#it was a fucker to draw but it was so fitting for his style

[parkissat]

Aaaaaaa he looks like something out of Power Rangers or Spy Kids I love it XD

But also THE DALTONS' NEW OUTFITS!!!

And also also LOVE Erika's look and vibe from the gifs I saw, love her energy and chemistry with Jere ;u;

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Sexiest Podcast Character — Unscripted Bracket — Round 4

Propaganda

Glenn Close (Dungeons & Daddies):

#Propaganda for Glenn Close: one of the other PCs mentions multiple times how hot he is #Actually several characters point it out but especially Henry #Also the only person in a podcast that has to put a disclaimer about not being a BDSM podcast to have had sex during the course of the show

We didn’t do hot Glenn summer for him to LOSE. Spoilers for his story but MORE PROPAGANDA FOR YOU:

Young hot rocker dilf

Loyal to his dead wife <3

Does in fact smoke weed

BARD!! HES A BARD. HE WAS LEAD GUITAR IN HIS BAND (that he was kicked out of)

His band was a Christmas cover band btw.

Literally the fandom had hot Glenn summer which consisted of drawing him being incredibly hot and sexy

Anti government (ofc)

Kind of cringefail (Disney adult) (was on dilfs of disneyland)

Young and sexy not your style? Then how about HIM AFTER YEARS LOCKED IN A TIME PRISON WITH A DAMN HANNIBAL MASK ??

Lost an eye and wears a fucking eyepatch

One incredibly buff arm

Has a pet rat named after his son <3

Immeasurable amounts of trauma in this man- becomes progressively more unhinged

OH OLD HUMAN BARD ISNT CUTTING IT? FINE

HE BECOMES A FUCKING DEMON

A COOL HOT ONE-EYED DEMON WHO WANTS TO KILL HIS DAD (also sexy)

HE CANONICALLY ENDS CHRISTIAN HELL VIA CHRISTMAS

IS ALSO WAY OVERLEVELED

Becomes a demon hunter for the rest of his existence

Also nonwhite !!! We are done with cringefail whiteboys !!!!!!!!!

I can’t put into words ok just know he is the best plz love him.

Listen, I don't know this other character but I've seem some good arguments for her However Consider Glenn Close winning through no effort of his own in a bullshit way despite being a dick is the most in character thing ever. He leveled up three times and got a crab mech, we GOT to give him this win, it's fitting

I don’t regulate if minors follow me or not bc I’m a pretty chill space but I hope the world is aware that’s the only reason I haven’t been downright nasty about Glenn close. I’m down bad. I’m NOT in the boat of ‘Glenn isn’t sexy but I want him to win bc it’s my fandom’. I would estimate I have 200+ drawings of Glenn on my phone that AREN’T safe for work. Way more that are. Where did they come from? That’s MY business. But I tell you this fact to assure you- Glenn IS sexy. I’m not voting to represent my fandom I’m voting out of TRUTH AND LOVE. IF YOU DON’T GET IT YOU DON’T GET IT!!! I just think my level of feral over this man is more powerful than y’all realize. If you don’t get his sex appeal that’s okay, but don’t doubt that this is my truth.

Okay but Glenn made a minivan cum by talking to her so

HE HAS A BOOK THAT HE MARKS X’S AND CHECKS FOR EVERY DAY TO SEE IF THAT DAY WAS A SUCCESS OR NOT. TO SEE IF HE DID GOOD THAT DAY. ITS ALMOST ENTIRELY X’S. HE WAS CUCKED OUT OF A SON. AND A DEAD WIFE. HE DIDN’T EVEN GET TO KILL HIS DAD IN REVENGE. There’s absolutely nothing going for him except his sex appeal in his life. Nobody he loved remembers him. He lost his eye. All he has is a pet rat and friends who admit they don’t really like him that much. He was kicked out of his own band. The band was named after him. He was kicked out of the Glenn Close trio. All he could do was deez nuts the big bad and be sexy. If nothing else, then pity him. Look in his eyes. Look at his heart and soul. Do you think pickman needs this to feel good about herself? Can she not accept a loss for the sake of a pathetic father? Can she shake hands with the minivan fucker and his human gun and just take the L on this one? He did not do the BDSM episode for this I’ll tell you what. Do this for my his sake. Do it for Nick Jr, who needs the prize money to pay for his rat snacks. Do it for his son. For Morgan. Ganbatte.

Mod Note: While I will still take "bad dads are sexy" propaganda and "bad dads aren't sexy" anti-propaganda, I kindly request no more discussion on whether or not he was a bad father. This is a sexypoll, not a parentingpoll. If you see a post you strongly disagree with, you can just not reblog it.

Mod Note 2: This tournament is about fictional podcast characters. Please do not vote for the real actress Glenn Close.

Lup (The Adventure Zone: Balance):

Is somehow the hot twin between her and Taako

Lup Bluejeans (née... Taaco? Tacco? Taco? Tako? who tf knows this is why I'm going with her husband's last name. doylistly she gets her last name from her brother whose last name is given as "Taako again but spelled differently"): Hot, funny, smart and undead. Is there anything else you could want in a woman?? Well, in case there is: she's also canonically trans

LUP IS THE HOTTEST. VOTE LUP.

[ambrosialdesire]

Drop a levy art right NEOW

-🌷

YOU LIKE THEM FILTHY HUH TULIP ANON 🫵🫵 he’s literally so gross i fucking hate him sm but he was kinda my favorite to make, i’ll post his bestie (who’s og design is pictured in that lil comic, he looks kinda different now) and the bestie’s gf eventually

also the chibi has hearts around it, NOT flies (but it could be seen as that too bc he most likely reeks like axe spray and dried cum)

HE’S WHERE MY HUG AT POSING IN THE MIDDLE BUT IT LOOKS OFF CAUSE I SKEWED THE PERSPECTIVE 😭 ALSO YOU CAN REALLY TELL THAT I LOVE DRAWING THE BREATHY THING, ITS SUCH A PROMINENT DETAIL I DO WITH MY YANDERE ART LMAO

levy originally had blonde hair with black roots and blue eyes, but i didnt like it, so i gave him brown hair and blonde roots with green eyes instead and ngl it fit his vibe way better. also he’s probably the skinniest male oc i have, but he’s actually pretty tall, he just hunches over hella

top left was the first time i drew him, that’s kinda the concept art ig? concept art to me is just to get a feel of what his vibes are and basis of what he looks like.

top right was inspired by a picture/drawing that i really liked the expression of (i don’t remember specifically where it’s from unfortunately since it’s been over a year when i created this, but i def would give creds to them for it), so that’s why it looks stylistically different from the other doodles and i very much will admit that my style varies so much bc of the fact that i keep adding new elements, but it still kinda manages to look like a singular personal style

hope you enjoy seeing this rotten fucker of a human being cause i sure don’t 😒

[asherashedwings]

FNF CONNECTED UNIVERSE LINE UP Part 1: The Boyfriends

Chat. I spent 34 hours in this canvas. I am so tired.

Anyways, when I began working on Connected Universe AU, I already knew I'd be making line ups. Cuz I love making line ups and I also love suffering.

Close-ups and lots of yapping under the cut

THIS IS ABOUT TO BE A LOT OF READING IM SO SORRY-

Alternate Universe Boyfriends

So all these guys, unlike the other BFs present on this line up, are actually BF but from different universes. They're the same dude.

I thought it'd be neat to display the fact that they're from different universes by drawing them all in different art styles. It was also a fun exercise to test my art style range.

So starting from the left, we got Base Game BF. The main universe one. He's drawn in my usual art style. Not much special about him. Boyfriend.XML my beloved. I will note here though that I did take some of the elements form my own BF design and threw them onto the AU BFs. So that's why they all have some sort of jacket/hoodie etc.

Then we got Yourself. I reverted to old tactics and used my sketch for his line art, which results in him having thicker line art in general. I also further distinguished him by giving him harsh black shading. He always has that. He already had it on his face, so I just gave it to the rest of his body too. Cuz silly. You. You could even say. Silly Billy- 💥💥💥

Then we have Funkadelix. Him and a few other BFs make use of the Blackburn brush for their line art, cuz idk I like that brush. I referenced the Mutant Mayhem style when making him, since in the Connected Universe, he's in the same universe as those turtles. His colors are mostly yoinked from the actual Funkadelix sprite. I think. I may have tweaked them a bit/eyeballed them idk. I prolly eyeballed them.

Then we got Monday Dusk Monolith (MDM). I really went with the mentality of "NO ROUND SHAPES" with this fucker. Just wanted him to look super sharp and scratchy, since that AU is literally dealing with an apocalypse. So sharp shapes just made sense in my brain.

I had a lot of issues settling on a style for Mix, so I just chose to take inspiration from the FNF loading screens, cuz it just fit in my brain, idk. His design also features present in my Pico design, like the stupid cleat shoes and stray hair lines. Yknow, since he's literally a mix of BF and Pico. He also uses Blackburn

Finally, HD. I decided to try and go for a semi realistic style for him, proportion wise at least. Cuz. Yknow. HD. He also uses the blackburn brush, but I also pulled an old tactic for him and made his sketch visible over his coloring. Cuz idk, I think it lends towards the vibe.

"Side" BFs

Okay, now we're REALLY getting into AU territory.

So from here on out, all the BFs are separate people from THE BF, and have their own names and shit.

So staring off, we got Blake. I was reading through his wiki trivia and saw them say his style was more "radical and funky" than base BF's. I saw the word funky and ran with it dawg. So that explains this clothes. I also tried my darndest to get rid of a lot of the BFs caps, cuz dude, I can't have that many fuckers having cubic backwards caps. So I gave Blake a pair of star shaped sunglasses cuz funky, chat, FUNKY. We decided that his stage name is Love Bird, and he chose that cuz that's a pet name his GF has for him, and if he had a band it'd be called The Birds of Paradise.

Then we got .XML. I immediately knew I wanted to give him a mullet. Look at this man and tell me he wouldn't have a mullet. Besides that, not much changed. Since he kept the name of .XML, I imagine he is actually related to BF in some way, and he just goes by his last name. They might be cousins or brothers or something idk. There's also more dumbass info on him here:

Then there's River, or G-Sides BF. I took a lot of inspiration from his teaser designs, cuz they were silly. Literally named his river after the dumbass river design on his sweater. I don't got much info on him besides that. I can't talk about River without including this image so here:

The New Yorkers

This group is literally named after the fact that they all live in NY in my AU. Technically, the Minus BFs should also be here, but they're their own group.

Starting with Bartholomew, or B3, I just took the shape of his glasses and ran with it. Chat I needed to get that shape language from somewhere. I actually drew him twice, since the first time around I really was not digging how I drew him. He's fine now tho. His ass only got brim, cuz he had to be different somehow. Other than that. not much changed for him.

Now Evan.. Evan gave me so many issues. Like, dawg I drew him three times. I kept on trying to make the orange in his upcoming design WORK but I just COULDNT chat i COULDNT

So, per @braveboiart 's request, I ended up getting rid of it entirely and replacing it with his blues and grays. They also gave me the advice of brightening the colors a bit, which was very easy for me to do, I love bright ass colors. I also touched up his design shape wise, since that was also lacking the first time around. So boom, zippers on the pants and baggy ass sleeves. I'm content with how he came out. Chat I did all his design touch ups while I was exhausted out of my mind. Sometimes you gotta be delirious with sleep deprivation in order to cook, kids, trust me (please do not be like me-)

Benjamin was pretty simple. Kept him soft, kept him round, kept him pastel. Got rid of the caution sign on his hoodie since .XML already had that, and just replaced it with paint splatters. Not much more to say.

With X's design, I got a lot of help from my good good friend @minxtheeenby , mainly when figuring out his hair style. Those braids are not actually his hair, and are fuckass cords that connect to his headphones and can move independently. Don't ask about the logic, I will not be thinking about it. He was born in Philly cuz of his fuckass white eyes. White eyes means Philly, I don't make the rules here.

Minus BFs

The colorful critters, these guys are.

So. Beta. I had actually drawn him before this point, and he didn't change much from then

He has arrow shaped top surgery scars cuz I love giving constantly shirtless characters top scars and I just. HAD TO once I had the idea to make them arrow shaped. Main things to change since that drawing are some details on his pants and some of his colors; notedly the fact that his hat is a darker color compared to his skin to further distinguish it. Also Brave kept trying to get me to make parts of his design the same color as his nipples. So that happened /lh

Chat. I let my furry show with Blue. BUT CHAT HEAR ME OUT. On the wiki it's stated that he's a "Dog??". You think I could look at that and not go all the way? So yeah. Dog. He's silly and he got his weird ear ring things from his sister (Minus Miku).

Not much to say on Mean, he barely changed. I just drew him in my style and added a few details. He might also be an alien, idk.

Now, I posted about Golden a bit, but for those who didn't see that insanity: I made him an Alien Hominid. Cuz small yellow alien=Alien Hominid in my brain. Flawless logic. (Don't worry chat, I sat down and extensively researched the AH series to the best of my ability to check if it made sense. And I didn't see anything that would make it not make sense?) But yeah, silly. Him and Otis might be buddies, cuz goofy.

Who Fuckin Knows

These guys are just all the guys I had nowhere else to put. Miscellaneous group.

So first we have Bonnie, or Saturday Night Swappin' BF. He's another one that I had to go back and touch up. I actually touched him up the same night/morning as Evan. He ended up turning purple. The name we assigned him was an omen /j Chat I swear he was originally blue, I don't know what happened

HC that he just got really into FNaF when he was younger and has just been cosplaying a humanized Bonnie the Bunny ever since /hj

BIDU GAVE ME SO MANY ISSUES AND IDK WHY. It's prolly cuz by the time I got to him I was getting SUPER burnt. But I prospered and was able to finish him. And I don't hate how he came out, so bonus points there. Main change was replacing the prohibition sign on his shirt with a lightning bolt, cuz no one but BF is allowed to have that symbol, and Bidu already had lightning bolt imagery, so eh why not. His eyebrows being green, at least in my style, implies his hair is naturally green, and he just added the blue and pink, and I find that slightly humorous, idk.

Keith (StarCatcher) was another one I had to go back and touch up, but that's due to the fact that I was informed that him and his GF got a redesign before the creator deleted their FNF stuff. So I had to go back and fix my design according to that. I also leaned into the scape suit direction cuz SHAPE.

Now, you might be wondering, why is Flippin BF here and not with the other alternates? He was grouped with him in a previous post? Well, that's because after more assessment, I decided that Friday Night Flippin' is in fact, in the same universe as Base FNF and not an alternate universe like I had previously decided. So I changed his design a bit (mainly just getting rid of his hat and changing the color of his shoes) and boom. Different guy. He is staying pixel art tho. I do still need to come up with a different name for him tho.

Now this next one, Heath, is not from a currently existing mod, but from an FNF AU my friend Minx is making.

I decided to include him cuz he's silly and I love him. Their AU is canon to the Connected Universe.

Okay, so Cam (Hellbeats BF) changed A LOT. I let my furry slip out again. BUT I HAVE ANOTHER REASON FOR IT. See, in this connected universe, it's not just Newgrounds stuff that is canon. I also made other fandoms I'm in canon. So that means the Hellaverse is canon (specifically my rewritten version of it), and Hellbeats has to fit in with that. So I had to assign the characters species from that universe as well. So I made Cam a cherub, cuz I wanted him to stay short as fuck. He's also a raccoon cuz he's a lil shit and I thought it'd fit If ur curious, this is what everyone else is:

Okay I'm done yapping now. Gonna be doing the GFs next.

[inkmemes]

never stop blowing up  (  2024-  )  e01 : be kind, rewind sentence  starters ↪  taken  from  dimension 20's 22nd season.  alter  as  you  see  fit  ♡

“oh wait, i have to come up with the name right now!”

“this was the thing i forgot to do!”

“oh shit! wait, actually, that's… wait, actually?”

“ooh, look at my lovely cardigan!”

“i did think you were going to say tits.”

“that actually does really help me remember.”

“it's for parties. it's for chill kickbacks.”

“i think that's incredible.”

“it's a giant wrench.”

“without siblings, we're nothing.”

“you're gonna get me in trouble with my boss again. you can't do donuts in the parking lot.”

“it scares away the customers.”

“you're not gonna stay for the whole shift, are you?”

“i don't know what you're gonna eat, but that's not gonna be good when it's cold.”

“hey, you better make a move fast, man.”

“things are scary down there.”

“you do what you want, but at the end of the day, you're wasting your time at a place like this.”

“this is a dead end.”

“you need to take your life seriously, man.”

“i watch anime.”

“webster's is trash.”

“these kids, sweeties, they're not going anywhere. they're not going anywhere, believe me.”

“sorry, i was going to invite you to go out for a drink.”

“what are you gonna do in the big world?”

“i take it back. i take it back.”

“you're gonna bury us all.”

“i'll get the information somehow. you can trust me!”

“do me a favor. step behind this door.”

“what's behind the door?”

“he got squished to death.”

“who are you calling?”

“that's okay, i'll just pick them up from here when i come.”

“that's nice. i do like that.”

“oh my god, i keep calling people about that phone. it doesn't work.”

“what if i have to call i have to scream for them or something. good thing i have life alerts everywhere.”

“say hi to everybody! everybody you see, say hi.”

“you're drawing a spreadsheet by hand?”

“you may not be able to push buttons on that keyboard, but you push my buttons every day.”

“[name], you're my rock, and i am counting on you.”

“what do you need? i'll be right there.”

“can you do me a favor, sweetheart?”

“that's incredible, man. i'm so happy for you.”

“i always wondered what we might have done together, but then again, as you always say, you work alone.”

“i think you'd only slow me down, [name].”

“do you need a ride, or are you just gonna get there yourself?”

“what've you got going on here?”

“i can't believe you guys are closing down. what the hell? that's crazy, i can't believe it. why are you guys shutting down?”

“i just love the vibe.”

“i don't think there's any long-term ramifications of having no sort of collective ownership of actual, real, concrete media.”

“sorry, i just popped a really big mint in.”

“thank god, man. thank god you're here.”

“he looks like anybody, and he looks like everybody.”

“i'll give you one second to change your mind and not embarrass yourself.”

“i'd hate to have lunch with you.”

“dude's kinda weird.”

“what's going on with you?”

“what've you been doing on facebook all day?”

“why don't you let go, [name]? i let go, and i'm feeling amazing, all right?”

“what'd you ask? you want to rip my carpet?”

“i can't believe what that fucker was saying.”

“i could pick them up tomorrow for you.”

“god, it's hot in here. do you want a fan or something?”

“i've never tried that.”

“what the hell? are you okay?”

“you callin' me a chicken, [name]? ’cause i'm actually the cock of the walk.”

“god, that's fucking cool.”

“i think you're technically right once again, there.”

“i'm good, i'm good. living my best life. living my hottest sexy single life.”

“oh, you wrote it down, like old-fashioned style.”

“i left this post-it note in your lunch cubby.”

“we could get cataract surgery together, if you wanted.”

“this is eye-opening for me.”

“you just keep doing it. you just go and you do it again, and then you do it again.”

“you already said your name.”

“we're gonna kind of have a party of sorts.”

“a bottle of wine, then, is called for.”

“i think you can probably hang up.”

“he kind of sounded like a wizard or something.”

“oh my god, the tv's broken. everything's breaking.”

“you know what? i'll come with you.”

“is everything okay at home?”

“it was an accident. she didn't mean to.”

“you spent $400 on pants?”

“i hope i have arrived in time to join the festivities.”

“it was a joint effort.”

“did you eat those seeds yourself?”

“i never grow tired of it. i watch it again and again and again.”

“how do you know my name?”

“sorry, what was your question?”

“little bit of snow for your ski trip.”

“oh my god, i'm hideous!”

[nethhiri]

Warnings: Violence, gore, body horror

Chapter 53: Research and Development

Kid and Killer returned to the ship coated head to toe in differing shades of red, some blood dried, some fresh. They went straight to the brig with their prisoners after being assured you were stable. They had a lot more rage to release yet, and you weren't awake anyway. Although they did want to be by your side, Heat thought it better to keep them out of the infirmary for now. He was afraid of what they might do if they saw how much worse you looked in the bright lights. Quincy and Emma had intercepted Heat, kicking him out of the infirmary to perform the more intimate task of cleaning you up. While it was true that you would prefer the least amount of people as possible to see you like this, it was also true that you would be particularly mortified and distressed if one of your lovers were to see the full extent of your injuries, being that some of them were more private. Heat agreed that it would be better for them to take care of it, and even though they knew it would be uncomfortable, they were happy to do it. As your friends, they cared just as much about you. 

There were about a dozen prisoners, including Warthin. He wasn't to be touched yet, but his eyelids were sewn open so he had to watch what was happening. Kid had selected the most frightened marine out of the bunch to be first. Sometimes he liked to use pliers, but in special circumstances, like today, he enjoyed pulling teeth with his metal fingers. Much of the time his metal hand wouldn't fit. That was no problem. He would simply break their jaws until they hung slack from their faces. Kid normally would go right in with bludgeoning his prisoners to death. This time, he needed to take his time. When he was done with the teeth, he moved on to pulling out finger and toe nails, then breaking all the digits. Next, he liked to rip off any easily accessible appendages: ears, lips, tips of noses. This was followed by cutting off fingers and toes, tongues, tits, and dicks. He had to make it last, draw it out. These fuckers didn't deserve quick deaths. His style tonight was essentially slow disassembly. 

Killer was the opposite in some ways. Although he also liked to bludgeon, he held back. Killer liked to precisely focus on internal targets, starting from least likely to make someone hemorrhage internally, to most likely. He would begin at a softer force and ramp up to hitting with his full weight behind it. His favorite part, though, was at the end when he would slice open his victim and watch all the liquified organs slosh around. It reminded him of a good, hearty stew. 

This evening, when Kid was finished with the minor amputations, Killer took over, beating the absolute dog shit out of the marine. At one point in time, they were seeing how long they could punch him back and forth between each other. One strike from Killer put so much rotational force on the man's head, that not only did his neck break, causing instantaneous death, but one of his eyes flew out of the socket, dangling by it's nerve. Kid squatted down and plucked it from the man's skull and cocked his head, appearing to be in deep thought. He reached into the other socket and pulled that eye out as well. Kid grunted and stalked out of the room, eyeballs in hand, asking Killer to join him in his workshop when he was through. 

After spending all night in his workshop, Kid finally retired to his room and washed all the blood off. Killer had left earlier to do the same, and was just waking up when Kid was finished. They were going to come check on you regardless, since it had been half a day from the time they recovered you, though they were hastened by Heat knocking frantically at the door. He had walked into the infirmary to find you and the bathroom door gone and a mixture of shattered glass and blood all over the floor. When Kid and Killer burst in, they were immediately concerned. Kid was remorseful that he had probably been right next door when it happened and didn't notice a thing. The door between his shop and the infirmary was closed for privacy. Still, he should have been able to hear it. He had been too engrossed in his work. 

Killer observed the room more closely. The glass on the floor was devoid of the liquid inside. Some tinctures remained on the higher shelves or the back of the cabinets, where you couldn't reach. It was clear to him that you grabbed everything you could feel and took it without prejudice. It hurt him that you felt as if you couldn't ask for help, or that you wouldn't. Did they not make you feel comfortable? Did you not trust them? Or maybe your love for them had diminished because they took so long to get to you. Were you upset with them? The guilt began eating at him. 

At the same time, they both heard a faint whimper coming from the bathroom. Bounding to that side of the room, they put their ears up to the wall and heard more. They could recognize it as the same sounds you made when you had a nightmare. A few times they called out to you, growing louder with worry each time. Minerva grunted a warning at them as Kid threatened to break the wall down. The crest of hair along her spine puffed up, as she prepared to forcibly remove Kid from your proximity. It turned out she didn't have to. Your rebuke was enough to make both Kid and Killer head towards Kid's workshop. 

"LET ME BREAK THE DAMN WALL DOWN, KILLER! SHE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT SHE'S SAYING!"

"Kid, think about it. Think about everything that happened to her. Do you think violating her space is the best thing to do?"

Kid let out a frustrated growl under his breath, a reluctant acceptance of what Killer was saying. 

Killer put a hand on his shoulder. "She'll come out soon, when she's ready."

"I'm just worried about her, Kil." The concern was clear on his face. "She looked bad. Real bad." 

"I know, Kid. Me too." Killer hugged him, more for his own comfort than Kid's. "Do you think... she still has love for us?" Killer said it very quietly. "We took so long to get to her. So long."  

Kid ran his hand through Killer's hair. "I hope so."

Kid hadn't even considered it. Maybe you would be upset with them. First, they didn't listen to you, then they failed to protect you. After that, it did take them too long to find you. He was still worried about your wellbeing, but his worries drifted to this new fear after Killer spoke it into existence. Kid threw himself into his work as Killer left to tend the kitchen, neither of them feeling better about any of this. Kid had started working on something for you a while back and given up on it. He brought his notes back out, along with his rough sketches and some medical texts he had borrowed. Last night, Killer had helped him carefully dissect the eyeballs he borrowed from the marine. Kid wasn't sure if he gained much from it, but he was determined not to give up this time, especially now that you really needed it. He thought about how you offered to give him back his arm and how he deeply desired to show you that same devotion. He would give your vision back. 

After struggling for some time with the intricacies of human sight, Kid grew frustrated. He glanced at the door dividing your two spaces with the impulse to be closer to you. With a defeated sigh, he strode through the door and stood outside the bathroom. Minerva snorted at him in greeting. He wanted to talk to you. Thinking over what Killer had said, he changed his mind. Kid stared at the boar. She was sprawled out sleepily, content to wait for you on the floor. Kid hadn't had a chance to sleep yet. Maybe the pig had the right idea. 

"Mind if I join you, pig?" Kid slumped down the wall. 

It wasn't long before he had fallen sideways in his slumber, leaning against the boar's soft underside. His monstrously loud snores filled the entire room, rivaled only by Minerva's, who may qualify as second loudest snorer on the crew. Hours had passed and Kid, as a codependent sleeper, had snuggled right up to Mini, hugging one of her front legs. He was unbothered by the feeling of you tripping over him and the ensuing insistence of Minerva for him to wake up. He felt his arm being nudged and lifted by a snout, being dropped, and having it done repeatedly. 

His eyes cracked open, a blurry shape was one the floor with him. Kid sucked in a breath when he discovered the shape was you. His amber eyes focused and he scrambled over to you, pulling you into his lap. You had dried blood all over you and fresh blood clinging to the side of your neck. He moved the towel around you, his eyes widening with shock. The wound on your chest was already bad, but now it was horrendous. Half of it looked infected and half off it had been carved off, butchered. Kid could see the vibrant pink-red of muscle through the blood coating your chest. Panic rose in his gut and all he could think to do was call for Killer. He wasn't equipped for this. If you died, he would be pissed at both himself and Killer, Killer for telling him not to break down the bathroom wall, and himself for listening. 

Relief swept through him like a wildfire when he heard your voice. He clung to you, on the verge of shedding tears he was so overcome with emotion. Kid rocked back and forth with you in his arms. He wanted to tell you over and over again that he loved you and he was so happy that you were alive, but he couldn't get the words out. He was too busy trying to memorize the way your skin felt against his, the smell of your hair, the sound of your voice, the weight of your body in his arms, just in case he lost you again. He could feel you trembling under him, your body trying to shut down. Your voice was so faint when you asked for help. Kid hugged you tighter to himself, trying not to break down and cry. He knew that it had to be bad for you to ask him for help. Although he was wracked with fear for you, warmth bloomed in his chest knowing how much you had to care for him and trust him to request this of him. 

Killer ran into the room, alerted to Kid's call for him by one of the crew. When he saw where Kid was, he rushed to his side, glancing into the bathroom you had holed yourself up in. His stomach turned at the chunks of flesh and sour blood at the bottom of the tub. His attention was only drawn away by the sound of you moaning in discomfort. Killer knelt down, gasping as Kid moved away from you and he saw the extent of the damage. 

"Oh Y/N, what did you do?" He gazed with sadness at the self-inflicted butchery. Killer placed his hand on your cheek. It was hot and clammy under his touch. His heart ached when he saw the condition you were in. 

"M's-sorry." Tears rolled down your cheeks when you heard the sadness in his voice. You didn't want to cause him pain and you were guilty about refusing his help earlier. "I should've-"

"Shhh. You don't have anything to apologize for." Killer wiped the tears away with his fingers. "Kid, we have to finish what she started or the infection will only get worse." One glance at your chest wound and he could tell it was poisoning your body with toxins. 

You weakly nodded, supporting what Killer had stated. The fever was starting to creep back into your bones. 

Kid blinked and swallowed hard, thinking about what that would require. "I don't want to. I can't."

"I don't want to either. We have to, though." 

Neither of them wanted to responsibility of inflicting more pain upon you. Kid had placed you back on one of the gurneys while Killer grabbed some antiseptic, a new scalpel, and some gauze. They both stared at the scalpel, waiting for the other to take up the mantle. Killer took a deep breath and reached for it, knowing Kid wouldn't be able to. You were flat on your back, head turned away from the side Killer was working on. Your consciousness was swimming, being sucked down a dark vortex, and struggling to pull itself out. The first few timid cuts of the blade helped it surface, the pain anchoring you to the world of the awake. You flinched at some and the rate of your breathing increased as the cuts became progressively more painful. Killer watched your face contort with pain from the corner of his eye, focused on removing the greenish flesh from your torso. He could tell you were trying not to reveal the intensity of how much it hurt, to spare him from feeling badly about the necessary task. One particularly deep cut nearly made you jump off the gurney with a shriek. 

"Sorry! Sorry." Killer put the scalpel down. "I can't do this!" 

"You have to...keep going." You were very dizzy all the sudden. The room appeared to be melting, which was odd since you couldn't see. Oh no.You hoped that Killer would figure something out, because in a few seconds, you were going to lose your grip on reality. 

"I can't! I don't want to hurt you."

In a moment of sepsis-induced delirium, you laughed. "Pussies." You couldn't stop laughing. "Get Wire. He would love to." Of course you knew deep down that wasn't true, but this was not really you talking. It was, but it wasn't. 

"Don't say that." Killer pressed gauze to the places that kept bleeding. "Can you use your devil fruit to make the bleeding stop?" When you didn't respond, he shook your shoulder gently. "Hello?"

"What devil fruit?" You giggled. 

Killer shared a glance with Kid. This wasn't a good sign. Killer sent Kid to fetch Wire and Heat. Wire would have less of an issue with the task at hand since he was more removed from you, feelings-wise. Heat needed to help with cautery since you were of no help with hemostasis. By the time they came back, you had finally slipped out of consciousness. Killer explained their task and both Heat and Wire worked to debride the wound while minimizing the blood loss. You had already lost a lot, which contributed to your previous out-of-reality experience. While this happened, Killer went to the cabinets and rooted around for something he was familiar with. He hadn't had a lot of experience with infection. Of the things he could find, he looked them up in some of the books lying on the counter. It seemed one or two of them would work as antibiotics. Only one was in a vial, though, so he chose to inject that. It would have been difficult to give you a pill unconscious. 

When they were done, you didn't look much better to the untrained eye. The wound on your chest was oozing blood, open to the air, no skin to cover it. Killer was somewhat relieved. The muscle was red and angry, but that meant there was blood flow and a tissue reaction. In other words, your body was still fighting and still attempting to repair itself. Killer dismissed the others. Kid tried to stick around, but his queasiness forced him back to his workshop to watch at a safe distance when Killer started to wash the wound out and paint it with salve. He did the same with your leg. Now the wounds were as clean as they could be, and coated with something to keep them from drying out. When the major work was completed, he noticed that there were still shards of glass embedded in your skin. You had healed the skin around them, probably not noticing that they were still there. 

Killer spent a long time picking out every individual shard and disinfecting the gouges left behind. He sighed at all the blood crusted around your neck and in your hair. He wished you had just asked them for help in the first place. Being stubborn was a double-edged personality quality. He was used to it, being Kid's partner. Killer filled a basin with warm water and took a washcloth to your skin, gingerly wiping away the evidence of your stubbornness. He watched the rise and fall of your chest as he did so, reassured by its regular rate that you weren't in any immediate danger. He changed the water in the basin before attempting to wash the blood out of your hair. It proved harder than it looked. He ended up having to scoot you up on the gurney so that the top half of your head hung over the edge slightly. He pulled all your hair together and put it in the basin in his lap. Killer had pulled up a chair to make it easier. 

As his hands combed through your hair, a small smile was brought to his lips. He reminisced about how you had been in opposite roles not so long ago. What a difference time had made. The Kid who threw worried glances over his shoulder now, was the same Kid that tried to kill you with his own hands several times over. Killer was glad to have intervened. He tilted his mask up with his shoulder for a moment to press a chaste kiss to your forehead. 

"Nurse, please." You mumbled. "I already have four mmmboyfriends." 

Killer was startled by the sound of your voice, soon realizing you were sleep-talking. He snorted and rolled his eyes, interested in the fact you said four instead of two. You hummed your unconscious satisfaction as he massaged your scalp. By the time he was done, you were in a deep sleep and had a clean head of hair, braided into twin tails. He adjusted you to be more comfortable in the gurney and tucked you in. He put a hand on your forehead and retrieved a damp cloth to lay over it since you still felt hot to the touch. There was nothing else they could do now but wait. 

Your dreams started pleasantly enough, thanks to the fevers tendrils poking at your brain. There was a cute, tall nurse with legs that went on for miles and lavender hair in pigtail buns, perfectly framing her little nurse hat. Her outfit was definitely not appropriate for the medical setting. She wore incredibly impractical stilettos, the heels were syringes, with a miniskirt and crop top. The lenses of the glasses she wore were red plus signs to match the cross symbol on her hat. She spent a lot of time giving you unnecessary sponge baths and bending over to pick up dropped pens. Every meal was chocolate cake that she insisted she had to feed you. The nurse brushed and braided your hair, giving you a kiss on the forehead when she was done. Weird, but you weren't going to question the medical professional. She wished you a speedy recovery and turned to the cabinet to retrieve something. In classic dream-like fashion, she turned back around with a cartoonishly sized syringe in hand. It was nearly as big as she was with a needle to match. 

"Can you roll your sleeve up for me, baby?" 

You looked her up and down. "I would get on my knees if you asked me." You weren't sure why that fell effortlessly out of your mouth. Kid was rubbing off on you. Or maybe it was something in the drugs she administered. Or maybe you were just a pervert and didn't want to admit it.

The nurse giggled and pressed the, now normally sized, needle into your exposed arm. "Good girl. Just a few more minutes." She shoved a lollipop in your mouth.

"A few more minutes until what?" It was hard to talk with your mouth full, the candy clicking against your teeth. You started feeling groggy and your limbs were heavy. You were unable to jerk back your limbs as she started to restrain them with leather straps to the hospital bed. 

"Until the operation." She sauntered to where your head lay, bent over you, and pulled down her glasses to reveal eyes without pupils. "Your eyes are so pretty.... I think I'd like to have them." She laughed maniacally, the echoes bouncing off the walls and surrounding your head. 

You opened your mouth to scream and no sound came out. In a blink, you were somewhere cold, naked, and you couldn't see anything. There was a lot of poking and prodding. You tried to slap the hands away but couldn't connect with anything solid. You started to run. You ran faster and faster, until you tripped and got a face full of sand. Now you were hot and sweating. You still couldn't see. There was a hard kick into your side, causing you to reflexively cough and get air back into your lungs. There was another kick. This one turned you over on your back. You could hear ocean waves crashing.

"She's got no eyes."

"Tch. No use ta us then." Kid's voice hovered over you.

He was right. What use were you now? You couldn't read a map. You couldn't keep watch. You couldn't fight as well as you had.  That was your only use. Never again would you shoot. Never again would you climb the mast to sit with your friends into the long hours of night. Never again would you patch up your crewmates after a fight. Never again would you review routes with Wire. Never again would you pick out clothes with Heat. Never again would you stand side by side with Killer and watch the sunrise together. And never again would you admire the red rivers on the floor of the brig with Kid. You might as well lay in Kid's bed with no clothes and legs wide open. That was all you would be good for now.

"But she saved my life."

"So what? Ya wanna keep an extra worthless mouth around? To fuck, aye?" Kid's boisterous laugh rang out. 

You got kicked again. And again. And again. And then you were back on the cold, hard ground in Warthin's cell. No, you were back in his bed. This time you weren't restrained. This time when you sensed him coming, your muscles coiled in wait. When he approached, you lunged at his throat, gripping it with both hands and knocking him to the ground. Armament haki coated your arms and you let out a feral yell. You wanted nothing more than to rip out his trachea with your bare hands. Strange, he wasn't putting up that much of a fight even though he was gurgling underneath your grip. 

You were jerked backward without warning, breaking you free from your nightmare-plagued slumber. With a gasp, you were brought back to reality. There were strong arms under your armpits, lifting you off the ground. You were disoriented and frightened from the lingering effects of your dreams. Sensing your impending panic, Killer swiftly released you. He placed you back down on the gurney so that you were sitting and lightly held your shoulders with his hands. 

"Hey! Hey. Hey. It's me. It's Killer." The first mate's calming voice was in your ear. "You're home. You're safe." When he felt you relax he released your shoulders. 

That's right. You were back where you belonged. It took a moment for your body to catch up to your brain and get re-oriented. There was someone coughing in the background. It sounded like... Kid?

"Lot harder to deal with," Kid paused to breathe, "when I don't wanna kill 'er." He caught his breath gradually. 

Your lip quivered as you realized what had happened. You must have reacted in your dream to Kid approaching you and started choking him. What if you had used your devil fruit instead? What if you had killed him by mistake? You dropped your head in your hands to cover your face. You wished you were still in the bathroom. It was too vulnerable to be out here where you couldn't tell what faces they were making or read the expressions that came with their words. In spite of the obvious care and concern they had for you, it was still difficult for you to believe that they still wanted you, both romantically or as part of the crew. It was difficult to separate the assumptions that you had created in your mind from reality. It was difficult to separate some things you dreamed of from reality. It wasn't fair that you had lost the control you had over your emotions and over your reactions. Everything you did now was on survival instinct or a trauma response and you had no choice in the matter. You fought so hard to live, and for what? To be some withdrawn, pitiful creature? Maybe it would have been better if you hadn't lived.

"That's a good sign right?" Kid continued. "That she's got her strength?" 

Although Kid was in good spirits seeing you more lively, Killer was more cautious in his optimism. He answered carefully, "Physically... yes." His crystalline blue eyes were fixed on your hunched form. "Kid, would you mind giving us a minute?" Killer wanted to probe how you were reallydoing, and he was worried Kid's presence would cause you to be guarded. It had been two days since he had dressed your wounds. He and Kid had come to check on you and change your bandages. 

"Why do I hafta leave?! She's finally awake! I want to-" Kid trailed off into mumbles when he sensed Killer's disparaging look through his mask. "Fine." He stalked off to his workshop.

Killer could feel the distress rolling off you in waves. He sat next to you and put his arm around you, pulling you into him. He rested his chin on the top of your head and soothingly rubbed  your arm with his thumb. Killer didn't say anything for a while. He only held you. Cautiously, he pulled your hands from your face, holding them in his own hands, which encircled you. He was made a little more optimistic when you allowed him to do this and squeezed his hands in response. 

"Will you talk to me? Please."

Your voice was gravelly from disuse. "What is there to talk about?"

Killer expected a non-answer from you. He knew you hated being unguarded and hid behind your hard-ass persona. "Anything you want. When you're ready." 

It was barely perceptible, but you nodded. 

"Thank you." Killer lowered his voice. "You know I... really care about you." Killer stopped himself from saying what he actually wanted to. He didn't want to overwhelm you when you were already in an emotionally overloaded state. 

You squeezed his hands again and buried your face in his side, inhaling his comforting scent and absorbing the warmth he exuded. You felt small beside him, small and safe. Killer's admission would have had more of an effect on you if you were your normal self. Lightly, you touched the bandages at your chest, remembering fragments of what happened a few days prior. A faint glow emanated from behind the bandages and flickered out within a few seconds. You were still too weak to use your devil fruit. There was a growl from your stomach as it gnawed on itself with hunger. If you were going to regain strength, you had to eat. 

"How about I change these bandages and then I'll make you something to eat?"

You nodded.

Killer swiftly exchanged the bloodied gauze for some fresh coverings, noticing that the edges of the wound were pink with freshly healed skin. For the limited time your power had worked, it managed to close as least a little bit of the wound. The rest of it was scabbed over and nothing was oozing or green which was a promising sign. He finished up and turned to go start on some food.

"Killer...," you paused. "I don't want to be in here." Although the infirmary was previously your domain, the smell of antiseptic and old blood wouldn't let you think of anything but the past few traumatic days. You needed to be in a different environment. 

Killer let you wait in his room. He gave you one of his old button-up shirts to wear, like the one you used to wear with one of Heat's old corsets. The front opening made it easier to check on your bandages and you could leave it slightly unbuttoned so the fabric wouldn't rub against them. It was much better being somewhere that smelled welcoming and familiar. Lying on Killer's bed, you became conscious of how dry your mouth was. You probably hadn't had anything to drink for the last few days. You should have waited for him to come back, and you thought about it, but now that you were aware of your thirst, you couldn't think of anything else.

You slid out of bed and felt around in front of you with your feet before taking a step. You held your hands out in front of you to catch yourself if you fell. All you needed to do was walk the short distance to the sink. You made it with only a few bumps. Leaning down you drank straight from the tap. It was amazing how good fresh, cold water tasted when you hadn't had any in days. Parched, you gulped down water until your stomach hurt, not caring that it was dripping down the side of your face. You came up for air and wiped off your face with the back of your arm. You stood in front of the sink, as you had many times before, knowing there was a mirror there, mocking you. Instead of dwelling on it, you thought about how long it had been since you brushed your teeth, and somehow that was more repulsive to you than thinking about how you were permanently blinded, in that moment. You found the toothpaste easily enough, where you remember it usually being. The toothbrush was harder. There were three, but the colors were obviously indiscernible by touch. You touched the bristles and went for the one that seemed least used. That one was probably "Kid's", except it wasn't, because he always used someone else's. After you brushed your teeth, you splashed some water on your face. The smallest acts of taking care of yourself had you feeling a little more yourself, a little more human.

Making it back to Killer's bed was a little more difficult, but you got there in one piece. Almost as soon as you did, you could tell that Killer was coming. You couldn't hear him, or feel any vibrations from his footsteps, yet he appeared a few minutes later. The door opened and the smell of spaghetti drifted over you several seconds later. Your mouth started to water. It was a good thing you didn't have to worry about refeeding syndrome. They had fed you plenty when Warthin was set on using you as a breeding whore. Your stomach growled again. 

Killer smiled when he saw you waiting patiently on his bed. You had obviously been up to something. There was a bunch of stuff knocked over around the path to the bathroom and there appeared to be dried toothpaste on the shirt you were wearing. But what really had him smiling was that there was life behind your face. You seemed closer to being yourself. He sat with you on his bed and put a plate down. Killer nudged the fork closer to your hand when he saw it feeling around for the utensil. It was difficult for him to watch you struggle with the noodles. They kept slipping off the fork before you could get them to your mouth, and you couldn't see it happen. He saw the frustration growing in you as you repeatedly put an empty fork in your mouth. You put the fork down and covered your eyes with your hand to keep him from seeing the water that sat on the rims of your eyes. Killer knew you wouldn't immediately accept his help, though maybe now you would. 

"Can I...?"

After a subtle nod, Killer gathered a bite on the fork and offered it to you. There was the slight pressure of his thumb at your chin so you would open your mouth. The familiar taste of his spaghetti brought you memories of the first time that he made it for you, when you had accidentally agreed to a date. A few more bites, and Killer placed your hand on the fork with his around it. He helped you twirl the pasta and bring it to your mouth, not because you didn't know how to eat pasta, but so you could spatially memorize where everything was in relationship to yourself. You didn't need his help after that. 

"Thank you," you said between bites. 

Killer knew you wouldn't have to do this for long. They still had your eye and he knew you would figure out how to put it back. The only reason he didn't let you in on this was that you were in no condition to try and your inability to heal your chest at the moment was evidence enough to justify it. He was worried that if you knew, you would try too soon to use your devil fruit and potentially ruin your eye in the process. If you did that, Killer had no doubt that you would be angry with yourself for, quite possibly, the rest of your life, unless Kid actually figures out how to create a functioning human eye. An arm and hand, though complex, were nowhere near the complexity of an eye. 

When you were finished, Killer handed you a napkin to wipe your mouth off with. He cleaned up a stray droplet of sauce on your cheek before grabbing the empty plate. 

"I'll be back, okay? I have to feed the rest of the crew." Killer left for the kitchen.

You laid back on the bed and patted your full tummy with your hand. A full stomach, more often than not, made you sleepy. Even though you had effectively just woken up after sleeping for two days, this time was no different. As you were drifting to sleep, the door burst open, startling you enough that you jumped.

"Kil! I almost fig- ROTTEN!" 

The bed dipped down and bounced back up as strong arms wrapped around you simultaneously, squeezing too tightly. Kid's hair tickled your face as he buried his own in your, still very tender, chest. You yelped and pushed him away.

"Oh shit. Sorry!" He shifted so that he was lying at your side instead of crushing you, with his arm draped across your body.

Kid was glad you couldn't see how red his face was. He was just... really happy to see you. He was happy that you were alive. All he wanted to do was set you in his lap and never let go. He wanted to pepper kisses all over your face and wrap his arms tightly around you. He wanted to tell you how much he cared for you and how sorry he was that you went through this. He wanted to tell you how sorry he was that he couldn't stop it from happening and that it took so long to find you. Right now, though, he was content to simply be near you until you were more recovered. 

"It's fine. I did choke you earlier."

Kid frowned. There wasn't the usual bite to your words. Even when you were in a good mood, there was still a playful fighting spirit inside you. 

"I know it's...kinda stupid to ask. But are ya doing ok?" Kid was far from the best at being comforting, but he wanted to try, for you. He wanted you to say: "You're right. That is stupid." That would be what the normal you would say.

"I can't fucking walk by myself. I can't fucking eat by myself. I can't do anything by myself."

"We'll help ya. I said I would do anything. I meant it."

"Why?"

"What do ya mean 'why'?"

"Why would you go that far for me? I'm some fucked up stray you picked up in the middle of the ocean." You sat up and pulled your knees into your chest. "You didn't even want me on the ship in the first place. And anything that I was valuable for before is gone now. I'm not worth having around. I can't see! I can't shoot or fight. I can't even use my devil fruit properly without my sight. I'm fucking useless." You added more quietly, "I'm worthless."

"We're all fucked up strays, doll. This is where ya belong." Kid sat up and put his arm around your shoulders. "Fuck whatever happened before. We all want ya here now. I want ya here now and I don't care about any of that. Kil and I don't think that yer anything less than ya were before. We're gonna make it right."

"Don't patronize me. What are you gonna do? Give me my eyes back? Because that's the only way I can even begin to feel normal again." If you had any more tears left, they would be precariously close to falling.

"M'gonna try." 

"What?" You said it quietly, like you didn't believe him. 

"I've been working on it, while you've been out."

"You... have?"

Kid rested his head against yours. "Ya offered once to give my arm back. This is the same. Been using the prisoners to experiment." 

"Prisoners?" You turned to him. "Did you-?"

Kid saw a flicker of your true self shine through and he chuckled darkly. "He's all yours, princess. We only roughed him up a wee bit." 

"I'm going to eviscerate him," you swore. "But I want to be able to see it."

"I'll make it happen." Kid kissed your temple. "Promise."

Next

Tag list: @bbnbhm @nocturnalrorobin

[mangoshorthand]

Arrow of Time: Chapter 6 [Five Hargreeves/ F Reader]

(Hard Feelings Part 5)

SUMMARY: When the mother of all teenage tantrums causes time itself to fracture, Five has to travel back to 1831 to repair the damage. But will he be able to cope with what he finds there?

Chapter 7 (TBA) >> << Back to Chapter 5

At Reginald's party, Five sees and hears things he doesn't wish to.

Chapter 6: Selina

There was a moment of silence after Five disappeared where Lila, Diego, Luther and Aoife simultaneously seemed to feel that they’d seen him for the last time. 

Lila stood braced, ready to mimic whatever Five sent through the tear, still pulsating and wavering where he’d been less than a minute before. Diego held out his hand to Aoife and she took it gladly. They stood side by side, watching Lila’s look of deep concentration. Tension laid thick upon the air, settling heavily on Aoife’s chest. She could feel the eyes of Reginald’s portrait on her like a searchlight. Just like his Number Five, she had failed in her experimentations with time travel and should have been kept from messing with things she didn’t understand. One Uncle’s hand squeezing hers and the others’ reassuring looks were the only thing stopping her descending into total freakout like her Dad had last week.  

And then, Lila’s hands crackled with Five’s mimicked power. She grinned, showing all her teeth.

“There he is, just like he said he’d be! Ah, I’m starting to like that fucker!”

She absorbed and projected Five’s output in the same action: she could feel the connection across time; the link forged between them. She could feel the balance in whatever he was doing: the perfection, the peace-giving quality of it; the beauty in the numbers. It was …amazing.

“You ok, Lila?”  Luther asked, concerned by her expression,

“Yeah…it’s just…” she grunted with the intensity of the feeling, “your brother’s really giving it to me here!”

Diego would have usually have been affronted at this genre of humor from Lila concerning any of his brothers but, for Aoife’s sake, he didn’t draw attention to the double entendre. 

“If it’s not impertinent to say, this is an unusual suit. The breeches are extremely low on the waist and cut rather farther away from the leg than I’ve seen. And this coat is shorter than I’m used to: no tails whatsoever.”

Five stood on the tailor’s plinth, being measured for the new clothes by an apprentice while the tailor himself fingered his discarded jacket with a look of curiosity.

The room was lit by candlelight with the shutters drawn. Five had arrived in the tailors with only twenty minutes to spare before the business closed and had used a few choice words to one of the young men who told him that making an entire suit before the 9th would be an impossibility. When he’d offered them one hundred dollars if they could, (including supplying him with a quickly-fitted off the peg suit for daywear), they had become immediately more accommodating. 

“The stitching is extremely fine. Where did you purchase this?”

“Paris,” Five said, smiling thinly, as he lifted his arm for the tape measure, “all the men there are wearing them- strolling up and down the Seine in their low cut breeches. It’s the new fashion.”

“I should think so. There was nothing of this nature on the latest fashion plates.”

While one apprentice measured his in-seam and scribbled the result down in a notebook, another handed him a coffee.

“Thanks,” said Five, gratefully. 

“Have you given a thought to style, sir? I understand you’re attending a soiree at Le Roy Place but what will the evening include? Will there be dancing?”

“There is dancing, but I doubt I’ll be taking part. I just want to blend in: be dressed like everyone else.”

The tailor looked at him in obvious disapproval, “That seems to me like false modesty, sir, especially for one with his ear so close to the ground when it comes to Parisian fashion. Why shrink away from standing out? You’re still a young man with a handsome face and a fine person.”

“You flirt.” Five murmured into his coffee cup, unable to help himself. 

“I’m sorry, sir?”

“Nothing. As long as I don’t stand out too much, I don’t care.”

The tailor strode over to the open cabinet where bolts of cloth were neatly stacked. 

“Then I’d suggest a silk coat, perhaps in the sage green? I’d consider adding black velvet to the collar-”

Five nodded slightly impatiently.

“Then, for the waistcoat, a sprigged-”

“I honestly don’t care,” Five spoke over him, “dress my ‘fine person’ however you want. As long as I look normal.”

Over the days separating his arrival from the night of the party, Five fell into a slightly frenzied routine: his days were spent pounding the pavements between where he arrived and Le Roy Place, asking after a woman of your description at every establishment he passed and scouring the streets for any sign you might have left him. With the new casual suit to wear by day, he blended in much better with the upper crust of Manhattan. Despite this, he was wary of spending too long loitering around Le Roy Place: if he knew his father, he’d spot somebody repeatedly casing the area extremely quickly.

Once, he’d taken a hired carriage out towards where the Academy would be built in several decades time. It had been a wasted afternoon; all he could do was stare at buildings that would be demolished to make way for the city block that his father would come to own most of. He’d hoped you might leave a message here but there was nothing. None of the inhabitants of the surrounding apartments could tell him anything. As little as he wanted to, he was starting to pin all his hopes of finding you on this party.

The evenings were spent filling sheets and sheets of paper with expansions on his theory, trying to decide on the best practical approach to rebalancing time. He’d been back to the alley multiple times, trying to get a feel for how the land lay. He’s verified his theory as much as possible with minor, experimental projections, but something doesn’t feel right. 

His brain niggles him about it on March 8th, when he sits with papers spread across a tavern table that could seat six. He’s considered everything from the disproval of Golbach’s conjecture on even numbers past the point of  4 × 10 18 to something as simple as performing simultaneous equations…but none of his ideas feel one hundred percent right.

On top of everything, he’s become irritable, even paranoid since arriving here. He finds himself conscious of having to exert more self control than usual not to snap at innocent people. No doubt, if you were here, you’d attribute it to the sudden lack of antidepressants in his system but he knows better: it’s entirely rational to be tense in this situation. You were always anxious about his mental health; always over-analyzing things. Apparently it’s rubbed off on him. The thought makes him roll his eyes. It’s an absurd idea: if he’s going through withdrawal then where are the physical symptoms?

When a woman saunters over to him, he’s focused on his calculations, ignoring a headache and trying to refrain from talking to himself.

“Buy me a drink, sir?”

He looks up, surprised.

“What, can’t buy your own drink?”

“I would have hoped for more gallantry from a man like you,” she remarked. He grunted and looked back down at his paper. Despite this clear rebuff, she sits down directly across from him and shifts his papers slightly.

“Perhaps I could buy myself a drink. It’s only that John behind the bar says you’ve got money to burn and you can’t blame a girl for trying her luck.”

Despite his short temper, he lets a short gust of laughter out through his nose. Her sheer cheek is charming. She’s a fairly young woman- perhaps early thirties. She’s blonde and blue eyed with hair in messy ringlets around her ears. The tavern’s inhabitants are certainly not part of the city’s upper crust and this woman is no exception: the dress she wears strikes him as rare in this era, as much in its almost candy-pink color as the way it exposes her shoulders as well as the shelf of her bosom. She has a bright green wrap, currently tied around her trim waist and her face is alight with impertinent mischief. He reaches into his pocket for coins and extracts a fifty cent piece, he hands it to her. 

“Keep the change.” 

With an approving little ‘hm!’, she trips off to the bar and he becomes again absorbed in mathematics. To him, it feels like seconds pass before she’s back sitting across from him again.

“You can call me Selina.”

“Mm-hm.” he says, disinterestedly, not looking up. 

“And what am I to call you?”

“I don’t want you to call me anything,” he says, stiffly, shifting some of his papers away from her and stacking them on top of the others.

“I needn’t know your name, I suppose. ‘Sir’ does quite well enough.”

She falls silent for a few seconds while he continues to scribble, pausing only to add ink to the steel-nibbed pen. 

“Will you be wanting company tonight sir?”

His pen pauses and he looks up, again taking in her appearance. Ah…he should have guessed. 

“Um. No, no thank you.”

“If you’re sure, sir? This is the third night you’ve been here, they say, and all alone. That should make any man eager for company.”

“I’m married,” he murmurs, mouth slightly dry. 

She lets out a trill of laughter like a tropical bird, “it’s not often a gentleman considers that a barrier!”

“Well I do,” he says, shortly, gathering his papers and standing up abruptly. “So thanks, but no thanks.”

“You a preacher?” she laughs.

“Far from it.” he says, with the ghost of an amused smile.

Well, you know where to find me if you happen to change your mind!” she calls, raising her voice ever so slightly to follow him up the stairs to his room.

At last, the evening of Reginald’s gathering arrived. He’d felt stupid almost as soon as he’d put on the party-appropriate outfit produced for him by the tailors. To be fair to that establishment, he always felt stupid in most clothes beyond his safe options. His day to day wardrobe included much more than plain suits now but it was still a long time before any new type of garment worked its way into his regular rotation. As a result, he was distinctly uncomfortable dressed up like some shitty community theater actor playing Mr Darcy.

The pants (or breeches, apparently) in a tan color sit so high on his waist that they feel only a few inches south of his nipples; the high collared shirt, cinched into place by a neckcloth, almost restricts his breathing. At least the tailcoat balances it all out and makes him look slightly less like a pigeon with severe constipation.

He arrives at almost nine, giving the party time to get into full swing before so that he can disappear more effectively into the crowd. He approaches Le Roy Place first from the front on Bleeker Street, confirming for sure which house was his father’s by candlelit windows and a flurry of carriages on the street in front. A bored-looking servant stands beside the door, clearly to check the invitations of any latecomers. His best option is to risk a blink inside and then to camouflage himself with the rest of the guests. Staying out of sight, he loops around to approach it from the back. 

From the roof of the houses behind, he can see through the lit windows into the palatial residence. His eyes come to rest on what appears to be a games room on the first floor with billiards and card tables. He watches as the room’s only two occupants, (two laughing men,) leave together, one clapping the other on the back. Not willing to miss this chance, he blinks quickly into the deserted room.

He can already hear music and excited chatter from behind the room’s door. The newspaper article had said this was a gathering for a ‘select’ group of people, but judging by the noise and the number of carriages outside, the number of people must be into the early three figures. As he adjusts the lapel of his new jacket, a group of three men enter. He reciprocates their respectful bows and busies himself about the billiard table, giving himself a moment or two to regroup: to formulate a plan.

He’s here because it feels like he should be. He’s looking for any evidence of what his Dad might be doing here in the hope it might somehow lead him to you. Now he’s here, it seems such a vague hope: a stupid idea. He’d pinned all his hopes onto something and nothing. 

“I see you come in good company tonight, eh?” says one of the men, suggestively, giving one of his companions a friendly elbow in the ribs, “while the cat’s away, the mice will play, eh?”

The large man he’s addressing chortles lasciviously. The sound catches Five’s full attention and he eyes him sidelong: he clearly doesn't fear sticking out like Five had. He’s an odd sight, looking almost exactly like an English bulldog, (his jowls sagging in an uncannily similar way), but dressed like an Indian bridegroom, draped head to toe in silks.

 “I don’t know what you mean, Smyth,” he says, ironically.

“I admire your brazenness, I must say: thinking you can pass off your cook as your cousin! It’s quite an excellent show.”

The three men laugh, not even troubling to keep their voices down.

“And I’m sure I’ve seen that dress before. Didn’t your wife wear something like it to your birthday party last year?” more chortles fill the room, “did you think we wouldn’t notice, you old cad? It’s too much!”

“Oh, don’t worry yourself on that account,” the large man rumbles, clearly setting up a punchline, “I shall be taking that dress off her before this evening is over- why do you think I intend to leave so early?”

Five had all but stopped listening. Getting into his father’s study would be the priority, but first he needs to get the lay of the house.

As he crosses to the door, and a few other men enter, one of the men seated at the card table leaned in to his companions, finally lowering his voice.

“I’d bet she gives you quite the ride, you old dog.”

“That she does, though I can assure you there’s life in this old dog yet. She might say it is I who gives her the ride.”

Closing the door behind him, Five takes a drink from a servant passing with a tray and loses himself in the crowd. The first floor seems to sit on an upper-gallery, rather like the academy.  When Five steps out of the games room, he finds himself looking down on the dancefloor below, where thirty two couples dance in eight sets of a dance he’d guess is a quadrille.

He strolls around the gallery, headed for the stairs and sipping his newly acquired wine. He hopes to be able to watch Reginald from a distance for a while, to be able to gauge a little bit about him. What age does this version appear to be? Before he risks getting caught snooping in the study, he wants to find out as much as possible by innocent means. 

As the music changes and a new dance begins, he takes a glance down at the dancefloor and sees his father leading a woman by the hand onto the floor. Bingo. 

His dad looks young, younger than Five had ever known him- their respective bodies (both contrasting wildly with what was within), have to be around the same physical age. He’s got a full head of hair and his face is unlined. 

Reginald takes the woman into a ballroom hold and they begin to dance a waltz slightly unsteady on her part. When the dancers revolve, he doubletakes, hands gripping the balustrade.

There: you’re there, dancing and talking with his father. Relief rushes through his body, you’re here: safe and sound and looking just as beautiful as ever. His gratitude that he followed his instinct in coming here is intense: he wants to blink, to tear you out of his father’s arms and kiss every inch of you he can reach.

But he can’t: he can’t risk his father seeing his powers, (or really seeing him at all) and, until the dance is over and you’re out of Reginald’s eyeline, he can’t risk you seeing him either unless you accidentally draw attention to him. Instead, he just watches, heart fluttering like a lovesick teen. You’ve clearly fallen on your feet; here among all these rich people. He needn’t have worried, it seems. What the hell are you doing, throwing yourself in his father’s way? Looking for your husband, probably. Five smiles: you’re playing with fire and he finds it hard to disapprove. 

You’re wearing a cream silk gown with elbow length puff-sleeves. His eyes are drawn instantly to your breasts, accentuated and pushed up by the empire waistline. They look as if they want to burst out of there. He finds himself trying and failing to not think about all the times he’s had the flesh of those breasts between his lips and teeth, all the times he’s pressed them together and… 

He mentally shakes himself, trying to will the blood to stop rushing between his legs. Sure, it’s been a little while since you had sex but he’s not an animal. It must have been even longer for you. The thought gives him a little flutter of pity and anticipation: you must be missing him even more intensely than he has you. At least he’s had your company for his months of celibacy. Squinting at your face, he tries to discern your expression: he’s too far away to see for sure, but if he had to judge, he’d say you seem uncomfortable. Now, all he has to do is watch and wait. 

He stands at the top of the stairs now sipping his wine contentedly. He doesn’t notice when the three men from the billiards room stroll past him, make their way down and rejoin the onlookers lining the walls. He watches until the dance is over: until his father bows and you curtsey in response. You both make your way off the dancefloor and rejoin the crowd: his father going one way, you going the other.

Trying not to draw attention to himself with his eagerness, he hurries down the stairs and in the direction you headed, uneasy that you’re no longer in his eyeline. He joins the throng and parts people easily with his determined steps. He cranes his neck over the top of many heads, trying to spot you again. It’s like you stepped off the dancefloor and just vanished. Fuck: he should have blinked. He should have screamed your name, he should have done anything to have his arms wrapped around you again, held tight against his chest where you belong.

He sees you and relief floods him again. 

The front door stands open with you clearly about to leave. A large man with an umbrella escorts you outside. By the time he’s made his way to the front door, the man is helping you into a covered carriage, placing a hand briefly on your ass under the guise of helping you inside. When Five gets to the sidewalk, the guy turns around to take a final, satisfied look back at the house.

And Five freezes. It’s the bulldog from the billiards room: the white guy dressed in traditional Indian clothing, the guy who talked about coming to the party with his cook in his wife’s dress. The cook he boasted about fucking.

His legs have stopped working. He just stands there, rain soaking his hair and new suit. As the man climbs into the carriage and it pulls away, he can’t bring himself to blink inside and beat the guy to a bloody pulp. He’s soaked after only a few seconds, wet hair sending drips rolling down his cheeks.

A feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time spreads from his anchored legs upwards, like thorny pinpricks along the long bones. It’s rage.

So when he finally re-enters the tavern, soaking wet, his eyes immediately fall upon Selina sitting at the corner table.

Tag list: (please comment to be added or removed.) @dilfjohhny , @sunsunhe, @w4stedtr4sh, @nevbrooke-555, @theredvelvetbitch, @td-miley01, @five-hxrgreeves, @rorygi1more, @jamiebower88, @nevillescomslut

On to Chapter 7 (TBA) >> Masterpost

[sadboyclown]

AAAA YOUR ART HAS ME IN TEARS IT'S SO GOOD. I especially love how organic the posing is!?

I had to preface by saying that before asking: of all the M*A*S*H characters, who is the mashiest mash that ever mashed ( your favorite character and/or the ones who slays the most, that is )?

Why thank you, it took a lot of mental illness to get my art looking like it does lol.

I do a lot of studies from screenshots, exaggerating everything a bit to fit the more cartoony style. I used to trace over the key elements of certain shots as a practice doodle, which has helped me nail down the expression/body language/overall energy of whatever piece I'm working on in the long run. So yeah, if it feels organic it’s because I literally steal the essence from the funky little guys themselves.

My fav character UNSURPRISINGLY is Hawkeye. He is just vibes, he's fun to draw, and I love an absolute wet cat of a man. I'm aware it's basic as hell but I'm a neurodivergent queer person, it was written in the stars for me to relate so heavily to the tortured silly man in a hawaiian shirt. Gotta love going "he's like he is me frfr" while I ooo and aaa at him as his life falls apart.

Also BJ, bc I live for that devious bastard. He is just a sweet stand up guy, he is ALSO a fucker full of schemes. I love the duality of Hawkeye being pretty much an open book throughout the narrative, and then Beej just keeps his crazy more subtle and I what I wouldn’t give to crack open his weird little brain and see his insane internal monologues that I KNOW he has.

All the mash characters have interesting things I like about them, each have a lot of depth that the art school drop out in me is fascinated by. It makes me feral lol

[hiruzensux]

FELLOW ENMA-FUCKERS!!!!! I REQUIRE YOUR AID IN A MATTER MOST GRAVE:

where does and doesn't he have fur??

(nothing explicit, just putting it under a readmore bc long)

somehow, despite the Hiruzen x Enma porn drawings* that have been floating around half-formed inside my skull for years now, it is only NOW that i realize: i have no idea what Enma looks like underneath that iconic fit

so analyzing the images:

on his head we see both furred (hair + beard + sideburns -zones) and seemingly non-furred (middle part of face) areas

(tail is furry, obviously)

his hands + feet are mostly non-furred, but there is fur on at least the back of his wrists + ankles visible below the edge of his sleeves(/l...leg sleeves? is that what they're called?? sleeves, but for legs instead of arms)

regarding his neck, without going through the episodes he's in, the only shot i've been able to find with the right angle seems to be this MTG/YGO-style card of him:

(the origins of which i do not know. fanmade? official merch? is the image a still from the anime, or was it originally drawn for this card? and by whom? i haven't bothered to try to find out, will update if i do. but anyway)

it looks like there isn't any fur on his neck (except maybe down the back underneath where his long hair hangs down and obscures the area)

we also do not see any chest fur extending up past his neckline

...and beyond this, we know nothing.

i'm already exercising some creative license in how tall to make him (i've got a working number BUT i'm not saying yet in case i decide it's completely wrong whilst trying to actually draw him lol), since a) manga evidence is limited + anime evidence inconsistent, and b) i habitually will just directly contradict canon if i have an idea i'm attached to anyway... so i've got no issue on principle with just filling in the blanks according to my whim...

but i'm kind of just not getting any clear impression of what to picture re: fur pattern

considering looking at photos of actual monkeys to see if i that gives me any ideas... but in that case, what kind of monkey??

it's also complicated bc in a lot of shots he looks to me more anthropomorphic than the avg monkey? (but this is harder to tell w/ primates than w/ other creatures anyway...) (and not to mention the limited pool of Enma reference imgs AGAIN, but damn... a tiny handful of manga panels, and then his brief anime appearance was in the middle of the arc that brought us some of THE most iconic moments in wonky-lookin Naruto animation. if that fight in the anime was my sole reference for Hiruzen and Orochimaru, i wouldn't be very sure how anthropomorphic they were supposed to look either lmao)

anyway.

do YOU have opinions about Enma's fur distribution?

thoughts on which monkey species he's based on?

got a monkey fursona?

any and all insights welcome 💖

(*update: i actually drew one if you want to see the the hilarious fur-placement i went with (just warning for. yknow. porn lmao.))

[justabigassnerd]

Protecting you

Pairing - Daryl Dixon x teen!reader

Word count - 1,296

Warnings - TWD style violence, guns, blood, wounds, needles, swearing

Summary - on a run with Daryl you pull a stunt that ends up with you getting hurt and Daryl shifting into overprotective mode

A/N - hey y'all it's been a hot minute since I wrote for Daryl ain't it? I still love the bastard and I can't wait for the next part of season 11 because that cliffhanger was something else! This was a lovely request sent in by an anon and I hope I did it justice. As per y'all, please please send in requests and enjoy!!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“C’mon kid, we gotta get as much as this back to Alexandria before it gets dark.” Daryl’s voice shakes you out of your daydream as you return to the task at hand. The two of you had gone on a supply run and by some miracle found a place that wasn’t completely looted or overrun by walkers. You managed to find a lot of food and supplies and filled your bags as much as possible, wanting to make sure Alexandria is well supplied because who knows how long it will take until another treasure trove like this appears.

“I don’t think I can fit anything else in my bag.” You call across the building, eyes searching for any sign of Daryl.

“Me either. Let’s go.” Daryl’s voice making you jump and turn around suddenly, your hand instinctively moving to your gun holster but relaxing upon seeing Daryl as he zips up his bag and puts it on his back with you following suit. You then both exit the bleak building and step out into sunlight which makes you squint due to its brightness. You head back to the road that led almost directly back to Alexandria and started the walk back home.

“I hope everyone will be happy with what we got.” You say, knowing that Alexandria is such a large community, and you want to make sure everyone will be satisfied with the haul you and Daryl are bringing back.

“They’ll love it. We can send some people out early tomorrow to collect some more stuff from here.” Daryl replies, walking alongside you along the road that’s littered with abandoned, rusting cars.

“There’s the fuckers, get them!” A shout from the nearby woods sends both you and Daryl diving behind one of the abandoned cars as bullets start ricocheting off the metal.

“Give us our shit you thieves! We’ve been scouting that place for weeks waiting for the walkers to clear out!” Another voice yells as you fumble for your gun, pulling it out of your holster and checking your ammo while Daryl loads his crossbow. You fire some bullets in the direction of the shouting, hoping you’ll hit someone, not enough to kill them but to at least deter them from attacking you any further. Daryl, however, was shooting to kill. After a few minutes of firing back and forth between you and your mysterious attackers, it soon became clear that they had a lot more ammo than you but not many more people. You figured three or four people at most so without thinking, to make sure Daryl was safe you darted out of the cover of the car until you were behind another, drawing their fire so Daryl was no longer their primary target. You heard Daryl call out your name in a panic as you moved from the second car to the third and you made the mistake of turning to look at him because the second you did, a bullet entered your thigh making you fall to the ground with a pained grunt, dragging yourself into cover as bullets rain down upon the car.

Seeing you clutching your leg, desperately trying to stop the blood from flowing, Daryl felt something snap. He already wanted to kill these people for attacking him in the first place, but they fucking shot you. That was crossing the line. While they were distracted with you, Daryl was able to take the three men out with ease, their distraction meaning they weren’t paying attention to the wellbeing of their fellow survivors. Once the threat was eliminated Daryl ran to your side, digging in his bag for bandages to bind the wound until you made it back to Alexandria.

“We gotta get out of here in case those guys have friends. Can you stand up?” Daryl says once you’re bandaged up, sticking his head up to survey his surroundings before standing up. Nodding, you force yourself to your feet with a wince. Daryl wraps an arm around you as you mirror his actions, limping alongside him as you hurry back to Alexandria. Once Rosita opens the gate, you hand her your bag, telling her to take it and put the stuff in the appropriate place.

“Are you okay?” She asks worriedly, noticing the blood staining your hand as you give her the bag.

“She got shot, I’m gonna take her to get it checked out. Could you take my bag too?” Daryl says, tugging his bag off his back and handing it to Rosita without giving her a chance to answer. Daryl took you to the infirmary where Carol immediately ushered you to a spare seat so she could treat your wound.

“You’re not usually one to be working in the infirmary Carol.” You attempt to joke, wincing as she unwraps the bandage.

“We need people working wherever they can.” Carol replies, busying herself with checking your wound out.

“Good news is that the bullet went straight through.” She mutters as she cleans the wound, apologising lowly when you wince and move away slightly.

“The bad news?” You press, knowing it’s better to just get it over with.

“You won’t be able to go on any runs for at least a couple of weeks. You’ll be stuck here to make sure you rest this leg of yours.” Carol continues, threading the needle so she can give you the stitches you need. You sit through the discomfort of having your leg sown up and bandaged before Carol dismisses you to head home and get some rest. Daryl returns to your side and helps you limp your way back to your shared house in Alexandria. Once you made it up the stairs, you sit on your bed, easing your shoes off gently, restraining yourself from moving your leg too much in fear of ripping your stitches. When that task is done successfully, you lie back against the headboard of your bed and notice Daryl watching you with a soft gaze.

“Are you okay Daryl?” You question, wondering why he looked so upset.

“You coulda died.” He mutters lowly, his eyes darting to look at anything but you.

“But I didn’t.” You argue gently.

“But you could’ve.” Daryl shoots back, eyes flicking up to meet yours. The worry and fear clear in his expression and his voice.

“I don’t regret what I did Daryl. We were stuck and something had to be done. But I am sorry that I let myself get shot.” You say gently, hoping Daryl understands where you are coming from.

“It was still stupid, you runnin’ off like that.” Daryl says, making you roll your eyes jokingly.

“Look at the life we’re living Daryl. In this world you have to take risks to protect the people you love and care about. I wasn’t about to let some fuckers hiding in the woods take you out. Besides, I knew you’d be able to kill them if I drew their fire.” You explain, watching Daryl’s expression soften further at your words. Daryl slowly approaches your bed, perching on the edge of it.

“You’re right kid. Just promise me somethin’.” Daryl says, glancing at you as you nod.

“Anything.” You reply, wanting to make sure Daryl is able to trust you to go on runs again once you’re better.

“No more runnin’ into dangerous situations without at least discussing a plan with whoever you’re out there with.” Daryl says, a small smile on his face. He knew he couldn’t stop you from being reckless. You were too much like him, even back when he first found you when the apocalypse had not long started. While he couldn’t stop your recklessness, he could at least make sure you plan something before diving headfirst into a dangerous situation.

“Alright. Deal.”

[canmom]

Animation Notes: The Human Head part 1: preliminaries

Hi friends! Remember Animation Notes? Sure been a while. Well, let’s see if we can bring that fucker back, since I would like to level up my art and that means, more studies.

To begin with, I want to look into the question of drawing the human head - one of the few body parts I can be absolutely certain every single reader has! So let’s get started...

Here’s a still from Avatar: The Last Airbender, a Korean-animated show that in a sense functioned as a ‘sakuga awakening’ for me. In this shot, three villains have disguised themselves as members of a heroic faction called the Kyoshi Warriors who wear face paint and elaborate uniforms. Despite this, we can immediately tell all three characters apart from the familiar Kyoshi Warriors such as Suki, because the face models are just very subtly different.

This is the power level we need to be able to reach!

Human heads, and especially faces are really important. And as such, they’re really finicky. A minute difference in placement of a line can totally change the whole feeling of head. A particular illustrator’s way of drawing heads can act as a stylistic hallmark. For example, if I show you this picture...

I bet you could tell me at once that it’s by Moebius. Moebius was a very versatile artist who could draw a lot of different kinds of heads, but there are certain hallmarks here - the style of hatching with lines fading into dots, the fairly rounded circular shapes, and the shadow under the cheekbone. But mind you, here’s a crop of one of Moebius’s best-known pictures:

Here, he omits almost all shading on the face - just a little hatching under the chin - and avoids most lines altogether. Only the face contour and hints of line around the eyes, and the asymmetries in the eyes, lips and nose, tell you about the structure of the face. Despite this, the face feels unmistakably 3D.

At other times, particularly in his Western comics as ‘Gir’, Moebius would go for a really hyperdetailed style that’s just overloaded with hatching, as for example here on the cover of The Airtight Garage:

Here an enormous amount of detail in the face structure is shown: you can clearly see the major planes of the face, the wrinkles around the jaw, the shapes of the chin and nose and eyes. So you get the sense that this character is a sort of colonial masculine ideal like you might see in an old movie, a Lawrence of Arabia type of deal - an older authoritative man, who spends a lot of time outdoors. His expression feels thoughtful, perhaps a tad amused, but in a reserved way. All that from shapes and lines!

Moebius’s style might be considered a ‘realistic’ style, in that the proportions and anatomy closely correspond to what you might expect in photographic projection of a real person’s face, and he saves most of his stylisation for the rendering. (He wouldn’t always draw in this style, sometimes adopting a more schematic ligne claire style, but this is the one he’s most known for.)

In animation, it is rare to see this level of commitment to anatomical realism. But definitely not unheard of! The 90s anime ‘realist’ movement, documented in great detail by Matteo Watzky, had similar commitments. Per Watzky, a lot of the driving force behind what would become the ‘movie style’ in 90s anime, was prolific animation director Kazuchika Kise, who while working on the Patlabor films persuaded character designer Akemi Tokada to adopt a more realistic, less cute style compared to the original TV series - a perfect fit which became the standard in Oshii’s later films, particularly Ghost in the Shell.

Satoshi Kon is the other director who springs to mind on this front; I don’t have such clear info on the process for defining the look of Satoshi Kon’s films, but he was known for his meticulously detailed storyboards, and as early as Magnetic Rose you can see him working with the absolute best realist animators - notably distinct from the realism of Otomo, in terms of how subtly it handles its human characters. While Kon was not the primary character designer for all of his films - instead credits list Hisashi Eguchi (Perfect Blue), Masashi Ando (Paranoia Agent, Paprika), Kenichi Konishi (Tokyo Godfathers) - he is credited as a character designer on all of them and no doubt had a big influence on the style.

^ one of the many incredible shots from Magnetic Rose in the Memories anthology, where Kon is credited for writing and ‘setting’, but has been confirmed to have worked on layouts e.g. in this scene.

So ‘realism’ is one strand, and one of the most demanding. But this is not a post to talk about realism. If you want to learn to draw realistic heads there are many resources out there, and you’ll need to study photos as well. We’ll still talk about schemes for analysing the structure of a realistic head in a bit, since they’ll be relevant for the more abstract approaches.

But of course, the vast majority of the time, we’re actually abstracting away a lot of this anatomical precision for artistic effect. The prevailing style in American TV animation these days is to draw a head that’s basically two overlapping oval-like shapes, sort of like this:

The connection to face anatomy may seem very distant at this point, and yet we certainly see this as a face, and the simplicity allows the animators to push expressions a lot more - and don’t get me wrong, drawing a simple but precise shape consistently is not a simple feat either. On the other hand, it is such an abstract 2D shape that it is rare to see such characters standing in anything other than a 3/4 view long shot facing the camera, which is a limit on shot composition.

We’ll cover a lot more examples soon, but let’s first of all cover some preliminaries!

The structure of a head

To draw anything from imagination, you have to have some kind of handle to simplify it. One of the most enduring approaches for drawing human heads is the ‘Loomis head’, defined by the widely influential American illustrator Andrew Loomis who wrote a series of widely referenced books on drawing up to his death in 1959.

In his books, Loomis mentions selling commissioned portraits to families, and drawing for advertising. Back in the first half of the 20th century, colour photography did not exist, nor tools like photoshop, so adverts were almost always painted by illustrators like Loomis. I’m sure you know the type. Here’s one that Loomis painted which I got off the Internet Archive:

Loomis-sensei painted thousands of illustrations across his life, all in what can be described as a relatively ‘photorealistic’ style - although bear in mind that any ‘realist’ drawing still very much involves abstraction and simplification. Given the prevailing social forces in his time, Loomis’s illustrations almost all depict a lot of quite similar smartly dressed white people, in a variety of settings; that’s what he’ll teach you to draw. But that doesn’t mean his insights aren’t useful!

So, the ‘Loomis head’. This is a particular schematic approach to breaking down the head into a few simple 3D forms, which Loomis recommends as the starting point of any head drawing - he advises you on how you can vary the shape of the head by squashing it around, but that the relative proportions tend to be pretty similar. Here’s how he introduces it in Drawing the Head and Hands (1956):

You start with a sphere with the sides cut off, and make sure to mark the centre lines and brow line; the point where they cross indicates the direction of your head in 3D space. So let’s do some studies.

Actually drawing a circle freehand is the most fiddly part lol. I noticed that in Loomis’s pictures, the flattened side almost always touches the outer contour of the sphere at a tangent. Anyway, here’s my go:

From this cross, you drop down a vertical line, about twice as far as the distance from the brow line to the forehead. The centre of this line is the bottom of the nose. To the bottom of this line, you draw a line in three sections connecting to the bottom of the flattened side of the sphere. These sections are the chin, the bottom edge of the jaw, and the vertical part of the jaw connecting to the ear.

Next, you draw the cheek contour, which is a boundary between two planes. This connects to the brow line, but notably there’s a bit of a kink in it, which I believe indicates the cheekbone:

You can then place your features to get your classic 50s advert guy. Though I drew it pretty rough, I tried to follow Loomis’s choices of what lines to draw and how to stylise, with this ref in particular:

...though in my version the downwards tilt to the head and the slightly pouty lips make him feel like more like some kind of yaoi boy lol.

The cheek contour - more on that shortly - is made quite hollow, the more to emphasise the cheekbone itself. Inside the form of the face, Loomis seems to usually place a line indicating the transition from the front plane to the side plane of the head, again indicating the cheekbone.

The great advantage of this method is that by breaking down the head into simple 3D forms, you can easily place it at any angle (modulo your skill at perspective drawing!) within the picture. The features that Loomis emphasises are mostly, he writes, features of the skull; he offers a method for drawing skulls as well:

I tried to follow it with somewhat less aesthetic results:

no doubt with practice i’d more reliably get the proportions right, but that would get us sidetracked.

From this basic construction, Loomis elaborates considerably, asking us to look at the planes of the face with increasing detail, resembling the Asaro head:

and offering advice on how faces might be varied from the basic template, on applying perspective etc. I will definitely come back and do more Loomis studies down the line, but we’ll leave it at that for now.

One other thing of note: after introducing men’s heads as the default, Loomis gives sections on womens’ and childrens’ heads. Gender divides are definitely emphasised in his work. In contrast to his male heads, Loomis advises you to eschew some of the planar structure he describes for men’s heads:

Nowadays the main reason to look at the Loomis head is not because you want to make a 1950s-style commercial illustration. Certainly, it’s useful for ‘realism’. But for our purposes, it’s also because a variant of this construction has ended up as the basis for a lot of standard designs used in anime.

For a more modern treatment of the Loomis technique, see Proko’s video:

In contrast to Loomis’s original method, Proko doesn’t have that small cheekbone kink in the line representing the plane change from the front to side plane of the face, nor the emphasis on the cross at the centre of the head as the starting point of the drawing. So don’t assume when someone says a ‘Loomis head’ they’re exactly going to use the method outlined above.

Other ways of breaking down the head

Loomis may have one of the simplest and most straightforward methods, but I would be remiss not to mention other important breakdowns.

The ‘Asaro head’ is a small plastic statue made in the 70s by John Asaro, widely used by painters as a way to break down the planes of the head for light and shadow. Here’s a render of a 3D scan of it:

With the Asaro head, we can really clearly see how the front planes of the face form a kind of inverted triangle, narrowing towards the chin, while the back of the jaw is of course much wider. While it’s useful to be aware of these plane changes, they’re mostly relevant at a later stage of the drawing, when we’re dealing with value - although we may choose to mark the plane changes with a line.

Then there’s the Reilly method, which is broadly less popular than the Loomis method, breaking down the head not into blocky 3D forms but a series of arcs and proportional measurements designed to find relationships between features of the face. This is named for another early-20th-century American illustrator and art teacher, Frank J. Reilly, who lived from 1906 to 1967. Here’s a video that breaks it down step by step:

Honestly, I’ve never tried using this method, it looks too cumbersome to be very useful most of the time. But I do feel like it might be useful to apply it at least a few times, to try to get an intuition for the information it gives about planes and structures.

The jaw/cheek contour

All well and good for painters, but let’s assume you are in a flat- [kagenashi] or cel-shaded style; then what does give your drawing structure?

I’ve increasingly been inclined to see the contour of the face as being one of the most important parts of the drawing: the lumps and bumps there carry a lot of information. And this is also the path we’ll be taking towards more stylised heads.

Let’s start with realism, though. I took a photo of myself at a 3/4 view and traced the major plane changes and structures:

That’s one uncanny looking picture, but let’s now take a look at the green line on its own:

I marked two important points. The first one is the indentation of the eye socket. Depending on angle and size of the eye, this may be less sharp.

The second is the chin bump. We can think of the chin and ‘muzzle’ of the mouth are smaller forms which poke out of the overall simple ‘Loomis head’ wedge shaped structure.

In the case of plumper cheeks, we can imagine a kind of ‘cheek bump’ as well, which has the effect of making a character look younger.

If we view the head at a more oblique angle, closer to a profile view, the bumps become more pronounced: the lips start to cross that contour line and the cheekbone becomes more evident. This time I’ve tried to indicate major plane changes with cross-contour hatching rather than lines, imitating Moebius a little.

Note that even though the lips don’t outright cross the contour line, the ‘muzzle’ does create a break in that contour line there.

Of course, there’s a lot more to it than that. The size and shape of the main features are also incredibly important, as is the approach taken to light and shadow. But when we start breaking down particular artists, particularly in anime, this concept of a contour line will be valuable I think - I certainly think about it a lot when drawing.

Next time: A survey of the diversity that exists within ‘anime style’, and an account of its stylistic evolution!

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Sexiest Podcast Character — Unscripted Bracket — Round 3

Propaganda

Glenn Close (Dungeons & Daddies):

#Propaganda for Glenn Close: one of the other PCs mentions multiple times how hot he is #Actually several characters point it out but especially Henry #Also the only person in a podcast that has to put a disclaimer about not being a BDSM podcast to have had sex during the course of the show

PLEASASSWEEPLEASE TOU DONT HUNRERFSTABDS

GLENN GLENN GLENN ITS GLENN VOTE GLENN VOTE FOR THE BOY

We didn’t do hot Glenn summer for him to LOSE. Spoilers for his story but MORE PROPAGANDA FOR YOU:

Young hot rocker dilf

Loyal to his dead wife <3

Does in fact smoke weed

BARD!! HES A BARD. HE WAS LEAD GUITAR IN HIS BAND (that he was kicked out of)

His band was a Christmas cover band btw.

Literally the fandom had hot Glenn summer which consisted of drawing him being incredibly hot and sexy

Anti government (ofc)

Kind of cringefail (Disney adult) (was on dilfs of disneyland)

Young and sexy not your style? Then how about HIM AFTER YEARS LOCKED IN A TIME PRISON WITH A DAMN HANNIBAL MASK ??

Lost an eye and wears a fucking eyepatch

One incredibly buff arm

Has a pet rat named after his son <3

Immeasurable amounts of trauma in this man- becomes progressively more unhinged

OH OLD HUMAN BARD ISNT CUTTING IT? FINE

HE BECOMES A FUCKING DEMON

A COOL HOT ONE-EYED DEMON WHO WANTS TO KILL HIS DAD (also sexy)

HE CANONICALLY ENDS CHRISTIAN HELL VIA CHRISTMAS

IS ALSO WAY OVERLEVELED

Becomes a demon hunter for the rest of his existence

Also nonwhite !!! We are done with cringefail whiteboys !!!!!!!!!

I can’t put into words ok just know he is the best plz love him.

GLENN GLENNNNNN

Listen, I don't know this other character but I've seem some good arguments for her However Consider Glenn Close winning through no effort of his own in a bullshit way despite being a dick is the most in character thing ever. He leveled up three times and got a crab mech, we GOT to give him this win, it's fitting

I haven't dedicated the last 2 months of my life drawing Glenn close for him to lose

Vote for Glenn Close or I will make you read the parody I did of the vaporeon copypasta

I don’t regulate if minors follow me or not bc I’m a pretty chill space but I hope the world is aware that’s the only reason I haven’t been downright nasty about Glenn close. I’m down bad. I’m NOT in the boat of ‘Glenn isn’t sexy but I want him to win bc it’s my fandom’. I would estimate I have 200+ drawings of Glenn on my phone that AREN’T safe for work. Way more that are. Where did they come from? That’s MY business. But I tell you this fact to assure you- Glenn IS sexy. I’m not voting to represent my fandom I’m voting out of TRUTH AND LOVE. IF YOU DON’T GET IT YOU DON’T GET IT!!! I just think my level of feral over this man is more powerful than y’all realize. If you don’t get his sex appeal that’s okay, but don’t doubt that this is my truth.

VOTE GLENN

Glenn fuckers fought tooth and nail to get us here from like 38% dawg we DESERVE THIS. GLENN IS THE SEXIEST MAN!!! HE WAS THE FIRST FICTIONAL CHARACTER I FOUND HOT AND HE’S GONNA CONTINUE TO SWEEP!!! Your hot goat woman sounds sexy don’t get me wrong but I’m forever fighting for the man that changed my brain chemistry. Proud of our fandom tbh. I don’t think y’all understand the sheer amount of effort I have put in to get my boy where he is today but this placement feels well earned. TO GLENN SWEEP!!

THE FUCK YOU MEAN GLENN CLOSE ISNT WINNING IM BOUT TO THROW HANDS FR

Okay but Glenn made a minivan cum by talking to her so

Yalll better vote glenn i swear to god

Vote Glenn or else the bird gets it🐦🛸

HOW IS MY DUDE NOT WINNING????

GLEN GELN NELG GLENNANN HE DESERVS ITTTT

HE HAS A BOOK THAT HE MARKS X’S AND CHECKS FOR EVERY DAY TO SEE IF THAT DAY WAS A SUCCESS OR NOT. TO SEE IF HE DID GOOD THAT DAY. ITS ALMOST ENTIRELY X’S. HE WAS CUCKED OUT OF A SON. AND A DEAD WIFE. HE DIDN’T EVEN GET TO KILL HIS DAD IN REVENGE. There’s absolutely nothing going for him except his sex appeal in his life. Nobody he loved remembers him. He lost his eye. All he has is a pet rat and friends who admit they don’t really like him that much. He was kicked out of his own band. The band was named after him. He was kicked out of the Glenn Close trio. All he could do was deez nuts the big bad and be sexy. If nothing else, then pity him. Look in his eyes. Look at his heart and soul. Do you think pickman needs this to feel good about herself? Can she not accept a loss for the sake of a pathetic father? Can she shake hands with the minivan fucker and his human gun and just take the L on this one? He did not do the BDSM episode for this I’ll tell you what. Do this for my his sake. Do it for Nick Jr, who needs the prize money to pay for his rat snacks. Do it for his son. For Morgan. Ganbatte.

Mod Note: While I will still take "bad dads are sexy" propaganda and "bad dads aren't sexy" anti-propaganda, I kindly request no more discussion on whether or not he was a bad father. This is a sexypoll, not a parentingpoll. If you see a post you strongly disagree with, you can just not reblog it.

Taako (The Adventure Zone: Balance):

A celebrity chef from another plane

[random-thought-depository]

I've finished Echopraxia. Validating to see Peter Watts noticed the same fridge logic issues with Blindsight vampires that I did:

"Pretty good hack right?" Admiration mingled with fear in Sengupta's voice. "Can you imagine what those fuckers could do if they actually could stand to be in the same room together?"

He shook his head, amazed, trying to take it in. "That's why we made sure they couldn't."

"Made? I thought they were just you know. Really territorial."

"Nobody's that territorial. Someone must've amped their responses to keep them from ganging up on us." Bruks shrugged. "Like the Crucifix Glitch, only - deliberate."

"How do you know that I haven't seen that anywhere."

"Like you said, Rak: it's the only model that fits. How do you think the line could even breed if their default response was to eviscerate each other on sight? Call it the, the Divide and Conquer Glitch." He smiled bitterly. "Oh, we were good." - Echopraxia.

Yeah, not just how they'd even breed if they were like that, but as I kind of touched on previously, "how did any vampires survive their childhoods?" is a huge fridge logic issue with the "vampires kill each other on sight" thing. It makes no sense for a highly intelligent hominid species to kill each other on sight because humans are possibly the most intensely K-strategist animals on the planet and we're like that because we're smart; human babies are extremely vulnerable and dependent because of the big infant head problem and human children need a long period of learning and lots of attention for that extended phenotype of culture to be passed on. Vampires would need a huge exception to the "totally selfish and super-aggressive toward each other" rule just to explain how any vampire survived their childhood, let alone to explain how they managed to develop and maintain any culture (like that click language they supposedly had), and having culture is one of the primary advantages of being smart. And if vampire children were at all like human children I can't even really see it working with just a mother-child bond, for the first years at least there's probably going to need to be at least one other "parent" (father, grandmother, aunt, whatever) to hunt while the mother is stuck with the extremely dependent young child, so that implies that cooperative relationships between adult vampires were possible and common.

Really, the implication is right there even in Blindsight itself, in the part where it speculates that ancient vampires had a language and specifically a language designed to imitate natural sounds so they could talk to each other while sneaking up on prey and you can hear traces of this in modern vampire vocal tics. That implies ancient vampires hunted cooperatively, talked to each other substantially, and had their own culture!

The book suggests this was a genetic tweak (the index mentions alterations to facial recognition mechanisms), but I think it would make a lot of sense if a lot has to do with differences in upbringing. This is the way Echopraxia describes the social environment modern vampires are kept in:

Every vampire ever brought back from the junkyard: scrupulously isolated from their own kind, every aspect of their environment regulated and monitored. Hemmed in by crosses and right angles, mortally dependent on precisely rationed drugs to keep them from seizing at the sight of a windowpane. Creatures that, for all their terrifying strength and intelligence, couldn't even open their eyes on a city street without keeling over.

...

He shook his head. "They'd never have met. Vampires are hardly ever allowed in the same wing of a building at the same time, let alone the same room. And if they did meet they'd be more likely to tear out each other's throats than draw up escape plans."

So, modern vampires have been raised entirely by people with a radically different neurotype (humans) who have no idea what parenting styles a vampire child would respond well to, in total isolation from any members of their own species. This sounds to me like a recipe for profound social and psychological maladjustment.

Imagine you're a member of a species with low-trust social intuitions and you've been raised by weak, slow, stupid, timid people you intuitively recognize as prey and who are very obviously afraid of you, and then you meet a member of your own kind; a stranger as fast and strong and smart and fierce as you who can credibly look at you and think "I can take them." I bet you'd feel really threatened!

So, yeah, I think plausibly the primary reason ancient vampires weren't so psychotically aggressive toward each other is they had their entire childhoods to get acclimatized to dealing with people with about the same capabilities and mindset as themselves and develop emotional and psychological resources for that.

I like the idea that, like, ancient vampires were profoundly not nice people (for one thing they literally ate people, for another thing given Siri's emotional reaction to Jukka's mannerisms I really doubt most of the ancient vampire DNA in humans got there consensually), but modern vampires are like a Flanderized parody of them with a lot of their worst traits amped up to eleven, because they're kind of like feral children. Like, if an ancient vampire met Jukka or Valerie they'd be like "oh my God, you poor messed-up feral child, what happened to you?"

[scover-va]

ok i havent been able to get the idea of an dnd-styled rpg inscryption/the hex au out of my head and it's physically paining me at this point (/j). So, I'm making you fuckers deal with my ramblings bc tumblr's just become a place for my to spit out ideas so they'll stop taking up space in my brain. So! Ramble under the cut since I'll be main tagging this bitch for organization purposes

So main character would be Inscryption's Challenger, and I'm thinking maybe the entire party of em is just. Different versions of the Challenger designs in Inscryption? Either that, or the Challenger is accompanied by Luke, Kaycee, and Lionel. Not Carla tho, I got villain plans with her. Tempted to go with the several Challenger designs idea, but then I'd need to come up with names, so. Y'know.

I dont know how im gonna have the world set up, but I'm thinkin the Scrybes now have land they rule over? Maybe not kingdoms for all of em, but yknow. Only issue with that is that I'd need to figure out how to fit the hex characters in, so what I'll probably do is just having them having authority in smaller areas. So like, taking inspo from Leshy's ties to Slavic mythology, he'd be king of the forest. Grimora might be an infamous necromancer, I havent fully figured these guys out yet.

But i DO have six other characters figured out so ohoHO buckle down, everyone.

Because I refuse to change Rocky's general appearance if I dont have to, Rocky was kidnapped from a young age and experimented on. By who? I'll figure that out eventually. Anyways, so in those few years, Rust was searching for him day and night, and eventually found the people that took Rocky. I have him planned to be a rogue in the rpg au, so yknow. Breaks in, kills some people, has a very heartfelt reunion with his kid, while also. Internally being very fucking angry that these assholes experimented so goddamn much on a child. He got Rocky out safe, and they're now travelling the lands for a place to call home, while Rust is. Also looking for the people who were running the operation, since they weren't there. I am. Considering making Reggie and Jeremiah full on villains for this. So. We'll see what happens. Other idea is Irving and the Gameworks/Gamefuna. I'll figure that out later. Rust and Rocky will aid the players in exchange for helping Rust find the people who hurt his kid. Rocky's completely unaware of how much his pops wants revenge, and really just wants to find somewhere safe to call home. Too bad years of separation affected Rust so poorly

Next up, ex-sorceress Chandrelle, who now claims to be a warlock. She's a lone traveller, and doesn't answer when asked what god she draws her power from. I'm still trying to work out how she got stuck with Vallamir, so that'll be a future ramble. But yeah, she's stuck with him. Her questline would probably have something to do with getting rid of Vallamir, but another idea would be her looking for Lazarus. I'll figure out the separation lore when I have the Vallamir lore figured out, but they got separated, and Chandrelle hasn't been able to find him. Actually I could probably make these work as one big questline tbh. We'll see. I'm thinking maybe Chandrelle got into a dangerous battle, and in order to ensure she'd be safe, made a deal with Vallamir for more power in exchange for being possessed and used at will? Anyways, yeah ok im running with this idea, big battle happens, but even tho Chandrelle's safe, Lazarus! Is not. He ends up getting taken, and now Chandrelle's just looking for closure, wanting to know what happened to him.

Next up, Lazarus! So yeah, he got taken, and I'm thinkin it's gonna be Gamefuna for this one (Gonna rename it tho so it doesnt have game in it. Name's a work in progress). Anyways, they forced him to train to be a ranger instead of a paladin, and im thinkin the organization thingy does have smth similar to guns? I'll work out the details for the weapon later. So, eventually, Lazarus manages to just barely escape, and is. Kinda on the run. Moving as far as he reasonably could from where he was, he finds an abandoned temple, and fixes it up a little, now teaching swordfighting to aspiring paladins, or just anyone who wants to use a sword.

And lastly for those I have figured out, Pike! An ex-cleric, Pike served under the wizard Magnificus, having been one of his pupils. Not sure if I'm keeping the torture trials or not, but Mags still treated his students like shit, and Pike's interest in magic started dying down when she saw some knights in passing. Deciding she wanted to be a swordfighter instead, she ran away from Mag's lands, and started training to be a swordfighter, residing in a somewhat nearby village. And one day, while picking up some food from the market, Lazarus saw her training in a nearby field. And. Well. She was doing horribly. He had walked over and gave some pointers, and it eventually just led to her being one of his students at the temple. Pike having Lazarus as a mentor is completely self indulgent on my part bc I think it's cool and funky. Go funky sword people go!!

So, jotting down some ideas for Sado and Carla, im thinking Carla's an artificer, and one of her experiments eventually led to creating Sado (censoring it bc tumblr's a bitch and i aint typing dark clown you-know-who every time). Dunno the specifics, but she does have a huge fucking grudge against Lionel for smth, and just kinda. Wants him fucking dead, whether she kills him or Sado does. So yeah, she created Sado, basically making a chaos incarnate. Sado's a mix of a rogue and a wizard, running purely on magic, so she's able to bend reality quite a bit. While Carla spends most of her time in her workshop, Sado is constantly causing issues. So yeah, those two are, like, the big bads.

I'll make more posts with more ideas later, and add in any doodles I make, but thats what I got rn

Edit: Sado's safe to mention, just cant tag her, so i fixed every mention of her <3

[messwriting]

Written for The Smut Pile Collab: Mafia AU | MASTERLIST HERE.

POISON AND PLEASURE

Osamu Miya (Post-Time Skip) x Mob Boss! Female Reader

“Backed into a corner, Osamu makes a deal with the devil -- you.”

Rating: E for explicit | Don’t read this if under eighteen.

Warnings: oh boy. Dub-con (Osamu does consent, but it is coercion); MANIPULATION AND EXTORTION; slight gun play, lasts for a moment; Rough sex; Hate-fucking; Degradation/Humiliation; Spanking, also just for a moment; Oral sex, fingering; Orgasm Denial; Choking; Violence; Dash of corruption and prey/predator; Deep throat; Facial. Fucking in a kitchen/public place. Also, just in case, toxic relationship and money talk (lol). 

Word count: 9,889 (such a nice number)

A/N: Oh, this has been a ride. This is my contribution to The Smut Pile Collab, hosted by the lovelies @present-mel​, @pleasantanathema​ and @linestrider​. I’m very excited to participate, since it is my first collab and they are my (home) first server. Big, huge, gigantic thanks to Lauren (my wife) for reading this over and beta-ing for me. <3

Well, Osamu fuckers unite! :insert elmo fire: (i’ve been on discord too much)

Osamu gets up from his seat inside his small office, looking from the small window on his door inside the already closed restaurant lit only by the lights that come in through the windows, the time being well after closing. Shady deals are mostly done late at night, he thinks. Right as he’s leaving the office and closing the door behind him with a key, the movement outside catches his eye and Osamu turns just in time to watch as the black BMW sedan of the year quietly comes to a halt right in front of his store. He frowns, knowing who that means. He'd much rather deal with the soldier responsible for his loan initially than with you.

Two men emerge from the front doors of the car, one immediately heading for the passenger door while the driver checks the street; they exchange a small nod before the man on the side of the sidewalk opens the passenger door and when he does, he positions himself behind it and immediately out of the way. Osamu could be intrigued by the action if he didn't feel so represented by it - he, too, would prefer to always be out of your way.

There’s power in the way you move, ingrained in your body as you descend an expensive white heel onto the concrete beneath you on the sidewalk, the other following suit while you propel yourself out, holding the frame of the car for support. It’s late at night and the street is fairly dark, but your simple presence, clad in an impeccable white suit with a deep neckline showing immaculate skin, is enough to brighten the place. There’s an elegant, expensive-looking and equally unnecessary coat draped over your shoulders and your hair was flawlessly styled.

You draw attention as the color black absorbs light-- from all and everything. Maybe it is because of your soul, he muses.  

Once you were standing outside the car, your driver marched to the door of the onigiri restaurant, holding it open for you while you strode inside, heels clicking on the pavement, the sway of your hips something Osamu may think beautiful to watch if it weren’t you.

“Hello, Miya-san. Hope you have better news for me this week.” You state as cheerfully as you can, calmly entering the establishment in a glory of white. You shed your coat once you passed the door, the driver catching it while the second man seemed to survey the outside area a little more before entering.

"Hi." Osamu extends his hand with the brown envelope. But you go around him and walk to the counter, calmly sitting down on one of the high stools while absentmindedly looking around his small restaurant.

“I missed my lunch today, so I hope you don’t mind me grabbing a bite before I leave.” You don’t look at Osamu when he doesn’t move for his place behind the counter immediately.

“We’re closed.” He says and you turn around just momentarily, piercing eyes on his profile. One of your men is still by the door and the look he gives the twin is also very compelling. Osamu feels his teeth gritting against the pressure he makes to shut his tongue. "Sure."

One of the goons comes closer and takes the brown envelope from his hands, without you even looking back as the burly tattooed man sits in one of the booths and starts counting the money.

“So, how’s business? I’ve heard you had a hard time these last two months.” You try to make small talk while checking the menu over the counter, carefully done nails threading along the restaurant menu. You only press a long nail against what you want and slide it to him, the 18K diamonds on your small and discreet Cartier watch and matching trinity ring on your finger catching more of his attention than your watchful eyes. Your jewelry is discrete, tasteful, and still amounting enough to buy the whole building where the Onirigi’s shop is located. Osamu's throat moves around nothing in reflex.

"Isn’t it obvious?" He grumbles while working against the counter, starting once he cleans his hands on the sink. He’d like to say his eyes keep diverting to your neckline because of your shining jewelry.

"So rude, Miya." you chuckle. “And I’ve been nothing but nice to you. Didn’t you pay for your little plumbing problem with my money? Is it only dirty to you once I’m present?”

"I don’t like people like you." Osamu doesn’t beat around the bush. And once he’s done with this payment he’d be completely free of you anyway, he doesn’t feel the need to pretend.

“Like me? You mean kind? All I ever did was help you out in a time of need.”

Osamu’s snort is disrespectful. The big man by the door moves but a simple turn of your hand in the air has him standing back, carefully looking down on Osamu, but unmoving. The other’s still counting the money rather calmly, the booth he’s seated unseeable from the shop window.

“You see, disrespect won’t take you far.” You say offhand, your watchful eyes on Osamu’s every move but with no real worry. You don’t trust him, but you know he’s not stupid.

"I don’t plan on it." He answers you after a beat, finishing wrapping the Salmon onigiri, disposing it carefully on a plate, and depositing it in front of you, accompaniments arranged around. Osamu doesn't use the fact that he doesn't like you as an excuse for a half-ass job; he's not the type, which is refreshing. Is what you like about him.

“Get started on a few others. I trust your recommendations.”

Osamu chooses to work quietly, in silence. You, however, are happily chatting away at his high stool as if this is just another day of bullying patrons. Maybe, for you, it is.

“You work very diligently.” You observe, eyes trailing from his toned arms to his deft fingers diligently working on the rice ball. He’s fast and experienced, rolling the nori around the triangled shaped steamed rice after successfully filling it with whatever he chose. Osamu just grumbles out something, or tsk, even when the way you look at his fingers takes an unexpected appreciative turn. 

“Maybe I should have you working overtime more.” You muse when he finishes the new onigiris and carefully places them in front of you. Osamu eyes you nastily, clearly displeased at your comment, which makes your lips split in a bigger smile despite your teeth closing around the rice ball. Even so, you’re pleasantly surprised by their flavor. 

“See, this is why I like you, Osamu.” The man frowned at your loose use of his first name, the way it rolls off your tongue so nicely. “You always deliver good work.”

“It’s my job.” Osamu retorts, unamused. “I do it right even if it’s for…” He catches his tongue right in time, his eyes catching movement from the man seated down at one of the tables, almost biting his tongue in the process. “--people like you.” 

Osamu watches while the burly man with tattoos moves discreetly despite his size, bends down so his mouth can be on your ear level, and murmurs something to you that he doesn’t quite catch. Your steely eyes are momentarily looking down when they blink and fly back to his face, a deep, blank stare that makes Osamu’s brows furrow. His back becomes straighter, a gripping feeling in his gut that triggers his fight or flight. 

He presses the urge down - tells himself he doesn’t have anything to fear.

He’s looking down at you, but Osamu feels small under your steady glare. Which in reflex, after several years of being stupid in pair, makes him want to act up.

"Seems to me you forgot some money, Miya."

"What?" His shocked tone is harsh and his eyes dart between you to the two men behind you, looking as steady as his walls and just as broad. "I counted it twice, everythin’ I owe ya ‘s there." His accent comes out pretty hard when he’s agitated.

"You only have fifty thousand here."

“I owe ya fifty thousand.” Osamu deadpans, almost sneering. “What ’re ya sayin’?"

“No, Miya. Fifty thousand is what you owed me two weeks ago.”

"You gave me an extension." He argues, brows furrowed.

"Exactly. I never said anything about the interest.”

"What?"

"You forgot the interest." You talk to him as if he’s a child, lips turning upwards at his confusion. Osamu has the gut feeling you’re enjoying every second of this. Every little moment of his deep discomfort. “You were informed about them when you accepted the loan, you know how they work. If you don’t pay on the due date, 10 percent interest each extra week you remain in debt.”

"Are you telling me I'm missin’ over 10K in interest rates?

"Yes." You say, smiling while tilting your head sideways, analytical. "Because you are."

“I'm paying you back,” Osamu grits through his clenched teeth, almost as if he’s willing it to be true, “Everything I owed ya is there. ”

"Not quite. You’re paying me back about--” You smile and press your lips in thinking, eyebrows furrowing while you calculate on your head the exact number.  “-- 82 percent of what you owe me.”

Osamu’s fists close, veins bulging while his heart picks up with the adrenaline rush of a fit of rage. Aggression flows on his body to the point where his entire frame trembles. His teeth are clenched, tightly forced together by his pressed jaw. His brain cannot reason beyond the need to vent that outrage, and with every second he spends looking at your pretty-faced indifference sitting in front of him at the counter, his outrage slowly merges into fury. Osamu stares back at your emotionless eyes, turns, and walks two strides before burying his fist in the nearest plaster wall, the pain grounding him, soothing his nerves. 

Pain is familiar -- what Osamu doesn’t like is to feel so deranged.

"Fuck!" He exclaims loudly but still controlled, turns his broad back to you, breathes deeply a few times, and then settles. You watch in delighted silence as he moves to the freezer, grabs an iced pack of random food, and puts on his busted knuckles, his eyes on the hole he left on the wall; The twin sighs audibly, then walks back while coldly regarding you and your two watchdogs who look over to him carefully, almost startled.

You, however, didn’t even flinch.

"So how much do I still have to give you?"

“I think the better question is: Can you pay?”

“I’ll figure it out.” Osamu grumbles out, his clenched jaw working over grinding teeth.

“That’s not how this works, Miya.” You tell him, your spine regally straight on the high seat as if it is your throne. Your lips move around the next word with malice. “When.”

“I--” Osamu stops to think for a moment, coldly calculating his financial situation. He has no way to withdraw money from the main branch to try and cover the losses of this branch, that would be simply stupid. There is no way for him to borrow money from Atsumu, who doesn’t know the concept of savings; Kita can not help him with such a great amount and he can’t recur to his poor parents. He also doesn’t want to resort to a bank at all, which doesn’t leave him many options. A new extension raises interests and he doesn't think he can do it beyond the amount he would need to add. Osamu's chest slowly fills with dread - he knows what’ll come if he doesn’t pay and he refuses to let his business become a Mafia parlor.

You watch Osamu slowly and quite meticulously calculate his options while engrossed in reasoning his dreadful situation; it’s thrilling, you almost can’t hide the contentment blossoming in your chest at his desperate situation. 

His expression shifts and turns sour, before slowly building back his blank façade but it’s too late, you already know his conditions and capacities - it’s your job to know. And you pride yourself in never making bets, just assuming calculated risks, so Osamu is right where you wanted him to be.

You do suspect the black-haired male is the same, that disinterested stare in his handsome face nothing short of sharp, his aloof behavior making every second of rilling Osamu up to this manifestation of discomfort all the more delightful. His only problem is that the man plays by rules you don’t. And what you want, you take.  

“I’ll need an extension for the rest.” He finally says, so absolutely angered it’s almost a curse. Even the hostility in his tone makes a shiver run down your spine, all the hairs on your arms standing on edge while your insides slowly melt, fed by the images in your brain.

“Really?” You playfully answer, faked surprise not made to convince anyone. Osamu seethes in place, labored breathing making his chest move up and down. “See, now I can’t help you out. I told you disrespect would only take you so far.” 

You get up from your seat, a show of touching your expensive black plump Louboutin on the ground. “I can’t let you out like this, not when you did such a show of being… rude.”

“What do you want.” Osamu almost spits at you once you’re rounding his counter, entering his space, closing on him. But he holds himself in place by pressing his nails hardly against the inside of his palms.

“First, some respect.” You sultrily say at him, much as a viper luring its prey. It rolls off your scarlet lips while you look up at him from your long lashes and perfect face. It makes Osamu want to wreck it.

“I don’t respect you.” He says in undertone since you’re close, sounding much like a hiss. 

“Doesn’t seem like a smart thing to say to someone to whom you owe so much.” You purse your lips, fake pout. “And you seem like a smart man, Miya. Or am I wrong?”

Osamu blinks, brows furrowing while he looks down at you, his mind working.

“Where are you going with this?” He eyes you warily, his eyebrows furrowing, his mind trying to gauge the target of your wicked intentions. “You want something.”

 You smile, pretty red lips stretching to show a beautiful line of white teeth and he’s surprised that the poison isn’t dripping. 

“See, I knew you were smart.”

“I’m not giving you my business.” Osamu hisses, like a cornered animal, but his instance shows he’s more prone to fight than flee. 

“Don’t want it.” You’re quick to tell him, innocence so out of place that it makes even clearer that you’re being honest. “I may need… services, though.” 

Osamu’s spine shoots straight once again, his eyes sharp boring into your face with cold disdain.

“I’m not laundering your money.” 

“Money launder, Miya? That’s a federal felony.” You lean back, supporting yourself on your forearms against the balcony, vigilant eyes zooming on him. “Are you saying I’m a criminal?” 

Osamu stays silent for the first time. There’s a predatory glint in your eyes that he understands as a warning, but that doesn’t stop him from upturning his brow and tilting his head in a small challenge. Osamu is appalled at what your upturning lips do to his guts, swallowing the saliva that pools in his mouth. He must be wrong in the fucking head to feel anything else than disgust in your sight, but even so, there’s no denying the way there’s a devilish pull around you, like the temptation of a capital sin.

“What I mean is… I have a specific service for you, personally. So you could pay me in...” Your tongue snaps against the roof of your mouth with a small noise, lips turning up in vile intention, “Different goods, per se.”

Osamu refuses to accept his train of thought, eyes pressing into slits while he watches you. His tone enunciates every word of his question. 

“What do you mean?” 

Your answering smile is sordid.

“You know what I mean Miya, we’ve just established you’re not stupid.”

“I’m starting ta’ think you are, though.”

Your laugh is loud, cheerful even. It makes him look at you as if you’re insane.

“Maybe.” You chuckle, retreating your arms back and straightening your posture on the tool, your neck tilting to the side. “But when I want something, I want it. So why deny myself that? I find the whole point of self-control to be so… pedestrian.” There’s this contempt in your tone at the word, mixing into trivial once your shoulders shrug your consideration for a whole chunk of what living in a society means. “Why hold myself to it if I’m above?” Osamu chooses to ignore that question.

“And what if I say no?” 

“You’re free to do what you want, I don’t own you.” Yet, you think, smiling. “Then again you still owe me 10k in interests and with your measly weekly 5k profit and the increased interest percentage with the second extension, we know what’ll happen to you…  And I’d hate for that to happen to you.”

The silence is heavy and acidic, burning on him. And you let the seconds pass, relishing in the way he seems to grow aggravated, jaw overworking around nothing to bite, hands in fists by his side. 

Oh, you’re close to defiling the pristine white of your designer clothes, the feeling brewing inside you threatening to spill between your thighs. Osamu looks absolutely delicious while being so emotional. 

You can see the gears turning inside his pretty dark-haired head, his eyes looking around and back at you, threading down your face, to your neck to the plunging neckline of your suit - you elongate your body while he watches, pleased to have his eyes on you, especially when they're burning with unattended violence and aggression. 

Osamu’s always so detached from the events happening around him, so unshakable in that aura of apathetic tranquility that it has caused you to develop an almost macabre interest in making him desperate. And now you are continually enjoying the result, the awakening of the flames that you always knew existed inside the small business owner.

 A few minutes pass while you’re just content to watch, the knot in your stomach growing tighter as you appreciate the size of his shoulders, the strength hidden in the strong biceps, the broad, defined torso that you know exists under that simple black outfit simply by gut feeling alone. You are tempted to ask him to turn around so that you can also enjoy his backside.

“Ok.” He says in a breath that seems more like it was ripped out of his chest. Like a dead man last world. You like this analysis. But of course, he can’t have it so easy.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear. Did you say anything?”

Osamu purses his lips in discomfort, almost bites his tongue in the process of not telling you to go to hell.

 “I said,” he entones again, though his disdain is showing. “Ok”

“Ok, what?” You press. Oh, the way how his veins bulge on his forearms when his nails press on his palms have your hairs standing on end. You blink at him with a smile, all too pleased with yourself.

“Ok, I’ll do it.” Osamu squeezes out, brows furrowed in discovering your intentions. You’re leering with wicked prowess. 

“I don’t think that's how you say it, Miya.” Your brows go up in the tiniest indication of irritation. Your voice is calculated, though unable to hide the elation.

“Ok… Miss. I’ll do anything you want.” The words come out of his mouth sounding nothing like submission and much like he just cursed your whole generation, teeth grinding. Still, it makes you smile. You don’t want to break his spirit -- that’s why you chose him.

“That’s what I like to hear.” You say, pushing yourself out from the counter where you supported yourself. Coat long forgotten on top of it, you cross your arms in front of your breasts, knowing exactly how you look and very pleased at the way his eyes ever so slightly thread down your plunging neckline. “But not so fast. I didn’t tell you I’d accept it-”

“Ya just--” Osamu almost explodes, the arms he holded closed in front of him being thrown in the air as if he’d be ready to grab you. You just turn a hand up and reels at how he actually shuts up right after.

“I just told you, you could pay me in services.” You continue, one step closer to him in your expensive shoes, plump red lips dripping wicked intent. 

“But,” You start, closer to him enough that your breath is touching his heated skin and you can smell the sweat his aggression produced, your mouth salivating at the thought of tasting it on his skin. 

Your finger rests on his chest and you thread it up while speaking, looking him in the eyes, so pleased at finding so much life in his usual dead stare, “I don’t know if you’re good enough for the job yet.” 

Osamu stares back at you, hands in fists forcibly stuck next to his body, feeling the way your hot breath trails on his jaw and hating himself for what it brews in his insides. 

You stretch up in your heels, mouth dangerously close to his, which rests ajar to let his breathing out, enough that he can taste your mint breath on his tongue. 

“I think I may need a little…”  Your eyes thread down to his mouth and then back to his eyes while you speak your next words, “--taste, you know?”

Osamu flexes his fingers, swallows dry around his closed throat, stares at your face -- so close the downright devilish smile on your red lips seems to narrow his field-view -- and he blinks. 

The Miya thinks how he wants to wipe that smile off your sinful lips. How he wants to have you trembling, unattended, and disheveled. He thinks about you begging with his name on your tongue, for a release that he’ll keep denying at his disposition. Osamu thinks about leaving you sore and marked, thinks about wrapping his hands around your neck to watch as you struggle, turning purple, life evading you while he fucks you; consider this may be the only way he’d ever had the opportunity to get even close to a payback. 

Osamu wants you to experience mind-numbing pleasure you’d never before, uniquelly brought by him… and suffer through the rest of your fucking disgraceful life without being able to taste it again once he’s done paying his debt. Because Osamu swears on his fucking name and whole life, he’ll never give it to you again.

He can see your future already and in it you’re fucked - both by him and for him, while he’s the one who gets away. The twin wonders if you ever lost anything like this in your life, can feel himself growing hard at being the one to make you cry. 

“Sure.” Osamu smiles, lopsided, the devil himself being safer than him. “I’ll give ya the taste ya deserve.” 

Your eyes press slightly closer in mistrust, the wicked intention pouring from his body so close to yours impossible to miss. Either way, it's your win; that’s exactly what you’ve been bargaining for, despite your game being rigged from the start. 

You bring your face close to his as if you were going to kiss him and you are delighted when his eyes go down, although not completely closed, his pupils focusing on your lips. 

You smile and retreat, turning to your men still positioned exactly where you left them, behind the bench where you were sitting previously. They remain so observant and sharp as ever, despite looking more like gargoyles than men.

“I’ll need a moment.” You tell them in a serious tone, calm. They both look at you for a second and nod, their stances changing very little despite it. You turn back to him but walk inside his establishment as if you own the place, pushing through the doors that lead to the back and inside his small, equipped kitchen. Osamu follows in silence, briefly wondering if he’d be able to snatch a knife and bury it in your chest. 

There’s not much outside cooking paraphernalia, with two big counters and taller than normal table in the center. You stop right in front of it, your hand threading over it for a moment. 

“That’ll do.” You say while you turn around to look at him. You look so strikingly bright in the middle of his rather normal kitchen, clad in both lavish clothes and unblemished skin; he wants so much to be able to say your sight doesn’t thrill him -- but he can’t lie to himself. 

But then you pointedly eye him and then the ground in front of you, “Kneel.”

Osamu considers his previous thought about burying a knife deep in your chest but walks, stiff, to where you indicated. He kneels with even less disposition than when he walked towards you, the descent slow until the ground’s hard tile is registered against his knee. He makes a point of looking into your eyes as he lowers, hatred overflowing in waves that seem to give you a sick satisfaction, your eyes becoming slightly out of focus.

The Miya’s about to ask what you’d want him to do next, like pledge himself or some shit, when your hands move to the hidden zipper on the side of your impeccable white pants. 

It drops to the floor in one go, displaying the graceful planes of your hips, appeasing spanse of flesh, a small triangle of silk hiding your most private parts. Saliva pools in Osamu’s mouth at the sight, his teeth pressing against one another to avoid betrayal. He’s still unsure of what’s his next step until your heel digs on his shoulder painfully, using him as leverage to prop yourself up on the high table. 

His eyes snap to yours while he bite his tongue to not curse you out loud.  There’s a gun on top of his head that is a big warning for Osamu to behave -- not that he’d have the chance to escape with the watchdogs outside his only exit. If he had, you could be dead already. 

Your suit threads up when you move up and slide on the table, the white silk panties peeking in between your open thighs. You move your beretta calmly off his face and thread it slightly, almost fondly, over your naked thigh. 

You make a small show of removing your finger from the trigger and depositing it far on the table, enough to be out of his reach and almost yours too. You look back at him once you’re empty handed and just so open right there on the table for him. 

“Behave, Osamu. You know you wouldn’t make it very far.”

Osamu grits his teeth but nods, your heel still supported on his shoulder but not digging on his skin anymore. You lay slightly back against his tabletop, forearms resting on the surface carefully. Dressed in a white, stylish suit like the last trend, the skin in between so bright it feels like a taunt, the curves of your breasts so ripe he wants to taste, the closed lapels looking like his own pathway to sin. He can feel his blood boiling, aggression throbbing, and he wants to paint you in red.

“Well then,” You start, happily above him, spread like a meal, “Show me if you’re good enough to pay your debt. Consider this your warrant.”

“Don’t worry.” Osamu drawls out with dripping distaste, his hand slowly, almost bored, threading up from your ankle to your knees. “I’ll fuck ya like you want it. Within an inch of your life.”

His hands lock on the back of your knees and he parts them forcefully, while you leave a yelp followed by laughter, your head thrown back with glee. 

You smell of flowers and spice, so expensive he was surprised that you weren’t dripping fucking gold. His palms slide through the back of your thigh and the skin under his fingertips is soft and firm, all shapes of heaven despite being in sole service of the devil. 

Osamu starts slowly, the table leaving you open just at the height of his neck while he’s kneeled on the ground, at the perfect height. His thumb presses on your skin while he holds one of your legs up, brings his lips to your knee. There’s a welcoming stain on your panties, and he scoffs at you despite the way his cock responds on his trousers. 

“I haven’t even started and you’re already wet?” The way you smile at him is both infuriating and bewitching. 

“What? Didn’t you enjoy our little foreplay earlier?” You tease him, plump lips locked under a row of teeth with mirth. His skin feels prickling and Osamu decides he needs more room, roughly pushing on your thighs until he can fit between them with room to spare.

It’s not fair, how good you feel, the delicious smell of your skin, the way your taunt alights him with fire in his veins. 

Osamu knows it’s bait -- and he’s willingly falling for it.

When his lips start to thread on the inner part of your knee and up, the twin does it with the intention to mark; he sucks instead of kissing, licks instead of caressing, and bites once he finds the plush meat of your inner thighs.

It stings and you let the smallest of sounds, but Osamu feels it in his gut, brings his hot tongue to soothe over it, bask in the way you tremble under his fingertips just enough for him to sink his teeth and revel in the pain on your groan. 

His nose treads along the furthest expanse of the joining of your thighs, touches the silk of your expensive panties, senses the way you tense and watches while your pussy trembles, even while still covered by fabric.

He considers holding back his tongue, but Osamu has never been the type to be held back by the threat of punishment. And you’ve shown to clearly enjoy his fiery side.

“Such an eager pussy right here, isn't it?” He threads his nose against the wet patch in the silk, carefully breathes against the covered lips. Osamu lets one of his shoulders bear one leg and brings his thumb to pass over the growing wet patch. “Sticky.” He presses it from the wetness to the place where your clit should be, watches as you respond to his touch with aborted movement. “Such a slut.” It’s supposed to be degrading, but there’s a hint of appreciation in his words that isn’t lost on you. “Is this all it takes for my debt? It’ll be finished in a second then.”

Your mouth opens to retort but closes in time to withhold a moan before it falls through your lips. His thumb’s pressing against your clit in tight circles while the index of his other hand threads over your covered cunt. Turns out Osamu has moves to back up the big talk. 

He’s methodical, clearly good and deft with his fingers, controlled pressure applied in a way that has you writhing on the table despite your intention to make this hard on him. Your desire to make him work for it, apparently, is no match for his. 

Osamu presses the tips of his fingers on your clothed entrance, enough force that it barely breaks inside you but the teasing has you churning on the table for him, legs trying to part beyond limits, body arching where it’s been relegated. Your chest feels hot and heavy despite the little clothing. You’re hoping for the moment where he’ll tease the hard nipples pressing against the flimsy lace of your bralet and the inside of your suit with the same intensity he’s depositing on your cunt.

Osamu, on the other hand, has no rush. You did this, gave this opportunity for him to wreck you, and he plans on enjoying it to the bitter end. He’s fairly surprised at how responsive you are, how quickly you melt for him, how vocal you can be despite doing little more than grunts and sighs. A thought flashes through his mind when he feels a renewed wave of wetness blossom against the fabric where his fingers are pressing, his lips turning in a self-satisfied smirk.

“Have you been so desperate for a good cock you’ve resorted to blackmail?” Your eyes snap open at his voice, a warm wave of something that you refuse to believe in being embarrassment depositing in your cheekbones. Osamu’s fingers prod harder against your entrance, fingers spreading against the wet fabric to your outer lips while his thumb keeps drawing endless circles around your clit. “Tsk, what a dirty move from an even dirtier slut.” 

He slaps your clit once, then twice, his bulking frame preventing you from closing your legs against the sudden pain. Your body trembles on unsteady forearms. You choke on a breath and then release a moan, the sound outrageous to Osamu even as his cock throbs from it. 

“Maybe I’ll give ya what you want.” The Miya teases, his voice sounding even despite the turmoil inside him. You look up at him with such eyes he could fool himself into thinking he wanted this. 

His fingers teether on the edge of your underwear, rough fingertips just daring to cross into the emanating heat. Your hips twitch, the emptiness inside you accentuated by your muscles clenching around nothing, desire pouring out against the prodding fingertips. Osamu snorts, throws you a hard stare that is equal parts fire and contempt. 

“You’re so wet. Are you enjoying this that much?” It drips acidic from his tongue against your neck, after he bends himself over you. From so close, Osamu’s warm breath is the same as a caress, his tongue teasing you with the way it threads over his lips but doesn't extend the courtesy to your skin. “You’re rather easy to rile up, hah? Or is it that you enjoyed playin’ with me before?” His teeth flash white above your head and you swallow around the desire of having them plunging on your skin. “How was it ya said? Foreplay, hah?”

You feel weirdly wound up inside your own skin, as if there’s not enough space and still a growing void inside you waiting for him to fill. It’s insane, it’s delicious, and a loud moan breaches your throat when Osamu plunges two fingers inside you without warning. 

Your body arches in such a curve your breasts press against his chest, the relieving brush too shallow to register in your brain when you’re hyper fixated on the sensation brewing inside you. 

It doesn’t even sting, instead you feel like your hunger escalates, fed by such little push that your want becomes need and for the first time in forever you actually consider asking for something. 

Your mouth opens, and Osamu snickers. “What?” He presses his thumb over your clit fast, relinquishes in the way you groan, feels the way your insides beg him to keep going. 

Still not enough though. He wants it ruined for you. 

“Maybe I’ll just make you cum on my fingers right here.” He spreads, scissor and twists them inside you, enjoying the feeling of your tight walls clenching around him at his every move. Osamu’s skin feels on fire, body overheating, and the way your lips turn up to reveal a line of white teeth in glee has his gut twisting. 

“You have a pretty loose tongue for such a quiet guy.” You look at him with semi-closed eyes, the victorious smile of the cat who got the mouse. “Maybe you like me more than you thoug--ahhhhh!”

Osamu shoves and prods around your insides for that special place even demons like you have and his assault is nothing short of merciless. Your eyes snap open at the force of his ramming, eyebrows furrowing at the way your pleasure seems to have forgone climb to skyrocket instead. Osamu watches in begrudging enchantment while your lips fall open to suck air into your breathless lungs and your eyes grow unfocussed, shoulders falling against the table so your hands can come to hold his arms but for what he doubts even you know. 

He’s not stopping. Until he does. 

You let out a noise like a wounded animal, tethering on the edge of mind numbing pleasure he won’t give you and when your body trembles from exertion of a denied orgasm instead of bliss, Osamu’s chest swells in pride.

“Whydidyoustop?” You lament in one breath, eyes are blinking back into focus, sweat and - oh he hopes those are tears - droplets dripping from the corner of your eyes while you turn to press your face on the cold metal surface of the table. “I was so close!” This time you rage, nails pressing against his skin enough to hurt.

“Wadidya mean?” Osamu tilts his head sideways, patronizing. “You didn’t ask for it. I’m just doing what you told me: being respectful.”

You laugh, still breathless, and turn to him in disbelief. “Fucker.”

“Not yet,” He corrects you, nuzzling his hips on your thighs. “Maybe if you ask nicely enough.”

Osamu retreats while you regulate your breath, letting your useless legs fall limp while both of his hands come to help your panties down, marveling at the way they’re peeled off your wet pussy lips. His cock aches and demands, but he’s used to reining in his dick. And he’s just started, anyway.

The Miya pushes you forward on the table, opening your legs wide like a treat. Your pussy is glistening, rhythmically calling for something to fill it while you leak. He plunges a finger back inside to watch you tremble, stimulation enough to make your eyes fall closed, long black lashes against beautiful sweaty skin. 

“Look at this.” Osamu plunges a second finger inside, opening them wide enough to sting. “What a desperate whore.” 

Your mind is swirling in urge, but you refuse to spill the words on your tongue. It would give you what you want, but at what cost? Osamu looks positively ferocious above you, dark eyes focused on your every move; it sends shivers through your spine, your body trembling and blossoming for him once again. You’re in your personal heaven, in company of the devil himself.

Osamu kneels again in front of your open legs, hook one on his shoulder while he holds the other thigh forcefully up with a grip so hard your muscle aches under his fingers. But you don’t care, in fact  you sigh “more” for him right as his breath teases your folds.

“No.” He tells you, two fingers pumping at leisure. His tongue slurps at your inner thigh, teeth closing in a bite with nothing to sooth. 

“Fuck.” You breathe out in a groan and his smirk is pronounced against your skin. 

Osamu, as you’re learning, is a tease.

His moves are soft, lacking in everything but aim; his tongue moves along the sensitive parts of your body you’ve never really cared for, like the plush flesh of your thighs, underside of your ass, the juncture of your groin. He has yet to taste you but you feel wounded, body constricted under weak ministrations, feather-like teases. It sinks with a piercing revelation that you could cum like this -- in an unfulfilled manner with not-good-enough touches that somehow have made your body feel raw like an exposed nerve in which the minimum touch would be enough to warrant waves of pleasure.

When his tongue comes to thread along your slit slowly, nose caressing along his way, your body clenches and threatens to spasm around unmoving fingers. You’re so close, so close, your body is ready to burst, fraying at the seams of a control you’re not using, your hands flying to try and find your clit at the same time Osamu’s eyes flash and he holds it, presses it forcefully against your belly while his lips slurp at your folds, circle your clit, but it’s so soft, it’s fucking unfair.

“Goddammit, Osamu!” You scream, enraged at the way your second orgasm flies away from you as his fingers leave your quivering hole, his mouth doing nothing more than lap at your overflowing juices with no real worry, no urgency.

“Oh, look at that.” The Miya smirks, drawing back up to look at your disheveled state; flustered, sweating, dripping and unattended. “You wanted a taste.” His hand comes back to your cunt, fingers thread along puffy lips. “I’m giving it to you.”

“You bastard.” His fingers leave your heat just to plunge inside again, a loud gushing sound following it. “Shit.” You sigh while falling back, and Osamu feels his cock throb once more at how breathless you sound. 

Your mind works around the feeling of being spread so far you feel as if you’re paper thin. Your mind goes rushing in its last attempt at working. Osamu looks self-satisfied, almost content, so you know where to hit. You want it, so you find a way to have it. 

“Oh, poor Miya--” You coo at him with a hoarse voice in glazed eyes, but the condescending tone is clear as day. “Are you trying to hurt me?” You plant a hand on his black hair, pulling at it enough to hurt.  “‘Cause I like pain.”

Fire explodes in his eyes and you tighten around his fingers in response, but other than his frown, Osamu remains calm. 

He slams three fingers inside before you can mouth any new words, smirks down at you with mischief when you tremble and bite your lips to hold the noises in, eyes falling back closed to hide the way they turn inside your skull. His other hand is holding your thigh forcefully open once again and his palm presses with hurtful intention, fingertips buried in your flesh so hard his digitals may mark you for days.

“Let you cum on my fingers and nothing else, is that going to be enough for you?” Osamu snarls against your ear, hot breath tickling your jaw. His hips hold you open to his assault at your pussy and his hand abandons your thigh to glide over your body and close around your throat. 

Osamu squeezes hard.

“Then again I could ruin your orgasm for the third time.” He bends over you, his lips right in front of your sight; eyes looking down at you with such fire you almost wonder if they’re the cause for the burn in your lungs. “Leave you writhing on the table, empty, until you learn to have a little respect.” 

This. 

Your lips spread in a smile almost maniacal, goosebumps rising on your skin as if you’re electrified. This is what you’ve wanted all along -- passion, fearless assault of words, electrifying pleasure; and also, the detachment, the murderous intent, all merging together in one perfect Osamu Miya. Shit, you think to yourself, at this hate you may actually come from his teasing alone.

“You talk too much for someone who didn't make me cum yet.” You pour gasoline into his fire. 

Osamu pulls you up by the lapels of your suit, button flying open at the hastiness, your breasts protected by such a flimsy piece of lace you’re surprised it doesn’t turn to ash at his stare. Your hard nipples mark the white bralet, the air feeling cold at how hot they are. 

A hand covered in your juices closes on your cheeks, forcefully opening your lips at the threat of pain, his fingers with lingering heat from your insides.

“Such a big mouth, should I shut you up?” Osamu asks you, eyes boring on yours. The plea is on the point of your tongue as if he’d shoved his hand inside you to yank it himself, and it tips out when his dark eyes steal one single snippet of your smeared red lips open by his hands.

“Fuck me.” 

He nods negatively, presses hard enough that your teeth could cut your inner cheeks. He relents and your tongue grazes your lips, moistening them for his eyes.  

Osamu smiles, a tilt of his lips up but so earnestly you’re almost hopeful, then: “No.” 

Even if as he says it, it’s a lie. He knows he’ll fuck you, but right now he’s enjoying the build-up, toying with you as if you’re his plaything and not the opposite. You growl and curse, head falling back when he palms at your covered breasts, push the lace up, hears the way it strains and threatens to rip. 

It’s oddly relatable -- Osamu also feels taut, stretched around a fleeting control that he feels will slip with one dip inside you. His past sexual experiences involved partners who he cherished and few one-night stands which, for the small time his dick was inside them, he was mindful and cared for their pleasure. 

Right now, while he pinches and palm at your body, he has not a single worry about your pleasure and all the concern about his. This is for him. He bends his head over your bosom, sucks a nipple inside the hot cave of his mouth and bites. As his cock twitches and aches inside his trousers, he relishes in the pained noises you leave, even when they’re marked by breathless arousal.

“You sure are fucked up. Look how much you’re enjoying this.” His fingers force the howl of your cheeks, feeling your teeth nicking the insides of your mouth even through layers of flesh. There’s an infuriating elation in your expression, and Osamu retaliates by sucking harshly on your skin, teeth finding soft places to close on.

You moan loudly and his hand slides back onto your throat in the motion. Your hand shots up from the table to find his hard dick and your laugh makes his blood boil. “Clearly I’m not the only one.”

His heartbeat spikes at the words, even if Osamu knows it. The twin pulls the suit jacket half-down your arms and slams your body on the slight cold surface of the metal table, noise sounding thunderous but still no one comes after you. 

Your skin erupts in goosebumps at the aggression, blood flying so fast through your heart you feel lightheaded. You’re about to spit some more fire into Osamu when two of his fingers gag you, other hand descending on your ass with such force and so unexpectedly your legs give out, dangling from the table as if you’re a ragdoll.

Something remarkably close to a whine turning sob slides through your throat and dies at Osamu’s fingers, just as something big and hot surges over your ass cheeks. Something coils on your chest, the emotion makes your eyes water and for a moment you blink it away, thanking the new position doesn’t let Osamu catch that. 

Too soon. Osamu pulls your head back as his hand peels the globes of your ass apart and before you can breathe, the little air inside you is being knocked out with one thrust of Osamu’s hip.

He forces his dick inside you, tearing you open as your walls make way for his aggression, wetness dripping while Osamu fills you to the hilt, because yes, that's what you want. You want his hate, his passion, you want Osamu to tear you apart while you enjoy every second of it.

“‘Samu!” His name is on your lips as your eyes roll back, whole body tensing until you’re falling, just like that. 

Then he retreats. “Fuck! Fuck no!” This time it’s a wail, a sob as your third orgasm turns to ashes, your insides trembling with nothing to hold, empty and meager pleasure. 

“Wha--Cummin’ already? Nope.” The twin laughs above you, hands tilting your head painfully back. “So embarrassing.” Osamu mocks you and you swear you can feel a renewed wave of cream slide down your insides to greet the head of his cock, nudging along your swollen lips. Your tongue feels so heavy on your mouth, parched and breathless all at once, no way out but silence. 

“You are disgusting, you know that? Such a greedy fucking pussy doesn’t deserve to be this tight.” 

Your laugh turns into a deep moan when Osamu hits deep inside you. “God yes.” You twist one hand out of the suit’s sleeve just to pull him by the hem of his blouse, your nails digging against the skin of his neck, blooming red yelts. “Talk shit to me Osamu. I know you have better lines.”

“Fuck you.” The twin spits, his hips pistoning harder against yours until he just stops the motion, leaves you open and gapping for him to fill you again. “Of course a pig like ya has the hots for humiliation. Look at that, the slut’s pussy squeezing around my dick because she thinks I'm doing this for her pleasure.” His hand comes down on the other side of your ass, where he hasn't hit yet. It stings, but the way his palm massages and grabs at it before almost soothes the burn. “Disgusting sluts don’t get to say anything, not even begging will get you what you want. I decide what you get."

You look back from your shoulder to see his cock is standing proud and angry, swollen head shining red and dripping translucent white, as if he hadn't been wet from your juices before. Osamu’s big, especially thick and he presses inside you again without giving you time to adjust, unforgiving pace right from the start.

You curse at the way one of your hands keeps locked behind you by your suit, your nails digging on your own skin without anything else to find purchase on; the other tries to grab onto Osamu to no avail, falling on the table to help support yourself at the strength of his pounding.  Your mouth is open, divided between sucking breaths and puffs of air. Osamu’s hand has since found purchase in your neck, the way he forces it back painful, the pressure on your throat growing and ceasing as he wishes. 

Still, you can’t think. Your mind is lost in a sea of searing pleasure, your nipples pressed against the metal surface as Osamu finally fucks you as you’ve been dreaming. No, maybe even better. The past men you’ve fucked had all been afraid of hurting you, careful with retaliation. As Osamu fists your hair and forcefully presses you against the table; you think you may be having a religious experience. Your eyes water from the force of his manhandling, tears spilling while you left unbelievable noises fall from your lips. You want to scream and laugh, a hot sensation spreading from your fingertips to your core. 

The wave of the orgasm is forming quickly, your toes curling against the insides of your Louboutins enough to hurt, the incessant pounding of Osamu’s hips against your ass sounding downright pornographic. As the peak approaches, doubt gnaws at your chest for the first time in forever. 

The simple thought of Osamu robbing you of your orgasm this time is enough to make your whole body tremble and recoil, your mind too slow to catch on to his intentions. You consider biting your tongue to hold the plea in, but as you bolt into mind-blowing pleasure you’ve never even imagined before, the alternative feels like dying.

You’re tethering the edge and you feel Osamu pressing harder against you, and you break. “Please!” You cry out, “Pleasepleaseplease, don’t stop.” His movements slow down and halt, and the hand on your ass slides around you, a single finger taps repeatedly on your swollen clit. 

“Say it.” He all but howls at your ear, bites on it for good measure.

“Please, ‘samu, let me fucking cum!” You beg but you’re already falling over, whole body shuddering just from the way he nudges his hips against your ass and taps on your sensitive bundle of nerves. Panic surges in between your pleasure that he’ll ruin this one when he retreats from your quivering insides, but Osamu rams back inside you with such power that your head rattles, hips hurting from the impetus of his fucking. 

Sound rings in your ear while you drown in the thunderous waves of your pleasure for what feels like forever. It flows and flows and flows to a point you can’t tell if you’re seeing black or just closed your eyes. 

Osamu watches, enthralled, how you go completely boneless under him. Your insides have stopped squeezing him tight but his hard, aching cock still throbs inside your heat. It’s honestly unbelievable how tight you feel around him, how fantastic he feels buried balls deep inside your walls. He had to stop trying to fuck you through your orgasm in worry he’d may cum. Poison and pleasure curl in his chest at the thought. Osamu feels like spanking you, choking you, to punish you for this undeserving heaven you have between your thighs.  

But he’s not done yet.

Osamu retreats, the slide of his cock leaving your delicious walls -- cold air from outside so less welcoming -- and you sag on the table. He pulls you up on unsteady legs and smirks, proud. Your bare feet touch the ground and Osamu spins you around, swallowing on a tight throat after one look at your disheveled blissful state, but then he retreats and let’s you collapse to the ground.

The image of your legs sliding open on the cold tiled floor, unsteady hands finding purchase to hold your torso up while your head looks up at him in outrage is one he sears in his mind, a wicked satisfaction sliding over his spine at the sight alone. The wreck of you at his feet, by his hands, nothing short of perfect. 

His cock throbs and pulses in front of your eyes, dragging your attention and Osamu steps closer, poses one hand on the top of your head, ruins the rest of your styled hair by dragging fingertips in it. 

 You’re still lightheaded, shockwaves making you twitch on the cold floor and Osamu is elated at how wrecked you look, makeup smeared, hair disheveled, body holded up by unsteady arms. Your lips are open, between breathless pulls of air and heavy exhales, but Osamu doesn't care, hands forcefully tugging your hair back and angling your mouth at his swelled cockhead. He counts as a win that you don’t bite him, your tongue threading flat on the underside of his length as he buries himself on your throat. 

There’s resistance, so the Miya retreats, forcing it back a few other times until it finally slides a few inches more inside. While he maintains the force over your hair, his other hand engulfs your chin, thumb breaching your lips to hold your mouth open despite the fact you don’t make any move to close it. 

It feels his chest with acidic bitterness that you welcome his aggression, glazed, tearful eyes looking up at him as if the fact he’s using you as little more than a cocksleeve is the brightest part of your day. Still, Osamu’s skin feels close to tearing under the sheer amount of pleasure flooding his insides. His hairs are standing on end, heart beating so fast his lungs burn, every muscle on his body tensed at his mindless pursuit of his high. He buries his cock deep inside the tight space of your throat, your gurgles and groaning enhancing his sensation. It looks painful to you to hold him inside, tears ending your makeup, face turning red at the lack of air. He closes both hands behind your head, making you nuzzle his pelvis even as your nails close on his thighs threatening to break skin.

He retreats to let you breathe just as your eyes go unfocused, feels something squeezing inside as you cough and wheezes and his throat squeezes a large gulp of air when you look up at him, tongue hanging out with a wide-open mouth just offered for him.

Osamu feels like hurting you at how good you are, infuriatingly obedient and willing to be at the end of his aggression. So he buries himself back inside at one go, both hands holding your head for him. There’s too much chaos inside of him, so he decides to pour some out through words.

“You like being used like this, huh? Like little more than a fucking cocksleeve for me.”

“What is it? Does being in power make you this needy? Does being wrecked make you feel this good?” Your groan makes your throat tighter around him, your eyes rolling back from his fucking and degradation.

It’s unfair, infuriatingly so, that this might be the most unbelievable great sex he ever had. 

Osamu can’t hold back much longer, everything feeling just too good, his skin burning at the stretch of the tourbillion of emotions inside his chest, the captivating sight of tears dropping from your jaw and coating your long lashes as your face darkens by the lack of air, swollen lips stretched beyond capacity around his cock while you willingly let him go harder, faster, into your tight throat. There’s a warm sensation flowing from his limbs to his spine, melting his bones and weighing on his balls until it spreads over Osamu’s whole being.

He pulls back from your throat in time but presses his hands on your jaw and hair to keep you up and open as he coats your wrecked face with hot spurts of cum -- the final touch to the perfection of your wrecked image at his feet.

It lands haphazardly over your lips and even your eyelashes, tear-stained mess of a face marked by his essence. Osamu tells himself he could never feel anything towards you, but for a second there’s a hint of territorial pride at how you look -- and how it is all his doing. The twin is still swimming in searing pleasure as you lick over your lips, hands almost fondly landing over his as if you're assuring him that he can let go.

He does, trying to step back and slowly descending onto the ground when his knees give out. His eyes are glued to how his cum is dripping from your chin onto your chest, how you bring your fingers to sweep over it and end it by cleaning the digits with your tongue. If Osamu’s cock wasn’t so spent, he’s sure it’d swell right back up at the sight alone.

“Can’t say what’s better,” your hoarse voice is barely above a murmur, “the taste or the feeling.”

As you’re standing on unsteady legs and already fixing yourself while he sits on the floor questioning his life choices, Osamu feels as if he’d made a deal with the devil, and you’ll be coming back to collect his soul.

“Seems like the start of a nice partnership, doesn’t it?” 

-- 

[socially-anxious-wizard]

You fuckers asked for this, Wizard rambles take one (This is very disjointed and I’m not checking for spelling btw):

Let's talk about Dracula! Original novel by Bram Stoker published in 1897. Genuinely one of my favourite books, Dracula works as a story because it's disjointed and told through multiple narratives, Adding onto the slow burn horror of the story. Tbh I don't believe you could ever write a faithful and enjoyable Dracula Movie, Although a found footage style TV Show might be interesting. But it's characters and themes have been so misconstrued and rewritten so many times it’s hard to find anything faithful to the original. Not to mention the oversexualization of Vampires in general has contributed to a misunderstanding of the creatures.

Dracula in the book is described as a pale ugly old man with long teeth.

It's interesting to note how sex repulsed the book can be at times.

But I digress. One of my favourite things about this book is Van Helsing, Most retellings characterize him as a lonely and serious man but in the book he's actually closer to the oddball doctor archetype with weirdly pacific knowledge to the occult. He is a very charming male character which is very hard to find in older Gothic literature. (Or just writing in general)

Call me cursed but I read his description and thought “Someone with Daddy issues is projecting so hard right now.” And I’m not sorry, We all want the friendly doctor to be our father figure. It's okay.  

Oh side note! Transfusions were a recent discovery at the time so the book is full of them without regard for blood type. And that makes it so much funnier to me that literally every chapter somebody has to be stabbed with a needle to get more blood for Lucy. 

Van Helsing and Mina have the only brain cell for most of the book. Mina herself is also funny because it's very clear the Author likes her, Because every character goes out of their way to compliment her and talk about how great she is (As they should, Look at this girlboss).

Also shipping Mina and Dracula became a big thing that makes me extremely uncomfortable because of the scene that describes Dracula force feeding his blood to Mina. One if not the only Moment they shared together is extremely traumatic for Mina sooo yikes. 

I can also see where the LGBT subtext many people have associated with vampires comes from although not for healthy reasons, Dracula at one point gets possessive over Jonathan, the main character. Many people read this as gay subtext but don't look at the context, Jonathan is a prisoner in the Castle, Jonathan at this point doesn't want to be there and was just attacked by Dracula’s Brides (Who I believe are actually cousins? I might have misread that part though).

So yeah, considering how demonised sexuality is in this book anyways I don't think it's a positive idea to draw connections to LGBT rep.

But again this comes back to my point of vampires being rewritten over and over again to fit the motivations of who's telling the story. Vampires went from being horrible creatures of the night to seductive royalty, And it's not lost on me this story is about a wealthy Count sucking the blood from vulnerable women. 

It makes me quite upset how little people have actually read this book. Not only is it a very good book, it's charming and enjoyable. It's one of the least outwardly bigoted older horror Novels (LOVECRAFT GET BACK IN YOUR CORNER GODDAMNIT-)

It’s not the most Interesting Horror Novel I’ve read (That would be Frankenstein) but it’s a classic and I’ve got a soft spot for the story because of the charm of the rather goofy horror and the genuinely skilfully set ambience. 

I could talk about this Book for hours tbh and you’ll see more rambles about it, This is all VERY unorganised and messy but that's all my brain can manage today so-

*Passes out*