#i really fucking love meaningful quotes???

[trashworldblog]

it's absolutely insane that the song that has the most quotes that i want to get tattooed is sandwiched between a song about skinning ryan bergara alive and a song that alludes to playing a brass instrument is like giving a blowjob

[thecheshirerat]

On TAZ-

Wow that sounds like I’m about to summarize some sort of discourse but I promise I’m not. I guess I’ll say that I really like this show and I will keep listening even if my worst fears come to pass, so keep that in mind!

For reference, I started listening near the end of Amnesty.

I’ve noticed, with the past few arcs- really since Ethersea- the narratives have just… not been fulfilling their promises, so to speak. They’ve been placing a lot of guns that don’t go off. What I mean by that is, the characters are great. Excellent, really. Lady Godwin? HELL YES. Emerich Dreadway? Fuck yeah! And so on! And the settings and premises have been epic- the goofiness and also horrifying nature of Engrave, the mad and thrilling world of Steeplechase- these things are COOL AS FUCK.

and then the actual narratives keep flopping?

And honestly, I notice it most in the endings, because you can really tell when an ending doesn’t land. You feel the sense of disappointment. But with vs. Dracula, for example, I could kinda see leading up to it that the ending couldn’t really BE anything special, because they lowkey didn’t set themselves up for it.

They spent the campaign fucking around in Engrave, finding clues and solving problems and not really experiencing any particularly meaningful character arcs or growth or, idk, forming relationships? So there wasn’t much to pay off, I’m not gonna lie!

Of course it doesn’t feel quite as dissatisfying when you’re in the thick of it, because they’re funny and the stuff is cool and- oh hey! Lady Godwin’s been turned into a werehorse against her will?? that’s got some real potential for a LOT of allegories and exploration of some fun character development! And then it’s kinda played as a joke. And then they do that again and again.

And they actually said that that was a move they made intentionally, in the TTAZZ. I’m not quoting them perfectly here, this is from memory, but I do remember them mentioning that they wanted lighthearted comedy without the burden of real life story stuff. And I get that, honestly, but… it’s not the choice I would’ve made. I do think you can keep a lighthearted tone while also, idk, forming relationships and wholesomely engaging with some amount of emotion. And sometimes going way too deep is funny as a tone shift!

But I digress. One thing that’s also popped out to me is the almost complete lack of any kind of romantic storyline or even references. This becomes obvious if you’re in a fandom because everyone is always dying to ship SOMEONE, and you can tell when people are really getting desperate. I don’t blame them for not wanting to roleplay romance with their family, and I do think stories lacking romance are COOL and SHOULD BE ENCOURAGED!

However if you can’t find ANYBODY to ship together… that may mean you just don’t have character bonds. The growing popularity of the PC polycule is interesting to me; I wonder if it’s partially because

a) none of the pcs have significant relationships outside of their party and

b) even within the party, there doesn’t seem to be much chemistry between any given pair of characters…? I hope I’m making my point well here- the PCs all seem equally close and have more or less the same relationship to all of their compatriots with little distinction, meaning, essentially, no shipping fodder that doesn’t involve just all of ‘em.

Either way, it makes me wonder if I can blame the “Graduation has too many NPCs!” critique. They really stopped giving the parties tag-along main NPCs after graduation, with the exception of maybe.. Urchin? Kodira? Shlabethany? Poppy? and even they get relatively little “screen” time. Steeplechase has great NPCs, I love them to death, but none of the PCs seem to ever have one on one conversations with NPCs or each other that do not explicitly focus on the plot. And I think that’s part of why the characters feel so underdeveloped despite having spent a lot of time with them- because in this character-driven genre, we get very little insight into their feelings or motivations or even their rudimentary backstories.

I started watching Fantasy High recently and it made me realize a couple things about TAZ.

1) Recently, TAZ has sooo few core NPCs, and it’s weird that the characters aren’t doing more one-on-one purely character based scenes. And that makes it really tough to develop them.

2) TAZ is- and I should have realized this before- one of many good dnd podcasts. They’re probably looking for a niche they can master.

And it sounds like they’re trying to get back to that old “Here there be Gerblins!” energy. They’ve referenced it so many times in recent TTAZZes- they wanted to be job-focused, allowing story stuff to happen organically, so they tried a more open world vibe with Ethersea. They wanted to be less afraid to kill stuff, so they tried playing criminals (and were still afraid to kill stuff). They wanted to be silly and light on character, as they tackled with taz vs dracula. Now they’re trying to bring in the silly cartoon vibe with Abnimals. I think they’re trying to make that family-friendly, funny and goofy show their niche. Something other actual plays can’t be better at them at.

And honestly it kinda makes me sad, that they keep trying to go back to Balance while ignoring everything they learned during it. Because I loved Dust. Because I loved Amnesty. Because I loved Ethersea. I loved these past arcs! But they keep doing their brilliant characters dirty for some reason!!! And i don’t know why!!!!

You know that meme about people who ask questions in movies and then the person responds “Have you ever been to a movie before? You watch them and the information is revealed.” There have been so many times in TAZ recently where information has Not been revealed and if they keep doing it the audience will stop bothering to suspend their disbelief, because the trust just isn’t there.

What is Montrose’s deal? What on earth was Carmine Denton’s whole thing? Tell me more about Zoox’s feelings, about Devo’s past, about Amber’s future. Show me how Lady Godwin feels about the body horror that is her life- like, seriously! WHY DID WE HAVE TO COMPLETELY DISMISS THE OPPORTUNITY TO DISCUSS GENERATIONAL TRAUMA IN MUTT’S LIFE FOR A JOKE??

Do you remember in Steeplechase where the boys were getting medical attention or something- i don’t remember, but they were all in one room and only talking about The Plot. And Poppy literally banged on the door (speaking for both Justin and me, tbh) and was like “does anyone want to share any feeeeelings??” and they were like NOPE! and they moved on!!

like. cmon. you can’t just put a character like montrose out there and then leave them severely underdeveloped to the point that what would be interesting in proper context, with audience insight, becomes confusing and chaotic.

I just wish they would take their stories as seriously as we do.

It feels to me like they don’t believe in themselves, and it makes me sad. Maybe they didn’t get the response they wanted from Ethersea and so they’ve been trying to pivot, hoping to recapture whatever it was that earned them a loyal audience.

Again, I love them. They’re so funny and I’ll keep listening until the day they stop making this show, and when it happens I’ll cry.

But i KNOW they have more in them. Remember the “we’ll grow gills” monologue from Justin in the Prologues? Remember Travis’s SOLID acting with Devo? Or his awesome choice to give Lyndon/Beef a clearly delineated work/irl identity? His excellent narration and prose? Remember when Montrose described being lonely?! Remember all those moments where Shit Got Real and you cared??? The nanofather said some dope shit! dracula and victor and sweater dracula had such a wild dynamic! Clint’s acting in Dust 2- I can’t remember the characters name right now- was ASTOUNDING, I genuinely didn’t know he had that in him and it blew me away!

I’m not referencing Balance on purpose, both because the fandom is way to hung up on it and because I want to prove that you don’t even have to look at Balance, or even Post-Balance arcs, to see this kind of good cool stuff!

GAAAAAAAGHHHH!!! I want them to have fun. But also. We’re starving out here.

[anantaru]

Do you have anything else on situationship with Scara?!?! I LOVE that concept.

cw. [ex]plicit, situationship & a little fuckboy scara and also very toxic, fem! reader

between you two, it's only sex to scaramouche, nothing more and nothing less— and with no hold barred, he plainly cannot allow himself to blow this situation out of proportion and make more out of it, even imagine the future possibility of your quote on quote, special relationship, becoming something meaningful, something satisfying.

although scaramouche knows that beyond anything else, the moment he shows up in front of your door step for this one particular feeling of unmixed pleasure, you're so compliant that it makes his mouth water— feeling a spark settle under his skin when you invite him into your home.

you do not trust him, really, you would be an idiot if you did— but you were growing frantic solely by how he'd fuck you each time he needed to feel you, how scaramouche imposed pleasure on you like he wholeheartedly hated your guts, always pistoling his cock fast and hard until droplets of his cum, dense and hefty in quantity, begin to spurt out of his throbbing red tip, battering up your walls like he'd always crave to.

the burning split of his cock adds a slight sting of pain and an ache in your lower region as you fold your arms around his body when scaramouche surprisingly doesn't mind, his body hot under your fingertips.

when it came to adding more physical intimacy than necessarily needed, you were always trying to stay in your lane as to not make yourself seem desperate, but much to your own surprise, scaramouche oddly enough welcomed you being this touchy with him and would sometimes search for it.

his lips stretch into a devilish smile, "hey, look at me," he repeats himself slowly when you do not do as he commands, a seething click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth signifying his growing temper,

"f-fuck—come on now, you don't want to test your luck with me, do you?" he blows off hot air, searching for your flustered face.

you sob and cry out when he fucks you faster instead, your eyes glossed up in warm tears as the confines of your pussy had taken over the size of his shaft piercing through you,

"i-i'm looking," mewling, you push your spine up after another hard thrust, "I'm always looking a-at you," as his heart suddenly soars at your candid admittance, catching him off guard, resulting in a strong shade of his cheeks forming a deep red.

"ugh, good," scaramouche groans through the single word, "all i wanted you to say in the first place," which made it all the better.

manic with desire, your legs shiver as he fucks you into the mattress, the muscles on his back flexing as he thrusts into your cunt— and in this searing moment in time, your pussy was filthy, slobbering all over his girth and marking him with your liquids.

your eyes were hazy with a sensation you couldn't possibly name even if you wanted to, your sore hole incapable to stop twitching around his girth as scaramouche searches for your pouted lips at last, his tongue demanding when he traps it in between your mouth, taking a huge gulp of air before muttering something inaudible into your lips.

"w-what a shame," he grinds his hips deeper, holding still for a second before whining out slightly, "hah, this supposed feeling of love sure is a terrible thing, don't you think?"

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[tlgtw]

Bits and pieces of the still incredibly written backstory of Elden Ring continue to poke out from the dogwater, as it were.

St. Trina, as we learn, was a specific aspect of Miquella that was made separate: In Miquella's words, St Trina was the embodiment of his 'love.' And when he abandoned St Trina, he abandoned that aspect of himself that made her.

This newly introduced example reveals to us what the nature of Radagon's exactly was, in turn.

Radagon, the 'other half' of Marika in the exact same way that St Trina had been for Miquella, we learn here, had *himself* been a specific singular aspect of Marika's emotions or feelings.

With St Trina having been made out of Miquella's 'love.'

You wonder, too, what Radagon should have been made from.

What aspect of herself did Marika separate into her second person, as called by her the "Loyal Dog of the Golden Order"? We know Radagon was created prior to the creation of the Golden Order itself, since he was involved in the invasion of Liurnia.

So at the same time as Marika was married to Godfrey, begetting Godwyn and Mogh and Morgott. Radagon was married to Renalla, begetting Rykard and Radahn and raising the potential successor of Marika--the Empyrean Ranni. He was given a massive amount of responsibility, the seeming crux of the Liurnian-Leyndell alliance that ended the Liurnian Wars that Marika's empire was losing, and he by every account was completely dedicated and successful; even weakening the strength of the Carian royal family by reducing their practicing of astrology.

All yet, when push came to shove: After Godwyn was assassinated and Marika sought to destroy the Elden Ring. It was Radagon who dropped everything he had and stepped in to stop her.

"Proudly" as his Golden Order Greatsword says,

Radagon divorced his first wife, married his 'original self,' begettedthe Twin Prodigies Miquella and Malenia as two more potential successors to Queen Marika, set up the brutal inquisition and censorship of the Age of Radagon headed by his own son Rykard, and was even involved with the very the development of Golden Order fundamentalism!

Radagon did so much fucking stuff! He was so damn proactive! So what exactly must he have been!?

That Marika initially separated from herself? And who went on to try and stop her very own plans when they turned against the wishes of the Greater Will??

This conflicting 'half' of her original person! That nonetheless was all this strongly willed on his own!?

What part of Marika COULD Radagon have originally been!?!?!?

And it's awesome. It's really really well-designed writing.

Frankly, even, it's genius. It's not anything revolutionary in terms of narrative devices or anything like that, but it's really elegant. It's really meaningful and concise, and it's really cool!!!

A lot of Elden Ring's base game is, or now maybe--was. (It having been the basis of my entire show on YouTube.)

But the actual story, instead of solely the backstory, of the DLC, unfortunately, is not!

You ever seen a boss item whose entire description was literally entirely the game just fucking QUOTING ITSELF?

Hyetta at Frenzied Flame Proscription: "Become their lord. Take their torment, despair. Their affliction. Every sin, every curse. And melt it all away. As the Lord of Chaos."

Ghost outside Church of Inhibition in Liurnia: "Ahh, Lord Vyke, it seems that you were no lord, after all."

Midras's Flame of Frenzy, from killing Midras, Lord of Frenzied Flame:

Or! Better yet, ANOTHER boss spell, whose entire description is dedicated to literally just acknowledging its fucking colour!!

Land of Shadows, from killing the Scadutree Avatar:

I definitely sure wish I still hadn't!!

In fact, I don't think the level of vacuousness from Shadow of the Erdtree's descriptions has ever been seen before!

Not even in Dark Souls 3!!

AUGH

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer NSFW Profile

Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, non/dub-con, manipulation, I know I might break some hearts but I actually think Chrollo is very vanilla, loud sex, begging, h*nd holding, voyeurism, exhibitionism, unethical usage of a copying nen ability, masturbation, stalking, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy! 

HABITS:

Generally speaking, sex hasn’t been a huge part of Chrollo’s life. Of course, being a man with charisma and questionable goals, he’s had his fair share of partners to woo and use for information, sneakily extracting names and facts from them as he kisses and touches them, a husky, whispered question of and where might those gemstones be exactly against his temporary lover’s lips seeming strangely erotic, though the intent is anything but.

He’s never really viewed sex as something meaningful; rather, it’s simply a tool, a means to an end for whatever it is that he wants to steal next, and thus it’s never been much of a concern. Why should it be, when Chrollo finds connections and genuine human interaction something of a chore, unless it’s towards his own Troupe members?

Sex is a means to an end, and while there’s something strangely alluring about the idea of having sex for pleasure, he’s not one to simply go out and find a hookup to relieve himself. He likes to think he’s more refined than that – besides, while he isn’t especially wearing of intimacy or touching others, he doesn’t want to touch anyone he isn’t at least needing to, for some job or another. Casual sex just isn’t his thing.

Of course, then you come along, and just with everything else in his life, you’re to blame for his sudden change in opinion, his sudden changing belief that maybe, just maybe, sexual desire and intimacy has more of a purpose than he originally believed.

It’s not instantaneous, his desires to be touching you and making you moan so prettily and feel your skin against his. He doesn’t see you and immediately imagine bending you over and fucking you until you’re sweating and panting and spent. He doesn’t immediately imagine spreading your legs and getting you gripping at his hair, your pretty slick smeared all over his lips.

It’s not immediate, but rather a culmination of his obsession with you deepening over time. It takes him a long time to develop his feelings for you, and even longer to make sense of them – he’s not particularly hostile towards them, but it takes a while for his obsession to fully set in, for him to realize that he wants you in a romantic, genuine way. It will be a solid few weeks after his obsession form for him to get to the point where he’s fantasizing not only about the way you’d smile at him and softly sigh as he reads passages of his favorite gothic poems to you, but also about the way you’d quote certain stanzas as you kiss his neck, run your fingernails against his back, tug at his hair and keen his name.

It’s slow going, and to be honest Chrollo doesn’t even really notice that it’s happening until he’s suddenly so pent up that he just can’t take it, his hand itching to reach down and quell the dull throbbing coming from between his legs.

He’s never been one to masturbate much, the act seeming tiresome and without little reward, and as a result he’s more curious than anything that you’ve managed to inspire within him such primal urges, animalistic desires to see you stuffed full of his cock, cum leaking from your spent, sore pussy, your eyes dazed and hazy as he kisses you breathlessly.

He’s impressed, more than anything, but Chrollo isn’t too surprised once he thinks about it – you’re something of a breath of fresh air to him, someone real and interesting and oh so intriguing, so why wouldn’t he want to fuck you until you’re crying?

Why wouldn’t he want to map every inch of your skin out with his lips, feel your muscles clench and stiffen up under his fingertips?

He’s mildly surprised by your ability to essentially get him horny, and while it doesn’t happen too often (maybe two or three times per week), it’s still sizeable – and so is the amount of time that he begins spending in the company of a candle, a novel, and symphonic music in the background, blending in with the airy gasps and groans of the evening. 

When it comes to actually touching himself, Chrollo has a bit of a dirty secret; his nen ability (and its extensions, of course) comes in handy to the extreme in a lot of ways regarding you, but as soon as his more sexual desires towards you begin emerging, he’s suddenly so grateful for the sheer amount of nen abilities that he’s accumulated over the years.

That is, he’s particularly grateful for a certain one he picked up towards the beginning of the Phantom Troupe’s existence: an ability allowing partial recreation of an individual’s body parts, up to the whim of the wielder.

Guilt has never been something he’s given too much thought to, and so as he lights the few candles surrounding his place at the edge of the queen sized bed he's used the last few evenings, he merely closes his eyes and smiles, the aroma of a blissful, peaceful evening settling around him, the feeling of moonlight hitting his pale features and the crackling of the flames relaxing his body and preparing him for the next few events.

Chrollo is nothing if not a man of culture, and so as he carefully removes his jacket (folding it on top of the Victorian style chair in the corner of the room) along with his pants, he lets out a small sigh and grabs the book laying atop his nightstand, the golden cover with its black lettering making a small shiver run down his spine.

The book is, admittedly, a bit more graphic than his normal tastes, but there’s something about the way the narrator describes the female lead that makes his mind immediately shoot to you – something about the description of her hair, her body, her mannerisms, her everything, though Chrollo could say without a hint of hesitation that you were still better in every possible way. He’s read the novel dozens of times; it’s a classic, cliché love story of a dashing, mysterious man who swoons a sweet, traditional daughter of some nobleman, their romance dark and swift and taboo.

It reminds him a lot of his situation with you, really – he’s the handsome, dark man who comes and sweeps you off your feet, tempting you into leaving your good-girl, righteous persona and instead letting him taint you. Just the thought gets him throbbing, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows and wills himself to calm down, to not ruin the ambiance he’s diligently set up for the night.

He flips to the marked section towards the middle of the book, the chapter detailing the night of passion and romance that ensues between the two characters. He’s quick to begin pouring over the words, and though he’s read this multiple page passage easily hundreds of times, the image still comes together in his head as if it’s fresh – the woman pinned below the man, the collar of her silky, white nightdress pushed down to just above her breasts, collarbone exposed along with her neck, half lidded eyes staring up at the lead while she gulps and breaths a bit raggedly.

Her wrists are beside her head, her whole body open and exposed for his future pleasure, and immediately he’s imagining you in a frilly, white nightgown, the material short and sheer and making you look angelic, like something for him to ruin.

Chrollo licks his lips, eyes still rapidly scanning the page as a hand snakes down to the slowly stiffening length resting against his thigh, the tip turning a deep shade of red, the trimmed forest of black hair standing out against the pale skin surrounding. A brush of his fingertips against the sensitive base has him exhaling slowly, the fantasy of the heroine’s knee slightly rising to brush against the lead’s clothed cock making a blush rise to the back of his neck, images of the way you’d bite your lip and whisper his name making him feel hot, every nerve on fire as the excitement and anticipation of pleasure – of you – rolls through him.

He knows the passage by heart, knowing every event taking place between what he pretends to be you and himself, his own imagination even filling in the details, imagining little additions to the plot that the book doesn’t even mention – you whispering his name and tracing the tattoo across his forehead, the feeling of your soft fingers against his skin making him groan ever so lightly. And with that thought in mind, he’s gently bookmarking and placing the book back on the stand, instead taking a deep breath, black eyes appraising his throbbing cock desperate for attention and stimulation, your attention and stimulation.

He spends a moment stroking himself, the pulls of his wrist languid and slow, just barely enough stimulation to feel good – hesitant, almost, like he imagines you being. Would you be nervous, the first time you see him naked? He likes to imagine you’ve never been with a man before (though he knows it’s likely untrue), or at least that you’ve never cared so much about pleasing one, about making him feel good and pleasured and satisfied.

(He decides you would be a bit anxious – your touches small, unsure, your pretty eyes always flicking back up to his, your soft lip caught between your teeth, your thumb just barely brushing over his tip and making him murmur your name with a slightly strained voice.)

He’s quick to pull up his book of nen abilities, flipping through the pages until he finds the correct one, the familiar black lettering describing the ability making him shiver in anticipation. It’s easy to conjure up the familiar image of your face in his mind, the corresponding physical image appearing before him immediately, and as he opens his previously closed eyes, he sucks in a sharp breath at the image of you, your lashes and cheeks and pretty eyes staring up at him.

It’s perfect – a complete replica of you, down to every last mole, hair, and scar decorating your face. It’s a bit disorienting to see a version of just your head and hair floating, your eyes gorgeous yet lifeless, muscles unable to move freely on their own, but Chrollo moves past it quickly – how can he not, when you’re right there, so pliable and beautiful and for his use?

He swallows harshly as his free hand comes down to lightly run over your strands of hair, the texture familiar and pleasing to the touch, and he watches with unblinking eyes as he slowly pushes your head down, further until your unfocused eyes are level with the now pulsing erection sitting between his legs.

He bites his lip as he recalls the words of the passage, the eloquent language not diminishing the meaning behind the words. She kneeled before him, a servant to her master, lips parted and eyes appraising him as if he were a work of art, the single most valuable thing to have graced her gaze.

He imagines the way you’d stare at him, your eyes raking over his sculpted chest, the ‘v’ of his navel, your tongue flicking out over your lips as you appraise the pale length of his cock, the soft, smooth set of balls attached.

He hopes you’d be impressed, but impatience gets the better of him as he once again moves your head further forward, so that his tip brushes against your lifeless lips.

They’re cold, a stark difference to what he’s sure is an inviting, riveting, and wet mouth you possess, but he’s in no position to complain – certainly not when he remembers how the woman swallows him as if he were the most divine, succulent meal, savoring his taste as if it were her last.

It’s difficult to recreate the scene with your unresponsive mouth, but he’s carefully pulling your lower jaw down, your lips parted and tongue lolling out as he slowly, ever so fucking slowly, pushes inside, the small groan fighting its way up his throat telling of how even your cold mouth can affect him.

He shivers, the sensation climbing up his spine, and his fingers gently scrape your scalp as he gets a good grip, his head lolling back slightly and his eyes closing as he begins moving your head up and down, up and down, your cold saliva coating his length as he sighs and whispers your name under his breath.

The music in the background is soft, romantic, orchestral and something Chrollo very much imagines fucking you to. He likes to imagine the way your moans and breaths would blend in with the melodies and crescendos – though, the sounds you’d make when he’s got you creaming all over his fingers and cock would drown out any sort of background music, he’s sure.

Once again musters up more aura, conjuring up a replica of your hand that he quickly intertwines with his own, his fingers joining yours in shakily holding up his nen book. The pace is slow, soft, the moment feeling sweet yet erotic, and as he opens his eyes and stares half liddedly down at your unseeing eyes and unresponsive mouth, Chrollo curses, a small l-love, you’re so beautiful…

His fingers tighten around your hair as he comes closer, the book’s scenes flashing through his eyes as he picks up the pace of his wrist, your head coming down over his throbbing, sensitive skin quicker, the sensation climbing and climbing as his breath steadily gets harsher, soft groans tumbling past his now puffy and overbitten lips, the light flush across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose almost endearing.

He’s fairly quiet, only the occasional deep groan or murmur of your name, and as he gets closer, his grip around your fingers tightens, his breathing getting more ragged and uneven. His complexion reddens, his skin shining with a light sheen of sweat, abs clenching and twitching as the pleasure grows stronger, more acute, the feeling of you and your spit and your soft skin only spurring on the twitching of his cock.

The music climbs to a crescendo, his eyes peeling open to see the way your lips suck him in again and again and again, his cock glistening with spit and his hips bucking to get even deeper inside you, the visual of him fucking your face just too much too much –

He’s coming with a strangled gasp of your name, dark eyes blowing wide as his hips start thrusting on their own, plunging forward and down your throat, untimed and uneven.

He imagines the way you’d gag, your throat tightening up and your pretty eyes dotting with tears as he shoots load after load of watery, semi-bitter cum down your throat, the thought only making his hips jerk harder, his body spurred forward by the motivation to get as much of his cum as deeply down your throat as possible, to claim you as his in the most carnal, natural way.

He’s panting by the time the feeling dies down, a few strands of his carefully gelled back hair loose and framing the pale skin of his forehead and the tattoo decorating it. Beads of sweat frame his temples, his chest heaving still, his nipples hard and pebbled in the cool air of the bedroom.

It takes a moment for him to slowly regain his composure, giving your floating facial replica a gentle, long kiss on the forehead, his eyes fluttering closed and eyebrows scrunching up as he kisses you harder, more fervently, more desperately, trying to express every ounce of love and appreciation and want he has for you, even if it’s merely a cold, carbon copy of you that he’s kissing.

Then, he’s shutting the book and watching you disappear, a cold, familiar sense of loneliness settling into his chest.

The music is still on in the background, lulling him into a relaxed state as he lays on his back, body nude while he thinks back to the way the novel describes the post-sex cuddling, soft touches and sweet, affectionate words, lulled promises of loving each other forever, claims of ownership and commitments to stay together.

He sighs softly, the faintest smile gracing his lips as he imagines the way he’d hold you, your sweaty bodies pressed against one another, cum seeping from your cunt as you clutch onto him, your hair tickling his chin and neck, your soft breaths as you drift into sleep, feeling safe and protected by him…

Occasionally, on nights where he feels particularly restless for you, where the stress of running a wanted criminal group begins to get to him, he’ll conjure up your full body, and while it’s cold, unresponsive and unable to speak or look at him, it’s enough. Cuddling you, kissing your freezing skin and running his fingers over your jawline, collarbone, your supple curves is enough to have him slowly drifting to sleep, secure in your arms and dreaming of the day when you’re finally there to enact the scenes of his romantic, smutty novels with him in person, just as you should be. 

(He’ll never actually fuck your nen-conjured self, however. He feels it would be crossing the line – as if fucking your mouth isn’t – and although it wouldn’t feel nearly as good as the real you, he wants your first time together to be special, to be a true exploration of each other’s bodies and genuine reactions. So, rest assured, he doesn’t use the fuck doll he makes of you as a stand in for actual sex – he’ll just use your hand, or your mouth, or your breasts, or your thighs. Never that perfect cunt between your legs, the one that makes his mouth water and his fingers twitch.)

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your Collarbone

In a lot of ways, Chrollo is a traditional man. Surely not with his profession, nor the company he keeps, and certainly not the way he feels for you – but still, some aspects of how he views intimacy are very classical.

That is, while he adores the sight of you in revealing, slutty clothing, with your tits nearly bursting out of the pathetic, stringy bralette and your pretty, puffy lips clearly visible through the sheer thong, there’s an appeal to the more sensual parts of your body that aren’t as oversexualized.

Specifically, Chrollo finds himself drawn to your chest – of course, your breasts are alluring and wonderful and fit in his hands so very perfectly, but his favorite spot of all is right above them.

The expanse of your collarbone is a sight that always manages to catch his eye, his dark gaze lingering on the symmetrical, pretty bones. He likes to trace them with his finger, his touch light and soft but insistent, running over the lines and pressing his thumb into the dip in the center.

It doesn’t matter if your collarbone is prominent or not – there’s just something about the intimacy of it all that makes him giddy, the fact that no one except him gets to feel this part of you making his possessiveness flare up and shivers race up his spine.

When he’s kissing you, his lips always find purchase there, traveling down your neck and the juncture of your shoulder, before settling heavily against your collarbone, soft lips pressing kisses and hickeys and biting against the skin.

When he’s pressed you up against the wall, his figure looming over you and his presence making you feel small and weak, he’ll leave a hand at the base of your throat, the heel of his palm pressing against your collarbone so that he can feel your pulse, feel the way you breath, feel you you you.

You’ll often wake up after nights of long, passionate fucking (love-making, he likes to say, though the way he loses control after his first orgasm and fucks you so hard it nearly hurts really only resembles an animal, not a man) with dark marks all over your collarbone, the entire area bruised and swollen and aching, a constant reminder of Chrollo’s presence.

When he kidnapped you, it was a very spur of the moment, rushed affair, and as a result you weren’t able to bring any of your own clothing – which means, outside of just roaming around naked (something that Chrollo certainly wouldn’t argue against), you’ll be left to dress with whatever he deems appropriate.

More often than not, that means shirts with very low necklines, off the shoulders, or with wide necks that show off your collarbone.

(It also means skirts and dresses, sheer tights or thin materials, things that show off your thighs and the curves of your legs – Chrollo’s second favorite spot on your body.)

You’ll catch him staring idly, his eyes hyperfocused on the area even when you’re speaking to him, and sometimes you can even actually see the way he zones out ever so slightly, an internal war taking place inside him because he wants to hear what you’re saying and watch your lips as you speak to him, but he just can’t stop staring at where he’d left a large, prominent hickey on the right side of your collarbone, feeling your pulse under his lips while he made you cream and squeeze and come all over his fingers, just for him.

He thinks you’re beautiful, and even if you aren’t, Chrollo finds your body to be elegant, truly a work of art, and your collarbone is the crowning jewel of said art.

So don’t be surprised when he’s forcing you to wear chokers and tight necklaces, the combination of the jewelry and the sleeveless top leaving the expanse between them open and vulnerable, perfect to suck on and kiss.

He’s just in love, and is it so wrong to find your body perfect, wonderful, so damn alluring that it drives him insane?

His fingers

From the moment his sexual urges towards you begin, his fantasies tend to revolve mostly around using his hands to please you.

Of course, he likes the idea of using his mouth on you or stuffing you full of his cock, and those fantasies are most definitely present, too.

(As are the ones where you’re pleasing him – he has to be careful with these fantasies, though, because if he’s in public, any thought of you dropping to your knees for him or pressing your pretty tits together and moving them up and down his cock gets him hard immediately, his orgasm already halfway there from just the thought of you wanting him to feel good.)

The majority of what he imagines in detail is really just him working at your body with his hands. They aren’t too terribly veiny, but they’re the perfect amount, just enough to get your gaze lingering on them, and seeing the way the tendons and muscles flex when he moves will make your throat feel dry.

Even the way his hands are connected to his forearms, veins dancing up the expanse of his pale arms can get you staring, embarrassment making your neck feel hot when he catches your gaping with a knowing look, that prideful, cocky smirk on his face making you feel hot in anger and a bit of excitement.

(He’s noticed your staring, and makes it a point to roll up the sleeves of his shirts to expose his wrists and forearms, even purposefully flexing the muscles when he sees your eyes on them, his own gaze eagerly examining your face for even a hint of awe, or attraction, or enjoyment.)

But the real draw of his hands are his fingers; they’re pale, nimble and surprisingly smooth, given his past and occupation, and they’re long. They’re always cold, the feeling making you shiver, and Chrollo has them pressed against you as often as possible.

He’s touchy, really, and while this often manifests as his hand sitting on the small of your back or your shoulder or brushing against your cheek, this habit certainly doesn’t change in the context of intimacy and sex.

When he’s got you underneath him, staring up at him with wide eyes and your lips all swollen and bruised from his harsh kisses, he’s immediately touching you, his hands coming up to rip off the shirt he’d picked out for you this morning, tearing the flouncy skirt he’d helped zip you into cleanly in half in his desperation.

He can’t control himself, really – he’s gripping at your thighs and the fat of your stomach, squeezing and kneading and wanting, and while that entertains him for a while, eventually he’ll be nudging your legs apart, fingers immediately tracing up the insides of your thigh, tickling you and making you suck in a breath as he gets closer and closer to where you need him. (Or, at least, where he thinks you need him.

He’s convinced he knows your body better than you do, though, so any amount of denying this claim will result in that same, familiar patronizing smile and a soft murmur of it’s okay, darling, your body says what your mind won’t.)

He likes to tease you, even though it ends up teasing him too, by pressing feather-light touches against your folds and sensitive clit, dark eyes flicking between your cunt and your face, eagerly taking in every expression and sound you give him.

He’ll ask you if you want more, for you articulate what you want, all because he needs to hear you say please Chrollo, I need your fingers inside, I want to feel you fuck me with your fingers! Eventually, though, his patience will snap, and he’ll push them inside, listening to your little gasps and moans as he immediately curls them, rubbing and pressing against the spots he knows make you moan and writhe.

He’s unfairly good with his fingers – he’s got the pacing and motions down perfectly, his stamina high enough to keep going throughout the entire night.

He’s always got a finger steadily working at your clit, rubbing slow, firm circles against the sensitive area until you’re coming for him, and while a lot of his desire to make you feel good genuinely comes from the place of wanting to please you, a lot of it is selfish, too.

By constantly stimulating your clit or loosening you up with his fingers, he’s making sure you’ll enjoy him, that when he’s fucking you and stuffing you with his cum, you’re wet enough and receptive enough, and god, the feeling of you coming on his cock, the constant pressure against your clit tipping you over the edge?

Well, don’t blame him when he’s gasping into your ear, a strangled sort of noise that almost sounds like your name, his cock twitching and throbbing inside you, before you feel warmth spilling into you, his black hair tickling your cheeks as he rests his face in the crook of your neck.

DRIVE:

In general, Chrollo’s libido isn’t the highest. Obviously, he desires you sexually and loves to kiss you, touch you, fuck you, make you scream his name and clutch onto him like you’ll otherwise die, but he doesn’t need to be in bed with you at all times. He doesn’t have to be making you cream and stuffing you full of his cock, fingers and cum every day.

(Every other day is ideal, or – if he’s particularly stressed or busy – maybe every two days, but that’s pushing it.)

No, Chrollo isn’t that sexually driven – though, he is that clingy, even if he’s good at not showing it. In general, there’s something about you that makes Chrollo feel, and he’s found that any sort of physical contact brings this strange, fluttering emotion in his chest, one he’s fairly sure is love – which ultimately results in the conclusion that in order to feel good, wanted, loved, touching you is something that he must do often.

The reality is that he’s never really had a partner, someone to give and receive genuine love and affection with, and the moment that he realizes how wonderful a hug can feel or how good of an experience simply locking pinkies can be, he’s hooked. Suddenly, those cliché, overt couple actions that used to intrigue him in a clinical way are much, much more interesting, the idea of wrapping his arms around your waist enticing in a way he can’t quite describe.

From pretty much the beginning of your time as his captive, Chrollo will be forcing affection onto you. It’s little things, mostly – things that make your skin crawl because they’re so innocent and sweet and pure that it makes you sick.

He’ll gently intertwine your hands with his, staring down and marveling at the sight of your fingers wrapped around his own, your smaller hand looking perfect against his.

He’ll press a kiss to your cheek or forehead after he compliments you (though, the compliments are always a bit strange – slightly threatening, or too specific, or just weird).  

Of course, while this affection and surplus of physical contact is generally innocent, slowly Chrollo’s tastes and urges begin to change slightly, going from wholesome, sweet acts to more questionable touches, actions that have you slightly cocking a brow, slightly not comfortable with the implications of his behavior.

Because really, while you’ll likely be just fine with him lacing his fingers with yours (though, it’s likely that you’ll be less happy with it and more just complacent, figuring that with his criminal status and abilities, there’s far worse he could do to you), things will get a bit complicated when his hands start resting at your waist, dipping ever so slightly lower to your hip, his fingers pressing just a bit tighter against your skin than you’re comfortable with.

What starts out with a mostly tolerable chaste kiss to the cheek will turn into his lips against yours, his tongue running along your lower lip, a small groan tumbling into your mouth as he forces his tongue inside, running it along your teeth and coaxing your own tongue to participate.

What begins as a simple pair of hands resting against your shoulders will become him running them down the length of your sides, thumbs pressing circles against the area right underneath your breasts, those dark eyes seeming to shine with something that makes your breath hitch.

Because really, while Chrollo does absolutely bask in the innocent affection he can garner from you, there’s just something about you that makes his more natural urges kick into gear, the area between his legs feeling warmer, more insistent, more desperate the more he kisses you, the more he holds you and whispers to you that he loves you so much my dear, won’t you let me show you the extent of my feelings? 

However, Chrollo is a smart man – when it comes to actually having sex or any sort of intimacy on the same level with you, he’s willing to be patient.

He doesn’t want to force you into anything, to make you uncomfortable or dislike him, to reverse any progress he’s made in getting you to fall utterly, completely in love with him, so he steels himself, mentally reminding himself every time he sees your plush thighs that he must wait.

He’ll chastise himself for almost losing control when you stretch, the sliver of exposed skin of your stomach and your cute little grunt nearly making him throw caution to the wind.

He has remarkable self control, and while you likely won’t know it, you’ll be seeing it in action nearly every moment he’s around you, especially when you’re already doing something affectionate, like hugging or sitting in his lap.

(He’s the one that’s forced you into these things, of course, but it doesn’t matter – if you make any sort of movement that isn’t prying him off or swatting his hands away, Chrollo considers you as being willing, happy, enjoying touching him, and the thought makes this pleasant, warm feeling bloom in his chest.)

He’s working incredibly hard to not push too far, but after some time of you not seeming to come around, not voicing any desire to go further, Chrollo decides he must resort to certain measures in order to speed up your progress.

Thus, he begins subtly trying to plant the idea in your mind, trying to tempt you into admitting that yes, you want him to reach underneath the frilly, white shirt he provided to you and cup your breasts, to roll your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, to feel you shiver and hear you sigh against his lips.

He wants to lay seeds in your mind so that you’ll come to the conclusion sooner that you want him to rest between your legs and use that talented, smooth talking mouth to make you talk, to hear you babble and cry out his name.

He’s talented at being discreet, and so as he moves his hands to rest closer to your ass, squeezing the plush of your thighs, leaving fluttering kisses against your neck, he’s hoping you’ll slowly come to the conclusion on your own, your own body and desires betraying you.

And quite honestly, while you’ll likely be uncomfortable at first, confused and a bit scared, eventually it’ll work – after all, charisma is something Chrollo possesses in mass quantities, and while you’re obviously not happy that you’ve been kidnapped, that the leader of a mass group of international criminals is holding you in his lap and nuzzling against your mouth, whispering to you that you’re so lovely, won’t you say my name darling, it’s difficult to not let the ideas form, the lack of human contact forcing you to imagine paths you rationally have no desire to.

It’ll make you feel dirty, like you’re betraying yourself and letting Chrollo win, but he’ll ultimately get exactly what he wants – he’s observant to a tee, and so once he notices the way you start clenching your thighs together ever so slightly as he tells you that he’d love to take care of you tonight, he’s inwardly smiling, pride swimming in his chest because finally,  finally you’re beginning to be affected by the subtle touches and words, things that could leave you second guessing, the possibility that maybe he wants to go further unrelenting in that sweet little head of yours.

And so, as he begins probing you, asking you how you’re feeling, if you’re satisfied, if you’re feeling like I give you everything you desire, he’s waiting with baited breath for you to embarrassedly admit that you want more, that you want something only Chrollo can give to you.

He’ll goat you into admitting it, telling you to be more specific, to tell him exactly what you want, because otherwise he won’t know, and then he can’t improve, now can he?

He’s calculating, smart, analytical and damn good at getting what he wants, and so ultimately you’ll cave, admitting that you want him to fuck me please, I just – just please…

He won’t outwardly be affected, but just know that the speed with which his erection makes itself known is directly tied to you, the eagerness of his body and his movements to undress you betraying him.  

And as he starts breathing a little heavier, stripping you of your clothing and his as well, it becomes hard to miss the way he’s eager, anxious, frantic to touch you.

You’ll see the signs of months of repressed sexual tension, months of desiring you but needing you to consent first, even as pressured as your admittance may be.

But in the end, does it matter?

Because when Chrollo’s hovering over you, those dark eyes fixed on your face with an intensity that’ll make you shiver, you’ll feel oh so taken care of, the small signs and subtle pushes making you insatiable for something you didn’t even know you desired. 

And Chrollo will be happy to keep providing for you – what kind of lover would he be if he didn’t? Besides, no one else canmake you feel like he does – not even you – he’ll make sure of it.

You only need him.

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Loud Sex

Generally speaking, Chrollo is a quiet man. He’s polite and personable, yes, but he doesn’t bother with unnecessary chatter – when he speaks it’s purposeful, calculated, commanding, and this is true even when it comes to you.

 You make him feel the closest he’s ever felt to being nervous, but he’s still not especially loud around you. He never shuts up, that’s true, always asking you questions and telling you about his day, about a flower that reminds him of you (a petal or two was missing, making him think of how you aren’t truly complete unless he’s with you), or even, on rare occasions, telling you a reason why he’s in love with you.

(It’s not as romantic as it sounds – the way he speaks about romance is too clinical, and the reasons he’ll give you are far too specific and detailed to really make you feel good.)

So yes, he speaks often, but he’s not loud.

And during sex, this stays true – the most you’ll get out of him is a low groan and a few heavy, drawn out sighs, or a few chants of your name when he’s getting close and he’s particularly pent up. He’s still not quiet though – he’s talking the whole time, dirty talk spilling from his lips about how you’re so beautiful, especially when you’re falling apart around my cock or that he loves when you moan, can you feel how I’m throbbing inside of you? It’s all for you, does it feel good to know you’re affecting me like this?

His voice is always sultry, always whispered directly into your ear, and while his particular brand of dirty talk is, more or less, mediocre (it’s always too long and makes you think too much; you’d prefer something shorter, something more explicit, something coming from anyone aside from him), Chrollo likes the concept of sex not being quiet. Specifically, he likes when you fill in the silence.

There’s something about the noises you make that make him absolutely feral – similarly to his curiosity about you in everyday life, he wants to understand you sexually. He wants to hear every sound you have to offer – he needs to understand what’s causing you to make that noise and how to keep you making it. He needs to hear every little thing, to have a mental catalogue of the different noises and cries he can pull from your pliable body.

It doesn’t matter if you’re naturally loud or quiet – he will be expecting you to put on a show for him, your body a canvas for him to create a masterpiece on, your every gasp, moan, and sigh a paint stroke that eventually comes together to form you, a piece of art Chrollo wants to keep stolen away from the world forever.

He’s not particularly shy about this desire of his, either – it’s very easy to tell that he’s striving to get you to moan for him, because you’ll feel his fingers work in that certain way, grinding and rubbing in that particular spot, those dark eyes wavering in excitement because he absolutely loves the way you sound gasping his name.

You can tell he’s aiming to get you vocal when he’s pressing his face between your legs, dark hairs tickling your thighs as he diligently works his tongue against your clit, the sensation partnered with the insistent thrusting of his fingers inside you not stopping until you groan his name, and then only getting harder, that same motion being repeated over and over because he needs to hear it again.

He’s like an addict, really – once he hears a noise he finds pleasant (every noise you make, really), he’s trying everything in his power to get you to make it again, wanting to have auditory evidence (to match the slick coating his fingers and the smell of your arousal) that you’re enjoying this, that you’re enjoying him and the way he’s touching you. It’s selfish, really, because while giving you pleasure is great and brings you a step closer to desiring him as he desires you, it quells his possessiveness.

It makes him feel good because it’s proof that he’s affecting you, that the motions and pleasure his body is bringing you is making you feel good, that your brain is mush because of him. It’s proof that your thighs are trembling and shaking because of the way he’s massaging and toying with your clit.

It’s proof that your lips are swollen and puffy and parted because of the way he’s kissing your neck and kneading at your breasts. It’s proof that he’s the only one on your mind, that your every thought is revolving around him him him, that your body and brain can only focus on Chrollo alone.

It makes him feel good, knowing that no other man could possibly be in your thoughts in moments like these, and the more he can get you moaning and screaming and sobbing in pleasure, the higher the likelihood of you focusing solely on him. So really, any time the two of you are intimate, expect your voice to be hoarse the next day – he needs you to be making noise, and he’ll even tell you as much.

He’ll tell you to show me how badly you need me inside you, moan my name and cream on my fingers and I might consider adhering to your wishes.

He’ll tell you to say his name, to tell him that he feels good, and even to narrate exactly what you’re feeling.

(That last one is a favorite of his – it’s so dirty, and it fills him with pride and arousal to hear you say that he feels s’good, your fingers are so big and it’s making me feel so full and good and fuck, Chrollo, please let me come!)

It’s an obsession, truly, one that rivals the one he holds for you – so really, just give him what he wants.

Fake the moans (but be careful, because he can normally tell – though, as he gets closer to his own orgasm, his façade slips and the true lustful, crazed man underneath his carefully constructed exterior rears its head, his snapping hips and messy hair evidence of just how much you affect him. He’s less able to tell apart your fake moans from real ones in these moments, and when he’s right on the edge, any noise from you will have him toppling over, gripping onto you and coming, filling you so fully that it leaks out, white spilling all over your thighs and dripping down his balls.)

He just wants you to be vocal, and it’s in your best interest to meet his demands – the night will be long and very, very painful if you don’t; Chrollo knows your body well enough to overstimulate you past your threshold, the pleasure melting into pain with each orgasm he tears from your body.

Begging

While Chrollo is a difficult man to decipher, one thing you’ll learn about him is that he’s very, very susceptible to your begging.

Of course, he doesn’t always give in to what you want – your escape and freedom, for example, are things he’ll never grant you, no matter how incessantly and long you beg. (And no matter how you offer your body or your fake affections or any number of things.)

He’s stringent about many things, but in the bedroom he’s more or less easy to win over – you just have to know how to do it correctly.

It takes a very specific methodology to get him to listen to your wishes, to have him do exactly what you need in order to feel good. And that methodology is mostly rooted in begging him to do what you want, what you need in order to seek the pleasure you’re wanting.

And frankly, just hearing you say his name and beg him for literally anything has his hips stuttering, arousal spiking through him because god, you must really want him, huh?

There’s something so riveting and right about the power imbalance that you begging him for pleasure sets up; he’s the one in control, giving you what he deems as the right amount of pleasure, controlling your orgasm and deciding when – and if – you’ll be allowed to come.

It’s a power trip that gets his heart racing and his cock flushing bright red, his chest swelling with pride and greed because god, every fucking inch of you belongs to him, and when you acknowledge that it makes him want to fuck you hard enough to make you scream his name.

You’ll need to beg, but even more than that, you’ll need to mix the begging with some sort of compliment. He’s good at telling when you’re lying, though, so the compliment must be somewhat genuine – tell him his fingers feel so good, oh Chrollo you’re gonna make me come, don’t stop! Tell him that he’s so big, you feel so – so big inside me, oh god, please harder, I need you harder!

If you intermix the compliments in with your begs, Chrollo is almost certain to at least consider your wishes, fucking you harder or deeper or angling his fingers just right, anything and everything to get you to keep talking, to keep paying attention to him and telling him how much you need him.

He may not show it, but he really, really wants you to enjoy sex with him, both because seeing you writhe in pleasure gives him pleasure, and also because it means you’re giving him all your focus and attention. So really, if things aren’t going quite as they should to really get you off or to make you feel good, using this master formula will often yield the results you desire – he’s a sap, even if he doesn’t show it, even if he’s not fully aware of it himself.

What he is aware of, though, is this little strategy of yours.

He’s figured it out; you’re not as smooth as you think, and although it boosts his ego and makes his heart race when you compliment him, Chrollo knows there’s an ulterior motive behind your words. And so begins a game of cat and mouse – he likes the way you beg for him, and he doesn’t want you to stop, so he’ll only slightly give in to your request.

This will, in turn, make you beg for more, a new compliment and moans slipping from your lips that get Chrollo gulping and steeling his resolve, his fingers moving slightly to the spot you want them, his pace getting slightly faster, only half-assedly doing what you’d begged for.

The cycle repeats, Chrollo managing to milk you for every last possible bit of praise and desperation for his touch, until he’s eventually giving in, doing things just as you ask for so that you’re a shaking, moaning mess for him, completely falling apart on his fingers. He’s aware of the game you’re playing, and frankly, as time passes Chrollo will begin purposefully not touching you like how he knows you like.

You like to be fingered quickly, with a certain angle and a certain rhythm? Well, he’s finger fucking you at a moderate pace, aiming for a certain spot an inch or so away from your sweet spot, the rhythm just slightly off.

It’ll be enough to get you squirming, your face scrunching up in pleasure and need, your eyes teary and watery as you beg him to go just a hair faster, because it always feels so good when you go fast, please make me feel good, Chrollo!

You’ll go through the cycle three or four times, but he’ll almost always eventually give in – with one big, glaring exception.

Chrollo really likes to bring you to orgasm, it’s true – however, he really, really likes when you beg for permission to orgasm, waiting to fully let go until he’s given you the okay to make a mess all for him.

He wants you to beg him to please let me come, please Chrollo I wanna come for you, all the while he’s holding off just a bit, not quite pushing you over the edge with his thrusts or flicks of his tongue.

He knows your body so well that he’s able to hold you right where he wants you, right on the brink of coming but not quite, just so that you’re unbearably close but needing that one final push. And he’ll milk this out of you, too – he’s unashamed with how he asks you to repeat yourself, to tell him exactly what you need, to moan his name and show him just how badly you want to come for him.

He wants you to be prickling with embarrassment at how unabashedly you shame, loving the way you get all shy and bashful when he tells you to beg me to fuck you into an orgasm, love, and then you’ll get it.

It makes him giddy to see the way you writhe and cry out his name so wantonly, your desperation to find your high trumping over any bit of self-respect you pretend to have, because ultimately you’re choosing him and the pleasure he can give you over this stupid, rebellious side of yourself that’s unwilling to accept his love.

It’s good, a step in the right direction, and by forcing you to beg him permission to orgasm (an orgasm caused by him, no less), Chrollo simultaneously gets to push you a smidge closer to willingly being his, and he also gets to feel you come for him.

(A sight that normally pushes him unbearably close to his own orgasm – just a few thrusts inside you and he’s blowing his load, cum spurting inside you as he gasps your name under his breath, the warmth settling into his stomach both a result of his orgasm and giddiness that you’re starting to come around, aren’t you?)

He just loves when you beg, and although you think you have the power in the situation, thinking you’ve got him figured out, you really, really don’t. You never do, after all, and Chrollo will always outsmart you.

So just tell him you want his cock, beg him to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow, and he’ll give you just that – not without a few caveats, though.

Oral Fixation

While your collarbone may be his favorite part of your body, Chrollo really, really grows to love your mouth.

He’s always been entranced by the gentle curve of your lips, the shape playing behind his eyelids as he sleeps at night, driving him crazy when you aren’t yet by his side, making sleep – already elusive enough for him – nearly impossible to find.

(You’ll never know, but on nights where he can’t stop thinking of your lovely lips and how soft and warm and bitable they’d be, he’ll begrudgingly turn to his pillow, his own pale pink lips pressing against the silk, his eyes fluttering closed as he presses hesitant kisses against the material. As he gets more comfortable, he’ll move towards using his tongue; letting it flick out against the pillowcase, imagining it’s actually pressing into your mouth, brushing against your own and coaxing it to rub against his, to suck, his own tongue running along your teeth and reaching deeper and deeper into you until there’s not an inch of space he hasn’t touched and licked and tasted -)

He’s thought endlessly of how you might taste; would your saliva be sweet, or perhaps a nice, neutral taste? He’ll lick his lips while he contemplates, unconsciously salivating himself as he imagines how you’d taste as he kisses you, your scent and feel and everything else about you overwhelming him and making him dizzy in the best possible way.

He’s thought of the way you’d place kisses against his skin, how soft your lips would feel against the hard planes of his chest, against the firm, defined muscles of his thighs, against his neck.

He’s spent many, many nights imagining the way your mouth and lips would worship his body; he imagines you’d start with his own lips, kissing him and moaning into his mouth with fervor, your tongue slipping out to meet his, saliva and spit getting all over your chins because every time he imagines kissing you it’s messy, sloppy and earnest and dirty.

He likes to think you’d move onto his jawline next, placing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the sharp line, tracing it from his chin all the way back to the juncture of his jaw, leading up to kiss and lightly suck at his ear.

You’d take his lobe gently between your teeth, lightly pulling and tugging just to hear him harshly exhale, your tongue even coming up to lick at the shell of his ear, your breath warm and sensual as you breath and whisper his name.

You’d move onto his neck, next, sucking kisses and hickies against the pale skin, the perfect canvas for you to leave your artwork against. He wants you to mark him up – he may be the dominant one in the relationship, sure, and he may the one indisputably in charge of everything, but there’s something endearing about wanting to stake your claim on him. It makes him feel good, desired, possessive over you, and he’ll proudly don his coat with the dark marks all along his neck, perhaps even pulling the collar to the side a bit so that others can see that he’s yours.

Then you’ll move down to his chest; he wants to feel you press fast, quick kisses all over the plain of his chest and abdomen, your tongue tracing the lines of his abs and making him shiver. He wants to feel your lips wrapped around his nipples, sucking and running your tongue over the sensitive skin, leaving a wet pop noise as you pull back.

He wants you to kiss along his thighs, the kisses here more harsh and demanding, maybe even sinking your teeth into his skin just to get his eyes rolling to the back of his head, your sudden display of dominance (or brattiness, rather) making something primal sound from the back of his throat.

And of course, Chrollo’s fixation with your mouth extends towards your ability to suck – before you two reach a point of sexual contact, he’ll firmly trace your lips with his fingertips, only to push past them and situate his fingers against your tongue, a small smile on his lips as he sighs softly and tells you to suck, my love, I’m sure you know how.

He’ll watch with wide eyes and baited breath as you work your tongue along his digits, slipping between them and letting your lips suction, the warmth and wetness making his pants tight and his cock ache, desperation nearly sending him over the edge as precum drools from his tip. And god, when you use your mouth on his cock?

Chrollo is a fairly composed man, yes, but even he can’t keep up that image when you’re sucking on him like you’re trying to suck out his soul, your lips gliding up and down his length, the suction and feel of your tongue rubbing against that sensitive spot on the underside of his tip making his abs clench and contract, his hips getting a mind of their own as they thrust and buck and hump.

He loves when you use your mouth on him, and although he tries to let you set the pace yourself and do things at your own leisure and speed (mostly because he likes seeing what you come up with, how you think he’ll be pleased), he’ll reach a point as he nears his orgasm where he takes over, his hands grasping onto your head and physically moving it up and down, controlling the depth and pace as he groans lowly, his orgasm powerful and heady and numbing as he comes, cum spilling down your throat as he holds you tightly against his pelvis, the short black hairs sitting at his navel ticking your nose.

Another spot that makes him melt when you lick and touch is his balls.

They’re always full, heavy, swollen, aching and begging to be fondled and licked and emptied, and what better way than with your soft, pretty lips and your nimble tongue? He likes to watch the way you stroke at his shaft and move your attention to each sack, tongue coming out to lick and tease, the sensation making him suck in a shaky breath – the sound so quiet you very nearly miss it.

He wants you to take on in your mouth, the warmth making his knees feel weak, the feeling of you lightly sucking making him have to clutch onto whatever surface is nearest just to steady himself.

It’s so dirty – seeing the way your lips stretch to accommodate something so big, and by the time you’re through with them he wants his balls to be positively smothered in your spit, glistening in the light and sensitive to the touch because you’ve worked him up so well.

Of course, Chrollo enjoys when you touch him in pretty much any way, but there’s just something about your mouth that he finds himself gravitating towards, because while it’s intimate and wonderful to fuck you, when you use your mouth – something that feels more taboo, more personal, more sacred – well, that’s a different thing, isn’t it? It means you want him, you want to taste him, that you like his aftertaste of musk and cum to linger in your mouth long after you’ve finished him off.

Chrollo just likes the implications of it all – and seeing you on your knees or feeling your lips against his neck will just make him shiver, excitement and lust and love pooling in his gut, all directly at sweet, perfectly little you.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Holding your hand

It’s not really a kink, but you’ll notice quite quickly into your sexual relationship with Chrollo that he has a habit of always managing to interlock your fingers when he’s fucking you.

The first few times you’ll think it’s sweet, deciding that although it seems out of character for a mass murderer to want to hold you hand when he’s already stuffed as deeply inside of you as possible, it’s kind of endearing.

It seems like a manipulation tactic at first, honestly – you don’t trust Chrollo, not at all, and despite the fact that you’ve caved and given into your bodily desires to have him touch you and pleasure you, you don’t like him. Maybe this is some ploy to get you to fall for him – you’ve seen him reading articles and researching on ways to make women feel loved and valued during sex, his dark eyes diligently and eagerly scanning the words.

(You didn’t bring this up to him, however – the conversation that would’ve ensued would’ve been unbearable, and what would you even say? Chrollo, why do you want me to feel wanted during sex? What are you playing at? Is it not enough for you that I’ve already admitted I want you to touch me?)

The truth, actually, is none of those things – of course, he does view sex as a way to bring you closer to him and get you closer and closer to returning his feelings, but the hand holding actually isn’t something he’s meticulously planned.

The constant stimulation and attention to your clit, he’d known from the beginning – making you come feels good, yes, but he needs you to enjoy it, to realize that he can give you pleasure consistently, that he knows his way around your body. But the hand holding?

Well, the first time he fucks you, he’s genuinely gone – you can’t tell, not really, but from the moment he slips inside of you, he’s fighting to keep his composure, his hips begging him to just ruin you, to fuck into you as hard and fast as he can – even if it means spilling himself inside of you in as little as two minutes. He finds himself drifting away and getting lost in the pleasure that first time, and subconsciously his hand is finding yours, needing something to grip onto, something to ground him and keep him from coming much too early.

His cold fingers lace with your own, pressing your hand against the mattress as he continues humping his hips into yours, and he’ll squeeze your hand when the pleasure gets especially strong, his grip so tight it nearly bruises you.

He needs to hold your hand – it’s comforting, but more than that it keeps him connected to you.

It feels intimate, like something reserved only for you, because even though he’s slept with other women before, never has it been like this. Never has he actively been trying to make them feel good, and never has he actively been hoping they’ll want to fuck him again and again and again, something that he ardently, feverishly hopes you feel.

Holding your hand becomes something of a tradition; it gets easier to not immediately orgasm when he slips inside you, but still his hand moves on its own, capturing yours and squeezing, his dark eyes boring into yours and the veins on his hand standing out.

It’s romantic, he thinks, and even when he’s kissing you and throwing your legs over his shoulders, balls clapping loudly against your ass as he pants and whispers your name under his breath, his hand will stay in yours.

And his grip is tight – you can’t pull your hand out, he won’t let you. You’re not allowed to, because this makes the sex special, intimate, meaningful – it makes the two of you closer, your bodies truly united in more ways than one.

He loves you, he promises, and frankly, it’s best if you don’t mention this habit – he won’t tell you the truth, instead letting a small smile flit his lips and telling you cryptically that it helps me know if you’re feeling good.

That’s bullshit – it’s all for him, but you don’t need to know that gripping your hand like its his lifeline is the only thing keeping him sane when he fucks you – it’s the only thing keeping him from bucking into you like a wild animal, filling you full of cum like some sort of predator.

Voyeurism

Chrollo has a rather nasty habit of watching you. He’s not quite as overt as some other members of the Troupe, but it’s not hard to notice the way those dark eyes are always trained on your figure, observing, scrutinizing, staring with an intensity that makes you feel like a bug under a microscope.

He just finds you utterly fascinating, and he honestly finds himself unable to look away from you. You’re captivating in every sense of the word, and his feelings don’t change when it comes to the bedroom – he’s constantly, constantly looking at you.

The eye contact can be sexy, sometimes, in the right circumstance, but most of the time the intensity makes you nervous, embarrassment settling in your gut because you feel like he can see every inch of you, every imperfection and flaw.

He’s always looking at you while he’s fucking you, those eyes boring into yours as his hips snap into you, faster and faster and harder and harder, watching your face as you get close to coming, seeing how you fall apart for him and cry out his name.

He’s staring and breathing a bit harshly when you’re taking him down your throat, mesmerized by the way your lips slot around him, how his cock appears and disappears again and again, your little gagging noises when you take just a bit too far down making him near feral.

He’s even staring at you while he sucks on your clit, fingers curling inside you as he looks up at you from under his lashes, the eye contact making you shy away and close your thighs around his head, just wishing he'd stop staring at you like you’re some slab of meat for him to devour.

But more than anything, Chrollo likes to observe the way you look when you’re feeling good – pleasure looks good on you, and especially before you allow him to touch you in an overtly sexual way, Chrollo will have you touch yourself for him, all the while he gets a front row seat.

It’s thrilling, the way you spread yourself open on your fingers, tugging your lip between your teeth as you rub small, tight circles against your clit, your thighs trembling from both the pleasure and the weight of his gaze.

He’ll settle himself into a chair at the end of the bed, sitting with his legs crossed and his fingers digging into the armrests, his eyes trained directly on you. He’ll alternate between staring at your face and staring at your cunt, too entranced by it all to fully commit to one or the other.

He likes seeing the way you work yourself, how you flick your fingers or turn your wrist, the pace and tempo and precision of your movements.

He likes to stare at your breasts, watching them heave in time with your chest, seeing your nipples perk up and pebble up, looking hard and pinchable and suckable, like the perfect spot to rest his lips.

He’ll stare at the way your thighs tremble and jerk together occasionally, the pleasure and risqué of being Chrollo’s entertainment making everything feel heavier, stronger, more intense.

He’ll request that you finger yourself or play with your clit or touch your tits, anything and everything because he wants to see everything.

 Of course, it’s nothing new to him – he’d watched you masturbate countless times before he stole you away, enjoying the vulnerability of it all, your weak, alluring form totally unaware of the eyes watching your most intimate moments.

But now, now, it’s different – you know you’re being watched now, and that adds a certain layer to your actions that makes Chrollo lick his lips, because while seeing your naked body and hearing your barely contained moans has his cock standing at attention in mere seconds, the fact that you’re reacting so strongly to knowledge that it’s Chrollo staring gets his ears feeling hot and his hands twitching, aching to reach out and touch you.

There’s something alluring about the fact that you’re acting all shy and bashful because it’s him that’s watching you like a hawk, his cock clearly hard against his stomach as he stares, obviously enjoying the sight.

He likes to know that he’s affecting you, that you’re thinking of him, that he’s on your mind as you play with yourself and make yourself come – it’s hot, frankly, and although it’s a test of his self control (one he struggles with far more than you’ll ever know), watching you bring yourself to orgasm is the best foreplay he can imagine.

Because then, he can watch himself bring you to orgasm, and isn’t that just the prettiest, loveliest sight?

Isn’t you falling apart for him, moaning and writhing and scratching down his back, the single most valuable thing on this Earth?

He’s a thief, after all, and anything valuable is his for the taking – including you.

BIGGEST FANTASY:

Chrollo is, without a doubt, extraordinarily possessive. You’re completely and utterly his, his property and under his ownership, to the point where he’ll often refer to you as such in passing with another Troupe member, no matter how demeaning and belittling his hummed response of yes, she’s my most prized possession may be.

You’re the only thing he’s ever wanted this badly, the only thing he’s ever wanted so much that it physically hurts, and he has no qualms with acting on these possessive urges, claiming you as his and only his.

However, Chrollo presents an odd juxtaposition in bed – while he absolutely does not want anyone else to ever see you in such a vulnerable, intimate position, there’s a certain allure to the idea of fucking you in public that he simply can’t shake off.

Of course, he’s thoroughly unwilling to allow you to be seen by other people, for your perfect, lovely body to be ogled by other human beings, those who are completely unworthy of being graced by your soft curves, your pretty moans, your twitching thighs and dripping hole.

You’re his to ogle and play with and make a mess of, and although the idea of another man watching you fall apart for Chrollo is appealing in its own right, he’d never be willing to stomach the idea of you seeing another man – or another man seeing you – when you’re in your most vulnerable, intimate position.

And these conflicting desires lead him to a sort of problem. On the one hand, he wants more than anything to fuck you in front of an audience, because what signifies ownership more than claiming you publicly, and what more can he do to show the world that you’re his, that he’s made his mark on you and you’ll never be loved by another?

But on the other, he can’t stand the thought of actually fucking you in public, which leads to a compromise – that is, it’s just so easy to spend a night in a bedroom high, high above the streets, the city skyline out the window and from the balcony mesmerizing, the dark night making the lights shine and the people they illuminate shine as well.

It’s not ideal, but Chrollo has found that the only way he can think of to satisfy this intense sexual fantasy with you is to simply fuck you in a space where no one can see you, but you can see everyone – thus, the window of some fancy, swanky hotel should do the trick, right?

Then everyone, whether knowingly or not, will be witnessing Chrollo claim every fucking inch of you, right?

It’s perfect, and something he’s so, so desperate to try out with you – just the thought gets his body feeling hot, his pants uncomfortably tight, and this strong, dizzying excitement brewing in his chest.

“The room is really lovely, Chrollo.” You compliment, appraising the room bathed in maroon and gold, the intricacies of the wallpaper and bed sheets catching your eye. It’s a simple one bed room, an adjoining bathroom to the side, but the real showstopping aspect of the horribly overpriced room is the set of floor to ceiling, pristine glass windows facing the night city, the various buildings too far to truly make out any specifics. It’s situated downtown, but Chrollo has made sure to secure a room on the fiftieth floor – towering above any nearby skyscrapers, thus giving him the privacy he’s been fantasizing of. 

            “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” Comes his response, smooth and suave, though you think you can hear the smallest smidge of pride.

            Making your way towards the windows, you stare across the sleeping city skyline, trying to memorize every detail you can, while Chrollo watches you from across the room, excitement swirling in his chest at the prospect of what’s to come. 

            He’s quick to join you, standing beside you and glancing towards your awed face, chuckling softly and using his thumb to trace the line of your cheekbone. “You’re staring, love.”

            You blink a few times, before throwing him a playful glare. “And so are you.”

            He’s silent for a moment, before he leans down to press his lips against your own, his dark eyes fluttering closed. “How could I not, when something so beautiful is standing before me?”

            His words are sweet, and they have you bashful despite yourself – something Chrollo doesn’t hesitate to exploit, as he pulls you in deeper to the kiss. His hand rests snugly at your waist, the other coming up to cup the back of your neck, his lips working faster against your own, though the kiss is still softer, less insistent. 

            That changes quickly though, as your hand reaches out to brush against the growing bulge resting in his black slacks, a small hum pressed against your lips as Chrollo unconsciously moves closer to the action. Soon you’re unabashedly groping him, fingers idly squeezing and lightly pressing against him as he deepens the kiss, lips getting needier as the minutes fly by, small gasps and breaks for air the only sounds reverberating through the night air of the hotel room. 

            Insistent hands grasp onto the hem of your shirt, pulling upwards and exposing the expanse of your stomach, the soft skin immediately felt and caressed by the man before you, his fingertips oddly soft for his line of work. He pulls back slightly from the kiss, dark eyes slowly opening to meet your hazy gaze, a small smile quirking on his lips as he moves forward to your ear, breath ghosting against the sensitive skin. 

            “Undress for me, darling.” His words are sin, his voice smoother than silk, the timbre making a shiver race up your spine as you gulp and follow his instructions, peeling each layer of cloth separating your body from his wandering touch. Chrollo’s dark eyes take every movement in, excitement burning in his chest as your body is slowly revealed to him, your skin soft and supple and touchable. 

            His fingers twitch. 

            He’s quick to follow suit, sliding off his jacket, pants and undergarments, leaving him nude in all his glory, prompting you to rake your eyes across his sculpted chest, the lines of his biceps, the sharp ‘v’ of his navel, and of course, the eager, flushed cock pressing harshly against his lower stomach, practically begging for your attention and touch. 

            “You’re beautiful, my dear,” He starts, approaching you and bringing a thumb up to trace your cheekbone, that same small smile decorating his lips. His lashes are long, easy to see from this distance, and as your lips part to respond, he cuts you off with his thumb placed against your tongue, his eyes shining brighter. 

            “Why don’t we show the world just how beautiful you really are?” His voice is oddly uneven, the excitement dancing in those dark depths of his gaze making you arch your brows slightly, confusion lacing your features as Chrollo gently pushes your shoulders. The glass hitting your backside is cold, the smooth surface alien against you as you squeak slightly.

            “What – what do you mean?” You ask, voice small as he sharply inhales, his other hand coming down to run along your side as his eyes trail along your lips and down to your breasts. He smiles as he takes in your nipples, the skin puckering. 

            “Wouldn’t it be such a shame to keep a beauty like you hidden from the world? Don’t you want everyone to know,” he starts, leaning into your neck before kissing down until he reaches the juncture of your shoulder. “That you belong to me?”

            He bites down, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to get you gasping out and throwing your head back slightly, the glass cold against your scalp. 

            “Would you like that? Do you want the world to know how much you crave me?” He asks, his voice low and husky. 

            You bite your lip and nod, murmuring out an agreement. 

            “Can’t hear you darling, try again.” 

Embarrassment creeps up your neck as you tell him in a louder voice, “Yes Chrollo, please, want everyone to know that my body was made for you, please!”

He shivers against you, his bare skin against yours making your head spin. His eyes are wide as he stares down at you. “Good, because I’m going to fuck you hard enough that no one will question who owns you.”

And with that, he’s spinning you around so that you’re face to face with the glass. The material is cold, your nipples rubbing against it and making your thighs rub together at the strange sensation. A sea of lights fall before you, the city glowing from so many meters in the air. 

His hands settle at your waist, squeezing slightly before sliding down over your hips, the smooth breath he exhales by your air making you shiver. Every sense feels heightened, and although you know no one can see you from so far below, it still sends a thrill through you at the idea that someone could, if they tried hard enough. Eventually his hands lightly pull at your hips, pulling your ass back towards his pelvis and making you bend over slightly, so that your cunt is poised out for him while your breasts still press against the cold glass.

Chrollo hums from behind you, a finger tracing down your spine and ending up right over your fluttering hole, slipping inside carefully and feeling the way you clench down on him, the sharp little gasp you give him only making another bead of precum drool from his tip, his groin throbbing and pulsing with the need to bury himself inside you, to thoroughly fuck the tight, warm cunt he’s feeling around his fingers.

He pulls them out abruptdly, making you whine a bit and wiggle your hips, the sight forcing Chrollo to tightly shut his eyes, grappling for control over himself. “Now love, in order to let everyone know just who you belong to, you’ll have to be loud enough to hear, yes?”

You nod, muttering something in agreement, but Chrollo cuts you off with a wide smile, his eyes flashing as he grips his cock and lines himself up. “Scream for me.”

And with that he’s pushing himself inside, not pausing for a moment to let you adjust. He’s thrusting into you with force, the sheer strength making you rock forward with each pulse of his hips. Your hands press against the glass, your cheek smooshed against the cold material as you moan and cry out his name, the angle hitting you deep and the eroticism of the whole situation making your head swim.

Chrollo leans in close behind you, his breath already a bit heavy and ragged. “Do you like – ngh, do you like this love? Getting fucked while so many people could be watching?”

You moan out a yes in response, gasping and feeling your whole body shake as his fingers snake between your legs and begin working at your clit.

He laughs breathlessly behind you, his chest pressing against your back. His lips brush against your ear, his breath hot and heavy, and you feel him twitch inside you, his orgasm looming near.

“Let’s give them a good show, yes?”

            And when he pulls out a few minutes later, turning you around and letting his cum spraying from his tip and landing on your chest and stomach in ropes, he can only flutter his eyes closed and mutter your name, before peeling them open and exhaling shakily.

            He’ll push you right back up against the window, a knee forcing itself between your legs to open you back up again, his cock still hard and insistent and aching to finish inside you this time. Meanwhile, his cum smears against your skin and the glass, leaving a film that makes you shiver – the glass is cold but his cum is hot. You moan as he forces himself back inside you, immediately continuing with the brutal, rough pace he’d taken earlier, determined to let the whole city see how prettily you take his cum inside you this time.

            And when you’re done, some forty five minutes later, with two loads of warm, runny cum spilling from between your legs, the smears of his first orgasm all over the glass and your tits will only make him lick his lips, arousal once again simmering in his gut.

            Maybe this time the city would like to see how pretty you look when you squirt.

[bubblergoespop]

My Top Blake Quotes

BLAKEY POOOOO ♡ sassy man

“You’re the brightest spot in my life. You always have been, even when you’re so far away I can barely see the glow.”

“Charming friend you got there. [he’s shaking in his boots]”

“That’s a one-way ticket to ending up in a spiral!”

“Whatever you need of me. I’ll give it, provided you save my love.”

“Questions aren’t really necessary right now, so how about you just sit there and look pretty, hmm?”

“Do you want me to show you exactly what magic can do when it’s not on your side?”

“If that’s what you want, then that’s what I want too. [goofy goofy chuckle]”

“You make me smile, you make me happy. I like being with you. That’s enough.”

“I can’t always keep my head above the water, but being with you is like… having an air tank. I might be below the surface, but I’m still getting oxygen. You’re that oxygen that keeps me going when I’m under."

“I told you, it was nothing... All right, let me clarify, it’s not “nothing”, it’s none of your fucking business.”

“I’m all yours.”

“Your little fuckbuddy-"

“It didn’t feel like a mistake to me. It felt like… someone switching on the lights, and suddenly realizing that I’d been standing in the dark all that time before. It felt like life was suddenly in colour.”

“it felt like I got a taste of everything I’d ever wanted, the most amazing feeling I’d ever experienced and then the next morning, I didn’t just lose the chance at that, I lost my best friend.”

“I’m tired of the dance. I just miss my friend.”

“I can’t be another mistake. Because it’ll break me.”

“You know me, you know how I am.”

“If we’re together, I’ll do everything for you, and I’ll give you everything I can, I’ll give you time and patience, if you need to be with your own thoughts, I’ll give you quiet, but I won’t be able to give you space.”

“The things I think about you, how much I want you… it’s the stuff you’re not supposed to say out loud. The stuff you’re never supposed to admit to feeling.”

“Just sitting at the table one morning, having breakfast when you realized, Oh wait, who's that voice in my head? Must be an ancient, unknowable force in Death. Guess I'll go back to my oatmeal.”

“What are you doing?”

“You would dirty their fucking name by speaking it.”

“if you pick this, it’ll be all of me. All of it. And we both know a lot of that’s not pretty.”

“I’ll get that smile on those pretty lips in the morning, just you wait.”

“I’m not worried you’ll try something. You don’t constitute a meaningful threat in my book. Sorry to bruise your ego.”

“Do I look like I care?”

“I’m not that fucking stupid. [He is]”

“Congratulations, someone please get the gentleman a door prize.”

“You can’t matter.”

“You're going to learn when to shut the fuck up. And spoiler alert, tied up, on the ground, with your powers inhibited? That's one of those times.”

“Wouldn’t that be cute?”

“I sleep easy in the arms of the person I love. Knowing that everything I’ve done, everything I do, I do for them.”

“I never stopped loving you, I’m still back there, I’m still just this scared kid telling you he fucking loves you.”

“Cute. Are you going to keep wasting time with passive aggression or do you actually have something to tell me?”

“I don’t want to die.”

“Yeah, all for you. All of it. [ft D’Deridahn calling him horny in the background]”

[ronance4everbrainrot]

Moooore incorrect quotes! Merlin Academy gang

(and ships)

*after the Squad's plan goes horribly wrong*

Morgie: Now it seems we're back at square one-- finding Hades.

Charming: For the record, I already found them.

Maleficent : And you let them get away before we could have a meaningful conversation.

Charming: They stabbed me!

Bridget, mumbling: I'm surprised they waited this long, Charming. We've all had the urge.

(Damn..not to be rude...I think only you have that urge Bridget....I understand tho...I guess)

---

Hades: Everyone synchronise your watches.

Charming: I don't know how to do that.

Maleficent : I don't wear a watch.

Bridget: Time is a construct.

(Fr fr. Time doesn't exist in Wonderland. It's just always "Now")

---

Hook: So, Maleficent and Hades.

Hook: According to this, you two are being accused of: Armed Robbery, Vandalism, Drug Abuse, Grand Theft Auto…

Maleficent : We had a bad day.

Hook: And… MURDER?!

Hades: It was a pretty bad day…

--

Hook: Your Honor, I hereby submit the following to the court:

Hook: Hades, Maleficent, what the actual FUCK?

(the power couple that's feared. Don't make them mad)

---

*Ella and Morgie are texting*

Ella: Who are you? Someone changed the names in my phone.

Morgie: What did they change my name to?

Ella: Chosen One.

Morgie: Don’t change it back.

Ella: BUT WHO ARE YOU?!?!

Morgie: I’m the chosen one.

(Yes.)

---

Morgie: Do you love Ella?

Bridget: Yeah, I do.

Morgie: Hook! I told you I knew it! You owe me 100 bucks!

Hook: We all love Ella. You should've asked if they were IN love with them.

Bridget: I thought that was implied.

Hook: ...

Morgie: ...

Bridget, looking straight at Hook: Congrats Morgie, you just won 100 bucks.

(That's canon. Sadly Ella doesn't feel the same. Luckily we got Red and Chloe out of it)

---

Bridget: I just want someone to take me out.

Ella: On a date?

Maleficent: With a sniper gun?

Uliana: Both if you're not a coward.

(The girls having a girls night)

---

Maleficent: Poison is a magic transmutation potion that turns people into corpses.

Fay: This knife is actually a magic wand.

Bridget: Meet me in the Denny’s parking lot for a wizard duel.

Uliana: *cocks gun* Magic missile.

Ella: What the fuck is wrong with you people.

(Ella regrets listening to Bridget and joining the Girls Night. Also F A Y. What the fuck.)

---

Morgie: You use emoji’s like a straight person.

Uliana: That’s literally the worst thing anyone has ever said about me.

(fr fr. You do tho gurl. Even if I actually don't understand what that would mean 🫠😗)

---

Maleficent: honk.

Hook: WHAT.

Maleficent: HONK.

Hook: WHAT DOES HONK MEAN THIS TIME YOU WHIMSICAL PIECE OF SHIT?????

(I can hear him say that last part. H O N K)

---

Maleficent: Hey, about that love letter you sent me-

Fay: *blushes* What are your thoughts?

Maleficent: The fourth sentence-

Fay: Yeah, that’s where I got really emotional and I-

Maleficent: It’s “you’re” not “your”.

(Gasp. Fay!? Gay!? MALEFICENT?!? ...ok)

---

Bridget: Hook, I have a great idea.

Hook: Let’s hear it.

Bridget: We trick Maleficent and Hades to go out on a date together.

Hook: YES!

Hook: And hey, if that doesn’t work out, you and me could go out, get some drinks—

Bridget, hitting them with a book: THIS IS NOT ABOUT YOU.

(If Hook were straight..wait... if Bridget were straight...if both were straight. But they aren't UwU)

---

Maleficent: Fay, you need to calm down.

Fay, slamming their fists on the table: BUT HOW CAN IT BE "BIRTHDAY CAKE" FLAVOR IF A BIRTHDAY CAKE CAN BE ANY FLAVOR?!

(Fay asking the most important question. Fr fr. HOW!?)

---

Bridget: What the fuck? People actually tell their crushes they like them??

Fay: What the hell do you do?

Bridget: I die? What kinda question...

(She do be not telling Ella, because she knows she doesn't feel the same)

---

Ella: Man, they look like a real handful. How do you deal with them?

Uliana, watching Maleficent screaming, Hades trying to set a sleeping Hook on fire, and Morgie choking on air: I don't know either.

(But she loves this mess group with her dark heart)

---

Uliana: Why would I flip my shit about that?

Hook: Because you flip your shit about everything.

Uliana: Well, will you look at this. Here is my shit, and yet it remains unflipped. Just sitting there on the skillet, getting burned on one side. It’s a miracle.

(That's canon)

---

Uliana: When do you usually go to sleep?

Hades: Whenever I collapse is entirely up to the gods.

(You are a god too? Am I wrong? 🤨 Confusion. So it's up to yourself? Feel that tho)

---

Now the gods have decided it's my time to sleep. 00:07 (12:07 am?)

Also no glassheart/CharmingHeart? G A S P

Next time Uwuwuwu.

Also had some "alone" time. Me and my sister are sharing a hotel room but we were both on the phone after a long day and I was doing the quotes so I posted this.

Hope you liked it!

Byeeeee

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Ahh!! I saw that you haven't written for Alfie in a hot second.

I happened to love our crazy baker 😏😏 just about as much as I love the Shelby brothers 🤗🤗

Would you mind if I threw into the ring Alfie and #6: “Yeah, I do love you. I’m going to fuck like I don’t, though.”

You know I'm a sucker for smut, but if you feel like you just wanna tease it with this- that's lovely too 💁🏻‍♀️

I trust you 🥰

Oooh, great choice! This was fun to write :D

Words - 560

Warnings - None. Just Alfie being Alfie!

Alfie. He is not a man for platitudes, for empty, continuous declarations of affection. It irks you somewhat, his lack of regular affirmation. Any affirmation at all, in fact. He knows it does, too. Yet he doesn’t seek to placate you all too often. Unless, of course, you cause a commotion over it. 

If there’s one thing the mad baker does not revel in, it’s emotional commotions. Perhaps if he actually spoke those three words to you, he might receive them less.  

Standing at the full-length mirror in your bedroom, you untangle a few beads from the fringe of your dress, reaching to where you’ve carefully hung up your strings of pearls, save the same fate befalling them. Wrapping your delicate neck, you make adjustments until they sit as desired, the bedroom door suddenly swinging open. 

“You about done with all this womanly faffing yet, darlin’?”  

He’s never had much patience or understanding over the fine art of dressing for a night out. 

Biting your back teeth together momentarily, you let out a short, sharp exhale through your nose, spritzing yourself with perfume. “The faffing process is complete.”  

He nods, eyes sweeping you. “Right, let’s get going then, yeah” 

“Alfie,” you begin, watching your burly bear of a man turn back from the doorway, “aren’t you going to tell me I look nice?” 

His words are delivered on a shrug of sheer nonchalance. “You know you always look crackin’ to me, my dove. Don’t need me telling you that all the time, do ya?” 

“Chance would be a fine thing,” you scoff in mutter, dropping your head.  

“Oi, nah,” he begins, walking back to you, two gold adorned fingers lifting your chin. “None of that, petal. None of that, right? I ain’t the kind of man who’s gotta constantly throw compliments out at ya. Makes it less meaningful, don’t it?”  

“As opposed to what, the three times a year when you actually do say something nice to me?” 

His eyes roll up momentarily at your sarcastic retort, rubbing his beard between his thumb and forefinger with a soft grunt of annoyance. “When I say things such as thus. Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind. And therefore, is winged Cupid painted blind.” 

Your eyes round, your love pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “Alfie, that’s beautiful, although I don’t really understand it.” 

“Simple, ain’t it? It means it don’t matter how you look to me, right, and yeah, you do look proper lovely, innit. It means I love ya with me brain, not me eyeballs. That Shakespeare fella had a quote for everything.” He moves closer to you, arms wrapping around you, fingers gently stroking your bare back. “A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Act one, scene one. Next time it’s on at the theatre, I’ll take ya.” 

“I’d love that,” you beam, leaning to kiss him softly. “You mean it, though? You really do love me?” 

“Pfft, course, I do!” he barks, chuckling. “Yeah, I do love you. I’m going to fuck like I don’t, though.” 

You giggle, revelling in the feel of his hands wandering down to your thighs. “Won’t we be late?” 

“Yeah,” he breathes, leaning to your neck, kissing a spot not occupied by reams of pearls. “Nightclub ain’t goin’ nowhere though, is it, dove?” 

Neither are you for the moment.  

[whattimeisitfic]

So I was fucking around with an incorrect quote generator and these are some of the funny prompts I got for Luci and his brothers. Most of them are just Raphael and Gabriel having the pettiest sibling rivalry in existence.

—

Pre-Fall days. Lucifer is still getting the hang of proper utility usage…

Gabriel: Hi could I ask how exactly does one accidentally set a lemon on fire?

Lucifer: Microwave for 40 minutes

Michael: WHY WERE YOU MICROWAVING A LEMON?!

Lucifer: I read boiling lemons helps cover up bad smells and I wanted to cover up the scent of burnt oranges, but I didn’t on any pots…

Raphael: Did you burn an orange too? HOW?!

Lucifer: Microwave for 40 minutes.

—

Gabriel addressing the Council. Probably on some really memorable, meaningful event for him or something.

Gabriel: I just wanted to say that over the years, I have come to regard you as… people I met.

—

Does this need context? Could happen literally any time.

Gabriel: You look mentally ill.

Lucifer: I am. Let’s go.

—

Once again, could realistically happen any time, though more likely in their younger years.

Gabriel: Bet you can’t eat 15 crayons

Raphael: Bet you I can!

Michael: *sips coffee, checks to make sure 911 is still on speed dial and goes back to reading the paper*

—

These two I stg—

Raphael: Can I have some water?

Gabriel: *starts chugging their water bottle*

Gabriel: *chokes from drinking too fast*

Gabriel: *spills water all over themselves*

Gabriel, coughing: I don’t have any water.

—

My man is absolutely clueless in the most adorable way possible. We love him for it tho. Was probably Rals texting him.

Lucifer: Gabriel, what does IDK, ILY, and TTYL mean?

Gabriel: I don’t know, I love you, talk to you later.

Lucifer: Alright, I love you too, I’ll ask Michael

Gabriel: Wait, Lucifer, no—

—

You can’t tell me Lucifer wasn’t a chaotic little shit pre-Fall.

Raphael: I have a question.

Michael: Shoot.

Raphael: Is the S or C in scent silent?

Gabriel: Fuck you, I’m going to be thinking about this all day.

Michael: Okay well, cent is pronounced the same way as scent so I’m gonna say the S is silent

Raphael: Okay, but sent is also spelled the same way

Gabriel: Google says that the C was added in the late seventeenth century, so I guess the S is silent.

Lucifer: Plot twist, both the S and the C are silent and the E actually makes the sss sound

Gabriel: Lucifer is not allowed to talk anymore

—

Once again, plausible any time at present.

Michael: You’e ignoring all your problems.

Lucifer: I know.

Michael: You also know it’s an unhealthy coping mechanism?

Lucifer: I’m ignoring that fact as well

Michael:

—

Lucifer can do no wrong.

Michael: WHOEVER CAUSED THIS MESS IS GOING TO-

Lucifer: it was me

Michael: …Is going to be forgiven because very one deserves a second chance.

—

He lasted all of five seconds, and the he had to sass.

Raphael: Oh, hey, I didn’t see you come in! You should have come by and said hello!

Gabriel: Oh! Yeah, I uh…

Gabriel: Didn’t want to bother you.

Gabriel: Or talk to or listen to or be around you.

—

Back when Lucifer wasn’t recovering from near death, and actually didn’t sleep.

Raphael: Truth or dare?

Lucifer: Truth.

Raphael: How many hours have you slept this week?

Lucifer:

Lucifer: Dare.

Raphael: Go to sleep.

Lucifer: I don’t like this game

—

They had an argument. Typical occurrence.

Michael: You have to apologize to Gabriel!

Raphael: Fine!

Raphael: Unfuck you or whatever!

—

I think this about sums it up.

Raphael: Are you alright?

Lucifer: Short answer or long answer?

Raphael: Short?

Lucifer: No.

Raphael: Long?

Lucifer: Nooooooo

—

I’ll say it again: these two—

Raphael: Guys, I have a question.

Gabriel: kys <3

Raphael: I love you too.

Michael: Ah. Yes. Siblings.

—

If Lucifer ever went out drinking w/ his siblings (u know, to the places that actually serve shit to get him wasted)

Lucifer, clearly drunk: Gabriel, hit me another drink… wooOO HOOoo…

Gabriel: I think you need a therapist and not a bottle

Lucifer: I think yooOOoouu need to shuUT YOUR MOUTH!

—

Last one. You can’t tell me Raphael doesn’t get weird obsessions w/ shows like this and convinces himself he’s gonna somehow end up in a similar situation. Michael is concerned

Raphael: When I get murdered, can you make sure I become an unsolved case?

Michael: wHat?

Raphael: I want to be on Buzzfeed Unsolved

Michael: Can we go back to the part when you said “when I get murdered”?

—

Alright that’s all I got for now ducklings! I just thought it was kind of funny.

If you’re reading this with no context but are interested, consider checking out my Hazbin Hotel Lucifer-centric fic on AO3 What Time Is It. I try to update daily and do my best to answer all comments ;)

[mossy-green-aka-ferrythem]

Can't get over how much The Suppression of The Red Mist on Day 48 made me truly adore Gebura as a character. Actually. I adored her beforehand because of the initial suppression. Which I beat in a much cheesier but at the same time, metaphorically meaningful way. It's fitting, considering her relationship with Abnormalities, which I would love to make art of but just. Can't. Lol.

Anyways something about someone who's lost who they are, only for it to surge back up to the surface in the most violent way imaginable. The Red Mist has returned.

She intimately understands what the abnormalities mean, what the EGO means to her, the senseless violence of Nothing There or Mountain of Smiling Bodies refined, The Mad Performance and Senseless Judgement of The Silent Orchestra and Judgement Bird refined as well, all of which is said effortlessly, with a "Let me show you how to actually wield E.G.O."

Really what gets me is that the meltdowns truly do feel like meltdowns. The Sephirah haven't been honest with themselves. and all that manifests in a massive emotional breakdown, but none feel as violent, or as resonant to me, as Gebura's, "I’m back; the Red Mist has walked out from a sea of pain." Truly is a quote that just hits so fucking hard.

Also holy shit the dialogue with Mimicry that I've never noticed before. "Let’s do this, partner". Holy shit. The way I perceive "Partner" here is that the two are so personally intertwined. Nothing There might as well be a fragment of her consciousness, or an island that reverberates through her consciousness, rather than a separate entity. She was the first to ever wield Mimicry, the EGO of Nothing There, so she has defined it, and understood it more than anything.

I've just been thinking about it because of how emotionally perfect "Insignia Decay" is for all of this. If any track were to sound like a meltdown, it's this one. Just blind violence, attacking everything within arms length, vapidly running and attacking everyone in sight, all of it climaxing in her collapsing down on her knees, face plates open, while muttering words of exhaustion to herself...

"I’m just not as capable as I used to be..."

"I'll break it down..."

"I’ll kill all of you..."

"I can't stop"

"It just isn’t enough"

All culminating in. Clarity. Calm after everything. Realizing that she hasn't lived for herself, she hasn't lived up to herself, and realizing the core message that is to define her, in how she conducts herself and how she moves forward:

"THE COURAGE TO PROTECT"

[breadvidence]

Remember when I used to write out adaptation reactions? Well, I sure did watch Les Misérables 2000, and—wow! What an impressively bad piece of television from all directions. I find it deeply compelling and will doubtless watch again. The folks of this year's Les Mis Letters on Discord were treated to my live react. Here, I'll simply outline the high (?) points:

The plotting is bad. This is a curious accomplishment, on account of it's based off of a novel that—despite its length and digressions—has a coherent, tidy, and driven sense of plot. LM2000 fails here, I think, for two reasons: 1) the chronology is wobbly, which creates disorientation for a viewer trying to track events 2) it freestyles subplots but doesn't make alterations to the overall story, resulting in the new material feeling disconnected and meaningless. I am totally fine with adaptations being creative, but when Robert in '52 is a more coherent and meaningful addition to the story, you might have gone wrong.

The acting is bad. So many of the cast members seem tired—I'm a fan of Malkovich, and I think he's interesting here, but he's peculiarly exhausted in his delivery. Steffen Wink (who plays Enjolras) stands out as being enthusiastic (bizarrely), and Asia Argento as Éponine sometimes aspires to be a Hermine Karagheuz in her delivery, but overall: they were definitely handing out downers instead of uppers on this set.

The dialogue is bad. We have all of us writers been journeymen once. Most of us, as journeymen, did not get to script professionally produced television. Good for whoever landed that job, I guess, despite the pain they caused me. And—y'know—despite my love for the fidelity of a '25 or '72, I do not demand an adaptation quote Les Misérables. Further, I understand that the subtitles I was provided with are, with all appreciation for the person who made them, a little wonky. Regardless of both these things: lord, do these characters say some dumb shit. If you haven't watched it yet, wait 'til you get to yellow is the color of happiness.

Did you want a Jean Valjean who is violent, brash, dim-witted, and a sexual predator? Me neither! Given rumors and accusations surrounding Gérard Depardieu's personal conduct, quite possibly he's chosen to play the role as a kind of self-insert. Most adaptations go the "I don't know, I guess this is a story about redemption?" route, but here's LM2000 boldly asking instead: what if criminals are inherently evil? (We could talk about the ways in which '98 and BBC 2018 share this fault—but I cannot emphasize the degree to which Valjean in LM2000 is, ultimately, a villain, which is not at all true for either of those.)

No, really: Jean Valjean is a villain.

Really.

So: a character who makes unambiguously morally bad choices like locking up and wanting to fuck his daughter I wouldn't always call a villain per se—that implies a role in the story as well as being a value judgment. However, even though the show tries to preserve the final moment of Marius' realization that Valjean is his savior and a good man, we the viewer know he is not. We have seen him be menacing, be violent, be controlling, be nasty, we know that Marius was correct to want him separated from Cosette. He's a Bluebeard, and the story of LM2000 knows he's a Bluebeard, it treats him as one, even as it gets incoherently tugged back to being Victor Hugo's Les Misérables and hits emotional beats it hasn't earned and doesn't really want to have.

No, really: Valjean wants to fuck Cosette.

Really.

At the convent, Cosette lets down her hair to indicate to Valjean she will visit him in the gardeners' hut that night. Valjean rhapsodizes to Fauchelevent—in a rare case of Depardieu's acting reflecting that there's a beating heart in his chest—about her beauty. The Mother Superior is shown to equate letting down one's hair to sexual availability. We then cut to Cosette and Valjean in bed together. Their dialogue refutes that they fucked because otherwise it would be very intuitive for the viewer to assume they did so. This viewer remains unconvinced they didn't. I was spoiled for the explicit incest (Valjean, as part of his confession to Marius, makes it clear that his interest is sexual), but I would've known at this moment where the relationship was headed.

You could read this Cosette as an interesting representation of how people who experience abuse can become attached to their abusers, particularly where isolation normalizes the relationship for them. Or not.

They could have given the show the tagline Javert Shows Up. Where's Javert? He's giving Fantine financial advice soon after she becomes a sex worker. He's at the Sergeant of Waterloo asking little Cosette if she's OK because he got lost on the way back to Montreuil. He's at the convent interrogating the Mother Superior. He's in the university as an undercover student telling the Amis not to rebel. I'm used to Javerts showing up where they ought not (at Valjean's release from Montreuil and to the Rue Plumet, mostly), but this version (with an air of exhaustion) is everywhere.

Malkovich and his leather coat are—perhaps unsurprisingly—my favorite part of this adaptation. I like his expressive forehead, his futility, his absurd and unsettling slow walk into the Seine (it's silly—then Malkovich shivers). In precisely one moment LM2000 manages to have an unusual flash of insight into the novel compared to other adaptations: Javert, during the Montreuil era, declines to explain to a colleague/superior (I fail to recall and I refuse to re-watch in this moment) what precisely he's on to—he's career-focused and embodying the artistic desire not to "brush the bloom off the rose", notes lost in television and fandom alike.

I am trying to wrangle the thematic implications of Javert coming from a family who hunt criminals—something about blood and history as destiny? Is LM2000 so invested in the idea of criminality as inherent that an upright police officer being the child of criminals is discordant? Is it simply fucking stupid? I don't know.

I would urge any viewer to anticipate and enjoy the Legless Wife, who is the symbol of Javert's moral awakening.

Really!

Yes, I should say: don't bother watching this, pals. Except: if you are real intense about Les Mis, watch lots of adaptations, and enjoy bad media if it gives you something to chew on, I won't actually say don't—in part, yes, because I like the idea of others suffering with me, but also because this version has been an enriching experience. It prompted bafflement. Confusion. Distress. Contemplation of why you would take a story about the flaws of society and make it about the flaws of a man, and how this is merely an amplification of how the story has been told again and again since its origination. More confusion. An ineffable calm effected by Malkovich's voice. Hilarity. Anxiety. So much! So bad! And yet—yes, I'll watch it again. Despite itself.

[lakesbian]

can I please hear more about how sy and jamie don’t have the usual wildbow "no homo" vibe.

i'm extremely interested after seeing the quotes you pull out.

so when i call something a Wildbow No Homo Moment i'm referring to the moments where his writing demonstrates disdainful, spiteful, defensive insecurity about the idea of characters he's envisioned as straight being viewed as gay. when he did shit like write lisa literally turning to the camera after hugging taylor to tell people not to get the wrong idea & forum post about how all of the undersider girls are straight and "pandering is pandering," the clear message was that he thought characters being interpreted as gay would automatically ruin the meaning of their relationships: turn them into something cheapened and emotionally shallow, something silly and stupid and inferior to a normal, meaningful friendship between two normal, heterosexual women. it says a lot abt how he was viewing the idea of his characters being seen as gay (& obviously viewing gayness itself) as like. a grubby, vapid, self-centered, annoying intrusion onto his Well Written Female Friendships. it's fundamentally refusing to take the possibility of his main characters being gay seriously, and demonstrating that refusal by mocking and rejecting the possibility at every opportunity.

now to be clear. this isn't touching on the subject of whether or not we should get after wildbow for other complaints about jamie. but sy and jamie do not have that specific brand of wildbow no-homoing going on, at all. there's not that dripping spiteful insecurity about the idea of them being interpreted as gay--they're literally constantly holding hands, snuggling close, talking intimately together, etc., and it's never followed by sy turning to the camera and going "OH BOY I LOVE BEING HETEROSEXUAL AND SURE HOPE NO ONE INTERPRETS MY PLAYING FOOTSIE WITH JAMIE AS MEANING I'M GAY FOR HIM!" in fact, jamie is gay, and he is severely in love with sy, and it is taken as serious and meaningful and interesting and worthy of heavy narrative focus and emotional contemplation. you could call it bad taste in other ways, but sy being straight and confronted by The Difficulty of it is already not the same thing as wildbow blowing airhorns and going "fuck you for wanting to imagine characters as gay" every 3 seconds. also frankly sy sitting up for several hours at 2 am trying really hard to mentally turn himself gay for jamie is so. well i can't even call it funny even though it might sound that way in a void. but it's so Something that i'm inclined to grant wildbow clemency just to see more of whatever the fuck is going on with those two

[icycoldninja]

The Turks incorrect quotes

Reno: You’re not jealous, are you? Rude: No! Reno: Good, ‘cause I consider my fake relationship with you a lot more meaningful.

Elena: Have I ever told you that I love you with my whole heart? Tseng: For the love of all that is holy, I am not taking you to McDonalds. It’s 2am! Elena: Mean.

Tseng: Did you like the food I made? Elena: No, not really. Tseng: But I put my heart and soul into it! Elena: No wonder it tastes so cold and dead.

Reno: Anybody got any crayons so I can color in my Ph. D.?

Rude: Tseng likes to win. When he was 8, a little Club Scout friend of his bragged she could sell the most cookies. Rude: Damned if Tseng didn't walk the neighborhood till he got blisters on his feet, and won by 10 boxes. Rude: Best part is, Tseng wasn't even a Club Scout.

Reno: You know the sound a fork makes in the garbage disposal? That's the sound that my brain makes all the time.

Reno, washing the dishes: Who the fuck used this pan?? Reno: Wait. I the fuck used this pan… Tseng: It was you the fuck. Reno: It was I the fuck… Rude: Who cooks rice in a pan? Tseng: He the fuck.

Reno: Any questions? Rude: Uh, yeah, WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT? Reno: Uh, a plan, duh… Elena: Rude, chill, I know it’s weird, but Reno has a point. Rude: Rude: THAT WAS LITERALLY A PONY DOODLE WITH A HAT!!

Tseng: If there are no questions, we’ll move on to the next chapter. Rude: I have a question. Tseng: Certainly, Rude. What is it? Rude: What’s the point of human existence? Tseng: I meant any questions about the subject at hand. Rude: Oh. Rude: Frankly, I’d like to have the issue resolved before I expend any more energy on this.

Reno: Anything else? Rude: Yeah. Stay away from me! Reno: Alright. See you in the room we share.

Reno: I’m sorry, I really flew off the handle back there. It was like the handle was a bald guy going really fast, and I was his toupée.

Rude: What's the most efficient way to burn calories? Tseng: Exercise more! Reno: Set yourself on fire. Elena: There are two kinds of people.

Elena: Come to think of it… You’ve always been nice to me. Elena: I mean, you listen to all my problems- Tseng: No, Elena I just simply stand here while you talk, there’s a big difference.

Tseng: Guys where did Reno go? Elena: He got arrested. Tseng: How the hell- Reno: bursts in through the window The cops are after me, I thought it would be fun to steal crackers and throw them at people.

Reno: Shut up, you’re messing with my train of thought! Tseng: I thought you didn’t have a brain and now you say you have thoughts?

Elena: Okay, but what if we went to dinner not as friends this time? Tseng: AS ENEMIES?! Elena:

Reno: Tseng, you need to react when people cry! Tseng: I did. I rolled my eyes.

Kidnapper: I have one of your friends. Rude: Which one? I have seven. Kidnapper: The loud, annoying, rowdy one who never shuts up. Rude: Which one? I have seven. Reno, distantly: HEY!!!

Reno: Come on, you need to go to bed. Tseng: Mr. Snuffles says that I can stay up as long as I want. And that you need to die! Reno: … Reno: What the hell, Mr. Snuffles—

Tseng: Oh, they left the bowl out? Tseng: It says, “Take two pieces of candy.” Reno: Nobody around though… Reno grabs the entire bowl and runs off with it Tseng: NO—

[sinkingquail]

a ramble about taliesin's spoon-feeding line

cw: caregiver burnout, dementia hi @dynamite124 please let me know if you want me to take the audio file down!

i was thinking about how taliesin really would take care of the ldb for the rest of their life if they happen to be unable to take care of themselves after reading the elder scroll

aka rambles from someone working as a caregiver for people with dementia and how fucking meaningful this is

(this is half me being amazed at tally, half me explaining the horrors of dementia)

tl;dr: i believe that by the time taliesin says this line, he genuinely loves the player. like so, so much i can't even begin to describe it.

to preface this, i've been working in memory care for about half a year now. it is so fucking heartbreaking, guys.

for those unfamiliar with dementia, it's a very slow, insidious disease that results in memory loss first and foremost, but can also lead to paranoia, aggression, loss of motor function, inability to process sensory info, aspiration pneumonia (this is usually what kills people with dementia - it's important for people that have trouble swallowing to be on a puréed food diet and let me tell you, it looks fucking terrible)

here's a few examples of the people in my care. note that these are people that families have decided they can no longer take care of and pay a LOT of money for their care, so they tend to be in the later stages of dementia:

guy that is just constantly walking around the building. his eyes don't track you, he doesn't react to most stimulus, when he talks it's nonsense. he's in his 70s.

lady that says her dog is running around, she can see her in the hallways. her dog is over the rainbow bridge as of last year. she is also one of our most independent residents

guy that i'd transfer from his wheelchair to his chair. after he sits, he would touch the wheelchair and ask me what it is

the one i want to talk about the most, a husband and wife that have been married for 60+ years. the husband is cognitively intact and very independent (he can drive) and the wife, well... she's absolutely dependent on us

anyways, here's the exact quote taliesin says when the dragonborn messes with him and pretends they've actually gone insane from reading the elder scroll:

"You had me half worried I'd have to spoon feed you for the rest of your life. And that is NOT a kink I am into."

(leave it to tally to use humor to deflect again) i cannot stress how insane this is.

anyways, the husband that i mentioned previously has essentially halted the rest of his time on earth to take care of his wife, who he's been married to for over 60 years. it is simultaneously heartbreaking and beautiful just how much love the husband has for this person.

i'd like to compare that to taliesin, who will say this after... how long of knowing the ldb? like a couple years, max?

(this is not to downplay the husband's sacrifice, but rather to give a comparison of the sheer amount of love that goes into making this kind of decision)

i argue that by the time this happens in-game, taliesin truly, truly loves the player (whether platonically or romantically is up to interpretation). he'd have to love them, to genuinely want to spend however long the ldb has left to take care of them.

it's even more meaningful when you remember that taliesin wants to see the world. by taking care of you, he's most definitely giving that up. and he'd do it in a heartbeat. there's also a matter of how long tally would act as caregiver for. i don't know how old they are but altmer live a fucking long time (i think like... 300 years?), and depending on the race of your ldb, this quote can be that much more meaningful. (it's still super meaningful even if the ldb would die in a year, tbh. tally had basically just gotten the chance to escape the thalmor)

and of course, what does the ldb's insanity look like? no idea. but i can tell you that when people's dementia progress, their personality changes. they can become more irritable, lash out, get violent. now imagine what that's like if you're taking care of the freaking dragonborn instead of someone that's 80+ years old.

not to mention how fucking exhausting caregiving is. i've been only working this job for half a year, part-time and i'm so tired. i also work a little less than 20% of the hours in a week, these people need 24/7 care. the work is insane, and tally is insane for offering to take this on. especially without help.

does taliesin realize how much work it is? would he tap out after a bit? im not sure, but to even offer such a thing in the first place just goes to show how much love he has for the player. and i think that's beautiful

(this was a very long-winded way of saying that taliesin's gesture is genuinely born out of love for the player. i'm also very passionate about the work i do, please feel free to message me if you have any questions about dementia, or just need someone to vent to.)

[lesbiancolumbo]

Okay I'm really glad you said it bc I just watched the premiere and did not care for it but could not for the life of me pinpoint exactly why. There's a lot of aspects to the show I enjoy but as a collective whole it's always left me cold and it bugs the crap out of me trying to parse out why it's not landing for me. (But to your point, sometimes things just aren't for us, I guess!)

okay, you asked for it.

i think for me, it's that the first season offers a promise of something that it seems to have no interest, actually, in delivering on. back when it was still a first season independently made show that no one had any idea if people would give a shit about, it seemed (to ME at least) to be about this band of people in the wake of profound loss and the trauma that came from that loss coming together and building something beautiful together, becoming a family. and then the show blew up, got a bunch of money and attention and prestige, and season two turned into "cool look at all the things we can do! see! we're filming in copenhagen for no reason! we have an episode with like seven extremely famous people in it! we're showing off all these famous restaurants! take us seriously!" while severely sidelining characters that i fell in love with in season one, and for what? we spend so little time with these characters actually building the beautiful thing we left the last season hoping for. instead we get these one-off episodes with characters, which are... fine, i guess? fun. but it feels like showing off a blank check versus actually BUILDING on what season one sets up.

honestly, i'm really disappointed that the show's narrative keeps trying to push this restaurant into highbrow fine dining spaces, when for me the most magical parts of season one was when they were just fucking cooking food for people -- NORMAL PEOPLE -- and the people were loving it. the bear wants to critique the world of fine dining, but it's way too fucking in love with fine dining to actually do this in any meaningful way, because it's still fucking aping those aesthetics and putting chefs like daniel boulud in the show just to say it can. hey look, it's eleven madison park! hey look, this is the french laundry! hey look, this is noma! like. i fucking GET IT, chris.

what bothered me most about the premiere was the moment joel's fine dining chef says to carmy "you know that from now on, this will be my dish right?" in an antagonizing moment -- this is ripped off DIRECTLY from an episode of chef's table (it's ironic that the bear is ripping off this show now considering the menu did just that a few years back and i dinged them for that too lol) where grant achatz explains that his sous chefs test their creativity while working under him, he encourages them and trusts them and coaxes their talent out of them, and it's ironic because at the end of the day.... it becomes one of HIS signature dishes, and he would always ask them this for permission before going ahead. the bear doesn't understand that this question isn't meant to be an antagonizing thing that underlies the exploitation of fine dining spaces. these things run rampant there, yes, but when grant said that quote, it was a sign of how much he trusts and works hard for his team, and they give him the same in return. that the bear bastardizes this moment really pissed me the fuck off -- this show wants to romanticize and simultaneously critique fine dining, but this moment and so many others like it leave me wondering if it even actually understands fine dining at all, actually.

[contritecactite]

Radio Omens time!! Strap in for my subjective personal opinions made by one person about the full-cast radio adaptation of Good Omens.

We're gonna begin with: I am blowing kisses to the scripting/editing/production team. This thing is an impeccable adaptation. Im-pecc-a-ble. The voice talent is fantastic, the energy is stellar, the pacing is excellent, and the sheer amount of atmospheric info they managed to translate into radio-friendly format? Mwah mwah mwah. I think it's the kind of listening format that's not for everyone, but it is SO for me.

Time for some specific highlights! It was a long day so we're a little extra silly this time. It's also long and not in a reasonable order.

(Ok good my page cut is working this time.)

- Good GOD I forgot the primary voices were Like That. I shrieked (happily) as soon as Aziraphale's mouth opened. This is why I travel alone /hj

-- (Incidentally, I said "oh fuck holy shit I can't do this" when Crowley started talking, but I did it anyway *sighs in bisexual*)

- Hheeeennghsh the opening scene in Eden is. The way it's written successfully sets up who Aziraphale and Crowley are, who they're supposed to be to each other, and a hint at who they're going to be to each other later because they are SO delightfully snippy at one another in this scene. Aziraphale's "oh, it's you" and Crowley's "mmhm, yeah, well done on keeping demons away. Bravo" (heavily paraphrased) will be living rent-free in my head until I have time to write a fic about it.

- So, having Aziraphale do the early narration is an excellent way of setting the tone. What I need you to do, if you've only done tv omens (which is so so valid and I think really is another excellent adaptation), is remember Aziraphale's magician persona. And then imagine him being that for the entire story. The pitch, the rate of speech, the slightly frantic energy, the drama: it's all just part of his overarching character in radio omens, and it's SO good for storytelling.

- Radio Crowley knows what's in all of Aziraphale's infamous Bibles so well that he can quote them. I love this detail, I love it as a means of establishing their relationship during their "let's be godfathers" scene, and I love how hard he's ribbing poor Aziraphale about the extra verses in Genesis.

- Radio Crowley is SO like... tender? I mean, all Crowleys are to some extent Soft but something about this one has just a little extra something. I love the way he talks about his temptations and shenanigans. He's so proud. It eases what could feel like needless exposition because he really seems to like explaining his process.

- That's a bit of the same of what I mean about Aziraphale's personality. Since he's very obviously inclined to dramatize a story, exposition just fades neatly into his character rather than grating on the nerves.

- They reference The Arrangement a lot and usually with a great deal of affection. There's one particular time when they even acknowledge something about wanting to protect each other.

- I adore the way Anathema and her ties to Agnes are introduced. It's so concise but meaningful, and it's just the right amount of setup for her character appearing later.

- The baby swap scene in other iterations relies so much on descriptive narrative or visual language, but you know what? The heavily trimmed down version also works surprisingly well.

- Crowley knows about the hellhound way beforehand (and, of course, he tells Aziraphale. They plan their roles for the party years in advance, which is an extremely efficient way of communicating about that scene to the listener).

- At Warlock's party in the book, Crowley gets all suspicious about a gerbil being gifted to him. In the radio drama, Aziraphale wonders aloud if the gerbil might be suspicious and Crowley tells him not to be stupid. Just struck me as a funny thing to shuffle around.

- Adult radio Anathema is everything to me actually.

- Poor Newt's childhood gets skipped over (unless I missed it, which is possible), but I liked his adult introduction as well; it brings in the whole Witchfinder-adjacent cast at once and makes it super clear how they all know each other without lingering.

- Shadwell. Just. The actor's voicework is so evocative of someone who is very gesturally expressive. There's no way he wasn't swinging his hands around in the recording space.

- The Them are all 100% perfect. Shout-out to Adam for that mind-rending scream that I was not expecting to go on for so long. Interestingly, in chapter credits, the Them are not grouped with the humans! This makes sense, but it also made my brain go !!!

- The horsepeople (both original and extra) were also so good, and that chunk of the cast gave the impression of good chemistry, so the scenes were really fun.

- Crowley says Aziraphale's name a lot. A lot a lot. Actually, most people do; probably for simplicity's sake, there's no "Mr. Fell," or "Nanny Ashtoreth," just "Mr. Aziraphale" and "Mr. Crowley."

- Well, Shadwell does say "Mr. A," and there is a Brother Francis.

- One of Nanny's rules for Warlock is "don't talk to the creepy gardener" rkahjdjs Crowley what is wrong with you

- I did in fact let out another sound when the Nanny voice happened. We're not talking about it.

- When applying for the jobs, Aziraphale just straight up calls dibs on gardener and Crowley complains and says something like "can you see me in a skirt?" and Aziraphale just pulls a date at random on which he'd seen Crowley in a skirt. This was probably also in the book, but I noticed it here and didn't there.

- Crowley's idea of something calming to listen to was a radio gardening talk show ;~; and he likes listening to televangelists for the lulz (I have never used that phrase before in my life but I'm keeping it)

- Having him hear Aziraphale possessing the televangelist was absolute genius for keeping the plot cohesive.

- Seance scene continues to be painful ahahaha...

- Hell's emissaries know that Aziraphale was discorporated and they're mean to Crowley about it in a way that implies Hell has long been aware that they're working together. Intriguing...

- There's mention at some point about how no homes in Tadfield have PlayStations or Xboxes, and I think that's a cool bit of writing to establish the time period (along with Newt bricking smartphones, which I think was said at least in breadcrumbs).

- Almost forgot, but Mr. Gaiman and Sir Terry Pratchett being the policemen trying to book Crowley for speeding in the beginning is so cute.

- When Satan is about to show up, Aziraphale worrying about everyone else and Crowley going "and me!" like hello, I am also in danger, that's my boss?? if u even care?? was SO funny in this version to me.

- Look, there were a lot more things, but it's already been several hours since it ended, so I'm sure I'm forgetting many.

- Oh! Pepper's backstory being transformed into her speech to Adam was SO good on so many levels. It really drove home that Adam does love his friends, it deepened their lore gradually, it made Adam's role and decisions very clear, and it also struck me as "Pepper says trans rights" even if that wasn't the intention, so hell yeah.

- The gag reel leads me to believe that Peter Serafinowicz is A) probably the funniest person alive to work with and B) extremely relatable due to the amount of time spent on the struggle bus. Also whoever put the breaking glass sound over all the accidental swears, I love you forever.