#so the vagueness of his origins suit him perfectly well

[abyssalzones]

Just ignore/delete this ask if you feel uncomfortable with the subject, but I'm really worried the book of bill is gonna be 80% nostalgia-bait 19.75% new lore about bill and 0.25% about the Pines. Granted the book is about Bill, so it's prolly mostly gonna be about him, but yeah I don't really get why the book is being made... I liked having most of bills existence/lore being up to interpretation and in reference by Flatland. Feel like the book is a quick cashgrab but I hope I'm wrong

Not to be the one to affirm your fears but that's... pretty much exactly what I'm expecting?

A lot of people seem to think this art post I made was purely a joke, based on the sheer amount of "I'll never get enough of this guy lol!!" responses it's gotten, but I'm sincere when I say I've had enough of that guy. In general It's really exhausting seeing something myself and other fans have enjoyed expanding on in our own ways be dragged back out after five years of radio silence to generate some more disney money. like yeah it's goofy yeah people are allowed to have fun about the new content, god knows morbid curiosity will likely get the best of me and I'll check it out, but if people can't see this as an obvious cashgrab because they happen to like the character alex hirsch keeps resurrecting in increasingly annoying ways (why else would the book be rated for adults if not to target an adult audience's 2016 fandom nostalgia) then they possess an innocence I envy.

everyone seems to understand how beating a dead horse for money cheapens a story that was supposed to be over and done with until it's about the grandfather of h*zbin hotel I guess

[immortalmrwavell]

Getting The Job

(Original story posted November 7th 2021. Original story title “Better Life, Cop Life”) This story has been mildly Updated!

Recently Eric’s life had been going down the drain. First he split up with his boyfriend Jake after discovering he was cheating. Then he lost his job due to staff cuts. And to top it off he then lost his old apartment since it was all in Jake’s name. Now his ex was living in their old place with the guy he cheated with while Eric was struggling to find a new job while living in the cheapest apartment he could find. As he applied for shitty job after job he couldn’t help but wonder what he’d done to deserve all this? Was it all some kind of cruel universal joke?

As he was job hunting, one of the positions that popped up was a job at a small clothing shop called “Threads for Life”. The description of the job itself was extremely vague but he assumed it would just be retail. Working a till and serving customers etc. So he applied.

Surprisingly they were the first to get back to him about his application and in such a short time frame as well. They emailed asking for him to come in for an interview. Of course Eric accepted. Why wouldn’t he? The only weird thing was how close this shop seemed to be. It was just down the road from his old apartment and still rather close to his current one but he could swear he’d never seen or heard of the shop before. He just chalked it up to him being unobservant and forgetful.

On the day of the interview Eric found the shop just where it was said to be. Even after seeing it though, nothing clicked. He could’ve sworn it wasn’t here before. He shook the odd feeling off however as he stepped up to the front door perfectly on time and looking his best.

Upon entering he was greeted by a middle aged man who introduced himself as the owner of the establishment, Tony. The two exchange greetings before Tony ushered Eric to follow him. Eric expected to be taken immediately to an office but instead Tony simply walked through the many isles of clothing with him while chatting casually about the shop and its history.

Before Eric had assumed this to be a simple clothes shop. One that sold shirts, pants and all the rest like most other shops. And it did. But something Eric was quick to notice was how most of the clothes seemed to be matched together in outfits. Rather than being separated into different sections, almost all the clothes in the shop had already been prematched. There were plenty of casual combos like t-shirts and jeans or shorts and tank tops however as they moved from aisle to aisle there were a very noticeable amount of clothes that seemed more like costumes.

Some were more understandable like suits. But a lot of the others?… Eric took note of medical scrubs, fireman uniforms, motorcycle gear, handyman clothes, police uniforms, cowboy costumes, construction clothes and so much more. Eric also couldn’t help noting that none of the clothes seemed to be marketed towards women. He supposed the shop specialised in men’s attire specifically. Still he couldn’t help but find the layout of the store to be… strange.

“Soooo… Eric was it? Before I can give you a job. I want to ask you a couple questions.” The owner said as he sat down on a cushioned stool near the back of the shop, prompting Eric to do the same.

Eric of course agreed to this as questions were standard procedure for almost any interview so he was ready for it..

“Okay first question then. Growing up, did you ever have any dreams of who you’d eventually become? What job you’d want to strive for? What kind of man you’d want to become?” Tony asked.

It was a strange question for sure but Eric still pondered it for a moment before answering. “Well I don’t think I was ever dead set on anything but I remember wanting to be something along the lines of a fireman… or a police officer maybe?”

Tony nodded, seeming pleased with that answer. “Okay then second question. Are you content with the current direction your life has taken or would you still like to fulfill that childhood dream if you could?”

Eric chuckled at the bizarre question. “Well… my life hasn’t exactly been going in a good direction recently. If I could change some things I would. But if you’re asking me whether I’d wanna become a cop then… I just don’t think I have what it takes.” He gestured down at his body. “I’m thin and lanky. Don’t really go to the gym that much and I’m not all that good with confrontation. To be honest I just don’t think I have the right mindset to be a cop you know?” Eric huffed before looking back up at the owner. “And no offense but what does that have to do with me working here?”

Tony didn’t answer at first. He just smiled before standing back up again. The owners eyes glanced around the store, mainly at all the costumes and then turned back to Eric.

“Alright. I think I can give you a job.”

Eric was surprised when he heard that. All he’d done was answer two silly questions. He tried to query as to how those questions even mattered but Tony simply asked Eric to follow him. Confused as ever, Eric did just that.

The pair made their way back down the isles of outfits. They passed by the suits, doctors scrubs and all the other costumes yet again. Only the weird thing was now that Eric was getting a closer look at them, he started to notice how real the costumes looked. They weren’t just silly fake costumes you’d wear to a party. They were the real deal! Actually looking as though they belonged to real firemen and real doctors. Even the tradie outfits looked dirty as if they’d been used for actual tradie work.

Tony stopped in front of the police uniforms. Eric was quick to notice just how real those looked as well. Not just uniform but genuine looking police badges as well. Not to mention the radio, utility belt and even a body cam that all looked completely real. As if they’d been taken directly from actual cops and put on display.

“Pick one.” Was all Tony said.

“What? Seriously?” Eric was baffled. This had to be some kind of joke right?

“Oh come on. Humour me a little. Pick one out.” Tony urged, patting Eric on the back. “Though if I were you I’d certainly pick that one.” The shop owner pointed out a specific uniform amongst the selection. Eric didn’t really see why it’d matter which one he chose as they mostly looked the same anyway.

Eric sighed. “Fine, I’ll pick that one then. Now what? Want me to go try it on.” He joked only to be met by an affirming nod from Tony.

“Changing rooms are just over there.”

Eric raised an eyebrow at the man but decided what the hell. He took the uniform off the rack along with the equipment. Tony then picked up the large black boots and placed them on top of the uniform in Eric’s hands. Eric shook his head as he turned and walked off towards the changing rooms.

He shut the blue curtain behind as he stepped into one of the stalls. It was a fair bit bigger than he’d expected it to be. Eric sat the uniform down on the bench before striping himself down to his boxer briefs. After setting his own clothes to one side, he began to get dressed in the police uniform.

First thing he did was pull on the pants which he found to be rather baggy. He sat down to prevent them from falling as he grabbed the shirt, pulling it on and buttoning it up. He made sure to tuck it into his pants before grabbing the utility belt and strapping firmly around his waist. He still couldn’t believe it had a real taser attached to it and everything. Lastly Eric slid his feet into the heavy black boots which were clearly a couple sizes too large.

With that Eric stood up to take a look in the mirror. He looked ridiculous. The uniform was far too big and baggy on him. He looked like he was playing dress up more than anything. He slid his hands into his pockets as looked at himself a little more, amused by the uniform. Though as his hands dug around in the pockets, he realised something was in one of them. It was small and metallic. Eric pulled it out to reveal a name tag with “J. Desmond” engraved on it. Jokingly Eric decided to pin it to his shirt for a laugh.

Eric shook his head again at how silly this all was. Why had Tony made him put this one anyway? With a shrug he was just about to start taking the uniform off, not wanting to look stupid when he stepped out of the changing room. But before he could even start unbuttoning the shirt, he began to feel…weird. Like a warm wave of pure pleasure began flowing over him. A wave so incredible that he almost didn’t notice his body starting to change.

His upper body was first to see a transformation. His back widening significantly as his flat chest began to bubble and swell into two thick hefty pecs. Pecs that grew larger until they started to strain his shirt slightly. The same shirt that’d been hanging loosely off his frame moments ago now starting to fill out at an alarming rate. Especially as his shoulders bulged to the size of cannon balls while his traps grew to match. His waist grew larger but tighter at the same time as fat melted away in place of pure raw muscle. Showing itself even more so in the form of abs. They weren’t chiseled washboard abs, they were thicker and softer than that but still impressive all the same.

But his arms. They were what really caught Eric’s attention. Partly thanks to the cop shirt he was wearing being a short sleeve which gave him a full view of their transformation. He got to watch as veins pulsed across his skinny twig-like arms as though they were being pumped full of unseen energy. And then with pain or warning they started to swell. His previously non existent biceps began hulking into reality as the muscle beneath his skin inflated. It should’ve been impossible. Seemingly gaining mass from nothing. But his eyes witnessed it all. His forearms expanded rapidly while his hands cracked and thickened. His biceps continued to balloon with power and size until they stretched his sleeves. Only then did they finally stop. His veins subsided as his arms reached their new colossal size.

His upper body might’ve been massive now but his lower body was getting ready to catch up. Eric’s waist and hips had already widened enough for the waist of the cop pants to fit securely. Now it was his legs turn to catch up.

In seconds they put on an unbelievable amount of sheer muscle mass. It was as though someone had plugged an air pump into his legs and started filling them up. But it wasn’t air. It was pure real muscle. Eric couldn’t help but groan a little as his pants began to feel tighter. He leaned against the wall of the cubicle for support as his thighs and calves continued to bloat thicker and more powerful by the second. The once baggy cop pants now fit him like a glove. But it wasn’t just his legs. His backside started to swell as well. His once average butt growing into a juicy muscular bubble ass that strained against the back of his pants perfectly. Not to mention his feet cracking and lengthening similar to hands. Growing multiple sizes until they fit perfectly inside the black cop boots he had on.

When the next change kicked in, Eric’s eyes widened as one of his hands instinctively flew towards his crotch. Grabbing his bulge tightly as even that began to swell and grow. His eyes began to roll back as his cock snaked down one his legs, growing girthier in the process. Meanwhile his balls followed suit as they bloated into fat heavy nuts full to the brim with cum.

His body was complete but his head still had to change. A stinging sensation came over his face as it started to morph. The shape of his head and all of his features altering dramatically until he was unrecognisable from the man he once was. His new look being much sharper and masculine in a way that would’ve screamed high school jock had he been a little younger. All the while the light stubble he’d always carried grew into more of a short well kept beard while the messy mid length hair he adorned shortened into faded crew cut.

“Fuuuuuck…” Eric groaned as the transformation subsided at last. There was a clear difference in his voice. It must’ve been altered with the rest of his body. He found himself looking back into the mirror with amazement. No longer was he that scrawny pale figure of a man he’d seen reflected all his life. Now he was… buff. Really buff! And hot as fuck!. It was unreal. The uniform that was more or less falling off him moments ago now clung to him as though he were made for it. He couldn’t stop himself from running his hands up and down his torso, feeling a set of strong abs hiding under his shirt before drifting back up to squeeze his power new pecs through the fabric. He never thought he’d actually have fucking pecs but here he was now! Groping and kneading them.

In all the excitement his cock began to firm up. Eric could feel the blood rushing to his crotch as his growing erection created a clear outline in his pants. He smirked as he brought both hands down towards his crotch. Gently he rubbed his hands across the length of his dick through his pants.

Eric looked back into the mirror before bringing both arms up into flex. His already hard cock twitched at the sight of his biceps bulging, threatening to rip his sleeves in the process. The strength he felt flowing through his arms… No, his whole body was intoxicating! With his left hand Eric proceeded to grasp and squeeze his right bicep. It seemed impossible, like he was living in a lucid dream!

Just then Eric thought of something he’d always wished he could do. He’d never been buff enough to do it before. But now? He lowered his arms to his sides, stood up straight before flexing his chest. His pecs bounced. Eric’s eyes widened in amazement at the sight of his new muscle tits jumping underneath the shirt. He bounced them a few more times before cupping them again with a sense of pure wonder flowing through him. “These feel fucking amazing…”

Once he’d finished admiring his pecs, Eric remembered something else that’d grown. He turned his back to the mirror and looked behind. His cock twitched extra hard this time as he caught sight of his muscular new cop butt straining against his uniform pants. He couldn’t help himself. Before long his greedy hands were reaching back and grasping at his thick bubbly ass. “Oooohh fuuck.” He growled, feeling just how hefty they were. “My ass is fucking huge!…” Eric murmured aloud, lost in the pleasure. So lost in fact that he didn’t even notice Tony peering through the curtains. Watching with a horny gaze as Eric squeezed and groped his fat new ass. Even watching as Eric went as far as to place his hands just under his ass cheeks and start jiggling them, dumbly laughing as he did.

Eric felt his cock pulsing and bucking uncontrollably as he played with his cop butt. So much so that he couldn’t hold back anymore. Soon enough he spun back around to face the mirror again before unzipping his pants. Tony continued to creep in on the show while Eric shoved a hand into his underwear, struggling to free his erection. With a little effort however Eric was able to let out a satisfied sigh as his girthy python sprung free. The thing must’ve been around 9 inches long and insanely thick. It was every man’s dream cock.

A slapping noise could be heard from the changing rooms as Eric began smacking his cock against his hand while he admired it. Every smack sent a pleasurable shiver through his body. He had to stroke it. He was just able to wrap his hand around its full girth before he started to pump. It had to have been at least three times more sensitive than his old cock as Eric couldn’t stop cursing while he pumped it.

He began to jerk faster as he looked over his new body in the mirror again. His handsome bearded face and buff body. How thick his legs were. How buff his arms had become. How massive his chest had grown. Just looking at it all reflected back at him allowed him to jerk off furiously. He then looked down at his cock. He loved seeing it. Soooo thick and excited as some precum started to drip from the tip. With how sensitive it was and intensely he was pumping it, Eric could tell he was gonna to blow any moment.

He turned to his left, getting a perfect side view of his body. He couldn’t help but fixate on how much his ass stood out. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching his free hand back towards it again. Before long he was groping his ass and jerking his cock all at the same time. The new cop was having the time of his goddamn life!

“Fuuuuuuuccck!” That was enough to send him over the edge. Tony, who was still watching, saw Eric's ass clench and his cock erupt with an enormous load. One so big that it shit cum all over the benches adjacent to the new cop as well as his old and now ill fitting clothes. His cock continued to buck and twitch for a good few moments afterwards. Shooting a few more times as it covered the floor in front of him with cum.

“See. I knew you’d like that one.” Tony finally made himself known as he pulled back the curtain.

Eric whipped around, still panting a little. “Fuck I… my deepest apologies sir… I couldn’t stop myself.” He tried to reason.

“No need to apologise Officer.” Tony smirked as he glanced down at Eric’ softening cock, still dripping cum. “Most find it hard to contain themselves after what you just went through. So no need to worry. I’ll even get it cleaned up for ya.” The store manager smiled innocently.

“Officer?…” Eric repeated what the other man had said to him as though it weren’t the truth. It sounded weird and off putting to hear someone call him that. So why did it sound so right at the same time?

“Well you are a Cop now. Officer James Desmond to be precise, so you better get used to hearing it.” Tony nodded towards the name tag that was pinned to Eric’s shirt.

Hearing that name triggered something inside Eric. Memories of being Cop flooded his mind along with a bunch of other unfamiliar memories. He still remembered who he used to be but now he had a whole new life filling his head that made his old one feel like a fleeting dream. A new life as Officer James Desmond.

“Thank you sir. You have no idea how grateful I am for all this…” James stated, his new manners kicking in right away. Immediately after he tucked his fat new cock back into his pants before pulling up the zip. “But I’ve got to be back at the station in half an hour.”

“No worries Officer! I completely understand. You head off and I’ll be sure to get all your ball batter cleaned. Might take me a while though.” Tony joked, earning a chuckle from James.

“Heh sorry sir. Got myself a pair of bull balls down here.” James gave his crotch a quick squeeze. “Well I’m off. If you ever need anything don’t hesitate to ask for me down at the staton.” He said, passing by Tony as he exited the changing cubicle.

“Oh don’t worry I will.” Tony replied, giving James’ ass a smack as he passed. He continued to watch James’ ass shake as he sauntered away up until the sexy new cop reached the front door.

James hopped into his car, not even noticing it’d been morphed into a cop car, before starting up the engine. As he drove towards the station he couldn’t help but daydream about plunging his cock into some other hot cop’s ass or having another cop fuck his new bubble butt. Surely some of his buddies down at the station would be down for some fun. According to his memories he seemed to recall catching his own partner checking out his ass a couple times…

Back at the shop. “Another life bettered and another hot stud on the streets. A pretty good day I’d say” Tony sighed to himself with a smile before turning back towards the changing room. Looking over at the huge mess of Cop nut he now had to clean. “Well… best get to work.”

[rin-fukuroi]

𝐋𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐱 𝐢𝐭 [𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞]

Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.

The originals of my works can be read here

Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail Pairings: yan!Blade x Fem!reader Warnings: NSFW, modern AU, biker!Blade, yandere, dub-con, loss of virginity, oral sex, rough sex, light suffocation.

Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq 

I think this image is perfect for Blade. He's perfect as a yandere and the bike makes him even hotter, don't u think so? (≧◡≦) ♡

Every evening, as you trudged wearily from your office to your house, you were accompanied by the loud rumble of a motorcycle, dispelling the silence of deserted streets. You didn't know the man who always seems to be intentionally nearby when you're lazily walking along the sadly familiar alleys, but you saw him a couple of times, admiring his bike when he stopped near your office building during your lunch break.

A tall, perfectly built, gloomy-looking man leaned impressively against the seat of a motorcycle, clutching a smoking cigarette between his long index and middle fingers, framed by the soft leather of a black glove. His long blue-black curls with burgundy tips couldn't help but delight you no less than his fiery eyes fixed on the phone in his other hand. He looks so relaxed and indifferent, as if immersed in his own world and not noticing anything that is happening around him.

You are so mesmerized by how his muscular chest slowly rises in time with his measured breathing, how his long bangs flutter in the wind, how his long eyelashes lightly touch his cheeks when he blinks, and how the scarlet earring makes a vaguely quiet tinkling sound, swaying from the air… And, damn, how is it not hot for him to stand in the sun when, no matter how hard you try, your gaze stubbornly could not find a single bare part of his body? A black leather jacket suits this man so well, emphasizing the slight curve of his waist and broad shoulders, and black jeans hug the seductive muscles of his calves and muscular thighs.

— Wanna go for a ride?

You were pulled out of your thoughts by a velvety low voice, just to match the appearance of this man. Just as sexy and alluring, but dangerous and dark, as well as the aura emanating from him.

— No, no, not at all!.. Mmm, I'm looking, but I'm not touching.

— Hm. It's not the first time I've caught you looking at my bike. You have nothing to worry about, I'm a good driver, — the man throws a cigarette on the asphalt and quickly crushes it with his foot, not taking his eyes off you.

What surprised you was the way he addressed you so familiar, even though you don't even know each other… But maybe that was the impetus for you to desire this man and want to know more about him.

You are always so careful, even a little cowardly, but then why are you now pressing your chest against someone else's back, your arms are wrapped around his waist, and you shamelessly inhale the fragrance coming from a stranger? He smells of tobacco and expensive cologne, so alluring that you can't help but keep your nose buried in his hair longer in the hope that he won't notice.

You hear the roar of the engine, feel the muscles of his back tense up when he lifts his leg off the ground and the motorcycle starts to go. Slowly at first, while he carefully drives around cars standing in traffic. But then it picks up incredible speed when you go out on a deserted straight. You tremble, clinging to the man's body like a lifeline, and close your eyes, frightened by how the bushes and signs on both sides of the road blur before your eyes. A strong wind meets the bare skin of your arms and legs. It wasn't the best idea to agree to this adventure when you were wearing your work blouse and skirt, but the offer was too tempting to refuse. No matter how much fear tormented you, adrenaline was raging in your blood. You have given up any dangers, any adventures for so long, preferring a measured quiet life to the extreme, that this trip has become for you like a breath of fresh air, the need for which you did not even know.

The next time you were already less afraid, willingly jumping on his bike the next day, and the next after that, and throughout the week. Trips with him have become long-awaited for you after hard working days, and on weekends, for the first time in your life, you couldn't wait for Monday to meet this man again. You didn't know how he ended up near your office, what he was doing there, whether he worked with you in the same company and what the hell his name was. But it wasn't so important to you, because he just made you a little happier.

On your first day off, you looked disappointed in the refrigerator, catching yourself thinking that it looks like you should still go out to the store. The last meal was over at lunch, but you feel your stomach cramping with hunger, realizing that it does not tolerate until tomorrow. You lazily grab your bag, jump into your sneakers and look sadly at the darkness outside the window. You don't like going out in the evenings, and you've almost come to an agreement with yourself that you should just order food for dinner, but this would only postpone the solution to the problem for tomorrow.

Your legs barely carry you to the nearest grocery store, and you freeze when the familiar sound of a humming motor cuts into your ears. Stunned eyes meet with fiery irises glowing in the dark, a man leaning against his bike near the entrance to the store, still smoking a cigarette in his hand. You blink a few times, not believing your eyes. Did you fall asleep on your couch and it's all just a dream? Otherwise, how else to explain the fact that the same man somehow inexplicably ended up here, now, just when you decided to finally get out of your hole? You make forays anywhere other than work so rarely, usually going to the store on the way back from the office, but then why did all the stars come together right now, and you met someone you didn't even suspect that you would be so glad to see?

You pull yourself together, worried that your stunned frozen figure will only scare off an already strange man. Have you ever worried about what he thinks of you at all? Such a frivolous, without a second thought, who agreed to go somewhere with an unknown man at the very moment when you just started talking for the first time. He must think you're a desperate single woman, but what's wrong with him?

✧ ✧ ✧ You walk unsteadily towards him, meekly waving your palm. As always, a stranger puts out a cigarette, turning all his attention to you.

— Are you stalking me? — you giggle nervously, immediately realizing how bad your joke was, but at the same time fearing that he will answer in the affirmative.

— Maybe, — his voice sounds, as always, cold and dispassionate, making you doubt whether he answered with a joke for a joke or whether you should start to be afraid of him.

Seeing your confusion, the man barely grins before placing his elbow on the seat of the motorcycle.

— Aren't you going in?

You shudder, thinking about his question for a second.

— Oh, you mean the store! Hehe, right, yeah… I'm going to, — you awkwardly press your palm to your neck, dulling your gaze. — Then I think I'll should go.

The man just mumbles softly, following you with his eyes as you walk away behind the doors of a small grocery store. While you're walking around between the counters, you can't put your thoughts together, you can't even concentrate on what you came here for. Will he still be outside when you come out? No, it's silly to hope for that. You don't think he's really here because of you. It's all just innocent jokes, and he has no reason to pursue a boring person like you. What can you really give this man, besides your dull presence? What could he have clung to to show interest in you? Although, if you think about it, for some reason he always seems to be waiting for you in the office parking lot. Maybe he's a maniac and tried to find out where you live in this way? If so, it's good that you always asked him to drop you off on neutral territory and waited for the moment when he left to walk to his house. But what if he really likes you? From these thoughts, your cheeks are covered with pink powder of embarrassment, forcing people passing by to look back puzzled at the smiling woman at the counter with pads, embarrassingly covering her face with her palms.

It took about twenty minutes while you gathered your thoughts and threw everything you needed into the basket to survive this weekend. At the checkout, you were met by a bored and tired look of a woman over forty, who casually dumped your groceries into a bag before you hurriedly followed to the exit. Your heart was pounding wildly in your chest when you cautiously looked into the place where the stranger's bike used to stand in the hope of seeing him there again. How stupid of you to hope for such things. You haven't even been a student for a long time to tremble from just reproducing his image in your fantasies. This man really awakened some inexplicable interest in you, which was fueled by nothing but short conversations and silent trips. You wanted so much to know something about him, but you never had the courage to ask him at least one personal question.

You almost jump for joy, but you stifle the glee that tears your chest when you see that he is still here. Maybe he was really waiting for you? You don't see any other reason why a man can stand outside a grocery store for about half an hour at such a late hour.

— You're still here! Have you been waiting for me? — you're letting out a nervous laugh again. It's a pity, you should definitely work on your self-control.

— I thought you could use some help, — the man looked down at the grocery bag in your hand. Ah, well, what a gentleman he is.

— Oh, I won't refuse!

The stranger straightened up and walked towards you, taking the package from your hand. For a second, you could feel the touch of his leather glove on your palm. I wonder how the touch of his bare hand would feel?

— So you live nearby, I suppose?

— Mm… yeah, it will only take ten minutes from here.

— Do you want to go for a ride or…? — I don't rlly think the eggs in the bag will survive this trip, — you chuckle softly, rubbing your neck with your palm again. Of course you're nervous. You don't even know his name, and he'll already know where you live. Exactly…

✧ ✧ ✧

You walked slowly along the sidewalks at night in complete silence while you tried to summon all the courage you had in you to ask a question that you had long wanted to hear the answer to.

— L-listen… — you hesitate, fiddling with the store receipt in your hands. — I've been wanting to know your name for a long time...

Did you finally dare to ask? Although, this is quite a reasonable question considering that it's not the first time you've met and it would be strange if you still didn't know his name. Even at the moment, it's strange, and you don't see any good reasons for him to hide this information from you. At least you calm yourself with these thoughts.

— I'm surprised you decided to ask about it just now.

You stop, eyes wide in surprise. After a couple of steps forward, the man notices that you are not there and turns around at your frozen figure.

— What is it?

— What does that mean? You could have introduced yourself if it wasn't a problem! — you cross your arms over your chest in displeasure.

— Mm… yeah, you're right, — for a second the man thoughtfully tilts his head sideways, looking at your irritated face, before coming closer. His tall figure casts a shadow on you from the night lamp standing on the left side of the sidewalk. — I'm Blade.

— Pff! You see, it wasn't difficult at all, — you try to hide the blush on your cheeks, turning away in mock irritation, but then you raise your head again, meeting his fiery eyes. — Y/N… You didn't ask for my name either.

— I suppose you no longer have any reason to fear that I'll find out where you live?

You shudder when you hear him literally voicing the thoughts that were floating in your head just a few minutes ago.

— Why are you…! Oh, okay. Just let's go already.

You walk around the standing figure of a man you now seem to know, in order to continue walking slowly towards your house.

Blade, then?..

✧ ✧ ✧

It seemed that the silence accompanying you in the last minutes of the journey to the door of your house weighed on you even more than before. You were so eager to learn something about Blade that when you were finally given a piece of information, you simply didn't know what to do with it. Does that mean you can ask anything else? Or maybe you should invite him to come over and have dinner together in gratitude for his help? Oh, you're not sure that your house is in the best condition for receiving guests right now… But when else will you have such an opportunity to be alone with him for a longer time and in an environment in which the roar of his motorcycle engine will not interfere with your conversation?

You turn around on small heels when you approach your door. Blade stands behind you and silently holds out the package. You shift from one foot to the other, not daring to take it out of the man's hand, it seems that you are going to say something, but you clearly have problems with it again.

— What's wrong now? Or did you just want to take a walk, and I can keep this as payment?

You snort, changing your mood again, like a switch.

— Very funny!! I just… I was wondering, what are you going to do after I leave? If you're free, then maybe you won't mind… No, I'm not insisting, but…

— Are you inviting me in?

— Yes, I just… What?! — you're starting to look like a scared kitten again, looking up at Blade in surprise. — God, it's starting to scare me how you literally read my mind.

— It wasn't hard to guess, — Blade shrugs.

— Hmm, well, then, I take it you don't mind?

— I think there is a window in my schedule at twelve o'clock at night. You roll your eyes, but then you laugh, turning away from Blade to open the door.

✧ ✧ ✧

Awkward.

This is the only word that was spinning on your tongue when you were standing in the kitchen and hurriedly trying to cook dinner for a man who was relaxing on your sofa in the living room. You gave him brief glances that you hope he didn't notice. Although, given the fact that he already seems to be reading you like an unfolded book, he may guess that you are spying on him like a schoolgirl in love.

After an hour of your anxious attempts not to burn the food, you finally finish and solemnly bring two plates of food into the living room. You've never been able to boast of any special skills in cooking, so you decided not to take any chances and cook what you do best. You would like to impress him, and although this is impossible, you should at least do the minimum and not embarrass yourself in front of this man.

— Ta-dam! I don't pretend to be a chef, but it should be edible and cover my debt to you for your help, — you put a plate in front of Blade with an improvised omelet decorated with neat slices of tomatoes and a couple of basil leaves for aesthetics.

— Omelet? Is it morning now?

— Hey, I'm making a really delicious omelet! It doesn't matter what time it is, delicious food is delicious food, so eat and don't be picky.

You put your fists on your sides and watch carefully as Blade incredulously picks up a fork and breaks off a piece of an air omelet. Only after the piece has sunk into his mouth and Blade's face has relaxed, seeming to realize that his stomach is not in danger, you sit down next to him, starting to eat your portion.

— Is it delicious.

— Hm. It's edible.

— God, you could have chosen a nicer word, — you sigh, stabbing another piece on the fork before smiling. — I'm glad you like it.

— So you invite everyone to your place and treat them with an omelet who will lend you a helping hand?

— Aren't you ashamed of yourself? Of course not.

— Hmm, then what did I do to deserve such an honor? — Blade pushes his empty plate away and leans back on the sofa, watching you chew slowly, seemingly considering his answer.

— Mm… I don't know. Maybe I just feel like I can trust you.

— Is that so?

— Oh, what do you want me to say? I just did it because I wanted to.

— I think there are other reasons for that.

The fork slips out of your hand, clattering to the floor when you catch Blade's face in your peripheral vision, too close to yours. So much so that you can feel his breath and the familiar pleasant aroma coming from him, mixed with tobacco notes.

— W—what are you doing?

— You're blushing, Y/N, — you feel the touch of a cold leather glove on your cheek. In the dimness of the room, lit only by a couple of nightlights, Blade's face seems simply unearthly. So handsome, such perfect features, such mesmerizing eyes that you can't tear yourself away from. You flinch when Blade snatches the plate out of your hand, putting it on the coffee table where you are sitting. — Did you know that your liking for me is too obvious?

— I—I don't know what you're talking about!

— Really? Then why are you letting me touch you now?

Damn.

Indeed, your body treacherously succumbs to his touch, and all your thoughts are clogged only with the question of what his lips taste like? On the other hand, there's nothing abnormal about it. You're an adult woman and it's quite normal to show feelings towards someone, especially since it doesn't look like Blade doesn't reciprocate them. Or does he need you just to have fun? No… He doesn't look like that kind of person.

— And if so? What then? — you swallow nervously, continuing to maintain eye contact with Blade.

— Then I don't see a single reason why I couldn't do it.

And everything around you seems to acquire bright colors that you have never noticed before. Your heart is pounding in chest, and your stomach is cramping with pleasant spasms when Blade's lips are pressed against yours. Even better than you imagined. Soft, slightly moist, when you bite into each other's lips over and over again, the taste is as pleasant as his smell, remotely leaving the taste of cigarettes on your tongue. His big gloved hands are walking around the curves of your body, and you can't resist it. You don't want him to stop.

You moan contentedly in the kiss, and Blade swallows any sounds that come out of your throat, pressing more and more insistently into your lips and thrusting his tongue into your mouth, allowing him to wriggle around yours. Oh, there's practically nothing to compare you to, but this kiss is the best thing that's ever happened to you. Passion and desire oozes from every movement of his lips, his touch burns your skin even through your clothes. You inevitably fall onto the sofa cushion when Blade presses down on you with the weight of his body. You feel his hands leave you for a moment, and the first piece of clothing that ends up on the floor of your house — gloves — flies off from his palms. His long fingers skillfully straighten the buttons of your shirt, and finally, you can feel the warmth of his skin on your chest when he squeezes your elastic flesh with his bare palms, without taking his eyes off your lips for a second.

It's all so much like a dream, and if it is, then you don't want to wake up anymore. Let at least today, at least now you will feel welcome in the arms of a man who has been making your heart flutter for a long time, while your tongues waltz with each other, not wanting to break away from each other. So sweet, so nice. Have kisses always been so pleasant? Then you should have lived your life differently, or were you just taking care of yourself so that your first real, such an amazing kiss happened with him?

You choke, grabbing Blade's leather jacket, automatically pulling it off his broad shoulders and sending it to the floor after his gloves. And at that moment, Blade pulls away from the kiss, hovering over you and taking a breath for just a couple of moments. His fingers move to the hem of his T-shirt, hastily pulling it over his head and throwing it somewhere in the corner of the living room. Even in the semi-darkness, you can admire how beautifully his long hair is tousled, how his eyes are clouded with desire and every bulge on his embossed abs. You can't resist touching his firm chest with your fingertips, tracing lines down his torso to the bottom of his stomach, where your hands stop.

You hesitate, suddenly feeling a strong excitement. You have never seen even what you see now before, and a certain fear that you can now expose his body even more has settled in your chest, causing uncontrollable anxiety.

Blade looms over you, still calmly and intently looking into your eyes when you blush and try to look away, hastily removing your hands from his body.

— I'm sorry, I'm just… — you swallow a lump in your throat, returning to your voice a tiny fraction of the former, already meager, confidence. — I'm a virgin! God… I don't believe I'm saying this.

— Mm, seriously? — Blade's big palms are returning to your body again. His long fingers slide along the curve of your neck, sinking lower and lower, bypassing the bulge of your chest and tense stomach, before reaching the zipper of your jeans. — Then I have to fix it.

You almost squeal from the way his warm fingers touch the bottom of your stomach when he undoes the button in one movement, then just as quickly to deal with the zipper. You squirm in place as you watch Blade pull down your jeans over your legs. It's all so awkward and so embarrassing when you notice how his gaze falls on your underwear, which seems to be already soaked to the skin after your kissing session.

Blade makes a brief eye contact with you, as if for the sake of decency, checking whether you agree to him pulling off your panties, but, to tell the truth, he didn't care about your permission. Thoughts of you have filled his head for too long. What is happening now is not an accident, but the result of strict adherence to the plan that Blade adhered to. The fact that now you are so wet, flushed and ready for everything with him is the fruit of his titanic patience. He wanted to take you even at the first meeting, even at the moment when your arms wrapped around his waist, even when your breasts pressed against his back. And even earlier, when he watched for months how boring your life was. Work, home, and then work again. Womans at your age prefer pleasure and entertainment to such a gray lifestyle, so why aren't you like that? He had many women who loved luxury, money and sex — all that he could offer them, but they bored him even in those moments when they opened their mouths. Not a single honest word ever escaped from their lips, only lies, flattery and lust, which oozed out of their every pore just to get what they wanted. But you're not like that. You're a boring, ordinary person. People like you are called gray mice, nothing stands out from the crowd. But that's why you caught his eye. Blade noticed that, despite the fact that you are quite antisocial, you are always kind to others, you are always honest and fair, incorruptible and frank in everything you say or do. The sincere interest with which you studied his motorcycle or the way you stole glances at him himself could not but touch Blade. A lump of purity and innocence that he should tarnish in order to make his own.

And now you are just as innocently and sincerely moaning, not pretending for a moment, but only drowning in the pleasant sensations that his palms give you, sliding along the inside of your thighs, getting closer and closer to your underwear. You're shy, you turn away, but then you turn your gaze back to him when the thin fabric of your panties slowly slides down your thighs to your ankles to completely leave your body. Blade grabs your leg under the knee, throwing it over his shoulder, and bends down to leave a wet, long kiss on your thigh while his eyes seem to burn holes in yours. In your pure and innocent eyes, on which tears of happiness mixed with embarrassment are about to roll, which you do not hide in any way, presenting yourself to Blade as you really are. You're not fake, you're real.

He closes his eyes, sinking lower, and presses his lips to the soft flesh of your crotch. You shiver and squirm, not saying a word, just watching Blade through half-closed eyelids, trying to restrain your moans.

— I'm curious, — Blade murmurs into your heated skin. — Did you touch yourself when you thought about me?

— Wh-what? — his question puts you in a dead end and makes you blush even more. Blade already knows the answer, but will you be honest or will you lie to him? — I… uh, yeah.

God, where did you come from? Perfection.

Blade spreads your legs even wider without delay, running his tongue over your wet folds until he reaches the clitoris, circling around it with the tip. You cover your lips with the back of your hand, unsuccessfully muffling the moan escaping from your chest. And Blade just enjoys your taste. The sweetness tickling his tongue like nectar, the only one in the whole world that can quench his thirst. He is insatiable, persistently lapping up the moisture of your arousal. Next time, you shouldn't bother cooking dinner, because that's enough for him.

You make such sweet sounds — music to Blade's ears. And how did he live without it before?

You've never experienced anything like this in your life. It seems so dirty and so embarrassing, but his tongue wriggles so pleasantly between your folds, casually touching your throbbing clitoris. It's all so new and unusual, and so… Excitingly. You just can't believe that the man you're in love with is now so greedily giving you pleasure. It all makes you feel so special, so loved, even though you have no idea who he is and how many women he had before you, it was all so unimportant. He's with you tonight, he chose you—and that's all that matters.

Your legs shudder when you feel Blade's finger slowly sinking into your insides without any warning. It feels completely different than when you did it yourself. You've always masturbated with such caution, fearing to feel pain, but Blade does it so persistently and consciously, as if he's done it thousands of times. You would like to be upset about this thought, but right now your head is too full of thoughts about how damn nice it is to feel him inside. You just let go of any extraneous thoughts, plunging into these delightful sensations.

— Oh, wait, Blade! — you cry out when you feel your walls stretch when his first finger joins the second. It's slightly painful, but the prickly feeling suppresses the indescribable pleasure when Blade completely ignores all your alarmed sounds and words, adamantly pursuing the intention to bring you to orgasm.

But it was enough for you how his fingers bent inside, pressing on some particularly sensitive point, forcing your back to arch and your lower abdomen to twist from a delightful feeling, different from how you brought yourself to a climax on your own. Much brighter waves of pleasure spread through your muscles while you writhe in the grip of the Blade, which does not slow down at all, prolonging this sweet feeling.

You open your eyes lazily when you feel Blade pulling away. You are greeted by an obscene picture of how he greedily licks his lips, glistening from the mixture of his saliva with your moisture.

— Now you understand what you've been giving up all your life, huh? — Blade lifts up, hovering over you. His lips are almost touching yours as he continues to speak. — But you've been saving yourself for me like a good girl.

From his words, a pleasant heat spread again in the bottom of your stomach. The tips of his long hair tickle your face as he lifts himself up to straighten the fly of his trousers. You feel ashamed again at the thought that you could have done it yourself. For some unknown reason, you are afraid to look down again, but you take a deep breath before coming face to face with what was bothering you so much a moment ago. All your anxiety literally recedes into the background, giving way to real fear when a massive, thick and long cock appears before your eyes, menacingly directed by Blade's palm towards your crotch. Swollen veins stretch along its base, and the head glistens from the pre-ejaculate oozing from the urethra.

— Stop! Blade! — you're backing away, unsuccessfully trying to bring your legs together. Blade's free palm lands on the inside of your thigh, stopping you.

— Hm? What happened?

— I can't! That is all… It's too big… — you mumble to yourself, looking away in embarrassment. Your hands reach for the edges of your shirt in a vain attempt to hide at least your breasts from Blade's eyes, but you are immediately stopped by the way Blade forcefully spreads your legs again, settling between them and grabbing your wrists, pulling you back. You plop down on the couch again, crying out in fright as Blade fixes your hands above your head with one palm, while the other returns to his cock again.

— You can. It's okay, it's what you wanted, isn't it? — the tip of his cock slides pleasantly between your folds. — Look how wet you are. I don't think you would have started flowing like that if you didn't want me. Then what's the problem?

— I-I… it's going to hurt me…

Blade freezes for a second before moving closer to your lips again, leaving a short, as if pretending to soothe kiss on them.

— It won't, I promise, — he whispers into your lips, and you swallow hard, sobbing softly from the tears that have welled up in your eyes. For a moment, you even forgot that he had just forced you to obey him by buying into a promise carelessly thrown in your face. You nod uncertainly. — Good girl.

It seemed like every muscle in your body tensed up when you felt the head of his heavy cock travel down from your clitoris before menacingly resting against your entrance. Perhaps it seemed to you because of the poor lighting of the room, but you are ready to swear that Blade's face was distorted in a sinister grin before his cock began to insistently make its way into your insides, stretching the tight walls that resist.

It hurts. It really hurts. Did he lie?

—B-Blade! It hurts me, wait! — you squirm in his grip, trying to free your wrists, but his palm squeezes them tighter, not allowing you to move under the weight of his body.

But he doesn't listen, continuing to persistently move further and further until his cock completely fills your insides. You scream and whine, squeezing your eyes shut when salty tears inevitably begin to roll down your cheeks. Only when the Blade reaches the limit in your vagina, he stops, exhaling heavily into your lips.

— See how perfectly you accept me, — his husky velvet voice whispers, settling an unpleasant echo in your head.

You don't understand what's going on. Where did the man with whom you kissed so sweetly just recently on this very sofa go?

Wait a minute…

You will suddenly be pierced by the disgusting realization that he was not a bit gentle with you from the very beginning. Everything he did was just his own desire. He never asked for permission, literally forcibly persuading you to what he needs. Is this really the person you fell in love with?

The sharp pain begins to gradually subside until exactly the moment when Blade's hips are pushed back to crash into your ass with force. And then again. And again. And again. His thrusts are deep and persistent, gradually gaining momentum. You do not lose hope of at least freeing your hands, twitching them in Blade's grip, but unsuccessfully, as before. His fingers wrapped around your wrists with incredible strength, seemingly instantly leaving bruises on your skin. You continue to whimper and sob, rocking on the sofa in time with his ruthless movements. Gradually, the pain mixes with a treacherous feeling of pleasure, which begins to intercept dominance, causing this pleasant heat in the bottom of your stomach. No matter how rude Blade was, he is still a divinely handsome man who chose you for tonight, and this thought began to repeat itself in your mind over and over again, like a mantra calling you to calm and relax. You should give yourself up to pleasant sensations, discarding all prejudices, because tears and attempts to resist now will not give you anything, except that your body will be covered with even bigger bruises from the way his thrusts become more and more lashing as you try to escape more and more desperately.

What a pity that you don't know that he didn't choose you for this night. You belong to him from now until you take your last breath.

Gradually, your sobs are replaced by stifled moans, and your lips open when you meet the gaze of Blade looming over you. His scarlet earring swings in a shock of tousled pitch-black hair, bangs frame his face, and fiery eyes do not tear away from yours, hypnotizing you with lust and obsession burning in them.

— Haha, does it hurt now? — Blade's free hand moves to your jaw, tilting your head back so he can get a better look at your tear-stained, flushed face. — You should see your face now. I resisted so much that now I give up and enjoy it like a whore.

For some reason, his insult only brought you even closer to the edge. When did you manage to become so depraved that dirty things like this began to excite you? You wanted to respond with something, to do at least something to refute his words, but the way his cock began to move even more insistently and quickly, stretching your insides and touching all the most sensitive places, literally knocked down any thought that surfaced in your mind. All you were capable of was making vulgar sweet sounds, inciting Blade to move even more vigorously until your throat began to tear from screaming.

His heavy palm moves from your jaw to your throat, pressing hard on your fragile neck. The movements of Blade's hips became so careless and the rhythm had long been lost while he was blindly chasing his own pleasure, neglecting any dissatisfaction that might surface on your face. But even that didn't happen. Because you're too perfect for him, accepting him for who he is and really enjoying the way he's using your body right now. You are sincere even in this, unable to hide how much you like how he roughly fucks you, forcing you to suffocate from the force of the pressure of his hand on your throat.

He can't hold back the grim grin in which his lips stretch when Blade notices how your eyes roll up and your back desperately arches towards him while a wave of the second orgasm rolls over your body that night. He absolutely doesn't care how sensitive you will be after that, he doesn't care that he can cause you discomfort or hurt, he just continues to ruthlessly bump into you with his hips until his cock begins to throb and swell inside your uncontrollably spasming walls from excessive stimulation.

— You want me to cum inside you, huh? — Blade coos, tilting his head to the side and watching the expression of helplessness and loss painted on your face as you open and close your mouth in a futile attempt to answer his question. In fact, you didn't even fully understand what he was asking, too lost in the fog of pleasure that overwhelmed your body and mind. — Hm. It's your first time, I have to be polite, don't I? — you groan hoarsely, looking at him through heavy eyelids and eyelashes wet with tears. — I know, I know that you want this, but you and I have our whole life ahead of us. I promise that I will fill you more than you can fit, but next time, and today… Let me be a gentleman, okay?

Even Blade himself was amused by his own words. He has never been a gentleman, never thought about how others feel, always getting only what he needs from life, ready to step over even corpses if necessary. But today, with you… Perhaps he really got a little emotional.

After a few careless thrusts and restrained quiet moans, his cock abruptly burst out of your insides. His palm released your throat, allowing you to finally take such a welcome breath of air, moving onto his cock, making several hasty strokes before you felt an unfamiliar hot sticky liquid flood your stomach. You were trying to catch your breath, still not daring to open your eyes, but you could hear Blade breathing heavily, now releasing your wrists and pulling away from your body.

You blink several times, trying to focus your vision, blurred from the drops of tears that have settled on your eyelashes. Only after a few moments does the vile realization of what just happened come to you. But all those words that Blade said… now they belatedly cut into your thoughts, scrolling over and over again. He wasn't serious, was he? You exhale heavily, grabbing your throat with your palms, before rising from your seat and feeling the viscous drops of sperm flow down the bottom of your stomach. You looked down, noticing, it seems, a completely ruined sofa, stained with your secretions, drops of blood, now mixed with semen. It all looks so terribly dirty, but for some reason you feel an amazing lightness and relaxation in your body. Is this how people usually feel after sex? It really doesn't seem like it was what you imagined, but you can't help but admit the fact that it was nice in a way.

You look up, meeting Blade's eyes. His long fingers plunge into the sweat-damp curls of his bangs, combing the unruly strands back. His lips stretch into a grin as he looks you over, noticing how messed up you are.

— Blade… — your voice sounds so hoarse and quiet that you can barely hear yourself.

— Yes?

— You're… You weren't serious about saying all that, were you?

— What exactly?

— Well, about that… That we have our whole life ahead of us, — you move your hands to your shirt, covering your chest with a thin cloth, and bring your legs together, awkwardly fidgeting in your place on the couch.

— Hm, — Blade bends down, cupping your jaw with his palm hard enough to make you flinch in fright, but not enough to hurt you. His lips meet yours again in a short but insistent and possessive kiss. — This is the pure truth.

[ryuichirou]

AzuIde Marriage AU replies

A couple of replies related to the comic we posted yesterday + a reply for a pretty old ask from back when we posted the comic on Ko-Fi! Since the comic is finally edited properly and posted here, I can actually write a proper reply.

Thank you for your patience, and thanks to everyone for your interest!

Anonymous asked:

Can I just say how much I adore your design for adult azul? It just hits all the marks, the round glasses with chain? Yes! White suit? Yes! Hairstyle? fucking yes!

Thank you so much, Anon!!

Round glasses work super well with Azul’s face, he looks like even more of a villain somehow lol So I love making him wear those. And I am such a sucker for horrible people wearing white suits (it’s like a trauma from my Yami no Matsuei days). I am very happy you like this design for Azul!

In-universe though, I think Azul is very careful with what he wears and how he accessorses himself, so every one of his decisions is very intentional.

Anonymous asked:

Is Azul still going to be mad at Idia when they get home? Will he dole out punishment?

Partially replied here, as well as gave some more explanation about what actually happened (there isn’t much though because the story is very vague), and I’ll repost that explanation just in case! <3

Here is what I can say for certain: after being separated from Idia for quite a long time, Azul is going to kind of take care of him, as in “it’s okay, you’ve suffered enough” kind of way; but Idia is smart enough to know that this is just Azul trying to make Idia rely on him again, so he could shut the cage door and trap him once and for all. Azul is also very good at victimblaming, manipulating and gaslighting + has will-power that Idia doesn’t always have, so even if Idia knows that Azul’s kindness isn’t genuine (Azul never forgets those who betray him), he is powerless to change anything at this point. He just wants him and Ortho to be safe, and Ortho wants it too. So even though Ortho technically could blast Azul and the Tweels’ asses, Azul is perfectly aware of this risk, so he uses a different approach on Ortho. After all, Ortho is a smart boy + he and Azul have the same goal: they want Idia to be happy, right? It’s easier to do it while working together instead of fighting!

Anyways, Azul scary and powerful, and at this point in the story he has a lot of useful connections including STYX and probably even Idia’s parents. A lot more strings to manipulate the events in a way that would portray him as a forgiving and loving saint, but still ensure that Idia never leaves him again.

And after this position is secured, then he might start punishing Idia. But in a way that is very subtle to everyone around them, but painfully obvious for Idia.

So a TL;DR answer would be: yes, Azul is still mad, but he won’t punish him right away. He’ll act like a sweet and caring husband for a while (Idia won’t buy that bs), and when he gets tired of that act, he’ll start punishing Idia in a sneaky way.

As for what kind of punishment it would be…

Anonymous asked:

I remember the general punishments Azul would dish out to Idia from the original dark headcanons post but in a recent post, you said that when Azul punishes Idia in this case it would be in a way that no one would notice. Do you have any headcanons about these punishments? 😀

(Once again, sorry for the wait, Anon!)

I do have some thoughts! But when it comes to these kinds of scenario, it’s a bit difficult to come up with headcanons because I feel like no matter what I come up with, Azul would’ve came up with something more cunning, more sinister, more subtle and more cruel. So take whatever I’m about to write and keep in mind that it could be x3 times worse lol Azul is very bad when he feels rejected.

Azul would control the entire narrative of what has happened between them. He would play his cards in a way that would make everyone believe that Idia left him seemingly out of nowhere, and that this is just Idia causing trouble due to being bad at interacting with people. He will even manage to fool S.T.Y.X. people and their ex-classmates into thinking that yeah, Azul is notoriously pretty sleazy and cunning, but he seems to be genuinely in love with Idia: ever since that accident he’s been all over him, protecting him, taking care of him, even skipping work (!!!) to be with him. “Maybe even Azul has a heart, who would’ve thought”, “I guess it really was Idia’s mess-up…”, “He is such a good husband, Idia needs to appreciate him more”…

At the same time, Azul would defend Idia in front of all these people whenever someone would even hint at Idia hurting Azul’s feelings. He would insist that Idia is completely forgiven, and that it would be incredibly petty to worry about this little thing when he almost lost him. Azul might even say that the Universe has given them a second chance, and that this time Azul will make everything right just so Idia doesn’t feel the need to run from him anymore. What an angel you are, Azul Ashengrotto! Idia would feel like he is losing his mind hearing these conversations. It would be overwhelming and so horribly isolating, he’d feel like he can’t talk to anyone about anything anymore. His social anxiety would actually become way worse.

And yet, Azul would force him to come out more often. Together, of course. He would walk with him (Idia wouldn’t be able to walk properly by himself for a couple of months during his recovery), bring him to events (“You are probably very bored and lonely, let’s visit our friends at [company name], shall we?”). Not only it would make Idia see a huge swarm of people discussing his every move, he would constantly feel eyes on him because Azul would become more clingy in public. He would constantly hold his hand and kiss it, kiss his face and lips, bring him closer while hugging his shoulders, etc. PDA was never Azul’s style, but now it feels like he is showcasing their love to everyone and cementing their status as a hopeful young couple that is together against all odds. This would make all the social pressure on Idia absolutely unbearable. It feels like a walk of shame…

It’s not like the situation at home would be any better, mind you. Azul being sweet with Idia would make him feel even more anxious because it’s one thing to act all nice in front of people to save face, but when they’re all alone, it feels like Azul is preparing something, something big and horrible, and Idia would feel this anticipation so vividly every second around him. Azul would just smile and say that Idia is being paranoid and overly suspicious of him, and that it’s actually very hurtful. Azul would barely hide his smile because he hasn’t done anything yet, and Idia already looks like a caged animal with fear in his eyes. He wants him to marinate in this fear more, even if it breaks his psyche completely.

Azul would start gaslighting Idia into thinking that his health is declining, both mental and physical. He would act very protective and caring, he’ll even manage to make Idia believe that he is genuinely scared for his well-being at some point. The amount of unnecessary potions and drugs he would make Idia consume both sneakily and openly is insane. He might even do that toxic husband thing and pay a therapist to make them tell him everything Idia was talking about to them during the session… if he managed to make Ortho make Idia go to the therapist, that is (no way he’d manage to make Idia go himself).  

He would guilt-trip Idia a lot. Even though Idia doesn’t love him, Azul would still manage to make him feel bad for leaving Azul like this. Even if Idia knows that Azul is playing games with him, he would feel guilty all the time, but this isn’t even the worst thing. What is much worse is that sometimes Azul just sighs and goes “I didn’t want it to bring this up because I know how bad it is for you, but…” and drops the bomb about Idia putting Ortho in danger again. Blaming Idia for harming Ortho (intentionally being vague, knowing that it would reopen old wounds) is another thing that Azul would never usually do, but right now he’s spiteful, angry and genuinely wants to hurt Idia as much as he can. Even if Idia doesn’t care about Azul and wants to run away again, would it really be the best move for Ortho? He barely survived the accident, after all.

Idia isn’t the only person Azul would guilt-trip. He would also guilt-trip Ortho who feels very responsible for everything that’s happened to Idia. He would’ve easily sensed that Azul is lying, but it seems that even a machine could be messed with if the most important person in its life is hurt. Like I mentioned in another reply, Azul would make Ortho feel like they want the same thing and should work together. Of course Ortho would feel like he is betraying Idia in a way, but he would still cooperate because of his guilt + feeling that giving Azul full access to everything that Idia does online would make Idia more safe and happier somehow.

[stellar-collective]

Ok so in your matchstick au what if Ollie has never joined Zoraxis, and Roxana never left the agency (or worked for Zoraxis and then left)? What if Ollie proved to be an amazing field agent, sneaking in and out undetected, as much stealth and control as Matchstick does sheer destruction. He shines especially bright in retcon, though he can knock out a few operatives if he needs be, he doesn't leave a trace, and earns the code name Phoenix for how he always rises above the ashes. When Handler Prism thinks she's lost him at last, he'll slide out of the vents with that slightly sky smile and sneak out like cobra on fire.

Roxana didn't aspire to be a handler, but after so many agents coming to you for how to dismantle several types of bombs, what kind of electronic they'd seen in the field, or how to best take down one of Zoraxis' newest robots, the agency started to take notice, and put her on a trial run with a rookie agent who seemed to have more nerves than training. But as she led him through a mission, she was able to guide him exactly through what he oughtn't touch, and to her surprise he was pretty darn good at following through on exactly what she meant, even improvising when the situation called for it, though admitted it wasn't his strong suit, that was why he was sent on retcon missions mostly, where everything was quiet, and he could blend into the shadows as well a bird in the night.

Srry for ramble, I am unwell about this au

ooh, i do like the idea of an au where Ollie is a field agent and Prism ends up being his handler a lot!! Ollie has a lot of the same quirks that make Phoenix such a great agent (he treats danger just as casually as they do and seems unable to be fazed by literally anything) so i think that it definitely has potential! although… i’d perhaps suggest that alongside recon, Ollie’s thing is that he’s a bizarrely adept negotiator and has turned several Zoraxis operatives to the Agency’s side. might be more fitting to call him Agent Siren the way he keeps stealing away both people and valuable information!

i actually already have the vague storyline for the rest of the games mapped out in my head for the Matchstick AU, though; like @blueorchid-95 suggested on my original post, Reginald’s betrayal leads to the Agency being FAR more willing to embrace Roxana’s perfectly obedient robots and thus she stays with them and remains the main antagonist for the third game (though she’s a good guy this time!)

but this isn’t a complete role reversal au! Ollie (and Juniper too… sort of.) both still join Zoraxis, things just play out a little differently for them! i’m still working out the details but at the very least, know that Matchstick and Ollie do get forced into working together and Matchstick has NO idea how to handle being around someone as nice as he is. they may or may not end up having to escape the underwater lab together after one of Prism’s robots crashes the party… who’s to say?

[kibasniper]

Trick or treat!

well, what a lovely trick or treater! a gift of dion/gisu is under the cut for you!

Away from the hustle and bustle of the corridors strewn with streamers and cobwebs, Gisu finds herself nestled in the comforts of a cozy den. The orange and brown lights are considerably brighter, evoking the spirit of autumn. As much as she likes verbosity, it’s pleasant to get away from the throng of tight-knit bodies either standing where she wants to go or dancing by the Whispering Rockers, who are currently in the middle of their next round of spooky, scary synths. 

She leans into the wall, surrounded by inflatable decorations. Cartoonish skeletons and werewolves are a bit of a cry away from the dense cluster of costumed partygoers. Cooling down from a solid half hour of grooving, other guests lounging in armchairs and loveseats around them, she knocks back her drink and sighs from the dry, fruity tang of her punch.

Next to air, Dion stretches and yawns. He’s been out later than originally expected. She knows he has to run a tight ship with the circus, always on the move, always perfecting his personal performances. But as it’s once in a blue moon, Dion has taken a load off his tense shoulders, allowing himself a night revelry with an old flame, who smirks as she leans into the crook of his arm.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asks, peering up at him through her round, yellow goggles.

Out of the corner of her eye, near the door, people jerk aside. Footsteps stomp and hurry passed the den. Gisu catches glimpses of a plastic, revving chainsaw held high in the air, and close behind, so close that his hand could have snatched the back of Bobby’s smock, is Raz with a wild grin. She guesses it’s another one of their moments and decides it’s in her best interest to ignore them, as many others seem to share her sentiment, returning to their conversations as if they hadn’t blown up the stairs.

Dion clicks his tongue. “Well, that was my brother running after some crazy guy in a mask, so I’d say this night’s going pretty good.” Gisu snorts as Dion takes a long, slow sip from his red Solo cup. The party is still in full swing. From the living room a hallway and half over, she hears the grinding, hardly dulcet notes of a haunted mixtape. Quentin, looking like he had waltzed out of medieval times, had declared he was bringing on his scariest beats, and Phoebe had rolled her eyes, dressed as the king of guitar riffs himself, Jimi Hendrix, but Gisu discerned the amused glint twinkling as they played. 

She rolls her shoulders, hearing her spine crack. Adorned in a sleek, puffy, white lab coat, heavy boots, and oversized goggles, she’d fit right in with the best of mad scientists. Her hair is extra frizzy, playing up her image, and if any nearby balloons wanted to be comfortable in her locks, then they would undoubtedly stick.

Dion snapped his fingers, gasping quietly. “Oh, hey, you know who you vaguely look like?” “Shoot.”

“Like a villainous cross between that dentist guy who tried to steal Raz’s brain and your old-timer boss.”

She pauses, murmuring the names under her breath. Dion has made quite the claim, considering he’s dressed in his usual daywear. Fancy, patterned silks are woven into his stitched acrobatic tumbling suit. He had stated it was his favorite outfit to wear on any occasion, and somehow, it perfectly blends in with the array of Halloween delights.

As for herself, she tugs at her coat. She supposes it’s reminiscent of Otto’s favorite coat, but she can’t discern the influence from Dr. Loboto. When Dion taps the side of his face, Gisu blinks, taken aback by the assertion that her goggles are anything like his optical lenses. Yanking them off her head, she twists the strap around her wrist, hums, and quickly throws them back on.

“Sure, sure, I’ll let you have that in the spirit of the holiday.” She finishes her drink and tosses it in the nearby trash can. She snickers when Dion plainly misses, the cup bouncing off the rim and skittering in a circle near a leftover plastic pumpkin full of wrapped candies. “Heh! You know, it’s like we can’t get away from our day jobs, but I know I pulled off the mad scientist look way better than Kitty.” He recovers quickly, throwing out a hand. “Yeah! Who wears a damn bedazzled top hat when you’re trying to be Victor Frankenstein?” “Exactly,” she drawls, and her gaze lowers, focusing on the pumpkin. The storebrand candies were free for everyone. Although the name of the homeowner completely escaped Gisu, they were generous enough to supply everyone with exactly what they needed, whether it was candy or alcohol. It was like they were operating their own trick or treating within the comforts of their home.

But Gisu wasn’t in the mood for more punch. She levitated a few candies into her palm, springing a question onto Dion. “Hey, think people will still give us candy?” “At our age?” He huffs a short laugh. “No way. That works for Tala, but not for me. Parents aren’t that willing to fork over chocolate to a guy with a full beard.” “Can’t hurt to try! Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Gisu winks, linking her arm through the exposed space between Dion’s chest and his arm. Bringing him closer, she raises her eyebrows and lowers her voice. “It’ll be worth your while. What do you say?”

Heat colors Dion’s cheeks. It’s a pleasant hue, one a vampire would have enjoyed. If she had a second choice for an outfit, in the moment, Dracula is preferable.

Dion’s grin tugs upward. His eyes crinkle. His confidence is palpable as he agrees, slipping his hand to clutch her hand. And as their fingers lace, departing for the outside, Gisu curls into his broad shoulder, noting that he smells faintly of cotton candy and cologne.

[simptasia]

so we know that none of the losties ever, bafflingly, made a cannibal joke. who do you think was most likely to have made one. i would say sawyer but i think from him it would be vaguely sinister instead of lighthearted. another possibility is hurley but i feel like that could go to a fatphobic place. therefore my money is on charlie, who is both a jokester and a bit of a freak. (also miles of course but if we're talking original survivors.)

yeah you said it perfectly. tho i do think sawyer could make that kinda joke and make it work if it's phrased right. and of course, it has to cut to kate scrunching up her face that way she does and jack doing a grimace. and hurley saying "thats not cool, dude"

lost is easy to write, actually

but yes, it also suits charlie. somebody dies and he says "well, we don't have to worry about food anymore", he does his grin, everybody looks disapproving, he is filled with regret ljkflkjfs

[velvets-stuff]

Uhhh… I promised to bring F.B!Martin's lore a while ago, didn't I?

Martin's original universe was quite similar to the canon show, if not almost the same, Martin was still an adventurer who traveled to help and care for animal life, he was accompanied by his team, although currently he no longer remembers much about them, use the creature power suits and dealt with the villains we already know, so what changes in their universe? Chris Chris is not part of the Kratt team due to an illness, Martin does not remember what it was, he does not remember if it was terminal, chronic or degenerative, but he remembers that it was not easy for him, yes, Chris still had a personality similar to the canon, stubborn but charismatic and kind, but that could never overshadow how sick he was, and that hurt Martin. It hurt him to see how Chris seemed sicker every time, like every time, how he felt like he was losing more and more, to see his health relapses, he simply couldn't stand seeing him like that, too sick, too tired.

One day he had left the Tortuga to walk and get some air, not for nothing, his mother had told him that Chris was hospitalized, they already knew the reason, but this had been the hardest relapse he had, and they didn't know if he was going to make it. This clearly distressed Martin, so he had gone out to clear his mind, but he walked a lot, too much, he was so lost in his thoughts that when he put his feet back on the ground he was already too far from Tortuga, or well , he didn't even know where he was. "Maybe I dissociated during the walk", was the first thing he thought, trying to justify how he got so far just walking, although he was still a little nervous, since he had never reached that area of the savannah. Everything looked so… empty, there were no animals in sight, there were no birds in the sky, he couldn't even hear the annoying mosquitoes, nothing, totally inhabited, there weren't even that many trees, it was like a meadow. But Martin was an adventurer, and he was not going to be intimidated by the place, so he continued walking, and each time everything became more empty and strange, the trees stopped appearing, the grass became lower, the clouds They cleared it, it was as if everything became a simple drawing, as if he were the only character in that drawing, in that scenario. When he reached the emptiest area, he hit rock bottom… literally. When Martin tried to continue walking, it seemed like he had reached the "end" of his universe, as if a large wall marked the limit of a virtual map for example, it was so strange, Martin felt like his head was going to explode from everything he did. was happening, he started touching the wall, trying to understand what it was, and at one point he would look for something in his backpack, he used to keep all kinds of nonsense there, so it wasn't difficult for him to find a rock, not big, maybe a little smaller. than his hand, so he was able to throw it at the wall, and when it began to fragment a little, Martin discovered something that would change his life… The codes

Martin's memories are vague and unspecific during this period, but he practically kept going to that site with the intention of learning more, and he ended up learning a little about how the codes work, especially their ability to modify universes, and perhaps Martin wanted that… Martin took Chris to that place using one of the vehicles they used on their adventures, because in addition to wanting to show him the codes, he wanted to use the possibility of modifying his universe and thus cure Chris. Clearly Chris was alarmed, all of this was crazy, everything could go perfectly wrong and who knows what else, Chris tried to stop Martin, tried to reason with him, but he said that he knew what he was doing, he was going to change all this, He was going to help Chris. He didn't know what he was doing. One bad move, just one misuse of the codes, and that cost him his entire world. The place began to empty, at first both brothers did not understand, but everything seemed to become clear when they noticed how Chris's hands began to glitch and disappear, the place also began to glitch and disappear… Martin messed up… There was panic, too much, Martin was trying to calm Chris down while at the same time looking for a solution, but he didn't know what to do, he was going to lose everything and it was going to be his fault. It didn't seem like there was any solution, his friends were going to disappear, his world was going to disappear, his brother was going to disappear, and there was nothing Martin could do, and in a desperate act, searching through the codes of his universe, he found something which seemed to be a search engine or a blank text bar, where he was given the option to type numbers, Martin had no idea what that was, but he subconsciously put in a random sequence of numbers, waiting for it to do something, and before he was blinded For a light, he hugged tightly what was left of his brother.

He was still alive, Martin didn't know how, but he was still alive, and he wasn't anywhere he knew, he didn't recognize the place, the people, anything, but when he saw his hands he realized that he had what looked like a piece of code, it was smaller than his hands and green.

It seemed like he took something from his original universe, a character code, the character code of his Chris. Martin began to study the codes more, hiding in what seemed to be an alternate universe, looking for a way to fix what he ruined, but guilt, the knowledge of other universes and versions of them and the fact that he had no results slowly drove him to madness, eventually taking questionable "solutions"…

His idea was: "If all the other versions have a character code, it would be enough to use another Chris, take away his character code and put this one on him, it should give him all the memories and information…"

And he had to make it work. He no longer cared what means he used or who he hurt along the way. He had to fix a part of what he broke, or at least try to, he had already learned more than enough, he already had a "solution", he just had to look for some physical replacement for his Chris.

And there are many versions of Chris.

[stars-and-darkness]

WIP WEDNESDAY!!!

week #9

okay, we're back into the 'things i wrote, but unless it's here, it's very likely they won't see the light of day' file. i'd fiddled some with a possible sequel to nyctophilia., but ultimately decided against it. there are some gems in that doc, though, so:

Stefan had been so focused on dreading a werewolf hunt with the Original Family he’d completely forgotten to dread going on a road-trip with (a truly astounding number of) siblings. Considering the brother he has, he should really have known better.

And it becomes pretty apparent that though his (captors, slave-drivers) companions are almost all over a thousand years old, they have yet to grow into bearable road-trip buddies. The minivan they’ve procured for this occasion is top-of-the-line, brand new, but it still isn’t enough to comfortably host six vampires (and their egos), a coffin (because they apparently wanted their eldest brother with them, but not enough to actually wake him from the magical coma-death-thing the dagger put him in), and three different mini-fridges (one for blood bags no-one but Stefan drinks from because they all hate the plastic aftertaste, one for snacks they religiously re-stock and label with marks of ownership, and one for booze that ranges from cheap root beer to several-thousand-dollars-a-bottle liquor).

Honestly, though. The snacks are sacred. When Rebekah asked him (batting her eyelashes in a way that made him vaguely uncomfortable, both because he loved Elena and because he’d just gotten back his memories of loving Rebekah) what he’d like, he’d said something non-committal about not giving a damn. In retrospect, he regrets it, because the first time he tries to grab some of her Red Vines, she nearly rips his head off, newly re-awoken love or not.

Klaus just laughs from behind the wheel and pops a fistful of Reese’s Pieces into his mouth. They change drivers every three hours because it’s six of them, and even though they could all go on for days, why should they? He has so far learned to dread Kol’s (a damn maniac if there ever was one, he seems determined to find out if vampires really can’t get heart attacks and Stefan is his lab rat) and Elijah’s (the other end of the scale, unfailingly keeping to every single traffic law to the letter, though he thinks it’s just to annoy Kol) driving skills. The others, surprisingly enough, seem fairly reasonable drivers. No-one lets Stefan behind the wheel, though. Something, something, they fear he’ll drive them off a cliff and then they’d have to get a new minivan.

Well, Stefan wouldn’t. Maybe he’d take a wrong turn when no-one is looking, but he wouldn’t crash. It’s a waste of a perfectly good minivan, and even more perfect extremely pricy liquor in the mini-fridge number three.

“Okay,” Rebekah says, face hidden by a massive map, on which she tracks their progress and the path they’re still to take with a black permanent marker. “There should be a motel a few miles down the road.”

Stefan frowns. “A roadside motel? Seriously? Aren’t you people, like, loaded?” It’s not a real question; he knows they are. It is fairly obvious.

In a moment, Rebekah’s in his face, veins climbing up her cheeks. “This is the first road-trip my family has undertaken since the seventeen hundreds, so you’d do well not to comment. This will be a perfect trip. And nothing will ruin it.”

He raises his hands in defence. Next to him, Kol roars with laughter. He’d been chewing on Lays Chips obnoxiously loudly the whole time; Stefan suspects it is also to annoy the hell out of him. Elijah sighs; it’s the long-suffering sigh of someone wiser and more reasonable, which Stefan thinks is rich considering he tried (and failed) to snap Klaus’s neck when he tried to steal one of the property of E. Mikaelson-labelled bottles from the mini-fridge number three. But Elijah is also the one who rolled up in an Armani suit to a road-trip. (“Werewolf hunt,” Klaus literally growled, eyes bleeding gold and double fangs dropping. “Family trip!” Rebekah returned, smiling in a way that let them all know she knew exactly what she was doing. “A way to drive a man to suicide is what it is,” Kol sighed. No-one paid any attention to him, except Caroline, who smacked him on the back of the head.) Worse yet, they’ve been driving for hours and the bastard doesn’t even look the least bit rumpled. How is that fair? Traitors who hand girlfriends over to be sacrificed on an altar of fire don’t deserve to look good after hours in a mini-van.

Stefan, meanwhile, actually looks the part of being on the road the whole day, and so does everyone else. That, at least, is consolation, pitiful though it is.

“Pull over, Nik, we’re here,” Rebekah orders.

“Here?” Klaus sounds extremely dubious. “You’re sure?”

“Mmhmm.”

Stefan understands his apprehension. The house rising above them looks like it walked straight out of a Scooby Doo episode, down to the eerie quasi-Victorian architecture, windows that creak in the wind, and the roof that looks like it’s a strong breeze from caving in.

“It’s very … vampire?” he offers lamely.

“Oh, no,” Caroline informs him primly. “Do you know what is very vampire? Wealth accumulated over several generations that goes into houses that don’t look like a Disney villain’s lair.”

“I can go on,” Klaus offers, looking at the motel—oh, look, there’s even a sign, MOTEL, in big glowing red letters, except the T and the L keep flickering so it looks like MO E more often than not.

“We will not!” Rebekah growls, stomping her foot on the ground. “I want a legitimate road-trip experience, Nik, you owe it to me for daggering me for twenty years!”

Klaus rolls his eyes, but he obediently parks into an empty spot. Not that it’s hard. They’re all empty.

Kol’s eye twitches. “I swear to God, Bekah, if the manager ends up being a serial killer—”

“You’re a vampire, you’ll just eat them!” she protests.

“I am a bit pickier than that when it comes to my meals!”

“Fine, then I’ll eat them!”

“Don’t steal my food; Rebekah!”

“You literally just said you didn’t want some crusty old serial killer!”

“How do you even know the manager’s gonna be a serial killer?”

“I don’t—you—arghhh!”

With Rebekah looking at the verge of ripping her own hair or maybe Kol’s liver out, Elijah intervenes. “Kol. Rebekah.” There is something about his voice that invites obedience. Probably the fact that he always looks like he is better than you and knows it. “That’s enough.”

“Kol started it.” Rebekah crosses her arms over her chest.

“Oh, for God’s—” Klaus hisses. “That’s it—everyone, to the bloody motel. Stefan’s gonna be nice and carry our bags.”

“Am I being demoted to butler?” he asks, just to be contrary.

“Don’t be ridiculous. That’s a job for a footman, Stef,” Caroline says, tossing golden curls over her shoulder. She’d gotten into the habit of using that name for him, the name only Damon ever used, and he isn’t sure what to feel about it.

He’d always been Stefan to Father, said with flinty eyes and a cruel cut of his lips. Stefan to Mother, with her lost doe-like look and pale, white hands gentle on his shoulders. Stefan to Elena and Katherine, spoken in an identical voice yet infinitely different.

But Damon—to Damon, he has been Stef for as long as he can remember. He used to think Damon must’ve chosen it the moment Stefan was born, when he held his tiny squealing infant of a brother and decided to love him.

He spent seventeen years sure of his brother’s love, then a hundred and forty-five thinking he hated him. Now, he doesn’t even know which it is anymore. All that he knows that when the choice came between letting Damon die and handing himself over to Klaus, it was never really a choice to begin with.

He takes the luggage.

Thankfully, he’s not required to balance that with opening the creaking doors of the motel for them. Klaus handles that—or better said, he opens the door for Caroline, and she gives him an indulgent little smile. Then he enters too and slams it in Kol’s face, evoking a string of words in a language he doesn’t know, though they all sound distinctly filthy.

“Language, Kol,” Elijah says coolly, while Rebekah is too busy laughing at Kol’s predicament to make a comment.

He is suddenly very thankful to Giuseppe and Lilian for only giving him the one sibling, no matter how endlessly frustrating he’s proven to be.

By the time they are finally inside the dark and mouldy lobby, Caroline is unleashing the full force of her temper on the receptionist—a sleazy-looking man whose face doesn’t appear that old, but what little is left of his sparse, shoulder-long hair is more grey than black.

“She’s angry there are only two rooms available,” Klaus informs them with the dreamy sort of smile he gets whenever Caroline does anything.

“What do you mean, only two rooms?” And now Rebekah is by Caroline’s side, arguing just as passionately. The receptionist doesn’t seem deterred, which is really a testament to his nerve.

“They do know arguing won’t change anything, right?” Stefan questions, meeting each of the men’s eyes in turn.

“Oh, yes.” The gleam in Kol’s sends shivers down his spine.

[bluberimufim]

Oh ho ho, now I'm curious, do you have any refs for anyone that might want to draw your OCs? Pictures or specific descriptions or anything of that sort? Just curious...

Thank you for the ask! I'm so glad it interests you!!

Well You See: I'm an artist. I should have references lying around. But if I were to present them, it would be some super sporadic stuff bc I never got around to drawing MOST of my ocs, for some reason...

That being said, I have a few things lying around. I'll post it here and maybe update when I make more.

(Also, I know the digital drawings suck. I have 0 experience with it. I am Trying Very Hard)

This is gonna be Long, so buckle up.

Dystopia WIP:

This WIP was originally concieved at a graphic novel, so I have a few drawings - especially a few rough sketches mapping out outfit shapes and colours. Let's go through the main cast:

Veta, Vi and Veo (aka the Communist Polycule):

Veera:

Alexis Ivanik:

Cristover (left) and Nester Kalenev (right):

I have a post explaining the significance of most of the colour palettes of the 3 WIPs here

Notes on the characters:

Nester, Cristover, and Vi are all guys. They're wearing skirts bc they're Fashionable. Vi has a beard

Vi's outfits are inspired by traditional portuguese costume

idc what you do with Alexis, they NEED to be wearing extremely over-the-top eyeliner at all times

Devourer of Souls:

So here is the Thing. Most characters in this WIP being female is a very recent development. Almost all except for Flick used to be guys. So the only pic of Seth is her as a man. Literally just picture her with longer hair and it's almost accurate.

Seth (very zoomed into a drawing I once made):

(pls don't forget that she's a cane user)

Flick (the people on the sides are Allana and Hunter, the two souls their body houses):

Notes on characters not pictured (Jane and Theo):

Theo and Jane are technically twins, and they have a Snow White/Rose Red motif

Theo has bright red eyes long white hair in a huge braid. She wears all white tends to prefer overalls

Jane has short red hair and white eyes, the inverse of Theo

Black and White

Considering this WIP is my main one and the one I've had the longest, I have shamefully little material on it that I like. And also, I've already reaches the limit on pictures I can post.

I mean, my icon is a drawing of Darius, and there's also the Great Reyna Picrew Show-Down, but otherwise? Almost nothing. When it comes to descriptions, it's kinda vague ig? But let me kinda compile a little bit. Here's the most relevant characters in order of appearance:

Johann:

[...] He was significantly older and dressed much more presentably. His deep black suit had a refined and expensive-looking cut. He carried an old walking stick, which might have been in fashion in the previous century, to complete the look. Besides that, he had a box-shaped camera hanging from his shoulder. His hair was almost completely grey and perfectly combed, which made him look organized and important. When he walked closer, Darius noticed the strange shine in his eyes, his crooked nose, his lively smile. There was no doubt. He looked like all the pictures he'd seen. [...]

August:

He would almost be a perfectly normal person if not for his height. He wasn't a giant, but he had a considerable advantage over most people, although not at the expense of any muscle. His hair was longer than one would normally see in a man, almost shoulder-length. Otherwise, he looked pretty average, dressed in a half-opened shirt and very tight trousers. He couldn't decide if he should categorize him as "weird" or not.

Extra note: he wears a glove on his right hand that he never takes off. I once made a joke about the glove staying on during sex and it's 100% true.

Reyna:

[...] The girl was absolutely enormous. He'd never seen anyone so tall. She was taller than August, who was almost a giant himself. Even without heels, she was taller than anyone he'd ever met. And besides that, she was dressed quite scandalously. Her red dress barely reached the middle of her legs, leaving part of the knees exposed. The skirt was made of various layers of light fabrics, like chiffon and tule, all of them ending in excessive frills. It looked like a flower upside down. The dress had no sleeves, being held in place solely by two thin straps covered in glitter, reflecting the light of the sun. All of her seemed more suited to a burlesque show than a circus.

Diedrich:

His red hair, tied into a ponytail, fell down the side of his neck, like a small flame. He wore a crisp black suit, like any common man would. [...]

I can't believe I never actually described Diedrich. I know he's a POV character but still, wtf??

I mean, I guess there wouldn't be a point in describing him from Darius's or Reyna's POV because Darius spent years collecting pictures of him and Reyna has seen him every day for the past 5 years. But if you want an age range, he's 50 in the main story, just like Johann.

You know what? Hit me up if you want a drawing or better description. I'd be happy to do it for you, if you wanna actually draw him.

(if you're wondering why the descriptions are so weird about fabrics, it's because this is narrated by Darius and he's a tailor - he's really into sewing)

As for Darius himself, he's only ever described as "looking like Alphonse". And what does Alphonse look like, you ask? Johann describes him in relation to Diedrich (a description we don't have), and Diedrich feels no need to describe him because he's literally his son and he's known him since he was born. I need to fix this, holy shit.

Anyway, I hope this gave you better insight into how (some of) my ocs look! And I hope you had fun looking at sketches, zoomed-in pictures and 1 (one) fully fledged illustration of Flick.

Also, feel free to ask if you need more info! I can add it here to paint a more complete picture.

[stewblog]

A Haunting In Venice

How do you find a suitable challenge for the world’s greatest detective? You force him to confront and consider the unexplainable. 

To the rational, calculating mind, ghosts are a laughably naive concept. Such is the stance of the now-retired Hercule Poirot (Kenneth Branagh). As we encounter him in Venice, he seems content to live a solitary life of retirement, tending his garden and indulging in pastries, all while fending off constant streams of people desperate to employ his impeccable deductive skills. But when the closest thing he has to a friend, best-selling murder mystery author Ariadne Oliver (Tina Fey), implores him to try and debunk the work of a spiritual medium on Halloween night, it’s not long before he is thrust out of retirement and back on the case. 

Poirot is certain he’ll make short work of Joyce Reynolds (Michelle Yeoh) and her sham seance’ as she claims to be in contact with the spirit of a girl who jumped to her death from the house’s balcony one year ago. But when someone is murdered with no immediate suspects and seemingly inexplicable occurrences begin filling the house, the master detective is forced to reckon with what is and is not impossible. 

There are twists and reveals and jump scares a-plenty. But what A Haunting In Venice may lack in originality, Branagh more than compensates for with good old-fashioned style and a satisfying (albeit straightforward) execution of its story and characters. 

The visuals are by far the film’s strongest suit so let’s start there. This is an absolutely gorgeous film to take in and I recommend seeing it in the largest format available. Is it in IMAX near you? It’s absolutely worth the premium format fees. This is a sumptuous movie to behold with deep shadows and a superbly established sense of place. The palazzo where the majority of the film takes place isn’t your typical haunted house locale but Branagh shoots it to be perfectly disarming. I’m not the first writer to make this comparison, but it bears repeating that Branagh clearly took more than a little inspiration from Orson Welles’ 1962 surreal film adaptation of Franz Kafka’s dystopian novel The Trial. Welles’ film uses unusual and disarming camera angles and depths of field that create a deep sense of unease and paranoia. It’s done in a way that I’ve rarely seen imitated, making Branagh’s point of inspiration all the more clear. It’s a lovely tribute to an underrated, underseen film that also serves to further underscore the psychic duress these characters, but especially Poirot, endures. It deserves to be seen as large as possible because much of the film’s sense of dread and oppression comes from seeing this house and its shadowy structures tower and overwhelm. 

As for the substance beyond the style, Branagh and the film’s script are a bit more subtle. It’s a Poirot mystery so it shouldn’t shock anyone that a murder happens within the first 20 minutes, but to whom it happens may be a bit more of a surprise. Each surviving character has their own ultimately sympathetic (though some more than others) motivations and connections, but it’s seeing the measured ways in which Branagh shows the cracks in Poirot’s confidence and the roots of his dedication to logic and deduction that I found most endearing. Heroes are at their most interesting when they’re vulnerable in one way or another, so seeing this nigh-invincible mind forced to confront mysteries he may not be able to solve as he’s forced to consider concepts he’d long since evolved beyond is right where Poirot should be at this point in the series.  

If there’s a complaint that lingers, it’s that a single casting choice stuck out like a sore thumb. This is due almost entirely to the character’s unmistakable similarity to another played by the same actor in a contemporary piece of entertainment. I’m trying to be vague in the hope that no one else will be immediately distracted as I was, but it took me out of the moment multiple times. I realize this is almost entirely on me and through no fault of the actor’s but there it is all the same. 

All that said, I can’t recommend this enough, especially if you’re looking for a more old-fashioned haunted house mystery now that we’re on our way into this year’s Spooky Season. 

[dumfanting]

Something in the Orange, part 2

AO3 Link

Rating: Safe

Warnings: alcohol consumption, illness

Notes: second person pov, present tense, readers gender unspecified

3092 words

Making a new post for this part; I went to edit the original and tumblr broke it. (Also I don’t think anybody ever saw it?)

GN Reader/ Cody

“You’re familiar,” he says, weak with exhaustion. “Do I know you?” he asks.

“When this is over, find me. I’ll wait for you.”

You can’t remember how long ago you said that. It simultaneously feels like days and years have passed between then and now.

You had been younger then, still hopeful, but that hope was brutally extinguished by a single order not long after you and Cody separated.

In the aftermath of the Separatist victory, you fled to Tattooine, where the empty landscape and sparse population are about as different from Coruscant as it gets. The Empire doesn’t seem to notice this planet or care about it, which suits you just fine.

Even so, rumors still manage to reach the tiny village you now call home. You’ve heard dozens, but two stick with you; that the Jedi were traitors, slaughtered by their own men, and that those men, the clones, are being ‘decommissioned’ in droves as time goes on. With each low whisper you overhear, your gut twists into knots.

What happened to Cody?

You told him to find you, but as the time drags on, that seems less and less likely to happen. Is he still ‘useful’ to the Empire, or has he been thrown away like a worn out tool that served its purpose? Which would be worse? You left him no clue as to where you had gone, so could he still find you? If he does, would he be the same man you fell in love with?

These questions and more keep you awake at night.

It’s hard to gauge the passage of time in the desert. You lost track of how long you’ve been here a while ago, but it’s been long enough for you to make at least one friend. The bartender of the town's only cantina, a Pantoran man around your age named Kellis, had managed to chip through the metaphorical wall you hid yourself behind over the course of several weeks worth of drinks and late nights.

As you walk the short distance from your small, one-room apartment to the bar, the day's high winds whip your linen pants around your legs. The constant sand and dust make the thin white fabric look dirty and ragged. You step into the doorway, unwrap your head from the dark red scarf you wear to keep the worst of it out of your face, and brush yourself off, ignoring the soft pattering sound the falling sand grains make while hitting the floor. Kellis brightly calls your name from behind the bar, and you make your way over to him.

You sit yourself down on your preferred bar stool, and he starts mixing up your usual. He asks how you’re doing, which you shrug off with a comment of “I still haven’t given up yet,” which usually makes him chuckle, and today is no different.

He hands you your drink and when you glance up at him while taking it, you notice that he looks tired. You point this out and ask if anything is going on.

“You remember the sandstorm that blew over a few rotations ago?” he asks, barely holding back a yawn.

“I’m still finding dust in my dishes, yeah. What about it?” you say, sipping at your drink, which is perfectly mixed as always.

“Well, I found somebody on my building's doorstep when it finally passed. I brought him inside, and he’s got sand fever, which is no surprise,” he says.

“You didn’t catch it, did you?” you ask, taken aback.

“No, I’ve been careful, been keeping my face covered up,” he says, waving your concern off.

“Okay. But, he mustn’t be from here then, no local in their right mind would go out during a sandstorm like that. Did you get his name?” you say, your curiosity piqued.

“He looked vaguely familiar, and when I said so he kind of laughed bitterly and mumbled something under his breath. But no, he said he isn’t from here. He was slipping in and out of a delirium, kept mumbling about the desert and finding something. The fever has been steadily getting worse and he kept me up last night, it looked like he was having flashbacks to something terrible,” Kellis says, softly shaking his head. “I don’t fault the guy for it at all, but still, it kinda wore me out. On top of that, he didn’t tell me his name, and he refused to sleep in my bed. He says that old bench I’ve got is closer to what he’s used to,” he continues, trailing off into thought.

Something stirs in the back of your mind, though you can’t place what it is.

“That’s kind of you to keep an eye on him,” you say, finishing your drink and fishing some credits out of your small bag.

“You know I couldn’t just leave him there. Besides, if the scar along the side of his face is any indication, the man’s been through enough already,” he says.

You suddenly freeze, and despite the suppressive heat of the building, an impossible chill runs through you.

“W-what was that?” you say, fighting to keep your hands from trembling.

“I could tell he’s been through some shit by the scar along his face,” Kellis says, watching you with a puzzled expression.

Your heart is pounding in your ears, and your thoughts are swirling like a twister in your mind. That sounds like Cody. You’re tempted to run to Kellis’ place and find out if it is him right this second, but logic takes over. There are billions if not trillions of people in this galaxy, you tell yourself, so the odds that it is him are almost impossible.

Kellis says your name, concerned. “Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You’d never told him about your past with the clone commander, but it wasn’t something that you’re ashamed of, so you aren’t sure why you kept it quiet. You shake yourself.

“I’m fine, sorry. I think I’ll have another one today,” you say, gesturing to your empty glass. He doesn’t seem to believe you, but drops the subject as he prepares your second drink, changing the subject to an upcoming meteor shower.

Later that day, you’re sitting on the rooftop terrace of your apartment building, staring up at the bright orange sky while the two suns are setting. The color is almost exactly the same as the paint was on Cody’s armor. You’ve avoided thinking about him since you left the bar; the sheer amount of ways he could have changed kept threatening to overwhelm you. As you sit, the orange in the sky quickly deepens to scarlet, then purple. It eventually becomes the inky blue-black you’ve gotten used to, and you pause for a moment to admire the view of the stars. You never could see the stars like this back on Coruscant.

Cody always said that someday he’d take you somewhere like this to see the stars.

With nothing to distract you, you finally allow yourself to wonder if the stranger from the sandstorm really could be him. You mull over everything Kellis had told you earlier today, intensely examining it all in your mind. You hoped for years that Cody would be able to find you, but that had flickered out and died after the Empire took over. You were convinced that he was dead or worse, ‘reconditioned’, and found yourself wondering if he would find you less and less as time went on. You never completely gave up though, and much to your surprise, a long-dormant spark of hope ignites in your heart again.

“‘I won’t give up on you’,” you whisper to yourself. You meant it back then, and you mean it now. Your mind is made up; you’re going to stop by Kellis’ place first thing tomorrow morning and find out who this stranger is for yourself. For the second time today, you’re tempted to rush over there right now, but your mind has been racing ever since you left the bar and you convince yourself that you need to sleep first.

You’re abruptly awakened the next day by loud, persistent knocking at your door. It’s early in the morning, the two suns having barely risen over the horizon, and as you stumble out of bed and pull on a robe, you wonder who could need to see you this badly.

You open the door with a yawn and find Kellis. He looks frantic, which fully wakes you immediately, and he starts talking as soon as the door opens completely, though his words are so fast and jumbled you can’t understand any of it. You grip him by the shoulders.

“I need you to breathe and calm down so you can tell me what happened,” you say, firmly but not unkindly.

“Y-yeah, okay, sorry,” he says, making an effort to relax. He lets out a long exhale, then repeats himself, speaking clearly this time.

“I just got a call that my sister was in a speeder collision back home, and I need to get there as soon as possible,” he says, shifting restlessly from foot to foot.

“Then go! What are you here for?” you ask, alarmed and confused.

“Can you keep an eye on the guy I told you about yesterday while I’m gone? I’ve sent for a doctor but it’ll take a few days to get here from where she is, and I really don’t want to ditch him,” he says quickly.

“Done,” you respond without hesitation. “Should I bring him here or go over to your place?” you ask.

“I don’t think he’s in any shape to be moved,” Kellis says, shaking his head.

You tell him to give you just a minute to get dressed, do so, then meet him in the hallway outside.

Once you’re there, he runs from your place to his own a block or two away with you close on his heels. He quickly shows you the passcode to his apartment, leads you inside, then grabs a hastily packed bag and takes off without slowing down. You forgive the rude goodbye, as he obviously has more important things on his mind. Thankfully you’ve been here a few times before, so you have a good idea of where everything you may need is.

Your heart is pounding from the sudden burst of activity and you take a minute to catch your breath. As you lean heavily onto the wall, panting, you suddenly hear loud coughing coming from further inside, followed by a soft pained groan. Remembering how contagious sand fever can be, you wrap the scarf around your face just a little tighter before going to investigate.

You step further into the living space and freeze. Partially hidden from the front door by the low light, on the heavy wooden bench Kellis uses in place of a sofa, lies a man with dark hair and tanned skin under a mountain of blankets. He looks thin, and his hair is long and unkempt, but you’d recognize that face, that scar, anywhere.

“Cody!” you say in disbelief, your voice muffled by the scarf.

He doesn’t seem to have heard you, so you take a few steps closer to him. He’s still coughing, but once it passes, he looks up at you, confused.

“Where’s Kellis?” he asks, and his voice is gravelly and hoarse. You barely recognize it.

“He had a family emergency, I’m a friend of his,” you say, somehow managing to hold your composure, although your heart threatens to break out of your chest. “He’s called a doctor for you, I’m going to stay with you until she gets here.”

Cody coughs again, but doesn’t protest. Unsure of what to do, you pick up an empty glass on the caf table nearby, walk over to the kitchen and get him something to drink. You return and hand it to him, which he accepts and sips at gratefully. He seems to be looking you over with more intensity, and his brow creases when he meets your eyes.

“You’re familiar,” he says, weak with exhaustion. “Do I know you?” he asks.

You don’t know why, but you hesitate to answer him. Seconds later, he slips back into sleep.

Once you’re sure Cody won’t wake again for at least a few minutes, you rush back to your place and pack enough clothes and toiletries for a few days, stuffing it into a worn out old bag that you swing onto your shoulder. When you return, he’s still asleep, but it doesn’t appear restful.

He’s sweating terribly despite shivering, jerking his head from side to side while mumbling and every few seconds one of his arms or legs will twitch.

You drop your bag and duck into the refresher, fetching a cool, damp rag, then come back out and sit directly across from him on the caf table. You lean forward and gently cup his face with one hand. You ignore the pang in your chest at the comfortable familiarity of the action. With your free hand, you use the rag to gently pat away the sweat on his forehead. You take this opportunity to get a better look at his face, and you immediately notice that he looks much older than he did when you last saw him. How much of that was due to his accelerated aging or due to stress isn’t clear, but either way, Kellis was right. Even without his scar, you can tell just by glancing at Cody’s face that time has not been easy on him since you left.

You get to your feet, fighting back a lump in your throat. You chuck the rag in the direction of the kitchen sink without noticing or caring where it landed, all the while not taking your eyes off of Cody, then you sit back down onto the caf table and continue watching him. He isn’t sweating as much, and he’s stopped moving his head around, so hopefully he’s actually resting now, you think.

“What’ve you been through?” you say, unaware that you’ve spoken aloud.

As if he’d heard you, he starts mumbling in his sleep, but it’s difficult for you to hear him. You lean forward and lower your head closer to his to better understand him.

“-deserted… choices… orders,” he says, and something clicks in your head. You sit back up, surprised.

Kellis told you yesterday that Cody would mumble about the desert, which had confused you at the time, but after hearing him yourself just now, you realize he’s saying ‘desert’ as in to desert something, not as in reference to the landscape.

Had Cody deserted? When?

It couldn’t have been before the Empire took over, you reason. As dedicated and loyal as he is, he never would have left General Kenobi or his brothers, whether the General was a traitor or not. No, he had to have left afterward. Was it because of what’s been called ‘Order 66’, or had he been in the Empire’s hands after that?

Whenever he left didn’t really matter, but the reason for it does. Something had to have happened to him or around him to push Cody far enough to abandon his duty. Whatever that was, you know it had to be serious, which worries you. The anxious knots you feel when overhearing those whispered rumors return in full force as you wonder how he’s changed while under Imperial control.

Cody stirs, coughing again as he wakes and grabbing your attention. You cautiously hold your palm to his forehead, noting that his fever seems to have gone down, at least a little. When you move your hand away, he startles you by suddenly grabbing it and pulling you down to his level.

“Please, I have to go, I need to find-,” he says, before falling into another coughing fit. He groans, still exhausted, and his hand slackens, allowing you to free yourself from his grip.

“Whatever it is will have to wait,” you say, keeping your voice soft. You brush a few stray pieces of his hair out of his face and continue. “You’re in no shape to go anywhere yet,” you say.

“No,” he says, managing to sit up. “They’re waiting for me, I’ve taken too long already!” he says, sounding almost desperate. Your heart aches for him as it beats even harder in your chest.

“Cody, listen to me,” you whisper, and his head whips up in your direction so quickly his whole body wavers, dizzy from the sudden motion.

“You shouldn’t know my name,” he says, and he sounds suspicious. “I haven’t told anyone since I’ve gotten here.”

Before you can respond, his eyes meet yours again, and you can see recognition spread across his face. He whispers your name in complete disbelief, reaching for the scarf you have wrapped around your face from the nose down.

You get to your feet to stop him from touching you, then take a few steps backwards, creating a fair distance between the two of you, even though all you really want to do is take him into your arms.

You take a deep breath, then slip the scarf down past your chin, just long enough for Cody to get a clear look at you. His jaw drops and he tries to stand, but stumbles backwards, too weak to manage it. You pull the scarf back into place and return to his side, holding him by the shoulders as you firmly push him back into a lying position.

“You’ve got sand fever, you need to rest,” you say.

He curses under his breath, still not taking his eyes off of you. “It’s really you,” he says. His voice is barely audible, so you know he’s about to slip back into sleep again.

“It is,” you say softly. You return to your seat on the caf table, releasing his shoulders but entwining the fingers of your hand with one of his. Despite his condition, he grips you like a lifeline, strong enough to faintly ache.

“But why here? I’ve been everywhere,” he says.

“There will be time for that later, once you’re better. You need to rest,” you say, firmly repeating yourself.

Reluctantly, he nods, and releases your hand. You get to your feet once more, and turn to head towards the kitchen, but stop when he speaks.

“Don’t leave me again, please,” he says, begging, and your heart breaks. You turn around and kneel beside him, and briefly touch your forehead to his.

“Don’t worry, Cody. I’m not going anywhere,” you say softly.

Taglist: @kaminocasey @madameminor @jennamelinda12 @arctrooper69 @the-cantina

[allthemusic]

Week ending: 3rd May

Both of these songs are unknowns, so I have no idea what to expect. That said, the versions I'm listening to for both artists - and I listen on Spotify - come from "very best of" compilations that apprently have gone with the most 1950s norm-core looking photo of the artist in question. Seriously, I'm looking at both Ronnie and Teresa, and they just look like Some Guy, you know? Did they just use a candid photo for these album covers? Surely better photos existed out there...

No Other Love - Ronnie Hilton (peaked at Number 1)

I think we've seen Ronnie before, right? Yeah, a quick look back through the archives tells me that he did one version of A Blossom Fell as well as a song called I Still Believe, which I can kind of remember, but that clearly wasn't too memorable. Oh well.

This song begins with some quite exciting strings, and then settles into what sounds a bit like a bolero or tango rhythm, with some other instruments doing melodramatic little stabs periodically. It's all very theatrical, in a carefully restrained way, there's actually a fair bit of style to it.

It was apparently a Rogers and Hammerstein original, from a 1953 musical called Me and Juliet, all about an assistant stage manager who woos a chorus girl behind the back of her electrician boyfriend. Which all sounds perfectly charming, and there's apparently also a fun little show-within-a-show thing going on, and action that the audience is supposed to see that happens in the wings, or up in the lighting rig. So that's quite a fun meta thing that I think I'd quite enjoy.

This song is really growing on me, actually, and I think Ronnie's performance suits it well. It's a simple concept, as he sings about how No other love have I / Only my love for you, and about how he's sat at home, Watching the night go by / Wishing that you could be / Watching the night with me. He wants his love to return home so they can confirm that they also love him just as much. There's a sort of besotted paranoia to it, and then the tune briefly soars upwards lushly on lines urging this love to Set me free / Free from doubt and free from longing. It's a very Broadway tune, in ways that I can't quite put a finger on, but I think even if I hadn't known going into this one that it was from a musical, I'd have guessed it pretty quickly.

Within this, we get quite a big ending, complete with trumpets and backing singers, but it feels earned at this point, after a whole song that's carefully and restrainedly unfolded all this longing and worry and impatience. I really want things to work out for Ronnie and his love, at this point, you know?

Or maybe I just really like tango rhythms. Sue me.

A Tear Fell - Teresa Brewer (2)

Much like Ronnie, I couldn't name you specifically any Teresa Brewer songs that we've seen, but I do at least vaguely remember enjoying her. And generally, I think a lot of the female solo artists of this pre-rock and roll era are pretty charming, and often a lot more spunky than the solo men. It's not a hard and fast rule, and we've yet to meet a proper female rocker, either, but still, it's notable how sympathetic a lot of these female artists have been, so far.

This song isn't actually that memorable, though. There's a sort of lullaby vibe to it, partly due to it being in 3/4, and it never really gets past a gentle rolling lollop. Tune-wise, it's fairly repetitive, too. Music to put you to sleep, then, despite a valiant effort from Teresa to make it interesting.

I think it doesn't help that Teresa's character here is pretty pathetic. A self-confessed fool in love, the whole song's about how she cried after her love cheated and then broke up with her, and she still misses them. They sound like a tool, honestly - or they're certainly not pulling any punches, at least, as they tell her first That your love was not for me, and then, even more damning, That the flame in your heart died. Oh, Teresa!

I'm not blaming her for being sad about it, but also, all of my instincts here are screaming at Teresa that he's not worth it! I'm always more of a fan of angry break-up songs than sad break-up songs, and a large part of me just wants to get a bit more vitriol and venom from Teresa. I really think she could pull it off, and I could imagine really loving a version of this song sung with just a little more contempt.

Alas, we don't ever get that. Instead, we get this version, which remains pretty docile throughout. Teresa sells it, upping the intensity at key moments, but it doesn't quite work for me. Possibly that also has something to do with awkward lyrics, like the one asking Darlin', have I lost you / Like these teardrops from eyes, or the simile about how The teardrops that you stepped on / As you danced across the floor / Were crushed like my poor heart was / When you walked out of my door, which just shows a stunning lack of understanding of how teardrops actually work. Not great, in a song that's ostensibly about tears.

Yeah, I think I have a favourite, here. Both songs were fine and pleasant. But one had that Broadway magic that we're going to keep seeing periodically throughout the charts. The British public love a song from a musical, it seems - it's maybe less prominent today, but it's still definitely a thing, and songs like this maybe show you why that's not a bad thing.

Favourite song of the bunch: No Other Love

[meowzards]

The Cat’s Meow

Peter Parker x Black Cat!Reader ( they / them )

Part One

During a night of patrol, Spider-Man seems to have a little bit of a cat problem

word count: 1.5k

warnings: i can’t tell if this is suggestive but it is definitely flirty

note: i needed a black cat reader fic that wasn’t nsfw i just needed one  (this was originally going to be just TASM but it fits with any Spider-Man really, so just imagine whoever u want)

REBLOGS APPRECIATED**

**requests are open!!!!! pls keep them a little vague but clarify if u want them to be angst or fluff or whatever and how long u want it to be ^^**

Peter knew even before his Spidey-Sense went off that something wasn’t right as he stood on a rooftop in the city.

Call it intuition, a gut feeling he couldn’t shake, or maybe it was the fact that it had been quiet for too long. No matter what it was, piercing alarms rang throughout his head when he finally heard the soft sound of someone landing on the ground behind him. He couldn’t help but feel that he recognized the set of mysterious footsteps.

“Well, Peter. It’s nice to finally meet up with you again,” a voice from behind him cut through the thick silence.

Hearing his name from them almost made him falter for just a moment and he struggled to keep himself still, all instincts in his body yearning for him to turn to look. All too familiar feelings came rushing back to him in seas of regret as he heard the person’s slick words, hitting him like a storm. It had been too long since their last encounter and he had almost forgotten how they once sounded, their voice as smooth as silk. Countless memories of the nights they had together flooded his mind without giving him a second to catch his breath. He stood still, maintaining his composure, not letting them know that they were able to get to him. He knew perfectly well that they could if they wanted to, and that’s what made them dangerous.

“What? Afraid of little ol’ me?” They sang, gently draping their arm over Peter’s broad shoulder.

“Whatever you want from me, I won’t do it, Y/N,” he said firmly, not turning his head. Refusing to play their game was the simplest way to get out of this, albeit cowardly. Peter kept his eyes on the sky knowing full well that he wouldn’t last a second if he met their gaze in the slightest.

The black leather of their costume rested against his neck as their hand wrapped around him, carefully running over the spandex lining and along the tiny slit where the mask separated from the rest of the suit. Their nails were long and sharp, and Peter could feel them trace every dip in the fabric as lightly as they thought possible. Times like these, he wished his senses weren’t as heightened and his thoughts were so loud.

“Who said I needed anything?” Y/N remarked, their arm sliding away from Peter and back to their side as they slowly walked in front of him. A sly smile illuminated their face with every movement, their shiny black mask giving their eyes a certain gleam that wouldn’t be noticeable otherwise.

“You always need something,” Peter spoke, finally turning his face ever so slightly to meet theirs. In situations like this, his mask ended up shielding more than just his identity, and he was grateful for it.

With a grin, they took the back of their hand, running it along the side of his cheek. “I can’t just stop by to see my favorite spider?” They questioned, a look of false innocence on their face accompanied by a small tilt of their head.

“I would say yes if it were anyone but you,” he replied coldly, not sharing the same enthusiasm as the cat.

In an instant, their hand dropped from the side of his veil. “Smart spider,” they purred. “I need your help.”

“It’s been months since I last saw you, Y/N, and now you need my help?” Peter questioned rhetorically with crossed arms, he took a couple of steps forward as Y/N turned to face the city. “I know you’re one for your disappearance acts, but you can’t just show up after leaving with no explanation.”

“I’m sorry I broke your heart, Parker, but I really do need your help.” Y/N sat at the ledge of the rooftop, legs dangling over the edge. They fell back, leaning their head behind them to look up at Peter. Small chuckles left their mouth as they watched him begin to turn away, arms landing at his sides exasperatedly.

“What is it.”

Peter knew that this prolonged interaction wouldn’t lead to anywhere good, but he pushed it far deep in his mind. With denial at the forefront of his mind and a handful of hope in his pocket, he mentally readied himself for dealing with one of the biggest problems in his life; Y/N L/N. Resurgence of old memories did nothing but make Peter comply more. His brain lingered around their old conversations, the stunts that they would pull in the city. Inside, he knew that Y/N was no good. Peter Parker was a smart man, but he let himself live in a stupid state of negation.

Y/N’s demeanor didn’t change as they repositioned themselves, sitting up on top of their knees, hands resting gently on their lap. “I need you to steal something for me.”

Parker was already regretting this. The minimal faith he had in Y/N was already draining quick, and as much as he wanted to stand there and humor their antics, his duty to protect the city was far more important than Y/N’s criminal mission. “I’m not gonna steal, Y/N.” The harsh tone that laced his voice hardly affected Y/N as they shifted, lifting their thighs off their calves.

“You don’t know what I need you to steal yet, Parker. For someone with heightened senses, you’re not the best listener,” they jested, tipping their head down faintly, eyes locked in on Peter.

Frustration coarsed it’s way through his body as he listened to Y/N, every single word sending him farther into a spiral of annoyance. As much as he cared for them, he struggled to hold his temper back. “Just tell me, Y/N.”

They took a small breath, a mutter of a laugh escaping their lips as they adjusted their mask slightly. Leaning forward just the slightest bit, they kept their focus on Peter, striking eyes observing him as if he were a type of prey. Peter could feel the cold air through his suit, but Y/N was the one sending a chill down his spine.

“I need you to steal a document.” Their answer was plain, more bland than they had ever come to Peter for. He felt relief wash over him in waves, but confusion accompanied it, hand in hand.

“What kind of document?”

“I’ll spare you details for now, but it will help keep the people of New York safe. All I need to know is if you can do it.” They were being cryptic, and Peter knew all too well that the uncertainty that came along with Black Cat was never a good thing. They were a wild card, an unpredictable game of war that Peter just couldn’t seem to win. Betting and recklessness lay in the fun of teaming up with her, though, and although Peter had a sense of responsibility, he never had a good sense of decision. Y/N’s incalculability was what lured him in in the first place, a joker in a pack of 52. Adrenaline took over his senses when he was with them, and a lack of having everything dialed up to eleven for once in his life. It’s what made him fall in love with them once before, and also what made it so hard to say no.

“As long as no one gets hurt.”

Y/N’s grin grew wider as the words left his mouth, and they walked towards him in a stride laced with confidence. Peter felt himself heat up as the stepped directly in front of him, leaning in close to his face with theirs. “Sounds like a plan, bug. I’ll stop by your place to give you the details later.”

He felt himself shudder just barely. “Don’t make me regret this, cat.”

“Fingers crossed, spider.” With a quick kiss on the cheek, they disappeared as fast as they came, a gust of wind hitting Peter in the direction that they ran off too. He put his hand over his cheek delicately, gently wiping off the lipstick-stained mark Y/N had left. Regret had already well settled in as soon as Y/N was no longer in his field of vision. Past mistakes dug themselves holes in his brain, poking at him as punishment for the warning he gave himself but ignored. Playing poker with a wild card was a dead man’s game, and the way Parker played, his grave was already shoveled.

There was no stopping them now, they already had the yes that they needed from him, and they were gonna get his help no matter what. The carelessness that clouded Peter’s mind just moments before was gone for now, but he had a moral obligation to help Y/N, and they knew that. Weaponizing that against Peter was their main course of action whenever they had their little conversations, and it’s precisely what made them so dangerous. The power that they held over Peter Parker was potent, and they had shown it tonight. Peter grimaced at the thought of it happening again, knowing full well that it would. Repentance would be the only gain Peter would get from this allyship, if it could even be called so.

“What have I done.”

[theconstantsidekick]

Hiiii! I got a request for the Static Verse. Maybe Static goes on a mission and gets shot or hurt but still sompletes the mission perfectly with a proud Bucky! :> (sorry my adhd brain doesn't know vague)

I have once again made this a much bigger thing than originally requested. I'm kinda sorry, but I do hope you like it. Lemme know what you think :)

Of Gucci Suits and Weirdos

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Stark!Reader, Sam Wilson x Stark!Reader (platonic homies), Tony Stark x Stark!Reader (siblings), Past!Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader (mentioned)

Warning: Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Canon Typical Violence.

“Guys, we have a problem,” Joaquin says into the comms.

“How big of a problem?” Sam asks him. He sounds annoyed, which is fair. This is very annoying.

He looks back at the scene behind him. “Ugh… It’s the size of a bullet.”

“Fuck!” He hears Bucky curse over the comms. “Is she okay?”

The fact that the man already knows Y/n is the one who’s been hit is kinda astonishing, but who is Joaquin to question it?

“I mean, mostly she seems pissed off,” Joaquin notes, kneeling down. Crouching over her, he tries to stop the bleeding as she continues to shoot from where she sits, covering both their asses.

“Where’s she hit?” Bucky asks, panting. He’s running over to their location, Joaquin guesses.

Before he can respond though, there are more intruders spilling into the room they are currently hiding in, so he has to rush over and take care of them.

“TORRES! Where is she hit?” Bucky yells.

God, talk about an overprotective boyfriend.

Rolling his eyes, he answers, “Lower abdomen. There isn’t too much blood. I’m guessing it missed most of the major organs.” He turns back to her, having gotten rid of the assailants. What he sees confuses him a little, because currently she’s trying to control her breathing with her eyes closed. “Y/n?” He calls out, falling on his knees next to her. “Y/n?” He gets no response. “Okay, this is getting weirder. She just looks like she’s pissed and doing breathing exercises.”

“Torres,” Bucky’s voice chimes in over the comms, and unlike before, he sounds painfully hesitant. He sounds worried. Joaquin thinks he can’t blame him, but then the man adds, “What is she wearing?”

Really? At a time like this? Joaquin thinks.

These two can merrily sex each other up, but he’d prefer if they did it off the clock and without him in the damn mix.

“What?” He asks, incredulous.

“What is she wearing?” Bucky repeats.

“No offense, Sergeant Barnes, but this really isn’t the time,” Joaquin chides.

“Just tell him what she’s wearing, man,” Sam tells him.

Grumbling, looking at her, Joaquin replies, “Uhh… I don’t know, a suit.”

Sam, Bucky and him were on a mission, taking care of some mid level crime syndicate. But the syndicate had some delicate documents hiding in their safe rigged with explosives which none of them could crack without blowing up the whole thing which would have undoubtedly ruined the documents inside. So, long story short they called Y/n in at the last minute as a hail mary hoping she could open the safe, which she did with ease. But her rush to get here meant she didn’t have the time to change out of her fancy clothes.

Joaquin will forever remain in awe of how gracefully this woman seems to be able to fight in heeled boots and a killer suit. He’s a fan. Why wouldn’t he be?

Or maybe he just likes people in suits.

Maybe that’s his thing.

Because Malcolm used to pull off suits too well for his own good. But then, he ventures, Malcolm could’ve pulled off anything in his opinion.

“She’s always wearing a damn suit, smartass,” Bucky bites back, pulling him out of his reverie. “Which one?”

What the hell is he supposed to reply to that?

“Uh, I don’t know, damn it! It’s a suit. It’s blue with floral print—”

“Yeah, Torres, get out of there,” Bucky cuts him off.

“There’s a little too much resistance outside, I can’t carry her with me—”

“No. I mean, you get out of there,” Bucky tells him. “Just you.”

“Excuse me?” He balks.

“Get out of there, man. I mean it,” Bucky reiterates.

Holy fuck.

Getting up from next to her, he walks over to the corner of the room. Lowering his voice he asks, “You want me to leave your girlfriend behind?”

He’s completely confounded.

The last time she got shot, Bucky almost ripped Malcolm’s head off, and now he’s asking him to abandon her?

“No, I’m asking you to evacuate,” Bucky answers.

“I can’t just—”

“Do as he says, Joaquin. Leave her there and get out, as fast as you can,” Sam commands.

“But—”

“That’s an order,” Sam states with finality.

This whole group is crazy. Joaquin doesn’t even know why he hangs out with them anymore. One minute they are ready to rip people’s throats out with their teeth to save each other, the other minute they ask you to abandon one of them in the middle of a mission while being surrounded by members of the Red Dragon Crime Syndicate.

He turns around to look at her but is pretty damn surprised to find her already on her feet.

“They’re asking me to leave you behind,” he tells her solemnly.

Her jaw is clenched, hard. Her eyes are set at the door, there’s rage radiating off of her waves. “Then you better listen to your Captain, boy,” she says in a funny little Texan accent.

“What?” He narrows his eyes at her.

“Listen to your Captain and run,” she says. When he takes no action to move, she turns to him. “I said, git!”

The sheer force of her anger makes Joaquin stumble a bit, before turning around and breaking into a run, breaking through a window and carving a path for himself. He doesn’t stop till he’s outside the building and greeted with the sight of Bucky and Sam standing there having a casual fucking conversation.

“She’s still in there,” he informs them, rushed.

Bucky looks at him then, “Oh. Yeah,” he says dismissively. “It’s fine. She’ll be out in a minute.”

Okay, he’s gonna lose it now.

“You’re all crazy! You,” he points at Sam. “I watched you rip into Ross with no remorse cause he upset her by calling her ‘not an ideal hero’ which, I have to admit, was pretty fun to watch but that’s beside the point.” He turns to Bucky, pointing at him now. “And you! I watched you stab a guy in the eye for looking at her funny,” he says, arms flailing. “And both of you just left her in there?! What the fuck is that about? She’s hurt, she can’t just glitch out of there. What the hell guys?”

Both men are looking at him with their mouths agape.

The silence stretches on until—

“We didn’t leave her in there,” Sam states calmly.

“We asked you to evacuate to save yourself from—” Bucky points behind him. And at that, he turns, just in time to witness the explosion.

What starts out as a few small flames in the northwest corner of the building almost immediately spirals into a full-fledged fire throughout the building as more and more explosions begin to sound out. And in front of it all is Y/n Stark, stomping towards them as the building behind her is being reduced to ash.

“—that,” Bucky finishes, passing him by to run over to his girl. “Hey sweetheart,” Bucky greets her, wrapping her in his arms. “I’m so proud of you, baby. You did so well.” He drops a kiss on her head. “You okay, sweetheart?”

As both he and Sam walk over to the couple, he can hear a muffled complaint slip out from her into his chest, “They ruined my suit, Jamie.”

All this over a fucking suit?

“I know, baby,” Bucky cooes at her. “I know. We’ll get you a new one.”

“It was limited edition,” she whines. And then suddenly her demeanor shifts. “It’s all your fault!” She accuses, pulling away from Bucky to point at Sam.

“How the fuck is it my fault?” Sam throws back.

“You’re the one who called me in!” She exclaims, Bucky holding her back.

“Who the fuck told you to wear a—what is that?” Sam begins assessing her outfit. “Is that a goddamn Gucci suit?” He sounds absolutely incredulous, and yeah. Joaquin has to agree.

“I was having dinner with the fucking King of Asgard! What the fuck did you expect me to wear? Your stupid pizza PJs?” She bites back, feisty as ever.

“Hey! Hey! You don’t get to insult the pizza PJs!” Sam fights back, just as fierce. So much so, Bucky has to step in between the two as they approach each other.

“It’s your fucking fault, Wilson—”

“No, no, baby. It’s their fault,” Bucky tries to placate her, motioning back towards the burning building. “And they’re paying for it,” he assures her. “Not Sam, sweetheart. We like Sam,” he coerces her, rubbing at her sides. He looks over at the Captain, a little apprehensive, “He’ll help you patch this one up.”

“The hell I will,” Sam chides.

Her jaw clenches, “You know what, Samuel—”

“Sam will help!” Bucky interrupts, giving a pointed look at the younger man. “He’ll use all his Captain America charm and he’ll get this suit all prim and proper.” He then looks back at her, “And you are going to thank him for it.” His voice is stern, leaving no room for argument from either of them. And as expected, both of them mutely give a curt nod, agreeing to his terms. Satisfied with their compliance, his eyes fall onto her lower abdomen. “Now,” his hands pull away the suit jacket, “you okay?”

Sam rushes over, assessing her injury. “It doesn’t look that bad but we should get it checked out,” he says, voice coated in mild concern. “Is the bullet still insi—”

There’s a distinct clink as shell casing drops to the ground.

Looking up, Sam balks. “What the fuck have I told you about pulling bullets out of your wounds?”

Below him, Bucky, on his knees, grumbles with a similar amount of discontent, fiddling with her wound and making her wince a little. Behind them, the authorities begin to pile in. Police cars, paramedics alongside several fire brigades make their way inside the previously guarded area, situating themselves as per their convenience.

Meanwhile, Y/n bites back, unbothered by her wound and commotion behind her. “And what have I told you about calling me in on my days off?” Bucky stands up, dropping a soft kiss on her cheek which she pays him back for by playing with the short locks at the back of his head. “Why the fuck didn’t you call Steve? He’s good at cracking safes too. I fucking taught the dude.”

“He’s on a date,” Sam answers easily.

And oof. That was obviously the wrong answer because it stunts her for a second.

But only for a second, cause after that—

“So was I!” She shouts back, only to be met with three scrunched faces from the three men. “Technically,” she adds, correcting herself sheepishly.

Next to her Bucky clears her throat.

“Come on,” she reproaches, rolling her eyes. “It was Val, I’m not gonna fuck Val.” A beat. “... again.”

Um… what?

Apparently, Bucky shares his sentiment.

“What do you mean again?” He asks, absolutely astounded.

“You’ve slept with Valkyrie?” Sam questions at the same time. “How was it?” Curiosity is clear in his tone.

“Don’t answer that,” Bucky warns, pointing to Sam. His finger moves back to her, “Why wouldn’t you tell me about it?”

She shrugs, almost hesitant. “Just—It was, you know? It was a long time ago. Thor had just left. Carol was about to leave the next day and I was still…” She doesn’t finish the thought but all four of them know that she’s referring to her dealing with the loss of her brother, Tony Stark. “We were drinking that Asgardian mead, one thing led to another, and next thing you know,” she runs a hand through her hair, “we woke up in bed together.”

There’s a pregnant pause.

And then—

“YOU HAD A THREESOME WITH CAPTAIN MARVEL AND THE KING OF ASGARD?!” Bucky shouts at the same time, as Sam whistles proudly, yelling out. “Well done, hotshot!”

“Just the first time,” she defends instantly, only to realize what she just said when Bucky’s eyes widen. “I—I should go get my wound checked out,” she says in a rush, hurriedly walking past Sam and him. Bucky follows her.

“How was it?” Sam asks, turning around to look at her. Joaquin copies his actions.

“Don’t answer that!” Bucky scolds before continuing, “Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“I was before you,” she defends, walking towards the paramedics. “I did a lot of things before you.”

“So did I,” Bucky fights back. “Would you be okay with it if I had a threesome?”

That makes her steps halt. Turning around to look back at Bucky, she threatens, “You’re mine, James Buchanan Barnes. Mine. I am absolutely not sharing you. Ever. You hear me?” She walks over to him. “I didn’t tell you because I literally forgot about it till she reminded me today,” she admits. “Most of the night is a blur. Most nights from that time are…” After a second of pause, she shakes her head and then jabs a finger at him. “But you… You have me now. Okay? Everything before you doesn’t matter now, cause I have you and you have me… Does that work?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sweetheart, that works.” Joaquin can’t see Bucky’s face right now but he can hear the smile in his words. “Now, do you want me to carry you over to the paramedics?” He asks.

“Yes please,” she pouts. And immediately Bucky complies, carrying her over while whispering to her about how proud he is of her for completing the mission with a bullet wound.

And yeah, a part of Joaquin remains speechless.

In this life—in their life, finding this kind of love—this kind of family is not just hard, it’s damn near impossible, or so he’s been told. The three of them, all three of them, bicker like kids, fight like ratty old people and protect each other like kin. He’s heard a lot about how this life only takes and takes from you but seeing what he’s seeing in front of him, he can’t bring himself to believe it. It’s not like the three of them haven’t lost anything. They have, they have lost a lot, too much even. But even then, they have this. This small little bickering, annoying family.

So, despite being told time and again, being warned relentlessly about how this life is nothing but pain and sacrifice, sometimes even from the people in question, he just won’t believe it. He’s lost love like this too, he didn’t even get to have it for long before he did lose it. But that just fuels him, even more, to stick around. Because contrary to all the warnings, he gets to have this. This silly little group of people who look out for each oth—

Wait. Hold on.

“Steve’s on a date?” he asks Sam, who’s wearing a smile on his face as they both stand there watching the couple. “Thought he was madly in love with her?”

“He isn’t,” Sam answers. When he turns to look at Sam in confusion, Sam faces him too. “On a date, I mean. He’s still totally in love with her,” he clarifies. With a sigh, his gaze flies back to the couple as he watches her get patched up. “He’s with Banner.”

“Then why’d you tell her he was on a date?”

Sam smiles, a coy, cunning smile. “Cause the next time they meet, she’ll rip him a brand new one and then I’ll be the last America’s ass standing,” he states before walking off towards Bucky and Y/n.

Huh.

Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe they’re just a group of fucking weirdos.

Maybe he fancies himself a fucking weirdo as well.

Read the previous installment to the series here. Read other Bucky One-Shots here. Find out who Malcolm is and how she met him here. Find other Static Verse works here.

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[phulpakharu]

initial thoughts on gintama characters PART 2

here is the original post, if you wanna see. for anybody who's curious, i'm doing this because my mortal enemy (i.e. friend) wants essays about my thoughts on these characters... acting like this show is a class fr. i hate and love you in equal measure my dearest nemesis <3

i know you've been waiting for this one for a WHILE, so without further adieu, here is my initial impression of your babygirl, Takasugi Shinsuke.

(note: i know some spoilers about gintama, so my opinions are not gonna be clean or whatever because of that)

ALSO... THIS IS ALL SPECULATION. don't take me too seriously. i'm not trying to start disc/horse

takasugi is a man i have been waiting to meet, because @takasugisbabygirl is so in love with him, and i want to understand why. also just, the few spoilers i do know about him make me want to off myself.

so naturally, i squealed when he showed up on screen in episode 17. he was finally here !!!! and he wouldn't be showing up again for another 41 episodes, but i'll take the crumbs i can get.

my first thoughts were: 1) oh he's gonna be sooooooo fucked up and deranged for sure, and 2) THAT VOICE

THAT VOICE... oh my gosh. his voice suits him perfectly, Takehito Koyasu played him so well... wow. also, he was wearing a hat !!!!! idk what else to say about the hat, i just appreciated it is all.

okay, so a bunch of other stuff happens in this episode, so i'll scream about that briefly, before getting back to takasugi.

SHINPACHI MY TONE-DEAF SON... I LOVE YOU

KAGURA YOU ARE SO REAL AND WONDERFULLY 14 FOR ENACTING A SOAP OPERA... MY DAUGHTER... I LOVE YOU

GINTOKI I HOPE YOU GOT YOUR COTTON CANDY EVENTUALLY BABE

this ep was fucking DRAMATIC, i think nothing will top how heartfelt episode 13 was for me, it just HIT

KAGURA AND SOUGO WERE SUCH A FUN DUO.. THE SADISTS ARE TEAMING UP !! (i do not ship them because gross, and i have been informed that gin / kagu are unfortunately a big ship in this fandom??? y'all need buddha and allah and christ and five more different kinds of divine intervention fr)

that moment when gintoki and that inventor man (gengai or smth) were having ramen, and speaking about war and loss with that sad fucking piano ost... maybe it hit me a little. genuinely, i hate thinking of gintoki being in pain, i hate thinking of him experiencing loss, even when i'm vaguely aware of his backstory.

...

ANYWAYS... back to takasugi. HE WAS WATCHING YOROZUYA AND GENGAI WORKING... i wanna know what was going on in his head. what did he think when he saw gintoki? is this the first time he's observed from afar? what did he think when he saw gintoki with his surrogate children? i just want to know what he thought.

i can vaguely speculate, that he was angry, because i think he has so much of it that he doesn't know where to put it. i think he may have also felt a bit betrayed, seeing gintoki move forward with other people in his life, seemingly forgetting the past. he says as much later on, though not in those words exactly. i'm just fascinated by his heart and mind and thoughts.

speaking offffff....... that moment when he cornered gintoki after the fireworks show!!!! dear fucking god!!!!!! i don't know how to properly articulate all my feelings about this, but i will try.

1) takasugi is tasking himself with keeping gintoki busy, because he knows that even in gintoki's "defanged" state, he's a threat to the chaos and destruction takasugi wants to incite.

2) he's fucking deranged and i already love him

3) the metaphor of the beast. gosh, this was so well done. it was clear and obvious what the metaphor meant, but it's also very layered. just, wonderful! takasugi and his beast that screams outwards, that's unruly and set loose to destroy everything, because he has nothing left to protect, nothing to really fight for, just wanting to burn the world that took everything from him. wow.

gintoki and his beast that screams inwards, that's caged and locked, and silently ruining him on the inside. the rage he feels turned inward at himself for not being able to protect everyone in the past. which then manifests as him doing everything he can to protect his loved ones now. because the past is the past, even if it haunts him, what's done is done, all he has is what's in front of him. (again, this was really wonderfully set up and displayed in ep13, when kagura and shinpachi were taken away by space pirates. that moment when gin see's them being dragged away and the panic and desperation all over his face... dear god.)

4) this leads me into the set-up for what i know will be an ongoing theme of duality. gintoki and takasugi, two sides of the same coin. protection vs destruction. internalization vs externalization. glittery pink comic sans 'i will protect you' vs flaming cryptic gothic 'i will destroy you'. they're two poles, facing each other, mirroring each other, outwardly different, but stemming from the same roots. it's set up sooooo well, and i'm deeply excited to see where this will go.

5) the "fangs" : this was a veryyyy interesting metaphor. gintoki asking whether takasugi provoked gengai into attacking. and then takasugi talks about the "fangs" about the "white demon" and goshhhhh so much foreshadowing??? all for me??? i feel spoiled.

it also offers some insight into how takasugi views the world, but especially gintoki. in takasugi's eyes, gintoki has also lost all meaning, and in a way, he's not wrong. in takasugi's eyes, gintoki has forgotten his past, forgotten what the world did to him. takasugi doesn't, on a fundamental level understand how gintoki can be so... idle. how he's able to exist with the past that he has, and how he isn't just as furious with the world. and therein comes takasugi's belief as to what "fangs" are, and why he thinks gintoki lost his. why find new things to protect when you failed the first time around? why have new things to lose when the loss already broke you once before? why do anything other than let the wretched, indifferent world burn?

i need to mention, this is all speculation. i haven't gotten into takasugi or gintoki's backstories all that deeply. i don't know exactly what happened to them, but i am somewhat aware of it.

anyways, back to "fangs" because we got a little off-track. i think this whole thing is fascinating. because "fangs" can mean anything depending on who the person in question is. for takasugi, it's his desperate ambition to destroy whatever lays before him. for gintoki it's his opposing need to protect what matters to him. for gengai it was about control, about directing his grief somewhere, so he can, if only for a moment, feel less unmoored.

it's just a very interesting thing to me, and i'm excited to see how it's explored later.

aaaaaaaah so this became a little less about takasugi, and more about takasugi and gintoki.... i don't think i can be blamed though. they're literally mortal enemies, deeply intertwined, etc etc. gay as hell.

okay back to takasugi. i'm soooo intrigued by this man. i love his voice and his monologues. i love that he's deranged, but i'll probably be in pain later because i just Know i'll love him and wish for him to be happy instead.

and back to this episode... he is so, gosh... what a wonderfully set-up antagonist. that moment when gintoki grabs his sword with a bare hand, declares easily that he's not defanged like takasugi thinks, and takasugi is so taken aback by it. and again. i want to know what he's thinking. he's shocked, but what else. relieved, maybe? that the gintoki he remembers still exists? that he isn't apathetic at all? fond? i can only speculate, but he seemed kind of fond of gintoki, when he was talking to katsura at the end of the episode, idk idk. angry? definitely. why? i don't know. maybe because he doesn't understand why gintoki lives so idly, when he's clearly not lost his spark or his fangs. maybe because he wishes gintoki was angry in the same way. i literally have NOOOO IDEA, THIS IS ALL SPECULATION.

also gintoki.. mentioning sadaharu... as his beast... mf really deflects and represses his emotions using humor huh. babygirl please go to therapy, or maybe have a parfait.

...

uuuuuuh. anyways. idk if this "essay" if i can even loosely call it that, made any sense towards the end lol. i have many thoughts, but not enough words to communicate them all. but yeah. takasugi shinsuke. what a deranged little guy <3