#howw do i tag this

[shoyoist]

── 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 : VI.

content: 2k words ! fem reader, pit fighter!vi, fwb dynamic. this is obviously sapphic. vi tops and she has a strap, rough sεx, cunnilingus, spit, slapping (not on the face), usage of petnames like 'princess' and 'baby', a lil angsty and tense, mentions of sεx work, p<3rn with plot!! this is part 1 to a small series, of which the masterlist and part 2 is linked right below.

SERIES MASTERLIST. part 2: dancefloor.

— . ｡˚ ♡ turns out, vi needed a rebound too.

vi is rougher and quieter than usual tonight.

shedding her clothes and pulling on the strap you've left on the bedside table for her, she climbs wordlessly onto your creaky mattress to get to you. you've been laying in bed for hours, all dolled up for her, and she doesn't really even look at you— it makes your heart sink a little.

you wrap your arms around her anyway, allowing her to touch you, and with a soft sigh, she gives the swell of your chest a kiss, 'hello'.

the pallid light coming through your window outlines her body in pale blue, and her smell invades your senses as she leans into your body, pressing her weight on you. 

gripping the soft underside of your thighs harshly, digging her nails into your tender skin, she pushes your knees to your chest. "you missed me, princess?"

"mmm, i did." you're looking at her with the most innocent gaze you can muster, eyes wet and lips pouty, and she leans in to give them a kiss just like you want her to. her mouth tastes sour enough of sweat and cheap alcohol to make you wince— but when she pulls back, you feel a twinge of disappointment that it doesn't last long enough.

fresh out of a fight, she's still full of adrenaline — and wastes no time on foreplay. hooking your legs over those broad shoulders of hers, she spits onto your cunt and gets right to it. 

her eyes roll halfway back into her head as she slips the strap into your cunt, like she can feel the way your pussy grips it. throwing her head back, she moans hoarsely, in sync with the sweet whine that comes out of your mouth as she rolls her hips into yours, sliding the strap all the way in. "that's a good girl, fuck."

yes. you are a good girl. her good girl.

vi has been coming to you every night or so, for a few months now — and at first it was just a good deal of sex for you both. but lately, you've found yourself less interested in the sex she offers you, and more interested in the woman herself.

your room is dark, like it always is when she comes over, and the harsh pleasure she gives you always turns your mind cloudy — but nothing can sway the watchful gaze you fix onto vi whenever you're in her arms. through half-closed eyes, you count the nicks and bruises that line the base of her throat and her shoulders and arms. the scratches and cuts, redder because she's flushed, drunk and exerting herself.

twelve new marks since last time. you wonder if she won tonight's fight or if she lost. the way she fucks you doesn't make a difference, so you can't tell — what you do know is that she comes to you seeking an escape from frustrations that stem from something unrelated to the fights entirely. 

and whatever it is, it frustrates her a lot.

she seems especially bothered tonight. you try to hold onto her, nails scratching at her muscled back as you struggle to maintain your grip. her pace is dizzying, and her grip on your body doesn't get lighter. she fucks you nearly like she wants you dead. "vi, vi—"

"you're doin' good, baby." she hisses, eyes shut. "g'nna make you cum in a bit, kay? just let me see you take my strap first. pretty thing."

and you take it — like a good girl. how could you not? when she acts like she's ravenous about you? when, with how she puts those dead eyes and calloused hands and busted lips on you, she makes you feel something no one else ever has?

she looks so good, too — so hot, with the dark hair, the ashy streaks running down her face, the lipstick smudged down her bottom lip that's just slightly fuller than her top lip — and the muscles, god.

her tits aren't nearly big enough to hang in your face while she's on top, but they bounce a little with each snap of her hips, and the sight mesmerizes you. she laughs softly when your pussy squelches for her — and it makes your heart flutter. fuck. you might just be in love with this ghost of a woman. "vi, please."

"you like that?" she hums, landing a kiss on the side of your knee that leaves a bit of lipstick stained on your skin. "y'like it when i fuck you to bits?"

"mhm," you choke out, keeping your eyes on her so you don't miss it when she looks at you. "wanna cum, make me cum, please."

the strap slides out of you as smoothly as it slid in — and heat rises to your cheeks when vi stares at how your cunt clenches around nothing. "can't say no to you when you ask so nicely." she reaches up to brush a stray strand of hair out of your face, giving you that half-smile that makes your heart twist just as much as your gut.

"look at you." she lowers her face to your chest, lips tracing kisses downward. one hand comes up to squeeze at your tits, soft and sharp at the same time, index finger and thumb teasing your nipple and making you keen. "pretty, pretty thing."

she nudges your legs apart, getting comfortable between them. her other hand toys with your cunt, middle and ring finger slowly coaxing their way into your hole like she's learning to be gentle now. your body tenses with anticipation, feeling the way her lips get closer and closer to where you want them to go. "ngh. just—please."

the first flick of her tongue on your clit makes you gasp, body rocking in reaction— and vi slaps your thigh. "shhh," is all she says, but it makes you behave. she spreads your pussy open with her fingers like it's a flower, and takes you whole.

the wet sounds of a mouth on a cunt fill your shoddy little room, and you moan and shudder in vi's arms, caged in her hold as she draws the orgasm out of you.

and she does it so quickly, having learned what touches of her tongue your clit likes best, how you like having her fingers, when to add the extra tug to your nipples. she makes you go insane so easily.

like she took the time to figure out how to do it. like she cared enough to do that. like she might just l—

the white-hot rush of pleasure hits you, and all your thoughts dissipate. you grab vi's hair, digging your fingers into the dyed locks, keeping her face where you want it. "mmm, fuck, just like that—vi, just like that, please—"

she slaps your thigh again, but you relent only slightly. she licks up your slick, adjusting her position so she can fuck you better with her fingers, and you tremble under her as she curls her digits into your sweetest spots, wave after wave of bliss washing over you with each touch. the bed creaks like the weak boards under your mattress might snap, but you don't even hear it. "god."

once you're not shaking so much anymore, the high peaking and falling past, she comes up and kisses you — and you know your face and body are full of inky lipstick marks by now. it's almost romantic.

then, it's over.

vi pulls away, letting go of you and sitting up.

"ugh." you slump into the bed, hiding the pang of hurt that fills you. "you . . . don't want me to do you? or . . get you a drink?"

"not tonight. think i'm wasted enough." vi wipes her mouth off, stretching her neck to one side till there's a pop — and gets off the bed. you notice how her lips are entirely clean of the onyx that they were. "hey, you sure you don't want me to pay you?"

and there it is. the moment of intimacy dissolves like a grain of sugar into the vastness of the sea. it's home time.

"no, it's fine." you wave her off, turning away. you watch discreetly through your mirror as she looks around at the little box you live in.

"are you sure? . . i can cough something up." she asks again, and though you're slightly offended, you know what she means. your place is a single room that's barely a six by ten, small rickety bed and a desk with the mirror, a rack for the few clothes you own, and nothing else really. you share a bathroom and kitchen with two other girls across the street. and you have vi each night.

you need nothing else. "yeah, i'm good. and i don't do that anymore, anyway." you tell her.

"alright." vi pulls her clothes back on, and you're just a little sad to see her body covered away again. you did love getting your eyefuls of those slight curves and sleek muscles, and the tatts. "why'd you stop, though? working, i mean."

you think of how you used to feel, seeing clients and letting them fawn over you for the night. handing you a wad of cash and walking out at the end of it. back then, it was what you needed— but the moment you didn't need it anymore, you’d signed out.

you'd only agreed to hook up with vi because it seemed harmless enough. made your nights a little less lonelier, gave you some company. you hadn’t expected money or to catch feelings.

the answer to her question rises up your throat, but you find it a bit ironic — and you know vi is a good person. if she finds out that you're yearning for more than what's between you two at the moment, she may just see herself out of your life, so as to not hurt you. and you didn't want that. you wanted vi, even if it was only like this.

the real answer to her question rests at the base of your throat like an ache, throbbing a little along with the parts of your body vi had gripped a little too harshly. i didn't like to feel used.

but you shrug your shoulders and say, "well, i just didn't need it anymore."

vi doesn't answer, only turns to leave. "will you come tomorrow?" you ask, trying not to sound like you want her to come.

"probably." vi answers, out of the door already. "stay safe, princess." then she's gone, and you're alone again.

the dreary darkness of your room surrounds you once more, and you feel hot and sticky. ignoring the discomfort, you slump into your bed again, realizing how painfully little you know about vi. yes, she's jinx's older sister. yes, she's nothing like her. yes, she's beautiful — handsome; ghost-pale, dark red roots showing through the dyed black hair, sad eyes lit up with need.

you loved those nights when she would let you reciprocate and make her feel good. when she would ask for a drink or two. when she would ask to stay the night, and you'd let her sleep on your chest. she wrapped her arms around your body then, holding you both like she's protecting you and like she wants you to keep her safe. and you'd hold her, stroke her hair, and stay awake praying the morning comes late.

and then there are nights like tonight — where she's quieter and more distant. where she leaves too soon. like she's holding herself back. it infuriates you, almost. you want to ask her what she wants. you want to tell her what you want.

shifting your stare from the ceiling to your door that hangs ajar, you let out a heavy sigh. next time, maybe you'll ask her. maybe you'll tell her. maybe. if the surge of body-and-mind desperation to make the moment last long enough doesn't overthrow everything else, you will. but you know it'll be easier said than done.

vi melts you like shaved ice in the sun. she softens you, turns you sweet. you feel alive with those dead eyes, calloused hands and busted lips on you. being wanted by her gives you a sense of meaning. and you'll do anything if it means holding her a little longer. 

if that meant this, simply getting to be her good girl for a night and nothing more — then so be it.

send me an ask to be tagged in the next part!

series masterlist.

next part.

[braiindesease]

uuhrm

[serfuzzypushover]

hey guys

[fazbearentceo]

I NEED THE DSMP WORLD FILE TO BE CONVERTED TO BEDROCK OR I WILL PERISH FUCJK IF YOU HAVE IT PLS DM ME

[bigmonsteras]

mentions of love in the JP MGS script because why not. the official translations are correct! I just found it interesting at the time 😅

NOTE: WOULD'VE NEEDED MORE EDITING to make sense lol

[ 愛 ] ai = General feelings of love:

"Do you think love can bloom even on a battlefield?"

愛する = to love. (note how mostly indirect) Snake: "I think at any time, any place..people can fall in love with each other." Big Mama: "I loved him." Code Talker: "Someone who loves you, or despises you." The Boss: "As long as we have 'loyalty to the end', there's no point in believing in anything…even in those we love." >compound for patriotism has it too - bit more meaning?

愛し = beloved. The Boss: "I raised you. I loved you." Strangelove: "(…) ended by her most beloved disciple…"

愛情 = affection. (lit. love + feels). Pliskin: "Don't think of it as just another box. Treat it with love" Otacon: "You can't wait to be loved, you have to go out and find it"

愛人 = a lover (+ extramarital relationship) Pliskin: "Rumor has it Vamp was the lover of Scott Dolph."

純愛 = pure love Bonus! Kojima used this for Snake/Ocelot & Grey Fox. Dictionary says that but I feel it's a much deeper concept of love excepting nothing in return. and a genre?

-- --

[ 恋 ] koi = love, for a person (romantic)

EVA: "I only get off my bike when I fall in love…-" Paz: "Miller called it 'Love Deterrence.'"

[恋愛] = Romance (also as the genre) Meryl: "I'm done playing little love games." Jack & Rose dialogue.

[恋��] = a lover, SO Cécile: "I think (Strangelove) must've been talking about an old lover."

-- --

[ 好き ] suki = "like" but can mean love :

Otacon : "Have you ever …loved someone?" Otacon : "I was wondering if even soldiers fall in love…"

EVA: "Do you love her?"

Johnny : "I've always loved you."

-- --

+ others that didn't have any of the 3:

Otacon : "So, this is where we say goodbye to our loves as well…" 彼女達ともお別れだ Funny bc lit. translation would be: "here we say goodbye to girls"

Liquid: Falling for a man who doesn't even have a name. : 惚れる Ocelot: She's in love with the legend. : 惚れ込む Kanji just for falling for x?

Paz: All that is clear is his infatuation with Big Boss. : 心酔する Lol the compound is heart + drunk

[howwnowbrowncoww]

finally playing the apollo justice game and man i wish i knew less about what was going to happen because seeing phoenix again in these circumstances would have been so cool as a surprise

[toyotacorrola]

The first official chapter of "Radio Static" is now out!!

Chapter Summary: "Ingo disappears. Emmet has always been a man of fact. There is a terrible truth that he can't deny, no matter how much he wants to."

Chapter Word Count: 2,076

Links: ff.net | neocities

Also available to read below the cut:

The twin Subway Bosses of Nimbasa had always been close, as far as they could remember. This was common knowledge, and natural enough, considering they were twins.

Sometimes, though, it was... strange. Something beyond simple closeness. Like something that ran deeper than logic could explain, like something beyond familiarity connected them.

Most, though, never got close enough to find this out, or simply tried not to think too hard about it. It was better to just dismiss it as a side effect of being together so often for so long than drive themselves mad trying to come up with a proper explanation.

It made itself difficult to ignore, though, when Ingo disappeared.

All around the platform, heads had turned at the sound of a clipboard clattering to the floor. Emmet had looked as though he hadn't even noticed, preoccupied by something else entirely. His eyes were wide, his brows furrowed tight, and all the blood had drained from his face. He almost looked ready to pass out.

The agent that had come to ask him about the schedule tried in vain to get back his attention as he glanced about frantically, as if searching for something; no one could have guessed what. He scrubbed a hand down his face, like he had a headache coming on.

When he finally acknowledged Cloud, it wasn't to answer any of their questions, but rather, to ask one of his own.

“...Something is wrong. I am Emmet. Where is Ingo?“

Before they could even think to answer him through their perplexion, Cameron had jogged up to the pair, looking frazzled.

”There you are, Boss! I've been looking everywhere for-“ she began, then stopped, and looked around the platform, her brown curls swaying as her head turned. ”He's not with you, either?“ she asked.

It wasn't long before they realized that Ingo was nowhere to be found. His belongings and his pokeballs all laid in the tunnels, discarded, with no sign of where their owner had gone.

Cloud later realized that, in all of the panic and confusion, they never found out just how it was that Emmet had known.

-

It had been a remarkably slow day, seemingly dragging itself on towards nothing in particular. He had very few challengers make it to his car, and those that did seemingly did so on a fluke, not giving him much, if any, challenge at all.

The only remotely interesting thing to happen that day was when he and Ingo had gone into the tunnels to check for something strange an agent had allegedly seen on one of the security cameras. Emmet had had to leave, though, to wait at the platform before they had found out what it had been. He suspected that the answer wouldn’t be very interesting, anyway; probably just a Pokemon that had gotten separated from its trainer, or somesuch.

Other than that, though, nothing seemed to be very much out of the ordinary. Emmet wasn't sure whether this was a good thing or not. He was bone tired from the monotony of the day, but “interesting” seldom went with “good,” at least in their business. 

He had, for once, wanted nothing more than to just end the day and go home. He and Ingo loved their jobs, so usually, neither of them much minded the long hours. That day, though, he couldn’t think about much other than having a nice, quiet evening home with his brother. 

As he waited at the platform for the train to arrive, he thought of a loose plan for what they would do that night. They could make dinner together, and maybe sit on the couch and watch a movie before retiring for the night. 

Just thinking about that made him aware of how his back ached. Ugh. He bent backwards, hands resting where his back curved, and heard several loud pops. As he straightened back up, he didn’t really feel much better. If Ingo were there, he’d have chastised him for it; he’d always hated that habit of his.

Emmet didn’t believe in bad days, so long as he had his brother with him. Every day is what you make of it, as Ingo would say. But today was really pushing it. He was hoping the last few hours, despite how tired he would still be, would make it so the day ended on a high note, at least.

Suddenly, Emmet froze, and felt the blood drain from his face.

Something was wrong. Something was missing. 

He blinked, and tried to focus, but nothing changed. The constant, warm presence in his mind that he was used to was just… gone. It had been there, just a moment ago, and all at once, it was gone.

All of his fatigue had frozen solid into dread in a single instant.

He hardly had a single coherent thought as his ears began to ring louder, and everything seemed to stop all at once. His heart, his breathing, everything around him, and...

And...

Where was Ingo?

He couldn't hear him, he couldn't feel him, he couldn't...

He tried to reach through, or to just feel that he was there; pulled away, for some reason, but there. Something must be wrong, but they would work through it. He’d yell at Ingo for it, he’d sound angry, even though he was really just scared. He’d apologize, and Ingo would apologize, too, and then tell him what was wrong so he could help. Surely.

But he tried and tried, all to no avail. There was nothing.

Nothing at all.

Not even a wall keeping him out.

He looked around, knowing he'd see nothing, as Ingo hadn’t been anywhere near him before, but not knowing what else to do. His heart thundered painfully in his chest, and he felt his breathing come back, stuttering and quick. That chilly dread had now turned into a fiery panic, scorching his mind and burning under his skin. 

Where was Ingo? Was he alright? What had happened?

Why couldn't he hear him?

Someone was calling for him, and had been for a while. His mind had filtered it with the rest of the noise around them, as his fear had stolen all of his awareness of his surroundings and turned it all into a blurred mass of stimuli he couldn’t process. 

As their voice came back into focus, emerging from the haze everything had set itself into, so did everything else. The layers of chatter all around them, the rumbling of the trains in the distance, the blazing lights overhead, the fabric rubbing against his skin. He felt himself begin to sweat, despite how cold the station tended to be.

It had been fine only moments ago, but it all seemed to slam into him like a bullet train as he tried and failed to listen to what the agent was saying to him. He brought a hand to his face to stave off the headache as it came back with a vengeance, feeling like a shot straight through his brain.

Focus, focus, you just need to find him. You’ll find him, and he’ll be okay, and this can all go away.

Try as he might have, though, panic threatened to overtake him with every breath. Everything seemed to pass in a jumbled blur of sound and color.

He was fairly sure he had asked the agent where Ingo was, but hadn't gotten an answer. Another agent had come, also looking for his brother, seeming both exasperated and worried. His own worry had only gotten worse, with that. 

All around the station, everything came to halt. A search began, yielding no results. The only thing they had managed to find had been Ingo's belt, without any other sign of him anywhere, or where he might have gone. Emmet’s stomach had felt as though it was filled with cement, when the news made its way to him.

Everything was completely off-track, in every sense. A great number of passengers were delayed, or had to find another way to travel entirely. Normally, Emmet would be appalled at this, would focus all of his energy on solving the problem and ensuring it never happened again. But it was the least of his worries at the time. 

He sat with his head in his hands, the odd silence of the barren station around him somehow worse than all of the noise from before. He felt awful not doing anything, but there wasn’t much more that could be done, not by him at least. His agents had insisted he take a break, saying he didn’t look well. He’d never been more grateful for them and how hard they all worked than he was that day, but it still frustrated him.

He knew, though, that he couldn’t be much help in the state he was in. He did his best to calm down, but his stress and his worry kept mounting up, paralyzing him, making him feel sicker and sicker.

With every minute more that they couldn't find him, the grim reality came into sharper and sharper focus.

Ingo had vanished.

Generally, Emmet was able to keep an even head in stressful situations. It was what made him and Ingo such a great team. Ingo would identify the problem, what needed to be fixed, what they had to get done, and would make sure they didn’t get off track. Emmet would think about the facts, about what he could do, and find a way to solve the problem, step by step. 

He feared, though, that this was a problem that he couldn't solve. His eyes burned, and nausea swirled in his gut and made itself at home.

But, for the sake of routine, he would follow his usual tracks. Maybe, at the least, it would help him calm down, and think about the situation more objectively.

What were the facts?

First and foremost, Ingo was gone. Vanished into thin air.

Secondly, there wasn't the slightest hint of where he could have gone. No blood, no damage to the area, nothing helpful on the security cameras. Nothing.

Thirdly, whatever had happened, it had been instantaneous. One moment, Ingo had been there, doing his job, and lingering in the back of Emmet's mind like always. The next, he had simply been gone, as though he had never been there in the first place.

The thought made his nausea sharply worsen, and he really thought for a moment that he’d be sick all over the floor.

While they searched, Emmet felt that it was of no use. They thought that if they kept looking, they’d find something. But he already knew that wasn’t going to happen.

And he did appreciate it. He appreciated that so many people cared about his brother. He appreciated that they all wanted him to come home safe. He appreciated all of their help. He really did.

But they didn't have all of the facts. They didn't know what he knew.

While Ingo and Emmet may have looked nearly identical on the outside, they were very different on the inside.

Ingo was always idealistic. He always saw the good in people, and the light in even the darkest of situations. He believed that, even if it turns out to be wrong, hoping for the best scenario can help you get through even the darkest of times.

Emmet believed in the truth, in fact. He believed that, while every alternative was worth exploring, the most likely outcome usually wasn't the one you wanted. No matter how much he didn't want it to be true, it was better to think of the worst outcome as the one you would get.

After all, disappointment hurts less when you're expecting it.

Ingo was gone. Emmet was certain that he was not coming back.

He didn't want it to be true. He wanted so badly to hope with everyone else, to be able to search and believe that he'd find anything.

But he had felt it. Ingo had gone in less than a second. There was no shock, no pain, no nothing.

He was at least comforted by the idea that it had been quick. Whoever or whatever had taken his brother from him was at least a bit merciful.

So, while everyone else prayed for Ingo's return, while they told Emmet not to give up hope and assured him that his brother would come home eventually, he knew the truth.

Ingo was dead.

[anachronistic-falsehood]

trigun twt is kind of a nightmare. it's like

*i open twitter* *cool art* *meme* *cool art* *vashwood* *sudden plantcest out of the blue* *cool art* *why is vash on a leash* *meme* *oh it turns out ppl are drawing him on a leash because of something knives said in the ep 11 dub which is kind of weird bc thats his brother* *mashwood!!!!* *analysis post* *more vashwood* *SUDDEN NSFW WHILE I'M AT WORK* *one (1) livio post* *more plantcest* *more plantcest* *mashwood* *wait is that roberto and vash nsfw?? i mean get it ig* *more plantcest* *good lord how many plantcest shippers do i have to block* *VASH PLANTUSSY* *i close twitter*

[burningchapel]

HELLO you reblogged my art (thank you) and your username intrigued me. I read "fuck me father for i have sinned" we are the same. Agnostic ex christian with religious trauma 🤝 practicer of transgressive atheistic catholicism. You understand me. Just wanted to say that have a wonderful day brother

HEY thanks, your art is sick, love anything religious-alternative/interrogative. It's all about deconstruction and reconstruction of the prescribed faith and cultural religious narratives that dictated the development of the self concept and worldview at the end of the day amiright

Thanks for stopping by, and if you ever wanna chat religious imagery, personal or cultural theology, catholic art history and how it's been reappropriated etc I'm here with my head buried in books and pdfs

[hauntingblue]

I cant find the girl and gays and (man name) tik tok help

[shoyoist]

── 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐑 : VI.

content: 2.2k words ! fem reader, pit fighter!vi, fwb dynamic. sapphic content. part 2 to my series linked below! each chapter can be read as a standalone. top vi, edging, dirty talk, vi calls you 'princess', a little choking, one mention of hair pulling; fingering, cunnilingus, a bit of manhandling, some inner monologuing and angst. brief mention of past sex work. flashback to how they met.

SERIES MASTERLIST. part 1: home time.

— . ｡˚ ♡ you've been needing vi since you first laid eyes on her.

the first time you’d laid eyes on vi, she’d looked more wounded animal than woman to you. 

it was your first night at the pit. you sat a good distance away, clinking glasses with a couple of friends who all enjoyed watching brutes throw each other around way more than they should. when the renowned new regular stepped up for the next match, your friends had grunted, “oh here’s that bitch again. she makes these so boring.” “hmm? hey, i think her winning streak’s pretty hot.” “well, it’d be hotter if she played around with her prey a bit more.”

you weren’t really that interested, but the change in atmosphere was significant enough that you had to look up. through the fog of cigarette smoke and hookah fumes, you could see the fighting ring — illuminated brightly by a dozen, dazzling headlights.

and there vi was. she was walking the perimeter of the ring with a quick, light-footed pace like her hackles were raised, teeth bared and grit like she was going to use them to win.

with her back to you, you could see the complex patterns inked from her nape to the end of her spine, and when she raised her arms and braced for the signal to start, you saw how her muscles tensed and tightened. you weren’t able to look away till the fight was over and she was out of the ring — cold blue eyes holding no hint of pride in victory within them, busted nose dripping a stream of blood down her lip, flecks of red across her neck and on the swell of her breasts.

you started showing up again and again, after that.

vi interested you, and though you tried to remain nonchalant about it, you kept coming back to see her. watching her fight became a regular pastime to you. not even just a pastime. a sort of guilty pleasure. an obsession. you even stayed for the afterparty that followed the fights. you’d hang around with the other women who were there just to watch or to try themselves out on the dancefloor.

you eventually figured vi was here to fight just as much as she was here to make ends meet. in between watching her as she beat people bloody and swaying your hips for her to see, you mulled over the little information you had on her. you’d heard of all the stories of her, of course. one of the survivors of the clash between silco and vander. elder sister of the one and only jinx. was recently entangled with an enforcer, joined topside. betrayed all of zaun. bit the hand that had fed her all her life. got fucked over and thrown back into the pit. and here she was.

she fought with bare fists, hair and lips inked the same shade of black, some of it streaking her forehead with sweat, getting worse whenever she wiped her face. the skin over her muscles red with impact and pumping blood, her eyes full of a dead sort of rage. and she kept winning her fights. one after the other, she sent men to the ground. and she looked fucking good doing it.

you heard the other stories too. how she only fucked women. how she fucked them good.

and somehow, you started getting impatient. you wanted vi to notice you. you kept trying to figure something out. devise a way for you to stand out from the crowd; to really catch her eye.

but fuck, it was hard. like a wounded animal, vi seemed to be paralyzed by something that no longer existed. she fought, ate, drank, got lugged home by some fucker. she split her knuckles, spat blood, screamed. and she just didn’t fucking approach you. it was like she was trapped in a cycle. like you had to lure her out, with elaborately laid out traps. 

piece after piece of meat for the hungry, wounded and angry, dead-eyed beast.

you told your friends you just wanted a good fuck. you told them you wanted a feel of what she’s got. and it was true! there was nothing emotional here. you didn’t know vi, vi didn’t know you — and you didn’t particularly want someone who’d been lusting after a fucking piltie anyway. 

but that was what was nagging you. the thing that annoyed you more than anything was that a woman who’d gotten dumped by a topsider was somehow too far out of your reach. you felt you were better than that.

and as the weeks blurred, you started needing her to need you.

you didn’t consider yourself anything like a revolutionary. you weren’t a genius and you weren’t necessarily fueled by the desire to somehow avenge the undercity. 

but you’d gone through much. perhaps not stillwater, but you knew that it didn’t only take years in a stone box to drive a woman crazy. your own life full of fuck-overs and hardships had put a good pint of patriotism and dignity in you. and somehow, the fact that someone like vi who had arguably suffered so much worse than you had, was so enamoured by a topsider — an enforcer, of all topsiders — filled you with rage.

you saw vi as a powerful asset. not a herald or a beacon like jinx was, but something. something for zaun that was definitely not for piltover to craftily thieve away. there was a certain hint of betrayal that everyone tasted in their mouths when they looked at vi. it was strange to acknowledge how you felt — but you suppose you wanted to reclaim vi.

and as you watched vi fight, memorizing her moves, lost in the way she sucked spittle back through her teeth as she got up from the painted concrete, you saw her as what she really was. a weapon, carved out of zaunite stone with the loving hands of piltover’s cruelty.

she was gorgeous. a piltie could never see her the way you saw her. and you wanted her to see that.

your efforts are not without eventual success, though it was an arduous affair to get to that point. one night, after a barely-there win, vi finally makes her way to you at the end of the night.

“hey.”

you blink up at her, discreetly aware that your friends are fleeing their spots at the table you were sharing with them. “. . . yes?”

“mind if i sit here?” vi says, already pulling a chair out to take a seat right next to you. you’d raised a cracked cup of water to your lips, and you watched her from over the rim as she sits and rubs a bandaged palm at her chin, wiping blood off. she’s caked with sweat and grime, and her left eye is darkening with a bruise. she smells of beer already, and now that she’s up close to you, you catch the scent of cheap dye — something like ink or paint.

you can suddenly hear your pulse in your ears. oh. she's so hot.

“so, you here for the dancefloor or for me?” she breaks the momentary silence.

you don’t remember how the conversation went from there, really. all you remember is that eventually, vi had come back with you to your place. and you’d helped her clean up a bit — sudsy water and your last clean rag on her, half a roll of bandages for her split knuckles — before you were on each other.

vi pressed you to your sheets and ate you up like she was starved. 

your clothes are all off within minutes, pulled off by vi’s wandering hands. she’s stripped bare, too, only gauze and bandages covering her. her mouth searches you, your arms pinned to your sides by her unyielding grip on your wrists.

she kisses you up and down, sometimes soft and sometimes harsh, taking deep breath after breath of your skin into her lungs. she does this till you’re jittery, edging you till you’re so sensitive that you’re ready to explode. kissing, biting, nose nudging at your folds and tongue licking at your softer spots. covering you in inky kiss marks. rubbing it on your sheets.

you moan for her, whine her name, too embarrassed to just ask her to hurry the fuck up and make you cum — and you lay there and let her eat you up. you blush when she tells you how she knows you’ve been staring at her. you want to sink into your squeaky mattress and hide when she tells you you’ve got a lot of princess attitude, waiting so patiently till vi came up to you herself. 

“i’ve seen the way you look at me. y’ into me, princess?” she hisses into your chest, strong fingers wrapped around your throat. her other hand cupping your pussy, she slowly coaxes the air out of your lungs. gets you to beg for her before she slips her fingers in you.

this wasn't how you had planned for it to go. you'd wanted to do more. you had wanted to do the fucking. you wanted her to feel good at your hands.

you’re embarrassed by how easily she makes you fold, but she’s so hot. she's too fucking good at this. and she’s giving you exactly what you want. what’s a lonely, touch-starved bitch to do? “vi, fuck.”

“you’ve been wantin’ me for a while, huh?” she taps your cheek, one hand squeezing the plush of your right tit while the other toys with your cunt. “mhm,” you whimper. “weeks.” 

and the lidded look she gives you as she increases the pressure of her thumb on your clit is enough to make you see white.

that’s how it had started. a dance of nothing and nothing between you and vi. nothing as in, you didn’t know what it was, really. and nothing as in, you didn’t know what you wanted it to be.

your intention had been to claim vi for yourself. to show her that pretty things existed down here in zaun, too — that she should see how piltover has fucked her over. to convince her to stay down here where people were her family and places were her home. but as time went on, and as the number of entanglements between you and vi kept increasing, it started feeling more and more like vi had claimed you for herself instead.

vi was erratic. it would feel as if you were fixing her — like she was finally moving on from whatever had happened to her up there; then she would disappear for days. and she would come back battered, worse. sometimes she would sleep in your bed and it would make you happy, till she mutters a name alien to you in her sleep. “caitlyn. cait.”

and it makes you see red. you tell yourself you don’t love this woman. you tell yourself you just want her to forget that bullshit. you tell yourself this is your own little way of keeping your home and its people safely away from the ignorant, cruel toying of the luxurious topside. but as the days turn into weeks, and the weeks turn into months, you can’t deny yourself of it anymore.

vi makes you soft. she makes you want. 

sometimes she’s weak in your arms. sometimes, right after she’s done fucking you and done pulling your hair while you eat her out, she’ll be sighing into your chest, muscled arms wrapped around your waist as she sleeps on top of you. she makes you feel like you belong. like you have something here. which is fucking funny, because that’s how you want to make her feel. but you doubt you’re doing it successfully. you feel like the tables have been turned on you.

it’s fucking annoying.

you keep telling yourself that this won’t end well for you. you keep wondering if you should just ask vi to pay up. you remember clear as day, how you used to turn sex into a source of income. you remember how you made anything into a job. how you scavenged, leeched, fucked, killed, whatever — but that was when you needed money for a place to live in. when you needed food and water and clothes and a bed and you had nothing and no one and no means.

you just really hated the thought of being used. and you didn’t know what made you feel it worse — letting vi come and go like this for nothing, or to ask her to pay you like you’re someone up for hire.

“what do you think of me?” you ask vi, as the two of you lay together, mouths close enough to exchange breath. “i think you’re good, princess.” vi says, like it’s easy for her. “real good to me.” 

and somehow, that was good enough for you to keep going. you were good to her. became her pretty princess. her good girl. her distraction, her safe place, her home. whenever she wanted it, you laid her head on your chest and lulled her into a dreamless sleep with the beat of your heart. you traced the tattoos on her back with your fingertips, kissed her hair, told her she has nothing to fear. you told her you would never leave.

“promise?” “promise.”

until of course.

one night, vi just up and left. you had asked her if she would come again. and she had said she probably would. so, like a loyal little dog, you waited for her — a sinking feeling in your heart telling you that she was gone. that you’d failed, that your stupid little feelings were for nothing and did nothing. 

and of course, she didn’t come. you heard of some news here and there. vi was with jinx again. vi was doing some crazy shit. vi had gone back to piltover. it made you so angry. so, so fucking angry.

zaun nearly came apart at the seams. there was a revolution. like a storm that floods the trenches and takes everything with it. leaving the land bare, clean, up for restoration.

you, lost. alone. heartbroken and seething with humiliation and disappointment. left to pick up your pieces and rebuild yourself.

and the next time you saw vi, she was entirely changed. and the sight of her made you sick to your stomach like nothing ever did before. 

send me an ask to be tagged in the next part!

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previous part. / next part (tba).

[nursesharkinfirmary]

hihi ! um can u pls give advice on howw 2 start an npt blog

thats a really good question anon! im going to try and answer it to the best of my ability as i only started not too long ago myself:

1. Research into name meanings! baby name websites are your best friend, in a pinch things like noun names are also incredibly handy! and if all else fails adding things like -ette, -sse, -ie, etc. to the end of words can make some beautiful names!

2. Refrain from putting names of cultures you aren't a part of! this seems to be the general consensus among the community that using culturally significant names is a no go. Try researching names you'd love to share from your own culture! this is why i add the occasional slavic name into my npts

3. Get creative with your pronouns! things like sound names, variants of common pronouns and emojis are my personal go-to

4. Don't stress about adding a whole bunch to each category! i tend to struggle coming up with titles the most so typically they are fewer than my names and pronouns

5. Start out by making requests for yourself and posting them in the correct tags, but dont let posts with low notes discourage you! consistency is key and before you know it you'll have more requests than you know what to do with!

6. Make promo posts and interact with the community! i try to interact with the community as much as i can and this eventually leads to building friendships with people running similar blogs ^_^

I really hope this all helps at least somewhat anon, if you do end up making that blog then dont be afraid to tag me, id love to promo it and request something myself! 🫀🫀🫀

[serfuzzypushover]

ok well then can u draw dave dirkways im so fuckin sorry omg

the strideerrrrrrr

[a-good-darren]

hhhh oh gosh, you love being a menance

*teleports in front of him*

Hi Darren. I'm here to cut your trees.

huh? Excuse me??!

HAHA

[andiv3r]

ok basically the dream was i was visint gmy grandparents and they ask me if i wanna go to poland that same day, okay suresies, and wwe head over there. we go to a water park, and also my dearest friend and tumblr mutual Spencer @/highoncatfood is there and tags along. we kinda go off by ourselves and fuck around in the waterpark together, but then my grandfather turns up mad as shit 4 whatever reason. he drags us off, rambling angry incoherent nonesense and we get to the car and he starts driving us Somewhere. at some point he stops and drops off spencer, and i just look at him like :( nooo dont leave me alone with thi sguy...... and he continues driving a tiny bit before stopping by this cliff edge thing. i look over and its this weirdly very orange pit, made up of a slurry of decomposed bodys. and my grandfather then Shoves Me In. the thing is like quicksand or osmething, and i try to climb up but it's not solid enough to get any traction. and then myyy fukn grandfather falls in along with spencer who pushed him in, and they get consumed by the slurry. i try digging away at the cliff wall trying to get spencer out but i couldnt find anything and ic ouldnt tell if it was doing anyhing, and then at some point i find my grandfathers skull Wow that guy decomposed fast so Yeah survival chances for my buddy arent pretty. i continue like desperately digging away at it mumbling howw its my fault and it shouldve been me etc. etc. And Then I Wake Up

WHAT THA FUCK. HUH. JEEESUS CHRISSTTT. THATS TERRIFYING

[howwnowbrowncoww]

i saw a post after watching Good Omens S2 about similarities between Crowley and Maggie (rather than Nina) and I just saw a rather funny one on my rewatch

In the first episode Maggie drops off this letter to Aziraphale, misspelling "Urgency" (forgive the picture quality lol)

and in episode 5 the demons toss a brick through the window, misspelling "Angel"

Not technically a direct link between Maggie and Crowley specifically (and it could just be a funny gag of course), but it does make me think of Maggie and demons in general in the same space, which was neat because during my first watch, I, like many other people, was sure that Maggie = Aziraphale and Nina = Crowley.