#I’ve spent over TWO YEARS playing this bastard

[szethsmom]

Can’t believe I never shared this here!! Stunning art of my oc by @liltumgrum 🥺

(Posted with permission)

[superpowereddonut]

Sirius Black x Reader

This came to me in a dream and I had to write it down! I've never posted any of my own works anywhere, but figured it's a short little one-shot that I may as well put out there even if no one ever reads it! If I feel inspired I might turn this into a proper fic, but idk yet.

Pairing: Sirius Black x Female!Reader (No use of Y/N)

A/N: set at Hogwarts, fake dating trope

Warnings: Swearing, Sirius isn't gay (even though Wolfstar is obviously canon lol)

Word count: 1401

*****

Barely catching her breath enough to mutter the password, the Gryffindor girl rushed into the common room, all windswept hair, flushed cheeks and wide eyes. She spotted the Marauders all lounging by the fire (except Peter - he was always off snogging Dorcus in a closet these days) and made a beeline straight for them. Remus was squashed awkwardly in an armchair, a book open against his long legs where they were draped over one arm and his back resting against the other. James was sitting up on one end of the adjacent couch, his transfiguration homework in his lap, with Sirius sprawled at the other end, legs stretched out in front of him, head tipped back and eyes closed, listening to the music emanating from the record player nearby.

She felt a twinge of regret when the cosy atmosphere broke as she stormed over, her gaze flicking over each of them before settling on Sirius, who had cracked an eye open to look at her, now standing on the carpet in front of the fire.

“Black, I need you to be my boyfriend.”

James and Remus both snapped their heads up at that, and Sirius’ eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”

“Lucas Davis just asked me out again!” The three boys in front of her seemed to let out a simultaneous groan. They were almost as sick as she was of Davis, the irritating Gryffindor two years above them who had been hellbent on wooing her for almost four months now. Unlike James, who had been smitten with Lily since they were eleven and asked her out at least once a week, Davis was aggressive - cornering her in half-empty hallways only to speak over her, invading her personal space whenever he got the chance, and making creepy sexual innuendos anytime a teacher was out of ear-shot. At this point it didn’t even seem to be about her. He just liked the chase and enjoyed making girls squirm. Even girls who hated his guts.

“Just tell him to piss off”, James suggested with a shrug

“Oh jeez, thanks James! Why didn’t I think of that?” She rolled her eyes, “I’ve told him to piss off a hundred times, in a hundred different ways! But he’s relentless- convinced I’m playing ‘hard to get’ or some bullshit like that. The only thing I think would actually get the misogynistic bastard to leave me alone is if he thinks I’m already seeing someone. So,” she said, turning again to Sirius, “can you just pretend to be my boyfriend, Black?”

“Why me? Ask Remus - you two already spend all your time together, surely dating isn’t that much of a stretch!” She shook her head impatiently, “He’s gayer than Bowie and everyone knows it!”. The boy in question huffed a laugh, “Cheers, love.” She ignored him.

“Get James to do it then!” Sirius exclaimed, and the messy-haired boy next to him opened his mouth, sitting up straighter. He probably would do it, she thought, because he would do just about anything for his friends. The noble idiot.  “Oh please, you think anyone would believe that this lovesick fool has moved on from Lily?” She retorted, making a vague gesture towards James, who just grinned ruefully and relaxed back into his seat, nodding his head in agreement.

“And you think anyone would believe we are a couple?” She paused for a second, unsure of how to answer. Although she and Sirius had always been… sort of… friends, it was largely only because of her friendship with the other Marauders - mainly studying with Remus and playing quidditch with James. While they inevitably spent a lot of time together due to their mutual friends, it was true that they were at each other’s throats more often than not, she supposed. Remus was complaining just last week about their constant bickering and their incessant need to outcompete each other in every little thing. 

She was saved from answering by James. “Actually, a Ravenclaw in our charms class - you know, Macmillan? - asked me if you two were dating a couple of weeks ago.” 

They both turned to look at him, shocked, and he just shrugged, “he said he wanted to ask you to Hogsmeade but wanted to make sure nothing was going on between you and Sirius”. Before she could unscramble her thoughts enough to answer, Remus piped up from his armchair. “A girl in the year below asked me something similar recently. Thought she might have a shot with Sirius, but wasn’t sure. She said something about you two having ‘chemistry’ at that party after the last quidditch match.” She fought the blush that spread across her cheeks at the memory. They’d thrashed Slytherin last month and she’d gotten pretty drunk at the party in Gryffindor tower afterwards. She always got a bit flirty when she drank, and Sirius was a shameless flirt even when he was stone cold sober. They’d traded a few harmless remarks early in the night, and later, though she couldn’t really remember how it happened, she ended up dancing to some ABBA songs with her back pressed against Sirius' chest, his arms around her waist and his hot breath on her neck. It hadn’t led anywhere - in fact she had been pretending it never happened - but she still felt a burning pit in her stomach whenever she thought about the way he had felt pressed against her, or the way he had grinned and licked his lips when she turned around and they danced chest to chest.

She shook herself slightly and forced herself to look at Sirius, who was frowning at Remus. “Plus,” she said bitingly, “you’ve established a pretty solid reputation for fucking anything that moves”. Sirius scowled at her before roughly shoving himself up from the couch and strolling past her to the record player that was now sitting idle, the last track having finished. She watched his tense shoulders as he carefully selected a new record and switched them over. She softened her tone, “I’m sure Davis will move on and start pestering some other poor girl before long. I just need you to play the overprotective boyfriend role until he backs off.” She shared a glance with Remus and James when he still didn’t respond. “Please,” she finally relented. When Black still didn’t answer, now decidedly fiddling with the tuning knobs on the record player, she sighed. She’d have to find another way to deter Davis and it’d have to be soon - she didn’t know how many more times she could hear his sleazy “hiya sweetheart”, before she’d resort to hexing him. And that would probably just make him re-double his efforts.

She barely noted the sound of the gryffindor portrait opening to let someone into the common room, but then- “There ya are sweetheart! Bin lookin’ all over for ya!” She gritted her teeth, turning around to see Lucas Davis stalking towards her, that stupid fucking smirk on his face. “Can’t think why, given that you saw me an hour ago and I told you to ‘leave me the fuck alone’”, she snapped. She could see both Remus and James tense in her peripherals, probably preparing to tell Davis to ‘fuck off’ themselves, but Sirius remained silent behind her. Davis either didn’t notice the two boys glaring at him, or didn’t care, and he only smiled wider, “aw come on princess, don’ be like that!” He whined, “I think you just need-” 

But she never found out what he thought she needed, as Sirius suddenly stepped up to her side, casually slung an arm around her shoulder and drawled, “You heard my girl, fuck off and leave her alone.” Davis visibly recoiled, and she might have laughed at his shocked expression had she not been entirely preoccupied by Sirius' comforting warmth as he leant against her. “Your girl?” He sputtered. 

“My girl.” Sirius repeated, and she could hear the mocking smile in his voice, “Girlfriend, paramour, lover, whatever. The point is: fuck. off.” Even Remus seemed to be hiding a grin as Davis stood there, dumbstruck, his eyes darting between her and Sirius as though stupefied. She relaxed into Sirius embrace and intertwined her fingers with his where they hung over her shoulder. “Bye Davis”, she crooned, with a smug smile. He seemed to struggle for another moment before turning on his heel and striding out the door without another word.

[auseyre]

Legacy is one of the major themes of KinnPorsche, and the show is brimming with examples. Physical legacies like the rings and the house, and so many psychological ones. Legacies of hate and love, of regret and trauma, of abuse, of honesty and deceit. 

We never get to meet papa T(though we get a pretty clear picture of what he was like), so that leaves Korn as the primary arbiter of legacy in the show. In one way or another, he directs almost all of it. And hey, it’s an outsider that wears a tattoo that says ‘there’s no legacy as rich as honesty’ because that sure as hell isn’t a Theerapanyakul motto. There are two specific legacies that I want to mention though. 

“Tragically, your worst enemies will always come from your own household.”

I’ve gushed before over the three sets of brothers and how they’ve defied the legacy of sibling hatred and harm that came before them when it would have been easy to do the opposite. I will always stan sibling love and I adore all three sets of relationships. But the rewatch made me actually delve more into that legacy. 

The first time I watched, I just assumed that Korn and Gun had always been in competition, always hated each other, and that was the legacy that got passed on to their sons, but I don’t think that’s true at all. I think at one time, Gun looked up to and admired his big brother. I think it was them and Nampheung against papa T... or at least Gun thought it was. Until the events at the Kittisiwasds house. 

When everything goes down, Gun isn’t angry, he’s in disbelief, he’s devastated by Korn’s actions, something that I don’t think would be true with the relationship we see between them now. Now, he knows his brother is a cold-hearted bastard. Tellingly, when he finds out Nampheung is alive, he is shocked back to the Gun he was then, not the cold, angry man he is most of the series. 

Korn crafted a new legacy that day, one of broken siblings, competition, distrust, and hatred between the main family and the minor one. And I think he did it deliberately to cover his ass. Who would ever believe a word that came out of the Gun we see against benevolent dictator Korn? Everything Gun said would look like jealousy. As long as Korn kept poking at Gun and the minor family with a stick, he never had to worry about any of them developing a relationship with his sons.

He never had to worry about Gun stumbling onto any information he shouldn’t about Nampheung, Porsche, and Chay. He never had to worry about any of his secrets coming out. Even Kinn didn’t really understand why his uncle hated his family... he thought it was a matter of money and power envy. And Korn wasn’t wrong. It barely took anything for Porsche and Vegas to stumble onto part of the truth, just a little communication.

The kind of communication that Korn spent years sowing distrust to prevent. (Porsche is sorry, not sorry to keep fucking up your shit, Korn.)

That means if you were to encounter the pressures these king snakes exert, your heart would fail to pump blood—that's how strong this is," 

Korn is a king snake. He holds on tight to everything he loves, and everything he hates with the same fervor, constricting until they can’t breathe, until their hearts can’t beat. His sons have learned this lesson well, flailing in his coils their whole lives. Khun is trapped in the house, with lots of toys and some playmates to keep him occupied. Kinn is trapped under the weight of family love and responsibility, and Kim is trapped on a barely visible leash, No matter how much freedom it seems he has, it’s still an illusion. It’s no surprise that they do their best to reject that legacy from Korn. They actively strive to be different from their father in the way that they handle relationships. 

Khun

 Kinn, 

And Kim all let go. 

We know it’s not easy. They all try to be stoic about it, Khun playing it off like he's not hurt, not missing his baby brother and leaving first, Kinn and his stiff upper lip, waiting until Porsche is gone before kicking at the handcuffs, the symbol of them tied together and Kim who tries to stifle all emotion, holding it in until he can’t any longer. We see the heartbreak and regret but they still let go. They will wish and want and ask, but they won’t be their father, won’t tie someone in ways they can’t escape, won’t hold them with lies and manipulation, won’t smother the thing they love until there’s barely any life left. 

There’s a line that Korn uses from the utterly fantastic, amazing fic Wings of a Butterfly https://archiveofourown.org/works/39799374

  .... “you can’t sharpen a blade with silk” and I think about it often okay, because the great irony of Korn’s legacy is that in some ways, Kinn modeled himself after the man Korn pretends to be, not the man he actually is. Yes, he’s more impulsive and irreverent — gifts from his mother as he’s told us, but the kindness, the gentleness, the guy that cares about his people, like Pete said, that’s all from the mask Korn wears. 

Korn spent a lot of years moving pieces on the chessboard, only for everybody else to wind up playing another game entirely. His sons won’t be like him, and his nephews won’t be like the man helped create (Porsche, Porchay, and Pete are sorry, not sorry to fuck up your shit, Korn). He may get to write history, but he won’t get to write the future. 

[player1064]

How about something fluffy fluff where they have been in a situationship/fwb for a few years, both thinking the other one doesn't want anything serious, but irl both are insanely in love with each other and pining, until finally one of them cracks and confesses.

Your drabbles bring me so much joy, thank you. You should also continue the wife-gary saga.

I WANTED TO WRITE SOMETHING DUMB AND SILLY AND FLUFFY BUT OHHHH NO. MY BRAIN HAD OTHER IDEAS. Obviously the other day I was like 'in the wife-gary saga they were fwb who spent lockdown together' and so I wanted to write that but then it hit me just like. just what an Ordeal the lockdowns were and how insane it made everyone. So this came out less 'silly fluff' and a lot more 'earnest pining'. oops?

Also I've mentioned this on the carraville discord but did u guys know Gary and Jamie were literally together when the lockdowns first got announced like they literally watched the broadcast together then like. had to immediately pack up and go home. I feel INSANE every time I think about it. tbh.

---

“Feels a bit like the end of the world,” Jamie says one day, lounging on the sofa while the news plays softly in the background.

Gary looks over at him from where he’s sat a respectable distance away at the other end of the couch. “Yeah,” he says quietly, “it does a bit.”

Jamie had been thinking about saying – well, it doesn’t really matter, because he’s been thinking about saying it for three weeks now and still hasn’t got up the nerve. Instead, he smirks and says “y’know, in all the disaster movies I’ve seen the rich bastards always fuck off somewhere safe, don’t they?” He looks around Gary’s huge living room. “Maybe that pension of yours has finally come in handy, eh?”

“I dunno,” Gary says. “All just feels a bit wrong, to be fair.” He gets up with a sigh, brushes some imaginary lint off his trousers. “You got any more filming to do today, or d’you fancy helping me in kitchen?”

For a brief moment, Jamie considers making up some interview he has to go off and record so that he can avoid another dreaded ‘Gary (who can’t cook) tries to teach Jamie how to cook’ session, but then he remembers that this lockdown thing is already stretching out for weeks and weeks ahead of him, and if he’s going to be stuck here all that time he should probably try pulling his weight a bit more.

“Fine, but I’m not peeling any more fuckin’ carrots.”

*

When Jamie’s loading the dishwasher after dinner, Gary rests a hand on his hip and kisses him, soft and sweet.

“Come to bed?” he murmurs against Jamie’s lips, and Jamie wonders if he even remembers how to deny him anything.

*

Except he does remember how, and he hates himself for it. Because when Gary, already half-asleep, loosely wraps a hand around his wrist and says “stay,” he gently extracts himself from the tangle of sheets and goes back to the spare room.

*

They somehow manage to carry on like this, days spent on zoom calls from separate studies, evenings spent trying to muddle their way through whatever recipes they find online. Nights, more often than not, spent in separate bedrooms.

They’re actually having less sex, now that they’re living under the same roof. Before, every time they’d seen each other had been an excuse to find somewhere private to sneak off together, every accidental touch in studios or in stadiums had felt charged.

Now, they argue over what shows to watch on Netflix. They work out together most mornings in Gary’s little home gym. They stay up far later than two middle aged men have any right to, heckling each other through games of fifa and mario kart.

Sometimes, Jamie looks over at Gary and he’s got that same look in his eye that he normally only gets when he’s about to kiss Jamie. Sometimes Jamie smiles at the expression, starts to lean in, is left confused when Gary blushes and moves away.

Sometimes Gary does kiss him. Sometimes Gary does more than kiss him. It’s easy, familiar. Comforting. It’s a dance they’ve been practicing for four years now.

It’s still just as hard to return to his own bed afterwards as it had been four years ago.

*

Three months becomes six months becomes a year, and Jamie dreads going back to his own house, to the thick layer of dust that’s waiting for him there, to that quiet emptiness that he’s only just learnt to live without.

He almost catches himself thinking that he hates Liverpool.

But life has to go back to normal, that’s what everyone’s saying, so he packs up his things while Gary watches from the doorway of the spare room.

“Stay,” he says.

It’s the first time he’s asked without the excuse of the sleepy post-orgasm haze to hide behind. It’s the first time Jamie has to actually give an answer.

He shrugs, keeps his focus on the suitcase lying open in front of him. “No more lockdowns,” he says, all forced casualness. “’s not like either of us have much use for a housemate.”

“Jamie,” Gary says, taking a step into the room. “Stay.”

Jamie turns to look at him.

Gary won’t meet his eyes, is staring unblinking at a spot on the wall instead, lips pursed tightly together. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides.

Jamie really, really doesn’t want to go home.

“Maybe I can swing another week or two,” he says carefully, reaching out to brush the back of Gary’s hand.

He feels shaky fingers lace with his own, sees Gary’s eyes crinkle in a not-quite-smile. “D’you think y’could stretch it to a month?”

“Hows about a year?”

Gary breathes a heavy sigh of relief, his whole face breaking into a wide grin. “Hows about ten?”

“Fuck, Gary,” Jamie breathes, pulls him in by the front of his shirt. He kisses him firmly, then rests a hand on his cheek and says “rest of our lives, that’s me final offer.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Gary says, and kisses him again.

*

Later, they’re lying in Gary’s bed and Jamie’s not even thinking about the spare room.

Gary’s got the duvet pulled up to cover his bare chest, glasses perched on his nose while he scrolls on his phone.

“You got any plans a month from Thursday?” he asks idly.

“Not had any plans in a year, lad, might take a while for the calendar to fill back up. Why?”

“Fancy gettin’ married?”

Gary’s still just looking at his phone, his tone still light, but there’s a faint blush rising in his cheeks.

“Hmm, I’m still waitin’ on a better offer,” Jamie teases, “but I reckon I can pencil you in.”

[katsushika-division]

Back again to Katsushika Division, 3rd times the charm right? Looming holographically over Death Row Block’s residence, Yuno knocked firmly, noticing Akari Himura answer the door.

“I do not wish to stay long, nor do you. So, mind getting Mashiro down here? Let’s make this a brief conversation…” Yuno crossed his arms as Akihisa appeared, surprised. Why would he even be standing at his door? Sounds like a death wish to him…

Yuno set a package on the doorstep, but still remained silent. Then, he spoke with subzero ice.

“I’m surprised Chuohku is actually being quite idiotic for once, not that this is the first time…”

“Reaper, Sweetheart Killer, High Rise Bomber and Cinder…You’ve seen the antics of my teammates. Poltergeist sending in warnings to spare your precious lives, and Shade rewarding you as an act of innocence.”

“Me? Such injustice has gone too far. Even if you beat my team easily…Our story is only beginning. As far as I know…Your blood is on Chuohku’s hands. Manage to play them hard enough? Your end is with me…”

He slammed the door behind him as he dissolved.

Inside…Was a set off bomb of heavy knock out gas, filling the apartment as they spoke.

“You three all right?” Akihisa gruffly questioned seemingly unaffected by the knock-out gas. “No injuries?” 

“That son of a fucking bitch!” Rintaro growled having shielded Akari during the blast. The two of them also unaffected by the gas. “You good Akari?”

“I’m fine,” Akari assured her older brother looking none the worse for wear. “Not the worst explosion I’ve had the pleasure of having a front-row seat for.” A fierce scowl formed on her face. “The bastard had some nerve doing that shit.”

“Agreed. Touya how are you holding up?” Akihisa looked at the one person who hadn't responded yet.

“I’m fine!” The blue-haired male shouted furring his eyebrows as he tasted the air. “Hmmm…knock out gas. Boooo! He gave us the shit stuff. Still how you guys not asleep?”

“I’ve spent 30 years as a hitman, he’s not the first person to use knock-out gas on me, and certainly won’t be the last I assure you. It takes more than some simple gas to knock me out.” 

“Rin-nii and I spend hours in a cramped space with chemicals far more dangerous than this Touya-nii.”

“So what about you Touya? How the fuck are you still awake?”

“Oh! You’d be surprised how many times people have tried to knock me out. I’m good at fighting off the sleepiness.” Touya smiled.

“Again every time you tell me shit Touya I grow only more fucking concerned,” Rintaro muttered. “Anyway, what are we gonna do about this bitch? He’s got fucking axe to grind.” 

“This…Kamora he wants a fight,” Akihisa declared his usual emotionless face darkening in anger. “So a fight he will get. I don’t take kindly to those harming people I care for. I’ve killed others for less.”

[rococospade]

Have some Letho attempts, in oil paints(!)

Art, life and cat updates under the cut.

Art update:

I’ve opened commissions again for the next two months (October-November 2023). The last one in my queue is nearly finished, and I’m excited to share it — though I’ll have to crop the tumblr version substantially. I’ve also been working on tutorial content for digital painting. Monie’s been poking me for years to do one on sheer fabric, and I’m trying to edit that between other tasks. I’ve thought about doing one for scars as well — is there anything you struggle with that you’d be interested to see a tutorial or tip-sheet for?

In terms of personal work I’ve struggled to connect with my digital painting in the last few months, so I’ve been working more with traditional mediums. I love watercolour, I’ve been fiddling with my oil pastels since I don’t want them to go bad (they keep for about 3 years past opening, apparently) and I’ve wanted to try oil painting for years. Last week I finally took the leap and bought some water soluble oil paints: pictured above is my first attempt with them.

Oil paints are slippery little bastards — I had a teacher tell me “it’s like painting with colourful mud” over a decade ago when discussing them, and that sort of prepared me. I finally get it. They move constantly, even if it looks dry it’s likely not, I have no idea what I’m doing, disposal is a pain, I am wrong at every step, and I love them. Oil painting looks so cool! It’s so much easier to rework than acrylics! This is not always a good thing! I’m having a great time :)

Naturally, upon getting a new and notoriously difficult medium, I dispensed with looking up guides (surely things I watched or read months and years ago are sufficient for right now?) and sat down to screw around with the paints a few evenings ago. This resulted in a muddy mess even with a limited palette, but I’m a toxic goblin who doesn’t learn, so I shrugged and started working with the muddy tones to try and fix it.

@silverscalestudios was kind enough to give me a quick and dirty explanation on workflow when they found out what I was doing. Thank you again for that! I spent a while last night reading about various forms of underpainting because of you, and will give brunaille a try. I knew underpaintings were a thing but I didn’t know *why* or how important they really are — it didn’t occur to me the oil colours would be so transparent. Hopefully the next picture will be a little bit neater as a result of your intervention — thank you so much for taking the time to talk to me about it!

I found some useful videos on YouTube as well, but I’m struggling with colour temperature shifts. Some studies might be in order.

As usual I’m not satisfied with anything I do for long. My current goals are to learn more of the body’s simplified muscle groups, simplify my compositions more, and make more illustrations with character interaction as the focus. Also, I guess, to gain some competence with the mediums I’m playing with — but that’s a bonus more than a goal. Oil pastels especially are just so pleasant to work with that even if I hate the result, the process is too enjoyable to complain. And failure is how we learn.

Potentially useful tip, buried for anyone who read this far: assign yourself studies for the projects you’re currently working on. This took me far too long to learn, but if you struggle with doing general studies for the sake of them, do them to prep for a specific painting instead. If you suspect something will be difficult (the hand gesture, the colour scheme, lighting, expression, whatever) grab or make some ref and doing a couple of studies, so you can fail quickly and make ugly versions. It’s a huge timesaver when it comes to the final piece. My big, detailed paintings usually take 10-20 hours, so I’d like to get any difficult elements sorted before I start whenever possible.

For an example of studies for a painting: the four roughly scribbled Letho’s in coloured pencil on this post — those were done after I had my composition sketched onto the canvas, to figure out what I wanted to do for colours. And I’m glad I did! I tried the analogous scheme on a whim, and if I hadn’t done this study, I’d have played it safe and gone with a mostly neutral palette. Next time I’ll also do some lighting studies so I have a detailed plan for those before I start painting. Traditional media in general involves a lot more concrete planning than digital, and working with it is underscoring how many bad habits I have — especially with massively reworking paintings mid-process.

I did have a photo reference I was using for this painting (one of the images from the rogue warrior reference pack by Noah Bradley) with the lighting and hair modified to try to resemble something I’d seen another digital artist do, and by awkwardly tilting an asaro head in my kitchen to figure out how the lighting would work. There’s a relatively common lighting scheme in anime-esque art where just the tip of the nose is lit. It’s cute, but playing with the asaro head, I found that the top half of the area around the mouth should also catch at least a bit of light. The lighting ended up being repainted into something more standard for this, but you can see the triangle of light on the upper mouth area in the wips.

Life update:

Well, it was a nice run, but spouse and I finally caught corona last month >< that was horrible. I got lucky, in that I only had for a week or so and it was a mild case. Now I’ve mostly recovered except for a cough. “Mild” is still probably the sickest I’ve been in my life. Do not recommend. Will be going for the booster as soon as I’m able to, I do not want that shit ever again.

I’ve been doing a bunch of new things like sashiko (satisfying), trying to make pie crust (hard! But delicious, and the ingredients are cheap enough that I don’t cry over failure. Please give making pie crust a try, if you haven’t, it’s really not that complicated — the recipe I’m using only calls for 3-4 ingredients, and it’s so versatile. We’ve had like four quiches in the last week and a half) and trying to cook more. Adulting is hard. I’m also considering more decorative embroidery attempts, because I’m reentering my goth phase and want to customise my clothes with little mushrooms and skulls :) it would be cute.

About the cats:

Cloud is cancer-free! She has to get rechecks every three months, but the little monster made it. She celebrates by trying to sleep with her butthole on my face, which is terrible. I love her dearly. I wish she would stop with the butthole thing though.

Sheik is currently taking her turn as the cat with medical problems. She couldn’t eat for a few days and the vet rushed us in when we called. The vet came in and informed me that she wasn’t eating… because she had gas. It’s in her small intestine, which isn’t supposed to have gas in it for cats? Good job, you little weirdo. She’s getting further checks or it this month.

We also adopted an adolescent cat. He’s bonded very well with Tez, whom our other cats — well, they don’t hate him, but they’re a bit aloof. Tez is very big and a bit like a bowling ball with teeth, and most of our cats are old (or Jetta, who is full of bitter hate) and do not appreciate being tackled by said bowling ball. The kitten loves him, and Tez seems much happier for the company. He’s more gentle with kittens than adults. Not all of the cats are thrilled, but our oldest queens have accepted the kitten, so it should be smoother sailing from here. Unfortunately they like to play at 8am, so I am suddenly on an adult sleep schedule for the first time since working from home. Nothing like a teenage cat launching himself onto your abdomen to get the day started :) They were yelling at each other as I typed this, but now he’s laying beside me like a prince. … and attacking my cardigan. Nevermind.

Currently trying to find more ways to install cat climbs and enrichment, since we’re running out of corners for cat trees. Debating the merits of a cat run — we have very tall walls, which is neat but also I don’t trust these guys not to fall off. If we could spring for a modular system that would be neat.

If you’re getting two cats, pro tip: get two with similar coat patterns but different sizes. You will hate yourself. It’s very funny, and you can disorient any house guests!

[satashiiwrites]

Snippet sunday

Tagged by @monsterrae1 for a seven snippet sunday. Thanks for the tag Rae! I’m pretty sure @outtoshatter also tagged me for a wip whenever earlier this week when I was mostly focusing on surviving the work week (so thanks Gia!).

Low pressure tagging @outtoshatter (you never said no tag backs!) @tkwritesdumbassassins @alyxmastershipper @westernlarch @missanniewhimsy @whimsyswastry @rosieposiepuddingnpie @quietborderline and whoever else wants to play along

From my rough trade project that I’m yeeting tonight.

Title: Scintillation (excerpt from chapter 3)

Fandom: MCU

Pairings: Winteriron, Erik Killmonger/T’Challa, one sided Stucky. Tony Stark & Ho Yinsen.

Tags/warnings: panic attack this chapter. Erik is a warning in and of himself. Deals with canon events with canon level violence + added sex (not this snippet).

Through the bond, Tony can feel that James is… happy. 

He doesn’t know what to do with this feeling and it’s very distracting. 

“How am I not boring you?”  He doesn’t mean for it to sound defensive but it does. 

James is amused instead of offended. “You’re passionate about figuring things out and it animates you.  Why would I not like something that you find interesting?”

Tony is perplexed. “Most people don’t?”

“I am not most people.  I’m your sentinel.”

If he’s telling the truth, Tony’s often been told to get to the point.  He’d been coached on how to make business presentations and had maybe self-medicated with alcohol for years.  Extremis had put a final kibosh on what little drinking he’d done after the whole palladium-poisoning pity party had blown up in his face. 

What was the point of drinking if you couldn’t get drunk unless you actively were trying to poison yourself?  He’d noticed that James didn’t mind a beer or two but otherwise didn’t really touch the stuff. 

“You don’t drink do you?” Tony asks, already onto the next topic. 

“It doesn’t really do much for me and… well….”

“Well what?”

James’ eyes go unfocused, like he’s seeing straight through Tony.  “We used to party when we were on leave—didn’t get too many of them.  One time me and the Howlies were in London and Steve was spending time with his dame, Peggy, and Howard was with us too… it was a bad bombing that night.  I haven’t… I didn’t like those memories and I associate it with being drunk.”

“When exactly did you become a supe?”

“A supe?” James arches an eyebrow playfully and Tony can feel the teasing tug on their bond. 

“A super soldier.  Like Steve.”

James frowns, thinking which feels like an itch at the back of Tony’s brain now that he’s focusing on how the sentinel feels through their bond. “I… things weren’t normal after he rescued me.”

“You mean the first time?”  Tony doesn’t think that James means Steve’s most recent rescue attempt. 

“Yeah. I mean, I could get drunk but it took a lot.  Was told I was being a right unfunny bastard by Dum Dum because I was hogging the liquor and he wanted me to share.”

“So you were showing signs of the serum?”

James shakes his head minutely, rubbing his hands through his hair and tugging on it to show the question was difficult for him to answer. “I… I think I was starting to come online as a sentinel.”

Tony considers this information which is new.  There’d been many failures over the years to reproduce the super soldier serum that had made Steve. Hell, Extremis’ fix had used his dad’s VitaRays as a starting point to solve the energy overload problems. Tony knew the VitaRays weren’t the part that had worked to make Steve into Captain America, despite some other research to the contrary that SHIELD may or may not have funded. 

“Was Steve online before the serum?”

James’ attention refocuses on Tony.  “Yeah.  I’m pretty sure he came online when his mom died.  She was just like him and both of them wouldn’t stand for any sort of thing they thought was wrong.  I spent a lot of time rescuing Steve after he picked a back alley fight with someone twice his size and three times as mean.”

“I’ve seen pictures of what he looked like before the serum.  It really transformed him.”

“I didn’t recognize him at first when he showed up in Austria. He… it wasn’t just how he looked.  He smelled different.”

“Well he’d been running around dodging bullets and bombs so it makes sense that he’d smell like a war.”

“I’m not talking that.  I’m talking… everyone smells slightly different.  It’s… it’s your smell,” James tries to explain, wrinkling his nose and rubbing it. “Steve smelled different after he became a super soldier.”

“Huh.  What do I smell like?”

James’ smile takes on a hungry edge.  “Darling…”

“What do I smell like to a sentinel?”

Instead of answering, James rolls them so that Tony is beneath him.  Closing his eyes, the sentinel breathes in deeply through his nose twice before he lowers himself to settle his weight between Tony’s legs and press his nose to the angle of Tony’s jaw.  It’s not sexual, the bond hums with intense focus and Tony doesn’t feel trapped so he lightly rests his hands on James’ back. 

“Babe?”

James’ inhale in noisy because he does it with his face pressed against Tony’s, eyes fluttering open as he stares right into Tony’s eyes.  “You smell like home.  Like you’re mine,”

The tenderness of his sentinel’s affection laps at the bond like waves breaking on a distant shore. 

Tony’s never been someone somebody permanently wants.  He’s a one-night stand kind of guy because he gets too attached and then relationships implode—for example Pepper.  With Pepper he’s been able to keep their friendship but it’s not the same as it was.  He can tell sometimes that he tries her patience more than he used to, that he scares her when he does what he has to as Iron Man. 

He’s scared to take that final step with James.  To let him in all the way.  Nobody has liked what they’ve seen when they really look at Tony. They like the shiny baubles and the money.  The things he can do for them or give them.

Everyone tires of him eventually. 

“Darling—I don’t know what you’re thinking about right now but stop it,” James growls and it pulls Tony out of the maelstrom of pity and self-hatred he’d been sinking into. 

James’ hold is now claustrophobic and Tony pushes at him. “Can you please…?”

The sentinel rolls away as if burned and sits up next to Tony.  “Tony?”

“Sorry.  I know it’s too much,” Tony has climbed out of bed and is standing awkwardly next to it. James and Elsa—who he’d forgotten—are both watching him with matching expressions of concern. It’d be funny if Tony wasn’t holding on by his fingernails to stop the panic attack threatening to overwhelm him from taking over. 

Before he can completely shatter, T’Challa’s shields cover his, filling in the widening cracks. He hears a snarl of a big cat and Erik’s concerned “Tones?” before he passes out, overwhelmed. 

[ponstermenis-writing]

✩Hello Mary Lou, Goodbye Heart✩

Johnny Cade & Curly Shepard +Tally

“Is your brother always gonna be here?” Dallas asks, clearly annoyed.

Dallas and Tim met in Juvie last year and hit it off immediately—neither of them were from Tulsa, and both of them were petulant little bastards without a nice bone in their bodies. The two boys were cut from the same cloth, it was only a matter of time before they became inseparable. They both enjoyed causing trouble in their little town—they spent most of their time stealing cigarettes and throwing rocks at people from the roof of the Shepard residence.

The annoying thing about being out of prison is that they didn’t have every waking moment together alone. Dallas had made a little gang of friends that he spent most of his time with—Tim was practically the caretaker for both of his siblings, seeing as their mother was barely home. Seeing as Tim is only nine years old, he couldn’t really get a babysitter. At least, not when Angela wasn’t home.

“I live here.” Curly retorted, lifting his head from his brother’s shoulder to glare at him.

Tim and Dallas were playing cards while Curly watched TV. He didn’t think he was being annoying at all—But Dallas never really liked him. Curly didn’t like him either—he’s an asshole and nobody should be that blonde—but that didn’t stop Tim from hanging with him.

“He’s right, Dal. ‘Can’t really kick him out.” Tim says—mostly just because he enjoyed disagreeing with Dallas. It got him red in face—his brows would pull close together and his body would go tense—Dallas didn’t like being told he was wrong. “Says who?” Dallas murmurs, glaring at the youngest in the room. “Whenever I don’t want Johnny hanging off of me—y’know what I do?”

Tim raises a brow over his cards.

“I drop him off with Ponyboy. Keeps him busy for a while.” Dallas says casually, placing a card down. Curly’s just shocked it wasn’t anything violent. “Well, Curly don’t really have any friends.” Tim shrugs. The boy lifts his head to glare at him, punching him in the arm. “Nuh uh! I’ve got friends!”

“Really?” Tim turns to him with a smirk, nudging him with his shoulder. “Name one.” Curly just frowned, slumping down on the couch and crossing his arms. Tim and Dallas just laughed, turning back to face each other.

“Speaking of,” Tim begins, “How is Cade doing? Haven’t seen him in a while.” He asks, placing a card down as well—it made Dallas roll his eyes. Curly didn’t understand the game but he’s sure Dallas just lost.

”As alright as he can be.“ Dallas shrugs, scoffing a little too himself. “His pops got a few good licks in a few nights ago, Mrs.C ain’t letting him leave her side.” Tim sucks in a sharp breath, his shoulders tensing a little. “Yikes. Sounds like hell.”

“Nawh, He loves it.” Dallas says quickly. Curly’s never met Johnny or seen him with Dallas, but he knows Dallas likes him a lot—Curly’s never heard him say anything bad about the boy, which is a personal record for Dallas Winston who’d shit-talk anyone he knew the name of. “Likes being coddled and shit, y’know how it is.”

Tim just laughs. Angela was the same way—most kids without parents were revolted by the thought of being held, or at least pretended to be. There’s always the few that still think there’s someone out there who’ll love them—begging to be held by anyone with working arms.

Curly didn’t like being held much, it was embarrassing. He hates when Angela kisses him on the head before he heads into school, hates it when Tim ruffles his hair in-front of their gang. He didn’t mind when they did it at home, but more often than not all three of them did their own thing.

Curly mutters a ‘yuck’ from beside his brother, making Dallas raise a brow at him. “You got something to say, Curly?” He bites, glaring down at him. Dallas didn’t like when anyone said anything bad about Johnny—which sucked, because more often than not folks had something to say about him. “No.” Curly murmurs, not looking at him.

Tim watches the exchange, nudging Dallas with his foot. “Y’know, I got an idea.” Tim says, catching Curly’s attention—he still didn’t dare look up at him. “Really? Didn’t know you were capable.” Dallas smirks, making Tim throw his cards at him. “Shut it!” He bites—he’s not really angry, but he can’t really let anyone talk bad about him and get away with it. Even if it was a pal like Dallas.

“As I was saying,” Tim says, leaning back on the couch. “Why don’t we get Cade and Curly together? Might get them both off of our tail.”

Dallas makes a face. “What? Like a fucking play date?” He scoffs. Curly knows the real reason he doesn’t want Johnny meeting him is because he hates Curly like the moon hates the sun. But god forbid he say it or Dallas will slash him with a playing card like Wolverine.

“ ‘M just saying.” Tim shrugs. “Curly clearly needs a friend or two.” He pauses. “Maybe being around him will toughen Johnny up too.”

Dallas scoffs but doesn’t seem to hate the idea as much as he lets on. Dallas looks him up and down—Curly straightens himself up under Dal’s gaze, like a show-pony would. Finally he sighs, shrugging his shoulders loosely. “I dunno. Johnny exactly the ‘meeting new people’ type.”

Tim just stares at him—watching expectantly as Dallas seemed to mull the idea over in his head.

“I’ll bring him around tomorrow.” He says finally, setting down his cards. Curly frowns—he doesn’t really wanna meet new people either. Johnny Cade doesn’t seem like his type of person anyway. “I don’t wanna meet him.” He says grumpily.

Tim just rolls his eyes.

Sure enough, when he woke up the next day Tim was already greasing his hair back. Curly did the same—trying to get his curls to stay flat like Tim’s did, even though he knew it was a loosing battle. Tim rolls his eyes with a smile, taking his comb and helping Curly keep his hair tame.

“You two are up early.” Angela says from behind them, leaning on the doorway. Both boys startle, causing her to giggle. “What’s the occasion?”

“Curly’s got a playdate.“ Tim smirks, ignoring his brother smacking him on the arm. “Do not!” Curly cries angrily, causing both siblings to roll their eyes. “Who’s the unlucky fella’?” Angela asks, ignoring Curly expertly. “Little Johnny Cade, Apparently. Dal’s bringing him over.”

Angela’s eyes go wide and she lets out a laugh. “Him?” She asked incredulously. “He’s so sweet! Don’t sully that poor boy by bringing him around Curly.” Angela smiles teasingly. “Yeah!” Curly calls from behind them both. “Let’s not sully him.”

Tim and Angela both laugh at him, making his cheeks burn red. “Too late, bud. I already said we’d meet ‘em at the lot.” Tim says, pulling his shoes on. Curly groans, refusing to put his sneakers on. “You should’ve said something sooner.” Tim shrugs.

”I did!“ Curly frowned, anger bubbling in his stomach.

He had all the friends he needed. He didn’t need Dallas and Tim setting him up with anybody! Curly wasn’t entirely sure if he was actually angry or just embarrassed. He knew not many folks liked him—it usually didn’t bother the boy much, but knowing that it’s so obvious that his older brother and his douchebag-friend had to make them for him? He’d rather explode.

“Must notta’ heard you.” Tim says, leaning down to slip Curly’s shoes on for him. Curly protested verbally but didn’t dare stop him. Tim tied his shoes up for him and took his hand, dragging him out of the house. Curly ripped his hand away the second the door was closed, following closely behind him while Tim chuckled.

“You don’t gotta’ be so whiny.” Tim says while shutting their chain link fence—it was as held-together as the rest of the house, meaning not at all. “I’m not whining! I just don’t wanna go!” Curly mutters angrily, crossing his arms. “Why not?” Tim asks, raising a brow down at him.

“I don’t even know him!” Curly tries—they both know it’s not the only reason, but Tim was never one to ask him about his feelings. “That’s the whole point of an introduction, Curls.” Tim chuckles, his boots scuffing against the concrete as he walked. “You should know him just on principal—he’s the only other curly-headed colored kid in alla’ Tulsa.”

“So?” Curly retorts angrily. “I thought you said stuff like that don’t matter.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “It don’t.“ he explains horribly. “I’m trying to help your out here. You cant follow me around forever.” Tim sighs, taking an abrupt turn. Curly scurried after him, making an annoyed sound. “I don’t follow you around!” He grumps, making Tim raises an annoyed brow. “Really? What are you doing now?”

Curly just rolled his eyes, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I jus’ don’t get why you’re making me talk to the retarded kid—“ the rest of his complaint was cut off when Tim smacked him, hard, on the back of his head. “You watch your fuckin’ mouth, ya’ hear?” He snarled. Curly didn’t get it, Tim was the one he heard that rumor from. “Shit like that is why I have to make friends for you.” Tim added, rubbing salt into the open wound.

They are both silent until they get to the lot—Tim pushes open the gate and peeks around. “They must not be here yet.” He says simply, leaning against an old car seat.

The gate screeches only a few minutes later—Dallas is saying something he can’t make out, uncharacteristically quiet. Tim perks up—Dallas walks out with his arms crossed, looking behind himself.

“Where is he?” Curly asks confusedly, not seeing anyone else. Dallas sighs loudly, glancing behind himself and saying something.

A boy peeks his head out from behind him, big black eyes taking everything in—he glanced between Curly and Tim quietly. Dallas lightly shoved him forward, making the boy finally get infront of him.

Johnnny was little—Dallas was a head-and-a-half taller than him, and he was dressed in too-big clothes that didn’t help. His dark hair was long and curly, bangs falling over his face when he ducked his head down. He was only a few months older than Curly was—but he sure didn’t look it.

Curly glanced back at Tim, eyeing him with an expression that read ‘seriously?’.

“Hey Johnnycake.” Tim says, smiling down at him—Curly cant remember the last time his smile didn’t have something mean and violent hidden behind it. Johnny lifted his head and smiled back, his finger tugging on the frayed edge of his shirt—he’s pretty sure he’s seen Sodapop wear it before. “Hey Tim.” He mutters, standing up straighter when Dallas nudges him.

Curly’s feet were suddenly stuck to the ground at the sight of his face. He had a big purple bruise on his left eye—there was a bandaid on his chin that most likely had a nasty cut underneath. While he looked a lot like a toddler—the cuts on his face and bags under his eyes aged him up enough to be a believable 7 year old.

Curly knew you had to be a pretty tuff fella’ to have cuts and scars like that—he must’ve gotten into a fight. And, he is friends with Dallas Winston—clearly he has to have a violent streak one way or another, right?

Not to mention the shiny piece of metal in his ear—Tim, Dallas, and Darry were the only guy Curly knew with pierced ears. And they were all big an tuff—it’s gotta be a symbol for something. Tim wouldn’t let Curly get one cus’ he’s too young.

Dallas, always the patient man, immediately gets annoyed of sitting there in the blazing sun. “They don’t bite.” He says, crossing his arms. “Introduces yourselves.”

Its aimed at Johnny and Curly, of course. Curly is the first to step forward���straightening up his back and tilting up his chin in a way he hopes is intimidating. He can hear Tim groan in annoyance from behind him. “Curly Shepard.” He says, holding his hand out. Much to Curly’s chagrin—Johnny doesn’t look intimidated at all. Actually, he’s almost sure he sees an amused smile on his lips.

“Johnny Cade.” He replies, shaking his hand. Curly feels a little satisfied when he feels Johnny’s hand quivering in his own—until he remembers that Johnny’s whole body does that all the time.

By the time he looked up, Tim and Dallas were already walking off. Curly bit back the urge to yell at them to come over—instead tugging his hand away. “It sucks that we have to do this.” He says immediately—The silence on Johnny’s end is already starting to grate at him. Was he sizing Curly up? Preparing for a fight? Or did he just not find him interesting enough to talk to?

So, Curly did what he does best.

Covering up his own fear by making fun of someone else. Something he had picked up from Tim and never really learned how to get rid of.

“Just because you’re a wuss—now I gotta waste my Sunday.”

Johnny frowns, his back stiffening slightly as he looked Curly up and down—like he was trying to decide if he was messing with him or not. “That’s not why we’re doing this.” He says defensively. Curly turns to him, raising a brow just like Tim does. “Yeah? Why are we then?” He challenges, stepping close to him. Johnny doesn’t move back, doesn’t even flinch.

“Dally said it’s cus’ you don’t got any friends.“

The words gave Curly pause, making him falter—Johnny surely noticed. He didn’t make fun of him for it, oddly enough—it almost looked like he was going to apologize. “He said that?” Curly asked before he could. “Yup.” Johnny nods, shrugging his shoulders. “I outta beat his ass.” Curly says in a way he hopes it threatening.

Johnny scoffs. Like, actually scoffs at him. Curly turns back to him and raises a brow. “Mrs.C says you don’t gotta fight everyone you disagree with.” He says simply, like he knows better. “Yeah? Why’s that?” Curly asks annoyedly—Tim and Angela both told him the exact opposite. “It makes you look stupid.” Johnny says, not looking at him.

“You wanna know what else makes you look stupid?” Curly murmurs angrily, glaring at him. “Not being able to come up with your own words. Do you always repeat everything your mommy tells you?”

Johnny doesn’t flinch at all at the comment. Curly vividly remembers Dallas saying Johnny couldn’t handle people making fun of him which was why Dal always had to be around. Either he was lying on purpose or Dallas just simply didn’t know him right. “I could use my own words, but I don’t think you’d like it.” Johnny responds immediately—Curly’s not use to banter going this fast. He’s used to being the smarter one.

“You’d better what what you say to me.“ Curly bit out—he spared a glance at Tim, who didn’t seem to notice the younger boys at all. Johnny noticed him looking, smiling just a little. “Yeah? Your friends gonna come defend you?”

Okay, that stung.

Curly quickly learned that Johnny was a lot cooler than Dallas made him out to be.

After they got past their initial ‘I hate you’ phase, they quickly figured out they had a lot in common. Johnny knew everything there was to know about cars and movies—he talked too much about ‘the gang’ for Curly’s liking, but he knew any complaint would be met with a joke about him having no friends.

That’s the other thing, Johnny could be mean if he wanted to be. Dallas made it seem like he was incapable of it—that hearing a mean word out of Johnny’s mouth was like hearing a dog meow. Curly actually found himself enjoying talking to him—they spent a lot of time just joking back and forth. But Johnny never went too far with it—he always apologized when he thought he did. Curly isn’t used to anyone apologizing to him so much, but he couldn’t bring himself to hate it.

Johnny was an anomaly in Curly’s head. He wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to punch him in the face or beg him to stay. Johnny could be mean, calling him names or saying just the right thing to rile him up—but also perfectly able to be kind to him. It threw him for a loop, like he was going on a broken Ferris wheel that keep throwing him back and forth right when he least expected it. Curly didn’t know how to respond to most of the things he said—Luckily, Johnny didn’t talk much more than he had to.

Curly didn’t realize it was lunch time until Dallas and Tim both walked back to them. They both looked equally amused to see the two talking non-stop. “Told you.” He heard Tim whisper, nudging Dallas in the arm. Dallas only rolled his eye, pulling Johnny up to his feet. “Go ahead and say goodbye, Mrs.C wants you back for lunch.” He tells him.

Curly feels satisfactions curl in his gut when Johnny frowns—usually folks awaited the moment they could get away from him.

Curly decided then that he liked Johnny Cade. He didn’t let him bother him that his whole opinion of the boy was dependent o if Johnny liked him back.

“Bye Curly.” He says, lifting his hand up to wave at him. Curly shoved his hands in his pockets, nodding but not opening his mouth. Tim kicked his shoe lightly—So Johnny and Dallas couldn’t see—and glared at him. Curly sighed, smiling back at Johnny. “Bye, Johnny. Mayeb I’ll see you around.”

“Maybe.” Johnny says, giving him a little smirk that only the two of them could see. Dallas dragged him off a moment later, the two heading right of back to the Curtis residence.

Tim waited until they were both gone to ruffle Curly’s hair—messing up that morning’s hard work. “How’d it go?” He askes, smiling down at him genuinely. Like he was proud, or something. “Alright.” Curly says with a shrug, already walking off.

He never told Tim that he actually appreciated it. He never plans on it either.

[shih-coulda-had-it]

FEBUWHUMP DAY TEN | DIFFICULTY BREATHING | wc: 600

>:3c

//

The blurry sight of All for One’s upside-down smug face is unfortunately the first thing Sorahiko sees when he wakes, but it’s not the first thing he registers. No, the first thing Sorahiko processes past the lingering haze of sedation is the shortness of his breath. His lungs are working double-time, even though he must have spent the past few hours in a deep sleep.

“Hello there,” says All for One warmly.

“What,” says Sorahiko, uncomprehending. The dots are slow to connect, but connect they do. If his head is being pillowed on All for One’s stomach, then his shoulders are braced against the bastard’s lap, and further down… Sorahiko’s brain crabs up to speed, and instinctively, he tries to burst out of the position with Jet.

His ribs ache. 

“Careful,” All for One chides, grabbing the flailing hands and pinning them high and to the side, forcing Sorahiko to arch his back and gasp. Covetous red eyes curve in a slight smile. “You make a lovely picture, Sorahiko, but I’m afraid I must insist on having you not faint right away.”

“You piece of shit,” he wheezes. “You--you son of a bitch--”

“A better reaction than to the collar, I suppose.”

Sorahiko attempts to jack-knife his way free, but All for One only reacts by hauling his body up closer. The last futile heave leaves Sorahiko totally breathless; he barely has enough energy to squirm, to see if the black corset will go slick with sweat and slide below his ribs. No dice.

All for One didn’t even have the decency to lace the damn thing over an undershirt. The unforgiving material digs into pale flesh without mercy, and his stomach is on the verge of turning over on itself. Perhaps the only thing saving Sorahiko from blacking out entirely is the comforting thought that All for One’s left his threadbare flannel pants alone.

“Get this off me.”.

“In due time.”

“Now.”

He pretends to be dismayed. “My dear, I’ve spent so much effort planning this evening! Why, ever since I heard from a little bird that you wanted to shut down the trafficking ring here, stalled only by a lack of knowledge of who, specifically, was running what… Well, I had to offer my help.”

“And why,” Sorahiko grounds out, “does that need me wearing restrictive lingerie?”

“The answer is two-fold.”

“Pretty sure it boils down to, ‘I’m a perverted opportunist.’”

In response, All for One tugs one of Sorahiko’s hands over and lightly kisses the whitened knuckles. Absolutely not, an inner voice shrieks, recoiling from the gentle, poisonous touch. Sorahiko digs his heels against cool white sheets and forces himself to focus on the unasked-for garment. On the unasked-for assistance regarding the Nā Shadā ringleaders.

“Is it so much to give up?” All for One asks innocently. “Information is priceless. You won’t have to worry about anything except gathering names and faces, because I can take care of the rest. Honestly, my dear, this is as strong as a cover you’ll get.”

“I quit playing arm-candy years ago,” Sorahiko snaps.

“The role hasn’t changed much.”

“If that’s true, then I don’t have to be wearing--”

“The corset is non-negotiable,” says All for One in a lofty manner. “Color and design, of course, we can discuss. I’ve invested in several sets.” He rubs his jaw over Sorahiko’s head in some pantomime of a nuzzle. “You’re a flight risk without collateral, Gran Torino. And you won’t have to wear it long. The next auction is sooner than you’d think.”

Sorahiko pictures tearing out the man’s throat with his teeth.

[graveyardpublishing]

Delilah

“Ugh, this stain will never come out,” I huff, dabbing a rag soaked in hydrogen peroxide on the bloodstain covering my white dress.

Why do I wear white?

“Ughhhh…” I glance over at the man attempting to crawl away with two broken kneecaps.

“Oh baby, you’re not going to get very far like that,” I muse, tsking my finger in his direction even though his back is turned to me. My eyes flickering back to the stain in annoyance.

I stride across the room, my heels clicking as I move over the bloodstained concrete floors. When I reach him, I step my heel onto the back of his already broken knee — the baseball bat was a great choice for that. I've always wanted to do that. It’s basically on this weird bucket list I have, to commit murders and torture that are so beyond mafia cliche, but for some reason, it’s just really fucking fun.

“Ahhh!” he screams, pounding his fist into the concrete floor and trying to claw away from me.

“Where are you trying to go, baby?” I hum. “I thought we were getting along so well.”

“Crazy bitch,” he manages to stutter out, and I lift my foot slightly.

“Now, sweetheart, if we’re going to be name-calling here, I prefer Cunt.”

“What the hell do you want!” he demands, and I can feel my lips curving into a deadly smile.

I take my foot off of his broken knee, stepping around to face him. I crouch down on my haunches in front of him, reaching my hand out to roughly grip his chin and force him to look at me. I dig my nails into his cheek, feeling the heat of his blood on my fingertips as my nails slip into the wounds.

“I want the location of the girl,” I tell him, my voice low, emotionless, a drastic contrast to the evil smile on my face.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he manages to grit through clenched teeth.

Very few things get my apathy to warm into any kind of emotion, but when bastards bring innocent children into their games, it strikes a chord deep in my gut. A chord that twists until I’m tied into knots. When I feel any sense of emotion at all, I want to set everything around me on fire, burn it to a crisp, everything and everyone. Nothing is safe, not even myself.

“Look, I’ve been friendly, but you’re really trying my patience, and you already ruined my dress. You’re not earning yourself any points here,” I tell him, dropping my grip on his face and watching as he barely manages to hold himself up.

“Fine, we’ll just do this the hard way then,” I huff out, covering my emotions under a veil that I have spent years masterfully crafting.

I had plans tonight, and he is ruining what is supposed to be my night off.

I kick off my heels and walk barefoot across the cold concrete warehouse floor. Making my way to the corner, I turn the stereo on. There’s no need for the neighbors to call in the screams. Swaying as the soothing melody of Death in My Pocket by Machine Gun Kelly starts to blast through the speakers.

I look back, and Marco is still trying to crawl away; it's almost cute the effort he is putting in. If I had the time tonight, I would have set him out for a hunt, but I just don’t have time to play cat and mouse.

Turning, I walk to the center of the room, grabbing a chain and pulling it hard to gain enough slack. Then I walk back over to Marco, pulling his ankle until he screams, but I barely even hear him over the music. I wrap the chain around his ankles, making sure it’s tight enough that he can’t get out anytime soon.

We might be here for a while.

I smile as I drop my hold on his ankles. Walking back over to the center of the room, I grab the remote control and turn on the pulley system. It starts to retract the chain, pulling Marco across the warehouse floor. He screams, thrashing himself at the unforgiving floor, and does everything he can think to do to make the pain stop. I stop the pulley as Marco appears in front of me.

Looking down, I smile at him.

“Hey there, ready to talk?” I ask, cocking my head to the side. “Or shall we keep going?”

“Who. Are. You?” he manages to grit out, his chest heaving, the pain probably close to unbearable at this point. Even the most brutal criminals, the ones that have been through Hell and back, have never been a match for my level of sadistic torment.

I bend down once more, tilting my head to the side and flipping my blond hair over my shoulder, revealing the small witch hat tattooed just behind my left ear. When I look down, Marco seems as if he just saw a ghost.

My name is Delilah Beau, but they call me La Bruja — The Witch.

When I was sixteen, I took my first life, and from that day forward, I knew what Mama always said was true; I had the hands of Angels guiding me — of something a little more sinister. Maybe it was the demons of the Devil himself that set me on this path of murder — the ability to slip in and out of situations without anyone even realizing I’m there — and the inability to feel anything. Then again, maybe God and his Angels really are guiding me, looking out for me every step of the way.

Apathy is a gift I was given, and that shit was wrapped up neatly with a fucking bow on top.

A handful of people know who I truly am, that know the face associated with the name and the job. Most people that meet The Witch don’t live long enough to tell anyone about it.

I think it takes a special kind of psycho to be able to convince everyone they’re not a killer. My family thinks I’m an assistant at a big law firm downtown. In that regard, I’m a bit of a psychopath. You know, like Bundy? Because no one truly suspects me, but I am capable of caring for people; I love my brother and my best friend. So I may be a psychopath, but perhaps I’m just a girl who lacks the ability to feel like normal people do.

I slightly shake my head, forcing the thoughts away, this is no time to debate how I got this gift or why.

“Are you ready to talk now?” I ask Marco one last time, my finger hovering over the pulley button.

“She’s… They’re keeping her at a safe house in Savage,” he grits out.

“Address,” I demand.

“I don’t know,” he grits out in pain. “It’s a blue single-story house at the end of Deadman Road.”

“Creative,” I deadpan.

“How many guards?” I ask.

“They rotate, two at a time,” he pants, his pain beginning to get the better of him. Such a shame, this could have been fun.

“I was going to keep you here until I found her, but you have been super helpful. How about I just let you go?” I ask with a sweet smile on my face and my voice laced with honey.

His eyes snap open and meet mine, panic racing across his features. “They’ll kill me, I-I only talked ’cause I’m already a fucking deadman. If you don’t kill me, they will,” he pleads.

I bend over, gripping his face and turning him to look at me. “I know,” I whisper just loud enough to be heard over the music.

“I mean, didn’t you read the handbook, Marcus? Snitches get stitches.”

“Just fucking kill me, you witch!” he screams, and I grin.

“Don’t worry too much. You won’t make it very far,” I shrug my shoulder as I lightly kick one of his busted knees. I stand and press the button to lower the pulley and it provides just enough slack to undo the chain around his ankles.

“You’re free to go,” I tell him, waving him off as I turn around and walk back to the stereo, turning off the music.

I turn around, and Marco is attempting to crawl across the floor once more. It’s actually quite comical at this point. Turning towards the large gray cabinet, I punch in my code and open the metal door, tapping my finger against my chin while I muse over the various items inside until finding the perfect one. I smile, reaching in and pulling out my brand new compact bow.

Perfect for hunting, my second favorite pastime.

I  reach back into the cabinet for an arrow, feeling the feathers before loading it into the bow, pulling back the string. I catch sight of Marco’s retreating form and release. The arrow leaves the bow in a whirl, flying across the room and landing right on the target. I smile, turning around and replacing the bow in its spot, then I spin back around and happily skip my bare feet across the cold floor. When I reach Marco, there is a small pool of blood forming underneath his still body. I bend over and wrench the arrow from his back; it managed to go through his ribs and right to his heart.

Exactly where I wanted it.

I smile as I bring the arrow up to study the blood dripping off of it. Looking down at Marco’s body, I huff, realizing I’m going to have to drag him to the incinerator. What a pain in the ass. However, that new addition to the warehouse has already made body disposal a hundred times easier than it used to be. I got the tip from an old friend, and needless to say, she knows her stuff when it comes to body clean-up.

I glance around the room until I spot a rope. Walking over, I grab it and then amble back over to Marco’s dead body. I tie the rope around his ankles, then use it to pull him across the floor — deadweight is not easy to move; it’s a hell of a workout.

We reach the corner where the incinerator is, and I grab the pulley chain above it. I learned quickly that no matter how much I work out, I cannot lift men over two hundred and fifty pounds of dead weight into the incinerator on my own. So I managed to install another pulley over here that allows me not to have to worry about doing all the heavy lifting.

I press the button, lifting the body, and I shove him into the opening, making sure to slowly lower the pulley chain as I push him further inside.

When he is safely tucked in, I close the door, locking it, and start to turn on the burners, clicking the button until the flames appear.

I turn the timer on and walk out of the warehouse. By the time I get back here, there won't be anything left of Marco but ash.

* * *

Alex: Where are you?

Alex: Thought we were doing movies.

Delilah: Something came up, I can still come by. But I’ll be late.

Alex: Do I want to know?

Delilah: Do you ever?

Alex: Fair point.

Alex: I’m pretty worn out, let’s just meet up tomorrow or something.

Delilah: Sure, we can hit up Crazy Eights.

Alex: You know I hate that place, it’s such a dive.

Delilah: Someone new bought it, looks like it’s been cleaned up a bit. I might swing by tonight and check it out. I’ll report back.

Alex: Deal.

Alex: Text me when you’re home.

I stash my phone in the glove box of my car and check my jacket pockets for my weapons. Pushing open the door to my blacked-out Camaro — a car I only own because I have too much money for my own good — I step out onto the darkened street. I adjust my hair in the reflection of my window, then turn and saunter over to the last, blue, single-story house on Deadman Road.

Seriously, this town either lacks originality when naming places, or they were really shooting for a theme here. If you live in Savage, California, you probably live on a street named something like Deadman Road. You party down at Switchblade Cove. And you raft down Arterial Creek in the summer.

See? Theme.

I make my way up the driveway, unzipping my leather jacket to reveal high-waisted black leather pants and a red crop top. I knock on the door and put on my best sexy smirk, the kind that screams, I’m a paid escort.

The door opens slowly revealing one fairly large man. “What do you want?” he asks in a gruff tone.

I reach my hand up and twirl a finger through my long blond hair. “Hey sexy,” I coo. “Can I come in?” I purr as he looks me up and down.

“Depends. Why are you here?” he asks, opening the door a little wider to show another man leaning against a wall across the room. It’s a move that says they’re trying to figure out why I’m here, but also they don’t want me to leave even if I’m at the wrong house.

“I’m bought and paid for, for you and your friend,” I nod my head to the man across the room.

“Oh, yeah?” he asks, his eyebrows rising in surprise.

“Yup. Bossman said you guys earned a bonus. I’m the bonus,” I say as I pull my jacket open and twirl around on my stilettos.

“Seems like a good bonus to me. What do you think, Chad?” the man in front of me calls over his shoulder to his friend. Turning back to look me over once more, biting his lip and eye-fucking me before I even make it through the door.

“I agree,” Chad says as he makes his way across the room.

“Shall we go to a room?” I ask, batting my eyelashes at them dramatically.

“Who first?” Chad asks.

“First? Oh, I was just planning on a doubleheader,” I say and wink at them, watching their eyes grow wide with excitement. They reach their fists out for a bump, and then Chad grabs my hand and leads me down the hallway with the other one trailing behind us.

“What’s your name, handsome?” I ask over my shoulder.

“Mike.”

We make it into a back bedroom, minimally decorated, just the basics; a bed, empty closet, a single nightstand, and an attached bath. Chad pulls me over to the bed, sitting down on the end, and I move to straddle his thighs. He begins to run his hands over me, moving to roughly grip my ass as I feel Mike push in behind me. I press my chest close to Chad and quickly manage to grab two switchblades before Mike pushes my jacket off my shoulders.

I run my hand over Chad’s back, and as he moves to pepper kisses along my neck, I run a blade across his. Feeling the blood from his wound start to pour down my chest, I manage to lay him down on the mattress. Mike, too distracted at the prospect of my ass to care that his friend is dying in front of him.

I reach my hand back, gripping Mike’s wrist and urging him onto the bed by his friend that’s bleeding out. Quickly I move over to his lap, and he doesn’t even notice the blood as he grips my ass.

I stab my sharp blade up into his throat, twisting it before pulling it back out, and more blood coats my chest, effectively ruining my entire outfit but turning it a pretty shade of red. I slide off Mike’s lap, closing my blades and picking up my jacket from the ground. I shrug it over my shoulders and zip it up to cover the blood. Moving into the bathroom, I wash my hands, throat, and my blades. Then I turn the lights off as I walk out of the room and check the other bedrooms until I find her.

“Hey, are you Bethany?” I ask the scared girl, who’s huddled up in the corner. She doesn't move or answer me. I reach into my back pocket and pull out a picture her mother gave me. It’s a sweet photo, she told me she keeps it in her purse at all times, and it shows Bethany sitting on her mom's lap at her last birthday party.

“Here, your mommy gave this to me. She misses you, so I’m here to bring you home,” I inform her, slowly moving across the room.

“No!” she screams. “Stay away, I don’t know you!” she yells, and I try hard not to laugh. At least she’s a fighter; I love that for her.

“Church,” I tell her softly.

“What?” she asks, perking up slightly.

“Church, your mommy told me to tell you I’m going to take you to church.”

“You do know my Mom!” she yells and nearly launches herself off the bed and into my arms. She nuzzles her head into my shoulder, hugging me tightly.

“Yeah, sweetie, let's get you home,” I whisper.

Hugging her close to me, we make our way out of the dark room, down the hallway, and out the front door. I move quickly down the street, and when I get to my car, I don’t even bother to set her down. I slide in with her still clinging to me like a spider monkey until I have to put her in the passenger seat and buckle her in.

“What about the bad men?” she whispers as I start my car.

“They will never be able to hurt you again, I promise,” I tell her as we pull away from the curb, and I race down the street. If I have anything to do with it, no one will ever lay a hand on her again.

[jackrrabbit]

open season thirsts [9/?] /// Iwaizumi x f!Reader x Oikawa (18+)

Request: This is cringe so i understand if u ignore this lmao. Mafia!iwakawa found out that reader is kidnapped by their enemies

A/N: Dude I write anime character reader insert fanfiction, I’ve transcended cringe at this point. BUT I hope it’s cool I angled it a bit darker bc I’m nasty and awful :.)

Setup: reader is the daughter of the former family head, Oikawa’s the current boss, and Iwa’s his right hand man. You’re all childhood friends (Oikawa was your father’s protege before his retirement).

Tags/warnings: um…mafia, kidnapping, genre-appropriate violence/blood/death/murder (not reader), yandere/possessive tendencies, patronizing treatment, restraints/gag/blindfold, mentions of crying, “princess”, ‘family’ just refers to the organization (no one is related other than reader and her father), all characters are adults

“Do you think she’ll be crying?”

There’s blood on the floor. Iwaizumi shifts where he’s crouching so that the edge of his shoe doesn’t touch it—bloodstains are such a pain to get out of leather. “What?”

“I mean, when we find her.” Oikawa nudges the body over with one hand and inspects the blank, glassy look pasted over the man’s face. “This one’s done. I think we’re good here.”

Iwaizumi straightens, throwing a cold glance down to confirm before turning back to his partner. “We should be thorough. This wouldn’t’ve happened if there weren’t rats running around in the first place—and what the hell does that mean? Why would she be crying?”

“Don’t you think she might be scared? She’s such a crybaby.”

Oikawa’s running fingers through his hair now to slick back the strands that fell out of place during the struggle, smoothing his hands down the pressed fabric of his suit to flatten out any stray wrinkles, and Iwaizumi recognizes the gestures against his will. Oikawa’s preening—freshening himself up so he looks good when they find you. God forbid the moron look anything less than his best in front of you, even though you’ve probably been tied to a chair for the better part of a week and you won’t give a fuck what they look like as long as they’re cutting the ropes off.

Not that Iwaizumi can really blame him. Yes, Oikawa’s a vain bastard, but Iwaizumi feels it too—the nervousness, this excitement at the thought of seeing you again. It’s been four months since you insisted on leaving the compound to live independently—and didn’t they tell you it was going to end badly? Iwaizumi spent weeks trying to convince you that it was stupid to play pretend at a normal life (“come on princess, you know your father wants you to stay here, you know it’s not safe”), but you just had to pack your bags in the middle of the night and leave the family behind. You’ve always been headstrong. Neither of them want you to go through any hardship, but at least this time maybe you’ll have learned your lesson. Maybe this was for the best.

Well…it’s a lot easier for him to see it that way when he’s standing ankle deep in the bodies of the people who stole you. As much as Iwaizumi wants to have you back now, it’ll have to wait until he’s sure that every single one of your kidnappers is dead.

“She’s not a crybaby. Not anymore,” he says. It’s true that you used to cry whenever you were scared as a kid, and it didn’t help that as the former boss’s daughter you had plenty to be scared of. Iwaizumi has fond memories of wiping your tears away and telling you it was going to be alright after your father reprimanded you for something you did wrong, and it doesn’t surprise him that Oikawa feels the same way. You’ve always been so hard to pin down—always slipping up, always talking back—except when you’re crying. Back then, it was the closest you ever came to relying on the two of them.

But that was a long time ago. You’ve toughened up since you were little. It’s been years since Iwaizumi’s seen you cry.

“I guess,” Oikawa whines, stepping smoothly over another man lying prone on the floor as he makes his way to the backroom where you’re being kept. “But don’t you miss it? She was so cute back then.”

“She’s still…” Iwaizumi trails off, wondering if you can hear them through the locked door between you. If your eardrums are undamaged from the gunshots (Iwaizumi made sure to use a silencer, but you’re sensitive), you’ll be pissed if you hear him call you cute. “…She’ll be happy to see us either way. She’s been here for days.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Then let’s hurry up and get it over with.”

One of the men on the ground is making a kind of…gurgling sound, and Oikawa kneels halfway down to make sure he’s not going to get back up, peeling back the edge of the bomber jacket the man is wearing and revealing a red stain spreading out from behind his ribs. “This is the last one. Still holding on, but he’ll bleed out by the time we take her out of here.”

“Stand back,” Iwaizumi says flatly, and as soon as Oikawa is out of range, a final gunshot cracks through the room to finish the dying man off.

“Oh—putting him out of his misery, are we? How generous.”

“Not generous. Impatient.”

Iwaizumi scans the room again, counting the bodies, checking for any last subtle breaths. There’s none. The door to the backroom is locked from the outside only—clearly your kidnappers were more concerned about you escaping than the possibility of anyone getting through the small army of guards outside the door. He only has to flip the lock and then the handle is yielding under his grip.

And it’s just like he pictured it. You’re tied to a chair, black cords looping around your ankles and your waist and your wrists and binding you to the wood. You look, predictably, like you’ve been wearing the same clothes for a week, but still—even with the greasy hair, even with the mussed clothing, even with your face obscured by a wad of fabric gagged into your mouth and a blindfold—Iwaizumi can’t help the rush of relief that comes from seeing you alive. And you’re safe, too. Now that they’re here for you.

Oikawa goes to you first, and Iwaizumi lets him. Oikawa’s the family head so he’s the first one who gets to touch you. Iwaizumi knows that’s how it is. Oikawa bends down next to you and when his hands go to undo the gag first instead of the ropes or the blindfold, Iwaizumi rolls his eyes privately. Fuck, how badly does the idiot want to see her cry?

The fabric is soaked with spit when Oikawa pulls it out of your mouth—you must have been trying to talk with it in. Maybe you were screaming. Iwaizumi wishes idly that he’d left some of the men outside alive—it could have been slower, he could have really made it hurt—but the wave of fury passes. It’s done. You’re fine. You’re safe now.

You open and close your jaw a bit, stretching out the sore muscles, and when you finally speak your voice is hoarse from a combination of neglect and likely dehydration. “Hajime? T—Tooru? It’s…you, right?”

“How did you know?” Oikawa pouts.

“I, um, heard the shots…I know what your gun sounds like—” Oikawa’s thumb rubs lightly over your cheek as you’re talking (probably subconscious, Iwaizumi doubts he even knows he’s doing it) and you jerk away from his hand. “Don’t touch me like that! You smell like blood.”

“Oh…I’m sorry,” Oikawa laughs softly, not moving his hand from your face. You’re still blindfolded, but he’s staring at you anyway in pure rapture. The wriggly movements of your body against the rope tell Iwaizumi that you’re waiting for them to untie you, but he holds back—considering the way Oikawa’s drinking in this image of you, it seems like he wants to savor this moment a little longer. Iwaizumi can’t say he doesn’t understand.

Really, it’s just that you’re usually so hard to pin down.

“Are you—aren’t you going to untie me?” Your voice sounds a little nervous now. Iwaizumi’s getting tired of waiting for his turn to touch—he kneels next to you, across from Oikawa, and laces his fingers into yours, pulling your hand awkwardly away from the place where it’s still tied to the arm of the chair. “—Hajime? Is that you?”

“Just give us a minute, princess,” he breathes, folding each finger down until your smaller hand is swallowed up in his grip.

“Were you scared?” Oikawa asks, and Iwaizumi wonders if it’s as obvious to you as it is to him that part of Oikawa wants the answer to be yes.

“No, um…” You’re turning your head blindly between the two of them, obviously trying to sort out whose hand is whose—who’s touching you, and where—but does it really matter? As long as it’s one of them? “I wasn’t. Not really. I…I knew you would come.”

“Good girl, good girl.” Oikawa’s hand tilts your chin up. “Are you ready to come home then? If you can admit it, I’ll untie you.”

“Come on…” It doesn’t feel quite right to hold you hostage like this, but then again Iwaizumi’s lost his sense of what right is when it comes to you. Maybe love isn’t supposed to be this obsessive, but by now it’s been so long that neither of them can tell the difference. Can you really fault them for that?

“It’s okay, Hajime, um—I’m ready.” You swallow roughly, turning back to where you think Oikawa is stroking your face. “Tooru…can I go back to the compound? I want to…go back…”

“You want us to take you back,” Oikawa corrects, cupping your cheek, careful all the time not to let the streak of blood on his hand meet your skin. “You want to come home.”

[storiesofsvu]

Hidden Desires Ch 1

Warnings: Language. Talk of the SVU job Dom!Alex cabot x f!reader A/N: this chapter’s a little short but the best lil intro fo this story that I could get.

**

You weren’t surprised when the door to your office at Hogan Place was thrown open by Sonya Paxton, a frustrated groan of a yell echoing through the room.

“Stabler?” Both you and Alex replied practically in unison, a mirroring grin on both your faces.

“If I have to deal with that smug bastard for one more minute I will end up punching him in the face.” She dropped her bag into a spare chair, moving towards where the two of you were indulging in a late lunch at the small conference table, grabbing the extra take out container left for her. “I swear that man needs to unwind, this whole separation thing definitely isn’t helping. He needs a good fuck.” Your laugh loudly echoed throughout the office as both sets of eyes landed on you.

“Don’t fucking look at me! I’d rather fuck Benson and I don’t even like women.”

“Well he won’t go near me and Alex sure as hell isn’t about to change lanes this late in the game.” Sonya moved through your office with ease, having spent multiple working lunches and dinners there, “And stop lying, I’ve heard stories about you kissing girls before.”

“I! Hey! That was high school, spin the bottle was involved! That totally doesn’t count!” Alex laughed at your reply, shooting back quickly,

“Doesn’t matter the circumstances, if you’ve kissed a girl, you’ve kissed a girl. Count me intrigued for this story…spill.” You shot her a glare across the table,

“Sounds like Cabot wants to make-out.” Sonya smirked, making Alex sputter in response, praying internally that her cheeks weren’t as flushed as they felt.

“No! Hey! I just want to hear the story!”

“Party in high school, we were playing spin the bottle, it landed on a girl, we briefly kissed as two sixteen year old girls would kiss, end of story.”

“Yeah but your experience of two sixteen year old girls kissing is very different from Alex’s.” Sonya called from across the room, “You’re out of Jameson’s.” You scoffed at the older woman’s comment, watching her pull the bottle of Lagavulin out,

“Hey! That’s the good stuff! At least go for the Jim! And if I remember correctly, the Jameson’s was your bottle you left here because for some reason my office is the hot spot.”

“Fine.” She shot you a grin, switching the bottles in her hand before grabbing a glass and moving back to the table before dropping into the chair across from the two of you. “So..I’ve got a Romeo and Juliet clause, girl’s mother’s calling the charges, not even the girl.”

“Is it statutory?” You quirked a brow, taking another bite of pad Thai.

“Sixteen and twenty.” Sonya sighed, reaching for the container of food, “SVU’s going over things to try and figure out when it started to try and iron things out.”

“So Stabler’s being a dick ‘cause he’s all ‘ooo I have daughters, this hits home harder than normal ‘cause I’m a parent’” You rolled your eyes, Alex nearly snorting at your comment, knowing just how exactly true it was. Stabler was always up on his high horse when it came to cases involving kids even remotely the same as his own.

“Yeah. What’ve you got?” Sonya asked, attention directed to you.

“He said she said, teacher and student. Gonorrhoea discovery was the only reason there was a disclosure. Kid claims the teacher raped him, teachers claiming the other way around, I just granted a warrant for the collection of her abortion remains so SVU better not be about to fuck me over.”

“Good to know Donnelly’ll be on your ass and not mine.” Sonya replied, both of your gazes landed on Alex, her cheeks breaking out into a smile at the heat of your eyes.

“I’ve got a gang rape by three women on a male stripper at a bachelorette party that may also be linked to the murder of the third female rapist.” She smirked at the expressions of the two of you, unable to hold back the laughter.

“Are you kidding me? That’s way better!” Sonya let out a defeated huff, falling back into her chair.

“A male victim? Who’s a stripper? That’s gonna be a hard case.”

“That’s not even the brunt of it.” Alex definitely smirked at the way you leaned against the table, eager to hear more of the story, “One of the accused perpetrators…Pam Adler.”

“Shut the fuck up…” You were the first to reply, Alex giving a knowing nod at your outburst. Adler was a criminal defence attorney, you’d all gone up against her a few times in the past years, and you were the only one to have won, and even then it was only by a hair.

The three of you continued on your usual casual lunch for about another hour until your phone pinged, calling you away to the precinct. Sonya, Alex and you were all A.D.A’s in New York, you’d swapped departments a few times, but the D.A’s office found you all best suited in SVU, though you still picked up the occasional homicide case, especially when SVU was slow. You were the newest out of the other women, climbing your way up the ladder as everyone else had before you. You’d been surprised when Sonya took you under her wing, backing you up on cases you brought before the grand jury, she always had your back, defending you more than once when you thought you were about to get steamrolled. Alex was a bit of a struggle, you couldn’t lie, she intimidated you like no tomorrow, despite the fact that you’d actually gone to college together. The woman was powerful, classy, even in her first year as an A.D.A she was a fucking legend, and that, that made you think she’d absolutely hate you when it was decided the three of you would be splitting sex crimes.

Instead, she’d given you a small smile, wishing you the best in the department before whisking off to a crime scene. You were thankful when the three of you fell into a routine of talking over cases together, a second and third eye on the evidence and each other’s arguments/questioning was always a good thing, and you had some weird niche that simply worked flawlessly. You’d grown closer with Alex, back in college you had a handful of mutual friends, she helped you study for a few classes she’d already passed, and you spent a few parties together. The alcohol kicking one of your asses more than you’d expected meaning that one of you slept it off in the other’s apartment on more than one occasion.

Alex would never admit it, wanting to respect your sexuality, but she’d had a little bit of a crush on you since school, she’d always thought you were attractive, hoping that some college experimentation would help you change your mind but it never happened. She simply held back, knowing that you could be a good friend, especially once you joined the D.A’s office. She kept her thoughts to herself, knowing that sharing them wouldn’t exactly get her anywhere, she was simply thankful for the fact of having a friendship with you, only her most deep thoughts coming to the surface when she felt the most alone wishing that it was you by her side instead of the coldness of nothing.

[blue-sterling0357]

More black butler x Balance: unlimited incorrect quotes (FT. me:- Millie)

Millie: In your opinion, what’s the height of stupidity? Sebastian: *turning to Grell* How tall are you?

---------

Millie, holding a python: Guys I impulsively bought a snake, what do I name him Ciel: You did WHAT– Sebastian: William Snakepeare

---------

Daisuke: Hey, you want some leftovers? Millie: What's that? Daisuke: You've never had leftovers??? Millie: No, because I'm not a quitter.

---------

Sebastian: *Gets down on one knee* Millie: Oh my god, it’s finally happening. Sebastian: *Falls over* Millie: The poison is kicking in.

---------

Daisuke: You lying, cheating, piece of shit! Haru: Oh yeah? You’re the idiot who thinks you can get away with everything you do. WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD Daisuke: I’m leaving you and I’M TAKING MILLIE WITH ME Suzue, picking up the monopoly board: I think we’re gonna stop playing now.

---------

Haru: Who the fuck added me to a fucking group chat? Daisuke: >:O language Ciel: Yeah watch your fucking language Suzue: OKAY WHO TAUGHT CIEL THE FUCK WORD? Sebastian: 'The fuck word'. Millie: Are you stupid? You guys use the f word all the time Ciel: Oh my god she censored it Sebastian: Say fuck, Millie. Ciel: Do it, Millie. Say fuck.

---------

Haru: That bastard isn’t answering his phone Millie: I’ll call Haru: Suzue and I have both tried six times each, what makes you thi- Daisuke: Hello?

---------

Haru: How did none of you hear what I just said? Suzue: I’ve been zoned out for the past two and a half hours. Millie: I got distracted about halfway through. Daisuke: Ignoring you was a conscious decision.

---------

Suzue: Is stabbing someone immoral? Millie: Not if they consent to it. Daisuke: Depends who you’re stabbing. Haru: YES?!?

---------

Sebastian: In light of what you did for me, you can hug me for four to five seconds. Millie: FORTY FIVE SECONDS?!? :D Sebastian: No! Four to five seconds! Millie: Too late!!! >:)

---------

Sebastian: Can you keep a secret? Millie: Do you know anything about my life? Sebastian: No I do not. Good point.

---------

Suzue: Where's Millie, Daisuke, and Sebastian? Ciel: They're playing hide and seek. Suzue: Where? Ciel: I don't think you get how this game works.

---------

Suzue: Favorite horror movie? Millie: It Daisuke: Saw Sebastian: Annabelle Ciel: High School Musical. after watching it I spent all my middle school years terrified that the entire school would start singing something and I’d be the only one who didn’t know the lyrics

---------

Suzue: Poison is a magic transmutation potion that turns people into corpses. Millie: This knife is actually a magic wand. Daisuke: Meet me in the Denny’s parking lot for a wizard duel. Sebastian: *cocks gun* Magic missile. Ciel: What the fuck is wrong with you people.

---------

Suzue: Bye Millie! Bye Daisuke! Bye Sebastian! Bye Ciel! Bye Millie! Daisuke: You said ‘bye Millie’ twice. Suzue: I like Millie.

---------

Suzue: You really put aside everything and came all this way for me? How did you even get here so fast? Millie: Several traffic violations. Daisuke: Three counts of resisting arrest. Sebastian: Roughly thirteen cans of energy drinks. Ciel: Also, that’s not our car.

---------

Suzue: What did you guys get in your yearbook? Millie: 'Prettiest Smile' Daisuke: 'Nicest Personality' Ciel: 'Most likely to start a bar fight' Sebastian: 'Least likely to start a bar fight, but most likely to win one'

--------

Ciel: Nothing in life is free. Suzue: Love is free! Daisuke: Adventure is free. Sebastian: Knowledge is free. Millie: Everything is free if you take it without paying.

---------

Sebastian: Name a more iconic duo than my crippling fear of abandonment and my anxiety. I'll wait. Millie: You and me!!! Sebastian, tearing up: Okay

---------

Sebastian: This is such a bad idea. Millie: Then why are you coming along? Sebastian: One of us need to be able to talk the cops out of arresting us when this inevitably goes wrong.

---------

Sebastian: You love me, right, Millie? Millie: Normally, I’d say yes without hesitation, but I feel like this is going somewhere and I don’t like it.

---------

Sebastian: I think I'm having a mid-life crisis. Millie: You're like 100+ years old Sebastian: I MIGHT DIE AT 3,000!

---------

Sebastian: You're 'the second worst thing to ever happen to those orphans', what does that mean? Millie: It means i was second worst thing to happen to those orphans. Sebastian: but what’s the first worst thing? *Awkward pause* Millie: Sebastian, they...they weren’t always orphans. Sebastian: ...

---------

Sebastian: You're right. Millie: That's... That's an unusual phrase for you. Did you just learn it?

---------

Ciel: I slept for almost 12 hours but I might still be tired so lets go for 12 more just incase. Millie: Ciel, that's a coma. Ciel: Sounds festive.

---------

Ciel: Don’t worry, I have a few knives up my sleeve. Millie: I think you mean cards. Ciel, pulling knives out of their sleeves: No, I do not.

---------

Daisuke: What time is it? Suzue: I don’t know; pass me that saxophone and we’ll find out Suzue: *Plays sax loudly and extremely out of tune* Millie: WHO THE FUCK IS PLAYING THE SAXOPHONE AT TWO IN THE MORNING Suzue: It’s 2 am

---------

Sebastian: I know you snuck out last night, Ciel. Millie: Play dumb! Ciel: Who's Ciel? Millie: NOT THAT DUMB!!!

---------

Sebastian: While I’m gone, Ciel, you’re in charge. Ciel: Yes!!! Sebastian, whispering: Millie, you’re secretly in charge. Millie: Obviously.

---------

*Sebastian and Ciel sitting in jail together* Ciel: So who should we call? Sebastian: I’d call Millie, but I feel safer in jail

---------

Sebastian: What do you think Millie will do for a distraction? Ciel: They’ll probably, like, make a noise or throw a rock. That’s what I would do. *Building explodes and several car alarms go off* Ciel: ... or they could do that.

---------

Sebastian: If I accidentally sat on a voodoo doll of myself, would I be trapped forever in that position, doomed to starve to death? Millie: How am I supposed to know? Ciel: You say, as if we don’t use you as a source of knowledge of the occult. Millie: *sighs* Millie: You wouldn't be trapped.

---------

Sebastian: Sometimes I drink milk straight out of the container. Millie: The cow??? Sebastian: What? Ciel: Lady Millie, W H Y?

---------

Sebastian: Ok, maybe playing ‘whose family is most dysfunctional’ wasn’t the best idea we’ve had. Millie's been crying in the bathroom for an hour. We can’t get her out...

---------

Ciel: We need to get through this locked door. Daisuke, give me your credit card. Daisuke: Here. Ciel, pocketing it: Thanks. Millie, kick down the door.

---------

Daisuke: Who thinks I can fit 15 marshmallows in my mouth? Millie: You’re a hazard to society Suzue: And a coward. DO TWENTY.

---------

Daisuke: Why are you on the floor? Suzue: I'm depressed. Suzue: Also I was stabbed, can you get Millie, please.

---------

Daisuke: I trust Suzue. Millie: You think she knows what she's doing? Daisuke: I wouldn't go that far.

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

The emotionless club quotes

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

Daisuke, banging on the door: Claude! Open up! Claude: Well, it all started when I was a kid... Millie: No, he meant- Sebastian: Let him finish.

---------

Daisuke, about Claude: Apparently we’re getting someone new in the group. Millie: Are we stealing them? Sebastian: New or used? Daisuke: Wonderful responses, both of you.

---------

Daisuke: I think we're missing something. Claude: Teamwork? Millie: Cohesion? Sebastian: A general sense of what we’re doing?

---------

Daisuke: Self care is actually getting into fights with randoms in dark alleys. Claude: No, self care is stuff like taking a bubble bath, or putting on a lot of makeup if you like it, or taking a nice warm nap! Millie: Self care is the burning heat when rage washes over you!! Self care is when you feel the bones crack under your powerful fists!! Self care is the fear in your enemies’ eyes!!! Sebastian: Lmao self care is taking your birthday cake just so I can eat the frosting. Daisuke: If you touch my birthday cake I’ll make you eat your hands.

---------

Daisuke: Care for another sundae, weenie? Claude: I am not a weenie! Millie: Relax, you’re among friends. *raises their drink* Claude: My friends don’t hang out at Weenie Hut Jr’s. Sebastian: You tell ‘em, Claude! *sips their drink* Claude: Sebastian, what’re you doing here? Sebastian: I’m always here on Double Weenie Wednesdays.

---------

Daisuke: On the count of three, what's your favorite cake? One, two, three- Daisuke and Millie, in unison: Chocolate cake peanut butter frosting with chocolate chunks! Sebastian: Our turn, Claude! One, two, three- vanilla! Claude, deadpan: I've never had cake, what is cake?

---------

Daisuke, setting down a card: Ace of spades Claude, pulling out an Uno card: +4 Millie, pulling out a Pokémon card: Jolteon, I choose you Sebastian, trembling: What are we playing

---------

Daisuke: *Gently taps table* Claude: *Taps back* Millie: What are they doing? Sebastian: Morse code. Daisuke: *Aggressively taps table* Claude: *Slams hands down* YOU TAKE THAT BACK-

---------

Daisuke: Can I be frank with you guys? Claude: Sure, but I don’t see how changing your name is gonna help. Millie: Can I still be Millie? Sebastian: Shh, let Frank speak.

---------

Cop: You’re receiving a ticket for having three people on one motorcycle. Daisuke: Shit. Claude: Wait, three? Cop: Yeah? Millie: OH MY GOD SEBASTIAN FELL OFF!!!

---------

Daisuke: Why is Claude so sad? Millie: He took one of those “Which Character Are You?” quizzes Daisuke: And...? Daisuke: He got Sebastian.

[yesimwriting]

A Knife in the Back

A/N felt like coming back to writing here now that it’s summer and i’m working on rediscovering myself in order to deal with some mental health stuff. What’s a better thing to come back with than my roots? 

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x reader 

Background: This is very much inspired by the main relationship dynamic in the Hulu show ‘The Great’ (if you haven’t watched it and have a hulu subscription and are old enough I’d def recommend it). Basically this is just playing into the ‘i love you, but i’m supposed to want to kill you’ trope. Also inspired by Taylor Swift’s ‘My Tears Ricochet’ (i’m obsessed with the line ‘you had to kill me, but it killed you just the same’) 

Summary: Y/n has been groomed her entire life to take over as head of a major gang. Recently, she’s been working with the Crows. Tonight, though, she’s being put to the ultimate test of loyalty. No longer is this a game of cat and unaware mouse, because now she’s supposed to kill Kaz Brekker. 

this ends on a cliffhanger bc i wanted to do a two-part thing, so let me know if you’d be interested in that or want to be tagged :))

I was first exposed to the concept of taking someone’s life when I was about seven. I don’t remember what happened, but I remember that Cassandra hadn’t meant for me to find out about it. She didn’t take any care to keep it from me, but she didn’t exactly want me walking into her office after she slit the throat of the merchant that tried taking advantage of her.

She had blinked at me, then, before telling me that forcing death was just a part of life. She didn’t react when I ran out into the hall to throw up after the man’s blood soaked into my socks. She rubbed my back gently and told me that soon I’d learn how to kill efficiently so that I wouldn’t have to stomach much.

I was ten when Cassandra made good on that promise. I still remember the day she taught me how to kill with calculation. We spent the day together, plunging blades into foam mannequins. She presented me with my first dagger that day. 

That was years ago, and somehow, by some kind of miracle, I had avoided ever having to kill someone. Cassandra raised me, meaning that there’s always been someone else around to do the dirty work. Either Cassandra would do the ugly part of a job for me or one of her upper ranking underlings would be around in order to spare me.

But today is the day where all of that changes. Not only do I have to kill someone, but I have to kill Kaz Brekker. The pit in my stomach should only exist because of my fear of retaliation. I should only be concerned about what the Bastard of the Barrel will do if he realizes my betrayal, but that’s not why I’ve felt sick all day. 

When I first started playing double agent, I didn’t think it’d end like this for so many reasons. Cassandra never told me that her overall goal was to have Kaz Brekker killed. I also really, really didn’t expect to see Kaz as a person, let alone... 

I don’t even know. I just--I hated him. I was supposed to hate him and being exposed to his cruelty and lack of regard for life made it easy. And then--then one day it started to seem like maybe he isn’t made of darkness. Maybe he’s only touched by it, maybe he only wears it because he needs to. Maybe he’s more like Cassandra than I was supposed to realize.

“You alright, dovey?” 

I should roll my eyes at Jesper’s question and relax into my seat. I should act normal so that no one will suspect anything of me. All I can manage to do is slump into my seat. “A bit of a headache,” I mumble, “You know it happens from time to time.” My dagger is sheathed beneath layers of fabric but somehow I still feel the coldness of the metal. It forces a chill through me. “And don’t call me ‘Dovey’, we’ve talked about nicknames.” 

Jesper lets his head fall to the side dramatically. My eyes move to the glass in his hand. The amber liquid sloshes with Jesper’s movements. “You’re no fun when you’re in a mood.” I open my mouth to comment on how dramatic he’s being and the fact that I’m feeling perfectly fine, but he beats me to it. “Then again, with what boss-man said, I’d be in a mood, too.” 

What--what Kaz said? “With what who said?” 

Sobriety attempts to grasp Jesper, but he quickly dodges it. His eyes briefly shut as he takes a sharp inhale. “You don’t know.” 

Something in my stomach knots. Did Kaz find out who I am? “Know what?” He brings a finger up to his lips, signaling that it’s a secret. “Jesper.” 

“Y/n,” he copies the sharpness of my tone. I continue to glare at him. “C’mon, don’t put me in this position, today’s been hard enough. Our job went off without an issue, don’t drag--” I don’t stop glowering. “Y/n--” He sighs once. “Fine--I don’t--I didn’t hear much, just that your name--” Jesper pauses, struggling to arrange his sentence. “Your name came up during a deal. I couldn’t quite hear everything.” 

“Well, what did you hear?”

Jesper hesitates again, eyebrows pinching together in an unsettlingly pitiful way. “Some kind of contingency thing--something that would’ve--would’ve given the other man the rights to you.”

Something in me bursts into flame. The ice of the knife strapped to my skin is suddenly welcome. An old instinct in my chest understands the meaning of Jesper’s slurred words before the rest of me does. “The rights to me?” 

Jesper shifts uneasily. “If your headache’s not going away, maybe you should just have a drink for your nerves and go to bed.” I don’t move. 

“How can someone have ‘the rights’ to me? I’m not indentured--” 

“Kaz knows how to run with an assumption when it’s convenient.”

Something in my chest turns to stone. Jesper’s drunken testimony has left gaps in the story, but it’s not exactly hard to fill in. For whatever reason, Kaz put me on the line for a deal. It wouldn’t have been hard for him to make good on his promise. Kaz could slip something into my drink. He could overpower me or have someone do it for him. He could force me into something at gunpoint. He could--he could have sold me. 

I swallow once, wiping my eyes with my palm. “Listen, y/n, Kaz says whatever he needs to--” 

“His word means something, Jesper, you know that.” 

My voice must reflect how hollow I feel inside because Jesper sighs once. “Y/n-”

I swallow once, “I’m fine, Jesper. You didn’t hear everything, and you’re drunk, and nothing happened. Everything’s fine.”

Something in my chest has stopped. He was willing to sell me. I was wagered like the gambling chips from the Crow Club. Everything Cassandra said was right. Kaz Brekker may be a criminal like the woman that raised me, but he lacks Cassandra’s one redeeming quality. He lives without humanity.

I have heard the stories, I have seen what becomes of women sold and bartered. Cassandra has stolen so many women that were owned by men like the man Kaz just did business with. The man he was willing to sell me to just to get an edge on Pekka Rollins.

Thousands of images reflect in my mind. I can see them now, their empty eyes offset only by the litter of bruises against their skin.

“Y/n--” 

“I said I’m fine, Jesper. I know how Brekker is.” I repeat, voice stern. “I just need to go to bed.” He looks like he wants to say something. “I’ll sleep it all off.” I stand, staring at a blank spot on the wall. “Don’t drink too much, alright? Just make sure you eventually find your way to a safe bed. It doesn’t even have to be yours.” 

Jesper grins, “You get me.” He sighs, adjusting his hold on his glass. “Will do, Doves, make sure to take something to make sleeping off that headache a little easier.” 

No matter how tonight goes, if I survive, I’m going to need to drink something strong. “Yeah, Jes, I’ll take care of my headache.” 

I am a phantom as I approach the stairwell. In another life, another version of events, I never entertained the idea of being Jesper’s company as he drank in celebration of our success. In that reality, what I need to do is less possible.

With shaking hands I reach towards the pocket of my dark pants. In a single slash, the blade my fingers are touching can take a life. I can extinguish a flame of destruction and Cassandra will be proud of me. She’ll realize that the child she took in was worth it.

“Y/n--” 

I turn, trying to hide how ambushed I feel. Okay...there’s nothing weird about jumping about someone’s sudden appearance. “Kaz.” 

His name stumbles awkwardly from me. Act normal. “I need to speak to you.” Speak to me, how kind of him to waste his valuable time communicating with someone who’s basically cattle. “I have some business to attend to first. Meet me in my office before the hour ends?” 

Why, is my purchaser going to be expecting me? The urge to lash out pulses through me, but that will get me nothing. Kaz is beyond reason. If I could change him, if I could spare him, I would. So I swallow the lump in my throat and nod. 

“The color’s drained from your face.” His observation is a blow to the chest. “You’re not ill. Does Nina--” 

“I’m fine.” His concern is only practical. Illness would only slow me down or make me less valuable. “Just a migraine. I’ll sleep it off tonight.” 

His eyebrows draw together for a moment. “Hm.” Please let that be the dismissal I’m looking for. “If you’re feeling uneasy, you don’t need to over concern yourself. That’s what I wanted to meet with you about.” Kaz pauses, an odd affliction crossing his features briefly. “You did good work today.” 

An unnamed feeling wedges itself between my hurt and fury. Grief--crushing, undeniable grief has found itself in me. “Thank you.” 

Kaz won’t stop looking at me directly in the eye. “I know that you’re adverse to killing and much of what I do, but you never let that translate into weakness.” 

His voice is low and uneasily patient. My chest flutters, all of my emotions curdling in my chest. Even on a normal day I wouldn’t be able to think of a good response to that. “I’ll see you before the end fo the hour.” He nods once and I turn. “Kaz,” his name comes from me without my permission, “I appreciate your acknowledgement of my lack of weakness.” 

For a second, I think he might smile. “I never said you lack weakness.” 

“I know, but your gushing approval made your true feelings clear.”

“Dear, y/n, light of my existence,” Kaz approaches me, extending a hand slowly. I become perfectly still as his pinky latches onto mine for a brief moment. My heart stops. “I have never once ‘gushed approval’.” His sarcasm seems to settle me. The corner of my mouth turns upwards. “Now, get out of my way, I have some business to deal with downstairs.”

“Doubt I could get you to ask more nicely.” 

He takes a single step forward. “Please, excuse me.” 

A final good moment with Kaz. My chest swells as I step to the side. “That’s more like it.” 

He disappears down the stairs. Okay--within the hour. I have time to-to think and to--I don’t even know. Cassandra sent me here to ruin him, to work against him so that our gang could do better. I’m a mole, not a killer. But I should have known that one day our relationship would end like this--the knife of one buried in the back of the other. 

That final thought echoes in my chest, shattering me. I make it to my room, lock the door, and sink against the wall, suppressing a sob. 

I stay like that for as long as I can justify it, but there is no putting off the inevitable. Kaz Brekker will die at my hand, and it is deserved. I wipe at my tears with the back of my palm and wash my face in the sink. Once I’m convinced that I’m presentable, I leave my room, checking for the blade secured to my thigh. It hasn’t been that long, so there’s a good chance I will have the element of surprise. That’s the only way to end this. I’ll be efficient, just like Cassandra taught me. He will not suffer, and it will not be personal. 

I walk to his office, my steps methodical. He would have sold me. He would have sold me. He would have sold me. I take a deep breath, reaching for the handle of the door to his office. I pull the dagger from its place, squeezing the hilt. He would have ruined me. 

Pushing the door open silently, I stop breathing. His tall figure is turned away from the door. Good, this way he won’t have to see me and I won’t have to feel his reaction. My steps are even until I’m within arms reach of him. Think of Cassandra, think of all he’s done. 

My blade plunges into his back. The world stops. I pull my knife out before pushing it back in. Tears swell in my eyes. Again and again, I stab him. He takes two unsteady steps before falling to his knees. I yank the knife out one final time. He collapses in front of me. 

Everything in my body shatters. Dead--Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the boy who stayed up with me after an injury left me too sore to sleep, the man who would have sold me. He used me as currency, he has disrespected and threatened me so many times, and he linked his gloved pinky with mine in order to ease me. 

I stare at his body, forcing the hurt to crash into me like violent waves. All of my fury, all of my desire to win Cassandra over, vanishes. Now all that’s left is a burning agony. 

What have I done? 

The question is screamed so loudly in my head that it feels silent. I tear my gaze from the body--his body--and stare at my knife. The end of it is coated in so much sticky, red liquid I could throw up. My hands and clothing are covered in the same thing. I drop to my knees, letting everything I’m wearing soak into his blood. My free hand covers my mouth in hopes of silencing the sound that is ripped from my throat. The urge to touch him, to feel him while he’s still warm, pours through me. But the one thing I can still offer him is the protection of his will. I will respect his wishes. So instead of dropping over him, I just stare, my fingers still gripping the damn knife. 

What have I done? 

Collected footsteps snap me out of the trans I’ve fallen into. I take two deep breaths before turning my head. If I have been caught, I deserve whatever fate I will be met with. Blinking twice, I force my eyes to adjust on the person who has found me. There is no energy in me for fear for myself, there is only heartbreak. 

Kaz. It’s--he’s alive. By some Saint granted miracle, he’s alive!

He’s standing there, watching me with the blankest expression I’ve ever seen him wear. I don’t care. I don’t care. I jump to my feet, disregarding the only man I’ve ever killed. Whoever he was, that’s something for me to feel guilty about later. Eventually, the relief will become a feeling I can manage and I’ll be able to regret the life I just took, but right now all that matters is Kaz. 

I drop the dagger, letting it clatter against the hardwood floor. I run towards him, desperate to be close enough to see his open eyes and to be aware of the rise and fall of his chest. “Kaz,” a lament, a prayer, a lifeline. 

My hand moves forward without a second thought. I link my pinky with his, the same way he did earlier. I squeeze his finger as tightly as possible, desperate to feel the fact that he’s alive. Kaz owes me nothing, but he gives me what I need. His pinky squeezes mine back, his eyes holding mine. 

I think we could have stayed like that forever. But the man that I attacked shattered our silence with a pained, exhausted groan. Our hands fall apart. 

[giorno-plays-piano]

Vicious

Part II

Pairing: Steve x reader, Bucky x reader, Thor x reader, Loki x reader, Peter x reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, stalking, possessiveness, theft, all characters are adults.

Words: 1891.

Part I

Summary: Transferring to Stark Academy that has only allowed to take in female students last semester, you realize you are just one of three young women among hundreds of students. Your things are constantly being stolen, and soon you begin fearing for your safety.

P.S. To avoid any confusion, I changed the name Savages -> Vicious.

________________________

The next day you spent doubting your own decisions. Was it really wise to leave everything to Steve? How could he find those students all by himself and deal with your problem? Could he really stop them from acting like that? You thought once again it would be so much easier to ask for a transfer, but you had already given him your word to meet him today at 5. It would be very inappropriate not to come when he was trying to help you.

When the time came, you were sneaking in the student council room as if you were some petty thief. You were afraid people would start talking: if everybody knew who stole your things, they would understand you came to Steve for help like a little girl. It was embarrassing - even in a situation like this. Besides, somebody could be following you since at 5 pm the academy was almost empty.

By the time you reached the right door, you heart was beating as if you had just run a marathon. You really, really hoped Steve found some solution, and you wouldn’t have to be humiliated by the student advisor for wanting to leave the school.

Opening the door, you saw a couple of students on the sofa and quickly stepped away, afraid the student council was still having a meeting, “Ugh, sorry!”

“Come in, please,” Steve said calmly behind the door, and you shyly got in again, watching four other guys staring at you with interest. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“What, they too?” You were so perplexed by his words you forgot your manners, speaking of others as if they weren’t in the same room. “I’m sorry, I mean, I didn’t know you were involved.”

Wait, were they the ones who stole your things? Did Steve bring them here for you?

“No need to be so nervous.” One of them, a guy with long, jet black hair forming waves around his shoulders told you, motioning you to come closer and sit in one of the chairs opposing the sofa where he sat. “We’re here to help you.”

You remembered his name was Loki. A mathematic genius, he was considered one of the top students of the academy.

“That’s right! Come, come!” Seeing Peter among others was surprising, but his smiling face made you calm down a little, and you smiled at him in return. 

No, they weren’t those guys who stole your underwear, for sure. Apparently, Steve asked them to join you because they knew something and could give you a hand in finding those bastards.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me.” Feeling a little self-conscious among five different men you'd barely known, you landed on one of the chairs and saw that the other two were Bucky and a captain of the academy’s basketball team, Thor. “Did you find out anything?”

“Yes,” Steve said with a loud sigh, “I know exactly who they are. I can hand them over to the school’s officials and get them expelled by tomorrow, but that’s not the real issue here.”

You felt the chills ran up your back. What did he mean by the real issue?

“Is there something else?”

When you saw Loki smirking at you, you suddenly realized you were among five strong men in the student council room on the fifth floor where most classrooms were already empty. If you screamed, nobody would even hear you.

“Stop it.” Bucky’s angry voice cut through the silence, and you saw him literally burning a hole in Loki’s face. “Don’t make her scared, freak.”

Obviously, he wanted to say something offensive to Barnes in return, but Steve silenced them both with his icy glare. Loki sent him an innocent smile while Bucky snorted and rolled his eyes in irritation. It felt like they were in the middle of some school play, and you bit down on your lower lip, having a feeling something was going horribly wrong.

“The thing is, even if we got those ones expelled, it probably won’t stop the others from doing something similar.” Steve leaned up against a desk with his arms crossed over his chest. “I feel terrible admitting it, but many of our students are completely wild. I’m afraid they might keep harassing you.”

“Oh.”

You averted your eyes, realizing your attempts to find a solution were futile. Obviously, Steve could do nothing - he wasn’t a knight in shining armor, ready to protect you day and night from those delinquents who followed you everywhere. As you thought before, the one thing that could help here was leaving the school for good.

Shit, you didn’t know how to explain it to your family, Even your friends thought it was too bizarre to be true and laughed at your worries, saying you probably lost your things yourself. You would have to find a better excuse for a transfer in the middle of the semester.

“Well, anyway, thank you for trying,” you nodded and smiled apologetically at him as if it were your fault, “tomorrow I will talk to the student advisor about my transfer. Sorry for the trouble!”

“I don’t think it’s real to get transferred by now. It’s passed all the deadlines.” Shaking his head, Bucky raised his voice, and you felt suffocating.

Apparently, you would really have to skip a whole year of school. Explaining everything to your family, looking for some garbage job to have enough money to rent a room and pay your bills... Fantastic.

“You don’t have to do that. I’ve found another way.” 

Immediately, you raised your head, your pupils dilating.

“You see, the reason they are doing that is because you have no one to protect you. They know the administration won’t take it seriously because they’re a bunch of old misogynists, and you also have no means of protecting yourself. It would be better if you started dating someone, someone strong enough to make these guys back down.”

Steve looked deadly serious for someone saying such nonsense. A boyfriend? Now? Was he for real? Did he think you'd be using someone like your personal shield? Besides, even if you chose the strongest guy at school, it didn’t mean he would be stronger if several people attacked him.

But when you shared your thoughts with Steve, you saw others smiling at you as if they knew you would say that, and you felt uneasy.

“That’s true. That’s why you need more than one boyfriend.”

“What do you mean? How can somebody have more than one boyfriend?" Puzzled, you stared at him wide-eyed as if he said something stupid.

What on Earth did he mean by that? Were you to have your own squad of bodyguards at all times while you were in the academy? This was so foolish you couldn't believe someone like Steve said it out loud.

But then you caught glances of five men in the room and forgot how to breathe for a second. They weren't serious, were they? Steve didn't assemble all these guys here to make them into your boyfriends. It was preposterous even thinking of that, right?

Right?

"Please tell me it's not what I think it is." You muttered, crossing your arms over your chest as if trying to protect yourself.

"Why are you being so nervous?" Baring his teeth, Loki smiled at you. "Some other girl would be happy if five men were to be her boyfriends."

"It's a joke, right? You're all joking."

You hoped to see any of them laughing and nodding their heads, saying they simply wanted to cheer you up, but all you saw was a guilty expression on the faces of Bucky and Thor and the excitement of others. They really gathered here to offer you this.

"All of us here," Steve looked upon others, becoming a little displeased when his gaze fell upon smiling Peter, "are perfectly capable of helping you. If each of us were to accompany you one day a week, others won't be so brave. I'm sure they will no longer be a nuisance to you if they know what we can do to them."

There was something very dark in the way Steve said that, and for a couple of seconds you weren't sure whether you have to be more scared of him rather than those who was stealing your things.

"But it would be very uncomfortable for everyone, wouldn't it? I mean, going with me everywhere, not using your own time as you'd like. And, well, surely, others will see that we won't act like a real couple, so they might still keep harassing me. I don't think it would work."

Apparently, Loki was bored with this talk, you thought as you heard him clicking his tongue in annoyance.

"Then don't pretend. Act like a real girlfriend. Kiss in public, hug, go to the cinema together, what else girls do?"

"Wait, you mean, with ALL of you?"

"Yeah? Do you think anyone gonna be against it?"

You very much hoped they would be. Being followed by someone like your bodyguard was one thing, but having a real boyfriend was very different. Did they really want to pretend to be lovey-dovey with you? Act like you were close to them?

Oh. Of course, they would. They belonged to the same kind of touch-starved barbaric men they were trying to protect you from. They would do all those things to you, too.

You realized you were crying only when Peter flew off his seat in a hurry and squatted down beside you, taking your shaking hands in warm his.

"Please, don't cry. Nobody's gonna force you into doing anything, I promise. You will only do things you're comfortable with, ok?" Handing you his pearly white handkerchief, he smiled to comfort you. "No one of us gonna say anything."

"And if she starts dating one of us for real? What's then?" It was Loki again, cocking his head to the side and obviously provoking Peter to yell at him.

"We'll be ok with that, too."

The silence felt heavy. As you opened your eyes, Peter's handkerchief in your hands, you realized it was Thor who spoke for the first time, and the way he looked at you softly made you feel a little better. Despite the fact you knew little of him, for some reason, it felt like you would be safe with him - certainly safer than with Loki.

"Naturally, if any of us will bring you discomfort or do something unacceptable, you need to let us all know, and we'll decide what to do with that person." Raising his voice, the head of the student council made everyone to turn their head to him. "We will be meeting here, in this room, if anything happens. Each of us will give you our phone numbers. We will also make a schedule who accompanies you every day of the week."

It seemed he no longer asked for your opinion if you even wanted it to happen.

__________

"Bucky will be with you on Mondays, Loki on Tuesdays. Wednesdays are Thor's, on Thursdays Peter will be following you, and on Fridays it will be me going with you. Of course, if you need any of us to watch over you on weekends, feel free to contact whoever of us you like more."

Part III

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin ​@inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherub @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @ximebebx @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @sourpatchspinster @biiskuitx @iheartsebandchris @lovelydarkdaydream @soleil-dor @illyrianprincess @vampirestrawberries @stupendouslovegarden

[critrolesideblog]

"Do you enjoy card games?" At this query, Caleb looked up slowly, finally, from the Aeorian tome he had been frowning at all day.

It was the third day of a forced respite from their Aeorian expedition. They had been beset on their last outing by a three-headed abomination that, though quickly vanquished, had left Caleb with a series of nasty bites that bled with alarming profusion. A couple of healing potions had stopped the bleeding and partly healed the wounds, but they stubbornly refused to heal up entirely. So, at Essek's insistence and Caleb's reluctant acceptance, they were taking a break.

Caleb had spent their "break" thus far puzzling over an incomplete Aeorian formula with increasing frustration and, despite Essek's efforts at reassurance, guilt at delaying their explorations. Caleb had stubbornly refused both Essek's help and his suggestions that he work on something else for a while. So, Essek moved to Plan C.

"I, ah, ja, I suppose so," Caleb replied, azure eyes glancing down to Essek's hands, deftly shuffling the deck he had procured from the second floor of the tower. "Although, it has been some time since I've played one."

"It has for me as well." Essek glided around the desk Caleb was seated at to place himself on the opposite side, as Caleb considered him thoughtfully, and as he seated himself, the Zemnian wizard gently closed the tome with a small sigh and made space on the desk by unceremoniously shoving a small mountain of wadded-up, discarded parchment onto the floor, to the annoyed meows, chitters, and huffs of a number of the tower cats. "It's been at least," Essek took a large breath and let it out in a slow sigh, making a production of thinking over the many decades it had been since his last game with Verin. "Oh, at least 70 years, maybe 80." Caleb leveled a deadpan gaze at him for his efforts, though he was unable to completely school the muscles at the corners of his lips that wanted to form a smirk at his little one-upmanship. Essek allowed himself a satisfied grin in return. "Still, I thought it might be a pleasant diversion."

"Do you have a particular game in mind, old man?" Ha. Essek considered the possibilities, unsure of which, if any, games spanned their two cultures.

"Hm, there was one Verin was particularly fond of when we were children. The cards are dealt evenly between the players," he explained and began dispensing the cards. "And the goal is to obtain the entire deck. Without looking, we each take turns flipping cards over into a pile in the center, until someone plays a face card. When that happens, the next player tries to beat the value of the previous card, Aces being of greatest value, and whomever has the highest card claims the pile."

"Simple enough."

"Indeed, but when Verin played, he was fond of what he called..." He paused to consider how best to convey it in Common. It was odd the random words that came up as blank spots in his vocabulary. Punch...? No, not punch. "How do you say it ... There is a word, I think, for when you hit something with your palm?" He mimed the motion of doing it to someone's face.

Caleb raised an eyebrow, a bemused expression settling on his features. "A slap?"

"Yes!” Now that Caleb said it he was certain he had heard it before. “He liked to play with...” He paused to consider the translation again. “Slap rules."

"Slap rules?"

"When two cards of the same value are played in a row, or on either side of a single card, any player may slap their hand down and claim the pile, whomever is quickest."

"Alright, I think I've got it." They each scooped up their respective piles of cards and formed them into neat stacks in their hands. "Shall we?" There was a glimmer of friendly competitiveness in Caleb's eyes that made Essek's heart-rate tick up a little.

"After you."

They took turns flipping over cards, slowly at first, random numbers of varying colors stacking one on top of the other until Caleb, at last, turned over a Jack. "Ah, let's see if you can beat that, Her Thelyss." Essek dealt his next card. Six. He let out a little huff of disappointment as Caleb slid the pile towards himself with the ghost of a grin hovering around his mouth.

"Danke." He said, adding the pile to his hand.

"Ole hyvä." Essek deadpanned. Amusement crinkled the edges of Caleb's eyes, and an increasingly familiar warm affection took up residence in Essek's chest. They began again, flipping the cards a little faster this time.

Thump. Caleb blinked with surprise as Essek claimed the pile. He moved his hand back slightly to reveal the most recent cards - two threes in a row. "Aaah, right, slap rules."

"Indeed."

They began again, flipping the cards over a little faster still. Essek glanced up at Caleb's face. The guilt and frustration that had tugged on his features the past two days seemed to have released their grip, in favor of intent observation. He looked back down -- two eights! Their hands collided as they both reached for the pile at the same time, but Caleb eked out a victory, his fingers managing to slip just under Essek's. Caleb gave a soft "ha!" as he claimed the pile, and Essek found himself grinning as well, despite the loss. He had not considered that their hands would inevitably touch over the course of this game, but he couldn't say he minded.

"You can imagine, perhaps," he said slowly as they began turning over cards again, resolutely watching the cards this time, "two little Drow boys slapping the cards, and each other, with increasing enthusiasm as the game goes on." Caleb chuckled.

"I can indeed. In Blumenthal, we had a game where we just slapped each other's hands to see who was fastest, no cards needed." Both of their hands shot out - a nine flanked by a pair of fives this time. Again, there was Caleb's warm hand under Essek's instead of cardstock. He made a show of hissing with frustration, baring his fangs a little, but he was sure it was belied by the grin still tugging at his mouth. Caleb didn't seem the least bit intimidated as he added the cards to his hand, amusement crinkling the eyes again. The warm affection steadily blooming in Essek's chest grew warmer still. They began again, and after a moment of dealing cards in companionable silence, Caleb asked, "What is he like? Your brother?"

A memory filled Essek's senses. He and his brother were in a ballroom on the Thelyss estate. Members of various Dens and the upper echelon of the military were milling about them to the strains of soft music and polite conversation. Verin was grinning with a brash pride at being appointed Taskhand, chin held high, chest puffed out. A gleeful victory polished his silver eyes to shining. Earlier that evening, Essek had retied the bun neatly collecting his little brother's many braids to make sure he was presentable for the ceremony. Verin had ruffled Essek's hair to make sure he wasn't. "Tall," he replied, finally, and then muttered, "the bastard." That shocked a laugh out of Caleb, as Essek hoped it would, and he tried to suppress his own victorious grin.

"How rude of him growing past his elder brother!" Caleb laughed.

"The disrespect," Essek opined, shaking his head. "When we were teenagers, I once escorted him to a shop - he wanted to buy a trinket for some girl, and I needed spell components."

"Naturally."

"And the shopkeeper complimented him on how kind he was to take his little brother out shopping." Caleb's laugh was lovelier than any sound Essek could think to compare it to. "I could have strangled that shopkeep. I knew I would never hear the end of it. All I heard for months after that was little brother this, and little brother that."

"How did you get him to stop?"

"Violence." Essek claimed the card pile with a Jack of Spades. "I mastered Telekinesis and tossed him into a snowbank."

"Ja, naturally, as one does." Caleb's voice was warm with amusement.

Essek felt no need to mention that Verin had enjoyed the experience and asked to be tossed into the snowbank three more times. "He's naturally charming," Essek continued. "Too much for his own good, sometimes. He has forgotten on more than one occasion to check whether the targets of his charms were married first."

"Uh-oh," Caleb chuckled.

"Indeed." Essek rolled his eyes with old exasperation and then claimed the pile of cards again with a Queen of Hearts. "He's smart, but he always preferred fighting and flirting to academics. Still, he has a keen mind for battle strategy, tactics, problem-solving. Much too honest for politics, but he is the sort of person people turn to naturally for leadership, and he takes that responsibility seriously." Caleb claimed the pile this time, King of Clubs.

"He sounds like a good person," Caleb ventured quietly.

Another memory rose up, unbidden. Verin when he was a long way yet from being Verin. They had called him Rei then, and Essek had been called Kai. Rei was a baby, barely old enough to walk, but his tiny hand patted Kai's shoulder gently as his elder brother tried not to cry over a skinned knee. His silver eyes, large in his small, round face, clearly full of a sympathy he did not have words yet to express. Essek nodded. "Even when he was a child. As a toddler, any time he received a treat, his first instinct was always to share it, with me or Nanny, or the housekeepers, even, whomever was nearby." Haluatko vähän? Do you want some? The little boy had always asked. Haluatko vähän? He had asked the less popular children in school, as he went out of his way to share his snacks and his shine. Haluatko vähän? He had asked with an excited smile, on the eve of his deployment to Bazzoxan, before running out into the rain to get fried insects from his favorite street vendor, like a child and not the 105-year-old man that he was, and again after purchasing it and exclaiming how delicious they were, Haluatko vähän? "He has always had a good heart." Icy tendrils began to snake their way through Essek's chest, like the mold of Aeor, feeding on the heat there and turning it into cold, cold shame and guilt. How had Verin remained so good and Essek turned so wrong?

He didn't ask the question aloud, but Caleb seemed to guess where his mind had turned and countered it with a question of his own. "Perhaps some credit goes to his elder brother for shielding his good heart?" Essek made himself look into Caleb's eyes, and their hands paused in their game for a moment. There was no pity in the Lucidian blue, just a gentle curiosity. It was a genuine question.

Essek considered the hypothesis. He had tried his best to keep Verin on the right side of the Umavi's scrutiny and their father's temper and out of any problems he couldn't punch his way out of. But was it as simple as being the younger of the two? Essek had felt as much affection for Nanny as Verin had, but he wasn't sure he had ever offered to share a treat with her before Verin came along. If he had, he certainly hadn't continued to offer after repeated declinations out of an immovable sense of fairness. As far as Essek could recall, they had always been of wildly different dispositions. Verin was boisterous where Essek was quiet, outgoing where he was introverted, gregarious where he was selfish, courageous where he was cowardly. Try as he might, Essek could not imagine Verin doing the things he had done, for the Dynasty or against it, for mere power.

"Very little," he concluded. "I did try to look out for him, but for all that we share in origin, we are very different people. There is no discarded timeline with a Shadowhand Verin."

Caleb considered this thoughtfully for a moment and then tossed a card down with his verdict: "That last assertion is unfalsifiable." Essek raised an eyebrow and tossed a card down. Yes, he supposed it was... for now...

Thump. Caleb slid the pile crowned by two Kings toward himself with a satisfied grin. "You know this game is very unfair to you, Herr Thelyss." There was a spark of mischief in his eyes, and Essek felt the chill in his chest begin to ease. "What with my being so much younger than you, better reflexes and all of that."

Essek scoffed and shook his head, a grin returning to his face. The nerve. "Oh, we'll see about that."