#no wonder that was so difficult to find. it's from an alternate universe

[hood-ex]

those are such good panels ty! yea im thinking of the one where it's a really tiny dick&zitka in the background while Bruce and Gordon are talking to each other in the foreground :') I really wish I could remember where it's from but thank you anyway!!!

AH!! FOUND IT!! Batman: Beyond the White Knight #7

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt #61 Part 5

There were two new arrivals to the dining room. Both with black hair but one of them had an odd white stripe, the stripe reminded him of his hair in ghost form. 

The one without the stripe sat next to Tim and the other one sat next to Danny. 

“You weren’t kidding when you said they looked identical,” the guy without the stripe said, “Names Richard Greyson, but you can call me Dick”

Dick had a bright smile on his face, it was clear he was a morning person. 

Damian made another ‘Tt’ noise at his introduction. 

The guy with the stripe in his hair grunted in agreement before holding out a coffee mug for Alfred, who was already standing next to him ready to pour. He took a swig before speaking, “Names Jason, you may look alike but seeing Damian eat meat, even from an alternate universe is weird.”

Danny took a bite of his bacon and swallowed like he was making a point before speaking, “I go by Danny, I faked my death years ago, as far as I’m concerned we were all strangers in my world.” He started, he took a moment to think about exactly how’d he explain everything. He knew it wasn’t exactly a pretty story but he also knew from the stories Talia told him when he was younger that Bruce was all about planning ahead, so keeping information from  him might not be the best way to go about all of this. 

He took another bite and swallowed before speaking again, “My foster family is fine though, I have a roof over my head and food. They spend most of their time in their lab working. They study Ectology, or the study of ghosts.” Jason raised an eyebrow at this but didn’t say anything. Danny continued, “They actually succeeded in building a portal to their realm, the realm of ghosts, or Infinite Realm as we call it.”

“We? You say that like you're one of the ghosts” Tim asked laughing a little bit.

He quickly got silent when Danny wasn’t laughing with him.

Damian made another ‘Tt’ noise before speaking, “Clearly this imposter has lost it, ghosts don’t exist and all of this nonsense is just that nonsense.” He glared at Danny.

Danny smiled at him and it caused Damian to falter a little before he glared at Danny again.

“Yes, Ghosts are real,” Danny sighed before continuing, “Trust me, it sounds crazy but I’ve seen some crazy things in my world. Although now I’m wondering if just showing you guys would be easier… Alright I’ll show you all but know that no one except my sister knows. Secret identity and all.”

“Wait,” Dick interrupted, “Does Robin not exist in your world?”

“Robin existed but there hasn’t been a Robin since Joker murdered the last one.” Danny answered. 

Everyone fell silent at that and the atmosphere got heavy. Everyone, especially Jason was giving each other knowing glances.

Danny cleared his throat before continuing, “Anyways, yes ghosts exist, unfortunately the portal in this world probably doesn’t work like my own world. It’s been about a year since I turned it on and since I was here in Gotham when they tried it in this world there’s no telling what they did after it didn’t work. Actually now that I think about it, I wonder if they exist here,” he thought about the GIW in his world and it occurred to him. If ghosts weren’t running rampant in Amity Park, they probably didn’t exist here.

He brought out his phone from his pocket and looked it up. His eyes lit up a bit at the information he found. Or more accurately the information he didn’t find. Searching GIW in this world brought zero results, so great he wouldn’t be hunted for existing here. 

He let out a sigh of relief at this. He turned to everyone and they were watching him closely. He gave them a small smile, “It’s been a while since I had a moment where I didn’t have to worry about being hunted for existing.” He explained. He figured he might as well get the conversation out of the way no matter how difficult it was. 

Everyone at the table was silent as they waited for him to continue. The tension was thick in the air however, you could tell that even though Danny had just arrived everyone was ready to jump to defend him, even if he wasn’t their Damian he was still part of the family even if he had just arrived into their lives. It cemented Danny’s determination to tell them the truth.

He took a deep breath and then spoke again, “The portal didn’t work at first when they tried it, I of course wanted to help so when they were away I went in to see if I could figure out the problem… Long story short, it helps to build the on switch on the outside of the portal. I’m not proud to admit that even with all of my training, there were just too many cords that even I tripped.” He didn’t have to say much else about that as their faces told him they understood what happened. He gave a dark chuckle and continued, “Yeah hurt like hell but I don’t have to worry about losing anything anymore.” He then took his phone and phased it into his chest.

The room went silent again for a moment, but it was broken by Jason who started cackling. 

He wheezed for a moment before he got out, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t ready for not Damian to make a fucking pun!”

Meanwhile everyone else was still too stunned to speak. Finally Damian surprisingly spoke, “What else can you do?”

Danny smiled, this was going to be fun.

Master Post:

Last:

[mulletmitsuya]

Tokyo Revengers Groupchat (Final Timeline)

Warnings: suggestive (i might have to change this warning to "mentions of sexual content" bcs it's too tame of a warning for the stuff that's actually in here), swearing, the word "pedophile" is mentioned, mentions of substance abuse

Desc: Everyone finds out Takemitchy and Mikey are time leapers, which leads to some...interesting questions

Mitsuya: so let me get this straight

Mitsuya: you're a time traveler, and you've lived dozens of timelines to prevent Hina from dying but she kept dying anyway but then when you got to one where she didn't die, Mikey was some deranged criminal lord and was miserable and depressed and tried to kill himself so you had to go back in time again to make sure everything was fixed but ended up dying while fighting Mikey but then somehow you both went back in time and rewrote all of our entire lives??

Takemitchy: yeah...

Baji: cap

Mikey: it's not

Mitsuya: so Mikey's a time traveler too?

Mikey: yeah it's crazy i know

Draken: do you guys have any way to prove this?

Chifuyu: this explains why i keep getting random visions of me in alternate universes. holy shit

Haruchiyo: weird ass prank

Takemitchy: i think it happened since you're close to me and we basically did everything together. i'm not sure

Inupi: we're just gonna believe this?

Koko: wait, i kind of do

Kisaki: this...defies all logic of anything ever.

Mikey: shut up Kisaki

Mikey: i'm sorry it's just that in ever other timeline you've ruined my life so it's difficult to be nice to you sometimes

Kisaki: so you don't like me because of something i did in another universe?

Takemitchy: *timeline

Mikey: yeah. my bad

Baji: i'm gonna entertain this cause i'm bored but what was i like in other timelines

Mikey: dead

Baji: ...all of em?

Mikey: yeah, it kinda drove me to insanity

Baji: damn

Baji: why?

Mikey: you killed yourself to save Kazutora

Baji: what was the context

Mikey: long story

Baji: there wasn't any other way?

Mikey: you're kinda pissing me off cause that's what i was wondering, actually

Baji: damn

Kazutora: thanks man. appreciate it🙏

Kazutora: i'll slobber on your meat later, as a proper thank you

Baji: i'd appreciate that. thanks homie🙌

Koko: what about me?

Baji: you wanna slobber on my meat? i mean i won't stop you. as long as i can call you kitten.

Koko: ...i was talking about me in alternate universe's😐

Takemitchy: i don't think we should go there guys. there's too many timelines, and not everything was exactly the same. and also in general it was a really traumatizing experience for me and i kind of want to end my life every time i think about it

Hanma: womp womp. what about me???

Mikey: murderer

Hanma: YESSSSS 😭😭😭😭😭

Hanma: THANK GOD, I KNEW IF I COULDN'T DO IT HERE, MULTIVERSE ME WOULD HAVE LIVED THE DREAM

Hanma: are me and Tetta-san together in every universe

Mikey: surprisingly, yes

Hanma: and he denies we're soulmates😔

Kisaki: i will not hesitate to get another restraining order

Hanma: a piece of paper won't stand in my way. let's get married

Kisaki: i will call the police

Draken: guys are we really entertaining this?

Mikey: you went to jail in one of the timelines and you were bald LMAO

Draken: sure

Baji: why'd he go to jail?

Mikey: these guys killed Emma and Ken-chin took revenge

Baji: respectable

Mikey: he was given a death sentence

Baji: that's tough fr

Ran: i'm kinda curious

Ran: humour me, what was i like?? was i famous?

Mikey: you were a criminal. killed people

Ran: sounds about right if i'm being honest

Ran: and Haruchiyo and Rindou?

Haruchiyo: leave me out of Takemitchy's psychotic episodes

Haruchiyo: i think you have a hallucination/delusion disorder or something

Mikey: but don't you believe me?

Haruchiyo: ...

Haruchiyo: Mikey, you're also pretty mentally ill

Mikey: says you???

Haruchiyo: i just have substance abuse problems and i'm getting clean so...

Mikey: GUYS I'M TELLING THE TRUTH I SWEAR

Mikey: I'VE BEEN GOING CRAZY KEEPING THIS A SECRET

Draken: when was the last time you slept?

Mikey: ☹️

Baji: guys just play pretend.

Rindou: what about me?

Mikey: same as your brother just uh, less gay and slutty?

Rindou: story of my life

Inupi: you didn't do Koko

Mikey: criminal

Koko: the whole time?

Mikey: yeah

Mikey: Inupi got normal at some point because he and Ken-chin got close and they fixed bikes together and had sex

Inupi: Draken????

Draken: you're really starting to piss me off.

Mikey: Akane died in the fire though like she was BURNT

Takemitchy: uh Mikey-kun...

Mikey: she was a crisp i'm telling you

Mikey: Inupi you had an ugly red scar on your face and no one wanted you

Mikey: Izana i know you're reading this, you were fucking insane dude like you killed Emma for some fucking reason then Kisaki shot you 3 times in the chest and you died while having a really bad mental breakdown. it was a major L on your part

Chifuyu: Mikey why are you leaving out the fact that the common denominator in every single timeline was that you killed every single one of your friends in the most brutal ways possible🤨?

Mikey: no comment

Smiley: how'd he kill me?

Chifuyu: uhhh

Chifuyu: Takemitchy help me out here

Takemitchy: i don't want to talk about it😐

Chifuyu: I REMEMBER

Chifuyu: backshot

Smiley: ...

Smiley: he killed me by giving me backshots..?

Smiley: i would NEVER take it from behind

Smiley: especially from MIKEY

Smiley: small dick having ass

Smiley: my bootyhole is not to be messed with

Smiley: i'm so pissed off right now holy shit

Smiley: how did i even die???? dick so good it killed me?

Smiley: i'm so angry

Angry: and i'm Smiley😂

Baji: 3/10 joke 👎, poor delivery, fell flat

Smiley: i hope you kill yourself, Mikey

Mikey: trust me, i've tried

Chifuyu: ???

Chifuyu: he shot you in the back with a gun?

Chifuyu: what's wrong with you

Smiley: oh my bad i though you meant like, he was taking me doggy style

Smiley: i'm no bottom

Ran: what is happening

Chifuyu: i'm moving on😐

Chifuyu: Hakkai was tied to a chair and burnt to death

Hakkai: wha-

Hakkai: WHAT DID I DO??

Hakkai: jesus 😟

Chifuyu: why am i getting all these memories, i'm freaking out

Hakkai: Mikey please tell me what i did to deserve that ☹️

Mikey: idk Hakkai i was going through a lot

Draken: have you been diagnosed with anything?

Mikey: i don't need a diagnosis bcs i'm fine now, you're all alive and i don't have any murderous intent!!! yippee🤗

Mikey: isn't this great Takemitchy??

Takemitchy: well, yeah no ones dead so that's great

Izana: this is obviously completely fabricated

Izana: are you guys that bored?

Senju: man for all that time traveling you sure are a shit boyfriend😭

Takemitchy: how????

Takemitchy: did Hina say that☹️??

Senju: it's an observation

Senju: you've had way too many coincidental close calls with other woman💀

Draken: yeah you pissed me off when you thought i was gifting you a prostitute. you had a whole ass girlfriend. shame on you

Senju: and you also almost slept with Emma and you "don't remember"

Smiley: Mitchy's low-key funny as hell because what do you mean you stripped yourself and another girl down to your underwear by accident

Baji: wouldn't Takemitchy be a pedophile then?? Emma was 13 dawg🤨

Mikey: he was 14 though😭

Baji: you're gonna ride Takemitchy's dick to defend him from trying to sleep with your 13 year old sister??? crazy

Baji: wasn't be mentally 26🤨?

Baji: bro i'm gonna beat your ass actually

Mikey: hmm

Mikey: you know what Mitchy, why did you do that 🤨?

Smiley: LMFAOO

Mitsuya: why did i come back to Takemitchy facing pedophile allegations, like what's going on right now

Kazutora: is it not enough that he changed the space and time continuum just to be with his girl?

Kazutora: cheating this cheating that, my boy deserves all the pussy he wants

Kazutora: he's been beaten, shot, stabbed AND killed

Kazutora: i personally believe he's the goat

Baji: ?

Chifuyu: goat is an acronym for "greatest of all time", Baji-san

Baji: what's an acronym

Chifuyu: i'll dm

Kazutora: bro you're so fucking stupid😭

Draken: i don't care if he was skinned alive by an orangutan, there's no excuse to cheat on someone

Rindou: i think being skinned alive by an orangutang warrants having more than one girl. idk that's just me tho

Ran: not the point that's being made rn

Rindou: what exactly is the point that's being made

Rindou: is this real. are we being serious.

Rindou: i don't think i get the joke

Haruchiyo: i think we should all stop talking now

Mikey: Mitchy we need to talk a bit

Takemitchy: i told you this was a bad idea

[dontbelasagnax]

OMG CAN I DO A PROMPT FOR THE KISS ROULETTE???

No pressure BUT I number 35. Kiss against a wall would make me go FERAL.

Bonus points if it's in some hidden corner and they're trying to sneak away after a hard won battle because the codywan brain rot has GOT ME. I CAN'T THINK OF ANYTHING BUT THEM

Please pretend like you sent this ask recently and I haven't been sitting on it for months waiting for my eggs to hatch @why-cant-turtles-fly 😂 As requested, here is codywan kissing against a wall... though it's actually a pillar (oops). I was inspired by this artwork I did!

Pairing: CC-22224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2,330

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Tenderness, Making Out, Introspection, and by that I mean Obi-Wan is mentally ill and thinks too much, Implied Sexual Content, POV Obi-Wan Kenobi

Summary:

    "Missing something?" Cody wiggles a certain lightsaber in his hand as he closes the distance of only a couple meters.

    "More than one thing, it seems," Obi-Wan replies.

    [ OR: Obi-Wan and Cody steal away some precious time after a victorious battle which of course results in a makeout session against a pillar. ]

(fic under the cut if you wish to read here on tumblr)

This morning Obi-Wan finds himself in the ruins of a long ago abandoned castle, high in the mountainous region of Bestoon's northernmost continent. However difficult the altitude makes it to breathe unassisted, it's worth it for the view. There isn't much he loves looking at more than a sunrise in the clouds.

The sunrise after a well earned victory in battle has become one of Obi-Wan's favorite moments to find peace these last few months or... has it been years? Time has melted together through this dreary drudge of a war.

He's watched this sky transition from dusky purples splashed with rays of golden sunlight to a pale blue canvas with clouds shadowed with purples leaning grey and highlights of soft pinks and yellows.

"Sir," a very familiar voice calls from behind. 

Obi-Wan turns towards the voice. 

'Ah,' Obi-Wan thinks, a smile already beginning to emerge on his features, 'my dearest commander.'

The light of the sky washes Cody in diffused golds and pinks. He is delightfully dressed down, forgoing his armour from the waist up. The tight, ribbed fabric does his physique all the favors the way it clings. A stray curl drops onto his forehead. The lighting does wonders for his complexion. It's as if he's glowing.

Yes, Cody bathed in the light of a new day is the most breathtaking, glorious view of them all.

"Missing something?" Cody wiggles a certain lightsaber in his hand as he closes the distance of only a couple meters. 

"More than one thing, it seems," Obi-Wan replies as he takes the lightsaber held out to him. The metal is heated from the rare touch of Cody's bare hand. Energy thrums from the kyber, a slow pulse that nearly sparkles, sending the residual heat of skin and life up Obi-Wan's arm, straight to his ever beating heart. 

So helpful his kyber crystal is, giving fuel to the flame of his infatuation that, once a slow burn, is steadily alight.

Cody leans back against the pillar, looks at him with those warm, big brown eyes of his and oh…

Obi-Wan steps into Cody's space.

Cody's sharp inhale and the way his hand comes up to touch Obi-Wan's belly is exactly what he wanted. 

Obi-Wan rests his arm beside Cody's head on the stone, bringing his face close enough to just feel Cody's breath on the whiskers of his beard.

Thick, black lashes fluttering downwards then back up. The want in those gorgeous eyes is magnetizing.

Obeying Cody's gravitational pull, Obi-Wan kisses him. The catch of their lips slow and tender, just a hint of saliva and suction, loving the warm nudge of Cody's nose against his cheek, and the bloom of Cody's Force presence like flowers turning to the morning sun. 

"Well done," Obi-Wan murmurs as he pulls away, chasing the wounded noise Cody makes with a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Your performance was stellar today, as always. Always."

Obi-Wan clips his lightsaber to his belt and cups his darling's jaw with his newly freed hand. He sighs into the meeting of their lips. The soft warm comfort of Cody's mouth is offset by the rigidity of his armour below the waist. It’s as accurate a representation of Cody’s true self as it gets: compassionate and sweet while still deadly and unwieldy.

Though, as much as Obi-Wan adores this version of Cody—so delectable in only his codpiece, cuisse, and greaves—he’d selfishly prefer him stripped even further. 

Alas, he's getting ahead of himself.

Cody's arms curl around him, hands clenching in his tabards. Their lips make smacking noises with the separation of each slow, deliberate kiss.

It's with a bittersweet ache in his chest that Obi-Wan cherishes these moments for he never knows what the next day will bring. The reality of war is that any second of any day he could lose Cody and he'll never know another day painted warm and vibrant by Cody's dry humor and barely-there smiles, the rare times when Obi-Wan can make him really laugh and hear joy spring from his soul, the quiet steady companionship of his presence, and the compassion he shows his brothers. One day he'll never know another kiss, another pleasure coated sigh of his own name, or feel the needy way Cody curves his entire body into Obi-Wan’s to get what he wants. 

It is possible that Obi-Wan would be the one to go first but… he knows deep down, and has accepted it with peace, that he's meant for infinite sadness. 

He already nearly lost him that first time- the time Cody first kissed him.

However long Cody is willing to share these hidden pockets of love with him, he will cherish every second they have together.

He emphasizes this thought with a purposeful tug and suck of Cody’s bottom lip before pulling away to breathe. The thinner air at this altitude has them panting against each other, lips grazing slightly, a sensitive tingly, ticklish tease.

Cody rubs their noses together, as if trying to grasp any sort of intimacy he can while recovering his breath.

Obi-Wan’s heart squeezes painfully.

Never let it be said lest Cody try to kill him in his sleep… but Cody is not just a sweet, sweet man but adorable.

 Natural as the mist of cloudy mornings, Obi-Wan kisses him again. 

Everything about this is intentional. From the way he slowly draws their mouths together again and again, pace languid and savoring, to the way they've chosen each other- chosen to find these moments to do nothing but love. It's not a choice, really, that they will choose duty over each other if that's what it comes to. That's simply the reality of their existences. Those priorities will never change, not with how the war has molded them into thinking. 

No, the choosing is in the love. 

He does love Cody and perhaps always will. It's not been said. Nor does he know with absolute certainty that Cody feels the same.

Cody's presence in the Force has always been a bit of a comfort for Obi-Wan since they met. Through all the uncertainty and pain in the galaxy, Cody is sturdy and shines. He's not certain when Cody’s signature began emanating a warmth that curls into his chest and makes him feel at home. It could be that with time and the development of Obi-Wan's own feelings, every aspect of Cody became beyond endearing.

Or… it could be the manifestation of Cody's own feelings for Obi-Wan.

He's not certain. And he's very well not going to ask.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't.

Still, he catches quick moments sometimes out the corner of his eye where Cody looks at him with an impossibly soft look on his face and Obi-Wan thinks, 'Maybe-’

Really. It doesn't matter. 

He has Cody so readily in the cradle of his arms, drinking up every milliliter of affection bestowed upon him.

And, well, his train of thought falls to the wayside when Cody moans into his mouth and tries to drag him even closer between the v of his legs. 

He's not sure exactly what he’s done to make Cody react so positively but he goes with the motion as heat burns deep in his abdomen.

He teases at Cody's lips with his tongue and realizes his fault when Cody instantly opens his mouth and deepens the kiss. The inside of Cody's mouth is hot and wet and his tongue- licking all those spots that make Obi-Wan shudder into him. 

Not that it's not lovely—because it is, really—but this is not how he intended things to go. 

Cody's insistent against him, pressing for more, hotter, faster, harder.

With difficulty, Obi-Wan pulls away, dodging Cody's attempts to meld their mouths together. 

“Cody, dearheart,” he says, out of breath, thumb gently stroking the skin by the corner of Cody's mouth, “you don't need to devour me.”

Cody doesn't quite pout but it's a near thing. The way his eyes are glued to Obi-Wan's lips make tooka-eyes impossible. “Remains to be seen.”

Obi-Wan huffs a laugh and kisses his cheek. “Please, my-” he catches himself almost saying ‘love’, “dear. Just for now. Let me treat you softly.”

Cody considers this solemnly. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

He nods.

Obi-Wan smiles. “Good man.”

The bob of Cody's throat at his words is gratifying. 

He closes his eyes and leans back in to capture Cody's lips for a few slow, lingering kisses. 

“That’s it. Easy goes,” Obi-Wan murmurs between kisses. Cody melts underneath him, pliant and accepting. 

He'll take every rare opportune moment to treat Cody like the indulgence he is– truly savor him. Hot plush lips between his own, a smooth glide aided by saliva. Slow and steady. Discovering how electric and titillating the simplicity is. Just Cody's warm body against his own. Cody's lips. Cody's sighs. Cody…

He's the sweetest of luxuries. And he should be cherished accordingly. 

Obi-Wan plants a path of kisses up Cody's cheek, right to the end of his brow, following the raised skin of his facial scar.

He's wondered if anyone else has gotten to love Cody like he has or if he's the only one to ply him with tender affection. He's wondered if, in a kinder universe, Cody would be left free of the scars Obi-Wan has gotten to know so intimately. If there were a universe as such, would Obi-Wan be given the chance to love Cody all over again or if another is destined for him- someone closer to his age and able to devote their life to ensuring his happiness.

He's tied himself into knots over this. The hypotheticals. 

He loves Cody. He loves him easily, unhurried and unconditionally. He loves him with every breath he shares loving the Jedi Order—his family—and this wonderous Force-filled world they live in. 

It's just that. He does not love Cody more than the order, more than his faith and his family. Cody is a part of his life. Whatever comes next, may it be death or freedom or- well, Force knows what, Obi-Wan hopes Cody remains a constant. Selfishly. More than a little lovesick. He wants Cody in his life. But he will accept whatever comes their way, as it is the will of the Force. 

 And if that means-

“Where'd’ya keep going?” asks Cody, big brown eyes of his gazing into Obi-Wan's soulfully. A deep brown that melts into a warm, rich amber. Beautiful.

“Nowhere of consequence.” He rubs his nose along Cody’s cheek. Breathes him in. 

“You sure?”

Obi-Wan drags his lips down Cody's jaw, smiling to himself and settling in once Cody shudders and angles his head out of the way.

“Absolutely certain,” Obi-Wan murmurs against his pulse point then kisses that very same spot.

A sigh from Cody is just the encouragement Obi-Wan needs to continue on. 

It's a gift having Cody so sensitive and wanting under him. An entirely different side of his commander than the stern, regal demeanor their troopers see day in and out. 

He kisses and sucks and nips the column of Cody's neck, delighting in the small, pleased noises he draws from Cody with every pass of his mouth over salty skin. 

He only leaves a couple of marks by the time Cody tugs him upwards. He's not too dismayed to leave the warm crook of his love’s neck because the expression on Cody's face is nothing short of wanton, absolutely debauched. 

Cody’s lips are still plump and kiss bitten. 

Obi-Wan can't resist. He traces the pad of his thumb across Cody's bottom lip. Breath shakes onto skin and Cody's mouth closes around the digit, suctioning him in hot, wet heat. 

He draws in a sharp breath.

His gaze darts to Cody’s eyes where he meets pupils blown wide with desire. Cody stares unflinchingly, daring and, oh… 

Cody has bewitched him, utterly and completely. Try as he might to retain composure, Cody is his undoing in these moments. The fragile strings of his heart (and… other parts of his anatomy…) pulled taut and ready to spring forward.

He wanted to keep it slow and soft, but Cody knows just how to arm him into an arrow ready to spring forth.

He pops his thumb from Cody's mouth and fixes his mouth and lips there instead, letting him know just how affected he is. He tastes Cody’s own desire echoed back to him in his moans and tongue and the needy press of his body that Obi-Wan keeps caged to the pillar. The fists that grab at his tunic and hair to try and get him even closer.

The high altitude forces them apart to breathe sooner than either of them would like but they don't go far, nuzzling noses and panting against one another's lips. 

“We’d better take this back to The Negotiator,” Cody says quietly, still out of breath.

Obi-Wan nods his agreement, sure that if they stay here a minute longer he'll be on his knees.

Hand in hand, they hurry away and the sunrise grows only brighter, pink tones making way for the brilliance of the full sun. Clouds drift with the breeze and all is as it will be.

[scrupulosity-comics]

hey is racism one of your obsessions? also white and ocd. if it is, how u cope with it? i'm really afraid all the time to hurt my loved ones who are black people, and they're the majority of my loved ones. and how do u identify whats racism from whats an intrusive thought?

Most of my race-related OCD is abstract stuff like “if I move out of my parents’ house and try to live my own life outside of their control, I will have to find somewhere I can afford to pay rent, which will probably mean moving into a low-income neighborhood, which would mean inadvertently helping to gentrify the community, which would gradually push the original residents out of their homes and disrupt community ties and support systems and creating housing insecurity, so therefore I can’t move out or move on”.

I think that’s just part of a larger existential terror that I can only ever make the world worse by living in it—a net harm to the universe, molecule by misspent molecule.

I have been letting this ask sit in my inbox for weeks now because I’m convinced that anything I say will be destructive. What if my answer enables or excuses racism? What if my answer fuels the anguish of the mentally ill?

The rational and compassionate part of my mind insists that your loved ones (and mine!) understand that you (and I) are white, and have likely dealt with white peoples all their lives, and are capable of judging for themselves whether you are good to them and deserving of their intimacy. It is impossible to go through life without hurting and being hurt by people you care about—always you will have blindspots and miscommunications and competing needs. That’s just part of the curse of consciousness and being a social species. We all get a little blood on our hands eventually, one way or another… friendship involves knowing this, accepting this, and committing to avoid it and then, that failed, to make things right.

Again: your friends know you’re white. They have reason to expect the best of you or they wouldn’t be your friends. They choose to have you in their lives; trust them to trust you, and to recognize the difference between a beloved friend struggling with a treacherous and unkind brain and doing their best in an inescapably racist society, and a racist who whose bigotry makes them unworthy of their time and affection.

I do think racism obsessions are a particularly difficult manifestation of OCD to cope with because they’re hard to discuss at all without feeling like you’re implicitly asking for absolution. With other types of OCD, it’s common to seek reassurance that what you’re obsessively afraid of isn’t true—but what feels more racist than asking someone to reassure you that you’re not racist…? LMAO.

They say the “cure” to OCD, such as it is, is just to learn how to embrace the existential horror of uncertainty. Tall fucking order. Hell on Earth! But in a bizarre way I have found the rhetoric that “everyone is unconsciously and incurably racist” to be unexpectedly helpful… there is no total psychological purging and mental purification we can undergo, no amount of ritual self-flagellation that will drive the demons out, no pristine state we can aspire to and hate ourselves for soiling. Only mundane everyday commitments to compassion and empathy and solidarity and cleaning up our messes. But even then, a thought isn’t a mess. A thought I’d not a thing that happened or a choice you made. It doesn’t represent an alternate timeline branching off into a parallel universe where you have acted on it and hurt people.

Earlier this year I was playing a video game—during my lunch break I got to wondering what happened if you failed a skill check that I had passed in my own playthough, so I looked up a clip on YouTube and was so triggered by the answer (the player character calls his companion a racial slur in the heat of the moment, without meaning to, even if you’ve played him as a committed anti-racist) that I immediately spiraled and was close to throwing up in the broom closet, and when I got home I opened my own save and tried to make the player character kill himself as catharsis. It was an incredibly unreasonable guilt response to a completely fictional scenario that I hadn’t even gotten in my own playthrough, but in retrospect it was a safe way to explore fear of my own internalized racism hurting somebody and what might happen if my intrusive thoughts came true. It sucked and it was terrible and I was angry at myself for being crazy about it, but it ended up being a small dose of exposure therapy and practice at not repenting for nonexistent through self-abuse.

I dunno. This has been a long uncomfortably personal ramble but I hope it’s helpful. I don’t know if your friends know you have OCD (or how it manifests) and I don’t know whether telling them would help. But allowing yourself to trust others to trust you is far more useful than beating yourself up for thoughts you don’t want. I have on occasion warned people that I am cautious about doing certain things with them—particularly drinking—because there is a risk that I may spiral and show symptoms humiliating and uncomfortable to both of us, and I don’t want to put them in a position where they witness or feel like they have to help me manage the white guilt elements of my disorder. These conversations have usually gone well, and the mutual understanding to boundaries takes some of the tension out, which seems to reduce the triggers. It’s messy and awkward and maybe it limits who is willing to be friends with me, but IMHO it’s better than surprising someone.

As for determining whether something is an intrusive thought or actual racism, I guess my answer is: does it matter? Would you manage them differently? Intrusive thoughts may be an evil voice in your brain, but racism is an evil voice in society’s brain.

[astrangetorpedo]

On New Year’s Eve, during a house party at her home in Richmond, Virginia, Lucy Dacus had her fortune told. She thought why not. On a personal level, 2017 had been a wretched year – a steady conveyor belt delivering the 22-year-old bad news.

“This girl, who I didn’t even know, came to the party and gave me this year-long reading,” she explains. “Month-by-month it was so specific. So far, it’s kind of lined up.”

In the past Dacus has been sceptical about the prophetic powers of the tarot card deck, and was taught that the pentacles (coins) were a symbol of Satan. “It’s hard to look to the future and see nothing, to know nothing,” she muses. “I still don’t know what’s going to happen, but having something to have your mind bounce off is nice. That’s why I like tarot. It gives you something to reflect on.”

It’s all part of a fresh way of thinking for Dacus, a new “mood of just trying to be open to new things.” For so many reasons the past year has been one Lucy Dacus is keen to put behind her. “I guess I could just list things,” she says laughing, but not joking. To begin, some of her close family suffered health problems, compounded by her own serious issues including a bout of appendicitis that forced her to have surgery. She was attempting to buy a house for the first time, a process that proved “trying”. Three of her tours got cancelled.

“It was a little bit miserable,” says Dacus, sitting in an east London cafe. “Towards the end of the year, I just had to laugh… Like, come on!”

Interwoven with these practical challenges she was having to navigate something much more troubling. “I got out of a relationship in 2016, which I was waking up from in 2017 – realising that it was abusive,” she begins. “Letting myself say that, it took many months to come out of the numbness… to stop being brainwashed. So, that’s all been a growth. It’s ended up being positive, but it is difficult wondering how I let that be a part of my life for so long.”

Deepening the ordeal, still, this year of personal upheaval was set to the backdrop of Trump’s first 12 months in office. A vociferous supporter of Bernie Sanders through the 2016 election campaign, Dacus is a passionate advocate for equal rights, attending marches and collecting donations for community organisations at her shows. To have Trump sat in the White House representing her country, she says, felt – feels – “horrible”. “It’s just absurd and I feel like I’m in an alternate universe,” she says. “It’s really hard maintaining hope.

“Coming to Europe I’m embarrassed to be an American sometimes, but then I just have to hope that people know that I am not part of Trump. I’ve thought about wearing shirts at the airport – just like ‘not my president’. In little ways I just want to assert that opinion.”

And then there were the disturbing revelations surrounding Harvey Weinstein (and subsequently many other men) revealed in Autumn 2017, that opened out into a global conversation around the abuse and harassment of women.

“It’s been nice coming out of that really terrible relationship during a time when women are speaking up more. It feels like I’m allowed to say these things now,” says Dacus, crediting the #MeToo movement. “All these horrible, heartbreaking stories of women being mistreated are at the forefront but the solace that people are doing what they need in order to find closure and help each other prevent that happening ever again. For one of the first times I’ve been noticing male friends of mine actually examining their past behaviours.”

While there are some early shoots of positivity, the truth is, the culmination of all of these factors left the songwriter dealing with anxiety for the first time. “2017 was a new state of mind for me – and not really in the best way.”

Lucy Dacus was raised in Richmond, Virginia, about two hours south of Washington D.C. on the east coast. It’s a place sometimes described as “the biggest small town left in America.” The family home was in the rural suburbs and she travelled into the city to go to high school. “It’s hard to tell you in one answer how my whole childhood was,” she says. “It’s a large variety of things. Overall, I’m coming out with my thumbs up.”

In her household music was always there. Her mother is a piano teacher, as was her grandmother. Picking up songwriting was never a big deal, like a second language that was spoken around the house. “That’s how music is – like, it’s just part of my life,” she recalls.

Yet the dream of being a professional artist seemed almost so unattainable that it was invisible. In her late teens, Dacus went to college to study film but dropped out, primarily because she’d end up saddled with huge debt. “That, paired with the feeling of being misunderstood in my programme,” she confirms. “I just didn’t have a lot of like minds in my classes.”

That prompted a move back to Virginia where she took a job in a photography lab developing kids’ cheesy school photos. She’d been writing songs in her spare time and gathered nine of the 30-or-so she had together when her friend Jacob Blizard (now her touring guitarist) asked her to record them for his school project. Her 2016 debut album, ‘No Burden’, was made in one day in Nashville. Blizard passed school, and that album received rave reviews. NPR called it “vulnerable”, while Pitchfork said it was an “uncommonly warm indie rock record”. As a result, 20 different record labels reportedly scrabbled to sign Dacus. She settled on Matador, and began to prepare for what should have been a joyful 2017.

The first time Dacus remembers assuming the role of historian she was seven or eight-years-old. She was writing in her journal – and she smiles now recalling her first entry. It complained about how the babysitter spent the whole evening on the phone to her boyfriend. “There’s a point where I realise I’m journaling and so I stop and go, ‘I should probably introduce myself… I’m Lucy’” she laughs, remembering it clearly. “It’s really cute.”

More than a dozen notebooks, and many years later, she still keeps a diary now. Sometimes she writes every day, other times, weeks go by and then she fills 20 pages. Occasionally she flicks open an old one to either “laugh or cringe” at her younger self.

‘Historian’, then, isn’t just the title of her latest album, but also the way she thinks of herself. A chronicler, of her own experiences, but also those around her. Those pages aren’t just a document of a growing maturity, but also a therapeutic habit that helps make sense of many life events, including that recent damaging relationship. “Seeing that it had been broken for the whole time but that I was just oblivious to it, [reading about] it helps to accept that things didn’t change,” she says. “I just saw it for what it was finally, and so perspective is good.”

Those handwritten journals are sacred, which is why, when her tenth one was stolen on tour a few years ago along with a bag of possessions, it was the notebook she replaced first.

The album itself is a recent history – a narrative burrowing through those myriad dark times. Dacus knew that she wanted it to form a complete story, and wrote the track list before some of the songs. “It’s an arc” she says, that begins in a “relatable place” with the only break-up song she’s ever written (‘Night Shift’) that subsequently delves “deeper into darkness.”

“Then the subject matter gets a little more intense,” she tells me, “– going through identity crises, or loss of home, or loss of faith, loss of a loved one, loss of your life. I feel like I’m pulling people into an uncomfortable space.” She pauses. “There’s then a change where hopefully I’m turning on a light and saying, ‘Yes, all of that exists, but it’s a foil to joy.’”

It is an extraordinary piece of work. Musically it’s a colossal step up, reminiscent of recent albums by Mitski (‘Puberty 2’), Angel Olsen (‘My Woman’) and labelmate Julien Baker (‘Turn out the Lights’). The subject matter is heavy, but it’s never a dreary listen. In fact, it’s charming, funny even – like a brave smile emerging through a curtain of tears. And Dacus has a gift for lyric writing; like the eloquent way she pays tribute to the humility shown by her dying grandmother on ‘Pillar of Truth’. From first to final note it’s evocative and powerful. “The first time I tasted somebody else’s spit I had a coughing fit,” goes the LP’s opening line in ‘Night Shift’. “If past you were to meet future me,” she sings on the final line of the closing title track, “would you be holding me now?”

It’s heartening to hear that the contents of Dacus’ NYE tarot reading were largely positive. The forecast noted that she should enjoy the proceeds of her hard work, but that “something horrible happens in the summer, then there’s kind of a rebirth, growing back into, like, life in an even more knowledgeable and peace-oriented way.” Dacus is about to leave, and picks up a bag of books she’s been keeping underneath the cafe table.

“It could be wrong,” she says. “I’m not superstitious. I’m taking it in. When that does happen I hope I can take my own advice – let it be what it is, and look past it eventually

(x) 3/14/18

[blaxcunicorn]

Hello love! I was wondering if you can write something with Sasuke and a reader his family doesn’t approve of (in like a universe they didnt die lol)? No pressure! Thank you and have a good one!!💘

Hiii!

Firstly, omds love??? I legit blushed while reading this.

Secondly, thank you for the request. I really enjoyed writing this one! This takes place in the alternative Naruto world in Tsunades dream. I ended up writing that his father disapproved of the reader instead. I feel like his mother and Itachi would be happy with whomever Sasuke is with as long as they make him happy.

Warning, this story contains a bit of racism (the reader is a Senju while Sasuke as you probably know is a Uchiha)

Word Count: 1.3k

After the Fourth Great Ninja War, the two of you started dating when he came back after leaving the village. You had been in love since you were kids, but you didn’t realise how much you loved each other until he left the village. It didn’t pass a day without the two of you thinking about each other. 

The two of you were rivals as your families pressured you to outdo each other. It was bound to happen with him being a Uchiha and you being a Senju. As you grew older and saw Naruto and Hinata getting married, you were ready to make your relationship known to the world. The two of you were eating at Ramen Ichiraku on a quick date before Sasuke went to work with the police force. “Sasuke, do you think it’s time for us to meet each other’s families?” Sasuke’s eyes widen, he always knew that this day would come. You were both of age, and your peers were planning their wedding. “You are right…but what about our situation? Senjus and Uchihas have been on each other’s throats since the village was built.” 

You were in your great aunt Tsunade’s office helping out with healing an injured ninja. When the two of you finished, and he woke up, his wife came running in, embracing her husband. It warmed your heart seeing the two of them in love, adoring each other. Tsunade coughs, “So, Y/n, you are of age soon. Why haven’t the Uchiha boy proposed to you yet?” You feel your cheek burn “H-how did you know?” You and Sasuke really tried your best to be as secretive as possible. “I saw the way he looked at you when you healed him. It’s the same eyes Dan used to give me…Well…You aren’t getting any younger, and I want great-great nieces and nephews.“Aren’t you past fifty and…” You felt your soul leave your body as she slammed her fist on your head. You wobbled, feeling dizzy from that slam but managed to mutter out, “It’s a bit difficult. I don’t think my parents will approve of him being a Uchiha.” Tsunade pressed the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “That stupid old rivalry. Come with me.” 

You follow her to your house, and she kicks your door open, finding your parents eating lunch. Your father gets off his seat to greet his aunt. Tsunade grabbed your father, lifting him by his shirt. “My beautiful grand niece wants to marry a Uchiha, any objections?” Your father shakes his head in fear “O-of course not, as long as you are happy, dear.” He stutters out while your mother nods in agreement. “See, that was easy. Now we have a wedding to plan,” Tsunade says, patting your father on his back and hitting the oxygen out of his body. 

Now you were seated with Sasuke discussing your next big step. Sasuke nods at you finishing the story. “Well, you should come over for dinner next week, Itachi will be home by then.” You eagerly nod, excited to meet his family. It went smoothly with yours. Hopefully, it will go even better with his family. His father is the head of the Uchiha clan he might be more level-headed and more logical than your parents. Sasuke, on the other hand, hides his nervousness. He really wants to introduce you to his family, but he really wants his father’s and brother’s approval. He knows his mother would love whoever makes him happy.

You were now standing outside their house, with a flower bouquet in your hands. Sasuke is the one greeting you at the door. “You look beautiful,” he said, gently putting his hand on top of your head. He held the door open for you, and you were greeted by his family, who were preparing the table for dinner. The first one to greet you was his mother. She embraced you in a warm hug, you felt a wave of relief wash over you. “I’m delighted to meet my son’s gorgeous girlfriend.” You felt your cheek burn “T-the pleasure is all mine. Thank you for having me.” You said, giving her the bouquet. “Thank you, dear.” She smiled, giving you another hug. You offered to help her prepare the table, which she kindly accepted. The two of you talked while preparing the table. Sasuke noticed that you become more and more comfortable around his mother. Seeing the two of you smile and laugh together warmed his heart. When the table was set, his mother called upon the other men in the house. 

The first to show up was the family’s patriarch. “Father, this is my girlfriend Y/n.” You dried your hands on the handkerchief and nervously shook the father’s hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Y/n.” He said with a firm voice. “N-no the pleasure is all mine.” You stuttered nervously, you have heard stories about Sasuke’s strict father. “Please, have a seat.” He said the four of you sat down at the table. “Sasuke, where is your brother?” 

“I’m here, father. Sorry that I’m late. The Anbu mission took longer than expected.” Itachi said, having a towel on his shoulder. You glare at how Sasuke’s eyes light up at the sight of his older brother. You knew, based on his obnoxious bragging as a kid, that he adored his big brother. “Itachi, this is my girlfriend Y/n.” He said proudly. If there is one person in his family that would accept you, it would be Itachi. You stand up and shake his hand.  Itachi couldn’t help but notice the Senju Clan embroidery on your dress. “Y/n, do you belong to the Senju clan?” He smiles. “O-oh, yes. Tobirama Senju was my paternal great-great-great grandfather.” You said. Itachi’s warm smile brought you hope, but that was quickly crushed as their father slammed the o-choko on the table. “I’m not having my youngest son marrying a Senju.” He said between his teeth. 

“The Senjus are solely responsible for why we, Uchihas, have been discriminated against since the village was founded.” He continued standing up from his pillow. “Father, she has nothing to do with it!” Sasuke said, accidentally triggering his Sharinga. Which his father responded with the same eyes. “I don’t want anything to do with the Senju clan, especially a brat who is a direct descendant of Tobirama.  If you know what’s best for you, leave this house immediately.” You wanted to earth to swallow you as tears were running down your face. You immediately left “Darling, wait”, his mother said as you rushed out of the house. Sasuke gets up to run after you “Sasuke, stop” he ordered. 

“You don’t have to like her, but you will respect her as she will be your daughter-in-law whether you approve of it or not.” He finishes running after you. His brother looks at their father with disapproved eyes. “Father, this could’ve been a great opportunity for the Uchihas to approve that we wish to integrate into Konoha. And who knows, she might infect Sasuke with the will of fire which might prevent him from running away again.”  Itachi shakes his head before excusing himself. He uses his Sharingan and spots you and Sasuke sitting on top of a bridge above a river. 

You leaned your head on Sasuke’s shoulder, while he rapped his arm around you. “Your father hates me, h-he didn’t even give me a chance to explain myself.” You mutter, still sniffing from your crying. “Forget about him. It’s only the two of us against the world, right? You nod, and he slides a silver ring on your finger. You lift your head off his shoulder “S-sasuke” you were shocked at his gesture. He still wants to marry you, even with his father’s disapproval. He turns, facing you “There is no one I can imagine standing by my side. You are the spring sun, in my cold winter days…I-I don’t think I can do this without you.” Sasuke is stunned as he sees tears streaming down your smiling face. You threw yourself over him, embracing him in a hug causing him to fall on his back. “You and me, right, Sasuke?” He responds by putting his index and middle finger on your forehead. 

[hehetmongi]

🏖️🐚🌊 waves along the shore | chapter one | (ateez ot8/reader) 🏖️🐚🌊

chapter one: fateful encounter at illusion bay

series summary: you just broke things off with your fiancé. out of options, you go to your family’s beach house across the country to clear your mind. you're not expecting to see familiar faces in the house next door...

chapter word count: 4.6k

pairings: ateez ot8 x reader

tags: alternate universe - modern setting, beaches, beach house, emotional hurt/comfort, healing, polyamory, fluff and smut, unconventional romance, 18+ mdni

ao3 chapter link | masterpost link

warnings: reader was involved in a past toxic/controlling relationship; this does not involve any members of ateez. alcohol consumption in this chapter.

notes: reader plays the piano and has a backstory that is significant to the plot. more notes in masterpost.

Your mother picks up the phone on the third ring. You ignore the way your stomach twists when she greets you cheerily, unaware of the storm that’s coming ahead. 

“I need you to know I’m alive and okay,” you hear yourself say. Your voice is firm and unyielding despite your nerves. “You’re the only one I’m going to tell this to, so I need you to keep this a secret.” 

The rest of your story tumbles out of your mouth without restraint. Enough was enough — after eleven months of an unhappy engagement to your fiancé, you needed to leave your life behind. 

He made it difficult to break things off. Every time you tried to initiate a breakup conversation, he’d divert somehow. Eventually, he sprung a proposal on you, and you felt you were in too deep to turn him down. Everything that followed, from the joint engagement announcements on your Instagram accounts to the wedding cake and venue planning, felt like a knife twisting in your gut. 

And then… something happened two nights ago. He hadn’t struck you, but the look in his eyes made you think he was about to: pure anger and malice, all directed at you for the first time in your relationship. 

So, fearing for your safety, you decided to run away. You’re on the road now, driving a rental car down an empty highway toward the coastline. You didn’t think you were headed anywhere specific, but you found yourself gravitating toward familiar streets and roads from distant childhood memories. 

“I left my ring on the nightstand and turned off my location,” you tell her. “He’s still at work now and doesn’t know that I left, but he’s going to be suspicious soon.”

Your mother hums on the other line. You can tell that she’s thinking, trying to give you enough time to explain yourself as she processes such difficult information. 

“I just… I know it’s a lot to process. But I really, really needed to take my life back before things got worse,” you finish. 

Distantly, a part of you wonders if you made a mistake by telling her. You hope you’ve done enough to convince her to be on your side with this. If not, you fear you might really be alone. 

“I’m just so sad,” your mom finally says, and you brace yourself for the worst. Until she continues, “that you thought you couldn’t come to me with this earlier. That you’ve been feeling this way about him for so long.” 

Your eyes well with tears. You do your best to blink them away, not wanting them to get in the way of your driving. 

“I’m with you in this,” she tells you. “And I always will be. But we need to find a place for you to hide, and fast.” 

You suck in a long, deep breath. This was your one and only plan, the only hope you really had to get away from your fiancé once and for all. If it didn’t work, then you might be stuck hotel-hopping for the foreseeable future until you can discreetly get an apartment, which would be far from ideal. 

“The beach house,” you offer, “the one I ran away to just before college. I could stay there, if it’s unoccupied.” 

Something in your stomach flutters at the memory. You’d felt lost then, too, and time at the beach was exactly what you needed to get your head on straight. Well, that and the two boys next door, all shy smiles and bumping elbows and needy kisses that still haunt your dreams, sometimes. 

Your mother scoffs. “You scared your father and me half to death back then.”

“But this time, I’m telling you in advance.”

“You are,” your mother intones, then pauses for a moment to think. You hold your breath as you hear the gears turning in her head. “It’s not that it’s occupied, sweetie, but no one’s been there in years. I think… no one’s been there since you. It’s probably all old, musty, and dirty.” 

“I’m not hearing a no,” you reply.

“I’m not telling you no,” she agrees. “And I agree with you, it’s a good place for you to hide from him for now. But I’m also saying that it’ll be difficult work to upkeep. It won’t feel like a vacation home.”

You nod. “That’s fine with me, as long as it gives me some time.” 

Your mother agrees to let you stay there, and relief instantly floods your veins. It’s a good, temporary solution for now, and you have fond memories there, both from your childhood and the time shortly after high school. Even if the house is in bad condition, all you need is to breathe some ocean air and a warm bed to sleep in at night. You can make do. 

“Another thing,” you add, merging onto the exit you need to get to the beach. You still have a long way to go. “I think… I think he might try to use you to get to me. And if he does, you should have a plan. I don’t want you getting caught up in this mess.” 

“You don’t need to worry about me,” your mother chides. “I’m tough. I know how to keep manipulative men away from my business.” 

You smile. “Teach me how to do that, next time I’m dating someone.” 

“I ought to teach you before then. It’s a shame that I hadn’t already,” she says, and you can tell she’s smiling fondly just from her voice. “Take care, sweetie.” 

You bid your mother goodbye, thanking her profusely for her help, and you continue on your way. 

It’s a solid three more hours of driving until you arrive at Illusion Bay, where your family’s abandoned beach house is. It’s dark by the time you arrive, and you blink away your bleary exhaustion with tired eyes as you pull in front of the house. 

There are only a handful of buildings along the coastline. The first is your family’s house, which is tiny and quaint, with small windows and a little rocky pathway that leads to the wilderness. The next is a house next door, where two boys around your age used to stay. It’s much bigger and more modern than your own, with sleek floor-to-ceiling windows and a volleyball net, among other things — you remember thinking that it could probably house around ten people, if not more, back when you visited years ago. 

There are a couple of other houses about a mile away, as well as a grocery store, a bar, and a couple of restaurants, but other than that, Illusion Beach is mostly empty. You open your car door gently, basking in the sounds of the tide hitting the sand and breathing in the salty air. 

It’s beautiful enough of a night that you’re completely unsurprised to see that the lights are on next door. You figure that whoever owns the place now must be able to make a fortune through airbnb or a similar service. It doesn’t matter much to you, though — it’s not like the people staying here will get in the way of your hiding and relaxation time if you keep to yourself. 

You pull out the spare key from its hiding spot. When you haul your suitcase inside, you’re met with the same four wooden walls you remember so clearly from your youth. Your eyes scan the perimeter of the room, zeroing in on the grand piano in the corner. 

Your heart squeezes in your chest. So much has happened to you since you were last here — college, relationships, piano competitions, moving in with your fiancé, your broken engagement — but somehow, this house has stayed the same. 

Your eyes find the piano again. Your limbs seem to move on their own, gliding toward the bench, dusting off the surface of the keys, and opening the window before you sit down. 

There’s something you’ve been itching to do. 

A beautiful sound soars through the air, reaching the ears of the eight men staying in the beach house next door. 

Well, the person playing the piano is clearly talented, at least. They pluck away at a lyrical melody with grace and poise, as if music lives and breathes underneath their fingertips. But the instrument itself needs some serious work. It sounds like it hasn’t been tuned in years, certain notes wobbling in and out of stability. 

“I must be hallucinating,” Yeosang murmurs to no one in particular. He’s staring out the window at the shore. He has a hazy, distant look in his eyes, as though he’s reliving a memory.

He can’t quite bring himself to remember it fully, but his mind conjures the memory of a girl he and Wooyoung met years ago at this very same beach. She’d played the piano for them once, getting all flustered when the two of them complimented her. All three of them had been devastatingly awkward back then, but he thinks of that time, of those memories so fondly. 

A childish part of him refuses to let go of those times. Hopes that he might be able to pick up the pieces of what they left behind, before they parted ways. 

A few moments pass. The waves creep up and back on the shore, and the piano strikes an elegant chord. 

“No,” Wooyoung disagrees from the spot next to Yeosang on the couch, just a moment later. “No, I hear it, too. The piano, right?” 

Yeosang blinks at him a couple of times, then scoffs. “A shared hallucination, then.” 

Wooyoung hits him gently on the shoulder. “Don’t be stupid. We can check it out in the morning.” 

“Mmm, alright,” Yeosang says, and leaves it at that. 

Later, about an hour after the piano music has stopped and Wooyoung has curled up in Yeosang’s lap, one of their other friends, San, appears in the doorway. Yeosang raises an eyebrow at his outfit, a tight black tank top that leaves little to the imagination and acid wash jeans that do little to conceal anything in his pants. 

“I’m gonna head out to the bar,” he announces. “Either of you wanna come with?” 

Yeosang shakes his head. From his lap, Wooyoung sighs. 

“Don’t do anything too crazy or Hongjoong’ll kill you,” Wooyoung warns. There’s a clear sense of concern in his eyes, which San seems to dismiss. 

“I never do,” San declares simply, and then he’s out the door. 

You don’t know what compelled you to come here, but you’re glad you came. 

Your family’s beach house, while a welcome reprieve from the apartment you lived in with your fiancé, was still stifling in its own ways. The dust on every surface made you sneeze. The piano didn’t sound right, years of neglect without maintenance making your favorite pieces sound tacky. Worst of all was the feeling like you were being watched by your younger self, like you’d let the little girl inside of you down by existing in an area meant only for memories. 

You decided that you didn’t want to get through the night alone. In a burst of confidence, you decided to go to the bar. You’re only wearing comfortable clothes, so you’re not really dressed for the occasion, but you don’t feel too out of place considering the atmosphere. 

The bar is quieter than you expect — it is a weeknight, but it’s also the middle of the summer, so you’d expected to see more than a handful of people here. Most of the people here are older than you, maybe in their fifties or sixties, and keep to the groups they arrived with. Even still, it’s nice to be around their lively conversations. It sucks you away from your own life and into another world, putting things into a new perspective. 

Everything shifts when a man sculpted from marble walks through the door. 

He is tall and broad, with big, bulky shoulders and a narrow waist that has your eyes bugging out from their sockets like a cartoon character. He is brimming with confidence and bravado, smirking at the bartender as they fire quips back and forth at each other. 

Your pulse quickens under your fingertips when he slides into the stool just a few seats away from you. You feel your heart jackhammering in your chest when his gaze drags up and down your body, taking in your old t-shirt and jean shorts that you’ve been driving in all day and smiling invitingly. 

“Hey,” he flirts, voice as smooth as silk, “can I buy you a drink?”

You’re nodding eagerly before your mind catches up to your body, desperate for some liquid courage in your system. It’s been a while since you’ve been so openly flirted with, openly desired by anyone, your ex fiancé included, and a part of you worries you might be coming across as desperate but most you simply doesn’t care. 

He laughs at your response and it sounds silly (dorky, even), but that only endears you to this stranger more. 

The two of you get to talking over drinks — his name is San, he’s a performer staying in the area with some friends, and he really wanted to meet someone new tonight — and the conversation flows easily at first. You get the sense that he’s charming, but you don’t feel like he’s trying too hard to charm you. It’s easier for you to feel comfortable when it’s clear to you he’s being genuine, so gradually, you feel your nerves ebb away. 

But when the conversation turns to you, you clam up. 

“Your name, at least?” he smiles, revealing a little dimple on the side of his cheek. “And maybe how you ended up here, of all places? It’s not exactly a popular location.”

You decide something at that moment — you feel safe with him, safe enough to let him in a little bit. He doesn’t need to know all of the details, but at the end of the day, maybe a stranger’s comfort is exactly what you need. 

“Y/n,” you concede.  

San’s eyes sparkle a little. “Pretty.”

“Thank you,” you twist at the hem of your shirt. “I, um, I don’t really know how else to say this, but I think you should know something.” 

You glance up at him. You have his attention now, his eyes brimming with quiet curiosity. 

“I’m here because I ran away from my fiancé,” you admit, lowering your voice to a whisper. You feel your gaze flutter away towards the door. It’s more difficult to say it out loud than you anticipated. “Things were bad for a while and it got… really, really messy. I needed to get away from him, from my whole life back home. So I’m kinda in hiding.” 

You feel a light touch, just a brush of fingertips against the back of your hand. When you look back up, San’s eyes are on you, eyebrows drawn low. 

“That must have been a really hard decision to make,” he says. “To just leave everything behind like that.” 

You sigh. “I don’t think it’s fully hit me yet. I’m just worried he might try to find me to take me back, or worse.” 

A beat of silence passes, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable. Eventually, San strokes lightly at your hand again, just another graze. 

“Y/n,” he asks, his voice softer around your name. “Is this okay?” 

You nod quietly as he encases your hand in his own. Your breath hitches a little at the warmth, how kind and gentle his calluses feel as he rubs back and forth between your knuckles. 

“I know this is going to sound forward. But as long as we’re both here together, I’m here for you,” he comforts, keeping his voice low and intimate. “If you want a shoulder to cry on, someone to kick your ex’s ass, someone to spend the night with,” he winks at you, and you giggle, “anything.” 

A little fire kicks up in your gut at that last option. The drinks are working their magic inside your belly, you think, because suddenly you don’t feel all that shy anymore. 

“Why don’t we have another drink and see where it takes us?” you offer. 

The smile San gives you in return sends a delicious shiver down your spine. 

Another hour or so of conversation with San brings you outside with him. He leads you out of the bar with his arm loosely wrapped around your waist, holding you steady as you walk down the beach. 

You’re not drunk, just a little wobbly, but the alcohol has eased your nerves a considerable amount. You’d even go so far as to say you’re comfortable with him now, which feels like a complete 180 from where you were when he first walked into the bar. 

You blanch, though, when you realize what house he’s directing you towards. Without realizing it, you stop in your tracks, gaping a little at the house next door to your own. 

“What’s wrong, y/n?” San asks, tapping your shoulder gently. He’s been all smiles and flirty whispers in your ear since you left the bar, but he seems to take your reaction as a point of concern. “I can just take you home, if you changed your mind.” 

You shake your head. “That’s not it, I just…” 

Memories come back to you in flashes, striking somewhere deep in your gut. You, sitting at the piano, putting on a little performance for two boys your age when you ran away before college. Your shy blushes as they praised you, their kind touches against your skin, what happened afterwards… 

It’s the most erotic memory of your life. 

Just as soon as the memories surface, though, you swallow them down. That’s not important now, not tonight. 

“I’m actually staying in the house next door, and I’ve been in this house before,” you explain to San. You try to force your voice to sound chipper. “So you kinda surprised me! That’s all.” 

“What a coincidence,” San says, relief in his tone. He squeezes your shoulder. “I think all of us thought that house was abandoned, though.”

“No one’s been there in a while,” you admit, then ask, “wait, what do you mean, all of us? ” 

“I’m staying with some friends right now,” he tells you sheepishly, “but don’t worry, they’re chill, and I know a place that’s pretty private inside where they won’t hear us. C’mon.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “A private place, huh? I bet you I’m not the first person you’ve taken up there.” 

“You are the first, actually,” he smirks, before you can needle him on that, he leads you in. 

You don’t see a single glimpse of San’s friends inside the house, but the space is definitely lived-in. There are plates in the dishwasher, duffel bags on the floor, and, to your delight, music theory textbooks strewn across the coffee tables. You’ve been inside this house before, but it looks markedly different than when you were just out of high school, as if it were remodeled in the time you’ve spent away. 

Before you can see much else, San takes your hand and leads you up a winding staircase. You feel your knees wobble, but he’s there to guide you every step of the way, lifting you in his arms the second you reach the top of the stairs. 

He presses a hungry, needy kiss to your lips as he carries you through the threshold of what you presume is his room, closing the door with his hips. His lips are slick against your own, teasing a quiet, breathy moan out of your mouth as he sucks delicately on your tongue. 

“Such a pretty voice,” he marvels, which has you crumpling against him. 

Then he’s laying you down gently onto the mattress, slotting a knee in between your legs to part them. You’re embarrassed at how wet you already are, hours of flirty conversation winding you up more than you thought. Your fingers twitch along the hem of your own shirt, wanting to get a move on but not knowing how fast San wants to take things. 

“Feeling shy?” he asks, pulling away from you a little to take in the sight of you on his mattress. His hands dance at your clothed sides, sending more delicious shivers in their wake. “There’s no need to be, baby, but if you’re more comfortable, we can do this in the dark.” 

You shake your head. “No, that’s not it. I just… didn’t know how fast you wanted to take things tonight.” 

San huffs out a laugh. “Trust me, I’m okay with anything you’re okay with,” he says. His hand finds your hip, just under the hem of your shirt, and starts drawing little comforting circles against the side of your stomach. “You can take the reins. How do you want me?” 

Your eyes widen at his words. You can’t remember the last time you had even some semblance of control over the pace of sex. Maybe with previous partners, but not with your fiancé. 

In terms of a choice, you can imagine enjoying San doing any number of unspeakable things to you. His hands, from where they graze against your skin, seem practiced and deliberate. You remember the press of his cock against your shorts, too, which makes you feel a little weak in the knees, but most of all… 

Arousal floods inside of you at the idea of coming apart on his tongue. You haven’t been eaten out in ages — your fiancé always insisted on not doing it, which you agreed could be a boundary for you at the time — and you had to admit, you missed it. With San’s confidence, you thought he might be open to eating you out, so…  

“You look like you want something,” San notices, diving in to press a gentle, heated kiss at the corner of your mouth. His thumb rubs a little farther up your body this time, closer to the cup of your bra. “C’mon, tell me baby…” 

“Your tongue,” you whisper, scarcely audible. 

You can tell San hears it by the way his eyes light up, but his smirk is still teasing. 

“You’ve gotta ask me louder, I can’t hear you when you whisper like that.” 

You feel your cheeks go pink. How far was this teasing going to go? Did he want you to beg for it? Did… you like the idea of begging for it, for him? 

“Your tongue, please,” you say, a little louder this time, and then he’s surging back into you, crashing his lips into yours. 

He gets into position, then, between the apex of your thighs, and makes quick work of his shirt and pants. You can see his cock straining against his black boxer briefs, and you allow yourself a little pride in knowing that you did that to him. 

Before you can bask in that feeling, though, he’s dipping his hands under your shirt. 

“Only if you want,” he urges, but you’re pulling it off your body before he can finish. 

After, San unclips your bra, kneading your breasts softly in his hands before kissing at them. You feel yourself grow wetter as he swirls one nipple around his tongue, and then the other, letting you squirm into his touch until your hands find his bare shoulder, squeezing at them in warning. 

“I need you,” you tell him, all breath and want. 

He chuckles a little, lifting your ass gently to put a pillow underneath it, then helps you shimmy out of your jean shorts and underwear. He discards them with a careless fling across the room, his attention taken by your naked form. 

He traces the shape of your curves with his eyes and smiles appreciatively. You swat at his shoulder, feeling a little over exposed but not uncomfortable with it, and then you feel the laugh in your diaphragm melt into dripping desire. 

Then San attaches his lips to your cunt. 

You moan immediately at the contact — actually, it’s more of a low pitched scream, which embarrasses you to no end. San, however, just makes a pleased, intrigued noise against your slit. 

“My ex, ah, he never…” you start, by way of explanation. 

“Bullshit,” San groans into your pussy before you can explain. His tongue traces a titillating pattern up your slit, sending waves of pleasure down the length of your spine. “Fucker had such a pretty, sensitive pussy all to himself and did nothing about it.” 

You moan into the back of your hand, unable to stifle all of the ways he’s making you feel. The dirty talk, his tongue, his unabashed appreciation for your body, it’s almost too much. Your brain is swimming in pleasure, in San, and it strikes you just how lucky you are, that you ended up in bed with him tonight. He was the perfect person to distract you from the hell your life has turned into, and you can’t imagine getting any luckier than this. 

“Baby,” San whispers, his tongue zigzagging against your most sensitive spot. You’re squirming, now, writhing into his touch. “I’m going to put my fingers inside, is that okay?”

“ Please,” you say, a little louder than you intend. 

You’re rewarded with two slick fingers at your opening, pressing into your heat in a slow, gradual rhythm. You groan at the pressure, eyes rolling back as he takes his time with you, working you up to your peak. 

As soon as you spread your legs apart further, his tongue is back on your clit, sucking obscenely between praises of good girl and you take me so well against your most sensitive parts. You feel your orgasm nearing, your back arching to press your heat farther into his mouth. 

“I’m coming,” you cry out, unable to stop the wobble from your lips. “San, I’m coming, I’m—”

“That’s right,” he tells you, spitting onto your clit and rubbing hard and fast with another finger. The stimulation is so much, so good, and suddenly you’re coming with a cry of his name. 

You twitch in his bedsheets as he coaxes you through it, whispering little praises into your cunt. Eventually, when your aftershocks seem to end, he pulls his cock out of his boxers, pumping himself quickly and firmly. 

“San,” you plead, with big, watery eyes. He turns to you and you grab your tits with both hands, putting yourself on display for him. 

“On my chest, please,” you beg, and with a groan he’s shifting, fisting his cock over your breasts. 

He comes in seconds, spurting all over your chest, and you feel yourself flush at the speed of it all — between meeting him, talking and drinking with him, coming back to this house, and ending up on his mattress, you’ve kind of sped through the steps to getting to know each other. But everything feels so good, so right, so different from what you had with your ex. In just a few short hours, San valued you more than your ex fiancé had shown you in years. 

The thought brings a complicated feeling to your gut. But more than anything, you feel spent. You know it’s risky, but you decide to take the chance. You just feel so safe with San, unquestionably so. 

So you fall into a blissful, dreamless sleep in San’s bed. You’re sleeping when he leaves for the bathroom, coming back moments later with a warm washcloth that he washes your chest and intimate parts off with. 

He envelops you in his arms, both of you snoring softly, unaware of what surprises you’d both be met with when you wake up the next morning. 

[epitomereally]

Celestial Navigation by @sabrecmc

18 year old Omega!Tony finds himself Bonded to Captain Steve Rogers. He isn't happy about it until he is.

An absolutely gorgeous story of learning to love yourself, even when you feel like you don't fit in & that you grew up wrong. I'm so happy to have gotten to bind this mammoth work for Sabre & as a gift exchange for @mourningmountainsbindery (who bound me this beautiful copy of Astolat's Let the River Run—JUST LOOK AT THAT COVER!).

Also to anyone who has @ed me lately (looking at u, em @powerful-owl & tacky @tackytigerfic particularly) & I've been derelict in responding, here is WHY.

This has been the longest binding project I've undertaken, both in page count and in time. My original message to Sabre was on March 16th—can't decide if I want to use the laughing or crying emoji here—and the colophon says I made the book in April 2023 (which was when I started typesetting, maybe). I had been randomly perusing dying videos on Youtube in bed on a Saturday morning, as one does, and came across a video showing how to spiral tie-dye. I IMMEDIATELY had a design premonition of the full design for this fic as a two-volume set, planted into my brain wholesale by the binding gods. I learned many new techniques throughout the process (edge painting, edge trimming/sanding, tie-dying/dyepainting, embroidery, typesetting meta from tumblr which copy-pastes with the worst goddamn formatting in the world, kill me now). Overall, alternately extremely painful & wonderful, and I'm extremely proud of this set.

Design-wise, I went whole-hog with the scifi stars theme. Endpapers are recolored versions of the star charts from the Apollo 11 mission:

Title page & chapter titles are both rips in the galaxy:

Epigraphs both star-themed:

Some more glamor shots because I'm so proud 💕

8.6 lbs // 3.8 kgs worth of books (~3000 total pages) 🥰

Celestial Navigation is also INCREDIBLY popular, and Sabre has been incredibly generous answering asks on her tumblr + writing additional one-shots in the universe. There is also a veritable volume of fanart. I was so inspired by seeing @robins-egg-bindery copy of ********, with its appendix of fanart & meta, that I promptly copied them.

fanart redacted because lots of the artists are no longer active on tumblr but just know i am ECSTATIC about the amount of art in these books

Lastly, I love how @clovenhoofbindery includes their 'Illustrator mess' with their bind posts, as a behind-the-scenes look into the wild process of designing these books. I don't actually have an Illustrator mess for this book (the chapter titles & title page pretty much came in one take), but I do have a DYING MESS. It took me sososo many tries to figure out how to get the dye to look how I imagined in my head. I ended up 'dye painting' instead of tie-dying in the end, but my inbox is always open to chat hand-dying/tie-dying/dyepainting (or what I did differently between any of these attempts). Numbers are the dying attempt.

Last process shot: I hand-dyed variegated linen thread to match the colors of the bind, which ends up being incredibly difficult to see on the finished bind, but was super fun while I was sewing!

Materials:

Body font: Kepler

Title font: Compaq 1982

Chapter number font: aliens & cows

Endpapers: recolored versions of the star chart used by Michael Collins during the Apollo 11 mission (archived at The Smithsonian)

Bookcloth: dyed using Dharma Trading Procion Fiber-Reactive Dyes

Title page and chapter headers: designed in Photoshop using the Ultimate Space brush pack by jeffrettalyn on DeviantArt

Metallic embroidery thread: Cosmo Nishikiito thread

I would dye for this embroidery thread. It is LIGHT YEARS better than the classic metallic embroidery thread from DMC: much easier to work with & much more sparkly. Literally so eye-catching; it truly doesn't translate to photos.

Paint for edges: Daniel Smith watercolor tubes in Iridescent Sunstone and Prussian Blue

Note: these are GORGEOUS watercolors. The color is so saturated and strong and beautiful BUT I don't think I'd recommend watercolors for edge painting. They went on very differently depending on the grit of the sandpaper I used for the edges + they sometimes bled into the pages + they had to be set with fixative, which then stuck the pages together.

[saturniandragon]

Adra's Project Wingman In-Depth Review: Per Mission Experience and Commentary

(Caution: extremely long read. Please have snacks ready)

Project Wingman! Or so I've heard it more described as "a love letter to the Ace Combat franchise." Another arcade flight action shooter game similar to Ace Combat, and if I remember rightly, designed and developed by Ace Combat fans. Again I've spent years and years avoiding spoilers, although inevitably I began hearing a few things about it; it's like Ace Combat, it's set in alternate history, you can carry up to 4(!) different types of ordnance, and it's orange. So I guess like NFS Most Wanted (2005). Like Ace Combat 7 of course, I'm playing with my Xbox controller.

Which brings me to the first... quirk of the game. The menu interface. You control a cursor on the screen with your left thumbstick, and you have to carefully position it to the menu buttons that you want to access. The left thumbstick doesn't cycle through the menu buttons, you have to control a cursor with your joystick. Which I find to be a little on the negative side and I decided to just use my mouse to navigate the menu. Makes me wonder if this is a side effect of Project Wingman being developed as a PC game first and console second.

The last time I was met with this kind of UI controls was in the 2019 game "Observation."

However I am very impressed that the menu background isn't just a static image or a repeated video. It looks like a real time 3D rendered scene with planes flying above the treeline. Also what looks like a massive airship or a mothership trailing slowly across the sky. My hype level is up by 3 notches. I can't wait to start playing.

No fancy animation or a CGI video as the intro. Just a text that briefly tells the story about the game's world. Very much like David Szymanski's "Iron Lung" game. Seeing Sector D2 is not a massive game studio and just an indie developer, it's perfectly fine. And what I learned is that Project Wingman's universe is alternate history Earth that experienced some kind of massive natural disaster or calamity that changed the world forever, and new nations start to rise from the ashes. The game takes place 400 years after the event.

First briefing screen. Wow this orange tint really reminds me of Ace Combat Zero briefing screen. And I can also see the map of the Project Wingman world in the background. The continent of America has changed, not dramatically, you can see the general shape of the continent, but the west shoreline has practically split off from the rest of the continent. And a glimpse of what used to be Japan, China, Philippines and Indonesia, now reduced to just a few main islands, presumably the remains of the cataclysm mentioned earlier.

Apparently our protag is a mercenary pilot who goes by the name Monarch (as in monarch butterfly, I assume), who is a part of Hitman team, under the mercenary organization known as Sicario. And our client is the Federation? Is that a country, or a union like the one in COD Ghosts? Either way it brings me back to Cipher and Pixy, who were also merc pilots. In PW, apparently we're fighting a group of pirate pilots.

First mission, destroy some kind of research material that was deemed unsafe and fell into a group of merc pirates. A few ground targets, ships, and a few air targets. Alright, no big deal. My Ace Combat experience is more than enough for this.

I'm actually impressed with the voice acting. I've heard how difficult it is to voice act in a game or a movie that doesn't sound too cringey or too monotone. The guy doing the briefing actually does sound like he's done it probably a thousand times. I wonder if they hired a professional VA or just someone from the internal dev team.

Plane hangar. They give you 2 starter planes to choose. A T-21 (apparently a trainer plane that resembles MiG-21), and T/F-4 (a trainer plane that resembles F-4). I was going to use the Fishbed but the Phantom has slightly better stats, even though I'm bored with Phantoms, so I chose it. UGBL as secondary weapon, pretty standard.

First flight. Operation Red Current. AWACS Galaxy on station and OH MY GOD I HAVE A WIZZO. AND SHE HAS DIALOGUE LINES. The last time I had a wizzo was Ace Combat 2, but he just had generic repeating dialogues like missile lock/alert and stall warning. Your plane does form vapor clouds at Mach 1, something missing from AC7, so I loved that. Once again, for a small dev team, the voice acting is well done.

First set of ground TGTs clear. Ronin moving in. "Cordium" cargo? Never heard that before. They say it's too unstable, Federation orders to just clear it BOOM. MASSIVE EXPLOSION like an FAEB just went off. Mission complete, question mark? Another flight called Master Goose comes in the AO, flashing as friendlies. I don't really trust this but hey, I'm just a merc, not paid to ask questions.

If they turn out to be a fake squadron like the 8492nd, I'm gonna be... Well I don't know what I'm gonna be.

And there's a civil war in the Americas. Country of Cascadia being invaded by the Fed for natural resources. Our client is Cascadian Air Force now I guess. Is this like Belka trying to annex Ustio in AC0?

You know what, I'm too excited to have a wizzo. I'm gonna get another Phantom that isn't a Phantom (F/E-4). Big surprise, all of the SP weapons are available for use right away, no need to buy them separately. I like this game already.

Can I just say the explosions in PW from STDMs are so dramatic. Way more dramatic than AC7, it's like they hired Michael Bay. Not a bad thing though, it's giving PW identity. So it's not just a "Ace Combat we have at home"

Mission 2, all going well, fighting Fed border patrols until a massive airship came practically out of nowhere. At least this one doesn't have drones, just SK.27s and F/C-15s. A couple MLAAs later and it's down, but then no explanation as to what we just shot down. Oh well, at least we're with Cascadian AF now.

Mission 3. Rowsdower AFB. Once belonged to Cascadia now seized by the Fed on their conquest to expand their military (ala Belka), we're on a mission to take it back. Ooh, new aircraft for purchase. SV-37. I genuinely thought I unlocked a Flanker early in the game but it's just the Swedish dorito (Viggen). And it has MLAGs, if MLAA is Multi Lock Air to Air then I guess MLAG is this game's version of 4AGM. Only single seat though, I still want to hear more of Prez's dialogues. Maybe later.

Crosstalk squadron appeared, 5 Super Hornets. Grun Squadron flashbacks from Zero, anyone? Oooooh there's a health bar on the bottom of the screen for each enemy craft. I loved it. Wasn't much hassle fighting them, and we landed in Rowsdower.

Honestly I'm kind of impressed that as a band of pilot mercs, we have our own AWACS. Anyway next mission, aid Cascadian national guards from being overwhelmed by the Feds.

Two new aircrafts. CR.105 and SK.25U. I thought CR.105 is a Foxbat at first but it's delta wing design with no canards or tail surfaces. But its speed rating is off the rails, so I guess partly inspired by the Foxbat.

I'm buying SK.25U for Mission 4. Two seats and a boat load of A2G hardpoints. I sure hope there isn't any mission update where we suddenly have to fight an entire air force! (Thank fuck there isn't)

Really this game has the Frogfoot when Ace Combat 7 doesn't? Come on PA.

Next mission, Cascadian capital of Presidia. The Feds have taken over the city. Cover retreat of Cascadian armed forces. Multirole mission with tendency towards A2A. MG-31 and F/C-16 now available for purchase. Not sure if I trust a flying brick with wings for this mission, so Viper time. Guess I have to leave out Prez for this one.

Mission 5, over Presidia. WOW THIS CITY IS SO COOL with all the low hanging clouds. Though what's with all the needle towers/structures all over the city?

Thought we were done but the Feds sent out not just one or two other massive airships but FIVE of them to try and keep Presidia in their hands. I thought I shot all of them down but Mission Over text?? Did I fail??

Debriefing says Status: Success but Stardust said Presidia fell anyway. I guess it's supposed to be that way.

So far into this game, I'm developing the sense that Project Wingman is largely inspired by the classic PS2 AC titles (aka The Holy Trinity), I guess more towards Zero. The orange tint, no checkpoint system, the absence of aircraft tree, aircraft parts, merc pilot protagonist, but they also incorporate some modern QoL features like flares.

I think I would appreciate something present in AC but not present in PW; lock range indicator. You know the HUD in AC, just to right side of the pitch ladder, is a slider with a chevron that indicates the distance required for your ordnance to lock.

Mission 6, attack the Feds from the other front by crippling their energy production sites at Apodock Fracture, apparently in Yellowstone. Also they've been hunting for some material called cordium? Is that what caused the massive explosion in the first mission?

Two new aircrafts, Super Tomcat and Fulcrum! Two of my favorite aircrafts. But I had to choose the Tomcat because I miss Prez (cmon man I've been all alone in Ace Combat for years). Fucking hell it's expensive though. Better be worth it.

Yep they're hunting for cordium. We're ordered to destroy their containers. Fucking hell the SAMs in this mission are fierce, I got hit 3 times and was down to 23 health. And two more of those fucking Fed airships?? Just how many of these things are there??

Alright, mission completed. Almost. New blips on the radar, VX-23s and SK.37s. Federation Peacekeepers. Engagement Not Advised written in large text on my screen. I hammered the throttle and fly just meters away above the ground to avoid missiles and head to the return line. Reminiscent of the first time you face Yellow Squadron in AC04.

Crimson Squadron. Fed's top ace in Cascadia.

(I learned late that you have infinite flares in this game)

Mission 7. Cascadian Coast Guard seized a Fed battleship/cruiser off the coast of Cascadia. Just me and Hitman 3 this time. We're to provide air support although I kinda don't want to fly the SK.25U just to have its LASM. New aircraft for purchase called the... Accipiter. Whatever the hell that means. Apparently based on the Harrier. Not enough cash to purchase. Back to the Tomcat.

Think I forgot to read the weather report for this mission because it's stormy as fuck and the clouds are violent. I'm not sure who has the bigger balls to fly through such extreme turbulence, me or Monarch. It's actually very scary from cockpit view, everything shaking up around you and you hear the creeking and clanking from the plane's aluminum panels like they're going to break off at any moment. Oh well it's just an anti ship mission with a couple of air targets THE FED SHIPS HAVE RAILGUNS ON THEM WHY AM I FIGHTING MINI STONEHENGE AT SEA

Ok that's over now. New mission that's purely air to air mission. Take down Fed logistic planes while also avoiding shooting down civilian airliners. Weather cloudy. Two new aircrafts, Super Hornet-C and Flanker-B. But I'm still having way too much fun in my F/D-14.

Also I just learned that the seemingly random clicking noises when I'm flying is just a noise indicator of my missiles fully reloaded.

Mission 8, Briggs Mountain Range. Wait why is that civilian airliner the same as the Fed airship that I've downed multiple times before?

Doesn't matter. STDMs, HVSMs and MLAAs. One by one shooting down Fed Globemasters. Conservative with MLAA use because I totally didn't restart this mission because I accidentally shot down a civilian airliner. Then the true airship arrives. Airship Gladeus with two F/S-15s. The fucking AAM pods on the Gladeus are a nightmare to hit tbh, but mission done. More importantly no civilian casualties.

But I begin wondering, is there like multiple paths in this game like Ace Combat Zero? Like Knight, Soldier and Merc paths that are determined by whether you shoot N.TGTs or not. That's my goal for my second playthrough.

Mission 9. Raver mountains. Covert mission to take out SAM sites so we can push without losing planes. F/C-15 is now available for purchase.

But you know what, let's take the Accipiter for a spin. What was the last Ace Combat game that lets you fly a Harrier? None. Well, Assault Horizon, but that's not a true AC game. Woah, what is this, CGP? A shotgun gun pod?? Flechette rounds?? I don't fucking know how it works but I wanna try that shit out.

Alright, near CIWS units. Time to try CGPs, and... it's disappointing. Although I think my expectations were a bit too high. Well at least they didn't lie about it being a short range weapon.

And of course I did the tunnel runs in this place to destroy the containers. I'm an Ace Combat vet after all, tunnel runs are my bread and butter.

Mission 10, now the real deal. Solana Comms Array and the adjacent airbase... without Cascadian air force to help us. It's alright I guess, Monarch is already a one man army as he is. Or one man air force.

But I'm this far into the game and I still haven't found Project Wingman's equivalent of QAAMs. Maybe there will be a "HASM" (High Agility Standard Missile) or something. I guess it's time to try the Eagle for a spin.

And my thoughts? So worth buying the Eagle. Missed out on Prez, but when you attach second and third slots with MLAAs, you get 6AAMs in game. Awesome stuff. Fed is crumbling.

Mission 11, Bering Strait. Another purely A2A mission. The most expansive A2A battle ever committed, he says? We'll see to that WHOAA THIS IS LIKE THE MAYHEM MISSION FROM ACE COMBAT ZERO ON STEROIDS

And of course Crimson squadron shows up with a fuck ton of reinforcements. Totally reminding me of Schwarze squadron battle. But I'm not going down without a fight.

55 fighters, 3 SK.37s and 2 VX-23s downed by one humble F/D-14. I tried getting a close look at a VX-23 but couldn't make out what it resembles. My best guess is that it's probably something like Chengdu J-20 but couldn't see the fine details. Is there like a PSM mechanic in this game because those guys were pulling 90 Gs every now and then

Feds have issued retreat. Crimson 1 insists on staying, Crystal Kingdom order stands. Eventually Crimson obeys, and retreats the whole squadron.

If anything Ace Combat or movies have taught me, I predict Crimson is going to go berserk within the Feds. He's gonna think the Fed is too weak and just holding him back, he's gonna take Federation's most outrageous aircraft and weapon and use them to set a personal score with Monarch. I'm calling it.

I love Prez's reaction after Crimson retreated. Like yeah bitch, you better fucking run! I love her.

Alright, mission 12. Feds is absolutely crumbling after their airforce got decimated by Hitman. Multirole mission with heavy tendency towards A2A. Something about oil rigs facilities at sea.

It's railguns again, the same one that Fed ships were firing at me on previous mission with the Eminent Domain. Hitman 3 said something, why is this rig more heavily guarded than the comms array?

Mission update came up. Unknown target marked on my HUD, but I'm not firing yet. I fly close to the unknown to try get a visual but it's too damn dark to see anything, even with gibbous moon. Then something happened.

"Project Wingman is away."

What the fuck is that?? Project Wingman?? Something rapid just took off from one of the oil rigs. It's way too dark on my screen to see whatever it is, but it's roughly triangular AND IT'S SHOOTING RAILGUNS BACKWARDS AT ME WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS THIS THING

Apparently piloted by another merc named Frost? Monarch shot it down with HISMs and STDMs. Frost ejected but said something about releasing data pod. I suspect this is a Federation superweapon undergoing research. That will explain the amount of AA defenses all around it although of course the game's debriefing doesn't tell me anything.

Mission 13. There's a new Fed superweapon, an airship fleet by the name of Task Force 1. It's resting in a port, we're to destroy it before it's unleashing hell, I suspect. Although something about Kingdom of Sawaiiki, one of Fed's states, will probably get in the way.

Maybe I should expect neutral/N.TGTs.

Two new aircrafts. F/S-15 and... what the hell is this? "Chimera"? At the front it resembles Su-57 nose, but the way the wing blends into the body is a bit like F-16XL's cranked delta wing, and it also has a V tail like YF-23 (maybe that's why it's called Chimera). And it's 285k to purchase, I don't even have 100k credits. Why is this available to purchase right now?

Whichever the case I can't buy either of them. I'm going with the F/C-15, I'm gonna need its MLAG.

I think this mission is where the game can do with some optimization, because my frame rate was down from 80+ to 40 near the docks where there are a fuck ton of targets. But I don't want to compare this to Ace Combat 7 because this is a game from an indie developer. I'm sure they did what they could for optimization, and I'm not gonna blame them.

Mission itself was pretty standard. Nothing super interesting although the part where Hitman 2 had to radio out a long announcement to Kingdom of Sawaiiki that we have no beef with them, and telling Galaxy afterwards that it costs "2 bucks per word" is pretty funny. I love these conversations.

Mission 14. Grimwood coast, provide CAS for ground troops and prevent Feds from regrouping. But expect bad visibility he says from the forest fire nearby. I'm gonna gamble and take the SK.25U.

Oh shit, I guess we're working with firefighters as well now. I hope I don't have to protect them at some point because I'm essentially flying a tank. That has 40mm/65mm HE ammo for its main gun.

I forgot to say but the MLAGs in this game are phenomenal. The multilock ability of a 4AGM and the range of an LAGM? Slow reload speed but I'm sold. Who needs an A-10 anyway right

Feds in Grimwood have surrendered. They burned the forests for nothing. Also I keep hearing allies calling Monarch "The Crown" now, and in earlier sorties I also hear something along the lines of "how dare you take the name of a king as your own", "not all kings are just."

I'm developing the feeling that this game is fantasy medieval action adventure but with jets and airships instead of swords and magic. No hard feelings on that, I'm a huge fan of The Elder Scrolls series. So I'm looking forward to see how much this game plays into the mythological/medieval theme. Maybe like Ace Combat Zero, with how Cipher and Pixy did the aerial equivalent of jousting? We'll see.

Also there's this level of detail and touch of realism, that I think has never been done in Ace Combat before. When an enemy jet whizzes past you above Mach 1, you can actually hear the sonic boom from their wake. That's awesome.

Mission 15, Cascadian city of Prospero, the largest trade center apparently. Get rid of its air superiority elements and secure the airport. SK.37 is now available for purchase, yet I'm still under the required price for it.

I do have to comment on the way planes are painted in PW, or at least the default skins that you use. It's like plastidipped or cerakoted or something, like how guns are these days. Nothing really spells practical camouflage/camo pattern. But hey, maybe that's just how Monarch wants to look in the skies.

Liberate Prospero they say but they didn't say the Feds would be so desperate that they would LAUNCH 50 NUCLEAR CRUISE MISSILES JUST TO PREVENT CASCADIA FROM GETTING TO PROSPERO. THEY JUST BELKAN'D THE SHIT OUT OF THIS CITY. DID THEY JUST OPEN UP A VOLCANO FROM THE GROUND?

Hitman 3 just said Calamity. Is this what happened 400 years ago before the events of this game?

Fucking hell.

Mission 16, instant continuation from previous flight. Only me, Prez, Diplomat, Comic and Galaxy now. No idea if anyone else is alive. Flew over Rowsdower, no response.

Fuck, new blips on radar. It's the merc Frost from earlier. AND MASTER GOOSE FROM MISSION 1. I FUCKING KNEW THEY SHOWED UP TOO CONVENIENTLY

"You fired up? Come shoot me down." Yeah bitch I'll shoot you down in that fancy bitchass superplane you're flying. And don't you dare copy my boy Pixy's line from Ace Combat Zero.

(Just kidding, I love the devs for having her voice actor say that)

Fucking hell, I thought a swarm of MQ-101 drones was bad, but I never thought I'd be on the receiving end of an ADMM where each individual missile is a QAAM.

Stardust again. Contract to fulfill you say? Fuck you man, there's nothing else out there now. Everyone's got our number, even Diplomat and Comic's real name. Sicario is only 4 man band now, 5 if you count Prez.

Kaiser seems convinced after Stardust offered something to us. Whatever that is. Meanwhile I guess we're regrouping on an abandoned highway as a makeshift base.

2 months later.

Mission 17. Brite Fortress. One of the safe havens outside the whatever the fuck is happening out there.

I sold my Harrier to get some cash back. I'm done with the Super Tomcat. It's time for SK.37. It's only got AA hardpoints but I need to fly something else. Oh and an MGP. I've never used MGP in Ace Combat before but I'm gonna try this one.

Woah, what is this? AOA limiter? Replaces flares? Doesn't say what it is.

Alright, Brite Fortress. Railguns and airships as usual. At this point I've been desensitized to them, because I learn that the Feds is just Belka/Erusea hybrid. As in, a superweapon maniac.

Aw shit, they have a massive tank/train/land cruiser. This thing doesn't have any A2G weapons, but it has MGP. 4 of them. And AOA limiter, more like AOA unlimiter. Let's you pull off PSM-esque move while holding down L3 and turning sharp. I like it though, it replaces your flares but it doesn't restrict you to low speeds and a complicated QTE like Ace Combat 7, and you can perform it anytime as long as the indicator is ready.

Mission 18. Aw shit, we're back to Prospero now? I really don't want to.

Yeah, figured. Crimson showed up again. VX-23s and SK.37s again. But now I can at least match their crazy AOA maneuvers.

My first try I nailed AOA limiter module pretty quickly. If used right it's essentially a "teleport to enemy's 6" button. Well I didn't use it right. Got shot down.

My second try. If Crimson is calling it personal then so will I. I will spam this AOA limiter if I have to. Even Diplomat is absolutely fed up with Crimson's shit, telling him to shut the fuck up and turning off his radio. Learned that, other than spamming AOA, you have to firewall the throttle, make sure your speed never goes below Mach 1 even when turning. Got hit by a missile once, but this time I downed them. All 8 of them.

Crimson laughing maniacally on the radio as his plane falls. What a waste of pilot, Comic, I agree. But I'm feeling that won't be the last.

Mission 19, back to Presidia. Take out Federation's naval force.

VX-23 is now available for purchase. It is like Chengdu J-20/Lockheed F-22 hybrid. Well, more like F-22 with the wings swapped positions. Can't buy this one either even if I sell my SK.37. And I love this thing already because of its AOA limiter.

Naval force destroyed. Presidia is next.

Mission 20. Now I could really sell my SK.37 now to get the VX-23, I wonder if I should do that...

Fuck it. Yolo.

Presidia is liberated. Feds are surrendering. War is over. And then...

"KINGS"

....

No.

No, Sector D2. Please, don't.

Don't make Crimson 1 pull a Pixy on me for the ultimate mission.

I called it earlier. He's gone off the rails. He took the Fed's superplane and nuked everyone in Presidia with it except Monarch. Probably intentionally, to set a personal score with me.

But I'm not scared. Well, until he fired railguns on all directions, launched Project Wingman's equivalent of ADMM, and released force fields ala Arsenal Bird/Alicorn. When I thought this game would be like Ace Combat, I didn't think it would be "Ace Combat, but 150% more fucked up."

I employed the similar strat from before. Lock the third person camera at his plane, firewall the throttle up to Mach 2 and spam the AOA limiter. He's got 3 health bars in that superplane that's probably powered by cordium. If previous missions didn't emphasize on how orange this game is, well, this final showdown does.

Everything is orange. The skies, the ground, the sun, the missiles, the railgun trails, my HUD, half the time I couldn't tell if my missiles hit him or not because my interface was loaded with directional missile proximity indicators. Thank fuck the health bar is still perfectly readable.

"You signed this deal a long time ago." WELL I DIDN'T SIGN UP TO FIGHT YOU SPECIFICALLY NOW DID I. But you've decided that it's personal so bitch, COME THE FUCK AT ME.

"I'm Cascadian. You think I take joy in killing my own countrymen?" SO WHY THE FUCK DID YOU DO IT IN THE FIRST PLACE. YOU LET YOUR OWN PRIDE CONSUME YOU AND THOUGHT THEY'RE ACCEPTABLE LOSSES IN YOUR OWN PERSONAL BEEF WITH ME. FUCK YOU.

I danced with him in the skies for probably a good 15 to 20 minutes just trying to land one or two hits on him. A deadly aerial dance that involves jet fuel, multi lock missiles and nuclear railguns.

Three health bars depleted. My camera is still locked onto his PW.MK1.

"No, not yet..."

Then all my HUD element disappears.

He's not dead yet. Two health bars now on the bottom of the screen, one for Hitman 1 and one for Crimson 1. Fuck, I have to fight him again. I grazed my VX-23 on the railgun trail and took some damage. But I still have my wings. I can still fly.

Another 10 minutes of fighting. I'm gonna fucking joust him now like Pixy. Dozens of STDMs, hundreds of railgun projectiles and thousands of 20mm Vulcan rounds.

His last health bar is depleted.

...

But my camera is still locked onto his plane. The corpse of his PW.MK1 flailing through the clouds and trailing flames.

Why am I not seeing a chute?!

"Monarch..."

God damn it, Crimson, eject! Eject now!

"When you hear the thunder..."

There's no time for speeches, damn it! Eject!

"When the storm comes for you..."

Dying will not solve anything! Fucking punch out, god damn it!

"Remember me."

...

But he was a fighter pilot to the end.

Remember him, Monarch.

Because it's just you left.

No one else. No Prez, Galaxy, Diplomat, Comic,

It's just you.

As a final send off, I leveled out my VX-23 to the horizon, pointing towards the sun, and fly off into the distance.

Contract completed.

---

Project Wingman, completed. Wow. What a game.

The story, the gameplay, the graphics, the sounds, voices, visuals, everything.

I can tell it's all been made with passion and love. And it really is... a love letter to the Ace Combat franchise.

It may as well be an Ace Combat game on its own.

I never mentioned it, but the OST is also phenomenal. Especially on Mission 11. On par with Ace Combat. Maybe even better, for an indie game. Especially the credit song, the leitmotif that's been playing throughout the game since Presidia. I'm calling it Monarch's theme.

Wow, just wow. I nearly shed a tear.

You know I once read a quote, I don't remember if it was from this game or something else, but

War doesn't decide who is right.

Only who is left.

10/10. Phenomenal game. Sector D2, you are legends. Absolute fucking legends, you hear?

There are so many people backing this game on Kickstarter, on the order of hundreds. Maybe thousands. All their names are in the credits.

And it was all so worth the money you all have invested in the development of Project Wingman.

And for me, it was worth the money I spent on buying this game.

Enjoy your victory while it lasts, Monarch.

You may not have a throne, or anything left in your world.

But you are the king.

As for me, I'm gonna play the game again and try to understand the lore better. It seems that I have a tendency to hyperfocus on the task/quest/gameplay at hand. Probably gonna turn down the bgm and sfx a little bit so I can hear dialogues better.

[shintin]

Gunpowder Dreams

Chapter 10 (Plan)

↳ Vash the Stampede x Female Reader

They didn't know a wounded man would show no mercy when they took the best thing he ever had away from him. What did they say? Don't poke the dragon if you can't take the heat; if you do, expect the flames.

Genre: explicit smut, toxic relation, romance, angst (Mafia au).

Warnings/Tags: +18, NSFW, Alternative Universe/Modern Setting, no spoilers from manga and anime, dominate Vash the Stampede, sexual situations, dub-con, graphic violence, gore, angst, toxicity, gunplay, manhandling, cunnilingus + fellatio, creampie, fingering, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, too many smut scenes, emotional trauma, and etc.

Song Recommendation: Arctic Monkeys - Do I Wanna Know?

Note: Sorry for the delayed update. Unexpected events in life took place. I hope with this smut chapter, I can earn your forgiveness.

Chapter Index - Next Chapter

The darkness suffocated you; unsettling dreams bled all over your mind and prevented you from finding rest. You only had your dreams to give you peace, but now they had vanished, leaving you unsure how to get them back.

All you saw when you closed your eyes was Knives.

You kept getting cut over and over and over, with a knife in his hand, and Vash shot his brother in the leg and outside, the wind sang, but its high-pitched and off-key melody made it difficult for you to ask it to stop. The blood on your skin drained the warmth from your veins, leaving you freezing. The floor beneath you seemed to engulf you as you lay on your back. You could taste the clotted blood in your mouth, throat, and heart.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Yet another delightful adventure in the land of perpetual misfortune.

With a sigh, you turned in bed, your eyes adjusted to the darkness, and when you blinked, you realized the leather couch in front of the windows was empty, with rumpled sheets tossed aside. Despite the house having millions of rooms, he chose to sleep on the couch. You weren't sure why he kept you in his room or why he preferred the sofa over another room. You didn't seek answers or dwell on it. Having him in the room brought comfort, but he was absent right now.

Once again, a sigh came out of your lips.

Being in Vash's presence was like a rollercoaster ride. He was so used to solitude that each day spent with him brought new revelations. These discoveries weren't entirely negative; in fact, most of what you learned about him was endearing and harmless.

Just last week, you stumbled upon him in his office, listening to vintage vinyl records. While you had seen his collection of records before, stacked high alongside old books and artwork, but seeing him simply sitting and listening to the music was a new experience altogether.

He didn't even notice your presence when you walked in that day. He sat completely motionless, staring at the wall, and you later realized he was listening to a Johnny Cash record. You discovered this when you peeked into his office hours after he had already left.

Your curiosity got the best of you as you couldn't help but wonder why Vash kept resetting the needle to listen to that one particular record. You were determined to find out which song it was, and it turned out to be a tune called "You're My Sunshine."

You had yet to share with him what you had witnessed that day, as you didn't want to disturb his comfort in his own space. However, some of you wanted to unravel his past, uncover both the good and bad aspects, and lay bare all the secrets so you could be done with it because you believed your imagination posed a greater threat than any of his hidden truths.

But you were not sure how to make that happen. He wasn't exactly known for his communication skills.

The previous night, you had feigned sleep as you watched him enter the room, cautiously lighting a small lampshade to avoid waking you up. He silently took a seat at the table, unloading his firearm and arranging the golden bullets on a cloth. He leaned over and cracked open the window slightly, hoping to dissipate the scent of gunpowder, but the bold wind had other plans. It audaciously swept in and playfully tousled his golden locks, eliciting a bittersweet smile from you that carried a tinge of pain. Yes, even smiling hurt. But witnessing him find solace was a rarity; now, you were fortunate enough to experience it twice.

With a revolver clutched in his gloved hand, he diligently used a bore snake to clean the barrel. You recognized the process because, when your father still had remnants of his humanity, he had taught you how to assist him in maintaining his firearm. However, you were only a child back then, unaware that cleaning the gun meant he had likely used it to take someone's life.

Men and their guns. They all use them for destruction, and the man before you had even used it to make you—

As the old memory resurfaced, a blend of anger and shameful emotions welled up, stinging the back of your eyes. You closed your eyes tightly, unwilling to witness Vash's sinful ritual any longer.

As you glanced around the dim room, your sleep-riddled eyes scanned from the couch to the shadows cast by the furniture. The filtered sunlight seeping through the covered windows faintly illuminated the space. Amidst the shadows, a phantom-like silhouette took shape that wasn't there, with light blond hair, chilling green eyes, and a mole beneath the right eye—a vicious ghost.

Your grandmother used to say that if you dwell on the thought of the devil long enough, he will appear at your doorstep.

The floorboards made a creaking sound to your right, seemingly originating from somewhere in the bedroom. Your head swiftly turned in that direction, and you took a sudden, sharp breath. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end like a frightened dog backed into a corner. You held your breath, being cautious not to make any noise in case the sound repeated. Silence enveloped the room, an eerie stillness. Your fingers tightly gripped the duvet on your lap as your heart raced faster.

There was an intruder in the room. But how? How the fuck did Knives manage to evade the guards again?

After another creak, a distinct footstep echoed through the room. You cautiously rose from the bed, but as you stood up, a wave of dizziness nearly caused you to fall. You managed to grab onto the side of the bed, trying to steady your spinning head.

You made your way over slowly, masking the nausea coursing through your body. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, breaths coming in quick succession. With measured steps, you pressed your back against the cold wall. Despite your attempts, a trembling breath managed to escape. Your chest heaved as you took rapid, shallow breaths while the echoing footsteps reverberated from an unfamiliar location.

You stood frozen, your back melding into the wall as if you were one with it, rendering you immobile and unable to hide. However, you refused to become a victim once more. Determined, you knew you had to find a sharp object. With urgency, you sprinted towards the wooden nightstand by the bed, frantically rummaging through the drawers in search of a knife, a gun, or any means of defense.

But you suddenly stopped.

One of the drawers contained a collection of origami made from napkins, which you had previously crafted. It struck you as odd that Vash had kept these seemingly insignificant origami pieces while discarding the plates he used to bring you donuts.

With hands trembling, you shut the drawer and turned your attention elsewhere in search of a weapon. However, in your state of unease, you accidentally collided head-on with something solid.

Something human.

Male.

You heard him sharply inhale, felt his hands stabilize your body, and sensed the blood draining from your face, leaving you weak and lightheaded.

"Vash," you exclaimed, struggling to catch your breath. You went through the familiar motions, just as you always did. Your heart skipped a beat, then raced uncontrollably, your breath became shallow, and your palms grew sweaty. No matter how many times you encountered him, he consistently evoked the same response from you: a mix of fear and excitement. You couldn't quite explain why it excited you.

Something had to be amiss with you. It wasn't ordinary for fiery warmth to surge through your veins in such conditions, leaving a tingle in its wake.

He refused to release his grip on you. You could hear the rapid, forceful thumping of his heart in the quiet space between you. He remained incredibly still and tense as if he were struggling to maintain control over his own body.

Your heart was giving out. "It was you—"

"What are you searching for?" he whispered, his words strained as if he struggled to breathe. His eyes, an unusual shade of blue, captured your attention even in the darkness—they were stunning, crystal clear, and had a penetrating quality that was somewhat unsettling. His hair was thick, a lustrous hue of gold, and his physique appeared slender and unassuming, yet his grip conveyed effortless strength.

"I thought someone was in the—" you trailed off, abruptly stopping your words. Vash stood before you, clad in nothing but a towel. A TOWEL! The embarrassment swept over you, and you wished you could simply disappear, perhaps even roll under the bed to avoid the awkwardness.

The voice you heard came from him. He had just stepped out of the shower, appearing as if he had hurriedly done so because of you. Water droplets cascaded from the tips of his hair onto his shoulder blades, trickling down towards his chest and well-defined abdominal muscles.

Vash maintained a deliberately neutral expression, his voice unaffected as he assured, "He won't return to this house again."

For a brief moment, it was hard to fathom that you were still standing there, gazing at Vash, who was wearing nothing but a towel. It wasn't easy to take the situation, or even yourself, seriously.

"You kept those origamis."

There it was. A flash of anger. In and out. Vash's eyes flickered with intensity, then settled. He shifted his gaze towards the wall, remaining silent for a moment. "Yes," he murmured, his voice calm and composed.

"I didn't intend to rummage through your belongings."

He said nothing.

"I was searching for something sharp to defend myself against the person hiding in the room." The words slipped effortlessly from your mouth. What surprised you even more was the need to vocalize them, to reassure Vash that you hadn't invaded his privacy.

"I couldn't care less if you get bored and snoop around my stuff," he stated dismissively, walking past you without making eye contact. "My mother used to craft origami. They reminded me of her." His voice was chillingly cold. You observed as he opened the drawer, clutching the towel around his waist with one hand, and crushed all the origami in his wet fist. " But she's dead now, so it holds no significance anymore." With that, he returned to the bathroom and flushed them down the toilet right before your astonished eyes.

You couldn't quite understand why you felt a pang of hurt, considering those napkin origamis held no particular significance to you. However, witnessing him collect and preserve them in the drawer beside his bed stirred something tender in your heart. Unfortunately, as always, you couldn't shut up and ended up ruining the moment.

However, you were now aware. This man would go to any lengths to eliminate anything that could be perceived as a weakness.

He emerged from the bathroom and proceeded towards his walk-in closet, disregarding your gaze. You continued to watch him as he dropped his towel, exposing his bare buttocks to your view. You gulped as a hot sensation enveloped you, and your eyes shamelessly roamed from his butt cheeks to the muscles of his thighs, finally settling on his calves.

Who did sculpt this man?

 Vash had everything going for him in the looks department. He was hot as sin, with a stunning body and killer charm. You almost drool, but when he caught you stealing a glance, you hastily averted your gaze, pretending to be engrossed in the fantastic sheets.

Sheets? Seriously? Huh!

"You know, it's pretty rude to be snooping on people, love."

Embarrassment flooded your face, heating your cheeks, as you were caught in such a juvenile act. Suddenly, you felt utterly clueless about what to do with your hands. Your thoughts raced, overtaken by self-reproach. What the heck was wrong with you? The overwhelming urge to hide and disappear consumed you. You sprinted to the bathroom, securing the door with two locks. Leaning against the door, you slid down until you sat on the cool, black-tiled bathroom floor.

Stop grinning, stupid girl!

*

Another day in the never-ending circus of misery.

The gentle afternoon sunbeams lazily brushed against your cheeks, almost as if teasing you. Squinting your eyes, you peered out the window. It was chilly outside, yet the usual forecast of rain seemed absent for the day. The Gods above were like twisted demons, mocking you by making such a gloomy day appear this beautiful.

Ugh! Why—

No!

Wait a damn minute!

Vash stood in the yard, and you were aware of this because you could see him from behind the curtain. He wore a tailor-made shirt that hugged his figure, a black shade so deep that it nearly dazzled. His shoulders were embraced by a charcoal gray coat, fifty shades darker than coal, while his golden spiked hair contrasted the somber autumn surroundings. Black pants adorned his legs, accompanied by black leather gloves and matte black boots.

He appeared flawless, particularly amidst the grimness of the dirt and decay, encompassed by the dreariest hues this scenery could present. He stood as a striking figure, his eyes adorned in shades of deep blue and turquoise, casting a captivating silhouette against the backdrop of the setting sun in a stunningly beguiling manner.

He could be glowing.

That could be a halo around his head.

This could be the world's way of making an example out of irony.

Vash possessed a beauty that surpassed even your most attractive ex-partner. He was far from being human; every aspect of him was extraordinary and unconventional.

He looked around, his eyes shielded by purple round sunglasses, and a gust of wind momentarily revealed the holster strapped to his right leg as his coat flapped open. He didn't even step into his own yard without his gun. The irony!

The men surrounding him appeared to be awaiting instructions, anticipating something, and you couldn't tear your eyes away. A strange thrill coursed through you, being in such proximity yet still distant. It felt like an advantage, being able to observe him unnoticed.

He was a strange, strange, unhinged man. You weren't sure if you could ever forget what he had done to you, the way he had made you feel, and the intense desire to bring harm upon him. The urge to despise him indefinitely lingered within you, but it was gradually weakening. He had abducted you, callously exposing you to danger, and vanished while his brother subjected you to repeated torment. Yet, he also took it upon himself to mend the shattered fragments afterward, carefully gathering and reassembling them—as janky as it was. You wanted to harbor hatred towards him but found yourself at a loss as to how to do so anymore.

You had no clue about who he truly was—actually, you never had much knowledge regarding how he spent his days unless he was in your company. Even now, you remained clueless about his purpose for being there.

He eventually uttered a few words to the men, and they nodded in swift agreement before running around. You retreated entirely behind the curtains, making sure to stay hidden. You positioned yourself at an angle, ensuring he wouldn't catch sight of you even if he happened to glance in your direction.

Vash removed his glasses and ran his hand across his face, briefly covering his eyes before his hand settled on his mouth as though he held something he couldn't bring himself to say.

Suddenly, he seemed tired. His eyes appeared somewhat … sorrowful, although you were convinced you were just reading him wrong. You observed him as he observed those around him, paying close attention to notice that his gaze lingered on the red Geranium flowers, fighting to survive in the harsh weather. You attempted to decipher Vash's expression as he stared at them, but he was always careful to keep himself completely neutral. He remained like a statue in the wind, doing nothing more than blinking.

A stray dog headed straight toward him. Suddenly, fear gripped you. You felt concerned for the poor creature, a weak little animal that had mistakenly wandered into the wrong place, searching for morsels of food to stave off hunger for a few more hours.

Your heart began racing in your chest, pumping blood too quickly and forcefully. A sense of impending doom washed over you, leaving you with an unexplainable feeling that something dreadful was on the horizon.

The black dog dashed straight into the back of Vash's legs as if it had impaired vision and couldn't see its path clearly. It panted heavily, its tongue hanging to the side, seemingly unsure how to retract it. The dog whined and whimpered slightly, leaving saliva all over Vash's impeccably fine pants. You held your breath, anxiously awaiting as the golden man turned around.

You half expected he might draw his gun and shoot the dog directly in the head, having witnessed him do such a thing to a person before. However, upon seeing the dog, Vash's countenance underwent a transformation. His flawless facade fractured, revealing cracks in his otherwise perfect demeanor. Surprise elevated his eyebrows and widened his eyes if only for a fleeting moment, providing you with ample opportunity to take note of it.

He looked around, his eyes shifting as they surveyed his surroundings before he gently scooped the animal into his arms. You felt a sudden desperation to witness his next actions, and your anxiety heightened, making it difficult to catch your breath.

You had witnessed the extent of Vash's capabilities when it came to harming another person. You had observed his callous heart, his emotionless eyes, and his complete indifference. His composed and collected demeanor remained unshaken even after he took a life without hesitation. Now, you could only speculate about what he might have in store for an innocent dog.

You felt an urgent need to witness it firsthand. You had to dispel the notion of him being a good person from your mind, and this was the perfect opportunity. It would serve as evidence that he was sick, corrupted, completely in the wrong, and would forever remain so.

You had to see what he was going to do to the helpless animal when a familiar voice called out from behind you, causing you to freeze in your tracks.

"Having an absolute blast, aren't we?" Bradd remarked sarcastically. "This room conveniently provides the ideal windows for our top-notch boss surveillance operations."

You quickly turned your head, giving him a sharp glare. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and shrugged nonchalantly upon noticing your reaction. He proceeded, "I knocked on the door multiple times. However, it seems you were so absorbed in your mission that you didn't notice, and I had to come in without an invitation."

Bradd moved until he stood beside you, and his presence tightened the knot forming in your stomach. T There was an ice-cold fortress shrouded around him, as palpable as the tension in his shoulders. It felt as though he was creating a distance between you, as if you were about to be sent off to war, and he believed he would never see you again.

On certain days, you resented him for assisting the twins, but deep down, you couldn't deny the truth that he was a good man. He had become your emotional support in recent months, and you had started to understand his character. He belonged to the category of men who prioritized only their own family, and anything beyond that circle? Held no significance to him.

At the moment, you were an outsider who had disrupted their usual order, akin to a parasite, just as he had described.

You turned your head, and your eyes widened at the sight of Vash crouching on the ground, using his hands to feed something to the dog. The trembling, bony body of the animal was nestled inside Vash's open coat, seeking warmth after enduring the cold for so long. The dog wagged its tail vigorously, briefly making eye contact with Vash before diving back into the cozy refuge of his coat. You heard Vash laugh, a sound you had rarely witnessed. It was a laughter that seemed to transform him into a completely different person, the kind of laugh that put stars in his eyes and dazzled his lips.

You realized you had never seen this side of him before. You had never glimpsed his teeth, so impeccably straight and white, an embodiment of perfection.

A flawless, flawless exterior for a man with a black, black heart.

It was almost inconceivable that the person you were staring at had blood on his hands. He looked soft and vulnerable—so human. His eyes squinted from his wide grin, and his rosy cheeks bore the marks of the chilly weather. Even his dimples were visible, adding to his overall charm.

He was undeniably the most breathtaking sight you had ever encountered. And yet, you wished you had never laid eyes on him, for something within your heart was tearing apart at the seams. You struggled to comprehend the image before you, as you desperately needed him to be wicked so you could revert to hating him. However, he defied your expectations. You didn't want to see Vash like this. It felt wrong, yet in some inexplicable way, it also felt right.

You believed that the revelations had ended, but you were mistaken once again. This realization left you pondering the extent of what remained unknown and how much more you would discover about Vash in the days and months ahead.

And it scared you.

Because the more you uncovered about him, you found fewer excuses to distance yourself from him. The image you once had of him was transforming right in front of your eyes, becoming something that terrified you in ways you never could've expected. Amid so much uncertainty, all you could think was that it wasn't the right time. It wasn't the right place. Not when there were still so many problems around.

If only your emotions could grasp the significance of perfect timing.

You released a sigh, frustrated with your own indecisiveness. Although you couldn't ignore your physical attraction towards him, you struggled to let go of your initial perception of his character. It wasn't easy for you to abruptly shift your perspective and view him as anything other than a manipulative monster. You required time to adapt to the idea of accepting Vash as a normal human.

"The dog," Bradd interrupted, returning you to the present. "Nicholas used to take care of that dog, but we hadn't seen her around for quite some time until a few days ago," Bradd explained. "Seems like Angelica has taken a liking to Vash as well." Bradd glanced at you from the corner of his eye, and you found yourself perplexed, trying to comprehend why he continued to smile at you even after he averted his gaze. Flustered and feeling strangely embarrassed, you scrambled to find something to say.

"Is there anything you need from me?" you inquired, keeping your gaze fixed on Vash as he affectionately rubbed the dog's head and chuckled, trying to avoid eye contact with Bradd.

"Hm?"

You shifted your attention to Bradd. "You're here. Did you come for small talk?"

"Oh," Bradd responded, scratching the back of his neck while sporting a smile. The creases forming at the corners of his lips and eyes revealed his age. You wondered whether he had a family and if they were aware of his association with mafia freaks.

"I came to see how you're doing and to let you know that Vash wants to meet you in the living room. If you need to change, I'll wait here to accompany you. I know you've likely become familiar with the layout of this house through your very successful attempts to flee, but I still want to ensure you don't wander into the wrong rooms," he said, winking.

You bit your tongue to refrain from responding with more sarcasm than his.

*

Vash couldn't hide his surprise when he walked into the living room. As you glanced up, you finished the remaining Vodka in your glass. "Apologies for once again getting into your alcohol," you said to him, and he blinked in response.

"You're feeling better."

You nodded over your shoulder. "I was thirsty, and the drinks were there while you ran late."

"Yes," he replied, speaking slowly and cautiously.

"So I had a few shots."

"I can tell," Vash remarked, remaining stationary near the stairs, his gaze fixed upon you. He didn't utter a word but slowly advanced into the living room, removing his coat and delicately placing it over an armchair. He retrieved a gun from his holster and another from his back, deliberately positioning them on the table beside your empty vodka glass.

"I want to hurt your brother, Vash Saverem," you blurted out abruptly. It startled you to realize how much you had transformed over the past few months. You felt like an entirely different person—more audacious, hardened, and, for the first time, willing to acknowledge your anger. It was a liberating experience.

"Are you—" he shook his head, then apologized, "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

You looked up, feeling the weight of Vash's stare. He appeared captivated as if intrigued by your words. If he didn't fully grasp your meaning, you were prepared to express it differently. "I need revenge," you stated firmly, or that's what you thought.

He took a seat and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and intertwining his hands. A wide, amused grin spread across his face, radiating a genuine sincerity that struck you like thunder. Something pricked at your eyes and weakened your knees. "How do you plan to accomplish that, love?"

"I've got plans."

"Is that so?" He leaned back against the couch, crossing his arms over his chest, and couldn't help but maintain a constant smile.

"Yes," you replied, growing increasingly irritated. Vash didn't seem to be taking you seriously, likely attributing your seriousness to being drunk. While you were indeed drunk, you were also very, very serious.

Vash waited, observing your annoyed expression, and nodded once, signaling you to continue.

A familiar, intoxicating buzz settled in your stomach, amplified by the alcohol swirling within your empty belly. Beads of sweat formed on your forehead, and your mouth felt parched as if you had swallowed sand. "Your brother—"

"You can't even speak his name yet talk about revenge?"

You attempted to conceal your surprise, but now you found yourself uncertain why you hesitated to utter his name. Perhaps it was because you feared that he would suddenly materialize, much like summoning a devil by speaking his name.

You slid your empty glass towards Vash, indicating that you wanted him to refill it. Vash glanced at you, and what looked like concern was clouded in his pretty eyes.

"If you want me to mention his name, hand me the bottle," you declared, snatching the vodka bottle from his grasp before taking a large gulp. The taste made your face contort, reaffirming your belief that alcohol tasted like shit when it wasn't mixed with something. You'd die on that hill. However, you did appreciate the burning sensation as it traveled down your throat, spreading warmth throughout your body.

"Knives," you said the name, taking a deep breath. Remembering the adage that fear of a name only heightens fear of the thing itself, you decided to defy that fear. So fuck him and his name! "Are you content now?"

He let out a snort. "Do you honestly believe that you can simply stroll out of this room," Vash said to you, "knock on Knives' door and shoot him in the head?"

Yes. "No."

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," Vash said softly, and you glared at him. "My brother isn't here," Vash continued. "He's gone to deal with a business complication elsewhere."

"He's not here?" you questioned.

"No," Vash responded, his smile fading. "And that's precisely why I wanted to speak with you." He picked up a larger glass from the table and poured himself a whole serving of Bourbon, likely his preferred drink. He downed the bitter liquor in a single gulp, then refilled the glass. He pressed the glass against his lips with his gaze fixed on you. "I need you to be gone until he returns," he said, closing his eyes as he swallowed the entire contents of the glass.

"What?" Your heart picked up so quickly that you thought you might be experiencing a heart attack.

"You heard what I said."

"No," you declared, shaking your head. It's often said that you can't repeat the same mistake twice; for the second time, it becomes a choice rather than a mistake. Therefore, this was your decision.

"Bradd will help you. It's up to you whether you want to return to your father's house or forge a new path for yourself. If you opt for the latter, I'm ready to offer my support—"

"I JUST TOLD YOU I WANT TO GET MY REVENGE!"

"How?" Vash scrutinized you intently. "How do you plan to reach my twin? How will you confront him?"

"I already told you I have plans!" you exclaimed, clenching your fists. "But I require your help," you whispered, filled with both fear and a glimmer of hope. You caught Vash's gaze from across the table. "What if I exploit Knives' vulnerability?" you asked, raising your eyebrow slightly.

"That seems unlikely."

"Why do you think that?" you said, feeling desperate. "Even if there's the slightest chance—"

Vash sighed and ran his hand through his hair, disheveling his perfectly spiked hair. "He doesn't have any weaknesses. If there were any, I would have discovered them long ago. You wouldn't be making such statements if you knew him like I do. Hope will only break your heart all over again."

You dug your nails into the leather that you feared it might rip. However, you resisted the urge. You were well aware of the threats you had heard and your chosen path. "I am an outsider," you found yourself saying. "Maybe I can perceive things more clearly than you—"

"Love—"

"Dammit, Vash! I have to give it a shot. You have to understand—"

"This is not good for you," he avoided eye contact. "It's dangerous for you to believe anyone could harm Knives."

You stared at his resolute and unwavering profile while he focused on his hands. "In the worst-case scenario, I might end up dead. You have nothing to lose, so why won't you allow me to pursue it?" you whispered.

He rubbed his forehead. "I have numerous conflicts to deal with in the coming days," he said, his voice tense. "I have meetings to attend and negotiations with people even worse than my family." He took a deep breath, the air feeling constricted. A weighty silence hung between you. "I understand that you are now afraid of even your own shadow," he continued, his voice filled with concern. "You struggle to sleep, and I know my presence makes you uncomfortable. However, I can't leave you alone anymore. I've lost my trust in Knives. So, I'm granting you your freedom once again. But this time, I'll ensure you truly are leaving. I'm making this decision for your well-being."

"Oh." A pause. Was he sleeping on the uncomfortable couch because he was worried about you?

"Yes," he said—another pause.

"Or," you said to him, "I remain here, and you use me for whatever plan you have involving my father—"

"I don't have any plans regarding that," Vash replied melancholic.

"Fortunately for you, I have made plans, and in exchange, you will allow me to seek revenge against your brother, I mean Knives. I am prepared to face the consequences on my own."

Vash fought a smile but couldn't hold it back. He glanced downward, letting out a small laugh, before locking eyes with you. He shook his head.

"What's so funny?"

"My lovely girl."

"What?"

"I've been waiting for this moment for quite a while now."

"What do you mean?"

"You're finally ready," he remarked. "You're finally ready to fight back."

Shock surged through you. "Of course I am," you replied. In an instant, memories of the unbearable pain and the horrifying fear of being brutally attacked flooded your mind. You hadn't forgotten any of it, but you realized that if you wanted to find peace, you needed to momentarily set aside your animosity toward Vash. Because now that you were prepared to fight, you felt a sense of empowerment like never before. You marveled at how different you felt and how different you knew things could be. You had a lot of things to do, so many scores to settle, and a big revenge to exact.

Everything had changed. The child you once were had succumbed to her foolishness. It was your turn to engage in this game on your terms, and you were not afraid of cheating.

No matter what lay ahead, there was no going back for you now. There were no other choices. "I forge forward or die."

Vash burst into laughter, his expression bordering like he might cry.

"I will cause hurt to your brother," you declared, "and I will make sure he learns not to threaten me."

He was still smiling.

"I will."

"I know," he said.

"Then why are you laughing at me?" you asked, puzzled.

"I'm not," he said softly. "I'm just wondering," he said, "if you would like my assistance."

"What? You agree with—" You blinked rapidly, unable to believe what you just heard.

"There are three things you should know about me, love," he said, leaning his elbows on his knees and interlocking his fingers. "First," he began, "I hate my brother more than you could comprehend." He cleared his throat. "Second, I am unapologetically self-centered and make decisions primarily based on my interests in nearly every situation. And third," he paused, looking down and chuckling softly, "I believe death would be a reward for despicable people like me or your father." He lifted his head. "I've always told you," Vash said, "that we would make an exceptional team. From the moment we met, I've been waiting for you to be ready to acknowledge your anger and strength. I've been waiting patiently all this time."

"That's why you wanted to use me to hurt my father?"

"Does that bother you?"

Your jaw dropped. "What? Of course, it bothers me! Wouldn't it bother you?"

"No," he said casually. "I would feel honored to have assisted."

Words eluded you. You couldn't tell if it was the influence of alcohol or a newfound courage that ignited within you, urging you to let your inner fire scorch others as well. "If that's the case," you declared, your gaze fixed on Vash's face, "then I want to bestow an honor upon you, Mr. Savrem."

He raised an eyebrow. "You want to use me?"

"Yep," you exclaimed, emphasizing the P. "We can hit two birds with one stone."

Vash took hold of his glass and reclined against the couch, looking at you as though he no longer recognized you. Good. When something is subjected to intense pressure, it becomes distorted. It forms sharp edges that can inflict deep wounds.

He lightly tapped his finger against the crystal, and the sound reverberated through the quiet living room. The crackling of the fireplace was the only other sound present.

Vash crossed one leg over the other. "Elaborate," he demanded.

"Do you—like, do you just like men?"

"Why? Are you trying to seduce me?" Vash asked in a relaxed manner, drawing your focus toward him as he sipped his Bourbon and peered at you over the rim of his glass.

His gaze was probing and studious, yet you offered no reaction. Your facial muscles remained steadfast as you replied, "That's what you desire, isn't it?"

A sly grin appeared on Vash's face, accentuated by the dim lighting and the flickering shadows, giving him a sinister look. However, you didn't even flinch in response. He no longer had the power to intimidate you. You had witnessed him kneeling before you.

"Is this a part of your grand plan?"

"Yes," you replied, contemplating how you wished you had a bigger mouth to accommodate more alcohol. It was essential to muster courage for what you were about to say.

"Nothing will hurt my dad more than seeing everyone talk about his beloved daughter fucking his enemy. And about your brother," you stated, taking a deep breath. You couldn't believe those words had come from your mouth. Your ears grew warm, but you had to press on because Vash didn't even flinch and needed him to take you seriously. "He has a vulnerability, and it's you," you continued, and he lowered his glass, tilting his head to the side as his eyebrows furrowed. Encouraged, you pressed forward, "He cut me because he believed you cared for me, and I am growing in you." You let out a mocking laugh, "So, you are his weakness. He doesn't want to share his little brother, and I want to do the exact opposite."

"You didn't tell me anything about this detail."

"There was no reason for you to be aware of it then. However, now I want you to pretend that you have succumbed to my seduction. I know you are skilled at acting, so it shouldn't pose a challenge for you," you said, taking another swig and wincing at the burning.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I can't fuck you," he stated, finishing the remainder of his whiskey.

The words felt unpleasant on your tongue, but you forced them out anyway. "I don't want a relationship, and If you are interested in the buttholes—"

"For fuck's sake! I've been with women as well. So, let's put an end to this discussion about holes!"

"So, if you're not exclusively interested in men, what's holding you back?" you rushed out. He tilted his head, patiently waiting. "From fucking me," you stated plainly. "You didn't hold back before. What's preventing you now?"

He remained quiet for a moment. "Because I couldn't bear the guilt," he whispered, gazing at you contemplatively. "If it were to happen again, the outcome would be vastly different — you're already aware of that."

You folded your arms. "Would it, though?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "Do you think if I were to pin you against a wall, you would resist initially only to succumb to pleasure eventually? Or do you think you would fight as if your life depended on it, only to end up mentally checking out from the trauma?"

You swallowed, the truth leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

"I will never claim to be a good, kind, or even honorable man. There is little of that left in me, and the truth is, it was never truly there to start with. I was born with a blackened soul. However, there is a distinction between those who are needlessly evil and those who do wrong in the hopes of achieving something good. I'll leave it up to you to decide which category I fall into."

You realized you didn't need to think about it at all. Trauma had a tight hold on you, but all you wanted Vash to do was hold you tighter.

You downed the remaining Vodka in a single gulp, relishing in the burn as it traveled down your throat. The clock ticked, approaching eight PM. It was the perfect timing since the household staff would soon be present to serve dinner. Why not put on a performance for them? You were confident that at least one of them would discreetly inform Knives about everything.

Adrenaline got steadily released into your bloodstream, akin to injecting heroin into a vein. Rising to your feet, you approached Vash, causing his muscles to tense up as you parted his crossed legs and settled onto his lap. Almost subconsciously, his hand swiftly grasped your waist to hold you. No matter how much he pretended otherwise, it was clear that men were all the same. Their dicks dictated their every decision.

"You'll end up getting hurt," he cautioned, his voice taking on a deeper tone as the words slipped out quietly and deliberately.

" Maybe I need another pain to wash away the one I'm experiencing now," you stated, unreservedly running your hand between your legs, provocatively stroking his crotch through his pants, all while maintaining unwavering eye contact with him.

He took a deep breath. "You're toying with fire," he croaked, shifting his gaze from your face to your hand resting on his groin.

"Then let your flames consume me, Vash," you urged, intensifying the pressure of your hand against the fabric. "Imagine the retribution we will exact upon the men who ruined us."

He tightly shut his eyes, tilting his head back as his lips parted. You reached out and touched him once more, this time with gentle tenderness. You felt his thumb caressing your side. Good.

You wished for Knives to witness this moment, wanting to prove something to the deluded man who thought he owned you. The only person with the right to claim your body was the one you granted permission to. You would allow Vash's hands to explore every inch of your skin, followed by the touch of his mouth. You would let his tongue lick your pussy until you were sated, right before he fucked you until you no longer knew your name.

You would let him because you said he could.

Vash drew you closer, pressing his body against yours and pinning your breasts against his chest. Your breath faltered as you felt the warmth surround you, his arm encircling your waist tightly, firmly locking you in place.

You liked the way he felt pressed against you. The softness of your body molded against the hard ridges of his. It felt... pleasant. Satisfying.

"We can handle this, Vash. Approach it like a business," you whispered in his ear, sensing his breath leaving him and his heart pounding against your chest.

Vash locked eyes with you briefly, and as you leaned in to kiss him, he placed his forefinger on your lips. "No need for kisses. This is not about making love. It's strictly business," he asserted.

As you were about to part your lips to speak, you were interrupted by his soft lips gliding rhythmically against your neck, reminiscent of water swaying the rocks beneath a cliff. A moan rose from your throat, and you immediately grasped the back of his neck, urging him to press his head closer to your skin.

He emitted a low, primal growl, his self-control slipping away. His other hand entwined itself in your hair, adjusting the angle of your head to gain better access. He sank his teeth into your flesh, skillfully exploring with an unrestrained fervor.

You clung to him tightly, pressing further into him. Shuddering with the feel of his hard cock digging into your stomach, his size only fueling your desire. He wasn't small, and that was precisely what you craved tonight. Something that would silence Knives' voice with pleasure, leaving you breathless and thoroughly gratified.

His tongue wrestled with your collarbones, skillfully swiping and lapping while his teeth playfully nipped at them. Another moan slipped free, bouncing in the air until he matched it with his groan.

The grip on your hair tightened, tilting your head back, allowing his lips to roam freely along the sensitive area where your neck and shoulder met.

You gasped as his teeth grazed your skin, a subtle warning before he sank them in. The sharp pleasure rolled your eyes to the back of your head, followed by a long moan.

"Fuck," he cursed, his tongue flicking against your neck as he emitted a primal groan. "That voice drives me wild."

You felt your eyelids flutter as you succumbed to the pleasure his tongue and teeth were drawing out of you. His hands ventured lower, and soon, you felt a firm tug on your jeans. The button popped open in seconds, accompanied by the low purr of your zipper being undone.

On a low growl, Vash inquired, "Is your pussy wet for me like before, love?" as he playfully nipped at your neck. It stung a little, causing you to wince in response to the slight pain. However, his tongue glided over the bite mark, soothing the sting.

"Yes," you whispered, pleasure overpowering the lingering pain. His hand smoothly slid down the front of your jeans and underwear, his fingers gradually moving lower until the tip of his middle finger teasingly dipped inside you.

A low, guttural growl arose from you as he realized how truthful you were being. "Fuck, love, that's it. If you want our plan to succeed, you need to be louder. Don't you want everyone to know we're fucking?"

Suddenly, two fingers delved inside you, skillfully curling to hit that sweet spot. Your vision blurred, and a scream of pleasure erupted from your lips, becoming your sole response. It was the only thing you could do at that moment.

With instinct, you tilted your hips, grinding against his hand. He withdrew his fingers partially before driving them back into you again. And again, until he fucked you with his fingers, leaving you with nothing to do but hold on tightly, your nails digging into his shirt.

You let out long, husky moans that emanated from your throat, obediently filling the space precisely as he had requested.

"You certainly know how to make a scene," he whispered into your ear, punctuating his words with a sharp nip. The heel of his palm pressed firmly against your clit, sending waves of pleasure through you. With his skilled fingers, he elevated your arousal, causing the orgasm to coil deep in your stomach. Then, he rubbed you just right, causing your knees to quake from the intense pleasure.

"Oh," you moaned, your breath coming in irregular, breathless gasps.

In a dark whisper, he asked, "Will you scream when you come on my hand, love?"

You thought you nodded, but you couldn't be sure, for in a matter of seconds, your head jerked backward as your climax escalated, building up to an intense peak.

"Let me hear it," he encouraged. His fingers glided out, only to plunge back in, this time with the addition of a third finger.

You bit your lip as you tumbled over the edge. A cry rushed out, the sound wavering in pitch as deep-seated pleasure engulfed you. Shamelessly, you pressed against his hand, surrendering to the relentless waves of ecstasy.

"So vindictive," he murmured, his voice tinged with satisfaction. Breathless yet possessing a heightened hunger, he took out his hand and lightly brushed it against your lower lip, spreading your arousal. "You've made quite a mess on my hand, love. It would be rude not to clean it up."

While maintaining eye contact, your tongue darted out, the tip sliding across his finger. He smiled wickedly, prompting you to open your mouth wider. Soon, you tasted your own familiar flavor, but it didn't last long as he withdrew his fingers and licked the remainder himself. You never expected such a simple and primal act to make you ache for him even more than you already did.

His hot breath tickled against your face, causing a shiver to run down your spine. As you closed your eyes, you couldn't help but bite your lip when you felt his hands slip into your shirt.

"Vash," you said in a hushed, breathless voice. His warm breath caressed your neck as he leaned in closer. Gentle lips delicately grazed the edge of your ear. Like a cascading waterfall, a torrent of chills raced down your back.

"You're such a good, obedient girl," he remarked. The aroma of smoke mingled with hints of mint and wood enveloped you. The thought of him being delicious and the desire to have him in your mouth crossed your mind.

As if reading your mind, he reached up and placed his hand on the back of your head, his fingers entwining in your hair and drawing you impossibly closer. In a moment of impulse, you did something foolish. You drew his lower lip into your mouth, savoring the taste of him and the feel of his lips against yours. Suddenly aware of your behavior, you let go of his lip, attempting to pull away.

He was like a drug, and similar to the actual substance, he led you to make idiotic decisions.

He held onto you tightly, using his hand to press your forehead against his own forcefully. "I explicitly said no kissing. Right?" His grip on your hair was firm.

You nodded in response.

In return, his tongue traced your chin, descending towards your neck once more. You let out a soft, unintentional moan, and as soon as he noticed your body's response, he nibbled on your skin. He completely consumed you, sucking and licking your body in a way you'd never experienced.

He was leaving hickeys all over your skin, and you found yourself powerless to resist him, just as you were powerless to deny the pleasure that ran through your veins. Another low growl pinged through his mouth, serving as a mere indication of his following action.

He gripped your waist and lifted you. "You're such a good fucking girl," he praised, leaning against your chest before biting your breasts through your shirt and bra. He held you against the wall, his body pressing tightly against yours.

Gasping for air, your feet touched the ground as you struggled to hold up your head, desperately inhaling precious oxygen. He firmly held your cheeks with his large hand, growling against you.

You inserted your hands between your bodies, traveling towards his muscled stomach and firm chest. With force, you roughly pushed him away.

"Wait, please stop," you gasped, feeling a haze of confusion clouding your mind. The heat of the moment had left your pussy pulsating and your senses overwhelmed.

"What did I tell you?" he demanded with a sharp tone. His piercing blue eyes locked onto yours, captivating you in a hypnotic grip. It was difficult to avert your gaze when you felt like a helpless prey entrapped by the eyes of a predator.

"What?" you whispered, still feeling lightheaded.

"You're toying with fire," he reiterated slowly, his voice rough with gravel. Your mouth opened, but the words remained trapped, unable to get out.

His lips brushed against your cheek, tracing a path along your jawline. "Think about the prying eyes behind these walls. Let's stick to your original plan and provide them with something to gossip about," he concluded, punctuating his words with a sharp nip on your earlobe. Your body reacted, arching involuntarily as sweat drops formed on your skin. " I know you want me."

"No," you denied in a whisper. "You're wrong."

He raised his head, a smug smirk gracing his lips. "So, you're going to be a bad girl tonight? Lie to my face and act like your pussy isn't aching to be filled up with my cock?"

A flush of heat spread across your cheeks, a blend of anger and embarrassment. "Not everything revolves around physical attraction," you retorted after a moment. "Maybe my body wants you, but up here," you tapped your temple, "it's a different story."

He nodded slowly, studying your face with a pensive gaze. Stepping back, he left you feeling a sense of emptiness. It was akin to a dark veil encasing the sun on a scorching summer day—a sudden, chilling coldness that seeped into your bones.

He seized your hand and yanked you away from the wall. He twirled you around until you stood in front of one of the mirrors next to the fireplace. You watched him from the reflection as he pressed his body against yours, his warmth soaking into your very being. Your gaze fixated on the mirror, your eyes meeting and colliding through the glass.

He lowered himself gradually, bringing his mouth close to your ear, never breaking eye contact. "If you've had a change of heart, I won't push you into anything and will stop right now," he whispered in your ear, eliciting sparks throughout your nerve endings. His voice carried ominous promises and dangerous new beginnings.

You swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in your throat. The word "No" teetered on the edge of your tongue, like a delicate ballerina dancing precariously at the tip, dangerously close to falling off and breaking her ankle. Because if you said no to this man, you'd spend the rest of your night—week—possibly longer, regretting it.

As he desired, a sense of recklessness and impulsiveness descended upon you. All you yearned for was to surrender yourself to him. You were dying to deny him, yet you had to fight your body from turning and pulling him into you.

Perhaps, just this once, to piss off Knives, you considered giving in.

You rolled your lip between your teeth, and he watched you closely, studying every gesture as if trying to interpret a cryptic language concealed within the contours of your body.

"So you think it'll work?" you inquired, your voice husky and uneven. His mouth remained close to your ear while his gaze remained fixed on yours.

He nodded slowly, his expression serious and his gaze penetrating. "Yes, love," he whispered. You closed your eyes, resignation taking over your body. You couldn't deny the truth to yourself anymore. Even if he doubted the plan's success, you still wanted him to have you tonight.

Noticing the shift, he trailed his hand over your stomach. You stiffened under his touch, feeling goosebumps rising on your skin. His fingers gripped your shirt, gradually lifting it up, parting the material at a painful pace.

"Does it hurt you when I touch your scars?"

Your eyes widened. The man, bearing his own soul's fractures, would never perceive your scars as repulsive.

"Just get it over with," you snapped, frustration emanating from his intentionally slow progression.

A malicious grin appeared on his lips, and even the mirror couldn't diminish the cruelty behind it. "Poor little thing," he jeered. "You miss having a man inside you? Were your fingers not enough to satisfy you? Have you fantasized about me while touching yourself?"

With just a glance, he possessed an uncanny ability to steal the air from your lungs. When his words accompanied that piercing gaze, it felt like you had no lungs at all.

Your shirt fell to the ground.

"What if your men come in?" you whispered, your voice barely breaking through the palpable tension in the air.

He grinned—a mischievous smile that conveyed his indifference if someone did. "What do you think they'd do?" he asked, his fingertips lightly brushing against your scars.

Goosebumps emerged, a tangible reaction from the electricity dancing across your skin wherever his touch landed.

"Do you think they'd watch?" he asked. "Do you think they would relish the sight of your naked body? Maybe they would get off on witnessing your dripping pussy or the rise and fall of your chest as you climax. I even think they would delight in watching your eyes roll back when my cock fills you so fully you can't fit any more of me inside you."

A shot of fear jolted through your heart, forcing the muscle into overdrive. Yet, despite this, your body still reacted more illicitly. Just like his words, you felt a renewed throbbing between your legs.

Would you be comfortable with a stranger observing? You doubted it. But there was something about the way he described the scenario that made you wonder if he would allow it to occur regardless.

"Are you comfortable with others seeing us undressed?" you challenged, breathless while staring at your shirt on the wooden floor.

Vash's fingers traced along your spine, moving slowly and purposefully. Their touch felt scorching, like searing lava against your flesh.

"No," he murmured into your ear. You observed him as his gaze descended, fixating on your chest. The band of your bra tightened, pressing uncomfortably against your skin before loosening. The black cups that held your breasts released, leaving you fully exposed. Your nipples were painfully erect.

When he caught sight of your hardened peaks, his tongue drifted across his lower lip as if he was salivating at the sight. "Do you want to know what I would do?" he questioned. "I would allow them to watch. I would let them watch me fuck you. They would watch as my cock fills every one of your holes and watch you cry with intense orgasms. And then, I'd fucking kill them. With my cock still wet from your cum, I would slice their throats for daring to lay their eyes upon us."

The fear within you constricted, forming a sharp tip that seemed capable of bursting the fragile balloon of sanity you clung to.

"You're insane," you gasped.

This time, he chuckled, his deep laughter sending a shiver straight to the apex of your thighs. "You were aware of this, and yet you asked for it," he murmured absentmindedly.

His focus pulled away, and his hands explored your stomach, delicately tracing the lines of your scars as if he found them captivating. Eventually, he cupped your breasts, his large hands making them appear smaller, barely contained within his grasp. He was a monster. Inside and out. Yet, despite all logic, you couldn't ignore the fact that other than your panties, your jeans had become wholly soaked, too. It seemed impossible for the body to experience both hatred and desire simultaneously.

He forcefully squeezed your breasts, causing you to scream out of pain.

"Be a good girl and scream louder," he ordered before relinquishing his hold on your breasts and moving his hands towards your jeans. You were swamped by confusion and a sense of dread. You knew this was all so terribly wrong. Yet, you couldn't bring yourself to stop him as he hooked his thumbs on either side, pulling your jeans down. First, he assisted you in removing your shoes and effortlessly slipped the jeans off, setting you completely free.

You remained clad only in your wet black panties. Swallowing hard, your heart raced as you surveyed your reflection. Vash, on the other hand, remained fully clothed, his eyes examining every angle of your undressed form. He looked as if he couldn't decide, unsure where to begin.

You resisted the impulse to cover yourself. The act of hiding felt more humiliating than standing nearly bare before an attractive man.

"You need to undress as well," you insisted. There was no way you were going to be the only one left vulnerable and exposed.

Finally, he came out from behind you and stood directly before you. It felt more real when you were not looking at them through a glass mirror. Yet, you couldn't pretend that your pussy wasn't weeping for him and that you were not anticipating the feel of him inside of you. You weren't a victim this time, as you were the mastermind behind this ill-advised situation.

"If you want that, love, then you'll have to be the one to do it," he declared with a raised voice. He regarded you skeptically as if he doubted your willingness to undress him. And there was no doubt in your mind he understood the effect that look had on you. The jerk was well aware of your inability to resist a challenge.

You reciprocated the same level of respect he had shown you. Slowly and delicately, you undressed him, purposefully grazing your fingers against his skin, earning your own shivers and growls of impatience.

You took off his shirt and stared at his scarred and rugged skin. His scars still caused him pain, evident by his reaction when your fingertips brushed over them, causing him to tense and bare his teeth. It wasn't physical pain; these scars had already healed. Yet, they resembled icebergs—seemingly formidable and commanding on the outside, yet concealing something far more significant and menacing beneath the surface. They had the power to sink someone to the depths of their darkest desires, much like the Titanic. These scars wounded him deeply within, and you were genuinely curious about the stories behind each one.

In the areas without scars, there were tattoos. The most notable tattoo was a giant maze extending from his neck to his right arm. You didn't know, but he had a few small tattoos here and there, too.

"You didn't cover any of your scars with tattoos," you quietly observed, running your finger along the maze lines. The tattoos intentionally avoided the raised skin, as if deliberately respecting the scars.

"I don't hide from my failures," he asserted. However, his physical beauty extended beyond his failures. His body was filled with well-defined muscles, strong without being too bulky. His physique made it clear that he could kill you with his pinky without looking like he took steroids for breakfast. And if that alone didn't turn your knees to jelly, the thick veins roping from his neck, down his robust arms, and into his large hands were enough to unravel you.

He was… fucking phenomenal.

He observed you with great care, his eyes burning with intensity as you examined him. He was nearly vibrating beneath your slow perusal, so you moved on and resumed your torture. It took a total of zero seconds before he was bristling with the need to fuck you. You felt so much power in your fingertips, and you couldn't help but wonder how much more powerful you would be if he had a feeling for you.

With every inch of his skin revealed, you grew shakier and wetter. It seemed unjust for someone to possess such flawless allure despite the visible imperfections and scars. If anything, the evident signs of the hardships his body had endured only made him that much more edible.

You choked on air as you lowered his pants, his hard cock jutting out from the confines of his pants. So this was what accepting death via dick looked like.

Once he was completely undressed, you took a big step back and examined the reflection in the mirror. Your gaze fixated on his muscular thighs, firm and shapely buttocks, and sculpted back that had enticed you since that doomed morning. You couldn't help but fantasize about running your hands all over them. And then there was the most gorgeous cock you'd ever seen.

You wanted to run away. Far, far away. To put as much distance as possible between yourself and this man. It was clear to you that he would bring about your downfall after tonight. You could taste it on your tongue.

"Are you scared?" he asked in a low, dark voice. His gaze bore into you, his expression inscrutable.

"Yes," you responded honestly. His smile, almost breathtaking, nearly weakened your resolve. It felt unnatural how strikingly beautiful he was. Without a doubt, he was the embodiment of darkness. Now, more than ever, you were convinced he was the fucking devil.

"You ought to be," he warned, his voice tinged with menace. Without thinking, you took another step backward, but he made no move to impede your retreat.

"Get on your knees, love," he commanded in a sinister tone. You hesitated, uncertain whether to obey or search for the common sense you seemed to have misplaced somewhere along the way into this living room and make a swift escape.

"Don't test me," he growled, his face dropping into a stern expression. Lowering his jaw, he glared down at you with an intimidating gaze. The threat in his face frightened you, causing your juices to dampen your thighs.

You dropped to your knees with a jolt, the impact causing pain. It was exactly what you both desired. He tilted your head back forcefully, making you gaze up at him. His cock brushed against your cheek, serving as a forewarning of what lay ahead.

"You enjoy being a naughty girl, don't you? You like the thrill of testing me because you get off on the fear I instill in you. You're a silly little girl toying with danger," he taunted, his face contorted into a cruel snarl. Tears welled up in your eyes as he held your head firmly, burning just like the inferno of ire and lust in his eyes.

"Tell me, love, have you ever been fucked by a man like me?"

"Better," you hissed, feeling the dormant resentment towards him resurface. Something very dark and dangerous shuttered over his eyes. He raised an eyebrow, and instantly, you recoiled inward. It was a lie. You both knew it.

Good girls don't lie. That was the first thing you learned when you were put in a religious school as a child. The second lesson was not to trust the devil and his influence. However, they forgot to mention the crucial advice of not provoking him once you had fallen under his sway. Perhaps that was considered basic common fucking sense.

Your lip quivered as you scolded yourself for your foolishness. Feelings of bitterness and mistrust simmered just below the surface. You couldn't fathom why you entertained the idea of allowing Vash to dominate and have his way with you without putting up a fight.

"Open your fucking mouth, bad girl. Right now, or I'll make you gag on my cock," he demanded, his voice dripping with threat.

This time, you obeyed. The moment your lips separated, Vash forcefully thrust the tip into your mouth, pushing it deep down your throat. He hissed through his teeth, accompanied by another feral growl.

You whimpered and then gagged as he pushed his dick deeper. It felt like rigid steel wrapped in smooth fabric, but the sleekness did little to alleviate the pain. He was too thick and too long for your mouth.

Tears instantly flooded your eyes and streamed down your cheeks as he continued to penetrate you forcefully. As a reflex, you grasped onto his sturdy thighs, attempting to create some distance. However, he swiftly seized both of your hands, clasping them together in one of his while maintaining his grip on your head with the other. He held your bound hands high against his abdomen, giving the appearance of a woman kneeling in prayer, worshipping the very embodiment of evil.

"Suck it. Now," he growled.

You complied with his command, hoping he'd ease up. You sucked hard, creating a hollow in your cheeks while running your tongue smoothly over the prominent vein on the underside of his length.

"That's it, love," he exhaled, granting you a momentary respite. However, within seconds, he pulled you back towards him, taking control of your movements as he guided your head back and forth while you continued to suck him with your mouth.

He murmured words of encouragement and let out deep, pleasure-filled groans as he became increasingly assertive. Every syllable and moan that left his lips fueled your growing desperation to satisfy him.

"Let's see. Your high school sweetheart, Eren Yeager, he was better than me, huh?"

Your eyes widened in confusion, unsure of how Vash knew him and fearing this conversation's direction. "I highly doubt he was better than me. Who else?" he emphasized the last word by thrusting deeper into your throat, causing you to choke. After a few seconds of struggling, he relented. "Satoru Gojo, Cloud Strife, that boy Zuko..." he continued, listing off every man you had gone on a date with. Admittedly, the number wasn't significant, but it felt a lot considering the peril in which you had just placed their lives. He abruptly jerked your head back, granting you a brief moment to catch your breath as he uttered, "I will enjoy killing each and every one of them, love."

Before you could even form a response or take another gasp of air, he resumed choking you with his cock. Your vision began to blur at the edges as he thrust deeply into your throat. No matter how much you gagged and fought against him, he only became harder and more aroused.

"What if I cum in your mouth, and you swallow it to make your father proud?"

For a brief moment, you glared up at him, your hatred burning brighter than any trace of desire. He smiled, or rather revealed his teeth, as he noticed the anger reflected in your eyes.

"You want it, but you won't damn well receive it. You haven't earned that privilege just yet."

Without any warning, he forcefully yanked your head back, his cock popping free. He gripped your chin firmly, raising you until you were on your tiptoes.

"Vash, please," you whimpered, your vision hazy from tears and your chest constricted from the lack of air. Uncertain of what you were pleading for, whether it was your own life or the lives of the innocent men you had unknowingly condemned to death.

"That's such a good girl," he praised. "I love it when you're scared and begging."

Just as you believed you could finally inhale, he swiftly stole your breath again. His lips closed tightly against yours in a captivating kiss, electrifying your senses. Your nails dug into his chest, provoking a deep growl from him as he dominated your mouth with his own. He claimed he wouldn't kiss you, but the energy between you crackled and exploded, causing both of you to drink from each other fervently. The kiss ignited sparks of fire and filled your tongue with the mingling flavor of bitter whisky.

Poison had never tasted so good.

As your tongues battled for control, he firmly grasped your waist and yanked you upwards. Your legs naturally wrapped around his trim waist just as you felt the cool glass pressed against your back. The mirror's chill threatened to send shivers curling for epilogue through your body, but the heat radiating from his body against yours was scorching hot.

A sudden, piercing bite of pain on either side of your hips caused you to gasp into his mouth. With a quick, forceful pull, he tore your panties away from your body, leaving the shredded fabric caught somewhere between your bodies.

He withdrew and positioned the head of his cock at the entrance. "Spread your pussy for me, love," he commanded.

"No!" you shouted. "There's absolutely no way I'll let you fuck me without a condom!"

"Why bother? You already have an IUD, so clearly, my spawns won't have any chance of impregnating you," he retorted, his tone laced with heavy sarcasm.

"How the hell do you know that?" you exclaimed, swiftly hitting his chest.

"Milly."

So the nurse examined you, checking if Knives had raped you or not.

"I don't want your STDs!" you spat out angrily.

"Who the fuck do you think I am?" Vash demanded, his eyes ablaze with anger.

"A manwhore!" you said.

He pushed you closer to the mirror while glancing between you and his reflection. "I haven't been with anymore since Nick!"

"Oh, C'mon! You fucked a girl on your birthday!"

"I didn't," he said, then relaxed his hold, letting you free.

"But Bradd—"

"I helped that abused waitress to run away," he said quietly.

You tried to speak up and ask him to just fuck you, but the anger on his face silenced you. Just as he was about to move away, you halted him and obeyed his instructions.

You spread your legs and, grabbing his cock, guided it into your entrance. It was belittling when he knew you weren't supposed to want it. And as a consequence of offending him, he was going to make you show him how much you wanted him. By spreading your pussy and inviting him in.

Gods, you hated him.

His hands tightened on your hips painfully. You knew that you would wake up tomorrow with bruises shaped like handprints, and a part of you dreaded that. The imprints left on your skin would make it impossible to forget what happened.

"Do not ever label me as a manwhore," he warned just before he forcefully brought you down onto his awaiting dick.

"Ah!" you cried out, your hands poised to push him away from your chest. He was too much, stretching you wider than you'd ever been. Your eyes rounded into giant saucers as you whimpered in response to the extreme pressure.

You sensed his grith slipping through your fingers as he worked himself deeper. "Stop! It's too big," you gasped.

"Well, tough luck for you," he cooed mockingly, his tone husky and tight. "This is the consequence of being a naughty girl, isn't it?"

When you remained silent, he forcefully pulled you down on his dick harder, causing you to let out another pained whimper.

"Answer me," he barked.

"Yes!" you exclaimed, breathless, as you tightly shut your eyes in response to the invasion.

"Will you behave now?"

"Yes," you mewled desperately. The pain was morphing into something much more intense and breathtaking.

He slid out and then eased back in with a gentler but still angry motion. It felt as if your body was on the verge of exploding. This wasn't natural to be so goddamn full.

He withdrew until only the tip remained, and then he slammed his entire length inside of you. It went so deep that you felt it all the way up to your throat.

You cried out, your voice cracking under the swell of emotions welling up in your chest. It didn't feel right at all.

"Damn, love, I can barely fucking fit."

Perhaps that's why it felt as if he was ripping you apart. He began with deliberate and powerful movements, forcefully thrusting before pulling out at a painfully slow pace, only to slam back inside you once more.

You felt your body starting to yield, eagerly taking him in as he ravished you with each thrust. He widened his stance, using the mirror for support, causing your stomach to tighten in anticipation of the damage he was about to exert on your organs.

Shockwaves scattered throughout your nerve endings as he quickened his pace, roughly fucking you against the mirror while loud noises you never made in your life fell from your lips.

The pleasure was blinding, and the sight of him moving in and out between your fingers heightened the strong desire stirring in the pit of your stomach.

He let you down, swiftly turned you around, and wasted no time before thrusting back inside you. You closed your eyes and pressed your palms against the mirror to find stability.

"Look at us in the mirror," he demanded roughly. It required significant effort, but you pried your eyes open and let them wander over the mirror. It was too much— watching him drive himself inside you so deeply.

Your eyes were partially closed, and your face displayed undeniable bliss. Then, you caught a glimpse of him in the mirror, and your gazes met. A torrent of emotions washed over you, causing your heart to sink, and you quickly averted your eyes. It was the most euphoric experience you ever had.

Your eyes met his again, and a sly smile spread across his face. He leaned in, his lips gently skating across the crook of your neck as he watched you slowly come apart at the seams, all the while maintaining a mischievous grin.

"Now, confess, have you ever been fucked by a man like me?"

You nibbled on your lip and shook your head, resisting the temptation to roll your eyes in sheer exasperation.

He abruptly halted, causing an involuntary, embarrassing scream to leave your lips. He pushed your back down to readjust your positions, and the moment he hit that particular spot, your legs trembled uncontrollably.

"Oh my God," you moaned, unable to prevent your eyes from rolling back this time.

"That's right, love. I am your fucking God," he growled, and then you felt his teeth sinking into your neck.

Your stomach tightened as an orgasm built rapidly, threatening to overpower you. It felt as if a furious Poseidon resided within, conjuring a destructive tsunami that seemed poised to engulf you.

The mirror began to shudder from the force of his intense thrusts violently. It seemed as if it could shatter at any moment, yet you were unable to bring myself to care. Just as you were on the brink of reaching climax, he pulled completely out.

You whimpered, feeling the sudden emptiness almost as if it were painful. "What—"

He took a step back and gestured towards the floor. Your knees wobbled, your balance disrupted by the sharp pleasure throbbing between your thighs. "Get on your hands and knees," he instructed.

You didn't protest, primarily because the absence of the orgasm was distressing, and your legs could barely bear your weight any longer. Frustration welled up, evident in the tearful corners of your eyes, but you suppressed your snarky remark. You knew that he would only escalate your punishment further.

You expected him to enter you once more from behind, but instead, he swiftly slid his hands between your legs and gripped you from underneath your hips. He lifted you, causing your knees to lose contact with the ground, and you had to quickly catch yourself to prevent from falling face-first.

You felt his warm breath fanned across your pussy just moments before his teeth latched onto your sensitive clit. You yelped as pain and pleasure mingled. However, he wasted no time in lavishing attention on your throbbing bundle of nerves, skillfully using his mouth to suck while lapping at your dripping cunt.

He hummed, sending delightful vibrations resonating through your core. "You taste so fucking good," he murmured before teasingly flicking his tongue against your sensitive clit. You gazed up shamelessly, observing him feast on you from behind. You adjusted your head to obtain the best view of him on his knees, hungrily devouring your pussy as if he were famished.

The impending orgasm resurfaced, now even more imminent than before. You were unable to grind back into Vash's face like you desired, leaving you utterly defenseless against the relentless assault of his tongue.

"Vash, please," you begged, your eyes crying with pleasure.

"Do you want to come?" he asked; his voice was breathless and unsteady.

"Yes," you pleaded with a groan.

Vash pulled away, and in frustration, you screamed, pounding your fist against the floor. Overwhelmed by fury from being denied for the second time, you struggled against his grip, thrashing in defiance. He chuckled at your futile attempt.

"You motherfucking ass—"

He abruptly halted your outburst by seating himself inside you, causing his balls to smack against the sensitive nub. You choked on your words, this angle allowing him in far deeper than before. He seized your hair, forcefully pulling your head back, making you look directly into the mirror in front of you. From this angle, you could witness him vigorously fuck you.

"You want to cream all over my cock, love?"

You nodded your head frantically.

He responded with a smile. "Have you been a good girl?"

Once again, you nodded unsteadily.

"Then fucking say it," he urged, calling out your name.

As his gravelly voice pronounced your full name, you instinctively clenched around his cock.

"I'm a good girl," you breathed, too far gone to feel anything but blinding lust. He molded his body against your back, spearing through your tightening pussy. The hand in your hair slid down to wrap around your throat, exerting a firm grip, while his other hand splayed across your stomach. Your vision became hazy, and finally, the tsunami of orgasm crashed through you.

You emitted an ear-piercing scream that nearly rattled the mirror. Vash's name spilled from your lips in a frenzied chant as your entire world exploded into myriad fragments.

"Fuck! That's it, love. Your pussy is incredibly tight. Milk my cock," Vash managed to say through gritted teeth. He concluded with a growl, his hips trembling as he slammed into you for one last time, filling you with his cum until there was no room left inside of you. Your combined fluids trickled down your thighs as you lay on the floor, panting and breathless. Your body convulsed with aftershocks, even after the biggest orgasm you had ever experienced subsided.

You couldn't fucking breathe, let alone move or form coherent thoughts. None of it felt normal. Not a single bit.

Your breath hitched, and your teeth clenched from the feel of him sliding out of you.

Disregarding Vash's presence, you hurriedly scrambled to dress yourself.

As you approached your shoes, a muttered "shit" caught your attention from behind. Turning around, you found Vash staring at his phone, his face etched with a serious expression. He was dressed in nothing but his black boots and loosely fastened pants, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of the well-defined V disappearing beneath the fabric. The glow from his phone emphasized the muscles flexing against his smooth skin, with scars and intricate black tattoos only enhancing his raw allure. The veins coursing through his hands and arms were visibly bulging, and if you weren't already leaning against the mirror, his overwhelming presence would have caused you to collapse. That masterpiece of jagged scars and rugged edges had ravished you completely, leaving you breathless.

You closed your eyes and leaned against the glass, seeking respite. Suddenly, you felt the warmth of Vash's hand on the back of your neck, causing your eyes to snap open. You realized he was pulling you closer, resting your head against his chest and draping his shirt over your shoulders. Assuming that this would be the last time you permitted his touch, you allowed him to slip his hands beneath your knees and neck, hoisting you effortlessly into his arms.

Exhaustion had enveloped you so entirely that his words, "Let's bring you to our room," evaded your weary ears.

Taglist: @julk4e - @lune010 - @beanibon - @emptybrain01 - @changingchances @awkwardchick87 @enchantedforest-network

[sketch-shepherd-art]

Alright so I’ve finally finished all of Make Your Mark on Netflix (I have no interest in Tell Your Tale) and, well… I certainly have thoughts. Unfortunately I felt MLP G5 (even including A New Generation) was pretty weak. I don't HATE G5 of course, but it certainly has problems. Not counting the ton of continuity errors and plot holes and retcons from G4, most of the episodes + specials on their own I found flat and boring.

And yes I KNOW that G5 deserves to be its own thing and shouldn’t rely 100% on G4’s popularity but come on… a sequel series still needs SOME connection to its predecessor, and G5 has so little of it?? And the worst part is that the super sparse FIM references were for legal reasons, which makes me even wonder why bother setting it in the same universe as G4 instead of just making a complete reboot. And yes I’ve heard that the G5 comics actually go deeper into the lore, but important worldbuilding details should be included in the show proper, not in supplemental materials. 

So yeah, that only inspired me to make even more changes for my MLP next gen AU. Starting with a bunch of different ideas I have for Opaline. More details about my revamped design and backstory for her under the cut

First off, her canon design is way too gaudy and takes away a lot of her intended scare factor, so I redesigned her with multiple variants. For all versions I removed her blue eyeshadow and the braids around her ears (too ridiculous-looking and difficult for me to draw), and made her hair a bit more asymmetrical. 

As for my version of her backstory, rather than Opaline being over a thousand years old and having known Celestia and Luna when they were fillies, I made Opaline a former student of Twilight who became her successor as the next Alicorn Princess. Only Opaline didn't do a great job as a ruler which caused Twilight to drain her of her magic and banish her to the outskirts of Equestria.

But after Twilight died of old age (don't ask me why Twilight didn't find a new successor, still working that out) the magic shield locking Opaline outside Equestria faded and allowed her back in. So she was the one who caused disharmony between ponies all over again (yeah kind of a repeat of the Nightmare Moon situation but), and additionally kidnapped Misty as a filly to use her as a spy and do tasks to help Opaline get her powers back, including her wanting to steal dragon fire to become a fire Alicorn like in canon.

Made this change for two reasons 1) the whole “ancient villain who knew Celestia and Luna back in the day escaped now and is planning to wreak havoc on modern Equestria” has been done a hundred times already in FIM, let a new villain form literally during Twilight’s reign 2) it would keep the rejection aspect of Opaline's canon backstory but give her more personal beef with Twilight which is why Opaline targets her

so my AU wouldn't just have all ponies restore unity and then have Opaline just come as a threat right after like A New Generation + Make Your Mark did. Achieving harmony between pony AND non-pony kind would be done over the course of a series and not just one movie, with Equestria being restored + Misty being freed after Opaline's defeat. The Unity Crystals still play a role in my AU, with Twilight having created them as a new alternative to the Elements of Harmony rather than just a macguffin to stop Opaline specifically.

Also if it were up to me I like my #3 redesign the best, the blue hues would probably fit the best for a fire-based villain (fire being blue when it's hottest and all) but that depends on if/when I wanna draw my AU Opaline in the future

[ruiniel]

This storm

III. Consuming

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen | Rating:🔞| Geto Suguru x fem!Reader | Count: 2k | Summary: A less than ideal encounter leaves you with... lasting effects. | On AO3 | Tags & Warnings: fem!reader, Second Person POV, Geto didn't defect AU, But still has it rough, Set four years after Hidden Inventory, Friends with some benefits, It’s complicated, Feels, Needy!Geto, Dom energy!Geto, Self-indulgent, Edging, Sex pollen-ish, Geto Suguru is Whipped, Mutual pining, Geto Suguru POV, Alternate Universe - Canon divergence

< II

“How we need another soul to cling to.”

― Sylvia Plath

“Hmm.”

“Well…?” 

You’re seated on the examination table in the doctor's office, eyelids heavy and breaths ragged. 

Ieiri-san is poised before you, having just removed her stethoscope. “Elevated heartbeat, but nothing else out of the ordinary as far as vitals go,” she says. “How do you feel now?”

How do you feel? Drowsiness took over your arms and legs, your heart does seem to beat right up your throat. You rub your thighs together, unable to help it. “Like something’s missing.”

Ieiri-san smiles, removing her gloves. “Since you say you’ve inhaled the residuals of that curse, I can only devise that you have a mild intoxication… Despite that, I can’t see or sense any such residuals on you.”

“... s-strange, isn’t it? Haibara-san seemed to be fine... But then, what else can one expect…” The meaning of strange has reached a different level from the moment you became active in the Jujutsu world. 

Ieiri-san helps you stand. “My only thought is this: since the curse’s been exorcised, the residual effects should wear off as well.” She pauses before speaking again. “I’m just not certain how lasting they are. Are you able to go home like this?”

Well, it’s certainly a weakening state, but not life-threatening in any way, is it? You’ll be able to crawl back. “Yes, I think so.”

“I’d drive you myself, but I’m stuck here for another consultation. Ijichi, however, is still around. Stop by the office and ask him, why don’t you? I seem to remember your place is in his way.”

“It is…” you murmur, fumbling with your shirt buttons as you dress; your body feels brimming with smoldering embers, and you wipe your brow of pinpricks of sweat. 

After urging you to come and see her again tomorrow and words of gratitude from you, Ieiri-san lets you go. What did you want to do?

Right, find Ijichi…  Get home… 

Crossing the corridor toward the administrative office proves more difficult than you thought. Your legs stumble over each other; the embers in your body burn hotter. Something… something’s missing, missing so badly it hurts. 

Suguru…

Like salt in an open wound, his name and all the meaning behind it spikes your feverish state, turning your chest and lower abdomen into a pulsing mess. You wonder what he’s doing, how his mission went… 

Will he be there when you come home?

You shake your head, leaning with a shoulder against the cold wall as if the lifeless contact could crush some reason into you. 

So what if he will be… so what…  A violent rush hastens down your core instead of an answer; a new kind of pain you’d not experienced before, that of ravaging, unbearable need. Shame fills you at the viciously selfish trail of thought, but…

Your name echoes along the gray, dimly lit corridor.

The voice is both a balm to your mind and a rake to your lungs. Your breath stutters as you glance up ahead, catching sight of your friend’s confounded stare. 

Running fingers through his hair, Suguru absently frees it from its tie. He’s a mess after today.

The daily grind of this work is, as ever, a taxing routine, the supernatural strengths of malevolence bred from their emotions barely contained and subdued by his own. 

He’s famished. Annoyed. Confused.

He’s exhausted.

Can he keep this up? Again and again, the question swirls through his mind: is it worth it? For them? 

He couldn’t help it—any other time, he’d never show up to see the girls after a mission, looking as disheveled and grimy as he usually does. But today he craved it: their smiles, their grounding presence. They thanked him for the gifts, they hugged him despite his warnings of how filthy he was, they insisted on wiping his face of blood.

It helps, it always does. If not for them, he’d be alone. Again he wonders if following the path of sorcerers is the right call for them. Cogs in another machine. Ultimately, it will be their own choice, but it still makes him fret. 

And then there’s— 

You?... 

Suguru stops in his tracks, eyes widening at the sight of you, knees buckled together and shoulder propped against the wall. He can hear your labored breaths even from this distance. 

His legs are moving faster than his sense; he nearly collides with you in his rush. “What’s wrong?” he asks, tilting your chin up. 

He freezes.

The lost look in your eyes is unsettling. Pupils dilated so wide your eyes are black, glistening depths, your face drawn from unseen strain, brow crunched in… pain? He can’t tell. And a scent… 

He doesn’t know what it is, but it pulls him in like a warm flame in a winter storm. 

“Suguru…” you murmur, “you’re here… how come?” Both your hands clutch his dark jacket at his chest as you lean into him, his own instinctually grabbing onto your arms. 

“Forget that, why are you in this state?” he asks, pleads. His fingers spasm where they grip you. 

“I had… a small mishap today.” 

“A mishap.” His voice is colder than he’d meant it to be. “Did Shoko examine you?”

You nod in assent, your weight falling even more against his as you offer a short retelling. 

“I see,” he says at last, and narrows his eyes, taking a closer look at you. No, there are indeed no visible residuals from the curse, nothing as profuse or intense as to be detected. 

But something is there. It’s as though it fused with you, infiltrating your cells and altering your chemistry, changing your scent… Suguru feels it, even as he feels his own, similar feelings unfurling from the depths.

You push against him suddenly, trying to right yourself on your feet and shielding your eyes with your palm. “Sorry… I'm sorry… I didn’t mean to push into you like that, I just… I hate this, it’ll wear off…”

“Hey.” He’s being as gentle as he can, as composed as the situation allows. He would never, ever want you to feel embarrassed when it comes to him, to hide or to run. He can’t bear the thought of it. Suguru draws you back in, taking advantage of your half-hearted resistance.

Yes, if it’s to make things right, he can and will use any means available. He will lie. He will exploit. He will be anything for the people he loves.

The end to that thought slams into him as he looks down at you, at the tears of frustration brimming in your eyes. “It’s not fair… we’re not… you’re not obliged to… to deal with this.” No matter you can’t even stand on your own two feet, you aggravating, stubborn, sweet girl.

Suguru grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger. Watching, gaze dropping to your wet, needy lips.

Gently tilting your head, he licks up the warm, translucent trail falling down your cheek; hears your weak moan as your mouth falls open, feels your face turning as his tongue glides beneath your closed eye. “Don’t push me away,” he says, tasting the salt of your tears and the changed aroma of your skin.

Yes, he can feel the affliction, tingling against his lips now. Despite its nature, it’s a delicious decadence that sears his throat, thrumming through his body like a tonic. 

He wants more. 

Desire deepens as your lips press against his jaw, your breath warming his skin and then you’re leaning into him again, clinging to him like one about to fall from a steep precipice. 

“It’s all right… it’ll be all right,” he says, trying to contain that increasingly desperate thrashing.

“Suguru, please…”

Oh but he’s a devious man.

Why else would he love the way you beg at a time like this? He envelops you, forces your trembling body flush against him, his cheek pressed to your forehead. Yes, he knows exactly what to do. “Let’s get you home.”

Somehow you make it to his car together. You can barely see straight at this point, even less so think past the blood gushing through your veins hot and wild and merciless, drowning you with one thought and one thought only dripping down your core. An endless, shameless call. 

Suguru, Suguru, Suguru.

Nothing else will satisfy. 

It has to be him.

You gasp as he twists and turns you to help you into the seat; his closeness became a necessity long ago. You can barely keep your hands from touching, feeling, roaming; barely release him so he can get into the driver’s seat.

It’s torture. It’s humiliating, this craze, being this bent out of shape for someone. 

“Soon, we’ll be home soon,” is all he says, his voice earnest in reassurance. There’s a rough edge to it full of promise that grazes your nerves, shooting those electrifying pulses between your legs.

Your cunt tightens at the mere thought of soon.

It makes the wait even more unbearable. You look at him, panting, studying the shapes of him, all the little details you’ve come to know. Suguru returns your glance before his eyes turn back to the road.

Soon, soon, soon.

To hell with 'soon'.

Your hand is on his thigh; the muscle tenses at your touch, and gratification swells at the certainty that you affect him this way. Your fevered gaze catches his brief stare, then trails down the bob of his throat. 

“Wait—”

“Can’t.” Who the hell is this? Is it you? You want to feel warmth, want to hear him, see how his face changes in pleasure, anything, anything, anything. Your hand roams up his thigh, skimming his hip, up to his belt. You pull at a loop. 

Suguru tilts his head back, eyes still stubbornly focused on the road, his hands gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles whiten. “I mean it. This is… dangerous,” he says as your hand skims lower, finding him rock-hard.

“I don’t… care…” Horrible, horrible woman. But your thoughts are on the tip of your tongue and you can’t rein their crass honesty, your hands unclasping your seat belt as you lean closer to inhale and lick up his throat, to suck on his earlobe. The cold gauge feels good against your hot mouth. 

A soft groan, laced with desire. “Please.” Outright begging now.

He breathes through his nose while you palm him through his trousers, squeezing hungrily and rubbing your thighs together in the absence of touch. 

Without another word from him, the steering wheel takes a sudden turn. 

You fall back as Suguru pulls over. The rumble of the engine barely dies as he leans in and without ceremony reaches for you, fingers curling around the nape of your neck, dragging your face to his.

His lips crush yours, hot tongue demanding to intrude. You let him, you’d let him do anything to you at this moment. The sudden gush of warmth soaks your already dripping core, and you remember: residuals or not, no one’s ever had such command of your body, not the way he does. 

His hand finds your shoulder, winds down to your chest, squeezing and thumbing at one breast through a moan. 

Your eyes close. Suguru smells like a damned walking aphrodisiac to you, overpowering your will when he touches you exactly where you need it and how you need it; you smile like a fool, a hand disheveling his soft, dark strands as he licks at the dip of your collarbones, his own frenzy mellowing. 

A click. 

Your eyes open, glazed, meeting his darkened ones. You’re still so close, breathing each other’s air.

He draws back enough for you to look down: he’s fastened your seat belt.

Suguru kisses your forehead, lips skimming your skin as he speaks. “Won’t you wait a little longer for me, hm? We’re almost there.” 

There’s a truth in his eyes that you can’t ignore, like a mesmerizing incantation stilling you and the torpor in your blood.

All you can do is nod beneath that languorous stare. Your eyelids droop lazily as Suguru properly retakes his seat, his gaze still blazing on you while he starts the engine. 

You make a sheepish attempt to withdraw your touch from his thigh, but his warm, larger hand presses your fingers back. “No,” he says, his Adam’s apple dipping as he swallows, eyes back on the road. “Keep it there.”

You do, melting back into the seat, licking at his taste in your mouth and hoping it’ll last you long enough.

< II

More of my work is on AO3

BLOG MASTERPOST (all you need to know)

Likes/comments/reblogs always and forever appreciated

[lovelyelbowleech]

All's Fair is incredible! I am on my third re-read and it is just as much of an emotional gutpunch as it was the first time. The emotional impact sneaks up on me every time, even when I know what's coming. It blows my mind how carefully woven everything is. Even just small characterizing details that help make the characters and situations feel so real. You also have a way of writing that flows so smoothly with the emotions each character is feeling, like I don't know how to describe it but it's so well-paced and descriptive and I can picture and feel everything when reading it both from the characters POV and also in a more objective sense at the same time, which is extremely difficult to pull off in my opinion. It is insane to me how easy you make it seem with your writing.

Another thing, too, is that this doesn't even really feel like an alternate universe. It's like you shifted one thing in the beginning with a little flick and we're seeing the ripple effects of that play out naturally, as though you're just sitting back and reporting your findings instead of crafting an entirely new story from thin air. Everyone is so in character that I can hear their voices in every line. Even your OCs feel 'In character' even though you literally created them for the story lmao?? Like I actually forget they're not canon characters sometimes.

ANYWAY- I got sidetracked. my intention for this ask was to actually ask how you pictured some of your characters in more detail. I want to draw art of my favorite scenes and am trying to compile little snippets of character appearances, particularly of Guo, Yuxuan, and Haoyu. I have sincerely contemplated starting a google doc to catalogue all the little details of every character, even the minor ones, like a Pokémon deck I can flip open and consult whenever I want to refresh my memory.

Thank you so much for such a lovely comment, it was wonderful to wake up to! I am glad you are enjoying the fic so much (enough for a reread or two even!) There is some really high praise there, and it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy 😂❤️

It is always very exciting when folk say they want to draw art of the fic (even if its just for themselves!) So I will try to add a more detailed description to the character description page I have somewhere. There is not too much in the way of description of the OC's in the actual fic - and there is certainly no wrong way to depict them in art! What is in the fic is not hugely detailed 😂 but a very brief collection of the descriptions would be:

Guo: Short and stocky, facial hair, and a wide craggy face. Big broad hands. Hair currently short (post East Lake) gruff and grumpy to look at.

Haoyu: on the shorter side of average, about 18, round face, green eyes and dark brown hair, currently cut short (post East Lake). Very earnest and open looking face (which has been used to get him out of trouble more than once)

Yuxuan: a year or two older than Haoyu, long dark brown/black hair and honey coloured eyes. Good looking, and has a certain amount of rakish charm.

I am not sure if that is helpful or not! I will try to update the character sheet with additional OC's this week if I can. And thank you again for the wonderful ask!

[epitaffia]

V - I SEE YOU IN THE EYE OF JUPITER. A MOUTHWASHING AU.

in this alternate universe their early life remains near enough the same ; their mother gives birth to them in prison, they are adopted by a priest, they meet donatella, the priest is murdered & they flee from sardinia during a fire age 17, believing to be one of many who perished in the village fire. they spend the first year volunteering for archaeological expeditions in egypt, accumulating stolen artifacts which are sold for large sums of money in local black markets. this wealth eventually gives them the means to create a new life for themselves. when they return to italy it is with expertly forged documents & identifications. below the cut is where things diverge significantly from jojo ( cw for mention of assault below. the game deals with heavy & triggering themes, in general. please take care if you play it. blank pony express template from here ).

BEFORE THE TULPAR. upon their return to italy at the age of 19 a small apartment is acquired ; it's not perfect, there's an annoying leaky pipe & it's a little noisy outside during rush hour, but it's close to the local university. you see, from an early age they've always had a fascination with space. spending long hours gazing at the stars, wondering if alien civilizations exist out there, a love & interest blooming in humanities ventures into the great unknown.

they study astrobiology & related fields for several years. it's difficult, & they're never at the top of their class, but they enjoy it tremendously. their wild theories & hypothesis, combined with their odd personality & clumsiness, leads to not being taken very seriously by professors & the more up tight class mates. but they persevere, & one day that determination pays off ...

at 27 they are selected to join a prestigious agency specializing in space exploration. many a trip is taken to luna, until eventually, they are given their first job far beyond earth. the space agency & pony express have a fragile partnership, the former paying the latter to send their scientists aboard these long haul flights to destinations of interest. something about saving money & time ...

ABOARD THE TULPAR. so this is how they find themself aboard the tulpar at the age of 33 ; with their own personal room & space to store equipment & food, & other necessities. it's a small space almost half the size of the medbay. for the most part they keep to themself, busying about their job in the limited way they can. but that isn't to say they avoid the other crew members !

there's some enjoyment joining in with boardgames, especially with daisuke & anya. although dop isn't very good at them, while dia is. while not working, dop can usually be seen playing pokemon on their pink gameboy sp, while dia often enjoys reading & drawing.

they aren't terribly social or outgoing, & their habit of talking to themself has led to concerns & weird looks from certain other crew members. while they are not officially diagnosed with DID, their psych evaluation notes a suspected disassociation disorder. dop is unaware of this & remembers little if anything after these weekly sessions, while dia tends to front during them & spins half-truths, enough to not be a cause for concern to themself or others. this doesn't often interfere with their work, that is ... until the crash.

AFTER THE CRASH. the time following the crash is terribly distressing for them. not only due to the events which are shown in game, but also the reawakening of other parts of their system which had previously been dormant since fleeing their home.

there is ... an intense dislike of jimmy. feelings present before the crash, but only increasing after ( especially if they are told of his assault on anya, that fact hitting a painful personal cord ). you see, dia recognizes the type of man he is ; the facade of pride built upon the suffering & belittling of others, worming his way into lives with sweet lies & an act of care. or maybe there was care. but dia didn't care, not for the likes of him. they do not listen to the new captain.

there's difficulty in remaining calm in the face of a likely slow death stranded in space, made all the more worse with those they have come to enjoy being around suffering ... paranoia & anxieties skyrocket, & at some point they barricade themself in their quarters, unable to cope with it all. until they are rescued ...

RETURN TO EARTH. readjusting to life on earth usually wasn't so difficult, but after the talpar ... there is many restless nights, far more than usual. they are offered therapy which they reluctantly accept, & so they take a temporary leave from work, using up the remainder of holiday days for this.

so, what are they up to now? not much, for the most part, aside from attending weekly therapy sessions. while this initially begins with the talpar, it eventually drifts into addressing the trauma of their past. eventually coming to understand they have DID & beginning the process of recovery. they can be found strolling about & having lunch at local parks, & occasionally frequenting cafes & restaurants. whether they keep in contact with tulpar members is down to individual plotting, but i like to think they do so with anya & daisuke, perhaps the others too ... ( not jimmy ).

NOTABLE DIFFERENCES FROM JOJO. . their mother isn't suddenly pregnant to term overnight, it's discovered as she starts showing. she doesn't die either ... so she's out there somewhere, but believes her child died in the village fire. . k crimson exists only as another part & isn't a stand that can manifest, nor has powers. it has the same appearance in their headspace. . their hair isn't naturally pink, but dyed ( dark spots of their natural hair colour being a nod to dia's jojo hair ). . their eyes don't change to show who's fronting. instead, they have central heterochromia ; eyes being a golden hazel around the pupil, & green ( the green also doesn't glow ). . if it wasn't obvious above, their hyperfixation in this au isn't mafia stuff, but space. . trish, their canonical daughter, doesn't exist ( yay for protection !).

[thegamingcatmom]

I just got back in my twilight phase and discovered your blog, so I was wondering if MC ever got transformed into a vampire in the sisters universe, who would be the one transforming her? I feel like the obvious choice would be tanya, but a part of me thinks that irina trying to kill MC, but accidently turning her would fit the level of unhinged they are. But also if turned into a vampire, how do you think the sisters would react to MC being stronger AND possibly hotter?

In that case:

Welcome to my blog! :3

Right off the bat: Irina cannot be trusted alone with MC at this point in time, that´s true. But it´s not gonna stay like that forever. She´ll come around sooner or later (more later though), so the chances of MC getting turned because Irina actually tried to finish the job are pretty slim. But I can see where you´re coming from and I love that yall´s minds are coming up with possible scenarios for the Unholy Trinity and their, uh...chosen one. 🤭

With that said-

It´s difficult to say who´s gonna turn her, as it depends on everything that leads up to that moment. And it´s gonna be a while yet before we even get to that moment. I don´t plan anything I write beforehand. I simply go with what feels right, so I´ll know who´s gonna turn MC when it gets to that. 😅

However, I´ve been working on a lil something for a bit now (yes, the something that´s supposed to make yall suffer), sort of like an alternate ending to The Sisters. Like, yknow how some games have multiple endings? There´s the good ending, the hidden one, and the bad one.

Well, consider my WIP the bad one. 😅

BUT: It might shine some light into everyone´s motives, especially when it comes to the whole turning thing.

.

As for the sisters´ reactions to vampire!MC?

...I mean-

So, not rly any different from now. LMAO.

It´s true though: They might not realize it yet (well, except for Tanya lol) but, to them, MC´s already-

I´m actually gonna take a page out of Edward´s (well, SM´s lol) book here:

MC´s always gonna be their MC, just a lot less fragile. ;3

Like yknow, I don´t think there´s all that much that would change for them. Ofc it´s gonna be nice when they won´t have to worry about accidently crushing MC when hugging her anymore (Kate´s bear hugs can be rather suffocating, it has to be said), but when it comes to attraction? I don´t think they could possibly be any more smitten with MC. Or else they might actually eat her up, lmao.

So, it´s not gonna be an overly sexual first reaction, if that´s what you´re asking. It´s more like they´re completely in awe of what they´re seeing, almost like they´re not quite sure what they´re seeing is even real. Because, at that point, all of them have been through a lot, right? All those months (perhaps even years, I haven´t decided yet) of madness and longing and arguments and more longing and fighting and some more madness and then longing again and-

By the end of The Sisters, it will have been one hell of a ride for everyone involved. So, seeing everything finally come full circle when their chosen one joins them in their shared forever? I don't think words could truly capture their feelings, tbh.

However, something I find quite funny to think about:

I reckon it´s gonna be MC who turns into the horndog this time, lmao. As a newborn, there´s only gonna be two things on her mind when she first opens her eyes to this new world:

blood

sex

That´s gonna be all she cares about. And, somehow, I think she´s gonna try and go for the latter first because duh, look at that gorgeous wom-

Wait, there´s another-

And another-

Jesus, can you imagine?? Poor MC, completely driven by her instincts. Instincts she just doesn´t know how to deal with yet. Her brain´s gonna melt. She´s gonna melt. This is too much, she is but a newborn-

And the sisters? They couldn´t be more delighted at that display. For them, it´s like watching a baby take its first step. I mean, they´re literally ancient. And MC´s so young, she´s a baby. YKNOW WHAT I´M SAYING??

Sugar Momma mode activated.

KSBJFKASKBFASKF

Honestly though, that´s kinda how I envision it. The sisters are beyond mature, and MC just can´t cope with any of it. She´ll need the sisters to guide her, show her how it´s done. She´ll also need them to soothe that inner beast of hers that keeps telling her stuff that totally contradicts with what she´s actually thinking-

And then MC goes about actually jumping their bones, only for them to-

.

Tanya: "Ah, ah...first we must get that thirst of yours under control, my love."

Kate: "I hate myself for this but, for once, I gotta agree with the spoilsport. One craving now, the other craving later. But God, you´re so sexy when you´re-"

Irina: "As Tanya said...we wouldn´t want you losing your pretty head halfway through and risk half of Alaska´s population being drained by noon, would we, maličký?"

MC, who hasn´t understood a word after "thirst": 🩸👁️👄👁️🩸

.

YKNOW???

But I also kinda HC that, in the world of vampires, with age comes status. All vampires have this inner beast that´s responsible for their more primal behavior and instinctive reactions in certain situations. Such as coming face to face with an elder. And MC´s got three of them.

Lord have mercy on that poor girl. We all wanna be her, let´s face it.

.

.

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Thanks a lot for your ask! 💋