#i had to look up shit for vox to be salty about | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fraugwinska · 6 months ago

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DoubleTrouble No. 2 - Missionary Impossible

Yes, we did Team up again - the wonderful @macabr3-barbi3 and my humble self wrote another DoubleTrouble fic, based of a hilarious FranticFanfic game result (If you are a writer and have some friends who also indulge in fanfiction, check the game out: www.franaticfanfic.com - Your throat will hate you but the laughter makes it worth it!)

This time we give all of you Vox Lovers a real Treat! Mine is the Readers POV, while Barbie provided Vox's POV - get the TV's dirty version right here.

And now, without further ado:

Explicit Sexual content - Minors DNI - 18+ - 6.5k words

You had to admit: Breaking into Lucifer’s personal vault was your boldest and most impressive job yet. You had your concerns - normally you didn’t take jobs that seemed too shady or downright wrong to you - but you didn’t steal anything powerful, just a bottle of his vanished wife’s perfume. You shake your head at the memory. Most certainly one of her many, still very active superfans, kind of icky to be honest. But money talks, and boy did that client talk.

The only downside had been that for the first time, the 666 Evening News had a picture of you.

Granted, blurry, obstructed and absolutely not usable at all - but it still irked you to no end. They didn’t call you the ‘Traceless Thief’ for nothing.

But even though no one was more the wiser about your identity, even though Lucifer begrudgingly stopped looking for witnesses, even though the gossip on the streets about speculations who the Traceless Thief could’ve been died down - ever since that night, you felt like you were being watched.

The next jobs you take go without news coverage and media attention, and yet, you grow more and more paranoid. Hell has many eyes - figuratively and literally - and you feel them all on you. But there is work to be done and a living to be earned - and the tiny alibi antique bookshop you keep definitely doesn’t provide. No one sane wants old shit in hell - and the rare specimens that do and visit the dingy little space under your apartment come and go, disappointed in the stock you barely keep.

Which is fine by you - you only really need it for one thing. The PO Box.

The wonderfully boring, uninteresting PO Box of the ‘Dusty Pages’ bookshop was your portal to the real money. Hell had become a lot better the day you mastered the powers the underworld granted you: No physical barrier could contain you. Being intangible granted you freedom, and to return to the profession you were best in: Stealing Shit.

Of course, noble causes like overturning corrupt governments by breaking into officials homes and publishing their many crimes was still stealing, if you ask heaven that is, and it landed you in hell. You gave up being salty about it, and made the best out of the situation.

“Hey Frankie. How’s the wife?” The post office clerk, a grumpy looking crocodile in an ill-fitting checkered suit huffs.

“Still fucking annoying, as always. Each day I’m getting closer to bribing an exterminator to kill the bitch just to shut her up for good.”

You chuckled, leaning on the counter and tapping your fingers on the scratched wood.

“Aw, did you burn the meatloaf again? You know Alice hates that.” Frankie gives you an exasperated look, which you meet with a mocking grin.

“You want something? Except for getting on my nerves?”

You shrug, twirling a tiny key on a string around your finger. Frankie, and by proxy Alice too, were parts of your harmless, boring, inconspicuous appearance. Just a normal young sinner, just a normal errand to run, keeping normal small talk with the clerks.

“Just checking my PO Box. I’m waiting on a few rare books I ordered to restock.”

“Uh-huh. Tell someone who gives a shit.”

The crocodile turns away, adjusting his small, round reading glasses and eager to ignore you. Perfect.

“Always nice to chat with you, Frankie.” you say and saunter over to the little door with the number 13. The quiet click always sounds satisfyingly like a little exclamation of joy and like cashflow, and under the ‘Old Crap & Thingamajigs’ catalog you found what you were hoping for. A thick envelope and a letter - new jetstream-bathtub, here you come.

God, why were the VoxTech maintenance uniforms so fucking skimpy?

You grumble silently, cursing yourself that you haven’t grabbed the male one. But that would’ve been suspicious, and you couldn’t afford to be suspicious today. Not if you want to get the job done and live to tell the tale.

The Vee Tower is full of cameras, hundreds of tiny, red blinking lights next to crystal clear lenses, and dead spots were hard to find and a rare occasion. So, when you couldn’t shift through the walls, you had to look like you belonged. And apparently, a fucking laced, black mini-skirt and a top with puffy sleeves that looked more like a fetish bralette was what it took to ‘belong’. The whole point was blending in, not being remembered - and all the female employees from cleanup and maintenance looked the exact same as you. So, unless one was walking around with a bag full of personnel files on hand, you looked like anyone else on this floor.

You stepped into the elevator, the keycard your client had sent you along with the money and initial job offer in hand. Wherever that person got those precious credentials, you were grateful for them because it gave you an easy way to bypass all the layers of security that VoxTech imposed. All that hassle for an incriminating photo.

You sighed when you pressed the button to floor 66, where the CEO of VoxTech enterprises had his private apartment. Vox.

The name was even more intimidating than Lucifer's to you. While the king of hell was aloof, inactive, disinterested in the ongoings of hell, Vox was the absolute opposite. He knew every little secret. VoxTech had millions of eyes and ears. It was a well known fact that he kept his all-seeing spycams on the whole pentagram and his pliant audience in his steely grasp. Always on top of the times, on top of the news, on top of the sales and on top of any business, shady or not, in hell. In the eyes of the citizens of the Pride Ring, Vox and his partners Valentino and Vevette owned practically everything. He had the largest audience in the history of hell, the sharpest wit and the keenest, calculating eye on the prize - a charming manipulator that was considered very much dangerous and not to be underestimated. Which is why you had to plan your gig for a time you were certain he wasn't around.

A shame really - you couldn’t deny, despite his ruthlessness and questionable business practices with which he had built his empire, you kind of admired the self-made TV-demon that rose to overlord status and made quite a big name for himself in stellar time. That, and he was nice to look at too, even with a flatscreen for a head. Oh well.

The ding of the elevator brought you back to the job at hand, and with confident steps, you glanced up and down the corridor. There were a few cameras pointed to the apartment door, but you found a dead spot not far off, and with a content smile, you walked over as if to inspect the carpet, just to shift as you were out of the camera's angle, your body transpiring through the wall, and with a quiet thud, you were inside.

That was the moment the lights went out.

A power outage was the last thing you had expected - in the Vee Tower of all places. The one place in hell that burst with electricity, and you would laugh at the irony if you weren't so tense. The timing is suspicious,and with a beating heart you shuffle forward, trying to phase through the nearest wall.

What the fuck?

You furrow your brows and huff, irritated. The wall is - well, a wall, and while that was a normal state for others, for you? Unimaginable. Your hands are resting against the concrete and steel, normally easy peasy to walk through. But you feel the hardness under your fingertips, much more intense than it should and almost stinging.

Conventional route it is, then, you think begrudgingly and slowly make your way through the corridor, listening into the stillness of the apartment. The corridor led into a spacious living room - flat, modern couches that screamed money and luxury arranged in a half circle, surrounded by various screens, all turned off. In the middle you see the outlines of a metallic, lavish coffee table, empty and clean like in a catalog. It was the kind of space that wasn’t really meant to be lived in, but to show just how much you had that you didn’t really need. A show.

You scanned the room. There was an open arch leading into a kitchen - also polished and top notch empty, not the cluttered mess you had in your apartment - and a closed, narrow door, likely a storage room. But at the opposite end of it, you see a faint, blue stripe of light, teal blue, luring you towards it. A night light maybe, or some indirect mood lighting shit that was all the rage since LED’s hit the Pentagram a few years ago, shining through a cracked door. Intentionally inconspicuous, your brain whispers, but anything was better than the dim darkness you were stumbling in now.

When you reach the glowing gap and peek cautiously into the adjacent room, one hand almost on the handle, a groan makes you freeze before you could register what you are looking at.

Oh satan.

Vox.

A LOT of Vox.

The overlord was fucking home, and not just that. In his bedroom - your target location - naked, an impressive and glowing cock in hand, working himself in a way he would definitely not appreciate anyone seeing him in. You felt your neck and cheeks flush with heat - another thing you did not expect nor calculate for. But you can’t look away - as surreal and absolutely dangerous this situation is - his deliciously large hands and the sheer sight of his luminous length glistening with precum as he strokes himself cuts your breath short with highly inappropriate lust. The screen in front of him was bright, and for a moment, you were so enraptured with him that you didn’t recognize the silhouette he was pumping himself to.

You.

It’s you.

In this ridiculous maid costume that was unconsciously riding up your ass, sneaking through the corridor, not even half a minute ago. With growing horror you watch yourself taking tentative steps through the living room, the you on the screen hesitating before deciding to move to the left, one arm reaching out to a cracked open door.

“Fuck, yes.”

The words were barely said when your brain kickstarts.

Fuck, no.

He knew. He knew you were here.

In a flight of panic, you bolted for the corridor, back to the door, back to the safety of not-fucking-here, but you couldn’t even make four steps before your wrists were bound by cables shooting out of the walls surrounding you. You ready yourself to slip through them, but again, your powers leave you high and dry again. Helpless, you back away into the nearest wall, and the door opens fully, with the TV demon standing in the frame. Tall, intimidating even butt-fucking-naked, and a cocky smile on his HD face.

“Hello, my dear,” he almost coos and takes a few steps towards you as you writhe in the restrictions, desperately trying to slip out and get the fuck away. “I’m so glad you got my invitation!”

“Invitation?” That makes you still against the cables, your eyes darting over his face, confused. What the hell does that mean? You weren’t invited, you had a job to... Oh. Oh shit.

“You’re the client?”

His face was answer enough, and you would have slapped yourself for your stupidity if he hadn't had you in an iron grip. A loud game-show ding startles you back into the here and now, he was so much closer than before…

“Sure thing, doll! How else was I supposed to catch a slippery little thing like you without scaring you off?”

He traces his fingers down your cheek, his tips sparking with static electricity. How fucked up are you that this turns you on? Not being able to suppress the need to glance at his still shining and ripped cock again, you swallow hard. Where is your sense of self-preservation? Apparently left outside of this apartment, along with your usual foresight and dignity.

Cables wrap around your thighs and with a yelp you feel yourself getting lifted, legs parted by the wires. You almost topple over but are caught by his hands on your arms and faced with a smirk when you press your back into the wall, stabilizing yourself with a reddened face.

“Those didn’t come with the uniform,” He has the audacity to wink at you, nudging to the black lace panties you wear - excuse a girl for not wearing granny panties in the workplace - and you want to retort something snarky to him, when he looks at you that way.

Within a moment, you realize two things.

Firstly, with the way he was roaming your body, his eyes lingering not only on your face, but your tits and the flimsy underwear concealing your very obvious wet arousal - you were fucked one way or the other. Which should’ve terrified you. Emphasis on ‘should’.

Because the other thing was, that even though he had bound you, even though you were at the mercy of this powerful sinner who tricked and trapped you here, rendering your power useless with whatever-the-fuck… he didn’t seem malicious, but rather… curious? Fascinated? Playful? You can’t really pinpoint it, but something tells you that - if you play your cards right - you might get more out of this make-pretend job than a jetstream-bathtub and hopefully all your limbs intact. And most importantly - you have nothing to lose.

“They're from my personal collection - lucky coincidence that they match the overall vibe of your staff's... uniform." It takes a lot to steady your voice as you talk, with the way his clawed hands run along the insides of your legs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

He cocks his brow, as if he's pleasantly surprised, and licks his lips before he answers, his voice sultry and dripping of sexual tension.

"Mh... Luck favors the prepared, I always say. Oh, and speaking of slippery and prepared, sweetheart..."

You gasp as you feel the soft fabric being pushed aside and long fingers running lightly through your drenched folds. Fuck, you can already tell just how skilled those fingers must be. How great they'd feel deep inside you. Involuntarily, you buck your hips to guide them to where you wanted them most - onto your clit and burrowed to his knuckles - the desperation just dripping from you as he chuckles and lets his thumb glide over the throbbing pearl teasingly teasingly as he pushes one of his digits in. Your head rolls against the wall behind you with a needy moan escaping your lips and you have to bite them to stay focussed for what you were about to do.

"What a sight. You have no idea how long I've waited for this moment, doll, seeing you all desperate and fucking..."

The rest of his sentence died in his throat, replaced by a low, long and stuttering moan. Half shocked, half aroused, he looked down to his throbbing cock, then his head snapped up to you, grinning down on him. You moved your hips again, grinding down on his unmoving fingers, frozen in place at his confusion, confirming your suspicion that he didn't know about your other power. Not as strong as your intangibility, sure, but strong enough for him to feel - and see - the ghostly hand you envisioned around his dick, continuing what he started, pumping him in leisurely, slow strokes.

"Didn't know about that move, doll." His hand comes alive again, and even though his voice glitches a bit he adds another one, much more tenderly and almost softly, properly prepping you. And judging by the circumference of the cock you feel through your spectral hand, it was more than precaution, but nothing less than a mercy. Mercy you were ready to beg for, given his thumb would continue the delicious circles it drew, just the right pressure, just the right pace to push you near the edge without tipping you over it.

"You're just a whole mystery, huh?"

Now fairly certain your head wouldn't roll at the end of this encounter, you let your last reservations slide. It has been too long since you were in the hands of a skilled lover, one that didn't disappoint, that didn't come too soon or drilled amateurishly into you in search for the g-spot they never found. This one knew what he was doing, finally, and by satan you wouldn't waste this opportunity. Make it a night to remember, and who knows? If you fuck his brains out, maybe he'd be knocked out long enough after for you to make a quick and easy exit. You imagined the spectre hand to twist, its thumb mapping the soft ridges around the crown. That seems to do the trick for Vox, and the look he shoots you deeply satisfies. "Fuck me, that's good."

Playing into this sentiment, you didn’t stifle the moans his damn fingers stroke out of you, the way they glide in and out, pressure on all the right marks without fail is too good to hold back. Your skin felt on fire, even without him touching anything but your pussy, and you felt no energy left to care that your clothes - if you would call them that - seemed to fall apart on your body, skirt pushed up to your waist, top loose around your shoulders and almost down enough to let your boobs fall out. You must look a mess, but then again the overlord didn’t seem to mind - quite the contrary. He looked outright hungry, eyes glitching occasionally with a particular squeeze of your hand or a poignant lustful moan from your lips.

“Do you have to concentrate to do that?”

“A little.”

His fingers hitting that one sweet spot inside you, cutting any other, more elaborate explanation short. Fucking hell, that you had to get tricked and trapped by an overlord to find a man that doesn’t think ‘foreplay’ is the interview before a soccer game was a fucking travesty. Grateful for that fact you withdraw from your own pleasure and decided to reward him, regaining your concentration enough to imagine a second hand to pay attention to the firm, very plump balls of his, rolling them in its palm and giving them a gentle, tentative squeeze.

“Cool party trick though, isn’t it?”

As if you challenged him, there’s a subtle change in his demeanor - his eyes more inquisitive, his fingers more eager and fervent, and a third one joined the others, stretching you oh-so-deliciously. For a moment you think you’d lose control, the ghost hands flickering before you got a grip on them again, determined to not tip the scales so soon. But you had to admit - it was tempting, to give into this implied command: Submit, let me take care of you, let me fuck you dumb.

Little did he know, you were all about equality - or nothing at all. And if he was allowed to plow you with three fingers, surely he couldn’t protest against a third hand.

You weren’t sure how you’d manage it… the power was new, still waiting to be mastered, but you willed a third hand into reality, joining the one on his balls, softly working their way down and massaging his perineum. It strained you to no end, operating the conjured hands while Vox was adamant to make you cum on his fingers alone, but with how the cables shook and loosened around you, you were fairly certain it was enough to show him you meant business, your message clear: If anything, baby, we will fuck each other dumb.

You watch with almost painful arousal how his screen flashes from the three-way-stimulation, his teeth slightly baring from the sensation but without losing his cocky smirk, as if to show his resilience.

"You'd be the life of any party I know, sugar, if you can pull shit like this out your sleeve."

With a wince from you, he pulled his fingers out, leaving you gaping, empty and fucking whining at the loss, eyes sharp and with a dangerous glint in them. "But you're not the only one with a few secret talents."

He kneels down then, opens his mouth, and you can't believe your eyes as a thick, long, very analog blue tongue unfolds and licks his lips hungrily and almost impatiently. A hand around each thigh spreading you almost impossibly wide, the hot breath feels chilling against your slick opening, and a brush of the tip of his tongue on your swollen clit makes your toes curl and your muscles tense with expectation. Your gaze, locked with his, breaks only when your head throws back and you moan out his name as he truly begins to eat you out.

No teasing or games, no building up the tension - it's unmerciful, frenetic, his tongue alternately flickering on your clit with its pointed tip and pushing deep into your core with an almost unbearable thickness until there was no space left to be filled, tasting every little centimeter inside. Instinctively, your real hands twitch in their restraints, wanting to reach out, grab his head, the frame of his screen, fucking anything really just to have something of him to hold onto and push. Your hips can't hold still, but he made sure not to lose an inch as his hands gripped your ass down and into him as if he heard your thoughts, drawing you deeper into his maw as he devours you. Your spirit hands fade in and out, your mind unable to keep them steadily corporeal - he was too good, his tongue was too good, not once did his rhythm falter nor the damn thing slow down, giving you no chance to collect yourself.

Finally - oh god finally - his cables loosened enough for you to dart your hands towards him, finding a saving anchor on his arms. You literally felt like you were drowning - wet and out of breath, senses fogged by that wonderfully violent tongue swiping and licking and prodding and fucking pulsing. When he hummed into your cunt, all dams broke, and you could only stutter “fuck, cumming - oh my God-” before you snapped and you fell into the depths of your orgasm.

Whatever prick, mouth or fingers you had on and in you before - this erased them all. Never before felt your head so light, your cunt so heavy and hell so divine.

His relentless licks make you mewl with every stroke as he rides you through your high, but he just doesn’t stop. Greedy, rawing your abused cunt to a point where moans turn into almost pained whimpers and your body twitches and squirms, begging for him to relent.

Mercifully he understands, and when he stands up, you only passingly realize with a pang of bad conscience that your spectre limbs have dissipated somewhere along the line, leaving him high and dry - only metaphorically, because his cock was soaked in leaking cum.

He hooks your legs over his arm, his other snaking around your waist to lift you from the wall, and you made no motion to resist it, being that the prospect of his soft sheets on his bed were much more preferable than color-coated concrete on your back. The short walk over feels like the eye of the storm - a short illusion of a safe space, and you use it to assess the damage.

For one - the ‘clothes’ you wore were useless now, they did nothing clothes were supposed to do - The sleeves were half-ripped from the bralette, hanging by a thread, and the top itself so far down your tits were fully out, nipples dark and flushed, while the skirt was nothing more than a drape at this point, hiding the mess on your thighs and reddened, puffed lips.

Then you look up through your lashes, up to the best lay you ever had, down below as well as up above. You should plan your escape, should use the time you had now to calculate what to do to get the fuck out while you could - Instead your horny little fucked-up brain was busy imagining how you could draw this out, make him so pussydrunk he’d send another decoy job weekly, just so you could return to that magic tongue again and again.

You were right. The sheets felt soft and obscenely expensive. You spread your fingers, the only real motion you were still able to make for now, taking his roaming gaze and the appreciative expression on his screen as a badge of honor. Your senses tingled, and you blinked one, two times, listening into your powers. The walls of his apartment were prepped by him to prevent you from leaving - electricity most likely, something intangible itself - but the ceiling and floors weren’t.

“Got another round in you, baby?”

You look up to him as he wraps your legs around his waist,lining himself up to you, tip ready and loaded. But he doesn’t push in. He waits, and you could cry as he does so.

Fucking hell, the ruthless media overlord half of hell fears to the point they piss themselves is waiting for your consent.

It’s this unexpected, contradictory duality that draws your lips into a smile. Trapping you in his territory, able to kill you with his goddamn pinkie, and yet the only thing he does is make you cum on his mouth and wait for a ‘yes’ to fuck you mindless - how could you not fall for that? Even more, how could you not test your luck with that?

With regained strength you reach for his dick, fingers wrapping firmly around his girthy base. His body follows your gentle guidance, and he lets himself glide into your ready heat with a groan that sends a shiver down your spine - such an earnest sound it makes you want to return the favor tenfold. And you just knew the way you could.

“You don’t need to worry about my stamina,” Voice like honey, you refocus your mind, visualizing the wicked idea that had entered your mind.

A soft hand. Long, flexible fingers, slick and smooth and ready. It formed as you thought it, stroking the cleft of his ass, halting at the tight ring of muscle it found, testing his reaction with a teasing, light press against his opening.

The reaction was priceless. Face glitching, hips jerking violently forward into you as its fingers pass his entrance and slide into him, coming to a halt at that one, very sensitive spot. His breath is ragged and eyes fucking wild, but the way he bends down, gripping your hands to entangle them with yours and pressing as much midnight-blue skin against yours tells you that he doesn’t exactly hate it.

“Worry about your own,” you whisper against the skin of his chest, grinning at the way he shudders at the sultry tone of your voice and the challenging eyes of yours, hilted in your pussy still, taking the ghostly fingers like a good boy.

“Whatever you did to your apartment, you only did it to the walls - the floor is fair game - ah fuck-”

He found some of his senses back, his thrust surprising your nerves with a sudden jolt of electricity - added by him or imagined by you, you can’t tell. He fills you so perfectly, as if molded just for you, big and hard and absolutely sublime, and when he brings his knees up more and bends you at the waist he manages to push in even deeper, pounding almost at your cervix with increasingly feverish, tough thrusts. Again, he wanted to break your concentration, but this time, you were prepared. You let your body do what you trained it to do - it goes hazy, misty, almost translucent in a blue-ish hue, revealing the vision of his buried prick deep inside you, teal glow in navy mist, before you solidify again and find the strength to grin up at him.

“If you cum before I do, I’m out of here.”

There was a wicked glint on that screen of his, and he upped the pace of his snapping hips, pressing you deeper into the mattress.

"Guess you'll have to move in then, baby." His voice sounds almost distorted, his body starts to spark with fizzing bolts of electric energy, and when he grips the headboard with one hand to gain more momentum to fuck even faster and stronger into you, you almost want to take him up on that quip, convinced his apartment was equipped with more than just a boring jetstream hot tub.

Your spirit fingers stroke in a come-hither motion over his prostate, over and over, varying in pressure, intensity and speed, and each swipe makes him moan a little louder, driving his dick a little deeper into you. It's becoming a race towards a finish line none of you wanted to get to in the first place, a fight of wills and bodies, pushing you to your limits judging by the way your oversensitive pussy clenches, begging for release once more. But by Satan himself you did not intend to lose without a good fight, your fingers raking over his lithe back and the sharp edges of his body, lingering, scraping, writing wordless praises into his skin in red streaks.

“In fact, sweetheart,” he says as he pounds you and your pants become out even louder, “I’ll make you cum so hard you don’t want to leave - you’ll scream my name so loud they’ll hear you down in Wrath, know exactly where you’ll be living from now on.”

Vox, too, is close, you can see it, hear it, most importantly feel it. One hand remaining on the headboard, the other scoops you up by your neck, pulling you onto his face in a kiss so breathtaking and fierce you almost pass out. It's sloppy and lustful, it's lips against lips and tongue on tongue, and your ability to use either becomes redundant when you and him both simultaneously cry out, orgasms overlap and intertwine, you cunt clenching tightly around his pulsating length, sending spurt after spurt of hot cum into you as your own release drips onto the soaked sheets below. Your eyes roll back, the fingers buried inside his tightened ass vanish and your muscles relax. With his hand still on your neck, claws digging into your skin, he slowly brings you back onto the mattress to let you fall together with him.

Silence settles for a second. A brief moment of stillness and clarity, sweat cooling your skin, hearts slowing down and breathing returning to normalcy. You feel the aftermath of his touches everywhere. His marks litter you from top to bottom: Your wrists and thighs are covered in red streaks from the tightness of his cable bondage. Your whole skin tingles from the waves of his inherent electric current. But most telling of all was the pooling mess inside of you, already leaking.

You let yourself feel the weight of his body on yours - it's an intoxicating feeling, the heat radiating off his dark blue skin, and the subtle charge beneath, a hidden hum underneath your fingertips, telling of the immense power of an Overlord you just let fuck you senseless. Now would be the time to run - his screen was completely blue, turned off while he recovered his breath - if you wanted, you could disappear, and he wouldn't be able to stop you or track you down. But when you searched the depths of your mind and body for regret and the sense of danger it brought - there was none. Only satiated warmth, an afterglow you could bathe in, like a warm, healing balm, easing your aching bones and bruised skin.

And just in that moment of resolve, Vox’s screen returned to show his face, and he lifted his head slightly to look at you with eyes as bright and vivid as the neon signs lighting up the streets of the entertainment district outside his windows.

One Month Later

“Thanks babes, I was about to lose my shit when Velma and Kelly fucking quit on me. Bunch of pussies, those two, seriously.”

You shoot Velvette a smile over your shoulder, adjusting the last couple of details on six of her girls, ghostly blue hands hovering around them - clipping a collar here, buckling a shoe there. You pity the two foolish girls - the runway show had Velvette occupied tonight, but tomorrow - well, you were sure Vel was about to annihilate their sorry stylist asses for blowing her off last minute… and not just with a snarky post on Sinstagram.

“No problem, Vel, that’s what I’m here for.”

The small woman laughs sarcastically, but not in the usual mean way, but a playful one, a friendly one. That was one of the things you could pride yourself on - That Velvette, social media queen and judge of what’s hot and not, fell in love with you almost as fast and hard as Vox did.

“Darling, we both know that no one really knows what exactly Vox hired you for. What was the job description he pulled out of his flat ass again?” she raises a cocky brow, sipping obnoxiously on her iced coffee to go in her hands, holding out another, identical one for you. “Ah, yes, ‘ASS’.”

You take the drink from her, smiling mischievously back at her. When Vox came up with that title, he didn’t even notice the ambiguity of its abbreviation, and you let him stew over it for almost a day before you told him, silently convinced your fingers left a memorable impression. “It’s ‘Administrative Services Specialist', and what can I say? My resumee was very convincing.”

Velvette snorts into her vanilla foam. “Funny name for your cunt love, but you do you. Now shoo. Didn’t you and flatface have a date tonight?”

You wave her a quick goodbye, sipping up the cold drink in one gulp and throwing it into the trash as you bypass it, hurrying down the hall and plucking the private keycard from your back pocket. You scan it at the elevators, noticing the other employees backing away from you, and you couldn’t hide the grin that flashed your face. No one dared to ride in that elevator with you, a very badly kept secret that it sent you one way straight to Vox’s apartment, and every one of them would rather chew glass than be caught by whatever awaited the opening elevator doors.

And Vel was right - you had a date with Vox, a special one at that.

Barely three weeks ago you actually did move in - call it a whim of insanity, call it fate - and since that, your days were filled with a job in the Vee Tower that you actually liked (no one shed a tear at the ‘Dusty Pages’ closure notice) and the nights were spent naked, sweaty and blissfully explicit under, on top and any other possible way with Vox in his bed. You learned something new about yourself - with the right partner, you were almost insatiable. Another thing you learned was that Vox seemed to feel just the same. Lucky coincidences indeed.

But date night was something special. Giving up the alibi bookshop was easy enough - but you were adamant that you still wanted to do your other jobs.

Not because of the money - Vox provided generously, and wouldn’t take a cent from you (although you managed to convince him to let you buy him at least snacks and small gifts, an exception you abused to the absolute limit). No, you actually liked to sneak through the night, liked the thrill of moving in the shadows and shifting through secured buildings. Liked the excited arousal you felt after a completed heist.

To preserve your secret, you and Vox decided that you wouldn’t reveal your main power to the others at Vee Tower, the only other people who knew were Velvette and Valentino.

The latter wasn’t your biggest fan, and who could blame him, giving that you were living with and fucking his ex-lover, but he had his own flings and things to take care of, and after a few occasions where you stepped in to help him out at shoots and with his scripts, he at least became cordial towards you.

But date night was where you went out to do a job, secured through Vox for one of his many business partners, and the pool of people the TV demon had on hands that needed or wanted something of value was a bottomless pit from which you could choose the ones you liked the best. And your digital lover not only organized your gigs - he became your eyes and ears, your literal partner in crime.

The doors open, and Vox stands waiting, leaning, in the doorway, arms crossed and a grin on his face.

“You’re late, doll.”

“I know I know, but Vel needed some helping hands - you know I can’t leave her hanging.”

“Oh, I saw.”, he chuckles, his screen switching from his face to images of you from the security cameras on Velvettes floor, close ups of your face, your tits and ass sprinkled in between. ”You know I can never see enough of you, gotta keep those cameras on.”

You scoffed, but did so with a smile before you kissed him and ran off into the closet, undressing quickly while he followed you, letting himself fall down on his bed and watching you intensely as you peeled your clothes from your body and slipped into your signature skintight suit. By the time you were changed his cock was hard, straining his pants which you acknowledged with an appreciative smile.

You both exchange longing looks, but time is ticking. You put the newest addition to your equipment in your ear - a tiny, wireless headset, directly connected to Vox, bend over the bed, your tongue running over the warm line of his lower lip and sigh as he groans with want.

“I know it’s usually payment upfront, baby, but we’re already behind schedule.”

You can’t seem to tear yourself from him with those big hands on your ass squeezing tightly and that goddamn tongue in your mouth, your mind half decided to tell your client to fuck off and fuck the demon in front of you senseless. But he gently pulls away, his eyes burning not only with need, but also with pride. A look you loved to see on him.

“And besides, you are so much more voracious after a job well done.”

He slaps your ass as you pass him, and you shift through the wall, now almost as eager to steal that stupid looking red duck from some dingy, rundown hotel as you were to return to his waiting cock to cash in your salary.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fraugwinskawrites #vox x reader #vox smut #hazbin hotel smut #double trouble #ily macabr3 barbi3 #hazbinhotel #vox hazbin hotel

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luvxiem · 2 years ago

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luca and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day (until it wasn't)

##INFO

luca kaneshiro x gn!reader, fluff, attempt at humor 💔 mild angst (??) suggestive themes at the end, established relationship except nobody thinks it's real LMFAOOOO, college au, they go to school in the us for this just pretend they r all cool foreign students minus shu (he's still cool even if he is american)

word count: 3.1k

##SUMMARY

vox, mysta, shu, and ike haven't met luca's partner because they live in canada, duh! what? of course they're real?? he's not lying this time, he swears! they really are real!!!!

“i’m fucking tired, dude.”

a dark backpack drops roughly to the ground as its owner soon follows suit, the lanky compsci major sitting with a sigh as he shoves his phone into his brother’s face. shu hurriedly swallows his rice and almost chokes in the process while leaning away from the sudden bright screen in front of him. after pounding his chest with his fist a couple times to dislodge a few grains, he realizes that mysta’s phone was open to an instagram post of a couple.

ike leans over to look at the post as well with a raised eyebrow.

“it’s just fulgur and uki?” he questions, staring at his friend. mysta raises his head from where he laid spread-eagle on the grass to glare at him.

“just fulgur and uki,” mysta mocks, dropping his head back onto the ground and reaching up to cover his face with one arm. “everywhere i look is just couples! everywhere! i can’t escape them, man,” he bemoans. ike rolls his eyes and returns to his lunch, used to his friend’s antics. shu glances between the two of them in between bites of his own food, gently nudging a bento toward his distressed brother. mysta grunts in thanks before pushing himself up to sit cross-legged, eagerly lifting the lid of the bento and digging into his food.

"don't cry just because you can't any bitches," a smug voice calls. the trio looks up to see the arrival of vox, the drama major carrying his blazer hooked over his shoulder.

there's a prominent hickey on his neck. mysta's eye twitches.

"shut the fuck up," he grumbles as vox ruffles his hair endearingly before sitting down beside him.

"being single is ok too, ya know," vox sympathizes, knowing that his friend was feeling left out of the recent romantic festivities. "you don't need to be in a relationship to be happy."

shu nods at his words, ever the agreeable one of their friend group. ike pauses mid bite before resuming his meal, not giving any reaction to what vox said. he wasn't about to admit that he's been salty at seeing all the other couples as well. vox notices mysta is still feeling a bit bummed, however, since the shorter man hasn't spoken much since he arrived.

"hey," vox grins, nudging him with his fist. "what if i set you up with an acquaintance of mine?" he offers. mysta glances up at him with mild interest, but before he could respond, the final member of their group comes barreling down the sidewalk with a wide smile, clutching his beanie with one hand and waving enthusiastically with the other.

"hey guys!" luca beams, patting vox's shoulder before plopping down, closing their little circle on the grass. "what were you talking about?" the blonde takes out a sandwich from his bag and looks at the others expectantly. vox smirks as the other three inwardly sigh.

"since i'm the only one who had a valentines this year and being the generous friend that i am, i've decided to set up mysta with a friend of mine," he explains rather proudly. now, vox was expecting a few responses from luca—perhaps an understanding nod, a wail of jealousy, even an aversion to the topic in general—but instead of any of that, the blonde tilts his head in confusion and opens his mouth to speak.

"i had a valentines too, though?"

shu actually chokes on his food this time, ike hurriedly offering him his water bottle and pounding his back to dislodge the shit stuck in his throat. vox was staring at luca in disbelief, mouth opening and closing not unlike that of a fish. mysta, however, throws his head back and starts laughing loudly.

"yeah, right," he cackles, shaking his head before looking back up at his friend. "you're even worse than me when it comes to dating!" luca frowns at him this time.

"i'm being serious! that's why i was busy yesterday, we’ve been together for a few months now-“

"then why haven't you ever talked about them?" mysta accuses. luca shrugs helplessly.

"well, you—you never asked!" vox glances between the two of them before settling on the blonde.

"do you have any pictures of them?" he asks, wanting to give luca the benefit of the doubt even if he didn't actually believe him.

"ok so, y'know how i like, i broke my phone last week? while riding my uh, my bike?" the four nod. "well, i didn't back up my phone and i lost all my photos." mysta's eye twitches once again.

"do they even go to UCI?" shu wonders aloud now that he wasn't at risk of asphyxiation. ike nods in agreement, genuinely curious as well. it’s not that he didn't—no. that's a lie. he didn't believe his friend as much as he wanted to. listen, this was the guy who was locked in a closet with a girl he liked for over ten minutes and didn't even do anything! forgive him for having his doubts!

"no, they live in canada." luca fidgets in place as four pairs of eyes stare at him with clear skepticism. "i'm serious!"

the group looks at each other and comes to a collective agreement.

"luca," ike says hesitatingly. "you don't have to lie to us." vox pats his shoulder comfortingly and nods.

"yeah, big guy. it really is ok if you're single on valentine's day. the whole thing is a capitalistic scam anyways." luca flounders and vox has to appreciate him sticking to the bit, even if he did feel a tad disappointed at the fact his friend thought he had to lie to them.

"what about social media? what's their instagram?" mysta questions, already pulling up the app on his phone once again. luca rolls his eyes.

"they don't have instagram," he reveals. "social media isn't their thing." luca pauses for a moment. "actually, i think one of their friends has a picture of them on their page.” ike, shu, mysta, and vox lean forward in interest.

luca takes mysta's phone and taps on the search bar. he clicks on an account of a short haired blonde girl before sighing in disappointment.

"never mind. millie removed all her posts again." ike, shu, mysta, and vox slump back.

"anyways," luca starts, returning mysta’s phone and swallowing the last piece of his sandwich before standing up and dusting off his pants. "i gotta get going before i miss my—miss my class. see ya!" luca waves with a grin before jogging off. the remaining members stare at where he just stood.

"there's no way they're real," ike deadpans.

following the reveal of luca’s very real, not fake, canadian partner, the blonde starts using them as an excuse every time there’s a get together.

“i can’t, tonight’s movie night! he replies excitedly when vox invites him to go drinking after exams.

a week later: “not today, we’re playing overcooked!”

“i think they’ve had a bad day and i wanna call them.”

“sorry, i already made plans.”

the other four members of their group have been sneaking glances at each other every time luca evades their clutches, slowly becoming more and more upset with every (perceived) lie coming out of their friend’s mouth. if he really didn’t want to hang out with them, he should just be honest and say so instead of doing whatever—whatever this is.

today’s excuse was, “tomorrow’s our anniversary and i gotta get ready!”

mysta stares at the spot luca previously occupied before he ran off in the direction of the dorms. the brunette’s frowning, gnawing on his lower lip and bouncing his knee repeatedly. nearby students stare at him with mild annoyance and inch away.

“what the actual hell.” ike looks up from his worksheet and casts a nervous glance at the librarian. hopefully they were far enough away that they wouldn’t hear their inevitably loud conversation. he couldn't deal with another scolding this week.

“why does he keep ditching us,” mysta scowls, now leaned back rather precariously in his chair and chewing on the tip of his pencil. ike chooses not to respond despite agreeing with his friend, currently more preoccupied with his essay. vox and shu, however, have no such priorities at the moment and thus can entertain mysta’s concerns.

“does he not like us anymore?” vox frowns, suddenly a bit insecure. shu nudges his arm with a gentle smile.

“nah, luca isn’t the type of person to just ghost us like this. maybe he really is dating someone,” he says cheerfully. vox and mysta lock eyes before resolutely shaking their heads.

“no. there’s no way,” vox vehemently denies, mysta nodding in agreement. shu hums in response, twirling his pen in his hand with a contemplative expression.

“i dunno,” he muses. “i mean, luca’s like, a good looking guy. would it really be that surprising for him to have a partner?”

“yes!” mysta exclaims, slamming a hand down on the mahogany table. “he doesn’t even react whenever someone tries to flirt with him! he’s too dense to date!” more than a few people swivel their heads toward them at the noise and glare.

“luca may be hot but he doesn’t, y’know. have much rizz.” vox winces, feeling a bit bad about talking behind their friend’s back like this.

the four men silently mull over every possible reason they could think of as to why luca keeps disappearing on them. eventually, dinnertime arrives and they each say their goodbyes before heading out for the night. hopefully the mystery surrounding their friend will be resolved soon; it’s been too long since the five of them got to hang out all together.

there’s something wrong with luca.

in their shared 8AM class, shu notices the smile he gave in greeting didn’t quite reach his eyes. he kept shooting glances at his phone all morning, noticeably more than usual.

“hey,” shu whispers, leaning in close. “you okay?”

luca hums distractedly, his response a little delayed.

“yeah, it’s nothing,” he grins before turning forward to face the professor. shu stares at his side profile for a few seconds and wonders what his friend might be thinking about that might have caused his less-than-stellar mood. unfortunately, luca packed up and slipped out of the lecture hall almost immediately after they were dismissed, leaving shu in the dust and wondering how he could cheer up his friend.

ike can sense his gloom from a mile away. the english major runs into him on his way to the student store—quite literally. luca was looking down at his phone and didn’t see the other man until they bumped heads, both of their belongings spilling onto the ground around them.

“ouch… you good, luca?” ike asks, fixing his glasses that went askew.

“yeah, why wouldn’t i be?” he answers, rubbing the back of his neck. ike observes him for a moment before reaching to pick up his things. perhaps the blonde thought he was worried he got hurt in their little scuffle. don’t get him wrong—of course he cares—but in ike’s humble opinion, his friend’s mental state was a smidge more important than his physical at the moment.

luca grabs his phone and groans. looking over, ike can see a large crack going down the middle of the screen which was glitching at random intervals.

“ah, i’m so sorry, luca” he apologizes, feeling guilty. luca waves him off.

“it’s not your fault,” he reassures, although judging by the look on his face, he was clearly upset. “i gotta run—see ya, ike.” before the other could even respond, luca shoves his broken phone into the pocket of his hoodie and stands up, turning the corner without another word.

“bye, luca…” ike mumbles dejectedly.

mysta and vox are waiting at the back of the line in the cafeteria for lunch when luca shows up behind them with a forlorn expression on his face. vox doesn't notice, however, and grins at his arrival, wrapping an arm around luca’s shoulder and ruffling his hair.

“why didn’t you pick up the phone?” vox whines. “i called you like, five times.” luca shrugs off his arm and takes a step back from the duo. vox and mysta frown at his reaction, realizing their friend wasn’t in the best of moods at the moment.

“it died,” luca grumbles, letting out a loud huff. the three of them slowly move up the line, grabbing items off the counter and placing them on their respective trays. luca’s was noticeably empty.

“we’re out of pizza, sorry,” the cafeteria worker says, shrugging helplessly. “the only thing we have left is salad.” mysta looks down at his tray guiltily knowing he must have taken the last plate. he opens his mouth to offer it to luca but the other man just takes the plate of salad with furrowed brows and pursed lips.

they eat in tense silence—luca stabbing the greens rather aggressively with his fork while the other two share concerned looks.

'should we ask him what's wrong?' vox mouths, nodding his head in luca's direction. mysta frowns, worried that their questions might just make him more irritated. on the rare occasions that he's upset, luca usually chooses to distance himself from others until he calms down in case he ends up taking out his frustrations on them. at his core, luca is kind, and he doesn't want to hurt the people he cares about.

deciding to wait for his friend to come to them instead, mysta shakes his head. it won't do them any good now to talk to luca when he's this wound up.

after luca leaves, the two immediately call ike and shu to come up with a plan. when the duo hears of the others' run ins with their friend today, the four come to a collective agreement.

"so..." shu starts, staring at the door in front of them. "what're we gonna say?"

the group stands in front of luca and vox's shared dorm room holding a variety of items: cheddar cheese pringles, ike's blue ray dvd of 'shrek,' and ice cream cake. hopefully luca's calmed down enough now and they can attempt to improve his mood. the sun is just barely starting to set and dinner won't be for another hour—maybe they can order pizza to make up for lunch?

before any of them can come up with something, however, they hear a loud noise coming from inside that sounded suspiciously like something breaking. panicking, vox shoves the cake into mysta's arms and frantically searches his person for his dorm key. fumbling to open the door, vox trips over a pair of shoes in the doorway that don't belong to him nor luca (not that he notices in his alarm).

"luca!" vox calls out worriedly. "are you oka-"

"WHAT THE HELL?!"

ike's sudden screech startles everyone in the dorm. all six of them.

pressed against the wall was luca, staring at his friends with wide eyes and tussled hair. his lips were slightly swollen and there was a faint line of drool on his chin, the hoodie he was wearing thrown haphazardly onto the couch. holding him against said wall was a rather attractive stranger with equally ruined hair and flushed cheeks, both of their necks clearly littered with hickeys, although luca's noticeably more so. on the floor next to them lay the sorry remains of vox's lamp.

mysta's eye twitches.

"um. hello," you wave, trying to subtly fix your hair and clothes while luca leans against the wall, dazed and still shirtless.

"you must be luca's friends, it's great to meet finally you all!"

at your words, the group suddenly reanimates from where they stood frozen in the doorway.

"you're—you're real. you're actually real." ike stammers. "you're luca's partner?!"

you shift awkwardly, nodding. did your boyfriend not talk about you to them?

mysta stares at you, mouth agape as he struggles to process the scene before him.

you're the farthest thing from what he's imagined, which is rather impressive considering he wasn't able to come up with anything at all. how in the hell did luca manage to cuff somebody as hot as you?!

"what the fuck," he says eloquently. that just about sums up everyone's reaction, minus the apparently real couple.

"...my lamp," vox weakly adds, unable to say anything more complicated than monosyllables in his shock.

shu—god bless his soul—comes to his senses quicker than the others and hurriedly places the gifts on a nearby counter before pushing his friends out the dorm, sending a wink your way and slamming the door shut behind him leaving you and luca alone once again.

your eyes glance over the stuff with an amused expression on your face. turning to face your lover, you slam your hands against the wall next to his head and peck him on the lips.

"what's up with that?" you ask, nodding your head toward the presents. luca blinks at you, taking a moment to process your question in the aftermath of the chaos that just ensued.

"they probably—uh. i think they wanted to cheer me up," he guesses. you hum in response, running your fingers through soft blonde hair. luca let's his eyes fall shut and sighs contentedly.

"were you upset earlier, baby?" you ask, nuzzling your nose into the crook of his neck before biting down. luca whines above you as his arms tense from where they were wrapped around your waist.

"mmm, i thought you forgot about me," he admits, shivering at the feeling of your warm tongue laving against the freshly formed bruise. "you weren't replying to any of my messages."

you chuckle, pulling back to gaze lovingly at your cute boyfriend.

"of course i didn't forget about you, luca, or our anniversary. i'm sorry i didn't tell you i was flying over before, i wanted to surprise you," you coo, tucking a few stray strands of hair behind his ear.

"it's ok, i'm just happy you're here," luca mumbles, holding you tightly. with a laugh, you pull away but before he could even think about protesting, you grab his wrist and drag him toward his bed.

"you sure you don't want an apology?" you tease, enjoying the way luca's face burns red at the implication.

"n-no! i mean, yes! i want an apology! please!"

"of course, baby," you purr, pushing him onto the mattress and straddling his hips. "let me make it up to you."

outside, the four men stood frozen in the same position they were in when they got forced out of the room five minutes ago.

"holy shit," vox breathes, "luca gets bitches."

##WRITTEN ON 230220

#this is so fucking stupid also happy belated valentines day #luvxiem.writing #luca kaneshiro x reader #luca kaneshiro fluff #luxiem x reader #luxiem fluff #nijisanji en x reader #nijisanji en fluff #luca.txt #luca does in fact get bitches (me)

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garycxjk · 10 months ago

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Second chances

Let's get this out of the way. Throughout this post, I will not name one certain individual, not because she has done anything wrong, but to make ego searching this post a lot harder for her. This also means that this post will not be easily found. The thing is, I don't really even need to mention her to make a point, as her situation isn't a big part of it, it only serves as the backdrop. So I will neither name her previous life nor her current.

Second, I'm not gonna shit on Nijisanji EN. Too many have already done that before, and it's getting a bit tiring. Plus, again, it doesn't serve the point I am trying to make, however, it does serve as a backdrop.

So, basically, to keep it short, recently a certain person had been terminated in a pretty fricken dumb way which I'm not going to get into, which involves them self-exposing their own incompetence. This termination also came after the person who was terminated made two attempts on her own life, fortunately she's still with us.

But that's not the point of this story. Recently, three of the talents have released a not really smart video, basically digging themselves deeper into a hole, if I may so personally, those being Elira Pendora, Vox Akuma and Ike Eveland. Now there are theories going around, but let's keep it as a fact, they were used as spokespeople, either against their will or otherwise, we don't know. We'll get back to the three.

Now, out of all of this mess, one thing was clear. Zaion LanZa, also known in her current life as Sayu Syncronisity, was right. After her termination a month after debuting at Nijisanji as Zaion, she was terminated, and she wrote a scathing expose about how her experience at Nijisanji was, and spoilers, it wasn't great, and later, it turned out a lot of it lined up with what the most recent terminated member experienced.

The thing is, at the time, she was mostly ignored. Not by everybody, but by too many, in my opinion, mainly because she was only there for a month. I know, I was there when it all happened. People either ignored her, or just said that she was salty or straight up called her a liar. Her reputation as Sayu therefore tanked, and it was only after a week after the most recent termination that people slowly began believing her completely.

The thing is, her reputation only improved almost a year after it happened, and from what I understand, her offenses weren't even that severe. People called it mistakes, yes, but not bad enough to warrant a termination. But okay, maybe Nijisanji didn't think she fit into the Nijisanji ecosphere, so she was let go. I'm not going to go into how she got terminated, that's a whole different can of worms, all I'm going to say is, she got terminated, and her reputation didn't exactly recover.

But, and excuse me for repeating the same phrase but, here's the thing. After almost a year, people should have forgiven her. She had already apologized, I'm not sure if she's done it multiple times, but she did at least once. She had admitted she made mistakes.

I'm a firm believer of second chances, everybody deserves one. Now, I do have to say, people don't deserve second chances from everyone, depending on how bad the offense was, but, look. If we can forgive James Gunn for his tweets he made when he was dumb and stupid, we should be able to forgive Sayu for the dumb shit she said, right?

It's as if people don't actually believe in second chances. Now, I'm gonna be honest, I'm not really willing to give Nux Taku a second chance, not after he did Coco's graduation notice dirty, essentially acting like a rrat. But that's my personal issue, I've been betrayed too many times in my life, taken advantage of too many people that my flight response gets triggered quite easily. Fuck, it's why I stopped associating myself with the Steven Universe fandom, despite me still liking the series. It's not that they're inherently bad or that I think they're bad, it's that they're bad for my mental health, which is why I distance myself from them.

And if you ask me what my opinion is of Charlie (penguinz0) or Asmongold, I don't talk about them at all. They just give me too much of an I-don't-trust-them vibe. Not that they're untrustworthy, but I just don't want to burn my fingers on them.

The thing is, yes, the SA jokes were in bad taste, I agree. However, it just feels like people were looking for an excuse to hate on her. And now that all this shit with Nijisanji EN is going on, she's suddenly being hailed as someone who was right all along. It just doesn't sit well with me.

The thing is, we all want second chances, but we don't all want to give them. I personally believe that everybody deserve second chances. Not just one, but many. People continue to make mistakes in their lives, and yes, if it's better for your own mental health, you can decide not to give that person another chance. Maybe there are some people who just don't deserve second chances because they never take them, they never learn from them. As cynical as I am in life, I still believe people can change, either for the worse or the better.

Which brings us to Elira, Vox and Ike. No matter whether they're guilty of whatever people accuse them of or not, their reputation is toast. In the short term, they won't be able to recover it. However, let's look at another case.

Mikeneko. Amemiya Nazuna. Yes, even Uruha Rushia. Her reputation has sunk to the bottom of the ocean. However, I don't think it'll remain that way. In time, there will be people who will give her a second chance. Remember, it's forgive, not forget. People may forgive her, but they won't forget. Honestly, I've decided to stay away from that drama, as I really do not care about it, but I do believe she can, in time, recover her reputation.

I mean, fuck, if Logan Paul can come back from that Aokigahara controversy, as much as I still think there should have been more repercussions from it, anyone can.

So, as a closing thought. Elira. Vox. Ike. Your reputations are pretty much toast, at least at Nijisanji EN, but possibly also in your PLs as well. However, it's not unsalvageable, it never is. As long as you're willing to change, as long as you're willing to better yourselves, as long as you want all of that, you can come back on top.

Tanking your reputation isn't the end of it all. You'll probably have to start over from scratch, and you'll most likely never going to go back to the reputation you had before. But it's not the end. Just live and learn.

But I do think Nijisanji EN is practically done.

#nijisanji #nijisanji en #kurosanji

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komatsunana · 4 years ago

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The Chronicles of Exandria: The Mighty Nein I

And so I do what I did the last 2 times for the Vox Machina Chronicles of Exandria books, which you can read [here] and [here].

These posts by no means contain all of the information in these books, but plenty of what would most interest other fans. This is by no means a replacement for actually seeing the book.

My best guess on up to where this book spoils is episode 46. Anyone who has not watched passed 46 can read this without spoilers outside of vague references that don’t really matter.

First and foremost, as usual, the artistry is the most important part of the book. All of the lovely fan-created art work is even more beautiful in ink than on screen. This I promise you.

As has been noted by other people who have received the book, it is written as though it was transcribed by Beau’s journals by the Cobalt Soul. Some unnamed writer(s) from the Cobalt Reserve from Tal’Dorei have written all parts that are not excerpts from Beau’s journals. There are edits by Zeenoth, which indicate that the book is not a final draft. Zeenoth is not impressed by their work.

The books’ foreword is a dedication to critters. I won’t transcribe all of it but it ends, “As always, we are richer for your company. For truly, what good are stories unless they can be shared?”

Unlike the Vox Machina ones, which started with pages dedicated to Vox Machina and their adventures first before branching out for guest and NPCs, this one’s table of contents shows that everything is scattered.

The first section is dedicated to the Storyteller - accompanied by art of Matt as “The Storyteller.” An excerpt follows below:

“A story walks the land through the songs and tales of those who are touched by its heart. And then one day, long after all the players within have met the Matron, a story will be told for the very last time. Unless, by the Grace of the Storyteller, we are let to it. [...] Through Ioun’s blessing we make his favorite children immortal. You hold one of them in your hands even now. Wake it carefully.”

Thoreau contacted the Cobalt Soul immediately after Beau’s first arrest - presumably the one with Tori. As the monks took Beau away, Thoreau referred to her as “his misfortune.” It is also noted in the margins that Thoreau is a good friend to the Archive.

Unlike the rest of the M9 and characters, there are no excerpts about Beau herself from her journal... Because obviously she doesn’t need to take notes in herself. However the Cobalt Soul write their own notes about her and her reputation in the Cobalt Soul and note... more than a few times that Zeenoth thinks she is aggressive, stubborn, and quick to judge and anger and as a result they can’t put a lot of stock into her notes on other people. However, Dairon was right to put their trust in her because her insight in invaluable and is quick to call out injustice.

Beau’s note taking is exceptional - and color-coded.

Beau’s first notes about Molly is that he is “not that bright, definitely drunk, completely full of shit, and not nearly as good of a liar as he thinks he is. His outfit is loud, far louder than the man himself.” His coat contains iconography from at least half a dozen gods. Beau also noted that Molly’s swords were interesting to which the footnotes immediately made note that Molly’s swords were just swords. Beau thought, in her first impression of him, that he might be on the run from a family of Warlocks.

The librarians decided to omit all of Molly’s earlier lies that he told Beau and the group about his background, and instead only described the climbing out of the grave and only able to say “Empty” story. He had scars and 9 red eye tattoos on him at the time.

There are sketches of the tattoo in full, after Molly had added to it, but it’s noted by Beau that part of the tattoo is covered by Molly’s hair. Looking at the sketch, it is implied there are more tattoos on his scalp, rather than just the length covering it.

For Molly’s story of climbing out of the grave to be true, it means that Molly relearned to speak both Common and Infernal, learned to perform his skills and duties with the Carnival, covered his eye tattoos with additional, elaborate tattoos, befriended Yasha, and discovered his innate magic ability to use his blood to infuse his weapons with magic.

Beau had made a list of every book she knew Caleb had on his person or expressed interest in. This includes the erotic books and the 2 spellbooks.

On the spellbooks, Beau says she isn’t sure about them. One she knows is a spellbook, but she’s not sure on the other as he never opens it. She wonders if it is a journal of some kind.

There is a page on Beau’s notes in the first arc with the Fletching and Moondrop Carnival - notes about the victim and all her possible suspects of which it is everyone that is part of the carnival. All of them have a strike through their name, indicating she had eliminated each of them as a suspect at one point, including Kylre.

Among the notes she has, my favorites are that Beau thinks that everyone in the circus hates each other, never trust a clown (about Desmond), and that everyone has a title such as Molly “The Ice-Spinner” and Yasha “The Brute.” Beau also notes Yasha as being human.

Outside of Beau’s notes, the best information to be found about Shakästa “Hush” is from an anonymous book from Deastock titled “Heroic Deeds of the Golden Grin.” It is because of Beau’s notes that Hush is confirmed to be real, not a myth, once and for all.

Because of how cool Shakästa was with his cool bird, Beau notes “I gotta get a bird.” So we have him to thank for Professor Thaddeus.

Unknown what deity Shakästa draws power from.

Known members of the Tombtakers:

Lucien Nonagon (Molly)

Cree: currently employed by the Gentleman. Blood powers like Molly’s.

[A name which as been severely crossed out but looks like it says Tyffinl]: Currently said to be in Nogvurot.

Otis and Zoran: Still at large, whereabouts unknown

Jurrell: Deceased

Some lady spellcaster from Rexxentrum

The Myriad is currently gaining footholds in Tal’dorei as well. There is also a written notation by Zeenoth to cross reference the Myriad activity with the Tombtakers, indicating that he believes that the Tombtakers and the Myriad might be connected.

Cobalt Soul theorizes that the blood Cree claims the Gentleman took from the M9 to track them might be a new form of blood-based mutagenetic tracking.

Beau’s first impression of Nott and Caleb’s relationship was that Nott heaped praise on him and that there might be some sort of blood debt or magic going on.

Beau’s early theory on Caleb was that he was hiding from a criminal employer and had done a high-level theft. She made note to watch if he attempted to side-step certain kinds of work.

Everything about Caleb sounded like bad news to Beau, but because he stuck around to get her out of jail Beau comes to the conclusion that that’s endearing.

Beau has made an observation that Caleb was searching for some kind of information in a book, related to transmutation. She wonders if bartering to get him into the Cobalt Soul library will get her into his good graces, though she hopes he won’t find out that the library is technically open to all if you ask nicely.

There is an entry (in Beau’s second journal, it should be noted) were several pages were ripped out about Caleb. This indicates that Beau had written down Caleb’s backstory of killing his parents but she, Caleb, or someone else had ripped it out before it got into the hands of the Cobalt Soul. The Cobalt Soul draws the conclusion that Caleb is connected to organized crime. They are also unable to find anyone born with the name Caleb Widogast in the Empire and they believe it to be an alias.

There are written notations that say that at least one of the ripped out pages were recovered, in which Beau describes the night Caleb told her and Nott about killing his parents. Both mentions of Trent Ikathon’s name were crossed out until illegible. Beau was unconvinced that Caleb’s memories after killing his parents aren’t still jumbled (rather than missing).

Fun fact! All of the Caleb illustrations in his art section all either have fire or Frumpkin in them. Because when you boil down Caleb to his essentials that’s all I’m saying.

The strangest thing about the M9, as far as the Cobalt Soul is concerned, is that they have a goblin among their party.

Beau also wonders if Nott’s relationship with Caleb isn’t also out of love or blind loyalty. Upon finding out that Nott feels like the parental figure (rather than the other way around, as Beau had assumed) Beau wonders what it is that Nott wants Caleb to be stronger for... Revenge? Or to change herself.

Beau notes that while Nott might have named herself so to call herself not brave, Beau thinks she is pretty brave. She describes Nott diving into the water for Fjord’s arc twice (even if she complained the entire time) and Nott saving Jester from the blue dragon which “absolutely saved Jester’s life.” Nott is very focused on everyone remaining together as a team. Beau believes that while Nott’s loyalty to Caleb has not lessened, her loyalty to the rest of the party has extended to them all.

“I think we might all be her kids now. It’s kind of sweet, in a really weird way.”

Zeenoth is extremely salty their junior drew lots of buttons instead of researching the crossbow Nott got from Hupperdook.

A list of all phrases that Beau noted in her journals that Kiri had learned in her time with them.

Welcome to the Mighty Nein!

I am Kiri!

Yes, I am very sweet.

It’s sharp.

Ooh, I’m a captain.

Where do babies come from?

Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!

If it bleeds, we can kill it.

I killed people!

Get into trouble!

She’s probably a good egg.

Go fuck yourself.

Zeenoth is VERY upset about the word fuck and wants that entry removed.

Beau thinks Calianna is too polite.

Cobalt Soul believes there is at least one other bowl like the one Calianna destroyed with the M9.

Beau hopes they don’t pick up any more stragglers, as she thinks it is getting crowded.

Cobalt Soul theorizes about why Keg had a four o’clock shadow rather than a proper Dwarven beard, wondering if she wasn’t forced to shave. This indicates that beards are normal on female dwarves.

Beau thinks Shady Creek Run is so called because it’s full of shady criminals, but the Cobalt Soul notes that Shady Creek Run has a creek that is in near constant shade in the abundant pine trees.

On Molly’s death Beau says:

“Fuck. That went horribly. We lost Molly, and I don’t know what to do. [This part is crossed out: Maybe if I had-] I’m trying my best to stay objective.”

Beau also crosses out “I’m starting to like her” about Keg, and replaces it with “She’s fine, I guess.”

On Nila Beau says: “She said something really nice about Molly. How in her clan, someones spirit never leave you. They return to nature, and are forever by your side. I don’t know if I believe it, but I like the thought.”

Beau wants her own “lucky smell bag” that’ll make decisions for her.

The Blooming Grove was built post-Calamity.

Beau’s first impressions of Caduceus is that he is both grounded and flighty.

Because Caduceus hasn’t eaten meat or alcohol in the time she’s known him, she thinks he’s got to have some sort of vice.

Because of Beau’s talk with Caduceus after killing the blue dragon, Beau remarks that she likes her edge and doesn’t want to lose it and go soft. But maybe it is a better, more efficient way of doing things by being there for the M9. “Gross.”

There is a note in the margins telling the editor to contact Archivist Demid (AKA the guy studying the moons) for information on the Dust family. This indicates that he may have some special information.

Because of Jester’s defacing every town she visits, the Cobalt Soul has been able to track the M9′s movements.

The Cobalt Soul’s 2 working theories on the Traveler is that he’s a smaller/younger deity either from folk tales about a cloaked figure that either rewards or punishes heroes with a ironic twist OR a god of vandalism.

Zeenoth notes that if the Traveler IS a god of vandalism... they may have a secret follower in their ranks because of all the smut doodles in their books lately. Which of course Jester probably drew.

Beau says that as Jester told the group about her prank causing her to have to flee from Nicodranas she was full of her usual bubbliness... But was starting to see that there was underlying sadness in Jester.

Beau has known Jester has had a thing for Fjord since they first met, but after she got Tusk Love it became full-blown infatuation.

“Fjord seems super oblivious, though, which isn’t surprising for a man who occasionally wakes up covered in seawater and confusion.”

Beau stands by her and Jester’s purchase of the owl and blink dog, but she wonders how long the weasel is going to last in their line of work.

Beau wonders if it’s weird to be attracted to your friend’s mom and comes to the conclusion it is so she’ll back off... But the Ruby is smoking hot.

Beau can also see why people who want to release and evil god for Avantika. Not that she would. “She’s hot, but come on.”

No really new information on The Plank King is revealed in his section, but quite a bit is crossed out until illegible. This could detail what connection to the Cobalt Soul he has, but was redacted.

The Cobalt claims that while the M9 titled a leader, Fjord often took that position.

Beau is making direct reports on Fjord to the Cobalt Soul and his connection to Uk’otoa. In her latest report, she says that they’ve bought some time until their next trip to the sea............

Waiting for the rest of the M9 to come out of the Happy Fun Ball, after fighting the blue dragon, are among the rest worst few minutes of Beau’s life.

Beau believed Twiggy that she killed the blue dragon, in part because Caduceus believed her.

Beau accidentally writes “cute and dry” instead of “cut and dried” about Yasha’s background.

“For someone dressed in greys, who carries herself like a dark cloud, Yasha sure seems drawn to color and light. I wonder where it stems from.”

On Yasha being tested by the Stormlord by the “man made of lightning” the Cobalt Soul says it is not uncommon for the Stormlord to test his disciples through acts of physical, mental, or spiritual exertion.

The final notes by Zeenoth indicates that whoever wrote the book (outside of edits from Zeenoth himself and excerpts from Beau’s journals) were by someone from Tal’dorei. Who might it be? Someone we know?

#critical role #critical role: the mighty nein campaign #cr #the chronicles of exandria #critical role art book #i scream #my crit role feels #long post

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