#i was bored and this was a good way to kill time

[partiallysame]

Ghost Gets No Bitches 2.5

Lil part 2.5 before smut? Why not

Did I know I was gonna make this a series? No. Did I know it was gonna be titled Ghost Gets No Bitches? definitely not but here we are

Part 1 Part 2

Word count: 400

Ghost knew he was a goner when you touched his hand in the grocery store but now your arms are around his neck and your lips are on his. His hands that had been so nervous to touch you, found their way to your hips pulling you closer to him. 

“Why don’t we get out of here big boy?” Your suggestive tone had him nodding embarrassingly fast, anything to have your lips on him again. His brain had turned to mush and he completely forgot the little challenge you had given him and what it meant when he failed it until you two stepped out of the bar and saw Soap sitting on the hood of his car. (ofc the fucker didn’t leave)

Simon had been walking behind you, hands still on your hips as you guided the two of you out. His grip tightened exponentially when Soap approached you two. Offering his name and his hand. You thought it was going to be a handshake until Soap brought your hand up to kiss your knuckles. Ghost instinctively pulled you flush against him.

“Its a pleasure to meet a pretty lass like yourself. Did Simon show you a good time? Not too dull eh?” John’s eyes had left yours to give a challenging stare to Ghost. “I know the bloke can be a bit boring sometimes, he’s not great with the ladies.” 

“Johnny.” Your sweet voice brought his eyes back to you and you took a small step forward, removing yourself from Simon’s body. Your curled your finger for Soap to come closer and fuck Ghost was nervous, remembering what happened when you called him over like that. Big fat smile spreading across Soap’s face as he neared you, stopping awfully close to you. Your hand reached up to grab his face. Hand gripping his cheeks to pull his face just inches from yours. Ghost was going to kill him, Price would understand? Right? The first girl to pay attention to him and Soap is trying to charm you away from him. Simon ready to give up and walk home until you spoke again, face so close to Soap.

“You talk too much.” Soap’s smile dropped so fast as your grip on his face tightened for a split second before you let go and stepped back into Ghost’s arms. Turning to look at the blonde man, “take me home yeah?” 

[hollowed-theory-hall]

I've thought of a good way to characterize duelling styles.

Take Dumbledore and Voldemort. When I think of their style, I think of the movie, The Revenge of the Sith, and the duel between Anakin and Obi-Wan. It's incredibly stylish and intense. Both fighters are the best and it really comes down to who makes the first mistake.

That's how I think of Dumbledore and Voldemort. Their duel in OOTP was the most bombastic and entertaining in the whole series. They were duelling as how you'd expect two wizards of equal skill to duel.

With Harry, I think of the scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark where Indy shoots the swordfighter and walks off.

Harry's duelling style is quick, dirty and pragmatic. Sure, it may be boring, but it's damn effective. Why waste time and risk your life with all these fancy spells when a simple disarming charm renders 99% of wizards completely harmless.

Harry's not fighting as a wizard, he's fighting as a survivor.

Harry's definitely the most pragmatic dueller out of these three. And it makes sense. Harry didn't have the luxury of studying dueling and magic at his leisure to enjoy just the magic of it the way Dumbledore and Voldemort did. He doesn't have the arrogance of Dumbledore and Voldemort, so he doesn't have that same need to show off and prove he's the smartest most talented person in the room. Becouse that's what I think it is. The duel in OotP doesn't look like that just because of skill — it's also arrogance, of both combatants.

Both Dumbledore and Voldemort are trying to say: "look at me! I'm so much more talented and skilled than the other guy!" during their duel. The whole thing is a theatrical ego-stroke.

It's why Voldemort gets so miffed when Dumbledore questions his intelligence and magical skill. It's why Dumbledore repeatedly doubts Voldemort's skills aloud and calls him "Tom". Their duel is a game of showing "Look, I'm better", neither of them is trying to simply win, they want to humiliate their opponent and prove themselves superior.

“You do not seek to kill me, Dumbledore?” called Voldemort, his scarlet eyes narrowed over the top of the shield. “Above such brutality, are you?” “We both know that there are other ways of destroying a man, Tom,” Dumbledore said calmly, continuing to walk toward Voldemort as though he had not a fear in the world, as though nothing had happened to interrupt his stroll up the hall. “Merely taking your life would not satisfy me, I admit —” “There is nothing worse than death, Dumbledore!” snarled Voldemort. “You are quite wrong,” said Dumbledore, still closing in upon Voldemort and speaking as lightly as though they were discussing the matter over drinks. Harry felt scared to see him walking along, undefended, shieldless. He wanted to cry out a warning, but his headless guard kept shunting him backward toward the wall, blocking his every attempt to get out from behind it. “Indeed, your failure to understand that there are things much worse than death has always been your greatest weakness —”

(OotP, Ch36)

Harry, on the other hand, is an abused, traumatized boy with ridiculously low self-esteem who's been running on survival mode since he can remember himself. Of course, he'd fight to remain alive. Harry never fights to prove a point or humiliate his opponents like Dumbles or Voldy, he is fighting to survive.

He is always going for incapacitation or disarming — he knows the longer the fight lasts, the lower his survival chances are, so he fights intending to end fights quickly. It's the best way to ensure survival and it's what he does.

He tries to avoid killing when the enemy doesn't deserve it (like Stan Shunpike or Draco in the bathroom, yes, Harry tried not to kill him) but Lupin is wrong in his assessment of Harry's dueling in DH. In fact, Harry is willing to kill when he needs to. When his opponent deserves it and it will save Harry and others, Harry goes for the kill. and he does so instantly.

He doesn't have Voldemort's theatrical need to play with his food:

“We bow to each other, Harry,” said Voldemort, bending a little, but keeping his snakelike face upturned to Harry. “Come, the niceties must be observed. . . . Dumbledore would like you to show manners. . . . Bow to death, Harry. . . .”

(GoF, Ch34)

Becouse he isn't trying to prove a point. He is trying to survive and playing with your food means the food just might get a chance to get away.

Nor does Harry have Dumbledore's feigned goodness. (Dumbledore is a character who is obsessed with what he considers "good", he wants to be a good, humble person so bad, but he isn't. To the point of completely romanticizing the concept of "goodness" and kind of missing the point sometimes). Dumbledore doesn't kill because of his romanticized, idealized version of goodness which places him "above such brutality" just like Voldy mocks him in DH. So he would never cast a killing curse — even if it is an efficient solution that would save lives at the moment.

Harry has no qualms about using Unforgivables when he feels the situation calls for it. If it's more efficient and helps/saves people Harry cares about, he'd do it. Harry is crazy scrappy when fighting. I talked about it here, but Harry uses his body a lot when dueling. He tackles Death Eaters with his hands, he elbows them in the face, he uses plenty of muggle brawling when dueling because it works. Harry does whatever he needs to do to survive, it doesn't even matter to him if he wins or not — what matters is survival. This is why he is so practical when it comes to dueling, why he fights the way he does, and why he is willing to cast Unforgivables. He would always choose the path to survival and to save as many people as he can, even if that path is running away (which he often considers in fights, especially when younger).

I really like your phrasing of it: "Harry's not fighting as a wizard, he's fighting as a survivor" because that's exactly what this is. If punching someone helps, he'd do it, if a spell can be useful, he'd use it. Oh, his hands burn Quirrell, very well, he'd use that — he uses anything and everything he can, he doesn't care how it looks, just that it works.

I think the Death Eaters in OotP were surprised when he just, like, tackled them down physically. I think most wizards think such is beneath them, so it'll surprise them when someone actually throws hands. I mean, we see Arthur and Lucius throw hands, and it's clearly not something common in their society:

There was a thud of metal as Ginny’s cauldron went flying; Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backward into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spellbooks came thundering down on all their heads; there was a yell of, “Get him, Dad!” from Fred or George; Mrs. Weasley was shrieking, “No, Arthur, no!”; the crowd stampeded backward, knocking more shelves over; “Gentlemen, please — please!” cried the assistant, and then, louder than all — “Break it up, there, gents, break it up —” [...] Mrs. Weasley beside herself with fury. “A fine example to set for your children . . . brawling in public . . . what Gilderoy Lockhart must’ve thought —”

(CoS, Ch4)

I'm pretty sure Lucius did not expect that. Like, he might've expected a hex, but not to be pushed physically. He probably considers it awfully muggle.

So, yeah, your assessment is correct and it fits their characters, beyond just skill level (since I believe Harry could fight like Dumbledore and Voldemort if he was inclined to do so).

[chrissturnsfav]

hello!! Can you write something about rapper Chris and singer reader at the Grammys and one of them wins best album??? Love your work btw <3

⋆.˚✮ singer!reader gets her first grammy

the energy at the grammys is suffocating—cameras flashing, voices buzzing, celebrities everywhere pretending they aren’t trying to compete with each other. you don't really like events like this, even though they’re part of your life now. it's just so fucking overwhelming, so good thing chris is here.

he’s sat in a manspread beside you, wearing a sleek black suit with a black tie, jaw set like he's bored out of his mind. he taps his thumb on his knee, probably counting beats in his head.

you fidget with the sequins on your pretty mini dress, nerves tightening your chest. "i’m gonna throw up," you mutter under your breath.

chris doesn’t even blink. "nah, you ain’t," he scoffs, lightly nudging your shoulder with a smirk, his voice is calm, gravelly. "you built f'this shit, kid."

you shoot him a look, furrowing your brows with a small smirk. "that supposed to make me feel better?"

he grins, lazy and cocky. "you tell me," he shrugs.

before you can snap back, the presenter’s voice booms through the speakers. your name rings out like some surreal echo.

"and the grammy goes to..."

you freeze. the applause hits you like a wave. it’s loud, disorienting. you've just won the award for best pop song of the year. how the fuck...

your realization is interrupted when chris leans in, close enough for you to hear over the chaos. "get your ass up there."

your legs feel like jelly, but somehow you stand. the walk to the stage is a blur—faces, lights, a hundred thoughts colliding in your brain. you grip the golden statue like it might float away.

"uh," you start, voice shaky, letting out a nervous laugh, "wow. this is... wild."

"well, i didn’t prepare anything ‘cause i really didn’t think i’d be up here, so... bear with me."

there’s a soft ripple of laughter from the crowd, but you barely hear it. your eyes instinctively find chris. he’s still seated, staring at you with that sexy stupid smirk that hits you right in the chest. it’s somewhat of awe, but also pride.

you swallow hard. "i wanna just say thank you to my team, my family, everyone who’s been in my corner through all the highs and lows. i wouldn’t be here without you."

your voice steadies, warmth creeping in. "and to chris..." you pause, lips twitching into a smirk as you chuckle quietly. "thank you for always being so supportive and positive."

his brow quirks, lips curling into that signature half-smile.

"even if you’re annoyingly right most of the time," you add, a little sass creeping in.

the audience laughs. chris shakes his head like you’re ridiculous, but his grin says otherwise.

"thank you so much," you finish simply, heart full and light as you step back from the mic. "couldn't be more thankful, this truly doesn't even feel real."

the applause follows you down the stairs, but all you care about is getting back to your seat. chris is already standing, waiting.

"see? you killed that," he says, voice low and smooth.

"did i?" you tease, still catching your breath.

he leans in close, shades slipping down his nose. "told you, you ain’t built like these other girls."

you roll your eyes, trying to downplay the way your chest tightens. "you’re so fucking cocky," you snicker.

"nah, m'just right," he shrugs, the smirk on his plush lips deepening.

you laugh despite yourself, knowing damn well he’s never gonna let you forget this moment.

his smirk morphs into a soft smile, one of awe and adoration as his eyes soften. he slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side and kissing the top of your head. "proud o'you, mama. knew you'd get this shit one day," he mumbles in a soft whisper against your hair.

thank you for reading!! <3

tags 🏷️: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @forgottxen , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @freakiolos , @slut4chris888 , @chriss-slutt , @ilovedanielcaesar , @annsx03 , @snoopychris , @chrissweetheart , @slutformatt17 , @mattsturnii , @dominicfikeenthusiast , @mattsbratt333 , @ivysturnss , @mattysketchup , @coquettechris , @courta13

@chrissturnsfav ™

[sunflower-author]

Yandere Bonten x Reader

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The reader is Gender neutral in this!!

TW: Sewer slide attempt, attempt drug use,

Bonten Timeline, where Bonten has kept you in the penthouse for a LONG time, and out of spite from every horrible thing they have ever done, you decide not to speak to them out of resentment Bottling up all your emotions. Hoping that they will eventually grow bored of you and either let you go or finally end your suffering.

One day, in particular, everything that you had been bottling up has finally reached its breaking point...

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“Y/N, go get your hairbrush on the bathroom counter please, I can tell you didn’t brush your hair this morning,” Kakucho said, sitting down on the couch right beside you.

Ever since Mikey said that he prefers your hair long, you were forced to grow it out. You can’t say you like it, but at least it hides all of the ugly marks on your neck and body from them…

Everyone else just goes with it; whatever Mikey says goes. It is unsure if the others like your hair as much as he does, but no matter what, they sure do act like it.

Getting up, then making your way to the main bathroom everyone uses, spotting the black brush, then grabbing it, and just as you were about to leave it caught your eye.

A little orange bottle with a white childproof cap. Slowly picking it up, you begin to realize that it is one of Sanzu’s many drugs. He must have left it here on accident, rushing for his mission today.

Bad day for him, but amazing for someone like yourself.

There is a good amount of pills in this container, and knowing Sanzu, only carrying around the ‘best’ (strongest) on him. He could drain this dry and it still wouldn’t be enough for someone like him.

This would be enough to kill any normal person, especially someone who has been clean for over a few years.

Slowly opening the cap, pouring the rest of the bottle in hand. Then quickly raise all of it to your mouth, only to have a hand grip your wrist.

You don't even need to turn to know who it is.

“I can’t even leave you alone for a minute before you end up doing something dangerous, put it down,” Kakucho says as he sighs. Physically, there is no chance against Kakucho.

Putting your arm down slightly to put the pills back in the bottle, while you are doing that, Kakucho’s grip softens little by little.

Once the cap is closed, you turn to look at him dazed.

“I won’t tell anyone… but if I catch you doing that again, I’m telling everyone,” he says, as he takes the pill bottle. Nodding your head yes, you just grab the brush as you both walk back to the couch.

After settling down, he starts to brush your hair. “Honestly what were you thinking? Did you just want to be on drugs or something, or was that a serious attempt?” he asks, sighing again.

“Listen I know that you hate your life here. But is it truly that bad? You can have whatever you want, having Kokonoi and Takeomi buy you anything you could dream, Sanzu would literally do anything for you, Mocchi would always listen to your rants when you talked, Ran and Rindou well they argue a lot but are fun to watch too… I try my best… even if you don’t see it…” his words are slow and cold.

“I admit that I am just as guilty as the rest of them, and everything we do is for your safety… even if you don't think it is… that is the truth…You may despise us for the rest of your life, but as long as we can keep you safe, that is what matters…” At this point, he seems to be pouring his heart out…

Sadden asks, “Do you hate me…? For doing all of this?” Shocked you shook your head no… Kakucho did nothing… all he ever did was follow orders, even if he hurt you and others, he is not to blame, you know that he feels guilty for everything he has done. After all, you have always felt slight empathy towards Kakucho, he is the kindest out of all of Bonten.

“Will you please talk to me again,” He begs more than questions, you just shrug, leaving that as that. “Is life better now, than when it was when you first was brought here?” he asks, you reply with a simple nod. “That’s good at least, although I can imagine that it was like hell, the first few days,” he responds. Try the first few weeks…

After a good handful of questions, he pauses for a few seconds like he is thinking, confused, you tilted your head back and looked at him. Suddenly it is like the lightbulb rang for him.

“Would you be willing to respond to me, with more specific answers, if I have you write it down? That way you wouldn’t have to speak?” he says, nodding your head yes. He rushes out of the room to grab something.

When he is back, he has an iPad in hand, pulling out the stylist pen, he gives the pen to you as he sits on the couch. Looking at the Ipad it is already in drawing mode. “Now… why don’t you talk?” he asks.

‘I wanted to punish you guys for everything you ever did to me. I thought if you guys assumed I was broken, maybe I would find a way, to not live like this, even a peaceful death would be ideal.’

When he was reading this you could tell that he was stunned unsure of how to respond he just asked another question. “How long are you going to keep this up?”

You write, ‘Until I can be free, or at least have some freedom’

“I can talk with Mikey…” You both know that the conversation will be a waste of time for both Kakucho and Mikey, but he can still try if he wants to.

‘You’re a good person Kakucho, compared to everyone else you have the most empathy. Plus you only follow orders, due to your loyalty. I know you mean no harm to me, even if it is for better or worse, truthfully if it was just you and me I would talk to you.’ You wrote down.

“What do you mean? We are alone,” he states. Just two words I write down, ‘security cameras’ After he reads that he says, “Oh I forgot about that…,” as he looks up around the room looking at the cameras.

“I know you think we are being excessive with everything, but you have to know, we are doing everything we can to protect you… we know everything about you… there are no secrets that are kept between us…” He takes a longing pause. He is quiet… too quiet, Shit you have a bad feeling about this…

He sighs thinking, then turns to you. “Y/N… you know that Bonten made a pact to keep no secrets, and to take care of you… and today you just tried to overdose with Sanzu’s drugs… This is not just a small secret I would be hiding from them. This is about your life you could have died today if I wasn’t there to catch you... I’m sorry but I will have to tell them. I care about you and your safety… this is something I can’t hide from them.” he says looking down in shame.

This fucker… If he tells them you would be on a tighter leash than before. Things would be like how they were when they first took me. There is no way in hell you are starting back at the bottom. You have worked your way by playing nice, then the silent treatment, which they all hate. If you are back at the bottom it will take months til you can just freely walk around this building.

You know what… Fuck it you had already told him too much if you go out... You're going out with a bang. This is just a lot to grasp… This is to be expected from Sanzu, Ran, Mochi… But Kakucho?... Kakucho is too loyal for his own fucking good.

Blinded by rage, standing up you yell. “You’re Just As Fucked Up As The Rest Of Them,” After saying it is weird… your voice doesn’t sound like your voice, it is weak, and not as loud as you would have wanted to say it… Fuck... You messed up your vocal cords.

Looking at Kakucho in a brief second, he is taken aback. Your voice shocked him and yourself. Just wanting to leave and go into the bedroom.

However... As you turn you see the rest of the Bonten members, standing by the door, in pure shock. That gives you enough information, to know that they heard you.

Well, fuck….

A few moments of silence fall upon us until you finally dare to try to walk away. Only taking a few steps before a voice was heard. “Hold on Y/N, come over,” Great and that was Mikey…

You are immediately making your way infront of him and the group. “You talk to Kakucho, but not me,” he says voice filled with hurt. Should you dig myself deeper into this mess?

“I’m sorry, Mikey…” you weakly manage out, after yelling at Kakucho, you need to rest my vocal cords, your voice is hoarse, and it hurts so much the others can tell, to the point some flinch once they hear. But it doesn’t matter, you could be feeling the worst pain ever, and as long as you're alive and breathing they would be okay with that.

“So what? That is all you have to say? We heard you talk, give up your little tantrum, and talk to us, I knew you would break… longer than I anticipated but you still broke,” Ran says, wanting to hear you talk, after not hearing your voice for over a few years, judging the room they all want to hear it too.

Did this Bitch not just hear me talk? What else would he want me to say? Is he truly such a fucking sadist that he wants to hear me struggle to talk? you begin to think.

Well, in that case, you plan on saying something to him loud and clear.

“You know what? Fuck you Ran, I have been wanting to say that for so long now, you are such a manipulative shit, you really think I didn’t see through all your bullshit, how you think of yourself as a god… you think you are so great… you are just a sadist, who cheats, and contributes to nothing…. It is only because of your ‘respect’ which was beating up kids younger than you, were you feared, without beating up helpless kids, you ought to be nothing, you would still be at the bottom of Roppongi in jail, with all of the failures,” you say holding my throat, trying not to breathe hard.

“Calm down Y/N, you know it is just Ran being Ran,” You are not sure if Rindou is being sincere in saying this or saying this just to shut you up. At this point you don’t give a fuck, you're already pissed.

“You think you’re any better Rindou? the only reason people see you as a nice person is that everyone compares you to Ran. Since I can remember people have been blinded by Ran, all overlooking just how cruel, and cold-hearted you are. You are just a follower, doing whatever Ran tells you to do, following blindly behind him. To the point where all you will ever be… is your big brother’s shadow…” Your voice is getting softer and softer, Shit, you worry, just how much longer will you still be able to talk?

“Your voice is getting worse, stop talking Y/N,” Kokonoi says concerned.

“You wanna be next?” You ask “Because you-,” Just like that, you couldn’t even finish your sentence before starting a coughing fit. After catching your breath, and notice just how sore your throat is, feeling like the after-effect of overusing it, pained to the point where it hurts to breathe.

Seeing your vision start to blur, starting to tear up. You have no idea why… What is wrong with you? Is it the pain? Or are you just being emotional all of a sudden? Why do they all have to be here? Do they think you're weak now? What is wrong with everything? How did things end up like this?...

Feeling arms wrap around you. Freezing, but then recognizing it is Kakucho. Even when you curse at him, he is here comforting you. You can’t hate him but you can’t love him. All you can do is accept him, and that is exactly what you did, at that moment.

Breathing out a breath, you didn't realize that you were holding. Relaxing your shoulders, and body, turning into his chest, not being able to handle all of their cruel stares. No matter how hard you try, tears won't stop falling…You can just feel their eyes burning your back.

“What are you guys all staring at? You all are acting like children watching a movie, Y/N has never shown any emotion for over a year, and when they finally do, all you guys plan to do is watch. They are breaking down in Kakucho’s arms,” Akashi says, breaking the tension and silence.

Always count on Akashi to be an adult when situations become grim.

“We’ll all talk together on the couch…” Mikey says, hearing his footsteps go, and the others follow behind him, as they fade. You feel Kakucho gently push you, away from him.

“Ready to follow?” he whispers. Nodding your head yes, as you slowly walk to the coach, Everyone is sitting down, and Mikey motions you to sit between him and Akashi the only other two that can keep a calm mind, no matter what goes down.

At this point, you've stopped crying, but your nose and eyes were still red, and once you sat down all hell broke loose.

“I think that Y/N should get punished for talking to me like that,” “They are hurting enough, what they said was nothing, compared to what your victims say to you,” “And I kill them for it,” “Stop being such a big baby Ran, just man up,” “Oh I know you did not just tell me to ‘man up’, being the only one that doesn’t even get their hands dirty,” “Oh? Do you want your little allowance cut?” “I swear to God, Koko if you-”

“Enough,” Mikey says, everyone is still, no one dares disobey the leader after all.

Mikey then looks at Akashi signaling something, then Akashi looks at you. Confused you wait until he says.

“Now Y/N I know you're in pain, but what you said to Ran and Rindou was uncalled for, completely immature, and you knew that were their… weak points, you need to apologize to them,” Akashi says, careful of his words.

“I’m sorry… Rindou… Ran,” you say looking down, in a low tone, your voice still scratchy.

“What was that? It was hardly sincere and he could at least talk loud enough for me to understand,” Ran complains.

Seeing Akashi give you a look, you knowingly sigh. Looking up at Ran in the eyes, hatefully “I'm sorry… Ran” louder, hearing the anger and strain almost raspyness. Then turning to his brother, calming yourself, you softly say “Sorry,” being earnest.

Just as the older brother is about to say something, Akashi cuts him off saying “Ran,” in a warning tone. Ran ends up rolling his eyes, and he leans back more on the couch.

“Now Y/N…” You hear Mikey say, grabbing everyone's attention.

“Do you or Kakucho want to explain what happened today? Especially for you to lose your temper like that?” He asks intrigued about what happened, he has not normally shown this much emotion for quite some time, putting everyone more on edge.

Looking at Kakucho in a warning, begging way, for him not to tell them. Kokonoi, being the observant person he is notices. “Oh? It must be good to have you looking at Kakucho like that…” Right when Koko says that all the other's eyes are on you. Fuck…. Just great…. you think.

Looking down, ignoring their stares, waiting for Kakucho to say something.

“Today, Y/N went to the bathroom to grab their hairbrush… they were taking a bit longer than normal… so I went to see what the problem was… and when I looked in the room…” He pauses, feeling uncomfortable.

“Well hurry up what happened?” “It can’t be ‘that’ bad… can it?” “Just spit it out already,” “Kakucho…” Mikey says softly, not demanding, but reassuring, and manipulative… he can be gentle.. When he wants to…

Kakucho then takes out the pill bottle, tossing it to Sanzu only for it to be caught, by Akashi. “I found him about to take the rest of the pills in the bottle,” he finally says. Sanzu starts to pale, knowing he’s in trouble.

Everyone else, looks at Sanzu, like they're about to kill him… I wouldn’t be against that…

“The rest of these you say Kakucho? Sanzu…Just 5 at once would have killed them… Nevertheless the rest of this bottle… you were careless…" Akashi says looking at Sanzu, but then he continues.

"Almost getting Y/N killed… But then again... Who knew,” he says now turning to you.

”They would be so suicidal,”

(IDK HOW TO END THIS... PLZ LMK IF YOU HAVE ANY IDEAS;))

[all-pacas]

I finished nobody’s fault & chase and I couldn’t understand why chase wouldn’t forgive house. Like obviously he’s traumatised and couldn’t walk but it feels like I’m just missing sth crucial. Chase did reason it with his doubts…but I don’t know if he honestly believed them. Any thoughts?

In a lot of very interesting ways, Nobody's Fault/Chase reads to me like a pretty direct continuation of Teamwork. Of S6. Cameron leaves the show talking about how House is poison, how he ruins people and ruined Chase specifically: House is reckless, House makes people act like him, House has ruined Chase's life. And… it's unfair, but it's not entirely wrong. Chase has become a worse person over the years. He has become a lonelier and more bitter person.

Nobody's Fault makes it fairly clear that legally, the stabbing was not House's fault. Chase fucked up, Adams fucked up, everyone made mistakes. House wasn't really even involved, but at the same time, none of it would have happened if not for House. This is Cameron's "poison" speech come back around: House spends years encouraging recklessness and results and defiance, and eventually it's going to backfire and hurt someone. House never told Chase to murder Dibala, but House taught Chase to act and not care about laws or consequences.

HOUSE: She blames me for Dibala's murder, not you. CHASE: You were barely involved in that case. She knows that. HOUSE: But I created the big, bad, evil climate that allowed it to happen. (teamwork)

CAMERON: You did kill Dibala. By playing God and teaching us to do the same. HOUSE: I taught you to think for yourselves. (teamwork)

COFIELD: You brazenly defied your boss. Now that happened either because Dr. House has established that that's okay in his world, or his prank war distracted you, or House makes medicine a game, and you just wanted to beat him. Whatever the reason, it boils down to the fact that you may never walk again because House created an atmosphere that promotes recklessness. (nobody's fault)

This is actually kind of a theme. We even see shades of it in The Mistake, in House Training, in Wilson urging 13 to work for House because she alone is immune to his influence, in Masters and Cameron leaving entirely: House changes people. Not for the better.

So, does Chase truly blame House for what happened? No. At the end of the day, Chase's loyalty to House did win out, and he defends him pretty strongly to Cofield; in fact, he's also able to point out that House was, despite his appearance, wildly concerned and worried and Chase knew it (let's not forget, Chase has always been very good at reading House). He seems to blame himself (using the same "I would do it again" language as he used in Teamwork). But that doesn't mean he isn't angry at House.

Chase is very similar to Forever, Foreman's reaction to his own near death experience. Foreman almost died, and is putting on an act of being a new person to try and give meaning to the event. Chase does sort of the same thing — except he comes to the opposite conclusion. He almost died, and it seems to have made him realize how completely miserable he is. House isn't to blame for the stabbing. He kind of is for that.

That's kind of a theme with Chase in S8 in particular. He takes a year off and is bored and waiting for House. In a later episode, he wonders why he's still working for House: he's in year seven of a three year fellowship. Foreman is the Dean of Medicine; Cameron is running an ER in Chicago. Chase is exactly where he started. His entire life is working for House. And he kind of hates it. Not House, but… his life, you know? He picked House over his marriage. He picked his fellowship over his very successful surgical career. What has he gotten for it? Divorced, lonely, bitter… stabbed. He's thrown his morals away. He killed a man in cold blood. Is he happy? Probably not.

Chase is unhappy, he feels (somewhat fairly) that his life is not what he wanted, and like Foreman years earlier, he's trying to make changes. He wants out of House's orbit. He's reflecting on what he wants, and his arguments against Moira joining her convent are… pretty telling: She's missing out on getting married. Having kids. Having a successful career. He tells her later he was married once, that he wants a relationship with her. We know these things are true; only two years ago Chase was absolutely convinced he had it with Cameron. But at the same time, he's grasping at straws. He wants to escape, to start over. He blames House for how his life turned out.

CHASE: I need to get away from House and everything that reminds me of him. ADAMS: By breaking the rules, not caring what anyone else thinks. You're gonna get away from him by turning into him? (chase)

CHASE: This has nothing to do with the truth. You don't like that I'm reassessing my life, that I want to change it, that I can. HOUSE: Anyone can screw up a life. I never said that wasn't possible. CHASE: You're incapable of human connection, so you want everyone to be like you. (chase)

And the thing is, Cameron must be rolling in her grave right now, because. This is what she was saying. House ruins people, he poisons them: he has influenced Chase and not for the better. Chase now, finally, agrees. He isn't happy with his life, and he's blaming House the same way Cameron did. He's angry with House and can't forgive House, not because Chase really blames him for the stabbing, but because he's in his words reassessing, he wants to change, he sees House (correctly, mind you) as the symptom of all these changes: it's not fair to blame House — House wasn't sitting and doing this intentionally — but it's inarguable that a decade with House has done this. (And I love how Nobody's Fault underlines just that point. Chase has been here the longest. He has known House the longest.)

But House is right, too. Chase wanting to change is sincere, but it's also a reaction. He is unhappy, but jumping straight to I will live happily ever after with this random lady isn't a solution. And implicitly, Chase agrees: the fact that Chase has spent half the season with very short hair and stubble, then these episodes limping, is not an accident. Nor is the fact that at the end of Chase and going forward, Chase is clean shaven, back to his usual hairstyle, and no longer limping.

I also think their argument at the end of Chase was. Important. House telling him it's okay, even if not in those words. That he isn't an idiot, that he didn't make a mistake or do something wrong (when Chase from his language and unhappiness over the past few years doesn't seem to agree). They've long since left the days where Chase was slavishly seeking House's approval, but that doesn't mean it didn't mean something to finally get it. I think House telling him you didn't do anything wrong was what Chase really needed: not just the words, but hearing it from House, in a moment where Chase is feeling lost and wanting to change and wanting to blame House (for being miserable, for not connecting to others, for being lonely and alone like Chase fears himself)? That mattered.

And we see going forward that Chase actually does change. He becomes close to Park, he stops sleeping around, he leaves PPTH on his own terms, finally (even if it doesn't exactly stick for long). Cameron was right all along that House changed Chase for the worse… but House and Chase seem to realize that doesn't have to stay that way, and that Chase can still change and be happier going forward.

[sweetiemiller]

MARRIED AT FIRST SIGHT. kind of.

Joel Miller!AU x Reader.

hi again! so im doing it! ive read over it a million times and if there’s any mistakes please do forgive me. but here’s the full chapter of the start of my spiteful fic lmao.

kidding. im actually really excited to try something different and being embraced by a lot of you has been so great. so thank you everyone who sent a nice word or even just liked the post!

this will probably NSFW at some point. im still deciding when and how it’ll happen in the story but it’s going to be a lot of fun. the POV’s will jump around from chapter to chapter.

thanks to @highinmiamiii sending me the fic i was looking for! thank you! like i said before this fic is heavily inspired by https://www.tumblr.com/tokkiwrites/771944052123959296/game-show-hostjoel-miller-x-contestant-f

and the enjoyment of au!writing. it’s so freeing and let’s us explore characters in different ways. everyone please go read this story, it’s so good and they deserve every single bit of support.

ill stop yappin now and just post it!!

warnings— swearing. referring to killing Tommy Miller (will happen a lot), little bit of fluff for now. future warnings to come!

enjoy—

Chapter 1.

Joel’s POV—

Tommy Miller is a dead man. Joel thinks as he promises to whoever and whatever is above and below that he will personally kill him with his bare hands.

Those same bare hands that are clasped together so tight behind his back as he stands at the top of the aisle. His eyes were boring into Tommy’s who is currently standing up from his seat in the front row with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Yeah. He’s going to kill him.

The lights and the cameras are starting to make the skin on his neck prickle. The people behind the camera’s making him feel tense as his eyes flicker around the room.

He can feel jaw ticking and clenching as his eyes keep looking around the room and catching a few of the eyes of seeing the unknown bride to be’s family are staring at him too. Looking… well, friendly enough. For now anyway.

He can see their eyes scanning him.

Up and down, up and down.

From his slightly greying hair that is just sprinkling through his thick coarse hair. Right down to the black patent dress shoes on his feet that a woman named Jane from production had brought him along with this black three piece suit.

He thinks he looks good. But—

He doesn’t really care and if he was asked to give an honest answer right at this second he’d say exactly that. However, for the first time in a long time he willing to admit that he doesn’t look that rough around the edges.

Which is good, because in about 30 seconds his new wife is about to walk down the aisle.

Not legally of course. But for the sake of the show, he’s contracted to act like it is.

26 seconds.

Why Tommy thought that signing him onto goddamn Married At First Sight he’ll never understand. But the promise of a new Harley-Davidson Sportster Iron 883 and 60% of whatever income from the promotion the construction company will get from being on the show is more than enough to go along with it.

For now anyway.

14 seconds.

He just hopes whoever you are, you’re not one of those absolutely insane people who go on reality television just to cause drama. Because he will walk, cameras and contracts be damned.

He’ll buy his own Harley.

If he’s lucky he’ll get matched with someone who wants to promote their business as well and maybe they can come to some sort of agreement about this whole thing.

9 seconds.

Because who actually goes on a television show to look for love? Who genuinely believes that anyone could even fall in love under these conditions. Cameras. TV therapists. A group full of people who are desperate for their 10 minutes of fame.

It’s just not realistic.

5 seconds.

Joel snaps out his thoughts as he spots Tommy giving him a look. A look that Joel knows means, ‘Dude’, his eyes flicker back and forward before Joel realises what he’s saying. You’re coming down the aisle—

1 second.

Joel hears the doors cracking open and the music starting as soon as his eyes meet the huge white double doors at the end of the room. His hands clenching again as he keeps his focus on the door that’s opening and revealing who he is going to be stuck with for as long as he can handle in this absolutely ridiculous situation his brother has landed him in.

He see’s you walking through the doors. And he genuinely feels his breath get caught in his throat as he see’s your face for the first time.

Your eyes almost immediately meet his as you walk into the wedding hall with who he presumes is your mother. An older woman who’s eyes don’t even attempt to look at him, focused on you.

You look nervous. Terrified even.

Which, to his annoyance, makes him feel something in his chest as he watches you slowly making your way down to him.

He has to admit to himself. You’re genuinely beautiful.

And with that thought, all of a sudden he feels himself starting to panic. He realises wasn’t really expecting to find you attractive. He was fully preparing himself to be putting on his best face and foot forward during this process. His mind focused on that moment he has his first ride of his new Harley-Davidson the entire time.

But now, he’s going to have to focus on that damn bike to stop himself from doing anything goddamn stupid.

The closer you get to the bottom of the aisle, the harder he’s having to hold back a glare that is itching to aim straight for Tommy. But he doesn’t. Because he knows his pain in the ass little brother is going to have an even bigger shit-eating grin on his face now that he’s seen you.

It’s not until you’re kissing your assumed mother on the cheek and whispering something to her that he finally see’s you up close for the first time. His eyes feeling like they’re bouncing around his head as he takes you in.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph— he’s fucked.

The hair. The eyes. The nose. The goddamn lips. The white dress.

It’s not at all what he was picturing. He was fully imagining you and expecting you to go all out and look like princess cake topper. The show is paying for everything after all.

But no, you’re dressed in a long flowing silk dress. With little cap sleeves and the front of your dress making your tits look round and soft—

He has to stop.

He opens his mouth to say something, anything. But you’re already beating him to it with the sweetest voice he’s ever heard.

“I like your suit,” you say, the words falling from your lips like they were dragged out of you. Which admittedly— is very cute.

He lets a short puff of air escape his nose as he doesn’t quite laugh but, almost an amused look crosses his face as he looks down at you.

“I like your dress,” he says back, quietly but loud enough for you to hear. Or that least he hopes you do. Because he does like your dress, he likes it a lot actually, which surprises him.

He’s not a man to even care about dresses. Or anything stupid like that. A woman is a woman, he doesn’t care what they’re dressed in. But this dress on you? He’s struggling. Badly.

He watches you blush a little as you look down at your dress, running a hand over the front of it. The silk moving under your finger tips, almost hypnotising him for a moment before your soft laugh breaks him out his trance.

“Thanks. They gave my mom free reign in the dress shop,” you say with a soft, nearly genuine smile as you jut your thumb over your shoulder towards the woman who was walking you down the aisle now sitting in the front row behind you.

Ah, so he was right.

Joel smiles a little as he nods his head at your mom, being respectful for as long as he can handle this experiment.

Oh God he’s going to have to actually interact with your family.

He looks back at you, watching as your other hand is clutching your bouquet of sunflowers so tightly he’s actually a bit worried the stems might snap in half right here.

“She has good taste,” he says as his eyes travel back up to your face. He feels something twist in his chest again as he sees how nervous you look, and before he can open his mouth to give you just a little reassurance.

Knowing that the cameras and lights are probably making you just as nervous as him, someone clears their throat. Making you jump a little as his head turns almost too quickly to the sound tensing up a little until he see’s it’s just the very real officiant for this very real wedding.

God, what is he doing?

He hears her asking the both of you if you’re ready to begin and he just nods. He looks down at you and taking the chance to grab your free hand just right there. Temping him already.

He smiles a little bit as he sees the warmth spread on your cheeks and your almost wide-eyed facial expressions looking up at him.

Beautiful. He can’t help but let the thought sit at the front of his brain for a moment.

“You ready?,” he whispers to you, his own eyes going a little wide too from how fast his heart rate is going as he tightens his grip slightly as he watches you nod and breath out a soft, yeah.

He nods back as he turns back to the wedding officiant, taking a deep breath as he tries to focus on what the woman is starting to say, her very real speech.

Oh sweet Jesus, he needs to read the vows that Tommy wrote him.

This is going to be a nightmare.

[kreayshawni]

Hello! I just read your Bill Dickey x reader, and I loved it!

I’m curious what would he be like if he was a yandere? Keep up the great work <3

heyy so i literally love you for this req!! （づ￣3￣）づ╭❤～

being in a relationship with yandere! bill dickey would include...

cw ; possessive & overall yandere behaviour, threats, blackmail, suicide but it's really not much,

he always needs to know where you're at, who you're with, what you're wearing during it, and god forbid you take a while to respond or you're with someone he doesn't like, he'll drag you back to him, himself.

he's jealous of literally everyone. he can't stand it when you're focused on someone else. the only time he'll ever give you physical affection in public is to stake his claim on you.

if you're not already dating, he's absolutely feral during the crush stages. he doesn't know whether to push you away cause these feelings are too much, or pull you in closer.

if you try breaking up with him, he'd threaten to kill himself, and even you when you start to not believe him or care.

he needs constant reassurance.

some parts of his obsessive nature stem from seeing his parents failed relationship, he'll be damned if he lets the same thing happen to you two.

he's honestly much more loving in private. but it's just so suffocating, his hugs feel like he's trying to intertwine your souls, and you can smell his sweat, and the feeling of him inhaling your scent when his heads buried in the crook of your neck is disgusting.

you have absolutely no time to yourself. he'll always find a way to weasel himself into whatever you're doing at the time, if he thinks its boring, then he'll just force you to do something else with him.

if you're on the more timid side, he's never been more elated. you can bend at his will anytime if he lets out enough whines of ''do you even love me?''

but if you don't take his shit, it'd be difficult to knock you down a couple of pegs, but he still manages to do so. this time, with more threats and blackmail.

during the early stages of your relationship, he lets you be a bit more comfortable with him, sharing secrets and insecurities just so he can use them against you in the future.

in his own twisted way, he does love you. you just have to accept the way he's showing it, good luck soldier

'' i wanna strangle you, till you stop breathing, and spend the rest of my life looking for air ''

[aemsgirl]

I Hate You.

Billy Washington x Reader.

Summary: That’s it. You’re done. Whatever you and Billy had is crumbling, drowned in his self-pity and the stench of cheap vodka that clings to him every night. You tell yourself you’re leaving—you are.

Warnings: smut, oral sex (F receiving), pathetic grown man, mention of alcoholism, begging, half love/hate fucking.

It was decided; there was no turning back. Your heart pounded in your chest, sweat dampened your trembling palms. Your heart? You weren't even sure if it was still beating, not with his gaze boring into your mind like fire behind your ears. Your pupils were blown wide, every fiber of your body screaming one thing: Go. Run. Fucking leave. Disappear from this house, from this life, as if you had never set foot in his world. It was the smartest choice, the only thing that made sense—for him, for you. And that cold, hard fact was chewing through your chest from the inside out.

Your hands moved quickly, shoving whatever belonged to you into a bag. Clothes, personal items—anything that felt like yours. You paused when your gaze landed on the picture frames, your fingers hovering. The photos of you together stared back, mocking you. Billy in one of them, dressed sharply in a fine suit, his golden hair slicked back like he was somebody, like he was the future. But he wasn’t, was he? No, he was pulling you both under, dragging you into the quicksand of his bullshit. The routine, the lies, the stubbornness—it was killing you.

Loving him wasn't good. It wasn't hopeful or warm; it was painful, fucking suffocating. You were meant to build a life together, weren’t you? But what was he doing? Coming home drunk every night after intending to job hunt? Chain-smoking through two packs, not even closing his eyes to sleep? And ththen—taking it all out on you, like you were supposed to bear it, to be his punching bag.

Your chest tightened, your hands trembling over the photos. You didn't even want to take them. You didn't want any part of this.

You set the photos aside, focusing on packing the essentials. Your feet moved quickly, carrying you into the living room where your backpack now rested on the couch. You scanned the shelves, snatching up anything that was yours, anything that truly mattered. But then the sound of the door opening freezes you in place. Your head snapped to the side, and for a fleeting moment, you thought you could still slip away unnoticed.

You’d told him you were leaving, that you were done. But he hadn’t believed you. Of course, he hadn’t.

When his eyes met yours, he froze in the doorway. From where you stood, you could see the hard swallow in his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing as he took it all in. Slowly, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft, deliberate click. The air felt heavier instantly. His eyes were wide, confusion and something darker flickering behind them. The sour scent of alcohol wafted off him as he moved closer. Again. Always. But you weren't surprised anymore—not by that, or by him.

"Where..." His voice falters, shaky and unsure. "Where are you going?" The words are dragged out like they're chained to his tongue, a battle to even release them. He doesn't want to ask. He doesn't want to hear the answer.

"I'm leaving you." The words fall from your lips with a clarity that leaves no room for doubt. Not this time. Not tonight.

His brow knits together, his face twisting with something raw—pain, fear, maybe both. You see it hit him, the weight of your words crushing his chest, ripping through him like a force he wasn't braced for. His eyes don't leave you as you move around the room, grabbing your things, packing your bags, ignoring the way he's standing there like a broken thing. Like you're not his everything. Like you don't know that by leaving, you're pushing him into a darker hell than the one he's already drowning in.

It's too much for him to take.

You feel his gaze burning into you, but you don't stop. You can't stop. You won't let yourself meet those ice-blue eyes, almost translucent, the ones that always freeze you in place. You need to get rid of him, to expel him from your veins, your skin. Unstick him like a tattoo that's embedded too deep or a burn that never fully heals. Before it's too late.

Fuck. Maybe it already is.

The silence that follows feels deafening, like it's marking the highest, sharpest moments of your life. Moments that are slipping right through your fingers.

Billy takes another step forward, his hand trembling as it rises unsteadily in the air. The alcohol coursing through his system clouds his mind, amplifies his frustration—the weight of seeing everything collapse again. It's the same damn story: nothing he touches stays, nothing he cares for remains stable. Everything slips through his fingers, out of his control, just like the bile that burns his throat after he's drunk himself sick.

But not you. No. He refuses to let you become one more thing he loses.

His eyes burn, bloodshot veins cutting through the blue as tears gather and spill over. He doesn't even bother to wipe them away, his face shining with the raw ache he's no longer trying to hide.

“Babe, don’t…” His voice breaks, too fragile to finish, as hot tears streak down his cheeks. His chest heaves with the effort to breathe through the pain. “Don’t go. Please.”

He's not just begging; he's pleading. Praying. Desperate.

You pause at the sound of his voice, glancing up to find him standing there, trembling and tearful, his hand still raised as if reaching for something unseen. Your throat constricts painfully, threatening to crush every shred of resolve. Frustrated, your fingers rake through your hair, tugging hard as though the sharp sensation might ground you, offering the slightest relief from this unbearable moment. This isn’t how it was supposed to feel, but it does. It scorches. Though your eyes remain dry, it’s only because you’ve already cried yourself hollow on countless nights leading to this.

“It’s done,” you murmur, your tone firm despite the storm raging inside. It has to be final—because if it isn’t, you have nothing left.

You move quickly, shoving the last of your belongings into an already overstuffed backpack. It strains under the weight. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but the words never come. Instead, his anguished expression does all the speaking for him. When you attempt to walk past, he shifts into your path, blocking the way.

“Just hear me out,” he pleads, his voice trembling with desperation. Each time you try to step aside, he mirrors your movement, refusing to let you pass.

“No, Billy. I don’t want to hear it,” you retort, shoving against him, but he brushes your hands away as though they weigh nothing.

“You have to, please,” he implores, his voice fractured and raw. “Don’t do this to me. Don’t leave me, babe.” His tone is filled with agony as he keeps cutting you off, unwilling to let go.

“It’s over,” you say again, the words sharper now. “It has to be. I can’t do this anymore.” You push forward, but every effort feels futile.

Without warning, his hands grip your arms tightly, and he shoves you back against the wall. The impact sends a jolt of pain through your body, stealing your breath. His fingers dig into your skin, keeping you pinned, his body looming over you. The air between you feels suffocating, heavy with his laboured breaths.

“Just fucking listen to me,” he growls, his voice low and strained. His eyes are wild, tears streaking down his face as he slams you against the wall again, his desperation palpable. His breath hovers over your lips, heated, as if he wants to break you apart.

His eyes meet yours, and in that fleeting moment, you can see it—the shift, the recognition of what he's done. His fingers are still gripping your arms, the pressure causing a burn, but you don't move, don't react. Your expression remains impassive, still, while his fingers slowly loosen, tracing over your skin, almost as if trying to soothe it after the hurt. His tears fall harder now, his face contorting with the weight of it all.

You feel drained, more than anything. The exhaustion presses against you like a physical force, making it impossible to move, to fight. Just fucking tired of everything.

"I'm sorry, I..." His words falter, but before you can respond, his lips press to your forehead, lingering there as if the touch could erase it all, fix everything. "Please, please, I love you." His voice cracks, raw and desperate, like it’s tearing him apart from the inside. And he means it, more than you could ever fathom, the love so intense it makes him feel like he might burst open, shatter under its weight.

"Billy..." You try to push him away, your hand pressing against his chest, but he doesn’t let you. Instead, he grabs your wrist, his grip tight, and pulls your arm around his waist, holding you in a desperate embrace.

"Hit me, scratch me, punch me. But keep your hands on me." His words are a plea, a broken command, as he moves his lips down your face, brushing against your skin. With his free hand, he wraps it around the back of your neck, holding you there, keeping you close. "Call me a liar, a loser, a scumbag. But talk to me." His voice is filled with such raw need, his chest heaving with every word.

Your breath catches in your throat, just like all the mistakes from the beginning. Moving in with him, rushing things, letting him take your heart, marking you, pushing him into your veins like blood and ink. He, too, made the biggest mistake. He wanted you, needed you. Even if you didn’t love him anymore, even if it meant he had to crawl to you, to be kicked around like a stray dog, he'd still want you. He needed it—he would tear out a part of himself right then, just for a piece of you. He'd tear open his chest, lay his heart bare, and show you how your name beats inside of him. And the worst part is, you know all of this. You know how deep it goes.

"I love you, please don't leave me." His voice cracks as the words leave his mouth, and with each syllable, the world seems to get redder. He leans in, trying to capture your lips, even as you struggle, pushing him away with everything you’ve got. "Please, I love you, I love you," he repeats, as if your lips were the air he needed to breathe.

Your resistance starts to gain ground, but in a desperate move, he wraps both arms around your waist and sinks to his knees. Tears soak through your clothes, his grip tightening, pulling you to him as he presses his head against your stomach. The sound of his sobs is muffled against your skin, deep and guttural. You don't know what to do, but your hands find their way to his shoulders, holding onto him, feeling the tremors in his body as his sobs shake him to his core. You hold on, because at this moment, you have no other choice.

"If you're going to go through that door, tie me to the bed now." Your attention snaps to him as the words sink in. He tilts his head back, his eyes, red and raw from crying, locked with yours. "And then set the house on fire. Because I'd rather melt, have my fucking flesh fall off my bones than watch you leave." His voice strains for neutrality, but in that moment, you know he's not speaking metaphorically. He genuinely would prefer death, to breathe another moment of air without you.

You stare at him, frozen for seconds that feel like eternities, your chest heaving with each labored breath, each one feeling like a weight settling in your lungs. Your lips part to release a breath, watching him gaze back at you with unwavering intensity. There's no doubt in those extraordinary eyes, not even a flicker. His pupils are dilated, and the blue that once seemed celestial now mirrors the tumultuous, stormy sea.

He's overwhelming, too much to bear.

Without thinking, you act. Your hand finds the back of his neck, pulling him into a kiss with such force it nearly snaps his head back. A muffled moan escapes him as his hands grip your hips, seeking to ground himself. Your tongue intertwines with his, your teeth nipping at his in a desperate attempt to extract all the frustration, the certainty of your departure, the undeniable pull he has on you. Damn him for being so beautifully wretched, for pleading like this, for making you want him this fiercely. Fuck him.

For him, it was like life itself was being breathed into him. The pain from your teeth on his lip, the sting of your nails in his scalp, none of it mattered. Your hands, your mouth on him—that was all that counted, enough to make him moan into your kiss, his hands roaming your thighs, gripping your hips, grinding against you to let you feel his arousal fueled by your anger.

His fingers move to your sneakers, yanking them off and discarding them, simultaneously shrugging off his suit jacket to the floor. His hands then work at the buttons of your pants, pulling them down along with your panties in one firm motion, urging you to lift each foot to free you from the fabric. Only then does he break the kiss, needing to see, to drink you in.

Leaning back, he takes in the sight of your intimacy, a low, appreciative sound escaping him. You barely have a moment to lean back against the wall before he grabs your thigh, hoisting it over his shoulder, providing him the perfect view to admire, appreciate, and inhale your scent deeply. Your pussy beckoned him, its allure surpassing any siren's song. It glistened for him like the brightest star in the dark sky, the most exquisite spot in this wretched world.

You lean your head back against the wall, watching him descend upon your heat with the desperation of a man starved, having finally found sustenance. A smile graces your lips as your hands weave into his hair, urging him closer. Your taste coats his lips and throat, his brows furrow in ecstasy, a louder moan escaping him as he momentarily pauses, overwhelmed by the pleasure coursing through him, just feeling your warmth and wetness against his tongue. It's you, it's fucking you.

"Fuck me, own me," he murmurs, before his tongue dances over you, his head moving side to side as if he seeks to become one with you. "Drown me."

Your smile broadens as his lips find their rhythm, exploring every inch, memorizing every detail with his tongue, his entire face engaging in the act—from his nose to his chin, from the tip of his tongue to the depth of his mouth and teeth. His hips on the floor begin to thrust into the air, mimicking the act of penetrating you. The sounds of your combined pleasure fill the room, your fingers digging into his hair, guiding him in a dance of back and forth, side to side, and sometimes in circles that make you clench even tighter around his tongue.

"Is this what you wanted?" you whisper, your hips grinding against his face, relishing the contact.

He shakes his head vigorously, his eyes meeting yours, still swollen and red, now glazed with more than just tears. Your eyes roll back for a moment before refocusing on him, witnessing his desperate, almost involuntary hip movements, trying to thrust into the air, aching to be inside you. But he knows he won't, not yet, not until you're dripping from his chin, not until he's truly in his place.

His fingers slip between your inner thighs, and with a strong pull, he releases your clit, moving his face back just enough to see you better, to appreciate how your chest heaves, how stunning you look in this moment of vulnerability. How stunning you always are. It feels unfair to him, perhaps even to any gods that might exist.

"Tell me I'm good for you." His eyes search yours for an answer, his voice a plea.

His fingers glide through your wetness, making you release his hair to brace against the wall, your nails digging into the concrete. He slowly inserts his middle and index fingers until his knuckles meet your skin. Both of your mouths part, locked in a gaze, sharing this intense moment.

"Tell me I'm good," he whimpers, his fingertips finding your sweet spot, causing your back to arch off the wall. "Please, please…" His begging is incessant, needing to hear from your lips that he satisfies you, that it's enough to keep you here, to be his.

"You're good, babe," you manage to say, your voice strained, your hand returning to his hair, gripping it tightly. "So…so good."

His face twists in pleasure, a moan escaping as he turns his head, kissing and nipping at the skin of your inner thigh before his wrists start to move. A louder cry breaks from you as he thrusts his fingers deeper, seeking new, unexplored depths. Your body reacts, lifting on tiptoes with each thrust only to fall back, your lips parted, releasing every sound of pleasure unreservedly, letting it echo through the house, to the neighbors. Who the fuck cares at this point?

The heat within you intensifies, your temples pounding harder. Your vision blurs, each sensation melting into the next. Your body accommodates him more easily now, the sound of your wetness mixing with your moans, your grip on his hair becoming punishingly tight, fresh tears marking his lips, which he doesn't care about.

"I'm close, fuck, I'm close..." you announce, knowing that soon you would completely melt into him.

"I know," he murmurs against your skin, his eyes locking with yours as he lowers himself, his lips returning to your pussy, ensuring you watch every moment. "Please, cum in my mouth."

His tongue, slick with saliva, circles your clit, while his fingers continue their relentless dance, even intensifying. Stars explode behind your eyelids, your abdomen tightening, your thigh on his shoulder and the one grounding you tensing. Your toes curl again, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his black shirt. A scream tears from your throat as you clench around his fingers, almost pushing them out, your clit pulsing against his lips, and you climax, your release coating his lips and fingers.

He devours every trace of your climax, withdrawing his fingers to suck them clean, savoring every drop, wanting it all on his tongue, in his mouth, on his skin.

Gently, he removes your thigh from his shoulder, watching both legs quiver on the floor. A profound sense of pride swells within him, a smile creeping onto his face. He stands slowly, taking in the sight of you—head back against the wall, mouth agape, chest heaving, nipples hard against your shirt, covered in sweat. He feels a perverse satisfaction, almost challenging you to leave now, though he knows he wouldn't allow it.

Leaning in, he kisses your now tense neck, his hands slipping under your shirt to touch your warm skin. Your head falls forward, resting on his shoulder, your breath coming in heavy, tired sighs. Every touch from him feels like fire on your skin. You never get enough of him, which is perhaps why you haven't left, even when you know you should.

"I love you," he whispers, placing another kiss on your neck, his nose skimming to the front. "I want you." His words are a caress on your skin, followed by a kiss at the base of your throat, before moving to whisper in your ear, "I need you." Confirming what you already know, his declaration resonates deeply within you.

You exhale deeply, tilting your head to kiss his neck, causing him to tilt his head in response, his eyes closing, his arousal evident in his pants, ready to burst. His hands slide under your shirt, tracing up to your ribs, sending shivers across your skin. They then find the sides of your breasts, his touch returning with a hunger that matches his heartbeat, his lips glistening with your taste, now longing for more.

"Raise your arms for me, love," he whispers in your ear, making refusal unthinkable.

You lift your arms, and Billy easily pulls your shirt off, letting it drop. His gaze fixates on your exposed breasts, his breath catching. Your hands glide down his arms to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one as his thumbs circle your ribs. Soon, his shirt joins yours on the floor, leaving his chest bare. For a moment, you just look at each other, as it should always be.

Stepping forward, he presses your bodies together, the heat of your skin melding with his, your breasts against his chest. His mouth rests against your forehead, inhaling deeply before trailing down your side. His nose moves from your shoulder to between your breasts, his hands now at the underside of your ribs, while yours cling to his arms. You're acutely aware of every point of contact, from his feet to his head, to his fully erect member against your hip.

Slowly, he moves down your chest until he reaches your nipple. He licks his lips before taking a long, slow lick over the hardened peak, a soft moan escaping him as the sensation sends a throb through him. Your lips part in a louder moan, your chest arching towards him, begging for more, craving everything he's willing to give. And oh, how much he wants to give.

His lips encircle your nipple, sucking gently, using the tips of his teeth to tease and squeeze when he wants to see you squirm. His hands eagerly envelop your breasts, almost fully, squeezing and feeling how they seem to fit perfectly in his palms. His tongue rolls and curls, moving to the other nipple, enveloping it with even more fervor, sucking intensely, his hips pressing and rubbing against you, trapping you between him and the wall, his hard length pressing forward.

His hands slide down to grip the back of your knees, pulling you forward. With a gentle push, you wrap your legs around his waist. His hand then find yours, pinning both your wrists against the wall above your head with just a hand, exposing your breasts further to his eager mouth. He takes full advantage, his tongue tracing paths across and between your breasts, moving from one to the other, leaving a slick trail of saliva. Your hips grind forward, pressing against his arousal, signaling your need, your emptiness growing with each flick and suck of his lips on your nipples, your arousal dripping onto his pants.

With his free hand, he fumbles with the front of his pants, managing to lower the zipper. He reaches inside, pulling out his straining erection, aligning it with your heat. Skin meets skin, the contact intensified by your position. You surge forward, rolling your hips, the strain in your thighs from this hold ignored in your fervor. He's lost in the act, his moans vibrating against your skin as he indulges in your breasts.

"I'll give you that," he murmurs against your skin, pulling back slightly to meet your gaze. "I'll give you everything." Said with such conviction, it almost feels like the truth.

Releasing your wrists, he allows you to encircle your arms around his neck, holding on. With one hand, he guides himself to your entrance, bracing the other against the wall for leverage. Slowly, he enters you, filling you gradually, the sensation overwhelming as he fully sheathes himself inside you. His head falls to the side with a long, drawn-out moan, his whimper muffled against your neck. Your grip is so tight it nearly makes him buckle, his hand slipping before catching himself with his elbow.

"Fuck, I love you," he groans, rolling his hips to press deeper, your nails digging into his back. "I fucking love you so much."

Losing all semblance of control, he starts thrusting, his hands gripping your hips, guiding them to meet each of his movements. The moans from both of you are loud, resonating through your joined bodies. You move in harmony, the rhythm intensifying, almost as if you're shaking the very foundations of the house.

Your head repeatedly hits the wall, your back too, but the pain is inconsequential compared to the pleasure of his body against yours. The way your nails draw blood from his back doesn't faze him; he's reveling in the sensation, in the intimacy of it. His smile broadens as he lifts his head to lock eyes with you during his forceful thrusts, sweat gluing your hair to your temples.

"I love you too," you admit, the words leaving your lips before you can stop them. Despite everything, you do love him, you fucking love him.

Your smile meets his as your bodies continue their relentless dance. Your hand comes up to cover his mouth, not because you don't want to hear his whimpers but because he loves it, because watching his eyes roll back, his brows furrow in ecstasy, and feeling the vibration of his moans against your palm is like art to you.

The heat between you was escalating, the tension in your abdomen tightening like a coiled spring. Your walls clenched around him with increasing ferocity, your palm pressing harder against his mouth and nose, his thrusts growing deeper and more prolonged. The tension was on the brink of snapping.

"I'm gonna cum," he mumbles against your hand, and you quickly remove it, eager to hear his words. "Please, let me cum inside you." His plea is urgent, his control slipping.

Nodding in consent, you tighten your embrace around him, your arms locked around his neck. His fingers dig into your thighs, holding back the flood. Your walls constrict in response, and with a moan into his ear, you reach your climax again, the intensity of your orgasm either drawing him in or threatening to push him out. It's enough to make him thrust one last time, deep, releasing inside you with a whisper of your name, a mantra on his lips, over and over.

Exhausted, you cling to each other as if your lives depend on it. He wraps an arm around you, supporting himself against the wall with the other to keep from collapsing, his legs weak beneath him. Your presence is pervasive, filling every corner of the house—your house. A place you can't, won't leave.

"Do you still want to leave?" His voice is steady, confident, knowing the answer.

"I hate you." I love you so much it makes me sick, and that's why I can’t ever truly leave you. That was the truth.

He leans in, placing a lingering kiss on your temple, his lips resting there for a moment. Your fingers tighten around him, your face burrowing into the junction of his neck and shoulder. No, you wouldn't leave. Not now, not anytime soon.

And if you ever do, the thought of setting the house ablaze would linger, just in case.

[mirabelledevoted]

a little yap about art, caitlyn and arcanetwt that pmo

disclaimer one: i wrote this at 4am so it's bad written and messy and a lot of redundancy english it's no my first language its just thoughts i want to take off my chest

disclaimer two: im marxist so im talking more about how leftists sees art and this includes cait and arcane

WHY arcanetwt act like s01 was the first time they see a good portrait of class struggle and think that a game company from the us would come up with something groundbreaking and no just class conciliation. also some yall that think the frenchies from fortiche knows very well how to handle class struggle it's so funny to me like yall have so much faith in europeans so cute.

cinema has its own logic and its own morals. wanting to use "extra filmic moral" and ignoring a "diegetic moral" is asking to relate to cinema in very limited way.

it is possible to like any piece of media with shitty characters who end the story shitty. yall who cannot relate to characters who are morally mistaken/ambiguous or when it does it's only when the character learns a lesson in the end are very diminished people. MORALISM KILLS ART.

cinema has no obligation to teach anyone anything, to convey any message. stop this utilitarian view of art. we're talking about films and tv shows not social working. bad lesbians in a animated show are not setting the lesbian community back i promise you.

stop wanting films to confirm your worldview. whoever wants everything to be essentially its way is a child. let's learn to understand that movies or tv shows is much more than its success or failures according to our morals.

bad people makes good art and good people makes bad art. there are things that are offensive and bad but not everything that is offensive is bad and vice versa.

i know that some people will show up saying "so you're defending caitlyn, wrongdoings? NO. (I would never make her boring like that). what im saying is that if you think that s02 sucks and that you feel offended by it doesn't make you better than those who watch it with good grace. we as individuals know very well the things that we fuck with. in the end each person knows themselves and how far they can go. but please no moralism with art.

i know this "virtualization of me" it's strong on socials. everyone it's so performative that making jokes abt kkk and calling fans of 3d doll fascist would make you earn +1000xp on the moral olympics bcs no one would say such things face to face when there's no audience to please. so calling caitlyn this things its fine she doesn't exist but stop saying this horrible shit to real people especially now that we enter dark times. this banality on serious matters doesn't help anyone

if you hate caitlyn continue to debate about her i want my character alive thank u.

"examine everything and hold fast to what is good" amen.

[academyofbrokenhearts]

I have finally finished reading Blossom. Happy ending in the novel too, although a lot of things were vastly different; the main couple, of course, remained superior until the end.

Things we got in the novel that I am glad didn't make it into the series:

Dou Zhao, an adult woman, scheming and navigating complex familial relationships while in a two year old, then a five year old body. I get how it might be interesting for some, but it was incredibly boring for me, and since she managed to neutralise her stepmother quite early on, I saw no need to spend so much time watching her building up and managing relationships with everyone in the Dou family. Moreover, I am glad that the size of the family was trimmed down (I still can't make sense of all the relationships presented in the novel) and some characters were changed compared to how they were in the novel; it was amazing to see Grandma, who had been only a concubine in the book (and therefore couldn't even be called Grandma by Dou Zhao according to customs, let alone have any kind of power), turning into a formidable matriarch, and it was also cool to see Zhao Zhangru as the constant sidekick;

no Song Mo until 114 chapters in. I must confess that my main fascination in both the series and the novel was the relationship between the mains, and the fact that he is only mentioned once or twice before his first dramatic appearance was definitely not enough for me;

way too much time spent on side characters; like I said in a previous post, did I really need to know in detail how Suxin and Sulan ended up serving Dou Zhao? And it felt even more useless since in the novel they end up getting married and leaving the Song Manor, and only getting mentioned in passing from that moment on;

Things I wish would have made it into the series, but did not (and some of them could have never made it, unless the entire censorship board would have been in a coma):

all the sexual encounters between Song Mo and Dou Zhao. Like in the series, the start of their physical intimacy is quite slow, they don't consummate during their wedding night (but unlike in the series, it's not because she prepares a period PowerPoint presentation, it's simply because he knows the next days as newlyweds will be tiring, and just wants to allow them to rest). Unlike in the series, no one is cockblocking Song Mo (in fact, their subordinates are even alarmed at the lack of consummation), and when he decides to make a move on Dou Zhao, he does it, and no one dares to interrupt. They make love quite regularly from that moment on, and I like how Dou Zhao's reluctance is gradually melting away, and how the novel is clearly stating that she enjoys the encounters just as much as he does, and even becomes bold enough to initiate later on;

them being parents. I know we get that one cute scene with their daughter at the end of the series, but Song Mo is such a good dad and husband in the novel, constantly prioritising Dou Zhao's comfort and being just as involved in the child's rearing as she is (to the point that their son learns to say Papa before Mama). I surely wish we would have seen more of that in the series.

Song Yichun does not die in the novel. He is, in a delightful twist of fate, forced to expel Song Han from the family, a treatment he had hoped to apply to Song Mo, and is left disabled after Song Han attacks him. Moreover, the daughter he had switched at birth with Song Han is discovered alive, Song Mo takes her under his protection, and she gets married and lives happily. I surely wish karma would have hit the old man in the face like this in the series as well.

Other things that got changed which I am fairly neutral about:

Song Mo and Dou Zhao's backgrounds in life 1. I have to say I loved how the series made it crystal clear that life 1 was an utterly doomed timeline, with both of them being betrayed and ultimately killed, while the entire country was burning. Life 1 in the novel was bleak in a different, more subtle, way. Dou Zhao dies after a long illness, almost completely devoid of any human warmth - the novel tells us that both her sons with Wei Tingyu are distant, as a result of her being too busy with household matters to be able to form a bond with them, and the only warmth she gets is from her daughter, a child she had after forcing herself to have sex with her husband once more (she had trauma from miscarriage), hoping she could get pregnant again and alleviate her loneliness somewhat. And Song Mo, unlike in the series, is a very powerful figure after the coup, but is perceived as merciless (having slaughtered both his father and brother), cynical (he never finds out the truth about his uncle's death, and never bothers to) and, in the end, utterly, utterly alone;

the dynamic between them after the rebirth. Unlike in the series, where they forged a bond in life 1 which was the basis for their relationship as adults in life 2, in the novel they meet as teenagers (when he is 13 and she is 14), and he is more or less smitten from the beginning, whereas she fears and despises him at first, gradually starting to understand him the more their paths cross. While in the series, they are already both in love by the time she accepts his proposal (having gone through a lot of adventures together that strengthened their bond), in the novel, he is the one with the huge crush, while she accepts his proposal for more pragmatic reasons, trusting that he is capable and will support her in the way Wei Tingyu was unable to. But the attraction between them is mutual, and I really liked watching her slowly but surely falling in love with him due to his constant care and attention towards her;

Song Mo is way more calculated in the novel than in the series, where he's simply feral and would wreak havoc at any given moment were it not for Dou Zhao and her more sensible approaches. It makes for an interesting dynamic in the series, where they pretty much compliment each other, but I must confess I loved his scheming and 5D chess playing in the novel;

Dou Ming's entire character. Unlike in the series, which presented a nature versus nurture situation, with Dou Ming being shrewd in life 1 after being raised by her mother, and a sweet, innocent girl in life 2, as a result of not being raised by her mother, in the novel, Dou Ming exhibits jealousy from an early age, and constantly feels inferior, which ultimately results in her taking Dou Zhao's place as Wei Tingyu's wife. Their marriage is unhappy, as, just like in the series, he is not very smart and doesn't like facing difficulties. Unlike in the series, she doesn't die (she's too petty to die), but it's clear by the time she makes her last appearance in the novel that her life is miserable, and there is no chance of improvement;

Wang Yingxue is not even half as cunning and manipulative as her series counterpart; she fails to charm Dou Shiying in any meaningful way (he is never in love with her and only wants to take her as a concubine because they had a sexual encounter while he was drunk, and he wants to save face) and ultimately she pushes him away, becomes a pariah in the family and is sent to a country estate to die forgotten by everyone, including her daughter;

Miao Ansu has a completely different familial background and no connection to Dou Zhao prior to her marriage with Song Han. She's also far from being the timid forest creature the series portrays her as;

Song Han manages to be somehow even more awful than his series counterpart. Not only is he not in love with Miao Ansu, he also lacks any kind of respect for her, which ultimately pushes her to align with Dou Zhao and Song Mo, and initiate his downfall. His death is not described in the novel, but it is heavily implied.

Overall, while there were a lot of things I liked about the book, I think I prefer the pacing of the series way more. Also, the series got a "will they get their happily ever after, won't they?" feeling with the poison subplot that the novel lacked until very close to the end (when Dou Zhao is almost taken hostage during the palace coup). The royals are awful as hell in both iterations, the injustice never really gets solved (in my opinion, the Emperor was also very much to blame for Jiang Meisun's death, not only the scheming Empress), but at least the lovely main couple lives happily ever after.

Would I rather recommend the book or the series? Honestly, probably the series, but the Song Mo/Dou Zhao dynamic is lovely in the novel as well, and, if nothing else, those passages about their relationship are definitely worth reading.

[sylus-little-meow-meow]

Part 1: The run in

Frustration.

Annoyance.

Anger. 

Every time she's forced into close proximity with this man, she loses her mind that much more. 

What did I ever see in him anyway?

She wrinkles her nose in contemplation. 

From the corner of her eye, she can see his smug bastard of a smile tug at his lips. 

Shit. 

He's noticed her.

Whatever. That's not what's important right now.

Don't pay him any mind. Just get in and get out. 

Easier said than done though as he presses closer towards her, his intimidating presence causing people to shuffle out of the way, clearing a path for him like he's parting the goddamn red sea. 

Once upon a time she was drawn to that power.

Now she is not.

Sylvia taps at her sister's arm and Lumi looks up from the buffet table, her cheeks puffed out like a squirrels. 

Looks like someone got into the gourmet chocolate.

But it's good shit so who can blame her?

The hotel staff know how to hold a shindig, throwing open the doors of their ballroom in order to display a surplus of goods for all potential buyers and ensuring they're well fed so they’ll linger for longer, maybe even make a few drunk purchases. 

There's a few protocores that even managed to snag her attention. 

She almost swiped one or two of them when Sylus waltzed through those same ballroom doors and his eyes immediately found hers.

Like someone caught with their hand in a cookie jar, his smug smile was knowing. 

Amused even.

The bastard.

Lumi: Sylvia?

Lumi: What's wrong?

Her little sister cleans her chocolate coated fingers with a napkin. 

She gazes out towards the crowd of people before she snags on a familiar form.

It's then that Sylvia witnesses her sister's shift in demeanor, her bright and cheerful personality decimated by the part of her she usually reserves for wanderers. 

She's caught on that Sylus is here.

And if looks could kill…

Sylvia withholds a shudder.

She's not afraid of her baby sister.

She's just more than aware of what she's capable of. 

And when Lumi gets like this, she turns into someone Sylvia doesn't even recognize. 

She has a different ex to thank for that one. 

They need to leave. 

Now. 

Sylvia tosses her long silver locks over a shoulder, trying not to appear bothered as she gives Sylus—her former lover, now ex—her back.

Sylvia: Don't worry about it. I think we've gotten all we can for now and I'm exhausted. I could use a nap.

Lumi nods and then she looks positively mischievous as she holds up a finger. 

Sylvia watches as her sister turns, opens up her purse and tosses an entire platter of wrapped gourmet chocolates into her purse before snapping the clutch shut.

Lumi: Alright, I am good to go. 

Sylvia sags with relief before turning and—

Runs face first into a broad chest.

The amused chuckle that follows causes her to take a reflexive step back and a scowl to pull at her features. 

Sylus: Not much has changed with you two, I see.

Sylus: I'm shocked you haven't tried stealing the chocolate fountain next.

Lumi: It's offered free to guests so it's fair game.

Sylvia catches sight of Lumi just in time to watch as her baby sister—still glaring at Sylus—opens her purse and defiantly tosses yet another plate of chocolates into her purse.

Sylvia: Okay, Lu-Lu, I love you. But those are going to melt and wreck the lining. 

Lumi: Worth it. 

In goes another plate of chocolates. 

She has not looked away from Sylus once. 

Well. At least she's not trying to hunt him down and go for the throat like last time.

Sylvia sighs as she folds her arms over her chest and refocuses all of her attention on her ex-lover, raising her chin, doing her best to appear bored. 

Sylvia: Can you move? We were just leaving.

Sylus: Is that what you were doing? From what I witnessed, you were also trying to sneak something out the door. 

Sylus: Up to your old tricks again, kitten?

She grinds her teeth. 

Why is her nickname always a goddamn purr on his lips?

It's like he purposefully dips his voice just so it reverberates all the way down to her womb and ovaries. 

She's too sober for this. 

She doesn't even look as a waiter passes by carrying a serving tray carrying flutes of champagne, plucking one by the stem and offering her ex lover a cutting smile.

Around him she's sharpened like knives. 

She’ll never let her guard down.

Never again. 

He watches her with introspective eyes, almost like he can see through her charade. 

But it doesn't matter. 

It's the only way she can protect herself from old feelings resurging. 

Sylvia: The best time to bail is after you've gotten what you've wanted and run. 

Her smile is cutting. 

Sylvia: But I bet you'd know all about that wouldn't you? 

Something flashes behind those crimson of his eyes and she wonders if she's struck a nerve. 

Sylvia smiles at the thought and raises her glass before downing the glass of champagne in one full swig before placing it on another platter passing by.

Sylvia: Now again. Get the fuck out of my way, Sylus. 

Sylus: You never were one to ask for things politely. 

He says as he leans closer, bending at the waist so that his lips are near her ear.

Sylus: But wouldn't using your claws be more effective?

Sylus: Don't tell me you've forgotten how to use them after all this time, kitten. 

His eyes meet hers and Sylvia can't decide whether or not she wants to pull him closer or rake her fingernails down his annoyingly hot face. 

Then the Aether core reacts and she sucks in a sharp breath before quickly looking away.

No way in hell will she let him do that. 

He's not allowed to know the truth in her heart. 

And she'd rather remain oblivious if it doesn't align with her current feelings of hatred.

She needs another drink. 

Sylvia: I'd rather not cause a scene. 

Sylus: Is that right? I thought you were all about the dramatics—especially storming out of our home all those months ago. 

Sylus: Did you really change your ways in such a short time?

There's an amused tilt to his lips.

No hurt or regret. 

Not like she felt when she returned to her place, heartbroken at the revelation that their relationship meant nothing to him and everything to her. 

A one sided love.

I'm such an idiot. 

[lazy-black-kitty]

Give me your don't starve ocs and I'll draw them

Because I don't know how to make friends in a normal way

[k1ttygam3r]

Just watched the new Helluva Boss episode out of curiosity (via a reaction, I’m not giving Vivienne a cent) and I don’t know what I expected but I’ve never been more fucking disappointed in my entire life

[narcopathyfiles]

cishets are so pathetic about gender i wish i realized that before. you can literally get dudes to do things for you if you're just really girly

[catcatb0y]

Every time Helluva Boss or Hazbin Hotel has a glimpse of genuinely GOOD WRITING, I go insane. Both of these shows feel like edging to me, like they will tease me with these bangers and then leave me to dry EVERY DAMN TIME.

[inkats]

having a crush is like poison status effect whenever u have to think.