#i still have a soft spot for him

[moodyspoodys]

I refreshed my very first OC, Simon, he's a modern witch now

[plush-rabbit]

Foggy Minds

Word Count: 4.7K A/N: I dont know his body!! So I tried to leave it ambiguous and yeah!! i also wrote this just for the ending bit

-

It’s a fucking joke. A cruel one. Angels- or at least Exterminators- are known for their cruelty. Raining down from above, a storm cloud that leaves red behind. Even after the destruction and death, the guts and gore that leave a lasting stench, the cruelty isn’t done. The angel Adam still has to bring torment down to Hell.

A wolf in sheep’s clothing is what he is. He can pretend he’s higher than the sinners down below, but he’s just as crude, if not more so than the worst of them here. It’s a tradition at this point for both you and him. He brings hell on hell, and a week later, he flies down once more, calling the club that you work at, demanding for you to be sent to the Heaven Embassy. However, as the next Extermination Day comes close, he’s called for your services once again. You wish you could say no, but he pays quite a lot for you, and you could always use the money.. 

You hate the walk there more than anything. It’s like everyone knows you’re off to go fuck the Exorcist. You look both ways before disappearing through the doors of the Embassy. Maybe they think you’re getting a meeting with- someone. 

The Embassy is empty, and every step you take echoes out in the room. You’re terrified. You always are. It never stops feeling like a trap. Even in the elevator on the way to the suite, you can only stare at the golden doors in front of you, your reflection distorted and twisted. 

If you’re going to be honest- you aren’t sure why it’s you who has to come up. It’s Adam- he’s bragged enough about how he can have anyone, and yet, he pays for a sinner’s cunt. You make sure to not feel special, to squash any pride down. Perhaps it’s too tedious to pay for another sinner or hellborn, and it’s best to just get what he knows will be a good fuck. You sigh and look away from your reflection and the glowing numbers. Still, you show up and do your job. You've taken better and worse clients. The angel is just someone in between. 

The doors open and you pass a few doors until you reach his suite. You don’t know why the Embassy has so many rooms, and when you tried to ask Adam, he made a comment about how you could have a fuck-a-thon, doing it in each room, and you sneered at the idea. 

Your suite- or rather his suite- is unlocked like always. You waste no time, stepping into the shimmering room. It’s livable. A kitchenette on one side, a bathroom with a wonderful shower tucked in the room, and a massive bed pushed to the end of the room. The room is bright, golds and blues, a deep dark wood carved into ornate decorations, and you feel out of place. It’s nice- far too nice for you to show up and defile it with what you’re going to do. The room never ceases to amaze you. There aren’t many places in Hell where the colors are bright and soft at the same time, where things look so pristine and untouched. When you once mentioned to Adam how nice the room was, he laughed and told you that there were far better rooms in Heaven. A part of you still wishes that he would have offered to show you- something, pictures, descriptions, anything. 

“Took you long enough!” The angel says, leaning back on the bed. “I pay for your entire time, ya know? From the walk from your whore house to the embassy, the least ya could do is hurry it up. I’m a very important angel, ya know?”

“You ordered me like last-”

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “I don’t want excuses.” His hand waves in the air, and he sits on the bed. “Come on, let’s get to it.” You roll your eyes at him as you walk closer. “Oi! Don’t roll your eyes at me,” his voice is laced with disgust, and you remember that he looks down on you- in more ways than you would care to admit. “Come on, strip.” Your hands go to unzip your skirt. “And make it good!”

You bite your tongue. Your shirt is the first to go. The action is slow, tantalizing as your fingers skim over your bare skin, and your skirt follows suit, pooling on the floor. You step out the fabric, and your heels click on the floor. Adam watches you, his hands scratching the bed covers. You spread your legs over his right, and grab his hands, letting them touch your ribs and then moving towards your back. 

You can feel the tips of his claws scratch at the clip of your bra. You press your cunt over his robe covered thigh, and grind over it softly. “Please, Adam,” you beg. “Take it off for me?” Your hands rest over his chest, and he watches as you grind yourself over him, your hands fisting over his robe, and you wonder for a moment if maybe you did a bad thing- if this was the wrong move. But then your bra straps fall down your shoulders, and it’s discarded somewhere in the room.

You hiss when his mouth suckles on a breast, the other breast being pinched and pulled at. He sucks so softly, letting his tongue roll over the swelling bud, teething at it so you hiss and arch yourself further into him. You can feel a wet spot grow, and you can’t help but rock yourself over your thigh. The other breast is manhandled, twisted and pinched that has you gasping and fisting holy fabric in your sinner hands. 

You're pushed off and his hands claw over your hip. You get the memo, and peel off your underwear, the wetness of it noticeable, and the only mention of it is when Adam pockets your underwear. You wish you bought another pair with you. The heels are tossed aside, and strong hands push you down from your shoulders. You fall onto your knees with a hiss, and you know what you have to do.

-

“And- And- Oh fuck, that’s it, baby-” He hisses, his head tilted back. The hand fisted into your hair tightens, sharp stinging encouraging you to swallow more so he could let go. “I’m just saying that why would you settle for anything less than-” A moan interrupts his monologue and you look at him through glossy eyes. “Oh fuck. It’s like a fucking gift to suck me off.”

A string of spit and pre-ejaculate connects to your lips as you pull away. It’s thick and white, and you’re gasping for hair, a hand wrapped around the base of his cock and you push yourself to swallow his package, fitting the pair into your mouth as your hand pumps his length. He’s breathing heavily, and you know he's upset at the loss of contact with your mouth with the way that his hand tangles itself into your hair, but his mask is twisted, and you pop them out of your mouth. Your mouth feels dry despite the excess spit- you suppose it’s the salty taste that lingers. 

You take him back in your mouth, eager, and begging for him to just spill his seed already. Your cheeks hollow, and he’s heavy on your tongue. Your tongue swirls over a vein, and you can feel him twitching.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he hisses, his hands cradling your head. You hum, and brace yourself, your hands holding at his thighs, bracing yourself for him to thrust forward. His hands tighten, and he thrusts into your mouth. You gag around him, your throat constricting around him. It’s a horrid sound, loud and hollow, and acid threatens to bubble over. As he continues to pump himself into you, spit dribbles from the corner of your lips and you’re grateful that you were ordered to remove your clothes. 

“That’s right, take it. Oh fuck, fuck-” a string of curses fills the room, and he’s unrelenting, pushing deeper into your throat. A hand slips to grab at your breast, eyes squinting when you can feel the spit coat over your chest. Your other hand tightens around Adam’s thigh, your nails pinching into him.

Your fingers pinch over your nipple, rolling it over, desperate to take your mind off of the assault of your mouth. His thrusts get deeper and harsher, and he’s still in the back of your throat, holding you down. Curses mutter in the air, sharp and slurring together, and he keeps his eyes on you. The eye contact is far too much, the piercing eyes boring into your entire being, and it must be some type of power play for him. You choose to focus on the base of his cock. With your nose pressed into his pubic bone, you cough around him, and finally he pulls away, his seed laying thick on your tongue. Tears wet your face and mix with your spit and the drops of his seed. 

He grabs your chin and you open your mouth, showing the mess that he’s made. Letting go, you stay still, as he taps his cock on your face. It’s tacky with your spit and leaves you feeling much filthier than you would like to admit. You hold the seed in your mouth and he gives a nod, and you make a show of swallowing, and open your mouth to show him. “Did you want me to do a blessing before you swallow?”  He teases. “With my holy cum, I grant you the opportunity to fuck me.” He chuckles at his joke.

“Thank you, Adam,” you murmur, hoping that the soreness on your jaw will go away.

“You know, you could learn how to relax your throat. You’d think after doing this for a living, your gag reflex wouldn't be a thing.” You send him a dirty look, and his grin widens. “So fucking sensitive. What did you want me to tell you? That you were good?”

You aren’t sure what mood he’s in at the moment. Sometimes you can tell when he wants to fight with you- where he wants to punish you and call you a sinner as he ravages you, but then there are moments when he wants you to beg for him, to tell him how good he is, how you want his cock more than anything. But at the moment with your skull pounding and jaw sore, you spit out a simple, “Fuck you.” His grin widens, and he hoists you up onto the bed. The stickiness on your face ruins the soft comforter, and you feel too dirty to even touch something so nice.

“I was going to be nice and just fuck you, but shit, you had to talk back.” 

A hand grips at your rear, and a finger teases at your hole. You hiss at the contact, and you're glad you’re face down or else you’d never hear the end of it of how flustered you must look. As if reading your mind, he flips you over, your face exposed and your hands immediately cover the lower half. 

“Adam-” you squeal, instinctively trying to close your legs only to have them pried apart. 

“Don’t worry,” he says casually. “I just wanna look at how wet you got just from sucking on me.” A finger traces against your slick and you watch as he tastes the finger. “Damn, I should have let you keep your panties on if I knew you were going to get this wet.” A finger enters and you squirm, suckling the intrusion further into your softness. “You’re soaked. And all you had to do was suck me off. You know, if I could keep you, I would.” He enters another finger, pushing the two inside until he’s at the knuckles. “I’d give you a nice collar, a nice bed, and all you would have to do is be my little cocksleeve.” He pulls out, and thick strings of slick connect his fingers back to your cunt. He returns his fingers to your cunt, now with the addition of a third. It’s a wide stretch, a sharp pain being overridden with pleasure. “I bet you’d like that. You’d live a pampered life, and all you have to do is keep your pussy spread open for me.” 

With a yank, you’re pulled further into the bed. The comforters make a soft noise, but the bed itself doesn’t creak. You watch with half-lidded eyes, focused as he rests on his knees beside you, his cock growing, the scent of it enough to make you go dizzy. You brush your cheek against it, licking at the side of it when he thrusts his fingers into you.

You sit on the bed, his cock pressed against your face, and with a mind too delirious to think of anything else, you pull him into your mind, lazily bobbing his head, as his fingers scissor inside of you. 

You breathe heavily, your mind growing fuzzy with the stimulation. He’s slow and lazy, massaging the inside of your gummy walls as he looks down at you taking his cock once more. A hand brushes your hair away from your face, and you pull away, pecking at his cockhead, nuzzling the glistening head against your lips. It isn’t enough for you, and you swallow him once more, humping into his hand when he gives a smart smack to your cunt. 

“Turn around,” he orders, and you scamper to do so. You don’t get a moment to prepare yourself, until he’s bullying himself inside of you. Your hands claw at the comforter, and with watery eyes, you see the fabric tear apart underneath your claws. “You’re clamping down hard around me,” he breathes out, and you buck your hips, trying to feel him deeper into you.

Above you, he's heavy, and selfish, pumping into you relentlessly. The sound of skin slapping against skin is harmonized by your moans. He grunts above you, whispering strings of obscenities and few words of praise linger in the air.

“Oh fuck,” he grunts out, “so fucking good.” His breath is hot against you, fanning out into feathered tickles that touch at your body. He’s never been one for intimacy before reaching his peak, always preferring to be lustful, so you never expect him to actually kiss you, but in moments where he rights just at the right spot, you’d wish he do a little more to make it feel something other that whatever this all is.

His body is pressed against your back, hands squirming underneath to grab at your breasts. His hands are rough and unforgiving, pulling and pinching his nails into your soft skin, You can feel the warmth of his breath against your neck, puffing and huffing, murmurs about how you feel wrapped around him, and you bury your face into the comforter. Your mouth is slacked open, spit pooling down, as your moan helplessly around him, body taut and nerves feeling as if they’re on fire. 

“No fucking wonder you’re a sinner,” he seethes out, his thrusts harsh and deep, enough to have you see stars and think about how as selfish as he can, he feels so good. “With a pussy this good, I bet you had everyone lined up for just a taste.” You let out a low whine. “Yeah, I bet you did. No wonder you were hired at that sex joint. Did you have to fuck the owner to get in? Ha?” His tone is wicked, and you’re unsure if it’s his words or the fact that you’re so close as to what is making you tear up. His weight above you shifts, and by your hair, you’re yanked back. You yelp and tighten around him, tears slipping down. “I asked you a question.”

“I didn’t-” you yelp as he continues to bully himself inside of you- “I didn’t hear it, ’m sorry,” you mumble, your scalp stinging with pain. 

“Too fucked up on my dick to even think,” he hisses, pushing you down onto the bed. He pulls himself out, and you whimper, shaking your head and pushing yourself closer to him, your cunt weeping for more of him. “A cock hungry slut is all you are, huh?” His cock is pulled out, and he watches you whine, your cunt gaping and leaking slick that makes your thighs glisten. 

“Adam, please,” you moan, turning your head to look over your shoulder. You can feel the drool stick to the side of your lips. 

“Please what?” he spits out, his eyes flickering to yours, before returning to your ruined sex.

You let a whimper, high-pitched and desperate. You fall back to the bed, your eyes looking forward, and your hand slips underneath you, fingers peeking towards your cunt, feeling the warmth drip onto your fingertips. “I want more,” you tell him, your words muffled by the comforter. “I want you,” you tell him, hoping that he’d take pity on you for a moment.

The tip of his cock brushes itself against your opening, and you clench around it, your body aching for more. “Nah, you have to do better than that.” Your cries are shushed, brows furrowed and you’re turned over onto your back, “Come on, I’ve heard you beg before.” Two of his fingers enter you, thrusting in painfully slow. “You know what to say already.” Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your fingers twisting the bed sheets into spirals. You shake your head, humping pathetically into his hand. “I promise to make ya feel real good.” 

“Adam,” you croak. He pulls his fingers out, and tears gluten over your lashes. “Please, I wanna be fucked.” Your legs tense when you feel the tip of his cock nestle itself inside of you. “I’m just a filthy sinner who needs-” you yelp when he thrusts himself inside of you, the entire lengths filling you nicely- “needs to be fucked by your holy dick.” His hands curve over your hips, scratching softy over your skin. 

“A little more, honey, and I’ll ruin that demon pussy for you.” His hands curve over your hips, scratching softly over your skin, his voice low and sweet for you.

“Adam,” you plead, your hands curving over your breasts, “I need you,” you whisper in a haze. “I need your cock in me, I wanna cum real bad. I need you. I need you to fuck my sinner pussy.”

He gives you a lazy smile, and gives a nonchalant shrug. “Good enough.” He pushes himself inside of you. Your stomach coils into a heat, and you suck in a harsh breath when his fingers slip to rub at the bundle of nerves between your legs. “You have a fucking grip on my dick. What is it? Are you close?” You let out a broken moan. Your legs kick up, and wrap around him. “If I cum in you, you’re dealing with it.” His grin is sharp and predatory, and it only makes you drag your hands down his arms.

Your hands reach up, and you hold the sides of his neck, your hands curving behind, and you just feel tufts of hair peek from underneath the mask. A hand reaches to grab your wrist, holding it tightly, and you’re sure you’re going to have a bruise afterward. “You fuckin’ slut,” he spits out. “You think just because you got my mask off last time, I’ll let you look at me again?”

“Adam,” you whimper out, scratching at the back of his neck with your free hand, “please. I just wanna look,” you slur out. You know you’ll regret saying those things when you’ve sobered from him, but sex always did make you softer, needier. You think that must be why he decided to continue to hire you- to see you pant for him and stroke his ego. “You’re so pretty, I wanna see,” you lament. “I wanna- I just- I wanna look at you when I cum,” you stumble over your words, your fingertips tapping against the bottom of the mask. The golden eyes narrow at you, and you can only look for so long until you turn your attention elsewhere.

His mask is tossed to the side, and his irises glow. The hand that holds your wrist loosens, and you cup over his cheek, the stubble on his chin scratching at your palm. “Fuck- Oh fuck,” you hiss out, your heart beating against your chest rapidly. “I’m gonna- Oh my- Adam! Fuck,” you hiss, the knot in your stomach tightening, a pressure building more and more until you’re sure that you’ll burst. 

Even as your body shakes, he doesn’t stop. He continues moving his hips, pushing all of himself inside of you, his breath coming out in pants above you, his smile sharp and face flushed. A hand wraps around your neck, and you arch yourself into it, whining and mumbling at how your cunt is still too sensitive, how he has to slow down, but he coos at you, and he tells you how good you’re benign for him, and you hold onto his wrist with your hands. 

Adam places his face close to yours, his lips and breath fanning above yours, and you’re stuck staring at his eyes, unable to look away from the gold in front of you. You lick your lips, and you brush against his. He stares at you, and your face burns. 

He gives shallow thrusts, and is still inside of you, and you can feel him. You can feel the heat, and the stickiness leaks out of you. He keeps himself there, and hides himself into the crook of your neck. After a moment, he slips out, and you can feel the heaviness of his seed weep out of you in slow and heavy drools. 

You lay in the afterglow, chest heaving and sweat and more sticking to your skin. Your body is on pins and needles, and laying on top of the soft bedding, you could fall asleep right then and there. Nestled into a pile of feathers and gold, you could die- again- and be happy with it. 

But then the man- the first man- groans and you remember that this isn't the time to play house. You have a job. Or rather, you had one, and now you have to return. You lift yourself up into a sitting position, and you stare at the bathroom. A part of you wants to take a shower, but you fear that if you even just tasted what luxury is, you’d have to be pried out of the embassy. 

With a sigh, you lift yourself off of the body and gather your clothes. The lack of underwear is something that you frown upon, but when you look back to the angel, with the demand for its return, you can’t bring yourself to ask for it. You’ve walked around without it before when customers got handsy, this is nothing. Your skirt is tight, and long enough that only a pervert would tell. 

“So,” he trails off, lying on his back, “do you wanna cuddle or something?”

Your eyes widen, and as you flatten your skirt, you thin your lips. “Uh, no. No thanks, Adam. I’m uh- I’m good.” You straighten your top, and tap your heels against the floor, the sharp click echoes in the chambers. 

“Whatever,” he huffs, “I was just gonna psych you out anyways.” He waves his hand, and cool air rushes around you. 

You let out a sigh, looking at the mirror where you stared at yourself just a bit ago. Your hands play with your hair, making sure that when you leave, it won’t look like you just slept with someone. You hum, and tilt your head from side to side, trying to find some sort of mark that would have to be hidden. However, the cool air- his own magic or blessing- has fixed any evidence of indecency on you.

“The extermination is next month,” Adam sighs. Your eyes flick up, and you catch him staring at you- golden eyes piercing into your own, unblinking and unbothered. 

“I’m aware,” you tell him, returning to look at yourself in the mirror. You stand straight and let out a sharp sigh. “I think some of the residents are already panicking.”

“Are you?”

Your stomach knots itself, and you remember when you were first bought by Adam- the nervousness, the disgust, the bile burning your throat. It’s all too familiar at this moment. You shrug. “I don’t think it’s set in yet,” you mumble. 

“I’ll come by the night before.” You look at the white tiles- the grout filled with shimmering gold, and the tiles patterned with silver and gold lines. “I’ll leave the back door unlocked like last time.” He doesn’t say the words nicely, it’s more like an afterthought, as if telling you this is a bother, but still, he tells you this, and one thing you've learned about Adam is that he hasn't lied to you yet. You fist the hem of your skirt in your hands, and nod. It’s silent, and then he starts again, annoyance laced into his words. “What do we say?”

“Thank you, Adam,” you tell him in a beat. 

“Yeah, well, I can't have my favorite whore die.” His wings unfurl and stretch across the bed. The tips of the feathers reach just beyond the mattress, and you shrug. The words hang heavy in the air, and you feel small compared to him. In the mirror, you can see his reflection, his  mouth thinning, and his eyes narrowing. “I- uh- I still have you for ten more minutes.” You make eye contact with him in the mirror. “Get back here. I wanna suck on your tits.”

You stick your tongue out, and your hips sway as you walk towards him, your heels falling carelessly to the floor as you rest beside him. His hands are cold as they peel off your shirt and without a care, he tosses it to the foot of the grand bed. A hand cups at your breast, and you can feel his breath fan over your chest, and you wait to feel his teeth bite at you, but you never do. The wetness of his lips trace over the swell of your breast, a peck pressed against the bud, but never swallowing it. Your chest is heavy with his weight on top of you, and the hand on your breast unfurls and curves over your ribs. His wings expand, and they partially cover you, the softness of them akin to the finest blanket in what only money can buy. 

Realization as what he’s doing has your body heating, and you worry that he can tell with the way that he’s laid bare on your chest, and yet, he makes no snide comments. This is far more intimate than anything you’ve ever done before. With a harsh swallow, your arm wraps around him, your hand reaching upwards to scratch at the back of his head. Your hands knot into his hair, your nails dully scratching along his scalp. He lets out a low hum in response, nuzzling his cheek over your bare skin in approval. 

With a shaky breath, you break the silence. “You know, I was thinking, that maybe I’d uh, give that Hazbin Hotel a shot.” You feel his hands scratch over your ribs, straight, and piercing, and they cling to you as his breath hitches. “I’m not sure I believe in the whole redemption thing, but free housing is nice.” You feel him nod slowly, and you twirl a piece of his hair around your finger. He gives you a short answer, one that is mumbled into your skin and doesn't make its way to you, and his wings inch further up covering more of your body as he brushes his lips against the swell of your breast. You don’t look at the time even when you feel that he’s grown heavier on your body.

[hopeswriting]

was thinking about takeshi and how he's my favorite brand of unconditional devotion btw. the utter and absolute and all-consuming kind that runs so deep to the very core and is so intrinsic and fundamental to it, it can only express itself in the most casual and natural and certain way. without second thoughts, without any room for doubts or for any moral dilemma to be had over it, because of course he ought to always be breathing and living for his chosen person first and foremost. of course he ought to hang on their every word and make them true no matter what, no matter what he has to do to make it happen, no matter what he has to do to other people to make it happen, and no matter what it might turn him into in the process. because it's obviously the way the world should be for his chosen person. at their feet, ready to bend over backwards and break and build itself again to better answer to all their needs even if they don't ask it for it. it's the only right way it should be for them, and of course takeshi's going to do his utmost at all times to make it a reality as much as possible.

and his devotion comes out as naturally as breathing, comes out lighthearted and nonchalant like he might as well be talking about the weather, but it's not unaware of itself. it's not that takeshi doesn't know it's unhealthy and wrong and that he's willing to go entirely too far in its name for anyone's good. it's not that he wouldn't hear you out if you were to sit him down and explain to him just why he needs to tone it down a little (a lot). logically, he'd agree with you and know you're right. and then he'd tell you he's still not going to do anything whatsoever about it. that he's not bothered by it and doesn't feel the need to change anything to his attitude. makes it a point to never let anyone or anything sway him even an inch in the stand he took when it comes to that, no matter how many thousand of times you might go over the subject with him.

because the morality of his devotion isn't the point at all. is entirely irrelevant to it and doesn't affect the way he expresses it all. it's not the metric with which he draws a line in the sand to hold it accountable to. because the thing is, takeshi's entire world revolves around tsuna--tsuna is his entire world altogether, and it's just a matter of fact, that simple. to him it's a truth as unchanging as the sky being blue, and so being the way he is according to that truth is the only way he can imagine being that'd feel right to him. and so the actual and only metric that matters here is "would tsuna be happier if i were to do this?" and/or "is this something tsuna needs me to do?"

and like. i don't think takeshi ever stops being a kind person capable of compassion and understanding and mercy and forgiveness even ten years later once they became mafia through and through. and i don't think either he grows up to be feared and called a monster per se despite the things they inevitably had to do during those ten years (and the things they'll inevitably keep having to do as long as they keep being mafia), at least not in the way, for example, they'll never stop fearing and calling mukuro one. but i do think that among the tenth gen, he ends up being the one with the most ruthless, merciless and horrific blood on his hands of that particular and distinct loving kind. you know the one i mean, right? he comes to be the one most expected and the one first expected to be willing and to take it upon himself to go through with it when the need arises. and to think little of it after, if anything at all. all in the name of making tsuna's reign as easy on him as possible.

and it's to the point where it's the kind of blood that makes even mukuro pause at times. or, when takeshi is the one coming up with solutions himself during meetings, makes even reborn blink. not because it's unjustified or wouldn't be safe or efficient or anything of the sort, but because it is unwarrantedly thorough in its retaliation. and sometimes, at times like this, he's the one tsuna needs to step in for the most, because he's the only one who can reason with him that "yes, this would work in getting rid of our problem" but "no, please, don't do that takeshi". because if tsuna is the only thing that infers on just how much and in what ways he'll let himself be devoted to him, then of course, he's also the only one takeshi's willing to reign himself in for without second thoughts. because he'd hate to ever do something tsuna would disapprove of or wouldn't want him to do. or do something that'd make tsuna see him differently or love him back less even in the slightest.

and it's also like. his devotion isn't an undisciplined one. it's not one he doesn't have control over, the very opposite. it's a very purposeful and conscious choice he chooses to keep making over and over again every step of the way, and he taught himself to have control over it, to know when it's needed and/or wanted, and how much and in which ways it is when it happens, and to keep it down otherwise. and, yes, to also reign it back in at tsuna's request at times when it still slips past his control. because it's all about making tsuna's happiness easier and secure and long-lasting, and never about burdening him with just how committed he is to do that.

so it comes down to this: takeshi willing to go above and beyond and more for tsuna unless tsuna explicitly asks him not to. and to tsuna needing to ask him not to every now and then. and to other people pointing out to him how too many times tsuna's already needed to stop him, and that maybe there's a hint for him to take there. and to takeshi seeing the hint, looking it straight in the eye and recognizing it for what it is and just. deciding it doesn't apply to him because it's all perfectly normal behavior to him. because it's the only kind of behavior that makes sense to him and feels right.

and so—to circle back to my first point—he can only express his devotion as naturally as breathing, so casually, almost like it's something inconsequential and not worth talking about despite how unmistakably it couldn't be further away from being the truth. it's the only way he could have always known how to express it, because, after all, who has ever taken time to ponder about the details and the hows of the way they breathe?

and i, for one, absolutely eat that shit up every time, thanks for coming to my ted talk <3

[vaguely-concerned]

I am so so happy that lucanis' sensible neutral toned knitted sweater beneath his brooding hotboy black leathers turned out to be exactly the design cue crucial to understanding the actual nature of his character and personality that I took it for the first time we saw his default look fhsdkj. I continue to be enchanted by this detail in particular. it really does say it all

[mrs-snape5984]

“There is no other love, it's only yours…”

“You're all I want, all I love…” (“You’re all I want” by Cigarettes after Sex)

Yesterday I had a really rough day. It didn’t just feel like one of my regular “PEM-Crash-Days” (PEM = post-exertional malaise = the worsening of symptoms after crossing the boundaries of my condition, due to my disease ME/CFS). The whole day was also coated in a thick layer of sadness and grief…an emotional turmoil, which I could only barely endure. Well…mixing these feelings with another wave of fever and pain, seasoned with the incapacity of tolerating screen time, adding the suffocating sensation of loneliness….et voilà! The perfect recipe for a day in hell was created! 🙄

In order to cope with my emotions, I found myself drowning in my fantasies of teenage Severus and my undeniably self-inserted OC Jules…rewriting one of their short fictional scenes. Again, Severus was tormented by his own insecurities, getting carried away in self-loathing. I don’t know, how many times I’ve already written scenes like these. Jules encourages Severus to stay resilient, praising him for all those traits, which he only identifies as his flaws and weaknesses. But for Jules, there’s so much beauty, so much strength in his imperfections. She’s making his blemishes look like the most loveable attributes of Severus’ personality with her passionate speech.

When I wrote this little scene, I recognised something: I already knew, that I’m identifying myself a lot with Severus…but Jules’ words of encouragement and consolation to her beloved friend Sevy…well, they’re are also things, I would crave to hear for myself (how pathetic, huh?!). But since I’m struggling immensely with the acceptance of my own insecurities and fears, I’m not able to reassure myself of my own worth. It’s just not on the table for me!

So…I’ll just keep on telling Severus in my stories, that he deserves nothing less than the whole world…and that Jules will always try to make him feel loved and cared for. She will never stop to compare his flaws with her own weaknesses by explaining to him, how perfectly they’re matching. Jules will never grow tired to assure Severus, that his cynicism is the perfect complement to her sense of sarcasm. For the Slytherin girl, it's a clear sign for Sevy’s extremely high intellect, which is also something, that she adores about her friend. In Jules’ eyes, his bitterness mirrors a form of hypersensitivity, a characteristic, which she knows so well from herself. That’s why she’s acting so empathetically with Severus, whenever he’s suffering with his life…and Jules is convinced, that sharing those feelings will make them less unbearable! The girl even praises Severus’ stubbornness by telling him, that she’s enjoying every good and intelligent argument with him to clear the air between them. All together, Severus’ imperfections are pure perfection to the hopelessly devoted (and obviously love-struck 😅) girl.

I’m aware of the overdramatic nature and the unnecessary fluffiness of my short stories, but that’s the reason, why I’m writing them for my eyes only. It’s my form of a coping mechanism…the only way of allowing myself some kind of self-assurance and comfort…through Severus!

Some time ago, I found an artist here on tumblr, who made me fall head over heels for her tender style of drawing my beloved dungeon bat. Especially an artwork of her interpretation of the younger Snape made my heart ache with longing for him, so of course, I just had to commission @pssherri for an illustration of Severus and my OC Jules in their teenage years.

Sonja, you did an amazing job with this project and I can’t express, how grateful I am for your kindness and the dedication to your profession! It was a pleasure to cooperate with you on this idea of mine and I hope, you’ll be open to work on more of my requests some day. Thank you for everything, my dear!

🖤Severus & Julia🖤

🖤Sevy & Jules🖤

[ibouchouchou]

aww kyky 😕

[jenny-ate-ink]

CW: Sonic Movie 3/Sonic 2024 spoilers

Click away and block the "#sonic movie 3 spoilers" "#sonic movie spoilers" "#sonic 2024 spoilers" and/or "#sonic spoilers" tags if you do not wish to be spoiled

-

Imagine you wake up on a strange new planet, so green, with not a memory of who or what you are. You wake up surrounded by these beings who look nothing like you, and they take you quickly into a metal facility where wires and clips are put on you. Where test after test is run.

They find a power within you. A power they want to channel, to harvest. You make them their power.

But none of them look at you kindly. There is weariness in their eyes. A hesitation in every touch. You are alone. You do not know what you are. Who you are. You have no family. You have no friends.

Then she appears like starlight during a cloudy night. A girl, blond and blue with roller skates. She touches the canister in which you have been placed, and you scowl at her before she scowl at you because everyone scowls at you. Why bother with a smile.

But she mocks you instead with so much humor in her eyes.

It goes all so fast after that. Too fast. You forever look back, wanting, longing. It isn't fair.

She looked at you kindly. She called you her friend. Through her, her grandfather came to like you too.

You would pull her on her skates down the halls and listen to her laugh. You would listen to and sing songs with her. You used to watch movies with her. Shared a pillow fort with her. You once even snuck out to see that green world you landed on again, to stare at the moon and the stars you came from with her. She talked about stars and light lingering on. You looked at her and saw one. Saw your star. Your sun. Your light.

You were happy.

It didn't last. Of course it didn't last. What did you expect? What else did you deserve?

They came for you. For your power. Her grandfather pulled both of you along, running, alarms blaring. She looked so scared.

A gun aimed.

"They're children!"

A gun shoved, a bullet redirected.

An explosion.

You remember it, even now, like it just happened. You relive it every time you close your eyes.

She lies too still on the ground, surrounded by rubble. Broken and burned. You hesitate to touch her, to confirm that this is real. You look up to meet her grandfather's teary eyes. She's gone. Your star is dead.

Your name makes sense now. It suits you well. For you may not have been the one to pull the trigger, but it still was your power that caused the explosion. It was your power that lured them in, your power that killed your star and now leaves the world in shadowed in grief.

You're nothing but a shadow. The darkness in the night. The monster under the bed. Your power killed her, which means you killed her, however indirectly.

She said you aren't a monster and you proved her wrong.

You didn't even fight as they ripped you away from her still warm body. You didn't do anything. You couldn't do anything. You just stared at your hands as they took you away and put you to sleep.

For fifty years you relive it. Over and over again. They made a hell just for you.

They took her from you. Your power, harvested and explosively unleashed, killed her.

You are angry. So angry. It consumes you. It festers like an infection, spreading. It fills you down to the marrows of your bones and pumps through you like blood.

You wake up in a world without her. In a world you don't want to exist. In a world you don't want to exist in.

You go to the only place you think of. The old facility. The only place you ever lived in. The place where she died, where your powers snuffed her out.

You find her grandfather there. He speaks of grief. Of anger. He wants revenge, has a plan of how to get it all laid out, and you are the key to its success.

The world that stole her will burn like she did. Your powers will be harnessed and then explosively unleashed. It will kill you, he tells you. It will kill him. A small price to pay.

It's justice that you die by your own powers, by the same powers that stole her away.

You agree. You want revenge. You want it more than anything. And it the end, you'll be with her again. It's perfect. You want this darken world to feel the same pain it has caused you. You want this pain to end. More than anything, you want to see her again. To feel her light on your fur again.

But a family stands in your way. Something red, something yellow, but mostly something blue. How annoying. How infuriating. They have what you lost, and you want to take it from them. It isn't fair.

You see him. Commander Walters. He was there, he was with them the day she died.

Rage. Deep, sickening rage. You strike him down.

Except... he isn't Walters.

Blue. Eyes carrying the same pain you do glare into your soul.

"What did you do?"

You tell him the truth.

"What I had to."

Revenge awaits.

Is this the right thing to do? Is this what she would've wanted?

No. No. They deserve for taking her. This is revenge. This is what you want... right?

You're so angry. Of course it's what you want. It's what you need.

You power the machine. Let it harvest your power.

You're aren't surprised when blue turned yellow, stronger than ever, comes for you. Of course he would want revenge, too. He is the same as you. He understands your pain. The pain you caused him.

He pins you down. You let him. The world will burn regardless, at least now, you will see her sooner. You can be rid of this pain sooner. You can let him get rid of his pain. You owe him this, don't you? This a mercy upon the both of you.

He hesitates. It angers you. You point to your chest.

"Do it! I'm right here!"

The look in his eyes changes. You no longer see your pain and your rage reflected back at you.

He tells you that revenge doesn't fix anything.

Something shaky within you breaks. You fizzle out. Your anger fizzles out. You realize anger had only ever been the secondary emotion. The mask.

You are consumed with grief. Painful, inescapable grief.

You sit with him and look at the world your powers are going to destroy.

It's blue, like she was. Blue, like he is.

He tells you the pain never goes away, but you learn to grow love around it.

The sun, yellow like her hair, warm as her smile, rises.

It clicks.

You remember it, what she told you all those years ago. How the light still lingers even when the star is gone.

She was, is, your star, and through you her light travels forward even now in her absence.

You are the shadow casted by her lingering light. You are her love preserving. Everything she is, everything she was, you decide now with every action. You are her legacy. Her light still shining.

You were, you are, her shadow. You were always meant to follow her, even now.

You let your anger and grief lead you astray. You should have followed her love from the beginning.

She wouldn't want this.

You wish you could tell her that you're sorry, for everything.

You look at the blue, and he offers his hand.

You take it.

It's time to right your wrongs. To follow the path you were always meant to.

You aren't happy. You're still hurt. And you're still angry, still grieving.

But this feels right.

Even as you redirect the bullet of your power aimed at the Earth, there is a strange peace. A feeling of justice. A knowning that you are doing right by her memory. Acting in her honor rather than your grief.

Blue falters, but you persist. You persevere. You push your mistake further away. You can not, you will not, let your pain hurt anyone else anymore. It isn't what she would've wanted. It isn't what you want. Not anymore.

You can hear her laughter even now. Soft and warm like starlight. You can almost hear her telling you to keep going, to just push it a little further.

Maria.

Is she waiting for you?

Your power engulfs you just like it did to her all those years ago.

Maria.

Is she proud of you?

You close your eyes and welcome it.

Maria.

You'll miss her forever, won't you?

[monsterlimbs]

Okay third "sympathetic big bad" from bg3 post for Ketheric because he is the one guy that I think most can sympathize with, and he's truly the easiest to sympathize with.

Some horrible day, your beautiful Melodia, your darling wife, dies, protecting your daughter. You grieve horribly, but you keep going for your children. Everything for them.

Your daughter brings home a fucking IMMORTAL Aasimar, child of a god and declares her as her lover. A child or your god, yes, who you've known so far to be good, sure, BUT STILL A CHILD OF A GOD. It almost makes it worse that the Aasimar is a child of your god, considering you raised your daughter, per your wife's wishes, to trust Selûne, and you're worried that this Aasimar may use this to her advantage. And they're so in love yes, but that's such a scary power dynamic for you- what if Aylin asks your daughter to do something she's not ready for? How OLD is that Aasimar? And how could you live with yourself if your daughter was put into an unsafe situation, simply because you didn't put your foot down? So, you do, and your daughter's angry. Of course she's angry, you're telling her that her and her girlfriend can't be together, but she has to come around eventually, she has to understand what a horrible power dynamic that is.

And worse, worse than when your wife died, you're told your daughter, precious, sweet, innocent Isobel, is dead (who I believe was killed by Halsin in self defense with the Sorrow glaive, even though that content has since been cut from the game but y'know! so essentially, his daughter, in his mind, was killed by a damn druid, the guys who were supposed to be PEACEFUL). You spiral, of course you do, your precious baby is dead, how could you not? And when your god, Selûne, damned mother of that damned Aasimar, ignores your prayers to have your baby back, you turn to her sister, Shar. And Shar, for a moment, helps relieve your loss. In return for killing Selûnites, the same wretched folk that turned against you in your grieving, she rewards you, turns you immortal by letting you imprison that Aasimar that took a liking to your daughter. You're more than pleased to do so, to lock what you believe is a predatory Selûnite up. Shar helps soften your loss.

And then she lets you die to Harpers of all people, and uses you as a way to release the Shadow Curse.

You're revived (I like to believe by Balthazar), and shown the way of Myrkul's path, and HE, is the one to bring your baby back, a century after her fall. You're happily indebted to him, to have your child alive again, anything and more for your baby.

....But she's mad at you. She won't talk to you. She looks at you like you're a monster. She's STILL upset over you forbeying her and Aylin's love, and even more now that she knows you've been using her as a means for immortality. She doesn't get how much you did for her, even while she was gone. You've practically forgotten about all else besides her, and it hurts so bad knowing your baby is not only angry at you, but thinks of you as a MONSTER. You know she'll come around, though. ...And she's now running from you and hiding in the Last Light Inn.

Eventually, you send a Fist to get her and bring her back, and either, your daughter has been killed AGAIN by some random wretched folk- oh gods it's not random is it? That's Durge. OR, she survives and is brought back to you, OR she survives and is even angrier at you now. She doesn't see how much shit you've waded through, just for her. She only sees a man who's "gone too far". She doesn't even know how far you'd go, to keep her safe. Everything and more, just to keep her safe.

Whether she's with you or not, one day you wake to a suddenly... off feeling. ....Fuck, why do you feel so odd? FUCK, your immortality's gone, you can feel it. Your wounds don't close, you're vulnerable. And it's all the problem of, either, the folk that kept your daughter from being returned to you, or the folk who killed her and sent her back.

And once, Ketheric truly was redeemable. But now, he gets SO, SO, SO close and then Aylin's like "nah he'd NEVER surrender, isn't that right, you worm?" and he gets up and is like "oh fuck you" and every chance is gone. Then you see him again, and he's already decided, he WON'T grovel again. He's gone too far, he sees it now. Sweet, precious Isobel was right. There's no coming back from this. And if you try to convince him he's worthy of redemption, he selflessly gives up and his god ixnays his retreat. And otherwise, he may go down yes.... But if he's going down, so are you.

And then he dies. He dies knowing he's given up everything for his daughter, cursed an entire land, caused Hell for everyone, and that his daughter, sweet Isobel, doesn't even think he's her father anymore. In her eyes, he's so far gone that he's not even the same man.

[clobertina]

Sonic 3 won’t leave my mind ever since I saw it RAHHHHHH

SPOILERS

Movie 3 has officially gotten me back into Sonic, something that hasn’t happened since I was a little LITTLE kid. You have Emo Mammal to thank for that lmao.

[loopyarts]

Finally got the courage to post some of my august doddles of Dick Grayson Robin.

[xeemaee]

If Kabru has no fans I’m dead etc etc

[cosmic-walkers]

I haven't seen a lot of people talk about him but harry melling absolutely killed it as wriothsely. for one of the first times we see the character of wriothsely really focused on in tudor media, he did an outstanding job at portraying a flawed, torn, nuanced and morally ambiguous risley. i loved him, and his ability to have amazing chemistry with mark rylance.

i could almost look past the fact that he didn't have red hair, in s2 even tho the s1 actor had it. idk maybe they ran out of lightener, copper hair color and 50 vol developer on set but he did good.

[kiruamon]

A villain's light AU - Papa Clipse

Story in a nutshell: Local villain finds a small fox cub next to its dead mother and takes it with him to potentially use it as a test subject for his devices. Said fox cub wiggles its way swiftly into his heart before he can do any of the things he had originally planned to do with it. A few days after him growing attached to the cub, he finds himself woken up not by the cub but a child. With ears and a tail. Looks like his little fox wasn't a normal fox at all. And with that he is now a father.

... yeah, I guess that sums it up.

Because of the white fur and the bright blue eyes, Eclipse named the cub Snowcone. Snowcone is a happy little guy and loves his Papa Clipse dearly. (Also being called that for the first time melted Eclipse's big cold heart even further.)

-

Eclipse is also veeeery protective of his son. Better don't try messing with him.

Eclipse: "If anything happens to my son, you will not live long enough to see the next morning. I will hunt you. And I will find you, no matter where you hide. Do you understand?"

-

Snowcone: *patting Eclipse's ray* Eclipse: "Aaw, are you giving me a pat?" Snowcone: "Snowcone gives papa pats! Pats nice, yes?" Eclipse: "Yes, very nice indeed."

Snowcone will give little head bonks to Eclipse when seeking out affection as well as straight up cuddling himself against him. He also can shift between his fox form and the more humanoid one.

So... uhm yeah, if anyone wants to maybe know more about this au, you could ask me, I guess. Or maybe even ask Eclipse himself depending if the question is more about himself or his little boy?

[meaty-bones]

I think Beetle would love the song Insanely Illegal Cage Fight by Dal Av and Jackson Rose

I haven't drawn Beetle in a long time, and I'm currently struggling with some art block atm

Love this lil guy tho

[afterlife-2004]

THEY KEPT THE TAILS GETTING BEATEN BY SHADOW TRADITION

[ghost-bxrd]

Okay so I know this wasn’t the intention, but I read the most recent part of Owl Song and now I can’t stop thinking about Ivy, Jason, and Dick.

Like, in canon she fought both of them as Robin (I think??? I’m pretty sure she was around for Dick’s Robin) and she’s one of the better Rogues in terms of motive and morals. She probably cared for both of them somewhat, so how do you think she (and the other semi-decent rogues) took it when Jason died?

Ah I see how it is, we’re unpacking the good questions now!!!

So at first Ivy probably didn’t notice. Let’s be real, she’s got better things to do then play “keeping up with the batfamily”, and yeah, sure, some of her plants have been getting agitated the more days went by without sightings of either Robin or his loyal shadow (either Batman or Talon/Nightwing), but eh, maybe they’re on vacation or something.

But then Batman is back on the streets and it’s BadTM. Even simple thugs need to be hospitalized, more than one comes close to actually dying (one even flatlines for a moment) and Ivy gets suspicious. Not enough to raise any alarms just yet, still, odd. And still no sight of Robin anywhere.

And then the Joker keeps being found. All over Gotham. Her plants her agitated, they keep whispering about the child-from-the-clocktower and the-one-who-is-cold. And even Ivy can’t keep turning a blind eye.

At first she checks in with Harley, but her girlfriend she doesn’t have any insight either having just returned from a mission with the Birds of Prey (timeline? What timeline). So, dead end. And Crane is a no-go because the Bat hospitalized him with way too many broken bones just the other day.

Two-face it is, but Harvey (both sides of him) are equally as disturbed by the Bat’s sudden volatility as Ivy and he is now on board with trying to find out just what made the Bat snap.

(At this point she’s having a veeery bad feeling about this. Especially because even weeks later Robin is still suspiciously absent from the streets, and there are only whispers of Talon/Nightwing and even her plants can’t seem to pin down either of them.)

Next up is the Riddler, who is already neck-deep into investigation (because how dare Batman not appreciate all his carefully laid riddles and instead punch in faces of low time criminals! And also he may be a teeny-tiny bit worried about the sassy sidekick but SUE him, the kid grows on you like a particularly stubborn case of the pocks ok!?) and immediately agrees to a temporary ceasefire.

So now we have part of the rogue gallery joining forces to find out just wtf is going on, and their next bet is the elusive Catwoman.

And let’s say Selina doesn’t know who Batman is but she’s got soft spot for the big burry anyway so she’s CONCERNED ok? It doesn’t take much persuasion to join forces with the rest of the rag-tag group of high profile rogues to figure this out, and her next proposition is this: grill the Penguin for information.

Oswald Cobblepot is SO not prepared for the joint forces of Catwoman, Two-Face, Riddler, Harley, and Ivy and before long he’s telling them what little he knows about the Joker and his excursion to Ethiopia.

And they all just kinda— freeze. Because— what? No, Robin can’t be dead. Robin is magic. That spunky little kid who’d throw pebbles at Riddler, the one who’d always try to pick-pocket Catwoman, the one urging Harley to leave-the-Joker-he’s-an-ass, the one who always drives Harvey insane with his prime numbers, the one who’d stalked all the way into Robinson park just to ask Ivy how to save the little potted plant he’d been gifted—-

No, no he can’t be dead… right?

But he is. And the talon who’d always kept him safe? That one is gone, too. Nobody knows where he went, but Batman is unspooling, and unspooling fast. And the rogues… well, for once they keep quiet. they don’t give Batman any additional grief (god knows he’s got enough) and instead now make it a point to keep kids out of their business in silent solidarity.

From that day forward any and all people who try to associate themselves with the Joker get taken down by them with extreme prejudice. You think Batman is bad? Try spouting some Joker loving bullshit in front of Ivy. She doesn’t even have to ask her plants to gut you and hang you from the carousel at amusement mile like a Christmas ornament. And god forbid you say anything negative about Robin.