#and i don't want to let them go like that

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Maybe we never had a chance.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[bookshelftreasures]

Jealous Shadows

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Azriel's shadows have always been loyal, always obeyed him without question. Until now. Until they start misbehaving whenever another man so much as looks at you.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,066

Notes: This is my first fic, I hope you like it! :)

~~~~~

The first time it happens, you don't think much of it.

You're at Rita's with the Inner Circle, nursing a drink at the bar while Cassian and Mor dance somewhere among the crowded space. The music thrums through the air, and the conversation hums around you when a male slides into an empty seat beside you.

"Didn't think someone like you would be sitting alone," he says, flashing a grin.

You don't even get the chance to respond before a flicker of something moves between you.

The male frowns, swiping at his hair, which has suddenly transformed from being neatly styled to sticking up in wild angles, as if an invisible force had run its hands through it... aggressively.

You blink in surprise.

He mutters a curse, trying to fix it, but the moment he smooths it down, the strands spring right back up. His frustration grows, hands swiping over his head repeatedly.

"I- what the hell?" he grumbles. "Is this air cursed or something?"

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting a laugh.

And then you feel it.

A cool, familiar brush against your wrist.

Slowly, you glance down—just in time to see a shadow curling around your fingers before slipping away.

Your stomach flips.

You don't even need to turn around to know exactly where Azriel is.

~~~~~

The second time it happens, it's harder to ignore.

You and Azriel are training in the House of Wing, and the session has drawn some attention—mainly from a visiting group of Illyrians who very clearly wanted to spar with you.

One in particular, a cocky warrior named DAIN, is relentless. He lingers, circling the ring as Azriel corrects your stance, his gloved hands light against your arms.

"You sure you don't want a real sparring partner, sweetheart?" Dain calls, grinning. "I promise I'll go easy on you."

Azriel stills.

His fingers tighten ever so slightly before he steps back, shadows slithering at his feet. "She's training," he says evenly, but there's an obvious warning beneath the words.

Dain chuckles. "Training is nice and all, but I'd be happy to teach her a few things myself."

Something cold coils around your ankles.

Before you can react, the shadows yank. Not hard. Just enough to make you stumble backwards, right into Azriel's chest.

Your breath catches.

His hands steady you, fingers gripping your waist for a fraction of a second before he forces himself to let you.

You glance up at him, about to ask whether or not that was intentional, but his jaw is tight, hazel eyes locked on Dain.

Azriel's shadows have started to shift.

Not the lazy, fluid movements they usually have—but sharp, possessive flickers that wrap around you. One curls over your shoulder, while another drapes across your wrist, looping around like a claim.

You shiver, pulse skittering.

Dain seems to notice, too. His smirk falters, his eyes flicking between you and the swirling darkness. "Uh-"

The shadows snap toward him.

Not touching—just close. Close enough to make him step back.

You swear you hear them hiss.

Dain swallows hard. "Right. I, uh, should probably-"

Azriel doesn't blink. Doesn't move.

Dain takes the hint. He all but scrambles away, muttering under his breath.

And just like that, the shadows slip away, leaving you cold.

You whip around, crossing your arms. "What was that about?"

Azriel frowns, too casual. "What was what?"

"Oh, I don't know," you say dryly. "Maybe terrorizing a man into running for his life?"

His brow furrows, like he truly doesn't know what you're talking about. "I didn't do anything."

You narrow your eyes. Then one last shadow curls around your wrist before darting away like a child caught misbehaving.

Azriel glares at it.

Your lips part. "You have got to be kidding me."

His expression darkens as more shadows flick around you, playful now.

Azriel sighs. Pinches the bridge of his nose. "They don't usually-"

"Get jealous?" You finish for him, holding back a smile.

Silence.

His throat bobs.

And then—quietly, almost too quiet—you hear his shadows whisper something.

A name.

Your name.

And you realize—maybe it's not just his shadows who are jealous.

Your breath hitches. Azriel's wings rustle. And he looks like he's about to bolt.

Which is just unacceptable.

You cross your arms, tilting your head back to study him. "You know, I think your shadows like me more than they like you."

Azriel exhales sharply. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" You smirk, glancing down as a shadow curl lazily around your wrist. You give it a little wiggle, and the shadow clings tighter.

Azriel scowls at it. "Traitor."

A laugh bubbles out of you. You can't help it.

The great and terrifying Shadowsinger, bested by his own shadows.

"Oh, this is too good," you say, beaming up at him. "All this time, and they've secretly been on my side."

Azriel mutters something that sounds suspiciously like a curse. His wings twitch again. His shadows flick in annoyance—except the ones still clinging to you, moving to curl around your waist like they never want to let go.

You bite back a grin. "I mean, it makes sense." You gesture vaguely at them. "They probably just think I'd be a much better master."

Azriel gives you a deadpan stare. "That's not how this works."

"I don't know," you hum, pretending to consider it. "They seem pretty happy right now."

As if to prove your point, one shadow playfully loops around your fingers.

Azriel glowers. "You're encouraging them."

You give him an innocent smile. "Would I do that?"

He sighs, but you catch it—the way the corner of his mouth twitches. The way his gaze softens, just a little.

And then, so softly you almost miss it, he murmurs, "They have good taste, at least."

Your breath catches.

Your teasing falters for half a second before you recover. "So, you admit they like me more?"

Azriel exhales, shaking his head. "You're impossible."

You grin. "And you love it."

He doesn't answer. But the way his shadows linger—curling, warm, content—tells you everything you need to know.

~~~~~

Cassian walks in moments later, takes one look at Azriel's shadows practically cuddling you, and immediately points.

"I knew it!" He boasts.

Azriel pinches the bridge of his nose. His shadows flick toward Cassian, clearly unimpressed.

And you?

You just laugh.

Because really—Azriel might deny it all he wants, but his shadows?

They don't lie.

[bi-writes]

ok wait pause i have a question. first date, but like, real, you are my girlfriend date ? or like how'd they define their relationship (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

he's...fun.

it's just sex. mind-blowing, back-numbing, pussy-destroying sex. this man is pushing 40, and you swear you've never felt so out of breath. you convince yourself it's the military thing--he's used to pushing himself, exerting energy, testing the limits of his stamina. but holy shit, you'd think after round four, this man would take a quick nap or something, but no.

he's still balls-deep, hitting it from the back since you can't even keep yourself upright any longer. your skirt lays haphazardly thrown onto the floor, and oh--there's your panties, too, ripped to lacy shreds.

holy shit, this man is more than ten years older than you, and you've never been so out of your fucking mind--

"tha' the spot, love?" his voice is so condescending. he knows he's got you brainless. there's drool staining your lips, and you paw at the sheets for a better grip, but it's useless.

"y-yes, captain."

the low groan that leaves him makes you smile. he might have the upper hand, but if you really wanted to, you could make him come right now, too fast, too much.

you're in bliss. everything is bliss. you're still recovering from what must be the fifth or sixth orgasm--not as good as the second or third one, but still enough to make you cry fat, pleasured tears. you're shaking, in a good way, sinking to your stomach on the bed and pressing your face into his pillow.

"hmm..." your voice is soft and gooey, and when you take a deep breath, you get a long whiff of him. he smells good. clean. earthy. you tasted cigar smoke in his mouth earlier, and you can smell it here, too. just as you relax, you feel the weight of him on your back, and then his lips. he's kissing along your shoulder to your neck and then up your jaw. you tilt your head to give him room, your eyes shutting as his beard scruffs against your skin and his mouth laps at your chin. "i gotta go, john."

you giggle when he lays his entire body on top of yours, trapping you there. you reach up and grip the back of his neck, whining as he flattens his tongue against your jaw and swirls it there.

"john...i gotta go."

"why?"

"mmm..." you thumb at the hair along his scalp, shaking your head. "don't do this, john."

"not doing anythin'."

"we don't sleep over, john."

"what, is tha' some kind of rule? sounds mad."

you turn over a little, looking up at him. you cup his beard in both hands, giving him a chaste kiss.

"don't ruin it, john," you say softly. "this is supposed to be fun."

he tilts his head to the side. he looks so funny without a hat. you've seen him in a beanie, a boonie hat, a cap, you love them all on him. he looks nice like this, too, though--ass naked with his dog tags dangling against his sweaty pecs.

john's eyes twitch a little at your indifference. he settles on his side, leaning over you, and just as you move to get up, he reaches and grips at your face with a big paw of a hand. you clutch at his forearm, big and solid, and your lips pucker as he pulls you closer to him.

"y'r a bad liar, love," he mutters, shaking his head. "fear doesn't suit you."

"i'm not fucking scared."

"who was it?"

you glare up at him, struggling a bit under him. it's a stupid thing to think that you could get away from him. john is not moveable. he's a big fucking tree trunk of a man, with roots that burrow, and you are truly naïve if you think he'll let you up without an answer.

"shut the fuck up, john," you spit at him, but all he does is raise a brow. he's immune to your bite. he's not phased by your sour attempt at insulting him. in fact, it's what drew him to your bed in the first place--certified brat-tamer, captain john price. "you think you're so fucking smart. think you know everything, just because you've got a few years on me, well let me tell you, john--not everything is a fucking lesson learned. you're a military muppet with a decent cock, and that's all you'll ever be to me."

"tha' right?"

"you'll never put me first. you've got one woman, and that's the job, and that's fucking fine, john, but don't make this something it's not. you're lonely, and old, and your failed relationships don't make you wiser, they make you delusional for thinking that doing this again could ever--"

your breath falters when he kisses you. he squeezes your jaw a little harder, forcing your mouth to open, and you moan, squeezing your thighs together when he licks into your mouth and holds you there for him to play with.

"i do have other obligations. my men, the job..." he brushes the hair out of your eyes, and he presses his forehead to yours when he sees the tremble of your bottom lip and the wet look in your eyes. "but i don't do casual, sweetheart. it's all or nothing f'me."

your hand grips his wrist, squeezing tight, and you blink up at him. he's so close. he's right here. blue eyes, greying beard, a sad expression. he's not afraid of dying alone, but he is afraid of wasting time.

"please don't do this to me, john." your voice cracks, and he shrugs. he's sorry, but he's not sorry enough. not enough to let you go--and you're not strong enough to tell him no. it has to be him, but it won't be.

"it's alright," john whispers, but he knows it won't be. he's known you not but a few weeks, but he's made up his mind. he doesn't understand casual. even from the moment he saw you in that bar, it wasn't fleeting, it was definitive. it would be his. you would be his.

even if you were actually someone else's. even if you were bound to someone else. even if you weren't alone, it was already decided.

john's teeth are stuck here, right here, in the hollow of your throat. his fingers are twisted between the chords of your heart and in the spaces between your ribs. if he lets go, he'll break you apart.

so he's never going to let go.

[mattscoquette]

nerdy!bf!matt eating you out for his own pleasure

the small whines and moans that escaped matt’s lips filled your bedroom, along with the squeaking of your mattress as matt’s hips rutted into it.

“so good,” he whined against your aching pussy, his voice strained as his nose bumped against your clit, “tastes so good baby.”

his tongue flicked up and down your slick folds as he pressed his face further into you, his large hands holding your hips steadily as he kept you pinned down, devouring you liked a starved man.

your hands threaded through his brown locks and tugged at his scalp, eliciting a moan from matt. his eyes flicked up to meet your own, his glasses perched lowly on his nose as they grew foggy.

"could do this all day, princess," matt mumbled practically to himself, the vibrations of his words going through you. he tilted his head to give himself better access while his tongue moved in circular motions along your pussy.

the noises coming from matt were nothing less than obscene, a mix between his whimpers and the slurping sounds of his mouth working against you. you were practically seeing stars, your back arching and legs convulsing. matt kept you down, though, his strong grip allowing you to stay put as he continuously ate you out.

matt would spend all day in between your legs if you let him, and he was drunk off the taste of you. it didn't take much to get him going anyway, but something about him taking control while pleasuring you could make him cum from just the thought alone. his dick strained against his tight jeans as he pressed them into the mattress, trying to relieve himself in some way as his hips involuntary bucked up into the bed.

one particular motion of matt's mouth had you pulling at his hair, a loud whimper escaping him as he whined against your folds. "fuck, keep doing that," he whined, "feels s'good."

you nodded as you repeated your actions, causing matt again to moan against you. he was nearly suffocating himself the way his face was buried between your thighs, his glasses smushed against his face. his mouth moved up to your clit, his tongue running along the sensitive bud in circles as he drew you closer and closer to your release.

"please cum baby," he mumbled into your pussy, "pleasepleaseplease, wanna taste it."

the whiny tone of his voice was all it took for you to let go, your juices coating matt's lips and chin as he worked you through your orgasm. your legs shook around his head, your hips bucking up against him while he licked and cleaned you up, making sure to savor every last drop.

he sat back on his knees shakily, his hair sticking to his forehead and his glasses askew. he smiled at you sheepishly when you saw you took notice of the dark stain on the front of his jeans, his cheeks heating up in embarrassment.

"matt it's okay," you giggled when you saw him try to cover himself, "i think it's hot you can cum from eating me out."

he buried his face in his hands, letting out a loud groan. "don't say it like that, you're gonna make me get hard again."

© mattscoquette

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ⋆˚꩜｡ rylee actually writing and posting ????!!!!!!! lowk don’t fw this a ton but nerd matt has my heart and i want him to eat me out sooooo. also inspired by a tweet i saw that said “i cum from eating pussy” and thought that was so matt coded so here we are !

[nightingale-prompts]

Little Crush-DCxDP prompt

Damian has a bit of a crush. It started with a trip to the zoo. A small clan of purple-back gorillas had been discovered in the wild by the very same man who saved their species. Danny Fenton holds the title of the youngest animal geneticist in modern day. He was only 20 and was held in high regard in the scientific community.

The family took Damian to meet his hero at Amity Zoo where the scientist worked.

Danny took the boy to heart and let him shadow him for the day. Feeding penguins, watching Danny take blood samples and explaining how DNA can tell them where an animal is from.

"We were able to discover the habitat of the remaining gorillas by looking at the resistance in the captive gorilla's blood. They had a strong poison resistance to a specific plant only found in a region in South America. I took a gamble and figured that such a strong natural immune system must mean that it's a part of their diet." The scientist handed Damian a pointer that was used for touch training and lead him to the beak of the tiger exhibit.

Saba ready for her session.

"Do any of your siblings want to join?" Danny asked beckoning the tiger closer to the barrier.

Cass raised her hand before Damian interrupted.

"No."

"Oh...okay. How about we give her a turn anyway. Saba loves new people."

After getting the chance to give a tiger light pets the tour was over.

But Damian wanted to keep seeing the vet.

At least once a week they had to visit the zoo. They had to take turns going with Damian.

This week was Tim's turned and he learned all about cat coat genetics.

Dilution, Seal point, karpati, folded, agouti, locus, lilac, ticked mackerel, Havana, classic, cinnamon, fawn, and blur. Each word sounded like babble as Danny listed every genetic sequence that made up a coat. Silver fawn ticked was where Tim nodded off.

He could admit that Danny was pretty cute. They were the same age too. Tim kind of liked how smart he was but he was also kind of dumb since he hadn't noticed the demon had a little crush.

"I'm gonna ask him out." Tim said as he sat eating churros near the giraffes with Damian.

"Don't you dare Drake!" Damian growled.

"Oh come on. You're too young for him. But I'm not. Besides it's illegal for you." Tim laughed.

"That doesn't mean you get to ask him out." Damian hissed. "Besides he probably wouldn't accept you. Anyone but you."

"Wanna bet?"

[prlssprfctn]

I think Jason should be allowed to manipulate his family with the "oh, you are my favourite, actually" line. It sounds very flattering to them (because Jason? Jason-I-Want-Nothing-To-Do-With-This-Family-Todd? Admitting you are his favourite? Oh, the hundred per cent bust of ego!) and more to say, this system of manipulation is eternal.

They can argue with each other as much as they want, but none of them would believe the other — Jason Todd is too tsundere to say something like this aloud, to each of them. So, someone is lying. For sure.

(And they are too self-assured in themselves to doubt that they are his favourite. Also, Jason makes every manipulation, specifically individual. So, it is not like he repeats the same confession and reasons. Very believable. Aka: this family needs someone to be open about their love, so they latch on everything and everyone who is willing to admit that openly)

Dick, slightly frustrated: Why are you asking me this favour? You know, I don't usually do these sort of things, I don't really... I don't know, it is too dangerous, I don't like the whole idea.

Jason, face dropping: Oh... Sorry. I shouldn't ask you, just... Dunno, I thought since you are my only big brother, and... Urgh, I guess I am still too attached to you more than to others. You are right. I'll ask Timbers or—

Dick, with his eyes suspiciously wet: oh-

Dick: NO, no. I'll do it. Don't worry. Big brother got your back, Lil Wing!

Tim, frowning: So, am I getting this right — you want me to hack into some system in someone's high school to fix the diploma of a kid who got a ONE bad grade—

Jason: He needs this scholarship. He is a kid of the streets! He can't do it otherwise, and it is not like the world would collapse if you fix one grade!

Tim: Yeah, I don't care about morals, I am just confused. Why would I want to spend my time on this, I am pretty sure—

Jason, dead ass serious: You know I don't like to communicate with this family. I only ever love talking with you, so sue me for thinking you could do me a favour.

Tim, instantly smirking: Ah, so I am your favourite... Well-well, big brother, I guess I can do this.

Damian: I am *not* going to tell you what our father is planning to do with this specific villain. Who do you think I am? An idiot?

Jason, sighing: Damn, and I really thought we had each other's back since League of Assassins.

Damian, scoffing: Emotional manipulation will not work on me.

Jason, all confused: Why would I manipulate you? From all people? I didn't raise you to fall on shit like this.

Damian: Tt.

Damian: Fine. Since, I guess, I owe you for babysitting me...

Bruce: Jason, I appreciate your... strive to help me, but nothing has ever gone well when you worked on cases like that. Let me handle this, and—

Jason, silently sitting down on the armchair, hands on his head: (sniff)

Bruce, panicked: Jaylad?..

Jason: I get it. I really do. No matter how much I love you, no matter how much I keep choosing you over anyone in this family, you don't love me anymore. I really understand it. I... I came in peace with it. I just wished you would tolerate my work... a little bit. You know?

Bruce: No, no, sweetheart, I— I am your favourite?

Jason, sniffling angrily: Who else it could be, old man?

Bruce: Oh. Oh, Jaylad— (instantly hands him the case)

(The family dinner)

Bruce, mentally humming to himself: Oh, these kids have NO idea that I am Jason's favourite because we are connected like that ^•^

Dick, mentally beaming: Oh, no one here has an idea that I am Jason's favourite because I am his big brother and protector! :>

Tim, mentally laughing evilly: Oh, these flops have no idea that I am Jason's favourite and that he wishes I was his Robin!

Damian, mentally kicking his feet: None of my family members suspect that I am Akhi's favourite because he was practically my nanny through all childhood. Tt.

Jason, munching on food: Lol

[bolasuu]

How my hairdresser earned my trust forever was at my first cut with them. I used to be nervous as hell at appointments for reasons listed above, I never truly got what I wanted.

My hair was down to my butt, I wanted it just above my shoulders, shaggy and very gender. Let me tell you folks, she was hyped as all hell to cut it all off. They cut it just like I wanted, and it looked amazing, I still don't go often, but when I do, it's always with her. They love my big cuts and always so happy to do them!

the thing about having long hair especially if you are a girl/perceived as one is people act like they will be personally offended if you cut it. INCLUDING! hair stylists who you are paying to cut it. double it if you have blonde/red/ginger/curly/etc hair. like the lack of autonomy ive been allowed to feel about my hair, even when its subtle still has me afraid to go to the stylist and ask for the haircut im paying to get.

[boxoftheskyking]

Might I give some advice:

Not everyone has (or needs to have) the energy to thoughtfully respond to republicans on the Internet. You do not have to do that.

But some people do, and can. And I think we gotta let them.

An example:

I have a former teacher, I'll call her Grace, who is an incredibly kind woman in her 70s. Devout catholic, had voted for various parties over the years, but has been pretty strictly democrat over the past 15-20 because that aligns with her values of kindness and service.

She shared a post about the pope's recent letter and expressed that she agreed with his concerns about how trump is treating immigrants. A friend of hers commented a long paragraph basically saying "dear Grace I care for you but I don't understand how you can be a Christian and a democrat. Blah blah abortion blah blah gender blah blah drugs."

Grace replied "I'm very busy right now but I am going to respond to you soon with my thoughts". When she did it was an incredibly generous, rational monologue that connected with this person's humanity, their shared religious values, and made a beautiful case for why she supports who she does. I didn't agree with a good half of what she said as I am not a Christian, but the result was an expression of values that I think put her on the side of justice and compassion.

The person replied and thanked her and said she had a lot to think about. It was probably the best case scenario for a Facebook politics conversation

You know what came very close to ruining it? A bunch of (mostly younger) people piling on with "fuck you you racist maga pos" and "no one has to explain anything to you, go to hell" etc etc. Even after Grace wrote that she intended to reply herself.

I watched this republican respond to all the easy, quick insults by saying "this is why I don't think any democrats can be Christian, this is how you all speak to me." If Grace hadn't put so much work into writing her response in a way that was tailored to fit this person, I would not be surprised if that person left Facebook doubly certain that Christian nationalism is the way to go.

I'm not saying we can't cuss out jackasses. I'm not saying everyone needs to respond to bad faith arguments like Grace did or use their time like she did.

But this was on Grace's Facebook page, and interrupted the work she already volunteered to do. Just so these individuals could feel like they "did something" and got a shot off at an enemy.

I think that's selfish and childish and unproductive. They could have said anything they wanted in their own space, but they made grace's job harder for no fuckin reason. And then "loved" her reply and said "that was beautiful Grace, thank you for sharing your thoughts"

Like... Buddies. Pals. If someone volunteers to scrub the toilet fucking let them.

[vi0lentquiche]

Bryan Fuller on The D-Con Chamber podcast

Some actual revelations here, I gotta say!

We went to a lot of actors and they all said no, and Mads said he wanted to do it. And I was like, here's a person who wants to do it, who is amazing, and they're like, he's sort of weird? He just seems very Euro-weird, shouldn't he be sexier? And I'm like, he's sexy as fuck! There's nary a sexier!

The casting process is so degrading for everybody, but I reached out to Mads and said, "Would you audition? I hate to ask you this, but I just can't get them there." And he said of course, came in and auditioned, was amazing, and they went, nah, he's sort of creepy. ??HE'S EATING PEOPLE. And finally the last person had said no and I called Jen Salke who was running it and said, "Jen, I have to write this, I have to craft this show and believe in it. I believe in him, that he can do this, I see him in the role, it's hard for me to see anybody else." And she said, "I trust you, I trust your vision, let's do it." So that was her response. Her boss's response was, "Well, you got what you wanted, you're on your own." And they halved our marketing budget. It was a little spiteful.

Jen was amazing, she kept us on the air although we didn't have great ratings, but Jen, who is now running Amazon, thought the show was great. They were paying nothing for it, the licensing fee was the smallest that they had. And the show was very cheap, our budget was 2.25 million in the first season (we turned everything dark so you couldn't see how cheap everything looked), second season was 2.5, third season was 3.2, so it was a very economic show, and our scripts were like 33 pages long. Because all that atmosphere, and also Gillian Anderson made the most fantastic unnerving choice to speak very deliberately, so you could give Gillian a page of dialogue and it was 6 minutes of screentime, and you don't want to cut away, because she grabs you and doesn't let go.

So it was economic for lots of reasons. But Jen said, "I'll keep you on the air, it doesn't cost us anything, do whatever you want. Do the show that you want to do." And NBC didn't give us a ton of notes! The Standards and Practices was one of the best relationships that I had. Joanna was our S&P executive, and I would say, "Hey, Joanna ☺️, we have to have a guy cut off his face and feed it to dogs ☺️ howwww do we do that?" and she'd say, "Just make the blood black and turn down the lights." The only thing she didn't know how we could do was, Eddie Izzard had hooked someone's intestines up to a ceiling fan while they were still alive, so when somebody came into the room and turned on the lights the ceiling would disembowel them. And she said, "I just don't know how you're gonna do this!" and production said, "We can't afford it, you get one shot and if you don't get it there's no way for us to do a reset." So she was willing to let us try the ceiling fan disembowelment, she was the coolest lady. My assistant at the time made a book of all the S&P emails, like "When you're doing this please keep in mind that the blood needs to be black," because the redder the blood the less likely that you can put it on TV. So if you darken the blood, even if it's a dark burgundy, you can get away with it. The food that looks like blood is fine, because you're gonna eat it and it looks like meat, and Jose Andres is helping you out.

Hannibal was creatively a great experience because the stakes were so low that Jen was like, "How great for me to be able to tell you to do whatever you want!" We should have been cancelled after the first season, because our ratings were so low. I think we had 3 million, and that was at a time when 3 million wasn't enough. No, we started with 5 or 6 and it got down to 3 by the end of the run. But it was great that she gave us the opportunity, and was a great executive who supported the show when her bosses didn't because we didn't cast who they wanted.

Pushing Daisies was actually more of a struggle creatively with the network, they would say it was too weird and to make it more mainstream. And they were probably right, we would probably have had more numbers, but it wouldn’t be my show. I really don't mean to be difficult with a lot of executives, but when I resist those notes it's becase I don't know how to do them, like my brain doesn't compute. I've gotten better the older I've gotten. I've also gotten more like, it's perhaps not a hill to die on? Whereas before I'd go, noo, the art must speak for itself! It's that singular understanding for something, where it comes out and you accept it for how it is. And it's probably a little bit about being raised in a Catholic environment where you're told how to be, it’s the rebellion, and it's the intrinsic queerness of choosing something that's different, or relating to something that's different and that being a guiding principle more than an edict.

[moody-alcoholic]

Sick

Ghoap x reader, established relationship

CW: Sick reader, vomit, hurt/comfort.

I'm trying and failing to keep my random dribbles under 1k words.

____

“The whole thing’s a waste of time.” Johnny says as he walks through the front door with Simon.

“An order’s an order.” Simon replies, hanging his coat up. Johnny closes the door sighing.

“Don't mean I have to like it.” Johnny says following him. 

“Yeah well such is life.” Simon sighs, stepping down into the living room. 

“We’re home!” Johnny shouts walking into the living room. It's late, maybe you’re sleeping. Simon goes into the kitchen. 

It took all your energy to pull yourself out of bed, hearing them walk through the door and call for you, you forced yourself to move. You feel weak, shaky, your body is sticky with a fever. You thought it was just a cold, this is more than a cold. Your head is throbbing, your body aches. You’ve missed them though, you always miss them when they’re away. 

“Hey love.” Johnny calls coming over to you. You lean against the doorframe, nausea bubbles in you and you press your hand on your stomach. Your mouth fills with saliva and before you can stop yourself you’re sprinting to the bathroom. 

You hear footsteps following you as you vomit into the toilet. Your head throbs with each heave, tears run down your face. You feel hands on you, Johnny’s rubbing your back as Simon pulls your hair out your face. 

“You’re burning up love.” Johnny says the back of his hand pressing against your cheek.

“I thought it was just a cold.” You say as your stomach settles and you get a chance to breathe. 

“It’s more than a cold.” Simon says, stroking your head. “We need to get this fever down.” You reach over for the toilet paper to wipe your mouth. Johnny grips your shoulders pulling you against his chest. He pulls some paper off for you and presses it into your hands. You dab your mouth hearing Simon running the bath. 

Johnny’s arms wrap around you holding you against him. He presses kisses on your head running his hands over you. 

“I’m sorry.” You say feeling guilt rise in you, the shivering comes back and your head starts going foggy. 

“Don’t be silly love, we’re here now. You’re okay.” He says squeezing you tighter against him. Simon comes to bend down next to you both, his hand comes up to brush your forehead. 

“Why didn’t you call us? We could have come home.”  He says. 

“You’re busy, I didn’t want to bother you.” You say. Simon sighs, leaning over and planting a kiss on your forehead before he leaves the room. Cold air blows in and you shiver in Johnny’s chest. He grips you tighter, running his hands up and down your arms to try and warm you. 

“C’mon, let’s get you out of these clothes.” He encourages tugging on the bottom of your pyjama top. You raise your arms for him letting him strip the soaked clothes off you, you shiver wrapping your arms around your chest. He shuffles pulling your bottoms off before picking you in his arms. 

“I can walk.” you murmur as he places you down in the hot water of the bath. 

“Sure.” He chuckles as Simon comes back into the bathroom with a glass of water in his hand. He bends down by the bath helping you bring it up to your mouth. You take little sips while Johnny coos over you, picking up a flannel and wetting it in the cool water of the bath before pressing it around your upper body.

You lean back in the bath, closing your eyes letting the water wash away the tension built up in your muscles. Johnny’s hand keeps your hair out your face as he dabs your forehead. Now and then you open your eyes looking at the concerned look on their faces as they fuss over you. 

The longer you stay in the bath letting the water cool you the more tired you become. The nausea fades and you’re just left with the throbbing in your head. 

“Ready to go back to bed?” Simon asks eventually, his fingers stroking your cheek. You open your eyes, humming and looking at them, you don't really want to move, enjoying the warm water relaxing you. Johnny smiles, getting up to grab a towel. You let out a sigh feeling goosebumps rise on your skin as Simon helps you sit up in the bath. 

Simon's hands stay on you, holding your back and your waist as you stand, stepping out into the towel Johnny is holding out for you. Your teeth almost immediately start to chatter as the cold air from the flat hits your skin. 

“Let’s get you all tucked up in bed.” Johnny says, wrapping his arms around you and guiding you into the bedroom. 

“Let me sleep in the spare room, I don’t want to get you sick too.” You protest as he sits you down on the bed. You hear Simon open the wardrobe.

“Don’t worry ‘bout us love.” Johnny says helping you dry, you let them dote over you as the fogginess comes back to your head and warmth from the bath starts to fade. 

You barely remember them dressing you in fresh clothes only that you’re now laid down in the bed with Johnny tucked up behind you. 

“Where’s Simon?” You ask looking round the empty room, there's a bright light coming into the room through the door making your head throb forcing you to close your eyes. 

“He’ll be back in a sec.” Johnny says, pulling his arms around you. You can feel his warmth behind you, his kisses on your neck pulling your hair out your face. You hear Simon come back, opening your eyes to see him bed down by you with a bowl and a cloth. 

You smile at him shuffling in the bed. He pats the damp cloth round your face. It’s nice, almost instantly taking away some of the throbbing in your forehead. You let out a sigh relaxing into Johnny’s warm embrace. 

“That's it, just relax.” Johnny hums in your ear. You close your eyes sinking into the bed. 

“We’ve got you, you’re okay.” Simon says. “Just rest, you’ll feel better in the morning.”

____

[circe69]

"had to get it in, couldn't wait around!" - s.r. x reader

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ who is it? simon "ghost" riley x you

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ what is it? enemies always fuck better, right? you hate him, or so you thought...

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ cws: unprotected p in v, angry simon turned soft, huge d!ck, knife play kinda? ass play, heavy make out. word count: 2.4k

<3

"what the fuck was that about?"

you stomped into an empty, abandoned conference room and stood at the end of a long table, with one masked man sitting at the other end. your arms crossed themselves across your chest, and you popped a hip out to the side as you waited for his answer.

simon motherfucking riley was your arch nemesis. someone you didn't trust, never agreed with, and certainly never wanted to work with. but the world isn't fair. it keeps spinning even when you despise someone, and captain price couldn't care less about your feelings towards simon when it came to the thousands of lives you were saving every mission.

usually, if you're in a group, you don't dare speak to simon this way. you only nod your head at his commands and walk away, hoping that he's receiving the millions of telepathic "fuck you's" you put out somewhere into the universe. but now, you're alone, and there is no better time than the present to tell your lieutenant off.

"if you need to blow some steam, i suggest going for a few boxing rounds w' soap. he's always looking for-" he paused whatever ministrations he was writing on a file and looked up at you slowly, "an easy opponent."

you huff and smirk out of pure anger as you briskly round the table, making your way over to him. "I'm not here to fucking play around, lieutenant, I'm here to let you know I'm pissed because you gave everybody else an assignment overseas next month except for me." you paused and let his eyes meet yours as your strong volume turned into a whisper. "I've worked just as hard, if not fucking harder than the rest of these task force fuckers, and we both know I'd be a good shot out there."

when it comes to you giving your superior a piece of your mind, simon usually submits completely. he never fires back, to everyone else's surprise, and he always allows you to use him, so to speak, to yell at him and get everything out of your system before entering the world again.

but not today.

simon slowly stood up from his chair, keeping eye contact with you as he expanded to almost double your size in every factor possible.

the seconds felt like years as his eyes bore down into yours. your heart rate was doubling every time one of you blinked, and you had to tense every single muscle in your body just to remain stagnant in position. the silence was deafening, and as the seconds passed, you remembered everything you've seen this man do, every corpse he's thrown to the side like a piece of garbage in his way, every knife rusted and wasted because it's been buried deep in the jaw of his enemies, and the eyes that have seen all of this from the first person perspective, are staring right into your-

SLAM.

simons hand comes down onto the wooden table with the force of 10 men, it sounds like, and you couldn't do anything but jump. you flinch. you fucking flinch and it feels like you're waving a white flag.

His gloved fingers reach out to your chin and tug you by the jaw, forcing your face inches away from his, "I have fuckin' had it with your attitude. you can act like a bitch all you fucking want to price, to gaz, and I sure as fuck don't care about how you treat soap. but to me," he squeezes your chin to reinstate your obedience before drifting his hand to rest on your neck, "to me, you either respect me or don't say shit at all. so get used to swallowing your words around here from now on, cause there won't be anywhere else for them to fucking go but down your own throat."

coincidentally, you do swallow. hard and slow, and simons eyes watch and feel your neck bobbing as you begin to shake just slightly under his pressure. as he squeezes, a small squeak releases itself from your lips and you mentally kick yourself for it, knowing that's just what he wants. because once you let yourself go to the stormy waters that is simon riley, you'll never be the same again. he'll make sure of it.

"you say yes sir." his low voice whispered into the empty room, your face somewhere even closer than before, every minute that passes you move an inch. you still can't open your mouth, you're suffering from shell shock and there's no mercy to be found in the eyes of your shooter.

simon pulls out a blade from his thigh holster and presses it to your side, "say. it. now." he yells even louder. you feel the sharp sting of the metal start to break through the cotton of your shirt and tease your skin. a tear breaks free from your eyes, and you are completely gone. you're done for. absolutely dead in every sense but the physical.

"yes sir." you whisper, finally freeing yourself from some kind of paralysis. you feel the blade crash onto the table, as well as the sweet release of your neck from his hand. an extra wave of oxygen that you didn't know you were missing flowed though you in small gasps.

simon said nothing as he walked straight past you, out of the door, slamming it behind him. he left you, his knife, and a part of your soul, there in that room.

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

it had been a few days since simon had blown any ounce of relationship between the two of you into ash and dust, and you can't tell if the looks simon gives you now are filled with rage or just empty. empty meanings, empty promises, because he just doesn't care. but ever since he's made it clear with you that he is not to be messed with, you've unfortunately want him more.

simon riley is a fucking apex predator, and in the past, you've just been standing there, petting him, taunting him, and expecting nothing to happen. well now, you not only expect it, you fucking want it. you dream about all the things he could do to you. but all the things he hasn't said just prove that he couldn't care less.

that night, the only news channel your small tv offers called for rain, a lot of it, mixed with thunderstorms and lightning. as you dry your hair off with a towel, you walk to your window and look outside. your stomach churns at the sight of the angry clouds heading your way. you absolutely despise thunderstorms, and you prefer for a long night because there is no way you would be getting any sleep.

"fuck." you whisper to yourself as it starts to drizzle.

you try to ignore it as you kick off your slippers and get under your soft covers, pulling your duvet all the way up to your ears to try to mute the sound. it was now raining harder, and occasional sparks of electricity lit up your room from the sky, so you tossed and turn all night until you finally fell asleep.

it wasn't until hours later that a large boom of thunder shook you awake. you sat up immediately in a panic, gasping for air and looking around you as if you were expecting anything, something to explain the sound. tears started rolling down your face not only in fear, but in frustration also. you were so upset and so tired. you needed something, someone. just to tell you it was going to be okay. you slipped out of bed with a shaky hand clutching a necklace around your neck as you opened the door of your room and walked out.

the cold air of the hallway caused your skin to raise up into goosebumps and your nipples to pebble through your thin tank top, and even as you crossed your arms over yourself, it wasn't enough.

you headed straight for a door right down the hall. one with a name on the wood that you never thought you would go to in need in a million years. but you didn't know what to do.

your small knuckles rapped on the door, right underneath a nameplate.

simon "ghost" riley

you hear heavy footsteps and several locks unfastening before the door swings open.

a maskless man appears, with no shirt, and a large hand rubbing the side of his face. he was no doubt asleep before this. his eyes squinted as he leaned against the doorframe, trying to adjust to the light. your jaw hung slightly agape at the sight of him, so human. so disgustingly human who's done such non-humane things.

his eyes swept over your face as he noticed the tear stained cheeks, reddened from lack of sleep and continued down your body, down your full teardrop breasts, across your bare stomach, your sweatpants that hung loosely off your hips, and no words were spoken as he grabbed you by both forearms and drug you inside his room.

you gasped as he moved you backwards towards his bed, his much larger and comfier bed, and you no longer had any reason to stop him as he drug you under the covers with him. you couldn't believe him as he snuck in close to you, silently, as if it were normal.

it wasn’t until you felt an arm come up to rest upon your hip, and the floodgates opened. you couldn’t stop tears from rolling down your eyes. you were so confused, so scared, so fucking tired. small whimpers and gasps of breath continued.

“shhh.” came from simon’s mouth as he pulled you closer and softly squeezed your hip.

“you hate me” you whispered back, sobbing louder.

“hm-mm, no.”

“yes, you fucking hate me and you’ve just pulled me into your bed,” you start whining louder as your hands reach up to cover your face.

simon’s eyes slowly opened to look into yours before swatting your ass ,”quit crying n' go to sleep.”

you only responded with smaller, shorter intakes of breath and sniffles.

“y’hear me?” he patted your ass where he had slapped it before.

you nodded and whispered, “yes sir.”

a growl tore threw simon’s mouth as he looked up at the bedroom ceiling before throwing his forearm over his eyes, “fuckin’ hell.”

this time it’s you who reaches out, as you place a small palm on his bicep. he flinches at the touch before sighing,

“c’mere puppy.”

you slowly crawl on top of simon, placing both hands on his arms before allowing your head to fall between his neck and shoulder. a warmth slithered through you as you relaxed into him, and as his hand slowly caressed and squeezed the fat of your ass, the warmth exceeded just below your navel.

you made the mistake of squirming, and he noticed.

he clicked his tongue against his teeth while pulling you closer, “stay still.”

“i-i’m trying to get comfortable-"

"well stop." he interrupted, "just relax."

the wind outside howled, as simon's breath and yours intertwined through the space between you. and just like the storms outside, simon was the most unexpected thing to ever exist. he was trying hard to not scare you off, to be gentle, even though every thing in him contradicts that. but you know better. you know that he is gentle somewhere behind that mask.

you squirmed again, "simon I just don't know what to do." you leaned up to look at him. and there it was, the look that he only gave you, the small and desperate iris' just begging for some kind of affection. even without much light, you could still see him grasping at the frays for you. seconds of intense eye contact went by for simon broke the silence,

"just kiss m'then."

you gasped, sitting back a centimeter, but then nodded. and leaned into his touch. into him.

the kiss was soft and delicate, your lips and his just barely overlapping as you took in his woodsy smell, pine and maple, but that was all it took to pull a groan from simon.

more, more, is all he thought as he grabbed you by the hips and prodded his tongue against your lips. you smiled at the action, and without hesitation, opened up for him completely.

it was nothing but violent, raw, and urgent, the way simon kissed you. you moaned into his mouth as he smacked the fat of your ass, "all it took," he mumbled, "all it took was a little tongue for you to shut the fuck up."

you whined at the loss of contact as simon struggled to pull your pants down, but it disintegrated as he swiped a finger between your thighs, "fuck." simon whispered at the wetness pooling from your sex. "how many times have I yelled at you and gotten you wet?" he said, as he flipped you both around so you were now in your back, head smushing the soft pillow.

you groaned as he discarded his sweatpants and boxers, leaving his cock to spring out against his stomach. "how many times, baby?" he asked again, "you think about me hurting you when you play with this pretty pussy?" his index reached out to circle your clit a few times.

you couldn't help it, your body was betraying you in real time as your walls fluttered around nothing. "yes, yes I think about it, I think about you all the time simon." your babbles spilled out of you like water, and simon was lapping it up.

he chuckled, "don't even n'to prep you, you're a fuckin' faucet, sweetheart." his lengthy cock, with precut oozing out of the tip, was begging to be inside you, begging to fill you up. as he grabbed his length and positioned himself to your weeping hole, he looked you in the eyes, "y'want this?"

your eyes met his and for a second, you felt some sort of fire igniting deep within you, why was he even asking? why did it feel like the monster he is was softening for you?

you grabbed his hip and thrusted yourself, notching the tip of him inside your walls. "yes, I fucking want this, simon."

he chuckled as he watched him disappear inside you, inch by inch, every fucking centimeter felt like a year lived without you. he needed to make up for it, because the one woman that he couldn't stand just happened to be the woman he couldn't live without.

[ragana62]

Here's my thoughts from the perspective of an author who is not nearly as good at tagging as I should be because I run into issues of knowing what main tags are still:

Correct tagging of squicks/triggers/kinks, major CW, etc. at a bare minimum is not spoiling things. It's basic decency, and it actually makes fics more accessible. Both because you're being a good person and letting people filter out works that aren't what they want/aren't safe for them, and because it makes it easier for people to find what they're looking for. Tags are basically (literally) SEO for your fic.

Knowing there are explicit descriptions of violence in a fic doesn't spoil what that scene(s) is/are for readers who are alright with reading it. It does however keep readers who could be harmed by reading that from that harm. Knowing that a fic includes kink and what specifically that kink content is, doesn't ruin the fic, if anything it makes it easier for people who want to read about that to find it. I won't name specifics, but the amount of times I've been looking for specific kink content and found it impossible to do so because 80% of the fics that do include it either don't tag it or tag it with some ridiculous vaguepost of a description tag that makes it impossible to find unless you were on a specific forum in 2006 to learn it or figure it out through trial and error is substantially more than the zero it really should be.

The biggest reason I see for authors not wanting to tag comprehensively is 'conventional media doesn't have trigger warnings/comprehensive tags' which is fine in theory, but also it isn't correct. We live in the internet age, spoilers exist, and a lot of people do look to places like TV tropes, reviews, the wiki, etc. especially if they are trying to avoid certain triggering content. Fanfics don't usually have external sources of spoilers unless you're in a community that reads similar fics and can be consulted for advice, that's why tags are so important. Because again, readers who want your content won't find you without the tags to search by, and readers who are doing everything they can to avoid a certain type of content can't actually follow 'don't like, don't read' without tags to help them filter searches.

For authors who don't like to tag particularly comprehensively, or who like me at times are posting WIPs that are in progress and which might at some point contain potentially triggering content but you aren't 100% sure it will or what that content will be yet, please consider using 'author chose not to use archive warnings'. That's literally what that is there for (and it should be a part of filtering if you are trying to avoid potentially triggering content, because as a general rule, that is a mark that indicates 'this isn't tagged comprehensively for whatever reason, whether I've not written the whole fic and suspect the tags will update with major squicks/triggers eventually as I go but I can't 100% say for sure what those will be, or I just don't tag my works in detail'). Because yes, not all works are for everyone, fiction doesn't owe the world perfect compliance with our safest, softest, most morally upright principles at all times, and 'don't like don't read' is still the golden rule, but if you could actively avoid causing harm to readers who would have chosen to avoid the work if they had known to do so, why wouldn't you?

AO3 👏 TAGS 👏 ARE 👏 NOT 👏 SPOILERS 👏

i’m so tired of authors not tagging correctly because they don’t want to “spoil the fic”

correctly tagging your fic allows readers who DON’T want to read things like major character death, gore, mpreg or whatever may be their squick to filter your fic out from the main ship/fandom tag. not including the correct tags on your fic is harmful to readers and i’m tired of pretending it’s not.

“don’t like don’t read” great! i won’t! tag your fic correctly next time ffs

[yanderedrabbles]

💕 Yandere Valentine's Day Gifts ♥️

Prompt: You own the local flower shop. It's Valentine's Day. Which customers will be popping in?

Yandere! Sugar Daddy calls you two weeks before Valentine's to order fifteen separate bouquets for his darling. Every exotic and rare shade that roses come in.

"I want them delivered fresh. Early morning please."

"Yes sir, I can manage that," you tell him, still reeling at the ridiculously large amount he just paid you.

On Valentine's Day, his maid let's you and your crew into his penthouse. You can't help but let out a low whistle when you see the size of the place.

He directs you to set the bouquets out around the living room. The morning light from the floor to ceiling windows catches on the glitter you dusted across the arrangements.

He has a sort of nervous energy - arranging and then rearranging the flowers. You sometimes hear a thumping, banging sound from deeper in his penthouse but when you ask him about it he says its just the building creaking. You don't know much about skyscrapers this high and so you let it go.

When it's all finally to his satisfaction, he tips you and your crew very generously. As you leave, you see him setting out a whole slew of iconic Tiffany jewellery boxes.

His darling will be showered with the most expensive love money can buy. Whether they want it or not.

Yandere! Bisexual Best Friend breezes into your shop like a true haute couture diva. He looks over his designer sunglasses and snorts with disdain at the traditional red bouquets.

"Nothing so cliche for my girl," he tells you.

He orders pink and white camellias, with sprigs of baby's breath. He has you wrap the stems in matching pastel paper. When you ask him if he'd like to include a card, he writes his message in a beautiful, looping cursive.

'I know no boyfriend will get you flowers that you actually like. That's why you have me. Happy Valentine's Day gorgeous.'

"Very elegant," you tell him.

"Thanks. I'm meeting her for brunch and drinks after this."

He shows you his other gift for his darling. A bottle of expensive perfume, in a glittery blush pink box.

When you ask him if his friend has any dates planned, he tilts his head and smiles without any warmth at all.

"Not if I can help it."

Yandere! Actor doesn't come into the shop or call you directly. It's his hurried, harried assistant that places the order.

"Five dozen roses in a single bouquet. I'll bring you some chocolate that he wants between the flowers. Oh, and a card. Don't forget the card."

When she drops off the chocolate for you to use in your arrangement, you can't help but want to look up the price. Everything from the packaging to the hefty weight of each chocolate screams luxury artisanal brand.

The final arrangement is beautiful, but in a looking-good-on-camera sort of way. You don't know the order is for him until his assistant accidentally let's it slip who her boss is. Your eyebrows shoot up but you manage not to ask any questions. A billionaire and now a celebrity. Seems like everyone wants to be extra romantic this year.

"What does he want on the card?" you ask, pen poised.

"Oh, he sent one for you to use." She hands you a card printed on thick cream paper, elegant in its minimalism. You glance at the writing before you can stop yourself.

'A star like you deserves all the flowers. Happy Valentine's dollface.'

Cute. The exact sort of thing you'd expect from a heart throb like him.

It's only when you see him and his darling on the red carpet later that night - his arm around their waist the entire night - that you begin to wonder if there's more to their relationship than meets the eye.

Yandere! Werewolf shows up right before you close, hands on his knees while he catches his breath. He ran straight to your shop after football practice and there's still grass stains on his chin.

"Oh god, tell me I'm not too late for roses." He looks so worried that you take pity on him and agree to look in the back for any bouquets that might have slipped under the radar.

He must be supernaturally lucky, because you manage to find a dozen red roses. When you get back to the front, he's taken out the rest of his gifts from his backpack.

There's an overstaffed werewolf plush, an extra large leather dog collar, some pre-packaged bones and a chew toy.

"Interesting selection," you say as you ring up his flowers.

He rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah. They uh... have a dog. It's mostly for the dog."

You get the sense he isn't being entirely honest, but you're not the type to pry. When you're done, he shoots you a gorgeous smile.

"I totally owe you one. You really kept me out of the doghouse."

He's just about to leave when he suddenly remembers something. He digs in the pocket of his letterman jacket and pulls out a clear packet of candy hearts. You look closer and realise he must have picked out individual sweets just for their message. They're repeated again and again.

'Be mine.'

'Yours forever.'

'Kiss me.'

"Do you think these are canine safe?" he asks you. You think about it for a second and then nod.

It's only after he's left that you wonder what sort of dog would want to eat candy like that.

[irritablepoe]

Why can't I have friends that want to talk to me?🥲

[egophiliac]

don't think I'm not still obsessing over 7-12

[bunchacrunchcake]

I love this take because it's funny but it's even worse than actively poisoning people. It is lack of understanding that poison exists.

"Hey your investment property, you know the thing that keeps you clothed and fed, it's decaying, which is just a normal thing, it needs some upkeep?"

"Does it cost money?"

"Yes it costs money to fix things."

"Why do I have to fix it? I don't live there, it just makes money."

"it makes money because people pay you to live inside of it. And it's poisoning the people that live inside of it. So if they're dead, then they can't pay you and then you won't have money."

"Well do they know that?"

"Yes they have been asking you for a year to fix this?"

"How much is it to fix?"

"$300-1000 probably, it's unlikely it will cost more than what it brings in in one month. And it's one of ten units on the property. Also if you don't fix it now it will cost more later."

"Can we just tell them we will fix it and then not fix it?"

"We've been doing that."

"Can I just paint over it myself?"

"You already did that."

"We can just sell the property when it gets horrible and buy a new one right?"

"Technically yes, but then eventually every property in the city will be like that and you'll have to fix something."

"But won't all the tenants get used to it?"

"Potentially, but they filed a complaint with the city because we've waited so long we're breaking the law."

"What are the consequences of that?"

"Well it means they can call an inspector in another month."

"I usually pay that guy off "

"And then they can take damages out of the rent."

"How much?"

"About $500 a month."

"Can I threaten to evict them if they do that?"

"Yes, no judge would enforce it because it's an illegal eviction though."

"Okay well I'm going to go paint over it again, tell them they're being difficult, and the only person that has ever complained so much, and if they take money out of the rent to fix it, I guess I'll just threaten to kick them out until they pay and I'll just do that every month until the lease is up."

"Okay sounds good I'll let them know. Also there's a bill coming up in the state house that will create stronger tenant laws and prevent you from threatening tenants like this."

"Okay I will call all of my friends to show up and complain and we'll put together a little campaign contribution for everyone voting on that bill."

So if you've gotten this far, it's less that they actively want to hurt you so much as they are passively consuming you like a product and when you act like a human with needs they get frustrated and just shut it down so they don't have to think.

Most landlords I've met are somewhat dumb, but richer than you and relatively deceptive and brutish. The advantage they have over you is that they've accumulated power, they don't see you as human, and they're willing to cheat and lie

The communists want to take away YOUR MOLD