching onto the hilt of his sword with his cocky smirk that made maidens swoon.

“Yes, there’s an abundance of wine, what a shame that she’s not here to treat herself.” Darren remarked flatly, his gaze swept the corners of the hall with a point that there was a decanter or barrel of wine everywhere.

“I’m confident she’ll manage in any accommodation.” Jaime said with thinly concealed amusement for his brother’s bitterness. “You wouldn’t mind if I steal your bride away for a dance, would you?”

There was a spark that livened her face upon the request, a relief that she could depart from her husband. Darren narrowed his eyes at his brother, his voice laced with suspicion. “Aren’t you meant to safeguard the king? There’s no better time to strike than amid a wedding.”

Nadya’s clenched fists and teeth biting down on her lip did not go unnoted by either Lannister. Jaime took a pause before answering. “I’ve been granted leave for two dances. One for Nadya, one for Maeby.”

He found it difficult to argue any further. Maeby would nag him to dance and Nadya would sulk beside him all evening. He feigned contemplation before he gave a dismissive wave of his hand. As his wife and brother took each other’s hands to dance, he took the fruits from her plate and sucked on the nectar of the peaches and plums until his teeth reached the pits.

As he took a handkerchief to wipe away the juices on his hands, he looked up to see Nadya’s eyes locked intensely with Jaime’s. His jaw clenched as his fingers tightened around the used cloth. His heart did not beat for her, but it sure did thunder when witnessing the gawking over another at their wedding. This marriage was already a ruin and he had only cloaked and kissed her an hour ago.

He scanned the hall for an available lady to dance with. Joffrey would not permit Margaery to dance with any other suitor. Lady Sansa was swept away across the floor with Victyr. He didn’t have the confidence to admit that Lady Olenna terrified him, or that she was too old to dance. The gods could drag him back to Harrenhal before he took Lady Elinor’s hand in a dance. Maeby danced with Loras Tyrell. Then there was Cersei, whom he recalled stepping on his feet many times when he asked her to dance at Tyrion’s wedding.

For once, he longed for Cressida by his side. She was a great dancer when in good health.

He saw Nadya and Jaime once again, his eyes fixed on her lips. Darren exchanged glances with Cersei from across the room, he saw the possessiveness in her golden-green eyes aflame at the sight. It was reassuring to know he wouldn’t have to handle this, her jealousy would ensue eventually.

From one mother to another, a few seats sat over his mother. She leaned back in her chair, her hand resting on her stomach. Next to her was his father, Tywin Lannister, enjoying a slice of bread with cheese as he listened to his wife prattle on. He strolled over to their table, taking a seat for himself as he listened in.

“One dance would not put the baby in harm's way.” Nysa urged him.

“Maester Pycelle instructed that you must rest, there is to be no dancing or any strenuous activity.” Tywin contended as he slapped another slice of cheese onto a piece of bread.

“Maester Pycelle tried to finger me when I was four and ten, I’ve known since not to trust a single word that comes from that man's fraudulent tongue.” His mother’s words made his stomach turn and nose scrunch, even Cersei’s lip curled in disgust. His father’s expression did not twitch in the slightest as he swallowed down his food.

“Fraudulent or not, I will not have you prancing around-”

His father’s argument was interrupted by the echoing sound of Tyrion stumbling over, the table he latched onto budged forward and a few platters collapsed to the ground. Coincidentally, the song the musicians played ended as the imp maintained his composure. Tywin grumbled as he rose from his seat. “Duty calls.” He stalked over to his least favorite child to lecture him in his irreparable drunkenness. Cersei abandoned the table as well, likely to fetch herself another drink.

“I would kill for a glass of plum wine.” Nysa said through a sigh, watching Tywin reprimand Tyrion from across the way.

Darren’s brows perked at the thought of his mother sneaking a drink. “Maester Pycelle also says you’re not to drink.”

“I drank throughout all of my pregnancies and all of my children came out well-adjusted. A mother’s wisdom is worth more than what that bumbling oaf could ever say.”

He didn’t care to correct her. He took the opportunity to make his way over to Nadya, catching the switching partners as he moved. He could not make out Joffrey’s words, but it was clear to see he taunted her after stealing her away from Victyr. Loras took this as a chance to take Margaery’s hand, to get her up and dancing. Podrick approached Maeby, stammering his request for a dance, and she took his hand with her cheeks blooming red.

Darren caught Nadya well-timed, Jaime had his hand gently rested on her waist as he sought for another dance with her. He took his bride by her forearm in a careful grip to not disturb the bruises hidden underneath the silk gown, she flinched from his touch regardless. “You will dance with me.” He declared, his blue eyes burning into hers.

“Ser Jaime has already secured my hand in another dance.” Nadya made up her excuse.

“You are my bride, you will do as I command.” He asserted once more.

“Your fat, prisoner bride.” She threw back in his face, his resolve crumbling as he recalled dubbing her a prisoner bride in the privacy of his chambers. Not that it was unsound, but it was not meant for her ears to hear. The damned spiders were likely to blame for this.

“It seems you are late once again, dear brother.” Jaime goaded him as he swept her away, his cocky smirk setting a fire to him that he hardly masked. 

Darren left them with a grunt, passing Podrick and Maeby with a grimace. He heard the rumors of the squire and a room full of whores, how they gave him his gold back. The boy seemed far from the type of lad to bed women plentifully to the point they refused money, but whatever he did to those whores needed to be kept away from his sister.

He bridged himself between them, both of their chuckles simmered down as he interrupted their dance. “You should attend to Lord Tyrion, last I saw he couldn’t walk. A squire shouldn’t leave his master in such a state.”

“Y-yes, my lord.” His head dipped as he departed from the Lannisters.

He forced his sister into his hand and arm, dragging her along the hall as her gaze followed the sheepish squire. “That was unpardonably rude.” She remarked.

“You seem to forget yourself, little sister. But I am generous enough to remind you of your duties.” Darren chided her through gritted teeth. “You are here to behave according to your station and appear happy for me, at my wedding. Not to run around and giggle, drawing attention to yourself for all useless squires and knights to see. You are four and ten, you will act like a maiden of four and ten, do you understand me?”

Maeby stared up at Darren with dumbshock, her eyes already threatening to redden and water. “Darren, you will apologize to me-”

“I will not.” He cut her off. “You will apologize to me for making a spectacle of yourself. For testing your reputation, and our family’s, by entertaining such company.”

“House Payne is sworn to House Lannister, there is no dishonor in dancing with a Payne.” She pleaded her case, her voice wobbling as her sensitivities shone through.

“You believe all he wants from you is a dance?” He gave a cruel, mocking laugh. “How is it that a girl spoiled with the best education gold can buy is the most daft person here?”

Maeby released herself from Darren and shoved his chest with a surprising amount of strength to make him stumble back a few steps. She ran away from the festivities as she sobbed into her palms, the eyes of the hall landed on him heavy with criticism.

The contemptuous glares didn’t last long as the night went on, bellies full of wine was enough to make them forget his sour attitude. The hour of the bedding ceremony was near and he fortunately had his father’s tolerance and could stomach cup after cup. The look of despair on Nadya’s face as the evening went on didn’t inspire sobriety for his duties, nor the fact that they both avoided each other’s presence.

The last song of the evening was somber and slow, but it alerted the eyes of the Dormaire’s when their memories struck from the chords. The Rains of Castamere. The Dormaire’s flocked to each other, huddling to guard their kin from what would occur. Nadya’s chest heaved as her eyes searched frantically around the hall for any sign of attack, her body trembled terribly as her brothers clothed their panic in pursuit of protection.

“Look at them, scattering like rats.” Tywin mumbled to himself, his lips teasing a grin of pride.

Nysa shot a glare at him, an unspoken begrudgement burning in her eyes. “You will dismiss the band.”

“I do not take orders from you.”

“It is foolish of you to distress the Dormaire’s when their grandmare, a lady of House Tyrell, is our most valuable ally.” Nysa pointed out. “You are better than letting your pride blind you.”

Tywin let out a grunt before stalking over to command the band quietly to retire for the night.

“I didn’t know you had a soft spot for the Dormaire’s.” Darren remarked to his mother.

“I don’t.” She replied casually. “The Stark line has diminished, leaving Roose Bolton as Warden of The North. The north may view the Dormaire’s as traitors to their realm now, but what happens when House Bolton inevitably falls? Who will take over the north then?”

Darren’s eyes narrowed as he followed his mother’s train of thought. “... the Dormaire’s.”

“And who are they sworn to?”

“House Stark.”

She shook her head. “Not anymore.” She sat up in her seat with a groan from the effort it took on her body. “They will be our allies, our key to the north. Aiming your sadistic tendencies towards Nadya is unwise. Alistair and his men will rebel against us at any given chance, it would be in your best interests to not encourage them.”

He remained silent as he considered his mother’s words, they had some merit to them that he was too proud to admit. “I hear northern women are strong enough to strangle a man with their bare hands.” She added on, pretending the piece of information was random. “Isn’t Nadya adept in archery?”

He rolled his eyes in response. “I am not easily shaken by a northern woman. I can wield a sword.”

“Northern men can wield swords too. Better than you ever could.”

“Remind me, whose head sits on a pike outside our walls? Mine or Ned Stark’s?”

This challenge was not welcomed by Nysa, he cowered under her look of disapproval. She slowly rose, grunting from the effort of her body. “I will retire to my chambers and pray for my children’s safety, since you put a frightening image in my head.”

“Nobody believes you pray, mother.” Darren grumbled. “Besides, Lymond and Eltyn are gone. They would never harm Maeby, she’s an innocent. Surely they’re not vengeful enough…”

“Innocents have suffered for less.” She paused. “You have made claims of your devotion to your father’s legacy countless times, now is the time to prove it. Do not fail him. Do not fail yourself.”

He let out a sigh as she waddled away from the ending feast. He rubbed the back of his neck, duty weighing heavy on his shoulders more than ever. This wouldn’t be the first time he performed his duty against his wishes, there were plenty of unborn babes buried washed away in Sunset Sea to show for that. He went over to his wife, sobering from her state of panic, and took her by the wrist to drag her away.

“There will be no bedding ceremony.” He announced to the hall, his voice booming with finality. “I will not have you hurling jests and cackling at us like hyenas.”

“A true lion is not afraid of a little banter.” Joffrey rose from his seat to challenge him. “I did not plague you as a man who desires privacy.” He turned to the guests to bring them in on the taunt. “Perhaps my uncle cannot perform his martial duties.”

Darren held in a breath as his lips pressed into a thin line, it took all of his resolve not to fire back. “I am a lion, not a peacock. I do not have to prove my fealty.”

“You’ve made loyalty and duty your badge of honor, why must you neglect tradition now?” Joffrey continued to badger them.

“A man has a right to his privacy with his wife.” Tywin stood up for him, his son’s gaze softening for a moment. “If you recall, Your Grace, Darren’s first wedding abided by the tradition. I have no reservations that Nadya’s first wedding honored this tradition as well.”

Silence befell onto the tyrant king, a small breath of relief slipping away from both the Dormaire and Lannister. Darren gave his father a small nod, a gesture of gratitude. He received nothing in return, but held no grudge for it as he stole her away. 

He shut the door behind them and set the locks as Nadya roamed aimlessly around his bedchambers. It was rather… empty. Nothing but reds, golds and lion tapestries. The only hint of life was a discarded collection of paintings in the corner.

He disrobed his doublet in heavy silence, relieved of his sleeves that dipped into each course and golden cloak that guests stepped on all evening. He sat on a lounge chair to kick off his boots, intentionally avoiding her. He did not wish to see those eyes water, to see her body tremble in fear of what he would do to her.

“My mother planned for the wedding, I did not think she was capable of such....” He could not continue his thoughts as the image of raven’s distress flashed in his head. “That was unjust.”

“It was more than unjust.” Nadya mumbled to herself, but it did not escape Darren’s ears.

“I agree.”

“And you did nothing.” His jaw clenched as she found the courage to call him out, her voice rose above a mumble. “You have no idea how much I have suffered-”

“Nor do I care.” He broke his streak of avoidance to glance up at her. He watched as his words washed over her, her expression falling as he snapped at her. He let out another sigh, the air thick with unsettling tension. “Though I do not care for your sorrows, it is not my intention to rape you.” He stated plainly as he continued to strip himself of his garments. “Whether we lay together tonight will be your choice.”

Her eyes spoke of the weight of the decision. The dread she felt for considering to bed a Lannister. The seed that would rot inside of her womb no longer than a turn of the moon. If Robb Stark’s head wasn’t sewn onto his direwolf, his corpse would still be warm enough to feel this betrayal.

“I do not wish to test your father’s mercy.” Nadya answered at last with a quiver in her voice. “I have brothers and children to protect, I cannot afford comfort. The sooner I provide you with an heir, the better.”

His shoulders tensed, his lips curled into a frown. Yet she received a firm nod from him. “Remove your gown.”

[the-kirbe-anon]

heyyyyy I want to get to know you better! :D please use this ask to infodump about a Thing You Like

Hmmm I enjoy talking about my silly Hyperfixations!

Owl City (Adam Young) is one of my very favorite musicians ever! I love his music very much because of how whimsical and joyful it is! The Tornado is my favorite because of the scream part (you gotta listen to know what I mean) and how it's about getting thru a storm! All of Owl City's music is lovely as well! Very recommended by a silly little Kirbe Anon!

I like Kirby very much, as you see! Kirby is a pink boi who battles the Horrors (very strong bad guys) to protect Dreamland! He is my favorite little guy! There's also Terminalmontage's parody of Kirby, Kirbo, as is my pfp and header image. Kirbo is basically a funnier version of Kirby and also Christian (the guy who makes the Kirbo videos is Christian as well)

There is also Ink Sans! He is a fanmade AU version of Sans from Undertale! He started out as an unfinished art project and then became splattered with color and is a guardian of all the AUs! He is my favorite fictional paint boi! I have also made two original characters inspired by him, though I'm not 100% sure what to do with them.

This Guy is Splat! He's probably the most like Ink!

And this soggy boi is Drip! He's became an Original Species called an Inkwraith! This guy is thought to be the last of his kind! (Still not 100% sure what to do with that either)

Undertale! Humans and monsters were at war and the humans sealed the monsters underground! The monsters collected 6 human souls to open the barrier and they need 7. You play as a human that can either kill all of the monsters or spare and save them! It's also a big favorite

And Trigun! It's an anime/manga series about an alien/angel guy named Vash The Stampede who's constantly on the run because he's got a huge bounty on his head because of his reputation for destroying cities, but Vash refuses to take human lives, even when it hurts himself! He fights Millions Knives, his twin brother who is the opposite of Vash, he wants to kill all of humanity because of their use of the Plants (their alien/angel species) as an energy source, so to speak. The humans need them because the Earth was destroyed and they found a barren planet to live on and they need to grow food.

I also enjoy real life things like insects, spiders, reptiles, and the like, as well as furred and feathered creatures! I own two leopard geckos, a ball python, a boa constrictor, a Mexican Red Knee Tarantulas, and two small budgies(parakeets)!

The ask said A Thing but here are Various Things that I like!