#I’m just using this example because the numbers are mad | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tswhiisftteedr · 1 year ago

Note

hi!!!! could I please request general nsfw headcannons for vox, val, and velvette (or just your favorite of the 3!)? maybe especially with a slightly bratty partner? thank you! :)

Behave Bitch! ☆ Headcanon + Oneshot

☆ Valentino x Bratty!Gn!Reader, Vox x Bratty!Gn!Reader, Velvette x Bratty!Gn!Reader, and Valentino x Bratty!Gn!Reader x Vox:

You go out of your way to fuck with them and test their patience, and this is how their repercussion would be.

Warnings: Mature Content, Explicit/Graphic Language, Praise & Degradation(Lots of of degradation), Oral Sex(Male Receiving), Penetrative Sex, Bad Spanish, Creampie, Possessiveness, Spanking, Choking, Dacryphilia, Bondage, Handcuffs, Blood, Biting, Electricity NOT PROOFREAD.

Words: Total — 13 806, Valentino(Hc + Oneshot) — 2419, Vox(Hc + Oneshot) — 2365, Velvette(Hc + Oneshot) — 3463, Vox & Valentino(Hc + Oneshot) — 5539

Note: So I may or may not be a total slut for the three of them, and especially a sucker for Val x reader x Vox action. Like how should I say it? Oh, yeah, I need them inside m— Hehsjsnsnjwns Awooga lol. *Bitch is used gender neutrally if you couldn’t tell. So 4 things, number one this Headcanons + Drabbles/Slight Short One shots, note that the example in the headcanons are just examples of scenario, and are unrelated to the drabble part, so don’t get confused when they mention one situation and then you read about another. Number 2, the type of reader was not precise so I went with gender neutral, so I’m sorry if the smut part isn’t the best as I am still lacking in writing experience to make something great with the lack of precise genitalia mention. But if you find it good, we’ll good for you! Also I used Google and translation apps when it came to the Spanish that Valentino employs, so I’m sorry to my Hispanic readers of the display of language is not to your liking. And lastly, I didn’t know how to write a slightly bratty reader, so I’m sorry anon if the reader is either not enough or too bratty. Personally I love a full on bratty, attention whore, whiny reader because that’s how I am.(If I was hot and got over my fear of being rejected, anyways-) That’s it for info about the fic!!

Author Note: As I am writing this, I am halfway way done with a lute one shot, but I must say, please stop requesting works. I put my request on pause, and I indicated that one both my Masterlist and rules, but seems that people are still confused because some of my older fics have ‘Request are open’ at the bottom. So please don’t request anything more, I have 34 request to start working on after I finish the lute one, plus I still haven’t started to work on chapter 3 for my Idia series. (12 of those request are actually Adam related, and one of them is a zestial one, where the requester offered to pay me for it, so it’s at the top of my list after this 💸💰. Though I still haven’t reach them because I want to finish my lute work first.) Also I am fucking pissed as I am written this, cuz I keep seeing clips of episodes 7&8 of Hazbin on tumblr, but I don’t have prime so I have to wait for stupid illegal websites to repost them. Like I am genuinely mad at the wait time, since my boys(Val and vox, my loves, my husbands, my #1 turn ones-) are in it. Worst part of it all I saw the clips of Vox literally thrusting into the air saying his hard and that the sight of Alastor bloody was better than sex. Like shit, did that make me horny. Like Vox, sweaty, you can take out that pent up energy from the build up excitement, I don’t mind if the other Vees are watching, Valentino can even join~ Hehsjjsjsjnsks. Update: I just watch the two episodes, and fuck were they good. Anyways I’m done, enjoy the fic cunts!

☆ more under the cut. ☆

ఌ︎ Valentino ఌ︎

Oh, you have no idea ‘what kind of gift you gave him with your behavior, Cariño~’

He takes pleasure in ‘putting bitches in their place,’ so feel free to be yourself, use that sharp tongue, but be prepared for the consequences without too much complaints. And he relishes in being the one to mete out repercussions.

Valentino's approach is straightforward; he often lets you play and act as bratty as you want while casually keeping an eye on you. ‘No need to worry; he's merely observing.’

He'd allow you to talk back, tolerating insults, while seated in the VIP section of one of his clubs, surrounded by smoke and flirting demons. All that set up to provoke you into further incriminate yourself.

Despite the condescending expression on his face, you didn’t have anything to about him, everything appearing ordinary, considering he was Val. Nothing seemed suspicious for a while... and then, ¡Bam!

You find yourself dragged into the club's private bedroom, now in a position where you're either tied up or bent over his lap/desk, enduring a session of intense spanking for being a 'good-for-nothing slut,' with degrading comments throughout.

Valentino opts for a paddle, well aware of the sharp sting it leaves on your skin.

Eventually, he transitions to using his hands, relishing in the visible aftermath of his touch—handprints and bite marks adorning your body.

As tears stream down your face, you apologize and plead to him ‘that you would be better, so please stop’ and that’s ‘ ‘s to much!’. He makes no effort to conceal his satisfaction, openly grinning at your vulnerable state.

Today unfolded like any other typical day in hell, as you paid a visit to your boyfriend on the set. Entering his studio, you hung back for a moment, observing Valentino directing the actors, his voice sexy as always but this time yet again fill with frustration.

Amidst the chaos, there were whispers among the staff about the planned star for the movie being decapitated and having to fill their role in with a newbie due to the lack of time ro wait for the actors regeneration, this bringing light upon the source of Val's frustration.

You pondered how much worse his temper would escalate if you followed through with your planned actions. However, that thought didn't weigh heavily on your mind, as you were determined from the get go to mess with him.

Emerging from the shadows and skillfully navigating the set while evading the cameras' gaze, you approached Valentino. Grinning, he remarked, "You came to entertain papi, how sweet of you, amorcito~" standing up and expecting you to jump into his arms.

Surprisingly, you kept walking, engaging in conversation with a crew member, casually flirting. Val struggled to process the fact that ‘not only did you ignore him, but you did so to chat with some nobody!’

Oh boy, was he pissed, yet instead of his typical inclination to abandon work for a tantrum. He had remained seated, continuing to provide screen direction to his actors.

Now that he was well aware of your actions, he had no intention of losing the little game you were playing. Throughout the shoot, he feigned indifference, though his teeth subtly gritted each time he caught a glimpse of you so close to that random sinner.

Despite Valentino's own lack of shamelessness when it came to sleeping around, he was still the ever so possessive and obsessive man. And having so hands-on with someone else, especially in his presence, drove him to the walls.

After 45 minutes of takes and retakes, Valentino directed his staff to wrap up for the day. Immediately afterward, he approached you, gripping your wrist forcefully enough to surely leave a bruise. He then ushered you into the elevator, ascending to his shared luxurious living quarters and, ultimately, his room.

Once inside, he roughly threw you onto the bed, using one arm to pin both of yours above your head, another around your neck, while the remaining two swiftly removed your clothes.

As he approached your ear, his breath on your face, he scornfully remarked, “You wretched whore, think you go and flounce around, letting some fucker feel you up! ¿You’re so desperate to get fuck, verdad, puta?“ His voice carried disdain for your actions, yet beneath it, pent-up sexual frustration lingered.

Now having you completely undressed, Valentino briefly pulled away to retrieve something from his nightstand. It turned out to be a pair of long, dangling cuffs, ideal for securing you to his headboard. And that's precisely what he did.

Bound to the bedpost, you tested your restraints with a subtle tug, ensuring they securely held you in place. You wanted to confirm if there was any potential escape route, making sure you were aware of all possibilities.

In an instant, you felt Valentino's hands on you once more, grabbing your chest roughly, squeezing them hard enough to cause some pain but not enough to leave marks. His fingers then dug into your sensitive flesh, leaving bruises visible through the thin layer of sweat forming on your skin.

His touch was cold and calloused, contrasting sharply with the warmth emanating from his body.

"You little slut," he growled, his accented words dripping with contempt. "You think you can just throw yourself at anyone, disrespect me like this?" With each harsh word, his grip tightened further, pinching your nipples cruelly between his rough fingers.

Despite the pain, a shiver ran down your spine at the prospect of what was to come. You knew exactly how much control he had over you now, and it was exhilarating.

"No, Val," you managed to croak out between gasps for air. "I didn't mean anything by it, really."

But your words fell on deaf ears; instead, Valentino's hand moved lower, cupping your hips roughly before squeezing them forcefully. "You fucking liar," he snarled, his voice low and menacing. "You’re lucky your body is good at satisfying my needs, otherwise I would have already shot your ungrateful bitch ass!”

With that, you observed as he let his tongue swirl around his fingers, that action was followed by him teasing at your hole. “Wait Val, are you not gonna use lube—“

“Lube? Are y’a kidding me? ¡Shut the fuck up, puta! You should be crying tears of joy that I’m even prepping your undeserving ass.” Was all he said, before his fingers divulged into your tight hole, letting his other hand paw at your bits teasingly before pushing in a third finger inside you. The sensation was both pleasurable due to his aphrodisiac like spit and painful as it was all so sudden, it also felt as if he was claiming ownership over your body once more. Tears begging to role down your face at the stretch.

"You’re such a fucking slut, getting off on this, aren’t you?" he asked, his voice husky with desire yet stern. "You like acting like a desperate bitch in heat and piss me just so I can punish you, isn't that right, mariposa~"

As he spoke, he began to thrust his fingers in and out of your heat, pounding into you relentlessly. Each thrust caused your hips to rock forward, meeting his rhythm eagerly. Slightly letting reach down further, just close enough for his tongue to scoop your tears.

You could feel your body responding to the invasion, your hole tightening around his fingers, begging for more. Despite the pain, it was becoming increasingly difficult to resist the pleasure building inside you.

"No! Stop, please, Val!" you pleaded, but it fell on deaf ears. Instead, he added another finger, stretching you wider. The sensation was both terrifying and arousing, pushing you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

"Eso es," he growled, his voice laced with lust. "tómalo todo, you filthy whore."

Just as you thought you couldn't handle anymore, he removed his fingers, leaving your hole gaping open and vulnerable. With a cruel chuckle, he stood up and unfastened his pants, revealing his massive harden cock, thick and veiny, throbbing with desire.

"Time to teach really you a lesson," he said, his eyes burning with hunger. "Get ready to scream, puta."

Without further ado, he positioned himself at your entrance, aligning his tip with it.

"N-no, please, Val—" you managed to utter out before he slammed into you without mercy, filling you up completely.

The sudden intrusion caused you to cry out even harder in both pain and pleasure. Your body shook violently as he started to thrust in and out of you.

Each powerful thrust pushed deeper than before, stretching you further than and further. Your moans turned into high-pitched squeals of mixed agony and pleasure, and your juices coated his member as he pounded into you relentlessly.

The bed creaked under the combined weight of their bodies, adding to the primal rhythm of your session. Your body bounced wildly with each thrust, nipples hardening further under the harsh treatment.

Your legs were spread wide apart, while your hands were still bound tightly to the headboard, rendering you helpless against his onslaught. You couldn't move, couldn't escape the intense pleasure building up inside you.

As he continued his brutal assault, your body adjusted to the his dick, becoming slightly accustomed to the stretching. Your walls tightened around him, milking him eagerly.

He groaned, his hips slamming harder against yours, his cock pounding deeper than ever. His hand reached up to grab a fistful of your hair, yanking your head forward forcefully, exposing your neck and throat.

"Open that filthy mouth," he growled, his breath hot against your neck.

You obeyed, parting your lips, and Valentino pulled back to spit directly into your mouth. The saliva was thick with frustration, a stark contrast to the usual sweet yet dominant taste of his kisses.

"Swallow it, bitch," he demanded, his voice full of desire. Your throat still constricted by one of his hands, yet you managed to swallow the bitter saliva, feeling it coat your tongue and throat.

The humiliation and degradation only served to heighten your arousal, your body quivering as his thrusts grew more frenzied. Your walls clenched around his shaft, urging him to go faster, harder.

"You like that, don't you? Of course you do!" he snarled, his grip tightening in your hair. "You love being treated like the worthless slut you are."

His words only served to fuel the fire inside you, your body shaking and writhing under his control. You couldn't help but whimper in response, your body betraying you with every moan.

Valentino continued to thrust into you, his pace relentless. Your eyes rolled back in ecstasy, ‘almost there’ you though.

Suddenly, Valentino pulled out, leaving you gasping for air, feeling empty and needy.

He quickly untied you from the headboard, dragging you onto your hands and knees, positioning you on all fours. His grip tightened around your neck, choking you just enough to make your vision blur.

"Don’t think I didn’t feel you clench around my cock, you ain’t cumming that easily," he hissed, his voice full of lust.

You nodded, trying to catch your breath, your eyes watering from the lack of air. He wasted no time, thrusting back into you, filling you up once more. This time, his thrusts were even more brutal, the angle hitting your g-spot with each plunge.

The choking intensified, making it even harder to breathe, yet you found yourself moaning louder, your body desperate for release. Your legs shook, struggling to hold you up as he continued to pound into you.

"You're mine, not any other overlord’s or fucking prince of hell, and certainly not that pathetic fucker from earlier, you hear me, Y/N?" he growled, his grip on your neck tightening.

You managed a nod, your voice strangled by his chokehold.

Valentino keeps his hold on your neck, as he brings one of his hand down onto your ass, leaving a stinging impact. The pain was a welcome distraction from the choking, making your moans turn into cries of pleasure.

He spanked you repeatedly, alternating between cheeks, leaving handprints on your flesh. The stinging sensation only served to heighten your senses, your body trembling with every smack.

"You're going to cum for me, slut," he promised, his voice low and menacing. "And you're going to beg for it." Following his words, the hand that was then on your neck was now grabbing at your hair.

Your body tensed, the pleasure building to an unbearable level. Your inner walls clenched around his shaft, milking him relentlessly as he continued to spank and thrust into you.

You couldn't help but comply, your voice hoarse from the choking. "P-please, Val, I need to cum!"

He chuckled darkly, his thrusts becoming even more frenzied. "I said beg for it, you filthy little slut!"

"Please, papi, I need to cum, please! I need so, so bad, ‘can’t think! I just need to come, please, please, please Val!" you begged,

Your voice breaking with the intensity of the moment. Valentino smirked, his thrusts growing even harder, slamming into you with all his might.

Your body was at his mercy, your orgasm building to a crescendo. You could feel the wave crashing over you, your insides clenching around him, milking his cock as he continued to pound into you. One of his hands playing with your front.

"Cum for me, you worthless bitch," he growled, his own release nearing.

You cried out, your orgasm overwhelming you, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure washed over you. Valentino followed suit, groaning loudly as he filled you with his seed, your body trembling as he came inside you.

He pulled out, leaving you panting and shaking, the aftershocks of your orgasm still rippling through your body. Valentino stood up, wiping the sweat from his forehead before lighting a smoke.

After taking some puffs at he grabbed your body once more, “V-Val??” You question in confusion, and the look he gives was so demeaning.

“Bitch, are y’a dumb? Don’t tell me you thought this was over already.” Was all he said before resuming….

Here you were, on the verge of passing out, body full of cuts, hand, teeth, and whip prints all over your body.

"You're lucky I love you," he muttered, his voice laced with a hint of affection. "But don't you ever fucking test my patience again, amorcito."

You nodded, with the both of you knowing that it was a lie, you would definitely act out again.

Finally, your body lulled to dreamland.

⌁ Vox ⌁

Listen, despite his constant complaints about everyone's incompetence and having to clean up after their mess, he finds himself unable to do the same when it comes to you.

But, ‘fuck, did he adores your brattiness.’ It's not that he particularly enjoys dealing with your attitude; rather, it's the journey to the aftermath of your actions that captivates him. Overall, the right to fuck all of his day’s frustration into you!

Take, for instance, a meeting—perhaps not the most crucial, but still relevant, especially as it is concerning one of his latest products on the market.

Suddenly, you would barge into the meeting room, whining about him not giving you enough attention and accusing him of being all about work.

He would sweet talk you into silence until the meeting concluded, but that didn't imply you felt obligated to completely behave. As the meeting continued, you ended up seated on his lap, grinding yourself on his crotch.

Immediately after the meeting concluded and the conference room was emptied, he would lock the door. Then bend you over the spacious table, he pressed your head against the cold wood and proceeded to unleash a waterfall of insults, flowing from his mouth kin to water from a faucet.

He would fuck you so intensely that the both of you would almost lost sight of the initial cause. Almost, though you might have blurred the memory, he certainly hadn't. So as soon as his workday concluded, he would take you once again in his private quarters.

Forcing you to ‘repent for being such impudent slut,' reducing you to tears with his rough handling and verbal abuse.

Today was an incredibly dull day in hell. Wandering around the pentagram on the Vees' turf, you had an escort by your side as per Vox's requirement for taking a stroll outside.

There seemed to be nothing to do, or at least it felt that way. You managed to grab a cup of coffee, but beyond that, nothing fun was available, entering clubs required asking Vox's for his permission first. This ensured that he could assemble a larger entourage to guarantee your safety when you wanted to partake in the activity.

Despite your inclination to fuck with him, you refrained, recognizing that would be too much on his already overworked heart – he'd be more worried than irritated.

Opting for a tamer approach, you aimed to provoke him and get under his skin. Your goal was to distract Vox from his work, shifting his focus to entertain you. Making him jealous seemed the most effective strategy in your eyes, and that's where your escort, a tall and attractive hellhound, entered the scene.

Aware that Vox had eyes throughout the pentagram, particularly in this area, you initiated your plan with this knowledge in mind.

You strolled with your arm around the hellhound, falsely fawning over his looks and intellect, toying with his hair and even embracing him—all visible to Vox. Despite his busy schedule, Vox always kept an eye on you through the multitude of screens around pentagram city. And the sight of you so cozied up with the hellhound, left him seething.

What intensified the situation was your final gesture. As you bid farewell in front of the Vees' tower, you made the hellhound lean down for a thank-you kiss on the cheek, this fuelling your boyfriend's rage and insecurities. After that, you simply entered the building, mentally preparing for the upcoming interaction with Vox.

As you exited the elevator, Vox stood right in front, evidently having anticipated your return. As you locked eyes with him, the flames of anger and jealousy practically radiated from his gaze. It seemed your somewhat sadistic display had made a number on him.

"Hey, Vox, baby. How's it going? I thought you were too busy to step out of your office," you nonchalantly remarked, playing the coy card. Before you knew it, one of his clawed hands circled your waist, while the other firmly grasped your chin.

"Yeah, I was one incredibly busy man this morning, busting my ass to keep this shit show afloat. However, my partner seems to be utterly indifferent to it all. It looked as if they couldn't care less, with the way they were all over that hellhound-nobody," he remarks, his hand at your waist pressing into your skin.

"Oh, what on sweet hell could you be referring to?" you playfully feign innocence, this only aggravating your boyfriend's frustration.

"Do play games with me, whore. You know exactly what you were up to, the fact have eyes everywhere, and despite today's incident, I won't fire that guy because he's loyal." His face inches closer to yours, "If you were so desperate for my cock that you went out of your way to mess with me, you could’ve said so baby~ And I would’ve had you sucking me off as I work. But noooo, you just had to be be a a fucking slut and piss me off. Now let's see where that misbehaviour gets you, bitch.”

Now, bent over his lap, bottoms off, you endure the consequences as he delivers hits to your behind, while he casually sipped on a glass of whiskey;

You flinched slightly at each slap, but didn't dare to yell or struggle. Instead, you bit your lower lip and whimpered softly, your body trembling with each impact.

Your mind raced with thoughts of how much you deserved this punishment, how much you craved it.

"Please, sir, stop, it hurt ‘so much!" you whimpered between each strike, your voice cracking with each word. "I'll be a good, I promise."

"You’ll be good? Ha! What a fucking joke. You're lucky I don't break your pretty little neck right here and now. But since you asked nicely, maybe I'll i won’t hurt you as bad, this once. Now stand up straight and face me like the disobedient whore you are."

Slowly, you stood up straight, your legs trembling slightly as you awaited his next move. "Thank you, sir."

"That's better," he said putting his drink down on the nightstand, his voice laced with distain yet also a hint of satisfaction. "Now, strip for me."

You hesitated for a moment, debating whether to push your luck or not. But then again, you knew better than to defy him twice in a row. Slowly, you took off your sweater, removing a layer of heat.

Next came the your top, you began to undo the buttons of your shirt, revealing your chest.

You stood there, naked and ass completely bare, feeling exposed and vulnerable yet somehow aroused by the power he held over you.

"Turn around," he commanded coldly. Reluctantly, you turned around, your ass wiggling seductively as you did so. "Now, get on the bed, all fours, and face the mirror."

You complied reluctantly, feeling your heart race with anticipation mixed with fear. You knew what was coming next, but it didn't make it any easier to endure. You could feel his presence looming over you, his heat radiating off his body.

"That’s it bitch," he praised, his voice dripping with false reassurance. "Now, spread your legs."

You widened your stance, exposing your parts to him, the scent of arousal filling the air around you. "That's a good whore," he complimented, his hand reaching out to grab your hair and pull your head back forcefully, so you would be looking straight at the mirror.

"Look at me," he growled, his eyes boring into yours through the reflection. "Do you understand what happens to misbehaving sluts like you?"

"No," you managed to croak out, your voice barely above the sound of your pounding heart. "I-I don't know."

"Then let me educate you," he said coldly, his hand reaching out to slap your ass hard enough to leave a mark. "This is what happens to disobedient whores like you." Meanwhile he had removed his other hand from your hair, using it it to play with your front, ‘how kind of him~’

With each slap, his hand left a stinging mark on your ass, making it throb with each impact. The pain mixed with the humiliation and arousal, making it difficult for you to think straight. You squirmed and whimpered, trying to escape the torment but knowing it was futile.

"Please, sir," you begged between slaps, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'll be good. Just give me something more, please."

"You're sorry now? Too late for apologies, greedy bitch," he spits. But after a moment of consideration, he seems to have a change of perspective. With a wide grin on his face, “Okay then,” he says, releasing you and getting himself confortable on the bed. “Crawl over here and worship my cock, and I’ll consider forgiving you."

With shaking legs, you crawled towards him, your eyes locked on his hardened member, throbbing with desire through the fabric of his expensive pants. You reached out and undid them, pulling down his boxers and wrapped your lips around the head. Taking as much of his cock into your mouth as you could.

"Fuck," he says a bit breathless, this followed by his hand roughly grabbing your hair and pulling your head back and forth, face-fucking you.

"That’s right, show me how much you want me, how much you need my cock inside you."

You moaned around his cock, sucking and slurping greedily, your tongue swirling around the head, trying to please him. Your hands reached up, grasping his thighs, leaving wrinkles on the fabric as you held on tightly.

"Good," he praised, his voice becoming more husky with desire. "Now, let’s go back to the previous position." He tells you, forcefully pulling you off his dick.

With that you had his hand at your hole, rubbing and teasing your entrance "Spread your legs wider, and besides that, don't move a muscle."

You obeyed, spreading your legs wider, exposing yourself fully to him. He continued to tease and torment you, spiting on his fingers, he then digs into your sensitive spot, making you moan and writhe in pleasure mixed with pain.

"Tell me you're mine, bitch, that you belong to me," he demanded, his voice low and commanding. "Tell me you'll do whatever I want, whenever I want."

"I'm yours, Vox," you managed to choke out, your voice cracking with each word. "I'll do anything you want!"

"That's better," he purred, his fingers leaving your hole and moving to your nipples instead. He pinched and twisted them mercilessly, causing you to arch your back and cry out at the painfully mix of sensation.

"Now, beg me to claim you as my own, not anyone else,"

"Please, Vox, claim me as yours," you begged, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I'm yours, I belong to you. Take me however you want, whenever you want."

"Seems like your not completely braindead after all," he sorta praises, his voice laced with satisfaction. "Keep your legs open like that."

"Yes, Vox," you managed to mumble out, your voice trembling with fear and arousal.

“That’s it," his voice dripping with false affection. "You better be ready, because I’m still pissed."

Without warning, he grabbed your hair again, pulling your head back forcefully, exposing your neck to him. "This is for disobeying me earlier today," he growled, his sharp teeth shining in the light as he bit down hard on your neck. His teeth sank deep into your skin, sure to leave a mark.

As he moved to bite another spot, you writhed and squirmed beneath him, unable to escape his hold. His tongue darted out to clean up the blood that trickled down your throat. Meanwhile, his other hand reached between your legs one more, finding your front and playing with it vigorously, driving you wild with desire.

"You taste so fucking good, slut," he growled as his mouth was now at your lips, his voice hoarse with desire. "Don’t fucking play with me again like that what you did today, understand?"

"Yes, Vox," you managed to choke out between gasps, your body trembling with the combination of pain and pleasure. "I won’t.” A lie you were both aware of.

"That's a good bitch," he praised, releasing your neck and licking the mark he had left on your neck clean. His hands now solely focused on making you climax, in addition he would let out some electricity coarse through his and consequently your body.

Your body still trembling with the aftermath of his earlier assault, and his current touches weren’t helping you to stabilize. Your eyes rolled back as you felt close, ‘close to finally cumming.’

"Look at yourself, Y/N," he tells, his voice low and demeaning, well aware you couldn’t look at your self with the way we’re rolled back. "So fucking pathetic and needy for release… Beg for it.”

And so you did, "P-please, Vox... I need it so bad," you begged, your voice cracking with desire. "Please, let me cum."

His laughter reverberated in your ears as he continued to tease you mercilessly. "You want it so badly, don't you?" he asked, his fingers working faster and harder between your legs, more and more shocks divulging from him.

Your mind drifted away from reality as you felt the edge of orgasm getting closer and closer, your body tensing up in anticipation. "Please, Vox!" you cried out, unable to resist any longer.

"Do you understand now?" he asked, his voice laced with satisfaction. "Do you understand your place in this world and how you belong by my side only?"

"Yes, Vox," you managed to choke out, your voice barely audible over the sound of your heavy breathing.

And a simple, “Cum.” was all it took for you to completely let go and the waves of pleasure take your body over….

You winced in pain while observing your reflection in the mirror. Bruises and bite marks adorned your body, and your swollen ass bore the aftermath of his restless assault. Dried tears stained your cheeks.

Then, Vox tenderly stroked your head, followed by a gentle kiss on your forehead. "Love you, babes, but don’t fuck with me like that again"

An ‘okay’ was all you had said before falling asleep.

✮ Velvette ✮

Despite possessing a sharp tongue herself, she has zero tolerance for sassiness or misbehavior. It's strictly 'her way or the highway, bitch!'

A single word out of place, and she'd swiftly grab your face, calling you out and issuing a stern warning to behave, unless you wanted to witness her truly angry.

Naturally, her warnings failed to deter you from persisting in your bratty behaviors; 'it didn't before, so why should it now?'

Turns out getting on Velvette bad side, wasn't as smooth sailing as your moment of unwarranted confidence led you to believe.

You might have casually stroll through her studio, engaging in conversation with her employees, consequently diverting their attention from work.

All this, despite their already tight schedule that you were acutely aware of, thanks to Velvette's hours-long bitching about it.

Nonetheless, you proceeded with your plan. In all honesty, given the hectic schedule leading up to the fashion show, Velvette had minimal time for you. Despite her efforts to squeeze out a few moments, the occasional 30 minutes a day left you unsatisfied.

If she wasn't going to provide the attention you craved, ‘you were determined to seek it elsewhere, easy peezy—‘ or so you believed.

Spotting you getting overly friendly with one of her models, she would forcefully pull you into a changing room, securing your wrist against the wall with one hand while using the other around your throat.

Insult would escape her lips as she vowed to in-still proper discipline in you in a more physical manner if simple phrases like 'I'm busy right now' failed to do the trick.

After leaving distinctive bite marks on your neck and collar, and leaving you with panting breath and puffy lips from an intense make-out session, she would resume her work. However, she would promise to teach you a lesson later that night as she exited the dressing room.

Honestly, among all three of the Vees, she was the only one with the decency not to do you in public.

"Today is already a mess, but you had to make it worse, you ungrateful bitch," Velvette exclaimed before storming out of her office, leaving you alone, bound, with vibrators attached to stimulate your body.

Now, how did it come to this? Let's rewind to 10:30 a.m.;

Velvette had overslept by an hour, throwing her entire schedule off, and in the world of fashion and social media, an hour is practically an eternity.

Despite consistently projecting an image of superiority, she was visibly rattled by being late. Knowing she couldn't control or turn back time, she relied on meticulous planning to leash the day. She's a bit of a control freak, if you hadn't noticed.

After a challenging morning of tackling voicemails and addressing urgent missed calls, Velvette managed to regain her momentum. Things were sailing smoothly until Valentino made an appearance.

Apparently, one of his employees had been shot in the face the previous night, resulting in a disfigurement that rendered them unable to participate in the planned movie.

Clearly frustrated, Valentino stormed into Velvette's studio to bitch about the situation, throwing things around and even ripping apart one of Velvette’s workers. This compelled her to call in a backup model, with rates that would disrupt her budget.

Not only did Velvette find this model too expensive, but she also disapproved of their overly flirtatious attitude.

And that's where you entered the picture, making her already lousy day even more exasperating. You had awakened about 10 minutes after Velvette, disturbed by her loud conversations on the phone.

However, it didn't bother you too much since your morning routine wasn't significantly affected by the late wake-up call. As Velvette's sugar baby and partner, she paid you to prepare home-cooked meals, be there to listen to her vent, and look good. As long as you weren’t the one who’s oversleep, you were in the clear.

In contrast to her hectic morning, yours unfolded at a slow and leisurely pace. You took your time with skincare and haircare, even savoring the breakfast you had prepared while Velvette rushed through hers to catch the elevator to her studio.

Despite disliking seeing her frowning and rushed in the mornings, you had held your tongue, aware that she wasn't in the mood to be told so. Besides, you couldn't help but smile when you noticed she had still laid out your outfit of the day despite her hurried state.

As half past noon approached, you descended in the elevator to her studio, carrying a warm lunch. Knowing she needed some persuasion to take a break from work and eat, even though she paid you to prepare her meals.

When she initially dismissed you upon your approach, it wasn't surprising. That was the usual routine. However, typically, after 15-25 minutes, she'd relent. Well, that was the norm. This time, an hour had passed, and she still adamantly refused to pause.

Bored and hungry, the usual scene of you two enjoying a shared meal and exchanging affectionate words was absent. Normally, you'd be showering her with praise, boosting her pride and motivation with each word. ‘This was how things were supposed to be,’ you thought, yet here you were, seated on a plush satin-covered chair in a corner of the spacious room.

Contemplating leaving altogether, considering nobody in the studio cared about your presence except Velvette, and she was currently too busy to notice. As you prepared to depart, a manicured hand rested on your shoulder.

"Well, hello there, sweetheart. What's a pretty thing like you doing all alone?" inquired the attractive woman with whom you soon found yourself engaging in conversation with. Unbeknownst to you, she was the backup model Velvette disliked but had to call in.

What you did know was that from her flirty attitude, to the fact she was feeling you up and the eye fucking she was giving you, that woman was definitely hitting on you.

You also knew you should have told her that you were with Vel, but after feeling ignored and abandoned since this morning, it felt refreshing to have someone finally pay attention to you.

Around 2:25 p.m., Velvette finally took a break from work, envisioning a moment to share lunch with you and perhaps find comfort in your embrace.

However, that dreamy scenario shattered when she looked your way and spotted 'that bitch Bridgette Bastia' not only flirting with you, her hand around your waist, but also eating away at HER LUNCH.

To make matters worse, Bridgette whispered things in your ear, leading to giggles.

Unlike Valentino, Velvette wasn't one to tear employees apart; she preferred the more elegant approach of firing them.

However, witnessing the girl cozying up to you fueled a desire in her to do something far less refined. She wanted nothing more than stab the chick to death(well, second death).

When Velvette confronted you about the proximity between you and the model, you had the audacity to respond with a cheeky "What's wrong, babes? Thought you were busy," accompanied by a sly expression and tone.

In a fit of rage, Velvette pushed Bridgette away and seized your wrist, forcefully ushering you into her office and slamming the door shut behind you;

"Today is already a mess, but you had to make it worse, you ungrateful bitch. Allowing that cunt to touch you so freely! Are you that much of a whore that you can't stand to not have someone laying their hands on you for a moment?" Velvette spat at you, accentuating her anger with a furious fist slam.

She yearned to make you suffer for intensifying her frustration, but hitting wasn't her style, and mere verbal assaults wouldn't suffice. That's when what she considered a brilliant idea struck her.

Utilizing her clothing transformation ability, she effortlessly rendered you completely exposed and bound with a mere swipe of her finger. Your once classy outfit morphed into an intricate arrangement of tied ropes, forming a captivating star-shaped pattern across your chest, in addition to a blindfold obscuring your vision, leaving you helpless in both movement and sight.

To escalate matters, she procured a vibrator from her office drawer and a ball gag she had used for a recent BDSM-themed shoot.

"You want to play the part of a needy slut, so I'll treat you as such," she whispered into your ear.

Following that, she attached the vibrator to your parts, setting it to medium vibration. It was intense enough to make your body react, but not strong enough to get you off.

"Behave until I return," she stated before departing, leaving you alone and exposed in the secluded offices.

Feeling the sensation of the vibrations consuming you, you clung to the hope that she was merely bluffing and would return soon.

Yet, you were well aware not to rely on that expectation. Once Velvette made up her mind, nothing you could say or do would alter her decision. ‘Knowing her, it wouldn't be surprising if she left you in that room until the end of her workday.’

As time passed the vibrations continued to pulse through your body, you couldn't help but feel a mix of anxiety and arousal. Velvette's actions were surprising but far from unpredictable. She had always been domineering and controlling, but this was on a whole new level.

You couldn't help but wonder how long you would be left like this, 3 hours had already passed by now, 2 more and the day would be over. ‘Did she forget you were in there, or was she intentionally keep you bound and stimulated to teach you a lesson?’

Your mind began to race with thoughts of escape. With your hands tied, it wouldn't be easy, but surely you could find a way to free yourself. The sensation of vibrator was becoming more intense with each passing minute, making it harder to concentrate on your predicament.

As you wriggled and squirmed, trying to find a way to release yourself, the door to the office creaked open. You tensed up, hoping it was Velvette, ready to release you from your captive state.

But instead, it was none other than Valentino, a cloud of red smoke surrounding him, and a smirk appearing on his face as he took in the sight before him.

"Well, well, look who we have here," Valentino drawled with his condescending smirk, his eyes inspecting your bound and stimulated form. "I guess you've managed to piss off our dear Velvette, huh? Serves you right. I've always known you were spoiled little bitch that didn’t know their place."

He sauntered over to you, his black heel boots clicking against the hardwood floor. "Thought you could get away with flirting with another woman right in her studio? You're a dumber than I if you thought she'd let that slide."

He leaned in close, his breath hot and rank against your ear. "She's got a mean streak, you know. You should have just waited patiently instead of pulling that kind of stunt. I’d keep my eyes peeled and my mouth shut from then on if I were you."

With that, Valentino turned on his heel and left the room, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving you alone in the room now filled with smoke with your humiliation and aching body…

About 10 minutes later Velvette stormed into the office, her face twisted in anger. She had received a text message from Valentino, no doubt gloating about the situation he had just witnessed.

Her eyes scanned the room, taking in the scene before her: you, bound and stimulated, with a look of both embarrassment and arousal on your face.

Velvette's lips curled into a sneer as she stepped into the room, a mixture of anger and amusement playing across her features. "What a fucking mess," she muttered under her breath, crossing the room to stand before you.

"I told you to behave, and this is what happens? Valentino gets a peek at your pathetic state," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She reached down and flicked the vibrators, making you flinch and moan softly around your gag.

"Oh, look at that, you're already soaking wet," she teased, her fingers tracing the contours of the vibrator attached to you. "I can't believe I have to deal with this. And here I thought you were smarter than that.”

Velvette couldn't resist the urge to taunt you further, her fingers gently probing your slick, throbbing intimates. She knew full well the effect it would have on you, and the way you squirmed only fueled her desire to humiliate you.

"You're so wet, darling. It's almost as if you enjoyed having Valentino see you like this," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "I'll make sure to tell him how wet you got from the embarrassment. Bet that moth fucker would love that, and so would you."

Obviously you weren’t into Valentino, and seeing like that you was the last you had wanted. So of course you violently shook your head in didn’t disagreement at the mention of her telling him more about your current interactions.

Thought being rendered Velvette’s pathetic bitch was hot, and an observer only reaffirmed the situation. ‘So maybe him walking in wasn’t ‘that’ unpleasant—‘

Her fingers danced against your most sensitive spots, eliciting strangled moans from you. "You're such a terrible liar, you know that? I can always see right through you," she continued, her voice a mixture of anger and arousal.

Despite your frustration and embarrassment, you couldn't deny the pleasure coursing through you with each touch from Velvette's skilled fingers. Her words and actions were cruel, yet they only seemed to heighten your arousal. As some sort of grace, she had removed the gag from you.

"It's not my fault he came in here," you whimpered . "I didn't invite him."

"Oh, please," Velvette scoffed, her fingers continuing their dance. "You're always looking for attention, always seeking validation from others. It's disgusting." Obviously she knew what she was saying was bullshit but it was fun taunt.

She increased the pressure, your body arching in response. "You should be grateful I haven't given you to him yet. He'd probably enjoy watching you squirm even more than I do."

Her words stung, but they also fueled your arousal. You knew she was right; you did crave attention, and Velvette's treatment of you only made it worse.

"Please, Velvette," you pleaded, your voice barely audible. "I'm sorry. Just let me cum please." Hours of stimulation plus the added stimulation had become to much for you, if you didn’t cum soon you would go crazy.

Velvette smirked at your plea, her fingers slowing down for a moment. "Oh, you want to cum, is that so?" she purred, stepping closer to you. "And what makes you thing you deserve it, huh? After your behaviour today, you’re gonna have to earn it."

She reached down and untying the vibration, removing it from your body altogether. "Now, you're going to eat me out and beg for me to make you cum. If you do a good job, I might just let you."

You felt a mixture of relief and panic as the vibrators were removed. While your body ached for release, the idea of pleasuring Velvette made you both nervous and excited, especially because your climax depended on it.

"Don't disappoint me," she warned, her eyes locked on yours. "I'm not in the mood for any more disobedience."

With a final glare, she stepped back, giving you room to kneel before her. Your heart raced as you watched her unzip her pants, revealing pretty pussy.

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes flicking between Velvette's smirking face and the task ahead of you. You could feel the tension in your body, the need to cum be touched overwhelming. But you knew you had no choice but to obey.

Mustering your courage, you lowered your head, your tongue darting out to trace the edge of Velvette's lace panties. The fabric was slick with arousal, and you knew she was already wet for you. She removed the arrival clothing herself as you were still bound.

With a deep breath, you began to lick and suck, your hands in fist to bring yourself some security. Velvette's hands threaded through your hair, guiding you as you tasted her.

"That's it, slut," she hissed, her voice low and dark. "Show me how sorry you are."

You redoubled your efforts, licking and nibbling at her skin, flicking your tongue against her clit. Velvette's breath hitched, her fingers tightening in your hair.

"Fuck, that feels good," she growled, her body arching into your mouth. "But you still haven't earned your orgasm."

You knew she was right, and you concentrated on pleasing her, your tongue working in tandem. Velvette's moans grew louder, her thighs shaking.

"You're doing well, Y/N," she said, her voice a ragged whisper. "But you still have a long way to go."

Velvette's voice was sharp, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pulled your head back. "Apologize for talking to that model," she demanded, her eyes like ice. "Admit that you were in the wrong,”

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. Saying the words would be humiliating, but you needed relief.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice breathy. "I shouldn't have talked to her. I was wrong."

Velvette's fingers loosened, her eyes narrowing. “Better,” she said, her voice still icy. "Now finish making me come, and maybe, just maybe, I'll let you cum."

You augmented your efforts, your tongue working with renewed vigor. Velvette's moans grew louder, her body trembling.

"You're close," you murmured against her folds, your own arousal reaching new heights, despite being the one getting dominated it was still hot to see her all shaky.

Velvette's body tensed, her moans growing louder as you brought her to orgasm. Her release washed over you, her juices coating your tongue and face.

"Good bitch," she panted, her body shuddering.

With that, Velvette pulled you to your feet, your bodies pressed together. Her fingers found your front once more, teasing you before starting to jerk you.

"Spread your legs," she ordered, her voice harsh. "I want a good view of your pretty body."

You complied, your heart racing. Velvette's hands played you like a fiddle, her gaze locked on your face.

"You're so wet," she said, her voice a mix of satisfaction and anger. "No wonder Valentino was so fucking smug about it."

Your body throbbed, the need for release growing stronger. Velvette's hands moved faster, her gaze never leaving your face.

"Beg me for it," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "Beg me to make you cum."

You hesitated, your breath hitching. Asking for her permission felt like a betrayal of yourself, but you needed relief.

"Please, Velvette," you whispered, your voice shaking. "I need to cum. Please let me cum."

Her fingers paused for a moment, her eyes locked on yours. "You're so desperate, aren't you?" she purred, her fingers resuming their pace.

She increased her pace, her hands toying with you with expert precision. Your body ached, your moans growing louder.

"Tell me how much you want it," she commanded, her voice a low growl. "Tell me how much you need to cum."

You hesitated, your face flushing, but you needed her permission.

"I need it, Velvette," you whispered, your voice trembling. "I need to cum so bad."

Her fingers slowed, her eyes never leaving your face. "You better make a good show, slut," she said, her voice tight. "Or I'll make you wait even longer next time."

Velvette's hands going faster, your body arching in response. You could feel the orgasm building, your breath coming in short bursts.

"That's it, Y/N," she growled, her voice low and dangerous. "Come for me."

With a final surge, you came, your body trembling as waves of pleasure washed over you. Velvette's hnads never stopped, her thumb brushing against your most sensitive part.

"That’s my good bitch," she said, her voice satisfied. "Now, I think it's time for a reward."

She pulled her fingers from your body, her eyes locked on your face. She leaned in, her lips brushing against yours. The kiss was rough, her tongue probing your mouth.

Velvette pulled away, her eyes still locked on yours. "You'll learn to behave next time, won't you?" she asked, her voice soft but firm.

You nodded, your body still trembling from your orgasm. As much as the experience had been humiliating and degrading, there was something thrilling about it, too.

"Yes, Velvette," you whispered, feeling both exhausted and satisfied.

With that she untied you, dressed you back up and sent you on your merry way to your shared room…

𝐕 Valentino & Vox 𝐕

Is one cock truly not enough for you, greedy whore~

Firstly, what possessed you to believe that engaging in any kind of relationship with both of them was an intelligent idea? Dealing with one is bad enough, but two? Are y’a crazy bitch?! (By the way, the bitch is me, I need these motherfucker to tag team me. Now that this is said, no more interruptions.)

Initially, this situation would be chaotic, not only due to the on and off relationship these two shared but now, you're also giving them attitude? ‘Who the fuck do you think you are?!’

The atmosphere would swiftly shift, with Val embodying his short-tempered self, and Vox grappling with frustration, both using you as some sort of stress reliever as they would fuck you until they were relaxed.

Picture this: Val once again enraged at an employee, Vox desperately attempting to pacify him. You entering the room, trying to innocently retrieving your charger left there this morning—‘nothing too troublesome, nothing to escalate their moods, right?’

Well, not quite. The catch is that your attire was entirely off the mark. Despite it being a Wednesday, the designated day for pink attire as Val had explicitly stated, your outfit missed the mark.

And it wasn't just Val overseeing your wardrobe; Vox had explicitly forbidden overly revealing clothing, especially when walking through the Vees' tower where anyone could catch an eyeful of you.

The burning question on both of their minds, as you discreetly attempted to grab your belongings and make your exit, was: 'Why the fuck were you in that skimpy red outfit?!' (It’s also that fucking radio demon’s color! — Vox)

It wouldn't take long for the situation to escalate into a heated argument. You asserting your independence, claiming the right to wear whatever you pleased, and their response insisting you belonged to them, hence you would dress as instructed. In addition, you would also insults their masculinity and critiques of their chosen attire for the day, as some sort of pay back.

Controlling your clothing marked an expression of their intense possessiveness. Despite its occasional annoyance, you found it fucking thrilling to be both their lover and plaything.

And as you would flip them off and attempting to leave the room, you'd feel a pair of clawed arms wrapping around you, digging into your flesh and forcefully pulling you back in. With that you would end up all tied up, and edge by those two shitheads. Malicious grins plastered on their faces.

If 'dressing like a depraved bitch in heat and act out,' was what you whole heartedly desired, then they would just have to mold you into a well-behaved little thing, one way or another.

Eventually, you'd be so thoroughly overwhelmed and overstimulated that the thought of defying them, or anything thought for that matter, would be far from your mind. But ‘hey, a win is a win!’

The day kicked off on a hot, particularly for your two Overlord boyfriends….

Valentino tenderly woke you with a kiss on your hair, while Vox used tender words to bring you back to reality.

"Y/N, sweetheart, time to wake up," Vox said, your body jerking awake. As you rubbed your eyes, Valentino left a trail of kisses from your shoulder to jaw. "We wouldn't want our sweet Y/N eating breakfast alone," he whispered into your ear.

You pulled away the covers, stood up, and let out a satisfied groan as you stretched. Continuing with your morning routine, you decided to spice things up when having taken a glance at your fully laid out outfit of the day.

Facing your fully clothed boyfriends on the heart-shaped bed, you sensually removed your pajamas, earning a whistle from Valentino and an open-mouthed stare from Vox.

Fully nude, you executed a reverse striptease, putting on your fresh clothes with the same sexed up attitude you just had when shedding yourself of your pyjama.

Once dressed, you completed your look, including jewelry, hair, skincare, and makeup. Slipping away to the kitchen, you avoided the customary morning kiss, leaving your lovers slightly irked.

Your deliberate avoidance continued at the breakfast table, and although they were busy, your actions left them with a slightly sour mood due to the absence of the usual morning ritual.

Meanwhile, you reveled in the small power trip of influencing the moods of these powerful men with such little actions.

Several hours had elapsed, and it was now lunchtime. Knowing Val, he was likely already enjoying his meal, while your TV-headed boyfriend, Vox, was likely too absorbed in his usual surveillance to remember the existence of food.

Being the thoughtful partner you were, you whipped up something delicious and nutritious, heading to the underground watching room before Vox could realize his hunger and order his usual unhealthy fast food.

Despite his argument that the food he consumed you considered ‘shitty’ was quicker and simpler to get a hold of, you knew the toll it took on his energy, sleep, and mood swings. So once you became close enough to speak your mind, you had 'aggressively kindly' nudged him toward a better diet;

As the lift platform halted, holding a picnic basket, you walked the catwalk towards Vox's chair. Catching him fixated on the screens with no food in sight, you leaned in and playfully said, "boo!" prompting a high-pitched scream from Vox, earning a smirk from you and a groggy reaction from him.

However, his demeanor swiftly changed as he received the first kiss of the day from you and noticed the basket in your hand, realizing it was likely a meal you had prepared to share.

Grabbing the basket, he placed it on his desk and pulled you onto his lap by the hips. You both began eating, with you feeding him – a domestic sight only accessible to you and the other Vees.

As you continued to feed Vox, you couldn't resist the opportunity to tease him. You started grinding your hips against his lap, feeling his growing erection beneath you. Your hand slid up and down his thigh, sending electric shocks through his body. He groaned into his food, clearly enjoying the attention.

After you finished our meal, you stood up, playfully caressing the edge of his screen and smirking at the eager expression on Vox's face. "You know what, Voxy? You seem mighty stressed to me, and I feel it’s only right for me to do something about it, right?"

His eyes widened in anticipation, and you could see the hint of a blush on his TV screen. you leaned in close to his ear, your lips grazing the monitor as you whispered, "You wanted that, don’t you?. emphasizing your words by grinding against him once more.

Vox couldn't help but moan softly at the thought of what you had planned for him. His eyes darted around the screens, trying to find a way to distract himself from the tempting proposition, but that did nothing to help his heighten arousal.

As you began to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants, he bit his lip to stifle another moan. "I can't believe you're doing this right after lunch," he murmured, his voice trembling with desire. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that, right?"

You chuckled softly, a wicked glint in your eyes as you lowered yourself to your knees in front of him. Your fingers deftly undid the final buttons and pulled his pants down, revealing his already hard member. A smirk graced your lips as you teased him by trailing your fingertips along the length of his cock.

Vox's breath hitched, his eyes closing tightly as he tried to maintain control. You leaned in closer, the warmth of your breath causing him to shiver. "You're so hard for me, Vox," you taunted, but soon got to the task ahead.

You eagerly took Vox's length into your mouth, you tongue tracing the vein that ran down the underside of his member. You sucked him diligently, your cheeks hollowing as you bobbed your head up and down, your eyes locked on his. Vox's fingers threaded through your hair, his breath coming in sharp gasps as the pleasure washed over him.

As the sensations built, his hips began to buck, his moans growing louder and more urgent. Just as he was about to reach his peak, you pulled back, a wicked grin on your face. Causing Vox to let out a dissatisfied whine.

So with a giggle, you stood up, you kissed the side of his monitor and quickly took your leave before he could fully register that you had left him panting and desperate.

As he regained his senses, his mood was certainly not the best,— let’s just say he was pissed when he was force to take care of the erection you had caused.

Continuing with your day, it was now a quarter past four, and you knew Valentino was still shooting. With the same mischievous spirit you had when you visited Vox, you headed to Valentino’s studio.

Luck was on your side as they were on a 10-minute break, so Val wouldn’t be bothered by your sudden arrival. In fact, he seemed delighted to see you, welcoming you with a hug that involved all four of his arms.

In return for his affection, you gave him some of yours, expressing it with a soft, sweet, and brief kiss. But of course, the overlord of lust and depravity wasn’t satisfied with such a short gesture, especially considering the state you’d put him in since that morning with your little stunt.

With two arms propping you up and the others encircling you, he pulled you in closer, one hand lifting your chin to bring your lips together. And oh, what a kiss it was.

Your kiss was far from gentle; it was a collision of desire and intensity, fueled by primal instincts and raw passion. He drew you closer, if that was even possible, his hands gripping you fiercely as your lips met with a hunger that bordered on desperation. There was an urgency to your embrace, a need to consume each other completely. Your mouths moved hungrily against each other, teeth clashing and tongues dueling in a fierce battle for dominance—a battle that Valentino obviously won.

His touch was possessive, leaving trails of fire in its wake as he explored every inch of your skin with a roughness that sent shivers down your spine. You responded in kind, your nails digging into his back.

Your kiss was a whirlwind of passion and desire, leaving you both breathless and panting when you finally parted.

As he lowered you down, you felt slightly dizzy, ‘must be Val’s toxins’. It was then that you noticed some staff members had stopped their work just to watch you, and you couldn't help but shoot Valentino a glare after assessing the situation as ‘that bastard knew you were being watch but didn’t say shit so that his employee stopped, even a simple wave from him would’ve have done the trick’. However, he only chuckled in response.

Taking his place in his director's chair, he stared at you intently before patting his lap. “Won’t you stay with papi and watch? After all, you did spend lunch with Voxxy. Won’t you do this for me, cariño?” he asked, his request momentarily distracting you from your thoughts.

It took you a moment to comply, your mind still processing the mention of lunch with Vox. ‘Had Vox told him what you’d done? Probably not, knowing Vox wouldn’t admit to being played like a fiddle by you. Then how—oh yeah, Vox took a selfie while you were feeding him, and he likely sent it to Val.’

With that revelation out of your mind, you settled into Valentino’s lap, one of his arms around your waist while the other had already started traced patterns on your thigh.

As the shoot began, you decided that Valentino should also get some of your ‘special attention’. With that in mind, you started to roll your hips. However, Valentino was quick to stop you in your tracks, his hand on your waist drawing you closer while the one on your throat and another on your thigh roughly squeezed the flesh as a way to say ‘stop’.

You listened to his warning, for a moment... stopping for 5 minutes or so before starting again, earning a hitched breath from the tall moth. His hold became more aggressive, slightly bending forward to whisper in your ear, “You’re really testing my patience, mi amor, and I’d suggest you stop unless you want me to fuck you right here and there in front of everyone.”

But you replied coyly with, “I don’t know what you're talking about,” emphasizing your words with another roll of your hips.

Despite Valentino being a sex maniac, just like Vox, he had grown too possessive to let others see you in such an intimate position, not even as punishment. So his current threat was all bark and no bite, and you both knew it.

He quickly realized that you knew, which caused him to ‘tsk’ and sit back. The man was too prideful to admit you were affecting him to the point where he couldn’t focus on his work properly. So his plan was to wait it out, to wait until the end of the shoot so he could put you in your place.

But by now, you knew him and his work too well. So, 30 minutes before it was over, you got up, informing Val that you had to go on a ‘bathroom break’. Of course, he allowed it, playing the role of the unaffected and non-retaliating.

But the catch that Valentino hadn’t anticipated was, this wasn’t a bathroom break; you had just run away without him noticing, leaving him to take care of his hard one just like you had done with Vox.

You giggled as you sat on your bed, thinking about how he would react when the shoot finally ended and everything clicked. And since you were already long gone, for time efficiency, he would just move on to the next shoot instead of chasing after you.

After all, he was on a time crunch; he probably only had 20 minutes or so of a break to take care of himself, definitely not enough time to find you and fuck you.

It was now 6 p.m., and you were out and about with Velvette, having grown close through your relationships with the two boys. She found you fun, and you could say the same about her. So it wasn’t out of the ordinary when she sent a text to each of them that she was taking ‘their bitch out to party’. As usual, she didn’t listen when they told her not to; she wanted to party with her bestie, and their boyfriends definitely weren’t going to stop her.

So there you were, clubbing hard, singing along loudly, dancing your ass off, and drinking in a manner that was definitely overindulgent, but who cared? You weren’t going to die from it.

As you were chatting it up with Velvette, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you were met with quite the good-looking hellhound. He introduced himself as Marco and thought you were cute. He wanted to see if you could get drinks together, maybe exchange numbers. He was sweet and wasn’t forcing himself on you or anything, so you spoke honestly to him.

“I’m going to level with you, Marco,” you said. “Okay,” he replied.

“You seem like a very sweet hound, but I’m currently in a wonderful relationship with the loves of my life, or is it afterlife?—anyways, what I mean to say is thanks for the offer, but I can’t accept.” You rambled due to the alcohol already in your system, and Marco expressed that he understood and was happy for you.

But then an idea came to mind. “But could I actually ask you a favour, Marco?” you inquired.

“Sure, as long as it’s not too extravagant of an ask,” he replied.

“Never. Anywho, I was wondering if you’d be down to take a selfie with me, nothing too intimate, but you’d be holding me in it, like a really close hug. I want to tease my boyfriends, and that’ll definitely do the trick,” you told him.

He pondered for a second, then a “Sure, why not?” came out.

And so the selfie-taking proceeded. You followed through on your words, nothing but his hands around your waist. You knew that would get another rise from your ‘tv head and moth man’ when they saw your new Sinstagram post.

Were they going to do anything to Marco? No. You’d say something along the lines of ‘I’ll never forgive you’ and give them the cold shoulder if they did. Plus, they’d know this was just teasing, nothing more. If you had intended to make them furious, you would have kissed the guy.

Putting your phone down after posting the selfie with a couple of different pictures from the night, you soon felt it buzz. Looking at the notifications, they were texts from Vox and Valentino. But in your drunk and teasing mindset, you decided to ignore them, just shooting a glance at Velvette, which she understood meant ‘you can text them if they ask about me, but I won’t be doing it.’

She only rolled her eyes at that look but then chuckled at the thought of the state you probably had Valentino and Vox in, because those guys had some serious jealousy issues.

9 p.m. had hit, and you and Velvette had decided you were good for the night. So, calling your driver, you waited by the curb.

“You know they’re going to fuck the shit out of you for that little picture,” she said before taking a hit of her vape.

“Oh, I’m counting on it. That’s why I already left both of them high and dry separately today,” you replied. She looked at you, surprised for a second, then burst out laughing.

“Bitch, you’re crazy! That’s why I like you, though.” With that said, the car had finally arrived, and in about 15 minutes, you were back at the tower.

Velvette had shot you a teasing ‘good luck’ once you both had stepped out of the elevator on the last floor.

You took off your shoes before entering your room. Pushing the door open, you were met with your two boyfriends sitting on your bed, staring straight at you. They must have been waiting for your return.

"Well, well, well, look who decided to grace us with their presence, Val. It’s our little professional photographer," Vox remarks, his tone laced with amusement and spite.

"Oh, indeed, Vox. It seems that truly adore the art, don't they? So much so that they’ll snap a pic at any given opportunity, regardless of who they're doing it with." Val adds, his words carrying a subtle innuendo.

"Oh please, it was just a hug," you retorted dismissively as you turned away from them, starting to change out of your outing clothes.

"Just a hug? JUST A HUG?!!" Valentino's voice rose with indignation. "That mutt was practically fucking you!" he exclaimed. Despite Valentino's tendency to exaggerate, he was jumping to the guns, Marco hadn’t even been groping you, but you refrained from pointing that out.

"That hellhound shouldn’t have been in your vicinity, point blank," Vox added, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with Valentino's statement.

"You two are such babies, you should stop fussing over a little selfie already," you scoffed, turning your head to look at them as you removed your last article of clothing.

Retrieving a towel from your drawer, you mentally decided it was time for a shower. In their minds, however, they were planning to make you pay for that picture and for teasing them earlier in the day.

In your mind, you were now going to take a shower, seeking solace in the calming embrace of warm water. However, in their minds, they had already made a silent pact to exact retribution for the audaciousness you had when snapping that picture and your teasing behavior throughout the day.

As you reached for the bathroom door handle, on of Valentino's hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, pulling you back towards the bed. His grip was firm but not painful, leaving no doubt that you were not going anywhere until they had made their point clear. Vox stood up and joined him, a predatory gleam in his eyes as he towered over you.

"We'll show you what happens when you play with fire, brat," Valentino growled, his voice low and threatening. Vox nodded in agreement, his expression mirroring Valentino's anger.

Before you could protest or plead, they had you pinned down on the bed, your struggles met with their iron grip. Their faces hovered over yours, their anger palpable in the way their eyes burned with intensity.

Vox and Valentino started discussing strategies on how best to punish you for your transgressions, right in front of you.

"We need to teach them a lesson," Vox declared,"Something... memorable."

"Agreed," Valentino chimed in, tightening his grip on you as you tried to shuffle around "Something... painful."

"Yes, yes, something painful," Vox echoed, rubbing his temples in frustration. "We need to make sure they knows who the boss is here."

In unison, they nodded ominously, their plans solidifying rapidly.

"This is what happens when you toy with us, bébé~" Valentino hissed, his free hand reaching for a belt that he kept nearby. The sound of leather hitting flesh echoed through the room as he brought it down on your thighs, the sting of each blow making you yelp in pain and surprise.

Vox watched with approval, his own arousal growing as he saw the marks forming on your skin. He moved closer, his fingers tracing the lines that Valentino was creating.

"You see this, doll," Vox purred, his voice low and seductive, "you see what you make us do when you behave like a brat. We don’t like hurting you,” a lie. “but can’t just let you do whatever, we do not tolerate petty disobedience, I thought you’d knew that by now."

His fingers trailed down to your chest, playing your now perked nipples. You squirmed beneath their touch, a mix of fear and arousal coursing through your veins.

Valentino paused momentarily, the belt falling limply to the side. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered "Remember this, cariño. We may love you, but that doesn’t mean you got free reins to be a bratty ass bitch."

With that, he released you, stepping back to allow Vox his turn. The television-headed demon's gaze never left your face as he took the belt from Valentino, his eyes flickering with anticipation.

Vox cracked the belt across your ass, the sharp sting catching you off guard. You cried out, your body arching involuntarily as the pain seared into your skin. But then, an unexpected warmth spread through you, a strange mixture of pain and pleasure that you couldn't quite comprehend.

Valentino watched from the corner of the room, his eyes locked onto your reactions. As you writhed beneath Vox's hand, he began undressing, slowly revealing his muscular form. He wore nothing but a pair of black silk boxers that did little to hide his arousal.

Once naked, he walked over to you, his steps confident and assured. He picked up a pair of handcuffs from the nightstand and began to tie your hands behind your back, securing your mouvement firmly. As the cuffs tightened, a jolt of arousal was sent through you.

Vox continued spanking you, alternating between the belt and his open palm. Your skin turned a darker shade, a testament to your punishment. Yet, despite the pain, you couldn't deny the rush of lust pulsating through your veins.

Finally, Vox stopped spanking you, satisfied with the sight of your reddened cheeks. He stepped back, admiring his work, before whispering softly, "Such a bad little thing, aren't you? But don't worry, we won't leave you like this. We're going to give you what you deserve."

Valentino knelt beside you, his eyes glinting with desire. He gently stroked your hair, whispering soothing words into your ear, "It's okay, amorcito. It's all going to be okay. Just let go."

Their words, combined with the physical pain, pushed you further into a state of heightened arousal. You felt your body responding to their dominance, your core throbbing in anticipation.

Valentino stood up, motioning for Vox to join him. They exchanged a heated glance, their shared desire evident. With a nod, they moved towards you, Vox taking your legs while Valentino held your torso. Together, they positioned you on your knees, your ass lifted invitingly.

Valentino reached for a bottle of lubricant from the nightstand, pouring a generous amount into his hand. He rubbed it on your entrance, preparing you for what was to come. Your breathing hitched as his cool touch met your heated core, sending shivers down your spine.

Quickly after, Vox moved behind you, his erection hard and ready. He positioned himself at your entrance, pausing briefly to grab your hair and look into your eyes. There was a mix of fear and lust in your gaze, and he smirked, knowing he had you exactly where he wanted you.

With a swift thrust, he entered you, filling you completely. You gasped, your body adjusting to the invasion. His movements were slow and deliberate, each thrust pushing deeper inside you.

Valentino watched intently, his cock equally hard and ready. He practically couldn't wait for his turn, but first, he wanted to see the full effect of their domination on you.

Vox increased his pace, his thrusts becoming faster and harder. His grip on your hair tightened, his other hand holding onto your hip for support. Each time he slammed into you, your breasts bounced enticingly, drawing Valentino's attention.

"Look at them, Vox," Valentino said, his voice thick with desire. "See how much they wants this. How much they needs this."

Vox grunted in response, his movements becoming more erratic. He pulled you back, using your hair to lift your head, and you found yourself looking straight into his cyan-colored eyes.

"That's it, whore," he hissed, his voice low and menacing. "Take it like a good little slut."

Valentino joined in, running his hands over your body, pinching your nipples roughly. His touch was both tender and cruel, eliciting moans from you.

"You like this, don't you?" he taunted, his voice a soft purr. "You love when we’re mean to you, bitch~"

Vox then pulled you up into a chokehold, applying pressure to your throat. You struggled slightly, but the combination of pain and pleasure was overwhelming. Your body arched involuntarily, your climax approaching rapidly.

The pressure on your throat intensified, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. Your vision blurred, your world narrowing down to the sensations coursing through you. Everywhere Vox touched felt electrified, every thrust of his hips driving you higher.

"Cum for me, bitch," Vox snarled, his voice hoarse with desire. Valentino continued to play with your nipples with his top hands, as his bottom ones took care your front.

Your release was imminent, the pressure building within you threatening to burst. You mewled, your muscles clenching around Vox, your orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave.

As you climaxed, Vox continued to choke you, his movements becoming wilder. You felt him swell inside you, his soon reached his climax.

Finally, he came, roaring your name as he filled you completely. He held you in the chokehold for a few more seconds before releasing you, allowing you to catch your breath.

Your breathing was hieratic as you felt your body plot down against the mattress. But to bass for you they didn’t intend on letting you rest.

Valentino stepped up behind you, his erection still throbbing. Without warning, he entered you from behind, his movements slow and deep. The sensation of being filled so so only after your first climax was quite the overstimulating one.

Without warning, Valentino pushed your head into the mattress, your face buried in the soft fabric. You gasped, feeling the sudden loss of control. He spanked you again, the sting mixing with the lingering ache from earlier.

"That's right, bitch," he growled, his voice rough. "Stay quiet. Take what I give you."

His thrusts became faster, his hips slamming into you with each movement. You could feel Vox's semen leaking out slightly, only to be replaced by Valentino's relentless pursuit.

Each strike of his hand echoed through the room, punctuating the sounds of your moans and their grunts. The pain and pleasure merged, creating a symphony of submission.

Valentino's fingers dug into your hips, gripping tightly as he pounded into you. Your body responded, moving with his rhythm, your inner walls milking him with each thrust.

Despite the pain, you couldn't help but enjoy the feeling of being owned, of being taken by these powerful beings. Their dominance over you was absolute, and it excited you beyond measure.

As Valentino neared his own climax, he tightened his grip on your hips, his thrusts becoming more frantic. Your body shook beneath him, your second orgasm building quickly.

"Come for me, slut," he demanded, his voice thick with desire. "Let me hear you scream!" He said as he pulled your hair, contradicting his previous statement about wanting you to be quite.

You complied, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. Your entire body convulsed, your nails digging into the mattress as you screamed his name.

Valentino roared, his release pulsing inside you. He stayed still for a moment, catching his breath before withdrawing slowly.

As he stepped away, you collapsed onto the bed, panting heavily. The room was silent, save for your labored breaths.

Before you could recover, Valentino had wrapped his arms around you, his chin resting on your shoulder. He entered you from behind, his size stretching you wide. Your body trembled, your nerves overwhelmed by the dual invasion.

Following suit, Vox positioned himself in front of you, his erection already hard once more. Without warning, he slid back into you, his length filling you from the front. You cried out, your body protesting the overstimulation.

"Shhh, calm down ‘bébé’," Valentino whispered in your ear, his voice husky with desire. "We're not done with you yet."

Vox started thrusting, his movements slow and measured. Valentino followed his lead, their rhythms meshing perfectly. Your body bounced between them, caught in a vice of pleasure and pain.

They didn't care about your limits, your protests falling on deaf ears. Instead, they reveled in your discomfort, their own desires guiding their actions.

Their faces were etched with concentration, their eyes locked onto yours. They seemed almost hypnotized, lost in the act of taking you.

As they continued to thrust into you, their movements became more synchronized. Their bodies moved as one, their hips slapping against each other. In sync, they leaned in, capturing each other's lips in a fierce kiss.

Tongues tangling, their passion was palpable. It was a display of obsession and possession, leaving you breathless.

But their focus wasn't solely on each other. With one hand, Valentino gripped your hair, twisting it gently. Vox reached around, caressing your chest roughly.

Their kiss broke, Vox shifting his gaze to you. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss. His tongue delved deep, claiming you as his own.

When he pulled away, Valentino took over, his lips crushing against yours in a brutal kiss. His hands wandered, cupping your face, and then moving down to your neck.

Between kisses, they continued to fuck you, their bodies merging with yours. Their actions spoke volumes - you belonged to them, and you should know better than to fuck with them.

With each kiss, your body grew more sensitive, your mind clouded with lust. Vox and Valentino fed off your reactions, their desire escalating.

"That's it, baby," Valentino murmured against your lips, his breath hot and heavy. "Let go for us." He said as he let his hands wonder down to your front to increased the sensation.

Vox nodded, his thrusts growing more forceful. "Yes, cum for us."

Between kisses, they increased their pace, their movements relentless. Your climax built quickly, your body shaking beneath them.

Finally, you came, screaming into Vox's mouth. Their thrust not relenting as they chased their own orgasm.

As Vox and Valentino neared their climaxes, their thrusts grew more desperate. Sweat dripped from their bodies, mingling with yours. Their gazes locked, a silent agreement passed between them.

With a roar, Valentino thrust deep inside you, his release spilling within you. At the same time, Vox claimed you once more, his cum joining lover’s.

You all panted heavily as they remained inside you, enjoying the aftermath of their conquest.

In the silence that followed, you lay between them, exhausted and spent.

Some ‘I love you’s were shared as you all drifted off, it looks like showering will a ‘tomorrow’ type of task…

Thanks anon for requesting!

©tswhiisfttedr. dn translate, or plagiarize.

Tip Me (Ko-Fi) & And support my art account @maviscarlettie

You can now commission me!

Reblogs help!!! (Request Are On Pause)

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bylertruthr · 2 months ago

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i’ve been wondering. why do people get so mad when people ship Byler, while they nonetheless support and like other ships that include Mike/El (example: Elmax)?

well the only logical explanation for this is that, if we’re being real, Elmax has almost a zero percent chance of being canon in S5. i think we can all agree with that. so people ship it because it’s fun and because their dynamic is cute, so what’s the harm in shipping them romantically right??? well that’s the thing. they KNOW it won’t be canon. that’s why they ship it, because it has almost a 0% chance of destroying their ‘perfect ship’, (aka Milkvan).

on the OTHER hand, the reason Milkvans (and some general fans) are pissed off with Byler shippers is because it actually has a chance of becoming canon in S5. think about it— what other possible reason could they be so mad at us for shipping them together? because they’re two boys?? but aren’t Elmax also two girls? so that’s not a valid excuse.

they see how our theories and proof make sense, yet they still call us “delusional” and that we’re “trying to make a character gay” because that’s the only responses they can ever come up with. to add to it, it has literally never been confirmed or denied that Mike is straight or not. so we are technically allowed to theorise about his sexuality and his possibly internalised homophobia; unlike Will who is canonically gay and in love with Mike (confirmed by Noah Schnapp, who plays Will, himself.) (also to all those who ship him with El, please get help. i mean it. <3)

it’s also the fact that if Will were a girl, i mean, just think about it— almost EVERY Milkvan shipper would be ready to admit that there’s something between Will and Mike. i can guarantee that 70% of Milkvan shippers would probably be team Byler. but they can’t see the signs because, number one, they’re less obvious to the GA, and number two, they’re both guys, so obviously their chemistry is just platonic, right? 😒

again, i’m not saying that affectionate male friendships shouldn’t be normalised in TV shows. i absolutely think they should be. but it’s the fact that there’s so much evidence backing up our theories and claims that makes us believe that this is not just a “simple affectionate male friendship.” again, we’re just called delusional because we DARE to believe in a queer couple being endgame. isn’t that crazy, when you think about it?

if you’re ever having Byler doubt, do not let those milkvans brainwash you into thinking you’re imagining things, because you’re not. you’re one of the few who can actually detect possibly hidden romantic innuendo, and i’m proud of you for that. you’re not delusional. you’re not desperate for a character to be queer. you’re simply observing and seeing very clear facts.

thank you for reading my rant if you made it this far 💕😭

#byler #stranger things #byler nation #will byers #mike wheeler #byler is endgame #byler endgame #byler s5 #byler is real #byler is canon #anti milkvan #anti mileven #byler proof #byler doubt

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noxiatoxia · 3 months ago

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okay, i’ve been obsessing over your komaeda translations and i must know… given the unsure way he talks in the japanese (lots of filler words), does his dialogue change much after he learns the truth? late ch4, i mean. when he starts being condescending to everyone. i’m also very curious about his big speech about wanting to be called the ultimate hope

Hello, anon! Thank you for the message and interesting question! And thank you for the patience!

So, there's three questions here if I'm understanding:

Does Komaeda's speech pattern (sounding softer and using filler words, or generally downplaying his words) change later into ch.4?

When Komaeda starts rambling about hope, does he speak more clearly and more confidently?

What is the nuance in Komaeda's "hope" speech on the laptop?

I will answer all 3 in this order.

(Also, for anybody confused.... here's my post talking about how Komaeda uses filler words, and here's my post talking about how Komaeda's speech was deliberately changed during the earlier beta to make him sound less confident in himself.)

So, question number one:

1. Does Komaeda talk more rudely, use less filler words, or talk more assuredly in ch.4?

Hmm...I don't think so. He still uses honorifics for everyone (-san for girls and -kun for boys), he still uses sa and ne to the same amount, and he does not seem to devote any sort of rude speech for the most part. It is only his words that change, and not the way he speaks them.

My memory is horrifically bad, so please keep that in mind...I asked my friend @kaiokentimesten for help, and was provided with a good number of lines he remembered from ch.4/5 of Komaeda saying rude things, and I looked them up in the Japanese version. All lines were said in his usual speech formations, so there was no change. Again, the words he spoke just happened to be ruder, but they were said in the same tone.

I will show an example.

KOMAEDA: おっと、安易にハムスターを例に出すと、脱落した彼に怒��れちゃうかな? KOMAEDA: Oops. How clumsy of me to use hamsters as an example. Do you think that loser* would've gotten mad at me if he were still here?

*Komaeda does say "dropout" and it's used for people who have been eliminated in a game, or failed a test/exam/otherwise didn't "make the cut". I just think "loser" works better as a translation.

Nothing changes about Komaeda's speech here, he talks the same as he always does. He's just saying meaner words.

(I don't know where the translators got "weakling" from...that's nowhere in the text.)

The only exception I can think of is the beginning of Trial 4. Souda remarks they talk about the murder weapon, and Komaeda three times goes, "Ha?"

It's a funny scene, but significant because, as far as I know, this is the only time Komaeda uses this word.

(I could be wrong, but I'm totally coming up empty right now...please correct me if I am!)

は ha, is very rude. It means "What?" or "Huh?" but is a very rude way to say it. People like Kuzuryuu and Oowada love using it, and Hinata uses it a fair amount, although even Hinata - who's whole design philosophy, as pointed out by the SDR2 artbook, is to be more masculine and ruder than Naegi was - uses え e more often.

え e, うん un, ん nn, あれ are, are more casual but non-rude ways to say "What?"

Komaeda always used one of those first four from what I can remember, or simply 何 nani, which is probably the most neutral way to say "What?"

So to see Komaeda use this is surprising.

This is different than ははは, はっ, or あはは which are normal laughing sounds.

Oh, before we move out of Chapter 4, here's a mistranslation I want to point out (or, less mistranslation, more very direct translation where the joke is lost in English).

KOMAEDA: じゃあ、始めようか。シンキングターイム...ってヤツだね。

Komaeda isn't a stranger to randomly injecting English words into his speech - a quirk that I feel is used to show he's a bookworm/otherwise intelligent (that's just my thought) - and in those instances, instead of translating directly (because using English in English loses the nuance that using English in Japanese does) I would replace it with bigger, more obscure English words.

But this is actually not one of those times.

Another thing Komaeda is no stranger to is making random pop culture references. He does it more than you would think for a character like him.

While "Thinking Time" isn't a reference to any specific Japanese media per se, it's Japanese game show lingo.

For example, a tough question is given to the contestants, and they have 30 seconds to think of the answer before being forced to give one. These 30 seconds are called "Thinking Time".

I don't know the English equivalent. I know there's a countdown timer in stuff like Jeopardy and Minute to Win It, but I don't think they say anything. Sometimes it's "You have [x] seconds, good luck!" Or "and...start!" or suchlike.

I guess in that case, this line is better localized as:

KOMAEDA: Let's start! You have 30 seconds on the clock...good luck!

(I chose 30 seconds because that's how long the "Make your Selection" part lasts maximum).

2. When ranting about hope, does Komaeda speak more clearly, more confidently?

Yes!

In scenes like post- Chapter 1 trial, where Komaeda monologues to the audience for a few minutes before being knocked out - where he is rambling on and on - his speech is noticeably smoother with less pauses or filler injections. I would also venture to say the way he speaks makes it sound like he is stating facts, that he is very confident in his assertions.

3. Komaeda's Hope Speech on the laptop

Firstly, I want to point somethings out...unrelated to the hope speech itself, but just fun to note.

The garbled, loud noise you hear sometimes where Komaeda is speaking is not gibberish (listen here, volume warning). For whatever reason, the English version did not have Bryce Papenbrook record lines for this, and still uses the Japanese version.

It doesn't reveal any new information, sadly. And I can't make out the second one...but it's highly likely in that line I linked that Komaeda is saying 希望は絶望なんかに負けないんだ or "Hope will never lose to despair."

When it comes to the scrambled text...I've never been much of a decoder, but I can point some stuff out.

For one, I'm 99% sure the Japanese team probably provided the translators with the full, unscrambled text so they could better translate it.

That said, it's not impossible to figure this out.

<まじむかつく+超Ｙさしい２こんなにEEものｇ１０２＄うRしｓ～＝～＋いｄｓねうれOｒｚ』

まじむかつく is a term that means "extremely irritated" hence "seriously pissing me off".

The + is the same in both version, I assume it means "and".

The next part needs a little explaining. In Japanese, all consonants (for the most part) are followed by a vowel. on a Japanese keyboard, if you do not finish typing the character, only the consonant shows up.

for example, な is "na". but if you only type the n and don't follow with the a, you get ｎ.

There's a lot of Japanese slang based off this. To type ん you have to type "n" twice. so, a slang form of konnichiwa (こんにちは) is shortened to こん, konn. But it got shortened even further to こｎ.

so, 超Ｙさしい requires a bit of guesswork, as there are several sounds that start with "y", like ゆ yu, よ yo, や ya. the さしい at the end tells us it's an adjective.

超 in this case means "very", like "very expensive" or "very awesome".

Likely, Yさしい is やさしい, which is either "kind" or "easy".

This makes 超Ｙさしい either "extremely kind/nice" or "extremely simply/easy".

Official translators wrote it as "hella nice", aka "very kind".

Beyond that I start to get bad at this xD I don't know where they get "I can't believe something odd like this is only $102".

The 2 may be に, as 2 in Japanese is pronounced に(ni), and に is a particle.

I think the ＥＥ Is to be read like いい (ii) in Japanese. And the ｇ might be が (ga)?

超やさしいにこんなにいいものが１０２＄

こんなにいいもの would be "Such nice stuff" or "Really good stuff".

が at the end could be "But..." or "However..." but if the 102$ is connected somehow, then it may be an object particle.

Maybe it's "Really good stuff gotten easy for $102"

But that isn't fully true to the official English version, so maybe they were provided with more clear words to translate from. Like I said, I'm no good at codes.

The last part is easy though. うRし follows the same rule as before. うれし Ur(e)shi(i), which means "happy". I don't know what the "s" is, since it seems the sentence picks back up at いｄｓね, as うれしい is the full word. "d s" is probably d(e)s(u) with the ne particle at the end. うれしいですね, which means "I'm happy!"

And I'm guessing Orz is the emoticon.

Okay, sorry for rambling. When it comes to the actual speech, there is something interesting to note, albiet small.

The English version is correct in its translation, and the only thing I have to offer is the nuance behind how Komaeda makes his requests.

He says stuff like, "Respect me" "Praise me" "Build a bronze statue of me" and such. And he requests all of these by saying ～てくれ ~tekure.

I don't think Komaeda ever uses this outside of this speech. てくれ can be seen as rather rude. Though the formation looks like an imperative (very rude), it is not, since at it's core, てくれ means you are asking someone to do something for you, not ordering them. It is still the rudest way you can "request" something though.

It's not as severe as Komaeda yelling 黙れよ (damare yo) in 2.5, but it's close behind.

It does show he is being very callous and assertive in this scene, truly a 180 from him being casual but still respectful. This sort of demanding request tone coming from Komaeda is surprising, I feel.

Otherwise...there isn't really any nuance to add, I'm afraid. The speech is rather straight forward and the English version translates it well.

I hope this answers your questions!

#;noxiatalks2ya #nagito komaeda #danganronpa #sdr2 #dr #;translationtalk

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deadassluv · 29 days ago

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Being honest, what I truly want to see in season four is Sammy and Kenji crying their butts out to each other. Like I want to see them share all their struggles and shit to one another. I want them to let it all out.

For example:

Sammy: My dad used to be my idol I’ve always looked up to him, I even sacrificed so much to see him and the rest of my family happy but he still pushed me away like I was nothing. I feel like I don’t have a family anymore.

Kenji: Girl I feel you, all my life Ive been trying to make my dad proud but he always rejected me, now he’s gone forever, just like my mom. Which means I also don’t have a family…

*they both cry like crazy while hugging each other*

THATS WHAT I WANT

I love Samji (platonically obviously) ever since their goofy interactions in cc season 3 I can’t stop thinking about how good their siblings dynamic is.

They also have so much in common!!

Both Sammy and Kenji are super humorous people, they are the clowns in the friend group. They love to make their friends smile.

They both lost the first person they truly fell in love with due to the lack of communication and because their partners were prioritizing something else over them.

They both seemed to suffer from anger issues and really bad anxiety. Kenji lets anger and fear control his actions and words most of the time and for Sammy we start to see the same thing in season two when Yaz is left behind.

They both suffer from depression. YES BOTH. We have probably seen it more on Kenji but it’s also starting to show on Sammy too.

They both are lonely asf. Kenji lives in a trailer (Please correct me if I’m wrong I kind of forgot what it was) all alone, the only people he probably communicated with were Darius’s mom and Sammy. Mrs Bowman because he said it himself and Sammy because she said that he kept changing his phone number which means he probably communicated with her enough for her to always know when he changed it. Ben was too paranoid to communicate with anyone, Darius was ignoring everyone, and Yaz probably didn’t talk to him unless he reached out first. Same thing with Sammy, girl had to take care of a ranch all by herself with a whole ass dinosaur, which I’m pretty sure she didn’t mind taking care of Bumpy cause come on is Bumpy she loves her, and also having to deal with a grumpy neighbor. Probably the only people she communicated with were Yaz and Kenji, and you already know what’s up with the rest. Oh and Brooklynn before she “died”

I guess my point is that they both need to speak out their minds and hearts to someone. And I feel like that someone is them, each other. I know for a fact Kenji would listen to Sammy without turning things against her, and Sammy will listen to Kenji because she’s Sammy and she’s someone that tries and listens to people’s problems because she cares too much.

Only reason why she got so mad at Yaz is because Yaz used things like her family problems against her, she also called her names, and wasn’t even trying to understand her side of the story. I’m a 100% sure Sammy would have let Yaz go help Brooklynn without having to break up if Yaz just listen and was more understanding of where Sammy was coming from. But Yaz was trying so hard to change Sammy’s mind instead of just understanding her side.

Anyways, back to Kenji and Sammy. I don’t want to see them forgive Brooklynn right away, and is not because I hate Brooklynn or whatever, I fucking love Brooklynn, is because that would destroy their character development in some way. Sammy and Kenji are finally growing as characters, they are finally showing different kind of emotions, actions, dialogues. Making them forgive Brooklynn right away would destroy all that.

I hope no one felt offended with this post. I don’t hate a single member of the Nublar six, truly, I love them all. I believe they’re all great and unique characters. So if anything of what I said offended any of you somehow, my apologies. Also, if y’all have different opinions I want to see them!

#jurassic world chaos theory #jwct #sammy gutierrez #kenji kon

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mkredraw · 2 months ago

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FAQ

When is the Magic Kaito Redraw event scheduled?

Signups open on May 5th. Signups close on June 5th. Discord invites will be given out by June 15th. Artists finish their pages by September 30th. The finished product will be released sometime in October.

What happens if there aren’t enough artists?

Artists will have the option to sign up for multiple pages to make sure we can fill out the whole volume.

What happens if there are too many artists?

If we end up getting applications for as many artists as there are pages, we will close the signup sheets early and no longer accept new applicants.

Will there be a book I can buy when it's done?

Nope. This is a digital zine.

Do I have to draw digital artwork?

Nope! So long as you're able to get a clean scan/photo of your art and it's the correct dimensions, you can use any medium you want. Exact dimensions will be available in the guidelines.

How do collabs work?

If you and a friend want to sign up as an artist team to collaborate on your page(s), then fill out the signup sheet as normal, but specify that you're a team (there will be a check box) and put down both of your names/discord handles instead of just one.

I don’t have someone to ask to collab with. Can I ask someone once in the discord server?

Nope. Due to the way this event is organized, we'll be sorting out who gets what pages before we officially bring people into the discord server. You have to be prepared to do your assigned pages by yourself if you don't sign up with a collab partner at the start.

I filled out the sign-up form. How do I know if I'll get the page I wanted?

You'll be told what page(s) you get assigned by June 15th when we hand out discord invites. Pages are assigned on a first-come first-serve basis, which is why we ask for backup options. Unfortunately, not everyone is going to get a page that they really really wanted. It's the nature of the beast.

I filled out the sign-up form. What if something happens and it turns out I can't make my deadline?

If something turns up in your life and you know you'll be late to a deadline, you can talk to mods about it! We're not going to kick you out because you got sick and fell behind on your drawing time, for example. If something turns up that makes you need to drop out entirely, no worries. That's what pinch hitters are for. Your page(s) will be redistributed to artists dedicated to picking up the slack on short notice.

I filled out the sign-up form. When will I get access to the discord?

We have to assign all the pages, and then we'll contact artists with their page number(s) and a link to the discord. We'll be finished by June 15th, please be patient!

Do I have to have a discord account?

Yes, it’s required to participate. We’re keeping track of everyone and their progress through a discord server for ease of communication and organization. If you don’t have an account, you can make one just for this and then never touch the platform again if you’d like.

I’m not an artist/I don’t want to draw anything. Can I join the server just to see what’s going on?

Nope! Sorry. It’s for mods and participants only. You get to wait and see once it’s all shiny and finished.

Can I be a mod?

Nope! Full up on those.

How did you guys draw that ad page? Seriously, I can't believe it's not Gosho!

It is Gosho, doofus (look in the back of MK Vol. 2 if you don't believe us). Everyone give a round of applause to @marivanilla05's mad coloring skills!

#faq

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nthspecialll · 3 months ago

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Why do people genuinely get mad at people who think that Arthur might be straight?

I’m mostly on Twitter tbh but whenever I’ve seen someone say that they believe that Arthur is straight and that Charles and Arthur are particularly just friends, even no matter how respectful the op has been — they’ve been called homophobic or/and hated on by a certain type of fan.

Both me and my partner have noticed how it’s usually some users in particular that always seems to be in drama, and it’s like they can’t handle other opinions? I’m literally in a gay relationships with another man so obviously I hate homophones as much as the next person, and I don’t mind people clocking homophobes or just homophobic ways of thinking in the fandom space, but I’ve genuinely stopped enjoying the fandom on Twitter due to how it’s some users in particular that always seems to find a problem with someone expressing their opinions on popular ships, even if it hasn’t been directed towards anyone and kept almost overly respectful.

My partner is more on tumblr than I am but even he has gotten tired of seeing more than a couple of snarky comments from people not so subtly “calling people out” for expressing their opinions on something, especially regarding shipping. I’m obviously not talking about said people expressing their opinions as well in return because that’s ofc fine, I’m more so talking about people starting drama and being very passive aggressive both in people’s comments or in clearly targeted posts.

This has nothing to do with any recent particular drama, it’s just something I’ve noticed. Arguing over ships are frankly quite pointless and ridiculous, especially when it is over someone regardless of stance, expresses very respectfully their thoughts only to be met with snark and the whole “holier than thou” act.

And the fact that I’ve seen this mostly with a certain type of marthur and charthur shippers, it’s kind of strange. More so when people do deep dives on Mary for example and acknowledge how misogyny affects how people view her character and acknowledge the time period etc — people still seem to ignore everything one has said about it and immediately acts like you cannot speak of the character without it being born out of misogyny, even when I’ve personally seen someone with Mary as their number one character and hyper fixation get literally chased off Twitter for saying that Mary’s character was valid in her choices but that it’s okay for others to also criticize them. :/

I sure hope that you haven't gotten that feeling from me, that I have been hating on anyone, if so I would love to know where and how so I can change it, because that was not my intention.

I can't put myself into the heads of haters, like full honesty, but I think, just speculation, that people act out to "straight Arthur" because they are worried. Fanspaces have always been gay and fan spaces have been a safe space for queer folk to be for as long as it has existed, but especially recently there has come a lot of 'normies', for a lack of better word, into our spaces, that combined with all of the unrest in the world, it can kind of feel like a threat I suppose?

We have already seen the fall of crackships, rarepairs, words like kinning and OTP, all of these 'weird' things have been pushed out, and some places shipping anything that isn't canon, ESPECIALLY gay ships will earn you a slur or two. Fandom spaces no longer just belong to fanatics like it used to, but is more so becoming normalised, which has meant that socialital standards are also being pushed in, and sadly being gay is still not overall socially accepted.

People are worried something simple and harmless like 'oh I see Arthur as straight' can snowball into something bigger, and this can especially also be true with the red dead fandom because we already see a shit ton of homophobic sexist dudes due to the nature of the game. It might feel like you give them an itch they take a mile.

Again, I am not saying that is how I feel, not at all, I don't care what sexuality you want to see any character as, any headcanon is as valid as the next person's, but I do think that might be it. I could also be completely wrong, but you gave me a question and that is the best answer I can give.

As for the Mary part, yeah, folk think if you speak possitivly about any character with any flaw that comes from the time period you agree with them. I speak a lot about Bill and how his army training affected him and I have had folk up my ass for that.

#arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur #red dead redemption community #john marston #red dead fandom #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption two #rdr2 #rdr2 community #rdr john #ask #asks #answered asks #nthspecialll asks #nthspecialll

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ilovefreedelahoya · 4 months ago

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Yap time

The way beyblade deals with certain emotions is really good imo

Im mainly gonna focus on disappointment, persistence/determination, fustration, growth, pride, and many things like that.

Every blader wants to win, and when they don’t, they get fustrated. All bladers deal with it differently. Some(Shu) throw their beys on the ground and scream. Others(Valt) are filled with determination to try again and get stronger. Bell fell into a mini depression after Rashad broke Belia. Beyblade is also not scared to let the boys cry over broken beys, it’s their passion and spirit of their soul pratically, and it was destroyed while they had such high hopes of winning. This disappointment and frustration is similar to how people today feel about sports. Training and pushing their body to the limit just to lose and get mad at themself or teammates. This happens all the time in beyblade burst evolution, after Free left BC Sol, everyone went through a rough patch filled with disappointment and many quitting. Because of that, however, they were also filled with determination to get better, allowing them to become the number one team.

Teamwork and friendships. They’re really important in beyblade because friends help each other get stronger and teams work together to win. If there’s no harmony between bladers, they lose. If they fight, they’re going to lose. If they split, they’re going to lose. Beyblade teaches that sometimes you can’t always have your way and you need to work together and listen to each other to actually accomplish what you strive for. There are multiple instances within the series, Shu and Valt, Free and BC Sol, Basara and Bel’s group, Valt and Rashad, Aiga and his sister even.

Passion and limits. Aiga, shu, lain, Free, Rashad, and Phi are pretty good examples of being obsessed with power. All except Free had became corrupted with the want for power and ended up breaking people’s beys. I won’t add Bell to the list because he genuinely cared about the bey he accidentally broke, Ragnaruk and tried to help valt after damaging Valkyrie. I added Free because of his limits. He cared about blading so much that he had hurt himself on multiple occasions to be the best. In the manga he literally self harms to be mors serious and can we mention how he used to train with freaking boulders??? Now he’s better, in DB i haven’t seen him go crazy and he takes up meditation to focus instead of hurting (i talk abt it a bit more in my fanfic) Shu also pushes past his limits on multiple occasions that ends up hurting his shoulder. So beyblade says “know your limits” and “don’t pull a Free/Shu and get hurt because we’ll get sued”

But also the passion part that i got sidetracked from… it can be dangerous sometimes. Do i need to bring up Joshua’s obsession with Free? Sure, later. But Aiga’s passion compared to Valt’s passion is different. Valt wants to have fun, Aiga just wants to win. Along with Phi, Lain, Shu, Free, Rashad, etc. etc. but they don’t care about who gets hurt even if it’s themselves. Lain just fought to consume other people’s power. Aiga and Phi and Lain wanted to be number one so they broke people’s beys in the process. It’s really dangerous to lose oneself to that passion and it carries on to real life as you could genuinely get yourself or others hurt. For example, getting too passionate for sports and cheating just for a win like the Steriods incident in the olympics that couldve actually injured the athletes. So on and so forth…

With joshua, it’s not that deep. Bro jumped off a building cuz Free did. I mean yeah they had parachutes but are the two of them even licensed to use them???? Whatever it’s a cartoon and Joshua is like 20… HOWEVER FREE IS CANONICALLY 11 IN EVOLUTION AND BRO LIFTS BOULDERS?!?! I’M OLDER THAN HIM AND I CAN’T EVEN CARRY MY BACKPACK FOR SCHOOL- maybe i should start addinng boulders to my workout…

Pride. Mainly Free’s, Lui’s, and Bell’s. Do I need to say much other than it makes them underestimate others and makes them more upset when they lose because of the disappointment thing i talked about- Imagine having pride in your work where you won’t even look at another persons, then its forced in your face and you can’t get over how great it is? It really takes a blow on one’s self esteem and we can see that in Bell. Bell, the spoiled, powerful kid who was able to beat everyone until he couldn’t; until his bey had been broken and bursted by so many who were so much stronger. Just like Free getting bursted by Lui in evolution. They just got a huge reality check and blow to their ego that forces them to rethink nearly everything. “Maybe I’m not the best.” Free and Bell. “Maybe I should quit” Basara and Bell. or “Maybe there’s still a long way for me to go.” Almost everone in the show-

It all ties into the growth of the characters. Id say beyblade writes them pretty well considering at least half the characters disappear with the bext series. I mean when was the last time we saw Daigo and Ken- Evolution- which was four seasons ago… im glad we get to keep Free, but I also miss Cuza, Kris, Xander, Ken, Daigo, etc. Rantaro, our original loud blonde sidekick, hasn’t appeared yet in DB (then again im only halfway through-) but yeah, their characters are pretty good. Free went from bored to… still bored- but more respectful of other bladers. Aiga and Shu went through a whole corruption arc- Shu’s corruption arc actually allowed him to help Lain. (I think- i gotta rewatch) Valt became a lot more mature, he’s still a perfect amount of silly. Bell is a lot less spoiled, still spoiled, but less. Maybe a tiny bit.

Anyways that’s all my brain is able to do for now-

So yeah, beyblade is “not that deep” if ykyk-

thanks for bearing with me

pov me looking you dead in the eyes yapping about beyblade at 3 AM

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chibifox88 · 3 months ago

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Tragedy has Targets

Summery

I’m not running toward anything.

I’m just trying to stay ahead of what’s behind me. The past doesn’t knock—it breaks in.

It wears old faces, speaks in lost voices, and waits for the moment I slow down.

Now, fire walks beside shadow— two echoes of something I almost believed in.

One pulls, the other reminds. Neither lets me forget.

Some days, I wonder if I’m still real, or just the echo of someone grief refused to let go.

Even silence feels heavy now—like it’s watching.

I want to live, even if it’s just for a little while.

But fate is cruel. And tragedy—

Tragedy has targets.

And it never stops until it hits the heart.

Chapter 1- Get the Family Together

I looked down at my bare feet as the tube started to fill with the thick, goopy water. The light at the bottom was blue today. It was pretty. I wanted to like it, but I couldn’t, because as soon as the liquid touched my skin, it started to burn.

It always burned.

But I couldn’t cry. I wasn’t allowed to cry. I had to be a good girl. If I cried like the little kids, then I’d be bad. The white coats didn’t like bad kids. Bad kids made them mad. I didn’t want them to be mad at me. I was one of the older ones, so I had to be the example. I had to be strong.

I clenched my fists tight—super tight—so tight my fingers hurt, but it was better than thinking about the pain creeping up my legs. I looked at the white coats outside my tube. The glass made them look funny, all big and wobbly, like when I used to play with water in a cup. The first time I was put in here, it made me giggle.

It didn’t make me giggle anymore.

Now, it just made my chest feel weird, like something heavy was sitting on it. Or maybe that was just the pain as the water got higher.

I looked down the line at the other tubes. A white coat was walking past them, stopping at each one, staring inside like he was looking for something. He was him.

The Doctor.

That’s what the other white coats called him. Just Doctor. He was the boss. He was in charge of everything. Everything they did. Everything that happened to us.

My fingers touched my collar. The one with my number on it. 1004-BR. That meant I was at the front of the line. Always first. The only one in front of me now was the last of the A’s. There used to be more B’s, but they were… gone. I didn’t know where they went. The white coats said they failed and had to go away. I used to ask what that meant, but they just got mad. I think… I think maybe it would’ve been better if I failed, too.

If I failed, maybe I wouldn’t be here. Maybe I wouldn’t have to hurt. Maybe I wouldn’t have to be a good girl.

I had been looking down, but when I looked back up, he was standing right in front of my tube.

The Doctor.

I had never seen him this close before.

He looked… normal. Blonde hair, slicked back. No beard, no mustache. Tall—really tall. His face didn’t look scary, but his eyes… his eyes were.

They were blue, but so dark they almost looked black. They didn’t have anything in them. No feelings. No nothing. Just empty.

And then—then I knew.

He wasn’t human.

I didn’t know how I knew, but I did. It didn’t make sense, but my brain just knew.

I didn’t mean to say it out loud. I really didn’t. But before I could stop it, I mumbled, “…he’s not human…”

It was so quiet, I barely even heard myself.

But he did.

“What did you say, BR? Speak up properly.”

His voice was cold. Hard. Like a block of ice. Like he didn’t even care what I was going to say.

My heart squeezed. My throat felt tight. I didn’t want to answer. I had to answer. I couldn’t make him mad. I couldn’t be bad.

But the water had reached my stomach now, and it hurt so much. It was getting harder to breathe, harder to talk, but I pushed the words out as best as I could.

“You’re n-not human.”

I tried to sound brave, but my voice wobbled.

I looked away fast, hoping—praying—he wouldn’t be mad.

Nothing. No sound.

I peeked back up.

And I almost screamed.

He was smiling.

But it wasn’t a nice smile. It was wrong.

His teeth were sharp—way too sharp. If he bit me, it would hurt a lot. His dark, scary eyes watched me like he was thinking about biting me. I wanted to run. I wanted to hide behind one of the white coats and make him go away.

But I couldn’t.

The liquid was at my chin now. Soon, it would cover my whole head.

I had to remember—had to—what to do next.

When it covered me, I had to breathe it in. It would hurt. It always hurt. But if I didn’t, it would be worse. If I held my breath too long, I’d pass out, and that was even more painful.

So when the liquid finally swallowed me, I forced myself to breathe.

It burned.

It burned so much.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to cry, trying not to scream.

When I opened them again, something was different.

I could see better.

Everything was clearer, like when I pressed my face against the glass to look outside. The Doctor was still watching me. Watching every little thing I did.

And he was still smiling.

The blue light at the bottom of the tube changed to green. That meant the tube was full. The white coats would know the tube was full.

The Doctor finally looked away, saying something to the others. I couldn’t hear what he said. I didn’t want to hear. I just wanted to sleep.

But I couldn’t.

I wasn’t weak enough for the water to make me sleep anymore. I was too used to it.

So I just looked down at the bottom of the tube.

Wishing—praying—to be let out.

Even though I knew I wouldn’t be.

Not for a long, long time.

I opened my eyes and sat up in bed, exhaling a deep sigh as I wiped the corners of my eyes. My fingertips came away damp. No surprise there—reliving old memories always left a bitter aftertaste. I hated thinking about the past. About what was done to me. No matter how hard I tried to move forward, those memories clawed their way back, whispering that the scars they left behind weren’t just skin deep. They lived inside me, buried but never forgotten.

I sighed again and swung my legs over the side of the bed, stretching my sore muscles before pushing myself up. The floor was cold against my bare feet as I padded toward the bathroom, the familiar creaks of the wooden boards beneath me grounding me in the present.

Focus on today. Don’t let the past win.

If I remembered correctly, Red Son had mentioned we had a packed schedule ahead. Something about the Demon Bull family’s grand plan to retrieve the Monkey King’s staff. Not that I particularly cared. What they did or didn’t do had nothing to do with me. I was just a contracted employee, nothing more, nothing less. As long as Lady Iron held up her end of the deal, I’d do whatever was asked of me.

I stepped into the bathroom and flicked on the light, squinting as my reflection came into focus in the mirror. My hair was a mess—defying gravity as if it had a mind of its own. My cat ears twitched in irritation as stray strands tickled them. I lifted a hand to push my hair back when I noticed something that made my stomach clench.

The dye was fading.

White roots peeked through, a stark contrast against the color I’d carefully applied. Another cruel reminder of what had been stolen from me. My natural hair color, gone forever. Now, my hair was ‘naturally’ white. I loathed it. Every time the roots started to show, I dyed it back, desperately clinging to the illusion of normalcy.

I tore my gaze away from the mirror, swallowing the lump in my throat. Later. I’ll deal with it later.

For now, I needed to get ready.

I hopped into the shower, keeping it quick. I hated the feeling of being drenched. The sensation of water soaking through my hair, clinging to my skin—it made my nerves itch. I scrubbed away the lingering grogginess, my mind drifting to the day ahead.

After drying off, I dressed in my usual attire: a black long-sleeved shirt and a pair of black cargo jeans. Practical. Not too tight, not too loose. Just right for mobility. I ran a brush through my hair, wincing as I worked out the knots from my restless sleep. My hands instinctively went to my neck, checking for the one thing I never took off.

A simple silver chain with a coffin-shaped charm.

I held it between my fingers for a moment, feeling the cool metal against my skin. The charm could be detached from the chain, and it had a tiny strap running along its length, as if it were meant to be carried on someone’s back. A strange design, but it held meaning to me. A piece of my past I wasn’t willing to let go of. Holding everything I’d ever need in it.

Shaking off the creeping thoughts, I turned my attention to my holster belt. I fastened it around my waist, securing the extra ammo clips in place. Eight in total. Enough to last in a fight if things got messy. Two empty holsters rested against my thighs. I retrieved my pistols, double-checking that both were empty and the safeties were on before slipping them into their holders.

Fully equipped, I left my room, heading to breakfast. The mansion was vast and easy to get lost in, but I had lived here long enough to memorize the layout. My boots echoed against the marble floors as I navigated the hallways, passing towering pillars and intricately carved doorways. The air smelled faintly of incense—Lady Iron’s doing, no doubt. She had a fondness for tradition.

After fifteen minutes, I reached the dining room.

Red Son and Princess Iron Fan were already seated, waiting for me.

The moment I stepped inside, Red Son’s glare locked onto me like a heat-seeking missile.

“You’re late, peasant,” he growled, his hands clenching into fists. I swore I could almost see steam rising from him.

I hadn’t even sat down yet, and I’d already pissed him off. Great.

Rolling my eyes, I put one of my hands on my hip. “Well, Red, how about you take the room that’s a twenty-minute walk from the dining hall and see if you can show up on time?”

I smirked, fully aware that his precious lab was a thirty-minute walk from here. That’s where he spent most of his time, buried in his experiments.

His hair flared up, flickering like an open flame. Hands slammed against the table as he shot up, ready to unleash one of his infamous temper tantrums—only to be cut off by his mother.

“Why must you two pick a fight so early in the morning?” Princess Iron Fan sighed, rubbing her temples. She gestured toward one of the seats across from her. “Sit down. Both of you.”

I shrugged and, just to spite him, took the seat beside him. He grumbled under his breath, glaring at his bowl of food like it had personally wronged him. A bull bot placed a plate in front of me, moving with mechanical precision.

The robots were surprisingly efficient. I’d give Red credit for that—not that I’d ever say it out loud. His ego was inflated enough as it was.

Red continued muttering to himself, probably complaining about my lack of punctuality or proper etiquette. I didn’t care enough to listen.

Princess Iron Fan’s voice pulled me back to reality.

“Today is an important day for our family. We will finally free my husband and reclaim our rightful place in this world.” Her sharp gaze swept over both of us. “You will behave and impress him when he returns, won’t you?”

Her words were mostly directed at Red, but I wasn’t foolish enough to think they didn’t apply to me.

If Demon Bull King disliked me, even with our contract, I’d be out of a job.

Not that it worried me. I knew my skills. I was the best shot in this world—undeniable, unbeatable. But that didn’t mean I was comfortable with today’s events. The idea of performing, of proving myself to someone who already assumed I was weak, left a bad taste in my mouth.

Guns weren’t toys. I hated using them unless absolutely necessary, unless I was in a petty mood that is. They were efficient, yes, but deadly. Even though I never missed, even though I knew I’d never hit anything I didn’t intend to, it didn’t mean I liked it…sometimes.

Of course, I had my own weaknesses—stamina, hand-to-hand combat, and my hearing—but I had learned to work around them. Even when they held me back, I relied on wit and sheer stubbornness to compensate.

That’s why Red and I made a good team. He handled close-range combat, while I covered medium to long-range. But that didn’t mean I indulged his childish behavior. If he messed up, I let him deal with the consequences.

“Shiro! You’re spacing out again!”

Red’s voice snapped me back to reality as he shouted directly into my ear.

I reeled back, nearly tipping over my chair. “OW! What the hell was that for!?” I shot him a glare. “And for the last time, stop calling me that stupid nickname.”

He smirked, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Well, when you start calling me Red Son, then I’ll start using your proper name. But that’s beside the point—did you even hear what Mother was saying?”

I sighed, rubbing my temple. “Something about heading out around lunchtime to retrieve the staff? Making sure we’re prepared?”

I stabbed a piece of food with my fork, feigning confidence. Truthfully, I hadn’t been paying attention. My mind had been too wrapped up in that damn dream and having to impress the Demon Bull King.

Princess Iron Fan gave me a knowing look before rising from her seat with effortless grace. “Good enough. Just be focused when my husband returns, kitten.”

I stiffened at that name, clenching my jaw as she left the room.

I hated that nickname.

I pushed away my plate, my appetite gone. Without another word, I stood and left Red at the table.

I glanced at the clock.

Only a few hours left.

I needed to clear my head.

I couldn’t afford distractions when facing the Demon Bull King.

The wind howled across the construction site, carrying dust and loose debris as we stood before the ancient weapon buried deep in the earth. Even at a glance, the power it radiated was undeniable—raw, overwhelming, and untamed.

The Ruyi Jingu Bang.

A relic that had long since become the key to the Demon Bull King’s imprisonment.

I stood a few paces back, arms crossed, watching as Red Son and Princess Iron Fan took their places before it. The weight of what we were about to do hung thick in the air, tension coiling around us like an invisible force.

Behind us, the Bull Clones stood at the ready, shifting uneasily. One of them was still cradling the stumps where its arms had been—an unfortunate reminder of what happened when someone underestimated the power sealing the staff. The poor fool had tried to pull it free on its own, only to lose both limbs in the process.

Honestly? That had been the funniest thing I’d seen all week.

“Alright, peasant,” Red Son muttered, cracking his knuckles as he strode forward. “Try not to be too awestruck by the greatness you are about to witness.”

I scoffed, barely suppressing an eye roll. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t blow yourself up, genius.”

Red Son shot me a glare, flames flickering at his fingertips in irritation. “I would never—”

“Enough.”

Princess Iron Fan’s sharp tone cut through our usual bickering like a blade, demanding immediate silence. She stepped forward, her regal presence commanding attention. Even Red Son straightened under her gaze, his earlier cockiness momentarily subdued.

“We have prepared for this moment,” she continued, voice smooth but firm. “The time has come to break the seal and return my husband to his rightful place.”

Red Son turned to her, a grin spreading across his face. “With pleasure!”

In the blink of an eye, fire engulfed his right arm. When the flames receded, his limb had been replaced by a massive, metallic gauntlet—easily twice his size. The sheer weight of it should have made it impossible for him to lift, yet he moved as if it were weightless.

I didn’t know whether to be impressed or concerned.

I watched as he approached the staff, wrapping the oversized gauntlet around it. The moment he did, the ground trembled, and a sudden gust of wind surged through the cavern, whipping my coat around me. The very air seemed to resist our actions, as if the earth itself was trying to push us away.

Red Son braced himself, digging his heels into the ground as he began to pull. His flames burned brighter, coiling around his body in defiance of the forces trying to repel him. His entire form trembled with effort, gritted teeth bared in determination.

And then—

The staff wrenched free.

For a brief moment, victory flashed in his eyes.

Then, with an earth-shaking boom, a powerful force sent him flying backward.

He tumbled down the rocky slope, flipping head over heels before crashing in a heap at my feet.

I looked down at him, unimpressed. “That looked painful.”

Red groaned before springing up, brushing himself off with what little dignity he had left. His head snapped toward the now-empty seal, excitement in his eyes. Any second now, his father would awaken.

Except…

Nothing happened.

Red frowned, eyes flicking back and forth in confusion. “Nothing’s happening. Um, Mother… are you sure this is the right mountain?”

Princess Iron Fan let out a long-suffering sigh, rubbing her temple. “Oh no, my mistake. It must be the other mountain with the other magical staff sealing away my husband.” She shot her son a glare sharp enough to cut steel.

I raised my hands in a placating gesture, wisely deciding to stay out of this one.

Then, suddenly—

A brilliant green light erupted from the ground where the staff had been.

The entire cavern trembled, a deep rumbling echoing through the walls like a monster waking from its slumber. Cracks splintered through the rocky terrain, and with an earth-shattering explosion, a colossal figure emerged from the depths below.

The Demon Bull King.

His sheer size dwarfed everyone around him, a monstrous force of power barely contained within his own form. His emerald eyes burned like twin fires as he took his first breath of freedom in what must have felt like an eternity.

I took a step back, allowing the family their reunion, though I only half-paid attention.

Red had been on edge all week over this, obsessing over making the perfect first impression. I had spent hours in his lab listening to him rehearse speeches, cycle through introductions, and debate what his father might approve of. And, of course, I had to provide feedback on all of it—despite knowing nothing about Demon Bull King beyond the stories I’d been told.

But I had listened anyway. Because despite how much I teased him, I knew Red was nervous.

Now, watching Demon Bull King’s towering form as he regarded his son, I studied his expression carefully. The way he looked at Lady Iron. The way he loomed over Red.

Something about the way he assessed his son made my tail flick in irritation.

And then, right as Red Son opened his mouth to speak—

Something—or rather, someone—crashed right on top of him.

A boy with messy brown hair, wearing a stained opened white button-up, tumbled onto the ground. The back of his shirt had a logo—Pigsy’s Noodles.

Red Son exploded—both figuratively and literally.

“YOU RUINED MY MOMENT! HOW DARE YOU, YOU PEASANT?!”

The boy winced, sitting up and holding up a plastic bag sheepishly. “Uh… did anyone order noodles?”

There was silence.

Then, Demon Bull King’s deep voice rumbled, “It seems we have an eavesdropper among us.” His massive hand clenched into a fist. “I was not expecting my first act as the new ruler of this world to be squashing something so insignificant—but it cannot be helped.”

I stiffened as the Demon Bull King raised his foot, preparing to crush the boy.

But Red Son stepped in front of him. “Father, allow me!” he declared quickly. “It would be beneath you to deal with this vermin. Let me handle him.”

Demon Bull King studied his son for a moment before nodding. “Very well. Do not fail me.”

Red Son’s face barely twitched, but I saw it.

I clenched my fists. First time seeing your son in years, and that’s how you treat him?

But I stayed silent.

Then, everything happened fast.

The boy scrambled backward, his hand landing on something in the dirt. He looked down.

Then his eyes widened.

The staff.

Before anyone could react—

He picked it up.

A pulse of golden light erupted from the weapon. My breath caught as the cavern was bathed in its glow.

That noodle delivery boy… had lifted Monkey King’s staff.

As if it weighed nothing.

His face was frozen in pure shock. “Oh. Oh no. OH NONONONONO—”

The staff—seemingly acting on its own—glowed brighter. Then, with a blast of golden energy—

The boy was launched out of the cavern.

Red Son screamed in frustration. “I’LL GET HIM!” He bolted for one of his custom vehicles and sped off.

“Do not fail me again.” The Demon Bull King called after his son.

The words made my blood boil.

The cavern fell into silence after Red Son sped off in pursuit of the noodle delivery boy and the staff. The hum of his engine echoed through the tunnels before fading into the distance, leaving only the crackling of embers from Demon Bull King’s emergence.

I remained still, hands resting at my sides, as the massive demon turned his full attention to me. His glowing green eyes bore down on me with an intensity that would have made most people—or demons, for that matter—tremble.

But I wasn’t most people.

“And who is this?” Demon Bull King rumbled, his voice carrying the weight of a war drum.

Princess Iron Fan answered smoothly, stepping forward with her usual grace. “She is our son’s personal bodyguard.”

His gaze flicked to her briefly before returning to me, expression unreadable. “A bodyguard?” He scoffed, crossing his massive arms. “For him?”

I bit the inside of my cheek, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.

“Yes,” Lady Iron continued, unbothered by her husband’s skepticism. “She ensures Red Son stays out of trouble and disposes of unwanted pests before they become a nuisance.” She shrugged.

Demon Bull King chuckled darkly, his massive horns tilting slightly as he studied me again. “And what makes you worthy of such a position?”

I let the silence stretch for a moment before I answered, keeping my voice even. “I’m skilled in information brokering, assassination, and long-range artillery.” I reached for my hip, pulling one of my custom pistols free. With a single smooth motion, I loaded a magazine, pulled back the slide, and took aim.

Demon Bull King barely had time to blink before I fired.

The shot rang out through the cavern.

The bullet sliced through the air, grazing his cheek so close that he could feel the heat of it but not enough to draw blood. The smell of scorched stone filled the space where the bullet embedded itself into the cavern wall behind him.

I held my ground, lowering the smoking gun back into my holster as I met his gaze without flinching.

“I made sure not to wound you,” I said, voice calm but firm. “Not because I couldn’t, but because I doubt you’d take kindly to it.”

Silence.

Then—

A low rumble of laughter.

Demon Bull King touched the faint scorch mark on his cheek, a grin spreading across his face. “Hah. You’ve got nerve.” His sharp teeth glinted as his smirk widened. “Not afraid to challenge your employer to prove your worth. I like that.”

He took a step closer, looming over me. “You might just be what my useless son needs to put him in his place.”

I clenched my fists. Useless son? Really?

Princess Iron Fan finally spoke. “Go after my son. Make sure he doesn’t get himself killed retrieving the staff.”

I bowed. “As you wish.”

Then I hopped onto my motorcycle and sped off.

As I rode through the streets, I was searching for one thing—the place with the most commotion and screaming. Surprisingly, Red had a very loud scream. I know—shocking.

My search led me to the bottom of a road still under construction. Above me, I watched as Red and the noodle boy were launched off the unfinished road into the air. Before I could react, a green blur shot past me, grabbing the noodle boy and pulling him back to safety.

I sighed, already knowing what I had to do. Before Red’s car could crash into a building, I accelerated, launching my bike over it. In one swift motion, I grabbed him by the back of his collar, yanking him onto my bike.

Almost as soon as the tires of my bike hit the pavement and as thanks for saving his life, he promptly exploded into flames, screaming, “WHEN I CATCH YOU, NOODLE BOY, I’LL BLOW YOU TO SMITHEREENS!”

I slammed on the brakes, sending the flaming ball of rage flying into a nearby wall.

For a moment, the only sound was the faint crackling of dying embers.

Then—

“What the hell was that for, Shiro?!” Red shouted, staggering to his feet. He clutched his head, shaking off the impact like an annoyed dog.

I sighed, dusting off my jacket and swatting at the smoldering edges of my sleeves. “Oh, I don’t know,” I said flatly. “Maybe for trying to turn me into barbecue?” I signed, reaching up and taking off my helmet to see him fully.

He had the nerve to look sheepish. His gaze flickered away, jaw tightening. A mumbled “sorry” slipped out, so quiet I almost missed it. Not that he meant it. But whatever.

“You done throwing your temper tantrum yet?” I asked, arching a brow.

Another burst of fire flared up around him, bright and angry. “I AM NOT THROWING A TEMPER TANTRUM, SHIRO!”

I didn’t react. Just watched as he forced himself to take slow, measured breaths. The flames flickered again, then faded.

“I’m just… strategizing my next move,” he muttered. “I need to get the staff back from that vermin.”

I studied him carefully. His voice was steady, but I could see it—the way his fingers twitched, the way his shoulders tensed. Beneath all that anger, he was panicking. He had messed up. Again. And he knew it.

He let the noodle boy escape with the staff.

There was nothing I could say to change that fact, and he knew it, too. So he did what he always did. He turned his panic into fury, directing it at me because it was easier than admitting he was spiraling.

I knew him too well for that to work on me.

“You fucked up, Red.” His head snapped up, eyes wide. Shocked. Good. At least he wasn’t yelling anymore.

I continued, my tone even. “Being pissed off doesn’t give you the right to take it out on me. I may be contracted to your mother, but I’m not your personal punching bag. I know you want to impress Lord Ox. You’ll have other chances. So don’t get your damn panties in a twist.”

I didn’t wait for his response. I pulled my helmet back on and shifted the bike into position, ready to move again.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him staring at the ground. His fingers clenched into fists, then relaxed.

“…Do you really think I’ll have other opportunities to impress Father?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

I exhaled sharply through my nose. Reaching behind me, I grabbed the spare helmet and tossed it at him.

“Until they try to kill you or kick you out, you’ve still got a chance,” I said.

He caught the helmet with ease. For a second, he just held it, turning it over in his hands. Then, slowly, he slipped it on and walked over.

He swung onto the bike behind me.

“Let’s head back to the Flaming Foundry,” he said, his voice quieter than before. “I need to make Father his armor.”

I said nothing. Just revved the engine and took off down the streets.

I drove into the cave I knew like the back of my hand. Red had a garage in the back of his lab, packed with all sorts of cars and other junk he tinkered with whenever he got bored of whatever experiment he was working on at the time.

I pulled the bike into a parking spot and killed the engine. Red hopped off the second we stopped, yanking off his helmet and tossing it to the floor without a second thought. He didn’t even check if it was in anyone’s way—though I figured he wasn’t worried. A bull clone would pick it up sooner or later.

I watched his retreating figure as he muttered to himself, already lost in whatever plan he was forming in that overactive brain of his. As he passed a bull clone near the entrance to his lab, he ordered it to go inform his parents that he didn’t have the staff. The clone gave a sharp salute before taking off, disappearing down the hall.

Inside the lab, more bull clones stood at attention, their arms already filling up with various tools and materials as Red rummaged through his supplies. I had no clue what he was grabbing, and frankly, I didn’t care. He was the magical engineering genius here. Whatever he was taking, it was probably important.

I leaned against a nearby worktable, watching as he continued loading up the clones with parts. That’s when it hit me—this was going to take forever.

Welding the armor onto DBK wasn’t a quick job. It would take hours. Which meant I’d have to sit there and listen to their bickering for hours, too. Or worse—sit in complete, awkward silence. That thought alone made me want to rip my hair out.

Red Son finally turned to me, his expression alight with determination. “Shiro, this could be my moment! I can make up for losing the staff and prove to Father how much I’ve grown. Mother must have already told him about the armor, and if he agreed to it, that means he sees potential in me! But when he sees it in action—” His grin widened. “I know he’ll be proud of me.”

I met his enthusiasm with a small, forced smile and gave him a thumbs-up.

I did feel bad for Red. He worked so hard for his parents’ approval, constantly proving himself over and over again. But at the same time… I wasn’t exactly in a position to give him advice. I didn’t even remember my own parents all that well. And even now, I had no real desire to find them, to reconcile, or to try earning their love.

Red and I came from completely different worlds. His parents did love him, in their own messed-up, borderline-abusive way. But they weren’t human, so maybe that was normal for demons or celestial’s. I’d have to look into that sometime. I was only half-demon, after all.

He didn’t seem to notice anything off about me, too caught up in his excitement as he turned back to his papers. “Don’t worry, Shiro,” he added casually. “I’m sure Father will approve of you as well. Actually…” He glanced over his shoulder, smirking. “I bet he already did before you even came to get me. With your quick and impossibly accurate shots, Father had to have been impressed.”

I raised an eyebrow before striding over to his desk. Dropping into a rolling chair, I leaned back dramatically, running a hand through my hair.

“Oh, you’re absolutely right, Red,” I said dryly. “I won his approval by shooting at him and grazing his cheek.”

I watched the way his shoulders tensed at my words. It took a moment, but he eventually relaxed, his mind working through the implications. If DBK hadn’t approved, I’d be dead. Simple as that.

Sure, I was strong, but the Demon Bull King was a beast in hand-to-hand combat. And me? Well… I sucked at that. I had lost my element of surprise after the first shot. If we had fought then and there, I might’ve landed another hit or two, but I wouldn’t have survived long enough to make it count.

Red turned to face me fully, a rolled-up blueprint in his hands. His expression was deadpan. “Are you stupid? How could you shoot at my FATHER!? That could’ve ended so badly for you!”

His hair sparked slightly, the edges flaring up in irritation.

Huh. He was actually upset at the idea of his father killing me.

I sighed, leaning back into the chair. “I figured Lord Ox was the kind of demon who preferred actions over words. If I had tried to explain what I could do, my nasty personality probably would’ve slipped through, and then he definitely would have killed me.”

Red didn’t look convinced. He just sighed heavily and shook his head.

“You are somehow one of the smartest and dumbest demons I’ve ever met.”

Shaking his head once more, he ran a hand through his fiery hair before turning toward the exit. He didn’t have time to argue. We had places to be.

I pushed myself out of the chair and followed as he led the way toward the Foundry, where his parents were waiting. At least we wouldn’t have to explain why we didn’t have the staff. That meant we could avoid Lord Ox’s rage and Lady Iron’s disappointment—two things I had no interest in dealing with.

As we stepped into the heart of the Foundry, the heat from the molten metal washed over us. The place was alive with the sounds of clanking metal and hissing steam, the bull clones working tirelessly on new armor and weapons.

And there, sitting on his massive throne, was the Demon Bull King himself.

He towered over everything, his sheer presence making the enormous room feel small. The molten metal’s glow cast shifting shadows across his form, accentuating the ridges of muscle and the sharpness of his claws.

He didn’t need to move. Didn’t need to speak.

Just by sitting there, he made it clear—he could kill any one of us if he wanted to.

Lady Iron, to my surprise, wasn’t here with him. I couldn’t think of a single reason she wouldn’t be.

Remembering my place, I bowed to Lord Ox. He spared me a glance before focusing back on Red.

“You failed, my son.” His voice was harsh and cold. Red’s shoulders stiffened, his gaze dropping to the ground.

“Yes, Father. I’m sorry,” he said, his voice subdued. Then, as if trying to shake off the weight of his failure, he straightened. “But I can make up for it right now!” His fire rekindled as he spoke. “This armor I invented will convert any and all materials put into it into raw power for you to use! And don’t worry about moving—I’ll put it on you right here.”

Red was already in motion before DBK could respond. Not that his father stopped him.

I watched as Lord Ox observed his son’s work, his expression unreadable. I couldn’t tell if he was impressed or just indifferent, but at the very least, he wasn’t stopping Red, which was a good sign.

Four hours later…

And we were still sitting in utter silence.

It. Was. So. Awkward.

The only sounds came from the forge—metal clanking, fire roaring, the hum of welding as Red continued assembling the armor piece by piece.

I had no idea what to do with myself. I wanted to pull out my phone—do something, anything—but technically, I was on the clock. My job was to make sure Red didn’t end up dead. Princess Iron Fan had never been above testing my skills by sending bull clones to attack her own son before, and I doubted she’d changed her ways.

At least Red seemed to be nearly finished.

Good. Because if I had to endure this silence any longer, I was going to lose my mind.

The heat wasn’t helping either. I had learned to tolerate it long ago, but that didn’t mean I liked it any more than I did at the start.

Finally, Red straightened up, jumping down from his father’s chest with an effortless motion. “That should do it!” He clapped his hands together, then pulled off his welder’s hood, flashing his father a sharp-toothed grin.

Demon Bull King stood, rolling his shoulders as if testing the armor’s weight. He frowned slightly.

“It’s… heavy.”

Red visibly tensed, panic creeping into his expression. He quickly started rambling. “That’s because it isn’t powered up yet! The suit absorbs energy to create energy. And what better source than the magic staff that kept you underground?”

DBK’s gaze darkened, his deep voice rumbling with irritation. “You mean the staff that you lost?”

A low blow? Yes. Did it hit its mark? Absolutely.

Before Red could stammer out a response, Lady Iron drifted gracefully into the room from wherever she had been.

“Oh, don’t toy with him, my love,” she said, her tone smooth as silk. “We will get it back. I have bull clones scouring the city. It’s only a matter of time.” She idly brushed a few strands of jet-black hair—styled into bull horns—away from her face.

Red, regaining his confidence, grinned. “And while we wait, the furnace can convert other things into energy.”

To prove his point, he threw his face shield into the armor’s furnace. The metal erupted into flames, causing the Demon Bull King to let out a deep, rumbling roar.

Red’s grin widened. “The rarer the item, the more powerful Father will become. And once we have that staff, he will be unstoppable!”

Once DBK’s chest had stopped burning, he sat back down. Then, without a word, multiple holographic screens appeared before him. He began browsing through shops.

I blinked. Had Lady Iron seriously taught him how to online shop while Red and I were gone? Weird. Not my place to judge. Even though I was judging. Just silently, this time.

Lord Ox let out a deep chuckle. “Now to find something rare and expensive… something to give me the power I deserve.”

I remained where I was, watching from the sidelines. That was all I could do—watch.

Even as they planned to destroy the city, I couldn’t bring myself to care more than a little.

Eventually, DBK settled on whatever absurdly expensive artifact he wanted. He stood from his throne, striding toward the exit, Red right on his heels. “I’ll take you to the store myself, Father!” Red declared eagerly.

I glanced at Lady Iron, silently asking if she wanted me to join them.

She shook her head.

Finally, a break.

Not a real one, though. I could already tell by the way she was eyeing me that she expected a full report on what had happened while she was gone.

I sighed.

Honestly, this might be worse than going with them.

We sat in silence for a while.

Maybe she was making sure the boys were far enough away that they wouldn’t overhear this conversation. That was the most logical reason—at least, it was the one that made the most sense.

Demons and celestials have far better hearing than humans, along with a host of other advantages: an enhanced sense of smell, magic, greater stamina, superior strength—and that’s just off the top of my head. Those abilities are what most demons hold over humans, though some are even more powerful.

The quiet stretched between us, not uncomfortable, but thick with unspoken thoughts.

Princess Iron Fan finally broke the silence with a single word.

“Report.”

She shifted her weight slightly, placing a hand on her hip, then turned to face me fully. Every movement was effortless, graceful—like she had all the time in the world.

I didn’t bother to stand or bow. If the Demon Bull King had still been here, I might have. But that kind of deference wasn’t necessary between us anymore. Not after everything.

Besides, she’d told me before—when it was just the two of us, there was no need for formalities. Even though I still used them from time to time, much to her annoyance.

I exhaled through my nose, stretching out my legs a little before I spoke. “To be honest, nothing much happened that you don’t already know.” My tone was light, casual. “Red Son failed to get the staff back from the delivery boy, nearly crashed into a wall, and put the magic armor on Demon Bull King.”

As I spoke, I casually brushed my hair over my shoulder as if I were bored, but in reality, I was carefully watching her body language. Her shoulders were still tense. That meant we still had no idea where the boy had run off to.

She studied me right back, her gaze sharp and calculating.

“That delivery boy… what was your read on him?” she asked.

She knew I had never met him before, but my eyes saw things that others didn’t. That was one of the main reasons she took me in off the streets back when I decided to take a “break” from the guild. Half-starved, dirty, and homeless, I had little choice but to accept the magical contract she offered me. She had a feeling I could be useful, and I needed food and shelter. I wasn’t above being used to get it.

I tilted my head, thinking back to what I’d observed about the boy.

He gave me the impression of someone kind—caring, maybe even a bit of a people-pleaser. He seemed easily overwhelmed. But it was his kindness that truly stood out to me.

She was asking for my read because they didn’t know where he was or where he might go. Maybe my insight would point her in the right direction.

“I picked up a few things about him,” I started, “but the most important one right now is that he’s a nice boy.”

She gave me a deadpan look. Without saying a word, she was asking what the hell I was getting at.

I clarified.

“He’s the kind of guy who’d help an old lady cross the street. If he found a wallet, he’d return it without a second thought.”

She kept giving me that same unimpressed stare, so I rephrased it again.

“He’s so nice that if he found something lost… he’d return it to its original owner. And he just happened to find the so-called lost staff of the Monkey King.”

I fell silent, letting her process what I was implying.

She brought a hand to her chin and murmured, “I see. So the boy would want to return the staff to that old fool.”

I simply nodded.

“That’s just my opinion, though,” I added with a shrug. “I only saw him for a couple of minutes. I could be wrong.”

She shot me a dry look. “You are hardly ever wrong, Kitten.”

I nodded again. She wasn’t wrong.

Princess Iron Fan turned to leave. “Take an hour to rest, then join my husband and son in town. Make sure Red Son doesn’t get himself into something he can’t handle.”

“Yes, my lady.”

She shot me a sharp look the moment the words left my mouth.

“I told you not to use such formal language with me when it’s just us.”

Her glare could melt metal, but I did my best to act like it had no effect on me.

“Sorry,” I said, glancing away. “I didn’t think you wanted me to be as informal as I usually am now that Bull King is back.”

She sighed and turned toward the door, with me staring after her as she left.

“You are more family than employee,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ll let my husband know about our arrangement. He’ll agree with me. You’re allowed to treat us like family, not just as your employers.”

She didn’t even bother looking back as she disappeared down the hall, leaving me with that thought.

I exhaled slowly.

I’d probably still be formal with them—out of habit, if nothing else. But Red Son? No chance. He was too much fun to mess with.

I stood, stretching my arms above my head before stepping out of the Foundry. The cooler air in the hallway helped clear my thoughts, but not entirely. My mind kept circling back to what she’d said.

You are more family than employee.

I wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

I had never really thought about what I was to them. A tool? A convenient asset? That was easier to believe. But family? That was something else entirely. Something dangerous. Something that could be taken away.

I walked the halls at a slow, steady pace, passing the flickering lanterns lining the walls. The Foundry always had a strange hum to it, as if the metal and magic woven into its bones were alive, constantly shifting, waiting.

I was walking to my room, too lazy to actually hunt down Red Son and Bull King. Red had given me a small mirror-like tool that tracked him no matter where he went.

By the time I reached my room, I realized my hands had clenched into fists.

I forced them to relax as I stepped inside. The space was simple, functional. I had never asked for much. A bed, a locked chest for my guns and ammo, a small desk, a dresser. No decorations. Nothing unnecessary.

I found the tracker Red had given me and picked it up, running my fingers over the smooth surface. A precaution, he had called it. I had teased him at the time, asking if he was scared I’d lose him. He had scoffed, arms crossed, trying to look unimpressed.

I smiled faintly at the memory.

Then, my gaze flickered toward the window. The town lay beyond. Somewhere out there, the delivery boy was running, unknowingly dragging himself deeper into this mess.

I sighed and clipped the tracker to my belt.

One hour. That’s what she had given me.

I wasn’t sure if that was enough time to shake the strange feeling lingering in my chest, but it would have to do.

For now, I had a job to do, make sure Red didn’t get himself killed.

Following the tracker to the site of destruction was easy.

Downtown was a graveyard.

Smoke strangled the streets, thick as tar, burning my throat with every breath. The air reeked—charred flesh, scorched plastic, and something else, something worse. The sickly-sweet stench of cooked blood clung to everything like rot in a corpse’s mouth. Fires burned unchecked, scattered across the city like festering sores, casting flickering, hellish light over the ruins.

And the bodies.

They littered the streets like broken toys. Some were intact, almost peaceful in death—others, barely recognizable. Crushed beneath tons of rubble, their limbs jutted out at impossible angles, skin split open to reveal shattered bones and shredded muscle. Entire torsos had been flattened into meat paste. Burned-out husks sat slumped in cars or sprawled on sidewalks, their mouths frozen in silent screams, teeth melted to slag inside their blackened skulls.

But the worst were the torn ones.

People ripped open—gutted like livestock. Entrails coiled across the asphalt in glistening loops, steaming in the cold air. Ribcages split wide like cracked eggshells, lungs sagging out, still twitching. Faces peeled off in long, curling strips, eyes bulging from sockets scorched clean. Children were among them—small bodies impaled on rebar, limbs gnawed away, as if something had fed on them in a frenzy.

Screams clawed at the air. Raw. Endless. Some begged for mercy, others howled in wordless agony, pinned beneath debris with spines snapped and organs leaking. A woman rocked a headless infant in her arms, her voice gone hoarse from sobbing, whispering lullabies to blood-soaked fabric. Nearby, a man tore at a mountain of rubble with his bare hands—skin flayed down to tendon, nails gone—screaming for a wife who would never answer.

I stepped over a body split clean down the middle, spine cracked open like a wishbone. The scent of feces, bile, and burst intestines hit me like a punch. Flies were already gathering.

I didn’t flinch.

I’d seen worse.

In the distance, the Demon Bull King loomed—monstrous and godlike—wreathed in fire, his silhouette blotting out what was left of the sky. With every thunderous step, the earth fractured beneath him, sending tremors through the wreckage. He didn’t care. Not about the corpses in his wake, not about the screams, not about the lives reduced to ash. The innocent were just collateral—nameless, faceless casualties in his path of destruction.

I knew he had anger to burn through. Centuries of pain, pride, and betrayal packed into one brutal outburst. But what was the point of all this? What would be left when the fire died down and the dust settled?

When this was over, someone would have to pick up the pieces.

We would.

We’d have to rebuild what he tore apart. House the people he displaced. Feed them. Calm their fear. Try to convince them that the Bull Family wasn’t the monster burning their homes to the ground. But the truth hung heavy in the smoke: our name was being dragged through the dirt with every passing second.

After today, we’d be more hated than ever. Feared. Reviled.

Maybe rightfully so.

But that didn’t matter—not now.

What mattered was that the Demon Bull King wanted to wreck the city.

So that’s what we were doing.

It took me over an hour to finally reach the building Red was on. I sighed, tilting my head back to stare up at it. Counting how tall it was.

Ninety-five stories.

My eyebrow twitched.

Why the fuck did he pick a building this tall? And why the hell did he have an anti-magic barrier around it?

I pulled out my phone and called him.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Six times.

Nothing.

This bastard was really going to make me climb all those stairs? He was going to pay for this.

Shoulders slumping, I let out a long, slow breath.

I already knew I’d be half-dead by the time I got up there.

By the time I finally reached the ninety-fifth floor, I was a sweaty, panting mess. My legs felt like lead, my arms hung uselessly at my sides, and my lungs burned with every breath I took.

I pushed open the rooftop door and collapsed onto the ground. I barely had the energy to glare, but I still forced myself to look up—because this was his fault.

Red Son stood near the edge, the city’s destruction reflected in his narrowed eyes. He turned at the sound of the door opening, his head whipping around to face me.

I struggled to even form words, sucking in uneven breaths between each one. “Why… the… fuck… do… you… have… an… anti-magic… barrier… up?”

He didn’t respond right away, just watched as I tried to catch my breath. At least he had the patience to wait.

Finally, he glanced down at his wrist, pressing a button on his watch. He frowned, raising an eyebrow. “Huh… I do have that up, don’t I?”

If I wasn’t currently dying, I would have shot him on the spot.

He turned back to me, still looking unimpressed. “Why didn’t you just call me and tell me to take it down?”

I clenched my jaw. He had to be joking.

I forced out the words. “Look… at… that… stupid… watch… again.”

He did. His fingers clicked through a few settings, and then—finally—his expression shifted. His eyes widened slightly. At least he had the decency to look guilty.

“…Sorry, Shiro. I didn’t realize you had called me.”

“SIX TIMES.”

He actually flinched a little. Good. He should feel bad.

Red sighed and walked toward me, crouching down before offering his hand. I begrudgingly let him help me sit up, my back pressing against the rooftop ledge.

“Here.” He handed me a bottle of water, seemingly out of nowhere.

I didn’t question it. I just took it and drank.

Red didn’t move away. Instead, he stayed crouched in front of me, watching. I knew that look. He was analyzing me—taking in the way I was still breathing too heavily, the way sweat dripped from my brow, the way my fingers trembled just slightly around the bottle.

“You shouldn’t have climbed up here, Shiro.” His voice was quiet. “We both know you don’t have the strength for this.”

I scoffed, though it came out weaker than I intended. “I didn’t have a choice since I couldn’t teleport, bastard.”

Red gave me a deadpan look. “You could’ve stayed on the ground. I would have noticed you eventually.”

Did he really not think?

Of course I had to be up here. How the fuck was I supposed to protect him if I wasn’t by his side? Unless Lady Iron gave me direct orders otherwise, my place was with him. Or when I was feeling petty and wanted him to learn from his mistakes. But that wasn’t the case right now either.

I didn’t bother to dignify him with a response to his stupid statement.

I glanced at the water bottle.

There was something in it.

Something to help me recover. It would take a few minutes to kick in, so I focused on my breathing. In through my nose. Fill my lungs. Out through my mouth. Repeat.

Red said nothing.

But he was watching me.

He felt bad.

He’d never say it, but I could tell. He knew my weaknesses better than anyone. We had worked together for years—long enough for him to learn exactly what I couldn’t do. What my limits were. And how we could compensate for each other’s flaws.

I wasn’t built for endurance. He knew that better than anyone. I wasn’t like him—born into fire, built for battle. My strengths lay elsewhere. My stamina had become… limited. And he had forced me—whether intentionally or not—to climb a ninety-five-story building with no breaks, no magic, no help.

He didn’t speak, but I saw it. The guilt festered in the tense line of his shoulders, in the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to do something, fix something, but didn’t know how.

So, we waited.

Waited for my body to catch up.

Waited for Lady Iron to return.

The sun sank lower in the sky, painting the world in shades of blood-red and burnt orange.

I finished the water.

Red glanced at me, mouth parting slightly like he was about to say something. I just nodded. I was good. I pushed myself up, feeling my legs stabilize beneath me.

Red pressed a button on his wrist, activating his jetpack, and took off into the air. He weaved through the debris before landing beside his father.

I walked to the edge of the rooftop, looking down just in time to see Princess Iron Fan approach the Bull King.

In her gauntlet the one Red Son had made, she held Monkey King’s staff. It seemed to almost sing with energy.

She took a knee before the Demon Bull King, holding the staff out in both hands. The staff lifted from her grasp, floating toward the hollow space in his armor.

The moment it embedded itself inside, flames erupted from his chest.The Bull King let out a ferocious yell, power pouring from him like an unstoppable force.

“Finally!” Red Son shouted over the roar of energy. “Father has the power he truly deserves!”

Red Son had stayed on the ground with his father.

From high above, I watched them for a moment, before I felt the subtle shift in the air. Lady Iron had spotted me. I didn’t need to look to know it was her.

She rose through the air with her usual poise, wind swirling gently around her, not a single hair out of place. Her landing on the rooftop was so graceful it was nearly silent—like a dancer landing on soft earth.

She turned to me with a knowing smile that was just shy of a smirk.

“As always, Kitten, your sight led us true.”

I didn’t reply right away, just turned my head slightly to glance at her. She didn’t need to say anything more—I already knew what she meant. She was acknowledging our earlier talk. That my instincts about the Delivery Boy had been right. He was trying to return the staff to the Monkey King.

I looked back out at the carnage Lord Ox was causing.

Buildings falling. Fires rising. Cracks splitting the roads like veins.

A fleeting thought drifted through my mind—I wish I had been wrong.

But I let it go just as quickly as it came.

It wasn’t my fault what people chose to do with what I told them. That wasn’t on me. I just saw what others didn’t. Spoke the truth, even when it was uncomfortable.

I gave Lady Iron a small nod, not taking my eyes off the chaos below.

“He is aware,” I asked slowly, “that if he keeps killing and destroying the city, Heaven is going to get involved, right?”

Right on cue, Lord Ox fired another blast of that sickly purple-green energy from his chest. The beam tore through half a district, reducing entire blocks to rubble in a blinding flash.

Buildings crumbled like dried leaves.

Lady Iron let out a small laugh—amused, maybe even delighted—and walked over to me. Her heels made the faintest click on the rooftop as she crossed the distance between us.

Then, her hand was on my face, perfectly manicured fingers tilting my head until I was looking directly at her.

There was a sharpness in her smile, like a blade hidden beneath silk.

She patted my cheek gently. “That’s why you’re here, Kitten. To keep watch on the Heavens. And if any of those pompous bastards come down—shoot them.”

She dropped her hand after delivering the command like it was a compliment and moved to sit on the ledge, the picture of elegance, her gaze returning to the battlefield.

I stood there for a second longer, her words settling in my chest. Then, with a quiet sigh, I reached up and unclipped the small coffin from the silver chain around my neck. The weight of it felt heavier than usual today.

I wrapped my fingers around the strap and forced my magic into it.

A soft grey light pulsed from within the metal.

Slowly, it began to grow—expanding, reshaping itself in my hands until it was nearly as tall as I was. The size made it difficult to carry, too heavy for comfort, but I could still manage.

Just barely.

I knelt and set it down carefully on the rooftop, then undid the latches with practiced fingers.

The lid opened with a low creak, revealing the neatly organized interior.

Shelves. Compartments. Every piece of every weapon I could ever need.

Today, I needed precision.

I began assembling my sniper rifle. My hands moved with practiced efficiency—grabbing parts, fitting them together, reinforcing them with my magic as needed. I made sure to choose components that could handle the energy I fed into them—ones that wouldn’t combust after a single shot.

The weapon came together in less than three minutes.

Once it was complete, I rested it against the ledge next to Lady Iron and adjusted the scope, my gaze drifting across the horizon.

Scanning.

Waiting.

She looked at me out of the corner of her eye and spoke softly, “I always forget how fast you can put those things together.”

I gave her a half-smirk. “It’s one of the reasons you keep me around?”

Her eyes met mine. Amusement danced in her expression.

“Among other things,” she said with a smug smile.

We sat together in silence after that, watching from our perch as the city was torn apart piece by piece. The sun dipped lower, and the sky took on the deep golden, pink, and purplish hues of dusk. Fires still burned. The streets were littered with debris.

We must have been watching for over an hour. Maybe longer.

I kept expecting Bull King to run out of energy. Or at the very least… get bored.

But no.

He kept going.

Building after building.

Like it brought him peace.

Then something caught my eye—something fast.

A jet.

It tore through the sky, heading straight for us at a high speed.

I shifted slightly and took aim through the scope, finger hovering just over the trigger.

“I can take it down now—” I started.

But Lady Iron calmly extended her hand and placed it directly in front of the scope.

“Let’s see how the boys handle these nuisances,” she said.

I gave her a skeptical look. I didn’t necessarily disagree, but… wouldn’t it be easier to take them out before they became a real problem?

Maybe she wanted to give them a little playtime.

Let Red Son and Bull King entertain themselves.

So I slowly pulled back from the scope, finger drifting away from the trigger.

I watched instead.

Watched as the jet closed in.

Watched as it crashed into Red Son.

Watched as the Delivery Boy climbed out of the wreckage, somehow still standing.

I couldn’t hear the exchange between them, but I wasn’t really listening either. My eyes darted between Red Son, trapped beneath the jet, and Lady Iron.

Waiting for any sign that she wanted me to act.

But she stayed silent. Still. Watching with that same calculating expression.

I turned back to Red. From here, it looked like he was just passed out. Nothing life-threatening, as far as I could tell.

The noodle boy—somehow—got his hands on a motorcycle.

He started weaving through the warzone, heading directly for Bull King.

Dodging flames. Rubble. Collapsed roads.

The hell was he doing?

I shifted my gaze back to the sky. Still no sign of Heaven. Still no movement from above.

They had to know.

They had to.

Unless they’d finally given up on us.

I wouldn’t blame them, but it still pissed me off.

When I glanced back down, I nearly missed it—just in time to see the noodle boy launch himself headfirst into the glowing furnace in Bull King’s chest.

I blinked.

Well.

That was short-lived.

He just… dove in.

What the hell did he think was going to happen?

From where I stood, it looked like he’d just committed suicide.

I couldn’t hear anything happening on the ground, but Lady Iron’s mouth had tightened into a firm line.

Something wasn’t right.

I looked back toward Bull King.

He was hunched over now. His entire body pulsing with energy, his breath ragged.

Something dropped from his chest—a stone-like object. It rolled a few feet before coming to a stop.

He fell to one knee, staring at it.

There was something in his eyes I hadn’t expected—anger, yes… but also awe.

The stone began to glow.

It twisted. Shifted. Changed shape before our eyes.

It was morphing.

Transforming.

Until it became…

A boy.

Floating midair, surrounded by radiant golden magic.

The boy laughed—a wild, joyous kind of laughter—and pulled the staff from behind his ear.

Then, with sudden force, he rushed forward and punched Bull King in the face, sending him flying.

Bull King didn’t hesitate. He responded with a flurry of energy blasts, purple-green lasers shooting from his chest in rapid succession.

The boy dodged every single one.

Flawlessly.

Like it was easy.

Like he’d done this a hundred times before. How the fuck…? How did this kid learn to fight like that?

It took me years—years of bleeding and training and pain—to learn how to control my magic. To fight while channeling it. To survive.

And he’d had his for what? A day? A few hours? Goddamn prodigies. They pissed me off more than anything.

But I needed to focus.

The boy was now literally throwing buildings at Bull King. Actual buildings. How strong was he? What even was he? He could lift the Monkey King’s staff. That alone said a lot.

I turned back to the sky, scanning for any celestial movement. And that’s when I saw it.

A bird.

It looked almost normal—brownish-ginger feathers, splashes of red and blue. Colorful, sure. Strange, but not unheard of.

Then I saw its tail.

Tails.

One was a regular tail, the kind birds usually had.

The other… a fluffy, animal-like tail.

Like mine, in a way but maybe fluffier? It was hard to tell with the wings getting in the way. But definitely some kind of mammal that had a tail.

What the hell kind of bird has two tails?

Before I could process that, a sharp burst of wind and energy hit us, scattering dust across the rooftop.

When it cleared, I looked down and saw Bull King in the center of a crater.

And standing over him?

A giant mech. A Monkey Mech—the kind from that one video game. “Damn,” I muttered. “I was looking at the bird too long.”

Lady Iron stood beside me, letting out a quiet sigh. “I’m going to get them,” she said simply. “Meet us back at the mansion.”

I looked down at the group gathering below, Red Son rolling into the crater beside his father.

“Do you want me to… finish them?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“No. We will not use such low tactics to finish them off. Not yet at least.”

And with that, she vanished in a whirlwind, reappearing in front of the group. She said something—then disappeared the same way.

I watched them a while longer as the echoes of celebration drifted upward, their voices rising and falling in uneven bursts of laughter. It was the sound of relief more than victory—tired and unsteady but real. The kid stood in the center, eyes wide and body bruised, half held up by his friends as they gathered close around him. They’d survived something bigger than they understood. Maybe they thought it was over. Maybe they believed they’d actually won. That was the funny thing about battles like this—the fight never really ends when the last blow is thrown.

My attention had already started to drift, my focus sliding back toward that strange bird again. It had landed on the mech’s shoulder and was sitting on it like it belonged there, its feathers catching the last of the sun’s light. Deep reds and sharp blues shimmered with each breath it took, as though the creature itself was carved from dusk. Its mammal tail flicked once, slow and deliberate, before going still again. I didn’t trust it. Something about it had rubbed at me the whole time, like a splinter just beneath the skin—unseen but always felt.

Then, with no sound and no warning, the bird shifted cast in a golden light.

It didn’t explode with power. It didn’t twist the air or pull energy from the world around it. It simply changed. Wings folded into sleeves. Feathers gave way to fabric. And in its place stood a figure I recognized instantly.

Sun Wukong.

No illusion. No trick of the light.

The Monkey King stood on the shoulder of the mech like he had always been there. His weight rested easily on one leg, his robes teasing at the edges of the breeze. He didn’t move to speak, didn’t announce himself, and didn’t seem interested in being noticed. He just stood there, watching the boy and his team below with a gaze that was almost—distant. Proud, maybe. Or satisfied in the quiet way that only someone who had seen a plan come together could be.

I adjusted my grip on the rifle, my hand brushing the trigger guard more out of habit than intent. My breath was calm, but my chest was tighter now. The realization that he’d been here the whole time shifted the whole narrative.

Demon Bull King had never had a real chance. Wukong had been watching, waiting, ready to act if anything went off-script. The fact that the boy had been the one to face him… maybe that was intentional. Or maybe it was mercy. Making Bull King face the boy instead of having to seal him away again himself. It was probably one of the only reasons that Lady Iron was able to take the boys away.

Wukong moved slightly, the turn of a shoulder, a shift of weight.

Then he froze.

His head turned slowly, methodically, like someone becoming aware of an itch they hadn’t realized was there.

And then his eyes locked with mine.

His gaze hit me like a blade drawn in silence. No energy behind it. No power flared. Just sharp, focused awareness. There was surprise in his expression—brief but unmistakable. He hadn’t seen me. Not until now. Not until my focus settled on him fully, like a hand pressed to the side of his neck. His posture didn’t shift much, but I saw it in the subtle realignments. The calculations beginning.

We watched each other across the destroyed city. The world seemed to narrow in around us, everything else fading into the slow tension of that held gaze. He was reading me now, trying to understand how long I’d been here. Whether I was dangerous.

I didn’t move. But I let him see that I wasn’t hiding, wasn’t going to shrink away from him.

I did do my best to hide my irritation at the situation in front of me though.

The whole fight had rubbed me the wrong way. Demon Bull King should’ve crushed that kid—he had the strength, the experience, the sheer presence plus on top of that the new fancy armor Red had made him. And yet, somehow, the noodle boy pulled through. Not because he outmatched him. Not really. It felt more like luck than anything else—timing, chance, or maybe just Wukong pulling strings from a distance like some smug puppeteer.

Watching them celebrate like they’d truly earned it, like it hadn’t almost gone completely sideways, only made it worse. And Wukong standing there above it all, proud and quiet like this had been part of the plan from the beginning, made my jaw clench. The last thing I wanted was to head back to the Bull Family and sit through another round of whispered vengeance and half-baked schemes against the Monkey King or taking over the world.

The thought of it soured my mood completely. I needed to let off steam. And I knew better than to actually shoot him. But I could still poke the beast. I was told not to kill them, not that I couldn’t have a little fun.

I raised my rifle—not at him, but just to the side. Right where the mech’s shoulder curved into smooth plating. My finger settled on the trigger.

Six shots. Under six seconds. Fast and deliberate.

When the echo of the last shot faded, six clean bullet holes formed a jagged little smiley face just inches from where Wukong’s head had been.

I lowered the rifle slowly, letting my eyes stay on him.

He blinked once, then turned to look at the mark.

For a second, he looked confused. Like he wasn’t sure what had just happened. Then the realization hit, and I saw his face tighten—not with rage, but something quieter and colder. He turned back to me with a furrowed brow, and that was when I saw it.

He got it.

He realized I hadn’t just taken six random shots.

I could’ve taken them all out, if I’d really wanted to. Wukong wouldn’t have stayed down—he’s immortal, after all—but I could’ve put him on the ground long enough to matter. One solid hit, center mass, spine, head—doesn’t take much to stall even a legend. The other five? They wouldn’t have been so lucky. Six shots, six bodies. Clean. Precise. He saw that. He recognized the spacing, the control, the rhythm. That wasn’t a warning shot—it was a choice. I could’ve ended the whole game right there.

But I didn’t.

I just wanted to mess with him.

His stance shifted, barely perceptible—but enough to signal that he was considering whether to close the distance. I saw the tension build in his shoulders, the faint glint of something sharper behind his eyes. A slow, deliberate readjustment. Not a threat. Not yet. But a decision was starting to form.

I stayed locked in his gaze, even as I knelt and began to stow the rifle. I didn’t hurry, but I didn’t drag my feet either. I could feel the shift in the air. He wasn’t just irritated anymore—he was thinking about what it would mean to walk across the rooftop and come find me. I didn’t know if he’d do it, but I knew enough not to hang around and find out.

Still, I wouldn’t look away.

Not first.

He hadn’t moved yet. But he was close. I could feel the pressure of it, like gravity tilting toward a fall.

I snapped the coffin case shut and let my fingers curl around the spell humming just beneath my skin. One last look. One last breath. He was still watching.

And so was I.

The moment broke only when the petals flared around me, soft and spinning in the wind, carrying me out in a flash of color.

I didn’t even shrink the case.

Our eyes met one last time through the swirl of pink.

His expression didn’t shift.

But it didn’t have to.

He was definitely coming my way.

And he did not like my joke.

My vision was filled with the pink flower petals as I teleported back to the Bull Family’s mansion.

I landed outside in the courtyard, boots crunching softly against the stone path. The air here was still, calm—completely disconnected from the battlefield I had just left behind.

I stood there for a few moments, letting the weight of everything sink in. The magic still buzzed under my skin, faint and restless. My muscles ached. My arms were sore from holding the rifle for hours. I could still feel the phantom recoil in my shoulder. My head was starting to pound, too—probably the aftermath of adrenaline and overextending myself again.

But at least I wasn’t dead.

Yet.

I knew better than to teleport directly into the mansion. The last time I did that, the petals made it all the way into Lady Iron’s private meditation room. I got yelled at by three different people and had to sweep the place for six hours with one of the clones side-eyeing me the whole time.

Not worth it.

I moved the coffin in front of me, still pulsing faintly with residual energy. My hand slid over its smooth, enchanted surface as I pushed my magic into it again. The glow returned—soft, grey, familiar—and slowly, it began to shrink back down to its original size. Once it was small enough, I clipped it back onto the chain around my neck. It was warm against my chest.

It always was.

With a tired sigh, I adjusted my coat and started the walk inside.

The mansion was its usual organized chaos. Bull clones scrambled through the halls, arms full of supplies and paperwork, calling out orders to each other as they rushed by. Some of them paused to glance at me, then looked away quickly. Smart.

I walked slowly, dragging my feet a little more than usual, heading toward the infirmary.

I was about seventy-five percent sure the boys had ended up there.

Thankfully, I was right.

The door was slightly ajar, warm light spilling through the crack. Inside, the room buzzed with quiet conversation and the soft beeping of monitors. A few clones moved around, tending to injuries, setting up IV drips, adjusting machines.

Red was already talking. Loudly. Energetically. Like he hadn’t just had a jet crash into him a few hours ago.

He was mid-rant, animated hands flying through the air as he launched into his next big idea for world domination—something about installing solar-powered flamethrowers on the moon or building a floating volcano fortress over the ocean. He was probably high off the pain meds right now.

I sighed quietly and rubbed my temples. My hands were already full with him.

Now they were going to overflow.

Bull King was sitting upright, surprisingly. Quiet. Calm. He was watching Red with a neutral expression, his large form half-shadowed by the soft lighting of the room. His eyes were hooded but not unfocused. He was listening.

And maybe—just maybe—he was a little proud.

Or maybe I was reading into things. It was hard to tell with Lord Ox.

He blinked slowly and leaned his head back against the wall, finally letting his eyes slide closed. Exhaustion, thick and heavy, weighed down his body. Rampaging through a city for hours tends to do that.

Across from him, Princess Iron Fan sat on the edge of the bed, holding his hand in both of hers. Her thumb brushed softly over his knuckles. Her gaze was gentle. Concerned.

There was love in that look.

No matter how destructive they could be… at least they were cute.

I stepped farther into the room and walked up to Red. He didn’t seem to notice me at first—still rambling, still talking a mile a minute about some orbital laser cannon idea he’d probably sketch out in crayon later.

So I raised my hand and smacked it right over his mouth.

He stopped mid-sentence, eyes going wide.

Then narrowed into a glare.

His hair flared upward in a burst of flame, licking dangerously close to my face.

I gave him a flat look, unimpressed. “How about you save your energy and rest, dude?”

The flames sputtered down at my words, shrinking into little flickers as he rolled his eyes.

But then—without warning—my palm was suddenly wet.

I froze.

“Ew!” I yanked my hand back like it had been dipped in acid. “Did you lick my hand like a dog?!”

Red grinned at me, completely unrepentant. “Don’t cover my mouth, peasant!”

And then—he passed out.

Just like that.

Eyes closed. Head lolled back. Gone.

I stared at him, completely deadpan, holding my hand away from my body like it was contaminated.

I glanced around the room. One of the clones gave me a sympathetic shrug. I looked back at Red’s peacefully unconscious face, still grinning in his sleep like he was the smartest idiot in the world.

I sighed again, louder this time.

“Great. Now I have to wash my hand.”

I turned on my heel and walked out of the room, muttering curses under my breath and already planning my route to the nearest sink.

#sun wukong x reader #macaque x reader #reader has trauma #lego monkie kid #lego monkey kid fandom #lego monkie king #six eared macaque #Threats of Violence #slow burn #angst #fluff #Forced Proximity

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robertreich · 2 years ago

Video

youtube

Why Does Flying Suck so Much?

You might not believe this, but I’m old enough to remember when flying was fun.

Now I'm sure you've got your own airline horror stories, which I hope you’ll share. But what happened to make flying such a nightmare?

The answer is simple: the same things happening across most industries. In fact, a close look at airlines reveals five of the biggest problems with our economy.

Number 1: Consolidation means fewer choices.

While there were once many more airlines, a series of mergers and acquisitions over the last three decades has left only four in control of about 80% of the market.

This kind of consolidation has been happening all over the economy. For example, four companies now control 80% of all beef production, and two control over 60% of all paper products. This lack of competition has led to:

Number 2: Companies Charging More for Less

Even before recent airfare spikes, air travel was getting more expensive because of new fees for things that used to be free, like in-flight meals, checked bags, or even carry-ons.

Spirit Airlines even charges $25 to print your boarding pass at a ticket counter! It’s just a piece of paper!

One of the ugliest ad-ons is the fee some airlines charge for families to sit together. That doesn’t even cost them anything!

Airlines are leading an economy-wide trend of adding often unexpected new charges to goods and services without adding value.

And you’re getting less in return. Airlines have cut an estimated 8 inches of legroom and two inches of seat width in the last two decades. Doesn’t bother me (I’m short), but many of you may feel the squeeze.

This parallels other industries where you’re paying more for less — just look at how cereal boxes, rolls of toilet paper, and candy bars are all shrinking.

Number 3: Exploiting Workers

While their jobs have become more difficult, many flight attendants haven’t had a raise in years.

And a lot of their hardest work is totally unpaid, because most flight attendants don’t get paid during the boarding process. They’re off the clock until the plane’s doors close.

And if the flight is delayed, those are often extra hours for no extra money.

Again, this mirrors trends in the overall economy, where too many workers are pushed into unpaid overtime or made to do work or be on call during their off hours.

Number 4: The Illusion of Scarcity

Airlines pretend they have no choice but to raise prices, cut services, and limit payroll. But their profits are in the stratosphere. In the five years before the pandemic, the top 5 airlines were flush enough to pay shareholders $45 billion, largely through stock buybacks.

During the pandemic, they got a $54 billion bailout from taxpayers (you’re welcome).

In the years since, they’ve resumed flying high, with nearly $10 billion in net profit expected across the industry in 2023. They can afford to take care of workers and customers.

Whether it’s multi-millionaire movie moguls pretending they can’t afford to pay writers or a grocery chain blaming “inflation” for high prices while raking in record profits, this illusion of scarcity is a sham.

Number 5: Misdirected Rage

Instead of being mad at the people at the top, we’ve been tricked into being mad at each other. Fights have broken out over whether it’s ok to recline a seat or who gets overhead bin space. But reclining’s only an issue because airlines intentionally put the seats too close together. And bin space is only running out because they’ve made it expensive to check bags — and also risky, with the rate of lost bags doubling over the last year.

Airlines are pitting us against each other the same way billionaires and their political lackeys pit groups against each other in society, hoping we’ll blame unions or immigrants or people of other races or religions or gender identities for why it’s so hard to get ahead, and that we won’t notice how much wealth and power is in the hands of so few.

So what do we do?

A lot of these problems could be solved with tougher antitrust enforcement — which we are starting to see. The Justice Dept is suing to block JetBlue from buying Spirit Airlines. We need that kind of anti-monopoly protection across the board.

Another part of the solution is unions. Airline workers are among the wave of American workers organizing to demand better pay and working conditions.

And then there’s your power as an informed consumer. Companies get away with bad behavior when we accept their excuses that there’s just no other way to run a business. They’re counting on us not knowing what’s really going on. So share this video, and share your airline stories in the comments.

Finally, try to be a little nicer to service workers and your fellow passengers — on planes and in life. After all, we’re all on this journey together.

#youtube #videos #video #airlines #flying #travel #economics #politics

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marvelfanfn2187a113 · 2 years ago

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Strong Enough

Dean Winchester x little sister!reader, slight John Winchester x daughter!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: John thinks you can’t hunt, you go out to prove him wrong.

“You could use my help!”

“You’d get in the way.”

“That’s not true!” You stepped in front of your father, demanding his attention. “I took out that shapeshifter, I don’t see why you’re mad.”

“I’m mad because you hesitated!” John brushed past you, grabbing his gun. “And because you hesitated, Dean almost got hurt. If you’re not gonna shoot first and ask questions later, then you’re not gonna hunt, plain as that.”

“It was wearing your face! I had to be sure about which one was you!”

“We’re done talking about this, you’re staying here. You’re too weak out there for me to trust you.”

You looked to Dean for support, but he just shrugged and headed out the door, John following behind him.

You sighed, turning to your desk and grabbing your laptop.

If they wouldn’t let you in on their hunt, you’d have to find your own.

…

“No way,” you breathed as you went over crime scene photos. In the boys’ hurry to take down the ghoul they were after, they’d failed to notice an irregularity with one of the victims.

The ghoul had somehow been interrupted while he was eating a man, and the man had been discovered several hours later. But as you looked now at a close up shot of the man’s face, you saw puncture wounds on the side of his neck.

“A ghoul would’ve just taken a bite,” you muttered to yourself. “So…a vampire and a ghoul in the same town.”

The ghoul must’ve attacked the man, and the vampire, smelling the blood, was drawn there, where he scared off the ghoul and had his own little snack.

“Alright boys, you can have the ghoul. The vamp is mine,” you grinned, grabbing a machete and heading out the door.

…

You talked to several locals, trying to pinpoint the location of the vampire. It didn’t take long, and after a conversation with a nice guy around your age, you emerged with a lead—and his number.

Dean would’ve been proud.

You got out of the taxi about a block from the warehouse—why was it always a warehouse?—where you knew the vamp would be holed up.

You snuck around the back, pulling the machete out of your pack and keeping it close to your side.

“Alright bloodsucker, get ready.”

…

“Dean?” You despised the quaver in your voice as your hands shook trying to hold the phone.

“Kid, where are you?” Dean demanded, anger prominent in his voice. “We got back to the motel and you were just gone, I-“

“I-I’m at a warehouse on twelfth street,” you dropped your voice to a whisper when you heard footsteps. “It wasn’t just a ghoul, there are vampires here. I-I thought just one, so I went, but-but it’s a nest.”

“A nest?” You heard a door slam on the other end, and then the impala’s engine start up. “I’m coming, just hold on.”

“Dean I’m so sorry, I thought-“

“Yeah, we’re gonna talk about it later, for now just don’t get killed.”

…

“Pretty small nest,” Dean commented as he cleaned the blood off his machete.

“Yeah, well I didn’t think I could take it alone,” you wouldn’t meet Dean’s eye as you followed his example with your own machete.

“Have anything to do with that kid that I ganked?” Dean questioned.

“What kid?” You were a horrible liar, and both of you knew it.

“The teenager. The one you ran from instead of fought.”

“Hm, I don’t remember that.”

“Y/N,” you looked up at Dean’s stern voice. “Don’t lie to me. Why’d you call me here? Why did you run from that vamp?”

“I…I couldn’t kill him,” your voice came out in a hoarse whisper as you once again ducked your head. “I m-met him earlier today, he was the one who gave me the lead…” you shook your head as tears started to pool in your eyes. “I thought he was nice, but he set me up. He killed people, he tried to kill me, and I-I still couldn’t…” you took a deep breath. “Dad was right, I can’t do this, I’m not strong enough.”

“Hey,” Dean lowered his head to look into your eyes. “No, he wasn’t right. You’re not weak. Hesitancy isn’t weakness.”

“It almost got you killed.”

“Ok, so you’re not gonna be the world’s best hunter,” Dean amended. “But it makes you a better person. You and I have both seen what happens when you go extreme in the other way, when you don’t hesitate. You become like Gordon, kill anything that moves. You’re never going to be like that, and do you know what that means?”

“What?” You wondered, still not convinced.

Dean placed his hands on your shoulders.

“It means you’re good. It means that you’re human. And, most importantly, it means that I know I can always trust you to do the right thing. And I’ll take that over the world’s best hunter any day.”

“Thanks Dean,” you gave him a halfhearted smile.

He grinned.

“Any time, kiddo.”

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean and sam #dean winchester x you #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #supernatural dean #the winchesters #mary winchester #spn sam winchester #john winchester #the winchester brothers #winchester x reader #winchester #winchesters x sister #winchesters x reader

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bonzos-number-1-fan · 1 year ago

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Putting the CAT# Back in the Bag: The Flaws With Person/Place/Object

Hi, I’m bonzos-number-1-fan You might know me from such theories as; "Theory of Fears; or, Zur Furchtlehre", "What R# Means: The ABCs of Fear" or, "Padlocks, How Do They Even Work?".

I’m back with another essay about this show. Today’s subject is a little different from previous ones. Rather than explaining what I think something in this show is, I’ll be explaining what I think it isn’t. What I’m going to be talking about is the very popular theory that CAT1/2/3 means the supernatural aspect is a Person/Place/Object.

Because I’m talking about other people’s ideas here I do want to start off by saying I understand why this theory is attractive and I don’t think anyone is stupid or anything for believing it. I just personally think there are angles from which it doesn’t work and that the sum of them makes it fairly certain to be untrue. I could be very wrong about that, and my other theories, or I could be very right. I don’t think either scenario matters much. This essay isn’t about being right but about talking about a big thing in the community. I just happen to not believe this one and people have signalled interest in hearing why.

So with all that out of the way I’m going to start by establishing the terminology being used. Then I’ll break down what this theory is positing and follow it up with the ways I think it does and doesn’t work. That’s basically it but with 16 episodes and supplemental material to cover it’s still not going to be terribly short.

Huge thanks to @brettanomycroft for proof reading/editing this madness.

Spoilers for The Magnus Protocol up to and including episode 16.

What is a CAT#?

A CAT# is the first 4-5 characters of an OIAR's incident report header. While these are not often referenced in the main body of the show, each incident we hear is accompanied by one in the show's description and transcript. As an example this is the case number for the first incident of episode 1.

CAT1RBC5257-12052022-09012024 Reanimation (Partial) -/- Regret [Email]

The first line is the case number. CAT1 is this incident's CAT#. The RBC (R#/Rank) and 5257 (DPHW) have been topics I've discussed in essays I linked at the start. The second line is the header and is formatted “Section (Subsection) -/- Crosslink [Format]”. CAT#s is all we're concerning ourselves with today but I will be using this terminology going forward.

Now we know what they look like, what is it we know about them? Well, not much at all. From the show itself we know there are CAT1s, CAT2s, CAT3s and CAT23s. From the Klaus excel sheet that was found as part of the ARG (and can be found here) we also know there are CAT12s and CAT13s. With that information we can say with some certainty that CAT1, CAT2, and CAT3 are non-mutually exclusive groupings. It's very likely not a linear scale of some description—i.e CAT23 isn't between CAT2 and CAT3—because CAT13 doesn't fit such a scale. Which means that where there are two numbers in a CAT# that incident likely fits both groups rather than being a new group. This also strongly implies that an incident could be CAT123 although we have yet to see that demonstrated.

We also know that CAT is short for "Category". In the Klaus sheet these numbers are located in the "Kategorie" column. "Kategorie" being German for "category". This unfortunately doesn't tell us anything we didn't already know. CAT#s denote some form of grouping.

There is only one other fact we know about CAT#s and that's this:

ALICE Right, so, after each entry there's four numbers. That’s the DPHW. So, “dolls comma watching” is… 1157. Then you cross reference with the table here, that would be a 2-C, and then you type that into the box here, along with date of incident if there is one and today’s date.

Which is not a lot to go on at all but it does raise an important question. How is a CAT# assigned? There are two major assumptions you could make here. The first is the “objective method” and that it’s a factor of either the section, subject, DPHW or a combination thereof. This means that they are pre-assigned in the same way that DPHWs are. This method has an inherent trait in that it means every header manifests as the same sort of thing. While it’s not a problem to say that every Doll (Watching) is the same— that could just be the rules of the setting—it does make CAT# itself somewhat redundant. The terminology of the headers will often describe something inherent about the CAT#. We have a CAT3 case that’s Dice (Bone) -/- Fate but dice are objects so why would you need to restate that?

The second is the “subjective method” in which the assessor chooses the CAT# based on the incident itself. The subjective method has a larger assumption built into it in that they know what CAT#s are. They don’t know what DPHW is and have shown no indication of knowing what CAT# is either. So I’d say it’s less likely that CAT#s are subjective rather than objective. However, for the purposes of this essay I will assume that both are as likely to be true as each other and will refer to them both. Different cases show different flaws when one of these is true over the other, so both will get discussed.

What is Person/Place/Object?

Person/Place/Object is the theory that the three single digit CAT#s stand for Person, Place, and Object respectively. Combinations of these digits represent that an incident falls into each category. A CAT1 incident indicates that the supernatural element of an incident is a person in some respect, while a CAT23 would indicate both a place and an object.

As I have mentioned this isn’t a theory with a single theorist or origin to point to. As such this theory isn’t a monolith and there is variation in how these categories are presented from theory to theory. Sometimes “Person” is literal and other times it includes any sentient thing, “places” aren’t always strictly physical locations, and the narrative framing of what “objects” are may shift. As such I will be taking the broadest interpretation of these categories as their definitions.

People will include animals and other sentient beings. Places will include metaphysical locations. Objects won’t need to be physical in nature. This is both the fairest I can be to all theories and also the strongest I can make this theory. The broader I can make these definitions, the more different ideas can be represented and the more wiggle room the CAT#s get.

What I’ll do next is run through all the incidents the show has mentioned and explain them as I see it. We’ll start with the ones that fit this theory well because they require little explanation. Then when that’s established we’ll talk about the places I think this theory falls down.

Which Incidents fit well?

CAT1:

CAT1RBC5257 Reanimation (Partial) -/- Regret: There is something like a zombie in this incident. That’s something like a person and so fits well.

CAT1RB4824 Injury (Needles) -/- Intimidation: Needles is definitely a person, no question there.

CAT1RB2275 Mascot (Kids) -/- Murder: Bonzo walks, “talks”, and probably thinks. He’s a person.

CAT1B4728 Mascot (Kids) -/- Frenzy: Bonzo is still doing that stuff so is still a person.

CAT1RB4426 Transformation (Snake) -/-Horde: There was a person and they turned into snakes. Snakes count as people here too. Given the amount of snakes this is the most CAT1 CAT1.

CAT1RB-6451 Hunt (Aristocratic) -/- Compulsion: Lady M is the most person on this list.

CAT1RB1565 Tattoo (Influencer) -/- Cardiac: Definitely involves a person doing something supernatural.

CAT2:

CAT2C8175 Infection (Full Body) -/- Arboreal: This incident takes place in a time and space bending garden. Makes perfect sense for CAT2.

CAT2RB2377 Disappearance (Undetermined) -/- Invitation: A spooky theatre is a location for sure.

CAT3:

CAT3RBC1567 Transformation (Full) -/- Dysmorphic: In this instance the object in question is the tattoo. Which I think is really stretching the definition of “object” but I’m still going to give it to the theory.

CAT3C7494 Collection (Blood) -/- Musical: A magical violin is definitely an object.

CAT3RB3354 Dice (Bone) -/- Fate: Bone dice are inarguably objects.

CAT3RB4622 Gambling (Application) -/- Murder: It’s another stretch to call an app an object but, again, happy to give it to the theory.

CAT23:

CAT23RAB2155 Transformation (Eyes) -/- Trespass: In this incident’s case the location is the Magnus Institute and the object is the box RedCanary stole. I think there are some problems with this one but there is enough to get through.

Which Incidents Don't?

CAT1:

CAT1RBC5257 Reanimation (Partial) -/- Regret: You’re not misremembering, I did say this fit well. Because on the surface it really does make sense, but I think if you push just a little it makes very little sense. Why? Because any category you want to place this in is easily justified in the incident itself. There is a zombie-esque thing but also a Frankenstein-esque figure for CAT1. CAT 2 would be the location of the graveyard itself. It was chosen by the presumed creator of this zombie-like creature and is depicted similar to the one in Marked, a CAT23 incident. If this theory is correct and the Marked graveyard is supernatural I can’t see a reason to discount that possibility here. CAT3 fits too because the presumed creation method is that they were Frankenstein-ed which does require some sort of surgical apparatus. But whichever choice you make you’ve not really clarified the incident at all.

This issue is further seen in the methodology of assigning CAT#s.Objectively it has the same problem all objective assignments do. Reanimation implies there is going to be a reanimated person so restating that doesn’t add much. If we look at the subjective method then this is chosen largely at random. There isn’t enough of an indication in this incident to clearly state which CAT this is. So it’s neither helped in the assessment of the incident and doesn’t provide anything for response because all choices are justifiable.

CAT1RB4426 Transformation (Snake) -/- Horde: Not misremembering here either. There is a problem with this one in that it’s demonstrated to be an infection. This makes the source of the affliction basically unknowable. The source could qualify it for other CATs but the larger issue here is that what CAT1 means here and what it means elsewhere are not that comparable. Needles, Bonzo, and Lady M are all sentient and independent. The afflicted we see in this case are normal people until they get very rapidly sick, summon a portal to the snake dimension in their throats, and die. Which leaves CAT1 translating to “something in the rough shape of a person” which is a really wide range of interpretations. Which is something I feel has little practical utility in either assessing or responding to these incidents.

CAT1RB1565 Tattoo (Influencer) -/- Cardiac: Still not misremembering. While you can say that Ink5oul or Madame E are the person in this instance there is a major conflict here with CAT3RBC1567 Transformation (Full) -/- Dysmorphic. If Daria’s transformation was CAT3 because tattoos are objects then there is no reasonable justification that this isn’t at least CAT13. It’s the same person, doing the same thing, to a very similar result but in a different CAT. The headers are entirely different, and so this/that may be misfiled, but it highlights a problem with Daria’s incident. If the incident with the Tattoo header isn’t an object then tattoos are probably not objects under this scheme.

If this is objective then this is always a person, or on people, which makes a great deal of sense. However if that’s the case then the objective method for Daria’s case sort of falls apart because there wasn’t really a secondary object there. Additionally, because all incidents with that case’s header being objects is a huge stretch. So if this incident, or that incident, is misfiled it doesn’t really matter. In either case (or even if both of them are misfiled), it largely disproves that tattoos are objects, creating a larger issue with that theory as it affects more than just this case. Subjectively as far as we’re aware Sam filed all three of the Ink5oul incidents. So he chose an object in Daria’s case but then opted against it here despite there being no real reason to that we can see. You could say that now Ink5oul has been in it more, he thinks Ink5oul has some sort of supernatural power themselves which makes them a CAT1; that would still make this CAT13 as episode 11 was CAT23.

CAT2:

CAT2RC1157 Dolls (Watching): This is a big one in my opinion. It’s not only the first incident we’re told about, but it's both Sam’s and our first exposure to an explanation of the OIAR’s filing system. It’s also one I see ignored in most of the posts that posit the Person/Place/Object theory. That is understandable as we don’t hear the incident itself but we do hear enough of it to show that there is a flaw in the theory.

What we hear about this incident is entirely focused on the doll itself and questions about its nature. It’s a split between Dolls (Watching) and Dolls (Human Skin) with the former being chosen as the latter is only implied. Dolls themselves are objects which would make this CAT3, and if the doll is sentient a CAT1. However, this is placed in CAT2 indicating that it's actually caused by the location in some respect. In order for that to make sense you have to make 3 major assumptions. Assumption 1: despite no indication in the conversation about this incident suggesting anything outside of the doll being strange there was actually a “haunted house”. Assumption 2: despite there being sections far more descriptive of locations—i.e Architecture—Dolls is more suited to this incident. Assumption 3: despite this being Sam’s/the audience’s first exposure to this system it leaves out the real source of the incident when, narratively, this is an explanation of it. Those are some fairly major assumptions to make to justify a theory.

This also has issues with either method of assigning CAT#s. If CAT# is objective then every Dolls (Watching) is actually a location. Unlike with something like Reanimation (Partial) that doesn't make much sense as dolls themselves are objects. In the subjective method, Alice assigned this as a location but their discussion of it centred solely on an object and she didn't explain to Sam why she did it.

CAT2RC3338 Agglomeration (Miscellany) -/- Congregation: This might be my favourite example of issues I have with this theory. To explain it we’ll look at this from both the objective and subjective methods while taking into account outside knowledge of the show from an audience perspective.

Everyone I’ve seen posit this theory attributes CAT2 to Hilltop here.They do this solely because of TMA. There is nothing in this episode that makes Hilltop out to be anything special in any way. But because Hilltop is special in TMA the audience is primed to view this location as special. It may very well be but there is no reason to think that. In fact, I’d argue there's reason to think otherwise based on this episode, but that is a little off topic for this essay. However from an objective perspective it can’t take Hilltop into account because not every header of this sort will take place in Hilltop. They could only manifest at special locations but that seems like a stretch. If it is true, why does this unique combination of words not include a word that describes it as a location? Subjectively it could be a misfile. Celia would be the only person who knows what Hilltop is in TMA— assuming some of the theories on her are correct—but that doesn’t make Hilltop important in and of itself. It also means she ignored large parts of this incident when filing it just to focus on that element. As this case is the one Alice uses to teach Celia the system with, then this also relies on Alice knowing or not correcting Celia. In either scenario this case is full of people of definite supernatural quality, lacks a location of supernatural quality, but has 100s of objects of dubious supernatural quality. Something doesn’t make sense here if this theory is correct.

CAT2RBC3366 Architecture (Liminal) -/- Hunger: This one is interesting because it shows a flaw not in the theory per se but in the methodology as a whole if the theory is correct. If CAT# is what the theory says it is why is this just CAT2? It being CAT2 at all is redundant when its header describes a location but in this incident we see it’s populated by supernatural creatures. I call them Uncannybals—as should you—and they’re monsters living in the shadow realm. That seems like very important information to include. So it should be CAT12 as there are both people and a place. The OIAR methodology already has the problem that you can’t include multiple headers but CAT#s, if they worked like this, could be used to alleviate that issue. The way it’s implemented here just makes it virtually pointless to include at all.

CAT3:

CAT3RBC1567 Transformation (Full) -/- Dysmorphic: This was largely already covered. So simply put if Transformation (Full) -/- Dysmorphic is an object because of the tattoo, and Tattoo (Corpse) -/- Compulsion is an object because of the tattoo, but Tattoo (Influencer) -/- Cardiac isn’t an object despite being virtually identical to this case then CAT3 doesn't mean object.

The method problems are the same as above too. Now this case is the one most likely of the three to be misfiled. So you could say that Daria's case is misfiled and would actually be CAT1 if filed correctly. Tattoos aren’t objects, this case is a mistake. Then you could explain that Marked is CAT23 because corpses are objects (so 13 if he was alive). Objectively this header always being CAT3 still poses problems because we know there are Transformations that don’t require objects. Which brings us back to the problem of “why are the headers so bad at describing these things?”. If it’s subjective Sam decided that object instead of person made more sense here. Seemingly based on the fact that there is a tattoo. Later on he changed his mind about this but choosing it in the first place seems like a stretch. If he knew what these things meant in order to choose them, object seems like a very unobvious choice.

CAT23:

CAT23RC5246 Tattoo (Corpse) -/- Compulsion: This one is fairly clear to me. I’m going to be very generous and suggest that the corpse here is the object based on the above. The reason this one is a problem is that there wasn’t a location here. I’ve seen people say that it must be the graveyard but that’s confirmation bias IMO. It wasn’t a large feature of the episode, didn’t do anything coastal graveyards don’t do, and had no overt supernatural properties to it. I don’t personally think anyone would categorise this as CAT23 based on the incident alone but because CAT23 people will justify it to fit. That’s not inherently a problem because sometimes you have to make assumptions but given all of the above I don’t think that assumption is a reasonable one to make.

Objectively all compelling corpse tattoos are found in magical graveyards—or morgues, tombs, goth bars, and other corpse hangouts—and I think we can all agree that’s sort of wack. Subjectively Sam decided the graveyard was magic despite there being nothing to suggest that.

Klaus’ CAT#s:

This is a bit of a special section. I briefly mention Klaus in the intro but I didn’t mention that some of the incidents we’ve heard have been found on the Klaus sheet. The canonicity of these aren’t 100% and I would say the show takes precedent so this is supplemental rather than definitive. I think I’ve more than shown that this theory doesn’t hold up. This is more of an academic exercise.

The big thing to know here is that Kluas’ cases lack headers entirely but that some Klaus cases have notes and it’s these notes attached. It’s only one’s with those notes I’m interested in for this because of how they relate to things we’ve heard. One case is CAT3RBC1567 with the note “tinte”. CAT3RBC1567 is Daria’s case and “tinte” is German for “ink”. So this is very likely that case. There are 4 other cases with that note and they’re two CAT1s, a CAT3, and a CAT13. So even if Daria’s case is misfiled not all of those are the correct CAT# for that assumption. There are also two CAT1s and a CAT2 marked “Herr B”, which is “Mr B” in English. These aren’t tied to a Bonzo case we’ve heard yet but one of them does take place in Bland Theme Park, Somerset. That’s not definitively Bonzo but it’s a good hint at it.

Additionally there are 6 CAT2 cases that have the note “Katzen LOL” or “Cats LOL” which you’d expect to be CAT1s if there are cats involved. In a similar vein there are one CAT1 and five CAT2s marked “Kreigsvolk” which is literally “War People” but more likely “Army” or “Soldiers”. Again, you’d expect more CAT1s if CAT1 is people.

I’m not saying any of the above is the backbone of my reasoning here but these are things that are showing up in the show and they do seem to be pointing the same direction as what I’m saying. Ignoring them entirely I think the theory doesn’t hold up but with them I think it’s very clear.

Conclusion

I don’t have much of a wrap up here. Anyone who’s been reading my posts for a while has known that I’ve never thought this theory worked. It’s not something I ever get too deep into because I’m also obviously happy for people to have ideas I disagree with, as am I happy for them to disagree with my ideas. That’s just healthy theorising. I’d been considering writing this for a while though but was mostly held back by not wanting to come across as some sort of arbiter of what is and isn’t correct, and didn’t want to seem like I was calling anyone out specifically. However a few people now said they wanted to see this and there are enough instances of parallel thought on this theory that it’s impossible for me to really single people out now. So here we are.

Just to reiterate for people that did/do believe this theory I don’t think anyone was stupid and/or wrong for thinking it. I hope if the above has convinced you that I’m right about it that you’re not dissuaded from making and sharing future theories. I’ve have 3 or 4 terrible CAT# theories and a few R# theories too. My current ideas on DPHW and R# might be awfully wrong in the long run and that’ll be okay.

That’s me anyway, hope this was at the very least an interesting read if it didn’t manage to be a convincing one. Bonzo! Bonzo!! Bonzo!!!

#the magnus protocol #tmagp #tmagp theory #tmagp speculation #klaus = kl4-u5

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junk-story · 1 year ago

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Interview Archive 1, 12.1993 - Ongaku to Hito Special Edition

BUCK-TICK is an exceedingly rare sort of band. Although the Band Boom has ended up vanishing as if it never happened at all, in an area totally unrelated to the Boom, where no one else is drawing a crowd, is a group with a unique stance who have continued following their own path of “individuality”. Their stylish visuals have the lingering scent of decadence. Their lyrics, like “I just want to go mad”, are laden with the aesthetics of self-deprecation. And, with “strange” sounds that have absolutely no roots in Western rock, and truly catchy melodies – from any angle, they are a “Japan Original”. Furthermore, although these “nonconformists” have also continued to be a great success commercially, they are still breaking new ground. Although their eerie ambiance is often misunderstood by ordinary people, this unique sensation is something that anyone can have a share of. Sakurai Atsushi reigns with a “negative charisma”, but his absolute desire to escape and narcissism in the sense of “being lenient with oneself” can happen to anyone. I support the weakness of humanity.*

Ichikawa: How do you think BUCK-TICK are seen by ordinary people?

Sakurai: …Maybe...I suppose people who aren’t interested just aren’t interested at all. Because no matter how many times something that doesn’t interest me shows up on TV, that’s where it ends for me.

Ichikawa: Despite your CD sales, you’re passive about this.

Sakurai: Yeah, because there are people who don’t listen to music, so even if I stood face-to-face with such a person and said, “It’s me”, they’ll just be like, “And who are you?” (laughs)

Ichikawa: Conversely, what kind of people do you think listen to BUCK-TICK?

Sakurai: Hmmm...I think a lot of them are daydreamers. (laughs) Even watching the same movies, like Alain Delon1 rather than Jurassic Park. (laughs) When I read the letters I’ve received, that’s the feeling I get.

Ichikawa: What kind of letters do you get most?

Sakurai: In my case, I get everything from the heavy stuff to the light stuff. (laughs)

Ichikawa: What sort of content is in the light letters?

Sakurai: “Your stage outfit was so cool this time”. (laughs)

Ichikawa: And what about the heavy letters?

Sakurai: The heavy ones are incredible, really – like a 21 year old girl who got divorced even though she has a child, or things about their family members, or about how they’re sick. Also, there are many people who write emotional content.

Ichikawa: It’s become Kitaro’s Yokai postal service2, hasn’t it?

Sakurai: Hahaha. But, there’s nothing I’m able to give them...you know.

Ichikawa: Although this idol-like reaction is understandable, is there no “added hidden value” appearing more and more?

Sakurai: Hmmm, I wonder...although I’m making music...music isn’t necessary to living, and you won’t die without it. So I think people who aren’t interested don’t listen to music that deeply, and naturally, they don’t synchronize their listening to the situations I find myself in and my reality. So the band is getting more media exposure, which is supposed to give us more opportunities to be heard, but I wonder…

Ichikawa: But on the other hand, the Yokai Post Box has letters arriving to it frequently, right? Obviously, that’s different from just a popular song and supporting some harmless rock music.

Sakurai: But I expect that the people who are watching idols are definitely greater in number. Because they’re all the same.

Ichikawa: But BUCK-TICK are already big names, and you’ve been reigning on the front lines for 6 years. Naturally, you should be different from them. And hey, if you were part of SMAP3, that would be a problem, wouldn’t it?

Sakurai: Yeah, that would be an issue. (laughs)

Ichikawa: So for example, what do you think people come to see Sakurai Atsushi for at concerts?

Sakurai: I really don’t know...for example, I receive letters saying like, “I want to see more of your humanity4 during the MC sections”, and I think it might be better if I expressed my humanity more. Also, I think the songs I want to sing and the songs people want to hear may be different...I’m always confused.

Ichikawa: You still haven’t gotten a grip on what your stage persona is.

Sakurai: No, if I think about understanding it, it’s easy, but I think hard about it and then it confuses me. I suppose there won’t be any problem if I do everything like an entertainer with a strong sense of providing a service, but.

Ichikawa: Like, “I’m Sakuraiiiiii!”

Sakurai: Wahahahaha.

Ichikawa: What’s an example of a song people are expecting?

Sakurai: Songs like “Speed”, “Jupiter”, or “JUST ONE MORE KISS”, don’t you think?

Ichikawa: And the song you think they’ll dislike?

Sakurai: Taiyou ni Korosareta. (laughs)

Ichikawa: Aah, Sakurai’s song about the thing at the core, the “aesthetics of self-deprecation.” Well, it certainly seems like a song that was written sitting on a hill of despair.

Sakurai: Oh? (laughs) But lately, I’ve received letters saying that Taiyou ni Korosareta was good, so I’ve thought that maybe I’m not as misunderstood as I thought I was.

Ichikawa: So you ought to have more self-confidence, Sakurai.

Sakurai: I should, right. More...not to flatter myself, but I hope I can cross the line to becoming an entertainer.

Ichikawa: Well, I think it’s enough that you’re performing as this “dark entertainer”. What do you think is lacking?

Sakurai: It’s not that something’s lacking...it’s that it’s incomplete.

Ichikawa: Well, then where is something lacking?

Sakurai: Mmm...in my own head. (laughs)

Ichikawa: Oi, come on now.

Sakurai: (laughs) I think it could be anything, but, for example, when I go out in front of 2,000 people, I just don’t get that same high anymore.

Ichikawa: So even though you have this stately and dark look – you don’t even think things like, “These 2,000 people have gathered to come see me!”?

Sakurai: No, I don’t. There can be people who are looking at something else even if they’re directly in front of me. (laughs)

Ichikawa: Aren’t you being narrow-minded about this?

Sakurai: It’s caught my attention. So I stare at a single point and act like an idiot who doesn’t see that sort of reaction to me.

Ichikawa: Wow. First of all, haven’t you ever thought, “I’m popular”?

Sakurai: When they’re screaming, “kyaaaaa!” (laughs)

Ichikawa: A live venue is really a melting pot of those “kyaaa” screams; does that make you feel anxious?

Sakurai: I don’t think it’s anxiety, but...I’m always agonizing5 over if I should take myself less seriously. It’s not only people who are listening to the music and enjoying it; there are also many people enjoying another part of the performance, so I think I should do what I want, but...I’m insecure.

Ichikawa: Have you ever thought about the influence you have?

Sakurai: I have. For example, it’s easy to tell when there are kids wearing the same fashion as I am. Also...I don’t know if this is my influence or not, but...the people who like the same world that I do. They give me these detailed, maniacal (laughs) opinions on things, like, “that musical is really good”, “have you read this novel?”, “you like this type of aesthetic, right?”, “this thing you said in an interview really spoke to me”, like that.

Ichikawa: Fundamentally, is it that the recipients of your work can’t accept Sakurai Atsushi as a real person? With your charisma, it’s like you’re magnified up 5 or 10 times bigger in their minds. And those voices, their expectations are like, “Well, if it’s Sakurai-san, naturally he’ll understand my aesthetic sense.” I think it would be natural to gain some self-confidence from those voiced expectations and support.

Sakurai: It would be better not to betray that sentiment, but when it comes to my own conviction...I think if I can put out more that says, “this is how my world is”, I’ll be able to clearly have that conviction.

Ichikawa: Even with Sakurai having this internal conflict, you’re being seen by ordinary people, other than your fans6, as a so-called “rockstar” now – in your case, you must be feeling the difference of that.

Sakurai: I do. Even people who don’t know music have said, “Ah, it’s that guy” – although I had just come there to have a meal. (laughs) I’m human just the same as a salaryman that’s the same age from that area, so..while I think that about myself, I guess they’re in a position where they can’t see it.

Ichikawa: Even if you don’t want to be considered special, in the first place, rock really must be thought of as “exceptional”. Moreover, being exceptional is the biggest characteristic of BUCK-TICK. Do you not have any awareness that this means you are exceptional?

Sakurai: I’m also very aware of that. It’s both extremes. There are also times where I want to say, “Leave me alone!”, turn my nose up and walk away, but (laughs) that’s also tiring, so there’s the converse argument to be made, too, like, “I’m a human just like you, so leave me alone.”

Ichikawa: Do you think things like, for example, that you could be as self-absorbed with how exceptional you are as Ei-chan7?

Sakurai: …I really do, without everyday life.

Ichikawa: What I’m asking is, can’t you become that way?

Sakurai: I can’t~. I don’t like being interfered with, and I switch Sakurai Atsushi off in those moments. (laughs)

Ichikawa: But there’s David Bowie, who isn’t doing fan service around the clock, but at work...(laughs) As a charismatic person, you can behave as you see fit, right? Although I think you could do it if you tried, you’d always agonize between those two selves.

Sakurai: I wonder why...because I’m afraid of being caught off guard?

Ichikawa: Don’t you think you’re cool?

Sakurai: there are times when I think, “I am super cool”, but there are also times where I think, “What am I doing?!” (laughs) I’m hard on myself, maybe.

Ichikawa: But, it’s simpler8 to think of yourself as cool, isn’t it?

Sakurai, Yes, much simpler. But in order for me to think so, I have to aim for being an entertainer, and I’m no good.

Ichikawa: This orientation you have toward being an entertainer is also being taken too far, actually – it’s like chloroform you breathe in every day until you lose consciousness.

Sakurai: Wahahahaha. That’s harsh!

Ichikawa: Don’t you want to become more arrogant and charismatic?

Sakurai: I really just want to shine within music, if it’s something I’m able to do. Aah...I see...maybe...I’m rebelling against it, aren’t I. Everyone views me as a rockstar, so I wonder if maybe I simply want to betray that notion and rebel against it.

Ichikawa: Does the so-called narcissistic state, where you can think of yourself as cool, not last long? It seems like only the high of not caring what the people around you think lasts, but. (laughs)

Sakurai: It doesn’t really last, no. It’s like...I end up able to see reality. That I’m someone who can go as far as narcissism, but can’t sustain it, I can see that.

Ichikawa: But without narcissism, the fantasy of rock won’t flourish, right? You’re a man who can’t be proactive, aren’t you?

Sakurai: Yeah...but that’s quite kind, because it makes people’s dreams of it expand more and more. I don’t really seem very kind, talking selfishly about my own needs while also saying, “I won’t show you the important parts.”

Ichikawa: If you said more, would it be like, “It’s your fault for coming to love me without my permission”?

Sakurai: (laughs) I wouldn’t say their fault...more like, it’s a waste. If I could be understood even if I didn’t say anything, I’d be extremely happy, because I hate the regret I feel after babbling out an explanation. (laughs)

Ichikawa: Then, explaining yourself to an ordinary person who thinks of you as a rocker must also be miserable.

Sakurai: That’s right. But...lately, my way of thinking about it changes all the time. Sometimes I think, “I’m gonna make that guy who doesn’t know me take another look!”, and other times I think, “It’s no good! I’m tired.” (laughs)

Ichikawa: So then, as I thought, you do think you’re cool, don’t you? If you were to call out to the women on the roadside over there9, you have confidence they’d quickly follow you here, right?

Sakurai: If I wanted to do it. (laughs) But using the energy is more trouble than it’s worth. I think maybe I’m unkind in that way.

Ichikawa: Well, calling out to them isn’t really nice either. (laughs)

Sakurai: Oh. (laughs) But, I’m thinking I want to become less sentimental, colder.

Ichikawa: What’s the reason behind that?

Sakurai: Because I have a heart. Wahahahahaha.

Ichikawa: Well, regardless of some minor occurrences of it, (laughs) Sakurai Atsushi doesn’t have any arrogance, really, in the bigger picture of things.

Sakurai: But I’ve also come to understand that I could be just a bit easier on myself, too. I think I could become cooler if I did.

Ichikawa: As Sakurai, and as BUCK-TICK, too, even though you’re this deeply self-centered person who doesn’t care about the existence of other people at all10, I think gradually it becomes necessary to see yourself objectively. And you have to become aware of the influence you have.

Sakurai: Lately, I’ve been chatting with people who have the same tastes as me, and it’s interesting to see how I can come to see myself when I see those people. While I was drinking in Osaka, a person came and sat down who said, “I can see ghosts” – why, I wonder, is it always that sort of person who comes to me? (laughs) But, it turned to conversation about our newest song, “die”, and they said, “You’re definitely a narcissist”, and I was like, “Ah, right, right, I’d forgotten that, now that you mention it.” The person I show other people is a narcissist; I felt like I’d forgotten.

Ichikawa: In the end, those types of people are the ones who come together under Sakurai with peace of mind, don’t you think?

Sakurai: That’s true. I think the people who are thinking about me must be seeing me with some amazing eyes.11

Ichikawa: Give those “amazing eyes” a response, a spectacular one.

Sakurai: I think it will change during our current tour. (laughs)

Ichikawa: (laughs) With that – BUCK-TICK is a band where the members take walking alone endlessly to the extreme, right? The most of any in Japan.

Sakurai: That’s out of my control. There’s nothing I can do about that.

Ichikawa: And that’s also why you feel like you can’t effectively exert your influence, I imagine.

Sakurai: Hmmm...so, I expect that I’m afraid of cheapening what I do. I just did what I wanted to do, so. (laughs)

Ichikawa: Are you being careful with your words?

Sakurai: You could call it being careful; you could call it cowardice.

Ichikawa: Certainly, in the early years – you may have been perceived as cheap during the pop era of your music where your hair was straight up, but since then, I think conversely, you’re perceived as a luxury good.

Sakurai: Yeah, I think we aren’t perceived as cheap, but I certainly have fear of being thought of that way.

Ichikawa: That’s like an ordinary girl thinking, “Don’t become friends with that person” about a yankii in their same class.

Sakurai: (laughs) Is that so?

Ichikawa: This yankii is stubborn, but in reality, he’s facing the dilemma of wanting to be friends with anyone at all.

Sakurai: Exactly. (laughs) But, I’ve been thinking that from now on, we should harden up more, get colder, and that I hope that those who don’t care about our music don’t bother with it. I hope that those who do care it experience it whenever they get the chance, and that those who don’t, never experience it again.

Ichikawa: Well, but, you’re so cool, so wouldn’t it be better to be more free-spirited?

Sakurai: Hahaha. I’m always overthinking things like that.

Ichikawa: I wonder if that overworrying is part of your personality.

Sakurai: Hmmm...I don’t know. But I’m always thinking about how I want others to enjoy and be happy.

Ichikawa: Even so, there are a lot of ups and downs in everyday life. (laughs)

Sakurai: Hahaha. I may not be handling them so well.

Ichikawa: Well, in the end, trouble always ends up coming about.

Sakurai: And that’s why all you can do is stand your ground, right...or I’m going to act out that pretense. (laughs)

Ichikawa: Have you been acting pretentious lately?

Sakurai: Quite pretentious.

Ichikawa: Anyway, you’ve got a good face for it.

Sakurai: Yeah.

Ichikawa: Oh, an easy agreement on that from this guy.

Sakurai: Fufufufufufu.

Ichikawa: So, if you acted like you owned the place, you could powerfully establish your own world – and moreover, externally, Sakurai is already waiting for it. All that’s left is you feeling like doing it.

Sakurai: ...it’s troublesome, you know.

Ichikawa: You sure are BUCK-TICK’S frontman.

Sakurai: (laughs) I want to have an effective presence that has a detailed edge to it. More than feeling like a big, enveloping presence.

Ichikawa: Aren’t you seeking a long life full of detail?

Sakurai: No way! (laughs) But, lately I’ve realized this. Because I’m using energy on this tour. (laughs) How can I say this...it’s like more...pushing forward the next day while feeling like, “I’m losing it, aren’t I?” (laughs)

Ichikawa: You’re a man predestined to being a paradox.

Sakurai: ...Has this ended up being an unspectacular interview? (laughs)

Ichikawa: Well, even if we sang “Shimauta”12 at karaoke, we didn’t sing “die”, so. (laughs) It’s considered special, you know, definitely.

Sakurai: Even if we’re doing something special, like – I end up feeling like everything is lumped together. I feel like the people who listen to music have become cowards, too. Like the provocation is frightening to them.

Ichikawa: Even though the propagation of provocation is the theme of this band.

Sakurai: Right. And moreover, we’re trying to even out the high and low points of unevenness, and there’s a feeling of something unseen moving.

Ichikawa: When it’s that way, you can only go back to the basics and put your hair straight up again!

Sakurai: Right? Although I wasn’t aware of it during the time my hair was up, that “We are special” thing.

Ichikawa: But I think if you put it up now, you might be able to do it having that awareness.

Sakurai: Imai currently has a mohawk while having that awareness.

Ichikawa: Well then, next will it be Sakurai Atsushi with his hair up?!

Sakurai: When should I put it up...people might say, “It’s uncool!” (laughs) I really don’t want to use my energy on that sort of thing. (laughs)

~~~~~ Footnotes: * This makes more sense as you read the interview - basically, I think he's saying that he argues Sakurai ought to be more lenient with himself. 1 A French movie star. 2 A reference to a manga. Kitaro is a “sullen ghost boy” who “protects others from malicious spirits”. 3 The biggest name in Johnny’s of that time, and still one of their biggest ever. 4 Human-ness? I don’t know a better word for this in English. They want him to emote, talk more, things like that. 5 Very dramatic word choice here – literally “suffering until you faint”. 6 Who are not ordinary people, obviously, lol. 7 Eikichi Yazawa, a big Showa-era rockstar. 8 Simpler in the sense of more comfortable; less work. 9 I wonder if he was actually gesturing to someone, or if this was hypothetical. 10 I think he’s ribbing him here – calling him out on his bullshit. Sakurai is repeatedly trying to say this about himself and then contradicting it. 11 In other words, they are seeing a version of him that he doesn’t believe actually exists. 12 A 1992 song by the band “The Boom”.

~~~~~ Some final translation notes:

I don't know who put the LibreOffice suggestion on my dash, but I used that to type this up this time instead of Google docs, and it seems to have preserved the footnotes (at least on desktop.) I'll try and test this on mobile too but hopefully it's a better experience!

Also, just a basic note on "cool" in Japanese - kakkoii. It's commonly translated as "cool" but really encompasses things like being attractive, sexy, etc. in ways I think the word in English doesn't. I think its usage packs more punch when you think of it that way, as like "heart eyes, motherfucker" cool.

#buck tick #sakurai atsushi #atsushi sakurai #ongaku to hito #jrock #visual kei #quartz translates #translation

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