#hired on because that was the expectation

[arcanarix]

Make That Double, Ch9 - Yan!SatoSugu X Fem!Reader [AO3]

❥ Word Count: ~7K

❥ Warnings: non-con, handjobs (btwn stsg), deepthroating (btwn stsg), strap-ons/pegging (w/ gojo), gojo being the submissive brat boy we all know he is.

❥ Summary: Double the trouble, or double the fun? Difficult to say when you're unfortunately roped into the affairs of two powerful shamans who can't leave each other alone, either.

Stepping into these pampering sessions after another monotonous day has come to be one of your few reprieves in a situation like this. Geto finds any and all ways to try to sway you to his direction, so he dials everything up to 100 during these sessions. This time he’s hired some of his devotees who runs a spa nearby to treat you to some facials, full body shaves or scrubs, or massages. He’s happy and content to be on the sidelines just observing you. It might be over the top, but that’’s something he has in common with Gojo: he’ll do everything and anything to get you to favor him.

And for Geto, it doesn’t stop here.

While the nail techs from the spa work on your manicure—they’re in the middle of buffing your nails after removing your cuticles—you glance up as Geto approaches you. You’re relaxing on a lounge chair, adorned in a fancier silk robe Geto bought you a couple of weeks ago. It’s a deep burgundy with gold lining on the rims of your sleeves. Geto tells you when he gives it to you that you look something more akin to royalty in it. It’s an appropriate compliment to him, all things considered. But you don’t feel like royalty. Not even a tiny, little bit.

“Enjoying yourself?” Geto asks as he brushes his fingers across your forehead with a little smile on his lips. You shut your eyes again, taking a deep breath. It’s a nice break from everything, yes. You know it’s because he’s trying to get something from you. Whatever it is, you don’t really care about at the moment. Now two more nail techs are working on scraping off the callouses off of your feet.

You nod, adjusting yourself a bit in your spot. “Mm-mhm. Thank you, Suguru.”

His smile brightens his entire face. Something you have to admit, you have never seen before. Lately it’s like he’s been carrying some heavy burden on his shoulders that you haven’t pieced together yourself. Satoru’s visits have become next to none lately, and you know it’s because of whatever obligations he has outside of this. Geto has expected it, the longer absences, and that’s precisely why you’re here. At least at the beginning, now it seems like you have taken on a larger role than both of them initially anticipated.

But maybe Gojo’s absence is affecting him more than he lets on. But on the bright side, he hasn’t been initiating anything intimate between you both. He seems more concerned in making sure you really are comfortable here.

“Of course, my love. Anything for you.”

You bite back a knowing sigh. You know the game by now. He does something over the top like this and it means he wants something more from you. You don’t know what that is just yet, but you don’t have to worry or speculate about something you already know is going to happen. You just let yourself enjoy the moment.

“Relax your hands,” one of the nail techs instructs while patting the hand she’s working on. You try. You can’t really relax in his presence but you sure damn try.

Geto pulls up a chair and settles down next to you. He rests his chin in his hand, smiling at you. You try not to pay attention, focusing on the way the nail techs are so gentle and slow with their treatments. The heels of your feet are probably already much smoother than they were previously—the exercise routines Geto’s forced you on has worn you out in more ways than one and has done a number on your skin health—and you can’t remember the last time you actually took care of your body like this. Not beyond the basic stuff.

Being someone’s pretty pet often left you no time for such things; apparently, you have a more important matter which is making sure your captor is thoroughly satisfied with you.

The pampering does feel so short-lived. After they’re done, your finger and toe nails are painted a nice matte black color, the gel shining brightly every time it reflected some light. They take the time to comb and snip off the breakage from your hair and provide all kinds of intensive hair care treatments, and you have never felt better (you know, all things considered). You wonder why Geto keeps going above and beyond like this. It’s like you said before, it can’t mean anything good for you at all.

After your evening pampering session, Geto escorts you back to the bedroom. He watches as you settle onto the bed, fingers running through your smooth hair after the keratin treatment the spa techs provided for you. Your hair feels great. So bouncy. So shiny. So soft. You’re practically beaming while swinging your legs against the bed and your entire expression brightens. It’s probably the first time in a long time you felt something other than utter dread and boredom.

Suddenly, his voice breaks your silent rejoicing.

“I’m in love with you,” he whispers, lowering his head.

You freeze. Suddenly all of that little sliver of joy evaporates into thin air as you glance up at Geto, timid. Frightened. As if this can’t get any worse for you?!

“I… what?” You blink. He’s admitted to you before that he’s gotten some kind of affection for you, yes, but… in love with you? That sounds downright wacky considering his whole spiel.

“I meant to tell you sooner,” he goes on as he moves to disrobe. “But I figure there’s never going to be a good time. I’m in love with you. You’ve…made me the happiest I’ve been in a long time. I know you probably still aren’t happy here, and I can’t expect that you ever would be. That’s fine with me. You know what your job is here.”

“You want a functional family for the twins,” you tell him, looking away as he settles in bed next to you, his weight dipping the mattress.

He rests his hand on your shoulder, dragging out a sigh.

“Your cooperation is enough,” he insists, kissing your temple. You’re surprised you don’t flinch this time. “But I’d like to make this a real thing. One of these days.”

“What do you mean?” you find yourself asking out loud. You fear what he means. You know exactly what he means, yet you want to hear him say it. He smiles again, but it’s a little more solemn this time. Likely because he’s anticipated an unhappy reaction because of course, what else is he going to expect from you at all?

“Marriage, of course,” he answers with a little purr, brushing a strand of hair away from your cheek. His hand trails down to your neck, where you still wear that gold chain on your neck like a dog collar. He owns you—entirely and completely, as much as you loathe to admit it. It’s already been a year and a half. Your spirit has begun to wear down. You have come close to accepting your fate. The same monotonous routine. Again and again. Being forced into a role you never wanted to play. Pretending like you actually care about the twins, which, truthfully, there’s a little part of you that does but a part of you resents them. Resents them for bringing this man into your life. Resents them for being the ones to suggest any of this at all.

Yet, a part of you can’t wholly fault them, either. They have been caught up in all of this mess. While they understand the kind of man Geto is…

No.

You have every right to be as resentful toward the girls as you are toward Geto and Gojo.

The tears dropping to your palms catch you by surprise.

And you’re sniffling. Loudly.

“Haven’t you done enough?” you whimper, and you don’t know what’s come over you but you can’t fight it anymore. You can’t hold back the sheer resentment and hatred. Your body trembles, your vision blurring as more tears stream down your cheeks. So much for acceptance, huh? “Or does finding other ways to make me loathe you more get your dick hard?”

Geto’s eyebrows raise at that, and you’re shocked that it’s not anger you see in his eyes but pain. Exhaustion. “Mamma…”

“Don’t call me that,” you sneer through a sob, shooting him a glare with a fury you have kept buried in you for so long you’re impressed you’re still managing an even tone. “I don’t understand why you don’t just off me like any other non-sorcerer. I’d just be one less monkey for the world, wouldn’t I?”

“That’s not true,” he replies, his expression crestfallen. “You’re damn worthy of everything I have to offer you. You know I don’t say things like that freely. You have the girls to thank for that. They helped me see how worthy you are.”

To hell with the girls, you so dearly wish to say but that’s a line you know you shouldn’t cross with Geto unless you really are asking for something.

“Do what you must to me,” you finally reply, “No matter what you do—punish me, whatever the hell it is you choose to—it won’t change anything. Ever. I loathe you. I loathe you and I loathe Satoru.”

“Mamma,” he murmurs, inching closer to you and resting a hand on the small of your back—but the way he touches you feels less like a warning and more like he’s attempting to console you instead and you can’t decide which is worse in that moment. Like what he does to you, what he has done to you, and what he will continue to do to you means nothing and that all you’re doing is overreacting. He rubs soothing circles into your back, and you bite the inside of your cheek. You can’t believe the audacity of this man.

“I won’t punish you,” he starts in an authoritative tone, much like he uses with the twins. “There’s no point to that anymore. Besides, it’s proved ineffective in the past if my goal is to make you feel like you’re part of our family.”

“I will never be a part of the family,” you shout, but the sob that comes out of your mouth makes you feel pathetic. More tears streaming down your face uncontrollably and you’re surprised how much comes out. How long have you been holding it? How has it taken you this long to release it?

Instead of scolding you, or being the condescending prick he usually is, his hands reach up to cup your face, brushing away the tears streaming from the corners of your eyes. He leans in and presses a kiss to the bridge of your nose, frowning as he allows you to finally fucking crash out on him like you’ve wanted but you know this is ultimately going to solve nothing. He’s selfish; he won’t set you free. You’re everything he wants (apparently), and the girls adore you. Satoru adores you.

But it feels damning. It feels like a sentence worse than eternity in Hell. Every time you have tried to attempt at hurting yourself, something forbids you. You don’t know what it is, but you know Geto and the girls must have done something. With whatever they’re capable of doing as sorcerers. You can’t kill yourself. You can’t harm yourself. Every time you try you fail and due to forces you can’t see yourself.

“I still don’t want you to be afraid of me,” he whispers to you, and you break down into more sobs. You’re more than afraid of him. You loathe him—doesn’t he fucking see that?

“There’s nothing you can do to change that now,” you reply in a snippy tone. “Like I said, Suguru, do what you must. It won’t change my feelings. Nothing you do ever will. It must suck for you, huh? Living with someone who can’t even stand to look at you let alone breathe the same air as you, and it’s from a part of a subspecies you hate. Must really piss you off.”

“Not quite,” he answers flippantly, his expression hardening. “But I am disappointed. All I want is to be let in your world, Mamma, because I’ve already let you in mine. And there’s no way out for you now. I’m going to help you make the best of it.”

“Burn in Hell,” you quip, scrunching your nose before swatting his hands away from your face. He looks at you with wide eyes before he fully retracts his hands.

“I’m sorry, Mamma. I’m not letting you get off that easily,” he says, “But fine. Get some rest. Perhaps you’ll be all calmed down in the morning and we can have a civil discussion about our future together.”

“But if it eases some of your pain, Satoru doesn’t have to come near you like that anymore,” he decides, hoping that would gauge a more favorable reaction out of you. It does. A little bit. “I know you haven’t been fond of that as of late.”

“Fine,” you reply, folding your arms over your chest with a stubborn little pout for good measure. “Keep your fucking promise about that and then we’ll see.”

Jackpot. Don’t you dare give anything away. Don’t smirk or smile, nothing. That gets you out of something, at the very least. No more punishments. No more Satoru. That just means you have much more wiggle room.

Men really can be easy, can’t they?

Geto treats you to another date at a park. Unaccompanied by the girls this time around (otherwise it won’t be a date, he jokes)—likely in an effort to see how well you’re going to receive spending the rest of your life with him in a nightmare as hellish as this. It doesn’t matter what he does. It doesn’t matter what he changes. You aren’t in love with him. Not even a little bit. Not even a hint of Stockholm Syndrome because that’s just not who the fuck you are. You refuse to allow your resolve to crumble like paper; you’re made of fucking titanium and the fact that you’ve gone on this long without crashing out is a fucking miracle.

His hand is tightly wrapped around yours, and you can’t help but marvel at how much larger he is all around compared to you. His hand makes yours feel puny in his like a child’s, and he stands tall like a majestic Greek statue replica of a God. You can admire someone’s objective beauty without being attracted to them, and Geto’s the definition of an ethereal beauty. You have noticed the stares. He’s popular in the area; everyone knows about that wacky cult leader who performs exorcisms at his temple for those who believe they have been by spirits. Little do they know their suspicions are correct and they aren’t the crazy ones, but to the general public, it obviously sounds fucking insane.

But the more you pick up on curse spirits, the more you realize how much of humanity has been the cause of their own suffering. You have overheard Gojo and Geto discuss how spirits are born from negative human emotions, and when you think about the history of all of the supernatural folklore you’ve consumed in your youth, you can’t say you’re surprised. Most monsters are human, or human-born, and Geto is an example of that fact: born from normal humans but became a monster due to negative human experiences. Gojo on the other hand is seemingly attempting to take a more noble approach but there’s nothing about that guy that screams ‘noble.’ He’s as wicked and vile as Geto, but perhaps in more specific settings.

You glance at your surroundings. It’s a clear sky. You hear various species’ of birds chirping and while in the early mornings it grinds your gears at this moment it feels tranquil and peaceful. Even if you are with an absolute psychopath keeping close to you like a shadow. Everyone’s out enjoying their simple lives; you even catch a few happy, carefree couples like the day Geto spirited you away from the bakery. Something tugs at your heartstrings at the sight.

Even if you do get out of his hands, are you ever going to have a normal life? Are you ever going to find a peaceful, safe love, like these couples seem to? They seem like they’re glowing and perhaps that’s in part due to the glow of the sun’s rays bathing their skin. It all seems so unfair that your chances at anything normal might be done for the count. All because you have caught the eye of two greedy sorcerers who think they rule the damn universe.

They may as well be, if what they say is true: that they’re the strongest of the strong. Nothing can stop them. The only people who can stop each other, is well, each other. And neither of them want to destroy the other for the sake of stupid sorcerer vs human politics.

Geto calls your name, and you don’t realize you stopped in the middle of the stone bridge.

“Did you want to stay and enjoy the view here?” Geto inquires with a hum, shifting to wrap his arms around your stomach. You rest your hands over the rail and look out, smiling a little as you can see little schools of fishes in the small pond below. You sigh in delight as a refreshing gust of wind rushes past you both; the ends of Geto’s mane tickling your neck a little.

“I guess I had been lost in thought,” you admit shyly, not protesting as Geto pulls you in closer until your the back of your head rested against his chest. He rests his chin on the crown of your head, looking ahead to the distance with you. “Is it true, that only Gojo can kill you if it ever came down to it?”

“That is a matter that doesn’t concern you,” he mumbles, “But it is getting more complicated for him to see us.”

“Do you miss him?” you ask, rolling your eyes upward.

“Of course I do,” he says, lowering his voice a little. “But I have you here now. I’m not all that lonely anymore.”

Even if I can never love you back? Because the difference between Gojo and I is that he loves you, you think to yourself, biting back a groan in annoyance as Geto tightens his grip around your waist, fiddling with the hem of your pants absently like he wants to avoid this subject. Maybe Gojo’s absence really is affecting him.

“You know, maybe you should go after him,” you offer, “He might need to be the one to be chased, sometimes, you know?”

What the hell are you doing?

Not even you know.

But you don’’t think you’re crossing a line if you’re trying to console Geto in this case, and it’s all between you and him, right? You’re trying to push them in the right direction. Whatever the hell that means for them. As long as it gets them to shove you all the way out because you still don’t fully understand your purpose or your role.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he mutters after a period of reflection. “I think I’ll try that this time. I expect you to be on your best behavior if I’m gone for a while.”

“I don’t think you can expect anything less.” You can’t go anywhere. Not yet, anyway. But you’re going to find a way out of there.

You prefer without the ‘die trying’ part. You want to have some life left in you when you finally escape.

“I’m growing bored,” Geto announces while tugging you along across the bridge. “Come on. Let’s stroll around for a bit longer and then we can grab dinner anywhere around Takeshita Street.”

With a reluctant pout you allow him to tow you in wherever direction.

“Mom!” Mimiko calls out to you while approaching you with a little skip to her step. After the park date, Geto excuses himself to follow through on your suggestion under the guise of some matters he has to handle outside his business. He comes up with some elaborate yet believable lie, but now you’re left to cater to the twins in his absence while Miguel and some of his other nameless goons keep an eye on you.

You greet her with the most plastic smile you can.

“What is it, love?”

“How was your date with Mr. Geto?” she asks eagerly. Then Nanako steps in, shoving past her.

“Yeah! Did he get all romantic and everything?” she asks while clasping her hands together.

“Are you falling in love with Mr. Geto, Mom?”

“Girls, girls!” You sound like a kindergarten teacher calming a group of rowdy children as you raise your hands up in surrender. “Geto has been wonderful, no doubt.” What a fucking lie. “But everything is going to take some time to develop.”

“But you are staying, right?” Mimiko asks with hopeful eyes.

No.

“Of course,” you reply in a more robotic tone that they don’t point out much to your relief.

The girls beam at each other before turning to you again.

“We just want you to be happy too, Mom!” Nanako says, “And we don’t want you to be sad!”

Such fucking lies.

You can feel Miguel observing the scene unfold from the sidelines, his arms folded over his large, chiseled torso and you can’t make out his expression. He tends to maintain a neutral facade perhaps to protect himself.

As Nanako and Mimiko talk amongst themselves, you retire to sit on one of the couches. The thuds of heavy footfalls approach you, and you glance up to meet Miguel’s unreadable face.

“Hello,” you greet, your lips a bit pursed.

“So, got room to breathe did ya?”

You shrug. “Whatever that means for Geto, yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, and you quirk an eyebrow…for what? You have a feeling for what, they don’t think you belong here. Not for the reasons you at first suspect which is they all share disdain toward non-sorcerers. But because he pities your situation much like Suda does.

“Don’t have to be,” you reply, offering a small smile.

Miguel takes out your hand and rests a tiny, folded slip of paper onto your palm.

“I’ll escort you to your room now.”

“Thank you,” you respond, clenching your fist with the paper in it.

When he does, he speaks up again just outside the bedroom door.

“Your insignia,” he gestures to the pendant on the gold chain around your neck. “I added a little something extra for your sake.”

“Hm?” You tilt your head as your eyebrows knit together.

You unfold the paper and reveal the message.

It’s some kind of incantation along with instructions.

“Memorize it now. I have to burn the evidence,” Miguel instructs you. You nod, ingraining it all to your memory the best that you can. “While Satoru Gojo might be a little more difficult to escape, you’ll have no problem getting out of Gsto’s radar.”

Your brain short circuits for a moment.

…Hold the fucking phone.

“You know?” you gasp.

“Yeah,” he almost snickers, “Everyone and their mother here does. Those guys really think they have everyone fooled but no one is that dumb.”

“Apparently so,” you reply with a snort.

“Hang in there. I love Geto like a brother, but these matters aren’t your concern. You’ve just been dragged in for some unfortunate reason,” he goes on, adjusting his collar with a little grunt. “And I don’t know. I guess I just can’t let myself live with that. Neither can Miss Suda. Just remember, it’s between us.”

Miguel swipes the paper back and burns it to a crisp with a flick of his fingers. Your eyes widen. That is just like when Geto killed those innocent victims.

“Thank you,” you tell him, “So why did you choose to work for him?”

He shrugs as he brushes past you.

“I guess I just get where he’s coming from,” he answers, “He’s not all wacky, you know?”

“I very much disagree,” you counter with a frown.

Miguel laughs heartedly at that. “Can’t blame you one bit, Miss …. We’re not here claiming to be right or good, you know? We’re sorcerers, not saints. No matter which side we fight on.”

You bite your bottom lip.

“What more can you tell me about this world?”

It doesn’t look like Geto will return for a bit. Might as well take advantage of his absence while he fights for whatever it is he believes in between he and Gojo.

Miguel finally fills you in on some details Geto conveniently leaves you in the dark about.

It is in the dead of night when your sleep is interrupted by some rustling beside you. Geto curls an arm around you and kisses into your shoulder.

“Miss me?” he whispers with a little chuckle. Yeah. Sure, sure whatever he wants to believe, you fucking guess.

You hold your tongue, always knowing better than to speak your real truth—not unless you want things to go south for you all over again and you can’t afford another failure.

You scrunch your nose, adjusting yourself a little in your side of the bed, the mattress squeaking a bit as you move. “Mmhm-mm. How did things go with Satoru?”

“Wonderful,” he breathes, you can hear his smile, you don’t have to go searching for it in the blackness of the room. “Thanks to you and your brilliance, Mamma. Thank you.”

“Good,” you reply through a loud yawn, once again shifting in your spot and trying to get comfortable. “Get some sleep, darling. I’m glad I could do something for you.”

Laying it on so fucking thick.

“Satoru is coming by tomorrow,” he tells you, and you make a sound before you could stop yourself.

Fear shoots through your veins like an injection.

“But—!”

“—worry not,” he interjects, stealing another kiss on the corner of your lips, and then your jaw. “I won’t let him touch you. Not unless you’re okay with it. I’m a man of my word, Mamma.”

You find that very hard to believe.

“Okay,” you whimper, not protesting as he pulls you in close, practically spooning you and your breath hitches when his pelvis grinds into your ass.

“Suguru, darling,” you whisper, hiding your face into your pillow. You know a tear has slipped from your cheek. A real one. You’re so tired, and not just from the day. “Rest.”

“Okay,” he replies, nuzzling his nose into your neck, keeping you caged around his body.

You feel like you might suffocate in his hold but you just remind yourself that it might very well be almost over. Miguel is there. Suda is there.

You’re going to be okay.

Needless to say, Gojo doesn’t take well to the change in the arrangement. You can’t remember the last time Gojo came for a visit so naturally he’s going to be furious at the idea of not getting his end of the deal. He ultimately won’t deny anything Geto tells him to, you have taken notice to that very early on.

Geto lets him down easy, but even then—

“—What the fuck do you mean I can’t do anything today?”

“She’s not feeling it,” Geto retorts, casting a judging glare at Gojo. “Simple as that.”

Gojo casts a curious glance at you, fuming like a petulant toddler.

“Can we still snuggle, Princess? I swear I’ll keep my hands in modest places,” he begs, stepping toward you.

You’re sprawled on the couch, and dragging out a defeated sigh, you gesture for him to come with a wave of both of your hands. Gojo beams and squeals in glee like a child who just hit the jackpot at an arcade and swoops into your arms, burying his face between your breasts.

“Missed you,” he mumbles into your clothes with a pleased sigh, rubbing his face harder between your busty mounds. “Fuck, I’m in Heaven.”

So much for keeping his hands in modest places… they never truly follow through ok their word and you have come to accept that. It doesn’t mean it still doesn’t fucking piss you the fuck off.

You sneak a curious glance at Geto, who doesn’t seem pleased by Gojo in that moment. Oh so maybe he does actually want to show you a little grace for once? What a fucking refreshing change of pace!

Yet you doubt it’s going to last. Geto can only hang on for so long. His resolve crumbles so easily.

“Don’t touch, Satoru,” Suguru chides. This time his tone sounds a little different, like he’s playing a different tune. You sense a little note of jealousy. You aren’t sure if your ears are fooling you. Yes, Suguru believes he’s in love with you, but these feelings for you can’t possibly be real. “I expect you to follow orders.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Gojo waves him off. His eyes roll up with a little sparkle to them. It’s here where you realize just how snow white his lashes are up close. It’s such a beautiful contrast, and such beauty is wasted on a man as pathetic as him.

Suguru joins the two of you on the couch, casting a sideways glance at Satoru burying his head between your boobs. You can catch that little flash of green from envy, like he fears Satoru may take advantage of you.

Why does he care so much all of a sudden? You feel your head winding like a spinning top—what the hell has changed all of a sudden? Nothing adds up. You’re adding two plus two and somehow coming out with five.

Then you remember what Geto brought up before. Realization dawns on you and your stomach sinks like the goddamn Titanic.

Is he serious about marrying you should things go to shit between he and Satoru because of that war?

When Miguel filled you in on the details you knew so little about, it still doesn’t make much sense to you, and nobody honestly expects you to understand anything. It’s a whole new world for you. Try as you truly might and even you have to accept the fact that indeed, this is not something you are meant to understand and maybe you just don’t have to. All the more reason why you have no reason to be here, in a world where nothing makes sense and you’re caught in a loop of being their favorite pet to torture.

“So what the hell are we doing then? If I can’t touch, Suguru?” he asks with a little indignant huff, snaking his arms around your waist and clinging tight. “Not sexually, I mean.”

As if this isn’t that, either?

“I’m still here, Satoru,” Suguru answers with a little smolder that makes you want to vomit. Satoru’s head snaps up and he grins wide.

“Of course I can’t say no to that!” Gojo says gleefully, his eyes practically lighting up at the prospect.

You wish you can breathe out in relief but you know that might raise questions. And you have no mood to be interrogated by the most infuriating duo. But Satoru settles onto Suguru’s lap instead, peppering slobbery kisses all over his face. Suguru cast a curious glance at you, hoping to see some kind of positive reaction that you won’t give him the satisfaction of giving because no one should be rewarded for basic decency. You turn away, hugging your knees to your chest.

As long as neither of them have to touch you today. Then you’re fine with whatever happens.

You just don’t want to be touched, for once.

“There was never us ruling out that she could be in charge of you today, Satoru,” you hear Suguru suggest and this time you twist your head over your shoulder, your mouth agape as you assess his expression for any catch to the idea.

“If it means I can feel her, then that’s a fantastic idea,” Satoru purrs with a wraggling of his eyebrows.

You definitely feel some bile threatening to spew out of your mouth. Fucking sickis. Fucking psychopaths. Fucking…dinguses! Morons! Nightmares! FUCKERS! YOU HATE FHEM WITH EVERYTHING IN YOUR HEART!

But you have to admit, Suguru’s idea does pique your interest a little.

“What am I allowed to do, Suguru?” you inquire with that same innocent tone, hoping your voice isn’t betraying you.

Suguru locks his arms around Satoru’s hips, humming in thought.

“Well, Satoru does have this little fantasy of getting pegged while he sucks me off…”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing.

“Are you okay with that, Suguru?” you ask in a syrupy sweet tone as you inch toward him, brushing your lips against his ear in a tantalizing, delicious way. You see his breath hitch in his throat and you can’t help yourself, your lips twitching upward in a smirk. “I’m happy to do that, if it makes you happy, Suguru.”

“I’m only happy if you’re comfortable doing so. But Satoru doesn’t get to touch you. That’s the rule now,” he whispers seductively, stealing a kiss on your lips. His hands sneak up Satoru’s thighs and Satoru gasps, instinctively spreading himself against Suguru’s lap.

Suguru cups Satoru’s cock roughly through his slacks and Satoru inhales through his nose sharply, inching toward the touch.

“Satoru, relax,” he chuckles, slipping his lover’s cock out and cuffing his tip roughly with one of his hands as the other pumps his shaft. “I barely even started.”

You snake an arm around Geto’s neck, scooting closer. He flashes you a little smirk.

“Can’t—haaa—help it, missed you,” he whimpers while his hands fly up to Geto’s chest, pinching his nipples through his robe.

“Undress me, my love,” he instructs you and you nod, sliding off the robe and he adjusts himself to make the process a bit easier. Gojo whines again, latching his lips onto one of Geto’s pecs and lavishing it with his tongue while Geto continues to fondle his cock. It’s already strained and stiff and leaking and Gojo is squirming in his spot, rendered utterly helpless at the slightest touch.

“Suguru?” you beckon for further instruction, trailing your fingers down one of his arms. He lets out a dreamy little sound, pleased by your touch, by your cooperation more so.

“Just follow my lead, my love.” He’s been calling you that more than ‘little dove,’ which is an improvement but not ideal to say the very least about the shift. “He can’t touch you, but you can touch him. Do you understand?”

So, there’s the catch. Of fucking course it’s never that fucking easy.

You nod. His mischievous smile widens.

“Good. Go to the storage unit and pick your poison. Grab the lube and choose a large one to peg him with. He needs something my size or bigger to satisfy that slutty hole of his.”

He emphasizes that statement with a firm fisting of his shaft and Gojo squirms in his hold again, whining.

“Suguru…! Haaa…! Please! Want Princess to fuck me!”

“Patience,” he chides with a sharp swat on one of Satoru’s thighs, making him keen and arch his back into Geto’s body.

“Want her to fuck my brains out,” he babbles on as you gather the strap-on, lube, and eyeballing the sizes. You choose one of the far girthier ones. You furrow your brows as you adjust the strap on and return with the bottle of lube in hand. While you have gathered the items Suguru has yanked Satoru’s pants off and adjusted him so it was just him on the couch. He keeps his legs spread wide and you hand the bottle of lube to Geto.

“I can take care of the prep and I’ll talk you through it, my love. You haven’t done any of this before?”

You shake your head. Of course you haven’t. This is all foreign territory to you but the idea you can control what happens to a certain degree in this is kind of appetizing and you shouldn’t feel that way because you know it’s all part of some grander scheme up Geto’s sleeve. He wants you to want him. He wants you to return his feelings no matter what he tells you otherwise. He is trying to appeal to you.

Don’t fall for it, you remind yourself. Don’t fucking fall for it. It’s all a fucking game.

Suguru grabs Gojo’s face, fingers digging into his cheeks, and guides him to his cock. Gojo opens up without protest, groaning in delight and arousal the moment Geto’s cock fully settles in his mouth. Slobber dribbles messily down Gojo’s chin as he bobs his head back and forth on his lover’s huge, hard cock. Moaning and groaning like it’s an honor to please him.

All the while Geto’s dextrous, slicked up fingers work him open with his other hand still pumping Gojo’s shaft.

You’re awestruck at the sight in the worst way, yet you can’t tear your eyes away. Just like they go at it like rabid animals with you, they go at it like rabid, insatiable animals with each other. Geto maintains a stellar pokerface while making Gojo deepthroat him and you’re certain you’re appalled yet you can’t deny the arousal pooling in your groin. 

You’re sick of your own perfectly natural physiological reactions. Maybe you’re getting off to the fact that you can actually take something back. The lewd squelching noises and the slicht! Slicht! Slitch! from Geto fisting Gojo’s cock is overstimulating and Gojo shouts when he splatters his own seed all across his abdomen and torso. Geto just laughs with vigor as Gojo pants from the high, muffled through Geto’s cock constantly hitting the back of his throat mercilessly.

Geto’s piercing violet gaze fixes on you as he curls his finger in a ‘come hither’ motion, and you cautiously approach him. He grasps the toy you chose that you attached to the strap on and lines it up to Gojo’s stretched entrance. He coos little sweet nothings to you as he assists you in sinking it inside, making Gojo thrash about but Geto commands him to hold fucking still.

“Just thrust your hips like that, my love. There you go, find a rhythm that works for you and makes him feel good,” he talks you through it like he promises, purring as he grabs a fistful of Gojo’s hair and controls the pace in which he fucks his mouth while you fuck into Gojo’s ass.

“Swallow me, Satoru,” Geto grunts a command and Gojo moans as he does as he’s told. He yanks Gojo’s mouth off of his dick and Gojo parts with kissing the tip of it before his voice breaks into more broken moans as you pick up a kind of moderate pace once you get the hang of it. Geto continues to coach you and guide you, admiring the view of the ridged girthy toy disappearing into Gojo’s hole.

“Fuuuuck, Princess, you’re such a fucking natural. Don’t stop!” Gojo babbles as a line of drool dribbles down his chin. Geto chuckles, remaining behind you and rubbing your shoulders as beads of sweat drops from your forehead and slides across one of your brows. Gojo’s praises and Geto’s words of encouragement do make you feel a type of way. You feel a sense of empowerment you haven’t felt in a long time. Watching Gojo grip the edge of the cushion he’s seated on trying to maintain some semblance of composure but he’s writhing and keening and all because of you and it’s riveting. Truly riveting and you can’t believe it.

“Ah—fuck—gonna—haaaaa—come, Princess! Fuck!” He shouts as Geto instructs you to watch his hole clench around the toy and his pathetic cock twitch as more seed splatters on his stomach again.

“You did so well, my love,” Geto gushes as he helps you pull out the toy and yanks it off of you. Gojo’s panting heavily, whimpering again.

“Don’t want to stop,” he begs, pouting, “Please please please let her fuck me again!”

Geto eyeballs you and you shake your head. While you kind of do, that took a lot out of you.

“Go easy on her, Satoru,” he purrs, “That was her first time doing something like that. And isn’t she a natural?”

His hand rests on the small of your back. You ignore the shot of cold crawling up and down your spine. You can’t show you still fear him yet you do. You do fear him and that’s exactly what he’s trying so hard not to make you feel around him.

But you mean what you said before—nothing’s ever going to change. Not for as long as your heart is still beating life into your body, are you ever going to feel anything other than fear and resentment for either he and Satoru. These men are a plague to you—parasites that have made a home out of tormenting you under the guise of affection.

“Want moooorrree, Suguru…” he drawls, sticking his tongue past his lips while clawing his hands at the air. “So good.”

“Looks like you broke him,” Geto murmurs in an amused tone into your ear, expecting a little giggle out of you at least but all you do is glance up at him with bewildered eyes. His expression falters. Of course you don’t fall for the schemes he pulls. “I got it from here. You rest now. You did so good.”

He presses a tender kiss to the bridge of your nose, and then your lips. When he pulls away, he has a soft look on his face. In another world it might have knocked the wind out of your lungs in the best way.

But this is not that world, you remind yourself. This world is still your personal Hell.

[suzukiblu]

A/B/O Omega Kon Alpha Darcy Lewis

Darcy thinks maybe her new intern is a slut. Like–a big one. Big ol’ slut. 

Both metaphorically and literally, since he's 6’3” of Kansas beefcake and maybe the literal only human being alive who has a build remotely comparable to Thor's. 

So like, a billion steroids or secretly an alien, Darcy’s assuming. Or maybe somebody’s very sexy sexbot because if this omega was built to spec to look like this there is no way he is not a sexbot. Only the thirstiest motherfucker alive would design that face and those thighs and those pecs. 

Darcy has very nice tits. Like, upper-echelon level ones, frankly, which she is not too modest to pretend otherwise about. This omega, however, has pecs that cannot be contained by any T-shirt or farmboy flannel, much less any respectable button-up or lab coat, plus abs that can’t be contained by any of those either and an ass that somebody could bounce a quarter off. No matter how technically professionally he’s dressed, this omega looks like he’s starring in the first five minutes of a porno about a naughty lab assistant. Even his stupid glasses look like the cheapo fake ones that the naughty lab assistant only ever wears to get come spattered all over them. 

So like, that's been constantly haunting her and also making her feel like one of the creeps who only hires interns they wanna fuck. 

Darcy swears that she did not actually see Conner Kent in person before she hired him. She didn’t even see his face; they did a phone interview because the internet at his parents’ farm is apparently too spotty for Zoom. When he actually showed up she'd assumed he was a prank from the engineering department and actually a stripper or something. 

In her defense, literally any pair of pants that Conner Kent wears just looks like tearaway pants, alright? Just he wears every pair of pants like he could rip them straight off at a moment’s notice. It is frankly a problem. There are so, so many people finding thinly-veiled excuses to swing by her lab and ogle the dude while he’s just doing normal labwork while being too damn hot for any human being to actually be expected to be, especially in a lab environment, and he has definitely fucked his way through a good eighty percent of said oglers already, more than once during work hours. 

Whatever, it was always over his lunch break and he’s always polite enough to use the decon shower to get the sex pheromones off after, so Darcy’s not gonna judge. Be incredibly jealous of whoever’s pheromones he’s washing off, maybe, but not judge. 

And in fine “inherited from Jane Foster” tradition, the guy’s not even a science major and is only here for the college credits. He’s actually an art major, in fact, which is presumably why he keeps doodling weird designs in the margins of all her paperwork and leaving bafflingly perfect mini-sculptures around the lab. Darcy does not even know how he makes sculptures that good so quick. She has literally never even seen him with any sculpting tools or anything, but definitely she has seen all the tiny farm animals and superheroes and tropical flowers he keeps leaving all over the place. 

So like, her shiny new intern is a super-hot omega the size of an Asgardian warrior who cannot say a single sentence without it coming out flirty, but also likes to make cute little clay flowers and brings in something unfairly delicious that his blue-ribbon baker mom made to share at least twice a week, and also is just way too genuine and sincere and open as a person and even more ‘also’ will roll with literally any weird or insane thing that she says and then “yes, and?” her. 

Darcy really, really swears that she did not deliberately hire an intern she wants to fuck. She swears. 

Conner Kent, on the other hand, did not button his button-up all the way today on account of how his pecs are just shy of busting out of it as it is, and she is despairing over all the opinions that her knot has about the sight of both his cleavage and his bare and noticeably unbitten throat. 

Why couldn’t this stupid gorgeous farmboy wear a turtleneck just one day? It’s fall! Fall is perfect turtleneck weather! Or like he could wear one of those heavy cable-knit sweater dresses or something, maybe, and then look like the sexiest thing she’s ever wanted to cuddlefuck, which is not even a word, and oh god why is she like this. Why. Whyyyyy. 

Why. 

She is going to Hell, Darcy is very much certain. Like, whatever circle of it that creeps who wanna fuck their interns go to, that’s gonna be her eternal return address. 

“Shit, lost another stupid button,” Conner grumbles, making a face down at his shirt as he hooks a finger into the collar of it and tugs. “Oh, hey, boss, meant to ask, you want the huckleberry cheesecake or the orange creamsicle cake, or do you just wanna split ‘em?” 

. . . never mind, she’s already in Hell, Darcy notes. 

“Your mom is absolutely terrifying,” she says frankly. “How does any one beta bake this much?” 

“I mean, we kinda do it together, usually,” Conner replies with a shrug, leaning forward across his desk to pop open the same dessert tupperware he always brings and offer her one of the plastic forks inside. Darcy heroically does not check out his cleavage or actively salivate over his naked neck or go absolutely rabid over the knowledge that he apparently also bakes. “Actually I made the creamsicle cake solo, Ma had book club this week.” 

Darcy stares blankly at him, then takes the fork, stabs up a forkful of the orange creamsicle cake, and sticks it in her mouth. 

“Nrgaeggh,” she says. Conner blinks at her, looking puzzled. 

“Did I use too much sugar again?” he asks. 

“Nrgaeggh,” Darcy says, and anyway that’s how she follows another fine “inherited from Jane Foster” tradition and fucks the beefcake alien omega. In her defense, she didn’t really think Conner was an alien until he accidentally made all the lab equipment float when he sat down on her knot, and like what is she, a xenophobe or something? Priorities, dammit. Obviously. 

Though they do admittedly lose some of the glassware because of the weird alien telekinesis, but whatever. Again: priorities. 

Darcy also learns that yes, in fact, Conner Kent is in fact the biggest and most enthusiastic slut that she has ever met in her life, and she is so going to give that fact all the appreciation it so rightly deserves. And him. Also him. Definitely, definitely also him. 

“Damn, I shoulda made that cake weeks ago, boss,” Conner pants as he grins cockily down at her, his face all flushed and smug and his thighs very Thighs(tm) and his stupid button-up shirt even less buttoned-up than before. Darcy is starting to suspect that Conner might actually be buying his shirts a size small on purpose. Like, that is definitely a thing that she is starting to suspect about him. 

Well, then it’s probably really tight on him, isn’t it, and she should help him out of it. 

Like she said: priorities. 

[alexafaie-asd]

I finished university in the UK in 2008. I had studied archaeology.

Thing about archaeology in the UK is that the paid work only happens as a result of developments going on. Building projects no longer happening? Then you don't need to pay for an archaeological unit to survey your site to determine if there's anything of historical significance to avoid or investigate before work can start (or if it can ever start).

So its a bit of a canary in the coalmine of jobs because you get those jobs months/years before they'd actually be breaking ground on their building project anyway. It all happens in the planning stages. So like there were practically zero new jobs showing up for new archaeologists. Didn't have a 1st degree, just a 2:1 (second best)? You didn't get one of those very few jobs.

So ok, you go look for a regular mundane job. Just anything, doesn't need to relate to your expertise. Just anything. Except there was one point when I was at the job centre doing my mandatory search of their database for a suitable part time job (I was new to working & would've struggled to do full time) and there were 3 job listings for the whole city. Not sorted into categories, so maybe I was being too specific just 3 total. One of which required a HGV license and you can't get that until having had a regular license for years and I didn't even have a provisional licence. I had to show the person I was seeing that there weren't enough jobs to apply to because you were expected to apply to a certain number to keep getting jobseekers allowance. I tried applying elsewhere but nowhere was hiring.

We're talking a largish city too. One which is well known enough that if I mentioned it by name, Americans will likely have heard of it. Even saying that likely narrows it down lol. But like the job advisor was trying to get me to apply to the job that needed the HGV license (even though they knew I couldn't drive) saying desperately "well maybe they'll make an exception" and I'm like sure, maybe they will let me drive a heavy goods vehicle with zero driving experience of any kind.... are they hiring here? I'm sure I could give better advice than that.

And funnily enough a year later they *were* hiring for more jobseeker advisors because there were so many people out of work looking for jobs they were shortstaffed! So you could get a job just to tell lots of other people that there are no jobs other than trying to help people find jobs! It was quite frankly madness.

The "um but the economy actually *isn't* that good" argument is a prime example of what the fuck is wrong - people are deliberately ignoring the majority of the facts to focus on one element and act like that completely negates the rest.

[innerfare]

Crocodile Fluff // Angst Compilation 

Summary: A compilation of Crocodile angst and fluff from my multi character posts (You're Wounded, Type of Date, Nightmares, I Love You, Kisses, Cuddling, You're Sick).

Genre: Fluff // Angst

CW: None // SFW

———

You’re Wounded: 

Lectures you on your fighting form, tears into you for taking any unnecessary risks, gets on your case about not seeking medical attention fast enough. Tells you to get some rest, sits at your bed side until you’re better, claims he’s not there for you and is just resting his own eyes. 

Type of Date: 

Dinner and a show. The dinner will be textbook fine dining, with multiple courses and drinks; he orders for you at the restaurant. And the show will be something a little racy, like cabaret. He’s an asshole about it, too, accepting transponder snail calls in the middle of dinner, his mind on work most of the time. And in the middle of the show, just as it gets to the good part, he’ll step outside to smoke a cigar. If it’s a date he’s a little more present on, he might take you to a casino and teach you how to gamble (i.e., how to cheat at cards). 

Nightmares: 

You betray him. Of course you do. He would betray you in an instant, and not even for a whole lot. A business deal, or perhaps the freedom of one of his more valuable people. From the look on your face, it’s not difficult for you, either. In fact, you seem to relish the pain on his as you inform him you’ve taken a deal with one of his enemies- a lucrative one, at that. And all you had to do was set him up. He wakes with a start, sitting up on the sofa in his office he often crashes on when he doesn’t feel like dragging himself to bed. You’re nowhere to be seen, and that’s what he needs for the next few days. He only stops giving you the cold shoulder when he figures out a way to approach the topic of betrayal without telling you how pathetically heartbroken he would be if you ever did turn on him. 

I Love You: 

He despises the word love, would never even utter it except to mock people who use it. He thinks it’s weak, thinks men who profess love are sniveling and pathetic, thus the reason he despises himself for feeling it. The emotion creeps up on him slowly but surely, and he beats it back and bottles it up for as long as he can, staying up late at night with a bottle of whiskey because laying in bed makes him think of you and your mischievous smile. Only when he is locked up in Impel Down does he finally, begrudgingly admit to himself that he feels deep affection for you, which he painfully admits to you one night after he breaks out, bracing himself for you to reject him, laugh at him, or spurn him in any way. When you tell him you feel the same way, he decides that is that and sees no reason to ever repeat it, your mutual and abiding affection one of his most closely-guarded secrets. 

Kisses: 

His kisses are hot and heavy with the expectation of something more. He’s rough about it, too, grabbing your face in his hand and squeezing your cheeks as he steers your lips onto his. He rarely kisses you outside of the bedroom. Doesn’t do sweet pecks on the lips, doesn’t kiss anything better. Although, on a few occasions (you can count them on one hand over the course of more than a decade), he has slipped into bed late at night and pressed a warm kiss onto your shoulder. It doesn’t sound like much, but by Crocodile’s standards, a kiss on the shoulder is a marriage proposal. Will also allow you to kiss anywhere on his body. 

Cuddling: 

Words like cuddling, snuggling, and love are completely off limits for this man, but he does enjoy you slipping into his bed and wrapping yourself around him, especially when it leads to you working the tension out of his muscles with your hands. He’ll even let you massage his aching stump. But all of this only ever happens with the cover of darkness. 

You’re Sick: 

If you’re expecting a caretaker, you should find someone else. That being said, he’ll make sure to hire a caretaker, taking great pains to secure the best doctor around (and putting that doctor in pain if they don’t drop everything to attend to your every need). He’ll probably sleep on the sofa in his office to give you space to recover. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[slay00ryu]

The Chaotic Duo.

A Ronin x Misaki fic

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Misaki was sitting on top of a building. Shotgun by their side, phone in their shaky hands.

<@hitmeupp>: Anyone wants to be my assassination support?

This was yet another time when they send a message like this to the server, they always did that when the target was either too dangerous or they had a very shitty day. This was the former, their clients hired her to kill a CEO of a big filming company who was also entangled with some shady mafia business. The amount of armed men around him was really getting on the poor assassin's nerves, they just wanted an easy kill, is it so much to ask for?

Well while they were cursing their client in their head, they heard a silent DING, someone dmed them!

<@goreboy>: heard you Needed some Support

<@goreboy>: what's up?

Well, that was unexpected.

Ronin usually doesn't text her when she sends a message like that, it's usually Angel who helps them. Maybe she sent Ronin because she's busy? Yeah, that's probably it.

"Dude oh my fucking God, I am dyinggg here. Like seriously, how guarded can a guy be?" They sent him a short voice message, if Angel really sent Ronin to the rescue then he wouldn't be surprised by the voice message, right?

<@goreboy>: heh seems Like the Best assassin in The Whole fucking japan is really Stressing over a small fry

<@goreboy>: who's The target btw?

"Oh shut the fuck up, I can get stressed!- oh shit he almost looked this way... oops" They send the message and then sent another one. "Some guy who worked with the mafia, the money for him is high."

<@goreboy>: damnnn alr Then maybe shoot him Before He sees ya

<@goreboy>: we Don't wanna our Fav assassin dead

They chuckled at his respone.

"Awh stop or you'll make me blush while i'm killing someone." They said jokingly, Ronin could hear them loading their gun in the message.

<@goreboy>: maybe I'd like to See ya All blushy hm?

Misaki didn't see that message until after they left the rooftop, Ronin's message really did make them blush.

<@hitmeupp>: Oh stfu

<@hitmeupp>: He's dead

<@hitmeupp>: Thanks for the help

<@goreboy>: when You need help Call For the devil and He Will help You out

Ronin chuckled after he sent that reply.

Would he really help the assassin the next time they need help? Never say never, he could as well replace Angel and take some of her worries off of her shoulders, right? Also it's important to keep the server's members alive and out of jail.

Misaki in fact did use Ronin's help, texting him directly to help her out and he was there every time. His replies were different from Angel's, well that was to be expected, they are two different people with very different personalities.

Ronin was encouraging them more in the devilish style, he was flirting with them to keep their mind off of the nerves, made jokes about the target and fed Misaki's ego about them being THE assassin.

<@goreboy>: hey Wanna Call?

<@goreboy>: i'm Bored

Misaki was surprised to receive this DM, Ronin wants to talk, and he wants to do this only with them. Weird? Maybe a little. But he could consider Misaki's interest piqued.

<@hitmeupp>: Ofc babes

Immediately after sending that on their screen was a pop up.

@goreboy is calling.

They picked up without a second thought.

Normally Misaki wouldn't show anyone their living arrangements, but only did they know Ronin for two whole years, he also was pretty open about being in possession of their IP address which meant that he knew where and how they live.

"Hey, hey. What does the big devil want from little me?" Misaki asked once the call connected.

"Not much, jus' bored, and you're quite good at amusing me." Ronin replied with a confident smirk glued to his voice.

"Woah, am I your clown now?" They asked with a fake hurt in their voice.

"More like my personal chaos maker." He was obviously flirting with them, and Misaki wasn't going to let him have his fun alone.

"Maybe we could make chaos together then?" They joked, there was no chance for them to do it together in real life, even if Misaki wished that they could meet up... Wait, what?

"About that." Ronin's voice cut through Misaki's thoughts. "I just happened to get my hands on a plane ticket to Tokio, was wondering if you could be my guide." Ronin's words made Misaki's eyes widened.

"What!" They fell from their chair. "Ouch... wait, wait, wait! What do you mean you have a plane ticket? And to Japan?"

"Don't ask so many questions, you don't need to know." Of course Ronin wouldn't answer, he has to be a fucking mystery. A hot mystery who's really helpful...

"Yeah sure whatever, so you want me to be your guide?" They crossed their arms over their chest.

"Who's better to show me around than the best assassin the whole Japan ever saw?"

"Are you seriously feeding my ego just to get me to agree? Wow Ronin... Why does this actually work every time?" They whined. "Of course I will show you around." They smiled.

"Great, I'll be there next week."

"Wait, what-"

Aaand he hang up.

Yeah. very Ronin style.

"He's coming here? Oh fuck! Ronin IS coming here! Oh my god..." Misaki's voice was mix of stress and excitement.

They started to feel something for Ronin a while ago, but they didn't really know if it would work out. But with him showing up so randomly? Maybe it was a sign?

"Oh my god! Why does it make me so fucking excited?" They groaned and fell on their bed, their face buried in a pillow so they could scream their excitement out.

A week had passed without Misaki even noticing it.

They are standing near the airport exit with the most cheesy and cringey welcoming cardboard ever: "Here stands the devil's servant" written in English, with some edgy stickers all around the words.

It didn't take Ronin long to find them and he was barely keeping in his laughter when he approached Misaki.

"Damn, such a warm welcome. Makes me feel like royalty." He said with that cocky smirk of his.

"...Why are you even hotter in person?" Misaki asked bluntly.

"You're not too bad looking yourself, quite on the contrary, you look so much better in person." He said, Misaki didn't know if he was genuine or if it was just the regular teasing, but their poor heart still took the damage.

"Uh um, yeah! We need to get to your hotel!" They changed the subject, which was answered with Ronin's chuckle.

"Sure, lead the way darling."

The assassin couldn't say that their time with The Butcher was boring. It was anything BUT boring.

Not only did they spent some fun time at the local karaoke, ate some amazing food or did other fun activities. Ronin also made sure to do some illegal activities together, going around abandoned buildings, setting trashcans on fire, Misaki watching Ronin kill a guy, or Ronin waiting for Misaki after their assassination.

They had a good time together. And undoubtedly they grew closer. Close enough that Misaki stole Ronin's shirt from his hotel room and he let her do her thing.

"You're drowning in it." Ronin's voice came from behind Misaki who just put the t-shirt on.

"AH!" They yelled and turned around. "Man learn how to walk and make sound please?" They said and glared at him.

"Yeah, yeah. Anyway... You can keep it." He came closer to Misaki. "Suits you." He smirked.

Misaki's face turned red.

"Uh.. um... thanks?" They weren't sure how to interpret his words, but oh lord even without a proper interpretation their heart went crazy.

"Told you, you're my chaos maker." He whispered into their ear. "And we can just bring chaos to the world together."

Was that really the Devil's confession just now?

[cannibalisticskittles]

amity would not want to share memories in general, but if the tadpole connection let anyone see any memories of her when she was younger/before she started trying to be an adventurer -- when she mingled with other patriars, and tried to engage in high society -- amity would be mortified and extremely apologetic -- "sorry you had to see me like that, how awful!"

she wouldn't have that same feeling if the memory being shared is one where she's getting her ass kicked, even if it's one of the ones where she's REAL fucked up, bc yeah it's a bit embarrassing to be seen in that moment where she got stabbed in the gut AND had an arrow sticking out of her shoulder AND was nursing an incredibly broken nose, but if someone happens to see one of those, yeah, sure, whatever. no apologies for how she looks there.

on a purely superficial level, this is a little funny. because, to be clear, amity is a pretty girl. even now, when she's fucked up her hair with careless knife haircuts, and her skin isn't in the best condition (she uses her One Bar Of Soap for everything on the road, bc it's important to be clean, and it's efficient!) and she's dressed plainly and practically and is constantly dusty at a minimum, and bloodstained and ragged on a fairly regular basis.

so in those memories of her at court? she's radiant. she kept her hair long for years, and it was in much better condition before she started cutting it herself and washing it with The Same Fucking Bar Of Soap She Uses For Everything Else, and her curl pattern was still intact then. and she dressed the part of the only daughter of a nobleman; very fashionable, well-tailored gowns and garments. superficially, she looked gorgeous.

but of course, it isn't really about that. in her eyes it's all awful. everything from that time is. she has shame attached to all those attempts to be a part of high society. back then, she was just making a fool out of herself, trying to be seen as something other than what she was, for people who would always see through her. and whenever she thinks about how she looked then -- the time and effort involved in letting her hair be meticulously styled and braided and brushed out and outfitted and decorated, and sometimes feeling eager, hopeful even, to be involved, when she should have known better. should have known it would never end like she wanted.

she might not like how she looks now but she at least feels like she's doing something worthwhile -- trying to help people who need help. the act of fighting for someone is a noble pursuit and the trying was worth it, even if it didn't work out well for her in that moment.

[reverseblackholeofwords]

Also, unsurprisingly the new Woodkid song for s2 has rewritten my brain. Maybe not quiiiite as much as 'Guns for Hire' but it's still Very Nice.

I have some mixed feelings about Act 1, just because I also have such high expectations for the show now, but it does not disappoint, that's for sure.

Listen Arcane has my undying love for many many reasons but the fact that it has given me just so so many angry female characters who all express their rage in different and interesting and well-written ways? I am going to weep actual tears.

[miscellaneousrenaissant]

Thinking about how Chilchuck and Laios started adventuring at around the same relative time in their lives

There are a bunch of similarities to their backstories - leaving home at a young age (14, 12), starting careers in exploring dungeons as young adults (19, 22), developing a complex about the first monster that killed them (Mimics, Living Armor), getting scammed or taken advantage of by other adventurers (succubus-hunting party, gold-peelers) - that they give me "past and future" vibes

Chilchuck is the older mentor to the less-experienced Laios. He joined Laios' party when Laios had only been exploring the dungeon for a year, and Chilchuck regularly gives advice based on his own 10 years of experience in an effort to support Laios as leader. There are several occasions of Chilchuck either teaching or wishing Laios would learn something in particular that he thinks would help with the job

Laios is a reflection of Chilchuck's past from when he was just starting out as a naive adventurer, while Chilchuck is an example of the future that Laios is striving towards as a seasoned dungeon explorer and leader

But also, they can represent missed opportunities and paths not taken for each other

An example for Chilchuck is that he isn't treated with the same respect as a tall-man because he is a half-foot. He can lead a union of half-foots, but leading a party of other races, many of whom would infantilize him, is unlikely. There are limitations to what he can do (physically and socially) compared to Laios simply because of how each were born, and it's partly why he's so hard on Laios to make him a good leader and not waste the opportunities afforded to him

Meanwhile as an example for Laios, who left his family and fiancée behind when going out on his own at 12 years old, who wasn't shocked that Chilchuck became a father at 13, and who even mentioned that some tall-men get married at 13, too...

If Laios had never left home, would he, at 13, have married someone from his childhood and also become a father of three?

[babytoothbrain]

I Have Never Been Forgiven for not Understanding

You Shall Know our Velocity!, Dave Eggers// @heartmush // "Outbreaks", Kitchen McKeown// "Cures for Shame", Rookiemag// The Allure of Shame, John Dalton// "Outbound", Hieu Minh Nguyen// Visual Overdose//

[herearedragons]

…fun little headcanon I just thought about: Zevran can flawlessly imitate a variety of accents when speaking Trade, but deliberately chooses to sound distinctly Antivan no matter which country he’s in

[djevelbl]

I went back to rewatch the guy's (Frostbyte Freeman on yt, btw) video - more specifically, the part where he talks about Whitepine - to see if I'd misinterpreted anything, taken his words out of context in a bout of misdirected anger and a sense of offense at his opinion, had completely missed the point by nitpicking some obscenely specific issue as a gotcha! moment, anything, really. It feels bizarrely weird, I guess, to be so hung up on this random dude's words, vague-posting about it on a platform I'm not entirely sure he's even on or not (it's a toss-up, really) and going slightly off the rails in anger at his (perceived, of course) stupidity; so, I went back to hear his opinion on the series again, especially when in contrast to the other two. Kinda to say one last thing, and then let the topic die. The thing is, he never spoke of Whitepine's story - it was always the artistic intention, the clear love put behind its creation, the color palette, the cinematography. Never the story. Which, y'know, you'd expect would be the point of discussing minecraft storytelling? And he hides behind calling the process of explaining Whitepine and its nuances as "doing it a disservice" - well, I don't give a fuck about "doing it a disservice", because if you're doing a video essay on the fucking topic of minecraft STORYTELLING you better be ready to talk about the fucking STORY, GENIUS; so, what's Whitepine's story? ... Kinda hard to say. The wiki says it is: "a minecraft series developed by IvoryTV and posted on YouTube, where a newly hired maid is tasked with taking care of the members of the Hemlocke Family and to prioritize their every need. However, what was suppose to be a normal job turned disastrous as the maid's next day was struck by the tragedy of a murder case in the Whitepine Estate." Which is true, the story is a period drama and a murder mystery - Frosty over here decides to use different words, however:

"Whitepine is a 2024 period drama serial written and directed by IvoryTV. It is the story of a mysterious young woman (maid) assigned to work for a wealthy manor that is, if not literally, then figuratively haunted by shadows of the past - hers, and everyone else's."

Personally I find that interesting cuz like, while it's implied that's the case (in terms of the "shadows of the past" comment) I have no idea where in the fuck he got that from - except maybe he came up with it?? He's SO wordy oh my god, half the time I didn't get what tf he was talking about. My point is: he could've used the official description, he could've omitted mentioning the murder if he was OH SO INSISTENT on not spoiling anything, yet instead uses a description that puts more emphasis on aspects of the series BARELY EVEN EXPLORED RIGHT NOW instead of on the oh idk FUCKING MURDER???? He goes around willy-nilly speaking of certain aspects of the story while willfully concealing others in the name of "not spoiling the experience".

And my biggest problem with the inclusion of Whitepine as one of the three different stories he wanted to comment on, is the fact that Whitepine is barely starting - it doesn't have enough of anything right now to call a story beyond the first foundations of it, and no matter how pretty it looks or how beautiful the songs are, if your story has no, well, story then it doesn't matter. It's empty. I don't say this as a critique to the series itself - again, barely starting; I don't like punching under the belt - but more as a critique to the tunnel vision that Frosty was exhibiting as he wrote the script out; doesn't it make you wonder if, at ANY POINT of his video creating process, he read over the Whitepine section and thought "hm. is it appropriate to talk about a series with only 2 episodes (as of making that video) and not a lot of story, bc I think it's pretty?" cuz I sure as all hell wished he did

I just. what was the point? Whitepine doesn't have enough story right now to be thrown into an analysis with stories like Unstable Universe (which is WELL underway) and Parkour Civilization (which is LITERALLY FINISHED), and do it justice - it has its character moments and beautiful music, it has its great cinematography and intriguing mystery, but story? No. Not right now. And it's just because it was started a few months ago - I'm sure that in time it's gonna be the next best story that has ever been recorded in Minecraft, no doubt. But until that happens: if I ever see this guy on the street I'm giving him the london treatmen, if you will /j

Also just finished watching a video that made me ACTUALLY ANNOYED at the guy who made it and like. ok if you don't want a story told through Minecraft that is made through the lens of content creation in ANY capacity then don't??? watch stories told through Minecraft????? Cuz like. they're mostly like that; even parkciv which is still good IS done through a content creation viewpoint — either as a parody on the medium it was being told through (scripted Minecraft content/Minecraft storytelling) or just as a result of telling the story and like. needing to pay the bills or whatever is a bit up in the air I guess BUT STILL. don't sing praises to a series that's GREAT in all cinematography aspects that JUST SO HAPPENS to be told through Minecraft all the while you're saying "oooh Minecraft storytelling shouldn't be scared of being called cringe just bc it's embracing roleplay to tell it's narrative, it shouldn't pretend to be non-scripted when it so clearly is" which true, JUST TO THEN critique parkciv for...

*checks notes*

... Embracing its medium AND its limitations to tell its story, JUST bc it didn't necessarily strive to be groundbreaking??? What??????

From what I understand, the series the guy was singing praises to like it was his own child at the local school's dance recital, Whitepine (which I'm currently watching so I'll just come back to this once I've finished — let's see if I'll eat my words [doubt it]) is GREAT in terms of visuals, audio and the likes — it obviously takes great care in forming its atmosphere and from the little I've seen the youtubers are genuinely being actors, not just their normal selves masquerading as characters (something that, admittedly, happens A LOT in scripted Minecraft content/Minecraft storytelling like SMPs or solo series [I'm looking at you, later half of the DSMP]). But it isn't Minecraft storytelling — in my opinion, at least.

Minecraft storytelling implies that it includes Minecraft and its mechanics in some way, shape or form that becomes impactful to the story that is being told — it isn't just a REALLY good story that just so happens to use Minecraft as its movie set. This, ultimately, is why I think the guy was wrong — not necessarily in the idea that the stories he critiqued had more room to grow (which parkciv at least does. I haven't watched ParrotX2's Unstable Universe videos and I don't really plan to; they're not my thing) but in what "Minecraft storytelling" should strive to be.

I have a vivid memory — trust me, this is related — of when I was younger (they say, like she's an octogenarian instead of not even being halfway through his lifetime. anyway) having played Minecraft Murder Mystery with my friends in the playground bc I really REALLY liked Gona89's video series on it. This is like, not really the same storytelling but they did have a sort of story — the chemistry between the youtubers felt like watching a series of characters interact with one another, and certain jokes from one video would seamlessly move into the next as well.

And y'know what? IT DIDN'T FUCKING WORK — playing the thing in the playground, that is. Because the thing wasn't made for that; stories have their medium of expression because they're tailored to it, or the medium is tailored to that story — if your Minecraft story can be told perfectly fine when divorced from its primary medium of expression (Minecraft), then it's LITERALLY not a Minecraft story: it just happens to use the game as the backdrop

... Kinda like The Lego Movie: a lot of the mechanics within the movie CANNOT be divorced from lego that easily BECAUSE it's a fucking LEGO MOVIE — partially related but not really the point of this rant: this is why A Minecraft Movie's trailer fucking FLOPPED. It showed absolutely NO POINT in being made bc it's NOT a Minecraft movie (pun accidentally stumbled upon but I shall confidently roll with it, actually), instead it JUST SO HAPPEN to use the videogame as its set.

TLDR: IF YOUR STORY DOESN'T INCLUDE MECHANICAL ELEMENTS THAT ARE INTRINSICAL TO THE GAME YOU USE TO TELL IT, THEN SAID GAME IS JUST THE FUCKING SET. IT'S NOT A MINECRAFT MOVIE JUST BC IT HAPPENS TO BE RECORDED IN MINECRAFT FOR FUCK'S SAKE

[moeblob]

Erin, to her crush: You're a dick

Mason, the crush: I won't argue! But to clarify -

[writeouswriter]

Ooh everyone desperate for workers but then need a fucking background check to stock apples in your own hometown I'm going to strangle someone

[sepiasys]

Went out to check in w/place we interviewed at. Had a breakdown in the fucking place. Person we needed to see wasn't there. Ended up feeling like a complete fool by the end of it. Had another breakdown heading home. Gonna try again at 9.

[hyperlexichypatia]

One of the many, many reasons I have less than zero sympathy for these men is that what they purport to want, their "birthright" -- heterosexual sex with women -- has literally never been easier to obtain at any point whatsoever in U.S. history (or, indeed, the history of many countries, but right now we're talking about U.S. politics).

A straight man has more access to heterosexual sex than ever! The world is his symbolically yonic oyster!

There are abundant dating and hookup apps, bars, and other physical and virtual spaces used for finding a mate.

Laws governing sexual behavior between consenting adults are more lenient than ever (for now, no thanks to the fascists you voted for) and less constrained by social stigma than ever. Safe, effective birth control is widely available, and the risk of unintended pregnancy, while never zero, is lower than ever (again, for now, no thanks to the fascists you voted for).

Like. If your great-great-grandpa wanted to get laid, he might have had to get married. Or hire a professional. You don't have to do any of that!

There are a multitude of horny straight women with minimal standards! You don't have to be rich or handsome or anything! All you have to do is put yourself out there and not be actively repellent to the women you want to have sex with.

And you won't do that! Because you don't think you should have to meet that absolute bare minimum threshold.

The bar isn't even on the ground; it's helpfully buried underground so no one will trip on it! And you show up with an excavator!

You don't actually want sex with women! If you wanted that, you could have it. But that's not what you want.

You want a Barbie-shaped virgin who will have sex with you and only you the moment she meets you, and will be forever loyal to you, while also leaving you free to have sex with other Barbie-shaped virgins who will also be forever loyal to you, and who will never "trap" you with pregnancy, but also will willingly birth and raise your children with no expectation of any input from you, and also cook and clean for you while you play video games featuring Barbie-shaped pixelated cartoon women and throw a tantrum if one of them has pores.

That doesn't exist. That has never existed. That will never exist. So you became a fascist about it.

I will not and will never pretend that this is in any way rooted in "valid concerns" or need for "better outreach" or those mean nasty feminists said "men suck" so now you're a misogynist fascist.

but the Democrats need to listen and appeal to them more

[franksfishies]

Finally listening to malevolent s5 kinda. Before sleep so it's fragmented af but anyway my toxic malevolent trait is like dad era Arthur idgaf about Faroe or the dead wife nor do I care about good female rep in the show but this witch chick has good vibes. Would.