#I have a Thing where I like showing off his collarbones for some reason so I want to give it a low cut but

[midnightwind]

I’ve been staring at these (and a third triple line up that I literally only have the poses for) for like a few months so have some WIPs of Nik in fancy wear and my phantom rogue Lucian’s general get up (kindofsorta I’m playing with ideas still)

I keep waffling on Nik’s outfit because I want it to be thinner and more flowing, but can’t get it in that nice mid ground of feminine but not straight up a dress, ya feel?

[wonryllis]

ʬʬ. ! LAST FRIDAY NIGHT ﹙ THINK WE KISSED ﹚

𝒏o𝓉ℯs. park jongseong with fem!reader 𖥔 ݁ enemies but secretly in love and oblivious, fluff. LIB? word count `3377 warnings. lots of cursing! unedited.

JAY VER: mutual hate f2e JAKE VER. SUNGHOON VER.

"what the fuck, piggy!" you feel jay's feet against the side of the waist before his voice reaches your ears. kicked out of bed and rolled onto the floor, that's how your mornings with jay start.

"what the hell is this!" he shouts again and when you turn to look at him you find yourself questioning the same,"what the hell is that!" a litter of pretty lipstick marks all over him, collarbones to neck to jaw to face. and keyword: lips.

"you tell me! what the hell does it look like?" if it were some other time you'd have laughed your ass off at the horrified look on his face, but the very familiar shade of color on him, the one you always wear because you're quite literally obsessed with it has you horrified as well at the realization. there's no way you did that, with park jay? no no no.

"don't tell me we-"

"i have my boxers on and you're still in that ugly fucking dress so no we did not," his words are like a shower of relief to you. however to jay, it is also something else. sure he is glad you did not do anything but that dress you have on? it's not ugly, it is everything but ugly. you look so pretty in it, like a doll and he thinks it's probably the reason why he let you kiss him all up.

"you better have something to say because i don't understand how this happened," his hands rub over the marks he can see while you sit on the floor trying to remember last night. you went to a college party, and you met jay there, and having the same group of mutual friends you remember playing drinking games. a shot of tequila when you refused to kiss jay for a dare and that's where your memory fails you.

"i don't remember," you say simply, watching jay get of bed and into the bathroom.

"i don't either so let's just call it truce and forget,"

sighing in resignation, you take a look around the room, going over to the mirror to scan yourself. there under the shadow of your ear you spot something purple, a touch and it hurt. pushing your hair out of the way, you take a closer look at it. pupils dilating upon the realization that it's a hickey. with a mortified look in your eyes, you pull down at the collar of your dress to find more. a litter of it mirroring jay's kiss marks. and when you shift on your legs to inspect the other side of your neck, you feel a sting on the skin of your thighs. no way no way please no. you pray as you lift the skirt of your dress, but it's all in vain for you find bruises on the plush of your thighs, in the shapes of handprints, one on each.

you scream. you scream scream and jay is rushing out with a towel hanging low on his waist,"what! what happened!"

there's no time to feel the heat in your cheeks at sight of his naked figure, you are too traumatized by the possibilities of the events that could have happened between you two to even acknowledge the pounding of your heart on noticing the droplets of water cascading down the valley of his chest.

you show him what you had to see and in comes a scream from him.

"oh my god, fuck off before we find more things!"

"missy piggy is all dressed up," he looked you up once, coming to a halt just a step away from where you sat at the kitchen counter turned bar. he couldn't deny you looked good though, he almost lost his breath when he spotted you across the room. there were some loopholes in this weird relationship you had and he couldn't seem to accept it. he found you attractive and he was disgusted with himself for that. out of all the fishes in the sea it just had to be you. his little weakness, the pretty dress.

you wave your hand at his face,"whatever," jay doesn't like the way you just dismiss him, closing in on you blocking your view of whichever guy you were eyeing. whichever guy was hot enough to have your attention away from him.

"you wanna play some games?" his hand goes over to circle the top of your cup, noticing the orange juice in there.

"what game?"

"truth and dare, all our friends are gathering there to play," he wasn't interested to join earlier, but watching you fixated on some guys is itching him to take you away and get your ass busy.

hours later and he's in a circle, all drunk sitting right across you. 'kiss kiss kiss!" the chants go around with the bottle stopped right between your two. if he'd been sober, he would've left the second someone proposed for a kiss but with his mind all hazy right now, all he can think about is how your lips would feel on his. if the pretty shade on them would taste as sweet as they look.

to say he was disappointed when you chose to drink it out would be an understatement. jay felt no more purpose in the game, leaving as soon as you excused yourself. with your wobbly steps you sway your way to the dance floor, almost falling over yourself before jay has his hands around you, keeping you afloat.

"watch your step, pretty," he whispers into your ear.

"pretty? what happened to piggy?" there is a slight flinch in you when you whisper back, growing conscious of the proximity.

"piggies can be pretty sometimes," his hands move lower to your hips, gripping lightly as the music changes to one of sensual hues. body moving together to the sultry notes.

"we're dancing," turning to face the rather drunk boy, you trace a finger over the exposed skin of his chest. jay's sure you can feel the fast thumping of his heart under your pretty little soft tips but honestly he couldn't care less right now. the alcohol in his brain messing with his feelings. a mushy daze of everything he's ever felt for you, from middle school to college.

"together," you breathe out staring at the plump of his lips and jay feels this weird sparkling thing where his stomach twists and turns but in a good way,"apparently," all these people around, so many attractive faces he could have latched onto yet he can't imagine himself swaying away with anyone else, it just feels wrong for some reason.

"and we hate each other," the reminder is like a fresh breeze across his fuzzy mind, no matter where he looks he can't seem to feel the hatred right now,"mhm," jay reaches out with a delicate touch, watching your dazed eyes in a trance as you scan him, muzzling into his hand when he tucks a stray strand of your hair behind your ear in a faint caress. after that it's a silence between you two, not the one where you usually think of ripping each other's hair off but perhaps one where you're thinking to eating each other's face off. at least that's all jay can think about.

you were drunk and he should have seen it coming. at some point you leave him hanging in the middle of the floor only for him to find you amidst a crowd of screams, letting it all loose on an elevated platform with a pole, right towards the front. twerking your ass off and instead of being embarrassed out of his wits jay rather feels this warm fluffy feeling. a conjured up image of a sober him driving to bars and clubs to pick up a drunk you as you shout 'baby' while running into his arms.

no what the fuck, what am i thinking. he is baffled at his own imagination. enemies to lovers trope is so not his thing. it should never be his thing. right?

"come on you need some fresh air," spotting a few guys eyeing you in the wrong way, jay is quite literally picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder before walking out the house into the backyard.

"i was having so much fun there! why did you bring me out here!" you shout, still feeling the loud music ringing in your ears.

"you were having too much fun, you needed to touch some grass," he tries shushing you, flicking lightly at your forehead.

you ignore him, too tired and used to, to bicker back,"there's a pool here?" the excitement in your voice makes him laugh, y'all have probably been sitting here for five minutes, and you've only noticed the big ass pool now. but well, with the amount of alcohol you both have in your system right now it's a miracle you're still conscious and otherwise a little sane.

"why, you wanna skinny dip?" he knows that's exactly what you would want to do, if you could. he hasn't known you for ten years for just nothing. all those fights and bickerings and make ups, he's sure he knows you more than your friends and more than you know yourself. and he's always followed you whenever you weren't following him. doing everything you did just to get a chance at annoying you.

"can we go in there?" no.

tonight he'd like to stay dry and cozy.

"it's cold, i ain't doing this," he reprimands, squinting his eyes in the distance, a look away from you to tell you he's not having it.

however it's not like you listen anyway, at least not to him.

it's like second nature at this point, running after you. be it to get on your nerves or to secretly protect you,"piggy!" he snaps up at once at the sound of you skipping down the patio. albeit almost slipping and cracking your head open on the way. jay doesn't know if he should be worried more about ending up in the hospital or getting in there with you all wet and close.

he's been in the pool with girls before but he's not been in the pool with you since you were like eleven and friends and not hit by puberty yet, in your ugly loose swim shirts and pants, hair all over in a mess with no idea about romance.

"slow down will you, i can't be bothered to drive you to medics if you break a leg or something," he whines, feeling the water soaking up the clothes against his skin as he carefully walks down the stairs leading into the pool. two steps behind with his hand reaching out to steady you incase you decide to slip again.

"try to catch me!" you yell, putting in all efforts to move as far from him as you could.

"do i look like i need to try?" his hands loop around your wrists in a moment, pulling you against his chest is a low splash. arms going around the waist as he locks eyes with yours. the palm of your hands find refuge on his chest playing with the undone buttons when the hard pounding of his heart reverberates against your skin. you're nervous, he's nervous.

"why do you hate me?" he asks.

"because you do," you answer and jay's confused. what?

"why do you hate me?" you ask him. and as expected,"because you do,"

realizing it's all a big misunderstanding, jay can't help but feel his heart race faster if that is even possible,"i don't really hate you," the pout on your lips falters his gaze, looking down to avoid his breath stopping right there and then. "neither do i," a low whisper, softly adjusting the fallen strap of your dress. he scans you over once, his little weakness, the pretty dress. no, it's you, you always know what to wear have him weak in the knees.

"your lipstick is pretty-" you look so damn pretty he wants to say, brown orbs lingering on the shine radiating off your lips.

you're both drunk, and it's probably the only time he'll be able to say it. i can do it! jay swears.

however before he can even utter a syllable, the slippery gloss of your cherry lipstick slide against his lips. feeling the plush of your lips pressing onto his own, like a step into heaven. eyes open and motionless, taking a hard time to let it sink in while you're there moving your lips, catching his bottom lip between in a gentle bite.

"pi- piggy-" when you pull away for a split second only to jump onto him, his hands immediately grabbing the back of your thighs resting them around him, trembling at the tension he feels to dive right back in to a kiss.

"shut up," you begin leaving a trail of marks starting at his neck—

that's where you scream, pulling jay out of the flashbacks. he sits on his bed, tracing his lips in a trance after you've left. he had no idea how to face you after remembering all that while you still seemed to have no clue. how he knows your lipstick tastes sweet and bitter and how you don't know that he knows that.

he takes out his phone, a faint memory of a picture. searching through his gallery is not even necessary, on the top in a grand glory he finds the photo of you perched on his lap on his bed, head tucked into his neck where one can definitely catch glimpse of your fluttering kisses.

he can't seem to recall about the hickeys on your neck, and how you got to his room. but he's sure he will in a few days. hoping you'd too until then.

for now he'll post this. there's nothing better than getting under your skin. figuratively and literally.

taglist ( open. ) @kangseulgithegreat @s00buwu @luvyev @pockyyasii @nctislifue @ashtxrie @miniature-tragedy @jayujus @brachives @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly

[j-jinxee]

[ ⟡​ ] — KEEP QUIET,,

NSFW under the cut! ⊹ Nijiro x Reader

[warnings — quickie, p in v, unprotected, swearing, cumming inside, semi public]

-,' syn – Nijiro needs an outlet for his adrenaline. Shooting fight scenes as Kazutora and then having to wait for others to shoot theirs, it's throwing him off more than usual tonight.

[AN] no cuz guys, Nijiro literally never shows his arms. Like bro is always wearing long sleeves, jackets, or yk just baggy shirts in general. So this 40 second clip of him (where he's literally just in his own little world on the TR set) WEARING A SINGLET like I can't deal fr, I feel like a Victorian man seeing a woman's ankles for the first time, like it's driving me up the wall.

─────

"mm-ngh! Niji, fuck" your small whines were quickly silenced by Nijiro's hand covering your mouth. He had previously swept you away from the set, you weren't acting in the Tokyo Revengers movie but since your boyfriend was, you watched from behind the camera with the rest of the crew. It was so cool seeing your boyfriend in his element, you usually weren't allowed to be with the crew since you don't actually work for them, but the TR production was pretty laid back and let you stay to watch. Which is what you were doing, until about 5 minutes ago.

Nijiro was frustrated with the way they were filming. Usually they'd film a single characters scenes all at once, so they wouldn't have their actors coming on and off constantly, but for some reason they changed it for tonight. The night where Nijiro had to film his biggest fight scene.

It was really pissing him off, the way he'd get fully committed to the character, and then be told to go off and take 5 because they needed to shoot someone else. Why would they change the formula? It was perfect the way it was, now the production will suffer.

And above all else, Nijiro was told to take 5 right when his adrenaline would reach its peak. Naturally, he needed an outlet, a way to keep his energy up. Luckily, his favourite thing to put his energy into was standing right infront of him.

"keep quiet f'me baby.." he whispered, gently covering your mouth with his hand. The only lighting in the bathroom being from the dim street lamps outside, increasing the secretive atmosphere. You were pinned against the bathroom wall as Niji buried himself in your cunt, practically imprinting his shape into your walls. Your eyes travelled down to his arms, fuck. You mentally thank the costume team for finally getting Nijiro to wear a singlet, he never wore shirts that showed off his arms, so you made sure to remember this session over the rest. His sweat gleamed in the faint warm light, decorating his neck and collarbones, your eyes fixated on his fake neck tattoo. Fuck, you'd have to convince him to cosplay or something after this, the sight mixed with the pleasure he gave you was making your head spin.

His arms and shoulders flexed with each thrust as he held you up by your thighs, fucking into you like this was the last time he'd ever get. It took everything in you not to scream out his name, along with a nicely crafted string of cuss words, letting everyone hear how good he fucks you. Small whimpers were the most you could let out, not wanting Niji to get punished for having a quickie mid set.

"You're so good f'me... fuck baby" His voice was intoxicating, his touch made you feel ways you've never felt before. Your arms rested over his shoulders, not that they needed to — his strong hold kept you up with no issue. You were sure that if he fucked you any harder, you'd end up bringing down the wall you were currently pinned up against. He felt the need to groan louder, feeling it build — his mouth soon found your neck, sucking on your sweet spots, only bringing you closer to the edge.

You felt Nijiro's hips stutter, followed by his teeth digging into your skin a little harder than before.

"m-mmh cum, cum with me baby" His hot breath laced your jawline as he rutted into you faster than ever. Feeling that familiar knot in your stomach about to snap, you couldn't stay silent anymore.

"mmh- cumming.. cummingcummingcummi- ahh!" You cried into his neck. Shortly met with the feeling of your walls being painted by Niji's hot white seed, filling you up, keeping you warm. You could swear you saw heaven for a second, his touch made you drunk, reaching a state of euphoria you could never get anywhere else.

His arms gently let you back down, still keeping you steady with your bodies pressed together as you could barely stand. Whispering sweet praises in your ear as his hand went down to fuck his cum back into you, not letting any leak out. You smiled weakly as his words laced your eardrums, almost forgetting he was in the middle of his job.

"Nijiro! Wherever you are, you're back on in two." The director shouted.

"Fuck, 'm sorry baby. I'll take care of you when we're home ok? I love you" He said, getting his pants back on at the speed of light. Not bothering to wash his hands, but instead resorting to licking your combined juices off his fingers, and with a quick kiss to your cheek, he was gone.

You knew he'd keep his word, now all you'd have to do was wait till you got home to recieve his aftercare.

can't wait.

[rainydayathogwarts]

No more ink - Spencer Reid x reader

Summary: reader goes undercover for a mission and the team discovers all her tattoos. Tattoos which might be the reason her life ends. sprinkle of spencer x reader. Warning: gore, blood, SA kind of (if you blink you'll miss it), reader is undercover, reader becomes a stripper for like 2 secs.

Staring at the images of several murdered women, all sporting countless tattoos on their bodies, a chill is sent down your spine. What is so fetishising about tattoos? And more importantly, why were all these women so brutally killed after the assault? The uncomfortable silence in the station's big conference room is broken by JJ, who pulls out her phone, stating "Well I'm going to call someone so we can get the tattoos drawn on, Y/N are you sure you're comfortable doing this?" You nodded, adding "Yeah, but there's no need to call anyone."

Your comment had the entire team and police officers in the room looking your way, some confused, many surprised. You glance up at Spencer's reaction, hoping he didn't look disgusted at your confession. Did he dislike women with tattoos? His put together appearance always led you to believing so. "I mean, it's part of the reason I volunteered, I fit the profile the most." And it was true. Many of the women all had the same coloured and textured hair, body type, height and were all littered with tattoos. "How else are we going to get in?" You insisted, all well aware of the gang's strict policy when allowing people into the club. There would be no chance any of your male counterparts would be let in, because only women had ever been targeted by them, and looking between you and the other two women on the team, there was a clear difference between who hit the profile.

"Y/N, I've never seen you with tattoos." Things Morgan out loud, making sure he understood clearly what you meant by fitting the profile best. "People take me more seriously, professionally speaking, when they're hidden." You reply, shrugging your shoulders, which only puts an emphasis on the long sleeved top you're wearing. "Okay wait, just so we're clear here, you mean like you're heavily tatted? Not just one cute little smiley face on your ankle type of tatted?" You chuckle at Emily's small outburst, nodding along with her words. "You know what, why don't I just show you."

You end up revealing yourself to the team a mere hours later, tugging the mini black dress down your body, barely hiding your backside from any onlookers. You step out of the bathroom, basic black heels clicking loudly on the floor, attracting the attention of the team, packing up their things to head down to the van, fully equipped to keep track of you while you're inside. "Okay, I'm ready to go." There's a moment of silence in which the team fully takes in your appearance, or rather your tattoos.

A dark snake slithers up your ankle, and a mysterious year is written in bold above your knee, thigh illustrated with a mysterious design that resembles both stars and a vintage chandelier at once. Your second leg sports several patchwork pieces - an intricate compass and an angel - with two vine leaves curling around your knee, leading up to your thigh where you show off tattoos of a hummingbird and the sun. With your hair pushed back, they have a clear view of the design on your collarbone, dipping slightly into the gap between your breasts, leaving the rest to imagination. Your right arm is covered in a large abstract piece, and when you finally turn around, leaving due to the silence from your teammates, you allow them a perfect view of the wave tattoo on the back of your left arm, looping around your bicep, and a dagger tattoo on the back of your forearm.

Footsteps scurry after you, a soft hand wrapping around your wrist as you begin to leave the police station, pulling you into an empty hallway. Spencer tugs you to face him, eyes filled with worry. "Y/n, are you sure about this?" He whispers, his breath hitting your face with every word he speaks. "I'll be okay Spence." You reassure him, though you're sure he's already profiled you and can sense your nervousness.

In the van, Hotch reminds you of the protocol, securing the microphone into your dress and the clasping the necklace with a hidden camera around your neck, so that he and Garcia can monitor you from outside. They've given you a code word, and secured a silver bracelet around your wrist with a hidden alarm in the gem. Spencer squeezes your hand before you walk out of the van, a safe distance away from the cameras and insists one last time that you can back out any time you want.

You sneak into the hidden alleyway where the club is located, gulping slightly when you spot the bouncer before plastering a fake smile on your face. Everything will be okay, you repeat in your head, calming slightly when the bouncer steps aside for you to walk into a dark room. The door shuts behind you and your breathing quickens slightly, only to realise that the room isn't a room at all, because it's moving and is just an elevator instead. The doors open from behind you, welcoming you into a dark and mysterious, wide room. Red lights are on, and you can spot a stage with two poles, two exotic dancers performing a routine in exact synchrony.

Standing still, you have no idea where to start when a waiter, dressed in a black suit with his hair slicked back appears in front of you. "Champagne?" You nod, taking a glass from the tray not to look suspicious, but don't take a sip from it either. You make your way deeper into the room, swaying your body to the music, scanning the people in the club. For each man, there's at least two women by his side, giggling and brushing up against their arms, pressing kisses where skin is showing. Each woman fits the profile of those who'd been found dead, heavily tatted up, sporting the same features. Women lead men through red curtains, disappearing into different rooms, strutting proudly.

As far as the sex went, it all seemed consensual, meaning they couldn't have been unconscious or drugged before it happened, which completely changed your profile. "What's a sweet girl doing in a place like this all by herself?" You spun around, to face an older man, looking like he was in his late 40's. He sported a grey beard, and had a full head of luscious hair. He wore a crisp black button up with matching black trousers, and you could spot tattoos crawling up his neck and down his hands. "Looking for a man like you." You replied with a smirk, cocking your head to the side. He slid his free hand into yours, leading you into a round booth, where you had a clear view of the rest of the club.

"Tell me a little bit about yourself." You said before he could say anything, pressing your body up against his, and luckily for you, that's what he did. In the meanwhile, you observed the movement in the room, noticing waiters carrying garbage bags or cleaning empty tables. Weird. All the waiters seemed exceptionally muscular, but in a place like this, you would have assumed the waiters would be half naked and, well, women. "You alright, sweetheart?" The man asks, and you nod, smiling up at him sweetly. "I just need to use the bathroom. Do you think you could point me in that direction?" You ask, squeezing your thighs, where his big hand rests.

As soon as he gives you a direction, you hop up, following the first words he's told you 'Walk straight, take a left,' Once you've taken the left, finally out of the man's sight, you begin exploring the halls, becoming gradually more empty the deeper you walk into the club. For every 'private' room, which is only separated from the rest of the club by a curtain, there's a waiter (or rather security guard) standing at the entrance, protecting anyone from entering, or exiting. When you near the end of the hallway, you internally cringe. You had no where to go and a guard protecting the next room to the left. Exhaling, you stopped in front of the guard, looking up at him. "You the dancer?" He asks, and aimlessly, you nod.

You swallow when he steps to the side, letting you into the room. "Cover-up goes in the basket on your left." He instructs, before stepping back out of the room. You take a moment to take in the client, sitting on a red couch with his legs spread, shirt buttoned down all the way to his trousers. What have you done? You turn around, sighing, pulling your black dress over your body, just in time for music to start playing. You spin around, walking over the the man seductively, swaying your hips to the beat of the music until you stop in front of him, placing both hands on his chest. "Oh you're way better than the girl I had last time" The man mutters, groaning as he man spreads even more.

You have a clear view of the tent in his pants but blink a few times, trying to forget its image. Spinning to the music again, you face the wall, eyes glued on where you can see the guard's shoes in front of the curtain as you keep moving to the music. The man's hands settle on your ass, and you let him grope you, shutting your eyes in discomfort, cringing before he turns you to face him. His hands grip your hips instead, pulling you onto him and you follow, straddling his hips while swaying your body. You continue moving until the music dies down, slowing your movements alongside the decreasing volume.

The man puts his hands up, almost defensively, just in time for the guard to come into the room. He doesn't stop walking towards you until he stands right in front of you, and he grabs your arm, leading you to a different door than the one you came through. You try brushing him off you, chest constricting as anxiety builds up in you. "Can I at least have my dress back?" You ask, scoffing as he drags you into an empty room. "Sure, but I'm sure how much it'll do for you now." Instantly, you're pressing down on the gem on your bracelet, heart beginning to race as you look around the small room.

The cracks in the floorboards are stained a red-ish brown, and a single cuff is attached to a wall, where the man is trying to drag you. You recover quickly from you panicky moment, aggressively shoving him off you and bringing a leg up to push him backwards. He staggers back, but recovers quickly, bringing a knife out of his pocket and immediately charging at you. Ducking under his arm, you grab his wrist, trying to wrestle the dagger out of his hand. He stumbles, falling onto the floor, his grip loosening on the knife, which you tug back so hard it bounces back in your direction, cutting a gash through your arm. Just as you take a step forward, getting him whilst he's still down, the door slams open.

"NOBODY MOVE!" Just as you throw your hands up into the air, dropping the dagger onto the floor, a coat is wrapped around your shoulders and you're being pulled into a hug. You freeze for a moment until you smell the familiar essence of dark coffee and vanilla, melting into Spencer's arms as he whispers muffled 'It's okay's soothingly into your hair. Tears unwillingly build up in your eyes and you bring your hands up to grip the bits of Spencer's shirt that stick out from underneath his bulletproof vest.

Slowly, the coat dampens from where you cut yourself, and Spencer quickly realises, removing his arms from around you. "We need to get you to an ambulance." But even as Spencer leads you back outside, still whispering comforting words, that you'll be okay, you know it's not. Because in that moment you silently vow to yourself that you'll never get another tattoo inked into your skin ever again.

[lowcosmic]

—— jealousy, jealousy . pt . 2 ; kokichi ouma

— 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : you and kokichi make up from the fight.

— 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : small angst, fluff

— 𝐜𝐰 : look at pt. 1

— 𝐚/𝐧 : read pt. 1 for more context

kokichi, back at his dorm, silently cried. he fucked up.

he felt so many emotions at once - the most apparent being guilt.

he ruined a perfectly fine relationship. until he had to overreact and blew up at you.

all those memories now meant nothing, especially if you two were never going to be back together again.

all because of him.

you probably hated him. as much as kokichi just wanted to run back to your dorm and apologize and bring things back to normal, he couldn’t.

you said that you never wanted to see his face again.

and besides … he broke out for a reason. a valid reason.

… but was it really all that valid?

no, kokichi didn’t have a right to say what he said. in his eyes, he was a monster. you could never love him the same after what happened.

he cried more and clutched the fabric over his chest, curling up.

real tears. not those fake ones that he’d usually project.

kokichi decided that he wouldn’t blame you anymore if you ever got with shuichi after this. you deserved someone better, not someone who hid his emotions frequently any called his lover ugly.

this was it, wasn’t it? kokichi sighed. he wasn’t going to give up that easily yet. not until he conveyed a proper apology to you.

and that apology appeared around a week later in your locker. it was a sort of formal note.

Dear Y/n,

I know that you don’t want anything to do with me at the moment, but please at least finish this note. I don’t have an excuse for what I did, I have to admit it was wrong.

I didn’t know what I was thinking. Maybe I thought that everything would stop and that you���d forgive me by the next day after I said that, but clearly it was one of those times where I didn’t think anything through.

I never lied all those times I told you you were beautiful. That’ll never change no matter how many years go by. You’ll always be the only one, and I swear that’s not a lie. When saying those things, the thought of it being untrue never crossed my mind.

I love you, and even if you’re over me I still want to apologize for all the times I was insensitive or made you more insecure. You deserve someone better, and I hope whoever you find will treat you better than I did.

From, Kokichi.

you stared at the note for a couple more seconds before putting it in your pocket discreetly.

you figured that Kokichi wouldn’t want anyone to see this, since he’s always been so uptight about showing weakness to others.

everyone … except for you on most occasions.

you started your search for him.

after a couple of minutes, you went to his dorm room. knocking on the door, you heard the faint shuffle of someone … falling off of their couch? most likely kokichi.

he came out a few seconds afterwards, looking disheveled as ever. it’d made sense, after the fight he’d skipped school that week.

he had major eyebags, and he seemed sort of disconnected.

kokichi …

you pulled him in for a hug, closing the door behind you.

kokichi's reaction was immediate. he wrapped his arms around you like you were his last resource to help him live.

“ we all have those moments, kokichi. ” you murmured.

“ i went too far, ” he muttered back, “ you didn’t deserve that. ”

“ i said some stuff before that that you didn’t deserve either, you know that, right? ” you countered.

“ but mine crossed the line. ” kokichi buried his head below your collarbone.

you stroked his back. “ i still love you. ”

“ you’re crazy. ”

“ it’s a quality trait i appreciate. ”

he kissed your neck chastely. “ i love you too. ”

“ let’s make sure that never changes. ”

and then you both made out the end.

bonus:

“ wait who the heck put the note in my locker if you were isolating yourself for the whole week ”

“ you’ll never know ~ * cackles * ”

please don’t repost , translate , or claim my works as your own.

[jjtheresidentbaby]

˚. ❝₊˚ 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 .2 ˚₊· | ☽ 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 1

» dean winchester x reader

͟͟͞꒰➳ summary: a second part to demon daycare, dean is trying to make a deal for sam to get revived but he didn’t expect the demon from before to answer his call

» a/n: a while ago @honeylamb-esther asked for a second part to this and I’ve just now gotten around to finishing it

» warnings: demon!reader, little!dean, crying, talk of death & canon typical events, this isn’t supposed to be about a certain death we saw in canon so you can choose when it takes place

You sigh as you turn around, someone summoned you for a soul selling and while you’re fine to write up a contract, it’s a tad bit boring. You’d much rather have a more important job than the run of the mill demon duties, but after you had let the Winchesters “get away” with their angel, the higher ups weren’t too happy, and you doubt they’d be pleased to find out you really let the three go. You couldn’t stomach harming them when Dean was in such a vulnerable state, Castiel and Sam had both thanked you for it by sparing your life so you suppose it’s all okay.

And when you look up only to be met with Dean Winchester himself, you feel that same surge of weird protectiveness in your chest. He looks a mess with red rimmed eyes and a wobbling chin he’s definitely trying to hide. You can take a wild guess that either Sam or Castiel died, or got stuck in some bad situation, that’s the only reason Dean would be so distraught.

“Dean, what are you doing here?” He sniffs and looks away with slightly blushed cheeks, obviously just now recognizing you from your voice.

“I need to make a deal, for Sammy.” The poor thing sounds absolutely miserable, hands shaking where they fidget with the brown coat he has on, it’s far too baggy to be Dean’s own. It’s probably Sam’s, and that makes you feel a horrid swell of hurt for Dean.

“I’ll see what I can do about it, but for now let’s sit before you collapse.” He’s definitely slipped into headspace as his legs are a tad shaky and he doesn’t put up a fight when you take his hand to lead him over to the abandoned couch in the dirt a few feet away. It’s not an ideal place to be, so out in the open, but there’s nowhere else you can go.

“Your Angel friend couldn’t help get Sam back?” Dean slumps his head to your chest once you’re settled on the couch beside him, you reach to run your hands through his hair, hoping to calm him. It’s been a while since you really had to comfort a human- sans that situation with Dean a couple months ago- so you’re not a hundred percent sure if you’re doing this correctly. It’s not an everyday occurrence that a human trusts you so blindly like Dean is right now.

“Cas is back in heaven, said there’s nothin’ he can do.” Tsk, angels, so useless.

“Well hopefully I’ll have more luck. But Dean, you do know a deal means you’ll have to pay your due at some point.” It’s not a question because you know he knows, it’s how he got stuck in hell before Castiel showed up.

“Just want Sammy back.” It’s more of a mumbled slur than a firm statement, not like you’ve heard him so many times before. The Winchesters might not know it but you’ve been around for a while, just silently watching and waiting, you know just how grief stricken they become when the other is gone. It usually manifests as anger, rage filled vengeance that no doubt causes more destruction before they get what they want, not a crying heap collapsed on a demons lap.

“This his jacket?” It’s pulled so tightly around Dean’s frame you swear it has to hurt. He’s holding it like you’ll rip it off his arms and light it on fire, like it’s something to be protected just as securely as he tries to protect Sam.

“Mm, he lets me sleep with it in Baby when he drives.” You hum along and remind yourself not to startle when he curls in further against you, arm curved over your waist and head pillowed on your collarbone.

“You can go to sleep now, we can discuss your deal when you wake up.” Not that you’re even sure if you can get Dean a deal, depending on why and how Sam died, it might be difficult. Nobody in Hell is fond of the brothers and most likely won’t be willing to have Sam topside again.

“M’kay.” You can worry about it later though, for now you just tug Dean in closer and settle back into the couch as you won’t be moving for a while.

[secret-sturniolo]

SFW Alphabet - Chris Sturniolo

a/n - please remember these are just my opinions! you are allowed to (respectfully) disagree

tags - @lea0518 @sturnphilia @bluesturniolo333 @ilovemattsturn @hearttshapedkisses

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Chris is definitely affectionate despite how tough he tries to act. Hugs from behind are his favorite, pulling you in close.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

It would be more of a slow burn, but once you both realize how much you like each other, things would pick up the pace pretty quickly. He wants you to know that he is always going to be there for you.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He loves it when you are laying in his bed, with your head on his chest. Especially if you are watching a movie or show, or just talking about life.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

He does want to get married someday, but the time has to be right. Let be for real, Chris doesn't know how to cook so he likes it when you cook meals for you two, or his brothers. He does help with cleaning though, to make up for not cooking.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

It depends on how things ended. If you did something like cheating on him, he would not hesitate to cut you off completely, but otherwise he would try his best to end things on good terms, trying to see things from both points of view.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Chris struggles with commitment, even asking you to be his girlfriend was hard for him. It would take some time, but eventually he would realize that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you and the fear would start to subside.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He tends to have a tough shell, but on the inside he is so soft and gentle with you. He never likes to see you upset, and he knows exactly how to comfort you and make you feel better.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

He hugs you for no reason, just to feel your body close to his. His love language is definitely physical touch.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Due to his commitment issues, it takes a while, but you are patient with him, which makes him feel more comfortable when he finally says it. You would wait for him to say it first to make sure he is comfortable with it.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

I feel like he isn't really a jealous guy. He knows you love him and only him, and you both feel very secure in your relationship. However, if guys are being creepy to you he won't hesitate to step in and tell them to leave you alone (using some not nice words lol)

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Chris is an amazing kisser. Your lips, neck, collarbones, he loves them all. He loves it when you kiss his jaw just under his ear.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He likes kids when they aren't screaming or crying, but can also have patience to interact with them.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Chris loves sleeping in, so you spend your mornings in his bed, wrapped in his arms.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Late nights are your favorite times to spend with him. Sometimes you hang out with Nick and Matt, getting food or watching movies together. Most of the time, you just stay in and enjoy each other's company

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Chris is pretty open about most things. If he doesn't tell you on his own, you aren't afraid to ask him anything because he always tells you the honest answer. He trusts you with his whole heart.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

With you, he has all the patience in the world. If we were talking about his brothers for example, that would be a completely different story.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Chris remembers almost everything you tell him, and he tends to pick up on the small details and mannerisms about you. He never forgets a birthday or anniversary.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

His fondest memories are all the times you guys do things like watch the sunsets together, or beach days where it's just the two of you.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He's not overly protective, but you know he is always close by if something ever happens. He knows that most of the time, you can hold your own.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He doesn't necessarily go all out, but he does enough to make sure you know how special you are. He prefers small, intimate moments over things like big parties or expensive gifts.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He tends to be more on the messy, unorganized side of things, but he knows this and does his best to stay organized (with your help)

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He likes to dress nicely in outfits that look good/make him feel good. When it comes to physical looks, he knows he's hot so he doesn't really do much. Even though he knows, you love to remind him about how attractive he is.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He can be a little clingy sometimes, and often gets lonely when he's not with you.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

He loves to see you wear his clothes. He is always offering you a hoodie, t-shirt, or even a pair of his sweatpants for you to wear, because he knows you like it too.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He wouldn't want to date a fan or somebody who knows him from social media, it just makes him feel weird and like they may just be using him for attention.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He has a hard time sleeping by himself. When you aren't with him, he has to sleep with one of his brothers because he doesn't like the feeling of being alone.

[dootznbootz]

hello hi hello i am here to hold out my little bowl and ask for a 'penelope abducted' snippet please

*coughs up blood and places strange, radioactive goop in your bowl* 🙃

I wouldn't say it's a snippet but it's more of a

SCRIPT

with some "writing" slapped in between. (there's a reason why I take forever to write things :'D Or then they end up like this)

I don't have a reason for Paris kidnapping Penelope, this is more to just explore characters and their emotions as I LOVE THAT SHIT. Honestly, this whole thing doesn't make too much sense plotwise lol. Don't think about the logical shit, JUST SIT BACK AND FEEL THINGS. This unedited af and it's basically first draft, so while I think the concepts are okay, the writing is sloppy.

This is a younger Hector, why he's a lil bit more unsure. Odysseus and Penelope are around 25-26. Telemachus isn't here yet. Realistically, Hector would be dead, but I REALLY want a certain conversation between them >:)

Honestly, writing this made me weirdly learn I write more/better when the text is smaller :P BUT I'm sorry anon, I'm sending out what I got when I didn't do that. as..you sent this a while back and I should get on it. I also tried not to "headhop" as I know that's "not a good writing habit" but oh my fuck. Take me outside and shoot me in the backyard. It's AGONY and feels so fucking BORINNNG to write. What's the point if I don't know every single DETAIL?!?!? kljhuytdfuyghk

ANYWAYS

Warnings: Miscarriage mention, violence.

Andromache whimpered as the man, Aethon of Same, he had called himself, pulled the knife closer to her throat. Smoke and screams sounded from outside as whatever godlike blasts went off once more as King Odysseus ran through Troy.

Hector felt anger and despair surge through him. For every blast, another sibling of the fifteen taken hostage dies. His throat burned.

(More stuff. Don’t wanna do now. Aethon pulls a "whoops. I missed." and cuts Andromache's collarbone to get Hector to comply.)

“I am without weapons, let her go now.”

Aethon nodded, only to push her into the arms of the other two men with him, held once more.

“You said you would-”

“Let her go? I did. She’s simply no longer held by me. You will guide us, and if you try to lead us astray, my soldiers here will not miss Lady Andromache’s throat like I did.”

“You are without honor! There is no reason to do this. I will show you to where Lady Penelope is, you didn’t need to take my wife-”

His words were cut off when a large hand cut off his words by grabbing his neck, the sounds becoming a squeak as it left his mouth.

Gray eyes burned into him as they got closer to his face. “There is no honor in kidnapping a queen while she recovers from a great pain either! Barely back on her feet and taken from her home.” Aethon hissed, trembling with a barely restrained rage. He breathed slowly, before letting go. “Simply repaying the favor...I will not repeat myself; You will show us where she is.”

Hector started to walk forward, restrained as he was. He remembers how Penelope spoke with such warmth for her husband. “Does your King approve of your methods?”

Aethon chuckled darkly, flicking the dagger between his fingers before tossing it to one of the men who held Hector. “Why do you think he sent me? Move along, Prince of Troy.”

(Stuff happens. Cassandra is muttering to everyone that no one will be hurt as long as they did as told, (no one believes her).One of Hector's brothers tries to step in only for Aethon to pull a one-punch-knock-out like he does with the Irus in the Odyssey as a beggar. One of Hector's sister-in-laws is naiad-born, he gives her a look, not realizing Aethon noticed her ears as well and is letting this happen. Aethon knows about Naiads just as much.)

Hector lifted his head as much as he could with how he was restrained, and gathered strength in his voice. “Lady Penelope! A man by the name of Aethon of Same is here to escort you!”

No reply. All that could be heard is more screams outside as another blast as loud as thunder went off. Another sibling is now dead. He tried to focus on the task.

The door was somehow blocked from the inside, despite how much she raged at being blocked in there by Paris himself. 

Hector started to shift his shoulders a bit. Fear gripped him as he glanced over to Andromache once more, still crying and bleeding from the wound on her collarbone. Her dress now sticking with red as blood seeped through. 

He looked forward again. “Lady Penelope,” Louder this time. “Are you in there?”

No reply. There seemed to be shuffling but he could not truly tell with how his ears were ringing.

Hector turned his head around to look at Aethon, the brutal man, hoping to make him understand that he was trying. That she should be here. 

From under one of his brother’s helm, sharp gray eyes flicked from the door back to Hector. His strong arms were tense as they crossed over his chest. It disturbed Hector how it fit him as if it were his own. A flash of light went across his hard face as another blast happened close by. He was unfazed

Hector was about to plead again, for the man to let Andromache go and take him if he felt the need before Aethon lifted a hand for him to be silent.

Aethon stood in front of the door then, eyes looking down towards the crack at the bottom of the doorway as he watched for movement. He frowned when there was nothing. He took a deep breath and leaned forward a slight bit, “Queen Penelope! We are here to take you home!”

A quick “Oh!” and a crash of pots sounded. 

Aethon’s eyes blazed and teeth gritted as he grabbed and rattled the door handle. “Penelope!”

He panted hard, the door handle now bent from his strength. He began to frantically throw his shoulder into the door, ramming himself and charging like that of an angered boar. 

“Penelope! Are you hurt?” His voice strained. Hector wonders if this man was related to Penelope in that he was so informal.

Another blast sounded and another shuffle and crash sounded from inside the room. Aethon swallowed a breath and he growled as he savagely rammed again. One hand going to undo the strap of the helm he wore, he pulled it off his head, revealing a tight braid of auburn curls on his head. Aethon began slamming the helm into the hinges of the door until one came off. The dented helmet in his hand, he once more barreled into the door. This time it worked. 

Aethon frantically looked around the room before an “Odysseus!” sounded from his left to which he turned swiftly to. 

The fear on Aethon's face turned to joy as he called her name back, lifting his arms to wherever she came from to pull her to him. Her bare feet dangled a short bit as she rested her chin on his shoulder and clung to him, before he sank to the ground. His knees barely missing the shattered pottery. A sob of relief escaped his lips as the lady kissed his face between comforting words.

It suddenly clicked into place. This wasn’t just a devoted captain to a king, this was a devoted husband. 

King Odysseus.

Hector could only watch in confused awe at the scene that unfolded. This man, this king, was weeping. To any outsider, it would look as though it was he who was being rescued. The strong shoulders that burst through the oaken door now shook with sobs. His fingers, ones that had bruised his own neck, were now caressing Penelope’s back, trembling as they combed through her hair. For her or his comfort, Hector did not know. 

Penelope soothed, a tearful smile on her face as she scratched at his scalp in small circles as he cradled her. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’m not hurt. He didn’t touch me”

A whimper escaped him. He lifted his head from her bosom and tears hung from his lashes. A hand, blood already dried from the broken jaw of Thoon, gingerly touched her abdomen.

Penelope’s face twisted up and more tears fell from her silver eyes as she told her husband something Hector couldn’t hear.

Hector realized that it had be begun to rain, what had soft pattering became a downpour, as though the couple’s tears had been what filled the clouds themselves. It put out the fires. 

“Andromache!” Penelope gave her husband a knowing yet disappointed look, a few surprised blinks from red rimmed eyes as a response. She took some raindrops on her fingertips from outside. “Let her go. Now.”

The men released Hector’s wife, who immediately went to touch the wound on her collarbone, wincing as she pressed her hand to it. Hector lunged from the men holding him only to be restrained further.

Penelope started to stand, only to be stopped by the shards that still littered the ground. Odysseus, his eyes and hands never leaving her, lifted her up as he walked across the room. The sandals on his feet protecting him.

Andromache shied away a bit before Penelope grabbed her hand as water went to her wound, sealing it as though it had never been there. 

Hector felt sharp eyes upon him and looked back at Odysseus. It…truly was hard seeing him as the same man who had cut Andromache. Once hard as flint gray eyes were now red from tears, calm and calculating. Two trails went down his ashen cheeks and revealed freckles Hector didn’t notice before.

Odysseus took Penelope’s hand and placed it on the collar of his armor for her to pull away. It now being pulled away, he easily reached in and grabbed a damp parchment. Sweat smudged it but it was clearly a map of Troy. Some circles on the map made Penelope shift and give her husband a questioning look only for him to shrug. She gave a glare, he responded with a smirk.

“Your siblings are still alive,” he started quietly. “I swear upon Almighty Zeus that your siblings are still alive upon the ship. At most some have a headache.” He gestured with his head towards the window, a curl that had been tucked by his wife fell from behind his ear with the movement. "If you want your siblings back, my men, my queen, and I will be treated as guests until we leave…after this storm ends, hopefully.”

Hector was about to yell, to call him a liar, before Penelope interrupted. “They are alive, Hector.”

Striking silver eyes were now piercing through him, though not cold, they didn’t hold the same warmth as before. Her cheeks still damp from tears yet her mouth set in a fine line. One hand reached up and held her husband’s face, who gazed at Hector with the same expression. 

Was this what Paris meant when he said that Lady Penelope should be nobody’s wife? The cruelty he spoke of...?

“The rain started as soon as we were reunited. The fires are put out by Lord Zeus... Hector, I would prefer if your siblings joined us with a feast.”

(More bickering talk shit. blahblahblah. Hector realizes that while Penelope was "nice" while in Troy, She does so many tricks that no one realizes, as she's trying to stay alive while waiting and Paris is scared of her as Aphrodite isn't here. Hector realizes that she's just as cold and that Odysseus is "just a guy" in way. Realistic? No. But I want Hector alive so then a certain convo can happen >:)

(Again, this is unedited. :'D so yeah. it's not great right now)

She sat up to look back at him, his eyes already looking watery still but she would let him decide if he would share with her or not. 

Penelope didn’t have to wait long as he relaxed his shoulders and took a deep breath, once more shoving his head under her neck, like how Anthos would shove her little body against Penelope’s for pets. 

Odysseus took peace in this silence, her chilled body against his own once more. Her being taken from him was a fear he had never experienced before. (more stuff)

“I hate that we're trapped here until...Whatever it is the gods want us here for is done."

"I know. We should be in our palace, in our nest...But we're together... And we have their favor as of now...They didn't even notice what we've taken yet."

Odysseus smirked, reassuring Penelope a little bit. She waited more for what was really bothering him. (more stuff)

"The Timing of everything…It frightens me.”

“Timing?” 

He nodded. “First, our…Our loss,” His voice cracking at the end, his warm palm pressed against her lower belly. She swallowed the lump in her throat, pushing her own pain down in hopes he would continue. 

“Then the Pirates, and then among them that…Paris, taking you away. I couldn’t hear the gods. I-” Tears started to spill now, finally flowing from the dam he had put up. “I am always so afraid of losing you after each loss. I never thought…I never thought I could ever possibly lose you like this. That the gods decided that I’ve caused enough pain and that you’d be best with another husband…”

(more sappy crying. When am I not making shit sappy and weepy?)

She chuckled, “You came with so few men and thought you had the gods against you and you still come to get me? You really are a silly man.”

Hector is alive for a conversation that will be better than this.

Hector watched as King Odysseus’ smile shined as he watched Lady Penelope race across the pasture; a request she had before they would leave.

Hector knew she had good horsemanship, remembering the day she first tried to leave for the shores only to be returned. But he was surprised the King of Ithaca agreed, even more that he wasn’t with her as well, as he has been woven to her side since he came. 

And Hector couldn’t help but be angry once more. 

How was this smiling, doting man the same man who terrorized his city?

“Spit it out.”

Odysseus still watched Penelope as she laughed as she rode one of Hector’s large dapple grays. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know what you’re thinking about. Spit it out.” 

Hector huffed and shook his head at the king. How could he even start?

“Even if the messenger you apparently sent did get to us, and we were too late, as you thought…Why was your first plan of action to terrorise us?”

Odysseus twisted a ring he had on his finger, seemingly amused by Hector’s question. “Prince Hector, I had to make sure you wouldn’t say no when I asked again.”

“Would you have even asked?” Hector hissed, bracing his shoulders a bit.

Odysseus chuckled. “You got me there.”

Hector seethed. “I will admit that Troy did the first offense and I am very grateful that everything went peacefully, but to retaliate to such extreme-”

“To even compare what your brother did to what I did is stupid,” His hands gripped the fencepost, knuckles white. “Be thankful Troy still stands, Son of Priam.”

Hector was taken aback by the venom in Odysseus’ voice, having not heard that since the very same white knuckled hands had held his throat…

Hector keeps forgetting Aethon and Odysseus are the same man.

Odysseus turned his head back around towards the pasture as he heard Penelope’s laughter, his shoulders easing as she raced by. 

“What would it take for you to do what I did, Prince Hector?”

“What?” 

Odysseus stood up straight, waiting until Hector looked back at him before he continued. “Maybe you wouldn’t be able to come up with the same plan,” -he ignored Hector’s rolling eyes- “But what would have to happen for you to ‘go mad’ as you said? I held back and you still think so lowly of me…Do you think you’re above it?”

Odysseus stood right in front of him, those flint eyes seeming to pry him open. “Or…Do you even know what would make you do that? Do you think you have something so important to you that you’d defy gods just to make things right again?” 

More (hopefully) quality stuff will replace this. But I LOVE the thought of Hector (and many of the Trojans) falling for the two's charms only to suddenly remember. "Wait...You guys are violent as fuck". Also How "Odysseus would sacrifice all of Ithaca for Penelope and Telemachus but I don't think Hector would do the same for Andromache and Astyanax" which klsjdf dklsjf kl FUCK YEAH. I SO BADLY WANNA COOK WITH THAT!!! I JUST NEED to get more good ingredients :'D

Notes/reasons/just more stuff

While I don't have a reason as to why Paris kidnapped her, I desperately didn't want Paris to TOUCH her as holy shit, I'm tired. So I had to think of something that was realistic that would make it so that he couldn't and well, Odypen already experience some miscarriages over the years and with the potential angst??? Yeah. :'D Also she scares Paris. He USED to have long hair. (Penelope doesn't have a goddess making her be nice)

Odysseus' plan is supposed to be sloppy kind of. I'm also not a fucking battle strategist. I'm making this up. He doesn't have a huge army and is so so terrified and angry. He basically rushes out (despite being told not to) on one of the pirates boats (undercover in a way). They DID send a messenger but we know he's violent. Basically a few of his men snuck into Troy and quickly stole some armor and snuck around using the fires (idk olive oil) as a distraction. Honestly he's fucking lucky. He's not the experienced and calm(ish) man he is in the Iliad and the Odyssey. His plan is relying mostly on fear.

Penelope did try to sneak out once on horseback and that's why she's like "I wanna do that again. I can't on Ithaca. I wanna have one more chance to do it"

I kind of plan for Penelope to kind of be seen as "kinder" and they use that to their advantage.

I kind of want Penelope and Hector/Andromache to bond over fertility problems as idk, drama and why she cares for them, AND they're barely at 2 years into their marriage and get SO MUCH more shit for it because... Priam is a fucking RABBIT of a man (no hate against him but Idk how tf he can MOVE. He is trying to create his own army)

I so desperately wanted to switch to Andromache's POV so often as I kind of want to compare the two couples and how they relate to one another. but that's the headhopping in me :'D O: We'll be leaving now. P: Not without compensation. Later on P: "YOu didn't see that amazing cauldron they have?!" O: "Penelope, I was a bit preoccupied and freaking out. Besides you were the treasure I needed to bring back home- OH MY GODS" P: I KNOW?!?! You're such a sweetie. 😘

Also Penelope, pulling some jewelry out: I grabbed these. I think this one will fit your middle finger. Odysseus, 🥹: Penelope, you are what it means to adore.

Anon, I'm sorry it's not really a snippet but I hope you still enjoyed :'D Sorry about the radiation I put in your bowl 😅

[rogerswifesblog]

This or that?

Drabble for “It’s all about the…”

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

A/N: I totally forgot to post this a few weeks ago! This came to us while talking about TikTok’s I think? I’m not sure anymore but @jamneuromain came up with this hilarious tiktok idea with Steve and reader 🤣 I’m actually thinking about making a whole Drabble list about all the TikTok’s Steve would do - there are a lot, trust me🤣

Pairing: stripper Steve Rogers x Sugar Mommy Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Steve has a new tiktok idea, one that includes his dear Sugar Mommy.

Steve had another great idea.

He wanted to take part in a Tiktok trend about this or that question.

The rules? None, actually. Just standing in the middle of the frame, writing above some choices and pointing at the one applying to his liking.

So here he was, begging you to take part in it, not knowing what for exactly.

“Come on, you just have to walk up to me and pull out of the frame-preferably at the collar. Twice. You’ll know when-it’ll be fun”, he tried to change your mind, sitting on your desk, right on the documents you were supposed to sign. Which you now couldn’t do, because he planted his ass on them. Thank god he had clothes on.

This time.

Sighing you looked up at him, a huge grin was on his lips, his eyes sparkling with mischief. You could tell he had planned something, but you couldn’t deny him anything if you had to be honest.

“Fine…just stand up and stop sitting on my stuff when you need my attention. I really need to sign those”, hearing your words steve immediately stood up, planted a quick kiss on your lips then cheek and walked away.

“I’ll be waiting in the living room!”, he called out before leaving your office.

A soft, fond smile crept onto your lips as you watched him before finishing looking over the documents and siging all of them. It only took you a few minutes before you walked to the living room, watching Steve slightly confused as he sat up his phone.

A hanger with your black dress in his hand, heels in the other one.

“What….why are you holding up my-” “please put it on, Mommy…please for me”, he nearly begged you, already handing you both of the things. You sighed but took it anyway. You really should start denying him stuff more often.

Taking of your shirt and pants you slipped into the dress. A smile crept onto your lips. You had worn it at one of your first dates with Steve, a black dress with a low cut showing off your shoulders and collarbones. The usual louboutin heels you loved wearing. “Could you put this on too?”, Steve held out his hand to you, the pearl necklace you rarely wore in his palm.

A chuckle escaped your lips and you took the necklace with a head shake. “Fine but help me with it”, with that you turned around and let him put it on around your neck.

When you turned around Steve held up a pair of long black velvet gloves. “Where did you get-“ “I bought them. Can you put them on?”, while asking he was already taking your hand and helping you putting the gloves on, which wasn’t that easy with two people doing it.

“Steve-wait-let me-“, after a little struggle of getting your hand back you managed to put the gloves on, now finally being dressed to Steve’s liking judging by his happy grin. “Perfect. Now wait and grab me when I tell you to”, with that he walked over to his phone and started the recording.

Slightly confused you watched as he walked from one side to the other for no reason, always looking up for a second as if reading something.

Jesus.

You were really getting too old for this stuff.

Then a few moments later he just looked around standing in the middle of the frame. “Now”, he mumbled and as if on command you walked over to him, grabbing him by the collar and pulling out of the frame.

Before you could even ask him anything he took off his hoodie, messed up his hair a bit more and walked back into the frame to show his white shirt with a writing on it. You furrowed your eyebrows slightly reading it before remembering he wanted you to pull him out of the frame twice so you walked over to him again, repeating what you did before, but this time you decided to grab him by the throat.

“So now tell me-” “thank you”, he interrupted you, wrapping his arm around you and kissing you passionately, nearly taking your breath away. God, he was an amazing kisser.

A few seconds later he leaned back again, watching you a bit. A smirk creeping on his lips. “You’re hot, you know?”, grinning he started pulling your dress up, while pushing you against the counter. “Let me show you how hot I think you are…”, he mumbled against your neck while slowly sinking to his knees.

Well, the questions would have to wait.

Next day you were just coming back from work, a sweet smell hitting you as soon as you walked into your shared home. Did Steve bake something? Smiling you took of your heels and jacket and walked into the kitchen where Steve was leaning against the counter. “Hello beautiful”, he greeted you, pulling you into a hug. “Hi Baby, am I smelling a brownie or am I delusional?”, you grinned against his chest, the rumble of his laugh making you grin even more.

“You’re not delusional…not yet at least. I posted the tiktok and it went viral so I decided to do something nice for you” “but Stevie…you did plenty of nice things yesterday…”, you smirked against his neck. He chuckled too at that.

You let go of him and sat down on one of the stools while he cut a piece of brownie for you. After he took out his phone af showed you the tiktok. You didn’t much understand why he was posting so much on it, but he seemed to have fun with it so you were happy he was happy. And he seemed very happy about his tiktok being viral.

The video was like you suspected him reading something above his head.

>>This or that challenge.<<

In the video steve pointed at the sentance above his head before it changed into something else.

>> Pizza or Burger <<

You knew the choice would be pizza because he always chooses to order it. He’s just a pizza guy.

>> sketching or painting <<

There you could assume it’d be sketching since he did it most of the time-and you were right. It was the right guess.

At the example >> push ups or pull ups<< you really had no idea. You rarely talked about work outs and you didn’t watch him often since he did his work outs most of the time while you were at work.

When finally the choice >Daddy issues or Mommy issues< was above his head you furrowed your eyebrows seeing him just stand there without choosing. Wait…was that….

“Steve you did not-“ Right then you walked into the frame pulling him to the side with the mommy issues, making you gasp quietly. Oh god. And he posted this??

A second later he was back in the frame wearing a white t shirt with a thinck writing on it that said ‘I *heart* MILFs’ confusing you slightly, but you already suspected you wouldn’t like the answer after asking, especially when you watched yourself walk back into the frame and pulling him to you by the neck.

Steve took his phone from your hands, grinning brightly at you. “And? You like it?”, was his first question, still completely happy with himself. Yet the smile slowly faded when he saw your furrowed eyebrows. This never was a good sign.

“And you posted this?? I’m a businesswoman Steve!”, you nearly whined, shaking your head. You weren’t mad at him…rather a bit embarrassed. The whole world knows about your dynamics now.

He shrugged slightly, pulling in his shoulder and making himself look a bit smaller than usually. “Well…yeah…now you’re a famous businesswoman at least-“ “oh my god Steve-“ “but hear me out. People love that kind of stuff-“ “I don’t want to be famous for being your sugar mommy-“ “but they say you’re giving off mommy vibes anyway so-“ “oh my god”

You just shook your head and took a bite from the piece of brownie. At least this taste incredible so you had another reason to not be mad at him-not that you ever could be really mad at him.

A few seconds later you looked up again. “I wanted to ask one more thing. What’s with the shirt? What does MILF mean?”

You knew you wouldn’t like the answer as soon as his whole face to the very top of his ears turned a dark shade of red and he hunched his shoulders even more. “Well it’s…it means…Momidliketofuck”, he mumbled so quickly you couldn’t understand a single word of what he had said. “What? Come again?"

He took a deep breath.

Swallowed.

Swallowed again.

And slowly looked back up at you.

"Mom I'd like to fuck" "WHAT??? Wait hold on-" You nearly choked on your own salvia, your eyes widening. “Steve! How many people have seen this video?”

“Well…around two hundred…..thousands” “Steve!”

Thank you for reading! I Hope you enjoyed it! Please let me know by leaving feedback:) I’d appreciate it a lot<3

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[m4ndysk4nkovich]

Do you think Ian, Lip or Fiona ever broke any bones as kids? And if so, how do you think that it happened?

oh 100%

we actually learned that ian broke his collarbone at 12, and i always find that very interesting.

there are three ways that i think this could have happened:

he pulled a season 1 carl. i feel like younger ian was basically just like younger carl just a bit quieter and more mellow (less of a psycho), but he was definitely athletic and hyper like him. in season 1 carl tries to do a crazy stunt by driving a dirt bike off of the roof or some shit like that and ends up breaking his arm, so i can imagine ian trying to show off for lip or something and then just landing wrong and… bam. maybe he like, fell out of a tree or something. all i know is that it must’ve been pretty ian “play what cool” gallagher.

he and lip pull one of their infamous schemes and ian fucks up. yet again, ian “play what cool” gallagher lives up to that name. i’m thinking of the first scene with them both in 3x01 when they’re stealing that part for the thing lip was building (sorry i’m doing a rewatch rn but i’m only at like 2x07 so i don’t remember what) and then ian jumps off of the building and runs from the cops. maybe they stole something dumb from like, the mall or something, and they get chased and ian tries to do what he does in 3x01, but he’s only 12 so he’s not as strong, trained, and tall as he ends up being so he totally fucks up and gets caught. that’s pretty similar to #1 but i’m placing the blame more on lip because let’s be honest, lip most definitely had something to do with it.

football. ian played football in elementary/middle school, according to season 2 carl, so maybe he got hurt doing that? i was going to try to elaborate but all i know about football is that there’s a ball and people get tackled so… yeah. maybe his collarbone was the reason he stopped playing. like, we know he stopped and we know he wished monica was there when he broke it, so maybe he got hurt at a game that monica missed (ian gives monica shit for missing carl’s other games in season 2, maybe he was projecting?) and since he was injured and realized his mom couldn’t be bothered to come anyways, he quit? …damn that got angsty oops

also, ian is such an athlete that i can imagine him breaking other bones too, and based off of the scene in 1x01 where fiona says she can “never remember whether that’s good or bad” when lip winces after she’s trying to help him leads me to believe she’s had to deal with a kid breaking a leg or an ankle or something. i think it would be ian. i also remember hearing that when you break a bone it makes it easier to break it again later on, so him breaking his leg when he was younger could explain how his leg snapped so easily in 10x08😭

as for fiona, i can’t ever see her breaking a bone but for some reason i can really see her spraining her ankle as a teen. she was a track star and always going on runs, and i feel like that’s a common injury in track (my girlfriend does track… that’s the only somewhat athletic thing i know even a little bit about so i apologize for my stupidity about this LMAO). it could be a serious problem if fiona needed to lay low for a bit, because she would not let herself do it. and if she was still in school and doing track she’d be like, 16? so ian and lip would be 10 and 11, and i could imagine them forcing her to lay down and rest while they took care of things for her.

lip has never broken a bone in his life, miraculously. i mean, if you count breaking his nose, a few knuckles, and bruising his ribs then maybe, but i don’t think he’s really suffered a serious injury like that before. he always is getting into (and losing) fights, but he managed to never break a bone. my man is too unathletic for that shit (me too bro)… a deviated septum and maybe a sprained wrist are the worst injuries he’s delt with.

[a-s-levynn]

How i do stuff | Part 2

Okay so i'm kinda doing this backwards going from the shading back to the sketching but not like i did anything logically ever.

THIS IS NOT GOING TO BE A LINE FOR LINE PROCESS because i am not that insane. Yet.

To be honest the entire sketching process is very intuitive on my part so i don't think i can provide much insight here but i'll try to make it make sense.

It is really not as conscious as the shading.

So first: have an idea to work with

Find a concept i like and go from there.

I decided that i want Vessel to look upwards and a little bit to the side and add some other details (which you are not going to see here yet. We are talking about sketching people here not background or whatever.)

Next step: i try to find a reference image that is as close to the desired pose as possible. It could either be made by a posing tool or actual reference image. Whichever is at hand.

(For whatever mysterious reasons i have a small catalog of IV pics in my head rent free so i actually knew what i was looking for.)

I use reference pictures for a few reasons. For one, they make it so much easier to figure out poses and movements. But more importantly by looking at them i can figure out the flow of the body much more faster than just from memory. They also help with understanding how cloth is draping or the way light hits certain shapes and surfaces. There are a lot of benefits.

Anyway so we have our reference picture:

But i wanted Vessel to look the other way so flipped it. (Zoom in not mandatory but we don't need the rest of IV for this.)

Ye okay i can now kind of figure out where goes what in relation to one and other.

Okay okay okay i know: draw a circle than finish the fucking owl.. no bear with me. I need something on the page to talk about what i do. Lemme explain:

So first i'm starting with the traditional x or cross (blue on the pic below). I usually i orient it in my head that the meeting point of the line is the part of your nose dips right above the nosebridge. Because that is usually in the same level as the eyes. At least how i start, they could be moved up or down later.

So the horizontal line for me is the middle of the middle pair of eyes/eyeholes for Vessel or if there is only one set of eyes than it is the middle line for the eyes. I found it most comfortable in proportion wise for me to start with. (This horizontal line would be the tip of the ears as well if i had ears on here.)

Than i pick where the tip of the nose and the mouth is going to be roughly. Doesn't have to be more than a little dot or line, it is going to be changed later anyway.(pink lines below)

I also pick a comfortable spot on the vertical line where the point of the chin is going to be, where throat starts and pick a spot for the addam's apple.(pink lines below)

Than i make the whole head into somewhat head like shape (pink egg like shape below), because where that ends is basically what i'm connecting with the chin point to find the jawline. (green lines below)

Maybe even add to a line or two for where i imagine the hood to go just for funsies.

What else i do simultaniously with this is finding the flow of the face because where his adam's apple is, will tell me where the neck bends in the movement, the neck curving point will show where the shoulder connects, but also where the tendons are going towards the suprasternal hollow and then where the collarbones start and angle back up towards the shoulders etc. Everything connects to the next thing.

(I also do this for half or full body figures as well, only there i'm trying to find the flow of the entire body. Or more accurately the curve of the spine in a natural or close to natural shape first and then figure out the smaller parts.)

Look i'm not gonna lie, for this to be eyeballed off of even a pretty close reference picture in a way that looks close to natural or makes sense, you have to have a basic understanding of anatomy.

It doesn't have to be a conscious understanding but it has to be there. There are endless tutorials out there to help with this and i highly recommend looking up a few because i know not everyone can learn it just by looking at dancers and anatomy lab videos.

Next step: find a reference for the mask and preferably for the mouth because i'm bad at drawing mouths and i want to learn. If it is moving make it not moving, it helps a lot. Kill it with a screenshot, put it in Paint, bury it in a jpeg. Simple as that.

When i have my mask reference, i'm just trying to find a sweet spot that matches it in a way that feels good. First i'm going for the rough outline of it, details can be added later. It is not going to be a one-to-one to the reference because it is not the exact same angle, but it still helps.

And from here it is mostly just trial end error of putting lines and details in and than erasing them until i reach a state where i can say: yup this is look decent enough and can refine it into a lineart and start shading.

Not much else i could share here about this part of the process because as i've said most of it is pretty intuitive and based on a certain level of anatomical understanding.

(Hopefully you'll see the end result in a couple of days but we'll see how much time i'm going to have.)

Love you all and i'm sorry i can't provide more than this ♥

[gaytotaldrama]

duncney week day 4 (a day late): first 'i love you'

an unsent letter from C to D, years after the end of the show.

duncney song of the day: 'i've got your number,' elbow

also on my ao3!

Dear Dunc

To whom it may conce

For the idiot with the green mohawk

Duncan, 

I don't go to therapy, but Bridgette does, and she told me about this exercise her therapist set her where you write down everything you want to say to someone in a letter and then you don't send it. Therapy would take up way too much of my time, yet here I am on my bed, writing to you of all people.

It's been years since we last saw each other, or even spoke - since they carted you off the island and tossed you into some disgusting cell. I'm sure you're already aware, but destroying Chris's house was a really  stupid  idea. I understand that you were trying to prove your "villain status" or whatever, but all I could think about watching you leave was DJ and his rabbit. It made me feel  sick,  seeing what happened to you. Gwen and I pretended to be happy about it, but I don't think either of us were at all. 

I know she called once or twice, while you were in there. I know Geoff and DJ came to visit you. I know Bridgette sent you little care baskets through the mail.

I know I never did any of those things. It all hurt so much, still. And even when it didn't, I never figured out what I would say to you.

But now, I have an idea. More or less.

However angry I was with you after you and Gwen kissed, it didn't mean I wanted to see you thrown in  prison.  I know I can be petty and vengeful at my lowest moments, but I always imagined you'd be eliminated in some humiliating spectacle. You'd go home. And we'd never have to see each other again, unless Owen ever decided to throw that reunion bash he was talking about.

And then when that bash happened, you were locked up again for violating your parole. And you weren't there.

I thought about filling these pages with all the reasons you were awful to me, every nitpick and tiny detail that made me hate your guts. But it's not like I was the perfect girlfriend, either. And, Duncan, we were just  kids.  None of us knew what we were doing, what it was we even wanted. Chris knew that and he used it against us every which way, exploiting us on international television.

I don't know if I really forgive you yet. I guess I'd have to see you in person to know. I've spent most of my time post-Total Drama working to forgive myself. Which has worked. Somewhat, at least.

Geoff says you're in Seattle. He says you're working as a tattoo artist. He says you go to AA meetings every week at the recreational center. That's good. That's really good, Duncan.

I work. Sanford, Sanford & Patel - started as a secretary, but I've clawed my way up a bit since then. Helped win some major cases. Hopefully it won't be long before they're adding a Reyes up on that sign.

Bridgette, Geoff, and I have game night every Wednesday evening. We take turns cooking dinner. Sometimes Bridgette slides me a CBD gummy to help me fall asleep at night. I jog, in the mornings. When I can, I go to the gym. Every now and then, I pick up Geoff's guitar and strum it a little. I still remember when you taught me my first bar chord. I couldn't make a  sound  on the B minor then, but I've gotten better, now. I've really gotten better.

I have a cat. This little precocious furball that Bridgette brought back from the shelter. She likes to claw at my nice leather desk chair and she doesn't like strangers at all; I adore her. Her name is Scruffy.

Every couple of months, I fly out to visit Gwen in Vancouver. They showed me the inky moon you put on their collarbone - I think it's beautiful. We go and get coffee together, catch up. She's got an art exhibition down in Bellingham in the fall - I plan to go, but I don't know if you'll be there. I don't know if I want you to be or not.

I've had a few boyfriends, but none of them could keep up with me. One time, Gwen and I got drunk and slept together. I'm not sure why I'm telling you this, but it was kind of good. Which is kind of funny. To me, at least.

Oh, and Geoff and Bridgette are engaged. Which I guess you already knew. It only just happened, so there are no real plans yet, you know those two. Never once made a list in their lives. But I guess if you're not at Gwen's show, we'll see each other at the wedding.

Would you talk to me? If we met again, would you even talk to me? I like to think I'd talk to you. But it's a hell of a lot easier to say it in writing than it is to do it in person.

Would you miss me?

I've missed you. I know people say you never stay with your high school sweetheart, but look at G and B, case in point. We didn't stay together, but sometimes I imagine what it would have been like if we had. Where we'd be right now.

Damn it, ok, I'm just going to say it: I love you. We never got around to telling that to each other while we were dating, but I think it's always been true, since all the way back in season one. I love you, Duncan Russo. It's totally humiliating, but I do. I still really, really do.

And I wish you were

Maybe if I

And I guess there's nothing to be done about that. Over a decade, and I'm still hung up on the boy who I kissed in the back of the Killer Bass cabin, right after puking my guts out. There's only so many people who would kiss someone with vomit breath, but you did. You didn't care. I mean, it was totally disgusting, but you kissed me back. I'll always remember the way you kissed me back.

Just...I just hope you're ok, ok? Or if not, then that you're something close to it. That show screwed every single one of us over, some more than others. The shit Chris did to us was messed up, and if I could go back and time and withdraw my audition tape, I would.

But then I guess I'd never have met you. And I don't know if that would be better or worse for me in the long run.

Thank God you'll never see this letter. 

Love,

Courtney

[autumntouched]

Day 4 of Ode to Phoenix:

Summary: Part of the Hannix Football Rivalry Series where Phoenix is a 49ers fan and Hangman is a Cowboys fan. This is the sequel to Your Jersey or Mine?, which is NSFW and 18+ so you don't need to read it to follow this fic.

Jake is planning to propose to Natasha

Pairings: Natasha "Phoenix" Trace x Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Warnings: PG-13 with the innuendo. There's definitely a smuttier version but in case that's not for everyone, I'll post separately.

A/N: Apologies in advance to anyone who has a Christmas or holiday engagement! We're still in the universe where Natasha's parents got divorced when she was a kid so she has some things that she's working through.

The Proposal | Pt. I

Natasha lays back in the passenger seat scrolling through Instagram on their way home from a short snowboarding trip in between Christmas and New Year. Post after post announces people’s engagements to “their best friends.” She rolls her eyes and looks over at Jake. 

Since their conversation about Super Bowl babies earlier this year, she’s had a growing, sneaking suspicion that he’s getting close to popping the question. Jake can be impressively discreet when he wants to be, so it’s her mom’s silence on the topic of their relationship that has tipped her off. And Gabby suddenly finding every reason under the sun to ask how she’s doing. So she sees this as the perfect opportunity to set some guidelines for his plans.

“I feel like Christmas engagements are so cliche,” she sighs. Natasha practically sees his ears perk up even though he strains to keep his eyes on the highway. 

“Oh yeah?” he asks casually. He’s definitely on high alert because his shoulders are raised and tense. 

“Yeah, everyone does it.” 

He checks the lane to their left like he’s looking for an opening, but she knows he’s calculating his next step in this conversation and doesn’t want her to see his face while he’s doing the mental math. “Well, isn’t that when they’re most likely to be with their family?” 

So he’s contemplated that scenario. Before they started dating–more like fell into dating and then stumbled into a relationship–neither she nor Jake had thought particularly long or hard about marriage. Getting married isn’t something even now that they feel personally inclined to rush into even though they both know this is it for them. Or at least she doesn’t. For all he likes to flaunt the rules, Jake can be surprisingly traditional. But if it weren’t for the Navy and the logistics of their careers, he would have had to do a lot more work to persuade her to marry him. 

“Yeah, but it’s Christmas. What if they get divorced or one of them dies? Then that’s always going to hang over the holiday.” 

It’s a real fear and reservation she has, so when he looks over at her there’s a softness in his face. People had laughed her off for saying that for so long that she’d stopped admitting it aloud and then even to herself. Which meant that it took several explosive fights for him to figure out why she wasn’t being her usual pragmatic self about his logical arguments for why they should get married. 

The thing about Jake is he never makes her promises he knows aren’t in his control to keep. They’re both too honest for that. So he doesn’t promise to never leave her. What he does promise is, “You were doing just fine before I came along and even after, so the only thing I can know for sure is you’ll always be strong enough to go on without me.” She knows that doesn’t mean he’ll walk out on her because every day he does something to show her that she’s become the most important thing in his universe. Because Jake can also be surprisingly romantic, which is probably why Christmas floated through his mind. And he would want their families to be there. 

He has to turn his eyes back to the road, but he reaches out and rests his steady, warm hand on her shoulder. His thumb runs soothingly along her collarbone. “Why don’t you tell me what other days are off limits to propose?” 

“I’m not ruining anything?” And if there’s any sign that she’s fallen hook, line, and sinker for Jake “Hangman” Seresin, it’s that she would let him propose on Christmas if that’s what he truly wanted. How is she the same woman who used to block the number of any guy who had the audacity to send her a good morning text after a first date? 

“Sweetheart.” He only uses “sweetheart” when he knows she’s at her most vulnerable. “The only thing I care about is making sure the day that I propose to you is one of your happiest memories.” Natasha’s gone from rolling her eyes at engagement posts to nearly crying at how much she loves him. She kisses his thumb on her shoulder. It’s the closest thing to his mouth that she can reach without causing an accident. And because he has to go and ruin every sweet, heart tugging moment, he adds, “I mean, until the day I fuck it up and then hopefully it’s not a day you mind letting live on in infamy.” 

She laughs and tries to ignore the clench between her legs when the pad of his thumb strokes her bottom lip. He flashes his dimples at her, and the heat in the look they exchange promises they won’t be unpacking the car when they get home. “Don’t do it on my birthday, okay? Ideally not at all in October because that’s my favorite month. Or Christmas or New Year’s Eve. Or New Year’s. Not Thanksgiving. Or Labor Day. God, please not Valentine’s Day. That would be the only circumstance under which I’d say ‘no’ without changing my mind.” She’s joking. She’d always say “yes,” but she’d be forever furious about it. 

“Noted. So when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you’re not the girl who wants the rest of her life to start as soon as possible. Just at the next most convenient date?” And although When Harry Met Sally is one of her favorite movies, and she’ll make him watch it again for New Year’s Eve in a few days, she nods at his gentle teasing. 

“That’s the only thing that’s wrong in an otherwise perfect movie,” she points out. “If Sally can never order what’s on the menu, wouldn’t she be just as picky about the day Harry proposed?” 

Jake shakes his head at her but gives her a wry, loving smile. “It’s supposed to be romantic, babe.” 

She tucks her hair behind her ear and wriggles around so she’s facing him in her seat, propped up on her elbow. Natasha reaches out and rubs her hand over the top of his upper thigh. “Well, I think it’s very romantic that you asked me what I wanted.” 

He groans because this conversation and her hand have very clearly started to strain the zipper of his jeans. “There are too many cops along here for me to pull over.” 

“Better drive fast,” she grins. 

“Now who’s reckless?” he grits out.

Ode to Phoenix Masterlist

Series Masterlist | Your Jersey or Mine? | The Proposal Pt. 2

[lady-assnali]

Happy Six Sentence Sunday, this is very inspired by one of the hundred reels I sent @sexynetra where she then hyped me up to write this ✨

—

“Oh, man.” Denali sighs, looking over her colorful stack of paper money wistfully. “Looks like I don’t have enough money to pay rent.”

Mik snorts, rolling his eyes as he watches the blonde start to flutter her lashes. Rosé straightens up in her chair, eyes scanning the Monopoly board and then Denali’s hands. She’s dropped the cash and is playing with the collar of her shirt, shifting it over just enough to show off her collarbone.

“Oh, come on! You’re going to pay your rent like the rest of us or you’re headed straight to jail. Sorry about it, maybe you shouldn’t have spent all that money on Park Avenue.”

She regards Mik’s stern tone for a moment, the look that’s fizzling onto her features one that has him wiping at his eye in (partially) feigned exhaustion. Denali runs her fingers through her hair, pushes it off to one side of her face.

“I just don’t know what I’m going to do.” She sighs again, pouting her pretty lips. She leans over to Rosé, resting a hand on her thigh. It doesn’t take long for the redhead to squirm under her touch.

“I think we can arrange something.” She cups Denali’s cheek, kisses her gently. The shudder of the blonde’s breath underneath her own lips is familiar now, but Rosé is sure she’ll never get used to the way it makes her stomach stir.

“You’ll pay half.” Rosé keeps close to Denali, who shakes her head at the idea.

“Half?” She lets out a breathy laugh. “I’ll pay one fourth and not a penny more.”

“You’re on Park Avenue, Dee. Do you know how much money I’d lose if I let this deal slide?”

“Oh my god, it’s Monopoly. Actually? Flimsy paper dollars.” Mik groans. His input rolls right over their heads.

“We can make a deal then, Rosie.” Denali croons. She cups her cheek, brushes her thumb along the flushed skin there. “Because I’m not paying more than that. I think I’m being more than reasonable here.”

“I think you’re sweet talking me into losing a huge paycheck.”

“But it’s working, isn’t it?” She winks, kisses Rosé hard before scooting her chair back over. She does some math by whispering and starts to count out the meager sum. Before the money can change hands Mik clears his throat and stands up from his seat at the table.

“This was a lovely game night.” He says pointedly, finishing his drink in one swig. He flies around the apartment, grabbing his jacket without even bothering to shrug it over his shoulders.

“Truly, so fun.” He pats both of their shoulders with heavy hands. “I’m just going to read the room and see myself out so you can keep…making your deal.” He lifts a finger to his throat, fake gagging noises accompanying the teasing light in his eyes.

“You don’t have to go!” Denali protests, standing up to help. There’s a piece of her that feels sorry-embarrassed, almost. (Almost.) He holds one hand out in protest, backs up a bit.

“Oh baby, I do. Take my money. Or don’t-it seems like you won’t even need it.”

From her chair Rosé laughs to herself, holding a hand up in the air.

“Yeah, probably not.”

“Rosie!” Denali hits her playfully, an adoring roll of the eyes translating to her own way of saying that of course, Rosé’s right. And of course, she’s forward.

“I’ll be sure to let Jan know that she was right-game night just isn’t my thing.”

“Wait, what did Jan say?”

“Oh, she just warned me that Clue was banned but she wasn’t sure how Monopoly would go. I’ll have to let her know that on a scale from one to ten the two of you are pathetic.”

He lets the door swing shut behind him, his playful tone ringing through the air as Rosé contemplates her best friend’s use of the word pathetic. As if reading her mind, Denali sneaks up behind her, wrapping her hands around her waist and nuzzling the bare skin of her neck with her nose.

“I’m not sure if the word pathetic is right.” Denali’s voice is a hum now, and Rosé shudders at the feeling of it reverberating against her skin. Her hands wander gently to the hem of Rosé shirt, fingers dancing their way up to her chest.

“You owe me money.” Rosé breathes. Denali laughs against the redhead’s back, kissing her shoulderblade.

“Let me pay you the right way first.”

[skyfallslayer]

The Devils Are Caught In Red Strings || Chapter 3: Rabbit In A Snowstorm

-Matt Murdock x Parker!OFC-

Series Masterlist

AO3 Link

♡Series Summary: Childhood friendships are a sacred thing... But so are secrets. This story revolves around a girl named Anya Hughes, an attorney by day and a vigilante by night. Join her into the struggles she’ll face, like her path coming back to haunt her, then facing a man who holds all the power, all while she develops a crush on her close friend. How long can she take all this until she falls apart? ♡

♡Chapter Summary: The lawyers take on a mysterious wealthy client, but Matt’s convinced there’s more to this case than just facts. Meanwhile, Anya deals with strange occurrences happening in her life. ♡

♡Date: 2/8 ♡

♡Rating: Explicit ♡

♡Word Count: 9,941 ♡

♡Warning: Minor Blood; Violence, Language; Sexist Comments; Suicide Near The End; Lying; Implied Stalking/Stalker; Hush Money; Talks of Murder; References To Being Killed/Almost Dying; Blackmail; implied panic Attack; Spoilers for the show; Canon Typical Violence; READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!! ♡

♡A/N: So this one is a little bit shorter than I normally write. Probably because I cut out some scenes with Ben Urich that I didn't feel was necessary to write about. Even though this shorter, I feel like this where the true fun begins as Fisk enters the Vigilantes' radars. Enjoy!♡

There was bloody flesh beneath her fingertips; the crusting over wound was still present on her collarbone. She frowns, already opening the medicine cabinet for disinfectant and a clean bandage. 

Thought it’ll be healed by now. Must have been deeper than I thought. She realizes with a worried feeling.

Last night… sucked. Her retrieval mission was a bust, then she’s temporarily blinded, then meets a nurse who knows who she is, THEN she runs into a pain in the ass vigilante that she for some reason came up with the idea to work together (To an extent, that is). 

I sure hope he compromises like promised. She finishes with the patch up, picking her phone up off the counter and walks into her room where her clothes are laid out gently on the bed. While getting ready she listens to the news on her phone, hopefully pleading that it’ll be good on that side of the city.

.

{ - Avengers are holding a party at Stark Tower later this week, and the paparazzi are dying to get a peek inside. But how do you sneak into a place like that? - }

.

Anya rolls her eyes while buttoning her blouse.

No matter where you are in this city, they always wiggle their way into the news.

.

{ - In other news that’s rather unfortunate, the city of Queens is losing its charity group, F.E.A.S.T– - }

.

Her movements faltered into a complete stop. Did she just… hear that right?

.

{ - The city’s councilmen decided it would be best to close up for good after not being able to raise enough money. Queens Local helper, Maybelle Parker, expresses her deep sadness that she’ll not be able to help out anymore after doing this since she was teenager. Other locals are expressing their own– - }

.

Anya turns her phone off with a deep frown. That was not the best news to start off her day. Especially when she knew that local… personally. She bites gently on the tip of her thumb, thinking.

Maybe I could send her some money anonymously? But she immediately swatted that idea away when she realized if she could give some of her inheritance money away it wouldn’t be enough to keep that place open.

She sighs, shaking her head before another light bulb goes off.

Speaking of money…

She finishes getting dressed, grabbing her bag, slipping on her heels by the door to leave. She took a quick trip down the elevator and a sharp turn for her landlord’s office, her hand wiggling around inside her bag’s pocket. 

“Mr. Hawthorne.” She calls out, getting his attention just as he was coming out.

“Ah, Miss Hughes. What can I do for you?” The older man asked, smiling gently.

“Just giving you the rent for the month.” She replies, fishing out the already written out check. To her complete surprise, he declines.

“No need, Miss Hughes. Your rent’s already covered.”

She blinks. “Huh?”

“Yeah, a gentleman came by and paid for it.”

“Who?”

“Didn’t catch a name. But he was nicely dressed in a suit and tie. Says he was a friend of yours.”

She blinks again. “Huh…”

She wasn’t expecting that either this morning as she pinched her brows together in thought.

Why would they pay my rent?

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

A car pulls in close to another one, getting a clear look at the Hudson river only a few feet away. The sharp dressed man gets out of his car, slowly approaching the person he’s supposed to meet.

His guest looked at him with surprise. “Thought you'd forgotten about me, Urich.” He said with a smoker’s voice.

The man chuckles. “Never happen.”

“I don't know. People's memories these days ain't so good.” He sighs, before pointing to the city lined up in front of him over the water. “Back in the day, I couldn't wait to see this view. Me and the boys, driving in Friday nights. Kings of the castle.”

“Kings don't have bodies in the trunk.”

“Tell that to Macbeth.”

Another laugh. “What's this about you moving to Florida?”

“Did you hear about Rigoletto?” The man asked.

“Heard he retired.” Urich replies.

“Yeah… in pieces.”

Urich’s joyful expression faded into something concerning. “Somebody putting it to you?”

“You know the rules.”

“Is it the Russians?”

“The rules. You go first… and then maybe I got something to say. That's the way it's always been.”

Urich nods in understanding. “Russians got a bee up their ass. Somebody's been hitting them… hard. Mostly around the docks.”

“Wasn't Rigoletto, if that’s what you're thinking.” The man said, frowning.

“So who are we looking at?”

“You tell me.”

“I don't know. Been scratching at it. Police reports get altered. Public records, too. But I know a pattern when it shoves a thumb in my eye.” Urich pauses to think. “A new player, maybe?”

The man sighs. “Used to be if you killed a man, you sent his wife flowers. Now they just send his wife with him.”

That got his interest piqued. “You know something, don't you?”

“Yeah. Florida's beautiful this time of year.”

Urich sighs. “The rules.”

The man shakes his head. “There are no rules, Benny. Not anymore.”

“So that's it? That's all I get?”

“You know, when I went away to do my 10, every newspaper in town dragged my name through the shit. You were the only one who did it… without mentioning my kids.” He gets choked up at the thought. “Always grateful for that.”

“Then give me something.” Urich pleads. “A name, anything.”

“Take a pass on this one, Benny. Some fights will just get you bloody.” He said, patting him on the shoulder to leave.

Leaving the reporter alone with his thoughts and theories.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

It seems like everyone’s day was going to start off unusual. Karen arrives early, sitting on her makeshift desk as she stares in shock at a letter addressed for her. She only hides it away when the front door opens.

Foggy closes the door, a look of regret on his face as he holds his coffee cup close. “You know the whole, ‘Let's stay out all night’ thing?” He begins, watching her stand up.

“Yeah.” She begins, plastering an innocent face on, listening.

“How about next time we skip the part with the eel?”

Karen chuckles, nodding. “Deal.”

The door opens again, letting in a tired looking Anya Hughes. “Sounds like you kids had fun.” She teased, coming up to them.

Karen’s genuine smile grew. “Yeah, we did.” Her face dropped into concern immediately. “Hey, you okay?”

Green eyes blinked puzzledly. “Huh?”

“You’re collar bone.” The blonde continues, pointing to her own to make a point.

Anya quickly looks down, spotting the small bandage she thought her shirt covered. She tries not to look flustered as she could feel her friend’s worried gazes. “Oh, yeah. I…” She shrugged. “I honestly don’t know how I did that.”

Foggy snorts. “Cause you’re klutzy, and your mind’s always in the clouds.”

She narrows her eyes, humorously. “You trying to tell me something, Nelson?”

“Maybe…” He trails off, redirecting the conversation to something else. “Hey, what do you think about getting a sign on the door?”

“Well, you got a sign.” Karen replies, her and Anya sending him a look.

“A real one.”

She scoffs, crossing her arms. “You should get some clients first.”

“Just one little sign. What could it cost?”

The response made Karen laugh a little. “Frank, you can barely afford to pay me.”

Foggy raises an eyebrow. “I thought you were working for free.”

“I… I did… for a day.”

Anya sighs. “Fine… I guess we could pay you.” She humors, rolling her eyes for added effect. 

Karen giggles. “Well, thank you. I guess...”

Foggy stares at his college friend. “With what money?”

“I have money, you know.” Anya replies, already seeing him shake his head. 

“No. No. No.” He sets his things down before giving her full attention. “Me and Matt told you that you’re done paying for our business.” He looks back at Karen, getting her into the loop. “She got a crazy amount of inheritance money.”

Anya holds up her hand in defense. “Okay, he’s making me sound like I’m a billionaire, which I am far from being. I just have enough to live comfortably for a few years.”

“Exactly!” He exclaims, walking around. “Which is why I’m not allowing you to blow it all on us. We’ll make something work. I promise.”

Anya rolls her eyes and quickly mouths, “I’ll pay you”, making Karen smile.

Matt soon walks in, doing his usual routine of setting his cane and bag down by the door.

“Hey you know she's not really free?” Foggy asks, earning a light slap on his arm by the blonde. Soon the jokes died down again seeing the giant bruise forming under their blind friend’s eye. “Jesus. What happened to your eye?”

“Oh.” Matt said, slightly off guard by the question.

“Are you okay?” Anya asked, worriedly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I just wasn't paying attention last night. It's my fault.”

“Sounds familiar.” Karen said, casting a look at her.

Foggy nods at that, before pointing between the two. “Seriously, what’s with the two of you? I know you’re childhood friends but it’s getting a little weird.” He sighs. “You need a dog, Matt.”

Matt scoffs. “I'm not getting a dog.”

“What? You don't like dogs? Who doesn't like dogs?” He asked, sounding offended (but he just likes the sound of having a dog in the office).

“I… I love dogs.” Karen adds.

“Everybody loves dogs.” Anya finishes.

The blind lawyer shakes his head, seeing through their intentions. Suddenly, there was a firm knock on the door, surprising them all.

“Was that a knock?” Foggy said, everyone looking like a deer in headlights.

“Someone's at the door.” Matt clarifies.

Anya blinks. “Our door?”

“Uh…” He shifts his stance. “Karen?”

It took a blonde a moment to realize that she has a job. She nods slowly. “Right.” She begins, a smile slowly growing. “Okay.”

Her heels clicking over to the door, opening it wide enough to watch their visitor turn around, a sly expression on his face.

“Hi.” He said, coming inside. “Do you do walk-ins?”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

They lawyers and the assistant sat at the table in front of their possible, very well mannered and dressed, client talk unafraid about his proposal.

“I represent a consortium with diversified interests in the private sector, both domestic and international. From time to time, we scout the landscape for promising talent to put on retainer.” He explains, which made the Columbia graduates amused.

Foggy chuckles. “Retainer?” He asked, getting a nod of confirmation.

“Why are you approaching us?” Matt asked, quickly with a facade of comfort on his features. “Why not a larger firm, Mr…?”

“Uh, Confederated Global Investments is my employer.” The man replies back hoping to turn this around.

“That's not what I was asking.”

“It's the only name relevant to this discussion, Mr. Murdock.”

“Oh…”

“But, why us?” Anya asked, suspicious as well.

The man opens his mouth to speak, almost surprised by their straightforwardness, but Foggy being the person he is tries to… “polish” his partners words up.

“Ob-Obviously, the larger firms aren't able to… provide the same hands-on attention that we pride ourselves on at Nelson, Hughes and Murdock.” The sandy haired man explains earning another nod from their guest.

“It's a fair question.” He agrees, sitting up straighter. “I'm here because my employer does extensive business in Hell's Kitchen, and who knows it better than three locals who graduated from Columbia Law, cum laude and summa cum laude?

“Uh, the ‘summa’ part is politics.” Foggy said to light the room, which got a laugh.

The man’s smile grows brighter, almost proud at what he was hearing. “You set up shop right here in your backyard despite the fact that all of you were made a very lucrative offer from Landman and Zack in Manhattan where you interned.”

“You've done your homework.” Matt said, his mask going back on after slipping away for a second.

The man shrugs nonchalantly. “My employer expects no less.”

“Then forgive me for being blunt.”

“Uh, ‘B-Blunt’ is a strong word.” Foggy says, nervously.

“In my line of work, I find it refreshing.”

“What is that line of work exactly?” Anya fires back not even hiding her distrusting look.

“What my partners are trying to say is… we're still building a practice, so we're very particular about our clientele.” Foggy intercepts.

“I assure you, all my employer wants is for you to continue to be ethical, decent men and a woman and good lawyers. And for that, for nothing more than your exceptional skills and your discretion…” He reaches into his suit jacket to pull out an envelope, laying it flat on the table and sliding it closer to them. “You'll be fairly compensated.”

Foggy grabs it first, carefully opening it to find a check. It took all his strength to not let his eyes bug out of his head. “Uh-huh. It's… It's fair. That's… that's fair.” He stutters, flashing it to Anya who had the same look when her eyes locked on the numbers.

“Your partner doesn't seem convinced.” The man said, talking about Matt.

“Partners.” Anya corrects.

“Like Foggy said, we're particular about our clientele.” The blind lawyer replies.

The man almost found it funny, and smirked with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I'm curious about your… clientele. Do they all end up working for you after you get them off for murder or just the pretty ones?”

The one question shifted the mood in the lawyers, all suddenly hit with a sense of bitterness, protectiveness and (even more) suspicion. They all gripped whatever they were holding tighter as they glared at their guest.

Matt looked in Karen’s direction who seemed uncomfortable about his retort; and calmly asked, “You, uh, give us a minute, please?”

Karen swallows and nods slowly as she gets up from her seat. Her blue eyes were locked onto the floor the whole time as she walked out the door.

Their guest frowns, adjusting his glasses as he looks ashamed. “I’m sorry. I didn't mean to upset anyone.”

“How did you know about Miss Page's situation?” Matt goes straight to the point. “She was never charged. There was nothing in the papers.”

“I have friends on the force. I hear I'm not the only one.”

Anya tilts her head. “How do you know about that?”

Foggy nervously laughs under his breath. “I think we might be veering off the subject.”

“I understand your concerns, Mr. Murdock, and even to you, Miss Hughes. Perhaps… you should all review one of our cases… before you make a decision? Peace of mind and whatnot.” He said, which Foggy agrees to.

“T-That's a fantastic idea. Guys?”

Anya just shrugs, and Matt replies with, “Yeah, what harm could it do?”

“Excellent.” The man said, joyfully. “You have…” He pulls up his sleeves to look at his Cartier watch. “38 minutes to get to Precinct 15.”

Anya blinks while watching him gather his things. “Pardon?”

“What? Now? What's the case?” Foggy asked, being handed over a folder.

“Everything you need is in this file.” He replies, standing up at the same time the trio did. “Thank you for your time.”

“No. Thank you.”

The man opens the door, pausing briefly to look back at them. “Oh, and Miss Hughes.” He begins, getting her attention. “My condolences. I heard about what happened to your family. They were such lovely people.”

The woman stares at him with confusion as the door closes behind him. She soon felt her friend’s eyes all on her.

“Ann, do you know that man?” Matt asked, with borderline suspicion. 

She shakes her head. “No. I don’t. I mean I… I don’t think so.”

“Okay, I’ll admit that was a little weird, but what is your guys’ problem?” Foggy asked, sounding like a scolding parent. 

“He wouldn't even give us his name, Foggy.” Matt replied.

“You wouldn't care if you could see the zeroes on this check.”

“Yeah, maybe you would if you couldn't.”

“We're running out of time.”

“I'll meet you there.” Matt announces, grabbing his cane as heads for the exit.

Foggy snaps his head in his direction, confused. “Meet me? The hell are you going?” He asked, but was ignored. “Matt!”

“Matt, what the fuck, man?!” Anya yells next just as he was out of the office, disappearing down the hall. She scoffs, running a hand through her curly locks.

“What the fuck crawled up his ass?” 

“I have no idea.”

“I guess we’ll meet him there.” He lets out a heavy sigh as he gathers his own things. “I don’t know how we’re going to get there in less than forty minutes. Jesus.”

“I drove my car. We can just take that.” 

“Oh, thank god, Hughes. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Oh, I try to be.” She starts grabbing her own things, only pausing briefly when she catches a lingering whiff of something.

Do I smell… blood?

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Meanwhile, Matt is following a long distance behind the man, following the sound of his ticking watch. Matt only stops when he hears him getting into the car, eavesdropping.

“It's been taken care of, sir.”

Matt thought about pursuing when heard three cars heading off at the same time, but as he moved ever so slightly he could feel the stitches on his right side pop, making crimson stain his pearly white shirt. He clenches his jaw, using his hand to button his jacket back up. He soon spins on his heels, back in the direction where he’ll have to make a quick stop back at his apartment.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Foggy and Anya sat in front of their potential client, who already had a crazy look in his eyes that overlooked his neutral expression. He was still bruised and bloody, which made the two lawyers hide their discomfort. 

“So what exactly happened, Mr. Healy? In your own words.” Foggy begins, watching him carefully.

“All I wanted was to throw a few balls. The lady at the shoe counter will tell you the same.” The man, Mr. Healy said.

Foggy glanced at his notes. “She also says that you crushed the deceased's skull with a bowling ball.”

“Self-defense. The man and his… whatever they were, they threatened my life.”

“They threatened you, how? Verbally? Physically?” Anya asked, getting a reply that shocks her.

“Which sounds better?” He asked with a tilt in his head.

She blinks. “I’m sorry?”

He takes a deep breath, and bats his eyes in an innocent way. “They threatened me both verbally and physically.”

The Lawyers take a quick look at each, both thinking the same thing.

Foggy clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “So… you say you… didn't know or have never met Mr–” He looks at his notes again quickly. “Prohaszka, Prior to last night?”

“No, but I do regret any injurious consequences my actions may have caused.” Healy replies, bluntly.

Foggy decided to humor him a little. “You have quite the legal vocabulary, Mr. Healy. Am I right in assuming this isn't your first rodeo?”

“I had issues.” His lip twitches into a half smile. “I'm better now.”

“Better… how, exactly?” Anya begins, in disbelief. “‘Cause, No offense, Mr. Healy, from your statement, you sound… unstable.”

“I can be as stable as you want, baby. Just give me the word.”

She purses her lips. “Mr. Healy–”

Foggy touches her shoulder to cut her off. “On second thought Mr. Healy,” He starts helping her get up. “Uh, perhaps our firm isn't the right fit for you.”

Suddenly, their third part walked in looking apologetic.

“Sorry I'm late.” Matt says, closing the door.

Foggy clears his throat again, putting his hand up to his friend’s chest for him to stop. “Oh, no, no. I was just explaining to Mr. Healy that, uh, we have a full caseload right now, so we–”

The brunette smiles. “We'd be happy to represent you, Mr. Healy.”

“What?”

“We're taking the case.”

“Matt…” Anya warns but he’s already taking a seat.

The blind man clears his throat, gesturing for their client to start. “Uh, why don't we start from the beginning? Tell me everything you know.”

And he ignores the heavy sighing from his friends.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

After a few minutes of retelling the events, they all were settled back down in their chairs; Pens and notebooks in hand once more.

“Would you like us to reiterate the terms of attorney-client privilege, Mr. Healy?” Matt asks, listening.

He blinks innocently again. “Think I got it.”

“Then you know anything you tell us stays in this room.”

“Just like church.”

Matt fought the urge to latch on that comment, but he keeps his head straight, going for the prize. “You must be a very important man.”

“Is that a question?” Healy asked, skeptical.

“Statement. It's not every day a global investment firm picks up the tab for a murder suspect.”

“Self-defense.”

“I wonder if you could shed some light on the man that hired us to represent you.”

“Don't think I can, counselor.”

“Can't or you won't?” Matt pressures, feeling his partners’ eyes on him.

“Maybe we should focus on details pertinent to the case?” Foggy suggested.

“Just trying to build a solid defense, and the connection between Mr. Healy and the man that came to our offices might just help prove his innocence.”

“How?” Anya asked, confused.

Matt chuckles quietly. “Maybe they're old friends. Maybe he's a character witness. Or… maybe you were in his employment at the time of the incident.”

“I just wanted to throw a few balls, just like I keep saying.” Healy said, slowly building up a wall (A wall that everyone could now see clearly).

“You go bowling often, Mr. Healy?” Matt questioned, applying more pressure.

His face twitches. “When the mood hits.” 

“And the deceased, he had no motive that you recall?”

Healy exhales deeply, visibly tightening his muscles. “No.”

“You didn't provoke him intentionally or otherwise?” Foggy asked with a slight tilt in his head. 

“Are we breaking for lunch anytime soon?” Healy asked, gulping down the quiver at the end (Both Anya and Matt picked up at how his heart elevated).

“Are you at all afraid of what might happen if we lose this case, Mr. Healy?” Matt asked, keeping calm.

“No.” Then he smiles, creepily. “Are you?”

Foggy takes a deep breath. “Okay. Matt, Ann, a word, please?” He said, standing up. He stands in a far corner, only whispering what’s on his mind when they show up. “We should not be doing this.”

“Doing what?” Matt asked, ‘unaware’. 

“Defending professional criminals.”

“You're the one that keeps saying we need real clients.”

“That's not a client. It's a shark in a skin suit. You, and even she, pegged it back at the office. There's something off about this whole thing.”

Anya nods. “He’s got a point. Look, I too want to know what the fuck’s going on here, but this guy…” She points behind herself. “This guy gives me a really bad feeling, Matt.”

“Yeah!” Foggy defends. “This guy’s a total creep and he’s been really inappropriate since we first got here. Come on, man.”

“We agreed to represent him, guys.” Matt fires back, sternly. “We're gonna try this case and let the jury take it from there.”

Matt leaves first, making Anya throw her hands up and Foggy shake his head.

“Mr. Healy, uh–” He clears his throat while sitting back down. “I suggest we waive criminal procedure law 180.80, give the DA more time to explore a plea. In the meantime, the best thing for you to do is to be forthcoming with us. Together, we'll confront the charges honestly, openly and within the moral confines of the law. Does that sound good to you?”

Healy sighs. “No.”

“Excuse me?” Foggy said, flabbergasted. 

“I want the 180.80 date. If I'm indicted, which we know I will be, we'll waive all hearings and discovery and go directly to trial. Not my first rodeo, remember?”

“You'll need to testify.” Matt said, recollected himself.

“I'm just gonna have faith in our judicial system…” He looks over each and everyone of them, giving them an uncomfortable stare. “And you're gonna do your jobs.”

The two male lawyers held their replies on their tongues as Anya clears her throat, crossing her arms to hide her shiver. This man was… 

Evil.

“That simple?” Matt asked, already knowing the answer.

“That simple. And, uh… as for the man who hired you… all you need to know is his check's gonna clear.”

Anya felt herself twitch under his words, deciding maybe she had enough. She pushes herself up from her seat, replying before her friends could say anything. “Wrap up, I’m going to take a breather.”

She leaves the room, strutting down the hall until she finds a water fountain. She takes a long drink of the lukewarm beverage, before pulling back, hands still grasping the sides. She closes her eyes, taking a few inhales and exhales to get her heart to stop racing.

God, I haven’t felt that much evil since… She frowns heavily, a distant memory coming back painfully enough to give her goosebumps. 

Since my dad. 

She sighs again, bitter at herself for remembering all that. Her thoughts were put on hold when her phone buzzed in her pocket. She almost wonders if it's the guys asking where she is, but instead it’s something else. It’s a news article from Queens that read:

F.E.A.S.T IS NOW STAYING OPEN, THANKS TO A 1.5 MILLION 

DOLLAR DONATION BY ANONYMOUS SOURCE.

For yet another time today, she was battering her eyes in disbelief, and chills were running up and down her spine.

What… in the hell is going on today?

And that was the million dollar question. Because unbeknownst to her and her partners, the strange man that came into their office earlier was back at the bowling alley; Grabbing the gun that their new client, Mr. Healy had used to slaughter.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The trio walk back into their office. Anya, who was still stuck inside her own mind, plopped down in a nearby chair, while the boys went at it.

“You wanna tell me what the hell's going on with you?” Foggy asked, sounding like a parent scolding their child. “First you decide we're taking the case unilaterally and then you cross-examine the guy like we're playing bad cop/worse cop.”

“If we want to keep the lights on, we gotta take some cases for the money.” Matt explains, shrugging. “You were right about that.”

Foggy’s shoulders slacked, frowning. “Okay, for the record, this is the first time you've ever said I was right. I hate it.”

“Sometimes, we have to do things we aren't proud of.”

“Yeah, but…” Foggy struggles with the words. “This can't become what we do.”

Matt scratches the back of his neck, sheepishly. “Yeah, I know.”

“And we have to be on the same team, making decisions together.” 

Matt nods, looking truly sorry. “I got carried away. I'm sorry, Foggy.”

“It's okay.”

Matt puts his fist up, making Foggy chuckle, giving him a quick fistbump.

“So?” Matt said, all ears.

“Okay.” Foggy exhales, straightening his thoughts. “So assuming he's indicted, which, yeah, it's on the DA to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that it wasn't self-defense, shoe girl's DD-5 says that she didn't come out of the back room until after the fight had started, which helps us.”

“And what about Prohaszka's men?”

“They lawyered up. Wouldn't give a five.”

Matt cocks his head. “Since when do the victims of an assault not give a statement?”

“Another chit in our favor.” Foggy said, less amused. “Plus, Healy's pretty banged up. Argue defensive wounds, which makes it look more like a fight and less like an execution.”

“So, you open, I'll sum up. Anya can be our backup in case something goes south.” 

“That sounds good.”

“You okay with being the backup this time, Anya?” Matt asked, which got silence in return. “Anya?”

Foggy looks her way in confusion, which turned into concern when he saw her spacing out. “Uh, Hughes?” He said, snapping his fingers loudly which caught her gaze. “Did you hear what we said?”

She stares at him strangely. “Um…?”

“Are you okay with being the backup in the trial?”

“Uh, y-yeah. Yeah. That’s probably a good idea.” She said, sitting straighter as she rubs her eyes.

Matt frowns, coming to terms that she’s been acting like this since the Police station. “What’s on your mind, Ann?”

Anya sighs, deciding to just lay it all out there. “Did you guys pay my rent for this month?”

“No.” Foggy raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Well, I went to pay for it earlier and my landlord said someone, a friend of mine apparently, already took care of it. Which… is a little weird to me.”

“Maybe, you had a good samaritan.” Matt said, but even he thought it was a little suspicious. 

“Maybe, but… why?” She asks, standing up. “I’m not struggling to pay rent, nor have I ever mentioned to anybody I ever was.”

“You ordered pizza the other night. Maybe you unintentionally seduced the pizza guy.” Foggy replies, trying to ease her worries. It worked, for a second when she chuckled.

“Yeah, I looked so sexy in my oversize pjs and my messed up hair.” She deflated again, thinking. “Maybe it was the guy in the suit earlier.”

Matt’s brows pushed together. “Why would you say that?”

“I don’t know, I mean… he said that strange thing about my parents, which is… far from true, but still, he mentioned them. And why would he even bring that up to me?”

“Are you sure you don't recognize him?”

She shrugs. “Not that I recall. I don’t remember ever seeing him. But again, I was hardly ever home in my early age.”

Matt frowns at this. Being her childhood was enough for him to know that those scummy parents of hers were abusive. Abusive in what way was still a mystery to even him. And as for Foggy, who was copying his old roommate's expression, knew just as much as Matt (She sure didn’t like reliving that part of her life with anybody).

Foggy clenches his jaw for a moment, before putting on a little show. “You know, if they were still alive, I would fight them for making you miserable.”

Anya raises an eyebrow. “Fight with what, exactly?”

He holds his palms up. “With my hands. My fisticuffs.”

“Your fisticuffs?”

“Yeah! My most deadly weapon, Anya! No match for any mere mortal.”

That got her to smirk, and hold a hand over her heart. “Awe, thank you, my knight in shining wool.”

“You’re very welcome, milady.” He says with a bow. “And I even got a trusty sidekick by my side.”

“Sidekick?” Matt said, amused.

“Yeah. It’s time for me to be center stage, my friend.”

“And how do you expect me to fight?”

Foggy pointed to the object. “You’ve got your stick.”

“You expect me to fight with my walking stick?” Matt held it up, playing along.

“Yeah, it’s like a baseball bat.”

“Awe, I got two shining knights in wool.” Anya said, her spirits slightly lifted.

Which seemed to be enough for Foggy who continued to grin ear-to-ear. “See? She's loving it. We’ve got you back, Hughes.”

“Yeah, well I can’t see, but I can hear you smiling, so…” Matt replies, earning an eye roll from the Nelson, and a light jab to the arm.

“Stop with the blind jokes.” He chuckles.

“Oh, never.”

Anya laughs, walking closer to them. “Thanks for that. However, as much as I hate to be a Debbie downer, we probably should cash that check. And maybe have Karen see what she can find out about Confederated Global?”

“That’s probably a good Idea.” Matt agrees.

Foggy nods. “Yeah. Good call.” He peaks over to where the blonde woman should be sitting, but isn't. He raises an eyebrow. “Actually… Where the hell is she?”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

To answer their question on where the blonde was, she was across town, sitting in a conference room where she used to work, carefully taking in everything this man was saying.

“It's a fairly simple form.” The lawyer begins, handing over her a document in a slick black case file. “Here you agree, in writing, to never again disclose information regarding your former employer, the dissolved entity known as Union Allied Construction, or any of its affiliates.”

He continues on even after she opens it up to read over it. “Upon execution of this agreement, the corporate interests, as they currently exist, agree not to pursue legal action against you.”

“Against me?” Karen asked, confused.

“Well, you signed a non-disclosure agreement the day you were hired, Miss Page.”

“Everybody did.”

“Not everyone broke that agreement and distributed confidential information.”

Karen scoffed in disbelief. “I… I exposed criminal activity.”

“And had you taken that information to any law enforcement agency, your rights may have been protected, but instead you went to the–” He shows off a newspaper. “New York Bulletin, a privately-owned news organization.”

“I had nothing to do with that article.”

“So the file you illegally removed from the premises of Union Allied wasn't the same one Mr. Urich refers to in this?” He asked, watching Karen refraining herself. “You see how this complicates things, yes?”

She keeps herself from tensing up with anger. “Daniel Fisher was murdered and your client–” 

“I assure you that any illegal activity associated with Union Allied has been dealt with, thanks very much to you.”

“You're welcome.”

“If you'd like, you can take these to your own representatives, but I'm fairly certain they'll advise you to sign it. And as a show of good faith, my clients would like to offer you a lump sum of six months' salary.”

She raises an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For all your help in the matter and for any stress these events may have caused.” He said, which was something she couldn’t believe she was hearing.

“Stress?” Karen said, dumbfounded. “Someone tried to kill me.”

“And while my clients acknowledge no involvement with that individual or claim legal responsibility for his actions, they do feel it's their non-binding moral obligation to offer you a chance at rebuilding your life.”

“As long as I… keep my mouth shut?”

“It's a clean slate, Miss Page. A chance to put it all behind you.” He explains while grabbing a pen, gently placing it in front of her. “Now, isn't that what you want?”

Isn’t that what you want?

Those words lingered in the air, getting the gears in her head to turn.

Isn’t that what you want?

Did she…

Did she want to start over from all this?

Again?

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

It's late at this scene. The trio of lawyers are sitting around the table, books and devices open as they have a carton of Chinese food next to them.

“Let's pull section 35.15 of the Penal.” Matt replies, thinking things over.

“35.15.” Foggy repeats, typing away on his laptop.

“Then we'll take our facts and fit them to the CJI and the statute.” Matt continues before hearing his friend sigh heavily. “Got the insights?”

“It's still loading. We need better Wi-Fi.”

“We need better everything.” Anya groans, leaning back in her chair and rubbing her face. “Is IKEA’s furniture still cheap?” That made the boys crack a smile.

Foggy points at her with his pen. “Let's do that. Let's win cases, be popular and make money.”

“It's not about that, Foggy.” Matt said, but couldn’t deny that sounded pleasing. 

“I know, but it could be just a little… a smidge.”

Suddenly there was a knock on the door, and Karen peeks her head inside.

“Hey, uh Wi-Fi's acting weird.”

“You find out anything on Confed Global?” Matt asked, getting a nod from her.

“Yeah, uh, it's a subsidiary of a holding company of a loan-out to a holding subsidiary and on and on and on.” She crosses her arms, frowning. “But that dickhead's check cleared in about two seconds.”

“There's your money.”

Anya cocks her head, puzzled. “Well that’s… interesting.”

Foggy sighs again, his attention going back to his screen. He unfortunately was met with an error, claiming that there was no internet connection.  “Bang on the router, will you?” He asked Karen, politely. 

She nods again and starts to leave when–

“Oh, hey, no more long lunches until this is over, okay?” Matt said.

Karen cracks an understanding smile. “You got it.” She leaves, and you could immediately hear her banging on the device.

Foggy throws his hands up with joy when the page is finally loaded. “All right, practice insights for New York State Penal Law 35.15…”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The next day was the trial, and just as planned, Foggy was opening the case to everyone present in the courtroom.

He starts to keep a light pace around the room. “-And in the state of New York, I'll remind you, that my client is not required to prove that he was justified in his actions. Instead, it's up to the prosecution–” Foggy points to the prosecutions at their table. “To prove beyond a reasonable doubt that he was not justified in defending his life. And they will come nowhere close to meeting this burden. At the end of this case… the only verdict that you can render will be not guilty.”

Foggy walks back to his seat, his partners whispering to him that he did a good job before returning their attention to the Judge.

She begins speaking clearly. “Members of the jury, this is an important case, and I have a few additional comments that I want you to consider. If you should fail to agree upon a verdict, we will be forced to…”

Unknowingly to one another, both Matt and Anya failed to listen to the rest of what the Judge had to say when they noticed one of the jury members in the front row. It was a woman, who’s heart was pounding like a drum. It seemed to pick up when Matt recognized the man from their office yesterday by the ticking of his watch; And Anya caught a quick subtle glance behind herself, wiping away the chills she was getting from him.

The two of them both suddenly realized something was definitely off. In the back of their minds they thought:

This is a set up.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

It was now night time. The woman from the jury is walking on the sidewalk, looking like she was heading home before she stumbles across a man she seemed to know and fear.

“All will be over soon, okay?” He begins, sternly. “Just keep it together till the verdict. Can you do that?” She continues to look scared, causing him to sigh. “Look, you ask me, it's almost like they're doing you a favor. I mean, you don't want something like that floating around. Go home. Get some rest. You got a big day tomorrow.”

The woman still looks nervous as the man puts a cigarette in his mouth and gives her the sign to leave. The woman wastes no time to walk away. The man sighs again, pulling out a lighter. But just before he could light his ever craving cigarette, the devil appears and gives him a swift punch in the gut. He gave him a few more when he decided to fight back.

“Stay down.” Matt warns when the man falls, but he doesn't listen. The man gets up and tries to attack again but he gets a kick to his knee, free falling once more. “I said stay down.”

“You son of a bitch!” He snaps, standing up wobbly.

Matt snags him by the collar, pinning him against the wall. “What do you have on her?” He asked, and twisted the man’s wrist.

The man cries in pain. “A tape! Th-There's a tape, okay?”

“What's on it?”

“A mistake she made when she was 19 and pretty, something she don't want her kids to know about.”

“You get rid of it.”

“I-I can't.”

Matt twists his wrist harder, getting another scream. “It's not a discussion.”

“It won't make a difference anyway.” The man winces.

“Who do you work for?”

“I don't know.” His reply earns him a hit in the ribs. “Ah!!”

“I want a name.” Matt hisses.

“There isn't one! That isn't how this works! Look, I walk by a building, if a light's on in the window, I got a job.” He explains, making Matt release him, and he sinks to the ground. “Somewhere there's another light in another building. I don't do this. I'm somebody else's job.”

“You tell her to get herself excused from the jury. Personal reasons, whatever it takes. After that, she never sees you again.” Matt said, cold enough to make sure he gets through his thick skull.

The man scoffs in disbelief. “They'll kill me.”

“Then you'd better leave my city, tonight.”

Matt hits him in the head to give him enough time to vanish. Up above he watches the man squirming around to get up, before running in the direction the woman left in. He sighs mentally, debating if he should follow him or not before he suddenly gets company. 

“Find anything?” Anya asked, strolling up to him with her arms crossed.

“What brings you here?” He asked, still looking in the direction the man went in. 

“Investigating.” She crosses her arms. “So, can we add blackmail to the list?”

“Apparently.”

“This shit’s getting stranger and stranger with each minute passing.”

“Find something?” He asked, interest piqued.

She shrugs. “I told you that things are linking up weirdly. I think it's starting to do that again.” 

“How so?”

“Well… I can give too many details because this is more of a… personal experience, but–” She sighs, straightening up. “Everything I seemed to be in contact with, has suddenly gone from being a bad spot to being something great. Now, I’m not a huge conspiracy nut, but this definitely piqued my interest.”

Another sigh, continuing, “I thought maybe this might have to do with my parents,  we knew someone personally who worked at this charity called F.E.A.S.T. and it was going under. Several hours after I tried to figure out how to help it, I got an alert that somebody gave the charity a large sum of money anonymously. Enough to keep it open for a very long time.”

“And you found this suspicious, how?” Matt asked, slightly confused by this discovery.

“Because, I looked into it. This money came out of nowhere. It came out of literal thin air.” Anya explains with her hands. “And the money is a lot, which I was really surprised about when I discovered they didn’t run a background check on it.”

“How much is a lot?”

“1.5 million.” Despite not seeing his whole face, you could still see the surprise on it. 

1.5?” He said, before scoffing. “And they didn’t run a background check on it?”

“No.” She said, shaking her head. “And this charity welcomed it with open arms. I thought maybe that was it, but I dug deeper. Some people I know, and some people I don’t even know are experiencing stuff like this. Like, there is a shitty situation and all of a sudden it’s good. Like getting a large sum of money, or getting a house, or a new position at a job after losing their own. And this is all like a snap of their fingers. It’s instant. It’s like Hell’s Kitchen has a good samaritan, but at what cost?”

Matt frowns, his thoughts running wild. “Sounds like someone’s pulling some strings here.”

“Exactly my thought. But who? And why?” He grows quiet, long enough for Anya to figure out what he was thinking. “You think it’s connected to this case at the courthouse today?”

“It’s a thought.”

“How? And how did you know about that case?”

“I know one of the jurors, they told me about the case.” A lie, one that she could hear. “And how about you? This ain’t exactly public yet.”

“My family had ties inside.” A lie, one that he could hear. “So what are you thinking, No-Eyes?”

He purses his lips. “I’m thinking someone, maybe the same person you’re referencing, could have its hands in the courthouse. Maybe even in the law. The only problem is, nobody will tell me this guy’s name.”

“Well that’s certainly a problem.” She says, and he nods in agreement.

“Yeah…” He frowns, thinking,

It certainly is.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The next day came soon enough, and the lawyers were holding their breaths at this point, almost praying that this would go smoothly. 

“The court grants the motion to excuse juror number eight from service due to extenuating personal circumstances.” The Judge explains, letting the nervous woman out from her seat, letting a guard guide her away. “The first alternate juror will replace her. Would the defense care to make a closing argument?”

“Yes, Your Honor. Thank you.” Matt says, standing up and guiding himself in front of the jury.

He stands still for a moment and hears a heartbeat that’s lightly pounding from the new juror. Anya picks up on that too, and hides her worried expression.

“What the hell is he doing?” Healy whispers, and Foggy tells him to cool it.

“Mr. Murdock, we're waiting.” The Judge said, making him shake his head apologetically.

“Sorry, Your Honor.” He said, taking a deep breath. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, forgive me if I seem distracted. I've been preoccupied of late with, uh, questions of morality… of right and wrong, good and evil. Sometimes the delineation between the two is a sharp line. Sometimes it's a blur and often it's like… pornography. You just know when you see it.”

That got the people in the courtroom laugh.

“A man is dead. I don't mean to make light of that, but these questions… these questions are vital ones because they tether us to each other to humanity. Not everyone feels this way. Not everyone sees the sharp line, only the blur. A man is dead. Um, a man is dead. And my client, John Healy, took his life.”

Matt points in his table’s direction. “This is not in dispute. It is a matter of record of fact and facts have no moral judgment. They merely state what is. Not what we think of them, not what we feel. They just are. What was in my client's heart when he took Mr. Prohaszka's life, whether he is a good man or something else entirely, is irrelevant. These questions of good and evil, as important as they are, have no place in a court of law. Only the facts matter. 

“My client claims he acted in self-defense. Mr. Prohaszka's associates have refused to make a statement regarding the incident. The only other witness, a frightened young woman, has stated that my client was pleasant and friendly, and that she only saw the struggle with Mr. Prohaszka after it had started. Those are the facts. Based on these and these alone, the prosecution has failed to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that my client was not acting solely in self-defense. And those, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, are the facts.

“My client, based purely on the sanctity of the law which we've all sworn an oath to uphold, must be acquitted of these charges. Now, beyond that, beyond these walls he may well face a judgment of his own making. But here in this courtroom the judgment is yours and yours alone.”

Anya furrows her brows, puzzled.

That’s… oddly specific? 

But she didn’t have the heart to question her friend’s closing statement.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Meanwhile, somewhere in the city, the men working in the shadows were taking a drive. 

“I need to talk to him.” Leland Owsley, the investor, said, clearly irritated.

“He sends his apologies.” The man in the office, James Weasly, replies with his everlasting calm tone.

“I don't care about his… Where is he? This needs attention.”

“He’s indisposed.”

“With what?” Leland asked with a sudden concern.

“Art.” 

“Art who?”

Weasly held a snippy remark on his tongue. “Paintings. His penthouse is finally ready–” He explains getting an eyeroll.

“You're shitting me. Everything's spinning out of whack and he's decorating?”

“The situation is under control, Leland.”

“You've lost your strong-arm and the tape. You got nothing on juror eight now.”

“She's only a piece of the puzzle.”

“You ever try putting a puzzle together with a piece missing? It's damned aggravating.” Leland sighs, shaking his head. “I don't see why we're going through all of this anyway. Just get rid of Healy the way you got rid of the other guy. They find him hanging in his cell, boom-boom, case closed.”

“Rance, Fisher, McClintock, Farnum.” Wesley starts reciting. “We've been leaving a trail of bodies lately, and trails eventually lead somewhere. This… this needed to be handled quietly, within the confines of the law.”

“So you hire a couple of back-door shysters? I know 100 defense attorneys with more experience than the three stooges.”

Wesley scoffs. “It's not their experience that matters. They just opened shop and they're completely clean. Say that about any of the other 100 you know? Huh? Three lawyers above reproach. Self-defense. No questions, no trail.”

Leland chuckles, finding that statement humoring. “No trail, huh?” He shifts in his seat to get a better gaze on him. “You think I didn’t read their names? Don’t tell me that’s the Anya Hughes?”

Wesley just stares with an emotionless face. “And what if it is?” He asked, getting another laugh. “What’s so funny about that?”

“What makes you think she’s going to cooperate? She’s been out from under her father’s thumb for a very long time now, what makes you think she’ll cooperate with Mr. F–”

“She’ll come around. Especially since we have some leverage on her. We can always use her family.”

Leland’s face falls into confusion. “What family? Her parents are dead.”

Wesley smiles mischievously. “You think that girl had only parents?”

Leland bites his lip and looks away. “Whatever.” He replies, waving this off. “Going back to beforehand, there's too much light shining on this situation. I can't move on Prohaszka's holdings until the glare is off.

“Get the papers ready and let my employer worry about the rest.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

In another part of the city, Karen finally made up her mind on what she wanted to do and raced as fast as she could to the address in her hand. She arrived just in time to find the woman she’s been looking for. 

“Mrs. Fisher?” She called out, getting the attention. “Hi. Um, uh. My name's Karen–”

“I know who you are.” 

“I'm sorry. I know how… hard this must be for you.”

Mrs. Fisher scoffs. “My husband was found dead in your apartment. You have no idea how any of this is for me.”

“Nothing ever happened between me and Daniel.” Karen replies, trying to get that out there.

“You think I don't know that? I know how much Danny loved me. Whatever it is you're after, Miss Page, I can't help you.” She said, turning away.

“Union Allied?” Karen spoke, getting her to look back. “They offered me money… a lot of money if I sign an agreement to never talk about what happened. They offer you something like that? They killed Danny. They tried to kill me. And now they just shuffle some papers and change their name and they get away with it?”

Mrs. Fisher swallows the fear and replies, “Let it go.”

“I've tried. It just doesn't feel right.”

“He said the same thing. A few days before he… he said something didn't feel right at work with the numbers and I told him that whatever it was, he had a responsibility to do something about it. I figure I have a couple years before I explain that part to my kids.

“They have to pay for what they've done.”

“They won't listen.”

“We'll make them listen.”

“I already signed. I have two kids, Miss Page, and they're all that matter to me now. If you have anyone that you care about… let it go.”

Mrs. Fisher leaves the blonde behind by going back inside her house. Now Karen was stuck with a thought of…

How could she let this go?

And will she…?

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

And she doesn’t. She arrives at the Bulletin office, catching the last part of a reporter’s phone conversation.

“-Shirley, thanks so much for pushing this through. I… I owe you one. Okay, thanks. Bye.” He had a smile on his face as he hung up the phone, but it disappeared as he looked at a newspaper poll his boss made him do.

Karen wastes no time to knock, waiting for a response.

“Yeah?” He calls out, not looking up.

“Excuse me, Mr. Urich?” She said, opening the door up fully.

“So they tell me.”

“I read your article.” She said, as he stood up.

Urich’s face twisted with different emotions before settling with a fake smile. “About the subway line?”

“Uh, about Union Allied Construction. I, um…” She trails to think as his facial expression fades. “I think there's more to the story… if you're interested.”

And that lit a little spark in step.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The Judge walks back in and takes her seat. “Please be seated.”

Everyone complies immediately. An officer gives the judge a note just as the man from the office, the infamous James Wesly, walks in and sits down at the bench. Matt and Anya picked that up before they heard something familiar. Another juror, an older woman whose heart was about to beat out of her chest. 

“They're hung.” Both of them said, spearing a quick look at one another.

Foggy looked at them worried. “What?”

“Madam Foreperson, it's my understanding from this note that you have been unable to reach a verdict.” The Judge asks, as the old lady stands up in her presence. 

“We have not, Your Honor.”

“Allen charge. She's sending them back in. Still split, DA will retry.” Foggy leans in to their client, explaining carefully. 

“No, they won't. Will they, Mr. Healy?” Matt asked, knowing the answer.

“That was a hell of a speech you gave, Murdock.” Healy said, sincerely. “A hell of a speech.”

Anya shakes her head, and whispers, “Fuck…”

But her and Matt knew this wasn’t over yet.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Frankly, Anya usually would try to stop her masked partner from going overboard, but for this occasion…

This called for her to turn a blind eye, one she was happy to give to him.

She hops out of her hiding spot once she sees the two men starting to spar one another, and immediately opens up the trunk that had its window smashed (All thanks to No-eyes over here). She spots the overstuffed duffle bag, pulling out and peeking around the car to find that Matt had pinned down Mr. Healy to the ground. 

“The man that hired your lawyers, who does he work for?” Matt hissed, putting a piece of sharp glass near his throat.

“You think I'm afraid of you?” Healy spatted, which was the wrong answer. He was soon hit pretty close to the heart with the broken glass. 

Matt pulls it out and places it on his neck again. “Tell me! Who does he work for?”

Healy groans as Anya soon appears with the bag he had, searching through it carefully.

She whistles and taunts, “Damn. You’re really packing, Healy.”

He seemed baffled that she was here too. “You’re really letting him do this to me, sweetheart?!”

She shrugs. “Personally, I don’t condone it, but I don’t really like you that much to care. Or…” She shows off her unusually long nails. “I could poke at you a little.”

Healy looks like he might piss his pants if hasn’t already. “You people are crazy!!!”

“Oh, Shut up!” She steps on his hand hard, causing him to scream. “Who does he work for?!”

“I can't!” He cries, causing the glass by his neck to press down more. 

“I want a name!” Matt yells back.

Healy chokes on the pressure. “Oh, Oh, God! Fisk! Wilson Fisk!”

Matt pulls out the glass and breaks it on the concrete. “You get in your car. If either ever of us see you in Hell's Kitchen again…”

“No.” He croaks while rolling onto all four.

“You do not want to test him, man.” Anya suggested, but he shook his head.

“You think this is still about you? The both of you?!” Healy asked, standing up. “I gave up his name. You don't do that, not to him. He'll find me… and make an example and… then he'll find everyone I've ever cared about and do the same to them.” He looks at them with fearful eyes. “So that no one ever does what I just did.” Then disgust. “You should have just killed me. You cowards.”

Before the vigilantes could say anything, Healy went for the loose spike on the fence, and impaled his head in it. Matt takes a step back in shock while Anya shrieks into her hands.

“Oh, my god…” She chokes, and feels herself grow pale. “Oh, my god. Oh, my god…”

Matt’s jaw twitches as he swallows. He carefully finds her arm, giving a gentle tug. “Let’s go. Let’s step away.” He said, softly once he felt her gaze on him.

Despite being in shock, she was almost, almost hesitant to leave, but she did knowing there was nothing for them to do. Once they were a few blocks away, the tense air was cut away.

“Okay.” Anya breathes, hands curling behind her head. “What kind of power does a name have for you to want to commit suicide?”

Matt finds his hands clenching and unclenching, his mind wandering to dangerous places. “I don’t know.”

“Do you know it? The name?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “You?”

“No.” She sighs and blinks away unwanted tears. “No. It doesn’t ring a bell.” She shifts her weight and asks a heavy question, “What have we gotten into? Can we handle whatever this is?”

Matt grows awfully quiet. He’s silent for so long that she eventually repeats the question with a heavier emotion.

He holds back a quivering lip, saying, “I don’t know.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

On another side of town, a beautiful woman walks through her art exhibition and finds a dashingly dressed man standing still, looking at a canvas painted with shades of different whites. The woman approaches him with a kind smile.

“There's an old children's joke. You hold up a white piece of paper and you ask, ‘What's this?’. ‘A rabbit in a snowstorm’.” She jokes, and looks up at him with joyful eyes. “You interested or just looking?”

“Interested.” The man said, his fingers twitching slightly.

“People always ask me how can we charge so much for what amounts to gradations of white. I tell them it's not about the artist's name or the skill required, not even about the art itself. All that matters is… ‘How does it make you feel’?”

A long heavy silence filled the air, before the man that’ll soon become so important in this world, spoke with emotions so deep in his roots.

.

.

.

.

“It makes me feel alone.”

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-Tag list Is Open-

@uncle-eggy @fangirling-galore @superbreadsoul

[reblrths]

𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚈𝙱𝙾𝙳𝚈 𝚆𝙾𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁𝚂 what it would be like to love you. maxim crane, capitolite.

➶ i recognize that face ! that’s maxim crane, the twenty-eight year old producer/caesar flickerman's co-host from the capitol they’ve been in the capitol around twenty eight years, long enough to gain a reputation for being so debonair & hedonistic. they’re so lucky getting to live in the tribute center for the duration of the games! ( character isn't part of the uprising )

BASICS.

name: maxim crane

age: twenty-eight

gender / pronouns: cis male, he/him

orientation: bisexual

home: capitol

countenance: eight diamonds embedded into skin, four underneath each collarbone; golden body art on arms; three flogging lashes on back

faceclaim: evan roderick

BIOGRAPHY.

the capitol has no shortage of beautiful faces, and you are one more added to the mix. the youngest of three, son to one of the most influential men in the capitol -- the name crane has always been well known. you live most of your life ignorant to the horrors of the world as most capitol residents do. where there are some starving and doing hard labor just to receive scraps, you argue with your siblings over who stole whose shirt and dare to worry about which colors might make your skin look too washed out.

you aren't sure at what age you begin to see it though, but it creeps in over the years just the same. you follow your father around with augustus and learn the ins and outs of his company, but it's clear the only reason you are there is because you are the backup should something happen to your brother. your father doesn't seem as worried about you knowing these things as he is augustus, and he writes livinia off entirely, your mother too worried about finding her someone nice and rich to marry even though you know your sister detests it. and yet despite it, you end up coming to this conclusion: mother and father have expectations for them, their chosen children. augustus and livinia's lives are set up and their destinations are clear. what destination is set for you?

you find yourself lacking. you wander adrift with seemingly no purpose, no real attention from your parents aside from when they require the three of you for things. your troublesome and attention-craving attitude is a nuisance at best, ignored at worst. the one person that sees through it all is cousin seneca -- he was closer to you and your siblings than your own father was, and somehow managed to give each one of you the exact thing you'd been missing in your life. for you, it was the attention you missed and the reassurance that you did not need to have your life set out for you at birth to have purpose.

when he was suddenly gone after the 74th hunger games, you could tell your siblings were just as hurt but it somehow drove the three of you further apart than you already were. through your teens, you heed seneca's advice quietly and feel like a traitor each time you do -- you aren't to even utter the man's name yet his voice rings as clear to you as it was on the day he'd said it. you can make a name for yourself, create your own path in this life -- and so you do.

you demand a position within your father's company, and are shocked when he agrees. perhaps he sees something in you. bold, charming, persuasive, you've made it clear how easily socializing is for you and he knows how valuable you could be to this company. by how easily he relents, you have a sneaking suspicion that perhaps he's playing you for a fool. you're proved right when you are not given the title right below augustus, but made a producer in the televisions department. it feels like a slap to the face, a clear show at how he does not think you to be able to handle this, that you will never be the face of this company. so you become the face of something else -- somehow, through sheer willpower and absolute determination to make these people take you seriously, make your way from behind the screen to in front of it, right there next to caesar flickerman himself.

your reputation grows quickly and messily. the charming golden boy persona who sits next to the very host everyone adores, you quickly become adored just the same. you thrive off of the attention, between being the loudest one in the room, demanding to be looked at, bold clothing and makeup, the flashiest jewelry -- rings adorning each finger, earrings hanging low to your shoulder, even styling your body and altering it designed to turn heads; an even bolder personality, you succeed in receiving that attention you so craved. a string of lost lovers, lavish parties hosted (because if there's one thing capitolites love more than the hunger games, it's a festivity), some ending with waking up in strange environments and no recollection of the night before. they love you, though, oh, they love you. they see your blinding smiles and lap up your charm and endearing playfulness like it's a lifeline. you don’t get the warmth or safety you desire from others, so you create it yourself, a walking invitation for anyone that wants it. that is the attention you begin to thrive off of-- these people you don’t know, the lingering stares and backroom lovers, the sycophancy of it all, in the hopes that it makes up for what you lack where it counts. it never does quite work out the way you want it to, though.

as you surround yourself with these people clawing and nipping at your heels, even then you struggle to admit how lonely it is. perhaps that is why your bed is always fresh with the warmth of another, why you surround yourself with noise so you aren’t reminded of the simple fact that you are, and have been for years, alone. you hide it well, a little too well. a little too much, that’s what you are, but you've known that from the moment you saw how easily the capitol's people's love was won over and the lengths you would go to to have it. a selfish part of you cannot fathom not having it. who are you without the validation of these strangers? you want to please these people, but you suspect that you have crafted your careless and cocky façade a little too strongly. try as you might not to at one point, you care too much.

you promote the games each year, commentary next to caesar, and continue to do exactly what you're expected to on screen. you watch children die and celebrate the victories and each year becomes a little more tense. it's clear that you are still looked down upon by your father. you are the pretty face next to caesar, never taken seriously, as if your messy behavior would warrant any sort of trust. caesar is the face, you are the spare. always the spare.

when you defy them, there is no room for excuses. you realize then just how closely they've been keeping an eye on the crane family, ever since seneca was disposed of -- maybe that's even why they've had you in the public eye for so long, waiting for a slip up, and between the three crane children, you were the one most likely to do just that. all these years, all that effort -- maybe that purpose you thought you'd found has been fake all along.

you hadn't meant to be seen as defying -- you went off script. that's all you did, though now you have three lashes on your back to remind you not to do it again. you know it's more than the script, it's the fact that you briefly mentioned seneca that did it. an accident, a slip up. no one knew your cousin's fate, and the look caesar gave you as it broadcasted live across the country told you everything you needed to know -- punishment was soon to follow.

after that, the gravity of things weighs on you. though the public does not know how grave a mistake you made on tv that day, a clip buried as much as they could, reputations go relatively unscathed but you have sealed your fate indefinitely -- you continue to try to prove yourself as a valuable asset to the company, walking a thin line. there is no room for a mistake to be made, even as the signs of how wrong the capitol is have begun to place in your head. a pretty face for the capitol is all you will be, so long as your father and president snow have anything to do about it.

PINTEREST | SPOTIFY

WANTED CONNECTIONS

any type of lovers: maxim is a slut ok. any sort of affairs I'm down with and so is he.

fre/enemies: though beloved by the captiol, there's gotta be people that do not buy into his golden boy peacock persona. he's annoying and loud. hate him pls.

found family: he SCREAMS found family ok ! he puts on a pretty front but this man is full of crippling self doubt and self hatred! LOVE HIM PLS.