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erraticfoxboy · 2 years ago

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Twiter Weekly Update 05.Nov.2022 - 11.Nov.2022

Crossposted from Erratic Foxboy.

Twiter Weekly Update 05.Nov.2022 - 11.Nov.2022

RT @rmayemsinger: Elon Musk cannot handle being properly schooled. A tragedy in three acts: https://t.co/MXSWQPWo2b ->

RT @woofknight: https://t.co/W0YwLNau62 ->

RT @TheGoodLiars: We handed out toy sheriff badges at a Herschel Walker rally so his supporters could play make-believe with him. https://t… ->

@Dreadknux Maybe the release times are regionally staggered? I doubt it, though… in reply to Dreadknux ->

E:\Foxboy> NewPost.exe "Twiter Weekly Update 29.Oct.2022 – 04.Nov.2022" https://t.co/IupXNQ1ubg ->

@NoContextBrits The Royal Family in reply to NoContextBrits ->

RT @JohnFetterman: If you ask Dr. Oz if he wants Sheetz, he’d say “What thread count?” ->

Shame his driving skills leave a lot to be desired. https://t.co/d3oJiF0W95 ->

@3Baracuda @LinusTech * laughs in @UnicompKeyboard * in reply to 3Baracuda ->

@TeeLopes Dunno, maybe set up a Mastodon account at your nearest Instance and cross-post to Twitter from there usin… https://t.co/sQY0R5joO6 in reply to TeeLopes ->

@AlGiordano GOP ad buys for the 5 US House and 2 US Senate races have been going up in Oklahoma of late, which is o… https://t.co/f7mFKXb7cg in reply to AlGiordano ->

Well, that is my mail-in ballot received and awaiting counting. #VoteBlueIn2022 https://t.co/ZVi2DLLbI0 ->

@TURBOXLR All I remember about that game is this able demonstration of voice activation incompetence:

Credit… https://t.co/y8VqH3Uz8T in reply to TURBOXLR ->

It's days such as these I wish my "Vote or Die" shirt didn't get ruined in the 2017 floods in TX. ->

RT @Number10cat: Rishi Sunak’s political progression: https://t.co/kRivqCNpnf ->

RT @BetteMidler: https://t.co/7luAW4typC ->

RT @Number10cat: First they came for the parody accounts… and I was pretty shocked, because there are actual Nazis on this platform that sh… ->

@NoContextBrits Canada in reply to NoContextBrits ->

RT @chadloder: NEW: Elon Musk just banned a 2.3M-follower account for making fun of Musk's ties to Jeffrey Epstein, despite the account bei… ->

RT @realGulDukat: ATTENTION BAJORAN WORKERS. Going forward, anyone programming recreations of me in the holosuites without authorization wi… ->

RT @realGulDukat: ATTENTION INDEPENDENT-MINDED VOTERS:

Since the office of Federation President is currently held by a former member of St… ->

#SonicFrontiers Now Preloading https://t.co/t6kJINdj8L ->

RT @NoContextBrits: https://t.co/PREEv8A6V9 ->

RT @ken_lotto: I just bought $7,366 in #Powerball tickets for tonight’s $1 billion drawing for our #lotterypool. If we win, $1,000 for eac… ->

Now Streaming Sonic Frontiers on #Twitch … Strap In! https://t.co/mtUrQOPePY ->

@AlGiordano Luzerne will report last in reply to AlGiordano ->

RT @LinusTech: aaaand VR is zero steps closer to mass adoption https://t.co/oIn7XNt3FT ->

@Dreadknux Too early to tell right now. About 95% complete with the first island, though. in reply to Dreadknux ->

RT @NoContextBrits: The artist formerly known as Prince. https://t.co/1dgyjFHWGK ->

@joncoopertweets OK here in reply to joncoopertweets ->

RT @epicdndmemes: #dnd #ttrpg https://t.co/2BN5oQJVNv ->

Now Streaming Cyberpunk 2077 on #Twitch … Strap In! https://t.co/mtUrQOxDro ->

@Nuurbs Will any Sex 2 features be backported to earlier versions? in reply to Nuurbs ->

@DarkOverord Do let us know if you plan on jumping ship to #Mastodon so we can follow in the #Fediverse in reply to DarkOverord ->

RT @redwyrmofficial: Conversations with the 6yo DM:

6yo DM: With your Ring of Jumping you soar 20' into the air but just miss the ladder.… ->

For those of you relocating to #Mastodon and I have NOT already followed, feel free to add me on the #Fediverse as… https://t.co/P9BWyk70zF ->

Now Streaming Destiny 2 on #Twitch … Strap In! https://t.co/VPdrcoBSEJ ->

Now Streaming Destiny 2 on #Twitch … Strap In! https://t.co/VPdrcoBkPb ->

RT @TH0MASBAHAMA: Rick Steves’ Skyrim https://t.co/fo5nnnB8Ku ->

@O_T_Reynolds That isn't too noticeable from my vantage point. Hardly worth the unneeded and outlying (per Metacritic) 4/10. in reply to O_T_Reynolds ->

Now Streaming The Elder Scrolls Online on #Twitch … Strap In! https://t.co/VPdrcoBkPb ->

@JingusFlorpus @O_T_Reynolds Your point, hater? in reply to JingusFlorpus ->

@JingusFlorpus And I think very few of the points were even close to fair. Most of them were borderline ignorant. T… https://t.co/DZiyDeNY2o in reply to JingusFlorpus ->

Now Streaming The Elder Scrolls Online on #Twitch … Strap In! https://t.co/KKE3LZ6XA2 ->

#at #blogroll #ten #tweets #twits #twitter

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ducavalentinos · 7 years ago

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lool, these men were so incompetent, they couldn't even succeed to kill him while he was at his most vulnerable (not that I’m complaining it). and who the hell reveals their intention of murder like that, in the open? No wonder Ces always outmaneuvered you fools on every scheme. 😂😂😂

#césar borgia #auth: rafael sabatini #book: the life of cesare borgia #borgia thoughts #the incompetence is staggering ok #it reminds me of that line on soryo's manga that ces says: i despise incompetent men #that's what he was dealing with on the whole #and also? fucking same

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cantquitu · 6 years ago

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#just spent two hours trying to talk my director down off a ledge #(figuratively speaking)#because she's about to lose her mind over the incompetence and staggering arrogance of a French co producer #we were on WhatsApp so we could message off the record #i already spent my 'day off' in london raging over this asshole producer #and here i am at 1:15am on a Sat night trying to calm the director #i need to get a life #seriously #or better co production partners #motherfuckers #ok #bed #Work rant over

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spxllcxstxr · 4 years ago

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Post-Hogwarts Enemies to Lovers with Sirius • Headcanon

(Gif not mine)

Warnings: firewhiskey mention, weed mention?, Death Eaters, curses (both language and magic), near death experiences, blood and injury mentions

Request: Hello! Can I have a Sirius headcanon please, one where it’s post Hogwarts in the time of the first wizarding war, and reader was a quiet, loner ravenclaw when she was in Hogwarts whereas Sirius was obviously very popular and loud, and they didn’t like eachother back then but now they’re in the order and dating and it’s just enemies to lovers angst to fluff 🥺 — @mabelle-cherie

A.N: Headcanons are weird because I have no idea if this is long or short. Anyway. I might’ve strayed a little away from the request? But it’s essentially the same. I think I like this one, actually...Love you all ❤️

Sirius Black was the most obnoxious entity you’ve ever encountered

James Potter was obviously a close second

Remus Lupin was tolerable, but only when his nose was stuffed in a book and when he was alone

Peter Pettigrew? He was more scared of you than you were of him. Completely harmless

They would strut around the castle, smug looks glued on their faces, like they owned the place

And you know what?

They practically did

Ever since they pulled their first prank, they’ve had the entire school wrapped around their fingers

Classmates idolized them

Teachers struggled to hide fond smiles

You despised it

You were here to sit, learn enough to get a good job, and keep your head down

The so called “Marauders” obviously had their own plans

The second Sirius witnessed you scoff and roll your eyes at another one of their stupid disruptive pranks, you were on his radar

The first time Sirius ever directly spoke to you, you were in the farthest corner of the library buried underneath a mountain of books trying to finish your three essays

You didn’t even notice him until—

“(Y/Ln), right?”

You were too busy writing about the Goblin Rebellion of 1612 to even entertain the idea of giving him a proper response

So in your haze, you just gave him your default response

“Piss off, Black.”

If you said that to any other person, it would’ve worked

But Sirius Black is not any other person, unfortunately

“Well that’s not very nice, love, now is it?”

And thus, your enemyship begins

That was in your fifth year, meaning you had about two and a half more years dealing with him and his merry band of pricks

By the next day, you were ready to toss yourself out of the Astronomy Tower

He now spots you in every room you’re in together, which is a huge inconvenience, considering you would rather be left alone and unbothered

But he prances towards you, shit eating grin plastered on his face, ringed fingers raking through his hair

He’s a pest

“Leave me alone, Black.”

“Aw c’mon, (Y/Ln), I’m just saving you from being lonely.”

“I’m not lonely.”

“Well you don’t talk to anyone. That’s lonely.”

“I talk to people, Black. I just don’t talk to you.”

You try to leave with the last laugh

You really do

“Pretty sure you’re talkin’ to me right now, love.”

His stupid infuriating smirk makes you wanna hex him into oblivion

Instead, you walk away fuming

And that’s how the rest of your time at Hogwarts goes

Sirius Black bothers the shit outta you

You tell him to go fuck himself

He doesn’t

Wash, rinse, repeat

There are a few times your patience wears so thin that you throw a couple hexes his way

You’ve reversed his knees, made his head grow four sizes too big (to finally contain that ego of his, you told him), made his toenails grow straight through his shoes, and even managed to shave off some of his precious hair

And yet he still came back

Every single time

Sirius would just brush it off and laugh like it was the funniest thing in the world

At that point, what do you do?

You try to ignore him the best you can

There are times you find him alone, drunk on top of the astronomy tower

Or high behind greenhouse number two

You like him better this way

He seems more real

Not because he’s under the influence

But because he’s not giving you a cocky smirk or a wink and laughing at every little move you make

You almost tolerate him

But then the next morning he’s back to calling you love and shouting at you at the top of his lungs across the Great Hall

And you’re back to hating him again

You’re counting down the days to graduation

And when it finally comes you bid him a firm farewell

Sirius finishes off with a “More like see ya later, (Y/Ln), love”

But you don’t care because the next day you have your bags packed to study in Bulgaria

But with one foot out the door you get an urgent letter

Something called the Order of the Phoenix

And and after carefully scanning through the contents of the letter

You unpack

And go meet up with your old Headmaster

Headquarters is a dilapidated shack on the outside

Chipped paint, broken shutters, water damage, the works

But the inside is elegant

Long purple rugs running throughout the house covering dark wood flooring, glass vases, magical artifacts strewn on top of dark counter tops

Sirius Black sitting, cigarette in one hand, twirling his wand in the other—

Sirius Black?

You almost march straight out the door

But you’ve already been spotted by Dumbledore and Alastor Moody, so you can’t exactly back out now

“Long time, no see, love, eh?”

The smirk, the attitude, the wink

It’s all there

Thankfully, he’s sitting in the middle of his friend group, so when you take a seat at the table, there’s about four people between the two of you

You smile at Alice and Frank, who you only know because they helped you with potions assignments a few years prior

You notice a glimmering ring on her finger

Everyone turns deathly serious when Dumbledore and Moody start explaining the situation with Voldemort and his Death Eaters

And how the Ministry of Magic is practically incompetent, though you knew that already

Even Sirius knew when to keep his mouth shut

He sat there, smoking, taking harsh sips of firewhiskey

Yes,

You noticed

You noticed how his fists would clench in anger

And how he silently swore

When James would put a hand of his shoulder to calm him down

And when Remus would start edging away his tumbler

He would twist the rings of his fingers

And smoke through an entire pack of cigs during the meeting

You’re not going to Bulgaria anymore, you’ve decided

Everyone got assigned stations they would patrol

Just your luck

You got Diagon Alley

With Sirius Black

You want to slam your head on the table

“Did you really bribe Dumbledore and Moody to put us together, Black?”

“It won’t be so bad, (Y/Ln), promise.”

“You’re a prat.”

“Well now that’s just rude.”

So everyday, you and Sirius donned dark cloaks that covered your faces and ambled through Diagon Alley, keeping an eye and an ear out for anything out of place

You would stop into shops, pretend to browse through items, keeping an eye on people

Sirius would convince you to get ice cream or stop in the Leaky Cauldron

You hate to admit it

But these little breaks the two of you took together were...

Nice?

The two of you would just be sat in the farthest corner of the tavern

Cigarette smoke swirling around

Eyes watching through the haze

There’s small talk between the two of you, but mostly silence

“The Potters died a month ago.”

He tells you out of the blue, eyes still trained on the other customers

You might not know Sirius Black well, but everyone knows how he ran away from his abusive home to James Potter in sixth year

“I’m so sorry, what was it, if it’s ok to ask.”

“Dragon pox.” He takes a second to exhale completely. “They were old, they knew it was coming. Just doesn’t feel right.”

So that’s how your partnership works

Sirius would be utterly insufferable during meetings and other get togethers

Silent during patrol

At least one of you would spill some secret or heartbreaking thought while on break

And then it would be back to silent concentration

Maybe you didn’t hate him anymore

But you certainly didn’t like him

About six months into your recruitment into the Order, you get a tip off about a huge Death Eater raid in a nearby Muggle village

Moody leads the rest of the Order to the village, and sure enough, there’s a crowd of Death Eaters dressed in black cloaks and silver masks already starting to make their way down the hill and into the main square

Spells are shot at an alarming rate

You’re forced to run, dodge, hide

You have have to not only fight a whole group of people happy to use Dark magic, but you have to continuously check on the numerous Muggle families asleep in their homes

It’s tiring

There’s bruises and cuts all over you

Lily had to save your arse a few times

You shoved James out of the way from the Cruciatus curse, getting hit with it instead

You were staggering, barely taking in enough air, but still you fired off spell after spell

You lean heavily against a wall, the bricks digging into your skin

The world around you spins and turns blurry

You fight to hang on, but your body is in so much pain it wants to shut down

You get cornered by a tall man in a dark cloak and a skeletal mask

“Well, well, how unfortunate.”

Your ears are ringing but you can hear him loud and clear

A gloved hand slips into his cloak and produces a silver dagger, shining in the pale moonlight

“Maybe I’ll gut you the Muggle way.”

He chuckles darkly, and you shudder in fright

The tip of the blade just touches your abdomen, the cool point sending goosebumps up your skin

You try to muster all the strength you have left in you, but it’s not enough to break free and fight back

You get ready to accept your fate

“Get off of her, you bastard!”

A figure bodyslams the Death Eater away from you

And the two of them roll around on the street, the silver of the blade flashing between the two forms

You have no idea who’s winning

You do hear a guttural cry coming from Sirius, but when you look back down, the Death Eater is apprehended and there’s a fresh and bloody cut across Sirius’ collarbone

Somehow, anger surges up in you

“You could’ve died, Sirius! You shouldn’t have been so stupid and reckless!”

You shout, pushing yourself off the wall and limping towards him

One of the Prewett twins comes to take the Death Eater away

Sirius scoffs

“Since when did you care about me?”

“You’re my partner, Sirius! Of course I care about you!”

At this point, the two of you are face to face, close enough to smell stale cigarettes and cinnamon on his breath. Copper mingles with the scent

“That’s the first time you’ve called me Sirius, (Y/n).”

He points out softly

You two are so close, eyes gazing into eyes

No, you don’t kiss

You got hit by the torture curse like fifteen minutes ago and then almost got impaled

You faint directly into his arms

How romantic

You wake up on the black velvet couch in headquarters

However, when you turn your head to the side, eyes open, you notice the head of a shaggy black dog resting near your face

Their ears are back, sad and glistening eyes staring at you, nose wet and cold.

The dog perks up when he spots that you’re awake

You hear their tail thunk against the base of the couch

You move your hand to scratch behind those soft ears

The dog whines and sighs in happiness

And then suddenly the dog in gone

And Sirius Black is kneeling at your side instead

“Always knew you were a dog.” You mumble out

“I saved you, and you call me a dog? How kind.” Sirius smiles, relieved

You soften. “Thank you, Sirius. Thought I was a goner.”

He brings a hand up to your face, his thumb rubbing your cheekbone gently “Just glad you’re safe and awake.”

You lean into his warm touch

“Can I kiss you, (Y/n)?” He asks softly, stormy eyes flicking between your eyes and your lips

You notice that he calls you by your first name

“You save me once and now you think you can kiss me, Black?”

You raise an eyebrow, but you aren’t serious.

His face falls and he opens his mouth the apologize, the thumb in your cheek stuttering

“Oh, alright, Sirius...I don’t mind.”

His face lifts back up at your smile

And he kisses you lightly on the lips

“Been waiting to do that for years.” He tells you when you finally separate for air

“Don’t be a prat, Sirius.”

And you know what?

You never hated Sirius Black

You especially didn’t hate Sirius Black now, that’s for sure

You would even say that you love him

Even when he is a prick

•

Sirius Black Taglist: @fific7 @quindolyn @msmb

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco

#Sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black headcanon #sirius black fluff #sirius black angst

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knifefather · 4 years ago

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*stops car at your drive thru* CAN I GET UUUUHHHH hate fuck with prosciutto after a paired up mission?? like a heavy discussion about how it went and then 🥴 uhhh yeah and extra fries

will that be all for your order?? ok your total is $4.69, please pull up to the first window

Content Warnings: Hate sex, physical violence, blood, abusive language, breeding, impact play. This is not a healthy relationship. Somewhat happy ending! 18+ ONLY.

via porunareff

Prosciutto was stone-faced while the two of you checked into the soddy hotel, located on the outskirts of a small town. You had just finished a mission with your partner and were hunkering down for the night before returning to Napoli. Prosciutto was curt with the front desk receptionist, taking the key and turning on his heel, expecting you to follow. You did begrudgingly.

It was obvious why he was ignoring you--you had put yourself in danger during the mission to make sure that the two of you succeeded. Prosciutto’s Stand was strong, but not the best in hand-to-hand combat situations. You took it upon yourself to use your Stand to knock back the enemy. He tried to whisper to you a plan, but you didn’t listen. It was a 2 versus 4 fight, and by jumping in the middle and using your ability, you managed to knock out 3 by a sheer stroke of luck. Prosciutto was furious even after his fist collided with the face of the only remaining enemy. Even then, he didn’t raise his voice to you but called you, to quote him exactly, “The stupidest dumb shit I have ever met in my life.” You took his insult with a grain of salt. You had to control your temper, or he would be the one that you fought next.

But now you were considering that grain of salt as the two of you silently boarded the elevator. The doors closed with a sliding sound, the apparatus taking you up several floors. Prosciutto still wasn’t looking at you or talking to you, standing with his hands folded behind his back. You had enough of this crap. “You’re still mad? Really?” you asked, turning to face him, hands on your hips.

“You could have gotten yourself killed and jeopardized the mission. I had a plan,” he shot back, his words like a dart.

“But I didn’t, and we’re fine.”

“You’re missing the point.”

The elevator came to a halt and the doors slid open. Without missing a beat, Prosciutto and you exited and you came back with your rebuttal. “What point am I missing? We got the info Risotto told us to get and killed the bad guys. I don’t see a problem,” you argued, folding your arms. The both of you walked and talked, Prosciutto checking out the room numbers while also listening to your ridiculous excuse for an argument.

“Your recklessness could have cost us dearly. You don’t understand the consequences of your actions.” He came to a sudden halt in front of a door, checking out the number a second time before swiping the keycard on the reader. The fact that he was being so casual about insulting you and your abilities tapped into your hidden temper, the temper that you tried to keep in control of. That control was slipping away, and you were glad that Prosciutto found the room because as soon as the door closed, you were on him like stink on shit.

“It’s like you want us to fail. It doesn’t matter if something could have gone wrong, nothing went wrong! Get off your high horse and stop acting like you’re fucking perfect or something,” you shouted at him. You were almost nose-to-nose with him, puffing your chest out in anger. Your reasoning was irrational and you knew that, but the pent up anger from all the snarky remarks that Prosciutto has ever said to you consumed you at once, and you let him have it. His expression was neutral, but you could see behind his eyes were his patience was beginning to wear thin.

“Stand down, y/n.” His tone was harsh, his nostrils flaring as he controlled his breathing.

“I hate your fucking guts!” you shot back. Black spots consumed your vision and you lost control of your body. You swung, hard, and nailed Prosciutto dead in the nose. He exclaimed and staggered back only a bit before bouncing back, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked, brows knitted tightly with anger. Blood was beginning to trickle from his nose now crooked nose.

You didn’t say anything, but wrenched one of your arms from his grasp and moved to hit him again. He anticipated you this time, catching your smaller fist in his larger one. He grabbed your wrists, restraining you and trying to lead you to the office chair nearby. “You’re being unreasonable,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. The black-clad man had a good hold on you, but your strength tested him. You made eye contact as you struggled, a few strands of hair dangling in your face. He maintained his smoldering gaze on you, shoving you down into the chair and holding your wrists to the arms of the chair. He leaned down, putting his weight on them, and stared you down.

You felt some of the fires of wrath die down in you, only to ignite something else in the same vein. The same hazy, intense look crossed over Prosciutto’s face. Sucking in a breath, you took a leap of faith and crashed your lips against his. He made a startled noise but only took a few moments to respond. He didn’t release your hands, but kissed you back harder, tilting his head to the side. Even now, he wanted to tame you, wanted to show you that he was in charge as he slotted his mouth against yours. You huffed into the kiss, your tongue slipping in to mingle with his. Prosciutto was already on it, fighting you for control of the situation. He took his weight off of your wrists and hoisted you up, holding you close before shoving you on the bed. The reserved way he grabbed you initially was gone--he wasn’t scared to be rough with you now.

The realization of this dawned on you when Prosciutto climbed on top of you, pinning you to the mattress. He returned his lips to yours, groaning softly against your mouth while he grabbed for your clothes. His blood was starting to get everywhere, but you paid no mind to it. The gangster was passionate, yet methodical, something that you loved but hated about Prosciutto. At this thought, you shoved his jacket off of his shoulders, tossing it on the floor. He pulled back from the kiss to bitch at you for throwing his clothes, but you chased him, pressing your lips to his against before he could speak. It was sloppy, disorganized, very unlike Prosciutto in every way, but amazing. Your fingers worked the tight buns on the back of his head, pulling the ties off. His hair spilled down onto his shoulders gradually, all the while he was kissing you feverishly. He yanked off your pants with his own to follow, not pausing even for a moment. You loved the intensity, the heat, the way his body pressed into yours. He handled you with pure desire behind his touches even though his forehead crinkled in irritation from your incompetency. He ripped off your shirt, and you undid your bra before the garment could face his wrath. He began kissing down your sternum, nibbling you harshly as he did so. The sexual tension you felt was heightened by the frustration you felt. Even the pleasure he gave you pissed you off, it left you wanting more, and you roughly thrust your hips against him. He growled against your lower stomach and breathed over your sex through your panties. “Impatient brat,” he gritted, running his fingertip over your pussy. “Always so quick to jump the gun.”

A frustrated sound came from your throat as he hovered over your panties. “Come on,” you encouraged, bucking your ups into his face. Prosciutto grumbled something to himself before ripping your panties off of your body, the dainty cloth reduced to shreds. You gasped in surprise at the sudden action but was quickly relieved as his tongue made contact with your clitoris. The burning feeling of need revved hot in your tummy as his tongue grazed over your clit. He had no reservations, because as soon as he adjusted to your taste, he dove in, lapping and licking your cunt for all that it’s worth. You squirmed under his mouth, the wetness between your thighs increasing with each swipe of Prosciutto’s tongue. Your flavor burst over his tongue and made his cock impossibly harder in his pants, almost to the point of being uncomfortable. The blond man quickly undid his trousers and wrestled them to about his mid-thigh, enough for his member to spring free. Prosciutto’s cock was flushed and standing at attention, ready to be dropped inside you.

With this in mind, Prosciutto was ready to move on from toying with your pussy. Besides, you were beginning to become almost too squirmy, which pissed him off even more. “Hold still,” he rumbled out, rising to his feet and discarding the rest of his clothes. Your eyes widened as he removed the rest of his clothing; it was amazing to see his completely naked form. His lean body was riddled in faded scars, the jagged edges all telling their own stories. You watched his arms flex as he tossed aside one of his socks, eyes moving downwards from there. Even with the distance, a shimmering bead of precum gathering on his swollen tip was visible to you. Your body thrummed with excitement, from the top of your head to the very tip of your toes, as Prosciutto approached you. His body was poised, his expression hazy and lustful but also vindictive. He stopped at the edge of the bed in front of you. You had already propped yourself up on your elbows at the point, intrigued by his sensuality.

“You’re not going to be so rude as to not return the favor, are you?” Prosciutto said, his eyebrow cocked condescendingly at you. You couldn’t help but sneer before rising to his erect member bobbing in front of you.

“Honestly, have a little bit more faith in me,” you said, rolling your eyes. You decided to suck his cock before his shitty attitude made you change your mind. The salty flavor of his precum was smeared across your lips as you mouthed the tip. Slowly, you took more of him, his girth stretching your lips the farther you went down his shaft. You breathed steadily through your nose, the smell of his musk strong the closer you drew to his pelvis. Prosciutto wasn’t overly vocal, but the breathy sounds he allowed himself to make were like music to your ears. When you took him in almost to the hilt and swallowed around his member, he made a strained noise, sweet and wanton. Impatience overtook him, because he reached down to grip your hair before thrusting into your mouth. The hitman was gentle at first but quickly became rougher with his actions. The blunt head of his cock hit the back of your throat in a brutish, steady rhythm. Tears began to prick the corners of your eyes as Prosciutto fucked your throat. A twisted part of him enjoyed seeing you gag and slobber on his dick after he had to deal with your obnoxiousness for so long.

The thoughts swirling around in Prosciutto’s head made his dick twitch warningly in your throat. He quickly pulled you back by your hair, a rush of air hitting your lungs so speedily that it disoriented you. Vision still blurry from the tears, you felt his hands around you, pulling you up and onto the bed as if you were nothing more but a ragdoll. He pushed you onto your back, dragging your ankles up to his shoulders and rutting his meaty cock against your pussy. He rubbed against you for a while, the head of his cock catching on your clit several times, the stimulation amplified by your desire. It was beginning to make you crazy, so crazy that you grabbed the back of Prosciutto’s hair and shook him, pushing your hips down. You met his dark blue eyes and let out a whine at the predatory look that greeted you. He growled before angling himself downwards and thrusting inside you, most of his cock sinking into you with one stroke. A jolt went through your body as you stretched around him, the discomfort dissolving into pleasure as you adjusted to him.

Prosciutto looked right into your eyes as he pushed you a little further, hilting inside of you. That’s what he always did--he pushed you. He pushed you when you wanted him to stop nagging you, he pushed you to do better during missions, and now he’s pushing your sexual limits. What you saw when you looked at him was a challenge. Your gaze communicated it all because Prosciutto gave you a little grunt as if to say, ‘I accept’. He started with a slow, rough pace, making a show of pulling most of the way out of you before snapping back in. It was agonizingly slow but wonderful; you tried to use your legs to keep him from pulling out, but his strength bested yours every time. He watched you carefully as you took him, his eyes moving back and forth between your face and his dick disappearing inside you. The bleeding from his nose had stopped for the most part, but a line of blood trailed down his face and neck. It fascinated you, you couldn’t take your eyes off of his skin.

Eventually, you found your voice. “S-Speed it up, I don’t have all day,” you managed to say. Your harsh words didn’t match the soft, kitten-like tone that you used. Prosciutto tsked you before pulling out completely. You were getting ready to bitch him out until he reached under you and flipped you onto your stomach. He pulled your hips up to meet his and sank back into you, any words you were going to say dying on your lips. Body pressed into the mattress, you braced yourself, your hands fisting in the sheets. Prosciutto panted next to your ear, holding himself up over you while his hips snapped into yours. His movements grew choppy but rough, and he drove his hips into yours over and over. “This what you want?” he rasped out, earning a moan from you. His sack was slapping lewdly against your ass now, heavy and warm. The smell rolling off of his body was intoxicating; it made you furious. “Wanted to get me all mad so I’d pound you into this mattress?” Whining, you nodded your head, sticking your ass up for him despite him driving you back down with his pelvis. “You fucking got it. Y-You almost got us killed, too,” he said, his voice less angry than it should have been.

“T-This shit again?” Your irritation with him was almost tainting the amazing way he was filling you up. “Get over it.”

This must have struck a chord in Prosciutto, because he moved to grab the back of your neck, pushing your head into the pillow. “Shut up.” His unimpressive comeback was lost to you while he hammered into you. Months and months of frustration, all sparking into a flame between you both, melting each other with your touches. Your pussy was so tight, so wet, begging for him to take out his frustration with you. Prosciutto huffed from the exertion, his orgasm nagging at his core. You were very close behind him, unable to take the searing heat building up inside you any longer.

“P-Please...” you whimpered out, your voice still muffled. His thighs thundered against the backs of yours. This was accompanied by the sound of your sopping wet pussy, gushing over Prosciutto’s cock as the both of you drew closer to orgasm. But it wasn’t enough--you were right on the edge, about to cum, but there was something that you were missing. You attempted to buck your hips back against Prosciutto, hoping the extra force would be the last bit of pleasure you needed before it all came toppling down. The flurry of sexual frustration inside you manifested as you being enraged by Prosciutto; he talked big but wasn’t fucking you hard enough, wasn’t putting his dick right where it needed to be inside you to make you see stars.

“Please what?” The blond gangster taunted in your ear.

“Please... Do something right for once and make me cum,” you gritted out, craning your neck to look behind you.

The look on Prosciutto’s face was a cross between absolutely furious and incredibly turned on. His eyes were stormy as he looked at you, holding a promise inside them. He choppily halted his pace to move you onto your side, disregarding your hands scrambling to find purchase on his strong arms. He spread your legs roughly, almost forcefully, before burying himself inside you again. Prosciutto stroked your cheek thoughtfully for a moment before landing a smack on your face. You knew that he could hit you harder, but a moan toppled out of your mouth anyhow and sent a shock of electricity down to your cunt. He leaned down close to your face, his gaze now mischievous as he thrust his hips into yours. “Do something right for once? Why don’t you do something right for once and take every fucking drop my seed I give you,” he huffed, his breath tickling your face. With a few more deep thrusts and another smack to your face, you came with a choked cry. Prosciutto’s lower stomach was sticky with how much slick you made, but it only served to make him more aroused. He followed you as faithfully as he does during a battle, cumming inside you. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, his mouth agape as he emptied himself within your warm walls. He rutted into you as he did, his instincts telling him to bury his spunk as far inside as he’s able to. He’s finally claiming you, taking you down a peg and showing you your place.

All of the moxie you felt from earlier was drained from your body as his cum spilled from you. After Prosciutto regained his breath, he pulled out and collapsed at your side with a sigh coming deep from his chest. You weren’t exactly in a good state to find something to clean yourself with, so after you caught your breath, you nudged him in the side. “Towel, please,” you requested airily, your gaze unfocused from the lack of energy.

Prosciutto furrowed his brow at you and looked as if he were about to say something venomous. Whatever he wanted to say, he dismissed, because after a moment he was hoisting himself to his feet. He disappeared from your field of vision and into the bathroom and you were left to your thoughts for a moment. Post-orgasm clarity was hitting you pretty strong, and you felt regret for attacking him earlier. Even if he was still genuinely pissed at you, you wanted to apologize. When he returned, his face and pelvis were clean. He handed a clean towel to you wordlessly and found his trousers laying on the ground. He fished his cigarettes from his pocket and laid next to you. Pulling the ashtray closer to him on the nightstand, he lit one and inhaled. You crinkled your nose at the smoke. His habit disgusted you and you were always verbal about it. Prosciutto caught sight of your grimace and snickered at you. “Something bothering you?”

“You know what’s bothering me,” you said while toweling yourself off.

After another drag or two, Prosciutto put it out as if he actually considered your feelings. You narrowed your eyes before bringing them back up to look at him. “I’m sorry for trying to beat you up earlier,” you said, your tone sheepish. Prosciutto raised his brows, surprised that you would be moved to an apology. He looked as if he didn’t know how to take it for a moment before responding.

“It’s fine. You’re lucky you didn’t fuck up my nose too badly.”

You could feel yourself becoming defensive, so you were quiet and put aside your pride. Picking your battles is a skill you knew that you still needed to learn. You dropped the towel beside the bed and drew closer to Prosciutto, who was laying quite far from you. Snuggling into his side, you draped your arm over his middle and made yourself comfortable. He made a soft noise of indignation before accepting your embrace. He wrapped an arm around you, holding you close to his bare chest. A fluttering heartbeat could be heard as you pressed your ear against him. While you both laid in silence, your mind wandered. Without a shadow of a doubt, you knew you’d have to omit this part of the mission from the report Risotto was bound to ask you for in the morning.

#i hope u like it anon!!#prosciutto #jjba #not sfw #knife asks #my work #la squadra #prosciutto x reader #cw hate sex #cw violence #cw abusive language #cw breeding #cw blood #cw impact play #knife requests #cw smoking

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years ago

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “Heroic Incompetence.”

Wrote this at the suggestion of an anonymous reader :) Hope you all like it and have a great day :)

He sat next to her on the bed, legs crossed and a book in his lap. Wearing only shorts and a T- shirt, he looked significantly smaller than he usually did, either in his uniform or in his trademark jacket and jeans. It also made him look significantly younger with his scruffy blond hair sticking up in all directions. And now that he had finally shaved and gotten some sleep, he was looking even better than he had when he found her.

Her perception probably wasn’t helped by the stack of graphic novels he had sitting beside his right knee, most of them star wars themed all of them sci-fi. He had taken the day off to sit with her since the drugs were still not cleared from her system, and krill had demanded that she rest.

She had only been a little surprised when he insisted that she take his bed, which he argued was much bigger and more comfortable than the crew quarters. Also he had a TV.

She was surprised he would be so brash about something like that, but she supposed after almost losing her he would be a little more lax on their secret. She sighed deeply half napping half awake as he flipped through his books. She had a sneaking suspicion that he also wanted to be close by her to monitor her mental state after what had happened. She didn’t blame him, though at this point it was all just seeming like some sort of horrible dream.

She felt disconnected, far away, and her only reminder that it had actually happened came from the silver vambrace on her am covering the spot where her carapace would never grow again

Eventually she cracked an eye and glanced down at him.

He was looking at her with a concerned expression.

She sighed, “I’m fine.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I know what you were thinking.”

“Well stop trying to read my mind then.”

The two of them grew quiet, “So what did I miss while I was gone…. How did you find me, what happened?”

He sat up, puffing out his chest rather proudly, “Well I have you know I was a stoic badass the entire time. After I clawed my way out of the sand, I marched across the desert with single minded determination not an ounce of hopelessness or self pity ever entering my mind.”

***

One month prior

It was Hopeless!

He had never felt self pity this profound in his entire life! He had lost her1 He had been so close to finding her and he had gone and lost her! He was hopeless and pathetic. If he had only just held on for a little longer than maybe he would have been able to save her. His feet burned in the scorching desert sand and he staggered aimlessly from one side to the next burning up in the scorching heat. His was so tired, and his throat was so dry, like sand. He felt like choking, a few times he staggered to his knees and screamed at the yellow green sky in anger and frustration,but no one ever hard him.

He had to get her back, somehow he had to get her back.

The desert sand was awash with light blue, like the sky and it seemed to be the same in all directions he looked, every dune and hill just like the last, yet the implant in his arm told him he was heading in the right direction. How long had he chased her before he had fallen into the sand. He just wanted to lay down for a minute, lay down for a minute and scream, but he had to keep going.

He pushed himself up the nearest sand dune hoping beyond hope that he would see the city over the next rise.

That is when he heard it, just from behind him.

The roaring of shuttle engines.

He turned on the spot down to stare at the shuttles. He wanted to yell and wave his arms, to run to them and beg them to help find Sunny, but NO, he couldn’t, he couldnt be like this.

Kicking himself internally for his weakness, he straightened up and forced himself to focus as the shuttles landed. He was going to find Sunny, he was going to find her and bring her back no matter the cost. There was nothing, not in this universe, not in heaven nor hell that could stop him.

Even if he had to fight angels and shake hands with the devil.

The shuttles landed, and he marched forward head down brows furrowed downward like thunderheads brushing past the marines and onto the shuttle. He was going to to find whoever had one this and they were going to pay.

***

Sunny snorted and raised a brow over one eye, “Oh really.”

“Damn straight.” He said, setting down his book and turning to look at her. He had a shallow cut across one cheek given to him during a fight in some not so distant past, but his smile was as bright as ever.

He leaned forward, crawling over on hands and knees to lay next to her resting his hands behind his head.

“So after your stoic badassery in the desert, what happened.”

He rolled onto his side to look at her, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a jaunty smile. “Well, I admit that I was a little bit down, obviously. I mean what does someone do without the best part of their life.” He waved a hand dismissively, “But I persevered. I kept my emotions in check sure not a tear would escape past me until I found you, and even then, only if I was too late.” he looked at herein that moment very seriously, “You know, because real men don’t cry.”

Sunny just smirked.

***

One month Prior

He couldn't stop crying. While he could suppress the racking sobs that threatened to tear him in half, nothing he tried could prevent the tears from rolling down his face on hot and heavy streams. Where was it all coming from! He was positive that by now his entire body should be nothing more than a mummified corpse with all of the tears he had shed, yet they just would not stop, likely draining down through his sinuses and reabsorbing back into his body for another go.

Still, the collar of his shirt was soaked, and his face was sticky with tears eyelashes crusted with salt.

His head pounded.

Ever since she had vanished, he just couldn’t keep his emotions in check. He admitted to himself that he often played fast and loose with his own feelings, but this was just ridiculous. Holding himself together for the crew was all he could do though beyond that he was a quivering mess, hiding on the bridge in the observation room, or in his own room where no one could see him.

Now he was standing on the observation deck, the tears rolling down his face and into the scruffy five o clock shadow just sprouting on his cheeks and chin.

Light filtered in from behind him, and in that light, he could detect the movement of shadows, two tall shadows and one very short shadow. He knew that the were watching him, and so kept his back straight and hands clasped behind his back so as to seem hard and contemplative.

Inside, he was forcing himself to calm, forbidding the tears to fall anymore and, hopefully, dry on his face before anyone could come and speak with him. He needed to remain calm and professional. He needed to convince the others that he was in charge, and that everything would be ok.

The moment they saw him believing otherwise was the moment that it would be true. As their commanding officer…. As their admiral, he was what stood between them and hopeless defeat at the hands of their own morale.”

***

She shifted a little in her place, and he helped to adjust the pillow behind her. He sat up against the headboard, and she made the executive decision, leaning her head down to rest on his lap. He wrapped an arm around her, resting his hand on her back, while the other was leaned up against the top of the headboard where a jar of moon rocks and mars dirt sat

He stroked his fingers over the side of her cheek and she hummed softly, “So You were an emotionless badass superhero out for revenge against those who had wronged you, and in the shadows you brooded and waited as you scoured the universe for me?”

He smirked, “PRretty much.”

She hummed again deep in her throat adjusting her head against the warmth of his body, “Right…. A righteous warrior of justice. And I assume during all of this you remained in tortuous silence of our secret, unable to tell anyone of your private pain for fear of what might happen if you let something slip.”

He was quiet for a moment, and she cracked an eye to look up at him.

His one eye was very wide, like a deer caught in the headlights.

She shut her eyes and hummed.

“Yes of course, I wallowed heroically in silence my emotions bottled up, locked like a vault inside my heart with the key tossed into the darkest abyss of the ocean where no one migh find it. I couldn’t tell anyone.”

***

One Month prior

He had to tell someone. He had to, it was just too much to keep a secret. It was just too much for someone not to know what he was feeling. Just one person, if he could just share with one person maybe he would feel better.

Keeping himself…. Like this was just torture…. No one could expect…

He had to do it.

Standing behind him in the darkness, he could sense Ramirez’s eyes on him, watching him.

So he turned, his eyes clear but the words heavy as lead on his tongue. The other man stared at him, his expression hard to read in the darkness.

He felt as if he was slipping out of his body, seeing himself from the outsider rather than viewing the next words he spoke from the inside as he normally should, “I...Love her Ramirez… I don’t know what I’ll do without her.”

The words rolled from his tongue and spilled onto reality…. He had finally admitted it, finally admitted it to his best friend.

What would he do.

How would he react?

Staring at the man’s face, he was surprised to find that he didn't appear to be phased in the slightest. It was as if he had just told him that the earth turns, and some birds fly south for the winter. He acted as if it was the most natural predictable phenomena in the universe.

There was only a slight pressure as Ramirez squeezed his shoulder, “I know… I know.”

Adam stepped back in near surprise.

Ramirez almost rolled his eyes, “Adam you have all but SAID those words. I think everyone on the ship, or at least everyone from the original Harbinger knows by now. You guys aren’t exactly discreet about your feelings towards each other. This shouldn’t surprise you.

He sat there mouth opening and closing with surprise.

But he supposed the more he thought about it the more he had to admit Ramirez was right.

There were signs.

And he had always been bad at keeping secrets.

It made complete sense.

He dropped his head, “that obvious huh.”

“Does the moon orbit the earth?”

He took a seat dropping his head into his hands, “You must think I’m nuts.”

Ramirez sat next to him placing a hand on his shoulder, “Seriously, ‘me’ think ‘you’ crazy. Adam, c’mon, I have dated people way crazier than Sunny, and that’s a fact. No one can beat me when it comes to psycho exes.

When he didn’t respond, Ramirez placed a hand on his shoulder, “We are going to find her Adam. I promise. If anyone in this galaxy has the connections, or the know how to find her, it is you.”

He nodded.

He had to believe it, he just had to.

***

Sunny reached up wrapping her fingers through his, five to four, “A tragic hero indeed.”

He shrugged nonchalantly, “You know, that's me.”

“How did you eventually find me anyway, after all, it is a big universe, and even with all your resources, it couldn’t have been easy.”

He shook his head, “No, it wasn’t. For the first few weeks we had no leads at all, but it was actually your brother who came up with the final lead that led me to you. Turns out your big brother has connections that I didn’t know about, and they led us to a fence hiding out in some grimy hotel downtown in noctropolis.”

“Oh, and how did you manage to swing all that? You and my brother went in guns blazing did you?”

A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “We were a well oiled machine, a precision instrument of stealth and intimidation. No one has even been more synchronized than us. The operation could not have gone more smoothly.”

***

About a week and a half earlier

They were a fucking wreck.

And this night was a wreck to go right along with it.

They were stuck in the seedy elevator of an even seedier hotel jammed up together against Kanan’s immense bulk as he was crunched against the ceiling above in the tiny elevator.

Adam grunted, his face pressed against the elevator’s interior mirror, the metal of the iron eye suit jammed into his back.

“Your fat ass broke the elevator.”

“I didn’t break it.” Kanan complained, “the Weight limit says 800 lbs.”

“They are Tesraki Kanan they LIED.”

“Well why didn’t you think of this before we got in the damn elevator. I’m not from somewhere where we have an elevator.”

Kanan shifted and he was squished further into the wall choking and gasping, “Just pry the damn door open you big lug.”

“I can’t reach.”

“Uh Fine, I’ll do it just let me….”

What followed was a very uncoordinated hustle of grumbling pushing flailing and grunting as the two maneuvered around each other in the most horrible game of twister that ever existed, with entirely to many arms, and pointy bits, until Adam was in the right position to jam the fingers of the iron-eye suit into the cracks and then pull.

The elevator groaned and the metal screeched in protest, but at some point the locking mechanism gave way and he was able to shove the elevator doors open. It was just then when Kanan could no longer hold his position and stumbled forward, knocking into Adam who, in turn burst from the elevator and flew headfirst into an unsuspecting Tesraki, who only had a moment to let off the first notes of a scream before being slammed into the wall and completely knocked out.

An explosion of towels fell to the floor around them as Adam sat up on his knees staring down at the Tesraki, completely knocked out, their tongue hanging out of their mouth.

“Shit.”

He patted the Tesraki on the cheek, “Uh wake up.” The Tesraki’s head fell to the side, tongue still lolling.

“Shit.” He said again as Kanan pried himself from the elevator nearly tripping over a towel and landing on top of the two of them for a second time. He did manage to avoid falling on them, but in his haste, to avoid doing just that, he tripped over Adam and went pitching into the floor sending up another wave of towels.

Adam glowered at him, “Are you serious right now.”

Kanan sat up rubbing his head.

“Help me fold these towels.” Adam snarled, awkwardly propping the unconscious Tesraki against the wall before grabbing a pile of fallen towels.

Kanan took one of the towels and stared at it, fiddling around for a moment.

Adam stared at him again, “You have four arms, Kanan, seriously.’

The Drev flipped him a rude gesture.

After a while they had one unconscious Tesraki, and a stack of poorly folded towels leaning heavily against the wall in an uneven pile.

Adam stood and brushed off his hands, staring down at the floppy Tesraki and their shoddy work.

“Er…. hm.” Then a grim smile split his face, “I have an idea.”

A few moments later the two of them waddled down the hall carrying stacks of towels, leaving the Tesraki to slowly slump to the floor skidding slowly down the wall with the soft brushing noise of fur.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Kanan muttered from behind his stack of towels, “I wouldn’t believe it.”

‘It’ll be fine, I promise”, he said as he raised his hand to knock on the waiting door.

***

Sunny couldn’t stop from snorting. And he stared down at her with his brows furrowed as she began to laugh, “You jest, but its true.”

She continued to laugh, and eventually he joined in with her.”

“So how about the boarding party, how did that go.”

He shrugged, “it was pretty straightforward. We found where their ship was located, deployed the gravity grapples, and then had our AI hack their airlock to open it for us. When we got inside kanan and I did a quick sweep with the marines covering us from behind. Of course you know the rest.’

She smiled a bit, “I kind of like you when your angry. That part where you smashed the saw into his foot….well I have never found you so attractive.”

The two of them laughed again.

And he leaned further back against his pillows.

The room went quiet for a moment.

She looked up at him.

“That was all a lie wasn’t it.”

“Yep.”

“You crawled out of that sand hopeless and miserable didn’t you?”

“yeah , I have to admit that I wasn’t doing too good. Kind of hard not to be hopeless in the scorching desert heat. But I did mange to pull myself together when we got back on the shuttles.”

“You cried like a baby didn’t you.”

“You would think after like an entire day of on and off tears, at some point the body wouldn’t be able to produce any more water.” He shook his head, “But no, as it turns out it just squeezes out more water while simultaneously giving you the more horrible headache you can possibly imagine. Even Waffles got tired of it after some point, and she has the patience of a saint.”

Sunny couldn’t help but laugh. Of course the thought of Adam so upset was horrible but, but there was just something so funny about it all, about him, about the way he had bounced back from all of that.”

“Let me guess, Ramirez knows?”

Adam sighed, “yeah, he knows, but he told me that the entire ship pretty much knows and to stop deluding ourselves into thinking we are good at keeping secrets.”

Sunny turned her head to look at him, “And he is just fine with this?”

“This IS Ramirez we are talking about Sunny. I could be dating the tentacle monster and he wouldn't bat an eye, probably say something about how he’s seen weirder, or talk about some guy he dated that might as well have had tentacles.”

“How about that thing with you and my brother?”

Adam snorted, “it wasn’t funny at the time, but looking back on it, the sheer incompetence that the two of us managed to pull off and STILL rescue you is absolutely astounding.”

She continued to laugh, pulling him closer in the process.

He laughed with her, and she decided once and for all that that washer favorite sound. No matter what, It was a sound she would never get tired of, and spent a few moments basking in the glow.

After a moment, she paused and sat up to lean against him nuzzling the hair on his head lightly with her cheek, “Adam?

“Yes.”

“Not to make this too serious or anything, but I just… well I need you to know you aret incompetent.”

He looked up at her eyebrow slanted slightly up, seeming surprised.

“You aren’t incompitent, you’re a hero and a warrior, and you should remember that.”

A small smile flickered at the corner of his mouth, “Well how could I possibly disagree with you”

“You can’t.” She rested a hand on his, “Like you always say, It’s not stupid if it works.”

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magma-cjay · 4 years ago

Text

Lingering Fragments (cw: death, angst, implied suicide)

(foreword: ok MagmaCjay, you asked for it, don't say you weren't warned)

○○○○○○○○○○○○○

They were all dead. Every single one of them.

With great effort Risotto staggered toward the headquarters, limping painfully, his right leg dragging, and barely attached to his body by Metallica's power alone. Torn nearly off and barely hanging on by a few strands of muscle and tendon, and the ability of his Stand.

He had barely escaped his encounter with the unassuming young boy. A boy whom he knew had ties to the Boss. Who had mistreated him and his team for far too long. Who he was a fool to have underestimated. But he was lucky to escape with his life. Especially when Bucciarati's team intervened.

If one can consider me lucky, by any definition, Risotto thought.

His whole team was gone. He was the last man standing. The rest of his men, his family, slaughtered like swine by Bucciarati's team, and for what? Hadn't they sought to betray the boss as well? Hadn't they sought the same goal? Weren't they two teams on enemy sides, yet united with a common enemy?

It was all so damn unfair.

It wasn't long until Risotto neared the Hitman Squad hideout, a small, shabby and unassuming apartment that lay secluded in the Italian suburbs. A place where he and his crew dealt their shady deals to survive and hid from the wrath of the Boss. A place that was what many would call the dark, ominous underground of Italy's streets, but was a shelter for his men and himself.

A place that was the closest thing he could call a home.

Barging into the door, blood pouring from his numerous wounds, Risotto stumbled painfully into the living room with a cry of anguish. A cry that echoed through the empty halls of the hideout and gradually warbled away into silence. A painful, deafening silence that hurt Risotto far more than Aerosmith's bullets ever could.

He collapsed heavily onto the kitchen table, breathing heavily and wincing in pain. His dark inky eyes darted down onto the table, which was empty, save for a newspaper, and a plate of long-stale crackers, which were beginning to attract ants from their time left unattended.

Risotto's heart sank like lead as the gravity of what those meant struck him harder than any blow from the Boss's stand. The newspaper was spread out at a crossword puzzle, the date: April 1st, 2001. Risotto wished this was all a fool's day trick, but the silence was all too real. All too agonizing to endure.

The crossword puzzle was half-finished, with angry scribbles and incorrect answers that Risotto recalled too well. Of the angry hollers of Ghiaccio, as he struggled to comprehend words, while Formaggio mocked him playfully for his incompetence while snacking on the table.

Now the remnants of Formaggio's last meal lay untouched, as if silently awaiting their consumer. But there was none. Once wise-cracking, prank-pulling, now just a charred, cold corpse on a street somewhere. Would he at least be laid to rest by whoever found his body? thought Risotto. Or would he be left to rot, be picked away by rats and roaches like garbage? Like the garbage he had always been treated as, by the world, by society, by the very gang they had found themselves trapped in?

The unfinished crossword puzzle also brought Risotto little comfort. He had always loathed Ghiaccio's rambling, his angry ranting at the most trivial of things. But now Risotto ached for that irate voice. He would have given anything to hear that voice one last time. Not that Ghiaccio's throat, pierced right through the spine and out his windpipe, drowned slowly in his own blood by Giovanna and his gunman, would ever make another sound again.

Risotto glared at the crossword puzzle, and the one word that Ghiaccio had managed to fill. "An eight letter word synonymous with forever."

Eternity.

Eternity. How painfully appropriate. Gone for eternity, never to be seen or heard from again. Forever. Just like the only family he ever had, with this one word, inked out in a sanguine red on the faded parchment, as if an ominous tiding of death.

The sight of these leftovers were too much for Risotto to bear, and despite the agony he heaved himself off the kitchen chair, stumbling to the living room and throwing himself onto the couch. His blood stained the faded, torn cushions, as he pressed his face into a pillow and muffled a scream. He breathed in through his nose, and caught a waft of a familiar scent. Prosciutto's cologne. His favorite pefume that he wore before...that mission. Risotto felt a lump in his throat.

Everywhere he looked, everywhere he went, the house was filled with little remains of everyday things, which like nails further hammered in the loss in his already wounded heart and soul. Scents. Sights. Sounds, or the lack thereof.

His knee accidentally pressed something hard on the sofa and with a static whirr the television came on. It was a dramatic soap opera currently on air. Melone and Illuso's favorite television show, featuring soppy tales of love and romance which they dutifully watched day after day, despite mocking jabs from Formaggio and Ghiaccio about their tastes in genre.

And now they will never know how the show ends. The last he had heard of Melone was a report from Ghiaccio claiming to have heard him scream on the phone and lose contact. And Illuso...was gone. Not just dead, but gone: vanished without a trace, melted into thin air, with not even a hair or piece of clothing to remind the world that he ever was.

Would anyone remember them? Would anybody even care?

They were just criminals to the world, weren't they? The scum of the earth, filthy, cold-blooded killers. They were the monsters of society, and to anyone else? They'd say they deserved to die.

But to Risotto, they were family. His family. His brothers in a way, who were all dragged in this horrid life by the cruel twists of fate. He'd wished to have escaped from the trappings of this mafia, but they were mired too deep into the quicksands of crime. He regretted deep inside having turned them into this life of a gangster. Especially Pesci. He was too young, too naive. He never deserved a life like this. He never deserved to see his big brother crushed under the wheels of a locomotive, and be torn apart alive shortly after by that damn Bucciarati's stand to spend his final moments in pain and terror at the cold, freezing abyss of a lake.

He despised himself at not having been able to save them. Of having failed to free them from the binds of this miserable existence. But it was too late. Since the day Sorbet and Gelato befell their dreadful end, he swore that he would lose no more further. But he did. One by one. And every single day, Risotto returned to find his home a little bit emptier.

Until there was none.

He was all alone in this cold, cruel, void, everyone he had ever cared about but a distant memory or a pallid lifeless corpse. There was nothing left for him. No one to turn to. Not even Formaggio's uplifting cracking jokes or Prosciutto's affectionate reassurance. He hated Giovanna and his allies for everything they did. If he could, he wanted to take their lives with his own bare hands, make them pay for the pain they wrought. But what would it bring him? Satisfaction? Justice?

There is no justice in this wretched world, Risotto thought bitterly. That's why I am here in the first place.

He could murder Giovanna and Bucciarati and the Boss for all he cared, but the damage was already done. Nothing he could do would bring back his family. They were dead, gone forever, and all of his efforts would have been in vain.

There was nothing left for him, but a future of emptiness.

Why did he have to suffer? What did he do to deserve all this? They were bad people who did bad things, but it wasn't their fault they were forced to become what they were. Risotto whimpered like a frightened child as he curled up on the bloodstained sofa, embracing himself tightly in a futile effort to make the pain go away, the pain of his body's wounds, and the agony that seared his soul like hellfire.

He wanted the pain to end.

A gleam caught his eye, down next to the sofa. Something black and shiny lay tucked against one side of the cushions It was Prosciutto's spare revolver, which he kept in good condition, and kept hidden away in case his original was lost or damaged if a mission went wrong.

It couldn't have gone more wrong.

Everything had gone wrong.

Their entire life had gone wrong.

With trembling hands and heaving breath Risotto reached out for the revolver and felt its cold, hard steel touch menacingly, and yet enticingly, to his stiff, shivering fingers.

Maybe this would make the pain go away.

For eternity.

○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○

(afterword: yeah, told you this would get really depressing. i didn't know if Risotto would kill himself or choose to continue living, in which case he would just suffer all the more so yeah i never made a chapter two. oh well. sorry all you squadra fans for making you cry today)

#jjba #jjba part 5 #la squadra #tw death #tw suicide implication #okay first of all let me just-#*SOBS*#you are a talented writer and have too much power #holy shit #my heart wrenches now #thanks you weren't joking #submission

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starbuck09256 · 5 years ago

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Green Sweater

You know the one, that one she favors in Season 7. Yea that one. Wonder who picked it out for her?? We all know.

Fictober day 7. Barely making it.

tagging @today-in-fic and @suitablyaggrieved

She stands at the edge of the luggage carousel watching it spin round and round with a small purple suitcase spins past her, mocking her each time it goes around as not another bag drops. She stares down at her black heels, anger blooming up in her chest as she thinks about the fact that it was ridiculous to check her bag, she only did so because they were racing through the terminal. Mulder and his be ready in 10 minutes. She gets that sometimes they do need to leave with little notice. She knows she's not really mad at him but the airline. The 12 hour flight with 2 delays and a middle seat the entire time as done little to dissuade her anger. She just wants her pajamas. She’s still feeling the effects of the chemo even with the recent remission status she’s received. She also doesn’t want to complain, have Mulder pull her out of the field, tell her to go home and rest. She wants to live now, she wants to be out there in the field using her talents again. She needs the challenge because in the last few months all her energy had been drained fighting the invisible force lingering from her chip. She wants to have her mind back, her body back. She wants to feel warm, to feel Mulders love not just in a hospital bed. She wants to move them forward, try and find the beauty in the world again. First though she wants to change into pajamas grab some popcorn from the convenience store and maybe just maybe lay down next to Mulder and fall asleep. She throws up her hand as the purple bag finally gets picked up by the punk teenager with the colorful mohawk. She is defeated once more as she resigns herself to meekly head over to the airline counter Mulder is already sweet talking the attendant.

“No more flights tonight dude, there is a mall though about 5 minutes away. They are still open you know with the holidays coming up.”

Scully looks over his shoulder to see that he has in fact accurately described her bag with precision. She looks up and is so sad sighing.

“I probably have an extra shirt you can sleep in Scully.” he mutters toeing his food against his black roller bag.

She can’t help but feel angry staring up into the bright florescent light that blinks back at her. This man has cost her so many outfits and heels. He practically owes her a new wardrobe. She takes a deep breath, thinks about the mediated therapy she tried when she was sick. Thinks about being grateful to even be wearing clothes or heels to begin with and not still be tethered to an IV or worse buried in some terrible outfit her mother thought would encompass her in the afterlife. He sees her anger most of this is his fault. He should have told her last night, he shouldn’t of kept her up arguing over some cryptoid he found, shouldn’t have stayed over longer and let her sleep against him so long. She wouldn’t be rubbing her neck or have been so out of it when he picked her up. He taps his fingers on the counter, remembers the girl letting him know that this baggage claim was pretty much incompetant and Scully would be lucky to get her bag by next week. He knows he’s ruined a few things of hers, shirts with his blood, shoes with the running in the woods. Jackets and pants getting covered in god knows what. She now uses his dryer cleaner, who doesn’t ask questions but shakes their head and gives him a look. He thinks they were just happy to see that he had a lady friend after all. Never removing lipstick being the one thing they never had to worry about. He grabs the rental car keys reaches down and grabs Scullys hand.

“Mulder what?”

“Let's go to the mall,”

“You are not serious”

She doesn’t want to shop, she hasn’t gained back the muscle she wants. She was out so much that the 60% short term disability leave that she did take really hurt her overall savings and she doesn’t want something cheap. She wants Brooks Brothers, to look like a partner worthy of the man she stands next too. It’s taken her a bit of time to find some good thrift shops that lobbyists favor to donate clothes.

“I’m buying” he says as he wheels his bag and heads towards the car.

She’s never paid full price for anything, growing up with 4 kids on one income even with Base stores meant you hit shops carefully, you planned and you saved and you found ways to buy quality garments that lasted. Her student loans and medical school only made her even more conscious of the importance of being thrifty. She would rather have a spacious place in Georgetown then any latest trend. Now though now she is staring at beautifully crafted clothes that hug her athletic figure in ways that she only dreamed. Mulder went through Brooks Brothers in record time, they close in 20 minutes and he didn’t want her to feel the pressure so he just started picking stuff in her size. Normally she would hate it, would hate someone picking out things for her to wear but now she is standing in a fitting room wearing a pencil black skirt with a hunter green sweater and she sees the woman she is, the sweater so light and comfortable perfect for an evening at home or with a blazer at work. Mulder grabs a blazer and another white blouse throws them over the stall door.

“Hey I know it looks good on you, hurry up so we can pay for it, we still need to get you some sneakers for the autopsies tomorrow”

She can’t help but bite her lip. She laughs for a second, another shirt comes flying over the top.

“This one isn’t for you it's for me, don’t wear it around Skinner though… oh I just noticed the famous footwear I’ll be right back, get everything together and meet me at the counter.”

She can’t help but roll her eyes at the clearly way too low cut for anything professional shirt he tossed to her. Skinner would probably not care about anything they did if she wore that to the office. She gathers up everything lays carrying it to the counter, she probably only needs 3 things if she is honest. But there at the counter is another stack of pajamas some fuzzy slippers some beautiful lingerie it makes her blush wildly. The lady at the counter just looks at her. She is scared for a moment of how this looks like Pretty Woman. The cashier looks at her and smiles.

“Guy said they lost your luggage, said to have you get this stuff too, even though you don’t need it. Because putting up with him is more than a 40 hour job and to consider it back pay.”

She is slightly shocked. But the cashier doesn’t seem to care and starts ringing everything up, the numbers are staggering. There is no way she can let Mulder pay for this, well maybe the stuff he picked out, whatever that’s not her problem. The green sweater is lightly folded on top, “wow this color goes really well with your complexion.”

She isn’t sure where Mulder is and the daunting amount that is showing in bright green is more than a little disconcerting. She feels a warm hand slide around her though.

“Phew, sorry, hey I got these, these are the ones you always have right?” her perfect white little reebok tennis shoes stare back at her with her favorite brand of socks in a big plastic white bag. Because of course he would know her favorite brand of socks.

“Mulder” she can only mutter as he pulls out his wallet and grabs a 20% off your entire purchase coupon.

She laughs, Mulder is a bad tipper, even though he grew up with money he doesn’t like to pay anything more than he has too. He shrugs hands over a credit card and touches the green sweater, he clears his throat.

“So you uh gonna wear that one tomorrow?”

“I thought you wanted me to wear that piece that has both my tits hanging out?” She replies with a smirk.

“No, no Scully that one you know is for… nevermind. Wear the green sweater tomorrow ok. Since I didn’t get to see you model it.”

“It looked good,” she replies.

“Yea well you would look amazing in a burlap sack Scully,” he thanks the cashier. Grabs the four giant bags as she rolls a new black sleek suitcase towards the exit.

#mulder and scully #fluff #season5ish?#myfic #the xfiles #txf fic #msr #fictober19

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cavitymagazine · 4 years ago

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𝖓𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖎𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖈𝖔𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖉

"this is what happens"; i don't want to say this is what happens, but this is what happens. this is what happens; maybe i'm afraid, maybe I'M afraid, it's too early to say, isn't it, it's always too early, it's never late enough, it never comes time, [because it's always time], and you never get away, no one ever said "don't explore too thickly", what's the implication...? that you'll get ensnared...? that you'll never get out, that you'll never find the sun again, that you'll leave with all you have, and eventually, when the collapse comes, when the collapse comes inevitable when the collapse comes, when it comes when it comes when it comes; it's over. it's already over. why don't you quit? why can't you? it's already over, it's already done, you've failed in every respect; with respect to him: he's failed. in every respect. he inherited his past, forfeited his future, and now he's done. now he's done. now he's done, it's just echopraxis, idle-passive-echopraxia. it's just rewritten. it's Memory, it's Memory dressing you down, it's faint Memory's hot breath in your ear, it's the torque in your brain, letting the chill in. it's what it did to you. it's no one's fault it's what it did to you, it's what it did to you to you to you to you; it's just all over again it's all over again it's all over again! and no one why can't stop and no one why can't stop and no one why end it all up before over again, end it all up before over again; now you've done it, now you've done it. complete the path, end the story, put a nice finishing quote up on it, frame the situation, endure the climax, suffer the consequence oh: it's over

ok: this monster of solitudes finally wilted and caught the bus downtown to procure a girl-boy, or a boy/girl, or whichever happened to be least convenient. the kid with the chemicals: K, x, E, crack or heroin, whatever. i'll be the first to admit i was looking for a mother substitute. it was suck suck nursing-time in my ugly depths and i was willing to prostitute myself for even a breath of fresh air, without exaggerating, if that tells you anything. my hypothetical pick-up line was something along the lines of, are you obnoxiously drunk enough that you wouldn't terribly mind if i kissed or held you for a few minutes? what a joke, i am a joke, hahaha. oh no. (parenthetically, i polished off a bottle of yellowtail chardonnay and a good third of stolichnaya vodka before i set out on my way, with a snack of leftover valium here and there.) i wound up in a Club, inexplicably, don't ask me how; i dared myself to enter, against my better judgment. there i stood, more myself than i can ever remember being, practically inanimate, eyes tightly shut while everyone around me swayed, jived, gyrated, grooved and swooned. i stood absolutely still. took a shot of wild turkey. felt nothing. eventually i was accosted by some skinhead for finishing his beer; he threatened to have his burly partner pummel me into a pulp. screaming in my ear over the cacophony. to this i did not respond. I didn't do what I normally would have done, which was laugh. I stared into his eyes, my default weapon. Red heat. He let me be. I loitered a little while longer, then left, without regret or a second thought, or even a first thought, truth be told. Security even inquired after my well-being, how charming--seeing my downcast countenance, carcass hunched against a wall, blank stare, barely standing unassisted, half-dead. Oh whatever. i got lost/drunk for four hours; crossed a street where civil servants were digging a ditch. a female police officer motioned me back, i ceded and walked up to her. bitching about "why did i cross the street when the light wasn't green". i replied, simply and honestly, that i hadn't noticed. she sneered and shot back, well, maybe you'll notice next time you're smack against a windshield. the unbelievable temerity and unbridled arrogance of cops. i told her to fuck off. "pardon Me?" FUCK YOU. i screamed, and a third time, in case she didn't get the message. to say the least it touched a nerve. we all have our limits. i almost wished i had brought my knife so i could tear out her throat. people don't know when to leave well enough alone and this i cannot forgive, regardless; i don't care what social station they occupy, who they might be--fuck them and their like to the ends of the earth. many a time the thought crossed my mind to capitulate, call it quits, throw up my hands and admit myself to the emergency room of the mental hospital... but the notion was dismissed as summarily as it was entertained. why submit myself to the probing and prodding of incompetent hired goons whose only concern is my immediate docility, the mere abeyance of complaint, complacency at heart; assimilation into the normative and thus Known categories? that is not my problem. enough of that. too drunk to conclude, good night and god damn.

worst nightmare of my life this morning. won't recount the vulgar details, very mindfuck interruptus. i came to sitting in front of an end-table with a laptop on it, chatting with my ex-fiancee on AIM (not in a million years), before a towering landfill (outdoors). i nearly fall out of my seat, nonplussed, and a bum remarks, "you really shouldn't be hanging around these parts at an hour like ours." i pause, too stunned to find my tongue. i finally muster, what city is this? it's all a slur. he says Detroit. i'm in a dissociative fugue and don't know anything, or anybody. as if i'm not entitled to properly draw upon the faculty of memory; i can't make my eyes or tongue work right either (no depth-perception / i can only utter forth labials or noncommittal monosyllables). the alpha male of a pack of junkies waves me on and offers me a line of coke, i kiss some freaked-out girls and take the night bus back to the valley in a ... it feels like i haven't been inside my body in years, that i'm still indefinitely removed, and i repeatedly fail to successfully execute even the most perfunctory of flexes and maneuvers... nothing is distinctly perceptible, it's all incoherent argument and foreign hum grating on my addled nerves. underneath it all i'm somehow deeply traumatized, but i am not in a position to understand or accept this. i either have no mind or this mind is not mine; it is neither lucid nor obedient and communicates via elaborate hazards... concealed gestures i cannot divine the wherewithal of. i stagger back to my tiny apartment to discover there is a party in full swing, people fucking, people playing cards, etc. i open my fridge and it is full of hard liquor. i then realize i have been on a steady bender for two weeks.

[Author bio]

Elizabeth Victoria Aldrich made a twitter account in June 2019 to let people know her porn star girlfriend of seven years was dead after she had to ask someone on Facebook and got broken up with for being a bad influence (porn and coke binges were not her idea but let it be known she was a down-ass bitch) by her not-boyfriend who looks like the doomer meme dude. Now you're reading something by her. Isn't life weird?

twitter: @eris_rlt

#cavity magazine #cav mag #short fiction #short story #alt lit

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idairsauthor · 5 years ago

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Women On Fire reviews Once Upon A Time

So we have started watching Once Upon a Time and are midway through Season 2. PJ is very into it. It’s a bit weird for me for a specific reason: Because OUAT and WOF both use a lot of fairy tale/fantasy tropes, some things that I think of as very specifically WOF things show up sort of prominently in OUAT and...that’s weird. So when I watch it, I can’t help thinking about how this show would play with the WOF crowd. Behind the cut tag, some of them will be discussing their reactions. It’ll involve spoilers for seasons 1-2 of OUAT and basically all of WOF.

PLAIDDER: All right, so, for the sake of any readers who may remember this show well enough to care where we are with it, we’re about midway through Season 2. Emma and Snow have returned from the Bad Place, and Cora has followed them and has just faked Regina killing Archie, causing Emma et al. to turn on the partially-redeemed Regina, while actually keeping Archie captive on Hook’s invisible pirate ship. OK?

AINE: I suppose WOF’s plot would also sound pretty stupid if you had to summarize it in one paragraph.

THEAMH: I don’t think it would sound THAT stupid.

PLAIDDER: ANYWAY! I just wanted to get your reactions to some of the...you know...correspondences.

THEAMH: Oh, you mean the whole reuniting the separated lovers thing? You know, “We will always find each other!”

ISTRIA: “But will we always lose each other? Is that our fate?”

PLAIDDER: To be honest I do kind of think that given that the show runs for seven seasons, it pretty much is gonna be their fate. The whole ‘waking the pseudo-dead beloved with true love’s kiss’ has already been done so many damn times and yet I fear it will happen with increasing frequency as we--

THEAMH: I’m sorry, you do not have a leg to stand on there. Istri, how many times have we--

ISTRIA: So let’s see...you lose me, you find me, you get taken prisoner, I find you. That’s all just up to Greenhaven. Then you get arrested by those traitors at Lythril’s old castle--

THEAMH: You lose me--

ISTRIA: Trial at Mypril--

THEAMH: You find me. Giant arani fight at Amranth--

ISTRIA: You lose me, you find me.

THEAMH: I think that’s the last time. So that’s...

ISTRIA: No, no, we’re forgetting about “Homeswept.”

THEAMH: Oh FNAA. Idair’s HAIRPINS. Well I mean can you blame me?

ISTRIA: I cannot.

THEAMH: Yes. You lose me, I lose you, we manage to more or less find each other--

PLAIDDER: All right. Yes. I am a sucker for a good reunion. I mean as much as I bitch about it I actually sort of can watch that story line a fair few times before I get tired of it. It’s nice how reciprocal it is with Charming and Snow.

THEAMH: Yes, that IS nice. Can I just ask though...why do all the men look the same?

ISTRIA: They don’t all look the same. There are two kinds. The blonde kind is a prince and the dark-haired kind is a dark user’s familiar.

PLAIDDER: Yes, I will say they made the Maerin figure a lot more interesting on OUAT. I actually kind of like both of them, which is strange, because I fucking HATE Maerin.

LYTHRIL: So do I.

PLAIDDER: Yes. Well, Lythril, since you’re here--

LYTHRIL: The reason you can...attach yourself...to Graham and Hook is that their dark users haven’t properly broken them. The bond is in the playful stage, where both partners are capable of enjoying each other.

PLAIDDER: And...did you and Maerin have...a playful stage?

LYTHRIL: Of course.

PLAIDDER: I’m really glad I didn’t have to write that.

LYTHRIL: It was brief.

PLAIDDER: Well, as long as you’re here...I mean what’s it like for you watching Regina?

THEAMH: Are you sure these people haven’t been reading your--

PLAIDDER: Yes, I’m sure. I’m very sure. Look, I saw Snow White just like everyone else and the evil Queen freaked me out just like everyone else and Lythril does kind of have the evil Queen’s vibe and that’s the transmission pattern. The film Snow White is the common source. WOF and OUAT aren’t borrowing from each other. I never watched the show while I was writing WOF, and I am 100% certain that nobody on the WOF distribution list ended up writing for a nighttime drama on ABC.

AINE: How can you be sure?

PLAIDDER: Look, I asked Lythril a question--

LYTHRIL: And because it will amuse me, I’m going to answer it: I find watching Regina EXTREMELY frustrating.

PLAIDDER: Why?

LYTHRIL: It’s a very long list.

PLAIDDER: Could we have the condensed version?

LYTHRIL: She doesn’t have the commitment. She doesn’t love the work. She doesn’t LIKE being evil.

PLAIDDER: Oh, I think she does like it.

LYTHRIL: No. It looks that way at first, but then they give her this...

PLAIDDER: Backstory.

LYTHRIL: That simpering little girl with her stableboy lover--that was PAINFUL. There is NO way that girl grows up to be the most powerful dark user in the kingdom.

TARIC: If I could--

PLAIDDER: Yes, of course, Taric.

TARIC: I don’t think I realized before that I was a...trope?

PLAIDDER: Yes, I did try to keep that from you. I’m sorry--

TARIC: Is that why I’m...you know...simple?

KEANRIH: Oh Taric. You’re not simple. You’re very complex.

TARIC: No, I mean...not very smart, and not good with words, and generally...not really very interesting.

KEANRIH: Don’t SAY those things about yourself!

PLAIDDER: All right, look, there is this whole thing with girls and horses and even though I never had a horse I did sort of become fascinated with horses for a while and yes, you two were a trope, but so are Theamh and Istria. I mean there were people back in the day who categorized WOF as a Xena a/u.

AINE: WHAT?!

THEAMH: Aine, just calm--

AINE: THERE IS NO SUBTEXT. THERE WAS NEVER ANY SUBTEXT. WE DISCUSSED THIS EXPLICITLY--

PLAIDDER: Aine, you cannot do anything about what people do with your story. You write, they read, what happens next is up to the gods. My point is: yes, Taric, you are a cheesy romance trope, I am very sorry, but I did do my best to give you the same kind of character depth that I gave everyone else, which is something that definitely DOES NOT happen with Daniel. So you are both the same trope but Daniel is a lot more...trope-y...than you are.

KEANRIH: Also I would never have turned you into a zombie.

TARIC: Thank you.

PLAIDDER: Look, speaking of zombies staggering around heartless, can we get back to Lythril’s take on--

LYTHRIL: Despite all the other fnaa you’ve pulled on me I feel almost moved to thank you for never giving me a backstory...if THIS is what it looks like.

PLAIDDER: Well...to some extent it inevitably does, because nobody’s just born evil.

LYTHRIL: No, but not everyone has evil thrust upon them. Some of us chose it.

PLAIDDER: Well, Rumplestiltskin--

LYTHRIL: Do not SPEAK TO ME about that BLASPHEMY.

PLAIDDER: Well I don’t think they mean the same thing that you mean when they say “Dark One”--

AINE: Are you SURE they haven’t read your books?

PLAIDDER: YES I AM SURE!

LYTHRIL: She wants to be redeemed? She wants to be a better mother? WHY? Why does she want to be a mother at all? I didn’t want that for a steaming hot second.

PLAIDDER: Oh, you are obsessed with fertility. OBSESSED.

LYTHRIL: Dark magic and maternity are profoundly incompatible.

RENNA: My gleacha they are.

LYTHRIL: Your entire *existence* proves my point. Take Regina out of the Enchanted Forest and she turns into YOU. An idiot who would choose some child over magic and power. I hate Storybrooke Regina. Always weak, and incompetent, and--

RENNA: I was strong enough to kill YOU.

LYTHRIL: You had help.

PLAIDDER: I actually don’t hate Storybrooke Regina’s redemption arc. I mean I don’t know how it’s going to end, but--

ISTRIA: You call that a redemption arc?

PLAIDDER: Oh dear.

ISTRIA: She doesn’t understand the FIRST DAMN THING about redemption.

THEAMH: She yells at the screen a LOT when Regina’s on it.

ISTRIA: You’re all hurt when people don’t want to invite you to their parties. Of course they don’t! You ruined all of their lives! And except *sometimes* regarding Henry, you have done NOTHING to live it down!

THEAMH: Like that.

ISTRIA: Redemption is not about getting people to like you. It’s about taking responsibility for the harm you’ve done and trying to undo it. Whether people *like* you again is irrelevant. It’s not about you and what you want any more, that’s the point.

PLAIDDER: Listen, this cannot go on forever, and I don’t want to quit without talking about the hearts thing.

LYTHRIL: Yes. The hearts thing.

AINE: I just don’t see how you can be ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN that nobody who writes for that show has--

PLAIDDER: For the love of Pete, Aine, in the story of Snow White the evil Queen says she wants the huntsman to rip out Snow White’s heart and liver and bring them back to her and that is where ALL of these chest-punching heart-ripping evil women in black came from.

LYTHRIL: It’s HILARIOUS. Nobody needs THAT many hearts.

PLAIDDER: Well I think she uses these hearts for different purposes than--

LYTHRIL: Every time I watch her or Cora do that I have to pause it because I’m laughing so hard. Where’s the blood? Where are the screams? Where are the broken ribs and the--

THEAMH: Could you not--

LYTHRIL: And this glowing red Lucite thing that comes out--

ISTRIA: I know!

LYTHRIL: That’s not a heart. I don’t know what that is but it’s not...hearts are bloody, they’re warm, they pulse, they’re--

THEAMH: They’re messy. Really, really--

LYTHRIL: That’s the whole POINT of a heart, that’s why people miss them in the first place.

THEAMH: Yeah, they’re like...that’s where the whole soul/body thing happens, at least if you’re heart seated, and it matters that it’s all squishy and misshapen and--

LYTHRIL: They’re flesh. Hearts are flesh. They’re meat. That’s the point of hearts.

THEAMH: ExACTly!

[high-five begins]

ISTRIA: HEY! Are you both INSANE?

[high-five aborted]

PLAIDDER: Can I at least get your thoughts on Regina’s fashion sense?

[Everybody laughs]

AINE: Who is MAKING all those gowns for her? Who is doing her hair? Where does she get the materials?

PLAIDDER: And why does she lead with her cleavage, even in battle?

LYTHRIL: Oh come on. I have seen your illustrations.

PLAIDDER: What? They’re nothing like--

LYTHRIL: Shriias, back me up here: does she or does she not have me doing everything tits out?

THEAMH: I do have to admit--

PLAIDDER: No! Your outfits are--

LYTHRIL: Very tight.

PLAIDDER: Well sure but--

THEAMH: At least she’s never drawn you naked.

PLAIDDER: LOOK.

LYTHRIL: I don’t mind. Sincerely, I do not mind being the sexiest woman in this universe--

[confused and vehement shouts of protest from all assembled]

PLAIDDER: All right all RIGHT! There will be NO MORE discussion of costuming! Or hearts! Or competitive sexiness!

CHANDRA: Are we not even going to TALK about Mulan?

PLAIDDER: And another country is heard from.

CHANDRA: You know I heard there was going to be queer-baiting in this show and all through season one I was like, where is it? All the men seem very very straight to me.And then Mulan and Aurora show up and it’s like, oh, I see it now.

PLAIDDER: Yes. Well...

CHANDRA: “I promised Prince Phillip I would protect you and I will fight both of these other hot women to do it!”

PLAIDDER: All right, point--

CHANDRA: Mulan literally holds Aurora’s heart in her hands and actually PUTS IT BACK IN HER CHEST--

PLAIDDER: Sure--

CHANDRA: I mean even those two over there never got THAT close. And then the NEXT THURKING LINE: “Let’s go see if we can bring my useless dead boyfriend back to life!”

PLAIDDER: I did notice--

CHANDRA: You’ve got this intense, smoldering woman in armor staring at you with love beaming out of her eyes and--I mean if you’ve got Mulan, WHO NEEDS PHILIP?

PLAIDDER: You know, some women ARE straight, and--

CHANDRA: Everyone ELSE gets to bring their true love back with a kiss but Mulan and Aurora have to do it through open heart surgery?

PLAIDDER: OK, but the coding makes it more intense and more interesting. Admit it.

THEAMH: You didn’t code us.

KEANRIH: Or us.

PLAIDDER: Yeah, well your story was never published, was it?

AINE: You regret that?

PLAIDDER: No. I really don’t. I honestly don’t know what would have become of all of you if I’d had to really try to make you marketable.

CHANDRA: But that was the 1990s. This was freaking 2011.

PLAIDDER: All right, this has gone on long enough. Are we going to finish Season 2 or not?

LYTHRIL: I think your spawn has doomed us to it.

PLAIDDER: Well...are you enjoying any of this?

LYTHRIL: I enjoy imagining ways to kill Cora.

PLAIDDER: You know, Lythril, we never found out what your mother was like.

LYTHRIL: Thank the Dark One for that.

PLAIDDER: Or if you’d ever been in love, before...

LYTHRIL: Never.

PLAIDDER: You sure about that?

LYTHRIL: NEVER.

PLAIDDER: Because something did go on with you and Ulnach at scoil, and I go back and forth on what exactly it was, but I will tell you, sometimes in my mind it looks a lot like a Cinderella AU.

LYTHRIL: You’re not going to actually write that, are you?

PLAIDDER: Probably not. See, this is kind of interesting to me as an idea, but if I actually committed to it, I think I would--

LYTHRIL: Because that would be a GREAT way to lose a heart.

PLAIDDER: Well look. We complain, but we’re all having fun here, right? I mean you’re enjoying getting together and making fun of your...counterparts?

ISTRIA: I will admit, it is sort of fun.

THEAMH: It’s better than talking about American politics.

PLAIDDER: All right, let’s wrap this up before Conn shows up. Thanks everyone; I’ll see you at the end of season 2, maybe.

#wof #ouat #once upon a time #spoilers #meta review

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